A/N: (MOVIE SPOILER ALERT) I really love The Mist, both the novella and the screenplay. In the movie particularly, the character of the worried mother who left the store to almost certain doom only to reappear at the end among all those refugees really stuck with me. What all did she go through to reach her kids? I decided I wanted to find out, so I started typing this story.
*************************************************************************************
Disclaimer: The novella belongs to Stephen King. The movie adaptation belongs to Frank Darabont and Dimension Films. This fanfic belongs to me, as much as it can belong to anyone on a free website.
*************************************************************************************
It's a nasty storm. None of us get much sleep because of it. I don't know what we would've done if our house hadn't come with the root cellar. When we ascend into the now-calm morning we find the power still out. I check out the outside of the house; roof needs to be re-shingled, one of the upstairs windows is cracked, not as bad as I'd feared. Still, with the power out the food's gonna go bad.
"I'm going down to the store," I tell my two kids, "Wanna come along?"
Victor's on the floor playing with his Hotwheels, Wanda's plugged into her Gameboy, both of them are still in their PJ's. "Naw," Wanda answers in a distracted voice, thumbs punching away at the game's controls. Never should've let her father buy her that thing, but I was so relieved my ex even remembered her birthday I kept my objections to myself.
"Okay," I sigh, "I'll be back in a few minutes. Wanda, look after your brother."
"'Kay." I can't even tell if she heard me or if she's answering on autopilot. I consider yanking that stupid game from her hands just to get her attention, but change my mind. Last thing any of us needs is another fight. I kiss the kids goodbye, which earns me a couple of annoyed looks, grab my car keys, and head out.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Something in the mist. That's what the bleeding man screams. Something in the mist took his friend. I would've thought it was a sick joke, but blood's gushing from the man's nose and his terror borders on hysteria. The klaxons used for severe weather are blaring outside, and the mysterious fog is rolling in.
"Screw that," says a man in a hat, "I'm gettin' in my car." He runs out the door.
"Mister, no!" the bleeding man shouts, but it's too late. The man in the hat runs out into the parking lot as the mist comes in like a tide. Through the store's plate-glass front I see figures running ahead like the bleeding man had run, headed for the open stores. I see the man in the hat reach his car and open the driver's side door just as the shifting white obscures him completely. Then, in spite of the distance and the wall of glass, I and the rest of the people in the store hear the man's screams. Not the screams of simple fear, but something worse. The sounds penetrate the oldest parts of our brains; the animal instincts that tell us to run and hide from the big bad predator. But where could we go?
"Pollution cloud," mutters an older man whose rugged features and handlebar moustache make it easy to imagine him roping cattle from the back of a horse, "Mills…down in Rumsford. Some kinda chemical explosion. Has to be." Makes sense. I don't know why it's so hard for me to agree with him.
Then the earthquake strikes, rattling the glass panes until one of them cracks, shaking the merchandise from the shelves which threaten to topple over, making the overhead light fixtures sway menacingly. Everyone falls to their knees, to all fours, shouting and crying as the ground beneath us bucks, no longer reliably solid. One or two light fixtures break loose from their cables and tumble down. By some miracle, nobody's crushed, though I'm sure quite a few people were hurt. It can't be more than a minute, but it feels like forever. It ends as suddenly as it began. We all stay on the floor a few seconds longer, just to be sure.
"That was an earthquake," somebody states the obvious.
"I'm telling ya," the cowboy yells, "the goddamn mills blew up!"
"Is everyone okay?" the little man whose nametag says "Ollie" asks, "Is anybody hurt?"
The store manager speaks up, "Everyone just stay put, okay? Just stay inside the store."
Stay inside? But what about my kids? They're all alone at home, probably scared out of their minds by the earthquake. "I can't," I say in a trembly voice, "I can't stay here, I gotta get home to my kids."
"No. No don't go out there," says the scary woman with her hair in a bun, "It's death out there. It's the End of Days."
The pretty young cashier rolls her eyes and whispers at the woman to stop it.
"Please, everybody," a black man in expensive casual clothes holds up his hands, "Everybody just relax, okay?"
The store manager nods. "He's right. Let's just stay cool. Let's just try to figure out what happened."
But all I can think about are my babies. "I'm sorry, I--I can't just stay here. I have to get home to my kids."
"Ma'am, no, you can't go out there," says the bleeding man.
"Could be a poisonous gas cloud," the cowboy adds, fixated on his rational explanation.
"Didn't you hear that man screaming?" someone else asks me.
Ollie speaks, "I agree. L-let's stay here until we figure it out."
I can't believe I'm hearing this. "You're not listening! I can't stay here," I insist, desperate to convince them, "Wanda's looking after little Victor. She's only eight. Sometimes she forgets she's supposed to be watching him." My voice breaks. I'm starting to cry, I'm so worried for them. I'd left them all alone, so little and helpless. "I told them I'd only be gone a few minutes. She's only eight," I sob.
