She gets to her feet. Not far from the farmhouse. Surveys the damage: The windows all blown in by the blast. The place appears otherwise untouched. Turning, she sees: What’s left of the barn is burning. Fingers of flame reach for more sustenance. Coming dangerously close to a field of very dry-looking brush.
Nearby, the shrieking continues: Simp. Wandering the edge of the disaster zone. Stooped over. Poking at the wreckage. Presumably in search of Wanda’s remains. Calling out to her. Stilt legs stepping carefully around the destruction. Wobbly body balancing above. Awkward. Birdlike. Released from captivity, would she ever find a place in the world? If people don’t accept her, will they risk having their skulls caved in?
Wanda whistles a single flat note. Raises her stump. Forgetting she can’t really wave with it. Simp’s patchwork face splits in a joyous smile. She rushes over, ecstatic to find Wanda alive. Reaching out to embrace her.
“Woah, there!” Wanda laughs. “Really think you’re still going to need that?”
Simp looks down. Surprised to find herself still clutching Dr. Ramsey’s detached arm. Disgusted, she hauls off. Hurls the limb through the air. Into the flames. Glad to be rid of it.
Until her collar starts to beep.
Pavlovian terror fills Simp’s face. She turns on the spot. Already backing up. Expecting to find Dr. Ramsey standing nearby. But this time? Being too close isn’t the issue.
Horrified, Wanda grabs Simp by the arm. “Come on!” She tugs at the tall woman. “He had it set to zap you if you got too close, but he also must’ve had a setting that kept you from getting too far.”
Simp doesn’t understand.
“You must’ve thrown his arm outside the safe range. Now your collar wants to punish you for not staying near Dr. Ramsey.” They rush toward the burning barn. Close enough to singe themselves, but still: The beeps are speeding up.
“All right, we just have to get it off you. “Wanda reaches a sharp claw toward Simp’s neck. But Simp recoils. Swats the webbed hand away. Rising to full height. Collar out of Wanda’s reach. “Simp! It’s the only way!”
Simp chirps at her. Mimes pulling open the collar. Then, an explosion. The implication clear: The collar is tamper-proof. Of course. In her heart, Wanda already knew it was true.
“Well, I’m not just going to let you--”
Simp knocks her aside. Runs. Impossible to catch. Long legs taking her fast and far. Away from Wanda. From Dr. Ramsey’s flaming barn. Out into the scrub brush. Halfway across before the collar detonates.
Atomized, Simp’s head and shoulders disperse on the air. The rest of her oddly elongated body tumbles into the weeds.
Alone once more, Wanda wonders where that shrieking is coming from. But, of course... This time, it’s her.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
The kitchen worker pushes a rolling cabinet of used lunch trays. Down the back corridor. Through double doors. Clearly marked:
KITCHEN STAFF ONLY
Neither Gardner nor Trevor are kitchen staff. But the doors push open every bit as smoothly for them. Allowing the pair to slip easily behind the scenes at the Elysian.
Ahead, the kitchen worker adds his cabinet to a row of them. Lined up along one wall. Without glancing back, he then disappears into the steam billowing from a doorway on the right.
The men hurry past the busy dishroom. Slowed only slightly by Gardner’s reliance on his cane. Moving into the main kitchen.
Trevor surveys the room. Surprised. “It’s empty.” He rises from his sneaky crouch. Finding: Ovens. Refrigerators. Preparation stations. But no people.
“Eyes up.” Gardner points his cane toward a glassed-in breakroom. A collection of aproned staff visible inside. Eating from lunch-boxes and paper bags. “Lunch service is done. Too soon to start on dinner.”
They shift behind a tall stack of boxes. Staying low. Out of sight. Trevor reads the contents. Stamped onto the cardboard: FISH WASTE. He makes a face. Peers inside an open box. It’s full of vacuum-sealed bags: Entrails. Bones. Blood. “My god... Is this what they’re feeding you?”
“Don’t worry.” Gardner points to a label: NOT APPROVED FOR HUMAN CONSUMPTION.
Trevor is not reassured. Tries to put it out of his mind. “So... Where’s this exit to the West Corridor?”
Gardner shrugs. “Beats me.”
