“What do you mean by ‘cycling through?’” Frost asked, a grim look on her face. “How many more dimensions do we have to stop at before we reach this Heaven?”
“I had trouble with that bit too,” Griffin confessed. “Winslow seems to have a handle on it. The way he described it is like a giant Ferris Wheel. Imagine that our town, when we were on our world, was like the gondola on the bottom, and the ground, where we’d be touching, was our world.”
The others nodded, the image easy enough to visualize.
“This is where it gets weird. Well, weirder. Each of the other gondolas on the wheel is a town like us—a Refuge, or maybe just undeveloped land, or an ocean, depending on how that world developed. The wheel moves, shifting us from our world to the first position up the wheel. The big difference in the analogy is that every gondola is also touching ground—but in a different dimension. So when we’re on the desert world where Becky died…some other Refuge is back on Earth, occupying our place on the wheel.”
“Strange,” Frost said, “but okay, I’m following you. How many gondolas are there?”
“That’s the problem. Winslow says the journal is hazy on that part. Might be only a few or there could be thousands…or millions. Maybe more. We’re not sure if Ellison is hopping us all between dimensions at random, or if he’s identified some sort of path through universes.”
Frost stood up slowly and ran her hands down the front of her wrinkled uniform. The motion was so automatic for her, she wasn’t aware she was doing it. “So, what? His big plan is to take a cosmic joyride and hope that we stumble upon Heaven? If we find that lunatic, he might get there sooner than he planned. No offense, Pastor.”
Dodge scowled and looked up at them. “If it were somehow...possible, it would be amazing. A gift, especially to those undeserving. But even if this is possible, I don’t think we would be greeted with open arms. Treated as hostile invaders is more likely. There are plenty of stories in the Bible of God getting ticked off at the hubris of man. The Tower of Babel comes to mind. If we’re lucky, we’ll be sent on our way, unable to understand each other. If we’re not lucky, well, we might find ourselves right back in this hellish place.”
“There’s one shred of good news here,” Griffin said, rubbing at his elbow. “Winslow is pretty sure that with Cash’s help, he can disable one of the pylons, the next time we get to a relatively tame world.”
“Don’t want to stay here and listen to the screaming philharmonic?” Frost quipped.
“Thanks, but no. If they disable a pylon, Winslow believes that one of three things will happen. It will stop the shifting and we’ll stay put on that world, or we might just get flung back to our world. Like a reset.”
“What was the third thing?” Dodge asked.
Griffin frowned. “The imbalance in the pylons might rip the town and everything in it into molecular shreds. Winslow’s not sure we could prevent that even if we disabled all five pylons. It’s all uncertain. Remember, we’re operating off an instruction manual that’s really just the rantings of a madman. The journal is damaged. And it’s from another world, so maybe not a lick of it pertains to our Ellison.”
“So where does that leave us?” Frost asked.
“Worse off than you thought,” came a voice from the door.
Everyone turned to find Kyle, his shirt spattered in Cash’s blood.
“I can’t stop the bleeding.”
“What—” Griffin started.
“I can’t stop any bleeding. I nicked my own finger earlier, when we arrived in this world.” Kyle held up his thumb, which had a Dora the Explorer Band-Aid on it. “Nothing is healing.”
13
Avalon Butler felt like crap. She thought she was over the worst of the cramps and sweats. In fact, she’d felt fine for days now. But suddenly, she felt terrible. The screaming outside was creepy, but the feeling of being cooped up inside the station with everybody else, all huddled in fear, overwhelmed her.
She got up and headed out of the room where Radar and Lisa lay snuggled up on a sofa, whispering things to each other. Ahh, to be a teenager again, she thought. She headed downstairs first, to a refreshment area, where the woman from the market—Avalon couldn’t remember her name, but, like everyone else in town, she called Avalon ‘Lony’—had brought in several cases of bottled water.
Avalon took a bottle, then thought better of it and took a second, before heading back to the stairs. Carol Herman was there, heading her way. The woman was amazing and nice, but Avalon really didn’t want to stop and talk.
