Refuge: Night of the Blood Sky
Author: Jeremy Bishop
Date: 2013-11-11 05:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Horror; Science Fiction; Fiction; Fantasy; Thriller; Action; Paranormal; Mystery; Supernatural
Description: Rebecca Rule is the sheriff of Refuge, New Hampshire. Her biggest concern is the rowdy summertime revelers making their way up from Massachusetts and New York. With most of the town’s residents in neighboring Ashland, for the Fourth of July fireworks show, Refuge is quiet. That is, until the Baptist Church’s bell starts ringing—on its own. The bell chimes faster and faster, reaching a frenetic pace, as though rung by the Devil himself. But the bell is just the beginning. The air shimmers. The night-time sky fills with a burning red aurora. The moon, previously a crescent, is now full. And just
Publisher: Breakneck Media

REFUGE

Book 1: Night of the Blood Sky

Summary:

Rebecca Rule is the sheriff of Refuge, New Hampshire. Her biggest concern is the rowdy summertime revelers making their way up from Massachusetts and New York. With most of the town’s residents in neighboring Ashland, for the Fourth of July fireworks show, Refuge is quiet. That is, until the Baptist Church’s bell starts ringing—on its own.

The bell chimes faster and faster, reaching a frenetic pace, as though rung by the Devil himself. But the bell is just the beginning. The air shimmers. The night-time sky fills with a burning red aurora. The moon, previously a crescent, is now full. And just hours after dusk, the sun returns to the sky, revealing an endless desert where there was once a mountainous pine forest.

Rule must guide the confused and frightened residents of Refuge through the first terrifying hours of acclimating to this horrifying new environment, while protecting them from inhuman dangers both inside and outside of the town’s newly clean-cut borders.

In a world gone haywire, only one thing is certain, no one in Refuge will ever forget the night of the blood sky.

REFUGE is a serialized novel, co-authored by #1 Amazon.com horror author, Jeremy Bishop, and five other authors, including Amazon.com bestsellers Kane Gilmour and David McAfee, USA Today bestseller, Robert Swartwood, and newcomer Daniel Boucher. The novel will be released in five parts, every two weeks starting November 12, 2013, but it will also be available as one complete novel as soon as the fifth episode is released. So read along as they appear or hold out for the completed novel. Either way, you're in for a creepy ride.

REFUGE

Book 1: Night of the Blood Sky

By Jeremy Bishop and Jeremy Robinson

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They wandered in the scorching desert; they found no city to dwell in. Hungry and thirsty, their soul fainted in them. Then they cried unto the Lord in their trouble, and he delivered them out of their distresses. And he led them forth by the right way, that they might go to a city of refuge.

Psalms 107:4–7

1

“What! You can’t be serious, Becky,” Phillip Beaumont said, in a voice that sounded closer to a petulant six-year-old’s than that of a grown man. “I’ve only been parked here five minutes tops.” The bespectacled man thrust his milk gallon and bag of groceries out as evidence.

“Don’t much matter, Monty. You can’t be breaking laws in my town, especially not those regarding the less fortunate.”

Monty’s arms fell slack, the heavily weighted plastic bag nearly scraping against the parking lot pavement. His head tilted back and his mouth fell agape, emitting a sound like a wounded moose. “Becky, there hasn’t been a handicap person in Refuge since Bill McGill kicked the bucket five years ago.”

“Law’s the law, Monty. We’re going to be swimming in vacationing Massholes and New York Yankmees for the next three months. If I go soft now, we’re going to have to rename the town Bedlam come the end of summer.” Sheriff Rebecca Rule ripped off the ticket stub and held it out. “And it’s ‘Sheriff’ while I’m wearing the hat, okay?”

Monty took the ticket, slid it into his grocery bag and with an exaggerated sigh, said, “See you at the Ashland fireworks?”

“If I were going to the fireworks, I’d be on my way already.” Rule turned her eyes to the dark blue sky. “Gonna be dark inside of fifteen minutes. B’sides, you can see ’em fine from right here in town.”

Main Street arched over the top of a tall hill. From the center of town in front of the First Baptist Church and Memorial Park across the street, the view stretched out for miles to the north and south. And from the rooftops of the few three-story storefronts on either side of the street, you could look over the surrounding pine forest to the west and catch a glimpse of the White Mountains on a clear day, which was most days in Refuge. The easterly view was mostly blocked by Black Job hill, the tallest spot in town with clear views in every direction, upon which sat a single home, belonging to Winslow and Carol Herman.

Monty glanced at the sky. “Shit. I still have to pick up Susie and the girls.” He flung open the door to his black pickup truck, climbed in and slammed it closed. The giant beast of a vehicle roared to life, and Monty gave it two enthusiastic revs.

Rule tapped the window twice with her knuckles.

As the glass descended, Rule placed her elbow on the door. “I give speeding tickets, too. I don’t want to hear any squealing tires.”

Monty grinned. “Now come on, we all know which one of us is the better driver.”

Rule stepped back and gave a nod. “We also know which one of us carries a badge. And a gun.”

With a grin and a casual salute, Monty said, “See you in church, Beck, err, Sheriff.”

Rule gave a wave as Monty sped off. The man has a boulder for a brain, she thought, looking at the empty lot. Thirty spaces, ripe for the picking, and he took the one handicap spot. He was right, though; there weren’t any year-round handicap residents in Refuge, but with the Fourth of July being tomorrow, she didn’t want to risk one of the old rich people with fancy homes around Newton Lake having a hissy fit when their blue placard, bestowed upon them by the good Lord himself, failed to procure prime parking.

With the lot to Soucey’s Market now empty, Rule wandered toward the sidewalk. Main Street was mostly empty, too, except down by the bar. There were cars there all year long, at all hours and in nearly all weather. Only a blizzard could empty the bar, and not because the boys couldn’t get there—they all had plows. But it was those same plows that made them extra money come winter, and they got their plowing done before their drinking. Most knew well enough not to drink and drive in Refuge. Not since what happened to Bernie.

Rule didn’t normally walk the streets looking to give parking tickets. That typically fell under the purview of Deputy Jim Sweeney and Deputy Helena Frost. But Sweeney was in Ashland for the fireworks with most of the rest of Refuge’s fifteen hundred residents, and Frost was...well, she was confined to the office, at least for the night, on account of punching Casey Parks square in the nose. Granted, the seventeen year old deserved as much for pummeling fourteen year old John Bieman, but she should have shouted, “Stop, Police,” before hauling off and clocking him in front of sixteen people.

The walk will do me good anyway, she thought, purposely putting a little spring in her step. She’d put on a few pounds in the past few years, and her uniform fit a little too tightly to be decent for a fifty-three year old woman. In her opinion, anyway. She wasn’t exactly a hot ticket, but in the north woods of New Hampshire, where the competition sometimes looked like those late 1800s photos of scowling farm matrons, being a flawed woman wasn’t always a problem.

She paused at a meter where a red compact car she didn’t recognize was parked. Still an hour left. Damn. She checked the plates. California. That’s unusual, she thought, and then moved on. The next three cars were all paid up, and upon reaching the fourth car, she realized she was wasting her time.

“Parking meters enforced between the hours of 8am and 7pm,” she read from the label. She stood up straight and put away the ticket booklet she’d been holding at the ready.

“Well then—” she started, but she heard a buzzing sound. Like the hum of those big power lines out by 95. Despite the volume, she knew the sound was distant. She listened for a moment, trying to pinpoint the direction from which the buzz originated, but it was suddenly drowned out by the roar of an engine.

She turned and saw Monty, Susie and their two little girls, Alice and Joy, beaming with innocent sugar-fueled smiles framed by freckles she could see from a distance, all waving from the pick-up’s window. Monty was speeding, that was for sure, but the crafty devil knew Rule wouldn’t give him a hard time with the girls in the car. He gave a honk and disappeared down the hill and around the corner at the far end of Main Street.

They might just make it in time, she thought, looking at the now purple sky. With her plan to write tickets until the distant fireworks began now ruined, she stood in the middle of the sidewalk wondering what to do. She pulled her walkie and pushed the transmit button. “Frost, this is Rule, please tell me someone has called. Over.”

The radio crackled, and then Frost’s voice replied, “Sorry, Sheriff, if you wanted action, you should have taken a job in Nashua. But don’t worry, you’ll be plenty busy after the fireworks. We usually nab one or two overzealous drivers after the finale. Over.”

“Great. Thanks for the head’s up. Over and out.” She buckled the radio back in place and rolled her neck on her shoulders. While she liked giving a good ticket, she wasn’t looking forward to the late night. And she still needed a way to kill time before the fireworks began.

The sound of shattering glass turned her attention to the bar door. The Brick House Bar and Grill wasn’t known for drunken fisticuffs. Most in town were responsible drinkers. But tonight was the Fourth, so maybe someone new was mucking things up. She glanced at the California plates parked five spaces away and squinted.

Course, maybe someone just tripped.

Still, she had ten minutes to kill, and chatting with Walter, the bar’s owner, always left her with a grin. Not just because he had been Bernie’s best friend, but because he had a wicked sense of humor and knew everything about everybody. Including her.

Wearing a grin she wasn’t aware of, she stepped toward the door, reaching for the handle.

She stopped, noticing the faint buzzing sound again. What...

Loud shouting, muffled by the bar’s door, pulled her attention back to the Brick House. She couldn’t make out the words, but the tone held the sharp punch of angry cursing. She forgot all about the frantic sounding hum and took hold of the door handle.

2

“There it is.” The words came out of Winslow Herman’s mouth as a reverent whisper, like he was an old world explorer discovering new land on the far side of the ocean. That’s how he saw himself, anyway, and it was why he named his backyard observatory, the Crow’s Nest. It was his perch. His lookout tower. But instead of looking at land, he was looking at planets, moons, stars and comets.

He stepped aside, allowing his wife, Carol, to peer through the telescope’s eyepiece. She drew a quick breath and grinned. “What’s it like there?”

“No place you would ever want to visit. Not without a specially made space-suit to protect you from Jupiter’s radiation, the absolute freezing cold and the vacuum of space.”

Without taking her eyes away from the view, she asked, “There’s no atmosphere?”

“It’s negligible,” he replied. “Most likely just gases seeping from the cracks in the ice.”

“Do you really think there could be life there?”

“If there is life anywhere else in this solar system, it’s under the ice of Europa. Scientists and smart science fiction authors have known this for a long time. It’s only a matter of time before we go there and find out. But even then, the chances are slim.”

Carol pulled back from the eyepiece and smiled at her husband, accentuating the laugh-line wrinkles on her cheeks and deepening the crow’s feet beside her eyes. She was a beautiful sixty year old woman, whose wrinkles formed earlier than most, primarily because she smiled so much. There was very little that could get her down. It was her faith, she claimed, that gave her peace and allowed her to enjoy the world, no matter the circumstances. “Listen to you. You don’t even have faith in your own theories.”

“I have faith in the scientific process,” he defended. “Theories are just theories until they’re proven. And I’m afraid, in the case of Europa, that is unlikely to happen within our lifetimes.”

“Why not just choose to believe the life is there, beneath the ice?”

Winslow scratched his cheek, burrowing his fingers through his thick, but neatly trimmed, salt and pepper beard.

“Is that what you do?” he asked. “Are you just pretending?”

Carol squinted at her husband with a wry smile. “Watch yourself, Mr. Herman—” She shook her small fist at him. “—or you’ll be seeing stars alongside your frozen moon.”

Winslow chuckled and glanced at his watch. “Speaking of that...” He flipped a switch, turning on the single light bulb hanging precariously from the domed ceiling. The observatory wasn’t exactly large—just big enough for four or five people to gather around the telescope that cost more than Carol would ever know. “Sometimes the best view is the wide angle.”

He opened the four-foot tall doorway and held it open for Carol. She crouched and exited onto the patio that connected the observatory and their custom-designed home. Before retiring to Maine, Winslow had worked for NASA’s Jet Propulsion Laboratory (JPL) in Pasadena, California. He designed optics, including those used on both the Spirit and Opportunity Mars rovers. But it had never been a job. He loved the work. It was his passion. And he continued it by building the observatory and allowing visits from school groups, Boy Scouts and Girl Scouts troops and even the occasional visit from the teenage correctional facility in Concord. If he had an audience, Winslow could wax eloquent about the universe until his throat went raw. Most of the time, his audience was Carol, but she didn’t mind. She’d fallen for him at one of his public lectures, and if she could follow him from warm and sunny Pasadena to the more often than not frigid woods of New Hampshire, she could discuss Europa a thousand more times.

Winslow knew it. He grinned at his wife as he exited with an adoration that the stars above would never experience. Taking her hand, he led her to the grass on the north side of the house.

“I thought we were watching the fireworks?” Carol asked.

“I promised fireworks,” Winslow said. “But I didn’t specify the type.” He stepped to the side, revealing a blanket, a wine bottle and two glasses. “Ambrose Bierce once said that an observatory is a place where astronomers conjecture away the guesses of their predecessors, whereas I have always firmly believed that they are most useful for picking up sexy young fillies.”

Carol laughed, one hand over her mouth, the other slapping Winslow’s shoulder.

Winslow was about to carry-on with his banter, but something tickled his ear. He cocked his head to the side, trying to listen, but the nearly inaudible rumble didn’t change.

“What is it?” Carol asked.

“You don’t hear it?”

She listened and shook her head. “Only the beating of our hearts,” she joked and began unbuttoning her blouse.

Winslow caught a peek of his wife’s emerging cleavage and forgot about the sound. “You’re pretty direct for a church-going gal.”

“We’re married,” she said, removing her shirt and casting it aside. “I can be as slutty as I want to be.” She closed the distance between them, hands going for his belt.

The rumbling tickled his ear again. Tinnitus? he wondered and glanced up at the stars, so bright above, the Milky Way cutting a soft line across the sky. The view seemed to shimmer for a moment, the way stars twinkle when they’re low on the horizon, their light bent by the atmosphere. But then Carol loosened his pants, found what she was looking for and the whole of the universe ceased to exist.

3

“Listen, you backwoods hick. Don’t hold out on me. I’ll pay you whatever you want.” She thought she was whispering, but the words came out as something closer to a growl and loud enough for the bar’s five other patrons to hear.

Cash Whittemore pushed his half-drained beer to the side and leaned forward over the worn brown table that had started out a light shade of maple thirty years earlier. By all outward appearances, he was now a co-conspirator. “Look, Lony.”

“My name is Avalon,” she grumbled. And she was right, her name was Avalon Butler, but other than her parents, no one ever called her by her actual name. Unless you were blessed with a single syllable name or were well respected, the people in town had a horrid habit of shortening just about any name and tacking on an E sound at the end. Avalon became Lony. Jeremy became Jerry. Richard became Richie, or even worse, Dickie. As a kid, she knew three separate Dickies, and only one of them deserved the name.

Cash sighed. “Fine. Avalon. I’m not entirely sure what it is you’re looking for, but unless it’s cold and frothy, I don’t know anything about it.”

Avalon looked him up and down. He wore dirty blue jeans, a torn and paint-spattered flannel shirt—in July—and a dirty Red Sox cap with a frayed bill. He was handsome, but that was hidden by a few days worth of stubble and the dark rings under his eyes. If anyone in this Godforsaken town knew where to score some Oxycontin, it was him. “Bullshit.”

“Why are you sweating, Lon—Avalon?” he asked. “Walter keeps the AC cranked. Must be sixty-five degrees in here. You feeling okay?”

She wiped the sweat from her forehead and looked at her shaking hand, which came away slick with perspiration. Her heart pounded in her chest, making her feel like she’d just run a few miles carrying a hungry anaconda. She gripped the table with both hands, oblivious to the old bubble gum her left ring-finger compressed on the underside. When she was collected—in her mind, to everyone else she appeared as an overheating steam engine—she spoke clearly and concisely, no longer concerned about anyone hearing, because the only person that currently existed was the man in front of her, whom she believed could end her suffering. “I’m fine. Now do you have any Oxy or not?”

After a moment of thought, Cash winced and asked. “Is that like the tub cleaner?”

He knows, she thought. Damn him, he knows! And he’s just mocking me. He wants me to suffer!

Avalon’s fingers scraped against the bottom of the table. The nail of her ring-finger, now embedded in the unmoving gum, folded back, peeling away from a few millimeters of skin before popping free. She didn’t notice the sharp sting that would make most people hiss in pain. “You son-of-a-bitch!” Her voice rose in volume and pitch with each shouted word. With hooked talon fingers, she hauled back and swung at Cash’s cheek.

Moving faster and with more agility, Cash leaned away from the swing, caught hold of her arm and turned her away from him. Before she knew what was happening, he’d planted his big, muddy, steel-toe boot against her backside and shoved.

It wasn’t a hard push, but in her current condition, Avalon lacked the wherewithal to slow herself and avoid the table where Pastor Ken Dodge sat with a woman she didn’t know. As she flipped, ass over tea kettle atop the table, taking drinks and pretzels with her, she thought it was strange for the pastor to be out at a bar with a woman, but then, he wasn’t a priest and even Jesus imbibed.

Then she hit the floor.

Hard.

The room fell silent as Avalon stared up at the ceiling. Bright track lights blazed in her eyes, their glow magnified by the effects of Oxycontin withdrawal. Her eyes filled with tears, partly in response to the light-induced sting, partly because of the deep welling despair gripping her body—not because she’d become a shell of a person dependent on a drug to feel normal, but because she knew she wouldn’t be getting any tonight, and come morning she’d have to once again face the real world and all its real problems.

A bell above the door chimed, announcing the arrival of another bar patron. Heavy boots clomped across the wide wooden planks of the bar’s floor, vibrating in the back of Avalon’s head.

A figure leaned into view above her, obscured by the blur of her tears. Avalon squeezed her eyes shut, pushing the tears out onto her cheeks.

“Well, as I live and breathe,” the woman above her said. “Avalon Butler. That explains the California plates.”

Avalon looked up with cleared vision. “Mrs. Rule?”

“Been a while since you’ve been home for a visit,” Rule said and then tapped the badge on her chest. “It’s Sheriff Rule, now.”

Avalon giggled. “You follow all the rules...Rule?” She winced as a sharp pain lanced through her head and sucked away her laughter.

“You trying to ask me something?” Rule asked, and then turned to the bar. “She been drinking?”

Walter shook his head, no. “Not here, at least. Came in like this. ‘Bout five minutes ago.”

Avalon slowly writhed on the floor for a moment, lost somewhere between withdrawal, a lump on the head and confusion from seeing her childhood babysitter dressed in the tan uniform of a sheriff. “Mrs. Rule...”

The sheriff leaned closer.

“You have any Oxycontin?”

4

Joshua Wilson nearly threw up. He managed to hold it down primarily because he knew it was perhaps the worst response he could have to a first kiss. But his nerves were a mess and were playing havoc with his body. He was clammy and cold and sweating profusely. He’d doused himself with copious amounts of his father’s Old Spice before heading out, but he wasn’t sure if the cologne could completely mask his growing nervous odor. Rivulets of cold perspiration tickled his sides. He stepped back, rubbing his T-shirt against his skin.

“Did I do something wrong?” Lisa Howard asked.

She was picture perfect, with a tight yellow T-shirt, blonde hair and twin ponytails. The sight of her, hands wrapped around the chains of the swing upon which she sat, froze Joshua in place. He’d known her for all fifteen years of his life. They were next-door neighbors, after all. But despite the long years of friendship, she had always had this effect on him. Until just a moment ago, when she returned his kiss, he had no idea she felt similarly.

