Dream Tunnel Part ThreeThe bubble was bigger than the tunnel now. It had consumed a police car that hadn’t been moved in time, along with a number of police barriers. It was taller than the tunnel too. Marcus looked up at the balconies of expensive apartments where satellite dishes sprouted like mushrooms. Only a few people were on their balconies, looking down at all the activity. Many of the residents were probably watching the news on TV to see what was happening right below them. Was the bubble entering the lower apartments? Had it enveloped any people, or had the authorities evacuated those apartments? Marcus didn’t know, and he didn’t think the police would answer any questions. That wasn’t his problem, anyway. He needed to find his boss and friend, Randall Moss. Randall’s last words on his cell phone were that he was entering the Third Street tunnel. No calls, text messages, or email had been able to contact the CEO of Mossoft software since then. Randall had not turned up at the company offices where he was scheduled to meet with programmers. A few minutes earlier, the superhero Sun Man had flown right through the bubble as if it wasn’t there. The police shouted at him to stop, but the shining hero had ignored them. Marcus was tempted to try walking through it. Even if he could get through the bubble, he might find anything in there, from a fire to an alien, airless landscape. He had learned long ago that entering a location with no idea what was there was the surest way to die. Marcus had one hope. He was pretty sure that Randall was driving one of the black vans, with the special equipment. If his boss was in trouble in there, Marcus hoped, he was facing it not as Randall Moss but as Knighthawk. ***** He was freezing cold, and he had to pee really bad. The truck rolled through the night. None of the other soldiers said anything, they just kept their heads down and pulled their uniforms tightly and shivered. When they got on the truck in Kuwait it was hot, hotter than he had ever experienced. Shortly after they crossed the border the sun went down and the heat went away. Everyone on the truck was new, straight from basic. They were being shipped to war. No, that wasn’t right. He had never been in the army. He was Mike, the superhero Sun Man. He had enormous powers. If he could turn his light on he could fly right out of here, wherever here was. He reached for his light, but it skittered away. Jerry put his head down, like all the others. The truck hit a hole in the road and sent a shock through him. He was freezing, and he had to pee really bad. ***** The kid, Sun Man, was out. Randall tried shaking him and even slapped him lightly on the face. He had flown into the tunnel, full of superheroic arrogance, then collapsed shortly after his feet touched the ground. Strangely, Sun Man kept muttering that he was cold, while Randall stood under the desert sun, baking in his Knighthawk suit. “Look at them bastards,” someone said. Randall turned to see who was talking. The scene had shifted. He was leaning against a big armored vehicle of some kind. Soldiers in desert camo walked by, and others drove in Humvees. “You know they make over a hundred grand a year?” the same someone asked. It was a soldier with dark brown hair who was crouching next to Randall. “I know,” Randall heard himself say, though he didn’t say it. The soldier was looking at a group of men who had just pulled up in a humvee. Some of them opened doors and jumped out. It was easy to call them soldiers, but there were subtle differences between them and the others. The men wore billed caps with a company logo on it. They didn’t have official US military patches on their desert camo outfits. They still carried rifles and side arms, though. Randall crouched down next to the other soldier, as best he could in the Knighthawk suit. He wanted to ask the soldier where they were, though the word “Iraq” kept impossibly entering his head. He knew he was in the third street tunnel in Los Angeles. He couldn’t do anything on his own. He seemed to be replaying the memories of someone else, someone named Jerry. The soldier scraped the butt of his rifle in the sand. He blocked the escape of a nightmare creature, some kind of spider as big as a man’s palm. The thing was almost the same color as the sand. It turned away from the rifle butt, and the soldier let it go for a while, then blocked its new path. “Those things will eat your whole leg off at night,” Jerry said through Randall. “They inject something in you so you won’t feel a thing.” The soldier shook his head. “You believe that you’re stupid,” he said. “You know what I want to do when I get out of the army?” “Get laid about a hundred times?” “After that.” Jerry shrugged. “I want to be one of them.” The soldier looked again at the contractors. “Look at their humvee. Up-armormed. Do we get that?” He forced the spider thing to turn around completely and head back the way it came. “They kill hajjis all day long and no one tells ‘em to stop. They roll down the highway firing out the back just for fun. AND they make five times more than we do.” Randall felt Jerry saying, “I get out you couldn’t pay me a million to come back.” “You’ll always be here,” the other soldier said, standing up. He pointed at his head, “when you close your eyes, when you try to sleep. You’ll never get out.” The soldier walked away. Jerry wanted to squash the spider thing with his boot, but its camo was better than his. It had been obvious a moment ago, now it was gone. ***** A cockroach made it’s way along the cast on Jerry’s right arm. It