Waterwall - 1. Waterwall

Nothing. Dave couldn’t think of another word to describe what he was experiencing at this moment. There was nothing to see, nothing to hear. He couldn’t even sense his body, as though his mind was drifting amid oblivion—disconnected, paralyzed. The sudden lack of any stimulus was as unnerving as it was terrifying. He wanted to scream, but didn’t know how.

Then, at last, he felt something. A prickling sensation in his toes—the familiar sting of circulation returning after being restricted. It shot up the soles of his feet, then rose up his legs. He was able to wiggle his toes, but he sensed they were confined. He was wearing socks and shoes.

Sensation continued to return. He could sense his torso, his arms and hands—his body lying on a hard surface. And then finally, in an abrupt flash, his sight and hearing returned. Except there still wasn’t much to see.

Dave was lying on his back. A single source of light floated above him—a sickly yellow hue—offering little to illuminate his surroundings. A black void encompassed him, not unlike the one he just escaped. A deep, droning hum emanated from everywhere, rattling his bones. Despite being relatively quiet, it was deafeningly loud at the same time.

He sat up and touched the cool stone floor. Roughly hewn and covered in tiny pockmarks, it looked as though it had been chiselled with delicate tools. Silver streaks marred the otherwise black surface. From his sitting position, he turned to survey the darkness around him again. The only defining feature was a black wall behind him. The dim, yellow light could barely reach the wall’s surface, offering no clue to how high it reached, nor how far it stretched to either side.

At that moment, Dave realized he wasn’t breathing. He sucked in a desperate, ragged breath, but it didn’t feel right. His chest rose and fell with each breath, but the expected sensation of air in his lungs was absent.

“What the hell?” he muttered, disoriented by the sound of his own voice. It sounded strange, equally too close and too distant.

He patted his pants pocket and felt his cellphone. Turning it on, he saw what he already expected—no service. At least there was plenty of battery left. It was a little after five o’clock. Wherever he was now, it only took a couple of hours to get here.

He rose to his feet and immediately felt dizzy. Unsteady, he held out his hands for balance, then took one step toward the wall. That was as far as he could manage before his legs gave out and he crumpled to the floor. He swore as his vision spun—in the same way as a night of heavy drinking—but within a few moments, the bout of dizziness ceased.

“Hello?” a raspy voice with a distinctly southern twang called from the darkness. It had the same disorienting quality, as though the voice reached him first then bounced off the floor.

Dave anxiously scanned the area, trying to find whoever spoke. “Who’s there?” he stammered.

A shuffling sound approached. Then, slowly emerging into the yellow pool of light, was an older man with a greying beard crawling toward him on hands and knees. Astonishment was written on his face.

“Are you real?” he asked, his voice wavering.

Dave didn’t know how to respond to such a question, but managed a confused nod.

On the verge of tears, the old man scrambled toward him earnestly, presumably worried Dave would disappear if he didn’t close the space between them quickly enough.

“What is this place? Where are we?” Dave asked.

The man reached out, tentatively, to touch Dave’s knee. He let out a nervous laugh, then locked his gaze with wide eyes. “I can’t tell you how good it is to see another face. Name’s Elijah.”

“I’m Dave. How long have you been here?”

Elijah offered a pitiful shrug. “Phone died a long time ago. Didn’t have any way to track days after that.”

“It’s April tenth.”

“April?” Elijah scoffed.

“When did you arrive?”

“January, uh, fifteenth.”

Unease filled Dave’s belly as he felt the need to confirm more than just the month. “2025, right?”

Elijah’s eyes widened again. “What? No! January 2024. You sayin’ I’ve been here over a year?”

Dave gave him a reserved nod, unable to fathom how Elijah felt. “I guess so.”

Elijah stared at the ground, mumbling, “It seemed long, but not that long.”

“But what is this place?” Dave repeated.

“You think I’ve got any idea, boy? What you see here’s all there is.”

Dave couldn’t accept that. There had to be something beyond the dark veil surrounding them. “What about food? Water?”

The old man scoffed again. “Yeah, funny that. Don’t need it.”

“What’re you saying? You’ve not eaten anything in over a year?” Dave made no attempt to hide the incredulity in his voice.

“If it’s really been that long, I guess not. Never hungry, never thirsty. Never needed to take a piss. Don’t even need to sleep.” He tugged at his beard. “This hasn’t grown an inch. It’s like everything’s stopped in here.”

Dave stared in disbelief. “How’s that possible?”

“Hold your breath.”

“What?”

Elijah stared at him firmly, his eyes unwavering. “Just do it.”

