#alex welsh

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We Out Here by Alex Welsh

alexwelshphoto.com

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Jessy Lanza - Photo : Alex Welsh

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It’s not until evening that Alex climbs on their bike and heads off into the hills along the route to the overlook, a winding backroad inaccessible from anywhere except the outpost. Not that no one with a motorbike and a taste for adventure has ever gone off the roads to get a look at the chasm, of course, or that no one hikes past the borders of one of the chasm parks, but it keeps most people from getting to the tiny satellite station on the chasm’s edge. The overlook hasn’t changed much since they were here years ago with a class; it’s still little more than a low cabin built right on the cliff, fenced in on three sides by steel railings. Alex parks their bike outside the door and swipes their keycard at the entrance; the light turns green and they hear the door click. Inside, the only thing that’s different at all seems to be an update for the monitors and machinery along the sides of the room. They ignore all the displays and head for the huge glass windows on the far side of the building, where the last glimmers of light still shine in the sky and where they can look out and see the chasm below them. In this light it looks like the end of the world, stretching beyond the horizon in either direction and so wide that the far side fades into mist and darkness, just a darker shadow against the sky. As if there might be nothing beyond at all, and this the point of no return. Alex presses their face to the glass to look down at the trees clinging to the cliffside, catching glimpses of sunset on their leaves. Long shadows slant across the crags, and somewhere far below they can see clouds painted with twilight. People say sometimes, when the weather’s right, the lower clouds will clear and someone standing on the chasm’s edge can see beyond it, hundreds of miles down. They’ve never seen it themself, but then, they’ve only been there once.

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It turns out the dormitory building is actually two buildings, connected by a low central hall which includes an assistance desk, a closed cafeteria, and a small cafe and snack bar in one corner. “Hi!” says the staffer at the desk, an olive-skinned person whose nametag only reads C J Foster, Assistance. “You must be here with Project Dropdown.” “That’s right,” they agree with a wry smile. “Alex Welsh, from Eastwater. Sort of.” “Incoming project members are staying on the lower levels of the west building,” CJ says, gesturing in that direction with one hand while looking closely at the computer. “You’re in room 2-15. Want me to show you the way?” “I think I can find it,” Alex says. “Thanks.” CJ waves with a crooked grin. “Any time.” Alex swipes their card to enter the west building and takes the elevator up to the second floor. Room 2-15 is on the left, which makes three lefts total since entering the complex so they end up facing south as they enter the room. It’s a tidy little space, lofted beds bolted against the wall, two desks in opposite corners; no one else’s things are in the room yet, so they must be the first to arrive. They throw their backpack up onto the top bunk and kick off their boots to climb up after. They didn’t bring much; three tightly-rolled changes of clothes and extra underthings, two clean notebooks, two packs of pens to use in them, their personal laptop and tablet, and an old digital camera with a wrist strap. It should be all they need to start out; the doctors and team leaders will bring all the other supplies they need. Their things deposited, they shed their jacket and take a few moments to examine the room, committing the layout to memory despite knowing they’ll be there three nights at the most. They’re always more comfortable in a space they know, and before a trip of this nature, the less stress they’re under, the better. After all, there will be nothing familiar at all after they leave the outpost.

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The outpost is two miles from the chasm’s edge, a neat collection of whitewashed square buildings surrounded by a brick wall with an entrance sign reading PLEASE: EMPLOYEES ONLY UNLESS BY INVITATION.

Invitation to the outpost, as far as Alex knows, usually means students from upper-level college classes on tours and potential interns having interviews. There’s never really been an event like this before, after all. The outpost has been here for years, home to the scientists studying the chasm and the research data that has been gathered direct from the surface, but what they’re going to do has never been done before.

They get off their bike at the registration center and re-pin their hair out of their eyes, wiping sweat from their brow. It’s a hot day under an intense sun, and they’re relieved to step inside where the air is cooler.

“Welcome to the Chasm Edge Outpost,” says the receptionist with a smile. She has a nametag pinned to the front of her blouse introducing her as Carla Matthews, she/her, Human Resources. “Your name, please?”

“Alex Welsh,” they reply. “I’m a member of Project Dropdown.”

“Welsh,” Carla repeats to herself as she types it into the computer. “You’re from Inner City, Eastwater?”

“Not from there, no,” Alex says, “but that’s where I work. I intern with Dr Hastings.”

“Yes!” she replies, beaming. “It looks here like he’s sent our team several excellent recommendations for you. Could you put your hand on the scanner to check in?”

They press their palm to the flat scanner panel on the counter, which hums to life, tingling under their fingertips.

“Have you ever been to Chasm Edge before?” asks Carla conversationally.

Alex shrugs. “I mean, yeah, during classes, a few years back. Never for work, though.”

“Gotten a look at the chasm at all?” she continues.

“Not really. I mean, we went up to the overlook, but not in any detail. And not any closer.”

Carla beams even more brightly. “I think Dr Andrews hopes to take all the members out for a much better look when you’ve all arrived and checked in,” she says, “but feel free to go up to the overlook on your own once you’ve settled in. It’s a hell of a view.”

“I bet,” Alex agrees, glancing up at the panoramic image above the door, displaying a wide sweeping view of the chasm’s edge looking out at the far side.

“Here’s your things,” Carla says, and hands them over: a nametag like her own (Alex Welsh, they/them, Team Member), a thin metal wristband, and a key card. “Hold onto that card,” she adds. “That’ll let you into the complex after hours and into all the buildings. And please, keep your wristband and nametag on during all activities outside of your room.”

“Will do,” Alex agrees, pinning the nametag on their jacket. They close the wristband around their arm with a soft click, and the green light on the edge blinks on. “Can you direct me to the dormitories?”

“Tall building on the north side of the complex,” Carla says. “A right out the door and then your second left. Someone will help you check into your room when you get there.”

“Thanks,” Alex says, and offers a wave over their shoulder as they leave the registration center

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Tank top muscle stud, Alex