Entry for the writer's jam 2025.
Final word count: 2497.
Chosen promt : Facade (also a little bit of North, Siren and Circle).
Working title : Rusting Facade.
Far up north, on the remote peninsula, deep in the sleepy boreal forest, amidst snow-covered rocks and ridges, sits a lonely Firefighting and Rescue checkpoint. The checkpoint exists mainly to be a middleman between dozen or so local firefighter brigades operating in dying out coal mining villages and the regional HQ.
Everything on the checkpoint is robust and built to last. At least on paper. Leaky pipes, spiderdens of the computers, crusty copper wires, wonky satellite antennas and a cold war era network infrastructure.
Couple of times a month, a siren would scream out across the mountains, signaling the start of the training operation. Every brigade in the area is required to do a full inventory check and send in a status report about how they dealt with imaginary incident. What problem they faced, where it occurred, which equipment and route was used, injuries, environment etc. To not cause confusion with the actual information, all training reports are dated as if happening next month. If it’s 4th of may, the documents will be signed as of 4th of april. Among dry copy-pasted documents there is always one report that interests me. It always involves scenarios, worthy of immediate psychologist intervention. And it always, perfectly predicts weather.
Standing outside, I was slurping down thick, almost chunky, dark brown bear grease that is passed around as “Coffee”. My enjoyment of the early October snow was somewhat spoiled by the presence of the smoking lieutenant. Amongst ,flabby by comparison, civilian specialists he was a clear stand out. Neat salt and pepper buzzcut. Perfectly ironed uniform. Built like a brick shithouse. He was emanating an aura of utter certainty and could never be observed being motionless. Constantly and personally checking every moving part of the system. Despite looking as if the concept of rest was unnatural perversion to him, one can easily believe Lieutenant could take over a small country with a lit cigar and a smirk.
Official story was that he screwed up big time during a war, got demoted from the rank of colonel and was quietly sitting out the remaining years before his pension as the supervisor for the bear country squad of firefighters.
Puffing out another cloud of bitter regret he reminded me to do my job and to ignore the parker’s reports. The low-pitched, droning wail of the air raid siren began crashing into the peaks and valleys around me, before quietly dying in the distance.
Due to the neigh infinite budget cuts, checkpoint was staffed with the legless skeleton crew. A lot of two-man jobs were assigned to a single person, without any compensation. Finishing my daily tasks took well into the dusk. With childlike giddiness I opened up the newest issue of cabin fever weekly that I have put aside for dessert.
Electricity-eating interdimensional spirits. Nice.
No fires occurred. Good, less work for our boys.
Casualties. Single entry. Me.
The fear swatted away confusion and started slowly putting its spider legs underneath my skin as I stared blankly at the dim screen. A swirl of different emotions did not settle for quite some time. Presumed date of my death is still a month away. Or I could just be sharing the same mental ailment with the author. I decided to read the report again. Fourth dimensional creatures appeared, disrupted electricity and attacked a village. Aurora Borealis appeared the next day and apparitions dissipated. On the site of the incident, only one casualty was discovered. No one else was injured. Brigade requests medical evacuation for the body, and replacement of the damaged equipment.
The village in question was two days of hiking away from the checkpoint. Supervisor told me not to pay it any attention. He said that someone was just messing with me. People around here get very crafty, when dispatching overwhelming boredom. Well. This one I can't just ignore. I will go to my own funeral. If anything, it’s a once in a lifetime opportunity to do so.
Winter settled in quickly and ferociously. Snow started clogging the roads, and covering everything with a crunchy blanket. As the day of my excursion was coming closer, I began to feel more and more anxious. I tried to get an official day off, but the Lieutenant stopped me before I could even start. He matter-of-factly stated that someone is trying to get me in trouble, and rather than this childish nonsense, I should be fixing the faulty radio complex. Well, I will do exactly that. One radio tower, very conveniently placed near my goal, has started “malfunctioning”. I felt immense shame, as if I was fooling around with my father’s forbidden powertools. But the desire to experience something otherworldly and unknown overpowered rational thinking and self-preservation.
