The Halcyon Dislocation

by Peter Kazmaier

  “You’re looking for McTavish” said Hoffstetter’s sepulchral voice. “He’s feeling poorly—stress from poor Wilson’s death. He’s unavailable, but you may speak to me.”

  My report is of the greatest urgency,” said Floyd icily. “I must see McTavish!”

  “Must?” said Hoffstetter tersely. “I think not. Commander McTavish cannot be disturbed. He’s given me strict orders to that effect, and I will carry them out.”

  Hoffstetter looked at his bodyguards, who rose from their places in the waiting room and closed in around Floyd and Al.

  Hoffstetter called his orderly.

  “Please tell everyone to assemble on the parade ground,” he said.

  To Floyd and Al he said, “Come with me!”

  Hoffstetter marched directly to the crumbled tower and climbed partway up so all could see him.

  His voice boomed out. “Commander McTavish has asked me to address a few words to you on his behalf. We are reaching the dawn of a new, glorious age,” he said. “Do not fear the servants that have gathered outside the walls. I have discovered the secret of this city. They will not harm us. They will protect us and serve us.”

  A murmur ran through the crowd.

  “To show you that you have nothing to fear,” said Hoffstetter, “I will go out to them and show you that they will obey my commands. I will have them bring us wood and food from the forest. I will have them bring stone and timber to strengthen the citadel gate.”

  With that Hoffstetter walked to the makeshift citadel gate, had it opened, and walked down the road to where a large group of ape-men were standing. He gave orders, and the ape¬men lumbered off to obey his commands.

  Chapter 36 A Conspiracy Unmasked

  The Twenty-fifth Platoon gathered for their evening meal, posting two platoon members as lookouts in the hall just outside their quarters. If anyone came, they would greet the visitors loudly, warning the conspirators within.

  “We have to get out of here!” said Al.

  “Are things really that bad?” asked Stan. “Anyway, where would we escape to? Could we go back to the island or back to Halcyon?”

  “The answer to both questions is ‘I do not know.’ I haven’t thought that far ahead. This place is now inundated with ape¬men. This can’t be good.”

  “Maybe Hoffstetter can control them like he says. Maybe they’ll become our ‘hewers of wood and drawers of water,’” said Stan.

  Al hadn’t expected this much opposition. It underlined, once again, that in some minds he was not a full-fledged, trusted member of the platoon, despite his previous experience with the ape¬men.

  “For my part, I think we’ve got to get out of here,” said Floyd. “Stanford, you weren’t there when these ape¬men attacked. I don’t want to go through that again. I don’t trust Hoffstetter. What has he done with McTavish? I say, let’s pull out and get to the island and warn them.”

  “What about Schuster?” asked Al. “What did they do with him?”

  “I heard they took him back to Fort Linderhof,” said Stan.

  “Linderhof!” said Floyd. “Why didn’t we know about that? Why didn’t we see them leave?”

  Stan shrugged his shoulders. “I guess they took him out by night through the town. They control the main citadel gate, and we weren’t watching closely from the wall.”

  There was stunned silence at the thought of Dave’s disappearance.

  “I’m all for getting out,” said Pam at last, “the sooner the better. You know Hoffstetter has set the ape¬men to reopen the tunnel. Think about it; McTavish goes to all the trouble to blow up the tower and block the tunnel, and then Hoffstetter, supposedly under McTavish’s orders, reopens it. I think McTavish has been taken out.”

  They discussed Pam’s suspicion. As their murmuring died down, Al looked around the group, many were nodding their assent to Floyd.

  “Yeah, let’s go!” said a voice summarizing the general assent. With that settled, Floyd took a deep breath and began to plan their escape.

  __________

  The next night Al was again up at the lookout, while the Twenty-fifth manned the wall nearest the mountain. All day, ape¬men had been working incessantly to remove rubble from the tunnel. They were as tireless in their dedication to this menial task as they had been unrelenting in battle. Floyd, afraid that somehow their escape plans would become known, had only confided in Al and Pam with respect to the exact moment of their escape. Everyone was to be ready to go at a moment’s notice. Tonight was the night, and Floyd was now going around personally giving word to the whole platoon to depart.

