Okay, let’s get this shit over with, I think, pushing off the tree.
Keeping to the inside of the tree line, I follow the tracks. Upon first reaching them, it had been easy to see where the trees ended at the plain in the distance. Assuming this line led to the quarry, the plains end must head back toward Atlantis. So, I turned the other way and parallel to them, listening and watching for any sign of the numerous creatures inhabiting this world. That had been a couple of hours ago, so I figure that I must be drawing close to the quarry.
Movement in my periphery sends a rush of adrenaline. Crouching slowly, I search the surroundings but don’t see anything. Suddenly, a tree materializes out of the blue. There are plenty around, but this fully grown tree just shows up where there wasn’t one before. Another one vanishes, then appears. All of a sudden, the entire forest vanishes and I’m standing in the middle of a plain, tall bushes stretching to the hills in the distance. Then, that disappears and I’m in the forest again.
Time is unraveling. The last couple of hours must have been time on, what? Pause? Like the calm before the storm? Well, if it’s starting to do this kind of shit, I’m guessing that my time is very limited. I hate being rushed because that causes mistakes. I’m used to going slow, picking my way through defenses, but there are times to move quickly, instinct guiding those decisions. It appears that I’m left with little choice but to Leeroy Jenkins this one.
The tall trees create a canyon of open ground that the tracks run through, which then end at a closed security gate. Steel poles are angled into the ground with more behind and against the gate to give it strength. A chain-link fence with razor wire curled along the top branches to each side, vanishing behind the line of trees that ends a few yards short of the security fence. Although I can’t read the signs attached to the gate, I’m sure they say something like “Private property—go the hell away.”
The gate and fence vanish. Several of the large quarry dump trucks take its place, exiting the quarry along a road that runs beside gleaming tracks. Clouds of black smoke are expelled from exhausts with a low grumble of large diesel engines. Large mounds of gray rocks are visible over the cab and upper part of the bed. A booming explosion reverberates in the distance, with the rumble of other machinery in the background. Suddenly, the fence is back and the trucks are gone.
There isn’t much time, Trip’s words echo in my mind.
Not wanting to ring the doorbell, I angle off through the trees to search for a weakness along the fence. As I walk, my focus is constantly shaken as trees come and go, the plains returning at times. I’m almost worried that one will materialize right where I’m walking and that will be that. I’ll become one of those entombed bodies. Once, I damn near slam my nose into one appearing a foot way. Yet, I feel like I should be running, as it seems as if it’s last call.
Kneeling at the edge of the trees, the fence just yards away, there doesn’t appear to be any way past except through or over. Beyond the fence, there’s a steep drop where a wide hole has been dug, stones of all sizes strewn across the dirt floor. Part of a hill has been carved away, the stone darkened in places where water is leaking down the surface. And in that stone wall, a wide cave extends deeper into the ridgeline.
Motorcycles are parked among the rocks with whistlers gathered together near the cave entrance. Their oddly disjointed arms are waving about like fluttering flags as some discussion is taking place. Those are abruptly replaced by machinery grumbling below; large dozers moving rocks and dirt, shovels lifting stones into the beds of dump trucks. Material is being brought from within the cave and deposited in piles.
Those are suddenly parked off to one side as the ground shakes and rock dust is forcefully expelled from the mouth of the cave. Then, there isn’t a cave, just a rock wall with people gathered near it, several pointing toward where it was. I notice the fence is gone and scamper forward to the edge of the cliff surrounding the excavation, hoping something doesn’t decide to occupy the same space during the next iteration of reality.
Well, that was easy enough to get past.
There’s so much change in the pit that I’m worried about descending into its midst and becoming crushed by a vehicle or pile of stone. As it keeps switching, I mentally log where the stationary rock piles are positioned. The vehicles, well, I’ll just have to chance that shit. Thinking I’ve located a reasonable path, I half slide down the steep angle, hoping that everyone is too engaged in their activity to notice someone descending into their domain.
