by Platt, Sean
“Even back then, they weren’t dreams. We traveled.”
Heather laughed. Meyer always said such stupid shit. They’d lay on the floor after drinking Juha’s medicine and purging, and she always saw the worst things for a while thereafter — her soul purging its evil along with her body, according to Juha. But afterward it was a trip. Kinda groovy but nothing otherworldly. Meyer, for all his normal, businesslike stoicism, claimed his experience was different. Metaphysical in a way readers of his Forbes magazine profiles would mock. Meyer always said he went other places. Heather played along, mocking him only lightly, because she’d never really stopped loving him, even after she’d learned to hate the parts of him that lived on the abrasive surface.
“You never believed it. But you didn’t need to, for it to do its job.”
Heather didn’t feel like having this conversation. It wasn’t fun without the drugs.
“Is this real?” Then, remembering she’d recently asked if this was a dream, Heather clarified: “Did this really happen? Am I tripping on a journey right now?”
“How could you travel without the medicine?”
“I’m seeing you, aren’t I?” Heather narrowed her eyes. Everything was so detailed. She was having to work hard to remind herself that she was dreaming, strange as everything felt. She’d felt connected to Meyer since he’d left, and she’d seen him in the same trippy ayahuasca she remembered. But this was different. When Heather woke up, she’d probably feel the same sense of fractured reality.
“You’ve seen me plenty of times before.” Meyer’s voice was almost mocking. She was being tested, led, encouraged to say what he wanted to hear.
Meyer surprised her.
“Talk to Lila,” he said, now taking her hands. “Talk to our daughter.”
“Talk to Lila?”
“She’s in trouble.”
“She’s pregnant.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“She told me today. Some sort of pains. If I can get her out and take her to a doctor, maybe—”
“That’s not what I meant either.”
“You’re not the only one who’s being led.” That made Heather think of Lila’s heavy, tired eyes. The way she’d looked desperately soul weary and unhappy. The way Heather had felt quite sure that Lila, despite her candor about the problems she’d felt with her baby, was holding something back. Keeping secrets.
“Is something wrong with her baby?”
“You’re not safe here,” Meyer said.
“It’s this place. Something is wrong with this place.” She meant the bunker, not the field where they found themselves. But Meyer would understand. Because this had to be a dream, and he was part of her.
“That’s the way it seems. But it’s not.”
“The drain—”
“You’ll want to try to stop what’s coming — to block their way to what’s below,” he said, “but you shouldn’t. You must protect it. Make sure the way remains open, not closed.”
Heather was about to ask Meyer what he meant, but Piper and Cameron surfaced on the far side of the stones, safe and sound. Of course they were safe and sound. All they’d done was to walk between some giant rocks, no different from stepping between buildings on the streets of New York.
“Now they can see them.” Meyer turned his serious eyes on Heather. “Same as they’ll be able to see Lila. Same as they’ve been able to see you and me all along.”
“What do you — ?”
But Meyer was gone.
The field in front of Heather began to fragment and split, its stark reality suddenly falling apart, cracking as if the whole thing had been a backdrop. Chunks crumbled and dropped away as if into a black pit beyond.
Heather bolted upright in bed, sure that something was wrong even before the cacophony hit her ears.
Some sort of alarm in the bunker was braying loud enough to wake the dead.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Piper stopped. Cameron instantly followed. They were back on their horses, pulling back on the reins with such perfect synchronicity, they were practically limbs sharing a body.
“Why did you stop?”
“Why did you stop?”
“I just got a feeling,” Cameron said.
Piper looked to the north, toward what she assumed was Route 70 snaking westward into Utah. They hadn’t had a compass since last night, but even during the middle of the day she’d felt a better-than-usual sense of direction. Maybe they were way off course and she was oblivious. She’d find out soon enough. Either the sun, now past its apex, would continue to set toward what she thought was west, or they’d end up having looped back to the double line of monoliths.
