A Shrouded World 2: Atlantis

Mike Talbot - Chapter 1

So here we are, on the road again—though this is no Willie Nelson song, unless he had some deep cuts about alternate realities and dangerous monsters. Trip, or John the Tripper, or whatever he’s calling himself now, is riding bitch with Jack Walker, a man I just met and that's been thrust into this nightmare alongside of us. Although, all things being equal, he’s brought a much more dangerous adversary to our party, in the form of night runners─ beasts with superior senses, strength, and stamina, their only seeming weakness being the sun. Trip and I brought your more mundane zombie, maybe a few of their faster cousins that we call speeders. How jaded is that? I’m calling zombies mundane. I guess I’m just a little more stressed out than normal. How could I not be? We’ve been pulled from a nightmare world and forced into whatever this outlandish place is. We now have three deadly enemies to contend with, including the whistlers. But come the fuck on! All I can think is that I must have bitch-slapped a god in another life. I wonder what the fuck Jack did. Probably laughed when I did it.

The thing I’ve noticed about this place is the profound effect it’s had on the zombies—they seem to be getting more intelligent by leaps and bounds. Luci being the prime example. She hid and threw another zombie in her path so that he would forcibly sacrifice himself for her safety. That was uncharacteristic of the other zombies we’d seen, and I can only hope she was an aberration. I’ll have to ask Jack if he’s seen any ‘improvements’ on his enemy.

We’d just survived an encounter with another heretofore unknown opponent, something we’d been calling whistlers, their grotesquery leading us all to believe that they were never human and had instead come here from another world, or perhaps an experiment gone awry—there was just too much wrong with them to have ever worn our skin. The disconcerting way that their joints swung wasn’t even the worst of it. The white folds on their heads and the dark skin on the lower portion of their faces, coupled with the ear-piercing whistles they seemed to use for communication brought the startling abnormality of them into focus. They had no discernible eyes or ears and they ate their enemies. Were they extraterrestrial? Demons? Shit, for all we knew, they could be the original inhabitants of this land and we were the invaders. We’re the strangers in this land, they were the ones riding motorcycles—can’t imagine beings from Planet X coming across the galaxy and hopping on a hog. This could be their world, although I did have a hard time imagining such a tall, thin figure driving one of those minivans we’d passed, that doesn't make much sense. There was more evidence this world wasn’t theirs, like the army barricade, but it was safe to assume they were making a case for possession.

I smiled grimly, thinking about a whistler parent driving a minivan, turning around to tell squish-head junior to stop teasing his squish-head sister while they head to the mall to buy matching gas masks. It appeared that either sunlight or something in the air affected them profoundly, because they were completely covered up in heavy leather gear and gas masks. Normally, that would be to our advantage—but they'd found ways to deal with their limitations, indicating a high level of intelligence. Well, that and their incredible weapons, one of which found its way into my possession. Traded out my destroyed M-16 for one, hoping it would be an upgrade—won’t know until I take some practice shots.

Jack seems to know his way around a motorcycle—if I could have fit behind Trip I would have, I have no problem with being called ‘double bitch’. Myself, I’m much more comfortable behind the wheel of a Jeep or a truck. Not much margin for error on two wheels, and if you knew anything about me you’d know I have lots of error margin when I drive.

We’re heading toward a city named Atlantis. Why? I don’t know. It seems the army here was doing its best to stop the population from getting there, so we assume that it’s important for some reason. A safe haven? Is it the origin of this shit storm? No clue, but like I said, there’s a good possibility that we’ll find some people there, and more importantly, some answers.

Jack and I have become fast friends out of necessity, but we’d both trade this union in a heartbeat to get back to our loved ones. He’d left Lynn behind, and I’d left Tracy—we’d touched briefly on each other's plight and fears for what was happening to them, but that’s not a guy’s forte—expressing feelings, I mean. We had our course of action: go to Atlantis and somehow get the answers that would take us home, that was all we needed or wanted to know. Unlike the vast majority of things that had transpired since we’d come here, the ride was uneventful, and for me at least, completely welcome.

We were somewhere in the neighborhood of ten miles out from the city when we rounded a bend and it came into view. It didn’t look anything like you would expect from a mythical lost city. In reality, it could have been Boston or Seattle. There were sprawling buildings dominated by a taller cluster of skyscrapers that most likely indicated the center. The setting sun lit up the taller buildings like the crown jewels.

John pulled over to the edge of the roadway and I followed. I had to admit I found it humorous that he had to shake Trip awake. Who falls asleep on the back of a motorcycle?

John, you're choking me! I heard Jack say as his engine cut off.

Whoa, came Trip’s reply, I had a dream that I was wing-walking.

I came to a not-so eloquent stop, nearly tipping the bike as I did so, hopeful that they hadn’t noticed as I fought to get my kickstand down and keep from dropping my ride onto the pavement. I got up gingerly from my seat, my ass hurting like it had the one time I’d thought going horseback riding with my kids was going to turn out anything but the disaster it had turned out to be. My tame ride, Glue-Foot, apparently knew me from a past life and was going to get me back for all the wrongs I’d committed against her. But that’s a story for a different day.

