The problems that I was having with IMMOLATION have been dealt with and I've updated chapters
56 and
57. Chapter 58 is gone, along with that direction of the story, sorry for those of you who may have liked where it was going.
Below is both chapters, though you can also find them at their respective links above.
* * *
Chapter 56
Papers lay scattered
across Matt's desk. A solitary lamp hung overhead, swaying slightly
each time the ground quaked. Matt tried not to think about what each
shock wave meant, and the fact that they were becoming stronger and
more frequent. Still, it wasn't any more terrifying than the tight,
handwritten scrawl that covered each page. He was all too familiar
with that handwriting on the papers before him and Matt shook his
head in horror. Nuclear power plant designs, oil refineries, and
schematics for explosives were just a few of the things Matt had
found in Dr. Muto's office.
The door opened
behind Matt and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as
footsteps, muffled ever so slightly by the thin carpet, heralded the
approach.
“How
could you?” Matt asked in a low whisper.
The footsteps
stopped just to his side and Matt looked up at Dr. Muto's shadowed
face. Dr. Muto looked to the mess on the desk and then back to Matt,
acting as though he had not heard Matt and collected up the papers.
“What
were you looking for?” Dr. Muto's tone was conversational, if a bit
stiff.
“What
do you think?” Matt asked.
“I
really couldn't tell, considering what you've laid out for yourself.”
“The
plans, Muto, I was looking for the plans.”
“And
it would appear as though you've found them.”
“The
plans for the heat Machine,” Matt corrected. “It might not be too
late, we could still stop the world from destroying itself.”
Dr. Muto chuckled.
“What's
so funny?” Matt demanded, incensed at Dr. Muto's apparent lack of
concern.
“What
do you think all of this was for?” Dr. Muto asked, waving the
papers in front of Matt. “Our world was dying.”
Matt jumped to his
feet. “And now you've gone and killed it!”
“It's
people, perhaps,” Dr. Muto said dismissively, putting the papers
back into their respective folders and drawers. “But I've come to
accept the fact that the human race is determined to destroy itself,
no matter how hard you or I try to save it.”
“Then
can't we at least postpone that end?” Matt pleaded.
“How?”
“Share
the plans to the Heat Machine!”
“NO!”
Dr. Muto shouted, forcing Matt back down into his seat. “Do you
think that will change anything now? Can they build one? Do they have
the resources? The man power? The time? I doubt any of these so
called armies even have a plan to get back to their own countries.”
“Dr.
Muto—”
“No,”
Dr. Muto cut Matt off, “The fighting going on out there has long
ago stopped being about energy. Their only goal is destruction now.”
“Well,
now that I have this,” Matt said, holding up a small thumb drive,
“we can see which of us is right.”
Matt got back out of
his chair and pushed passed a stunned Dr. Muto.
“Where
did you get that drive?” Dr. Muto asked breathlessly.
Matt paused in the
doorway. “I hacked into your computer about a week ago,” he said
unabashedly, “and at first I was frustrated that I still couldn't
find the plans. Then I found this in your desk,” Matt held up the
unremarkable thumb drive. “I still haven't been able to break the
encryption on it, but I'm all but certain this is it. Any way, I'm
going to hand it over to them and let them figure it out.”
Dr. Muto screamed
and lashed out, his cries were wild and bestial as he clawed at Matt,
trying to get the thumb drive away from him. For a moment, all Matt
could think to do was hold the drive out of Dr. Muto's reach. The
crazed ferocity was something Matt had only seen once before; when
Dr. Muto attacked him during his thesis defense. Matt buried his fist
into Dr. Muto's stomach, doubling him over, and followed it up with a
right cross that snapped his head to the side with a crack and Dr.
Muto crumpled to the floor where he lay motionless.
Matt hurried out of
the office and down the hall. He didn't care if he'd overdone it on
Dr. Muto. Either way, if things went according to plan, Matt wouldn't
be seeing his old mentor again. It didn't take long for Matt to make
his way to the observation room and he took his customary position at
the main computer.
“Everyone
out,” Matt ordered as soon as he was logged in. “Now!”
There were looks of
confusion and concern on their faces as the technicians left, but
Matt ignored them. Like Dr. Muto, Matt wouldn't be seeing them again.
