by Bob Avey
Martin rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling quite a distance away, much too far to lend any help in escaping. He thought of Grandpa Frank, what he might say or do, but nothing came to mind.
After a short rest, Martin scooted around the roof of the office, or whatever it was, to check for routes of escape.
The door to the office occupied an area along the front about six feet from the only ladder. The door was closed and possibly locked. However, the top portion was made of glass. In addition, the other three walls had rectangular windows, which looked about three feet long and five feet wide.
Martin crawled to the rear wall, peered over the edge, and studied the window. He was no acrobat, but he was pretty sure he could hold on to the edge of the roof structure and swing to generate enough force to bash through the window with his feet and land inside the office.
But what would that accomplish? Unless he could quickly block the window, the dogs would follow him inside, which would only make an already bad situation worse. And even if he did seal the window, he would still be trapped. It was highly unlikely there would be any type of phone service hooked up inside the office of an abandoned warehouse.
On a whim, he checked his pockets.
He still had no cell phone. Somewhere along the line, everything had been lost or taken.
With no other options coming to mind, Martin further contemplated the advantages of busting into the office, but that idea faded when he again scanned the upper area of the warehouse. About ten feet above the roof of the office, a track ran north and south through the building. A large cable and hook attached to a pulley system completed the apparatus. It was some sort of hoist designed to move heavy objects from one end of the building to the other.
Using the hoist system as an escape route played through Martin’s mind. The idea wasn’t without merit, but his chances of successfully completing the maneuver were slim. The track didn’t run directly over the office but was about six feet to the east. In addition, the cable hung at a slight angle approximately one to two feet to the south.
The sound of footsteps echoed through the building.
Martin glanced down and saw someone running toward the stairwell to the basement.
Doctor Stewart had made it into the building. Once he reached the basement, he would start up the time machine. The process would reopen the hyperspace rift.
The thought of being caught up in a perpetual time loop overrode Martin’s fear of the dogs. He got to his feet and prepared for the jump. He had tested the integrity of the roof enough to know it would hold his weight. He stepped back several feet, ran toward the edge, and leaped for the hoist-cable.
The flight to the cable seemed to last much longer than the fraction of a second it should have taken. Martin had guessed the distance to be about eight feet, not an easy jump for someone as unprepared as he was. However, like a WWII fighter ace engaging—with a propeller-driven aircraft—in an unfair fight with a jet-propelled enemy pilot, with enough altitude and the proper angle, he could pull off what seemed impossible. A chill ran through him at the thought of missing the cable and falling into the snarling pack already gathered beneath him.
Finally, his hand found the metal of the hoist-hook and closed around it.
Immediately, his mind scrambled for options. He couldn’t just hang there like a tasty piece of meat and hope the dogs would soon tire of this game and run off in search of a more enticing adventure.
He didn’t have to wait long for an answer. The sudden stoppage of his freefall overcame his strength. He lost his grip on the hook, and as soon as he let go he plummeted toward the animals.
Fear threatened to end his resolve, but Grandpa Frank’s words blossomed in his mind.
Find your confidence, Martin.
Martin had a small bit of luck on his side. Grabbing the hook had slowed his fall. If he hit the ground in a loosened state and went into a roll, he had a good chance of coming out of it uninjured.
Then again, he would still have the dogs to contend with.
Suddenly, he was on his feet, bolting toward the basement stairwell.
What exactly had happened between hitting the concrete floor and now ran through Martin’s mind in a blur. He had heard of such things, like a lone scout caught behind enemy lines, defying logic by fighting his way through a group of enemy soldiers to escape and live to tell about it.
Martin reached the stairwell, grasped the railing, and bounded downward as if the stairwell consisted not of steps at all, but of smooth concrete like a loading ramp. He wondered what had happened to the dogs. They were not following, barking, or growling. A sensation somewhere between fear and regret swirled through his mind, and he uttered a prayer that he had only frightened the animals and nothing more. He pushed through the door and entered the basement. He saw Doctor Stewart, standing over the operations console, his hands moving swiftly across the controls.
A loud and familiar, electrical hum filled the room. Stewart had started the time machine.
Martin quietly stepped into the room and moved to his right, away from Stewart’s line of vision, not wanting Stewart to know he was there. Martin shuffled toward several large, electrical coils in the southeast corner of the basement, searching the area for any kind of weapon he might use to sneak up behind Stewart and knock him unconscious long enough for Martin to destroy the time machine.
The secrecy of Martin’s being in the basement didn’t last long. As if someone had whispered into Doctor Stewart’s ear, he grabbed the nearby handgun and started toward Martin.
Martin ducked behind the equipment, careful not to get too close to the machinery.
A few feet away, Stewart paused. “You’re like a pesky mole tunneling through my yard, Martin. Every time I think I’ve gotten rid of you, you pop back up again. You might have hit a dead end this time. In case you haven’t noticed, you’re in a basement with only one way out, and I’m standing between you and that doorway.”
