Our Last Echoes

by Kate Alice Marshall

  NOVAK: Shh. You’re all right. Caro.

  BAKER: I know her.

  NOVAK: She looks like you.

  BAKER: You don’t understand. I know her.

  NOVAK: You’re not making sense. Stand up, Caro. We have to catch up with the others.

  She seems as disturbed by the fact that they haven’t appeared as by the body at their feet. She clears her throat, checks the camera. She murmurs to herself.

  NOVAK: No one’s going to believe this if we don’t . . .

  She doesn’t finish the thought. She wipes off the lens as best she can, though there is nothing to do for the crack now running through the image, and helps Baker to her feet. Baker is weeping, but she follows placidly enough as Novak leads her.

  NOVAK: Don’t tell anyone what happened. Just say you fell.

  BAKER: Why?

  NOVAK: Because we’re almost at the bunker. And the bunker is higher on the slope than the village, and toward the north bluff.

  BAKER: Why does that matter?

  NOVAK: Vanya and Will were supposed to head toward the beach. They didn’t say anything about coming up here.

  17

  WE WALKED BACK to Mrs. Popova’s together. It was early enough that we were the only ones up. “Do you get used to this?” Liam asked Abby. “Does it ever stop feeling like you’re dreaming and you’ll wake up at any minute?”

  “It does. But then you miss when it felt like that,” Abby said. “When it still felt like there was a chance it could all be undone.” She was thinking of her sister, I was sure.

  “It doesn’t feel like I’m dreaming,” I said. “It feels like I’m awake for the first time in my life. When I’m in that other place—it’s like when there’s a loud fan running, and you’ve stopped noticing that it’s there, until suddenly someone turns it off.”

  “Does that worry you?” Abby asked.

  “Of course it does,” I said with a laugh. “Who feels relaxed on Spooky Echo Island?”

  “It’s not actually that weird, necessarily,” Abby said slowly.

  “How is that not weird?” I asked.

  “There are certain people who have a connection to the other worlds,” Abby said. She rubbed her thumb along her jaw thoughtfully. “They’re special. Different. My sister was like that. She’d get feelings about things that turned out to be true, and she could see things that even Ashford couldn’t. Ashford thinks that’s why . . .”

  “Why she’s a ghost?” I asked.

  Liam’s eyes widened, and he opened his mouth as if to ask a question, but then he just shook his head and fell silent. Maybe he’d used up his budget of weird.

  “Not just a ghost. She’s different now too,” Abby said. “She doesn’t act like she should. She sent me here, and that’s just not something ghosts do. If you’re attuned to the world that’s intruding on Bitter Rock, it could be why you could see the Six-Wing. And why you have some kind of connection to your echo.”

  I felt an odd flutter of hope. Could that be it? I had some strange bond with my echo, and she had caused all the strange things in my life? I wasn’t a freak. It wasn’t my fault. It was hers.

  “What if she has some hold on you?” Liam asked. We’d stopped at the head of the long driveway down to Mrs. Popova’s, and he turned so that we were all facing each other. “If you’re connected to your echo, you’re connected to the Six-Wing.”

  “It is worrying,” Abby said. “But listen. This is what I do, remember? Most of the time, I’m only there for the aftermath, when it’s too late to do anything. But this time, I can help. I’ll keep you both breathing, I promise.”

  Liam scoffed slightly, but I could tell that he was relieved to hear it—and trying not to show that he was relieved. Oil and water, but I was glad that both of them were here. Glad not to be alone.

  “We’ll get through this,” I said.

  “If something happens to me, I’m sure Dr. Kapoor will cover it up for you,” Liam said wryly.

  “Well, if I die, gather up all of my stuff and send it to Dr. Andrew Ashford,” Abby said. “He’s the only person left in the world who would care what happened to me.”

  “I’d care,” I said.

  The corner of her mouth twitched. “You’ve known me a day, Sophia Novak.”

  “And I already like you better than anyone back home,” I said. “I’m not big on friends.”