“Are you alright, dear?” Carol’s permanent smile was present, if a little lackluster. The woman looked tired.
“I’m good. Just need some fresh air. Heading up to the roof.”
“Be careful up there.”
Avalon smiled her own fake smile. “There’s a .50 caliber machine gun up there. It’s everyone else who needs to be careful.”
Carol laughed and then was on her way. Ugh. I hate the chit-chat. That’s why I got out of this place.
Taking her bottles with her, Avalon climbed the stairs to the roof. The wailing shrieks in the distance were still there, and the air was full of thick charred smoke, like from a pot roast gone wrong. But the night air was also cool, and the chill helped her clear her head a little. She walked past the rooftop solar panels, and then slid the two 22 ounce bottles in the rear pockets of her jeans. Then she grabbed the ladder and started the climb to the little lookout tower.
She got to the top and looked south to the numerous bonfires lighting the dark night sky. Despite the solar-powered streetlights in Refuge, there were pockets of shadow all around the town, but the weird labyrinth in the distance was lit up like a Halloween version of a Christmas tree, with dancing orange light from the fires flickering over its walls. Huge curving rib-like towers could be vaguely seen further in the distance. Then there were lumps and bumps all over the ground that rose and fell like the waves of an incoming tide. They were probably the size of boulders. Winslow had said they looked like molars. Creepy.
She took her water bottles out and set them on the low parapet wall around the platform. Then she tried to angle and focus the big telescope toward the labyrinth. She wanted to know where all the screaming was coming from. It sounded like it could be different people in agony at times, but at other times, it sounded nearly mechanical.
The telescope was a bit more complex than she would have liked. She found part of a wall. It looked like it was made from round white stones, affixed together with pinkish mortar. But then she bumped the scope and the focus was off. She fiddled with the electronic controls, attempting to bring it into more focus, but the result was the opposite. In the end, she gave up and just leaned against the low wall. Her head buzzed, almost like she was high. It was a weird sensation, and her mouth felt dry, her tongue like a bloated piece of bread in her mouth.
She cracked one of the water bottles and chugged the liquid in one go. Then she screwed the plastic cap back on and set the bottle down on the edge of the wall. Except she missed the wall entirely, and the empty plastic bottle sailed away. It bounced off a solar panel, and skittered across the roof of the station.
“Oooh,” she said in a sing-song voice, as if she was both thrilled and sarcastically mocking her miss.
What’s wrong with me? I’m acting like I’m high…
But then a strong gust of wind came her way, blowing a fresh burst of smoke in her face from the distant fires. She started choking on the noxious fumes, and then she started laughing and coughing, and laughing some more.
Eventually the coughing subsided, but she had a fresh burst of giggles, tears streaming down her face. Any last semblance of rational thought disappeared. She shoved the expensive telescope and stood back, watching it slowly swivel like a tubular mobile sculpture. The idea made her laugh harder, and suddenly she was vomiting over the wall of the lookout tower. A steady wretch emptied the meager contents of her stomach, but then the next wave of dry heaves ca
me and kept coming, like she was in full withdrawal again.
She started to panic, feeling like she’d never get a chance to catch a breath in between the convulsions. Her body involuntarily lunged forward, and she felt herself tipping over the edge of the wall, unable to arrest her fall, as her muscles locked up for another burst of snot and drool.
But then her mind did a strange cartwheel, like the world had started spinning. It felt like a tremendous hangover. She could close her eyes but that only made things worse. So she kept them open.
Someone had grabbed her arm from behind, the hand gnarled and muscular, the grip tight. She wasn’t falling to the roof of black panels below her. Instead she felt like she was floating. There was a hand on her other forearm too, but it was a black man’s arm. She didn’t think there were any black guys in Refuge.
