Maelstrom Read online

  Maelstrom

  Scott McElhaney

  PART ONE

  RESSURRECTION

  One

  It was the morning of August 28th, 2018 when I committed suicide by leaping from the Route 8 bridge near the Perkins Street exit. I had passed over that bridge every morning on my way to work and every single time, it was that light blue metal railing that mocked me, separating me from my salvation.

  Several years ago, they put up suicide fencing on the All-American Bridge, which separated North Hill from downtown Akron. The All-American Bridge crossed the same ravine or valley that the Route 8 bridge crossed, offering a seventy or eighty-foot drop to anyone who needed to escape the heartache and torment of this life. The suicide fencing quickly put an end to that well-known doorway to freedom.

  But the Route 8 bridge which could be seen from the All-American Bridge was a freeway bridge, so traffic was expected to move at a steady 55 to 60 miles per hour and foot-traffic was certainly not permitted. Because of this, there was only a waist high light blue railing that separated the commuters from the promise of eternal peace. During the morning commute however, traffic moved at a snail’s pace and I was forced to stare at that rusty railing that continued to mock me.

  Rust… the evidence of age and deterioration ruining that robin’s egg color on the railing. Deterioration… something that I felt every single moment of my life in the form of throbbing pain.

  It was the morning of August 28, 2018 when I committed suicide. I stopped my Kia right there in the middle of the creeping morning traffic, and then I merely opened my car door and stepped out onto the freeway. I then rushed around to the passenger side of my vehicle and climbed over the cement barrier that protected the metal railing from getting damaged during traffic accidents. Someone was hollering at me as I lifted my leg over the railing. Someone else was beeping their horn. I heard a lady scream her pleas. They didn’t know me. They only saw a skinny young lady with long brown hair who had no reason to hurt inside. They only saw what they wanted to see – they saw an attractive woman with a bright future.

  I ignored all the noise including the loud questions inside my head as I climbed over the railing and leapt.

  It was on the morning of August 28, 2018 when I committed suicide.

  Two

  “Stand up, take off your clothing, and face the chrome wall.”

  These were the first words I heard in the afterlife. One moment I had been falling while in sheer terror, having changed my mind all of a sudden. I had closed my eyes, not wanting to actually witness the inevitable end to my life. It was then that I suddenly found myself merely lying down in a cold place. I opened my eyes in time to see some hazy blue lighting coming into focus from the ceiling above me.

  “Stand up, take off your clothing, and face the wall.”

  I rolled toward the voice, propping myself up on my elbow. There, to my left, were three armored figures, one of which who appeared to be brandishing an unfamiliar weapon. Their faces were hidden behind dark visors of what looked a little like fancy black motorcycle helmets. There were shiny black plates of armor on their chest, shoulders, thighs, and arms. These armored plates seemed to be attached to thick black fabric that may have been a form of Kevlar.

  Were these people merely dressed in riot gear? And if so, what sort of fight were they expecting to face? The last I checked, I was a hundred and twelve pounds and a little under five-six. Was I really that intimidating?

  “What? What just happened? Is this hell?” I sputtered.

  “Up, on your feet!” a male voice demanded.

  His voice commanded immediate respect and obedience, but I wasn’t in the mood to play along. Surely something had interfered with my demise, because these weren’t demons or angels. This place wasn’t an ethereal hell, heaven, or purgatory.

  I slowly rose to my feet, noticing just then that I had been standing on a raised large circular platform with a silver wall that encompassed three quarters of its circumference. The floor beneath my feet was corrugated and seemed to be covered with vents. And the insides of those vents were glowing a curious blue.

  “Take off all your clothing and leave them on the floor. You may face the wall while doing this.”

  “I’m not getting naked! Who are you? Where am I?” I demanded.

  I stepped off the platform with the intent of approaching my captors when suddenly a weapon was aimed in my direction. I brought up my hands waist-high to show that I wasn’t going to attack anyone.

