Home Base (Harbingers Book 14) Read online

  Home Base

  Jeff Gerke

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Social Media

  Introduction

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Epilogue

  Afterword

  OTHER BOOKS BY Jeff Gerke

  Published by Amaris Media International.

  Copyright © 2016 Jeff Gerke

  Cover Design: Angela Hunt

  Photo credits: © nexusseven – fotolia.com

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any other means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or any other—except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without prior permission from the publisher.

  ISBN-13: 978-0692731499

  ISBN-10: 0692731490

  For more information, visit us on Facebook:

  https://www.facebook.com/pages/Harbingers/705107309586877

  or www.harbingersseries.com.

  HARBINGERS

  A novella series by

  Bill Myers, Jeff Gerke, Angela Hunt,

  and Alton Gansky

  In this fast-paced world with all its demands, the four of us wanted to try something new. Instead of the longer novel format, we wanted to write something equally as engaging but that could be read in one or two sittings—on the plane, waiting to pick up the kids from soccer, or as an evening’s read.

  We also wanted to play. As friends and seasoned novelists, we thought it would be fun to create a game we could participate in together. The rules were simple:

  Rule #1

  Each of us will write as if we were one of the characters in the series:

  Bill Myers will write as Brenda, the street-hustling tattoo artist who sees images of the future.

  Jeff Gerke will write as Chad, the mind reader with devastating good looks and an arrogance to match.

  Angela Hunt will write as Andi, the brilliant-but-geeky young woman who sees inexplicable patterns.

  Alton Gansky will write as Tank, the naïve, big-hearted jock with a surprising connection to a healing power.

  Rule #2

  Instead of the four of us writing one novella together (we’re friends but not crazy), we would write it like a TV series. There would be an overarching storyline into which we’d plug our individual novellas, with each story written from our character’s point of view.

  If you’re keeping track, this is the order:

  Harbingers #1—The Call—Bill Myers

  Harbingers #2—The Haunted—Frank Peretti

  Harbingers #3—The Sentinels—Angela Hunt

  Harbingers #4—The Girl—Alton Gansky

  Volumes #1-4 omnibus: Cycle One: Invitation

  Harbingers #5—The Revealing—Bill Myers

  Harbingers #6—Infestation—Frank Peretti

  Harbingers #7—Infiltration—Angela Hunt

  Harbingers #8—The Fog—Alton Gansky

  Volumes #5-8 omnibus: Cycle Two: Mosaic

  Harbingers #9—Leviathan—Bill Myers

  Harbingers #10—The Mind Pirates—Frank Peretti

  Harbingers #11—Hybrids—Angela Hunt

  Harbingers #12—The Village—Alton Gansky

  Volumes 9-12 omnibus: Cycle Three: The Probing

  Harbingers #13—Piercing the Veil—Bill Myers

  Harbingers #14—Home Base—Jeff Gerke

  There you have it, at least for now. We hope you’ll find these as entertaining in the reading as we are in the writing.

  Bill, Jeff, Angie, and Al

  Chapter One

  Smartmouth and the Kid

  I suppose I should try to rescue her. She did save my life, after all. Technically.

  Whatever. Okay, fine.

  I used the remote control to dim the windows and shut the drapes. Couldn’t see much over the Dallas haze today anyway, even from the top floor. But I could still hear the jets taking off, and I probably needed to concentrate. Imminent death to the smartmouth, the kid, and the troll, and all that. And to beautiful Andi.

  Yeah, okay. But first things first.

  I crossed the living room of my suite—all white fabric and chrome appointments—and went into my white chromy bedroom. I propped the pillows around the headboard and sat up on the bed against them. I shut my eyes and went through the descent protocol.

  Right away, I saw the black horizon with a billion options to choose from. It always reminded me of sitting in the middle of a huge black lake and seeing the lights of houses and villages here and there all around me. I thought about the photos of the kid—Daniel or whatever—and saw one of the dots flare at the edge of the blackness. I imagined myself closer to it, and there he was.

