Mirrorworld Book 3: Stormwalker

By Ethan Somerville

Ric Storm and his family manage to escape the chaos that engulfed Sydney and flee to Melbourne. But then, just as Ric is settling into a new life, he feels compelled to step through a swirling portal that mysteriously appeared on the lounge room wall.

On the Magick Earth, the Queen of England calls on Raven - now knighted as "Sir Robin Frazer", to lead an expedition into the dark heart of India to combat the rising threat caused by the Thuggee - worshippers of the death-goddess Kali. He is accompanied by his new squire, a handsome youth named Nathaniel.

In Science Earth New York, Bobby and Jeanne are enjoying an evening stroll when an Eidolon portal suddenly appears nearby. Wanting to return to the world of adventure he loved so much. Bobby grabs Jeanne and jumps through. But before the furious Jeanne can chastise Bobby for his impulsiveness, they spot a horribly familiar figure who flees at the sight of them.

Has Stormwalker really returned? Bobby and Jeanne can't take any chances, and sail to England to warn Raven. Unfortunately the mercenary has already left on his mission, and they must pursue him half-way across the world to the subcontinent.

However the Thuggee Cult is far more insidious than first thought, and has started to infiltrate the cities and towns. Its origins like deep underground, within a complex network of caves that thread through the entire Magick Earth. To defeat the cult will not only require Raven and his team, but Bobby and Jeanne - and a mysterious duo driven by Destiny itself.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Storm Publishing
• Release date: Jul 25, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310141454

Ethan Somerville

Ethan Somerville is a prolific Australian author with over 20 books published, and many more to come. These novels cover many different genres, including romance, historical, children's and young adult fiction. However Ethan's favourite genres have always been science fiction and fantasy. Ethan has also collaborated with other Australian authors and artists, including Max Kenny, Emma Daniels, Anthony Newton, Colin Forest, Tanya Nicholls and Carter Rydyr.

Book preview

Mirrorworld Book 3

Stormwalker

By

Ethan Somerville

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SMASHWORDS EDITION

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PUBLISHED BY:

Storm Publishing on Smashwords

Mirrorworld Book 3 – Stormwalker

Copyright © 2012/2017 by Ethan Somerville

www.stormpublishing.net

Smashwords Edition License Notes

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Chapter 1

Storms in the South

Ric Storm sat on the lounge with his two year old son, Todd, slumbering against his left hip. It was four o’clock in the morning, but the muscular blonde man dressed in sloppy Joe and jeans couldn’t sleep, his insides boiling with worry. All his life Ric had prided himself on not having to rely on others, and it had taken him months to accept a young woman’s aid.

But now he felt as helpless as the tiny blonde child curled up beside him. He sighed and rested his head against the back of the lounge. Closing his eyes, he thought about how nice it would be to fall asleep and dream that everything was all right.

Ricky?

He jumped, heart pounding. Sometimes his wife could be as light-footed as a cat.

I’m sorry - did I wake you? she asked gently. Clad in a silky, figure-hugging nightdress, she stood with her hands clasped in front of her belly. Her platinum-blonde hair hung in tangles over her shoulders and her face was set in a strained mask.

No. He rubbed a broad hand across his fuzzy crew-cut. I haven’t slept yet. I can’t.

I can’t either. As she sat down on his right, he slipped a brawny, tattooed arm around her shoulders. She seemed to melt into his side, soft, warm and comforting. The noises outside scare me.

During the second night of darkness the pillaging had begun in earnest. Shrieks of terror and whoops of exultation reached the Storms’ ears, accompanied by the discordant song of breaking glass.

What if those vandals decide to invade our house? Kerry continued. Her jewel-like tears reflected the glow of the candles on the glass-topped coffee-table.

Don’t worry. Ric Storm touched a wickedly sharp carving-knife lying beside the candles. I’ll protect you.

But they could have guns!

Ric sighed. He knew how to use a gun - he’d fired a number of illegal small-arms during his misspent youth. Unfortunately he didn’t possess one now. He’d tried to obtain a shooter’s licence several times, but his criminal record had always prevented him. If only I had that psycho’s crossbow, he thought darkly.

He pulled Kerry close, hoping his presence was comforting her. However each time a new scream or crash tore the night apart she stiffened, gaze straying to the front door. Little Todd stirred in his sleep, too young to realise the enormity of the situation.

