Griffin didn’t know about all that, but he did know that Quentin spent almost as much time working on his truck as he did working. Not that it mattered now, since Quentin was back in New Hampshire and his truck was...well...wherever the hell it was.
Past Miller’s house, they circled around the lake and coming into the final stretch, where they saw the house ahead, its paved drive blocked by an ominous iron gate. Griffin pulled to a stop at the gate. He leaned forward and waved at a camera mounted to a nearby tree.
The gate didn’t budge.
“Be right back,” Griffin said, putting the car in park and stepping out. He strode up to the gate, looking for a call box. There wasn’t one. He tried to push the gates in, but a lock held them in place. Losing his patience, he drew his M9 sidearm and pointed it at the lock, which clicked open, as though in fright.
He glanced back at the camera. It had tracked him. He gave whoever was watching a sarcastic smile and holstered his weapon. He headed back to the car and got behind the wheel. “Sometimes you just have to ask politely.”
Everyone in the car stared as Griffin drove up the drive toward Ellison’s massive Victorian Gothic Revival home. The house was constructed of gray stone, and included several honest-to-goodness turrets, each with its own conical roof. A stone balcony ran almost the full length of the house, ending at the conical corners, which rose up to the roof. The roof itself was out of view, hidden by stonework facades on each side of the house that were suggestive of medieval crenellations. Numerous tall, narrow windows looked out on the lawn, strongly resembling ancient murder holes or archer slits, though admittedly wider. The whole effect was like driving up to a castle.
King Ellison, Griffin thought, as he stopped the cruiser in front of the massive stone porch. I wonder if His Majesty will be surprised to see us.
Given the fact that someone had removed what was likely damning evidence from the Guard depot, he thought it was more than likely that they were expected.
He parked in front of a large granite staircase leading up to a set of hardwood doors. He didn’t recognize the wood grain as anything native. Probably exotic. He looked at the kids in the back. “I really don’t want to let any of you out—”
All three opened their mouths to complain.
“But,” Griffin said. “I’m going to. You’ll stay by my side at all times, and when we find Ellison, don’t say a word. Not one word. Understood?”
Three heads bobbed up and down.
He got out with Winslow and opened the back door, allowing the three youths out. He then climbed the stairs to the double doors and knocked. In truth, he pounded on them, wanting to make sure he’d be heard inside the huge, sprawling castle-like structure that was Renford Ellison’s house. He’d seen the house from a distance on numerous occasions, but he’d never had the opportunity to visit. Now that he stood on the massive front porch, he suddenly felt very small and very poor. He didn’t particularly care for the feeling. He pounded again, louder this time.
“Ring the doorbell, Dad,” Avalon suggested.
His fist hung in the air over the door, ready to pound again. He glanced to the side and saw the doorbell. “Right.” Unclenching his fist, he pressed the button and heard chimes beyond the door, playing the Winchester Quarters, which to Griffin, sounded a lot like the tones from Close Encounters of the Third Kind.
When the chime ended, he reached for the doorbell again, but withdrew his hand when he heard the door unlock. He stepped back as the door opened, and he saw a young African American woman standing in the doorway. She was dressed casually in a white blouse and knee-length skirt, with a wide, flat belt doing waist duty. Her black hair was pulled back in a tight bun, and she wore a pair of large-framed glasses that made her dark brown eyes look just a bit too big for her face.
“Can I help you?” she asked, sounding more irritated than anything.
“We need to see Mr. Ellison,” Griffin replied.
“He’s not home right now,” she said. “I will tell him you stopped by, Mr. ...uh…”
“Deputy Griffin Butler.” He tapped his badge. “I really need to speak to him. It’s important.”
“I told you, he’s not here.”
“We’ll wait,” Griffin said, sliding past her and walking into the house.
“Hey,” she said. “You can’t just barge in here.”
