CZM Book Club: The Barrow Will Send What it May, Chapter Five

happened was that Heather died. What was the ora, Boris? I asked, new start? Brent said. She choked up a little on her words. She wanted a snake that eats its own tail to remind herself that things go in cycles, that it's never too late for a new start. There wasn't anything to say to that, there's always time for a new start, until one day there isn't holding each other, try not to think about the world outside that bedroom. We slowly let sleep come for us. Chapter five, Chapter

you came here to listen to rise and shine. It was still dark out midsummer that far north. If it was still dark out, then whoever the fock thought it was time to get up was wrong. A soul is on the move, and mister magic death door man just left his house in his truck. It was Thursday banging on the door being wrong. Give us a focking minute. You've got thirty seconds meet us at the bookmobile. Another beautiful day in the demon on her business. Is there

a coffee? Brynn asked, She was already standing, pulling on her work pants and buckling her belt. No, Thursday shouted back. Brynn was handsome. I knew that already. I mean I'd had a weird sort of crush on her since I first met her, But it kind of just hit me again watching her pull the shirt over her muscled Torso maybe I was delirious thinking about that instead of what needed thinking. Maybe I'd rather be delirious. Thursday drove conspicuously fast in the pre dawn light, taking turns far too

quickly for a clunky old bookmobile van. Doomsday had stayed at the library to keep Vascillus from doing something stupid Brynn was sitting shotgun and I was in the back with the books shelves lined the walls with webbing straps, holding in the mysteries and romances and sci fi like how you batten things down on a ship, which was good, even though we totally weren't going to flip over, definitely not.

I wasn't strapped down myself, though I was sprawled out on a bean bag, trying and failing to find things to hold on to every time we took a corner, while I also tried to keep my wounded shoulders safe for my vantage, I couldn't see out the window. All I saw were the brief flashes of street lights and head lights that fought against all that darkness. Not half a minute later, we stopped the side of the van slid open, and Vulture hopped in. He was panting, holding

his side graveyard. He said, she's at the graveyard. Take this road another mile and then turn right on the first road after you see some tombstones. What's up, I asked. I saw a sola Lever house, he said, so I followed, and at warranted, waking us up. Mister Miller left his house shortly after Vulture said, dressed all in camo with a duffel bag. Okay, that warrants waking us up. Wait, Brynn said, they live on opposite ends of the town. How'd you see them both? I set up a camera

outside mister Miller's house. Vulter said, what, Yeah, you just take an old phone and set it up as a surveillance camera. I set it to stream video to my main phone, video whenever I asked her a detected motion. Then I went to go watch a Solas place myself. We must have gone that mile at a breath taking speed, because Thursday yelled turn just as he jerked the wheel and sent those of us in the back sliding into

one another. The books held, of all the ways to die, I think being pummeled to death by trashy hetero romance novels might be the worst or the best. Either way, it didn't turn out to be my fate. We screeched to a stop, which slammed us forward, and Thursday killed the engine. I opened the side door and stumbled out, desperate to stand solid ground. At the other end of the short gravel parking lot, a nineteen fifties pickup truck sat empty. We should split up, Thursday said, find her faster, Oh,

Walter said, pulling out his phone. I know where she is, or at least her bicycle. He opened up an app called find my Phone, and a map filled the screen with a dot representing us and a dot representing presumably some third phone he'd hidden on a Sola's bicycle. Where do you get that many phones, I asked, I steal them from people, Walter said. The graveyard was surprisingly large for such a small town, and like the town itself, it looked like it had seen better days. Most of

the stones were small and worn. Many were cracked or tipped over. Huge oaks sat atop hills and cast moonshadows across the haphazardly maintained lawn. Somewhere in all of this was a back from the dead woman, and a magician had pulled off the kind of miracles that people write bibles about, who had also just killed Heather. Well, maybe it wasn't fair to blame him for Heather. I wasn't feeling fair. Whenever I got out of this alive and not in prison, I was going to sit down and