“Beats you?” Trevor’s bewildered. “It can’t beat you. You’re why we’re here. You said there was a way in. Through the kitchen.”
“Ye’re misrememberin’. What I said is: There must be a way in.” Gardner leans against the boxes. “Besides, yer mother’s why we’re here.”
“My moth-- What are you talking about?”
Gardner spells it out: “Somehow... On accident... Yer ma stumble-bumped herself into the wrong wing. It’s some unlikely she went through the main doors. Not with twenty-four hour security standin’ in the way. So, I ask ye: What was it she was doing when she found herself lost?”
“She, uh...” Trevor’s embarrassed to admit to his mom’s confusion. Even knowing Gardner was listening in when his mother told him. “She said she was looking for my dad. Thought he had gone for a midnight snack.”
“So, she’d go looking for him... Where?”
“Ah.” Trevor feels dumb. “Right. The kitchen.”
“Atta b’y.” Gardner pats Trevor’s shoulder. “And by sheerest coincidence, the kitchen serves both wings of the Home. So? It follows there must be a passage through.”
Clear enough. Trevor follows the logic. “But... You’ve never gone this way?”
“Lard-thunderin’, no! As an Old Man, I lived in the West Corridor. After, I lived in the East. At no point did I work the kitchen.”
A beep. Drawing their attention across the kitchen. To a red door, opening on the far side of the room. A well-dressed woman enters. Lunch pail in hand. She moves through the kitchen. Joins her co-workers. On lunch break in the glass box.
The odd couple dodge and weave across the kitchen. Ducking behind industrial mixers. Meat slicers. Working hard to stay out of line-of-sight from the breakroom. Finally, arriving at the red door. Trevor grabs the handle. It allows a half-turn. Then stops. Deet-deet-deet! A small black rectangle on the wall admonishes him. A red LED glowing on its top edge. A green one still dark. “Not getting through here. Not without a pass-card.”
Gardner waggles his eyebrows: “When ya can’t change the wind? Time to adjust yer sails.” Before Trevor can ask what that’s supposed to mean, the man is off. Strolling through the kitchen. Heading for the break room. In full view of its window. “Gertrude?! Gertrude!”
Realizing Gardner’s about to be caught, Trevor ducks out of sight. Listens. The kitchen staff sound surprised when the elderly gentleman enters. “Have any of you seen my Gertrude?”
“Are you kidding? I just sat down.”
“All right, all right, relax. I’ll take this one. Come along old-timer. Let’s get you back where you belong.”
“But I need to find my Gertrude.”
“She’s not down here. Let’s you and me go try upstairs.”
Trevor peeks between appliances. Sees: A squat cook in a dingy apron maneuvering Gardner back through the kitchen.
Leaning heavily on his cane, Gardner moves slowly. “If you think that’s where she is.” It’s not clear who’s leading whom. Either way, they’re headed toward Trevor. He tries to make himself small. Invisible, if possible.
“Gertrude!?”
“This your wife we’re talking about, Gramps?”
“Carse it ain’t.” Gardner snaps. “Not like to marry a cat, now, am I?”
The cook shakes his head. Laughs. “Guess not. How silly of me.”
Amazingly, they walk past without noticing Trevor at all. At least, not until Gardner stops dead. “Oh, thank God!” He looks at Trevor. Winks. “There she is!”
The cook looks where Gardner is pointing. Shocked when the imaginary cat turns out to be an adult man. “Whuh--” is all he manages before Gardner b
rings down his cane on the back of the cook’s neck.
Trevor breaks the man’s fall. Nearly dropping him as Gardner reaches out. Unclips the pass-card from his shirt pocket. Desperate to stash him, Trevor pulls open the door to a walk-in refrigerator. Drags the cook in. Lays him down as gently as possible. Hoping he won’t wake up with frostbite. Assuming he wakes up at all after the clobbering Gardner delivered.
A beep. The pass-card works. Trevor emerges from the refrigerator just as Gardner steps through the red door. No turning back now. Trevor follows the old man into the West Corridor.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Max is blindsided.
Half his attention on Wreck Reef: Watching for signs of life. The rest on the control panel: About to divert power into the replacement pulser. Completely unprepared for an attack from behind.
