The Village (Harbingers Book 12)

by Alton Gansky

  The officers were there to greet us, and I mean greet us. Both smiled. Both dipped their heads in a slight bow, then the older of the two extended his hand. He either wanted to shake hands or was taking a sneaky approach to clamp on the business end of handcuffs.

  It was the former. I extended my hand and he took hold of my wrist, smiling all the time. Just as I was beginning to think the guy was going to twist my arm behind my back, cuff and search me, he gave my wrist a friendly squeeze and shake. I took his wrist and did the same. That broadened his smile. A second later, the junior officer instigated the same kind of greeting. Then they moved to Andi and Brenda. The older of the two mussed Daniel’s hair. Just for the record, Daniel hates that. He didn’t say anything but I know the kid well enough to know he was restraining himself.

  I did a quick survey of the sedan. It was a cop car, all right. It had something that looked like a shotgun vertically mounted to the dash, and a wire partition between the front and rear seat.

  People moved along the walkway, most shot us a glance and smiled. A few even waved.

  “I gotta say it,” Andi said, “but I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore, Toto.”

  Even I caught the reference to The Wizard of Oz movie. Unlike Dorothy, however, this world looked very much like the one we left, except there were more people, it looked cleaner, and folk were friendly.

  “Unbelievable,” Brenda said. “A half-hour ago we were planning on going back to the Asheville airport.”

  “I’ve got a feeling that it’s a longer drive now,” Andi said.

  “Much longer,” I said.

  Chapter Eight

  Littlefoot, New and Improved

  When we walked out of the café (the waitress actually said, “Thank you for coming,” as we exited), I wondered how they were going to get three grown adults (in my case, overgrown) and a ten-year-old boy into the yellow-and-white patrol car along with two police officers. The car was the size of a Prius. I started to ask the officers, but it would do no good. Even if they understood me, I wouldn’t understand them.

  My question was answered a moment later when another patrol car pulled up. It did so casually. No siren, no red or blue emergency lights—or in this case, green and yellow lights. It took a second for me to realize that the car made almost no noise as it pulled to the curb. I heard the tires on the pavement, but no engine. Electric? That was my guess.

  Two additional officers exited the car. They wore the same yellow and brown uniform as the first two. They approached, each with a wide grin on his face. The older looking one—I made him to be in his thirties and his partner in his twenties—approached me and shook my hand like a fan meeting his favorite movie star. I half-expected him to pull out an autograph book. He did more than shake my hand, he pumped it. He then moved to Andi and Brenda, greeting them in the same way. We did another round of handshaking with the younger officer.

  To say I was confused would be downplaying what I felt. We were in a town nearly identical to Newland but different enough to make my head spin. I once read that someone asked Daniel Boone if he had ever been lost in the woods. He said, “No, but I’ve been bewildered for a couple of weeks.” I was that kind of bewildered.

  “I’m not leaving Daniel!”

  Brenda had pulled the boy to her side. The officer looked at one another. Their faces revealed their confusion.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked her.

  “I think they want to separate us.”

  I’ve seen that angry face too many times to not notice it now. One of the officers caught my eye then pointed at Daniel, then Andi.

  “Ah, I get it.” I moved to Brenda and Daniel. I put my hand on Daniel’s shoulder then moved it to Brenda’s. I did that three times. The officers looked at Brenda, then Daniel, then Andi. Andi caught on. She put one hand on the side of each of their shoulders and pushed them together. There wasn’t much movement involved since Brenda already held Daniel close.

  Then Andi surprised me—she stepped to my side and took hold of my arm, like we were a couple. That was the first good thing to happen to me that day. As far as I was concerned, Andi could hang onto me as long as she liked. I wouldn’t complain a bit.

  The first officer we met opened the back door of the police car and motioned for us to enter. Clearly, he didn’t mean all of us. A quick glance told me that one of the policemen had opened the back door of the other patrol car.

