Chapter 7

  Jacob Hollow

  After his painfully difficult conversation with Eric, Jacob had attempted to clean the blood off of Isaac’s phone. He wasn’t sure how much water he could safely use without breaking the phone, so he used snow. He wasn’t sure that this was any better. But after he dried it on his hoodie while leaving the town of Pike, beneath a breaking sky, it still seemed functional.

  The road beneath him was not the one he had come in on, but it might as well have been. It was the same bright, cold, empty air around him. The same crisp wind, the same leaning barbed wire fences, the same distant cattle huddling on yellow hills.

  “I don’t suppose you know where the rest are?” he asked as he walked alone down the cold asphalt.

  The rest of what? The other kids?

  “Others like me. Like Black. Strangers here.”

  Oh. Sorry, no. We don’t have their books.

  “Where’d you get mine?”

  Derxis found it.

  “What does it look like? Oh, sorry. Forgot.”

  That is fine. I can tell you everything but its appearance. It is weighty, large. The cover is made of wood. The front has been crafted to portray many birds in relief. I can feel the detail. I’m told they are brightly colored. Your name is imprinted among the birds: Jacob Hollow, followed by the number sixteen.

  “How many pages left?”

  I do not believe that is any kind of reliable indication of your lifespan.

  “…but?”

  Not many.

  “Do you have a book?”

  I assume so. I would not wish it found.

  “I’m glad you found mine.”

  Me too.

  “If I did find your book, what would I see on the cover?”

  It would be purple, I’m sure. I imagine it would portray crystals, perhaps the Meszrian castle. Spiders, possibly. I also like to think that you would see Zsythristria.

  “Excellent. I’ve always wanted to see that.”

  Ha. She’s a unicorn. Was. We were close.

  “And what sorts of stories would I read about in that book?”

  If you don’t mind, I’d rather think about the future than the past.

  “Understandable. Hey where’s that other guy? The funny one.”

  I don’t care. Somewhere, unfortunately.

  “Heh, yeah that angsty act probably gets old in a hurry in person.”

  You have no idea. Since you were directed to find Isaac, maybe the others were likewise led to the other humans. Try looking in Isaac’s comm device. If it still works.

  More importantly, are you okay, Jacob?

  “My hand? Really hurts.”

  I didn’t mean your hand.

  “Little disappointed.”

  Don’t give up.

  “Did you know,” said Jacob Hollow, “that I am losing my sanity?”

  Yes. That is part of your character. I’ve seen it happen.

  “Really? Did I make it? In your story?”

  Of course not. No one did.

  “You know what’s going to happen next?”

  None of us do. It’s not looking good. But please…

  “Hm?” Jacob Hollow looked out at the fields, the snow, the unperturbed cattle. “Please what?”

  Please don’t be sad. I don’t…no, nevermind.

  “C’mon, tell me.”

  Fine. I just…everyone here is depressed. We’re stuck with constant reminders of our failings. We can see you; we can also see one of us, one of my best friends, trapped in a doomed world. She can’t talk to us; she thinks she’s alone. She is alone, and she’s going to die that way while we all watch. But you’ve been cheerful, in a weird way. I just don’t want to see you being sad about being doomed like the rest of us.

  And I cared about you, Jacob. When you were alive. In our story.

  “Huh.”

  Apologies. None of that matters now.

  “No…trapped in a doomed world, huh? Aren’t we all, though?”

  We are working on that. Some of us. Acarnus has an idea. As usual.

  “Right.”

  Outside of town he stopped to admire the scenery. The snow-dusted fields stretched around him, broken by the occasional fence or distant farmhouse. Calm, quiet. A strange contrast to what the sky was doing overhead. Two hawks circled up there, no doubt confused, but not yet enough to stop their hunting.

  What is your plan now?

  “Dunno. Hey, why so talkative all of a sudden?”

  May I ask you a question?

  “I don’t think I can stop you.”

  You are a human, correct?

  “Sort of. I’m a construct, right? I’m a character. I was made to play a role. So I guess, maybe I’m whatever designed the Narrative’s idea of a human?”

  That is…unhelpful.

