Sidling up next to him, she whispered, “I need to talk to you.”
He barely even acknowledged her, as he kept peeling the label from the beer bottle.
“How many have you had?”
No answer.
She asked Walter, “How many has he had?”
The bartender shrugged. “You think I’m keeping count?”
“Yeah,” she said, nodding with wide-eyed annoyance. “If you want him to pay you.”
“I’m figuring money isn’t worth too much any more,” the bartender replied with a smirk.
Julie grunted her acquiescence and snapped her fingers in front of Charley’s face. “Hey!”
He blinked but didn’t look at her. “What the hell do you want now?”
She eyed the people nearby, even Walter, who started wiping down the bar top, acting like he wasn’t listening. Julie had done a good job of keeping her distance from Charley, and would have preferred to keep it that way, but things had quickly spiraled out of control. Screw social norms—she didn’t have time for that.
“I need to talk to you,” she repeated.
Still staring down at the bottle: “’bout what?”
“Not here. Outside.”
“We’re not supposed to go outside.” He smiled, barked out a half-laugh. “Haven’t you heard? There are monsters out there.”
She leaned in close to him, her lips less than an inch from his ear. To anyone looking it might appear romantic, which was the last thing she wanted people to think about her and Charley, but again, screw it. “They’re headed to the depot.”
He blinked again, this time with more focus, and slowly turned his head toward her. “What?”
She only nodded, hoping he was smart enough to fill in the rest.
Unsurprisingly, he frowned. “Who?”
She spoke through gritted teeth. “Out. Side.”
He took a breath, watching her, coming to slow conclusions, she hoped. Finally he nodded and slid off the stool. He took a step toward the door, paused, turned back and lifted the beer bottle to his lips, draining everything inside. Then he nodded again, wiped his mouth, and followed her out of the Brick House.
The moment they were outside, she said, “The Sheriff, Griff and a few others, they’ve gone down to the depot.”
“Why?”
“It doesn’t matter why. Once they get there, they’re going to find more than they bargained for. It’s going to create questions. Questions that might fall back on us. Do you want that, especially with what’s happened so far?”
“Why should I give a fuck? We weren’t supposed to be here for this, whatever this is. And now we are. And we’re fucked like everyone else.”
“You know exactly why you should give a fuck. This whole thing has gone too far. Eventually, once this all gets sorted out—if it gets sorted out—they’re going to look for someone to put all the blame on.”
“And what,” he coughed out another laugh, “you think that’s going to be me?”
“It sure as hell isn’t going to be me. And you know for a fact the old man isn’t going to take the blame. So who does that leave?”
Charley said nothing.
“That’s right,” she was nodding now, suppressing the urge to smile. “He’s going to need a fall guy. And who do you think that fall guy will be?”
Now he was starting to look scared. Good. That was exactly what Julie wanted. She needed him scared, because it made him more likely to follow her orders.
“So what do you want me to do about it? I can’t stop them.”
“No, but you can warn the old man.”
“I don’t…” He shook his head, as if trying to clear it. “Why don’t you just call him?”
“With what? In case you haven’t noticed, there isn’t any cell reception.”
“Then why don’t you go warn him yourself?”
“Because the he trusts you the most. Always has.”
She waited, wondering if he would call her bluff. Charley Wilson was a lot of things but stupid wasn’t one of them, despite what he’d let everyone else in town believe. The alcohol helped, too. If anything, he was unpredictable, and apt to lash out when backed into a corner. Only this type of corner wasn’t one he was used to, and Julie was hoping to use that to her advantage.
Finally he released a heavy breath. “Goddamn it,” he muttered, and started digging in his pocket for his keys.
“Are you even sober enough to drive?” she asked, caring less for his safety than for the fact he might not be able to follow through with the plan.
“I’ll be fine,” he said, waving a dismissive hand as he staggered off in search of his pickup truck.
7
Frost couldn’t take her eyes off the tree. She knew how close it was to town, but as they left Main Street and headed over the rise, the south of Refuge opened up, and she saw just how tall the massive tree stood. Refuge stood atop a three-hundred-foot-tall hill. The tree dwarfed them.
Winslow, both hands on the steering wheel, smiled at her. “Impressive, isn’t it?”
“It’s incredible,” Frost said. “But how could a tree grow so large?”
“We know nothing about the ecological evolution of this world, but it’s certainly possible for trees to grow beyond what we’re used to. All they need is enough room and time to grow.”
From the back seat, Griffin asked, “But wouldn’t it take thousands—millions—of years to do that?”
Winslow gave the same amused expression at the rearview mirror. “Again, we know nothing of this world beyond what we can see. It would be like an alien visiting Earth, touching down in Amarillo, Texas and assuming the whole planet smells like cow piss. We’re only seeing the tiniest fraction of what’s out there.”
They drove on for another minute in silence, winding down the road. The normal sized trees, one-hundred-foot pines, on either side of them, looked like toothpicks compared to the monstrosity that towered ahead of them.
Griffin spoke again from the back. “What’s the Echo?”
Winslow glanced again at the rearview mirror. “Pardon?”
