Sorry I'm late. Let's pick up from where we left off.
***
The pain kept him awake. Rocks had served as his
cushions. His back ached and his neck throbbed, but he focused on the searing
agony in his leg. He faced upward. The archaeologist had no immediate idea of how
far he had fallen. The never-ending darkness and the pin-point of light above
him gave a hint.
Okay, Calum Grady
told himself, I’d say I’m five, six miles
down? But how am I still alive?
Memories from the past few moments replayed in his mind. He remembered
the fall. He remembered the rocks tumbling below and around him. Above it all,
he remembered his once-rapid descent becoming a slow drop. At the time, he
thought his mind was playing tricks on him. When he felt the way the air cradled
his body, however, and when he felt the pressure around him, it told him
another story. It did not stop the hard landing, but it softened the blow all
the same.
A low-gravity field, he reasoned, Cushioned my fall
on the way down. Probably something
the natives installed to prevent workplace accidents. Thank god for dead civilizations.
He flipped a switch on his belt and fiddled with a small
dial. Slowly, he unhooked a com-wire and brought it to the side of his head,
fixing one end into his ear and the other to his mouth. “Anyone there?” he
grunted, pausing to play with the dial some more, “Anyone? Andrew? Joan? Can
anybody hear me?”
The reception settled. Static cleared away. His comrade barked on the
other side: “– lum? Calum Grady, this is
Joan Holliday! Come in! Are you there?”
“I wish I wasn’t,” he groaned,
pushing himself up. Aching, his eyes focused in the darkness, “I seem to be in
some huge chamber. It’s so dark I can’t see anything, and I left my torch with
–”
“Never-mind that! How the hell are
you still alive? I can’t even see
you!”
“Never a bad time to believe in miracles, I guess. Where’s Carter?”
“He fainted. I radioed the
Department, though. A rescue team’s on the way.”
“Of course he’d faint,” he grumbled aloud. He winced. Fire screamed
through his leg. Gingerly, he brought his fingers down it. Halfway-down, he
felt it bending at an irregular angle, “I think my leg’s twisted.”
“So much for miracles.”
“I’m fine,” he said, struggling to his side. “I’m going to try and work
out my surroundings, maybe see if I can make sense of where I am.”
Setting his hands to the ground, he pushed himself up. He slid his good
leg in front of him and put his weight on it. Calum recalled his training. Years
before, he took courses in acrobatics. Calum Grady knew how to fall and he knew
how to keep balance, and he knew how to carry himself in case his limbs were
incapacitated.
On the other end, Joan heard him struggle and gasped a little, “Good god, Calum. Are you trying to stand?”
“I get bored easily,” he joked, rising and steadying his body. He
levelled his arms at his sides and smiled to himself.
“How dense are you, exactly?”
“Ask the missus,” he said, hopping forward a little, “She has all kinds
of stories.”
He almost heard Joan shake her head. There was silence
for a moment. “Tell me about her,”
she suddenly said, as though genuinely interested.
Calum rolled his eyes. He thought the conversation was
over, “Why?”
“It’ll take your
mind off of the pain.”
“I’d rather keep my mind on my surroundings,” he lied, hobbling
left, “Who knows when the floor’s going to collapse again?”
“Do it for me, then,” she told him, “I’d rather not sit
here and listen to you grunting, anyway.”
He huffed through his nose. “For you, then.
“We met fifteen years ago,” he told her, stumbling around a fallen
stone, “My friend’s a journalist. One of his articles exposed a massive mineral
smuggling ring founded by Alde Pharmaceuticals. There was a big gala hosted by
the Department of Justice in his honour. All of his friends and all of his
friends’ friends were invited. It was a mess, at first. I spent the first half
of the evening nursing my drink, not bothering anybody.”
“I can picture that,” Joan
said, “You don’t seem like the social
butterfly.”
“I didn’t see the point,” Calum admitted, “Sometimes, I still don’t. I
don’t know what songs are popular. I avoid all the hot gossip. I live in the
past. I swim through history. What am I going to say to other people? Hell,” he
laughed, putting his hands in front of him, “What are they going to say to me?”
“What did you see in her?”
“I’m getting to that,” he said, as his fingers grazed a wall in front of
him. Stone ridges met his hands as he eagerly brought himself close to it, “Anyway,
my friend had enough of me guzzling wine and glaring at the guests, so he
brought me over to join his friends. I found myself face-to-face with five journalists,
two dignitaries from Persia United, and her.”
“And who was she?”
“Back then, a bookkeeper for the Department of Communication.”
“Was it love at first sight?”
His hands slid along the wall, “Not at all. Her world was all digits and
barcodes, budgets and balances. She hated reading because it bored her. Ancient
history was all dreams and fairytales. We had nothing in common. But, later, we
met at another gala, and then another and another until... I don’t know, I
guess we realized that that wasn’t important.”
“What’s her name?”
He pressed against a ridge that was wider than the rest, “Her name? It’s
–”
Something buzzed in the dark.
In seconds, the ceiling flickered. Circles of lights flashed off and on
in the darkness. A low hum bubbled through the air. Calum Grady turned his body
around to face the vanishing gloom.
Rows of glass cylinders lined the sides of a wide and circular room. Walls
coloured a deep shade of purple flanked Calum on all sides. The cylinders were
affixed to large metal structures with a silver coating. Display panels and
buttons dabbed the sides. Blue lights flashed along their exteriors. A whirring
noise sounded throughout the room.
It was then that one of the cylinders opened.***
By the way, have I mentioned that I am writing for BlogTO. Because I am.
This yarn concludes next week!
See you next time!
-RWI
