by KC Klein
“Hey!” I shouted. Desperation threw my voice into a higher pitch. “Wait for me.”
No answer. It was either the arrogant jerk or the monster. I made my choice and crawled after the florescent glow.
Soon the tunnel widened enough for me to stand. I’d lost track of the moving glow stick, but decided there was only one direction—forward. I rounded a corner and saw a bright light, an opening, glowing comfortingly in the dark. I rushed forward.
The tunnel led to a large cavernous room. The walls were made of dirt and rock as if a large mountain had been hollowed out. Other tunnels led off into the distance, larger tha Ce, re n the one I’d come from, more like hallways. Computer equipment on dented metal tables and large screens dominated the front of the room. Machine guns lined the walls, and something I’d seen used as a grenade launcher in an action movie took up space in the back.
To the side of me, I caught a glimpse of the only splash of color among the multitude of grays and browns. A set of red metal doors were off to the side, guarded by five men with guns, barring the entrance or exit to whatever was behind those doors.
The sound of guns being locked and loaded whipped my head in the opposite direction. Another set of five heavily armed soldiers crouched down, each with machine guns pointed directly at me.
I froze mid-motion. There must have been a misunderstanding. I was not the enemy. The thing outside was.
No sudden moves. No sudden moves. Look . . . friendly.
I plastered a smile on my face so big I could feel my lips crack. I hoped to appear nonthreatening, but knew I failed. My sports bra and shorts were ripped and dirty, and I knew my eyes held a crazed, deranged glare. I’d be better off channeling Nicholson. Heeeerrre’s Johnny.
I scanned the room, desperate for the sight of the man I followed through the tunnel. Or was it down Alice’s rabbit hole? I searched scowling faces trying to locate the severe blue eyes I’d caught a glimpse of earlier.
I found them on the face of a thirty-something looking man with short dark blonde hair and a six-feet-tall muscular frame. He stood behind the five men, hands planted on hips, feet spread wide in a military stance.
His icy glare directed at me.
Cold blue eyes blazed from his harsh face. I had no problem interpreting his thoughts. He’d like nothing better than to have me skinned, stuffed, and my head mounted on a wall. The fact that he could do the deed, and no one would stop him, was obvious. He exuded predator power—as natural to him as a lion stalking a poor, defenseless lamb.
“Waiting on your order to fire, Commander.” One of the soldiers took out a hand gun and leveled the barrel at my forehead.
Geez-us. Really? What is it with me and guns today?
My heart slammed into my chest wall. This was it, death by a shot to the head.
“No! No fire!” I shrieked holding my hands up in a universal sign of surrender. I wished I’d had a white flag. I would’ve waved it like a cheerleader’s pom-pom at homecoming. I sent a pleading look to the man who apparently no longer wanted to save my life. He had to realize I was no monster. I widened my smile and was sure my crowned molar showed.
His lips didn’t even twitch.
If his glare could alter temperature, I would need Arctic gear. I waited—afraid to hear the command that would end my life.
“No.” He shook his head slightly from side to side, sparing me no more than minimal effort. “Take the prisoner to the Holding Cell.”
Chapter Six
Holding cell? Prisoner? When did this happen?
In shocked silence I watched as if outside myself as two soldiers took hold of each arm and led me through a series of tunnels. We walked further and further down into the bowels of the mountain. Some of the tunnels were lit with copper mesh wiring glowing with a pale yellow light, while others were dark or lit only by torches stuck into crevices along the wall. The air was thick and damp, enough to frizz my hair. The odor of moist earth and rotten eggs, hinting at sulfuric gas, made me want to gag.
I was deposited in a cell, formed by a natural depression in the rock wall, and enclosed by rusty iron bars cemented across the front. The men locked the gate and took their leave, but not before lighting a nearby torch.
So grateful I was not to be left in the dark, I nearly shouted a thank you. I pushed my back against the wall and inched down to the floor. I placed my head in my hands and took slow deep breaths. Panic brewed, threatening a full-out attack.
