A Shrouded World (Book 4): Valhalla

by Tufo, Mark

  Okay, the valley it is, I think, sighing heavily to focus my mind on the upcoming journey as I hoist my pack to a more comfortable position.

  “Jack…Jack?”

  I instantly open my eyes, taking in the bedroom and Lynn standing at the door. I scramble into a sitting position, grabbing for my carbine but stopping mid-reach.

  “Sorry, you startled me,” I say by way of explanation for my sudden movement.

  “Did you really put your clean clothes back on and then sleep in them?” Lynn asks.

  I look down to see that I’m clad in my fatigues, boots and all. I don’t remember putting them back on or really that Lynn had washed them and brought them in.

  “I, uh, guess so,” I stammer.

  “Well, must be quite attached to them,” Lynn replies.

  “What time is it?” I ask, noting the sun’s rays through a crack in the curtains.

  “About ten,” Lynn answers. “Bill went into town for a quick errand and will be back shortly. I’ll warm breakfast up once you get changed.”

  “Did…did anything happen last night?” I ask.

  “Aside from you snoring, not really. And no monsters came screaming from the woods as you alluded to, if that’s what you mean. Bill came back and you were asleep. We thought it best you get some rest rather than wake you, sorry,” Lynn says.

  I quickly glance around the room. It looks identical to the one I woke up in last night, but obviously without the decay. Visions of what I encountered last night dance in my head and I wonder if I didn’t dream it. My knee carries twinges of when it was bent in ways it wasn’t meant to, but I could have I injured it in my sleep somehow.

  “Oh, it looks like some of your wounds opened up,” Lynn says, taking me out of my reverie.

  I follow her gaze and see my blood on the pillowcase. I reach up to feel my head and encounter new wounds on its side and back. I doubt that I scratched my own head, but check my fingers anyway. They’re dirty with dried blood staining the palms and back of my hand, and even though there is blood under my fingernails, there’s no skin that would indicate I caused these gouges.

  Lynn walks in and scoops up the pillow, pulling the case off it to see that the blood has seeped through.

  “Well, I guess I’ll give both of these a wash. I’ll go get the alcohol and more bandages, along with a fresh set of clothing.”

  She takes my chin in her hand, turning my head from side to side to get a measure of the wounds.

  “These…these are new. What the hell, Jack? How did you get those lying in bed?”

  I don’t have an answer. Either I self-mutilated during my dreams or what I encountered was real. It’s kind of confusing and I wonder if perhaps I’m going crazy. Maybe I am really sitting back at Cabela’s, having elapsed back into some kind of coma. That might explain some of what I’m encountering, and it makes sense to me from a psychological standpoint. They’re here, but removed from me. As much as this makes some kind of sense, it just doesn’t feel right. But, does a crazy person know they’re crazy? I suppose not. This whole thing could be the sort of rationalization a crazy person might engage in to absolve their own insanity. Now, that alone is enough to make one crazy.

  “Did anything happen last night? Did you hear anything? Feel anything?” I ask, ignoring her questions for the moment.

  “Um, I’m not sure what you mean. We went to bed and woke up this morning. So, I guess the answer is nothing happened. I didn’t hear or feel anything, but I never do anyway. I fall asleep and wake to go about my day,” Lynn answers.

  “What do you dream about at night?”

  “Dream at night? What do you mean?”

  “Exactly what I meant. What are your dreams like?”

  I’m asking because I want to know what they might have experienced, even if it was subconscious.

  “I still don’t know what you mean,” Lynn asks, a perplexed look on her face as she holds the pillowcase and pillow in her hands.

  “You don’t know what a dream is?” I query.

  “Well, duh. It’s something wished for in the long run. Like, I dream of a good life and future for Robert and Bri,” Lynn replies.

  “Bri? You mean Nic, right?”

  “Who is Nic? No, Bri. You met her yesterday. You know, blond hair, blue eyes,” Lynn says, a look of worry crossing her face.

  I’m not even sure what to say to this. I know for a fact that it was Nic who walked in the door and I certainly know the difference between my daughters. With everything else so damn confusing, I just drop it.

  “Oh, yeah, sorry.”

  “You said you had a daughter named Nic, so maybe you just got your wires crossed,” Lynn says.

  “Probably so. So, back to dreams. You don’t, like, have picture images and videos running in your head when you’re asleep?” I ask, trying to fathom what is going on.

  “Um, no. I go to sleep and wake up. There’s nothing that happens in between,” Lynn responds.

  “And this is with everyone?”

  “Yeah, Jack. As far as I know. We need to get you to the doctor as soon as you get changed and have something to eat. I’m afraid you hit your head harder than you thought, and those new wounds are disconcerting,” Lynn says, starting for the door.

