Submerged

by Alton Gansky

  “When I first saw this place,” Zeisler said, “I was taken by the beauty of the home. Then my rational brain kicked in. We were walking through what your dad identified as the Mojave, and here was this grand house. It was the only structure in the place.”

  “It doesn’t look like much now,” Jack said. “I guess the owners failed to keep it up. That’s going to impact resale value.”

  Perry looked at Jack. “Thinking of moving?”

  “Not here, pal. Seattle suits me fine.”

  They moved forward. Five yards from the porch, Carl could contain himself no longer. He ran to the man on the porch. “Mr. Barrett?” he called, stopping at the foot of the stairs. “I’m Deputy Subick, Carl Subick, and we’ve been looking for you. Your family is very worried.”

  “He just doesn’t listen,” Zeisler told Perry.

  Janet overheard. “He’s doing his job.” She brushed by Zeisler.

  “She doesn’t listen, either.”

  “I’ve seen some bizarre things, Dr. Zeisler,” Perry said, “but I can’t wrap my brain around what you’ve been telling me. You’re saying that none of this is real.”

  “Oh, brother.” Zeisler moaned. “Apparently you don’t listen, either. I never said it wasn’t real; just that what you’re seeing isn’t what you think it is. We’re looking at a real entity, but he’s no more Barrett than the boots you’re wearing.”

  Perry and the others stepped behind Carl and Janet. Zeisler had spent the last fifteen minutes telling of his experiences thirty years ago. He had not told the whole story. Perry was sure there was more to come.

  “Mr. Barrett?” Carl climbed the first step. He was moving slowly. “Are you injured?” There was no response. Carl moved up the stairs to the porch. “You need to talk to me, Mr. Barrett.”

  Barrett turned to Carl. “Help me.”

  “I will.” Carl reached out to lay a hand on Barrett’s shoulder. “I’m going to make sure you get home.”

  But as soon as he touched Barrett, Carl yanked his hand back as if he had been hit by a bolt of electricity.

  “What’s wrong?” Janet hurried up the stairs.

  “Help me,” Barrett said again. Then he turned his head and looked at Zeisler. “Zeisler Doctor.” Barrett raised his head. His eyes dissolved, his face melted, and a second later only a pile of granules remained where Barrett had stood.

  Janet jumped from the stairs, and Carl took several quick steps back.

  “Okay, okay,” Janet shouted. “This place is freaking me out. Seriously freaking me out.” She began to pace. Carl came down the stairs and took her in his arms. Perry saw her shudder. He waited for the tears. None came.

  Zeisler shook his head and walked up the stairs. “Kids. They never listen.”

  “You going to be okay?” Perry asked Janet.

  “I’m fine. Just a little on edge.” She pulled away from Carl. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry, lady,” Jack said. “My heart is still doing backflips.”

  Zeisler reappeared. “You coming, or do you need an invitation?” He smiled. “Don’t forget to wipe your feet.” He laughed and disappeared into the house.

  “After what he said happened when your father brought in a handful of dirt,” Gleason said, “I think I’ll wipe my feet.”

  Inside, Perry saw an empty spherical space. A round, four-foot-high wall sat in the middle of the room. He thought of his father standing in this place three decades ago.

  “At least nothing has changed inside here. Nothing I can see anyway.” Zeisler stepped to the ring. “But the color of the sand looks different from what I remember. It looks lighter.”

  “Will someone explain to me what just happened on the porch?” Carl demanded. “ ’Cuz I’m not gonna be able to think about much else until I get some answers.”

  “There are no answers, Deputy,” Zeisler said. “At least not solid answers. Thirty years ago we came up with some ideas—ideas I’ve been considering ever since.”

  “What was that out there?” Carl pressed. “Why did it appear like Barrett? Why did it ask for help? Why did it disappear? How did it know your name?”

  Zeisler raised a hand. “I can deal with only one question at a time, Deputy. Take a breath.” He rubbed his temples. “I was telling you about what happened thirty years ago. I told you about the self-assembling creature, right?”

