1
Travis was in deep, focused on his target tasking, but something kept vying for his attention. He was picking up on another line of thought that seemed sandwiched in-between — through — the tasking. Whatever it was, there was a subtle “intent” nibbling at away at him…
Travis allowed himself to be whisked away in an extremely slight, tangential vector that took off like a bat outta hell, once he dedicated the slightest attention to it. He felt a portion — another “him,” a probable self? — still performing his original, directed targeting… but also felt this “other him” heading off in this new direction…
Travis stood in an unfamiliar room, but one in which he felt was at The Center.
He stood before a barely illuminated desk, at which sat a man intent on something Travis couldn’t make out. The man wasn’t bothered by nor aware of his otherworldly presence. Travis moved around behind him.
The man was Victor Black.
Travis leaned over Black’s shoulder. Black wrote on a piece of paper. It said:
Find Nightmare Man
Nightmare Man?
Black carefully folded the white sheet of paper in half and slid it into an envelope. He inscribed their remote-viewer coordinate protocol on it, then sealed it within another, larger envelope, also inscribing similar numbers on that envelope. Black then paused and looked up, narrowing his gaze. His right hand slowly found its grip around the SIG 226 nine mil in his lap. Black cocked his head slightly, eyes alert, studying the room.
Stood up—
Both Travis and Black now stood in a different room. There were no lights on in this one, except for the tiny flashlight Black used as he made his way toward the five-drawer steel safe along the rear wall. In a choppy time jump, Black was now inside an unlocked and opened safe drawer, rapidly fingering through hundreds of similarly stored envelopes, like the one he carried. Finding the one he needed, Black removed it and inserted his new “Nightmare Man” one in its place…
Travis now stood on the dark plains of eastern Colorado, beneath a full moon. Off in the distance Bravo Force operators silently descended from the night sky.
They’d be here soon.
Ring around the rosie…
Travis spun around.
… a pocketful of posies…
Ashes! Ashes!
We all fall down.
Travis peered out into the eerie silvery shadows of the plains. No one. It was dark and empty — except for a ranch several hundred yards off to his right. But that children’s tune continued to play in his head. It wasn’t the high-pitched, lyrical tone normally associated with the rhyme, but a sullen, hollow timbre.
Sadness.
Boots.
Travis heard boots hurriedly rushing through Buffalo grass and Socorro cacti. The kill team rushed past him toward the ranch house…
Travis stood before the ranch house. It was surrounded, two Bravo Force operators inside.
The family—
Travis was inside the home.
On the floor lay the bodies of the husband, wife, and teenaged son. Each had single shots to their heads, small-caliber rounds, .22s. Travis spotted the framed picture of Kennedy on the cupboard mantle, its glass shattered. Beside it, Travis saw the book, Prophecies of Nostradamus, lying open. He read the exposed passage:
And the Maker shall dance
Until the Great Darkness Descends
Taking Everybody with it
Travis turned and was
Outside the house.
He stood on the porch, facing the door. Alone, he examined the door’s wood grains. How many blizzards and thunderstorms had it weathered? How long ago had it been built, and whose hands had worked it? Answers to all he had gotten, but none of which mattered. It would all soon be
(oot)
(aboot)
moot.
“Do you understand what you’re seeing?” came the tiny, childlike whisper from behind.
In the silvery darkness and extending way back to the shadowy horizon, stood hundreds of thousands of children.
Do you? they mentally whispered.
“I’m not sure. I see… terrible events that seem to extend beyond… through?… time, but—”
Ashes, ashes… they all mentally whispered as one.
“Why do you keep singing that? What does it mean?”
We all fall down.
Travis was suddenly struck by an image of Black dancing around the house, his face ashen. Pockets full of posies. He skipped and danced about the place, pulling the posies from his pockets. Casually flung them about. When the flowers hit the dirt, they became bodies. Everywhere. And they, in turn, disintegrated into dust.
Travis looked back to the children. Gone. In their place stood men and women, equally as confused as he was. Among them… Buddy LaRouque.
“Buddy?” Travis asked, coming forward.
“Don’t you get it, pal?” Buddy said, disgusted, but not at Travis. “Don’t you see?”
Travis looked back to the house, which had begun to crumple inward.
“To tell you the truth, maybe I’m just thickheaded, but—”
“Black has to be stopped. He’s gotten to some of us, but not everyone. Not you. But he ain’t far off. He knows.”
“Knows what?”
The house choppily crumpled into a hole that opened up beneath it.
“You, buddy. He knows about you.”
Travis came to.
Stood in the RV lab. Beside the RoboChair.
Apparently the session was over. He didn’t remember ending it. His monitor was just closing the door behind him on his way out, just having said something to him.
Travis winced.
He didn’t remember a thing, not a damned thing.
Returning to his desk, more or less still in a haze, Travis made his way past other remote viewers at their desks, shuffling about paperwork. As soon as he sat down, he began to mindlessly shuffle about his own paperwork.
