Still, it was going well, and he had painted out more than twenty messages before he ran out of ink. If Coru failed to see this, he was blind. Payton tossed the spray pen into a dumpster as he passed it, and kept on walking, this time striking out toward the park, following the signs he’d discovered in his roaming for message sites. It wasn’t long before he came to the park.
Stanley Park was huge. Gigantic. He practically sagged with defeat.
It wasn’t as if Cory could walk into the park and see him immediately. This had to be hundreds of acres of parkland, all along the ocean’s edge and it was crowded. The park was framed on one side by tall city buildings, the other side by a weaving sea wall walkway for joggers and bikers, the water lapping at the stacked and cemented stone wall. There was a huge forested area into which disappeared a winding road, well-travelled by again, over the top colored vehicles. There were flat areas, rolling, hilly areas, all covered in wide sidewalks and rich mowed green grass, ready for picnicking, and playing outdoor games and populated by a collection of buskers, selling their skills in music, dance, on-the-spot portraits, with hand-carts hawking ice cream, and handmade jewelry, fresh popcorn, warm nuts, hot donuts. Cheap T-shirts, illustrated blankets, leather belts and colorful scarves waved in the breeze.
But the trees! The trees were spectacular, something he’d never seen in person before. He walked among them, touching their rough surfaced bark, sometimes warm from the sun, other times cool in the shade. They were so much bigger than he’d imagined.
In the records he’d studied, they never mentioned that trees swayed in the breeze, that their branches emitted a comforting rustled so that you actually heard the winds around you and their leaves fluttered in that wind, sunlight glancing off their surfaces, the light below the trees almost glittering as a result. He found himself smiling as he slowly pivoting, taking in the entire park, breathing in the strong briny, sometimes oily air coming off the Pacific Ocean.
Never happened in WEN 2341; and likely never would again. This was what Coru was fighting to restore back in their time. Seeing this, what the earth had been before Cloud Rez and before Surface, before the Clone Wars, Payton saw his brother’s efforts were puny, and would never achieve this magnificence. Back in WEN 2341…
He shook his head. He had to stop. Look at what you have, not what you don’t have, dummy. Resetting his filters, he looked again.
There were clean public washroom here — halleluiah! There were places to rent bicycles built for two and Segways — like they were something special — he had half a dozen of the things piled up in his closet at home. But here, they were a novelty. What he wouldn’t give to get off his feet, but he had no local currency, no way to trade. He saw some people were laid out on the grass, their eyes closed, taking in the sun and decided he’d do the same.
He found himself a quiet spot, rummaged inside his pack for an instant meal, ripped it open, added water and waited for the package to heat. In under two minutes, he had a hot meal, every bite was better than the last. Crumbling up the light bag when he was done, he tossed in a nearby refuge container and settled down for an afternoon nap. Coru might be on his way this very minute and it would be best if he was rested and ready to go when his brother arrived.
The gentle heat of the sun baked into his body, loosened his limbs and allowed him to let go of his worries, just for this moment.
He awoke with a start when his bag was yanked out from under his head. Snagging the strap at the last minute, he saved it from the skinny woman who’d been brave enough to attempt the theft. Seeing his eyes open, she squeaked and hurried away. Just before she disappeared around a curved path leading back to the city streets, she brushed aside her tangled hair and cast one last speculative glance back at him. He knew instantly she would be getting bigger guns to get his pack. He’d be wise to keep moving, as Dom had told him.
Looking around, he saw it was dusk and the park was almost empty. He’d slept for hours. He’d taken a horrible chance, sleeping in the day.
He was in WEN 2036, and he was alone. No big protective brother in sight. Right now, his plan to integrate into this world looked like a pipe dream. Where… how would he even start? He had no marketable skills he could think of; no way to communicate. No home base from which to launch himself. No friends, no connections. What had he imagined would happen when he arrived?
Then he realized exactly what he’d imagined.
He’d imagined Coru would take care of everything.
Who would protect him now? He thought of Dom and Weazer. They’d been decent to him. They’d warned him about tonight. He glanced around, saw it was far too late to find the shelter they’d told him about. He’d slept through his window of opportunity.
Instead, he looked for safe place here. Dom had said climb up into a tree, tie himself in and to stay put ‘til morning. If he’d guessed right, Skinny girl would be back with re-enforcements. Best to do this thing without witnesses.
He shot to his feet, hurried over to the washroom. After the necessaries, he filled a bottle with water from the tap to save what he was carrying, then went back out, studying the trees that surrounded him. Time to find shelter.
A stand-alone tree was not a good idea. He’d do better in a stand of trees, where he could blend into the foliage. He struck out into the surrounding forest.
After a ten-minute search, he found the perfect tree. It was nearer to the water’s edge, and looked to be a good situation for a lost time traveler. He laughed humorlessly inside his head, and began the steep learning curve of Twenty-first Century Tree Climbing 101. This was fun, fun, fun — leaping, grunting, slipping, sweating, falling failing. Here was where his days sitting in the library stacks worked against him. Upper body strength? Not his strong suit. It would have been funny if he wasn’t growing more afraid with every failed attempt.
