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The boy’s skin bubbled and wrinkled. One of his eyes deflated and ran down his cheek as a white goo, not unlike semen. Muscle liquefied and fell off his bones. He folded into the ground, left as a quivering lump. The lump bubbled and twitched and took on shape. Two stumpy feet emerged. A cloven hoof. Two more feet, a round body. I heard whimpering behind me, Molly watching along with me. In five seconds, I was looking through the cage at a pink, well-fed pig.

“Mother.  Fucker.”

That was John, behind me. The pig trotted calmly over to the wires of the cage, sniffing at me. It put its front hooves on the wire cage and I thought, but wasn’t sure, I saw the same imprinted Pi tattoo Molly once had and Drake had and what the fuck did it all mean. I yanked the pull string on the chainsaw so hard I thought I’d rip it out. The saw roared to life.

John looked down at Molly and said, “You better poop that bomb because we’re blowing this place to Hell.”

“PUT IT DOWN!”

John and I spun to see a man in one of the “clean” suits, maybe thirty feet away, pointing an enormous rifle at us that seemed to have too many barrels. His voice was filtered through a small speaker on the side of the hood and he was shouldering his way past the white-suited workers.

John did not put the flame-thrower down. What he did instead was point the flaming end of the thing at the man and say, “You put yours down, asshole.”

I said, “I’d do it, sir. We’re pissed.”

“YOU HAVE ONE SECOND TO DROP THAT CHAINSAW AND THAT... THING.”

At this point, John flung himself to the ground and screamed, “YOU SHOT ME! AAARRRRGHHH!”

Not a shot had been fired. I rushed to John’s side. “You shot him! He has four kids! Or should I say, four orphans.”

The man stepped over, the gun trained on John. The weapon seemed to be from the year 2050, smooth sides and a thin electronic sight that glowed green. There was a small barrel on bottom and a cavernous one on top that looked like it fired cannon shells.

“YOU.  STEP AWAY AND GET ON THE FLOOR OVER THERE.”

I said, “You shot him, you son of a bitch!”

“DO IT AND DO IT NOW.”

I stood and backed away. The man loomed over John and aimed the rifle right at his head.

“YOU’RE NOT SHOT. GET UP.”

Two urges rushed through me at the same moment. There was the urge to surrender, to put an end to the tension and fear and accept my fate. And then there was the urge to do violence.

I don’t remember making the choice. All I know is that my muscles caught fire with adrenaline and I suddenly felt the fear and rage that is the most intense high the human animal can feel. In that split second I knew I was overmatched but I also knew that if I was going to die, this was how I wanted to do it. I wanted to give this asshole a scar with an interesting story behind it.

I flung myself at the man, swinging the chainsaw like a baseball bat. I was aiming high, trying to chop his arm off at the shoulder. I missed by two feet and hit his hand.

It was the hand holding the grip of the rifle. The spinning chain bounced off the gun and the impact made me drop it. The chainsaw fell to the floor, rattling on the ground with the vibration of the motor.

Smooth.

But the man screeched in pain and, to my horror, two of his fingers dropped to the ground in a red splatter. The rifle clattered down to the concrete. I dove for the gun and grabbed it by a handle that was slick with blood. I found the trigger to be where it is on most guns. I aimed it at the man’s chest and climbed to my feet. John stood, looking at the man’s fingerless stumps with disgust.

I said, “Sir, you need to get that looked at.”

The man didn’t move. My heart hammered. I realized I had crippled this man for the rest of his life. John said, “This is the part where you run away and find a First Aid kit, dipshit.”

The man got to his feet and stumbled off. Around us, dozens or hundreds of the bald, faceless workers stood as still as the mannequins they resembled. Everything had come to a stop. Machines were being shut down.

I tried to catch my breath, felt like my bladder was going to let go. I said, “This is going well.”

There was a POCK sound and suddenly one of the blue barrels next to me sprung a leak. John and I looked at it curiously for a moment before we noticed about a dozen men in clean suits racing toward us from just about every direction, each armed, dodging the worker mannequins and toppling equipment.

I raised the rifle, no idea what to do, heard pops of gunfire that seemed faint in the cavernous room. I turned, pointed at the massive tanks of pink fluid and who knows what else and pulled the trigger.

The gun exploded. Or seemed to, the crack of a rifle shot I was expecting was replaced by a thunderous boom that punched the butt of the rifle into my shoulder. The tanks erupted in a spray of glass. Fluid and flailing shapes poured out onto the floor, faceless workers sprinting off in every direction.

