Brenda’s expression softened. “Thanks, Bjorn. You da man.”
“Tank’s da man,” Daniel said.
Then he sat bolt upright. He looked up and to the area of the door we walked through a short time before. Then he snapped his head around, seeing things only he could see. “Uh oh.”
I didn’t like Daniel’s tone. Too much fear in it.
“What, buddy?”
He didn’t answer with words. Instead, he snatched the fork from my hand, then gathered up all the silverware.
“Daniel, what are you doing?” Brenda sounded both irked and frightened at the same time.
He shoved his plate to the floor, then proceeded to do the same with everyone else’s plates and cups. The racket hurt my ears.
“Hey! You’re gonna pay for that!” Tiffany started our way. I saw the cook come out from the back.
If Daniel was just some other kid, if I hadn’t seen him in action before, if we hadn’t seen so many unexplainable things, then people would be right to think he was throwing a tantrum. I knew better.
“Hold on,” Daniel said, clutching the silverware to his chest. Then his head snapped to the side as he directed his gaze out the window. I followed his example. “Tock-tick.”
Just outside the window was the Tockity Man. The same disheveled, ratty-looking homeless guy. The same freaky eye patch.
He was grinning again, exposing what few teeth he had left.
Through the glass I heard him say, “Tock-tick, tock-tick, tockity, tockity, tick-tick.”
Tiffany’s shrill voice sounded a mile or two away. “What’s he doing in the daylight—”
Then the world went white.
There was pain.
There was fear.
Then there was nothing.
CHAPTER
7
I Don’t Think We’re in Kansas Anymore
Once, on the football field, back when I was playing on a junior college team (before I transferred to the University of Washington and made a hash of that), I put a wicked tackle on a running back. I got the worst of the deal. I couldn’t breathe, and my head felt like a team of construction workers was trying to knock a hole in my skull using sledgehammers. It was my first and only concussion. One is enough.
When the white went away, I felt the same. I struggled to open my eyes and had to focus just to breathe. The air tasted funny. The light seemed a shade or two off from where it had been. It took less than a second for me to stop thinking about myself and start thinking of the others. With eyes now wide, I looked first at Daniel. He looked pale, slightly green, and more than a little stunned. He clutched the silverware to his chest. He had missed one—a butter knife that Brenda had been using. I found it stuck deep in the backrest of the booth between Daniel and me. Daniel had saved us from becoming pincushions—or silverware cushions.
Andi was in her spot, her hands on the edge of the table as if pushing herself back. Her sometimes wild red hair was wild again. “What . . . was . . . that?”
Brenda looked ready to upchuck her breakfast. Her mouth hung open and she gulped for air like a fish tossed on the dock.
“Are you choking?” I feared her mouth might have been full of food when . . . whatever happened, happened.
She shook her head. She must have had all the wind knocked out of her. Her diaphragm was in a spasm. It’s a lousy feeling. I reached across the table and put my hands on the side of her head. “Look at me.”
She didn’t.
“Brenda, look at me. Right in the eyes.”
She did. Those eyes were growing wider.
“Relax. Just look at me and relax. Your breath will come back. Just give it a moment.”
I rubbed my thumb on her cheek. Andi slipped an arm around her.
Then Brenda inhaled deeply—and noisily. She sounded like someone who had gone down with the ship and just made the long swim to the surface.
“There it is. There it is.” I continued to stroke her cheek. “Keep looking at me. There ya go.” Another deep inhalation. Another noisy gasp. “Stay relaxed. You’re doing great.”
It took a minute or two before she was breathing in a normal fashion.
“Can you speak now?” That would tell me that her airway was clear and everything was working as it should.
She spoke. I won’t tell you what she said because it would earn an R rating. I’ve been around football jocks all my life, and those boys know how to swear. Nonetheless, Brenda could give lessons.
She spoke again. “I don’t ever want to feel like that again.”
I lowered my hand. “Me neither.”