The moment the door was shut, Matt began disabling the security
systems, turning off the cameras, and deactivating the security
doors. Finally he pressed the button that unlocked the door to the
Heat Machine. All he had to do now was go in there and lift the latch
and the door would swing open. A minute later he was standing in
front of the Heat Machine itself. There was no way to communicate
with Joan and let her know what he was doing.
“I'm
sorry for everything, Joan,” Matt whispered.
He raised the latch
and unbearable heat poured out, forcing Matt backwards and he
realized this may not have been the best way to go about freeing
Joan.
*
Numbness held Joan
in its gentle embrace, rocking her back and forth and keeping her
safe from all that would destroy her. Her fire helped, too, in
keeping back the walls and the darkness, for in the darkness the
walls could move. In her fire she could grow flowers, blossoming and
blooming at her every whim.
Awake or asleep,
Joan burned. She couldn't remember a time when she didn't burn, as
though the thought of not burning was something foreign and absurd.
Every once in a while, in her dreams, she visited a time and a place
where she burned less, or not at all. It was a wondrous place of such
unimaginable joy that she often awoke from those dreams crying. So
many faces and names that she could never quite remember once she was
awake. The flowers in the fire were her attempt to bring some of the
dream into her waking moments
“Joan,”
a phantom voice carried over the rushing of her fire.
Such things were not
uncommon for Joan. Voices from her dreams often carried over into her
waking thoughts, though this voice was one that she was less familiar
with.
“...my
fault...won't blame you...free...”
Joan frowned. The
voice was growing stronger, louder, perhaps even a bit desperate.
“Who
are you?” Joan asked the voice.
The voice changed
and this new voice answered with a nonsense name. “It's Tom,” the
voice spoke so clearly that Joan could have sworn he was standing
only a short distance away. “Please don't burn me!”
It was at that
moment that Joan became aware of a draft in the air around her. She
dimmed her fire enough for her to see beyond it. The shock of seeing
the door to her room open robbed her of her strength and she fell to
the floor.
Someone stood
outside of her cell, backed all the way up against the far wall,
nothing more than a shadowy figure to Joan's eyes.
“Please
Joan,” the first voice shouted, “I want to help you, don't burn
me.”
Joan overcame her
shock and got back to her feet, scrambling to get out of her cell.
The cool touch of the stone beneath her feet felt good and the air
smelled remarkably fresh when compared to the stuffy, processed air
that was pumped into the Heat Machine.
Joan hated how cold
the floors were in the morning. Her parents never listened to her
when she suggested they get heated floors, or carpet, or at the very
least some rugs. It would certainly make getting up in the mornings
easier.
“Joan,
hurry up,” her mother called from the kitchen.
Joan sighed and
hurried down the hallway to the kitchen. Her mother stood in front of
the stove, frying some eggs and bacon. A stack of pancakes already
lay on a plate on the counter.
“Thanks
mom,” Joan purred, “It smells delicious.”
“Joan,
it's burning,” her mother said, though the voice was not her own
and it was etched with fear. “Stop it Joan, stop it!”
“JOAN!”
the second voice, Tom, shouted and Joan found herself back in the
enclosure, the silhouetted person still leaning against the far wall.
Whoever it was, they did not move away as Joan walked closer.
“Tom,
is that you?” Joan asked, still not sure who Tom was, and she
squinted through her fire trying to see more than just his basic
form.
She continued to
step closer but her fire, dimmed though it was, still prevented her
from getting a clear view. At last she was close enough that she
reached out her hand to touch him. Immediately he crumbled into a
pile of bones and dust.
An image from her
forgotten past jolted into her mind and she saw a man, Tom, curled on
the ground before her, writhing in pain as he burned within her fire.
No other memory about who Tom was came to her, just the image.
Fear and anger
gripped Joan and she burned white hot. Who was this? Was this the
real Tom? Was this someone else? From the looks of it, whoever he had
been, he'd died trying to open the door. The door had expanded and
jammed in heat before he could get the door open. The ground around
Joan began to melt along with the rest of the door.
A thunderous crack
rang out and the glass from the observation room above shattered,
sending a cascade of glass shards down onto Joan. Her fire caught
most of the shards, vaporizing them before they could reach the
ground and the rest scattered far enough away that her fire didn't
heat them too much before they tinkled to the ground. Once the last
of the glass hit the floor, Joan cleared the fire away from her face
to give her a better view of what was happening. The walls were
ablaze, the concrete was crumbling, and everything made of glass was
either shattering or else melting. High above her, the skylights of
her enclosure began to warp in the heat.
