Edgar sighed and made another dismissive gesture. “If you’re so damn eager to be told what to do, call the other number.”
Roy swallowed hard. “Other. The, fucking, bug number?” He began to shake a little at the suggestion.
“They’re in charge when Clearwater isn’t around.”
“I know that, but . . . ” A hesitant sigh. “Fuck, fine.” He dialed another number and again put the phone to his cheek.
Chelsea closed her eyes, trying to cling to the faintest glint of hope that whatever the bug number was, it wouldn’t end up with them both painted on the carpet alongside the other two dead bodies.
The north wall of the now-crowded control center bloomed with an array of lights. A low, warbling siren sounded from within the paneling. The noise put Dirge’s teeth on edge. He slunk toward the console with his fist clenched, ready to shatter the circuitry if that’s what it took to shut it up.
“Another call from Widow’s Creek?” Silt shouted over the grating sound.
Lun wheezed, the malformed spider legs protruding from beneath his yellow robe writhing with each breath. “When it rains.”
Dirge squinted at the LED readout above the digital switchboard. “No. It’s Theta.”
“Gauge’s?” Dyn looked up from the keyboard he was typing at. “Why have they not returned? We need all guns at the ready.”
“Do not lecture me,” Dirge hissed. “Theta is not my responsibility.”
“Get them back here at once.”
When Dyn looked back down at his terminal, the red lamp glinted off of his upward-curving tusks. For the briefest moment, they looked like a pair of meat hooks stabbed through his throat. The imagery made Dirge smile as he flipped the switch and lifted the handset to his ear. “What do you want?”
A momentary pause on the other end. “This isn’t Gauge.”
“Do not waste my time. What do you want?”
“Uhh, apologies, sir. This is Roy Burr from Theta. We are onsite at the Warren residence with two witnesses. Awaiting orders, over.”
Dirge growled. “Witnesses?”
“Yes, sir. Two young girls happened upon the residence, and could potentially identify us to others. Uhh, what should we do?”
For a moment, Dirge was too struck by the man’s stupidity to say anything further. Twelve hours had passed since Gauge’s death, and yet Theta was still sticking around in that damned house? And attracting witnesses? He couldn’t help but marvel at their incompetence. But on the other hand, it mattered little if there were witnesses to a crime that had failed to even be committed. Their game had shifted. With the Conduit dead, they were in a race against time. And yet a mess was a mess. His grip tightened along the plastic handset as he wished someone else had answered the call. “Wait.” And before an answer could come, he crushed the handset between his fingers. Broken bits of plastic and metal spilled out like sand.
There came a whistle from behind. “Nice job,” Dyn said. “You broke it. How are we to keep contact with the other squads now?”
Dirge glared at the boar-faced Vant’therax. “You like machines. You fix it. I have another problem to fix.” He sighed out through his teeth as shadows crawled up his legs and down his arms. Witnesses, he snarled to himself as his form began to dissipate. We could always use a few more Hives. Then again, making an example of the Marauders’ incompetence would have been a more delicious ending. Either way, Dwyre’s loose ends had to be tied up. Dirge hated that he always ended up cleaning the Conduit’s messes.
The minutes stretched on within the walls of the Warren residence. Chelsea was doing her damnedest not to cry, but the sobs were forcing their way out of her chest. To her side, Amanda just knelt there, gaze steady, the very incarnation of calmness. Even as Roy paced, his assault rifle’s barrel dancing between them, she just sat there. The hell’s wrong with you, Mandy? Chelsea thought. Have you gone fucking crazy? Or have I?
“Just stay put,” Roy said, finishing another circuit. “Just stay right here, don’t worry, any minute now, yeah. They’ll be here soon, then we’ll get it all sorted out, yeah.”
“Stop muttering like a goddamn retard,” Edgar said.
Roy paused his patrol and glared down at the man on the ground. “Suppose you’re looking forward to one of those things showin’ up, are you? You like some fucked up shit, so it shouldn’t surprise me.”
Edgar sniffed. “I think that fall must’ve broken your brain.”
Roy clenched his teeth. “Yeah, my head does hurt, asshole. Why don’t you get up off your fuckin’ ass and do something useful?”
