Lightspeed: Year One

when Sam dies.”

“He may not die, not for a long time. We have to hope the chemo will work. We have to hope he’ll be healed. But if he dies, certainly, I’ll call you.” Humphreys smiled. “He’ll be having a church service, I have to warn you.”

“Call me anyway.” We were back at the house. I stopped the truck and said, “You left that bag inside, didn’t you?”

“Yes, I did.”

“Wait here. I’ll get it for you. I’ll be right back out.”

The paper lunch sack was still sitting in the hallway, next to where Humphreys had gotten sick. It was wet from the soapy water he’d used. I threw the old sack away and got a fresh one, and then for good measure I threw another eighth into the plastic bag. I knew Sam would notice, and that kind of gesture’s good for business, if you don’t do it very often. I guess it was my way of gambling that he’d stay alive. And if he mentioned it to Humphreys, maybe the Reverend would be more likely to keep his mouth shut.

I took the sack back out and handed it to Humphreys. “I have something for you, too,” he said, and gave me his business card. “Call me if you ever want to talk, about anything at all. You can call me any time. Both my home number and the church number are on there.”

“Kind of you,” I said, although I was thinking, when hell freezes over. ”Thank you, Reverend.”

“You’re welcome, Welly.” He held out his hand, and I shook it, and then he got back into his car and drove away. I watched his car until it disappeared, and then I went back into the house. I almost threw the business card away, but something made me toss it into one of my kitchen drawers instead. Don’t ask me what. It wasn’t like I planned on calling him. It was just a superstitious thing, maybe like what he’d said about the emergency baptisms. Having his business card probably wasn’t going to help me, but it couldn’t hurt, either.

I was hot, from all that digging. I opened the fridge and got out a beer and drank it down in one gulp. Then I got my cell phone and took it into the living room, and sat back in my recliner and started dialing the phone company.

BLACK FIRE Tanith Lee

Witness A (One)

I first see it as I’m driving back that night up the road—you can bet I pulled over. I thought it was a fucking plane coming down. Like a plunge of flames right through the sky, as if the sky was tearing open from the top to the bottom. The car slams to a halt and I jump out—and I’m below the top of the hill, so I run the rest of the way and just as I get there, this . . . thing, whatever it was, it lands in the woods. Well, our house is around there, me and hers. Only a mouse-house—what she said—mid-terrace in the last street winds out the village.

I stand on the hill sort of frozen, sort of turned to stone, and I hold my breath, the way like you do, not knowing you’re not breathing.

So while I watch, all this fire-thing just storms into and through the trees and down and it hits the ground, and I think something’s crazy then, because there should be a God-awful great bang, yeah? And great columns of fire and crap. But there ain’t a sound. Not a bloody whisper.

And then I remember and I take that missing breath. But it’s so quiet. I think that’s what struck me anyhow, even while I run up the hill. There’s always some kind of noise out here; I mean, we’re not that far from the town. And there’s animals, too, foxes and things snuffling and screeching. And cars.

Only there isn’t a single sound now.

I don’t never drink when I drive. Not no more. I got pulled over a couple years ago, random check, and I was just over the limit: half a glass—well, a pint—of beer. But I won’t take any chance now. So nobody can say I imagined what I seen. Go on, you can test me, if you like. No. I see it. And I see what come after too.

Witness E (One)

He was late. He’s always late.

That’s what they says about dead people, don’t they? Well then he must be dead.

Oh, he’s got some bint where he works. Says he hasn’t. He’s got some—

Anyhow. I was washing my hair, and this blinding like . . . light sort of—I thought it was coming straight in the bleeding window—

I thought it was a bomb. You know—a dirty bomb like they always go on about? Terrorists. Why does everyone hate everyone?

So I runs out in the garden and I look and this big light—it’s like the sky’s falling and it’s all on fire—only the fire is . . . it isn’t red or nothing. It’s—I can’t describe it really.

Right in the wood.

I started to cry. I was really scared. And he weren’t there, the bugger.

But there’s no crash. Nothing. Just—silence. You know that thing someone said—hear a pin drop. Like that.

And my hair’s so wet—but I shakes it back, and I thought: I can go next door, but the other three houses there, as we come like out of the village, no one lives in them now.

And then I sees him. This guy. He’s walking out between the trees, i’nt he. Just walking.

Witness A (One)

Fucking car wouldn’t start, would it, when I goes back to it.

So I beats it up the fucking hill again and belts down the other side toward the house. I mean, I’m thinking of her, aren’t I? Yeah?

I mean you do, don’t you?

Witness E (One)

It wasn’t just he was well fit. I mean he was fit. I can see that like. And like he’s really—he’s beautiful. And I’m standing there in my old jeans and an old bra and no slap on and my hair full of shampoo. But he’s got a sort of like, he’s sort of shining.

It’s like—what’s that stuff? Phosbros—is it?

He gleams.

Only he’s dark too. I don’t mean he’s a black guy. His skin is just kind of like summer tan, sort of like he’s caught the sun but over here. Not a real tan. And his hair is black but it’s so long, all down his back, it’s like silk.

And he has this face.

I don’t think much of them movie celebs, do you? But this guy, he’s like in films my mum used to watch before she went mad and ended up in Loonyville—I can’t think who.

But he comes out the wood and up to the garden, where the dustbin is, and the broken gate, and he looks at me.

I say, “D’you see that flaming thing come down?”

And he smiles at me.

Witness A (Two)

Coming home on that train . . . it’s always late and no trolly service; I dread the damn thing. But when I finally got to the station what do you think? The shit Volvo won’t start, will it?

So I walked.

Perfect ending to a perfect day, etc.

That’s when I saw those fireworks all showering down on everything.

I admit I stopped and stared. I mean, I was recollecting that factory—God, where was it?—that place where all the fireworks blew up. The only difference was, and I eventually figured it out, these fireworks were all in a mass, just dropping in one single area. They merely fell out of the sky. Glittering. The rather peculiar thing was, there were no colors. It was quite a naturally well-lit night—aside from the inevitable street