The Doom Stone (The Zone Unknown) by Zindel Paul

Author:Zindel, Paul [Zindel, Paul]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Graymalkin Media
Published: 2011-07-27T16:00:00+00:00

9

WAITING

Alma knew Salisbury Cathedral and the redbrick buildings of the close as well as she knew the back of her hand. The vast cathedral with its huge tower and spire had been under repair for years—since the time when her father was one of the close gardeners. Steel pipe and rough-hewed plank walkways still covered vast sections of the cathedral’s leaded roof. Scaffolding in the shape of octagonal platforms circled its spire up to the pinnacle like a trio of rings on a ringtoss.

Alma smiled as she crossed the main green and saw familiar faces. Many evenings, when the McPhees had lived at the close, Alma had baby-sat for the children of the masons and construction crews.

“Hi, Reverend!” she called across to the black-frocked Reverend Kalley on Bishop’s Walk.

The cleric waved when he recognized her. “Welcome back, Alma.”

“Do you know where they put us?” she asked. She knew the Reverend Kalley usually knew everything that was happening at the close.

“In the Canonry, I think. The basement flat.” He smiled, pleased that he could help.

Alma felt warm and safe back inside the close grounds. The smell of arbored wisteria and fresh-mowed spring grass made the horror of Skull Face and the creepy little hominids seem far away. She wished they could live at the close permanently. She had often daydreamed about just that, had visions of being able to walk to school and to live in a place where friends weren’t spooked if they stopped by. Of course, part of the dream was that her mother would come back and they could be a real family again.

By sunset the kitchen boxes were unpacked at the apartment. Alma had fed Coffin and defrosted a shepherd’s pie and lemon cake for her and her father’s dinner. “We can finish the rest of the boxes tomorrow,” her dad said, putting on his favorite sweater and baggy brown polyester pants. “I’m taking a stroll to pick up some smokes.”

“Okay, Dad,” Alma said. “Be careful, okay?”

“Yes, darlin’.”

Alma knew “picking up smokes” really meant he was going out to the pubs, which was what her mom had hated most about him—his drinking and late hours. He’d start at the Haunch of Venison Inn, then ale and bitter his way past Poultry Cross and all the way to Queen Street. As soon as he was out the door, Alma threw off her clothes and jumped into the shower. She was drying herself with a faded blue towel when Jackson phoned.

“Did you have trouble getting through?” Alma asked.

“A little,” Jackson said. “First they connected me to the bishop’s palace, then the cloister operator. She knew where to ring.”

“Where are you?”

“I’m still in Bristol—in the hospital lobby. I’ll be back by nine. It’s a little crazy here,” Jackson said.

Alma heard the strain in his voice. “What’s the matter?”

“Aunt Sarah’s hallucinating. She’s treating her room like it’s her territory and she’s an animal.”

“An animal?”

“I was with her when she could smell roast beef cooking nine floors below and it wasn’t on the menu.

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