They staggered out of the alley.

  They reached their bikes in the deserted square.

  Tony mounted his saddle. His fingers couldn't close properly around the rubber grips; they were shaking too much, wracked by involuntary spasms running up to his elbows.

  Cristy looked at him, then cast a terrified glance at the darkness of the Majestic.

  ?Alex, however, didn't.

  Alex pushed off on the pedals with a violence that made the chain scream.

  He didn't look like someone who had been dead ten minutes ago. He pedaled with mechanical fury, back straight, ignoring the beginning of the freezing rain lashing his face and the dried blood staining his neck. He sped ahead, a silhouette too fast, too reactive to be human.

  Cristy watched him pull away and felt a knot of terror. It wasn't relief. It was the feeling that something was deeply wrong.

  ?"Let's go to Buddy's," Tony wheezed, pushing on his pedals to keep up. "There are people there. We need to be around people."

  ?Entering the Purple Shake was a sensory assault.

  The hateful clang of the bell, the wall of heat smelling of grease and burnt coffee.

  After the chemical cold of the cinema, that normalcy was obscene.

  Tony had to grab the doorframe with both hands to keep from falling forward. The black and white checkered floor seemed to tilt dangerously beneath his feet.

  ?Buddy was on the phone behind the counter. He laughed at a joke.

  Then he looked up.

  The laughter was cut clean. The phone slipped from his shoulder.

  Buddy lifted the swing gate violently and came out into the dining area. He planted himself in front of them.

  He was pale.

  ?"Jesus Christ," he hissed.

  ?Buddy didn't look at the bikes. His gaze nailed onto a single detail.

  The trail of black, crusted blood running from Alex's left ear and disappearing under his jacket collar.

  ?"Buddy, listen..." Tony started. His voice was a thread of air. "We fell..."

  ?"Shut your damn mouth, Anthony."

  Buddy's voice was low. He grabbed Tony's chin, turning his face toward the light.

  "You're freezing. You have the skin of a corpse. And you..." He turned to Alex, almost with fear. "Your ear is bleeding, kid. And you're not even blinking. Bikes don't do this."

  ?Silence swelled in the diner.

  "Table seven," Buddy ordered. "Sit. Now. Before I call an ambulance."

  ?He pushed them into the back booth, hiding them.

  "Don't move. I'm bringing sugar. You're in shock."

  He marched toward the kitchen with shaking hands.

  ?Table seven was a bunker with purple leather seats.

  Tony slumped down, resting his head against the wall. He tried to speak, but his tongue was heavy, thick. He felt his heart beating slowly, with pauses too long between one beat and the next.

  Cristy sat opposite Alex. She started pulling a loose thread from his hoodie sleeve—a nervous, useless, continuous gesture.

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  Alex didn't look tired. He drummed his fingers on the table with a frantic, syncopated rhythm.

  "Alex," she whispered. "Your ear... does it hurt?"

  ?Alex touched the blood crust. He looked at his dirty fingers as if they didn't belong to him.

  "No," he said. Voice flat, accelerated. "This side is deaf. But the other side... I hear everything."

  His eyes darted toward the kitchen, then the entrance.

  "It's all... loud. I hear the fridge compressor. I hear the neon frying. I hear your heart, Cristy. It's going too fast."

  ?Cristy stopped pulling the thread. She shrank back against the seat. "How can you be okay? You were dead, Alex. You weren't breathing."

  She looked at Tony. "What did you do to him?"

  ?Tony stared at his right hand. It felt distant, belonging to someone else.

  "I don't know," he murmured. "I just... shared."

  He closed his eyes for an instant, overwhelmed by weakness. "I feel empty."

  ?Buddy returned.

  The tray shook when he set it on the table. Three double burgers. Three milkshakes.

  Tony looked at the food and felt nausea rise.

  Alex, instead, pounced on the burger. He grabbed it with two hands and tore off a huge bite, chewing with mechanical, almost violent voracity.

  Buddy froze as he pulled up a chair. He watched Alex eat as if he hadn't seen food in weeks. He looked away, uncomfortable.

  ?He straddled the chair, blocking the exit.

  "Alright," he said. "You ate. Now the truth. And don't try the bike story. I want to know who did this to you."

  ?Tony watched Alex finish the milkshake in one gulp, the straw scratching on empty plastic.

  "Buddy," Tony said weakly. "If we tell you... you'll call the sheriff."

