Doomsday Minus One

by Andrew Dorn

  “See that SmartDozer?” Declan said with a finger pointing down. “We can loop the rope around that.”

  “Who should go down first?” Simon said. “Emmeline, ready to give it a go?”

  “Yes.”

  “Ok, let’s get you hooked up,” Declan said.

  He walked over to one of the exposed rebar, tugged on it to make sure it would hold, then looped the rope around it. The bar was bent in an upward ‘V’ shape, making it impossible for the rope to slip sideways. The rope was 70 meters long but because they were looping it, only 35 meters would be available.

  Declan approached Emmeline, rope in hand, “Are you acquainted with the German technique?”

  “No,” Emmeline said. “The few times I did this, I had a harness.”

  “It’s somewhat uncomfortable, which is why they call it the German technique,” Declan said with a laugh. “The friction of the ropes against your body will not go easy on your skin.”

  “Show me,” Emmeline said, unfazed.

  Declan slid the loose end of the rope between his legs.

  “First we pass the rope between the legs. Then, you snake it behind your favorite thigh.”

  Anna, who was observing Declan’s tutorial with keen interest, laughed out loud.

  “Then over your chest to the opposite shoulder. Then from the shoulder, the rope is passed to your hand from the same side as your favorite thigh, which I like to call the brake hand. This is the hand that will control your descent. Your other hand will be free but you can use it to balance yourself. You will be facing the side of the cliff as you repel down. The rope will dig into places you never knew you had, but it will get you safely down.”

  “Understood,” Emmeline said.

  She proceeded to wrap the rope around her body, positioning her hands in the correct positions.

  “Any last suggestions?” Emmeline said as Simon and Anna guided her towards the edge.

  “Yes,” Declan said. “Your break hand must never let go of the rope. We have no separate security ropes on you, so if you let go, you will fall.”

  Emmeline looked down. The next ledge wasn’t that far below, maybe 12 meters, but it appeared higher.

  “Got it. Don’t let go. Use the break hand,” she recited to herself, like mantras in yoga class.

  Declan made sure once again the rope was tight and that the knot was secured.

  “Please be careful,” Simon said with a bogus smile. “I don’t want to have to step over your broken body when I get down.”

  There was a gasp from Anna, followed by a giggle.

  Emmeline, supremely unperturbed, grinned at the geologist. “Thanks for worrying about me,” she said, launching herself from the top of the cliff. “But I’m a big girl.”

  Declan watched with attention as Emmeline felt her way down the rock’s facade. There was a moment of hesitation as she let the rope slack too much, but she was a quick learner and after tightening her lock on the rope, controlled her descent with better ease.

  “You are doing great,” Declan called. “Just go easy.”

  She glanced up to where the trio stood, following her progress, and nodded in acknowledgment. She let the rope slowly slip from her break hand, wincing as the friction dug into her skin. The going was slow but 4 minutes later she had reached the ledge. She gave a thumbs up and untangled herself from the rope.

  “Next!” She called out, a grin stretched across her face.

  Declan pulled up the slack, checked the rope was not frayed or damaged in some way then handed it to Anna. A few minutes later, she joined Emmeline on the ledge. The two women high-fived their success then Emmeline pointed up at Simon.

  “I won’t be as nimble as Emmeline or Anna, you can be sure of it,” he said to Declan, in a conspiratorial tone.

  Declan acknowledged with a shake of the head. “Who can?”

  Simon grinned but his nervousness wasn’t lost to the pilot.

  “You have never repelled down a cliff face before?”

  “Nope, not once. Not even down a step ladder.”

  “You’ll be fine. Just stay in control at all times.”

  “Right.”

  He started his descent and 5 minutes later managed to land at Emmeline’s side, despite the blisters to his hand and a chaffed groin area.

  “Nicely done,” Emmeline said, staring at him.

  “Thanks,” Simon said rubbing his hands on the back of his pants. “That friction is a real pain, though.”

