Elemental Source

The shuttle bounced and jostled as it forced its way through the exterior of the Jordonian Protective Sphere. Completely transparent, the JPS could set its own atmospheric buoyancy thus allowing it to seemingly float in the air at any given altitude. Not only would a JPS keep anyone without the properly encrypted transmitters out it also prevented radio, microwave, and sound waves from passing through to either the inside or the outside. Radiation was also effectively stopped, making a JPS an ideal solution for sensitive lab work.

            The transport shuttle came to a gentle, yet efficient landing in the hanger of Mirien Labs. The side panel extended outwards a few inches before rolling back to expose the interior of the shuttle. Caldon Livingstone stepped out of the transport, into the fading light of the approaching night. There was no one there to greet him.

            Caldon glanced around the hanger. The stark light of the overhead lights cast his shadow in multiple directions. On the nearest wall was a small control room, it was empty, the lights out, he could see his reflection in the glass. He was short man, with a deceptively slight build; he made no attempt to cover his receding hairline, though he did keep his remaining hair cropped short.

Caldon wondered why he was here, he had a reputation as one of the premiere researches in Kag’on, a researcher who didn’t only sit back and wait for results, but dug in voraciously with both hands and made things happen. Caldon had been specifically requested for this research station after the last assistant, Darfur, had been returned to Earth, a sudden illness. The man had alternated between being perfectly fine and instants later raving about unbearable heat and cold, yet his temperature remained steady. Not exactly an inspiring condition.

An assistants position wasn’t normally a position a man like Caldon would take on, but he had received some rather effective pressure, or help as it had been explained to him, in making sure he made the right decision. But this was a special case, and despite being strong armed, the facts of the case were as fascinating as they were scarce. The details of the case were so classified that even someone with Caldon’s level of clearance wasn’t able to get any but the most superficial of detail on the project, which itself was an enigma. Why would you have a more than top secret project, and yet display it in a JPS just a few miles above Mal’Doran, the second largest city in Kag’on?

“Well, so much for the welcoming party,” Caldon muttered. “Computer, display project UCS Summary.”

A wall of text displayed, in his minds eye a few feet in front of him and scrolled rapidly, faster than the conscious mind could comprehend. He once again regretted that technology hadn’t advanced to a point yet where information could be loaded directly into ones mind, but this unconscious overview would give him a base to build his knowledge of the project on.

The project summary finished and his vision was no longer obstructed. It had finally been revealed to him who the Project Lead was on this project, Kieran Seanaw. He didn’t know her personally, but her reputation preceeded her as a driven, brilliant woman. It fit right into what he knew about her that she would be too involved in her research to meet him as he arrived.

Caldon left the hanger, walking toward the laboratory. As he walked the short distance he began visoptically reading more on project Elemental Source, as it was being called. What he read was at once chilling and amazing.

Walking into the lab, he finally discovered his hostess. She was seated before a large, stainless-steel table. The table held 4 large containers; the first contained a few rocks of various sizes, the second contained pure water, the third held nothing at all, and in the fourth sat a small burner, its flame turned on. Her concentration was so intent on the empty container she didn’t notice the door as it nearly silently shushed into place.

“Dr. Seanaw, hello. Am I interrupting?” asked Caldon.

Her concentration broke along with a slight hissing noise as her hair billowed briefly behind her, she turned,  “Ahh, Dr. Caldon Livingstone. I’m glad you made it.”

“Me too, tell me about what you’ve got going on here.”

“A new world, Doctor.”

“What do you mean,” Caldon asked?

“Tell me how we, we as a society, have become what we have? How did we make the world we know live in?” she asked in a clipped voice.

“I’m not sure how exactly to answer that.”

“Power! Electricity!” she cut it, “our greatest achievements have come since we’ve learned to most efficiently access power when working at the atomic level. Combining and to a lesser extent splitting atoms gave us access to the kinds of power we needed to create and operate the tools to achieve greatness, but where do we go when that power is no longer enough? What if we no longer need power?” She stood up and walked over to a potted plant, some kind of broad leaf fern that seemed oddly out of place in the otherwise stainless steel room.

“No longer need power? What are your proposing? Going back to living in cave huts?”

“No!” she shouted, “But what if instead of spending weeks building a new dwelling, using massive amounts of deuterium-tritium fuel for the reactors we force the rock in the ground to shape itself to the structure we desire? Water will run to the building because we command it. Heating and cooling will be done by our control over the very air!”

“That’s impossible! No one can control the earth, the air, and the water like that,” Caldon shook his head, looking away.

“Oh, but I can,” she smiled, “we can.” Her eyes searching his face as if looking for something deeper. Finally, convinced she said, “come, take a look at this.” She walked back to the table in front of the containers.

Caldon joined her at the table, eyes doubtful.

“See this container,” she said, pointing to the third container.

“Yes, it’s empty,” he responded.

“No, it isn’t,” she said her eyes focusing on a spot just above the container.

At first her breath came in quick forced breaths and nothing happened. Kieran closed her eyes and slowed her breathing, when she reopened her eyes they were still firmly focused on the same spot, but her entire demeanor had changed.