She wanted to giggle at the thought, but her stomach lurched again, and her throat made that hideous Hawwww noise she always made when she vomited. Nothing came up, but she couldn’t talk past the reflex. As she looked up at the body attached to the arms holding her, her desire to talk and giggle turned to a sour desire to yell for help.
The...thing holding her wasn’t remotely human. And it wasn’t holding her back from falling. Wasn’t saving her. It was flying away with her. Her mouth was locked open in a helpless silent scream, as her stomach muscles desperately tried to empty her already empty body.
Below her, the town sailed past. Another creature descended from the dark sky and clasped onto her legs. But the creatures didn’t fight over her. They worked together, carrying her out toward the bonfires, past the edge of Refuge.
14
Brian Bartlett wished he’d stayed at the station house with Mary. Or better yet, that they’d both barricaded themselves in their market and waited out this mess. Although the place was called Soucey’s after Mary’s deceased father, and as a result everyone always thought of it now as her place, the store had become Brian’s home, too.
Mary had wanted to leave Refuge, and if she had, Brian would have followed her. But they had stayed and made a life here. And now something—some crazy thing that sent their town to horrific places—was threatening their lives and home.
Brian liked the life they’d made, even if he didn’t much care for his fellow New Englanders. He’d never told anyone—not even Mary—but he’d always planned to get out of town, too. But not without Mary. Not a chance.
Now, looking out at the dark night ripped alive by the soaring flames of the bonfires, he wished he’d grabbed her by the hand and dragged her off to California or Hawaii. Hell, Siberia would be an improvement.
He stood on the town line with four other men. He’d known them all his whole life, but he’d only ever really been friends with Jim Calloway. The others were guys he’d known, but never liked much. Frank Billings, Ted Drake and Billy West had all been jerks in school. As adults, they’d gotten worse. The only good thing about each of them was that their present circumstances had made them all serious and quiet.
The asphalt ended just past Brian’s toes. Below him, the eerie city of this world lay at the bottom of a sloping hill of dirt and rock, cast in high contrast black shadows and orange fire-light. The city was probably two miles away, cut off from Refuge by strings of rocks—if they were rocks—that ground up and down through the sediment, like giant whack-a-moles. He could hear the screaming. Despite coming from a great distance, it sounded loud here. Close. It sent a shiver up his spine every time he heard a fresh bout of the wailing on the breeze. This close to the city and the fires, the smoke was thicker, like a foggy morning before the sunrise. But the light from the fires illuminated the smoky haze, like lighting effects at a rock concert.
He could make out the walls of the strange labyrinth in the distance. Twisting and turning in and around, with protrusions here and there, like towers. Curving structures swept up and over the walls in places and dropped back into the maze in other places. For the first two hours of their watch, they hadn’t seen anything moving down there.
But that had changed.
A lone figure walked out of the main avenue of the labyrinth twenty minutes ago. They could see him through a telescope. He wore a white helmet of some sort. The details were lost in the smoke. He carried what looked like a long pipe, dragging it on the ground as he walked. Whatever it was, it looked heavy. He looked strong, but his arms were wrapped in some kind of dark sleeves or maybe armor.
Only one thing was certain; the man was headed in their direction. He never wavered in his trajectory. He strode forward, straight as an arrow, and would soon arrive at the parked Humvee, where five terrified men stood watch.
When the man reached the halfway point to the town’s border, Billings asked whether they should radio it in.
In typical fashion, West pointed out that it was only one guy, and even though he looked big, they were each armed with M-16s. They could take him if it came to that. Drake suggested the man might be a messenger, but the way he said it sounded more like he was trying to convince himself. The puffing of chests had begun.
Brian said nothing, and Jim stood next to him, likewise lost in his own thoughts.
The big man continued toward them, one trudging step up the incline after another. Jim forgot that he had the telescope in his hand, and Brian took it from him, zooming in on the guy.
The lens focused on the man’s chest. He put Arnold Schwarzenegger to shame. The muscular pecks looked like a solid wall of flesh. Brian shifted the view sideways. Dark, twisted coils of rope, or resin or something like that, covered the man’s arms. It looked like a roiling mess of snakes had crawled up onto his arms and frozen in place. They didn’t move. Thank God for that.