Well, what do you think? Jack asked.

I was busy stretching my back and flexing my legs, attempting to get circulation back into my sleeping ass.

Are you going to be all right? he asked with a smile.

Fucking fine. I thought my Jeep had a stiff ride.

Is that Shanghai? Trip had his hand up to shield his eyes from the sun. I can’t go back to Shanghai—I’ve been banned.

I saw Jack about to take the bait. Don’t, man. Don’t ask. It probably has to do with smuggling whales or something.

Trip just kept looking toward the city.

I figure we have about an hour of light left... give or take. Providing time here doesn’t suddenly take a dump on us.

I knew what he meant—it wasn’t that hard to figure out. The question was, did we enter the city if it meant cutting it that close to sundown? For all we knew, the place could be a night runner haven. I let that thought simmer in my brain plate for a moment before I spoke.

I’m thinking we should find someplace to stay the night and get a fresh start in the morning.

Jack did a three-sixty. I agree. There just doesn’t seem to be anything around that looks promising to hole up in.

For being so close to a city, it was strange that the immediate area was so sparse and desolate. It looked more like mid-state Utah than anything else. Lots of dirt and scrub brush; the landscape was about as exciting as blowing your nose.

What about just getting off the road and hunkering down?

Hmmm… That seems like a better idea than barreling into an unknown city with darkness approaching? he stated.

Marginally. I was being honest. The area he’d pulled the whistler staple out of was bothering me to no end. I was hungry, thirsty, and tired. Throw a healthy heaping of anxiety on there, and I wasn’t thinking clearly. Getting into a fight for our lives right now would have easily pushed me to my limits. The only one of us that seemed as fresh as a daisy was Trip, and I wasn’t sure that even William Tell over there with his trusty slingshot could get us out of trouble—though it did seem like he could hit anything he put his mind to. Wait, back up—we all know Trip, he has no mind to put anything to. Let’s just say his hand was guided by a higher force.

I just thought of something, Jack, I said.

He was looking off to the side of the road, maybe hoping to spot some sort of building. Hopefully not a water tower—that hadn’t worked out so well the first time.

Yeah? he asked, turning to me. He looked as tired as I felt.

When we came here—to this world, I meanyou said you just showed up with that weapon. He nodded. Well, so did I—do you know what that reminds me of?

Mike, is this going to help us right now?

Probably not, but I’m going to say it anyway.

Then I suggest you hurry, he said, watching the sun sink toward the western horizon.

Halo—it reminds me of Halo, the game my boys used to play on their Xbox. When the game started, or when they got killed, they would spawn in a new location with a weapon all ready to go.

I know the game. So, are you suggesting that we’re inside someone’s version of a video game?

I don’t know what I’m saying. But think about it: There’s more going on here than we know. Obviously. I added that last when he looked at me with that ‘ya think?’ expression. If this was some sort of quantum physics accident or portal-opening mishap, I’d think we would have just come through the way we were, not all geared up.

Well, I had just come in from a mission and was grabbing a bite to eat, so I was more or less already dressed like this. But I get your point. You’re saying that someone else had to intervene?

I liked the fact that Jack didn’t just discount my notion out of hand. He didn’t say anything for a few seconds as he processed this theory.

Your suggestion is not something that makes me very comfortable. This place is already fucked up enough without throwing that thought in. But, you’re saying that this isn’t some kind of cosmic calamity, but one that was engineered… that someone forcefully removed me—I mean us—from our worlds and stuck us here. That begs the question: Who? Why? How? To help them with their own fucking problems? I have to tell you, if that’s true, it would seriously piss me off. I have enough problems without having to deal with someone else’s.

I think I’m a level eighteen Paladin, Trip chimed in.

What? I asked him.

Well, if we’re playing Dungeons and Dragons, I’m using my character Drababan. He’s a level eighteen Paladin—oh no, wait, that’s Xavier. I get my characters mixed up; there’s so many of them. With that, he drifted away from our conversation.

I don’t know, Mike. If they have the ability to manipulate reality to that extent, wouldn’t they have given us more than our rifles and a slingshot? I mean, some type of aircraft would have been nice, or a friggin’ tank, that would have been welcome. Shit, at the very least, how about a tutorial level replete with a set of instructions?

I shrugged my shoulders.

Now you shrug your shoulders? You start me thinking about shit like that and then suddenly clam up? That’s an asshole move.

I get that a lot.

I can’t even possibly begin to imagine why.

I looked over toward Atlantis. The glaring reflection had been muted to the point that the downtown buildings looked like they were engulfed in flames.

I guess that option is out, I said, referring to reaching the city before nightfall.

That was your intention all along, wasn’t it? To stall long enough that we weren’t left with a choice? It wasn’t a question on his part, more of a statement.