have myself a well deserved panic attack. Thursday had his gun held slack at his side as we moved through the graveyard. Brynn had her baton out. Mine was lost somewhere in Iowa, so I took out my knife. Vulture stopped to take a picture of a tombstone with the name Hardwood. We crossed to the very back of the cemetery, where an iron fence separated lawn from forest. Several of the vertical bars were missing, and Vulture led us through the gap and into the trees. Not much farther, he whispered,

he was right. A muddy impromptu led us through young pine trees to a small clearing. A red bicycle leaned against a tree near us. Ten feet away, into light of vultus phones flashlight. Aasla stood over two unmarked impromptu tombstones. She still wore the same black slip dress, but she'd paired it with sensible hiking shoes. Don't know how you followed me, she said, without turning around. Cut wild flowers and blues and red sat at the foot of each stone.

But you shouldn't have. Yeah, let me guess, I said. It isn't safe, It isn't What are you doing here? I asked, and she answered, I'm listening to advertisements uncool zone media, unless, of course, she had cooler zone Media, in which case she wouldn't have had to. She could just skip the ads, but if she didn't have that, she'd hear the ads much like you're about to and we're back. What are you doing out here? I asked? Her back was still to us, but she pointed at

each stone in turn. Loki, Damien, what happened to them? The same thing that will happen to you, Sebastian Miller, I asked, I had seen magic close up and personal. Still, though it was hard to be afraid of some man while I had my friends at my side, armed and on guard. She turned to look at me. I doubted that she could see us because we had a light on her. She nodded, her blonde hair hung loose over her black slip and alabaster's skin, and just for a moment,

I thought we were talking to a ghost. She was real, though she was alive, which was scarier. Are you working with him?

prove it. Bacillisen. Heather tried to talk us out of it, but you don't talk Loki out of doing things. Loki talks you into doing things. So we went out with snow chains and snow shoes and snow boots and snow everything to a backwood spot where Damien once saw a bear. Figured we'd catch it hibernating, shoot it, bring it back to life. What could be easier?

handed grip, tracking something through the trees. Brian dashed into the darkness, not toward the movement, not away from it, parallel. A crack, not as loud as gunfire, pierced the air. Thursday fired in response, and deafened us. Don't shoot, don't shoot. It took a while before the words registered, but Sebastian Miller came out of the trees and into the glow of Vultra's flashlight. With his hands above his head, a rifle held loose by the barrel, he wore camo head

to toe. Hunter's camo, the kind with actual pictures of trees, and leaves printed on it. It had to be him. I barely recognized him from his own photo, not that he looked different, but that his face was so forgettable. It was like face Camo, being as unremarkable looking as all about. I turned back to a sola. Her head lulled from side to side, and she dropped forward with a confused look in her eyes. Her face struck the mud.

Two running strides, and I was next to her, my hand feeling for a pulse for the second time in less than twenty four hours. If she's dead, you're dead. Thursday said, hear me out. Sebastian said, she's alive. I said her pulse was strong. Then I found the dart, a simple tranquilizer, a round projecting from her shoulder. He was a pretty fucking bad shot. No one aims for a shoulder. He was aiming center mass and hit high right.

I pulled out the dart, kill him anyway. Vulture said, hear me out what Thursday roared, Well, maybe you should try these goods and services. He said, That's not what he said. That's what I said. Here's a bunch of.

resurrector's remorse? You could say that, he said, But listen, I've got everything under control. This will all be over soon, back to how it was, the world no closer to its end. Kill him anyway, Vulture repeated. Bryn appeared behind Sebastian, struck him with her baton. He stumbled, and she was on him. He was half again her weight, and she got him to the ground without a problem. Be gone, he shouted. His words, cut through the air, louder than I thought they ought to have a flash of light

caused my vision to stutter. A series of bangs deafened me, and he was gone. Fuck Brent said, lurching to her feet. Fuck, fuck, fuck, I'm going to kill that man. We got a Sola to the van and drove back to the library in silence. Two doors down from a Solas squat, the shiny black suv was parked in front of the still operational bed and breakfast fence. Don't stay at bed and breakfasts, do they? Thursday pulled the van up alongside the curb next to

