This is my entry for @DebutSwiftie13 's short story contest. It is a little long "Just pitch the tent here," Jim said, pointing to the only patch not covered in mud. Under the dim beam of a flashlight, he and Andy got to work setting up camp. Once the tent was up, they unrolled their sleeping bags. "Which side do you want?" Andy asked. "Right side. You take the left." They tossed their bags into place on opposite ends of the oversized tent. "We definitely went overboard on this thing," Jim said. "Why does it have separate rooms?" "No idea," Andy shrugged. "But I do know we need to get a fire going." He ducked out of the tent, heading for the treeline. "Hang on—I’ll get the fuel ready," Jim called after him. Later, they sat around the fire, cracking jokes and cooking dinner over open flames. "This chicken’s a little crispy," Andy laughed, waving a blackened piece around—accidentally smacking Jim in the face. "What the hell? Why’s it so burnt?" Jim asked, eyeing the charred meat. It looked edible. Barely. They each took a bite and chewed. "Not the best," Jim muttered. "But not the worst thing I’ve had either." "Really? What’s worse than this? Because this is... pretty bad." "One of those MREs from the Reserves," Jim said. "You ever try that powdered beef stew? That stuff haunts me." The moon glowed faintly through the tent’s fabric. Stars glittered above. Jim woke up in a cold sweat. "Andy. ANDY! Wake up," he hissed, leaning close and whispering in his ear. When there was no response, he shook him with everything he had. Andy shot upright, instantly alert. "What is it?" "Someone’s outside." Jim’s voice was tight. "I saw a shadow." A silhouette drifted across the tent in the moonlight. "I see it," Andy said. He tiptoed across the tent and knelt beside his pack. Unzipping it slowly, he pulled out a 9mm magazine. "Grab the pistol," he said, voice low. "Nice and quiet." Jim crept over, opened his bag, and pulled out the handgun. He tossed it to Andy, who caught it clean, loaded the mag, and flipped the safety off. Andy unzipped the tent in one motion and burst out, gun raised. He expected someone. Instead, there was a wooden signpost directly in front of the tent, glowing eerily in the moonlight. "That wasn’t there last night," he said, lowering the pistol. "Jim, come look at this." Jim crawled out, breathing hard. "Dude. I thought we were done for. What the hell is that? Why’s it lit up like that? This is seriously messed up. We need to go." They packed fast under the moonlight, both of them glancing toward the trees with growing unease. "So... what now?" Jim asked. "You’re the military guy. What’s the call?" "We head back to town." "Sucks the trip’s over, but yeah—something feels off." They hiked back to the car and climbed in. Driving the winding dirt road, it was clear: things were wrong. Street signs were missing. Landmarks looked off. Even the rusted water tower that’d been torn down weeks ago now stood tall and intact. "What the hell is going on?" Jim shouted. "Why is that tower even there?!" "I don’t know," Andy said, gripping the wheel tighter. "Maybe it’s connected to what happened last night. You did see someone, right?" "Yeah. I’m sure. There was someone." "Were they holding anything? Did you see something in their hand?" Jim hesitated. "I think so. I’m not sure..." "We need to go somewhere." They pulled onto a familiar road toward the army base checkpoint. Andy squinted as they neared. The usual young guard was gone, replaced by a gray-haired man with a cane and a permanent scowl. "ID," the guard barked. Andy blinked. "What...?" He handed over his military card. The guard disappeared into the shack. A minute later, he came back. "You’re not in the system. Come back with a real ID next time. Good try." "What do you mean? That worked yesterday! I’m Lance Corporal Andrew Shore. I want to speak to Captain Robinson!" The guard narrowed his eyes. "Never heard of him. CO’s Lieutenant Samson. Now turn around before I call the sentries." Andy didn’t wait. He threw the car into reverse and tore out. "What the hell was that?!" Jim asked. "Is there something you’re not telling me?" Andy exhaled hard. "Yeah. What gave it away?" "What is going on, Andy?" Jim’s voice was sharp, but his face was full of concern. "That base has something we need. But if we try to go back... we might disappear." "Disappear?" Jim flailed his hands. "What does that even mean?" "I don’t know! I just saw some files. Weird stuff. That’s it." "Fine. If you’re not gonna be straight with me, drop me at the Walmart." "Jim—" "Just let me out." Andy pulled into the parking lot. Jim slammed the door and walked away, disappearing into the crowd. Andy sat in silence, staring through the windshield. "Excuse me, where can I find the acid?" Jim asked a store clerk. "Aisle 3. On the right." "Thanks." He walked to Aisle 3, grabbed a 10-litre jug of acid, and headed for the door.
"Sir—sir! You need to pay for that!" the clerk called. Jim tossed a crumpled ten-dollar bill behind him and walked straight to the bus stop, the jug cradled in his arms. He sat on the cold bench and sighed, pulling out a phone that shouldn’t exist—yet worked. Rain tapped softly on the shelter roof as he opened YouTube and started a video. The engine roared as Andy tore around a corner, shifting into fifth. "In 40 kilometres, turn right," the navigation app droned. He sped past the city limits, the countryside stretching in every direction. "Rerouting… new route found. In 100 kilometres, turn right." "What? Why are you rerouting me?" Andy slowed down, pulled to the shoulder, and checked the map. "That road’s closed now? Screw that." He kept going, refusing to change course. But as he neared his original turn, the road was blocked—multiple police cars, fire trucks, and ambulances. The house he was headed to was engulfed in flames. Cling, Cling. Jim put his quarters in the coin reader, waiting for the CoinStar machine to spit out bills. The thing whirred and groaned, then spit out 5 hundred dollars' worth of bills. He quickly counted them and continued on his way. Jim got some weird looks as he walked down the downtown streets, holding the 10-litre jug of industrial sulfuric acid in his hand. He looked down an alleyway and saw a big dumpster full of trash bags. Perfect for what he was about to do. He approached the dumpster and threw his phone, keys, money and smart watch into the dumpster and poured all 10 litres of sulfuric acid on the items. They sizzled and burned as he walked out of the alleyway and back onto the street, now minus a jug of acid and his personal belongings. “Hey Officer, what’s going on here?” Andy asked as he approached the police officer. “Just keep moving, we don’t want anyone else getting hurt.” “I need to go down this road! I live down here.” Andy made a pretty convincing liar. “Sorry, you can’t right now. Come back in a little bit, and we might let you.” “You don’t understand. I need to go to my house right now.” Andy was getting more agitated. “I don’t think you understand! Get out of here, ok?” The cop put his hand on his taser and tensed up. “Ok, ok, I’ll go. Sorry for disturbing you, Officer.” As Andy walked away, he realized the pattern on the cop car was different; it had the old design from 5 years ago. “Did we go further back than we thought?” Andy told himself, a little too loudly. He got back into the car and drove down the highway a little more, then he pulled into a little dirt path and stopped. He got out of the car and walked down the path, the dirt beneath him sinking a little more every time he took a step.
