by Indi Martin
“Okay, Charlie?” asked Chaz softly.
Charlie allowed herself to be led out of the metal box and through the mostly quiet hallways. “What time is it?”
“Almost eleven,” he answered.
“S’quiet,” she slurred, lurching slightly before he righted her.
“It’s not a big city,” he responded.
“Mm,” she vocalized, concentrating on not passing out. The white lights were a blur overhead, their brightness causing an unpleasantly familiar stab of pain in her temples, even through her morphine haze. She closed her eyes against the lights and leaned more heavily on her younger companion. “Get me out of here, Chaz,” she hissed.
“Almost there,” he said. She shuffled blindly beside him. “Step down,” he warned, and she caught her balance just in time to prevent pitching forward. The ambient sounds of night drifted in and she bristled against the cold wind. “Here we are.” Chaz let his hand drop to her own, and he placed it against the side of the car. She heard a door open and allowed herself to open her eyes.
“Seriously?” she scoffed, accepting his offered hands to help lower her into the seat.
“Short notice,” he answered, but there was a playful grin on his face as he buckled her seat belt and shut the passenger door, jogging to the driver’s side with light feet. Charlie suspected that the shiny green Mustang in which she sat wasn’t the only car that had been available to Chaz, but couldn’t work up enough disapproval in her current state to make a big deal of it.
“Not really inconspicuous,” she grunted half-heartedly.
Chaz twisted the keys in the ignition and the engine roared to life with an impressive growl. “You’re coming out of a hospital after we exhumed a corpse and got attacked by some crazy shadow tiger thing. Today hasn’t been a very inconspicuous day.”
“When did you get such a mouth on you?” she snapped, but it was entirely without venom. She considered asking him for details about the “shadow tiger thing” he’d seen attack Morgan, but decided she’d process the information better after the morphine was out of her system.
“Show me how to create this compass thing so we can get this baby on the road,” he ordered, and she raised an eyebrow at him.
“One of ours is lying near death right over there,” she reminded him softly, her voice tired and low. “Let’s not make too light of this.”
Chaz grimaced. “Crying won’t help him,” he replied gruffly and now both of Charlie’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. Pursing her lips, she reached out and laid her hand on his arm gently. Chaz wasn’t rough and tough - he was only 22, and although he’d seen a lot with the Unit, he shouldn’t have seen enough to get as bitter as she was. She caught his gaze and Charlie was relieved to see tears shining in the young man’s eyes. Don’t lose your humanity yet, Chaz, she wanted to say. There’s plenty of time for that later. You’re here to keep us all grounded. If you go cynical, we’ll have to find someone else to keep us human, and I hate breaking in new people. But all she said was “Let’s get out of the parking lot at least. Drive us down the road and we’ll build the compass together, okay?”
Chaz nodded and she withdrew her hand as the machine around them surged forward.
5
Gina Harwood shivered, though the air was not particularly cold. It was dark, pitch black, however, and it seemed as though it should be. She peered back up the long, winding staircase and could just make out a spot of gold, the warm torchlight casting its light just beyond the massive stone gates with the two ancient men standing guard. She tried reaching her arms out to the side, but she could feel no walls; with the absolute darkness around her, there was no way of telling if there even were walls, let alone how far away they might be. For all she knew, emptiness extended in all directions around her, every direction except for the faintly luminescent stairs leading her ever downward. She had traveled far, far longer downward after the gate than she had before, and she was beginning to tire. Rationally, she knew that she should not tire in a dream, her muscles weren’t actually flexing as she descended, but that seemed to make little difference. She was tired anyway.
She observed this clinically. It didn’t actually matter to her if her legs were on fire from the exertion. It was merely an observation that helped pass the time on the seemingly endless descent. It also helped distract her from the ringing in her ears, a static buzz that grew with each step she took.
Gina’s mind was a drumbeat of guilt and drive. It was her weakness that caused her to bring that damned talisman, she reminded herself. Her weakness that caused that creature to attack. Victor had warned her, and as he reminded her himself, Esther Locke had warned her. Though Victor’s warnings were a lot less cryptic, she preferred the old lady she’d dreamed of; after all, her warning came with a hopeful caveat. “Only you can save him,” she’d said. “He will go to the place of dreaming.”
