Doomsday Minus One

by Andrew Dorn

  The cavern’s floor was a patchwork of stalagmites, salt accretions, quartzes and boulders of varying sizes. Some of the quartzes could be thousands of years old. He wondered if the Seeder was as ancient. It was interesting to speculate on how the cavern had come about. Had it always been this size or had it become larger because of the foreign guest berthed within it?

  He turned his attention to the ground at the foot of the Seeder. The object sat on a throne of sorts, a base of loosely assembled stones, each about the size of a fist, blended together and held in place with what seemed to be hardened sludge. So the machine had felt it essential to raise itself from the floor of the cavern. But, why? Simon couldn’t make sense of it. Was the throne a lift, like those in garages, so maintenance could be done underneath? All at once, he thought of another scenario. One he feverishly hoped would be proven false.

  An iceberg.

  That’s what it was. The school-bus sized machine on the throne must be joined to a much larger object, colossal in size; and buried underground. It was not a throne at all; it was an appendage, a periscope sticking up from the ground. They had not been staring at the whole picture, only a fragment of it. The true Seeder must hide beneath, out-of-sight from prying eyes, from direct observation. It had deployed its network all across the mine, the woods and beyond, but Simon realized they still had no clue of its true self.

  He tapped Emmeline on the shoulder and invited her to go back down, away from the edge.

  “I think there is more than meets the eye with that machine down there,” Simon said, once they had retreated.

  Emmeline agreed, “The devil in the dark is always hidden.”

  “Afraid so.”

  Emmeline cursed under her breath. They had made it this far but had they come for nothing? The object below could be as monumental as a skyscraper for all they knew. How could they stop it? It seemed hopeless. They were at the end of the road. How could they have even considered, for a second, they could do something about it? About making a difference? About having a chance? The entire situation was a descent into a deep and mysterious hole from which escape was impossible. They were really screwed this time, no doubt about it. And how could it be any different, anyhow? Who were they to confront such an absolute threat? Two ordinary persons trapped in a subterranean nightmare.

  Simon watched the play of emotions on Emmeline’s features. She was distraught, her mental state etched in the lines of her clenched jaw, the deep furrow of her forehead, and the dark cloud in her eyes.

  “We’ll find a way, Emmeline. We will beat it.”

  Emmeline turned her head. She wanted, no, needed to believe him. But how could he know? He was being his positive self again, giving her the hope he thought she needed. She stared into his eyes, fighting hard not to let the tears flow down her cheeks. But a side of her, the one she had always forced down, wanted out; needed to manifest itself. And so she began sobbing, from a place deep within her psyche. The tears came, unchecked by the filters she usually had in place, her soul raw and exposed.

  Below, in the arena of incomprehensible machines, the second Seeder was ready for its journey. The dark shell blinked once, a brilliant golden-white light. A gap irised open between the hanging stalactites and the object ascended into the dark opening. A moment later, it vanished from sight.

  The time had come.

  39 The Find

  “CONSIDER THAT A lesson, you bitch!”

  Elijah Roy’s words still lingered inside Gwen Rutledge’s head, but they didn’t hurt as much as the hole in her leg.

  It had happened so fast. She had been dozing, in and out of slumber, as dawn chased the stars away. There had been a rustle of movement at her side, a sound she had waited all night to hear. The noise of Roy getting up and walking away, presumably to empty his bladder. She waited a few seconds, five interminable seconds, then sprung from underneath her blanket and ran off, zigzagging as fast as she could between the boulders. She ran without looking backwards, trying to put distance between her and the lunatic, between her and whatever was rising from the pit. She was thoroughly terrified now, scared of what Roy wanted to do. There was a world of difference between thinking in a different way and acting upon it, a harsh reality she had never faced with such divisive duality before.

  And what Roy was planning to do was definitely, completely, crazy.

  She ran until she couldn’t anymore, doubling over as ragged breaths burned her lungs and her brain. She was tired of running, but it wasn’t the physical act which brought her down. It was the mental anguish.

