by Brandt Legg
There was construction up ahead. I wasn’t surprised to recognize the flagman.
“Just a short detour to get you off the interstate for a while. Gonna be a roadblock set up twelve miles south of here in about five minutes,” Crowd shouted as we slowed to head down the ramp. I looked back and saw him pulling up the orange traffic cones.
Baca went on. “That trucker you were riding with saw you on TV when he went inside. I hustled on out to my truck and waited for you.”
“How’d you know we’d be coming?”
“There are friendly people all over California right now who want to help you.”
“Why? Don’t they know I killed a federal agent, and we’re armed and dangerous?”
“There are many who don’t believe what they see on TV, not enough yet but it’s growing.”
“What’s growing?”
“The Movement.” I thought about that while we drove south over the next hour.
Baca told me he was currently a migrant worker but once owned a farm in the mountains of southern Mexico. A few too many drought years pushed him north of the border in order to make money for his family. The conversation veered toward what he used to grow, and then before I knew it we were discussing my favorite foods.
“The soul needs a decent vehicle to navigate this life in, and you fill yours with garbage—Coca-Cola, French fries, cheese pizza, bacon, eggs... ”
“You’re making me hungry,” I joked, but Baca was serious. Dustin was lost in his own thoughts, staring out the window because he didn’t speak Spanish, but he did glance over at the mention of a Coke.
“The cleaner you keep your body the easier it is to find your soul.”
“It really makes a difference?”
“You could keep eating junk and still get there, but it will take much longer. For those of us who aren’t one of the seven, we need every advantage we can get and eating well is a major one.”
“How well?”
“Organic plant-based foods. And French fries don’t count as a vegetable,” he said with a smile.
“Oh man!” Dustin interrupted, hitting my shoulder and pointing. There was a police roadblock just ahead.
“Damn, where’s Crowd?” I moaned. We had just come over a rise and there was no way off the road.
“Shapeshift!” Dustin yelled.
“What about you? They’ll have photos of you too.”
“Maybe if you’re a Mexican chick or something they won’t notice me... ”
“It’s too risky,” I said.
“Got any better ideas? Anyway, Nate, you’re the important one. You should just let me out here... ” Dustin unlocked his door.
“What are you talking about?”
If we U-turned now they’d see us and catch up in minutes. We were going to have to go through. I took an inventory of my powers and quickly made two invisible Lusans; I put one in my lap, and the other at my feet just in case. I knew my Kellaring was blown. Kirby had been clear, if I used another power while employing Kellaring then the remote viewers could find me. I just had to hope it would take more than a few minutes. The heat warning caused my temperature to climb to unbearable levels. I quickly shapeshifted into a fourteen-year-old Mexican girl.
“Tell me you have a green card?”
“Sí,” Baca nodded.
“What about me?” Dustin asked.
“I’m going to use Solteer and make him see you as a teenage Mexican boy. Here put on Baca’s hat,” I grabbed the green John Deere cap off Baca and passed it to Dustin.
“I don’t know, it’s pretty weak,” Dustin said.
“It’s all we’ve got.”
As we pulled up, a trooper approached each window.
“I can’t do them both,” I whispered, clutching the Lusan in my lap.
“I’ll use Solteer on this one, you get the one at Dustin’s window,” Baca said.
The patrolman asked Baca for his license.
Baca never stopped staring at him as he handed it over and his green card over. I watched the female officer on Dustin’s side who, after a quick glance inside, started looking back toward the vehicles behind us. The patrolman gave Baca his cards back and after a last look at us, waved us on.
No one spoke until the checkpoint was no longer visible, “We did it! We did it!” I yelled.
Baca exhaled deeply.
“Well that certainly wasn’t relaxing. Nate, get your Kellaring back in place,” Dustin said.
“I did but they probably already know where I am.”
Eight miles later, Crowd flagged us onto the shoulder.
“Where were you?” I asked, annoyed.
“They’re moving fast, and your Kellaring is making my job more challenging since I can’t find you either.” His face was stressed. “You and Dustin need to get in there.” He pointed to a rectangular concrete drainage tunnel going under the road.
“What about Baca?” I asked.
“Go now!” Crowd shouted.
Baca gave me a silent nod. I waved and then ran, following Dustin under the road. The tunnel was only about four feet high and not as wide. We stooped inside and stopped around the halfway point. A couple of long minutes later Crowd joined us.
“What’s happening?” I demanded.
“Lightyear found you. The highway patrol is on their way.”
“And they know we were in Baca’s pickup truck?”
“Yes.”
“So how’s he going to get away?” I asked.
“He won’t.”
Suddenly, we heard the echo of sirens as several cruisers raced overhead. Not long after that Crowd led us back out just as a carpet cleaning van pulled over. We jumped in and almost twenty minutes later passed Baca’s truck edged off the road, front door wide open. Police were leading him out of a nearby field in handcuffs.
“What’s going to happen to him?” Dustin asked.
“I don’t know,” Crowd said quietly.
“Can we help him?”
“We’ll see.”