  “You go with Brenda and Daniel,” I told Andi.

  “I don’t need her protection,” Brenda said.

  “It’s not you I’m worried about.” I looked at the two officers by the first car.

  “You’re a funny man, Tank. A real gut-buster.” She climbed into the back of the car and Daniel followed.

  “You’re right, I’d better ride with them.” Andi released my arm and the world seemed to dim a little.

  It only took a few steps to reach the second car and I climbed in. I’ve never been in the back of a police car, but as I said, I’ve been in my Uncle Bart’s sheriff’s patrol vehicle; always in the front seat. This car was clean as could be. It didn’t smell, the interior looked like it had just rolled off the factory floor. It’s good to be thankful for small things, especially when you’ve been transported to some unknown place. So I was thankful.

  A few moments later we were moving down the street, the car purring like a content kitty. What puzzled me now was where they could be taking us. Most of this town was a dead ringer for Newland, North Carolina. Newland was small. My hike earlier led me through town and up into some of the residential streets. In Newland, the sheriff’s office was a storefront. It didn’t seem to be the kind of place with fancy electric cars and at least four officers on duty.

  So the place was similar, but not the same. With that realization I began to think of this place as New Land.

  They drove us out of New Land and I hoped we didn’t have an hour’s drive to the next town—Sugar Hill, it was called in Newland. For all I knew, there was no Sugar Hill; or it could be a major city. Nothing would surprise me now.

  The drive turned out to be short, which was a relief. About ten minutes out of town, up a winding road, was a large, modern-looking building. It reminded me of an office complex and maybe it was.

  Brenda, Daniel, and Andi were already out of the car when my chauffeur stopped the car. One of the cops had to open the door for me since it couldn’t be opened from the inside. At least that was the same as the cop cars back home.

  We were escorted to and through a large glass front and glass doors that opened as we neared. If this was a local police station, then it had to be the fanciest one I’d ever seen.

  Inside, was a large lobby with a fountain in the middle. A statue stood in the center of the fountain. It was a sculpture of a policeman in uniform and utility belt. In one arm he held a child, and with the other arm extended, he pointed the way. The way to what? I don’t know.. Safety? The future? A donut shop? My Uncle Bart would have my head for that last thought.

  I stepped next to Andi, hoping she’d take my arm again—she didn’t—and Brenda. They and Daniel were staring at the statue.

  “Cheesy,” Daniel said.

  That made Brenda chuckle and I was glad we were the only ones who could understand him.

  We had waited for about thirty seconds when a man in a fancy uniform with some in-your-face decorations on the shoulders and sleeves approached. He looked to be in his early sixties. His hair was the color of polished silver, and his wrinkles were deep, no doubt earned by a life in law enforcement. Like his officers before him, he beamed, shook our hands, and treated us like foreign dignitaries.

  He spoke to us, but I understood none of it. He could have been giving me sport scores for all I could tell. Then he gave me a slap on the shoulder. I took that to mean that he had said something nice, or maybe funny.

  He motioned for us to follow him. I noticed that the officers who brought us here didn’t follow. Apparently they had done their job. Th
at also told me that the chief—that’s what I assumed the older man to be—felt we were no threat to him.

  The rest of the building is a bit of a blur. I tried to take everything in but it was all a little overwhelming. Questions buzzed in my brain looking for answers and they were coming up short.

  “Anyone got a guess about what happened?” Brenda spoke softly.

  “Not a clue,” Andi said. “I could give a dozen guesses and be wrong on every count.”

  Brenda looked at Daniel and her mood darkened. “Batman and Robin. We should have moved on when the lady at the hotel told us.”

  “You think she knows something?” I asked.

  “That’d be my guess.”

  The chief’s office was spacious and dominated by a power desk with photos, file folders, and a cup half-filled with what I assumed was coffee.

