by JM HART
Tim screamed. Kevin’s concentration shattered and he swiveled around. Flames licked the wall and a black mass of dark matter had developed, moving in a circular motion, pressing itself against the wall. It moved faster, getting stronger, expanding up the wall threatening to swallow them whole. “What the hell!” Kevin yelled. “What are you doing?”
Tim had pushed his arm through the wall, beyond the safety of their sanctuary. Flames licked at his fingers; they turned black as he screamed. The dark matter took form, latching onto Tim’s arm, pulling it out of shape, wrenching at him, trying to pull him through the wall.
Kevin raced over, lunged for his friend and pulled on his other arm. He wasn’t strong enough and Tim’s arm slipped further into the fire and the dark swirling matter stretched it as if it was rubber, deeper into its vortex. Kevin watched shades of grey shadows flying anticlockwise within the whirlpool’s black hole. Petrified and shocked as he was, he couldn’t believe Tim hadn’t passed out. His arm was covered in bubbling blisters. The heat and pain must have been excruciating.
Tim’s face merged into the wall and his screams echoed in Kevin’s head. He’s not going to last much longer and I can’t hold him, he thought. Oh God, where can I get help? What’s going on? Shit — Shit — SHIT! Tim went limp in his arms. Kevin dug his heels in, but he was sliding and his body felt strange, suddenly sick, faint and weak.
Kevin became aware of the tiny blue insect that landed upon his shoulder and moved to the back of his neck. It burrowed into his skin and spread through his body deep to the cellular level. It injected its light into Kevin’s atoms, as a bee’s stinger might.
Illuminated, Kevin felt empowered and yanked hard on Tim’s arm and he tumbled back in towards him. They both went flying. Kevin hit the ground, the wind knocked out of him. He stood and hunched over trying to catch his breath. Kevin felt like he was choking. He coughed and coughed and choked, until a winged ball of blue light shot out from his mouth. It hovered and looked at him before flying away. Kevin watched it disappear into the atmosphere, drew in a deep breath and whispered, “Tim, Tim …” There was no answer. Kevin was afraid his friend was dead, toasted. He turned Tim over. Shimmering light frantically swam around Tim’s body; the light was so bright Kevin had to cover his eyes. He could smell the burnt flesh, and he could hear Tim’s arm sizzle, like when his dad tossed beer onto a BBQ to give the sausages that extra flavor. He dare not look. A deafening sonic buzz erupted. Then silence.
“K, Kev, what’s wrong with your eyes?”
Kevin held his hands tight against his face, afraid if he let them drop he would see his friend as a ghost, talking to him from beyond.
“K, you’re scaring me, show me your face.”
Kevin slowly dragged his hands down his face and peeked between his fingers. He saw a hand coming towards him, touching him, trying to pull his hands away from his face. They felt clammy, cool. Not like hands that had just been consumed by flames.
“Look at me, not a mark on me,” Tim said turning his arm over. “I feel great! But what the hell was that?”
Kevin looked up and down and all over Tim’s body and couldn’t find a mark on him. Kevin then turned his attention towards the black mass. “Can you see them?” he said to Tim. “In there, swimming within the vortex, those images, creatures with half faces.” Misty bodies reached out as if to grab them, but turned to smoke, sinking down into the vortex like oil swirling in water.
Kevin stared into the darkness and knew that if Tim had been sucked back to the other side it would have consumed him forever. What the hell? he thought. The life force would have been drawn out of us both. Our souls lost forever, trapped. The whirlpool began to lose its strength and just before it completely disappeared, Kevin thought he saw a claw, the same claw that had reached up out of the murky river and grabbed hold of the curly headed boy. That was a year ago, but it felt like yesterday.
“Earth to Kev, you’re babbling again. Where do you keep going, man? Stop this shit. You’re scaring me now. I want to go home. I’m hungry,” Tim said.
“How can you be hungry? Look around you. This is incredible — look at yourself; you were the pig on the spit. You were nearly sucked into a vortex full of God knows what! How can you be hungry?”
