A Shrouded World 4

by Mark Tufo

  It’s only the face of this beast that appears, almost the size of the cave entrance. And it isn’t clear either, hidden behind the swirling clouds. The eyes find me and bore a hole directly through me. The nose lifts and sniffs, the sound of bellows being pumped heard with each inhale.

  “Ah, you aren’t from here. How fascinating,” the demonic face speaks, voice like the grating of gravel.

  I really don’t know how to respond to that, so I keep quiet. The great nose sniffs again.

  “From another place and time. This gets more intriguing. But, that is still nothing. You are a mere mortal and cannot stop me. I will escape into this world,” the demonic face speaks.

  “Not tonight, apparently,” I return.

  Now, I know I’m a smartass because I have been told that on numerous occasions. I’ve also been told that I don’t know when to keep my mouth shut. If there was ever such a time, this would probably rank among the highest. In my defense, my brain is still addled and there is still the fact that my daughter was pulled from my grasp.

  “You joke. We’ll see how funny you are in the future. I have your scent, mortal. We will meet again.”

  “I’ll buy the first round,” I remark, hearing the little man in my head pulling on the emergency brake, but it’s too late.

  With a snarl, the head turns so quickly that it’s just a blur; then, with the sensation of great speed, it fades like the roar of a freight train dwindling into the distance. The shimmer of the cave and roiling mass of clouds behind disappears until there’s only a normal-looking cave entrance. At the same time, I’m blinded by the sudden infusion of light.

  I squeeze my eyes tightly closed, then I slowly reopen them to find myself in the clearing in the full light of day. A faint lingering smell of smoke hovers in the air, the ashes of a massive bonfire marking a wide line toward the cave. The ground is smoothed over as before and those who were around the perimeter are gone. Red robes lie around the stone slab, but they look, well, deflated. Feeling one in my hand, I find there is no body beneath it, just the robe with holes where my bullets entered and some damp bloodstains. My body also feels every torment that was inflicted upon it.

  My eyes drift to the top of the stone slab, the chains with their manacled ends hanging loosely down the sides. Images of Bri cycle through my head, her recognition and fear just before she faded from my grasp. She was my Bri, my daughter, the one from my world. And I held her in my arms, even if it was just for a moment. I’m saddened beyond anything I can explain, but there is also something underlying my deep sorrow. She was saved, and I get the feeling that she’s safe still. She could have been pulled here from my world for the purpose of being sacrificed and now she’s okay. I’m good with that. As long as she is, I can endure what I must.

  I lay my hand on the stone slab, replaying the memory of her in my head. Not the fear, not being scared, but the calm that came over her. With tears of sadness streaming down my cheek and the cold of the stone under my palm, I give a small smile.

  “I love you too, Bri. I’ll see you soon.”

  Jack Walker—Chapter 6

  “Well, okay then,” I mutter, looking around the clearing in the light of day.

  While retrieving my carbine and ensuring that it’s still functional, I rehash the experience I just went through. I’m not sure how much I like a demon “having my scent.” And, I’m not entirely sure what in the hell that means, although I can take a few guesses. I just hope it doesn’t mean he…it…can find me anywhere at any time. Seeing Bri, who wasn’t my daughter, but then was, has brought me near an emotional end. I feel saddened, yet numb.

  And, it looks like I now have a demon to add to my list of worries. Lucky me.

  I wonder if Bri’s last words about my having to go back refer to returning the town or if she meant finding a way back to my own world. If the latter, it makes me more than worried about what is happening in my own world. I have a moment of anxiety and briefly wonder if I should toss marbles into the cave and hope for the best. Or something similar. However, heading past the cave entrance and into its dark interior is not high on my list of things I want to do. If I had to, I most certainly would, but I don’t get the feeling that direction is the way to go for now. Which pretty much leaves heading back to town.

  And then, there’s my stalker in the woods. I’ll have to make a circuitous route in the other direction to get back to the cabin, where I can spend the night before heading on. My body feels broken and bruised, but my plan is to spend the night there and head back come morning. There’s just not enough time in the day to make it all of the way back.

  With a last look at the smoothed over clearing and the stone slab where Bri had been just a short time ago, I enter the surrounding trees. It’s a touch cooler within the shadows, which helps a little with the exhaustion that is weighing on my shoulders. I feel like I’m flailing around in this world without purpose. I mean, I’d like to get the fuck out of here, but I haven’t the faintest clue how to do that. Flailing aimlessly isn’t an optimal solution and will likely just lead to my early demise.

  Maybe that’s the key. Maybe I have to die and then I’ll be transported out of this fucking nightmare and back to the bad dream that is my own world.

  Working my way along the land, I cautiously start down the slope. I haven’t the faintest idea who the one following me is, or whether they were in any way attached to what went on in the clearing, but I have the sense that the two are disconnected. Perhaps it’s just that I don’t see someone with that measure of skill being associated with carrying little girls out to be sacrificed. But, that’s probably a bias—people are capable of just about anything.

