The Beautiful Land

by Alan Averill

  “Oh, okay. Your science briefcase.”

  “That’s better. And to answer the question: no. You only use the briefcase for the first leg of the trip. The return is automatic.”

  “So when does it happen?”

  “Dunno. Could be an hour, could be a couple of days. It’ll just…poof. You know? One minute you’ll be sitting here, then we’ll be back in Nebraska.”

  “But a different Nebraska,” presses Samira. “I mean, when we go back, that timeline shift or whatever will have already happened…. Right?”

  “Yeah, that’s right. When we go back, the solid timeline will already be overwritten.”

  “So how do you know the briefcase is going to work? How will it even know where to send us?”

  “I don’t know, Sam. I mean, not for sure. Look, we’re way off the sheet music at this point. I’m just kind of making it up as I go along.”

  Tak peers in at the boiling water, then grabs a towel purloined from the hall closet, wraps it around his hand, and pulls the pan off the fire, setting it on the fireplace mantel to cool. He takes the stick up again and begins stirring the ashes to douse any remaining flame. Samira tears open a Pandonkulous bar and takes a small bite. Her stomach immediately rebels, but she manages to keep it down. “So when we go back, am I gonna get sick again? Do I need to eat a hundred of these candy bars?…Because I will. I totally believe you now.”

  “No, you don’t need to eat. I mean, it’s not a bad idea, because you lost a hell of a lot of energy during the last trip, but starches and sugars aren’t quite as important. Going back is different. You’re not going to be sick, or see those memories, or…”

  He trails off, staring at the steam that slowly rises from the pan. Samira knows exactly what he’s thinking about, because she’s thinking it as well, but rather than talk, she takes another nibble of candy and kicks off a shoe so she can go to town on her knuckles. She’s grateful for the distraction for once; she’s afraid of what her eyes might say if she had to stare at Tak.

  “Anyway,” begins Tak, “I think the best thing is to—”

  “I’m sorry,” interrupts Samira, wiggling her big toe up and down violently. It’s already popped twice, but she’s pretty sure a third one is hiding in there somewhere. “I’m sorry, Tak. I didn’t…I shouldn’t have…That thing about getting in my pants, that was a really terrible thing to say.”

  Now it’s Tak’s turn to focus on something else. He stands and moves to the window, peering out from between two boards at the darkening evening sky. “Hey, don’t worry about it,” he says with awkward forced cheer. “It was a long time ago.”

  “I mean, you were Tak, you know?” continues Samira. “You were my friend, and I didn’t…I didn’t think you liked me like that. And then the night we graduate you suddenly kiss me, and I don’t know what to think, and by the next morning, you’re on a plane to some jungle in New Zealand.”

  “New Guinea.”

  “Whatever. It was a long way, and I missed you.”

  Tak turns back from the window and stares at her. She glances up from her knuckles and catches his gaze, offering a small smile in return. He smiles back, much wider than he means to, and quickly turns his attention to the cooling water. With a slightly unsteady hand, he pours it into two plastic glasses, handing one to Samira as he takes a seat on the end of the couch. After a brief hesitation, she slides her feet onto his lap. He puts a hand around one of them and holds it there, enjoying the feel of her toes beneath her socks. They sit on the couch in silence, slowly sipping the lukewarm water and listening to the sound of rain striking the windowpane.

  “We should sleep,” Tak says after a while, trying to sound like this is the only thing he’s thinking about. “Things are going to move really fast once we get back, so this may be our last chance for a while.”

  “I can’t sleep,” says Samira flatly. “Not here. The sound isn’t right.”

  “So what happened to you over there? In Iraq, I mean?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Because it seems like—”

  “Tak!” she says, her voice incredibly loud in the stillness of the house. “Not now. Okay? I can’t. I can’t talk about it now. You saw some of it in the Machine, and that’s all you need to know. Just imagine that, but then imagine it keeps happening. Every day, something new. Every day, something terrible. I thought I was strong enough to handle stuff like that, but I’m not, and that’s all there is to it.”

  “Okay,” he says at last. “I won’t ask again.”

