Lost Contact (The Bridge Sequence Book One) by Nathan Hystad (ereader iphone .TXT) 📕

bag slung over his shoulder. “This again? I know we’re in some sticky situations, but at least we get to chill in style.”

We filed into the home, and I instantly saw the view through the house. The layout allowed for a straight sight line to the vineyard in the valley, and I plodded across the terrazzo tile directly to the deck. The home was built into the top of the hill, and the patio was braced on the decline, making it seem like you were floating above the vale.

And the words echoed in my mind. Seek a star’s flight on a cloudy night. I knew what it meant. With a renewed sense of urgency, I stared at the land. Hunter had purchased this vineyard, a piece of property that must have cost ten million dollars, not including the upkeep, just to be close to the Bridge’s portal. He’d wanted to see the Bridge so badly, and my father had cut him out. Hardy also wanted to go, but in the end, it had only been Clayton Belvedere and Dirk Walker to make the trek across the stars.

I turned and watched the rest of the team inside. Veronica grinned as she talked to Marcus and Tripp. The tough guy’s chin was once again covered in rough stubble, and he frowned as she spoke. I’d watched him dispatch a few Believers so far, and he’d done it with such casual regard. I still hadn’t truly let myself come to terms with the two men I’d murdered. I’d built a barrier, a brick wall around my emotions, to carry on. The cultists were wrong, at least from my perspective. From their depiction, they were doing what they were taught was necessary to hail the salvation from the Unknowns.

Regardless of who was evil or just, I was alive, and it was thanks to Tripp. The Believers shouldn’t have been aware of this home, and it gave me a sliver of hope and peace. We had the Tokens, the Case, and hopefully soon, the location of the cavern.

Estrelas. The stars. We were so close.

I heard the kids laughing from another room and looked down the hallway. The living room was furnished nicely, with expensive hand-crafted wooden-framed couches and ornate coffee tables. The entire floor was the same tile, and I noticed a huge fireplace with a thick mantel across the space.

“We should get moving, check the location you marked first,” I told Marcus, and my hand tried to rest on the couch top. I was woozy, and it missed, sending me sprawling ahead. Veronica half-caught me as I struck the ground.

“After you rest, Rex,” Tripp said. My stomach throbbed, and my mind spun as they directed me toward a first-floor bedroom. I tried to argue with them, but the words wouldn’t come with clarity. In the end, I stopped fighting and lay on the bed, fully clothed.

Marcus returned a minute later with a vial of pills and a glass of water. “Sorry, Rex, but you have to heal up first. We’ll wait as long as we have to, right, guys?” he asked the others.

I closed my eyes after swallowing the pill, letting the soft pillow cradle my head. They muttered their agreement, and I was out, sleeping like a baby.

____________

The music was familiar, a song from my childhood, and I let the words wash over me. I opened my eyes and almost expected my mother to be at my bedside. The light was on, but dim on the nightstand, and she kept singing. Only this wasn’t me at six with the chicken pox, and that wasn’t my mom; it was my sister.

“Rex, are you feeling better?” she asked. It was obvious she’d been crying, her eyes red and swollen.

I sat up, noticing an improvement. My brain didn’t feel like it was being squished in a vise, and my stomach pain was just a dull ache. “Yes, thanks. How long was I sleeping?”

“It’s evening. Six hours or so,” she said, and I tried getting up.

“Six hours! Couldn’t someone have woken me?” I was furious we’d wasted a whole day already.

“Rex, calm down. It’s not all up to you, okay?”

“Where are they?” I asked, slowly swinging my legs from the bed. Bev watched me with sadness on her face.

“They went out and haven’t returned. Tripp gave Fred a gun,” she said.

Fred with a gun. Something that I had a hard time picturing, but at least he was willing to protect his family. He was twice the father mine had ever been. He worked hard, ran a business, and came home every night, eating dinner with his children. He was a real father.

I didn’t know where the pent-up anger at my dad stemmed from. Usually, it didn’t bother me so much, especially knowing what I did now about the Bridge and the Believers. But where had he ended up? Why hadn’t he let Hunter and Hardy go instead? Both Clayton and Dirk left families behind.

I walked to the bedroom exit and heard a television playing.

“You’re not going to leave us too, are you?” The question was so simple, yet years of torment were layered into it.

“What?” I asked, facing Beverly. She sat on an uncomfortable chair, a bunched-up tissue in her hand.

“You won’t take off like Dad, will you? What are we supposed to do if you vanish like he did? Do we just live out our days in this vineyard?” she asked.

“I… I don’t know.” Was that even an option? “What do you want me to do?”

“Can’t we just give them this box thing?” Bev stood, crossing the room in a few quick steps. “Hand it over and make a deal? We have nothing to do with these people, they have nothing to do with us.” She slapped her palms together, like she was dusting them off.

“It’s not that simple.” Could I do that? I had a feeling the Believers would entertain that deal. I could leave with everyone, return home to Boston, and pretend