The Sound

by James Sperl

  “You can't help her,” Jon said. “Let her go...Let her go, Clarissa.”

  Surrendering to the situation, Clarissa crumbled to the ground in a mess of tears. Rachel crawled over to her and hugged her, equally distraught.

  Jon moved to the front door, which continued to travel on its hinges from having been thrown open. He glanced into the blackness. Waxing moonlight dappled the trees, which rustled in a chilled, rising wind.

  An owl hooted somewhere in the night.

  Jon shut the door.

  CHAPTER 45

  They crossed the border into New York early in the morning. The remaining drive to Ashland was only a mere half day away.

  Clarissa was exhausted. She had spent the better part of the past three days—days the group had unanimously agreed to allow for Valentina's potential return—in a state of worry and fitful sleep. All told, she may have slept for a total of seven hours. She was so tired she could barely see straight.

  Much to everyone's surprise—everyone's except Andrew's—Valentina never returned. Clarissa was certain that once her friend spent a night or two alone—scared, hungry, and emotionally distraught—she would come back with her tail tucked between her legs. Clarissa would've welcomed her with open arms.

  Now, though, she suspected the worst.

  She couldn't believe she wished it, but part of her prayed Valentina had stashed drugs in her belongings. Something that allowed her to keep going until she found a suitable method to get some safe shut-eye. Clarissa was an optimist by nature, but even she had difficulty holding out hope that Valentina was okay.

  The baby was awake. Clarissa rode with her in the back seat of Andrew's truck and offered the child her fingers, which the baby clamped onto with varying degrees of strength. She cooed and gah-gahed and gazed at Clarissa with wondrous fascination. It was almost enough to make Clarissa smile.

  “I know you won't believe me when I say this,” Andrew said from the driver's seat. Clarissa glanced up and found him looking at her in the rearview mirror. “But I think Valentina will be all right.”

  “Yeah?” Clarissa said. “Well, that makes one of us.”

  “I think you're selling her short.”

  “Selling her short? Val's not a survivor, and she's certainly not independent enough to take care of herself in this world.”

  “You'd be surprised by what people are capable of now. Everyone has undergone a metamorphosis. Val's no exception.”

  Clarissa pushed herself up and handed the baby a whale plushy that rattled.

  “You sure we're talking about the same Valentina?”

  Andrew smiled, though Clarissa could only see it in the crow's feet of his eyes.

  “We are. She may have been somewhat reliant on others to do things at times, but make no mistake, she's adapted to this lifestyle as much as any of us.” A burnt out car in the median rushed past Clarissa's window. Andrew gave it a cursory glance in his side view before he continued. “She's been with us since the beginning. She knows how to get fuel, start a fire, find food, water, shelter. She'll be okay.”

  Clarissa couldn't help laughing. “Yeah. She'll be just fine. You're right. She should have no problem getting gas, you know, if she can find all the tools to pop a gas cap. And fire should be no problem either, if she can find matches or a lighter, because a Girl Scout she ain't. And food? No worries there, if she can find an abandoned home with a full pantry, because I'll give you one guess as to who won't be setting any snares to catch a meal.”

  Rachel, who had turned around to rest her chin on the seat back while she listened, sat up.

  “Andrew's right. I don't think you're being fair to Val. She's messed up right now, but she's tougher than you think. She's grown a lot over these past months.”

  Clarissa's sleep-deprived face dropped into a skeptic's frown.

  “Rach, even if Val has no issues finding food and water, do you think that's her biggest problem? She's an addict. Worse than that, she's a desperate addict. She's not going to go cold turkey and stop. She's going to find a way to get more.” Clarissa looked out the window and tried to keep her emotions in check, but the emotions were winning. “Have you ever wondered what she'd do to get them? Have you ever wondered what she's already done to get them? She didn't go into Orion exactly flush with things to trade.”

  Rachel contemplated this. The thought made her grimace.