“N—no,” he finally said, and decided to not have a sitcom relationship. “I’m sweating like a pig at the beach.”

Lisa smiled and then laughed. “I’ve seen you with snot all over your face. I think I can handle a little sweat.”

In first grade, during a circle-time reading, he had sneezed a volcano of mucus into his hands that splashed back onto his face. It was one of the most embarrassing moments of his life. “You remember that, huh?”

“Radar,” she said, using the nickname bestowed upon him by his cousins and picked up by the rest of the town, “it’s a sight I will take to my grave. But you don’t need to be nervous. I’m still just me.”

“You always make me nervous.”

“We live next door to each other, we’re in the same class, we walk to and from school together every day, play on the same soccer team on Saturdays and go to the same church on Sundays.”

He nodded. “I’ve been nervous since the day you were born.”

She hopped off the swing, stepped up close and ran her fingers through his curly red hair. They stood nearly eye to eye, him being just an inch taller. “You don’t have to be nervous anymore.”

He could feel the warmth of her breath and smell the gum she’d been chewing. “I think you’ll make me feel this way until the day I die.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You have long-term plans already?”

He cleared his throat, smiled and said, “Since the day you were born.”

“Such a romantic,” she said, and kissed him for the second time. As they lingered, frozen in the moment, Radar’s wristwatch began beeping. He ignored it for a full thirty seconds before Lisa leaned away. “You have somewhere to be?”

“Huh?” His mind slowly became aware of the shrill beeping. He looked at his watch and then remembered. “Oh! C’mon!”

He took her by the hand, leading her through the park. To their backs was the swing set and the elaborate wooden jungle gym where they used to play as kids. Beyond that was the baseball field. Straight ahead was green grass, tall trees and a gazebo where a band would play during the town barbeque tomorrow afternoon, surrounded by gaudy red, white and blue decorations, which were already hanging all around town along with a surplus of American flags. But tonight, with the fireworks drawing everyone to Ashland, the park and most of the town was empty, including the First Baptist Church on the other side of Main Street.

The church building gleamed bright white on sunny days, its steeple reaching up to the sky like the tower of Babel. That was probably an exaggeration, but it was the tallest building in town, which was precisely why Radar had stolen his father’s key. Even now, in the dark of early night, the building glowed, lit by street lights and the light of the waning half moon, still low on the horizon.

“What are we doing?” Lisa asked as Radar led her across the street, hand-in-hand.

He dug the stolen keys from his pocket and shook them. “Best view in town. It’s all ours.”

“I don’t know...”

“It’s not like we’re stealing anything. And I have keys. We’re not even breaking in. We’ll be in and out before anyone even makes it back to town.”

They paused by the church’s front door. Radar wasn’t going to do this without her support, because, if he was honest, entering the church without permission terrified him. It wasn’t that he felt uncomfortable in the building. He’d attended church, Sunday School, Youth Group and Vacation Bible School in this building all his life. He was as comfortable here as he was most everywhere in their small town. But he knew that if they were caught, his father would likely fashion a switch and have at him till the tears he shed in church were more from sitting than from a supernatural encounter.

“Okay,” she said, and he immediately began working the key into the lock. “But we’re not having sex in the church.”

The keys virtually exploded from his hands and fell on the ground. He crouched to pick them up and cracked his head on the doorknob. Wincing in pain, he snatched up the keys and stood quickly, trying to look composed.

Lisa laughed gently, hands over her mouth, eyes watering.

“I—I wasn’t...that’s not what I was thinking...” In truth, he thought about sex roughly three times every ten minutes and at least thirty times since their last kiss, which included fantasies in nearly every room of the church building, thoughts that caused him to quickly ask for forgiveness before starting the daydream over once again. But he’d never planned on following through. That wasn’t what made him stumble. It was that her words didn’t forbid the possibility of sex, just not sex in the church.

With profusely sweating hands, he unlocked the door and turned the handle. It creaked open, and they crept inside, into the darkened house of God. It was far darker inside than out, but Radar knew his way around. The church interior, which was far cleaner than the hearts of anyone who attended the services, provided no obstacles. They quickly entered the stuffy and dusty-smelling steeple and followed the stairs around and up, careful not to hit the church bell rope and alert anyone left in town to their presence.

Upon reaching the top, standing beside the large bell that summoned believers and heathens to church every Sunday morning, Radar took hold of the slats and tugged. The three foot tall rectangle of ventilation slats popped free and swung open, revealing an unhindered view to the south.

“How did you know that opened?” she asked.

“Remember that Sunday when there was no juice for communion?”

“That was like four years ago, right?”

He nodded. “Well there was no juice because I drank it all. My dad figured it out when I threw it up. Turns out a half gallon of juice is a little too much. Pastor Dodge brought me up here afterwards. It was an inspiring lecture about honesty and integrity, but all I could think of as I looked out this window, is how much I wanted to show you the view.”

The distant pop of a firework pulled their attention south. Bright red sparkles of light drifted toward the ground. The fireworks display would lack the power of one seen up close, but there wasn’t any other place on Earth Radar would rather be at that moment. He wrapped his arm around Lisa, and she snuggled in close.

A thought popped into his head, and he chuckled.

“What?” Lisa asked.

“Shadow Liar.”

Lisa turned her head toward him, eyebrows raising.

“It’s an anagram of your name.”

“You just think of that now?”

“And ninety-seven others, but that’s the coolest.” He knew he didn’t need to explain. She’d played Scrabble with him enough times to know that he had a savant-like gift with words and codes. It was one of the many secrets they shared. Not even the teachers at school knew about it, mostly because he feared they’d give him too much attention, putting him in the crosshairs of less gifted bullies, including his father. “Would make a good online avatar name, but if you don’t like it, we could always go with ‘hairdo slaw.’”

She gave his chest a slap and turned back to the fireworks display, leaning into him. Radar squeezed her arm, feeling at home in Refuge for the first time.

Neither of them noticed the bell behind them, swaying slowly back and forth.

5

“Gonna pretend I didn’t hear that,” Rule said. “Just this once. Ask that question one more time and I’ll be babysitting you again, but this time you’ll be in a cell.”

Rule’s relief at Avalon clamping her mouth shut was minimal. She knew the girl had had a rough go of it in the years since her mother had passed, but this...she was strung out. Rock bottom. Rule had remained good friends with Avalon’s father, Griffin, and received updates about her life whenever he did, but it had been six months since he’d heard from her. They’d feared the worst. Looks like they weren’t too far from the mark.

Leaving Avalon on the floor, where the girl would likely be the safest in her current state, Rule turned her attention to Cash. An electrician by trade, Cash was a town staple. He was a bit rough around the edges, especially when he drank, but she’d never had to lock him up. Still, she knew alcohol did things to the mind. Turned folks into different kinds of people, who did things they wouldn’t normally. She eyed the half-finished pint on his table. Times had been tough on Cash recently. Thanks to a government grant and the town’s altruistic benefactor, Renford Ellison, the town’s new electrical system, which serviced downtown and the surrounding neighborhoods, removed a good portion of Cash’s business.

Fields of solar panels could be found in and around town—mostly filling the old airport—not to mention atop the roofs of nearly every home and business, including the sheriff’s station. The church was one of few buildings exempt from the requirement. But energy didn’t just come from the sun. Towering wind turbines lined many of the hills. The combination of natural energy sources wasn’t exactly pretty, but they delivered free energy to the entire town. If the whole world went dark, Refuge would still have power—as long as there was a sun and wind. Water and sanitation had also been retrofitted, making the town a true experiment in self-sufficiency. They’d been told that Refuge was a model for the future, but most folks in town didn’t care much about technology, let alone the future. They were just happy to get a break on their monthly bills.

Not Cash, though. If he didn’t find more out-of-town business, he’d lose his house, and tough times like that can drive a man to the bottle. If the demons can’t be beat in a fair fight, her father told her once, they can always be drowned.

“Can’t say I appreciate what that look in your eyes is implying, Sheriff,” Cash said.

While his direct nature ruffled her feathers, his correct use of the word ‘Sheriff,’ rather than ‘Becky,’ ‘Becks’ or ‘Mrs. Rule’ kept her from replying strongly. She also heard his very clearly enunciated, not drunk, speech. She softened her expression. “That your first drink?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Cash said, and without being asked, explained what happened. “She came in here looking for that Oxy-stuff. When I told her I didn’t have any, she took a swing and I helped her walk away.”

“Maybe a little too roughly?” Rule asked.

“It was self-defense,” Pastor Dodge said. “We all saw it. The poor girl is a mess.”

“Screw you,” Avalon said from the floor.

The distant boom of fireworks entered the bar as the door swung open. Guess I won’t be watching the display this year, after all, Rule thought.

The distant rumble was drowned out momentarily by the bell above the door jingling. She felt a warm breeze wash over her as the air outside blew into the room. In that brief moment, the buzzing sound she’d noticed earlier returned.

“Oh my God,” came a woman’s voice, but it wasn’t the newcomer. It was Julie Barnes, the hoity-toity real estate agent who’d swept into Refuge two years previous, brokering the land and home deals that made the town’s retrofitting possible. She must have been rich now, so Rule wasn’t sure why the city girl, with her power suits, high heels and tautly bunned hair was still in town, let alone in the Brick House.

Julie stood quickly and scurried for the door, eyes wide, high heels clacking out a beat.

“Everything all right?” Rule asked.

“Fine,” Julie chirped. “Just got a text.”

As though that explains everything.

The door opened again as Julie left, allowing in more warm air, the faint buzzing sound and a reminder that someone new had just entered.

Not wanting to further complicate the situation, Rule held her hand up toward the door without looking back. “Step outside, please, until this situation is—”

“Tell me what happened,” a man said, his voice full of anger and fear.

Rule recognized the voice and didn’t need to turn around to know who it was or what would happen next. “Watch your temper, Griff.”

He appeared next to her, moving as silently as a ghost. She glanced in his direction. His eyes were searching the bar for a guilty face. His fists were clenched. She turned her eyes to Cash and saw the same casual indifference that was his trademark expression. But Griffin was a smart man. He’d take in the scene, piece it together and play it in reverse. Her only chance to avoid a fight was to put him on the defensive.

“All this coulda been avoided if you’d told me she was home.”

“She arrived last night,” he said. “Found her on my doorstep, shaking.”

“What’s wrong with her?”

“Withdrawal. She’s an Oxycontin addict. I was going to keep her at home until—”

“He’s keeping me prisoner!” Avalon shouted. “Locked me in the basement. Call the police. I need to go to the hospital.”

Rule sighed. She didn’t want to ask the question, but was obligated. “You lock her in the basement, Griffin?”

“If I had, she wouldn’t be sprawled on the bar floor.”

She believed him. He was a good man—probably the best man in town. And given his past, she didn’t think James Bond could escape from Griffin Butler. “Point taken.”

“Isn’t anyone going to pick me up?” Avalon asked.

Rule and Griffin replied as one, “No!”

“Look,” Rule said, “she hasn’t done anything all of us can’t overlook...” She glanced at the bar’s few patrons. She knew all of them except for Pastor Dodge’s lady friend. She got quick nods from everyone in the room. They knew Griffin and Avalon, and knew the tough time both had gone through. This town took care of its own. But mostly they knew she wouldn’t take no for an answer. She ended her visual tour of the room by leveling her eyes at the Pastor’s company. “...isn’t that right?”

The woman nodded.

“What’s your name?”

Dodge answered for her. “This is Sally Field—”

“Like the actress?” Rule asked.

“Yes,” the woman said.

“MmmHmm. What kind of parents would do that to a kid?” Rule shrugged. “Well Ms. Field, you okay with forgetting this mess if Griff here covers the cost of—”

“Don’t worry about it,” Dodge said quickly.

Rule squinted at the pastor. If anyone was acting like they’d done something wrong, it was him. But that didn’t make sense. He was a single guy out with a... Her attention turned to the woman. Her left hand. Her ring finger...

Bong.

Everyone in the bar held their collective breath.

“What...was that?” Walter asked from behind the bar.

Radar shouted in surprise, clutching his hands to his ears. He knew the scream had been high-pitched and embarrassing—he could feel it in his throat—but his voice had been drowned out by the resounding gong of the church bell. He and Lisa spun around, away from the fireworks. The bell was shifting slowly.

“What the hell?” Lisa said, her voice barely audible. “Who did that?”

Radar’s thoughts turned to possible explanations, and he quickly came up with one. Someone knew they were in the steeple and had decided to teach them a lesson. It didn’t sound like something Pastor Dodge would do, so he spoke his mind. “Knock it off, asshole!” he shouted. “We’re coming down!”

The bell swayed sideways, lifting higher than it probably should have.

“It’s going to ring again!” he shouted, slapping his hands over his ears.

The soundwave shook his insides, making him queasy. He pitched forward, shouting in agony. The pain grew infinitely worse when Lisa fell and he reached out to catch her. As the bell’s chime faded again, he pulled Lisa up. When he saw the tears in her eyes, he wanted to pummel whoever was ringing the bell, but then he realized that he was equally upset. Unlike most young men Refuge forged, Radar wasn’t externally tough.

With one arm wrapped around Lisa and the other holding her elbow, he scrambled down the stairs, doing his best to not stumble in the darkness. He hoped that whoever was ringing the bell would hear them coming and stop, but he could see the rope, dangling in the steeple’s core, moving downward, pulled for another chime.

As they rounded the final flight of stairs, he looked for the person ringing the bell. Nobody was there. No one at all. And yet, the rope attached to the bell continued to descend, as though pulled by a spectre.

Then the rope shot up, released from its downward pull.

Bong!

The volume of the ringing bell, inside the enclosed steeple, knocked both of them off their feet. The pair tumbled down the last few stairs, shouting in pain again. When Radar landed, part of him wanted to check on Lisa, but his attention remained fixed on the church bell rope, as it shifted downward once more, pulled by some invisible force.

“Sounded like the church bell,” Dodge said, standing slowly.

“I don’t know,” Cash said. “Why would—”

Bong.

“Definitely the church bell.” Dodge headed for the door.

Rule met Griffin’s eyes. They still had unfinished business here, but if someone had broken into the church, that was something she couldn’t let slide. She unclipped her radio, “Frost this is Rule, over.”

“I hear you, boss,” Frost replied. “Who’s ringing the church bell? Over.”

“I’m gonna head over there and find out.” Rule glanced at Griffin before speaking again. “Listen, Griff Butler is headin’ your way with his daughter—”

“Lony’s home?” Frost broke in.

“Avalon!” came a shout from the floor.

“I need you to put her in a cell for the night,” Rule finished.

Bong.

Cash, Walter and Sally Field exited the bar along with the few other patrons, off to see what crazy soul was ringing the church bell.

“A cell? Why?”

“She’s not in trouble. Just needs some time to work things out. Why don’t you meet them outside? Over.”

“Copy that,” Frost said. “I’ll head your way now. Meet them half way.”

Before signing off, Rule added, “Keep an eye out for anyone fleeing the church in your direction. Over.”

“Will do. Over and out.”

Bong.

Rule took out her handcuffs and motioned to Avalon with her head and spoke to Griffin. “Help her up.”

“You’re going to cuff me?” Avalon protested, as Griffin pulled her to her feet.

“She a flight risk?” Rule asked Griffin.

Bong.

He glanced at the cuffs and then the fiery eyes of his daughter. “Do it.”

Before Avalon could protest again, Rule spun her around and slapped the cuffs on both wrists. “Frost will take them off when you settle down for the night.”

“You gonna sing me Twinkle Twinkle?” Avalon said with a sneer. “Would be like old times.”

Bong.

“Is it just me or is that bell speeding up?” Rule asked.

Bong.

Definitely speeding up.

“Go ahead,” Griffin said, taking hold of the chain between Avalon’s wrists.

“I’m never speaking to either of you again,” Avalon growled.

Bong.

“Honey, you probably won’t remember a lick of this.” Rule glanced around the empty bar. “And between the three of us, I am happy you’re home—current circumstances notwithstanding.”

Bong.

“Fuck you,” Avalon responded.

Rule grinned. “Like I said.” She headed for the door and held it open for Griffin and Avalon. He led his daughter north, walking quickly. Rule followed behind, angling out into the street. While the police station was just north of the church, it was on the wrong side of the road.

Bong.

Rule picked up her pace, breathing quick, deep breaths, inhaling air that smelled strongly of the lilacs growing beside the church. It was only a block away, but she was winded by the time she joined Cash and Walter on the sidewalk.

Bong.

“You okay, Sheriff?” Cash asked.

“Nothing a few months of exercise can’t cure.” Rule looked up at the church steeple. Bong! Whoever was ringing that bell was really putting their back into it.

Bong-bong!

“Where’s Dodge?” she shouted over the resounding echo of the church bell.

Bong-bong!

“Inside!” Walter shouted back.

She took a step toward the church when the front doors burst open. Three bodies spilled out, running down the front steps, hands clasped over their ears. Rule recognized all three faces: Dodge, Radar and Lisa. Rule sighed, she knew she might have to let yet another transgression slide or Radar was going to get a beating, and then she’d have to haul his father off to jail for real. Happy fourth of July, she thought. At least the excitement is over.

But then, it wasn’t.

Bong-bong!

“Who else is inside?” she shouted at Dodge, who looked ten shades paler than he had in the bar.

“No one is inside!” he shouted.

Bong-bong!

Rule caught hold of Dodge’s shoulder and spun him so they were eye-to-eye. “Pastor, who the hell is ringing that bell?”

Bong-bong!

He snapped out of whatever panic had gripped him and said, “No one! It’s ringing itself!”

Bong-bong-bong-bong-bong-bong!

6

“Bells don’t ring by themselves, Pastor,” Rule said, matter-of-fact. Her instinct was to cross her arms or plant her hands on her wide hips to punctuate the statement with a little body language. But the constant ringing of the bell forced her hands to her ears.

“It’s demonic,” Dodge said. “Has to be.”

Rule went to church, just like most everyone else in town, but like most everyone in town, it was to maintain appearances. She knew all about the Bible and God and Jesus, and she liked the message most of the time, but she wasn’t sure she actually believed. There was a difference between knowing and appreciating and actual belief—the kind of belief that would lead her to accept an invisible malevolent force was taking time out of its busy schedule to ring a church bell. Seemed to her that such a thing would be counterproductive for the forces of evil. Most people’s response to proof of the existence of the Devil would be to run headlong into the open arms of Jesus. So without stepping foot in the church, she knew this wasn’t demonic.

“I’m with you, Sheriff,” Cash said, leaning down close.

“You’re a dear,” Rule said, making a mental note to never doubt Cash’s integrity so quickly again. Then she turned to Walter. “You’re coming too.”

Walter was clearly displeased with this development, but nodded and fell in line when Rule headed for the front door. Rule pointed at Radar as she stomped by. “You two don’t go anywhere! No sense in running. I know where you live.”

Radar nodded so quickly he looked like a red-headed woodpecker. He was as petrified as Dodge.

The sheriff wasn’t sure how fast a church bell could ring, but the rapid fire bonging didn’t seem possible. The bell rang when a rope was pulled from the bottom of the steeple. She’d rung the bell once a few years back and it wasn’t exactly easy. Building up this kind of speed would require what? A machine, she decided. Someone must have put something against the bell. I swear to God, she thought, if Radar did this to impress Lisa, I’m going to help his father tan his hide. That could be why Radar looked so afraid. Having been caught in the act, he knew what kind of hell might come down on him.

