Fourth Dimension

by Eric Walters

  “Isn’t that where the armed guards come into play?”

  “Well, we don’t have that many weapons, only about sixteen guns and limited supplies of ammunition.”

  That wasn’t what I wanted to hear.

  She looked all around to make sure we weren’t being overheard. “There are many ways to attack this community. Off this beach, up off the rocks, over the bridge, or simply coming in across the channel.”

  “But you have a plan for all of them, right?”

  “We’re going to try our best, but the problem isn’t just the lack of arms, it’s the lack of people willing to use those arms.” She let out a big sigh. “I shouldn’t really be telling you all this, but there’s only one person here that I really trust.”

  “Who’s that?”

  She smiled and gave me a one-armed hug. “Well, you, of course.”

  I hadn’t expected that, but it didn’t really surprise me, either. Somehow as the world was getting more hostile, the relationship between us had become friendlier.

  Mom sighed as she looked around at the beach. “Those two men on the shore that night, do you know what they did when the attack happened? They ran away and hid without even firing a shot.”

  “What can you expect?” I asked. “It’s not like they’re Marines.”

  “They’re the farthest thing from Marines. Maybe I have to remember that and not be so hard on them…so hard on everybody.”

  From her, that was as close to an apology as I’d ever heard.

  “Sometimes you have to be hard to survive,” I said. “Maybe those guys ran because they figured they just couldn’t stop them.”

  “They couldn’t, but they could have slowed them down, or at least fired at them and warned people. Do you think if they were Marines they would have turned and run?” she asked.

  I moved in closer. “But we’re planning on leaving if it gets bad.”

  “It’s important to always have a backup plan.”

  “And how is that any different?” I asked.

  “Running away and making a tactical retreat are two very different things. We’re going to try to make it work. I’ll do what I can do.”

  “But you don’t think it can work, do you?”

  She shook her head.

  “Then shouldn’t everybody have a backup plan?”

  “I can’t be responsible for all of them,” she said.

  “But what about Sam, and maybe Garth? What about Chris?”

  “I’ve thought about that. We just have to be careful about who and how. This has to be kept a secret, and there are already ten of us who know.”

  “I don’t think we have to worry much about Olivia saying anything.”

  “After you, she’s the one I trust the most to keep it secret.” She paused. “It would be hard to take Chris with us. This is her community and she’s not going to leave them behind. That’s what would make getting Sam to go so difficult. You’ll have to trust me to find the right time to ask…if we’re going to ask them at all.”

  She was quiet for a minute, then she said, “These people, they just don’t get it.”

  “They’re helping you build the defenses.”

  “Some of them are. Others are too busy putting on plays.”

  “It was a good play.”

  “It was a bad move. Aside from draining the batteries, think about the danger of having those stage lights on at night out in the open like that.”

  I hadn’t thought of that.

  “We shouldn’t be drawing such attention to ourselves. There shouldn’t even be lights on in people’s houses without blackout screens to block the light.”

  “Have you talked to Chris about that?” I asked.

  “I’ve talked to her and she’s talked to people, but like I said, some of them just don’t get it. It’s like they didn’t see the bodies, weren’t there for the funerals.”

  “I guess they’re just scared.”

  “They should be scared enough to try to do the things that they need to do to survive.” She realized her voice had gotten louder and some people were looking at us. “Look,” she said quietly, “in the meantime, we’ll do our best here to prepare them. For now we’ll think hard, work harder, and keep our eyes open for anything that might make the survival of this community possible.”

  I nodded in agreement, although I didn’t know what I could really do.

  My mother gave me a long hug and then turned and went back to work.

  I thought about what she’d said about trusting me more than anybody else. It made me feel good to know that was how she felt. But was it really reassuring to think that my bow and arrows and I were the next best thing to the Marines right now?

  18

  As I walked back to the house, lost in thought, two ostriches appeared on the path just ahead of me. They stopped and stared at me the same way I stared at them. The difference was that they didn’t look afraid of me. They stood there, turning their skinny heads, aiming those beady little black eyes directly at me.

  “Shoo!” I called out.

  They didn’t move away.

  “Go away!” I yelled, and stomped my feet.

  They didn’t run away but instead took a couple of steps toward me. Almost instinctively I went to take an arrow out of my quiver, but I stopped myself. Did I think I needed to shoot them? I just had to find a way around them. The path wasn’t wide and bushes hemmed me in on both sides. I’d turned to start back when I realized the whole scene was being witnessed.

  It was Willow, the boy in the baggy clothes. “I don’t like them either,” he said.

  He walked right up beside me and the two of us stared at the big birds.

  “I read that an ostrich can kill a lion with a kick,” he said.

  “Something about them just unnerves me,” I admitted. “Chris says they remind her of a snake attached to a bird.”

  Just then three little boys rode up from behind us on their bikes. Before I could even think to stop them they shot past us and raced straight toward the ostriches. They screamed and yelled and the two ostriches jumped and ran away, disappearing through the hedges.

  I couldn’t help but laugh. “I guess little boys are scarier than lions.”

