OtherWorld

by Sarah Dreher

  “I’m here.” The girl ran toward them carrying a handful of gnarly roots. “This is good stuff.”

  Aunt Hermione took the roots and sniffed them. “Horseradish, ginger, and ginseng. Callie, you’re a genius.”

  The young woman seemed to blush. “I was always good at findin’ stuff. That’s what my Granny said.”

  Aunt Hermione thrust the roots at Marylou. “Have her eat these as we go along. Not too fast. We don’t want her to choke.”

  Gwen looked down at the roots. “You’re… trying… to kill me,” she said.

  “Shut up,” Marylou ordered, and thrust one of the roots into her hand.

  Follow the canal. That seemed like the best bet. If they went in the direction of the current, it should bring them out at the ride entrance.

  Are you serious? Nothing in this place is the same as it is in Real Life. We could come out anywhere.

  Well, so what? It was better than nothing, wasn’t it?

  Besides, the Land was beginning to get on her nerves. The sun was too sunny, the greens too green, the glass too clean. No bugs. No litter of leaves beneath the plants. Viney things growing politely on perfectly symmetrical vines. Leafy things forming neat, compact heads. Interplanted vegetables and herbs doing what they were meant to do and sticking to their own allotted square foot of artificial soil. A place for everything and everything in its place.

  Water bubbled and sang in the concrete canal. Clear water. Perfect water, of course, just like everything else here. Cartoon water. And beside it a perfect footpath, just wide enough for two, no loose stones or thrusting roots, no unevenness.

  She trudged on ahead of the others, Marylou and Gwen behind, Aunt Hermione and Callie Rose bringing up the rear. According to her calculations, it should take them about three minutes to reach the end of the ride. From there, they could leave the building, circle around the Communicores, cross the bridge, and end up behind Mexico. Do-able, definitely do-able.

  Except that they didn’t reach the end of the ride in three minutes. They didn’t reach the end of the ride at all. Hugging the canal, the path wound through more greenhouses, a fish farm, an area where seeds were being sprouted in plastic jars… and suddenly they seemed to be in a tunnel below ground. In dim light they could see roots. Thousands of roots. Gigantic roots. Smooth roots and knobby roots and hairy roots and twisted roots. Transparent roots through which oozed a clear, thick, viscous fluid.

  We’re at the entrance to the ride, she thought. I must be leading us backward. But if we were going backward, we wouldn’t be at the entrance, would we?

  Some of the roots were growing. Slowly. With a kind of creaking sound.

  It’s a good thing this place is so sterile. I’d hate to run into a giant nematode.

  A squawking, whistling noise caught her attention. The air turned warm and misty. It smelled of rotting vegetation. Now they were above ground again, in a jungle where water dripped from trees and gigantic dragon flies hummed like helicopters. Ferns drooped over the path. But it was still visible through dim light.

  She glanced back. Gwen was still walking, mostly under her own steam, chewing on a bit of root. Marylou, silent for probably the longest consecutive run of minutes in her life, was dripping with sweat and gasping for air. It reminded her that she was having a little trouble breathing, too. Probably ought to slow down. In her anxiety, she was undoubtedly setting a daunting pace. “Everyone okay?” she called, hoping she sounded up-beat.

  “Don’t ask,” Marylou muttered.

  Aunt Hermione waved almost cheerfully as a monkey swung down from a tree and landed on her shoulder. If they hadn’t been in Serious Trouble, Stoner thought, Aunt Hermione would be in her glory here. It was the Arnold Arboretum and the Boston Horticultural Society all rolled into one. Unfortunately, they were in Serious Trouble.

  The jungle began to thin out. The light grew brighter and more intense. Very intense. Searing. The ground underfoot changed from green mossy stuff to sand. The air dried. The heat grabbed them in its fist.

  Right. This is the desert section.

  It was silent. Completely silent, except for a faint hissing as the light breeze moved the sand. Stoner looked around. The canal had disappeared. The jungle wasn’t behind them any more. Ahead stretched nothing but sand and sky and searing sun. It seemed to go on for hundreds of miles in all directions.

  Hundreds of miles.