This sort of thing was not supposed to happen to me. I wanted to be back home with my comfy pillow and down comforter. To wake up to the smell of gourmet coffee that was set to brew at seven every morning. I wanted to wake up and realize this was all a dream. I wanted . . . I wanted my mom. God, I missed my mom. I’d always missed her, but going back home wouldn’t fix that. Nothi Fxml:langng would.
Think Kris, think.
This all had to be connected. My future-self sending me up a mountain trail at gunpoint was all for what? What had happened? All I remembered was dark holes burning in my vision and then falling. . . . Was that it? Did I go forward in time? She said the “how” would take care of itself. How did she know that would happen? But, of course, she said we’ve done this before. She knew because she’d done the same thing herself.
A cold prickling crawled over my skin. She told me I had to “save ConRad,” whoever the hell he was. And what else? Oh yeah, that he was angry, and if he thought I was a spy, he’d kill me.
The thought had my ulcer calling loudly for attention. I wrapped my arms around my middle. My story had to be above suspicion. I’d just hoped he’d buy it.
I woke with a start. A large burly face covered in curly, red hair hovered inches from mine. Fat, pink lips were slapped between a coarse mustache and thick beard, reminding me of two slabs of salmon sushi.
“Get up. Time to see the Commander,” his breath stale and voice chipper, as if going to see the Commander was the same as a long awaited trip to Disneyland. He didn’t wait for my response, just grabbed my arm and hauled me to my feet. Another soldier, a walking brick wall with a buzz cut, met me outside the cell and attached to my other arm.
I snorted—like I was a threat. They outweighed me by about two hundred pounds . . . each.
“What’s your name?” I asked, not really caring, but wanting to draw out my journey to the Commander as long as possible.
“00215,” said the curly, red hair man.
“What?” That wasn’t a name; it was a number.
He looked down at me with surprise, then a knowing smile. “Oh, you’re a sly one all right, but I won’t be fooled. No worries though, the Commander will get it out of you.”
My foot stumbled, and I would’ve fallen if not for the two hammerheads clasped on either side. They dragged me down a long dirt tunnel, supported with metal beams, and stopped at a nondescript door. Two other soldiers stood outside, presumably guards. Who exactly did they think Kid ustify">
The room was an interrogation chamber fresh out of a scene from a spy movie. Gray plastered walls, dirt floor, utilitarian-ugly. I was told to sit and wait for the Commander.
All alone, the minutes crawled. My eyes fell upon a cockroach the size of my palm as the bug walked, too fat to scurry, across the ceiling.
Did they keep them as pets?
I wondered if this was a new species. And what did they feed on—human flesh? The image didn’t help my panic-induced imagination in the least. My mind caught on the possibilities of torture, played out every scenario, from witch dunking to bamboo under the fingernails. I’d buckle under them all.
Come on, Kris. You’re tougher than this, my inner cheerleader rallied, but then I remembered who I was and shook my head. Nope. No, don’t think so.
The air chilled my skin. Gooseflesh spread over my arms and across my stomach. I glanced down and groaned. If I had to be interrogated, I wished I’d worn something confidence inspiring. Something with protection—I had too much delicate, pale skin exposed. Instead, I
was half clothed and, crazy as it seemed, I couldn’t stop sucking in my belly.
The door opened. The Commander entered.
He was the same man who’d saved my life or sentenced me to prisoner status, depending on which way you looked at the situation. As strung out as I was now, I choose the latter. I’d had a small iota of hope that there were two commanders, but I’d always been genetically predisposed to misfortune.
Screw the genes that gave me good cholesterol; I needed lucky blood coursing through my veins.
My gaze followed him as he walked over to the opposite chair and took a seat. His presence filled the room. Even the walls seemed to be under his command as they drew in closer. This didn’t help the pools of sweat that were collecting under my arms.