  “Best I can do. Unless you just meant biologically, in which case, yeah I’m human. Why do you ask?”

  I do not understand humans.

  “Join the club.”

  Hilarious.

  “I don’t understand your kind either. Do you?”

  I see your point. I used to think I understood people, but now...

  “Did you have a more specific question?”

  How would one verify whether a human is…romantically interested? In oneself.

  Hypothetically.

  “I haven’t even met you. But sure. Why not?”

  I wasn’t talking about you!

  “You were.”

  Hypothetically!

  “Fine, whatever. It’s easy; you just ask.”

  Is it really that simple for you?

  “For me, yes. People are all different. Why, is it a complex procedure among your species? Are there mating rituals?”

  Not precisely. There are songs…

  “I’m not very musical. And I don’t have, like, spikes or colors or whatever like you guys.”

  That is fine.

  The bigger issue is that Jeronimy will later be able to read anything that transpires between us.

  “You care what that asshole thinks?”

  No. In fact, I do not.

  Jacob Hollow, would you be interested in entering into a deeper relationship with me?

  “I already said ‘why not.’”

  Your enthusiasm is noted.

  “What does this entail? I’m here and you’re…somewhere else.”

  I need someone new to talk to. Badly. We can discuss personal matters.

  “Like what?”

  …

  “Take your time. Relationship expert Jacob Hollow is here for you. Results guaranteed.*”

  [*nature of results not guaranteed]

  How did you do that?

  “Do what?”

  What you just did? With the…

  “Oh, the footnote. Isaac taught me. He could do all kinds of stuff like that.”

  Wait, you knew Isaac? Then why did you not recognize him?

  “He was older when I met him. Taller, a little. And he always wore that helmet. Yeah, I never saw his face.”

  Helmet?

  “He called it a ‘veil.’ Never took it off. Not that I saw.”

  Why?

  “Because he couldn’t face God? I dunno, he was kind of unhinged when I met him, which was pretty late in the story.”

  I have to go.

  “Something happening?”

  Just more drama, I am sure.

  “Let’s hope so.” She didn’t reply after this. At least, he didn’t think she did.

  “Ow,” he said as he held up his mangled hand, wrapped up in a big knot inside a bloody sweater. “This hurts.” At one point in his life, this pain would have been an abstraction. Now, this was not the case. He could ignore it, but…he really, really wanted it to stop, and a bleak fatalism assured him that it would not.

  The sound of a coughing, sputtering engine approaching from behind seized Jacob’s attention. Yes, the panic would begin soon. Good thing he was out here in the middle of nowhere.

  He stopped by the roadside, near a fencepost with a sparrow perched upon it, to watch the vehicle pass. It was an ancient red pickup truck, battered and stained and now red more from rust than from the paint job. It slowed down and pulled up alongside Jacob on the road. He saw an old man within, his thick beard spilling down to the steering wheel over his expansive chest. The man squinted at Jacob. Creases wrinkled the papery skin of his face. He reached to the passenger seat, picked up a shotgun, and with both hands aimed it at Jacob.

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

  “Saw you on main,” the old man said. His hands were almost absurdly huge. The shotgun looked like a child’s toy in comparison. It was not a toy, however. Jacob could have told that just from the look in the man’s eyes. The barrel was steady.

  The man hadn’t asked a question, but Jacob nodded. Yes, he had been on main. Correct. Certainly he could reasonably have been seen there by this man.

  The man gestured down slightly with the barrel of the gun. “Isaac’s phone,” he said, his eyes never leaving Jacob’s.

  Jacob could only maintain eye contact for a few seconds. Something about this man’s gaze was eerie. Maybe it was just the fact that he had Jacob at gunpoint. Jacob looked down at the phone in his hand, still wet and a little bloody. The old man had good eyes. Jacob didn’t know what to say because, again, the stranger had asked no questions. Jacob settled for nodding once more.

  “Saw him there,” said the man, voice cracking but eyes hard. “You do all that? You kill him?”

  Ah, here was the question. And Jacob understood that if this man didn’t like the answer, then he might die here. He could still snap with his right hand; he’d have to drop the phone. Would he be quick enough? And could he stop all the scatter of a shotgun with a single snap? He actually didn’t know, and some deep, insane part of him wanted to try it just to find out.

