She was sobbing now. Softly, not hysterically but steadily. "What’s going to happen to us, Frank? What is this place? Where are we?"
"I think you know where we are, Alicia. I think we’ve both known for several miles. It can only be one place, and it isn’t Baker."
6
An off ramp loomed just ahead. Frank wasn’t surprised when the police cruiser’s turn signal began flashing.
There were two lanes. The right one was backed up onto the highway with cars and trucks. The left was empty until the patrol car started up it. As they followed close behind, Frank saw that the land surrounding the highway was still barren but full of red buildings. The plethora of architectural styles was astonishing. There was no rhyme or reason to the town that he could see. Victoriana slumped next to early medieval, Islamic alongside Frank Lloyd Wright, Balinese beside early Russian.
There was a stop sign at the top of the off ramp. A crossroad ran right, through part of the town, and left via an overpass to the other side of the highway. Directly ahead lay an on ramp. Part of him desperately wanted to take it, to chance pursuit by the patrol car, which had already turned right onto the crossroad. They’d have a slight head start and the down ramp would let him build up speed quickly.
But not without his daughter. Not without Wendy. She might be something of a rebellious airhead, but no more so than many teenage girls her age. He loved her even when he yelled at her. No way was he leaving her in this place.
There was a big parking lot off to the left, fronting a squat, single-story building. Feathery antennas protruded from the roof, giving the edifice the appearance of a bloated caterpillar hugging the ground.
Frank had no trouble turning across the road since there was no oncoming traffic. It was all one way. The lot was full of police cruisers and vans, all the same color as the one carrying Wendy. Above the main entrance a sign unsurprisingly proclaimed:
HADES JUNCTION POLICE
The cruiser they’d been following parked. Its driver turned off the spinning red lights and exited. A moment later Wendy emerged in the firm grasp of the sergeant. Her headphones hung from her neck. Fear and confusion vied for dominance on her face.
The older officer held onto her as he beckoned toward the motor home.
Frank rose, unlatching his seatbelt. "You stay here."
"Not a chance, Frank. I’m coming, too."
"I think we’d all best go." They both looked at Mouse. She indicated the waiting police. "Their company offers official protection, at least until they find out more about us. I’d rather not stay out here alone."
Frank hesitated, then nodded. "All right. I’m taking your advice because I don’t know what else to do. Steven comes, too?"
"Especially Steven." She put an arm around the boy’s shoulders. Alicia noted the gesture but said nothing.
After checking to make sure the doors and windows were locked, Frank followed them outside. He paused atop the steps, his attention caught by the long line of vehicles backed up in the lane they’d just exited. They crawled slowly toward an imposing gate a couple of hundred yards down the road, inland from the highway off ramp.
He couldn’t read the symbols atop the gate, but he had no trouble with the big steel sign just down the road from the police station parking lot. It was painted cherry red and only confirmed what he’d already guessed. The three words were a contradiction in terms.
WELCOME TO HELL
He hurried after Alicia and Mouse and Steven, not wanting to be left behind outside. As he hurried, he wiped sweat from his cheeks and forehead. It had been hot by the side of the road, but not this hot. The paved parking lot was a frying pan, Death Valley’s Furnace Creek in high summer. He fancied he could hear his sweat evaporating into the air.
If anything, it was hotter inside the station.
The sergeant was waiting for them. "If you’ll all just follow us we’ll get this business cleared up straight away." He turned and led them up a corridor, chatting with his taller, younger subordinate.
Frank went straight to his daughter. She wasn’t crying, but there was panic in her eyes and she was trembling visibly. He opened his arms and she sagged gratefully against him, her hair disheveled, her blouse torn from one shoulder.
The slimy-looking officer behind the front desk was staring at them and grinning. His teeth were filed to fine points. His desk, like the floor and walls, was fashioned of cut stone. There wasn’t a sliver of wood to be seen in the building.
Trembling a little himself, Frank started to step around his daughter. Her arms tightened against his.
"No! No. It’s okay, Dad. I’m all right." She glanced back over her shoulder to where the two officers had stopped to wait on them. "He didn’t do anything much. Just got me scared, that’s all."
"You sure?" He searched his daughter’s eyes, was immensely relieved not to find what he’d feared there.
She nodded. "Daddy, where are we?"
He remembered the sign, didn’t have the heart to quote it. "A bad place. Very bad. But we’ll be out of here soon, you’ll see. As long as we keep our cool and stick together we’ll get out all right. We have to keep our composure, though. Understand?" He gripped her shoulders hard.
"I understand."
"Okay. Now wipe your face. We don’t want to let these things think they’re getting to us, right?"
She nodded again, managed a feeble smile.
They followed the two officers up the corridor.
It might have been any office building in Los Angeles except for the intense heat and the fact that everything was made of stone or metal. No air-conditioning in Hell, he thought. Only heat and hotter. Officers and nonuniformed help passed them in the halls. Doors opened onto busy rooms full of clerks and technicians. Many of them were far less human than the two patrolmen who’d picked up Wendy. Steven stayed between Alicia and Mouse while Wendy hung close to her father. The station’s personnel ran the gamut from near-human to semihuman to utterly alien grotesqueries equipped with multiple tails and horns. Some had more than the usual complement of eyes and arms. Others sported fangs borrowed from saber-toothed cats. There were computer operators with forked tongues and filing clerks with long, narrow skulls that showed more bone than flesh.
They stopped outside a door while the sergeant vanished into the office beyond. The younger officer picked his teeth while something seven feet tall slumped down the hallway, long arms dragging the floor, knuckles turned inward. It did not turn to inspect them, for which Frank was grateful. He had no desire to encounter those vast yellow eyes with their tiny black pupils nor to see what might live inside that cavernous, bulging mouth. It held a sheet of plastic in one immense paw. Two red chevrons gleamed on the six-foot-long sleeve of its tunic.
Two more-modest monsters flanked a water cooler in the room opposite. The cooler jug contained an amber-colored liquid. Gasoline? he wondered. Or something equally volatile?
The sergeant emerged from the office he’d entered, took the younger patrol creature aside and whispered to it. Frank wanted to smash in both smug faces. He might’ve tried it in Los Angeles, but not here. Not in this place. A stupid, probably futile gesture that would do neither him nor his family any good. He wasn’t afraid of the younger officer who’d tormented his daughter, but he was damned afraid of the other things that lurked throughout the building. Besides which it wasn’t a smart idea to take a poke at a cop inside a police station, no matter what kind of things populated the place.
The sergeant turned back to them. "We’ve done some checking. The lieutenant wants to see you." He turned and they followed him inside. Frank kept a protective arm around his daughter. The younger officer kept staring at her and grinning. She avoided his gaze.