  Pausing to let her body recuperate from her mad dash across the hushed landscape, she scanned the desolate land for signs of Roy. There was nothing but the blowing wind, lifting frail spirals of dust into the darkened sky.

  Am I, at last, rid of him? Rid of his madness?

  But it was not to be.

  The cry of rage bellowing in the gray light sent chills down her spine. It was the shout of someone thoroughly pissed, someone on the cusp of losing whatever control he still possessed. She looked back, heart rattling in her chest. In the clear light of the rising sun, she caught sight of Roy’s silhouette, etched across the sky.

  He raised his crossbow.

  She hunkered down and tried to find cover but she was in a barren area of the sinkhole, empty for the most part of the large boulders strewn about like massive lawn ornaments. Head spinning, she took a moment to gather her senses. There wasn’t much to see as the land didn’t offer many hiding places. And she needed one, quickly. There was a mound of dirt, or a tall boulder, she wasn’t sure in the dim light, a short distance away, about the length of two dumpsters lined up end to end. She could make it in no time at all. Collecting her nerves, she made her way out to the mound, to where she would feel safer. She turned her head backward. The sun was a large washed-out orb over the rim of the hole, casting ghostly shadows across the landscape. Rutledge knew she had to find safety before daylight ruined all chances of concealment.

  Bending low, she carried on, a few steps away from safety.

  There was a sudden, intense stab of pain in her left leg.

  Clutching behind her thigh, she touched the shaft of an arrow deeply buried inside her. She gasped in pain, swaying where she stood. Her hand hesitated over the arrow.

  Don’t... pulling it out might kill you.

  A wave of nausea made her knees weak, and she stumbled forward, the pain coursing through her like a bolt of lightning. Realizing she was still a target, she limped as fast as possible across the open field and with desperation urging her along, threw herself behind the mound. She heard a sharp crack and registered the fact the arrow had snapped away, leaving her free of the protruding shaft. But the pain was getting worse, which probably meant that a splinter of the arrow was still inside her. Choking back bile, she dropped to her knees then sat on the ground, wincing as her leg made contact. Lifting her right hip, she slid a flattened rock underneath her injured leg, in an effort to prop it up and keep it raised. She felt better and began breathing regularly, taking deep lungfuls of air.

  Roy shot me!

  It was surreal to think she had been struck by an arrow, but the proof was throbbing inside her. What had she done to deserve such a fate? She had no clue. Perhaps bad karma was circling about, wanting to make right what she had done to Willie Neptune, or the lousy way she had treated others. It was way too late to think about it now. She was badly hurt, maybe even fatally wounded. Her mind kept straying to what Roy had said about the future and how life-changing it could be.

  He was right. He definitely took care of my future...

  There was a buzzing sound from above, far away but coming closer. Was the buzzing prelude to the long sleep, to death’s eternal embrace? She craned her neck. And saw a bulbous silver-white object flying overhead.

  She smiled.

  So that’s the sound of death? The Starwind?

  Sobbing with relief, she tried to signal her presence, lifting her right hand to
the airship as it glided beneath the clouds. The ship was flying towards the middle of the crater, to where the weird tower had come out of the ground. Turning her head to track it, she noted the spire was alight with a luminous glow and she wondered if the Starwind was attracted to it, like a moth to a light. At least, she reflected, the airship would keep Roy busy, and at the same time, keep him out of her hair.

  The whirr from the airship’s engine receded in the distance, replaced by the sound of the wind whistling across the chaotic landscape around her.

  They didn’t see me.

  She changed position, the pain in her leg engulfing much of the left side of her body. She was numb. Dazed by both the pain and by her own disillusionment. The surrounding silence was sullen, pregnant, like the calm before the storm. The sound of her beating heart was about the only noise reaching her ears.

  Aside from the sound of her name.

  She cocked her head sideways.

