I pictured myself swimming in his oversized clothes and laughed. “I’m sure I’ll be fine,” I said, glancing at the jeans and polo I wore.
In a matter of minutes, Slate and I were walking into the mountainside entrance, winding through the tunnels toward the very first portal we’d ever discovered. “Doesn’t this feel different than the first time?”
“You mean when you were possessed, and I had to follow you around? Yeah, this isn’t like that. Maybe one day we’ll laugh about this trip, when we thought I had the potential to become an evil alien overlord.”
“Slate, you’re never going to be an overlord.”
“Good. Thanks for saying that.”
“You’re more of an overlord’s henchman, don’t you think?” I asked, hoping the joke would ease the tension in his face, but it didn’t help.
“Kid all you want, but this is serious.” Slate went into the portal room first and selected the symbol for Earth.
“I know it is, but what’s the harm in making light of the situation? It’s what I do,” I reminded him.
“Any surprises waiting for us on Earth?” he asked, fingers skimming the clear table over the green-glowing Shandra stone.
“Nope.”
The room filled with white light, and we arrived on Earth, under the pyramid. We hauled our packs across our shoulders and eventually emerged into the open air. We were greeted by two burly human soldiers. I noticed the new uniforms and nodded to the men as they recognized us. It was dark out, the middle of the night in Egypt, and we walked toward the private lander left exclusively for my use when I visited.
“We should look up Paul while we’re here,” Slate suggested.
“Good idea. It’d be wise to touch base.” Once we were in the air, I was thankful to be starting the journey to the United States.
“What’s the nearest colony city to our destination?” Slate asked. He was in the pilot’s seat, and I used the controls on the dash to bring up the map.
“Atlanta. Says there’s a population of two hundred thousand, making it among the larger locations in the country.” Paul and his team had done well to focus on a handful of cities to rebuild, and so far, there were five with populations exceeding one hundred thousand in the US: New York, San Francisco, Atlanta, Miami, and Denver. That didn’t mean the people weren’t spread out. Some had been given resources, and new cities had sprung up in every direction. Most were unsanctioned, but if they abided by the rules, maintained certain health codes, and adhered to safety and law requirements, Paul didn’t squash them.
He had, on the other hand, been forced to disband multiple communities over the years. Some people assumed it was the Wild West, but it wasn’t. They’d encountered the same issues around the world, but after two decades, things were being ironed out.
“I’ve set our course into the nav. We’ll land in under an hour,” I told him.
“What if we don’t find anything? How will we know what to do next?” Slate asked.
I turned to face him, the straps pressing into my shoulder. “We’re not giving up on this. Let’s worry about tomorrow then. Today, we have a mission.”
“You’re right. Thanks, Dean.”
“Do you know how many times you’ve had my back? Constantly. And don’t think for a second I’d let anything bad happen to you. Does Loweck have concerns now?” I asked.
“She’s… uneasy. But she’s not human, and she thinks this might only be a random mutation. Something natural, and not wicked in the least.”
“She may be right.” I doubted it, though. The chances of the same woman an alternate-dimension Dean Parker had been obsessed with killing, and then Slate, my best friend, having the same random mutation didn’t add up. But I kept my opinions to myself. They wouldn’t help to keep Slate focused and calm.
We flew low under the clouds and saw the expanse of the Atlantic Ocean. It went on for an eternity in all directions, and I recalled the first time I’d seen the water. My parents had driven us to the East Coast, where we’d stayed at a cheap motel a couple of miles from Cape Cod. My dad was inherently frugal, but to me and my sister, we’d been living the dream.
I remembered the smells of the ocean wafting through the car as we drove the old station wagon from the motel to the beach. With the window cranked open, I stared at the red and white striped lighthouse, probably unused in decades, and marveled at the marina packed with hundreds of white-masted sailboats. They spoke to me of adventure, wealth, and charisma, a stark contrast to the farmland I’d grown up on.