  “No,” Jacob said. “I tried to stop him.” He began to hold up his left hand, the one throbbing in pain and wrapped in a bloody sweater, but then considered that this could be construed as an aggressive act. He settled for glancing meaningfully at the bundled hand.

  “Who?” said the old man. Now the tip of the barrel shook slightly.

  “Guy named Black. Abraham Black. Killed all of them. Used bullets. If it had been me, I’d have kept the gun.” Jacob spread his arms to demonstrate his gunlessness.

  The old man opened his mouth but said nothing. He kept watching Jacob.

  “Been following him,” Jacob continued. It no longer mattered what anyone knew. “He came here to kill Isaac Milton. His angel, actually. Don’t think he succeeded.”

  “Angel?” The man’s voice, gruff since he began, now contained a layer of thickness. Jacob saw water at the edges of his eyes.

  An eagle cried overhead. Jacob glanced up. Not the angel. The angel was gone. Hopefully to the Museum, hopefully with Isaac.

  “A protector,” Jacob explained. “A key. Isaac was special, see.”

  The man nodded slowly. “Don’t need you to tell me that.” He lowered the gun. The entire time, his gaze had not left Jacob’s face, but now he looked back at the road. Jacob let out a breath he hadn’t been aware of holding. “Why’d you take his phone?”

  “His friends are important, too.”

  The man squinted out at the road, then up at the sky as if in calculation. He licked the front of his teeth.

  His guardian.

  “What?” asked Jacob.

  I think this is his guardian.

  “Oh,” he said. “What was his name? Heart Man? Apparently he was…” insane, Jacob had been about to say. Insane, but also…he had…what had he done? Something incredible. But Jacob couldn’t remember.

  The bearded man watched him warily. “Going crazy,” Jacob explained, prior to considering how helpful this comment was likely to prove.

  The man grimaced, licked the front of his teeth again, and then leaned over the steering wheel to take a look through the spiderwebbed window shield at the equally cracked sky above. “Same,” he said after a moment. This struck Jacob as amusing. Using the word ‘same’ to indicate a sympathetic condition seemed odd coming from this man. ‘Same’ was how Isaac would reply. Yeah, they had been close. A couple of crazies.

  “Where’s this Abraham now?” the man asked as his pickup coughed, stuttered, and died.

  Jacob felt comfortable enough to get closer and lean on the passenger side door. He shook his head. “Dunno.” Two sturdy wooden walking canes leaning against the nappy yellow foam beside a horsehair hat.

  “How’d you know my name?” the old man asked. Now, apparently convinced that Jacob was no enemy, he fished in his pocket for a cigarette and grabbed a lighter out of the center cupholder. He did all this without taking his eyes from the sky and lit the cigarette with practiced ease.

  “I hear voices in my head,” Jacob explained.

  The Heart Man considered this, then nodded slowly. “Same,” he said after taking a long pull on the cigarette.

  Jacob could not contain his laughter. He leaned against the pickup, forgot about his left hand, and tried to use it to support himself. His laughter turned into a strangled grunt of pain as his left hand exploded in agony. Damn, it hurt. He had been a real jerk to make fun of those kids whenever they complained about pain. He hadn’t known.

  When he looked next at the old man, he saw that the man wore a small smile, as if understanding Jacob’s laughter. He reached over with one comically large hand and popped open the passenger side door. “Where you headed?” he asked. “Hospital?”

  Jacob climbed in without hesitation, shifting the shotgun out of the way. “No,” he said, slamming the door. It fell open, so he slammed it again. He had to repeat this four times before the door remained shut, and even then it rattled loosely. “Need to find the others.”

  “Who?”

  Who’s this asshole?

  “You know Isaac’s friends?” asked Jacob. For what felt like the hundredth time, he automatically tried to snap his left hand, resulting in a blinding flash of pain. He snapped his right hand instead. Light bloomed silently within the vehicle.

