He dropped his hand to his side and grinned at Camm.
She smiled back smugly. “So, you agree with me. You think I’m right.”
Cal swooped her up in his arms and held her tight. “Whenever I don’t think you’re right, I’m wrong. Yeah, I agree with you.” He relaxed his hold slightly, setting her back down on her feet.
“Let’s go look for it. No, first let’s tell Mr. S. He should have been smart enough to bring you along in the first place. We’ll tell him the good news, and then go find that transition point.”
Camm reached up on her tippy toes and kissed Cal gently on the lips. He looked as if he would reach for more, but instead his expression changed into a frown.
“I’m sorry,” Camm apologized, not sure why she was apologizing.
Tilting his head to listen, Cal said, “No, listen. Hear that creaky noise? Kind of like tennis shoes squeaking on a gym floor? That’s what I heard when we were sitting on the mansion steps.”
“Cal!” Camm punched him for the third time, harder than the first two. “That’s not funny. You know better than to try to scare me.”
Cal shook his head. “No, I’m not kidding. I’m serious. Any weird noise in this world means trouble of some sort. Just listen a second.”
Then, Camm heard it too. “That’s not a squeak.” She turned to stare incredulously at Cal. “Don’t you know what that is?”
“I know what it sounds like, but I don’t see how it could be here in this world. We didn’t bring anything like that with us.”
The noise came again, louder now. Stepping away from Cal’s arms, Camm raced around to the back of the mansion with Cal in tow. “It is somewhere back here, not far.”
As they rounded the corner to the back exterior wall of the mansion, they saw it, cowering by the back steps. With a big “Ahhhhh,” Camm hurried over to it.
Impossible as it seemed, there was a young puppy dog shivering and whining. Or, to be more exact, a very large puppy dog. Camm tried to pick it up, but the pup was too heavy. Plunking herself down on the steps, Camm heaved the puppy’s front paws up into her lap. It had a large, squarish head, and thick black and white fur. Already larger than most adult dogs, this one, judging by its face and paws, was clearly a young puppy and very taken by Camm’s show of affection.
Camm hugged the puppy close, cooing to help it stop trembling.
Cal thoughtfully considered the young animal. Bending closer, he commented, “I don’t think it’s from this world. This looks like a breed from our world. Strange to find it here.”
He straightened and shrugged. “It could have gotten sucked into a transition with the snake, kind of like when my Camaro, with Lenny and me inside, was pulled into the snake’s transition while we were leading it away from Agent Allen’s wrecked Mustang. That pup must have come too close to the snake during a transition. It’s lucky the snake didn’t spot the puppy and eat it.”
Camm stroked the puppy’s head gently as it butted in close to her, licking her arm.
“It must be starved and thirsty too.” She spoke soothingly to it in baby talk. “Are ou hungee? An tersty too?” The puppy rose up and licked her face in answer.
Camm glanced suddenly up at Cal. “I know what kind of dog this is! I saw these in Connecticut. This is an Old English sheepdog.”
Squinting at the dog, Cal replied, “It doesn’t look very old to me.”
“No, not old, as in aged.” She paused. “This is an English sheepdog. But more specifically, an Old English,” she paused again, “sheepdog.”
She smiled at the dog. “Yes ou are, aren’t ou. Ou is just an Ol’ English sheepy dog.”
It continued to lick her face as if to confirm her conclusion.
“See here?” She pointed at the fur coat. “This black fur turns gray as it gets older.”
She looked pleadingly up at Cal. “We can’t just leave it here in this alien world. It will die here. We have to bring it with us when we transition back to our own world.”
Cal put his hands on his hips. “Whatever. It’s your dog now. We can bring it back with us, but you know how firm Mr. S is about no animals in the mansion—it’s too dangerous. He has said that pets are like juicy bait, luring more predators into the mansion for easy meals.”
Camm huffed. “Don’t worry. I’m not letting any monsters eat my sheepdog.”