“Useful? Useful like waving my rifle around like a magic fairy wand?”
Oh God, oh God, please. Chelsea closed her eyes again, muttering incoherent prayers to every deity she could think of. For a moment, she couldn’t even remember how they’d ended up in this situation. What had gone so wrong? It was all Spinneretta’s fault, of that she was damned sure. Something struck her gently in the side, and her eyes shot open. Then it came again—Amanda’s elbow. Her attention went right to Amanda’s steady green gaze. Those eyes darted toward the bickering yellow-coats. Then they shifted in the opposite direction. Chelsea’s stomach tightened. It was a signal.
“That’s your problem, you fuck,” Roy said. “You only think about yourself. You realize we’ve all made sacrifices in this shit, don’t you?”
Edgar gave a dismissive shrug and climbed to his feet, steadying himself against the wall.
“Don’t give me that I don’t need to answer you bullshit. We still have a job to do, you know!”
The man showed him a glare. “Our job is done, retard. We failed, thanks to you.”
Certain he’d heard him wrong, Roy’s tongue flapped against the gap in his teeth. “Thanks to me!? How the fuck do you figure that!?”
Edgar sighed and cocked his head to the side. “We wouldn’t be in this situation if you hadn’t rushed headfirst into getting knocked off the roof.”
The accusation turned Roy’s blood to fire. “Excuse me?” Seeing his anger, Edgar waved his hand in that trademarked gesture that said just forget it. But Roy wasn’t forgetting anything. “No, excuse me!? We wouldn’t be in this situation if you and the kid had given me proper support! Think that shit would fly in the army?”
“You climbed up after them like a monkey with the boner of the century. And you’re blaming me for getting your ass thrown off. Genius, that’s what you are.”
“Ever heard of suppressive fire? Or sticking together? Jesus, it’s like I’m the only one who has a fucking iota of thought in my skull. Can’t believe they put me with you kid-fiddling sickos.”
Edgar chuckled. “Unbelievable. Think you’re tough shit, eh? Think you got your shit together, do ya?”
“Yeah, I do. I’m the only one in Theta that’s seen active duty, and the goddamn beardo of all people gets to play general. And you’d better watch your tongue around me. I’ll be damned if I’m going to let some immigrant talk down to me. I was born and raised in this country. I put my life on the line for it. I’m not going to let the likes of you run your mouth.”
Edgar guffawed. “Oh my God, this is so rich. Let’s get this on record: every other Marauder is nothing but a freedom-hating, berry-picking commie, but you are the poster child of duty and perfection.”
Roy puffed out his chest and sneered. “You’re damn straight I am!”
“You’re the competent one in this operation?”
“Fucking straight!”
Edgar smirked. “Then where did those girls go?”
Roy snapped about to where the two teenagers had been kneeling only a moment before. He did a double take and then screamed. “Oh, holy shit!”
Edgar began to laugh an acidic chortle as Roy jerked his head back and forth from the kitchen to the hallway to the stairs. “Sieg heil, mein Führer!” Edgar laughed. “White power!”
Roy snarled back at him. “You motherfucker! You let them get away!”
“Yeah, I gu
ess I did. Turns out killing innocent little girls is a strictly American virtue.”
“Go fuck yourself!” Roy looked out the front door. No new footprints in the mud. He spat on the carpet and stomped down the hall. “Shit, shit, shit!” he repeated. Everything went just a little red as he headed toward the back door, casting his gaze to and fro. All the while, Edgar’s derisive laughter followed him like a vengeful ghost.
Hidden in the small closet at the top of the stairs, Amanda sat panting with Chelsea at her side. She was thankful the panicked man had a loud voice, for it had allowed them to slink away and crawl up the stairs without being spotted. The boxes and hanging coats they’d crawled behind gave them a good deal of cover, but the closet door was still ajar, just as they’d found it.
“Holy shit,” Chelsea muttered in a hoarse whisper. “What the hell is happening here, oh God, please help.”
“Shut up. Don’t make a sound.”