  “Nothing a soothing dip in a hot tub couldn’t fix.”

  “Ooooh,” Simon said with a laugh. “Haven’t done that in a while.”

  “Once this is over, we’ll head over to a spa and just dive into one.”

  “Is that a date?”

  “Maybe,” Emmeline said with a quick smile.

  “Huh guys, I’m here, you know,” Anna said with a small hand wave.

  All of a sudden, something dropped between them, kicking up a cloud of dust into the wind.

  “Nice of you guys to help me down.”

  Emmeline and Simon exchanged glances.

  “Sorry, Declan,” Emmeline began, “we were yapping away about—

  “No worries,” Declan said with a shrug. He pulled on the rope in one smooth motion and it fell as a thick lump at their feet. He seized one of its extremities, strode to a broken pipe jutting out from the side of the cliff face and slipped the rope over it.

  “We still have 5 more jumps to do,” he said, straight faced but with a glint in his eye. “Who’s next?”

  22 Army's Advance

  LIEUTENANT LENNY MONROE tapped the helmet of the soldier standing directly to his right.

  “Proceed with caution, soldier.”

  They had travelled the last dozen kilometers in a single row of L-ATV’s and supply trucks, following the trail leading to the outskirts of what used to be the LTI mine. The giant sinkhole lay beyond the fringe of sparse shrubs and desiccated fauna spreading across the landscape. A wet mist hung like dirty sheets in the gray light, turning the forest into a bleak, desolate world.

  There was a long string of expletives from Staff Sergeant Fox.

  The entire area had been taken over by some kind of thick fungi-like goo. It coated everything in sight: shrubs, rocks and ground. It attacked the bark of the trees, altering it into a twisted mass of a grotesque scab. It oozed around the bushes and over them, a thick gelatinous mass of pungent matter. There was no escaping its dominion over the land. Every branch, leaf, twig of living matter was wrapped in its suffocating cloak. The ground was knee-deep in the goo oozing from the bowels of the earth. But it wasn’t only the flora who suffered, the fauna also was prey to the sludge’s relentless progress.

  Fox stared, bewildered, as a gartersnake slithered along the raw bark of a fallen spruce. In a matter of seconds, the sludge surged upwards, trapping the snake in its gelatinous mucus-like ooze. A heartbeat later, the snake lay mired in the goo, frozen, like a fly trapped in honey.

  The forest was being overrun by the sludge and Fox could not believe what he was seeing. It was a large scale assault, a complete obliteration of living matter, the likes of which he never thought possible.

  “Sir,” Fox said, his voice thick. “What are the orders?”

  Monroe had observed the same unfolding drama with equal disbelief. The contamination was off the scale from what they had been told to expect.

  “Masks on, Sergeant.”

  Fox acknowledged and turning to the men and women standing at attention, dropped the gas mask over his face. The soldiers did the same at once, some with more deftness than others. Most of the soldiers hated wearing the masks, even though they were of the latest generation. They were lightweight and efficient at filtering most types of chemicals, but they remained uncomfortable.

  “Masks are on, Lieutenant.”

  “Roger that.”

  Monroe’s orders were to secure the area, then search for a way inside the sinkhole. But it was obvious the plan had a
serious problem. The goo was everywhere, which meant they couldn’t continue to the hole as planned.

  They would have to do some cleaning beforehand.

  “Get the flamethrowers. Let’s see how the goo reacts to real firepower.”

  Fox ran out to the column of vehicles, all the way to the rear. He pointed at two soldiers waiting in an L-ATV.

  “Kowalski, Baker! You guys are up!”

  A man and a woman jumped down from the armored vehicle and collected their gear from the trunk. They trotted out to the waiting Sergeant.

  “Ok, I want you to set up the burn in a directed manner. We will assess its effectiveness then proceed as need be. Understood?”

  “Yes, sir!”

