by Mark Tufo
“I hope so. If it’s smoke, that would mean half of Belfast has gone up in fire…including the hospital,” BT responded. The nose of the truck had no sooner hit the strange apparition when BT felt a lightness to his head and a heaviness to his eyes. “I…ah…feel frunny.” The words taking on an elongated slant as if he were racing away from them.
“What the fuck Trip!” Mike shouted out in remembrance of past events.
“I’m sorry; I had to.” Was all any of them could remember Trip saying as the truck veered off the side of the road.
— 2 —
“What the hell?” BT lifted his head off of the steering wheel, a line of drool connecting him to it. Deneaux had her head back against the seat rest, she was snoring. As BT regained his wits, he saw Trip by the front of the truck talking to Mike, his back to the cab, a ring of smoke encircling his head. They both turned when they heard the door open.
“I had to man!” Trip pleaded.
“Had to what? Drug us? Not all of us want to be as fucked up as you, little man. Now it’s time for you to pay! Simple little run to get a damn breathing machine but you had to make us join your little drug-fueled party. You’ve exposed us all to unimaginable dangers. What if zombies had come, you idiot!” BT was as angry as Mike had ever seen him.
“Oh, it’s worse than that. Before you see if it’s really possible to shit down someone’s neck, BT I think you should look around.” Mike said.
BT paused, not sure how Mike knew what he wanted to do to Trip. After a moment he let it go, partly because he figured Mike had reasoned it out knowing he generally wanted to rip other people’s heads off when they gave him a hard time, but mainly because he could not for the life of him figure out exactly where he was. It was a street lined with trees, but not the pines, oaks, and maples of Maine that he was used to. He was seeing magnolias, dogwoods, and southern pines. That last tree broke something loose in his mind; he noticed that the weather had changed dramatically as well. It was warm—extremely warm—and the humidity level was uncomfortably high.
“You’re going to want to hear him out,” Mike said, doing his best to shield Trip from the raging bull that was BT.
“Atlanta?” Mrs. Deneaux asked as she exited the truck. She had one hand to her head. “What are we doing here?”
“Numb nuts over there drugged us and flew us down here or some shit.”
“Flew? Not unless he had access to a rocket; it’s been less than fifteen minutes.” Deneaux had turned her slender, watch-clad wrist to look at the time.
“I don’t feel messed up. There’s no way we could have been drugged, passed out, and then feel fine in that amount of time.” BT was shaking his head.
“It’s just a little something to help with the transition,” Trip said as he eyed the big man warily.
“What are you talking about? Mike, you seem mighty alright with whatever is going on.” BT was trying to get his bearings.
“Not my first rodeo, brother.” Mike was establishing a perimeter while Trip caught them up to speed.
“Most that stay awake for the crossover suffer some ill effects,” Trip said.
Deneaux, ever the astute one asked, “So how many crossovers must you have stayed alert for?”
Trip did not dignify her question. “There are people here that need help. And I can’t be everywhere,” he pleaded.
“Trip, man.” BT was perhaps not scared, but definitely concerned. He had no idea how he had got to where he was, and the only one with any answers hadn’t had a cohesive thought since the Nixon era. “The beginning, Trip. You need to start from the beginning—and not the beginning where you were born, but from the moment we hit that mist.”
“It’s not really mist.”
“I don’t care!” BT roared.
Trip’s hand was shaking as he took another drag. “Yo, Ponch you sure you don’t want to be over here?” Mike ignored the nickname Trip had given him and continued walking around, keeping an eye out.
“Let me just check this place out, Trip. You tend to drop us in some pretty tight spots.” Mike replied.
“I’d wait for him to come back, but this is too urgent.” Trip said.
“What’s so urgent?” Deneaux turned when she heard a loud screech, unlike anything she’d ever heard before, off in the distance. She wished it was “far off” but she didn’t get that impression.
“Is this the night runner world?” BT asked. Mike had told him all about that particular adventure where they’d met a man named Jack Walker and there were zombies, night runners, and another monster. “What was that other thing? Yeah the whistlers. Are they here? Is that what’s screaming?”
There was a barely audible “no” from Mike, who was attempting to locate where the sound had come from.
Trip thought about it for a second. “Similar, but not whistlers. It’s something new and terrible. They were human once; whistlers weren’t.”
Another screech—more than one, and definitely closer. “That doesn’t sound friendly.” Deneaux snubbed out a cigarette. “We should find cover.”
“Fuck that. Let’s get back in the truck and get to Maine. We’re in the South somewhere, we could get back there by tomorrow morning at the latest.” BT was heading for the vehicle.
Trip’s expression was sad. “What you seek is not there in this world.” He did not elaborate any further, though his countenance gave it away.
“Bullshit. Those crazy bastard Talbots could stand at ground zero during a nuclear explosion and walk away talking about what a great rush that was.”
“I could see that,” Deneaux cackled.
There was the crack of multiple gunfire somewhere to the east, followed immediately by a large explosion that rumbled the earth beneath their feet. They all looked up as they heard the air tearing sound of jets flying overhead.
“It’s not safe here.” Trip was urging them over to a house on the far side of the road.
