Scifi Motherlode

by Robert Jeschonek

  Hunkering down beside Mike, I reached into the pocket of his windbreaker and fished around for the phone. It must have been in the other pocket, but at least I found his car keys.

  I stuffed the keys in my pants pocket and reached over his body to get to the other pocket of his windbreaker...but I didn’t make it. Something grabbed my wrist, and I screamed when I realized what it was.

  I mean screamed.

  His hand. It was Mike’s hand that grabbed me.

  *****

  Heart pounding, I tore my wrist from his grip and fell back to the ground, then scrambled to my feet. It didn’t seem possible that a guy with such a huge hole blown in him could still be alive.

  But when I looked at his face, I saw him blink. I saw his lips move like he was trying to tell me something.

  Shaking like an old-timer walking home from the bank through junkie territory, I moved back over to Mike and slowly got down on my knees beside him. I hung back a moment, then lowered my ear to his lips to try to hear what he was saying.

  "Pants...pocket," he whispered, his voice so soft I could barely make out the words. "Cylinder."

  "Silver what?" I said, leaning closer.

  "Cylinder," said Mike. "Aim it...at the wound. Press the...plunger. Hurry."

  I knew that nothing was going to do him any good at that point, but I played along. I owed him for tracking down my boy, so I figured why not humor his dying request.

  Crawling to his hips, I plunged a hand into one of his pants pockets...but found nothing. Leaning over him, I reached into the other pocket.

  And brought out what looked like a black asthma inhaler.

  It felt heavy and smooth, like glass or metal. A thicker cylinder fit over a slimmer cylinder with a nozzle in the base, and the thicker half moved when I pressed it, like the plunger of an inhaler.

  Trying not to look too hard into the chest wound, I raised the device over it and aimed the nozzle downward. I was shaking so bad, I had to use both hands to steady the thing and keep from dropping it.

  Then, I squeezed the plunger.

  A cone of glowing blue liquid sprayed into the cavity in Mike’s chest, spattering the shattered bone and

  chewed-up organs. The liquid clung where it fell, lighting the gaping wound with an eerie turquoise glow.

  I wasn’t sure how long to spray, so I kept squeezing until the last drops sputtered out of the nozzle. I shook the device and tried to push out some more, but it was empty.

  Leaning back on my heels, I stared into the glowing wound and wondered why the hell Mike had told me to do it. I couldn’t guess what the spray had been meant for or why Mike had used his last breath to tell me to use it.

  Then, as I watched, things started to happen in Mike’s wound.

  The glowing blue liquid spread out, oozing into every gap and clump and crease and growing brighter. Tiny sparks fluttered up like cigarette ashes lifted by the wind and swirled around the cavity.

  I smelled something like oranges and smoke. My eyes watered and my skin tingled.

  And then, inside the wound...

  Things started to move.

  Organs quivered and stretched, fresh tissue flowing out of tattered fringes. Shreds grew and wove together, sealing holes and molding into shapes that rippled and inflated.

  Fresh bone spiraled from shattered edges, ribs extending across the chest and spinning out a new breastbone. Sheets of muscle rolled over the ribcage, fibers meshing and swelling.

  Then, a layer of skin washed over it all like spilled paint, covering every trace of what was underneath.

  At that point, it was impossible to tell from looking at him that Mike had had a crater in his chest less than five minutes before.

  The only thing out of place was the bluish glow that still came from his upper body...but even that faded before long. It went away right after the last incredible step in Mike’s coming back to life.

  Right after his chest puffed up and he started breathing again and his eyes flickered open and looked at me.

  *****

  After watching Mike’s body heal itself from a shotgun blast, I knew one thing for sure and I said so.

  "You’re no F.B.I. agent."

  Mike was sitting up by now, but he still looked shaky. "Can’t put one over on you, can I?" he said, his voice weak but unfriendly as ever.

  "So tell me," I said. "What’s your story?"

  Mike sat there and gave me dagger eyes for a minute, like the last thing he wanted to do was tell me anything. Then, he shrugged and shook his head. "Sure, Sonny," he said. "Why not. I need a minute here anyway."

  "I won’t tell anyone," I said.

  Mike snorted. "Like anyone would believe a word out of your crackhead mouth," he said.

  "Yeah," I said. "So tell me."

  Mike scratched his chest. "This regenerated stuff itches like crazy," he said, clawing at the spot where the crater had been...then pulling his hand away like he had to force himself to stop. "Okay. You want the story, I’ll give you the story. I’m from the future."

  "Huh," I said, not too surprised after the way he’d come back to life and all. "How far in the future? Fifty years? A hundred?"

  "Try a thousand," said Mike.

  "A thousand years," I said, and then I thought about it a minute. "So you came back in time a thousand years to help me get my boy back?"

  Mike hesitated. "Sort of," he said, scratching his chest again.

  "Whatta you mean, ‘sort of’?" I said.

  Mike stopped scratching and looked me in the eye. "I came to find him," he said, "but not to give him back to you."

