Garrett Cold and the Liberty Keepers
Chapter Ten – The Engineer
“You
alive, boy?” The voice was soft, more like the echo of something remembered.
But it was Grampa. That more than anything made me believe I had died. The old
man could not have survived the collapse of the arena roof. Neither could I.
“No.”
I felt something nudge my shoulder, and then a gust of sour breath laced with
the coppery tinge of blood filled the dust-laden air surrounding me.
“That
you, Garrett?” Grampa again, the last word trailing off as if he had expelled
the last of the tidal air from his bleeding lungs.
I’d
never thought much about death. It was a thing that happened to every living
creature. I suppose it happened to non-living entities as well, even galaxies
and stars, although you have to stretch the definition of life to make that
work out. I figured that one day I just wouldn’t be around. It would be like
sleep, only without dreams and without ever waking up. In my darkest days on
Freelife I counted it a blessing that the dead never knew of their plight. Of
course that was before I saw Cypher with his head lolling to the side and the
black blood spilling down the front of his body. He was dead. He knew it. It
was a dream, but it felt like something more. Was this a dream?
Something
nudged me again. I was lying on my back. The left side of my body was
immobilized by something heavy, hard, and smooth. The nudge was on the right
and that arm was free. All the strength I’d felt in the moment before the domed
ceiling of the arena came down seemed to have been an illusion.
“You’re
in shock, boy. Move something. Give me your hand.” The pressure on my shoulder
moved down the length of my body until I felt Grampa’s fingers touch the back
of my hand. When he clasped it, his grip was surprisingly strong. “Cold blood,
boy. Hard to kill us, don’t you think.”
“Grampa,
what happened?”
“How’d
you know, boy? How’d you know that the way to bring this place down was to kill
old Dockrill?”
“What?”
I had no idea what he was talking about. Then I remembered the knife, the
micro-serrations and the crystal handle dripping crimson in the last light of
the arena’s life. I’d slashed, but it wasn’t me doing the slashing. The knife
moved of its own accord. I just held it. Dockrill had given it to me, wanted me
to kill Grampa for some terrible imagined deed now three decades gone. It
wasn’t justice Dockrill wanted. It had to be vengeance. Nothing else could
cause a man to grow so old, so bitter. “Grampa, Dockrill, how old was he?”
Grampa
suppressed a laugh but not soon enough. He fell into a fit of coughing and
immediately I worried that I’d killed him with a question. I reached my free
arm out and felt his long boned body. Sweeping the air above and beside him I
realized that he was apparently free of the crushing rubble that lay all around
and above us. We were in a pocket of ruin. How we were still alive, and I
wasn’t yet convinced that we were, was a mystery that might never unfold its
secrets.
“Never
mind. You said I killed him.”
Grampa just
grunted, still winded from the coughing fit. I patted his chest, gently as I
was able. In a few moments his breath, which had been shallow and irregular
steadied itself.
“See,
boy. We Colds gotta stick together. We’re exponentially stronger that way. Like
a three-fold chord.” I thought he might want to shift positions as I felt his
muscles tense and the slight shifting of the sands near me. I thought about
what had to be tons of rock above us. The air was thick with decay, dust,
blood, and something else, a smell I recognized from my first brush with death,
from that day on the cliff face with the cougar’s yellow eyes staring down at
me. Blast!
“Grampa,
don’t move. Don’t want to be crushed.”
“We
already are, boy. We’re alive, sure, for the moment. But I doubt anyone will be
rushing to dig us out. And what’s the likelihood that whoever comes will be
engineers with a sense for preserving whatever might be alive under all of
this? No, we’re as good as crushed. It just ain’t happened yet.”
I
thought about the others now. The living and the dead all entombed beneath the
ruin of Freelife’s darkest structure, in a dungeon of horrors. I wondered if
any of the flesh-eating worms were still alive. I began to scan my body for
damage.
No
pain.A buzzing in my ears, more pronounced on the side Grampa had fixed after
my cell blew up. My left side was pinned but it seemed that whatever lay atop
me had either fallen gently or had rolled over at the end of the collapse. The
sand was deep and loose here. The weight of whatever trapped me pressed me into
it, but I could move my fingers, flex the muscles all down that side of my
body, even bend my ankle. I wondered if I dared wiggle out from underneath the
weight, or if I was the last barrier to the final collapse. Like a keystone in
an arch, I thought, thinking back to my earliest lessons with Grampa. Hard to
say what I was thinking. Mostly, I fought back panic. Being buried alive never
was on my bucket list.
