Trillian's second stage

It was night. Stars shone in the sky overhead. Cole, Jace, and Mira crouched in a wide field full of enormous weeds, facing a heavily weathered wooden fence that must have stood fifty feet high. Turning, Cole found that a discarded washing machine, bigger than a dump truck, blocked much of his view. An unseen light source beyond the washing machine brightened the yard. To one side of Cole grew a clump of waist-high dandelions. On the other was a snail shell almost the size of a soccer ball.

“I guess that wasn’t Honor,” Cole said. “One down, two to go.”

“Don’t talk about what we have left,” Jace said. “Let’s win it here. We’ve got this.” He paused, looking around. “Where are we?”

“I don’t know,” Mira said. “But I’ll take anywhere over that last place.”

(Additional text cut)

“What is that thing?” Jace asked, gesturing at the old washing machine.

“It’s a washing machine,” Cole said. “Probably a broken one if it’s out here. But it’s way too big. Everything is oversized.”

“What does it wash?” Mira asked.

“Clothes,” Cole said. He noticed a crushed soda can the size of a wastebasket. He heard crickets chirping. Giving the stars a more serious look, he found the Big Dipper. “We’re in my world.”

“Your world’s a dump,” Jace said.

Cole barely heard the insult. The yard was suddenly familiar. He walked sideways so he could see around the washing machine. Sure enough, there was a one-story house with a large back porch and rabbit hutches off to the side. A porch light was on, and from one window came the bluish flickering of a television. “I know where we are.”

“Where?” Mira asked.

“Mr. Barrum’s house,” Cole said.

“That tells us nothing,” Jace said.

“I used to live in Idaho,” Cole said. “Up until first grade. Mr. Barrum had a big weedy yard at the end of our street. He kept rabbits in the back. Past his house, it was just empty fields. All the kids in the neighborhood were scared of him. When I was in kindergarten, our cat, Smokey, vanished one night. Some other kids lost their cats too. Dad said it was probably coyotes or an owl, but all the kids knew it was Mr. Barrum. He always carried an ax around, and when kids went near his house, he’d shake the ax at us and tell us to stay away from his rabbits.”

“We’re in your old town?” Mira asked.

“Yeah,” Cole said. “Outside of Boise. But we’re small. Trillian shrank us. Or else he made the yard really big.”

“This Barrum guy wasn’t a giant?” Jace asked.

“No,” Cole said.

“Do you think he’s the threat?” Mira asked.

“Probably,” Cole said. “I hated that guy. I used to have nightmares about him.”

“Does he have a family?” Jace asked. “Does he have dogs?”

“He lived alone,” Cole said. “Just the bunnies.”

“Do we look for Honor here?” Mira asked. “Should we go somewhere else? Your house maybe? Someplace with more people?”

“It’ll be hard to get out of the yard,” Cole said. “His whole backyard is fenced. I remember climbing up to look over the fence once with my sister and . . . some older friend. They boosted me up. I remember the washing machine. And the rabbit cages. Mr. Barrum saw me peeking. He came stomping out of the house, yelling about private property. We ran for our lives.”

Chapter 31