What had begun as a simple blackout a day and a half earlier now appeared to be a universal power failure. Outside the Storms’ townhouse, Chester Hill Road lay in darkness. The only light come from the dancing torches of exultant looters who’d thrown away all pretence at civilisation. Ric suppressed a shiver of fear. Just because he used to be a tough street kid didn’t mean he knew how to handle thirty-six hours of blackness.

What are we going to do? Kerry whispered as she burrowed into his shoulder. Ric caught the musky scent of her fear. He had always had a keen sense of smell, and although it helped more than hindered, its potency often unnerved him.

They have to restore power soon. This can’t go on forever. Although he knew it wouldn’t achieve anything, he switched on a battery-powered radio. Static greeted his ears. He flicked it off in disgust.

Everything’s still dead!

Todd whimpered.

Shhh, Ric lifted a finger to his lips. The candles shivered. Please calm down, Kerry. Hysteria won’t help our situation. He ran gentle fingers through Todd’s curly blonde hair, soothing the toddler back to sleep.

Kerry jumped up and started to pace the room, raking at her own untidy hair. Still fondling his son’s curls Ric watched her, mulling over the recent past. He could understand her distress. Lately things had not been going well.

The trouble started when Ric was almost knifed by a big, black-haired man with a savage scar running down his face. This leather-clad psychotic had told the police he attacked Ric because he’d thought the blonde man was making love to his girlfriend.

After the nut was let off with a fine and good behaviour bond, Ric had to convince Kerry that there was no other woman. He found her lack of faith in him disturbing, and was glad he’d glossed over his previous sexual exploits.

For years Ric had been sexually insatiable, seizing every opportunity. He had passionate encounters with both sexes, wanting to experience as much pleasure as possible. But as soon as he acquired a respectable job he vowed to settle down, and since marrying Kerry only his thoughts had strayed.

As Ric was waiting for things to calm down the mysterious Stormkiller struck a third time. He butchered Mary Prynne in her own back yard, letting young Kelly Prynne witness his escape. She gave the police an accurate description of him, and they pieced together an identikit picture.

When Ric saw it appear on the evening news, he swore out loud in disbelief. The impassive face staring at him could have been his own. The only differences were the Stormkiller’s lightning-bolt tattoo, earrings and braided Mohawk.

The next day Ric found himself in police custody answering questions; the locals hadn’t wasted any time in reporting him. Mary’s girl picked him in a line up, and for a while he honestly thought he was going to gaol. Fortunately he had excellent alibis for the murder-dates, and managed to convince the police that he wasn’t the culprit. They had no other choice but to release him.

Now this has to happen, he thought, staring bleakly out at the dark street. I should be the hysterical one! I was beaten up by a psycho, chucked in gaol for looking like a psycho - and if I didn’t have Kerry, right now I would probably be a psycho!

In fact I would probably be a part of those groups rampaging through the streets outside, breaking into people’s houses. He stroked Todd’s hair again, trying not to imagine a party of wild-eyed looters charging through the front door waving their guns and knives. Oh, to be as old as my son and not have to worry about any of this!

Kerry stopped beside the breakfast bar and scooped up the phone. Ric opened his mouth to tell her it was futile when she spun around. The phones are working! she cried.

Hope leapt into Ric’s heart. Who are you going to call? Gently he shifted Todd and got up.

My parents. Maybe they know what’s going on. Her fingers shook so much she had to punch in the Melbourne number three times. Running a hand across his furry scalp, Ric joined her so he could listen in.

Kerry waited, breaths catching in her throat. After the third ring, the receiver was picked up. Hello? Kerry’s father queried in a high, nervous voice. At four in the morning he should have sounded sleepy.

Dad - it’s me, Kerry!

Thank God! I’ve been so worried about you! Are you all right?

Yes, for the moment. Do you know what’s going on? We’ve been blacked out for thirty-six hours, and the phones have only just come back on line!

Mr Wilson didn’t answer straight away. Both Kerry and Ric held their breath. I don’t know how to put this, he began softly.

What?

He sighed, searching for words. Two days ago, within hours of each other, all seven coal-burning power-stations in New South Wales... decided to break down.

‘Decided to break down’? Kerry parroted. What do you mean by that?

Malfunction - stop working. At the moment no-one knows what really happened to them.

Sweet Jesus. So what does this mean?

Basically your entire state is blacked out, and probably will be for a considerable while.

Holy shit, Ric swore.

Is that Ricky I hear? Mr Wilson asked.

Yes.

And is Todd with you?

Yes - he’s asleep on the lounge.

Thank God you’re all together. Mr Wilson took another deep breath, steeling himself for an unpleasant task. Even though army troops from all over the country have been mobilised and sent into New South Wales to try and restore order, they can’t hope to control all the criminal activity.