  *****

  "I don’t get it," I said. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

  Mike sighed. "You wanted the story, I’m giving you the story. Don’t get all pissy about it."

  "I’m not gettin’ pissy," I said. "I just wanna know what you’re talkin’ about with this not givin’ him back to me crap."

  "Look," said Mike. "These days, just about anybody who wants a kid can have one, right? Whether you make one yourself or adopt one. Whether you deserve one or not."

  "Right," I said.

  "Case in point," said Mike, pointing a finger at me. "Now fast forward a thousand years in the future. There was a war, a world war. They used manmade killer viruses as weapons, only the viruses mixed together and mutated. Spread all over the planet. Whoever the super viruses didn’t kill, they sterilized.

  "Next thing you know, no one can make babies anymore. No more kids. And without kids..." Mike clapped his hands together. "No more people, right?"

  "Right," I said.

  Mike scratched his chest. "Now, the scientists manage to wipe out the viruses, but the damage is done. They try everything to make people fertile again, but nothing works. They clone people, but the clones are sterile, too.

  "So, basically, it’s the end of the world as far as humans are concerned," said Mike. "Last call for the human race.

  "Then, someone figures out how to time-travel." Mike scratched so hard, I thought he’d draw blood...and then he pulled his hands away and sat on them. "Now we’ve got a way to keep humanity from dying out.

  "We’ll go back in time and get children from the past, from before the viruses wrecked the gene pool. We’ll bring them to the future to repopulate the Earth.

  "Only problem is," said Mike, "we can’t take just any kids. If they’re destined to grow up and have kids of their own, or even if they’re just going to live and have an impact on history, no matter how small, we might change the future by taking them...which, I know, that might not be such a bad thing given the way things turned out.

  "So we have to retrieve the children who won’t make an impact," said Mike. "Like Sean."

  "Because what?" I said, struggling to take in everything Mike was telling me. "When he went away, he was supposed to be gone for good?"

  "You could say that," said Mike. "He was supposed to end up dead."

  *****

  Mike got up and d
usted himself off. "So there you have it," he said. "Now you know."

  "How...," I said. "How’s he gonna die?"

  "He won’t," said Mike, heading for the car. "Not if I can help it."

  I got up and followed him. "So all this, you helpin’ me, was just so you could take him away again?"

  Mike stopped in front of the car and held out his hand. "Car keys," he said.

  I reached in my pocket and started pulling them out...then stopped. "Now wait a minute," I said. "I’m just supposed to let you take him?"

  "Yeah," said Mike, snapping his fingers. "Give me the keys."

  I closed my fist around the keys and took a step back. "But he’s my son."

  "Oh, right," said Mike. "And you’ve done such a great job taking care of him. Why don’t I nominate you for father of the year?"

  "Maybe I just need another chance," I said.

  "Okay, listen," Mike said angrily. "Forget about the fact that the future of the human race is at stake. Forget about the fact that time travel eats so much energy that we can only do it once a year, so we’re lucky if we can bring forward a handful of kids before mankind dies out. Just put all that aside for a minute.

  "Now, I want you to stand there and tell me Sean’s going to be better off with you. Better off than being raised by hundreds of parents...thousands of parents...who want nothing in the world more than to care for a child.

  "Go ahead," said Mike, stepping toward me. "Tell me! Tell me how you’re going to turn over a new leaf and make everything better for him!

  "Tell me how you’re never going to get stoned again! Tell me how you’re never going to kick his ass again! Tell me!"

  I stood there for a long moment and didn’t say a word. More than anything, I wanted to take a swing at him, punch his face bloody, knock him down and bash his head in.

  Even though I knew. Because I knew.

  I knew he was right.

  Mike grabbed my arm then and yanked my hand out of my pocket. "Okay then," he said, prying the keys from my fingers. "Then keep your mouth shut!"

  He marched around to the driver’s side of the car and got in and started the engine. I hesitated, then got in the passenger’s side. I was afraid he might leave without me.

  "We still have a chance of saving him," he said as we rolled out onto the campground road. "I spiked the guy’s tire with a melter before he shot me."

  I didn’t say a word.

  "Guaranteed blowout on a short fuse timer," said Mike. "They won’t have gotten far."

  I sat silently, thinking about what he had told me. Thinking about Sean and drugs and failure and the future and regret. Thinking about how things could have been.

  Wondering what my father would have done. Wondering if, in his own way, he had faced the same situation and so his choice was already clear.

  *****

  We followed Sean’s signal with Mike’s tracker phone and found the motor home a few miles away, abandoned on the side of the road. The front tire on the driver’s side was blown out.

  "They’re on foot," said Mike, watching the glowing blue screen on the phone as he aimed it into the woods. "Big head start. I’ve got some ground to cover."

  He already had the brass knuckles doodad on his hand, which I’d figured was some kind of weapon. When he touched a button on top of it, the red lens that curved along the front of it lit up, throwing a spotlight on the trees along the road.

  "Wish me luck," he said, starting forward through the underbrush.

