?"Come on, it's just a filter."
?Cristy laughed. A short, crystalline sound that barely cracked the still air of the park. She held her phone high, aimed at Alex like a harmless weapon, while a lo-fi beat drifted from the Bluetooth speaker on the bench.
Alex snorted, rolling his eyes, but stayed still. "You're making me look like an alien, Cris. Stop it."
"No, this one's cute. It just widens your eyes. You look like a depressed manga character."
?Alex managed a tight smile, letting himself be manipulated.
They had been sitting there for an hour. Around them, Stonemouth was offensively normal: a golden retriever barking at a frisbee, the sun cutting across mowed grass, two kids chasing each other screaming.
The two of them sat in that postcard, trying to pretend that three days ago they hadn't looked the apocalypse in the eye.
?Cristy swiped her finger across the screen. "Oh, check this one."
The Snapchat algorithm locked onto the facial features.
Cristy's smile died. The phone lowered slowly.
?On the screen, the filter had swollen Alex's ears, making them huge, grotesque.
In reality, Alex's left ear looked normal.
Inside, it was dead.
Silence fell over the bench. Alex saw Cristy's expression and understood before she spoke. He touched his left lobe. A quick, mechanical gesture. A check.
?"Sorry," Cristy murmured, locking the screen. "I'm an idiot."
?"It's fine." Alex turned his head slightly to offer her his right side. It was his new habit: recalibrating position, like a faulty antenna. "It's just an ear, Cris. I have another one."
?It wasn't just an ear. It was the price.
Buddy had saved them, loaded them into his old Ford that smelled of tobacco, and provided Alex with the lie for his mother. A firecracker. South side punks.
The doctors had nodded: severe acoustic trauma. Irreversible.
Alex was deaf on one side.
On the other side of the park, the dog barked again. Alex heard it distinctly. He also heard the paws on the grass. And the owner's breathing, two hundred feet away.
?"How is it today?" Cristy asked, torturing the hem of her hoodie. "The hum."
"Always there," Alex said. He stared at the red frisbee flying through the air. Followed its arc. Unconsciously calculated the drop angle, wind resistance, impact point. "It's like a TV channel with no signal. White noise. But it could have been worse. I could have been Caleb."
?The name fell between them and stayed there.
Caleb Thompson. Found in the mud. Eardrums imploded. No signs of violence.
Cristy stopped torturing her hoodie.
"I'm not the problem," Alex said, taking his eyes off the frisbee. He touched the wood of the bench. Felt the peeling paint under his fingertips. "Tony is the problem."
"Still nothing?"
"Zero. He won't answer. His dad says he's sick."
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"He thinks it's his fault," Cristy murmured. "He wants to cut us off."
?"Idiot," Alex hissed. But his voice trembled. "He saved our lives. If he hadn't touched that quartz..."
?Zzzzzzzzz-t-t.
?A static discharge burst from the Bluetooth speaker. The music skipped, became a metallic snarl, then went silent.
Alex and Cristy jumped.
Cristy grabbed her phone, killing the Bluetooth with clumsy fingers. Alex pressed a hand over his good ear, going pale.
The park was quiet. The sun was shining.
It was just interference. An unstable Wi-Fi signal.
But they had stopped breathing.
?In that moment, the frisbee thrown by the kids veered. A gust of wind, maybe. It aimed straight for the bench. Straight for Cristy's head.
Alex didn't raise his arms. There was no time.
He just gripped the wood of the bench.
His eyes locked onto the red disc.
The frisbee, three feet from Cristy's face, jerked upward. A sharp, geometric, impossible turn. It fell inert on the grass, far away.
?No one noticed. Cristy was looking at the Bluetooth speaker.
Alex looked at his hand. The wood under his fingers was hot.
He pulled his hand back as if burned.
?"Christ," he exhaled, voice thin. "We're messed up, Cris. One crackle and we panic."
?Cristy put the speaker in her bag carefully, as if it were broken glass.