As though on cue, a window broke somewhere down the street, far too close for comfort. Drunken youths howled with delight. Kerry winced visibly.

Some places have electricity, her father continued. Hospitals, telephone exchanges and emergency services. But this comes from generators and might not last. His voice broke. I - I can’t begin to speculate on what will happen if the blackout continues too much longer.

Ric’s imaginative mind filled with images of a post-apocalyptic police-state with heavily armed factions facing off across smoking ruins.

People are packing up all of their belongings and leaving their homes in droves, Kerry’s father continued.

Then that’s what we have to do, Ric declared, the plan already forming in his mind. As though to reinforce his decision, a gunshot tore through the night. Someone screamed.

But we can’t leave everything to the looters! Kerry exclaimed.

Better to be out of the house when they arrive. And they will come, Ric asserted.

You should find somewhere safe to hide until this blows over, Mr Wilson told them firmly. Don’t try anything foolish. During situations like this people turn into animals. Keep away from them.

Kerry dragged an arm across her tearful face. Of course. I - I love you Daddy.

I love you too, darling, he answered, his voice also broken. Put Ric on.

Kerry obeyed.

To Ric, Mr Wilson spoke with his usual condescension. Promise me that you’ll take care of my little girl and grandson.

Yes sir, he answered dutifully.

Call me in a few hours, all right?

We’ll try. Ric hung up and turned to Kerry. He’s right - we have to leave. Start getting some clothes together - I’m going to load our valuables into the car.

Where are we going?

Melbourne.

Kerry paled. Melbourne? But Dad told us to find somewhere safe!

"Melbourne is safe."

But it’s so far away!

Then we’ll just have to take turns driving. He began unplugging the TV.

But we can’t!

Ric looked up. Why not?

Well, for a start we don’t have nearly enough petrol!

If we can’t find any working pumps, we’ll just have to siphon fuel out of other cars.

And if we meet criminals along the way?

Ric had an idea. Don’t worry - I’ll take care of them. Now please - we have to hurry!

Gulping, the young woman hurried off, and Ric resumed work. Lucky we don’t have many valuables, and a big station-wagon, he thought. Outside, more sounds of chaos reached his ears. What will this city be like after a week without power? he wondered. Will it really turn into a war-zone?

Into the Subaru Ric packed tools, petrol-can, TV, laptop, esky full of food - and three duffel bags loaded with clothes and personals. Then he scooped Todd up off the lounge and buckled him into his baby-seat. Mercifully, after a couple of whines, the little boy nodded back to sleep.

Are you ready? Ric asked his wife.

She looked around the lounge-room, and Ric noticed the direction of her stare; the new lounge, glass coffee-table and pine wall-unit. I don’t want to leave these things either. But right now our lives are more important. He cupped her face in his large hands, looking deeply into her soft eyes.

She nodded. He kissed her, pulling her into his strong embrace. She trembled, and then slipped her own arms around his neck. Even in this time of stress his desire for her grew, becoming a burning fire in his blood. He kissed her again. Kerry hurriedly disentangled himself. I have to lock up, she murmured, not meeting his gaze.

It won’t do much good, but go ahead. Ric headed for the garage. She reappeared a few minutes later, clutching a small velvet box containing gold jewellery.

I almost forgot my wedding ring. She slid into the driver’s side. How much petrol do we have? She pulled her door closed.

Almost a full tank, and ten litres in the can. He started the Subaru’s engine. As they backed out of the garage, a gang of youths fifty metres away started drunkenly towards them, waving broken beer-bottles. One levelled a pistol.

"Oh my God!" Kerry gasped in horror.

Ric floored the accelerator, leaving a pair of tyre-marks. As the shot rang out he spun the steering-wheel, screeching onto Chester Hill Road and towards the highway. Ric had learned to drive at the age of ten in a stolen mini. Since then he had participated in numerous car-thefts and chases, honing his driving skills. At sixteen when he went for his licence, he passed the test first time.

Kerry couldn’t believe her senses, and was actually more indignant than scared. "That creep shot at us!"

The car’s erratic movements woke Todd, and he began to cry. Kerry tried to soothe him as Ric negotiated abandoned cars, some thoroughly looted and burnt out. The Twin Willows pub had been ransacked, and the Subaru’s high beams outlined dark figures, sprinting away with boxes tucked under their arms.

It makes you realise just how thin our veneer of civilisation is, Ric muttered, more to himself than Kerry. Over Todd’s wails she couldn’t hear him anyway.