Piper hoped not. It would mean they’d gone the wrong way, yes, but that wasn’t why she didn’t want to see them again. Maybe it was Cameron’s sense of doom infecting her, but she’d felt far more uneasy passing between those big rocks than she’d had any right to. They were only boulders — but she’d sworn she could feel something between their rows, pressing inward like a force field. The horses, even blindfolded, hadn’t wanted to pass.
He’d had a feeling. Ridiculous. If their positions were reversed, he’d already be laughing at her. But they’d both stopped, and neither seemed to know why.
“Let’s cut south,” Cameron said.
So they did. Piper kept looking back over her shoulder, feeling like they might be followed. But they hadn’t neared a road in a while, and they hadn’t seen or heard people for much longer. The terrain was mountainous, turning their trusty mounts into surprisingly adept trail guides. It would be hard for anyone to approach them unseen.
They reached a ravine. The trail wanted to nudge them west again, so far as Piper could tell. They curved and followed it. After a few minutes, as the ravine fell to their left, the trail drifted from true west toward northeast, the sun looking like it wanted to slip down in front of Piper’s left shoulder rather than straight ahead.
There were three trees to the path’s side. Piper stopped, watching them.
“What?”
“Something’s wrong.”
Cameron looked like he might contradict her but then turned forward.
“Something with those trees. I can’t tell what. Just … something.” He turned to Piper. “They’re just trees. How can something be wrong with trees?”
Piper didn’t know, but there was definitely something wrong. It wasn’t dark. There were few shadows. Even the most talented storyteller couldn’t spin a yarn about this haunted forest and the monsters lurking in its nooks and crannies, because it didn’t look haunted in the least. It seemed charming, beautiful, peaceful. Their surroundings were open and inviting. Well lit and welcoming. Yet Piper couldn’t shake the feeling that something was impossibly wrong.
“Go up and check,” Piper said.
Cameron didn’t move. He was watching the trees as if waiting for them to spring. But they weren’t even old and gnarled. No splintered branches or knots like strange faces. They were straight, smooth, young, intact. Their branches didn’t weave into frightening shapes.
“You can feel it, too.”
Cameron nodded. “Same as before.”
“What is it? What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know.
Piper only knew that she wanted to back away. She didn’t want to look at those trees anymore. Or have them behind her. It was as if she could see someone nailed to the trunks, their body bleeding and twisted. There should be something macabre ahead to justify this creeping dread — the feeling Cameron shared, judging by his face — but there simply wasn’t.
“Did you see someone hiding behind them?” Cameron asked.
“There’s nowhere to hide.”
“Did we see them earlier? Maybe we made a loop by mistake.”
“Do you think you’d forget that ravine?” Piper gestured. But he already knew they hadn’t seen the trees before. Because again: They were just trees. Not an enemy’s hiding place or an altar
of human sacrifice. Just ordinary trees she’d have felt foolish to fear passing … if Cameron didn’t clearly feel the same irrational way.
“We could go down there.” He nodded toward the ravine. Its sides were sloped but not terribly steep. Still, a stupid choice with a perfectly good path straight ahead. Piper was glad he’d made the suggestion. She would have insisted if he hadn’t.
“Okay.”
Cameron dismounted. He led the horse, walking slowly downward, choosing his footing. Piper carefully followed. It took them ten minutes to reach the bottom, and the only place to stand and walk, once down, was in the middle of a shallow stream running through the ravine’s beating heart.
Cameron looked up. “That was stupid.”
“Do you want to go back up?”
He shook his head. “You?”
“No.” Piper looked up. Chill still filled her. “I don’t know what that was all about. Have you ever had anything like that happen?”
“Yeah. A half hour earlier, when we turned south in the first place.”
Piper nodded slowly. “I guess we’d better hurry to your Utah ranch. Before we both go crazy.”
Cameron tried to laugh but barely managed.
They walked the creekbed floored in stone.