  Al kept watch as the members of the Twenty¬fifth began their escape using the route mapped out with ropes across the mountainside. As leader, Floyd had volunteered to go first. Pam went with him, since only she and Al had ever crossed the mountain face before. Now they were doing it by night. Al’s task was to stay prominently at his post and then join them as soon as the last team member was on his way.

  Al guessed more than half of the group had begun the treacherous climb, and every few minutes one or two more joined them on the rock face. Seeing a figure climbing toward him, a chill went up his spine. Relief replaced fear when he realized the climber was Stan.

  “What are you doing here, Stan?” asked Al.

  “Linder told me to stay with you so you don’t have to manage the climb by yourself,” said Stan.

  “Well, that’s thoughtful of Linder. Might I suggest that you back farther into the cave and stay out of sight, since I’m supposed to be here alone? We don’t want to arouse suspicion, do we?”

  “That’s a good idea!” said Stan.

  Al took up his sentry position and watched as more shadows crept up the wall. Suddenly he felt a rope snap around his neck. Jerking back violently, his left hand involuntarily grabbed for the rope—but it was too tight. He could feel himself starting to black out. In desperation he reached for his ankle, pulled out his boot knife and jabbed at the body behind him. There was a yelp of pain, and the rope around his neck loosened. Tearing off the noose, Al whipped around to see Stan on one knee, clutching his leg. Three ape-men, dripping wet, came out of the shadows of the cave and closed their iron grip around Al’s arms. The strength of the ape¬men was horrible. Two of them lifted Al off his feet and carried him, marching methodically into the pool at the back of the cave. He struggled violently and kicked one of them solidly in the back of the leg, causing the ape-man to stumble. But the third ape¬man grabbed Al’s legs, and the three continued their march into the pool.

  Al felt the cold water close over his head as the ape-men marched relentlessly forward, never relaxing their grip. With their iron shod boots and iron clubs, the ape-men were so heavy they immediately sank to the bottom of the pool and had to keep Al from floating to the surface. The water was pitch black. Al began to pray, preparing himself for death as the searing pain of anoxia wracked his frame. Just as his body was about to force his mouth open in a desperate attempt to gulp for air, his head broke water. Al gasped, gulping air into his lungs. Breathing hard as they emerged from the icy water, Al could see by the faint green phosphorescence of the walls that they were in a large tunnel. The ape¬men walked down the tunnel without a word. After fifteen minutes of passages and stairs, they emerged into the dark square of the citadel. Crossing the square, they entered McTavish’s building, and then shambled to the back of the building in the dark.

  Al was completely disoriented. They came to an opening even darker than the darkness of the building. Al was hurled down, falling heavily and awkwardly on a soft pile of heather. He groaned from the pain of the fall and the exhaustion of his struggle against the ape-men as he heard the sound of the trap door closing.

  “Who’s there?” said a familiar voice tinged with fear.

  “Dave! It’s me—Al!”

  In the dim light from a nearby window slit, Al could see the dark figure of his friend gingerly approach the pile of heather that had broken his fall.

  “A
re you all right?” asked Dave. “Can you move your arms and legs?”

  “I think I’m all right,” said Al. “So this is where they put you!”

  “Yeah,” said Dave, a hint of resignation in his voice. “It’s a little late for visiting hours. What are you doing, dropping in like this?”

  “Dave, I’m in pain, and your stupid, inappropriate jokes are adding to it. Now stow it and help me try to stand up!”

  “Wow, Al gets mad!” Dave said, then added contritely, “I was so glad to hear your voice, the comments just kind of oozed out of me.”

