Escape: The Seam Travelers Book One

by Jason Nugent

Kol regained his footing, wiping off the blood from his nose on his pants. “You got what you deserved!”

  Phetrix wove his hands again, and let a spell of healing settle on Kol. “This might not work the best. My skill in healing was never great.”

  He watched as Kol registered the magic flowing over him. He could see in the man’s eyes that it was working, though he didn’t know how well.

  When he was done, Phetrix scolded the man. “Don’t ever do that again! What if a Seeker had found me? What if that wicked Rhoden had discovered me? We have to be more selective in how we handle them! At least until we get the heirs back. The dark man escaped. He’ll be on the road in a hurry spreading word about us. We have to move. Once he alerts Mortas that I’m alive, he will flood the area with Seekers. We’ll never be able to move without threat of being seen. ”

  Kol shook his head. “I know. But the time has come! You saw what happened at the camp yesterday. If those two had anything to do with it, we did a great thing. Even if they didn’t, they earned it for who they follow.” He took the sword, removed the scabbard from Kreen, and put it on his waist. Leaving the old one behind.

  “Let’s move. The farm is nearby. We’ll be free of this soon and be in a world where my spells might not even work. I don’t know exactly, but it’s our only chance of making things right again.” Phetrix marched off, knowing Kol was following. The man might not be the smartest, but it was good to have a companion. Where they were going, he’d need all the help he could get.

  .

  Thirty-Seven

  DEWAYNE FLEW DOWN THE side streets and turned on the main road that would lead back to where he first picked the strange group up. He wanted to ask about his payment, but after witnessing what he had, thought it best to keep his mouth shut.

  He glanced at Rhoden and spotted the finger sticking straight up. The site made him gag. He fought down the nausea, just wanting this nightmare to be over. The man mumbled something to himself, but he didn't want to look, fearing he'd see something far worse than a dislocated finger.

  The girls were eerily silent considering their predicament. He looked in the rearview mirror and saw both of them staring straight ahead with blank looks as if drugged. A blue light reflected in the mirror. The cops had found them. He still had several miles to go before reaching their destination. “The police are following us.”

  Rhoden and Mortas swiveled in their seats to look behind.

  Rhoden asked, “How much further?”

  He accelerated. “Less than two miles.” The look showed he didn't understand miles. “We're close.”

  The flashing lights gained on them. DeWayne could see more than one car pursued them. He swung around the corner, now blocks from his goal. The turn was at such a high speed, he could not hold the line. The van swerved, threatening to tip and roll. It bounced over a curb lifting everyone off their seats. He sideswiped the front of a brick building, sending sparks flying, before righting and driving down the sidewalk.

  At the end of the block he veered into the street. With one block to go, the cops made the turn. They closed in fast.

  DeWayne hit the brakes hard. With no one wearing a seat belt, everyone flew forward. Rhoden caught his weight by bracing his good hand on the dashboard, but his knees made contact and he cried out. Both girls ended up headfirst in the space between the two front seats. The bodyguard struck the seat in front of him head first, but Mortas appeared to hover above his seat.

  “Hurry. Get out. They’re right on top of us,” DeWayne shouted.

  The doors flew open all at once. Mortas glided out and faced the onrushing cars. Rhoden and the bodyguard pulled the zombie-like girls from the car and guided them toward where ever they were going. DeWayne watched in fascination, his fear subsided for the moment.

  While Rhoden made strange hand gestures at the night air, the police screeched to a stop and multiple doors swung open. Shouts rained down on them. Everyone screamed for them to drop whatever weapons they possessed and lay down on the ground.

  To Dewayne's amazement, the sky ripped apart. A long tear appeared like Rhoden had sliced through a canvas with a box cutter. He motioned to the bodyguard, who in robotic fashion tossed a girl over each shoulder and stepped toward the tear in the air.

  The cops went ballistic in their commands and several broke cover from their cars and rushed forward. Rhoden, with his recovered amulet in hand, shoved his arm out like punching the air and the two cops flew backward. The other cops watched their comrades rolling along the ground in stunned silence. Then, as if an unseen director shouted 'action,' all hell broke loose.