“Boy,
I’m not going to be here much longer.”
“Don’t
say that, Grampa.”
“No
sense denying it. If I don’t die in this hole, I sure as hell will as soon as
Dockrill’s followers see I’m still breathing. That old bastard has waited a
long time for this day.”
“Who
is he, Grampa, really?”
There was a long
pause, as if Grampa was listening to the sounds in the arena. The collapse had
extinguished or blocked every light source. There had been others alive around
us when it happened so it was possible that Tohoana or Ella Cantor might hear
Grampa’s answer. Not that it would do any of them any good. It was only a
matter of hours, perhaps less, for those of us not already dead.
“I
thought you knew, boy.” Another pause.
“He
said he knew Hal Wright. He implied that he was alive when Wright broke the
light barrier.”
“Did
you believe him?”
“What?
No, how could I.”
“Did
he show you his chart, the one with just Earth and Mars, when the rest of the
galaxy was blessedly empty of so-called intelligent life?”
“I
saw a chart. He could have forged it. There are a number of talented forgers on
Freelife.”
“I
saw it too. And that’s what I thought, at first. But he let me really look at
it. Did you know there’s a lab down her somewhere where a claim like that can
be verified? He let me have it and he gave me the run of that lab.”
“When
did all of this happen?”
“Before
you and I hooked up again. During SixKill I suppose.” He stopped and I heard
him grunt, as if he’d tried to move a heavy weight. “I knew better than to
trust him then, but I thought he’d sunk about as low as he could get. I guess I
thought he really did need my help.”
I thought about
the other map I’d seen, the one Grampa had started. Someone else had finished
it, but Grampa’s drawing and lettering style was unmistakable. He had a whole
library of charts, terraforming plans from most of the Seventy Worlds, back on
Thebes.
“I
saw a chart you made too. Did you give that to them?”
“To
whom, boy?”
“Ella,
Dockrill, Rheynhardt, Digit,” I was getting angry with him. He’d kept me in the
dark for so long. “I don’t know who. I saw the chart. It was your writing, your
style.”
He tensed next
to me again, just a slight rippling of the muscles lining his torso.
“I
gave it to Cassandra. I gave it to the Liberty Keepers.”
Was
that right? I’d been so bounced around, beaten up, almost killed and revived
and killed again that I had no idea if he was telling the truth or not. I
couldn’t put events in any sort of sequential order, not from the moment I’d
climbed the face of the Anglehorn to watch Ella Cantor’s arrival.
“Back
to Dockrill’s chart,” I said
“It’s
the genuine article. Do you remember the blue pencil labeling?”
I
thought about this. That was what confused me. The map Grampa had drawn –
Cassie’s map – was incomplete, but I’d seen another one when I was with
Dockrill. It had more detail on it, detail not in Grampa’s style. Blue pencil
details, just like the ancient star chart. Was that the same map Cassie had
shown me? But how would Grampa know about the blue pencil if Dockrill added
that later? Someone had duplicated Grampa’s map. But who, and for what purpose?
“Are
you telling me that Dockrill really is over a thousand years old?”
“In
a manner of speaking.”
“Grampa,
don’t do this. If I understand you we’re about to go down the ride of some time
travel paradox and you and I both know that FTL doesn’t work that way, not
anymore, not since, well, not since Hal Wright. I’m tired of being strung along
by you and everyone else in this life. Let me at least die knowing why.”
“You
said time travel paradox…doesn’t add up, not since Hal Wright.”
“I
did. And you know it.”
“Yup.
Not since Hal Wright. That’s about the size of it.”
“Are
you saying that Dockrill is a time traveler from that era? Is Dockrill,” I
blanched at the path my thoughts opened from the miasma of confusion, the dust
and smells of the collapsed Arena playing some trick on my mind, but the
question was there, “Is he Hal Wright?”
Grampa
almost died during the coughing fit that burst from beneath his laughter. I
patted his chest and then gripped his hand, or rather he gripped mine, so
tightly I thought he might break every bone in it. He calmed down.
Through
clenched teeth he told me, “No, Dockrill isn’t Hal Wright. He’s not fit to even
say the name.”