Joan screamed in joy
and shot a bolt of fire straight upward. Glass exploded and then
vaporized and the whole enclosure was filled with sunlight. For the
first time that she could remember, a warm breeze that wasn't from
her fire blew around her, blowing her hair about and stirring the
flames in the room. Ash and smoke billowed out and the fire burst
forth with renewed vigor.
“Hurry
up Joan,” her friend called after her, “or all the cute guys will
be taken.”
Joan tossed back her
head and laughed for joy, following after her friend, though she
couldn't quite remember her name.
They ran through the
close trees of the woods near their home where they'd agreed to meet
the others. They were going to have a bonfire. From the smell of
smoke in the air, Joan guessed they'd already got the fire started.
The trees grew closer and closer together until they lined the path
like walls and their boughs formed a sort of ceiling, blocking out
the starlight and moonlight.
“I
can't see where we're going,” Joan called happily to her friend who
ran in front of her.
No response and the
darkness grew more foreboding.
“Hey,
are you there?” Joan couldn't hear her friend's footsteps anymore.
Still no answer.
The darkness became
complete and the walls began to move.
“NO!”
Joan shrieked and her fire burst back into life.
The forest was gone,
replaced instead by an unfamiliar corridor. Her fire pushed the walls
back to where they belonged and Joan shivered for a time, uncertain
about what to do.
The ground shook.
Chapter 57
Another door melted
to the ground and Joan stepped over the pool of molten slag. All
around her, the corridor shone in the flicker of firelight and very
once in a while, the ground shook, making her have to steady herself
against the wall. She passed another sign pointing her toward the
exit and she hurried her steps. Whatever was causing the ground to
shake was getting stronger, and judging from the way the walls were
cracking with each tremor, she guessed they were not figments of her
imagination.
Joan reached what
she thought was the end of the hallway only to find that it turned to
the right and continued on in an equally long stretch of bare
corridor. A great shuddering boom sounded above and she broke into a
run. Behind her she heard sections of the hallway collapse and a
large plume of dust shot up after her.
The firelight danced
all around and in its shadows Joan saw all of her greatest fears.
Terrors from her time trapped inside the Heat Machine. Days, weeks,
months...Joan had no idea how much time had passed inside of that
terrible place. She yearned to blaze like she did inside the Heat
Machine, push back the shadows entirely, but she knew these walls
were not sufficiently strong to handle such a blaze.
“Joan,”
called Tom's voice from the shadows.
“Go
away,” Joan ordered the voice. She didn't have time to waste on her
hallucinations, not with the building collapsing all around her.
“Joan,
I want to come with you.”
“Like
I could stop you.”
“I
miss you Joan.”
Her vision blurred
and she realized that she was crying. As she reached up to wipe away
her tears she ran headlong into a security door. The impact was so
great that for a moment she just lay there on the floor in a daze and
it took another crash from behind to prod her back to her feet.
Pieces of ceiling continued to collapse behind her and a few pebbles
hit her on her head.
“Melt,”
Joan said as she pelted the door with her fire. “Come on.”
The door warped and
began to glow red hot but the collapsing corridor was catching up and
she began to panic. She had to burn hotter.
The walls crumbled
and the floor bubbled and still Joan burned hotter. All around her,
the air began to pop and burst as the extreme heat threatened to
ignite all of the oxygen in the air.
The ground shook and
the hallway collapsed right behind her. Joan shrieked and in a great
surge of concentration, her fire turned white hot. The door all but
vaporized, filling the air with the acrid stench of metal, and Joan
started to run.
“DON'T
LEAVE ME!” Tom screamed from behind with such anguish that Joan was
forced to stop fleeing and turn around.
There, just visible
through the shifting clouds of dust and shadows stood a man with
blonde hair. He pointed to the floor where a parcel of folded letters
lay on the floor; her fire didn't seem to have its usual effect on
the papers, though their edges were beginning to brown and crinkle.
“Please
Joan,” Tom pleaded in a quieter tone, “Don't leave me.”
Tom's plea was so
heartfelt that Joan wanted to go and take the letters and before she
knew what she was doing, she had already walked over to them and
picked one of them up. However, her instincts for self preservation
returned as another section of corridor collapsed and she scuttled
backwards on her hands and knees.