She yanked the heavy door open and stepped inside. It felt strange being in church on a Saturday night. The smell of wooden pews, polished by years of human backsides, old candle smoke and vanilla air freshener was an experience reserved for the following morning. The clanging bell was muffled some but was still loud enough to tense every muscle in her body, mostly because she knew it was about to get louder.

A lot louder.

They took the stairs two at a time, heading toward the second floor. Jogging past the nursery, they reached the solid wood door that provided access to the steeple. The hallway walls shook, jittering a framed photo of a praying Jesus. Rule could feel a vibration moving through her body, as though some supernatural being had just taken hold of her. She fought against the chill that rose through her body, reminding herself that she didn’t believe in ghosts. The doorknob on the steeple door began to rattle, turning slowly, but was it from the noise or was something else turning it? She watched the knob twist until it stopped and began shifting back in the other direction.

It’s the vibrations, she thought, but she didn’t fully believe it. She believed something was ringing that bell, just as surely as she believed something was turning that knob. Someone, she told herself, not something.

Gathering her resolve, Rule turned to Walter and Cash. She had to shout to be heard. “If someone is in here when I open this door, feel free to tackle them without warning.” She couldn’t do it. By law she had to announce her presence first, but Cash and Walter could act however they wanted, and if they decided to throw a few punches while they were at it, she’d somehow not see it. “Ready?”

Cash crouched down, ready to spring. When Rule saw him down like that, she remembered he’d been something of a football phenomenon back in the day. Refuge’s one and only football phenomenon. But like most people in town, he had picked up the trade of his father.

“Do it,” Cash said.

She twisted the heavy, metal door handle and pulled. The door swung open, revealing the ten-foot square space. Starting on the left was the staircase, leading up. And straight ahead was the bell rope, writhing back and forth like a wounded snake. The bell’s chime exploded from the doorway, sending three sets of hands to cover ears. Even if someone had been inside the steeple, she didn’t think Cash could have tackled anyone inside without permanently ruining his hearing.

But then, he did remove his hands from his ears. There wasn’t anyone to tackle, but there was a rope to hold. With grinding teeth, he leapt onto the rope, no doubt expecting his weight to hold the bell in place. But that’s not what happened. Cash was thrashed about, whipped back and forth, and within three seconds, flung free. His head struck the staircase, and he fell to his knees.

Without thinking, Rule rushed to his aid. For a moment, she was glad the bell was so loud; no one could hear her screaming. Fighting against the pain in her ears, she got her hands under Cash’s armpits and hoisted him up. He seemed to regain his senses at her touch and stood. Walter was at the door to receive him and they quickly retreated, slamming the door behind them.

“Becky,” Cash said, a trickle of blood rolling down his forehead. “What the fuck?”

What the fuck, indeed, she thought, but didn’t say anything. She understood why Dodge assumed this was supernatural. The bell was indeed ringing itself, and with enough force to man-handle all two hundred plus pounds of Cash Whittemore.

“I have some noise canceling headphones back at the house,” Walter said. “Maybe those would—”

The bell stopped ringing.

Rule pulled the door open. The rope gently swayed back and forth.

Her eyes turned toward the stairs. Could someone have been ringing the bell from higher up? Without a second thought, she hit the stairs, climbing quickly. After the excitement of the ringing bell, she found her breath hard to catch. She could feel her heartbeat pounding hard and fast. Could feel it in her neck. Her fingertips. She wondered what a heart attack felt like, and then stopped, clinging to the railing.

Feeling light-headed, she gripped the rail. She breathed deeply and slowly, willing her body to slow down, but her heartbeat—boomboomboom—raced along. Trying to distract herself, she looked up, searching for her perp. But no matter how badly she wanted to find someone, the steeple was empty.

Through the ringing in her ears, she heard a new sound.

Shouting.

Screaming.

From outside.
“They’re getting away!” Cash said, and he ran for the steeple exit.

Rule wasn’t sure if Cash was right. Even if there was someone else inside the church, something was ringing that bell while Cash clung to the rope. Unless...she thought, picturing the only other way out of the steeple, which was safe only for birds and bats. Could someone have actually jumped? She followed Cash down the stairs, through the foyer and out the front door.

There was no mistaking what caused the others to shout, and it wasn’t a desperate perp who’d flung himself from the steeple. The air outside the church shimmered like heat rising from summer-time pavement. But that wasn’t all. The sky was alive with vivid red light. Refuge was pretty far north, and during peak sunspot activity, they occasionally got a glimpse of the aurora borealis. She’d seen it twice in her life—just faint waves of green sliding through the sky. Never anything like this.

She nearly toppled down the steps, but caught herself on the rail. No one noticed her near spill. She barely noticed it herself. All eyes were turned skyward, watching the waves of blood red light arch across the sky. Something about the sight was beautiful, but more than anything, it was awful. Ominous. While the night sky was still visible, stars and all, the waves of glowing red rolled across it. She stared up, wishing it would go away, hoping for a clear night sky, but the night continued to burn above her. It looked angry. Violent. The hair on her arms rose, as some primal part of her being screamed at her to run.

She looked at Cash, who met her gaze. He looked just as stunned as she felt. Before she could comment, Dodge spoke up again. “It’s not demons,” he declared. “It’s the Devil himself.”

7

When Deputy Frost met Griffin and Avalon in front of Soucey’s Market, she quickly read and translated the serious look in Griffin’s eyes as: Do not speak. She simply said, “Follow me,” and led them to the police station, a block past Memorial Park. It was hard to not ask about Avalon’s delirious state or the now constantly ringing church bell, but she managed to stay silent for the two-minute walk. Inside the small station, she led them past the processing desk, where she would normally book people brought in for a crime, which wasn’t very often. As she understood it, Lony wasn’t in trouble, she just needed to work off a bender...or something worse, by the looks of her.

Without a word spoken, she opened one of the two cells in the station’s back room. It was a small space with a cot, not designed for more than a single night’s stay. Frost unlocked the handcuffs and closed the cell door, locking Avalon inside.

Avalon all but collapsed on the cot. She opened her eyes, looked around the small space and groaned. “No toilet?”

“If you have to go, give a shout,” Frost said.

“You just want to see me with my pants down,” Avalon said, her speech slurred for a moment. “Always thought you were a lesbian.”

Frost glanced at Griffin, who just shook his head. Don’t respond.

“I’ll get you an extra pillow and a bucket,” Frost said, which garnered a nearly inaudible ‘Thanks.’

Frost returned to the front of the station with Griffin. She could see he wanted to talk, but she wanted to get that bucket before she forgot. “One sec,” she said, entering the bathroom where the storage closet was located. She paused in front of the mirror and noticed the quick jaunt into the early July humidity had made her ponytailed, smooth black hair into something resembling an explosion of wool. She wet her hands and attempted to smooth out her hair. When it didn’t cooperate, she frowned and said, “Damnit.”

Then she squinted at herself. What was she doing? She wasn’t the type of woman to wear makeup or push-up bras or jewelry. For one thing, she ran every day, and her body was pretty much everywhere it was supposed to be for a thirty-three year old woman. And unlike the sheriff’s hip-hugging uniform, hers was loose-fitting and did nothing to accentuate her femininity. So why was she worried about a few errant hairs?

Because Griff likes smooth hair, she thought, always has.
Like Julie Barnes’s. Real-estate slut. But Griffin was off limits. She’d been close friends with Jess, his wife, before she’d died. Didn’t seem right to show an interest in her husband, now that she was gone. Of course, if Frost was honest, she’d been interested in Griffin when Jess was alive, too. “Get a fucking grip,” she growled at herself and headed for the door.

She exited the bathroom to find Griffin staring at her quizzically.

“What?”

“No bucket?”

“Shit,” she whispered, reentered the bathroom, found the bucket and returned to the office without meeting his eyes. When she entered the back room, Avalon was passed out on the cot, a puddle of vomit already on the floor. “Double shit.”

With a shake of her head, she unlocked and entered the cell, propping Avalon’s head up on a second pillow, covering her with a blanket and placing the pail next to her head. The puke could wait, Frost decided, and she turned toward the door. Griffin stood there, watching.

“Thanks,” he said.

“Just doing my job,” she replied, but his grin revealed he knew she was lying. Jail cells weren’t meant to be comfortable.

Back in the front office, she could hear the church bell running non-stop now, and she really wanted to be out there. She hated office duty. But she also understood why she needed to be here. Punching a seventeen year old kid was never a good idea. Still, the little douchebag deserved it.

Despite the ringing bell being the perfect segue out of the uncomfortable silence between them, she instead went with, “Any new paintings?”

Griffin was a surrealist painter who created huge images—oil on canvas—that Pastor Dodge had once called ‘monstrosities’ from the pulpit. As one of the few non-church goers in town, Griffin found himself on the receiving end of more than a few accusations of occult interests and devil worship, if not by Dodge himself, then by some of the older folks in town, a few of whom might personally remember the days when witches were burned at the stake.

“Finished one yesterday,” he replied. “Good thing, too. I don’t think I’ll be getting much done for a while.” He glanced toward the back room.

“She okay?”

Griffin leaned back, hands atop Deputy Sweeney’s desk. “Showed up last night. Asked me to help her detox. Apparently she’s...” He paused, eyes on the floor. “She’s addicted to Oxycontin. And I got a little more than I bargained for. I think she was probably still a little high when she asked for help, but once the craving set in...” He shook his head and sighed. “I’ve seen some pretty unstoppable people in my time, but she...she was feral. Lucky Becky found her when she did.”

Frost knew that Griffin was one of the few people in town who could get away with calling the sheriff by name while the woman was on duty, so she didn’t mention it. In fact, she didn’t say anything at all, which made her feel like an idiot, but she really just wanted to hug the man. It was probably the right thing for a friend to do, but her feelings got in the way.

Luckily, the ringing bell became so feverish and loud it was no longer possible to ignore.

“What the hell could ring that bell so fast?” Griffin said, standing from the desk.

They headed toward the front door together. Frost could feel the hot and humid air working hard to curl her hair again, but she managed to ignore it. Outside, the bell was so loud it hurt her ears. She turned toward the church and saw Pastor Dodge, Radar and Lisa Howard standing in front of the church, alongside a few others who had gathered to behold the spectacle. But most were backing away with their hands over their ears. The sheriff was nowhere in sight, which meant she’d probably gone inside.

Of course she’s inside, Frost thought with a pang of jealousy. Of all the nights for the town to get restless, it had to be the one she was on office duty.

“Want to go check it out?” Griffin asked.

She nearly replied in the affirmative, but caught herself. With Avalon in the cell, there was no way she could leave.

Griffin seemed to understand her hesitation and added, “Ava’s not going anywhere.”

Frost sucked in a quick breath. Only Jess had called Avalon by that nickname. Griffin usually used her full name, unlike everyone else in town, who called her ‘Lony.’ The use of the nickname reinforced the idea for her that Griffin was off limits. “Can’t.”

But then, the bell stopped ringing, and despite her determination to shirk her feelings for Griffin, she was secretly pleased, because it meant he might not leave. When his hand wrapped around her arm and he spoke her name, “Helena,” with a calm sense of wonder, she became gripped by worry that he was going to break her rule for her. When she turned to look in his eyes, he wasn’t looking at her, he was looking up.

She followed his gaze and found the sky above was moving and flexing like a great big red blanket, lit from the back side, as if it was being shaken over Refuge. She could hear the people by the church shouting now, but paid them no attention. “What is it?”

“Nothing good,” Griffin said.

Despite the beauty of the sight, Griffin’s confident declaration concerned her greatly. It wasn’t the words exactly, but the fear behind them. Griffin Butler didn’t scare easily.

He dug into his pocket, pulled out a cell phone and quickly dialed. The phone rested against his ear for just a moment. When he yanked it away, even she could hear the high pitched squeal emanating from the speaker. She quickly tried her phone and got the same result. She tried the radio next, intending to check in with Rule, but it shrieked at her too.

For a moment, she locked eyes with Griffin, and then they ran inside the station, each trying a different landline phone. “Dead,” she declared.

“Same,” he said moving to a computer. He clicked the mouse three times. “No internet. Do you have a satellite phone?”

“Why would a small-town police station have a satellite phone?”

“Right,” he said, heading for the door.

“Where are you going?”

“I have one.”

“Of course you do.” She nearly said she was coming, but she remembered her job. She couldn’t leave Lony here, even if the sky was falling. She could, however, double-check whether the sky was, in fact, falling. She stepped outside with Griffin and looked up.

The sky warbled with rolls of red, like the night itself was bleeding.

A tightness gripped her chest. She reached out instinctively, grasping Griffin’s arm. She knew others might see her fear as a sign of weakness, but if she could share her inner frailty with anyone in town, it was Griffin.

“Something’s very wrong,” she said.

He checked his phone again. It no longer shrieked at them, but there was still no signal. “There’s a lot wrong tonight.”

“I don’t hear anything,” she said and then specified, “We should still hear the fireworks.”

“They probably stopped them when...” He pointed to the sky, “...you know.”

Maybe, she thought, but the fireworks in Ashland had become a pretty big deal because they were one of the few towns in the region to have a big fireworks display. She was pretty sure the whole show was run by a computer that wouldn’t stop because of some lights in the skies, and it was possible that the crowds might think it was part of the show. Lasers or something.

But there was something else nagging at her, something different that she couldn’t quite put a finger on, until she did. She turned her head toward the black and red sky. The full moon at its core warbled in and out of view. “Griff,” she said, tugging on his shirt. “The moon. When we entered the station, it was still on the horizon.”

He craned his head back, looking up. His shoulders dropped the way a man’s does when he’s been defeated by life. He whispered a curse and turned to Frost. “It wasn’t full, either.”

8

Rebecca Rule stood dumbfounded, staring up at the sky above the church like she’d seen the good Lord himself perched atop the steeple. The red sky would have been strange on its own, but the way it coincided with the ringing bell and the wavering air suggested all three phenomena were part of the same strange event.

She didn’t want to fuel Dodge’s belief that the Devil was involved, but she couldn’t deny the event smacked of the supernatural. What else could turn the night sky blood red and send a church bell into a fevered spasm?

“Sheriff,” Cash said quietly, as though speaking any louder would bring about the apocalypse. “Laurie’s working at the diner tonight.”

His body language was apologetic, but urgent. She could tell he was going to leave no matter what, but he was being polite about it. “Go.”

“If you need me,” he said, taking a step back.

She nodded. “You’ll be at the diner or your place.”

“Or Laurie’s,” he added. “You know how she gets.”

Rule knew very well. At least thirty percent of their calls came from Laurie Whittemore, Cash’s younger sister. A stiff breeze could send the girl into a panic. She’d only ever had one serious man in her life, Henry Something from Concord, but he only lasted six months on account of how frequently she woke him up at night, claiming someone was in the house. Rule had gotten to know Henry pretty well during those months. Saw him a few days a week, and then not at all. Poor Laurie, Rule thought. Being a nice gal just isn’t enough when you have the emotional constitution of an abused chinchilla.

“Anyone you see on the way or at the diner,” Rule said, “You tell ’em to go home. Nothing bad is happening. We’re taking care of it.”

Cash glanced up at the now silent church steeple, his eyes communicating that he knew better, that none of them really knew what was happening.

“You don’t have to believe it,” she added. “Just tell ’em.”

“Will do, Sheriff,” Cash said, and began jogging to his pickup truck.

“Sheriff,” Walter said. He had the same look on his face as Cash, but he didn’t have a sister in town. Or a wife. Or kids. The Brick House was his family, and right now, it was unattended.

“Go ahead,” she said, and waved him away.

“My phone’s not working,” someone said, taking Rule’s attention away from Walter. She dug into her too-tight pocket, pulled out her phone and switched it on. The screen worked fine, but her usual three-bar status showed a circle with a line through it.

No signal.

She tried her radio next. There was a brief, high-pitched squeal and then silence. “Frost, this is Rule. Can you hear me?”

“Oh my God,” came Frost’s reply. “Do you see this?”

“Where are you?” Rule asked.

“Station steps.”

Rule turned toward the station. She could see Frost and Griffin standing on the front steps. Frost gave an urgent wave, while Griffin kept his eyes on the shifting sky. She toggled the radio. “Listen, our job isn’t to figure out what happened; it’s to keep people safe.” She glanced at Dodge. “People are going to take this all sorts of ways, and we need to make sure no one causes any trouble. Understood?”

“Copy that,” Frost said, her voice calm and back to business. She was a good officer, and Rule secretly hoped Frost could one day reign in that temper of hers and become the next Sheriff. Ultimately, it was up to the people of Refuge, so she’d have to stop punching people sooner or later. Preferably sooner than later.

Cash’s truck roared to life across the street. He pulled out into the road and performed a wide U-turn. He gave a wave as he passed and then sped off down Main Street, headed north. She waited for the sound of his engine to fade before speaking.

“Griffin, can you hear me?” Rule asked, and she knew he could because he looked down when she said his name. “If you’re not planning on going anywhere, could you man the phones tonight, so Frost can help me around town?”

A breeze washed over her, carrying a foreign odor she couldn’t identify, but the air was dry and tickled her throat. Her first thought was that there was a fire, but she couldn’t smell smoke. It was almost like...salt.

“Becky.” It was Griffin’s voice on the radio. She turned to the station and saw him looking at her. “The phones are out. Even the land lines. We’re completely cut off.”

Rule nearly asked why they still had power, but remembered that the town was self-sufficient.

“But...” Griffin continued, sounding grave. “I’m not sure...” The radio went silent, and she saw him lower his radio for a moment before bringing it back to his mouth. “We should speak in person.”

She was about to ask why when Dodge appeared at her side, eyes wide. “What’s wrong? What doesn’t he want us to know?”

She shook her head as casually as possible and forced a smile. “It’s nothing, Pastor. Phones are out is all. Nothing to worry about, and it’s not the Devil.”

“You can’t know that,” he said.

“Can and do,” she replied. “And if I hear about you spreading that kind of nonsense around town, I’ll lock you up.”

Dodge reacted like he’d been slapped. “Nonsense? Lock me up? For what?”

“Incitin’ a panic.”

The man nearly argued, but had the good sense to close his trap.

As the few remnants of Refuge’s population began to emerge from nearby homes, looking up at the sky, a small crowd began to form in front of the church. Rule would have to address them soon, before the rumor mill began to churn out end-of-the-world scenarios and the pastor found his voice again. Before that could happen though, she needed to get organized, and if Griffin had answers, she’d need those too.

She turned to Radar and Lisa as she started toward the station. “You two head home. I’ll keep this from your parents for now, but we’re going to have to work out something with Pastor Dodge.”

Radar nodded rapidly, looking supremely relieved. Although the town might be worried about nuclear war or Satan’s imminent appearance, Radar was more worried about his father. And she knew Dodge would agree to keep things silent. Radar’s father was one devil they could all agree on.

The kids ran into the quasi-darkness, eerily lit by the glowing red sky and the partially concealed full moon. They headed to their homes two blocks away, at the base of Black Job Hill. Rule stomped toward the station. Her feet ached from all the walking, but she barely noticed. Something else nagged at her, tugging at the back of her mind. Something...

She stopped in the middle of Main Street, looking in both directions. There wasn’t a car in sight, and the center of town was well lit by a series of street lights staggered on either side of the street, each holding an American flag. One by one, she saw the flags at the far end of town snap toward her.