“I’m with him,” Mike said pulling in to the relative safety their numbers afforded.
Deneaux was in self-preservation mode and began to leave immediately. “Come on big man,” she called. “If whatever is coming enjoys eating human flesh you are going to look like a banquet.”
“Fuck off,” he muttered. “When we get in there, Trip, you’re going to tell me everything. You understand?”
Trip said nothing but kept shuffling along.
“If you don’t, I’m staying right here. And with my dying gesture I’m going to point out exactly where you are.”
“Now who’s the asshole?” Deneaux was up two of the steps that led to a wraparound porch.
“BT, come on man, we’re already here. That’s not going to change,” Mike said as he halted his escape.
BT merely folded his arms across his chest while he looked intently at Trip.
“Everything…I know,” Trip promised.
“That could be absolutely nothing.” BT harrumphed but still made his way to them, a little extra pop to his step when a screech much louder than the first echoed down the street.
Trip opened the door and urged the others in. The house was immaculate. It did not appear to any of them that anything was out of place or that the occupants had left hastily, taking only what they could. To their right was a living room, the left the kitchen. Directly ahead of them, away from the foyer, was a large staircase with a landing halfway up. That was what Trip was heading for. BT closed the door and threw the deadbolt before following.
Trip went to the right once he got to the top, straight through the master bedroom and into the master bath.
“Nice to see that someone still makes a bed in this day and age,” Deneaux said as she sat down upon the king-size mattress. “I personally wouldn’t have gone for the purple and gold motif.” She’d picked up a corner of the comforter. “But to each his own.”
BT had gone to the side of the window, moving the curtain slightly to get a look and see if anything was happening. Trip came out carrying two bottles of
hair spray and an assortment of perfumes, he dumped them onto the bed and began spraying copious amounts of product into the air.
“What are you doing, you insipid fool?” Deneaux had arisen quickly from the bed and was getting away from the aerosol assault.
“They have incredible senses of smell! We need to be masked,” he answered.
BT waited until the first of the cans petered out and watched as the thick wet vapor settled. He could barely catch a full breath; his lungs choked from the chemicals. “No more.” BT held up a hand.” Trip did three quick squirts before BT could cross the room and take the bottle away.
“The fuck is wrong with you, man?” BT was angry.
“House is clear,” Mike said as he was about to enter the room. “Holy crap, what is that smell? BT, you trying to freshen up?”
“Shhh.” Trip looked visibly nervous and pointed to the window.
“My god.” It was Deneaux, peeking around the edge. BT and Mike ran across the room and were careful to not reveal themselves as they got into position to look out as well. Mike couldn’t be sure about BT, but he felt as if he swallowed a handful of live worms and they were wriggling frantically in his stomach as the acids there slowly ate away at them.
Trip had said the things that were down there were once human, though none of them could fathom how that was possible. The two they were looking at were staring at something in the roadway; BT thought it could be Deneaux’s damned stubbed-out cigarette. The aberrations were on all fours, their joints bent in completely unnatural angles—but that was far from the worst of it. Any skin not covered was blotched completely in bursting red pustules, in place of their hands and feet were these strange hooked claws that clicked on the ground as they walked and surveyed the area. And still, that was not the most terrifying aspect. When the larger male looked up and began sniffing at the air, BT thought he was going to have to bring Mike over to the bathroom before the other man lost the contents of his meager breakfast.
“Think I’m going to catch my breath,” Mike said as he withdrew and sat on the floor.
A bleached-out, round mouth full of razor sharp teeth was puckering and suckering. BT could not help but think he was looking at some sort of parasitic worm when he saw that orifice. The eyes were cat-like with vertical pupils and surrounded by the red of broken blood vessels and hemorrhaging cells. What hair remained on its head was in wilted, sporadic clumps. The smaller female made a pitiful retching sound and a black, tarry substance consisting of blood and some other unknown compound fissured from her mouth, completely coating the cigarette butt. The male loped a few steps, clicking as he went, attempting to pick up the group’s scent. His gaze more than once fixated on their window.
“Don’t move,” Deneaux hissed. Every instinct in BT had been to flinch, pull back and hide under the bed. He remained steadfast, impressed with how calmly Deneaux held her spot. Then he realized it’s easy to not get alarmed when you don’t have a beating heart, conscience, or soul. Dwelling on that thought was the only thing that got him through those next few horrific moments. There was gunfire a street over; the male’s head swung and the two bounded off. The speed with which they did so gave BT pause. He’d thought the speeder zombies were fast. The things down there on the street had a gait closer to that of a gazelle. It was inhuman, to say the least.
“Start talking, Trip, or I’m going to toss you out the window and give it my best go getting back to Maine, no matter what you said may or may not be there.” BT moved away from the window, feeling better for it. Deneaux stayed where she was, keeping a look out to make sure their visitors didn’t come back.
“We have to help here,” Trip beseeched.
“Let’s start with what those things are.” Mike flipped a thumb over his shoulder.
“Yeah what are those things, man?” BT echoed.
“They’re an experiment. The U.S. Government, under the guise of creating a cure for Ebola, was actually working on weaponizing it.”