We never said a word to the driver of the van. Crowd told us that as soon as Lightyear identified our vehicle and location, they disbanded the roadblock. Baca was supposed to go as far and as fast as he could so we’d have time to slip through before they realized we were no longer with him. The van eventually dropped us at a house in a suburban neighborhood. Crowd motioned for us to get into the front of a blue sedan parked in the driveway. He knocked on the door of the house and a man let him in. Two minutes later he came out with the keys and directions to the harbor. It was less than an hour from the house.
“They have no idea where you are at this moment so let’s try and keep it that way,” Crowd said.
“Thanks, man,” Dustin said, and we pulled away.
8
It was almost midnight when we found Trevor sitting on the deck of his boat, the Ninth Wave, sipping tea. “I had a feeling I might see you tonight,” he said, smiling. Even though it was too dark to see his eyes, our connection was strong, and now it was more than our dying together at the hands of the Nazis. He also helped keep me safe and alive on this very boat after Fitts shoved me over the cliff in San Francisco.
“Been talking to Spencer?” I asked.
“No, just had a feeling.”
We climbed aboard and I introduced Dustin. Then I hugged my oldest friend, whom I’d only known for a few days. I explained where we needed to go, and Trevor located the island on his charts. He wasted no time showing us what to do to help get the boat to sea. As soon as we were out of San Diego Bay and in the open waters of the Pacific, Dustin and I found my old room and crashed.
It was close to ten when I awoke. Dustin had eaten breakfast a couple of hours earlier. I found them on deck, land nowhere in sight. Trevor, lean and tan, looked like a sailor; one might be surprised to learn he was a serious artist with paintings selling for thousands of dollars. He was continuing his lesson from the night before, teaching Dustin all aspects of operating the yacht.
&nb
sp; “Good afternoon,” Dustin joked.
“I love sleeping on this boat.”
Trevor smiled. “I’ve got some sodas left over from your last visit. Hard to believe it was only a few days ago.”
I thought of Baca. “Got anything healthier?”
He tilted his head and squinted against the sun. “Do I know you?”
“I want to clean up my diet, anything wrong with that?” Later, we had vegetable soup along with several slices of dark bread. It was perfect.
Trevor told us we were going to be on the boat for a few days, which was fine with me. I felt safe. After we filled him in on the future view, he was horrified and would talk of little else.
“I read a story about you online when I was in port yesterday. The feds are really making you guys out to be dangerous.”
“They’re setting the stage to blame us for blowing up the mall,” I said.
“We can’t let that happen,” Trevor said firmly.
“How are we going to stop it? Nate’s Future Self said there was a chance, but all we’re doing is trying to take a different path into the future and hope that produces a different outcome,” Dustin said.
“Spencer... ” Trevor and I said at the same time. He smiled and let me continue.
“He’ll know a way, if there is one,” I added.
“So have you finally decided to let Spencer help you fulfill your destiny?” Trevor asked.
“Well, as Spencer would say, it’s complicated. I don’t even have a choice while Lightyear is trying to kill me. And besides that, my greatest priority now is to prevent Amber and Linh from getting killed and stop the mall attack. ”
“It’s all the same problem. Destroy Lightyear and everything’s good,” Dustin said, as a warm salty breeze massaged us.
“Right. So maybe after I save myself, our friends, and all those kids in Minnesota, I’ll figure out if I’m up to saving the rest of the world.”
“Great change comes with great costs,” Trevor said, eyes looking forward.
“If you’re saying what I think you’re saying, Trevor, then I’d have to say you’ve been floating alone out on this ocean too long.”
“I’m not suggesting you sacrifice your friends. I would be the last one to ever say something like that.” His stare pushed me back to Dachau. We listened to the water lapping against the boat, looking back at the wake. “What I’m trying to point out is we don’t win every battle.”
“Battles? I didn’t agree to a war.”
“Who does? Just because you didn’t start the war doesn’t mean you don’t have to fight in it. Remember, choosing not to decide is still making a decision.”
“Trevor, we’re in,” Dustin began. “There’s no going back to normal after everything we’ve seen. I think Nate is saying that we may not be able to control the order of things, but we’ll wind up in the same place you and Spencer want.”
“Yeah, I guess that’s what I’m saying. The only difference is how we get there,” I said.
“And when,” Trevor added.
For the next two days we discussed philosophy, time, space, and reincarnation while soaking up the sun and healing sea air. We ate only good food, although Dustin wasn’t ready to abandon sodas yet. There were a few odd shapeshifting incidents, like when a herd of buffalo, a thousand strong, ran across the ocean. No one else saw them. And the second morning when seven giraffes swam by with only their necks out of the water. But none of it compared to the Outview that came on the last night.
