by Vaughn Ashby
Jones cut the lock on the chain link fence, tucked his lock cutters away, and spun around with a giant shit-eating grin on his face. It had been months since he’d been on an explorers outing, as he liked to call it. Even with his face mask on, he was sure his grin was visible from space. He didn’t understand people’s problems with wearing masks. He often wore one while exploring. He’d had a friend, acquaintance really, breathe in some nasty dust, something or other, and was sick for months. Jones and his fellow explorers quickly added masks to their equipment list and wore masks before ‘it was cool’, as Jones loved to say in the least cool way possible.
With the lock cutters put away, Jones, along with his two teammates: Hunt, a big bearded, gut having, golf shirt wearing guy, and Wag, short for Wagner, a slight British, tank top wearing woman who Jones had seen fit to fall madly in love with since the day he first laid eyes on her. But like most things in life, well other than exploring, he played it safe with her. Never telling her his feelings. He didn’t want to wreck what they all had.
The three of them, thumbs upped each other, and Hunt and Wags followed Jones’’ khaki beige pants into the long abandoned sewer entrance. The three of them had been exploring the undergrounds of the city for close to three years together, before The Virus hit. Now, nine months after the first lockdown, and after the second wave, they were finally back together. They met on occasion in parks around the city, distanced from each other, with all three of them living alone. They needed human connection in person from time to time. Now that the restrictions were easing, they were allowed to be each other's cohorts once again... Cohorts was a funny word, and a confusing topic. It seemed like everywhere had a different definition. But as of now, they were a group.
The first section of the sewer tunnel wasn’t different from most created at the same time. Tall enough to walk through, small mossy plants forced their ways through cracks in the cement walls and floor, and there was a small trickle of water snaking through along the floor. They’d been able to get to the sewer entrance because no one had been at the light rail train station nearby. They’d jumped down near the tracks and jogged down along them for less than a minute. With the reduced number of commuters, the train ran less often. It also meant there was no transit security.
As the three of them ventured further and further into the darkness of the sewer, they each turned on their headlamps and checked their radios. Jones had long ago started referring to the other two by their last names only. Something he’d picked up, seeing his grandfather doing the same with his friends. Jones had always liked it, that the trend didn’t take long to spread to Wag and Hunt.
The conversation was awkward at times as the three of them traveled further and further into the tunnel. But who could blame them, they hadn’t been around other people in forever. After a dozen direction choices, the three of them acted as if they had spent no time apart.
Less than a half hour after starting, the team reached a floodway that they’d only seen in pictures. Jones had found this route online in an Urban Explorers web forum. The post he read detailed the history of the floodway and how the three story high subterranean structure had been built.
As Wag and Hunt snapped pictures, Jones examined the spray painted walls, mostly he was curious that at different levels up the wall the water washed away more and more of the art. The art at the bottom of the wall was smudged and unreadable, whereas the art on the top was still pristine. The alarming part was just how high the smudge level went. If Jones stood on his tip toes, he’d still be below the level. He turned and took in the room, which really was more of the size of a hall the size of an ice rink, and up three stories. The amount of water it would take to get the water levels to rise above his head was staggering, frightening really.
Across the floodway, Wag and Hunt were snapping pictures of something that had been spray painted on the ceiling. Jones joined them. He had to squint to read it. In large cursive black letters was ‘The Aurora Wasteland is everywhere’ followed by hashtag 317811. Jones stared at it confused. He didn’t understand any of it. Wag and Hunt laughed as they filled him in on just what the Aurora Wasteland was. That they’d actually been doing some urban exploring for them, examining strange and weird locations across the city. They told him it was like urban exploring with a paranormal flair.
At first, he thought it was interesting, then he was a little hurt that they’d never invited him to join them. Then he noticed Wag’s finger brush across Hunt’s hand. They were together, like together together, like in ways he wanted to be with Wag.
Like a mopey teenager, Jones crossed the expanse of the floodway, he needed a second to process what he’d witnessed, but instead, he stumbled into an adjoining room that hadn’t been on their map or pictures. He dusted cobwebs from his shoulders as he took in the room. It was an old subway station. Sunlight from a sewer drain above shined down on the dust filled air below. Jones was happy he had his mask on.
A subway sign labeling that station as ‘Stop 144’, hung in the middle above where the track would be. Jones peered over the edge, the train tracks themselves were long gone. Water now trickled down where the track used to be. The smell of the station matched its essence, that of shit. It was falling apart and smelled like a toilet. While it was interesting that it existed, the fact that it obviously had been used as a toilet, or that toilet water had been dropped down here, had really damaged the exploration value that the train station had.
Just as Jones was about to walk his khaki pants back to Wag and Hunt, he noticed something across the track. It looked like a firefighter's jacket. Jones grabbed his radio, told Wag and Hunt that he was going to check something out, then hopped down into the water where the subway tracks used to be, and then climbed back up the other side. The firefighter's jacket stood before him, only previously Jones had thought it was just laid over something, and while that was still partly true, he hadn’t expected it to be draped over an actual firefighter.