wasn’t in a hurry, it was just checking out the scene. I’m not Jerry! Mike thought. He was lying flat on his back, his head was held still. He could barely see the cockroach or anything else except ceiling tile. At least the urge to pee had faded away. “Your brain was knocked around inside your skull like a clapper in a bell,” some doctor had told him. Where was that? He had flown on a plane for a long time, been in a place for a while, then been on another plane for even longer. The ceiling had a big hole in it, with ragged drooping edges. Mike tried to turn on his light. All he did was grunt in frustration. Whatever the doc meant, his brain did feel scrambled. He kept jumping around inside his memories. No, Jerry did. Who was Jerry? What was happening? Mike had never been in the army. Mike was a superhero. Why couldn’t he even stand up? The cockroach disappeared out of sight. Mike tried to see where it went. No, Jerry did. “Help!” Mike shouted. No help came. ***** Why isn’t this happening to Marcus? Randall thought. He would know what to do in a war zone. I’m a computer geek. This is not a first person shooter, it’s a real war. Or the memory of a real war. Judging by the woman in the Lexus, it was real enough that people who died didn’t put down their controller and go get a drink and some snacks before trying again. They really died. The key was Jerry. Who was he? Where was he? Had he transported Randall and the others to another place or were they still in the tunnel? “I thought you were out,” a woman said. Randall was sitting on a couch. “I got a letter,” he said as Jerry. The couch was in a small, simple living room. The woman was in her forties and looked worn and tired. She had faded blond hair. Randall remembered her green eyes sparkling when Jerry was a kid. Then with the years and the bills and the dead end jobs, the sparkle died. “They said two years, you’ve already done more than that.” Jerry was both scared to go back and happy. He had left buddies behind, his brothers. He needed to go back, to help them get out. The soldier he talked to once was right. The war was always there, behind his eyes. California was an illusion projected over the real world of fighting and blood. They called it stop-loss. Jerry knew a lot of guys who been yanked back when they thought they were out, even for years. “I’ll be all right, Mom,” Randall said. Jerry’s mother cried, but Jerry was thinking of finding his brothers. ***** Jerry slept, pulling his filthy blanket closer. It was chilly in the bunker, but that was a relief from the Iraqi heat. He went to war, came home, and went back. He didn’t have a home. He was in a tunnel, no, a bunker. It was safe there, it was never safe anywhere. Jerry had always denied to himself, and to the rest of the world, that he had a special ability. It was nothing as dramatic as what superheroes and villains did. It was easy to hide, though he had lost friends who experienced it and freaked out. He could take people into his memory and let them live there for a while. They saw, heard and smelled the things that he did. He had trouble thinking, since the roadside bomb had turned his brain to fragments.. He was sure he had never used the power since he left the war. If he ever left. ***** The Lexus was still burned out, with the blackened skeleton of the woman in the driver’s seat. Randall found himself once again next to the endless road, with his van, a Prius, and the Lexus where he last saw them. Sun Man was still lying on the ground. He was breathing, but beyond checking for that Randall didn’t know how to help him. He could carry him, but to where? The sun beat down, making the Knighthawk suit very hot. Should he take it off? In the suit, he might die of heatstroke. Outside of it, he wouldn’t survive being shot. Randall circled around, trying to find more information, or another person. The first thing he found was a bald man in a suit and tie, with a Toyota car key clutched in his hand. He was lying on his belly in the sand. Randall checked him, there was no breathing here. Randall tried to turn the man over. The sand was soaking in blood, a lot of it sticking to the man. The Prius owner, probably shot through the chest. “That’s my dad,” the voice of a young woman said. Randall looked up sharply. She was standing nearby. She was maybe fourteen, with straight dark hair. She was wearing the L.A. public school uniform of a white shirt and dark pants. She sniffled and rubbed the sleeve of her shirt against her eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said. “We tried to walk out of here,” she said. “Dad said we should walk straight back, the way we came in. He said we had to still be in the tunnel.” Before Randall thought of a reply, she added. “It didn’t work. We came back to the car, then Dad fell over on his face and won’t get up.” “I’ll try to get you out of here, but I don’t know how exactly,” he said. A superhero is supposed to sound more confident, Randall thought. The girl nodded. “Are you in a comic book?” she asked. “Not yet. I’m new.” “OK,” she said, then she fainted. Randall tried to wake her, then decided to carry her to where Sun Man was. Might as well have everyone together. As he put her down, the white-costumed superhero stirred. “Welcome back,” Randall said. “What?” Sun Man put his hand to his head. “You passed out.” “Did not,” Sun Man said. He quickly stood up, then looked around. “Where are we?” Then he noticed Randall, in the Knighthawk suit. “You’re the villain who’s doing all this!” Sun Man said. “No, I...” “I will defeat your nefarious plan!” Sun Man