  “I thought for a second you were going to take a shot at the ostriches with your bow and arrow,” Willow said.

  “I wasn’t,” I lied. “But if I had I would have hit one of them dead on.”

  “I believe you. I’ve seen you practice out by the abandoned house.”

  “You’ve watched me practice?” I’d deliberately gone to a spot where there was nobody. Not just because I didn’t want to accidentally hit somebody but because I didn’t want to be observed.

  “Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t watch you for long, and I wasn’t stalking you. That would be creepy.”

  “That would be,” I agreed.

  He looked embarrassed.

  “I guess there are no secrets around here,” I said, trying to ease the awkwardness.

  “Not many.” He smiled. “It looks like a nice compound bow.”

  “Thanks…wait…you know it’s a compound bow?”

  “I know a little bit about bows. And you’re pretty accurate with it. Of course, it’s not nearly as effective as a crossbow.”

  “A crossbow?”

  “It’s a medieval weapon that—”

  “I know what a crossbow is, I just didn’t expect you to mention it.”

  “Did you know that crossbows revolutionized warfare? They’re more accurate, have a longer range, and can be taught to people with less training and with less skill. It takes a long time to get as good as you are with a bow and arrow.”

  “Thanks, I guess. And just how and why do you know all of this?”

  “Unavoidable. My father is sort of a medieval geek.”

  “I’m not even sure what that means.”

  “It’s almost embarrassing to say, but he and my mother go to medieval fairs. They’re into LARPing.”


  “Okay, now I’m lost.”

  “LARP stands for Live-Action Role Playing. They dress like they’re in that time period, use imitation weapons, and act out things like battles.”

  I stared at him and tried unsuccessfully to hold back a laugh.

  He grinned. “Yeah, I know, it does sound strange and funny.”

  “Well, my parents sort of did that too.”

  “They did?”

  “They dressed like Marines and went to places with real weapons and killed real people.”

  “That’s very different. Trust me, it’s hard enough to be named Willow without having parents who do things like make-believe sword-fighting.”

  “I guess it is a different sort of name.”

  “If they were going to name me after a tree, couldn’t they have gone with Oak or something more, you know, masculine?”

  “I don’t think of trees as being male or female,” I said.

  “You would if you were called Willow.” He paused. “Now I’m even more embarrassed to tell you that when I was little they used to bring me along. And obviously, I was a prince,” he said, and laughed.

  “Believe me, all parents make us do things we don’t want to do. But wouldn’t it be great right now if your family actually had a crossbow to go along with your costumes?”

  “We do have a crossbow.”

  “A real crossbow?”

  “Yeah. Would you like to see it?”

  —

  The crossbow was surprisingly heavy, made of dark wood, and it had a really powerful feel.

  “It’s beautiful,” I said as I hefted it in my hands and admired the decorative engravings in the wood.

  “I really appreciate you saying that, Emma,” Willow’s father said. “Not many people appreciate the beauty of a crossbow.”

  We were gathered in the living room of Willow’s house, which was two streets over from the one I was staying in. It was made with stucco over wooden slats and it even looked like a medieval cottage.

  “And you have the arrows—I mean the bolts—that go with it, right?” I asked.

  “At least a hundred.”

  “I think more,” Willow said.

  “Many, many more,” his mother added.

  He shrugged. “What good is a crossbow without bolts? From medium to close range it’s as deadly as a gun.”

  I thought I’d rather have a gun.

  “To be honest, I’ve always liked the elegance of a sword. I’m much better with a sword. I’m a bit of a swordsman,” his father said.

  “He is,” his wife agreed. “He’s won more than his fair share of tournaments.”

  I looked at Willow and he answered my glance with a subtle snicker, unseen by his parents.

  “Some people think we’re a bit odd for having this as a hobby,” his father said. “They can’t understand all the pretend, but there’s nothing pretend about the trophies I’ve won or the sword I used to win them. Would you like to see my sword?” he asked.

  “Sure.”

  He led me through the kitchen and out to the backyard. Willow came with us. The yard was filled with lots of strange metal sculptures. Some looked new and others were rusting away. He opened a sliding door to a garage and flicked on a light. Inside the door was a mannequin wearing a full suit of armor. It practically glittered in the light.

  “Welcome to the Middle Ages,” he said as he shepherded us into the garage.

  On the wall were a couple of shields, a big long pole that I recognized from movies as something that knights used to knock each other off horses, a big mace thing with spiky balls attached, and a sword. Along another wall were all sorts of books, and pictures of knights on horses, and castles. There were also models of castles on a shelf, some of them very large and intricate. At the far end of the garage was some machinery, like big power tools. They seemed strangely out of place in the medieval setting.

  “This…this is amazing,” I stammered. “This is what you do for a living?”

  “This is my passion and obsession, but not my occupation.”

  “My father is a professional magician,” Willow said.

  Somehow, I wasn’t surprised—here on the island that was a normal-sounding job.

  “And I am his lovely assistant,” Willow’s mother said as she gave a little bow.

