The First Strings

Cale Willing glanced down at the gas gauge on his 1982 dark yellow Mercedes station wagon (a turbo diesel at that!) and cursed under his breath for perhaps the hundredth time that night. The red needle was centered on the large E-for completely empty, a goddamn empty car-and had been centered on it for perhaps the last fifteen minutes. The large blinking red light that had indicated only ten more miles of gas remaining in the Mercedes had just flickered, flickered again, repeated, and then shut off completely.
"Damn it!" Cale shouted at the windshield as he stared out at the full moon covered, dark night surrounding him. Trees rose on either side of the road and the red full moon blinked between their barren winter branches, illuminating the gray road as the Mercedes started to coast down it at an increasingly decreasing speed. He realized he was in the middle of nowhere with no coverage on his cellular phone, only the high beams and the moon to light his way, and no gas to get anywhere. He hadn't seen a building in two hours and didn't expect to see one anytime soon.
Hitting the steering wheel three times, while still coasting at a slower speed, hearing the creaking noises of the black leather jacket he wore as he moved, Cale glanced to his right with tired, unbelieving, angry eyes and let his gaze fall upon a single-story yellow house with a matching yellow garage on the opposite side of the driveway. All the lights were off, all save the security light on the opposite side of the house, but it was still a building and someone might be home.
Cale turned the wheel and let the car drift into the driveway. A coolness ran through him, his eyes automatically squeezed shut for a second, and the world around him turned even darker then before, if that could be said to be possible. After countless seconds of simple darkness- darkness within his own mind-and a chill devouring his body, Cale's eyes automatically shot wide open and he screamed in panic and disbelief more then anything else. Slamming down on the Mercedes' brakes, the car abruptly stopped, and Cale switched the ignition off; he pulled in great gasps of air as if he had just come up from underwater. His lungs felt like they were about to explode and he thought he had never tasted sweeter air.
He staggered from the car, still inhaling air as if there was a shortage, swearing obscenities under his breath constantly. After a minute or two, still leaning against the car his body began to get some feeling back and his head began to feel normal again. The pitch black air (only lit by the full moon now) felt as if it was pushing in on him like a wall and it was much colder then he had remembered. Good thing he wore the leather jacket and long sleeved, high-collared black shirt.
Buttoning up his coat, Cale pulled his cellular phone from his pocket and noticed that it had no coverage and hardly any battery power left. His car rested still and dark under an old oak perhaps fifty yards beyond the house and garage. In his blinded state, a state that he didn't know how it happened, he had pulled too far up but maybe this was for the better. It was perhaps one in the morning and he didn't want to disturb the occupants of the house so Cale opened the back door of the car, climbed in, stretched out on the backseat-a very comfortable back seat, he noted happily-and waited patiently for sleep to devour him. He would ask questions in the morning, ask for help, and possibly ask for a useable phone.

Cale's eyes shot open at the sound of a wolf's howl in the distance and was surprised to see night still lingering around him. He thought he had slept longer then that. Getting up and climbing out of the car, he glanced at his watch and saw that it said five in the morning. That meant the sun would be up in an hour or so but he couldn't wait any longer. The people inside wouldn't get too pissed if he bothered them now; at least he hoped not. They would be waking up soon anyway.
Cale walked to the oak, relieved himself, turned, and then started for the back porch of the house. The sliding door wasn't covered with anything and when he knocked a couple times, no one appeared. Hell, nothing inside made a sound. Maybe they are still asleep, a voice in his head told him. Cale ran a hand through his short brown hair and regarded the den of the house with his dark green eyes. Maybe they sleep like the dead. Hell, maybe it's only a summer home.
In his curiosity Cale pulled the handle back, expecting it to secure itself and stay shut, but instead it slide open and abruptly stopped under his overuse of might. He knew he shouldn't have entered-it probably would have been better that way-but instead, he stepped into the cold house, still calling out that he was entering.
