Marc Zicree - Angelfire

It lay between our present position and the knot of light I knew must be post-Change Chicago. An enigma.

“Are you sure you’re reading that right?” asked Colleen.

Cal glanced up over his shoulder at her. “I … Yes , I’m sure it’s right. I mean, it’s wrong . There should be something there.”

“You mean there used to be something there,” said Enid.

Goldie moved from the stalls at the back of the barn to pace along its front wall, still humming, providing accompaniment with a little wood and skin rattle he had pulled seemingly out of nowhere-a gift from Kevin Elk Sings. Enid tracked him for a moment, then turned to watch Magritte sleep.

Colleen sighed and dropped to a crouch next to Cal, leaning wearily against his leg. “Maybe we’re just plain lost.”

The drumming suddenly quit and Goldie said, quietly, “We’re not lost. Chicago’s on the other side of that hole in the map, we just need to find a way to get across it.”

Cal turned to look at him, standing before the barn’s double front doors. “You’re sure?”

“I’m never sure of anything. You know that.”

Cal glanced over at Enid, who shrugged and said, “I don’t know about Chicago, but Howard’s still there.”

“On the other side of the void?”

“Yeah.”

Cal stood and turned to Goldie, the map in his hands. “And is the Source on the other side of the void, too?” Goldie smiled uncertainly. “You’re asking me?”

“Who else would I ask? Goldie, we’ve been on the road for days, moving straight toward Chicago. I haven’t asked you if the Source is there because I figured if it was, you’d tell me. And if it wasn’t , you’d tell me. You haven’t said a word, one way or the other. Now, I’m asking. What’s your sixth sense telling you about the Source?”

Goldie looked down at the rattle. “My sick sense, you mean.”

Cal’s hands clenched on the map, crushing it. Pale violet light seeped from between his fingers. “Goldie, we’re practically on top of Chicago-or at least we ought to be. And we’re coming in from the West. Is the Source east of us now, or west?”

There was no sound in the barn but the hollow chuckle of fire in the barrel and wind tormenting the riven walls.

“Wow, what do I say? Never could tell my east from my west.”

“Goldie, dammit! You-” Cal stopped the words with visible effort. “You’ve been hedging this since before we left the Preserve. What is it you’re trying so damned hard not to tell me?”

Goldie’s eyes darted around as if seeking a place to hide. “That I don’t know what to tell you. I’m getting mixed signals. Static. Too many voices.”

“Voices from Chicago?”

“Sometimes.”

“And was it just coincidence that Chicago was where Enid and Magritte needed to go?”

Goldie’s eyes met Cal’s in a collision I felt as a sudden tightness at the back of my neck. “I’m not making this up, Cal. Yes, I thought it was farther west before, but things change. That’s the nature of life nowadays, isn’t it?”

“Jesus Christ, Goldie-if I asked you if something was black or white you’d tell me it was gray!”

“Things are gray. Things have always been gray.”

Cal threw the crumpled map to the floor. “Goldie, for God’s sake, can you please stop sounding like a fucking sphinx? I’ve had enough riddles and conundrums and-and puzzles to last me a lifetime. Right now I need answers, and you’re the only one who has them.”

But Goldie was shaking his head. “I don’t have answers, Cal. I never have had.”

“No, of course not. You don’t have answers; you just have manias. How convenient.”

“Cal!” Colleen scrambled to her feet and stood poised, as if ready to put herself between the two men.

Goldie’s laughter was harsh. “ ‘Convenient’ isn’t exactly the word I’d use.”

“No? What word, then, Goldie? What word would you use to describe the way your sense of direction comes and goes? Huh? You tell me in one breath that the Source could be in Chicago. In the next, you tell me you’re not sure. One moment you’re setting course with abandon, and the next you’re dithering around like a-a-”

I finished the sentence for him. “Like someone with an extreme mood disorder? For the love of God, Cal, where are you going with this?”

Goldie drew back, shadows falling across his face. “No, Doc, it’s … it’s okay. He’s right. I’m … two bricks short of a load. Common knowledge.” He dropped his eyes to the rattle again before going on, his voice a raw whisper. “Look, Cal, I’m sorry I can’t be more clear-headed. More… like you or Doc or Colleen. But I’ve tried everything I can think of to keep up my end of this. Up to and including opening genie bottles I’d just as soon leave corked. You can’t imagine some of the scary shit I’ve had to let into my head to be able to hear those Voices.”

“Goldie …” Cal said.

“Yeah, I know what you’re thinking: ‘Jeez, Goldman, you eat scary shit for breakfast.’ Granted. But it costs me to stay connected to the Source. To hear those Voices night after night. When I’m on the edge, Cal, they make stepping over sound… easy.” He raised his eyes to Cal’s face, and Cal went white at the look in them. “Sometimes it’s all I can do to hold on to the little piece of sanity I’ve got left in here. I know you want yeses instead of maybes and answers instead of riddles. But I don’t have them. Not right now.”

There was a vacuum in the room. No one spoke or moved. The wind rattled the doors and pried at the windows.

Finally, Cal spoke, his voice careful, gentle. “Then we’ll make do with maybes and riddles. I … I know you’re not making this up, Goldie. But I’m blind right now. I’m not sure what we’re facing.”

A ghost smile touched Goldie’s lips. “Welcome to my world.”

Cal’s expression changed subtly in the exchange their eyes made. “Yeah. I … I get it,” he said finally. “If you … sense anything, hear anything-”

“You’ll be the first to know. Trust me.” He turned back into the rippling shadows and disappeared into the stalls.

Cal picked up the crumpled map and smoothed it against his stomach. “I’m sorry, you guys. I … I don’t have any excuses. It’s just… another day in a long nightmare.”

Colleen laid a hand on his arm. “Don’t beat yourself up over it. Everybody’s worn-out and a little tired of surprises.”

Cal shot a glance back into the shadows where Goldie had gone. “I’m worried about him. He’s our compass. Always pointing almost due west. Now it’s as if … the pole has moved. Maybe it’s these dreams we’ve been having … maybe they’re confusing things.”

“Well, one thing I’m not confused about,” said Enid. He pointed toward the southeast corner of the barn. “Howard is that way.”

Cal took a deep breath. “Then we go that way.”

Enid nodded, as if content with that, and lay down on his hay bale, pulling his sleeping bag over him. I realized how hungry for sleep my own body was. I had laid out my bedroll in what was left of a haystack along the inner wall of a stall. Now I went to it and crawled in, facing the common area, almost numb with cold and weariness. I could see Cal and Colleen standing where I had left them, both looking at the hard-pack floor rather than each other.

After a moment Cal dropped the map onto a hay bale and moved to stand by the fire barrel, where he made business of warming his hands. Colleen hesitated, then followed him.

“Could the Source really be in Chicago?” she asked, her voice low. “Is that what we’ll be facing on the other side of the void?”