Last Playground

by Geoff North

  Brinn had to squint as she stuck her own head out into the suddenly bright afternoon. “Same as I saw a few minutes ago. Fields and trees… Only now the view is nicer, and I can see Hamden off in the distance.”

  “Okay then, now let’s see how it looks from Neal’s room.”

  Brinn went in first. The little boy’s room had more in it to see: a bed with dusty blankets, an old desk with a worn stool sitting in front. Faded wallpaper with a repeating pattern of outer space and a spattering of distant galaxies surrounded them. The paper had long since started to peel away, drooping in some spots, eaten away by mold in others.

  Old posters covered with cobwebs were tacked on the walls where the paper still stuck, depicting Captain Kirk and Mr. Spock on the bridge of the Enterprise, Superman flying on another, and Spider-Man swinging between skyscrapers on a third. More posters lay curled up on the floor where yellowed tape had finally dried up. There was even a poster half lying over the desk with an eerily familiar character crashing through a brick wall. Manchine.

  There were shelves crammed with faded comics and children’s books. On top of these were model airplanes and spaceships. Some had fallen with the posters to the floor and splintered upon impact. This was her uncle’s room. These were his things—his treasures.

  “Look outside,” Oscar whispered at her shoulder.

  Brinn turned and saw another sheet of plywood lying on the veranda roof. And then she saw beyond that. Her mind couldn’t grasp at first what she thought she was seeing. Was it another poster, stuck up on the outside?

  No—I saw up through here from the outside.

  “Not a doorway into another dimension.” Oscar’s voice again. “A window.”

  There were no fields to see, no crops of wheat or canola. There were no trees or clouds or bright blue sky. A pale, lifeless sun was rising over a rolling gray plain of rock and sand.

  Selma stood next to her friend. “Where…is that?”

  “This is where Neal’s world begins—The Plains of Stauch.”

  A hot breeze wafted into Brinn’s face and she knew she was looking back outside. She stepped forward and reached out. The air felt dry. The breeze became a light wind blowing through her hair. It smelled funny. Like burning grass and diesel fuel, she thought. And something else. Something old and decaying mixed with dust and ash. She backed away and stumbled into Bertha. Brinn pushed her away and ran into the hallway, gasping for breath.

  Oscar was beside her, steadying her with a calming yet firm grip. “You okay? I wasn’t expecting that kind of reaction.”

  She nodded. “Yeah, it’s just all a little too much. I really thought my days with Bertha and all the rest were long behind me. Now this… Uncle Neal really did create an entire world, didn’t he?”

  Before Oscar could answer, Brinn rushed back into her mother’s room. The bright afternoon sun was still high in the sky. The fields with their crops, the forests, and Hamden beyond, were all still there.

  “Don’t worry, Brinn. All is as it is out there. Your world hasn’t disappeared. Neal’s world…my world is only accessible through there.” Oscar pointed back down the hallway to her uncle’s bedroom. “His window is the only way there…and the only way back.”

  “And that’s where we’re going, isn’t it?”

  “That was the idea.” He grinned again and it made her feel better, slightly more grounded.

  “Is this going to take a long time? I promised my dad I’d be home tomorrow.” Brinn now doubted her own ability to set an entire world right. A world she had never dreamed could exist. It was the world of a ghost boy, a haunted, ruined place. “Will we come home at all?”

  “At the first sign of trouble, I’ll bring you back—to this house, to that window—back into your world. I promise.” Oscar hated lying, but he had to get her through. He would say anything at this point.

  “How… How do I fix things?”

  He held his damaged hand out and she took it. Minutes before Brinn had felt the coldness of it. Now his grip was warm and comforting. Almost human. Was it because he was close to home—his home? “You’ll figure something out,” he whispered.

  They went back into the bedroom filled with comic books and posters, and the portal into another dimension. Selma was leaning out the window. She turned back to Brinn with a smile on her face. “What’s the hold-up? Let’s go!”

