Hollow World

by Michael J. Sullivan

  CHAPTER FOUR

  KILLING TIME

  The voices came from the other side of the wall, which was too tall to climb or see over. Ellis stopped to listen and was pleased to discover they were speaking English. Well, sort of—the voices exhibited an odd accent, but it was most certainly English and surprisingly easy to understand. Only two hundred years had passed, but Ellis had anticipated more differences. He even thought there was a good chance that Spanish or even Chinese would dominate.

  “…to put it bluntly.”

  “I don’t care about that.”

  “So why did you ask me here then?”

  “To show you the future.”

  The two voices were oddly similar, almost as if one person was speaking to themself. The pitch wasn’t high enough to clearly indicate women, nor low enough to ensure men.

  “You’re lying. This is all about the Hive Project.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “I’ve done research. I know who you are—or rather aren’t.”

  A chuckle. “Then why did you come?”

  “I came to find out why—why me?”

  “You don’t know anything—or you never would have come here…alone.”

  “What do you mean?” The voice was less confident.

  “You see, I asked you here to get you to help me.”

  “That’s not going to happen.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Positive.”

  A pause, then. “What are you doing?”

  Ellis felt the hair on his arms rise. The words were spoken in fear.

  “This is also part of the future.”

  The screams that followed were the worst sounds Ellis had ever heard. High-pitched and horrible, they went from cries of fear to shrieks of terror, and littered in the middle were desperate pleas for it to stop. Only it didn’t stop. Ellis heard sounds of a struggle, grunts, and the thump of something falling.

  Ellis wasn’t a hero. For the most part he preferred to steer clear of trouble. About the closest he ever got was stopping to help people with disabled cars. Peggy used to warn him that he would get shot by some lunatic, but he couldn’t just drive by.

  After hearing the screams on the other side of the wall, his first instinct was to call 911. His hand actually moved to his phone before he realized his stupidity. Maybe it was the gun on his hip, or perhaps the chilling effect of the screams, but it certainly wasn’t a conscious thought that sent Ellis running to find the gate.

  The screaming had stopped before Ellis reached the entrance, which was unattended. He navigated around a big oak tree and trotted past a pretty clapboard farmhouse with a split-rail fence and a prairie-style weather vane. Already Ellis’s lungs were giving out. He could feel the crackle, like breathing through broken glass. He slowed down, dropping back to a walk, realizing he’d overextended himself. The all-night hike, the heat, and finally the sprint was too much. He wanted to fall where he was, but he forced himself to keep going. When he cleared the house, he could see the inside length of the wall. His blurring eyes caught movement—two people on the ground. Only one was moving.

  Ellis didn’t find what he had expected. The voices had sounded youthful. He had imagined teens with leather jackets, chains, spiked hair, nose piercings, tattoos, and drooping pants. Dated images, he knew, but he had no idea what else he would find. What he did see wasn’t on the list.

  They were both naked.

  Neither wore so much as a bandanna, and both were bald—not just bald, hairless. Such a sight would normally have been the focus of Ellis’s attention if not for the blood. Blood had a way of making anything else trivial—and there was a lot of blood. Both were covered, sprayed and splashed with rivulets dripping. One was crouched over the other, who lay prone, twitching. The one on top worked intently with a blade on the other’s shoulder, cutting it apart, butchering the meat with both hands. The knife wielder grinned, then stood up.

  Their eyes met.

  Ellis, working to fill his shattered lungs, reached for the handle of his gun but didn’t pull it. The naked, hairless, blood-covered butcher made no move. They peered at each other for an instant. Ellis still couldn’t tell the person’s sex. The killer had no genitalia—no breasts, no obvious curves. Slender and willowy, a perfectly androgynous figure like a prepubescent boy or a 1970s supermodel, except that the face was dripping in gore. Their expressions were a mirror of shock and puzzlement. Without a word, the murderer reached out and picked something up off the grass. Ellis spotted only three fingers. He thought of all those alien movies where extraterrestrials groped with three bulbous digits, but then noticed the two stubs where the pinky and ring fingers ought to have been. A spark of light appeared beside the figure like the flash of a camera, making Ellis blink. Then the murderer stepped through a hole in the air and both the killer and the hole disappeared with a snap.

