Socket 3 - The Legend of Socket Greeny

by Tony Bertauski

  There was no chance of getting back up, but fortunately I hit the sandy bottom. I pushed upward, this time clearing my entire chest above the water. One deep gulp of air and I let myself sink again. I pushed off at an angle but found the water getting deeper, so I turned around, jumping again and again.

  Finally, I stood on my toes and gulped air. My heart was slamming. I took feeble steps and slowly walked into shallower water.

  A sandy beach was ahead. The full moon was bright in a clear night sky. I missed my landing. But I had no idea by how much.

  Silent Forest

  Something flushed out of my body, like a plug had been pulled and drained molten metal weighing in my veins. I was light as driftwood. The water around me turned cloudy. I rubbed my eyes and looked again. The milky cloud drifted deeper and spread out like an oil slick.

  When I reached dry sand, I dropped to my knees. Exhausted. I was catching my breath, the air cool and humid. Seawater dripped off my nose, over my lips. It tasted odd. It was salty, but there was something else, something familiar. Something that usually wasn’t associated with ocean water, but I couldn’t place it.

  There was no sign of civilization. Just endless water, sand and tropical trees. This was bad. It could’ve been worse. The north pole. Or the sun.

  I tapped my cheek, got no response from my nojakk. Not even a tick, tick, tick. I dug through my backpack, activated a handheld phone but it was non-responsive, too. The same with a homing beacon. Everything, dead.

  Maybe an electromagnetic pulse killed everything upon entry. Something went wrong right before I got home, I felt it jerk me around. Maybe the ship malfunctioned and dumped me in the ocean. At least it didn’t drop another twenty feet out to sea or I’d be stuck to the bottom like an anchor.

  My suit had already dried. I sat down in the sand, leaned back against a tree. What now? Surely, the Paladins knew I was coming back. They would eventually search for me. But if I didn’t have power to signal them, how would they find me?

  The waves were small, sloshing onto the beach in a steady rhythm. I closed my eyes, listening to the ocean go in and out. In and out.

  It lulled me to relax, but something was missing. Everything felt so… so empty. Like an environment in my office where nothing was real. But I couldn’t sense any walls. I considered, for a second, that I was in my office. But I could always sense the confines of a moldable environment, sense the walls of a room even though it looked endless. The beach had no such limitation. It just felt empty.

  Maybe I imagined it. I was tired.

  The waves greeted me gently. I imagined I was floating in the water, warm and cozy. But then I opened my eyes and stared at coconuts. My survival suit was warm but the cool air was nipping at my ears and the tip of my nose. I sat up and rubbed my face. My eyes were heavy with sleep. I couldn’t remember laying down. The moon hung just above the horizon. It felt like I’d been asleep for hours, but everything looked the same. And not a single bug bite.

  It was quiet in the trees. Too quiet. The only thing that broke the silence was the ocean, but everything else was as still as a museum. No breeze from above, no drifting leaves or scuttle of a crab. Absolute stillness.

  The backpack contained small packets of food. If that ran out, there was a supply of lifepatches that could sustain me for another six months. If I hunt and gather, I could survive for much longer.

  The forest looked dense and dark. It would take a long, sharp machete to cut through it. Since there was no such thing in the backpack, I walked along the beach looking for a path. But after a few miles, everything still looked exactly the same. In fact, even the trees appeared in some sort of pattern. Up ahead was a palm that leaned and curved skyward. I turned back, swore I passed one like that a few miles back.

  Just beyond that was a small opening that gave way to a narrow path. That wasn’t there before. I looked out over the water one last time. The night sky looked black and smudged just above the horizon, like ink was leeching up from the water.

  I had pulled small box from the backpack and let it unfold into a tent. I lay inside it, staring through the dome-shaped ceiling. I couldn’t see the sky through the trees. The moonlight filtered through the leaves like pale sunlight. I had walked for what seemed a full day and expected the sun to come up, but I was exhausted and couldn’t wait for it any longer.

