Up on the deck, Noah stood at the peak of the bow, a shawl wrapped around his head and shoulders. He sensed Dutton’s arrival and turned to him, a relieved smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. He held out a palm, turned his eyes skyward, then gave Dutton a look that suggested, “I told you I wasn’t crazy.”
“I knew you weren’t.”
Noah pointed toward the forest and said a single word.
Look.
The animals came in pairs, just like the parable had said. Dutton smirked, wondering if his dream-state mind had created the setting based on the stories he had heard in Sunday school, the stories he had repeated at Lucy’s bedside.
Fat cattle, fluffy sheep, lumbering elephants, and lean giraffes marched side by side with lions, cheetahs, and wolves. Every animal he could imagine, friend and foe, predator and prey alike, came together in harmony, putting aside their instincts to save themselves from the storm that would flood the world.
Dutton said to Noah, “They’re really coming.”
Noah parted his arms and spoke. Yes, all of them.
“But what about the unicorns?” Dutton asked.
He had said it sarcastic jest. Even in this marathon of a dream, he couldn’t make his logical mind materialize a pair of horned horses, not even for Lucy’s sake. It was disheartening. Depressing.
“You rest,” he told Noah. “I’ll go down and help.”
The old man hugged him.
Thank you.
Down below, at the entrance of the hull, Dutton helped the family guide the animals inside, their words and instructions drowned out by the bleating, growling, chirping, and mooing. The elephants bellowed in their corner. The big cats roared and circled, uncomfortable in their confinement. Rodents raced across his feet. Snakes slithered and curled around the support beams.
For hours, they poked, prodded, whistled, and cajoled until every creature was on board and in their stalls or resting on the plentiful mounds of hay.
Dutton was overwhelmed by the scent of urine, dung, and wet fur, but at least the seemingly endless march of animals had all been secured.
And none too soon.
Triple bolts of lightning struck trees in the nearby forest. Thunder ripped the sky apart and the downpour intensified with such strength that Dutton could barely see the path through the field of tree stumps.
They’re all here, he thought. I wish Lucy could have seen this. Even without the unicorns.
Noah’s son, Shem, shouted over the howl of the storm, motioning for him to grab a nearby rope. He wanted Dutton to help close the hull door.
Dutton’s hands had been tender when he first arrived, the supple, delicate fingers of a man who spent his life caring for patients. After a few days of grueling labor, they had grown rough with hard-earned calluses. He wrapped his hands around the rough rope and pulled, feeling it slide effortlessly across the block and tackle system. The door raised inch by inch, and Shem nodded his approval.
Dutton heard a tremendous, rushing growl from far off, like nothing he had ever heard. He lifted his gaze, searching.
Then, down the path, movement.
They appeared around the bend, galloping side by side, with a wall of water three stories high giving chase. The enormous tidal wave swelled and lifted higher.
Oh my God.
He screamed, “Unicorns! Shem, wait, drop the door! Put it back down!”
Shem shook his head and pointed, terror widening his eyes, shouting back.
No. The water.
“We can’t leave them!” Dutton let go of the rope. The door lurched and fell, yanking Shem forward and onto the ground, dragging him along until he let go near the hull’s opening. Dutton sprinted down the ramp, feeling the torrential rain slamming against his face, stinging his eyes, and soaking the robe all the way through to his skin. He screamed at the unicorns. “Hurry! Faster, faster!”
The unrelenting, bellowing rush of the approaching tidal wave rose ever higher. The thunder and the rain all united to drown the sound of his voice, but he continued, begging the mythical creatures to hurry as he frantically waved his arm. He felt a strong tug on his shoulders and was spun around. Noah and Shem, together, clutching his arms and dragging him back toward the ark.
“Don’t leave them,” he wailed. “Let me go.”
Dutton struggled against their grasp, but they were big men, made hard and stalwart by a life of sweat and toil.
