I sleep through the night and into the next day. I summon Shadow when I wake in the morning, just to be safe, and let her eat and drink, and heal her of any wounds she might have gotten through the night. She mewls her approval. I check my social media. No messages from concerned family or friends. Nothing. The ghost story was still making the rounds on the local pages. Apparently, a popular paranormal investigator was coming to town to run tests on that section of the road. I set my phone down, yawn and stretch.
I wish I would have taken the books and scrolls back home, and I curse myself for not. Now I had to rebuild my collection of things from the other world so that I could finally find out how exactly to work the kris, and its shadow magic. My hours were empty now. Empty hours before this all started were filled with video games and pretending to write. I could do none of that now. All I could do is recover, and save up for a permeant place to stay.
What happens after? The doors will open. There’s no way 150 million people could lose all of the 1-point-some-odd-trillion doors. How would humanity stay alive after that? Clusters of holdouts? That seems more likely. Even then, extinction was inevitable. The never-ending wave of otherworldly monsters would eventually overrun all of the world; unless a plan was made and implemented.
Even if a plan was implemented, there were still so many other factors to worry about. What about the oceans? Roadways? Waterways? Power lines? Power plants. Is someone clearing out the Hoover Dam to make sure that the power it produces continues afterward? I drum my fingers against the bed. Unlikely. Anyone caught snooping around there would be thrown in prison, no doubt. No, the world after would be vastly different. Closed off. Agrarian. I should head that off, and save for a large plot of land I could farm on. Hire some immigrant workers to work it. Maybe create some golems or something instead. That was an unlockable thing on the Kabbalah section of the skill tree. I suppose that’ll be my goal for now. Both the house and the unlock of the Golem skill. Once I have my own place, I could also start working toward making a contract with a salamander, and finding out how to make contracts with the spirits of other elements.
Over the last day, the magic had healed my leg to a good degree. Lesser Heal and Healing Affinity have both increased in level. The first to 45, and the second to 20. Truly, investing in the healing spell was my smartest move over the last week or so since this, all kicked off. For now, I’m capable of putting a little bit of pressure on it. Tonight, for sure, I’ll continue the fight.
As I stand there, testing my leg, the program on the television — a soap opera that my grandmother had watched when I was a kid. The Presidential Seal stood bold in brash in the middle of a navy blue screen. I sit on my bed.
“My fellow Americans.” The speech begins before the screen fades and the President comes into view. “I come to you with grave news.”
The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
“Over this past week, many in my administration; indeed, many in the House and the Senate, have found our previous world views shattered. I want you, the people of the United States, to know this — a disaster is approaching. It won’t arrive for another five years, but it is approaching.”
I watch the screen slack-jawed. Did the Gods come to the people in the government? It would make sense. Or perhaps to the chaplains and the preachers, or perhaps some in the administration were —
“So from this point on, we will be enacting what will be known as Project Sisyphus. It’s a project that will require the aid of every man woman and child of this great nation. A way to insure the greatest number of survival. Over the next couple of weeks, instructions will be mailed across the country with instructions. Please, my fellow Americans. Please follow them.”
The elderly man adjusts his tie as the gathered press begins to bombard him with questions. He silences the baying reporters with a wave of his hand.
“In addition, it has been made known to us that nearly 5000 people in the United States are currently fighting to prevent this disaster from happening. If you’re one of these 5000 people, please get in contact with us. The easiest, quickest method would be to call this toll-free number that we have set up: that number is 1-555-969-0420.”
I grab my phone.
“That number again is 1-555-969-0420. Please call. We will provide any accommodations for those of you brave people fighting against this coming disaster. IF you’re unable to call, please report to a nearby recruiter, police station, or city hall. All will assist you in coming into contact with us so we could work together to avert this disaster. Thank you.”
The press erupted in shouts of Mister President. Mister President before I muted the television and put the phone to my ear. It rings three times.
“This is the Department of Homeland Security: Sisyphus Corps. May I ask who’s calling?” A woman’s voice on the other end calls.
I clear my throat.
“Uh, my name is Lawrence Able and I just watched the press briefing and called this number?”
“Yes. Calls are beginning to roll in. Before we begin, I need to ask you to verify your identity.”
“Do you need my Social?”
“Yes, and your date of birth.”
“My social is xxx-xx-xxxx, and my date of birth is 12/19/1992.”
I hear the clacking of keys over the receiver.
“Okay. You’re still in xville, California?”
“Yes.”
“Alright. Are you one of the 5000?”
“I believe so.”
“To verify, can you please tell us the nature of the ‘disaster,’ that the President spoke of?”
“Uh.” I feel my cheeks flare up, “It’s kind of embarrassing to say out loud, but there’s this god of war from this world called Efra —”
“That correlates with the information that the Messengers have given us. Mr. Lawrence, can you tell me where you are at the moment? We’ll send someone to give you more information.”
“Send someone to me?”
“Right. You can’t drive, can you?”
“No ma’am.” I didn’t know if that was a dig at the fact that I hadn’t bothered to get my license, or not. “I’m at the Sunshine Motel in Xville. Room 205.”
“Room 205, you say? We’ll have someone there in an hour.” She said, “We’re getting swarmed with calls. Please understand.”
The phone goes silent. What the hell was going on? I suppose I’ll ask whoever it was that came to see me.