by Jack Castle
This still didn’t stop the leisure-bot from screaming at him underwater. He wasn’t sure, but it sounded like, “Guhrorge, come back to me, Guh-rorge!” as she sunk past him and vanished down into the murky depths. “Guhrogeeeee…”
George hit the throttle lightly again and continued his descent. To distract his mind from the notion of becoming a light snack for a colossal dinosaur, he checked the holographic navigational display over the handlebars. He steered the sled in the direction of the green arrow. George fully expected the sled to make noise, sort of like those futuristic flying cars on the Jetsons, but it didn’t. Probably just as well, bubbles or vibrations in the water might attract you know who.
The waiting was the worst part. Any second now, he was certain the leviathan was going to return and devour him as he had that poor submariner. His heart was hammering so hard that he thought it was going to beat right out of his chest. You gotta stop, he told himself. You gotta slow it down or you’re going to consume all of your oxygen before you get there.
Get where though? he wondered. He still had no idea where he was going or what he was doing down here. He was so busy re-checking the holographic display that he nearly ran into an algae-covered dome structure. The dome went on for miles in every direction. At first, he was thinking it was about the size of a football stadium, but now he was thinking it was at least four times the size of that.
He thought about stopping and getting off. But, even though the dome was a gentle slope, he was afraid if he got off, the sled would slide off without him. Then he definitely would have no way of getting back up. Instead, he simply puttered along sans George Jetson space-car noises.
There was no sign of a hatch or an entrance of any kind, just a smooth dome covered in algae and coral.
He checked the navigation console again. Four red arrows indicated he was on the right spot. He went to brush some of the algae that had collected on the monitor. When he did, the picture in the display suddenly zoomed in further, and he realized there was a zoom function. He wished that Kelpi had told him that. He might have saved a considerable amount of fuel and oxygen.
He saw the light blinking, with four red arrows. Now that he was zoomed in, he could see that he was close to the target area. Turning the sled in the direction of the new arrows, George traveled another ten minutes.
The power gauge was dropping to nearly one-fourth. He was approaching the point of no return. Once he passed that, there was no going back up. His dive suit didn’t come with any buoyancy control devices that he could inflate with his oxygen to ascend to the surface. This suit was much too heavy for him to swim back up. It only went one way and that was straight down.
Zooming along, George realized the arrows were pointing one way, and then suddenly changed directions. Whatever coordinates he was supposed to go to, he had missed them.
Steering the sled in a tight arc, he turned around. Now that he knew where to look this time, he saw it. A shadowy opening, about the width of a man’s shoulders, lay hidden amongst the pink coral crusting the dome. The dark abyss had to be a runner-up to what a black hole in space must look like.
To conserve power, he hopped off the sled and parked it next to a coral outcropping so his ride wouldn’t drift off or slide down the dome without him.
The suit was difficult to maneuver in but he was getting the hang of it. He lay down on his chest so he could peer into the hole.
George looked down. Can’t see, too dark. He reached down to the pouch on right thigh and removed a flare. He snapped it open and was rewarded with a painfully-bright, red phosphorous glow. George dropped the flare down into the abyss, and it descended into darkness.
If he dropped down there, it was most likely he wouldn’t be able to get back up in time. He checked his air gauge. Not much left, one hour tops, and he need most of that for his ascent.
This is looking more and more like a one-way trip.
The flare continued dropping without landing, then it dropped some more; and still nothing. I can’t see anything. He looked back at the sled propped up like a kid’s bicycle without a kickstand. It would be a tight fit, but I suppose I could squeeze the sled through the hole, and then jump on the sled on the other side of the dome’s ceiling. But, what if I can’t get the sled back up through the hole?
As he was thinking about this, movement beyond the sled caught his eye. He picked up the sled like an adolescent boy picked up his bike.
The Leviathan was back.
It had spotted him.
The sea monster knew he had nowhere to go, so it circled him, seemingly relishing the notion that he was helpless.
George remembered seeing a dinosaur movie back in the nineties. The paleontologist hero had discovered something about how a dinosaur’s sight was based on movement. He stared at the sled. Whether this was true or not, he wasn’t sure, but what other options did he really have? His toothpick of a knife?
He took a flare, popped it, and stuck it in-between the handlebars and throttle, so it was jammed. He had to brace his feet against the rocks to keep the sled from motoring off too soon.
Wait… wait for it.
The leviathan seemed to sense he was up to something now and was shooting through the water toward him with the speed of a torpedo. George held onto the sled for as long as he dared and then let it go. The sled sped off without him. The Leviathan had a choice: either go after the moving, glowing sled or the motionless diver.
It was closing in on him. Gosh that thing is fast. Twenty yards, ten yards… George squeezed his eyes shut and waited for the inevitable.
CRUNCH!
The plan worked; sort of. The monster chomped the sled up in one bite and veered off, but it had swum so close to George, that he had been swept up in its wake and blasted off his feet.
He survived, for the moment, but for how long? Even if the kronosaurus swam off, there was no getting back home now.
George got to his feet. He could see the leviathan turning around in a large swooping arc like a fighter jet.
