Time Trapped

by Richard Ungar

  The crowd is in a frenzy. Screams of “death” and “Barrens” have reached a fevered pitch.

  Everyone is standing, straining to see what will happen next.

  I look over at Dmitri. He has a fierce look in his eyes.

  Frank raises a hand. The shouting stops abruptly, and it’s deathly quiet.

  “Thank you,” he says. “It appears you have made your decision.”

  He turns to Razor. “Stand, recruit.”

  She gets up slowly. Her head stays bowed.

  “You are very lucky that I have given you this chance to be an example to everyone,” he says. “Don’t you agree?”

  Frank pauses for a moment, waiting. But Razor doesn’t react, just continues to look at the floor.

  “ANSWER WHEN YOU ARE BEING ADDRESSED!” Frank bellows.

  His eruption is so sudden and intense that I let out a strangled cry.

  “Yes,” says Razor. But her voice is so soft, so weak, that I hardly recognize it.

  The crowd is hushed now. Beside me, Dmitri is reciting numbers under his breath and punching away at his handheld. What is he doing?

  Frank sheathes his sword, motions for Renaldo to step forward and says, “I will give you the honor.”

  Renaldo steps up to Razor and reaches for her wristband.

  Dmitri has stopped reciting numbers and is now spouting out something about linear momentum and scalar bosons, but I only half hear him. My attention is riveted on the drama playing out on the stage.

  The next moment, Renaldo taps Razor’s wristband. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Dmitri angle his handheld toward the stage.

  I gasp.

  Razor’s body shimmers, fades and is gone.

  She’s been banished to the Barrens.

  October 8, 2061, 11:45 P.M.

  The Compound

  SoHo, New Beijing (formerly New York City)

  I’m sitting at the end of the dock. It’s a beautiful summer’s day. I stretch and run my fingers along the sun-warmed wood grain.

  “Jump in, Caleb, the water’s warm!” shouts Zach.

  I smile at him. “In a minute.”

  Jim and Diane sit nearby, reading paperback novels. Diane laughs at something and wriggles her toes in the air.

  I close my eyes and take a deep breath in, wanting to hold on to this moment forever.

  When I open them, all is silent. But immediately I sense something is wrong.

  “Zach?”

  He doesn’t answer. The water near the dock is still.

  I spring to my feet and glance all around. Where is he?

  Panic grips me. I dive into the water. The shock of the cold stings.

  Deep as I can go into the dark, murky water. A shape below me. It doesn’t belong to this place. Lungs bursting. But I head deeper, toward the shape.

  Stroking harder now, I close the gap. Almost close enough to see.

  The shape is a face.

  I don’t want to look. But I have to.

  I can’t. Need to go back up now. Or I won’t make it.

  No. I need to see.

  But it’s turned away from me.

  I reach out, grab it and turn it toward me.

  It’s my face. And it’s dead.

  No!

  Stroking hard now. Up and up. No more air.

  Something is blocking me. My fists pound at the underside of the dock.

  No strength. I’m not going to make it. Tap. Tap. Tap.

  “Cale, Wake up! It’s time.”

  It was a dream, that’s all. But the part that isn’t a dream, the part where Razor vanishes at the Gathering, was very real and comes crashing back to me. No! I can’t think about that now. Because if I do, the sadness and the anger and the guilt will swallow me up, and I’ll never be the same. I will be nothing. I push the thoughts deep down inside me and force myself to focus on what I need to do.

  In the darkness, I can’t quite make out shapes in the other beds, but their even breathing tells me that they are still asleep.

  Quietly, I open the door and step out into the hall where Abbie is waiting. She is dressed all in black.

  We move quickly and silently down the hall to the main stairwell and start up the stairs.

  “Pssst.”

  I look back. No one is there.

  “Pssst.”

  I look around again. Nothing.

  “Look up, dummy,” whispers a voice.

  I do. The screen on the landing comes to life. Phoebe’s persona is a little girl dressed in a winter parka over her pajamas, smoking a cigarillo and carrying two oversized suitcases.

