by Tufo, Mark
The fact that I’ve felt pain and shed blood lends a certain credence to this all being real. I’ve had some pretty lucid dreams before, but never quite like this. I’ve also had experiences of being outside my body, and this is different. In the dreams, while I had control over what I was doing to an extent, it wasn’t as detailed. I bend down to pick up a dead pine needle just to demonstrate to myself the ability to control my actions. In the out of body experiences, I would turn on light switches or electronics only to have them not work. Plus, the feeling is entirely different.
But, what I have is what I have, regardless if it’s real or not. After all, I really don’t have much of a choice and might as well see this ride to its conclusion.
Another aspect is the fact that Lynn and a semblance of my kiddos are here, which adds an additional facet. In the other world, I found evidence of an alternate self that quite possibly had a hand in what happened. And the kids were there as well, so it’s likely there was an alternate Lynn too. But, I found no evidence of her, though that might just have been because the population had been decimated—absence of evidence is not evidence of absence. So, finding that there was another me here with a brother named Bill wasn’t all that surprising. Nor, really, was finding my kids here. But seeing them in person was far different than eyeballing a photograph.
Now, seeing my alternate self with his arms around Mike’s doppelganger was indeed strange. We’re from different worlds, so it was kind of odd that we would be here together in the same one. Although, if I have a double and I’m here, then why wouldn’t he be? I guess it was the fact that the two seemed like lifelong friends. I bet there’s another Mike in this world. Of course, that begs the question of whether there’s a Mike in my real world or a me in his.
Well, that’s a fucking rabbit hole, I think, stopping myself from treading any further down that confusing path.
I come to, my surroundings coming into greater focus. As I’ve been wrapped in my thoughts, my feet apparently continued on without my input. Down through gaps in the trees, I see the gray ribbon of a road following the contours of the river that runs through the midst of the narrow valley leading to Valhalla. Where the other end goes is anyone’s guess, but I really don’t want to remain in that coastal town, so I suppose I’ll eventually find out. After all, wandering down the traffic jam that was a highway in the other world was how I found Mike and Trip. And that led to company and eventually a way out—kind of. I didn’t have any plan in mind then either, so I’ll just take one step after another until something shows up. If nothing does, then I’ll just change directions.
Rays of sunlight stream through gaps in the trees, and the smell of pine should offer a semblance of peace. I’ve always taken comfort of being in the woods before, but I know that I only have hours before the sun begins to fall. And I haven’t had the best of times when that’s happened so far. Being away from populated areas doesn’t seem to make much of a difference, either. The first night, they just popped through what I assume are some kind of portal and charged outward. That means I’ll have to find some kind of protective shelter before dark and hope those portals can’t spawn inside. And, I only have enough ammo for one moderate firefight, if even that.
Given my limited ammo, I’ll have to find some in the immediate future. Without the populace having access to firearms, that kind of limits the opportunities. I doubt that law enforcement officers or military personnel here are going to freely hand over a few mags, and I don’t think I’ll be lucky enough to find storage depots like in the last world. This world doesn’t seem to have the need for military blockades, so my chance of running into a ready form of supplies is near nil. All of that isn’t really comforting as it appears that I’ll soon be down to fighting night runners with my knives and sticks. Bill did mention there was a war going on somewhere, but from the looks of things in Valhalla, that has to be fought a long ways away.
I stop and glance behind, wondering if I shouldn’t in fact head back into town. I might be able to find a way to get into whatever served as their police station and find some ammo there. If last night were any indication, it wouldn’t serve as much protection from the night runners, but it might be better than being out in the open. My thought of sitting outside of the city limits and waiting for nighttime is immediately tossed as the same town, or timeline, might not be available to me at night. That would mean a daytime recon and break-in of the police station …not my ideal situation.
I don’t know if my hesitation about leaving is motivated by my desire to both stay away from and also see Lynn and the kids again. I need ammo, but I really don’t want to be in a situation where I have to see them. But then again, I kind of do. I feel lost as to what I should do.
Okay, Jack, Get rid of that emotional baggage crap and focus.
Even though the emotions I feel are as if I were in my world and that is my Lynn and kids, I need to keep reminding myself that this isn’t my family, no matter how much it feels like they are. What I need to do is find a fucking way back to my own world. But first, I need to focus on my more immediate situation, so I squat in place to settle myself. Each night has shown that it will bring danger, so my days have to be focused on moving forward while also finding shelter. That may or may not hold true if time jumps again, and of course, I might have to remain awake during the night, so I’ll have to use daylight hours to rest. That won’t give me much time to actually move. Basically, I’m pretty much fucked.
Move from shelter to shelter and find some ammo. That’s my current reality. There’s not much I can do if I’m dead. I have the sneaky feeling that if I die here, I’ll be dead in my world too. I wonder if I’m still sitting at the table having a bite to eat, or if I vanished before the eyes of Red Team. And, if I’m still there, will I just keel over if I die here? For that matter, will my injuries show there?
