6
Julie stood near the window at the front of Soucey’s Market, right near the stack of Kingsford Charcoal, watching Sheriff Frost, Griffin Butler and Pastor Dodge climb into Winslow Herman’s SUV. Winslow fired up the engine, said something to Frost in the passenger seat, and started south down Main Street.
She waited until they were completely out of view before stepping away from the window and heading toward the door.
“Excuse me, ma’am, didn’t you hear what the Sheriff said? It’s best if you stay here for now.”
It was one of the local yokels. Not the owner of the place, but one of the part-timers.
Julie tried to keep her cool. “Actually, the Sheriff said we didn’t have to stay here. She said we could return to our homes, if we’d like. And right now, that’s just what I want to do.”
The yokel didn’t seem like he knew how to respond to this. He just stared at her for a long moment, as if trying to figure her out. Finally he nodded. “Yes, ma’am, absolutely. You just be careful, okay?”
She turned away and pushed through the door, releasing an angry breath. She didn’t have much time. Not with the sheriff and the rest of them already headed to the depot. Fortunately, she didn’t have far to go. Not that she was positive she would find him at the Brick House, which was only a couple of buildings down from Soucey’s, but it was a safe bet.
She walked the distance with her eyes on the sky, each clack of her heels striking the sidewalk feeling more and more like the ticking of Captain’s Hook’s crocodile, reminding her that doom was near. She made a mental note to change her clothes when she had a chance.
As expected, she found him sitting at the bar, hunched over a beer and carefully peeling the label off the bottle. A few other people were in the Brick House, too, drowning away their fears the old fashioned way. Walter Harrison stood behind the bar, filling a pitcher like it was just any other day. His black hair was slicked back with gel. He was dressed in his uniform of blue jeans and a flannel. His face was neatly shaven. Of everyone in town, the recent changes seemed to be affecting him the least. Julie guessed she understood. When the world fell apart, it was a bartender’s job to keep everyone’s sanity together.
“Get you anything, Ms. Barnes?”
She didn’t know why, but his referring to her like that always made her uncomfortable. She could never tell if he was being sincere or using the formal nature to berate her. As was almost always the case, she managed to shake it off and forced a smile. “No thanks.” She steered herself toward Charley Wilson, sitting at the far end of the bar.
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, some
things
are almost always created by some
ones
. 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!”