The cars clogging the Hume Highway increased as they headed west, so Ric turned up Miller Road. We’ll have to take back streets, he told Kerry over the sound of their son’s anguished wails. I want to visit an old friend anyway.

An old friend? Who?

Someone who might be able to help.

Miller Road was relatively free of vehicles, but up ahead the Storms could see a flickering glow illuminating the predawn sky. As soon as Kerry managed to calm Todd, she exclaimed; What’s that?

It looks like a fire. Pyromaniacs must be in Heaven right now, Ric thought darkly. I wonder how many more fires are in the process of decimating Sydney?

As they headed towards the light they noticed dancing flames, burning out of control, and columns of thick, black smoke soaring up into the sky. Several houses blazed a couple of streets away, and distant cries of despair clawed through the night.

Kerry clapped a hand over her mouth. This is horrible! Is there anything we can do?

Ric shook his head. His harsh youth had taught him to look out for number one.

Kerry stared bleakly out of her window. We should at least help!

How? Stand with them watching their houses burn? We’re not a bloody fire truck!

Kerry slumped in her seat. Her philanthropic attitude was noble, but it showed Ric that she’d never had to fight for her life before. I’m sorry, he muttered. I didn’t mean to growl at you. Try to get some sleep - you’ll need to drive in a couple of hours.

She nodded, still hurt, and pulled a pillow down from the back.

As they continued west through the backstreets of Villawood and Cabramatta, Kerry slipped into an uneasy doze. Unfortunately she was startled awake only a few minutes later, when a young man darted into the middle of the road and tried to stop them. You’ve got to help me! he screamed. My wife’s been hurt! Please!

Oh no- Kerry began.

But instead of slowing, Ric twisted the wheel, screeching around the ragged, wide-eyed individual. He tried to jump onto the bonnet but missed. Kerry screamed.

"Fucking bastard!" he shrieked after them. A couple of bullets drilled though the back tray door, splintering something wooden. Kerry yelped again.

How come the moment something bad happens, everyone suddenly has guns? Ric muttered to himself. He turned to his white-faced wife. Now aren’t you glad we didn’t stop?

Todd started to whimper again, and Kerry joined in. I d-don’t think I c-can take much more of this, Ric! Tears streamed down her cheeks. Let’s just find somewhere to hide for a couple of days - please?

Until the power comes back, nowhere is safe. We’ll always be worrying about strange noises in the night. No, we’re going all the way to Melbourne. Now relax - we’re almost at my friend’s place.

Who is this friend of yours, anyway?

His name’s Ben McIntyre, and we used to be best mates a few years back. He owes me a couple of favours.

And exactly how is he going to help us?

By giving us protection. Ric didn’t elaborate; he knew she would never agree with his idea. But at the moment it was their only option. He pulled into the dark driveway of a rundown suburban house. You stay here and lock all the doors. I won’t be long.

Kerry didn’t like that idea one bit. Uh-

Just do it. Ric was in no mood for arguments. Scooping up his leather jacket he climbed out of the station-wagon, pushed the door closed, and headed for the house’s front door. I hope Ben doesn’t mistake me for a looter and blow me away, he thought as he stopped in front of the security screen. He lifted a finger to press the doorbell, realised he was being silly, and knocked.

He didn’t receive an answer.

He knocked three more times. Ben? he called after a moment of silence. It’s me - Ric Storm! Can I come in? Finally detecting faint sounds of movement, he pulled the flyscreen open. Locks clunked, and the front door creaked in six inches, held secure by a thick chain. Ric found himself looking into the barrel of a semi-automatic pistol, pointed directly at his face. He couldn’t see its owner, and had no idea who was talking to. Nervously he licked his lips. Ben McIntyre?

Who wants to know? a deep voice growled.

Ric Storm!

Ric? The gun didn’t waver. Wait a minute - I remember you now! But the gruff voice didn’t soften. Whadda you want?

Well, remember how I helped you shift some merchandise a couple of years back, and you swore you’d repay me one day?

Er ... yeah, came the dubious reply.

Well - it’s one day!

Ben sighed and lifted the chain. Okay. Still covering Ric with his gun, he pulled the door wide. Ric stepped into a musty-smelling hall, dimly lit by a single oil-lamp. In the half-light, Ben was a stocky shape with wiry hair. So what can I do for you?

Ric had never been one to beat around the bush. Give me a couple of your guns. I need to get to Melbourne with my wife and son, and I don’t want any trouble along the way.

