Leylines

    The cold beams of my aging car’s headlights struggled to push through the dense fog. Rather than sharply illuminating, they diffused the signs and road markings into suggestions for their intended instruction. Years of the same, empty, moon-lit drive give me a sense of safety on my path even with the suffocating cover of the mist. The crushing rattle of the gravel on this back road grated on me this morning more than most. I reached down for the radio, twisted the volume up, and switched to a local morning zoo program.

    “. . . that, I would like to introduce to the broadcast a pillar of the community: detective Leary of the Kidnapping and Abductions Unit of the nearby Chior police department. They have collaborated with this station’s hometown of Greenstad on the many recent disappearances of teens.”

    “Thank you, Edward. It’s been a pleasure to work with your town’s force and I am glad to be here on your show.”

    This responding voice was ever-so slower in cadence and held an exasperation that unmasked that this wasn’t a routine messaging requirement from his higher ups. This unease and concern in his voice carried through as he talked further.

    “I asked for special funding for this unit to cover additional hours for a few of my fellow officers three years ago in hopes that we’d uncover the source of the increased reporting of runaways. It wasn’t too much longer afterwards that we realized these must have been abduction or trafficking events. We’ve had a few dire findings, and we want to prevent more loss to families in our area.”

    As the faintest warmth of a light post in the warehouse field broke through the fog, my mind drifted off as the rest of my morning drive automatically played out. By the time I’m cognizant of my surroundings, I’m parked next to the parts warehouse. Off in the field between the gates and the warehouse, I could see someone standing under a light in the field. It was probably Maggie ripping through a pack. With that as a reminder, I grabbed my lighter out of the glove box and pocketed it. As I bent down, my ears regained their attention to the radio.

    “Well, you have everyone’s support in your efforts, detective. This interview will play again at lunchtime and then during the let-off time so folks are sure to catch it. It’s important that we are aware of the signs that tell of this kind of trouble! Our future shan’t be stolen from us.”

    Maybe Maggie will let me change the station during lunch to catch what I had tuned out. I slung my lunch pail over my shoulder and looked out my side window. Nothing was visible through the mist-clouded glass, and the sense of something insurmountable pushing up against me took over. I couldn’t move for a moment, but slowly, my arm was able to reach to the key and I yanked it from the ignition. Opening my car door broke the veil of that pressure to allow a familiar one instead — of the corrugated warehouse that loomed over the parking lot. It fit three levels of shelving and millions of parts that I moved around and wrapped up every working day. The only other car that was parked was Maggie’s. I didn’t recall seeing anyone else scheduled for this Saturday, so that would make today a pleasantly quiet shift.

    Once inside and after my time card was punched, I assembled onto my cart some tools, a clipboard, today’s truck drop-off time, and the list of what was going to be needed packed for delivery across the lot for Monday. The duties on that list were the same waste of time of going up and down the levels of the warehouse to grab the same passel of parts. I never understood why we hadn’t reorganized things to be closer together when they were always being shipped together. An hour saved of my time every week, let alone the rest of the workers, was surely worth it long-term for someone to mess with the outdated terminals. It was a few hours of this back-and-forth before I ran across Maggie.

    “Good morning, Roger,” she headily blurted out from below the grates. I pulled my cart backwards and balanced myself off of it with a foot and looked over and down the fencing.

    “Hello to you on this pleasant Saturday at . . . ,“ I looked down at my Casio and blurted out, “Seven A. M. Is today going well for you?”

    “’Well’ isn’t a word I get to use here. How do they expect us to be able to get all of this ready for Monday and unload Rodriguez’ truck?”

    “Rodriguez is the driver today? I was hoping we would just have a simple breakdown of boxes with how long my list is!”

    Maggie also leaned over the fence on her level of the shelving and tilted her head up. Her brown hair was tasseled and then wrapped into a complex tail that hung around her shoulder. Her eyelids told of how tired she was, and it gave a sharpness to normally soft gaze.

