Sandcastle for Pegasus

by Bob Avey

  He reached the railing in a single bound, and then he used his momentum as a springboard to launch himself up and over into what seemed to be a perfectly executed dive.

  And that’s when the pain caught up with him. It was as if someone had slashed a knife across his back and then poured liquid fire into the wound.

  It was then that everything went black.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  MARTIN

  Montauk, New York

  Friday, August 12, 1983, 9:00 p.m.

  Martin sensed he was drifting, again floating through time. He heard the crackling of lightning and caught glimpses of flashes within the storm which seemed at a great distance from his location.

  His surroundings were familiar and yet different, and a disturbing thought that neither time nor place mattered here added to his anxiety. He wondered if he were caught in a time paradox brought on by his multi-dimensional traveling, and while in the midst of this unique dilemma, he had stumbled into the middle of the biggest time mix up—if the stories could be believed—in modern history: The Philadelphia Experiment. If zero reference was a problem associated with time travel, then this was at the very least triangular in nature.

  Martin continued to drift, unable to form any coherent thoughts, except for those concerning Doctor Stewart and the fact that Stewart had to be stopped. The problems Stewart had caused went beyond Martin, Luke, and Susan.

  Martin maneuvered into a upright position, though direction, too, was practically meaningless here. Unlike before, the portal did not feel enclosed but seemed to extend forever in all directions.

  Thoughts of Martin’s family blossomed in his mind, and he intuited they were in a waiting room, highly distressed over something. He desperately wanted to go to them, but the image faded only to be replaced by Doctor Stewart. Martin determined Stewart was back at the old warehouse, repairing the time machine. He would at some point use the machine to travel to a time where he would destroy Luke. Martin understood this on a deep level, though he could do nothing about it at the moment, and that image also faded.

  Martin suspected he was trapped in the time portal, unable to manipulate it as he had before.

  From somewhere in the void, a voice spoke, “Martin, pull yourself together.”

  Martin didn’t think his grandpa was actually there in the time tunnel, but it certainly seemed that way. And if Martin could be there, then why couldn’t Grandpa Frank do the same?

  As soon as the thought to go to him formed in Martin’s mind, he was there.

  Grandpa Frank embraced Martin in a quick hug and then held him at arm’s length, his eyes moving back and forth as if he were examining one of his accomplishments.

  But Martin didn’t feel like he was anything to be proud of. “I’m failing Grandpa. The more I try; the worse things get. Now look at me, stuck here in God only knows what. My own son is in a place of danger he cannot begin to understand. And I can do nothing.”

  Grandpa did not scold Martin. He only smiled. “If Luke realized he was in trouble, would he doubt for a moment you would save him?”

  “No,” Martin said, “like a young child, his faith in me is innocently unshakable.”

  “Do you know your heavenly Father also believes in you in much the same way as that, Martin?”

  Martin let that thought run through his mind for a moment. “I don’t see how that could be.”

  “But He sees how, Martin, as do I. All that is left is for you to believe in yourself.”

  The fabric of the portal, the time tunnel began to change. A wind formed and blew in swirling currents, and the lightning again became visible. Martin felt a wave of fear wash over him. “I need your help, Grandpa. I can’t do it alone.”

  “There are two kinds of people in the world, Martin. Those who go out and get things done, and those who wait for someone else to do the job for them. You can’t drift through life like a log floating on a river. You must have purpose. There are those who would disagree with that, but they are those who would fail, waiting for someone else to live life for them. You’re not like that, my son. You have a job to do. Now reach down inside yourself, find your strength, and get it done. It’s really that simple.”

  Grandpa Frank smiled and winked. Then, like a lingering image, he faded, and when he was gone, so, too was the portal.

  . . .

  Martin immediately realized he was not in the time tunnel but still in the water. It only made sense. He had dived off the Eldridge into the water, and he was still in the bay. More than that, his lungs screamed for air. But deep beneath the waves, he would never make it to the surface in time. Still, he had to try. He did as Grandpa Frank said, and he dug deep and swam in what he hoped was an upward direction.

  The distance to the surface, if he was in fact going the right way, was a mystery. Darkness extended in all directions. All he could see was an impenetrable inky blackness. It was the sum total of his fears: complete darkness, claustrophobia, and an inability to breathe.

  During the journey, Martin heard another voice, though he wasn’t at all sure that it wasn’t an auditory hallucination, and it was that of John Rainbow. He said only one thing, which was 2014, February 23.

  With the words of John Rainbow firmly planted in his mind, Martin broke the surface of the water and dragged air into his lungs. He coughed, heaving spasms, and as he struggled to get oxygen, he noticed he was still engulfed in darkness. He treaded water and turned in all directions but saw nothing. The Eldridge had disappeared. According to some accounts, it would return in minutes, and by others it would take hours.

