by David Meyer
Now that he thought about it—really thought about it—he found himself doubting his decisions. His decision to leave Hatcher Station. His decision to relocate to Manhattan. And most recently, his decision to turn down Corbotch.
He frowned. He felt a physical imbalance, not unlike the one experienced in Hans Christian Andersen’s famous tale, The Princess and the Pea. Reaching into his back pocket, he pulled out a crumpled mass. He smoothed it and stared at the name James Corbotch.
Stared at the phone number beneath it.
He pushed away from the wall. Took another deep breath of New York’s foul oxygen. Then he started walking again, slower and with purpose. Maybe he’d been wrong five months ago. Maybe forgiveness was in his reach.
Maybe it was something he could earn.
Chapter 11
Date: Unknown; Location: Unknown
“What are we going to do?” Bailey Mills’ heart pounded against her chest with continuous ferocity. “We can’t stay here forever.”
The hipster with the T-Rex shirt studied the clearing from their perch high up in the strange fruit tree. Below, the saber paced around the trunk at a wide distance, growling softly. “If you’ve got a suggestion, I’m all ears.”
Mills didn’t have a suggestion. In fact, she could barely think straight. Hours ago, she had raced across the clearing with Toland, Skolnick, Elliott, and the hipster. While the saber watched, they’d scaled one of the orange-barked trees and taken refuge among its yellow-green fruit. Then they’d waited. And waited.
And waited.
“Maybe we can—”
Wood splintered and cracked loudly, like gunshots. Shrieks rang out and Mills felt herself swaying and swinging back and forth. Then the tree’s branches, stretched to the breaking point by the extra weight, collapsed in a sudden flurry of noise and commotion.
Mills and the others plummeted to the earth, smashing tall reeds to the ground. Mud splattered everywhere. Chirping in unison, birds took flight from nearby treetops, scattering to the winds.
For a moment, Mills lay in the mud, dazed and disoriented. Then she remembered the saber, remembered how it had stalked them for the last few hours. Get up, you idiot, her brain shouted. Get up and run!
Skolnick shrieked, causing even more birds to shoot into the sky. The saber, which had watched them fall from ten yards out, turned to look at her.
Skolnick, out of her mind with fear, stood up. She raised her voice a few decibels until she was screaming at the top of her lungs.
Mills’ throat ran dry. Despite hours of quiet whispering with the others, she still had no clue how a long-extinct creature had suddenly come back to life. Eventually, she’d just accepted it as reality. But now, back on level turf with the saber, she found herself wondering about it all over again.
Rising to her haunches, Mills stole along the edge of the clearing to a patch of undisturbed grass. Then she chanced a quick look at the saber.
The beast hadn’t left its position. But now its head was cocked to the side. Its eyes, orange and deadly, shifted a few degrees as they followed the now-fleeing Skolnick into the forest.
The saber’s teeth gnashed together. Then a giant roar rang out. Paws slapped the earth as the beast tried to race forward. But it slipped on the wet mud, losing precious seconds in the process.
“Run,” the hipster shouted. “Run, damn it!”
His words cut through the thick air like a hatchet. And within seconds, Mills was running, running for her life.
Brian Toland raced into the surrounding forest, hot on Skolnick’s heels. Tricia Elliott was next to clear the boundary.
Mills’ bare feet skidded in the slippery mud. Somehow she kept her balance long enough to reach the forest, followed closely by the hipster. But as she passed under the canopy of thick branches and fruit, a new problem arose. Rocks, some sharp and some just hard as hell, littered the ground. More than once, her bare feet crunched on these unforgiving objects. And yet, she continued to run, propelled by that most primal of fears.
Prickly bushes, dripping with berry-like fruit, lay beyond the initial layer of trees. Fortunately, she was able to avoid them by following the lead of those in front of her. Confident in her path, Mills shifted her eyes to the ground. Carefully, she directed her feet, soaked with blood and wet dirt, over the rocky terrain.
She ran into a different section of forest, one laced with pine trees. Behind her, she heard damp leaves smooshing against mud. Heavy, constant breathing. Wet twigs snapping dully underfoot.