  She leaves and closes the door, returning shortly with a folded set of clothing. I sit on the bed and stare at the stack. This whole thing is confusing and overwhelming. If it even remotely felt like a dream, I could understand it. But, this doesn’t, even if it were a lucid dream. The scratches on my head and sore knee are far too real. Reaching down, I pull my vest to find a partially empty mag. Withdrawing the remaining bullets, I play the mental video from the prior evening, counting the rounds I fired. The numbers match. I check my pack and there are the others I used near the cauldron. My knife is also still bloodied. So, either I mutilated myself and tossed ammo away last night, or the events happened exactly as I remember them. Along with Lynn saying that Bri is now her daughter alludes to the fact that there are some very weird time warps happening here. And seemingly at random. Also, if I stay here, I’ll be remanded to an insane asylum before much longer. Hell, I may even check myself into one.

  I’d stay if I thought I’d get any answers, but the questions I’d have to pose would see me quickly bundled into the car and driven away. Plus it’s pretty apparent that they don’t believe my story. Especially with my prophecies of impending doom coming from the woods at night and nothing of the like occurring. And if I’m going to go, it has to be before nightfall. Something happens at night, and I’m not certain I’d live through another evening like the one I just had.

  Maybe that barrier comes up near nightfall to protect this town.

  I ponder that. The night runners appear at some time in the future, after this town has decayed. I did see the lights when I was fighting on the slopes, so perhaps that bubble can be witnessed from outside but not penetrated. Maybe I even fought those night runners from a time in the past on the outside of the bubble. After all, there was lava bubbling up to the surface—it could have been while the ridges were still being formed. But, it could also easily have been a future presentation. And the facts changing between days; like Nic becoming Bri and the memories of the residents taking that in stride, perhaps changing slightly as they slept without dreams. I could be carried along with those time displacements, or outside of them, because I’m not part of this place. None of this helps me get closer to a solution out of here, though. All it really does is confuse the situation more.

  I begin pondering if I could use the warps somehow, like if I were to be standing at the barrier when things shift. I was pulled back into this point in time at some point after the sun rose, and I couldn’t enter the town a little before it set. This bubble that Bill and Lynn, and really whoever else, reside in during the day seems to operate on a timer—though I don’t have enough evidence to support something like that; I’m merely grasping at straws. It certainly seems similar to what Trip did with the
cage, protecting the occupants from the ravages of time. That certainly didn’t end well, though, and this one seems a little out of kilter.

  Perhaps I could just sneak out the front door and head down the valley.

  I suppose if I don’t find anything, I could return and play nice—say that I remember more things and beg them not to commit me. It seems as if I don’t have any protection from the night runners as I’m merely cast out of a time loop and into their presence, regardless of whether I’ve drawn them into this world or not. The one thing I’m thankful for is that Lynn and Robert are okay, although Nic and Bri swapping places is just fucking weird. It could be that the future town died of something else and the night runners are merely inhabiting the place.

  Fuck! All of this is too far out there for me to comprehend.

  I let the warm water cascade over my head and shoulders; the sting of the cuts, both fresh and old, is short-lived. Relishing my second shower in as many days—first time that’s been possible in a long while—I try to take it all in. I need to get myself focused and I’ve been letting my emotions run rampant, becoming overwhelmed with the circumstances. The situation as it sits is an untenable one. If night falls and I find myself faced with the same conditions as yesterday, I doubt I’ll make it. I’m down to little ammo and I’m worn out.

  In the last world, we had to fix a time aspect that had run rampant and was destroying the place. Things aren’t right here either, assuming I haven’t actually gone crazy. Maybe it’s the same issue. The problem is that I don’t even have an inkling of how to fix it. And, to be absolutely honest, I don’t really care much. All I want is to escape this madness and return to my own world. However, there are renditions of Lynn and the kids here, and there’s a part of me that wants to set things right so they have a chance to continue with their lives, parallel ones or not.

  Every time I see Lynn or the kids, my heart leaps. I will admit that it’s rather odd to see Lynn wearing an apron and playing housewife. If I make it back to my world, I’m going to present her with one. Of course, that will require that a doctor to be close at hand, ready to stitch me up.

  The bottom line is that I need to focus and come up with a plan. I can’t continue as it is. There is a part of me that would like to drift in the current stream and remain here, even with the kids seemingly coming and going. However, each night it seems that I’m cast out of the timeline and thrown into the midst of night runners. That seems to be an issue wherever I happen to be, but at least out of the town, I have some warning and am in the time stream. I’ll take that over dropping into the middle of roaming packs.

  I need to get out of here.

  That thought rings true inside my dense skull. I’m not sure what purpose seeing Lynn and the kids had, if any. I just don’t see what answers might be here. I may be wrong, but maybe it’s just the overall situation that needed to be shown and they were here because of our closeness.

  I think of Mike being reunited with his loved ones and it’s like a knife going through my heart. I’m happy for him, but at the same time, I’m jealous. And honestly, I kind of miss his company. The thought of having to do this solo is exhausting to even think about. Yes, I operate better alone, but I’m in serious doubt as to whether I can find my way out of this place. The only thing I can think of is wandering aimlessly across the landscape in the hope of finding a rumor of a portal. The bottom line is that I need to leave this house.

