The Transall Saga
Table of Contents
Title Page
part - 1
chapter 1
chapter 2
chapter 3
chapter 4
chapter 5
chapter 6
chapter 7
chapter 8
chapter 9
chapter 10
chapter 11
chapter 12
chapter 13
chapter 14
chapter 15
chapter 16
chapter 17
chapter 18
chapter 19
chapter 20
part - 2
chapter 21
chapter 22
chapter 23
chapter 24
chapter 25
chapter 26
chapter 27
chapter 28
chapter 29
chapter 30
chapter 31
chapter 32
chapter 33
chapter 34
chapter 35
part - 3
chapter 36
chapter 37
chapter 38
chapter 39
chapter 40
chapter 41
chapter 42
chapter 43
chapter 44
chapter 45
chapter 46
chapter 47
chapter 48
chapter 49
chapter 50
chapter 51
chapter 52
chapter 53
chapter 54
chapter 55
chapter 56
EPILOGUE - Twenty Years Later
WANTED FOR WAR CRIMES DEAD OR ALIVE - THE WHITE FOX
About the Author
ALSO AVAILABLE IN LAUREL-LEAF BOOKS:
Copyright Page
This can’t be happening. Mark edged toward the nearest tree. The instant he moved, the beast spotted him. It pawed the ground with its large hooves and lowered its massive head to attack.
There was no time to think. Mark jumped for the closest branch and swung up into the tree just as the sharp tusks rushed underneath him. The animal stopped and sniffed the air again. Unable to locate its victim, the creature snorted and ambled off into the red forest.
Mark stayed on the branch. He was shaking and his mind was a whirl. "All right. Would a hallucination attack me? This must be a real place," he whispered. "But where is it? And how did I get here?"
part
1
chapter 1
The desert was unusually quiet. A gentle breeze tumbled over the sparse vegetation along the wide canyon floor and then continued on its way to the north.
Thirteen-year-old Mark Harrison sat on a white slab of shale studying a small army of ants that was carrying off the crumbs that had dropped from a granola bar he’d just eaten.
A roadrunner, unaware of his presence, trotted to the base of the rock and stopped near a crimson cactus flower. Mark shifted position and it scurried away in the opposite direction.
He yawned even though it wasn’t late. The sun hadn’t completely faded behind the blue-gray mountains to the west. Still, he had put in a long day. He’d walked farther that day than on any of the previous three days and he was ready to turn in.
His parents had given him just one short week to backpack across the old Magruder Missile Range. And if he didn’t meet them at the appointed spot on the other side by Saturday afternoon his mom had threatened to call out the National Guard.
Hiking and backpacking were Mark’s one obsession. He saved every dime of his paper-route money to buy equipment and now he had some of the best. In his spare time he studied survival books and magazines to stay up on the latest techniques. But so far he had been allowed to hike only short, easy trails and had actually camped out only twice in his life. This time he’d hit the jackpot, though.
Mark stretched, ran his hand through his short brown hair and grabbed his bedroll and pack. He’d decided to make camp in the canyon. The quiet here was a little unnerving for a city boy, but there was a trickle of water, and a dead tree that protruded from the south wall would provide plenty of firewood.
When the small blaze was crackling and his bed was made, Mark stretched out on the soft down sleeping bag and stared up at the stars. This was the life he wanted for himself. Someday he’d fix it so that he was always camping under the wide-open skies.
He yawned again and was just about to settle in for the night when a flaming ball of fire shot over the edge of the canyon wall.
The fiery thing was the size of a grapefruit and glowed bright orange around its blue edges. It danced and sputtered when it touched the ground. Then it fizzled away to nothing.
Mark snapped on his flashlight and found his camera. He scrambled to the top of the dirt wall and peeked over. To his right, behind a huge rectangular boulder, was a bright, iridescent beam of bluish white light that seemed to be projected at the ground from somewhere in the sky.
For a full minute he stood transfixed, watching the strange tube of light. It had two sections, each supercharged with electricity. The sides pushed mightily against each other, but both were equal in power, so nothing moved except for an occasional shooting spark caused by the tremendous friction.
He shook his head. This was worth looking into. Maybe it was some sort of experiment the air force had once conducted out here and then forgotten about, or maybe ... He swallowed. Maybe it was something not from this planet at all.
Mark inched closer, snapping pictures as he went. When he reached the boulder he used his flashlight to search for a way up and began climbing.
The top of the big rock was flat. He pulled himself up and sat, staring again. The inside of the tube contained myriad surging colors: reds, blues and yellows. It was like watching a spectacular laser light show being performed just for him.
Slowly he put out his hand to see if the light generated heat. Too late, he heard the rattle—and felt the snake strike.
He jerked his hand back and leaped to his feet. The sudden movement threw him off balance and he fell, off the boulder and into the light.
chapter 2
The air was thick and humid and smelled of a coming rain. Mark opened his eyes. It was daytime but the sun seemed to be hidden by clouds, and everything was in shadow. His head was pounding and felt as if it weighed a ton.
