by P. T. Hylton
Leave Trevor out of it, if you can. There’s still a chance for him.
Ask the man who gave you this letter where you kept the Tools all those years. That’ll be your sign this letter really is from me. Mason’s the only one I told about that.
Christine…I’m sorry.
Love, Frank
Christine crushed the paper in her hand. She looked up at the man.
“The freezer,” he said. “You kept the Tools in the freezer. The knife, the lighter, the cane. Am I missing any? Oh, and the head of one of the Unfeathered. That part always made me smile.”
“You read the letter.”
“I was there when he wrote it.” The man grinned sheepishly, and her stomach cramped. God, he looked like Trevor. And Jake. So much like Jake.
Christine shook her head violently. “I don’t believe you. That answer, it doesn’t prove anything. Zed reads minds.”
“Not Frank’s.”
She thought back to that day in Rook Mountain City Hall, when Frank opened the box and unleashed the Unfeathered on the town. It was true. Zed couldn’t read Frank’s mind.
“He could have tortured the info out of Frank,” she countered. “And how do I even know Frank wrote the letter?”
The man sighed. “I don’t know what else to tell you. Frank asked you to trust me if I could answer the question, and I answered it. I guess when it comes down to it, you either believe me or you don’t.”
Christine glared at him. “I don’t.”
He looked away. “Ma’am, I’ve come a long way, and I wish you’d at least—”
“Let me finish. I don’t believe you. Not fully. But I’m sure as hell not going to let you walk away if there’s any chance you’re the real thing. So I’ll talk to you. But I have conditions. Two of them.”
The older man nodded slowly. “I’d like to hear ’em.”
“One, I’m going inside to call my husband. He’s a part of this too, same as me. And I wouldn’t mind getting his thoughts on this situation. You wait out here on this porch until he gets home. When he does, we’ll all three of us have a nice conversation.”
“Fair enough. I’ll wait. What’s number two?”
“I’ll tell you when we all sit down to talk.”
With that, she brushed past him and went inside. She locked the door and threw the deadbolt.
She touched her phone and said, “Will, come home.”
Barely twenty seconds later, her phone chirped in reply. “On my way.”
Will didn’t have to ask why. In the last eight years, she’d never asked him to come home without an explanation. He’d been looking over his shoulder and peeking out the window at the nighttime sky the same as her. He knew they weren’t out of it. It wasn’t over.
Christine’s heart was racing and her palms were damp with sweat as she made her way to the bedroom. But she felt something else, too. A tiny something she’d thought had gone out years ago. It was hope.
And with it, relief. She’d been waiting and worrying for so long that someone would find them. Maybe it would be Zed, or maybe it would be the Unfeathered, or maybe it would be someone else altogether, but she’d known it would happen.
Jake hadn’t come home. Frank hadn’t come home. They would have if at all possible. That meant either they were dead or someone was keeping them away. Or maybe it meant Zed had won.
And now there was a very good chance the answers to the questions that had been burning a hole in her heart the last eight years were sitting on her porch.
She went to her dresser and pulled open the top drawer. She picked up the knife and ran her thumb over the broken clock symbol. She was doing that a lot lately. It soothed her.
The last time she’d used the knife had been back in Rook Mountain. Sean Lee had brought her a Tool, a hammer. He’d said he found it. She knew from the look in his eyes there was more to the story, but, honestly, she hadn’t wanted to know. Not then. Not so soon after things had finally gone back to some semblance of normal. She’d been grateful for Sean’s lie. So, she’d destroyed the hammer and asked no further questions…
Christine paused, then grabbed her Glock and loaded it. She pulled out the shoulder holster and put that on, too. Yeah, that guy looked like Jake, and, yeah, he claimed to be a Hinkle. That didn’t mean Christine trusted him. Her and trust had a complicated relationship.
She walked out to the living room and brushed aside the curtain over the front window. The man was sitting there, looking as serene as if he was on his own porch. She watched him for a long while until she couldn’t look at him anymore. The longer she stared, the more she saw Trevor and Jake in him.
