Emergence Collective: Emergence, #1

By Joseph Hallett

 

Two teenage lovers on the verge of adulthood suddenly find themselves in a fight to save humanity or even reality itself after a megalomaniacal Airforce officer discovers a source of unimaginable power.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Joseph Hallett
• Release date: Oct 21, 2021
• ISBN: 9798224341399

Joseph Hallett

I write science fiction/fantasy and horror stories. I am intensely interested in the paranormal, cryptids, UfO/UAPs, and other esoteric subjects that influence my writing. I have many unpublished works that are in the making and in the process of publication.

Book preview

Chapter 1 

Frank slammed the door so hard that the windows rattled and nearly broke in their frames. He could hear the muffled sobbing of his mother and the heavy footfalls of his father pacing behind the solid oak door of his former home. Grabbing his backpack that held the sum total of his belongings, he headed for the road.  Dropping out of college will not turn me into a bum.  Frank argued his point to himself, that point that fell onto his father’s deaf ears.  I’m just not like him; I don’t want to be like him or my brother, tied to a profession that I hate!  Anger quickened his pace and fueled his desire to keep going.

The warm salty wind whipped through the tassels of his buckskin suede jacket, tangling with his long hair. Frank stuck his thumb out towards the road and leaned forward to brace against the next gust of wind. He could see a beat-up school bus painted in various colors, followed by vans and cars grouped together in the distance. The bus slowed down as it approached Frank and shuddered to a halt. The other vehicles in the caravan followed suit and skidded to a stop behind the bus. Smoky air wafted out the door as it opened, smelling of patchouli incense and other herbs.

Heey, maann, climb on in, the worn-out-looking driver invited Frank. Where you headed, man? he added in a long low tone. Nowhere, really, just where the road takes me, Frank replied as he stepped onto the bus. Hendrix blasted from a radio in the back of the bus while several other hippies lounged in homemade hammocks strapped to the side of the bus. They had decorated the bus with posters of bands, peace symbols, and antiwar slogans painted on the walls. They didn’t notice that the bus had stopped or the guest was now standing in the aisle.

What’s your name, friend? I’m Sam, the droopy-looking driver asked with an outstretched hand.

It’s Frank, Frank said with a smile and grabbed Sam’s hand and shook it.

That’s Olly, Karen, and Miller. Sam pointed to each as he said their name. 

Karen was the first to notice that the bus was not moving and stood up as Frank introduced himself to Sam. She sauntered up the aisle, swaying to the beat of the Hendrix tune from the radio. Hello, stranger. Her voice was soft and sweet. Her long red hair flowed around her shoulders and seemed to match her voice. Hi, Frank replied, trying to keep his voice from quavering as his heart thumped. The bus door shut with a whoosh, interrupting Frank, saving him from looking too apparent about his attraction to her. The bus jerked into gear, throwing Frank closer to Karen. He allowed gravity to do the work as he slid into the seat he was leaning on. Where are you guys going? Frank asked Karen as she took a seat behind him. To view her better, Frank adjusted to sit halfway turned around, with his feet in the aisle.

Sam turned his head back and interjected, Oregon, we are meeting some of Karen’s friends. The bus rattled and swerved as Sam took control of the bus, correcting its course back into the lane it was supposed to be in.

Groovy, sounds like fun. Mind if I tag along? Frank smiled at Karen. Olly and Miller swung back and forth with the shaking of the bus; neither stirred, apparently sleeping. 

California’s short distance to Washington was all it took to forge strong friendships with these free spirits. He felt an immediate connection to his new friends. An unbiased friendship that did not have preconceived notions of how to be or what profession you had. It was late in ’69, and about fifty young, free-spirited souls were all looking for peace and freedom. Some of them had money from family, and some made money in a questionable way. The idea was to shake off the confines of civilization and form their own utopian society. Road trips and word of mouth led their way, and in time they found their Eden in the Cascade Mountains at the end of the steady northbound migration. They had amassed an ample cash reserve, enough to buy property to build their new lives in solitude. Their commune had begun to shape up, free from the oppression they felt from their parents or the fascist government or cities’ violence. 

The Cascades is a volcanic mountain range. The soil was so rich and fertile that it made it easy to grow crops and gardens. Crystals, semiprecious gems, agates, jasper, and other fatty mineral deposits were a serendipitous find that supplied them with an abundant source of building materials for jewelry and other crafts to sell to neighboring towns. They built a longhouse-style building that served as a headquarters and offices of sorts, a mess hall, and a place just to groove and play music. Smaller huts and cabins came together around the longhouse as more and more joined the community. Surrounding the main compound were rugged canyons and small caves. Evergreen trees and wildlife abounded in the Cascades; it was beautiful.