  The forest was endless and repetitive. The path continued to wind through it like something or someone walked it often enough to beat down the vegetation, but there was no sign of life. Nothing. No spider webs or mosquitoes or stinging ants.

  It was still cool, but humid as ever. I sweated through much of my water reserves and there wasn’t much left in the backpack. I needed to find some before long.

  I woke when a single drop of water struck the tent.

  The raindrop jiggled, then slowly made its way down the side, racing to the bottom. Something about that was strange, then I realized that was the first sound in a day that I hadn’t directly caused.

  It was darker outside. Maybe clouds had dimmed the moonlight. Wait. Did I sleep through another day?

  I felt rested, like I’d gotten another eight hours of sleep but it was still night. Was I sleeping right through the daylight?

  Maybe it was for the best. I didn’t need to be moving around in the heat of the day. I was already parched.

  Another day of hiking. Still no sunlight.

  I don’t know how far I got. Thirty miles, maybe. The last ten miles were like wearing concrete blocks. Raindrops continued to find a way through the thick canopy. My lips were cracking and I’d stopped sweating. I finished the rest of my water.

  I sat against a tree.

  Thunder clapped.

  I woke in a thick mass of groundcover. No tent. I must’ve fallen over asleep.

  Rain dripped through a fern leaf, splashing on my forehead. I stuck out my tongue, caught the next drop. And the next.

  They were plopping throughout the forest with a regular beat. I scrambled on my hands and knees and found a large leaf holding a pool of water. Carefully, I cupped it and tilted it toward my mouth. It was wet, tasteless. Just like water was suppose to taste. If this was some sort of moldable environment, I wouldn’t be able to drink it.

  The lifepatches kept me from dehydrating, but water was a better alternative, so I spent the next couple hours going leaf to leaf, scavenging what I could.

  The path continued to curve through the otherwise impenetrable forest. It seemed endless and pointless, but it had to lead somewhere. Something made this path. Maybe I should’ve stayed on the beach. At least a search party would see me there. Nothing would spot me through the trees. Too late now. I just had to keep going until I got out or found someone that could help.

  I only managed an hour on the trail before I had to rest. I was drained. And sleepy. These were tough conditions, but this was unusual. I shouldn’t be gassing out this quick. It was like something was sucking the energy out of me; reminded me of the Grimmet Outpost. Like something just sucked the life out of it.

  I slapped another lifepatch on my neck, felt it pump essential nutrients into my jugular. Thunder rumbled somewhere in the distance. I remembered something my grandma used to tell me about storms. She said when it thundered, the angels were wrestling.

  The ground began to tremor like they’d fallen out of the sky.

  Maybe it was the third night that I saw the end.

  The winding path straightened out and widened. There was an opening in the trees. I quickened my pace, eager to find something. The trees ended abruptly, like a wall, and the path dropped down a steep slope. I stood just inside the canopy, mesmerized by the view. Hills rolled off into the distance covered in tufts of grass. Mountains were farther out.

  The air was cooler and drier. The moon was still full, but the sky seemed hazy. On the horizon, the ink stain was still visible. It was deep and dark, blotting out the stars as it bled further into the night sky.

  Below me, a couple hun
dred yards out, the grass gave way to rows of fruit trees. Something moved among them. It was a woman. Her clothes were white, her hair blonde. She was picking fruit and putting them into a basket.

  Finally, a way home. I screamed through my hands but she didn’t hear me. I didn’t bother shouting again, instead I started down the path. Adrenaline filled me with excitement and burst with renewed energy. I’d catch up to her in minutes. Maybe I could find home by sunrise. The thought of sleeping in my office boosted my stride down the slope. I ignored the thought lurking in my head, the nagging concern that had been with me ever since I walked out of the water. Something I tried to reason away because help was finally within reach.

  Why does everything still feel so empty?

  Empty Angel

  Still raining, maybe a bit harder.