He was glad not to have an audience as he struggled, but in the end, pride was set aside and the specter of Skinny Girl and her potential helpers proved inspiring. He managed to get himself around thirty feet up the tree and was confident he’d be well hidden, though he was left trembling, his muscles abruptly weak and watery at the effort.
Afraid he’d now make a wrong move and fall to his death, he looked over the truck for how to tie himself to it. If the bashing his body took from the thick branches on his way down didn’t take him out, the hard landing at the end would surely do the job.
He immediately set about settling into as comfortable a spot and position as he could manage, pulled cord from his pack and tied himself to the truck, testing the cords this way and that, should he fall asleep. It was good. After tying his pack to the branch next to him, he pulled out his warming cloak, draped it around himself, leaned back against the tree and gazed out to sea. The sun was setting over the water now, and it was a spectacular sight of brilliant yellow, golds, pinks and vermilion. It was over too soon, leaving him in darkness, the moon only a sliver tonight. He’d never seen anything like this back in his time.
His time. The stuffy safety of the stacks, studying past civilizations without getting involved. Without risk. Without cops beating on you for standing on the sidewalk. Without men with slit throats lying on sidewalks as people with vacant, beat-down stares hurried by.
Physical exhaustion, fear and loneliness did its work breaking down his resolve to stay here in WEN 2036 and he felt his chin quiver. He dashed away the final betrayal, tears that sprang up now he was alone in the darkness. He was supposed to come here and save the world.
Forget saving the world — how about saving his own ass?
End of Excerpt
END OF BOOK STUFF
Ever ask yourself: When the chips are down, when no one is looking, who am I?
Writers do tend to insert their own lives into their books, and Lost Sentinel is no exception.
My family lives in northern British Columbia, in Canada, in a real house in a small town during the winter and in a cabin on our acreage along the Peace River during
the summer. While we’re living at the cabin, we live off the grid and dream of living a totally independent, self-sustaining, simpler life. This includes producing our own power through solar panels and heating by wood stove with windfall trees we’ve hauled from the bush and cut up. It also includes an orchard, a huge veggie garden and raising free range meat and egg chickens (who live in the Hilton of chicken houses with a huge forest-shaded run). We have the requisite dogs and cats, of course, and a ton of wildlife. A day doesn’t go by that we don’t see a moose cow and calf, or a pair of elk or group of deer, or a lettuce nibbling rabbit in the garden, or sleek beaver in a pond or maybe a black bear looking look over the garden or chicken run with interest. The Bald Eagles return every year, and every summer we look forward to our front row seats to the raising and training of their chick. What wonderful parents Bald Eagles are. Bet you didn’t know that.
All of Wren’s D.O.A. homestead in Lost Sentinel does exist in real life – we live it and love it. I have huge respect for the land and the animals in it, which I’m sure comes out loud and clear in this book. We have one beautiful planet and we should be caring for it better than we do. Caring for one another and caring for our environment are two often explored topics in my writing.
As well as my love of nature, I am endlessly curious about the human condition. One of my favorite questions is: What would you do if no one was looking? I’m talking neighbors, law enforcement, your church, perhaps. I don’t mean do you secretly pick your nose; I mean would you keep a found wallet full of cash? Do you obey the laws, go along with the mainstream because you want to, or because you have to, or simply to stay out of trouble? Do you have your own morals which you follow out of personal principal, or public morals you follow out of fear? What’s at work here, principals or guilt? Interesting question, don’t you think?
Another question I often wonder about: Are people basically good? If they are, again, what about when no one is looking? See? Interesting, isn’t it?
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
R.R. Roberts lives in Northern Canada and shares a home with brilliant humans, and cats and dogs who are almost human – they are, of course, brilliant as well. ;-)
Please visit
www.rrroberts.com
Table of Contents
Copyright
Table of Contents
Books by R.R. Roberts
Acknowledgments
1. The Betrayal
2. Ravens
3. Reliable Source
4. Prisoner
5. The Two Dennys
6. 0n the Town
7. Horses
8. No Dishes
9. Dakota Fire Pit
10. The Wolves of Summer
11. Deklin Signals
12. Salt Caves
13. Traveling Circus
14. Paths Cross
15. Drop Out Acres
16. Scavenging
17. Dreamscape
18. Expansion
19. The Key
20. Misdirection
21. Nesting
22. Missing: The Truth
23. Not a Game
24. Highway Signs
25. Greener Grass
26. Things Change
27. Murder or Justice
28. Run!
29. Curtis
30. Healing Time
31. Outlanders and Freelanders
32. Nightmares
33. Hey Barista!
34. This Won’t End Well
35. The Gathering
36. Freeland
37. Time Bore
Excerpt: Cursed Apprentice
End of Book Stuff
About the Author
Lost Sentinel: Post-Apocalyptic Time Travel Adventure (Earth Survives Series Book 1) Page 49