“Crap! I dropped it!” Helen yells over the noise of Betty’s engine. They must be going over a hundred miles an hour, now. Well over.
“Henry, hold this.” Helen hands the contraption back to her brother, and drops to the floor to look for the staple.
“I can’t see anything, it’s too dark!”
“Yes you can, Helen,” says Kate. “Just relax.”
Relax. At a hundred and twenty miles an hour, while holding a detonation device. Okay.
Helen squeezes her eyes shut and feels around on the floor, pricking her finger on a tiny object and catching it under her fingernail. She brings it up and Henry anxiously hands the device back to her. She maneuvers the piece into place, one way, then another. Finally it clicks into place.
“Okay, it’s ready!” Helen shouts over the roar of the engine.
Clarence is smiling, a happy dog in a fast car.
“Alright, fire that thing off!” Kate shouts. “Everybody hang on.”
Helen punches a button and the device lets out a whine that goes higher and higher until they can’t hear it any more. And then, it emits beeps. Far apart, then closer and closer, as the numbers on the compass spin toward the correct coordinates. She places the contraption up on the dashboard, as if moving it a little farther away will help if she blows them all up. The beeping sounds are very close together now, almost continuous. The pair of lights spins by yet again, and then…
“Hold on!” Kate yells.
Helen grabs the door handle. Henry grabs the dog. Kate hangs onto the steering wheel as tightly as humanly possible.
The beeping stops, the compass number freezes, and the device blows.
Everything outside the car goes white, as if they have driven inside of a huge firework. The car lurches to one side and then the other, then drops, leaving everyone a few inches above their seat.
The car skids forward. Kate puts all her strength into the wheel. Tires hit gravel as the car spins out of control. Kate steers into the spin to compensate, and eventually the car comes to rest in a white cloud of dust.
Quiet. The family looks around at each other, out of the dust. Like a curtain falling, the cloud dissipates. They can make out shapes, buildings. A row of buildings. Old. Constructed of wood. A wide, unpaved street. And, it is now daytime.
A blackened wad of metal and wires sits on the dashboard.
Finally the air clears. Helen climbs out of the car, and looks up at the front of the Brokeneck Hotel.
The sound of skidding tires and the ensuing cloud of dust outside the window cause Mrs. Woods to look up from her tea.
“Our guests are here,” Mrs. Woods says to Daniel.
The impact of Gabriel’s fist on the Chairman’s jaw makes a beautiful sound. He has imagined that sound for such a long time, anticipating exactly how he might throw the punch, at what angle and with what velocity. This moment has been a very, very long time in coming. Gabriel’s fist carries with it through the air years of concentrated anger and frustration.
Gabriel’s knuckles throb with pain, but it’s worth it.
The Chairman needs a moment to get up off the floor. He knows what—who—he is dealing with. The Chairman fully expected to encounter hostility when he came here. He collects himself and then stands, rubbing his jaw. His teeth all appear to still be in place, but he can taste blood.
Before the Chairman can straighten all the way, Gabriel takes another run at him. But the Chairman grabs a rickety wooden stool and brandishes it as if training a circus animal. Holding the stool out front with one hand, the Chairman straightens his tie with the other.
“Mr. Silverwood, if you will listen for a moment… ” the Chairman says.
“Listen to what?” Gabriel says, circling. “Listen to you telling me how sorry you are that my brother had to be sacrificed to some stupid battle you’re having with those idiot squids? Or how—oops—you told me that my family was safe and sound, and that I could get to them, but now they seem to have gone missing? ‘Cause they’re not here, Chairman Sir. Not anywhere. I’ve looked.”
“Look, I need to explain some things to you… ” the Chairman says, keeping the stool out in front of him.
“I don’t want an explanation, I want my family,” Gabriel interrupts. “Remember our little deal? You said, ‘go get me my portals and my book and you can have your family back.’ Well I can see now, that it was a game. Some stupid game you’re playing.”