  With Dave’s help, Al staggered to the wall with the outside window. Dave had bundled more heather into a crude bench, and the fragrance of the heather filled the night air. Settling against the wall, they heard footsteps and then the trap door creaked open, a light shining through its opening. It grew brighter, and a head, shrouded in shadows, poked through the opening in the ceiling. The torch beam played along the wall until it caught them in the light.

  “Enjoying your new accommodations?” Stan laughed derisively.

  “Why did you do it?” asked Al. “Why did you betray us?”

  “Payback stinks, doesn’t it? You thought you could push me around and get away with it because you had Big Dave to back you up. Now look at you. I don’t forget. I just wait my time, and then I strike.

  “By the way, there’s another thing you ought to know. Pam’s mine. You made a big mistake when you went after her. Did she tell you that we had a son together? He’s back in Halcyon?” Stan laughed again. “I thought not! You should see your face now, you big stupid fool. She was just playing you, knowing full well that she was coming back to me. You’re such a sucker!”

  “Shut up, Stan, if you know what’s good for you!” said Dave ominously.

  “Gee, Big Dave, exactly what do you have in mind?”

  Quick as a snake Dave’s arm coiled back, and he snapped his wrist. Something hit Stan in the face. Stan dropped his flashlight with a howl.

  “You’ll pay for this!” Stan growled.

  “Better write it down,” said Dave. “As soon as I get a chance I plan on adding to the total. Waste of a good mostly rotten apple.”

  The trap door slammed with a loud thud. Dave crawled over, grabbed the flashlight, turned it off, and put it between them in the heather.

  Chapter 37 The Prison Pit

  Stan’s footsteps echoed on the stone floor as he retreated through the dark corridor above them. Dave looked at Al. In the faint light coming through the window slit he could see Al’s head was bowed. A faint groan escaped from his lips.

  “Al, are you okay?” asked Dave.

  There was a long pause. Dave wanted to speak again, thought better of it, and bit back his desire to fill the empty silence with words—any words.

  “Dave,” said Al at last, “I can’t talk right now. I just need time, time—”

  Dave slammed his fist into the palm of his left hand, and the snap of the impact sounded loud in the darkness.

  I wish I had Stan here right now. What a rokash he is! He needs someone to rearrange his face.

  His lapse into Hansa lingo surprised him. To take his mind off Stan, Dave looked into the blackness across the room and then periodically looked back at Al. He was still huddled with his head in his hands, but he made no sound. It seemed to Dave that he could see his friend’s despair from the inside. He felt a depth of camaraderie and compassion towards Al that surprised him.

  Dave tried praying to the great darkness that Someone, Anyone—assuming there was Someone out there—would reach down and comfort Al, since he didn’t know what to say.

  __________

  “Dave, are you awake?”

  “Yeah, Al, I’m awake. Are you all right?”

  “As right as I can be. By the way, thanks for understanding and giving me a chance to pull myself together. I guess I needed to process what I had just heard.”

  “I’m glad I did right,” said Dave. “I don’t really know how to help in circumstances like this.”

  “Keeping quiet was just what I needed.”

  “Do you think what Stan said was true?” asked Dave.

  “I don’t know. I just don’t know. Stan’s a liar—a very good liar. Any good liar knows that mixing in a little bit of truth makes the lie stronger. I just don’t know which parts are true and which parts he made up to drive the knife in. Still, Pam has been acting strangely enough ever since we started this trip upriver that I have to admit something’s going on.”

  “What are you going to do, Al?”

  “Do? I’m pretty sure I know what I should do, but I do not know if I can bring myself to do it. When Stan talked, it was as if a black hole was opening up at my feet and I fell in. Right now blackness is all around me, and I do not care about what I should do. I do not care about anything except the blackness.”

  Dave was quiet for a while. He tried to think.

  “Sounds to me like you love her,” said Dave at last.

  “How can I love her? We hardly know each other. Our relationship consists of a trip in a sailboat and a few minutes of talking while I was half out of my mind with sedatives. Besides, when I tried in my bumbling way to let her know I cared about her, she rebuffed me.”