  Nobody around to say I’d told ’em so, but a pack of black-eyed peas had already surrounded Daniel and were about to strike. In my remote viewing vision, they looked like loose clumps of cloth circling in well water. But I knew they were guided by an intelligent evil in their attack on the kid.

  Which meant Brenda, a.k.a., Smartmouth, was probably in danger, too.

  Yeah, there she was, flaring nearby in the fog. I might be able to get her attention even now, without training, but Daniel was more open. Plus … imminent death and all.

  Hey, kid, I thought at him. It’s me, Chad Thorton. You hear me?

  I got a flash of Daniel—skinny geek kid. Pale skin. Typical brainiac. How well I knew what the future held for him. The gestalt I received showed him playing a video game in front of a TV.

  Hi, Chad.

  I had to smile. The kid was good. Quick answer. No apparent strain. Definitely gifted, this one. You know me?

  An impression of a shrug, plus the TV turning off. Brenda told me. What’s up?

  My vision was clearing and everything looked almost like reality. I could see their cluttered and tiny home. Every now and then my sight fritzed out and I saw nothing or a glimpse of a memory or interference from some other mind. Even I wasn’t perfect. But it worked for the most part.

  You two are kinda in trouble, I said. I think the Gate has decided to kill you today. So, you know, you’d best make peace with your creator and stuff like that.

  Daniel didn’t seem overly alarmed. I had to give him credit for that. Why do they want to kill us?

  Don’t take it personal. You and the Merry Men have messed up some of their minor plans here and there, and they’re very put out.

  I sensed he was running. Probably to alert Brenda. I felt the black-eyed peas converging. When out of range of my bubble of fuzzy real-ish vision, they looked like those clumps of wet rags. When they passed within the edge of my bubble, they looked like creepy elementary school band nerds. They neared, and I heard a doorbell ring somewhere.

  Don’t answer it, I said.

  Another mind butted into the conversation. It was a presence I knew. Belinda, a.k.a., Smartmouth, a.k.a., Brenda. I knew she was brain shouting at me, but without prep and a couch and such, she couldn’t do more than make a sound like squealing Styrofoam.

  Ow, I said. Kid, tell her to shut up. If she wants to say anything, have her tell you.

  Okay. He seemed a little less calm. Who is at the door? Is it the people who want to kill us?

  It’s your favorite lost children of doom, yes. They’ll find a way in soon, but it’s best not to just open the door for them.

  A pause, and I sensed the black-eyed peas were almost through the door.

  Brenda wants to know what we’re supposed to do.<
br />
  I sighed. You’re supposed to not go back to your home states in ones and twos so the Gate can pick you off easily. But I guess your little brain trust couldn’t figure that one out. Why don’t you tell her to offer to give ’em free tattoos and see if that works?

  A wave of hate enveloped me, and I knew the black-eyed peas had spotted me. I did a little thought shimmy to dodge their gaze. Despite their innocuous appearance as black-eyed children straight out of The Addams Family, these creatures were full-on evil. Imagine The Exorcist plus a banshee with a migraine.

  Kid, listen to me very carefully. I can’t be there to save you, and you don’t have your little posse together to pool your meager talents, so you’re going to have to work with Brenda and do what I say to get through this.

  I felt the color of Brenda’s thought change, which told me the kid had delivered my message. We’re ready, he said.

  Okay, good. Tell her to concentrate on getting angry at these things. She needs to get ticked off, kid. I’m talking about hellfire kind of anger. Righteous indig-freaking-nation. It’s one of the few things that holds them off.

  In the pause, Brenda’s color temperature rose, and I could sense the black-eyes get shoved back. Which also had the effect of telling them exactly where she and Daniel were hiding. With the psychic snapshot she sent out, even I could see them in the coat closet.