  “Listen, I was falling from the Perkins Street bridge when-”

  “We know. We will explain later. First, we need to pack you for transport. Take off all clothing and jewelry.”

  It was hard to discern who was doing the speaking since their faces were all covered inside those black motorcycle helmets.

  “Transport? Pack me?” I blurted.

  That was the moment that I noticed what could only be described as a silver coffin lying on the floor to my captor’s right. The lid was open and instead of comfortable lacy padding lining the interior, it was filled to the rim with some form of slimy clear beads.

  “What the heck is going on?” I shouted.

  “This is your last directive. Take off your clothing.”

  “I’m not taking off-”

  Those were the last words I remember speaking.

  Three

  I awoke an indeterminate amount of time later lying in a bed beneath a dull gray ceiling of various pipes, cables, and ductwork. Several caged light bulbs hung from the ceiling, peeking out randomly between those highways of piping and ductwork above me.

  I tried to move, but immediately discovered that my arms didn’t want to obey. A groan escaped my lips, followed by a ragged cough from a throat that was exceptionally dry and itchy. I tried to move again, this time rolling onto my side without the use of my arms.

  “Hey there,” a woman was seated on a bed next to me, watching as I fumbled about, “It takes a while.”

  “Ugghh,” I choked, suddenly finding that my arms and hands were finally assisting me upright, “Where… where am I?”

  The woman seated on the side of her bed was as scantily clad as I was in a pair of white panties and bra. This shorthaired black woman was probably about ten years my senior and clearly visited the gym more often than I ever had. She frightened me a little with the way she seemed to watch me as I slid off the side of the bed.

  “You know about as much as I do. I woke up shortly before you did,” she said.

  I took a moment to examine the small room that was barely larger than our two hospital beds. The pipes overhead and the utilitarian lighting system didn’t resemble that of a tidy and antiseptic hospital, but rather more of an underground bunker somewhere. Even the door just past my roommate resembled a sturdy metal hatch like what would be located inside a ship or a submarine.

  “I’m supposed to be dead,” I said, clearing my throat, “Why do my hands feel weird?”

  I held my hands out in front of me, examining them as I opened and closed my fists.

  “You too?” the other woman asked, still seated on the side of her bed, “Do you remember dying?”

  I turned to her, lowering my hands to my side, “I leapt from a bridge, but I don’t remember ever hitting the ground.”

  “I had slit my wrists while in a hot bath,” she said, twisting her arms to show me her perfectly formed chocolate wrists, “But it sure doesn’t look like I cut these.”

  I approached her to examine her wrists when suddenly the hatch opened with a metallic thud. We both immediately turned to discover a short yet sturdy man approaching quickly. His scowl seemed to be permanently embedded into those creases of age on his face. Even the creases on his brow appeared to be naturally tucked into angry
valleys around those white eyebrows. His silver hair was cut very short, barely a centimeter away from non-existence.

  “Names please,” the words shot out like the cadence calls of a Marine drill sergeant.

  “Mercy Wright,” my roommate offered right away.

  The man then turned to me. I was still trying to figure out this little man who had to be a full head shorter than me even though I was only five-six. He was old enough to be my father and looked quite angry, yet I’d done nothing to warrant such an angry expression. I noticed then that he was wearing a crisp black uniform of some unknown military or police force. None of the patches meant anything to me.

  “And you?” he demanded.

  “I… uh…” my mind was all twisted up, still trying to find out what was going on.

  “I’ll put you down as ‘Legs Leggy McLeggison’,” he actually chuckled, then turned toward the hatch, “Follow me.”

  “Hunter!” I shouted suddenly, “Hunter Ray.”

  He turned back to me so quickly that I took a step back in fear. I wouldn’t have been surprised had he swung a fist at me.

  “What was that, Legs?” he thundered.

  “My name is Hunter,” I said, swallowing suddenly, “Not… not Legs.”

