The False Mountain

 

He started walking and soon realized that he was never alone. Every street, every house, every store and every park was filled with people. Having learned the plastic smile and the friendly wave, he greeted more people than he could even count. But the death and emptiness that filled his chest always remained, a constant reminder, a constant ache that filled his every waking moment. Distractions only worked for a time, until the distraction played itself out and he again sat in his silence trying to ignore the hollowness.

He walked to the edge of the city and looked out across the plain. It was literally flat and empty. There were no mountains, there were no trees, but only emptiness and barrenness. A small group of guards walked past him as he mused on the bizarre contradiction of empty loneliness while being trapped in a crowd.

“Is everything alright, sir?” one of them asked.

“Yes, yes, it’s all fine,” he lied. “Just getting away from the city for a few moments.”

“Well, don’t be out here too long,” he said. “There is safety in the city and there’s wild animals out here.”

Watching the guards walk away, he couldn’t help but feel that he had a small connection, a real one, with real people. With a sense of sadness, he turned away and walked back into the city. Avoiding eye contact with all those that passed, he stopped in the center of the main town square and looked up at the numerous flashing billboards. So many lights, so many words, and so much noise, he began to wonder if he was going insane. He looked at one billboard and tried to listen to the message the man was speaking. Dr. Odin MacLafee was giving an explanation of why his school of thought and linguistic was vastly superior to anything else being promoted by others.

Turning to the opposite square, he focused on the billboard there and though he could hear the words, the staccato delivery and the huge number of technical terms rendered the man’s message basically incoherent. Shaking his head and looking down at his shoes, he continued on his way and only felt worse than he did upon leaving the city’s edge.

Buying a newspaper at the small kiosk in front of his apartment building, he turned through seven pages before he found an article he could read. In a moment of frustration, he dropped the paper in the lap of a nearby homeless person and then jogged up the stairs to his second floor apartment. Stopping at his door, he paused, knowing what lay in wait for him behind his door. “A whole lot of nothing,” he thought. Taking the elevator to the forty-eighth floor, he stepped out onto the roof and walked to the edge.

High above the city he stood, looking down on nearly every other building, save one. At the far east end of the city stood the mountain, at least that is what everyone called it. It certainly was nothing like any mountain he had ever seen. More like the pyramid in Giza but smaller at the base with much taller steps to each level. The massive, odd building stood out from everything in the city, an eyesore, in his opinion, that never should have been started. But the tech party of the current government system insisted on building the thing.

He never understood the obsession with reaching the stars. The whole prospect seemed ridiculous, for the stars were clearly far beyond the reach of any building. He had heard whispers of ulterior motives for the building, but they were only rumors and hearsay. Though none of the rumors could be substantiated, he knew that a great number of highly influential men claimed to be in contact with transdimensional beings. These beings, it was said, offered immortality and limitless wisdom. All that needed to be achieved was the construction of this building to reach the stars.

Sitting on the edge of the small ledge around the top of the building, he looked out across at all of the busyness, all of the chaos and all of the noise. The sick feeling in his chest only got worse as he looked. Sure, the air was cleaner and fresher this high up, but that which oppressed him was something far different than mere physical ills. Returning to the elevator, his head hanging low and his hands shoved into his pockets, he could only return to his apartment and distract himself with something that didn’t burden his heart.

Waking up the next morning, he realized that he had no recollection of what happened once he returned to his apartment the night before. There was an odd smell in his living room and a horrible taste in his mouth and he was only wearing his socks. Sitting on the edge of his couch, he struggled to make sense of these seemingly disconnected details but was at a complete loss.

Taking a shower and eating breakfast, he was on his way out the door within thirty minutes. Walking into the main lobby, he could see people running past the main entrance. At first he assumed it was just a few people jogging but as the stream of runners continued, he began to believe that something was wrong. Behind him, the elevator chimed and Mrs. Novum stepped out.

“Good morning, ma’am,” he said, with a friendly smile, at least he hoped it was friendly.