A wind is coming, she realized, and she squinted her eyes. The flags next to her snapped hard when the wind hit. Rule’s hat was torn from her head. But the removal of her hat went unnoticed. The sting of whipping grit across her cheeks held her full attention. She raised her arms over her face and waited out the gust.

The wind died down. The flags hung limp. Rule lowered her arms and played her tongue around her mouth. What the hell? she thought, isolating a small, hard grain in her mouth and spitting it into her hand.

Sand.

A thin film of it covered the road. She leaned forward and shook her hands through her hair, messing it up more than she would have preferred, but the grit against her skull was already starting to annoy her. The sand fell like thick dandruff, bouncing on the macadam around her feet.

She heard the scuff of feet behind her. She turned to find Griffin bending to pick up her sheriff’s hat. He dusted it off and handed it back to her.

“There’s a sand pile in Ashland for when the roads get icy,” she said, answering the question she thought he was going to ask. “But I don’t see how a wind could carry it all the way here. They keep it covered most of the year. Though that would explain the smell in the air.”

Griffin looked confused, but sniffed the air and said, “Salt.”

“It’s got to be from Ashland,” she said, trying to convince herself, but not really believing it.

“Becky,” he said. “I think the sand might be the least of our worries.”

This got her attention. “What do you mean?”

The sound of screeching tires filled the air. A car, headlights out, tore around a side street corner and barreled toward them.

“Look out!” both Rule and Griffin shouted in unison and moved to tackle each other out of the way, but the driver saw them and hit the brakes. Tires squealed over the pavement, and the sporty SUV swung to the side, stopping ten feet away.

Without missing a beat, the driver’s side door popped open and a half-dressed Winslow Herman sprang barefoot onto the road, while Carol Herman, still in the passenger’s seat, put the vehicle in park and turned on the hazards.

“Winslow,” Rule chided, “What in the name of God’s green—”

“The stars!” he shouted, wide-eyed. “The stars!”

Rule looked up at the sky. Aside from the red glow occasionally concealing them, the stars, in her opinion, were right where they should be—above her head. But then she noticed something that was wrong. “The moon...”

“That’s what I was going to tell you,” Griffin said. “The moon shouldn’t be full, and it shouldn’t be overhead.”

“That’s not all,” Winslow said, his voice shaking with either excitement or panic. “The stars...they’re all wrong. They’re not our stars. And neither is the moon.”

Rule nearly argued, but quickly saw that he was right. She’d looked at the moon a lot as a kid. Her father had been obsessed with the lunar landings. And she’d even looked at the moon through Winslow’s telescope a few times. The pattern of shadows and craters had become familiar to her. But not anymore. The sphere above her head was a stranger. The craters weren’t where they were supposed to be.

She wanted to ask ‘What does it mean?’ but that was the obvious next question, and Winslow answered it with his usual informed tone, as though explaining a scientific law. “We’re no longer on Earth.”

9

Phillip Beaumont lifted his head with a groan. Without thought, he put his hand to his head and winced. The pain was intense—a combination of a deep, throbbing pain and the sharp sting of salty fingers touching an open wound.

What happened? he thought, blinking his eyes. Everything was blurry—not because of an injury but because his glasses were missing.

He searched the area with his hands, patting his pants, which were sticky. He searched the seat beneath him and then absentmindedly placed a hand on his belly. He quickly recognized the hard, smooth surface of a lens. It wasn’t his glasses, but at least he could see.

With one eye closed, he raised the lens to his right eye and the world came into focus. He was in his truck, but a white sheet had been thrown over the steering wheel.

Not a sheet, his mind told him, the airbag.

His memory scratched at the inside of his skull, clawing its way back to the surface. He looked down to his blue jeans, now darkly stained. He couldn’t make out the color in the low illumination from the truck’s lit dome light. But then the scent of old copper tickled his nose, and he knew what it was: blood.

A lot of blood.

But not his. Whoever had lost that much blood was...

A swirl of hair resting on his leg caught his attention. He took hold of it between his shaking fingers and lifted. He immediately recognized the straight black strands as belonging to his wife, Susie. A trembling scream rose up in his throat and burst from his lungs, when he saw the chunk of flesh dangling from the hair’s end.

He dropped the hair and nearly lost hold of the lens, but managed to clutch it in his fist. Tears blurred his vision further as he wept. He remembered.

Remembered everything.

He was driving too fast, squealing the tires around the curvy country road, trying to reach Ashland before the fireworks began. But they didn’t make it. When the fire red explosion blossomed in the sky, both girls began crying, Susie started yelling and while his eyes were craned upward, watching the embers turn orange and slip back toward the distant Earth, a deer leapt in front of the truck.

He saw the animal as a blur of motion and reacted by turning the wheel hard to the left. His right bumper caught the deer in the side and knocked it down to the pavement, where it was struck by the right front tire. The mammoth vehicle bucked wildly and launched off the road.

With just thirty feet of grass between the truck and the line of hundred-foot pine trees, Beaumont had just a second to make a choice: crash headlong at near full speed, turn left, slow down and dull the impact, or turn right.

Both girls were seated on the left side of the vehicle, right behind him, so he made a choice.

He turned left, hopefully slowing the vehicle and sparing his daughters—and himself—from the direct force of the impact. At the time, his mind hadn’t fully comprehended the full ramifications of his choice. But he understood it now. He’d killed his wife to save his girls. And it wasn’t an accident, not to the courts. He’d been speeding. Driving recklessly. Hell, Sheriff Rule had seen him speeding away from town. It was manslaughter, plain and simple. He’d go to jail and lose the...

Girls!

He unclipped his seatbelt, and with a groan of pain, he spun around to look at the back seat. With the lens against his eye, he looked at the empty seats with a sense of relief. The windows were up and the door was closed. They hadn’t been thrown out, so they must have left on their own. He searched the seats for blood and saw just a small smudge on the window.

They’re okay, he told himself. But then he realized they’d left him there. They think I’m dead, too. He faced forward again and caught sight of his wife as he turned. It was just a flash, but it was enough. A pine tree had basically forced its way into the cab of the truck. Buckled in her belt, Susie had been torn apart at the waist and neck. Shards of metal from the door and ceiling had mutilated the rest of her. If she hadn’t been sitting next to him in their truck, he wouldn’t have been able to recognize her.

He fumbled with the truck’s handle, wrenched it open and fell to the tall grass on the side of the road. Vomit exploded from his mouth, matting down the grass. Two dry heaves followed. As he caught his breath, his thoughts began to clear.

The girls, he thought, forcing away images of Susie’s body. I have to find the girls.

He stood on unsteady legs, waiting for a moment, testing his weight to see if anything was broken. To his surprise he seemed mostly intact, except for the nasty gouge on his forehead. He stumbled up the rise, finding forward movement far more difficult than simply standing.

He fell to his knees and stifled a shout when he found himself looking into the eyes of a very dead deer, its insides uncoiled in the road and crushed by his truck’s tires.

Catching his breath, Beaumont fished out his phone. Thank God, he thought, when the now-cracked screen glowed brightly. He dialed 911 and held the phone to his ear. Nothing. He lowered the phone and looked at the signal indicator.

“Shit,” he said. He was on his own until someone drove by.

He got back to his feet, stumbled a few steps toward town and stopped. The girls were eight and ten. Smart kids, but after an accident, with both of their parents presumed dead, the panicked pair might not have headed for town. They might not even be on the road.

His chest ached as he filled his lungs. He realized he might have a few broken ribs, but he ignored the pain. With a shriek of desperation, he screamed, “Alice! Joy! Can you hear me?”

He staggered, waiting for a reply.

There was only silence. He took another long inhalation and nearly began coughing from the dryness of the air, but turned the urge to cough into a shout, cupping his hands to his mouth. “Joy! Alice!”

He listened, holding his breath. And this time, he got a reply from the south, “Daddy! Help!” Alice’s voice.

They’re headed away from town, was his first thought, but it was quickly followed by, ‘Help?’ Was one of them hurt badly?

He was about to shout again, when Joy’s high pitched voice cut through the night. “Hurry! He has us!”

He has us.

He!

The girls weren’t headed in the wrong direction on their own. They were being taken!

Beaumont took one step in their direction and then realized he was in no condition to fight someone for his daughters. Ignoring the thunderous pain in his body, he ran back to the truck, tore open the door and lunged for the gun rack behind the back seat. The Mossberg 12 gauge shotgun was still securely mounted. Unlike his collection of hunting rifles, the Mossberg was for home defense, or in this case, vehicle defense. He pulled it free and spun around. Without a second thought, he leaned past his wife’s wrecked body, feeling what remained of her head on his shoulder and reached into the already open glove box. He found his spare pair of glasses and put them on. Then he quickly recovered the small box of shells, yanked it out and jumped from the car.

He ran slowly at first, carefully loading six shells into the shotgun. He pumped it once, chambering a round, and then he poured on the steam, running into the dark, which was lit by the full moon above and the LED flashlight mounted on the weapon’s front.

“Girls!” he shouted, hoping to discern which direction to run and how far away they might be.

But there was no reply, so he ran faster...for fifty feet, when he came to a sudden, sliding stop that planted him firmly on his ass. Confused by what had tripped him up, he aimed the shotgun forward, lighting the scene. He kicked back and climbed to his feet, unable to comprehend what he was seeing. The road ended like it was a tomato, cut clean through by a knife. Where the road ended was nothing but sand, for as far at the flashlight could reach.

Sand.

And footprints.

Large footprints.

One set.

And they weren’t just large, they were deep and unsettlingly not human. He tried to think about what, in New Hampshire, could have made such large footprints, but nothing made sense. Not that he could see details. The general shape of the prints was lost in the sand, and that’s what disturbed him the most. Because while the footprints were strange, the sand was something closer to otherworldly.

How did it get here? Where’s the road? The forest? How did this happen?

But, ultimately, his attention remained on the prints. The single set of prints.

The girls are being carried, Phillip Beaumont thought. Blinded by fear for his daughters, he charged ahead, running up the side of a long sand dune that shouldn’t be there, and he disappeared over the other side.

10

“Winslow, I hear what you’re saying, and I’m seeing the same thing as you, but there ain’t no way I’m believing we’re not on Earth.” Rule had her arms crossed over her chest. The very notion of what he was saying just felt wrong. Impossible. The man might have been a genius once, but he’d clearly lost his mind. Of course—she glanced up—the moon did look different. “It’s still the moon,” she added, vocalizing her internal debate. “It might look off, but if we were on another planet—which might damn well be the most ridiculous words ever to come outta my mouth—what are the odds it would have a moon just like ours but slightly different?”

Rule was relieved to hear Griffin say, “She’s right.” He took a deep breath. “The air is breathable.” He hopped up and down. “Gravity is the same.” He looked around town. “And as far as I can see, we’re still in Refuge, New Hampshire.”

If Wilson was hearing them, he gave no indication. He just stared at the sky, mumbling to himself.

Carol came around the SUV. She was fully clothed, but looked disheveled and had grass in her hair. It didn’t take much of an imagination to figure out what these two had been up to when things went wacky.

“Becky,” Carol said in greeting. “Griff.”

Rule nearly corrected Carol’s use of her first name, but she was growing tired of the fight. She’d been ‘Becky Rule’ to the folks in town far longer than she’d been ‘Sheriff.’ She’d always been a person of authority—principal of the middle school during her late twenties and early thirties, then president of the Town Council, which was a part-time position, but just one step beneath mayor. She babysat on the side during those days, which coincided with an economic depression in the region, resulting in a higher crime rate and a rash of drunkenness. Bar fights became common. A couple of twenty-somethings drove their Camaro into a tree and died. And then Sheriff Weldon, her predecessor, went and had a heart attack.

It was two days later that her husband, Bernie, a dear sweet man who preferred fishing over talking, was struck down, not more than fifty feet from where Rule now stood. The driver was never found—there wasn’t a Sheriff to lead the search—but witnesses described the female driver as being drunk. That no one recognized the woman or the vehicle meant she was from out of town, but that didn’t change Rule’s reaction to the loss of her high-school sweetheart and long-time companion.

Two years later, after breezing through training, she was unanimously voted in as Sheriff, and with a ferocity no one could have predicted, she set about cleaning up the town. She was a natural leader, an ever present public figure and a world-renowned stickler. In her first year, she and those serving under her, issued more tickets than in the previous five years combined. People drank more responsibly, sped less and there hadn’t been a violent crime in four years. Rule knew she couldn’t take all the credit, though. The government grant and the new construction all around town had also brought a lot of money to the area. Not to folks like Cash, but for most, Refuge had never been as prosperous.

Carol stepped up next to her husband and looked up. “What do you see?”

Unlike Rule or Griffin, Carol got his instant attention. “They’re right. This is still Earth, but not.”

“Explain,” Rule said sternly.

“Well...” He adjusted his glasses and pointed to the night sky. “I see Mars and Venus. They’re out of position for this time of year, but they’re there. And Griff is right about the air and the gravity.” He looked at Rule. “And you’re right about the moon. It’s a statistical impossibility that another planet would have a moon that was the same diameter, equal distance and approximate lumens as Earth’s moon.”

“Could something have changed our perception of space?” Griffin asked. When Winslow just twitched his beard back and forth, Griffin elaborated. “I mean, we’re seeing some pretty crazy visual distortions. Maybe there’s something screwy in the atmosphere? Some kind of gas?”

“Bending the light,” Winslow said. “Distorting the image, so the stars are out of position and the face of the moon looks different?”

Rule didn’t point out that the light bending theory didn’t explain why the half moon was now full, or how it had leapt to an entirely different position in the sky, but all the speculation in the world wasn’t going to calm people down. She heard voices rising from the front of the church. Case in point. “Winslow...” Rule said, and he didn’t reply again.

“Winslow, honey,” Carol said, and he looked right at her. “Becky’s talking to you.”

He turned to face her. “Sorry, this is...ahh, this is pretty exciting.”

Not the words Rule would have chosen, but she might agree in a few days, after she knew everyone was safe. She nodded toward the group gathered around Pastor Dodge at the front of the church. “I need you to go tell them the same thing, that this is all a visual distortion.”

“Created by what?” Winslow asked. “I can’t—”

“Solar flare,” Rule said. She’d seen enough Neil Degrasse Tyson specials to know that a strong solar flare could not only cause the aurora borealis, but could mess with electronics and communications. One more visual distortion added to the mix would be believable to the group by the church, whose science education ranged between Ghost Hunters and the purple dinosaur, Barney, with Barney being the more intelligent of the two.

Winslow shook his head. “But I don’t think that—”

“Don’t matter what you think,” Rule said. “Matters what they think.”

Winslow looked toward the group, whose voices were rising in pitch. He nodded. “To calm things down.”

“Exactly. Just talk some scientific circles around them. Make them feel safe. Then I’ll come over and tell ’em to go home.”

“And then,” he said, “We’ll figure out just what is happening.”

It was a statement. Not a question. But she agreed with every fiber of her being. “Damn straight, we will.”

“Okay,” Winslow said, and he headed toward the crowd, walking in a casual gait that was completely contrary to his tire-squealing arrival. She hoped no one would notice the change, and they would just believe his big words. Hell, if he’d given her an explanation that made any kind of sense, she would have believed him. Would have been happier that way, too. On another planet... She shook her head at the ridiculous turn her night of parking-ticket bliss had taken.

“Hey,” Griff said, touching her elbow.

She could hear his words starting to form, but she cut him off. “If you’re going to talk about other planets or gravity or bending light, save it. I need a mental breather.”

He laughed, and it was about the nicest thing she’d heard all night. She liked to hear him laugh—not because it sounded like anything special, but because she hadn’t heard it much in recent years. She couldn’t help but smile, which made her whole body relax. She hadn’t realized how tense she’d been until that moment.

“I have a satellite phone back at the house,” he said, pointing his thumb back over his shoulder. He lived just a few blocks away, like most people in town, not far from Radar’s house. “Something tells me it’s not going to work, either, but I think we need to try.”

“It’s that or drive to Ashland,” she agreed. “But I think I’ll be doing that next.”

“If you do, take Frost,” he said.

“Not sure I should leave the town unattended. Frost will stay at the station with Avalon.”

“And I’m not sure you should be alone tonight.”

Not many people could get away with talking to her so casually. Luckily for Griffin, he was one of the few. She grinned. “You going to run for Mayor?”

“Not a chance,” Griffin said.

“Well, you’re gonna have to, if you want to boss me around.” She gave him a grin to let him know she was teasing and then added, “But I’ll consider it.”

“Be back in twenty,” he said, and he jogged away.

“Make sure Radar and Lisa made it home okay,” she shouted after him, and he waved to let her know he had heard her. She nearly asked him why he wasn’t taking his car, but then she remembered she hadn’t seen it. He’d been searching for Avalon on foot, or, she thought, Walter gave him a courtesy call. He must have run the few blocks to the Brick House, intending to drive her little red number back home.

Loud voices turned her attention back to the church, just as Carol, in a nervous voice said, “Becky...” Winslow was backing away from the small crowd in front of the church. She couldn’t hear the words, but it sounded like he was being scornfully admonished by Pastor Dodge.

Rule sighed, put on her deadpan face and started for the group. She stepped around Winslow and stopped the flow of humanity as though she were Jupiter and they were her moons, unable to break away. “I don’t know what kind of nonsense is being spoken over here, and I don’t really want to know. What Dr. Herman here told you is the truth. Ain’t no way around it.”

“But the sky is red,” someone said, and while it wasn’t said outright, Rule could read between the lines. Red was the color of the Devil, at least as he was portrayed in American pop culture, which also gave angels wings and made Jesus a trim-bearded white man.

“It looks alive,” a woman said. “I feel watched.”

The only thing alive was the paranoia eating these people up. Natural phenomena, no matter how strange, could be reduced to science. Although some declared tsunamis, hurricanes and earthquakes were God’s wrath, Rule understood that physics dictated such things, whether you believed God created the world or not.

She saw the pastor’s mouth open slowly, but didn’t intend to give that motor-mouth a chance to get revved up. “Now we’ve all had a crazy night. Some interesting things have taken place—” She set her eyes on the pastor, letting him know this next bit was for him, “for some more than others.” She glanced at his lady friend who hung back at the fringe of the group. The woman wilted under the attention and the clear message.

Back to Dodge. “Everyone needs to go home. Go to bed. If you had plans for the fourth, they’re cancelled. If you’re waiting for family or friends from Ashland, chances are they’re going to be delayed on account of the strangeness. So just go to bed, and in the morning, I’ll have answers for all of you. I promise.”

Dodge frowned, but it lasted just a moment before he pushed it away and replaced his true expression with a smile.

How many Sunday mornings does he pull that trick, she wondered.

“You heard the Sheriff,” he said. “Go home. Pray for our missing—”

Our missing?
He’s baiting me, she decided, but she let it slide.

“—and thank God we’re all safe,” the pastor continued. “We’ll meet back here first thing in the morning. Seven a.m. We’ll have coffee and donuts in the foyer.”

Coffee and donuts placated a congregation like nothing else on the planet. The group quieted and began dispersing. She wasn’t happy about being told when she’d be addressing the town, but seeing as how she’d likely be awake all night, an early morning meeting would be for the best.

When he finished saying quick goodbyes, Dodge turned to her and said, “Where do we start?”