Despite the absurdity of the request, Dave drew in a breath and held it. As the seconds passed, a curious smile crept onto Elijah’s face.

“Keep holding it,” he said, followed by a knowing nod. “Y’see? You don’t have that need to breathe, do you?”

He was right. Dave sensed that hollowness in his chest again. But even with the urge missing, he found himself taking a breath anyway. It seemed terribly wrong otherwise.

“What’s the last thing you remember before you got here?” Elijah asked.

Dave’s eyes darted about as he tried to recall. “I was driving. Checking the map on the GPS.” Suddenly, the complete memory returned, and a gasp escaped him, sharp and sudden. “I wasn’t paying attention. I’d run a red light. There was a horn—an airhorn, like from a semi—coming from my left.”

Then blackness. Waking up here. Dave stared at Elijah as a terrifying revelation hit him.

“Are we dead?”

Instead of answering, Elijah said, “My last memory was on the roof of my house, re-shingling. I lost my footing, slipped, fell off the edge. I just remember falling head first, but not hitting the ground.” He rubbed the side of his neck. “I would’ve hit concrete.”

A nervous laugh escaped Dave’s lips. “So, what? Is this hell? Purgatory?” He gestured to the black void around them. “This sure doesn’t look like heaven to me. I don’t even believe in that shit!”

“Watch your mouth, boy. Whatever you might believe or not, this is real.”

Dave dug into his pocket and pulled out his phone. “So you’re saying we take our cells to the afterlife?” He tugged at his shirt. “Our clothes, too? There’s no way.” His agitation boiling over, Dave stood up to pace, but only managed a single step before losing his balance and collapsing to his knees again.

“You can’t walk,” Elijah said. “You gotta crawl to get anywhere. Not that there’s anywhere to go.”

Dave directed his gaze to the darkness. “It’s gotta go somewhere.” Then he pointed at the wall. “How big is this room?”

Elijah shrugged.

“You’ve not tried to explore this place?” Dave asked.

“I never said that.”

Dave frowned at the old man’s cryptic reply, then turned his attention back to the wall. Crawling on his hands and knees, he approached it. Unlike the mottled rock floor with its silver streaks, the wall was pure black and unnaturally smooth. It hardly reflected the dim yellow light. The peculiar quality beckoned Dave to brush his fingers against it. He expected the surface to be firm, but it yielded to his touch, allowing his fingers to leave a streaked mark. It reminded him of wet sand. A moment later, the shallow blemish filled in, returning the wall to its smooth state. Compelled, Dave reached out again, pushing his finger deeper until he met resistance half an inch deep. A sudden jolt shot up his arm, and he snatched his hand back and shook it furiously, surprised by the pain.

“It doesn’t like to be touched,” Elijah said, still sitting where Dave had left him under the yellow light. As before, his voice echoed strangely. Close yet distant all at once.

Dave contemplated the wall again, looking left and right, peering into the dark to decide which direction to follow. He chose left and crawled alongside the wall. It had to lead somewhere. The meagre light waned, seemingly unable to penetrate the overbearing darkness. As he continued, the deep, ever-present drone gradually increased in volume. His whole body throbbed from the intensity. The gloom resembled a haunting, grim fog—a physical force threatening to crush him. He fumbled for his phone and activated the flashlight. It didn’t help much, only illuminating a few feet ahead of him, falling off sharply.

He looked back, frightened to discover the yellow light was gone.

“Elijah?”

His voice didn’t travel far, as though echoing within a tiny box. The vision of a casket’s interior, harshly lit by the flashlight, flickered before his eyes. He gasped, yet his hollow chest remained uncomfortably empty. He scrambled onward, hoping to escape the terrible dread hounding him, but the strength in his arms unexpectedly failed and he collapsed onto the frigid stone floor.

Could this be hell? Was he destined to exist within this endless, tormenting darkness? An overpowering ache filled his mind. Every dark thought he’d ever had, every negative emotion he’d ever experienced, every painful memory in his life—each one replayed in his head at once. Repeating again and again, not as a memory, but fresh as a gaping wound. The anguish it brought was overbearing.

He wanted to cry out. He begged for tears to come. But no, that would’ve brought a modicum of solace to his aching soul. The darkness demanded pain, and no amount of pleading would suffice.

And then, miraculously, everything stopped.

He heard a grunt of surprise from Elijah. Dave opened his eyes, finding himself returned to the sickly yellow light. An echo of the anguish remained, however, and he curled into a fetal position. A hoarse, pitiful moan escaped his lips. His shoulders jerked as he sobbed into his crossed arms. Elijah’s hand lay on his back, offering a gentle touch of support.