  “Al, none of that matters. The time doesn’t matter; the activities don’t matter. It’s clear to me that you’re in love with her and that’s the ‘black hole.’ Now admit it and try to climb out of it. We have to get out of here, and we need our focus and determination to try to do something to that end.”

  “What do you have in mind?” asked Al heavily.

  “Look, I know the Hansa. They’ll try to do something. We need to count on them and do what we can.”

  “How could they possibly help?” said Al. “We’re in the middle of a small army of armed men, and now ape¬men are also patrolling the square.”

  “I don’t know,” said Dave. “I only know they’re going to try something and we need to be ready. The hole in the ceiling is about twelve feet up. I could never reach it myself, but with two of us maybe we could get up there. Stan closed the trap door in a hurry. Maybe he didn’t lock it.”

  “So what do I need to do?” asked Al wearily.

  “I’m too heavy for you,” said Dave, “but maybe you could stand on my shoulders?”

  Al took off his boots, and Dave made a stirrup with his hands. By main strength Dave lifted Al up until he reached the ceiling.

  “Okay, Dave, I’ve reached the ceiling, and I can steady myself against the opening. I’m going to try to stand on your shoulders. Steady my ankles.”

  Dave crouched, and Al placed first one foot and then the other on Dave’s shoulders. Dave looked up and saw him pressing against the trap door. He tried to lift it. It moved slightly but didn’t open.

  “Brace yourself,” said Al, “I’m going to push against the door with all my might.”

  Al pushed hard, and Dave straightened up, pushing with his powerful legs.

  “Stop!” shouted Al. “It’s no good!”

  They regrouped and tried again and again, but the trap door wouldn’t budge.

  “When Stan left,” said Al, “the trap door must have fallen and locked on its own. I can’t budge it.”

  “Okay,” said Dave, “we move to plan B.”

  “There’s a plan B?”

  “I was working on plan B before you came. I had no chance to get out the trap door, but I noticed that the mortar around the window slit is soft and friable. I already have two blocks loose.” Al followed Dave to the window, and Dave pulled out two stone blocks and placed them on the floor. Dave pulled a small, thin blade out of his boot and got back to work. They took turns, and the work progressed rapidly.

  After they had switched places a couple of times, Dave asked, “Aren’t you supposed to try to convert me or something, Al?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’re a Christian; you know what I mean. Ask me to pray a prayer ‘asking Jesus into
my heart’ to keep me from going to hell.”

  Al started to laugh, gently at first and then louder.

  “What’s so funny?” asked Dave.

  “God sure has a sense of humor,” said Al. “You want to talk about a subject that I’d rather talk about than anything else, and here I am moping in my black hole. It’s as if God is saying to me, ‘Al, it’s not all about you. You have things to do, and here you are feeling sorry for yourself.’”

  Al stood up, leaned against the wall and watched Dave scrape at the mortar. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to laugh. Do you know what it means to be a Christian?”

  “I suppose it means being a do-gooder and joining a church—right?”

  “I won’t say no,” said Al, “since those things are certainly part of it. But as far as I can tell, they’re not the central things.”

  “So what is the heart of the matter?” asked Dave.

  “It’s my best understanding that a Christian is a Christ follower. In other words, when I became a Christian, I decided to live the way he wants me to live.”

  “So how does that work? Does He send instructions?”

  “In a way, I suppose. I get a lot just reading about Christ’s life in the Bible and then figuring out how it would apply today.”

  “Well, if God created the world and has all that power, why is everything so indirect and so mysterious? Why doesn’t he paint his instructions in bright glowing letters on that stone wall over there? It should be easy for him. If he’s really there, why not make his presence unmistakable?”

  “Good question, Dave. As I see it, there are two ways for God to make us into robots. The obvious way would be for him to control our every thought and action to such a degree that we thought we were making all our own decisions, but there he would be, the invisible hand in the background, pulling all of our strings.”

  “Okay, I can see that,” said Dave. “What’s the second way?”