The Traveler

by Melissa Delport

  “What the...” I open the door and Jason grabs my arm.

  “We need to get out of here, Rachel,” he insists and I nod my head.

  “Just a minute; they need our help,” I gesture at the group of men standing nearby. Jason frowns at me and then, displaying courage I would never have given him credit for, he jumps out of the van and down onto the street.

  A New York City Fire Department fire engine is parked only a short distance away from the rift and six firemen are trying desperately to reach people who are hanging, suspended from the sheer cliff that has formed. I watch as two firemen pull up a teenage girl who is sobbing uncontrollably. I make my way cautiously to the edge of the precipice and peer into it, my stomach turning as a wave of vertigo washes over me. It is too dark to see the bottom, obviously much deeper than I initially thought.

  “Help!” I hear the cry below me and I force myself to take another look.

  “Jason!” I whirl around to find him a few yards away, frowning at the fire-engine. At my call he hurries over and I grab his arm, pointing down to the ledge a couple of feet below where a man is trapped, clinging to the wall of the cliff. “Help!” he cries again, darting a glance upward and almost losing his footing.

  “Just hang on, we’re coming!” I yell back, glancing around desperately for some way to reach him. Jason is gone and I rush to the massive, laddered fire-engine, searching frantically for a rope or anything I can throw down to the trapped man. There is no time to lose, I can feel the faint vibrations beneath my feet escalating and it won’t be long before the people trapped in the precipice are flung to their deaths.

  “Dammit!” I scream, tears of frustration welling in my eyes. There is nothing I can use. The firemen have already stripped the monstrous vehicle of whatever might have been useful. I eye the top ladder wondering if there is any way I can pull it down, but knowing that it’s hopeless – there’s just not enough time.

  “Rachel!” Jason is back, and to my surprise he has a coil of our video cable thrown over his shoulder. Oh thank God. I rush forward, helping him unravel the cable and he moves away from the edge, tying one end around his waist and bracing himself behind a street lamp-post. I can see why he is hesitant to tie it directly to the post – there are multiple cracks in the tarmac below it and there’s no way of knowing whether it will sustain the man’s weight – although Jason is going to be in a whole heap of trouble if it rips free of the tar. Pushing aside my misgivings, ready to jump to Jason’s aid if things go wrong, I quickly throw the other end of the cable down to the man on the ledge.

  “Grab it!” I yell, straining to be heard over the noise of the storm. Water is streaming through my hair and down my face and I’m grateful for the waterproof jacket. I peer down, watching as the stranded man grabs hold of the cable, wrapping it a few times around his left wrist and then holding it tightly with both hands.

  A sudden crack of lightning only a short distance away makes me jump in fright. At the same moment the cable pulls taut and I hear Jason’s bellow of pain behind me over the collective scream of people falling into the abyss. The lightning must have unhinged many of those who were hanging on, and I see a rugged blonde fireman nearby cursing as he peers helplessly down into the impermeable blackness of the chasm. Turning to check on how Jason is doing, I cringe. He is taking the strain of the man’s full body weight, his own body pressed tightly against the lamp-post, which is thankfully still intact and stable for now. His arms are shaking with exertion as he tries to pull on the cable and take some of the pressure off. I get to my knees and peer over the edge, relieved to see the man is climbing, pulling himself up slowly but steadily. I grab him under his arm as soon as he is close enough and hoist him over the edge. He collapses beside me, breathing heavily.

  “Thanks,” he pants, and I nod before rising to my feet and racing back to Jason who has already untied the cable and is coiling it back over his arm.

  “We need to get back to the station,” he repeats, sounding winded, and I nod, the rainwater rushing down my hoodie and into my eyes. The rumbling of the earth is growing increasingly stronger. An ear-splitting boom reaches us just as the ground lurches violently beneath our feet. I turn and watch in horror as the crack widens massively and the entire fire-engine, as well as most of the men gathered around it, falls into the void. I sprint forward and launch myself onto the ground, grabbing the waist-band of another fireman just as he slips forward over the edge. Too late my mistake dawns on me, as my body starts to slide forward over the broken concrete, gravel and stone grazing my front painfully, even through the padded jacket. Just as I am about to let go to save myself, Jason appears beside me, steadying me and helping me pull the fireman back to safety.

  All three of us take only a minute to catch our breath, surveying the chaos around us. The street is practically deserted; everyone in the near vicinity has either plummeted to their death or has fled, getting as far from here as possible. Seeing the fireman staring disbelievingly at the place where the fire-engine disappeared into the earth I make a lightning decision. Getting to my feet I grab him by the lapel of his protective suit and pull him in the direction of the news-van.

  “Come with us,” I pant and he nods in agreement. There is nowhere else for him to go and no-one here left to save.

  Chapter 5

  Back in the van, Kate is sitting in shocked silence, wide-eyed and terrified. She has the air of a trapped animal, fear radiating off her. I climb into the driver’s seat and Jason opens the side door for the fireman before climbing in beside me. His breathing is still ragged.

  “What are we going to do at the station?” I ask as I drive.

