“You little . . . monster!” This last word was spat out with all Blanely’s might.
He turned and hurried from the room in search of help. Lorraine heard him lock the door. As soon as it closed, the giant worm became no more than a four-foot length of tubing.
She wriggled down off the table, landed on wobbly legs, and had to sit down on the floor.
You can’t rest, Lorraine! You have to get out of there before they come back!
How? They . . . they locked the . . . door.
Are there any windows?
Lorraine looked around.
There’s just a big one in the door.
Break it!
Lorraine didn’t waste time. Moving as if in a dream, she picked up a blood-pressure gauge and threw it with all her might. Glass flew in all directions. Instinctively Lorraine looked behind her to see if the nurse had come around. She still lay on the floor, drugged. Dizzy herself from the medication, Lorraine had to make three tries before she could crawl through the window frame. She was small enough to miss most of the shards of glass that surrounded it, but one caught her along her bare thigh and left a long cut. She was too doped up to realize she was in pain, trailing blood along the floor.
Run! Run!
Marty’s command sent her flying. She raced down the hall, in the opposite direction from the way Blanely had gone. When she saw someone turn a corner, she ducked into a bathroom. She waited a few minutes, then opened the door and carefully looked out. The hall was empty. She hurried down it, glancing back over her shoulder every few feet. Lorraine was certain they were coming after her. She wasn’t certain if she could conjure up another “helper.”
Three sharp turns led her into a short corridor. A sign marked “stairs” glowed above the door at the end. Lorraine hurried to them, opened the door, and disappeared just as someone was coming out of a laboratory. She ducked down and waited a moment. Then she tried to remember being taken from her “cell.” Had she been brought upstairs or downstairs? She had to choose the right way.
But Marty had said to get away. And she knew she couldn’t help her friends if they were locked up and sedated. So Lorraine chose to go downstairs, to what she hoped would be an exit. She moved as fast as she could, the drug wearing off a little more with each step. By the time she had gotten down five flights, she was completely sober, and not the least bit winded. It didn’t even occur to her that no young child should have been able to do what she had just done.
She had passed by several floors because she could tell there was just too much activity. But on this floor the hallway was darkened. There were only two flights to descend, but she decided to take her chances and see what was here. For the first time in over twenty minutes, she called to Marty.
It’s dark down here. And cold. What is this place?
I think they . . . things up there.
Up there? Where are you? Are you lower than this?
All the way down, Marty told her. They keep me well-hidden.
Why?
Lorraine, I can’t explain that now. You don’t have time to listen. Go into the dark hall. There’s a way out there, I’m not sure what it is, but it is behind a large curtained area. I don’t think they want anyone to know about it.
A secret exit?
I think so. Try to find it, and hurry!
What. . . what do I do when I find it?
There are others looking for you. Good people. You’ll find them.
Who are they?
Marty did not answer.
Marty, who are they?
There was still silence in her mind. Lorraine sighed deeply, frustrated at having lost contact again. She wanted to go deeper into the structure, to find the enigmatic Marty, but she knew she had to follow his orders. Whoever these others were, she’d find them. They were her only hope.
The entire floor was empty, and very, very cold. Lorraine did not hurry through the corridors. She could sense that, five floors up, Blanely and LaBerge were feverishly searching for her. They could never believe she would have gotten this far this fast. But she didn’t let herself give in to a false sense of security. It was only a matter of time before they caught up with her.
Most of the doors along the hall had windows, something like classrooms in a grammar school. Lorraine peered into each one in search of the curtained area Marty had mentioned. She found it at last at the very opposite end of the building. It was in the back of a large room that appeared to be a storage area. Cobwebs, a thick layer of dust, and a musty smell all told Lorraine no one had been here in a long time. She went to the curtain and pulled it back to reveal a knobless door. To her surprise, it wasn’t even locked. She pushed, and it swung away easily, revealing a black void.
Lorraine had no idea where the exit led, but still she plunged into it, more afraid of the bright rooms upstairs than the darkness ahead. She steadied herself against the wall as she walked, the feel of concrete cool and rough beneath her hand. There was a salty smell in here, like the ocean breeze outside, making her guess it must lead out to the beach.
She could hardly believe it would be this easy to get out of here. Surely an alarm had been sounded throughout the complex and dozens of people were looking for her right now. She hoped they’d think she wasn’t clever enough to have found this secret passageway. That might buy her some much-needed time.
Every once in a while Lorraine would look behind herself. She could barely make out the dim light of the room. When it faded altogether, she concentrated her efforts on moving forward. She wasn’t afraid of the dark, because she did not have the experience to fear it. There were no thoughts of rats or spiders. Lorraine had seen real monsters, and not just the kind she created with her own mind. Trefill, LaBerge, the gang of thugs that had attacked in the subway—these were all true monsters. Trefill and the gang were far away. LaBerge might be looking for her right now, but she had a feeling the big man couldn’t move very well in this small tunnel.
Her hand passed over a round hard lump at even intervals. Lorraine guessed they were light sockets. How long had it been since they’d been lit?