“You can start by going home and taking your...whatever she is, with you. I don’t want anyone not coming home from Ashland driving on the roads and confusing things.”

They locked eyes for a few seconds. He then walked away, approached the woman from the bar and handed her his keys. He returned with a snarky grin that Rule nearly slapped off of him. “She knows where I live.”

“I bet she does,” Rule replied. “But you’re still not—”

“Most of this town trusts me more than you, and far more than the Mayor. You’re going to need me to support whatever lie you tell them in the morning, so I want to know what’s really going on.”

That surprised her. “No demons? No Devil? You’re really after the truth?”

“I’m not barring out the supernatural, but I recognize it could be something more...mundane.”

“Or scientific,” Winslow clarified. The two men couldn’t be further apart on the spectrum of personal beliefs. But Dodge gave a nod.

“If that’s the case,” Dodge said. “They’ll swallow it a lot better coming from me.”

“If you get in my way,” Rule said, “I’ll lock you in a cell for the rest of the night.”

“You won’t even know I’m there,” Dodge said with a satisfied grin.

“I’m coming too,” Winslow said, and when Carol began to complain, he added, “Go home. Get some rest. We’ll have it figured out by morning.”

Carol relented, and the pair said their goodbyes before she drove away, leaving Rule in the middle of Main Street with Dodge and Winslow Herman.

Winslow clapped his hands together and rubbed them back and forth like he was about to dig into a big plate of baby-back ribs. “So, what’s the plan?”

Rule laid it out for them, plain and simple, so they knew she wasn’t joking. “We’re going to go to the station and have a sit.”

11

Griffin Butler saw motion to his right. A rustle of leaves accompanied the shifting shadow behind a thick rhododendron, framed on either side by small white Cape Cod style homes. Standing in the shade of an oak tree, hidden from the nearby streetlight, he paused, gave the neighborhood a quick once over and said, “It’s just me. You can come out.”

Two shapes emerged from the protective shroud of the bush. As they came into the light, Griffin stepped into the street and crossed over toward them.

“Mr. Butler...” Radar said, his voice apologetic.

“The Sheriff asked me to check on you,” Griffin said. “She’s the only person I’m going to report to.”

The boy relaxed, and the transformation made Griffin angry. What had the boy’s father done to make him so afraid? There were rumors, of course. Stories about belts and fists and the hiding of bruises, but they were such stereotypes, Griffin wasn’t sure which were real and which were inspired by a Lifetime Network made-for-TV movie. Rule knew more than most, but she wasn’t sharing, which was a testament to her professionalism, but since Radar still lived at home and his father wasn’t locked up, clearly nothing had been proven.

“Do—do you know what’s wrong with the sky?” Lisa asked. She held on to Radar’s thin arm like he was the only thing holding her to the ground.

Griffin turned his head to the night sky. It was still cloaked in waves of translucent red. The way they moved, sliding through the sky like a sinister fog, made him nervous. Made everyone nervous. And not just because it shouldn’t be there. There was just something...off about it. Something not right. He tried to sound casual and confident. “We’ll figure it out.”

“Do you think it could be, like a poisonous gas or something?” Radar asked. “A chemical attack?”

“You know I was in the military, right?” Griffin asked. Both kids nodded. “I can promise you both, Refuge has absolutely no strategic value. If there were a nuclear war, this would be one of the few places left untouched on the planet. Why do you think they named it Refuge?”

Radar half smiled. “I guess.”

“Might want to get inside soon, though,” Griffin advised. “Won’t be long before people start driving back from Ashland.”

“We were watching for headlights,” Lisa said, standing behind Radar. Her cheeks were flushed with embarrassment. Watching for headlights wasn’t the only thing these two were doing inside the rhododendron. But it explained how he was able to sneak up on them. He smiled without realizing it.

“What is it?” Radar asked, sounding nervous, like he’d been caught doing something, which in a sense, he had been.

“Just realized I’ve seen you two playing inside and around that bush for most of your lives.”

Radar looked back at the big plant, then at Lisa. “Yeah...”

“Of course, I’ve never seen you come out looking so guilty.” Before Radar could react, Griffin burst out laughing. After everything that had happened that night, with Avalon, with the bell, and the stars, he needed a release and found it by teasing Radar. Happily, the boy was able to find the humor in the jab and joined in the laughter, followed by Lisa, who sounded a little less comfortable.

Griffin wiped a tear from his eye and controlled himself. “Listen, you guys can go to your separate houses if you want, or you can stay in the bush. It’s your call, but don’t leave, okay? Sheriff wants to know that you’re here and that you’re safe.”

Both nodded.

Griffin tilted his head toward his home, which was two houses down on the opposite side of the street. “I’m going to my house to pick something up. I’ll be in and out inside of ten minutes. With the phones out, if you need anything, or have an emergency, you head straight for the police station. If Frost or Rule aren’t there, I will be.”

Nods again.

“Good.” He took two steps away, heading for his house.

Lisa stopped him. “Is everything going to be okay? Are our families okay?”

“Everything’s going to be fine,” Griffin said. “Stranger things have happened.”

Lisa smiled slightly, in a way that said she knew he was lying, but that she appreciated it.

“Thanks,” Radar said, heading back toward the rhododendron.

Griffin made for his house. He glanced back over his shoulder. If Radar and Lisa were back in the bush, he couldn’t tell. They’re good at hiding, he thought, and he wondered how much of that was a learned defense for Radar.

He slipped past the open gate of his white picket fence that he’d been meaning to remove for several years. The iconic symbol of the suburban American dream just mocked him now. His daughter was a strung-out addict and he was a single father, who had failed miserably at helping his one and only child adapt to life without a mother.

He might have succeeded if Jess had died suddenly. He sometimes felt jealous of Becky. Her husband’s death was tragic, but it also gave her drive and purpose. He would never tell her to her face, but she’d become a better and stronger woman as a result. Jess’s death had been long and slow. The cancer had tortured her, and when she’d fought back, it fought harder. Two years of treatment, of long drives to Boston and of sleepless nights, had left him broken and weary—so much so that he’d never noticed how it all had affected Avalon. She was sixteen when Jess had been diagnosed. Eighteen when her mother had died. Avalon moved out a month later. Six months after that, she went to California with some friends. He fooled himself into hoping the change of scenery would do her good, but that clearly had not been the case.

The front door was unlocked. He didn’t know anyone in town who locked their house or car, unless they traveled to Concord or Manch-Vegas. At least not since Becky had become the sheriff. The town went through a few rough years, but they were in the past now.

The light switch just inside the door clicked beneath the weight of his finger, but it produced no results. Damnit, he thought, shaking his head. He’d been one of the few people to not retrofit their homes. It wasn’t because he disagreed with the effort; he just didn’t want to ruin Jess’s home. Perhaps it was time to move past his sentimentality.

He took the stairs two at a time, each one groaning under his weight. The old Victorian home had been Jess’s dream house. It wasn’t exactly Griffin’s style, but he couldn’t bring himself to sell it, and the large rooms made for excellent studio space for his large paintings. He didn’t make a lot of money, despite being well known and respected in the art world. His work had even been compared favorably to Bosch. But not many people could afford what he charged for his fifteen-foot long monstrosities. He only needed to sell a few every year to make a living, which was another benefit to staying in Refuge. Everything was so damn cheap.

He paused in front of his studio door, looking into the dark space. Moonlight streamed through the windows, creating rectangles of light on the dark hardwood floor. A shiver ran up his back. He couldn’t see the recently finished painting, but he could see the twisted, dark image in his mind’s eye. After the strange night he’d had, that kind of darkness, inspired by his very real past, was not something he wanted to dwell on. He took a long deep breath through his nose, letting the familiar scents of oil paint and turpentine return a sense of normalcy to his mind, and then he headed for the bedroom.

After gathering two flashlights and a strap-on headlamp from the top drawer of his bureau, he moved to the closet. He hadn’t had any need for the satellite phone in years, but he knew exactly where it was. He slid a box of Jess’s clothing to the side—he’d manage to box it up, but resisted bringing it to the Salvation Army—and pulled out the fireproof safe.

It had been four years since he’d last opened the safe, but he quickly entered the combination and opened the lid. Inside was a stack of bills—$10,000 for emergencies—his passport, the satellite phone, his dog tags, an M9 handgun, a holster, three magazines and a box full of 9mm ammunition. He took out the phone and pressed the power button. As expected, it was dead. He’d have to recharge it back at the station.

He slid the phone in his pocket, rested his hands on the safe lid and looked down at the handgun. It had been a long time since he’d held it and even longer since he’d shot it. He reached for it, but stopped short.

Don’t be stupid, he told himself, you can’t shoot at a different moon.

The lid slapped closed, but he stopped before locking it. People in town were going to panic. It seemed obvious to him. Something in the world had gotten screwed up, and someone was going to do something stupid as a result. And if he was going to be manning the station while Rule and Frost dealt with the town...

He opened the safe and picked up the M9. He loaded the magazines and slapped one into the handle of the pistol, but he didn’t chamber a round. The two spare magazines went in his jeans pocket, which was already full with his wallet. But the other side now held two phones and his keys. He considered breaking out his old cargo pants, but opted for simplification instead. He removed the wallet, but kept his driver’s license, in case State Troopers showed up. He put his key chain, which held ten different keys and a collection of tiny knickknacks on the bureau, but kept his car key. Better, he thought, and then he clipped the now holstered gun to his belt where everyone could see it.

As he left the house, he considered walking back to the station. It wasn’t far. But he opened the silver Ford Fusion’s door and started the engine for the same reason he’d taken the gun. If shit started flying in the town of Refuge, he wanted to be able to move himself—and Avalon—out of the way quickly.

12

Rule sat behind her desk in the wide, open, front room of the station. She hadn’t moved since placing herself in the seat and leaning back. Normally she resisted sitting. Unless there was paperwork on the desk and a pen in her hand, sitting felt stagnant. Like a swamp. And Rule hated swamps. Mostly because they stunk, a fact she learned as a child when she slipped off a log and landed in some old brown water full of very green and slimy frog eggs. That’s what sitting felt like to her. But tonight, she welcomed the chair’s support.

She needed to talk to someone. Verbalizing always helped her sort things out. But Frost was in the back, checking on Avalon. Winslow was bent over a desk, scribbling something like words onto a piece of paper. That left her with Dodge, who was basically the last person with whom she wanted to talk.

“How long are we supposed to wait?” Dodge asked. He’d been pacing by the door for ten minutes, muttering to himself, and that made her nervous. The muttering, more than the pacing.

“Isn’t patience a virtue, Pastor?” Rule asked, hoping to distract the man from wearing down a circular path in the linoleum.

“Ugh.” Dodge rolled his eyes so hard his whole head swiveled around like a bobble-head figure. “That’s not from the Bible. It’s a fifth century poem.”

“Well,” she said. “It shoulda been in the Bible.” She wasn’t sure why she was egging the man on. Probably because she needed to release some tension. She didn’t feel like she could be serious with him, and he was an easy target.

Dodge turned to her. “‘Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer.’ Romans 12:12. That’s just one of many actual Biblical references to patience.”

“In that case, Pastor, I don’t see you smilin’, or prayin’, or—”

“I haven’t stopped praying, Sheriff.”

So that’s what he’s been doing, she thought, and decided to give him a break. While her faith was about as solid as a Jell-O block, she appreciated that he was putting his to work on their behalf. Of course, she had no idea what he was praying for, but he was a good man. Despite his propensity to cry Devil, Dodge had done a lot of good for the town over the years, and he had helped keep people rooted during the tough times that had predated her reign in the town. In a way, the pair of them kept the town in order using a combination of the world’s law and God’s law. He wrote prayer requests. She wrote tickets. He carried a Bible. She carried a gun, and cuffs, and mace, and a—well, she liked to think she was prepared for the end times Dodge preached about regularly.

A shadow bounced back and forth on the windows of the station’s front double doors. Someone was running up the steps. She sat up, for some reason expecting a screaming panicked person. Instead, it was Griffin. He yanked open the outer door, stepped through the foyer, opened the second set of doors and entered the office with a confidence she wished she felt.

Dodge glanced at Griffin, gave him a once over and stepped back. “You have a gun?” He looked at Rule and pointed at Griffin. “He has a gun.” The words came out as part declaration, part warning, like Griffin might go on a shooting spree. Rule half expected Dodge to dive for cover, but this was Griffin and not the Devil, so he stood his ground, waiting for Rule’s response.

“He’s also got a permit to carry that gun,” she said, deflating Dodge’s inflating anxiety balloon. “And if he didn’t bring it, I was going to give him one.”

This surprised both men until she reached down to the desk, picked up a circular deputy’s badge and tossed it across the office. The circle-encased star looked like some kind of Japanese weapon as it spun through the air, but Griffin had no trouble catching it.

He held the badge up. “You sure about this?”

“If anyone comes in here while we’re gone, they’re going to feel better seeing that badge on your chest.”

“People here know me,” he said. It wasn’t necessarily a protest. More of a clarification.

“It’s all about marketing. Perceptions. If you need to make a call, that badge will make people listen faster than the gun on your hip or your good reputation.”

“If they don’t listen to me, they’ll have to answer to you, is that it?” Griffin smiled, and Rule joined him.

“Exactly.” She waved him over. “Did you find the phone?”

“Needs to be charged,” he said.

“Don’t you need to swear him in or something?” Dodge asked, taking a circuitous route to the side of her desk, opposite of where Griffin now stood.

Rule grunted. It was a technicality. She trusted Griff, and that was good enough for her. “Do you swear?” she asked him.

“All the time,” he replied.

She smiled at Dodge. “Good enough for me.”

Griffin crouched by her desk and plugged the phone’s charger into the surge protector, which was zip-tied to the desk leg. He attached the charger to the phone and was happy to see the screen light up green. “You know what,” he said. “I think we can use it while it’s plugged in.”

He handed the phone to Rule. She looked at the numbers, wondering who to call. FBI? Homeland? NASA? The damn White House? She opted for the State Police, punched in the number and lifted the phone to her ear. It shrieked at her, a wailing cry so loud that she yanked the phone away from her ear and dropped it on the desk.

The high-pitched tone could be heard clearly from the desk. Then it stopped.

Griffin put the phone to his ear and shook his head. He hung up and hit redial. “Nothing. Same as the cells and land lines.”

“What was that sound?” Winslow asked.

“Sat-phone,” Griffin said.

Winslow scratched his gray hair. “Sounded like interference.”

“Whatever it was, it’s gone now, but we’re not getting a signal.” Griffin turned to Rule. “Looks like you’re going for a drive.”

Rule got Griffin situated, pointing out a few things around the office with which he might not already be familiar. She told him to stick with the solar flare story if anyone asked, and to send people home. If there was an emergency...well, he’d have to handle that as best he could. She decided to take two cars. Dodge would ride in her patrol car. Winslow with Frost. As soon as they reached Ashland in one piece, she’d send Frost back. She finished detailing her plan by handing him a radio. They seemed to work, but she couldn’t depend on that continuing, since every other mode of modern communication seemed to be on the fritz.

“Stay safe,” Griffin said, as Rule headed for the door with Frost, Dodge and Winslow. She hung back while the others exited.

“Listen, Griff...” She spoke quietly. Secretive. “My personal opinion is that whatever happened has probably affected a lot more people than just us. There were thousands of people in Ashland. And no one’s come home. If people there panicked...” She let that linger. “If that’s what we find, and some kind of craziness spills over into Refuge, you have my permission to take Avalon and get the hell out of town. Head up to that cabin of yours.”

“I will,” he said. “Just as soon as you and Frost get back safely.”

She smiled and gave his face a playful slap. “Question is, which one of us do you have a crush on? Unless it’s both of us. Wouldn’t put it past you.”

Both of Griffin’s cheeks turned red despite only being slapped on one side. His grin confirmed her suspicions. She kissed his cheek where she slapped him. “Jess would approve.” She headed for the door. “Back in a jiff.”

13

Dodge had remained quiet for the first few minutes of the ride, but Rule could see him growing antsy. She really didn’t want to get into an argument with the man. It wouldn’t do anyone any good. So don’t argue, she told herself. Let the man speak his mind and just nod.

Dodge pulled his eyes away from the green and brown blur of the pine forest they sped through and swiveled toward her exactly when she expected him to. But his words nearly caused her to yank the steering wheel and plow the police cruiser into a tree. “I want to apologize.”

She glanced at him. “’Scuse me?”

“You heard me,” he said, willing to apologize, but not repeat the words. But then he elaborated, and Rule felt like she’d been transported to another world. “I overreacted.” The words came out slowly, begrudging more than thoughtful. “I jumped to conclusions. I haven’t ruled out the supernatural, mind you, but I should have withheld judgment until I had all the facts.”

Rule nodded slowly, waiting for a punch line, but it didn’t come. “Appreciate you saying that, Pastor.”

She wondered how honest she should be with him, and she decided that now, while he was feeling open, was the time to forge a functional relationship. “This town needs us both. You know that, right?”

Dodge stared at the floor for a moment. “I think that’s accurate, yes.”

“And the town’ll be better off if we’re not bickering.”

“Absolutely,” he said without hesitation, which made her worried he’d insist on something like her being baptized again as a public expression of faith. But she didn’t think he’d suggest anything like that after she finished speaking.

She took a moment to gather her thoughts and realized she was squeezing the steering wheel. She loosened her grip and let out a breath. “I still don’t think we’re dealing with the supernatural—not because it’s not a possibility, but because it doesn’t make sense. The devil is most dangerous when we don’t know he’s there, right? So why announce his presence with a church bell?”

She let Dodge digest that for a moment, and when she saw the first hint of a nod, she continued, “But I do think something...large is happening. Something that’s going to frighten people. And frightened people sometimes make poor decisions. They react instinctually. And...” She looked at Dodge, “...they’re easily led.”

“Are you saying I would take advantage of people’s suggestibility?” Dodge asked, a trace of fire and brimstone in his voice.

“Not at all,” Rule said. “Just requestin’ you use the pulpit to keep people calm, which will help me keep ’em safe and alive.”

“Alive?” Dodge’s eyes grew wide.

Rule didn’t soften the blow. “I think something’s gone wrong in the world. Don’t know what. Could be war. Could be some kinda cosmic event. There really isn’t a way to know right now. But my gut tells me something bad is coming.”

Dodge pursed his lips hard, turning them white. Through clenched teeth he admitted the truth, “Me, too.”

The two-way radio crackled, and a broken voice filled the police cruiser. Rule couldn’t understand a word of it, but recognized Frost’s voice. She and Winslow were in the cruiser behind them. They were headed south on Main Street, which led all the way to the Ashland border. No one lived in this part of town, not unless you counted the deer, moose and bears.

There were only two intersecting streets. Lakeshore Drive on the left was a dirt road that ran out and around the lake. There were a few cabins and nicer new homes out that way, but none held a candle to Renford Ellison’s mansion at the end of the street. It was a three-story affair with sweeping views of the lake and surrounding area. She’d seen it only once, while it was being constructed, because two of the contractors got in a scuffle. She wasn’t even sure if Ellison lived there. Never saw him around town. In fact, it’d been at least a year since she’d seen him. He could be dead and rotting in that skyscraper of a home, and no one would ever know.

The second street was well paved and gated. It led to a National Guard storage depot. Like Ellison’s house, she’d been back there just once—a courtesy tour for the new Sheriff. Wasn’t much of a tour. All she’d seen were the exteriors of six large, metal buildings and an empty helicopter landing pad. She glanced at the chain-link gate, topped with razor wire, as she picked up the radio mic. She didn’t see anyone, but that didn’t mean the small base was deserted.