The bleeding man, obviously concerned, says to me, "For their sakes…don't."
Scared as I am, for their sakes, I will. But I don't want to do this alone. "Well, isn't anybody gonna help me?" I look at the surrounding people, all suddenly quiet. "Won't somebody here see a lady home? You?" I look to the store manager who, sweating and brow furrowed, shakes his head.
I look to the black man who'd spoken so authoritatively. "You?" He purses his lips and lowers his eyes.
I see a tall man on his knees, hugging his weeping son. Maybe he'll sympathize, one parent to another. "You?"
"Ma'am, please, I got my own boy to worry about."
I can see it in all their faces; Lucky bastard, they're thinking, to have such a handy excuse. They're all ashamed of their cowardice, but none of them will do anything about it. I've lived in small towns all my life. One of the many things they all have in common is the philosophy that everyone helps each other. But now I see, when things get really bad, it's all hypocrisy.
Angry and betrayed, I head for the door. "I hope you all rot in hell."
Ollie tries to take my arm. "Ma'am, please, wait until--"
"Get off me," I hiss and shake his hold. The bleeding man reaches out to me, but doesn't touch me. His eyes beg me to reconsider, to stay here in the store where it's safe, to abandon my children to whatever might be out there that got the man in the hat. I won't do that. I push open the door, pause to look over my shoulder at the faces of my neighbors. My anger is gone; only disappointment remains. The way they avert their eyes tells me they see this in my face. I turn away, step outside. The door swings shut behind me. The white mist feels like damp cotton against my skin. I can only make out the nearest cars, hulking shadows without detail. Anything could be out there. Anything at all. I think about my Wanda and Victor and step out into the mist, feeling as if it's swallowing me whole.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I can't believe it; I'm lost in the damn parking lot! I could've sworn I parked just eight spaces from the door, but I must've gotten turned around at some point. I don't recognize anything. Worse, my ears keep picking up noises, like distant foghorns or small scuttling feet. I try to tell myself it's my imagination playing tricks on me, freaked out by the white all around me.
A sudden idea occurs to me and I feel like an idiot for not thinking of it sooner. I dig my keys out of my purse. The car remote dangles from the ring like a black teardrop. I grab it, point it in some random direction, and press the UNLOCK button. Nothing. I wander the parking lot pointing the remote at the looming hulks of the parked cars, pushing the button. Come on…
Boop-BEEP! The headlights flare ahead of me and a little to the right. I gasp in relief. Thank god! I hurry towards my waiting car.
A black shadow passes in front of the lights. Something huge. I freeze like a startled rabbit, heart thudding in my chest. What the hell is that? The apparition towers over me, taller than any man. I can't make out any details, thanks to the mist, and I really don't want to. Just the silhouette is enough to horrify me. The creature, whatever it is, stands on five or six multi-jointed legs that look way to flimsy to support its bulk. Its two long, bent arms end in massive pincers. It looks like a cross between a crab and a praying mantis. I stand completely still, scared out of my mind. Please don't let it notice me! Nothing that looks like that can be harmless. For all I know it's the very thing that got the man in the hat. A low rumble emits from the region of the creature's head, then it swivels its mismatched body and hobbles away, vanishing into the white. It's a few more seconds before I get the nerve to move again. By now the lights of my car have gone out. I head towards where I remember seeing them.
Something scuttles to my left. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. Oh, god, it's coming towards me! I don't pause to think about it; I run. The scuttling noise quickens. There's more than one of those things behind me, I realize. My Toyota emerges from the mist; my salvation. I careen into the driver's side door, gasping, my shaking hand fumbling with the door handle. I see movement from the corner of my eye and, despite myself, I turn my head. On the hood of an old pickup, rushing towards me, grey and spiny…a spider the size of a Doberman. The mouth of its skull-like face gapes and a horrible screech assaults my ears. I scream, yank the car door open, and half fall, half leap into the car. I slam the door shut just as the spider slams into the driver's side window; the glass cracks but, thankfully, doesn't shatter. I stare in absolute terror at the hideous thing as it tumbles to the pavement below, stunned by the impact. There are others coming, some only the size of cats, some as big as the first one twitching on the ground. Some of them leap onto my car, turning this way and that as if puzzled by my sudden disappearance. Can't they see me? A moment later they all scuttle off in search of different prey. I grip the steering wheel with white knuckled hands, lean my forehead against it and take a few shuddering breaths. I'm so shaky I don't trust myself to drive just yet.
My god, what the hell is happening? What were those things? Where did they come from?
They came with the mist, they must have. Those spiders and that giant crab-thing. What else did this godawful fog bring? What were my children seeing at this moment? Oh, god! A terrible thought arises; were any of the windows open when I left? Did my kids get bored and go outside? No! Don't think about it. Just focus on getting home. They'll be okay. They have to be.