The hike was an easy one. I’ve been on this route multiple times. After the autumn, wearing thick winter boots and clothing felt uncomfortable again. Heavier yet backpack helped me to ground myself. Rather than allowing my thoughts to wander, I had to concentrate on my enburdened stride. Just put one leg in front of the other and breathe correctly. Through the nose, slowly and deeply. Cold air stung my face and I hurried to bury it into the stinging comfort of the wool scarf. Despite being here for almost two years already, the winter forest trail always felt otherworldly. As if I was intruding somewhere, where humans do not belong. But it was just a mental facade the cautious caveman brain puts up to keep you vigilant.
The first part of my journey went without any accidents. I radioed back that I'm about to stop for the night at an old semi-abandoned hunter’s cabin. A stack of dried firewood welcomed me at the doorstep. As I was reading myself to get into bed, a distant booming crackle outside ripped me out of slumber. Stepping into the cold inky darkness of the night I've heard it again. Several quickly echoing snaps. It came from the direction of my upcoming detour. Flashes of light illuminated edges of the distant hill teethed with old trees. I radioed back and gave a brief report. Response from the checkpoint came quickly. Someone is celebrating with fireworks. Cacophony quickly stopped and I was left alone, in the quiet murmur of the trees that encircled my little hideout, nearly grabbing at each other’s branches. I barely slept that night, straining my ears in effort to hear anything unusual, but my only accompaniment was soft rustling of embers in the stove.
In the morning I contacted the checkpoint over the radio again, to report on my status. Gotta keep up appearances. Sun was hidden behind the blanket of gray oppressing clouds, giving everything a dull look. As I made my way onto the hill I saw some movement down in the clearing. On the snaking narrow road several trucks were moving with surprising confidence. Weird. No one is supposed to be transporting anything here at this time of the year. I recognized the utilitarian outline of personnel army trucks, which were followed by some cement mixers. Two of them had bizzare drums, and some heavy duty machinery was attached beneath. I couldn’t get too many details, as trucks kept moving and quickly, as if shy of being seen, disappeared behind the treeline. I hesitated to report them, for I should have been going the opposite way, towards the radio tower. I made an attempt to fortify my shaky alibi, which returned only the white noise over the radio. I didn’t pay too much attention. It wasn’t unusual for a signal to not reach its intended target in these mountains.
Hills were getting steeper around my track and it forced me to get uncomfortably close to the road. A gust of northern wind srtuck my body. Piercing through all the layers of cloth, through the flesh and bone it rattled out the viscous anxiety that have clung to my chest since yesterday. Reinvigorated by that snappy startle i trudged on through resisting snow. Heavy tire tracks were still clearly visible on the road and kept leading me further. My destination was getting ever closer. Trees started to part, and i was able to catch glimpses of something orange. The strong smell of freshly minted coins washed off sweaty wool from my nostrils.
Instead of the village there was a big surgically round clearing, roughly a hundred or so meters in diameter. At the first glance it looked like a perfect circle of evenly flat polished copper. The disk was clear from the snow and slightly warm to the touch. At the edge freshly poured cement could be seen poking from underneath. Nothing made sense. My heart was desperately attempting to claw its way out of evertightening chest. This is all wrong. This sticky dream should end soon. A minute passed, but no little grey men, nor sandman appeared. Another minute passed as my eyes were wandering across the empty space in front of me. Something stuck out of the monotone copper and ripped me out of the trance. It was flicking in the wind and looked like a plastic card. As I almost involuntarily moved to take a closer look, i realised it was in fact an ID card. ID card of a firefighter and rescue checkpoint. Half-melted into the metal. Abandoning all caution and some sanity i took a short probing step onto the disk. Then another. It was my ID card. I tugged on it, and it snapped out, breaking evenly at the ground level. The exact same ID was sitting in my pocket. I suddenly felt immense pressure over me, as if air became denser. My wobbly legs gave in and i fell backwards with a dull metallic thud. Slowly crawling backwards i reached the safety of the treeline. I barely remember how i made it back to the hunter’s hut, but the sun was already setting. My body refused to move any further. Radio still gave no response to my hails. Forcing myself to calm down through shuddering breaths i stepped into the still somewhat warm hut. Instinctively i closed the small window and barricaded the door with a chair. It wouldn’t do much if anyone decides to break in. Flare pistol gave me some fake reassurance in safety. Rather than starting the easily spottable fire, i cracked one of the emergency heat packets and tucked myself into the darker corner of the room.