  “Thanks,” she replies.

  As Tak absentmindedly begins to move his thumb across her toes, a memory from the Machine pops into her mind: Tak’s hand hovering over her hair as he tries and fails to work up the nerve to touch her. She glances at her friend and knows, instantly, that he is thinking the very same thing. Their eyes meet, then quickly move away to look around the cold and empty living room. The fire smolders and dies in its hearth. Steam stops rising from the pan. Rain hits the window with renewed force. And two lonely people continue to sit on the couch and realize that what they are feeling—the twisting of the stomach, the nervous flutters in the throat—are emotions they have been carrying around for years.

  “Um, so, listen….” begins Tak. He seems ready to continue, but before he can do more than inhale, Samira suddenly leaps across the couch and plants her lips on his. He returns the kiss instantly, reaching into her hair and taking hold of whatever purchase he can find. She shifts, twisting slightly, until her legs encircle his body as if by some strange spell. When the two of them finally part, their faces closer than they’ve been since a night forever ago, they simply stare into each other and let their shallow, surprised breaths mingle together in the cold air. Samira leans toward Tak and places her forehead on his, smelling him, feeling him, totally unsure of what the next moment will hold and finding that oddly compelling. She can feel his heart racing beneath his T-shirt and suit coat, and knows that her own is doing the same.

  “Hey, Sam,” he says weakly.

  “Hey,” she replies.

  “So, um…What now?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t planned that—”

  THUMP.

  Two heads suddenly pivot toward the ceiling as one. Samira’s grip on Tak tightens to the point of pain, but he either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. “Tak,” she whispers. “Tak, did you hear that?”

  “Yeah,” he whispers back.

  “What the hell was it?”

  “I don’t know. Wind?”

  “…I don’t think that was wind.”

  “Yeah, me neither. I’m just trying to be positive.”

  They stare at the ceiling, waiting. For a moment, there is no sound other than the familiar patter of rain. But as the two of them ponder the notion they might have imagined the thump, a different noise rings out: a kind of slow, scraping sound like branches being dragged across the tiles of the roof.

  “Oh, fuck me sideways,” says Tak in a furious whisper.

  “There’s something up there,” says Samira, eyes wide. “There’s something on the roof. It’s that thing from the picture, isn’t it?”

  Tak nods slightly as Samira uncurls her legs from his body and scrambles to the far side of the couch. “God, this thing’s timing could not be worse,” he says as his eyes move from the ceiling to the boarded-up door. She smiles weakly at this, but then the scraping sound rings out again, closer. They hear it move across the space over their heads and stop at the chimney. After a moment, a guttural, clacking sound echoes down the flue and out of the fireplace. This noise is followed by a soft, questioning cry:

  Caw?

  Tak and Samira stare at each other. The noise sounds like a crow, but deeper somehow. Deeper and darker and vastly more intelligent. There is silence for a moment, then a heavy thud. A few crumbled pieces of brick come ricocheting down the chimney, bounce onto the living-room floor, and skitter to a stop near the kitchen.

  Caw.
Clicka-click caaaaaw.

  Samira feels a new kind of fear rise up in her chest. It’s different than the numbing tightness she used to feel before combat, different than the harsh terror of a bomb propelling shrapnel past her head. The object of the fear is totally unknown, and that makes it far worse than anything she’s felt before. She glances around for a weapon and quickly snatches up a long, metal poker hanging from a nail next to the fireplace.

  “Tak,” she whispers, gripping the poker until her knuckles turn white, “I think it knows we’re here.”

  “I know.”

  “We have to get out of here.”

  “Gimme a second. I’m thinking.”

  “Can we use the briefcase?”

  “No. Not once you’ve made the initial jump. You have to wait for it to bring you back.”

  The thing on the roof caws again. Seconds later, a thin trail of black slime drips down the chimney and onto the ashes below. A foul smell of rotting eggs and vinegar rises to their nostrils as the slime slowly pools across the floor.

  Tak puts his head inside the fireplace and stares into the blackness above. Samira reaches out to grab his shoulder and pull him back, but a crackling sound from overhead causes her arm to freeze in midair.