  “That’s right,” Perry said. “You were about to tell us what happened when you jumped into the ring.” Perry heard a sound to his right. He turned to see Jack slipping the pack from his back. It was a good idea. Perry and Gleason did the same.

  “Henry and Nash had gone looking for McDermott . . .”

  1974

  Zeisler had placed his hands on the ring and jumped inside. The moment Zeisler’s feet hit the pale sand inside the ring, a rushing sound filled the room. Light from the upward curved ceiling poured down. The light was not instantaneous but trickled down, forming a cylinder of illumination. Things, brightly colored flakes, floated in the beam like confetti.

  “Get out of there, Zeisler!” Cynthia cried.

  “No, I’m fine. Just wait.”

  “You could get killed,” Grant said.

  “Just wait.”

  “Sanders, tell him to get out of there,” Cynthia pleaded.

  Zeisler didn’t bother with Sanders. He heard no command, and it wouldn’t matter if he had. He wasn’t leaving. There was too much to see. “I feel a slight tingling, like the air is filled with static electricity. No pain, just a vague tingling.” He reached out a hand, extending his index finger, and tried to touch the column of light. A hollow space formed around his finger. Zeisler removed his hand and tried again. Once again, the light moved away.

  Something moved beneath him. “The sand is shifting. It’s moving out from beneath my feet.” Zeisler studied the floor. “All the sand is moving. It’s being drawn into the light.” He looked at the others. “This is fascinating. I can’t touch the light column. It moves away from me, but it is sucking up the sand. Do you know what that means?”

  “It means that you’ve lost your reason if you stay in there,” Grant said.

  “What it means, Monte, is that this force, whatever it is, can make a distinction between me and the sand.”

  “That would require a sensor system of some kind,” Sanders said.

  “Intelligent sensors,” Zeisler said. “And the power. Think of the electrical energy necessary to do this, to hold this whole place together.” He fixed his eyes on the column of light that now held every grain of sand suspended along its floor-to-ceiling length. “If only I had a way to interface with it.”

  The column flattened and widened.

  “It looks like a television screen,” Grant said.

  “Except it’s flat,” Cynthia said. “No cathode-ray tube.”

  “Did that come to be because you asked for an interface?” Sanders inquired.

  “I don’t know. That’s an interesting idea. Let me try something . . . Outside,” Zeisler said to the black panel.

  “Oot-sadde.” The voice wasn’t loud, but it filled the room.

  “Could anyone tell where that came from?” Zeisler asked.

  “It sounded like it came from everywhere,” Cynthia said.

  “Interesting,” Zeisler commented, his gaze still fixed on the screen. “It sounded male.”

  “Figures,” Cynthia quipped.

  Zeisler decided to try again. “Outside.”

  “Oot-sadde.”

  “I don’t think it understands,” Sanders said. “Try a different word.”

  Cynthia held out her hand. “No. Think a different word.”

  “How about both?” Zeisler took a breath, as if thinking was going to wind him, and then said, “Exterior.”

  The walls disappeared, and Zeisler could see the grounds surrounding the house. All that remained was the floor.

  “Um, okay, that was unexpected,” Grant said.

  “The walls are gone.” Cynthia
backed away from the ring. “And the outside is back to being a desert.”

  “Not gone,” Grant said. “I can see the juncture where the curved walls meet the floor.”

  Sanders stepped to the closest wall and touched it. “It’s still here, but it’s as clear as glass. It’s like being on the inside of a snow globe.”

  “Remarkable,” Zeisler said. “I can’t begin to imagine how all this works. This is beyond anything I’ve ever seen. For that matter, it’s beyond anything I’ve ever imagined.”

  “Oh, no,” Cynthia said. “Look. It’s Henry and Nash. Something’s wrong.”

  Zeisler looked and saw Henry leading Nash toward the house. Nash was carrying something. It took a second, but then he realized that the “thing” was McDermott. Sanders raced from the room.

  “We should help,” Cynthia said.

  Zeisler stared again at the empty panel and then back out through the clear wall. He stepped away from the light and swung his legs over the ring. Immediately the panel returned to the shape of the column. The light died, and the suspended particles of sand fell into the ring.