I will. I will save him, she reminded herself as she sped up her downward climb. The image of Morgan’s lifeless face was branded into her memory, burned into her retinas. He had leapt to her rescue, and given her the few precious seconds she’d needed to react, throwing the talisman at the nightmarish creature. She hadn’t been fast enough. If I’d only figured it out a second sooner, she admonished herself, feeling the guilt burn its way up her chest. Just one second.
Wispy, dim light played around the edges of her vision and she continued downward, the buzzing in her head reaching its apex and remaining there, a constant background soundtrack to her thoughts. The air was different here, it had actual qualities instead of being the nothingness of before. There was a slight wind, which carried with it the scent of fresh pine needles and the mustiness of earth. Buoyed by the change, Gina pressed on, bounding down the staircase as quickly as her legs would carry her, until the murky darkness around her seemed to coalesce into bark, and leaves, and grass. Astonished, she slowed her pace to a walk, and then stopped entirely, blinking at her surroundings. Experimentally, she pressed the toes of her shoes into the dry leaves covering the forest floor, and furrowed her brow at the sounds of them crunching underneath. It was perfect, and this unnerved her. Reaching out, she ran the tips of her fingers across the rough bark of the nearest tree, looking for cracks in the perfect immersion. A small stream of sap trickled down the tree, sticky and pungent, and the canopy above her whispered its rustle language against the wind. She was no stranger to lucid dreaming, but it was rare that a dream could feel so entirely real.
But this is no ordinary dream, she reminded herself, hearing the words in Victor’s voice. Suddenly, the quest she’d been so quick to undertake overwhelmed her, seeming to press in around her heart, and her tired legs collapsed underneath her. Dead leaves flew from her sudden seat, catching air as they danced languidly back to the forest floor. She was tired, so tired, and she felt hot tears pricking at the back of her eyes. The staircase she’d descended was nowhere to be seen. “He’s not dead,” she whispered, blinking back her tears and setting her jaw. She pounded and massaged her legs, working the muscles quickly under the heels of her hands. “He’s not dead. I just have to find him.” Her voice was firm, but her mind was whirling. Gina Harwood had no idea where she was, and even less of an idea how to find someone here.
Tilting her head back to take a deep, fortifying breath, she stared at the deep blue sky that peeked through the holes in the forest ceiling. The sunlight that stole through the leaves was warm on her hands, and bright, and it comforted her. This place doesn’t look so bad, she thought to herself, taking another deep breath and flexing her legs. And it’s a beautiful day, wherever I am. She shifted her weight and forced herself to her feet, leaning against the nearest tree for support.
“Who is not dead?” asked a curious, lilting voice.
Gina froze, her body stiffening as she searched for the speaker. She reached out with her mind to pinpoint the voice’s origin, but the ringing in her mind spiked, and she flinched away. Guess I’ll have to do this the old-fashioned way, she though
t to herself, trying not to give in to the rising panic at not having access to her telepathy. She spun slowly in a small circle, scanning the trees and the spaces between, but saw nothing. “A friend of mine…” she answered, trying to imbue her voice with more confidence than she felt. Her hand traveled surreptitiously to her hip, and she was unsurprised to find nothing but fabric covering it. Her holster and her gun were gone, and she growled low, angry with herself for not taking inventory of her things before she needed them.
“But he is lost?” asked the voice again, and it sounded strangely childlike.
Gina allowed herself to relax slightly. “He is, and I need to find him.”
“Is he a zoog?” The voice sounded less benign with this question, and Gina continued to scan the forest, wishing she could see the converser.
“I… I don’t know what that is,” she admitted. “What’s a zoog?”
