Plasma Frequency Magazine: Issue 14 (7 page)

Leiden Jar

By John Zaharick

Alvin was tired of seeing his daughter.  He wanted to sell the house and get away from her, but no one was buying in the current market.  Worse, rumor had gotten out that the entire street sat on top of a quartz deposit.  No one would want a place where the old residents kept reappearing.

He checked the weather forecast for the predicted high and low nanotesla levels.  The solar flare was less than an hour away, and the rise in geomagnetic radiation would trigger an apparition storm.

He had found Kendra's body and the pills when no one answered his knock on the bathroom door and he entered.  Hitting the wood, yelling, "Come on, I gotta go."  The situation was routine until he opened the door.

Limestone and quartz trapped spirits.  That's why Gettysburg was so haunted.  He had been to the replay of the battle once, watching the energies of the soldiers fight each other in endless repetition.  He felt sad for them.

He didn't feel much for his daughter anymore.  At the time, picking her off the floor, there had been panic.  There had been confusion when the EMTs told him they couldn't do anything.  Later, there had been hope that her mother might return for the funeral, but after all these years there was no one he knew to contact, and if word on the street had reached his ex-wife, she hadn't been interested enough to come.  He felt sad at one point, after his family left him alone in the house, surrounded by flowers he didn't want to be responsible for watering.  That was when the loss first became real to him.

Then Kendra returned.  About a month after the funeral the Sun sparkled the Earth, and she appeared.  He shattered a cup in his hand at the sight of her.

There was no need to grieve as she wasn't really gone.  He saw her on a regular basis, so he didn't feel loss. But he couldn't interact with her much, so he didn't feel joy either.

The TV animation showed spirals coming out of the Sun.  They were the same symbols for wind, but yellow.  The picture switched to a NASA video, fire curling off the surface of larger fire.  Orange and black spiked fibers composed the star, like molten carpet.  The storms altered Earth's magnetic field, the radiation stimulating the pineal gland, which in turn released endogenous DMT and increased psychic phenomena.

Kendra's ghost didn't speak, but Alvin didn't have to hear anything she might say.  The pressure in her eyes was enough.  He hadn't noticed her pain in life, and but now he would be reminded of it in death.

She arrived first in sound, then in image.  Footsteps descended the wooden stairs.  Alvin stared at the noise.  If he ignored her, she would appear when he wasn't looking.  Alvin watched instead, determined to keep her away by paying attention.  The sound stopped at the bottom.

He leaned back in his chair and took in the living room.  On television, cartoon spirals hit the Earth and transparent people appeared over it, like restroom signs.  From the kitchen, Kendra walked into the room, casually, like she used to.

It was depressing how little control he had over his own mind.  Giant forces conspired to control him.  Kendra was always present, but invisible.  The Sun forced him to see her.

One of the women at church gave him an article about a link between solar activity and depression.  Magnetic fields disrupted circadian rhythms controlled by the pineal gland and were tied to increased rates of psychiatric hospital admission.  The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away.  Maybe the woman thought the article would make him feel better, like it wasn't Kendra's fault she killed herself.

Electric waves pulsed through Alvin's neurons, instantiating consciousness.  Electric waves pulsed from the sun, disrupting it.  His own mind was a puppet.  The idea of the Sun controlling his emotions made him sad.  Or maybe the coronal mass ejection did, and tomorrow he'd feel pretty good about life.

Kendra sat on the maroon wing chair and looked at the television.  Alvin needed a sinkhole to open, or to drill his way down to the quartz, insert dynamite and fracture it, releasing the energy.  He closed his eyes, and the afterimage of the weather report glowed before him like aurora.

Others received comfort from their departed.  They knew their loved ones still existed, somewhere, somehow.  Alvin was tired.  He wanted to be left alone.  He had failed as a father and didn't need to be reminded of it.

He thought he had done his best to raise Kendra after her mother, unable to handle the stresses of life herself, left them.  But obviously his attempts weren't good enough.

Other people set up shrines with pictures of loved ones.  They were gathered in their homes right now, waiting for apparitions to appear and assure them that all was well as the Sun poured forth over the Earth.  Alvin didn't care for such culture.

Kendra looked at him.  The second time she had appeared to him, he spoke to her, told her to pass on, go into the light, whatever it was supposed to be.  She kept appearing.  He stopped trying to talk to her.

