“Thanks, Ellen.” He prided himself on knowing the first names of as many of his employees as possible, from executive on down to the boys in the mailroom.
He strode past her into the administrative offices, drawing a few startled glances from behind computers and desks. No one said anything. If the president of the company wanted conversation he’d let them know.
His own office was situated in the back of the building, with a fine view of city and harbor. His long-time secretary wasn’t at her desk, though it showed signs of recent occupation. In the ladies’ room or on afternoon break, he told himself. No matter.
His office was as he’d left it a few days earlier. Once seated behind the big desk, he flicked his own terminal on, calling up facts and figures and spreadsheets to review what had taken place in his absence. There was very little, just as Carlos had told him. He was relieved to see that nothing untoward had occurred in this reality while he’d been racing wildly through several others. Figures were constants everywhere. They never panicked the way people did.
The refrigerator beneath the bar yielded a cold seltzer. As he sipped straight from the bottle the intercom buzzed for attention.
“Yes?”
“Mr. Sonderberg? What are you doing back?”
“It’s okay, Nina. We cut it a little short.”
“I’m sorry, sir.” His secretary’s voice sounded slightly hollow over the intercom’s speakerphone. “You were so looking forward to it.”
“We just decided we’d be better off taking it easy at home. Is there anything I should look at while I’m here? I’m going back home in a few minutes.”
“Well—there are some papers…” She rattled off a string of comfortingly familiar names.
“Bring ’em in.” As long as he was in the office he might as well do some work. Alicia often told him it was impossible for him to relax anymore, that he’d forgotten how to take it easy. Her scolding troubled him because he knew she was right, but when you’re running a business with thousands of employees and millions in daily transactions you just can’t write it out of your thoughts.
Another ten years and he’d retire, quit with more money that he’d ever be able to spend. Then maybe they’d take that round-the-world cruise Alicia was always talking about. He’d show her how to relax!
Nina entered, a sheaf of paper in one hand. She was every inch the model executive secretary, confident enough in her ability to let her hair turn gray where the auburn was beginning to age. She wore a brown business suit, a white ruffled blouse, and another of those antique brooches she collected.
“I can’t say that I’m sorry to see you back, sir.”
“Don’t give it another thought, Nina. We just cut everything short.”
“I’m sure I don’t know why, but that’s your business, of course.” She laid the papers on the table before him.
He was still studying the readout on the amber screen. Not wanting her to think he was ignoring her, he looked up to give her a parting smile.
And froze.
Every drop of blood in his body went as cold as the ice piled inside the executive bar. His secretary of nine years smiled back at him. Nina, Mrs. Defly, his efficient intermediary between this office and the cacophony of the outside world, smiled back at him.
Her eyes were lizardlike slits set against light red pupils.
“I have to go downstairs for a minute, Mr. Sonderberg. I’ll be back soon if you need me.” She hissed distinctly and a long, thin tongue emerged briefly from between her lips. It was at least eight inches long and forked at the tip.
Frank stared at the door after she’d exited, unable to move, cold sweat gluing his shirt to his back. He’d seen it, no doubt about it. By now he was an expert on the difference between what was real and what imaginary. He told himself it was a freak moment, a tiny final nick in the fabric of existence and nothing more.
Slowly, very slowly, he swiveled his chair and stared out the tall glass windows. Had it grown darker outside since last he’d looked? Difficult to say since the tinted glass deliberately muted the sometimes harsh Southern California sun. Was it muting reality, as well?
It still looked abnormally dark outside. The sky was cloudless. He turned resolutely back to the computer screen.
Gone were the neat rows of words and figures, the reports from cities with difficult diphthongs in their names, the charts and graphs. The amber screen was filled with crawling things. They looked like little green bugs and they were cannibalizing themselves.
He did not think of madness. He did not think of insects. Chaos, he thought.
With both hands on the edge of the desk he shoved his chair away. Tiny yellow squirmy shapes were emerging from the screen, which flowed like amber gelatin. They humped and twisted around the edges of the plastic. Handfuls of them spilled onto his desk, began gnawing at the wood and plastic. Bright yellow worms burrowed rapidly into the structure.
The bottom of the computer cracked open and the machine fell on its side. Smoke began to rise from the jump cables in back. Frank threw up his hands to shield his face as the electronic innards blew.
When he looked back there was only a plastic box with a gaping hole where the screen had been. Black smoke and yellow worms poured out of the opening. Keeping a wary eye on the ravenous burrowers, he abandoned the chair and moved to the far wall where the auxiliary phone was mounted. It was definitely too dark outside now. He punched in the number for building security.
Laughter instead of the musical acknowledgment of Touch-Tone dialing filled his ear. It was inhuman and insane. Then a click followed by a recording of a female voice:
“When you hear the tone, the world will have come to an end.”
More laughter. He dropped the receiver, letting it bounce against the wall. Red worms began oozing from the handset and smoke from the housing.
“It’s here,” he mumbled dazedly to himself. “In Los Angeles. The Anarchis.”
Maybe not. Maybe it was just the turn of this reality to come apart as the threads of its existence started to unravel. His reality was twisting, snapping all around him. He fancied he could hear it groan. Screams and shouts and other less pleasant, less human voices were coming from the outer offices. He ran to the door and flung it wide.
Madness had advanced further and faster here. High-pitched yowls and inhuman gruntings rose above the noise of broken terminals and whining phones. Overwhelmed ceiling sprinklers deluged the whole floor with tepid water.
The inhabitants of the building were no longer recognizable. Some had grown enormous chests or bellies and had split their clothing. Others sported horns or long curving fangs protruding from prognathous jaws. Very few looked passably human.
They were doing battle with one another and with the machines. Guts and intestines exploded from computer terminals. Wires and conduits flailed wildly, searching for something soft to grasp, suckers pimpling their formerly smooth surfaces. Blood and black slime covered the floor, making footing uncertain as he stumbled blankly toward the hallway.
Two abominations that had once been human crashed past him, locked in each other’s grasp, tearing and ripping. They snapped at each other with sharp teeth an inch long.
Frank had to duck behind a still-intact desk as they tumbled by, torn by their own frantic, demonic energy. He didn’t see the ugly yellow eye staring at him. Once it had been the innocuous faceplate of a calculator readout. Now it turned with a malevolent sentience. Black, rubbery conduits rose and reached for him. He sensed movement and threw himself aside as they smashed the desk to splinters in a violent, spasmodic attempt to clutch and rend.