“Say again, Frost,” Rule spoke into the mic. “Did not copy, over.”

The voice that replied was not Frost. “The sky. Look at the sky.” Winslow’s voice came through loud and clear, projecting the fear hidden just beneath the surface of his words. Rule and Dodge both leaned forward looking up through the front windshield. The sky behind the curtain of undulating red was still dark...but not.

It was no longer black.

It was purple.

The sun was rising behind the crimson curtain. Part of her hoped the phenomenon would be burned off or muted by the sun’s light, but the rising sun presented a problem of its own.

“Shit,” Rule muttered. It had only been an hour since the sun went down.

“Missing time,” Dodge said. “We must have all passed out at some point.”

“If we’d all passed out, we’d all remember waking up on the ground,” Rule countered.

“We could have been in a trance-like state,” Dodge said.

“So we were just standing around all night, staring up at the church bell?”

“It would explain how the moon got so high in the sky. It would explain the rising sun.”

Dodge was grasping at straws, trying to make some sense of what was happening. She didn’t blame him. It was freaky as hell, and it didn’t feel like a supernatural event. “Doesn’t explain how a half moon became a full moon.”

With a frown, Dodge echoed her feelings, “Shit.”

“Did you see?” Winslow asked, his voice booming from the two-way.

Rule leaned forward again, looking at the lightening sky—the sun was rising fast—and held the mic to her mouth, but Frost’s voice exploded into the car. “Look out!”

Before seeing the danger, Rule slammed on the brakes. Tires squealed for just a moment, before the anti-lock brake system kicked in, rumbling them to a quick, but controlled stop. Rule leaned back in her seat. Looked at Dodge. “You okay, Pastor?”

But the man didn’t respond. His eyes were wide and facing forward. His lips moved slowly, and Rule could read a litany of curses being spoken between him and the good Lord. She didn’t want to look, but craned her head forward.

“What the fuck?” she said, giving voice to Dodge’s whispers.

Stretching out before them was a golden desert, where there should have been road. And forest. But it was all gone. The road just ended, cut clean. She opened the door and nearly stumbled from the car. She looked back at the thick, New Hampshire forest, full of pines, maples and oaks. She could smell the familiar leafy decay mixed with the scent of miles and miles of dried pine needles. But when she faced forward, that world, and every familiar thing about it, disappeared. It was like someone had scooped the town out of New Hampshire, carried it half way around the world and deposited it amidst the golden waves of the Sahara Desert.

On weak legs, she stepped to the sand, knelt and scooped it up. It was coarse, warm and smelled of salt. She turned her head to the right. The forest ended along the same line as the road. A tall pine had been sliced in half vertically; its pale flesh was exposed and bleeding sap.

Next to the tree was an orange reflective road marker. It was fairly mundane, but she’d never seen an orange road marker. It only stuck out to her now because it was right on the edge of town, precisely where the world had been cut away. A half inch further and it would have been cut in half, just like the tree.

Dodge crouched next to her and put his hand on the sand. “This can’t be real.”

“It is,” Rule said. “I don’t know how, and I don’t want it to be, but we’re seeing, touching and smelling it. It’s real.”

“Hey, boss!” Frost called out. She sounded upset, and not in a ‘what happened to the road?’ kind of way.

Rule spun around. Winslow stood atop Frost’s cruiser, looking into the distance through a pair of binoculars. Police issue. Frost must have given them to him. Rule nearly barked at the man for standing on top of the cruiser, but she honestly didn’t give a shit any more. She was more concerned with the desert behind her and whatever Frost had found.

Frost rose up from the side of the road and waved. Her face was ashen. “Over here.”

The side of the road angled down toward the forest a good ten feet, so Rule didn’t see the wrecked truck until she was close to the edge. She’d missed it driving past, because her eyes had been on the sky.

“That’s Monty’s truck,” she said, quickening her pace. “Is anyone—”

“Susie,” Frost said, tears in her eyes. “It’s bad. Probably don’t—”

Rule knew Frost was telling her not to look, but she had to see for herself. It took just a second for her to see what used to be Susie Beaumont inside the truck, but it was enough to permanently claim a leading role in her nightmares.

“No sign of the girls or Monty,” Frost said, her voice forced, almost robotic. “But his shotgun is missing.”

Frost and Monty both loved guns. Hell, most people in town owned a gun, mostly for hunting, but Monty was the type to carry weapons for personal defense, which seemed a bit excessive for their low crime area. They were all legal, so he’d never had a problem, but he occasionally showed off his mobile collection to people like Frost, who appreciated such things.

“Sheriff!” It was Dodge this time, his voice two octaves higher. “Sheriff!”

She ran back toward the desert, her hand going to the gun on her hip. But there was no danger in sight. Dodge stood in the sand, five feet from the side of the road. He pointed down. “Footprints. They head off into the desert.” He crouched and picked up a small red cylinder.

A shotgun shell.

Monty. He’d gone into the desert. But why?

There was only one reason the dedicated father would leave the crash site and head away from town.

The girls.

She yanked open her car door, sat behind the wheel and grabbed the radio mic. “Griff, are you there? Over.”

After a pause, Griff responded. “I’m here.... Just looking at the view. Listen, you need to turn around. Come back to town. The road to Ashland isn’t passable. Over.”

“You can see the sand from Main Street?” Rule asked. “How far does it go?”

“For as far as I can see,” he said, sounding stunned. “Are you guys okay down there?”

“Not even close,” she said into the mic. “We found Monty’s car wrecked on the side of the road. Susie’s dead, but the girls and Monty are missing. We’re going to look for them, but...”

A shotgun blast echoed from the distance. And then again. It was followed by a scream. Rule dropped the mic, leapt from the car and drew her side arm. “Let’s go!” she shouted to Frost, and she charged into the desert that had appeared overnight.

14

Griffin stood in the back room, hands wrapped around the bars of the cell that held his daughter. Wasn’t long ago that he would check in on her like this at night. She slept with a stuffed dinosaur then. Had always been a different sort of girl. Tougher. Strong willed. Interested in things that would cause most girls to turn up their noses. While other kids collected ribbons and trophies as proof of an athletic childhood, Avalon collected scars.

It was nerve wracking being her parent. He’d grown accustomed to the sight of blood during his years in the military, but when it covered his daughter’s body...even the memory of their frequent emergency room visits made him squeamish.

But he would exchange any of those bloody experiences for this, watching his daughter in a drug-withdrawal induced, comatose state. She occasionally shook, and her forehead glistened with the sweat of a breaking fever. When she woke up, she’d be in a world of pain, as her body screamed at her for the narcotic it had come to crave, but at least she’d be lucid. She’d still crave Oxycontin, but would hopefully have a mind to resist the craving. If not, he’d have no problem keeping her in this cell until she came to her senses. Of course, if the world had really gone to shit, finding Oxycontin might be a challenge. The pharmacy in Soucey’s might have some in stock. If she became desperate enough, she might try to steal the drug. But he was determined to not let that happen.

He leaned his head against the cold metal bar and closed his eyes. If Jess could see him now, what was she thinking? Had he failed their daughter? Had he failed his wife? Even considering these possibilities was too much. He stepped away from the cell, wiped the moisture from his eyes and looked up.

The black sky, partially masked by the red haze, had turned purple. A sense of relief filled him. Life always looked better in the clear light of day.

Day...

Griffin barreled out of the back room and tripped over a waste bucket. He spilled to the floor along with Deputy Sweeney’s collection of empty Snapple bottles, which sounded like angry wind chimes as they rattled across the aisle. It wasn’t a soft landing, but he barely noticed the impact on the hard linoleum floor. He scrambled back to his feet and tore toward the front door, a little more careful of the room’s detritus.

Two sets of doors later, he was outside, head turned up. The full moon still hung in the sky, but it had faded in brightness, fighting for attention against the quickly rising sun and the obscuring redness. The purple sky had grown lighter already, but had yet to take on a shade of blue. And the red phenomenon showed no signs of fading.

“Mr. Butler!”

He quickly recognized Lisa’s voice and scanned Main Street in the direction of her house. She emerged between two brick buildings, Radar in tow. Both were looking up at the impossible sky. He descended the stone staircase and started across the street. They met him half way.

For a moment, they all stood there together, looking up. Radar broke the silence, “Umm, we were thinking we’d like to stay with you.”

“Yeah,” Griffin said. It wasn’t the most detailed or reassuring of responses; the kids could have probably used some kind of pep talk, but Griffin felt just as lost as they did, and frankly, he was equally thankful for the company. He slowly lowered his gaze, admiring the different shades of purple, which turned pink toward the horizon, blending with the warbling redness in a way that was almost pretty. Almost, but not quite. He spun around slowly, lowering his eyes until he was looking straight down the tree-cleared line of South Main Street.

He staggered back.

His knees went wobbly, and he planted his hands on them to keep from falling over.

The view from Main Street had been the same for as long as the road existed—the endless trees of a state that was 90% forested. But now...

Lisa saw it and screamed.

“Oh my God,” Radar said, but then he focused on helping Lisa not fall to the ground. He wrapped his arms around her protectively. “I have you. I have you.”

But as Griffin’s mind imploded, no one had him. He fell to his knees. His vision narrowed. Pinpricks of light flitted back and forth.

Breathe, he told himself. Breathe!

He sucked in a deep breath, held it for a five count and let it out slowly. His vision cleared. He repeated the process once more and then stood again, unable to take his eyes from the view.

The most obvious feature was the sand. The endless forest had been replaced by dunes of sand stretching off to the pink horizon. The world beyond had been replaced somehow. Perhaps remade. Or destroyed. But the new world wasn’t completely featureless sand. There was something else on the horizon—miles away. It made his stomach twist in tight knots. It was a structure, that much was clear. Straight lines like that don’t exist in nature. Three dark spires, like Egyptian obelisks, rose up into the sky, one pointed straight up, the other two leaning at opposing 45 degree angles. He’d never seen anything like it, but it wasn’t the odd design that bothered him most, it was the size. The curve of the Earth allows people to see three miles before the land disappears over the horizon. That’s at ground level. From a tall hill, such as the one upon which Main Street had been built, you could see further—four or five miles. At that distance, the Empire State Building would look like the nub of a well-used pencil.

But this thing...he held up his arm. The central spire of the distant structure was barely covered by his forearm, stretching from his elbow nearly to the tip of his middle finger.

“It must be a mile high,” Radar commented.

“Bigger,” Griffin said. “Much bigger.”

Out of habit, Griffin reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone, aimed the camera at the view and snapped a photo. He frequently took photos of things he thought would look good in a painting.

The radio on Griffin’s hip crackled to life, making all three jump. Rule’s voice came next. “Griff, are you there? Over.”

“Shit,” he said, pocketing the phone. He unclipped the radio and pressed the call button. “I’m here.... Just looking at the view.” He realized Rule wasn’t going to make it to Ashland or anywhere else. “Listen, you need to turn around. Come back to town. The road to Ashland isn’t passable. Over.” It sounded stupid, but he couldn’t think of any other way to explain, without sounding insane. Turned out he didn’t have to.

“You can see the sand from Main Street?” Rule asked. “How far does it go?”

“For as far as I can see,” he said. “Are you guys okay down there?”

“Not even close,” she said. “We found Monty’s car wrecked on the side of the road. Susie’s dead, but the girls and Monty are missing. We’re going to look for them, but…”

A sharp retort coupled with static burst out of the small speaker. Then it repeated. The gentle static of a transmitting signal disappeared. The radio went silent. He waited a moment, hoping Rule would press her call button again. When she didn’t, he pressed his. “Becky, what happened? Over.”

No reply.

“Becky? Please respond.”

Nothing.

Griffin looked back at the frightened faces of Radar and Lisa. He’d heard enough gunfire over a radio to recognize the sound, but he didn’t think either of the teens would have. Of course, they didn’t need to know someone was shooting a gun to feel afraid. The giant alien structure stabbing out of the horizon could do that on its own.

“You two follow me,” he said, knowing that one of the best ways to calm people down was to give them something to do. “I need your help with something.”

Griffin ran up the police station steps and opened the front door. “Hurry,” he said, waving them inside. Lisa was still pretty shaken up, but Radar looked alert and helped her inside the station. Griffin took one last look around. The town was quiet. Probably still asleep. He drew his pistol, looked at it for just a moment and chambered that first round before sliding it back in place.

“Damnit,” he said, and then he slipped inside the station.

15

Rule charged up a sand dune. Each step slid through the sand, carrying her only half the distance her stride normally provided. The effort it took to maintain a jogging speed felt closer to a sprint. She ignored the burning in her chest and the sharp sting in her throat, as the hot, dry air wicked the moisture away from her mouth with each exhalation. Her body had begun to itch as her sweat evaporated just as quickly as her body could pump it out. But she didn’t slow. Didn’t even consider it. The trail of footprints kept her on course. The gunshots, still fresh in her ear, kept her motivated.

Her job was to protect the people of Refuge, and right now, one of them was in trouble. Maybe all three of them were. She’d be damned before letting an otherworldly desert keep her from performing her duty. She could deal with the psychological fallout from their situation when or if she had a few minutes by herself. Then she might bawl her eyes out. Release all the anxiety she was feeling in a few weepy minutes. But until that opportunity presented itself, she’d bury the feelings deep and do her job.

The sand beneath her feet slipped out from under her, and she started falling forward. Frost planted her hand firmly on Rule’s butt, shoving her up and forward. The deputy had followed her sheriff without a word. Without hesitation. Rule felt a bit of pride. She was the only female sheriff in all of New Hampshire, and she had one of the best female deputies supporting her, in this case, literally.

As she hurried up the sand dune, a shadow fell over her. A large wavering thing that slid past like a giant wavering snake. She glanced up toward the light purple sky, but saw nothing. Whatever it was, it had flown away. Probably a hawk, she thought, out exploring the strange new environment.

She nearly fell again, but not because of the sand. As she crested the dune, signs of a scuffle emerged. The sand was a mess, and there were thick clumps of it where liquid had landed. Rule knelt, placed her fingers on one of the small beads of sand and pinched. Although much of the water had already been leached away, the bead was still wet and smeared red against her fingers.

Blood.

“Monty!” Rule shouted, then louder. “Monty!”

A distant voice responded. She couldn’t make out the words, but it was Monty. Without looking back or up, she surged down the opposite side of the dune, sliding more than running to the bottom. The path led through a twisting valley between two dunes.

Running faster on the flat surface, Rule barreled around a bend and nearly slammed into Monty. He was crouched on the ground, bleeding from a wound on his shoulder and clutching both of his girls. She took a moment to catch her breath, the blood rushing behind her ears loud enough to drown out the faint buzzing sound in the air.

“Cover us,” Rule said to Frost. She was surprised to see Dodge and Winslow arrive just behind Frost. Both men were braver than she would have guessed. She crouched down and looked at the girls. Both had their eyes open, but appeared to be in some kind of shock. Her instinct was to get them talking. Find out if they were injured. But she thought it could wait, given the surreal circumstances and the fact that Monty had shot at something or someone twice, and there wasn’t a body or blood to show for it.

“Can you stand?” she asked Monty.

He just stared at her, his bottom lip quivering. He was as shocked as his girls. She took hold of his uninjured arm and squeezed. “Monty, we need to get back to town. We need to—”

“Run,” he whispered. “Just run.”

“Monty.”

He focused on Rule’s eyes.

“It’s just us. Your friends. No one else is here.”

He turned his head to the side and down. She followed his eyes and saw his shotgun, the barrel bent to the side. She nearly cursed, but held it in. What could have done that? Crushing a shotgun barrel would take a lot of force—mechanical force. She wasn’t even sure a lion’s powerful jaws had the PSI to compress a cylinder of hardened steel.

“We’re getting you home,” Rule said, yanking Monty up. She turned to Dodge and Winslow. “Take the girls and follow the path back. We’ll be right behind you.”

As Dodge and Winslow moved in for girls, Monty tightened his grip. “No! They can’t have them! They can’t—”

The sharp report of a bare hand striking flesh made everyone jump. Rule lowered her hand. She’d slapped Monty hard across his cheek. The jolt shook some of the panic from him.

“Monty,” Rule said, her voice firm, but controlled. “We’re tryin’ to save your family. Now snap out of it.”

He loosened his grip on the girls, allowing Dodge and Winslow to scoop them up. They turned together and ran back the way they’d come.

“Go with ’em,” Rule told Frost. “Keep those girls safe.”

Frost hesitated for just a moment, then gave a nod and chased after the others.

“What did that to your shotgun, Monty?” Rule asked. She knew they should be running, too, but she wanted to know exactly what kind of danger they were in. Remembering the shadow from earlier, she glanced up, looking for a bird of prey. But the sky was empty and still very purple.

“Wrong direction,” Monty said. His voice quivered and nearly didn’t make it out of his throat.

She turned to him. “What?”

“They’re in the sand,” he said.

Her eyes widened a bit as she realized he hadn’t been looking at the shotgun earlier, he’d been looking at the sand.

A slight vibration caused the sand around her feet to dance around. Monty whimpered like a frightened dog.

“Can you run?” she asked.

He nodded rapidly.

Before either could take a step, the sand atop the dune to their right began to rise up. They stood transfixed by the sight. The sand was alive. Not alive, Rule realized as it fell away, but the creature within the shroud of falling grit was certainly alive.

A dry wind kicked up, pulling the sand away from the body, which continued to rise up, fifteen feet into the air. With a shake, the rest of the sand fell away, revealing a figure cloaked in shredded, pale fabric, which billowed in the wind. The creature had two arms and two legs. Humanoid. But not human. No way was that thing human. It was nine feet too tall, and the way it stood was wrong, bent sharply at the spine, knees twitching in both directions. The head—if it was a head—was wide and flat, with spherical insect-like eyes that stared down at her with curiosity.

The eyes could have been goggles, but she didn’t think so. A shifting color beneath the shimmering octagonal divisions gave her the distinct feeling that this thing was sizing them up.

“Kill it,” Monty said. “Kill it!”

Rule had never fired her weapon at a person before. She raised her gun, but hesitated. “Is that what took the girls?”

“One of them,” he replied.

One of them. Great.

A low gurgling sound emanated from the thing. The sound was so foreign and loud that Rule flinched and pulled the trigger, sending a round into the monster’s chest. It jolted back when the bullet struck home, but seemed otherwise indifferent.

Fear took hold of Rule and squeezed her chest. A panic attack coming on strong. Realizing she was going into shock, like Monty, she pulled the trigger twice more, aiming for the thing’s head. It staggered back and let out a grunt. The bullets definitely hurt it, but it didn’t fall over dead like it should have.

Monty tugged on her arm. “Let’s go.”

The man-beast reached behind its back and tugged a black sword out of the sand. The blade wasn’t flat like a traditional sword, but more like a pyramid that had been stretched out eight feet to a perfect, needle sharp tip. She staggered back as Monty continued pulling at her, but her legs had gone soft.

All it has to do is take one step forward, she thought, and it will be in striking distance.

She shook her head as a buzzing sound grew in volume. She was determined to keep her eyes focused on the monster.

Bong!

The sound was distant. Hard to hear. But it slammed into her thoughts like an atom bomb, returning some clarity and rooting her back in the world she knew and understood.

The church bell is ringing.

Again.

Why would it be...