Gabriel grabs the foot of the stool and rams it forward, slamming the Chairman backwards into the wall. A cuckoo clock slips off its nail and smashes on the floor, the bird and pieces of the clock’s innards clattering in all directions.
“You put me in prison,” Gabriel says through his teeth, “and you know what I learned there? Because I had a lot of time on my hands, a lot of time. I learned how that prison works. I can break out anybody I want, any time. Got it? That was a mistake on your part. You gave me far too much time to think. You never want to do that.” Gabriel gives the stool a hard shove into the Chairman’s chest.
“Look… . Mr. Silverwood… ” the Chairman struggles to get enough air to speak. “Just listen for a minute… I don’t have a lot of time.”
Gabriel looks the Chairman in the face for a moment, and loosens the stool a little bit. “Talk.”
The Chairman straightens and finally takes in some air. “I came here as a last resort. You need to know that I am not in control of the Council at this time. The only reason I’m here, and not in prison, is because I had some failsafe codes that didn’t happen to get hacked. Yet.”
“Well that’s touching,” Gabriel says, “that you would use your special little codes to come visit me.”
“You should also know, that I am the only thing standing between the Council and the Silverwoods at this moment,” Chairman says.
“What is that supposed to mean?” Gabriel says.
The Chairman measures his words. “It means, I have a little problem back at the home office.”
“Your home office is the problem!” Gabriel yells. “In case you forgot, you were in charge of the Council, the same one that put me in prison, remember, and separated me from my family, and now you… you lost control of it? And I’m supposed to care?”
The Chairman’s face hardens.
“How do you even do that, lose control?” Gabriel rants. “I thought you were the man with all the buttons and codes and… all the secret passages. What were you, asleep at the wheel?”
“There are certain elements, both human and Tromindox,” the Chairman says, taking a very measured tone of voice, “who are working together and pooling their considerable resources. If these—elements—work together, you, me, your family, all of us are in danger. Now—we can either do something about it, or we can stand here in the Old West and throw furniture at each other.”
A device in the Chairman’s pocket lets out a high-pitched whine.
“Damn,” the Chairman says, looking down. “And now, this code has been discovered. My options are very limited. I have to go.”
“But before I do,” the Chairman says, looking Gabriel straight in the eye, “Yes. You are supposed to care. Hopefully next time I try to give you information, you will be more likely to listen. Because you fought me, I am out of time. I will offer you one more important fact about yourself before I must go.”
“What fact is that?” Gabriel says.
“You are not where you think you are,” the Chairman says.
“What is that supposed to mean?” Gabriel says. “This is the exact time frame the Tromindox traveled to with the portals. It’s supposed to be the same time frame my family is in. Or did you forget about that part of our deal?”
“Listen,” says the Chairman, “I cut a deal with you to get back the portals. And the book. But since then, the entire situation has changed. You are in fact in the right time frame. But you’re not exactly where you think you are. You are under the radar, so to speak.”
Another high-pitched whin
e. They are onto the Chairman now. Only a matter of seconds before he gets transported back.
“I have to go. I’m out of time.” The Chairman stares down at the screen as if watching a countdown.
Gabriel just looks at him. This fellow is a fountain of knowledge.
“Your wife has a portal I sent to her by way of a projection while she was out on the road. It was requested by one of your agents. That portal has a reverse field encoded onto it. That field, when activated, will send this whole place, and everyone in it, back where it came from. Be careful when you use it, or you’ll go, too.”
“What? Where the hell am I? Where the hell is my family? You’re not done here!” Gabriel yells.
“I’m afraid I am,” the Chairman says. “Next time, maybe you’ll shut up long enough to listen. I am sorry. But do be careful with that portal.”
“Oh… ” The Chairman reaches into his breast pocket. “And here’s the rest of the information. Too bad I didn’t have time to explain it. I’m sure you can sort it out.” He flicks a small light card onto the desk. “Time to go.”
