Soft, velvet-red sunlight pressed against Shae’s eyelids. They opened slowly, his vision blurred by sleep’s reluctantly receding touch upon his senses. Blinking against the light, he made out a mess of greens, blues, and browns, vague pastel colors only remotely recognizable as shapes in his sleep-addled vision. His stomach convulsed, and he squeezed his eyes shut again, tasting the sharp sting of bile in his throat. Even with his eyes screwed closed, his head swam.
What had he done this time? The last thing he needed was another memory-blackening bender, and yet, like clockwork, here he was, waking from yet another bout of unwelcome unconsciousness. On his back, he held a palm to his head, feeling his cool, clammy skin and a thin layer of sweat. Somewhere high above, a bird sang out a chirping melody. I need to stop fucking drinking, man. This is getting ridiculous.
Still seeking refuge in his self-imposed blindness, he felt a whisper of wind tickle at his leg— frightfully high up, a bit too intimate for comfort—and startled, almost jumping with surprise. His eyes snapped open, and he began frantically searching for an explanation.
He was naked, with not even a pair of boxers to spare his dignity. He usually slept without any clothes on, so it didn’t come as too much of a surprise, but the revelation was still disconcerting. He pressed himself up from where he’d been lying on a patch of warm grass into as alert a crouch as he could manage in his recently awakened stupor.
Incredulous, he pinched a blade of grass, tall and brilliant green between his fingertips and rolled it with a growing sense of awe— and dread. He blinked, shook his head, scanned about himself again, more slowly this time.
An endless expanse of bizarre scenery surrounded him, more surreal than his most fantastic daydreams. Tall, swaying grasses of yellow and green that rose to hips; dense bushes of prickly thorns and spreading leaves; thick undergrowth, untamed and sprawling, spread out in every direction. Boulders dotted the landscape, looming grey, each tens of feet tall and casting pools of deep shade at their base.
Most shocking were the enormous snaking cylinders, like giant brown tube slides at a waterpark, which rose out of the earth and dominated the scenery. Some rose up into high arches while others lingered close to the ground— there was seemingly no end or beginning to them, sprawled out across the forest floor like a carpet of giant serpents.
What the hell is this place? I’ve got to be tripping or something, right? If I pop on a drug test, I’m going to be fuuuuucked. Damn it, Shae. Damn it. Do psychedelics pass out of the system quickly or slowly? Shae looked around him at the Doctor Seuss Lovecraft lovechild world, his jaw dangling agape.
Maybe I should go AWOL and wait it out? Once whatever this is wears off, I’ll figure it out. But for now, I guess all there is to do is enjoy the ride. Yee fuckin haw!
Despite the boulders, the snaking tubes— which he had begun to suspect were roots— and the dense vegetation, the area surrounding him felt open and expansive, its distances and proportions operating on a scale of sheer immensity that evaded comprehension. Maybe I’m like Ant-Man; I’m a little tiny person, and the world is normal-sized. Am I a superhero?
Shae followed the nearest root with his eyes as it grew from the earth and slowly snaked further and further from his vision. As he followed its progress away from him, the root grew thicker until it reached the width of a sizeable Boeing jet— the kind with nine or more seats in a row and gate operators that hawked “free at-the-gate bag checking” with the vehemence of MLM salespeople. There, it joined a looming pillar in the middle distance.
Forgetting his nakedness, forgetting everything except what he was seeing, Shae frowned. His eyes, fastened inextricably to the towering colossus a mile away, tried to tell him something that simply didn’t fit into his mental framework of “the world.” I didn’t know drugs could do this. What the fuck am I on, DMT? Damn, Joe, you really sold this shit short.
He swallowed, stumbled, fell onto his ass, and scrambled backwards, unable to tear his eyes away from the titanic tree rearing up before him. It must have been as tall as a skyscraper, if not taller, with several layers of canopy reaching almost higher than his eyes could make out.
In the far distance, a flash of dark movement caught his attention; a streak of brown-black swooped through the air, shot downwards like a falling dart, and leveled out as four feathered wings unfurled. An ivory-white beak glinted in the sunlight, opening in a soundless shriek from a plumed, brown-feathered avian head. It must’ve been over a kilometer away, and despite Shae’s lingering conviction that he must be hallucinating, he was glad it wasn’t closer.
He saw that the creature, a terrifying yet beautiful mix between a stallion and an eagle, had four legs tucked beneath its body. As he watched, the front two legs stretched out, powerful talons grasping for something. Shae saw its prey now: an oversized songbird with brilliant blue plumage and dazzling sapphire wings flapping hard, desperately trying to escape. It looked like an Eastern Bluebird, though the white and brown chest feathers were replaced with a curious purple, and it was a dozen times too large.
