Depthless Read online

  Depthless

  N.S. Efrat

  CONTENTS

  PART 1: Vary

  I: Bound of the Bright • 6

  II: The Ball • 16

  III: Castaway • 25

  PART 2: Faith

  IV: Static • 35

  V: Two Paths, One Road • 46

  VI: Something • 59

  VII: Nothing but Faith • 70

  VIII: Jamie • 80

  PART 3: Cost’s

  IX: Where We’ve Been • 92

  X: An Arm • 101

  XI: Red Wood • 110

  XII: You're Alive • 117

  XIII: Days without a bite • 133

  XIV: Shimmer • 141

  PART 4: Choices

  XV: The Little Place • 149

  XVI: A Second Chance • 156

  XVII: Monster • 163

  XVIII: You’ll be Sorry • 172

  XVIV: What’s Real • 183

  XX: Melody of Mercy • 190

  XXI: It All Goes Away • 197

  XXII: Squeal and It’ll Come • 203

  XXIII: End all • 215

  To Naji

  “I suppose monsters were people once…”

  N.S. Efrat

  I: Bound of the Bright

  Till Ranch, California

  December 3rd, 1952

  Hudson raced back, his heart pounding. He passed the wall of graffiti. End to the Soviets It wrote. He took this opportunity to hide behind the wall and check behind him for the sight of either Giovani or the lieutenant, both of whom were thirsting to find him. Hudson slicked back his neatly combed caramel-colored hair as he continued to run. He could see his bunkhouse in the distance. His escape was only a few feet away.

  He ran right into the shed letting out a sigh of relief, aware that he had just managed to slip away from the day’s final routine; the daily run. Hudson was alone, and if anyone were to figure out about him ditching training, it would be the end of him.

  Since morning, Hudson had been on foot either running an errand for the lieutenant or scraping the gum from the bleachers. At this moment, life for him was no easy task. Every day would only worsen with tensions growing within his naval league. Seeing that, any day now the word would be spoken regarding the mission.

  Hudson groaned as he mulled over it. Not long from now someone would be chosen, and it most certainly would not be him. Instead, it would be one of his stuck-up compatriots. Being an underdog like himself set the stage for his failure. Regardless of his stride, he would fail. That is how it was and how it always had been.

  Nevertheless, Hudson remained strong and optimistic recalling what his mother told him before he was drafted. People will try to bring you down, but you’re the only one that can keep yourself up. He stewed over these words while scampering to his bed. When Hudson arrived in his runty corner, he lowered his head to his so-called bed.

  Before him were two trash cans piled against one another with a sheet smack in the middle. Surrounding that were old bunk-beds. The joint contained housing for nearly eighteen sailors, and as soon as they would arrive it would surge with sound.

  He hopped onto the bed, his knees whacking on impact. As he landed a foul clang was heard either from his bed or from the outside. Whatever or whoever it was, Hudson found no fright of the matter. He scrunched his knees by his head and began to steadily drift away. Before dozing off, he observed a clear picture of the room.

  A table was in the center with beds surroundings him, and a reflective glass wedged between the wooden walls. He saw himself for a split-second the reflection dazzling him. In the panes was his sprinkled square face displayed alongside his rosebud scowl. Hudson had a slim build and wore a polo shirt with dull gray slacks.

  He became immersed in his own reflection; this being the first time he had given himself a good long look since the draft, or more accordingly since his life went to hell. Before the draft, he had his mother and a job as a newspaper deliverer. The boy woke up every morning to the scent of the newly printed press and went on to spread the copies around his small town. It was a well-paying job one he considered a gift.

  Back home in Nikevines Massachusetts, he’d spent nearly all day spreading the news, then ended up at home with a book and a cup of tea in hand. That was Hudson’s life. And, he loved it that way.

  It was great till the foul government took it from him. The general stated that they required more soldiers due to the looming war. Hence on the day, he turned eighteen, Hudson was stripped of his life and thrown into this godforsaken compound, very so far from home.