  And no Lawrence of Arabia in sight.

  The heat sucked the energy out of her. She just stood and looked at that endless expanse of sand and sun, and knew they weren’t going to make it. Certainly Gwen wasn’t going to make it. She didn’t dare look back at the rest. She didn’t want them to see that she had almost given up. She didn’t want to see that they had given up.

  Keep going. That’s all you can do, just keep going.

  Stoner forced herself to place one foot in front of the other and move. She hoped her stride looked self-assured and jaunty from behind. She had the feeling it looked exactly the way she felt—like some old half-dead prospector staggering across the desert in crazed search of gold.

  Maybe, if she left the path and climbed a dune, she could see the other side of the desert. She motioned to the others to keep their places, and set off toward the highest looking one. Sand slid out from beneath her feet as she tried to climb. On all fours, she managed one and a half steps forward for every one back. This was nuts. She wasn’t going to see anything, and would wear herself out trying. But she kept going. Mostly because she couldn’t think of anything better to do.

  Story of my life. Half the things I do, I do because I can’t think of anything better to do.

  So how is that different from anyone else? Isn’t that what we’re all doing, and calling it “life?” One day you look around and here you are, and you just go ahead and do it because you can’t think of anything better.

  She stumbled and landed face-down in the sand. Pushing herself to her knees, she made the unfortunate mistake of licking her lips. The grains of sand established themselves gleefully on and under her tongue, and scattered at random throughout her mouth.

  That’s what you get for trying to mix sand and philosophy.

  She worked her tongue around and tried to get the worst of them out. What she really needed was to rinse her mouth. But, of course...

  Of course. Even the jungle drippings had long ago dried from her clothes.

  God, Gwen must be in agony.

  She made herself glance back.

  Marylou had taken off her hat and put it on Gwen’s head. With Edith’s diaphanous dress, it made her look like someone from the turn of the century. Ensemble by Kesselbaum. All she needed was a croquet mallet to complete the picture.

  Actually, she looked pretty good like that. A little out of place, considering the circumstances. But if Stoner had tried to wear those clothes, she’d have looked as if she were in drag.

  WHAT ARE YOU DOING? YOU ARE SUPPOSED TO BE GETTING US OUT OF HERE.

  Right. Sun stroke, that’s what it was. Causes inappropriate behavior.

  She pushed herself to her feet and struggled the last few yards to the top of the dune.

  Nothing but sand to the east.

  Sand to the south.

  Sand to the west.

  Sand to the...Wait a minute. There, on the horizon, a subtle change in the topography. A kind of raggedness…

  ...and clouds. Definitely clouds. And mountains and…

  She squinted.

  ...something moving?

  Bison!

  Yes!

  They were approaching the Prairie.

  Which, with the locusts and stampedes and grass fire, was not the world’s most hospitable place. But it beat this one. And after the prairie came the farmhouse. If they could reach the farmhouse they could rest, and maybe get a glass of water. There might even be people there, who could help them out of this mess. The way Elaine had helped back there on… wherever it was they’d been.

  Half running, h
alf sliding, she came down off the dune. “We’re almost there,” she said to Gwen. “The Prairie. After that the farmhouse.”

  “What about the fire?” Gwen asked.

  She had thought about that herself. Those of them who were healthy could outrun it. But Gwen? “It’ll be all right,” she said with what she hoped was true conviction. “We can get away from it easily.”

  Gwen smiled weakly. “You’re a terrible liar, but I love you anyway.”

  “We have to try, Gwen.”

  “I know. It’ll be an adventure. Kind of like eating roots.”

  Stoner touched her face. “Are they awful?”

  Gwen covered Stoner’s hand with hers. “A great incentive not to get sick.” She looked at the ground. “Stoner, I hate to be a pain, but...”

  “You could never be a pain.”

  “I’m starting to feel cold.”

  It was happening too fast. She didn’t know where they were, or how they’d ever get back to where they’d left themselves, and even if they did there probably wasn’t enough time left, and...