“Please,”
Tom said, and Joan was torn between what to do.
While the debate
raged furiously inside Joan's, the ceiling above her head cracked as
another quake tore through the complex. There wasn't time to think
anymore and Joan threw herself back as concrete rubble fell where
she'd been crouched moments before.
“RUN!”
Tom shouted and Joan obeyed, stuffing the single letter she'd managed
to grab into her shirt pocket.
Joan's fire burned
so hot as she ran that she hardly had to slow down for the next
security door, it melted so fast. The intense heat did nothing to
slow the collapse of the building, if anything it sped it up, but
Joan ran on, staying just ahead of the collapse.
Door after door,
turn after turn, Joan ran on while behind her the building fell,
until, all at once, she found herself standing outside in the
sunlight.
“No,”
Joan muttered. She didn't have time for another of her waking dreams.
The building was going to fall on top of her at any moment and she'd
be crushed. She smacked herself across the face, pinched her arm, and
still the corridor did not return. A loud crash behind her made her
spin around just in time to see the last remnants of the front doors
of the compound collapse.
She was out.
A light breeze blew
through her hair and, judging from the sweet flowery warmth in the
air, it was summer time. A high mound of earth had been built up all
around the compound, recently from the looks of it, and the compound
itself was in ruins. The parts of it that were still standing were
pocked and scarred. In the distance Joan could hear the distant
rumble of machinery and the occasional cracking of gunfire.
“Read
it,” Tom said, walking into view from behind her. “There isn't
much time.”
Joan withdrew the
letter that she'd saved.
However, the wind
shifted before Joan could begin reading and a very different scent
accosted her nostrils, distracting her. Smoke and sulfur tinged with
rot and decay so strong that it almost made Joan retch. A high
pitched whistle sounded behind her, growing louder. Joan looked
around, wondering what it could be until it climaxed in a thunderous
boom that shattered the far side wall of the compound. Joan covered
her ears and her fire blazed, feeding from and intensifying her fears
once more.
Another whistle and
this time Joan didn't wait around. She ran as fast as she could
toward the hill surrounding the compound.
“Read
it,” Tom said as he ran along beside her.
“Now's
not a great time, you know?” Joan informed him as a blast from
behind almost knocked Joan to the ground.
“It'll
only get worse,” Tom said. “Read it.”
Joan did the best
she could, running and trying to read the paper while at the same
time keeping a look out for debris that could trip her.
Dear Joan,
she read, I
hope this finds you well. Or at least better than last week. Things
here are going well. I got a cat...
Joan paused in both
her reading and her running. She'd read this before, but when or
where she couldn't remember.
Tom drew closer to
Joan. “Remember me.” It wasn't a question.
Joan looked at Tom,
puzzled, and then back to the letter. This was from him, she realized
but before she could question him about it another distant whistle
spurred her onward again. This time, as she ran, she gave the letter
more attention than before.
I can't think of
a good name for him. I've included a picture of him so you can help
me out. He
likes being held, but not being scratched. He'll sit on my lap for
hours, purring, as long as I don't touch him. Whenever I do try to
pet him he bats my hands away. Sometimes he'll bite if I don't stop
right away, but I can't feel it.
Something wasn't
right. Why couldn't Tom feel the cat biting him? Something in her
mind was struggling to get loose, as though the missing memory was
just out of reach, hidden in shadows.
The hill exploded
and the world fell silent as her eardrums burst.
Joan tumbled head
over heels through the air and with each revolution she saw the
apparitions from her captivity, and her memories began to unlock.
Tom was lying on the
ground burning. Tom, who had written her so many letters, who loved
her. Joan still didn't now if Tom's letters had stopped because the
postal service had stopped or if the war had reached where he lived.
Melanie stepped out
of the flame and took Joan's hand to calm her fears. Melanie had
always been there, sheltered her, even knocked Mike out to help her
escape, but her visits had long since stopped, thanks to Matt and his
false promises.
Mike stood not far
behind, surrounded by bookshelves and looking nervous but not
complaining about the fire. He'd given Joan more chances than she
deserved, considering how much Mike loved his bookstore. True, it was
in part due to Melanie's influence but he had genuinely seemed
interested in helping Joan.
“NO!”
