by Paul A. Rice
But most of them didn’t know, and that was a good thing.
And so, without that knowledge, they all, to a man, and almost to a woman, slept the sleep of the righteous. Sometimes being on George’s side has its perks. Undisturbed sleep being one of them.
Tori didn’t sleep, though. Not a wink.
***
By 05:15hrs the following morning the whole team had washed, dressed, taken some food, a few hot drinks, and carried out one last check of their equipment. At last it was time to go. Shoulder-to-shoulder they strode purposefully over to the barn, the crimson glow of a new dawn casting its radiance onto their faces, setting the walls of the whitewashed farmhouse ablaze with a fluorescent pink radiance. The Hunters’ long shadows, rifle muzzles sticking out from the edges, stretched out behind them as they walked with their faces held into the rising sun. Other than the sound of crunching gravel coming from beneath their feet, the farm was shrouded in a deathly, almost morose, silence.
If Jane had taken one last glance over her shoulder, she would have been horrified to see the cracks that had started to appear upon the walls of the house. Like a tiny mosaic of spiders’ webs, they began to spread across every surface of the place. It wouldn’t be more than two days before the entire house would need a complete redecoration. Within a week it would be a pile of dust, and in less than a month the whole place would have disappeared completely. Their time in this parallel was at an end, and with it would also end everything they had ever built, or imagined they had ever built.
Fortunately, she didn’t look back. None of them did.
The rectangle was there, just as George had said it would be. A large grey steel affair, sitting upon the floor of the barn, with glass corners linking the four metal beams of its sides together. As they looked, the Hunters noticed that the inside of the glass was pulsing to the beat of some unseen power-source.
Tori stepped into the rectangle, looked down at her watch and then turned to the others. ‘Come and join me, the time is near,’ she said. ‘Everyone squeeze in and make sure that you hold onto all of your stuff, anything not connected to you will not be transferred!’
Without a word they joined her, stepping swiftly into the perimeter of the device, making room for each other. Eventually, all six of them were standing side-by-side, weapons clutched tightly in their sweating hands.
The atmosphere was bizarre, to Ken it felt like they were standing outside the Headmaster’s office, he and his gang of guilty cohorts about to be called in as one and then lambasted for some heinous crime committed on the playground. He was also filled with the desire to let out a long, rip-snorting, fart. The absolute madness of that ridiculous thought ran through his mind with unbridled clarity. Without being able to help himself, he giggled loudly. Even though he tried to make it sound like a manly cough, his efforts were to be of no avail and giggle he did – Ken actually giggled.
The sound of his childish mirth immediately started the others off.
All of them either did some giggling, or some chuckling, of their own. Red sounded as though he was choking. In seconds they were in fits of laughter, a strange sensation of complete freedom filled every fibre of their being; a sense of total release smothered them, seeming to disperse all of their yesterdays with the ease of the wind blowing out a candle. There were no more yesterdays, no more fears, and no more memories. They were free.
Then the feeling was gone, its departure leaving them standing in silence.
Michael said, ‘Yes, it’s always like this, it…’ He turned to Tori, asking, ‘Whenever we leave somewhere it’s always going to be the same, isn’t it – the freedom?’
Tori nodded, saying: ‘Yes, it’s their way of letting us feel the change, there are no yesterdays, not anymore, from this point on there is only tomorrow, it’s time to move on, time to go!’ She stretched out her left arm and encircled his broad shoulders within her grasp.
The moment was like a signal, no sooner had she placed her arm out, when a sudden stillness began to surround them – a slowing of time, almost as though they had been freeze-framed.
Then the sliding sensation made its unwelcome reappearance.
Ken, who had Jane on one side of him, and the large frame of Junior on the other, felt them both stiffen in recognition of the weird feeling that had befallen them. He was just about to say something witty about how much he hated travel sickness, when the world around him and the others ignited.
A brilliant light filled their heads, and then, with that much-vaunted whirling blackness filling every atom of their beings, they jumped into the place where George so desired them to be.
14
The Trek
It was the smell of cooking meat that awoke him – roasted perfectly, fat dripping into the flames, smoking lazily for a while, before flaring like napalm bombs. Ken heard the sizzle of the hot fat as it dripped into the fire. He opened his eyes in the total darkness, pushing the woollen cap, which he had pulled down tightly over his face, onto the back of his head. The space blanket rustled with his movement, he felt the curve of Jane’s hips as she lay shivering next to him, curled up like a child beneath their meagre blanket.
Ken rolled onto his side and grimaced as the sharp edges of his Kalashnikov dug into his hip. He’d made sure that all of them had slept with their rifles tucked under them, and even if it was an uncomfortable arrangement, they all knew that should they be attacked in the middle of the night, there would be no time to spend in running around looking for their guns.
‘All weapons are to be within an arm’s distance at all times!’
That had been his sermon for some weeks now, and these days it had become second nature to all of them. It was far better to have the imprint of a safety catch cut into your butt for a few minutes, than to have the back of your head lying ten feet away from the rest of your body. Their weapons were at hand all the time, even whilst they slept.