"Hello!" Cale called, leaving the door open and starting across the den's heavy brown carpeting. "Is anyone home? I'm sorry but it was unlocked and I need some help! Is anyone here? I just need to use a phone!" Cale sighed in troubled relief as he studied his surroundings. All the furniture, bookshelves, hanging paintings, and accessories were all covered in cobwebs and layers of dust. Some of the windows and pictures were broken and shattered across the carpet. And could that dark spot on the carpet be blood or were eyes playing tricks with him? He thought it best to just ignore it and move on without questions.
He found a hallway-carpeted identical to the den-and started down it. The plaster and wallpaper were all torn and broken in more places then were normal. Holes of various sizes broke the walls and doors; the doors had splintered wood jutting from them or lying on the ground. He didn't know much about firearms but he noted that the holes in the walls and doors looked similar to bullet holes. He had a bad feeling about this and desperate his battling emotions of curiosity and fear, the curiosity struggled the hardest and won, so he continued on his path. Broken glass and plaster crunched beneath his boots and desperate his sudden fear of the house and the heavy darkness pressing around him, he continued with heavy breaths.
The hallway turned and led into a kitchen, which he was sure he should have avoided. The undeniable stench of month old rotting meat reached his nostrils first, quickly followed by the decaying smell of hundreds of dead bugs and the horrible stench of countless types of food in all various types of rot. Covering the counter and kitchen table were cans of unidentifiable food, large chunks of beef and pork, and since full milk cartons with maggots, spiders-black widows mostly-scorpions, a couple snakes, and other flesh eating beetles and worms. The creatures were enjoying their feast of rotting food and heavy, almost mist-like stench that seemed to suck all the air from the room.
"Damn, what happened here?" Cale moaned unhappily, pulling his coat up over his nose and squinting in disgust. He started forward, watching his every step to stay clear from the bugs-especially the spiders and snakes- and came face to face with the food on the table. "Maybe I'll take my chance walking up the road a bit." On closer inspection of the milk cartons, he saw that tiny red droplets of blood floated in the outdated milk that rested on the table, casting a faint liquidly pink color to them.

Still cursing and questioning under his breath, Cale unconsciously stepped into the living room-needles to say it was like every other room of the house-and didn't notice the two decaying bodies rocking back in forth in the two creaking old rockers in the middle of the room until his nose caught the worst stink he had ever smelled in his entire life. Turning on shaky, unbalanced legs, Cale let his studying gaze fall on the two decaying bodies; the rockers were being moved by snakes slithering across them with flickering tongues and wormlike bodies.
"Jesus Christ!" Cale yelled in disgust, suddenly sorry that he had inhaled that awful-that death causing smell-and leaned over and unleashed his meal onto the floor. Straightening his back, Cale wiped his mouth and stared helplessly at the two bodies resting in front of him. With the last rock of the chairs, the two victims' eyes rolled from their heads and landed at his feet, causing only four sightless gazes to regard him with questioning concern. It was the first time in years that Cale had unleashed his guts in such a short time period. "What the hell happened here? What the hell is happening?"
Before turning to leave this God-awful house behind him, Cale noticed the swastika burned, inscribed in fire, in each of the people's faces. It ran across their foreheads, down their noses, and ended on their chins. Even in their decayed, maggot covered states, he could still make out the old Nazi symbol. But that symbol hadn't existed for over sixty years now and all of a sudden it appeared on two dead people-an elderly couple no less-in the middle of nowhere. It didn't make any sense.
But Cale knew that if he stayed longer, he wouldn't be able to handle the stench and he'd pass out and then die as the creatures in the rooms ate him alive. He didn't want that fate to befall him, so he turned and ran-he ran faster through that house then he had ever run before-and soon he stood next to his car again, panting and once again gasping for much needed air. He was proud that he only threw up twice more that morning but sleep never came again.