  A wave slapped Martin in the face, and after a moment he turned and swam away from the direction the wave had come. After he swam quite a distance, he heard the waves hitting the shoreline. Hope of land gave him a burst of energy, and he swam harder and faster. When he felt rocks touching his stomach, he stood and walked onto the shore. He had just collapsed onto the beach when he heard someone in the water calling for help.

  Martin dragged himself to his feet. “Where are you?” He asked. “Yell out so I can find you.”

  “Over here.” The man’s voice was nearly swallowed by the waves. “I can’t keep going. I’m exhausted.”

  The man was definitely in the water, but with the wind and sounds of the sea, it was difficult to tell just where he was. Martin stumbled back into the water. “Keep talking if you can.”

  The intensity of the waves had increased, and Martin was not sure he had the energy to find the man. And in his worn-out state, he didn’t know if he could save him if he did.

  “Over here.”

  Fear threatened to override Martin’s resolve to keep going, but the voice was now much louder, which meant he was getting closer.

  “Help!”

  Martin was nearly out of breath, and he paused to get air, but a wave washed over him and negated the effort. He pushed on, and with the third stroke his hand struck something. He had found him.

  At Martin’s touch, the man panicked and grabbed Martin’s face, thrashing like a dog trying to scramble up a slippery slope.

  Martin had no real rescue experience, but he drew on what knowledge he had picked up through the years by reading and watching informational television programs. He worked his way behind the flailing man then put him into a headlock. “Calm down, partner. I’ve got you now. It will be all right.”

  “Help.”

  Like a wrestler fighting for position, Martin worked the man onto his back. “Do you know how to float, my friend?”

  “I can’t.”

  “Yes,” Martin said, “you can. Just relax, arch your back, and then slowly kick your feet. We’re not far
from the shore. That’s where I came from. Just keep floating on your back, and I’ll guide you to safety, okay?”

  The man shook like a nervous Chihuahua, but he was trying. “Okay. Like this?”

  Martin kept one arm around the man’s neck and used the other to swim. “You’re doing great. Just relax and slowly kick your feet. We’re almost there.”

  Soon, the man relaxed. His breathing had become slower. “I think I can make it on my own now.”

  Martin paused, let go of the man. “Just follow me, okay?”

  “All right. How far?”

  Martin swam but proceeded slowly, listening to make sure the man was following. “We’re close. Another hundred feet or so, and we should be there.”

  And then, from somewhere behind, Martin heard another voice calling out. “Is that you, Al? Where are you?”

  “Here,” the man Martin had rescued said, “I’m over here. Can you swim toward my voice?”

  The other man’s voice came back, but it was muffled, unintelligible.

  “It’s my friend, Duncan,” the rescued man said. “I think I can make it now. Can you help Duncan?”

  “I’ll try,” Martin said. He paused to get air before swimming out into the darkness again.

  It didn’t take long. The other man, the one called Duncan, must have heard Martin and his friend swimming, and had followed them toward shore. He was in better shape, not as panicked. “Okay,” he said. “Just lead the way. I can make it.”

  Martin reached shallow water and walked to the shoreline where he collapsed onto the beach. Splashing and coughing, he pushed himself into a sitting position.

  The other two people sat beside him. One of them turned on a flashlight. “Name’s Duncan Cameron,” he said. He shined the light on his friend. “This is Al Bielek. Could you tell us where we are?”

  Martin figured the flashlight was either waterproof or had been kept dry somehow. He understood the feeling of disorientation, but not to the extent these two seemed to display. “Since all three of us jumped from the deck of the Eldridge into the water, and we came out of the water here, I suspect we’re not that far from the Philadelphia Naval Yard. I don’t understand why we can’t see any lights, though. Something else is puzzling me too. Just before I jumped, someone called after me, and then several shots were fired. I took one of them in the back. I felt it go in. But now I seem to be okay.”

  “Let me have a look,” Duncan said. “Lightning was dancing around all over the place. My guess is one of them got you. That might not explain the shots you thought you heard, but something like that would hurt like a bullet. It might explain why you thought you had been shot.”

  He walked around behind Martin and studied his back. “I don’t see anything, not even a mark. Strange things happen on the Eldridge, though. Count yourself lucky it wasn’t worse. The ship was not a safe place to be. You did the right thing in getting off. It was that third generator Von Neumann added. It was bad enough before, but when they threw the third switch, all hell broke loose. The Eldridge isn’t there anymore. That’s why we don’t see it. In fact, I’m not so sure we are in Philadelphia. By the way, you look a lot like Devereaux. Are you related?”

  Martin studied the men beside him on the strange beach. He’d read about Duncan Cameron and Al Bielek, jumping overboard just as the Eldridge went into hyperspace. If the stories could be believed, the pair had ended up at Montauk, New York in 1983. “You could say that. The name is Martin Taylor, and I’m just as lost and confused as you. So, where do you think we are?”

  The man called, Duncan, shook his head. “I don’t know, but I have a feeling we are about to find out. Someone’s coming.”

