Doomsday Minus One

by Andrew Dorn

  There’s that, at least.

  He turned his attention back to the faux veins hugging the ceiling. They were pulsing with activity. Inside each of the fibrils, tinier bits of semi-transparent blobs of matter, like half-baked gelatin, coursed along in a frantic race. Simon stared in amazement as the conduits throbbed with an energy he qualified as purposeful ... though he had no idea what that purpose could be.

  Those blobs must be the source of light.

  The labyrinthine nature of the passageways made him wonder if the colony had been planned that way or if it had adapted to the area’s topology.

  He stared at the conduits as they pulsed overhead and along the walls. Some of them were thicker in diameter than others and these bigger ones had converged into a giant assemblage, right smack in the middle of the chamber. The clump was as large as a sewer pipe. If the conduits were like veins, then the clump was analogous to an artery.

  The veins must come from all over the place to form such a sizeable artery.

  There could be hundreds of them squirming about, undetected.

  But what was their purpose?

  There was no way of knowing.

  Simon guesstimated the chamber’s size at about 2 and a half meters wide by at least 15 meters deep. It was an impressive volume of space, bigger than the ones LTI had excavated.

  Keeping a safe distance from the pulsating artery, he made his way to the deep end of the chamber. He was a body length away from the end wall when his head hit the ceiling. He realized the ceiling and floor were joined, forming a large pocket carved out of the rock.

  There was something important nagging at the back of his mind but he was too tired to think about it.

  A few minutes later, it came to him.

  He figured out the problem the moment he finished his second lap around the chamber.

  It was a dead end.

  He would have to go back.

  Back to the antechamber and its out-of-reach exit.

  He stopped walking, racking his brain.

  There must be another way out.

  He began a systematic inspection of the chamber, examining every nook and cranny, every dark corner. The chamber’s walls were slick with no splits or rifts he could exploit. There were no cracks for him to shimmy thru, no fissures large enough to even allow a finger inside, let alone his bulk.

  He was trapped.

  He made his way back to the antechamber and sat down, fatigued by the thinking and the walking about. He stared at the opening in the ceiling. If this was to become his tomb, at least his soul could drift up to heaven.

  It was so close yet so out of reach.

  He glanced at the veins anchored to the vault’s ceiling. They bore a resemblance to the netting used by fishermen to capture fish. He went on staring at them for a long time. There was something special with these veins. A minute later, he realized what it was. Some of them had traveled upward to the hole!

  Had they been doing it all along?

  He was sure it wasn’t the case. Those veins were new to the chamber. In any case, it meant he could work them to his advantage, use them to climb out of his predicament. It also meant, however, he would have to touch and handle them, a risk he would have preferred to avoid. The decision came down to the risk versus reward paradigm. The risk in wielding the veins was high, but so was the reward... if he escaped the chamber.

  He unzipped his coverall and pulled the shirt over his head. Tearing the hem off, he fashioned crude strips of fabric which he wrapped around his hands. It was a makeshift way of making gloves but it would have to do. He had no idea what those veins could do to his hands and had no desire to find out. He slipped what remained of his shirt back on.

  This is a bad idea... but it beats rotting away in this hole.

  He craned his neck and stared at the opening. What he needed to do was grab a vein, a thick one would be better, and climb up.

  Easy as pie.

  He slapped his hands together. It was time to do it.

  Time to do something foolish and ill-advised.

  He raised his arm to the biggest vein hanging from the upper portion of the antechamber’s wall. His thoughts turned to Emmeline. He pondered, not for the first time, if she had made it out alive. These last hours, alone and cornered like a rat, had made him aware how much he missed her. In his mind’s eye, he felt the kindness she radiated, the profound sense of well-being she instilled in him. He had to find her.

  Nothing else mattered.

  Up close, the strange vein looked like a garden hose but translucent and fleshier. He could see the microscopic globules flowing past, going about their business, throbbing with their own energy. It dawned on him the globules were messengers. That they carried stuff, information perhaps, or even raw matter for some mysterious project. It could be nothing or anything, but the evidence zipping to and from in front of his eyes was convincing proof something was going on. He hoped it wasn’t already too late to stop it.

  Let’s do this.

  He flexed his hand and drew nearer to the vein.

  (Stop!)

  Simon jerked his hand aside. There was no one around but he could have sworn a voice had shouted out a warning.

  I must be going mad.

  Dammit! This hellhole is driving me nuts.

  Shrugging away his unease, Simon turned to the vein.

  (Don’t!)

  Shocked, he recoiled instinctively from the wall. The voice was back. He had not imagined it.

  “Who are you,” he called, his voice booming across the antechamber.

  There was no answer.

  What the hell is going on?

  He hesitated, shrugged away any lingering doubts and addressed the wall again.

  Here goes nothing.

  (Simon!)

  He froze at once, his hand millimeters away from the throbbing conduit. The voice was familiar, but it was impossible because it meant he had surely lost his mind.

  (It’s me, Emmeline!)