  Brinn leaned out beside her and tested the strange-smelling air again. It wasn’t pleasant, nor was it terrible. She could get used to it, she supposed. The sun appeared to be hemorrhaging into a distant outcrop of jagged rock. “You seem to be adjusting to all of this a lot better than me.”

  “I’ve had a crappy life. It’s forced me to accept things as they come.” She punched Brinn on the shoulder again. Gentler this time. “What’ve we got to lose? What else is there to do around Hamden on the weekend? Besides…I ran out of pot.”

  Brinn smiled back at her friend and nodded. This was one of those rare times when they made a good pair. She couldn’t imagine setting out on an impossible adventure like this with anyone else. “It’s late afternoon in the real world—in our world,” she said, turning back to Oscar. “But the sun is already setting here.”

  “You’re looking east, remember? That’s a sunrise, not a sunset.” Oscar tore a few more sharp pieces of lumber away from the window frame. It was a job that would have proved difficult with the sturdiest of crowbars and strongest of hands. He made it look effortless. “Time doesn’t work very well out there anymore.”

  “Great. Just something else I have to fix, hey?”

  Oscar smiled at her reassuringly. “I’ll go first.” He climbed through, his knees squeaking.

  Bertha’s sword was in her hand again. “I’ll go next.”

  She slipped through smoothly onto the roof and assisted the girls with her free arm.

  “Spread out a bit,” Oscar warned. “I’m not sure how much weight this veranda can hold in one spot.”

  Bertha moved lithely to an outer edge, not wishing to repeat what had happened on the stairway. She moved her blade through the air, as if cutting experimentally at invisible foes. “This place stinks.”

  There was no time for anyone to respond. A single gunshot rang through the air. Bertha screamed out and fell from the roof. Her sword clanged down to the weathered shingles next to Brinn’s feet.

  The first sign of trouble had come early.

  Chapter 4

  Oscar stepped off the roof and Brinn heard the thump below a couple of seconds later. She winced. They were over ten feet above the ground—not a fatal drop, but more than enough to break an ankle or two. She went to the edge and peered over. Oscar was beside Bertha, helping her stand up. Selma was beside them, rubbing her shoulder and cradling her other hand to her chest. She must have fallen over at the same time as Bertha.

  A second gunshot rang out.

  “My sword!” Bertha cried out. “Throw me my sword!”

  Brinn scrambled back to it on all fours, keeping her head as low to the shingles as she could. She no longer knew who the shots were intended for but she wasn’t going to make herself a bigger target than necessary. She found the blade and dragged it back. Its weight surprised her.

  How does Bertha swing this thing around in one hand?

  A third shot. Rock shards and dust exploded off the edge of a boulder Oscar had pulled Bertha and Selma behind him. The ricochet sound screamed through the dead air.

  “Stop shooting, Angus!” Oscar yelled out. “It’s me—I have the girl!”

  Three more shots followed that, one after the other in rapid succession. More dust and chunks of rock flew up from around their protective stone. And then all was silent for half a minute. It was the longest thirty seconds of Brinn’s life. She hugged the roof and tried to control her breathing. A worn shingle dug into her face. Better a scratched-up cheek than being shot in the back, she supposed.

  A rough, authoritative voice shouted back. “Don’t call me Angus!”


  Brinn scraped and slithered along the roof until she was able to look down upon her friends. Oscar was back on his feet, dusting off his pants and jacket. He appeared to be giggling.

  Bertha pulled Selma towards her and the two remained hunched behind the boulder. “We are attacked, and you laugh? Get your head down, fool!”

  “Marshal Lowe won’t shoot again.” He reached for the sword that had landed beside them. “But I strongly suggest you don’t call him by his first name.” He gave Bertha the sword and looked up at Brinn. “You okay?”

  She heard the crunch of gravel under boots and looked over in the direction of the rising sun. A tall, rangy-looking figure was heading their way from around a pile of car-sized rocks. He walked with a distinct bow-legged swagger; the kind of tough, confident saunter Brinn had seen the bull riders walk with at the rodeos her parents had taken her to as a little kid. A tan-colored cowboy hat sat tilted to one side of his head—in one hand was the old-style rifle he had been shooting at them with—in the other, a bottle half-filled with amber-colored liquid. Another figure appeared from behind him, short and squat—not human at all, she realized. It moved along the dirt on rubber treads like a miniaturized tank. Orange lights blinked throughout its rectangular form and Brinn could hear it beeping and clicking as it rolled on beside its companion.