Martin glanced around. Sure enough, he’d backed himself into a corner. And while Stewart gloated over pointing out the obvious, Martin trembled in fear, his body shaking as if the temperature in the room had plummeted below freezing. Whatever condition that had come over him in dealing with the dogs, superhuman or not, was gone now, used up like an empty bottle of energy drink.
It was amazing how such power, even if misunderstood, could so completely morph into a state of helplessness.
Stewart kept talking, something about joining him and how together they could do anything, but Martin wasn’t really listening. Surely Stewart had to understand Martin had to do everything in his power to reverse the damage Stewart had done. The problem was, Martin could not bring himself to believe he was in any position to stop Stewart, let alone possess the ability to even if he were.
It was then that a small current of determination formed somewhere in Martin’s psyche, and from there it spread throughout his mind. He could not see Grandpa Frank or hear his words, but for the first time Martin could remember, he felt a realization of his grandpa’s genetic makeup coursing through his veins.
How Martin understood this, he didn’t know. But the moment he grasped its meaning, the trembling stopped, which led to an understanding. Stewart, though he understood not what he did, for in his own mind he was justified, had to be stopped. Martin had to find a way, and that’s all there was to it.
But how was he to do that?
He couldn’t just walk out of his hiding place and reason with someone who’d already lost his mind. He couldn’t put his arm around Stewart’s shoulder and ask him to stop and talk about this. Stewart would kill him before he ever got that far.
Perhaps he could wait and hope Stewart would become dist
racted, giving Martin an opportunity. But that was unlikely, and it was just a matter of time until Stewart grew tired of this game of hide-and-seek. He would then come after Martin with his nine-millimeter aimed and ready.
But none of that really mattered because something had to be done, and Martin was the only one who could do it. There was no getting around it, no running away from it. Martin had to destroy the time machine before Stewart could use it, and that was that. And he had to act quickly—get past Stewart or distract him and hope for a solution. His efforts at stalling for time were all used up.
Martin edged closer to the south wall of the basement and slid toward the coils.
The closer he got the louder the humming became. For a moment, he was back on the Eldridge, feeling the charged atmosphere that would reopen old mistakes that never should have happened.
He took a couple of deep breaths and gathered what little courage he could find. A gap of about three feet between the wall and the charged coils drew his attention. If he kept his back pressed tightly against the wall, he might be able to squeeze through unharmed by the strong current of electricity buzzing through the coils.
The problem was, if he made it through, Stewart would still be there, and there was no guarantee Martin could catch Stewart off guard by emerging from a different direction. Even if the misdirection succeeded, could he take advantage of the situation by gaining only a few extra seconds?
Fear crept through Martin’s heart as he stood there for what seemed a long time, thinking over what might or might not happen.
Martin took a step toward the coils and started creeping behind them, closing the distance between himself and Stewart. As he emerged from behind the coils, a sense of dread pounded in his temples. He paused there, unnoticed for the moment, and tried to stop his body from shaking. He considered creeping back to the other side to come up with a better plan, but stood there instead, immobilized by self-doubt. He had to overcome the fear. He had to get to the time machine, and he had to do it now. He might not get another chance, and it was too late to turn back.
Martin took another step, clinging to the wall as he edged closer. And there he was, standing in the shadows, and still unnoticed. He steadied himself, balled his hands into fists, took one step followed by another, and slowly came up behind Stewart.
The sudden movement caught Martin off guard. Before he could blink, he found himself staring into the expressionless face of Doctor Stewart, who brought the handgun up and pressed it against Martin’s forehead.
It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. The thought that he had been fooling himself and he truly was the same old spineless man he’d always been raced through his mind. He felt like a school kid getting ready to sneak out of class and being caught by the principal.
“Hold on, Doctor Stewart. I’ve been thinking, you know, about what you said, you and I teaming up and working together.”
Stewart raised one eyebrow and pressed the gun harder against Martin’s head. “Oh, I see. Is that why you were sneaking up behind me? You should know by now you are no match for me, not even a threat, really. I should just shoot you down like the pesky nuisance you are. Come to think about it, it’s the only way, isn’t it? With your quirky and mysterious way of traveling, always showing up in the wrong place at the right time, I can’t risk letting you go, much less trusting you as a partner.”
The coldness of Stewart’s eyes and the finality of his words stirred something inside Martin, and a blast of determination overrode his fear. He imagined grabbing the disturbed lunatic by the throat and shaking some sense into him but realized the futility of such an action. If he failed, which he most likely would, Stewart wouldn’t hesitate to put a bullet in his head.
“There’s something you should know,” Martin said. “I’ve been working with a man who calls himself John Rainbow.”
Stewart frowned, feigning disinterest, but a look of concern floated through his eyes. “Like you, he’s nothing more than an annoying gnat.”