"Speaking of hearing..." She hesitated. "I've been thinking about that night. In the Haven. While we were on the floor."
?Alex stiffened. "The voices."
?"Caleb's voice," Cristy said. "He said: 'They were just joking... Billy's like that.' Those were the words he said to us in the hallway. That afternoon."
?Alex took off his glasses. Cleaned them on his shirt.
"That's the point, Cris. I wasn't there."
Cristy looked at him.
"When Billy attacked Caleb... I was home. Burying Argo. I never heard that sentence. I didn't even know about the incident."
He put his glasses back on. The world returned to focus, too sharp.
"Yet, in the cinema... I heard it. In my head. How did I hear a memory I don't have?"
?Cristy felt cold.
"Tony heard it too."
?"I wasn't there," Alex repeated. "So it wasn't a hallucination. It was... external."
"What does that mean?"
Alex shook his head. He looked for a formula, a logic. Found only fog.
"Maybe that Thing works like an echo," he said. He threw the phrase out there, hoping it was enough. "Caleb died nearby. Maybe the creature... records. And when it attacked us, it hit play on the last signal. Nothing more."
?It was a weak explanation. Full of holes.
But Cristy nodded.
"An echo," she repeated. "Yeah. Makes sense."
It made no sense. But the alternative was unthinkable.
?Cristy stood up. She zipped her hoodie to her chin. A sharp gesture.
"Anyway," she said. "We promised Buddy. We stay out of it. No more investigating."
?Alex nodded. "Yeah. Out of the game."
He was lying.
His brain was tracking vectors on the gravel path. Angles, velocity, mass. He couldn't turn it off. He had too much current in him.
?"Buddy will get the journal," Cristy said. "He said he'll handle it."
"The door is welded."
"He'll find a way. Buddy knows that place."
She checked the time. Cursed.
"I gotta go. Gala dinner. Guests, investors. My mother will kill me if I'm late."
She took two steps, then turned back.
"Tomorrow night. The Siren Night at the Pier. Will you be there?"
?Alex looked at his dusty shoes.
"If Tony doesn't come..." He left the sentence hanging.
?"Tony will come back," Cristy said. Her voice was hard, controlled. "Give him time. See you tomorrow."
?The sirens started in that moment.
Not an ambulance. Three patrol cars. They sped down Main Street, lights flashing, heading north.
Their phones vibrated together.
?Alex looked at the screen. Red notification. LIVE NOW.
He clicked.
Shaky video. Mine gates.
Chaos. Miners pushing. Stones. Smoke bombs.
And on the other side of the fence, black uniforms.
Not police. Military. And TerraCore vehicles.
?The reporter's voice crackled: "...situation out of control at Shaft 4. TerraCore has declared the entire complex a 'Federal Safety Zone.' Entrances sealed. The workers..."
?Alex and Cristy looked at each other.
"Why close everything now?" Alex asked.
Cristy didn't answer immediately. She stared at the armored trucks on the screen.
"They're looking for the Tower," she whispered. "They don't want witnesses. They realized it's down there."
She raised her eyes to Alex.
"The journal. Protocol Alpha."
?Alex felt the cold.
"Total isolation."
?The distant sirens continued to scream.
"Go home, Alex," Cristy said. She put her phone away. Her hands weren't shaking anymore. They were rigid. "Be careful."
?They parted at the intersection.
The sky over Stonemouth had turned the color of lead.
The incoming storm had washed away the afternoon's pastel colors. The streets were empty. Shop shutters on Main were down.
Not a living soul.
Alex pedaled toward home. He felt the electricity in the air. He felt it on his skin, on his teeth.
Stonemouth wasn't a city.
He looked at the houses passing by. Dark. Silent.
Behind a first-floor window, a curtain moved slightly.
Alex slowed down.
There was no one at the window.
Yet, the curtain had moved.
He started pedaling again, harder, as the first drops of black rain began to fall on the asphalt, ticking like a code that he, now, could almost understand.
Author’s Note ??