Caldon shook his head and opened his mouth to put a stop to this nonsense when his eye caught a faint reflection on a slightly shimmering ball that had not been there moments before. He reached out his hand, mesmerized by the barest hint of a ball floating in the air above the container. His finger touched it, it felt like an invisible wall, there was no texture, no give, it was smooth as ice, and hard as steel.

He opened his mouth about to speak but Kieran raised a hand, forestalling him. With intense concentration she kept one eye on the ball and turned her focus to the fire. After a moment the thinnest tendril of flame emerged from the flame and slithered like a snake towards the ball. As it neared the ball, it circled around the ball, leaving tiny lines of light around the ball, when it reached the very top of the sphere it plunged itself in through the top and instantly the line of fire disappeared and the sphere began to glow with an inner light. Kieran released a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding and wiped her forehead.

“Air is easy; fire,” she began, “is the most difficult for me to work with.”

The sphere of air and fire sat hovering above the table glowing pleasantly.

“How… What…” Caldon paused, not sure what to say. His eyes darted back and forth between Kieran and the object floating just beyond reach.

“This, my friend,” she said with a triumphant smile, “is our work. This is why I needed you here and not that weak minded fool, well never mind.”

“How do you do it?” he asked.

“In this case, I imagine that I am a vessel that the very air must travel through, as I gain a sense of the air it is like I am flowing with it, we flow past several possibilities of how the air can form itself and when I reach the one I want, I focus on that and the air bends to my will. All of this happens very rapidly you understand? As long as I am focusing on it, I can hold the filaments of the air and fire as I want them, but when I stop they dissipate on their own,” she turned from her globe of light and faced Caldon, the globe slowly lost its shape and the light dimmed.

***

The research truly was incredible. It took several months for Caldon to come up to speed, first reading and viewing everything Kieran had logged and then following up on Darfur’s research. Darfur spoke of attempting to guide along the flows of earth, air, fire and water like Kieran could do but reported uncomfortable stabbing pains where the conduits of elements lashed out and struck him repeatedly. It wasn’t until he reached out in his minds eye and gripped the conduits that he could manage them. That was the method Caldon would take from the beginning.

It took months for the elements to open up before Caldon, but in time and with a great deal of effort they did. He found, in time that he could reach out even to the tiniest particles of water in the air and bring them together, he could force them to cool to freezing in an instant or burst into a steam with a touch of fire at exactly the right time and place. His abilities quickly surpassed even those of Dr. Kieran.

“There’s still something missing,” Dr. Kieran banged her fists on the table.

“I feel it too, Kieran.” they had discussed this topic endlessly.

“The four elements are like pieces of one great whole, like threads bound together to make a rope. But it is clear that there is at least another set of elements, another rope if you will, that binds around our four elements, but how do we access it?” Caldon paced up and down the lab room.

“I have an idea!” he shouted, “Kieran, gather the conduits in your mind eye, hold them out in a straight line before you.”

“Okay, what are you going to do?” she asked, gathering her thoughts. Light began to shimmer and ripple in the air above her.

“I will wrap my elements around yours, and where there is a blank spot, it must be what we’re missing.” Hands resting on the table, he leaned in, concentrating directly he forced conduits of elemental energy to wrap itself tightly around Kieran’s rod of dancing light.

Yes, he could see now with his mind atomically small areas of space between the two conduits of elemental power, almost invisible in the dancing light that made up the physical elements, this was smooth and almost unassuming. He forced his elements tighter.

“It hurts, Caldon!” Kieran cried, “Stop it!”

“Almost got it,” he muttered, examining the thin area of power. He forced his mind into it.

Suddenly it was so clear, softly glowing light emerged, pulsing from every living thing to pool into this element, bright light from a potted plant, lesser light from a paper sitting on the table before them. He turned to look at Kieran, she was hunched over in pain, barely in white light emanated from her. Instead the conduit was pulsated erratically with blacks and red. He immediately released his hold on his physical elements unraveling them from around hers. Her light brightened considerably the pulsating more regularly.

He realized looking around him, that everything was giving off alternating pulses of white and red color, the red must be another weave in this rope. He reached out to the potted plant sitting on the counter, he could only put the slightest touch on it, something resisted him, but he could feel it was full of power and ability. He reached out again touching the red pulses of the plant, willing them to combine with the red pulses of the book on the shelf below. The two conduits stretched out, thinly and weakly to one another. When the two touched however, it was like a great bell going off in his head. Power surged through his body, his hair singed.

“There is more, I know there is, I just need to get to it,” he turned looking for Kieran but she lay face down on her desk.

“If I could just break through and get a gold handle on the red spirit element, I could do anything!”

He took a deep breath, opening his mind to the flows as he opened his lungs to the air. He reached out, in a way he could never describe, and gathered all the pulsating red sources into himself, drawing them into himself, filling every fiber of his being with the power. Conduits of pure red opened themselves up to Caldon.

Power filled Caldon and he new that this was what he had been born to do. This was his power by right. He looked at the potted plant, it was withered and dead, no longer a source of power. He had used up all the power in the lab. Shocked he turned to Kieran, but she was gone. Left in her place was a withered mummy like creature, mouth open in a silent scream.

“What is happening to me,” Caldon yelled, the fury of power inside of him building in waves. He had to get rid of it; it was burning him alive.