But he honestly didn't know what to think anymore. He didn't know what to believe. He was in the middle of nowhere with two dead and decaying people with the Nazi Regime's symbol burned into their faces. Neither the Regime nor the symbol had been around for over sixty years; they had both been destroyed but yet there they were again.
Cale had to get away from here and he only had one small tickle of hope left before his final opinion of walking in the pitch-black morning could be executed. Never taking his eyes from the house, he jogged to the garage door and fortunately found the lock already undone. He quickly removed it and swung the large double yellow doors open.
His jaw dropped and his breath caught in the back of his throat in horror. Resting in the dark garage, among all the tools and junk, was a 1982 Mercedes station wagon identical to his own, just a much paler yellow color. He spun on shaky legs, relieved to see that he hadn't collapsed yet, and saw his own Mercedes still sitting under the dark shadows of the tall oak. What the hell's going on here? His mind asked over and over in racing confusion.
Somehow he knew this car, this house, this garage, and these surroundings. He moved around to the driver door, opened it, climbed in, and laughed merrily as he found the keys already in the ignition. It was a nervous laugh of fear and relief mixed together, and though it pierced the stunned and horrible darkness surrounding him, it felt somehow right. Everything here was just way too familiar.
The Mercedes started with no problem at all and Cale slowly drove it out and turned in the driveway until he was facing the dark gray road once again. That's when the familiar memories struck him like a lightening bolt- fast and sharp. As he drove the Mercedes towards the rode, he realized in horrified fear that that house, that garage, and the very car he was driving were all owned by his grandparents. That was his grandparents' house but of course, it wasn't supposed to be here! He didn't know if the people inside were his grandparents but this was their house and he was driving their car.
Even though his fear and confusion were practically eating him alive, Cale pushed the accelerator of the Mercedes down and turned right onto the road, quickly advancing in speed down the dark, tree surrounded road. The red full moon was still out, casting an eerie glow-a glow that provided good light-across the countryside on either side of him and on the road itself.
"Where am I?" He whispered to himself uncertainly. Reaching down, Cale turned the radio on and started scanning through all the stations but he didn't pick anything up. There was nothing out here except static.
Wait!
".We need reinforcements now Bravo 't hold them back much .over!" A brief pause before the static covered, rough voice returned. "Bravo Three advance to rear shit, bombers and Panzers coming in them all you got them back!"
He switched the radio off, still staring at it in stunned disbelief. Was there a war happening out here in the middle of nowhere? Had the man said Panzer? But wasn't a Panzer a German tank used back in the Wars? He didn't know what was happening and he didn't rightly care as long as he got away from that house-his grandparents' house-with the smell of decay still strong in his nostrils. It teased his upset stomach with each inhale but Cale fought back the urge to sick up with each waking breath that he had; with all the available strength he could muster from inside him.
Above the roaring thunder of the diesel engine of the Mercedes, Cale leaned forward and tried to quiet his breath so he could make something out above the roaring. What else did he hear? It sounded like whistling-similar to whistling discs flying through the air. He leaned back and shrugged as three bullets struck the windshield, piercing it and then driving into the dark yellow fabric of the passenger seat. Tiny particles of shattered glass flew across his vision and in the chaos of it all Cale closed his eyes, turned away, and slammed on the brakes. The Mercedes spun to the left and skid to a stop lengthwise across both lanes of the empty road, teetering once, twice, three times before finally falling to rest with the engine still thundering in the cold dark morning air.
Even shakier then earlier that night, Cale cautiously opened his eyes and leaned his head back on the headrest, releasing a sigh of terrified relief. He turned his head and looked out the passenger side window as a dozen tiny lights suddenly appeared out of the darkness and focused on his car.
The steady began to move closer as a loud crackling voice rose up in the darkness. "Turn the vehicle off now and step out with your hands on your head! Don't try anything stupid! I hope you understand English because I'm not going to repeat this message! I'll give you to the count of five to comply before we open fire! We have no problem killing you!" Cale didn't know what to think; he was too shaky and way too confused to think straight. The pause that followed was quickly echoed by the same crackling voice: "One!"