Came morning, and no martians, nor secret agents, nor vendigo came knocking. I drank resin-thick cold coffee, to lie to my own sleep-deprived body. It could never replace a good night's sleep, but it was still better than nothing. With nothing else to do, I paranoidly slowly moved back to my outpost.
Old grey facade of the checkpoint with the bright yellow metallic roof seemed very welcoming and homely in the early dusk light. I opened up the door and the warmth of the inside struck me. Before I could enjoy it, the gaping barrel of the pistol was pointed at me. Lieutenant was holding his issued weapon and drilled me with the look of overwhelming intensity. He asked me which brand of cigarettes he smoked and I responded. Officer hesitated for a moment, and then slowly lowered his gun, never moving it too far from my direction. He commanded me inside and to get down to the basement. Still confused, but afraid, I obeyed. In the dimly lit room, on an improvised table made out of several dusty boxes, was laying a new, lively shiny body bag. He invited me to open it up. Inside, I saw my own face with glossy eyes staring into the ceiling. I leapt backwards from it and crashed into the wall, sliding down. My head was spinning as the look on my own dead face kept searing itself deeper into my still alive brain. Lieutenant demanded explanations in a lethally cold voice I never quite heard from him. I couldn’t quite process what he said and he repeated himself, raising his gun. Stuttering and still shaken, I recollected everything: weird reports, weather prediction, my way to the village, being an idiot, lights, trucks, copper disk, id. He demanded to see both of the ID’s. I sheepishly slid them to him on the floor. He slowly crouched, never taking focus off aiming at me and gave plastic rectangles a quick glance. He sighed with relief and put the gun away. Helping me back up, he basically dragged me like an unwilling marionette out of the basement, and seated me in the mess hall. A cup of actually very nice coffee landed in my hands as he began explaining.
The purpose of the checkpoint is to create a real paper trail to cover for the military operations in the area. Every now and then, demolition squads would bombard certain spot in the mountains, then pave over them and cover it with molten copper. That was procedure, and it was connected to something of absolute secrecy. Locals were moved away from the spot under pretense of seismic activity, but were required to still live in the region. His job was to keep an eye on everything at the ground level and investigate the anomalous reports. Their source was still not discovered. My body double was found with the marks of electrical damage. Lieutenant assumed that I went to the forbidden spot during the night, and got killed. Coverup story of a bear attack was already created, and since yesterday I was officially dead. I gave him a concerned look and he was quick to somewhat calm me down. He is supposed to keep the entire thing under the covers. Having a witness like me would be a catastrophe for him, but he strictly opposes unnecessary deaths. This attitude was the actual reason he got in trouble back in the army.
Lieutenant had a buddy, stationed down south. His secret way out, in case some serious shit hit the fan. I was to get to him on foot, and use the code phrase. He would help me to get back to the mainland, and disappear off the radar. Under no circumstances should I approach anyone about what happened here and live quietly. But I had to move out now, before two other firefighters returned. Having no choice, nor time to think, I agreed. Beats being dead. As if it was just another task, he gave me instructions and recommendations on how to avoid being detected. Lieutenant smiled, squeezing my hand in a warm fatherly manner and yanked me into a hearty quick hug at the door. As I began my long walk I looked up. In the bleeding dusk, early waves of aurora borealis started dancing their way through the skies.
I couldn’t hear him talking to the sniper over the radio. The instructions were mechanically clear. To lead me several kilometers away from the checkpoint, and only then shoot. Then dispose of the body in a standard manner.