The Chairman fades away, and Gabriel can see him reach up to rub his jaw just before disappearing.
“What portal? You idiot!” Gabriel shouts. But no one is listening any more.
The stool, with no Chairman to push on, falls to the floor and breaks into pieces. Everything in this place is rotten and brittle. And stupid.
Noises outside. This town is filled to the gills with Tromindox. Gabriel stuffs the card into a pocket and looks toward the rear door of the building, a square room that resembles a sheriff’s office. There’s even a cage in the corner, for holding the drunk and disorderly until they dry out. He feels like he’s on a movie set.
Gabriel exits out the back, into a fenced enclosure. On his left, a wooden staircase climbs up to a high platform. On the bottom of the platform he can make out a set of hinges—a trap door? In the middle of… that’s why. It’s a gallows. A massive wooden beam rises on two posts above the platform. Nice. He’s definitely fallen into a Western movie.
He hears voices nearby. From his vantage point out back, Gabriel can see down the row of buildings, brick and wood. All of them look worn and rotten. Somewhere there must be a window open, because he can hear two people talking.
“You said he was here,” a woman’s voice says, pleading in tone.
“I didn’t say anything of the sort, foolish woman, you came here of your own accord.” The other voice sounds a little strange… what is it? Digital. It sounds digital.
“But,” says the woman, “I heard it, clear as day. The message. ‘Ma’am, we’ve found your son, he’s here.’ And then the little coin, this one, here. I want my son. They said he was here—I haven’t seen him in two years… ” her voice chokes off in a sob.
“Mrs. Chen, your son is not here. He never was here. You were told a fairy tale. But you came, didn’t you. Just like the others. You came, because you thought you would find what you are searching for, here. They all do.”
Gabriel has reached a back porch a couple of buildings down. He tries to step onto it, but it is too rickety, makes too much noise. He stands still, listening. The voices seem to come from an open (well, it has no glass actually) window about ten feet away. But he can’t see anything in there; it’s too dark inside in contrast with the harsh sunlight from above.
The woman begins shrieking. “My son! You said he was here… he has to be here! I’ve been looking for him… Jeremy, where are you? Mommy’s here honey, I’m here! I’ve never forgotten you Jeremy, I… ”
Silence. Has she passed out? Gabriel decides to risk the porch, tiptoes up and peers into the window.
His eyes adjust, and two shapes emerge: one, a woman. That must be Mrs. Chen. But she’s lying on the floor, now. And over her, the unmistakable shape of a Tromindox, letting the venom do its work. The porch lets out a loud creak under Gabriel’s feet. Damn.
The Tromindox looks up, its digital face casting a blue light across the dark room. It flips through a few expressions, settling on the face of a young man. For all Gabriel knows, this could be T-441. There’s no way to tell.
Gabriel can’t retreat now, so he hops in through the glassless window. “Hello, Sir, fine day we’re having, isn’t it?”
“Who the hell are you? Get out!” the digital Tromindox face yells. It’s not 441.
“Who am I? Glad you asked. Because, that’s very important information, for you. Right now. Because, you see, if you know what’s good for you, you’ll listen very carefully,” Gabriel says.
Mrs. Chen is just a glob now, almost fully absorbed. This Tromindox works fast. It must be well fed and strong.
The Tromindox raises a spindly hand, and fashions one of its fingers into a long spike.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, sir, for two reasons,” Gabriel says. “First of all, you’re already a little tied up, with Mrs. Chen, there. And second, if you touch me, I’ll dissolve you into a pile of powder before you can flip a new face on that funky display of yours.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” the Tromindox says. The digital face is without expression.
“What that means, sir, is that I’m a Silverwood. You know, the Silverwood clan,” Gabriel says.
“Silverwoods aren’t real,” the Tromindox says.
“Oh, we’re real,” Gabriel says, slowly walking forward. “We’re really quite real. If you don’t believe me, would you care to find out for yourself?” He holds out his hand.