The Griffin— for that’s the closest thing he could think of to describe it— snatched the songbird out of the sky, sharp talons sinking into flesh, killing the bird instantly in a puff of feathers and blood. The oversized songbird didn’t stand a chance, and he watched in horror as large azure feathers drifted down out of the sky, swaying back and forth in a dejected, forlorn descent from heaven.
The griffin banked to its left, revealing a pearly cerulean underbelly, then flapped silently away, disappearing into the high canopy overhead. He craned his neck, looked up to the giant branch where it’d been perched, then up at the spot in the canopy where it’d vanished.
The remnants of rationality that’d told him he was hallucinating had finally departed, and a cold dread settled into his bones. I’ve heard of bad trips, but this is way too coherent and fucked up at the same time to be just hallucinogenics. But if it’s real…
Icy cold swept across his body in a wave, overpowering the warmth of sunlight on his skin and left him trembling. He took long breaths through his nose, attempting vainly to remember the breathing exercises he’d learned in yoga class years before.
He stared at the splotch of green where the bird-lion had disappeared, unable to drop his gaze for fear of its return. Never had he felt so infinitesimally small, so helpless and insignificant, as he did at this moment, staring up at the towering tree before him, praying that the bird didn’t reappear and swoop down to eat him. If this IS real, and that’s what birds here look like, then what else is around?
He felt like he was at the bottom of the grand canyon again on his roadtrip last summer; he remembered the feeling he’d had while looking up at the walls of eroded rock all around him, like a speck of dust among a world made for giants. But now he had oversized predators to think about, not just rocks.
With a great effort, he tore his eyes away from the tree and looked about himself again, scanning for signs of danger.
As far as the eye could see, looming pillars of trees protruded from the earth to pierce the heavens. This time, he was more keenly aware of the multitude of inky shadows, their shrouded depths hiding untold dangers.
His throat constricted. Fear of the griffin, of the situation in general, coursed through his body in pulses and cold shivers. There was no way this was Earth, and he wanted to get back.
Doing his best to still his racing thoughts, he realized once again that he had no phone, no clothing, no food, no water, and was clearly no longer in the city— or anywhere else he had ever heard of, for that matter. He began to lose his grip on himself all over again.
“Ahh!” he shouted, slapping the butt of his hand against the side of his head, smacking himself several times.
Fuck. Okay. Calm the fuck down— take a knee, and make a plan. One step at a time, buddy, one step at a time.
After his heaving chest had settled down a bit, he let out a long sigh through his mouth, then closed his eyes and took stock of the situation. His body felt… fine, for the most part. His throat hurt and tasted sour, and his temple stung from where he’d clubbed himself, but otherwise, he wasn’t in pain, or tired. I’m not lightheaded either. I feel really clear, actually; with all this adrenaline, I’m probably as alert as I’ve ever been. I’m starting to wish I’d just been high all along now.
Now that he’d accepted reality and thought hard about it, the memories of how he arrived here, wherever here was, were completely absent; more than that, even his recollection of the days prior felt shrouded in a hazy fog. Something niggled at his mind, a sickening gut feeling that he couldn’t interpret, so he tried to ignore it and focus on what he actually understood.
It was warm enough at present that his lack of clothing wasn’t immediately worrying, and the forest floor felt soft enough to walk on without shoes. He tried vainly to put his surroundings, the trees and the bird, and the fact that he was definitely not on Earth, out of his mind. Getting stuck on how improbable everything around him was wouldn’t help him stay alive— he was exposed, and hadn’t seen any of his belongings around him when he’d woken up. He was unarmed, clothesless, and without shelter. He needed a plan.
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Besides all that, he was thirsty too, but the enormous winged creature he’d caught sight of before was more of an immediate concern than a dry throat. There were no roads in sight; no telephone poles, or trails either; so unless proven otherwise, he concluded that for the time being, he was on his own.
A sudden gratitude for his experiences at Marine Corps Officer Candidates School patrolling the piedmont forests of Quantico, Virginia welled up inside him, accompanied by a pang of longing and regret. He at least felt some level of comfort in the wilderness, but he wished he’d been a boy scout or something too; without a compass, a map, or any tools whatsoever, he was pretty much helpless.
If only I’d made it to The Basic School and Infantry Officer’s Course before ending up here, I’d be so much better off.
Recently graduated from OCS, Shae had earned his commission and the rank of Second Lieutenant; he’d been lucky enough to get assigned to permissive temporary active duty, helping his officer selection officer recruit college students into the corps while waiting for a spot to open up at TBS. Officer Candidates School was great, but he hadn’t yet received any real training.
