Scourge of Dust

Southwest United States

The rising mid-day sun baked the dry brittle land as wave of heat glistened just above the desert floor creating the image of a distant oasis calling to the weary travelers.  But Jonathon Billingsly merely readjusted his hair within the cramped sentry post trying to position himself within the feeble breeze whispering from the radial fan.  No matter how he tried to justify it, this was not how he foresaw his life the last few years.  One training mistake, two degrees further right, and he would be abroad right now, doing his part to answer his nation’s call. 

He blinked as the sunlight’s gaze shifted lower within the post, ricocheting off his metal crutches resting against the sidewall.  He pushed the pain from his memory.  No matter how much rehabilitation he participated in, he couldn’t change the past.  Jonathon returned to staring out the same small window he had for the last eight hours for the last shift and every previews shift since he started.  He could count the number of animals he had seen on barely one hand, and knew that their were more cactuses surrounding the distant hillside then times a vehicle had entered his base.  In all intends and purposes, Jonathon Billingsly was gatekeeper for Hell.

    His wristwatch chimed twice, drawing his attention to the telephone resting between a picture of a foreign uninhabited island and three log books. The phone began to ring.  He leaned forward, lifting up the receiver knowing that the person on the other line could act all she wanted, but Ensign Julia Jones but her warm compassionate voice hid a bitter anger at her job assignment.  “1400 report.”

“I believe that the cactus five hundred yards down is plotting to pillage our base come nightfall.  Is your will in order?”  Jonathon asked.

“Cut the chatter Billingsly.  Report in.”

He sighed.  Humor was wasted within the military.  “Gate 3 secure.”
   
The other line clicked off without a words remorse.  Jonathon could only smile to himself, knowing that for at least the next ten seconds, Jones’ would be so full of unstated anger that she might mess up and accidentally trigger a warhead to destroy the base.  He could only wish—

A streak of silver light materialized from the distant hillside, hovering above the ground.   Jonathon sprawled against the wall behind him, trying to determine the location of his binoculars, his hands finally wrapping around the aluminum frame.  Desperately, he brought the lens to his eyes trying to understand the unanswered question of what the foreign object was.  As he adjusted, his jaw dropped slightly as his left hand knocked the receiver from its cradle and clumsily put it to his ear.

“Billingsly, if this is another wise crack or an attempt to woo me, it’s not going to fly.”

“Get the reserve troops out at Gate 4 immediately, we have a breach.  I repeat we have a breach.”

No sooner had the words fallen from his gapping mouth but the distant wail of the base alarm began to roar throughout the canyons as three troop transports leapt from the starting gate, speeding towards Gate 4.  Reserve troops checked ammunition clips while some readjusted the hastily thrown together wardrobe of rifles, pistols and grenades. 

The phone rang sharply once before it was adhered to Jonathon’s ear once more, his eyes locked on the distant object. 

“Billingsly, I want to know exactly what is going on,” barked Commanding Officer George Xanis.

“Under—understood.”

With the click of a toggle, the chain link gate began to slide apart, yielding enough room for the three transports burst past.  “The transports are heading out toward the hillside less than a quarter mile from my station.  They are preparing to stop, and the unidentified object is still situated on the hill, and appears to be bobbing up and down slowly.”

“What is it son?”

“It’s a silver sphere.”  Jonathon whispered through parched lips.   “As of five minutes ago when I sent in my proximity report, it was not present.  The troops are now getting out of the transports and circling the sphere.  I’m not—“

A blue shockwave erupted from the center of the sphere, racing outwards with a furious, unrelenting speed.  The troopers were pushed backwards as the shockwave swept over them, a burst of orange light erupted from the sphere, forcing Jonathon to drop the phone to shield his eyes with both fists.  The glow slowly subsided as Jonathon struggled to adjust to the sudden shifts in light mixed with the last five minutes worth of development.  The phone rested near the floor as the faint electronical impulsive demands leaked out as Jones and Xanis requested answers.

Jonathon picked up the phone as his senses began to return but stopped as he stared out toward the transports.  They were gone, replaced with smoking twisted metal.  The reserve troops—Jonathon couldn’t look away from the sheer unimaginable scene before him.  The sphere was gone, replaced with a crater 15-20 feet across and the same down.  The troops were on their backs, crystallized, their eyes shimmering with fear as they stared at where the sphere had reacted.   “They..they are all dead sir.  The sphere—it released some kind of an explosion, I don’t know what to make of it.”

