by L. E. Howel
"The Authority is aware of your record, Mr. Edwards, and everything else about you.” For the first time a sharp steely edge crept into the old man’s silky voice, seeming to threaten something else. The agent stared at him. His glassy eyes were coming into sharp focus, as though only now noticing him for the first time. Edwards shivered.
“You will understand,” he continued, “that our decision to assign you to this mission has been made with all of these issues being taken into consideration. It has been decided that you are the one for this assignment. We have every confidence in your ability." Edwards nodded doubtfully as the man stood up to leave, placing two hand sized metal boxes on the desk. "Many would envy you Agent Edwards," he continued, "this is history you are involved in, few get that chance."
Without further comment the old man left and Edwards was left to slump further down into his desk. For some time he just sat there, staring at the rectangle of sunlight that shone down from his slit of an office window. He thought wearily about the task ahead.
He looked at the datamap and felt a measure of relief as he noted that the destination indicated there wasn't more than three days travel down the coast. Even so he couldn't shake the feeling that somehow this was only going to be the beginning; Code One missions didn't usually consist of gentle rides down the coast. There was something more to this. He knew that. He wished he was on his hilltop again.
SEVEN
Birch opened his eyes; at least he thought he did. All he could see was the darkness. There was nothing else. Where was he? More importantly, why was he alive? As the ship came down he had expected nothing but death; maybe this was death. No, it hurt too much. His whole body hurt and in the darkness the only thing that was truly real to him, the only thing he could even remotely comprehend was this throbbing, pounding reality. Somehow he was alive.
He closed his eyes to the darkness. He had to rest. If he was dead then it didn’t matter anyway. He would rest.
His mind wandered. For a time he felt himself drifting, floating, but it didn’t last long. Gravity was pulling against him. He was falling. For one moment he felt himself back on the ship, his feet pressed hard against the deck plates and his hands pulling at the controls to stop his momentum. He couldn't stop. Even now the bitter taste of despair was in his mouth. He should have died.
His eyes opened again, and Birch found himself lying on a grassy ridge beside a clear, blue ocean. A cloudless sky, a beaming, yellow sun, and a golden beach spread itself in harmonious panorama before him. Briefly he was lulled into the peace of the setting until he remembered the reality of his situation.
Sitting up he looked to see if any of the others had made it; he couldn't see them. In fact he couldn't see any sign of the ship at all. Squinting against the sun he scanned the horizon in all directions. The beach was beautiful, but behind him lay a large, wild looking wooded area, more of a jungle than woods. He was alone.
Struggling against the pain he rose to his feet but immediately doubled over again gasping. His hands rested on his knees until he could pull himself slowly again into a standing position. After a few minutes of this he finally took his first faltering steps. The movement seemed to help and his pain slowly subsided to a tolerable level. He was able to walk, but where should he go? To the ship, if he could figure out where it was. As his mind cleared this single fact troubled him most. Where was the ship? There should at least have been some wreckage or something. How did he end up here without any of the others and no ship? It made no sense.
Dutifully he searched the beach, but his first impression had been right. There was no sign of anything. Pain marked every step and now hunger and fatigue had brought him to a standstill. He was thirsty too, and the necessity of attending to these most basic bodily requirements overcame his need for answers. He would look again later, but for now his own survival had to take priority.
Food would be fairly plentiful in an area like this, he reasoned, but fresh water might be more of a problem. No source was immediately apparent. No rivers, no streams, no pools, no drinking water of any kind, just the vast expanse of undrinkable sea water splashing mockingly on the sand before him.
As he looked about only the dark, uninviting woods to his back seemed to offer any prospect of providing for this most urgent need. Finding it in there would be difficult though, he imagined. Judging by the climate and vegetation Birch knew that he was in a tropical environment and he shuddered at the thought of the dangers he would face there. He was no woodsman or jungle explorer. There was little choice though. He could skirt around the outside of the wooded area, hoping to find a river coming out to the ocean, but that could be hundreds of miles away, so he might as well face up to the task ahead.