The television distorted, lines cutting through the picture and noise crackling from the speakers.  He walked to the set and picked up the antenna.  The storm was interfering with the signal, but sometimes moving the pieces around or bending the wire helped.  In the corner of his eye he saw Kendra shift.  Her body slid into the chair and she looked scared.  Alvin wondered what was wrong and stepped towards her, still holding the black rectangle.  She passed through the chair and stood behind it.

"Are you afraid of this?" he asked, holding the antenna up.  It caught on the wire connected to the television, but she still flinched.  Alvin tugged on the cord, pulling it around the side of the entertainment center, gaining more slack.  He looked at the device while Kendra cowered behind the chair.  He then shoved it towards her as fast as he could.

She didn't react in time and static fissured the air like firecrackers.  The current passed through Alvin in a wave of tingling warmth and he tasted hot sweetness, like licking a 9-volt.  His eyes clenched shut in momentary pain.  When he opened them again, Kendra was gone.

The television turned to full static, blue screened, and then the power went out.  Blue-green glowed outside.  Alvin dropped the antenna and went to the window.  People on the sidewalk stared at the aurora in the sky, rare so far south, phosphorescent silk scarves shimmering against the dark empyrean.

Maybe he had short circuited the haunting, grounded her, discharged the energy through the wiring.  He looked back to the living room.  No one around.  Alvin laughed through his nose.  It was that simple.  Maybe she would come back, but he doubted it.  She was afraid of the antenna for a reason.  Hopefully, she'd never bother him again.

He felt the sinkhole open first in his throat and then run to his heart.  His innards drained into the crack.  His limbs went weak, their quartz bones fracturing, releasing pent up energy.

Alvin began to cry.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

John Zaharick grew up in coal country Pennsylvania, among forests and mine fires. He has worked as an assistant editor for a weekly newspaper and recently earned a master's degree in ecology.  His fiction has appeared or is forthcoming in Apex, AE: The Canadian Science Fiction Review, Stupefying Stories, The Colored Lens, Not One of Us, and Allegory and his poetry in Strange Horizons and Silver Blade.  He can be found online at 
www.johnzaharick.com
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The Great Exodus:

Chattel Call

By Steve Coate

EDITOR’S NOTE: This is part two of the six part serial, The Great Exodus

Venil dived in and out of consciousness with great frequency.  Each time he awoke, the man was aware of motion as he bobbed from side to side, and a feeling of weightlessness, as though he were floating above the ground.  Perhaps it was all a dream.  Sometimes he could fly in his dreams.  And reality seemed just as out of reach as the waxing moon that hung in the sky above.  He tried to touch the great white orb one time, but found he could move neither his hands nor his feet.  Rather than expend the mental energy necessary to solve the puzzle of why this should be so, he surrendered once more to sleep.

When next he awoke, Venil sat upon the solid dirt ground, legs splayed out before him.  The chill air and the hard earth beneath him made the man painfully aware of his nakedness. 

He remembered then that the Artemise had overtaken his group.  As he tried to stand, the pain in his head disoriented him and he stumbled back to the ground.  A hand insinuated itself onto his shoulder.

“Easy there, friend,” came a voice from behind him that he assumed belonged to the hand exerting gentle pressure.  “It looks like you took quite a blow to the noggin. You might be best advised to rest a bit before trying anything that takes more than a thought.”

Venil found his voice and as he turned to the other man, saw for the first time that he was in a cage crudely constructed of wooden poles.  “Where are we? And who are you? Where are my clothes?”  He saw the other man was also nude.  “Where are yours, for that matter?”

Upon Venil’s movement, the other man had removed his restraining hand.  “Welcome to the Artemise chattel cells.”  He waved a hand through the air to indicate the expanse of the makeshift prison.  “Your clothes, mine and those of every other man here, are gone. They were likely burned in the camp’s fire, because as far as these women are concerned, we do not need them anymore.” The man leaned close, and Venil saw the thick growth of dark hair on his chin that spoke to the length of the man’s stay.  “You see, to them, we only have a limited purpose. There is manual labor that needs to be done and why should they resort to such things when they have us around? And then there is the simple fact that the Artemise are all women and in order to propagate, they need men.”

Venil’s eyes widened.  He had heard rumors of such things, but had never put much stock in them until this moment.

“If you ask me, they do not like it that they need us for such a thing,” the man continued.  “That is why we are treated so poorly.”

More confident in his balance, Venil cautiously attempted to stand.  He gained his feet with a triumphant grunt of exertion and then looked to his newfound friend, being sure to keep his gaze from the more awkward areas of the man’s body.  “Who did you say you were?”