  “Our job,” Jason answers grimly, “we’re going to report the news.” I turn to stare at him, disbelievingly. Maybe Jason sees this as his Pulitzer opportunity, but all I’m concerned about is staying alive. “We need to warn people,” he clarifies, finally noticing my gob-smacked expression, “about those men. They’re killing everybody they come across. We need to issue an emergency bulletin, let people know to get as far away from these monsters as they can.”

  “What’s your name?” I call back to the fireman who is now sitting across from Kate, obvious concern etched on his face. He hasn’t said a word, unnaturally subdued. He just lost a lot of friends I think and it reminds me painfully of Joe.

  “Peter,” he replies, giving me a hollow smile in the rear-view mirror, “Peter Jones.” His hair is a warm copper, the color of beech leaves and his sleepy hazel eyes crinkle at the corners. His face is tanned, proof of a life spent outdoors.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Peter,” I mount a curb to move around a two-car collision. “I’m Rachel and this is Jason. That’s Kate back there with you.”

  Mercifully we make it back to the station without further incident. We enter the underground studio parking and screech to a halt, taking up two parking spaces. It’s impossible to fully control the van with the earth shuddering the way that it is. The storm is not letting up and I am grateful finally to be under cover, protected from the elements. Jason and I sprint up the back stairs, Kate and Peter right behind us. When we burst into the newsroom it is a hive of activity, the few people who remain are yelling and rushing around. Papers are strewn all over the usually pristine carpeted floor. Many of the staff stations are deserted; people have no doubt fled the building, probably making their way out of Manhattan. Something we should be doing I think to myself, wondering at our lunacy in coming back here.

  “Rhodes! Masters!” Bill’s voice is audible even from across the room and I turn to see him making his way toward us, pummeling through the others, a grim expression on his weather-beaten face. “You two look like shit,” is his first remark, and then, for just a moment his gaze softens. “I’m glad you’re okay. Both of you,” he nods at Jason.

  “What about everyone else?” I ask, “the other teams...”

  “We can’t get hold of anybody; all the phones are down because of the storm. Our mobile and satellite
phones are working intermittently.” I groan as I recall that I left my own phone in my purse which is still in the van downstairs. Gazing around at the monitors I ask, “Our station satellites are still working, though? We’re still transmitting?”

  “For now.” It’s obvious from his tone that he doesn’t expect this will be the case for much longer.

  “We need to issue an emergency broadcast,” Jason instructs. “There are men out there - they’re killing people. With their hands, Bill - their bare hands. We don’t even think they’re human.” His voice breaks slightly at the last, which is perfectly understandable considering the strain we have been under in the short period of the last two hours. Just thinking about the death and destruction we have just witnessed makes me shiver. I can’t bear to think about Joe, I’ll break down. Kate is looking between us and Bill, her sweet face contorted with fear. Peter is eyeing the huge overhead monitors, his face ashen.

  “We know,” Bill answers, to my surprise. “It’s not just here; it’s all over the world.” He heaves a heavy sigh. “The attack is global. So far we’ve received reports from throughout the European Union, China, the United Kingdom, Russia…It’s the same everywhere; people being slaughtered by the thousands. Tidal waves, floods, fires, earthquakes, tornadoes. And then there’s them,” Bill points to one of the far left monitors which shows one of the black-clad men in the background, lighting up the street as he sets fire to building after building. The live footage is terrible, the camera jostling up and down and the images distorted, but I am astounded at the courage of the unknown cameraman who is still filming despite being in such a dangerous situation. “They’re killing everything that moves, taking out entire squadrons...” An almighty crack of lightning hits the building as Bill is speaking and the lights flicker. We all hold our breath, but a moment later they come back on and we heave a collective sigh of relief.

  “This storm is dangerous enough without those bastards,” I murmur and Bill gazes at me intently as if I have just made an important statement. He turns to the various overhead monitors streaming feeds from all over the world. Grabbing a remote he starts flicking through the channels frantically, a perplexed look on his face.

  “What is it, Bill?” I touch his arm to get his attention.

  “The storm,” he mutters, still flicking, “the storm is something else.” I follow his gaze and see that he’s right. Every image on screen is of pain, suffering and death including blazing fires, massive flooding and howling wind, but no storms. The skies are clear in almost every image.

  “What do you think it means?” I ask and Bill raises his eyebrows incredulously.

  “I’ll be damned if I know. Coincidence maybe?”

  “We need to go live,” Jason urges and we all leap into action. Fifteen minutes later a special emergency broadcast is showing on almost every television channel in the country. Set on a permanent loop, the broadcast will play over and over until Bill orders otherwise, we lose all satellite communications or the station is destroyed.

  “We need to get off this island,” Jason says as soon as we are off air.

  “What?” I am struggling to keep up with his abrupt about-turns.

  “We’ve done what we can here,” he justifies calmly, “we’ve warned the people. Now it’s time to think about ourselves.”

  “How are we going to get out?” I ask.

  “We’ll take the bridge and cross into Jersey City.”

  “Bill?” I turn to my mentor, who considers this for a long moment before nodding his head.