  “You saw how she was after only a day on that Road Rage shit,” Clarissa continued. “Now it's been four. What will she be like in a week? A month? Will she even be alive by then? Is she even alive now?”

  A tear hopped Clarissa's lid. She didn't bother to wipe it away.

  “I should've gone after her that night. I should've...I should've brought her home.”

  “We all thought she'd be back,” said Rachel.

  “But she didn't come back, did she?” Clarissa snapped.

  Rachel turned around and stared forlornly through the windshield.

  Clarissa looked at the baby. Her big innocent eyes marveled at the toy in her tiny hands, gleefully reacting to all the sounds it produced. Clarissa was jealous. To the baby, the world was still a magically mysterious place full of wonder. Clarissa would have given anything to feel that way again.

  She tugged playfully at the plushy, which elicited a confused frown from the baby. What was in store for this child and her generation? Would they have a future? Would there be other generations beyond hers? Could things worsen until humanity became a non-existent memory?

  Something had to be done. Somehow, Clarissa and the others needed to find a way to disrupt whatever was taking people. The task felt as enormous as trying to empty the Pacific Ocean using only a thimble, but they had to try. Clarissa felt in the root of her being that the key lay in the Nothing Place.

  “We've got to figure out a way to close the bridge,” she said aloud.

  Andrew found her again in the rearview. He sized her up as if determining whether she spoke to him.

  “After thinking about what you said the other day,” he said finally, “I think I'm inclined to agree with you. There's a reason you, Valentina, and Julia dreamed the same thing. There has to be a link. But I have no earthly idea what it is or what it means.”

  “Yeah, well...I might.”

  Andrew frowned at her. Rachel wrenched around, her brows knitted.

  Clarissa sat forward. “So we're fairly certain that a person vanishes when they're alone and asleep, right?”

  “Yeah...” said Andrew.

  “And now we think that it may also be important to not only have someone in the room with you but also to have them in direct line of sight.”

  Andrew said nothing. His eyes danced from the road to the rearview.

  “So I was thinking...” Clarissa looked intently at each person. “What if one of us willingly went to sleep alone so we could investigate that nightmare world? You know, go into the dream state and see what we can learn. We could set a time limit so another person could return before, well, anything bad happened.”

  Rachel coughed air. “Are you out of your mind? You want to go to that place on purpose? That's...that's insane.”

  “Let me be clear—I have zero desire to go back there,” Clarissa said. “I'm not crazy. That place scares the hell out of me. But I think someone needs to. I think the answer to everything that's been happening lies in there. We just need to send in a scout to s—”

  Andrew stomped the brakes and veered sharply onto the shoulder of the road, tossing Rachel sideways; Clarissa nearly fell over the baby.

  “Andrew! What the hell're you doing?” she barked.

  Andrew came to a complete and abrupt stop. He whirled around and thrust a finger at Clarissa.

  “Now you listen to me. I'm sorry about Valentina, but it wasn't your fault, you understand? If she got hooked up with Rage then it was bound to happen sooner or later, no matter how good of a friend you were to her.”

  “Andrew, I was only say—”

 
“What you're talking about is suicide! If we attempted to do what you're suggesting for even one minute, timing it down to the second, there's no guarantee that person would still be with us when someone returned. It's a foolish idea, and I want you to promise me you'll never bring it up again.”

  Clarissa stared at Andrew in shock. “Okay, I...I promise.”

  “I'm serious as a heart attack.”

  “I said, I promise, okay?” She palmed the air apologetically then sat back.

  Andrew misunderstood her. Instead of considering her idea as a potential solution, he interpreted it as if Clarissa had proposed it from a place of recklessness. That she was so distraught over Valentina nothing mattered anymore. So she would confront her guilt by throwing herself in harm's way under the pretense that she was trying to help.

  Nothing could have been further from the truth.

  She only sought answers, and so far, no one had offered up even the slightest hint of one. Rosenstein was a good start. With some luck, they would learn something, perhaps even get wind of an in-progress solution, but Clarissa had never been one to put all her eggs in one basket.