The old woman merely looked at him and responded with a string of sounds that he assumed were words but were words that made absolutely no sense. With a small laugh and a wave, he stepped out of the main entrance onto the sidewalk. Though the city was typically chaotic on any given day, this particular day was particularly bad. Within the first block, he witnessed three fist fights and four arguments.

The volume and the words were so extreme, he began to wonder if he had hit his head or taken some medicine that was generating this overwhelming sense of confusion on his part. Catching sight of Paulo, his co-worker, he waved to get his attention. “Hey Paulo, hey, over here,” he shouted.

Paulo waved back and jogged over. “Man, am I glad to see you,” he said. “Can you believe what is going on today? This is crazy.”

“Uh, no… I mean… yes, what is going on?” he asked. “It seems like everyone is angry with everyone else. Did something happen?”

“Oh man, you must’ve just gotten up,” he said. “Did you not turn on the news this morning?”

“No, no news,” he answered. “I woke up late and was feeling odd so I hurried out after shower and a breakfast. What did I miss?”

“I hate to admit it,” he answered. “But all of that stuff that you’ve been saying for all these years about the way people talk and the weird shift in focus upon the stars, not to mention all of this stuff about transdimensional beings. I think you were right. It’s almost like all of the political parties have finally lost any ability to communicate with one another. If you just stand here for a few minutes and listen to the conversations going on, people are, literally, talking different languages.”

Sitting down on a nearby bench, he focused his attention on the small groups of people scattered around the sidewalks and storefronts. After a few minutes, he shook his head, bought a coffee from a street vendor and began walking toward his office. “I think you’re right,” he said. “None of this makes any sense. I guess I did see it coming but I never actually expected it to come to this. This is crazy.”

As the clock flipped to noon, he and Paulo met in the cafeteria and sat together, eating their lunch. A loud whistle pierced the random chatter throughout the room. The CEO of the company had stepped up on a table near the front of the room. “Attention everyone,” he shouted after whistling. “The President has an announcement to make. It will be on display up front here. I’ve been told that this is a very important message that will change everything we are doing here as a unified people. Listen up.”

“If you can understand what I’m saying,” the talking head on the screen said, “then you need to report to the west end of the city for further instruction.” As he finished, a second man replaced him on the screen and began speaking, but his words made no sense to him or Paulo. And finally a third man replaced the second and his words were as unintelligible as the second. This sequence repeated itself four more times and the gravity of the situation became clear to him.

“What the heck is going on here?” he said. “How did it get this bad? I guess we’re going to the west end of the city. I feel bad for those people with little kids and stuff. I wonder what this is all about.”

As he approached the train station, he bought a ticket for the west end and arrived with a mass of others. He did notice that everyone there was speaking intelligibly and calmly, which made perfect sense as they would be only those who understood the President’s message. The number of military personnel made him quite nervous as he watched them loading everyone onto transports. Watching one vehicle after another ascend to flight height and depart to the west, he tried to understand what was actually taking place.

Finally stepping into a transport himself, he looked back across the city as they ascended to begin their own flight away. As he looked as he saw scores of other vehicles on all sides of the city flying off in different directions. “Hey Paulo, are you seeing this?” he asked.

“Uh, yeah, pretty weird, huh?” he answered. “I was just talking to one of the guards and it seems that the President and the council have made the executive decision to split up and abandon the city. I guess no one can communicate any longer and they figure that dividing up is the only answer.”

“But there’s nothing out there, anywhere,” he answered. “What are we supposed to do? I have no idea how to survive in the wilderness. This is messed up.”

“I seem to think that a bunch of small villages that can communicate are better than a single massive city where we are only fighting,” Paulo said. “Don’t worry, we’ll figure it out.”

Mother Earth Inc.

 

Wilberforce had been scrubbing his hands for nearly an hour. The dirt, though mostly a dense red clay, refused to retract its hold on the space beneath his nails. Even though he was the president and CEO of Mother Earth Inc. he still took his turn digging soil in extraction point number thirty-one. The work was not easy, but he needed to show his unfailing support for the project to move mankind beneath the surface of the earth. “We came from the earth, and we should show our respect for her by finding our life in her,” was the company mantra and though the number of surface dwellers exceeded one million, the goal was to create enough space in the belly of Gaia to make room for them all.