Martin scanned the area, making a mental note of the location of the time machine and the operating console. Some screwdrivers and other tools were scattered about. Stewart had obviously been making some adjustments.
“Don’t be so sure,” Martin said. “As you pointed out, I have a way of showing up at the wrong place at the right time. How do you think I’ve been able to do that?”
Stewart didn’t answer, but his expression showed he was thinking over the concept, wondering if it held any validity. He pressed the nine-millimeter into Martin’s head. “You’re lying, stalling for time. I’ve lost my patience with you and your games. And I’m not just thinking about getting rid of you. I mean to do it. It’s now down to how best to do that.”
“Consider this,” Martin said. “Mr. Rainbow and I haven’t just been having me pop up now and then. He’s been tailing you for a long time, and now, with my help, a lot has been accomplished. When you fire up the time machine, something other than what you expect will happen.”
Stewart thought for a moment and then let out a semi-stifled laugh. “Nice try but a little too vague to take seriously. You have neither the knowledge nor the wherewithal to calculate much less pull off such a thing.”
Martin had to concentrate and remember his mission. He had to get to the console and disable the machine. “All right then. I’ll be more specific. Punch the button on your magic carpet, and your atoms will be scattered all over the universe.”
That got his attention, Martin thought as Stewart stared at him.
Then, for only a split second, Stewart glanced at the time machine.
For hours Martin had wondered how he might get to the machine and now, though completely unexpected, he had a chance. After all, everything he’d said about his and John Rainbow’s collaboration was a complete fabrication.
Fear, not so much for himself as it was for what might happen if he failed to stop Stewart, fueled Martin’s determination. He had never been in a real, physical fight. Of course, he’d had small skirmishes years ago in the schoolyard, but to go up against a full-sized adult intending to hurt his opponent was a concept completely foreign to him.
Years ago, Grandpa Frank, both during and after watching a boxing match on television, had pointed out what the winner was doing, and then he’d demonstrated the moves.
At the time, Martin had not understood the relevance, but out of love and respect for his grandpa, he’d paid attention. Even now, he recalled the basics, and he drew on that to prepare his next move. Pushed by a resolve so intense that he shut out all other thoughts, he stuck a stiff left jab into Stewart’s face and followed it with a hard, right hook to the ribcage.
To Martin’s amazement, as reality once again set in, Stewart did not squeeze off a couple of rounds from the nine-millimeter. He didn’t even fight back.
He just wavered there, dazed for a moment. Then, he grimaced and doubled over, dropping to one knee.
Martin stared at his opponent, not sure what to do next. Against the odds, he’d executed the moves taught to him by Grandpa Frank well enough to disable the bigger man.
The thought was quickly followed by another one. Stewart would not stay that way for much longer. He would recover and come after Martin with a previously unexperienced vengeance.
This realization, intensified by years of avoiding conflict, raced through Martin, threatening to derail him from what he had set out to do. He had to get to the time machine and disable it.
To gain a better position for the move, Martin stepped back and kicked the nine-millimeter, which Stewart still held.
The gun flew from Stewart’s hand and skidded across the basement floor, out of reach for the time being.
Martin spun around and sprinted toward t
he time machine’s operating console. Operating on determination folded with fear, he grabbed a screwdriver from the workbench he’d seen earlier. With the tool, he began gouging and stabbing at anything within reach, bashing monitors and busting control knobs. Noticing an access panel, he tried using the screwdriver to remove the screws securing it, but the tool didn’t fit. He needed a flat head not a Phillips.
Martin glanced around to check on Stewart but paused as a chill ran up his spine.
Stewart was gone.
Martin quickly rummaged through the tools. When he found what he needed, he scrambled back to the console and began removing the screws to the access panel. He’d gotten two out and had as many to go when a sobering thought crossed his mind.
Where was Doctor Stewart, and why wasn’t he trying to stop Martin? A bit of logic dropped a load of realization on Martin, and he spun around, facing the time machine.
Stewart was stepping into the midst of the time portal, carrying an armload of papers. Once inside, he turned and simply stared at Martin.
No gunshots rang out, which probably meant the nine-millimeter was still somewhere on the basement floor. If that were the case, Stewart had enough confidence that he was going to pull off making the time jump to have left the weapon behind.
Martin turned back to his work and removed one more screw. Then, he used the screwdriver to pry the panel to one side. As soon as he saw the exposed circuit boards, he began busting them with the screwdriver in one hand while using the other to rip away any wires he saw. The equipment seemed to be a mixture of both old and new technology, and it was then that the purpose of the papers Stewart carried became clear to Martin. Stewart had used his father’s blueprints and plans to construct the machine, and he was taking them with him, not only to keep them out of Martin’s hands but also to use in reconstruction should that become necessary. An old-style calendar, sitting atop the console caught Martin’s attention and confirmed everything. The date showed February 2014 while a red circle indicated the day as the 23rd.