Domino Falls (22 page)

The circle erupted into protests. “No way!” said Manny, a wiry Latino man in his twenties. “It's propaganda. That damn flu shot caused the outbreak. Either that, or the poisons big pharma added to the diet pill. We grow these from spores. The
real
deal. Wales says it's good for the mind.”

Don't do it.
Kendra's voice was suddenly so vivid that Sonia thought she must be standing over her. Sonia considered passing the foil along, but the eyes of the others were watching her, waiting. Was this a rite of initiation?

“But what . . . happens?” Sonia said.

“Clears your thoughts,” Moe said. “Lays everything out simple. Oh, and you won't be hungry all day tomorrow.”

“Or the next day,” someone muttered.

They laughed—a few of them too hard, sounding stoned.
No thanks,
Sonia thought she heard herself say, but instead she placed a small strip of a mushroom on her tongue. Slightly smoky taste, but not unpleasant. She swallowed it without chewing.

The circle applauded her. “Welcome to a whole new world!” Moe said.

Sonia passed the foil to Chris, but he shook his head and passed it along. “Gotta work in the morning. Can't spend the next eight hours daydreaming.”

“
Eight
hours?” If Chris wouldn't take the mushroom, why had she?

“It's not like that,” Manny said. “For me, it's more like six. Won't kick in for a half hour, so relax. It's a real smooth ride.”

Chris tried to hold Sonia's hand, but she politely found ways to pull away and busy her hand whenever she could. She liked Chris, but she wasn't ready to stake out a new guy when she could still feel Piranha's hand in hers. Besides, she had to choose carefully. Sonia remembered the twinkle in Wales's eyes. She might never be Wales's official girlfriend, but she could be one of his ambassadors. The next time she went to the mansion, who knew what might happen?

The group was playing a strange role-playing game with twenty-sided dice (“It's an interpretation of a game from fifteenth-century Japan,” Moe explained), just like they were at a never-ending party at a ThreadieCon.

“You all live here?” Sonia said, surveying the tents outside of the house.

Moe rolled the dice and made his move. “Yeah, everyone who
works at the ranch is either a Threadie or a Gold Shirt. Most of us stay here. Convenience, protection . . . plus, it's way more fun than town.”

The group groaned. “That's for sure,” said a half-pretty girl who'd introduced herself as Cindy Lou. With orange pigtails despite being at least sixteen, she reminded Sonia of Pippi Longstocking. “You've seen town. Gloom and doom. Backstabbing and gossip. Everybody spying on everybody else.” Cindy Lou looked sideways at Sonia. “We might have room for another Threadie.”

Moe snorted softly. “Wales would like her. He likes 'em skinny.”

Sonia tried to hide the surge of excitement she felt. “And he pretty much gets anything he wants?”

Cindy Lou laughed. “What do
you
think? The whole town is alive because of him. What he did. What he built. He's a great man.”

“Yes, he is,” Sonia said, hoping she had proper enthusiasm in her voice. “A hero.”

Chris's voice dropped a confidential octave, and he reached for her hand again. “You don't get it. There's so much more. I'll tell you for a kiss.”

“Go fish,” Sonia said, playing coy. “Just tell me.”

Chris sighed, although he didn't look mad. “He sees things. He saw all this coming, and wrote about it. Didn't realize even what he was writing. I think maybe we all saw a little of it, and that's why the movies were so popular.”

“But without the spaceships,” Sonia reminded him.

“Instead of a space invasion, it's a freak invasion,” he said. “Same difference. And there's something else . . .”

The night assumed a deeper silence between their words.

“What?”

“A miracle,” said chubby Moe, and Sonia almost rolled her eyes. The only miracle, she thought, would be if this guy ever got a girlfriend.

“You've seen a miracle?” Sonia said.

“No,” he admitted. “But . . . some of the Gold Shirts did. Right, Chris? And one day, we'll all see it.”

“That's the rumor,” Chris said, noncommittal. His mood had changed.

“Come on,” Sonia whispered to Chris playfully. She kissed his cheek. “Tell me.”