“Weaponize Ebola? Have they lost their minds?” BT asked.
“You can see it didn’t work,” Trip continued.
“No shit, tweak,” Deneaux said, not pulling her stare away from the street.
“There was a scientist that mixed it with a Vietnam era compound called VX99…it was supposed to make super soldiers. That didn’t quite work out the way they planned.”
“So they took a failed chemical from forty years ago and mixed it with one of the world’s most deadly viruses?” BT asked as Trip nodded. “Good to see the government is just as fucked up across multiple worlds. I mean that’s what we’re dealing with right? This isn’t our reality?”
That got Deneaux’s full attention. She finally moved to watch the conversation.
“There are more realities than you can imagine.” Trip seemed nervous, not knowing how much he could actually say.
“So who the fuck are you to go skipping through the universe?” Deneaux asked.
“It wasn’t always like this; I wasn’t always like this. I was a Mensa member…I was studying astrophysics.”
BT snorted, not really believing that the ultimate pot smoker could be capable of grasping anything more difficult than the mechanics to spin a bone. Then again, the proof was somewhat in the pudding, it was obvious they weren’t in Kansas anymore, or Maine in this case. Mike wisely said nothing.
“That part is a story for another day. We’re under too much of a time constraint for that explanation.”
“Time crunch? We’ve got all day as far as I’m concerned. I’m not going out there until whatever fog you placed on my head is lifted and I’m back at Ron’s house. Shit, I might be there already, sleeping peacefully after having just done a non-eventful guard duty. I’m figuring that’s what is going on anyway—it got so boring that I had to go and invent this nightmare so I could keep my brain stimulated. Fucking oww!” BT blurted out.
Deneaux had gripped his ear and twisted it hard. “Nope, not a dream,” she said.
“Maybe you should have tried that on yourself, you old bat.” BT was rubbing the side of his head furiously.
“I’m not the one doubting where I’m physically standing.” She went to light a cigarette but thought better of it and put the pack away.
“This world is in trouble and there’re a few very key people whose survival is paramount to its continuation.”
“Not him?” BT asked pointing to Mike.
“Not in this realm. There’s a Master Sergeant Beckham; he is the leader of a Delta team. He’s on his way here.”
“Here, here?” BT was pointing to the floor.
“Army guys? Would have figured it would be Marines,” Mike said, reverting to his inter-service rivalry.
“And they say I’m ego-centric,” Deneaux quipped.
“No, he’s headed for the CDC where he needs to rescue a scientist there. Her name is Kate Lovato; she’s going to be the key to finding a way back from what has been unleashed here.”
“What is our role in all of this?” Deneaux asked. BT looked lost, deep in the significance of what was being explained to him. It was not a concept he was transitioning into well.
“Their odds of success are dismally small. We’re here to help better them.”
“How?” BT had not looked up.
“I don’t know,” was Trip’s reply.
Anger immediately flared up in the big man. “Oh. So now you don’t know. You suck us into this cesspool of a world, explain to us where we are, what’s happening, and what needs to be done, but you stop just short of telling us how?! Well isn’t that just fucking special!” BT was pacing back and forth across the room, his anger mounting with each step. “Why? Why should I…why should we care what happens to this fucked up place? They made their monster infested bed, let them lie in it. It’s not like we have spare resources…how can we possibly make much of a difference here?”
“It’s not that simple. This world is the same, but different. All realities are tied together in some way
s; some ties you can see, others you will never understand. Your world, Jack’s world, the whistler world, Master Sergeant Beckham’s world…well, countless others. Each plane of existence subtly intersects and influences the others. If this world falls, the effects ripple out and can turn favorable outcomes to unfavorable ones…and vice-versa, but that’s nothing we can predict. In this case, all I can tell you is that it’s imperative that we at least give this place a chance to succeed.”
It made sense—and that infuriated BT even more.
“I think what we should be asking here is this: we’ve all known Trip’s crazy ass for months, and, just being honest here buddy, but you haven’t made much sense for the vast majority of it. Yet here you are, talking not only like a normal person, but an educated one. I’m almost having a harder time believing that than anything else,” Mike said rubbing his hand over his goatee.
“Side effect of the shift. Keeps everything in focus for a while,” Trip responded.
“That’s a side effect?” Deneaux could not help but ask.
“It’s limited, and I can’t stay this way long. It’s my understanding that my mind would snap like an overstretched rubber band if I were exposed to the infinite number of realities I’ve been through for too long; the Trip you know protects me from that overload.”
“Pretty sure that already happened,” BT mumbled.
“So, say we help this Beckham and Lovato. What happens to us then?” Deneaux asked, looking out for her end game.
“Most times we just go back to where we came from,” Trip answered.
“Most times?” Mike asked.
“There’s been…difficulties before.”
“I’m not going to go skipping through history like Scott Bakula in Quantum Leap!” BT shouted.
“It would be funny to see you as a small white girl,” Mike said referring to the show’s lead character being portrayed as the person he inhabited for his brief stay in one period.
“Mike, how do you come back from something like this?” BT asked.
“Shit, bud. I hate to sound like a commercial, but you just do it and get it done with. You knew what you were signing up for when you met me.”