Time Snatchers

by Richard Ungar

  “He is saying that you are more important than any of the other people in this room. Do you believe that?”

  “It doesn’t matter what he believes, Frank,” I say before Zach has a chance to answer. “What matters is that Uncle won’t be pleased when he finds out that you were the cause of the delay in my bringing the boy to him.”

  Frank glares at me for a moment but then his eyes soften and he actually smiles. “Not to worry, Caleb. I have no more questions right now.”

  I don’t like that smile.

  “Come on, then,” Frank continues. “I’ll walk you both to the elevator.”

  “No,” I say, a bit too quickly. “Like I said, I have strict orders to bring him to Uncle at Headquarters.”

  “But Uncle isn’t at Headquarters,” says Frank. “He’s here.”

  I feel the blood drain from my face. I’m stuck. There’s nothing I can do now but follow him. I try to mindlink Abbie to warn her. But I can’t get a connection.

  The crowd parts, and Frank leads me and Zach toward the twin copper-colored doors.

  I’ve got to do something. “I told you, Frank,” I say, “Uncle wants me to bring him to Headquarters. If he wanted to see the boy here, he would have said that.”

  Then I turn to Zach, take his arm and say, “Come on.”

  I start leading Zach away but don’t get more than two feet before rough hands grab me.

  “Nice try,” says Frank. “Why don’t we leave it for Uncle to decide where he wants to see you?”

  The two instructors gripping my arms turn me around and march me forward.

  We arrive at the entrance to the elevator. The doors slide open.

  I hesitate at the threshold. Frank pushes me forward. There are scuffling sounds and then someone crashes into me. Zach.

  The elevator doors close. I wonder for a moment why Frank didn’t get on with us. Maybe the partial memory wipe worked after all. If Frank remembered about me and Zach, then for sure he wouldn’t want to let Zach out of his sight. Then it comes to me. He doesn’t have to worry about that. Because in twenty seconds, the elevator will arrive at its one and only stop: Uncle’s office.

  The elevator is completely bare except for a speaker in the ceiling from which music begins to play. Somber classical music. Funeral music.

  The next moment, I hear a whirring above the music.

  We’re going up.

  My heart’s racing. Zach’s trembling on the floor in the corner, knees curled up to his chest.

  “Caylid? I want to go home!” he cries.

  “That’s where I’m taking you, Zach,” I say. But my words come out hollow. The truth is, I’m all out of ideas for how to save him. And all out of courage. My legs feel weak, and I hold a hand against the wall to steady myself.

  The elevator stops, and the doors begin to open. Zach doesn’t move from his corner. I take a deep breath.

  The attack comes swift and silent as always.

  “Seven letters. A towering fear!” says a voice.

  So Uncle hasn’t gotten rid of Nassim yet. I try to maneuver, but it’s impossible. Before I know it, I’m facedown on the floor next to Zach with one arm pinned behind my back.

  “Vertigo,” I say through clenched teeth.

  Instantly I’m released. Nassim takes half a step back, one foot inside the elevator and one outside.

  “How did you escape from the Barrens?” he asks.

  “Lucky, I guess,” I grunt, standing up and massaging my arm.

  “And who’s this?” Nassim’s eyes flick to Zach.

  “His name is Zach Rushton,” I say. “He doesn’t belong here, Nassim. I’m taking him home.”

  At this Nassim laughs. “This is home for him, Caleb. Just as it’s home for you. And for me.”

  “Well, maybe for me. But not for him. And certainly not for you … much longer,” I blurt out.

  Nassim leans in close. So close that I can see a small chip in one of his front teeth. “What do you mean, ‘not for me’?” he asks.

  I take a deep breath to steady myself before answering. “Uncle purged your file.”

  He narrows his eyes to slits. “Are you certain? How do you know?”

  I keep my eyes locked on his. “I was there when he did it.”

  Nassim’s face is a mask. I can’t imagine what he’s feeling right now. But I know what he’s thinking. No more file means his debt is wiped clean. And since he doesn’t owe anything to Uncle anymore, technically he’s free to leave.

