Music Box (The Dollhouse Books, #4) (6 page)

Jack leans heavily on the counter, his face turned up to the ceiling.  He stares at the snow coming through as if it’s an enemy he can’t quite figure out.

Deandra drops to her knees by the fridge, pulling out a piece of water-logged paper from underneath it. “It’s a note from Mike,” she tells Jack.

He frowns at the limp note in her hand. “What does it say?”

“Says they went to the camp already. The army came into town and took all remaining food supplies, and told them to head off.”

“Anything else?” he asks.

“He just says he’ll see you at the camp.”

Jacks shrugs, but the shrug is stiff. “Well, okay then. So, we’ll stay here overnight and head out again tomorrow.”

Pulling up a stool, I seat myself at the kitchen counter. Every muscle in my legs aches. “Who’s Mike? Your brother?”

“Yeah,” says Jack. “Got three teenage kids. His wife died of cancer four years ago.”

Deandra starts pulling out the food she’s packed in a backpack. We eat at the kitchen counter, the kids asking when they’re going to see their cousins.

Afterward, we put the mobiles away in the shed—Jack keeping both ignition keys safely in his pocket.

Darkness drops down like a smothering curtain, and the temperature plunges. It’s too dangerous to light a fire. The house is dark everywhere except for the attic and there’s nothing to do except sleep. Jared asks repeatedly to go home and starts crying, balling his fists under his chin. Jack carries him downstairs, and they all sleep together in the same room. I hear the lock turn on the door. They don’t trust me—that much is evident.

I haven’t known silence and darkness as complete as this—except for The Dark Way of the dollhouse. Bunking down in a kid’s bedroom, I fall into a dream—of a girl in an antique wedding dress, of a girl locked away beneath a castle. I try to reach her, but the more I run toward her, the further away she gets. I hear her voice, everywhere, as she tells me the name of the man she was forced to marry—
Balthazar.
Every muscle clenches as I wake in a cold sweat.

~.~

It took three days to reach Illinois. The huge towns we passed through on the way were emptied of people—either dead or gone. There was a small supply of oil hidden at Mike’s house—enough to refuel the mobiles for the first leg, but not enough to keep going. Jack and I searched people’s abandoned houses for any sign of fuel or food—making sure the kids didn’t see any of those families who’d stayed too long and had frozen to death.

Jack and Deandra understood at least this much—the world had changed, and stealing wasn’t stealing, anymore. It was survival.

On the last night, we saw distant explosions lighting up the sky like fireworks. I couldn’t guess as to what that was about, but I didn’t like it. Jack didn’t want to talk about it. His mind was bent on reaching camp, and that was it.

When we reached Camp Greenwillow in Chicago, I could see Jack and Deandra visibly relax. Much of the desperation of the last few days lifted from their expressions. Everything was going to be okay now.

Jack stretches his long limbs. Deandra carefully collects Jared from the mobile—he’s somehow fallen asleep on the ride here.

The camp is in an area of buildings that seem as though they were abandoned decades before the ice claimed the world. They have a haggard, empty look. The camp lies below a steep hill. People mill everywhere. The army herds some of them into a multi-story factory, and the rest into waiting trucks. It’s going to be an uncomfortable ride, wherever they’re headed.

The army don’t look like any army I’ve ever seen. Something about them looks... wrong. A cold shudder runs the length of my spine. The people wear the army fatigues and gear, but the bodies wearing them don’t move like trained personnel. They’re sloppy and round-shouldered—more like citizens pretending to play soldiers. I mention this to Jack, but he shrugs.

“Maybe they’ve got civilians helping out, eh?” He starts unpacking the mobiles.

“But why put them in army gear?” I persist.

“So that people know who to pay attention to? Hell, I don’t know. What does it matter?”

“What if none of them are the army, Jack? What if they’re just people like you and me?” I stare down the hill. “Why are they loading people onto trucks?”

“Guessing they must be shifting ’em out. Maybe to NYC, as I said before. Let’s go. If they’re closing this camp down, we may as well show ourselves and get out of here as soon as possible. Doesn’t look like they have a lot in the way of facilities here.”

