Shift (ChronoShift Trilogy)

by Zack Mason

  After losing everything in the lawsuit, he’d made an unconventional decision. He’d driven to the remotest area he could find on a map, an area devoid of towns, buildings, or people and with plenty of empty, unused land and national forests. An area full of promise for a life in retreat.

  He would disappear into the woods forever, he’d decided, and forget about society once and for all. He’d live off the land, alone with his grief and bitterness. It was radical — but oh, was it needed.

  His car, his last tie to his former life, he’d abandoned on a mountainous highway with the doors unlocked and the keys in the ignition. Hope it gets stolen, he’d muttered as he walked away, thinking a photo of a popular obscene gesture left on the driver’s seat would have made a nice greeting card for the lawyers.

  The moment he’d turned his back on that beat up piece of junk was a moment of sublime satisfaction. Satisfaction which he hadn’t felt for quite a while. He was finally taking control of his life again.

  He’d been out here for a little over two months so far. Not that he was keeping track of the days very well. Time in the Marines and Force Recon had more than equipped him for long term survival on his own. The only possessions he would ever need were in his backpack and around his waist, and he didn’t plan on going back any time soon.

  He was alone. Blissfully alone. Solitude in nature had finally begun to bring the healing he’d so desperately needed for so long but could never quite seem to secure back home.

  Yet today, he found himself in the middle of nowhere staring at this strange shed, its square frame rudely piercing his fantasy of a lonely oblivion.

  The ambient clicking of southern cicadas seemed to mute as silence descended upon his mind like a thick blanket. The outbuilding drew his attention, focusing it like a laser.

  There was no way to see inside. If curiosity was to be assuaged, the door would have to be opened. It felt like a violation of the primitive, peaceful state in which he’d been living to enter a civilized structure again.

  The latch lifted easily enough — no lock to block him. He’d expected the hinges to squeal but was surprised to see they were well-oiled.

  Inside, the aroma of new lumber floated lightly upon the still air. The floor had been swept recently, and no dust marred the window sills. Naturally stained wooden slats lined three walls and the floor. A matching wood-topped island occupied the center of the room, and cabinets covered the entire back wall. A deep window seat ran along the right hand side. It had a hinged lid, indicating it doubled as a storage chest.

  On top of the lid, directly under the window, lay a pewter-colored wristwatch, which sat atop a single piece of paper. Being the only apparent items in the room, he crossed the small space and examined both more closely.

  The device did indeed seem to be a watch of some kind, though it didn’t have any of the decorative trappings one would normally expect in a watch. No brand name, no stylish flourishes. Its bland, smooth face was interrupted by two rectangular digital displays instead of one. Underneath the displays was a single large red button. A stopwatch, perhaps?

  Both of the small screens displayed more numbers than normal. A lot more.

  Several tiny buttons lined both sides of the face, but the oddest part by far was the wrist band, which appeared to be completely integral to the watch. The band was made of the same smooth gray metal as the watch’s face, but there were no links, no breaks, and no crevices in it, not even where it met the watch head. The band and face appeared to be one single, continuous piece of metal with no way to unlatch or otherwise separate it from the watch.

  The piece of paper was a brief set of instructions. They appeared to have been typed on an old-fashioned typewriter, and the paper felt like the bond paper they used in the old days, yet the sheet was crisp and fresh, not aged at all. The instructions bore no title, but simply read:

  1. Insert wrist into band.

  2. Using the three buttons on right side of face, set the bottom display to:

  010000P-09071890

  3. Press the red button.

  That was it. Simple enough, but what was this thing, anyway? Surely, it wasn’t a watch after all. Not with that many numbers. Maybe a GPS locator?

  Mark glanced nervously back through the door. He’d been foolish to trespass like this. In spite of its remote location, somebody obviously still owned this shack and had been here recently. The last thing he needed was more trouble.

  He briefly considered that it might be some kind of taser, or other electric shock device...but why would a person have something like that laying in their shed? There didn’t appear to be any electrodes on its underside, so probably not.

  Regardless, he wasn’t about to stick his wrist through the band and push that big red button until he knew exactly what it was. He avoided getting on a first-name basis with Stupid whenever he could help it.

  Curiosity already had him by the tail though. With some trial and error, he managed to use the smaller buttons on the side to change one of the digital displays to match the numbers on the piece of paper. Then, without slipping his wrist through the band, he pushed the red button.

  The watch vanished from his grasp.

  At first, he thought it had fallen. He scoured the floor and even got down on his hands and knees, but it wasn’t anywhere to be found. Standing back up, he scratched his head, his heart racing a little. What had just happened?

  He whipped around, searching for some unseen indicator that might explain what was going on, or maybe a red blinking light that would let him know he was on Candid Camera.

  Nothing.

  Where had it gone? This really didn’t make any sense. Had it become invisible? That just wasn’t possible. He groped the floor again, this time for bumpy things he couldn’t see, but it was devoid of any objects, visible or otherwise. No invisible watch.

  Plus, he hadn’t heard it hit the floor. He'd felt the weight of it lift from his hand, as if it had evaporated.

