An aged corpse. He bore heavy wrinkles with dark circles encasing his sunken eyes. Although his mouth was buried under a patchy white beard, it was clear that his lips were paled and chipped. Fatigue was frozen onto his face. He laid upon a patch of sand which stained his loose, muted green uniform. His nametag read, “Vasquez.”
Sand. Bundles of sand began crashing onto the corpse, each strike followed by a metallic instrument stabbing the ground. The noises in succession sluggishly formed a tired rhythm.
“Hurry it up, Caleb,” a voice commanded. Caleb extracted a larger pile of sand and heaved it onto the corpse.
Out here it was quiet. The roar of jets and the chopping of propellers had long dissipated over the horizon of vast sands and wave-like ridges. The sounds of the shovel stabbing the ground echoed off the encircling mountains. As Caleb continued robotically, he decided to name this outpost after a place in his home state: Horseshoe Bend. He thought of this upon noticing how the surrounding peaks boxed the outpost in on three sides – much like the shape of a horseshoe.
He finished. One would think there was no corpse here to begin with. The sun was now just barely peeking over the western slope of the mountain.
“Caleb, you’re on guard tonight,” the same voice said. Caleb jerked up and glared at him, eyes wide with shock. “Will that be a problem?”
The voice was Vince. He towered over Caleb with a dark glare. His crossed arms were like two large rodents; Caleb felt as though Vince could tear off his head with his bare hands.
Caleb’s breathing became erratic, and he could feel the color draining away from his face. As he murmured in hushed, raspy whispers, he signed to Vince, “Did you not see his body? If I go, I’ll die too!”
As Vince began closing the gap between himself and Caleb, the sun sank behind the mountains. Caleb stumbled backwards. He continued to sign, “We don’t have a way of winning. We have to leave from here!”
“We go when I say we go. And I will say we go when we find what’s hidden here.”
As Caleb kept backing away from Vince, he noticed that a fellow soldier had been sitting idly, amused. Caleb signed to him, “Skinner, please. Help me.”
“I don’t speak sign language, bud,” Skinner chuckled as he started polishing his rifle.
Caleb’s back hit a wall. Vince was now in his face. He hunched down to meet Caleb’s eyes. Caleb felt frozen in place. There was an unbearable pause as Caleb struggled to meet Vince’s eyes.
Then, Vince looked to his right. Caleb cautiously followed his gaze. “You see that?”
Caleb was unsure of what to see. They were both looking out the mouth of the horseshoe ridge. The view was the same as it had been for the past few weeks. No. Something was wrong. Caleb squinted.
“There you go. Now you’re getting it.”
Caleb indeed saw. He signed, “Our footprints are gone. That was our last hope. Now we definitely can’t find our way back.” Chills ran down his spine. Suddenly he felt he could no longer breathe. He collapsed. Sand crept between his nails as he balled his fists in the ground. He thought to himself, *I should never have come. I should never have agreed to this. I’m so stupid. I’m so stupid.*
As if he was reading his mind, Vince said, “Afraid you got no choice now. I’ll only say it one more time. We came here to find treasure. We will leave only once we’ve found it. You’re on guard tonight. If you die, you die.”
The soft orange glow of the setting sun blanketed the desert. As Vince arranged rations for dinner, Caleb stared at the watchtower where he would be stationed. Its eagle’s nest was only a few meters high, leading one to question its utility. However, this outpost was already in such a defenseless position that the watchtower would not have added much advantage regardless of its height. Much like the rest of the outpost, the watchtower was rusted and dusty. By now, generations of soldiers had died for the hopeless purpose of guarding this cursed valley; if bullets from the peaks would not kill Caleb, the westward wind surely would.
Caleb thought, as if to reassure himself, *Maybe I’ll get a slightly better view of the desert from up there.*
He declined to join Vince and Skinner for dinner. Skinner scowled at his plate before poking it with his fork; the potatoes took on the same color as the sand – the last thing he’d want to be reminded of during dinner.
The dining room walls looked like concrete with black stains dripping from long, scattered cracks. There was a single dim, flickering yellow light bulb dangling over the middle of the room by a thin thread. The rectangle table was made of some brown metal and wobbled at the slightest disturbance. At every step on the rough, damp floor, one would feel like they were drowning their feet in grime and mold. These soldiers had long detached themselves from the hazards of unsanitary food.