Madness ensued. Inhuman screams. Crashing glass, toppling tables. The things that spilled out of the tanks were writhing, thrashing limbs around and I thought I saw a human face stuck on the body of a hairless baboon. But it was all a dark blur and John took off running, to where, I didn’t know. I followed.

My heart hammered. We dodged people like running backs, the chaos passing around us. The scenery was a department store hodgepodge of nonsense, something out of a dream. We ran past hundreds of the walking mannequins, past tables full of clothes and what looked like tailoring equipment and rolls of cloth. A shelf full of underwear. We ran past a section of men working on what looked like dentistry, drilling and crafting bridges and false teeth. We knocked over chairs and tables and filing cabinets. We saw a young woman strapped to a table, her legs missing. We saw racks of fat bags like we saw in Amy’s bathroom, imprinted with numbers. I saw a man chained to a wall who seemed to have snakes for arms, each hand replaced by snapping jaws and venomous fangs.

I saw Molly as a low, running copper streak up ahead and realized with horror that John was following her. I heard more shots and saw two of the mannequin men fall, ragged holes in their backs. My guts turned to liquid and my hands tightened around the bulky rifle, feeling sweat and sticky blood on the trigger. We reached a wall and I saw wide stairs leading to a double door made of brushed steel, like a bank vault. A closed bank vault.

I heard shouts and clanging and saw people on the catwalk overhead, saw white suits circling around us in the crowd and heard orders shouted from every direction. A booming voice emerged from a public address system, announcing things in a throaty language that sounded like Hebrew. I suddenly knew how that woodchuck felt.

I pulled up the rifle, found a little switch next to the handle and flipped it, hoping it would make the other barrel work. I raised it to my shoulder.

So freaking dark...

I tried to get a fix through the glowing green sights. I felt hands on me. I squeezed the trigger and the gun roared, fire erupting, the barrel jumping like a jackhammer. I lost control of it almost immediately, the gun pushing my shoulder back until I was shooting straight up. In three seconds I was clicking an empty gun, night-blinded, smelling gunpowder. I heard a thump-thump-thump and realized it was bodies falling off the catwalk above.

Hands on me again, the worker clones or whatever they were, grabbing my jacket and pulling my hair. The gun was ripped from my hands and I heard a whoosh, a sound suspiciously like a gun being swung through the air. A bomb went off in my skull. Lights flared in front of my eyes and I went down hard. I heard barking and growling, felt Molly thrashing around near me. I almost went out. I heard John’s voice, shouting in the bedlam.

“GENTLEMEN, I WOULD LIKE TO PROPOSE A TOAST!”

And then, the whole world was on fire.

Heat and light and horrible, inhuman shrieks. I got on my hands and knees and saw John hosing everything down, a fountain of orange light glaring in the darkness, a crowd of dark limbs flailing in a pool of flame. A hand grabbed me again from the crowd, its sleeve on fire-

A firearm!

-and I kicked at it, got free. From beside me, John frantically pumped the gun and again flame poured forth with a sound like rushing wind. Suddenly I was being pulled up to my feet, pulled backwards, pulled to the spot where the metal door had been. It was apparently open now because we kept going, into another space, a small area that felt like a corridor.

I heard the heavy clang of the door closing and suddenly a light flickered on. It was John who had hold of me, a fist full of my jacket in his hand. He spun toward the door and we saw a thin man standing there, next to a metal box on the wall with a series of red buttons.

It was Robert North. He looked us over, then said, simply, “Incredible.”

We were alone in a hallway, an orchestra of sounds from the other side of the steel door. Molly looked that direction and growled. North stepped away from us and strode down the corridor. We followed. I put my hand to my aching skull, pulled away bloody fingers. John took his hand off me and said, “Can you walk?”

“Yeah.”

North led us through one doorway, then another. We finally emerged into an enormous round chamber with steps that led down to a platform, the place set up not unlike a basketball stadium. At the heart of the room where center court would be, was an arrangement of tall arches, maybe a dozen, in two concentric circles. It reminded me of Stonehenge. Around the room were beds and examination tables, but nobody on them. On the floor, on a small platform, sat the fat bag, the exact one from Amy’s bathroom (“44.42” KG on the side) and not far from that sat the lifeless, copper-haired dummy I had seen appear on Amy’s couch. North led us out of the Stonehenge room, barely glancing at it, and out another door. We went down another hall and into another large, domed room. This one had a cylinder of black glass in the center that rose all the way up to the ceiling.

North closed the door behind us, another sliding double-door with metal a foot thick. I saw there were no other exits from the room and whatever comfort I had felt from escaping the mob had vanished. This was the end of the line.

North said, “I have a thousand questions to ask but no time to ask them.”

I said, “We have to get back! To ground level, to the mall. Amy is...”

