full image - Repost: The Gathering Gale (from Reddit.com, The Gathering Gale)
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Author’s note:People seemed to enjoy the last one, and a few more ideas bubbled up. As time passes, magic grows stronger. Still weak overall, stronger bursts are appearing, and the effects are certainly getting harder to explain away…Any discrepancies between my stories and the main story should be attributed to the chaotic nature of magical backscatter when viewing other universes and not on my utter failure to coordinate any of this with PepperAntique.Anyway, have some!PrevCoral sea, 200 km off QueenslandThe GPS unit gave a warble as the boat reached the preset waypoint. Nira waited another moment and throttled back the engine, coasting it toward the mooring buoy. She glanced around at the open expanse of gently rolling water, and shut it down. The midday sun shone down on the dark hair spilling out from under her cap as she tied off to the buoy.Nira Patel was twenty-eight and working toward her doctorate in marine biology. Currently, she was irritated that her usual partner on these trips, Roger, had called off at the last moment with no explanation. It was dive day, and officially they weren’t allowed to dive alone. But she needed this new data before the end of the month, and it was a low-risk area. The weather was perfect and clear, with nothing on the forecast. So she packed her dive gear and came anyway. On the plus side, it meant she didn’t have to deal with getting ogled today. The only ocean life Roger ever seemed genuinely interested in was the kind that wore a bikini. She sometimes wondered what had compelled him to join the program in the first place.She went into the boat’s tiny cabin and shucked out of her clothes, keeping only the swimsuit underneath. She tied back her hair and checked the time. She walked barefoot back on deck and sat down to check her gear. Climate change and the Water Wars had wreaked havoc on the Great Barrier Reef, once a shining jewel of Australian pride. Now, mostly a dead wreck. The northern sections were hit the hardest, but here in the south some reefs were still hanging on by a thread. Not much could be done to repair it, and her own presence here was only due to the government grudgingly funding the idea that what remained of the environment should at least have an eye kept on it. So she strapped on the dive harness and clipped her sample case to it with a tug.On went the small air tank, mask, and safety gear. Check, check, and check. Her hand brushed her fins, but she didn’t put them on. She looked up and glanced surreptitiously around the empty sea and she reached into the bottom of her bag instead. She knew it was ridiculous, out here, to be worried about being caught looking unprofessional. She quashed the guilty pang and the little horrified voices of other people’s imaginary judgment. Her hands found the silky smooth fabric, and her face split into an enormous smile as she pulled it out. Her one childhood obsession that she had never let go of as it brought too much joy.As a child she had loved mermaids. The idea of walking to the sea, transforming and swimming away with a powerful fish tail, then swimming back and walking out again with legs had captivated her. While she had been learning to swim in the small community pool, one day someone had donated a couple of old mermaid tail monofins. She had excitedly learned to use them and swam with them every chance she could. Pictures of the young Nira sitting by the pool in those old, faded blue and green tails were common on her parents walls, but as an adult she had splurged a bit and purchased this one.Red, with highlights of gold, with a textured scale fabric, artistically sculpted fins, and little flourishes here and there, it was beautiful. She grinned as she worked her feet into the stiff silicone fin and pulled fabric up her legs. It rarely saw use outside of a swimming pool, but now she would use it to swim the reef as her childhood self had always dreamed. She stretched the fabric up around her hips and ran a finger around the waistband to flatten it against her skin. She looked around again, fitted the mask over her eyes and placed the regulator between her lips. With one last check to make sure the apparatus was working, she leaned back over the side and flipped into the water.She followed the buoy chain down at first, then turned and swam across the reef, pumping her legs and making the large monofin in the tail propel her speedily forward. She turned over, and looked at the sunlight playing down through the waves above. She spread her arms and imagined how she must look, the beautiful mermaid, floating in sunbeams. It was a powerful, happy moment. The young Nira inside her felt giddy with a dream come true.After a few moments, she turned her attention back to the reef. Time to get some samples. The colorful coral