A few miles from the main compound, they discovered the hole. The hole was a nine-foot semi-round natural void in the ground, with dry stacked stone forming a three-foot-high wall around it. It went straight down into pitch-black darkness that seemed to go on forever. It was, in effect, a bottomless pit. Flares or torches dropped into the hole fell in silence out of sight. Rocks and other debris fell so long that they never made a sound unless they hit the side on the way down. The locals, cattle ranchers, mountain folk, and the like had been using the hole for years before the commune had discovered it. The Native Americans had been using it for perhaps hundreds of years. Since then, the surrounding community had been dumping everything from old refrigerators to diseased livestock in the hole, even a person or two. The commune adopted the void without a second thought. The hole was a convenient way to dispose of garbage and useless junk that would otherwise cost money to dispose of.

When Frank joined the group, he had become treasurer. He had signed all the documents to become the legal owner of some two hundred acres of Cascade mountain land. The two plots of land were not adjacent but were close enough together for their needs. The communal life suited them well for a long time. But, as with all things, the utopian society they had created decayed in due course. Personal disputes, jealousy, and drugs had formed rifts and cracks in the foundation of the commune. One by one, day by day, everyone began to leave. 

Frank stayed. He had become the last one there. The commune was over. It was ironic when the last of the members left the commune; Frank had found his utopia with the solitude. Frank had just about everything he needed. His small garden and plenty of wild game on the properties provided plenty of nourishment. The volcanic landscape provided a means for making jewelry to sell at various fairs and markets. Life was good for him, and he was happy, content. Bored.

Maybe it was boredom that started it. Idle hands are the devil’s workshop, they say. The curiosity started like a tiny seed in the back of his mind. The hole... How deep is it? This thought started slow. Every time he went to the hole to dump something, the thought crept in. It never filled up...? That thought began to fester in his mind. The seed grew to a sapling of an idea. Let’s find out why, Frank thought to himself.

The project began innocently enough. He had lots of string and twine that he used to make jewelry, so he started with that. At the hole, he constructed a pulley system dead center over the hole and had his twine attached to a one-pound fishing weight. The weight dropped in the hole and slipped along the pulley easily and fast, almost burning his hands as it plummeted down into oblivion. He had large spools of his material, nearly two thousand yards of it. He was amazed at how quickly it went down the hole. He reached the end of his line in minutes, and there was no end in sight. The hole was much, much deeper. 

He tied off his line securely and got ready to head back to his homestead at the center of the abandoned commune. He had to get more material. He was a smart man and knew that the twine he was using could not stand its own weight and would eventually break. A mile of it weighed fifty pounds. And that was too much stress for something designed for necklaces. He had to think of another way. The pit was still used as a regular dump site, and his contraption would not escape notice at all. As he was busy securing his project, a beat-up pickup truck rumbled up the makeshift road that had once been a footpath. Neighbors in those parts lived miles apart, but distance did not mean that much, and nothing escaped each other’s interest; the spread-out community was as close-knit as any small town would be. Everyone knew each other there, and everyone was friends or at least nice to each other. It takes a certain kind of person to live off the grid. 

His longtime friend,old Willy opened the truck door, which whined and screeched in protest as the rusty hinges rattled. Whatcha doin’? Mr. Winston croaked out the question while clearing his throat, showing genuine interest in Frank’s contraption over the dump. Frank turned a little red, embarrassed by his curiosity. Umm, well, ya see, I got to thinking is all. He began to explain. We have been using this as a dump for thirty years now, right? Well... why hasn’t it filled up yet? He posed the question with increasing excitement.  Mr. Winston’s eyes lit up as the thought sank in. You know... I never much gave it a thought... till now. You know, you’re right! The excitement transferred to Mr. Winston. They both sat staring at it silently for a minute or two, pondering the notion as another old beat-up truck shook its way up the path. A younger man in his mid-thirties poked his head out the truck window to have a clearer view of the scene around the hole. 

Is there something I can do? he asked with concern in his voice. Not knowing the details of the situation, he offered his services out of simple neighborly kindness.  Frank and Mr. Winston did not look up or respond, lost in their own thoughts. Jonny got out of his truck in a hurry and trotted over to the hole. Someone fall in? he asked in an almost scared tone of voice. 

Frank detected that Jonny was getting amped up a bit, broke his trance from the hole, cracked a smile, and chuckled. No, no, everything is fine, he said in a calm voice, trying to put out the fire in Jonny’s mind. We were just think’n is all; how deep is this hole? 

Jonny got the same look in his eye as Mr. Winston had at the concept. Hmmm, you got a point there. Jonny agreed with the idea, peering over the wall with a sudden intense curiosity. 

Willy walked over to his pickup, reached the bed, and pulled out three cold beers from the cooler he kept there. Tossed one to each of the others and then flipped the tab of his beer with a whoosh and a spurt of foam. Frank and Jonny opened their beers in sync.

Frank held the can up in a sort of wave in gratitude and took a long swig from the cold drink. Ahhhh, that’s the stuff! Thank ya, Willy.

