Between The Doors. Wes Peters

the ladder and pulled himself up, pressing all his weight against the plate above.

      Andrew saw their green-silver eyes first. Thousands of silvery lights filled the darkness ahead, moving at a steady pace. The wave approached at a high speed. Light blinded Andrew as Nick popped open the cover and pulled himself into daylight. When Andrew looked up, he saw Nick’s hand.

      “Jump, Andrew! Grab hold!” Nick cried. Andrew jumped. He missed the ladder by a few inches, but grabbed Nick’s hand. For a moment he felt Nick’s weight drop and his arm sag, but Nick’s other arm reached down and grabbed beneath Andrew’s outstretched arm. Nick would not let him go. With his free arm Andrew grabbed the last ladder rung and began to pull himself up as Nick heaved upwards with all his strength. Andrew flew out of the sewer and into the street, falling onto Nick in the process.

      Andrew jumped to his feet. “Where’s the cover?”

      Nick was ahead of him. He slammed the cover down on top of the manhole and leapt backwards. Andrew heard soft thuds coming from the manhole, just tiny pangs of spider-bodies banging against the cover. One spider, however, had escaped the manhole and wandered dizzily around the dusty street. It was about the size of Andrew’s fist. Nick yelled and stomped on the flailing creature.

      “That’s for Johnny!” the boy screamed. His words echoed around the square.

      Johnny, Andrew thought, panting heavily. Who’s Johnny? Then he remembered Tom Treeson’s story. The mob, he thought, staring up at the clock tower above them. It was 1:55. They’re coming.

      “Nick,” Andrew called to the boy, busy scraping the guts off his shoe onto the pavement. Nick looked up. “We can’t stay here.”

      “Should we go to my aunt’s?”

      Andrew shook his head. “You can,” he said, “but I can’t. St. Gerardo’s after me—you saw him! I’ve got to get out of town.”

      “To the Southern Woods?” Nick asked. Andrew looked sharply at him. Nick shrugged. “I heard the voice too, you know.” Andrew nodded.

      “I’ve got a colt,” Nick continued. “Rode it ‘ere. Trust her with my life.”

      “Take me to the stable,” Andrew said. Nick nodded.

      “All right. But Mr. Andrew?”

      “Yeah?”

      “I’m coming with you. To the Southwoods, I mean.”

      Andrew nodded. Nick led the way up the cobblestone street, and Andrew followed close behind, his left hand still trembling from the thunder of the gun.

      chapter four

      what lies beneath

      I

      Nick led the way to the stable. In the distance they heard yelling and heavy machinery. The time had come. Joe Freeman had brought war to Sunsetville.

      The boys headed north into the city, up a tall winding street. They passed a street-side banker who cried out for them to stop and invest. Next came a few sleeping drunks, whose naps had lasted the entire day. The road did not seem as though it would end. When it did, they reached the top of Sunsetville. Andrew peered back and saw a great wooden tower creeping steadily toward the Clock Tower.

      “That’s just crazy,” Andrew muttered.

      “Here!” Nick cried. “The stable’s in here.”

      Nick led him inside to a wide barn, filled with horses housed by stable walls. Sunlight streamed into the stable. Andrew decided this was the first rural thing he had seen in Sunsetville. Nick beckoned him over to the last horse in the barn. The horse was brown and young, but strong. It was a fine horse, with a thick chestnut mane. Nick began to untether it after he’d opened the gate.

      “No time to lose,” Andrew said. Nick nodded.

      Andrew led Home Sweet Home out of the barn while Nick put a saddle on his back. Home Sweet Home warmed up to Andrew, and nuzzled the side of his face. Andrew jumped, and Nick laughed.

      “I think he likes you!” Nick said. “I’m nearly as old as ‘im, you know. We grew up together.”

      The boys led the horse out of the barn. To their left, a fat old man with a grey beard stood gawking at the side of the barn. There were the strange colorful markings on the wall.

      “It’s a crime!” the man cried. His arms were crossed over his thick chest. “As if they haven’t got enough walls to draw on, now they mark up my stable!”

      “I think it looks nice,” Andrew said. He liked the hipster-writing. The man didn’t even turn to look at the boy.

      “Nice?!” the old man cried. He covered his eyes with one hand. “Nice, he says!” At last he turned to look at the boys. “Do you boys know what this says?” They shook their heads.

      “It’s hate speech,” the man said, and narrowed his eyes at the boys. “The youngsters, they wrote it. The cross-dressing folk. Hate-speech, for the people of the desert. Of the east.” Andrew raised his eyebrows.

      “Oh,” he said. Nick, sitting on the front of the horse, lent him a hand. Andrew climbed up and sat behind Nick.“You’d think the youngsters’d be a little more forward-thinking, but some things never change.” The old man turned back to the wall. “When you get to to be my age, boys, you learn hate’s a universal tongue. Don’t matter how you dress it up, with colors or however you like it.”

      Andrew nodded. The two boys rode off.

      II

      By the time the boys reached the square, the wooden tower had arrived. The creaking and groaning of the gigantic wheels was deafening as the ‘youngsters’ inside rowed away. There were dozens of them inside, helping turn the wheels of the tower. Andrew thought it was all absurd. Joe Freeman sat at the top of the tower, wearing a pair of ridiculous orange goggles to match his fluorescent and flowing orange suit. Had the boys been closer they would have seen his skinny legs pedaling away on the stirrups he’d designed himself. Nick laughed at the sight.

      Andrew hadn’t wanted to stop, but they did anyway. The two boys sat on their horse by the walls of Sunsetville, not far from the foot of the Clock Tower. As the leaning wooden tower rolled by, Andrew heard the heaves and ho’s from the young men and women inside, operating the great wheels. Up at the top, Joe Freeman shouted commands and encouragement to the people below.

      Nick started. “Tom,” he said. “Tom’s in there!”

      “Who?” Andrew asked.

      “Tom Treeson!” Nick cried. “My friend!”

      “Oh,” Andrew said. He remembered now. All of Nick’s friends were in there. As the tower came to a halt at the foot of the tower, Andrew groaned. Things were going to get ugly. Joe Freeman’s caws pierced the air.

      “St. Gerardo!” Joe screamed from the top of the wooden tower. “Come out! Face justice, by my hand!”

      “Stop this!” came a new cry. It was so close to Andrew that he started and nearly fell of the horse. Beside him a plump young woman with red hair and a redder face had both her hands upraised to the sky.

      “Is that the mayor’s daughter?” Nick asked. Andrew shrugged. This was too ridiculous.

      “Stop this, Joe!” she screamed.

      “No” replied Joe, in a small voice.

      She groaned and stomped her large legs on the ground. “What are you doing? This isn’t your job!”

      “Go away” was the next reply. The woman began to mutter.

      “Why I ought to kill him! He’s going to make a horrible mess! Who the flying hell does he-” she went silent. St. Gerardo stood atop the Clock Tower