The Commander, on the other hand, seemed to have braved the death-defying experience quite well. His short blonde hair was wet, possibly from a recent shower. A clean brown cotton T-shirt was pulled tight across a broad chest, short sleeves drew taut over well-defined ar Kll-t sms. His muscular legs were clad in basic army camouflage and tucked into black military boots. A serrated knife, the size of my forearm was strapped to his thigh.
Okay, so he’d taken the class entitled “How to intimidate your foe with your attire.”
He’d probably even used a toothbrush. Seeing as I would’ve committed a minor misdemeanor for a toothbrush, my resentment started to outweigh my fear. I glanced at his face, not surprised that his expression seemed to be carved from granite. Strong nose and chin placed squarely between the sharp rising and falling planes of his cheekbones. Small lines crinkled around his eyes and a furrowed brow completed the picture.
In some circles he would be considered handsome, if one liked the arrogant, brooding type. I, personally, was partial to the laid-back surfer dudes, mostly because a surfer would never glare at me with such hostility. The Commander, on the other hand, looked like he wanted to singe the very skin from my body.
His eyes disturbed me the most—icy blue, cold like they’d seen countless inhumane things. Callous things that could erode a person’s soul.
I stiffened my spine. I sat here, convicted without even the benefits of a trial. None of this was my fault. I’d done nothing to initiate my time travel, and the only thing I’d experienced from this man was rudeness and borderline aggression. I was the victim here, pulled from a dark hole with bullets flying, chased by a monster, and treated like a prisoner. I’d done nothing wrong, and I was sick of being treated like I had.
“What is your name, rank, and serial number?” His voice was rough, as his eyes narrowed.
Silence was my response. We glared at each other—me on guard, him with animosity. I held my own for a few very tense moments—then blinked. Out of the two of us, he would always win the staring contest. I swallowed hard, my tongue suddenly thick, and put on my false bravo.
Show no fear. Yeah, right. “I’m cold, dirty, and have had nothing to eat or drink in hours. I haven’t even used a decent bathroom. I am sorry . . . Commander, is it?” My voice had the same edge to it that I used with unruly patients. “I’m just not feeling in the most cooperative mood.”
He didn’t say anything, his face a mask of chiseled stone. Then he stood and walked out. A few minutes later two soldiers appeared—the same two that escorted me here. I’d already nicknamed them, Red and Tank. They carried in a bucket of water, soap, a change of clothes, and something resembling food.
The water sloshed as they sat the pail down, soaking into the dusty ground. “You have ten minutes,” Red grunted, as they walked toward the door.
Stunned, I never actually believed my requests would be granted. After they were gone, I pushed the wooden chair against the door handle, barring their entrance, and stripped out of my clothes. I grabbed the bar to wash and took a quick sniff. Ugh, no flowery scents here.
I scrubbed my body down with the tepid water and coarse soap, ignoring the sting from my cuts and abrasions. Time being short, I threw on the apparent standard uniform, khaki tank top with camouflage army pants, over my wet skin. The pants were too big, but there was a belt in the pile, so with some creative alterations they stayed in place. Finished, I removed the chair, not wanting to push the Commander’s sudden benevolence.
I pulled up a seat and examined the pile of brown goo on the plate, aka food. My gut churned, not up to the task. I pushed the plate aside and downed the glass of water. The water was lukewarm and went down with a mineral taste, stale and gritty, unsticking the back of my throat. I wished I had a gallon of the stuff.
A short while later the Commander entered, along with my two new favorite soldiers, who removed all the stuff including my dirty clothes. Once again I was left alone with my antagonist.
“Are there any other accommodations that we can get for you?” he asked in a pleasant voice. I was in no way fooled. “Let’s try again, shall we?”
I nodded.
“Good, now what is your name, rank, and serial number?”
“I don’t have a rank or serial number. I don’t belong in this . . . this . . . military,” I said, gesturing with my hand to indicate the entire compound.
His eyes narrowed, apparently not liking my tone. “How could you not be in the military? Everyone is required to be in the military . . . that is, if you’re human.”