Vince broke the silence. “Skinner, you perplex me.”
Skinner paused, holding a forkful of potato midway from the plate to his mouth. It was the first time Vince had ever spoken to him.
Vince continued, “You joined the army to fight for your country, that right?”
“Uh, yes sir, been my dream like my dad ‘fore me.”
“Then why come with me? You knew we wouldn’t be doing anything for our country.” Vince took a large bite. While chewing, he went on, “I couldn’t have been clearer about our goals, so there’s no way you misunderstood me. So what happened?”
Skinner fidgeted. He dared not take his bite before answering Vince’s question.
“You keep eating, Skinner, or your food’ll get cold.”
Like a machine, Skinner put the fork in his mouth and chewed slowly. His eyes didn’t meet Vince’s, but he felt his black stare piercing him. “Sir… with all due respect, why haven’t you put me on guard duty yet?”
“You feel underutilized?”
Whereas Vince’s words felt as swift as bullets, Skinner stepped over each word as if they were landmines. “Sir, I believe I’m… qualified for it.”
Vince smiled, and he patted and gripped Skinner’s shoulder. Skinner flinched. “Then you’re the dumbest goddamn soldier out of the four we started with.” Vince took his hand off Skinner and stood up to clean his plate. Walking away from the table, he spoke over his shoulder, “I mean, are you blind? Did you not see what the body looked like? Shit, I should’ve put *you* on guard duty the first night to get rid of the dead weight.”
Skinner clenched his jaw and tightened his grip on his fork. “You’re the one who’s blind, sir.” He stood up and faced Vince.
Vince stopped. He turned his head halfway behind.
“Don’t you see? Somethin’s been guardin’ the treasure. And Vasquez clearly tried to take it and run. Whatever’s been guardin’ it killed ’im.”
Vince turned around completely. He held a curious expression, but Skinner observed a hint of malice behind that glare. Nevertheless, he continued.
“What I’m sayin’ is, you put me on guard duty, and we go together to find it. That way you’ll know I’m not tryin’ to make a fool out of you, and we have a better chance of gettin’ it.”
Vince wore a smile. It made Skinner uncomfortable: it appeared timed, as if Vince had programmed it to appear once Skinner stopped talking.
He walked up to Skinner and once again patted his shoulder. Skinner flinched.
“I really think you’re on to something here. Let’s do your plan next time. I don’t think Caleb is the type to do what you’re suggesting, so he’ll join us, too.” He walked away to the bunks, and that was the end of that.
Skinner silently stood in the middle of the empty room. Something in Vince’s voice deeply unsettled him. It felt as though Vince had offered him a poisoned drink.
Moonlight washed over the horizon. An indigo haze descended upon the distant ridges. Caleb stood alert, shifting his attention between the four sides of the eagle’s nest. Even as he listened vigilantly, the night was nearly as quiet as the day. Not a single rodent scurrying around, not a single bird scavenging the dead, nothing except for the occasional dry breeze. Caleb sighed.
Hours passed. He was now lounging on the floor of the eagle’s nest. Even if he were to lay prone, his head would still be peeking above cover. *No wonder this is such a death trap*, he thought. *If I die here tonight, at least I got a nice view.* The haze had been replaced by the silhouette of a large ridge with the moon shining just behind it. The stars were more visible now. Caleb began counting them, taking note of the ones that seemed to flicker. *Some of them are satellites. I can’t remember how to tell, though.* He tried his best to exude calm, but he couldn’t hide from himself the sweat of his palms.
Creeeeeeak.
Caleb’s attention darted towards the west side of the outpost. He was unsure of what sound he would have preferred to hear. He had expected to hear footsteps in the sand, or a distant gunshot. But a door creaking open? And so nearby? *That means there’s an intruder.*
He held his binoculars up to his eyes, struggling to see through his shaking hands. He leveled his breathing and scanned the outpost. A gust of wind blew sand off the roofs of the various buildings. An object rattled against a column.
He paused at one building positioned directly behind the bunks. It was barely visible, but there was a window at the ground level through which he could see a room illuminated by a dim yellow light. He didn’t recognize this room: it was unreachable through any doors within that building. Whoever was in there clearly knew the layout of the outpost better than any of them did. Caleb continued to examine the room from his position. Inside, there seemed to be nothing but a large cylindrical brick structure about half the height of an average soldier. It had a circular opening, and within there seemed to be a dark pit. *Is that a well?*
Movement. A small shadow expanded to fill the entire room until all the light from the bulb was swallowed. Caleb was now staring at a pitch black window. Then, the light quickly returned. Vince stood at the window, staring directly at Caleb.
