Ghost Town
Prolog
The team was gathered along the shore of the lake. It was small, a thousand feet across at most, surrounded by yellow grass and a few scrubby bushes. Lt. Quinn stepped away from the others and approached a short rise. The cloudless pale blue sky seemed close enough to touch. He fought the urge to reach a hand up and...
A few hundred yards beyond the rise lay a small town right out of the old west. Main Street was a dusty road lined on either side by a handful of assorted wooden buildings.
Sgt. Costa and Asher came up beside the lieutenant, the others following not far behind.
“Waddya say, Marshall?” Asher asked in an exaggerated western twang. “Stand me for a shot a’ rotgut?”
Lt. Quinn responded with an awful “Why shore, pardner.”
Asher cringed good-naturedly.
Sgt. Costa’s expression was slightly more pained. “You might want to work on that, Lieutenant.”
“No… no, that’s it for that,” sighed Quinn. He would not be trying that again. He looked to the group. “Onward, then.”
At a sharp nod from the lieutenant, Sgt. Costa led the way toward town, with Quinn and Professor Asher half a dozen paces behind. The bulk of the group, all still soaking wet from their foray through the watery passage from the second floor, followed behind them, Private Carmody and Corporal Ramos bringing up the rear.
The third floor looked to be as different from the second floor, it with its antiquated freighter on an alien sea, as that floor had diverged from the first.
Above the straggling line of travelers, the pale blue sky flickered once, twice… then all was well…
Episode Three / Chapter One
Asher stepped down from the planked walkway that fronted the general store and crossed the entrance of the narrow alley that ran between the two buildings. He took the single step then up onto a similar wood deck that spanned the front of the saloon.
The sloped canopy hanging above the porch shaded him from a warm sun that heated the dirt street. Across the way was the hotel, a big square box of a building with a row of windows spanning the width of the second floor. Standing at the edge of the porch, Asher saw a figure move past one of those windows. It was Elizabeth Owen, settling into one of the rooms.
Asher turned about and pushed through the saloon doors. The air inside was much cooler, and after the glare of Main Street, the room was a bit dark. It took a few moments for his eyes to adjust.
Corporal Ramos had the radio set up on a table in one corner. It had survived the trip through the watery portal well enough, but he wasn’t having any success making contact with the outside world.
Lt. Quinn and Sgt. Costa hovered over a table in the middle of the room, were looking down at a roughly drawn map of the town; two rows of buildings facing each other across a thirty foot wide dirt road.
Asher came up to the table, gave the map a quick glance.
“Professor,” said Quinn, looking up from the table. “Is Miss Powell settling in all right?”
“Don’t know about that,” said Asher. “But she’s getting Liz settled in well enough.”
“Ah, yes… of course.”
“She’ll be all right, Lieutenant,” said Asher. Ray Do’s death had been particularly gruesome, and Ray and Lisa had been close friends as well as colleagues for years.
“Yes. I’m sure she will,” Quinn stated quietly. He turned back to the map. “To the business at hand, then.”
Asher absently nodded in the general direction of map. “It’s a doctor’s office, all right.”
Elizabeth Owen had insisted on finding a room in the hotel, stating that she would look things over as she was getting settled in. Most everyone else had been sent out to get an initial impression of the town, to look for any obvious signs of a portal to the next floor. Asher had walked the outer perimeter of the town beyond the buildings on his way to what appeared to be a doctor’s office near the far end of town and on the other side of the street from the saloon.
“Did you find anything we might be able to use?” asked Quinn. Obviously, if Asher had seen anything that might indicate a portal, he would already have said as much.
“Not really,” said Asher. He had seen nothing out of the ordinary, neither during his walk nor in the small building. “Though, it looks like one corner of the front room has been set aside for a dentist; an archaic dentist. Scary stuff.”
Sgt. Costa grinned politely, but Quinn only nodded curtly and made a note on the map at the location of the doctor’s office.
“What was your impression of the town,” he asked as he finished and tossed the pencil onto the table.
“About what you’d expect,” Asher shrugged. “Looks like any small town you’d figure to find in the old west, if you only had old westerns to go by.”
Lt. Quinn nodded knowingly. “My thought exactly.”
“Another landscape pulled from our own thoughts,” suggested Sgt. Costa.
“Makes sense,” said Asher. “And I suppose we should keep that in mind as we investigate this new environment.”
“Again, my thought exactly.” Lt. Quinn folded his arms across his chest and frowned down at the map. “Yes. Well. I think I’ll do a bit more of that exploring right now.”
“Do you want me to go with you, Sir?” asked Sgt. Costa.
“No need, Sergeant. I shouldn’t be getting into any trouble; just a quiet stroll up and down the street, see if I run across any of our fellow travelers.
“Yes, Sir.” Sgt Costa watched her lieutenant stroll over to the saloon’s swinging doors and mosey on outside. She gave Asher another grin and nodded in the direction of the bar. “I’ll spot you a drink, Professor.”
“That’s Peter, please,” said Asher. “Or Asher. You make me sound old.” They started toward the bar. “A stocked bar?”
