by Mark Tufo
To the sides, pieces of bikes are thrown outward, slamming into the soft soil and tumbling over and over in clouds of dust. Even though we’re at some distance, I duck after hearing the metallic pings followed by a couple of slaps from dismembered flesh. I’ve had a bit of experience with explosives, but I never imagined what we placed would be so vast and destructive. Rising, I see the area slowly clearing as the smoke lifts and forms a dark blanket over the ambush site.
“Damn, I think we used enough,” Mike radios, sounding slightly awed.
“We probably could have used more,” I reply.
“Any more and it would have turned nuclear.”
The land where we’d planted the explosives is churned and blackened. Flames lick around the remains of charred shrubs that are somehow still attached to the soil, but the rest is one big area of destruction. Smoke drifts from what used to be bodies, most unidentifiable from the mounds of dirt. Many of the bikes were within the blast zone; these lie scattered and wrecked, some smoldering while flames lick from others. The floor of the plain is strewn with bent metal from the ones tossed to the sides. The bikes behind have been thrown from their stands and are lying among bushes or tumbled along the road.
The plan called for placing fifty caliber rounds into those remaining, but I don’t see any whistlers still standing. Lifting my binoculars, I see the land is ruined. I make out a limb here and there, extending from a pile of dirt. Fragments of shredded leather dot the devastated landscape. Most everything else within the blast zone has been reduced to scraps.
The remaining zombies are gathered in groups, devouring clumps of flesh off of the bodies thrown into their midst. They haven’t noticed our running vehicles, probably because they can’t hear us over their constant moans. I can’t imagine they’ll remain clustered in the area for long once they’ve eaten what’s available.
“I think it’s time to make ourselves scarce,” I radio.
“Your ride or mine?” Mike asks. “Might be easier if you come this way. Trip thinks we’re in a spaceship and is afraid he’ll be sucked out into the vacuum of space if I open the door.”
“I’ll be right there,” I call and scramble out to run across the road.
We thought about taking two for twice the firepower, but one can’t drive and shoot at the same time, and we might have to do both to break out of some firefight if we meet up with any creatures along the way. The staples won’t penetrate the armored walls, but we don’t know what else the whistlers might have. They’ve only needed those so far, but they surely must have something else.
I grab the turret as Mike turns out of the woods and toward the town. Glancing back, I see the trailing edge of zombies break off and start running behind, but they’re quickly lost from sight as we top the hill and drive through downtown Indian Hill. Reaching the train yard, he turns along the tracks back toward Atlantis and the rail spur leading toward the quarry. The vehicle doesn’t have a great top-end speed, but it’s better than walking. If the whistlers decide to chase us and manage to bypass the horde, it won’t be long before they catch up to us. Our goal is to get as much distance as we can before having to abandon it. We pause only to activate the previously planted device, then move on down the tracks.
Shortly after leaving the device, feeling good that we could reach the rail spur in under an hour, I begin thinking of how to approach the quarry. I have no idea what it’s like, other than the short mentions of what the paper said the hunters found. I also have the other documents I’ve gathered, and I begin rifling through my pack to remind myself of what they contain. As I grab the folder, I feel a wave of cold pass through my body.
I look up abruptly, recognizing the sensation with a feeling of dread. Everything looks the same, Trip lying on the floor snoring and the back of Mike’s head as he sits at the driver’s station. Then, the steel walls waver as if they are fluid. I’m standing between a set of rails, then in the vehicle, then back out. The scene oscillates, the changes becoming more rapid until I’m standing on a rail tie in the middle of a set of tracks.
Startled by the sudden change, I almost don’t respond to the immense blare of an air horn. I’m facing the monstrous steel front of an engine bearing down on me. My body takes over where my mind fails and I dive to the side, the passage of wind from the speeding locomotive brushing my feet. Pain lances up my shoulder as I slam into the stones of the rail bed and roll. Lying on my back, trying to gather my breath, I can only watch as rail car after rail car clacks rhythmically past. I see the rails bounce up and down as they take the weight of the cars, and I hear the squeak of the metal couplings. The train passes, the red light of an old, rust-stained caboose fading into the distance.
Rising to a sitting position, I look around and don’t see any sign of Mike or the armored vehicle. With an active train and the fact that they’re gone, I know what has happened, and I am frustrated beyond compare. I roll my shoulder to see how badly I hurt it. It’s sore, but I have full range of motion. Checking the rest of my body, I find I’ll have a few bruises, but nothing is broken except for my spirit.
“Son of a bitch! I’m so sick of this shit!” I angrily mutter as I stand. “Those fuckers did this shit on purpose.”
Dusting off my fatigues, I check over my gear. One of the mags is slightly bent at the top, so I remove it and stow it in my pack, retrieving another to replace it. I won’t be able to use the mag, but it still has ammo. Knowing that I don’t have much choice in the matter, I set off down the tracks, annoyed at the bruises I feel. I have to be careful here, as there is obviously a civilization around, and they won’t take kindly to finding a heavily armed individual prowling the countryside.
One step forward, thirty-seven back, I think, heading to parallel the tracks.