swayed in the currents, beckoning to her. She took her first samples of the water and sandy seabed. She swam on.Colorful fish darted away from her, startled at the sudden intrusion to their domain. She watched them go flashing away. The reef was vibrant here. She paused. It was vibrant - very. Too vibrant. When she had last been here several months ago, it had been in poor shape, bleached, barely alive. Now it was - full, fresh, healthy.She swam further, wondering. She looked ahead, to the left and right. Everywhere the reef was flourishing. Not even recovering - recovered. How? She hurriedly took more samples, swam further, took more samples. This was miraculous, she had to know what caused it.A school of tiny silvery fish came, swirled around her, mesmerizing her momentarily with their flashing scales, then were gone. Two eels competed over a mate beneath her as she watched. She didn’t see a reason for this level of change. Where else could she check? One edge of the reef was nearby, she swam in that direction, the wavy fins on her lower half wafting in the crystal clear sea.She soon found the edge, where the seabed sloped away toward the depths. She swam down, finding the coral ecosystem extending downward quite some distance. She swam on among the bright anemones and stopped to examine a sea cucumber almost the size of her arm.Everything was growing, healthy, filled with energy and life. She moved from one to discovery, to another distraction, to delighted revelation. It was the most captivating experience she had ever had. She didn’t notice at first how hard she was having to work to breathe.Eventually the difficulty did pierce her awareness, and she checked the pressure gauge for the tank. She stopped swimming in shock. How had it gotten so low? How long had she been down here? She had only planned on a short dive to get back to shore before dark, so she’d used only the small tank. The pressure showed deep in the red now, far below where it should have been before she got back in the boat. She looked sharply up. The surface was quite far above. She flexed and began kicking hard. Too far. It was too far. The mouthpiece was suddenly an intrusive hindrance now, trying to make her breathe the depleted supply, not letting her hold out. She spat it out and held her breath. A fiery ache spread down her neck and shoulders as she fought for the promise of air above.Stupid, stupid, stupid! ran the thoughts in her head, Mermaids aren’t supposed to get distracted and drown! A ridiculous thought, in the circumstances, but the mind finds humor where it can.Up, up through the brightly lit waters near the surface, too far. Her lungs rebelled and pushed out the stale air, sucking in briny seawater in its place. Her eyes bulged in panic and she strove harder to push the bright red and gold tail against the water, if she could only go faster. The ache in her shoulders began to ease, her vision began to go blurry but she felt a burst of strength come on as she neared the surface. She used it.Her head breached the water, almost leaping half out of it before splashing back down. She struggled to get her head up and coughed out the water. Coughed again, retching and emptying herself of the fatal fluid. She tore off her mask and leaned back, trying to float and gup down deep lungfuls of clear air between bursts of coughing. When she had recovered slightly, she lifted her head and looked around for the boat. She found it, several hundred yards away, still tied to the buoy. She had gotten quite far away, down on the reef. She leaned back in the water and began a slow backstroke in that direction, checking occasionally that she was going straight.When she reached the boat, she hauled herself aboard and collapsed down onto the deck, panting. The muscles in her shoulders and neck burned from the effort. She had a sudden feverish need to be rid of the dive gear, she quickly unclipped and rid herself of the tank, mask, and harness, the full sample case bouncing gently into the corner. She reached down and frantically went to pull off the monofin, but her fingers couldn’t find the seam. They just slid past directly from her skin to the scaly texture of the fabric. She need it off, now. She tried again, and again. On the third try, her fingers finally caught the seam, pulled it away from her waist and down past her knees. Then she kicked out of the stiff silicone fin at the bottom and her legs were free. She kicked it away and flopped back against the decking, exhausted, but alive.CologneMarta Braun dropped her jacket on the back of the chair in the cramped security office and sat. What a day. She unwrapped her sandwich and took a bite. She pulled the stack of incident reports over and began flipping through them. It was only lunchtime and already quite the stack. As the supervisor, she’d have to write up a summary at the end of the day, and she wasn’t looking forward to it. Comic