The bald man grinned, revealing yellowed teeth with pronounced canines that looked as though they could rip through a throat in less time than Venil’s machete could hack through a tree branch.  “I did not.”  He winked.  “But I can see we are fast becoming friends, so I will share my name with you. The way they burn through men here, it may not matter anyway.” The man stuck out his arm.  “I am Gant Rellus.”

He clasped the other man’s arm, returning the greeting.  “Venil Orlin.”  He nodded toward the outside of the cage.  “How bad is it?”

“For strong men like you and me, we could probably endure the work and the sex for months, maybe even years. But that is not the worst of it.”  Venil looked a question at Gant and the man continued, needing no prodding.  “Near as I can figure, I have been here about a month. Faster than you might imagine, the sex becomes work and the work is like sex, a welcome break from the day to day drudgery. But like I said, you do not really have to be worried with that. These women hate that they need us men. Especially the men from the cities, because that goes against everything that the Artemise believe in. It burns them up that they need our seed to keep them in supply of little women to run free in the wilds. So from time to time, they pull one of us out of the cages and make an example of him to the other men.”

“You mean they kill him?”

“Oh, they kill him all right, but that is the very last thing they do to the poor bastard. Before the final act, they emasculate their victim in every way physically and mentally possible. And to keep the rest of us in line, they do this in full view of our cages, so all us men can see what is in store for us later.”

Venil blew air through his nostrils, turned and gripped the bars of the cage, giving them a firm shake.  “There must be some way out of here.”

“Not that way.” Gant shook his head.  “Unless you have the strength of 20 men.”

Venil gave up on the solid bars.  “When they come for the men, where do they take them?”

“For the joining?”

Venil nodded.  He had thought that his meaning had been obvious.

Gant strode to the front of the cage and pointed through an opening between the bars.  “They have tents set up across the way there.”

Venil’s gaze followed the direction of the bald man’s finger.  “Has anyone ever . . .”

“You are kidding, right? Of course guys have tried escaping, during, before and after the fact. But they never make it more than a few steps, before they are cut down. We are kept chained when they move us and there are two Artemise with us at all times during the process. Once in the tent, men are chained to a post until it is over and while that is happening, there is an armed sentry posted directly outside the tent. Most men are too tired afterward to make an attempt anyway, but it has happened, sure.”

“It is the only opportunity I can think of.”  Venil slammed a palm into one of the bars in frustration.  “Damn it!” If he did not get Kelsey away from here soon, she would be sacrificed in the name of Artemise prophecy.

He looked at the sky.  White fluffy clouds covered the brightness of the sun.  “How long have I been here?”

“They brought you in last night. You slept through the night and into the morning. Some of us had a pool going on whether you would be waking up.”

Five days.  He had five days, including this one, to escape and rescue Kelsey.  Venil looked at Gant, survivor’s amusement writ upon his face.  “Did you win?”

Gant looked away and his voice suddenly shrank.  “Actually, I lost.”

This made Venil laugh.  “What is there to bet around here, anyway?”

“Food.”

This set Venil’s stomach to rumbling.  “Speaking of which, when do we eat?”

“First light and sundown. But do not begin thinking that you missed out on a delicacy this morning. We always get the same gruel, twice a day, every day. On a good day, it is bug free gruel.”

“Hey, don’t knock bugs,” Venil advised.  “They may not taste like venison, but they will keep a man alive for a time when he has got nothing better.”  Venil’s stomach rumbled again.  He could kill for a few grasshoppers right about now.

Ewwww. That’s gross!

“Kelsey?”  Venil turned about, looking all around him for the girl, then covered himself with both hands, suddenly embarrassed by his nudity.

How many other telepathic Sensers do you know?
she thought to him. 
Seriously, though. Grasshoppers? Please tell me you were joking.

Venil shrugged his shoulders, uncovering himself as he realized Kelsey was not in the vicinity, at least, not near enough to see him.  “A man does what has to be done when the

alternative is death.”

“True enough,” responded Gant.  “Who is Kelsey?”

“Might be our way out of here,” he answered and then internalized his discussion with the girl. 
Can he hear us?

No. This is a two-way conversation.

Venil nodded and then reminded himself that she could not see the movement of his head. 
Where are you?

They have me trussed up in a tent. There’s another Senser here—they call her a shaman—who is dampening my abilities. But I figured out a way to bypass her temporarily and establish this mind link with you. I do not think I can do much else without arousing their suspicions, though. Are you okay?