  Gunshots erupted and bullets filled the air. Rhoden made more hand movements. Whatever he did, the bullets missed him. Mortas grunted, and glanced at his arm where a stream of blood rolled down his sleeve. He gave it a look of curiosity, then a dark cloud shrouded his face. He shouted something in a voice straight from hell and flung his arms forward.

  The first police car lifted off the ground and was flung hood over trunk through the air, landing on top of the second car, smashing both. One of the police opened up with a shotgun. Rhoden backed up, his features strained with effort.

  The bodyguard stuffed each girl through the tear. They disappeared from sight. He stood to the side as Rhoden climbed through, then waited for Mortas. With a one armed sweep, two more police cars went sailing sideways, crashing to the ground twenty feet away. He turned, appeared to levitate, then was gone. Before the bodyguard could step through, a barrage of bullets slammed into him. He dropped to his knees, held for a second, then fell forward onto his face.

  DeWayne could not believe his eyes. His fear was so intense, thoughts were too difficult to form. His body vibrated with a violence that rocked the van. It wasn't the noise that shook him from his fugue, but the deafening silence.

  The police approached with extreme caution. A face appeared to hang in the air suspended by some unseen force. Mortas glared at the cops. His eyes burned with a fire so intense, DeWayne imagined he felt the heat. The head swung in his direction and the eyes flared.

  He screamed, ripped the stick into drive and jammed the pedal down. He was still screaming minutes later when he pulled to a stop, three blocks from his apartment building. He slumped in the seat, eyes still wide with fear and the scream fading like the end of a song track. He became aware of a warm wetness on his seat. At first he feared he'd been shot, then realized his bladder had released at some time during the ordeal.

  With a glance at the mirror he discovered the rear window had been shattered at some point, too. His body was racked with a series of violent spastic convulsions. He had a strong urge to curl into a fetal position and suck on his thumb. His mind walked a narrow line between saneness and insanity. Part of his brain wanted to replay what he'd seen, but the other part fought to keep the scene hidden. Then, a new thought came to him. He helped madmen kidnap two girls, watched them kill a man, saw another two die, and was in the middle of a shootout with police—all that and he never got paid. The idea was enough to make him weep.

  DeWayne had no idea how long he sat staring blankly, but somewhere, deep in his consciousness, the thought broke to the surface that he had to get up and out before the police found the car. As he sat up, he felt something stuck to his cheek. He brushed it off and it bounced on the seat. It caught his eyes and he gasped. It was a gold coin. He snatched it up and stared open-mouthed. He glanced down and found two more coins and something else—a stone of some sort that looked like a gem he'd never seen before. Not that he had much experience with gems of any kind. He held it eye level and stared mesmerized. It winked at him. A smile spread across his face.

  He attempted to wipe the car down, but decided it wasn't worth the trouble. He left the keys in the ignition. It would be gone by morning. He zombie-walked home, praying he never saw Rhoden or, that crazed demon from hell boss of his ever again. Then, he focused on the gold coins and adapted his prayer to at least not for a while.

  Thirty-Eight<
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  MARVIN GRANT LEFT HIS favorite after-work hang out, a cop bar called Fuzzy's. As a bachelor, most nights he ate dinner there and some nights imbibed a few more drinks then he should. Tonight was one of those nights. Though not drunk, at least to his definition, he might struggle to pass a field sobriety test.

  He slipped into the car and started the engine. As he was buckling his seat belt the radio squawked requesting all available units and announcing a homicide and chase. He noted the location of the chase as the various cars answered the call and took up pursuit. It wasn't far from where he was at the moment. Although he wouldn't get involved since he'd been drinking, he decided to follow in case of an emergency.

