by M. G. Harris
In pale blue light, we stroll down through the deserted ghost village, back to the Muwan. Andres stands for a few minutes in silence, simply marvelling at the machine. I climb in and prepare for flight, taking time to show Tyler what to do. “It’s a shame you didn’t leave a manual in the glove box,” he says.
Then we’re inside, strapped to the seats and taking off. I show Tyler how to measure the power left before a recharge, and calculate what he needs to reserve for a final trip to Ek Naab.
Once this mission is over, I’ll hand the Muwan over and Tyler will use it to fly his gang out of Oxford. We agree that it’s safest to bring them back to Glenridding – for now. It’ll take several trips and once the power in the Muwan runs out, a return to Ek Naab is Tyler’s only hope of refuelling. If he can’t persuade the people of Ek Naab to let him in, then the Muwan is no further use to him. And he’ll be stuck in Mexico!
“You let me worry about that,” he says, confidently. “I can be pretty persuasive.”
Tyler reckons that there is only one place in the Controlled Zone where we can hope to hide the Muwan, close for a quick getaway from the EG Centre.
“The university parks. There are trees round the back, fairly tall, good cover. Maybe you can squeeze in between some of them.”
But when we arrive I can see he’s asking the impossible. There’s no way to get between those trees. So I bring the Muwan down in front of a huge rhododendron and then hover along the ground, pushing a path through. When we get out we take a look. It’s not very well hidden. I can just see us returning to a small crowd of fascinated children and dog-walkers. When I mention this, Tyler says, “Dogs, in the city? No. They were all eaten a long time ago.”
Five in the morning. The air is damp, cool, smells faintly of woodsmoke. Somewhere in the vicinity, there’s been a fire. The chorus of birds is almost deafening. A crowd of starlings swoops over the middle of the parks, over what used to be a rugby pitch.
I take two dart guns from where they’re stored under the seats. They only fire tranquillizer darts but still, they pack a punch. Tyler hangs on to his own rifle. I hear Andres ask him quietly if he’s killed people before; does he want Andres to handle the gun? They exchange an intent glance. Tyler says it’s OK, man, he’s cool with whatever needs to be done.
We’re three joggers out for some early morning exercise. Shorts, running shoes and T-shirts are all we need. The Bracelet of Itzamna is just visible under the sleeve of my T-shirt so I’ve borrowed a sweatshirt from Andres.
We set off, jogging within twenty metres of one another. The park is still deserted. We cross to the road without seeing anyone else. Then we head down the empty road. Nothing in sight is moving. The street is clean, empty, no parked cars. No heaps of burned or rotting rubbish.
To the right of the Natural History Museum, where I remember there being a car park, is a brand new building, all glass and butterscotch-coloured concrete.
The Futurology Institute.
“How’re we going to get in?”
“They know you,” Tyler says. “The other-Josh has to check in for his hip33 injections, so they’ll recognize your face. And I’ve got the chippenpin chip.”
Tyler leads us to the entrance. He pushes me ahead, through the revolving door. Inside, a security guard glances over the book he’s reading. There’s instant recognition in his eyes, but also a hint of confusion. I guess I must look enough like other-Josh to pass for him, but he can sense that there’s something not quite right.
“Mister Garcia. Sorry, I didn’t see you go outside again. . .”
Tyler and I glance at each other for a fraction of a second. The plan to pass myself off as other-Josh seems to be working, but I’ll have to be extra careful not to step out of “character”.
I say the words that Tyler’s instructed me to say: “I’ve rounded these two up. Tyler Marks and one of his gang. They were trying to infiltrate.” Then I turn around, pointing a dart gun at them. Andres and Tyler step forward, hands in the air.
The security guard looks even more confused. He flashes me an imploring look. His hesitation is crucial. In another second Tyler grabs his head and slams it down on the desk. I hear the guard’s nose break. He groans, loudly. Tyler whacks him one more time. The man passes out, bleeding all over the desk. We drag him to a nearby room.
The secret facilities are underground, in bomb-proof bunkers. I guess the Sect saw Armageddon everywhere.