She yelped as something sharp grazed her left thigh. Looking down, she saw the saber running next to her, its horrible jaws snapping at her leg.
It paced alongside her for a few moments. Then it dropped back and fell in behind her. Spitting and snarling, it sprinted forward.
The hipster grabbed her right arm and yanked her, forcing her to the right. The saber, already airborne, tried to compensate by shifting its massive head toward her.
Twisting her neck away from its curving teeth, Mills lashed out with her left arm. Her fist crashed harmlessly into the beast’s tough hide, glancing off it with little force. But it was just enough to direct the jaws away from her exposed face and toward empty air.
Landing on all fours, the saber roared again as it tried to whirl around on a three-inch carpet of pine needles. But its momentum carried it forward, causing it to smack solidly against an ancient tree trunk.
Mills shot the hipster a grateful look.
He gave her a grim one in return.
She tried to run faster. But her feet, which had seen far more nail salons than jogging paths, felt sore and tired. Her lungs were on fire. Meanwhile, her toned upper body, sculpted for looks rather than function, screamed for a break from the physical exertion. Only sheer terror kept her from falling to her knees and succumbing to a horrible fate.
Pine needles stung her feet and thin branches whipped at her face as she followed Elliott and the others through a patch of dense cedars. Her brain yelled at her, demanding more speed. Or, at the very least, a plan of escape.
It occurred to her that Skolnick, firmly in the lead, was in a pretty good place at the moment. It brought to mind an old truism. To survive, Skolnick didn’t need to outrun the saber.
She just needed to outrun everyone else.
Mills fought back the rising panic in her chest. Why was she sticking with these people anyway? It wasn’t like she knew them. Then again, what else could she do? Go off by herself? She wouldn’t survive a day in this place without help.
Swiveling her head to the rear, she saw trampled needles, some torn up turf, and a few mossy rocks. Plus, about a billion flies that continued to nip at her sweat-drenched skin.
But no saber.
Air rushed and a blur of movement caught her eye. Shifting her gaze to the right, Mills saw the saber streak past her, dodging between pines and prickly bushes.
“Look out,” Mills gasped. “It’s—”
The air swirled loudly, drowning her out. Thundering noises rose above the current—thump, thump, thump—as the ancient beast galloped past Elliott and Toland. Racing ahead, it coiled up into a tight spring of tendons and muscles.
Then it lunged at Skolnick.
The businesswoman screamed as the saber knocked her to the ground. Her head snapped back, striking a weather-beaten rock. Her tongue lolled out of her mouth and she went limp.
Mills ground to a halt. The others did as well. For an excruciatingly long moment, she stared at the saber, at the unconscious Skolnick. Wondered what—if anything—she could do.
Ribs cracked as the beast’s paws, large and heavy, crunched down upon Skolnick’s chest. Lifting its head to the canopy, the saber roared.
Chills ran down Mills’ spine. Then something touched her shoulder. She started to jerk away, before realizing it was the hipster. “It’s me.” He raised his voice to a soft whisper so the others could hear him. “Everyone, back up. Slowly, quietly. Keep your eyes on that … thing. And whatever
you do, don’t turn your back.”
Swallowing, Mills stared at Skolnick. “What about her?”
The saber roared again. Neck muscles wrinkling, it stabbed its head at Skolnick. Its long teeth sank into the woman’s belly. Blood exploded outward, coloring the damp leaves a dark crimson. Multiple organs slid to the ground, slipping and skittering across the mud-drenched needles.
Mills gasped, her hand flying to her mouth to cut it off. Not that it mattered. The saber knew about her. Knew about all of them.
Wordlessly, she and the others followed the hipster on a slow, cautious retreat. The saber watched them for a minute or two. Then it dipped its jaws to Skolnick’s corpse.
Blutchk. Spluuch. Pluuchk.
Mills fought back the urge to vomit. Her brain whirred and clanked like well-oiled machinery as she forced herself to concentrate on the future, on survival. She lacked food and water, shelter and weapons. Even worse, she lacked the skills to produce any of those things.