They both seemed to spot the hole between them at the same time.
George ran for his life, but the water slowed him down; he could only lumber toward it like a man walking on the moon.
Stopping only for a moment at the edge of the hole and staring at the black abyss, he realized the choice had already been made.
He spotted the creature hurtling toward him. Not daring to hesitate a second longer, he stepped off the edge and entered into oblivion.
Chapter 15
Malt Shop
As he dropped down into the hole of the dome, George didn’t see the jaws of the leviathan CHOMP overhead, but he sure felt the ripple of the wave caused by them.
That had been a lot closer than I had planned.
Splayed out like a starfish, George floated downward, feet first. With the dome blocking out the sun overhead, he was soon completely immersed in darkness. The light from the hole above him was getting farther and farther away.
Checking his depleted oxygen gauge, he was now well aware this was a one-way trip. Maybe that was Kelpi the Annoying Mermaid’s purpose all along. But why not just kill me on the surface? Maybe she couldn’t kill people.
Still sinking.
How fast? Is it too fast? He really had no idea. The suit was heavy. That much he knew. If and when he did land on the sea floor, he didn’t want to strike it so hard he’d break his legs.
Still descending, but to where? George tapped the flashlight but it did little to penetrate the inky blackness. His training kicked in and he began reporting what he saw, “Visibility--only about ten feet.” He was well aware that this was ridiculous since no one could hear him. He was on his own, but reporting the details aloud somehow gave him something else to think about.
George reached down to the pouch on his thigh. Only three flares left.
He decided to risk it. He popped one and dropped it down below him.
Before the flare winked out completely, he thought he gl
impsed something far below, in the darkness.
It almost looked like…rooftops. Like those belonging to a middle-sized town. Yeah, those are rooftops. Am I saved?
As though sensing his presence, lights in various buildings began winking on. First the ones in the gas station on the outskirts of town, and then other lights were coming on too.
It wasn’t an undersea city, or some futuristic sea port. It literally looked like a submerged small town, with a white-steeple church at one end of the street, and a main street running through a modest downtown.
As he slowly descended overlooking the town, he felt a bit like Mary Poppins, holding her umbrella and coming in for landing.
He popped another flare.
Unless he found more oxygen soon, this recovery mission was over before it began.
He finally touched down in the middle of the street. It was weird. It was like he was transported back in time to a small town in rural America, only back in the late fifties or early sixties.
The only thing separating it from Middletown, USA in the sixties was the entire town was completely submerged underwater.
More lights in buildings were coming on, streetlamps were coming on. Even the single traffic light at the main crossroads began working. He was glad he didn’t hit any powerlines or buildings when he flew in and touched down onto the middle of the street--like Superman swooping in for a landing. Which is it, George? Mary Poppins or Superman? He thought, you need to pick one. He grinned, Superman. Maddie and Tessa would’ve said Poppins.
George noted that several starfish had made their home on many of the walls of the buildings and streetlamps.
As more lights continued to flicker on, he leaned back and tried to stare up at the hole in the roof of the dome. He could almost make out a pinprick of white light. If he hadn’t known where to look, he would’ve never known that it was there.
What is this place?
It occurred to him he might be hallucinating from the effects of nitrogen, but before he could contemplate this possibility any further, a nurse shark swam lazily down Main Street, meandering back and forth. Other than putting his hand on the hilt of his knife, he remained perfectly still. Fortunately, the shark wasn’t interested and continued to swim on past him like a parade float in the Thanksgiving Day Parade.
His feet still heavy from the weights, he walked slowly to the nearest building.
It was a malt shop.
He was surprised he could hear the bell above the door jingle when he went inside. The interior would have been perfectly at home in any Norman Rockwell painting. The one with the two kids sitting at the counter, checkered tile floor, came to mind.
He half expected some smiling young man (what’d they call ‘em? Oh yeah, soda jerk) to pop up from behind the counter and ask him, “What’ll it be?” He chuckled to himself. Since when do you use words like soda jerk?
Even with the lights coming on, most of the joint was bathed in shadow.
The oxygen alarm in his suit began going off.
Movement caught the corner of his eye. He turned his head to the right and only saw the inside of his helmet. He shuffled around and stared out from the large glass-paned window with the words, Jack’s Malt Shop on it. He thought he saw a man outside the front window wearing a business suit and a fedora.
As soon as he turned away, he could’ve sworn he saw another person. Actually, this time, it was persons. Two young women wearing skirts, walking arm and arm started giggling as they walked past the window.
I must be hallucinating. Breathing in my own carbon dioxide. That’s the only answer.
This seemed likely, especially since the people weren’t moving through the water like he was, slow and cumbersome. No, they were walking at normal speed, like the entire town wasn’t submerged in water.
Were they ghosts?
It was getting more difficult to breath, and soon he began gasping for each breath.
Gosh, I would’ve loved to have seen this place without all the water in it. It’s beautiful. The architecture is amazing.
He sat on the nearest bar stool, rested his elbows on the edge of the counter and placed an order, “Soda jerk. I’ll have a malt for me and my little buddy.” No soda jerk popped up behind the counter to reply with a cheery, “Right away, Sir!” Instead, all he got was more flotsam floating by his face plate.