She hugged the massive square head closer while looking up at Cal. “Remember Reverend Justenough? Well, his daughter, Kissie, has been helping Martha out over the summer. She is a few years behind us in school, but she is a great kid. After getting stuck over in Ridgecrest with the evacuation, she has even run some secret errands for me. I know we can trust her.
“I’ll leave my puppy with Kissie in Ridgecrest until the end of the summer. It will be safe there for a few weeks until I can take it home with me. Dad always liked big dogs. I’m sure he will watch my puppy for me during the winter while I’m away to school.”
Lolling on Camm’s arm, the puppy’s big head turned to look up at Cal, almost grinning.
Cal had to laugh. “Okay, I admit it’s cute. But, you found it; you take care of it. I hereby officially declare you the Mama Dog.”
Still making over the puppy, Camm replied, “Well, you’re the Mama Dog’s tushie.”
“You, my dear,” Cal scratched between the puppy’s ears, “are the odiferous fumes escaping from the Mama Dog’s tushie.”
Camm only smiled. It was okay with her if Cal had the last say in this one.
Cal studied the pup. “So Mama Dog, what are you going to call it?”
Camm checked its plumbing. “It is definitely a boy, so I guess we can’t call it Ginger Jr.”
Cal gave her a hurt look that said no dog could ever take Ginger’s place or name.
Camm continued, “He looks like a Jimmy to me. We’ll call him Jimmy.”
Cal considered the name. “Is that after Jimmy Page or Jimmy Hendricks?”
Camm set the puppy’s paws down on the back step and hopped up to open the back door. “I don’t know who either one of those guys is. He will be Jimmy because he looks like a Jimmy.”
She turned, patting the side of her leg. “Tum on Jimmy, let’s git ou sometin’ to eat!”
Inside, she headed to the kitchen, looking for beef jerky and anything else a dog would eat. Jimmy bounded after her puppy style, almost knocking her over when he bumped into her.
Cal followed, grinning at the comical pair. Now, it was his turn to roll his eyes.
XVII
Irma hated running errands. She was new at the chemical plant, so she figured it was natural she got most of the crap jobs. Still, she suspected it was also because she was a girl. She clenched her jaw. Not a girl. No, she was nineteen. She was a woman. Still a teenager for a few more months, but a woman, who was as smart—or smarter—than most of the men she worked with.
The job offer had come to her, though she didn’t want it, because her father worked at the plant, and her grandfather had worked there before her father. Her dream was to go to college. But since the job opportunity had come, her parents insisted she go to work and save up her money.
Now, here she was running an errand. Literally running. “Can I take one of the cars?” she had asked her supervisor. He had pointed to the mansion, clearly visible from the plant parking lot. “Why waste company gas? Just run over there.”
Judging by the glare he gave her, he really did mean run.
Irma sulked as she jogged through the deserted streets of Trona. If he were going to the mansion, the big tub of lard, he would have driven.
Gazing up at the looming mansion, she felt a knot in the pit of her stomach. She had never liked walking by the mansion, and now she was supposed to march right up to the front door and knock. Growing up in Trona, the mansion had always been dark and desolate. It was unnatural, and people sai
d crazy things about it. The mansion had gotten even weirder, since everyone had been moved out of town. To her knowledge, the only people still around were at the plant. The rest of the town was deserted and empty—and pitch black at night. The mansion should be dark like the rest of the town. Sometimes, though, when working a night shift, she saw lights inside the mansion. Why wasn’t the mansion abandoned too? Everything about this errand was creepy.
She paused at the broad stone steps leading up to the front door to catch her breath. Placing a hand on her breast, she inhaled the dry desert air. She couldn’t imagine why anyone would be at the mansion—the rest of the town was empty.
Slowly, she climbed the stairs, made a fist and knocked on the huge oak door. Her small fist did not make much noise on the heavy, solid door. Looking around, she failed to find a doorbell.