He pushed, he heaved, but nothing happened. The power was killing him. He couldn’t get rid of it. He made one last desperate push, with every ounce of willpower he had. Power ripped from his cells bursting them. The very air around him shred itself a part. Time stopped and had no meaning and with one last push every shred of power left his body, exploding before him.

With his dying breath he heard a great roar of laughter saying, “It’s good to be back.”

***

Citizens below looked up in shock as the JPS filled with fire, the containment shields rolling and bulging until even they could no longer contain the massive forces. Great chunks of fiery debris rained down, leaving massive destruction. Yet that was nothing compared to the destruction that was to come.

The Puppets

“The animal instinct for survival is strong,” the balding professor droned on.

As the second hand on the big, industrial clock at the front of the room ticks, the light filtered in through grungy blinds, casting vertical lines across my desk. I imagined myself a mouse in a maze, searching for the way through the bright lines to the hunk of cheese at the end.

I’ve been listening to Professor Nathanson expound on his ideas about the primitive instinct driven brain of this and that reptile. His premise is that given a certain stimuli these mindless creatures will react in predictable patterns, "they are nothing more than the product of their evolution!" finishes our esteemed preacher with a flourish, while he and I both seem to wait to hear the “Amen” from the choir. The “Amen” never comes, but the moment is saved by the tolling of bells. It looks like we'll continue our exploration of the animal mind next time.

As we stumble from our pews to the world outside we're left with a parting message from Dr. Nate, "Next time, we will pull back the conscious mind and examine a trained animal's true being. You will not want to miss it."

I flip open my cell phone. Can they hear me now? Yes, I've got more bars. I make my daily calls, keeping in touch with all my peeps. I’ve gotten a new text. It’s from mom. She’s learned that she has to text me, because I avoid her calls. Her texts are hilarious to me. She always spells out all the words and uses punctuation.

Things weren’t always like this. I never thought I’d go to college, let alone this college, in this town. The people in town, the “townies” as we call them, exist for our pleasure; we’re almost treated as rock stars when we’re in town. They thrive off of the prestige of our name. It’s not like any of them could even make it into this school. But, as long as they can look down at the rest of the country for not living next to this University they will be happy. So long ago, in what seems like a previous life, I remember a much more humble time.

****

Back on the farm, I was just another son working in the early morning hours on his daddy’s tractor, or milking the cows, like countless other guys. Then it was off to school, where I got good grades. My dad always pushed me to excel in school. He and mom sacrificed by working harder than most parents in the area so that I could focus more on my studies. There was never a time I remember waking up when dad wasn’t already out working, nor a day when dad got in before I did.

Not that dad worked too much. He always believed in putting his family first and after that came his community. He never volunteered at the soup kitchen, that wasn’t his way. But there was never a sick neighbor that didn’t get their hay cut by dad, or their dinner made by mom until they were back on their feet. “It was nothing,” they both said. It was what neighbors did.

When graduation rolled around my friends began thinking about marrying their high school sweethearts, finding a piece of land to work as their own, or maybe taking a factory job. I admit, at the time the idea seemed really appealing. I’d been with Anne Marie for most of my time in high school, and I could see us making a life for ourselves. But, in the end, I decided I was going to college.

Mom and dad were very happy with my choice. They were both fairly educated and, although neither had gone to college, they were well read and valued learning. When I was accepted, it was one of the happiest days of my life … that is until I saw the costs of tuition and books. My dad, realizing what was going on, took me aside and said, “Son, don’t worry about it.”

I was sure I was not going to college. The next day my dad woke me up early and asked me to help him. I remember being angry and sullen. It wasn’t until that night that I realized the prized steer we were loading was going to auction.

The steer was a beauty. He was strong and graceful, and his coat had a sheen that other steers just couldn’t match. He was a fine animal and would have made for one of the best siring beasts in the county. It is not with much surprise that Angry Angus, as we called him, brought in a record prize.

We walked back to the truck and dad turned to me, “Son, I want to talk to you.”

“Alright,” I answered.

“There’s something I want you to know,” he said. “Your mom and I are real proud of you. You’ve worked hard and you deserve what you’ve earned.”

“I just don’t see how I can do it, dad. It’s too much.”

“That’s what this is for,” and he slipped Angry Angus’ check into my pocket. “Now, when you’re there, remember who you are and where you came from, and then come back a better man.”

“I can’t take this,” I began, but I could see dad’s eyes moisten with unshed tears. I’d never seen him cry before and the tears in his eyes made me choke up until all I could do was hug him.

****

I’m walking to my class, enjoying the fresh air and blue skies. The path is lined with trees and grasses where students lay out in the sun. My buddy Andrew calls out and runs over from the group of coeds he’s been entertaining. I honestly believe he must know every girl on campus.

“Hey man, can you believe that English assignment?” he begins.

“Yeah, it’s pretty crazy,” I agree.

“I swear, half these guys here think they’re Che Guevara. The other half want to be him, but they’re too afraid of losing their tenure and their studio apartments.”

“Yeah, but maybe the world needs a few more Ches,” I respond before he has to take off running after another pack of young freshman he hasn’t introduced himself to yet.

“Catch ya later!” He calls over his shoulder.

