The Four Corners Hole – Pfc. Weyms (1538 hits)
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Rating: 1.96 on 39 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by Jack McCallum (View user info) at 2005-09-21 17:09:32 EDT
Intro http://www.ubersite.com/m/74452
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Sergeant Szaban was having a smoke by the rim when Weyms stepped out of the barracks to get some air, and wandered over to the rim fence.
"Weyms," the older man said, his attention returning to the hole.
"Sarge."
It was after midnight.
The late-September air was crisp and fresh.
At one time there were always soldiers here, standing, staring, shooting the shit. For most, the novelty had worn off.
There were a few security spots on, but until the motion detectors on the perimeter fences were triggered most of the lights would stay low.
Szaban leaned against the rim fence. "How's the fishing?"
Weyms smiled. He'd seen the Sarge here before, talked with him before. The Sarge knew he liked fishing more than anything else. The Sarge thought it was hilarious that Weyms was stuck out in the desert.
There night was clear, and this far from any big city the sky was smeared with the light of stars overlapping stars, a bright haze in a thick arching column over their heads.
Szaban hawked and spat into the hole.
"Crazy, huh?"
Weyms nodded. He had only been at Camp Four Corners for a few weeks and he was already spooked. He'd heard a lot of weird stories about this place.
Bizarre noises and sightings were routine, even if they were officially ignored.
Crazy asshole environmentalists and determined geologists and wild-eyed protestors and double-dare-ya kids were always trying to hop the fences and get closer to the hole.
Reporters in TV station helicopters and chartered planes were always trying to pass low over the hole, despite the civilian-band repeating broadcasts declaring the area a no-fly zone and warnings that a Federally-mandated shoot-down order was in effect for trespassers. The same message was displayed on the desert floor in bright white letters cast by projectors on sixty-foot towers that encircled the camp. In the last few months two planes and a chopper had been taken down, the debris moved a few miles into the desert and the accident scenes rearranged to match the mechanical failure, pilot error and bird-strike scenarios laid out by the recently-created CFC Security Intelligence Division.
There were a few spots on the rim of the hole, pointing down.
The light illuminated a few hundred feet of the hole.
When cameras went down on booms or lines, they either shorted out, encountered electromagnetic interference, or dropped into the hole after ropes came loose or nuts and bolts separated. They furthest down they ever got was somewhere between six and seven hundred feet. The same thing happened with microphones, sensory packages like little space probes, and the three live descents that had been attempted so far.
Weyms shuddered, thinking about the live descents.
Two weeks after the area was sealed off from the public a bathysphere was lowered into the hole. Inside were a geologist and a guy from the NOAA, who was monitoring the pressurized sea capsule.
Weyms figured the first guys who went into the hole should be as famous as Armstrong and Aldrin.
The difference was, Armstrong and Aldrin came back.
Reiger (the geologist) and Oliphant (the bathysphere tech) did not.
Live Drop One were the first investigators to confirm the existence of narrow ledges at irregular intervals inside the hole, ledges previously suspected after cameras captured hazy images of them before signals were lost. The LD1 crew described "things" on the ledges. Possibly artifacts. Shapes large and small, covered in dust, moss, and hardy weeds sprung from wind-blown seed.
Video transmitted by LD1 was filled with noise after one hundred feet, the images mere suggestions of what was being described. Somewhere, technicians were still trying to clean up those pictures. At three hundred feet radio interference began, just as the crew began describing the ledges. The audio noise grew stronger at four hundred feet and the murky, snow-filled video was useless. Five hundred feet down and twenty minutes in was the point at which video feeds ceased and sound began dropping out.
Weyms knew a guy who worked in the mess who knew a guy who said he had been one of a couple of dozen men on cable detail (which consisted of watching cables and making sure there were no twists or frays or breaks when anything was going into the hole) and was outside the communications tent fifty yards from the edge when LD1 was lost. The guy had said there was a lot of static and shit noise, and during the few moments of clear transmission the men inside the capsule seemed to be losing it.
What they said at the end was the stuff of camp legend.
Eight bursts of speech. Forty words. Lines repeated around camp again and again.
"Jesus Christ, look at that!"
"We better hold our descent."
"What is that? WHAT IS THAT?"
"Let's get out of here. Surface Team, retract, retract!"
"JESUS CHRIST LOOK AT IT!"
"Retract! Retract!"
"THAT'S IMPOSSIBLE!"
"Surface Team, get us the fuck—"
That was it. That was all.
There were nineteen cables and chains attached to the bathysphere, some of them attached to eyebolts attached to the capsule the day before.
Every cable had a different malfunction. Some were corroded, as if exposed to years' worth of salt air. Some were frayed through. Some looked chiseled and chewed. Some appeared to have stretched until they snapped. Most simply broke part.