  While working my way through the trees, I catch sight of a silhouetted figure through the trunks. Halting, I nestle behind a bole and watch. They’re sitting on an overturned log looking relaxed, almost bored. Occasionally, they look up and quickly search the surrounding woods before apparently falling back to their own thoughts. The carbine resting against the log at their side makes it appear that I’ve found my elusive stalker.

  I’m pretty sure whoever it is wants to be seen as they’ve very distinctly silhouetted themselves against a backdrop of light. And, for that reason, I’m not able to distinguish any facial features or anything besides the tactical vest and fatigues sporting some pattern that I don’t recognize. Of course, from my vantage point, they appear dark, but there is enough of a pattern that they aren’t a single color. I get the feeling that this “chance” encounter is by design.

  Keeping my carbine at my side, but ready to bring it up in an instant, I move slightly to the side of the tree in order to use it as cover while keeping an eye on my patient stalker.

  “Have you been waiting long?” I call out.

  The man, at least that’s the impression I get from posture and body, shows a very slight startle but doesn’t reach for his weapon.

  “Not overly so,” the man says, his shoulders rising in what looks like a shrug.

  “I’m guessing your being here isn’t by accident,” I state.

  “I figured after our last encounter, we should probably have some dialogue before things turned too ugly. And, you seem quite lost and far from where you should be,” the man says.

  “You have no idea of the truth of that statement.”

  I don’t know who the man is, or why he would know I’m not from around here. Even though the man put himself in a vulnerable position, I’m not about to step away from my cover.

  “So, tell me, because I’m intrigued. Why is a member of Black Watch tromping through these woods, hundreds of miles from where you should be. And why are you alone? You guys always operate in teams of four, so either they are really good at hiding, or you’re it.”

  That’s an odd statement. I mean, I was part of a group going by that name, but it had nothing to do with the military. So, hearing it in another world and being accused of being part of something that I was back in my world before it changed is a little weir
d.

  “Black Watch?” I question.

  “Oh, we’re going to play this little game, are we? All right then, explain your gear.”

  “I’m not sure there’s much to explain. It’s what I have.”

  “I figured you’d say something along those lines.”

  “So, clue me in how you knew I’d pass through here. These woods are large enough that we could have easily missed each other.”

  “I doubt it. I figured one of your kind wouldn’t carve a straight path unless time was an issue. Given that, I guessed that you’d return, but not along the same route. I found and followed your tracks after you spoofed me, another sign you were in a rush. I took measure of your circumvention and figured you’d have about the same width on your return, but in the opposite direction.”

  “Fair enough. Who is this Black Watch you’re accusing me of being?”

  “Nice attempt, but I’m not that easily fooled. I don’t know why you’re here, or what possible reason you could have for it, but I’m not overly fond of having an enemy spec ops member floating around in my backyard.”

  “So, why not just ambush me on my return?”

  “Call it intrigue. And, I’m done with that war. I hope to hell you aren’t bringing that shit here or we’re going to have a much different kind of discussion.”

  “So, this little tête-à-tête is for what? To alleviate some kitten curiosity you might have had?”

  “No, just to get a measure of you.”

  “And your analysis?”

  “Undecided at this point.”

  “Well, I’m not the person you think I am. You can believe that or not. Any story I might convey would be even less believable,” I reply.

  “Okay, Mr. Black Watch who isn’t Black Watch, I think it’s best if we don’t cross paths again.”

  “I’m okay with that,” I respond.

  “So, I’m going that way,” the man says, pointing toward the small coastal town where I first arrived. “That gives you three hundred and fifty-nine degrees of other choices. Although I’d enjoy hearing your story someday, I hope we never meet again,” the man says, picking up his carbine and rising.

  “Likewise.”

  The man steps over the log and toward a denser part of the woods.

  “Oh, one bit of advice, Mr. Stalker. Be somewhere secure when nighttime falls,” I call.

  “If you’re referring to the pale-skinned creatures that appear out of nowhere, we’ve already met.”

  “Very well. Enjoy your nature hike,” I say.

  In three steps, the man vanishes from direct view. I hunker down beside the trunk and listen while watching through the trees. Although the guy seemed legit, especially seeing as he put himself at risk to be seen, he also called me an enemy. That makes me more than a touch wary.

  And, the fact of the matter remains, he pointed in the direction I plan on ultimately heading. More than likely, he’s set up a short distance away to ensure I don’t follow. There’s also a chance that he’ll tail me for a ways as well.

  Looking up at the scant blue sky showing through the overhead limbs, I see we’re into the afternoon. If I deviate farther away, making it to the cabin before nightfall will be cutting it close. Even though I’m already miles off a direct route to the cabin, I’ll have to venture a few more for the sake of appeasement. I can’t afford the time to get caught up in an extended game of cat and mouse, especially one with an outcome that isn’t assured to end in my favor.

  Back across the river and closer to the highway, having somehow miraculously stayed standing, I hear a distant warbling hum that is growing louder. It sounds like something between a much softer hum of a turbofan engine and the electrical buzz of a power transformer. As the noise grows in volume, there’s an overwhelming apprehension that starts low in my stomach and spreads outward. Quickly looking around, the anxiety beginning to turn into panic, I don’t see anything that should cause such emotional distress. There’s something, perhaps subliminal, associated with the approaching sound that is causing my bowels to loosen. All I can think of is to run, but find that I’m not able to move for fear of being noticed.