To Ric’s relief, Ben finally lowered his pistol. Shit - you’re askin’ a bit much, aren’t you? At the moment I need all my guns to protect myself!

Come on Ben - you could outfit an entire regiment with all the weapons you own! Surely you can spare a couple for the guy who saved your arse four years ago?

Okay. Come on. Shoving his gun into a pocket, Ben turned and lumbered down the hall, collecting his oil-lamp along the way. Finally able to see his old friend’s face, Ric noticed wrinkles, pouches and receding hair; at thirty five Ben was only three years older than him. Instead he looked fifty.

Ben led Ric into a cluttered study and unlocked his gun-safe. All kinds of polished rifles and pistols were revealed. Nice cache. A real supermarket.

Smartarse. So what kind of weapons do you want?

Have you got any submachine guns?

Ben snorted. Not since I started going respectable.

Then one rifle and one handgun ought to do it.

Ben searched for a few minutes, then lifted out a 9 millimetre Beretta, and a Sako 223. How about these? He handed them over.

Ric examined them. Yes. I hope to Christ I don’t have to use them. You got some ammo?

Ben gave him a couple of boxes. Anything else?

Ric grinned. No - I think these will do nicely. Thanks.

No worries. Ben patted him on a shoulder. If things ever return to normal, I’d really like them back, okay?

Sure. Ric loaded the Beretta and secreted it in a jacket pocket. Then he loaded the rifle and wrapped it in a towel. He didn’t want Kerry to see him carrying it out. Thanks again.

Ben flipped a pudgy hand, indicating no more embarrassing gratitude was required. Okay.

Ric departed, rifle under one arm. Outside, dawn was starting to brighten the eastern horizon. The city looked strange, so dark and lifeless. Ric stopped, detecting faraway sounds of destruction; screams, crashes, screeching tyres. He heard a helicopter and looked up to see a Jet Ranger plough across the sky, following its bright searchlights. How much longer will this go on for? he wondered as he unlocked the Subaru’s driver-side door. Why haven’t they fixed the power-stations yet?

He slid the towel-wrapped gun and boxes of ammunition into the back and dropped into his seat. Are you okay, Kerry? he asked.

His wife looked up. Yes. What did you get?

I hope you won’t have to find out.

She continued to question, but Ric refused to explain. Please let us get to Melbourne without bloodshed, he prayed as he started the Subaru’s engine.

Because the blackout had occurred during the mid afternoon, at the beginning of peak hour, the Great Western Highway was choked with abandoned vehicles.

Maybe we should swap cars, Kerry mused. Some of these are bigger and better than ours.

Ric jumped; he hadn’t expected her to make such a suggestion. Yes. But we’ll have to find one that isn’t gridlocked and still has petrol in the tank... Why doesn’t anyone abandon Ferraris or Jaguars during times like these?

Kerry giggled, feeling better than she had for hours. Wow - look at that Honda Prelude!

Too small.

How about that spaceship looking thing?

The black Tarago? I don’t think I can get it out from between those other cars. They continued for another half-hour, then Ric observed; This road is getting too crowded. The cars blocking both lanes were now bumper to bumper. There must have been an accident up ahead. Spinning the station wagon’s wheel, Ric drove up onto the medium-strip.

We’re on the wrong side of the road! Kerry cried. What the heck are you doing?

I doubt we’ll meet anyone driving into Sydney now, he told her. Relax - try to get some sleep.

Kerry burrowed into her seat and closed her eyes. She slipped into an exhausted doze, and Ric didn’t have the heart to wake her when his own fatigue threatened to overwhelm him. South of Menangle he pulled into a rest-area and switched off the engine.

A few hours of sleep can’t hurt, he thought as he locked his door and tilted his seat back. Kilometres from Sydney, surrounded by quiet grasslands inhabited only by chirping crickets, he soon relaxed. Sleep found him in minutes.

A couple of hours later Ric woke to screams of terror. He didn’t have time to react. Powerful hands hauled him from his seat, across the empty passenger’s side, and onto hard gravel with a painful thump. He was about to scramble up when someone pressed an ice-cold flick knife against his throat. He looked up into the rough, bearded face of a man about his age, clad in jeans and ripped T-shirt. Behind him, another hood had Kerry pinned to the ground and was tearing her clothes off. He cackled as she screamed and struggled, her cries in tune with Todd’s. The little boy sat on the ground beside his mother, howling hysterically. Blood trickled from an abrasion on his cheek.