Chris's face turned bright red even in the firelight. “Not one day,” he said. “Soon. Everybody at the mansion's excited about something. Then the townies will have to shut up and take Wales seriously.”

Cindy Lou suddenly pointed. “Hey, see that? Maybe it's starting now.”

A large dark pickup truck was headed toward the mansion from town, driving so fast that it kicked up a cloud of dust. Red brake lights flared.

“Nah,” Chris said. “I'd have heard.” He kept watchful eyes on the mansion while the others played on. “That's weird.”

“What's so weird about it?” Sonia said. “People don't drive onto the ranch?”

“I know that truck,” Chris said. “He doesn't exactly have an invitation.” He propped up his binoculars to get a better look, a pose that reminded her of Piranha. Or Terry. She sidled a bit closer to him, but he had forgotten her.

“Whose truck is that?”

“I can't discuss work stuff, Sonia,” he lectured her, and her face turned red. He was the one who'd brought up the truck, trying to impress them. But she didn't argue.

Moe was in the midst of trying to give Sonia instructions on
the dice game when Chris stood up and put on his Gold Shirt, carefully buttoning it to his collar.

“You said you're off tonight!” Cindy Lou complained.

“Just curious,” Chris said. “I'm gonna ride the scooter over.”

He cast an apologetic glance at Sonia, almost an afterthought. He had promised to ride her back to the Motel 6 on his scooter. Now what?

Chris held his hand out to her. “Come with me,” he said.

“I'm just a civilian. You sure that's okay?” She didn't hide her sarcasm.

He winced and smiled apologetically. “I'm sure. We won't get too close.”

Could she feel the mushroom already? The night seemed to dance before Sonia's eyes as Chris pulled her to her feet.

During the quick ride to Wales's gates, cool air caressed Sonia's face as
she wrapped her arms around Chris's narrow waist. She wished she could enjoy the ride, but she could tell right away that something was wrong.

The large black Chevy truck was parked outside the gate.

“Wales!” a man's voice boomed. “Send her out here
right now
!”

Chris sounded shocked as he coasted to a stop. “What the . . . ?”

“I'm guessing this is weird too?” Sonia said.

“Townies aren't this bold.”

Sonia recognized the man at the gate as Brownie, who had stood up at dinner that first night to ask about his daughter. Apparently, he'd come to ask again. More forcefully. He shook a crowbar in the air. “So help me, I'll break in!”

“Stay here,” Chris said to Sonia. “Don't get any closer.”

The scooter was parked fifteen yards back from the gate, near an old oak, and Sonia was happy to keep her distance. It had been a long time since she'd been alone in the dark. She cursed herself for leaving her gun in the room.

An army of Gold Shirts clustered behind the gate. Maybe . . . twelve? And like Chris, more were on the way; she heard running footsteps from the mansion, getting closer. A stampede of bad news.

And the mushroom was definitely kicking in, because the night had a surreal feel: colors brighter, sounds sharper. A megaphone erupted so loudly that Sonia was sure the Threadies could hear it back at their fire, or maybe all the way to town:
“Step away from the gate, or you will lose electricity privileges!”

“If she doesn't want to go, let her come out and tell me herself!” Brownie shouted.

The megaphone went on:
“Breaking and entering will get you expelled from Threadville.”

“You gonna throw me out of my own town?” Brownie said. “My town is called Domino Falls! You can stick Threadville up your ass!”

Maybe it was only the mushroom, but Sonia felt attuned to every motion, every nuance of the scene before her, as if she were standing inside of it. Noticed Brownie shifting nervously from leg to leg, as if he wanted to run. Heard a slight tremor in the man's voice on the megaphone. Adrenaline crackled like lightning.

Slowly, the double gates began to open, folding inward. Sonia gasped. Three rows of Gold Shirts stood in formation, the first row kneeling, all of them pointing rifles like an image from the Civil War. Sonia's heart withered when she realized the men looked like a firing squad.

Sonia was afraid Brownie would charge in or the Gold Shirts would charge out, but both sides held their ground.

“Go back home, Brownie! Bring up your grievances through proper channels!”

