Microcosm

Microcosm

  By

  Robert Zimmerman

  Copyright 2013 by Robert Zimmerman

  ****

  Cover Art Copyright 2007 by Gregory R. Todd

  Used in accordance with the Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 Unported License

  Brad Hauser

  Brad pulled into the empty lot a few minutes before eight. He parked his pickup on the hard dirt that would soon be cement and asphalt into a parking lot, leaving the windows cracked open. It was still cold, but he’d checked his phone before he left and knew it would get hot and humid later in the day. He scooped a cigarette from the half-empty pack in his pocket and a lit the end casually as he had tens of thousands of times before.

  The warm smoke mixed with the cool air in his mouth and the smell of tobacco calmed him. Brad had bought a whole carton of Marlboros last weekend, hoping to sell a few at his next job in the city. Packs were ten dollars each in New York now and it was easy to make a couple bucks that way when you were coming from New Jersey.

  Brad wasn’t the first one at the site. He saw a couple of Hispanic guys, most likely Guatemalan, already drinking coffee and getting ready to shovel dirt around. Most of them were probably illegals, but that was pretty standard on small jobs like this one. Dave, the lead contractor was leaning against his own truck, grabbing his own morning smoke and coffee.

  “Morning,” Dave said, sipping his coffee. “You actually laying wire today, or just here to watch?”

  Brad smiled, “Yeah, we’re doing the transformers today.” It was a little too early for Brad to joke around. The older guys were always up before dawn, down at the site by seven thirty, but Brad was still in his twenties and waking up before eight was a struggle against his own body. His skin was as tough as the next guy, but Christ, couldn’t the man wait until the sun was up?

  Brad and his contingent of day laborers spent the better part of the morning trying to dig through the rough rocky soil. Installing an in-ground transformer housing required a hole several feet deep. This was normally an easy task, but the soil on site was filled with some weird kind of rocky, glassy stuff, maybe quartz, that made the process long and annoying. One of the guys had to grab a jackhammer just to loosen everything.

  The site was nothing special, just a future strip mall in suburban New Jersey. Brad had worked on dozens of similar sites before. His crew did the electrical hookups, which consisted of transformers and internal wiring. This site was still pretty bare, and pizza places and smoothie shacks were still a few months off.

  After lunch they filled in the concrete slab that held the generator in place. Brad pulled his truck around and started marking out distances on the ground, comparing them against the spools of wire in his flatbed. He pulled smoke gently from a cigarette as he walked back and forth, pacing through the paths of the future underground power lines.

  “This one has to go, man,” Brad said to Dave, pointing at a three foot slab of rock toward the back of the lot.

  “You need a box here?” Dave asked, confused.

  “Nah, man, but I don’t wanna run the lines all crooked because of some rock.”

  Dave nodded in agreement.

  “And this thing, whatever it is, can you have your guys move it?” Brad pointed to the small metal cylinder.

  “Yeah, sure. Wait - I thought that was yours. What is it?” Dave asked. Both men walked up to the object looking confused. It was a small cylinder, about two feet in diameter, but smooth and shiny. “This isn’t one of your fuse boxes or whatever?”

  “No, not that thing. I thought it was a lunch box or something. Look, it’s got carvings on it.” Brad and Dave inspected it more closely. The sides showed carvings of what appeared to be the object itself. On one side was an image of a small cat. Brad grabbed it, trying to move it, but found it was wedged deep in the ground.

  “Won’t budge?” Dave asked.

  “Nah, and feel the top. It’s all hot, like it’s powered or something. Man, if there’s already lines under here someone’s gonna wind up toasted when we dig it up.”

  “Maybe it’s some hot springs or some shit? My wife keeps telling me there are underground streams all around us,” Dave waved his hands mysteriously in the air, “some bullshit about divining rods.”

  “Maybe it’s some Indian thing? Lenny Indians or whatever?” Brad asked. He knew the tribe name was ‘Lenape,’ but he didn’t want to sound like an ass.