“Call the police,” Griffin advised with a grin. He knew this wasn’t anything close to proper police procedure, but honestly, it was just a badge now. There was no government left to support his authority, just the respect of the people in town who trusted Frost’s judgment.
Avalon, Winslow, Radar and Lisa followed, albeit reluctantly. And as they walked into the entrance hall, the woman closed the door, none too gently.
“I told you folks,” the woman said, “Mr. Ellison isn’t here.”
“Then where is he?” Griffin asked.
“I’m his nurse, not his nanny.”
“That’s too bad, because we aren’t leaving until we see him.”
“Well, Deputy Butler, I—”
“Griffin, please.”
She sighed. “Griffin. As I said, Mr. Ellison is not here. I have no idea where he is or when he will be back. So if you could just tell me what this is about, I will be sure to relate as much to him, the next time I see him.”
“Look, lady,” Griffin snapped, believing that this woman’s ignorance was simply an act. “I’ve just about—”
Winslow stepped forward and put a hand on Griffin’s chest. “I’m sorry, Miss…?”
“Jennifer Turkette.”
“Miss Turkette,” Winslow said. “I assume you’ve looked outside recently.”
Jennifer nodded. Her eyes darted to the window, and the professional demeanor she’d maintained showed a crack. “Every time that bell rings...”
“So you know what’s going on,” Griffin said.
“How in the world would I know that?” she snapped, the last of her resolve fading. She sounded more like a normal person now.
“Easy, Jennifer,” Winslow said. “Griffin just means that you’re aware of what’s been happening, not that you know anything about it.”
“I’d have to be blind and deaf not to notice that,” she replied.
“Have you been safe here?” Griffin asked.
“Fine,” she said. “Though I haven’t felt safe. When it was dark...I saw some...some things moving past the house. But they stayed well enough away.”
Winslow put a hand on her shoulder. Made sure she was listening. “See, the thing is, we think Renford Ellison might be able to explain what’s happening, or at least part of it.”
“Why would you think that?”
Griffin told her about the packages and letters back at the depot and how they were addressed to Ellison, leaving out the fact that the name was written as an anagram. “Look, we’re just trying to figure out what’s happening, and if possible, get back home to our...Earth.” The woman’s eyes went wide, but she remained silent. “Right now, Mr. Ellison is our only lead.”
She turned back toward the door, a little too quickly, in Griffin’s opinion, and she motioned toward it. “I’m sorry, gentlemen, if that’s all you came here for, you’re wasting your time.” Her professional tone returned. “Now if you don’t mind, I have a lot of things to do before Mr. Ellison returns.”
“She’s lying,” Avalon said suddenly.
“How dare you!” Jennifer replied, whirling around.
“I know liars, Dad,” Avalon said. “Believe me. I’ve lived with them. Hell, I’m one of them. And if there’s one thing I can spot a mile off, it’s a liar. She’s been working hard at it, but I’ve seen better. If she doesn’t know where Mr. Ellison is, then I’m a Disney Princess.”
8
“There must be a dozen of them,” Loomis said, staring down at the nearest pile of bones. “But what are they doing here?”
Frost didn’t have an answer for that. They certainly hadn’t seen an
y signs of human habitation during their search thus far. There were no buildings, no cars, nothing to indicate that any people—or anything at all, other than trees...and a dog—had ever lived in this world. This world was barren. A wasteland. Yet the evidence was mounting that it hadn’t always been so. The dog tag alone suggested this devastation took place in the last ten years. She wasn’t sure whether this world’s Dexter was the same as theirs, but the shepherd in their world was ten years old.
A mystery not worth solving, she thought. They still had a woman to find, and it might not be long before they were somewhere new. Again.
“Let’s keep moving,” she said. “Jillian isn’t going to find herself.”
The eight people from Refuge filed quietly past the remains. As she walked by, Frost noted some charring on the bones that reminded her of the dog skeleton. Perhaps these people had burned to death. The thought brought too many questions with it. What burned them? Why? And perhaps more importantly, could it happen again?