  He pulled Vega's Tic Tacs from the console and popped four, then did a u-turn away from the curb and headed in the direction of the chase. He drove fast, but not at pursuit speed. Ahead, a car raced past. He guessed it was the suspects vehicle. By the time he got to the corner, four squad cars whizzed past. He let them go, then made the turn. He didn't want to add his lights to the color display unless necessary, so he followed at a distance.

  The squad car's brake lights flashed on in unison. Officers leaped from barely stopped vehicles. He pulled to the side of the road a quarter of a block away. The sound of gunshots echoed off the buildings. Grant unbuckled his seat belt, slid his service weapon from the holster and opened the door.

  He had just placed a foot on the street when a squad car lifted into the air and crashed atop another one.

  “What the hell was that?” he said, ducking to avoid stray bullets and other flying vehicles. He jogged to the sidewalk and crept closer, using parked cars for cover.

  A police officer went flying through the air and smashed into a building. He hit hard and slid down the wall, landing in a sitting position before toppling over. More gunshots followed, including several shotgun blasts. Grant moved to where he had an angle for a shot. He didn't want to discharge his weapon especially having been drinking, but his brothers were in trouble. He took aim at a man who appeared to hover above the ground. He was so astonished by the sight he held his fire until the man disappeared into thin air.

  A second man levitated off the ground. Grant took aim, but before he could pull the trigger, the two remaining squad cars skidded sideways, colliding with each other. The officers scattered to avoid being crushed. The second man disappeared, leaving the biggest man alone. He reached up to what looked like a tear in the air. A hand reached out of, what? To help the man up. Grant could not let the man escape and his fellow policemen were no condition to stop him.

  He aimed his weapon, a gun he'd never fired outside the shooting range, and pulled the trigger three times. The body jerked, took a step and dropped to his knees. A face that floated in midair, sans torso or legs, glowered at him. Then with a sudden flash, was gone like some illusionist vanishing from a stage.

  A car, the one that transported the disappearing men, raced away from the scene. Grant raised his gun, but the car was around the corner before he had a chance to sight. He stood and walked dumbfounded toward the fallen man. A few other policemen got up. They challenged him, ordering him to drop his gun, until he showed his badge. He stepped over the body of the man he shot, kicked away the gun lying next to him and bent to check for a pulse. He found none. Fifteen years on the job and the first time he had to use his weapon he killed a man.

  There would be all kinds of investigations, not only into the events that transpired before they got here, but also with all the bizarre things he'd witnessed, along with the shooting. If he feared being busted for drinking, the things he witnessed had long ago shocked him sober. He holstered his gun and went to assist the injured. It was going to be a long night.

  Thirty-Nine

  IT TOOK TWO DAYS FOR Phetrix and Kol to reach the farm. He’d not been there before, but Samuel’s instructions were clear. The farm looked exactly like how he described it in his journal, all the way down to the dark orange color of the barn.

  “Phetrix, are you sure about this? What you say sounds unreal.”

  “Kol, I know it can be difficult to understand, but I swear to you it’s real. I’ve seen it. I’ve been there once. The heirs are there. By now they should be . . . eighteen years old? If I’m figuring things correctly that is.”

  Kol shook his head. “It’s too much to grasp.”

  “You’ll see. And then . . . we’ll have work to do.”

  The marched through tall grass and headed for the northwest edge of the farm where a boulder jutted from the ground.

  Kol seemed nervous, maybe even worried about what was to come.

  “Phetrix, why don’t we just connect with the rebels and fight Mortas? With your powers, surely we could cause damage.”

  “Without the heirs, it’s meaningless. The prophecy—“

  “Don’t tell me you believe those old stories?”

  Phetrix stopped and regarded the man.

  “Of course I do. It’s why I’ve done everything I have. It’s the only reason I still breath. Have these past years not proven how true they are?”

  “These years have proven how inept Mortas is. It proves how corrupt a man he is, but it doesn’t prove the prophecies are true.”

  Phetrix shook his head. “Then stay here. Go fight your meaningless battle and lose your life for nothing. I choose to fulfill the prophecy and bring back the heirs. Only once they return can we defeat Mortas and restore the land. Believe me or not. Help me or stay. No matter your decision, I will continue on to fulfill my duty.”

