by Jan Eira
“This one’s dinner, too,” said Brent. “Have you guys ever cleaned out the guts on one of these beauties?” He grabbed the fresh catch, removed the hook from its mouth with ease, and placed it in the cooler.
“Yuck!” said William. “I think I’m going to puke just thinking about it. I can’t look at his eyes, either. He’s looking up at me, begging me to let him live.”
“It’s easy,” said Brent, closing the top of the cooler. “William, you’re such a coward.” He grabbed his fishing pole. “My grandpa showed me how to clean fish. I’ll do it. But one of you has to cook them. Can you do that, William?”
“I volunteer,” said Ellie. “I can fry them up.”
“What will I do?” asked William. “I want something that doesn’t involve degutting, disemboweling, or eviscerating anything with a mother.”
“Bwock, bwock, bwock,” mocked Brent. “You chickenshit! How about you do the dishes?” He raised his eyes to the heavens and shook his head.
Ellie got up. “I’ll get the frying pan, oil, and what we need to cook dinner.”
“How many more fish do we need?” asked William.
“We have two,” said Brent. “We need at least one more—two more, even better. And I’m the one who gets the next one, the biggest one yet.”
“You wish,” said William, already grabbing his fishing pole and rushing to the river’s edge.
Wordlessly, the two boys continued to fish. The rushing water was the only sound.
After several minutes, Ellie broke the silence. “Where do your parents and the school think you are? We need to get our stories straight.”
William looked at Brent. “I told them I’m spending the weekend with you to celebrate your birthday.” He took a mouthful of his Budweiser. “They don’t expect me at school until Sunday evening.” Another gulp. “Don’t you love these teachers’ professional development days?”
“Yeah, especially when they begin on Thursdays,” said Brent. “Half a day on Thursday and all day on Friday, plus the weekend.” He raised his bottle in the air. The others reciprocated. “Sweet.”
“I told my parents and the school I was going to spend the long weekend with Marissa,” said Ellie.
“Who’s that?” asked Brent.
“You guys don’t know her. She doesn’t go to our school, but she lives here in town and goes to my church.”
Several long minutes of lull ensued. The whooshing water and the periodic reeling of the fishing lines provided the only background noises.
“I got a bite!” said William. “Help me. I think this is another big one.” Ellie and Brent ran to his side, coaching, helping, and encouraging. Soon, the bass was in the cooler.
“The oil’s heating up on the fire,” said Ellie. “It’ll take a bit. Move over, amateurs. The pro has once again arrived.” She twisted off the cap of a beer bottle and took a swig. “Anyone need another cold one? Beer is good for you! It made Bud wiser.”
“I’m good,” said Brent, forming a smile.
“No, thanks,” said William.
Ellie sat down, her fishing pole in her hand.
“One more,” said William.
“One more,” said Brent.
Soon, the late-afternoon quiet was restored. Three baited hooks once again plopped into the river.
“What about you, Brent?” asked Ellie.
“What about me?”
“Where do your parents think you are until Sunday evening?” asked William.
“They don’t give a shit.” Brent took a deep breath. “They couldn’t care less.”
“They care,” said Ellie. “They just don’t show it.”
“Yeah, right.”
“But what did you tell them?” asked William.
“I told her I was with him, and I told him I was with her. They don’t care.”
“Well, we care,” said Ellie. “We care about you. We care about May 29, 2013.” She raised her bottle toward the boys. “Happy birthday, Brent.”
“Happy sixteenth birthday, buddy,” said William. The three clunked Buds. “You are now officially one year older than Ellie and me.” His words tapered off into the stillness of the early evening. Several yards behind them, the crackling fire snapped periodically.
For a long while, the three friends continued to try to hook that fourth catch, but this fishing expedition would produce only three fish.
The sun was beginning to melt away on the horizon.
“Sunset’s almost here,” said Ellie. “Three big ones are good enough.”
“Sounds great,” said Brent.