“Then
what, who is he?”
The
old man took a raspy breath, one that was arrested by a spasm. He choked,
fighting to control his lungs. I worried about another coughing fit. If he had
broken ribs, he might have internal bleeding. He might drown in his own blood.
But I needed answers. It was just a matter of time and degree, the space
between each of us trapped in the tomb Dockrill’s arena had become. Grampa was
the more seriously wounded, but our predicament said I was equally doomed.
“He
was a militia recruit, one of the first. He was on the squad that watched Hal
Wright’s return and second jump, just like he said. But he was off the
reservation already. Ambitious and mean and determined to establish a dynasty
of warriors, a man who drew his ambition from the likes of the ancient madmen,
Caesar and Alexander and Hitler.”
“He
sounds like Rheynstadt.”
And
Grampa didn’t say a word. Like I was a boy on Thebes again, he let me work it
out on my own.
“But
that’s not possible—how could he?”
“He
was the first interstellar stowaway, Garrett. He was in the right place at the
right time, which says something about the universe’s sense of humor if it lets
a parasite like Dockrill Castello be alone in a tiny scout ship at almost the
exact coordinates where Hal Wright emerged from the wormhole. And he understood
just enough of the ways of such matters to be able to stow away on Hal Wright’s
vessel so that when Wright jumped back out, Dockrill was just another AWOL
militia man.”
“But
Hal Wright didn’t jump back out. His ship exploded. It’s in all of the
records.”
“Or
Dockrill, our wayfaring megalomaniac, doctored the history to suit his
nefarious plans.” Grampa seemed like he wanted to say more, but instead lay
quietly for a moment.
“Why?”
I was determined to have an answer.
“I
think you’re asking the wrong question, boy.”
“Just
tell me, Grampa.”
“He
wanted to learn how Wright had done it. And he did. And he’s been pretty much
able to bounce back and forth between now and the past without any interference
at all.” I was dumbstruck. Grampa chuckled. “You know why the sLOD and the
militia moved away from Wright’s methods of travel? You thought it was because
of the danger of death, of having your ship explode. But that wasn’t the
concern at all. No, that technology is no better or worse than anything else we
humans cooked up over the past few millennium. The sLOD buried it and the
militia keep it that way because what Hal Wright discovered was a way to slide
backwards and forwards in time, which is just what Dockrill does, or did until
you filleted him. And by the way, his first alias when he came back at the time
of the first expansion was Marco Rheynstadt.”
The founding
father of the Rheynstadt militia dynasty. I felt sick to my stomach.
“How
long has this gone on?”
“In
real time? Seventy years or so. Dockrill has bridged a lot of space and time,
but he’s a man, getting older every day at about the same rate you and I do.”
“So
Dockrill travels forward and backward in time, using a technique Hal Wright
accidentally discovered? And although thousands of years have passed, he’s been
able to jump in and out of history at just the right moments to reshape the
universe to some sinister plan of his own?”
“That’s
what it looks like from the my place in it, boy. And you pretty much got there
on your own too.”
“How
do you know this?”
“If
I tell you, you have to promise me something.”
I
was ready to slug him, dying or not, I needed an answer.
“What,”
I said through gritted teeth.
“That’s
the boy I know. You get all riled up, but you direct it where it will do some
good. You promise me that you won’t go off this planet ever unless it’s to
Thebes, and then only with a battalion to back you up.”
It
was the first mention since the collapse that Grampa, in some crazy way,
thought I might get out of here alive. I tried to recall the details of our
conversation. What changed? Which of the reflective pauses had left him with
such a revelation?
“What
are you talking about? That’s crazy You said so, we’re in our final resting
place.We just haven’t died yet..”
“Just
promise me.”
“Fine,
I promise.” I felt like I’d been arguing with a child.
He
didn’t say a word for so long that I thought he might have died. I put my hand
on his chest.
“I’m
alive, don’t you worry about that yet, boy. I just need to say this the right
way.”
“Just
say it, Grampa. I promised, now I need to know. How do you know about
Dockrill?”
“When
your daddy came to Freelife Six, I was working on a special sLOD project. We
had just about finished creating the first perfect planet. Better than Thebes
it was. Freelife Six was the prototype for the most ambitious undertaking in
human history.” He paused for breath, but not long. He seemed to be getting
stronger the more he talked. I wonder if he hadn’t given himself a boost of
some sort, like the kind Ella Cantor’s muses gave to me.