Cale was surprised that he hadn't soiled himself yet. He was going to take this guy seriously before something bad happened. The man's voice wasn't joking and Cale didn't think that the man was joking about opening fire either. If this man-these men-had weapons, they weren't joking around. Could they be terrorists?
"Two!"
Cale turned the ignition off and pulled the key free. He opened the door and began to step out as the voice rang out again: "Three! Get ready men! This bastard wants to put up a fight!" Cale's eyes grew wide as he quickly climbed from the Mercedes and slammed the door.
"No I don't!" The horrified voice didn't seem like his own. "No I don't!" He stepped back from the car and put his hands on his head after stuffing the keys into his coat pocket. "I don't know who you are but please don't hurt me!" Silence answered him as the dozen or so lights began to approach him with heavy footsteps. "I just want to get home!"
Again, silence. As the lights began to circle the Mercedes on both sides, with Cale still standing in the middle of the road, visibly shaking in uncontrolled fear, the voice came again, this time from beside him. "Smart man! You should tell your friends to be as understanding as you. Then we wouldn't have to kill so many of them!" Cale didn't know what the hell the man was talking about. "Now lean against the car!"
Cale moved forward but apparently not fast enough. One of the men- Cale couldn't make out the face behind the light-shoved him forward until he was resting against the car. As his hands were handcuffed behind his back, he studied the dozen men surrounding him. All were clad in the dark black and green colors of the army with American flags painted on the fronts of their black helmets. Each man held a semi-automatic weapon in his hands or slung over his shoulder with side arms holstered at their hips or chests. They were easy to recognize. These were members of the United States Armed Forces. They could have been Marines as well.
"Do you understand English?" The crackling voice asked him, as hands fell on his shoulders and turned him around. A tall man with a long black beard and dark brown, penetrating eyes regarded him. This was the owner of the rough voice and the leader of the small American force.
"Of course I do, why?" Cale asked uncertainly, regarding each man with a bewildered glance. "What's going on here? Why have you handcuffed me?" Three men raised their weapons to him as the rough voiced man began to lead him around the front of the Mercedes. "Who are you people?"
"You know damn well who we are you German spy?" A soldier behind him snarled angrily, shoving Cale with the butt of the automatic weapon. "Don't act so surprised. You should have known we'd catch you sooner or later. No spy gets past our eyes!"
"What are you talking about?" Cale nearly sobbed in frustration. "A spy? I'm not a spy! I'm not even German. Look at my driver's license. I'm an American! I was born on American soil.I want to know what the hell's going on here?" Between the pleadings in his voice there was also the large amount of anger and fear.
"If you're truly an American, then why were you driving one of the enemies' cars?" The same soldier asked from behind him, slamming the butt of his automatic against the hood ornament-the Mercedes star symbol- knocking it to the ground. He spit on it and then crushed it beneath his foot. "No American drivers the enemies' cars!"
"Quiet captain!" The rough voiced man yelled sharply, abruptly stopping everyone in the party. He turned to face Cale and once again, Cale felt those dark brown eyes digging into his soul again. "Check his license captain. We'll see who he really is and settle this." The captain spat on the star again before quickly moving forward and nearly ripping the wallet from Cale's coat pocket. "This might just be all a terrible mix-up."
"It's true general," the captain laughed in disbelief. "He is an American. He's twenty-six and was born right here in South Carolina. His name's Cale Willing. Huh? Never would have thought it." He stuffed the wallet back into Cale's pocket and clapped him on the shoulder. "Sorry about the misunderstanding man. It could happen to anyone."