Movement caught Gina’s attention, just out of the corner of her eye, and she spun to see a cat leaping from one branch to another. It had the markings of an ordinary, domestic tabby cat although it was considerably larger than any house-cat she’d ever encountered, and it seemed to be wearing some sort of studded leather harness across its chest and shoulders. It sat on the lower branch, almost exactly at eye level for Gina, on a dark barked tree about twenty feet away. It seemed to regard her with curiosity, its head cocked slightly to the side and large, yellowish-green eyes meeting her own. Keeping an eye on the cat, she continued to scan nearby for the owner of the voice.
“The string-faced rats,” explained the voice, and Gina noticed with a start that the cat’s mouth was moving as the speaker spoke.
She took a step closer to the feline, cautiously and slowly, not wanting to startle it into running away. “That’s some impressive ventriloquism,” she commented. “Show yourself.”
The cat bared its teeth, and it took Gina a heart-stopping moment to realize that it appeared to be laughing. A throaty chuckle erupted from the cat, and it winked at her. “You already see me! Have you never seen a Cat before?” It narrowed its eyes at her. “You must have, for you know our tongue.”
Gina blinked. “Are you… are you talking to me?”
“I don’t see anyone else here,” answered the cat, cleaning a paw. “Perhaps it is you that is lost, and not your friend. You seem confused.” The creature tilted its head to the side quizzically and its ears twitched.
“Well, yeah,” granted Gina, breathless from the strange conversation. “I’m also pretty lost. But I still have to find him.”
“Maybe I can help you get un-lost, at least,” offered the cat, leaping gracefully to a closer tree, and now Gina could no longer deny that the voice was definitely emanating from the animal. The realization sent a shock wave down her spine and she reached out to a tree to steady herself. “Where is your home? This is a dangerous place to wander.”
“I don’t know how to answer that,” replied Gina in a shaky voice. Whatever her comfort zone was, this was outside of it. “I came down the stairs, and ended up here.”
The cat fell quiet, and its eyes narrowed at her again. “Stairs?”
“Yes. I went to sleep, and went down the stairs, past the gate with Nasht and the other old man. I kept going, and I ended up here.”
There was no immediate response, and the silence hung in the air. A breeze strengthened into a brisk wind, sending leaves tumbling across the soft ground. Gina brushed a few strawberry strands out of her face and tucked them behind her ears, uncertain what to do next. She didn’t know if it had been a great idea to tell the strange feline all of that, but she also wasn’t sure she knew what to do with a talking cat in the first place.
“Are you a Dreamer?” asked the cat, almost panting. Gina couldn’t tell if it was excitement or terror, but the lion-sized animal was trembling on the branch, causing the leaves to rustle ominously.
“Yes? I mean, I am dreaming. At least, I think I am. It’s pretty realistic,” she answered, running her fingers along the bark of the tree she was leaning against. “My name is Gina. I came here to get my friend back.”
“A Dreamer!” exclaimed the cat under its breath, swaying slightly on the branch, and panting heavily now. Gina decided that the cat’s voice sounded decidedly male, if young. “You’re really a Dreamer!” His back paw slipped off of the tree, and he clumsily leapt to the ground, trembling and bouncing on his paws.
“Are you okay?” asked Gina, smiling in spite of the strangeness and crouching to remain at eye-level with the feline.
“Yes, yes, I’m okay. I am called Kyrri! I have to take you to Grandfather! You’re really a Dreamer? Can I touch you?” Without waiting for permission, he bounced over and lightly batted her hand with a velvet paw. “I touched a Dreamer!” he mewed excitedly, virtually vibrating with glee.
“Um, yeah, you can touch me,” laughed Gina, watching Kyrri run in circles in his excitement.
“Oh!” Kyrri skidded to a halt in front of her, and his eyes were wide and concerned. “I should have waited for you to say yes. I’m sorry. Please don’t mention that to Grandfather.”
“It’s okay, I don’t mind,” reassured Gina. “Do you think your grandfather will be able to help me find my friend? I don’t know where to start looking.”
“If anyone can, he can! He’s the smartest Cat in Ulthar!” Kyrri puffed out his chest proudly.