After the flood of despair had subsided, Dave managed to ask in an unsteady voice, “How did I get back here?”

The old man shook his head. “I can’t explain it. One second, I was alone. The next, you were just . . . here.” A moment of silence held between the two men. “I know what you felt. The pain. Now you know why I never explored this place. I reckon it’s impossible.”

Dave couldn’t comprehend the experience he’d endured—the overpowering dread brought on by the dark. It didn’t make sense. But that weight had left him mentally and emotionally exhausted, compelling him to lower his head on the ground and close his eyes.

• • •

Elijah had been right. Sleep was impossible. Dave wanted desperately to lose himself, if only for a short while, but this place robbed him of that simple need. He raised his head to find Elijah sitting in the same spot, looking away, lost to his thoughts. Curiously, the forlorn mood Dave had fought against was gone now—drifted away—and he felt himself again. The impetus to escape this terrible place had returned, now stronger than ever.

He crawled back to the wall, wanting to explore its unusual properties further. The movement brought Elijah out of his reverie, and he watched Dave with mild interest.

“Have you poked at this wall?” Dave asked.

“Yeah, but like I said, it doesn’t like to be touched. It hurts.”

Dave nodded. “I’m wondering if it’s a deterrent. It’s soft and hard at the same time. Maybe we could dig through.”

He scratched at the surface, cupping his hand in an attempt to scoop out the gritty substance covering the wall. His knuckles grazed against the rigid surface underneath, and he grimaced at the shock it brought, but he continued undeterred. The black sand fell to the floor, only for it to skitter its way back to the wall in an attempt to repair itself. Dave could only stare in bewildered awe.

“Are you seeing this?” he asked while briskly sweeping the sand away to stop it from returning.

Elijah approached, watching Dave dig a wider gash into the wall and scoop the fallen sand to toss it away. In order to mitigate the pain brought on by the hard underlayer, Dave scraped at it rapidly. The action, however, forced the tip of his fingers to knock the wall hard, causing it to suddenly ripple like a stone in water. The deep drone abruptly stopped, surrounding the two in deafening silence.

“That’s never happened before,” Elijah whispered.

They exchanged glances, questioning why gravity hadn’t caused the inky water to splash onto the floor. Warily, Dave moved to touch the liquid, but the old man gripped his arm to stop him.

“Be careful,” Elijah whispered, more harshly this time. “There’s no telling what that is.”

Dave wished he had a stick, or anything else to poke with. Instead, he loosened his belt and pulled it free. Holding the stiff leather tongue out, Dave guided it into the pool of water suspended in the wall. It kept going, deeper and deeper, without any resistance. He pulled it out, perplexed to find the leather completely dry.

Dave caught Elijah’s eye again, contemplating what to do next. Nervously biting his lip, Dave extended a finger to touch the liquid. His index finger went in, slowly, followed by his whole hand. The black fluid reminded him of oil—completely opaque—but it didn’t feel wet. It felt like air. There was no pain, no shock. Nothing.

He pulled his hand out. Just like the leather belt, his hand was dry and clean. Elijah experimentally wiggled his finger into the liquid, but wasn’t as brave to put his whole hand in.

“If we clear enough room, maybe we could crawl through.” Dave said. “We don’t need to breathe, right? Maybe this is a way out.”

“I reckon that’s a terrible idea.”

Dave scoffed. “You think I don’t know that? I’m terrified by the idea, but what other options do we have?”

Elijah’s gaze returned to the wall. “It’s changing.”

He was right. The wall was solidifying. Dave poked it, revealing a consistency akin to custard. With each passing second, the substance hardened further until it reverted to its original state. The low hum—their deafening, ever-constant companion—gradually faded in.

“Well, that’s something,” Dave said. “How long you think that lasted? A few minutes?”

Elijah nodded. “Around there, yeah.”

“So if we go in, we’ve gotta find an escape before that happens, or get our asses back here.”

Elijah grunted. Judging by his tone, he wasn’t thrilled at the prospect of walking into this black substance. Dave couldn’t blame him. The idea of being trapped in there was absolutely worse than their current predicament. But if it offered an escape, Dave was determined enough to try. Even the possibility of being confined here for over a year—what Elijah had suffered—made the risk worth taking.

“You know, I just tapped it with my fingers before,” Dave said. “What happens if I do this?”

Clasping his hands into a single fist, he slammed the wall with all his might. The room shuddered violently and the hum ceased again. Black sand cascaded to the ground, forcing them to stand back as it piled onto the floor. It revealed the black water underneath, undulating as far as they could see.