“Cameron,” said Piper.
Cameron looked over.
“Does the word ‘Andreus’ mean anything to you?”
“I feel like it does.” He shook his head. “Can’t place it. What is it?”
“I was hoping you’d know.”
Cameron smiled. “I guess it’s too late on that whole ‘before we both go crazy’ thing.”
“No, no. I heard it in a movie or something. I can even sort of picture the scene. It was …” She struggled to grasp the slippery image, wondering why it had been jarred loose now of all times. But once noticed, Piper realized that the word and scene had been playing in her mind for a while, like barely heard background music. “ … something kind of … macabre? … I feel like it was one of those scenes that Meyer would have thought was cool, but I’d have hidden my face in my hands. Something gross. Like torture porn.” She tilted her head, still chasing the memory. “Why would I have watched something like that?”
“I’ve seen it too. And I don’t watch many movies.”
“Did you see it in a theater, do you think?”
“I don’t know. Probably not.”
“I wonder if it was one of Meyer’s movies. His studio’s, I mean. But they don’t go into stuff like that. Not that I’ve seen?” Every thought wanted to end in a question mark. Piper couldn’t figure it out. And she didn’t know why it was bothering her — especially now, of all times.
Cameron said, “There was a man with a cowboy hat. A hat too small for his head, like a stupid little thing. I remember being afraid of that guy.”
“So you were a kid.”
“I don’t know.” He scratched his head. “I watched even fewer movies growing up. Maybe it was something I saw or that my dad told me about? It feels very ‘warlord.’ Like some powerful guy torturing and … sacrificing? We went to a lot of places where they still do stuff like that.”
“But then why would I remember it?” Piper furrowed her brow.
The picture was coming clearer. She remembered the man with the hat, too. A dumb look — it should have been laughable. But she hadn’t wanted to laugh at this man whenever she’d seen him. In a movie. Although now she was getting goose bumps and could see the scene with a memory’s clarity. As if it were something she’d witnessed. Something that scarred her. The man with his hat. Who’d carried a machete on his hip. Who told a group of stern-faced guards what to do. The guards were worse than the man. She distinctly remembered a scene (memory) wherein one of the hat-man’s dissenters or enemies had earned his wrath, and the guards had tied a rope to each of that man’s arms and legs. The other ends of the ropes had been fastened to the backs of plow horses, and the horses had been whipped in four different directions.
Piper remembered that part very vividly now that the memory of what she’d seen on screen (witnessed in person) was getting clearer. The man’s arms had come off first. Then he’d bled out and died, ruining all the hat-man’s fun.
“I remember something really hideous,” Cameron said, seeming to think. “About someone being … drawn and quartered? And you’re right, there were people chanting that word. ‘Andreus.’ Like a cheer. Or an anthem.” He shook his head, disgusted. “I’ve never seen a movie like that. I never would see—”
A gunshot crashed through the quiet.
Piper and Cameron looked up, halting in their tracks. The stream had its own music, and the horses’ footsteps had vanished into its flow. But they’d been talking. The ravine wasn’t all that deep. Ground level was maybe five feet above their heads.
“Get down!” Cameron whispered.
Heart beating hard, Piper dismounted. Cameron led his horse toward the steeper embankment. He leaned back, trying to stay out of sight. More gunshots echoed above.
Piper heard two sets. Someone near the bank above and a second round of reports, farther off. Two people in a gunfight. Piper’s head swam, suddenly sure that whoever was above would be interested in knowing there were a pair of people below, hearing everything. Being where they shouldn’t be, nearly seeing what they shouldn’t see.
She heard a great, inarticulate cry. A sound like animals stampeding — with human voices. The far-off shooter fired twice more in rapid succession, but Piper could sense their panic. He or she was being chased by a horde, and there weren’t enough bullets to end them all.
