by Julie Wright
He looked off toward the darkened trees. “Orting City isn’t too far. We should be able to walk there and get some food. We need rest. The next jump window from this area isn’t for another four days. It’s better to wait it out than keep jumping ourselves into trouble.”
“Orting is not walking distance. I live there, remember? I drove up here all the time. It’ll take us four days to walk.”
His eyes reflected the light from his flashlight still on the ground near us. His face looked cleaner; so did his hair. He must’ve found a stream or a river. “Things have changed in the last eighty years. Orting’s a big city. But even if they hadn’t changed, it would not take four days to walk. When you feel up to it, we’ll go.”
It crossed my mind to be stubborn and never be ready to go, but the need for food overwhelmed my desire to irritate my kidnapper. I tried hard not to think about the fact that I’d only had food and water because he’d given it to me. I was only still alive because he got us out of the mud slide before it swallowed us whole. And though I hated to consider it, I was still alive because he pulled me out of a fatal car accident.
I got up and let him lead. He didn’t bother to try to hold me captive; he must’ve sensed my waning ability to run away. Honestly, where would I go? Who would I run to for help in the year 2097? Winter would be dead by now, my whole world was lost to me, and there wasn’t anything I could do about it.
“The next jump window isn’t for several days,” he repeated. “The Orbital looks like it might be working right now, but I can’t tell. I think it needs a break, or who knows when we’ll end up? The last thing either of us wants is to be dinner to a T. rex in the Cretaceous period. When we’re settled, I’ll see what can be done for it.” He took my hand when I stumbled over a dried-up tree branch sticking out of the ground.
“How are you going to fix it? Didn’t you say you were a soldier? What would a soldier know about a computer watch time-travel thing?”
“I helped invent it.”
“Oh.” Smart soldier kidnappers. Just my luck. “I thought you said you couldn’t fix it earlier.”
“I’ll need to makeshift some tools.”
“Wineve is dead now.” I spoke my thoughts aloud, as I tromped along behind him, yanking my hand out of his.
He didn’t respond.
“She’s dead, and I don’t even know where she’s buried to put flowers on her grave. Do you have any idea how much that hurts me?”
He whirled around. “Yes.” The one word uttered through gritted teeth stopped me in my tracks. “I do know exactly how that feels. I’ve lost people I’ve loved, too. People I can’t mourn. So yes, I understand. But you remember that, even without me, she would have lost you. You died in that car wreck. Don’t forget that.”
You’re dead, Summer Dawn Rae. Those had been his first words to me. I felt dead and yet kept up with him in some self-serving need not to be dead. In spite of everything, I wanted to survive this situation. I didn’t want to be dead.
Tag turned out to be right about how far we had to go. Not long into our trek down the mountain, lights from houses appeared through the trees. “This was national forestland,” I said, marveling at the fact that houses existed in the middle of the woods, where they couldn’t possibly be.
“It still is. These are renters. The government needed money to subsidize several social programs that were failing. They improved much of their more desirable properties and rented them out to people who had the means to pay the overpriced rent. The rental bailout saved a lot of people from losing medical care.”
“Says who?” The need to argue blanket statements of government loyalty came from years of living under the government’s foster program.
“Says the history plugs.”
I didn’t ask what a history plug might be. “Yeah, well, fat lot of good it’ll do them. When Mount Rainier blows, all of this will be mowed over by lava and mud slides.”
Tag didn’t argue, which validated my point. We skirted around the first several houses until we came to the main road.
Instead of taking the road, which would have been easier to walk on given my tired, weakened state, Tag insisted on weaving in and out through the trees while keeping the road within our sight.
“Why are we acting like spies?” I asked after several minutes of tripping over rocks and getting dried leaves in my tennis shoes.
“Curfew. I can’t remember the year they implemented curfew, but we don’t want to get caught out if it happened to be in force this year.”
“Aren’t we old enough to be out after dark?”
