The Great Big One by J. C. Geiger

Author:J. C. Geiger [GEIGER, J. C.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Little, Brown Books for Young Readers
Published: 2021-07-13T00:00:00+00:00

THIRTY-SIX

“WHAT ARE YOU SO WORRIED ABOUT?” THOMAS ASKED CHARITY.

In the Rat’s Nest, three of them clustered around the cassette tape player. It sat surrounded by old analog RCA wires snaking into speaker towers stacked so high Griff imagined when they hit PLAY, they’d go catapulting out of the room.

“It’s because of Leo,” Charity whispered.

“What?” Thomas asked. “Why are you whispering?”

“He said he knew when the Band would play again. Said we’d catch the biggest fish there was. The Great Big One. But we weren’t supposed to record it.”

“What?” Thomas asked. “Why?”

“No recording, no preserving,” Charity said.

“That’s spooky, Charity,” Thomas said. “What the hell does that mean?”

“Leo said there was a voice on the broadcast before the Band played. It said ‘no recording.’ That’s why he needed me to hear it live.”

She eyed the tape.

“Maybe it didn’t record anything,” Thomas said.

“This whole thing feels cursed,” Charity said.

“Are you going to play it?” Griff asked.

Thomas carefully reached forward, pressed the REWIND button. The little knobs jumped to life, white teeth of the cassette blurring. The tape halted so quickly Griff feared the ribbon would snap.

Thomas pressed PLAY.

The current came through the speakers. Like an ocean sound, the wash of the crowd. Griff leaned into it.

“Still there,” Thomas whispered.

Their music from the night before. Better than he remembered. Like fingers prying at hidden knots in his shoulders. His body loosened. Something brushed his back and he flinched. Charity. She’d reached out and he’d jerked like a frightened dog. Sometime since October, he’d forgotten how to be touched.

The music soaked into them. They nodded along to the beat. Leaned closer to the speakers, and each other. Five minutes. Six. Griff held his breath. Please. A little more tonight. He gasped when the sound cut out. A dull hiss. Flatline on the equalizer. Over.

“So it’s real,” Thomas said. He smiled.

“It’s amazing,” Charity said. “Leo thought they were recording in a hidden studio. He wanted to go find it.”

“With you?” Griff asked.

Charity nodded.

Thomas rewound the tape and played back the crowd. Stopped. Played again.

“Wrong,” Thomas said.

Thomas flipped on a desk lamp. Went to his mixer. He fuzzied the music, submerged the vocals and strings to a faint burbling, and teased out sharp rat-scratching sounds that softened to—

“Voices,” Griff said. Emerging from the crowd like ships in fog.

Hey—sure, wow, wow, omigod—

“No one talks like that in a studio. You can hear the distance between them, I mean—based on these acoustics that’s a big crowd. I’m talking stadium.”

“Yeah,” Charity said.

“That’s what it sounds like,” Griff said. “Leo wouldn’t have missed that.”

“Nope.”

“Then why would he say that?” Charity asked.

“Because he wanted to find it first,” Griff said.

And it made sudden sense. Griff had shared Leo’s mental maps and schematics. Ducts and vents. Half of his brother’s plan flashed into his mind—and Griff knew where to find the rest.

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