  “Now what?” mutters Tak, as the popping sound echoes down the chimney.

  “It sounds like twigs,” whispers Samira. “Like when you step on them in a forest? Or when they’re burning in a fire?”

  “The fuck is this thing?”

  As if in response, a single black feather drifts down and lands at the base of the fireplace. Samira touches it with one extended finger, then quickly pulls away. “Oh God, it’s…it’s furry.”

  The crackling sound is louder now, small pops interspersed with the occasional teeth-grinding crack. The cawing grows regular and more distinct, as if the creature is growing excited. Or as if it’s laughing.

  Caw, it whispers in the darkness of the chimney. Caw caw caw caw caw.

  More feathers fall down the chimney, a couple of dozen in all, floating and drifting gently through the air. The realization of what’s happening hits Samira first, and it’s so horrible that for a moment she can’t say anything. The crackling sound isn’t coming from the creature’s throat—it’s the sound of bones snapping as they twist and contort themselves into a very small space.

  “T-Tak…” she sputters. “Tak…”

  “Sam?”

  “It’s coming, Tak. Oh God, it’s coming down the chimney.”

  Without another word, Tak reaches up and into the chimney, feeling around for the flue cover. Samira grabs his free arm to pull him back, but he shakes her off and keeps grasping. Suddenly, he cries out in pain and withdraws the hand; his little finger is burned where some of the black substance dripped onto it. She grabs the pan of water and makes to throw it on the burn, but he shoves his hand back inside the fireplace before she has a chance.

  The black feathers have become a steady rain. The creature can’t be more than a foot or so away, and Samira knows that when it arrives, popping out of the chimney like some kind of grim Santa Claus, it will open its arms and shriek with delight before it devours them both alive. She feels fear absorb her body as her senses shut down, preparing themselves for the inevitable end that is coming. The crackling sound fades. Her vision dims to a single point just above the mantel. But just when she’s ready to close her eyes and surrender entirely, Tak finds the flue cover and slams it shut.

  The thing batters against it once, twice, a third time. It utters a terrible, watery cry, then throws itself at the cover yet again, causing the bricks of the chimney to shudder in their housings. As her senses slowly return to life, Samira reaches out and hands Tak the water; he plunges his smoking fingers into it. “We have to get out of here,” he says in a trembling voice, as the thing continues to batter against the metal flue covering. “We have to get out of here now.”

  Samira clambers to her feet and runs to the door, adjusting her grip on the poker as she does. She jams the end of the tool against the wood that Tak nailed up not an hour ago, props her foot on the doorframe, and pulls with all her strength. To her surprise, the board gives way and goes flying off into space. Immediately, she begins yanking at the other boards, ripping the nails out as fast as she can move. Her vision is blurred from tears, and she feels like her chest is going to burst, but she keeps going. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Tak pick up the briefcase with his good hand.

  “Samira, come on!” he cries. “Hurry!”

  “I AM!” she screams, as another board clatters to the ground.

  The creature has stopped slamming against the flue and is now crawling back up the chimney. The cawing has grown lower and more intense; Samira could swear that the thing is royally pissed off. It’s about halfway to the roof when the last board gives way and Samira yanks the door open. With Tak on her heels, she stumbles through the doorway, finds her balance, and starts running. There is no discussion about where to go, no thought about finding shelter or taking a stand—the thing behind them is terror personified, and the only option is escape.

  Samira drops the poker, tucks her head against her chest, and pushes forward as fast as her legs will move. Tak keeps pace at her side, the briefcase occasionally banging into his legs. They race down the darkened street and past the park where they first arrived in this dead and hellish land, then turn a corner and keep going. Behind them, the creature makes a terrible cry against the moonlit sky.

  “I told you…” pants Tak as they fly, “told you that…most of time travel…was running.”

  The houses are smaller now, more like townhomes than the grand residences of a few blocks previous. Samira can see that many of them have burned to the ground, and once she thinks she spies a skeleton with a hole in its head leaning over a front porch rail. But it’s dark, and she’s running, and there’s no time to make sure. Her breath comes in short, pained gasps. Her legs are on fire. The knuckles that were scraped in her apartment an eternity ago are burning with renewed fury. But she keeps running.