“Cowboy, you healed me. Thanks.”
I mentioned earlier that we all have our own special gifts. Andi sees patterns, Brenda draws the future, Daniel sees angels, and I can heal people. Well, sometimes. It doesn’t work every time. In fact, I never know if it’s going to work or not. You can imagine how frustrating that is. If I had full control of that gift, I’d spend my days walking through hospitals putting doctors out of work, if you know what I mean.
“Glad to help, but it wasn’t me.”
She raised a hand. “I know. You think it was God.”
“Well, that too, but I don’t think I healed you. You just had the wind knocked out of you. All you needed was a little time for your breathing to reset.”
“Is that all? I thought I was dying.”
“Me too,” Daniel said.
I took a moment to gather my thoughts and tame my emotions when I saw it. I glanced around Tiffany’s—or what used to be Tiffany’s. “Ummm guys . . .”
While we were blinded by the bright white light, someone had snuck into Tiffany’s and repainted the walls. They also added a dozen customers and changed Tiffany’s uniform. Except it wasn’t Tiffany. The lady moving from table to table filling coffee cups and joking with the patrons was painfully thin, had short black hair, looked to be in her twenties, and stood close to six feet tall if she was an inch.
Other things had changed. In the place we had just been, Tiffany brought us menus. Here the menus were held in a wire holder. I grabbed one. Brenda and Andi did the same.
“This ain’t good.” Brenda was right.
“This can’t be.” Andi kept her gaze fixed to the menu. Her eyes darted back and forth. “I-I can’t read this.”
“Nothin’ wrong with your eyes, girlfriend.” Brenda touched the printing on the menu as if she could absorb its meaning through her fingertips. “I can’t make heads or tales of it myself.”
I had noticed the same thing. There were plenty of words, but they were written in some other language. Still, it looked familiar. . . . Something tickled my brain. “The scroll!”
I said that a little too loud. Several people turned to face us. Worse, the waitress came over. I didn’t see how that could be a good thing.
Andi nodded. “You’re right, Tank. That’s where I’ve seen these letters.” She paused just a moment, then asked, “Am I the only one who feels like we just made some kind of trip?”
I wanted to say more, but the waitress arrived. She said—something. I have no idea what. Her tone was light and sing-songy. No anger. She did, however, look a little puzzled. I glanced at Andi and Brenda and they looked as lost as I felt. Andi shrugged. Brenda shook her head. She pointed at a particular item on the menu. That made me wonder what happened to the breakfast we had just eaten when we were in Tiffany’s. The silverware had made it but not the dirty dishes Daniel had pushed on the floor. That was fine with me. I don’t know how I’d explain that. Of course, I didn’t know how to explain any of this.
Reaching deep in my gut I brought out what I felt was a pretty convincing smile and held up one index finger. I hoped the universal “Give me a sec” sign would be, well, universal. “Could we have another moment?”
Daniel cranked his head my direction. Brenda slapped her forehead. Andi sat still and looked like I had just undressed in front of everyone. The waitress cocked her head. That’s when I realized
, in my infinite wisdom, that if I couldn’t understand her, she couldn’t understand me. I had just proved that we weren’t from around these parts.
She studied me for a moment, nodded, and walked away.
“I’m an idiot.” I squeezed my eyes shut as if that would back the clock up. It didn’t.
“Anyone want to argue with him?” Brenda said.
Andi, who normally was kind, said, “Not me.”
“Now that the cat is out of the bag, what do we do?” Brenda said.
“We need to go somewhere where we can talk.” Andi reached for the small purse she carried. “I don’t think it’s wise to stay here.”
“What if what just happened happens again?” The washing machine in my head was set to high speed. “If we move from this spot and the thing happens again, then we’ll miss our ride back to our world.”
“We can’t sit here doing nothing.” Andi looked around the café. “People are staring.”