If she hoped to survive, she needed to contact the outside world, to get help. But how? Her satphone had failed and died. And the presence of a saber-toothed tiger, long extinct, indicated they were in some remote region, far removed from civilization. An area yet to be explored by modern man.
In short, she had no resources, no skills. No means of communication and not even a prayer of anyone stumbling upon her. She might last another hour, another day, another week. But that didn’t change the horrible truth that had begun to permeate her brain.
Death was coming for her.
It was just a question of when.
Chapter 12
Date: June 19, 2016, 8:54 a.m.; Location: Hatcher Station, Vallerio Forest, NH
Father Time, Morgan thought, is one vengeful bastard. Of course, that didn’t change her culpability. After all, she and her fellow scientists had challenged the mythical timekeeper on his own turf, not the other way around. So, they bore at least some responsibility for all the evil that had been subsequently released into the world. And like it or not, a reckoning was coming.
It was just a matter of time.
Over twelve hours had passed since the initial uprising. Twelve hours since she and her allies had raided the Warehouse, seized the arsenal, and forced most of the opposition into submission. And yet, she had surprisingly little to show for it. Just rooms full of people—agitated dignitaries, grim-faced guards, and her increasingly nervous allies—as well as a hatch that refused to open. Unfortunately, full control of the station—and more importantly its communication systems—had eluded her.
Head down, she paced back and forth across the brightly lit room. Hoping against hope, she waited for shouts from Codd and Issova. Excited shouts, shouts of success. But all she heard was the continuous, quiet pecking of fingers on keys.
A burning sensation reappeared in her right waist. Breaking off her pattern, she walked to the room’s southeastern corner and slipped into the hidden dead space between a pair of filing cabinets.
The burning sensation morphed into searing pain. Gripping her waist, Morgan inhaled a sharp breath. Keep it together, Amanda, she thought. You’ve got to keep it together.
Shrugging off her tattered lab coat, she let it drop to the floor. Then she pulled up her crimson stretchy tee and peered at her waist. Her bandages, a rush job by Dr. Adnan, were soaked through with blood.
Tentatively, she gripped a bandage and peeled it back, exposing a deep, jagged gash. She’d received it during the uprising, a not-so-generous gift from one of Hatcher’s now-subdued guards.
Gently, she probed the wound, right where the knife had first slit her skin. Her head spun in circles and she nearly passed out from the pain.
She pulled the bandage back over the wound and picked up the lab coat. Folded it into a wad and held it tight against her waist.
Morgan leaned against one of the cabinets. It felt refrigerator-cool and its smooth surface soothed her nerves. Staring off into space, she thought about the long, torturous path that had brought her to this place, this time.
It had all started with Tony’s disappearance in Sector 84, an isolated woodland area within the Vallerio Forest. His apparent demise destroyed her, sending her into a tailspin of misery and despair. After several days of moping and grieving, anger erupted within her. She’d entered the Barracks and made her way to Tony’s area. Then she’d turned destructive, throwing things, breaking things. That was when she discovered it.
The package.
While flinging books to the floor, she’d heard a mysterious clunk. Pausing for a moment, she saw an old leather-bound copy of the Jules Verne classic, Journey to the Center of the Earth. She’d picked it up and cracked it open. Inside, she’d discovered a hollowed-out interior, filled with a thick brown envelope.
With great trepidation, she’d opened the envelope. Inside, she discovered a treasure trove of papers. All night, she’d sat on her brother’s bed, reading his scrawls about 48A. First with skepticism. Then with curiosity.
And finally, with fear.
The next day, she’d returned to work, ignoring the pleas of others to take more time, to properly mourn her brother. She began viewing Hatcher’s video feeds—the ones for the far corners of Sector 48—in secret. That day, she adopted his quest to unearth the truth.
