Not This Tide
by Eric Neher
|
Table of Contents parts 1, 2, 3 |
part 2
“I woke up in the dark,” said Stripling.
“Let me finish for you,” said Denton. “You were alone, and it was quiet until the hound began to hunt you. Does that sum it up?”
“It does,” said Stripling.
“It was the same for all of us,” said Denton. “But do you remember what happened to you?”
Up until this point, Stripling hadn’t considered it. The shock of being alone and then having to run from some hidden demon had left him little time to contemplate. But now, as he thought back, all he could remember was leaping over the wall at the blow of the whistle and the sergeant collapsing, but then there was nothing.
“It was much the same for all of us,” said Denton after Stripling had finished his tale. “I was preparing my men for an assault when an explosion ripped through the trench. I awoke to find myself alone in this cursed darkness. And then it came. I could hear its breath hammering on my heels.”
“What about you?” said Stripling to the German.
“My lungs were burning as if a flare had been shoved down my throat, and then I awoke, like you, in the dark and running for my life.”
“And we all ended up here,” said Stripling.
“And that is the real question,” said Denton. “Why?”
“Can’t we just leave?” said Stripling.
“What a brilliant idea,” said one of the British soldiers, slumped over by the fire.
“Enough of that,” snapped Denton, looking back at Stripling. “We tried that, lad. They were waiting.”
“They?” said Stripling.
“A dozen, at least,” said the German. “They’re circling us even now.”
This produced a shudder in Stripling. He gazed over his shoulder into the wall of darkness, but could see nothing. Without noticing, he took a cautionary step towards the fire, both hands now clutching the rifle, the torchlight dangling by its chord at his side.
“What are they?” he managed to whisper.
“That’s another question that has no answer,” said the German.
“I think we all know what’s going on here,” said the slumped soldier by the fire, “even if no one wants to say it.”
“Phillips,” said Denton, glaring at the man. “You need to shut that shit up right now.”
“Why?” said the man. “You know I’m right. Just look into the fire.”
His meaning enveloped Stripling like a storm cloud. Could it be true? He tried to think back, retracing the moment he plunged from the safety of the trench. All he could recall was a fleeting image of his father’s face before him. It had been terrifying, not because of the illusion but because the granite-like expression on the man’s face had cracked. The old man was reaching out to him with an arthritic hand. But he could not touch him. Oh, Father, what have we done?
Was this the last thought Stripling had before he drifted away? The Lieutenant felt his knees loosen, and he fell to the ground. Denton came to sit beside him, placing his arm over the Lieutenant’s shoulders. A bitter cold infiltrated Stripling’s body, causing him to tremble. He wanted to speak but knew that any sound attempted would come out as a scream.
“Take it easy, lad,” said Denton. “Whatever this is, there’s nothing we can do about it.”
“What do you think is going on?” Stripling said after his hysteria had passed. “And please don’t tell me that’s the question.”
“The truth?” said Denton.
“Please, sir.”
“I think our dear morose Corporal Phillips over there is on to something.”
“You think we’re dead?” said Stripling.
“Look at the facts,” said Denton. “All of us were forced here by beasts that seem hell-bent on not allowing us to leave. None of our weapons work. And then there’s this.”
Denton scooted to the fire and put his hand into the flame. He pulled it back and showed it to Stripling. There wasn’t so much as burnt hair. He motioned to Stripling and said, “Come closer.” The Lieutenant moved beside him, hoping the man wouldn’t ask him to do the same.
“Look into it,” said Denton.
“Why?”
“Just look,” said Denton, nodding. “You’ll see.”
Stripling gazed into the fire. The licking streaks of orange undulated with synchronized motion. He noticed no sound coming from the pit, no crackling of burning timber. It was as if he were watching a silent film. The Lieutenant leaned forward, his eyes widening, his heart pounding.
Then, as if a reel had jammed, the flame froze. He wanted to pull back, but he couldn’t move. The orange tongues began to meld, forming a solid surface like a screen. The ochre melted away, replaced by a sky-blue background. Brushes of green began to sprout from the bottom edge like switch grass, running along newly formed hills. Scattered within these waving blades rose round-topped mounds jutting from the grass; some had flowers placed at their base.
The scene began to grow until all the darkness surrounding him was gone. A shadowy form appeared, far away at first but moving closer. It was a woman wearing a long black dress and clutching a bouquet to her chest. The image had now grown close enough for Stripling to recognize the place. It was Langston Cemetery, just a mile outside of his home town; he could tell by the silver cross decorating the top of one of the tombstones.
He then recognized the woman. It was Frances Carol, the girl he had begged to marry. She had first put up the customary fight but finally said yes. He still had her last letter in his breast pocket. But in this illusive film, she seemed older and sad. She wandered from one headstone to the next, briefly pausing before moving on. Stripling tried calling out but could only manage a dry click.