The creature knocks him into the column. Claws raking his ribcage. Four shallow slices through his wetsuit. None very deep. Just enough to bleed.
Max lashes out automatically. Throwing one arm out. Grappling around twin tails. Holding tight to the slick black skin. No... Latex. Loose over the real legs inside. Definitely a costume. Just like the creature in Sylvie’s photos. Like the one that killed Aaron.
Thrashing in his grasp, the thing doesn’t claw at him again. Can’t. Both hands grabbing onto the replacement orb. Yanking against the dozens of wires connecting it to the pillar.
Max was not its target. Just in its way. Something to be knocked aside. The pulser: Its real mission. But now, holding tight to its tails - to the legs of the person in the costume - Max is proving to be a bigger obstacle than expected.
It bucks. Slams him into the solid concrete pillar. Again. Despite the bruising, Max holds tight. Squeezes. Determined to force the creature to deal with him. Succeeding. With Max hanging on, the thing can’t get the leverage it needs to detach the orb. Any one of the wires on its own would’ve popped out easily, but together they’re proving to be a surprisingly robust tether. So it lets go. Releases the sphere. Turns its attention to the barnacle it can’t quite shake.
Hauling up its knees, the creature brings Max close enough to grab him by the hair. It pulls his head back. Too strong for him to resist, as it exposes the tendons of his neck.
Max sees the end approach as the creature draws back a claw-tipped fin. Ready to strike. To open his arteries into the sea. In no way is he ready when the impact comes. When blood pulses out of the wound.
Not Max’s blood. Not Max’s wound.
The point of a speargun bolt juts from the thing’s chest. Red spreading as it goes limp. Its claws releasing Max’s hair. He pushes off as it drifts away. Sees his savior: The Electrician. A round black ball in his wetsuit. Reloading his speargun. Almost ready to loose another bolt, if necessary.
A wave of gratitude crashes over Max. In his condition, Norman should not be diving. Risking his life to save his apprentice. Swimming closer, Max gives the thumbs-up. Tries to express his thanks, through his eyes. But Norman doesn’t return the gesture. Doesn’t even look at Max’s face. Eyes wide. Focused behind him.
Max turns in time to see the damaged pulser produce three final flashes before going completely black. Dead. Hanging from its wiring, the replacement clonks against the pillar in the current. Still powerless. The creature hadn’t stolen the orb away, but it had interrupted the switchover. Stopped him long enough for the compromised pulser to fail.
Below - inside the sunken steamboat - there’s movement. Strange shapes stirring as they sense the wall has fallen. Emerging from the wreck’s hollows. As they swim toward him, Max has no doubt: These creatures are not wearing costumes.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
“Hey, Mom. It’s me. First chance I’ve had to call today. Without Dad or somebody listening in, anyway. And... It looks like you’re not even there. Figures, right?”
Reaching the crest of the hill, Dawn looks back. St. Neot’s is already far away. The silent nun who escorted her to the exit, still waiting in the doorway. Seeing her off. Making sure she stays gone. Dawn waves before trudging onward. If the nun sees it, she makes no move to return the gesture.
“Probably for the best. I only have a few minutes now, but I really need to talk when you’re able. Dad’s gone all mental about something totally unimportant. And now he’s giving me zero space.”
It was strange, coming out of the convent. Her father not being there. Almost disorienting. He hadn’t said where he’d be waiting. She’d just assumed it wouldn’t be any farther than absolutely necessary. That he’d stay as close as possible. In case she needed him. Instead, he was nowhere to be seen. Not even answering his phone. Still pissed, presumably. Punishing her by waiting at the car.
“Anyway, here’s a little preview of the conversation we’re going to have, in case you’re curious... You know all that time we’ve been spending together? Working on our family tree? Researching Grandma’s past with only the names of a few aunts and uncles to go on? Well, I now have reason to believe that was all complete and utter bullshit on your part.”
Dawn fingers the silver charm hanging from her neck. Wishing she’d had the chance to pull down the look-alike photograph she’d found in Adderpool. Or at least taken a picture before being interrupted by Max-In-Distress. She’d be texting that photo to her mom right now. A visual gotcha for her to chew on. Something to really let her know: The jig is up.