We all fall down…
We all fall down…
Ring around the rosie… a pocketful of…
Travis looked up. Squinted. That damned nursery rhyme was still in his head—
Still? As opposed to what?
Where had it come from? What’d it mean?
We all fall down.
We all fall down…
“Hey, Trav, you ok?” asked Don Rankin, the unit’s ops director.
“I’m fine — why?”
“Well… you’ve been staring straight ahead for almost five minutes, now. No expression — nothing. Just a blank stare.”
Travis looked at his desk. To the others, who were all looking at him.
Had it been that long? It’d only felt like a second or…
“Sorry… lost in thought, I guess. Today’s been a weird-shit day.”
“No problem,” Rankin said and walked off. But at that point Travis looked to each of the other remote viewers. Was it just him, or were they all a little… preoccupied.
Travis watched Rankin walk down the center of the office, eyeing everyone on his way out. No, he didn’t think it was just him. Down to the person, everyone seemed lethargic, elsewhere. Highly off. And there were no jokes flying about… no office banter. Whatever it was affected everyone. On a hunch, Travis passworded into his computer, brought up his e-mail, and typed:
Yo, all. Had a burst of inspiration — let’s get together for a drink at Mel’s — we hain’t done that in a spell…
Then he entered the names of all those in the office — except Rankin’s — and sent it. As he hit “Send” he eyed everyone. In no time various grunts and groans, a couple quick, furtive glances, and even one wadded-up ball of paper hit him in the shoulder.
What, you too lazy to talk to anyone in person?
You payin?
Pass; bad day.
Mel’s? I’m in…
Travis assumed the flying wad of paper came from Mr. “Bad Day,” Lee Everhart. But he curiously noticed no one responded back out loud — not even Ryan, who’d sent back the first reply. He also noticed how they seemed to look over their shoulders as they typed; glance out the corners of their eyes.
It wasn’t just him.
Something was going on, and it affected every one of them.
Travis quickly sent: It’s on me.
There was a louder collective grunt as the mails flooded back:
You’re on, cowboy!
Now, we’re talkin!
Rock and roll!
If you’re paying, what the hell…
Another balled-up wad of paper beaned him dead center in the forehead.
He grinned back to its pitcher.
Travis typed in a time and sat back. Everyone, he noticed, glanced his way… and it was their looks that unnerved him. He could almost swear they were all silently pleading with him.
We need to get on this.
We need help.
Wasn’t that the truth.
2
Five off-duty remote viewers all sat around two tables in Mel’s Tavern, quietly picking at beer nuts and sipping colas and beer. No one spoke.
“How’s everyone doin?” Travis asked.
“How d’you think?” Mr. Bad Day e-mailer, Lee, grunted.
“Well, if everyone’s feeling like me,” Travis offered, in as hushed a tone as he could muster in a packed and noisy bar, “then I pity ya… had a rough one, today — from what I remember, anyway. Don’t even remember my last
(Nostradamus)
“task.”
Travis stared down at the nuts — but noticed that everyone gave him that same thousand-yard stare.
“This happen to anyone else?” he asked.
Lee remained silent. Gina looked ready to say something, but didn’t. Ryan looked to the others, saw the unrest, and said, “It ain’t just you, bro.”
Cory said, “Thought it was,” then took another sip of beer.
“There ya go, thinking again,” Lee said. “Apparently, it’s all of us. Ain’t that just fuckin hilarious.”
“Don’t really know,” Travis said. “All I do know is that today’s been the weirdest day of my life; I can’t remember my sessions, or if I even had lunch.”
“Yup,” Ryan said.
“Me, neither,” Gina said.
“And me,” Cory said.
“And I feel as if I’m forgetting something… something really big,” Gina added.
Lee nodded.
“Well, I guess it’s unanimous, then…,” Ryan said.
“And I’d had this really weird dream, too,” Travis continued, “I could have sworn…” he said, lowering his voice even more, causing everyone to immediately lean in, “he’d been in my house. My bedroom,” he whispered.
They all looked to each other and leaned back in their chairs.
“Okaaaay… can this get any weirder?” Ryan said.
“Keep talking,” Lee said. “You ain’t tellin us anything new.”
Several others silently nodded, casting glances over their shoulders.
“You think we’re being watched — drugged?” Cory asked.
“No,” Lee said, “I think it’s much more insidious than that.”
“Agreed,” Gina said. “And it’s only been recently. Like in the past month or so… there’s things I’ve wanted to say, but didn’t know how to — or even if I — we — should.”
“No place’s safe,” Ryan said.
They all took sips from their drinks.
“Something’s going on and it has to do with us, the job, or whoever’s running things. I’m not even sure if Rankin’s safe,” Gina said. She stared off into space blankly for a moment. Ryan elbowed her, and she snapped out of it, eating a handful of beer nuts as if nothing’d happened.
“Agreed,” Lee said, nodding and eyeing Gina.
“So… what do we do?” Ryan asked.
Pensive in his response, Travis smiled and rose his drink before him. With a mischievous grin, he said, looking to each of them, “We do… what we do best.”