The Nobody People Bob Proehl (pocket ebook reader .txt) 📖

“Carrie, you’re gone,” he says. Carrie holds up her hand, which is wrapped in his. It’s transparent. She looks out the small, high windows of the laundry, but the pale green of the inhibitor lights is glowing outside. This is something else. Carrie hardly has time to imagine what it could be when the door flies open. Mister Benavidez and Mister Herschel and Mister O’Keefe swagger in like gunslingers, hands on their hips. The whole contingent guarding the western fence in this sector. Miquel shoves Carrie behind him.

“I guess our invites got lost in the mail,” Mister Benavidez says. “It’s a good thing Mister Guzman let us know. It’d be a shame if we missed it. Congratulations, teach.” He slaps Miquel on the shoulder. “Hey, Shakes, pour me a drink, huh?” Travis obeys. The cider sloshes in the paper cup as he hands it to Mister Benavidez.

“Did you know I’m a big reader, teach?” says Mister Benavidez. “I love reading history. Medieval times and shit? You know they used to have this thing called prima nocta. The lord of the castle, he had the right to fuck a man’s wife on their wedding night. Prima nocta’s Latin for first fuck or some shit. So tell me, teach. Where’s the bride?”

Mister Benavidez is looking right at Miquel and Carrie. Carrie’s eyes are locked on his, but he can’t see her. He can’t see her.

Carrie glances at Bryce and Hayden, who look like themselves again. She sees the glow in Jonathan’s chest brighten. Carrie steps out from behind Miquel. She can feel her ability, like a radio signal muddled in static. But the volume’s way up, and she can hear the song. They all can.

“I can see you’re upset,” Miquel says, patting the air between them with his hands. Warm waves come off him. Carrie rests her hand on the knife next to the cake. It’s dull, useless. She eyes Mister Benavidez’s gun, unclipped in the holster, his hand near it but not blocking it.

“You trying to put a whammy on me?” asks Mister Benavidez. He takes a threatening step toward Miquel. As he does, Carrie grabs the gun out of the holster. It hangs in the air, leveled at Mister Benavidez’s head. He turns toward it and nearly has time to mutter what the fuck before Carrie shoots him in the forehead. Mister Herschel screams. Mister O’Keefe pulls his gun, but Bryce smashes him in the face with the thick branch of his arm. Blood sprays from Mister O’Keefe’s nose and leaks from his eyes as he crumples to the ground. Edith Fowler, the nice old lady Miquel gave smuggled marmalade to, who just stopped by to say congratulations, gently pats Mister Herschel on the head, and he drops. The room is silent, the high whine of the gun’s retort echoing in Carrie’s ears.

“Is he dead?” Miquel asks, looking down at Mister Herschel, who could be sleeping.

“I’m afraid so,” says Edith.

“We have to go,” Carrie says. “I don’t know what’s going on, but they could figure out how to shut us back down in a minute. This is our chance.”

“This is our wedding,” Miquel says. He looks at her, in his ill-fitting suit, asking her to come back, stay. They are speaking different languages, and Carrie knows it. This path she’s started on, toward making a life here, Miquel is far ahead of her.

“We have to go,” Carrie says. Bryce and Hayden lead the others out the door. “We have to go now.”

“We won’t be able to get the kids out,” Miquel says.

“We can’t save everyone right now,” says Carrie. “But if we can get out—”

“Go,” he says. “Come back when you can save everyone. I’ll stay here. We’ll be ready.”

Carrie wants to drag him along. She wants to explain that she can’t go without him. She wants to say it, but she doesn’t. She doesn’t know what version of herself is waiting out there, what shape she’ll be apart from him. But if it’s impossible for her to stay, it’s more impossible for him to leave.

She kisses him. This kiss she’s present for; she tries to memorize it. Not the last time, she tells herself, but there’s no conviction in the thought. She holds the hem of her wedding dress and takes off, over the hill. After a few steps, she stops and turns back, thinking she heard him call out. Miquel stands there, watching her go. Carrie realizes that he knew it would come to this. Even at Bishop, he knew that if they got together, she’d be the one to leave. He understood her love, the limits of it, better than she did. She wants to stay, if only to prove him wrong. But she hears metal strain as Bryce rips open the chain link. She hears shots fired along the eastern fence.

She’ll go and bring help, fight her way back here. There must be a way to save all of them. She’s insufficient to the task now. It calls for someone else, someone better. She can become that only if she gets out.

It takes place in a moment, a switch flipped. Across North America, 200 million people nod off like late-night drivers pushing too far in search of a welcoming rest stop, eyes drooping as their minds slip away for a blink. Within that blink, infinite space. A sex dream, a terror vision of a fiery crash. After the Pulse, people find themselves in the Hive for the first time. Startled, they look to people around them for answers. Some begin conversations, ask questions, before they wake up. They’re in the Hive for minutes. In the real world, a fraction of a second passes.

They’re changed, but not all the changes are immediate.

Ahmad Roche notices a patch of goose bumps on his forearm. He doesn’t grow downy pinfeathers for a few more days.

Omar Wright wakes from his moment in the Hive with a