Here I go again with this rabbit hole crap. Focus and move on.
With a deep sigh, hating to be in this situation, I rise and again begin to move along the hillside. As I move further away from town, I wonder where, or if, the barrier from the first night will fall into place once the sun goes down. Or, if there are others I might encounter. The uncomfortableness of the situation isn’t so much because I’m alone, or even because I may not be able to figure this out. It’s not even because night will fall and almost certainly bring on the night runners. It’s more because here I am unable to have a constant. There’s nothing to hang my hat on, so to speak. Everything seems to change at any given moment. If there were a repetition of sorts, something that I could rely on, then it would sure make this a whole lot easier.
As the day wears on and the sun arcs across the clear skies, I begin to angle more uphill. It’s been nothing but forested land this whole time, accompanied by the occasional sound of a bird chirping or the skittering of a squirrel up the trunk of a tree, where it sits on a limb and scolds me for my intrusion upon its space. I would like a little more altitude for any advantage it might give me. Being down close to the highway, I’d have none if nightfall came and the night runners popped out of those doorways; or whatever they were. If I can’t find some kind of shelter, then I’ll want every advantage I can get, and them having to scale the slopes will be better than them racing down the hill.
I work my way up a ravine. Even with my mind still trying to make sense of this whole thing, I keep my eyes on my surroundings and take a few steps before stopping to listen. I have a pretty good idea why the townspeople weren’t allowed to go into the hills, but I could be way wrong. If there is something out here, then I’m not really interested in blindly blundering into its midst. What I’d like is to come to a bridge where I have to tell the keeper my favorite color before I can cross to my home.
As I climb, the ground begins to level off. I can’t see very far through the woods, but I know I couldn’t be close to the crest. Well, I don’t know that for certain—nothing is certain here—but I’m reasonably sure. Below me in the ravine, I can hear the s
plash of water as it washes over and past rocks; as the incline becomes shallower, the sound turns to the gentle burbling of a creek. I can even taste the slight moisture in the air.
I pause as the ground levels out. Ahead is a good deal more sunshine showing through the trees, which possibly indicates an open area. Unless things have changed without my knowing it, it seems I’ve stumbled into a kind of alcove within the mountains. The angle of the rays penetrating the trunks tells me that I’m already into the afternoon and that I don’t have long before its time to hunker down for the night. So far, I haven’t found much of anything that will give me any measure of protection.
Cautiously walking toward the brighter light, it isn’t long before I’m able to see that it is indeed a small clearing of sorts.
Well, shit. If I can’t find a barricaded area, then an open area will be better, I guess.
My reasoning is that I’ll have clearer lines of sight and won’t be blindsided by a night runner I didn’t see coming around a tree. It looks like I’ll have time to haul some of the bigger logs and hopefully form some kind of wall. It’s only a slightly better idea than climbing a tree, in my opinion. Although, even though I’d be treed, there would only be one way the night runners could come at me. But, staring up through the tall trunks, I realize that there’s no way I’ll be climbing these. There aren’t any branches even remotely close to the ground, the effort of the trees being placed up high where they can gather sunlight. I’ll check those closer to the clearing, as the outer trunks should get better sunlight from lower down.
I’m a little taken aback as I get a line of sight directly into the clearing. There’s a structure in the middle. It’s small, but it looks like a small cabin. Moving from trunk to trunk, I draw closer and see that, although it’s weathered, it looks intact. Squatting next to a trunk, I remain absolutely still and watch for movement.
The cabin itself is planked with greyish boards that have seen better days and are in need of a fresh coat of paint or sealant. But, it appears to be well-built. A single four-paned window looks out from the front, next to what appears to be a sturdy door. The roof isn’t sagging or covered with weathered shingles. With this unexpected present, I’m eager to rush forth and see if I can fortify it, but if there’s someone here, I seriously doubt they’re going to appreciate an armed man just appearing out of the blue. If this isn’t just a hunting cabin—if someone actually lives here—then it’s for a reason.
I watch for nearly thirty minutes without moving. The only motion I see is a few small forest animals strolling through the open area, meandering without fear as they search for whatever prizes they’re looking for. The creek is just inside the tree line to one side, which makes it rather convenient providing it isn’t filled with mercury or sulfur. I don’t see any movement in the dark beyond the panes of glass, and no one comes out from within or enters the clearing. Keeping one eye on the tree line surrounding the cabin, I can’t find any evidence that someone is observing me from their murky depths. If someone had noticed me approaching, they more than likely would have fled into the woods and watched rather than trapping themselves within the walls. At least, that’s what I would have done.
Convinced that there is either no one around or they are very good at hiding, I rise from my position and cinch my carbine on my shoulder. At least that way, I’ll have it available without looking like I’ve come for trouble. It’s risky, and I’m liable to end up with a round to the chest, but it’s either that or turn and move on. With the sun angling toward the horizon, it seems that being in the open is more of a risk than approaching the cabin.
I hold my arms up and out in what I hope is the universal sign of meaning no harm, hoping that it isn’t this territory’s version of “Fuck you and your momma.”