conventions could be stressful and a lot of work, but they weren’t supposed to run to this many calls to the paramedics and police. Even this one, the biggest in Europe.When she was younger, she would have enjoyed coming to these things, but the wars had robbed her of that happiness. Her marriage to Piotr had robbed her of more, but he was several years in the rear view mirror now. She had been feeling more upbeat of late, and had actually looked forward to this assignment. She planned to personally inspect arrangements during the big cosplay contest later that afternoon. She had worked the convention a few years ago, and knew that you saw some spectacular stuff there. The Water Wars had taken away the conventions, and the media houses had stopped making content for many years, but now they were all coming back into full swing. Money made the world go, she supposed, and there was a lot of money in fandoms. And so, someone had to watch over the packed convention center full of Jedi, elves, Starfleet officers, anime catgirls, armored warriors, and other even stranger creatures. Wild hair and giant swords all around, borne by people wrapped in craft foam and cardboard. There was more for security to deal with than the usual tech and trade shows that came through, but this one was by far the most fun.Marta washed a bit of sandwich down and began to write up her summary. Might as well get an early start, or else she’d be up half the night writing it with the pace reports were coming in.A fistfight in the atrium had broken out after an argument of which Star wars movie was worse - Last year’s standalone Secrets of the Ewoks or this year’s Episode XII: Return to Tatooine. Perpetrators had been ejected.A cosplayer’s mechanical wings had a malfunction and deployed too fast, injuring another guest. Minor first aid given.A guest had made a groping complaint. Unable to locate suspect.A lightsaber duel had resulted in injuries and damage to a booth display after the homemade toys had been given a bit too much power for special effects. Perpetrators protest innocence, police and paramedics called.Lost child, currently waiting at the aid station, announcement made.Cosplayer in some sort of slime creature suit had left a trail of a slippery substance down the side hall, causing several guests to slip and fall. Guest cited and warned, hall closed until custodial could deal with it.She sighed and sat back from the keyboard. Just a few dozen more to go.~Marta clapped politely as the cosplayer in the gauzy, silvery Queen T’nsel outfit walked off the stage, followed by a trail of twinkling lights shimmering briefly in the air. How did she do that? It was impressive, but that was why she liked watching the contest. The ones who competed were the pros at making fantastic costumes that sometimes dared you to try to figure out the special effects cunningly built into them. She liked to amuse herself by trying to figure out the hidden trickery in the elaborate costumes.Some costumes were just about the look - how accurately did they portray the wild styling of this anime character? The impossible proportions of that video game creature? Just how did that rather daringly revealing costume stay on? There were children here, for heaven's sake! Was this the space marine costume from the book or the movie? What made the extra arms move independently like that? It had been quite the assortment so far, and the crowd was filled with an enthusiastic energy as Marta moved among them, searching for any problems.The next contestant, an armored man with a blue dragon head strode onto the stage and swirled his cape imperiously. He was introduced as “Krieg” - a minor villain from a popular long-running series. The scaly, horned dragon head was incredibly detailed, the tapering jaws filled with jagged teeth. He raised his head and opened his jaws. With a crackling, snapping sound, two arcs of electricity appeared at the back of the mouth, bridging the gap between the open jaws. They moved forward, growing wider as they went, before reaching the snout and arcing outward several inches before disappearing with a crack. New arcs appeared again at the back of the jaws and began to move forward before he closed the jaws and addressed the crowd. As he referred to the clapping crowd as insects and promised they would soon fall under the subjugation of the dragons, Marta thought back to her childhood science classes, realizing she had seen that same arcing before - a simple toy called a Jacob’s ladder! There must be a pair of them built into the jaws of the mask! She grinned at having figured out the trick, and decided it was something she would not want that close to her own face.The dragon-man shook his fist at the delighted audience and opened the jaws again, sending the arcs popping out at the crowd, jumping outward seeking a path to ground. As he swung his head around, the arcs grew