Time Crossers 01: The Final Six Days

by Agster, Joe

  Light brown jacket and green collared shirt. That’s what Max was wearing when they met. This describes Max for sure. No wonder why he was so nervous. So that is Max’s fate. He must have gone absent from his government post, so these federated forces scour all the lands looking for him, then somehow zone in on his location here. With his back against the wall, probably trying to complete his mission, he confronts them hoping to escape, but instead gets himself killed. This changes everything. If Max is never around after day one, then trying to meet with him in a more relaxed setting, without everyone chasing him, would be impossible. He would need to intercept him before the sushi pub, as early in the day as he possibly can.

  For the next few hours, Friend stays with Steve and Lucia and their kids. It’s too much to risk at this point trying to return to the room, he concludes. They have a stash of food underneath a table, and offer him some. Friend takes a small piece of bread, nothing more, asserting they will need the food more than him. Friend develops a mutual respect for them and agrees to help them to their van.

  As the day fades into night, the moment to attempt their escape has come. Friend is ready to escort them. The plan is simple: Friend will go first, and give the all clear signal. They need to go to the entrance, outside and through the complex grounds, then to an elevated walkway. From the walkway on, they will be more exposed, so the best hope is to just run.

  He ventures out, the hallway being dim light with broken or inoperable lighting. He makes his way to the main casino floor area, and looks around. As he observes it being clear, he waves them forward. They take cover between a series of electronic gambling machines.

  Safely outside, Friend sees no signs of military vehicles or other government personnel. He remembers that they clear out by nightfall, but that is just rumors and speculation as far as he is concerned. He waves them again, and they safely make it to the elevated walkway, laying low.

  Out of nowhere they are briefly startled by headlights of some sort, from a vehicle. “Stay down, mijos!” Steve shouts to his kids.

  The vehicle passes underneath the platform without incident. It wasn’t military, just a regular civilian vehicle. They wait for it to disappear into the distance.

  “Let’s go!” Friend commands, waving them on.

  They move swiftly across the walkway, back down the stairs on the other side of the large road.

  “The New Hacienda is up there, about five hundred meters ahead. The parking structure is toward the back. Let’s cut through the resort grounds up ahead,” Steve suggests.

  They continue to strut down the walking path at a speedy pace, taking cover behind unlit advertisement signs, until they are close to their destination. Luckily no car comes by. Friend remembers the marauders from last time, but luckily they don’t appear until much later in the night.

  As they make cover behind a small building right next to the New Hacienda, Steve regroups with his family, Friend close by. “We can probably make it from here, Friend. Thank you for your help.” Steve eagerly looks on.

  “Good luck,” Friend replies, as he waves to them.

  They wave goodbye and the four of them scurry into the background. Friend continues to look on them, following from a distance, ensuring they are safe. It’s possible they didn’t trust him, Friend wonders, but not bothered at all about it. He understands how a friendly gesture can turn into an act of sabotage, and empathizes with their decision.

  Standing about fifty meters away, he watches them hastily enter their dark blue van. It’s a large vehicle capable of holding a family plus plenty of cargo. Steve secures his children then makes his way to the left front door. Just then, a man approaches, pointing some type of weapon. He screams at them, ordering them to exit. “Oh no,” Friend cries to himself, “They are in trouble!”

  As Friend rushes toward them, the man continues to point the weapon at the family. The weapon instills enough fear in the man and his family to comply with the orders given. He feels compelled to help in some way. The man clearly looks dangerous and skilled in combat, bald with a long black beard, clearly taller and larger than Steve. On his chest he wears some sort of lanyard with a star shaped medallion.

  Friend sneaks around the right side of the vehicle, then around the front, and in the moment, grabs the large man from behind, and with all his weight throws him to the ground. Unfazed, the large man gets right back up. Seeing that the weapon is in fact a gun, he attempts to grab it from the man, but the man regains control of it. They struggle, but he eventually overpowers Friend and shoves him to the ground. With the gun firmly pointed, he fires it right into Friend’s chest.