The moment the car parked in a crowded lot filled with families from all around the country flocking to the summer vacation spot, I’d darted away, leaving my door wide open. I could still hear my father shouting for me to slow down, but nothing was going to stop me. I needed to see the ocean. To touch the water.
I’d kicked off my sandals and ran into it after trudging across the hot sand. I laughed as my sister scurried in after me, splashing my shorts with her steps. I looked up and quickly forgot the boats, the lighthouse, the smells… because the ocean went on forever. I took in the horizon, seeing nothing but water, and I suddenly felt inspired. As a boy of maybe six, I hadn’t given much thought to my place in the universe yet.
Seeing something so vast and overwhelming had been eye-opening for me. Instead of it crushing my spirit, it did the opposite. It showed me there was more than farming in Ohio. It had assured me that the snot-nosed kid at school picking on me wasn’t special, and that one day, adventure was in my blood.
My dad followed suit, walking into the water flush to his knees, and I glanced up to him, with a line of zinc on his nose. He told me not to fear the ocean, that the unknown was full of possibilities. His hand was so big and warm on my shoulder, and we stared at the rising and falling waves for a few minutes before he corralled me to the spot on the beach where Mom was waiting. She had set up the chairs and umbrella, and Isabelle was already using the red buckets to build a sandcastle.
I never forgot those wise words from my dad.
“Almost done,” Slate said, snapping me from the daydream.
“I was remembering my dad and my first trip to the ocean,” I told him softly.
The sun was behind us as we flew for Arkansas, and Slate asked about him.
“He was a good man. Hard-working. Smart, even without his high school diploma. He really was from another generation. Hated computers. Loved baseball. He could spend two hours feeding the animals and eight on a tractor, and do it all with a smile.” I hadn’t reminisced about him for so long, but it was kind of therapeutic.
“I barely knew my father,” Slate admitted.
“What happened?”
Slate’s brother had been killed overseas, which was why a young, angry, and hormone-fueled Zeke Campbell had first joined the army. But he rarely spoke of his parents.
“Not a lot to say. They were together for most of my childhood, but he wasn’t around much. I honestly can’t recall what the hell he did for a living. Something about sales. He was on the road. I don’t think they were ever in love. He ended up having a heart attack or something when I was fourteen. It hit my brother more than me, and that’s when he left.”
“Sorry, Slate,” I said.
He shrugged. “What are you going to do?”
“It’s different coming to Earth, isn’t it? We’ve seen so much. Fought real alien enemies and gone on all kinds of adventures, but this always reminds me where we come from.”
Slate started the descent, and I gazed at the landscape. Vast winding rivers and treetops.
“Seems like our Carolyn lived in a nice place,” Slate told me. “Beats the dusty old town I grew up in.”
He was right. The town wasn’t huge but looked comfortable. He settled the lander to the street near the address we’d found, and we stepped out. The concrete was crumbling, with thick vegetation pushing through. A light post was toppled over, and others were rusted with years of neglect. The houses were rotting, their roofs w
orn and saggy.
Slate started forward but halted in his tracks, putting a hand to my chest. “Deer.”
I spotted the fawn. She poked her head up, as if sensing us, and darted away, moving farther down the street.
“Nature always takes over,” I whispered. “Which house is it?” I glanced around, trying to find the right number. It was two houses ahead, on the right, and we moved for it. The old cobblestone sidewalk was no longer flat, and ants danced across a huge dirt hill near the front steps.
Slate climbed the stairs first, tugging on the screen door. The main slab was locked, but it only took one kick from my big friend to break through the decaying wooden frame. He grinned at me, like he was the world’s best SWAT team lead, and pulled his pulse rifle as if expecting an ambush.
Something scuttled in the adjacent room, and he ran toward the sound, aiming the gun. I saw the tail of the raccoon as it squeezed through a hole in the kitchen wall.
“I don’t think anyone’s home, Slate.” I observed the room, seeing what you’d expect from a middle-class house of this era. The homes were probably built in the late sixties, and some of the finishings were original. Insulation and newspaper piles were stacked in a nest, and I kept an eye out for any rodents.