My hands are a little steadier now. I stick the key into the ignition and turn. The engine wheezes to life. I immediately switch on the headlights, which only succeed in pushing back the mist a couple of feet. I'll just have to go slow. I shift into drive and creep through the maze of vehicles towards the direction of the lot's exit (I hope). I try to ignore the shifting blobs of darkness all around me; tricks of the light, I tell myself. I've never been a very good liar.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
With the slow pace, the shifting landscape, it feels as if I've made no progress at all. The hours are slipping by. I'm not sure I'll get home before dark. Wanda and Victor will be hungry by now. Ridiculously, I find myself worrying over whether or not they're eating some real food and not pigging out on potato chips and candy.
Something flashes in front of me. I stomp on the brakes. A figure emerges from the mist and flings itself over the hood of my car. It's a man, bleeding from circular wounds that dot his body. We stare at each other from either side of the windshield, both too stunned to speak. Then something long and sinuous lashes out from the whiteness behind the man and wraps itself around his head. I hear muffled screams, a wet tearing sound. The tentacle peels back, taking the man's face with it. Oh, Christ. Oh, Jesus! It's got his face! Lidless eyes stare at me from a bloodied mass of torn flesh. A lipless mouth with gleaming white teeth gapes wide. If the man is screaming, I can't hear him; I'm too busy with my own terrified shrieks. More tentacles appear. They coil around the thrashing, faceless man and yank him off his feet. The mist engulfs them all.
I bury my face in my hands and sob. Nightmarish images flash behind my tightly closed eyelids. I hardly have the chance to process what's just happened when a tree collides with the passenger side of my car. Not a tree, really, but a leg as big as a fully grown tree. I cry out as my body's thrown about by the force of the impact. My seatbelt digs painfully into my shoulder and chest. The car rolls onto the driver's side and skitters across the road like a pebble kicked by a man on a casual stroll. There's another crunching jolt as my car smashes into a parked minivan, causing the roof to partially cave in. The ensuing silence after so much chaos is deafening. I sit-lie in my overturned car, too numbed with shock to move. A vibration runs through my body, the car, the pavement. The thing that kicked me aside is striding past, so high above on its stilt legs its body is just a vague oval blur.
OHHHMMmmm!
Its eerie bellow fills the air with its haunting sound. Is it calling out to others of its kind? Or warning the unlucky to say the hell out of its path?
wwWAHHHWWwww!
It passes me by, stepping daintily over houses, or sometimes onto them. What're a few two-story houses to a creature of its size? Like anthills beneath an elephant's feet.
A few minutes after the behemoth's gone, I manage to unbuckle my seatbelt and flop onto the door which is now the bottom of the car. By some miracle, though nearly all the windows are cracked, they're all still in one piece, except the ones underneath me. This is good; I suspect the really dangerous creatures hunt by scent. When I encountered the crab-thing I was downwind of it, whereas the spiders were downwind of me. It explains why the crab-thing just walked away as if I wasn't there; it didn't smell me.
It's getting dark. Don't some predators become more active after dark? I'm torn. I'm afraid to go out and leave the flimsy safety of my battered Toyota, but I'm also afraid of what might be happening to my babies. Have they locked themselves inside the house? Are they being attacked at this very moment? They must be so scared. Again, I feel the tears sting my eyes. My throat's raw from so much crying. I'm thirsty. I remember there's a water bottle somewhere in here, knocked from the cup holder during the tumble. I search the sideways vehicle until if find it in the back. The cap's come loose; most of the water's spilled out. Figures. Only a few sips remain. I tip the lukewarm liquid into my mouth, swish it around before swallowing. I'm hungry, too, but there's nothing I can do about that. How the hell can I be hungry after the things I've seen today, anyway?
The night is deepening. I don't want to spend the night in this crushed Toyota. I know it's too dangerous for me to go rushing out into the night when those things might be more active; getting killed won't do my kids any good. But I'll never get any rest in here. Wait…what about the minivan? It's a small town; not everybody locks up their cars. It's just a few feet away. I could rush out and…
But what if there's something already there. Those spiders or something worse? Can't think like that. If I give in to fear now how will I be able to get home to my kids later? I gather my resolve and, checking all the windows to make sure none of the shadows are getting closer, reach up and force the front passenger door open. It creaks ominously. I freeze, waiting for something to react to the noise. Nothing. I wriggle out, squeezed by the door which refuses to stay upright. I roll and land unsteadily on the ground, nearly losing my balance. Hurry! I rush to the dented minivan. Please let it be unlocked! Please let it be empty! God or luck is with me; the undamaged passenger door opens without resistance and I jump into the vehicle, slamming the door shut behind me. The van's dome light glows a few seconds longer, then fades into darkness. It's a relatively new model. The upholstery's so plush and comfortable I feel my body start to relax right away. The unrelenting stress of the day has exhausted me. I haul myself into the backseat, stretch out on its welcoming softness, and half doze off, half pass out while the mist and all the horrors it contains continues to swirl around me.