But the unicorns were stronger, faster, and built for speed. With hoofbeats thumping against the thick, soupy mud, they sprinted closer and trotted to a stop, whinnying, shaking their manes. They pranced in place and each quickly lowered their front knees to the ground as if to say, get on.
The tidal wave towered over them, driving forward, leveling anything in its path.
Noah and Shem climbed on the back of the male unicorn, while Dutton straddled the smaller female. The animals glided smoothly across the remaining expanse, hurtling over stumps and leftover piles of wood, then clopped up the ramp.
They dismounted. Noah and Shem grabbed one rope while Dutton and another son, Ham, grabbed the second, pulling as hard as they could in a tug of war against gravity and time.
The hull door boomed closed. Thick wooden pegs were driven in place to secure it. The family and Dutton retreated to the far side of the ark and hunkered down, holding hands and waiting while the animals lay still, silent and patient.
The unicorns kneeled down on all fours where it was safer on the floor. Their horns sparkled in a rainbow of colors.
Dutton held his breath, waiting for the impact.
He took Noah’s hand and squeezed it. “That’ll make my daughter happy.”
Deafening thunder shook Dutton’s insides.
Only a few seconds remained before the greatest flood the world had ever known would drive into them and toss the vast wooden ship like the twig of an olive branch.
In front of him, mere feet away, the air glistened. Dutton blinked, unsure of what he had seen until it happened again, ripples extending from the center.
There it was, again. The dream world gateway.
He knew what he had to do, and there was no time for an explanation.
Dutton scrambled to his feet, took a confident step, and jumped headfirst into the vertical pond.
* * *
Dutton landed hard on his knees, barely stopping himself with his hands. The bed of leaves on the forest floor felt soft on his bruised and blistered palms. His clothes were soaking wet, making the wintry morning colder. Snowflakes fell around him.
Wait, am I…
He brushed the now damp leaves from his hands and stood to see Jess racing down the hillside. “Jesus. There you are,” she exclaimed. “Where were you?”
She fell into his arms, her brisk speed almost knocking him over.
Dutton hugged her close, enjoying the feel of his wife’s body against his—a long overdue embrace. Such an epic dream, like he hadn’t seen her in thousands of years.
But if this was a dream… how strange was it that he was back here? Shouldn’t he be skydiving with Abraham Lincoln or chasing a shark on training wheels, something as inexplicable as Noah and unicorns?
“Answer me,” she said.
“I was helping—hang on, you’ve been crying,” he said.
Jess pulled away, still clasping his arms, studying him. “Did you—Dutt, when did you start growing a beard?”
“I…” Dutton touched his stubble, unsure. Mirrors hadn’t existed on the ark.
“Have I really been that out of touch?”
“Maybe?”
“Oh, God. I’m so sorry. It feels like you’ve been gone forever. You weren’t here when I got back and I looked everywhere. You’d just vanished, and that—that thing had disappeared. I was freaking out, like maybe you’d gotten sucked into it. Seriously, where were you?”
“I don’t—”
“Were you hiding in the rhododendrons to freak me out? Because if you were, you’re a massive assho
le.” She stepped back and examined his robe, his sandals. “What the hell are you wearing? What happened to your pajamas? And why are you soaked?”
He looked down at himself. “This is seriously the craziest, most lucid dream ever. You’re never gonna believe me when I try to explain. And it’s so weird that I’m even talking about a dream, within my dream, and I went through the vertical pond and even that felt like a dream because I was helping Noah build his ark and there were unicorns. I know it sounds completely insane, even when I’m trying to explain it in a dream. Man. So crazy.”
Jess put her hands on his cheeks. “Let me see your eyes.”
“Why?”
“Your pupils aren’t dilated.”
“What?”
“Did you fall and hit your head? Maybe knock yourself out? Is that why you didn’t answer?”
“No, honey, I’m fine.”