The thump-thumping of heavy boots against the hardwood floor downstairs meant the coated man was heading for the stairway in a wild haste. The pounding grew nearer, and soon the vomit-yellow coat emerged into view. Amanda made a silent gesture to Chelsea, and they both lowered their heads further behind the barrier of boxes, huddling for safety. The sound of those footsteps drew closer, and then stopped. Amanda focused only on keeping her breathing even and silent. She saw Chelsea biting her lip. Then the footsteps seemed to retreat. A crash announced the kicking in of Spinneretta’s door.
“We should’ve gone out the back door,” Chelsea said in a breathless whisper.
“Didn’t you hear his footsteps? That was the first place he looked.” With last night’s rain still saturating the earth, they’d have left tracks and would have been followed and most likely gunned down. She’d have explained that, had the silence from the hall not become so prominent. Now she barely dared to breathe. She just focused on keeping her heartbeat under control. The man was a mad dog, and dogs could smell fear. Once her muscles and mind were calm, she slipped one hand into her pocket and found her phone. She withdrew it and, with two precise brushes of her thumb, switched to the video camera app. Another swipe brought the screen’s brightness to its lowest possible setting. Her finger found the glowing red circle, and she began to record.
Chelsea elbowed her in the ribs. “What are you doing!?” she asked in the same choking whisper. “You’re going to get us killed!”
“Shut up,” Amanda whispered back, holding the phone just outside the cover afforded by the coats. The hall, as seen through the glowing gap in the door, was mirrored on her screen. Though terrified of being discovered, she knew that this wasn’t going to get them found out unless it was already too late. When they got out of there, having some evidence on the identities of the perpetrators would help ensure that the police got him and put him away.
As the man rampaged out of Spinneretta’s room, he again turned toward the closet. Time seemed to hang. His face was reflected in the frame of her phone. She had him. But then he started toward them. His steps shook the floor as he neared again. She held her breath. Chelsea’s fingernails dug into her arm.
But before he could reach the closet, there came the sound of rushing water or sand, beginning low and rising to an ominous crescendo. The shadows within the closet seemed to flicker and melt. Even the contrast of light and dark playing across the banister in the hall began to stream and blend together until a dark form coalesced just in front of the closet door. The blackness melted away like dripping oil, revealing a yellow wall of fabric.
Amanda’s mouth dropped open. What the hell is this? Her eyes had to be playing a trick. But no matter how much she blinked, nothing changed.
The yellow shape drew away from them, toward where the man stood in the hall. A guttural voice slithered from beneath the yellow robe. “I am here.”
The gunman began to stutter. “Ahh, aha, yes. The, uhh, the witnesses are around here. Somewhere. They slipped away when I was, uhh . . . E-Edgar, that faggot let them get away. Fucking traitor, that one! Useless, fucking, waste of . . . ”
The wall of fabric growled and let out a harsh yell. “Edgar! Here, now!”
A few moments unfolded in silence. Lethargic steps came from below and then ascended the stairs. Edgar emerged, eyes heavy, still pushing his broken nose about. He gave the thing a momentary glance and leaned against the wall.
The yellow robe made a hot hissing sound. “You failed in your task.”
Roy raised a finger at Edgar. “Thanks to this shithead, we lost the girl. We’ve got two dead bodies down there in the foyer thanks to him. It’s his fault this happened.” He gave a satisfied huff. “Anything to say for yourself, motherfucker?”
Edgar ignored him and stared at the thing in the robe. “They had unexpected backup. But that is no excuse. We failed. I’m sure that Gauge has provided the rest of the details.”
Another growl from the robe. “Gauge is dead.”
“Jesus,” Roy said. “He really did . . . ? See? He’s working against us, this guy is a fucking traitor. Lost us the girl and then Gauge, that’s, wow, I don’t even know. This motherfucker, this motherfucker right here—”
The robed figure turned just enough to reveal a sliver of the face beneath its drawn cowl, and Amanda tried hard not to gasp. The face was old and weathered, and had not one but four pairs of eyes. The skin was covered in rash-like clusters of dark, shiny, plating. For that moment, she was certain the light had revealed them. But if it had, the monster was uninterested. Its body twisted, and its arm blurred into Roy’s chest.