He turned, like he couldn’t hear me, and walked toward the cylinder. I glanced around and saw that the walls, like all of the walls here, seemed to be made of glass-smooth stone. The door and the controls for the door all seemed to have been added later, the wiring in metal conduits on the exterior of the wall. I wondered again where exactly this place was. Were we still on Earth?

I ran up behind North, said, “Get us outta there. Get us out and tell us where would be the best place to put a bomb.”

John said, “Yeah, the dog is rigged to blow.”

John shook the pink plastic tank of flame-thrower fuel on his hip, found it empty. He blew out the lighter at the barrel of the flame-throwing toy, then dropped it all to the floor. I noticed the barrel had partially melted.

North said, “I do not think you fully appreciate what this is.”

I nodded toward North and said to John, “This is the guy, the one who I saw in my truck that night.”

John said, “Okay. Can he explain what the fuck this place is? And what they’re making out there?”

I waved my hand with impatience and said, “He can tell us all about that shit after we’re outta here and after we’ve gotten to Amy. And after we blow this place to Hell. But before those assholes come rushing through that door.”

North said, “I believe Amy is safe. And I assure you, the men outside cannot get in here. I know this facility very well.”

“How do you know about Amy?” I asked. “You’re a part of this? You work for these people?”

North said, “I was born here. And as for what they’re doing out there, well, they’re doing the same thing all thinking creatures do, from the moment they come to life. Trying to change the world as they see fit.”

He looked at the black column.

“What do you think you’re looking at there?”

John said, “You’re gonna be looking at my fist, and then Dave’s dick, if you don’t-“

“-Take a moment and try to understand what you’ve seen,” North said. “You will not be angry once you understand. Your anger clouds you.” North glanced around the room. “I was born here, as I said. One month ago. Do you understand?”

I was trying to think up a new threat of violence for North and then I saw John’s eyes go wide. I turned on the black column and saw that there was activity, there in the darkness. Swirling shapes pouring through it. Streaks of light. Life.

North said, “Imagine a garment, woven from a single thread. And imagine that after forming that garment, that same continuing thread was used to weave another garment similar to the first. So you have a thread that is simultaneously part of two garments, but at some point the thread stops being part of one garment and becomes part of the other.“

John waved his hand impatiently and said, “Who gives a shit?”

North gestured toward the column.

“This is the thread.”

I said, “Good. John, pry the bomb from Molly’s colon and blow this fucker.”

North said, “The key to saving your friend, Amy, is through there.”

I said, “You want us to go through? What’s in there? Hell? Is that what happened, this thing opened up and a bunch of you monstrous fuckers came crawling in? That’s why we’ve got so much weird shit in this town?”

“The opening has always been here. It is the reason sentient life began on your world. But no man has traveled back through this portal. They have tried it.”

“Then what the fuck are you talking about?” I screamed.

John glanced at Molly and said, “Shit the bomb, Molly.”

North said, “No, the only ones who can travel back and forth are the Dark Men.”

John said, “Blacks? Is that why there aren’t any in Undisclosed? They get sucked in?”

This threw North. He recovered and said, “No, the Dark Men are the ones who lived but have been torn from their bodies, through death and, well, other circumstances you would not understand. They come from all worlds with sentient thought. They are unrestricted by matter and as such, can exist in one dimension and then the next, in one time and then the next, and then, in none at all. They exist in numbers greater than you can imagine, a dark ocean that flows between worlds. And as more thinking beings are born and die, the ranks of the Dark Men swell like the waters of a flooding river.”

“Okay!” said John. “Then let’s blow it up then.”

He leaned down and grabbed Molly by the shoulders.

“We need you to shit the bomb, Molly. Shit it! Shit the bomb!”

She didn’t even try.

John said, “Fuck it. Let’s light the dog on fire.”

North said, “Again, this passage was not built. The column you see here is a containment that was built, but not by men. And you could not destroy even it. If you could, your universe would vanish into it.”

I looked at him, then spun on Molly. “Shit it, Molly! NOW! SHIT IT!”

North seemed to be losing patience and he said, “Through that passage is the only way to save Amy Sullivan.”

I turned on him. “Are you finally getting to the part where you tell us how to do that?”

“You must pass through.”

“You just said-“

“-there is a reason why you have drawn so much interest, Mr. Wong. The ones who run this facility, and others, have devoted more time and resources than you can imagine to developing an ability to pass from one side to the next. You and John here apparently can. And we do not know why.”

I said, “I know why. But I’m sure not telling you.”

North said, “If you do not go in, where will you go?”

He had a point. And we had come this far. I looked at the column and said, “Fine. How do we get in?”