  She hears a hissing behind them and knows the creature has broken free of its brick prison. She forces herself to stare forward and keep moving, knowing that to turn around and see it bearing down on them would cause her entire body to seize with fright. The thing is close, perhaps a block away, and the beating of wings is heavy in the night air.

  “We’re not…gonna make it….” she pants. “Right…behind us…”

  “Keep running,” grunts Tak. “Promise me you’ll…keep running….”

  She reaches down for a secret fifth gear, hoping that it’s there and yet not knowing if she has such a strength. To her surprise, her body responds, growing lighter and more agile until the pain and fear suddenly dissipate. She’s really moving now, seemingly flying over the asphalt roads of a cold, dead world. We can make it, she thinks wildly. We’re gonna make it. We’re gonna get away.

  Suddenly Tak drops off from her side. It takes her a few seconds to notice this, then another few to get her head turned around. When she does, she sees him standing in the middle of the road, arms outstretched, briefcase by his feet.

  “Okay, you ugly motherfucker!” she hears him scream. “Let’s do this thing!”

  Samira skids to a stop and tries to turn, but momentum and exhaustion collide inside her, and she tumbles to the ground, rolling over and over until she finally crashes to a stop against the side of a parked car. Bright lights flash across her vision as she struggles to stand. “Tak!” she warbles. “Tak, no!”

  “Run, Sam!” he screams back. “Fucking run!”

  She can see him standing in the glow of the moon, and is horrified to see how small and powerless he seems. Approaching him, flying through the air with talons barely touching the ground, is a thing straight out of hell. Its mouth is a thin yellow beak. Its skin is nearly translucent and shot through with red veins. It has a pair of twisted, useless arms that sprout from its chest as if the creator simply ran out of insp
iration before finishing. But worst of all are the eyes: huge black things with no white or iris at all. They bulge out from its head like a pair of overfilled balloons, and they hold a cunning beyond imagining.

  It’s a bird, thinks Samira as she watches it soar toward Tak. Dear God in heaven, it’s a gigantic baby bird.

  The bird opens its arms and emits a hoarse shriek that echoes off the abandoned buildings beyond. Samira feels a cry build in her throat as the thing dives at Tak. It’s so close now. Just a few more seconds, and it will be on him, then it will turn to her and everything that she has ever been will suddenly be over.

  A green flash erupts from the briefcase. She sees the creature dive, sees Tak cover his face with his hands, and then an ocean of stars explodes in her eyes.

  • • •

  samira’s ass is cold. She’s not sure why at first, and it takes her nearly a minute to realize that she’s sitting in the middle of a muddy cornfield. Overhead, a familiar pattern of stars hangs in the night sky. As she climbs to her feet, she sees a shadow moving through the plants. It’s familiar, this shape. She knows every inch of it, and it’s all she can do not to dissolve as she throws her arms around its neck and holds on for dear life.

  “Sam?” says Tak, as she grips him harder and the tears begin to flow. “I’m gonna vote we never do that again.”

  home

  chapter fifteen

  When she was a child, Judith Halford wanted to be an astronaut. It was a desire that seemed out of place for a sickly little girl from the Upper East Side of New York City. Her parents used to joke about it between predinner cocktails with their circle of well-heeled friends. Judith flying the space shuttle. Can you imagine? She’d crash the thing on the launchpad!…Another Manhattan? We’re in the perfect town for it, you know. Oh ho!

  Her father, a television executive who spent most of his home life screaming at underlings on his cell phone, even took to calling her Buzz, a nickname that followed her like a bad smell for most of her teenage years. The moniker was especially cruel for a shy girl like Judith, whose family mingled in circles where names mattered more than what was between the ears. Being new money, her parents were already at a disadvantage when it came to social climbing, and so they decided the best way to deal with their quiet, nerdy daughter was to approach her as a kind of private joke that everyone was in on.