  Forcing the growing terror down a notch, I scoot, stumble, and roll to the river embankment. The only thing I know is to get out of sight. At the edge is a foot and a half drop to the water, the sound of the rushing current drowning out whatever is drawing closer. The fear I feel doesn’t diminish in the least. I’ve never felt such an overwhelming dread. It’s almost like my senses are short-circuiting and about to fry. Grabbing a root growing out of the embankment, I roll into the water. I’m a little amazed that I give not one shit about my carbine getting wet.

  Water rolls over my head as I plunge in, my only conscious thought to keep hold of my thin lifeline. The splashing of water around my ears and the muted sound of being submerged battle with one another. The cold water only adds to the jostling of my senses. I’m near total panic as the dread increases.

  Get…It…The…Fuck…Together.

  With both hands holding roots, I pull my head out of the water and look upward through a tangle of branches. My body is being pulled along in the current, so I force my legs against the embankment. Up the slope from the river to the highway, through the trees lining the banks, I see several figures standing at what appears to be the edge of the road.

  Six of them stand motionless, but there’s something not quite right. For one, they seem way too tall to be human—a good two feet taller than me. For another, they look like they could use a cheeseburger or two. Or ten. They are the thinnest things I’ve ever witnessed for their size. I mean, like rail thin—literally skin and bones. I can only conclude that I have water on my eyelashes or my vision is blurred for some other reason, for there’s no way I’m seeing what I am.

  They look like they’d break into pieces if a piece of cardboard hit them. But, the fear induced by their presence is beyond anything I’ve ever felt. For a brief moment, I think about Rambo-ing it up the hill with guns blazing. It’s that fear and anger thing; at least I’d be doing something other than cowering along a riverbank. They remain for a long time, not a limb twitching or head moving. The cold of the river works its way deep into my core until I’m not sure if I begin shivering due to the chill or the figures standing above me.

  Then, out of the blue, they turn and go, as one, in gangly movements. A minute later, the dread begins to fade. Pulling myself out of the water, I feel sheepish as hell for letting myself get so panicked. I’ve never let myself succumb to it as much as I just did. Sure, things here turn suddenly, and, assuming it wasn’t a hallucination, I did recently have a short conversation with a demon of some sort, but that’s no reason to totally surrender the way I did. There’s just no excuse.

  Water rushes from my clothing as I pull myself from the river. With a few tentative steps, every sense on high alert, I start up the hill. I guess there’s one good thing about whatever the hell that was: I’ll feel them from a long ways off. That is, assuming they always induce that sensation. The road is clear as I dash across, hoping to hell one of them doesn’t step out onto the pavement from the surrounding trees.

  As I’m about to enter the woods on the other side, I spy a silvery object. Stooping to pick it up from where it’s stuck on a bush, I turn it over to find that it’s a granola wrapper. A short distance away is another one caught on the gravel shoulder of the road. And then another one further up the road. Still wary of whatever passed through the area, I scamper into the trees on the other side. However, there’s a little voice playing in my head.

  “I’m sorry, Jack. It was the only way.”

  Mike Talbot—Chapter 4

  I heard Trip say “Uh oh,” but might as well have been from a thousand miles away. I was looking at Jack but I wasn’t. This man had a scar that went from his chin across his jawline; that’s not to say my Jack couldn’t have injured himself that way, but this one had long ago healed, all that remained was the nightmare of how it had been rece
ived.

  “You’re not Mike,” this Jack said. “I watched my friend die.” There was pain in his eyes as he thought about whatever happened to that man. Wariness also, he had his weapon pointing at my gut. I was glad to see he had enough tactical awareness to keep his finger off the trigger.

  “Well, technically he is, just not the one you know.”

  “Trip, what are you doing here?” other Jack asked.

  “Wow, you get around, you inter-dimensional whore,” I said. I had thoughts of calling this man OJ—“Other Jack”—but I didn’t like the connotations.

  “I can explain some of it, but we need to get out of the city, maybe get a bite to eat.”

  “Some things never change,” Jack said as he pulled out a granola bar from his cargo pocket.

  “Ahem,” I coughed. He handed me one as well.

  “What happened in there?” he asked about the gym; we were already on the move. “Was it the silver-eyed ones or the bone men?”

  “Bone men?” I asked, finishing up my bar.

  “Those tall skinny things; big eyes, no hair, small ears, really bad vibe.”

  “This one here says they are overseers, or angels; I’ll tell you, I didn’t see any harps, wings, or halos when we came across them. I had the feeling I was done for if they saw me.” I had to think on that for a second; maybe as angels, they would have due cause to end me. If they knew my resume, that would make them even scarier.

  “What’s going on?” Other Jack asked; not sure if he was looking for an answer as we moved swiftly.

  “There’s a battle going on,” Trip said.

  “There always is. What makes this one different?”

  “Good and evil?” I asked, figuring it would be the typical trope. “But if that’s the case, you would think we were fighting on the side of the overseers, right?”