“You don’t need a lot of facilities for a cattle drive,” I tell him. “Doesn’t look like there was ever a refuge here. They’ve just been shipping them out as soon as they have a truckload. And people are coming to them—they don’t even have to go out and hunt them down.”

“Hunt them down? That’s strong language.” He straps a backpack over his shoulders. “Okay, stop right there. You’ve got some kind of paranoid fantasies about enemies, don’t you kid? Or are you afraid of the authorities for a reason? Do something wrong, eh? Got the army or the police looking for you back in Florida?”

“There’s no army in Florida. I was hoping they were here, but every minute that goes by tells me that there’s no army here, maybe no army left anywhere.” My words end on a note of desperation.

“Now you’re just being ridiculous.”

“Didn’t you wonder why they’re letting people starve to death in Canada? It’s because no one can help you.”

I’m saying too much. I can’t very well go ahead and explain that alien serpents sent forth their shadows to annihilate the military, or any other threat to them, everywhere. It’s only too obvious that Jack and Deandra have been isolated from all of that, and they’ll think I’m a raving lunatic.

Jack shoots me a strange look. “Well, here’s where you and us part ways. Dee and I thank you for staying with us and helping to get us through the hairy bits. You can be on your way now—either by the easy way on an army truck, or find your own way. I’m going to wish you luck.”

I stare at them with a million thoughts buzzing through my head. “I won’t let you go down there.”

Deandra exchanges glances with her husband. “Ethan, you can hardly stand in our way.”

I shake my head. “I’d let you go, but you’ve got kids. Those people in uniform down there—they won’t care about your kids. I don’t want to say it in front of them, but I’m telling you the truth. You’ll be handing them over to the worst of the worst, and once you do, there’s no going back. They’ve got the weapons and the power.”

Her stare is dark. “They’re the military.”

“They’re not the military. The military is gone. They may be wearing the uniforms and driving army vehicles, but it’s not what it looks like. Look at them for a moment—do any of them look like army men and women to you? Watch the way they walk.”

“Enough of this,” says Jack gruffly. “You’re talking in circles. Dee, let’s head off. Ethan here can go off and find his own way.”

She swallows. “I think we should wait... just a little while. It won’t hurt us just to watch for a few minutes.”

“You’re not serious?” He raises his eyebrows at her and holds the expression, as though demanding an answer.

“I just want to be sure,” she tells him.

He looks as though he’s trying to see her side, but isn’t succeeding. “Dee, would it make you happy if I go down there and check things out first?” He turns to me. “You come with me.”

I shake my head. “Sorry. I’m not handing myself over to them.”

He crosses his arms in confused frustration. “Well I’m not leaving you here with my wife and kids. Take one of the mobiles—leave. Got it? You’re free to go.”

“Trust me—that’s exactly what I want to do. But I can’t just walk away. You people saved my life. Listen to me—we need to turn around and go back, and find another way south. Don’t go down there.”

Jack takes out binoculars from his pocket. Looking from side to side, he searches the people walking about at the bottom of the hill. “That’s Kate.”

“What’s she doing?” Deandra squints as she tries to see whoever Jack has spotted.

“Walking into the factory.” He adjusts the binoculars. “Wait, I see the boys and Mike too.”

Deandra holds the sleeping Jared closer to her chest. “Okay, so they’re not being put onto the trucks yet. Why don’t we wait it out while Jared has his nap? He gets crabby if he doesn’t get rest. When he wakes, we’ll go down there.” She points to what looks like an old bakery. “We could just wait in there.”

Jack weighs up her words, then nods. “Okay, we’ll wait until he wakes.” He turns to me. “But you can leave. I won’t tell you again.”

I zip my coat up to my throat and pull my ski cap down over my ears. There’s nothing left to say—no way of convincing him that things look very wrong down there in the camp. I don’t look at the kids and Deandra as I step out the door. I don’t want to see their faces. I’ve seen enough faces of families who disappeared into the holding camps of the rangers, never to be seen again.

––––––––

C
ASSIE

I climbed on top of the railing, and stepped along it while balancing myself. In my favorite fantasy, I tumbled through the night sky like a falling star, tasting the salty ocean mist—all the way to the rocks below. I willed a wind to creep up and send me over the edge. But the night was still. Nothing but a clammy, languid warmth moved through the air.

