by D C Tullis
“Look at all these boxes,” I said to Jason. “We could hide in any of these boxes. This is our escape ticket!”
“I don’t think so, El,” he replied. “We don’t know where any of these crates go, and we definitely don’t know if we can even get out of one. Plus, we might suffocate. I did not survive almost being dissected by a damn mad scientist alien centipede only to get caught or die because we were rash in trying to get home.”
“Wait…,” I added.
“Go on,” he responded.
“So… what if we just find a truck currently being loaded and then hang onto the bottom of it as it leaves the mountain. I’ve seen it done a billion times before in movies,” I spoke.
He thumbed his lip for a moment, clearly intrigued. “Good idea,” he finally announced in a hushed tone as he surveyed the room to see that no one had overheard our voices. “Now looks like a good time. C’mon.”
With that we edged along the wall of crates and headed over to a truck with bright orange advertisements reading ‘Timothy Tucker’s Transport Service’ plastered on both sides. It was being loaded at that very moment by a singular worker. He looked about forty, was clearly a bit overweight, and seemed to be particularly struggling to push the final few boxes up the truck’s drop down ramp and into its storage hold. The second he turned away to grumble something about how cold it was, we crawled under the bottom of the truck and found a series of grips to grab onto. It was filthy as fuck under it, but it gave us a chance at getting out. We hid under there for about an hour before the truck driver finally returned to the front of his big rig and took a seat. Suddenly, the engine started and we pulled ourselves up under the frame as the truck lurched to life and began heading towards the exit gate. The first thing I noticed was how loud it was under that hulking iron beast. It was far louder than any of the concerts Jason had dragged me to when we were younger. The truck pulled us across the room and then briefly stopped when it reached a white line in front of the exit gates. One of the guards approached the driver and unbeknownst to him we were able to hear everything they said.
“Hey, Charlie,” declared the guard. “Can I see your exit documentation?”
Though it was significantly harder to hear Charlie’s voice over the roaring of the truck’s engines we still made out a bit of what they spoke of.
“Yeah… cleared… leave now… urgent…,” Charlie replied.
I couldn’t see from underneath the truck what they were doing, but from watching their feet and listening to their voices we got a decent enough picture. It seemed that Charlie handed the guard something as he stepped forward a bit to receive it and then back a bit to examine it. From there, the guard asked Charlie to where the cargo was headed and again the only thing I was able to make out of his response was, “...Barn.”
The guard uttered a grunt of approval and called out to his partner, “Let him through, Marcus.”
Within seconds, the great metal gates began to slide aside and the truck slowly lurched forward towards the main roads. We hadn’t seen this side of Mt. Willapa on our entry. Likely because we were all blindfolded and handcuffed in the back of a nondescript van. Didn’t really leave much room for sightseeing.
Gradually the chatter of a few voices keeping watch began to fade away as the truck glided down the twisting mountain road. From our position we had an all access view to the beautiful world of guardrails. Truly an enlightening experience. Regardless, within fifteen minutes we had fully descended from the mountain and were now travelling across seemingly infinite flatland wilderness roads. We must have travelled for another fifteen minutes before my legs and arms simply couldn’t take the strain of supporting myself underneath the big rig. As I was about to let go, I looked at Jason desperately and he nodded. He swung himself under my body and pulled my arms free from the grips. Within a second we had dropped onto the pebbled road below. I pulled him aside quickly into the brush on the side of the road, just to be sure we dodged any passing glances from Charlie into his rear view mirror.
“Christ, remind me to never do that again, Ellie,” Jason announced as he ran his hand down his lightly bleeding side and moderately bruised back.
“I don’t think that’ll ever be an issue, dude,” I replied as I gently massaged the bruised part of his back. “Anyway, we may be free from that government shithole, but do you have any clue where we are?”
“Well… I don’t, but if I’m right…,” Jason began before halting. “Oh shit, IMRA?” He frantically rummaged through his pocket and withdrew the AI. I was prepared for IMRA to say something, but she didn’t. When he finally got the bulky cube out of his pocket, I could see why. The radio speaker she’d managed to hijack was now split down the middle in two pieces. IMRA looked unhurt from the drop, but it didn’t appear that she would be talking any time soon. That almost changed when she launched a technical tendril towards Jason’s phone, but he reacted just in time to prevent it.
“No way. You’re not possessing my phone,” he spoke to her before turning to me. “See, she’s undamaged. Which means she’s going back in my pocket.” He then returned his gaze to IMRA. “We’ll get you hooked up with a nice computer to control when we get back, okay?”
IMRA relaxed her extended arm with that and released the broken speaker from her possession. Jason put her back his pocket.
“As I was saying,” he began once again as he lifted his phone and unlocked it. “This will know.”