I enter the building, the lights seem to be out, but there is plenty of light coming in from the outside. I wonder if there's going to be another rate hike, this place never seems to be able to pay their light bills. As I walk towards Nathanson's sanctuary I think back to our last class, hoping I don't have to fill out another quiz. Let me see, he talked about instincts. I open the door and I'm pushed back as another girl slams into me running out of the class room. I'm shocked more than hurt, allowing her to easily push past me. Inside the room is chaos. There is a large metallic contraption at the front of the room. It looks like a stainless steel refrigerator, with blinking lights and gasses escaping from the seals. The lights in the room dim and surge in rhythmic time. It's time to get out of here, but as I turn to run when I see Professor Nathanson sprawled on the floor. It's too dark to see him well, I don't even know if he's breathing. As the lights begin to dim again for agonizing milliseconds I debate leaving him. I even take a step out of the door. I just can't do it. I’m such an idiot.

I reach Professor Nathanson and bend over him. It is too loud and dark to tell if he is breathing. I’ve got to take him with me. He's even lighter than he looks, so it doesn't take much to sling him up over my shoulder, a lot like carrying a lost lamb back to the pen. With my package now in place I'm able to make myself back to the door and stumble out. It seems like a good time to be anywhere but here. The hallway is bathed in shadows as I try to make my way out of the building.

The hallways are pure chaos, the bells, no longer the student’s relief, release a piercing alarm speaking to an impending doom. Students are running through the halls, their --our arrogance--  in never learning the closest escape routes is now coming back to haunt us. Some run up the hall, some run down. Many collide into each other in the artificial twilight. I shift my package, adjusting my grip around Dr. Nathanson’s thighs because a big jock pushes me against the wall as he runs by. I can't believe we ever made fun of this man for being so thin. His lack of flesh allows his every rib to dig into my neck and shoulder.

Reverberations begin to shake the pictures on the wall. I can actually see dust begin to fall from the ceiling and the pictures rattle before I feel the vibrations in my legs. Before I fully process that the world is moving in incorrect ways, my senses are overcome with a roar of noise and I am enveloped in a wave of black dust. I turn away and stumble back down the hallway, groping along the wall. The roar gets louder and louder, and it feels like wind is whipping through my hair and clothes, pushing me harder and harder. It's darker than night in this hallway and I can't find my way. Suddenly light surrounds me; light so bright I can't see anything. I feel myself lifted from the floor and slammed against ... something.

****

I think I’m going to be sick. There’s a dull roar in my ears, but it feels like it’s coming from inside my head rather than outside. Even thinking about whether the sound is in my head or not is difficult. I realize I can’t see anything, but slowly I realize it’s because my eyes are closed. With a great deal of effort I’m able to force my lids apart. I can see the sky is a light shade of red. That doesn’t seem right, but I can’t quite put my finger on why. Everything is upside down, but that might just be me. I’m outside now, I think I might have come through the wall, but I can’t remember very much. I see that reddish gray blocks and dust cover my legs.

I’m able to pull myself free from the stones—it takes a lot of time because my fingers on my right hand no longer seem to bend the way their supposed to. I’m able to roll over onto my hands and knee. One leg won’t bend, but with effort I get to my feet. Looking back I see the smoking hole I must have come from. The building is destroyed. The sight of the building reminds me of something … I had something, it was important, wasn’t it? What was it and where did it go? I turn, slowly because my leg isn’t working quite right.

I scan the grounds nearby. There’s too much chaos to process. I rub my head, and it comes away sticky. There’s blood there, patches of hair, and something sticky. I don’t know what it is, but it burns faintly. Looking away from my arm, my eyes fall upon a nearby tree. The leaves look red and something about that tickles something in me. Even more strange, there are two legs dangling from an upper branch. I don’t even need to think about it to realize that this isn’t right. It’s Professor Nathanson; I guess it’s game over for him.

My vision is still tinted red, hazy and blurry for me. The world feels like it’s tilting to the side. I start to notice others hobbling out of the smoking hole in the building. Some are covered in scorch marks, half their clothes smoldering on their bodies. Watching them make their way out of the building reminds me of marionettes, puppets being controlled by strings. The first few come out, turning into dozens and then hundreds. Soon they are everywhere.

The puppets are making their way across the green, limping, tugging trailing limbs. The sound of sirens pulls my attention the other way. Ambulances and fire trucks are arriving, along with people rushing in. It’s the sweetest sight I think I’ve ever seen.

By now many of the puppets have twitched passed me. I open my mouth to call out, but only a mumbled groan escapes my lips.

I see an object drop from the tree in front of me. It’s Professor Nathanson. I can scarcely believe my eye when I see him stand and begin leading the others into the mass of incoming bodies. How could he have? I have no time to complete the thought, as his and the shuffling puppets near him have twisted from slow twitching movements to sudden and violent attacks. The first responders: paramedics, EMTs, firefighters, and students don’t have a chance. In a sudden fury my fellow blast victims have turned from suffering victims to monstrous attackers.

I am right in the thick of the action. I’m not sure how I got over here, but maybe it’s a good time to get out of the middle of everything, before I’m attacked.

At some point I know I will have to fight. I may not be in the best condition, but I feel pretty confident. After all, I didn’t wrestle all those steers back home for nothing. I feel like a swift, decisive attack to the head will incapacitate my foes faster than anything else.