Turning off the water and dropping nail scraper on the edge of the sink, he returned to his family, now sitting around the dining room table, awaiting his presence before starting their meal. Joining hands with his wife and two children, he offered the traditional thanksgiving before eating. “We thank you Gaia for this food that you have provided for us. All life comes from you, and we too will one day soon be in your bosom. Amen.”

Finishing their meal, consisting of vegetable matter solely grown from the soil, they retired to the living room for their evening update. “So how much longer, father, until we can move into Gaia?” the boy asked.

“It seems that every extraction point is one schedule,” he answered, so we are still on track for the end of the month. Are you all ready?”

“Yes sir,” they all answered in unison. “We will soon be free of the curse of the sun, the moon and the sky.”

“Very good,” he answered. “We must be packed and ready for the big day. It will come quicker than we can even imagine. The foolish land dwellers may laugh at us now but soon they will see but their understanding will come too late. They will all perish while we will live in the loving embrace of Gaia.”

Rising from his bed in the darkness of their windowless home, Wilberforce checked his email and read over his instructions for the coming week. Returning to his bedroom, he woke his wife. “Dana, wake up,” he said. “It seems that I will be traveling this week to visit some of the other extraction points. The board wants an official update on everyone’s progress. I need to leave by eight this morning.”

Arriving at extraction point fifteen on the far east coast, he approached the main gate and pressed the buzzer. After a moment, a crackling voice answered. Providing his identity, the gate crept open, and he pulled up in front of the business trailer. Climbing the steps, he punched in his employment ID and let himself in.

“Ah, Wilberforce, you’re here already,” the secretary said as he entered the room. “We weren’t expecting you for a couple more hours. I hope your trip was good.”

“Hello, Nancy,” he answered. “Yes, my trip was smooth and uneventful. When will the site manager be available?”

“He was planning on surfacing at noon, but I’ll call down to him now. The ascension takes about ten minutes. I just put a fresh pot of coffee on if you’re in the mood.”

“Coffee, yes, that sounds good,” he answered. “I’ll be in the conference room while I wait.”

Leaving the trailer after a brief update from the site manager, Wilberforce proceeded to repeat this process later that day and then twice a day for the rest of the week. Pulling up into his own driveway well past midnight, he half-slept walked into the bedroom and collapsed on the bed.

“Oh, Wilberforce,” his wife said as he jostled the bed. “I didn’t expect you until morning. Did everything go okay?”

“Yeah, everything is on schedule like everyone had reported,” he answered. “I was so close to home after seeing extraction point 30 that I figured I would just drive straight home and sleep in my own bed. Sorry to wake you.”

“No, no, that’s fine, I’m glad to see you,” she said. “And the kids will be excited to hear about the progress. But I’ll let you get to sleep. I’m sure you’re exhausted.”

Sitting at the kitchen counter the next morning before anyone else had gotten up, Wilberforce sat drinking his tea and watching the news.

“Though private and nearly reclusive, the Mother Earth Inc. foundation has released an official statement regarding their progress. They are reporting that the projected thirty-one subterranean living spaces will be complete within the month and their entire following will be descending into their new homes,” the reporter said. “Today, we have with us Dr. Philbus Cunningham from Johns Hopkins Hospital to explain the extremely dangerous nature of this undertaking. Dr. Cunningham, thank you for joining us.”

“Yes, Paul, I’m glad to be here,” he said. “Because we aren’t talking about a simple scientific project but what is really a borderline cult, there is no reasoning with the leaders of this group. All of the science points toward the physical and psychological devastation that will, and I mean will, overtake these people. Man was not meant to live in the darkness and stagnation of holes in the earth. If they go ahead with their plans, this will not end well.”