  There it was again. The sound of her name, muffled and far-away, not quite an afterthought. She focused on ignoring the heartbeat, concentrating on the sound of her name floating in the wind. It came in bursts, slipping in and out of hearing range. She realized the sound was accompanied by a faint banging noise, like the sound of a sneaker hitting the interior walls of a drying machine. The noise was coming from a dark mass resting in the dirt, a few body lengths away. The mound had a shape, which made her think of a reservoir, or an extended gas tank. It was unusual, but then again the last days had been filled with weird stuff.

  Just another run-of-the-mill oddity.

  The curious mound was propped up half-buried in a thickened patch of the goo-like matter which had become the prevailing feature of the sinkhole.

  There was a peculiar aspect to the thing that caught her attention: a small circular window near the top side of it.

  And there was movement inside that window.

  Propping herself up on her elbows, she saw a shadow moving back and forth behind the dirty pane of thick glass.

  And with shock she recognized what it was.

  The spud!

  She realized at once what she needed to do. Forcing her body to comply, she climbed to her feet, her entire frame trembling with resolve. She staggered across the distance separating her from the pod, grinding her teeth from the pain. She was acutely aware that if she stumbled, it would be impossible for her to get up again. Each painful step was a brutal reminder of Roy’s folly, and of her own foolishness. She trudged forward, the spud wobbling in and out of focus as she fought to stay alert. At last, her hand touched the external skin of the shelter.

  She seized hold of a handrail to steady herself, her body on the verge of collapse. Taking a deep breath, she gazed inside the porthole. Two eyes peered up from the dark interior of the pod. It was Frank Curtis, and he was still alive.

  She could see he was in pain, a sufferance which matched her own. They were like two strangers bound by a single event, and a singular destiny, despite their separate past lives. She waved her hands for his benefit, and he smiled back at her. Taking a step sideways to get a better view, she scanned the hull for the recessed handle which opened the airlock-like shelter.

  There it is!

  Scraping away the goo with her bare hands, she clawed at the bark-like muck with energy, her mind set on freeing the handle. With a last tug at the hardened gunk, she saw the bright red handle and pulled. The door popped open.

  Inside the pod, Frank Curtis felt the blessed cool Northern Maine air rush inside the pod... and into his oxygen depraved lungs. He breathed in the blessed air in great gulps, like a diver surfacing after five minutes of apnea. It was a miracle. An impossible, beautiful miracle.

  He was still alive.

  He gazed at the one responsible for this miracle, to the person who had saved his life.

  To Gwen Rutledge.

  Of all the people in the world, it was she who had listened to his pleas, she who had answered his prayers.

  It was hard to believe.

  Yet here she was.

  Grabbing the sides of the rectangular door, he heaved himself out of the pod. His foot hit the surface, and he steadied himself as the wind whipped across the dry flatland, chilling him to the bone.

  Gwen watched Frank Curtis climb out of the pod, a smile on her face. She was vacillating on her feet, close to blacking out... but she had done good.

  It was unbelievable, something she never thought possible, but doing good made her feel... elated.

  She had done good.

  And yet her soul didn’t feel betrayed.

  And her inner spirit was soaring as if liberated from a dark, deep, hermitic keep. She understood at once she had been afraid of herself. Afraid that if she’d become a better person, she would be an easy target, someone asking to be teased, manipulated, and abused. Instead, she had become the Gwen who would survive, and who would prevail—no matter the consequences.

  The tears flowing down her cheeks were for her private soul, the one she could reconnect with, the one she nearly lost to Roy’s madness.

  She waited in silence as Frank made his way out to her. He was clinging to his right-hand side, obviously in pain, probably with broken ribs and maybe a pneumothorax. She had read it could happen if your body suffered a strong impact, and by the looks of it, the man had lived through one hell of a bang. She took a step forward, grimacing in pain, her left leg dragging behind like a useless appendage.

  “You are hurt,” Frank said, glancing at her leg.

  “An arrow in the thigh,” she said with a lopsided smile. “Long story.”