Ken thought about the others and of how far they’d come, not just since arriving here yesterday, but as a whole, ever since this madness had begun. The lazy thoughts trickled through his head as he lay there trying to gather the motivation to shove the space blanket away from his face. Finally, and with an inward sigh, he reached up and gently pushed the cold material to one side, peering out from underneath the canopy of his silvery cocoon.
Junior and Michael were both up, and, by the looks of things, had been so for quite some time. They had a fire on the go and had rigged up a homemade spit from some freshly cut branches. Impaled upon the spit there now appeared to be a well-prepared and perfectly-cooked portion of fresh game. The meat was either a large hare, or perhaps a small deer, Ken couldn’t tell, but either way it smelled absolutely delicious.
He sat up and then slid from under the blanket, turning back to Jane, he covered her with his half of the space blanket, tucking it up around her in order to try and keep in as much of her body heat as was possible. Rising to his feet, teeth chattering and bladder bursting, Ken picked up his rifle and sloped off into the bushes in order to relieve himself; the large cloud of steam his urine exuded only served to make him feel colder and he half-wished that he hadn’t bothered. ‘I’m getting too old for this crap,’ he thought. ‘I should be in my bed with a hot cuppa, not running around in the middle of fuck-knows-where, playing silly bastards looking for some bloody Demon or another.’ He grunted to himself and fished out his smokes.
First thing in the morning was, and never had been, a good time for Ken.
Lighting a cigarette, he turned around and headed for the warmth of the small fire. They looked up as he approached – Ken forced a smile to cross his scowling features. ‘Morning, guys,’ he said. ‘What’s happening?’
Ken listened to their tale of how Junior had successfully managed to replicate one of the traps he had shown them how to make, and of how, almost unbelievably, a small deer had fallen foul of its clever design within two hours of Junior erecting it. Junior has skinned and prepared the meat whilst Mikey had s
tayed on watch.
Ken looked up and stared at the young man. Michael stood with his back against the tall pine tree, watching outwards, never looking inwards, rifle held tightly in both hands, safety catch off. Seeing his alert attitude at last fetched a genuine smile to Ken’s face. It was so good to be in the company of people in whom he was able to place his trust. Doing sentry duty at night was a pain in the arse at the best of times, but Mikey seemed to have no problems whatsoever in carrying out the task.
Ken leaned over and picked up a stick, using it to shove the old tin, which had held the grenades when they’d first arrived from George. He’d packed as much as possible of the makings for a fairly large brew kit – tea bags, sugar, powdered milk and some sachets of coffee – into the large, round tin that even came with a tightly-fitting lid. In Ken’s previous life the tins had been a highly-prized possession, being of use for all the cooking and brew making that any man living from the contents of his back-pack would ever want.
Right now he was extremely glad to see the thin tendril of steam starting to make its way out of the small hole in the centre of the lid; in no time at all he had knocked up several steaming hot cups of tea. Now was the time when the grizzly bear of Ken’s early morning displeasure would retreat into its cave. Tea was the cure and he sat and sipped his brew. With a sympathetic smile playing across his lips, he watched as Junior took the other plastic mugs over to the still-sleeping trio, listening the grunts and gentle moans as they were dragged into the coldness of a new day.
Within fifteen minutes their hasty camp had been packed away and they had gathered around the fire; Red had taken over the duties of sentry and was now busy prowling through the woods that lay thickly all around the small clearing they had found at last light, yesterday...
***
That particular yesterday had been somewhat of a blurred affair. After having awoken in their new, if totally-unknown, destination, the six Hunters had regained their consciousness, each of them gradually opening their eyes and remaining prostrate in the position where the rectangle had deposited them. Nobody mentioned it, not until later, but each of them did suffer from a short period of sickness; a nauseating feeling, similar to sea-sickness, which seeped up from their feet, through their stomachs and then finally settled in their heads, where it fluttered around for a time like the remnants of an annoying hangover. After a short while, and much to their relief, the sensation simply faded away.
Within half-an-hour, everyone had gathered around Ken. He had been one of the first on his feet and even though he’d felt very unsteady, had immediately done a check of their surroundings, the practiced eye of an old infantryman lending him the ability to discern the lie of the land with only a few turns of the head.
When Ken had mentioned navigational aids…maps, compasses and suchlike…to George, the old guy had simply looked at him and blinked. At the time Ken had supposed that George may well never have even heard of such things. When he had then asked how the hell he was supposed to lead the team, by the hand, to wherever it was they were supposed to be going, without such tools, George had looked at him and said, ‘He’s at the top, just keep going uphill and you’ll find him…’ The old man’s blank stare gave the impression of the task being simple enough for a child to complete it.
At the time those words had been an end to the conversation, and anyway, Ken had been far too busy trying to get across to George the requirements for the types of weapons he had wanted all those weeks ago. George had been right, though. Wherever it was they had landed seemed to be on a giant slope and Ken guessed that all he needed to do was head uphill, just like the man had said.
He found a small brook and sat to watch the clear water as it trickled downstream. By the rate of its flow he knew that he wasn’t at the bottom of a terribly steep incline as the water was slipping past too slowly.
