John Hawks - The Traveler

A can of hair spray lay on the floor. A butane cigarette lighter was over by the sink. He grabbed them both, stumbled backward toward the window, and the door slammed open. For one heartbeat he stared at the animal’s eyes and saw the intensity of its desire to kill. It was like touching a live electric cable and feeling a snap of malevolent power surge through his body.

Hollis held the button down, spraying the hyena’s eyes, then clicked the lighter. The cloud of hair spray caught fire and a stream of orange flame hit the splicer. The hyena screamed with a gurgling yowl that sounded like a human in pain. Burning, it staggered down the hallway toward the kitchen. Hollis ran into the exercise room, picked up a steel barbell rod, and followed the splicer into the kitchen. The house was filled with the sharp odor of scorched flesh and fur.

Hollis stood near the doorway and raised his weapon. He was ready to attack, but the splicer kept screaming and burning and moving forward until it collapsed beneath the table and died.

Gabriel didn’t know how long he had been living underground. Four or five days, perhaps. Maybe more. He felt detached from the outside world and daily cycle of sunlight and darkness.

The wall he had created between being awake and dreaming was beginning to disappear. Back in Los Angeles, Gabriel’s dreams were confusing or meaningless. Now they seemed like a different kind of reality. If he went to sleep concentrating on the tetragrammaton, he could remain conscious in his dreams and walk around them like a visitor. The dream world was intense-almost overwhelming-so most of the time he looked down at his feet, glancing up occasionally to see the new environment that surrounded him.

Within a dream, Gabriel walked on an empty beach where each grain of sand was a tiny star. He stopped and gazed out at a blue-green ocean with silent waves falling on the shore. Once he found himself in an empty city with bearded Assyrian statues built into high brick walls. At the center of the city was a park with rows of birch trees, a fountain, and a bed of blue irises. Every flower, leaf, and stalk of grass was perfect and distinct: an ideal creation.

Waking from one of these experiences, he would find crackers, cans of tuna, and pieces of fruit left in a plastic box next to his cot. The food appeared almost magically and he never figured out how Sophia Briggs was able to enter the dormitory room without making any noise. Gabriel ate until he was full, then he left the dormitory room and entered the main tunnel. If Sophia wasn’t around, he would take the kerosene lantern and go exploring.

The king snakes usually stayed away from the lightbulbs in the main tunnel, but he could always find them in side rooms. Sometimes they were intertwined in an undulating mass of heads and tails and slithering bodies. Often they lay passively on the floor as if still digesting a large rat. The snakes never hissed at Gabriel or made a threatening move, but he found it unsettling to look at their eyes, as clean and precise as little black jewels.

The snakes didn’t hurt him, but the silo itself was dangerous. Gabriel inspected the abandoned control room, electric generator, and radio antenna. The generator was covered with mold that clung to the steel like a fuzzy green carpet. In the control room, the gauges and panels had been smashed and looted. Electric cables hung from the ceiling like roots in a cave.

Gabriel remembered seeing a small opening in one of the concrete lids that covered a launch silo. Perhaps it was possible to crawl out of this hole and reach the sunlight, but the missile area was the most dangerous part of the underground complex. Once Gabriel tried to explore a launch silo. He became lost in shadowy passageways and almost fell through a gap in the floor.

Near the empty fuel tanks for the electric generator, he found a forty-two-year-old copy of a Phoenix newspaper, the Arizona Republic . The paper was yellowed and brittle at the edges, but still legible. Gabriel spent hours on the folding cot, reading news articles, want ads, and wedding announcements. He pretended that he was a visitor from another realm and the newspaper was his only source of information about the human race.

The civilization that appeared in the pages of the Arizona Republic appeared to be violent and cruel. But there were positive things as well. Gabriel enjoyed reading an article about a Phoenix couple that had been married for fifty years. Tom Zimmerman was an electrician who liked model trains. His wife, Elizabeth, was a former schoolteacher who was active in the Methodist church. Lying on the cot, he studied the couple’s faded anniversary photograph. They smiled at the camera and their fingers were intertwined. Gabriel had been involved with various women in Los Angeles, but those experiences felt very far away. The photograph of the Zimmermans was proof that love could survive the fury of the world.

The old newspaper and thoughts of Maya were the only diversions. Usually, he walked into the main tunnel and met Sophia Briggs. A year ago she had counted all the snakes in the missile silo and now she was taking another census to find out if the population had grown. Carrying a can of nontoxic spray paint, she would find a snake and mark the specimen to show that it had been counted. Gabriel got used to seeing king snakes with neon-orange stripes on the tip of their tails.

HE WALKED DOWN a long passageway in a dream, then opened his eyes and found himself lying on the folding cot. After drinking some water and eating a handful of wheat crackers, he left the dormitory room and found Sophia in the abandoned control room. The biologist turned and gave him a sharp, appraising look. Gabriel always felt like a new student in one of her college classes.

“How did you sleep?” she asked.

“All right.”

“Did you find the food I left you?”

“Yes.”

Sophia saw a king snake moving in the shadows. Moving quickly, she sprayed a band on its tail, then counted the specimen with her hand clicker. “And what’s going on with that lovely water drop? Have you split it with your sword?”

“Not yet.”

“Well, maybe this time, Gabriel. Give it a try.”

And then he was back at the wet patch of floor, staring up at the ceiling and cursing all of the ninety-nine paths. The water drop was too small, and too fast. The sword blade was too narrow. This was truly an impossible task.

In the beginning, he had tried to concentrate on the event itself, staring at the drop as it formed, flexing his muscles, and gripping the sword like a baseball player waiting for a fastball. Unfortunately, there was nothing regular about what happened. Sometimes the drop wouldn’t fall for twenty minutes. Sometimes two drops would fall within ten seconds. Gabriel swung the sword and missed. He muttered a curse, and tried again. Anger filled his heart so intensely that he thought of fleeing the silo and walking back to San Lucas. He wasn’t the lost prince of his mother’s stories, just a foolish young man ordered around by a half-crazy old woman.

Gabriel felt as if today would bring only more failure. But standing alone with the sword for several hours, he gradually forgot about himself and his problems. Although the weapon was still in his hands, he didn’t feel like he was holding it in a conscious way. The sword was simply an extension of his mind.

The water drop fell, but this time it seemed to fall in slow motion. When he swung the sword, he was one step back from his own experience, watching the blade touch the water drop and cut it in two. Time stopped at that moment and he saw everything clearly-the sword, his hands, and the two halves of the water drop drifting off into opposite directions.