The Tromindox lurches back but not far, being still attached to its ever-shrinking glob of prey. “No, I wouldn’t.”
“Good,” Gabriel says.
“Silverwood. I thought that was some extinct cult,” the Tromindox says.
“Oh, we’re far from that,” Gabriel says, “we’re very much alive.”
“And what are you doing here, now?” the Tromindox asks.
“Well,” Gabriel says, “I’m on a mission. I’m looking for someone. And I need to move around, without being bothered. If you know what I mean. So, you never saw me. Understand?”
For a split second, the anguished face of Mrs. Chen flickers across the digital display. She is fully absorbed, now. She had no idea what hit her; she never had a chance to fight back.
“And what do I get for helping you?” the Tromindox asks.
Gabriel’s hand shoots forward, slicing the end of a tentacle clean off. The severed piece writhes about on the floor while the Tromindox lets out a howl of pain. It reaches down and feverishly reattaches its lost limb.
“What did you do that for?” it yells.
Gabriel steps close to the creature. “The question is really, what do you not get for helping me. Which is, you do not get sliced up into tiny bits and dissolved into a fine powder. If you care to remain in possession all of your parts, you will keep your pixelated mouth shut. Understand?”
“Fine,” the beast says. “You are loud and sloppy, so I’m sure you will give yourself away soon enough without any help from me.” The digital face turns pouty, and the creature slinks away into the darkness. Mrs. Chen is nowhere to be seen.
Church bells ring outside. Gabriel reaches into his pocket and pulls out the light card from the Chairman. “What secrets are you holding?” he asks it. “Where am I, really?”
As if in response the card illuminates with pictures, words, and data. There’s a photograph of a lake—must be nearby. Here’s the history of Brokeneck: the Brokeneck Hotel, Mrs. Eleanor Woods, proprietress, the Brokeneck Bookstore, list of everyone currently residing in, or observed in, Brokeneck. Gabriel flips through rapidly. There’s nothing about Christopher, but he has to be here. That’s all that matters, right now. Gabriel rummages in his pockets. Time to hack together a bio-reader, so he can try to pick up Christopher’s signal—if there still is one.
Ted and Earl lean forward and peer down at the table in front of Rose, whose knitting trails into a pile in her lap. The sunlight slants into the windows of the Bro
keneck Diner, projecting a row of bright squares onto the floor.
“Whatcha got there, Rose?” Earl asks.
Rose gives them a look, and then turns back to her knitting.
“My husband gave it to me,” she says.
“I didn’t ask where you got it, I asked what is it? I swear Rose, if I ask you your name, you’ll give me your phone number. Now what is that thing?” Earl says.
“Ol’ Zombie Don? Giving you presents now is he, Rose?” Ted says.
“Ted! Please maintain focus on the question at hand,” Earl says. “Now Rose, if I were guessing, I’d have to say that item looks an awful lot like that video camera Posey’s always carrying around… ”
“Excepting that it‘s all beat up,” Ted points out. “Looks like somebody ran over it with a truck or something. Rose may I examine it?”
“Suit yourself,” Rose says, needles flying. An encounter with her departed husband Don always gets her knitting pretty furiously.
Ted picks up the camera, and water spills out of it. “This thing’s all wet,” he says. “Where did Zombie Don get it?”
“The lake,” Rose says.
Ted pushes the play button, but nothing happens. “This thing’s done for,” he declares, and hands it to Earl. Earl looks it over. The casing is smeared with mud.
“Yep, sure looks like Posey’s camera,” Earl says. “I suppose we ought to return it to her, eh? She won’t be any too happy to see her camera in this sorry condition.”
Sensing an opportunity to pay a visit to his crush, Earl declares, “and I will be happy to take it to her. Rose, may I?”
“Suit yourself,” says Rose again. She has probably added ten inches to the scarf during this conversation.
Earl lays his money down on the counter to cover breakfast, straightens his bucket hat, and turns toward the door. “Ted, you coming?”
Silverwood Page 16
