by David Nell
She almost screamed until she saw the look on Andrei's face. It was a look of pure compassion and love.
"Sophie...If we can stop it..."
As she stared into his eyes a calm certainty spread across her features. She tried, but could not doubt him. She had never felt anything like it. He emanated energy that washed over her in a wave. She gently helped him into the machine. When he reached out to help her inside she hesitated. Rational thought left her. She had trusted him before and he had always been honest. She looked back at the school, then climbed onto his lap.
As Andrei punched code into the console, Sophie breathed heavily, claustrophobic. The whirlwind of activity had stopped – was she really in a supposed time machine? She felt something against her ankle and reached down. She unwrapped the glass dragon she had given him only one month ago. She had the sudden premonition that she had made the right choice.
He finished the code with a snap of keys and kissed her. Suddenly everything slowed in a way she had never experienced. Their kiss stretched into a minute, then a day, then months. Bodies forgotten, their coming-together spread out across the Universe in all directions at once. They were free of the world, alone together. They shared thoughts without speaking, without even the need of thought because they were no longer separated by space. There was simple Knowing. Light shone through them and they were wrapped up in bliss for all of time.
The experience changed her. She knew exactly what had to be done.
The wash of wind through leaves greeted them on the other side, bringing them into the fullness of reality by degrees. Sophie slid the panel open and stepped out. In the egg Andrei was fading. The door slid shut behind her, and the egg disappeared.
She stood alone on a dry hill. Gigantic Baobab trees swayed leaves in the breeze two hundred feet away. She walked toward the trees, huge trunks rising up before her like buildings. A shuffling sound filtered through the brush. She was approaching something alive, something with consciousness. She walked through the thick carpet of brush between the trees, snapping twigs underfoot, branches scraping her limbs and face, and enjoyed the sensations. Physical pain did not matter in the greater scheme of existence. She tromped toward a growing ruckus of grunts and squawks, almost human, searching for meaning. It was the beginnings of language.
She came out into a clearing where a handful of creatures huddled in the corner. They were monkeys, but not quite. Much of their body and facial hair had disappeared and they looked surprisingly similar to images of prehistoric man she had seen in museums since she was a little girl. They backed against a rock, screaming at her and slapping the ground and their chests. If they had words, they would threaten me. But they feared her and she knew it.
She sat cross-legged and quiet and waited most of that first day without moving. Eventually her tranquility spread to them, and her feeling of omnipotence drew them to her. She knew they would not harm her. She was a gentle wonder from another world. One by one they moved to her, touched her beautiful hair, felt her soft skin, and they touched her lips, hovering in fear and awe when she spoke.
For months she stayed with them. They shared food with her and protected her from enemies. They didn't understand her words but sat in rapt attention when she spoke. They vaguely comprehended images, so she drew them pictures. She drew them hunting tapir on the plains and hiding from large jungle cats. They kept her territory sacrosanct and gradually she taught them. They already used simple hand tools, she discovered, but her knowledge gave them superior understanding, and they gradually used more of the material around them to master nature.
With charcoal drawings upon the rocks, she taught them to fear the snake. The snake appeared from darkness and devoured them. It was not long before the fear that would save humanity took root. They understood completely, even brought her dead snakes as offerings.
When the time was right, she led the tribe up the stony mountain. They followed to a plateau where the stone gave way to a small lake, three mountain streams leading off into the unknown beyond. It was there that the black egg appeared to them. They shrieked in wonder and terror, but would not flee and leave her behind. So they witnessed. It was magic that changed them all. Andrei, the dying God, appeared from the egg. Early man bowed in reverence, clinging to The Mother.
She set the glass dragon on a rock to a chorus of screams. But Andrei reached toward the snake with a dark wand. A laser, a coherent beam of divine fire shot forth and melted the snake into a dark puddle.
A new type of fear took root: the fear of God. Sophie, task accomplished, climbed back into the egg with Andrei. Silence spread over the tribe as the egg was swept back up into heaven. The Great Father and Mother became One, the Savior of the world.
The tribe proliferated. Superior knowledge of tools and greater capacity for abstraction gave them survival ability found by no other tribe. For thousands of years, the lineage carried on, dominating competitors, spreading over land and eventually over sea.
When recognizable language finally developed, it carried unconscious reverence for the black egg, the Dying God within, the Mother Teacher, and fear of the Snake.
Oral and pictorial traditions passed through generations. As the massive tribe spread, they mutated and adapted to surrounding geography. When the idea reached Babylon the snake was known as Tiamat. To others much later it was known as Satan.
Fear and wonder proliferated. A new knowledge had taken hold. It was called "religion". Fear of the snake and darkness was conditioned into the mental culture of the world. The herd destroyed those who worshipped the snake. Wars ensued about the true meaning of the snake and egg and how to properly worship God and the Great Mother. Mental progress was diverted – it took tens of thousands of years for these new people of the world to understand basic technological concepts, and they would never find the gate to the plenum as Andrei had. Life was hard for this new humanity, but they would never give themselves over to the reptiles willingly. And the people waited, faithful, for the return of the Dying God who could kill the Dark Serpent with heavenly fire.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Writer, filmmaker and musician Eric R. Schiller lives in Toronto where he speculates, meditates, creates and tinkers with the border between the real and unreal. He does all this while drinking black coffee. Follow him on Twitter @EricRSchiller and visit his blog at EricRSchiller.com.