Jonny gave a quick salute with his hand to show his gratitude for the refreshing gift. The August sun had warmed the day up fast, and it was the perfect time for a beer. 

Even in the bright sunlight, the void was as black as black could get. What we need is a way to see into the hole, Jonny suggested. My wife goes to university and knows some of the staff. Maybe we could get some equipment just for this sort of thing, Jonny said, sounding almost like a giddy teenager. It seemed that the mountain life was a little slow for everyone once in a while, and this seemed to be an excellent excuse to make a hobby of it.

The three stared at the hole for a bit longer, all feeding each other’s curiosity with casual chitchat about how deep these things could get and how they could figure out how deep theirs was. The excitement started to wane as the actual intent of the hole weighed in. Wives get excited about trash being gone, not how deep the hole is where ya dump it, Willy blurted out. The other half of that thought was still trapped in his mind.

Frank realized the same notion and went to his truck to grab his own refuse that he needed to dispose of. Not realizing how much time had passed, his steps started to quicken. He noted his neighbors’ haste and offered to help unload their trash. Hey, I got some huckleberry wine that’s ready to be drunk. If ya want to bring the women over this weekend, we’ll have a barbecue. Sit down and figure the whole hole idea out. He offered his beverage with a little pride behind his words. Homemade wine could go very wrong, but it had always turned out pretty good. It was rare that he had an opportunity to share his accomplishments, and he welcomed this chance.

Well, that sounds like a fine idea, we got the grandkids this weekend, if ya don’t mind the extra mouths? Willy asked. Frank nodded his agreement with a smile

Yeah, that would be great! Sandy would love to see Martha, you can count us in! he said eagerly

The sun was starting to get heavy in the sky, and wives could no longer be kept waiting. They all gathered themselves into their trucks and headed down the path in single file, rumbling along like some sort of slow convoy. 

Lost in his thoughts, Frank missed the turn to his homestead and had gone a few miles before noticing it. He considered turning back but then decided to keep going straight on towards Ellensburg and see what the hardware store could offer his new project. The drive there was short; he only lived about ten miles west of Ellensburg. Still lost in his thoughts and even a little excited, he must have been driving faster than he realized since he got to the hardware store in quick time. It was good, though; the evening was going by fast, and the store was about to close up for the night. He got out of his Volkswagen van and pushed open the old door of the storefront. He only got a few steps into the store when the cashier gave him an odd look. The young kid had spiky black hair and a ring in his nose. 

Mister... you can’t come in here like that, sorry. The young kid sounded apologetic and amused at the same time.

Like what? Frank was oblivious to any reason why he should not be there.

Your feet, bro. You have to have shoes to come in; it’s a safety thing. Might step on a nail and sue us or something. A smile indicating laughter was soon to follow was on the boy’s face by now.  Frank looked down at his feet and realized that he wasn’t wearing shoes. The thick calluses on his perpetually dirty feet did not feel shoes in the summer most of the time. He was an old hippy and stuck in a time warp. Shoes were for winter when it was too cold to go without. He chuckled at himself and smiled back at the cashier. Sorry, Frank said with a bit of a giggle. He was not embarrassed by his attire. Look at that kid; why should I be embarrassed by the way I dress? he thought to himself, almost laughing out loud. Nonchalantly turning around, he gave the cashier a nod goodbye and headed for the exit. He only felt a little disgruntled by the situation since it was a wasted trip. He did not have anything much to do anyway, but wasted gasoline was wasted money. 

The weekend came fast. He had been busy all morning getting the longhouse in order. He was not a messy person, but when you don’t get many visitors, housekeeping tends to take a back seat in life. He did not realize how much he was looking forward to having guests. The longhouse had not had more than a few people in it for maybe twenty years. Nostalgia washed over him in waves throughout the day; he was getting excited. He had not even been thinking about the hole at all. He thought it was funny that something full of nothing could fill a need he did not know he had.

Between bouts of nostalgia, he felt a strange feeling that he did not recognize at first; he was a little lonely. Years of solitude had taken their toll; even though he knew all his neighbors and got along with most of them, most of the time, he realized he did not have many friends. Family weighed on his mind today, too, adding to his loneliness. Outcast as the family’s black sheep, with almost no contact, it might have helped if he had a phone too, but his way of life was what it was. His brother, Matt, was closer to him than the rest of his family, but even Matt had not kept in touch for many years now. He found himself leaning on his broom, lost in a daze of thought.

The dust in the room had long since settled, and he was staring into space, saddened by the way life had slipped by. He snapped himself out of his gaze and thoughts with a conscious effort. Come on, you dope! he said out loud, his voice echoing in the room, almost startling himself. He was not one to be depressed and found it silly to indulge in a self-pity party. He, after all, was not unhappy. His mood immediately perked up, and