  Willow avoided my eye.

  His father took down a large sword from the wall. “This is Caliburn, or as you might more commonly know it, Excalibur. Do you know the story of the sword in the stone?”

  “Didn’t King Arthur pull a sword out of stone, and that meant he was the real king?”

  “There’s a little more to the story than that, but that is the essence of the legend. You realize if we were in medieval times none of this would have happened.”

  “None of what?” I asked.

  “What we’re going through. It’s our reliance on modern technology that has left us so vulnerable to its sudden loss. Great kingdoms lived and died without computers, or telephones, or electricity. Back in the day all a man needed was a suit of armor, a sharp sword, and his steed.”

  He’d started speaking in an English accent, which made the whole thing seem more bizarre, and Willow looked even more embarrassed. But after all, embarrassing kids was what parents did best.

  “I don’t know about steeds, but there are a couple of zebras around you could ride,” Willow said. “Do you want me to try to saddle one up for you?”

  “Making fun of your old man again? That wouldn’t have happened back then either, but alas, we are all fated to live in the times we are born in, and this is my fate.”

  I was still holding the crossbow. Forget the rest of the stuff he was rambling on about. This weapon was real, and it could be used.

  “It’s too bad we don’t have more of these,” I said, holding it up.

  “They’re not difficult to make. This one took me less than two weeks.”

  “You made this?”

  “I made all my weapons and my suit of armor. I used this equipment—this is my workshop,” he said, gesturing to the machines at the far end. “I’m better with metal so the wood, especially the carvings, always takes much longer.”

  “Could you make more and forget about the carvings?”

  He nodded. “I could do that.”

  “I’d like to have my mother talk to you,” I said. “Would that be all right?”

  “Certainly. And please, tell her, my skills as a swordsman and as a maker of weapons are at her disposal. My sword is hers.”

  He went down on one knee, bowed his head, and offered me the hilt of Excalibur.

  “Dad, get up, you’re not asking her to marry you,” Willow said.

  This was getting stranger all the time.

  19

  The audience cheered as the actors came out for a final bow. This was the opening night of their new performance. After doing A Midsummer Night’s Dream for a week they’d rehearsed and were now performing a play called A Streetcar Named Desire. I had to give them credit: they’d managed to create a set that looked like a beat-up old apartment right in the middle of a clearing.

  Chris walked onto the stage and asked the audience to give one more round of applause to the actors. I clapped, but I really didn’t like the guy who played Stanley. I wished that the Stella actress had just slugged him. I guess that meant he was either a bad guy in real life or he was a really good actor. All things considered, I liked the Shakespeare play better.

  “I’d like you all to stay for a while,” Chris asked. “I have a few things I’d like to say.”

  Those who had started to get up sat back at Chris’s request. Almost everyone in the community was there, sitting on the grass or on folding lawn chairs, with kids sleeping in little wagons. Everyone who wasn’t out on guard duty, of course.

  “Could we turn off the stage lights, please?” Chris asked.

  The big beams, which shone their light toward the stage, were turned off. It took a few seconds for my ey
es to adjust to the darkness. There were still a few lights, just sufficient to see each other and find our way out, but it was nothing compared to the bright stage lights. I noted that this play had been moved to a more wooded space so the light would be less visible from outside the community.

  Moving just beyond the crowd were sheep and goats and a couple of grazing zebra. I’d noticed that they scattered whenever that Stanley guy started yelling “Stella! Stella!” Apparently they didn’t like him any more than I did.

  “Do you think this is going to work?” Willow quietly asked me.

  “I’m not sure.” Willow, his parents, Chris, and a few others were the only ones who knew what was about to be said.

  “It’s wonderful to be here tonight for the play,” Chris said. “It was all so absorbing, so wonderful, that I forgot what was going on around us, outside the emerging walls of our community. I have to apologize for taking away the magic now but I need to talk about reality once again. Ellen, could you please join me up here?”

  The audience fell completely silent as my mother joined her.

  “We’ve all seen the transformation in our community over the past few weeks,” Chris said. And she went on to talk about those changes. The fence now effectively blocked the beach, and the barricade over the bridge had been replaced and made much stronger. A wire fence topped with a couple of strands of barbed wire had been strung all along the water’s edge where we were separated from Main Island by the channel. A schedule had been established for regular guard duty.

  It all sounded impressive. But I knew better because my mother knew better. We’d built a shell, but eggs had shells and they could be easily cracked. With that in mind, our smaller group had continued to make plans for what would happen if this place fell. We’d taken more tools and supplies out to our little island and hidden them there. We’d watered and tended our secret garden, which was thriving. I wondered what the people here would think if they knew what we were doing.

  I felt guilty about not telling Chris or Sam or even Willow and his parents about our secret plan. I felt particularly bad about Willow not knowing. He had become my friend—my first friend since we’d moved. Not telling him felt wrong, but going against my mother’s orders and telling him would have been worse, a betrayal. My mother and I had talked about bringing them along if things didn’t work out here. This just wasn’t the right time to talk to any of them about it.