“Great!” replied Gina, and she meant it. She hadn’t considered how she would even begin her quest, but was ecstatic that luck had smiled upon her with her excitable, young guide. At least, she assumed he was young. He seemed young. It’s a dream, she reminded herself, closing her eyes briefly to steady her mind, which was reeling on the edge of hysterical laughter. It’s a dream, and anything goes in dreams. Even talking cats. “Lead on, Kyrri, and thank you.”
6
"So, you put the splinter here, and just pop it in carefully…” Charlie Parker grimaced with the effort. Normally she would have accomplished this delicate procedure easily, with a little push from her telekinesis, and been on the hunt already. However, Chaz didn't have that sort of ability, and she felt it was vital that everyone knew how to make these damn things, so she never had to again. The fragile bone splinter twisted slightly in her fingers as she fit it into the small metal ring and she held her breath. Charlie released her grip on the needle and it spun wildly beneath her hand in the palm-sized metal compass. "Voila! Bone compass."
"Yeah... okay, no. Maybe. If I really had to." Chaz looked distrustingly at the compass. "Isn't it supposed to point to something?"
"It takes a minute..." Charlie answered, watching the needle's spins slow. "And you always really have to. There's never a time when anyone would voluntarily build one. Just for fun."
"If you're here, I mean. I'd never have to do it as long as you're around." Chaz leaned back in the driver's seat and placed his hands on the wheel lovingly. "I hope I never have to turn you back in..." he mock-whispered, leaning down to nuzzle the wheel with his cheek.
Charlie glared at him for a moment before returning her focus to the needle. "It's stabilizing," she said, reaching back to grab her seat belt. "South. He's south. Let's go."
"South, right," murmured Charlie, twisting the key in the ignition and grinning as the engine roared to life. "That thing's never gonna put Garmin out of business." He clicked the turn signal and rejoined the highway, urging the car to top speed with enough force to press Charlie into her seat.
"Mm," responded Charlie. She set the compass on her lap and turned to look out the window. "Let me know if you need me to take over driving."
"Not on your life," snorted the redhead.
A few moments passed in silence, and she was glad for them; now that the morphine was flushing away, her head ached terribly and Chaz was known to carry on talking incessantly through an entire road-trip. If he enjoyed driving enough to stay quiet, then Charlie had no objections to his taking the wheel.
"Help me keep an eye out. This is Bigfoot country aro
und here."
Charlie suppressed a flinch at his voice and sighed.
"No, really. There's been like four sightings so far this year in Pennsylvania alone,” he continued. To her amazement, Charlie felt a slight nudge in her ribs and turned slowly to face the young man. "One of the sightings even got prints, and partial video. I think this year is the year we finally find one."
"Did you just... nudge... me?" asked Charlie evenly.
"What?" Chaz glanced over, and she saw a brief flash of fear that she appreciated.
"I thought I felt something. In my ribs. Like you nudged me. Did you nudge me?"
Chaz gaped at her. "Um... maybe?"
"The correct answer is no," she informed him. "Please don't touch me. And I still have a splitting headache, so I can't handle hearing about Sasquatch, or HAARP, or UFOs, or whatever else you've read up on recently. Just..."
Charlie stopped. Chaz's face was squinched up and he was holding his mouth tightly. "Are you... are you crying?" she asked, astonished.
"No," he sniffed, "We must have driven past a pollen field or something. Allergies."
"Uh-huh," sighed Charlie, rubbing her temples and re-checking the compass. “Look, talk about whatever you want. Just do it a little more quietly please."
"Nah, it's okay," sniffled Chaz. After a few minutes punctuated with only occasional sniffles and throat-clearing, Chaz added in a voice she could barely hear, "Do you think Morgan will be okay?"
For a moment, Charlie considered just saying Yeah, yeah, of course he will, but the face of her old partner frozen in terror floated to the forefront of her memory, and she couldn't bring herself to sugarcoat it. "I don't have any idea. He's not our focus. Getting this asshole back in his grave is our focus. Save the lives we can save, then we'll worry about Morgan." She winced at her own tone, which was harsher than she'd intended. "But I hope he's okay too," she added, trying to soften her voice. "I really do."