Her stream of thought was interrupted.

Bong!

Rule sucked in a breath and spun around. The church bell was ringing, and that scared her more than the monster now at her back. She shoved Monty ahead of her and shouted, “Run! It’s starting again!”

16

“Let me out, you scrawny piece of shit!” Avalon’s voice echoed against the concrete walls of the police station’s back room. Radar didn’t react to the shouting. First, because he had orders from her father to keep her locked up no matter what. He didn’t fear Griffin, but he respected him enough to listen to him. Second, Avalon at her worst couldn’t match the volume or ferocity of his father. Ignoring her was a piece of cake.

Not that he was ignoring her completely. It was his job to make sure she was taken care of, too. “I can get you a cup of water if you want.”

Avalon’s hair hung in wet tendrils. She looked tired and in pain. Water was all he could think to offer her. She sat on the cot, closed her eyes and rubbed her temples.

“Are you okay?” Radar asked.

“I’m just dandy, Josh.”

The venom in her voice made him pause for a moment. She wasn’t the girl he remembered. Speaking quietly, he said, “You can call me Radar.”

Her voice softened a bit. “Thought you hated that.”

He shrugged. “Got used to it. Everyone calls me Radar now.”

“Mind turning down the lights, Radar?” she asked.

“The lights?”

“Head is killing me. The light makes it worse.”

Radar moved to the light switch. “Sure.” He flipped the switch, dimming the light. He couldn’t make the room completely dark, though. Purple light streamed through the windows.

“What time is it?” Avalon asked.

“Umm, midnight, I think.”

“What’s all the light from?” She glanced at the back wall of the station like she could see through it. “There’s nothing but trees back there.”

Radar gave her a funny look. How could she not know? But then he remembered she’d been asleep. Or more likely, passed out. He lived with a drunk. He knew the difference between sleep and unconsciousness. One looked peaceful, the other looked like something closer to death. Yeah, he thought, she was passed out.

“You don’t know, do you?” he asked.

“Know what?” She was beginning to grow agitated again. “You know what, forget it. Doesn’t matter. I barely remember the last twenty-four hours. I have no idea how I got in this cell. And I don’t really care. I found my father, right?”

Radar nodded. “He left me in charge of you.”

“Where is he now?”

“Went to help the Sheriff.”

“The Sheriff?” She closed her eyes. Shook her head. “That’s Becky now, right? I think I saw her last night...or was it tonight? Where’s Frost?”

“With the Sheriff. Before you ask, Officer Sweeney isn’t here, either.”

Avalon sighed and leaned her head straight back. “Please, God, don’t tell me they left you in charge.”

“Uh, yeah,” Radar said. “Kinda did. Sorry. Can I get you some water now?”

Avalon’s head all but fell forward. She returned to massaging her temples. “Sure. Couple of ibuprofen would be great, too.”

Radar hesitated. Griffin had told him that Avalon was in detox. That she’d been addicted to a painkiller. And no matter what, he couldn’t get any for her. Not from a stash. Not from home if his dad had any. And not from the pharmacy. She wasn’t asking for that drug, but ibuprofen was a painkiller too.

She must have sensed his hesitation, because she added, “I’m an Oxycontin addict, not ibuprofen.”

“Is there a difference?”

“Yeah,” she said. “One makes you high as a kite, the other takes care of headaches and melts your stomach.”

Oxycontin. That was the stuff. Griffin didn’t say anything about any other drug, and just about everyone had a big bottle of ibuprofen in their medicine cabinet. Radar decided it would be okay and said, “Okay, I’ll be back in a minute.”

He quickly searched the station’s kitchen drawers and found a small bottle of acetaminophen. Not the same, but it should do the trick. He tapped three pills into his hand—her headache looked bad—and put the bottle back. He then found a cold bottled water in the fridge and a chocolate pudding that probably belonged to Sweeney, who had a sweet-tooth. After locating a plastic spoon, he quickly checked on Lisa, who was watching the sun rise out the front window, then returned to the cell and presented his findings.

He held the items through the cell bars. “Okay, three acetaminophen. Not what you asked for, but I’m pretty sure they melt your stomach, too. A bottle of water to wash it down, and a pudding to help avoid the previously mentioned stomach melting.”

Avalon stood with a groan, but smiled when she saw the offering. “Thanks.” She took the pills with the water, tore open the pudding. Polished it off in four heaping spoonfuls and then chugged the water until the bottle was drained.

“Is there a chance you’ll puke all that up?” Radar asked. He’d noticed the congealed vomit beside the bed. Its odor was hard to ignore.

Avalon glanced back at the mess. “I think I’m past it. But I’m awake now. I’ll aim for the bucket.”

“Radar...” Lisa called him from the front room, drawing his name out. She sounded tense.

“Go ahead,” Avalon said. She sat down. “And sorry for calling you a little shit.”

“Scrawny little shit,” Radar corrected.

Avalon smiled. “Right. Sorry.”

“Radar!” Lisa shouted.

He left the back room, entering the front room quickly. Lisa stood a few steps back from the window, her hands rubbing her ears.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Do you hear that?”

He didn’t hear anything at all, but he stopped walking and turned his head to the left. He was about to say he heard nothing, but then something tickled his ear. It was faint. Like a hum. “I think...”

Bong!

The church bell rang.

Radar flinched back, tripped on a chair and ended up sitting on Sheriff Rule’s desk. Lisa screamed.

Across the room, Radar saw a radio sitting atop a cabinet. He rushed to it, picked up the device and flicked the power switch. Nothing happened. The battery was dead.

“Is it happening again?” Lisa asked.

The church answered.

Bong!

Radar made for the front doors. He exited into the bright night and looked at the church. The building was as deserted as it had been when he and Lisa had snuck in just a few hours ago. He glanced up at the still purple sky and saw the fading moon. But that wasn’t all. There was a shimmer to the light.

Just like before, he thought. It is happening again.

He was about to retreat back into the police station—it was about to get noisy—when he noticed something else in the sky. A shape. Like the letter M.

It grew larger.

Fast.

By the time he realized what it was, his time was just about out. He dove for the doors, knowing he wouldn’t make it fast enough.

Bong!

The chiming church bell was answered by an angry shriek.

Radar turned around as he pulled the station door closed behind him. The only things about the creature atop the stone stairs of the police station that he recognized were that it had a head and wings. The rest of it was out of a nightmare. The wings were large membranes stretched over bony digits, like a bat’s, but on the ground, it folded them up and used them like arms—or legs. Its body was slender and skeletal, powerful for sure, but also light for flying. It moved atop four back legs, each with a single-clawed digit like an oversized eagle talon. Its head and neck were the creature’s strangest attributes. They curved up in segments, like a centipede’s body, narrowing toward the top, where two yellow eyes scanned the area in opposite directions. It had a mouth running up the front of its neck—or was it a face?—that held at least a hundred horizontal-facing sharp teeth, which stitched together like a zipper when the orifice snapped closed. Not very good for biting, but Radar didn’t think that was how it ate. This thing looked like it swallowed prey whole, and he was just about the right size.

One of the eyes spotted him. The other swiveled around, and then they moved closer together, giving them a more human orientation. The vertical mouth snapped open and the thing shrieked. It charged forward, but all it managed to do was slam the door further shut.

Radar walked away from the doors slowly. He opened the second set of foyer doors and moved inside the office. The creature seemed perplexed by the clear glass door in its way, and had lost interest in Radar. That was when Lisa saw it—and screamed.

The creature’s eyes locked onto her, narrowing further and leaning forward, like they could shift to just about any part of the thing’s head. The creature shrieked at them, spewing drool or phlegm at the glass, and then it charged. Having already forgotten the clear barricade, the creature hit the door with unrestrained might and shattered the glass. It spilled inside the foyer, appeared stunned for a moment, but then refocused on Lisa. It shrieked and threw itself at the second set of doors.

17

The pop of Rule’s 9mm side arm normally made her flinch a bit with each shot, but as she fired it over her shoulder, it sounded feeble. The thunderous report of a shotgun or higher caliber round would have provided a bit of comfort. Not much, though. She was being pursued through an alien landscape by a behemoth with a giant sword, who shrugged off bullets like they were Nerf darts. She didn’t think she’d ever feel safe or sane again.

The magazine ran dry, so she popped it free and let it fall to the sand, while she hauled ass up the side of a sand dune. She slapped in a fresh magazine and chambered the first round. She was about to point the gun back and empty it, but thought better of it. These were her last fifteen rounds.

She really didn’t want to look, but needed to know if she was even shooting at something. She glanced over her shoulder.

The thing was there.

Right there.

Just feet behind her, raising that giant blade over its head.

Rule shouted and dove to the side. The sword came down hard, just missing her legs. Sand exploded away from the impact, stinging her face. She thrust her weapon up, aimed for the thing’s eyes and fired twice. She stopped after the second shot when the telltale ping of a bullet ricocheting off something solid accompanied a spark on the monster’s bulbous eye.

Not an eye, she realized. Armor. A helmet.

She scrambled up the hillside while the man-thing lifted its sword for a second strike. The sand fought her all the way, but her fear emerged as the more powerful force, and she managed to out-distance the blade as it whooshed through the air behind her. She didn’t see the missed swing. Her eyes were locked on to the top of the dune. But she had the distinct feeling the strike was meant to sever her legs. Even a glancing blow from that monstrous sword would spell her end.

She fired over her shoulder three more times as she crested the dune, hoping the shots would at least slow the thing down. But when she glanced back, the giant was loping up the hill after her, its broad feet—two black-skinned digits spread in a wide V, with a translucent membrane stretched between them—acting like snowshoes in the sand.

Gunshots turned her attention forward again. From the top of the dune, which led back to the town’s border, she could see Frost standing on the pavement’s end, firing her weapon at a second large form rising out of the sand. On the ground behind Frost was Monty, once again clutching his girls. Dodge and Winslow were bent over the trunk of her squad car. She knew what was in there, and she willed them to hurry.

Rule charged down the dune toward the newly emerging creature. Not because she wanted to attack the thing, but because she had no choice. There was already another monster at her back, and the distant church bell was now sounding out a near constant chime. The air around the town had begun to waver as well.

She knew what it meant. Whatever brought them to this Godforsaken place was about to happen again, and if she didn’t make it back in time, she’d be left here to die.

Running down the hill was faster, but less controlled. She fought against gravity and the slipping sand to run at an angle, taking herself to the side of the still emerging body, not just to avoid it, but to give Frost a clear shot.

“Behind you!” Frost shouted, adjusting her aim. Three shots sizzled past Rule, each pinging off something metal. Her pursuer was right behind her again. Not knowing what else to do, Rule stopped hard, threw herself down and crouched into a tight ball.

The thing’s long leg struck her just half a second later, but it hadn’t kicked her. It careened into her. Its double-jointed knee bent backwards, and the monster pitched forward. With a grunt Rule recognized as surprise, the monster fell. Its fingers lost hold of the giant sword as its arms swung forward. The massive blade arced through the air toward Frost, but she saw it coming and ducked. Just as Dodge and Winslow closed the trunk, the black sword impaled the hood of her patrol car, no doubt destroying the engine.

The giant slammed into the sand and slid several feet before coming to a stop. Seeing the thing laid out like that gave Rule some hope. They weren’t perfect hunters. They made mistakes.

But there were two of them now. She saw the second reaching back for its big sword as she ran right over the body of the first. As it pushed up from the sand, she leapt from its head, using the creature’s upward momentum to give her a boost. As she soared toward Refuge, something snagged her ankle. She jolted to a stop and hit the sand hard. A crushing weight began squeezing her ankle. She rolled and looked back. The fallen monster had her leg in its powerful hand.

She fired the remaining rounds in her gun, but the thing didn’t even flinch. Nor did it move. But the other monster did. It stepped toward her, raising its giant sword up, planning to execute her right here in the sand. She dropped her side arm, drew her taser and fired. The prongs attached to the loose fabric covering the thing, but found no flesh beneath. Useless.

Gunfire erupted from the road. Frost had reloaded her weapon. Dodge held a pump action shotgun from her trunk. And Winslow had found her .45 ACP handgun, which had significant stopping power. But the hail of lead did nothing to stop the creature. It was oblivious.

She looked to Frost in what would be her last moment, hoping to communicate a message with her eyes, but the visual distortion surrounding the town now made it hard to see her. But Rule could still hear the others shouting, and then a car horn, honking a warning.

The gun fire ceased.

The blade came down.

A streak of silver flew out of the wavering air and struck the swinging creature before its blade could complete its path through the air. The sword fell away, and the monster was pinned beneath the front end of Griffin’s Ford Fusion.

The driver’s side door was flung open, and Griffin emerged. If he was shocked by the desert and the giant monsters it contained, he did a good job of hiding it. He leapt over the car’s hood, drew his side arm and aimed it at her leg. He fired just once and the pressure on her ankle disappeared. He’d shot the thing’s exposed hand. A shriek of pain exploded into the air, so loud that she couldn’t hear the constant ringing of the church bell for a moment.

“Hurry!” Frost shouted from the other side of the visual distortion. Her voice sounded wrong, too, like she was shouting through a window fan.

Rule got to her feet and shoved Griffin toward town. She chased after him, glancing to the side as the pinned giant began hefting the car up like a power lifter.

She looked forward as a pulse of light shimmered through the distortion. She shoved Griffin forward. He disappeared through the now flashing wall of light. She dove through behind him, her hand still on his back, just as the church bell stopped ringing.

18

I ate the pudding too fast, Avalon thought, sidling up next to the metal barrel. Her stomach was roiling, but after a few minutes of waiting for the pudding, water and pills to return back to the world, she realized the nausea wasn’t physical. It was emotional.

She still felt like shit, but her mind had returned, and along with it came the memory that she’d returned to her hometown and father for help. She’d hit rock bottom out in California. Did and saw things she would never forget. Four days ago, she’d seen a friend die from an overdose. A dead body, it turned out, was what it took for her to break and run for home.

Right now she wanted her father more than the Oxy, and that said a lot. If anyone could pull her out of the darkness, it was him. He was a rock. Maybe not after mom died, but he just needed time. So did she, but instead of dealing with the pain, she had hidden from it. Cloaked herself in a fog of mental smoke so thick she barely knew the world existed.

Despite her thoughts beginning to clear, the world around her was going insane. She knew it was night. She had a vague memory of the setting sun. And Radar had no reason to lie about the time. But the sun was definitely rising. The purple light filling the back room was growing brighter by the minute. She would have thought she was still tripping if Radar hadn’t also seen the light.

And then there was the church bell. Who was ringing it at night? It felt so loud in her throbbing head. She just wanted it to stop, but the clanging was repeating faster and faster.

She felt a rumble beneath her. She’d grown accustomed to earthquakes in Los Angles. They were more common than most people realized. But they weren’t supposed to happen in New Hampshire.

She was about to shout to Radar, ask what was going on, but then Lisa screamed. The shrill cry made Avalon wince, but the pain she felt was quickly replaced by concern. The scream sounded familiar.

She heard her own voice in her head, high pitched and sharp, screaming at the sight of her friend, naked and dead in the tub. It was a scream of abject horror.

A vibration rattled through the walls, coupled with the sound of breaking glass. A shriek followed next, but it wasn’t Lisa. It was too loud and too...primal…to even be human.

“What the...”

Shouting followed. Radar’s voice. Afraid, but commanding.

Another impact.

Another shriek.

“Radar!” she shouted. “What’s happening?” Her own booming voice stabbed her head with pain, but she ignored it as a flood of adrenaline entered her bloodstream. The natural drug tricked her body into thinking it was getting high, and she felt some of the withdrawal effects slip away. They’d be back, she knew, but for now, she felt almost normal again.

The room shook once more, and the sound of breaking glass filled the back room loudly this time, as Radar flung the door open. Lisa ran in first. She was a mess. Whimpering. Shaking with fear. Radar wasn’t much better, but he was still acting. Still with it. Whatever was outside that door, presumably inside the office, terrified them both.

“Is it a bear?” she asked, but she knew it wasn’t. Bears don’t shriek. “A mountain lion?” There hadn’t been mountain lions in New England for a long time, but she thought she remembered a few reported sightings in the years before she left. And the shriek did have a kind of cat-like quality.

But Radar just shook his head and produced a set of keys in his nervous hands. He was going to let her out. The thing in the office was making them abandon the police station.

“Thanks for not leaving,” Avalon said.

“Hurry,” Lisa urged. Her legs shook in time with her hands. Her eyes were red and watery. She looked like an addict. Looked like Avalon.

A shriek from the front office made all of them jump.

“That’s not a mountain lion, is it?” Avalon said, growing still, listening to the creature rampage through the office, the sound of its movement partially drowned out by the church bell, which rang at what seemed like an impossible speed.

The light in the room had gone from purple to red, wavering from dark to light like they were inside a giant lava lamp.

“It’s happening again,” Lisa said.

Radar ignored her, focusing on the key ring, trying one key at a time on the cell lock.

“What’s happening?” Avalon asked, feeling like she’d lost her mind and partially believing that this was all a withdrawal-induced hallucination.

“The...the shift,” Lisa said. “When everything changed.”

Avalon had no idea what Lisa was talking about, but Radar found the key, twisted the lock and slid the door open. Avalon sprang for the door, but was knocked back. She stumbled and wound up sitting on the cot. A complaint formed on the tip of her tongue, but made it no further.

Radar hadn’t been setting her free.

He and Lisa were now inside the cell. He slid the door closed, reached through the bars, twisted the key in the lock and then retreated to the back of the cell with the keys. He shrank into the back corner with Lisa, his arms wrapped protectively around her.

The rampage continued in the front office. Avalon spun on the huddling pair and shouted. “What the fuck is out there?” The words came out more forceful than she meant, but her imagination was conjuring nightmares similar to her father’s dark surrealist paintings.

Radar looked up, shaking his head back and forth. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

His head continued shaking. “It’s not...it’s not...”

“What?” she shouted.

“It’s not from this planet.” The words shot from his mouth rapid fire, like it was the only way he could bring himself to say it.

“Like...alien?” Avalon felt her fear abate just a little. This had to be a hallucination. And if that was the case, it was one of the most vivid she’d ever experienced.

“Yes,” Radar said, now speaking confidently. “It’s alien. Has to be.”

Avalon smirked. “Are you guys screwing with me? Is someone out there making all this noise and shining lights in the windows to teach me a lesson about drugs?”

“What?” Radar said, like it was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever head. She’d seen Radar in a school play once, before she skipped town. He was young, but he was such a bad actor, she didn’t think it was possible for him to pull off the range of emotions she was seeing.

This was for real.

They were terrified of something otherworldly tearing apart the police station.

Shit.

The door to the back room shook from an impact, bending inward in a way that left no doubt the next strike would knock it free from its hinges.

“Get down!” Lisa implored.

“Hide!” Radar said.

Hide? Avalon looked around the cell. There was no place to hide. Then she saw the pillows and blankets. A person might recognize the abstract shape of three people hiding beneath a blanket, but an animal might not make any sense of it. She tore the blanket off the cot, sat in the corner beside Radar and tossed the blanket over all three of them.

“Stay still,” she urged. “Stay quiet.”

Their silence meant they’d heard her requests, but none of them could fully squelch the tremors of fear twitching their muscles.

Avalon found a small hole in the blank and peeked through. Just as she spotted it, the door exploded inward, slamming hard against the cell bars. The monster came next, and it was so unexpected and vile that she nearly screamed. Radar must have sensed it because he grabbed her arm and squeezed.