Day-by-day, week-by-week, month-by-month, Morgan studied those feeds, confirming the existence of 48A. Eventually, she recruited Codd and Issova to her cause and they discovered the sector’s hidden feeds. After that, the truth became impossible to ignore. She, along with the other researchers, had been recruited to Hatcher Station on an epic quest to push back the boundaries of time. But someone had corrupted their work. Twisted it, changed it. Turned it into something unholy.
One by one, she’d brought scientists, technicians, and rangers into the fold. They scoffed at first but that quickly changed as she showed them indisputable evidence of wrongdoing.
A few people had wanted to go public with the information. But Morgan convinced them otherwise. Hatcher’s guards controlled the Lab and with it, the building’s external communications equipment. Since their loyalties lay with the Foundation, she knew they’d never let the truth out into the open.
Leaving Hatcher was a difficult, but not impossible task. However, taking evidence from the premises was a different story. Guards subjected exiting employees to multiple searches, relieving them of any and all items prior to departure. So, the odds of escaping with even a shred of evidence were nonexistent. And thanks to the gravity of the situation, Morgan suspected anyone caught trying to do so would wind up dead.
So, she offered an alternative plan. On June 18, Hatcher was scheduled to host a group of high-powered dignitaries. During the dinner, she and the others would stage a bloodless uprising. They’d seize the arsenal, conquer Hatcher, and use the Lab’s communications equipment to release their evidence to the proper authorities as well as to the media.
Unfortunately, her plan had gone off the rails. The bloodless uprising quickly turned into a protracted gunfight. During the battle, one of the guards had managed to alert the Lab. The Lab’s guards had proceeded to shut the hatch, effectively sealing off the communications equipment. They’d probably contacted the Vallerio Foundation as well and Morgan knew fresh forces couldn’t be far off.
A bolt of pain shot through her waist and she clutched it a little tighter. For some reason, the pain made her think of Tony, of how much she missed him. What she wouldn’t give to have him by her side again.
“Amanda?” Codd’s voice sounded crisp and cold like an ice storm.
What now? Morgan thought, barely containing her irritation. She’d spent the last few hours in Research, fulfilling resource requests on behalf of Codd and Issova. Some water here. Another laptop there. It was necessary, but mundane work.
“Yes?” she called out.
“We’re in,” Codd replied.
Morgan snapped to attention. “You mean …?”
“Yes. The hatch is ready to ope
n.”
Morgan donned the lab coat. Still clutching her waist, she squeezed between the file cabinets and hiked to the door. She shouted out instructions and a group of armed scientists gathered around her.
As she led the group into Research, thoughts of Zach Caplan, strangely enough, filtered into her brain. To make his unauthorized trip, Tony had stolen car keys from Caplan’s unlocked desk drawer. Apparently plagued with guilt, Caplan had left Hatcher a few days later without speaking so much as a word to her. She understood his reaction. Still, his absence had only added to her pain. Losing her brother was hard enough. But her boyfriend, her soul mate? Well, that was enough to rip her heart asunder.
Morgan caught sight of the hatch. It looked the same as always. A three-foot square section of metal plating with hinges on one side and a built-in computer screen. Codd and Issova, still sitting at the same table, continued to work on their laptops.
“Well?” Morgan said impatiently. “What are you waiting for?”
Codd typed a command into her keyboard. Metal shifted, grinding quietly against metal. Air rushed like a wind tunnel.
With a loud click, the hatch yawned open. As always, air blasted out of the shaft, the result of multiple blowers that helped keep airborne particles from entering the Lab.
Morgan peeked into the shaft, seeing the familiar metal ladder descending into relative darkness. “Do yourselves a favor.” She flashed a wary look at the small group of armed scientists as she lowered herself into the shaft. “Be ready for anything.”
Chapter 13
Date: June 19, 2016, 9:06 a.m.; Location: Upper East Side, New York, NY
Caplan pressed the phone to his ear as it continued to ring. This ain’t rocket science, James, he thought in frustration. The phone rings, you pick it up.
The phone rang again. And again. Before it could ring yet again, he pushed an on-screen button, ending the call. Gritting his teeth, he stared at his yellow, heavily flaked ceiling.