He tried to remember. The light. There was the tube of blue light and then ... the snake. He glanced at his hand, which was resting comfortably on his chest. It wasn’t swollen at all. Even more curious, it didn’t hurt.
Mark brought it closer. There were no marks anywhere from the rattler’s bite. He flexed his fingers. They worked fine. It was as if nothing had happened. He dropped his arm and let it rest in the tall red grass beside him.
Grass? Red? Mark rubbed his temples. I must be delirious, he thought. He turned his head. Trees. There were trees here. So many that they blocked his view of the sky. Their leaves were a dull burnt red like the tall grass and the tangled brush that surrounded them.
Something’s wrong. Mark pulled himself to a sitting position. He’d read about this, about snakebite and what happened. It must be the snake venom. It’s gone to my head and now I’m having hallucinations.
He took a deep breath and stood up. The sandy desert landscape was gone. It had changed to dense jungle. The canyon he had camped in the night before was nowhere in sight. The boulder and the blue light were gone too. Nothing looked the same.
A snorting sound came from beyond the trees. A large hairy animal resembling a buffalo charged into the small opening. It had long tusks, beady eyes and a piglike snout. The thing waved its shaggy head back and forth, sniffed the air and bellowed.
This can’t be happening. Mark edged toward the nearest tree. The instant he moved, the beast spotted him. It pawed the ground with its large hooves and lowered its massive head to attack.
There was no time to think. Mark jumped for the closest branch and swung up into the tree just as the sharp tusks rushed underneath him. The animal stopped and sniffed the air again. Unable to locate its victim, the creature snorted and ambled off into the red forest.
Mark stayed on the branch. He was shaking and his mind was in a whirl. "All right. Would a hallucination attack me? This must be a real place," he whispered. "But where is it? And how did I get here?"
He thought back to the night before and the energy-charged light. It has to be. Whatever that blue light was, it’s the key. When I fell into the tube it transported me to ... to where? I don’t even know if I’m on Earth anymore.
An empty feeling in his stomach let him know that it was past breakfast. He shrugged it off and continued to reason with himself. Okay, I’m in another world, possibly on another planet. One with red rubbery leaves and weird-looking animals. But I’m still me. My clothes are the same. I still get hungry. So what do I do now?
He glanced around to make sure the buffalo creature was gone, and slid down from the tree. The thing to do ... For a full half minute nothing came. No idea. Then he shrugged. The thing to do ... is look around. Let’s see what we’re dealing with here.
Walking was difficult. The brush was thick and snarled in knots and tore at his jeans legs. Seeing more than a few feet ahead was impossible except in an occasional clearing.
It was raining now. It sounded like a heavy rain but the drops were barely able to penetrate the canopy. Only a few landed on the ground around him.
He stuck out his tongue and caught a drop on the tip. It didn’t taste like the rain back home. This stuff was bitter. It also smelled like the medicine his mother made him take when he had the flu.
Shaking his head, he pulled his compass from his jeans pocket. The needle spun wildly, then settled on a direction to his right. He shoved the compass back into his pocket.
"For the sake of argument"—it made him feel better to talk aloud—"let’s say there is a north here. Then if I keep going this way ..." He took two steps and found himself in gooey red mud up to his knees. He tried to climb out but every time he moved, it sucked him down.
Quicksand.
No ... Don’t panic. You know about this. Remember, you read about it in Hiker magazine.
The red ooze quickly reached his thighs and continued to pull him down.
Okay... flat. That’s it. Don’t fight, remember. Get flat and swim your way out, pushing the muck away from your face. He took a breath and fell over on his stomach. The mud instantly grabbed at his clothing, glued itself to his face and dragged him under. His whole body was now covered with the slime.
Using every ounce of strength, Mark struggled against the mud but the precious few inches he managed to gain were quickly lost as he was sucked down again.
He couldn’t breathe. Wildly he threw out his arms, trying to reach above him with his fingers.
His left hand caught something solid near the edge of the pit. A root. He pulled and when his head cleared the top he gulped in air. Using his other hand, he grabbed some underbrush and kept tugging until finally his upper body was resting on solid ground.
He wiped at the slime blocking his nostrils, took a deep, raspy breath and dragged his legs out. He was too tired to get up. Rolling onto his side, he curled up in the thicket and closed his eyes.
Above him the red leaves in the trees rustled. Something soft and warm plopped on his forehead. He opened his eyes. There were birds up there. Reaching for a fistful of grass, he wiped the bird poop off his muddy face without taking his eyes off the trees. It was hard to spot the birds because they were the same color as the leaves, but the longer he stared, the clearer they became. They had wide feathers the same shape as the leaves and long brownish beaks that blended with the branches.
At least something lives in this stupid place besides that buffalo thing. Mark inched to his feet. The slimy red mud dropped off him in clods, leaving a thick drippy goo clinging to his skin and clothes.
He was exhausted and his mouth was dry from sucking air. Water. If I’m going to survive this... dream ... or whatever it is, I need to find water.