She worked hard at controlling her breathing. It was shaky and loud, but she didn’t think the creature could hear her over the now constant clang of the church bell. It was just one long and very loud tone. The red light shifting through the room became more violent. Almost urgent. And it gave the beast the look of something that emerged straight from the depths of hell.

Its vertical mouth flapped open and closed, testing the air. Was it smelling? The yellow eyes atop its lobster tail of a neck—or maybe head, it was hard to tell—swiveled toward her and came together, pressing against each other so hard that the spheres became ovals.

It can see me, she thought. It sees my eye! But she remained motionless. It still might not have realized she was edible.

It pushed through the room, sliding up against the cell bars. It spread open its bat-like wings and clung to the cell, which darkened beneath the living shroud. Lisa let out a squeak of fright. The yellow eyes swiveled toward her and then returned to Avalon’s eye, peering through the hole. Its head rotated and slipped through the bars.

Avalon tensed. “It knows we’re here,” she whispered. “But it can’t reach us.”

As soon as she spoke the words, the beast decided to prove her wrong. Rather than try to smash its way through the solid metal bars, the thing’s neck extended, one segment at a time, stretching the long jaws even larger. With the elasticity of an anaconda’s belly, it reached for them.

“I was wrong,” Avalon said quickly. “It can reach us.”

Lisa let out another squeak, diverting its attention for just a moment.

“We’re going to have to fight it,” Avalon declared.

“How?” Radar asked.

“I don’t know,” Avalon admitted. “Just beat the shit out of it with anything you can find, with your fist. Aim for its fucking eyes.”

She saw him nod. Lisa would be sitting the fight out.

“Ready?” Avalon asked. “On three. One. Two. Three!”

Avalon flung the blanket up and out. It fell atop the creature’s head, blinding it. It reacted violently, throwing its head up, smashing the ceiling. Then it came down and thrashed side to side. Before Avalon or Radar could land a blow, they were struck by the flailing beast and flung against opposite ends of the cell.

Avalon’s head throbbed with pain. Warm liquid ran over her shoulder. She pushed herself up, half on the cot. The creature shook the blanket free, locked on Radar and lunged for the kill.

Radar, Lisa and Avalon screamed in unison.

A shotgun blast drowned out their voices. It was followed by a loud shriek that was ended by a second explosion. The sound was deafening inside the concrete space, but when the monster fell limp, its head deflating and shrinking back in on itself, Avalon didn’t care about the pain. They’d been saved.

“You okay in there?” came the deep ragged voice of a man who’d spent the better part of the past thirty years with a cigarette dangling from his lips. The words also came out with the slow slur of someone who’d been drinking. A lot.

Avalon didn’t recognize the voice of their rescuer, but Radar did. He stood to his feet, looking just as afraid as he had when the monster was trying to eat him. “Dad?”

The giant bird-bat-thing was yanked away from the cell. It fell in a still deflating heap. The room filled with the scent of its warm insides and exposed guts. Charley Wilson, a rough looking man wearing dirty jeans and a white ‘wife-beater’ tank top stepped over the carcass.

“Radar?” Charley rubbed a hand through his already messy hair and squinted. He lowered the shotgun, and the weight of it nearly pulled him to the floor. “Chu’ doing in jail, boy?”

Radar said nothing. Just stared at the floor.

“You stole something, you gonna have to answer to—”

“Leave him alone,” Lisa said. The words were quiet, but packed a punch.

Charley swiveled his head around, eyes widening for a moment, seeing Lisa and Avalon for the first time. “Look at you boy, locked up with a pair of sluts.” A lopsided grin pulled at one side of his face, revealing a missing tooth.

Avalon realized that Charley might pose a bigger threat than the monster he’d killed. If he decided to get violent with that shotgun, there was nothing they could do about it. She stood, trying to hide her fear, and approached the bars where he stood. He eyed her up and down. In his drunken state, he didn’t recognize her as the girl who’d grown up across the street. Or maybe he did and didn’t care. Didn’t matter. She gave him a look no man could turn from.

“I wouldn’t mind being shared,” she said, stopping at the bars.

He leaned forward with a drowsy look in his eyes and an expanding grin. “That right?”

She reached through the bars and ran her fingers through his greasy hair. The slick feeling between her fingers and the humid stench wafting off the dead monster nearly made her throw up in his face, but she fought her revulsion, grabbed the back of his head and yanked.

Charley’s skull played a tune on the cell bars as Avalon slammed him against the hard metal three times, stopping only when his body went slack. She let go of him, and he fell on top of the dead monster.

She expected Radar to yell at her, to be angry about what she did to his father, despite the man being an abusive prick. But he didn’t say anything. He just walked to the cell door, unlocked it and slid it open. Working in silence, the three of them dragged Charley into the cell and closed it behind them, locking him in.

Avalon recovered the shotgun, gave it a pump and headed for the front room. Radar and Lisa emerged behind her. “It’s quiet,” she noted. “The bell stopped.”

Radar moved around her and made for the wrecked front door. They had to climb over piles of debris, but quickly reached the exit and stepped out into a mid-afternoon day with a bright blue sky. They descended the steps, looking up.

Lisa smiled. “I think we’re back. I think we’re home.”

Avalon lowered her gaze and looked south, down Main Street. She shook her head. If the monster in the police station wasn’t bad enough, she now saw a landscape that shouldn’t exist. “Not even close,” she said before passing out.

19

Frost assessed herself quickly. She was shaky with adrenaline and horror, but unharmed. Her throat stung from sucking in deep breaths of hot, dry, desert air, but it was fading already. Winslow and Dodge crouched beside her, catching their breath. She spotted Griffin and Rule in front of the cruiser closest to the town’s border, which was now lush and green. She ignored that, though, and focused on her job.

Her thoughts were on Monty and the girls. They were, after all, who they’d all set out to rescue. If Monty and the girls weren’t okay, what was the point? She found them just a few feet away, leaning against one of the cruisers. Monty had a girl under each arm, protecting them like a bird might protect its young.

“Are you hurt?” she asked him. When he didn’t reply, she took his chin gently in her hand and lifted his gaze to her. “You’re safe now. The girls are with you. Are you hurt?”

Clarity slowly returned to his eyes. He blinked. “Hurt?” He glanced at his shoulder. Blood flowed from a straight slash, but it didn’t look profuse.

“Can you move it?” she asked. If the cut was deep and the muscle was cut, he either wouldn’t be able to move the limb or would cry out in pain from the attempt. He lifted the arm briefly. He sucked in a breath, but didn’t shout.

“It’s not bad,” he determined.

Frost looked at both girls. Both looked unharmed, but they’d need time to recover mentally. Probably years of counseling.

“Alice, Joy,” she said. “How would you two like some lollipops?”

Alice glanced up. As shook up as kids got, they almost always reacted to triggers that indicated things were back to normal. She reached into her pocket where she kept the candies—always on hand to promote good will with the next generation of Refuge residents. She handed one to Alice, who unwrapped it and placed it in her mouth. She held the other out to Joy. The girl stared at it for a moment, then reached out and took the candy. She didn’t unwrap it, though. She just held it close to her chest and mumbled, “Thank you,” in a soft, quiet voice that all but broke Frost’s heart.

“Frost.” It was Griffin. His voice sounded forced. In pain. Like someone who’d just woken up with a hangover. But then he said her name—shouted her name—and it was full of pain and desperation. “Frost!”

She got to her feet. Griffin was on his knees. Rule was beside him. She could only see Rule’s face. Her eyes were open. Her mouth was moving. Had something come through with them?

Then she saw tears in Griffin’s eyes, dripping from his eyes to Rule’s cheeks, and neither of them paid any attention to it. Frost rushed toward them. Griffin heard her coming and turned to her. His eyes were red and wet.

Rule reached up and pulled Griffin close. Her mouth moved quickly, whispering a message. Griffin nodded several times, saying, “I will. I will.” He leaned up and said, “Thank you,” as Frost arrived and rounded the front of the police car.

Frost gasped at what she found and stumbled back. She tripped over a thick, green plant and fell backwards. The ground beneath her was like a saturated sponge, leaching water into her clothes. But she paid the tall vegetation and wet landscape no attention as she scrambled back to the road, and her dying friend and mentor.

Rule had made it past the town border before the shift, but not all of her. She’d been cut in half. The wound had been cauterized, and though she wasn’t bleeding, the massive shock to the system and copious internal damage would soon stop her heart from beating. Rule knew this as well as anyone who saw her would. Time was short. Rule waved her down.

Frost, tears in her eyes, fell to her knees, oblivious to the pain of the pavement biting through her pant leg. Rule raised her hand and Frost took it. “You’ve been like a daughter,” Rule said.

A loud sob barked from Frost’s mouth, her sorrow fighting to get out. But she couldn’t do that to Rule. She couldn’t make the woman feel guilty for dying. So she swallowed her anguish and just nodded. Rule had more to say. Always did.

“Made me proud today. World went to hell, and you held it together. Got those girls to safety. Did the right thing.”

“I was just following you,” Frost said.

Rule shook her head and smiled. “Nah, that was you. Listen,” Rule said. She left go of Frost’s hand and took hold of the badge on her chest. She tried to unpin it, but her hands were shaking too much.

“Let me,” Griffin said, unpinning the badge.

“No,” Frost said, not wanting this to be reality. She shook her head. “No.”

“Ain’t no other way,” Rule said, her voice getting softer. She took the badge and placed it in Frost’s hand. Closed her fingers over the symbol for the law and order Sheriff Rebecca Rule had brought to Refuge, New Hampshire. “The town is yours now. Keep ’em safe.”

Frost nodded, straightened her spine and sniffed. With a nod, she said. “I will. I promise, I will.”

Rule gave a nod and said, “Get the Pastor.”

Griffin stood. “Dodge.” He waved the man over.

Pastor Dodge arrived a moment later, stopping in place when he saw the state of the former sheriff. “Dear Lord.” He was by her side a moment later, both of his hands wrapped around hers. He closed his eyes and began whispering—praying, Frost knew. “Amen,” he said.

“Will I see him?” Rule asked the pastor.

“Bernie was a believer,” Dodge said. “Like you were, before his passing.”

Frost flinched. The pastor wasn’t pulling his punches. She was about to object, but Rule gave a smile and nodded.

“Death can kill faith,” Rule said, glancing at Griffin.

“Only you and the Lord God knows what’s in your heart, Becky,” Dodge said. “But I’ve just petitioned Him on your behalf. He’s merciful.” He smiled, tears in his eyes. “He might even make an exception for a heathen like you.”

Rule laughed, which caused her obvious pain, but her smile never faded. She leaned her head up a little and nodded at Frost. “You give her the same respect you woulda given me. It’s the only way things’ll get done. Only way to keep our people safe.”

Dodge nodded. “You have my word.”

Satisfied, Rule leaned back and turned her eyes to Griffin. As she moved, a white gold necklace slid out of her shirt, a tiny diamond dangling from the chain. Rule clutched at it, squeezing tightly, but didn’t seem conscious of the action. It was reflex. A nervous habit. “Tell Avalon I love her. Get it done.”

And then, she was gone.

The sheriff was dead.

20

Griffin stood at the center of Main Street, looking south. It had been only an hour since Rule had left the world—whatever world this was now. The view was mostly green, a jungle as endless as the desert it replaced. A streak of dark blue cut across the horizon. A lake or an ocean reflecting the blue sky where the three-pronged, impossibly large obelisks had stood. If he hadn’t snapped a photo of the scene, he might not have believed it ever existed. He raised his phone and snapped a photo of this new world.

And that’s what it was. He had no doubt. The town—a perfect circle of Refuge and the surrounding forest—had been transported somewhere else. Another planet? Another dimension? Another time? Those possibilities were Winslow’s area of expertise. But there was no doubt in his mind that this was not Earth. At least as they knew it. Identical gravity and breathable air suggested it was, but he’d looked into the jungle before coming back to town with the others, all squished inside Frost’s cruiser. There wasn’t a single plant in the dense jungle that looked familiar. Everything was spongy, even the leaves. They were all designed to hold moisture, which might be why there wasn’t a single cloud in the sky. The land here clung to its water, fighting evaporation.

It didn’t matter really. Their new surroundings were just a distraction from the pain he felt at Rule’s passing. She’d been one of his closest friends. He trusted her. Took comfort in her existence. But now... Refuge was a darker place without her.

Dodge was holding a prayer service in the church for the townspeople that had awoken to a new world. He promised to keep people calm. Winslow had returned to his observatory, eager to work out exactly where they were and how it happened. Monty and the girls were at the walk-in clinic on the north end of Main Street. It wasn’t open, but Frost had banged on the door of Janet Nikols—the only nurse who lived in town—until she answered. Frost then went back for Rule’s body. Took Walter with her. Griffin had objected. Said it should be him. But the badge now affixed permanently to his chest meant that she was now his superior. So he obeyed. If he didn’t listen to Frost, who would? She and Walter were armed to a T, wore flak jackets and carried stun grenades.

“Dad,” Avalon said. She’d snuck up behind him. Still looked a mess, but at least she wasn’t the only one now.

“Are they settled in?” he asked. Radar and Lisa were staying with him until this was all over. Charley would be released when he sobered up. He hadn’t committed a crime and had managed to win a few brownie points by saving three lives. But Griffin wasn’t about to leave Radar and Lisa under the man’s care while life unraveled around them. Who knew how the man would react. Didn’t take much to set him off.

“You know we have no power, right?” she asked.

“Cash can connect us to the grid,” Griffin said. He wasn’t sure if it was true, but Cash was a skilled electrician. If anyone in town could get it done, it was him. It’s not like they were about to get outside help.

He lifted his arm. An invitation.

She accepted, sliding under his arm. He pulled her close. “Glad you came back to town?”

“Honestly?” she said, and smiled. “Fuck, no.”

He managed to chuckle. “While I would do anything to get you out of here and back home, I’m glad to have you with me.”

She leaned her head on his shoulder. “Was it really the last thing she said?”

He knew she was talking about Rule. He’d passed on her message. And while it wasn’t exactly the last thing she had said—the final message was for him and him alone—no one else needed to know that. He nodded. “Loved both of us and your mom.”

Avalon sniffed back a tear.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Like I need to get high,” she said. He didn’t like it, but appreciated the honesty. “Don’t worry,” she said. “It’s out of my system now. The fight’s in my brain now.”

“And I’m going to help you with that,” he said.

“Pretty sure I might be able to find a few things to distract me from the—”

The roar of a car engine climbing Main Street cut her off. Frost was returning. The cruiser pulled up to the sidewalk. Frost got out, frowning deeply. Griffin expected her to be upset. Rule’s body would be in the back seat...maybe the trunk, but Frost looked pissed more than anything.

She saw him and headed straight for him.

“Give us a minute,” he said to Avalon, and he kissed the top of her head.

She headed toward Memorial Park, which looked like it always did, chirping birds, bright flowers and all.

He turned to Frost as she arrived. “What’s wrong?”

The look in her eyes was pure rage, and he feared he’d somehow upset her. But instead of slugging him, she wrapped her arms around his neck and lowered her head to his shoulder.

“She’s gone,” Frost said.

“We put her in the car,” he said, surprised.

“I know.” She shook her head. “The door was open.”

“I hate to say this, but people in town need to start carrying weapons. Who knows what the hell is in that jungle or if any of those big assholes from the desert came along for the ride.” He was talking about the humanoid giants and the oversized flying creature they’d dragged out of the police station and put in Soucey’s freezer for later scrutiny.

He felt her nod on his shoulder.

She stopped and stayed quiet for a moment. Then asked, “What did she tell you?”

They separated.

“Kinda private,” he said.

She squinted at him. “Were you two...”

He smiled lightly. Rule would have gotten a kick out of that. Mostly she’d told him how much she cared about him. Told him to be strong. To watch out for Avalon. But she’d also given him permission...with Frost. He’d keep that to himself, but he couldn’t deny he needed to tell someone about the mission she’d given him. In part, because it was a heavy weight to carry alone, but also because he would need her help.

“She wanted you to protect the town.” He looked into her eyes and fought against the way they softened his heart. Turning toward the southern view and the endless jungle, he added, “She wanted me to avenge it.”

Just then, the church bell chimed.

REFUGE is a serialized novel, co-authored by #1 Amazon.com horror author, Jeremy Bishop, and five other authors, including Amazon.com bestsellers Kane Gilmour and David McAfee, USA Today bestseller, Robert Swartwood, and newcomer Daniel Boucher. The novel will be released in five parts, every two weeks starting November 12, 2013, but it will also be available as one complete novel as soon as the fifth episode is released. So read along as they appear or hold out for the completed novel. Either way, you're in for a creepy ride.

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A NOTE FROM THE AUTHORS

Dear Reader,

I wanted to take a moment to thank you for reading REFUGE: Book 1. I hope you have enjoyed the journey into the dark recesses of my imagination and that you will come back for more of Frost, Griffin, Winslow and the rest of this poor, lost town. If you did enjoy the book, please show your support by posting a review at Amazon.com. The Amazon website works on algorithms, meaning the more people review my books, the more Amazon will recommend them to other readers. And the more people buy my books, the more I get to write them, which is a good thing for both of us (assuming you enjoyed the book). If we can get REFUGE moving off the virtual shelves, there will be many more worlds to visit, and many more horrors to uncover.

Thank you!

—Jeremy Bishop (aka Jeremy Robinson)

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

JEREMY BISHOP is the #1 Amazon.com horror author of THE SENTINEL and THE RAVEN, published by Amazon’s 47 North imprint. He is also known as Jeremy Robinson, the bestselling author of more than thirty novels, including SECONDWORLD, ISLAND 731, PROJECT NEMESIS and the Jack Sigler Thriller series. His novels have been translated into eleven languages. He lives in New Hampshire with his wife and three children.

Visit him online at www.jeremybishoponline.com
or www.jeremyrobinsononline.com.

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ALSO by JEREMY BISHOP

Horror Novels written as Jeremy Bishop

Torment

The Sentinel

The Raven

ALSO by JEREMY ROBINSON

New Standalone Novels

SecondWorld

Project Nemesis

Island 731

I am Cowboy

Project Maigo

Xom-B (2014)

The Last Hunter

(Antarktos Saga Series)

The Last Hunter – Descent

The Last Hunter – Pursuit

The Last Hunter – Ascent

The Last Hunter – Lament

The Last Hunter – Onslaught

The Jack Sigler Novels

Prime

Pulse

Instinct

Threshold

Ragnarok

Omega

The Chess Team Novellas

(Chesspocalypse Series)

Callsign: King

Callsign: Queen

Callsign: Rook

Callsign: King 2 – Underworld

Callsign: Bishop

Callsign: Knight

Callsign: Deep Blue

Callsign: King 3 – Blackout

The Origins Editions

(First five novels)

The Didymus Contingency

Raising The Past

Beneath

Antarktos Rising

Kronos

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

A Note from the Authors

About the Author

Also by Jeremy Robinson/Jeremy Bishop

Copyright ©2013 by Jeremy Robinson (aka Jeremy Bishop)

All rights reserved.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission of the author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. For information address Jeremy Robinson at
info@jeremyrobinsononline.com

Cover design copyright ©2013 by Jeremy Robinson

Interior design by Jeremy Robinson

Printed in the United States of America

Visit Jeremy Bishop on the World Wide Web at:

www.jeremybishoponline.com