Socket 1-3 - The Socket Greeny Saga (65 page)

Maybe an electromagnetic pulse killed
everything upon entry. Something went wrong right before I got
home, I felt it jerk me around. Maybe the ship malfunctioned and
dumped me in the ocean. At least it didn’t drop another twenty feet
out to sea or I’d be stuck to the bottom like an anchor.

My suit had already dried. I sat down in the
sand, leaned back against a tree.
What now? Surely, the Paladins
knew I was coming back. They would eventually search for me. But if
I didn’t have power to signal them, how would they find me?

The waves were small, sloshing onto the
beach in a steady rhythm. I closed my eyes, listening to the ocean
go in and out. In and out.

It lulled me to relax, but something was
missing. Everything felt so… so empty. Like an environment in my
office where nothing was real. But I couldn’t sense any walls. I
considered, for a second, that I was in my office. But I could
always sense the confines of a moldable environment, sense the
walls of a room even though it looked endless. The beach had no
such limitation. It just felt empty.

Maybe I imagined it. I was tired.

The waves greeted me gently. I imagined I
was floating in the water, warm and cozy. But then I opened my eyes
and stared at coconuts. My survival suit was warm but the cool air
was nipping at my ears and the tip of my nose. I sat up and rubbed
my face. My eyes were heavy with sleep. I couldn’t remember laying
down. The moon hung just above the horizon. It felt like I’d been
asleep for hours, but everything looked the same. And not a single
bug bite.

It was quiet in the trees. Too quiet. The
only thing that broke the silence was the ocean, but everything
else was as still as a museum. No breeze from above, no drifting
leaves or scuttle of a crab. Absolute stillness.

The backpack contained small packets of
food. If that ran out, there was a supply of lifepatches that could
sustain me for another six months. If I hunt and gather, I could
survive for much longer.

The forest looked dense and dark. It would
take a long, sharp machete to cut through it. Since there was no
such thing in the backpack, I walked along the beach looking for a
path. But after a few miles, everything still looked exactly the
same. In fact, even the trees appeared in some sort of pattern. Up
ahead was a palm that leaned and curved skyward. I turned back,
swore I passed one like that a few miles back.

Just beyond that was a small opening that
gave way to a narrow path. That wasn’t there before. I looked out
over the water one last time. The night sky looked black and
smudged just above the horizon, like ink was leeching up from the
water.

I had pulled small box from the backpack and
let it unfold into a tent. I lay inside it, staring through the
dome-shaped ceiling. I couldn’t see the sky through the trees. The
moonlight filtered through the leaves like pale sunlight. I had
walked for what seemed a full day and expected the sun to come up,
but I was exhausted and couldn’t wait for it any longer.

The forest was endless and repetitive. The
path continued to wind through it like something or someone walked
it often enough to beat down the vegetation, but there was no sign
of life. Nothing. No spider webs or mosquitoes or stinging
ants.

It was still cool, but humid as ever. I
sweated through much of my water reserves and there wasn’t much
left in the backpack. I needed to find some before long.

I woke when a single drop of water struck
the tent.

The raindrop jiggled, then slowly made its
way down the side, racing to the bottom. Something about that was
strange, then I realized that was the first sound in a day that I
hadn’t directly caused.

It was darker outside. Maybe clouds had
dimmed the moonlight.
Wait. Did I sleep through another
day?

I felt rested, like I’d gotten another eight
hours of sleep but it was still night. Was I sleeping right through
the daylight?

Maybe it was for the best. I didn’t need to
be moving around in the heat of the day. I was already parched.

Another day of hiking. Still no
sunlight.

I don’t know how far I got. Thirty miles,
maybe. The last ten miles were like wearing concrete blocks.
Raindrops continued to find a way through the thick canopy. My lips
were cracking and I’d stopped sweating. I finished the rest of my
water.

I sat against a tree.

Thunder clapped.