He held a tree branch for me so it didn’t swat me in the face. “Age isn’t a factor. Curfew is for everyone. They thought it would keep the crazies in line.”
“That’s not exactly nice to call people crazies, is it?”
He turned to give me a quizzical look, shrugged, and picked his way through an overgrowth of scrub oak. He seemed intent on not talking, which added to my own personal paranoia. “So what happens if we get caught out after curfew?” I whispered, since we’d edged closer to several more large houses in the middle of the forest. Tag kept waving his hand in front of the windows as we passed them. Then he’d frown and we’d move on.
He didn’t bother to turn around when he uttered the two words I was getting tired of hearing him say. “Bad things.”
We kept on in silence for a long time until Tag found whatever it was he’d been looking for. He led me to a house just off the road. He checked a window, shining his own light in through the darkened pane to make sure it was empty and started jimmying the window open with a wicked-looking knife he’d pulled from his backpack.
“Are you breaking in? We can’t break in!” I darted furtive glances to the road, certain the police would be showing up any minute. The foster care system might have improved over the decades, but I wasn’t in the mood to try it out. Trying out the local prison seemed an even worse idea.
“No one’s here. And this house isn’t equipped with entry sensors.”
“How would you know that? You can’t know that!” Entry sensors? I tugged at his jacket, but he ignored me.
“This is a bad idea. I don’t want to go to jail.” I may as well have been talking to a rock for all the good it did me to reason with him. “You’re doing that wrong.” I yanked the knife out of his hand. “Haven’t you ever broken into anything before?” I slid the knife so the tip of the blade pressed against the latch and twisted. The window opened with a pop. I handed it back to him before it occurred to me that I’d had a weapon and then given it back. I was such an amateur. His legs were already dangling out the window as he scrambled to climb inside.
Against all my better judgment, I followed his really bad example and entered the house.
Chapter Seven
It’s dark.” I stated the obvious as my hand went to the wall to feel for a light.
“It’s better that way.” He took my hand. “Leave the light off. No one’s here right now, but there are still neighbors, and we aren’t that far off the road. If anyone’s watching, they’ll notice the light.”
“What are entry sensors? How do you know we didn’t trip an alarm and that cops aren’t on their way here right now?” He didn’t answer but led me farther into the dark. I didn’t pull away, needing the security of another human being. The house furnishings weren’t weird like I expected them to be. I’d expected chairs made of bubbles and steel cabinets—something futuristic looking, but I ran my hand over the couch and felt the plush fibers of the cushions. I could make out the faint outline of real books on the bookshelves. I didn’t think books would have a place in the future. I thought everyone would read books on their cell phones.
Tag took us to the kitchen and closed the big slatted shutters over the windows before pulling out his flashlight and turning it on. He was careful with his light, careful to keep the sweeping beam away from the windows, careful to shine it toward the ground where it would be less likely to lea
k out through those big slats and offer evidence that the house had some uninvited visitors.
“What if the police are on their way?” I asked again, feeling certain that cops were surrounding the house as we stood unaware inside.
He let my hand go and shoved his hand into the beam of his light. “See this ring?”
A thick silver band sat on his left hand, on the finger where a wedding band would traditionally go. The ring’s surface was ornately worked with grooves and scrolls in intricate patterns.
“It’s a nice ring,” I offered lamely, wondering if he was trying to propose. With all that talk about being able to have babies, it was the only thing that seemed logical to me. My mind had been fried beyond the ability to string together any rational thought.
“It’s an IDR. An ID ring. Everyone has one. Even people who can’t afford one. The government offers basic models to the povs.”
“Povs?”
“Poor people. You know—poverty. Rich people can afford the nicer models, ones with comms and drives. Mine’s a 420b.” He puffed out his chest as though this meant something important. I stared at him blankly, wondering when he’d switched from English to this alien language.