The word human seemed to resonate off the walls, impregnating the air with suspicion. If I was human? What the hell did that mean?
“I don’t have a rank or number, but I do have a name. It’s Kris Davenport.” My voice sounded strong. I was impressed.
“Where are you from?” He stepped closer to the table, minimizing the space between us.
“Scottsdale, Arizona.”
“What’s your occupation?” He lowered himself on the opposite chair and perched forward.
“I am a doctor, surgical intern actually. I work at the County Hospital.” My gaze was plastered to his every move waiting for signs of attack.
The room fell silent. He leaned back, crossed his arms, and stared. “What were you doing out there last night?”
“Jogging.” I lied, knowing the lion wanted to lead me like a docile lamb, only to turn around and spring.
“Why are you lying?” he said the words slow, cold, and calm, as if he did this every day. I, new to the whole interrogation thing, tried to wipe the sweat from my palms on my pants without him noticing. “I’m not lying. I’m telling you the truth.”
He stood and paced the floor.
He was agitated—I didn’t care. Okay . . . yeah I did—knowing I was the focus of his anger scared the crap out of me.
“I see,” he began. He stopped pacing, turned, his gaze level with mine. “Let me tell you why I don’t feel up to playing this game. Why I don’t feel up to spending all day going over your bull of a story. Last night, we detected a female outside the compound on our surveillance system. We thought that this was strange since the only exit to the outside planet is heavily guarded, as you saw when you were brought in.
“Stranger still is the fact that you are a female, and since no female has ever been out on this planet without an armed escort, we thought we would investigate. And what did we see?” His voice went a notch lower—a degree colder. “You, screaming your head off, standing mere inches from the biggest alien life-form we’ve ever seen.”
He came over, slapped his hands on the table, and lowered himself a mere inch from my face. “We lost two soldiers out there. Both were my good friends. One was killed when he was thrown; his head split open on a rock. And the other was sliced in two by the alien’s claw.”
I drew back into my chair, trying to create distance. As his voice grew louder, I felt myself become a little smaller.
“So . . . this is why I don’t feel like playing the usual game of waiting you out, toying with you, threatening you until you break. Because you will break . . . my prisoners always do.” He said the last sentence slowly as if he relished the breaking.
“So I suggest you
get motivated, cut the lies, and get right to the truth. Because if not, I am willing to speed up the whole damn process.” He withdrew his knife and flung the blade deep into the wood of the table. The ivory-carved handle stood on its end, vibrating slightly waiting for his next move.
I suddenly became motivated.
“Listen . . .” There was a desperate ring to my voice I didn’t bother to hide. “I’m telling you the truth. I don’t know what happened either. One moment I was running and the next I woke in pitch black with something breathing hot putrid air in my face. I—”
He cut me off with the raise of his hand. “Enough!” His voice boomed. “I am a patient man, but you are pushing me beyond my tolerance.”
Ha! Patient? I think not. He’d only been in the room with me for five minutes and already he wanted to kill me. Better revisit that virtue buddy. But for once, I wisely kept my mouth shut.
As if reading my thoughts he straightened and took a deep breath. “Let’s try this again, your rank . . . serial number . . . and your real name.” Each of his words ground out through clenched teeth.
“I’ve told you my real name, Commander. It is just Commander, right?” I asked, trying to keep the conversation light.
“I am the Commander in Chief of this compound. Just Commander to you. A very select few, like the ones you are responsible for killing last night, call me ConRad. I’m the head of this compound, and nothing is done here without my order. Nothing goes on here without my knowledge.”
ConRad? OMG ConRad! Waves of hot and cold slammed through me. This was the man I was supposed to save? I must’ve gotten something wrong. Maybe missed something with all the gun waving. I’d gotten the impression that my BBD felt sorry for killing him, possibly even guilt-ridden over it. I was a doctor. I saved lives for a living; but if he went into cardiac arrest right here, I’d have no problem stepping over his body and running for the door.