“Just decide that you want to get in, and you will.”

I reached out a hand and touched the surface, like cut onyx. Close to it I thought I could see color in the blackness, blue with streaks of white. The column felt as solid as stone, but then suddenly I saw my fingers push into it, like it was made of warm wax. My hand vanished up to the wrist and then elbow and then I changed my mind, tried to pull back and realized I had no chance of doing it short of cutting off my arm. I turned to John to tell him to find something sharp, but at that moment blackness fell over my vision.

Chapter 15 – Shit Narnia

There was a period not unlike the half-waking moments between snooze alarms. A timeless, restless void that could have been a second and could have been ten thousand years. I felt air on my face, a rushing wind that pummeled me. I could not see, realized my eyes were closed, and pried them open. My vision immediately went blurry, air blowing the fluids from my eyeballs. I felt like I was falling. I focused my eyes and saw the ground, way down there, hundreds of feet. Lush green grass and tiny pale shapes that could have been people, little dots that seemed to grow almost imperceptibly.

Wait a second. I AM falling. HOLY SHIT!

I started flailing my arms, hoping I somehow had the ability to fly in this world. It was no good. I fell and fell for what seemed like an irrationally long time and then, I wasn’t falling. Instead I was tangled up in something soft and springy like cheese cloth, bouncing twice before landing once and for all.

I laid there for a moment in some kind of netting, dumbfounded, a split second before Molly’s ass landed right on my face.

I struggled to sit up, saw that I was hanging in a piece of cloth the size of a house, suspended high in the air. Above me, a dozen wingless, flying creatures the size of people were keeping it suspended with ropes.

Angels, I thought. I’ve gone to Heaven and I’m being carried on a tarp hefted by Angels.

This wasn’t what I was taught to expect in Sunday School, but things are never the way you learn them in the classroom. The cloth convulsed and tossed me again into the air for a dizzying second. John had landed.

We were going lower, down and down. I peered down through the translucent fabric, like looking through panty hose. I thought I saw a crowd down there, a flesh-colored sea with a space in the middle. I was half expecting to find gates of carved pearl and a judge waiting for me, half expecting the crowd down there to descend on me, douse me in drawn butter and eat me alive.

We went down and down and down, the air getting warmer and the wind getting calmer. We finally hit the ground with a jolt. I rolled and flailed in the netting, got on my feet, then fell back on my ass. I got a good look at the beasts carrying the tarp. I saw they were a sort of hump-backed men, emitting a growling noise until the moment they landed. They were naked, with penises I worked hard not to notice. Their only clothing was loose hoods that covered their heads and draped down over their chests.

One of the men walked near, penis flopping with each step, and extended a hand to help me up. I observed that he did not in fact have a humped back, but instead seemed to have some kind of apparatus that was riding on his back with straps made of hard, jointed plastic or something like it.

I let the naked man, hairy as an Italian, help me up and then I withdrew my hand as quickly as possible. He stood back and joined the hump-backs who were forming a loose circle around me and John and the dog. Beyond them, I saw the crowd.

There were maybe a hundred people standing around, every one of them wearing hoods. Every one of them otherwise naked. I observed, with some dismay, that a large percentage of them were elderly. I noticed that one group of them were holding up a large, colorful banner but I could not make out what was on it.

I said to John, “Oooookay. So, you see Amy here?”

John said, “Dunno.” He scanned the hooded nakedness around us and said, “You know what this is, right? We’re in an alternate universe and this is Eyes Wide Shut world.”

The crowd stared at us in silence. Molly sniffed the air. It was cool here, maybe in the high 50’s, a mild winter. The grass around us was still green and soft and the landscape was made of the same low hills that Undisclosed was built on. There were no buildings, just green grass and the rolling hills spilling out around us like a wrinkled green rug. My head throbbed from getting clubbed earlier.

I said, “I wonder what they’re expecting. Are we supposed to fight each other to the death?”

“In Eyes Wide Shut World, we’ll be lucky if that’s all it is.”

From the crowd emerged a large man, no hood, wearing a pinstripe suit. Or should I say, he was wearing an imitation of a pinstripe suit. It was black with pinstripes that seemed to be about a quarter-inch wide, and a short, fat red tie that only hung down about six inches from his neck. He spread his arms.

“Gentlemen. Welcome.”

His face was human, but off. A Michael Jackson sort of face. I had seen it in my television.

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Copyright © 2008 David Wong and Jason Pargin - All rights reserved. No part of this book or website may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the express written consent of the author and publisher. This online book is a work of fiction. People, places, events, and situations are the product of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or historical events, is purely coincidence.