    “Can I bum a cigarette off of you?” she said after a few moments.

    “Sure thing. I haven’t taken a break yet, so let’s head out.” I immediately pushed my cart out of my way and headed to the stairs with my lighter and carton equipped in my hands with zeal.

    Her voice echoed between the shelves and metal, “I don’t want to lose my count, so I’ll be out there in a minute.”

    I made my way to the nearest doors and bumped into them with my back as I began to light. Vexingly, the fog had rolled over into rain. The little cover above kept the water from pooling up into the building, but I wasn’t going to be dry. The sun was covered by so much gray, that a soft, yellow wash was all that let me see. Gazing out into the lot, the assemblage building had its doors open. If I hadn’t zoned out this morning, I might have been able to recall if it was like that when I came in. Maggie pushed the door open without looking and stumbled me forward clear into the downpour. She apologized offhandedly with a wave of her hand, which turned into an asking palm. I provided the nicotine between my fingers and she raised her lighter to it, taking it with a bouncing of our knuckles.

    “How many does that make for you today?” I asked bent down as I squeezed out the water from my hair.

    “This is my first light,” she replied casually.

    My eyes peeked through my hair as confusion warped my brow, “I thought you were out smoking in the field when I drove in?”

    She returned the confounded look and slowly let out, “I wasn’t staying outside with whoever that was out there.”

    “Out by the light post when you make the turn for this warehouse?” I was now turned away from her as I looked over to where this very light post should be.

    “Yeah, that one. Someone with some cables or something was there. I figured it was some maintenance dip who had to come out for something reported last week but wasn’t pushed through until Friday night.” She stepped forward to match my gaze at the same spot. “Y’know, it was weird that whoever it was didn’t really move, so I just went inside. Even weirder they were still there when you got here.”

    We finished our break in silence as the same overwhelming pressure overcame us both. We celebrated the return to working by failing to flick the butts of the cigarettes at the security camera above the door. As we stepped inside, I heard an unusual dripping to my right. I walked over towards it and saw that one of the maintenance hatches had been pried open. Somewhere along inside it, the storm had unveiled a leak.

    “Come and check this out?” I asked Maggie while slowly moving my head around to her. She acknowledged my request and hugged the chain above the yellow caution paint. Cabling and pipes ran all around the sides, though any particular purpose of any of it past collecting mounds of dust was foreign to me. A flimsy ladder was built into the side we were at, and the path deeper was completely dark. I couldn’t make out whether the floor of it was filled with rusty water or was itself an oxidized metal, but it occasionally emanated a draft of ferrous stench.

    “Cool, so there’s actually tunnels under these buildings. That would make four floors in total.” Maggie was unimpressed with this out-of-place portal and she immediately went back to her duties. I kneeled at the edge and pressed my forehead against the chain. I knew the terminals had a fourth floor designated, but we always just used that for the docking bay, and this hatch has no way to get anything down it securely. I slowly grabbed the chain to hoist myself up, but was stopped at the sound of something unnerving.

    A whimper.

    I pressed against the ladder’s rails and lowered myself only one foot onto a step and silently listened for at least a minute. The shock left my mouth agape, allowing a drop of drool to fall out and splatter onto the floor. This startled me more and any semblance of trying to keep silent to catch more of whatever was down there was foiled by the rattling of the chain as I fell back. I collected myself and decided to return to working. Maggie and I happened to have to pick up items on the same row of the same floor. I could feel myself contract and leer at every unexpected noise and flicker of the dim fluorescent bulbs. We started moving shoulder-to-shoulder, and Maggie was positioning herself opposed to be after the third or fourth time I bumped in to her.

    “Hey, what’s with the jitters?” she demanded.

    “I’m just . . . I think the tunnel thing just freaked me out.”

    “It’s probably nearly time for the delivery, so why don’t you just go calm down at the bay? I’ll catch you there in, say, five minutes.”