  “Aw. I like you too,” she said.

  “Just to be clear,” Liam said, “I might be fake-dating you, but I don’t like you.”

  “Oh, no. Totally hate your guts. Glad it’s mutual,” Abby responded, and they gave each other a fist bump. I rolled my eyes, and Abby laughed. “I should get back to my room. I still haven’t gone through that stuff from the LARC.”

  “I’ll help. I’ve still got time before Dr. Kapoor needs me up at the Center,” I said. “Liam?”

  “I’d better get back into my bed before Dr. Kapoor figures out I’m not in it.”

  “Sweet dreams, sweetie,” Abby replied, and waggled her fingers at him. Then she hooked her arm through mine and pulled me off down the driveway. I twisted around to mouth sorry at him, but he just chuckled ruefully. Abby jostled me a little. “Be careful,” she said.

  “What, with Liam?”

  “Not just with Liam. With making friends. Especially with people like me.”

  “And what kind of person are you?” I asked.

  She was quiet a minute, like she couldn’t decide if it was a good idea to explain. When she did speak, her tone was serious, her words slow and careful. “I’m like you,” she said. “So focused on the prize I don’t care about the risk that it puts me in. Or puts other people in. We get killed. And we get people killed.”

  “No one’s going to die because of me,” I said dismissively.

  “Just be careful. Like I said.” She didn’t say anything more on the subject, but I couldn’t stop the words from looping in my mind, again and again. Echo and warning.

  Inside, we ditched our boots and padded past Lily, who stood staring at the brewing coffeepot with furious intensity, and Kenny, sprawled on the couch in the living room with his phone on his chest and his eyes closed.

  Abby had stowed the backpack of looted evidence under her bed. She set it on the bed and pulled out a stack of files, a bunch of loose papers, and a folded map. I grabbed the map.

  It reminded me of the one I’d found in the specimen room—marks and dates around the area. But that one hadn’t been updated since the eighties. This one had dates up to last summer, and the dots had short phrases next to them as well as dates.

  Oct. 17, 2015—cruise passenger reports cabin flooding, men screaming. No water found.

  Nov. 3, 2014—crew member on fishing vessel reported lost at sea. Storm confirmed by weather service, likely unrelated.

  There were no lines drawn on this one, but the dates on the map painted their own picture. The echo world’s impact was still spreading, year by year. Winter by winter, I realized, examining the dates more closely. The summer dates never exceeded the range of the previous winter. It was in the darkness that its influence grew. I turned my attention to the other papers. What had fallen into the category of “worth hiding”?

  There was data on the terns—notes on their mutations. Seven human teeth found growing in chest cavity, I read, and shuddered. These were the ones too strange to preserve or explain. There were weather reports and reports on currents, which I couldn’t make heads or tails of, and a number of photocopied documents in Russian that I set aside. Someone would be able to translate them for me.

  I was moving a manila envelope—this one actually full of receipts for reimbursement—when something made me pause. I hefted it. The weight was wrong. Unbalanced. What . . . ?

  I peered inside and let out a sound of satisfaction. An SD card was taped against th
e side of the envelope. The irregular shape of the receipts inside meant you’d never know it was there unless you actually looked in. I peeled it free and showed it to Abby. But Abby wasn’t paying attention. She was staring at something she’d pulled from one of the other envelopes—a photograph.

  “That doesn’t make any sense,” she said. She looked up. Her expression was lost.

  “What doesn’t?”

  She held the photo out. I recognized the backdrop immediately as Landontown on Belaya Skala, though the buildings were newer, freshly painted. It was a group shot: men with long hair in corduroy pants, women with high-waisted jeans with bell-bottoms, quintessential 1970s styles, the date confirmed by the fuzzy numbers in the bottom corner: July 1973. They looked out of place on the rugged island. There were four women and five men. I recognized the one at the center, a man with gleaming, intense eyes and the kind of face I could imagine people following all the way to the middle of nowhere to start a new society.

