Hollow World Read online

  “Got something against sitting?” Warren asked.

  “No,” Pax replied.

  “Nice getup.” Warren gestured to Pax with his glass of tea. “You fit in perfect here. Well, not so much here as Main Street. That’s where the hoity-toity class of folk with your sort of finery would have strolled with walking sticks and umbrellas. Out here on the farming frontier, we just let the rain fall on us.”

  Ellis expected some comment about loving the rain, but Pax remained oddly silent.

  Yal stepped out, carrying two glasses of coppery tea with a pair of mint leaves in each.

  “No ice,” Warren apologized. “Lack of refrigeration is the biggest disappointment, but you get used to it. I tried cutting ice off the pond with an ax and packing it, but it don’t last. Dex says we need volume. In the old days they had icehouses, big places packed in straw and sawdust. Takes a long time to melt that way.”

  “I still don’t understand,” Ellis said. “What are you doing here?”

  Warren sipped his tea and rocked back in a casual rhythm as if this was normal—a typical Sunday afternoon with the neighbors. He pointed to his stomach, tapping it. “I got pancreatic cancer just like my old man—runs in the family. Seven years after you left, I started feeling sick and got the bad news. I figured if I followed you into the future there might be a cure.”

  Ellis failed a suppressed laugh.

  “Glad the news of my impending death amuses you, old pal.”

  “It’s not that. It’s just that on the day I told you about the time machine, I left out that I had idiopathic pulmonary fibrosis.”

  “Idio what?”

  “My lungs are shot. It’s fatal and incurable except by a transplant, and I didn’t want to take a pair of lungs that some kid could put to better use. I thought your dad had a heart attack, like mine.”

  Warren shook his head. “No. My dad lingered. Slow torture. He used to make train noises in the bedroom while we were having dinner. For years I thought he had gone nuts, you know? Later my mother told me he was in so much pain near the end that he needed to scream but didn’t want to scare us kids. So my old man made these choo-choos and woo-woos, like he was three and playing with a Playskool set of wooden train cars. I wasn’t going to wind up like that.”

  “Treatments have come a long way since your dad died.”

  “Yeah, they wanted me to do that chemo-shit. But that wasn’t for me.” He shook his head with a frown, his eyes looking down the length of Firestone Lane. “I wasn’t going out that way. I figured going forward was worth a shot. Even if it ended up frying my ass, that was better than sucking a bullet out of the barrel of my .38, which I seriously considered.

  “I still had your blueprints. Kept them out of sentimentality, I guess. I couldn’t understand any of that crap, but I knew this fella—college kid, electrical engineer at Ford—who used to inspect the line. His uncle had been laid-off from NASA. I took the kid out for beers and got him laid. I became his best friend after that. He and his uncle helped. They thought I was loony, and were convinced it wouldn’t work. But as long as I paid for the gear, and the beer, they humored me. ‘You can’t create a contained gravity well using milk crates, batteries, and an iPad,’ they had said. Course, I knew better…because you’d already done it.”

  Warren focused on the two moving the cattle. He stood up. “Goddammit, Hig! Just kick her in the ass! Where the hell is that stick I gave you?”

  “I…ah…” Hig, who was wearing a wide-brimmed black hat, looked lost.

  “You need to teach Dolly who’s boss.” Warren shook his head. “All these bald bastards ain’t got no gumption.”

  “Gumption? Since when did you become a regular on Hee Haw?”

  “Comes with the territory, my friend.”

  Warren resumed his seat, and Ellis marveled. Four days earlier, Warren couldn’t belly-up to the bar and rest his elbows at the same time. As he sat back down, Ellis could once again see the old fullback.

  “So how was it you arrived ahead of me if you left seven years later?”

  “Not a clue,” Warren replied. “Flunked science, remember?”

  “What have you been doing?”

  Warren grinned, first at Ellis, then at Pax. “Working my ass off, is what. You can tell, can’t you?”

  “Yeah—you look good for Santa Claus.”