    Shamefully, I made my way to the docking bay with a hurried pace to pass the open hatch. Once I rolled my cart up the ramp, I began some short breathing exercises to calm myself. They weren’t working, as my mind kept racing to the question as to what was below me. Was the whimper imagined? Did my spit splash, or splatter? Why was it such a strong odor?

    These washed away once Maggie joined me on the platform and joked about her lunch. We ended up eating there, against policy, as we waited for Rodriguez to pull up. I kept eyeing my watch as we chatted between bites. Eventually, we heard a honk overpower the pounding of rain against the sectional door. I leapt up and wiped away any crumbs. My steps were slow at first, but a second honk jolted me to briskly arrive at the door control. I motioned for Maggie to quickly move aside and pulled up on the lever. Nearly up against the door was a trailer with its doors opened. Standing with his legs slightly spread and an arm holding a binder, this man who was not Rodriguez glared at me.

    Startled, Maggie swayed her head between the two of us as the man hopped down and into the truck cabin. He rapidly backed the trailer into the bay, exited, and came up to me for my signature. I tried to flip through the relevant pages to ensure the manifest matched our delivery.

    “Staring at the paper won’t change what’s on the truck. Sign and unload it so I can get out.” Animosity wasn’t expected from any truck driver in our company, and with this man not being the listed driver we expected, I had to speak up about it.

    “I can’t sign off unless I note what’s different, or else I’m at fault. You’re going to have to drive slow in the rain anyways, so lay off the hostility.”

    “My job is to deliver this to you. Your job is to put it where it belongs. You and I have our place and these have theirs.” Smirking turned into grinning through his retort, and that turned into a scowl as I pointedly started over on the comparison of the lists. As the last page was flipped and a pen clicked, the man strolled over to Maggie and said something to her quietly. I dropped his binder and it clattered to the ground. After a short walk, I had reached the forklift and was raring to start unloading the pallets.

    After being yelled at to hurry up midway through, and the engine of the lift choking twice, the delivery was complete in-so-far as the prick was concerned. We saw him off at the gate door holding faked smiles and ironic waves. Most of the containers, unlike what the manifest stated would be brought, were actually a simple delivery over to the assembly warehouse. I accessed the terminal nearby and added the items to the stock at the bay - the fourth floor - and did some peering at the others. Leylines were the only items that didn’t look like placeholder nonsense. I thought I had heard that word before, and once I started moving the containers, I remembered that they had been written on wooden boxes very similar to the majority that were dropped off to us today. They were noisy boxes, as if nothing had been secured inside. I had assumed it was just shoddy work done from our southern facilities. The containers were all transported across the rain-soaked concrete after about an hour of back-and-forth. Maggie kept an eye on me during this time. Once the task was completed fully, I walked over to her and made some off-hand comment that I couldn’t retain in my memory. I quickly spun to return to work when Maggie grabbed my arm. I brought myself to her side and my heart sank.

    Through the rain’s splattering, someone short was standing at the assembly building. They were chili-red and barely able to lift their limbs in what seemed to be an attempt to waddle forward. They dragged something long behind them, and with a closer look, it seemed it was wound around their limbs. Maggie pulled me aside and started chattering to me, but I was stunned and inattentive. Her speech turned into bleeting as she pointed outside. I blinked, staring at her finger before and then at the person after. It was struggling with so much pain. Maggie said something about a car before she jumped up and ran to the front of the warehouse. Control returned to my body and my mind cleared itself. I walked towards this person with a typical stride at first, but when I heard their childish wailing, my legs instinctively broke into a sprint. Petrichor was overwhelmed by ozone and the same ferrous stench as I grew closer, and then rot overtook my nose. I had made my way in front of the kid’s path.