Kerry must have woken up, taken the boy outside to feed him - and attracted the attention of two wandering louts. Their dilapidated pick-up was parked about twenty metres away. Anger filled Ric with adrenalin fire. How dare these arseholes abuse his wife and son? He started to tremble.

Ric’s assailant sensed the fury. One false move and you’re dead meat! he hissed. All we want is your woman and what’s in your car. You can keep your shitbox station-wagon an’ screamin’ brat. Now hand over your wallet! He dug his knife in, breaking Ric’s skin.

But the pain only increased Ric’s anger. Okay, he managed as he reached into his leather jacket and closed his fingers around the Beretta’s warm, soothing grip. Slowly he brought his hand out, steeling himself for his next move. Oh God - if you really do exist - forgive me for what I’m about to do!

He whipped the gun out and shot the man three times at point-blank range, the bullets ripping through his throat, chest and shoulder. Spewing blood he stumbled backwards, losing his grip on his knife and collapsing to his knees. Ric leapt to his feet, spinning and pointing his weapon at the man on Kerry.

He stared, wide-eyed.

Get off her, Ric rasped.

You - you killed my brother! he cried.

Get off my wife, Ric repeated, surprised by the calmness of his voice. Something had happened to him - something horrifying. He wanted to hurt this man who had hit Todd and tried to violate Kerry - he wanted to make him pay.

The guy straightened and zipped up his trousers. Kerry scrambled over to Todd, scooped him up, and ran back to the car. We weren’t gonna fuckin’ well hurt you!

Too late. You already have. Ric shot him in the groin.

He shrieked in agony and crumpled to the ground, curling into an agonised ball. Blood began to soak into the gravel. "Oh fuck! Ohfuckohfuckofuck-"

Ric started towards him, still covering him although he couldn’t do any more damage. Your brother got off lightly because I killed him quickly, he began. But you aren’t going to be so lucky. He blasted the guy’s left kneecap, and it shattered like a ceramic plate. Then he shot the guy in the right arm, just above the hand. It might take you a couple of days to die. If I wasn’t in such a hurry to get out of here, I’d stay and keep you company.

You fucking sicko! the punk shrieked. Oh Christ... His wail degenerated into a pitiful groan of agony.

Enjoy yourself. Ric walked back to the car, stopping only to collect their esky.

Inside, Kerry cleaned Todd’s cut face with a baby wipe. He sobbed and wriggled in her arms. Hurt, hurt! he cried. When Ric knocked on the window, she unlocked the door for him, but didn’t look up as he sat down, slipping the gun back into his jacket. As soon as the engine was running, he floored the accelerator. The spinning wheels sprayed gravel in deadly arcs.

I don’t believe what you just did, Kerry whispered as Ric whipped the station-wagon up to 140 km/h. Adrenalin still coursed through his body.

That bastard was trying to rape you! He was horrified by his wife’s reaction. He glanced at her tear-streaked face.

That was no reason for you to - to do what you did! You could have just told them to back off!

She was right - he could have simply threatened the punks with violence, maybe firing over their heads. But instead he’d behaved like a homicidal maniac, blowing one guy away and leaving his brother to bleed to death in agony. He stared bleakly at the highway stretching ahead of them, waiting for the remorse to hit.

It never did.

He felt guilty for upsetting Kerry, but not for shooting the two men. His actions had felt so right - so pure. He relived the episode, but could not find any regret. His feelings had never been so clear.

He had thoroughly enjoyed putting the bullets in those bastards.

This realisation made him groan out loud.

Yes - you murdered those men! Kerry cried.

Ric tightened his grip on the wheel. I didn’t mean to. I was so pissed - I just wanted them to stop!

Give me the gun, Ricky, Kerry ordered.

He didn’t ever want the opportunity to kill again, so he drew the weapon from his jacket. Here.

Gingerly Kerry took the Beretta and shoved it into her handbag. Filthy thing, she muttered. Ricky - you really scared me back there.

I’m sorry.

You became someone I didn’t know. And for one horrible moment I thought - even though I knew it wasn’t possible - that you really were the Stormkiller.

I’m not him.

I know, Ric! We were out each time a murder occurred! There were dozens of witnesses. But that still didn’t stop me... from thinking ... I’m sorry.

It’s all right. Bleakly Ric watched the road, his mind still racing over what had just occurred. In the past he had enjoyed beating the stuffing out of rival gang-members and punks who gave him lip. But even though he was often angry enough to kill, he never did. Even when he had access to guns, he never used them against human targets.

If I did, I would probably be a cold-blooded psychopath by now.