She knocked again, harder. Could anyone inside such a massive building even hear her knocking? She was suddenly not sure what to do. Should she just go inside?
No, that didn’t seem wise. Maybe she should try the back door. As she turned to start down the steps, she heard the old-fashioned latch turn. The huge, heavy door swung slowly open.
“Yes?” Framed in the doorway was a very good-looking man with blond hair and no shirt. He was rubbing the back of his neck with a white towel.
He raised his eyebrows expectantly. “Can I help you?”
“Uh, yeah, are you Mister . . .” Irma had to think. What was that name?
“Are you Mr. Grenard?”
The man was very muscular. A tattoo spiraled down his left upper arm. Squinting in confusion he said, “I beg your pardon?”
Why hadn’t she listened more carefully! “I’m sorry. Are you Mr. Gran, uh Gransen, or . . .”
“Granny?” he offered.
“Yeah, I guess. Are you Mr. Granny?” Irma shuffled her feet nervously. That was an odd name for a man, especially one as strong and handsome as this one.
“Not mister, just Granny. Everyone calls me Granny.”
Now, it was Irma’s turn. “I beg your pardon.”
He sighed, and then gave her a warm smile. “I’m not Mr. Granny. Just Granny. Please just call me Granny. Everyone does. Can I help you?”
“Oh, sorry. Um . . .” She looked to one side, wishing he’d put on a shirt. “They need you right away at the plant for something. They really didn’t say why. They just said to hurry.”
“Of course. Give me a second to get a shirt and I’ll go back with you.”
He disappeared inside and came back with a tight T-shirt covering his torso.
Irma saw a Humvee parked in the yard and started toward it. The man gently took her by the elbow. “We can walk; it’s not far.”
What’s wrong with all these men? Do they think I need exercise?
They walked mostly in silence, but Irma had to ask, “Why do they call you Granny?”
“I clean up other people’s messes, and I make the best chocolate chip cookies in this world.”
Irma squinted. “You bake cookies?”
“It’s a long story.” Granny laughed. “I’ll tell you sometime when we have more time.”
Irma nodded, studying the tattoo on his arm. “Your tattoo, that’s in Hebrew script, isn’t it?”
“You’re very bright. That’s correct. Do you know what it says?”
“No.” She wished she could impress him by telling him exactly what the tattoo said. “I recognize some of the letters from an online class I’m taking. I work at the plant while I build up my savings, so I can go to college fulltime. The plant pays good money, but I don’t want to do manual labor my whole life.”
He smiled again. “College is always a good idea.”
Irma’s supervisor waited for them at the front gate and led the way to his supervisor. They followed that supervisor to a large, white building near the front of the oldest part of the plant. Contained within the white building was an odd-shaped structure made of cement, stone, and steel. The main supervisor opened a big steel door in the inner structure with a heavy brass key.
Irma had never been in this part of the plant before. It was off limits to most employees. She suspected this whole building was off limits for her. Intent on getting Granny inside, no one noticed as Irma tagged along behind. Curiosity had gotten the best of her, so she kept her mouth shut and followed the others down inside the odd structure.
The structure consisted of one, large room with a very high ceiling and a floor six to eight feet below ground level. Inside the room, standing together in a tight group, were five people, including four young people, about Irma’s age, and one very large black man. All were covered head to toe in white dust, similar to the potash dust that covered everything in the plant and much of the town.
Upon closer inspection, Irma realized she knew two of the people. There stood Camm Smith and Cal Jones, who had attended high school with her in Trona, though both families had moved away after graduation. A young woman fidgeted next to them, shorter than Camm and holding tightly to a skinny guy, taller even than Cal. The tall, skinny guy looked a bit scary with no shirt and long, unkempt hair sticking out in all directions. A maniac grin covered his face while his wild eyes surveyed everything in the room.
Strangely enough, Camm clutched a very large black and white puppy to her side. The puppy’s head came up past Camm’s waist, and she controlled the dog with a belt looped around its neck. Also covered in white dust, the puppy whined and fidgeted nervously.