    There was no skin. I covered my mouth. Muscles and fat were sloughing off. I screamed expletives. The cabling was piercing into their limbs and back with blood pulsing out from the ends. I couldn’t make out any eyes on their face. Its wails weakened. I tried to grab their arm. It collapsed in my hand and plopped onto the drizzled concrete. I apologized. Their final shriek curdled my lunch out onto the same ground that this mangled person fell across. I collapsed to my knees, and then to my side.

    Maggie deftly dragged me against her car. I couldn’t make anything out anymore. She swapped between shouting and crying. I tried to stand forward, but seeing the puddle of gore only weakened me again. I couldn’t find Maggie.

    I turned off her car. The rain was letting up at the same time my focus returned to my senses, and unfortunately, I could now hear the gasping rattle of the mess that once was a person. My head yanked away from its sight as I swiveled around to find Maggie. Screams were unanswered. A few words returned to me.

    “Where did they come from?”

    She wouldn’t try to trace its path, would she? Did she say something about calling the police? Each building had a phone in an office that was left unlocked, so maybe she went to make the call. If not, I could. I should. The assembly warehouse was closer at this point, and considering the hatch from earlier, it felt more secure.

    Time spun and stopped back and forth. My steps felt heavy on the rise, and slippery on the drop. Once I made it into the assembly warehouse, I finally had the mental fortitude to call out for Maggie again. Looking around, it was evident from the trail of blood that this person had come from here. I heard a reply from Maggie in the distance, but it wasn’t clear what she had said nor where she was. I tried for another minute to locate her and ended up finding another open hatch that was identical to the one in the parts warehouse. The ferrous smell was stronger, and Maggie’s voice bounced off of the pipes. It might have been the adrenaline, but I immediately started down the ladder.

    It only took a minute of traversing for the walls to feel of sinew coating it, which then followed with muscles and veins. Maggie had stopped responding to me and the darkness disorientated my sense of direction. Minutes passed. Every step was halted by the suctioning of the flesh all around me, and then my hands and elbows and head as the corridor tightened. It got to the point of crawling and writhing, until a sphincter stopped me. I could tell there was some light past it when I pushed a part away, and once I tried to force it severely, it convulsed and opened wide. I catapulted myself forward, but the organic matter closed back up and held me dangling in the air. Ceaseless crying drowned out all other noise. Below me was a drop of tens of feet with stretched and crossing musculatures coalescing into one pillar. Maggie was at the bottom, unmoving. She laid atop a disgusting mess of blood-soaked clothes. The light was beaming from within the pillar and rotated around the room. It showed many similar youths in various stages of absorption into the flesh. Some were just a suggestion of a person’s face while others had their skin flaking in large sections off as they struggled. I thought I recognized some of the faces from missing posters. As the light beamed around the room, pulses of blood spread through the children and those in a less corrupted state bled out of any orifice.

    I struggle with the sphincter partitions to try to loosen myself. My hand feels the crackling surface smooth out as I reach to the edge. It reacts to some stimulation in the crevice between it and the wall, but not enough to loosen myself. Luckily, my lighter is in a pocket on this side of the portal and I grab it hastily. I strike the canister aflame and start burning the partitions one-by-one. Success is had, but my lack of planning immediately pays me back as I fall down near Maggie. She isn’t responding to my calls of her name.

    Another orifice opens near me on the wall. A decrepit man on a gurney is pushed along by attendants. They aren’t bothered by my and Maggie’s presence at all and just roll towards the pillar. Similar to the children, this man has horrible veins just barely breaking the surface of his skin and back. He’s lifted by his attendants to an upright position and valves are attached to his veins. I try to stand up, but I think the fall broke my legs. The man wheezes and asks his caregivers to hurry. They reach into the pillar and pull out veins that they then clasp to the man’s.

    It was at this point he notices me, and I am struggling to hide my disgust from my face. He raises a slender finger and points to me.

    “Don’t let these two intermingle with those working for me.” His voice trails off each word at first, but he gains clarity and volume as the pillar pumps into his body. An attendant pulls out a gun and fires.