kid
finds the entrance to another world in his closet. Segmented metal
gratings coalesced into a walkway. The walls sloped as the passage
morphed into a surreal tunnel. The rungs were large protruding
pipes, riveted together at the seams. Elongated fluorescent tubes
snaked overhead. The path extended only a few feet before hitting
another door, the hatch resembling something out of a submarine,
with its large metal wheel topping a corrugated bulkhead. This
again required keys, a keyhole in the center freezing the wheel in
position. Will my key still work? I approached the portal, the
metal grating reverberating noisily under my feet, the hollow metal
echoing in a slowly dying wail down the corridor. I was sure
soldiers would appear any minute now. If I am gunned down, at least
that will be the end. But if I am captured?
The metal door was closed. I had explosives,
but my nerves were shot. I didn’t need anything causing further
commotion or increasing my paranoia.
I pulled out the key, my hand trembling as I
extended it toward the latch. It caught the edge of the keyhole and
slid in. I spun the wheel, wrenched open the door, and entered.
Luck—or something—is on my side.
A few stairs, abutted by a long metal grating
extending off to either side, greeted me. Directly in front was a
guardrail, offering a view of the huge storeroom below. Stepping up
to the guardrail, I peered down. I had seen it many times, but it
was still a sight to behold. Interred below, lit up like a
Christmas tree, was the alien craft. Even the surface, composed of
some dark compound never found on Earth, shimmered in the light. It
was a giant wing, fat in the center and tapering off as it dropped
down to the sides. I wondered if the vessel was merely a
hallucination. A blink of the eyes and it would be gone. I had
worked on this for years, yet the strange ship had never become
mundane.
Even this late at night, there were men
working on it. The hangar was cluttered with small buildings and
ramps. I didn’t dare stay too long. Eavesdropping wasn’t my goal,
and being spotted threatened to totally undo my mission. I spotted
another submarine-style bulkhead door, so I cranked the wheel,
spinning it until it ground to a stop, then gently pulled it open.
A gasp of air, and a thick, musty odor greeted me.
I eased forward, a distant hum faintly
audible, piercing the gloom of the passageway. More than once I
froze, whipping my neck around and trying to hone in on some
imagined noise. The tunnel spiraled below the hangar, splitting
into three interchangeable passageways. I followed the path I
thought I remembered, slowing down before every fork as my mind
scrolled through old memories. Time slowed to a tense crawl. I
didn’t want to run and risk my noisy footfalls giving away my
presence. The tunnel rounded one final curve and another bulkhead
door abruptly concluded the walkway. I hoped this was the right
one. It was a maze down here, and everything looked way too
similar. I clasped the wheel, spun it to the left, and pulled. The
door cracked open. Stepping over the stubby sidewall, I dropped
onto the smooth concrete floor. The walls were damp blocks of
stone. A long, thin fluorescent light slithered overhead, its glow
blinding. My vision was swimming with the sudden lighting change,
but the blur in the distance looked like my goal. A nondescript
doorway on the left, the suit entombed inside, with the hazy form
of a guard posted just beyond. Things must have changed since my
days here because that watchman was a new addition. But I had gone
too far to back out now. Killing the scientist had changed my point
of view. Or rather, it stiffened my resolve. In a sense, letting
this soldier live would mean the scientist had died for nothing. He
could have had a brilliant future. He might have been the one that
found the cure for cancer. What greater claim on life did this
soldier have? Not that any of this was helping—rationalizing made
nothing
Carolyn Faulkner, Alta Hensley