  Flabbergasted, he started to doubt whether there had even ever been a watch. Maybe he’d just imagined it. No — the piece of paper was still here.

  Whatever the “watch” had been, it was gone now. Where it had gone, and how he could get it back, he had no idea.

  Maybe he should have put his wrist through the band before pushing the button after all. No. Then, he might have disappeared too.

  Or would the watch have done something completely different if he’d been wearing it? If he’d vanished with the watch, where would he have gone? Maybe it simply annihilated whoever was wearing it when activated. A kind of trick weapon? Maybe it had annihilated itself in the absence of another object. Didn’t seem likely though. Who would go to all the trouble to invent such an odd device just to kill somebody? Guns were so much easier.

  The instruction regarding the setting of the digital display had to mean something. As fantastic as it sounded, the numbers must represent some sort of coordinates, perhaps a destination for the watch? That would make it a teleportation device. Still, the numbers weren’t typical GPS format.

  Just an hour ago, he wouldn’t have imagined he’d be considering the existence of such a thing, but he’d seen it disappear with his own eyes, and the human mind quickly adapts.

  Had he inadvertently stumbled onto the outskirts of a covert military base? The U.S. military managed numerous “black” projects resulting in technological advances years beyond what the public thought was currently possible. Laser weapons, cloaks that could make soldiers invisible. These were things off the pages of science fiction novels that the Pentagon began development on decades ago and with which it had already achieved limited success. He knew because he’d seen a couple of these projects in action himself while enlisted. Inconspicuous places like this shed were sometimes preferred to a large, blatant army base for disguising covert operations.

  He recalled reading a few years ago that some German scientists claimed to have successfully teleported a few atoms across a short distance. So,
you never knew.

  Still, if that were the case, would they really have left such a valuable device out in the open where just anybody could stumble upon it? And with instructions? Definitely not. Then again, maybe they weren’t expecting someone like him to be walking this far out in the wild.

  He stepped to the door and peered into the woods for a long time, examining every direction thoroughly. Nothing.

  He retreated back inside and systematically searched every cabinet and drawer for some answers, but the shed truly was as a bare as it looked. Absolutely every compartment was empty. Except for the storage area under the window seat.

  When he lifted the lid of the window seat, another silvery watch gleamed up at him, as if waiting patiently to be discovered. Was it the same one? Had it fallen from his hand and somehow gotten inside the window seat? There weren’t any holes in the lid through which it could have passed.

  A chill ran down his spine the moment his fingers touched it. This one’s digital display was not set to the numbers he had entered. Had it reset itself, or was this a different “watch”? Had it teleported itself from his hand into the box?

  This was insane.

  Underneath this watch was a different note, a much simpler one.

  This time, put it on.

  He fled the shack, gripping the watch so tightly his knuckles turned white. He rushed from one edge of the clearing to the other, peering into the late summer foliage for evidence that someone was setting him up, but there was no one out there. He was alone.

  A cool breeze blew in from the northwest. He sat down heavily under a nearby tree, staring at the watch peeking through his closed fist. Dare he put it on?

  The contemplation and second-guessing went on for more than twenty minutes. Finally, with great trepidation, he slipped it over his wrist. After all, he had nowhere to go, nothing left to lose really. Except his life. But what was that worth at this point anyway?

  As soon as he’d passed his hand through the watch’s wristband, a strange whirring sound erupted from within. The band constricted around his wrist swiftly, halting once it was snug against his skin. Panicked, he jumped to his feet and ripped at it, frantically trying to get it off, but the metal was very strong. There was no seam, no screws to pry at. He punched buttons, but to no avail; the band would not loosen.

  He was stuck. What an idiot he’d been. He should have tried a stick or something else first. Not his arm.

  He calmed a bit once he realized the “watch” wasn’t going to do anything else to him. He and it were at an apparent stalemate. He didn’t dare push the red button now, not until he knew what this thing was — and what it would do to him.

  He would just wait right here. The shack’s owner had to show up at some point and they would be able to shed some light on the matter.

  It's gonna hurt bad before it gets better

  But I'll never get over you by hidin' this way

  “Tonight I Wanna Cry”

  ~ Keith Urban

  He snacked on some berries and wild roots he found nearby, drank from a nearby stream, and ate the last piece of beef jerky he'd been saving for a special occasion. In short, he relaxed. He’d gotten good at waiting, at doing nothing over the past few months.

  The day darkened to night, but no one came. The cicadas enlivened the crisp night air, loud enough to rival a moderate-sized orchestra. Stars twinkled, seemingly dancing to their rhythms, and soft breezes blew through the trees in spurts that sounded like the rising and falling of applause.

  This was real life, he’d decided, the kind of life people only caught a glimpse of when they went camping. This was his life now.

  He pondered his past. If given the chance, could he have done things differently? It was hard to say. For the most part, he’d done the best he knew how at every turn.

  There was no doubt one thing he would change would be that trip to McDonald’s. If he could undo anything, it would be that fateful day of course. Yet, this was his existence now, and he enjoyed it for what it was....second best.

