Lost in the Echo by Jeremy Bishop, Robert Swartwood

house, came a tinny sounding cry: “ Help! ”
    The voice was coming from the kitchen. They hurried toward it as the voice kept crying for help, and it was only when they entered that they realized the room was empty.
    Carol Herman said, “The intercom.”
    Monty glanced at her. “What?”
    She pointed at the intercom on the wall, and at that moment, another tinny cry came through.
    “ Help us! Please, anybody! ”
    Monty crossed the kitchen to the intercom and pressed the button.
    “Radar, Lisa, can you hear me?”
    A pause, and then Radar’s voice: “Yes we can, Mr. Beaumont. We’re trapped.”
    They could see the observatory through the window. Nearly a half dozen wasps crawled up and down and all over it.
    Monty said into the intercom, “Kids, listen to me carefully. We’re going to get you out of there. Can any of those things get in?”
    Another pause.
    “Not anymore,” Radar said.
    “Good. That’s good. Now like I said, we’re going to get you out of there. But you need to stay quiet. Okay?”
    Radar’s voice, barely a whisper: “Yes.”
    “Just stick tight for now. Can you do that?”
    “Yes. But please, hurry.”
    Monty turned away from the intercom. He stared through the window at the wasps crawling around on the observatory.
    Avalon said, “What do we do now?”
    Monty was quiet for a long moment, facing the window. Then he turned to them, took a deep breath, and said, “I think I have a plan.”

 
     
    20
     
    They had finished with the left hand and were starting on the right. Charley had sobbed and begged them to stop, but he still hadn’t told them what they wanted to know. Despite his blubbering state, the man had the resolve of a highly trained soldier, and Osterman wasn’t sure the man would ever talk—not really out of commitment to their mutual employer, but out of spite. Osterman took Charley’s finger and prepared to apply slow, steady pressure until the joint gave. But he stopped short. The floor beneath them shook.
    Osterman and Boyle paused, looking at each other. In the past couple of hours they had become accustomed to the trembling of the earth, while the roots moved through the dirt, seeking out the sources of various vibrations. But what they felt now was different. It was more insistent, more intense.
    “What is that?” Boyle asked.
    Osterman wasn’t sure what he meant at first, but then he heard it: out past the door, down the corridor, into the hanger, was that…clapping?
    Without a word, both men turned away from Charley and headed for the door. They went down the short corridor and into the hanger. They found the group still tied up to the pipe, only they were all stomping their feet on the floor, as hard as they could.
    Bam bam bam .
    The group noticed them at once. Only the pastor hesitated, his feet pausing in the air. Then he brought them down just as hard as his friends did.
    The trembling in the garage was out of control. The concrete was beginning to crack, as the roots kept trying to push their way through.
    “Stop it,” Osterman said. Then, shouting: “Stop it!”
    They didn’t stop. They just kept going. Griffin met his eye, and there was a coolness to the look, a smug acknowledgement that if they were going to die, Osterman and Boyle were going to die, too.
    The rubber grip of his sidearm felt reassuring in his hand as he slipped it from the holster and aimed it right at Griffin’s head.
    Griffin didn’t blink, didn’t even pause. He kept stomping.
    Osterman cocked the hammer back.
    Griffin kept stomping.
    Griffin’s resolve and lack of fear unnerved him. Who the fuck is this guy?
    The ground trembled even more, with such force that it nearly knocked Osterman over. Boyle shouted, “Shit!” A gunshot went off. Osterman glanced over his shoulder and saw a root had broken through the concrete. It was only feet away from Boyle.
    Boyle fired again, but the root seemed to dodge the bullet. It snapped forward, right at Boyle, who managed to dive