  “Legs seems to be a far more appropriate name than Hunter if you ask me,” he said, “What do you hunt, Hunter?”

  “It’s a name, not an occupation,” I snapped, feeling objectified suddenly by the name he’d given me.

  “Hunter… we’ll see about that,” he said, turning back toward the hatch, “Try to keep up.”

  The woman I now knew as Mercy patted me on the shoulder as she looked at me with her eyebrows raised. It was like she was congratulating me on my defense, but warning me that I should watch my mouth at the same time. The short drill sergeant lead the way into a narrow corridor which offered us gray metal walls and ceilings of pipes, cables, and ventilations tunnels. The lighting in the corridor was also provided by random caged light bulbs as well.

  “Really… Mercy? We’re faced with Mercy and Hunter? One better live up to her name and the other better not!” the short man laughed as he seemed to talk to himself while walking briskly ahead of us.

  “You don’t like my name? What would you rather it be?” Mercy hollered.

  To my shock, he stopped again and turned to the both of us. I now felt uncomfortable under his gaze since I was wearing nothing but a bra and panties which showed him a little more leg than he seemed to be accustomed to.

  Mercy stood tall and proud as the man scowled at her. His eyes had locked with hers, then slowly traced down her body which she understandably didn’t seem to care about him seeing.

  “Hot Cocoa,” he said, “Yeah, that seems to fit.”

  “You try some of this and I promise you’ll get burned, short stack,” she retorted.

  He laughed as those white eyebrows shot up, “Well! We’ll just see about that.”

  He turned to me where I stood with my arms crossed, “You have anything to add, Legs?”

  “The name is Hunter,” I said, “And that’s the only name I’ll answer to. By the way, where are we?”

  He grinned at me in appreciation, then after a moment, he nodded. He waved me onward as he turned around and started down the corridor again.

  “In due time, I’ll explain. First, we need to get you two dressed and into PhyDex,” he said.

  “Fidex?” Mercy asked.

  “Physical Dexterity. Need to make sure you can still use those hands and arms like normal people before we proceed,” he said, pausing before another hatch, “Phy – Dex… PhyDex.”

  He opened the hatch and then gestured for us to lead the way in. Mercy went first, then I followed directly behind her. The first thing I noticed, besides Mercy’s muscular backside, was that this room appeared to be more of a hospital or medical facility of some sort.

  There were about ten hospital beds lined up along the wall, all unoccupied. Toward the right, there were many cabinets, refrigerators, IV poles, wheelchairs, and some unknown digital devices on wheels that probably monitored the patient.

  “My new subjects!” a female voice startled me, drawing my attention to the left side of the room.

  This was a woman who wore the familiar green scrubs of a nurse or surgeon. Her black hair was drawn back into a ponytail and although the oval glasses might have made her look older, I’d guess she wasn’t a stitch over thirty. The smile she wore seemed to be sincere.

  “Welcome, Mercy and Hunter!” she said, “It’s good to have you here. Let me be the first to thank you for joining us.”

  “Thank us?” I choked out, “I leapt from a bridge and I should be dead right now. Why am I here? I didn’t join anyone!”

  “Didn’t you?” she tilted her head to the side, “How’s your neck feeling, Hunter?”

  I looked at this lady whose smile now seemed to be more of a challenge. How did she know my name? How did she know about my neck? I kept my eyes locked with hers for about ten seconds before I twisted my neck around. I shrugged my shoulders as well, moving my neck around more and more. Tears flooded my eyes before I had a chance to stop them. There was a reason for the tears and this lady in front of me somehow knew exactly why I was crying.

  Nine years ago, when I was fifteen, I had been in a horrible car accident. I was the only survivor. Both of my parents died, leaving me to survive inside the mangled car with dozens of injuries. Several surgeries later, I was completely fixed and ready to continue on with my life. But I wasn’t completely fixed. Over and over again, I’d visit my surgeons, doctors, and chiropractors with the facts that my neck and right shoulder still hurt significantly and it hurt all the time. I was in a constant state of throbbing pain that stayed with me night and day. Prescriptions didn’t help and holistic options served no purpose. I was in pain all the time and the only solution had been suicide, especially after my doctor said he would no longer prescribe me narcotics.