“Brent, clean up the fish,” said Ellie. “William and I will get everything else ready. We’ll want to be done with dinner before dark.”
They began gathering their things and performing their culinary chores. Soon, a delicious aroma emanated from the frying pan.
“Welcome to Ellie’s Diner, where the beer is as warm as the friendships,” said Ellie.
“Here, here,” the teenagers said in unison. They drained their Buds.
“May Ellie’s Diner be open for good eatin’ and good friends forever more,” said Brent.
They clinked empty beer bottles and began to eat.
“Turn on the radio,” said William, interrupting the clinks of forks and plates. “See if you can get a station with good music.”
Brent fidgeted with the old device and extended the antenna. “Lately, all I’ve been able to get is an all-news station.” He twisted the dial back and forth. “All I can get is this. News!” He fiddled with the knob for a few moments.
“Let’s listen to the news,” said Ellie. “I want to hear the weather forecast.”
Brent adjusted the volume and propped the radio up on a prominent rock.
“NASA reported today that the distance between the moon and the earth has increased more than expected since the last measurements were taken last year. These calculations are being retaken to verify this information. The meaning of this, if true, is unknown at this time. Your weekend weather when we return at the top of the hour.”
Two hours passed. The sunset came and went. Dinner was over, the dishes were cleaned and put away, and the fire sizzled and sliced into the darkness of the night. An enchanting heat radiated from the burning wood, blanketing the teenagers.
Brent took a long swallow of beer. “It doesn’t get any better than this.”
“Let’s remember this night forever,” said William.
“How could I possibly ever forget this?” Ellie smiled and looked at William and then at Brent. “Great food. Best friends.”
“Beer and marijuana, too,” said William.
“I can do without the alcohol and the blunt,” said Ellie. “But I never want to do without the two of you.”
“Better than this, only Hooters,” said William. “That’s where I want to go for my birthday celebration. Who’s up for it?”
“Hooters?” said Ellie. “It’s not that special. I’m going to invest in a competing restaurant chain and call it Peckers.”
“Be serious for once, you two,” scolded Brent. “We’re being serious now.”
William took a drag off the joint then drained the beer bottle. “Sorry, man. Don’t have a cow.”
In the distance, creatures of the woods proclaimed the night had arrived. The river’s sounds added background peace to the atmosphere. All was good.
“Hey, what about that Ms. Frizzle and her Magical School Bus?” asked William. “I was reading one of those books to my little cousin this last summer.” He puffed on the joint. “Is she taking and giving those kids hallucinogens or what?”
Ellie shrugged. Brent remained still, looking into the fire.
William continued. “Next thing you know, the Magic School Bus climbs up to the clouds, and Ms. Frizzle and the kids get smaller and
smaller. Then they get into water droplets and fall as rain.” He threw the marijuana butt into the fire. “I better stop smoking this shit, or I’ll end up like Ms. Frizzle. I’ll start wearing crazy hippie clothes and taking trips to the clouds.”
“William, you’re in rare form tonight,” said Ellie. “Yes, you do need to stop smoking weed, although your hair might look cute in a frizzle.” She smiled.
William grinned. “This is really my way of telling you I’m quitting pot forever. I’m officially quitting at—” He looked at his wristwatch. “Nine fifty-two p.m. May 29, 2013. Brent’s sixteenth birthday.”
“Great, I’m very happy for you,” said Ellie, touching his arm. After her words trailed off, the pops from the burning wood were the only sounds.
Furtively, Brent admired Ellie, noticing the way the firelight rebounded off her face and long, straight chestnut-brown hair so brilliantly. Her chocolate-colored eyes sparkled, making her smile radiant and infectious. Her smell blended pleasantly into the forest scent. “It doesn’t get any better than this,” he said.
The night hours passed with the ticktock of unstoppable time. Three sleeping bags surrounded the dying fire, which provided the only light draping the forest clearing.