“Hey! You! Stop!” I hear above the current rumble of machinery.
Looking up, I see a soldier staring down at me, his weapon coming to bear.
Oh shit…I forgot about this being a secure installation.
I’m assuming part of the reality flickering into existence is when they started building whatever their monstrosity is. The newspaper reports of hunters being kicked out of their hunting grounds and other articles surface in my memory. I’m not really in a good position with sure footing to do much about the soldier above me. If I shoulder my carbine or reach for my handgun, I’ll fall to the bottom. Besides, he has the drop on me, and any movement in that regard will cause his trigger finger to twitch in an unfriendly manner.
The man vanishes, as does the sound of machinery. There’s a gathering of normal people just inside the start of a wide cave, with others positioned around some of the equipment. I slither-fall the rest of the way and kneel by a stone larger than any room in my house. The rock disappears along with the rest of the equipment and I’m staring across open space to the previous group of whistlers.
Well, fuck me!
With the quickness of the changes, I know I don’t have much time before everything unravels. I’m not terribly eager to find out how organic matter dematerializes, but I don’t even know what I’m looking for other than some vague reference to a room number. And, that might not even let me out of this diminishing world. But, fuck it. I have to do something and these creatures are in my way.
Without a further thought, I remove one of the grenades attached to my vest, pull the pin, and toss the cylinder toward the twelve, gathered whistlers. My movement must have caught the attention of several, because they emit loud clicks and screeches, the sound seeming to come from inside my head. The cylinder arcs through the air, almost in slow motion. I really hope that reality doesn’t waver in this moment or there are going to be some very surprised workers.
The grenade hits the ground and bounces toward the monsters, several of them starting to dive away. I crouch, swinging my carbine to my shoulder. The concussive explosion scatters dust outward, a flash of orange in the midst of dark smoke. Several whistlers are thrown into the air, their leathers shredding before my eyes. Masks are ripped from faces, deep cuts pepper their legs, with severed arms riding the shock wave. The limbs hit the ground with wet slaps and bounce across the hard surface. Some of those tossed impact the ground with hard crunches, one even slamming hard against a remaining stone, the sound of bones breaking like the snap of dry twigs.
As soon as the concussive wave diminishes, I’m up and striding forward. I hear the whooshing sound of something large passing close. One whistler, or half of one, lands just beside me with a whump of stirred dust. Viscous black fluid leaks out from a torso separated from its lower body, gathering in the dirt to become a tarry mess of blood. Dust settle on entrails snaking out from its torn body. I don’t even need a quick glance to ensure that this one won’t be firing any staples at me.
I fire bursts into every dark object I see. Through the stirred dust, a couple that were able to dive out of the way begin to rise. They only manage to get to their knees before my rounds slam into their Jell-O-like bodies, sending them falling back to the dusty surface. In my peripheral, I watch the cave opening to make sure others don’t come streaming out. I keep walking and firing, giving the whistlers no time to recover.
The ball of smoke is dissipating higher into the air full of the smell of gunpowder and
torn bodies, the rancid odor of their blood and feces. Surrounding a blackened section of a small hole in the ground lie bodies, limbs, and splashes of black fluid soaked into the dirt. Not a single whistler stirs. Those that had their masks ripped from their faces don’t have anything recognizable remaining. I’d like to see what their faces look like, but I don’t have time for curiosity. If there are others around, the explosion will draw them in. Plus, there’s that little thing about the world ending.
Warily, I edge to the side of the cave. Peeking around the edge, it extends for a little ways before widening to a cavern. A caged area sits in the middle with steel cables extending upward. There’s nothing moving in sight. Rolling around the edge, my carbine with a freshly replaced mag is shouldered and aimed to the front. The rolling realities have stabilized, but I don’t want to be in the cave if one such reality came around where it hadn’t been built. That would present the ultimate definition of being between a rock and a hard place. Now, I need to move.
