You Call It: Emergence II

The following is a work of fresh fiction.  I have no preconceived notions as to where this story will go or end up.  It will be a collaborative piece based upon input from readers.  There will be two or three questions at the end for consideration.  Any other freeform suggestions/contributions are welcome as well. 

Emergence by Jeff Moore; Second Installment

SHE PLACED THE PHONE BACK IN its cradle softly as if in danger of cracking the hard plastic skin. Her eyes stayed focused on the relatively ancient piece of communications technology and her mind locked on a playback of the last thing she had been told.

The dilapidated motel room began to creep back into her circle of perception and slowly she turned towards the door, half expecting the spherical knob to begin a methodical rotation, set in motion from without. Again her vision began to pinpoint, drowning out everything around the knob and throughout the room like ocular background noise. The steady tick, tock of a 1970’s era bedside clock was her soundtrack. Fifteen minutes. Blinking, she took a deep breath and closed her eyes. When she opened them, nothing had changed except for her. She had decided.

The walk down to the shoreline from the motel had used up nearly all of the allotted time. Moving with fresh resolve she arrived at the sand and kicked off her sandals without breaking stride. A quick glance to the left and the right informed her that the beach was utterly deserted. Not surprising at three o’clock in the morning in the off season. Above her the stars were out but there was no moon. With virtually all of the oceanfront homes shuttered for the winter, very little ambient light penetrated the darkness near the waterline. What little there was seemed to be absorbed by the frothing white of the small breaking waves.

She shivered involuntarily and crossed her arms around her in an attempt to maintain body heat. The caller had instructed her to not wear a sweater or jacket, that something would be provided for her before they began their exodus. No shoes, he had also said. Walking the final steps to the solitary lifeguard tower, she checked her watch. Thirty seconds to spare. She scanned the sands on both sides of her, straining her eyes for any sign of him. Then she saw movement in the shadows to the north. She took a tentative step in that direction and searched for another sign. A figure materialized far closer than she would have suspected and walked towards her. It was him. He looked tense – grim even – as he neared. She raised a sandy foot to take another step in his direction and was about to speak when she was seized roughly from behind. Two sets of hands assailed her. One set secured her upper body as the other quickly wrapped a neoprene band around her mouth, cinching it tight. Her eyes went wide and connected with those of the caller. He had stopped walking and watched silently, clearly unalarmed by the development. She had been set up.

You Call It: Emergence

The following is a work of fresh fiction.  I have no preconceived notions as to where this story will go or end up.  It will be a collaborative piece based upon input from readers.  There will be two or three questions at the end for consideration.  Any other freeform suggestions/contributions are welcome as well. 

Emergence by Jeff Moore 

IT WAS COLD, but not too cold. Because it was early, the temperature hovered in the low teens. The air was crisp like cold water and biting like a wind in the bones. That would change as the day progressed with the march of the sun, the temperature easing into the mid-twenties.

         Ian Ware didn’t notice the cold. There were parts of him that had grown numb to any sensation whatsoever in fact. Others served as lightning rods for sadness, remorse, and pain. Still as stone, he absently regarded the pristine peak reaching towards the sky before him. He wasn’t alone, which was fine. Other early risers let skis and boards fall to the firm snow, landing with a wet slap, as they waited for the aerial tram – nicknamed ‘The Red Heli’ – to start loading. It was mid-week at the renowned resort and out of the high season, so the numbers were relatively few. That, too, was fine.

         Kneeling, he worked a loose strap on one of his bindings, ensuring that it didn’t require immediate attention. Satisfying himself that there were no structural concerns, he stood and began some light stretching, concentrating on his hips and shoulders. The legs would loosen themselves. Limber shoulders, however, were key to avoiding injury in the event of an unexpected fall. Throughout his relaxed movements his eyes loosely scanned the arriving skiers and snowboarders, vigilant without being overtly so. The colorful collection had grown to about twenty-five people. For the most part, they looked the part of experienced riders. Jackson Hole was a challenging mountain; not exactly replete with beginner fare. And, again, it was early…on a weekday…out of the high season.

         There was a murmur of both sound and movement as the attendants opened the gates at the head of the line, announcing without words that the first tram was about to start loading. Like a cross between cattle and an elite military unit, the purposefully attired, world class athletes moved towards the promised land, their breath painting the air around them in vanishing clouds and their gear clattering softly.

          Ware kept his eyes, hidden behind polarized goggles, active. Between the goggles and his helmet, as well as the moderate beard he had diligently cultivated and the controlled chaos of the moment, he had no concerns about being noticed. Moving loosely and quietly, he made his way to the loading area and carefully positioning himself so that he would have some degree of say as to where he stood once inside the one hundred person carriage. The expectant energy in those around him was palpable. A fast-moving storm had dropped half a foot of snow on the mountain the night before. Not enough to inspire a rash of local sick days, but enough to warrant the early start. Under normal circumstances, Ware – an avid snowboarder that had spent the better part of a quarter century honing his skills – would likewise be experiencing the kind of giddiness that the promise of a perfect day generated. But not on this day. He had come a long way and not just in terms of geography to find himself standing in that particular group, on that particular day, at that particular time.