I at least hope Mike and Trip weren’t thrown into another place and that they can make it to the quarry. They may wait, they may not. It depends on whether I’m returned to the same world they’re in, and how soon. I have the bad feeling that one of these times, whatever time and place I’m thrown into is going to stick. That may mean no facility to warp time and never being able to leave. Mostly, I just hate the abrupt changes. As I get older, I just can’t adapt as quickly.
It’s not much longer before a large white pickup shows up, riding along the rails. I crouch among the trees and watch its progress. We’re on a relatively straight stretch of tracks, so I see that it stops near where I was nearly run over. Figures emerge, and it looks like they begin searching the sides of the tracks, perhaps looking for my body. If they look closely enough, they’ll see where I went into the trees, and they might follow. I definitely don’t need any interaction with people in this time and place, so I rise and begin putting more distance between us.
The pickup returns after a while, driving back toward Atlantis. After it vanishes from sight, I rise and step around a trunk to continue on. As I pass by the tree, it’s like I walk through another wall of cold. Given that I was nearly run over by tons of speeding metal, I tense, ready to throw myself in whichever direction I need to. Instead of an air horn, I hear screams.
As things adjust, I see that I’m standing at the edge of a large park and playground. Several kids stop in the midst of their activities, a few heads swiveling to keep me in sight as they go rapidly in a circle on a merry-go-round. Some of the kids scamper away from waiting their turn on slides and swings, but most just stop and stare with gaping mouths. The screams? Well, they’re from the moms at the nearby picnic tables or roofed BBQ shelters. Those nearby grab their kids and begin running with them across the pristine lawns, while dads shout warnings. Me? I stand dumbfounded in the newly created chaos, armed to the teeth with my hands cradling my carbine. Yay me!
I don’t know if the fear-filled eyes or screams are because I’m armed or because I just materialized out of nowhere, but I do know that my presence isn’t really desired and that SWAT teams will shortly begin to show up. I turn and look for the best away to quickly escape. I’m in a shelte
ring of scattered trees, the dense overhead boughs shading the playground. Lines of parked vehicles surround the park. In the near distance, across a patch of open lawn and part of the parking lot that seems to surround the park, I see a line of trees standing tall. That’s my way out...maybe.
Grabbing my carbine in one hand, I race across the lawn passing families running in the other direction. Some just arriving emerge from their recently parked cars and stare in bewilderment at the armed man rushing toward them. My only hope is that none of them decides to play hero. Most dash away, but one or two seem rooted to their spots in shock. I hear the wail of a siren and turn to see flashing green and red lights racing along the lot.
Well, fuck me! I think, turning on a burst of speed to beat the policeman to the place where I plan to cross.
I really don’t want to hurt anyone. It’s not their fault I suddenly appeared out of nowhere. They’re just out enjoying a nice day with their family. Nor do I want to get into an engagement with a police officer. Jumping over a heavy chain slung between two short poles, I run between two parked cars to the sound of crunching gravel under my boots. The police car is nearby and screeches to a halt, the car turning slightly to the side.
“Hold it right there,” I hear over a loudspeaker.
No, not today. But, thanks for asking, I think, running across pavement and between two other cars before jumping another chain and plunging into the woods.
“Stop or I’ll be forced to shoot,” the speaker again blares.
“Please don’t do that,” I mumble, running side to side between trunks.
Once I’m in the trees, it isn’t fear of being injured that I feel. It’s the fear of being chased and having no choices but to give up or hurt someone. Innocents have been hurt before in engagements, but I hate to think of these people being wounded because of some weird fucking time displacement. Plus, I have this despairing fear that if I do engage with these people, I’ll become a part of this time and place…I’ll be stuck here. And beginning such an existence by firing on police officers isn’t an ideal introduction.
As I maneuver deeper into the trees, the trails cutting through their midst become less and less prevalent until there’s only undergrowth and towering evergreens. In the distance, I hear the wail of more sirens. I haven’t covered my tracks in the least, so now that I have some distance, it’s time to lose any pursuers who have entered the woods.
At the next small creek, I enter the waters, and because I don’t know how soon those arriving on scene will start pursuing me, I opt for downstream. If I moved upstream, there’s a chance that dirt and silt would move down the current, and it won’t take too much intelligence to figure out where I’ve gone. Downstream though, in most cases, does eventually lead to civilization, and I want to move deeper into these hills, not out of them.
I begin walking more carefully, selecting where to place my feet so I don’t leave footprints embedded on the bottom. I won’t move as quickly, but it will open up the area they have to search if they can’t pinpoint where I’ve gone. After a while of powering downstream, I come across a heavy branch leaning over the creek. Reaching up, I grab hold and hoist myself up. I haven’t heard any sound of pursuit, so I can still move fairly quickly. I shimmy along its length, stepping on other branches to make my way around the trunk. Moving as far as I can out on a limb, I jump for distance, landing among fallen needles and twigs.
Opening my pack, I remove a baggy I always keep just in case. It’s a mixture of ground pepper, paprika, cayenne, and other assortments of powdered hot peppers. I move away from the creek, smoothing over any disturbed soil and needles to cover my tracks and leaving small pinches of the mixture in my wake. After moving a short distance, I hear a faint steady thumping of rotors.
