A quick intro story to accompany June 2021 Contest Entry... just for fun...
Kilgore had been lying in
position for at least two hours, his gaze steadfastly forward, waiting for signs
of motion. He acknowledged the sun tracking slowly across the autumn sky, panning
the shadows incrementally across his vista.
The sun was set perfectly to cast
shadows towards him, his approach angle within the grove precise; this was part
of his plan, part of his method.
He had arrived the day before and
camped fire-less, unobtrusively next to a sandstone boulder, all the while
absorbing the base-level sounds, smells, and feel of the location. The grove
was typical bush; eucalypts at the edges interspersed with gymea lily, casual
bracken, some sandstone protrusions with small, grey flannel flowers growing
tenaciously in the gaps – simple, rugged beauty in an alternate time.
Lying on his belly he
contemplates fishing – this was the closest thing he’d come to fishing around
here, with the putrid, toxic creeks, stock dams and pools. Patiently waiting,
quiet - serene stillness lest the fish senses his presence and scarpers.
He was not against
technology. Had in fact set up a
contingent of motion detectors earlier to monitor the wider perimeter for endemic
wildlife or transient intruders. But catching the artifact was something he chose
to do by eye and by hand. This analogue thrill was the biggest drawcard keeping
him in this forbidding patch of hell; not that he overtly recognise that fact - though he acknowledged the rush of success.
He had discovered this anomaly a
weeks ago by chance. Set back from the trail and over a small embankment, the
area looked relatively fresh, not gouged and haggard as it would be once the
anomaly had been there a while and noused things up. There was precious little
sign of activity around it too, animal prints, trails, nothing.
That didn’t mean that his weathered
45 wasn’t sitting inches from his head, within line of sight and in immediate reach.
Lying prone and focused in the zone was about as compromising a position as one
could be in; but he had confidence in his overall process, one of preparedness,
of reading the environment. If anything was stalking him undetected, then,
well, it probably deserved a hearty breakfast.
Having more immediate business to
attend to last week, he’d thrown a fist-sized rock into the grove, had seen the
rock deflect out in a trailing halo like a wrong comet, and called that ‘preliminary
recon’ before continuing with his prior assignment.
Now the medium size Vortex hummed
with grave power not far over his head. The anomaly was for all practical purposes
static.
After dropping his pack yesterday,
he’d used the time before darkness fell to study the anomaly. He’d sensed signs
of movement below it, a slow smudge in the periphery of his vision indicating
that an artifact might be being carousing around in there somewhere, virtually
invisible so close to the anomaly.
If it was moving then just maybe
it would wander out far enough.
So now he waited motionless,
waiting for an ephemeral blur to pass into vision and within arm’s reach. He
fancied he’d seen signs of it right after he’d settled into position this
morning, but he’d chosen to wait and acclimatize. It wouldn’t do to waste the
opportunity; to knock the artifact back into the anomaly's core - or graze the anomaly
and risk having it rip his arm right off - or more likely have the anomaly swell
defensively, draw him in, and smatter him out again as particulate goo like a
god-like sneeze.
This wasn’t his first dance, and
it wouldn’t be his last - he’d decided that before setting out, and it was the
only way to approach the zone.
A faint breeze swept through the
foliage briefly and dropped again, rippling the shadows from the trees. A storm
was anticipated to pick up in the afternoon and he was hoping to be heading
back to the settlement before then – preferably artifact in hand.
The settlement had been abuzz
with the prospect of some new missions being launched by one of the scientific
concerns, looking for guides, protection, meat-shields with guns. He wasn’t
sure how he felt about that, contradicting his usual preference of rolling solo.
It wouldn’t hurt his negotiation
position to literally drop a freshly plucked artifact on the table should he
wish to participate though.
His periphery detects a movement,
the slight change in brightness registering in that same place where his
night-vision is the strongest. A ghost of a shape, a whisper, dust motes in
sunlight.
His breathing slows, like it
would before squeezing the trigger on a long shot.
The something moves into his
field of vision, bobbling up and down like a phasing shiver, fading in and out
of focus as though undecided as to whether it is there or not.
He gauges the input, calculates a
path, watches for deviation, for aberrations in the vector. His concentration
becomes fierce and singular, if ever there was a time for a predator to strike
it was now.
His hand lashes out like a
strike, his fingers curling at the computed apex, plucking at the tingling,
energized air.
There is mass there too, he cedes
with momentary satisfaction.
He hears-feels a sucking pressure
escalate above him like a gigantic engine roaring quickly to life.
Rolling quickly to his left he snatches
up the pistol. The anomaly howls as he dives away from the epicentre, clearing
the clawing pull of the kill zone.
A backwash detonation of air shoves
him from behind resentfully, tripping him.
Matt stillness settles within the
grove in the aftershock of the anomaly’s indignant eruption, leaving a low
ringing in his ears.
Kilgore waits on his knees,
pistol in hand and eyes scanning while the ringing subsides enough for his hearing to
partake in his protection once again.
Satisfied that the area remains
clear for the moment he opens his hand and sees a glassy-smooth, brown moss/rock
object sitting there. It remains cold despite the warmth of his palm, and
distinctly lacks the nerve jarring effects of the radiation emitting artifacts.
A Wrenched. He nods satisfied; radiation protection was always worthwhile within
the zone.
He collects his gear - the backpack
settling naturally into familiar position on his shoulders.
A breeze now ruffles the foliage
constantly, accompanying the slowly progression of clouds far above – a growing
weight of clouds.
Had the anomaly’s surge triggered
the atmospheric change?
He racks the rifle, perhaps his
luck will hold long enough for him to beat the rain back to base.
- - -
ende