He clicked on the map application that was sitting dormant on the homescreen. It immediately loaded up and informed him that he had only two bars of signal. This wasn’t particularly good in regular conditions, but in this very irregular circumstance it still allowed us to call anyone we needed too. Jason didn’t have any text messages or missed calls, but that wasn’t what caught us off guard. It was the date. Neither of us had noticed this when Jason first retrieved his phone. Even though our time with the Fae had felt like it was longer than a full day, Jason’s phone read that it was only sixteen hours or so after being sucked through the mirror. Jesus, I bet Maxence hadn’t even really noticed he was gone then. It took me a moment to get my head around the idea. I think I’d heard it called time distortion in some movie before. Seeing it on a T.V. screen was one thing, but to actually experience it was a whole ‘nother ball game.
Jason tapped my shoulder, removing me from my trance. He had turned on the location and we could see that we were in… the middle of jack-shit nowhere. He thumbed around on his screen for a minute, surveying the area for any locations at all. There was a town about seven miles to the south named Greenesville, and a truck stop diner about five miles south on this road. Neither of those seemed to be any help for us. It wasn’t until Jason changed the direction he was scrolling that we found an opportunity.
“That might just work…,” he began muttering to himself.
“What?” I asked him. “If you’ve got a plan, dude, I’m all ears.”
“Well, I can’t guarantee he’ll pick up but…,” he began before I cut him off.
“He’ll pick up… wha… who?” I asked him as I sat down on the roadside grass.
“Race. See over there,” Jason said as he pointed to an airfield a couple of miles to the east. “I know this pilot, Race, and it’s kind of a long story, but he might be able to help us.”
This certainly caught me off guard at first. How the hell did he get in contact with a pilot? We don’t even have an airstrip in Eastmouth. I asked him about it and he explained to me all about Thomas and his adventure with Ernie. I was more relieved than intrigued at this point. Apparently, Race had flown in the Gulf War and Afghanistan. A true American hero, at least that’s how Jason described him. We didn’t really have any other options, so as I reclined into the uncut grass he called him up and was surprised to receive an immediate reply.
“What can I do for you?” The mature voice asked us through the phone.
“Hey Race, do you remember me, Jason?” Jason asked the pilot.
&nb
sp; There was a brief period of silence before the memory seemed to come back to whoever was on the other end. “Oh, yeah, you’re the kid that Tom sent over to pick up that uh... part. So, what can I do for you?”
This question was a bit awkward as we couldn’t exactly explain that we’d been through a portal to an alien world, so Jason and I concocted the, like, second craziest idea that could have explained what happened to us.
“Those bastards,” Race nearly shouted into his phone. “Some government agency kidnapped you and you’re now in Washington state? Jesus, you’re just kids. As crazy as that explanation sounds, it’s not as absurd as you might think. There have always been agencies that have operated above the law and done some pretty questionable things… damn, just damn,” Race let out a deep sigh. “Okay. Well, I’m in Alaska right now, but I’ll be in the air within an hour. I’ll get you kids back to Maine by midnight tonight.”
I had to try my hardest to suppress tears of joy at this point. We were gonna be saved from this crazy nightmare. Just, holy hell, dude…
Race’s voice cut in again,”...So which airfield are you closest too?”
“It doesn’t have a name, but here are the coordinates,” Jason declared promptly.
He took a second to analyze them. I was uncertain whether he would use an application or just take out a damn paper map and draw on it. Regardless, it took him about thirty seconds before he’d located the coordinate points. “Okay, kids, make your way to that airfield and lay low. It’s a private airfield, so my landing is going to be illegal as all hell. I suppose it’s more fun that way though,” he heartily chuckled through his phone. “Sit tight kids, I’ll be there within only a matter of hours. Take care.”
“Thank you so much, Race,” Jason added right before he cut off. Even though the call remained active for a few moments longer, Jason never did get a reply.
✽✽✽
We had made our way to the airfield located in the middle of absolutely nowhere and came upon yet another problem. Protecting it in every direction, stood a six foot tall barbed wire fence. Fortunately, after a little searching we came across a section that had been crushed by a fallen tree. This gave us an entrance. From there, we navigated the eerie abandoned airport and found our way to the only building still up on the premises: the hangar. It had been a standard bright red barn that was converted at some point into a structure which might have housed planes. Unfortunately, age had not been kind to the hangar and it’s coat of paint had been rapidly peeling off. Further, the walls had begun to grow weak under several decades of constant rainfall. It looked as if the place was about to cave in, yet it was the only place on the airfield that could keep us somewhat warm during the chilly early morning breezes.
We were both exhausted, famished, and freezing, so we headed to the very back of the empty hangar and curled up together with our backs to the wall. Jason removed his hoodie and placed it on my shoulders. He didn’t say anything during this interaction, but he held me until we both fell asleep.
✽✽✽
We were awoken to the sounds of a propeller and growling engine in the distance as a plane painted a shade of dark navy blue began to gradually descend onto the airstrip. The plane was a true beauty. On both sides of the plane the words “Ol’ Nighthawk” were engraved with a shade of bone white paint.
“It’s Race,” Jason declared with a massive smile plastered on his mug.
“No way…,” I replied sarcastically.
Once the plane had been grounded for about a minute, the cargo bay door opened up and a tall, muscular, white haired man emerged from its confines.