Jones walked around the firefighter's jacket and the skeleton it was on. He’d watched enough movies to know that he didn’t want the skeleton reaching for him. As he came around the other side, he noticed something. A glowing black orb was floating in the skeleton’s hands that stood frozen, his fingers acting like a prison cell for it.
Cautiously, and very aware of the skeleton, Jones got down on his hands and knees and leaned in closer. The orb pulsed and flowed around itself. He so badly wanted to touch it, to hold it like the firefighter, he… the back of Jones’ head bounced off the subway floor. A stream of safe for work profanities streamed from his subconscious mouth. Then Wag and Hunt were there. They were checking him over. He could hear their voices, but his head pounded, and opening his eyes felt like a task he’d rather not do.
The image of the orb in the skeleton’s hands filled his mind. It was all he could see, all he could think of. It grew on itself, filling him more and more. Then, Wag and Hunt were yelling at him to open his eyes. Their voices were panicked.
Tentatively Jones opened his right eye. The station he had been in was different. It was beautiful. Black subway tiles lined the floor and walls, a beautiful skylight lit up the station, and he could feel the rumble of an approaching train. But… Wag and Hunt were gone, only he could still hear their voices. They were still telling him to open his eyes.
Jones got to his feet, and noticed the station sign, labeling the train station as ‘Stop 377’. He shook his head, which was an instant mistake, his head screamed at him in pain, sharp pain, right on the back of his skull. He closed his eyes at the pain.
The voices of Wag and Hunt were still calling for him. Jones opened his left eye, and he was back in the poop smelling train station, Wag and Hunt’s concerned faces staring at him. He was standing, the skeleton had now collapsed onto the floor, the orb was gone.
Jones tried to open his right eye at the same time he had the left open, but a searing, tearing pain tore through his head. It screamed at him, and he closed both eye
s.
The urban exploring rule for their group was if anyone shows even the slightest hint of an injury they take them to the hospital. There was way too much stuff in abandoned places that could make you sick, so they took no chances. Though to be fair, it normally involved someone stepping on a rusty nail. Searing pain when you have both eyes open was new.
The journey out for them would take almost half an hour, but as Wag and Hunt confirmed on their maps, if they took the sewer grate exit back in the floodway, they could be on the street in a matter of minutes. Then they could call an ambulance for Jones.
Minutes later they were helping Jones climb the ladder up to the sewer grate back in the floodway. Hunt was first, then Jones, followed by Wag. Halfway up, Jones opened his right eye, he wanted to take in the floodway one last time. He opened his eye to find the floodway topped to the brim with water, with him several meters below the surface. He laughed and tried to breathe, but water rushed into his lungs, he closed his eye, and… the water was gone. He coughed and spit up water, almost falling off the ladder, but Wag and Hunt balanced him and dragged him up to the street above. Where they were greeted by a protest in action. Thousands of people held up signs demanding equal rights for black people. Jones opened his left eye to see they were on 89th street. He’d heard the movement was staging a protest there, he’d actually thought it was the next day and had planned to attend.
As he laid there, Hunt vanished, leaving Jones there alone with Wag. Her hand placed gently on his arm, he badly wanted to tell her how he felt. He wanted to tell her that she should be with him. But he loved both of them so much, he couldn’t do that to Hunt. So Jones said nothing, as his heart ached. Jones closed his right eye, and curious he opened his left. The crowd for the protest vanished, as did Wag. Jones was alone in the street. There was silence, and at first, he thought there was snow falling. It didn’t take long for him to realize what it really was, ash. Ash was falling from the sky. A single piece fell onto his cheek, and he screamed from the heat of it. He closed both eyes in response, then opened his left eye again.
Wag was back, but his head again felt like it was going to split open. He wondered what exactly was happening to him. Why was he seeing some other view of his world? Was it a premonition of the future? He hoped not. He… the pain in his head started to grow, piling upon itself. Building over and over. Feedback, it felt like feedback. Jones screamed and… a paramedic was looking Jones over, Hunt was back. He was holding Wag. They seemed concerned, then something out in the street caught their attention. The medic told them counter-protesters had shown up, alt right, white supremacists.
Jones’ head hurt so much, he wanted relief, he needed relief. He closed his right eye and opened his left. The ash was back, the world felt hotter. There was heat coming from somewhere he couldn’t see.
Jones got to his feet. His head still hurt, but it felt manageable here. He got to his feet and… something grabbed him. He turned to see who or what it was, but saw nothing. Whatever it was yanked him again. Jones tumbled forward onto his face, prompting his nose to start bleeding. Then again, something grabbed him, his ankle. This time, it pulled him down the street over the fallen ash. Jones screamed as each hot piece of ash touched him.
About a block before it started, whatever had pulled Jones, stopped, rolled him over to his back, and just as Jones was about to close his left eye, something pierced through him. Jones screamed in pain and closed both eyes. He could feel the warm blood from inside him leaking out.
Laying there in the middle of the empty street, bleeding all over the fallen ash, Jones closed his left eye and opened his right as he shook.