the library. Our bikes were back, presumably Vulture had grabbed them the night before. Someone's got to get Gertrude. I said, oh fuck. Thursday said he would kill her, wouldn't he. I'll go. Brynn said, I'm coming with you. Thursday said, good luck. I said fear of missing out and protectiveness argued in favor of me going too. But if Brin and Thursday couldn't handle it, having me along wouldn't change that. Vulture reluctantly passed Brynn his phone and opened up a

map with Gertrude's house pinned on it. Vulture had been busy. Brynn and Doomsday took off on bikes. Vulture and I carried a Sola into the library and up the stairs to lay her down in her old bed, where she'd lived with her since murdered partner, the bed she'd consciously avoided ever since her return. Still, we had to keep her safe, as safe as we could, safer than we'd kept Heather. Vasilis was sleeping in the living room when

we came in. Doomsday was absorbed in a book, sitting with the window in sight and her handgun on the table next to her in easy reach. What happened, she asked, standing I'd been a bit jealous that she'd gotten to stay at home, but she moved like a woman three times her age, exhausted, presumably from the effort of researching, standing guard and consoling our host, Frank dard I said. Doomsday shot a look at Vulture, not me, he said, I don't even own a dart gun. Yet he was

mister Miller, he was going to kill her again. How long is she going to be out, Doomsday asked, again, looking at Vulture. I don't know, because I've never tranquilized a human. Then he thought for a moment, I have never tranquilized a human with a dart, nor have I tranquilized an unwilling human. I also don't know what agent he used, and I basically have no idea. Screams broke into the living room from the bedroom not long Vulture answered authoritatively, I think he killed all three of us.

As Soulas said, she was sweating, maybe from the heat, but probably from the drugs or just outright fear. I think he killed one of us to resurrect me. I think I was the test subject. Then he killed whoever was left to bring back Gertrude. Now, fuck, I said, I couldn't come up with a better way to comfort someone had been through worse than I would have imagined possible. You know what I've spent all this time thinking about, instead of thinking about things like how do I get better?

Or how do I kill that man? What really keeps me up at night? What's that I asked? We were strangers? Really, I don't want to crowd her. I sat on the bed about a foot away from her. Doomsday sat on a chair next to us. I don't know which of them died for which of us. I don't know if Loki died to resurrect me or if Damien did. It doesn't matter. I know that I don't think anyone's soul

has joined mine, but it it fucks me up. Barrow stands by the gate and he let me slip out into the land of the living when it opened for when it opened for who. I put a tentative hand on her shoulder. She jerked and I almost pulled it away, but she grabbed my wrist and held my hand against her. I haven't touched anyone in three months, she said, not once, not since before I died. Oh, honey, Doomsday said. She stood up from the chair, sat down next to me on the bed. Do you want us to hold you,

I asked. She stared at the ceiling for a moment, then nodded. We laid down on either side of her and held her, and she cried. Nothing like the hacking, fearful sobs we'd heard from Vascillis the night before. She just cried. After a while, I did too. She'd killed me if I told anyone, I don't doubt. But I'm pretty sure Doomsday did too. We need people. It's not really giving up our freedom to be close with people, because freedom only exists in relation to other people. I

thought I needed to be left alone. I just needed people, good people like my murderous witch friend or this dead stranger Outside the window, the sun finally gracefully rose. Half an hour later, the library door opened and shut, and several pairs of feet tromped up the stairs. Hey, Thursday shouted, we're back. More shuffling as someone presumably Thursday, walk through the whole of the apartment. At last, he opened the door to the room we were in. Where's vacillas? Dun, dun, dun.

That's a cliffhanger. You got cliffhanged. That's a terrible phrase. Don't use that. But if you want to know what happens next, one of your options is to wait till next Sunday. Another option is to go get the book. Those are some of your options. Anyway, I'm gonna go play with my dog. See y all later bye. It could happen here as a production of cool Zone Media.