  There was something else in the room. I should say there was someone else in the room: a woman. She had long blond hair that was parted down the middle and hypnotic brown eyes. She looked to be in her twenties and wore a green pants suit. She stood. She was tall and gorgeous.

  “Hello, Tank,” she said. She said it in English.

  “You know me?”

  “Of course I do, silly. How could I forget you?” Her smile was dazzling.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am, I think I’d remember you if we had met before.” I couldn’t say why at the moment, but I felt like an idiot, like the last person in the room to get the punchline of a joke.

  She smiled again. If her smile was any brighter I would need sunglasses. Then she did something weird: she took off her shoes and wiggled her toes.

  Still nothing.

  I heard her give a playful sigh as she closed her eyes. When she opened them I was staring at the same face but a different pair of eyes: green eyes. Something in my brain came out of hibernation. She closed her lids again, then opened them so we could see what a lovely shade of blue they were.

  “Wait.”

  Daniel charged forward and wrapped his arms around her.

  Andi clapped her hands. “Hello, Helsa.”

  “Helsa?” The thing that woke up in my brain got busy. I got it. I didn’t understand it, but I got it.

  “Littlefoot!”

  It was my turn to embrace her and she embraced me back. When we parted, I asked the obvious. “I don’t get it. When I last saw you were just a child.”

  “That was a long time ago, Tank.”

  That confused me. “It was less than a year ago.”

  “It’s been a little longer here.”

  Now I was getting a headache.

  Helsa’s voice turned dark. “We have a lot to discuss.”

  “You got that right,” Brenda said. “You can start by telling us how to get home from here.”

  I didn’t like the look on Helsa’s face.

  Chapter Nine

  Few Answers, Too Many Questions

  After the hugging was done, we sat so we could chat. I wasn’t sure how to feel. To say I was confused wouldn’t be going far enough. I first met Helsa (her name means devoted to God in Hebrew—of course her name just sounds like Hebrew, as far as we could figure) when our team was just getting its legs. It was our fourth adventure, and not all that long ago. Some days it seems a decade back. And back then, she was less than ten years old.

  I’ll keep this short. I mentioned my Uncle Bart, the county sheriff, in an area that included Dickerson, Oregon. Every year I go up to Oregon to watch the Rose Bowl with him and his family. While there, he got a call to investigate strange footprints in the snow of a farmer’s field. He asked me to go with him and I did. We found footprints all right. Small ones. Prints of a barefoot child walking through the snow. That image still haunts me.

  We found the little girl and she was as cute as a button. Didn’t talk, but she did carry a scroll with strange lettering. That’s what Andi recognized back in the café.

  “I hope everyone has been well.” Helsa was smiling when she said that but the smile evaporated pretty quick. “Where’s the professor?”

  “That’s hard to say,” Andi said.

  “He’s dead.” Brenda didn’t mince words. “Police say he committed suicide.”

  Some people grieve with endless tears. Brenda shed a few of those when she didn’t think people were watching. Some people grieve with anger. That was more Brenda’s speed.

  “There’s a lot of doubt about that.” Andi’s tone wasn’t cold, but it was pretty chilly. “Things don’t add up. He was looking for a way to access alternate dimensions.” She paused and looked at Brenda. “And look where we are: a different universe.”

  I’m not used to being the reasonable one, but I needed to give it a go. “The whole thing has been a little hard on us, Helsa.”

  “Either way, he’s not with you.” Helsa’s face darkened with sadness and her eyes changed color to a pale gray. “It’s a loss. I liked him. I felt nothing but love from him.”

  “That makes you the lucky one,” Brenda said. The professor had always been toughest on Brenda. He had a difficult time being anything but analytical.

  “I only got to spend a short time with him and I had become a child by then.”

  “This stuff gives me a headache.”

  To Brenda’s credit, she looked like her head hurt.

  Andi’s curiosity was taking over. I can’t say she was as brilliant as the professor, but given the chance, I think she could be. Nothing gets by the girl.