Plain white cabinets, avocado appliances, and yellowed linoleum. We continued on.
The bungalow had a basement, and I walked past the door, heading to the living room. Picture frames hung crookedly on the wall, and I picked one up, staring at the family photo. It was typical of the era. Carolyn had a blonde bob cut, a pink bow tied on top. Her parents were flanking the two kids, an older boy beside the girl. Her dad smiled under a bushy mustache, and her mom’s eyes conveyed a deep sadness.
“This is her house, all right,” Slate said, tapping the image of the girl with his finger. “Let’s see what we can find.”
I took the lead, shifting into the hallway. The bathroom was filthy, the window cracked enough to let decades of weather into the house. I closed the door and walked into the master bedroom. We sorted through the once-polished dresser, finding nothing but moth-eaten clothing and costume jewelry.
“This is a bust, Boss,” Slate sighed, but I kept going.
The boy’s room was next, and I glanced at the faded poster on the wall of some forgotten football player from before the Event.
Carolyn’s room was next, and I entered it slowly. It was the neatest room in the house, with a few stuffed animals on the bed. I crossed the floor of the tiny space, landing at her desk, complete with a mirror. It was flipped, with the reflective side facing the wall. I turned it around, finding old photos jammed into the frame, and I saw her as a teenager. The décor felt too young for someone that age.
Slate rummaged through her nightstand, pulling out hair elastics and magazines. I opened the desk drawer, finding a half-smoked joint and a bottle of schnapps. I showed Slate, and he lifted his eyebrows in surprise.
“Kind of young for that, wasn’t she?”
“How old was she? This doesn’t add up. If she was a teenager when the Event happened, she never would have earned her degree from the university.”
“You’re right. She lied on her file. Her age was listed as fifty, but she must have been closer to forty.” The puzzle grew deeper, and it didn’t seem like we would find any answers.
“Boss, check this out.” Slate had the mattress overturned, and under the top corner sat a pristine journal. He tossed it to me, and I examined the book, finding notes from a young Carolyn Lauder. I flipped through the first pages, which spoke of her annoying brother and a boy in class that she thought was cute. The diary entries grew darker, and we sat on the musty bedding, opening the dusty blinds to let the morning light through the window.
“What happened?” Slate asked.
“I don’t know. It’s different around this time.” I pointed at the entry from July ninth.
Everything’s changed. I’m no longer sure of anything. My parents are puppets. Even Jessie seems like a stranger. The lights. My throat. The pulsing. What was it? When I look in the mirror, I see it from the corner of my eye, but when I turn around, it’s gone. Am I crazy?
“What the hell is she talking about?” Slate asked, grabbing the book. He flipped to the next page, where she’d scribbled an image. It was done with a shaky hand, and the shape was round, with claws emerging from skinny arms.
I read the passage out loud. “Mom and Dad are making me see someone tomorrow. I can’t sleep. The lights keep me up. I can’t look at myself. What is it?” I checked the next page, finding it blank.
“Seeing someone? A therapist?” Slate asked.
“Okay. Carolyn was a normal girl. Maybe a bit of a troublemaker, liked boys, and had stuffed animals. Lights? Pulsing? The mirror.” I tried to decipher it but failed.
“I have an idea,” Slate said. He ran from the room, bringing the dark leather purse we’d seen on the parents’ dresser. He dumped the contents on the bed and grinned widely as the business card revealed itself.
“Doctor Beverly Kind. Child psychiatrist.” Slate flipped the card in his fingers. “And right here in town. Let’s go.”
“What are we going to learn?” I asked.
“The truth.” Slate dashed from the room, and I chased after him. We exited Carolyn’s house with more questions than answers, but we had a lead.
Four
“The Padlog are actually on your team?” Magnus asked, flipping through the files on his tablet.
“Sure. Sergo and Walo are two of Papa’s most trusted crew members.” Jules and Dean had turned Nat’s kitchen into a workspace, bringing Magnus up to speed on the Alliance.