  The duo snapped their gear on, each checking out the other to make sure all the equipment was fastened to their liking. They then proceeded out towards the edge of the trail, where the line of ooze had begun crawling over the trail. The wind had picked up, driving away the morning mist. It blew in and out, in circular fits, erratic and unpredictable. The soldiers took note of it and positioned themselves accordingly, keeping the wind at their back.

  Monroe observed the deployment in silence, Fox at his sides. The soldiers took final positions, raising their right hands in confirmation. The Sergeant lifted his own hand.

  “We are ready, sir,” he said to Monroe.

  “Proceed.”

  Fox dropped his hand in a swift chopping movement. The soldiers turned on the flamethrowers. Two lances of flame erupted from their gear, firing an arc of bright plasma 15 meters away. The super hot liquid splashed directly unto the sludge, making contact in an instant.

  There was a brief golden flash.

  “What the hell?” Fox said out loud.

  The sludge detonated in a monstrous explosion of propulsive gas. The shock wave hit the fire wielding soldiers with enough force to propel them backwards like toy sailboats in a category 5 hurricane. Half a football field away, the L-ATV’s flew in the air, twisting and tumbling about like huge spinning tops. A thunderous clap of noise rolled over the unit, like a direct punch to the gut. Every man and woman were thrown about like stringless kites, some hitting each other, airborne from the sheer power of the blow.

  Monroe and Fox were tossed over the hood of the nearest Oshkosh, hitting the ground hard. There was another brief flash of light then silence fell across the zone. Dazed and stunned, Monroe got to his feet, mask askew over his face. His nose and ears bled but he was unhurt. He wiped away the blood with a brusque gesture.

  “What the blazes just happened?”

  He helped Fox to his feet. The Sergeant grumbled in appreciation, holding his helmet with a stupefied look on his face. Soldiers all around them were getting up, shocked but essentially unharmed, exhibiting minor cuts and injuries.

  “Sergeant, you’re with me.” Monroe said.

  They ran up the line of vehicles, towards the front, hoping against hope the flame techs were ok. Fox spotted the first tech, sprawled in a ditch, next to an overturned jeep engulfed in flames. Kowalski was dead, his head at an odd angle with the rest of his body. Nearby, he could hear the plaintive moan of Specialist Vera Baker. Monroe was already at her side, cradling her head. Fox knelt down next to them. The apprehensive stare of his Lieutenant sent a chill down his spine. He turned to the young woman he considered a friend. She was unrecognizable, her face a dark mass of burned flesh and open wounds.

  “Easy does it, Vera. You’ll be ok. Just hold on.”

  Monroe looked around at the chaos around him. Things had gone badly in an instant, one of those incomprehensible scenarios the army sought to train them for, but nobody could anticipate.

  A soldier with a high fade haircut tinged with reddish streaks of caked blood dropped to his knees near the stricken Specialist. Nicholas Rivers was the unit’s medical technician.

  “Rivers, see what you can do for her!”

  The medic acknowledged and started working on the injured soldier.

  “What the hell went wrong?” Monroe said to no one in particular.

  “I don’t know sir,” Fox responded with a shake of the head.

  They stared in silence as the fire consumed itself, billowing thick columns of blackened smoke into the gray skies. As the smoke cleared and Monroe was able to see the line of advancing sludge, he realized it had been unaffected by the explosion, oozing onward as if nothing had happened. He stared in disbelief as it made its way towards them, oblivious to the surroundings.

  It was unstoppable.

  “We have to retreat.”

  “Yes, Lieutenant.”

  “Get your troops moving, Staff Sergeant. We are going to reposition ourselves 5 klicks out and report to Major Redding.”

  “Roger that.”

  Fox limped away, barking orders at the soldiers waiting nearby. “Grab all the gear you can, forget the stuff damaged.” He stared at each and every soldier under his command. “We clear out in five, understood?”

  “Yes, sir!”

  The men and women ran up and down the line of overturned vehicles, working as a team in getting the Oshkosh’s back on their wheels. Some of the vehicles were catalogued as goners and it soon became clear that of the five trucks, only two were salvageable and good to drive.