  The beasties were inside the house now and coming for them, and even Smartmouth didn’t deserve to be torn limb from limb, and especially not by travel sized prep school rejects.

  Kid, listen: You’re the key here. I need you to do something you’ve probably never tried. I need you to create a fire with your mind. Not a real fire—a brain fire. Think of a torch or a—

  In my mind’s eye, I saw a flaming sword erupt in the night, like something out of Legend of Zelda 25. It was much larger than kid-sized. It was outlandishly huge, like something only animated characters could possibly wield. The flames looked real enough, like those on a very long burning torch, but thankfully they didn’t seem to set anything on fire.

  I saw Daniel’s face illuminated in it. He looked scared but mad. Behind him stood Brenda trying to decide between protecting him and hiding behind him. I couldn’t tell if she saw the sword. It didn’t matter.

  Before I could tell Daniel what to do, he kicked the closet door open and sliced down with the sword.

  Five black-eyed school kids scattered back like cats scared by a cucumber. One fell and got up lamely. The sword was metaphysical only, but the metaphor must’ve held, because it seemed like metaphysical mutants could take damage.

  The kid was good.

  He strode to the kitchen in the false dark of my remote vision. The black-eyed freaks backed away, hissing like vampires in some stupid SyFy Channel show.

  Behind you, kid!

  He spun around, where two girl creatures had been sneaking up on him. He swung the sword and pulled Brenda behind him, and a blond girl mutant spun away without a metaphysical right hand.

  You need to get the car keys, I told him. Get in the car and go to the airport. I will have tickets waiting for you when you get there.

  Where are we—

  I’m not going to tell you. Just do it.

  I saw his visage shift color. In case we’re captured and tortured?

  Something like that. Now go.

  I heard the Styrofoam again, and I knew Brenda was brain farting at me.

  What does she want?

  We can’t, he said. Her car’s in the shop.

  Oh, right. Figures. Okay, look, just go out front and find someone with a car. Go to the neighbors’ or flag somebody down. I’ll take care of it.

  Daniel swung the sword all around, keeping the black-eyed peas at bay as if he was a samurai warrior. They made a stand by the front door, but a swing from him and a surprising surge of righteous anger from Brenda, and the thing basically blew open.

  Real-world lighting didn’t look realistic through when I bilocated, so I couldn’t see it, but I suspected Southern California sunlight was flooding the house now. Too bad it didn’t make the beasties sparkle and die.

  Daniel and Brenda went into the front yard. In the light of the sword, I could see a radius of only about ten feet.

  What do you see, kid? Anyone getting in their car?

  No, nobody— Oh, wait. I see Mr. Hernandez across the street.

  I saw them step off the curb, but then Brenda pulled Daniel back so hard he almost dropped the sword.

  Seriously, woman! What are you doing?

  But into the spot where Daniel had just been rolled the front of a giant brown panel van. A UPS truck. It screeched to a halt and the driver got out, colored afraid and angry, to see if they were all right.

  Behind their little drama triangle, the black-eyed peas poured out of the house, and more joined them from the back yard. We didn’t have time for Mr. Band-Aid.

  Kid, say this to the driver. Say, ‘What would you do if we borrowed your truck?’

  Daniel asked the driver, and I got a mental image from the driver of what he would do. He would run after them and try to stop them. Shoot. I’d been hoping he’d just pull out his cell phone and call the police.

  Okay, he’s going to have to come along. Tell him there is a gang of scary arsonists trying to catch you and your…mom, and would he please get you to the police.

  Daniel told him, and he looked at the black-eyed peas. He didn’t seem inclined to action, but something changed—probably he saw those all-black eyes—and suddenly he was willing to receive suggestions.

  Get in the van, Daniel. Tell Brenda to get in the passenger side and shut the door. If Mr. Driver gets in and drives, you’re golden. If not, Brenda will have to learn how to drive a truck in a hurry.