“Hey, Jason,” Race declared as he turned to face him. He then turned to face me before speaking once again, “I don’t believe we’ve met.”
“Yo. I’m Ellie,” I replied.
“Well hello there, I’m Race,” he smiled. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Ellie. Anyway, no time for pleasantries. We ought to leave as soon as possible. Your folks are probably worried sick about the both of you, and I’ve still got a job to finish up.”
“Yeah, Aunt Rose is probably burning down the neighborhood in an effort to find me,” I said. “Jason, remember when she nearly smacked your dad when I got home two hours late in eighth grade?”
“I do,” Jason replied with an awkward laugh. “Although, I have less fond memories of that experience...”
“Come on campers! We don’t have all day,” Race called from the step of his plane. I hadn’t even noticed him get over there so quickly, but it didn’t really matter. I just wanted to get the hell out of there at that point. We climbed into the plane and found two comfortable seats right behind the cockpit.
“Attention all flyers! This is your captain speaking,” Race announced over his shoulder. “Welcome aboard the Ol’ Nighthawk. It’s my deHavilland Beaver bush plane, not that either of you would care. The flight back to Maine will take approximately twelve hours, and we will land for gas once or twice on the way. Buckle up your seatbelts, and put away all electronic devices as we begin to fly. This should be a pleasant flight, and barring any freak storms we should be back to Maine in no time at all.”
“Hey, Jason?” I asked him as he nervously tapped his foot back and forth repeatedly.
“Yeah?” He asked in response.
“Do you… maybe… want to spend the night at my house when we get back?” As I finished my question, I gently placed my right hand over his left and smiled at him.
“Yea… I think I would like that,” Jason replied as he grabbed my right hand with his left and locked our fingers together. “I think I would like that a lot.”
✽✽✽
Afterword
We hope you enjoyed our book, “Through The Mirror”. This is the first book in The Veil Series. The second book is receiving its finishing touches and is titled “The Darkness Below”. The second one picks up a few months after Ellie and Jason return to Eastmouth. They’ve begun to settle back into the lull of lives full of normalcy. Some things are even looking up for them. But can it last? There are deeper webs of mystery in play than either of them could have ever imagined. And some of them are beginning to unravel. Here is a little sneak peak from the next book:
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Jason
Eastmouth, Maine
A lot has changed since Ellie and I arrived back in Eastmouth. It was like my entire worldview had been shattered in a day and reforged anew. I can’t say I was now some superhuman ninja of constitution, but I’ve felt a lot more alive and directed since returning from Aos, one of the dying Fae worlds, with my head still attached to my neck. I’d been right about Maxence too. He’d had no idea I went missing up until Race gave him a call, but Rose had certainly noticed about Ellie. She’d been sent into a full panic knowing that her niece was missing. Luckily for us, everything had sort of smoothed over when we arrived back in Eastmouth. I was surprised to learn we actually did have an airstrip on the farthest edge of town, just one that wasn’t permitted for us to legally use so Race left just a bit quicker than he might have preferred.
The rest of the summer was just kind of a blur from there. I’ve had a chance to spend a little more personal time with Ellie, but I still don’t quite know how to handle it. I guess I could say we’re in this awkward stage where it feels like we’re beyond friends, but not yet ‘something’. As I said, awkward.
My classes at John Mason High resumed quicker than I would have preferred. It wasn’t great, but on the bright side I was now a senior. That came with perks. Like skipping school with Ellie, it was becoming a bit of bad habit. Let’s just say I’ve become well acquainted with the dean’s office.
Anyway, for the whole feeling alive and taking control of my life thing, I’d taken up swordsmanship. Kind of an odd thought to really consider since swordsmanship doesn’t seem too viable against guns. Which isn’t to say I haven’t been practicing my aim because I have. John Mason High happens to have a gun club run by Rose Deering, Ellie’s aunt, at he
r range. Ellie hadn’t had much of a vested interest in it before, but that’s definitely changed since our encounter with the horrific, insectoid tentacle thingies known as the Eldritch. She’s there every day blasting away at targets. As for me, it’s only been a passing interest so to say. I wasn’t able to keep the sword I’d brought through the gate, but I was saving up to buy my own. The situation regarding the dojo I train at is a little bit odd. The building is called Veera’s Muay Thai and it’s run by an immigrant from Thailand in the Eastmouth strip. The dojo isn’t actually all that successful, so Veera decided to rent out the place to the guy who happens to be my instructor. I can’t imagine how the conversation between Damian Kowalski and Veera went, but I can imagine it was ripe with confusion, with Damian’s thick accent and his imported vodka. Even so, somehow the Eastmouth strip ended up with a master in Eastern European swordsmanship. Who’d have thought?
I can’t say that I’ve just moved on from last summer though. I was able to put it out of my mind then, but every once in a while I’ll see it again. The deaths. I’ve watched the paramedics carry out my mother on a stretcher, but that just doesn’t compare to hearing the screams of someone dying a few feet away from you. Someone you just couldn’t save. Just some casual food for thought, right?
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- D.C. Tullis
- J.D. Tullis