“This is it!” Dave cried, holding his hand out toward Elijah. “We have to try.”

The old man, eyes wide with terror, shook his head wildly. Dave took his trembling hand, offering him strength.

“We’ll just step in together, walk forward, and maybe we’ll find a way out. I won’t let go of your hand.”

Elijah glanced between Dave and the massive wall of black water before them. Then, at last, he nodded. “Only a minute, then we turn back.”

“Only a minute,” Dave replied.

They took up a position in front of the wall and drew in a steady breath. There was no need to hold their breath—they knew this—but it helped them gather the courage they sought.

“On three?” Dave asked.

Elijah confirmed by beginning the count, and upon reaching the fated number, they stepped in unison through the waterwall.

It only took a split second for Dave to realize they’d made a terrible mistake. He had assumed the floor would continue. Instead, they’d stepped headlong into a chasm. His stomach lurched as they fell, tumbling uncontrollably. The shock caught them both by surprise, and their clasped hands broke free in a futile attempt to right themselves.

As much as Dave wanted to scream, the idea of swallowing this weightless black substance kept his mouth shut. The indeterminate sense of falling ebbed away, leaving him floating in space. Either that, or he’d reached terminal velocity.

He reached out blindly in an attempt to find Elijah, then made a swimming motion, trying to propel himself forward, but whether he was making progress was indeterminable. From the tumbling fall, he’d lost the ability to intuit which direction led away from the barrier they’d walked through.

The search for Elijah proved fruitless. And now, the knowledge of what was to come had announced its arrival. It was imperceptible at first, but then Dave could feel the weightless substance slowly returning to its hardened form. Panic set in, and he swam with renewed vigour, searching for something—anything—that could offer some form of escape.

His hand bumped against something, but after reaching out, it was gone. Then something touched his arm, grabbed him. It was a hand. It was Elijah. Not wanting to lose him again, Dave pulled him close, but Elijah guided Dave’s hand forward. His fingers touched something cold and wet, muddy in texture. It was another wall.

The thickening substance they were suspended within now allowed Dave to sense movement, and in spite of being blind, he knew Elijah was fervently digging into the wall. Dave followed suit and clawed into the soft mud, throwing clumps over his shoulder in hopes it wouldn’t try to reconstitute and hinder their escape. They made quick work of it, digging to the depth of their elbows, but the black mass around them was congealing, impeding their movement and their advancement.

Then Dave’s outstretched fingers felt something different. A frigid spurt of liquid—initially a trickle that swiftly became a torrent. They’d broken through, and whatever was on the other side was forcing its way in. They continued to dig in earnest, widening the hole, and once Dave surmised it was large enough, he guided Elijah to swim through. Despite the cold liquid fighting to enter their space, the substance around them continued to harden. Dave curled his legs upward, barely able to free them, waiting anxiously for the old man to pull himself through the hole. As soon as he felt Elijah’s feet slide through, he scrambled into the hole. His fingers slid against the muddy walls, and he fought against the mass of rushing liquid against his face and body.

Upon crossing the threshold, his lungs immediately—paradoxically—burned for air, as though he’d been holding his breath this entire time. The weight of untold tons of liquid threatened to crush him, the pain in his ears unbearable. Light flashed beyond his closed eyelids, and he risked opening them. Contrary to his senses, what was up and down, forward and back, had been completely wrong. Dave and Elijah hadn’t been digging forward, they’d been digging up through the bottom of a lake.

Above, sunlight rippled through crystal clear water, casting rays of light through the undulating waves. Although his vision was blurry, he could discern the shape of Elijah swimming to the surface. Kicking furiously, Dave rose toward the beautiful light. With each stroke, the pressure in his ears lessened, but his lungs still demanded air. The exertion only heightened that need, and his muscles screamed for oxygen. The waves grew as he approached the surface, beckoning him, yet his vision darkened around the edges. The strength in his arms and legs dwindled with each passing second, but he refused to give in. He was so close now, and his body released one last burst of untapped energy.

His face broke through the surface, and he gasped in a lungful of sweet air. At long last, he could feel his lungs expanding—no longer experiencing that unsettling void in his chest. Waves lapped around him as he wheezed and coughed. Treading water, he took in another breath while searching for Elijah. The old man was swimming to the closest shore. With aching, unsteady arms, Dave followed in that direction. The lake they’d emerged from was a relatively small body of water. Tall trees, choked with vines, loomed beyond the shore. The air was dense—hot, humid, and cloying. While Dave had never witnessed a tropical rainforest firsthand, he assumed they were within one now, incredibly far from his home in Toronto where the trees had just sprouted their new, spring leaves.