  The Heart Man nodded. “He’s talked about ‘em.” It took some effort for him to get the vehicle started up again. He worked the gearshift for a solid ten seconds to get it in first and then pulled out onto the frozen highway.

  Don’t you fucking ignore me!

  “Shut up,” said Jacob.

  The Heart Man looked at him. The look was curious, not offended, but something about his presence intimidated Jacob. Yes he was huge, but Jacob had seen bigger. Something about the eyes. Jacob Hollow flinched automatically when the Heart Man looked at him, like a creature of darkness when struck by the beam of a flashlight.

  “Not you,” Jacob explained.

  Answer my question: who the fuck is this?

  “Go soak your head,” Jacob suggested. “Again, not you,” he added for the Heart Man. The Heart Man chuckled and exhaled a cloud of smoke.

  Why is he so gods-damned bright? I can’t see shit.

  “Bright?”

  Like fucking…the sun or something.

  Stupendous utilization of your vocabulary. I am impressed. It was even a nearly coherent sentence.

  Shut the fuck up.

  Try swearing more. I have heard that limitations inspire creativity.

  What?

  If this were true, however, you would be an artistic genius.

  FUCK YOU.

  “Can you guys take it elsewhere?” Jacob asked. Their banter amused him, but he wanted to focus on the old man driving the truck, and he sensed that it was perhaps rude to carry on a conversation with voices in his head when he was sitting next to someone he had just met. Besides, this man was interesting. One interesting thing was how he took Jacob’s conversation with his inaudible companions in stride.

  He turned to the Heart Man. “Sorry about that,” he said. The Heart Man just nodded in understanding. The truck clattered down the highway. The sky cracked overhead, and the shock resonated through their bones. A thin stream of warm air trickled from the vents in a meager attempt to heat the interior of the vehicle.

  “So,” said Jacob. “Why are you called the Heart Man?”

  “It’s Hartman,” he said, punctuating this with a guttural hacking cough. “Dwayne Hartman. Who you talking to?”

  Jacob came very close to explaining that they were demons (or, potentially, his imagination), but stopped himself just in time. He recalled Isaac having different ideas about what angels and demons were, and reacting negatively to the idea of demons. He also recalled that Isaac’s guardian was pretty much like Isaac, but more so. “Like I said, going crazy,” he said. Which was true. “But they’re helpful sometimes.”

  Sometimes? Fine, whatever, shutting the fuck up.

  Dwayne nodded again. “What happened to your hand?”

  “Got shot.”

  “Could get infected. Better clean it out.”

  “Probably doesn’t matter.”

  “Why not?”

  “World ending. Everyone about to die, including me. Except maybe a few people. Which is why we gotta find the rest of them.”

  Dwayne took another long pull. “So this is it?” He looked around. “Don’t look like it. But what do I know?”

  Silence, for a minute.

  “We?” said Dwayne Hartman.

  “Yup,” said Jacob. “Isaac still needs you. Don’t know the details. Need to find a way to get where he’s gone, though. Or else we die, and probably he dies. Again.”

  Dwayne considered this for a while. He took a long look at Isaac’s hat. Then he nodded. “Where to?”

  “I’ll check in a minute,” said Jacob. “South for now.”

  They drove in silence for a time. Jacob noticed the writing on Dwayne Hartman’s hands. He looked out at the landscape. Dwayne smoked cigarettes and left his window down to ventilate the cab. It let in a strong draft of cold air. Jacob didn’t mind.

  Four or five cigarettes and one near-vehicular-breakdown into their journey, Dwayne spoke. “Let’s pray,” he said.

  “What?”

  “Pray. I’m going to pray.”

  “…okay.” Pray to God, he meant. Isaac had done that too. Jacob was curious to hear what Dwayne Hartman had to say to his creator.

  “Father,” Dwayne began, “forgive me…for my sins. Forgive me for not being there for Isaac.” His voice cracked; he had tears in his eyes. “Take care of him for me. And whatever is going on here, well I know it’s under your control. But please help me to help others, including this man, if it’s possible. I love you. Amen.”

  Dwayne Hartman pulled over onto the roadside for a minute to compose himself. The truck’s engine sputtered to a halt. He took a moment to get it going again and pulled back out onto the empty road.