  Henry had offered to carry McDermott’s body part of the way. Nash refused. He was sweating, and his breathing was labored, but he managed to keep his feet moving.

  “Did you see that?” Nash asked between gulps of air.

  “Yeah, I saw it. It looked like the house disappeared, then it came back.”

  “I’ll bet you five bucks Zeisler is somehow responsible.”

  “No bet,” Henry said. Two steps later, he said, “They’ve seen us.” Henry watched Sanders running toward them. Following behind in a fast walk were Grant and Cynthia. Zeisler appeared, then jogged until he caught up with the other two engineers.

  “What happened?” Sanders demanded. “How hurt is he?”

  “He’s dead.” Nash kept walking.

  “Dead? How?”

  Henry explained as they continued their march along the last few yards. He also explained his theory about the real cause of McDermott’s death.

  “You can’t know that for certain,” Sanders said.

  “I stopped knowing things for certain the moment I stepped into this place,” Henry said. “I have yet to see anything that makes sense.”

  Zeisler smiled. “Wait until you get a load of what we discovered. It’s going to blow your mind.”

  They closed the distance to the house. Henry and Sanders helped lower the corpse from Nash’s shoulders. They lay McDermott on the sand next to the porch stairs. The team stood in silence around the lifeless form.

  “I’m going to need help moving his body topside,” Nash said. To Henry he added, “You were right. I never would have made it back by myself.”

  Henry gave him a pat on the shoulder. “You need to rest. Then we can think of some way to carry him out.”

  “That’s not going to be easy,” Zeisler said. “We didn’t come here with tools and materials.”

  “We can tear off a section of porch railing and make a litter out of that.”

  “No good,” Zeisler said.

  “I’ve had just about all of you I can stand,” Nash said.

  “What? I’m just telling you the truth. You can’t make anything out of something that isn’t there.”

  “What’s he talking about, Sachs?” Nash asked.

  “Remember, when we arrived, the house looked like it does now, but when we left to search for McDermott—”

  “It looked like a large tent.”

  “And before that, you and Sanders said it appeared as a barn and a farmhouse,” Zeisler added.

  Nash rubbed his eyes. “I’m . . . I’m not thinking clearly. So what do we do?”

  “We go back and get help,” Sanders said. “Sanchez and Buckley will still be at their posts. We’ll go topside, make what we need, and come back for McDermott.”

  “What do you mean, ‘we’?” Zeisler said. “I’m not going anywhere. I need to learn more about this place. Henry, wait until you see what I’ve . . . what we’ve discovered.”

  “We’re sticking together,” Sanders insisted. “I’ve already lost one man, and I don’t even know why. I’m not leaving anyone behind.”

  “That’s stupid,” Zeisler complained. “How many people does it take to make a stretcher? Take the others if you must, but leave me. I’ll . . . I’ll stay with the body. Someone needs to do that. I volunteer.”

  Sanders frowned, and Henry could tell he wasn’t buying it. “That’s very magnanimous of you, Dr. Zeisler, but you’re going with us.”

  “It makes sense, Victor,” Cynthia said.

  “No, it doesn’t. It’s a stupid idea born in a shallow mind.” Zeisler reined in his tongue. “I’m sorry. Really, I’m sorry. It’s just that we’ve had a breakthrough, and I’m starting to get a few ideas.”

  “It will be here tomorrow, Zeisler,” Sanders said.

  Henry noticed the formality normal to Sanders was gone.

  “Okay, okay, you’re right. Absolutely right. I’m letting my excitement run away with me. Just let me . . . Just let me show Henry what we’ve learned. He needs to see it. He’s part of the team. He has a right to see it. You, too, Nash.”

  Sanders didn’t reply.

  Zeisler pushed the issue. “It will give us more to talk about, more to analyze. When we come back, we’ll know better what we’re dealing with. Perhaps we can construct a few experiments. Five minutes. That’s all I ask. Just five stinking minutes.”

  “Five minutes, Dr. Zeisler. That’s all.”

  “Great. Thank you.” Zeisler bounded up the steps.

  “I’ll take that now,” Nash said to Henry. He reached for the M16. Henry was glad to be rid of it.