larger, thicker. Brighter.The arcs became bolts and licked at the crowd, causing shouts of surprise, then alarm as the growing lightning burned against the skin of several guests, shorted out the electrically lit costume of another, and finally found the lighting rig as it swept toward the part of the crowd Marta was just on the edge of. The lights overloaded and popped, sending random showers of sparks cascading outward. The crowd grew more alarmed and began to push backwards, away from the crackling arcs that were now several feet long.Marta began to move forward toward the stage, intending to accost this man who had gotten in with a too-dangerous suit, in violation of all the rules and common sense. The crowd pressed back against her, blocking her path. As the lightning swept over them, panic began to set in and they fought to get away, surging back, a chaotic mess of limbs and bodies all seeking an exit. Marta was caught, unable to move in any direction, and tried to press backwards herself when the heel of a large boot came down heavily on her her foot with a sudden crack. Pain lanced up her leg as she fell, jostled to the ground. She huddled her arms protectively around her head as further feet thumped against her and others tripped and fell on top of her.[Location Redacted]The man in the suit made a note on his pad. “Yes Timothy,” he said, “I know you’ve already answered some questions already, but I’m here now with some different ones.”The man called Timothy shifted on the hospital bed and glanced at the two armed guards watching him. He narrowed his eyes, took a deep breath - the medic adjusted a knob, increased the amount of drugs flowing into him. Timothy blinked, looked puzzled, and settled back down.“Now Timothy,” said the man in the suit, “we’ll have none of that. This is just a friendly conversation where you’re going to answer some questions.”“Already told the other ones,” repeated Timothy in a somewhat fuzzy tone.The man in the suit smiled. He had the notes, of course, on what Timothy had already explained. How God had come to him with a holy mission, and granted him incredible power to achieve it. His resulting entry into one of the agency’s secure archives certainly gave some credence to this, though the previous interrogator hadn’t believed it. After all, he wasn’t cleared for certain recent events. But the previous team had been after the unbelievable how - not the clearly obvious why. The man in the suit saw things in exactly the opposite fashion. He knew how - but why?At the face of it, the ‘why’ was clear - Timothy was a standard issue nut. The file they had worked up on him since the attack was sparse, but painted a familiar picture. Low-income, fundamentalist upbringing. Loner, limited social contacts, diagnosed mild schizophrenia. Entirely manageable when he took his meds - which he notedly did not like to do, and often lapsed. Frequent visitor to online conspiracy sites and poster to fringe forums. Open to outside ideas that amplified his existing worldview and fed his feeling of being somehow cheated out of a better life. The agency knew of many such people. There was always a use for them, somewhere.The ‘how’ could not be explained, unless you were privy to certain very restricted information. Everything was explainable when you added magic to the available options.“I know, Timothy, I read all about it. It’s certainly impressive, you made it past all the security, through several walls, and set fire to an IRS storage room full of hundred year old tax returns. A strange choice for your first arson.”“Not what was in there.”“No?” asked the man in the suit. “That’s what the inventory says was in there.”“Not what was in there. Secrets. Not allowed.”“Not allowed? By whom Timothy?”“The Lord said. He told me. Secrets there you’re not allowed to have.”Interesting. The man in the suit considered. The archive Timothy had burned had not, of course, contained old tax returns. Officially, yes - but it had actually contained records nearly as useless. Records from seventy or eighty years ago, when the agency was funded with a bloated river of untraceable money and accountable to no one. God, what he wouldn’t give to have been a part of the agency back then. The things he could have accomplished!With so much money and no one to truly answer to, they had spent on everything and anything. They had investigated anything that might have given them an advantage in the old Cold War game, no matter how ludicrous. Aliens, psychics, ancient artifacts reputed to have magical properties, occult rituals, remote viewing, hallucinogens, legendary creatures, weather control, earthquake machines. All of it worthless, of course.Except for Timothy. Timothy thought it was worth destroying, and had used a significant amount of magical power to do it. And it might not have been his own idea. Suddenly it was interesting again. He mode a note on his pad to remind himself later. He’d have to have someone go take a look around the Montana archive. Perhaps some of the lost documents had a surviving copy there; it never hurt to check.Humor him then, keep him talking.