  “Yeah, I’m coming.”

  “Kate?” I turn to the young artist but she doesn’t reply. In fact, it seems as though she hasn’t heard a word we’ve been saying. She is staring out of the full glass windows probably watching the storm. “Kate?” I prompt again, slightly louder, but her eyes never leave the window.

  “Look,” she says eventually, raising her arm and pointing in a north-easterly direction. I follow the line of her arm and at first I don’t understand what it is that she’s showing me, “Up there,” she adds and I glance upward.

  “What the...” I take a few steps forward, squinting through the deluge outside. “Oh my God!” My blood runs cold in my veins.

  “What is that?” Jason has also stepped forward and a moment later Bill joins us at the window. Like a beacon beckoning us closer a small patch of clear sunlight is visible through the maelstrom about a mile away.

  “It must be above Central Park,” Bill’s deep baritone is the first to break the silence.

  “It’s perfectly clear - no rain, no storm, no clouds,” Jason sounds suspicious.

  “We should leave,” Kate is nervous, unsure of what we are all planning on doing and she starts to move away from the window. I do the exact opposite - stepping closer and pressing my hand against the cool glass.

  “Rachel, I want to go home!” Kim huffed looking petulant.

  “He said he’d be here,” I insisted. She narrowed her eyes as I knew she would. Kim has been my best friend since second grade, ever since her family moved next door to us ten years ago. It took only one afternoon for us to become firm friends – best friends. Kim is the complete opposite of me; she is dark where I am fair, her brown eyes are always slightly narrowed where my own are big and blue, dominating most of my heart-shaped face. Kim is taller, more athletic looking despite her clumsiness, but my own small, slender frame is misleading. I am very competitive and very capable, particularly on the sports field.

  “Do you think you’ll get the scholarship?” Kim changed the subject and I shrugged my shoulders. I was hoping to get a college track scholarship next year. Running was a passion that I was determined to make a career of. My dad had even mentioned the Olympics and though I pretended to laugh it off as a joke, I secretly dreamed about it. With enough practice and hard work I might just be good enough. The scholarship had dominated my thoughts for months. Until a few weeks ago it was all I thought about - obsessed about. But that was before I had met Dex. I cast a furtive glance around wondering what could be keeping him. I tried to be discreet, but Kim’s eagle eyes didn’t miss a thing.

  “He’s probably going to stand you up, again! I don’t know why you tolerate him, Rach, he’s obviously messing with your head. I can’t believe you missed practice today to come here.” As I opened my mouth to answer her my words died on my lips because I had finally spotted him, walking towards me with that intense look, his eyes never leaving my face.

  “It’s worth it,” I whispered and she rolled her eyes again.

  “You promise you haven’t had sex with him?” she hissed under her breath and I cringed, knowing Dex could probably hear her.

  “I promise!” I hissed back frantically, “Now please Kimmy, just go! I’ll meet you back here at four.”

  “But what am I going to do for three hours?” she whined.

  “It’s Central Park; there are a million things to do! I know you brought your sketchbooks...” I answered, feeling all the irritation and worry leave my body as I smiled up into Dex’s iridescent green eyes.

  “Hello, Rachel.”

  “Hi,” I replied shyly. Kim clicked her tongue as she walked past him, but as usual Dex didn’t even acknowledge her. He never did. He only ever spoke to me. He only ever looked at me. I felt the familiar fluttering in my stomach that had become synonymous with being around him.

  “What would you like to do?” I asked and he smiled down at me. My heart flip-flopped in my chest. He rarely smiled, but when he did, he lit up, looking much younger and far less daunting.

  “How was track practice?” he asked.

  “I didn’t go.”

  “Why not?” he glanced up, looking almost irritated.

  “I wanted to see you.”

  “So you just walk away from your duty?” If his tone was anything to go by he was clearly not impressed. In fact, he sounded a little like my dad.

  “You make it sound so serious, Dex. It’s just a practice, I’ll go tomorrow.” He d
idn’t say a word, just regarded me steadily as though trying to decide if I was being honest. “I promise!” I insisted, spreading my arms wide, wondering what more he wanted me to say. Eventually he nodded, as though satisfied.

  “Be sure that you do.”

  “Okay, I will,” I smiled tentatively again, “now, are you ready to have some fun, grumpy-pants?” I was rewarded with his beautiful, hard-to-win smile and my spirits soared as I linked my arm through his and we set off down the path.

  “Rachel!” Jason shouts in my ear right beside me and I jump. This is obviously not the first time he has tried to get my attention.

  “We need to get over there,” I say, as though nothing has happened and I turn from the window. Peter the fireman steps forward.

  “We need to get the hell out of New York,” he corrects, sounding incredulous.

  “And go where?” Bill barks, gesturing the monitors. “This isn’t isolated. The whole world is being attacked.”Jason contemplates me thoughtfully.

  “Do you know something we don’t, Rachel?”

  “No,” I shake my head, glancing back at the tiny ray of sunlight over Central Park. “I just want to check it out. I’m going,” I add, making my decision and heading for the stairs, “are you guys coming or not?”