“You’ll have to ask my gut. This is too weird for me, Kev. I have memories of my arm burning, but I have no scars. This might be right up your alley. If it’s on TV I’m good, but this is real life shit.”
“I hear you, man. I don’t know if I should be scared or excited, but …” Kevin’s eyes squinted. He looked beyond the shimmering wall. Time had passed and the fire was out. The bush was charcoal and the sun was setting. It’s daylight saving time, Kevin thought, so it’s got to be after eight in the evening. But how can that be, we have only been in here for … what? Kevin’s thoughts stopped mid-sentence: How long has it been.
All concept of time started to elude him. “Couldn’t be no more than twenty minutes surely,” but the poor trees smoldered in the setting sun.
“We should go,” Tim said.
“You’re right, Tim. Your tummy rumbling is right on the mark, it must be way past dinner. Your sister is probably waiting to kill us. Let’s walk towards home from this side, that way. We are safe a little longer, from …” Kevin was not sure from what or whom, and whether it would be waiting for them, and walked deeper into the forest. Tiny birds of different colors — deep blue, green, red and purple — that were even smaller than finches, flew around them excited to have visitors. The luminous ferns, rich in color, glittered and appeared to be reaching out to gently touch Tim’s leg.
“K — I think the plants are alive. Can you feel it?”
Kevin could feel it all right. He could hear them, too — soft harmonious sounds in his head. With each step he felt like he was walking on a sleeping giant and the trees were bowing down as he passed. He thought of a breeze, or the lack of, and then there was a wind rustling through the leaves. Kevin felt like he was a battery, charging up with every passing moment. The sun never seemed to move from directly above them, even though he couldn’t actually see it. He could feel the rays shining down on him.
“K, do you think we’re …?”
“What?”
“Dead?” Tim said.
“We can’t be.”
“This place is strange,” Tim commented, as they walked on. “I have lived here all my life and I’ve never seen it before. This is a rainforest. Our homes are surrounded by bush and everything is mostly dry. We look like we are on our way to Emerald City, and we’ve just got to find the yellow brick road. It’s got to be at least twenty degrees cooler in here. I just had the shit kicked out of me and my arm was burnt to a cinder. My mom says that about Kath’s cooking. I sound like my mom! This isn’t normal!” Tim said.
Kevin stopped walking. “Don’t freak out. Let’s go back to the wall and take our chances on the other side. I’m not quite sure of our direction anymore.”
“It’s more like a membrane than a wall,” Tim said, proud of his choice of words.
“A membrane is a wall, but not like the one that surrounds your brain because this one doesn’t have a leak. God! Now I sound like my mom. Sorry,” Kevin said.
“Why do you do that, why do you apologize? It was quite funny; you’re a comedian in the making. This place, it feels alive.”
Yeah, I hear you, Kevin thought. Everything is alive and watching every move we make. We should get out before we forget how.
“Did you say something?” asked Tim.
“No. Did I?” Kevin looked at Tim. Did he just hear my thoughts? His mind started reeling. When I was lying on the ground afraid to open my eyes I smelt the fire, and I could hear it getting close. That’s when I thought of sci-fi flicks, about dimensions in time. That’s when I saw an old wooden door latched and locked; hardwood reeking with sandalwood. My fingers transformed into keys and I opened it — a door to a parallel universe, a door to a place beyond the flames that is coming, as s
ure as eggs are eggs. Then I remembered Tim and my eyes slowly opened. What’s going on?
“Whoa!” Tim’s jaw dropped. “You didn’t move your lips. What the hell? Fair dinkum, K, this is crazy shit. This is awesome. I heard everything,” Tim said tapping his head. “In here. This is friggin awesome, dude!”
Tim to K: come in, K? Tim thought.
“Get out of my head! What the hell?” Kevin looked at Tim sideways while rubbing his head as if it hurt.
Kevin thought for a moment. This, this is kind of cool. But let’s keep moving. In unison they raised their hands in the air, smiled, and high-fived, just like they did when they had been younger.