“Thank you, doctor,” the reporter said. “If anyone is interested in further details about the danger this group is placing themselves under, please go to the website address that is scrolling across the bottom of your screen.”

Turning off the screen, Wilberforce could only mutter under his breath. Finishing his coffee, he turned to see his family join him in the kitchen. “Good morning, everyone,” he said, embracing each in a warm hug. My trip went very, very well and all of the extraction points are on schedule to be complete as projected. This is very exciting.”

Standing in front of their now empty home, Wilberforce and his family watched their shipping container filled with all of their earthly belongings load onto the flat bed semi. Following their truck to extraction point thirty-one, they joined a long line of cars and semis all waiting to descend into their new home, nearly 7000 feet below the surface of the earth.

Leaving their car behind and finding their seats on the platform as it descended with their possessions, they all looked up as the circle of blue sky slowly disappeared, sinking into the ground at a forty-five-degree angle. The dull glow of a red tinted light filled the vast chamber that would now be their home. Following the container as it jostled toward their new living quarters, the kids hurried inside to choose their bedrooms.

As Wilberforce and his family walked through their new home, three brief chirps sounded, alerting them to gather in the main conference hall. Standing among tens of thousands of people, a number of elderly men ascended a small stage in front. “The day has finally arrived,” one of them said. “I have been informed that the last container has been loaded and the surface level hatch will be closed. If you all listen carefully, you will hear the cover as it is locked and sealed. Welcome to your new home.”

The crowd, in rapturous delight, broke into cheers and applause. Raising his hands as the crowd erupted in their excitement, he motioned for silence. Within moments of the crowd going silent, a large boom sounded followed by several metallic clicks. The sound echoed through the hall and once again the crowd broke into a raucous cheer.

As everyone returned to their new homes, Wilberforce plugged in the family television and found the news. “The final reports are in,” the reporter said. “All thirty-one extraction points across the country have been sealed. In an interesting change of mind, the leaders of Mother Earth Inc. have agreed to maintain occasional contact with their state governments. We will keep you posted as things develop.”

Albrecht Jones sat on his front porch watching the news on his phone. “Hey Edna,” he yelled into the house. “Looks like the news has an update on those weirdos underground.”

Turning up the volume, an image of the sealed entrance to extraction point thirty-one came across the screen. “We have received regular correspondence from the leaders of Mother Earth Inc. every two weeks since they first made their descent,” the reporter said. “But the last six weeks have been silent. State and federal officials have been in discussion about possible next steps. There is concern that something has gone wrong.”

“Ha, told ya,” Albrecht said. “Anybody with half a brain could’ve seen that this whole thing was weird and not right. They’re probably all dead.”

“Oh, don’t be so morbid, Albrecht,” Edna said. “They are still people after all. It would be terrible if they all died, especially the kids.”

The next morning, Albrecht turned on the news as he ate his breakfast. “Hey, it’s another report about the Mother Earth people,” he said. “Come here, Edna.”

“State and federal officials have made the decision to break open the extraction point seals at each location overnight,” the reporter said. “And reports are coming in that there are no survivors. The thousands of people in each location appear to have succumbed to some sort of toxin in their ventilation system. We have invited Dr. Pomplius DeGaard to explain exactly what took place. Dr. DeGaard, thank you for joining us.”

“Of course,” he answered. “From our preliminary findings, almost every detail of Mother Earth Inc.’s plan was based on faulty science and faulty logic. It was merely a matter of time. If this unexpected toxin had not killed them all, then something else, one of many possibilities, would have.”

“Thank you, doctor,” the reporter said. “In light of this current tragedy, the federal government has set aside the third Monday of this month as a special day to remember this terrible loss. May we all learn from their mistakes.”

Neo-Toxin

 

Waking up, he had no recollection of how he got to this place. As he opened his left eye, he realized that he stared at the aluminum leg of a dining room chair. The linoleum was cold, and the only sound was the ticking of a clock from another room. Shaking his head, as if trying to wake himself, he started to sit up only to realize that he had been chained to the floor.