As the teenagers slumbered, a bright flash momentarily illuminated the night sky. The brilliant rays came from the direction of the river, north of the encampment. A hundred tree shadows came and disappeared in an instant. A muffled, deep thump interrupted the calm. A wave of air rippled through the campsite, agitating the fire’s embers as it passed.
Brent woke up to a tiny pricking sensation deep inside his right ear, followed by something warm dripping from his ear canal. He put his hand to his ear and discovered a small amount of blood was. “What the heck is this?” He sat up. His left ear seemed uninjured. His right ear had no discomfort. The bleeding had ceased.
A weird, high-pitched hum diverted his attention. He looked around the campfire. “What the hell is that?” he asked himself. The sound repeated a couple of times, apparently coming from deep in the woods, up the river somewhere. An owl hooted from behind him, disquieting him even more so. The weird noise came again. It reverberated like a super-high-pitch, abrasive voice, as if it were coming from an old radio playing a station with its frequency out of tune. Scratchy. It whispered words that sounded like koo eeky…koo eeky. And then the sound disappeared. Brent waited. The owl hooted again. Brent turned and stared into the pitch-black woods. “What the hell was that noise?” He turned to face the dying fire, his mind still pondering. He was surprised to see Ellie and William sitting up and looking at the campfire flames, which burned alive again as they had done a few hours ago.
“Oh, you’re up!” said Brent. “Did you hear that noise, too?”
“I didn’t hear any noise,” said Ellie. “What’s wrong?”
“What do you mean ‘you’re up’?” asked William. “We’ve been up for a while. What noise are you talking about?”
“I don’t know,” said Brent. “The weirdest noise I’ve ever heard.”
William shrugged and took a sip of beer. “Well, as I was saying, the Magic School Bus climbs up to the clouds, and Ms. Frizzle and the kids get smaller and smaller. Then they get into water droplets and—”
“Wait a minute,” said Brent. “I’m having an intense feeling of déjà vu.”
“What?” said Ellie. “Déjà vu?”
“How so?” asked William.
Brent shook his head as if to clear his mind. “We were sitting here at the campfire drinking beer.”
“Yes, we are. So?” said William. “We’ve been here for hours.”
“No, we were here earlier this evening,” said Brent. “Just like this. Talking and drinking beer. Then we got into our sleeping bags and went to sleep.” Two blank faces stared back at him. “William, you began talking about Ms. Frizzle, her hippie outfits, and her tripping on drugs with the kids on the Magic School Bus. Don’t you remember?” He looked at Ellie, then William, and then Ellie again.
“Are you OK, Brent?” asked Ellie.
“No, I’m telling you this moment passed exactly like this, earlier today. I’m sure of it. William, you said you had to quit smoking pot so you don’t end up like Ms. Frizzle. Remember?”
“I was just about to make that announcement, yes. But I haven’t yet. How did you know?”
“You told us earlier.” Brent’s words were rushed. “At nine fifty-two p.m. Don’t you remember?”
William squinted at his wristwatch. “It’s only nine forty-nine now.”
“Brent, calm down,” said Ellie. “I don’t remember these things having happened already. Best I can tell, we’ve been sitting here after dinner. Just talking and looking into the campfire.” She looked at William, who nodded in agreement.
“I just had the worst case of déjà vu you could possibly imagine.” Brent grabbed a long branch and rearranged the fire. “Oh, and I had some bleeding from my right ear.”
“Oh no,” said Ellie, coming to examine him. “Does it hurt?”
“No, it seems OK now.”
“I do see a tiny bit of blood,” she said. “We’ll get that checked when we get back to the school on Monday.”
“I’ve had déjà vu before,” said Brent. “But it was never this intense!”
The popping from the burning wood once again infiltrated the quiet of the peaceful evening. Brent shivered. “Wow. That was so weird!”
But the events transpiring a few miles north upriver of their encampment would soon begin to set in motion a set of circumstances so peculiar and unconventional that the world as the teens knew it was about to change forevermore.