  Now though, the pain was gone. The lady in the scrubs knew it and knew that she had startled me with this revelation.

  “You fixed me? Again, where am I? Is this some secret underground hospital?” I sputtered, “Please, let me know.”

  “We have to take it slow because you both will be faced with a lot of information that might shock you,” the woman said, “My name is Eight or Doctor Eight. Just call me Eight.”

  “Eight? Like the number?” I asked.

  The hatch closed behind us as the short man left the three of us alone. Mercy and I only paid a quick glance at the hatch behind us and then returned our attention to the woman in the scrubs.

  “Yes, that’s my name,” she said as she gestured us to follow her into the adjacent room to the left of all the hospital beds.

  A curtain partially blocked off this section of the medical facility. In here, we located two chairs with stacks of clothing that appeared to be nothing more than sweat pants and t-shirts.

  “Please, put on these clothes, then allow me to examine your arms and hands,” Eight said, “Hunter’s clothes is on the right and Mercy’s is on the left.”

  “Where are we? For real!” Mercy demanded, standing defiantly in front of the chair.

  Eight looked at her, then looked over at me. I was already examining the clothing on my chair.

  “If I give you that one single answer, will you promise to ask nothing more for at least an hour?” Eight asked.

  Mercy looked over at me. I nodded to her. She then looked over at Eight and nodded.

  “Yes, we promise an hour of no questions,” she said.

  Eight crossed her arms, then breathed out a long sigh. She bit her lip, then shrugged as though she suddenly didn’t care anymore.

  “I’ll give you two answers because I can’t tell you the ‘where’ without telling you when. You’re in orbit above the Earth because time travel can’t be done safely on the surface of a planet. And the year is 2897 by your reckoning,” she said, “And yes, this is the truth and yes,
you promised no questions for an hour. Shall we proceed?”

  Four

  Needless to say, I had a million questions to ask while I got dressed. Mercy and I had just stared at each other with our mouths agape, lost in the confusion of Eight’s statement. Then for the next several minutes, while Mercy and I both sat down in those chairs, we had to bite our tongues while exercising our hands and our arms.

  “Now, I want both of you to make the ‘okay’ gesture with both hands,” Eight said as she sat in another chair facing us.

  I felt like we were wasting our time as we both held up two ‘okay’ signs.

  “Now, do this with both hands, like you’re playing the piano,” she said, dropping her pinkies, then the next finger, then the next.

  “Why are we doing all this?” Mercy blurted.

  “Are your wrists showing any evidence that they’d ever been cut, Mercy?” Eight winked at her, “Then you can imagine the need to test out your new fingers.”

  “New?” she looked down at her hands, “You claim these hands aren’t mine?”

  Eight reached down and picked up a small red rubber ball she had placed on the floor earlier when she had sat down. She then immediately tossed it toward Mercy, hitting her on the cheek before it ricocheted back and bounced on the floor and then back into Eight’s hand.

  “The reflexes aren’t there yet, but this is normal,” she said, tossing the ball now toward me.

  I leaned back, realizing that my arms didn’t obey my desire to ward off the ball or to simply catch it. It hit me in the chest just before both my hands finally rose a little too late.

  “What’s with my inability to catch a ball?” I blurted, “Do both of us have new arms? I noticed something wrong when I first woke up.”

  I was now examining my hands and arms while the red ball rolled off my lap and onto the floor.

  “You had promised no questions for an hour. It’s not even been thirty minutes and you’ve asked several,” Eight said, “Please stand up and scoot your chairs back. I’m going to grab a larger ball and I want us to practice bouncing it to each other.”