At the threshold door, Tyler lifts his right arm, letting the scanner read his chippenpin chip. Tyler leans over the control panel and taps the “Admit EGRI” button that’s flashed on to the screen.
“Why’s there so little security?”
“Classic reliance on technology. They honestly believe a chippenpin won’t threaten them. A better tomorrow for the best – it’s supposed to be such an honour to be included. But this won’t get us far, you wait. To get any deeper inside, we’re going to need blue-blood DNA. If you have a chip you can fake it – got mine hacked so that I show up as one of the nice, loyal drones. But DNA? There’s no faking that.”
“But this otherJosh – he’s a blue-blood. He should be on the system.”
Tyler grins. “Standard! Get your thumb ready, blood-brother.”
Tyler leads us through a maze of corridors. A minute or so later we arrive at a glass door that blocks any further progress. There’s a small printed sign pasted to the glass above a panel that opens at Tyler’s touch. Underneath there’s a depression with a hole in the middle, and a pad about the size of a thumb, coated in a metallic substance.
Tyler takes my left hand and places the left thumb against the depression and there’s the sound of a spring. I feel a tight biting sensation; pull my thumb away to show a bead of bright red blood. Tyler guides my hand to the metallic pad. I place a drop of my blood on the biosensor. A couple of seconds later, a mechanism inside the lock clicks. The door slides open. Tyler jams his foot against the door.
I mutter, “What key holds blood.”
Tyler throws me a sidelong glance. “I always knew you’d open doors for me.”
Once we’re inside the secure area there’s a noticeable change in atmosphere. The air is climate-controlled; it hums with the sound of machines. Louder than I ever remembered; the background buzz of energy being consumed.
Andres and Tyler hide their weapons under their shirts. I slide behind them with the dart gun. Tyler leads with his hands on his head.
A white-coated technician steps out of a side office. He’s immediately on his guard.
“Josh Garcia . . . what’s going on; why have you come back? Didn’t you already get your medication?”
Tyler says, “Shoot him. Now.”
My tranquillizer dart sinks into the technician’s thigh. Tyler catches him as he falls. He clamps one hand to the guy’s mouth.
But as the technician collapses, one hand clutches at his hip. There must be some kind of panic button in his trouser pocket because a second later a klaxon starts sounding. It’s the exact same noise I remember hearing when I was escaping from the Sect’s institute in Switzerland.
We freeze, waiting, wondering what’s going to be unleashed. It could be anything. Then trails of blue LED lights appear on the carpet, tiny arrows pointing towards the doors.
That technician set off the fire alarm. Any second now the place will burst with activity. Our time is running out.
Tyler grabs Andres and points to a corridor about three metres away, to our left. “The techie bloke reckons he just gave your Josh his medication, yeah? I’m pretty sure the treatment rooms are down there. He’s got to be in one of them.”
“My Josh. . .!” Andres looks torn. “But who’s going to cover the two of you?”
“We’ll manage. You can cover the exit when we leave. Give us some firepower, just in case.”
“OK – I get my boy out, then what?”
Tyler says, “Meet us back at the UFO.”
“What if he doesn’t want to leave?�
�
“He knows he made a mistake, years ago. You’re his dad. But inside the CZ, there’s no way he could ever contact you. You don’t know how many times I’ve wished that Josh was with me the day I escaped. But he wasn’t, yeah, and I can’t change that. You have to trust me, when Josh sees you, he’s gonna want to go with you.”
The klaxon pounds, seems to get louder. Andres stares at me one last time. “Good luck,” he manages to say. I nod in reply. This isn’t how I envisaged saying goodbye to him. Then he’s gone, rushing down a darkened corridor.
Tyler pulls out his gun. Somewhere down a corridor to our right, doors start opening. People on the early shift, coming out of their offices, coffee cups in their hands. The faces I catch sight of are perplexed, bemused. I hear someone loudly complain about “blasted fire drills. . .”
Tyler ignores them, marches me right past.
