Time Crossers 01: The Final Six Days

by Agster, Joe

  There is no way he’s to going to mess this up again. He stands up, ready to live these days once more. The cold sand feels good this time, a welcome reminder that he is once again renewed. Walking along the dirt path however gets old, especially when his eagerness moves much faster than his walking pace. During his trek, he reflects on how much he has learned about this society already, even if nothing about himself.

  Today’s mission is simple. Get to the Vyxx club early enough, by 20:00 at the latest. Then try to recreate the events the exact same way as the first time. He urges himself not to deviate from this. Let the events unfold naturally, and hopefully improvisation won’t be needed.

  When Friend arrives at the Fashion Shopping District, he questions if he should change the clothes for the club. He’s had time to observe different styles of dress and has developed an appreciation for other colors, like dark blue, the grayish purple tones, something a bit livelier and closer to his tastes, much of it influenced by Cassie. Then he stops himself. No deviations, he promised himself.

  As the night rolls in, he anxiously waits for his chance to make things right. As the time nears 20:00, he stays painstakingly focused on this task, intent on being on time. The time reaches 20:01, and after a hair and appearance check, he now advances toward the club, once again reclaiming that exact seat without incident. Right on cue, the barkeep approaches.

  “I’ll have that copper colored ale, the same as before,” Friend requests.

  “Same as before? Have I seen you before?” the bartender retorts with a smidge of harshness.

  Friend realizes his mistake. He needs to get used to reliving these moments over and over, understanding it’s unknown to everyone else. The bartender senses the confusion and returns with the ale.

  At 20:30, the crowds fill into the bar area just like before. Interestingly though, the arrangement of the bar patrons is slightly altered from the first time. The man in the white shirt who sat to his left the first time is now a few seats down. It seems the small act of coming an extra fifteen minutes early has already altered the flow of events, even if it is ever so slight. Friend becomes increasingly concerned about it though.

  If everything goes well, Cassie should approach any minute. He replays the steps in his head one final time, repeating them as he remembers. His head turns toward the dance floor, chastising the primitive form of dancing. He remembers staring for a few moments in a deep state of thought. Ok, so far so good. Then, he turns around to check if she is approaching. At that moment he worriedly recalls that he must turn his head at just the precise moment, locking eyes with hers. Too soon and it’s awkward. Too late, and she will never notice him. But at this moment he needs to peek, to gauge her location.

  Peeking slowly, he catches no sight of Cassie, nothing. It didn’t take this long last time, did it? No problem, he’ll peek again in a minute, he thinks to himself. Facing the crowd once more, he times it, one minute. As the moment approaches, he starts to peek. Whoa! He is startled as she is now standing right next to him. He mistimed it and turned too late. He becomes discomposed in the moment as he looks at her presence, her eyes focused elsewhere, and in a split second, it compels him to say something.

  “Hi there,” he says, breaking the ice with a confident smile. However, there is a tone of arrogance in his voice, teetering on over confidence that seems to have put her off.

  “Ahhh… hi,” she emotionlessly responds, quickly making eye contact then promptly looking away, seemingly annoyed by his come on.

  He already senses it. It’s all wrong. This is not how it happened. He recalls that she ordered her drink first, then it is her that opened the conversation. Frustration takes him over, wondering how something so easy has become difficult. He notes the time for future reference, 20:47, but really 20:46 not counting the minute for her to approach.

  After ordering her drink, she glances at Friend one more time with a courtesy smile, as if to pity him, and walks away. Not willing to accept failure, he gets up and pursues her, realizing the odds of succeeding in making a connection with her are bleak, but unafraid to try. With her halfway back to her table, he interjects himself into her path.

  “Hi, sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” Friend graciously tells her.

  “You didn’t.”

  “Would you like to join me?” he asks, trying to camouflage his desperation and regain composure.

  “Honestly, not really. I’m already sitting with my friends, but thank you.”

  This is not working. His plan to recreate the events exactly from the first time is a massive failure. He now fully comprehends it first hand, that every little action, no matter how tiny, results in a different outcome. When you compound those over a period of minutes, even seconds, the chain of events is different, diverging from the original more and more as the clock ticks. It’s a reality he needs to get used to. It’s time to switch gears once and for all, and use his wisdom, his intuition, and his knowledge of her to his advantage.

  “Cassandra, wait!” he shouts over the loud music. “We’ve met once… a long time ago. I doubt you remember, but you had said that one day you’d bump into me, and then a few minutes ago, there you were.”

  “This is getting weird. I can honestly tell you I’ve never met you before,” she vents out as she tries to walk away as best she can.

  “Ask yourself this then. You could have chosen any place to order a drink. Why did go out of your way and stand right next to me to do it?” he eloquently explains, sensing he is breaking through to her, calming his voice. “Give me ten minutes, then I’ll leave you alone, I promise.”

  She pauses to consider her options. He is kinda cute, like a stray dog looking for its owner sort-of-way. If she complies with his request he will leave her alone most likely. But there is a decent chance that her granting him ten minutes will be a slippery slope of further requests and unwanted advances. Then she tells herself, I’m a big girl, so one wrong move and I’m outta here.

