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and rippled by tremendous pressure, but by pulling himself along,
he managed to reach the other side of the cavity. This was the uncharted
area that he'd visited only once before. An angular entrance faced
him, its huge doors bent at insane angles, its mouth filled with
concrete fragments, and its twisted sign warning 'Authorized Personnel
Only'. He had cleared away most of the ruble the last time. Now,
there was a small hole at the top of the pile. He glanced around
one last time; the pit yawned up at him, perhaps thirty meters wide
and who knew how deep. Ignoring its hypnotic pull, he crawled through
the opening.
The place he found himself in was
amazing. Pieces of machinery and scientific apparatus sat everywhere.
The rooms, he found as he explored the strange place with mounting
excitement, seemed to be innumerable. As he moved carefully along
the darkened, machine filled corridors, he had begun to feel it;
a strong pulling at his mind. It led him deep within the nebulous
facility until he'd found the source of the undeniable callings.
The room was huge, stocked full of
bags and equipment. It looked like some sort of storeroom, only
there were long troughs running down the middle and a wide array
of tubing hanging from the ceiling. But that wasn't what held his
unwilling attention. It was the ocean of growth that rested in the
center, thriving in the artificial rays of some unknown device.
It was the sunflowers.
They had talked to him that night,
in that room far from the shores of reality; they had told him things.
As he'd been drawn into the middle of that field of tranquillity,
his pulsating mind had been filled with their incomprehensible intentions.
It had hurt at first, until he'd learned to control the thought
patterns and seek the peaceful floating place within his mind. At
that moment, he had become one with them. In the days that followed,
he learned to observe his dad during the day, keeping track of him
and charting his movements. This was necessary to discover where
he came by all the whisky and food without pulling his normal shift
at the shovel. And, it was terrible the things he learned.
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His father
had been visiting the Other's side of town; that strip of untouched
housing right on the verge of the destruction. It was there that the
people brought their gruesome offerings, but no one had yet to see
the faces of their oppressors. Human agents, bent and twisted from
unholy experimentation, was all anyone ever saw, or needed to. Only,
now his father had come to be admitted regularly, almost every day,
into the very heart of their nest.
And he always came back with whiskey
and food.
One day, after the voices had told
him things and their gentle touch had implanted the devices within
his head, he had asked to go with his father to the place of the Others.
His father was not surprised and agreed rather readily. It was strange,
after all his secrecy, but the boy accepted it without question; it
was where he now needed to go.
The house that they visited was a two-level
structure at the apex of the hill, but they saw no one as they progressed
through the silent neighborhood. This was enough to make him even
more nervous; he got the distinct impression that they were being
watched and he couldn't shake the feeling even after they were intercepted
by their hosts.
The two females that came out of the
building had almost caused the boy to run in fear. They didn't look
human; they were alike in semblance, but lacked the mobile features
of a true sentient. Also, they were greenish in color, their pale
skin flaking badly in places. He shrank away from their cool, cat-like
appraisal, but his father laughed in anticipation and pulled him forward
into the disturbing dwelling.
The place was a mockery of everything
he'd ever known. As they sat down at the table, he stared around in
disbelief. The kitchen and dining room were like something out of
a madman's fairy tale, something he'd only seen once or twice in ancient
books. Everything looked extremely clean, the wood furniture polished
to a lustrous shine and even the fabric of the linen tablecloth entirely
spotless. There were pictures on the walls reflecting gay scenes of
pick-nicks and families |