I was hiding in an old Indian village in the mountains of northern New Mexico, sometime in the early 1800s. The powerful Catholic bishop had orders from Rome to have me killed. With all their missions and converts, the Church’s influence was widespread throughout the Southwest. Even the Native Americans were converting, but there were still some resisters. They hid me for a time, at great risk to themselves. I toiled in a dark pueblo room, writing my story and beliefs by the light of a small piñon and cedar fire. Smoke escaped through a hole in the low adobe roof. Tagu, my protector, came in the middle of the night and said I must go. He led me into the forest where we met another man I recognized as my old friend, Thomas Mercer. He believed in my cause and had proved his deep loyalty to me many times. We followed a narrow river miles into the mountains to a shimmering blue lake. There was a shelter, and we slept under an elk hide for several hours. It was light when Tagu woke me and said that the Church had raised a small army to find me and they were not far. I gave my writings to Mercer. “You’re from back East. Get them out of the Southwest, away from the Church’s power. Hide them until it is safe to publish them.”
“No,” he said. “We’ll get you out... ”
“But what if we don’t? If I’m taken, it all dies with me.”
“You will live,” he said.
“The only way to be sure I survive is to separate me from my papers and protect them. These papers are me, so if I do escape then there will be two copies.”
Mercer nodded his understanding.
He left immediately, heading toward the Cimarron cliffs. Tagu and I started for the tiny village of Arroyo Seco. Our plan was to make it into Colorado where the Church was not as entrenched. We were in Arroyo Hondo when the posse spotted us. I woke up from the Outview, gasping as I remembered the final moments, diving into a ravine above the Rio Grande gorge.
Cervantes Island was a three-mile wide, six-mile long paradise of white sand and lush forest. We docked in one of several empty slips next to two other boats. A casually dressed man greeted us, and we followed him to a dark green four-wheel-drive golf cart. He drove around the gorgeous island past the main home, a two-story, terracotta-roofed, white hacienda surrounding a courtyard of exotic gardens, tiles, and fountains. Whoever owned Cervantes had enough money to make every detail perfect. I was glad someone so wealthy was on our side. The tour ended at a compound of resort-like private cottages sprinkled in the trees. The man showed us our bungalows and explained where various paths led and that Mr. Lipton would be arriving in the morning.
“Booker Lipton?” Dustin asked.
The man nodded.
Dustin’s eyes widened, thinking the same thing I was. Why would Spencer want to meet on an island owned by one of the most despised corporate raiders in the world?
Each place was elaborately decorated. Closets contained freshly laundered clothes in assorted sizes. Dustin and I changed; Trevor was already in shorts and a T-shirt.
“Let’s check out the beach,” Dustin said.
Down a short narrow trail, weaving between tall palms and giant green plants, we found a sweep of virgin sand and endless ocean. It was interrupted by only one thing: a primitive gazebo constructed of old whitewashed faded boards. Inside a lone figure stared out to sea expectantly.
9
I ran toward him. “Have you seen it? Amber and Linh? The mall attack?” I asked breathlessly.
Spencer’s face was warm as he turned, his turquoise eyes squinting in the sun. I took a deep breath. “Yes, I’ve been watching those tragedies floating out in the future since before you were born.”
I steadied myself on the gazebo’s railing. “Did you see my father’s death before it happened?”
He closed his eyes and exhaled slowly, “It can never be simple between you and me, can it?”
Trevor and Dustin reached us. “What’s going on?” Dustin asked.
“Spencer knew they were going to kill Dad and did nothing to stop it!”
“It’s not anywhere close to that simple,” Spencer said with a sigh.
“Tell us then!” I demanded. “How do you stand idly by and watch people you care about suffer?”
“Nate, surely your experience at Outin showed you firsthand that the future is a murky place shrouded in fog.” He gazed out to sea and continued more softly. “Where storms blow in and out like the ocean’s tide, changing and rearranging with each falling wave.”
“If you know, then you can do something,” I said.
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sp; “It’s all but impossible to know what even a trivial change here and there will do to the outcome. And death is very difficult to change... ”
“Then we can’t save Amber and Linh?”
“I didn’t say that... ”
“Then what are you saying? Why can’t you ever give a straight answer?”
Trevor grabbed my arm. “Let’s go for a walk,” he said, holding my gaze like he was Rachel talking to Erich in our past life back in the concentration camp. I couldn’t say no.
Dustin stayed in the gazebo with Spencer while Trevor half led, half pushed me down the beach. The hot, midday sun was countered by a steady breeze off the water.
“Nate. Remember me?” He stared.
“Yes.” I knew he meant Rachel.
“Do you? Because for someone trying to get back to his soul, you’re pretty detached from it most of the time.”
“I’m not trying to get back to my soul. Spencer wants that. I’m just trying to keep my friends and me alive.”
“You need to stop thinking and acting with your sixteen-year-old emotions and start being your ancient self... your true self.”
“You want me to be perfect. Who can be that? Not everyone can just drift through life on a boat, dodging the realities of this cruel world. Why don’t you try living in this lifetime for a change?”
He wanted to slap me, I could tell by his look. I crumbled, realizing that hurting him sent me back to Dachau. “I’m sorry.”
“I know,” he took a deep breath. “But this is a defining moment... not just in the life of Nathan Ryder, but in the existence of your soul. We’re at a critical crossroad in human history, and you are the difference.”
I stared at him with tired eyes.
“You need to let yourself feel your destiny flowing through you. This hasn’t been thrust on you, Nate. You keep acting like someone is making you do something, but you set this up.”