ASSIGNMENT SEVEN
Richard Smith
Warm rays, brilliant amber, fell upon Carter's face. The scent of grass and wet earth drifted by on a gentle breeze. In the distance, a solitary bird sang a lonely song. Close by, he heard the sound of buzzing insects.
The grass, damp and cool, pressed against his back. Carter felt drained and tired, but also strangely relaxed and at peace; he was content to savour the moment, eyes closed, enjoying the sun on his face.
He imagined he was with Natalia. If he were to open his eyes he would see her, lying just inches away from him, sitting on one elbow, smiling as she watched him sleep. He clung to this vision, until he was sure that if he just moved his arm he could reach out and touch her. But in the back of his mind, he knew this was an illusion, a glimpse of the future - Natalia was waiting for him, far away.
His present whereabouts eluded him. He could not place where he was, or why he was there. His mind struggled to find the answer. Deep down, he knew that he needed to open his eyes, that there were urgent matters to attend to. But it was so much easier to lay back and relax.
The direction of the breeze changed subtly and now he could smell decay, and blood. The bird flew nearer, until he heard its song almost overhead. Farther in the distance, he heard the faint hiss of a car, passing by on some distant road.
A fly droned past his face and settled on his chest.
Something was wrong.
He had to open his eyes.
A sequence of fragmented, half-remembered images entered his head. A grim, determined face, staring into his. A knife, seen too late. Gunshots and blood. Photos and typewritten
notes. Fire and screaming faces and the flash of an atomic explosion.
The fly crawled onto his stomach.
A second fly landed on his face.
He would open his eyes.
He just needed another minute.
The whole world was dying.
You only had to look at the sun, breathe in the dust in the air.
Carter studied the skyline of the city through the windshield of his rusting blue Ford Victory. The temperature had been rising throughout the day, and now, as the red sun set behind the rooftops, he could tell that a storm was about to break.
Heavy clouds loomed overhead, grey bathed in orange, and he wound up his window in anticipation. The rain would do nothing to alleviate the heat and it ate into everything it touched.
He exhaled slowly, steadily. A few more minutes and he would know whether he was killing anyone today. The downpour would either drive Carter's target back to his apartment, or the man would not show tonight.
There was no sign of police or army patrols. That was not surprising for this part of town. The dockside area had been abandoned after the war, and now it was a refuge for thieves, dealers and addicts.
Carter knew all about the war. It had started back in sixty-two, and the trail of atomic destruction had spread out from Cuba until it enveloped the globe. The fighting had raged on relentlessly for fourteen years, and now Mother Earth was on her knees, choking on the ashes of a thousand smouldering cities.
This city had fared better than most, but the price for that survival was overcrowding, crime and disease. In this particular part of the docks, Stan Yang was making his play for power. Last month, it had been someone else. The names changed, but the death and violence was always the same.
Carter did not like working for Yang, but these were desperate times. His military experience could be put to good use by someone like Yang. Carter did not consider himself a criminal - in fact, his work kept the criminals off the streets. He would wipe them all out if he could. And Yang kept well out of his way, which suited him fine.
It was far from the life he had imagined he would return to. He had got Natalia out as soon as he could. Now he just needed to complete one more assignment. Earn enough money to clear his debts, then he could join his wife.
He checked the Soviet-made Makarov at his side once again. The safety was off and a round was chambered. A mix of stimulants and depressants coursed through his bloodstream and for the moment at least, Carter felt lucid and alert; he was ready.
Minutes later, the target rounded the corner. Carter did not have to check the photo, he recognised the dealer's large form immediately. Ruben walked quickly, anxious to reach his destination, and he was alone.
Carter was about to exit the car when Ruben turned into the alley at the side of the apartment. He frowned. A minute later, Ruben emerged from the alley, pulling away in a red saloon.
Ruben's car headed east. A final meeting, or a collection somewhere. Carter started his own car in pursuit, following at a distance, watching where he went, waiting for the right moment.
Ruben drove out of the docks and joined a road heading towards the coast. The sun sank beneath the horizon, and the rain began to fall in the twilight. It started as a few heavy drops on the windscreen and then turned rapidly into a torrent.
The storm meant there was little traffic on the roads. Carter closed the gap until he was behind Ruben. He hit the accelerator and rammed into the rear of the saloon, causing Ruben to swerve across the road, almost losing control.
Carter followed closely as the car sped up, then it veered suddenly onto a side road, before swinging into a lay-by near to a copse of trees.
Ruben jumped from his car, a look of panic on his face as he saw Carter pull in behind. Carter grabbed his gun from the passenger seat, hoping to get a shot at his target before he reached the cover of the trees. He sprung from the driver's door, but he was a second too slow to make the shot.
As he felt the rain stinging his face, Carter hesitated. But he was committed now. Take down Ruben and he would never have to worry about the rain or the city again. He ran after his quarry, leaving his car in the lay-by.