She had no answers, and so she decided to keep her thoughts to herself. No sense worrying the rest of the group; they were jumpy enough already. Except for Dodge. After that first night, the pastor had calmed right down, keeping the doom and gloom to himself. Maybe it was his deathbed promise to Becky. Maybe he was questioning his beliefs. She certainly was. Whatever the reason, she was glad to have Dodge along. Most of the men had reserved spots in the pews every Sunday. She’d seen two of them in the choir last Christmas. The pastor’s calm presence, seemed to put the others at ease. Lord knew, she was having a hard time keeping her own thoughts from running wild. She wondered if Becky had ever felt this wired, while trying to calm down a bad situation.
Probably. But that didn’t help her figure out what to do. Jillian, she thought. Just find Jillian and get back to town before that damn bell starts ringing again.
She squeezed out every other thought, not wanting to be distracted. Jillian. Save Jillian. Just keep putting one foot in front of the other until we find her. That’s it. Just like that. She had just reached a large group of rocks when she heard Dodge’s voice behind her.
“What’s that?”
She turned around just in time to see Dodge bend over and pull a slender, rectangular object from one of the bone piles.
He brought the object to his face and blew away a small cloud of dust, revealing a shiny black surface underneath. He rubbed the metallic surface with his sleeve and it shined brightly. “It’s a safe.”
“That’s an awfully small safe,” Silver noted.
“It’s a document safe,” Dodge said, holding it up.
“A what?” Loomis asked.
“A document safe,” Dodge repeated. “One of those little things that people use to lock up important documents: birth certificates, passports, and marriage licenses. Stuff like that. You can buy one at any department store. They’re usually fire proof.”
A document safe? Frost thought. Why in the hell would these people have needed a document safe? Just who were they? And how did they get here?
Dodge brought the small box up to his head and gave it a shake. Even from where she stood, Frost heard several things rattling around inside it. It was full. But full of what?
“Hold on,” Dodge said, peering at the top of the box. “There are some initials on it. Looks like…N and F.”
“N and F?” Marshall asked. “Who the heck is NF?”
“No idea,” Loomis said.
NF? Frost wondered. Nelson Florider? Could it really be…
Her thoughts were cut off by the sound of a woman screaming.
9
The six of them—Griffin, Avalon, Winslow, Radar, Lisa, and Jennifer Turkette—sat in a large, plushly furnished room with huge, plate glass windows looking out into the dark woods. The room was lit with this world’s eerie yellow glow, thanks to several large skylights above them. Jennifer had called it the ‘solarium,’ which Griffin knew was just a pretentious word for sunroom. But the light did little to lift the dark moods of the people within, mostly because the defuse illumination was yet another reminder that they were no longer home.
Jennifer sat, cross legged, on a cushioned deck chair. Her hands were folded neatly in her lap. Radar and Lisa sat across from her on a wicker chaise, while Avalon and Winslow sat on an identical chaise to the left. Griffin alone remained standing, despite the fact that there were several other chairs in the room. He didn’t want to sit down. Didn’t want to relax. He just wanted to find out what the hell was going on in Refuge.
“How long ago did Ellison leave?” Griffin asked.
“He comes and goes whenever he wants,” Jennifer said. “As I said earlier, I’m just his nurse. I don’t keep track of him.”
“Does he have a secretary?”
“You ever know a rich white man who didn’t?” she replied.
“Is she here?”
“I don’t keep track of him, either,” Jennifer replied, emphasizing the gender.
“Great,” Griffin said. “So where does that leave us?”
“Unwelcome, in a house you have no business being in,” Jennifer said with sarcastic grin.
Griffin wasn’t sure if the woman was guilty of anything beyond doing her job, but without Ellison, she was his one and only source of potential information. She didn’t know it yet, but she was a prisoner.
