Portal Zero

by Patin, Eddie

  Arthur went back inside, and stepped into his garage from the kitchen.

  That’s it, he thought. He had to make sure. Had to help his family get home.

  Arthur pulled down the old black mountain bike. Somehow, he’d managed to hang onto the same old bike he had since his teenage years. That bicycle had been through his twenties, back when he used to go biking all over Colorado’s mountain trails, and when he was a late teenager, he used to ride it to high school. He called it The Black Dragon. It was an old Schwinn. Now, he was thirty-two, and had a family with two small boys. He worked ten to twelve hours a day, running equipment for Heavy Tracks Construction, and his old bike just … hung in the garage...

  With the help of another candle, Arthur swept all of the dust and spider webs out of the gears and off of the seat and handlebars, found a pump, and filled up the tires, which were low and floppy.

  Taking the bike outside through the front door (no power meant no working garage door), Arthur locked the deadbolt behind him, checked the retention of his holster, and hopped up onto the bicycle’s seat, pushing down on the pedal with his lead foot for the first time in a long time.

  His stomach grumbled, but he ignored it. Gliding out past the driveway and onto the open street, Arthur started making his way toward the exit from his neighborhood circle, adjusting the bike’s gears as he went until he found a comfortable balance of power. He shook his head a little as he faced into the wind of his own movement, feeling his hair and beard flow with the breeze.

  If his family was still at Sheryl’s parents’, he had to make sure that they were okay at least.

  The ride would be maybe four or five miles—no problem.

  Up ahead of him, before his street joined up with Montebello Drive, he saw several people run from one side of the road to the other.

  Odd, he thought. But by the time he reached the corner, they were gone.

  3 - Kayleen Lugo

  Portland, OR

  Holding the charcoal pencil lightly in her thin fingers, Kayleen gently brushed against the bottom of the sphere on her sketchbook, building its shadow.

  The core shadow, she thought, and smirked, reaching up to push her too-wavy dark hair out of her face. She tucked the fluffy lock of hair behind her ear.

  “In terms of art,” Mrs. Doyle said at the head of the class, “form refers to objects with three dimensions—to objects that have length, width, and height. Geometric forms have specific names associated with them, and are typically man-made.”

  Kayleen sighed, and refocused on the sphere. Of course she could draw and shade a sphere. This was so basic. But, then again, she was a freshman, and even though she knew her capabilities, there were still basic, required classes she’d have to go through...

  Heck—maybe she’d learn something along the way.

  She looked up at her teacher, and watched as the old woman drew images on the whiteboard.

  “These include a cone, a cube, a sphere, and a cylinder.” Mrs. Doyle then pulled out an apple from somewhere on her desk, along with some sort of weird, ceramic, blobby piece of art, holding them up for the class to see. “Organic forms don’t have specific names associated with them and are often associated with naturally occurring forms.” She paused, putting the apple and shiny blob creature back onto the desk. “When an artist is drawing representationally, their main goal is to create the illusion of form.”

  Kayleen looked around the room at several other young students like herself, all in various states of shading their own ‘geometric shapes’ and stopping to watch Mrs. Doyle. One guy (was his name Sam?) sitting near her—close enough for her to see his drawing clearly—had transformed his sphere into an eyeball. He was shading the difference in light between the lens and the hole that delved into the inner eye. The veins in the white of the eye, along with the stark contrast in the chaotic lines of the iris were … subtle. And cool.

  He looked back at her, his eyes dark and focused. His bangs teased at his brow.

  Kayleen’s face suddenly felt hot, and she looked down, tilting her head back to her own drawing, letting her thick mop of dark hair hide her eyes.

  Was she blushing??

  “We can create the illusion of form by understanding how light reacts on the object,” Mrs. Doyle was saying. “Light will interact with your object in different ways: through highlight—” Her marker squeaked on the white board as she wrote the word. She went on. “Mid-tone, reflected highlight, core shadow, and cast shadow. Now, let’s take a closer look at each of these forms of light individually…”

  Kayleen kept her small hands wrapped up in the straps of her pack while she walked back to the dorms from Lincoln Hall. The humidity of the coming late day showers was making her hair frizzy—she must have looked like a mess!