  Andrew's response to her was curious. It was extreme and primal and shocking in the way he chose to rebuke her. It made her smile. That sort of protective hostility and its intentions came from only one place, and it wasn't anger or hate.

  The radio crackled from beneath the dashboard.

  “Everybody okay up there?” called Cesare.

  Rachel took the walkie-talkie. “Everything's fine.” She looked at Andrew and Clarissa. “The baby just power vomited all over herself. We're just cleaning up.”

  “Better you than me.”

  “Be careful what you say, mister. There aren't too many of us girls left, you know. Especially ones who'll put up with you.” Rachel peered around the headrest to look through the truck's back window at the SUV containing Jon, Elenora, Evan, and Cesare. She squinted and wagged her finger at Cesare, who shrugged and grinned stupidly at her from behind the bug-spattered windshield.

  Clarissa studied her friend with mild amusement. Rachel didn't show the slightest sign of discomfort or embarrassment at her public display of affection for Cesare. The old Rachel, the Rachel from three months ago, would have been mortified to be seen cooing over a man so openly. Not Rachel 2.0.

  She thought about this. Maybe Val would be okay after all. It didn't make her feel any less guilty, but at least she was on the brink of convincing herself her friend stood a chance.

  Andrew cautiously waited for a lone VW bus to drive by and recede into the distance before he pulled back onto the road. He checked the rearview to make sure Jon followed then adjusted his hands on the wheel. Several minutes of silence had passed before he broke it:

  “Let's just get to Rosenstein and hear what they have to say,” he said, picking up where the conversation left off. “Particularly before we start considering any mental kamikaze missions. Agreed?”

  Clarissa crossed her arms and leaned back, allowing the soft cloth seat to absorb her.

  “Okay, Dad,” she said with a wry smile.

  Andrew shot his eyes to her. He blinked acceptance then returned to the road without another word.

  The truck's cab went silent, and except for occasional blurts from the baby, it remained that way for the better part of the day, as they crossed the state of New York, until Andrew said:

  “We're in Massachusetts.”

  CHAPTER 46

  No, no, no, no...was the first thing that sprang to Clarissa's mind. She and the others didn't know what to expect when they followed Kaplinsky's address to Rosenstein in Ashland, but it sure as hell wasn't this.

  They had passed the supposed location twice, but what they saw didn't make sense. Doubling back, Andrew and Jon parked in a pizza restaurant's vacant lot two blocks away to confer over what Kaplinsky had written.

  By all accounts, they had it right: transition off the I-90 to the I-495, then follow the 21A exit to West Main Street. From there, it was a straight shot directly into Ashland. It seemed impossible to misinterpret such simple instructions, yet where the address led left more than just a few people scratching their heads.

  Clarissa wondered if the effects from pop culture hadn't brainwashed her. In her mind, secret government facilities were concealed in shadowy locations, their entrances hidden and protected with security panels that required a pin code.

  What they didn't look like was a bank.

  Granted, the building she and the others gaped at wasn't a bank, but it may as well have been given its modern attempt at throwback architecture (Federal? Revival?) and its centralized location, which was just two streets away from Ashland's Main Street.

  “This can't be right,” Jon said, his hands clasped on top of his head.

  Andrew looked at Kaplinsky's instructions for the one thousandth time.

  “Well, it is. I just don't understand how this could be it.”

  Clarissa surveyed their surroundings—a couple of men walked away from them in the far distance, each with a rifle slung over his shoulder—then returned to the stand-alone structure.

  Evan moved up beside his father. “Any chance Kap got the address wrong?”

  Andrew bugged out his eyes and threw up his hands. “Who the hell knows?” he said. “But it certainly ain't right.”

  “Well,” said Elenora, who rocked the sleeping baby, “are we sure?”

  Andrew laughed incredulously, but it was Cesare who stepped in with an answer.

  “Nonna, I don't think this is the place. We're looking for Rosenstein Biotechnologies, remember? This place already has a name. See?” He pointed to the big three-dimensional white letters over the entrance, which read “ADLS.” Below them, the words “Ashland Diagnostic Lab Services” underscored the clunky acronym.