Finally, they found their way back and stopped at the floating protective membrane. They looked at each other then at the charcoal bushland beyond. The sun was a burnt orange, falling off the face of the earth, and making way for the grand entrance of a full moon. They moved forward together. Tim imagined a crazed pent-up cattle dog making tracks within his mind.
“Relax, man, you’re scaring the shit out of me,” Kevin said. The dog in his mind sat still. That’s better, Kevin thought.
“Okay, let’s do this,” Tim said out loud.
The feeling of each other’s fear drifted as they submerged themselves into the membrane. Kevin’s eyes closed — his hands were outstretched and he relaxed into the silence of his mind. They floated not wanting to leave, not thinking, just being.
Colors engulfed Tim’s mind before he left the serenity, stepping onto a burnt log. “Wow, psychedelic, amazing.” He watched Kevin still floating, unmoving within the wall.
Kevin was lost and unaware Tim was beyond the wall. An image appeared before him, a deer surrounded by colored light. The sound of chanting and drums echoed in a distant corner of his mind, getting louder. The image evaporated. Kevin jolted, his arm jerked. He was being pulled away and he fought to stay. He didn’t want to leave; he felt it was vital to connect. The deer was waiting for him. He felt himself exiting the embryonic state, first his hand, arm, foot, a shoulder, then half his head and chest. Tim pulled him all the way out. Kevin’s shoulders slumped, his arms and limbs a dead weight, and the warmth of the dying day caught him off guard. He dropped to his knees and waited while he adjusted to the heat; it scorched the back of his throat and nose with each breath.
“You were in there for at least half an hour, just floating. You fall asleep or what? You looked like you were having a …”
Kevin wasn’t listening. Scattered black mounds paved the way to the river — swollen carcasses, they smelt like they were ready to explode, and a frenzy of flies feasted on the kangaroos. They looked as if they had been lying in the sweltering heat for days. The fire was out. Not a spot fire around or even ash or embers.
“Do you think your dad was here?”
“I don’t know.” Kevin rested his hands on the back of his head, confused. “How did they get it out so quick? It should be at least still smoldering.”
8
Primal scream: Sophia. Scotland.
The forest looked misty and grey. Sophia was tired of running, tired of being alive in such a cruel world. The ground sloped to the left. It was cooler under the trees. The distant splashing sound of water running over small rocks told her a brook was close by. Sophia couldn’t decide which direction it came from. Ahead, in the distance, was an abandoned cabin or an old clan dwelling. It faced east, overlooking the sloping mountainside.
Father McDonald slipped off his pack. “Stay here.”
“No, I’m coming with you.”
“No. Get behind the trees while I make sure no one is inside. It’s still hunting season and someone could be in there.”
“We haven’t seen anyone for two days,” she argued.
“It’s best to be safe.” He looked sternly into her eyes.
She cast her eyes to the ground, knowing he was right. Two days ago, after hiding from the chaos at the fete, they had munched on the lollies and chocolates that Mother Catherine had secretly packed for Gemma’s slumber party. Recklessly high on sugar and over-confident, they came out of hiding looking for real food, and instead of going around the next town they walked into it.
They pretended to each other that they were on a camping trip, avoiding talking about the massacre at the fete. They craved a hearty Scottish breakfast and needed some camping gear. Traveling along back roads they had seen fewer people. Approaching the outskirts of the town they had passed a small community church alive with the songs of Solomon. The sound faded behind them as they continued on. The streets became quiet again. They passed an empty schoolyard, where a swing moved slightly in the breeze. Half a dozen or so deathly-pale faces paced the sidewalks on the other side of the road as they entered the main street of the town. A few stores were open, making it easy for her and Father McDonald to move about unnoticed. Sophia felt instantly ill with shame. Her legs went to jelly, her vision blurred. She imagined she had given the devil’s puppets, the negative angels, an opportunity to see her. Sophia had to stop. She leant against the stone building to catch her breath and waited for the feeling, the ugliness, the absence of light and joy to pass. Sophia guarded her thoughts, holding onto her medallion, thinking of her sisters and better days. Father McDonald pointed out she was resting in front of a camping supplies store.