Birch sighed and started toward the dark mass of trees. None of this made any sense to him. The last readings on the ship had indicated that they were coming down in the eastern Pacific, somewhere near the California coast. This place didn’t fit that at all. Everything was wrong and it irritated him.
Birch reached the edge of the trees and paused for a final look back at the beach. There was still no trace of the others or the ship; he knew there wouldn't be. Suddenly, for the first time since he had awoken in this place, he felt truly alone. Turning again to face the dense foliage before him he limped forward, passing warily under the first branches and moving unsteadily into the dim light under the canopy of the tall trees.
The humidity hit Birch like a wall, making it hard for him to breathe. This was going to be difficult. The sound of unknown animals and the nauseating stench of strange plants increased his unease as he trudged further into the darkness. Somehow this was worse than he had expected. Dense foliage surrounded him. There was no path to follow and he had to tear at the thick leaves with his hands to make any progress at all. Soon his fingers were cut and bleeding. Ignoring the pain he continued pushing blindly forward, leaving a trail of bloody marks on the leaves as he passed.
Hours passed and desperation began to set in. He could find no water. He had lost his bearings and was no longer sure that he was continuing in the same direction. There had been a compass in the emergency kit on the ship, but with the ship somehow lost what good was that? The thought angered him and he pulled more wildly at the leaves ahead. Finally, overcome by exhaustion, he sat with his hands pressed against his pant legs, trying to stem the steady trickle of blood that oozed from his shaking palms.
Birch panted hard, his efforts had nearly exhausted him, and he was sure he couldn't go much further without sleep. He thought gloomily about his situation. It wasn't good. It was dumb, he had been foolish to think he could handle this alone and now he was lost. Still, it had been his only chance, what else could he do? Now he was thirstier and weaker than ever and he wondered if he would be able to carry on at all.
The branches high above him blocked the sun, but he was aware that the gloomy light they permitted was now dimming. Nightfall was approaching. If he was going to have to spend the night here he had better at least find a safe spot in a tree somewhere to sleep.
He found a suitable place nearby and climbed slowly above the jungle floor. The bark bit into his raw hands and Birch chewed at his lower lip to dull the pain. Finally he settled on a branch and prepared to sleep.
In his exhausted state the strange animal sounds that had once seemed so alarming now almost lulled him to sleep. He felt his eyes slowly closing. Despite it all he was at peace as he drowsily listened to the unfamiliar world that surrounded him. Drifting pleasantly in his thoughts he gradually became aware that there was something familiar, something important in what he heard. Mixed among the animal calls was the distant but distinct sound of flowing water!
Instantly Birch sat up, fully awake now. He strained to listen for the sound; yes he could hear it somewhere in the distance. He had been right. There was water here! A deep feeling of gratitude and relief filled him as he leaned once more against the tree. He would have to wait until morning to taste it (he would end up lost or eaten if he tried to fin
d it in the dark) but he had found water! He was going to make it after all!
Birch settled against his tree again and tried to sleep. His throat was dry. The sound of water, that had been so welcome to him just moments ago, tormented him now. When sleep finally did come it was uneasy, fitful, and troubled by dark, formless dreams. His dreams seemed real, more real than anything yet, and so when in sleep he felt a strange sensation, a crawling, creeping along his arm, he had instinctively pulled back.
He awoke. Sweat dripped from his face. Naturally he looked where his arm had been lying, trying to see what was there. He could see nothing; it was too dark to see much.
He leaned warily against the tree again; perhaps he had dreamed it after all, but it had seemed so real and the touch still seemed to linger on his skin. He glanced again where his arm had been resting, then, turning to look over his other shoulder, flinched as a pair of green, slitted eyes glared back at him. It was a large constrictor snake at a distance of less than two feet. Unthinkingly he lunged backwards and lost his balance. For a moment he felt himself frozen in time, teetering between security and falling. Then he toppled over and crashed to the jungle floor.