  “Isn’t this exciting!” she says.

  “Phoebe, now is not the time,” I say.

  “Where’s my ride?” she says. “I’ve been waiting for him.”

  “I’m sure he’ll be along. Just be patient.”

  “I can’t. I’m too excited.”

  “Phoebe—”

  “I know, I know. You’re busy. Okay, I’ll wait for him. But tell him to hurry.”

  “I will,” I say.

  We creep up to the third-floor landing. No one is in sight.

  “The first thing I’m going to do once I’m free is to get a pedicure. And then I’m going to order in some Chinese. No, not Chinese . . . Indian. Did you know that you can get the best Indian food in Scotland? On second thought, maybe I should stay away from Scotland. Too close to . . .”

  “Phoebe!”

  “Sorry.”

  I nod to Abbie. This is where we split up—me to the boys’ dorm and Abbie up another flight to the girls’ dorm on four.

  I slip past the stairwell door into the hall. There’s a light on in the small lounge, and I can hear low voices. The door is closed, but the window has a view out into the hall. This isn’t good. No one is supposed to be here.

  Supposed to or not, it doesn’t matter. I can’t stay here. I’m completely exposed.

  On my hands and knees now, crawling forward. The floor creaks. I stop and listen. The voices continue. Forward again, underneath the window now and holding my breath.

  I’m clear.

  I stop on the other side, near the entrance to the boys’ dorm, and gather myself. My legs are shaking.

  Rising up, I take a deep breath and tap lightly at the door to the boys’ dorm.

  Nothing.

  Slowly, I swing the door open. All the beds are empty. Where are they?

  Dmitri must already be leading them toward the roof. But he was supposed to wait for me!

  I hurry to the stairwell, race up to the next level and almost bump into Abbie, leading a large group of girl recruits into the stairwell.

  “Where are the boys?” she mindwhispers.

  “I don’t know. But we can’t wait,” I say.

  As I climb, beads of sweat roll off my forehead.

  Past the fifth-floor landing. Only one more flight to go.

  A sound from above stops me in my tracks. Abbie and her group do the same.

  We all stand there, motionless on the stairs.

  Footsteps are climbing down toward us. If it’s Frank’s goons, we’re toast.

  I hold my breath as a pair of feet comes into view.

  “Greetings, Caleb,” says Dmitri. He has a knapsack slung over one shoulder. “The recruits I brought with me are waiting above. They have been instructed not to go out onto the roof until you arrive.”

  “Dmitri, you were supposed to wait for me.”

  “Profuse apologies. But as you requested, I extricated Phoebe from the net. And once that was done, she insisted that I not wait for you.”

  “My bad,” says a voice from inside Dmitri’s knapsack. “I kind of wanted to get going.”

  I have got to stay cool.

  “Okay,
it doesn’t matter,” I say. “We’re all here now. On my signal, we cross the roof. Stay in single file and follow the person ahead of you.”

  I’m about to squeeze past Dmitri to reach the front of the line when he grabs me and whispers urgently in my ear, “She’s not dead.”

  I stop and look at him, wide-eyed.

  “Hurry, Cale, there’s a real logjam back here,” Abbie says over my patch.

  I push past Dmitri up the last flight of stairs and make my way through a bunch of boy recruits huddled near the roof hatch. The bolt slides back easily, thanks to Abbie’s work in greasing it this morning.

  Slowly, I lift it just high enough to peer through. Rain drives down onto the roof. I switch to night vision and look in every direction. The coast is clear.

  I signal behind for Dmitri and his group to follow, then take a deep breath and open the hatch all the way. Immediately, the rain pounds me, soaking me to the skin. I hoist myself up through the hatch and hold it open for Dmitri. Hurrying across the roof now, ignoring the puddles drenching my shoes. Arriving at the other side, I pause to catch my breath and wait for the others. A flash of lightning illuminates the sky, and in that instant, I see Abbie and her group running hard on the heels of the boy recruits.