  Ellis was stunned for a second and just stared, wondering what he’d seen. Then movement on the ground caught his attention. The one on the grass continued to twitch. Cuts and puncture wounds were visible along the torso, and a vicious slice had cut away a large section of the victim’s shoulder. Ellis couldn’t tell if this one was male or female either, being as indistinct anatomically as a Ken doll. More than that, Ellis was surprised to notice that aside from being wrenched in pain, this person could have been the twin of the killer.

  Ellis dropped to his knees beside the victim and searched for a pulse. He didn’t find one, and there was no chest movement, no sound of breathing beyond Ellis’s own labored efforts, which were desperate enough. Ellis needed oxygen but couldn’t pull in a deep breath. Efforts to draw in more air threatened a cough, and he knew he couldn’t afford that. He was already dizzy, the world blurry, and a strange darkness gathered at the sides of his vision. Ellis planted his palms on the grass and lowered his head between his knees. He struggled to block out the blood and the body beside him and focused only on sucking in air.

  Relax, goddammit!

  In and out, he felt like he was trying to inflate a new pair of balloons and growing light-headed with the effort. He squeezed his eyes tight and realized he was rocking slightly. His whole body was in the fight, struggling to bring oxygen to his brain. Maybe this was it—respiratory failure had won. What an odd moment to go.

  “Everyone just stay back.”

  “Darwin—has to be.”

  “Anyone see the attack?”

  “No. I was the one who reported it—who requested help. We didn’t see it, though. They were like that when we found them.”

  “And you’re part of the same group?”

  “Gale University—I’m leading a class in ancient history. We were on a field trip.”

  “All right, you can do us a favor and just continue with that. Stay clear of this side of the park, okay?”

  “Is it really a Darwin?”

  “We don’t know what we’re dealing with yet, so please give us room.”

  Ellis opened his eyes and found the blue sky, now decorated with pretty balls of white cotton. The light was different, the sun having moved well to the west so that the trees and farmhouse were casting long shadows. His chest was better. He could breathe again, yet everything else felt sore.

  “Pax—open eyes here.”

  “Okay, everyone just relax.” The person speaking was the closest of those around him, but still about thirty feet away.

  A dozen people had gathered near the old farmhouse, two standing closer than the rest and all looking identical. Each shared the same soft face with big, dark eyes, short noses, and tan-brown skin as if some Middle Eastern mother had popped out an Irish Catholic-sized brood of identical duodecaplets.

  They were all dressed oddly, with several not dressed at all. Some just wore hats, or scarves, or coats. One was dressed all in bright yellow. Another had a full ensemble of red and white stripes—right down to shoes, which made Ellis think of Dr. Seuss. None of them had a single strand of hair, and just like the first p
air of androgynous manikins, these new visitors also appeared to have been made by Mattel.

  Ellis wondered if he was having a dream of The Wizard of Oz variety. Everyone looked vaguely like a bald version of the lady doctor who had told him he was going to die. Maybe he had never time traveled at all. Any minute he could wake up surrounded by Warren, Peggy, and the doctor so he could say, “And you were there, and you, and you.”

  “We should get more help,” said one of the two nearest, who wore just a satchel hanging from one shoulder, a frightened look, and a decorative tattoo. Both spoke in the same fashion as the others.

  “Give me a minute, okay,” the closer of the two replied. He, she, or it wore a full set of clothes, at least. Some strange getup pulled from a Sherlock Holmes story consisting of a long black frock coat, silver vest, white trousers, wing shirt, gray tie, and a bowler hat. Maybe Ellis had accidentally crashed a wedding or really had gone back in time. So what if Hoffmann didn’t think it was possible.

  “Pax! Don’t go near it. If that’s a Darwin, we don’t know what it’ll do. It’s already killed one person.”