  “Funny guy.” He hooked a thumb at Ellis while looking at Pax. “Been a laugh a minute, hasn’t he?”

  Again Pax didn’t reply, but only stood holding the tall glass of untasted tea.

  “I popped in up north in the woods. I’m guessing you did too. Only you were probably smart enough to follow the river, right? I didn’t. I just thought the world was fucked, you know? Everything gone. So I dug in, built a lean-to and eventually a cabin.”

  “You built a cabin?”

  “We ain’t talking the kind on the maple syrup bottle. The place was a hovel, mostly made of fallen trees, thick branches, and shit, with a sod roof that leaked. Bugs everywhere too. That first winter was hell, but it kept me alive.”

  “How’d you eat?”

  “I brought my Browning Lightweight Stalker with the scope. It’s just like hunting up north, except the forests around here are packed with game. I’d kill one deer and be set with food for a week. Wasted a lot until I discovered how to cure it. Puked on bad meat a few times, working out the kinks. And this”—he slapped his stomach where his belly used to be—“is what a nearly all-protein diet and constant exercise does for you. Shows you what clean living can do for a man, eh?”

  “So how’d you end up here? You eventually find the river?”

  “Nope. I never had reason to go south. Most of the best hunting was north of my cabin. Wasn’t until the baldies found me that I realized I wasn’t the last person on the planet. They stumbled on my cabin like yuppie tourists discovering a UFO. Freaked them the hell out when they saw me. Granted, I looked like a bear—not much need to shave—but they were the ones buck naked. Little Ken dolls—all of them.”

  Ellis smiled.

  “You thought so too, didn’t you?”

  He nodded.

  “They were skittish as hell. Anywho…they stared for a long time, kinda like your friend here.” He winked at Pax, who was watching every move Warren made. “Eventually I asked what they were staring at, and they freaked again. Guess they didn’t think I could speak or something. We started talking then, and the more I learned the more I was sickened to discover what became of mankind. No more women—you know about that?”

  Ellis nodded.

  “Everyone masturbates now. Everyone lives underground in one big video game or something. I started setting a few of them straight, telling them how it used to be, how people were supposed to live—like I was doing in my cabin. I talked about taking responsibility for themselves and not relying on others for anything. Talked about individualism, and it turns out these folks are starved for it. That’s why they get these weird tattoos and dress up. They’re all identical, so they have to do something to tell each other apart. So I straightened them out, you know? They saw me as this mystic wise man, like that guru the Beatles hung with.”

  “Did they believe you about traveling through time?”

  “Never told them about that. They were already spooked. Thought I was a Darwin—which I guess is like a Bigfoot to us. They asked if they could come and visit again. I said sure, but only if they didn’t tell anyone else. I didn’t want a bunch of these hairless clones turning me into a sideshow attraction. They kept their word, ’cause only the same ones ever returned. They’d ask to invite a couple of others, and I said that was okay. I kinda liked the company, you know. Nice having people listen when I talked about society’s problems and the right way to fix them, not to mention finally getting some respect, you know? Some really became convinced I was right, and they decided to move to the purity of rustic life. Soon I had a compound of five cabins. Then Dex had the bright idea of moving down here. They had a fuckin
g farm—a whole town—no one told me. Dex arranged for us to be the caretakers at Firestone. I guess there’s always been people that took turns living here and keeping the place up—mostly college types doing some kind of research or community service or just back-to-earth nuts. We’ve been here about a year and keep to ourselves.”

  “You’ve only been out here then? Didn’t you ever go to Hollow World?”

  Warren made a melodramatic shudder. “No interest in that. They tell me about it. Popping through portals, device orgies, designer pets, fake sun, everybody always naked and not a pair of tits to be seen. They can keep that crap.” He spread out his arms. “I have all this to myself. A whole world of God’s beauty.”

  Right then Pax dropped the glass of tea. It shattered in a burst of bronze liquid.

  They both looked at Pax, who remained focused on Warren. “You ordered the murder of Pol-789.”