They continued in silence. Todd had recovered from his injury and sucked on a consolation lollipop. When they reached Goulburn, a veritable ghost-town, Ric poured the petrol-can’s contents into the tank.

I’ll need to siphon some fuel soon, he explained. Keep a look out for likely vehicles when the light comes on. She nodded, and took the wheel without a word.

In the passenger’s seat Ric closed his eyes and leaned back. But this time sleep didn’t arrive right away. He couldn’t stop thinking about what he’d done - and the pleasure it had given him. Committing murder had wakened something dark inside him, something ominous that spread its batlike wings and took flight. Will I ever be the same again? he wondered. Oh God - please don’t let the demon overtake me...

He closed his eyes, eventually succumbing to a light slumber. Dreams flickered through his subconscious, and in them he really was the Stormkiller, murdering innocents for his own enjoyment.

He woke gasping for breath and sweating. Ricky! Kerry cried, concerned. Are you all right?

Hurriedly he sat up. Yes, yes. Bad dream, that’s all.

We’re almost out of petrol, but there are a couple of cars up ahead. Also, I think it’s time we ate something. I’m starving, and I’m sure you are, too.

Ric became aware of a deep hollowness inside his belly and realised that he hadn’t eaten since the previous afternoon sometime. Nerves had kept his appetite at bay. Okay.

Kerry pulled a stop beside the first empty car, a blue Toyota, and Ric climbed out. He opened the back, pulled out his toolbox, and withdrew a screwdriver. He jammed it into the petrol-cap lock and twisted. After a few minutes of prising, he managed to remove the cap and open the tank. A strong smell of petrol wafted forth, and Ric inserted a dipstick. The tank was roughly two thirds full.

Now comes the revolting part. Ric slid in a plastic hose.

How are you going to get the petrol out like that?

He put the other end of the pipe into his mouth and began sucking on it.

Ric - I don’t think that’s such a good idea-

When the fuel came, Ric ripped the hose free. Coughing and spluttering, he shoved it into the ten litre petrol-can. Fuel started to trickle in. Jesus that tastes rotten!

You swallowed some?

Almost. Ric spat on the ground. If you know a better way to get petrol out of cars, tell me now! Be so kind as to fetch me a drink?

Kerry hurried to obey, returning a few seconds later with some orange juice. He sculled it, and when the can was full he lifted the hose and plugged it with his thumb. Can you pour this into our car? He handed her the container.

The Storms managed to get half a tank out of the blue Toyota, and a quarter out of a white Holden. Then they ate lunch, washed themselves in a deserted public toilet, and resumed their journey south. Afternoon trudged towards night, but the horizons remained dark. Gundagai contained about as much life as Goulburn, lifeless streets littered with rubbish. Ric fiddled with the Subaru’s radio, but continued to pick up static.

Over forty eight hours now, Kerry muttered. That must be some kind of record.

Whatever happened to those power-stations was more than a simple malfunction... These three quarters of a tank should get us to the border and back to civilisation.

I hope so. God - in the excitement we forgot to ring your parents! Ric exclaimed.

We’ll call next time we stop.

Disasters brought people together, and the Storms found themselves part of a small convoy, steadily heading south. The highway seemed to stretch on forever.

Lights - I can see lights!

Ric sprang from his light doze against the door, eyes widening in wonder. Sure enough, electric lights shone on distant hills, bright and welcoming. He switched on the radio again, and picked up a fuzzy station. It’s over Kerry! Tears stung his eyes. It’s over...!

Overjoyed with relief, they reached Albury half an hour later. Refusing to drive another kilometre, they located a cheap motel and booked a room. After dancing around their little chamber, clapping, cheering and embracing each other, the Storms finally relaxed, feeling like planet-sized loads had been lifted from their shoulders. Even Todd had forgotten the ordeal, and bounced on his bed, giggling and waving his little fists. Ric picked up the telephone beside his bed.

Let’s not tell your father anything bad happened, okay?

Fine by me, Kerry agreed. I just want to forget this entire journey.

They arrived on the Wilsons’ doorstep after lunch the next day, and were received with open arms and tears of relief. Ric was glad that Kerry’s parents had decided to retire to Melbourne instead of remaining in Sydney. Now the Storms had a big house to live in while they figured out what to do with their mangled lives.

Technicians investigating Wallerawang Power Station discovered inexplicable destruction. Not only were boilers seven and eight thoroughly destroyed, but the six older units as well. There would not be any chance of getting emergency power up and running. The switchyard lay under a tangle of twisted metal and electric cable, and bodies sprawled everywhere, some hideously mangled, others burnt beyond recognition.