The man named Granny stared at Camm and the other young woman with a big grin that quickly turned serious. In an overly stern voice, he declared, “This is a surprise. I wondered what happened to you two. I thought perhaps you had been eaten by monsters.”
Camm stuttered, “We . . . we really did intend to check in with you, but . . .”
At that point, Granny burst out laughing. He looked genuinely pleased to see them and offered them a fist bump. Instead, they each gave him a warm hug. He didn’t appear to mind.
At that moment, Irma got busted. “Hey, Martinez,” her supervisor barked, “you don’t need to be here. This is off limits. Get back to your job.” After stepping back from her hug with Granny, Camm saw Irma standing with the other plant workers and waved to her, seeming truly pleased to see her.
Reluctantly, Irma went back to her forklift. She had always looked up to Camm, who had been the smartest kid in school and had gotten a full-ride scholarship to Yale. Irma would have loved that.
Now it was strange to see Camm inside the plant. Irma had never seen her or Cal or any of these other people in the plant before. She was sure none of them were plant workers, and besides, she could not imagine Camm ever needing a manual labor job.
She wondered what Camm, Cal, and the other three were doing, covered in chemical dust and locked in the oldest part of the plant with that big puppy.
She wondered why she had to get Granny before the supervisors would let them out.
She especially wondered how they had gotten inside that old structure in the first place.
XXVIII
She had returned to the mansion! The hated one was back!
It could sense her, smell her, and almost taste her. Hunger clouded its judgment, but not its senses. It had been days since it had eaten good meat. Its last feast had been glorious.
Now, it hungered for her.
It sniffed at the air and considered the loathsome mansion. The strange ones had driven it out and pursued it for months. Its last lair, an underground den, had been discovered and destroyed by the same strange one that protected the hated one. This human was uncommonly hard to kill. He had inflicted deep wounds that healed slowly, that almost brought death.
But it had found a superior lair. A place from which it could see the mansion, its former prison, while hiding in the attic of an abandoned house. Through a latticed vent in the sidewall of the
house, it had a clear view of the mansion and the despicable humans going in and out.
There were many of these humans, the strange ones, in the mansion. It would make a feast out of each one of these trespassers.
It limited the reach of its consciousness so it would not be detected by her, the hated one, as it devised a strategy. It would destroy the strange ones, one by one. They would not see it coming.
All would suffer. Everyone!
XXIX
“Dude, I found it!” Lenny held up a long, corkscrew-shaped length of black metal. “This hooks in perfectly with that funky shaped widget over there.”
Like a three-dimensional jigsaw puzzle, pieces of the clock were spread out on the stone floor across the main hall of the mansion. Through shape comparison and logical deduction, Agent Kline and Lenny were matching up the pieces. Agent Kline was in charge of putting the grandfather clock back together, but Lenny’s quick mind and intuitive facility for three-dimensional spatial orientation was invaluable. In technical terms, Agent Kline and Lenny spoke the same language.
For Lenny, this was the greatest fun ever. Oh sure, upon return to the regular world they, meaning Camm and Martha, had insisted Lenny take a bath and put on twenty-first century clothes. Lenny’s only consolation was the mansion’s wonderfully huge bathtubs, which reminded him of his days as a child. It was now more difficult to get him out of the tub than in.
But, even better than the giant tub, Lenny was allowed to help Agent Kline reconstruct the grandfather clock. He wasn’t sure how it had gotten so broken. Camm had told them all about it, but he hadn’t been paying attention at the time. How it was broken didn’t really matter to him anyway. He simply enjoyed the task of putting it back together.
Lenny changed the orientation of a narrow rectangular piece on the floor as Camm strode up with Cal in tow to scowl at the chaotic mess. Hands on her hips, she said, “I don’t see how you are ever going to fix this thing in time. The number of pieces seems to be multiplying.”
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