  “I what?” Warren started to laugh, but stopped and stared, puzzled. “What did you say?”

  “You’re Ren. You ordered the killing and replacement of Pol. You wanted a spy on the inside.”

  “I hope there’s a joke in there somewhere,” Warren said. “Not neighborly for a guest to come on a body’s porch and accuse them of murder.”

  “You’re the one hunting us—the one that sent the search party—you wanted Ellis Rogers to be brought to you.”

  Warren nodded. “Asked is more like it. Once I discovered there was a Hollow World, I asked about Ellis. And I told everyone that if they ever found another guy like me—going by the name of Ellis—to have him visit. Isn’t that how you got here? How else did you know how to find me?”

  “You’re a liar as well as a murderer,” Pax declared.

  Warren’s face darkened as he stood up.

  “Excuse us a second, Warren.” Ellis took hold of Pax’s arm and pulled. They climbed down the porch, moving away. “What’s wrong with you?”

  “Ren is a murderer. He killed Pol-789 and very likely Geo-24. Maybe others.”

  “That’s ridiculous. I witnessed the murder. I saw who killed Geo-24, remember? And that person is dead now. Why would you think Warren had anything to do with that?”

  Pax hesitated. “I can’t—I can’t tell you.”

  Ellis’s brows rose. “You’re accusing a friend of mine of murder, but you can’t tell me why?”

  “I’m sorry. You just have to trust me.”

  Ellis sighed. He looked around at the few others working the farm, then back at Pax. Whatever threat they expected hadn’t materialized. He’d anticipated—he didn’t know what, actually—maybe a modern mafia or perhaps shadowy troglodytes. Instead, they had found Warren, his oldest friend, pretending to be Pa from Little House on the Prairie. For the first time, Ellis questioned if there had ever been a threat. After they caught the killer of Geo-24, everything had been fine until Pax became convinced Pol was an impostor. And why was that? There had never been any evidence of danger.

  “Why did you think Pol was an impostor?”

  “I…I just did.”

  “Pax—I need a little more than that.”

  “I know. I just can’t give it to you.” A miserable frown formed on Pax’s lips.

  “Why not?”

  “Because—because you won’t believe me, and if you do…you could hate me. I don’t want you to hate me.”

  “What in the world could make me—”

  “I can’t tell you!” Pax shouted.

  “Okay, okay.” Ellis held up his hands. Then a thought crossed his mind. “Why do you live with Vin?”

  “What?” Pax asked incredulously.

  “When I first arrived, Alva insisted you were not crazy. Why would she say that?”

  Pax took a step back and could no longer look him in the face. “Alva said that?”

  “One of the first things I was told. Why would Alva feel it necessary to assure me you weren’t crazy?”

  Pax looked at the ground, at the gravel beneath their feet, crushed stone and dirt. “I’ve had some trouble.”

  “Trouble? What kind of trouble?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Is Vin there to watch you? That’s why you need permission to invite guests into your own home, isn’t it?”

  Pax took a deep shuddering breath while still studying the fine surface of Firestone Lane. “Vin has been very kind to me.”

  “Why is Vin there, Pax? What’s wrong with you?”

  “You just have to trust me. Ren is a killer.”

  “Do you think he’s going to kill me?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know what he’s planning, but he’s planning something, and it’s not good.” Pax looked up, eyes pleading. “We should leave. Warn Hollow World.”

  “Warn them of what?”

  “I don’t know!” Pax screamed, fists tight. A pair of nearby birds took flight at the outburst.

  Ellis reached out and Pax folded into his arms. Pax was shaking. “I’m so scared. I don’t know what to do.”

  “Do you trust me?” Ellis asked.

  He felt Pax nod against his chest. “Yes.”

  “Then this is what I think you need to do. You said it was Warren who was after us. Who wanted me to come here. That means no one is chasing us now. So I think you should go home.”

  “What? No, I—”

  “I’ll stay and talk to Warren and find out what’s going on—if anything.”

  “You can’t.” Pax pulled back.