  28 Agent of Change

  ELIJAH ROY SMILED to himself as he hunkered down behind a slab of shattered stone. The airship was gaining altitude, flying out of the sinkhole... and away from him.

  And that was just perfect.

  He and Rutledge had watched the rescue from half a kilometer away as the meltdown inside the hole took an impressive turn for the worse. Roy found it astounding that within a span of 48 hours most of the surroundings had been radically transformed. With the latest upheaval, the hole had exploded in size. It dominated the whole area, stretching out all the way out to the hills, some 10 kilometers away.

  Roy had lived in Northern Maine all his life. He had an intimate knowledge of both the fauna and flora of the region. What he was looking at now, the desolation stretching to the horizon, was stupefying. The greenery was gone. The majestic trees, the dense bushes, the ferns, lichen and shrubbery had been mutated into a mutilated and ruined landscape.

  It was not what he had foretold.

  But, in a sense, it was even better.

  And he liked that. It made everything easier.

  He was certain now it was an unprecedented opportunity. A calling to be the agent of change. The fact that he had been caught by surprise by the onslaught of the strange sludge had not changed his mind, or his resolve. Be it a nuclear strike or some strange goo-like matter made no real difference in the long run. The new future was still going to take place, and the time had come to do something about it. And the first thing he had to do was to make sure the process he was witnessing went on as planned. Which meant that if the sludge needed more time to do its thing, he would make sure to provide it.

  The sun, concealed by the ash gray clouds, was sinking behind the distant hills and the cold embrace of the night began to seep inside the vast hole. As ordered, Rutledge had stacked a bunch of dry wood into a neat pile and was now waiting for Roy to light it up. She was shivering, both tired and wired at the same time. She saw Roy pull out his survival knife and unfold the bl
ade. The stainless steel blade, 21.5 centimeters long, gleamed in the dull light. Rutledge had seen it before, in one of Roy’s posts on SComm. It had everything needed to survive in a broken world: it was, first and foremost, ultra sharp, a requisite for any high quality knife; but it also had an LED flashlight, a fire starter, and even a window breaker. All very useful things to have in a multi-tool.

  Roy activated the fire starter, sticking the small flame in a wad of dried up moss. A moment later, the wood ignited and Rutledge felt its welcomed warmth.

  “You don’t happen to have something to eat in that bug-out bag of yours?” he asked, staring at the fire.

  “Huh, yes,” she said, taken aback by his query. She zipped open the bag hanging from her shoulder. “I have a Hershey bar.”

  “Good,” he said. “Cut two squares for me and one for you. We don’t want to burn through it too quickly. That bar could be the difference between life and death.”

  Rutledge nodded and proceeded to cut up the bar as directed. Roy held his hand out, palm up, and she let go of the squares. He popped them at once into his mouth.

  “I saw a documentary once. About mushrooms,” he started, oblivious to the fact his train of thoughts had no direct relation to what was going on around them. “It said that mushrooms, like the ones found in these woods,” he glanced up to the upper rim of the sinkhole and Rutledge understood he meant the woods beyond, “... had been around for millions of years.”

  Roy grinned, his eyes two thin slits in the dancing glow of the fire. “Can you believe it? They have been around for millions of years and do you know what makes them so special?”

  Rutledge shook her head.

  “They have worked in tandem with bacteria for all that freakin’ time.” He nodded for an extended time as if to underscore his words. “And do you know what they were doing for all that bloody time?”

  Again, Rutledge shook her head, wondering where the conversation was going.

  “They were sustaining life on this planet.”

  Rutledge’s eyebrows rose up, surprised by the revelation.

  “Yes, life itself.” Roy said, pleased he could once again instill knowledge to an uneducated ignorant. “Mushrooms are one of the reasons we humans still thrive on this planet. The other reason, being, of course, firearms.”

  Rutledge snickered at what she considered a joke but when Roy glared at her, she realized the man wasn’t joking.

  “The sludge is here to take over the mushroom’s role.”

  Roy’s words struck Rutledge squarely where her fears lurked, deep in her psyche. So it’s true, she thought.

  The time has come, at last.

  “It will not only take over, it will supplant it.” Roy turned his head to the sinkhole’s vast floor.

  “Supplant what?” Rutledge asked, at once afraid and titillated by the answer.

  “Life, as we know it,” Roy said, matter-of-factly.

  The fire popped with a loud noise, making Rutledge jump. She glanced up at Roy, embarrassed by her reaction, but he had his eyes closed, as if in deep thought. She stiffened a yawn, then another. She was so tired.

  Why don’t I close my eyes, like he does... just for a second.

  She closed her eyes.

  It was dark around her, except for a faint yellowish glow. She was underground, in a large chamber. Her unconscious self registered the fact she was dreaming, but it felt so real even her heartbeat accelerated. She saw two dark figures run into an odd shaped object half-submerged in the ground. She sensed she had to stop them because they didn’t understand. That she was the rightful inheritor of the new life, not them. She started running as fast as she could, and for a moment she thought she could make it, but she was too late and the tunnel was collapsing around her. She glanced down... at a huge crevasse, opening up right where she stood. There was a singular moment of incomprehension.