I glanced around again. She was right. We had become the morning’s entertainment. “Okay, you win. I don’t have any better ideas.” To Daniel I said, “Scoot on out, buddy. We’re gonna blow this popsicle stand.”
He set the silverware down and wiggled out of the booth. I slid across the seat. Brenda and Andi were already out and watched me try to work my bulk out of a booth made for thin people.
“Uh oh,” Brenda whispered. “Heads up.”
The waitress walked in our direction again. I couldn’t help noticing that she was looking at us, then looking at the door. At first I thought she was going to block our way out. Then I noticed what she had already noticed. A yellow-and-white sedan had pulled to the side of the street. It had some lettering over a round symbol on the doors. On the top of the car was a globe about the size of a large softball.
“Guys . . .” I nodded out the window. The others turned just in time to see two men get out of the front seat. They wore matching green uniforms. There were yellow patches sewn to their sleeves near the shoulder. My Uncle Bart is the sheriff of Dickerson County in Oregon, so I know a cop car when I see one. And I was seeing one.
“Nuts.” It was the best I could manage.
The skinny waitress opened the door, and I was pretty sure she wasn’t opening it for us. I was wrong. She smiled. Bowed her head for a moment and waved us out.
Out we went.
The officers were there to greet us, and I mean greet us. Both smiled. Both dipped their heads in a slight bow, then the older of the two extended his hand. He either wanted to shake hands or was taking a sneaky approach to clamp on the business end of handcuffs.
It was the former. I extended my hand and he took hold of my wrist, smiling all the time. Just as I was beginning to think the guy was going to twist my arm behind my back, cuff and search me, he gave my wrist a friendly squeeze and shake. I took his wrist and did the same. That broadened his smile. A second later, the junior officer instigated the same kind of greeting. Then they moved to Andi and Brenda. The older of the two mussed Daniel’s hair. Just for the record, Daniel hates that. He didn’t say anything, but I know the kid well enough to know he was restraining himself.
I did a quick survey of the sedan. It was a cop car, all right. It had something that looked like a shotgun vertically mounted to the dash, and a wire partition between the front and rear seat.
People moved along the walkway. Most looked our way and smiled. A few even waved.
“I gotta say it,” Andi said, “but I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore, Toto.”
Even I caught the reference to The Wizard of Oz. Unlike Dorothy, however, this world looked very much like the one we left, except there were more people, it looked cleaner, and folk were friendly.
“Unbelievable,” Brenda said. “A half hour ago we were planning on going back to the Asheville airport.”
“I’ve got a feeling that it’s a longer drive now,” Andi said.
“Much longer,” I said.
CHAPTER
8
Littlefoot, New and Improved
When we walked out of the café, I wondered how they were going to get three grown adults (in my case, overgrown) and a ten-year-old boy into the yellow-and-white patrol car along with the two police officers. The car was the size of a Prius. I started to ask the officers, but it would do no good. Even if they understood me, I wouldn’t understand them.
My question was answered a moment later when another patrol car pulled up. It did so casually. No siren, no red or blue emergency lights—or in this case, green and yellow lights. It took a second for me to realize that the car made almost no noise as it pulled to the curb. I heard the tires on the pavement, but no engine. Electric? That was my guess.
Two additional officers exited the car. They wore the same green uniform as the first two. They approached, each with a wide grin. The older-looking one—I made him to be in his thirties and his partner in his twenties—approached me and shook my hand like a fan meeting his favorite movie star. I half expected him to pull out an autograph book. He did more than shake my hand—he pumped it. He then moved to Andi and Brenda, greeting them in the same way. We did another round of handshaking with the younger officer.
To say I was confused would be downplaying what I felt. We were in a town nearly identical to Newland but different enough to make my head spin. I once read that someone asked Daniel Boone if he had ever been lost in the woods. He said, “No, but I’ve been bewildered for a couple of weeks.” I was that kind of bewildered.
“I’m not leaving Daniel!”
Brenda had pulled the boy to her side. The officers looked at one another. Their faces revealed their confusion.