  “Oh, Cesare, mi amore,” she replied. “I'm not an imbecile. I can still see, and I can still read.” Cesare recoiled, a shocked grin on his lips. He smiled covertly at Rachel. “I only ask because maybe things aren't what they seem.”

  “How so?”

  “Well, could it be possible Rosenstein used ADLS as a front? That they were perhaps hiding in plain sight?”

  “It's an interesting theory,” said Jon. “But Kap was pretty positive this was the main facility, though it sure doesn't look like it to me.”

  “Actually, what Mr. Kaplinsky said was that the lab where he worked often shipped to this address, and that many of the people he corresponded with were from the Massachusetts branch of Rosenstein. The way I interpreted it, he wasn't speculating that this was the main facility but rather that it was merely one part of the whole.”

  Andrew and Jon looked at one another.

  “The lady's got a point,” Jon said.

  “Well, look,” said Clarissa, “we're here. We've traveled all this way. The absolute least we can do is check things out.”

  “Heard that,” Evan said. “I wouldn't have cared if this place turned out to be an abandoned Dunkin' Donuts. I'm taking a look.”

  “Me too,” added Rachel.

  Clarissa couldn't imagine anyone from the group who didn't want to go inside. It may not have met their preconceived expectations, but for unexplained reasons, she felt they were in the right place. Kaplinsky didn't impress her as someone who was confused. In fact, Clarissa thought he was interesting, knowledgeable, and one of the more coherent persons she'd met in a long time.

  Her knowledge of the organizational structure of covert military R&D facilities being only slightly greater than that of the mating habits of amoeba, Clarissa thought Elenora made a valid argument. If Rosenstein were as black-ops as Kaplinsky indicated, their operations would likely extend beyond a single facility. There could be as many as ten locations, perhaps dozens, each of which played an integral role in contributing to Project Tunnel.

  ADLS could be one of them.

  They were going in.

  * * *

  The main entrance was a gaping maw. The glass to the
sliding front doors had been shattered and reduced to a shard pile. Andrew, the first one inside, made eye contact with Clarissa, Jon, and Cesare—Rachel, Elenora, and Evan having been relegated to “guard” duty, a job that couldn't have thrilled Evan less—and pointed it out. Each person took a giant stride over the glass as they entered.

  The interior was thoroughly ransacked, though Clarissa didn't quite understand why. The facility was a medical diagnostics lab, which meant that if it actually was a medical diagnostics lab, its primary focus would have been to run tests—white blood cell counts, cholesterol panels, cancer and drug screenings, among others. But the significant damage suggested that more than just a few people mistook the place for a pharmacy. Signs of desperation—pried open storage cabinets, emptied refrigerators, smashed shelving—were everywhere.

  Andrew pushed into the facility. Clarissa followed directly behind him with Jon and Cesare taking up the rear.

  It was already a given that Elenora and Evan would stay behind, but it came down to Rachel, Clarissa, and a coin toss, as to who would remain with them. Clarissa was the victor, much to Rachel's chagrin, but with her victory came an ultimatum from Andrew, which Jon and Cesare supported: this time, if she was going in, she needed to have a gun.

  Clarissa hated guns. She understood their necessity and had some familiarity with them, but they felt fraudulent in her hands. She had never been required to carry one in the past thanks to Andrew, Jon, and Cesare, each of whom was never without one. This time was different. If this was Rosenstein, she needed to arm herself. The handgun she clutched felt like a two-ton weight.

  Her heart thumped as she trailed Andrew past a reception counter toward a pair of closed swinging doors on the far side of the room. She swallowed what felt like cotton balls. One of two things lay beyond those doors: stunning revelation or crushing disappointment.

  Andrew stopped in front of the doors as if he too recognized the weight of the moment. He peeked over his shoulder to make sure everyone still followed him before he shouldered through the doors into the lab.