  “Uncle’s about to get rid of you, Nassim … forever,” I say.

  Was that a flicker of emotion in his eyes?

  I hear Zach whimpering quietly behind me and take his hand.

  I try mindlinking Abbie again. Still no connection. My eyes flash to my fingernail. Twelve minutes since I left her. Surely she’s not answering because she stuck to our plan and went to 1967. My mind refuses to accept any other explanation.

  “Nassim, I’ve got to go now,” I say. “I’m taking Zach with me. If you’d like, you can come with us. But please … don’t try to stop us.”

  Truthfully, I have absolutely nowhere to go. Unless you count going back down the elevator to face Frank.

  Just then, a shadow appears across the threshold.

  I follow the shadow to a figure robed in a yellow hanfu, holding a gleaming sword.

  “Zaˇo Sháng haˇo, Caleb!”

  July 11, 2061, 9:13 A.M.

  The Compound

  SoHo, New Beijing (formerly New York City)

  Did you two enjoy your ride on my elevator?” asks Uncle.

  I hear his words, and amazingly, my brain is telling me that they are only words and words can’t hurt me unless I let them. And at the same time, something else is happening inside of me. The familiar fear, the cold, white, paralyzing fear of Uncle is changing somehow. Transforming into something hard and strong.

  “Why don’t you stay awhile,” he continues, “and tell us all about how you managed to escape from the Barrens. I am certain that we will all find it most entertaining. In fact, I will make you a bargain, Caleb. If I find your story amusing, I will spare the boy and send him home. If I don’t, he will stay here and resume his … training.”

  “No.” My voice is even and strong. I tighten my grip on Zach’s hand.

  For a split second, Uncle’s perfect control breaks and there’s a glint of anger in his eyes. But then his face returns to an expression of calm. “Nassim, will you kindly escort them from the elevator,” he orders.

  “He has no power over you anymore, Nassim,” I say, glaring at Uncle. “You don’t have to listen to him.”

  For a moment all is silent. Nassim doesn’t budge.

  “Nassim,” Uncle repeats, holding my gaze, “I said bring them to me!”

  But Nassim makes no move. He just continues to stand there.

  My eyes stay locked on Uncle’s. I feel my lower lip begin to quiver. But I dare not look away.

  “Do you realize what you are doing, Caleb?” he asks.

  “Yes, I do,” I say. “I’m doing what’s right.”

  “You owe everything to me,” he thunders. “If not for me, you would have died a child in the streets. I took you in and raised you as my very own, fed you and clothed you and taught you about the world. Do you remember our trips to the zoo and to the world’s great museums and art galleries?”

  No. He’s trying to trick me. I have to stay strong.

  “And do you remember,” continues Uncle, “the toy soldier that you wanted more than anything else in the world and that I, your Uncle, acquired for you?”

  “I don’t owe you anything anymore,” I say.

  He flashes his eyes at me and then turns his glance to Nassim. “Nassim, I am your master. The penalty for disobedience is death.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see Nassim reaching for the elevator buttons.

  “You will bring them to me now!” Uncle’s voice is shrill. He raises his sword.

  I dive for the
floor, pulling Zach down with me, and shut my eyes tight just as blue light explodes from the tip of the sword. There’s a burning smell. Someone cries out and the doors close.

  Opening my eyes, I spy Nassim crumpled next to Zach. The elevator is going down. In twenty seconds we’ll arrive at the Yard … and Frank.

  Nassim is holding his shoulder. Blood seeps between his fingers and drips down onto the steel floor. Viennese waltz music plays in the background.

  “Give me your hand, Nassim!” I shout over the music.

  Either he doesn’t hear me or is in too much pain to do anything about it. I grab his massive right hand and turn it palm up. I’ve never programmed someone else’s patch before, but I hear Abbie’s voice inside me. Don’t think, Caleb. Just do. Is she mindspeaking, or am I just remembering?

  I rest his arm on my knees and go to work. Then the music changes to marching music. Blaring loud.

  Eight seconds left.

  Must continue keying in the sequence. Nassim’s wrist is cold to the touch. His breathing is ragged.