“Haven’t looked.” Sgt. Costa stepped around behind the bar and began rummaging around. “Not that I myself would do any drinking on duty, Asher.”
“Not much of a drinker, myself, Sergeant.”
Costa came out from under the counter empty handed and placed her hands flat on the bar. “That’s not going to be a problem.”
“Probably for the best.”
“Actually, I was hoping for something that we could all partake in, like bottled water.”
“I think bottled water might be out of place in this setting.”
“Yes,” She nodded quickly. “You’re right. The façade must be maintained.”
“At least until we find out differently.”
Sgt. Costa looked past Asher and called across the room to Corporal Ramos, who was about to give up on the radio. “Hey, Ramos, d’you find anything resembling water when you searched this place?”
“There’s a well out back.” Ramos looked dejectedly at the radio as he leaned back in his chair. “Didn’t try drawin’ any water out of it. Was lookin’ for the portal.”
While searching for that portal, he had dropped a stone into the well, watched for a reaction that might indicate the passage to the next floor. He had seen nothing; but then, he hadn’t heard the splash that would mean water, either.
“You taking a break from that radio? Why don’t you check it out?” asked Costa.
Ramos pushed his chair back and stood up. “I don’t mind if I do.”
Costa spoke then to Asher. “The lake water is drinkable, but just barely.”
“We have what we brought with us,” said Asher. They had filled their canteens before leaving the last floor. That was a standing directive from the lieutenant. Whenever possible, canteens were to be filled before moving to the next floor. They never knew where they would find themselves.
“Then let us hope we find another source soon,” said Asher.
“Yes, Sir.” She rested her arms on the counter and clasped her hands. “And food. We didn’t come away from the freighter with much.”
“Spinach.”
Costa frowned. That and what they brought with them wasn
’t going to last long.
“I’m sure we’ll find something.” They both knew they had five days rations at best. They would have to supplement food and water en route if they expected to make it all the way to the top floor.
“I hope you’re right,” said Costa.
“I’m certain of it. If not here, then soon enough. If the Adversary has any expectation that we survive this gauntlet that he’s set before us, there will have to be supplies along the way.”
“I don’t want to live off MREs and spinach for the entire mission.”
“I’m sure that won’t be necessary.”
“It sure won’t,” said Carmody, pushing her way through the swinging doors. She was dressed in clean, dry civilian clothes and carried an armful of neatly folded shirts and pants. She set the stack down on the nearest table. “Doctor Bautista and I hit the jackpot.”
Susan Bautista followed Carmody into the saloon, also dressed in clean pants and shirt, carrying an armful of new clothes, all carefully folded.
“Not bad,” said Asher, wandering over to the table. “Not what I would consider edible, but not bad.”
“Cute,” said Susan. “We thought everyone might like a change of clothes.”
“But there’s a wall of shelves filled with canned goods and staples,” said Carmody. “More than we can take with us.”
Sgt. Costa came around the bar and walked to the table. She admired a shirt, then a pair of pants.
“You’re out of uniform, Private Carmody,” she said, holding up another shirt.
“Yes, Sergeant,” said Carmody.
“Don’t be hard on her, Sara,” said Susan. “I have to say, it feels good gettin’ out of those wet, smelly things.”
“Understood,” Costa smiled thinly. She tucked the shirt under her arm, selected a pair of pants. She focused her attention back to Carmody. “Once our fatigues are cleaned and dried, we will dress appropriately; uniform of the day.”
“Yes. Of course.”
“You know the Lieutenant’s thinking on this mission. Military discipline exists for a reason, and we have a very long way to go.”
§
Ramos stood at the well, his back to the back wall of the saloon. He was tying a thin, discolored rope to the handle of an old, wooden bucket. Beyond the well, the illusion of wide-open prairie spread out to a false horizon. The big ball of the sun hung in the sky overhead, warming his skin, heating his shirt and pants till it was almost unpleasant.
The rope had been in place, a few yards coiled around the crank axle, the remainder suspended down into the dark of the well. He had found the bucket near the back steps of the saloon.
He absently brushed at his face, as if something was there, without really thinking about it, and continued tying the rope.
A few quiet moments later, the hint of a willowy breeze whispered past him; but there had been no wind.
He looked up from his work, glanced curiously about, as if only just realizing that something had been going on and that he had missed it.
Is somebody here?
Some… thing?
Ramos grew increasingly uncomfortable. He didn’t see anything, or anyone, but that only made it worse.
What had happened to Raso way back on the first floor was now very fresh in his mind. Raso and Carmody had come face to face with the Adversary, and it hadn’t ended well.
It hadn’t ended well at all.
Ramos went cold, this despite the hot sun. He couldn’t say why.
Something caressed the back of his hand; he jerked it away from the bucket. He took a step back.
I felt that… I did… I felt that.
Uh… what did I feel?
He took another step back, two steps nearer now to the back door of the saloon and the company of another human being.
§
Elizabeth Owen stood at the window of her upstairs hotel room. She watched a thin, wispy dust cloud drift placidly down the center of the street below. The saloon was directly across from the hotel, with a general store on one side of it, a café on the other.
The world was unnervingly quiet.
