I wandered around the camp. Nobody stopped me Nobody did anything but look nervous. Some observations:
1.There had been a fire. Several fires, actually, I kept finding more scorched areas as I investigated. Patches of the jungle were blackened, withered stumps. I found the remains of what must have been tents; the plastic pipes that had held them up were melted and bent. Rolls of the tent material were haphazardly piled near a stone wall. Was someone going to rebuild?
2.Worn orange wires criscrossed the camp. They led to outdoor lights lashed to trees with plastic zip-ties. I found a few of those, and also a loudspeaker that presumably one could bellow through to issue commands to underlings.
3.The stone buildings were very old; they were pitted and full of holes, and when the breeze kicked up they moaned like huge stone flutes. The architectural style was diet gothic; not a lot of the little fiddly ornamentation you see on gothic buildings, but the basic silhouette was the same. I wondered who’d built this stuff and how long ago.
The ruins were full of crannies, and I found one fully-operational stone tunnel I could crawl in. And the jungle was dense, but it had passages one could duck, climb through and vanish into. Very nice.
During one such expedition I lifted a nest of dried leaves and found a lighter like you’d use on a gas stove or grill, old and a little rusted, and a dirty plastic bottle of Kingsford Odorless Lighter Fluid. I covered them up again so whoever had put them there wouldn’t get suspicious, but I knew about them now. Very VERY nice.
I found a baseball game. The young men ran about, throwing a worn-out-looking ball with loose stitching. When the ball was in the air its leather hide came partially loose, causing it to spin erratically. The players had an aluminum bat that had seen better days, but I wanted it for my own use.
It seemed pretty high-school normal; there were even some girls watching and clapping on occasion, over there under the trees. They weren’t playing the game themselves. Why were they associating with jerks? Typically incomprehensible behavior.
“Batter up, yeah? I bet you’re wondering why nobody leaves,” said Dr. Jeff Harrigan, appearing beside me like a chess piece dropped onto the board.
I looked up into his tiny ball-bearing eyes. He was a little taller than I was, and it was obviously something he enjoyed. I didn’t say anything.
“They’re devoted to my cause, that’s why.” Big grin, inviting questions.
“What cause is that?”
“Making a new world, one mankind can move to when the Earth is finally depleted. What did you think?”
“We’re all missing, aren’t we? Abducted. Nobody even knows about it, though. Do you have something going in on the media to keep it quiet?”
He smiled a little, cold and smug. “Always so direct. No, you haven’t been abducted. This is all perfectly legal. You’re still there.”
“I am? How?” I was falling back on the fiction I’d consumed: movies, games, books. “Is this a simulation, am I in a VR coffin, something like that?”
He grinned. “Nope. You’re literally still there, walking around, doing tiktok dances and eating avocado toast, whatever young people do these days. You’re just a copy. There’s still an Owen moping around on Earth, just like there’s one here.” He gestured expansively at the players. “All of them, and you. All still there.”
I’d been holding my phone, using the App, and here I was. It had been instantaneous. It was also absurd for any number of reasons, of course.
“I bet you’re wondering how,” he said.
I watched him.
He grinned. The grin faded slightly as he saw I wasn’t going to bite. “Call it Magic,” he said. “I wanted to name it the Harrigan Force, but that’s kind of egotistical. The physical laws here are different. Think about it; if magic were real back on Earth, it would be the basis of entire industries, entire civilizations. We can do that here, and make a new start. Think about it.”
I swear this part is true: he faced away towards the horizon and gazed into the middle distance. “We can save humanity.”
If I’d been afraid of him before, it was doubly so now. Dramatic speeches are a red damn flag. But I couldn’t keep my dumb mouth shut. “What’s keeping people from leaving?”
“Leaving?” he said irritably. “Don’t you see the benefits of this?”
“Isn’t there a job I could do to help your cause, one where I could get on a boat and explore?”
“No no, it’s too dangerous by far. I’d be an irresponsible leader if I let anyone go out there.” He looked to the left as he said it, not meeting my eyes.
The mark of the Liar, looking to the left like that. But Harrigan was interested in our exchange, I could tell. Perhaps nobody else was snotty to his face, so I kept going. “You owe it to us. You stole us, didn’t you? Tell me why.”
He scowled. “Science is its own reward, Owen. But I’m also going to save the world. Humanity can’t keep going like it is.”
“An exploration team could find things to help humanity, then,” I said. There was no use, clearly, but why not badger him? Like I said: he seemed to like it. “You say magic is a real item here. What if you explored and found a cure for cancer? Or another civilization? I mean, this is another planet, isn’t it?”
Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.
“Not quite. Close but nope.” He smiled wistfully. “I’d forgotten about this, with you. You just want to leave. I don’t want you to die out there, Owen.”
“Appreciate it. So what’s the goal? Trying to set up a colony here?”
“It could happen,” he said, warming to the topic. “Do you want to know how?”
It was a fair question. But I’d read a lot of history on my own time. “Who’s already here? Who will we be exterminating?”
His mouth drooped at the corners and his nose went up. “Virtue signaling isn’t welcome.”
“How about this: will everyone be able to come here? Every human being?”