“If Mr. Ellison were here,” Jennifer said, “he’d probably call the police.”
“Good luck with that. Have you even tried your phones?” Avalon asked. “And in case you have a short memory, he—” She pointed at Griffin. “—is the police.”
“Not according to my records,” Jennifer said, tapping the screen of a small PDA. “Sheriff Rebecca Rule has two deputies. Deputy Jim Sweeney and Deputy Helena—”
“Sweeney is missing,” Griffin said. “He was outside town when we shifted. Sheriff Rule died a short time after the second shift. Frost is the Sheriff now, and she appointed me a deputy yesterday.”
Jennifer didn’t seem to have a good response to that. She just frowned and sank deeper into her chair, her inner turmoil playing out in her facial expressions. She had impressive resolve, but the woman would crack. Eventually.
Time to change tactics, Griffin thought. He sighed loudly and sank into a nearby armchair.
“Look, Miss Turkette,” he began , “A lot of people have already died. Some were killed by the creatures you saw, in that world of darkness. But Sheriff Rule...she was the first. Did you know her?”
The woman nodded slowly. “She came out to the house once.”
“Nice lady, right?” Griffin asked.
No reply.
“When the town shifted a second time, Rule had been outside the town line. She’d just saved Phillip Beaumont and his two daughters. The town shifted while she was crossing the town line. Everything below her waist remained in the desert world, while the rest of her came along for the ride. The shift cut her in half. Chopped her into two big pieces, cauterizing the wound like a red hot blade.”
He watched Avalon squirm. She hadn’t heard the story in such detail before. When she started wiping away tears, he had to fight against his own. “She was one of my closest friends.” He motioned to Avalon. “Babysat my girl for most of her early life.”
“My wife was stung,” Winslow added. “By giant wasps. She might not make it.”
Jennifer’s head came up. “Carol?”
Winslow looked surprised. “You know her?”
“She brought cookies...at Christmas.”
Winslow nodded, his eyes closed. “Of course she did. Well, that woman that brought you cookies, who probably invited herself in to chat while you ate them… She was willing to sacrifice her life to save these kids.” He motioned to Radar and Lisa, who looked more than a little guilty.
“People are dying,” Griffin said. “But they’re also fighting. For each other. For this town. And for you.”
Jennifer’s stern expression faltered. Not much, but it was there. A slight twitch
of the eye and a loosening of her frown. That’s what Griffin was hoping for. All he needed was a crack.
“They won’t be the last, either,” he continued. “If we can’t get a handle on this thing, sooner or later, everyone in this town will be dead, including everyone in this room. Even Mr. Ellison.” He stood back up. “If you know something, you need to tell us. It might be your last chance to save some lives. It might be your last chance to save your own life, too.”
The woman looked down at her hands, which were folded neatly in her lap again. “I don’t know much... But I don’t think Mr. Ellison can fix this.”
“Why not?” Avalon asked.
Before she could answer, they heard the unmistakable crack of distant gunfire.
“Shit,” Griffin said. “What now?”
10
Frost poked her head over the top of a large stone and looked down into a rocky crevice. Jillian was thirty feet below. And she wasn’t alone.
“Aww, fuck,” Loomis said as he looked into the crevice. His expletive was followed by a string of others as the group gathered and looked down.
“What are they?” Dodge asked.
Jillian stood in an open patch of dusty ground. Her pants and blouse were torn. A bruise was forming on her exposed right shoulder. Her knees were raw and bloody, and a single, long abrasion marred her left cheek. She was a mess, to be sure, but none of the injuries were life-threatening.
Yet.
Dozens of large creatures lurked in the shadows, swaying back and forth on the floor, clinging to the walls. Just out of clear view. But their hissing was eerie.
“Sound like Sleestaks,” Loomis commented.
Frost had no idea what Sleestaks were, and she didn’t really care. They had to find a way to get Jillian out.
Refuge Book 4 - Ashes and Dust Page 4