  As soon as they arrive, I take a step onto the makeshift rope bridge that Abbie and Razor rigged while I was visiting the Buddhist temple.

  Only eight feet to get across to the next rooftop, but it’s over a six-story drop . . . a cinch if I were timeleaping. But each use of technology means a greater chance of being tracked and getting caught.

  Eyes forward, I grab on to the single rope rail. The rain has made the rope slippery, and it’s impossible to get a proper grip.

  Stepping on now.

  One foot and then the other. So far, so—on my third step, something jerks and the rope floor of the bridge gives way.

  I’m falling!

  Hands clutching desperately at the slick rope rail. Feet dangling uselessly below me.

  Panic is rushing in now, and a scream is building inside me. I must hold on!

  Thunder crackles, and in the flash of lighting that follows, I can see the place where the rope was severed. It’s a clean cut. The storm didn’t do this.

  Anger bubbles up inside me, pushing the panic away. I hear a shout and the rope jerks once and then again.

  Someone is trying to shake me off. No, not shake me off—hoist me up.

  My arms are growing tired quickly. I can’t hold on much longer. But I’ve got to. Abbie and the others are counting on me.

  I redouble my grip on the rope. A hand is reaching down toward me. I look up and see Gerhard’s determined face.

  “No. Don’t!” I shout. “I’ll only pull you down with me.”

  But instead of backing off, he grabs me first by the sleeve and then under my arm.

  Up and up. Inch by inch.

  My chest hits hard against something, sending the wind rushing from my lungs.

  “Pull yourself up the rest of the way,” Gerhard yells.

  Reaching out with my free hand, I feel the lip of the roof. I can do this. Legs kicking, my feet find a narrow ledge, and with my last remaining strength, I push and pull my body up and over.

  I lie there for a moment, sprawled on the rooftop, gasping as the rain pelts down on me.

  “Thanks,” I say to Gerhard, once I’ve caught my breath. It isn’t lost on me how tough it must have been for Gerhard, who hates physical contact, to do what he just did.

  Abbie, Dmitri and the other recruits are huddled around me, looking wet and afraid.

  I can’t let them down. Mustn’t.

  “I’m okay,” I say, getting up slowly. “C’mon, let’s get everyone back inside.”

  We retrace our steps to the hatch. Some of the recruits are crying.

  “Listen, everyone,” I say in a voice that’s shakier than I’d like it to be. “I know some of you are scared and are wondering why you are here at all. I’ll tell you why. Because this is your one chance to go back home to your real families. Uncle and Frank don’t care about you. They would be very happy to keep you slaving for them . . . until you fail at a snatch. You’ve all been to the Gatherings. You’ve seen what happens when you fail.”

  Even as I speak, my mind is racing. What will we do now? The roof option is out, and we can’t just walk out the front door without tripping the alarms. And if Abbie and I timeleap with them, they’ll just be tracked through their wristbands and pulled back here.

  “Everyone, take off your wristbands and hand them to Dmitri,” I say. “He will keep them safe in his knapsack.”

  I nod to Abbie and we move among the recruits, helping them remove their wristbands. As I help Judith with hers, she winces and I know it’s not because of what I’m doing but because she’s still hurting from the crossbow attack. I want to tell her how proud I am of her and how brave she is, but there’s no time for that right now.

  “Caleb—”

  “I’m sorry, Dmitri, but I can’t talk . . .”

  “It’s not Dmitri! It’s me!” says a voice.

  And then I remember. Phoebe is inside Dmitri’s knapsack. But I want to speak with her even less.

  “Later, Phoebe. Right now I’ve got to figure out a way to—”

  “That’s what I’m trying to tell you!” she squeaks. “I know another way out!”

  October 9, 2061, 12:12 A.M.

  The Compound

  SoHo, New Beijing (formerly New York City)

  If you mean going out the front, it will never work,” I say. “It’s too heavily monitored.”

  “I’m not talking about that way, Your Wetness,” she says.

  “Where, then?” I ask.