  “Do you have a first aid kit?”

  Gwen nodded, indicating the small bag slung over her shoulder.

  “Good,” Frank said with a tight nod. “Then I can patch you up.”

  Gwen stared hard at him, searching his eyes. Her old reflex of scanning for deceits had kicked into gear, an automatic response. She closed her eyes and pushed it down, forcing it out of her psyche... and out of her life. She opened her eyes again and stared anew.

  At Frank Curtis. At the concern in his eyes.

  His concern for her.

  For her well-being.

  How could she have ever thought otherwise?

  “You do understand you will have to lower your pants so I can treat your wound?” he said, staring straight into her eyes.

  It was something she would have never done of free will, would never had considered before.

  Trusting someone completely. Trusting someone to help her.

  “Yes, Mr. Curtis,” she said, her voice choking up. She removed her bug-out bag and handed it to the man she used to despise.

  “I trust you.”

  40 Over Gunmetal Land

  GERRY WATCHED THE airship as it receded in the distance. He hoped they would find those missing, but he knew it was a long shot. He understood their need to try, to make one last pass over the hole, to give it their best final hope. They were fuelled by it, driven to succeed despite the overwhelming odds. It was a need which defined humans since time immemorial, a call he felt was well worth the risk. In fact, he would have been disappointed if they hadn’t tried, had given up. There was the possibility Frank and the others were still alive down there. If he had been one of those unfortunate souls, he too would have hoped the others had not given up the search, given up on him.

  “Let’s go Arturo.”

  They had their own task to carry out. Now that the sludge had solidified and seemed to be less of a danger, it had been agreed they should attempt to free Frank’s truck. It was stuck in the hardened guck up to the top of the side panels but it appeared to still be in working order. Freeing the truck would provide a vehicle for the team’s use and a way to bug out in a hurry in case the sludge returned. With the Starwind being close to battery depletion, it was backup in case the ship couldn’t make it back. They needed a way to reach Redding’s rendezvous point, either by air or by land.

  Armed with shovels and a crowbar, Gerry an
d Arturo set to work on the pickup.

  “I hope they find them,” Arturo said, glancing at the craft already much smaller in the sky.

  “Me too, amigo.”

  Declan Penney stared out the cockpit’s forward facing window in disbelief.

  God, how the landscape had changed!

  The greens of the eternal foliage were no longer the most dominant colors in view. They had been taken over, supplanted, by a dark-grey overcoat which smothered everything, living or not, within sight. The landscape had been upturned, transformed, to a lifeless travesty of its former self, beyond what nature could ever inflict.

  “I can’t believe this,” Captain Ballard said.

  Declan nodded, his gaze fixed on the gunmetal landscape below. “Neither can I.”

  “It’s worse than before,” Anna said, standing between the pilots.

  “I know. The contamination has spread all over the place,” Ballard said.

  Anna nodded, still staring at the river of gray, which spread out all the way to the distant mountains.

  “How long till we reach the center of the sinkhole?” Anna asked.

  “In about seven minutes,” Declan answered.

  “And we have about twenty minutes worth of power,” Ballard declared, with an eye on the instruments display.

  “Twenty minutes?” Anna said, a look of concern on her face. “That’s it? What happens if we lose power?”

  “We won’t crash or anything like that,” Declan said. “But we won’t be able to maneuver. We’ll simply float about directionless until the wind throws us into a mountain or we get caught up in trees.”

  “Oh, okay,” she said, a deep frown on her face.

  “There’s nothing we can do about it,” Ballard interjected. “We haven’t been able to charge the ship’s batteries ever since our return from Bangor... and with no electrical power at our disposal, we are basically screwed.”

  Declan turned to Anna and smiled reassuringly.

  “We’ll find a way to return, don’t worry.”

  “Yes, well with the sludge being so omnipresent, flying is the only way we can get back,” she said, gesturing at the view outside the window. “There is no other option.”