Cameron’s eyes were on Piper’s. The sound of water combined with the shouting above would drown anything out. But his eyes were wide and round, flicking between Piper and the ravine. His lips didn’t move. Yet distinctly, she heard him say, We’d have walked right into that.
There was no question. If they’d stayed on their current path, they’d have ended up in the melee. They couldn’t have hidden if they’d wanted to. Their horses were too big to miss.
There are hundreds of them, Piper thought. Not only because she could hear the tumult of shouts as the large group chased the runner, but because she’d seen this before. Quite clearly. In something like a memory.
Cameron nodded.
From above, there were more shots. More struggle. Whoever was being chased
(Simon, his name is Simon, and he should have kept his mouth shut)
(traitor liar greedy little shit, get back here)
(go around. I should run around to the far side, but then what if they think I’m running too)
(HAIL Andreus!)
Piper closed her eyes. Tilted her head down. Put her fingers to her temples. Words and high emotions were now a live show instead of a movie. She could sense Cameron beside her, probably watching with concern, but he wouldn’t ask what was wrong because
(oh my God, we’d have walked right into that what if we’d done that. I’d have been responsible, all my fault)
because he surely had his own problems. And because she was sure he knew damned well what was wrong with her; no need to waste breath, risk drawing attention.
The sounds came closer, the runner driven back around, funneled along the ravine’s lip and back into his pursuers like draining water. There was no easy way down into the ravine
(unless he jumps)
(Simon, you shit, you’d better not jump, you coward, you greedy fucker)
but he wouldn’t jump because it was still a good fifteen-foot drop with rocks at the bottom, and if he broke his leg and they fell on him, he’d be done.
Piper squeezed her eyes tighter shut. She was having problems keeping her bearings and remembering where she was. Was she running from the others? Was she chasing Simon?
No, she was down here, in the ravine, praying they’d stay hidden.
A single gunshot almost directly above preceded a voice: “I surrender. Take me back to the stockade.”
Then: �
��I’ll go quietly.”
Then: “Donna. Help me out, Donna.”
Donna, whoever she was, didn’t or couldn’t help.
Piper gasped at the sound then again when something struck the stream behind them.
A head. Just a head, no body attached.
A new voice above: “You two. Drag the body.”
Then: “You. Go get the head.”
Loose rock spilled down twenty tense seconds later. Maybe two dozen yards back, where the slope into the ravine was shallower. A tangle of roots gnarled behind Piper and Cameron, but not enough to shield two people and their horses.
Cameron climbed into his saddle so fast he nearly spilled over. He didn’t need to tell Piper to do the same. “Go!” he hissed.
The group was headed away, apparently dragging a headless body. The sound of the stream, if they were lucky, might drown their hoofbeats.
Still, Piper saw the man descending the bank before she turned forward and kicked her mount. She saw his head turn and heard him shout.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
“GODDAMMIT, TURN THAT OFF!”
“I’m trying. Hang on.”
“FASTER, TERRENCE!”
“Almost. Almost.”
“JESUS FUCKING—”
Vincent stopped midsentence. Trevor, watching, thought he looked almost comical. Vincent slept in boxers and a sleeveless white tee. He didn’t have a hair on his head, and his frame was intimidating. Yet he managed to look like a flustered old man with his hair in tousles, wearing a flapping white nightgown: utterly baffled, standing in the room’s center with his legs wide as if bracing for something. His eyes were wide, his hands out. His last words had come out after the alarm had ceased its blaring, and in the quiet, they were shockingly loud.
“Is it off?”
“Do you hear it, Vincent?” Terrence asked.
“Permanently off.”
“I silenced it. But don’t worry; I’ll keep an eye on it.”
“‘Keep an eye on it?’”
“In case it wants to go off again,” Terrence explained.
Dan emerged from the bedroom, rubbing his face with his palm. Dan had the old man thing going on even more than Vincent. He was probably in his fifties, by Trevor’s estimation, and his hair was going gray at the temples, curly and too long, sticking up like a rat’s nest.