  “We have to go,” she said to the others. “Aunt Hermione, give Marylou a hand with Gwen. Just over this next dune is a prairie. There will be a fire. We have to outrun it if we can. And there are animals, bison. We can expect them to stampede ahead of the fire. So, whatever happens, keep moving. Aunt Hermione, give me your sweatshirt.” She pulled off her own. The sun seared her unaccustomed skin.

  “What about me?” Marylou asked, starting to remove her filmy blouse.

  Stoner shook her head. “Too wispy.” She took one shirt in each hand and started to run down the path. “Try to keep up with me.”

  The sand was changing under her feet. Becoming less powdery, more gritty. Single sprouts of grass appeared. Then tufts. Long blades that whirled in the breeze and cut circular patterns in the sand. Pebbles, then stones. The grass grew thicker and more luxuriant.

  She sensed someone beside her and glanced over.

  “Lissen,” Callie Rose said, “what’s wrong with her?” She gestured back toward Gwen.

  Stoner slowed to a jog. “Someone shot her.”

  “Well, I certainly know that. I was there. But she’s actin’ funny. Keeps talkin’ about feelin’ cold an’ weak an’ stuff. Don’t look good, either.”

  “She’s dying. That’s why we have to get out of here.”

  The girl was silent. Thoughtful.

  “Why do you ask, Callie Rose?”

  “ ’Cause I felt like that one time. Do you think it has to do with...I mean…”

  She doesn’t know she’s dead, Stoner thought.

  She really didn’t want to be the one to break the news.

  “I think I can explain it,” she said. “Later, okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  They picked up the pace a bit.

  “What cha’ doin’ with them shirts?” Callie Rose asked.

  “There are bison over there. We may have to scare them off.”

  “Buffler?”

  “Yes.”

  “Shoot, I can help with that. I scared enough spooked cows back home.”

  “That’s okay, Callie Rose. It’s too dangerous.”

  “Geez,” the girl said. “I never seen such a bunch of people for not lettin’ a body do nothin’ to help.”

  Stoner realized she was right. Back when Callie Rose was alive, children were expected to do anything they were physically able to do. It might have been child exploitation, but at least they had some self-esteem. What the heck? The girl probably knew more than Stoner did about such things. And the chances of her getting hurt or killed were minimal, since she was already dead.

  “You’re right,” she said. “It’s just how we are. I’d be glad for your help.”

  They were running full-out in prairie grass now. Stoner stopped to catch her breath, and looked back. Gwen and Marylou and Aunt Hermione were moving much more slowly, but at least they were still in sight.

  On the western horizon she could see the first thin trails of smoke. “Get ready,” she said, and tossed Callie Rose a shirt.

  “One thing I don’t get,” the girl said as she wrapped a sleeve around her hand and whirled the shirt over her head. “How come you knew this was gonna happen?”

  Stoner shrugged. “Just a guess.”

  “Did’n’ sound like no ‘guess’ back there.”

  “I don’t know how to explain it.”

  Callie Rose knit her eyebrows together. “They was a old colored lady? Back home? Lived alone ’way back in the swamp. Folks said she could conjure bones. That how you do it?”

  “Not exactly.” The others were nearly close enough now to see the fire. And the fire was close enough for them to see the flames. Stoner eyed it uneasily.

  “ ’Fraid they’ll put the Juju on you if you tell?” Callie Rose asked sympathetically.

  “The what?”

  “Juju. The Voodoo hex.”

  “I don’t believe in Voodoo hexes,” Stoner said. “It’s just a different religion from ours, that racist people try to make you think is primitive and evil.”

  “Well, I believe in it. We got us folks back home been sickened by that Voodoo stuff.” She put her hand on Stoner’s arm. “Hear that?”

  She listened. A sharp, high-pitched yapping sound. Prairie dogs, giving the alarm. “It’s coming.”

  “Sure is.” Callie Rose took a step forward and placed herself between Stoner and the fire. “Y’all get ready to run.”

  Stoner ran back to where Marylou and Aunt Hermione plodded along with Gwen sagging between them. Gwen seemed to barely be putting one foot in front of the other. She was quickly reaching the end of her strength. “We have to hurry,” Stoner said as she relieved Aunt Hermione and slipped Gwen’s arm over her shoulder. “The fire’s coming.”