  I wasn’t about to let the woman out of my sight. I left the winding path and took the grassy hill full speed, leaping over boulders. I lost sight of her as I dipped into the valley, cresting the hill to once again see the magnificent view.

  The forest behind me seemed further away than it should’ve been. I’d only been running a few minutes and it was hundreds of yards back.

  A subtle breeze, the first I could remember since arriving, caught my attention. It carried the fragrance of tea olive blossoms and the salty spray of an ocean. And the scent of a woman, soft and loving. She was there, I could see her on the next hill in the orchard, still hundreds of yards away. I hadn’t gotten any closer.

  Her white gown fluttered while she stopped to reach into a tree, pulling fruit from a branch and putting it in her basket. She was glowing, like a beam of moonlight found its way through the rain to touch only her. I cupped my hands and shouted again. “HELLO!”

  Still couldn’t hear me.

  I started down the next grassy hill into the orchard. The trees were taller than I thought. My perspective seemed off. The trunks were gnarly and the muscled branches held plump apples the size of softballs. I lost sight of the woman as she walked over the next hill. But I was gaining on her. I dipped my head, pushed harder. I reached the next hilltop, expecting to maybe catch her while she went searching in another tree, maybe only a few yards away. At the very least she’d be within shouting distance, but then saw her still hundreds of yards out.

  I stopped, put my hands on my knees. How did she get that far out?

  My heart pounded. The adrenaline was already wearing off and I was sweating out precious water that mixed with the rain dripping down my face, leaving a salty tang on my lips.

  This isn’t logical. Where am I?

  When I looked up, as if answering my questions, the view had somehow changed. Had I not noticed it when I emerged from the forest? Was it just hidden from my vantage point? Because now, beyond the rolling hills, was a vast black ocean. The lines of orchard trees followed the undulating hills, ending short of a massive house built right on the shore, surrounded by sand dunes and sea oats.

  The woman was gone.

  The sterile forest and the perfect temperature, short of the rain this is paradise. This exists nowhere in nature. Nowhere on Earth. I looked at my hands, turned them over and studied them like the truth was written somewhere on my skin. I’m not dreaming or virtualmode. I’m here, in the skin.

  I turned back and saw what I expected. The trees were gone. Nothing but rising and falling mounds as far as I could see. This entire environment was transforming, manipulating me toward the house on the beach. Something changed when it started to rain, like it let me out of the forest. Once again, I opened my mind to connect with the environment, searching for something substantial, something real, but everything felt empty. So beautiful, but so empty.

  The house already seemed bigger. More inviting.

  Why does it feel like no matter what direction I walk, I’ll end up at the house?

  The wicker basket was nestled in the grass at the base of a tree. I picked one of the fruits out. It was deep red, almost purple. The skin was soft but not fuzzy. I press my thumb into it, juice squirting out. Saliva filled into my mouth. It was clear liquid, not milky.

  I tossed it on the ground. First, I needed to find the woman. She was in the house.

  The house grew as I approached, building onto itself, forming walls and floors and windows until it was a monstrosity blocking out the ocean. Wide steps led to thick double doors, both open and waiting. Sand ground beneath my boots as I crossed over the marble threshold and passed through the doors.

  It was one enormous room filled with credenzas, sofas and antique furniture. The walls were covered with art from various eras, from Victorian to modern, realistic to abstract. Expensive vases, candelabras, and sculptures were set about. All in all, a stunning display, but nothing compared to the back wall made entirely of glass, offering a full view of the scenic ocean and the darkening sky. A single fruit tree grew behind the house, its limbs heavy with fruit.

  Multi-folding doors were pushed all the way open, leaving wide open access to the beach. I stopped, just short of the beach that extended right up to the house. The breeze came off the water moist and ragged, blowing my hair off my shoulders. I’ve seen this place.

  Sand. Rain.

  A blackened sky.

  The realization rang inside me like I’d been struck by a two-handed mallet. It’s where I saw Chute attack, slashing down with a knife. The vision is taking shape.