  How can this be happening?

  There was no answer but a profound sensation of loss.

  Then she fell.

  Into the depths.

  No!

  Rutledge jerked awake, eyes wide with shock. The remnants of her nightmare still lingered in her mind, like embers twirling in the wind. She jerked her head sideways. Roy was looking at her. He was carving a piece of wood, unconcerned about her confused state. Then, as if he had a sudden change of heart, he tossed it into the fire with a dismissive wave. Rutledge watched the carving tumble into the flames. She glimpsed a marking before the fire burned it to a crisp.

  It was a letter.

  An ‘R’.

  29 Implications

  “EMMELINE, IS IT you?”

  Her voice had flared inside his head, a PSA come to life. He felt silly speaking out loud with no one around but he had to know if he was going crazy or not.

  Hearing voices in your head is the first step to crazy land, no?

  The voice had been distant, far away, and it was warped, as if it had passed through too many walls, but it was Emmeline’s all right—and it was inside his head. The fact she wasn’t around, in person, had no importance. What was was the confirmation she’s still alive and well. If some mysterious telepathy was happening between them, the more the better. He could work with that.

  Emmeline had broadcast a message straight to him. He didn’t know how it worked and he didn’t much care. There would be time for that later. What he needed to know was: could he do the same?

  It was worth investigating.

  Curbing his enthusiasm, he took a moment to settle down and unwind. His brain was firing on all cylinders and he had to lock out all the various theories popping into his mind, especially those about the plausibility of bona fide telepathy. Stay focused, he thought. No need to get complicated. The message he wanted to send out was short and to the point, and it was only three words long.

  ‘Where are you?’

  Simon closed his eyes, repeating in his mind the three words over and over.

  Where. Are. You.

  A minute passed, followed by two more, but there was no reply from Emmeline. He reiterated the three words over and over but his brain was turning from the task as if fatigued by the experiment. He painted a picture of Emmeline in his mind.

  She was standing outside, in the forest, arms crossed over her chest. She was grinning at him, entertained by his witless efforts. He mouthed the message again: Where are you? The Emmeline from his mind shrugged with a capricious smile before vanishing in a puff of green smoke. This is not working, he thought, his spirit low. The telepathy, if it existed in the first place, was an off the air TV channel.

  He was going batty, no doubt about it.

  (Hello?)

  Simon jumped out of his skin. There it was again, Emmeline’s voice. It had popped into his brain, ethereal but there nonetheless. Doubt and confusion twirled within him as he contemplated what to do next. He answered out loud.

  “Yes, I’m still here... and going off the deep end.”

  (I need you...)

  The voice broke off, sinking away into silence. The strong emotions he could feel behind those words were like a thunderbolt in his head. There was anguish mixed with fear and uncertainty. For a dreadful moment, Emmeline’s plea woke up dark memories within him which he had thought gone for good.

  The dark place in his mind was bound with an indestructible leash to the worst moment in his life.

  The moment Victoria died.

  A place in which sorrow dominated his own will to live.

  A place he had promised never to traverse again.

  What Emmeline needed was his strength, his spirit of living. Fighting to stay in control of his emotions, he blurted out the words she needed to hear.

  “I’m here, Emmeline. Tell me what to do.”

  He waited for her voice to enter his mind. The silence was painful to endure, a torture he found impossible to tolerate.

  “Are you hurt?” He called, his voice raw with worry.

  The voice came back, fainter than before.
r />   (No... yes)

  What did she mean by that?

  (Afraid)

  Simon’s fists tighten reflexively. She was in trouble. He could discern the fright, the distress in her voice.

  But what can I do? How can I help?

  He was trapped at the bottom of a hole with no way to escape. He could kick himself for not being more careful. Her ordeal was all his fault. He hadn’t determined the potential risks quick enough and had not taken the appropriate measures.

  Frank had paid a high price for his mistake, and now it was Emmeline’s turn.

  Disgusted with himself, he grabbed a rock and hurled it at the wall. The rock impacted with force but instead of bouncing back or shattering, it buried itself into the surface.

  (I felt that)

  Simon froze.

  “What did you say?”

  (Wait)

  He thought Emmeline’s voice had become stronger, more assertive. Surely, that was a good sign.

  (Step back)

  Taken aback by the request, he obeyed without hesitation. Questions popped into his mind which he declined to answer or even consider. There would be time later to ponder the how and the why but for now he had to stay in the here and now.

  (Can you see?)

  He frowned, wondering if he had heard her right.

  What is she talking about? What should I be seeing?

  The veins were dangling from the ceiling, still throbbing with nervous energy. Had he missed something? He wasn’t sure. They appeared to be more energetic but that might be his eyes deceiving him. Nothing else had changed. There wasn’t much to look at anyhow. It was an empty room after all.

  What did she want him to see? The hole still loomed overhead, out of reach like it had been from the beginning. Something caught his eye. A new kind of tubule. It was a thick appendage of gray-green matter curving down from the opening, a snake-like conduit slithering on its own, apart from the others.