Hunt and Wag were gone. A group of counter protesters, from the alt-right group, were around him. They had attacked the protesters, and somehow Jones had been dragged into it.
The fight around him was furious. His head felt like it had been split into two. Then he looked up through the fight. Ash started to fill the sky. Panicked, Jones closed his eye and opened the other. The ash was gone, as was the fighting, he… another sharp pain. More of his blood began leaking out of him, Jones' khaki pants were red.
He switched eyes again, the glow from the tiki torches held by the alt-right group lit up the falling ash. There were so many of them and the ash blotted out the sky.
Jones laid there, he hoped his friends were okay. He hoped they would be happy together because this all felt like too much for him. He thought back to the skeleton and the orb. He wondered what it was. He hoped no one would ever have to go through what he did.
The cold blood mixed with the hot falling ash as Jones opened both eyes at the same time. In an instant, his brain felt like it was tearing apart. He could see the two worlds, one laid on top of the other. It was beautiful.
Newspaper Headlines
“Trace amounts of unidentifiable ash found at BLM rally” - Edmonton Epoch
“Firefighter vanishes following fire at Aurora Wasteland storage facility” - Brightness Falls Gateway
“Multiple worlds theory proven to be true, at local fast food restaurant” - E-Calgary Science Digest
“Alberta based khaki model killed in tragic attack” - khaki digest Newsletter
“Urban Explorers claim our own forgotten world will come back to haunt us” - Lethbridge Dark Times
Conclusion from the Narrator
That’s it, who knew that people were easy to… fuck my head hurts. I… I think I’m ready to start over again.
Jones I mean, sucks to be him right, what’s the lesson learned here? Don’t touch skeletons holding glowing orbs while urban exploring? Yeah, that will work.
I need to close my eyes, the world can just be too much to bear sometimes.
THE THREAT OF ENDURING AN ETERNAL SUFFERING IS ENTIRELY POSSIBLE
INTRO FROM THE NARRATOR
After a year of agony and frustration, the world started to see sunlight again. A vaccine for The Virus was developed and tested. Multiple vaccines actually. The world collectively let out a sigh of relief. After enduring deniers, liars, and brainwashed Fox News watchers, the world was ready to come to its senses, roll up its sleeves, and move on.
But it wasn’t without its cost. Millions around the globe died. That number can’t be understated, with all the lockdowns, face masks, and other measures taken, there were still millions of people killed by The Virus. In the coming years, the actual real death toll will start to come out. It’s likely there are a few dictators and shitheads around the world lying about things. Science always wins, because science doesn’t give a fuck about you. The Virus is still The Virus. Burying your head in the sand doesn’t make The Virus cease to exist, it just gets you a mouth full of sand dookie.
I’m tired, did I mention that? I am ready to be done with it all. The second wave rolled right into the third, and well, it’s almost my time. My number has been pulled and I now know how this is all going to play out for me. Life around the world is stepping slowly back to normal. Every shot in the arm is a middle finger to The Virus that has been the most unpleasant dick to us.
This is my story, the end of my quarantine research. After this, I don’t know what I’ll work on. Times will change. There will be new, strange, and weird things to explore. The Aurora Wasteland is still out there. But I have to be honest, I’ve been putting these ideas out, and since I started, weird stuff has started happening to me. I glanced into the Aurora Wasteland and something looked back, something took notice.
Police report
Ok, there isn’t one. I’m not fucking worthy. At least not yet I’m not.
The Story
I took… well… nothing, this is my story. You cannot read the police reports, cannot connect it to other sources, cannot cross reference it with the Aurora Wasteland website, and well…let me know what you figure out because… well… you’ll see. Below is the story, my story, I was able to piece together…
I am The Narrator. I do have a name, but it doesn’t matter what it is. Like I said before, I�
��m an Aurora Wasteland Researcher. Well, at least lately I have been. I’ve been home for months. I picked up the hobby of looking into the strange and weird, which The Virus has brought out its fair share of. But it’s over, or well, it was supposed to be.
Where to start? How about the end, it makes the most sense. It was the day! The day we’ve all been waiting for, the day I was supposed to get my shot. I would get to roll up my sleeve and join the vaccinated herd. I couldn’t wait to be on the other side. While only a year, I remember it feeling like this whole thing had gone on for decades, no centuries. Time during The Virus was strange.
I threw my coat, mask, and shoes on, grabbed my wallet, and headed for the door. But as I reached for the handle, I had a strange feeling. It felt like something was watching me, like something was staring back at me, even though it was something I didn’t understand. I shrugged it off as paranoia, turned the knob, and stepped through my front door, only to find I stepped right back into my house. I could still see the outside world. Cars drove by, there were clouds in the sky, the world existed, and my stupid brick of a phone was laying on my front porch as if it was allowed to leave. Again I stepped through my front door, only to again step right back into my house, the outside world still waiting for me.
I’d read a lot about paranormal phenomena but I hadn’t read about this. I didn’t even know what to call this. I waved to the couple next door as they walked past my house. I think they saw me, but honestly, they’ve been kind of dicks since I put the taller fence up.