Careful to skirt the quicksand, Mark made his way through a wall of brush to a large red meadow of tall wavy grass where he could actually see patches of sky. But instead of the bright blue color that had been there yesterday the sky was a hazy yellow.
A rabbitlike creature with long, curly hair hopped across the clearing on its hind legs like a kangaroo. When it saw him the fuzzy thing bounced away.
Mark watched the animal disappear. I feel like Alice in Wonderland. All I need now is to find the Mad Hatter.
The sudden rain had left shallow puddles in a few places across the meadow. Mark dropped to his knees and scooped the bitter liquid into his mouth. It was the only water available so it would have to do. Maybe, he thought, not at all sure of the answer, maybe it won’t kill me.
He drank until his sides hurt and his stomach threatened to send it all rushing back up. Then he fell into the tall grass to rest. Maybe he’d just stay here a while ... take a nap ... or—
His back was on fire. He leaped to his feet and began swatting wildly at his skin. Now his arms and legs were burning too. Tubular, scorpionlike insects with antennas and long pincers swarmed over him, biting small chunks out of his skin. It felt as if they were eating him alive.
Mark ripped off his shirt, shook it and used it to try to scrape them off. The bugs didn’t want to let go. They hung on to his flesh with both pincers. He smashed those he could reach with his hand. Some had to be pulled off, along with tiny pieces of his flesh.
Between the cracks in the red mud on his skin, huge pink welts grew, covering his back, neck, chest and arms.
To make doubly sure he had all the bugs off, Mark ran to a tree and scraped his back against it. Then he removed his boots, jeans and shirt and the rest of his clothes.
Laying his pocketknife, matches and compass aside, he picked up his jeans and shook them vigorously. When he was positive his pants were bug free, he gingerly put his foot into one leg.
Behind him he heard a familiar deep roar. He stiffened. Without looking, he dropped the jeans and raced behind the tree.
The buffalo creature rammed the trunk in front of Mark. Birds spewed out from the branches, making loud screaming noises. The commotion didn’t stop the creature. It backed up a few steps, then charged again, continuing to ram the tree until one of its long tusks became lodged in a crack.
Mark used the opportunity to escape into the dense brush at the other side of the clearing. By the time the beast had dislodged itself, Mark was sitting safely in the lower branches of another tree.
The creature sniffed the air. It had lost its prey again. The thing angrily stomped around the tree until it discovered Mark’s shirt and ripped it to shreds. Then it started on one of his hiking boots.
"No!" Mark yelled. "I need those."
The beast stopped. It blew out snot and trotted to the center of the meadow with the boot still in its teeth.
The stupid thing can’t see more than about ten feet, Mark thought. He carefully climbed down the tree and slowly moved behind another one. Keeping trees between himself and the beast, he managed to circle the meadow.
Finally the animal gave up hunting for him and crashed back into the forest.
Mark ran to his clothes. His shirt was a rag. One boot was missing and his jeans had been ground two inches into the wet soil.
chapter 3
Mark slumped against the tree. He was still in his underwear and socks, clutching his meager possessions. They included a pair of torn, filthy jeans, a belt, one boot, a broken compass, a watch, a smashed box of splintered matches, a knife and the tattered cloth that had been his shirt.
The bug bit
es were beginning to itch. He was hungry and miserable. Closing his eyes as tight as he could, he willed this awful place and all the strange things in it to go away.
He opened his eyes. Nothing had changed. Wherever he was, this was reality. He was alone in this bizarre land and if he wanted to stay alive he would have to find ways to feed and take care of himself.
Snatching some of the red grass, he held it up to his nose. It smelled like grass even though it was the wrong color. Hesitantly, he put a little in his mouth. It tasted like grass too. He spat it out.
Mark scraped the mud off his watch. It had stopped working. His stomach told him that if time in this place was anywhere near the same as on Earth, it was just after noon and he’d already missed two meals.
At home his parents were probably eating lunch about now. Thinking about his parents made him feel more alone. They wouldn’t know he was missing for another two and a half days. And then what? Even if his mom called out half the army reserves, they’d never find him. Not here. Not in this primitive world that was accessible only through the strange energy tube.
"Well, hotshot," Mark said, sighing. "You wanted to live by yourself ..."
Resting his chin on his knees, he listened to the jungle noises around him. The trees creaked and the large flat leaves swayed in the breeze. There was an occasional shrieking sound he recognized as birdcalls.
He sighed again, then stood up and warily pulled on his filthy, damp jeans. Not wanting to ruin his socks, he took them off and stuffed them in his remaining boot, along with what was left of his shirt. Then he put his knife, matches and compass in his pocket and started walking.
His plan was to keep going until something better than what he’d already seen presented itself.
It didn’t.
The jungle grew darker, more tangled and more overgrown. Vines hung snakelike from the trees all around him. Grotesque lizards with abnormally large heads darted in and out of the foliage. And there was a new sound. In the tops of the now almost black trees, he could hear animals chattering. They made a clicking noise like stone hitting stone.
Squinting, he scanned the branches overhead. Twice he thought he saw something move but couldn’t quite make out what it was.