The general-the owner of the rough voice-undid Cale's cuffs and replaced them on his belt. "Sorry about that man. We just never can be too sure now a days. Times are rough and only getting rougher by the minute. You know how it is Cale." He held out his hand and Cale cautiously shook it. "The name's Kevin Prater. General Prater. And these fine men you see here," he swept his arms out to indicate the dozen soldiers surrounding them, "are the remaining members of America's very own Bravo Three. We're known as the Harbingers." He laughed and motioned to the man standing behind Cale. "And this is second in command here. This is Captain Jacob Pickens." Cale turned and studied the man who had desecrated the Mercedes star. With dark blue eyes and short black hair, the start of a beard, a merry smile, and a cheerful voice, Cale could see that he was the man who kept the party's morale high.
"Pleased to meet you, though I would have hoped under better circumstances." Cale took his offered hand and shook it willingly. "So what brings you out here? And why in God's name were you driving a Mercedes? You know you're not supposed to be driving a German car."
"No I don't!" Cale shouted back angrily in overwhelming confusion. "I don't know what's going on here and I don't know why you're all here. Hell, I don't know where here is and I don't know what the hell's going on. All I know is that I ran out of gas, found that Mercedes in a garage at a house back there, and found an elderly couple decaying in their own living room with a swastika burnt across their faces! What the hell's going on here?"
Each man roared with his own laughter before realizing that Cale wasn't joking. "What do you mean, 'what's going on here?'" General Prater asked uncertainly. "You're in South Caroline Cale." A sudden smile split his black beard. "Welcome to the war!"
He was speechless. He couldn't find his voice. "What war?" They just didn't seem to be taking him seriously.
"Have you been asleep for the last twenty-six years of your life man?" Captain Pickens laughed, punching Cale on the shoulder merrily. "Welcome to World War II of course!" He laughed and was echoed by the other men. "It's heaven on earth!" Cale's mind raced with uncertain misery when he suddenly realized that he was the one that was wrong. But how could this be happening?

2

Summer Tillman jerked the steering wheel of the black Lexus hard to the right as the first deer leaped out in front of her. She avoided the creature but her high beams were soon trained on the dark trees off the right side of the road and as her car flew into them, she had no chance of stopping it. She knew her death would be in mere moments.
She shut her dark blue eyes, screamed, and pressed down on the brake all at the same time, mixing the three actions into one as if they were meant to be used together. The car skid on the slick grass and as it began to spin, with the red full moon overhead casting an eerie light down over the mist-covered land, Summer's scream only intensified. Her long brown hair flew over her face, casting an even darker darkness over her eyes as the car quickened its skid and spin.
The darkness suddenly seemed to way in on her even more in her terrified, helpless state and coolness slowly eased itself around her until it had enveloped her in its icy grip. Her eyes remained closed as the chill spread throughout her body. After countless minutes, her eyes shot wide open and were met with the bright sunshine of noon and she screamed at the top of her lungs. Her eyes burned from the sudden light but she noted that all the trees were gone and her car had finally come to a stop at the edge of a shiny field.
Staggered breathing ran through her body as she gulped for more much needed air, finally allowing her screams to die down a little. Tears had welled up in her beautiful eyes and she could no longer contain them. They burst from her tear ducts and ran down her cheeks in shiny streaks; they were tears of relieved joy, not sadness. Her entire body trembled uncontrollably and as her shaking hand found the door handle, she pushed the driver door open and turned the rocking car off.
Summer stumbled out of the Lexus, still crying and gasping for air, and stared around her in unbelievable confusion. The land around her was hilly and lit by the bright sun burning away in the sky. She guessed it was around just a second ago she had been on a back road in South Carolina at nearly midnight. What was going on?
She looked out over a high green grassed field with trees and rocks dotting its hilly surface in various places and to her back was a well brown and green, thick wood with trees of all imaginable sizes and shapes towering like stone pillars towards the cloud covered blue sky overhead. A warm breeze shook the leaves and grass, rustling Summer's hair as she gathered in her surroundings, all too terrified to move or utter a single cry for help. It was as if she were dreaming or.
