Lost Contact (The Bridge Sequence Book One), Nathan Hystad [primary phonics books .TXT] 📗

Case as the corners began to burn brightly. Wind circled around us, and Veronica cried out, her hair flying over her face. I grabbed for her hand, squeezing it tight as the torches extinguished, temporarily leaving us in the dark, until blue light filled the entire cavern and I shouted, a desperate shriek of anticipation.

Veronica looked up, tears on her cheeks, and I followed her stare. The stars were different through the opening. A tunnel raced downwards from some distant point, and the room went black again.

“Veronica?” Our flashlights were off, the torches out, and the blue light had dissipated. I couldn’t see a thing.

We were still clutching hands. “I’m here.”

I felt for the lighter and flicked the gear, a butane flame bounding to life. Two men stood across the podium, gaping at us with wild eyes.

“You did it,” one of them said. “You brought us home!”

“Who the hell are you?” I asked, but Veronica was already moving from them. She grabbed a torch and tossed it to me, while aiming her gun in the newcomers’ direction. I lit the tip, a sulfur smell catching my nostrils, and held the bright wooden stick out, trying to garner a better view.

“You found a way to bring us back,” the other man said, his voice practically a whimper. They were dressed in ill-fitting robes, and the one man was mostly bald, with cracked glasses placed precariously on his nose. Their faces were shrouded in shadows, and the taller man reached for the Case.

“How did you find it? I made sure no one would,” he whispered.

“Back away!” I had the gun aimed between them, the effort making my stomach hurt fiercely.

His hair was matted, long and curled at the ends. Dark brown eyes glanced up at me, and even though there were more lines on his face, and he was a good twenty pounds lighter than any pictures I had, his identity was obvious.

“It’s impossible.” I walked around the stone stand, using it to keep my balance. The wound was aggravated, and I stuck a hand to it, pressing tightly. My vision was distorted, blood seeping through my fingers. I stumbled, and the man caught me.

“Who are you?” he asked, and I heard a voice from my past.

I was four years old, wearing a birthday hat and sitting at the table, waiting for Mom to bring the cake in. A scattering of friends sat around me, and Beverly saw Dad first. She started to get up, but Mom shut the door. She was yelling. Dad hadn’t been around for weeks, perhaps months, and Mom had told me earlier that he wasn’t coming for my fourth birthday party.

After a few minutes of shouting, he walked into the dining room with a small gift, wrapped with a section of the newspaper and an elastic band. This is for you, son, he’d said, and I’d dug into it, finding a multi-knife, the kind a kid that age should never have. I jumped from my seat, clinging to his waist, and I remembered seeing my mom’s expression. A mixture of sadness and relief.

“I’m your son.” And I passed out.

7

I only recalled sections of our return trek to Madison’s vineyard.

“Are you sure we can go back there?” It was Tripp, and I scarcely heard him over the whir of the rotors.

A gruff voice answered, and I kept my eyes closed. I didn’t have the strength to open them. “Fred had no access to the network. The moment you arrived, I cut the communication ties from his end.”

“Impressive.” This from Marcus.

“Is he going to be okay?” the voice that haunted me asked.

“He has to be,” Veronica said. There was a tinge of sadness to her voice, a heaviness I’d never heard before. But it was gone with everything else as the darkness overtook me again.

I woke in a bed, with sunlight peeking through the drawn drapes.

Images flashed in my mind: of the Tokens, the Case, the blue light cascading from the stars, and lastly, of the two figures that had emerged in the cavern. It was impossible. Clearly, I was delusional, likely feverishly dreaming in the hospital bed in Boston. I fumbled for a call cord but didn’t find one.

“Good, you’re awake,” someone said.

The drapes were pulled aside, sending motes of dust into the beam of sunlight. He wore the same robe and walked across the room from the chair he’d been sleeping in.

“Dad,” I muttered. My lips were dry, and he passed me a glass of water.

“I don’t know how this came to be, but I’m so grateful.” He sat on the bed, his weight tugging at the blankets. He must have noticed, because he loosened the covers off my stomach. “You were in rough shape, Rex. These people… they really care about you.”

I nodded, unable to find my voice.

“I know you have a lot of questions, and I’ll do my best to answer them, but bear with me. I’ve been somewhere else, not sure I’d ever get home. Things haven’t been easy on Clayton and me.”

The other man. Clayton Belvedere. It was so obvious.

“I… never gave up on you,” I whispered.

He clutched my hand, and for a second, I was that little boy at my birthday again. “Thank you, son.”

“How… you’re not much older than me,” I told him. It was true. He could have been my brother, or a young uncle at the very least. Fifty, tops.

“The Bridge… it defies a lot of what we assumed,” he said.

“I don’t understand,” I admitted. My head felt clearer, and I took another sip of water, letting it ease my throat.

“Neither do I, but we’ll figure it out together. I hear they’re on the way,” he said.

“Who? The Unknowns?”

“They are known, Rex. They are very known. But we’ll get to that later. You need to rest. Are you hungry?”

I sat up, cringing as I propped the pillow behind me. “You owe me this. I’ve spent my entire life searching for your ghost, and you show up and