by A. R. Wise
“No sir,” said Oliver. “I was just privy to the details about the psychic we needed to get.”
Vess nodded and explained, “We didn’t buy just any boat. That ship might’ve lived the past fifty years with the name ‘Leon’ painted on its side, but she’ll never stop being the Eldridge.”
Oliver looked back at the massive battleship with new respect. “Really? That’s the same boat?”
“Yes. That’s why we bought her back. The Navy sold her after removing the CORD. No one expected that the ship itself had anything to do with the experiment. Since then, we’ve developed new theories about how the device works. We’re trying to do everything we can to replicate the Philadelphia experiment.”
“And the ship ties into it?”
Vess nodded as they walked along the edge of the dam that separated the reservoir from the lake that rested sixty feet below on the other side. When opened, the dam would spill water and create a manmade waterfall that could be viewed from the observation deck where Vess and Oliver were walking, but the area had been closed during Cada E.I.B.s construction of the Greek battleship, the Leon.
The town of Widowsfield had agreed to allow the company to close off the normally public land in exchange for Cada E.I.B.’s promise to build a plant on the outskirts of the town. Widowsfield was attempting to capitalize on the sudden popularity of nearby Branson, and thought it would be smart to woo in large businesses to the area with the promise of relaxed regulation and low county taxes. By the time the ship was built, Cada E.I.B. had already proven to the city council of their intent to invest a large amount of money into the town. They’d purchased a sizeable amount of land on the north side of town, and had already constructed a massive office building. They were promising to hire a minimum of 500 employees, which would draw in families from other states that were looking for work and interested in living near Branson.
Cada E.I.B. had explained that they needed to use the reservoir to build a replica of a World War 2 era battleship that would eventually be attached to a visitor’s center and museum. The town happily agreed, never suspecting that the European investment group was actually a front for a group of scientists that were experimenting with a potentially world-changing device.
“The theory is that the walls of the ship itself have something to do with how the CORD works. Something to do with harmonic resonance.” Vess tapped a ring on his finger against the metal railing, causing the rail to hum. “I guess we’ll find out tomorrow.”
“Pi day,” said Oliver as they neared the bridge that crossed the gap between the dam’s observation area and the Eldridge.
“Yes,” said Vess. “Are you privy to the reason for that?”
“I thought it was just for symbolism’s sake,” said Oliver. “That’s what the engineer they sent out to build the CORD said.”
“He’s right,” said Vess. “But I doubt he understands the significance.”
The bridge that led to the deck of the ship was inclined, and Vess struggled to get up. Oliver reached over to assist him, but Vess pushed his hand away. “I’m fine. I can do it myself.”
Oliver meekly apologized and glanced back at the two men that walked behind them. The one carrying the old man’s walker nodded to Oliver with empathy. He understood that the reason the two guards never offered to help Vess was because the elderly man was too proud to accept it.
They got to the bridge, and Vess took his walker back. He paused and admired the ship before saying, “It’s like stepping back in time. It looks exactly like it did back in 1943.”
“The engineers brought along pictures that they referred to so that they could get every detail as close as possible,” said Oliver.
“Then let’s not waste any more time,” said Vess. “Take me to see the CORD.”
“This way,” said Oliver as he led Vess along. As they were walking, Oliver asked, “What did you mean about the significance of the symbolism?”
“They want to own the date.”
Oliver was confounded and asked, “What do you mean?”
“Symbolism makes a much bigger difference than you might expect. It’s the sort of thing that gives power to the powerless. Symbolism sneaks into our brains and cements itself there whether we realize it or not.”
“And they want to take advantage of that? Why are they so concerned about symbolism?” asked Oliver.
“You’re surrounded by symbols every day of your life. Whether it’s the stop sign on the side of the road, or the hidden Free Mason messages on every dollar in your pocket, symbols control you more than you’re aware.”
“Stop signs are symbols?” asked Oliver with a chuckle.
Vess wasn’t similarly amused. “Of course they are. You abide a shape and a color without even having to stop and think about what it means. With just a flash of a red octagon with a white border you immediately stop what you’re doing. You don’t even need to be made aware of why you need to stop. It’s become an instinct for you. That’s the way symbols work. They convey messages without needing explanation.”
“And March 14th has something to do with that?”
“Yes,” said Vess. “Many people already know about pi. They were taught that number in school, and it’s lodged in their heads. It’s been used by architects and mathematicians throughout the ages. If you ever want to see proof, just look into the Egyptian pyramids and you’ll see how people have communicated with likeminded people through the symbol. Also, it’s one of the only dates on a calendar that can be represented by a symbol.”
“The symbol for pi?” asked Oliver.
They reached the door that would allow them access to the lower deck and Oliver pulled the heavy latch that released the seal while Vess continued his explanation. “Yes. You see, corporations learned a long time ago how important symbols are. That’s why they work tirelessly to ingrain their logos into your brain with advertisements. When they do their job well enough, just the image of their logo can switch a trigger in your head that makes you desire what they’re selling. It’s not exclusive to just companies selling things though. Why do you think countries have flags? A flag is just a symbol, but soldiers are taught to regard them as if they’re some sort of holy relic. And don’t get me started on the church. They’ve been using the power of symbology ever since they started. It’s all about controlling another person’s mind without even having to say a single word to them.”