The moving picture swirled into a prism of colors and then spread, producing a different image. It was his mother and father. Together, they walked along a field with the afternoon sun throwing long shadows behind them. They stopped near a deep rut, and Stripling saw it for what it was: the trench he had charged out of before this madness began. His mother turned to his father, and he was able to grab her just as she collapsed.
The field and his parents vanished, replaced by the flame. He leaned back, letting out a long exhale. Had he been holding his breath? Was he breathing?
“Easy, lad,” said Denton.
“What did you see?” said Stripling.
“My wife,” said Denton. “She was at my son’s graduation at Cambridge. She was with a man I didn’t recognize.”
“I’m sorry,” said Stripling.
“Don’t be,” said Denton. “My son is eleven years old.”
Stripling looked at the man and saw a smile on his lined face.
“Are we seeing the future?” said Stripling.
“I think we are.”
“How can—” Stripling began but was interrupted by a sudden sizzling in the air, like well-pressured steam, followed by a pop. He glanced over and saw an empty space where the German had been. The others looked briefly at the vacant spot and then returned their gaze to the flame.
“What was that?” said Stripling.
“Another question with no answer,” said Denton. “He’s the third one.”
“They just disappeared?” said Stripling.
“Yes, they did,” said Denton.
“Should we look for them?”
“And where would we look?”
“I don’t know. Do we sit here?”
“Unless you have a better plan,” said Denton, his smile vanishing like the German.
“I can’t do that,” said Stripling, rising from the ground.
“Don’t go out there,” said Denton.
“Let him,” said Phillips. “He’ll be back.”
Stripling didn’t wait for further discussion. He turned to the dark wall encircling them, strapped his rifle over his shoulder, and went to where the fire’s light died. He stepped out of the weak glow and was immediately assaulted by a rush of bitter wind. It pressed against his chest as if trying to push him back. Stripling bent forward, the beam of torchlight shining out in front of him.
The sudden breeze ended as quickly as it had started, leaving an overwhelming silence. He plundered on, not concerning himself with direction, allowing the adrenaline to guide him. He paused to look back and saw that the fire had been swallowed. Where were the beasts?
A thought entered his mind: what if this was all a lie? What if he had been captured, and they only tried to scare him into staying? But how could he account for the German vanishing right before his eyes? And what about that mysterious fire? Was that just an illusion? It was possible.
Many new weapons were being used in this war. Weapons that could kill twenty men at a time, airplanes that could drop both bombs and boulders from above. Chemical devices that promised a slow and agonizing death. What if they could do more than poison you? Had they stocked some of those canisters with a mind-altering drug? Yes, it was possible, more possible than Denton’s theory.
Of course, if Stripling was correct, then the gun would work. He began to press forward, his free hand grasping the butt of his rifle. He took another three steps when a rustling came from his right. He stopped mid-stride, allowing the torchlight to dangle from its cord, and raised the rifle. The narrow beam swung from left to right, revealing only the void.
“Who’s there?” he managed to whisper.
There was no reply. He reached for the light with his left hand while pointing the rifle out in front of him. Another scuffling came from his left. He shifted the beam and was startled by two red orbs hanging in the darkness.
“Go away,” he said.
The orbs lingered, unmoving.
Deep within the Lieutenant’s body rang a warning. “Please go away,” he said.
The orbs were growing. Stripling heard breaking sticks and the crunching of dead leaves. Within moments, a shadow rose from the vast shroud, and with it came a low growl. Stripling brought the rifle up and fired. The gun let out an impotent click. He quickly chambered another round and pulled the trigger, another click.
The torchlight had found what the rifle couldn’t, revealing a monstrous form, its body covered in long strands of matted hair and a set of guillotine teeth. This species he knew well. He had driven multitudes out of his rations and had seen many fellow soldiers fall ill due to their bite. But this rat was the size of a lion, emanating a stench that made the Lieutenant’s eyes water.
Stripling dropped the rifle and ran. The beast let out a roar, and he could hear its heavy breath closing in. He veered to the right, and it was suddenly beside him, its vampiric grin less than three feet away. He bolted to the right and was again confronted by the beast. On and on they went, with the creature adjusting the terrified man’s course until he again broke into the fire’s light.
Denton still stood where he had left him.
“Told you he’d be back,” said Phillips.
“Rats,” Stripling stammered. “Giant rats.”
“Interesting choice, wouldn’t you say?” said Denton.
“But whose choice?” said Phillips.
“We’re in a world of shit,” said Denton, taking Stripling by the arm and leading him back to the flame just as the air again began to sizzle.
“Another one gone,” said Denton. He helped the Lieutenant to the ground and then sat beside him.
“Look into the fire, lad,” he said. “It helps.”
Stripling wasn’t sure if that was true. Being forced to watch as those he loved wandered through time, searching for him until they could search no more. Then what? Would he see Frances with another man? This fire was not a relief but torture, a flickering reminder of what could and should have been. He lowered his face into his hands, refusing to look at the fire and too terrified to gaze into the darkness.
Copyright © 2025 by Eric Neher