Jess ignored his insistence, lifting the lapel of his robe, rubbing the material between her thumb and forefinger. “Even if you knocked yourself out somehow, that still doesn’t explain the different clothes. And why would you put them on soaking wet, Dutt? We should probably get you to a doctor. You disappear and then show up again out of nowhere talking about Noah and unicorns… What if—oh my God, did somebody attack you? Can you remember anything like that? What’s the president’s name? What year is it? Let me see your head.”
“I’m okay, really. Stop. I’m dreaming and I don’t even know why I’m bothering trying to convince you because five minutes from now I’ll be bowling with Santa Claus—”
The smack against his cheek stung, the sound sharp in the quiet morning woods.
“Ow! What was—”
“Does it feel like a dream now?”
“No, but—”
“Okay, well, I’m sorry, and I probably shouldn’t have hit you since you might have a concussion, but Dutt, sweetheart, you’re not making any sense. Noah? Santa Claus?” She took his elbow and pulled him up the hillside. “Let’s get you warmed up and then we’ll call the police. Okay?”
“Sure, I guess.” He couldn’t resist teasing her. “What do the cops do in dreams? Do their guns shoot jelly beans?”
“You’re not dreaming! Stop with the dream shit, please. You’re scaring me.”
Dutton showed her his palms in silent apology.
Jess pointed at his hands. “Where did those come from?”
“What?”
“Those blisters and bruises.”
“From the working on the ark.”
Angry, Jess grabbed his wrist. “We’re done here. Clothes, police, and then I’ll call Linda to come have a look.” Dr. Mills, their next-door neighbor, was a seasoned pediatrician.
All right, how have I completely lost control of my own dream, he wondered. If it’s really lucid, then I should be able to manipulate something.
He focused on Jess as she marched him up the hill, practically dragging him along behind her. He started with the color of her running outfit, something easy, trying to change her long-sleeve t-shirt from blue to orange. It didn’t happen. He tried to imagine away her ponytail, making her hair cropped short the way she had it last summer. That, too, failed.
He tried until they reached the dirt trail and turned west, facing into the blowing snowflakes. They speckled his face with crisp drops of moisture, each one driving home the sensation of reality, bringing him back around. The weight of his feet on the ground, the sharp chill of the breeze on his damp skin and wet hair.
Snowflake after snowflake, melting on his skin.
“Jess?” He resisted her pull. “Jess, stop.”
“No, we’re going home.”
“I know, but I… I’m…” he stammered. “Am I really not dreaming?”
“No, now please let me get you home, okay?”
Back in their bedroom, Dutton sat on the edge of the mattress bundled up in a bathrobe after a hot shower, trying to make sense of what had happened.
Had the vertical pond really been a gateway through time? Had he really helped Noah with the ark?
His damaged palms, the robe, and the sandals… were they proof enough?
To him, maybe. Anyone else? Not a chance.
If he didn’t want to have his medical license revoked or get tossed into a padded room, he would have to lie, to everyone, for the rest of his life.
That was his new reality. A legitimate one.
It would be easy to concoct a story about transients accosting him in the woods, knocking him over the head, dressing him in odd clothing, and then tossing him in the river. He came to, crawled out, and climbed back up the steep hillside. Yeah, that would have to work. He would tell Jess the memory had come to him in the shower.
As for the rippling gateway? It would have to be their secret, or he would convince her that it had been an optical illusion.
Something simple. Something explainable.
Dutton needed to feel normal for a moment. He walked over to Jess’s side of their king-sized bed and found the remote, then turned on the television. He cycled through football and the weather, a music station, and a food channel where some beautiful Italian woman had baked a gorgeous, picture-perfect lasagna.
He settled on the first twenty-four hour news network he found, feeling like he needed to hear about actual events happening around the world. More solidity to further divide the line between supposed dream and reality.
Time travel. No way. Yet there was no other explanation for what he’d seen.
The commercial for a new laundry detergent ended.
The news anchor smiled as the camera zoomed in for a close-up, her blazing white teeth glinting against the studio lighting.