“Hello…anyone here?” I call, stepping into clear view.
Only the babbling of the nearby creek answers my call. Still holding my arms out, I slowly walk toward the cabin, watching the window for any sign of movement and keeping the woods in my periphery. The cabin doesn’t have a porch or steps leading up to the front door and I notice that there doesn’t appear to be a visible foundation. Perhaps those who built the place wanted it quick and easy, and it’s seeming more probable that it’s a hunting cabin, although I know they’ve banned weapons here. Maybe there’s a special use permit for hunting, or maybe the owner just used it to get out of town. Who knows; I don’t really care. This is a present that has been delivered to me and that’s all I’m taking it for, especially as those seem so rare.
At the door, I slide my handgun out. If there is anyone inside who hasn’t made themselves known by this point, then they are either very scared or they’ve set a trap for me. Of course, they could have knocked me to the ground already, but I’m not going in unarmed.
I rap my knuckles on the door, again calling out. I should do a walk around the small shack, but fuck it. I’m tired and won’t have long to fortify the place and get ready for the setting of the sun. I’ve been up all day, and pretty much all of last night. I’m beat and will need at least a couple hours of sleep or I’ll fall down at some point. Or, I’ll start making stupid mistakes.
Like walking into a cabin without checking the perimeter?
I tell my inner voice to shut the hell up. And yes, I’m doing exactly that. The knob turns in my hand and I push the door open, folding against the door at the same time. I could have rushed in and covered the corners, but chose to play the “see what happens” game instead.
With a faint creak of hinges, the door swings inward. There isn’t the sharp report of a gunshot or sudden shuffling of feet. With one last creak, the door comes to a stop, partially open. Peeking around the corner, I see the sunlight streaming through the open doorway. Dust motes stir in the beam with a fine layer of heavier dust lying on the planks of the floor. There aren’t any marks that would indicate anyone has crossed the threshold in a while. Feeling a little relieved by this, I push the door open and walk inside.
It doesn’t take long to confirm that no one has been here in a while. Dust lies on the woodstove positioned near one of the side walls and across the few shelves holding supplies. Two chairs and a small sofa are similarly covered. An open doorway leads into another small room with two cots, two wardrobes, and a chest.
Placing my handgun in its holster, I move back to the front to take a closer look and notice that the woodstove is used for warmth and cooking. A metal tub leans against the wall and would have to be filled with water just to clean the few dust-covered dishes on the shelf.
There are a few stacked packages that, upon closer inspection, appear to be very similar to prepared meals. I have my own food, but those will come in handy. There’s a hatchet near the woodstove, which kind of completes the notions that there is basically everything required to live in the cabin. The nearby stream and what I’ve seen of the wildlife make the location ideal in that regard. Without night runners, or whatever else may run through these woods, this would sustain the perfect lifestyle.
Returning to the back room, I open the trunk and find a stack of folded blankets. The fact that the furniture in the other room hasn’t been torn apart by rodents tells me that this place is better put together than the outside suggested. For instance, the walls are made from thicker poles set into the ground, placed together without any gaps. Beams are attached along the poles at differing heights to add strength to the structure. The ceiling is the same: poles placed to make a solid ceiling with attached thick beams. Planks are nailed to the upright posts, I guess in order to make it appear cozier.
The window has an interior shutter that both bolts into place and has two level brackets to place wooden beams into on the shutter and wall. The door is actually built from wide planks in two layers. The front has the planks with the grain running in one direction, the back has the grain opposite. There are two places to bolt the door with another two brackets to place these beams into. This may be a hunting cabin, but it was obviously built with
the idea of keeping something out.
That’s both a relief and worry. If the cabin was built like this, then there must be something around to require it. It could have just been the rumors of monsters in the hills, but it is lending credence to that fear. Still, I couldn’t have asked for a better place to hold up in. It’s a far cry better than being in the open woods should the night runners make their appearance.
“Okay, enough of the tour. There are things to do,” I mutter, heading outside.
I begin piling wood into a ring of stones. I really don’t want to test the cabin’s structural integrity against a horde of night runners, so my first step will be an attempt to mask my scent. Smoking my clothing and gear will hopefully go a long ways. And then keeping deathly quiet inside the small fortress during the hours of darkness.
If all goes well, this place may be a sanctuary where I can rest and heal up. I’ll need that before moving forward if I’m going to have any chance of determining how to get out of this world—if that’s possible. I need to be in top form. I’ll also need to clean myself up and bandage my wounds better to keep the smell of blood out of the air. My hope is that any lack of prey in the area—namely, me—will keep the night runners away better than my rather limited supply of ammo.
I manage to get a fire going and throw greenery on top of the smoldering embers in order to create smoke. I hold my gear in the rising plumes of white and then straddle it to let the smoke encompass my body. Taking my time, I rub the smoke into my clothing and hair, wincing slightly as I make contact with my wounds. My whole body is aching and the lacerations still sting.