"Am I dead?" She asked the stirring air in front of her with a soft whispered voice of stunned bewilderment and fear. "Is this heaven?" She thought she heard a reply, a simple 'no' from somewhere in the distance but she decided that it was merely her mind playing tricks on her.
A noise in the forest caught her attention and she turned, with wide eyes scanning the thick wooded area. But she saw nothing. Deciding to get a better look, knowing it was a stupid idea; she cautiously started towards the forest, with the sun at her back and the lukewarm wind in her face. But her hope suddenly came crashing down as she neared the forest and felt the ground begin to shake with a tremendous force. The earth itself rumbled in agonizing protest as the wakes became closer, stronger, and much longer.
"Oh my God!" Summer screamed, allowing her eyes to move upward and examine the creature that emerged from the trees merely a couple hundred feet in front of her. Another scream escaped her throat as more moved out of the forest and started towards her. Each shook the earth with its footfalls, casting quakes that broke the soil.
Before Summer could turn and start back for her car, the tremendous earthquakes took her legs out from under her and she collapsed to her back in a frantic attempt at escape, which she knew would never come. Perhaps she would die in mere minutes. Perhaps her luck had finally run out.
She never took her eyes from the creatures emerging from the forest as she frantically kicked the ground with unnatural force, but she couldn't find her footing, in her fear, to get back up and finally escape.
First one creature emerged, then another, and before long seven stood on the edge of the field with still more moving forward. They all stood ten to twelve feet tall with massive, mostly well-muscled bodies. Their entire bodies were covered with gray, silver, or black fur and Summer noticed that the ones that weren't well muscled with either very weighty or very thin but still tall. Some wore long beards while others wore none at all but she noticed that all had large bold noses with dull, slightly drooping tips. With large round eyes of various colors, some with innocent looking eyes, and others with drooping eyes, they looked like eyes fit for dogs' not large lumbering creatures from inside an unnatural forest. All were clad in black boots with loose fitting trousers, and belts that crossed their shoulders or waists. None wore shirts but a couple wore loose fitting coats of forest colors.
Summer somehow found her voice and screamed again, earning all of the creatures' eyes to lock on hers'. They all stopped their advance and the two dozen or so that now stood at the field's edge regarded her with terrified, concerned eyes of their own.
Each wielded a smoothed log-varying from six to seven feet long-in their hands like staves or clubs, and some even had them strapped to their backs. The logs were inlaid with brass rings every two or three feet and apparently these were the preferred weapons of the creatures. Some of the logs had spikes or blades welded into them to for better performance in battle but each carried one as if the weight of the log was merely a feather in their iron hard grips.
Summer finally found her footing, jumped to her feet, and grabbed a nearby branch, holding it out towards them as if it were a weapon. She knew her hopes were helpless but if she could just reach her car, she might be able to get out of here. The first creature to enter the field lowered his log, leaned against it casually, and looked down at her. "Human, why are you afraid?" Its thunderous voice was soft-if that can be said-and full of worried concern. It sounded as if it was caring for another creature. "You have no need to fear us human. We are your friends."
"Where am I?" Summer asked cautiously, studying the speaking creature up and down. "And who-what-are you?" She didn't want to sound so direct towards this monster, yet somehow gentle creature, but she was terrified beyond belief and she didn't know what to believe. Maybe she had hit the trees and was passed out, half dead, in her car and this was all a bizarre dream.
"You may call me Grisindale," the rumbling voice broke the air as it left the mighty creature's mouth. His long snowy white beard, the same color as the fur that covered his body, swayed in the wind as he spoke. The contrasting colors of ivory and ebony, the colors that made up and danced across his weapon, moved as well in the bright sunlight as if they were alive. The brass rings inlaid and inscribed with runes, that circled the log as grips, seemed to hold back the power held within the smoothed, once alive tree. "I am Chief Grisindale," he balled his fist, laid it across his mighty muscled chest and bowed deeply, "and this is my tribe." As Grisindale straightened, he swept his arm out over the rest of the creatures that stood around him and still in the forest. There were dozens of them of all shapes, sizes, and colors with all various types of weapons about them. "This is the honorable Talwingil Tribe from the Elder Forest of Barl-Til."