  From a tiny heap in the corner comes the sound of whimpers. I reach out, grab Zach’s arm and pull him towards me.

  Three seconds until we reach the ground floor.

  I close my eyes. Come on. Come on. Why isn’t it working?

  The music is reaching a crescendo. I want to cover my ears, but I’ve got to keep my grip on Nassim and Zach.

  The elevator jerks to a stop. My heart is beating wildly. What’s going on? We haven’t reached the bottom yet.

  A second later I have my answer. We begin to move again.

  No! It’s going up!

  Holding Nassim’s wrist up to eye level, with shaking hands I reenter the sequence.

  Nothing happens.

  Blocked! Something’s blocking it. Then I remember—the cast-iron walls. Just like at Headquarters. They must be interfering with the sequencing!

  Got to keep trying. I enter the sequence for the third time.

  Still nothing.

  A bead of sweat rolls off my forehead. I glance at the speaker on the ceiling. There’s another burst of music. Anywhere else it would be beautiful. But here it feels like a noose drawn around my neck. Squeezing me tighter with every note. I want to smash it.

  Ten seconds to go before we reach Uncle’s office.

  Ten seconds to save Zach’s life and mine.

  Time enough for one more try. But what if it still doesn’t work? Don’t think, just do!

  I take Zach’s small wrist in my hand.

  Quickly. Tap, tap, tap on Nassim’s wrist. Now grip it tightly with my other hand. Wrist to wrist to wrist. Don’t let go!

  Eyes closed and praying.

  Three seconds later, the elevator arrives at Uncle’s office. The doors slide open.

  But no one is inside.

  July 15, 1967, 10:49 P.M.

  Boston, Massachusetts

  I take a deep breath and open one eye. It’s dark, and I can’t see much of anything. I sniff the air and inhale the smell of plastic. I open the other eye. Light is filtering into the tunnel. Because that’s where I am … some sort of plastic tunnel.

  “Zach?” I call out.

  No answer.

  “Nassim?” I shout.

  Still nothing.

  I tip forward on my hands and knees, and the tunnel takes a sudden dip. I lose my grip and begin to slide. Downward I go, headfirst, picking up speed with every second.

  I try to reach for the walls to break my speed, but my arms won’t obey me. I’m about to try the same move with my legs, but just then my body shoots out of the tunnel.

  I land in a heap.

  Raindrops on my forehead. And then a hand on mine, gently placing a piece of paper against my palm and curling my fingers around it. I squint through the blackness but the person is gone.

  My eyes begin to adjust to the night. To my left I can make out a seesaw and a set of monkey bars. To my right, a sandbox. And straight across from me, a set of swings.

  Zach lies on the ground two feet away. I want to reach out to him, but I can’t—I’m still time frozen.

  There’s no sign of Nassim.

  A second later, I come out of my time freeze and crawl over to Zach.

  He’s not moving.

  “Zach!” I shout.

  Panic seizes me. What if the timeleap killed him? I’ve never heard of that happening before, but if it had, Uncle wouldn’t have advertised it.

  I try to remember my first aid training from the early days but draw a big blank. And then, just as I’m about to really lose it, I see Zach’s left foot twitch.

  Come on.

  His right foot follows suit. Then his legs move slightly and his hands unclench.

  I breathe a sigh of relief.

  “Caylid?” says Zach, opening his eyes, and I’ve never been more happy in my life to hear my name mispronounced.

  “I’m right here, Zach.”

  Zach sits up slowly and looks around, wide-eyed. “We’re here! This is the park! My house is there.” He points past a grassy area toward a row of porch lights and starts pulling my arm.

  “Just a second,” I say, remembering the piece of paper.

  I unfold it and strain to read in the dark:

  Hi Cale—

  Had a close call (I’ll explain later) but made it here okay. Have to take care of something ASAP.

  Be back soon. Don’t wait.

  XOXO

  Abbie.

  PS Nassim said to tell you he’s off to the races.

  As I refold the note, I get a whiff of mango. Then I think about the PS and laugh.

  “What’s so funny?” Zach asks.