  Eventually, his body’s needs overcame his mind. He fell asleep, propped against the trunk of an old oak tree.

  When morning broke, he awoke to the sound of birds chirping cheerfully in the branches over his head. The cool smell of morning dew jolted his senses from slumber to alert. His clothing was damp from it.

  The stupid metal band still clasped his wrist like some sort of futuristic handcuff.

  He yawned and stood, stretching his arms to the sky. He really should have gotten his sleeping bag out instead of sleeping against that tree. His neck felt like an ice pick had been shoved between a couple of the vertebrae. He jumped into his morning calisthenics routine to get the juices flowing and to try to work out the kinks he felt in just about every muscle.

  Yet, the device on his wrist kept drawing his attention like a moth to a bug zapper.

  Decisions, decisions.

  Should he push the button or just keep waiting?

  Truthfully, he was out of patience. There was no telling how long it would be until someone returned. Walking away wasn’t a solution either, not until he was rid of it.

  He scowled at no one in particular. Pushing the cursed red button was his only real option. It could cost him his life, but when you really got down to brass tacks, so what? There wasn’t much left of that.

  Drumming up courage, he inhaled deeply, closed his eyes, and pressed the button. Immediately, a strange, twisting sensation wrenched his stomach. His feet gave out from under him a little. He stumbled and then....nothing.

  He opened his eyes, surprised. What had just happened? He was still in the woods, so he hadn’t been teleported. He looked at his hands, verifying he could still see himself, so it was no invisibility machine either. But what was with the twisting in his stomach and the stumbling?

  It felt like he’d moved. Almost the way a roller coaster feels right when you go over the crest of a hill and begin to fall. He’d stumbled because it felt like the ground had dropped away a few inches. Yet, here he stood in the same spot.

  Was it his imagination, or had the breeze picked up? It was pretty windy now.

  The air’s temperature grew warmer on his skin, as if it were mid-afternoon instead of early morning. He squinted up into the sunlight. The sun certainly seemed too high in the sky for it to be morning. What time was it anyway? Had he really slept that late? It had definitely not been this hot just a minute ago.

  Wait.

  The shed was gone.

  Where was the shed?

  Maybe he should be asking where he was? Did the watch move the shed — or had it moved him? He was completely disoriented.

  He reached down for his backpack, but his fingers only brushed air. It too was gone. The oak tree where he had slept caught his eye — it was only half as wide as he remembered. It looked shorter as well. The oak tree wasn’t gone, but the other things were. So had he moved, or not?

  A strange desperation filled him then. He jerked his head back and forth, trying to get a grip on the truth. Reality had just twisted before his eyes, yet understanding evaded his mind. His finger inched back toward the red button, wanting to push it another time, but not sure if he should.

  He did.

  Same odd sensations.

  The trees in the forest line flickered and jumped, shifting really, as if he’d turned his head. Yet, he hadn’t. His feet stumbled again, but this time the ground shoved him upward, enough to throw him off balance, and he fell back hard onto his rump.

  Both the shed and his pack were miraculously back in place. The oak tree had returned to its normal size.

  He exhaled, deeply relieved. Was he dreaming? Hallucinating? Perhaps he’d only imagined the disappearing shack.

  He pushed the button again. No shack, no backpack. There was the same shifting of trees, the same twisting in his gut, all of it topped off by the shrunken oak.

  A fourth time, and everything returned to its place. He lost his balance, stumbled and fel
l again. Very odd. Very odd indeed.

  Then, nausea overcame him in a rush. He dropped to his hands and knees and heaved up the remnants of yesterday’s beef jerky and berries, mixed with a touch of bile of course. After a full minute of retching, he flopped onto his back, chest heaving, trying to catch his breath.

  What was this thing? What was it doing to him? Was it disorienting him, maybe injecting him with some kind of drug? Every time he pushed that button it was as if every tree in the forest simultaneously shifted anywhere from a few inches to several feet, yet every one moved in a different direction. The difference wasn’t enough to put your finger on, but it sure threw your mind off. Was that what had made him nauseous? Or was it something else?

  Perhaps the device just acted like a mind-altering drug. Maybe it sent an electrical signal through the skin which disoriented and confused the visual cortex of the brain.

  Mark withdrew his hunting knife and carved a rough question mark in the bark of the oak tree. Once he was satisfied as to its visibility, he stepped back, shouldered his backpack, glanced around and pushed the button once more.

  The queasiness returned and it was all he could do to keep from resuming the heave-a-thon.

  He clearly felt his feet drop this time, as if he’d been floating a half-inch above the ground. The shed was gone, but this time, his pack was still firmly slung across his back. That was different.

  He examined the oak, but there was no question mark. At this point, he wasn’t really sure if he’d expected that or not.

  Just then, a glint of sunlight reflecting off metal caught Mark’s eye. In the grass to his left lay a silver object. It was the missing watch, the one that had disappeared from his hands, and it lay right where the shack had been.

  So, the watch couldn’t be a mind-altering device. Such a mechanism could potentially distort what he was actually seeing, but it would be pretty hard to “add” something as specific as a watch to his imagination. No hallucination could be that real.