  Fox grunted in satisfaction as one of the soldiers came back to report that, as ordered, specialist Kowalski’s body had been retrieved and put aboard one of the trucks.

  “Very well.”

  Monroe helped Fox load Vera Baker into the vehicle while Rivers held up the IV bag. The interior of the Oshkosh was a mess but Rivers managed to ease the injured specialist on the back seat, doing his best to protect her from the swirling smoke.

  There were not enough trucks for all of the troops, so they would have to evacuate the area on their own power. Monroe was grateful most of his troops were able to walk or this entire mission would have been an even bigger mess than it already was. After a few minutes of shock, the soldiers had returned to what they knew best: training and working as a unit, with all the professionalism Monroe expected out of them.

  “Let’s move out,” he said to the private behind the wheel.

  He stared in silence at the forest, at how it had morphed into an alien land of diseased life, scarred by an incomprehensible contamination. Monroe couldn’t help thinking it was a preamble to an event bigger threat.

  But he had no idea what it could be.

  23 The Encounter

  “WHERE IS SHE?” Elijah Roy mumbled as he paced the no man’s land around the sinkhole’s edge. He had been waiting for Gwen Rutledge for the better part of the morning, but she still hadn’t made contact.

  There was something in the air, he could sense it. Something peculiar, like a corpse hidden from sight, underneath a bed of dead leaves. He had a splitting headache that made him wish he was back home, sitting in his living-room with the shades pulled down and a bottle of beer in hand. Instead, here he was, waiting for something to happen on the lip of a bloody hole.

  He hated waiting.

  Didn’t have the patience for it.

  Roy stared at the sky for a full minute, marveling at the way the thick gray clouds had taken hold of the sky. They were so low he could visualize reaching out and plunging his hand inside them. He had not seen the sun for days now, a fact he found comforting, like an old rerun of a favorite TV show. It seemed the weather was mirroring how he felt.

  My migraine is worse than usual... again.

  Headaches were nothing new to him.

  He had suffered from them forever, ever since the lesson he had received from another Roy, one 25 years his senior.

  But what he was suffering through now was on a whole other level, more profound. It was as if thoughts and sensations other than his own were battling for space inside his cranium. It was a disagreeable sensation, one that made him even more twitchy than usual.

  Come on Elijah, keep it together.

  There was a flash of movement ahead, between the nud
e and exposed bushes changing shape in the wind. Roy watched the movement grow in size, getting closer with each heartbeat. The pain in his head made it impossible to concentrate, to decipher what he was seeing. Then he recognized it.

  A form.

  Human.

  Though the features were blurred, fuzzy, Roy sensed it was a man. He froze, staring at the shimmering silhouette with apprehension. His brain was yelling at him to turn around and get the hell out of there. But there was something extraordinary about the apparition, a recognition that made him pause. The moment lingered in his head and he realized the shape wasn’t there in person; that it was a figment of his imagination or more likely, a side effect of his blistering headache.

  The form changed, shedding what made it humanoid and recognizable. It transformed into a complex affair of shapes, geometric in nature. He glimpsed a variety of squares, circles and triangles but soon, they evolved into odd multifaceted complications the likes of he could no longer identify. They cycled for spans of milliseconds, an endless barrage of imagery, which made his eyes water and his head hurt. He could only stare, paralyzed by the overwhelming sensations flooding his head. He was beyond being able to break contact, so complete was its hold over him. The barrage went on for a few seconds more, an eternity for his overloaded brain. On the brink of losing consciousness from the assault, Roy closed his eyes and tried to shut off the connection. But it was no use. Then, right before he sensed madness clawing its way inside him, the imagery ceased, breaking off in a burst of golden light.

  He opened his eyes.

  He found himself lying down on the ground, peering up at the concerned face of Gwen Rutledge.

  “Ow, my head,” Roy growled, getting to his feet. She took a step back as he swayed sideways, arms stretched out in a defensive posture.

  “What happened?” Rutledge asked.