As he landed Birch felt his leg crack. He knew he had broken it. The pain left him gasping and he doubled over, but somehow after a moment’s writhing agony his mind cleared enough to warn him of his danger. He had to act quickly. Inspecting his wounds he saw that his legs, arms and hands were all now bleeding. His hands had been bleeding all day, and as he thought about it he recognized that he had been leaving a bloody trail through the trees for hours. Probably even now something was smelling him out, and this fresh blood letting would just add to his danger. Unless he did something soon he was meat, he was sure of that.
If he could get to the water he might have a chance. He could wash off the blood and lose the scent. The only problem, of course, was finding his way in this darkness with a broken leg that dangled uselessly beneath him. “No problem. This’ll be easy,” he muttered sarcastically to himself as he searched for a branch to support his weight.
Finally, finding a suitable stick, Birch turned his attention again to the sound of the water. It seemed to be coming from somewhere behind him. He turned and began to hobble toward it. His progress was painfully slow. His hands, cut and bleeding, couldn't hold his makeshift crutch well enough to support his body, and he was constantly forced to stop and rest. Even so, after an hour the sound of the water was much louder. He was getting close.
Sweat poured down Birch's face. His muscles felt as though they had given their last fragment of energy, but by force of will he carried on.
Then suddenly he stopped. Had he heard a noise? Yes, and it sounded big as it moved through the undergrowth. Birch feared the worst, a tiger perhaps. Whatever it was it was about a hundred yards behind him and closing in.
Birch looked ahead desperately, hoping to see the water. He was disappointed. He could tell by the sound that the river was close now, but still he couldn't see it. How could he escape? He couldn't climb a tree in his condition, and it probably wouldn’t do any good anyway. He had one chance. Maybe he could still lose the beast in the water if only he could get there.
Birch struggled forward. He could only see a few feet ahead but he limped blindly on, hoping to find the river. It sounded very loud now. The shape behind was coming closer though, and he kept glancing back desperately, dreading what he might see.
Then he saw them, two glowing, yellow eyes- big, round, and hungry. Birch turned to face them, still edging all the while toward the sound of the flowing water. He knew enough about wild animals to believe that facing one head-on would be better than running. He couldn’t run anyway so he hoped that was true.
The dark mass padded toward him, and then stopped. What was it doing, sizing him up? Waiting to pounce? Birch hesitated, what should he do? The animal was less than thirty feet away; he could almost smell its fetid breath. He did the only thing that came to his desperate mind in that moment of panic. Balancing on one leg he lifted his stick into the air and threw it as hard as he could between its eyes. It hit! The beast yelped and turned away. Birch took his chance and tried to run, but his leg buckled beneath his own weight and he screamed at the pain as he lunged forward. Glancing over his shoulder he saw the glowing eyes facing him again. They were coming fast!
At that instant Birch stumbled through the dense foliage to find himself standing atop a muddy bank that plunged steeply into darkness. The river roared somewhere below. Without a moment’s pause Birch hurled himself down, sliding recklessly toward the water.
Above, the dark shadow emerged, paused, blinked for a moment and leaped down after him.
Birch careered down the slope, scraping and gouging his flesh as he spun and tossed over the rough ground. Finally he slammed into a rock at the bottom of the bank and, shaking his head groggily, looked up to see the beast bounding after him. Birch groaned wearily and clawed his way through the shallows toward what he hoped would be the safety of deeper waters.
The dark shape still wasn't clearly visible, but he could see it pawing at the bank, waiting, perhaps thinking about its next move. Birch didn't wait. He spread his arms out wide to embrace the safety of the water and swam for the bank at the other side.
The current in the river was strong but he eventually made it to the other shore. Pulling at the grass on the bank he heaved himself out and lay panting there. Exhaustion overcame him. His mind was blank and he stared vacantly into the river. Finally, remembering his thirst, he reached down and brought the water up to his mouth in his cupped hands. It tasted strange but it was fresh and he wasn't in the mood for asking too many questions. If he didn't drink he was going to die anyway, so he might as well take the risk. He drank greedily then collapsed, lying motionless save for the uneasy rhythm of his panting breath.