  Zeisler reappeared. “Come on, guys. You’re eating up my five minutes.”

  Henry climbed the stairs. He passed through the door in time to see Zeisler stepping into the ring. A second later, there was light and noise and the sound of Zeisler laughing. Henry stepped closer. A column of light ran from the floor up through the “stem” of the inverted wineglass ceiling. Something filled the light column. Sand? Flickering lights appeared inside the channel.

  “It was faster this time, Henry. Much faster. Watch.” Zeisler turned to the illuminated pillar and said, “Interface.” The column widened into a flat wall.

  “Pretty impressive, isn’t it,” Grant said. “Scared the life out of me when I first saw it.”

  Henry understood. His heart was tripping in double time. “What is it?”

  “We don’t know yet, but it seems to respond to voice command, maybe even thought command.”

  “Have you tried it?” Henry asked Grant.

  “Just Zeisler. He just got it going a few moments before we saw you.”

  Henry thought about the house’s disappearance and reappearance. He mentioned it to Grant.

  “Hey, Victor,” Grant called out. “Do the wall thing.”

  “Good idea,” Zeisler said. “Exterior.”

  The walls disappeared, and Henry jumped. “They’re gone.”

  “It just looks that way,” Grant said. “The walls have be-come transparent.”

  Henry stepped to the edge of the ring. “No wonder you don’t want to leave.” A thought occurred to him. “When McDermott was shot—or thought he was shot—the terrain changed from jungle back to desert. Do you think you can change it now?”

  “I don’t know. Let me think of a place.” Zeisler closed his eyes. The desert dissolved, and a spray of sand flew skyward. A moment later, giant redwoods appeared. Zeisler laughed again. “I spent my vacation in the High Sierras. Let me try another.”

  Again the terrain dissolved. It began to rain sand, but seconds later it stopped, leaving behind a vast field of corn plants. Then came a beach, then flat Texas-like plains, then green hills that made Henry think of Ireland.

  “You’re making me dizzy,” Henry said. “Slow down.”

  Zeisler raised a hand to his head. “I’m trying. I’m not making it change. My head
is killing me.”

  Outside the green hills became an underwater tableau as if the whole house had been sunk beneath the waves.

  “Victor?” Henry said.

  “My head. My head,” Zeisler moaned.

  Desert. Mountains. Rivers. Oceans. Snow. Rain. They cycled by faster and faster until Henry could no longer determine what he was seeing.

  “Stop it, Victor,” Cynthia said. “Make him stop it.”

  “My head.” Zeisler groaned.

  Henry reached over the wall and seized Zeisler by the shirt, then pulled hard, yanking him over the ring and onto the floor. The column of light disappeared, and sand dropped to the floor inside the ring. The transparent walls became opaque again.

  “Victor? Are you all right?” Henry asked. He had crumpled to the floor with Zeisler. There was no response. “Victor.” Henry gently slapped the unconscious man’s face. He checked his pulse. It was present and strong. Henry looked up to Sanders. “He’s out cold.”

  Before Sanders could speak, Nash said, “We have another problem. The door is gone.” He cut Zeisler a fierce glance. “What did you do?”

  Zeisler stirred, then blinked. “Ow, my head.”

  Chapter25

  1974

  “What did you do, Zeisler?” Nash shouted. “What did you do with the door?”

  “Leave me alone. My head hurts.”

  “I’ll show you hurt.” Nash bent, grabbed Zeisler by the front of his shirt, and yanked him to his feet as if he were a straw man. “You couldn’t leave things alone, could you? You had to mess with stuff, push things too far, didn’t you? Just had to show off, didn’t you? Make the door come back!”

  Henry sprung to his feet. “Ease up, Nash. Something’s wrong with him.”

  “He hasn’t begun to hurt yet.” Nash let his large fist fly.

  Henry acted before thinking. He stepped between Nash and Zeisler just in time to catch the blow on the back of his own head. He felt the thud, and his scalp was on fire with pain. The force of the blow rattled Henry’s brain. His legs weakened, and his knees buckled. Darkness flooded in from the edges of his eyes. He dropped to his knees and fought against the tide of unconsciousness rolling over him.