He shook his head, recognizing how I’d become more baffled than impressed. “What it means is that each ring is a like a fingerprint of the person wearing it. No one uses keys like they did in your time.” His face twisted up as if keys were one of the dumbest ideas in the world. “The IDR scans the entrance to the house and unlocks the door for the people keyed in as approved for entry. If an unapproved tried to break in, the entry sensors would spark and notify the authorities.”
His explanation only made me more nervous. There was no way his ring would be programmed as approved for this house. “That doesn’t answer my question. How do you know the cops aren’t about to throw in gas bombs through the windows?” Every sci-fi movie I’d ever watched flashed through my mind. Paul had liked old science-fiction movies. We watched them together. I could only think of Terminator and how the future was this horrible place where people lived in the smoking ruins of a technological wasteland while robots hunted them down. I suddenly felt that Hollywood had done me a huge disservice not to give me better information on how to protect myself in such a future.
“Look.” He moved toward the window and waved his hand in front. Nothing happened. “Did you see?” he asked.
I shook my head.
“The ring would glow red if the sensors felt I was not approved. It would glow green if the sensors had approved me.” He waved his hand over the window once more. “But see how it doesn’t glow at all? No entry sensors yet. We’re fine.”
“That doesn’t mean they don’t have an alarm system that tripped when you opened the window.” I peeked out to check for cops. The trees swayed softly in the breeze, but nothing else moved in the shadows.
He shook his head again. “Technically, you opened the window. But alarm systems aren’t what they were. Ring law was instated in 2090. Everyone has to have an IDR. By 2095, every other form of contact for emergency service was discontinued. If you didn’t install entry sensors in your home or business, then it’s your problem.”
I looked out. Nothing. I relaxed. The police weren’t coming. Once Tag felt I was under control, he nodded and led us back to the kitchen. He inspected the pantry, pulling out cans of things that might be edible. There were bulk-size cans filled with beans, rice, and flour. I watched as Tag mixed some of the beans up with the rice and put them in his humidifier. “Sorry it’s taking so long. The dehydrated foods work better because they were designed for the humidifier. Real foods work differently.”
“Isn’t there running water here? Why are you using that when there’s a stove right there?” I pointed at the stove.
He grunted and looked abashed. “Habit, I guess.” He maneuvered over to the stove, trying to get the pilot light to catch. When it wouldn’t, he pulled a plastic bottle from his jacket and tapped out a match. Blue flame sparked to life around the burner when he touched the match to it.
I turned my hands over and really looked at them for the first time in hours. I was filthy. I got up and moved to the kitchen sink. But simple hand washing wasn’t enough for me. I wanted a bath. The idea of walking through the dark house alone to find a bathroom made my heart quicken with fear. “Tag?”
He looked up from the stove.
“Will you help me find a bathroom?” I guess I should have felt guilty for making him be responsible for the food. I should have felt some need to pitch in and do my part. But he was the kidnapper. This was his party and his responsibility. If he didn’t like it, he could take me home and be rid of me. Even as I thought these things, I had to force down the twinges of guilt that did bubble up. It wasn’t in my upbringing to be served.
He guided me through the house until we found a bathroom bigger than the master bedroom in Aunt Theresa’s house.
A huge fluffy towel that could have been used as a blanket hung over the side of the tub. It was too dark to make out any colors, but the bathroom had the feeling of being elaborate and posh. Tag pulled a couple of sticks from his jacket and snapped them in half, giving them a brief shake and dropping them on the counter by the mirror.
“Glow sticks?” I let out a nervous laugh.
“What about them?”
“I’d expected something high tech like your ring.”
“Some things don’t change. If an idea was perfect to begin with, why alter it? If you keep them by the mirror, you’ll get the light from the reflection, too. It will make the room brighter.” He gave a slight bow, like a butler being dismissed. “I’ll leave you to clean up. Food will be ready when you come out.”
He left the bathroom, very deliberately pulling the door closed tight so the latch caught with a click. I hurried to cross the room and lock the door, feeling grateful the door did have locks.
