Green picked up a wilted, rain-soaked cardboard six-pack carrier from the ground and tossed it through the hole, then peeked on the other side. Nothing.
“Cardboard isn’t the most resilient of substances,” Valentina said.
“I know. But, hey, at least I got rid of some of the litter.”
“Mr. Green, this is a one-of-a-kind tear in reality. It isn’t a rubbish bin. Don’t make light of it.”
He sighed.
“I’m not. Look, it’s currently terrifying me, and I want to do something to push back. So, I’m experimenting, okay? I’m taking your advice.”
He snatched up a disposable plastic lighter and tossed it through. There was a soft insectile buzz beyond the pines and when he rounded the trees to look he found a perfectly round two-inch burrow leading down into the soft soil. A thin coil of bronze smoke snaked from the fresh opening in the earth.
“I appreciate the virtue of experimentation,” Valentina said, “but I advise against frivolous interactions with something as powerful and unruly as this. I risked a demonstration so you would understand our situation. At this point, there’s nothing to be gained by risking more. Do not poke the bear, Mr. Green.”
He swallowed.
“Fair point. I can’t stop thinking about what that thing would do to a person. I guess it’s like standing on a subway platform. Some part of my brain can’t help imagining taking a leap in front of the train.”
Valentina collected two stacks of sample bags from beside her pack. She shook her head.
“It may come to that, but let us hope for a safer solution.”
The idea loosed butterflies in his stomach.
“Those other times you mentioned…When stepping through was used to close the door? What were those other rifts like?”
“Twice before, yes. Both cases exhibited much more limited, stable effects.”
“Only twice?”
“Large sample sizes are not a luxury our field of study typically affords. There was the Galveston covered bridge. It was closed in such a way, but months of testing indicated it consistently led six minutes into the past. Predictable. Still, the cryptonaturalist who closed it experienced that six-minute journey as a subjective month navigating a silent, lightless maze by feel with no end in sight. No sleep. No hunger. No thirst. Just endlessly pressing on down dark, winding corridors. A harrowing prospect.”
Green’s jaw dropped open.
“He time traveled? Did he meet himself from six minutes earlier? Warn himself about what to expect?”
“Time doesn’t work that way. Not for humans. Reality’s immune system rejects subjective paradoxes. For example, no meeting oneself to alter one’s future. No doubt he lived out those aberrant six minutes in a pocket dimension that mirrored his own past, though without his presence. He subsequently rejoined his original timeline once he progressed in linear fashion to the moment of his departure.”
“Oh, of course. It’s so obvious now that you say it.”
She ignored his sarcasm and continued.
“Following his nightmare month in the maze, he found himself standing on the empty bridge, disoriented, forced to shield his eyes from the light. Six uneasy minutes later, his team was suddenly there, preparing to celebrate his success. From their perspective, he simply stepped through and collapsed as the rift vanished. The team quickly shifted to triage as they learned of their colleague’s ordeal.”
“Damn. That’s awful. What about the other example?”
“There was also the Lake Itasca Mist-Arch, which briefly appeared above the surface of the lake whenever a loon called and transmitted matter about ten meters away into a stand of wild rice. The youngcryptonaturalist who kayaked through that rift was transported the ten meters and gained a novel, persistent conviction that clover meant her harm.”
“So…not our first choice. Got it. Are there less-terrifying methods?”
Valentina frowned.
“Yes. Several. So far, they have been ineffectual. We need more information.”
She handed him a stack of sample bags.
“Focus, Mr. Green. We are looking for connections to our current situation. Help me explore the area.”