He pushed open the door to Go Outdoors. A young saleswoman was managing the deserted store. Sophia started babbling, telling the woman Father McDonald was her grandfather and they were heading for the hills until the virus consumed itself. She heard herself, felt out of balance and looked around for a chair.
“You okay?” The young woman came around the counter to help Sophia sit down.
“I’m feeling a little faint. I need to reconnect.”
“What an odd thing to say,” the store attendant said.
Sophia ignored the young woman and closed her eyes and thought of a tree, visualizing herself nestled into the trunk and its roots going deep into the ground, the branches stretching up and reaching for the heavens. She drew in a long deep breath, and then breathed out, repeating it a few times before opening her eyes. The store attendant handed her a glass of water and a trail mix bar.
“Feeling better? You don’t have the virus, do you?” the woman asked, stepping back.
“No, no, I’m fine, really. This is good, thank you.”
“No offense, but let’s get you two geared up and — out of here. I don’t know why I even opened up this morning. We have been closed for three days. Mr McLean, the owner, has disappeared. It was my job to open up on the weekends only. But I had to do something. My parents went to hospital during the army collections, and I haven’t seen them since. I was going to go to church. I love singing but I was compelled to come here and open up.”
Sophia watched her talking, as if to herself, while picking up backpacks and loading them up with packets of dried food and all the bits and pieces they could possibly need. She would have shoved in a kitchen sink if she had one. She even picked up Sophia’s day-pack and stuffed it into one of the larger backpacks.
“Remember, autumn is around the corner,” she said. “Don’t stay up in the mountains too long. If it comes over colder than usual as it did last year, you’ll end up snowed in for winter, and nobody will find you until the thaw.”
The bags ready to go, she helped Father McDonald with a set of hiking poles. “You sure you’re fit enough, grandpa?” Not waiting for a reply she turned to the shoe section and plucked a pair of Canadian red leather hiking boots off the shelf for Sophia.
Listening to the woman, Sophia started to feel better. She wanted to believe in her own tale: that Father McDonald was her grandfather. Sophia walked up and down the aisle in her new boots and swiveled around to her captive audience of two. “Perfect fit. Totally comfortable. I feel a bounce, and my heel is pushed forward in motion, making me want to move.” Sophia thrust her foot out in a ballet pose.
Screams in the street broke into the peace of the store; lik
e a tremor, a crevasse split open and zigzagged down Sophia’s spine. Windows across the street shattered and so did the false reality Sophia had indulged in. She was fearful that this was the way it was going to always be. The screams were real enough and here she was thinking of herself. She twisted around towards the sound, craning her neck. The street seemed clear. Cars were parked against the sidewalk, empty — not a soul in sight.
Sophia, Father McDonald and the store attendant moved to the shop’s front window to scan the street, straining to see where the screams originated. From the direction of the church, eight, maybe twelve people came running towards them. Sophia froze; her mind went back to the fete — back to the car park — back to the shots that had exploded in her ears. The sight of Mother Catherine’s swollen face, choking. He’s followed us, she thought.
On the street with each fired shot, someone dropped in mid-stride. Car lights flashed across the street. A man switched off his car alarm, reached out for the door handle and his head exploded, blood and tissue spoiling the roof of the white Golf. Two other people made it to their vehicles and the cars roared into life, screeching out of town.
No thoughts to the fallen. Every man for himself. A mother carrying her baby in a sling across her chest ran along the sidewalk towards the camping store. Sophia could now see the gunman. It wasn’t the same guy from the fete. He was older, roundish, dressed like he lived in the mountains and wore the same gear all year round. He carried two rifles — one was slung over his shoulder and he was firing the other.
Sophia felt the terror from the woman heading towards them. Sophia’s knees went weak; her bladder filled with heat that spread over her body. A primal scream clawed at her throat. Move damn it, Sophia, move! she screamed to herself.
