Lost in the Echo (6 page)

10

Frost gingerly touched the side of her head, looked at her fingers and saw blood. The spot was sore from where it had cracked against the window.

Winslow was hunched over the steering wheel, coughing.

She gently touched his shoulder. “Are you okay?”

He winced, sitting up. “I think so. You?”

“A little bump on my head, but I should be fine.”

She turned around in her seat to check on Griffin and Dodge. Both looked shaken up, but otherwise alright.

Griffin squinted out the window at the pickup truck that had hit them. “Is that Charley Wilson?”

Frost opened her door. “Only one way to find out.”

She placed her foot on the ground and immediately had the sense the world was tilting. Was this another shift?
No
, she thought,
it’s just me
. She suspected she had a minor concussion.

She placed her hand against the side of the SUV, steadying herself. Taking a deep breath, she focused on the ground for a beat, then marched straight for the black Ford pickup.

The right front-end was smashed up a bit, but otherwise the truck looked decent. The airbag had deployed, and Charley was pushing it away when she flung open the door.

“What the hell did you think you were doing?” Frost asked.

“Me?” He was dazed, blood on his face from where the airbag had punched him. “You guys came out of nowhere.”

“What are
you
doing down here?” Frost asked. She knew he had a point, but she couldn’t think of a single good reason for anyone in town to be driving around on their own.

Something changed in his eyes. Frost couldn’t tell what it was at first. It was like he was trying to decide something important but didn’t want Frost to know. Not only that, he reeked of booze. The whole truck did.

She made a show of sniffing the truck. “Seriously? After we let you out? How much did you have to drink?”

“Aw, come on, Deputy—”

“It’s ‘Sheriff.’”

Charley looked confused for a moment, but he was no longer looking at her, he was looking past her. She turned and found Griffin taking up a defensive position behind a tree, aiming his handgun back down the long drive.

“Ignore him and answer the question,” Frost said.

“Okay.
Sheriff
. I only had a few. Not that many. But even if I was stone cold sober, it wouldn’t have changed a goddamn thing. You guys shot out of there like a cannonball.”

By that point, Winslow and Dodge had climbed out of the SUV and joined her around the pickup truck. Both of them were carrying weapons. Griffin fell back and joined them, his eyes still on the road out to the depot.

Charley’s eyes grew big as he noticed they were all armed. “Whoa now. What are you going to do with those? It was just an accident!”

“Someone was just shooting at us,” Griffin said.

“
Shooting
at you?”

“On the way up to the depot,” Griffin said, and then eyed Charley. “What are you doing here anyway?”

“Question of the day,” Charley said and then shrugged. “I came to help.”

Frost looked skeptical. “Help who?”

“You guys. I heard you were headed to the depot to find weapons and supplies or whatever. I came to help.”

“From the smell of it,” Griffin said, “you probably should have just stayed at the bar.”

Charley’s face tightened. “Look, I’ve been a fuck-up in the past. I know that. But the shit’s hit the big fucking fan, and I want to pull my weight. So, I’m here to help. And if you have a problem with that, you can just go fuck yourself, thank you very much.”

“Okay, that’s enough.” Frost stood with her hands on her hips, thinking things through. “The real question we need answered is why someone was shooting at us. Actually, no, the question is
who
was shooting at us? I thought the depot was supposed to be empty?”

“That’s what Julie told me,” Griffin said. “But how could she know for certain?”

“Maybe they’re squatters?” Winslow offered.

“On military property?” Griffin replied.

Winslow rubbed his head. “Well, whoever it was, it seems they don’t want visitors.”

“Maybe not,” Dodge said.

They all looked at him, waited for him to go on, and when he didn’t, Frost asked, “What do you mean?”

Dodged cleared his throat. “Maybe…whoever shot at us was actually trying to get our attention.”

“Well,” Winslow gestured at his vehicle, “they certainly got my attention.”

“You mean they were trying to warn us off?” Griffin asked.