She walked for a long time, until the air began to grow colder. Lorraine hoped to see light at the other end, but accepted the possibility that that, too, was blocked off. She only hoped it would be easy to remove the barricade.
More than that, she hoped no one would be on the other side.
In the dark, there was no way of seeing where she was going, and suddenly her foot plunged ankle-deep in water. Lorraine stopped short. She had guessed she was heading to the water, but what if the way out was under the water?
She stepped back a yard or so, until the floor was dry again, then sat down to rest. Water! Lorraine racked her young mind, trying desperately to remember if she could swim. Was that a talent that was simply lost in her forgotten time? If she found herself in over her head, would she panic? Would she drown?
What am I going to do? she wailed in her thoughts. Marty, please help me!
It wasn’t Marty who answered, but Steven.
Lorraine, where are you?
In a secret tunnel! Steven, there’s water! I think the way out is under the water! I’m trapped!
Maybe not, Steven answered. I don’t think Marty would have led you that far to get you into trouble. Lorraine, I can feel Rachel very, very close. You have to find her! That’s the only way we’re going to get out of here.
I’m afraid of the water!
Now Julie piped in with her own words of encouragement.
Don’t be! We’ll stay with you. Go on, Lorraine. It’s our only chance!
Yeah, Lorraine, Steven prompted. Try it. You can get through!
There really was no other choice. The thought of returning to the complex and facing her captors was more terrifying than the thought of drowning. Lorraine stood up and waded into the water.
Tell us what’s happening, Julie suggested.
It’s up to my knees. Now my hips and now my tummy and now . . .
Lorraine?
I’m okay, Steven! I’m under the water. And guess what? I can swim!
Good for you! Julie answered.
Don’t talk to us now, Steven said. Save your strength. We don’t know how far you have to swim.
Lorraine groped through the water, finding it easy to hold her breath. She actually enjoyed the swimming, even though it was cold and pitch-black dark. She moved through the water as if she’d been born to it.
But then her hand struck a wall. Thinking she’d taken a wrong turn, she moved back and forth, groping. There was the rough feel of the concrete on two sides, but the wall in front was smooth.
I found a door!
Great! Can you open it?
Lorraine fumbled around for a latch, but couldn’t find one. Her fingers felt a seam where two pieces of wood met, but though she tried, she couldn’t make it budge.
Now she began to panic.
I can’t open it! It’s getting harder to hold my breath! I’ll have to go back!
No! Lorraine, use your mind!
Lorraine banged on the wood, but the water slowed her efforts. She hardly heard what Steven was trying to tell her.
Lorraine, your mind is strong. You can do anything!
This time, Lorraine heard him. She directed all her thoughts to the door, hoping to find mental power strong enough to blast right through the door and whatever was holding it shut on the other side. But the effects of the medication she’d been given had tampered with her abilities to bring imaginary creatures to life. Dizziness began to fill her head, and her lungs begged for an intake of oxygen. She’d been under the water for nearly three minutes.
Lorraine had no choice but to turn and swim back until her head was above water.
It didn’t work, she told the others. Her tears mixed with the salt water on her face. Oh, it didn’t work at all!
Rest, Lorraine, Julie said. You can try again in a few minutes.
I need Marty!
I’m here, Lorraine. I’m back.
Marty! All three children shouted it in their minds.
Marty, I’m trapped. I can’t get through the door.
Yes, you can. We can. I’ll help you, Lorraine. Go back under the water.
With Marty to help her, and with the encouragement of her friends, Lorraine plunged into the water without hesitation. This time, when she tried to push the door, she had the power of Marty’s mind working with her. The force within her radiated into the surrounding water, making it glow with a phantom electricity. For the first time since she entered the tunnel, Lorraine could see.
But there was no time to look around herself. She heard pounding and knew that something—some energy—was striking the wooden door with incredible force. Instantly sunlight poured into the water. Clouds of sand billowed around Lorraine’s head. She squinted and watched as the door bulged open, straining against the sand. The electric glow was replaced at once by sunlight.
Lorraine swam through the door, then up another five feet until she broke the surface of the water. She was hidden in a garden of tall beach grass.
I’m out! Marty, Steven, Julie! I’m out!
Hooray! Steven shouted.
Good for you! Julie praised.
There were no words from Marty. The effort had been too great, and now he was unable to respond.
But Lorraine, encouraged by the amazing thing she’d just done, waded through the waist-high water and up onto the beach. She glanced in all directions, making sure she wasn’t being watched. The beach was empty. Lorraine sank down on the sand and let herself rest for just a moment.
Then she stood up and went to look for help.
51
DURING THEIR WALK around town, Rachel and Samantha shared what little memories they had of their childhoods. Samantha mentioned Julie’s beach drawings, most especially the yellow house near the jetty.
“I’d like to see that jetty,” Rachel said. “Perhaps there’s a clue.”
“We looked,” Samantha said. “I’m afraid nothing was familiar.”
“That’s because you were seeing it with your eyes,” Rachel said. “I’m experiencing it with . . . well, with whatever’s making me feel Steven.”