“Back at Soucey’s. I heard you tell Carol we’d ‘find a way out of the Echo’. What is it?”
Winslow didn’t answer for a long moment. Frost watched him from the corner of her eye, wondering if he was irritated Griffin had overheard a possibly private conversation.
Winslow cleared his throat and sighed. “It’s wishful thinking, is what it is.”
“Meaning?” Griffin asked.
“Meaning I don’t know if there is any way out of the Echo.”
Dodge leaned forward from the back seat. “Are you saying this will never end?”
“I honestly don’t know. But right now, I haven’t the slightest clue what is causing this ongoing shift between what appear to be...other Earths. Parallel Earths.”
“But what’s the Echo?” Griffin asked.
“Yes, the Echo. It’s a theory a NASA colleague of mine developed. His name was Markus Pätzel, and he posited that millions and millions of years ago, at the beginning of time—”
“The Earth isn’t millions of years old,” Dodge said.
“Tell that to the fossil records,” Winslow said dryly. “Anyway, Markus posited that at the beginning of time, the Big Bang created such a massive and devastating force, that it’s been echoing ever since. After all, our universe is still expanding, which helps to prove this theory. However, Markus went even further. He believed that not only did the Big Bang create our reality, but also countless other realities. Infinite realities. And the ‘many worlds’ interpretation of quantum mechanics agrees. With the many worlds point-of-view, all possible alternative pasts, presents and futures are real. Every time we make a decision, a new universe is created. The differences between worlds might be subtle—in one I fold my toilet paper, in one I bunch—or they might be drastic.” He motioned to the large tree looming ahead of them.
“You’re joking,” Griffin said.
Winslow shrugged. “They’re not my theories, but Markus was quite brilliant. Eccentric, perhaps, but so were Einstein and many other geniuses. The problem for Markus, of course, was that there was no way to prove his theory. Now, however…”
He let it hang there, the foreign landscape beyond Refuge saying all that needed to be said.
“Okay,” Griffin said, “so let’s assume your friend’s theory is accurate, and there are infinite realities.”
“The Big Bang is just a theory,” Dodge said. “You can’t—”
“Pastor, please,” Griffin said, “let’s just say it’s real for argument’s sake. Assuming there are infinite realities, the next question is, why are we being tossed between them?”
“Again,” Winslow said, “I have no clue. But one thing has been bothering me since the beginning.”
“Only one thing?” Frost asked.
He smiled at her. “Yes, my dear. Certainly some terrible things have happened, but there’s one item in particular that seems to be an unreachable itch on my back. After all, the how is answered by the what—in simple terms, mind you, the actual mechanics of how is beyond my grasp. But infinite realities means that virtually anything is possible. So for me, the largest unanswered question is, why Refuge?”
“What do you mean?”
“Clearly only our town is affected. If Ashland was involved, too, that would be one thing. But only Refuge?” He shook his head. “This is no random act. Something is causing this.”
“Obviously something is causing this,” Dodge said.
“Yes, but why? In our reality, somethings are almost always created by someones. Which means there is a reason this is happening to us. Once we figure out the why, we’ll be able to determine the who, and we’ll have a better chance of finding our way out of the Echo. Right now, the how is the least of our concerns.”
Frost kept watching the tree as it grew larger and larger. She had been a small-town girl for most of her life. Once she had visited New York with her grandparents near Christmastime. They had gone to Rockefeller Plaza to see the giant tree lit up with all its bright colors, and then they had gone to Radio City Music Hall to watch the Christmas show. All of it had been spectacular—the Rockettes had been particularly exciting—but it was the buildings themselves that had awed Frost the most. She had heard of skyscrapers before, had seen pictures in books, but actually standing at the base of such a vast structure and craning your neck back until the top of the building began to look like it was starting to sway… It was incredible. And now she had the same feeling...with a tree. It was an immense reminder that she was just an ant among a billion ants—insignificant in the larger scheme of things.
The SUV began to slow. Frost blinked and realized they had come to the intersection. Right and they would head over to the National Guard Depot. A little further up and left, and they would head out to Lake Hudson, the Refuge Reservoir Station, a slew of cabins and at the end of it all, Renford Ellison’s mansion. Speaking of which…
“Has anyone checked on Mr. Ellison?”
Nobody answered her.
“I just realized, we don’t even know if he’s home,” she said.
Griffin said, “Maybe he was outside town before this happened.”
“And maybe he wasn’t. If no one has heard from him, he could be in trouble. His house would have been within the darkness. It’s close enough to the border.”
Winslow halted the SUV, right in the middle of the road. “Would you like to check on him first?”
Frost bit her lip, thinking about it. She glanced up at the tree toward their right, the tree that nearly shadowed them, despite the fact it stood a quarter mile away. She remembered that creature in the sky. Right now, weapons were more important. Protect the greater good and all that.
“No,” she said. “The depot first. We can check on Mr. Ellison later.”
Winslow nodded, spun the wheel, and lifted his foot off the brake. The SUV started down the drive leading to the depot. He went at a conservative speed, maybe twenty miles per hour, the wheels humming along the macadam.