Live Descent One dropped out of sight and into the secret history of the United States, the incident covered up on orders from the President.
Weyms had tested the hole on his own. He had spent one long night on security detail leaning against the rim fence with a fishing pole in his hands, attaching one sinker after another onto fifty pound line and casting into the hole. He had a package of thirty bank sinkers, eight-ounce teardrops. He had cast them into the hole, one by one. He lost every sinker. Sometimes his line snapped instantly. Sometime he let out a lot of line and suddenly had to reel in a lot of slack. One sinker shot up out of the hole and landed on the tin roof of the equipment shed beside the communications tent. When it was recast, it was lost.
Live Descent Two was underway a week after LD1. It lasted sixteen minutes and fourteen seconds. All was routine, with communications deteriorating as expected, until the bathysphere reached six hundred, thirty three feet below the surface.
All Weyms knew of this mission was rumors.
When asked about their status at -633 the two-man team in LD2 replied, "We're A-OK, Surface."
At that moment there was a jolt that made the capsule bounce on the end of its lines and there was a complete loss of power to the capsule, the winch lowering it, and the communications tent.
Safety locks had engaged and held the lines and cables in place the moment there was a power drop, and a team of GIs had attached hand cranks to the winch and brought the silent capsule up by hand.
When the door to the capsule was opened, a blast of superheated air came out of LD2, carrying the odors of melted plastic and roasted pork.
The men inside had been cooked alive.
Word was that they had been roasted to perfection, so 'the meat was just falling off the bone.'
Weyms looked down into the hole.
There was a crazy array of catwalks and ladders and lines down there. Security-cleared archeological teams were working side-by-side with Army specialists these days, investigating and cataloguing the items on the ledges.
"Don't stare too long, kid. You know what they say."
Weyms looked at the Sarge and released a nervous laugh.
They said you could go crazy looking into the hole, looking for the bottom. That's what was supposed to have made so many civvies jump into the hole before the Army arrived.
It was supposed to have driven more than one man at Camp Four Corners to leap the chest-high fence, the final fence. The rim fence.
That stuff was really hushed up, to avoid spooking the men.
Word was some guys screamed all the way down.
Some sang, or prayed as they fell.
Most dropped out of sight silently, eyes wide, as if hoping to see what the hole was hiding.
One guy was said to have leaped in head first, with a flashlight held out in front of him as he fell.
A month after LD2, a third and final manned descent was underway.
There were no fatalities. At -646 both the geologist and the sphere tech said, "Oh my God." Breathless whispers.
The bathysphere was hauled to the surface. There were no cries for help, no damage to the capsule.
The NOAA man was comatose, having suffered a massive stroke. The geologist was in a state of permanent bliss. He was also blind, and paralyzed from the neck down.
All he would say of what he saw was, "It was beautiful. Beautiful."
Both men were institutionalized, tucked away, permanently hidden.
There were no more bathysphere descents planned.
Instead, teams were making their way into the hole foot by foot, professional mountain-climbers working alongside Indian steelworkers and Army engineers, laying the foundations of catwalks and elevators that wound down to the ledges which began to appear at around -300 feet.
Artifacts discovered on the ledges so far had proven to be far more disturbing and bizarre than anything that happened with LDs 1,2 or 3.
"Do you smoke, kid?"
Weyms blinked and looked up at the Sarge.
"Yeah. Sometimes."
Szaban handed his half-pack of Marlboros and a book of matches to the kid.
Weyms lit up, and felt the cigarette drop out of his open mouth as the Sarge sudden vaulted the rim fence, took two steps to the edge and disappeared from sight.
A moment later there was a metallic clang. The Sarge had hit one of the catwalks.
He could still be okay.
On every fence post was an alarm button. Weyms opened the cover and hit the plastic stud. As he ran to the gate in the fence all the lights came up, and a siren sounded.
He grabbed a hardhat and a flashlight from a plastic bin and then stepped into the metal cage of one elevator and hit the down lever.
The elevator was slow. He couldn't see beyond the cage light, so he switched it off and used the flashlight. It seemed to take forever to get to the Sarge.
Weyms heard a groan almost lost in the rattle of the elevator and saw the older man lying on a narrow catwalk, one arm twisted under his body.
Weyms stopped the elevator, noting that the drop meter was at -67 feet.
He opened the door and stepped onto the catwalk. It shivered as he walked, and the thick restraining bolts imbedded in the rock wall of the hole did nothing to calm his nerves.
He reached the Sarge and kneeled down, clipping the flashlight to his shirt.
"Hey, Sarge."
Szaban opened his eyes.
Weyms heard a woman laugh, a lilting echo. The laugh came from below. In the dark.
"Holy fucking shit," he said.