I turn my head and I am confronted with my first adversary. I see her eyes; they seem to be full of madness. Her skin is white and clean, and her every moment seems to be a jabbing attack towards me. There’s a definite aura of anger and aggression settling around us like a dense fog. I feel my heart race and my body seems to go into overdrive as adrenaline floods my system. I can hear the beating of my heart in my ears and feel the pulsing in my eyes, a throbbing glow of red that threatens to redden everything out.

Before I realize it, the whole thing is over and I’m standing over her. She’s completely still, almost peaceful now. In contrast my hands are shaking, and I feel everything but peace. I can feel my body slowly returning to my control, my hands slow their shaking and the thumping in my ears slows to a normal beating. I’m feeling much better now. Stronger. Safer.

I feel like my face is wet and sticky. It’s not raining. I rub my arm across my face and mouth; I look down at my hands and see that they’re covered in something slimy. How did that get there? I wipe them off on my shirt, and I feel something pop. Looking down, I see a finger has popped out of socket and is now dangling. I think I better get over to an ambulance.

I make my way over to a grouping of three ambulances. Strangely, there’s nobody there. I vaguely remember there was a reason the people were gone, but now it won’t come to me. I lean against the ambulance. I hear a commotion on the other side of the ambulance. Shouting, confusion, anger, fear, terror, and hatred. I look over and I see. Of course, it all comes rushing back to me. Dr. Nate is there, at the front of an army of twisted, broken bodies attacking and, I think I’m going to be sick. They are feeding on their victims!

I turn away in disgust. What was that? I think I heard something from inside the ambulance. I make my way back to the rear and throw open the doors, hoping for help.

When the doors open I’m confronted with a snarling beast. Crouched against the back of the ambulance is a dark haired man, his eyes glint with danger. I know he’s preparing to jump out and attack me. My heart starts beating in double time, the throbbing in my ears the pulsing of red filling my vision. I jump, fury filling me. I will not let him stop me.

I emerge out of the back of the ambulance a few minutes later. I’m glad I could save myself. I feel full and sated. I see Dr. Nate out in the field, standing tall and proud. How did I ever think that there was something wrong with him? I can see it much more clearly now. He’s the visionary; he’s the true man who is willing to do what is right. He understands better than others what needs to be done and is willing to do it.

It is the others who are full of madness. Their fear and weakness it reflects in their eyes. I cannot help but be enraged by it. The paramedic, he wasn’t a snarling beast. He was quivering in fear when he was faced with a superior being. Were there others? I cannot even remember, nor does it matter. The world is in the future, not in the quaint traditions of the past.

It is with pride that I take my place at his side.

Creek’s Edge

“Do you remember how it happened?”

            “No.  I remember some things, but I don’t know how it happened.”

            “Do you remember how it felt?”

            “I was so cold, and then warm.  Wait… I almost remembered something else, but it’s gone now.”

            “Where were you?”

            “In the mountains, up the little canyon by my house.”

            “What were you doing?”

            “Just climbing.  I hadn’t been up this way before and I was looking for a new place to paint.”

            “Did you find your place?”

            “Yes.  I had climbed to the top of a hill to get a better look at this narrow creek below.  The air tingled the hair in my nose as I breathed it in.  My ears were numb and I could see my breath as I breathed it out.  I stood on the top of the slope, wind blew in my eyes and I remember tears beginning to streak and cool on my cheek.  I looked down the bristled slope at the creek below.  I recognized a sterile winter smell.  Not the hospital, chemical-sterile smell, but a deep refreshing nothingness.  The shadows of weeds and rocks were growing longer as the sun set behind me.  It was a golden sunset.  All the shadows pulled away from me; seemed to try to detach from their objects and sink down into the quick current of the creek.  Somewhere unseen I could here the river that fed my creek.  It bellowed distantly monstrous, like forgotten memories of violence.  Maybe there was a fall near by, or maybe it bottlenecked.  Dead sticks and brown weeds littered the bank like bones scattered.   I couldn’t catch my breath from the climb up the hill.  I contemplated the depth. 

            To the left was a shear cliff.  My father had taken me up in these canyons when I was a boy.  He was a geologist and he told me that most of the canyon had been cut by glaciers, and then cut deeper by ancient water flows.  The river laughing in the distance and my creek were echoes of those forces.  They cut too.  Small incisions down the mountain.  Slowly grinding down the rock below their water with constant friction, sending fragments down to the delta in the foothills.  My hands were dusty, and stained green where I’d pulled myself up with some weeds to get to the top of the slope.  I looked at the raw green lines in my palm.  And then I was standing on the shear cliff.  My creek ran below, it seemed slower looking straight down at it.  Sticks were being tossed in its current.  I suddenly felt dizzy, some sort of vertigo, and I had to sit down.  I dangled my legs over the side staring at my dusty feet.  Stickers stuck to my socks and the soft fabric of my shoes.  Dirt had gotten into their cracks.  I imagined myself standing on the water below.  My nose was cold. 