  “You’ve had a stressful couple of days. You were almost killed, then suffered a brutal operation, and topped it off with a can of Dinty Moore stew. Anyone would be upset.”

  “I’m not leaving you. You don’t even have a portal.”

  “You can come back tomorrow, okay?”

  “I can’t leave you alone with a killer!”

  “Look, I’ve known Warren since I was fifteen! He’s not a killer.”

  “He is, and he’s lying.”

  “You need to trust me this time. Warren’s not going to hurt me.” He put his hand on Pax’s shoulder. “You go home. Take a nice waterfall shower. Have Cha look at that shoulder. Eat a solid meal, and have a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow at this time, port back here. By then I’ll know a lot more and we can discuss what to do next, okay?”

  “Why can’t we both go home, do all that stuff, and then both come back?”

  “Because I need to talk to Warren, and…some of what I have to say is private.”

  Pax stared. Ellis could see tears brewing. “I’m scared.”

  “I’ll be all right.”

  “I’m scared for both of us.”

  “Go home and rest. Maybe talk to Vin.”

  A tear slipped. “Be very careful.”

  “I will.”

  Pax reached up for the Port-a-Call. “Alva’s right.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m not crazy.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  ALL IN GOOD TIME

  “Your friend seems a little upset,” Warren said as Ellis sat back on the rocker beside him.

  Pax was gone. Ellis had seen the familiar Gothic dining room through the portal and felt a desire to go along. Pax’s place was already more of a home to him than anywhere he’d known since his childhood, but he did feel better now that Pax wasn’t here. He could speak more freely, and he had some issues to address with his old friend.

  “Pax has been under some stress—been investigating some murders.”

  “Didn’t think they had those in Hollow World. The hairless been telling me they got rid of murder, death, warfare—both the regular kind and class—death, racism, sexism, poverty, all that shit.”

  “Well, someone made an exception.”

  “So what’s the bug up his butt?”

  “His?”

  Warren smirked. “His, her, its—whatever. Didn’t seem like stress. Acted sorta jealous of me. You two trying out some new-age sex toys? I hear they have this thing called a—”

 
“It’s not like that,” Ellis said, louder than he’d planned.

  “Good. I thought maybe you were going native, walking on the other side of the road, so to speak.”

  “I said it’s not like that.”

  “Just saying, it seemed that way. And you never know. You hear about guys that go to prison and figure they got no choice, you know?”

  “Like I said, Pax has just been under a lot of stress. We’ve been through a lot these last few days.”

  “Yeah, well, we all have our crosses to bear. But damn, it’s good to see you. I’ve been wondering if you’d ever show up. Thought you might have gotten something wrong and fried your ass.”

  The day was winding down. The lazy light of late afternoon reminded Ellis of after-school time, even to that day. Warren was right; it was hot out. He could see the heat waves rising, making the fields blurry, and hear the cicadas whining as loudly as the traffic used to be on old Michigan Avenue. Ellis, who still hadn’t seen a calendar, reasserted his belief that it was mid- to late summer. He could smell the grass and the scent of manure coming from the barn, and hear a horse snorting. There was corn in one of the fields, and it had to be elephant-eye high.

  “Like your piece,” Warren said.

  “My what?”

  “Your gun.” Warren pointed at the holster. Ellis had almost forgotten it was there. It appeared invisible to everyone else. “Lemme see it.”

  He only had a fraction of hesitation before pulling it out and handing it over. After all, this was Warren.

  The two had met in the tenth grade—when Warren had also been known by just Ren, because two syllables were one too many for high schoolers to deal with, and in 1971 War was as unpopular as Nixon. They had shared a locker that Warren kept crammed with excess football gear that he had refused to leave in the gym. Old number forty-eight—the jersey was always there. In those three years, Ellis didn’t think his friend had ever washed the thing, and he’d had to hold his breath whenever he went for his books. Ellis didn’t care for the moose he had been forced to share space with until Ricky “the Dick” Downs targeted him.