I wondered if Tag was outside—if he’d heard me lock the door. Would he be offended by my not trusting him? I snorted at my image in the mirror. Did I care if I offended him? I frowned. Unsure why some part of me did care.
Giving myself a good shake for the insanity of such thoughts, I yanked off my clothes and stepped into the tub. I turned the shower to hot and scooted back from the spray so the cold water in the lines could warm up. I waved my hand in the water, but the water remained icy cold. Muttering curses about water heaters, I stepped back out, wrapped the blanket sized towel around me, and poked my head out from the bathroom door.
The empty dark hallway reminded me of the horror films I’d seen, the one where the evil guy’s blade glimmers at the end of the hallway as he walks toward the terrified teenager wrapped in a towel. “Tag?” My shaky voice made my face flush. What a baby I’d turned out to be.
He called out from the kitchen. “What?”
“There isn’t hot water. Do I have to do something to make hot water come on?”
“The heating unit must be broken. I don’t know anything about flash heaters. Sorry. My training was history, politics, and soldiering, with a slight emphasis in physics.” His voice moved closer and his faint form moved at the end of the hallway. “I’ll heat some on the stove.” With that, his shadow moved away again. I shut the door, trying to shake the respect I had for the space he seemed so willing to give me. A slight emphasis on physics? He helped invent a time-travel watch and considered his abilities to be slight?
After a fairly long wait, he tapped at the door. “I’ll leave the pot here. You can get it when you feel comfortable. I’ve already started several smaller pots so you’ll have enough.”
I held my breath and listened as his footsteps whispered away on the hall carpet. I edged the door open and found a large pan of water. I felt vulnerable standing there in a towel, but Tag had thus far been a perfect gentleman.
I hefted the pan into the bathroom and up onto the counter, hoping it didn’t burn the countertop for the owner. “A perfect gentleman?” I looked in the mirror. “Perfect
gentlemen don’t steal girls from their time zones.”
“But you’d be dead if he hadn’t,” I argued with my image, green in the glow-stick light.
It comforted me to argue with my mirror image, almost like arguing with Winter. Except Winter had never been so dirty and travel worn.
If I tried getting into the tub while covered in volcano droppings, I’d be bathing in a swamp of black, sooty water. I sighed and glared at the bathtub. The warmth could be enjoyed after a quick rinse cycle.
I jumped into the shower and clenched my teeth against the shock of cold against my skin. The soap and shampoo came from two smaller curvy looking faucets that released a small squirt in my hand once placed under the nozzles. I soaped up outside of the spray then stepped back in for the final rinse. A small cry against the cold erupted.
Tag knocked on the door again. “Is something wrong?”
“Just c-cold.” I stuttered.
“There are three more pans of water ready for you. I can bring them in . . . if you trust me. Just close the curtain. I can pour the water through the curtain. I won’t look.”
I hesitated. Even the most altruistic boy would have trouble keeping that promise. A kidnapper? But I hadn’t relocked the door, and he hadn’t tried to enter. “Leave them by the door.”
“How about I leave them on the counter. Then you won’t have to leave the bathroom at all.”
When I didn’t argue the idea, he said, “Okay. I’m coming in.”
Standing outside the cold shower spray, almost without feeling the backsplash of the cold droplets, I waited.
The door clicked open. I held my breath and listened to him heft pans in and place them on the counter, one by one. The oddity and danger of the situation did not escape me. Only a thin sheet of cloth stood between me and the person who’d ripped me from my life. If he wasn’t to be trusted, now would surely be the time he would attack. His shadow moved against the shower curtain, causing me to cast a quick glance around for a weapon I could defend myself with. Nothing looked very weaponlike in the tub. Thinking of the dirt I’d thrown in his eyes, I put my hands under the shampoo dispenser and filled them with shampoo—the most pathetic weapon ever.