He tried to move the Sarge and the man keened with pain.
A shout from above. "Down the hole!"
Weym looked up at tiny cones of light. "Private Weyms! I'm with Sergeant Szaban. He... he fell when he got too close to the edge."
"Are you secure, soldier?"
"I'm okay. We need a medic."
"Hang tight!"
The elevator Weyms had used started to ascend. Another one began coming down, fifty feet along the curving wall of the hole.
The Sarge opened his eyes, suddenly lucid. He said, "You damned stupid kid," grabbed Weyms with his good hand, and rolled, pulling both of them over the edge of the catwalk.
They fell far and fast.
The Sarge's head hit the edge of another catwalk.
Droplets of blood and sweat were sprinkled onto Weym's lips.
Side-by-side they hit a ledge, fractured rock that cracked loudly.
Weyms lost his air, opening his mouth in a mock scream. His left leg was twisted around, bent back instead of forward, like the leg of a bird. He felt the wall of the hole at his back.
The Sarge murmured something. He was lying on the edge of the ledge. He gave himself a feeble push. That was all that was needed. He went over, and the ledge crumbled.
Weyms was looking up as he fell. Catwalks shot by him and dwindled. Then there were no more catwalks, just ledges. They struck one and the Sarge tumbled out toward the center of the hole, falling out of sight. Weyms spun and vomited and hit another nearby ledge.
I'm still breathing, he thought.
A small voice from far above.
"Down the hole!"
Flashlights tracked back and forth in the distance like fireflies.
Weyms tried to call out. Nothing but a breathless rasp. As he breathed he could feel shattered ribs moving inside him like shards of broken glass, cutting and stabbing.
He put a hand on his chest. His light was still clipped to his shirt. He switched it on and gave it a little wave.
Small voices.
"There, down there!"
"Gotta be kidding me!"
"Get a line down there now!"
"This is gonna be one for the record books!"
"Hang on, Weyms!"
Weyms carefully propped the flashlight against the ledge so the light was shining upward. The light reflected something yellow-white.
A newspaper. It was half-encased in a fold of rock. Weyms tore the exposed page free and held it under the light.
He started to laugh.
He folded the page into a small square and tucked it deep into one pocket, the pain in his leg flaring.
He closed his eyes and rested his head.
Take it easy, he told himself. You can get through this. Keep cool.
Music.
Weyms turned his head, looked over the edge of the ledge.
He was hearing music. Tinny, crackly, like something played on an old transistor radio. A guitar, and the twang of a country voice.
What the hell, Weyms thought.
Just before two medics descending on ropes reached him and began moving him into a folding stretcher, Weyms heard one more sound from far below.
A car engine revved, eight cylinders roaring, the roar fading quickly, down and away.
User Reviews
Submitted by Stagger_Lee (user info) at 2006-04-28 03:14:34 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by rad1101 (user info) at 2005-10-19 03:50:52 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
There are a solid four pages of +2 streaks with 30 or more reviews. That is stupid. I am weeding it all out by giving every one of them a +1; that way posts that have 1.99 with 200+ reviews gets best ever.
Submitted by Spuds002 (user info) at 2005-10-08 12:36:13 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by tlozoot (user info) at 2005-09-23 18:42:28 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Cooler than I could have imagined.
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2005-09-23 18:36:42 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by horse87 (user info) at 2005-09-22 00:43:53 (#)
Ranking: 2
So....You're going to write Allahtown AND the Four Corners Hole thing simultaneously?
--
Hell, with all the painting I've been doing lately it was only a matter of time until I painted myself into a corner.
Submitted by precision (user info) at 2005-09-23 14:45:48 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
can't wait for more!
Submitted by stardamage (user info) at 2005-09-23 01:46:54 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
What the-!
Submitted by Crystle (user info) at 2005-09-22 19:20:58 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Is there an official club of Jack groupies that I could join?
Submitted by Brdn_Nkd (user info) at 2005-09-22 11:25:51 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Nellypaal (user info) at 2005-09-22 10:05:51 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
More! I demand more!
Submitted by LadyPlural (user info) at 2005-09-22 09:02:13 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
*stares*
*backs slowly away*
*falls into the Atlantic ocean*
Submitted by Benny (user info) at 2005-09-22 08:53:42 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Wow. This was really cool. I was beginning to thing that you weren't going to continue this. I hope the next instalment won't be spaced so far apart.
Submitted by indoninja (user info) at 2005-09-22 08:02:23 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Jack quit being an asshole and put this shit in a book so I can buy it and read it once, instead of this candy ass installments.
Submitted by Barnymeinhoff (user info) at 2005-09-22 05:46:40 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
all seems to be in order
Submitted by Bubba2341 (user info) at 2005-09-22 00:46:54 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Aaaannnhhhhnhhh! A dude of Jack's abilities needs no time, only
a good forum. . .