I woke in a thick mass of groundcover. No
tent. I must’ve fallen over asleep.

Rain dripped through a fern leaf, splashing
on my forehead. I stuck out my tongue, caught the next drop. And
the next.

They were plopping throughout the forest
with a regular beat. I scrambled on my hands and knees and found a
large leaf holding a pool of water. Carefully, I cupped it and
tilted it toward my mouth. It was wet, tasteless. Just like water
was suppose to taste. If this was some sort of moldable
environment, I wouldn’t be able to drink it.

The lifepatches kept me from dehydrating,
but water was a better alternative, so I spent the next couple
hours going leaf to leaf, scavenging what I could.

The path continued to curve through the
otherwise impenetrable forest. It seemed endless and pointless, but
it had to lead somewhere. Something made this path. Maybe I
should’ve stayed on the beach. At least a search party would see me
there. Nothing would spot me through the trees. Too late now. I
just had to keep going until I got out or found someone that could
help.

I only managed an hour on the trail before I
had to rest. I was drained. And sleepy. These were tough
conditions, but this was unusual. I shouldn’t be gassing out this
quick. It was like something was sucking the energy out of me;
reminded me of the Grimmet Outpost.
Like something just sucked
the life out of it.

I slapped another lifepatch on my neck, felt
it pump essential nutrients into my jugular. Thunder rumbled
somewhere in the distance. I remembered something my grandma used
to tell me about storms. She said when it thundered, the angels
were wrestling.

The ground began to tremor like they’d
fallen out of the sky.

Maybe it was the third night that I saw the
end.

The winding path straightened out and
widened. There was an opening in the trees. I quickened my pace,
eager to find something. The trees ended abruptly, like a wall, and
the path dropped down a steep slope. I stood just inside the
canopy, mesmerized by the view. Hills rolled off into the distance
covered in tufts of grass. Mountains were farther out.

The air was cooler and drier. The moon was
still full, but the sky seemed hazy. On the horizon, the ink stain
was still visible. It was deep and dark, blotting out the stars as
it bled further into the night sky.

Below me, a couple hundred yards out, the
grass gave way to rows of fruit trees. Something moved among them.
It was a woman. Her clothes were white, her hair blonde. She was
picking fruit and putting them into a basket.

Finally, a way home
. I screamed
through my hands but she didn’t hear me. I didn’t bother shouting
again, instead I started down the path. Adrenaline filled me with
excitement and burst with renewed energy. I’d catch up to her in
minutes. Maybe I could find home by sunrise. The thought of
sleeping in my office boosted my stride down the slope. I ignored
the thought lurking in my head, the nagging concern that had been
with me ever since I walked out of the water. Something I tried to
reason away because help was finally within reach.

Why does everything still feel so empty?

L E G E N D

Empty Angel

Still raining, maybe a bit harder.

I wasn’t about to let the woman out of my
sight. I left the winding path and took the grassy hill full speed,
leaping over boulders. I lost sight of her as I dipped into the
valley, cresting the hill to once again see the magnificent
view.

The forest behind me seemed further away
than it should’ve been. I’d only been running a few minutes and it
was hundreds of yards back.

A subtle breeze, the first I could remember
since arriving, caught my attention. It carried the fragrance of
tea olive blossoms and the salty spray of an ocean. And the scent
of a woman, soft and loving. She was there, I could see her on the
next hill in the orchard, still hundreds of yards away. I hadn’t
gotten any closer.

Her white gown fluttered while she stopped
to reach into a tree, pulling fruit from a branch and putting it in
her basket. She was glowing, like a beam of moonlight found its way
through the rain to touch only her. I cupped my hands and shouted
again. “HELLO!”

Still couldn’t hear me.

I started down the next grassy hill into the
orchard. The trees were taller than I thought. My perspective
seemed off. The trunks were gnarly and the muscled branches held
plump apples the size of softballs. I lost sight of the woman as
she walked over the next hill. But I was gaining on her. I dipped
my head, pushed harder. I reached the next hilltop, expecting to
maybe catch her while she went searching in another tree, maybe
only a few yards away. At the very least she’d be within shouting
distance, but then saw her still hundreds of yards out.