“My
daddy…” I suddenly was the one who couldn’t breathe as the word caromed around
my head like an errant shot from a pole-shifting blaster projectile in a
magnetized room.
“He
was on Rheynstadt’s ship, the one that carried the nukes that destroyed
Freelife Six. He was a sorry ass son-of-a-bitch with nothing to live for once
he’d fathered you. Abandoned you as soon as he learned the girl that would
become your mother was pregnant, at least that’s what I think. There’s others
not of the same low opinion. Anyhow, when your Daddy came he was flying solo,
locked inside a scout ship with a dead man switch on the helm.”
I
knew about dead man switches. It was a nefarious device from several centuries
past when the death penalty was still widely practiced across the Seventy
Worlds at the height of their prosperity and arrogance. Rather than burden he
populace with the moral responsibility for taking a life and having a body to
dispose of, society saw to it that convicts sentenced to pay the ultimate price
were strapped in long range disposable vessels, blasted out of orbit and away
from any inhabited world. When the ship was far enough out, a radio signal
activated a bomb under the pilot’s chair. But it didn’t go off at once. As long
as the convict stayed awake and held on to the control stick, which was
disabled for every purpose but one, the ship flew straight and true into the
great beyond. As soon as he let go of the stick, Boom! It was crazy and
expensive, but it was also terrifying. The sort of thing the Kinkies thought of
as a deterrent to crime, forcing a man to leave this life fully aware that he
was the instrument of his own demise. After all, a society that would go to
that length to send a man to the ‘outer darkness,’ as the old religions called it,
was not a system to be bucked, at least not very often.
“Death
is the road to awe,” I said, quoting part of the sentencing protocol in the
early days of the Kinky courts. Funny I hadn’t thought about the Kinkies or
anything related to Thebes for a long time. You might think I’d have rehashed
everything once I was freed of the psycho-restraints of a prisoner, but it
takes time for the brain to come back from something like that.
“You
know, I suspect those bastards lifted that from some early philosopher. I’ve
searched for the etymology but never could figure it out.”
“Grampa,
you knew my father.”
“I
was there when he died.”
“Where
is there?”
“Freelife
Six. SixKill day. Me, Dominicus, and Dockrill Castello were all there.”
“You
were on Freelife Six? What happened?”
“The
Judgment, that was the ship, was supposed to be on a relief mission,
carrying supplies to the terraforming team, but Rheynstadt and his
great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great…how many is that.”
“Grampa.”
“Dockrill,
that’s who I’m talking about, he and Rheynstadt had swapped the cargo. Replaced
our supplies with two hundred dirty warheads.”
“And
the story about Rural Caggonar?”
“That
was something the sLOD cooked up with the militia to satisfy the softies. A
docile populace is the only way a thing like this works, you know. The whole
setup depends on keeping the masses fed and entertained so the ambitious can
act without too much oversight or opposition. Occasionally they need someone to
hate so they don’t forget that their good life comes with a price.”
I
knew that, knew that because the crimes of which I’d been convicted were only
possible in a world where apathy outweighed interest.
“But
if the sLOD were supporting you, supporting the terraforming plan, why did
Rheynstadt get away with what he did?”
Grampa
again grew quiet. When he spoke it was in a half-whisper.
“Garrett,
when the sLOD are involved, you best not ask too many questions. Rheynstadt has
been kept around all this time for reasons none of us understand. As to
Dockrill, well, he’s a special case. The first man to live outside time, in a
manner of speaking. Of course Hal Wright would have been the first had Dockrill
not killed him.
“And
something else, boy. I never said I was part of the terraforming team. I said I
was on a special project for the sLOD. You need to clean the sand out of your
ears and pay attention if you expect to have any hope of understanding things
while you’re on this side of the divide between hither and yon.”
I
would have kicked something if there had been room. Now, when I was trapped
hundreds of meters below the surface of the most distant inhabited world in the
galaxy, probably facing an agonizing death from either hunger or asphyxiation,
or if we got lucky, we’d all be squashed like insects when the random structure
created by the collapse came apart, only now did I know anything about who I
was, where I’d come from. It didn’t matter at all, and yet I needed to know,
all of it. “And what about my father? How did he die? Who was my mother? Are
you even my real grandfather or was all that talk about Cold blood just a way
to keep me under your control?”