  “Fine. Over there. Ten minutes, then you go away,” she dictates, pointing to a location at the end of the lounge area. It’s quiet, in the corner, away from the action, the bar, and everything else practically. But it works. She leads the way and assumes her spot, facing her friends. He follows up and sits opposite to her, looking into her eyes from his side of their tiny cocktail table.

  “I need your help. I need your advanced intellect.” He hopes to soften her up a little by appreciating her smarts.

  “Trying to flatter me, I see. Let’s hear it then,” she impatiently responds, but is strangely curious.

  “In twenty-four hours, the president is going to make an announcement. The Icedragon asteroid will crash, here in Las Vegas, in six days. Now I—”

  “Come on… you expect me to believe this?” she laughs in response.

  “Well, yes. Listen. I met a man who told me about a government bunker, some type of underground shelter where people would be safe. Would you know anything about this?”

  “Well if I believed you, then yes I would think they would have a contingency plan of some sort?” Her eyes purposefully look away in boredom, hoping to signal to him that his ten minutes are up soon.

  “If I were to somehow prove it to you, and showed you a way into one of these bunkers, would you do it?”

  “Maybe. I don’t know,” she answers, with a hint of a smile. This conversation has gotten creepy, and she is near the end of her patience, but she is still curious. “Why me though?”

  “Because we used to be in… I mean I was once in love with you,” he passionately answers.

  “Okay, I believe your ten minutes is up. I’m returning to my friends over there. It was nice meeting you.” She lifts her arms up from the table and abruptly walks away.

  At this point Friend would normally be devastated, but instead he is encouraged. After all she did grant him ten minutes. He learned to never try to recreate the events exactly from the first time ever again. Coming off forced, fake, ungenuine is not who he
is. Most importantly, she did admit that she would go with him if he were to supply proof about the asteroid, if not directly in her words, in her facial expressions. So in a sense he has accomplished his mission. He needs now to somehow prove it to her. This is his next challenge.

  He leaves the Vyxx and heads for the Uvia. It’s time to find Max at the sushi pub. Friend wants him to elaborate on these bunkers, to determine if there is indeed a path to safety. He looks at this watch and realizes it is 21:18. He realizes he must hurry if he wants to catch Max before he leaves the restaurant.

  Friend walks briskly, sifting through the crowds before he misses his chance. It’s such a long walk, and the last time he took his time, moping along with way. He has to cut through a busy street, then the grounds of several other resorts closely clustered together.

  He arrives at the entrance of the sushi pub, only to discover that Max is gone. Disappointing, but not surprising. He recalls Max being nervous, looking around frantically, hurrying his meal. But he was willing to confide in Friend, spend the extra few minutes or so with him, despite being in some type perceived danger. Friend wonders if he is on the run, trying to escape from something.

  He returns to the Metropolitan, procuring a room for the night from Juna, his favorite hotel registration agent. To his amazement, he receives the exact same room as the last time. Sometimes an altered sequence of events doesn’t always produce a different outcome. Once in his room he plots his next course of action, find Max among the remainers. He plans to ask around, look harder.

  Day 2 – December 27

  Friend spends the majority of the second day holed up in his room. He does venture out once to gather food and supplies for survival, only to return in time to the safe enclaves of his room well before the announcement. After the announcement he studies the news broadcasts, looking for any bit of information that could lead him to safety in one of these bunkers, or find Max, or even something more to convince Cassie.

  Suddenly, there’s a report that grabs his interest. A female reporter introduces herself as Maria Villanueva as she starts her report.

  “A NASA top scientist has gone missing. Dr. Maxwell Pond, one of the chief coordinators for the now failed Asteroid Defense System attempt to disrupt the asteroid, disappeared two days ago. A joint task force of the FBI, Homeland Security, and the US Marshals office has been trying to locate him without any progress. Top officials say that Dr. Pond had a falling out with NASA over the methods being carried out with regard to the ADS, and now, it is widely speculated that he may have committed suicide. This is an absolute terrible sequence of events that may have led to the eventual failure of the ADS plan.”

  During the report they show his picture. Friend is stunned as he makes the connection. He can see that it is clearly Max. Dr. Pond is his name? A NASA what? He left his post during the critical moments? Why? It is obvious why he looked nervous, the entire weight of the government was looking for him. Suicide? Why would someone who is relentlessly looking over his shoulder, consumed with fear of being detected, succumb to taking his own life? Did he have a secondary, stealth mission? None of this adds up.

  Day 3 – December 28

  The morning of the third day comes. Friend wonders if Max really committed suicide, or if he is merely hiding in this hotel room. He wants to try to find him, but in venturing out, he would have to contend with an onslaught of military personnel roaming the streets, evacuating as many citizens as possible. He would risk capture, and without a form of identification, may be detained or worse. But the same may happen for Max. If Max is indeed hiding, he would be most undoubtedly prepared, complete with a stockpile of food and water. He would know that by day four or five at the latest, the government will retreat, focusing on their own survival instead. But one question remains: does he ever leave his room at all for the rest of the six days? If not, he may be harder to find.