Joan screamed as the apparitions vanished at the same moment she hit
the ground. Tom's letter had been torn apart in the explosion and
only the little piece she held between her fingers remained. Pain
arched through her like electricity and put an end to the flood of
memories as it became clear that she wouldn't be going anywhere any
time soon. In fact, given how close she was to the explosion, she
doubted she would last much longer.
Through the gap in
the hill, Joan saw an approaching army. On the far side of the ruined
compound another army crested the hill. It was obvious from their
movements and hand signals that they had seen one another, as well
as Joan. Many of them had their weapons trained on her. As they drew
closer Joan did the only thing she think of; she burned.
Fueled by her fear,
her pain, and her anger, the fire exploded outward. The soldiers on
both sides were forced backward by the heat. None of them had time to
shoot their weapons. Men screamed and then fell silent as the fire
expanded faster and faster, consuming everything within. What was
left of the compound after the shelling crumbled beneath the
unrelenting heat, the parts that could melt melted and the rest
turned to dust.
Joan made no attempt
to reign in her fire. The years of holding it back, the fear and
anger at what had been done to her, finally found focus in her fire.
“YOU
BETRAYED ME!” Joan screamed at the armies, at her family, at Matt,
and even at Judge Dervin. They all should have been the ones
protecting her, helping her, and instead they'd allowed this to
happen, allowed her to be abused and driven into madness.
The fire continued
to press outward, burning through buildings, flooding through caves,
finding every crevice and hidden bunker, purging everything in its
path. Nothing escaped. And it was accelerating. Hundreds of miles had
already been engulfed in the fire and still it sped on. Joan felt
each new thing the fire touched and she knew what each object was,
whether it was plant or beast. Everything was burned. She wondered
what would happen if or when her fire found Tom, Melanie, or Mike.
Would she recognize them? Would she spare them? What would be left to
them in a world of dust and ash? Would it be more merciful to kill
them now than to leave them to suffer and die slowly?
After another couple
of minutes the oceans began to burn as her fire raced onward in every
direction. The North and South poles lost their ice and cast enormous
clouds of steam into the air.
Joan felt colder
than usual and she wasn't sure if the gathering darkness was because
of smoke clouding over the sky or if it was just her vision dimming.
Her body shivered and shook but her pain, at least, lessened
somewhat.
Flowers made from
fire blossomed around her on the ground, waving as though in a gentle
breeze. Blades of grass followed in like manner and soon Joan lay in
a golden field. Trees burst out of the ground, reaching up toward the
sky. As a final touch, Tom, Melanie, and Mike came and sat down
beside her. Joan could feel them in her fire, though that may have
been part of the hallucination. Though it didn't appear to make any
difference to her friends, she told her fire not to burn them.
Tom stroked Joan's
hair, ignoring the sticky patches where blood and dirt had matted it.
His fingers were soft on her skin and he traced her facial features
with his other hand.
The fire finished
crossing the oceans and surged across land once more. In the places
where there was nothing to burn but sand, Joan left glassy fields of
fire flowers behind.
Melanie began to
sing a lullaby and Joan was pleased that her recent deafness did not
extend to her hallucinations. Melanie's voice was clear and delicate,
something Joan had always admired about her. In high school, their
choir teacher had complained that Melanie's voice never carried very
well, but now, in this valley of fire, it carried perfectly. Joan
nestled her head on Tom's lap as Melanie's lullaby resonated through
her body, easing the last of the pain away.
“Joan,”
Mike said, “let me tell you a story.”
And he told her of a
beautiful land of peace and calm, where no one was feared, where
doors were never locked and the lights were never dimmed. A land
where her family loved her, where her fire was never outside of her
control or hurt those that she loved.
Fire met fire and
Joan sighed in relief. The world spun in her fiery grasp, cradled and
purged of all the pain and sorrow she'd endured, but at the same time
she felt sad and empty. Joan couldn't help but to weep for the loss.
The stunning cities, the wonders of nature, the loves and joys of
humankind, untold beauties never to be seen or lived now that
everything was...gone.
“Sleep,”
Mike said, and Joan's body relaxed.
“Sleep,”
Melanie said, and Joan's eyelids grew heavy.
“Sleep,”
Tom whispered, and Joan's fire went out.
She was walking hand
in hand with Tom through a wide expanse of fire lilies. Melanie and
Mike were not far off, also hand in hand. An understanding smile
showed on each of their faces, none of them blaming her for what
she'd done, and behind them, Joan left her body, and with it all her
troubles and woes.