The man’s pants were linen or cloth, but his feet looked like they were clad in boots made from large reptile feet with claws on the ends—or are those his feet? And holy shit! Is that a tail?
Brian pulled the telescope away from his eye and looked unaided for a second, then brought the scope back up. Yes, the man had a long tapering tail like… Brian shivered. Like one of those strange fire-breathing Gila monsters that had invaded the town. Although this guy’s tail looked bluish. Not orange and black. Different species maybe, but still reptilian.
Brian could see now that the long thing the man dragged behind him was a black lance or pike. It looked heavy.
The helmet—God, I hope it’s a helmet—was bone. Elongated, and ridged, with huge incisors pointing down like walrus tusks. The long skull looked far too long for it to be anything but a helmet. It has to be a helmet. It appeared to be the skull of some long-dead creature. An oversized snake, perhaps. As he followed the long skull teeth downward, he gasped. The front of the heavy helmet was held in place by the long, curved fangs, which arced down and pierced into the man’s prodigious chest. With each step, the body shifted and fresh blood trickled from the puncture wounds.
All of that was ghastly and intimidating. But something was off. The scale, he thought. He focused the telescope on the eyes of the skull-helmet. Rammed into the eye sockets of the monster skull were smaller skulls.
Human skulls.
Oh shit…
Brian pulled the telescope from his eye again and looked down the slope at the thing approaching them.
“The guy is at least fourteen feet tall. He’s massive,” Brian muttered.
“What are you talking about,” Billings snapped at him.
“He has human skulls for eyes. We don’t stand a chance.” Brian turned, looking at the road leading back to town. “We should leave. We’re supposed to leave. Not fight.”
“Like hell,” Drake said, then he swung the barrel of his M-16 up and fired at the approaching monstrosity.
The others took the cue and raised their own weapons, opening fire with a storm of bullets. Brian and Jim joined in, all of them firing in uncontrolled bursts.
Their target merely raised his free arm, the snake gauntlet acting as a shield and deflecting the oncoming storm of lead.
And then he started running up the slope.
Each footfall shook the ground beneath their feet.
The giant man emerged from the smoky haze and hefted his long pike, raising it up like a sword. The man—if he was a man—stood twice Brian’s height.
Magazines ran dry, and the barking of the M-16s stopped.
Then the slaughter commenced.
As the men fell apart, literally, all Brian could focus on was the man’s fearless skull eyes.
15
“What are those?” Frost asked Griffin, inclining her head toward the keys he jingled in his hand, as he sat in the passenger seat of the cruiser.
“Oh,” Griffin said, as if just realizing he’d been playing with the keys. “Kyle asked me to bring his bike back from the farm.”
Dodge and the Turkette woman were silent in the back. They were heading back out to the farm, an unlikely group ready to confront Ellison, and if they found her, Barnes. Frost still couldn’t wrap her head around the notion that Julie Barnes even owned a gun—let alone shot Cash with one.
They were armed to the teeth, but the weapons didn’t give Frost any comfort. The recent revelation that no one could heal from their wounds in this world, meant that any wound could be fatal. She felt fine, herself, and she was glad that she didn’t have any injuries. But she’d noticed Griffin scratching the still-healing lizard bite on his arm. She wanted to ask him how the wound had been faring before the recent shift, but she dreaded hearing a truthful answer from him.
We have to get home. We’re all dying on this cosmic Ferris wheel. Some just faster than others. It’s time to get off the ride.
She turned the cruiser onto the gravel drive of the farm. The last time she’d been out here, she noticed a beat up pickup parked on the side of the drive. It was gone now. She knew it didn’t belong to Laurie, Kyle or Cash and had assumed Charley had somehow gotten a hold of another truck. She didn’t think he could have made it out here on foot.
Refuge Book 5 - Bonfires Burning Bright Page 6