Summer regarded the monstrous creature with wide, terrified eyes of pure confusion. "But what are you? And where am I, Grisindale?" She tried to pronounce the name and failed but the creature only nodded understandingly and smiled. This potent monster of muscle actually smiled happily at her as if it fully understood her situation.
"We are called the Turvin-Gale, human." And Summer suddenly released that in a bizarre way, this Chieftain, Grisindale, had a gentle-if it could be called that-and caring voice of concern that was directed towards her. It acted as if it were her father; as if it were a close friend of hers. "We are the Border Watchers; the Border Protectors. And you are on earth my dear human. You are on the Border of Waylin-Dor and Talisdrin."
"Earth?" Summer asked reluctantly and disbelievingly. "How can this be earth?" He gave Grisindale a sidelong look of mistrust and raised the branch again in a hopeless but stubborn pose of defense. "This doesn't make any sense. None of you can be like you exists. This can't be real! I have to be dreaming or dead!"
Chief Grisindale held his free hand out-a fur-covered hand the size of Summer's head-in the universal 'stop' motion with his palm held out towards her. "Human, we're not here to harm you. We're the protecting of the Border. We are the protectors of humankind. We are not your enemies." He tilted his head and moved forward a couple of steps. "Now please put the branch away so the air will not be disturbed with hostility. We are here to help you; we are not your enemies." His voice was a forceful plea more then anything else, and after considering it, Summer finally dropped the branch, yet it was reluctantly. "Good. And who might you be human? Surely you have a name."
Summer sighed heavily and finally nodded. "My name is Summer Tillman. I'm from South Carolina but I don't know where this is so I don't know if that'll help you in any way. I don't know what Earth I'm actually 's a big blur to me. I know I'm on the Border but none of the names sound familiar and , there's no way you can be real but yet somehow you are. I'm confused and I think I'm dreaming."
"You are not dreaming Summer," Grisindale grinned happily as he spoke. "I know not of this place, 'South Carolina' that you speak but I know that you are on the true earth. This is the year 2005 in the Elder Barl-Til's calendar. Are you familiar with this date?"
"Yes," Summer answered, shrugging and visibly shaking again. "But I still don't know how I'm here or how you're here. This does appear to be earth but it's not the earth that I know." She fell silent, and suddenly fought back tears that rose in her eyes. She smiled weakly and met the Turvin-Gale's large puppy dog-like eyes. "So, where are you going with your Tribe, Chief Grisindale?" She started to step back but thought against it and crossed her arms under her breasts instead.
The rest of the Talwingil Tribe began to pour out of the forest and cluster around their chieftain. Grisindale first nodded happily at the three dozen or more tribe members surrounding him, all returning his nod just as merrily, but he nodded at Summer Tillman. She was the only human among them.
With a thunderous sigh of tiredness, perhaps reluctance, Chief Grisindale stated, "We are merely traveling to battle, Summer. Our Borders are in danger and our allies-the human occupants-beyond the Borders are in danger. Since we are the Border Protectors, we are merely marching off to war. An evil stirs in the wake of the east and we will stop it before it can spread to encompass the rest of our Borders." He lifted the smoothed log again and laid it easily across his right shoulder. "You are welcome to travel to battle with us if you truly are a well-trained fighter. Join us in this joyous occasion as a friend-an ally-to vanquish the evil that resides in the east of our world."
"Very well," Summer replied, picking the thick branch back up and walking towards the cluster. She was later equipped with a thick brass encircled, spiked branch to bear as her weapon. "I might be about to find some answers to what this place is and why I'm here."