  Her Vans kicked at the scrabble of the old, stained sidewalk, and she drifted a little into the vivid green grass of the South Park Blocks. The massive elm trees loomed over her in the grey light of the pacific northwest afternoon, swaying and rustling in the breeze.

  Kayleen gave herself a small, private smile. She sure did love this place.

  These several city blocks worth of green parkland full of old trees was her favorite part of the university, other than maybe the Littman Gallery she liked to visit every once and a while.

  Last year, finishing High School in Queens, she never anticipated that she’d end up using her scholarship money here, all the way on the other side of the country in Portland, where everyone was so progressive and nice, so focused on art and culture, and everything was always so green and beautiful!

  Well, it did rain a lot, she thought. But this place needed all of the rain to stay this green! It was April now, so, according to the locals, all of the rain and misty weather would start to taper off soon.

  Kayleen had been here for almost two semesters, and the rain and mist and constant wetness of this American rainforest was starting to grow on her. Off in the distance, Mt. Hood stood like a beacon out of place—a massive, pointy peak reaching up into the sky, covered in bright white snow.

  Much better than the dirty, dangerous city she grew up in…

  In between “Idea and Form” and “3D Design”, she had a little over an hour break, so Kayleen figured she’d head back to her dorm in Ondine to make herself a smoothie. Once she made her way to the building, past a few more park blocks and to the east, she dodged through all of the other students until she reached her room.

  As she stood at the door of her shared studio, she could already hear her roommate Hannah’s voice, in the room, speaking constantly and enthusiastically, soaking in sarcasm.

  Taking care to be quiet, she unlocked the door and softly slipped inside.

  Hannah sat at her laptop, sprawled out on the chair, gesturing wildly at her webcam as she talked to the screen. Her blonde and purple Mohawk was straightened out with hair gel, her face was without makeup except for some thick, dark lipstick, and she was rudely casual in a men’s ribbed, white tank top without a bra on underneath.

  Yep. She was making a video.

  “…then you can just bounce, okay?” Hannah was saying to the camera, gesturing wildly. “It’s really hard being triggered all the time! It’s literally all the time! I get dressed in the morning and look at clothes that male propaganda designed to force us to dress in binary, and I’m triggered! I get in the shower, and my shampoos and stuff are all made in supposedly feminine colors made to box in that female role telling us what we’re supposed to enjoy, and I’m triggered!”

  Hannah looked back over her shoulder as Kayleen drifted into the dorm room, smiled and stuck out her chin in greeting before looking back to the camera.

  Hey, her expression said. ‘Sup?

  Kayleen ghosted past the desk, trying to stay out of her roommate’s background, darting over to her bed and dropping her book bag.

  “So I go for a walk or something and leave my room, and I encounter these fucking cis people all over, and I’m triggered! I just can’t
get away from being triggered! And these cis people! Fuck them! Unfortunately, cis people are the majority in this world, and they think they get to decide our identities and our lives for us. How about this? We should make a ciswasher…”

  Quietly walking over to the mini-fridge between their beds, Kayleen pulled out her little blender, and started rummaging around through the Tupper-ware and bags of organic greens and fruits inside. She shoved some spinach into the blender cup, then started peeling a banana.

  Hannah laughed at the webcam, her eyes big, her mouth wide and expressions melodramatic.

  “Like a dishwasher,” she said, “but we shove cisgender people in it instead to wash them so they come out clean and aren’t disgusting and transphobic anymore! Honestly, all cis and straight white people need to die so that all us queer trans people can have a few good years of partying and being awesome and then the world will end before global warming gets too bad…”

  Kayleen added some chia seeds to her concoction, scooped in some green foods powder, and added some bottled water. There was more she could put in there, sure, but she was starving. She wanted something fast. Locking the blender cup into the mini blender base, her finger hovered over the puree button, but she paused...