“Stay put soldier.  We are scrambling an Arrowheart from San Arka to be onsite in less that 2.”

“Sir, with all due respect, I think that that won’t be soon enough.”  Jonathon gulped, reaching for his assault rifle. 

From within the crater, the outline of a human body appeared from within the burning smoke.  Two crystal blue eyes evaluated the carnage before centering on the sentry post.  A booted foot appeared from the lip of the crater as the being began to move forward.

“My God…”  Sweat rose on his forehead as he released the rifles safety, releasing a single click.

The being spun towards the sound, it’s eyes staring directly into Jonathon’s soul.  He froze as the being began to run toward the post as the receiver while distant engines of the incoming Arrowhearts grew closer.  Jonathon blinked, clearing his mind as his focus returned, training taking over the place of fear.  He brought up the rifle as the being stopped three feet from his door, the head gyrating slowly. 

The being resembled that of a young adult human being, wrapped up within a burnt orange combat fatigues.  He carried no weapons, his hip holster empty.  His hair was disheveled, gray with tinges of golden black strands coursing through.  He raised his right hand slowly, his eyes locked calmly on Jonathon while he rose and limped against the doorframe, the rifle unwavering.  “You are trespassing on government land.  Put your hands behind your head and drop to the ground NOW.”

The man’s jaw twitched.   The bullet was slicing through the air before Jonathon could realize his reaction.  The bullet zipped forward, arching toward the man, connecting with his sternum, the force of the impact thrusting the man backwards…or should have.  His feet shifted, digging in as the bullet dug deep.  His eyes transitioned from a calm to a clouded anger.  The faintest of fear crossed across his lips as the rifle dipped.  The man closed his eyes as his forehead furrowed.  A second later, the bullet rematerialized, falling to the ground.

The anger dissolved as the man gasped.  He turned motioning toward Jonathon.  “What is, what is today’s date?”

The words were forced through a raspy throat.  The words struck Jonathon both curiously and suspicious.  “Why should I answer this, you are the one that is trespass—“
“Please.  It’s important, what is today’s date?!” he demanded shaking his head as he regained his composure, his eyes scanning the sky as the Arrowhearts appeared on the horizon.

“December 5th.”

He shook his head, “I know that.  What year.”

“What do you mean what year is this, it’s 1941.”

The man stepped forward, a renewed determination returned to his eyes.  “My name is LK-3.  I’m here on a matter of national security.  I’m here to save the world.”

Sepia Moon - short story

Moonlight crept across the cobble stone path, blistering and puncturing the canyons with sweeps of pale white light. A cold mist clung to the edges of the forest, anchored by the contorted limps of long dead Aspen Pine trees. Between the edges of the guarded path, the evening darkness stretched, clawing to take you into its care.

A whisper of autumn leaves danced across the path as branches bent and cracked far off, displacing creatures deeper into the untold world within the forest. Lights twinkled mischievously from beneath the brush as a large wooden beast rumbled atop the uneven road. The eyes followed the beast, staring up in hesitation as a glowing orange fire filled the beasts body, leaking from slits along the side. The beast’s head turned, surveying the night as it tightened around its soul. The beast lurched as a cobble stone fell apart, damaging a mighty foot as those curious raced away.

A long blast of shaky air left the coach driver as he dropped from the high backed drivers bench, muttering in frustration, as the wooden wheel lay splintered and dead, smashed beneath the broken axel.

It was destined, he swore, that tonight of all nights the mysteries of the world would rear up to lay claim to the chaos. He tightened the coat harder, the blood draining from his hands as the cold air enveloped him. Quickly, he risked a glance into the coach, relived to see the jarring had not awakened his passenger. He added a quarter can of oil to the lamp to ensure it would not extinguish, and prepared to replace the axel.

Metal clicked and scraped as the driver struggled, all the while his mind drifting into memories of a warm fire set within the heart of a seaside living area. High backed plush chairs rested as a woman hid in the shadows, a hand reaching out, slowly stroking the coals. The driver stood in the archway, coat and top hat clenched in his hands, his eyes transfixed on the fire.