He became dizzy and the world tilted crazily, but he managed to hang on a little longer. He concentrated and was able to ride it out until it passed.
His suit alarm increased in tempo and was a harsh reminder that he didn’t have much time left on this world. Forcing himself to sit up straight once more, George noticed a sign hanging on the wall at the end of the counter.
He stumbled over to the little sign and found it draped over a giant lever. That’s weird. The sign and lever were the only things out of place in the entire Malt Shop.
The sign read: PULL LEVER
He dropped the sign and watched it float lazily float to the floor.
Pull lever, he thought drunkenly. What else do I have to lose? I’m going to die anyway.
George raised his right hand, grasped the strange lever firmly and pulled.
It didn’t budge.
He raised both hands to it, grasped the handle even tighter and pulled. Still it did not move. George hung from the handle with the combined weight of his body and the diving suit.
The lever dropped and he heard a giant KER-CHUNK. Then a CLANK-CLANK-CLANKING noise, but as far as he could tell, nothing was really happening. He had expected a secret door to open or a sliding panel, but nothing happened.
Must be broken.
He backed up to the counter, his legs growing weak from a lack of oxygen. He lowered himself to the ground. He was really sucking air now as black spots began appearing before his eyes.
He wondered what Kelpi had meant by ‘the others.’ There were no others here. It was a 50’s town, under a broken dome, completely flooded with sea water. There was nothing here. No prison. No answers (no escape, no rescue). Nothing.
It was a dead end. A decoy. A stinkin’ red herring. He tried to think of more synonyms, but his oxygen deprived brain couldn’t come up with any.
He wheezed a few more breaths and wondered how many more he had left to him.
This is it. He wondered what explorers of the future would say if they ever found his corpse a hundred years from now, in diving suit, in a malt shop, in a flooded 50’s town.
I’m sorry Maddie. Daddy’s not coming home.
“Tessa, I’m on my way.”
George closed his eyes for the very last time.
Chapter 16
Hopper 04
“See that?”
Maddie pointed to a flashing blip on a display screen mounted on the dash between the two front seats. Henry leaned forward and saw the blip just before it vanished. Seeing this too, Maddie thumped the console with her gloved fist, and it soon returned.
“So,” Henry started. Judging by his tone he was obviously unhappy. “What is it?”
“It’s our heading,” Maddie responded and hit the accelerator so hard that Henry fell back into his seat. As the Hopper circumnavigated several obstacles, Maddie studied the landscape as much as she was able. Judging by the dilapidated buildings, broken city streets and jagged hulks sticking out of the frozen tundra like marooned ships, they were obviously entering the ruins of some mid-sized city of days long gone by.
After a few seconds of zipping around the obstacles at high speeds, Maddie eased back on the throttle to avoid hitting anything that might be hidden under the thick layer of snow. The Hopper was tough, but there was no point pushing its structural limits.
Traxx began to explain to Henry how the sensors were calibrated to pick up possible weapon caches, medicines, or foodstuffs. Maddie stopped listening to him, as she often did, when he would happily launch into a tirade of technical jargon.
As Traxx’s voice droned on, Maddie recalled how her dad used to
take her on salvage and mapping expeditions. At the time, she was more interested in learning how to drive the Hopper, fight and shoot weapons. As they explored, he would tell her how the world used to be, how cities were filled with millions of people living ordinary lives.
Growing up in Pensacola, Florida, Maddie remembered tourists walking on the beach and all the traffic her mom would complain about whenever they drove into town. As years passed, it was getting harder and harder to recall her youth. It was harder still, because Traxx couldn’t remember anything about his life before Stranger World. Like Henry, he was a boy without a past. Maybe that’s why the two of them were getting along so well.
Maddie turned the Hopper down another street filled with rusted cars, bent-over street signs and flooded fissures, until finally pulling up to what appeared to be a dilapidated mall.
Traxx double-checked his readings and stated what she already knew. “I think we’re here.”
Outside the forward window, snow weighed down the thick branches of a nearby evergreen, and ice crystals hung everywhere the eye could see. Even with the ruined buildings and city bus half-submerged in snow, for Maddie, this was real beauty. Not like that fake garbage they were peddling in the parks that most people seemed to prefer.
She breathed the words, “It’s beautiful.”
“What did ya say?” Henry asked, still in his seat behind her.
She set the Hopper in Watchdog mode and got up from her seat. Squeezing past Henry, she replied, “I said, c’mon snowflake. It’s time to gear up.”
Henry Gears Up
Henry dutifully followed Maddie and Traxx through the accordion-like causeway back into the payload compartment. Once there, Maddie began opening up lockers and removing gear. First, she pulled on a thick wrist gauntlet made of worn leather over her forearm. Like the rest of their gear, the homemade gauntlet was purposeful, yet piecemealed together. Also haphazardly sewn into her gauntlet was a flashlight, compass and a sleeve for some sort of multi-tool.
Maddie must have seen him staring because she was now staring right back at him with raised eyebrows. Before he could explain, she pointed at him and asked, “See that thing on your chest?”