  “See this badge! I am the law! I am commandeering this van, and there is nothing you can do about it!” the man angrily proclaims, before getting into the van and speeding away.

  Friend lies there, bleeding rapidly. He looks around for Steve and family, but they have seemed to have taken cover, hiding during the struggle. Friend loses his strength and finds he no longer has the strength to move. His vision becomes blurry, until he passes out.

  Place Unknown

  Friend’s blurry vision back comes into focus. He realizes he is not dead, and no longer in much pain either. It seemed that just a moment ago he felt like he was just skewered through the heart. He finds he is lying on the ground, the soft grass now, looking straight up at a strange older man, with mix of silver and black hair, wearing some type of tattered gray sweater. It is slightly odd clothing, something he’s not used to seeing in this city. Friend appears to have regained his motor functions, able to sit up with ease. Looking around, he senses a familiarity. It’s the park he and Cassie visits to await the asteroid. The park is much past the New Hacienda hotel though, at least a ten-minute walk to the south.

  “Hello, Friend,” the man calls out, taking a moment, then revealing. “Yes I know that is the name you chose for yourself… Friend.”

  Friend looks down his chest, and sees a hole in his black jacket, exposing his skin. Around the hole is stained oxidized blood residue. The hole in his flesh is gone however, as if the projectile he was struck with was removed, and his wound miraculously healed.

  “Don’t worry about the bullet, I took care of it,” the strange man explains, responding the Friend’s surprised facial expression. Friend recalls guns and bullets, explained to him by Cassie. He’s had a gun pointed at him once already, but now finally understands how painful and deadly they can be.

  “Thank you. I didn’t realize how deadly those gun things are until I’ve experienced this terrible burning hole through my skin,” Friend gasps to the strange man. The man brushes off his gratitude, focused on the situation itself.

  “I had to see it for myself,” the man concernedly explains. “Another timelooper. Don’t worry, you’ll get used to living these six days over and over. It grows on you.”

  “How did you heal me? Who are you?” Friend demands. Noises echo in the park, the sound of footsteps maybe. The strange man is suddenly frightened, concerned that he will be seen.

  “A better question is ‘why didn’t you heal yourself?’,” he proclaims in a lowered voice. “Don’t worry, you will figure it out in time. For now, I must go. We will meet again.” He slowly turns and moves away, then vanishes out of the air, like vapor dissipating into the cold night.

  What was that, Friend wonders? The man just simply vaporized into thin air, in a bold act of supernatural ability. This word, timelooper, he wonders. Are there more like him, special individuals who continuously live the same six days over and over? Is this what they call themselves? Does he also have the ability to vanish in thin air like that? None of this really matters right now. His plan is unmoved, unaltered in any way: convince Cassie of the asteroid threat, and escape to a bunker, to safety.

  The footsteps get louder. Around the clearing, Steve appears, approaching Friend.

  “I want to thank you personally, amigo Friend,” Steve graciously declares. “What happened to you? I saw you get shot, I ducked, an
d then when we looked you were gone. You should be dead, amigo!”

  “I don’t know,” Friend replies, “I woke up here, and found my wound is gone.”

  “Well amigo, God and good fortune smile down on you.”

  “What are you going to do?” Friend asks.

  “I’ll come up with something. That sorry S.O.B. got off with my van, and all my food. I suppose it pays to be an armed warrior for the government. When disaster strikes, just jack someone more prepared,” he speaks ruefully, but with his spirits up.

  Steve shakes Friend’s hand, then promptly walks away to return to his family. Friend feels terrible he couldn’t help them. He is concerned that a member of their protective force, the police, would commit such an offense on the populace. And do it so brazenly and violently. It seems there are enemies everywhere.