  A very strange world indeed, she thought. One only a boy growing up in the seventies could dream up—where a man from the Wild West and a machine that wouldn’t look out of place exploring the surface of Mars traveled together.

  “You sure you’re okay?” Oscar asked again.

  Brinn rose to her knees shakily and nodded. “I don’t think I can get down as easily as you.”

  Oscar squatted and then jumped straight up. He landed a few inches beside her on the edge of the veranda roof. Brinn squealed and almost toppled over in surprise. He grabbed her up in his arms and leapt off. They landed with a thud and Brinn exhaled heavily. “Not to worry,” he said, placing her back on her feet. “My limbs can withstand impact from five times that height and ten times the weight.”

  Brinn was unsure whether to be relieved or slightly insulted. She gave him a dirty look and caught her breath. She went to Selma and helped the girl to her feet. “What about you? Break anything?”

  “I landed on my fat ass… I’m fine.” When Selma wasn’t acting tough, she always managed to take the opportunity to insult herself. It was another reason Brinn felt close to the girl. They were alike in so many ways.

  Bertha was headed towards the newcomers, her sword once again leading the way. Marshal Lowe raised his own weapon and trained the barrel at her stomach. “Back off, lady. The next shot will be for you—not your little pig-sticker.”

  “For the last time,” snapped Brinn. “Put that thing away.”

  Bertha did as she was told, muttering under her breath. “What damn good am I in this place?”

  The marshal lowered his gun and raised the bottle to his dry lips. After a couple of long swigs he wiped the drops off his chin and studied the group with beady eyes. “You were only supposed to bring one girl back with you. What’s the story with them other two?” He indicated Bertha and Selma with the bottle before taking another noisy swallow.

  “This is Brinn, Neal’s niece,” Oscar answered, “and these other two are Selma and Bertha. Bertha’s a…creation of Brinn’s.”

  “Outstanding!” The blinking mechanism on treads remarked. “This young lady still retains the ability to conjure and implement. All is not lost. Gunnarson’s theory was correct!”

  “Conjure and implement…that’s an unusual way to put it,” Oscar said. “Ladies, allow me to introduce you to Marshal Lowe and Reginald.”

  “A cowboy and a robot…a real robot,” said Selma.

  “There’s a difference, isn’t there?” Oscar added.

  Reginald performed a half spin and faced Brinn. “My proper designation was Research Exploration Gateway Instrument – Mark 5. Neal called me Reggie for short, but the commander found that too informal. I’m Reginald now.”

  Brinn circled slowly around the mechanism. Reginald remained on the spot, revolving clockwise on a hidden bearing somewhere above his treads. It squeaked and clicked every few seconds. “What does the ‘Gateway’ part of your name mean?”

  “We stand at Ground Zero, the Creation Point of the universe Neal activated on June 13, 1973. His universe continued to expand at a fantastic rate in the four years that followed.” Reginald paused and moved in a counterclockwise fashion to be sure everyone was listening. His squares flashed green, a sign that seemed to show he was pleased to be the center of attention. “When the space expedition to Canis Major was announced, Neal had to find a way to travel the furthest reaches with the least amount of effort.”

  “And the least amount of travel time,” Oscar added. “Kids can be impatient.”

  “There’s more to Uncle Neal’s world than this? Are you saying he went beyond the planet?”

  “Much, much further,” Reginald said. “I can take you there…to other star systems, beyond the Milky Way Galaxy itself.” He flashed red. It dimmed to a soft pink and continued to pulsate for dramatic effect. “But that universe is closing in…retracting…dying. Little time remains.”

