Wes had intended to leave the airplane hangar when he heard Community's siren. He understood the ululation warned that a storm had begun and what it could mean if he were caught in it. With countless holes in the roof and walls, the structure was not a suitable shelter; some of the seeds would surely penetrate the space. And if they were the mature variety of seeds, the kind that penetrated bio suits, Wes could be in a shit heap of trouble.

And still, he was unable to leave.

When Mitchell had taken off after suffering his panic attack, or whatever it had been, things began to get interesting. At first, Wes believed it had been a trick of light, the gloom and shadows playing tricks with his mind. Dull, ambient light streaming in through gaps in the roof lent an aura of unease to the already disquieting place and after staring into the ashen grayness for so long, he thought that the darkness had somehow shifted.

But no, that didn't make sense. Did it?

What Wes had experienced was more of an impression than a visual occurrence. A notion that he no longer held the same place in the world as he had a moment ago, that he had slipped – or maybe been moved – from his position...nudged from his spot in the universe.

Logic dictated that this was ridiculous, crazy even. But what he saw defied reason and solidified the theory that he was now somewhere else. The word transported floated to the surface of Wes' mind. It lingered there and his mind's eye stared at it.

Transported.

He sat riveted to his chair, staring in disbelief, feeling as though he'd been tossed into the Disney World ride, The Carousel of Progress, where theatre-like seats rotated around a stage featuring a family and the changes they incurred through different decades; each scene different from the previous. He was still in the airplane hangar, yes, but a different hangar. This other hangar was still vacant and still featured a small, decaying aircraft, yet the place was not in such an advanced state of disrepair. Even the lighting had changed; a bold shaft of amber sunlight now beamed through a hole in the wall behind Wes, projecting his shadow along the concrete floor.

A memory welled to the surface of his consciousness. He thought of Disney World again. Yes, he remembered a trip there...with his mother, father and a...sister. Lisa. He was around twelve years old, which would put him in what – sixth grade? Jesus, had he really been a kid once? It seemed so distant that it hardly felt real.

And where was his family? What had happened to them? Heartache slapped him in the face as Wes tried to conjure the images of sibling, of his mother and father...and failed. He'd forgotten them. Closing his eyes, he focused on raising their likenesses from the dank pit in his mind. He saw himself standing at the top of a well, hoisting the leaden memories from murky depths, one rope heave at a time. He realized they had existed at one time but if he was incapable of recalling their faces, their memories, even if pulled free from the well, they would dry and fade to ash, scattered by the wind.

Just like everything in this fucking place, he thought. Ash and grayness. Disease and death. Wes had always thought of himself as the guy who could find the silver lining in any circumstance, but now he felt that power slipping away...being yanked back down to the bottom of the well by something. By this place. By the roots.

The roots and the vines...

Everything above the well is dry and dead...

Everything beneath is wet, glistening with life...

Wes stirred from his thoughts and opened his eyes. He sat riveted to his metal folding chair, staring in disbelief. The new hangar remained, and he rose from his seat and stepped forward, expecting this different place to fall like a dropped curtain and the old hangar to fill his view once again.

But it didn't.

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Wes walked past the still and silent airplane, its fuselage appearing newer than it had been. He watched his shadow move with him, heard the echo of his footfalls and understood that he was really here; it was not a hallucination. He looked behind him and saw that the chair he'd just been sitting on was no longer there. Turning 360 degrees, he noted no one else in the hangar who might've moved the chair. It would've been impossible for someone to move it that fast anyway. It was gone. Just flat out gone. Wes suspected that it still existed in the old hangar, wherever that was now.

Correction – wherever I am now.

A blast of wind nearly knocked him of his feet and Wes dropped to a kneeling position. Raising his weapon, he surveyed his surroundings but discovered he was still alone. The hangar however, now stood on fragile walls, the roof was gone. The sunlit day had departed in a blink, replaced by a cold, slate sky. Dark purple clouds raced through the air and every muscle in Wes' body tensed. He froze, trembling, ready to spring into action – whatever action might be necessary. Ready to kill on sight. His heart pounding, he stood and left the open floor, moving to a half wall for coverage. Inadvertently leaning against the wall, it gave way and crumbled to the ground. Wes fell backwards, avoiding the debris, but he quickly realized an even bigger problem: the collapse of the wall had triggered the rest of the hangar and the entire structure began to quake.

A wall on the far side caved in, a small portion breaking off and brushing against the wing of the airplane. The wing disintegrated upon impact, drifting to the ground like gray powder.

Wes stumbled to his feet and darted for the door, rushing through and diving to the ground a moment before the entire building tumbled to the ground. Pausing to digest what had happened, he got up, brushed himself off and stared at the sky, awestruck. In the distance stood something that could only be generated by a dream. A thing that surely could not exist, he told himself. He must be hallucinating, still in shock from almost being crushed to death.

A towering, mind-bogglingly massive spire that appeared to be...a plant, rising hundreds – maybe thousands – of feet into the sky.

He had to get a better look at whatever this was. So, in a daze he dropped his weapon and staggered forward, a couple of times stumbling over tangled snares of vines, some of which disintegrated when he stepped on them.

Just like the airplane and the hangar. Ash. Everything looks dead.

Wes squinted as two tiny orbs of light burst into view fifty yards away. He halted and stared as the bobbing lights hovered just above the ground, moving toward him at great speed. Shielding his eyes, Wes backpedaled and tripped on his rifle. He landed on his back, knocking the wind out of him. The blinding lights closed in, two tiny suns in a charcoal gray landscape. Wes covered his face with his hands and braced for impact.

There came a sound of squealing metal and the orbs stopped fifteen feet from Wes. Someone called his name.

"Wes!"

Dropping his arms, Wes recognized the headlights of the minivan. The sky was pale gray once more and the towering thing had vanished. He was aware of tiny objects peppering him and realized that he was out in the storm. Rolling over, he saw the old, dilapidated airplane hangar standing erect. Rusty and worn, but still standing. A man ran toward him in slow motion, waving his arms. It was Charles.

"Wes! Come on, dammit!"

Charles lifted Wes to his feet and assisted him to the passenger side door of the minivan where he tossed him inside. He got into the driver's seat and clicked the gearshift into Drive. As they sped toward the silos, the overgrown runways, awash in cold, pallid daylight, rushed by in a blur. Wes glanced down at his upturned palms. He poked his left with his right index finger, half-expecting it to crumble to dust.