***
"This is the second chamber," Winstead said.
Gannon stepped beside him. They had been walking for a good fifteen minutes and, as far as she could tell, nothing had changed. "How do you know?"
"That." He pointed. She looked. Unlike the last chamber, this area was bereft of benches. In front of them, a black and white pattern was etched on the floor and spanned nearly the entire room. "It’s grown."
"What has?"
"The maze."
She studied the pattern again and realized it did resemble a maze. Heavy black lines laid out a confusing pattern on the floor, for what purpose she had no idea. Whoever had designed it possessed no sense of symmetry. "What are we waiting for?" She started forward.
"Not that way. Around the sides."
She frowned. "Why?"
"That truly is a maze. I made the mistake of entering it. I was lucky to escape. I won’t risk it again."
She shook her head as she studied it anew. The break in the solid black line certainly appeared to be an entrance of sorts. She could see no reason to go out of their way to avoid it. "Come on, this could be fun," and she grabbed his hand.
"Not fun at all. And we don’t have the time for fun. Just follow me." And he headed for the left side of the chamber.
"Spoil sport," she grumbled but reluctantly accompanied him. When they reached the wall, he started down the outside of the pattern, making no attempt to step on the black line. Foolish, she thought, since it was so uncomfortable walking like that. But once she started after him, she noticed something else as well. Something much more troubling. The wall to her left was real enough, but there was nothing on her right except a thick black line painted on the floor. She could actually see across the pattern, yet if she reached out she could feel a solid invisible barrier. Then, as they progressed, she noticed something else. When they first started, she had to reach out to feel either side. But now she felt the walls on both sides touching her shoulders. "Damn, the thing is narrowing."
"No," said Winstead, a few paces ahead. "It’s still growing. We’re going to have to hurry."
Forced to turn sideways, Gannon sidled rapidly after him. I’m glad I didn’t get that boob job now, she thought as the walls began pressing against her. She was now facing the maze and she noticed a dark cloud hanging over the center. Were those voices she now heard, coming from somewhere inside? "Did you hear that?" she asked Winstead.
"Not now," he grunted. "Keep moving." Taking a deep breath, he grabbed her hand and tried to move faster.
"How much farther now?" she gasped after a few minutes. My new vest is going to be ruined, she thought as she looked down. Even though she saw nothing, she could feel it scraping against the unseen wall, which was getting nearer at every step.
"I don’t know," he said, looking at her. "I don’t have the room to turn my head the other way."
"We’re going to be trapped in here!"
"No. I read once if you can get your shoulders into a crevice, you should be able to get through. It’s just...going to hurt, that’s all."
That’s no shit. She could now feel the walls pressing the buttons of her blouse into her chest. Don’t panic, she told herself. Just breathe normally. Make yourself as small as possible. "I wish I had one of those pills Alice ate to make herself small right now," she said.
"What? Don’t talk. Try to relax. Keep moving."
She grimaced, and not just from her scrapes and bruises. If this was our first date, it would also be the last, numb nuts. Now it was getting even more difficult to move. She found she had to turn her feet sideways, flatten her arms and hands against the back wall. She was moving only inches at a time now. And yet the view before her never changed. She still saw no wall except on the other side of the chamber. But it was certainly real enough. Finally she just closed her eyes so she could concentrate. You can do this, Jeanne. Just relax. Just keep moving. She inched forward.
Her thoughts ran back to her actions that morning. Leave your husband. That’s right, Jeanne. Run away from your problems. And look what you’ve run into . She forced the thought aside. Keep moving, Jeanne. Not much farther. It can’t be much farther.
The walls continued to press against her, scraping against her back and chest. She could almost feel them growing and she knew she dare not stop. Another step, another. She forced herself on, resolutely keeping her eyes closed, refusing as much as possible to let the feelings of panic and claustrophobia overwhelm her.
Then she noticed her left hand was no longer pressing against the invisible wall. She managed to get her left leg free as well before she felt someone grab her arm and pull. Seconds later the surrounding pressure eased totally and she opened her eyes. They were now on the other side. Gannon looked back and watched as the black boundaries slowly intersected with the chamber walls.
"The proverbial nick of time," Winstead said grimly. "But now we can’t go back."
"What does it mean?" she asked as she rubbed her aching legs and arms.
"That the walls between the dimensions are weakening even more. That maze is part of a totally different reality. But at least we can get to the third chamber. Let’s catch our breaths."
They sat on a nearby bench and he passed her an apple. As she ate, she studied her clothing. Her slacks were covered with patches of dried blood where her legs had been rubbed raw. This has to be ruined as well, she thought as she took off her vest to study it. But she was startled to discover there were no scratches or cuts in it whatsoever. Instead it appeared as if it had never been worn.
"Maybe it’s just as well Magdya didn’t accompany us," Winstead broke the silence. "I don’t think she could have gotten through."
Gannon nodded grimly. Although shorter, Magdya outweighed her by thirty pounds at least. "So what do we do now?"
"Discover what is attackingWestchester. And stop it."
"Just the two of us?"