  In the past year, he had made friends, fought foes, and grieved. He just wanted to be home with his mother. Alas, that was just a dream.

  Suddenly, amid one of his many wandering thoughts, the door burst’s open and a towering figure began running his way. Hudson instinctively jumped. He dug into his backside pocket and took out a half-melted plastic fork. He heaved it at the figure, only to realize this was no foe, yet the opposite.

  “Hudson!” the man barked his voice in pure terror.

  Hudson sent his fork back into his slacks and stood upright to his friend.

  “Yeah Dante,” Hudson asked the muscular man before him.

  “It’s Gio,” Dante warned, his voice bitter.

  Hudson motioned his palm onto his mouth disclosing his gasp. In one split-second his mood swayed from sleepy to hyper. Dante scratched his buzz cut while rubbing his chiseled chin. He yanked Hudson by the collar and escorted him down the dwelling towards the door. However, Hudson could barely move forward his mind buzzing with horrid images of the past people that Giovani fought.

  “Come on!” Dante shrieked.

  Yet, before Dante could even thrust for the knob, the gloomy shaded door snapped into two, with the bolts springing from their place. They flew to the other end of the den with a loud whoosh. Dante stumbled backward with Hudson beside him.

  The colossal figure was laid bare as he stepped from the cloud hissing at them. As smoke rose from the fallen debris, Giovani showed off his muscles. He pranced Dante’s way of attempting to infuriate him. Side by side of each other, Giovani towered in comparison. One by one the Italian’s feet came crashing to the floor causing little shockwaves. He nearly tipped over as Giovani rubbed his chocolate looking goatee.

  Giovani pointed, peering down at Dante, “Beat it!” he demanded while nudging his broad chest at Dante.

  In a flash, Dante disappeared only to be seen hiding in the corner. Hudson glanced Dante’s way with a furious frown. He was shocked to see his friend make flight so quickly. After all, they had been friends for nearly a year. The room began to pile up with energetic bloodthirsty men. They filed in one by one, crowding around Giovani and Hudson.

  “Fight, fight, fight…” they chanted.

  Hudson attempted to retreat yet was met with shoves driving him back into the center of the mess. Hudson leered at Giovani admiring his black eyes that matched with his red skin. While a large hand gripped his shoulder, he tried to picture happy things, yet was unable to hold his composure. It began to tighten harder and harder to the point where it felt like a heart test. He could no longer bear it, and urinated on himself, yellow liquid spewing from his trousers to the tiles below.

  Giovani caught onto the noise and gazed down in curiosity. When he noticed the act, he raged barking like a dog, the pee just beside his bed.

  “OH, Wittman you screwed up!” Giovani howled, his voice similar to a siren.

  Giovani looped around one last time just to see the size of his audience. To behold was a vast variety of soldiers, the whole litter yearning violence and Giovani was not one to second guess his audience. He chuckled and jerked for Hudson. The boy squirmed as his feet were lifted from the ground. Hudson was pinned to the wal
l his head aching from the whack. He whined, but this didn’t bother anyone.

  “Please don’t,” Hudson begged.

  Yet Giovani had already lifted his fist meaning it was showtime. Hudson shut his eyes and snagged backward anticipating a mouth full of fists. But as seconds dragged on, he realized something was off. The noise in the room had gone down to a frightening level, and the fist had yet to touch him. Hudson heard whispers nearby.

  “Guys look. Phifer’s coming,” a voice shrieked.

  Phifer was their lieutenant, the one Hudson feared.

  “Everyone in position,” another whispered.

  On that note, Hudson tumbled to the ground and opened his eyes to see the men form one straight line, all of them standing upright. He was the last to get up due to his lack of focus. When he ultimately rose from the wet tiles, the door slammed open a blitz of wind following with it.

  Stoically, the lieutenant appeared from the darkness, a cold front approaching while he gazed at them.