Well, Watson, the game’s afoot, I think, pondering a solution.
My best bet is to remain in the deepest shadows and move in as straight a line as I can to cover some distance. I have no fucking idea what’s around me; I could easily just wander into a neighborhood. With the speedy reply of other police cars and the helicopter, I’m guessing there’s a town located nearby, but I don’t know in which direction. If this is an isolated patch of woods, like a state park, I’m well and truly fucked. I need to find a dense patch of forest and lose myself. I have food for several days and a bit of water, but they’ll keep looking for an armed man for some time.
After another hour of moving steadily uphill and keeping to the thick area of woods, I hear a distant howl as it echoes through the woods. Another joins in, the yelping continuous.
Found my present, did you? Sorry, pups, I think, stepping around the trunk of a tree.
And, right through another wall of cold. Trees are all around me, and under my feet are twin sets of railroad tracks. My foot comes down and I turn to see my tracks leading to this location. I’m at the exact spot I left from to arrive at the playground. Curious, I pull off my pack and rummage through it until I find the baggies containing the pepper mixture. Sure enough, there’s a measurable quantity missing.
Replacing it, I now have to figure out where and when I am without any more fucking surprises. I wonder how the incident at the park would be reported, if it truly happened in a real world. Gunman still at large, along with interviews from families who came face to face with the crazy armed terrorist.
Taking another step, I hit yet another wall of cold. The shade of the trees, with sunlight filtering in, abruptly becomes the dark of night and I find myself standing in a patch of grass.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I mutter, immediately dropping into a crouch in the knee-high weeds.
A chill surrounds my body as I transition instantly from the warmth of the day to cold night. A bright moon overhead casts the land in a glow, reflecting off the tops of tall trees to one side and the buildings on the other. Realizing that I’m not about to be hit by a large speeding hunk of steel, I take a closer look at my surroundings. The blocky buildings of all sizes a short distance away makes it look like I’ve been deposited near some kind of complex. The fact that it’s night and I’m in the open isn’t an entirely comfortable feeling.
Remaining motionless, I gaze more closely through the magnified setting of my scope, trying to get an idea of where I am. Of course, that may be impossible to tell, given the locations those waves of time and space have previously sent me to. Each building has lettering on it, but I’m too far away to read what they say. The larger structures to one side have multiple sliding doors reaching nearly the entire height, like hangars meant for large aircraft. My breath is taken away as I pan across the space, my vision halting and then focusing on two objects sitting some distance away from those structures.
I rub my eyes, not believing what I’m seeing. Looking again through the scope, the two objects are still there. With silver light outlining the tops, two C-130s are parked next to each other. I rub the selector switch in nervousness, noticing a slight difference in the feel from the weapon I picked up at the encampment. Holding the carbine close to get a better look, it’s my M-4.
What the fuck?! I wasn’t holding this. The M-4 was broken down and in my pack, I think, quickly taking my pack off and checking.
Sure enough, there isn’t a sign of the other carbine or its mags. The ones in my vest aren’t the ones I had marked, nor do they have the same shape and feel of those in the other world. They are definitely for my weapon.
My heart hammers in my chest, hoping against all odds and not wanting to feel the bitter taste of disappointment. The buildings on the other side of the 130s become familiar. Each piece syncs into place. I’m at McChord Air Force Base and the two 130s are those we use; one broken and sitting in retirement, the other carrying enough firepower to level sections of cities.
I’m fucking home!
Not only am I home, but I’m close. I feel like sitting in the grass and just crying. A mere twenty miles south is Cabelas, with my kids and Lynn. Assuming I’m in the right time and world. But, the sight of the a
ircraft makes me believe that I am. I take a few deep breaths to control the rush of emotions. If it were daylight, I’d stand and run the entire distance to them, my feet hitting the ground maybe four or five times, reaching the front gate of the compound in about two minutes. However, it’s not daylight, and with me in the open, that spells trouble.
As if on cue, shrieks rise on the night air from different quadrants, most coming from directly in front. Some are closer, while others are faint echoes. Night runners are out. I don’t dare open up to see exactly where they are, knowing that I’ll be pinpointed in turn. Neither can I just stay here and hope I’m not found: my scent will eventually fan out in the light breeze. I’ve been in the other world for some time without bathing, so I’m not exactly scent-free.
Glancing to the aircraft, either one of them will provide shelter, assuming I can reach them. Then, in the morning, I’ll call on the radio or just start south. A chorus of shrieks fills the night and I see a group of six run in an uneven line in front of the aircraft. Moonlight surrounds their darkened silhouettes in a glow as they angle across my vision. A quick check shows a brass cartridge in the chamber, and I slowly move to crouch even lower.
As I watch them head across the ramp and into the grass by the taxiways, I wonder what it might have looked like to see me suddenly appear.
Was there a flash of light? Did I just appear out of nowhere? Or, if anyone was watching, was I always there? For that matter, if I’m back in my original world and time, how am I here in the field? Are there two of me now, or did my body vanish in front of the others? Am I in an alternate world that parallels my own?