  Friend helps himself up and begins his walk back to his room, hobbling a bit, with much to meditate on. He has three full days to self-reflect, and then figure out a plan. His goal: get to Max before he succumbs to danger.

  7

  Iteration 4

  He reviews the plan in his head one more time. He is going to intercept Max at his hotel as he arrives. He will use what he knows to gain his trust, then inquire about these bunkers he mentioned. Then he will do the same with Cassie. The naive, boyish charming version of Friend she had fallen for the first time is gone. If he is to reconnect with her, he will need a brand new approach. He will need to be himself. He is amused at the irony—that he needs to give himself this advice.

  Friend puts things into motion by first heading to the Fashion Shopping District. He is sick of the club clothes he’s been wearing to the Vyxx, and he decides it’s time to mix it up. He instead visits a different store, choosing a stylish pair of dark gray jeans, a sky blue collared shirt, and a stylish yet warm black jacket. Simple and real.

  At about 13:00 he enters the Uvia hotel, waiting patiently in the hotel registration lobby for Max to arrive. He passes the minutes by watching the people scamper back and forth, many of them towing luggage. Many look upset and withdrawn, probably losing at the game of chance and eager to leave. Others look like they just arrived, fresh and ready to try their own luck. Luck, he entertains with a smile at the silliness of the word.

  The time says 15:20 on his watch when Max finally arrives to an increasingly busier lobby area. He is forced to stand in a moderately long line, carrying a small but bulky hand carry bag. Friend continues to lay in wait as he crawlingly makes his way to the front. Max’s exchange with the registration automaton takes under a minute, and it is 15:28 when he hastily begins his trek from the lobby toward the elevator. Friend moves closely until he is directly behind, not missing this chance.

  Max pushes the button, and the elevator is summoned and opened within a few seconds. He enters, with Friend close behind. He hits the “25” button and the door speedily closes.

  Max grants Friend a nervous smile. Sensing that this is the right moment, Friend decides to start the conversation. “Just get in today?”

  “Yes,” Max snorts back, not looking for conversation.

  “What brings you Las Vegas today?” Friend pushes, but Max just ignores.

  Feeling that he is not getting anywhere, Friend decides to break up this nonsensical small talk and just get into it. His last name is Pond, as he’s come to learn from the news broadcasts. But what if he’s wrong? He’ll sound like a fool, but he has to try something bold to jar this conversation open.

  “Dr. Pond, I know who you are,” Friend reveals, to a stunned and fearful look from Max.

  “Don’t worry, I’m not with the government,” Friend exclaims, hoping to dispel his edginess. “I just need your help. Actually, maybe we can help each other.”

  The elevator reaches the 25th floor, and at the ding, both men exit. Max tries to comprehend the nature of this interaction, wondering who this guy is. He makes a quick decision on what to say, not seeing a way out of this.

  “Fine, walk with me,” Max retorts back, walking speedily to his room door, and opening by tapping his key to the door.

  The room is nice and spacious, perhaps larger than Cassie’s room. There’s a single large bed in the front space, then a large living area with a holographic monitor and a desk. The style mimics the red and bronze woodwork décor of the hotel common areas. The view is also more captivating, high up with a picturesque sight of the Strip and the other towers, along with the pool below.

  “So what do you need from me?” Max wonders.

  “I want to know how to locate and gain admittance into one of these government bunkers,” Friend explains.

  “A government bunker?” Max aloofly answers, attempting to play dumb.

  Friend sees right through Max’s deceit attempts. “Dr. Pond… Max. I know what’s going on here. I know about Icedragon. I know that you’ve been given an opportunity to take shelter in a bunker, to take cover from the asteroid, but instead choose to run away from your post at NASA.”

  “Let’s say there is a way for me to help you. Why should I?”

  “I need to rescue someone. She is very special, someone very intelligent, who will be very important one day. I need to help her.”