Holding my weapon, I start to run, the inside of the cave remarkably colder than outside. It’s pretty obvious that the cages hold elevators to the lower levels and I have to finish whatever it is I’m doing before the ridge solidifies into rock.
At least I won’t feel it.
The images of those embedded into objects surfaces in my head.
Oh shit! Is that what happened to them…caught between realities or transported into them? Do they still feel it inside trapped minds?
Even though my leg is aching with each step and my side with each breath, those images propel me faster. It feels like my body is coming apart like this world. My shoulder still aches from where I rolled away from the train, my hands sting from the barbed wire, and then there are the staple wounds. At the cage, cables snake down to the lower levels, attached to mounted pulleys above and the elevator cabs below. I grab one of the cables and lower myself, letting gravity do most of the work. On top of the cab, I open the top hatch and jump down into the cab. I’m past worrying about sneaking, because the thought of becoming encased in stone and possibly experiencing that lovely sensation for an extended period is not on my list of fun times.
I exit the elevator and run down another tunnel carved out of the stone, the edges roughhewn with series of lights attached to the ceiling that seem to close in on me as I race down its length. Throwing open a door without a care as to what’s on the other side, I’m a little taken aback to enter a hallway with offices along its length.
A fucking office building, I think, looking at a polished linoleum floor checker-boarded in white and black. Is this a different reality?
I no longer care what reality I’m in as long as it includes this tunnel system. Nor do I attempt to distinguish between them, as that’s not terribly important at the moment. There’s not a fucking thing I can do about it.
Florescent lights hang along the ceiling, making the lighting seem a little garish. Cool air blows past my cheeks and there’s a faint hum of building system machinery. Even though the cave is chilly, the structure built into it is even more so.
“Well, fuck it,” I mumble, stepping inside.
Etched plastic signs are on the wall, each pointing down the hall one way or the other. I have no idea what the writing on them means. But, I do understand the numbers atop each of the doors.
The door behind me closes with a click that echoes down a hall empty of pictures or furniture. It’s just white-painted walls, polished tile, and wooden doors. Taking my bearings, I stroll to a door with only “137” posted on the wall above. I grab the chilled metal handle and push it open.
Inside, it’s organized like any other office. There are two desks facing each other, one wall lined with metal filing cabinets. Monitors, in and out baskets, and a slew of papers litter the tabletops. Books line the tops of the filing cabinets between two sets of book ends. Along the spine of one set is something about Zombie Fallout.
Well, that seems rather appropriate.
The other set is something about A New World.
Could be a little more original, I muse.
Steeping around one of the desks, several framed pictures catch my eye.
“What the fuck?!” I mutter, picking up the picture.
There’s Mike standing with several others who could be family members. I look at the other two on the desk; each one is Mike, without a doubt. I look at the papers scattered across the desk. Some are reports and others emails. The reports list a title and author…Mike Talbot.
“Fuck me!”
The messages are the same, signed Mike or with his last name. I don’t even know what to think and I feel light-headed. I’m able to push a lot of things down to analyze later, but this is throwing me. I’m a little worried that I stumbled into his world. On a wall behind me is a framed certificate showing a doctorate diploma in some science I don’t recognize, again with his name emblazoned in calligraphy. I look to the other desk, almost afraid to go around and see what it holds.
Curiosity wins out and I wish it hadn’t. One picture on the desk is me with my arm wrapped around Mike’s shoulder, each of us lifting a beer in celebration. The name Jack Walker is plastered on the papers. One of the reports holds the title “Travel, an Essay into Dimensions.” Two authors are listed: Mike Talbot and Jack Walker.
“Holy fuck! Did we fucking create this mess?”
I know I didn’t, per se, but apparently my doppelganger did…or at least had a part in it. The other pictures on the desk cause me to sink into the chair without a conscious decision. It’s more that it’s where I landed. My kids. There’s Robert and Bri…and Nic. I grab the picture of Nic and hold it. Her dark hair framing her beautiful face…and that smile. My heart breaks again seeing her, and the picture blurs. Hot tears drip onto the glass and I sit holding the frame, just staring at it as if I could bring her back. I rub my gloved finger along her face as if I could truly feel it again.