  That jarred Ellis’s foggy memory, and he glanced over at the blood-covered corpse beside him. Everything came back. I’ve been sleeping next to that! He pulled himself up and quickly shifted a few feet away. He was only up to his knees, but he was still light-headed. The landscape wobbled like he’d been drinking.

  All around him Ellis heard a series of gasps and the rustle of feet on grass moving away, a herd of cats retreating.

  “Storm it all, Pax! Get back! It’s dangerous.”

  “I didn’t kill anyone!” Ellis yelled. The effect of his voice froze everyone.

  “You can talk,” Pax said. “You speak our language.”

  “Actually, I think you’re speaking mine.”

  The two looked at each other amazed.

  “What are you?” Pax asked.

  He reached up to wipe his eyes. This caused more shuffling from everyone except Pax, who didn’t flinch. “My name is Ellis Rogers.”

  “But what are you?”

  “I’m a man—a human. What are you?”

  This brought a round of whispers from everyone except the one in the bowler hat, whose eyes never strayed. “Human,” Pax replied, absently discarding the word and moving on to more important matters. “But you’re different—are you a Darwin?”

  “I don’t know what that is.” Ellis didn’t like the way he was feeling, sweaty, dizzy, and a tad nauseous.

  Pax glanced back at the others, and Ellis noticed a look of embarrassment. “It’s a legend. Rumors about natural-borns living in the wilds. Nutty things about people who never joined Hollow World, who stayed on the surface and survived. You’re not one…are you?”

  “No.”

  “You’re an old pattern, then?”

  Ellis shook his head. “Don’t know what that is either.”

  Pax looked surprised and took three steps forward.

  “Pax!” the other one snapped.

  Pax stopped, looking irritated. “You say you didn’t kill that person next to you. Can you tell us what did happen?”

  “I heard two people—arguing, I guess—then one screamed. I was on the other side of the wall at the time. I ran around and saw one on top of the other.” Ellis pointed at the body without actually looking at it, trying to avoid seeing the mess again while at the same time wondering if the dampness in the seat of his pants was his sleeping buddy’s blood or his own urine. He was far from certain which he was rooting for. “Then the one on top got up and…”

  “And then what?”

  “I don’t know exactly. Just sort of disappeared, I guess.”

  “Disappeared?”

  Ellis shrugged. “Went through a hole of light. That sounds craz—”

  “The killer used a portal.”

  Ellis had no idea what that meant, but the confidence in Pax’s words left little doubt, so he nodded.

  “You’re not actually listening to it, are you?” the one with the tattoo said with an even mixture of disgust and disbelief.

  “It’s the truth,” Pax replied, and even Ellis wondered at the level of confidence. After the story he had just told, Ellis wasn’t sure he’d believe himself.

  “It’s a Darwin—you’ve heard the stories. You can’t believe anything they say. They’re cannibals.”

  Pax gave the other an appalled look. “Ellis Rogers is telling the truth.”

  “Are you absolutely sure?”

  Pax sent off another look that could only be interpreted as seriously? Which caused the other to scowl in reply.

  “Are you a cop?” Ellis asked. “I mean, a police officer?” The pair of eyes beneath the bowler hat peered at him intently, as if Ellis were a book with very fine print. “A law-enforcement official? A servant of the government? A peacekeeper?”

  The last title registered a smile, and Pax nodded. “I suppose—yes. My name is Pax. I’m actually an arbitrator. This is Cha, a physician who would really like to get a closer look at the person next to you. Would that be okay?”

  “Sure.”

  Cha hesitated. “Tell it to move away.”

  “I’m pretty certain Ellis Rogers can hear you, Cha. You don’t need me to translate.”

  “It’s okay.” Ellis pushed to his feet, still feeling woozy.

  “Are you injured, Ellis Rogers?” Pax asked.

  “I have a respiratory illness. The exertion of running aggravated it. I think I passed out.”

  “Are you all right now?”

  “Dizzy.”

