The Aberration Read Online Free PDF

gleamed coldly as he snatched the pistol back. “I’m not crazy, Mike.  In a few minutes you might wish that I were.” 
    He holstered the .38 and shouldered the shotgun.  “Ok, let’s go.” 
     

 
    10

Atypical Visitations
     
    The roar of the mill was almost mocking.  It ran smoothly, uninterrupted in its concert of fine-tuned efficiency.  Guy almost laughed out loud.  No, it wasn’t the machines that needed attention.   It was the people who broke down, victims of minds etched with the rust and wear of fear and trepidation.  
    Michael trailed behind like a lost child following a policeman.  Guy had thought Mike to be different, but in the end he was like the others.  Unable to function once removed from their comfort zone.
    They crossed the ground floor where the detachers spun the flour, broke it down to finer particles.  Silhouetted spouting crisscrossed the room like metallic webbing.
    “Want me to turn the lights on?”
    Guy shook his head.  “It’ll give away our position.”  He set the duffel bag down and peered through the narrow window in the doorway.  Visibility was extinct; the rain fell so hard that he could barely see the stairwell two feet away.  Anything could be out there, and they wouldn’t know it until it was on top of them.
    He opened the door.
    Heavy rain spattered them and water flooded across the door line into the mill.  They were instantly soaked as they hesitantly stepped out of the protective confines of the mill like tottering children taking their first steps.  The roar of the storm was almost deafening. 
    He held the shotgun ready.  Rushing water streamed over the tops of their shoes as they quickly looked around.  Nothing was visible except the deluge.
    “Where are the cops?”
    “Must have pulled out.  Nothing they can do in the rain.”
    Michael shuddered.  It could have been from the cold downpour.  “I don’t see how we can drive out of here. The streets have got to be completely flooded.”  
    A movement from the corner of Guy’s eye caused him to turn. 
    A disheveled raven was perched on the stair railing.  It glistened from the water on its onyx feathers.  The unblinking gaze was directed away from Guy, into the storm. 
    In the depths, something appeared to move.
    “Mike.”
    Indistinct shapes emerged slowly, taking form as silhouetted figures.  Human figures, but…  Guy squinted. 
    “It’s… other people, Guy!  Maybe they got lost in the fog…”  Michael’s voice trailed off.  Guy knew he felt it too. 
    The wrongness.
    The figures definitely appeared to be human; men and women who approached in a silent, unperturbed manner.  Their clothes were drab and dark, saturated with water. 
    The raven gave a harsh caw and soared upward in an explosion of feathers.  Michael did not appear to notice as he took a wary step backward. 
    “I don’t think…”
    It was their movement that convinced Guy.  They did not walk; they simply… glided, as though they were sails of flesh pushed along by an uneven breeze, or puppets hoisted carelessly with their feet dragged across the ground.  And their faces… their faces were indistinct, shaded by wide-brimmed hats that they did not wear.
    “Get back in the mill, Mike.”
    The spoken words broke the spell; their legs were resurrected to action.  As they moved, he became aware of the Others increasing their pace.  They skated forward with an undisguised eagerness that felt like… hunger.
    “Door’s locked!”  Michael’s voice cracked under the strain of top-heavy panic.
    “It’s always locked –put in your code!”
    Michael’s fingers were dysfunctional sausages, pounding the numerical buttons in dazed stupefaction.  The Others flew toward them, hands outstretched; Guy could hear their silent panting crawl like caterpillars in his ears. 
    He shoved Michael aside and punched in his code.
    As soon as the door cracked open, they slipped in and slammed it shut it again.  The