  “It’s Cole Landon,” I said. And the woman beside him with frothy blonde hair was his wife.

  “Not him. Them,” she said. She pointed at a man and a boy of maybe thirteen standing beside Landon. The man had a hand on the boy’s shoulder; both were smiling. Father and son, I thought; they had the same bold features and nearly black hair.

  “What about them?” I asked.

  “That’s my grandpa,” she said, pointing to the older man. “And that’s my dad.”

  “Are you sure?” I asked.

  “I’m sure. I’ve seen lots of pictures. My dad was really proud of his family—they’re sort of old money, big on legacy, you know? I grew up in a house that had a name and a dumbwaiter. He wanted us to know where we came from. But why would he be here?”

  “I don’t know. But I bet it’s why Miranda sent you here,” I said. “To find out.” Not to help me. I’d started to think of Abby as mine, my protector, my friend. But this wasn’t just about me.

  “It was in an envelope with this,” she said. She had a USB drive in her other hand.

  “What do you think’s on it?” I asked.

  “I don’t know,” she said. For once, she didn’t take the lead. She only stared at the photo and the drive, as if she wasn’t sure she wanted whatever answers were waiting.

  I took the drive from her. She almost looked like she wanted to stop me. “We have to find out,” I told her, and plugged it into the laptop.

  EXHIBIT H

  Video recorded by unknown Landontown resident

  SUMMER 1973, EXACT DATE AND TIME UNKNOWN

  The image is grainy. A group of people sit within a poorly lit room—the church on Belaya Skala. Cole Landon stands at the front.

  LANDON: Are we all here? Wonderful. As you no doubt have heard, we have special guests tonight. I’d like you all to welcome James Ryder and his son, Jimmy.

  The gathered assembly claps and lets out a chorus of friendly welcomes. A man at the front, the elder James Ryder, stands and waves as he steps up to join Landon.

  RYDER: When Cole first approached me, I knew he had something exciting on his hands. He’d heard about my interests and my expertise and thought I might be interested in helping to put this project together. Well, I’ll tell you, I was more than interested.

  He chuckles, and Landon grins.

  RYDER: You’re all aware of what we’re trying to accomplish. This place is a nexus. We don’t know why, but we know that here one of the great gates is opening. Seven worlds, friends, besides our own. Seven worlds filled with wonders. And one of them?

  He pauses for dramatic effect.

  RYDER: One of them is waiting just . . . out . . . of sight.

  He holds up a hand, as if he can almost touch that other world.

  RYDER: Once, the secrets of these worlds belonged to mankind. Once, the Eidolons, those glorious kings and queens, shared their knowledge and their power with the kingdoms of earth. The Eidolons have been trapped. But you . . . you are going to be the first to bring back one of the eidolons: the Seraph.

  A murmur, worshipful, goes around the gathering.

  LANDON: It’s not too late to stay, James.

  Ryder chuckles.

  RYDER: Would that I could. The Seraph is a being of beauty and immense power, but my heart has always yearned to serve another of its kin. The—

  The tape abruptly runs out.

  INTERVIEW

  Dr. Vanya Kapoor

  JULY 3, 2004

  Dr. Kapoor and Dr. Andrew Ashford sit across from one another at a table in the LARC break room. Ashford is smoking, and his eyes are dark with shadows. Both he and Dr. Kapoor look more than just fourteen years younger than present day—their faces unlined, hair free of gray, a sharpness to their eyes that age and the burdens of their lives have dulled.

  KAPOOR: You’ve seen everything now. Did you find what you wanted to?

  ASHFORD: What I wanted to? No. But answers, nonetheless.

  KAPOOR: And what about my answers? I think I deserve an explanation.

  ASHFORD: Just one?

  He laughs. The sound is hollow. He stubs out the cigarette.

  KAPOOR: Let’s start with what the hell an Eidolon is.