That lack of training and practical knowledge made him feel ill-prepared for actual survival, especially in whatever this ass-backward place he’d wound up in was. In a vain attempt at finding his direction, he searched for the sun. And didn’t find it.
The trees rose nearly to the extent of his vision, their spreading branches high above hiding whatever lay beyond them. The effect it had on his perception of space was eerie; it felt as if he was under a giant dome; but there was light at least, and that was something.
Has to be better than the triple-canopy jungles of Vietnam, right? If they could survive and navigate there, then I can do it here. There might be spooky birds, but at least there are no boobytraps or Vietcong.
“I need a weapon, and I need water.”
He said it out loud, trying to find comfort and reassurance in the sound of a human voice. It was his own, and a little panicky still, despite his best efforts, but at least it was something familiar to cling on to. Shelter usually came first in any survival situation, he knew that, but the recent bird-on-bird violence he’d witnessed left him with a poignant urge to be able to defend himself.
A spear; that’s the bare minimum. It’d be a shame to build a fancy A-Frame just to get mauled to death by… a bear. He smiled, his own stupid humor an endless source of personal amusement. The expression comforted him. Offhandedly, he wondered if he’d driven himself to total insanity and was now living in a waking dream— or nightmare.
He sighed, then looked and listened intently about himself, hoping to discover any indication that one direction offered a better chance of survival than any other. There had to be a stream, pond, river, or something.
With a final glance around, he muttered a prayer to no one in particular. If you’re not a believer, just pretend, right? He started off toward a copse of shorter, regular-sized trees in the distance, where the grade of the ground seemed to shift ever so slightly downward, sloping away.
Trees growing under trees… Right. No use questioning it; roger that and carry on.
He began counting his paces while he walked, if for no other reason than to keep himself calm, and to tether his thoughts from running too far afield. Walking downhill would cause him to naturally lengthen his strides, covering more ground with less effort. If he was going to be caught in a survival situation for an unknown amount of time, he had to think smart and conserve his energy.
Eventually, he made out the faint sound of whispering of water rushing in the distance. Allowing himself a small smile at this little victory, he fought the urge to pick up his pace towards the sound. At a brisk walk, he eyed the huge trees and their slightly smaller counterparts as he passed them. Anything could be hiding there, and I’d have no idea.
The sound of the river grew louder as he approached, and as he walked, he tried to think of how he could possibly have arrived here. But the last several days were lost in a cloudy haze of blurry memory. I remember being in the gym… I hit a deadlift PR, which was pretty hype. I must’ve gotten in my car, and… and that was it. He couldn’t remember anything past vague images of the gym and his Subaru Outback.
He pressed his lips tightly together, resolving to restrain his frustration. What are the chances I figure it out? Pretty much none. Just go to the river; who knows, maybe I’ll find something there that can help me. Where there’s water, there’s life, right? If I find civilization, then I can start figuring out how to get back home. The sound of the river, anyway, was much louder now; he must be drawing near.
Shae picked up his pace into a light jog, which reminded him of his cross-country days. Clean air filled his lungs as his bare feet padded on the soft grass below, and despite everything, he began to relax. Birds sang, their melodic voices rising and falling down, pitching up, meandering and fluctuating in an entrancing refrain.
An occasional breeze blew on his face, and his less dignified parts, his long blonde hair flowing behind him as he ran. He felt himself zoning out, temporarily forgetting the stress of the situation, losing himself in the ephemeral bliss of the moment. Just as he started to forge a state of calm, something cold touched his awareness like an icy finger.
Something had changed, he realized, but he couldn’t quite place a finger on what. Slowing to a halt, he peered to either side, then up. The birds were silent. Fear snatched at his heart with icy fingers.
Fifty yards off to his side, lying lazily in a spot of sunlight by the base of a large tree root, was a massive, cat-like beast with slick black fur so dark that it seemed to devour the sunlight. It clawed absently at the root in front of it, its razorlike talons digging sharp gouges into the wood, splinters falling to the ground. The beast unfolded its legs from under itself and slowly stood up, rising to its full height, at least on all fours. With dawning horror, Shae recognized that his initial estimation of its size, perhaps that of a large grizzly or lion, was a grave underestimate.
The creature resembled a wild cat, a puma maybe, more than anything else at least— but it was just too big, its proportions hilariously exaggerated. It raised a great diamond head, pressed its hips backwards, arched its spine and stretched, yawning wide. Muscles rippled beneath a thin coat of short black hairs, and the cat seemed as if carved from liquid onyx blacker than void.