For want of something to do, she poured three tall glasses of tea.
When she saw Will’s Chevy pulling into the driveway, she opened the front door and carried out the drinks. He leapt out of the car and ran toward the porch. Christine met him at the bottom of the stairs.
Will’s voice was shaking when he spoke. “What’s going on? Who’s he?”
“He says his name is Mason Hinkle.” She handed him the letter.
He read it, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. “Is this for real?”
“That’s what I’m aiming to find out.” She turned toward the man on the porch. “You want a glass of sweet tea?” She turned so he could see her shoulder holster.
He shook his head slowly, a smile on his face. “No ma’am. But I do appreciate the offer.”
Will’s eyes were still scanning the letter. “Drink the tea.”
Mason shrugged and took a glass off the tray. “You said there was another condition before you’d talk to me.”
Christine nodded. “I want to ask you something.”
“I believe I mentioned that’s part of why I’m here.”
Christine paused a moment. She was afraid to ask the question and more afraid what the answer might be. “Mr…Hinkle, do you know where Jake and Frank are?”
A sadness came into Mason’s eyes, and Christine’s heart broke. “Ma’am, I’m sorry to tell you this, but Jake’s dead. And Frank…well, he needs your help.”
After a moment, Will said in a scratchy voice, “Start talking. Tell us what happened.”
Mason cleared his throat. “Listen, I want you to know we tried our best. All of us did. Frank. Sophie. Me. Things got so messed up.”
“We don’t know what you’re talking about,” Will said.
“I’m sorry. There’s so much. I’m trying to figure out where to start. Everything went wrong. And now…” He trailed off, staring toward the distant mountains.
Christine gritted her teeth. She’d known in her heart Jake was dead, but hearing it out loud was something else.
Maybe there was still a chance for his brother. “Where is Frank?” she asked.
“He’s in a place called King’s Crossing, Wisconsin. And we need to save him.”
CHAPTER ONE: SWARM
King’s Crossing, Wisconsin
May 2015
1.
Frank, Sophie, and Mason drove north.
Frank adjusted his legs, trying yet again to find a semi-comfortable position. He’d been crammed into the too-small backseat for the last ten hours. Mason had been assigned sole possession of the front passenger seat after throwing up in Kentucky. The man hadn’t been in a car more than ten minutes before today, and the fourteen-hour trip from Rook Mountain, Tennessee, to King’s Crossing, Wisconsin, wasn’t agreeing with his stomach.
Frank had offered multiple times to take a turn at the wheel, but Sophie loved to drive. He’d also let it slip he hadn’t exactly been driving around these last eight years, so that may have also had something to do with her reluctance to trade spots.
Mason moaned again and Sophie glanced at him. “Do I need to pull over?”
“No,” he croaked at her. “Just get where we’re going.”
Frank shifted in his seat. “Hang on, man. We’re only about ten minutes out.”
They pulled off the interstate a
nd onto a road that ran parallel to the Mississippi River. The sign at the city limits put the population at just over twelve thousand, which was three times the size of Rook Mountain. Was that why Zed hadn’t made his move?
Zed had a pattern. Show up in town, take it out of time, become the hero, and let the trees slowly take over the town. According to what Frank had read in the book with the broken world symbol on the cover, that’s what he had done in Sugar Plains, Illinois, back in 1985, and according to Zed himself, it was what he’d been intending to do in Rook Mountain. How many other towns had Zed destroyed? How many other places had vanished off the face of the Earth, forgotten by the rest of humanity? And why?
Why. That was the big question, wasn’t it? Frank still didn’t understand Zed’s purpose in pulling these towns out of time. He knew they were special, and that specialness had something to do with the books all those towns had…even Rook Mountain.
Rook Mountain did have a book, Zed had told Frank. You destroyed it.
Frank didn’t like to think about those things. The holes that seemed to exist in his memory. The destruction of the Rook Mountain book. The quarry. What else had he forgotten?