“Proper?”
Brownie spat. “What the hell does that mean? Is that a joke? Let me hear her say it in her own words. Just send her out!” Brownie's shout might have been heard even through the mansion walls, but his voice was angrier now. He slammed the crowbar against the fence, and it clanged like a bell.

“Counting to three, Brownie,”
the man on the megaphone said.

He didn't have to say what would happen when he reached three, at least not to Sonia. She already knew. Her racing heartbeat made her dizzy.

“You don't have any right to keep her from me!” Brownie said, surging toward a scream. “Where's my little—” He raised the crowbar again and started to bring it down.

No one counted to three. The crack of a single rifle shot silenced Brownie, and he crumpled mid-sentence. On the ground, Brownie groaned loudly.

Sonia's scream came out as a loud gasp. She felt herself running toward the gate, as if a Super Nurse version of her could treat Brownie, unharmed by bullets. She might have made it to the gate if someone hadn't grabbed her around the waist, lifting her from her feet. “No!” a man said, and it took her a few seconds to realize it was Chris. He pulled her toward the Chevy, off to the side, his heart hammering through his gold shirt.

Sonia pushed past him to crane her head around and see what was happening.

Brownie's face was contorted in pain, turning red, and a host of personnel were running out of the mansion toward the gate. Everyone moved with a strange fluidity, almost slow motion,
and Sonia remembered the mushroom. Could it all be a bad dream?

A tall, blond-haired young woman ran ahead of the others. She looked ethereal dressed in a semi-sheer white dress, angelic, her hair whipping behind her. “Daddy?”

“Sissy!” Brownie wheezed when she leaned over him. He lay on his side, a giant bloodstain was growing fast across the back of his shirt, an ugly exit wound.

Tears ran down the woman's face as she stared at her father with shocked disbelief. She gaped at the blood on her fingertips when she touched him.

“Baby . . . I just wanted to know . . . you were all right.” Brownie's voice was faint.

Sissy trembled, unsteady. She looked at her father and then around at the onlookers, seeming confused about where she was. Who she was.

“Daddy, you're ruining everything!” the young woman said. Her face and voice were flat with contempt. “Why didn't you listen to me?” Blood bubbled from the wound in his chest.

She didn't notice. “You shouldn't have come,” she said. Then turned and walked away.

T
hreadville
is wrapped in darkness. A fog bank obscures the town hall, with hazy tendrils floating across storefronts like questing fingers. Kendra can't remember how she got back to town. Where is Terry? How will she walk back alone in the dark?

Half a block ahead, a lone figure stands in a reddish haze in the center of the road.

“Terry?” she tries to call out, but her voice is a mosquito's whine.

And the figure doesn't look like Terry. He—if indeed it is a he—is taller than Terry, and so thin he seems a scarecrow.

Kendra stops walking.

A drizzle begins, playing across her face. But when she wipes her cheek, she realizes it isn't rain—confetti? A wisp of thin red thread nestles along her fingertip. Gently twirling threads tickle her cheeks. When she looks up, she sees threads falling as if she's the sole marcher in a street parade.

But she's not the sole marcher, she remembers. It is waiting for her.

The reddish haze haloing the figure brightens and fades, a heartbeat gaining strength.
Come to me, Kendra,
a voice says, filling the street, the air, even the ground beneath her feet.
You're ready now. Do not be afraid.

Although Kendra has never been more afraid, she takes one step closer to the figure, sees its bald scalp glowing in its odd light.

No, she realizes. She can't go to this creature. If she does, everything will change. Something worse is waiting for all of them. Not just Freak Day, but something beyond Freak Day. Unimaginable.

“Leave us alone!” Kendra tries to scream. “We don't want you here!”

Her pitiful voice barely carries into the air.

The creature chuckles, impossibly loud.

We're already here,
the voice hisses.

Kendra woke, sitting up straight in bed with a gasp so strangled she
expected to wake up underwater, drowning. But she was only in her bed.

A dream,
she assured herself. In her half-waking state, she remembered an earlier dream about freaks tearing down her walls, but this latest nightmare felt worse. All she remembered was a shadowy voice raking across her spine, so real she could almost feel her eardrums vibrating from the sound. Couldn't she?