  I was going to walk them through the whole getaway bit, but other business nagged at me. I sensed that Tank—a.k.a., Cowboy, a.k.a., the troll—was about to have his innards handed to him, and I figured someone would be mad if I didn’t at least make a token effort to save his skin too.

  In my mind, I disengaged from the fun in SoCal and zoomed back out to the black nether with the encircling horizon of lights I might interact with. Sure enough, Tank had black fog sharks prowling near him too.

  In a minute, in a minute. Everybody’s so needy! What would they do without me? Seriously.

  Even though I wouldn’t want Sweet Cheeks mad at me if I didn’t at least try to save him, I hated that being in the ether this long and this actively was going to reveal my location to…certain parties.

  But what else could I do? I had to help Tank.

  I needed to make a stop first. In that hypothetical space “above” the dark plane of my destinations was where the Watchers hung out. “Below” the plane was where the Gate had their icy fortress. Not going there today. This was taxing enough. So I bopped to the center of the black expanse and jetted up, pressing my mind at their ears.

  The Watchers preferred talking and letting me pick up on their stuff, like a little psychic dog eating their crumbs. But I knew they also heard my thoughts. Our suite of rooms on the top floor of the DFW Grant Hyatt was proof of that. So I packaged my request into a little thought grenade and lobbed it up where I knew they were. Tickets, clearance at multiple airports, pack up their homes, create cover stories, along with a Boom, make it happen chaser. Then I was off to save the troll.

  Chapter Two

  The Troll

  Tank was deep in fog.

  I’d thought I’d find Tank the Troll Engine physically nearby Brenda and Daniel, since his pad was also in SoCal. But this wasn’t L.A. Then I’d thought he was maybe with his uncle in Dicksonville, Oregon, playing junior detective again—assuming they could stitch two police uniform shirts together so it would fit him. But he wasn’t there either.

  I guess it didn’t really matter where he was. What mattered was what floated around him in the pea soup he had gotten himself neck-deep into.

  He was alone. Standing in the middle of a hi
ghway ridged with rain forest. Standing beside a yellow road sign that said—what else?—FOG. Sure enough, there was fog here. All around him. Swirling and rising, floating like a ghost, shrouding like the edge of a dream.

  And while Tank couldn’t see the critters that swam around him, disturbing the mists and slavering for his flesh, I could see them fine. I’d read his memories about the San Diego debacle, of course, so I knew these were the same fog-sharks from before. Or their cousins. These were long snakes that had mouths like twenty fangs of death. Part lamprey eel, part severed tentacle, part chopped cucumber of biting—and all nightmare and murder.

  At least with Daniel, I could communicate directly. Even Brenda could probably have heard me, if I’d pushed hard enough. How was I going to reach the captain of the Cro-Magnon wrestling team?

  Then it hit me. I didn’t know if I could do it, but if I didn’t at least try, Sweet Cheeks would be mad at me. And if I did pull it off, she’d owe me. If you know what I mean.

  I imagined myself heavy and agitated, which helped me climb out of my remote viewing trance. I found myself still sitting in the imperial suite of the Grand Hyatt at the DFW Airport. I was still surrounded by white fabric and silver chrome. I couldn’t tell if the sun had moved, with the drapes closed, but I felt a little hungry, so some time must’ve passed. I was still propped up by plump pillows, so at least I hadn’t fallen on my head and drooled on the fancy white carpet.

  I scanned the room but didn’t see what I wanted, so I went out into the living room-office area. There it was. I grabbed it from the desk and went back to the bed. Propped myself up, started the descent protocol again, and…sent a text.

  Yo, Tank. Chad Thorton here. You’re about to die. Get out of the fog.

  I poised my finger over the Send button and jumped back into remote viewing—bilocating—mode. When I’d zoomed back over to Tank and his foggy bottom, I instructed my finger to press the button. Strange how much energy it took to make my body do anything when I was out of it.