"I’m afraid so." He sighed, then stood. "Can you walk?"
She grimaced as she rose. What she needed was a massage or an hour in a jacuzzi to work out the various aches and pains. "Not in these shoes." She stepped out of her heels and kicked them aside. "I’m going to bill you for a new pair of pantyhose, too."
"Of course. Let’s get to work." They headed into the rearmost chamber ofWestchester.
***
Plank heard them long before he saw them. In this nearly empty chamber, their footsteps echoed loudly and continuously off the walls. If he strained, he could even make out snippets of their conversation. A man and a woman, he determined quickly. Simple travelers or something else? Best to study them before they saw him, he decided, so he quickly moved to a bench farther from the chamber center and crouched behind it.
Their casual approach quickly convinced him they were unaware of his presence. He remained behind the bench and watched them through the slats. He guessed the man to be nearing sixty, thin and balding and absolutely no threat to him. The woman was much younger and by their discussion he guessed they were not married. He could dispose of both of them quickly if he wished. But not yet, he decided. They might be able to provide some helpful information before that became necessary.
Winstead stopped in surprise when he noticed the man walking toward them. "Who are you?" he asked as soon as the stranger was in reasonable speaking range.
"I’m Robert Plank." He forced a quizzical smile. "I seem to be lost in this train station."
Winstead frowned. "You weren’t on my manifest, either."
"What manifest?"
Gannon broke in. "This is the station master. He supposedly knows everything about Westchester Station. Supposedly."
Plank looked at her carefully. This close, there was something about the woman that he found exciting and unreasonably appealing. She wasn’t a beauty queen by any means, especially dressed as she was in scuffed slacks and an out-of-fashion leather vest. Maybe it was her eyes, he decided. Something about her spoke to him in a silent language impossible to ignore
. Reluctantly he forced his attention to the man. "You are the station master?"
"As Mrs. Gannon said. Robert Winstead," and he offered his hand.
Plank accepted it and noticed immediately how weak the man’s grip was. An easy kill . "Then perhaps you can tell me how to get to the depot. I’ve been wandering for what seems like hours. This is a very large and confusing station you run."
"Even more so now. I’m afraid we’re stuck here until we can solve a bit of a problem."
"Really? And what is that?"
"It’s too complicated to explain right now. Are there others still here?"
"No one I’ve seen. Except some retarded news boy."
"He’s gone by now as well." Winstead sighed. "It might be best if you stay with us until this is over."
Plank glanced at Gannon. She was ignoring him, which allowed him more time to openly admire her. She was shorter than the women he preferred, and her hair was dark instead of blond. Yet he found he didn’t want to take his eyes off her. He decided then he would let her live. "Until what is over?" Have they discovered the dead guard? Are they looking for me?
"Until we learn what is happening to Westchester Station and stop it." He gave Plank a wan smile. "Westchester Station is a bit...unusual from what you might be accustomed to."
Plank nodded. "I’ve never found a station with a garden and pond inside before."
"Oh, you found the garden. Was the gardener there?"
"There was no one there but me."
Winstead shook his head. "He’s gone as well. Everyone is gone except us. Perhaps it’s better that way. Especially if we fail."
Plank grimaced. He wished the man would stop talking in riddles. But if the station master was speaking the truth and they were indeed trapped here, it was best to play his game. For now. "So what are you planning to do?"
"Stop whatever is threateningWestchester. The danger is somewhere in this chamber. I suppose the garden is as good a place to begin as any." And Winstead started walking.
Gannon fell in beside Plank. "That’s an unusual jacket," she said. "I thought that went out with Sergeant Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band. Aren’t you hot in that thing?"
"A bit," Plank said. "I just happen to enjoy wearing it."
"Kind of impractical to travel in, I would think."
He glanced at her. Could she suspect something? No, he told himself; that was impossible. Now that she was this close to him, he could see the lines of worry and tension that had formed under her eyes, in her forehead. Watery blue eyes, thin lips, eyebrows that were painted on. Not the type of woman who appealed to him at all. Yet he still found her unreasonably attractive and he felt his pulse race as he looked at her. "You are traveling as well?"
"In a manner of speaking," and she forced out a short, bitter laugh. "I certainly never expected to end up in this insane asylum. Where were you going?"
He lapsed automatically into his cover story for the guards at Grand Central. "Visit my aunt onLong Island."
"You didn’t get here fromCalifornia, obviously."
He frowned. "No, of course not. The Big Apple."
"This train stationis most interesting. I got here fromSacramento."
"What?" He stopped. "You took a train fromCalifornia? Flew?"
"Neither. A bus." She waved him silent. "I’ll let our friendly station master explain it to you." She pointed ahead. "Is that the garden you were talking about?"
"Yes."
"Good. My feet are killing me from walking on this concrete."
Huk followed the trio from a safe distance. Again they appeared oblivious to his presence. What kind of hunters are these? he wondered. Surely this small tribe could have been no threat to his own. That thought concerned him most of all. What if his peoplehadn’t come here? What if he was really alone?