  Several dark shapes, silhouettes of people carrying flashlights, emerged from the darkness, advancing menacingly closer, methodically walking along the shoreline.

  As the beginnings of panic crept up Martin’s back, the voice of Grandpa Frank sounded in his mind.

  Be strong, Martin. Change who you think you are. Conventional wisdom would say that isn’t possible, but it is. You see, if you think something long enough, you begin to believe it. All you must do is change your thinking.

  Martin scrambled to his feet and cautiously maneuvered to a position to the left of Al and Duncan, taking a protective stance a few inches in the lead. However, taking a cue from his newfound friends, he did not speak but remained quiet. He kept his attention on the approaching strangers, frightened by the uncertainty of what was to come. The direct and official way in which the soldiers, if that’s what they were, approached underlined the reality of the situation. He tried to project an image of confidence, but inside self-doubt was taking over.

  Martin’s pulse quickened, and sweat oozed from his pores as he stood in front of the soldiers stopped a few feet away.

  The soldiers talked among themselves as their flashlights explored the faces of Martin and his friends. One of them, there were about five Martin could see, stepped forward. He was armed with a pistol strapped to his side, but he had yet to draw the weapon. A word or group of letters was stenciled across his light brown shirt that read: DARPA. “Who’s in charge here?” the soldier asked.

  Martin had seen the acronym before. It stood for Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency. Not knowing why, and operating with a near reflex action, he said, “We were all onboard the USS Eldridge. The ship got into trouble, and we jumped overboard to save ourselves. We’re not quite sure how we ended up here on this beach, but we mean no harm. We apologize if we have intruded upon private property.”

  The leader of the mysterious group turned away and talked into a radio, not a cellphone or even a small two-way, but a large contraption that disturbed the night silence with loud, intermittent bursts of static and muffled voices.

  Moments later, he lowered the radio and again spoke to Martin and his friends. “You will have to come with us. You’re not in trouble. We just need to take you inside, get you cleaned up, and then ask you a few questions, all right? We don’t want any trouble, so don’t cause any and everything will be just fine.”

  The captors, or whatever they were, surrounded Martin, Duncan, and Al with two in the front, one on each side, and one guarding the rear. In that formation, they marched along the shoreline in what Martin guessed was a northerly direction.

  The uncertain nature of his captors and where they might take him closed in on Martin, and he wondered if he should attempt an escape. He now knew at least some stories of early time travel were true. The Eldridge had gone through a radical experiment; Al Bielek and Duncan Cameron had been there, and they had jumped overboard as written. And now, with the three of them being detained by DARPA agents, it seemed the part about Montauk, New York had happened as well.

  A deep-rooted fear, a belief that he would forever be trapped in time, grew inside of Martin as he and the group neared a large door fixed into what looked like a concrete bunker mired into the side of a dune.

  About four feet in front of the bunker door, the leader stopped and again spoke into the noisy radio. Moments later, a loud buzzing sound filled the air, and the door popped open.

  “Step inside,” the leader of the guard detail said.

  The gravity of the situation settled over Martin as he recalled Grandpa Frank telling him about this place. And he’d read plenty of stories about what might have gone on at Montauk, with homeless people and orphans being abducted and subjected to experiments involving time travel and a multitude of other things like teleportation and mind control. It was the mind control that bothered him the most.

  Martin glanced from Al to Duncan and then complied with the guard’s instructions. With two guards armed with M16 military rifles standing a couple feet behind them, it didn’t appear as if they
had much choice in the matter.

  Once they were inside, someone closed the door.

  It took Martin a few seconds to gather his wits and take in his surroundings.

  Dim, red lights, spaced about ten feet apart and set inside the ceiling, illuminated a hallway that probably wound its way into the interior of the compound.

  “What exactly are you planning to do with us?” Martin asked.

  He received no answer, just a gentle nudging from a guard urging him forward.

  All the doors and exits would be locked or carefully guarded. Guards surrounded Martin along with Duncan Cameron and Al Bielek.

  Martin had been trapped in time, and now he was locked away in a secret military base with no clue of what his captors had in mind.

  Doctor Stewart had planned all of this. He was an experienced traveler, and he knew a thing or two about it. He had somehow known Martin would show up at the abandoned warehouse where the time machine was kept, and he had carefully programmed the machine to this destination.

  A strong sense of determination settled over Martin, and he followed the pitiful procession deeper into the interior of the compound—not worrying so much about what might happen to him, but focusing on how he might get out of this and back to his own time where he would find Susan and Luke. His job was set before him, and he had to do it. If nothing else, all the problems he had faced in the last few days had shown him he could overcome more than he’d ever expected.

  Time and place were the problems, but he was a time traveler.

  He would accomplish his mission. As soon as an opportunistic situation came along, he would travel back to his time and find Doctor Stewart, and this time he would not fail in stopping the man.