The man flew against the wall, and his body buckled. The yellow robe closed in, grabbed him by the throat, and lifted him up into the air. “Never. Speak. Again.” In a fluid motion, it lurched forward and slammed Roy’s head into the wall with a jarring crack, leaving a red-stained cavity where it struck. Amanda gasped in horror, and a soft whimpering came from beside her. The cloaked monster lifted the man across his shoulders in both arms and began to twist. Another series of sick cracks and squishes echoed through the hall. Blood began to run from the man’s mouth. His eyes bulged, lifeless, his face contorted into a silent cry of agony. After the coated man’s spine had been crushed and twisted beyond any hope of survival, the robed creature let him fall to the floor in a crumpled heap. It then turned its gaze upon Edgar and snarled. “Return.”
Eyes wide, Edgar bowed his head a little. “Yes, sir. Yes.” The shadows again came alive and swam across the floor until they wrapped about the creature. Just as suddenly as it had emerged from nothing, it dispersed and was gone. Edgar leaned against the wall, shaking a little. After a moment, he crossed himself and disappeared down the stairs.
The rolling in Amanda’s stomach grew worse and worse until she thought she would throw up right there in the closet. Chelsea was biting her fist to stifle her scream. It was a nightmare, a blackened fantasy and nothing more. In Amanda’s trembling hand, the dull gleam of the video stream continued like iridescent clouds on an oil slick.
Shaking, on the verge of breaking down, the two huddled together a little while longer. The corpse of the man named Roy just lay there, mangled, waiting for them to leave the closet.
Chapter 6
Bearer of Bad News
Mark and Spinneretta pushed on toward the imposing barrier of the jagged mountain peaks, leaving the remainder of the land-dolphin’s carcass to the elements. The black fissure grew wider and clearer as they crossed the three remaining hills. Dim gray twilight bloomed to dim gray day, and they arrived at the mouth of the pass after a couple hours of travel.
Despite the more impressive abnormalities they had witnessed thus far, the two were stricken with awe when they saw the mythic scale of the cliffs on either side of them. Like two pillars of impossible dimensions, the mountains stretched endlessly skyward until the clouds swallowed them. The ground rose sharply beyond the threshold of the pass, and the pebbles that littered the hills and plains thinned into a fine dust. And yet even from the outside, Sp
inneretta couldn’t escape the feeling that the curves and facets of the cliffs were too smooth, too artistically worn to be natural. Strange lines and angles emerged from opposite faces and crossed at orthogonally imperative points. She briefly imagined that some kind of relief mesh had once been carved into either side of the opening, but time and weather had ground them to mere hints of their original form.
Just beyond the narrow opening, the fissure widened to a constant width of eight feet. The implied artificiality was now impossible to deny. The walls of the passage had been hewn smooth and met the ground at near-perfect right angles. The dusty ground, too, was overly even, damning in its design. The slope upward into the mountain’s interior bore sculpted steps at regular intervals, unmistakable even though erosion had blunted their edges.
The smooth walls rose dozens of feet overhead until the natural contours of the fissure swept them back into formless chaos. Dark holes dotted the upper walls in stratified layers. And higher still, barely visible, the gray clouds flowed, a thin trail of vapor thousands of feet above them. The sight took the breath from Spinneretta’s lungs and replaced it with a damp, earthy scent. Dizzy, she shook her head and grabbed the wall with one hand to steady herself. What the hell is this place?
Mark hummed, his neck craned skyward. “Incredible. This is just amazing. There is no doubt, is there? The pillars down on the plain, too. They were man-made. Or if not man-made, then something-made. The question is . . . ”
But he didn’t even need to speak the question aloud. The mystery was already burning in her mind. For the first time since arriving in this damned wasteland, the thought of returning home was eclipsed by something else. A sense of wonder, of discovery, nearly as strong as the despair that had poisoned her mind since the sigil rejected her touch. They were seeing things that no human had ever seen, witnessing indisputable proof that man was not alone in the void. It was like stepping through the gates of El Dorado, or into the markets of Atlantis. “Do you think this goes all the way to the other side of the mountains?”
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