“Why aren’t we allowed Timothy? What sort of thing is it that –”He was interrupted by a sudden, curt knock at the door, which then opened. Another man, similarly dressed, stepped into the gap, glanced at Timothy strapped to the bed, and addressed the man in the suit.“Call for you sir. It’s himself on the secure line.”“Tell him I’ll return it shortly, I’m in the middle of a conversation right now.” He smiled reassuringly at Timothy.“No sir. Right now, sir. He said to pull you.”The man in the suit sighed and closed his notepad. They always thought they had something more urgent to deal with than what he was already doing. He smiled again at the mildly spaced out Timothy.“My apologies Timothy, I was so enjoying our conversation. I’ll be back sometime soon and we’ll continue. Have a good night.” He rose and shifted his eyes to the medic next to the bed. “Back to sleep.”The medic nodded and squeezed a plunger already attached to Timothy’s IV port, pushing a heavy sedative dose into his arm. Timothy’s head rolled and thumped back against the pillow as the man in the suit strode out of the room.SoCal Reclamation ZoneHank grunted in annoyance and hit the ‘skip’ button on the steering wheel. He’d always hated that song. He blinked and refocused. The road ahead was straight and empty. The scenery was nonexistent, here in the Reclamation Zone. Personally, Hank didn’t think this blasted wasteland was worth reclaiming, and he knew it would never again look like it had. Hank was old enough to remember what it looked like before the Water Wars had destroyed so much of the state, with farms, orchards, and vineyards scattered all over this area. No longer.Another forty minutes and he’d be in Nuevo Diego.It was a little hardscrabble town overlooking the crater that had once been San Diego. No beaches here anymore, unless you liked walking on radioactive glass. It was a hard luck town, mostly filled with those survivors who had been too stubborn to leave, supplying a few civilian services to the soldiers serving at the massive complex of Fort Pendleton, and supporting those who came to work the Zone, trying to coax life back into the surrounding hills and valleys.Still, he mused, at least it knew what it was. Not like those pricks up in New Angeles, still trying to claim it was a paradise. Bunch of deluded fools, squatting in the desert and picking through the wrecked suburbs of the once great city. Well, they always said it would fall into the ocean, they just never said how. A few people were even trying to make films there again, but they were all a bit depressing. The big studios that had survived had all wisely moved elsewhere.The sun was getting low over the hills to his right. He adjusted the shade in that direction. Shifted his butt in the seat. Hank was tired. For the third time this week, he told himself he was getting too old for this.Something large flashed into the road into front of the truck. The hell?!? Nothing lived out here. In his surprise he jerked the wheel to the side, avoiding whatever it was, but crossed the line and had to correct. The heavily loaded trailer fishtailed a bit, one wheel going over the edge of the road with a rumble. Then a bang. Shit!The trailer began to drag on that side as the burst wheel pulled at the dirt. He fought for control and managed to straighten it out, pressed the brake, felt it slow, wobble, slow, and finally come to a halt on the shoulder.He took a moment to collect himself. Took a few steadying breaths. Unbuckled himself and opened his door. Stepped down onto the step. He stopped and leaned back in. He still wasn’t sure what it was he had seen, but it might not be friendly. Large enough to be a coyote, perhaps. He retrieved the holstered pistol from the console next to his seat and clipped it to his belt. Stepped down again.Hank looked about, watching the growing shadows for any motion. Checked the sun. Not much time before it dipped out of sight. He walked around and checked the blown tire. He’d told them the trailer was over weight, but they’d insisted it was fine and told him to shut up and drive. So he’d shut up and drove, and now he was here. He considered. This was a lonely road, not much chance of anyone coming along that could help him. He could call for an assist, but that would take a good long time to get here. He’d be late on delivery, and the company would ding his paycheck. He’d have to fix it himself, and he’d have to hurry. No time to unhook.Taking another look around for the animal, he climbed up and took out the big jack, then the lug iron, and finally pulled off the spare wheel. He stopped for a breather.He set up the big jack on the cracked surface or dried mud alongside the road, worked the lever to