‘There must be a pool somewhere up above, this is just the overspill,’ he thought, leaning forwards to dip his hand into the icy water. Gathering some in his hand, Ken dipped his finger into it and then put a few drops onto his bottom lip, just the faintest touch, and then waited for five minutes. If there was anything untoward, or poisonous about the river, the tiny amount he had taken would soon let him know without doing any serious damage. With no ill-effects appearing, he scooped up a couple of handfuls and took a more substantial drink. He would let the others fill their water bottles later, when he was absolutely sure there was nothing bad in the water.
He rose to his feet and continued scouting around for a while; the place was very fertile and his feet sank into the thick layer of lush grasses and damp moss growing underfoot. Plant life was to be seen on all sides, thick clumps of bushes sprouted over to his left, the downhill side, whilst the pines – they looked like pines, he saw the crusty teardrops of golden sap seeping out from the bark – began to grow more profusely the further uphill he looked.
He guessed that once the altitude increased then the density of the trees and foliage would decrease in direct proportion. ‘If the plant life is so thick down here, then it must be a hell of a long way to the top,’ he thought, with some trepidation.
George’s words echoed in his head: ‘When you arrive, go to the top of the mountain. He is there, you cannot miss him…’ It wasn’t such a pleasant thought, the barren place of Jack Wildeman’s final battle was obviously a long way from here. Ken pushed the thoughts of trying to get everyone safely to the top whilst doing what was now looking like turning into quite a trek, away from the front of his mind.
‘It’s no drama,’ he thought. ‘Everyone is fit, we don’t have too much kit to carry, and...’ Then he remembered how few rations they were carrying. ‘If it’s going to be a marathon march then the food might just be a problem!’ The realisation of not having been given the opportunity to prepare for such a task properly, of not having been able to put one of his guiding principles into practice: ‘Time spent on reconnaissance is very seldom wasted,’ annoyed Ken intensely.
‘I wish the old bastard had at least warned me, I could’ve asked for some more packs and a stack of decent rations,’ he thought, irritably.
Just as he was starting to let his angry thoughts get the better of him, Ken caught the glimpse of movement over to his left. It was only the slightest twitch, but his entire focus zoomed onto the area, all thoughts of bad preparation instantly taking flight. He raised the rifle into the alert and sank into a squatting position, staring across the top of his sights into the shadows that lay by the edge of the tree line.
Seconds later, Ken had all thoughts of food shortages wiped away – right in front of his eyes, and only about twenty yards away, he saw the amazing sight of two, large, hare-like animals hopping into view. The bigger one on the right caught his scent and stopped. Leaning back on its haunches it raised its nose and sniffed at the air in his direction, black nose twitching, long ears held rigidly aloft as it searched for the source of the unfamiliar smell.
Ken remained completely still until the animals had moved on, obviously being satisfied that the smell did not present them with any danger. Ken was more than pleased, he was ecstatic. Firstly, the presence of the wild hares meant there was food to be had, and if they were here then the chance of other species being available was a strong one. Secondly, the way in which they had disregarded his scent and casually loped off into the woods, also meant that it was unlikely they’d ever had any contact with humans, well certainly not in the recent past, and that was very good news.
Rising to his feet, he continued on his patrol, taking a lazy circle through the woods and foliage until he had rotated back to where the others waited. All of them were looking a lot less nauseous than when he’d left them fifteen minutes previously. After giving them a quick recap of what he had discovered, Ken led the small band of slightly-confused people uphill and into the unknown.
He supposed that inter-dimensional travel may well have that effect on a person; yes, confusion would probably be an apt description. He himself
certainly felt somewhat off kilter, but with typical composure, he decided that a bit of fresh air and a brisk walk would soon have things back to normal.
Taking a deep breath, he pushed on up the hill.
For the rest of the day he led his band of Hunters on a meandering climb upwards through the thick woods. Ken curbed his impatience, knowing that his desire to get his head down and his tail up, in order to make it to the top as soon as possible, would be just what the group didn’t need. Instead, he let them get acclimatised, allowing their limbs and lungs to become used to the prolonged exertion at altitude.
The one thing he had always been fully aware of was the fact that any team, no matter who they were, or where they were, would only ever be as fast as their slowest member, and he needed this team to arrive together and in one piece. This bit was the easy bit, of that he was absolutely sure – the really hard stuff was waiting for them at the top, no question. With those thoughts in mind, Ken continued to climb at a steady pace.
He would often stop along the way, raising his hand in the classic ‘Halt!’ signal, crouching or squatting behind the nearest piece of cover he was able to find. Waiting for them to do the same thing, Ken would then glance back and check on the others – it was pleasing to see that they had all adopted decent fire positions and had at least a thick log, or some rocks, between them and the unexplored ground rising gently to their front.
After a few hours their patrolling skills became much more natural, everyone managed to progress more quietly, their breath had slowed and they now began to advance in that seemingly effortless way which all such highly-trained troops manage. Their use of hand signals had become second nature and there hadn’t been a word spoken for nearly two hours – just the odd swishing noise of some undergrowth brushing against a trouser-leg was the only sound to mark their passing.