“Control?
No one can control you, Garrett. Oh, I’m your grandfather all right, only that
rotten son of mine had no idea. You see, I met your grandmother years before.
She was older. A powerful woman whose own husband was an impotent—why am I
wasting my last breaths speaking ill of the dead. The point is, your daddy was
my son. I knew it. Hell, I helped to get him shipped out on the Judgment. Saved
him from dying in a Kinky prison in all likelihood.”
“So
he could be killed nuking a few thousand men and women.”
“You
forget, Garrett. The folks sent to Freelife aren’t people anymore. How could
you forget a thing like that?”
“You
said he was militia.”
“Did
I?”
I
was stunned. Did Grampa actually believe that what the softies did to us was
justifiable? I wanted to die for weeks after my sentencing. I couldn’t talk
about it, but imagine being sent as far away from home as you can with no hope
of ever returning, not even after death. You simply are erased from the role of
humanity, no matter who you were, what you did. At least if you were killed by
the state there would be media coverage. But the Kinky way, demoting us to
property and shipping us out while expunging every record of our existence so
that the only way anyone knew where we went was if they were in the courtroom,
that was in many ways worse than any death they could give us. The press was
forbidden at the trials and the families never discussed the fate of their
unfortunate kin with anyone. Violations of the law of silence often resulted in
a few more transports to our forgotten island of misery.
“Now
listen to me, boy.” He coughed again, and then cried out before falling silent.
I had to shake him a long time before he came back around. “My back’s broke,
Garrett” Grampa said. “I tried to move. How long was I out?”
I
had no idea and just patted his hand, hoping he’d lie still. I had to get us
out of the rubble heap. I began to inch back and forth where I was pinned by
whatever had fallen on me. I thought it might be one of the many columns rising
up from the seats surrounding the sand pit. The sand was deep and if I was
right, the column was at least ten meters tall. It ought to stay put even if I
slithered out from under it. The problem, I realized, wasn’t getting out, it
was getting clear without moving Grampa. He was almost touching me. If I pulled
free too fast I risked jarring him in a way that might be the end of him. I
needed to test the theory of his broken back.
“Grampa,
can you wiggle your toes?”
“Give
it up, Garrett. I done all that already, or rather I tried. Even my best
friend, Mr. Goodwillie, is struck numb by this break. Not that I care a whit.
At my age I’ve get better things to do than spread seed.”
“So
your back is really…”
“Yes,
ow! Now quit asking. What do want to know for?”
“I’m
pinned on my left side, but I think I can wiggle out.”
There
was a moment in which we both fell silent. There were sounds from somewhere
near us. Someone else moving.
“Who’s
there?” I called, repeating myself when the darkness lapsed back into silence.
“Probably
another corpse like us,” Grampa offered. “Listen, boy, you ain’t going to do
any more damage to me than has already been done. If you need my help pulling
you out, forget it. But if you need to climb over me in order to get free, then
you go ahead. I think old Dockrill is crushed right beside me. If you could
step a little harder on him, I’d be obliged.”
The
sounds near us had begun again. It was faint, but someone else was definitely
alive and had more freedom of movement than either Grampa or I did.
“Who
is that?” I called. “I can hear you moving. You must know we’re trapped. Tell
us your name at least.”
“Gee
Cole? You’re living sticks good, eh?”
“Tohoana.
Where are you?”
“Lights
out, Gee Cole. I no can reach you.”
“Can
you get out of here? Can you bring help?”
She
didn’t answer and I wondered if she was perhaps fading in and out of
consciousness. She’d already had one almost fatal head injury in her lifetime.
While she might be used to the sensation, I doubted her skull could take much
more reshaping.
“Tohoana,
are you hurt?”
“Not
too much to stop your beating heart. And the killer of my people too.”
“Your
people?”
That
was when Grampa took my hand and squeezed so hard I almost cried out. He seemed
to be trying to pull me toward him. I leaned my head over near where I thought
his mouth was.
“We’re
dead, boy.”
“Why?”
I whispered back.
“Hear
that accent?”
“I
thought it was a speech impediment due to brain damage.”
“Shut
up and listen. What you don’t know, what no one back on the softie worlds
knows, and what I’ve been trying to tell you is that Freelife Six…” he stopped.
