Michael Robertson - New Reality - Truth

“To make things worse, we returned with nothing. No way of removing the headsets. No way of saving them. It was a waste of time, Jake. It was a year-long wild goose chase that ended with the death of my wife.”

When Jake rubbed his friend’s back, he felt every vertebra trough his thick layers. Taking a gritty gulp, Jake tasted dried mud. “We tried our best.”

“We killed her, Jake.”

Throwing his left arm over Tom’s shoulder, Jake pulled his friend close. “Come on, man, don’t do this to yourself.”

The deep red glow from the Rixon Tower caught the shiny trails on Tom’s cheeks. Gulping, his large Adam’s apple dipping on his long neck, Tom lifted his right arm across his chest and held Jake’s left hand.

Feeling the calloused grip of his friend’s long fingers, Jake pulled him in tight and held him as he cried for his dead wife.

Grinding her teeth, she watched the pair. When was Jake going to accept that Tom didn’t want to be on this planet anymore? If he got that through his thick head, then maybe he’d have a chance. She didn’t want to kill Jake, but he wasn’t giving her much choice at the moment.

As she watched the pair fall asleep, Jake holding Tom tightly, she sighed. A week wasn’t long when she thought about how long she’d been following the pair, but the final sprint was always the hardest. Maybe she should just do something about it now. They were sleeping after all.

Sitting up straight, she stretched the aches from her body and took a deep breath.

Action needed to be taken. She was bored of waiting.

The second Jake woke up, his mind went to the deep throb in his palm. It was a constant that could only be avoided with sleep. Looking across at Tom, who was already awake, he lifted his bandaged hand. “Do you think it’ll get any worse?”

Looking away, Tom squinted into the wind.

“Tom? Do you—”

“I heard you, Jake.” Scratching his beard, Tom shook his head. “I was choosing not to answer.”

Jake’s heart fluttered. “You think it’s that bad?”

When Tom looked at him, his grey eyes pinched ever so slightly.

Taking a deep breath, Jake exhaled hard. “How long do you think I’ve got before it’s life-threatening?”

Tom didn’t reply.

Looking at his hand for a moment longer, Jake attempted to make a fist and winced. After resting it on his knee, he looked up at the sky. It had changed from black to grey—night to day. When he turned to Tom again, the wind blew into his face, and grit pattered the lenses of his glasses. “Have you been awake long?”

Shrugging, Tom looked at the floor. “Not really. Half an hour maybe.”

Silence surrounded the pair again as Jake watched Tom stare at the fuzzy glow of the Rixon Tower in the distance.

Kicking a stone in front of him, Tom sighed. “I’m not sure I can do a week, Jake.”

A pain ran through Jake’s chest, and his voice turned whiny. “Come on, Tom, you promised me.”

“I know I did. But I just don’t know if I can do this anymore.”

Jake’s anger passed when he looked at Tom’s exhausted face and drawn features. Heavy bags hung beneath his eyes, and his breathing was shallow. He was done.

Shaking his head, Jake said, “No.”

Raising an eyebrow, Tom looked up. “No?”

Pushing up from the floor with his good hand, Jake got to his feet and held his left hand out. “I’m not letting you give up, Tom.”

The tall man didn’t move.

“Don’t give me that puppy-dog stare. Get up, now! You owe me the week you promised me. You owe Rory the week you promised me.”

Tom’s face buckled before he took Jake’s offered hand and got to his feet. “Why do you use Rory to keep me going?”

Losing his patience, Jake raised his voice. “Because that’s why we’re out here, isn’t it? That’s why we’ve been walking in fucking circles for the past few years.”

“Don’t shout at me.”

“Stop being a prick then, Tom.”

Drawing a sharp intake of breath, Tom’s brow furrowed.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to call you that.” Swallowing a painful gulp, the taste of dust nestling in his parched throat, Jake looked at the floor. “It’s just… I feel like I’ve put my plans on hold for the past few years, and now you want to give up? I could have been looking for signs of the beautiful planet we lived on years ago, but I stayed with you in Birmingham to look for your wife and son.”

When Tom didn’t reply, Jake continued, “I want the past few years to have counted for something.”

With a slumped frame, Tom looked at his friend. “Sometimes the wisdom is in knowing when to quit.”

Balling his left fist, Jake’s tense arm shook. When Tom remained limp and dejected, Jake grabbed him. “You owe me six more days.”

Tom suddenly froze as he stared past Jake. What little color he had in his face drained from it instantly. Even with the rag on, Jake saw his jaw working as if he were trying to speak.

“What is it, Tom?”

While rubbing his forehead, Tom spun on the spot and looked at the floor around them.

Jake mimicked Tom’s spinning until they faced each other again. Staring into Tom’s wide eyes, Jake said, “What does it mean?”

When Tom didn’t reply, Jake looked around again. At first, all he saw was a chaotic mess of raised lines of rubble. They ran a crisscross pattern all about them like the random burrowing of some insane creature. Looking from one line to the next, Jake’s head flicked from side to side.

After a moment longer of scanning the ground, the snapshots of disorder suddenly came together and his skin turned to gooseflesh. Double-checking to make sure he wasn’t imagining it, he started to shake.

They were in the centre of a five-pointed star within a circle. The things must have done it while they slept. Swallowing a dry gulp, his world spiraling, Jake continued to look at the perfectly formed shape. He spoke from the side of his mouth in a whisper. “Can you see what it is, Tom?”

When there was no reply, Jake looked across at his pale friend. “Can you see what it is, Tom?”

Nodding, the tall man said, “Yep.”

“What the fuck is it?”

Frowning, Tom scratched his temple with a shaking hand. “A pentagram.”

“A pentagram?”

Tom’s eyes were glazed as if he’d retreated into his mind. “It’s a spiritual symbol.”

Not sure he wanted the answer, Jake lifted a shrug. “A good one?”

“Depends.”

“On what?”

“On whether it’s pointing up or down. Down is for the devil.”

Just the thought of the question turned Jake’s blood cold. “And which way is it pointing?”

Nodding at the symbols on either side of them, Jake suddenly saw what they were when Tom gulped. “Well, by looking at those pitch forks, I’d say it was pointing down.”

Before Jake could reply, Tom had set off, avoiding the lines of rubble like he was running an army assault course.

Looking around, Jake bounced on the balls of his feet and then followed his friend. Picking an equally cautious path through the symbol, he lifted his legs high as if something were nipping at his heels.

It didn’t matter how far or fast they ran away. They weren’t getting away.

The pair had been walking all day, and all Jake could think about was the pentagram. When Tom moved over to a pile of rubble, Jake stopped. “What is it?”

As Tom pulled lumps of concrete and debris away, Jake walked over to stand next to him. With his damaged hand, he didn’t try to help.

The more hardcore Tom pulled away, the quicker he started clearing a hole. Then Jake saw it—a small, round piece of blue plastic. When Tom grabbed it, it crackled as he wiggled it free.