"Very well," Chief Grisindale repeated in a deafening tone. "We are honored to have you with us on this quest Summer Tillman of the Barrier World." She didn't know where he got that title but it somehow fit so she wasn't going to bother arguing. She now had a war title to go by and she wouldn't disappoint any of these peaceful creatures that she knew were reluctantly marching to a battle that they had wanted to avoid.

The stonewall which ran adjacent to the right of Highway 20 through Atlanta was made of granite and limestone. With five lanes per side, Highway 20 was jammed full of traffic yet the gridlock wasn't caused by an accident or construction or even a traffic jam from people leaving work. People's cars ran right behind one another almost touching, with no signs of moving anytime soon, yet the occupants still climbed from their vehicles to see what was happening up ahead.
A large circular portion of the stonewall, perhaps twenty feet in length and height, starting from the ground and moving upward and sideways, was missing. Yet the wall still held. In the circular missing portion of the wall was a large disk shaped figure, bordered in dark red, that showed into a dark land with red clouds and a rising sun. It was sunrise on the other side of that wall yet it was only midday in Atlanta, Georgia. Men moved on the other side of the wall-through that disk-but they were clad in armor and all carried medieval weapons. They rode houses and assembled in formulated ranks of infantry and cavalry.
No one on either side of the wall got close to that disk but people in Atlanta began to mutter rumors that it was a portal to another world, or it was an alien test, or it was a secret government project. The medieval men on the other side didn't seem to notice any difference in their surroundings as their ranks began to grow in number. It looked as if they were ready to march off to war.
Perhaps an hour later, with no change in positions on either side of the disk-shaped "portal", the United States Army arrived under the command of General Kyle Evans and set up their mobile headquarters a quarter of a mile from the "portal".
As General Evans sat in his office in the headquarters, viewing maps of Atlanta and photos taken of the disk-shaped black hole-the newest rumor- Corporal Bill Barr stepped in and saluted, standing at attention. "At ease corporal."
The man finished his salute and stood at ease in General Evans' presence. "Sir, people out there are beginning to worry. They don't know what it is and you know how civilian minds work sir, they're terrified. We're going to have a city wide panic if we don't do something soon."
General Evans glanced up at the man from behind his glasses, regarding the man with his cold black eyes, before running a hand through his graying brown hair. "Very well. You're right corporal. Quarantine the highway and don't let anyone but authorized personnel near that thing. Station troops around it with the order to seize anything that comes through it for questioning. Honestly, I don't know what it is either corporal but I have a feeling that it's being caused by whatever is on the other side of it."
"Yes sir," Corporal Barr replied, saluting again and exiting. General Evans reluctantly and tiredly got back to studying the maps and photos laid out across his desk.

"Sir." It was Corporal Barr again. The general knew his uncertain voice and light step anywhere. "Sir." This time closer and when the general looked up, he saw the short corporal with his big brown eyes, hooked nose, sharp chin, and thinning black hair. Another man, much younger with light green eyes, short black hair, and clad in an expensive suit, stood next to him. "Sir, this is the specialist that NASA sent to investigate the disk."
General Evans stood up and offered his hand to the man. "General Kyle Evans." His voice was rough and he thought that he hadn't looked to good with the lack of sleep. "I'm pleased to meet you. It's good that NASA is willing to provide your services to us doctor. None of us here know what this thing is. I'll be overjoyed if you could shed some light on the problem."
"Pleased to meet you as well general," the younger man replied cheerfully. He took the general's hand and willingly shook it. "I'm Doctor Phillip Herlong, Head of NASA's Galactic and Time Dimension Division. I'm glad to be here general and I do hope I can shed some light on this problem. Though let me warn you, I don't know much about what's happening here and there is that large possibility that I won't know what's happening. But I'll try my best."
General Evans smiled weakly. "That's all I'm asking for."