Still, even though Zed had a pattern, it was clear he was being forced to deviate from it. Zed no longer had the watch, so Frank had to assume he couldn’t use his usual technique for sucking the life out of towns. King’s Crossing, Wisconsin, hadn’t been pulled out of time. So what was his new strategy? What would he do now?
It all came down to the why. If Frank knew Zed’s purpose, he might be able to figure out what other methods the man would use. Zed had the compass, and he’d indicated it was powerful, maybe more powerful than his old watch. Zed had proven he could use the Tools in ways the rest of them couldn’t, or at least didn’t think to try.
Frank squirmed in his seat, his eyes scanning the landscape outside the window. All-in-all, it wasn’t that different from back home. The drive had been strange, particularly the section through Illinois. He’d never seen land so flat. He could see for miles in all directions, the landscape broken only by farmhouses, cell phone towers that jutted into the sky like long, bony fingers, and an eerie fifty mile stretch of slowly churning wind turbines. That section of the drive had made Frank uncomfortable. He’d felt exposed, like a creature in the sky would reach down with a giant hand and pluck him up into the heavens.
But as they entered Wisconsin, the flatlands gradually gave way to gently rolling hills. Now, here in southwestern Wisconsin, the bluffs almost made him feel like he was back at home in the Appalachians. Almost.
As they drove north through town, the comforting bluffs cradled the right side of the road, but the left side was something different. Just beyond the edge of the road, the land fell away, and the Mississippi River rolled past.
Frank felt his hand go to his neck for what felt like the thousandth time in the last hour. A small lock hung from a chain there. Mason and Sophie wore similar chains with similar locks. Frank called that model of lock the Beta, because it was nothing fancy. A simple twist would open it. But that was okay. It wasn’t meant to lock anything. Not physically. With the compass, Zed could potentially see them coming. The locks would make them invisible to Zed. It preserved surprise, which was the only weapon they had against him.
“Well,” Sophie said, “the town’s still here. It looks normal. No crazy trees or anything. Maybe Zed’s lying low? Waiting for something?”
Frank grunted noncommittally. “Maybe.”
They passed a car going the other direction and something tickled in the back of Frank’s mind. Something wasn’t right here. He just couldn’t place what that something was.
“Let’s find a restaurant,” he said. “Get something to eat. I could use a burger.”
“If we can find something open here in the sticks,” Sophie said. “It’s almost ten. I could go for some fish.” She suddenly sat up straighter. “And cheese curds! You have to try the cheese curds.”
Frank caught Sophie’s eye in the rearview mirror. She was the only one of the group who’d been to this part of the country before. She also seemed the least fazed by this bizarre road trip. Unlike the rest of them, she didn’t have a reason to hunt down Zed.
For Frank, it was about getting answers to the questions that plagued him. It was the weight of knowing he might be the only one who had the power to slow down Zed even a little. And deep in his heart he thought it might give him a chance to turn back the clock and save his brother.
Mason had spent his whole life with Zed, only to be betrayed by him when it mattered most.
But why was Sophie here?
Frank hadn’t exactly invited her. He’d called to let her know what they were doing, that they were going after Zed, because he felt she deserved to know. She hadn’t even paused. She hadn’t asked. She’d simply told him she was going. And, truth be told, Frank was glad. He didn’t know her well, but they’d been through some crazy things together. There was something about her. He couldn’t deny she was pretty, but there was far more to her than that. She had an aggressive, straightforward quality that fascinated him. Frank was accustomed to living inside his own head, to thinking things through before he opened his mouth to speak. Sure, he occasionally let his hot-headed tendencies get the better of him, but that was the exception. Sophie seemed to rush full-speed ahead as a way of life.
But it wasn’t just that. What they were doing, going after Zed, not defending themselves from him, but actually taking the fight to him, terrified Frank. And, while it was great to have Mason by his side, he still wasn’t sure the older man wasn’t crazy. A lifetime spent in the forest had planted some funny ideas in his head. Who was to say he wouldn’t flip back over to Zed’s way of thinking when he saw his father figure again?