Venil smiled at the girl’s concern. 
I am fine. Might get a little sunburned, though. They have me locked up in a cage with some other men. Don’t worry. I will find a way out and we will escape together. Perhaps Jade can help. Do you know where they are keeping her?

Unbidden, Venil’s mind filled with sorrow. 
She’s dead. They killed her when they captured us.

There goes that idea,
he thought before realizing the girl could hear. 
I’m sorry,
he thought. 
I am still new to this mind reading, or whatever this is. It is okay. I will think of something else. You should be all right, at least for the next few days, in any case. They need you for
—he tried to think of a gentle way of putting it, then realized she was probably receiving a mental image from him anyway
—an event that does not take place until then, so for now, you should be relatively safe. 
In his mind, he felt her shudder with fear. 
It is okay,
he assured her once more. 
They do not know we can communicate with each other. We will use that to our advantage. Will I be able to contact you this way in the future? Or do I need to wait until you reach me?

Yes. Now that the link is established, either of us can initiate a conversation.

He might have been imagining it, but the girl’s thoughts seemed emboldened. 
Good.
  Venil smiled and hoped the feeling radiated through to Kelsey. 
You are being very brave. I will let you know as soon as I have a plan. We will get through this, together.

Now he just had to think of one.

Be careful,
she cautioned.

At sundown, the women of the camp herded into the cage the men who had been outside doing manual labor all day.  There were two women on the door at all times.  Once the men were all inside, they lined up at the door and one by one sat in the dirt before the door and presented their feet to a third woman who stood just outside the cage.  This woman had the arduous task of unshackling each man, who must have had their ankles shackled and chained before leaving the cage that morning for the work at hand.  Venil wondered where these wild women had found the shackles and chains.  Let alone the key that fitted the locks.  It was fairly obvious they lacked the skill or know-how to fashion the tools themselves.  Venil concluded the Artemise must have scavenged the cold metal jewelry during their nomadic wanderings and wondered what other things they might have discovered.

After this task had been successfully achieved with each man from the work detail, the two women who had been guarding the cage door waltzed off toward the center of the camp.  The woman who had unshackled all the men, began passing small wooden bowls through the bars and a mass of greedy hands grabbed for them as though the dishes were some long forgotten treasure.  When the sea of finger-filled flesh subsided, Venil snatched a bowl for himself.  During this mad scramble for dining implements, the woman produced from somewhere a metal pail filled with a white pasty substance that could only be Gant’s aforementioned gruel.

Each man reached out through the bars with his bowl and when the pail was near enough, dipped the bowl into the gruel, scooping a portion into his bowl and retreating to the back of the cage.  In this fashion, each man served himself dinner.  Venil found the entire process unsanitary in addition to undesirable and perhaps this was why he was one of the last of the men to scoop up some gruel into his bowl.  As a result he ended up with a smaller portion than those who had been served before him.

Venil put the lip of the bowl to his mouth and tipped it back.  The gruel tasted like homemade paste.  He shrugged, less concerned with the portion disparity now that he’d had the chance to sample a taste of the Artemise fare.  A plan had formed in his mind as he watched the women upon their return to the cage.  And if things went according to that plan, then he would have no need of any further paste tasting gruel.

That night, the Artemise came for Gant, which explained why the man had been left in the cage all day, instead of being taken outside on a work detail with the other men.  The Artemise women wanted him at full strength for their evening attentions, while he was in the tent playing his part in furthering the advancement of their nomadic brood.

They returned Gant to the cage the following morning, just before they began dispensing the prisoners’ morning gruel.  He did not speak of the experience.  Really, what was there to say, in any case, Venil thought.  After the prisoners finished their bug infested repast, they were lined up and shackled before departing for the day’s work detail.  Venil, however, was persuaded by the business end of a spear to stay inside the cage.  He suspected this evening he was to visit the tent where Gant had spent the previous night.  This might actually fit in with his plan, provided he modify it the tiniest bit.

He used the time to get his bearings.  He looked around the camp, surveying its makeup.  Makeshift tents jutted forth around the perimeter, surrounding the remains of a huge campfire.  To his right, two more cages similar to the one in which he was housed, contained one prisoner each.  The others must have been taken out to work along with those from Venil’s own cage.  He looked to the nearest prisoner and the look on the man’s face confirmed his suspicions about where each of them would be spending the night.  Nice to know it was a shared fate.