            I looked down a long time until my head felt suddenly heavy.  I tried to lift it up but a pain shot through my neck.  The vertigo returned.  My heart began to race.  I braced the weight of my head with my hand.  I used my arm as a prop, sticking my elbow into my gut and my hand on my chin.  I could feel the bristle of my cheek.  It felt cold.  I lifted my head manually, and a pain shot up my neck into my head.  I used my other hand to massage my shoulder muscles.  They were tight.  I found a knot and worked it out.  I regained control of my head and rolled it around my shoulders.  I found the painful positions and held them.  It was the type of pain I enjoyed, like sore muscles from working out.  When I stood back up, my joints were stiff.  The sun had set, it was dark.  I couldn’t see my creek, or my slope.  My fingers were numb, barely useable from the cold.  I stuck them in my armpits.  I noticed I was shivering.  I heard the river snoring somewhere in the distance.  To cold penetrated to my lungs when I breathed in.  It startled me.  I had to look straight down to see where to place my next step.  My neck shot pains into my head and I felt dizzy.  The air smelled more sterile.  The sides of my thighs became cold. 

            Finally I found my slope.  I sat down again, planning to slide down the hill on my buttocks.  But it was rocky and weeds and sticks poked me, and I thought I heard my jeans snag.  Everything else was silent but that old river rasping somewhere far away and small loosed rocks rolling down the hill.  I tried to slide down on my feet, folding my knees up close to my chest.   There was too much friction and I felt like I would fall forward.  So I stretched my sluggish joints out and tried to go one step at a time upright.  The darkness was thick.  I tried to pierce it with a stare, concentrating on one point straight ahead.  The darkness lapped around me, I thought I saw something but it disappeared.  I heard something that sounded like an old clothes dryer behind a closed door.  I listened harder, and realized my teeth were chattering.  I took the next step.  I took another.  I took a third and twisted my ankle on a rock.  I fell forward.  Trying to keep my feet in front of me I began to run down the hill.  My clenched muscles and tight ligaments were too stingy.  I fell headlong.  My hands were still in my armpits.  I hit first with my face.  It slid; I felt my skin pulling away from my cheek.  My hip hit rock.  I was horrified but not by the feeling so much as the sound. 

            For a moment everything was aflame.  Heat pulsed through me.  My eye throbbed and I saw dull dark colors.  Then my face felt cold where I was cut.  I could taste my blood.  It ran over my lip and into my mouth.  It was strange tasting cold blood.  I tried to get upright, but when I moved my left leg, pain shot from my hip, and I felt nauseous.  I couldn’t relax; my stomach muscles ached from squeezing.  I finally got onto my back with my head uphill.  I thought I might lie there till morning.  I couldn’t stop shivering. 

            A spider crawled onto my arm.  I could barely feel it on my numb skin, but it tickled the hair, and I flung it away flailing my arms.  Adrenaline or whatever else, I found myself sitting up.  I decided I would try to slide the rest of the way down on my butt, regardless if my pants tore.  I felt the ground even out below me.  My hands were immobile, numb.  The muscles in my forearms were so tight I couldn’t straighten out my wrists or uncurl my fingers.  I had reached the bottom, and relief soaked through me. I remember feeling woozy, and having a cracking headache and a throbbing hip; I couldn’t move my left leg.  But I was down! 

I looked around; it was too dark to see.  I couldn’t remember which way I had come from.  I didn’t know which way I was facing.  My throat grated when I swallowed, dry from dust and wind.  The wind blew, howling higher up.  I tried to breathe warmth into my hands.  I put them under my shirt, but it hurt my skin, which had become raw in my armpits from rubbing on my shirt.  I found my way over to my creek.  It seemed so small.  I could hear it now, right up close.  It didn’t yell like the river, it gurgled.  I lay, curled up in a painful ball on its bank.  I began to feel warmer.  I thought maybe it was the creek, or my position.  I got tired.  My eyelids ached.  I began to breathe easier, and finally I felt my muscles relax in my neck.  They relaxed all over.  I was lying on a stick that poked me in the ear, but I didn’t care.  My creek sang me to sleep.”

            “You were alone when you died?”

            “Yes.  I died.  Yes.  I guess I did.  I was.”

            “Nobody should have to die alone.”

            “Were you surrounded by family at your death?”

“Yes.  And friends.” 

“How did you die?”       

Variety is the Splice of Life

Stalking the shadows given the oversized awnings, Hector moved with the grace of a Dancer who had spliced too much cat DNA.  In today’s world there was almost no such thing as a pure Human – Homo sapien sapien had given way to so much more.  Splicing had become such a common thing to improve almost any aspect of life someone desired.  After all, they had already slowed the death gene so people lived several hundred years.  So who spliced?  Anyone who wanted to.  Of course those with means often had higher quality DNA samples and claimed more benefit from splicing.

Specialists in a particular job, or who took after particular animals were often named after them.  Hector had a college buddy who wanted to do marine biology and spliced more dolphin DNA than might be good for him.  He became the first human Cetacean.  For all the splicing going on in the world, Hector liked being Human.  He was neither a Cat nor a Dancer, he was just good at his job; whatever that job may be.  No matter how long it took to get good at it.

This particular job was not terribly difficult: stealth and maybe a small bit of incursion.  The police still liked to call that latter bit “breaking and entering”.  Hector never broke when he entered and hence had more than a few casual encounters with various law enforcement agencies across the galaxy.  His job was simply to watch a DRx building to see if any Fliers were coming and going regularly.  Why his employer wanted a DNA implant facility watch wasn’t his concern.  He merely did his job and moved on.