“They claim that you are the best Mr. Davien,” the woman spoke airily, her words sewn together in a hint of a foreign tongue.

Mr. Davien smiled for the first time since entering. “I do not consider myself the best ma’am, I do however take my profession serious.”

“They also stated your modesty.”

“I promise nothing less than getting you to your destination.”

The hand paused, considering his answer. Mr. Davien shifted on his heels, feeling that unseen eyes were stripping away his clothes and skin, penetrating his will and soul.

“You would need to leave within the hour.”

“I am prepared to depart now ma’am, if you are ready.”

“Not me Mr. Davien, something far more valuable.”

This stopped him. He held his tongue and remained silent as the details were announced, a knot tightening in his stomach, his eyes growing slowly. Once she had concluded Davien cleared his throat. “It shall be done ma’am.”

A crow cawed within the trees, ripping Mr. Davien back to reality. He chastised himself for the momentary lapse of relaxation, knowing that he had to be at the destination before the morning sun awoke

He continued jockeying the wheel and axel into place but froze, hearing the distant footfalls of an animal. He whirled, racing a wrench in self-defense. The path behind him was deserted save for a shaft of moonlight. The footfall’s continued, growing louder and closer. Davien strained his eyes staring at the bend in the road as a shadow materialized, bathed in the light.

A horse stood on the cobblestone path, its head shaking as two bursts of air bled from the snout. A figure rode atop, all discernable details lost in the shadow. “Hello there!” Davien shouted, drawing the attention of the horse. “May I request momentary assistance?”

The horse remained still, the figure reached into his overcoat, extracting a thin object that glinted in the light. He brought the object up to lip as the horse nayed. All at once, the air around Davien tightened and collided against his body. His eyes burst open in pain as he crashed to his knees, screaming air roared in his ears while a weak gurgle of air seeped from Davien’s mouth. The pain seared deeper crushing nerve endings in his back and arms. Davien smashed his eyes closed, praying the pain would pass swiftly.

The pain intensified forcing his eyes open again as a stream of blood erupted from his right eye, bathing his left in a crimson veil. A pain erupted in the back of his head as suddenly all noise seized. Through the pain and blood, the horseman approached slowly, standing above Davien. The crushing air vanished, Davien’s body collapsed. The man returned the object to his vest pocket, a checkerboard of teeth smiled beneath a wide brimmed hat.

“I’ll be relieving you of your burdening cargo Mr. Davien,” the voice laughed.

Davien could only stare out his left eye as the burst eye continued leaking blood adding to the pool forming from his ears. He watched the man’s mouth move, unable to hear a word as the man blurred, moving toward the coach door. He tried to speak, to reach the man, but only produced a liquid gargle. He coughed, but the blood continued to fill his burst lungs.

The man stared into the coach, lifting up Davien’s package. The skin glistened a pale green in the moonlight, a swatch of black hair fell from the tight blanket as the child stirred in its sleep.

“We have been waiting for you, son of Frankenstein.” The man roared as Mr. Davien stared down the darkened tunnel expanding before him. The man lifted a pistol from his belt, chanting in a foreign tongue as he shifted the baby in his arm and fired.

The forest echoed with the gunshot as Mr. Davien slipped into universal darkness.

Oh Sweet Wand

Poetic and lyrical
Creative or critical
Language sings, words rythme
While the muse dictates the time
Flow of ink
No moment to think
Write, oh sweet wand write.

Imagination or exploitation
A smatter of fantasy
A whisper of reality
The hand transcribes
Whilst the mind describes
Write, oh sweet wand write.

Brain twists and Plot storms
The page demands a form
A rhetoric from tip to tale
The current rips across the sail
Write, oh sweet wand write.

Chapters pass and bend
Stanzas meet a tragic end
Prose dips below the stage
Write, oh sweet wand write.

Mystify forgotten dream
Characters driven into team
Write, oh sweet wand write.

How to carry on the flame once the story meets reframe
Write, oh sweet wand write.

Snow

Silence mystifies the darkened eve
Crystallized tears cascade from humble guardian angels
Blanketing my freshly shoveled driveway.