“So... I’d love to give you the chance to comment. Maybe explain... Or even apologize? Possibly, you could give me some idea why you’d lie about something so important? Not just to me, but to Dad, too. Why would you pretend to have no connection to Mossley Island, when in reality...” The words catch in her throat. She’s pushed the pieces together, but hasn’t yet stood back to look at the full picture. “...that’s where both sides of my family are from.”
The inescapable conclusion: Dawn is all but an Islander herself.
“So give me a call, Mom. But just know: I’m leaving you a limited-time-only window before I talk to Dad about it. I’m sick of all the secrets-and-lies and mysterious-goings-on, so you’d better have a pretty darn good reason if you don’t want me to spill. And soon... Chop-chop.”
Dawn hangs up. Watches her phone’s display as she crunches through the last few feet of grass. Waiting for her mom to check the message. To realize the importance. To call or text. But the phone stays silent. Goes to sleep out of boredom. Sighing, Dawn drops it into her bag.
Reaching the road, she takes a breath. Readies herself to face her father and his inevitable questions about the convent and Paula’s life there. Most of which she won’t be able to answer. But to her left, the SUV is nowhere to be seen. Had she taken a different route back? Approached the road from a different angle?
She looks in the other direction: To her right. Finds the view equally empty. The car, vanished. Her father, gone. Apparently, he’s left without her. Once again, Dawn has been abandoned. Alone. In the middle of nowhere.
“Seriously? Come on!”
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Sylvie’s face. From inches away. Every blemish obvious and unavoidable. Wrinkles. Pocks. Skin-tags. The verdict: She’s old.
Ren’s old, too. Older than his sister. Still, he’s certain he hasn’t aged as much. As badly. He can’t possibly have. True, his sister was sixteen when last he got a really good look at her. When he formed the picture he’s carried with him in his mind. Decades ago. A lifetime. But still... She’s old.
Sylvie cocks her head. Planet-sized. Surrounded by blackness. She looks from his right eye to his left. “You with us for real this time?”
He must have regained consciousness once before. No memory of it. He clears his aching throat. Swallows hard. Manages a low rasp: “I’m with you.”
“Good.” She sits back in her chair. There’s a chair. That’s something. Ren feels another beneath him. He’s tied to it. Beyond these two furnishings, the space could be limbo. Empty. Without detail.
“Where--”
“No.” Sylvie cuts him off. Wags a finger at him. “Only one thing you need to know right now, and here it is: Currently? Dawn is not involved.”
Ren feels the bottom fall out. If there’s a room surrounding them - wherever they are - it’s begun to spin. Sylvie sees him reel. She has no sympathy.
“You involved her, Ren. You shared Circle Business with an outsider and you know what that means.”
Ren opens his mouth to protest. Sylvie back-hands him. “How ‘bout I just let you know when it’s your turn?”
He spits blood on the floor. Probes a tear inside his cheek with his tongue. Looks up at Sylvie again. Waits for her to continue.
“Dad talked to the Old Men. Fortunately for Dawn, the fact that she didn’t believe any of what you told her makes a difference. They’re content to focus on your transgression and leave her out of it. Nobody wants her impacted any more than necessary.” Sylvie leans forward. Making sure Ren understands. “You can change that at any moment, by not accepting that what is happening is the rightful consequence of your own actions. You brought this down on yourself. Don’t make it any worse for your daughter than it has to be, okay?”
Ren’s molars creak as he clenches his jaw. Knowing what this is. Why he’s there. He’s seen it from the other side. Regardless of Sylvie’s threats against Dawn, he knows struggling would be pointless. Instead, he simply nods.
Sylvie’s clearly relieved. “Whatever happens, just know: She’s going to be okay. We’ll be watching out for her.” She means to be reassuring. But Ren isn’t comforted by the prospect. Keeps it to himself.
“This one thing sticks in my head...” She pulls her chair three hops closer. “Because you never wanted anything to do with me, usually. No fucking use for a little sister at all. Unless Mom made you take me along. But then this one time, you came into my room. Woke me up in the middle of the night, and you told me if I could keep a secret, you’d show me something cool.”
FROM AWAY ~ BOOK FOUR Page 14