I prayed that my mind would leave me completely, and I would just jump. Insanity would absolve me of my selfish actions. But for now, I could not jump and die. I could not allow the doubles of me to be taken from their normal lives and brought into this horror, or allow the people of other earths to perish under the might of Balthazar’s wrath.

Tonight, the old wall was beaded with dew. My feet slid slightly as I walked along the top edge, the ragged edge of my dress catching under my heels. I went to step forward, but my knee buckled. Falling backwards, I made a desperate grab for the wall. My fingers grabbed at the bottom outside edge of the balcony, my legs thrashing mid-air. In seconds I would lose my grip.

To the side of me, something glinted dully in the moonlight—a thick metal chain. Pushing my foot into one of the chain’s links, I caught my breath. Unable to hold on any longer, I let go and clutched the chain. Swinging crazily, I snapped my head upward, catching sight of the rusted links. If the chain snapped, I’d be gone. Adrenaline pumped through me. I was so used to being numb that it was hard to understand why I had fought so hard not to fall, hard to grasp why I cared.

I studied the chain underneath my fingers. Thin threads of fear wound through me, tightening and knotting in my stomach. I recognized the chain—it was identical to one used in a torture device in Balthazar’s caverns. Had he hung people out here to slowly die?

Another thought stole into my mind. Had someone stolen the chain from Balthazar and put it here, someone who was trying to escape? I craned my head downward, my body turning precariously to and fro. The chain was well-hidden, fixed to the underside of the ocean passage and concealed by the jutting cliff face. The only way of seeing it was by climbing over the wall and almost sending yourself to your death. If someone had placed it here as an escape route, they must have been desperate. The chain ended about twenty feet down—if there had been more of it, it had rusted away.

A tiny rock ledge sat underneath the end of the swinging chain. Enough to stand on—enough for a snatched moment away from my endless walks from Balthazar’s chambers to the ocean passage. The chain seemed sturdy enough—at least, it had held me so far. Breathing deeply, I made my way down. The links in the chain were just big enough to squeeze my feet into. I dropped down onto the rock ledge. The underside of the ocean passage was now high above.

I was now somewhere I was not supposed to be. A small, defiant tremble rushed through me. I squashed myself into the cliff wall. The ledge was barely big enough to hold my feet. My body tumbled backwards into a crevice in the cliff. I screamed as my hands were wrenched from the chain.

My thigh bone hit the rock floor. The crevice went deep into the rock face. Exhaling sharply, I picked myself up and looked around at the small space inside the crevice. It was more of an extremely narrow cave than a crevice, just high enough to stand upright in. Moonlight washed through the dark sea air. Candles and flint lay on the floor. Someone had been here before me. Something else caught my eye. A makeshift hook had been shoved into a crack in the wall—a long piece of rotting material hanging from it. A flag of some kind? I held the material up. It was a dress and some kind of cape. Pieces of the material came away in my hand. It made no sense that anyone would put clothing here. I edged further into the space. I felt along the wall, into the black depths of the crevice. With a start I realized that it continued on.

My heart pounded as I stepped through the opening into a passage. If I were to be found and caught by someone now, Balthazar might be summoned. My throat went dry as dark images of the devices in his chambers chilled my mind.

Only the barest sliver of moonlight followed through the crevice and into the passage. In one direction, the passage went upward—the way blocked with thick, gnarled tree roots. In the other direction, it wound downward. Trembling, I headed downward. I had to know what lay at the other end.

The air grew thicker, moister. The sound of the ocean boomed in my ears. Tripping and stumbling, I made my way through the pitch darkness, not knowing where I was headed.

The tunnel plunged deeper and deeper. Water trickled in along the floor. I had to be close to the ocean itself. I started running. I hadn’t run in weeks and weeks, but now I ached to feel my body move.

Water surged in, soaking my feet and the bottom layers of my dress. Picking my dress up, I kept running. Moonlight bleached the tunnel walls. I stepped out into a cave that looked out to sea. Gasping, I stared upward at the hull of an ancient ship. Of enormous scale, it was lying on its side—its decks exposed to the rushing ocean. Moonlight outlined its masts and cannons and the rusted iron mermaid on its bow.