Suddenly Griffin said, “Stop the truck.”
Winslow glanced at the rearview mirror. “What?”
“Stop the goddamn truck!”
8
Griffin opened his door and stepped out even before the SUV came to a complete stop.
“What is it?” Frost asked. “What’s wrong?”
“Stay here.”
He shut the door and hurried toward the trees. He had caught a glimpse of something he instantly wished he hadn’t, but also couldn’t ignore. Most of his attention had been on the massive tree towering over the depot, but then his eyes had shifted toward the normal-sized trees and the carpet of brown pine needles between them. Something had glinted in the sun. It was tiny. And brief. But something about the way it looked trigger a memory. A proposal at the beach. The sun, shining through a diamond had an unmistakable quality.
“Griffin!” Winslow shouted, stepping out of the SUV.
He threw a hand back behind him, signaling for Winslow and everyone else to stay put. Maybe, he thought, what he had seen was just in his imagination. Perhaps a fleck of mica fused to a chunk of granite.
Griffin’s nose twitched as the dark, deep rank of decay struck him.
Damnit...
He stopped, turned away, and looked at the others. They were out of the SUV, watching him. Frost had circled the vehicle and stood in front of the others, her face filled with worry.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
He held up his hand again, shaking his head, telling her to stay there, to not come any closer…without actually saying anything at all. It wasn’t the dead body behind him in the bushes, either; he had seen more dead bodies than he cared to remember, and he had become numb to the sight. But it was this dead body in particular that created a rumbling in his gut and a sour taste in the back of his throat.
“Stay there,” he said, as the others started forward. “Just stay there.”
They all paused for a beat. Then Frost started forward again, the others trailing behind her.
Griffin turned back around, his eyes closed. He told himself that it wasn’t real. That when he opened his eyes, what lay before him would be something other than what he knew for a fact it was.
Frost gasped behind him: “Oh my God!”
He opened his eyes.
Rebecca Rule lay right where he knew she would be. Or not Rule exactly, but what was left of Rule. The bottom of her had been cut in half during the second shift. Her legs had remained in the desert world. The top had stayed in Refuge for only an hour or so before it had disappeared.
Not disappeared, he thought. Taken.
The last time Griffin had seen her, everything above her waist had been intact. Now both of her arms were gone, her shoulders just ragged stubs covered in dried blood. And her head…some of it was still attached to the torso, but not all of it.
She still wore her uniform, or what was left of her uniform, much of it torn away. Around her neck was the diamond necklace her husband had given to her years ago, which she had worn ever since. The diamond was small, barely a quarter carat, and not the prettiest piece of jewelry. But it had been given to her by the man she loved, and so Rule had cherished it until her dying day.
The diamond was still with her, the thin white-gold chain still around her neck. It was the diamond that had caught Griffin’s attention and brought him here, and it was the diamond that he bent down and started to reach for before stopping himself and standing back up.
“What—what did this to her?”
Dodge’s voice, barely a whisper.
“Coyotes,” Winslow said. “At least, I hope it was coyotes. Because I don’t even want to imagine the alternative.”
“We’ve already seen the alternative,” Griffin said.
Frost stepped up next to him. Her body was trembling. Griffin looked at her and realized she was on the verge of tears. Only about sixte
en hours ago Rule had given Frost her badge, telling her to protect the town. She might have been cut in half at the time, but at least there had been some life in her. Now there was only a mess of something vaguely resembling the brave, stalwart, former sheriff.
Frost was moving her lips, attempting to make a sound, her eyes going glassy.
“Hey,” Griffin said.
She blinked. Looked at him.
“We should go.”
“We…we…we can’t just leave her here like this.”
Griffin glanced back at Winslow and Dodge. Both men stood stock-still and silent, neither one looking at the body.
“We can bury her now if you want.”
Frost blinked again. “Here?”
“We don’t have any shovels, but we can do something. Maybe take her with us. I don’t know. I don’t want to just leave her here, either.”
Winslow cleared his throat. “I hate to interject, but it’s my understanding Sheriff Rule’s last request was that you protect the town. Isn’t that right, Helena?”
Griffin noted how the older man used Frost’s first name, speaking from a position of authority that could come only from an elder speaking to someone far younger. Frost didn’t seem to mind, the way Rule might have. Instead, she nodded slowly.
“If that’s the case,” Winslow said, “I’d say our main priority is checking the depot for weapons. I don’t want to sound cold, but we can mourn the dead later. And I’m pretty sure the good Sheriff here would prefer we not endanger the town on account of her remains.”
“Yes,” Frost murmured. “You’re right.” Clearly steeling herself, she turned away from what was left of Rule and began to march back toward the SUV.
Griffin watched her for a moment, stunned. Then he realized just how hard it was for Frost to walk away like that. The thought of leaving Rule here no doubt sickened her as much as it did him. But by walking away, Frost had proved both just how strong she truly was and Rule’s wisdom in choosing Frost as her successor. She would put the town before her own needs. It was commendable.
Refuge Book 3 - Lost in the Echo Page 4