              Socks and underwear were the limit of his clothing, and he was really cold. Pulling a bit on the chains that held him, he was able to get himself into a sitting position, his back against the cupboards. “Hello?” he called out, but he received no response.

              Looking around the room, it all seemed like a typical kitchen and one that felt very familiar. But then he saw the large mirror on the opposite wall. “A mirror in a kitchen?” he thought. “That’s weird.” Laying back down, he stretched his leg out toward the refrigerator to try to pull the door open. But as he was wearing socks, he had zero grip and not enough toe strength. Sitting back up again, he could only listen to his stomach growl.

              “What’s he doing now?” the little girl behind the mirror asked. A dozen sets of eyes looked upon the man on the opposite side of the mirror and tried to understand him. He couldn’t stand up, for the chains kept him nearly at floor level and he couldn’t eat anything, for it was all out of reach. So he sat in silence and merely looked around the room.

              “Couldn’t we go out and help him?” the little girl asked.

              “No, honey, it wouldn’t do any good,” her mother answered. “He wouldn’t see or hear us even if we tried. We are like ghosts to him.”

              “Well, this just doesn’t seem right,” she said. “I’m going to try and do something.” Pushing past everyone in the room, she walked into the kitchen and stood by him, looking at his sad face. The sudden burst of a growling stomach startled her, and she pulled a banana from the counter, lying it on the floor near him. But, as her mother had surmised, he simply didn’t see it or the little girl.

              Returning to the room behind the mirror, they stood in silence and grief, watching him struggle on the floor, pulling against his restraints. “He’s just being lazy,” one of them said. “He just needs to try harder. Why is he being like that?”

              “I’m sorry, I just don’t have any answers,” the mother said. “There is nothing we can do.”

              “But do we need to sit here and watch him?” another said. “We could at least go do something fun.”

              The large group of people turned away for the last time and left the house. A wave of grief swept over her as she looked back upon him one last time. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “You kids wait here,” she said, pointing toward the sidewalk. “I’ll be just a minute.” Stepping into the garage, she searched around and found the can of gasoline in the corner. Returning to the kitchen, she tipped it over onto the floor and dropped a lit match, closing the door behind her and hurrying away.

              Walking toward the park, a lump formed in her throat, and she fought hard not to cry. In the distance she could hear sirens approaching and then race past them. Turning into a nearby park, she distracted them all with rides on the swings and the merry-go-round.

              “Things will be better now,” she assured them. “You don’t have to worry about anything.”

              Darkness began to settle on the playground and the mother gathered the children together. “Come on everyone,” she said. “We can go home now.” Walking together in the semi-darkness and the strange silence, they finally reached their home, the police and fire department now absent. Black scorch marks could be seen at the tops of the doors and windows.

              They all stood in the kitchen and found exactly what they expected. An empty house, moderate smoke and fire damage but still inhabitable. It was close to a year before the mess was cleaned up, though the smell of smoke still hung in the air and emanated from the carpets and draperies.

              “Can we get pizza tonight?” one of the children asked.

              “Yes, honey, I think that would be a good idea,” the mother answered. “Someone can order it online and we’ll all go pick it up.”

              Sitting in a circle on the living room floor, the three boxes of pizza spread out before them, the mother kept the conversation going with inanities and silly stories. She could see the pain and confusion in their eyes but did her best to distract them from the reality that was now theirs.

              “Now what?” the youngest asked.

              “Well…” the mother said, “we’ll finish our pizza and then we can all watch a movie together.”

              “That’s not what I meant,” the little girl said. “You know… now what?”

              “There’s lots we can do,” one of the older children said. “We’ll just find some way to move on and everything will be better.”

              One of the older children walked into the kitchen and stared at the silver eye hooks that had been fastened into the floor. Retrieving a set of pliers from the junk door by the refrigerator, he slowly turned each hook from its place in the linoleum. Dropping them into the garbage can, he took the stairs into the basement and closed his bedroom door behind him.

              One by one the children disappeared from the living room until the mother sat alone and looked at the blackened marks like charred tongues upon the walls.