CHAPTER 2
The container teetered at the riverbank, with the passing water lapping at its side. It was round on the top and flat on the bottom, like an enormous egg cut in half. The vessel was big enough to house but one adult.
“Where am I?” the man asked himself. He was lying on his back and looking around inside the vessel. “Who am I?” He looked here and there, feeling as if he’d awakened from intense anesthesia and was experiencing those eerie moments before all the neurons begin to work synchronously and the world is a strange, unfamiliar place.
“Where the hell am I?” he yelled. “What am I doing here?” He fought the restraints for several long moments, moving side to side. He made several unsuccessful attempts to free himself and get up. His tension escalated. He suddenly stopped, relaxed, and looked around inside the spherical box that contained him, a bit less disconcertedly now. “Where am I? It’s 2059. No, it’s 2030…wait, 2013.” He whispered as he squinted, trying to reconnect with forgotten memories. “What the hell just happened to me?”
He felt the straps over his chest, and his eyes followed the seatbelt to the buckle in the middle of his chest. He pushed the button, and his restraining harness fell to the side, liberating him. He stood up. The top of his head hit the inside of the rounded capsule. Patting the top of his aching skull, he noticed a red button on the wall.
“Symbols,” he whispered to no one there. He allowed his index finger to touch the letters written on the red button. “What does this mean?” He sat back down and took a deep breath.
He looked side to side again until his eyes focused on a door lock.
He pulled on a lever, and a hatch flung open. Beyond the entrance, he smelled the fresh forest and heard the river’s whispering flow. He peeked outside. It was pitch black. An owl hooted in the distance. He stepped outside and peered into the darkness of the woods. He looked up to see a thick layer of clouds preventing most of the moonlight from touching him.
“What am I doing here?” he whispered. He walked around outside the spherical object. ‘What is this thing?’ he thought. ‘How did I get here? What was I doing inside it?’ He examined the vessel and its surroundings looking for clues. “Think, think,” he said. “What place
is this?” He took a few steps. “A river. Camping. Birthday. Death.” He knelt on the ground and smelled the sand. “Fishing. Beer. Campfire. Friends. Lots of death. Apocalypse.” He struck the ground hard with his fist. “Why can’t I remember?”
He looked back at the semispherical container. “This is so frustrating. Think.” He walked toward the vessel. “The red button. The red button with letters.” He stepped inside and again looked at the writing: Press Here.
He bit his lip. “Why couldn’t I read this earlier?” he whispered. Above the red button was a metal plate. He touched the letters etched there and whispered. “Administrative Control.” He straightened his back and pressed the red button. An image appeared on the wall. It was a man suiting up with the garb he now wore. “That’s me!”
The man in the image spoke. “Computer simulations predict you will be very disoriented at first. You may have forgotten who you are and have no idea about where you are or about time. The good news is that the computer model predicts this confusion to be temporary, and you will be back to normal in a matter of a few hours. Don’t panic, that’s to be expected.” The recording had been at night, but a river was plainly visible behind the man. “Your name is Brent Joseph Smithson.” The man on the screen picked up a pen and wrote the words Press Here on a red button. “Today is May 29, 2013. Our birthday.”
The image evaporated into nothingness. Brent was again alone in the round capsule.
“Give me more,” he yelled at the wall. “I need much more.” He walked away from the pod. “What am I doing here?”
In the dark of night, he walked toward the river. “Fishing,” he said, recalling a vague memory. “Fishing with friends.” He knelt at the river’s edge and took a drink of the fresh water. He splashed his face and allowed the cold liquid to drip down his hair. The cold stung his skin, invigorating him, sharpening his mind a little.
“I’m here to find people,” he said. “I’m here on a mission. I need to find people in these woods.” He got back on his feet and looked into the darkness of the forest. “Kids. I’m here to find a group of kids in these woods. Teenagers. Celebrating a birthday. My birthday.”