A group of three technicians in lab coats step out from behind another door. They stare at Tyler, glance down at his gun. A woman asks, “Is this a drill?” Tyler raises the gun, points it directly at the woman’s head. “Not today, sister. Give us some hip33.”
The woman turns to me and stares, blankly. “Josh Garcia . . . what’s going on?”
From behind us there’s another voice. The sound of it tears down walls in my head. I should have been prepared but I’m not.
Marius Martineau.
I watched him die in the rainforest of the ancient Maya. I took his time-travel bracelet. I thought that was the last I’d ever see or hear of the twisted, power-crazed psycho. But no.
In this future he’s alive and well.
He speaks lightly, says my name. As I turn, he shoots two bullets at Tyler. One smacks into the door frame right next to his head. The second takes Ty in the shoulder. He falls, firing his gun blindly down the corridor. But Martineau’s taken cover.
At Martineau’s command two technicians fall on Tyler. They wrestle the rifle out of his grip. I fire tranquillizer darts into all three. It takes a few seconds for the poison to take effect. In those seconds one of the technicians grabs Tyler’s rifle, tries to aims it at me.
The bullet whizzes past my ear and smashes the lighting tube. It explodes with a burst of electric fire. There’s hot, sharp pain as my hands and face are sliced by flying shards of glass. I flinch, feel blood streaming out of the wounds. I drop the dart gun. We’re plunged into semi-darkness. The only light comes from behind the open door to the lab.
Martineau’s voice cuts through the shadows. “Garcia. It’s over. Give yourself up.”
I’m close to panicking. Tyler went down hard; he’s going to lose blood, fast. I have to get his rifle. I drop low to the ground and begin to crawl. Two more bullets ring out, firing just above my head. There’s movement further down the corridor. Lights begin to go on.
I make a dash for it, leap into the lab that Tyler and I were trying to reach. Martineau’s bullets crack the air behind me. There’s no time to reach Tyler – I have to get out of the path of Martineau’s gun.
“I don’t want to kill you, Garcia, you’re an asset. But if I have to, I will.”
I jam a chair under the door. The room is obviously some kind of treatment room, with three patient couches and an examination screen. Martineau starts kicking at the door. Any second now, it’s going to buckle.
I open first one fridge and then another. The second is full of tiny plastic vials with screw caps labelled hip33. I grab a handful, stuff them into the pocket of my hoody.
The door frame splinters. I take another chair and hurl it at the light fitting. The filament crackles for a second, fizzes brightly. Then I’m plunged into darkness. The door bursts open. I dive on to the floor and slide under one of the patient couches. I hear Martineau step inside, his footsteps crunching loud on broken glass. Outside the door, Tyler’s breathing is fast and ragged, broken with gasps of pain.
My hand goes to my Bracelet, ready to zap myself back to the past.
Then I think of Tyler. He’s going to die if I leave him here. There can’t be much time. How quickly can you bleed to death? Without Tyler, how much longer will his gang survive?
And what about Andres? How will he get his son out of here? Without the Muwan, I doubt they’d even get as far as Jericho. Voices from the other side of the door confirm my worst fears – reinforcements are on their way.
But this world, this reality isn’t mine. I didn’t create this future. My own timeline is waiting – and I might just have the antidote to the Sect.
One finger rests on the Crystal, ready to press.
Martineau fumbles in the dark, hunting me.
And I can’t do it – I can’t leave.
Maybe I didn’t create this future – up to this point. But now I’ve interfered. Tyler and Andres are in terrible danger – because of me. It’s down to me to help them.
I hold my breath, waiting, perfectly still. Martineau is less than a metre away; I can smell the coffee on his breath. In the darkness, I sense him turn to face me.
“Should have taken a shower, boy; your stink betrays you,” he sneers.
I roll hard to the right, under the second patient couch, then leap up and on to the nearest bed. Martineau fires, first at where I was, then randomly into the room. I vault over the beds and manage to land within two metres of the door. Another bullet tears into the wall above my head as I hit the ground, land on my palms and then spring up, twisting my body around in a hand flip.
I miscalculate – slam into the broken door. For a second I lie there, bruised, cut, defeated.
