Tales of the Courier – The Whiskey Barrel
Found and not found. At the same time. There and not there, at the same time. Time and no time, at the same place. All of these make sense, to someone. Somewhere. It’s possible to think of somewhere, but difficult through the gunfire. The ride has stalled, in the middle of section 71, 1courier hunkers as low as possible in the seat, as the windshield implodes and rains glass.
Any second now, he holds his breath, waiting. He’s still waiting, and is surprised that he’s had this long to wait. It’s not just quiet, it’s the absence of sound. All sounds have ceased, and the air no longer smells of sulfur and smoke. Opening his eyes, he waits a little more before moving.
The ride is shot, literally. Deciding the only way out is through, he quickly opens the door and drop rolls to the street. And lands in thick wet mud. Didn’t see that one coming. Impossible to say how a day can go from bad to worse, but they can, and this one has not disappointed.
Looking around he notices forest. Lots of trees and forest, not section 71, though the ride has evidence of 71. Thin tendrils of smoke rise from the colossal damage that was once a ride, as a slight rain begins to fall. The package is still in the back, and he reaches in and grabs the oddly shaped and slightly heavy cargo. Time to go.
Time to walk
He decides south again, although there will be no ride to show, unexpectedly or otherwise, in the thick underbrush of the forest he has landed in. It’s a good day for a long walk, always a plus. He shoulders the package as he hikes southward. The trees are purple. It’s a detail, it’s strange in the sense that it’s not what the senses are used to. Purple trees, cool stuff, he keeps walking.
After ten minutes trekking south, he checks the m-com for the live link to the AI. The link is down, that one catches him off guard. The link is designed to be redundant across any of the nine universes discovered so far. He’s in for a longer walk, and now he needs to find out where ‘here’ is exactly. The purple trees continue with the purple.
Everyone knew there were risks with opening that first door. The first ones to brave stepping through the first door, or portal, were still stepping, somewhere. They squished those cyber bugs, and opened more doors, and found new places. And new bugs, some of which only happen occasionally, so they’re difficult to remedy. He wonders if this place is a bug.
Strange sounds permeate the air as he walks, their oddness making them seem otherworldly. He grins at the irony, he makes a mental note to mention it to the AI. Bad humor aside, this was a strange place for a good walk. He notices the package has started that humming sound again, and the vibrations emanating from it, are getting stronger.
Preparing himself for that ethereal light and that disorienting sense of there-not there, he continues southward. After another hour of walking, the purple trees begin to decrease in number, and in the distance ahead, he notices a structure nestled cozily in a small clearing. Perfect timing, he thinks, as he makes his way towards the ominous structure.
home sweet home
It’s similar to an old log cabin told about in one of those fairytale books, from long ago. Except that it’s purple, it looks almost exactly like the pictures in those old books. It’s rundown, and appears to be a relic lost in time. The porch roof sags over a door that looks as though it hasn’t opened in centuries. He makes for the door as he enters the clearing.
Stepping onto the old porch, he pauses and listens carefully, waiting. After a few minutes, he tries the old latch handle on the door. It creaks and operates roughly as though it might break from it’s worn and rusted age. The door is solid and he shoulders it hard to free it from it’s time induced stasis. Plumes of otherworldly dust fill the air as the door creaks open.
He peers inside, before stepping inside. Empty, so far. It’s dark, no windows line any wall, and the silence is deep and still. The smell is of ozone and electric charge, he ponders this as he steps inside. The place has not seen a visitor in ages, that much is obvious. The floor is covered in undisturbed dust, and there are thick cobwebs throughout the room.
Headache
He sets the slightly heavy and oddly shaped package down on the floor and looks around the room. No furniture, or fixtures, or anything, except an old whiskey barrel sitting in the middle of the room. He believes he can even smell some of that old elixir, as he crosses the floor towards the old barrel. The silence has become deep and all consuming, almost expectant, as he reaches the barrel.
From nowhere and everywhere a voice speaks with cool calculation. “Welcome 1courier, you are late” The voice is mechanical and has that cool steel timbre. He listens carefully, this isn’t cheeky, this AI is much different, sinister. The door slams shut with a loud bang! He continues listening, there would be more, and likely not pleasant.
Expectancy has a feel to it, and this dark room, in this purple cabin, is filled with it. 1courier listens carefully and tenses as the steel infused voice speaks again, “Time to deliver the package, your services are no longer required, prepare for termination.” The whiskey barrel begins spinning, while he simultaneously decides it’s time to go, and leaps toward the package. -to be continued-