  Brinn stood in front of Marshal Lowe and stared up at his tough, craggy face. His eyes were cold and gray, and even though she suspected he was half drunk on cheap whiskey, the man had a calculating look, an unblinking glare that took in everything. Had he been nice at one time, she wondered? The deep lines around his mouth and etched into his forehead reminded Brinn of her father. Was this a man that used to laugh? Had he known simpler, happier times? She wasn’t sure. He was terrifying to behold, but she wasn’t afraid of him. “So you’re a lawman.”

  “Reckon I am.” He turned his head and spat. “I was Neal’s very first friend. That was back in the day when cowboys fightin’ Injuns and hangin’ cattle rustlers was still the rage. Nowadays all I do is try and keep a semblance of order…disorder is more like it though, I guess you could say.”

  Bertha pushed Brinn aside and struck Lowe with a backhand across the jaw. He staggered once but stayed on his feet. “If I can’t use my blade, I’ll use my fists. That’s for attacking me.”

  He spat again—more blood than backwash whiskey this time. “I disarmed you, ma’am. For all I knew you may have been planning to hurt them other two.” He slipped the rifle into a holster at his side and turned back to Brinn. “Are these the kind of folks you kids are dreamin’ up these days? This woman ain’t no better than a savage.”

  Brinn shrugged her shoulders. What would he think of Paris? How would he handle Esme? It would be interesting to see them all together, all of her friends, here in this world, populated with all of Uncle Neal’s from a generation past. Did she even have the ability to summon the rest?

  Selma broke the uncomfortable silence between them. “So where do we go from here?”

  “We head west, young lady,” Reginald said, beginning to move away from the farmhouse. “Marshal Lowe shot and killed a half dozen wannasee back the way we came. And where there are a few wannasee, gathered multitudes more will surely follow.”

  “What are wannasee?” Bertha asked.

  “The faceless ones,” Oscar said. “Soulless creatures that wander the land searching for what they once were. They literally have no faces—no eyes, no mouths or ears or noses. As the world contracts, the people and animals that live here begin to contract with it. Memories of who and what they were begin to fade. Without Neal, we’re all just living on borrowed time.”

  “You will become…wannasee as well?” Selma asked.

  “Not anytime soon, I hope. People like me, Marshal Lowe, and Reginald were direct creations. All those others, well I guess they were real enough, but it’s more like they were just fillers…bit players almost.”

  “Like extras in a big movie scene,” Brinn added.

  “Yes, that’s it exactly. They were at one time very real,
just not all that important. They were easily…forgotten.”

  Marshal Lowe was walking behind the rest, listening. “They haven’t forgotten what it means to try and stay alive though. Nobody and nothin’ ever loses that instinct. They want back what they had, and they’ll kill anyone that still has it. They’ll suck the life right outta you.”

  “It’s sorcery,” Bertha said. “Dirty, soulless sorcery that should be stamped out. Perhaps we’ll be able to cut them down together, Angus.”

  “We won’t be doin’ nothin’ together if you call me that again.”

  Brinn stopped and watched as the odd group carried on into the dull brown western horizon. Bertha smacked Lowe on the back and barked a hearty laugh. Even though she was a hot-tempered barbarian, the woman was fun to hang around with. And now that she had found someone with something in common, Brinn felt more assured that things would work out. They would fix this world…together.

  She looked back to the old farmhouse, now a hundred yards behind them. It stood there alone and out of place amongst the boulders and sand. The sun—rising faster than she was used to—shone behind it dully, framing the building’s sagging outline in a bleak shade of gray. That dark receding spot was their only way back home. She hoped they wouldn’t have to wander much farther away.

  Selma trotted back to her friend. “Was this world any way you imagined it would be?”

  Brinn shook her head. “I didn’t imagine this world at all.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  Something moved out in the open from around the far side of the house—something black and featureless. Within moments it was joined by more moving figures. People, perhaps; it was difficult to tell from so far away. Brinn used her hand to block out the sun and tried to focus in. They stumbled and lurched towards and away from one another. There was no sense of order, no apparent communication between them. They just circled aimlessly around the old building, long black shadows, rippling in the early heat of the morning.