Elijah reached the shoreline, only now Dave realized it wasn’t Elijah at all. The man, wearing olive green army fatigues, collapsed to his knees, hands covering his face, sobbing like a child. Dave scanned the surface of the water behind him, hoping to see Elijah emerge. Gentle waves lapped and eddied, but otherwise remained unbroken. Disheartened, Dave returned his attention to the man, wading in prudently while keeping his distance.

“Excuse me,” he stammered. “Are . . . are you okay?”

The man wiped his eyes. His expression bore a chaotic blend of emotions. Relief and joy, yet tinged with fear, and—if Dave was completely honest—he looked slightly unhinged. He sat on his haunches now, alternating between laughing and crying, covering his mouth with a hand as though unsure he could trust his senses.

“I thought I was in hell,” he said, his voice high and scratchy. “I was trapped, stuck.”

Wide-eyed, Dave pointed toward the lake’s depths. “You were trapped in the wall? What was liquid then solid?”

The man nodded. “I hit the wall. It turned to water. I made the mistake of going through.”

Dave’s mind flashed to where Elijah must be now. He hadn’t made it, and now he was trapped down there, lost in a solid barrier. Unable to see. Unable to move. Unable to die. Dave couldn’t imagine a crueler fate, and it was his fault—he’d talked Elijah into following him. He doubted he’d ever escape that whisper of guilt.

An inhuman shriek echoed from across the water, and both men hunkered down in fright. They scanned the opposing shore but saw nothing. Regardless, the man bolted toward the foliage and vines to hide, and Dave followed his lead. Pushing aside oversized fronds, the man let Dave pass while keeping an eye on the lake. Once he was satisfied they hadn’t been noticed, he sat on the ground beside Dave.

“Mitchell,” the man said, offering a hand to shake.

“I’m Dave,” he replied, accepting it, and Mitchell shook his hand vigorously.

“I can’t thank you enough. I don’t think I could’ve dug through that mud in time.”

“You saved us both, showing me where to dig.”

Mitchell’s eyes twitched—seemingly unable to hold them still—taking in the environment at a rapid pace.

“How long do you think you were down there?” Dave asked.

“I thought I’d been shot and the VC captured me. Thrown me in some underground jail.”

“VC?” Dave asked, frowning.

“The Viet Cong, man! Who else you think I’m talking about?”

Dave’s mind reeled at what he was saying. “What year was that?” he asked, almost not wanting to hear the expected answer.

“’71,” Mitchell replied, as though it should’ve been obvious, but then seeing Dave’s stunned expression, he knew something was wrong. “Why? How long was I down there?”

Dave choked before replying. “It’s 2025. You’ve been down there for . . .” He couldn’t do the math. His mind was too busy trying to conceive the idea of being trapped in stone for that long and not going crazy.

Mitchell uttered a solitary chuckle that did nothing to conceal the horror written on his face. Then he stifled a sob, shaking his head in disbelief, causing a tear to drip off his cheek.

Another shriek pealed out, closer this time, and they couldn’t help duck their heads again at the noise.

“What the fuck is that?” Mitchell whispered.

Dave peeked through the foliage in hopes of catching a glimpse of whatever was screeching. Beyond the far shore were similar tall trees. Above, a strange cloud—a series of clean, swooping streaks—caught his eye. He continued to stare at it, coming to the realization it wasn’t a cloud at all. A massive, ringed planet hung in the blue sky.

While trying to appreciate the grim reality of what that meant for them, a crash in the trees stole his attention. A creature the size of a pickup truck emerged from the vegetation, walking on all fours. Black scales covered its supple body, reflecting in the sunlight, and a long tail whipped left and right. Astounded, Dave recognized a fusion of feline and reptilian traits. Keeping his line of sight fixed on the creature, he gestured for Mitchell to approach. The soldier did so, then swore under his breath at the sight he beheld.

In spite of the hardships Dave had endured since waking up in this strange place, this beast was their reality now. They weren’t on earth anymore, or even within their own solar system. While this newfound knowledge should’ve felt like progress toward understanding their predicament, all it earned was a bitter taste of dread in his mouth. Survival was paramount, and he didn’t know the first thing about surviving on an alien planet. Hopefully Mitchell’s military training would aid them, but in a way, their survival didn’t really matter. All he wanted was to return home, and that possibility had dissolved into a cruel fiction.