In the last two weeks Hector had only seen one Flier and had almost missed her.  He had nearly made a mistake that would have cost him the contract.  Fliers obviously could fly and so didn’t need a ground entrance.  After the first visit, Hector had found a perch of his own two streets away.  Amidst the various AC units and vents on the roof, he wasn’t likely to be discovered.

Leaving the shadows below Hector ascended the brick wall of the building in a free climb.  One final grunt and he was overlooking the DRx.  All was as it was yesterday.   If the Flier maintained her pattern she would come in from the West in about 2 minutes.  The color of the DRx was giving Hector a headache.  It was as if they painted the walls a bright lime color then whitewashed them leaving an off white – the off being a hint of green.  The DRx sign perpendicular to the building was a bright neon green that this particular company used.  Oddly, with all the advances made, nobody had come up with anything better than neon for garish lighting.

The Flier came rushing over the rooftops from the West faster than Hector had ever seen her.  She went straight through the usual window she knocked on.  As the sound of shattering glass was registering in his ears Hector realized this was out of the ordinary, exactly what his employers had been waiting for.  He thumbed his comm on and spat out a terse report.  Without waiting for a reply he thumbed it off and prepared to leave his rooftop roost.

The stamping of heavily armored (and just plain heavy) Rhinos caused him to pause.  He peered over the lip of the roof and saw a century of these for hire thugs.  Many of them were private security, but if you had enough creds and enough clout they might as well be a private army.  Why were they showing up mere minutes after the Flier broke her pattern?  Something was wrong.  Hector, it isn’t your problem.  You got paid to do a job.  Yeah, well, these Rhinos are being paid to do one too, why do I feel all of a sudden like they’re here because of me?  With that thought the lead decade of Rhinos broke into the DRx.  Decade by decade the rest of them entered the building leaving the final decade behind facing outward.

Hector did not know for sure that these mercenaries were also in the pay of his employer but he did not like the way he was feeling.  He went to the edge or the wall surrounding the roof and leapt down to the next building, rolling as his bent knees absorbed most of the shock.  The DRx was taller so he could not do it again.  Luckily, while nothing like a Galaxy Scout, Hector came prepared.  He shot a grapple line to the roof and pulled it taut.  Connecting the line to his belt he hit the recall and sped off the adjacent building toward the DRx.

In less than five dizzying seconds, the grapple had taken me to the roof of the DRx.  Hector could feel the tramping of the Rhinos inside and practically taste the destruction taking place inside.  As luck would have it, the roof door was designed as an emergency exit and hence had mechanical rather than electrical locks.  Nobody’s managed to figure out a Sonic Screwdriver yet so Hector pulled out the old standby, a bobby pin.  Some things never change.

The door opened with a wheeze and the scent of fear came crawling out on its hands and knees.  Hector had never been a coward or seen much reason to fear.  For the first time since he was a child and for the briefest of moments he felt the icy skeletal fingers grasping at him.  At that moment he heard the scream of horror of grief and pain and he slapped it away the fear and entered the building.

The Rhinos had obviously found their target as the stamping of feet had ceased and the building had stopped shaking.  A more muffled movement could be heard as they descended.  Hector knew they would leave behind a Decade to sweep the building for any stragglers so he’d have to be careful.

He used those same stealthy skills he’d spent years developing to get into an office and behind cover as a one of the Rhinos rounded a corner at the end of the hall he was in.  It passed and Hector was moving again, prudence dictated quiet and stealth the whole way, but the scent of fear was mingled with a coppery-sweetness that could only be one thing, blood, kept him moving quickly.

As he neared the next set of stairs down to the floor where the Flier would have been the stench of blood was mixed the plethora of unsavory scents that people leave in death as the bodies void themselves and those who still live empty their stomachs.  As revolting as it was, Hector knew he had to continue.  He also knew there was no chance this Flier would still be living, but he was compelled.

The scene he found himself in would have made Wes Craven’s special effects team grimace.  Not only was there blood everywhere, splattered across the walls, pooling on the white tile floor of what appeared to be an examination room, it was mixed with feathers.  The Rhinos had plucked her alive, there was even a wishbone that had been pulled apart.  One can only hope she had died by then.  Hector took another step and felt a crunch under his boot.  He had missed the redness seeping through the whites into the dark golden yellow yolks of the Flier’s unborn children.  A clutch of a half-dozen eggs the size of watermelons had been smashed probably before or during the plucking to torment the Flier even more.

In the silence of the moment, Hector could hear an electric hum.  It was much too dim to be heard above any other real noise.  It was almost like an ancient 20^th Century CRT gave off a bit of an electric whine when it was powered on.  It was coming from behind a ventilation grate at floor level at the back of the room.  Considering all the rest of them in the room and the building were on the ceiling or at the top of walls, it had to be a disguise.  Whatever it was the Rhinos had obviously missed it in all their evil frolicking. 

Hector crossed the room and found the release to the grate and peered into the cavity.  Inside it was an incubator with a single jet black egg lying inside…. 