Ruben was no athlete. He soon caught sight of him as he shuffled through the darkening woods.
Carter fired at his legs and the big man fell awkwardly, tumbling into a pile of dead bracken. He took his time to walk over to his victim. Ruben had scurried underneath a fallen tree trunk, flecks of his blood spattered on the crumpled undergrowth. Carter could not see his face or get a clear shot into his chest.
"Come out of there," he said. "I've got a message for you from Yang."
"I-I heard Yang was dead."
"You heard wrong."
"Please, don't kill me," Ruben pleaded. "I've got money, I can pay you. Whatever you're getting - I'll double it."
Carter sighed. "I'm sorry, it doesn't work like that. It'd be my name on the next assignment, and what I'm getting will be enough to see me through. Now, come on out, or I'll have to pull you out."
Ruben moved fast - a flash of a concealed switchblade, a thrust into Carter's right leg. Carter brought up the Makarov, firing once into Ruben's side before Ruben used his left hand to push the gun aside, his right punching hard into Carter's stomach. The big man's weight pressed into Carter and he fell backwards, dropping the gun. Ruben stumbled over him and ran from the woods into the open clearing beyond.
Carter cursed his carelessness and got to his feet, not bothering to retrieve his handgun. He would beat the bastard to death now. But even as he stumbled out into the clearing he knew Ruben had hurt him.
Ruben shuffled on ahead, clutching his side. Carter followed, limping from his leg injury, gaining ground slowly. As he looked down he could see Ruben had caught his stomach with the knife, and worse, the leg wound was bleeding badly. He would need to bind it, and he would have to act to quickly.
Carter came to a halt in the middle of the clearing, watching as Ruben entered the trees on the other side. His breathing ragged, his head swimming, he had no choice but to let his victim go. He could feel the blood pumping from his leg, and a numb ache in his gut.
He crouched down as he was gripped by a sensation of dizzying nausea. Hurriedly he slipped off his jacket and tore off a sleeve, tying it tight around his leg. His needle tumbled from the jacket as he worked. He eyed the syringe. He had been keeping the opiate mix for after the hit, but he decided he needed it now. He shot straight into his arm, and fell back onto the grass. There was a chance he could recover his strength, but equally, he could die here. Kill or cure. At least he would die happy.
As the drugs flowed through him, he looked upwards into the rain, ignoring the burning in his eyes. Carter tried to look for the stars, but everything was blurred.
He wished he could call Natalia. He had not spoken to her in a month, not since she had gone. It was impossible to reach her. He squeezed his wedding ring. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I tried, I really did."
The rain came down even heavier, and he passed out on the grass, staring up into darkness.
Carter opened his eyes slowly.
The sun was high overhead and the bright light made him squint.
Painfully, he sat up on his elbows. A swarm of flies, disturbed by his movement, took flight from his body. Looking down, he saw his shirt and trousers were covered in blood. So much blood. Dark red, blurred into the fabric of his damp clothes. Something was tied tight around his left leg. His shirt was torn, the skin beneath cut open - a deep, weeping wound.
Carter's head span. He turned onto his side and puked on the grass.
A spent syringe lay nearby. He had been using heavily, these last few weeks. He recalled that much. Sickness was a side-effect of the drugs. They numbed the pain, helped him sleep; they buried his memories. Sometimes they made it hard to remember anything.
A part of Carter did not want to know. It was perhaps better to block it out, walk away if he could; never look back.
He focused on hi
s surroundings. He was sitting in a tree-lined common. The green grass and foliage that he had pictured in his mind was in fact brown and withered. He was somewhere on the outskirts of the city, the smog-shrouded outlines of the grey tower blocks far in the distance.
Carter crawled over to his jacket, ripped and abandoned in the wet grass a few feet away. There he found what he was looking for - in the pocket, a folded sheet of paper, damp, but the typewritten text still legible.
A name and number - Ruben, assignment seven. A brief description of Ruben's appearance, his movements and whereabouts. A small photo, attached with a paper clip - the face he recalled, the man with the knife.
Carter re-folded the paper thoughtfully. The memories of the previous evening began to resurface in his mind.
Another victim for Stan Yang. Things had gone wrong. Ruben had escaped. With Ruben still alive, there would be no payment, no chance to get away.
He had to make things right, one way or another.
The sickness subsided, and he assessed his injuries. His skin was blistered and burned by the rain. Two knife wounds: one deep but not fatal in the abdomen; one severing an artery in the leg. Without the tourniquet he would have bled to death. As it was, he was still hurt badly. Before he did anything else, he needed to find a place to rest and recover.
He staggered across the common, instinct or memory leading him into the trees. There was no sign of Ruben. He found his gun along the route. His vision blurred as he stooped to retrieve the Makarov, and he almost passed out, but he stumbled and carried on.
Through the woods he found his car, parked hastily in the lay-by with the door still open, right how he'd left it. From the cover of the woods he made a final check for any traffic or passers-by, but the road was clear.
He slumped into the driver's seat, fresh blood leaking from the wound in his stomach. Where now? Not home, it was too risky. He needed to find somewhere else.