She said, “Welcome back from that quick break. We’ll return to the situation in Thailand in a moment, but first, our producers just received some fantastic information. The world has been watching closely for the past few weeks, and it’s finally happened, folks. News out of the Portland Zoo this morning—Zeus and Hera, the last two remaining unicorns in captivity, have given birth to a healthy baby foal.”
Dutton shot up from the bed and moved closer to the television.
The news anchor beamed with excitement, her eyes moist. She continued, “Zookeepers say they plan to give her a modern name for modern times. Let’s take you there now.”
The screen cut to a live feed at the zoo.
Dutton’s hand came up, covering his mouth. The other fumbled with the remote, trying to increase the volume; it fell from shaky fingers. He touched the screen, gently caressing the heartwarming image—a mythical family made real.
“America, please allow me to introduce you to… Lucy.”
A Word from Ernie Lindsey
Time travel is at once an easy topic to write about, but also thoroughly confounding and complicated. Who hasn’t wanted to go back in time and take back that stupid thing you said in the middle of class, or those hurtful words you said to the One Who Got Away? Who hasn’t dreamed about righting some wrong, like stopping Hitler or John Wilkes Booth?
The very idea of time travel is governed by two words: “if only”.
It’s simple, right? We hop back in time, fix what went wrong, both personally or globally, and then we come back to the present and live the glorious lives we were meant to live. Or, we’re anxious or excited about the future, so we jump forward to see if we’re really going to be okay, or if we screwed up and need to get ourselves together before the train jumps the tracks.
Time travel is made of hopes, dreams, and curiosity.
It’s an easy topic to write about with a seemingly never-ending supply of wishes and wants for the past and the future.
Then again: it’s also frustratingly complicated when you start dealing with paradoxes and if:then statements. As an author, it can be maddening trying to keep up with all of the things that will potentially change if your characters modify something. You try to invent all sorts of concepts to massage the truth you’ve created, whether they’re (new) scientific law
s that bend the properties of physics in previously undiscovered ways, or maybe you gloss over it by simply saying, “We don’t know why it works, it just does.”
But, the author boldly presses forth, because this is a story that needs to be told, and besides, it’s fiction. Suspension of disbelief. It’s all made up, so we get to make up our own rules! Hooray!
In “Beasts of the Earth,” Dutton and Jess are suffering through the devastating loss of their daughter. As the parent to a young toddler, I can’t think of anything worse than if something were to happen to him. Writing this story was perhaps my way of dealing with the heartbreaking potential of something like that. I didn’t come up with any magical answers, but it did make me realize this: we can’t fix everything, even if time travel existed, so enjoy the present while it lasts.
I do have more work out there dealing with time travel, and I promise, it’s actually a lighthearted, fun adventure novel. With mystery, action, suspense, and humor, I’m sure you’ll enjoy reading Skynoise. No tears. Really.
If you’d like to keep up with my fiction or learn more about me, head on over to my site, www.ernielindsey.com, where you’ll find opportunities to join my preferred reader list, grab some free books, and maybe check out my poorly drawn cartoons.
Excess Baggage
by Carol Davis
TOBY COBB HIT A WALL.
And it wasn’t like he’d been doing anything. Jumping off a roof, slaloming down the curve on James Street, running into traffic. Nope; one minute he was wandering through the big empty great room-kitchen-dining room of yet another stupid house in yet another stupid development, trying to find some decent music to listen to on his phone while his stupid parents followed the stupid Realtor around upstairs, looking at square footage and faucets and windows with a view of a bunch of stupid freaking trees, and the next…
POW.
He couldn’t sort things out as it was happening, couldn’t run down any list of, “Well, it might be this.” His brain muddled, and he felt himself being flung through space at something like a billion miles an hour. He was flying, it felt like, but not in any reasonable way. More like, he was being flown. Propelled, so fast he couldn’t track it.
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