I stopped, put my hands on my knees. How did
she get that far out?

My heart pounded. The adrenaline was already
wearing off and I was sweating out precious water that mixed with
the rain dripping down my face, leaving a salty tang on my
lips.

This isn’t logical. Where am I?

When I looked up, as if answering my
questions, the view had somehow changed. Had I not noticed it when
I emerged from the forest? Was it just hidden from my vantage
point? Because now, beyond the rolling hills, was a vast black
ocean. The lines of orchard trees followed the undulating hills,
ending short of a massive house built right on the shore,
surrounded by sand dunes and sea oats.

The woman was gone.

The sterile forest and the perfect
temperature, short of the rain this is paradise. This exists
nowhere in nature. Nowhere on Earth.
I looked at my hands,
turned them over and studied them like the truth was written
somewhere on my skin. I’m not dreaming or virtualmode. I’m here, in
the skin.

I turned back and saw what I expected. The
trees were gone. Nothing but rising and falling mounds as far as I
could see. This entire environment was transforming, manipulating
me toward the house on the beach. Something changed when it started
to rain, like it let me out of the forest. Once again, I opened my
mind to connect with the environment, searching for something
substantial, something real, but everything felt empty. So
beautiful, but so empty.

The house already seemed bigger. More
inviting.

Why does it feel like no matter what
direction I walk, I’ll end up at the house?

The wicker basket was nestled in the grass
at the base of a tree. I picked one of the fruits out. It was deep
red, almost purple. The skin was soft but not fuzzy. I press my
thumb into it, juice squirting out. Saliva filled into my mouth. It
was clear liquid, not milky.

I tossed it on the ground. First, I needed
to find the woman. She was in the house.

The house grew as I approached, building
onto itself, forming walls and floors and windows until it was a
monstrosity blocking out the ocean. Wide steps led to thick double
doors, both open and waiting. Sand ground beneath my boots as I
crossed over the marble threshold and passed through the doors.

It was one enormous room filled with
credenzas, sofas and antique furniture. The walls were covered with
art from various eras, from Victorian to modern, realistic to
abstract. Expensive vases, candelabras, and sculptures were set
about. All in all, a stunning display, but nothing compared to the
back wall made entirely of glass, offering a full view of the
scenic ocean and the darkening sky. A single fruit tree grew behind
the house, its limbs heavy with fruit.

Multi-folding doors were pushed all the way
open, leaving wide open access to the beach. I stopped, just short
of the beach that extended right up to the house. The breeze came
off the water moist and ragged, blowing my hair off my shoulders.
I’ve seen this place.

Sand. Rain.

A blackened sky.

The realization rang inside me like I’d been
struck by a two-handed mallet. It’s where I saw Chute attack,
slashing down with a knife.
The vision is taking shape.

I went outside. The rain was colder, pelting
my cheeks. I tensed, looking in both directions for Chute and her
knife, but it was empty. I walked further out until the foamy water
wrapped around my ankles. And then I saw the woman, far down on my
left.

She was standing with her feet in the water,
a faint figure blurred by the rain. Her arms were crossed and she
was staring out to sea like she was waiting. I could feel her
yearning. It was the first thing I’d felt since arriving. Just to
experience something real, a quiver of reality, jolted me with
excitement.

I started after her but, with each step, she
got no closer. The ground moved under my feet, but the back of the
house was still exactly where I exited, like the beach was a
treadmill.

Thunder clapped without any sign of
lightning. The woman was still there, yearning for what was out on
the empty water where waves were beginning to swell. Or maybe her
gaze was settled on the ink-stained sky.

I walked in the other direction and watched
the house. Same thing: it didn’t move even though my tracks
continued far behind me.