  Max sits in silence, in disbelief. He’s really trying to figure out who this person is who followed him to an elevator, knows his name, and apparently has intimate details of my circumstances. How is this sequence of events possible? He seems straightforward and true to himself, and he’s certainly not a fed, and definitely not FBI. If there was ever a time to help someone, why not now? Besides, there may be a way this man could return the favor.

  Max relents, “Okay, look, I have a contact at FEMA. He’s a good friend of mine. He may be able to get you a set of bunker cards, in exchange for mine.”

  “A bunker card?” Friend questions, with a puzzled look, but encouraged at his response.

  Max describes the process, “The bunker cards have been being issued by the United States government to select citizens in secret. They are divided into three groups, Gold, Silver, and Bronze. Gold is for heads of state, the president, congress, certain foreign dignitaries, other billionaire and political elites, and of course their immediate families. Silver is for certain scientists, doctors, professors, engineers, other, they call these the ‘thinkers and tinkers’ group. I’m in this group. Bronze, well that’s for everyone else, those who were chosen for one reason or another, got lucky, knew someone, something like that.”

  Friend absorbs what he’s been told, but wants him to elaborate further. “Can you back up a second? What exactly are these bunkers, and where are they located?”

  Max explains, “Well, when we discovered Icedragon was a legitimate threat, the government wasted no time in preparing ten designated sites scattered throughout the United States, typically abandoned military bases, nuclear silos, that type of thing, and building these huge living complexes, like underground cities. Each site can hold up to about a half million people, so in total that’s five million being saved. So basically, 1% of the total population.”

  “Well that explains the what,” Friend admits, curious for more.

  Max interrupts, “The where, well honestly I cannot tell you. They didn’t tell me my location until a few days ago. It’s in East Texas, somewhere secret. I’m not going there so it doesn’t matter. If I got you a bunker card, it would most likely be a different site.”

  Friend is satisfied, seems simple. It really didn’t take much convincing him to help me. The hard part will be convincing Cassie.

  “What can I call you, if I may ask?” Max wonders.

  “Call me Friend. Sorry I didn’t introduce myself.”

  “Well, Friend, there’s one more thing. You’ll need your ID and your CIN.”

  “What’s a CIN?” he wonders, his face showing confusion.

  “Are you okay? You have a peculiar way of expressing yourself,” Max retorts.

  “I have a case of amnesia… I’m still trying to piece my life to
gether. I have no form of identification, sadly. None that I can find, anyway. I’m working on that part.” Friend expresses as he shows Max his wallet.

  “Go find your ID card, with a valid CIN. A CIN stands for citizen identification number. I’m sure you remember SSNs? You know, social security numbers. Well CINs replaced those.” Max explains, hoping to shed some light to help him restore his memory.

  Just as he thought things were easy, Friend recoils a bit at this new complexity. CINs, SSNs, whatever. He understands the necessity and intent of such a system, he just wishes he would of thought about this one oversight earlier, that he needs some sort of ID. Where am I going to find one?

  Max is amazed by all of this. How he is familiar with his predicament, but doesn’t know what a CIN is beyond scientific explanation. He thinks about how CINs replaced SSNs many years ago. What brainiac came up with a 9-digit numbering system anyway? With a half a billion citizens in this great nation, and countless billions more already deceased, an updated system was inevitable.

  “Meet me at the lounge downstairs at 19 hundred,” Max instructs.

  “Where am I going to find my ID?” Friend wonders.

  “If you have gained intimate details of my life, then surely you can figure it out,” Max proclaims.

  Max is right, Friend tells himself. He needs to use his knowledge of past and future events to his advantage. He reiterates his gratitude, “Thanks Max. You are right, I’ll figure it out.”

  Friend waves goodbye and exits the room. Walking down the hall, he considers whether he could obtain an ID through an official channel. But with no documentation to confirm his existence, he determines that won’t work. He figures his best chance to obtain an ID is to find someone who looks like him, and take theirs. Something he is not comfortable with, but is necessary to save Cassie.