A pink barbed tongue whisked out of its mouth and licked at its nose, the whiskers above its lips, fangs white as milk and a foot long peaking out as the tongue moved. Its fur was a coat of charcoal black that seemed to absorb light, reflecting nothing, and making it near impossible to determine where torso ended and limbs began, a mind-melting visual deception.
He watched it stretch, breath caught in his chest, heart caught in his throat. Nothing he’d ever seen had been half so effortlessly menacing. Lounging a short distance away, eyeing him with a cool, bord confidence, was a true predator. And he was its prey.
The cat’s eyes flicked onto his. They bore holes into his soul, promising death— Fiery orange orbs separated from white sclera by a black ring, pits of amber intelligence in its midnight visage, they weighed him hungrily.
The cat began stalking towards him, huge jaws hanging slightly open as it slinked through patches of shadow and light. Shae shivered under the weight of its stare, failed to fully stifle a scream, and released an awkward yelp of panicked shock.
He spun, stumbled, nearly fell onto his face. His foot caught a branch, and he fell, scraped his bare shin on rocks and gnarled roots, scrambled up and ran, his feet pounding the dirt, arms pumping, heart racing, legs burning with effort.
Even as one part of his mind was numb with fear, another was possessed by a naive, carefree curiosity, fascinated by the creature so unlike anything he’d ever encountered.
Shae leapt over branches, some as thick as logs, maneuvering away from the bulging tree roots where he could. Those he couldn’t avoid were so large that he had to climb hand over foot to get over them, paying little heed to the tears, cuts, bruises, and bloody scrapes they inflicted upon his skin in his haste to escape.
The river's roar deafened him as he grew nearer; sweat poured from his glistening body, into his eyes, blurred his vision. In front of him, Shae saw a large, dense thicket of brambly bushes.. Though it looked impenetrable, he was sure the river— his salvation— was on the other side.
Hazarding a glance over his shoulder, he saw the cat-bear-creature closing in on him with swift, loping strides, casually gliding over the same obstacles that’d given him so much trouble. The cat bound over and around roots and boulders as if they didn’t exist, its legs navigating the terrain like water flowing over rocks. If he stayed where he was, mere seconds would separate him from certain death.
Fucking cats. He dove into the thicket, ripped his way through brambles and branches, thorns and thistles, clawing with bloody, bare hands at the bush. It tore at his naked skin, gouged his flesh, left him panting, dirty, and bleeding all over, his body a tapestry of angry red welts and bloody scrape lines.
Finally, he burst through to the other side. Light returned, and his feet gained unsteady purchase on wet, smooth rock; he looked down some ten or twelve feet above the river’s bank, roaring waters tumbling over rock below him. Spray blasted him from a tall waterfall just a few yards to his left, cooling his body and slickening his footing, coating his skin with cold wet.
The river was several tens of yards across, rushing below him in white torrents that ran and leapt down a tumbling throw of boulders. Too far and too fast to cross, it cut right in front of him, cleaving the forest in two. He stood on a narrow, protruding boulder, which he realized was part of a sheer cliff that dropped into the river below. There was nowhere to go.
Shae envisioned himself being tossed around like a ragdoll, head dashed against the stones, body floating limply away in the current. But if I don’t…. He thought of the monster, pearly teeth glistening, viscous saliva dripping down its chin, just seconds behind him. His chances of getting home would soon drop from slim to zero if he didn't jump. With a wordless shout and a few quick steps, he threw himself over the ledge, arms flailing in the open air as he plummeted.
It was as if everything was silent as he fell through the air, the river rushing up to meet him. Then, ice-cold water crashed into him, ripped the breath from his lungs, tugged him down and drowned him. He was tossed out, sucked in. Hurled into jagged rocks, bashed against jutting edges of sharp stone, the river cut him open and ravaged him.
His head rose above the surface for an instant.
“Gaurgh— arhh—”
He coughed, spluttered, water choking his lungs, then was pulled back under.
His legs flailed, desperate to push off of the bottom, but his kicking feet found nothing, and soon he lost his breath, lost his ability to resist. Feeling fled from his limbs, the cold numbness sucking out sensation, mercifully hiding the pain. He spent his last fleeting moments of strength fighting for air, but instead got only sputtering, choking mouthfuls of water and blood. Shae’s mind closed, a blank sheet of fear, distant pain, and icy cold.
Flashes of vision returned momentarily as his body was tossed, flung as if a fish from a bear's mouth, one moment submerged, sucking in water, the next in open air, his face to the pale sky above, freefalling like just another drop over the waterfall’s edge.