Everyone agreed that such chaos could only be the work of extremely powerful terrorists. But no-one could even begin to speculate on a reasonable explanation for the evil. Whoever the criminals were, they weren’t talking.

Aided by the wealthy and influential Wilsons, the Storms managed to start a new life. Each day they absorbed news reports from New South Wales, detailing what was being done about the power problem. New boilers took a long time to produce and deliver, and battleships anchored in Sydney and Wollongong Harbours were being utilised for their massive generators. Electricity was temporarily restored to city centres, and other places that really needed it, but the criminal activities did not diminish. Instead of stealing electronic equipment and jewellery, people now looted for food, blankets and weapons - anything that would help them to survive.

The army couldn’t patrol every town, and people died in droves from murder, sickness, accident and neglect. Luckier ones managed to cross the borders into Victoria and Queensland, and their stories of suffering were horrifying to hear.

It’s like someone dropped a nuclear bomb, Ric muttered after one particularly sickening report.

A year and a half later, New South Wales began the long haul to its feet. Things were still far from normal, but at least most of the pillaging had stopped. Many improvisations had been accomplished, and the few remaining people lived like they had before the advent of electricity. The government spent massive amounts on their welfare.

When do you think we’ll be able to return? Ric asked Kerry one evening. They sat alone in the Wilsons’ spacious lounge-room, the TV on but ignored. We can’t keep sponging off your parents forever.

My folks don’t mind. I think we should stay until full power is restored.

Ric sighed and leaned back on the comfortable, overstuffed lounge. That might be years yet. Do you ever think about our house?

All the time. But look at it this way - have we had to make a payment since?

He laughed. Boy - even if power was restored tomorrow, things would still take years to untangle themselves!

Maybe we should stay here for the rest of our lives! We’re doing pretty well for ourselves.

Ric slipped his arm around his wife’s shoulders. A year and a half had healed his memory of the harrowing journey down, but not of the murder he’d committed. Often he would think about the brothers he’d shot, and the satisfaction he had experienced at the destruction of their worthless lives. It still frightened him. He wished he could talk to someone about it.

He closed his eyes and relaxed, experiencing a strange, but pleasant tingling in his limbs. I think it’s time to go to bed, he murmured.

What a good idea. I can hardly keep my eyes open. Kerry slipped out of his embrace and stood up.

He got up to follow her. The tingling transformed to pins and needles, and he felt compelled to turn and stare at a section of empty floor beside the Wilsons’ teak TV cabinet.

A tiny globe of light, filled with dancing flickers of lightning, had appeared in the air above the shagpile. It seemed to be calling to him!

Kerry, he croaked, numb with shock. Was he finally suffering a flashback from all the drugs he’d done fifteen years earlier? "What - the Hell - is that?"

Already half-way out of the room, the young woman turned. What?

Ric pointed a shaking finger, and Kerry stepped back into the room to join him. Her jaw dropped. Ric thanked God that she could see it too. Holy Jesus, she whispered.

The bubble increased in size and brightness, swelling to six feet in diameter. Electrical discharges writhed through it, frightening yet still compelling. Ric took a step, drawn by its mysteriousness and inexplicable pull. Kerry grabbed his arm.

What are you doing? she cried. Don’t go near it - you have no idea what it is!

Personally I don’t want to go near it, but there’s something about it - something that seems to be pulling me towards it!

"What? Are you crazy?"

I have this horrible need to walk through it! he cried, as upset as she was. I can’t explain it! He took another step. It’s like a part of me is on the other side...

A black hole appeared in the globe’s centre and grew, pushing the lightning into a thin shell. A chill wind eddied from it, bringing with it the scent of damp undergrowth and impending snow. Kerry jumped in front of her husband and thrust out her hands. But at one hundred and ninety centimetres tall and muscular from his regular workouts, Ric easily pushed her out of the way. She stumbled, almost sprawling on the carpet. Ric-

It’s getting stronger - you’d better get someone to help you! Ric cried in alarm. I can’t control myself anymore! I don’t want to control myself any more...!

Mum - Dad! Kerry screamed as she leapt to her feet. Come quickly! She flung herself at Ric’s back, trying to lock her arms around his neck, but he easily shook her off. She stumbled back, falling on her backside.

I’m sorry Kerry, he whispered. I don’t know what’s come over me...

If I can’t stop you, then I’m coming with you! she cried as she started to her