Michael Robertson: New Reality: Truth

Pulling his shoulders back, Jake lifted his face into the stormy winds. The sandblasting hit the lenses on his glasses. Never give up. Never give up.

Stopping just before he slipped on it, Jake looked down at the bottle of water on the floor. It looked exactly the same as the one Tom had found, almost as if it had come from the same place. Looking around, Jake couldn’t see anything. For all he knew, he was surrounded by Bots on all sides that were just on the edge of his field of vision. Cameras could be feeding back to the tower right now, showing his every action.

Bending down, he lifted the bottle and flipped the lid off with his left hand. The fiddly movement ran an arthritic burn through his joints, and his fingers were too stiff to prevent the cap from being picked up by the wind and tossed away behind him. Watching it fly away, he shook his head. “Fuck it.”

Lifting the plastic bottle to his lips, he filled his dry mouth with the cool liquid.

Upending the bottle, draining it of its last bit of water, Jake let the container go. The liquid swilled in his stomach, but without a lid, he couldn’t save any for later. The water would be contaminated with grit by the time he tried to drink it.

A wet belch lifted into his throat. When he swallowed it back down, the muscles in his neck tightened at the sharp and acidic kick.

Clearing his throat of the burn nestling at the back of it, Jake lifted the scarf covering his mouth, spat, and set off again.

That was when he saw it.

At first, hidden by the dust storm, it looked like another mound of debris. But as he got closer, he saw its form had more order than that.

Halving the distance between him and the mound, he stopped. It was a church spire. The building was clearly buried far below it. The slightest smile lifted the sides of his mouth. Looking up at the sky, he laughed. “Not even Rixon can topple the big man.”

Walking closer, Jake looked up at the top of it. What was protruding from the rubble stood about ten feet tall. They were a long way from what used to be ground level.

The old tiles that clung to the structure looked like they should have been replaced years previously, but despite the harsh elements, they still clung on.

Walking around the other side, Jake found a hole big enough to poke his head into. Maybe there was a way down? Maybe there was food and water in the unintentional catacombs? This world below must be ripe for mining. If only he could get to it.

Staring at the craggy mouth, its dark throat a deep well, Jake looked at the snapped wooden batons stretching across the space. The roof looked like a ribcage with a hole blown through it.

As the strong wind raced down the hole like water finding the path of least resistance, Jake listened to the church push it back out again. The strong gales were returned with a gentle sigh.

A chill ran through Jake and his toes curled. The building sounded like it was alive. Shaking his head, he forced a laugh and spoke for, what he quickly realized, was the benefit of the building. “It’s just the wind, stop being such a pussy.”

Stepping closer, Jake listened. Inhale, sigh, inhale, sigh. Standing on tiptoes, he peered in. The absence of light was complete.

Despite every part of Jake’s being telling him to walk away, he edged farther forwards. Inhale, sigh, inhale, sigh.

When Jake was just a step away, he smelled the church’s dusty breath. The stale air reeked of rot. It was like moldy wood. Like old bones.

Taking a deep inhalation, Jake poked his head through the gap. The stench was worse inside, forcing him to screw his nose up. Blinking, Jake felt the darkness push against his eyeballs in its thirst for light.

Although Jake couldn’t see, he could feel infinite emptiness stretching out below him. This place was vast. How would he get down there?

Then he heard a scratching sound and his throat dried.

The thing!

It was still following him.

Speaking in a whisper, Jake shook his head. “No. Not again.” Grinding his teeth, he pushed his face farther into the hole and screamed into the empty space. “Fuck off, you piece of shit!” The call flew through the building. It found every corner of the cavernous space and returned an ever-diminishing, “SHIT, SHit, shit,” back to him.

The scratching stopped.

Holding his breath, Jake listened.

Silence.

Just as he was about to turn and walk away, he heard something. It was a guttural and mewling growl that was somewhere between a cry and a cough. “Shit.”

It was mimicking him.

A shadow moved through the darkness far below. It was as if the object was a deeper shade of black than the pitch of the church. Like it was on a different light spectrum.

The sound of Jake’s panicked breath bounced back at him as he scanned the emptiness. “Just fucking show yourself.”

The shadow moved again. It moved fast and made the clickety-click scuttling noise he’d heard when they were being chased by an army of them. It stopped where Jake could see it. Or at least see a darker blob of black. Its voice was clearer but still deep and rattling like a phlegmy cough. It repeated the word like it had no understanding of its meaning. “Shit.”

Jake bent down and lifted a rock from the floor. When he looked back in, the blob was still there. Putting all of his effort into it, Jake grunted as he launched the rock.

It crashed against what sounded like a stone floor below, and the creature responded with a scorpion’s hiss.

Pulling his head from the hole, Jake backed away. Picking up another rock, he lobbed it after the first one from where he was standing. The hissing grew louder.

Backing away some more, he threw another. This one missed but dislodged three tiles that all fell into the void. Three distant smashes were followed by a growl that made the thing sound closer than ever.

Forgetting his aches and injuries, Jake quickened his retreat. Then he heard something and froze.

“Jake Weston.”

How did it know his name? Turning his back on the spire, Jake broke into a run, his brittle legs aching as if the bones would crumble beneath him.

The voice remained the same volume despite the distance he was putting between them. “Jake Weston. Jake Weston.” It was a dark and unique accent like the creature came from a secluded corner of a distant rainforest. It sounded like it was speaking English for the first time. It nestled in his memories next to the bloody eyes. It started to complete the picture of the monster. It was more cunning, more brutal, more ruthless than he could ever be. It was also clearly comfortable on a terrain that bipeds weren’t ever meant to thrive on. To fight it was foolish.

Looking back over his shoulder as he ran away, the floor suddenly gave way beneath Jake and he fell. Landing across a bar on his way down, his back made a tearing crack like splintering wood, and he was enveloped by a fireball of agony.

The fall was about six feet, and as Jake lay on his back, staring up at the hole he’d made, debris falling in on him, dust swirling in the stale air, he groaned.

Then his world went dark.

As she watched on, her frame sagged. Balling her right fist, she punched her left hand. “Fuck it!” All he had to do was leave Birmingham. After that, she was sure he’d have seen the potential for a positive existence.

But no, not Jake Weston. Too bloody curious that man.

Didn’t he know it wasn’t nice to throw rocks? As she watched him, out cold as he lay on his back, she shook her head. “I’m sorry, Jake, but this has to end now.”

Opening his eyes, Jake saw dust swirling in the air above him as if he’d only just fallen. Maybe he had. It was hard to tell.