“What
about Six, Grampa? Tell me, damn you, tell me.”
“We
weren’t the first to discover her.”
“What?”
“Shush,
Garrett. Just hear me. The place was inhabited when we got there. And the sLOD
and Rheynstadt, Dockrill, Dominicus, and I – we annihilated them. All of them,
I thought. But that accent, you never forget it. They learned our language so
fast. Rural Cagganor was the first to find them. Hidden underground. He was so
happy, that son-of-a-bitch. They’re how he was able to overrun the planet.”
“Why
hasn’t this gotten out? Why don’t people know?”
Grampa
knew I would figure the answer out on my own. He collapsed and I had to check
his chest several times to see if he was still breathing.
Of
course, I thought. Humankind’s greatest fear, that we weren’t alone in
the cosmos, and that whoever found us wouldn’t be friendly, and would in all
likelihood have superior technology. Freelife Six had to be wiped clean. A
plausible cover story had to be told. Yet I couldn’t bear the thought of the
magnitude of our crime. We, Homo sapiens, had wiped out a whole race of people
except for one. Why was Tohoana still alive? How had she fallen in with
Dockrill? And, if Ella Cantor was still living, how did she fit into all of
this?
“Fuck
me, Grampa,” I said aloud.
“We’re
all fucked, Garrett. If there’s one of them alive, there are probably others.”
“What,
no, I’ve been here seven years. She’s the only one.”
He
laughed, a little too loud, like a man with nothing left to hide.
“How
would you know that, boy? You don’t even know what they really look like.”
“Let
her kill us,” I said. Death would be welcome now. I didn’t see a way out and
what I knew of life, the universe, and all it’s inescapable plans left me
feeling like dying was the only way to really find peace. I was with Grampa. I
could remember the best of our time together and breathe my last as Tohoana
choked the life from me.
“No,
Garrett. I been figuring while you been jawing. You have to get out of here.
And you have to get back to Thebes.”
“Why?”
He
sighed. It was the sigh of a man tired of explaining the simplest matters to a
child, but knowing that children grew in a soup composed of their own
experimentation and the seasoned wisdom of the elders who came before, he
patiently bore my questions.
“Your
mother, Garrett. She’s still alive. And she’d want to see you, I think.”
That
was almost too much. I felt a tie that went back the days before I could reason
on my own, a tie loosed by distance and events and the conspiratorial minds of
evil and selfish men and women. It was loose, but intact. And now, something
inside pulled it tight. My mother was alive!
I
felt tears ready to burst forth. Why that was, I couldn’t say. Something about
mother son bonds that dates back to the dawn of humanity, I suppose.
“My
mother.”
“Yup.
That’s about the size of it. She’s got the rest of the answers you’re chasing.
She probably knows more than I do. If you can find her before Dockrill’s crew
does you might have a chance to set some long-standing wrongs right again. Hal
Wright, well, Hal would have been the savior of humanity if Dockrill hadn’t
killed him. Maybe you can take his place. Tohoana and her kind, they’re ready
to move again. She wouldn’t have revealed herself to me otherwise. Garrett, for
your mother, you have to get out of here.”
“Why
Thebes?”
He
was almost gone. The fracture in his spine along with the beatings he’d endured
seemed too much for whatever enhancements he’d made to overcome. His words came
out in starts and feeble bursts of breath.
“Look
at my — charts.”
“My
mother? Is she on Thebes.”
“My
charts, Garrett.” He sucked in a great lungful of air and shook his head
violently. “Charts will — tell all you…” his voice trailed off and he ceased to
move.
Nearby
I heard something moving through the rubble. Tohoana. Hunting us.
Without saying
another word I reached across Grampa’s body and grabbed his far hand. He was
still alive. His fingers gripped mine, held on tight. I imagined him biting his
lip as he used to do whenever a sharp pain overtook him, but he didn’t scream,
not even when I leveraged myself over him and pulled free of the weight atop
me. His broken body shifted, sliding on loose sand into the depression where
I’d been. I rolled clear and heard a scrape of metal on stone, and then the
column unexpectedly shifted. I heard a soft crunch and felt warm fluid gush out
from beneath it.
From
the darkness ahead I heard a harsh whisper. “Gee Cole? I coming for you. Hold
on.”
“Grampa?”
I felt for him. Only the cold rock of the collapsed column met my searching
fingers.