Some father figure.
But maybe Sophie did have a reason to go after Zed. He’d said she had the potential for great evil. And, if he’d said that about Frank, Frank sure would want to get to the bottom of what exactly he’d meant by that.
Frank slapped Mason on the shoulder. The carsickness had taken it out of the older man, and he looked unnaturally pale in the flickering glow of the passing streetlights. “How ’bout you? Can you eat?”
Mason shrugged. “Maybe a little soup.”
“Beer cheese soup!” Sophie said, and Mason grew a shade paler.
A few minutes later, Sophie pointed to a restaurant on the river side of the road. The sign bore the face of a bear and read North Country Cafe. “How’s that look?”
Frank answered in the affirmative, and Mason weakly nodded his assent.
Sophie pulled into the parking lot and found a spot near the door. When she shut off the car, Frank said, “Don’t forget about the locks. You have to think about it to make them work. Lock yourself away from Zed in your mind, and the lock will do the rest.”
“Locked. Got it.” Sophie spoke in a way that made Frank think she might be making fun of him. It was at least the dozenth time in the last hour he’d reminded them to have their locks activated.
They opened the forest green doors and entered the dim restaurant. The place was nearly empty. A classic rock radio station played softly, and the savory smell of cooking meat filled the air.
A balding man with a neatly trimmed goatee stood behind the welcome station. He wore a long apron that perfectly matched the green door they’d just passed through. His smile was warm and genuine.
“Welcome!” he said. And something about his voice made Frank feel welcome, like the man was genuinely glad to see them. “Three today?”
“Yep,” Sophie said.
He grabbed three menus from behind the counter and snatched three sets of napkin-wrapped silverware from a basket next to him. Sophie nudged Frank with her elbow and nodded toward the man’s wrist. It took Frank a minute, and then he saw it.
A Roman numeral III was tattooed on the inside of his wrist in blue ink.
Frank’s eyebrows shot up. He remembered what Sean had told him abo
ut the young Zed Heads in Rook Mountain, the way they tattooed the broken clock symbol on the backs of their hands in support of Zed. This was far subtler, but still it seemed to be too similar to disregard as a coincidence.
“Tonight’s the night!” he said as he gathered the menus and silverware.
Sophie shot the man a confused look. “Sorry. Tonight’s what night?”
Now the man raised his eyebrows. “You haven’t been following the news?”
“Apparently not,” Sophie said.
“Tonight’s the night the mayflies are expected,” he said. “The swarm.” Then, without pausing to wait for a response, he turned and began walking. He called over his shoulder, “If you’ll follow me.”
He led them around a corner, past the bar, and to the back of the restaurant. Frank walked behind Sophie and Mason, and he heard them gasp a moment before he saw it.
The table was already set. It was a four top. There was a bowl of what looked to be chicken-noodle soup at one seat. At another, there was a burger and a tall beer. At the third seat, there was a beautifully cooked salmon fillet and a small plate of cheese curds.
And at the fourth seat, behind a steak and a glass of water, Zed sat smiling at them.
“I hope you don’t mind,” Zed said. “I took the liberty of ordering for the table.”
2.
Alice bit her lip as she listened to her parents argue.
They’d hardly ever fought until recently. For the first seven or eight years of her life, her family had been happy. Her parents often looked at her with delight. Sometimes they almost seemed surprised to see her. A couple of times, she caught her mother just staring at her with tears in her eyes. It had seemed normal at the time, but now, at the age of nine, Alice Campbell was old enough to realize most families weren’t like hers.
There was something wrong with her parents.
Sometimes she tried to figure out what it was, but she could never put her finger on it. There were the blue tattoos on the insides of their wrists—a IV on dad’s and a III on mom’s—but Alice had seen other people in town with those. Mrs. Brandon, Alice’s third-grade teacher, had a II, and she seemed normal enough.