  “Ah, shit, don’t even say that. Don’t even think it, man. One time we found some of those stone arrowheads. Some guy was bragging to his buddies, turns out one was on some city council. They shut us down for over a month while they dug up a bunch of old pieces of wood. The customer was not happy. Dude, we lost a ton of money on that job. Novaris won’t even work with us anymore.”

  “Yeah but, it could be cultural or something. Shouldn’t we at least save it?” Brad asked.

  “You do whatever you want with it. Just don’t tell nobody you found it here.” Dave shook his head in frustration and walked away.

  Brad leaned over and examined the object more closely. It was unlike anything he had seen before. The metal was silver like aluminum, but slightly less gray and still shiny despite being half buried. The carvings didn’t make much sense, though. Brad looked closer and saw an ornate engraving of a cat on the far side of the cylinder. For some reason Brad could not discern, the cat had two tails. It looked kind of like a character from a video game he’d played as a kid.

  The engraved cat was doing something, something with his paw. It looked like he was pressing on something inside a cylinder. Maybe it was an instruction of some kind? Some kind of treasure buried inside. Native American treasure could be valuable. It could also just be some goofy beads, though. Brad tried to pry the cylinder open, but to no avail. The thing was wedged in the earth. He waved down José, who came running over to the object. One of the workers brought a pair of shovels, but even after a half hour of digging they had not penetrated the rocky ground enough to move the object. It extended at least three feet into the ground and was solid all the way down. Eventually they gave up for the day and figured they’d finish the job after the weekend.

  The next Monday, Brad came back to find the object was gone. Crews had come in over the weekend and filled in the whole area with dirt, ready for a fresh layer of asphalt. Brad asked Dave about it, and Dave explained that the customer had dumped a bunch of money into the project to get the shops opened before summer. The paving crew had come in over the weekend and leveled out the parking lot to get a head start on the pavers. Brad was pissed. Any Indian treasure was about to be stuck under some strip mall parking lot. It was probably just junk, though. New Jersey natives weren’t exactly known for their valuable treasure. Besides, with more money coming in Brad could probably swing some overtime pay.

  William Thomas

  It always seemed warmer when it snowed. William was unsure why. Was it the warmer air that caused the frozen moisture to fall from the sky? Or was it the other way around - did the snow actually warm the air as it fluttered through? Neither explanation made sense. It didn’t matter. William was thankful that it was now only barely freezing instead of frigid beyond all sense. England had its winters, for sure, but this place was relentless, untamed, and eager to repel these strange outsiders with their guns, their cannons, and their unnatural reds and whites.

  New Jersey was lush, untamed, and currently frozen white. The name was poorly chosen. It was very little like Jersey, and it was hardly new. Even to the British it was over a hundred years old, and the trees and grass they slept in tonight were probably much older. As old as the world itself, perhaps.

  “Corporal Thomas,” a voice snapped behind him. William turned instinctively at the sound of his name before even reali
zing that he had heard it.

  “Sir,” he answered, bringing his musket about, tightening his stance, and tensing his neck. In front of him was the Captain, followed by another man who looked like a young private.

  “Eddington here has earned the honor of tonight’s watch. Today’s your lucky day. You are relieved, Corporal.”

  “Yes, sir,” William answered.

  He wondered what Eddington had done wrong to deserve such an ‘honor,’ but Captain Crenshaw explained,“Eddington, remember, powder, wad, lead, then fire.”

  William was eager to get to bed, but first went off into the woods to relieve himself. Living in a camp with eighty men for the past year had removed any sense of privacy he had once maintained, but the warmer night air made an evening walk with his tobacco pipe seem very appealing. He wondered by a nearby stream, careful not to stray too far from the camp itself, keeping the men’s voices and the smell of smoke close by. The evening smelled of snow, the crispness and the wetness of it.

  William walked a bit farther when he noticed something glimmer out of the corner of his eye. He turned to see what it was, but it was gone. His blood flowed more quickly and he felt his nerves grow tense. He pulled out his pistol just to be safe, and loaded it slowly, quietly. Then he paced towards the place where he had seen the brief glint of