Falcon

Marianne wrapped her shawl closely around her, trying to stop some of the breeze getting in. She had lost feeling in her nose, fingers and toes about a mile back. What started out as a short walk on a chilly fall evening turned into a ten mile journey on a bitter cold night. She wished she would have brought her coat, but it was too late to turn back.

Thinking she had misread the letter, Marianne pulled it out from her dress pocket. She held up the worn out note close to her eyes, but it was too dark. Her candle hand gone out a few miles back when the wind had suddenly picked up. She had read the letter so many times back at home she should have had it memorized, but her memory had been fading of late and she was quick to forget. She stuffed the letter back in her pocket and folded her arms together, hugging tight.

Out of the corner of her eye Marianne saw a light. Hope filled inside her as she started walking towards the source. She hadn’t seen anything for miles now. As she got closer she noticed a building with its window lit up. She stopped in front of the door and looked up. There was an old wooden sign hanging above with the words Tillie’s Tavern etched in it.

Before Marianne could reach for the door, it swung open. Two drunken men stumbled out, their laugh cutting through the quiet of the night. Marianne quickly moved out of their way to let them pass, dropping her candle on the ground. A man with a long apron on and wash towel thrown on his shoulder stepped into the doorway.

“Don’t you come back!” the man yelled at the drunks. “You ain’t welcome.”

The two men laughed even harder. “Don’t worry, James,” one answered back. “We can find another tavern nearby. One with prettier ladies!” His friend’s laugh got louder.

“There ain’t another tavern within twenty miles,” James shouted. “Fools,” he mumbled under his breath, grabbing the handle on the door. He turned to go back inside when he saw Marianne standing there in shock.

“Lady if you can’t handle two drunk men, then this ain’t the place for you,” James said to her.

Marianne stood there, unsure of what to say.

“You comin’ inside or not? It’s freezin’ out here.”

Marianne let out a sigh and went into the tavern. James followed closely behind, shutting the door. He meant to walk past her, but Marianne just stood there surveying the room with her mouth wide open. An old man in ragged clothes sat at the piano, singing at the top of his lungs while banging out a tune Marianne didn’t recognize. The men and women at the tavern were singing along, waving their drinks in the air.

“Can I help you lady?” James asked, leaning in close to her ear.

Marianne looked up at him, taken aback from how close he stood to her. “Yes. Wait, no. I don’t know.”

“Women,” James said as he pushed past her, heading for the bar.

Marianne quickly grabbed his arm, turning him back to her. “Wait. I have this letter.” She fumbled around trying to find her pocket. When she found it, she pulled out the letter and handed it to him. James hesitated, wondering if he should even bother. She had already wasted too much of his time. He sighed and ripped the letter out of her hand. As James read the letter, his eyes widened, fear replacing the annoyance in his eyes.

“Where’d you get this?” James asked with panic in his voice.

“It was on my doorstep this morning,” Marianne replied.

“What’d it say?” James asked.

“What do you mean? You’re holding the letter in your hands. Can you not read?”

“What’d it say?” James shouted the question at her.

“Uhm. I can’t really remember. It was hard to understand.” Marianne put her hand on her cheek, something she always did when she was trying to think.

James put his hands on her arms, squeezing tight. “Try to remember, lady. Think hard.”

“It was a riddle, I think. It said something about taking a stroll once the sun started to go to sleep and that if I followed the path I would find what I’m looking for.”

“You lost anything recently? Anything of value?”

“No, sir.”

James release he grip and scratched his head. “Nothing? You ain’t been looking for nothing?”

“My husband,” Marianne whispered. She put her hand on her chest taking deep breaths. “What day is it?”

“Thursday.”

“Thursday? Already? He’s been gone since Saturday.” Marianne’s memory started to come back. “He left to go do work in Calson. He said he’d be back on Tuesday. Can I see the letter again?”

James handed it to her and Marianne gasped. The only thing on the parchment was a circle with a Falcon in the middle. Its eyes were full of rage and its claws were extended as if to grab something.

“Where did the letter go? There were words on here before. Did you see the words?” Marianne looked hopefully at James.

James stared back at her. “No, ma’am. Just that symbol.”

“I’ve never seen this symbol before,” Marianne said, studying the parchment.

“I have. It’s his symbol.”

“Whose?”

“Falcius,” James answered in barely a whisper.

Horror filled Marianne’s eyes. “Falcius? The Falcius?”

“Yes.”

Marianne closed her eyes and made a cross with her hand. She opened her eyes and looked up at James. “Do you think he has my husband?”

“Probably.” James scanned the room, looking for anyone out of place. “Listen, I don’t know what the letter said, and I don’t know why you ended up here, but you don’t want to get tangled up with Falcius. If I were you I would go home and destroy that parchment and never breathe a word of this to no one.”

“But what about my husband?”

“If Falcius has him, then there ain’t nothing you or I can do about it.”

“Do you think he is alive? My husband?”

“With what Falcius is capable of, you’d do best to pray to God that he ain’t.”

Call for Scene #3

I believe/hope we will be getting a few more participants this week and/or in the future. If you have ever thought about creative writing you should try this out. As you have read my attempts, you can clearly see that all talent levels are accepted!


Scene #3

Describe a scene in which a character discovers something terrible.

Tentative publishing date for this scene is May 16th.