“I miss you, Nic…sooo fucking much! I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you. I love you!”
With a deep sigh and wiping away the tears, I gently set the frame back on the desk. Thoughts try to form, wondering what happened to them in this world, but I shut that down quickly as they will lead to heart-breaking variations. I refuse to associate the entombed bodies with my kids.
Wanting to get the fuck out of here, I unshoulder my pack and withdraw the folder. Pulling open cabinets, I search for the same one I’m holding. Finding it, I pull it out and replace it with the one I found in my pack. Closing the cabinet, I don’t know what to expect. Perhaps this will all just go away and I’ll find myself about to take a bite of food with the rest of Red Team? Something rattling inside the drawer is not what I expected. Opening it again, I dig around the bottom and find two marbles, one red and one blue.
“You’re kidding, right?!”
I have no idea what I’m supposed to do with these.
Eat them?
No, I’m not going to eat fucking marbles. That’s just ridiculous. The only thing I can think of is the chamber, but that fucker is miles away and I don’t think I have time to take a hike over there. There has to be something I’m missing. There wasn’t any large power source I saw outside, so I can’t expect a portal to be here. However, if this place is part of the collider ring, then perhaps power is shunted here. But, that still doesn’t mean there’s a secondary portal. And, I don’t have time to play solve the mystery.
Taking the marbles and placing the extracted folder in my pack, I leave the eerie room with the pictures of Mike, me, and my kids. I find stairs leading down and follow them. I could go outside and use one of the motorcycles topside, race to the main facility, and hope to get by any remaining whistlers. If they have managed to power up the portal, I could jump through and hope for the best. But, one of us had to stay outside to do whatever to the flow of power. And, time is tearing this world apart like an old scab being peeled away. I could find myself riding an elephant. Somehow, I haven’t observed any time fluctuations inside this p
lace. Either those are on a lunch break, or this installation is immune to the fluctuations occurring outside.
“But, it’s only a matter of time,” I chuckle at the lame humor.
The stairs waver, as if they’re about the change, and then solidify again. It suddenly hits me that I haven’t witnessed any bodies or limbs protruding from the walls, ceiling, or floor. That has been a constant since descending into the large valley. I’m not sure why this place was spared that BS, but I’ll take whatever I can get. It really sucks knowing that I’m under the gun with regards to time, but haven’t a clue what I’m supposed to be doing.
Descending to a lower level, I enter another corridor, this one with glass fronts to labs off a central corridor. It looks more promising, but that’s about all. I could really use a flashing arrow saying “Here.”
There’s a more pronounced hum on this level. Perhaps I’m closer to the environmental systems, but it’s really all I have to go on. I follow it, tilting my head to determine where it’s the strongest. The hallway ends at an open door with stone steps heading down. The lights end, but there’s a distinctive glow coming from a doorway at the bottom. Now, I’ve watched scary movies before, and what lies in front of me is straight out of one. There are roughhewn stone steps leading down through a passage carved in the rock. There aren’t any lights, with the exception of a silvery-blue glow pulsing through an open doorway at the bottom. The whole scenario is creepy as hell, especially considering I just visited an office where Mike and I apparently had a part in creating this mess.
I cannot sufficiently describe how eerie it is to see yourself in a picture that you weren’t in, and kids that are mine, but also aren’t. That another person lived a completely different life than you, but with your name and face. Visualizing an alternate reality with an alternate self doesn’t seem so strange, but coming face to face with it certainly is. I have to say that it kind of takes away a little of the specialness of my own life; that I could just be one of an infinite number of selves, each with their own life is discomforting. I’d have been fine if our paths had never crossed, even though it was just a picture and a few messages. I give a slight chuckle, thinking that it’s probably a good thing I hadn’t checked his web history.