YOU GO, Jack!!!!!
Submitted by horse87 (user info) at 2005-09-22 00:43:53 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
So....You're going to write Allahtown AND the Four Corners Hole thing simultaneously?
Jesus...Good thing you have a lot of free time at work........
Submitted by Bubba2341 (user info) at 2005-09-21 23:18:12 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
A bunch of money. A shitload. A gaggle. A plethora. Etc. . . .
Submitted by joedaddy (user info) at 2005-09-21 23:16:29 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
money in the bank
Submitted by Bubba2341 (user info) at 2005-09-21 23:04:26 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I don't give a rat's crank if you are winging it or
have an outline three miles long. This is excellent writing!!
Like I told you before, I hope I live long enough to see
your name and yer ugly face on the cover of several books.
MORE!!!
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2005-09-21 22:42:29 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by thecaes (user info) at 2005-09-21 17:33:09 (#)
Ranking: 2
What's this then? Whaddaya call that? Whaddaya got going on here??
Nice tale, Jack. Mysteries abounding. This is a really cool set up.
Do you have any idea what's down there or where this hole came from, or are you just winging it?
--
Forgot to tell ya, Caes, that first line made me bray like a donkey cause I get a lot of that.
Winging it? How dare you sir.
*Frantically digs through scraps of paper covered in indecipherable notes that represent storylines scrawled at 3am*
Submitted by BLITZKREIG_BOB (user info) at 2005-09-21 22:19:09 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
You are an Uber-constant: either political non-bullshit (or ballbusting), or sweet fiction.
Submitted by jack11058 (user info) at 2005-09-21 21:05:50 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
awesome
Submitted by Saxon (user info) at 2005-09-21 19:52:08 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by nrduncan (user info) at 2005-09-21 18:02:36 (#)
Ranking: 2
You are now officially on my favorite writers list
-----------------------------------------------------
I thought JAck would be on eveyones fav list.
Submitted by Yes (user info) at 2005-09-21 19:08:24 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
+2 for the story, +200 for the pic.
Submitted by ThineJericho (user info) at 2005-09-21 19:03:53 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I was wondering when you'd finally get around to the next installment.
Keeps the curiosity up.
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2005-09-21 18:55:34 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Kenny, I think the Navajo are pretty damn interesting.
They figured in shit I was writing years ago.
Submitted by SkinnyKenny (user info) at 2005-09-21 18:48:04 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I actually looked for that page.
You've put a lot of work into this.
Again, keep it up.
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2005-09-21 18:20:08 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Kenny, the shit's gonna hit the fan with the Navajo, believe me.
I already mentioned in the first installment, the Wikipedia page, that the Navajo are pretty pissed...
Submitted by SkinnyKenny (user info) at 2005-09-21 18:12:14 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Some ideas:
Helicopters from Phoenix news stations.
Dine (read: Navajo) and Apache leaders are upset, outraged and trying to take ownership, all at the same time. The phenomena is considered to hold some sort of religious significance.
Some Navajo beliefs: Gods ride on rainbows. The Dine emerged from a great hole in the earth (the Grand Canyon). Skinwalkers.
The Navajo have an almost religious aversion to going into caves.
Great stuff. Don't stop.
Submitted by nrduncan (user info) at 2005-09-21 18:02:36 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
You are now officially on my favorite writers list
Submitted by hcp28 (user info) at 2005-09-21 18:00:00 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
This series seems a little more intimidating to jump into than the last one but still I can see some great story lines coming out of this.
Submitted by kaos-king (user info) at 2005-09-21 17:43:59 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Have I told you yet today what an incredible badass you are? No? You Sir, are one incredible badass writer...
Submitted by ajanssen (user info) at 2005-09-21 17:39:39 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
If I wore cell phone holsters I would fuck you.
Submitted by wookie (user info) at 2005-09-21 17:34:08 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by JonnyX (user info) at 2005-09-21 17:34:04 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
dang, I forgot about this one - I'm still anxiously awaiting more of 'Allahtown'.
Submitted by thecaes (user info) at 2005-09-21 17:33:09 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
What's this then? Whaddaya call that? Whaddaya got going on here??
Nice tale, Jack. Mysteries abounding. This is a really cool set up.
Do you have any idea what's down there or where this hole came from, or are you just winging it?
Submitted by badassmofo (user info) at 2005-09-21 17:28:21 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Jack you're going to have to make these a little more frequent...for me buddy come on there's just too much I want to know now.
Submitted by RydinJ (user info) at 2005-09-21 17:24:14 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Good Read..awaiting the next part
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2005-09-21 17:10:42 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Boy, that picture turned out like shit.