“I’ll never get used to this.” Magnus rubbed his temples, letting a hand fall heavily to the table. “And you’re saying that Alnod Industries has the largest corporation out there?”
“That’s right, but Garo is gone. Rivo, his daughter, runs things,” Dean told him.
“Right. Rivo. And Shimmal is the Mecca of this Alliance?”
“Well, Sarlun leads the Gatekeepers. We have an Academy on Haven. That’s where Dean and I graduated from.” Jules sat up higher in her seat, proud to be one of the elite Gatekeepers.
“Can I see it?” he asked.
“The Academy? Sure. We can go today, if you like.” Jules was happy to show him around. “Dean, does that work for you?”
“You bet. I’d love to see the old stomping grounds,” he said. “Magnus, we can use some of their ideas on layout and training facilities. Much of it was brought from the most advanced schools across the Alliance, merging the best aspects together to shape the Gatekeepers’ Academy. You’re going to love it.”
“What did your father think of it?” Magnus asked, instantly casting a cloud of tension in the room. Jules peered through the window, seeing Nat outside in the garden, tending to her tomato planets.
Dean didn’t falter. “He thought it was a great idea. Slate and Loweck taught at the school. So did Suma, but Dad and Mom were running Horizon, so he didn’t spend much time on Haven. Dad was proud of me for doing so well. I know that much.”
Jules nodded, supporting him. “Magnus was a big advocate for education, but he never took the training himself. Papa, Mom, and Uncle Zeke were made Gatekeepers by Sarlun early on, but they were kind of given the basics and thrown into it.”
“I assume they earned their spots.” Magnus laughed, the sound familiar and heart-wrenching. Jules pushed the sadness away. There was a man right across the table from her that needed their help, and she would give it to him.
“Could you imagine Slate taking a class about portals?” Dean asked.
“Or Mom learning how to hold a pulse rifle?” It was Jules’ turn to laugh. “How about we clean up and go to the Academy?”
“Sounds like a plan.” Magnus lowered his tablet. “I’ll continue this later.”
Dean opened the door and shouted at his mother. “We’re heading to the Academy for a couple of hours. Be home for dinner!”
Dean seemed surprised, and Jules glanced at Magnus, who remained straight-faced at the news. She noticed his right hand clench before releasing.
They waited five minutes while Auntie Natalia changed, and she met them near the shuttle. Her hair was down, and she’d put on lipstick. Dean didn’t seem to notice, but it was obvious to Jules. She smiled as they flew toward the portal, Natalia sitting up front with Magnus.
____________
The strip mall had been built around the same time as the Lauders’ home. It was all auburns and stucco, and we moved past the abandoned party stores and pottery class venues for the offices on the right edge of the parking lot. The office was shared with three other doctors, each in a different field, and we found the front door unlocked.
“That was simple,” Slate said, pressing through the entrance. We emerged into a waiting room complete with a fake ficus and a table full of dated magazines. There were four wooden doors inside, and I used my lantern to locate the right name.
“This is it,” I said, testing the lever. It depressed, releasing the latch.
The office was comfy. Without access to the outside climate, this place had been sealed tight against the years. Beverly had an oak desk with a boxy computer on it. She must have been old-school, because a rolodex sat beside the keyboard, and a corded phone on the far edge. This entire town felt like we’d traveled in a time machine, and not just because we lived with alien technology and advancements.
It was arranged as I’d have expected, with a chair that I imagined Dr. Kind would sit in, scratching notes on a pad while her patients opened up about their lives. Slate sat on the couch, kicking his feet out to lie down.
“Carolyn Lauder was here at some point, Dean, revealing her secrets to this doctor. It’s strange, isn’t it?” Slate sat up again, setting his hands on his thighs.
“We’re going to find out how strange it is.” I looked for a filing cabinet, but there wasn’t one. “They must have kept the information digitally.”
The Survivors | Book 15 | New Beginning Page 4