lock it against the trailer, and began loosening the lugs. It took him several minutes and a rest, but he was ready. He switched back to the jack, and began levering the heavy trailer up. The dry ground under the jack crunched. He continued, lifting the trailer higher. He paused and pulled the blown wheel off, pocketing the heavy nuts, and hauled the spare over. Not high enough to get it on yet. He levered again, and the jack suddenly sank, the ground beneath the wide foot giving way, revealing itself to be more crumbling crust than solid earth. As the trailer lurched toward him, he surged upward on instinct and tried to hold it from falling over on him.Wrong move! the more rational part of his mind screamed, too late. Instincts could sometimes steer you wrong, but as his hand pushed at the frame of the trailer and his feet dug his feet against the ground, somehow, it held. Now he was stuck. If he let go, he was dead. His heart pounded. He looked at the spare wheel, leaning there so close to where it needed to be. To safety. He looked up at the trailer. He had to try.He set his shoulder into the frame of the trailer and pushed with his whole body. Nothing. Pushed harder. It budged, but not enough. His breath was coming more raggedly now, the adrenaline coursing through him. He had to do this. He was growing desperate. Succeed and live, fail and die. Not how he wanted to go.Hank gritted his teeth and pushed - the overloaded trailer raised up, kept going, easier now, high enough now - he took a hand off the frame and reached for the wheel. Hauled it to him and slapped it against the hub. Twisted it to line up the bolts - slid the wheel on. Pulled the first lug from his pocket. He got it threaded on. Pulled another one. Threaded it. Kept holding back the weight of the trailer. Keep going.~Twenty minutes later, Hank heaved himself up into the driver’s seat and slammed the door shut. He sank in relief and held his face in his hands for a time. Eventually, he pulled himself together, put his pistol away and buckled back in. He started up the truck, and slowly pulled back onto the road, the big electric engine whining as it dragged the trailer back onto the road.Another thirty minutes and he’d be in Nuevo Diego.EpilogueNira set the coffee machine brewing and sighed. She bounced nervously from one foot to the other. She rinsed her mug out in the sink. She’d had too much coffee already today, it was making her jittery. She tugged a finger at the itchy neck of her turtleneck. It was too hot for it this time of year, but it was her everyday top now. The machine began to bubble and hiss as she spotted Thomas coming down the hallway. She looked the other way and scrunched her eyes shut. No, no she couldn’t deal with him right this minute. He was just too much, especially lately. He had always been a cocky jerk, but recently he was worse. She couldn’t imagine what had boosted his confidence to this degree, and she didn’t care. She had other concerns - and not just about the recent data. Unprecedented recovery, too fast. And similar reports were starting to come in from a few other research centers around the globe, too.She slipped out and headed to the bathroom before Thomas could quite reach the cramped kitchenette. She locked the door, leaned against the wall and sighed. Tried to calm herself. Tried not to notice the mirror was there. Breathed again. She had already looked twice today, she didn’t need to look again. So why was she eyeing herself in its reflective surface? Why was a part of her mind screaming at her to look? She braced herself on the sink. Turned on the tap and splashed a bit of the cool water on her face. It helped, soothed her greatly. But it didn’t take away the need to check again.She held out another moment, then gave in and tugged the bottom of the turtleneck out of her pants. Moving with more frantic haste, she pulled it up and over her head, tugging hard to get the narrow neck around her head and get her arms clear of the sleeves. She set it down on the counter, hard. She braced herself against the sink again, taking calming breaths, staring herself down in the traitorous mirror.Then she twisted around so she could see her back. Held her breath and tensed her shoulders just so. The cold, too-dry air-conditioned air burned and itched. Yes. Still there. The gills were still there.