Worlds War One

vi [Callie]

Private Callie Golden knew things weren't always as they appeared.

When she was six, her favorite movie was Wizard of Oz. Her grandmother had thought it was because Callie loved Glinda, the beautiful witch. Callie did love Glinda, but that wasn't why she'd watched it over and again. She believed that the world was not what it appeared to be. Like the Wizard said, "Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain." Her grandmother had once tried to tell her otherwise, that the part in color was a dream and the black and white moments were Dorothy's real life. "See, the farmhands are the Lion, the Scarecrow, and the Tinman," Grandmother said. "Professor Marvel is the Wizard. And look, Miss Gulch is the Wicked Witch of the West." Callie had insisted this was not so, that it wasn't a dream, that there are other worlds, and that things can be different than what you see.

Callie had grown up since then and while maybe she didn't believe in other worlds—although perhaps she didn't disbelieve either—she still reckoned what you saw wasn't usually what you got.

Callie Golden was pretty. Pretty was power. She had learned that before she ever saw Wizard of Oz. But she was more than just pretty because there was something else besides the world you see right in front of you. Callie hadn't tried out for cheerleader in high school—she had become the kicker for the football team. She'd been a member of the constellation club and had sat at the same table with the social outcasts. She'd been elected prom queen but went without a date. In her entire life, she'd never once worn makeup or made up her hair. If she'd ever owned a dress, she could honestly say she didn't remember it. She wasn't just pretty. Callie was also other things.

Callie stared out the round porthole like something that belonged in a submarine, yet a cloud passed by where one might have expected a whale. The blue was the sky rather than the sea. This craft was more like a UFO than an airplane. Jimmy Castello had been fourteen and four hundred pounds, and Callie remembered him pointing her telescope at the stars in constellation club, telling her—"Keep your eye out for Martians." She didn't know if he'd been kidding or flirting or serious, and diabetes took him before Callie had ever found out. Still, she'd never quit looking for signs of extraterrestrials out there among Orion and Cassiopeia. Or maybe a glimpse of Jimmy out there in the stars, his soul gone to a better place. Now Callie was flying in a spaceship.

Callie wondered why the officers in charge had picked the four Misfits for this mission. She studied the other three recruits. What did they all have in common? They looked as different as four random strangers on a New York City subway car. She felt the eyes of the Airman and the Seaman on her as she paced in front of the young men—only Private Ramírez wasn't interested in her looks.

"Do we believe what they're telling us?" Callie asked. The "they" were behind another door in the cockpit, closed off from the grunts.

"I never believe everything anyone ever tells me," Private Ramírez answered. "No one ever gives over the entire truth. Some of those things they said may be so. Maybe most. Maybe none. But I want to find out for myself."

Callie Golden nodded. "Me, too."

Miss Laghari and General Modine had spoken of some fantastic things. Lieutenant Robinson and Drill SergeantCabello had stood by and didn't dispute the content of the briefing. Callie thought the experience akin to the President addressing the nation and informing the public that pigs could indeed fly and an antagonistic invasion of winged oinkers was imminent. None of the four authorities had appeared impaired, so Callie had to wonder if at least part of the content was accurate.

If even one thing Miss Laghari had mentioned was real, then Callie's world had been turned upside down.

There were maybe other worlds, like Oz.

"My father is a minister of God," Airman Fox said. "Christianity is built upon faith and trust. We believe in things we cannot see or touch. We have faith in the intangible. I believe there are things beyond what we realize in our everyday lives. This situation is simply one more thing."

"Simply one more thing?" Seaman Choi challenged. "They told us a being as old as time itself invaded from another dimension, and he's turning people into some kind of zombie army. Now we're going to places none of us have ever seen on any map to stop this immortal terrorist. Nothing simple about that, Fox."

The Airman shrugged. "One more mystery. It's not surprising when you consider God and Jesus and Heaven and Hell and the Angels and on and on and on. Wonders fill the universe."

"One of my dads used to listen to Neil Young," Private Ramírez said. "Great song called 'My My, Hey Hey (Out of the Blue).' There's a part that goes—'This is the story of Johnny Rotten. It's better to burn out than it is to rust. The king is gone, but he's not forgotten. There's more to the picture than meets the eye.' It looks like there's more to the picture than we thought. A lot more. We're going to meet Johnny Rotten."

They were on some sort of space-age starcraft with futuristic weapons and a mission straight out of C.S. Lewis—if Narnia was an alternate dimension filled with zombies instead of populated by precocious Pevensie children and talking lions. Callie had found herself in some precarious situations before—two bikers at a bar in Tucson had once had a knife fight over who could have the privilege of sitting next to her. The incident resolved after she'd singlehandedly disarmed them both and called the cops. Then there was the time overweight Jimmy Castello had slipped down into a ravine at a constellation club campout and had nearly suffocated in a pile of leaves. Or when she'd caught fire in her one-and-only combat mission in Syria last year, where she'd traded gunshots with militant Jihadists and killed three enemy combatants. This incident was different. Something else. A journey into the impossible.

They landed without announcement with nary a bump, a smooth VTOL as gentle as an elevator stopping at the ground floor. Callie checked with her fellow soldiers. They all looked more curious than concerned. It was one thing to be brave against a known enemy—it was another to forge bravely ahead into the unknown. Were these four Misfits picked because they wouldn't balk at confronting the impossible? They were a group of oddballs who accepted the world was odd, too.

Misfits.

The sky outside was overcast, and the air carried the unmistakable scent of spring. It had been autumn when they'd left America. Callie didn't know where in the world they were, but she was sure if they flushed a toilet, the water would swirl opposite to what she was used to experiencing. They had come to the southern hemisphere. She was also sure this place where water drained counterclockwise and the seasons were all backward wouldn't be the strangest thing she would see in the near future.

Lieutenant Robinson pointed up a small hillock to a village that may have been settled sometime around the days of Jesus. Red clay formed the local homes, and livestock meandered the dirt streets like some bucolic version of rush hour. The people paid the Americans and their starcraft no mind. Maybe foreigners in futuristic transportation were as familiar as goats and gulls.

"We'll camp here for the night," the lieutenant said. "First light, we head out."

Drill stood on the lieutenant's left, and Miss Laghari was on her right. Autumn Loloma kept to the shadows, gazing around as if searching for something she'd lost. She was the only one who gave off a fearful vibe. Drill remained eternally expressionless, and the sophisticated civvie sported a sly smile.

"Get some sleep," Saanvi Laghari added, "because it's maybe the last night you get under these stars for a while."