The tumultuous events of the last couple of days finally caught up with me, and to my dismay, I felt my eyes fill with tears and was unable to speak. The spotlight had shifted away from us, and I reached out to take hold of Joe's hand. My tears further blurred my vision, and I groped around in the dark trying to make contact.
"Joe?" I said, but there was no response.
"Joe, where are you? I repeated, but once more, failed to receive a reply.
Maybe he had gone to get some water for me, but I wish he had said something first. I could not move my hands to rub my eyes clear and blinked rapidly, trying to clear my vision.
"Hello!"
This time, I shouted out as loud as I could. Even if Joe had gone back to the surface, the other two should still be here, but who were they, and had they not come over to greet me?
I listened intently for some sound of movement.
There was none, and for the first time, I felt real panic.
"Joe! Joe, answer me!"
My eyes were clearing, but I could see little in the gloom, and the spotlight had vanished.
I made a superhuman effort to stand up and managed to half-rise, only to instantly fall back and hit my head on a rock. My last sensation before losing consciousness was the salty taste of blood running into the corner of my mouth.
I awoke choking for breath; my face flat against the ground had left me unable to breathe. I flopped my head on one side and felt my cheek come to rest on soft grass. I lay there trying to gather my senses as my breathing slowly returned to normal.
I was aware of a gentle wind gusting softly over my face, and through squinted eyes, I saw that it was daylight. More importantly, I could move my hands. When I tried to move my legs, they responded stiffly, and I felt a painful spasm of cramp, forcing me up onto my knees and then into a semi-standing position as I stretched my leg trying to relieve the cramp.
As the pain faded, I looked around and, to my astonishment, found that I was standing on the side of the mountain. The grasslands were completely undisturbed without the smallest sign of any bomb damage. To my left was a stream. My thirst was real, and I staggered over to drink the cold water through cupped hands, only stopping when my body could take no more.
What had happened?
Had Joe somehow got me to the surface? Why was the mountain undamaged?
I felt bile rising in my throat and vomited uncontrollably onto the ground. A result of not only too much water too fast but also from shock, my whole body trembled and shook. I knew I had to regain control of myself. There was danger here, and in my present state, I was vulnerable to attack from whatever hostile forces roamed this mountain, physical and supernatural.
I wandered over to a grove of fruit trees and ate my fill, stuffing my pockets with future supplies, and filled my still-intact water bottle from the stream.
I could not think of any rational explanation for what had happened. This was possibly a mountain in an alternative world where the bombing and my incarceration underground never happened here.
The new world might have split off at the very moment Joe came to my rescue, and I was in the process of being brought to the surface of the original world, paralysed and half dead with thirst. The question of which was the 'real' world did not come into it: all worlds are equally genuine and authentic, and none takes precedence.
But there were other alternatives.
I had never left the first world, and the drone attack and being buried alive were a dream.
Or was it the other way around?
Would I wake up back in the cave and tell Joe that I had fallen asleep and dreamt that I was back on the mountain unharmed?
Both possibilities were possible.
I could remain on this untouched mountain or return to the bombed version, and there was no way for me to choose. My best option was to proceed with the ascent.
It was a beautiful morning, and I rejoined the path upward in renewed good spirits. All responsibility for my future had been taken from my shoulders: whatever will be, will be.
The going was easy but ahead lay noticeably steeper terrain. After an hour, I decided to take a break on a narrow plateau before continuing the ascent. I ate some fruit and took sips from my bottle of water whilst admiring the glorious view.
The idea that it might not exist did not trouble me.
The natural path leading upward was distinctly outlined against the mountain face, and I spotted something or somebody following in my tracks.
Instinctively, I crouched below the skyline and cautiously peered over the edge.
Whatever it was, it had two legs and a large hump on its back. Its gait was unsteady, and it swayed from side to side, but it was making rapid progress up the hill. As it drew closer, I was surprised to see that it was a humanoid carrying a large sack over its shoulder, and it was dressed in odd-looking clothing that resembled that of a man.
When he was about fifty yards away, I saw that it was a man—none other than Pilot Officer Lamb of the Royal Air Force—someone I had last seen as a prisoner in the metal forest.
He recognised me and gave a cheery wave.
"Well, hello, old chap. Fancy meeting you here. What are you up to?"
"I could ask you the same question," I replied.
"Here on a spot of business, old boy," he said, tapping his sack.
"Some scrap I found lying around in the forest. Did not belong to anyone as far as I could see, so I tidied it up and brought it up here to see if any of my mountain friends had any use for it."
"Very neighbourly of you," I said.
"I like to think so," he replied. "I would give to them for free, of course, but they will insist on giving me stuff in return, food and drink and the like."
"Where do you meet them?" I asked, thinking I might contact them myself.
"Oh, they won't meet me directly," said the pilot officer. "Too scared. Me being one of the machine boys in their eyes, but my mind is human – I am human."
"You do realise that don't you?"
He looked at me aggressively. I could see this meant a great deal to him.
"Of course," I said hurriedly. "Never doubted for one moment that you are one of us."
"Good," he said, visibly relaxing.
"I leave the metal on a ledge further up, and when I return, they have left their goods and taken the scrap. I usually wait for about twelve hours before going back.
"We could use the time to talk, if you like, but there is one thing I must make clear before our little chinwag. All this tomfoolery I get up to is just an act. I am a very serious man, and believe me, old chum. I can become very nasty to anyone who tries to cross me.
"I want to know who you are and why you are here before I let you off this mountain alive.
"Understand?"