A foot shoves against the door. Light spills into the treatment room. I see Martineau crouched behind me, pointing his gun. I watch as he slowly stands up. The corridor outside is packed. Someone asks Martineau if they should tie me up. From outside, I hear Andres call, his voice torn with despair.
“Give it up, boys. Josh isn’t here. He’s gone!”
Martineau towers above me, framed in a network of torch beams, his dressing gown flowing like some demonic cape. All the malevolence of his new world order seems to be concentrated in his shadow. And I can’t see how I can fight this any longer, I simply can’t.
I hear Andres struggle against his captors. I see a silhouetted guard glance upwards as he looms over Tyler. “This other one is bleeding pretty hard.”
Trembling, I drop my head. “Let me hug my friend before he dies.”
Martineau and the gathered audience are baffled at my request. But they don’t stop me. I lay across Tyler’s chest. I put my arms around his shoulders. He’s shuddering, going into shock. I make sure to get a firm grip.
“All right, that’s long enough. . .” Someone plants their foot against the back of my calf. I slide a hand around Tyler’s neck and grip on to the Bracelet of Itzamna that’s around my other arm. Tyler stops shaking the instant I grab him. I grip tighter; push my index finger hard on the Crystal Key. There’s a sort of strangled sound of confusion from Tyler. The guard starts kicking me, trying to dislodge me. But it’s too late.
There’s the sound of gasps from everyone around me.
Martineau’s roar of fury.
Very softly from Tyler, “Oh no. . .”
And Andres Garcia crying out, a sound I’ll remember for many years, “Josh!”
The scent of sun-warmed pine needles begins to fill my head. The peace of the woods is disorienting after the blood and the bullets, the darkness and the panic.
My first thought is of Ixchel. Is she here? The possibility that there’s a problem with the Bracelet and we’ve travelled to the wrong reality is so nightmarish that it sucks all the air from my lungs. My hands are shaking when I lower Tyler to the ground. For a second I hold my breath, checking for a pulse in his neck. He’s alive. I breathe quietly for a minute, trying to get my head together. Ixchel shouldn’t be too far away. It’s hard to remember exactly how long we were in the woods, fighting Simon Madison, before I zapped us to the future. Less than ten minutes though, for sure.
That
would explain why it’s still so quiet around here. They should arrive any minute.
I’m about to go and investigate, but the second I turn away I hear Tyler groan once, very loudly. He rolls on to his side just in time to vomit. I barely manage to slide out of the way.
When he’s finished, Tyler shifts around for a second or two, as if he were drunk. Abruptly, he sits up. The right side of his face and hair is smeared in his own blood. He stares blankly at me for a moment, trying to focus.
“Your shoulder. . .” I say. A dark patch of blood stains his right shoulder. Tyler glances at it and flexes his right arm, grimacing with pain. “Scumbags put a bullet in me. Again.”
I gaze at him, stunned. “But you’re OK? I thought. . .”
Tyler stares back in silence. He wipes his mouth with the back of his left hand. “You thought I’d had it? That’s the point. Get yourself shot in a closed environment, you’d best lay low. Play dead.”
“It doesn’t hurt?” I wince in sympathy, thinking of the time that Madison shot me in the thigh. Pure hot metal torture, that’s what I remember.
“Course it hurts. But after a few minutes the endorphins kick in.” Tyler heaves a sigh. “I’ve had worse than this. Be glad when we get the bullet out, though.”
“What if they’d actually finished you off?”
“They took my gun; I wasn’t a threat.” Tyler doesn’t seem very interested in discussing it any further. “Where are we?”
“Somewhere outside San Cristobal de las Casas. That’s a town in Mexico. It’s June 2012. And in about eight minutes my girlfriend and I are going to ride into the woods on a motorbike, chased by a raging psycho from the Sect.”
“Mexico,” Tyler responds, levelly. “2012?”
“And Marius Martineau’s massive fool of a son is about to ride in.”
“Shouldn’t we hide?”
“The Bracelet should have put us down at least twenty metres away from them. Best to stay put, right here, until it’s all over.” I glance at my watch.