  ASHFORD: A king. Or a god. Or a demon. It depends on your point of view. There were seven. Seven kings of seven worlds. Long ago, long before the founding of Rome, the boundaries between their worlds and ours were thin. There were roads between them that you could simply walk down. The Eidolons demanded worship and tribute and sacrifice, and loosed horrors on humanity. Plagues. Monsters. Slaughter. And then they fell.

  KAPOOR: How?

  ASHFORD: There are many theories, but none of them is likelier than the next. Maybe some kind of disease. Or some kind of metaphysical change, like a natural—supernatural—disaster. Or else humanity fought back and won. Whatever it was, the seven worlds were broken. What remains of them now is to their original state what a rotting corpse is to a man. The Eidolons sealed away inside of them, behind what we call gates. Not literal gates, but metaphysical barriers, preventing them from entering our world.

  KAPOOR: And if they open?

  Ashford grimaces.

  ASHFORD: Then surely these benevolent gods shall shower us with blessings. That’s what Landon thought.

  KAPOOR: And this Ryder guy.

  Ashford makes a noncommittal sound.

  ASHFORD: Each world, each gate, is different. But in all cases, to open them requires people of our world who are in some way attuned to the one you are trying to reach. That attunement may be intrinsic, a matter of birth, or it may be manufactured by ritual or other unknown processes.

  KAPOOR: It sounds almost scientific.

  ASHFORD: We do our best to contain this madness with sterile words and rules, but the truth is, it’s a wilderness of ruin. As soon as you find a rule, you discover a situation where it doesn’t apply. Still. It gives us a framework. A way to comprehend the unknowable. But sometimes I wonder if that is more dangerous than accepting the wilderness.

  KAPOOR: What do you mean?

  ASHFORD: The men on the Krachka found something in the ocean. They should have cast it back, but they were curious. They kept it, and it wrecked them on the rocks and made these islands its home. The military thought to contain it in that bunker, guard and study it. Landon thought to worship it. All of them seeking a kind of understanding. But if they had only understood its one desire, they would have left it alone.

  KAPOOR: Its desire. The Six-Wing wants to be free.

  ASHFORD: Yes. But what you encountered wasn’t the Six-Wing.

  KAPOOR: No? Because I counted. There were definitely six wings.

  ASHFORD: Let me be more accurate: the Eidolon that Landon was trying to free is the Seraph. The Six-Wing is not the Seraph. Not an Eidolon. The worlds you wandered through were ec
hoes, layered over each other, creating a bridge between the Seraph’s world and ours. And the creature that inhabited them was an echo too. The Six-Wing, as you call it, is the echo of the Eidolon called the Seraph.

  KAPOOR: How can you be sure?

  ASHFORD: If you had met the true Seraph, you would not have made it out.

  KAPOOR: Not all of us did.

  ASHFORD: Even the echo of a god is a dangerous thing.

  18

  A KNOCK ON the door made us jump. Abby tossed a throw blanket over the papers and shut her laptop as the door opened. It was Lily.

  “We’re heading out,” she informed us. “And Liam is here, looking for Abby.”

  “Right,” Abby said dully. “Be right there.” She palmed the USB drive and the SD card, which I’d set down on the bedspread. She put both in her bag, along with her laptop—more of her habit of keeping all the evidence with her at all times, and I didn’t blame her. With everything that was going on, I wouldn’t be surprised to find Dr. Kapoor or even Mrs. Popova going through our things.

  She grabbed her bag. “I’ll see you, Hayes.” Her voice was tight. We needed to talk about what we’d seen on that drive. She needed to talk—needed to get it out, the confusion and the betrayal, before it festered like a wound. Her grandfather had been here, had been involved. And her boss, the man who’d taken care of her for years, had known.

  At least my foster parents hadn’t known they were keeping secrets from me.

  “See you,” I said, because Lily was there and we had no choice but to let silence win. Abby gave me a weak wave, looking more like she was walking to the guillotine than to meet up with her supposed boyfriend, and headed out.