Dodge nodded. “Maybe something’s happened up there. Something bad. It looked like part of the fence had been destroyed.”

They were quiet for a moment, thinking about it, the Ford’s engine ticking quietly.

Charley was still behind the steering wheel, sniffing back blood. “So what do we do now?”

“It depends,” Griffin said. He looked at the pickup’s front end. “Does this thing still run?”

11

This wasn’t a good idea. Charley knew it wasn’t. This whole thing, the more he thought about it, was completely fucked. But what was he supposed to do? Tell them about the men at the depot? That would raise even more questions, the first being how exactly would Charley know about the men at all? So, no, he wasn’t going to say anything. He might not be completely sober, but he was lucid enough to keep his mouth shut. He could even picture Julie pointing a finger in his face, telling him to keep his stupid mouth shut. So yeah, he could do that, no problem there. But this? This was insane.

“Buckle up.”

Griffin now sat behind the steering wheel, Charley in the passenger seat. Griffin gripped the wheel, getting adjusted to what it felt like with the airbag deployed.

Charley was in a daze. Thinking about his options. Knowing he didn’t have many. Tell the truth and cause trouble. Not tell the truth and let trouble happen. In the end it all came down to which trouble was worse.

Griffin snapped a finger in Charley’s face. “Hey, did you hear me?”

Charley blinked. Griffin was giving him a worried look. Swallowing, he nodded and quickly buckled his seatbelt.

Just tell the truth
, a part of his mind said, the part he suspected was always sober.
Just tell the truth and worry about the consequences later. Because this right here—this madness—is going to get you killed
.

Maybe so. But what would Griffin and Frost and the others do if they learned the truth? Would they go so far as to kill him? No, Charley knew it would never go that far, but still he decided it was best to let things play out, see what happened next. Because the only way to improve his situation was to stay quiet, even if that meant risking his life.

Griffin turned the key in the ignition. The truck rumbled to life. Griffin glanced back through the rear window, gave a thumbs-up and then threw the truck in gear.

“Hold on.”

Charley closed his eyes. He didn’t want to see it happen. He didn’t want to see the bullets tearing through the windshield. He had no doubt that the men at the depot would open fire on them. They had before. Why not again? Even Griffin knew it, and that’s why he was taking the lead. The pickup out front, the SUV trailing, all with the simple hope that this kooky plan was somehow going to work.

So Charley kept his eyes closed, while Griffin took his foot off the brake and punched the gas. And he kept them closed while the pickup started up the drive, gaining speed. Even when Griffin started swerving the truck back and forth, his eyes remained squeezed together like a Venus fly trap with a cramp.

And when the first round hit the truck, he closed his eyes even tighter.

The bullet pinged off the Ford’s hood, much like a loose rock would. Charley wasn’t even sure it was a bullet, except that Griffin cursed under his breath and swerved even more, gunning the engine, the truck nearly screaming as they accelerated.

Charley finally opened his eyes when Griffin said, “Brace yourself,” and he saw the fence rushing toward them, the truck now going nearly fifty miles per hour. He noticed the bullet hole in the pickup’s hood a moment before the truck crashed through the gate.

The first building was maybe fifty feet away. Griffin was already coming at it too fast and had to slam on the brakes. The tires locked and the back of the pickup fishtailed as they swerved right toward the building. But Griffin, a competent driver, managed to regain control and brought the truck to a stop just feet from the long building’s metal side.

Griffin cut the engine, tore off his seatbelt, and opened his door. He had his gun out and was stepping out of the truck, as Charley heard the SUV’s tires screeching behind them.

“Come on,” Griffin shouted, “let’s move!”

Charley fumbled with his seatbelt. He got it off, yanked the door handle and pushed into it. But the door remained shut, and Charley smacked his head against the glass. “Fuck!” He’d somehow locked it during the drive. He pulled the lock, tried the door again and hopped out of the truck onto steady feet, the effects of his alcohol negated by a rush of adrenaline. By the time Charley rounded the back, the others were out of the SUV, weapons drawn. Even the pastor. Charley felt uncommonly vulnerable, being the only one without a gun.