“What’s wrong?” I asked her.
“I think they want to separate us.”
I’ve seen that angry face too many times to not notice it now. One of the officers caught my eye, then pointed at Daniel, then Andi.
“Ah, I get it.” I moved to Brenda and Daniel. I put my hand on Daniel’s shoulder, then moved it to Brenda’s. I did that three times. The officers looked at Brenda, then Daniel, then Andi. Andi caught on. She put one hand on the side of each of their shoulders and pushed them together. There wasn’t much movement involved since Brenda already held Daniel close.
Then Andi surprised me—she stepped to my side and took hold of my arm, like we were a couple. That was the first good thing to happen to me that day. As far as I was concerned, Andi could hang on to me as long as she liked. I wouldn’t complain a bit.
The first officer we met opened the back door of the police car and motioned for us to enter. Clearly, he didn’t mean all of us. A quick glance told me that one of the police officers had opened the back door of the other patrol car.
“You go with Brenda and Daniel,” I told Andi.
“She doesn’t need to watch over me,” Brenda said.
“It’s not you I’m worried about.” I looked at the two officers by the first car.
“You’re a funny man, Tank. A real gut-buster.” She climbed into the back of the car and Daniel followed.
“You’re right, I’d better ride with them.” Andi released my arm, and the world seemed to dim a little.
It only took a few steps to reach the second car. I’ve never been in the back of a police car; I’ve been in my uncle’s patrol vehicle, just always in the front seat. This car was clean as could be. The interior looked like it had just rolled off the factory floor. It’s good to be thankful for small things, especially when you’ve been transported to some unknown place. So I was thankful.
A few moments later, we were moving down the street, the car purring like a content kitty. What puzzled me now was where they could be taking us. Most of this town was a dead ringer for Newland, North Carolina. Newland was small. My hike earlier led me through town and up into some of the residential streets. In Newland, the sheriff’s office was a storefront. It didn’t seem to be the kind of place with fancy electric cars and at least four officers on duty.
So the place w
as similar, but not the same. With that realization I began to think of this place as New Land.
They drove us out of New Land, and I hoped we didn’t have an hour’s drive to the next town—Sugar Hill, it was called in Newland. For all I knew, there was no Sugar Hill. Or it could be a major city. Nothing would surprise me now.
The drive turned out to be short, which was a relief. About ten minutes out of town, up a winding road, was a large modern-looking building. It reminded me of an office complex, and maybe it was.
Brenda, Daniel, and Andi were already out of the car when my chauffeur stopped our car. One of the cops had to open the door for me since it couldn’t be opened from the inside. At least that was the same as the cop cars back home.
We were escorted to the front entrance, and glass doors opened as we neared. If this was a local police station, then it had to be the fanciest one I’d ever seen.
Inside was a large lobby with a fountain in the middle. A statue stood in the center of the fountain. It was a sculpture of a police officer in uniform and utility belt. In one arm he held a child, and the other arm pointed the way. The way to what? I don’t know. Safety? The future? A doughnut shop? My Uncle Bart would have my head for that last thought.
I stepped next to Andi, hoping she’d take my arm again (she didn’t). Brenda and Daniel were staring at the statue.
“Cheesy,” Daniel said.
That made Brenda chuckle, and I was glad we were the only ones who could understand him.
We had waited for about thirty seconds when a man in a fancy uniform with some in-your-face decorations on the shoulders and sleeves approached. He looked to be in his early sixties. His hair was the color of polished silver and his wrinkles were deep, no doubt earned by a life in law enforcement. Like his officers before him, he beamed, shook our hands, and treated us like foreign dignitaries.
He spoke to us, but I understood none of it. He could have been giving me sport scores for all I could tell. Then he gave me a slap on the shoulder. I took that to mean that he had said something nice, or maybe funny.
The Probing: Leviathan, The Mind Pirates, Hybrids, The Village Page 25