  Once he arrived everyone went silent, even fear brewed inside of Giovani. The lieutenant glanced at Hudson, then Giovani, as if he knew of their fight. Hudson gulped when he took a step. The lieutenant had a dog-looking face, his nostrils large, and his ears tiny. He was pale and hairless. He wore green colored military garb with a hat that veiled his wrinkly eyes and boots that reached his shin.

  With every step Hudson’s heartbeat quicken. He prepared for the outcome, whether it be from his ditching on his duties or the fight. Whatever the case, Hudson was a dead man. When the lieutenant arrived, he stared Hudson straight in the eye keeping his mouth shut. The man tilted his oval-shaped head back while cracking his jaw.

  There was a pause, where everyone in the room grew curious. It had been minutes, and Phifer had still not spoken a word. At last, he finally made a move. Phifer swung by Hudson and hurtled down the line not paying attention to any of the other faces but Giovani’s. When he arrived at the scene the man taunted him with a foul gaze.

  “Hudson Wittman and Giovani Moore to my office NOW!”

  Giovani and Hudson exchanged a glance. The pair were now in the same boat.

  “Sir we…” Giovani stuttered.

  “Save it,” Phifer roared as he gestured them to the door. Giovani followed the instructions on that cue and ran for the door. However, Hudson didn’t budge. The boy was scared for his life.

  After seconds went by, the lieutenant doubled in a fury, smoke piling out from his ears. He stormed Hudson’s way, faster than a cheetah.

  “Wittman, you go to my office now, or I’ll take you there myself!”

  After a vast period of consideration, he saw it best to stay put. However, that did not work out so well when Phifer snatched him by the ear in an abrupt fashion. He went on to heave Hudson out of the door with only one hand. As he reached the outside, Hudson was met by Giovani, the once fierce figure now no more than a disgruntled rat.

  After a long stride, they reached Phifer’s office. The building much more elegant than their own. From the outside, it looked like a palace in comparison to their housing. The lieutenant grasped the knob and opened the door. He stared at them awaiting their next movement.

  Giovani stepped forward and whispered, “Wittman, you’re a dead man!”

  Giovani entered the vicinity first and was met with four men standing beside Phifer’s desk. These men were around the same height each wearing distinctive black suits, black sunglasses, and of course their signature black ties. No doubt they were from the government.

  “Sit,” the whiniest one squealed. Giovani gulped and peered back at Hudson.

  He watched at his foe lurked behind him; his back slanted and his eyes dazed with confusion.

  “Come on we don’t have all day,” Phifer ordered as he nudged Hudson.

  He trembled but obeyed. Hudson pranced to the seat and settled before the lieutenant’s desk. He fell into its warm feathered cushion and was shocked, this was paradise compared to his trash can of a bed.

  Not long after Hudson and Giovani were settled, they were met with handshakes from all the men. Giovani’s grip was firm unlike Hudson’s frail one.

  “So, what brings you, men, here?” Giovani said with artificial charisma.

  All at once they all disclosed their badges. When the flap flew open, the inside of the badge was visible. Somewhere underneath the gold texture of the eagle, Hudson made out the fine print. Department of Defense. At this instant, they both knew that this sudden revelation was far from a punishment. Instead it was an honor. Hudson jerked his head back to look at Phifer but was met with an unwelcome stare.

  As he glanced close by Phifer’s shoulder, he saw two bright, blue, bulging eyes peeking through the blurry glass. He could tell it was Cole because of his distinctive silver tooth. Hudson rolled his eyes as he recollected his past with Cole.

  He was no friend nor foe. Instead, he was a bug that could not be squashed. At all times of the day, you’d see him either eavesdropping on others or rambling about his so-called accomplishments. Cole was most the one most likely to be given the position, and any sign of competition brought out the worst in him.

  “Mr. Wittman” someone whispered.

  Hudson quivered when he heard the voice, almost as if he were in a trance, “Uh yes?”

  “I’m sure lieutenant Phifer has spoken to you about this,” one of them said as he revealed two sealed envelopes in his palm.

  Hudson and Giovani shook their heads in unison, both baffled. The man with the white envelopes eyed Phifer with a disappointed expression, then proceeded to hand the envelopes to them.