The ground trembled, the cause unseen.

“Did you see where the shooting came from?” Griffin asked the others, his voice quiet.

Before any of them could answer him, the ground trembled again, this time with more force.

“Is this another shift?” Dodge asked, near panic.

“Don’t move!”

They all turned in the direction of the voice.

A big man dressed in black fatigues stalked toward them, despite an obvious limp. He held a rifle, but he wasn’t aiming it at them.

Frost aimed her gun at him, first, then Griffin, then Winslow, then Dodge.

The man stopped. He stared back at them, as if uncertain what to say or do. Then he lifted his finger to his lips.

It was such a strange gesture that none of them immediately knew how to respond.

Frost said, “I’m Sheriff Helena Frost. Who are you?”

“Shh!” the man said, still keeping the finger to his lips.

Frost looked at Griffin, as if asking for help. Griffin didn’t seem to know what to say. Frost started to take a step forward.

The muzzle of the rifle swung up toward her.

“I said, don’t move.”

“Who are you?” Frost asked. “What are you doing here?”

“Goddamn it, lady, shut the fuck up!”

Rising panic in his voice.

Not good
, Charley thought. This man was a soldier, one of the best, hired for his expertise. Soldiers like this didn’t scare easily.

Beneath them, the ground trembled again.

Frost lowered her voice and asked, “What
is
that?”

The soldier just shook his head.

Frost started to take another step forward.

“I’m serious, lady,” the soldier said, keeping the rifle aimed at her, “you take another step, and I’ll drop you where you stand.”

Griffin extended his gun at the soldier. “Not if I shoot you first.”

The soldier shook his head. “You people have no fucking clue what you’re doing. I’m trying to save your lives.”

“You’re not going to shoot me,” Frost said, and began to take another step forward.

Charley had had enough. “Frost, listen to the man, damnit!”

But she didn’t.

“Stop!” the soldier shouted.

Immediately his eyes went wide, fear filling his face. Nothing happened for a second, and then the ground trembled once again.

“What
is
that?” Frost asked again.

As if in answer, something shot out of the ground. It was just on the other side of the fence, maybe forty feet away. It rose out of the grass, stretching up, high into the sky.

They all turned and watched it, none of them saying a word, as they stared in silence.

“Dear Lord,” Dodge said.

It looked like a giant rope, twisting around on itself, fifty feet in height, but perhaps three times that in total length, hanging suspended in the air.

Only, Charley realized, it wasn’t a rope. Of
course,
it wasn’t a rope. Nothing would ever be that simple or mundane again.

In an instant the thing shot forward, right at Dodge. It struck like a whip, wrapping around the pastor’s legs and yanking him off his feet.

12

For a moment Frost didn’t move. She
couldn’t
move, stuck in place, completely shocked.

What is this? Dear God, what is this?
she thought.

Dodge screamed as the thing wrapped around his ankles and pulled him away. Frost had the sudden realization that she had never heard the man truly scream before. Shout out, yes. Cry out, certainly. It wasn’t uncommon for the man to get excited at the pulpit. But his voice filled with sheer terror? Never.

Movement to her side jolted her from her paralysis. The soldier rushed past them toward Dodge. He had the rifle out, aimed at the pastor, and for one insane moment, Frost thought he meant to shoot Dodge in the head. It would stop the screaming, that was for sure, but it was unthinkable, and Frost couldn’t allow it. She took aim, but the bullets that tore through the air weren’t hers. The soldier opened fire.

But not at Dodge. The bullets tore past Dodge and chewed up the rope-monster at its base, where it emerged from the ground.

The thing paused briefly, as its base was torn to shreds. It released Dodge’s ankle, then rose up in the air again, wobblier than before. By then, the soldier and Griffin had reached Dodge. They grabbed him together, like soldiers who had worked together before, and dragged him back toward the rest of them.