  She wouldn’t want to interrupt Hannah’s video.

  Sitting on the bed, she held her finger over the button, and watched her friend, waiting for a good time to blend her smoothie.

  “You know, there’s a lot of anger among us, and understandably so! Transgender people, queers, lesbians, gays—we’re pissed the fuck off that we constantly have to be beaten down by the cissies! There’s been years upon years—hundreds of years of transphobia and bigotry!”

  “Hannah!” Kayleen whispered.

  “And if you think that an LGBTQIA human being is not entitled to be angry at the prejudices against them, then you’re—” Hannah noticed Kayleen, and her eyes darted over for a second before going back to the webcam. “Then you’re probably a privileged douchebag, living under a privileged rock!”

  Hannah sat up suddenly, and reached up to her laptop to hit the ‘pause’ button.

  “Hey, Precious!” she said, turning and smiling broadly. “Here for a snack?” Hannah spun in her chair, facing Kayleen with her sprawled-open legs.

  “Eh … yeah, I have 3D Design in an hour, and wanted something to eat. Sorry to interrupt—”

  “Nah, it’s alright,” her roommate replied. “I’ll just start up again. I still have to edit and stuff after anyway.”

  Kayleen hit the button, and the room was filled with the whine of the small blender chunking up her food.

  Once the smoothie was ready, Kayleen and Hannah both looked up to a knock at the door.

  “Who is it?!” Hannah exclaimed.

  The door cracked open, and Star, once of Hannah’s friends, poked her shaved head through.

  “Hey, bitch!” Star said to Hannah, grinning. She was wearing a red flannel shirt, and had a silver nose ring sticking out from one nostril.

  “Heeeey!” Hannah cried. “What’s up, Lover?”

  Star let herself in, carrying a scrap of paper in one hand. A wallet chain swinging from her pants clattered against the door. She handed the paper to Hannah.

  “So there’s gonna be this party apparently over at some football asshole’s off-campus house on Hall tonight. Wanna go there and start some shit??”

  Hannah put the piece of paper down on the desk, frowned, and pursed her dark lips.

  “Nah,” she said, turning back to her desk and leaning in her chair. “Sounds lame. I don’t do parties.”

  Star cocked her head, then looked over at Kayleen, who was taking a cautious sip of her smoothie.

  “What about you, cupcake? Kayleen, right? You wanna be my date?”

  Kayleen swallowed the green puree, and looked Hannah.

  Hannah spoke up. “Don’t think she’d be interested, Star,” she said. “Kayleen’s asexual.”

  Brushing a lock of hair out of her face, Kayleen looked down at the green stuff in her blender cup, and back up at Star. “Yeah, um, thanks for the offer...”

  Star scoffed. “Whatever! You two are sticks in the mud.” She looked back at Hannah. “Well let me know if you change your mind, k? See ya later, bitches!!”

  Hannah laughed to herself as Star left, closing the door behind her.

  “Pff,” her roommate said. “Whatever. Sounds lame. Sounds like a rape fest. Here, you want this?” She grabbed the piece of paper and handed it up to Kayleen.

  Kayleen walked over to pick it up. Taking another drink of her green smoothie, she looked at the crudely-cut photo-copied flyer. Under the invitation was a screenshot of a map, and the address. The house was just on the other side of the 405.

  “Eh,” Kayleen said, much to Hannah’s visible approval, and walked over to the little trashcan, dropping the flyer inside.

  But not before memorizing the address...

  After all, if it was some football asshole’s house, it was likely that Preston was going to be there. She quietly decided, taking slow, green drinks from her blender cup, that she’d drop by this evening—at least to see how things were going over there.

  Who knows?

  Preston probably didn’t even know she existed, but you never know when lightning could strike…

  Later that evening, Kayleen was approaching a bustling old house, swarming with college students, nestled in a dark, quiet neighborhood on the other side of the highway. The music was louder inside, and she drew her arms and legs in close, her shoulders hunched, as she dodged among the many bodies and loud guys and girls laughing and mingling and sloshing around red party cups.