  Friend gets dressed and heads out. He makes his way through the base of the hotel, a vacant place save a few scavengers. He spots the couple from the first iteration, the older man and wife they noticed when he and Cassie were scavenging for food at the café. He figures he could help them locate the bread that they had already found once.

  “In the café over there, there is a large bag of bread rolls,” Friend advises them, pointing in the direction of the rear door to the kitchen. Ironic that that’s the same door he and Cassie escaped from, to get away from the couple. The couple quietly murmurs something of gratitude as they scamper their way in that direction.

  Outside, Friend heads to the once normally busy street separating the two hotels, now a desolate shell of its former self. Cars littered about, damaged during the melee or just abandoned. He cautiously makes his way to the base of the street, when he notices a military platoon vehicle of some sort, when several soldiers stationed around it, about eight of them. He crouches down behind a large car. They are standing guard for something, but not necessarily looking in any particular direction. If he can sprint to the other side to the street, he can lose them easily among the trees and shrubs that make up the landscaping on the other side.

  Waiting for the right moment, he sprints like a wild horse, not stopping until he can find a place to take cover. They must have spotted him, because immediately after he stops he hears something over a loudspeaker.

  “Hey, stop right there!” a commanding voice shouts at his direction, followed by heavy footsteps from a few pursuing soldiers.

  There is no sense in staying here, he must make it to the Uvia and hide out. He reemerges from behind the tree providing his cover, takes a deep breath, and races toward the Uvia entrance. A few of the soldiers still give chase, running heavily toward him, reaching about fifty meters behind when Friend darts inside through the shattered glass dotting the ground around the entrance.

  Elevator! Where? He hasn’t really studied the layout of this particular hotel, laid out more disjointed that the Metropolitan. He continues through the main floor toward the back, where he finds himself in some type of banquet area, a large hallway with large doors stationed every twenty or so meters, decorated with fine woodworking along the walls. Still no elevator though. Worrying about being tracked, he makes a quick decision, busting through one of the banquet doors. It had been left slightly ajar, making the forceful thrust of the door unnecessary, causing him to cringe in the mistake of making a loud noise.

  He turns to return the door in its jarred position, peeking through the crack toward his tracks. After a few moments there is nothing but silence, no more pursuit of any kind that he can sense. The soldiers must have given up, or perhaps unwilling to enter hotels. He turns around in a large sigh, resting his back upon the wooden wall, to be startled by a soft voice.

  “Shhh!” a woman demands, her finger crossing her lips. She whispers, “If the patrols see you we will found for sure.”

  The darker woman sternly looks on at Friend with a grimace, then turns to looks behind. Emerging is another man and two younger children, a girl about the age of ten, and a boy about the age of seven or eight.

  “¡Oso!” she commands to her husband. “¡Ven aca! Just another escapee.”

  “Were you being chased?” the husband asks Friend in a friendly voice, a tone that suggests he wants to help.

  “Yes, but they turned around. It seems they are only concerned with clearing the streets.” Friend tries to assure them, then imparts what he knows, “I’m certain that by nightfall they will be gone.”

  Friend realizes this is a nice family, caught in unforeseen and unfortunate circumstances. The wife seems to be in charge, mostly due to the concern for her children. The man is also of darker skin, just as the children.

  “We’re trying to escape to Mexico, where we’ll have a chance. Our van is parked at the New Hacienda resort, just south of here. We left it parked there last night and walked here to meet with some relatives. By the time the news broke, it was too dangerous to go outside so we camped out in their room. With the military clearing
the streets, night time seems to be the best time to make a getaway, so we’re waiting it out.”

  Friend offers some helpful words, “Perhaps I can help. I am familiar with these streets, especially at night. By the way, my name is Friend.”

  “Thank you amigo, I mean… Friend. My name is Steve, Steve Correia, and this is my wife Lucia,” he explains, extending a hand for a handshake.

  Friend doubts an escape to Mexico will be enough, based on the devastating effects described to him by Max and Cassie, but it doesn’t hurt for them to try. This nation of Mexico must provide the best chance of survival, he deduces, as Wyatt suggested it as well. He has learned that it is large nation south of this one, providing a more temperate climate that may help counter the effects of this so called impact winter.

  Friend takes a moment, and remembers why he came here in the first place, to find Max. These people may know something. “Have you guys seen a man, an older man, a bit portly, with a beard and wearing some type of eyewear?”

  Steve takes a minute to think it through, looking puzzled, then answers, “Eyewear? You mean glasses? No, sorry amigo.”

  Lucia interjects, “Wait! That man was trying to evade the police.”

  “The police?” Friend wonders.

  “Yeah, two nights ago, there was an incident, that man was trying to escape police and some government agents. I believe he was killed,” she sadly proclaims.

  The police. This must be the name of their protective force. He then recalls the broadcasts, talking about a joint task force. How is this police affiliated with them? And a better question, why are there so many of these groups of forces?

  “Yes that’s right,” Steve admits. “He was wearing a light brown jacket and a mint green collared shirt. I remember now. He went loco, started pointing a gun, then running away. They sealed the area off after that. The FBI and Homeland got involved and wouldn’t even let reporters in. Then an ambulance showed up.”