  I went outside. The rain was colder, pelting my cheeks. I tensed, looking in both directions for Chute and her knife, but it was empty. I walked further out until the foamy water wrapped around my ankles. And then I saw the woman, far down on my left.

  She was standing with her feet in the water, a faint figure blurred by the rain. Her arms were crossed and she was staring out to sea like she was waiting. I could feel her yearning. It was the first thing I’d felt since arriving. Just to experience something real, a quiver of reality, jolted me with excitement.

  I started after her but, with each step, she got no closer. The ground moved under my feet, but the back of the house was still exactly where I exited, like the beach was a treadmill.

  Thunder clapped without any sign of lightning. The woman was still there, yearning for what was out on the empty water where waves were beginning to swell. Or maybe her gaze was settled on the ink-stained sky.

  I walked in the other direction and watched the house. Same thing: it didn’t move even though my tracks continued far behind me.

  Enough. I’m not entertainment.

  Understand your environment, one of the first lessons I learned as a Paladin. Without understanding your Self or your surroundings, you are a ship sailing without a compass.

  I tracked puddles into the house. The pillows on the nearest couch were soft velvet, but firm. I centered the largest one near the opening on the back wall and folded my legs.

  My breathing quickly became rhythmic while I settled into the present moment. Soon, thoughts faded away. I was aware of the objects around me, the emptiness of the house and angry sea. Occasionally, the sky cracked with thunder.

  I would sit in the moment until something, or someone, revealed the truth.

  Where am I?

  Hours went by.

  There was nothing but the steady rhythm of the rain, the rise and fall of my chest and the occasional bump of the tree banging its fruit-laden branch against the glass wall. The waves had taken on a foamy white crest. I had no expectations, made no effort to escape where I was. I just remained open.

  And the world remained empty and mysterious.

  I sensed a faint presence of another being somewhere in this world, likely the woman, but I couldn’t feel exactly where she was. It was like she was everywhere. And out there, somewhere, was somebody besides the woman. It was a man, his presence somewhere on the horizon.

  My back ached and my legs became numb. Thirst burned my throat. I considered finding water, but there would be none. The fruit hung tantalizingly.

  I sat. The rain continued.

&nb
sp; And the fruit continued to knock on the glass like a stranger, wanting to come inside. The metaphor was all too obvious.

  Paradise.

  The Tree of Knowledge.

  Thump. Thump-thump. The fruit said yes.

  The splinter of glass woke me.

  I’d fallen off the cushion. My tongue was like a piece of meat stuck in my mouth. I tried to swallow. I couldn’t remember passing out.

  I glimpsed the woman standing in front of me, holding out the fruit. I blinked and she wasn’t there. I was hallucinating, but now my mouth was full of saliva. I could smell the fruit, its tangy citrus scent penetrating the humid breeze blowing off the storm-ridden coast.

  My head was on the floor, pain pulsing through my ear. I scratched at the floorboards. Waves were punishing the beach, pushing closer to the house. The window was cracked where the tree branches smacked the house, swinging the heavy fruit like a wrecking ball.

  She wants me to eat the fruit. I’ll die right here on the floor like a dog, shrivel up like a salted slug, before I eat it.

  But I didn’t die.

  I kept on living.

  The agony wiped out any thoughts of home. Of Chute, the kids, my mother. I was just writhing on the floor, doubled over as dehydration cramps pull me into a fetal position. Sometimes I heard the rain and thunder and the constant banging. I could feel the hardness of the floor.

  I could also hear voices. The woman was calling. I sensed the man out there, too. He was just watching.

  And I imagined the taste of the fruit.

  This seemed to go on forever.

  And then it was there, on the floor in front of me. The fruit was as red as a shined apple. I was dreaming of reaching for it. I didn’t have that kind of strength, the kind to even slide my hand across the floor, but then I felt it in my palm and sensed the promise of life inside it. I punctured the skin with my fingertips, watched the sweet juice dribble onto the floorboards. My throat contracted.