“Mind control?”
Vess nodded as he cautiously made his way down the metal stairs that led to the holding bay in the bowels of the ship. “Yes, in every sense of the word. You see, it’s more than simple recognition of the symbol that is happening in a person’s brain. They’ve proven that there are chemical reactions that can be triggered by simply seeing a symbol. For instance, the brain of a devout Christian can release endorphins just by looking at a cross. That’s a powerful effect.”
“So why does Cada E.I.B. want to use pi as a symbol?” asked Oliver.
“Because if you’re the one that opens the door to Heaven, you damn well want people to remember your name.”
Branson
March 13th, 2012
4:15 AM
Charles Dunbar was covering his face as the bar patrons spit at him. He was desperate to get out, but the crush of the crowd had spun him in circles. They were grabbing at him, and pulling at his arm, trying to get a clear view of his face to spit on him. They laughed and cried out, “Weasel,” as they pushed him. Then their hands gripped harder, and some of them began to punch and kick at him. He hid his face as best he could, but the crowd continued to tear at him, and he could feel their nails digging into him as their fervor intensified.
“Please, please,” he begged, “just let me go.”
As he spun, he caught quick glimpses of the crowd. Most of them were around his age and almost all of them were overweight. The men had beards that were a mix of brown, grey, and white, and the women had stringy hair and double chins that bounced as they cackled. Then,
hidden within the crowd, he caught sight of other things moving that shouldn’t be there. Some of the people near the bar were hoisting a white shape above them, like a reveler at a concert surfing on the hands of the crowd, but it wasn’t human. He saw legs and what looked like wool, and then he heard the tell-tale “Baah” of a lamb just as he saw a glint of metal.
The crowd spun him again, and continued to spit at him, but he was intent on seeing what was happening to the animal. By the time he caught sight of the lamb again, the crowd had stabbed a knife into its side, causing blood to gush out over them. They opened their mouths and accepted the fluid as if lustful of it, like they were hoisting a barrel of whiskey with the cork pulled free.The lamb stared at Charles and opened its mouth, but the creature no longer had the voice it should. Instead, Charles heard the pained cries of a child as the lamb’s eyes bled.
“Weasel,” said a woman beside him, and Charles felt her press her body against him. He felt her warm flesh against his hand and realized that she was nude. He glanced down at her in surprise and saw that she was old and obese, and she was licking at him as she pressed herself to his side. He tried to push her away, but the crowd was too dense for him to move. They held him tight as the nude stranger rubbed herself on him, laughing and licking at him as he squirmed.
The lamb’s blood made the hands of the crowd grow slick, and when Charles heard something heavy fall to the floor and splash he thought they’d dropped the animal. He saw that they were still hoisting the carcass, but then he realized it was just the pelt, now covered in blood, that they held aloft.
“Charles,” said a child’s voice from nearby.
He tried to find the source, but the nude old woman was still forcing her body against him and she was wet with the blood of the lamb even though they were standing at least ten feet from the dead animal. She was grinding against Charles’s leg and moaning as the rest of the patrons continued to spit at them both.
The child’s hand found Charles, and gripped him. He felt himself being pulled away.
“Don’t go, weasel,” said the nude woman that had been pressing against him.
“Charlie!” The bartender shouted and drew Charles’s attention to the bar. The man with the curled mustache was standing atop the bar, high above the throng of people, and he was holding a six shooter with a long, silver barrel. “Gotta get them right behind the ear.” He placed the gun to the back of his head and then pulled the trigger.
The crowd cheered as the gunshot rang out, and the bartender’s brains splattered across the already bloody crowd. They grasped at the pieces of the suicidal man’s head that had stuck to the faces around them, and they all started to shove the brains, skull pieces, and hair into their mouths.
“You’ve got to come this way,” said the child, but Charles still couldn’t see the boy. The crowd was too thick, and he could only see an arm sprouting forth between fat bodies.
A door opened, and Charles could finally see the exit. He was wet with saliva and blood, and he was slipping through the crowd easier, but there were several people barring the exit. The nude woman was there beside a bearded man that had apparently been eating pieces of the bartender. Bits of flesh and blood were stuck in his beard and he was picking at his teeth with what looked like a pocket knife. Charles had lost his grip on the child’s hand, and he desperately searched for it.
The child’s arm was sprouting from between the two people, but Charles still couldn’t see him. The boy yelled, “Come on.”
Charles pushed his way between the final two patrons and the woman tried to grab at him, but he was too wet with blood and saliva for her to get a grip. He slid through them and out into the freezing cold night.
“Are you okay?” asked the child.
Charles was finally able to see the boy, and he was shocked by the sight. The child looked to be about ten, but he’d been horrifically burned. His skin was blistering as Charles watched, and his teeth were chattering. He was cold and shivered as he held himself, and his clothes were wet. Worst of all was his face, which had been scarred and was bright red, as if a layer of skin had been peeled off. His eyes never blinked, and stayed wide as he stared at Charles.
