Moonfield (Chapter 8)

Well, I've taken a big, fat, long break from writing. But I just took a second read of my story the other night and I was inspired to keep the plot flowing, I remembered all of the great ideas I had brewing.

I know I got some criticism for my grammar in the earlier chapters, and I'm going to try to watch it from now on. Going back to edit is something I'll certainly consider, but I want to get some wheels in motion. So here goes.

(I know I'm going to get flack for the description of the machine )

If you've not read the story, I'd appreciate if you'd take a few minutes to read through. Critique on my old works is always wanted and welcome. Also, I suppose I should mention this is intended to be a book. So yes, many chapters and a thick plot. Approach with caution

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Quint guided Mark and Tali into the room he had run out of only moments before. Mark was surprised to see that the floor of the adjoining room was raised an inch, and to open the door it had to be shifted upward at least that much. The old man grunted as he lifted it, brushing Mark off when he offered to help.

He managed to clear the floor and the door scraped along the wood planks as it opened. They stepped inside the room and Quint closed it behind them. Sliding a door chain in place.

In front of Mark stood a table. Upon the table was something, something covered in sheets, enough sheets that he couldn't really muster up any sort of idea of what they might conceal.

As if on cue, Quint stepped past Mark and Tali and pulled the sheets away, revealing a mess of what looked like old farm tools and glass thrown in a pile.

An old fan was situated at one end of the rig, held upright by what looked like and old hoe end and bits of wire. Wrapped around what could be best described as the axle of the fan was an old rope. The rope was woven around several pieces of round tubing, creating a pulley system of sorts, and at the far end of the table it connected to another piece of tubing; this final tube had wire wound around it several times and was set atop a glass beaker, which sat upside down.

“I don't get it, what is this?” Mark asked, it didn't seem to be anything more than a shoddy contraption.

“Don't be impatient Mark. Do me a favour and lift up that plank, third one from the wall, please. That's where I tend to keep important things.” He winked at Mark.

Confused, Mark turned around and looked at the floor. Sure enough, one of the planks had a knothole just big enough to fit two fingers in. He knelt down and pulled up the board. When the plank's seal with the floor was broken, Mark was hit by a blast of odour. It was hard to describe exactly what it smelled like. In a way, it seemed to smell like rain, only much stronger. Mark figured it was probably mold from the wet conditions of the foundation.

With the plank aside, Mark gazed into the hole but saw nothing. He looked around the sides and was surprised to see a considerable clump of weeds. He pulled one out and held it in front of his face. The familiarity of its color, its shape, stuck him immediately. He was reminded of the bumps on his head.

“I think this is it...” he said quietly to himself.

“Pass it over Mark, and take a look at this.” Quint called.

Mark stood up, setting the board back in place. He turned around and dropped the plant in Quint's outstretched palm. Quint turned to the table and lifted the upside-down beaker. He put the plant on the table and set the beaker on top of it.

Nothing happened, leaving Mark disappointed. Tali caught his expression and nudged Quint.

“Come on, old man. Do what you did last time.”

“Oh, right.” He smacked his forehead with his palm. “Sorry, I spend all day experimenting with it, sometimes I forget the basics.”

Quint tapped the fan with his fingers, just enough to get it spinning.

“You might want to step back Mark, Tali.”

The fan continued to spin. It made a rough, rusty sound as the old metals turned against each other. As if by some invisible hand, however, it began to spin faster than it had started. Soon the metal grinding increased in pitch. Mark extended his hand into the fan and it hit his finger with enough force to cause him to jump back in surprise and pain.

“What the hell?”

“It gets better,” Tali's smile had returned for a moment.

The fan remained spinning, it's speed increasing even more. The noise had elevated to a whine and soon it was spinning so fast that Mark could no longer focus on the individual blades. Gusts of wind from the fan blew Tali's hair back as dust lifted from the surfaces of the room and filled the air.

The rope snapped, rather loudly, and made all three of the onlookers jump in place. It flapped in the fan blades as its speed rapidly decelerated. Quint grabbed the beaker and pulled it from the device, though it seemed to be held in almost magnetically, and gave him a bit of a struggle.

Gradually, the scraping and spinning sounds of the machine calmed to silence once again. Mark stood, bewildered. He looked at Tali and Quint, who looked back as if to say “Well?”

“Uh, that's... incredible.” Mark paused, not sure what to say. “I can't say I understand it, but it's still incredible. Wow.”

“Mark got kidnapped last night, and they were asking him about the plant, Quint.” Tali spoke up.

Quint's smile was gone, “Kidnapped?! What did they look like?” He asked, with no hesitation.

Mark had spent most of the day trying to forget exactly that. Reluctantly, he answered. “Most of them were wearing army gear. You know, camo, vests, helmets and stuff. But one guy was wearing dressy clothes, it kind of seemed like he was in charge of the whole thing. He was the one who was asking about the plant.”

Quint set the plant down on the table and exhaled. He stared at the machine in front of him, blankly.

“So soon?”