There was safety in numbers, a lesson he had learned a long time ago. If this strange tribe was not a threat to him, they might actually be of help. He followed them quietly until he realized where they were headed. Once in that small forest, he knew he would be able to observe them more closely yet with no danger to himself. Huk hurried after them.
"He’s been gone a long time," Winstead said as they walked into the garden.
"Who?" asked Gannon.
"The gardener. When I was here before, the grass was cut, the flowers free of weeds." He plucked a strand of grass that was halfway to his knees. "At least now I won’t be yelled at for doing this."
Gannon frowned, then turned to Plank. "Where’s that pond you mentioned?"
"This way." They waded through the undergrowth until they reached another clearing. He pointed. "The water seems safe to drink."
"Then you better drink now," she said, sitting down gratefully in the cushioning grass. "My feet are killing me."
"There are fruit trees here as well," said Plank. "But I can’t recommend the small orange ones. I don’t know what they are but they taste terrible."
Winstead nodded, then walked off, leaving the two alone. Gannon sighed as she placed her bare feet in the water. "I need a good massage when this mess is over. Say, I don’t suppose you have a cigarette?"
Plank pulled the battered pack from a jacket pocket. Now it held only cigarettes. "Hope you like menthol," he said and handed her one. He kept one out for himself.
"Can’t be choosy when smoking O.P.’s." She lit up and released a cloud of satisfied smoke, then handed him her lighter so he could as well.
He did, then by reflex put the lighter in his pocket before sitting beside her. "What else can you tell me about this station?"
"Winstead’s the one to talk to." She laid back and closed her eyes. "He babbled something about this being an intertimensional train station. I don’t know yet exactly what that means, but I’m beginning to think he may be right."
Intertimensional? The word meant nothing to him, but she had made it clear who to ask. Still she might provide other useful information, he decided. "Are there any others?"
"Just two. But they’re at the other end ofWestchester. And we can’t get there from here."
Good. "Why aren’t you with them? Is this Winstead forcing you to stay with him?"
She didn’t open her eyes. "In a manner of speaking. He claims we were brought here for some reason. After what I’ve seen, he’s probably right about that. I’m kind of curious to learn what it is." Then she looked at him. "I wonder why you’re here."
He shivered and looked away. That was uncomfortably close to what the cleric had said. Could she possibly suspect? He could kill her now, he knew. Should kill her now. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. The man Winstead, however, that was another matter. He threw down his cigarette in disgust. "I’m going to find the station master. It shouldn’t take too long."
She merely nodded as he walked off. The relaxing coolness of the water on her feet almost made her forget she was inWestchester, not basking outside in some park. Don’t hurry on my account .
Huk watched them from his perch in a nearby tree. The one who remained was a female; he could tell by her smell. She had the same pale skin as the others and he decided they must be leaf eaters. They must hide in caves all day and only come out at night to have hides so pale, he concluded. Then he turned his attention to the men. They were standing by a tree and the noises they made carried to him easily. Then his attention was seized by something else. He smelled it before he saw it. Something hiding in the tall grass. Something watching the female lying unaware by the pool. Although he didn’t see enough of it to recognize it, he was certain it was some type of predator. And the female was its intended prey.
Plank found Winstead by the tree with the bad tasting orange fruit. "That’s what I was talking about," he said. "Don’t eat those."
Winstead plucked one and hefted it. "Know what this is?"
"No."
"A crubbin."
"Never heard of it."
"You shouldn’t have. They were extinct. Once." He put it in his pocket. "When did you
get toWestchester?"
"I’m not sure. A few hours ago I would think. Whereis thisWestchester anyway? I was in New York. The woman said something about an intertimensional station. Whatever that is."
"I would have explained that if you would have seen me. Westchester is a nexus of many dimensions. By all rights you shouldn’t be here, but since you are, there has to be a reason."
Just as the cleric said. "And why do you say that?" He tensed, ready to attack if he didn’t like Winstead’s answer.
"Everyone comes here, or is brought here, for a reason. Even if it isn’t always apparent. Tell me, have you seen anyone else?"
"As I said before, no. Why do you keep asking me that?"
"There was some type of accident. One of my men was killed."
"Really?" He must suspect it was me . "Any idea how?"
Before Winstead could answer, they heard a scream. They glanced at each other, then ran back to the pool to find Gannon being attacked by a mountain lion.
She was trying to fight the animal off, but it had its jaws clamped on her side. Winstead reached in a pocket and pulled out the steak knife. Useless he was sure, but he threw it anyway. It landed harmlessly several feet from the beast.
Plank, meanwhile, was running toward the two. I need a gun, he thought as he reached by reflex in his pocket. There was no gun, but there was the can of spray paint he had found. The lion ignored him, its attention solely on its intended prey, as Plank approached, the paint can held forward while he reached in his other pocket and pulled out Gannon’s lighter. He depressed the button while holding the can close to mountain lion, then lit the lighter.
The propellant sent a burst of fire into the lion’s face. Roaring in pain and rage, the beast released Gannon and jumped back.
Westchester Station - the assault Page 11