The whole thing had taken place in the matter of only seconds. Frost knew she needed to do something—she needed to act—but she wasn’t sure what to do. The proper response to this kind of situation wasn’t taught at the police academy. Then again, she doubted the military trained for giant monsters and alternate universes either, yet here were Griffin and the unknown soldier reacting with trained efficiency.

Frost hurried toward them as the creature rose higher into the air. The soldier kept firing at the base of it, but with one hand gripping Dodge, his aim was off.

The thing snapped forward again, right at Dodge and the soldier. It wrapped around the rifle and tore it out of the soldier’s hand. Frost and Griffin opened fire at the thing’s base. What they lacked in automatic fire, they made up for with accuracy. The thing rose up in the air a third time, but Frost had the distinct impression that it was weakened and unsteady.

Now with both hands free, the soldier yanked Dodge to his feet. They turned and started running, all four of them, Winslow and Charley only yards away and watching them, when suddenly they stopped.

A smattering of white motes drifted toward them. From all sides. Frost recognized them as dandelion seeds—much larger than normal, but in this new world
everything
was bigger.

“We won’t make it,” the soldier said, more to himself than to them. Then, his voice rising to a shout: “Get in the SUV!”

They scrambled forward. After what just happened, they weren’t going to question the soldier, especially when it was apparent he knew more about what was going on than they did.

Winslow climbed into the front passenger’s seat. Charley slid in behind him. Dodge and Frost leapt into the back from the other side while the soldier and Griffin squeezed into the front, Griffin behind the wheel. All four doors slammed closed, just as the dandelion seeds reached them, tapping frantically against the windows. The seeds had actually
chased
them into the SUV!

The windshield became covered in soft white, like they were stuck in a blizzard. Frost turned to the window next to her, leaning in for a closer look. The large seeds had fluffy tops for catching the air, but also what looked like delicate fins, perhaps for steering or even propulsion. Extending down from the fragile looking top was a long shaft, at the bottom of which was a quarter-sized bulb...with a mouth...and teeth.
Sharp
teeth.

“We can’t stay here,” the soldier said. “We need to move.”

The key was already in the ignition. Griffin turned it and the engine struggled but did not turn over.

“Oh my God.” Winslow said.

At first, Frost thought Winslow was commenting on the failing engine, but then she noticed where he was looking—the bullet hole near the top of the windshield. The seeds had found the opening. They were trying to push through.

Winslow started to reach forward, thought better of it, leaned over and opened the glove compartment and started rummaging through it. He came back out with the owner’s manual and held it over the bullet hole.

“Here,” he said to the soldier beside him, “hold this in place.”

As the soldier kept the owner’s manual in place, Griffin tried the engine again. Again it struggled but did not turn over.

“It flooded earlier,” Winslow said. “I think because of the crash.”

Griffin tried it again.

Once more the engine struggled but didn’t fire up.

The soldier said, “We
have
to move.”

Griffin tried the engine a fourth time.

It struggled again, but Griffin kept the key turned, and after a cough, the engine rumbled to life.

Griffin flicked on the windshield wipers. They struggled against the weight of the seeds, some of which burst and smeared creamy white fluid on the glass, but it was enough to give them a view of the outside.

“Head toward the second building,” the soldier said. “The hanger on the left.”

Griffin threw the SUV into gear and punched the gas. They jerked forward. The sudden jolt caused several seeds to disengage from the vehicle.

Keeping the owner’s manual against the windshield, the soldier reached over and leaned on the horn.

“What are you doing?” Griffin said.

“Just keep going.”

“The door’s closed.”

“Just keep going!”

They were moving fast, fifty yards away, forty yards, thirty, the soldier still leaning on the horn. When they were less than twenty yards away, the large door began to open. It wasn’t opening very quickly, though, and Griffin had no choice but to press down on the brakes to give it enough time so they could slip through.

Griffin slowed to a stop, threw the SUV into park. Behind them, the hanger door lowered, cutting out the sunlight. For a moment there was complete silence, all of them just sitting there breathing quietly.

Then the world turned to fire.