shouted. “Were you Jerry?” Randall asked. “Huh?” “While you were napping. Did you seem to be part of the memory of an army veteran named Jerry?” Sun Man shook his head. “I was in a hospital. Terrible place. Cockroaches, holes in the walls, mold...then they couldn’t find my paperwork so they said they couldn’t treat me.” “He was wounded. That might explain some things,” Randall said. “Oh, and I’m not the villain here. I’m beginning to think there is no villain.” “There has to be,” Sun Man said. Then he pointed at the teenaged girl lying on the ground. “Who’s that?” he asked. “I didn’t get her name.” The engine of the humvee roared as they bounced over the rough road. Randall was sitting and bouncing on a hard seat in the back. Soldiers surrounded him. They looked tense. But they weren’t all soldiers. He saw the teenaged girl, looking even more scared than the soldiers. She was in the front seat. Sun Man was also there, on the far left of the back seat. He looked out of it, though it was hard to tell with his mask. “Hey,” Randall said to Sun Man. The hero didn’t answer. He tried the girl. “Can you hear me?” She looked back and nodded. “Are you Jerry?” he asked. She looked confused, then said, “I was before. I was shouting at people and pointing my gun at them, but they didn’t speak English. I felt like my name was Jerry. Now I don’t.” “The trouble with that is,” Randall said, “if you’re not Jerry, then you’re someone Jerry knew. People he saw die.” “Like my Dad?” Randall nodded. “He’s bringing all of us into this one, so it must be important. But he doesn’t have as much control over three minds as he does with just one.” ***** It wasn’t a truck this time, it was smaller. A humvee. Mike was sitting in the back seat, surrounded by soldiers. Jerry’s emotions spilled over into him. This wasn’t just another memory, it was THE memory, the key to everything. There was something strange, though. It wasn’t just soldiers in the humvee. Mike could almost see that medieval knight character, and in the front, was that the girl? “Your brain was knocked around inside your skull like a clapper in a bell,” the doctor had said. No, the doctor WILL say that, later. Now is when it happens. Mike could feel Jerry tensing up, expecting it to happen any second. I’m Jerry, Mike thought. What happens to me if Jerry gets hurt? In the hospital, Jerry had been unable to think in a straight line, to put one thought in front of the other. Will that happen to me? Mike frantically tried to turn on his light so he could fly out of this situation. Jerry had too strong a grip on his mind. The humvee rolled towards Jerry’s memory of chaos. ***** “If Jerry gets hurt,” Randall said, “who knows what happens to the rest of us. I need to get us out of this. Now.” “How?” the girl asked. “I’m sorry,” Randall said, “this is the only thing I can think to do.” He raised his armored fist and punched Sun Man square in the face. “Ow!” Sun Man shouted as the reality of the humvee melted around them. He flared into light and grabbed the front of the Knighthawk costume. He lifted Randall until they were both a good ten feet off the ground. “You ARE the villain, I knew it...” Sun Man said. “Hey, we’re back in the tunnel.” Randall still saw the bright sun and sandy Iraqi landscape. “Find Jerry,” he told the white-clad hero. “He’s the one doing this. He’s a homeless guy, probably sleeping.” Sun Man put Randall back on the ground and said, “I’m coming back for you if there’s no Jerry here.” Then he flew off. Soon Randall heard Sun Man shouting, “Wake up! Wake up!” The harsh sun went out and the dim interior of the third street tunnel returned. Randall had never been so glad to see cement walls and pavement. Sun Man was holding a ragged man upright and still shouting at him to wake up. “That’s Jerry?” asked the young girl. She was standing behind Randall. “It must be.” Randall walked to where Sun Man was shaking the homeless veteran. “He’s awake,” Randall said. “We’re all back in the tunnel now.” Jerry was a young man, still in his twenties, but unshaven and with long hair. He was too thin, with an unhealthy skin tone. He blinked but didn’t say anything. “What do I do with him?” Sun Man asked. “Get him to a hospital,” Randall said. “Let’s all get out of this tunnel.” ***** Marcus put the newspaper down on Randall’s desk. A large photo on the front page showed Sun Man, the girl, and Knighthawk walking out of the third street tunnel. Sun Man carried Jerry in his arms. “Knighthawk has made his public debut,” Marcus said. “I didn’t even think about press being out there,” Randall said. He sipped a cup of coffee. “The bubble disappeared, and you three walked out. It was very dramatic.” “I suppose it had to happen eventually.” “They found more bodies, in the apartments above the tunnel. The bubble extended up there too.” “And Jerry?” “Jerry’s mom has been swamped with reporters. She said she has been trying to help him, but he always wanders away. The VA is making excuses but it looks like Jerry got lost in the system. The Protectors offered to take him, they said they have a way to shield against his power.” Randall looked out the window of the his office. Los Angeles was spread out before him, already forgetting what happened in the third street tunnel. “I hope they don’t treat him like a villain. Jerry wasn’t the villain.” “Ain’t no villain in this one.” “Yes there is. The villains are the ones who sent Jerry to a photo-op war, then kept him there to protect their own power and greed.”
“Can’t argue with that,” Marcus said.
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