Samantha looked so downtrodden that Wil put his arm around her shoulder.
“I wish I could ‘feel’ Julie,” she said.
Barbara pointed. “The jetty’s in that direction, just beyond Haybrook’s. I don’t suppose you have any memory of that place?”
She directed the question to Rachel, who shook her head.
They headed toward the jetty. The very moment she was near it, Rachel let out a cry. Her eyes widened, and she pivoted to face Samantha.
“You said the yellow house burned down years ago,” she said. “And it was near a jetty.”
Samantha only nodded in reply. Eric looked concerned.
“What is it, Rachel?” he asked.
Rachel closed her eyes, her expression tightening as she concentrated.
“A gateway,” she said. “Some kind of dark tunnel. I don’t know where it leads, or how to get there, but it will take us to the children.”
“This is the only jetty,” Wil said. “The house had to be in this area.”
“Another house must have been built on the site,” Samantha added. She looked down the beach at Haybrook’s, still quiet at this early hour. Then she broke into a determined stride. “Come on, everybody, I know where we can get some answers.”
Gordy’s whole life was the clam bar, and he spent most of his waking hours there whether he was actually working or not. They found him in the kitchen, shucking clams for the upcoming lunch crowd. He looked up, but didn’t seem surprised to see them. His eyes cast a questioning look in Samantha’s direction for just a second, but he didn’t move quickly enough for her not to notice.
“Hello,” he said simply. “Looks like your party grew a bit.”
“Gordy, we have to ask you some questions,” Wil said.
“You seem to enjoy asking questions,” Gordy replied. “ ‘Course, I suppose as a detective-type, that’s your job. What is it you want to know?”
“The yellow house . . .” Wil began. “Was another structure put up in its place?”
“No,” Gordy said. “That property has stood empty for decades. Don’t make much sense, being prime waterfront real estate. Some say it belongs to the government.”
Barbara grumbled: “That figures.”
“Could you tell us where to find the lot?”
“You already know,” Gordy said. “It’s near the jetty, like you said. You can’t miss the spot. It’s the only property on the block overgrown with weeds—even at this time of the year.”
“I remember that place,” Eric said. The others agreed with him. “It doesn’t look like anyone’s taken care of it in years.”
“You’re probably right,” Gordy said. “But I can’t blame people for staying away. Strange things happened in that house just before it burned down. People said they saw glowing orange lights behind the windows.”
“Flames,” Eric suggested.
“Not that color orange,” Gordy said. “Weird lights—magical.”
He stared down at his hands, wet with clam juice.
“I always wondered about that,” he said. “Wondered if it had anything to do with the explosion.”
“What explosion?” Samantha asked.
“Out at sea,” Gordy said. “It happened just a day before the house burned down. Big enough to light up the whole sea and sky. Then this big navy ship showed up, probably investigating.”
“Did they ever explain what it was?” Wil asked.
“Oh, sure,” Gordy said. “They said it was an oil tanker. But you saw what that tanker did up in Alaska, spilling those millions of gallons of oil. There wasn’t a drop out there, not a drop. You tell me how an oil tanker explodes and doesn’t leave a bit of its cargo.”
“Do you have any theories?” Wi
l asked.
“Yeah,” Gordy said. “I think it was some kind of enemy submarine, maybe Russian. I don’t think they wanted people to know how close they got, so as not to start a panic.”
“You thought it had something to do with the yellow house burning down,” Samantha reminded him.
“Oh, probably just coincidence,” Gordy said. “There sure were a lot of things happening that summer here in Shoaling. That’s the same year Shoaling Aeronautics went up.”
All the while he was speaking, he stared very intently at Samantha. When he finished, he seemed to realize what he’d been doing, and turned away.
“Why do you keep doing that?” Samantha demanded.
Gordy did not deny that he’d been staring.
“I’m wondering why you don’t remember me,” he said.
Samantha’s eyebrows went up. Wil took a step closer to her.
“What . . . what do you mean?” she asked. “I came here as a child. Of course I don’t remember you!”
Gordy shook his head. “I don’t know what you did when you were a kid. I remember you from the night of the explosion. You came wandering in here, all straggly with seaweed and sand. Seemed you’d swum a good distance. I thought you might be a Rusky because you wouldn’t say a word. But you seemed like a sweet, scared kid. So I fed you hot soup and tried to get you to a hospital, but you’d have none of it.”
“That’s crazy!” Samantha cried. “I wasn’t here ten years ago! I was never even on a boat!”
“Maybe you’re mixing her up with someone else,” Wil suggested, although he didn’t believe this.
Gordy’s white head swung back and forth with vigor.
“No, I don’t forget faces,” he said. “You’re definitely the woman I saw. Maybe you were hurt badly in that explosion—whatever it was—and it affected your memory,”
Samantha turned to hug Wil, completely bewildered. Gordy’s reference to memory hit a little too close to home. When was this going to end?
Barbara’s yellow brows furled.
“What happened next?” she asked Gordy. “I mean, after you found Samantha?”
Cries of the Children Page 28