  “I’ll give you a hint. It’s the opposite of up.”

  My mind is blank for a moment and then it hits me. “You mean the basement?”

  “Actually, the boiler room. But you still get points, because the boiler room is in the basement,” Phoebe says.

  “Show us.”

  I take the knapsack from Dmitri and lead the others down the stairs. When we get close to the second floor, I motion for everyone to be quiet.

  Just beyond the second-floor stairwell door is the dining room, where Frank’s goons like to hang out. If any of them hear us, it’s game over.

  We continue to creep down the stairs past the first-floor landing to the basement. I’ve only been down here once before when Uncle first showed us the place. The walls, floor and ceiling are all painted a bland industrial gray.

  I follow the thrumming sound of the furnace until we reach a plain metal door.

  “Inside there,” says Phoebe.

  I push open the door to the boiler room and look around. “Where, Phoebe?” If there’s a way out, I don’t see it. All I see are pipes, a large tank and more pipes.

  “Over there,” she says, which isn’t very helpful, since she can’t point.

  “There, where?” I ask.

  “It’s right in front of your eyes, Tarzan. On the wall.”

  The only thing on the wall is a grille covering what is probably a ventilation shaft.

  “You mean the air shaft?” I ask.

  “Of course I mean the air shaft! Next time, if you like, I’ll make up a big sign that says ESCAPE ROUTE and tape it over the grille,” she snipes.

  “Where does it lead to?”

  “The subway station at Canal Street. But don’t worry, I’ve got everyone’s fare covered.”

  I size up the grille. “What do you think, Abbie?” I say, turning toward her.

  “We’ve got to try, Cale. We’re running out of options.”

  I’m not fond of tight spaces. But I like torture and death even less.

  “All right. Let’s do it,” I say, handing the knapsack to Dmitri.

 
Abbie nods and gets to work removing the screws holding the grille to the wall.

  “We have one light,” I say. “The first recruit in gets it.”

  As I watch the recruits climb into the air shaft one at a time, I start to sweat. This is taking forever.

  Abbie’s doing a good job keeping things moving, but any second now, I expect to hear footsteps thundering down the stairs.

  Finally, Abbie and all the recruits are in and I squeeze into the shaft, propping the grate back in place as best I can. It’s pitch-black, and even my night vision isn’t much help. The entire inside of the shaft is cold metal, and as I inch along behind Dmitri, I shiver in my wet clothes. To make matters worse, every few seconds, Dmitri’s feet lash out and kick me.

  We’ve got to move faster. My mind begins to conjure up a dozen death scenarios. What if Uncle’s thugs discover the vent and come in after us, pulling us out? Or what if they spray poison gas through the vent? Or what if—

  “Owww!” Another kick from Dmitri. This time right into my forehead.

  I’m about to chew him out but then I hear a whimpering sound. Dmitri is crying. Even worse, he stops moving.

  Which means I have to stop too. Panic grabs me. Blinding, overwhelming panic. I must get out of here. Right away. But I can’t move. I can’t breathe. The walls of the vent are closing in, threatening to crush me. I kick out with my legs and thrash my arms. But they are stopped by the wall of metal. I’ve got to get a grip on myself. Concentrate on my breathing. In and out. I close my eyes and focus on each breath, shutting out all other thoughts. Better.

  “Dmitri?” I try to keep my voice even, but it’s impossible.

  “I am experiencing extreme claustrophobia and am unable to carry on,” he says.

  That wasn’t the answer I was hoping for.

  “C’mon, we’re almost there,” I say, although I have no idea how much farther we have to go. It feels as if the slope of the shaft has changed and that we’re heading down now. “You’ve got to keep moving, Dmitri.”

  “I . . . cannot,” he says.

  Part of me wants to agree with him. It’s hopeless. Even if we make it out of this shaft, Uncle and Frank will find us and destroy us like ants. I feel a scream gathering in my chest. But I have to crush it because I know that if I let it out in all its fury, the last threads holding my sanity together will unravel and then I won’t be good for anything.