  Hudson loomed over the letter while Giovani tore it open. The man in black stared at Hudson waiting for him to open it. After many seconds of intimidation, Hudson began to carefully tend to the letter. He gripped the top crevices and followed through with the same routine he would when opening the newspaper; start from the top, tear down a smidge, and slip It out.

  This was the most efficient way back then and still was to this day. As he opened it, he heard his fellow soldier let out a wild gasp. Whatever was contained in this was no mere greeting.

  The first thing he saw as he uncovered the letter was the bold signature of both the President of the United States and the General himself.

  Dear Mr. Wittman,

  We are aware of your draft and are sincerely sorry. However, in this dire age, we need men more than ever, and you are one of the brightest. I’m sure you know of the incoming mission and are doubtful of it but let me assure you by announcing your pardon from the navy. Well not a pardon exactly, a shift. We would like your young expertise on the critical mission ahead. More details will follow, but for now, obey the agents.

  Warm Regards,

  General Krantz

  Hudson perched petrified unable to comprehend this. How could he have been chosen? Out of all the soldiers, he was the one they desired. Giovani was the first to react with a high sounding shrill.

  “Yeah baby,” Giovani said excitedly.

  Hudson instead sighed. After all, he was still struggling to process what he had just read. Why would they ever wish for a young man like him? He was only nineteen after all.

  One of the men in black handed him a briefcase. “There’s a van waiting outside. You both have two minutes before it leaves.”

  Hudson’s body jolted as he snatched the briefcase from the man’s fingertips. He felt as if he were walking on air as he exited the narrow doorway. However, before he could reach the stairwell, he overheard a man call his name.

  “Yes, sir?” he said as he turned back.

  The man paused and stared intently as he mumbled, barely audible under his breath. “And please, don’t speak of this…”

  Hudson nodded and continued to the stairwell, this time with no such interruptions. As he withdrew from the cabin, he felt both pleasure and liberty as if he had just been freed from his sentence.

  In the meantime, Giovani who had not left his post tapped his foot impatiently mull
ing over one lingering question, “Phifer!” he said awkwardly.

  “Hmmm?” Phifer responded surprised that the man was still there.

  “Why Wittman?” he stammered with a dull look.

  “I wouldn’t know, all the people chosen for this aren’t the usual picked. All I can say is don’t screw it up!”

  With that Giovani was escorted out of the room and reminded of the impending time limit. He trailed after Hudson who was only yards away. Once he arrived at Hudson’s side, Cole emerged from the shadows with a sly grin. “So, what was that all about?” he lipped with a nosy whine.

  “I…it’s…” Hudson could not find the words to speak.

  “What? Did Phifer beat your ass?” Cole smirked.

  Giovani hated Hudson, yet his fury for Cole paled in comparison, “Aye Cole, back off will ya?”

  Cole twirled in the direction of Giovani and put out his blistery palms.

  “Oh well isn’t it munchy…” Cole started.

  This was a term he would use to joust hate at Giovani. Giovani reached for him, Cole was surprised when met with a firm grab. As he grabbed Cole’s hand, he dug his nails deep into the man’s wrists, like a gopher would in wintertime. The pressure rose until Cole’s bones pulverized to nothing more than dust.

  Giovani skipped away humming a joyful tune as Cole gazed up in shock. He stood there motionless as Hudson and Giovani parted from him. He called out their names and Hudson looked back for a brief moment only to be yanked away by Giovani.

  Giovani reeled him close, his breath moist as he whispered into his ear.

  “We’re not friends, or buddies, or whatever you call’em. We just happen to be on the same mission, and we’re both going to do well… aren’t we?” he sneered as he waited for a response.

  The boy nodded promptly.

  “Good,” Giovani uttered with a grin.

  “Now let’s pack up!” he said as he paced. He stomped through the door which was already open for his arrival. Giovani was met by his fellow sailors who questioned him, yet he remained quiet as he began to sort through his possessions.