Chapter 572 (1/2)

The Beast was tall, and as Hank gazed up at it, he could feel the sweat dripping down his back slowly freeze into tiny spheres of ice.

The Beast was smiling too, down at him, as it stood above Hank. It spread its hands, and as Hank watched, he realized that was what the Beast was; it was a thing of 1000 hands. They looped their fingers together and used thumbs to form joints until it was a whole body of hands.

Some of the hands had been there for a while. They were rotten, the flesh sliding off the bone the more they moved to follow the motion of the body. Soon, they would become only bones. Somehow, Hank knew it wasn’t good for the hands when they became bones. There was something… vital about the flesh, even rotting and desiccated as it was. Without it… the body would slowly become nothing.

The Beast wouldn’t let his body come to nothing.

Alan was there, laying with his arms across his chest. His suit was white and his eyes were closed. Beneath those eyelids, there seemed to be a crimson fire, something that was burning its way out of its body. Alan had been betrayed by himself, leaving him injured and furious. His heart refused to beat.

Hank blinked. That was true. For some reason, that heart of Alan’s was refusing to beat. That’s why they were all here, gathered around Alan. Everyone wanted to figure out what was going on with Alan’s heart.

Well, everyone except the Beast. The Beast was here to take Alan’s hands.

Abruptly, there were hundreds of people, walking back and forth in front of them. They were blurry silhouettes, curved and soft at the edges. They were more like throw pillows than people, the type of thing that was thrown to the ground when anything really happened. They were a backdrop.

The Beast was closing in on Alan, and Hank began walking forward as well. He narrowed his eyes. His hand reflexively went to his waist, but there was nothing there. Hank swore quietly and brought his hand to his mouth. He bit his right pointer finger, hard. A fat drop of blood welled up, swirling upwards.

Miming holding a gun, Hank kept his crimson bullet trained on the Beast.

The Beast noticed Hank’s attention and was amused.

“Yyoouu ccaannnnoott kkiillll mmee lliikkee tthhaatt,” The Beast whispered. “II ccaannnnoott ddiiee aass lloonngg aass ssoommeeoonnee ccaallllss mmee.”

“How are ya called?”

“jjuusstt ssaayy mmyy nnaammee.”

Hank’s tongue was swelling in his mouth, as though his body was struggling to stop him before he went too far. “Whaaa….. What’s yur name?”

“Iii aaAMmM CCCAAALLLLLLEEEDD fear.”

Then, both Hank and the Beast were in front of Alan. When the Beast spoke its name, Alan twitched. His eyes opened. The orbs were pure crimson.

“Did someone call my name?”

Hank opened his eyes as the train stopped. Wincing, he straightened. He couldn’t believe that he had fallen asleep when Alan was in the hospital, for all that the manatech train was as familiar as a lullaby to Hank.

Without even taking the time to grumble to himself, Hank pushed his way out of the train into the bright sky. But no matter how much light there was, Hank’s heart was heavy and clouded. If Alan died…

Hank shivered. Something terrible would happen. Something that their Zone couldn’t survive. Although the details of the dream were fading quickly, that certainty was lodged in Hank’s heart. In a way, he was glad that Laurel hadn’t returned with him to Zone 1. She would want to stop and think about what the dream could mean. She would want to think about why Hank was always the one who dreamed when Laurel was the one with the Skill.