  “Never asked your name,” he said.

  “Jacob Hollow.” Jacob realized that he was becoming hungry. His earlier efforts had taken a lot out of him. Thirsty, too. He’d talk it out with Dwayne. They needed a plan. Right. But first…

  He held up Isaac’s phone and tried to locate the contact list. He finally pulled it up, a feat made more difficult by the fact that the phone was still sticky and had difficulty determining where on the screen Jacob was touching. It opened at the bottom of an alphabetical list, and he scrolled up until he came to a name he recognized. It didn’t take long: Jimothy Whyte. The painter.

  He tried Jimothy first. He had never met the painter, but he had heard the stories. It was busy, or disconnected, or something. Maybe the Cascade was fooling with the signals. He tried Michael. Same result. The CHIME program could operate regardless of the Cascade, but after painstakingly navigating the CHIME app menu, he found that Michael’s contact was not there. Only five others, besides Isaac himself.

  “No luck?” asked Dwayne.

  Jacob nodded. “Think it’s the Cascade.”

  “That the end of the world up there?” He gestured vaguely above.

  “Yeah.”

  “Hmm,” said Dwayne. He continued driving, interrupted by an occasional battle with the gearshift. He hummed a tune Jacob did not know. After a minute he coughed, flicked his cigarette out the window, and said, “Try again.”

  Jacob made his way back to the contact list and tried again. Still nothing. He snapped his right hand in frustration, unintentionally coloring most of the passengers-side door a dull blue.

  Communications are probably down.

  “Is that you?”

  Yes.

  “What?” said Dwayne.

  “Not you,” said Jacob.

  “Try again,” said Dwayne.

  “I think communications are down, probably.”

  “Try. Again.” Dwayne turned to look at Jacob, for a long enough duration that Jacob would have worried about them driving off the road, had he been able to think of anything but that burning gaze for as long as it turned in his direction. “Father,” said Dwayne, which for a moment confused Jacob because he was sure that he was not this man’s father. “Allow us to check on that young man, Michael, your son.”

  Ah. His own voice in his head. Two guys here with voices in their heads. A couple of crazies.

  Jacob shrugged. Trying again would not hurt. He tried again, and was only half surprised when the phone on the other end started ringing. He realized, two rings in, that he had never told Dwayne who he’d been trying to call. How had he known it was Michael? Maybe the voices in his head were real too.

  “Isaac?” said a voice in Jacob’s ear.

  “Um. No,” said Jacob.

  “Oh…who is this?”

  “The name’s Jacob Hollow.”

  “Okay…”

  “Listen, Isaac’s dead.”

  “ What ?”

  “He was shot through the neck.”

  “Was…was it something called Black?”

  “Yeah. The painter, is he your son?”

  “Painter? That’s my brother.”

  “Yeah that makes more sense, you sound young.”

  “Wait, who are you?” asked Michael.

  “I just told you.”

  “No, I mean, why do you have Isaac’s phone?”

  “I took it off of his body.”

  “…”

  “Oh, I did that because I don’t have a phone of my own. I don’t know anyone’s number.”

  “This is…why are you calling me?” Michael was audibly upset. Had he been close to Isaac?

  A sudden and irresistible force removed the phone from Jacob’s grip. Dwayne Hartman took it and put it to his own ear. “Michael? This is Dwayne. Are you and Jimothy okay?” He listened to something, then looked at Jacob. “I don’t know…yes, it’s true…don’t know…don’t know…don’t know…alive? Coma?...don’t think so. Michael, I believe we have to meet up…yes. I’ll leave that to you.”

  “Tell him he needs to install something called CHIME onto his phone,” said Jacob. “The painter had it. It will let him reliably communicate with us.”

  Shit, wish we’d had something like that back then. Maybe we wouldn’t be fucked now if we could’ve all talked it out. Ha! Who am I kidding.

  Dwayne relayed this to Michael shortly before the connection cut out. He returned the phone to Jacob. “Son,” he said after a moment of silence. “We got a lot to talk about.”

  Jacob agreed. Above, genesis mist began to leak out from the cracks in the sky.