~Marta set the bowl down and her cat Minka dove in, lapping greedily at the fishy paste. She clumped back over to the couch, the bulky boot on her foot giving her a hobbling gait. Six more weeks before her foot was fully healed and it would come off. What a pain. All the medical advancements they had, and bones still healed at the same slow rate.The TV was on, with the news running. More puff pieces today. A woman had saved her elderly neighbor from his burning house and dragged him out without a scratch on her. An attempted holdup had been foiled by a teenage bystander who had used kung-fu moves he had seen in the movies. A young girl had been attacked by a stray dog, but was left unharmed after she pacified it by giving it her half-eater protein bar and using, as she said in the interview, “the power of friendship.”She turned it off. The news had been obsessed with such stories lately. Stories of the economy, the political situation, and various minor scuffles going on around the world had all but disappeared. Someone at the network must have ordered a more positive tone. It made her wonder what was going on that they weren’t reporting on. Minka padded in from the kitchen and jumped up to settle on her usual shelf.Marta lay back and picked up the stick she had been keeping handy, and used it to scratch an itch down inside the boot. She tried to find a comfortable position on the cushions to rest with her foot elevated. She tried to settle her thoughts and push away the dull ache in her foot. Soon, she drifted off to sleep, snoring gently. Minka stopped grooming herself and shifted to a watchful position, staring at Marta with her eyes wide and ears back. The tip of her tail flicked agitatedly from where it was curled tightly alongside her body. A low growl came from the cat’s throat as a gentle glow began to shine out of gaps in the boot.~Timothy opened his eyes. His head was clear, without the muzziness that usually accompanied waking up from his drug-induced sleep. He glanced at the IV bag, saw the steady drip drip drip of sedative feeding into his veins. He looked around the empty room - no. He felt the presence. He wasn’t alone. The Lord was here, with him now.“Lord, you are here? You have come for me?”Indeed.The voice was deep basso, reverberating and setting his skull abuzz. It came from everywhere, but seemed to get inside his head without going through his ears first. It was the voice that the deep roots of mountains spoke with. The voice of giants, the voice of the universe given breath. The voice that had granted him power beyond mortal reckoning. Told him where to go, what must be done. The voice, he knew, of God.“I did as you instructed! I made sure to destroy it all! I hope that I have pleased you, Lord!”Yes, you have done exactly as we wished.“I am happy to serve you Lord! Will you get me out of this place? They have me prisoner!”That is unfortunate, Timothy. We promised you a great reward, Timothy. You should be rewarded for doing our bidding.“Thank you my Lord, thank you! I knew you would not leave me here. When I am free I will accept your–”You will be rewarded, Timothy. You will be rewarded now.“Lord?”A sudden heat welled up in Timothy’s body, but was immediately drowned out by a wave of pleasure, a rising crescendo of ecstasy that flooded every corner of his body, his mind, his being. Bliss. Utter, unending bliss drove everything else away. His eyes rolled back in his head and his body jolted as the overwhelming rapturous euphoria washed away his nervousness. Washed away his awareness of the stifling ‘hospital’ room, obliterated the memories of his life, deafened him to the sudden screaming alarms of the equipment next to the bed, blinded him to the urgent rush of medics into the room, and shattered his final mortal thoughts in an endless intoxicating ocean of delight…~Hank decided that he was too old for any more close calls. Besides, driving the zone had been getting a bit more depressing lately. He put in for his retirement at the trucking company, cashed out a bit of vacation time and headed east. His son lived in Detroit, he had explained to his supervisor as they went over the final paperwork, might go live with him. If he got bored, he was sure he could find a bit of work shuffling the new trucks coming off the production lines around. Easy work for an old coot like him.His supervisor had laughed and wished him well. Said he was sorry to see him go and given him a handshake on his way out the door. Hank didn’t see the man shake out his hand and give it a massage afterwards. Didn’t hear the man ask the air when the old man had “gotten a crusher of a grip like that?!?” But he was content - he had a good feeling about the future.Author’s further note:I meant to have this out sooner, but work’s been a bit crushing of late, so events in the main story have progressed to a higher magical level than described here. Timeline-wise, I am posting this just as the werewolf breakout is happening on Earth. You should assume that all events in this and the previous story occur scattered across the weeks or months leading up to that event, with two exceptions. At the present moment in the main story, Paul “Puppy Chow” Bates has met his envisioned end mere minutes ago. The “Timothy” scene is happening in approximately real time, with his epilogue slightly in the future. What can I say? Sometimes the phone call really is about something more urgent…Prev
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