  The house smelled mildewy, stepping in from the rain, and she detected the odor of many wet bodies and domestic beer.

  Pulling back the soaked and dripping hood of her jacket, Kayleen looked around, suddenly very uncomfortable among all of the faces and eyes that passed over her as older students milled about around her.

  Who’s that? the faces and eyes asked. Some freshman?

  She felt her face and body analyzed by the throngs of masculine faces swirling past, alien eyes connecting with hers and darting down to her breasts and her plain body, happy faces in mid-laugh, many of them charging toward drunkenness.

  Kayleen pulled her rain jacket tighter around her.

  The house was a good size—it was probably one of those places that rented out all of the individual rooms to the older students. Even though it was crawling with people right now, Kayleen could tell that it must be a rather ordinary setting outside of a college party, with basic thrift-store furniture and cheap carpet.

  Of course, for all she knew, these guys might have a party every night...

  “Hey, you want a beer??” a random guy asked her, holding up a red plastic cup.

  “Oh ... huh?” she replied, looking at him, then eyeing the cup of beer in his hand. “Um, sure.”

  “Waaaait a minute,” he said, looking her over with melodramatic concern in his inebriated extra-rubbery face. He pulled the cup back as she reached for it, sending a small amount of the golden beer sloshing out onto the carpet. The guy was yelling, trying to speak above the volume of the music. “Are you a freshman? A sophomore? Are you even twenty-one??”

  “Uh…” she said.

  The guy’s face slowly stretched into a huge grin, then he exploded into laughter. “Heh, I’m just fuckin with ya! Here you go!”

  He pressed the red cup into her uncertain hand.

  “Thanks,” she shouted, then walked around the guy, past several more people, and made her way into the house’s kitchen.

  She checked the beer in the light.

  Just beer. Fizz and bubbles.

  What was she expecting? Did she even know what a roofie looked like?

  Taking a sip, Kayleen grimaced, then walked past a couple of girls hovering in a doorway—who looked up and down at her with poisonous smiles—into some sort of living room.

  Through th
e crowd, her eyes fell on a big ‘L’ of couches, where she laid eyes on several guys who were taller and more muscular than the other students around her. They all sat around, laughing with each other, some of them clutching onto girls with pretty hair and perfect makeup…

  There he is, Kayleen thought, her eyes settling on Preston Marshall. She backed up and leaned against a table. Preston sat with a beer in his hand, smiling at one of his friends. His muscular chest and shoulders teased at her from under the tight, black t-shirt, and his angular face and strong cheekbones made her think of a Greek god. Preston’s skin was smooth and tan, his straight dark hair cut like a model’s, and his clear, green eyes crinkled at the edges with his smile.

  As if sensing Kayleen’s eyes on him, Preston suddenly turned away from his friend, and those brilliant green eyes—eyes that Kayleen longed to stare into for hours in white sheets painted by rays of sunlight—met hers.

  Then, a shocking clap of thunder split the air, making Kayleen and many others scream in surprise…

  The lights and the music went out…

  4 - Tommy and Jody Shelton

  Flagstaff, AZ

  “Tommy!”

  Mom’s voice.

  The rain made it hard for him to tell where he was going, but he ran, leaping over hills and treetops, trying to keep from hurting himself when he jumped down the other side. He paused to pull out his map, and saw that he was heading to the south.

  Not good! He needed to be heading to the west!

  The spiders hissed, and a zombie gurgled behind him. He heard the clomping footsteps. Turning, he raised his shield just as the two undead mobs caught up to him.

  Thunk!

  One hit his shield.

  Thunk! Thunk!

  A spider hissed, and the glowing eyes glared down at him from a blocky tree canopy. The heavy rain blanketed everything, and visibility wasn’t very far at all in this fog...

  Only at three hearts?! he thought, looking down at his health meter. His hunger meter was at half.

  Suddenly, Tommy heard the clunk of a skeleton’s bones, and he heard the twang of a bow. His character jolted and was knocked back into the hill as he was struck with an arrow!