  As the warm water turns cooler, I contemplate exactly how I’m going to do that. It will have to be daylight and I’ll have to break everything back down. I suppose I could just gather my things and walk out and hope the barrier doesn’t keep me in. If it works both ways but only at night, I’ll have to run through a gauntlet of night runners. However, it seems people have left during the day, never to return, so it appears possible to walk out. If not, I guess I’ll just walk back and go with the possibility of being confined in a rubber room.

  Maybe those others became swept up in another time stream?

  Turning off the shower, which has become decidedly colder, I towel off and dress in the clothes Lynn left. Lynn had thrown my clothes in the laundry again so I’ll have to wait for them, but then I’m out.

  “That has to be the longest shower ever recorded,” Lynn says upon my exit from the bathroom.

  “Yeah, sorry. I may or may not have used all of the hot water,” I reply.

  “Mmmhmmm. Well, I stole some for your clothes, which are in the dryer, by the way. Judging from the condition of your clothes when you arrived, you could probably use three times as much to actually get clean. I’ve changed diapers that smelled less,” Lynn states.

  “They were about ready to run away. When I took them off before, they scuttled into dark corners and I could hear growling,” I respond.

  “That doesn’t surprise me. Now, let’s get those cuts fixed up. We may have to put gloves on your hands to keep you from scratching yourself,” Lynn says, pushing past me into the bathroom.

  It’s silent in the dining room as she daubs my wounds. Having her close, leaning over me, sends irregular beats through my heart. It makes me miss her so much more; her smell and presence. It takes everything I have not to take her in my arms and hold her close. It’s also going to be difficult to leave, but having her close to me like this only makes that choice more certain. Their lives don’t seem to be in danger from night runners, but they may face a longer-term threat that could end their existence. It’s with that thought that I steel myself to depart.

  Lynn finishes and then pulls my clothes from the dryer. I take them back into the bedroom and change, then break down my weapons and stow everything into my pack. Sitting on the edge of the bed, I contemplate my decision, making sure that I’m not forming my choice based strictly on the uncomfortableness of the situation. After analyzing everything, I come to the same conclusion that I need to leave, and leave soon, as there aren’t many hours before the sun begins its descent toward the horizon.

  Hoisting my pack, I head out of the room leaving Bill’s clothes folded atop the comforter. I hear Lynn in the kitchen, rustling through cabinets. I halt near the front door, wondering if I should just leave or say goodbye. It would be rude and cause undue stress if I were to just walk out. But, that same stress would probably be there if she knew I was leaving, possibly leading to phone calls to Bill, who would try and chase me down.

  “What are you doing?” Lynn says, turning from her work to see me standing in my gear, complete with shouldered pack.

  “Thank you for everything, Lynn. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it, but I have to go.”

  “Go? Go where, Jack? You just got here,” Lynn exclaims.

  “I know, but there are things happening that I can’t explain. And, I don’t belong here. That story I told you is true. Bill’s brother is still out there somewhere, but I’m not him. You take care of yourself and say goodbye to Robert and Ni…Bri. And to Bill,” I reply, turning around.

  “Jack? Jack? You need to see a doctor. Don’t go,” Lynn says, coming out of the kitchen to chase after me.

  “Please don’t try to stop me. This is something I have to do. Perhaps we’ll meet again,” I say, my voice becoming choked.

  I open the door and step out, closing it behind me. It’s not far to the spot where I entered the town. I go around the wooden barrier instead of over it, halting to turn around and take a last look. With a tear in my eye, I mentally say goodbye to Lynn, Robert, Nic, and Bri. A soft breeze, filled with the scent of the ocean, wafts down the street, the tree branches rustling as it passes. Turning again, I head to where I left my water bottles, finding them as I left them. Putting everything back together and donning my gear, I shoulder my pack and head up the hill, turning shortly afterward to parallel the road that leads out of town and through the narrow valley.

  As I walk, I hear Bill’s voice calling my name, the shouts echoing among the trees, eventually fading as I stroll further from the little coastal town.


  Mike Talbot—Chapter 1

  “Trip, is that you?” I was on the ground, though I didn’t remember how I got there. I had enough faculties about me that, with the amount of dust and smoke in the air along with the debris field I found myself strewn in, I realized I had been involved in an explosion of some sort. I was having thoughts of Fallujah as I looked at the heavy stucco walls of whatever domicile I was in. But I didn’t know Trip when I was in Fallujah, did I? And why the hell was I all decked out in BDUs, battlefield dress uniform? Fallujah, it had to be.

  “Why’d you try and get yourself blown up?” He was less than three inches from my face, sitting on his haunches as he was wont to do.

  “You’re dead. Does that mean I’m dead too? Though the smell of Fritos on your breath is pretty indicative that you’re alive and I’m not making this up.”

  “Dead? Are the Dead here, man? You got tickets? And just so you know this is the land of Fritos with a Ph.”

  “Help me up.” I raised a hand. Surprisingly, he did as I asked without making a production out of it. “Unsteady” was one of many words I would use to describe the lightheadedness I felt as I stood. “Swooning” would come in a close second. I braced myself against a nearby wall, though the groan it gave as I added my weight to it let me know how unwise that may have been.