He lay like this for some time, his energy spent, just staring at his reflection as it moved in the water. There was something strange about it though. It didn’t seem quite in sync with him. It moved with him, but not quite with him. Like when an old movie got messed up and the talking didn’t quite match the lip movement. He shook his head; it was just another thing to make his aching head hurt. He was surrounded by questions. The ship, his crew, this whole place with its Californian jungle, and now a reflection that couldn’t quite keep up with him- it all made his head hurt. This was the future, he had expected change, but what he had seen left him feeling as though he had fallen through time and into his own unique hell.
The sound of a branch snapping behind him brought Birch back from his brooding thoughts. Turning quickly he caught his breath. The tiger had found him. It stalked toward him, its teeth bared and its yellow eyes burning. It was only ten feet away now.
Birch had been on his stomach looking down into the water, but he quickly flipped over to face the approaching beast. Grabbing a stone from the bank he flung it between its eyes. The tiger flinched but did not turn away this time. Instead the blow only seemed to make it angrier and more ferocious. It growled fiercely and Birch slid slowly backwards on his arms. He knew this was it. The tiger only had to pounce. He couldn't get away this time.
It didn’t pounce. Perhaps the big cat wanted to play with its food, like an alley cat with a tiny, tormented mouse. For whatever reason, the tiger simply drew closer. So close that its breath was in Birch’s face. He flinched involuntarily and crawled back. His eyes closed. He expected nothing now but a flash of teeth and the sudden pain of death.
It didn’t happen. The warm breath stopped and when Birch dared to open his eyes again he saw the animal stood stock still, completely motionless before him. Birch stared. The tiger's yellow eyes had lost their fiery hue and now just stared emptily back at him. What had happened? All sound had stopped. The birds, the animals, even the river were all silent now. Moving carefully away from the motionless tiger he looked down at the water. It was perfectly still, frozen in mid-flow, like on a hard winter’s day.
In this silent
stillness the sudden hissing and the plume of billowing smoke that accompanied it sounded like thunder and smelled like sulfur. Birch stared, perplexed, as a door formed in the cloud of smoke.
He had found his way out, perhaps to greater dangers, or perhaps to paradise. He didn’t know, but he figured either way he was going to get some answers, and that was all he really wanted. He walked through the door.
EIGHT
Birch had escaped, but the flash of pure, white light that engulfed him seared his eyes and blinded him. The world was spinning. In that instant he felt his consciousness flung away, hurled from his body across the room in a disjointed out-of-body experience. Through lidless eyes he seemed to see himself far below, prostrate on an operating table, the object of fevered activity. The impression lasted only a moment and seemed more like a jarring of his senses than reality.
Just as suddenly he was a part of his own body again. He struggled to move his arms. They were sluggish and heavy. Strong hands quickly pinned them in place. Distantly he heard voices, but what they said was indistinct and meant nothing to him. He did feel danger. He wanted to escape but he couldn’t move. It wasn’t only those iron hands that held him in place. Within his own mind there was a struggle that he couldn’t seem to win. He tried, but he couldn’t succeed. Now he was rooted in place as unknown fears rushed upon him. They engulfed him. He was drowning as he slipped below the surface of his consciousness.
***
Edwards squinted as he looked up to the sun and again at his directional finder. He had made good progress so far, but by his calculations it would still take him another couple of hours to get there. Before sundown he hoped. He had to make it before sundown. He needed to hurry.
His little vehicle sputtered across the imposing wooded landscape, little more than a tiny mechanical germ infecting these natural surroundings. The sense of awe was inevitable and fear was its natural companion. This should have been a convoy expedition. Nobody came out here alone, but the secret had been too great to share. He didn’t like it at all. He had been instructed to leave without telling anyone, and now he was forced to make the treacherous trip south alone. It might have been easier if he at least had known the secret himself.