  Aunt Hermione grabbed Stoner’s sweat shirt and trotted forward to give Callie Rose a hand.

  “How are you doing?” Stoner asked Marylou.

  “If this is a dream,” Marylou said in a weary and frightened voice, “I think it’s time to wake up.”

  The ground beneath their feet began to tremble.

  * * *

  “You shot her,” David said.

  Millicent Tunes made a gesture of frustration and dismissal. “She was in the way.” She turned her back and reached for the steel rung ladder that led from the tunnel to the hatch above.

  David caught her ankle. “Wait a minute. I have something to say.”

  The woman tried to kick his hand away but he held on. She decided to try charm. “David, dear, I can see you’re upset, and I care very much about your feelings, but we have to hu...”

  “Oh, don’t give me that,” he said roughly. “You don’t give a damn about my feelings. You know it, and I know it.”

  My God, the stupid little neurotic. Of all the times to start whining… “I don’t know what kind of sick attachment you’ve developed for these people, but let me assure you...”

  “No,” David barked. “You’re not going to deflect me with that. We had an agreement and you broke it.”

  Millicent leaned against the ladder in a pose of weary boredom. “Would you like to explain that?”

  “In the first place...” He held up one finger. “You failed to give me a complete outline of your plans. Breach of trust. Two...” He held up a second finger. “Your description of the subject was inadequate. Three...” And a third. “Any use of weapons is assumed to be the option of the person who is responsible for the majority of the project. Everyone knows that.”

  “Knows what?” Millicent Tunes smirked a little. “I don’t even know what the hell you’re talking about.”

  “Easy. It’s my gig, I get to do the shooting.”

  “Okay,” the woman said, spreading her hands in a gesture of surrender. “You win. Go back there and shoot anyone you want.”

  He glared at her. “I don’t want to shoot anyone. The point is not shooting. The point is respect.”

  “Respec
t?”

  “For my work.”

  Millicent gave a lilting laugh. “But, David, dear, your work isn’t respectable.”

  * * *

  “Damn,” George said. She swung her flashlight in a circle over the grass. “It has to be here. Stape, give me the map.”

  Stape handed it over. George peered at it. The trouble was, the perpetrators had burrowed into the tunnel from somewhere back here. They weren’t using an old entrance that would be easy to find. There were no old entrances. The nearest one was under Mexico, and it had been walled up for years.

  “Sweet Thing,” Ed said, “I think you’ve been imagining things.”

  George glared at him. “How many times have I told you, don’t call me ‘Sweet Thing?’”

  “Only a coupla hundred. I got a whole Park to cover. Can’t spend all night here.”

  “But I heard something down there,” George argued. “A sound. Like a gun shot. Stape, you heard it, didn’t you?”

  Stape shook her head. “Sorry. But I was busy with the map.”

  “I’m not saying you didn’t hear something,” Ed said. “But, Glory, gal, it could’ve been anything. A car backfiring. Jet breaking the sound barrier. Maybe one of the flamingoes passing wind.”

  “It’s not a laughing matter,” George said snippily. “My friends are in danger.”

  “Well, that might be, Sweet Thing. But I can’t pull any more of my people over here on your evidence. You know that.” Christ, now she was pouting. He couldn’t stand how pitiful she looked when she pouted. He wondered how Stape lived with it. “I’ll let you keep Tom and Frenchie, and we’ll keep this channel clear on the Talkie.” He shrugged. “Best I can do, Darlin’.”

  “Someone was here,” George said a little desperately. “You can see the grass all smashed down.”

  Ed Garr peeled a stick of gum and popped it in his mouth. He chewed thoughtfully for a minute. “Naw, probably just them damn flamingoes.” He turned and began walking away. “Damn pink birds cause enough damage to the grass, you might as well run a herd of buffalo over it.”

  * * *

  The herd was getting nervous. Spooked. Kind of shuffling their feet and swinging their heavy heads side to side like big brown sacks full of grain. Even standing in place they made the ground shake, just lifting one foot and putting it down. When they started to run...