Owen spoke to Lisa without turning from the window, her tone deceptively casual.
“I suppose we should be going down soon, join the others in the search.”
“Yes, Ma’am.” Lisa had just come from her room, having cleaned herself up as best she could. She had earlier done her best to dry their clothes and brush them out. “I’m ready.”
“Good.” Owen showed no sign of turning from the window. “I think we may soon have fresh clothes. I saw Susan and the Girl Private carrying armfuls of new shirts and pants over to the saloon a few minutes ago.”
“Private Carmody,” Lisa stated flatly.
“Sure. Whatever.” Owen had formed a grudging respect for Sgt. Costa, but the others had yet to prove themselves in her eyes; particularly the Girl Private.
She saw a shadow move across the rooftop of the saloon.
Rather, she thought she saw a shadow. A silhouette, a figure perhaps, something…
Actually, she wasn’t absolutely certain that she had seen anything.
She said nothing, focused all her attention on the space just beyond the rooftop façade of the saloon.
“Doctor Owen?” asked Lisa. She stood waiting near the door.
“Yes?” Owen mumbled absently.
“Shouldn’t we be going?”
“Yes.” Owen kept her attention across the way. There it was again… something… a flurry of dark shadow, as a cape fluttering in the breeze… then it was gone.
“Ma’am?”
“Yes, Lisa… on our way…”
§
Banister stepped away from the dais and down from the raised platform that served as altar for the small, rustic church. Nathaniel Church sat in the last pew, one arm resting on the back, quietly observing his friend.
“What did you expect, Banister?”
“I expected nothing.” Banister walked down the central aisle, passing several pews. He stopped midway, slowly turned about and faced the podium, hands on hips. “And yet, finding the portal in a house of worship would have said something as to our host’s mind.”
“The Adversary is not so obvious,” grumbled Church. He brusquely brushed at his closely trimmed hair with the flat of his palm. “Perhaps the fact that the portal isn’t here speaks to us as well.”
“Not to me.” Banister took a step and leaned against the nearest pew. He studied the very crude wood carving of Jesus on the cross that hung on the wall behind the altar. What paint remained had chipped and faded. “These worlds have such detail.”
“I will grant him that.” Church leaned forward, rested his arms on the back of the pew in front of him and clasped his hands. “Now if the details would only provide us with answers.”
“I’m sure they will come,” Banister sighed. He glanced about the room, pulling his own long salt and pepper hair behind his ears. “Perhaps we must first decipher how to ask the questions.”
“Come up with the correct questions.”
“Correct or not, there are two questions that sit at the top of my list, and they shall remain there until answered.”
Church looked up at the exposed rafters and called out, “Who are you? Why this gauntlet?”
“Question one and question two,” said Banister.
The front door opened and Lt. Quinn came into the church.
“Important questions, I’m sure,” he said. He took off his cap and tucked it under his arm. “However, my own would probably be more immediate; food, water, potential threats… and the magic key to finding the portals on each floor.”
“Why yes, of course, Lieutenant,” Church said, standing. “And so you see the value in having both military and scientific perspectives on this mission.”
“Yes...” he said warily. “Though I’m a bit surprised to hear you admit that, Doctor Church.”
“Grudgingly, Lieutenant. Most grudgingly.”
There was something unsettling about the apprehensive expression that Quinn saw suddenly appear on Church’s face.
“Doctor? Is something wrong?” he asked at last.
Church watched as an inky black, wormlike shadow slithered across Lt. Quinn’s face. It slid across one cheek, up over the bridge of the man’s nose and onto the other cheek. It twisted slowly about and moved up to his forehead, across his brow, finally disappearing into Quinn’s hair.
“Doctor?” Quinn asked again. He was obviously oblivious to what had just happened.
Church forced himself to turn away. He looked across the pews and out through one of the narrow side windows. He looked then up at the podium standing tall at the front of the room.
Everything seemed to be just fine.
Banister stepped up beside him. “Are you all right?”
“Yes. Of course I’m—” He stopped abruptly.
Banister started to ask what was wrong, instead slowly turned to look where Church’s disconcerting gaze took him.
The face of Jesus was no longer that of Jesus; the carved, wooden head no longer slumped down, chin onto his chest.
The head was now lifted up, the face human and yet not quite human. The mouth was upturned, the hint of a demented smile, teeth showing.
And the eyes… bright eyes, shining eyes… as the face looked down on Church, Banister and Lt. Quinn.
Episode Three / Chapter Two
General Wong stood outside the Quonset hut gazing up at the gleaming black tower. It was near dusk, and it seemed that all the sun’s rays were being pulled into the great monolith. There was an ethereal purple glow surrounding the tower.
Captain Adamson stepped outside the command center and stood beside the general. The door clattered closed behind them.
“Still nothing, General,” he said, looking up at the tower. The purple haze was beginning to fade as dusk grew to dark. “Johansen believes they attempted communication earlier, but the connection was lost before it started.”
“That’s something, anyway.”
“Sir?”
“If they’re trying to contact us, it means they made it to the third floor.”
The Black Tower: The Complete Series Page 8