  Ellis moved away from the body and leaned on the brick wall. It felt cool and reassuring against his back. Cha moved up, knelt beside the dead body, and opened a satchel. Several members of the crowd spoke in whispers among themselves.

  “Where are you from, Ellis Rogers?” Pax asked, moving nearer to him and drawing a concerned glance from Cha.

  That bowler hat made Ellis think of Alex DeLarge from A Clockwork Orange, but Pax was nothing like him—too cute. If anything, Pax was more like Charlie Chaplin’s little tramp, except for the missing greasepaint mustache.

  He wondered how to answer. Could he say he was from another village? Was there another village? He knew so little it was impossible to make even a bumbling attempt at a lie, and he felt deceiving a police officer wasn’t the best way to start a new life, no matter how short-lived it might be. “I came from the city of Detroit.” He paused for effect, then added in a soft tone, “From the year 2014.”

  Ellis had no idea what to expect. They should pack him off to a psychiatric ward, but times had changed. Anything might be possible now. Ellis guessed the plausible reactions ranged from him being worshiped like a god to a dismissive nod, as everyone was likely time traveling nowadays. It would explain the disparity in clothes, and that portal could have been Time Machine 2.0. If computers could go from room-sized vacuum-tubed monsters to tablets in eighty years, time travel had to be a whole lot slicker than a bunch of plastic milk crates and a car seat.

  Pax just stared at him a moment, looking puzzled. Slowly he watched as Pax’s eyes widened. “You’re from the past…way in the past.”

  Cha made a dismissive huffing sound.

  “Where is this time machine?” Pax asked.

  “I left it up in the woods. Five—maybe six miles north along the river, not sure. I hiked a long way. Isn’t much to see, really.”

  “Oh sure,” Cha said. “Bet it’s even invisible.”

  “Cha, please.”

  “You’re being ridiculous,” Cha replied.

  Pax scowled.

  “Time travel isn’t common then?”

  “No,” Pax replied.

  “It’s impossible,” Cha said.

  Can I really be the only one? Why haven’t there been others? “So I’m guessing you don’t believe me.”

  Pax looked at him with intense eyes. “I believe you.” The statement was flat, no underlying tone, no sarcasm, and spoken so quickly an
d loudly that it left no room for argument. Pax continued to stare deeply into his eyes, no glances away or awkward shifts in stance.

  If that’s a lie, it’s a damn good one, Ellis thought.

  “The PICA has been cut out.” Cha looked up from the body, first to Pax and then accusingly at Ellis.

  “Ellis Rogers didn’t do it,” Pax said firmly. “Ellis Rogers is telling the truth. Look—do you see any blood? Whoever committed the murder would be drenched.”

  Ellis wasn’t certain of a lot of things. He didn’t know if the people around him were really human or the result of some android manufacturing plant. He didn’t know what year he was in or if technology was ahead of or behind his time. He had no idea what had happened to the city or the world. And the envelope had yet to be opened on whether he’d made a mistake or not, but he was certain of one thing. He was starting to like Pax.

  So far everyone he’d seen had the same features, perfect copies of one another, but they weren’t the same. Ellis didn’t care much for the way Cha shared the same suspicious expression as the others in the crowd, but Pax was different—more gentleness around the eyes, more concern in the line of the jaw and the angle of the mouth, which appeared on the verge of a smile. Hair would have helped. Ellis had never known too many bald people, and the lack of eyebrows was disturbing. Their absence made Ellis uneasy, like he was in a cancer ward, but Pax impressed him as a person he might trust.

  “Is there a Port-a-Call?” Pax asked Cha. “There would be an ID stamp on that, and we could trace the jumps.”

  “I don’t see anything. Not even a tattoo—completely clean. Not much of an individualist. There’s nothing personal here at all.”

  Pax turned back to Ellis. “Do you know who the victim was?”

  Ellis shook his head, and he wished he hadn’t. The world swam. “I just told you I’m from—”

  “Yes, I know—I just thought you might have heard a name or something.”

  “Oh—no.” Ellis tried to remember, but he was feeling terrible. “I’m pretty sure neither said a name.”