  ?"Try me," Buddy said, hard. "I've seen it all in thirty years. Nothing scares me. But I can't help you if I don't know what you're running from."

  ?Tony looked at Alex. Alex nodded, a jerky movement.

  "They attacked us," Tony said. "At the Majestic."

  ?Buddy frowned. "The Majestic? It's been closed for years. Who attacked you? Squatters?"

  ?"No," Alex intervened. He wiped his mouth. His eyes shone with feverish light. "Not squatters. It was... a light. A frequency."

  ?Buddy looked at them. He was looking for drugs. He found only terror.

  "A frequency," he repeated, skeptical.

  ?"It tried to kill us," Cristy continued, voice breaking. "It hit Alex. He fell. He was dead, Buddy. His heart stopped."

  She pointed at Tony.

  "He... he did something. With a stone we found. He put it in his hand and... Alex got up."

  ?Buddy remained silent. He stared at Tony, destroyed, hollowed out. Then he looked at the unnatural energy vibrating under Alex's skin.

  He ran a hand over his face.

  "Kids," he said quietly. "You need a doctor. Not me. If Alex had cardiac arrest..."

  ?"We can't go to the hospital!" Tony interrupted with a shred of desperate strength. "If they see how Alex is... they'll ask questions. And TerraCore will come."

  ?Buddy stiffened in his chair. That name weighed a ton.

  "TerraCore?" he muttered. "What do they have to do with this?"

  ?"They're looking for what we found," Alex said. "They're looking for the source."

  ?Before Buddy could answer, the door bell rang.

  A sharp chime.

  Cold entered the diner.

  ?Sheriff Tom Hollis stood in the doorway.

  Massive build, uniform tight over his belly, small eyes scanning the room like radar.

  Hollis didn't enter a room. He searched it.

  ?Tony held his breath. If Hollis took three steps, he'd see the blood on Alex.

  Cristy knocked her glass with her elbow but caught it before it fell.

  Buddy understood instantly.

  He shot up, blocking the view.

  "Don't look at him," he hissed. "Kitchen. Now. Backroom. Silence."

  ?Buddy pasted on a fake smile and advanced toward the center of the room.

  "Tom! Thought you were patrolling the pier."

  ?Hollis looked away from the dark corner. He didn't smile.

  "Coffee, Buddy," he said with a gravel voice. "Black. And no jokes."

  ?While Buddy occupied the sheriff, Tony, Alex, and Cristy slipped away like shadows through the swinging kitchen door.

  They hid in the back, among soda crates, pressed against the fridge's hum.

  Tony slid to the floor against the cold metal.

  Alex remained standing. Vibrating. Staring at the door as if seeing through the wood. They were in the same square meter, but seemed to belong to two different species.

  ?From the other side, voices came clear.

  "You look like you've been through hell, Tom," Buddy said.

  ?"Hell is a quiet place compared to tonight," Hollis replied. "I assume you heard about Grant."

  "I heard," Buddy murmured. "A tragedy."

  ?Hollis laughed, dryly.

  "A tragedy that stinks, Collins. Stinks of old things. Reminds me of certain nights thirty years ago. When you weren't serving burgers, but doing... well, what you did."

  ?"That's another life, Tom. I'm clean."

  ?"No one is clean in Stonemouth," Hollis shot back.

  The radio on his belt exploded in static.

  ?"Dispatch to Sheriff Hollis. Code 11-99. Emergency."

  ?The air in the diner changed. Hollis snapped to attention.

  "Hollis. Go ahead."

  ?The voice from the radio was charged with horror.

  "Patrol three reports body recovery. North woods sector, school perimeter. Young male. Unidentified."

  ?In the backroom, Cristy pressed her fist against her mouth.

  Another one.

  ?"Details?" Hollis barked.

  ?"Like the other one, Sheriff. No external marks. Eardrums exploded. Massive hemorrhage."

  ?Hollis said nothing else. He marched out.

  The door slammed. The siren exploded into the night, fading away.

  ?Seconds later, Buddy entered the kitchen.

  He was gray in the face. He had lost every trace of skepticism.

  "Did you hear?" he whispered.

  ?Tony nodded.

  Alex turned to them. His electric eyes shone in the dark.

  ?Outside, thunder shook the walls.

  The sky broke. A wall of water collapsed.

  A black storm hit the city, isolating the diner in darkness.

  Tony looked at his friends. Alex electric, changed. Cristy terrified. And himself, emptied.

  It wasn't over.

  The nightmare had just left the cinema.

  Author’s Note ??