  Kol waved him off. “I have no connections here. If you believe so strongly, I should at least hang around to see if it happens. What’s the difference between a fight here or a fight at this other place you say exists?”

  Phetrix smiled at the man. He had a point.

  “I promise you won’t be disappointed by the strange world we’re about to enter. It’s like nothing you’ve ever seen.”

  The late afternoon sun hung in a blue sky streaked with clouds. It was a cool day and the birds in the far off trees sung softly. For Phetrix, it was an ideal afternoon. What he was about to try would change the world he knew forever. He’d either succeed in his quest, or he and Kol would die in a foreign land as defeated foes. He stopped and closed his eyes listening to the birds. He might never make it back here and he wanted a memory to cling to.

  “Are you alright? What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing at all. I wanted to grasp Chevalon one last time, just in case.”

  Kol shielded his eyes and scanned the fields around them. “A farm. Your last memory might be a farm. Too bad it wasn’t a tavern or something with a bit more atmosphere.” He smiled and clapped Phetrix on the back.

  They moved closer to the boulder. “This is the place. Are you ready Kol?”

  “No. But don’t let that stop you.”

  Phetrix closed his eyes and swirled his hands in the air, remembering the motions he used many years ago to open the seam while in the castle. At first, nothing moved. The air was still and the birds went silent. Then, with a loud crack and a bright flash, a line of light emerged. It stood taller than either of the men. It shimmered and then expanded, opening wider.

  “By the gods,” Kol said softly. “What is that place?”

  Phetrix opened his eyes to see a bustling city with buildings much larger than anything he’d ever seen in Chevalon. Wheeled chariots raced across streets that were smoother and cleaner than those within their cities.

  “What is that place?”

  “It’s a strange world, unlike ours. There are more people than you can imagine. The heirs are hidden there.”

  “What’s the name of the place?”

  Phetrix smiled, recalling the name scrawled in Samuel’s journal. “That place is called Chicago.”

  Phetrix released his spell and the seam wavered, but held strong. “We need to go through. Stay close to me once we do. I’ve been there once and it can be overwhelming. We’ll need to find different clothes quickl
y. We won’t fit in looking like we do.”

  “Yeah, sure,” Kol replied absently. His eyes were fixed on the scene showing through the seam.

  “Shall we?” Phetrix stepped into the seam and his foot set down on a hard surface made of what looked to be stone but was wider and flatter then any he’d known. He turned around and Kol was still on the other side of the seam.

  “Kol, come on! It won’t stay open for long.”

  The man looked like he was about to flee.

  “Hurry Kol! It’s the only way!”

  Kol sighed and closed his eyes, mumbling something Phetrix couldn’t hear. Then he looked through the seam at Phetrix.

  “I’m ready.”

  Kol walked forward, but the seam started to shrink and narrow.

  “Oh no! Kol, the seam os closing! Run! Get through before it closes!”

  Kol ran and tripped over something in the grass.

  “Kol!”

  Fortunately, he landed on the other side of the seam moments before it sealed shut.

  He made it.

  Forty

  SAMUEL SLOWED THE CAR at the cross road, peering down the street to the house where Princess Elysande and her guardians had been living. Police cars and emergency vehicles swarmed the area. Their street was blocked by the mass of vehicles. He had no way of getting inside to discover the amount of destruction and death that had occurred.

  Two men guided a gurney down the front walk toward a waiting ambulance. The body was not observable, being inside a black bag. Judging by the mound the body inside created, the deceased was quite large. He thought of Markus, the guardian he had coerced initially into protecting the princess, and prayed he wasn't the victim.

  Two men in suits stepped out onto the front porch. One was short, stocky and black. The second man might have been the first's brother, in physique and mannerism, except for the skin color. They spoke and the black man glanced back inside the house, while his partner shook his head and dragged a hand over his head. Samuel took the gestures to mean, whatever happened inside had been either inexplicable or grotesque, maybe both.