Caleb dropped his binoculars and stumbled backwards. He started hyperventilating in his confusion. Before he could process anything, the moon was blotted out. All the stars disappeared. The mountains ceased to exist. Finally, Caleb could no longer see what was immediately in front of him. He reached out. His hands too had disappeared. He was blinded. Tears pooled in his eyes as his hyperventilating turned into silenced whimpers.
Needles. Trillions of sharp pricks carved deeper and deeper into his skull. He attempted to scream as he held his head.
His efforts were futile. The pain only grew worse. He felt as though his brain was expanding against his skull, spawning an escalating pressure. Yet no matter how close his head felt to exploding, the pressure kept intensifying. It was as if an infinite number of syringes were injecting some liquid into his brain.
A voice rang out. It was a scream. Who was screaming? Caleb was far overwhelmed by agony to realize that it was he who was screaming. It was the first time he’d ever heard his own voice.
Vince watched from next to the well. From his point of view, the eagle’s nest of the watchtower was imprisoned by a pitch black void, as if a black hole had swallowed it. The sounds of Caleb’s screams reached him. He thought, *Fascinating. It gave him a voice.*
The screams grew in intensity. It began to sound like they were furiously rubbing against his vocal cords. He clawed at his face, sinking his nails deep enough to draw blood. He could barely gasp for air. Tears and mucus gushed out. His screams turned into a gurgle: his vocal cords had been viciously torn to shreds. Blood mixed in with his saliva. This pain he was inflicting upon himself was nothing, however. He was driven to the point of pain being a momentary reprieve from torture.
One minute had passed, and Caleb finally stopped screaming; not even the softest whisper could be heard from him. Vince watched the black void move swiftly and silently away from the watchtower and towards the bunks. In the eagle’s nest laid Caleb’s corpse, aged by at least ninety years. His eyes had sunken, and thin strands of white hair protruded from the top of his head like stems of dead flowers.
Vince tightly gripped a wooden lid as he observed the void. It didn’t take long before Skinner began to scream.
Vince started counting. One… Two… Three… Four…
On five, he slammed the lid onto the well. Immediately, the void rushed back and phased through the lid. Vince hurried over to Skinner.
He found Skinner convulsing on his bed. Saliva dripped from his mouth as he groaned. Vince wasted no time in shaking him to his senses.
“Skinner! I need you to talk. What did it do to you? What did you see?”
Skinner coughed amid gasps for air. Vince noticed that all of Skinner’s hair had fallen in piles all over his bed. The wrinkles around his eyes and mouth became more prominent. In fact, it looked like Skinner had aged a decade.
He finally calmed himself down. He stared at Vince, as though struggling to recognize him.
Suddenly, Vince felt a blunt force striking his nose. He found himself restrained; Skinner had put him in a chokehold. *When did he learn this?!* He thought. He attempted to break Skinner’s hold but was only met with an immovable mountain.
Skinner growled, “I should kill you right now. You are a depraved, sick thing.” He tightened the chokehold.
Vince, still trying to break the hold, whispered, “What… did you see?” Blood trickled out his nose.
The question only angered Skinner further. Despite this, he let Vince free.
Amid Vince’s violent coughs and gasps, Skinner spoke. “That thing. The void you’ve been playing with. It’s not guarding the treasure. There is no treasure. What you think is the treasure is the void itself.”
Vince, although panting, composed himself. “No. The void is the treasure. I’ve been experimenting with it—”
“No, no. I don’t think you understand. There is no treasure. The void is not a treasure to be sought. It is sentient, it is intelligent. You can never open that well again.”
Vince only grimaced at Skinner in response.
Skinner stormed up to him and grabbed his hair. “You listen to me. You are dealing with a force so beyond you, it’s like an ant thinking it can control the sun. If that’s not enough for you, I’ll leave you with something else.”
He let go of Vince and made his way towards the exit of the bunks. He opened the door, inviting Vince to leave with him. In the distance, past the mouth of the horseshoe, the first streaks of blue had sprouted over the horizon.
“It knew your name. But that part shouldn’t scare you. What should scare you is that it knows your name isn’t actually Vince.”