  “Do you remember Nassim, the big man who came with us?”

  “Yes.”

  “He wanted us to know he’s ‘off to the races.’”

  “What’s so funny about that?” asks Zach.

  “Well, it’s one of those expressions that can mean more than one thing,” I say. “It could mean that Nassim is going off to start a new life for himself. Or it could mean that he’s going to the racetrack to do some betting on the horses. Either way, it’s his way of saying good-bye.”

  And he’s free. Uncle can’t trace him because his records have been purged from the system.

  Zach looks up at me. The expression on his face reminds me of a passing storm. Cloudy one moment and clear the next. He grabs my arm and almost yanks it out of the socket.

  “C’mon. We gotta go,” he says.

  “All right, where to?” I ask. I already know the answer, but I want to hear him say it.

  “Home! To my house!” Zach shouts.

  Moments later, we’re standing on Zach’s doorstep. It’s cold and dark, and I’m exhausted. I’ve had very little sleep in the last two days. I have no idea what time it is, but judging from the darkness and the fact that we’ve seen no cars on the street since we arrived, I’m guessing it must be close to midnight or even past.

  The rain continues to pelt down, but the small overhang of the front porch shields us from the worst of it. Zach stands next to me, shivering in a T-shirt and shorts.

  I ring the doorbell and it chimes inside the house.

  No one comes to the door.

  I press it again.

  For a moment, I wonder if this is the right house. But then I dismiss the thought. I’ve been here before. Plus Zach knows his own house.

  But what if I really botched things and this is 1969 or 1970 or some other year in Zach’s future? Maybe Jim and Diane have long since moved away and somebody else is living here. I try to reassure myself that, even programming Nassim’s time patch, I couldn’t have messed up that badly. Maybe a few hours off. Or a few days at worst. But years? Never. Besides, doesn’t Abbie finding me in the park mean I didn’t mess up?

  Just then, the porch light comes on.

  July 15, 1967, 11:04 P.M.

  Boston, Massachusetts

  Instinctively, I take a half step back.

  The squeal
of a lock being pulled back. The door opens a crack.

  “Who’s there?” says a man’s voice.

  “Daddy, it’s me!” cries Zach.

  I look over at Zach. He’s soaking, and his wet hair is matted to his head. But his eyes are shining.

  The door opens as far as the chain will allow. I almost don’t recognize Jim. His face is pale and drawn, and his hair, mussed by an interrupted sleep, is gray at the fringes.

  “Zach?” Jim says.

  “It’s me, Daddy … and Caylid too.” Zach pushes me forward as if to make his point.

  Jim stares at the two of us. I can’t imagine what’s going through his mind. I take that back, I can actually imagine very well. I’ll bet he’s wondering what I, Caleb of no fixed last name (and now of no fixed address), had to do with the disappearance of his son. He’s probably asking himself if it was me who kidnapped him.

  We’re in a standoff. Jim continues to stare at us and we at him. Then, without taking his eyes off Zach, he shouts, “Di!”

  I hear feet on the stairs, and Diane appears. She has the same drawn and tired look as Jim. But when she sees Zach standing there, something changes in her face. It’s like she was in a prison cell with no windows and has just come out into the light. She gazes at Zach with an expression of total disbelief.

  “Mom!” Zach shouts.

  “Z … Zach?” says Diane.

  She flings the door open, and for a moment, we all stand there looking at each other. Then Diane reaches out toward Zach, slowly, tentatively. Her fingers are on his face now, gently exploring his forehead, then cheeks, then mouth as if to make sure that he’s real.

  “Zach!” she says again. But this time there’s no hesitation. She wraps her arms around her son and hugs him fiercely. Jim reaches out and embraces both of them.

  A feeling of great contentment washes over me. Zach is home with his family!

  I want to cheer, to dance in the street, to wake up everyone in the neighborhood—heck, everyone in the year 1967—and tell them the good news.

  But I can’t for one simple reason.

  I’m being invited to join the hug.

  Hours later, I’m lying in a bed in the Rushtons’ spare bedroom with a light sheet pulled all the way up to my nose.