  “When we first met you, you couldn’t or wouldn’t speak. Now you handle English better than Tank. How is that?”

  “Hey.” It was all I could say.

  “No offense.” Andi smiled at me and all was right with the world—whatever world this was.

  “Come on.” Helsa stood. “I’ll show you.”

  We stood, too.

  “But first I need to warn you. It might be a little upsetting.”

  “Cool, just what we need: something else to upset us.” I probably don’t need to tell you that Brenda said that.

  Helsa talked as we walked. “I picked up a few things from you, but I’ve been studying the language ever since.”

  “They teach English here?” Andi said.

  “No. Not at all. But when the Others arrive, I try to learn their language.”

  That confused me. “Others?”

  “That’s what you are. You’re not from our world, so people here think of you as the Others. That’s not bad. My people love the Others—mostly.

  She filled us in on how she was a quick study and that English was a simple enough language. I was born in the good ol’ U.S. of A. and I don’t find English, proper English, all that easy.

  “Some of our team has visited your universe and brought back books for us to study.”

  “Team?” Andi asked.

  “Yes.” Helsa slowed to a stop in the wide hallway we had been strolling through. “You know there are other teams, don’t you?”

  “Wait, wait, wait.” Brenda pinched the bridge of her nose as if it would clarify everything. “There are other people like us?”

  “Yes. Of course.”

  “Doing the same thing we do?”

  “Again, yes.” Helsa looked puzzled, as if this should be common knowledge taught in grade schools. “Not in your universe. You are unique. I’m sure you know that. Only you can do what you do.”

  I felt good hearing that, but I had serious doubts that Brenda got the same thrill.

  “You know, old man McKinney tried to dial us in on the whole extra-dimensions and multiple universes thing, but he just confused me.”

  “You don’t want to go to anyplace that has more or less dimensions. Nothing would make sense. There are many universes in the greater cosmos. You’re in my universe now; I was in yours for a short time. The people you battle are from a universe different from yours or mine.”

  “The Gate,” I said. “We call them the Gate.”

  “They have many names; most of them less kind.”
/>
  “They don’t deserve kindness,” Brenda said.

  No one wanted to argue the point.

  “No, they don’t.” Helsa lowered her head and seemed to sink deeper in sadness. “They are smarter, have a better understanding of these things, and use more powerful equipment. They mean your world great harm.”

  “We gathered that.” Andi had had several close calls with death because of our work. I figure that gave her the right to be snippy.

  Helsa stopped and turned to us. “How much do you know about...the people who are helping you fight the Gate?”

  “Next to nothing.” I offered that bit of revelation. I’ve noticed that as a group we don’t much care to reveal our ignorance. Not many people take me seriously, so I don’t mind admitting to not knowing things I should know.

  Andi offered more information. “They only contact us through e-mail. They pay for our travels and our bank accounts go up every month, not enough to make us rich, but enough that we don’t have to get jobs to survive. They don’t talk to us; they just send us tickets to fly or directions to drive to some location. They never tell us the whys and wherefores. They also seem to clean up after us.”

  “Clean up?” Helsa raised an eyebrow.

  “How do I explain this?” Andi furrowed her brow. “We’ve endured some strange things: killer fungus, creatures that swim in the fog and eat pedestrians, flying orbs—it’s a long list. Yet somehow, most of it is kept out of the media. I don’t know how they do it, but when we ride off into the sunset, they send in the janitors.”

  Helsa nodded.

  “I’m afraid we don’t know any more than you. I hate to admit that. I wish I could sit you down and tell you everything you need to know and answer all your questions. I can’t. I’m just as confused as you. I’m part of a team here, and what you describe is the same as what we experience.”

  “You’re part of a team?” I couldn’t believe what I heard.

  “Yes, Tank. It is why I was sent to your universe, to your world. It is why I’m here now. I think it is why you’re are here now. We need you.”