“Mr. Dunbar, are you okay?” asked the boy again. “I keep having to save you.”
Gravel shifted under Charles’s feet, and for a moment it felt like the world was moving without him. Then he focused on the boy and he regained his balance.
“He’s right,” said a second stranger that Charles hadn’t seen at first. A stout man was lounging against the side of the bar with his thumbs tucked behind his suspenders. He was wearing a newsboy’s cap and had a strong chin that was dotted with black whiskers. “Kid’s saved you more times than I can count.”
“We should keep going,” said the boy as he continued to shiver. The boy’s breath came forth as thick, white steam in the cold.
“What happened?” asked Charles as he looked back at the entrance to the bar.
“Ben saved you, that’s what happened,” said the man by the door. “Like always.”
“Who? Ben? I don’t…”
“My name’s Ben,” said the child. He pointed to the man in the suspenders and said, “And that’s Lyle.” Next the boy pointed out towards the road that ran along the side of the bar’s gravel parking lot. “And out there is Fidaa and John, but they don’t come out much anymore.”
Charles thought he saw someone tall and thin hiding behind a tree in the distance, but the figure slunk back and disappeared again. “Where are we?”
“At the hotel,” said Ben. “Come on, we have to hurry.”
“The hotel?” asked Charles, confused.
“I’d listen to the kid,” said Lyle. “He’s saved your ass more than a few times.”
“He has?” asked Charles, although it felt like he knew that already. This all seemed so familiar, as if they’d done this before. The boy was special to Charles, even though he couldn’t explain why.
“Damn straight. I’d do as he asks if I were you, otherwise he’s not going to be around to save you next time.”
“I need your help,” said Ben as he walked through the gravel parking lot to the edge of the building.
“All right,” said Charles as he followed. He heard a noise that sounded like chattering teeth. Then he saw that there was a pool on the side of the bar and that leaves were cascading across the tarp that covered it, causing the sound he’d mistaken for teeth. There was a tall, wire fence that drew a square around the pool. The building that housed the bar stretched around the edges of the pool. There were multiple doors on the walls, and Charles realized that they were at a hotel that he’d stayed at recently.
“I know this place,” said Charles.
“Of course you do,” said Lyle as he followed behind. “How many times do we gotta do this before you know what the deal is?”
“Sorry,” said Charles, although he wasn’t sure why he was apologizing.
Ben reached a door and stopped. He motioned for the others to hurry and then said, “This is where my friend is. His name’s Ben too, Ben Harper, and he’s in trouble. There are people breaking into his room tonight and they’ve got weapons. You’re the only one that can save Ben. Okay? Do you understand me?”
“Sure,” said Charles.
“Do you really?” asked Ben.
“Well…” Charles looked back at Lyle and then to Ben again. “I guess so.”
“He doesn’t get it,” said Lyle, frustrated.
“He’s got to,” said Ben. “We’re running out of time.”
“No, I get it,” said Charles. “I understand. Your friend is in there, and he needs my help.”
“Ben’s in there,” said the boy, accentuating the name. “And if you don’t save him, then the people at the bar are going to kill you for cheating on your wife. Don’t let that happen, Charles. You can’t let that happen.”
Branson
March 13th, 2012
4:15 AM
Michael Harper
was nearly asleep when someone lightly tapped on the door. He wasn’t certain what he’d heard at first, and looked hastily around. The television was on, but he’d turned it down to where it was only a whisper. The movie he’d been watching was still playing, although he’d lost sense of the plot. He rubbed his eyes and sat up before saying, “Ben?”
He heard his son’s wheelchair rattling in the bathroom, and assumed that the tapping he’d heard had been coming from there.
“Go to sleep.” He started to lie back down, but then there was another succession of taps and this time he was certain it hadn’t come from the bathroom. He started to curse quietly as he slipped his jeans back on. Then he went to the bathroom door and whispered, “Be quiet in there. You hear me?” The metal chair continued to rattle.
Michael debated his options, and considered not answering the door, but then the tapping started again and that spurred him to action. He went to the door and peered through the peephole. There was a black woman with dreadlocks standing outside. She was watching the peephole, waiting for a shadow to pass over to reveal someone was looking through.
She waved and smiled before saying, “I’m sorry to bother you. I work with the hotel.”
Michael opened the door, but left the chain lock still attached. “What do you need?”
“Sorry, to bother you,” said the woman, “but we had a gas leak in one of the rooms and we have to check each of them. I’m so sorry for the intrusion.”
“We’re fine,” said Michael groggily. He started to close the door, but the woman stuck her foot in the gap. “Hey…”
“I have to insist.”
“Screw you, lady,” said Michael, his temper flaring.
“No, screw you,” said a male’s voice from outside.
Michael didn’t have a chance to react before a large man with curly black hair thrust his weight into the door, causing the chain to clang in its brace, but not snap. The lock held steady, and the man on the other side of the door cursed in pain and frustration. Michael ran from the door and picked up his jeans, believing his pistol would be with them. It wasn’t, and he suddenly recalled that he’d placed it on the dresser where the television sat.