More mouth drooping.
“Well?” I pressed him. “Everyone? Or just certain people? Certain types of people?”
He turned with his decisive coat swoosh. “It’ll getting dark. You don’t want to be out here; report to the men’s tent.” And off he stalked.
I didn’t want to sleep in the men’s tent. Young men are dangerous, foolish and cruel. But it had to be tried; I needed to know a few things. And the tent full of murderous young ladies probably wouldn’t welcome me.
The strutting, preening men were led by one Sean, who had been mentioned by Dr. Jeff Harrigan as my point of contact. A middle-manager, perhaps.
Nobody discussed escape or resentments or shared any prison craft, like sending secret messages or making a dessert with the meager supplies at hand. Because this was a prison.
Nobody mentioned the disappearance of the aggressive fellow I’d watched Mandy haul to the sea. It was simply not being discussed. Very firmly.
Sean introduced himself to me. He was a burly specimen with a low forehead and a crewcut, mid twenties, a little older than everyone else here. Clean-shaven, muscular, pale of skin with freckles. Oddly familiar. Did I recognize him from something? Was this a reality show, in the end? Would he be complaining to a camera crew about this later?
His face was unpleasantly handsome, with eyebrows handcrafted for cruelty and a weapons-grade chin.
“The Doc told you to ask for me,” he said. “Let’s get you on the fishing crew tomorrow.” He stuck out a hand. I shook it. I didn’t like him.
I faded away as best as I could; I didn’t take the cot Sean had offered just yet. I sat on the rumpled plastic floor with my back to the wall of the tent and watched.
They argued, joked and laughed. Pranks were played. Wrestling occurred. At one point the wrestling got a little more violent than it should have and Sean broke it up. He stood over the two panting combatants and angrily informed them they were gay, among other things he probably found insulting.
Sean caught my eye. "Hey, new guy. Get over here."
I hesitated, but his tone left no room for argument. As I approached, he slung a meaty arm around my shoulders.
"Listen up, everyone," Sean barked. This is Brian. Brian’s joining the fishing crew tomorrow. Make him feel welcome, okay?"
Reminder to my readers: I ain’t named Brian. Thank you.
The other guys eyed me with a mix of curiosity and wariness. One of them, a lanky kid with brown skin and a mop of curly hair, piped up. "Fishing crew?"
Sean's grip on my shoulder tightened. "Part of the job is setting up gear. Armand, we talked about this."
Armand quickly shrank back into the crowd.
"Anyone else got something to add?" Sean asked, his eyes sweeping the room. Silence. "Good. Brian, you got any questions? Now's the time."
The crowd of young men zeroed in on me. Faces blank, or hostile, or haunted. Might as well go for it. “How long have you guys been here?”
Sean answered when nobody else would. “I’ve been here longest, about six months. The Doc brings in a couple new people every day.” He spoke loudly, to the entire room.
They watched me and Sean. Mostly Sean. I don’t know people very well, but I detected no fondness from the group. Sean was surrounded by terrified subordinates.
“I’m going to leave,” I said matter-of-factly.
I heard an indrawn breath from somewhere. Not quite a gasp. The arm tightened around my shoulder. “Doc needs us here,” Sean said.
Shut your mouth, he was saying. Quite clearly; the indications on his face, the thinning of his lips, the lowering brow. His pale skin was reddening, little crimson patches on his cheeks.
I should stop asking questions in front of his peer group, that was becoming quite clear. He was regretting that he’d asked me. Stopping this would be wise. I should sit back down.
I asked: “Who was the girl today? At the other tent. She took someone to the beach.” My voice was stronger now.
Heh heh.
I’d thought everyone was quiet before. Now a genuine funereal hush descended. The group went hollow-eyed and despairing. I watched as adams apples bobbed, nervous swallows all around. No eye contact: not just with me or Sean. Nobody looked anyone else in the eye. The name of the girl had cast a spell.
“You’re good for now,” said Sean. He shoved me away into the group. “Time for bed, let’s hit it tomorrow, Brian and everyone else.” He trudged off to the other end of the tent.
“Leaving,” I said again before sitting down. “I’m leaving and I’m taking whoever else wants to go.”
Silence again. None of them would look at me. “Don’t try it,” someone whispered.
My cot creaked and wobbled. No blanket.
It got very, very hot at night. The jungle outside sent suspicious noises through the thin walls of the tent. Rustling, as if things were lurking about.
A weird dream, or not: someone like Sean, outside the tent, pacing around in the dark. I saw him briefly, his face and arms. Gray, like he was sculpted from modeling clay, wet and shiny.
He wore his absurd t-shirt and cargo shorts over that mud, briefly visible in the light of a bare flickering bulb outside. I sat up, causing the cot to creak alarmingly. Groans from the assembled gentlemen around me.
Gone. I didn’t think it was a dream. I thought it was real, that this place was crazy, that Sean was out there covered in gray mud. I looked around: not in this tent. Fine by me, have a ball, Sean.
I tried to go back to sleep. Four times I was slapped in the face. When I woke, someone had pooped in one of my shoes.
Not a fan of people.
Who set the fires?