  "Good luck," I said, but instead of staying behind like he obviously wanted me to, I followed him into the woods.

  "Hold on," he said, stopping a few steps in. "This is where you get off."

  "Right," I said. "Will do."

  "Okay then." Mike turned and took a few more steps...then stopped when he realized I was still following him.

  "Look," he said, turning the beam of light on me. "The longer you piss around with me, the further away that guy gets with your son."

  "How many times have you done this?" I said, squinting against the light.

  Mike didn’t answer.

  "This is your first, isn’t it?" I said. "So what do you do if he doesn’t want to go?"

  "Don’t worry about it," snapped Mike.

  "Are you going to force him? Is that how it works?"

  "They’re getting away," said Mike.

  "Wouldn’t it be easier," I said, "if you have someone along to make him feel better? Someone to tell him it’s okay to go with you?"

  Mike snorted. "Because you’ve got such a great father-son rapport," he said.

  "And you’re just a stranger," I said, "like the last guy who took him. But you’re different from the other guys who take people’s kids, right?"

  Mike didn’t have an answer for that one.

  Slowly, he turned the light away from me...then started off again into the woods. He didn’t say another word about leaving me behind.

  *****

  Mike and I ran through the woods, guided by the pings of the tracker.

  I was so out of shape, my lungs wrecked by crack smoke, I had trouble keeping up. A couple times, I had to stop and gasp for breath, and he didn’t wait for me...but I forced myself to pull it together and keep going.

  Even though we had a light to follow, I tripped over roots and rocks and twisted my ankles and whacked my head on branches. I fell, hitting the ground hard and stoving some fingers and driving my knee into a stump.

  But I got up and kept going.

  I didn’t know what was coming next or what would happen to my boy, but I had to be part of it. I had run out on him years ago, run out in every way that counted, but now I was coming back to him. Not like my father.

  Not this time.

  As I stumbled across creeks and slipped in mud and heaved and heaved for breath and got shooting cramps in my side, I thought about his face, the face of my son, the very same face I’d ignored and blocked out of my mind until a few days before. The face I’d hated, I admit it.

  And I swore to myself, as the tracker pinged faster and Mike and I got closer to my son, that whatever I did next, I would do it for Sean.

  And I hoped, unlike every other promise I’d made in my life, that this time, I’d follow through.

  *****

  After a while, finally, Mike stopped running. He turned off the light and the tracker and waited for me to catch up.

  I stumbled up beside him, gasping and dizzy, lights sparking in front of my eyes though the woods were dark. Bending over, I put my hands on my knees and tried to stop shaking and catch my breath.

  "They’re up ahead," he whispered. "Moving along the base of a rock wall."

  I nodded, too out of breath to say anything.

  "Now, I’ve been thinking," said Mike. "Maybe I can use you after all, if you’re up to it."

  "I’m up to it," I said, straightening...trying hard not to look like I was ready to pass out.

  "He thinks I’m dead," said Mike. "If you go in first, he’ll think you’re alone, and I can circle around and sneak up on him."

  "Sounds good," I said between gasps. "What do I do?"

  "Talk to him," said Mike. "Calmly. Beg him to give your son back. Whatever. Try not to get him too worked up."

  "What if he...doesn’t want to talk?" I said. "What if he...just wants to...shoot me?"

  "Duck," said Mike. "Run the opposite direction from where I’ll be. Keep him busy talking or keep him busy shooting, I don’t care."

  "Great plan," I said, pulling up my T-shirt from the waist to wipe the sweat off my face. "You’re from a thousand years in the future...and that’s the best you can...come up with?"

  Mike smacked the shirt away from my face. "Quit wasting my time," he said. "Do what I said or get the hell out of here."

  "All right," I said. "I’ll do it."

  "They’re straight ahead," said Mike. "I’m going that way." He pointed left. "Remember, draw his attention away from me."

  "Sure," I said, glarin
g at him...sick of his attitude, sick of him treating me like crap. "And you and me’re gonna have a talk later."

  Mike snorted. "Yeah," he said. "Because I really care about what you have to say."

  And then he was gone.

  I took a minute to try to steady myself, which was a lost cause, and then I started walking, too. Straight ahead.

  Toward my boy.

  *****

  As I pushed through some low-hanging branches and stepped into a clearing, I saw them. And my heart my heart pounded faster and not just from fear or exertion.

  In the dim light of the half-moon overhead, I saw my son. Even though the light was dim and he was twenty maybe thirty yards away and my eyes were still sparking, I knew it was him.

  And my heart pounded because he was there, because it felt like I’d been searching for him for years and he was there.

  He was moving along the rock wall behind a man...a burly guy in a flannel shirt and bluejeans, carrying a sawed-off shotgun. At first, I didn’t realize why Sean was walking funny, leaning forward and holding onto his neck.

  But as I moved closer, I saw something between the two of them, something long and thin and blue. Something connecting them, one end in the guy’s fist and the other attached to Sean.

  Attached to his throat.

  And when I knew what it was, I felt angry and sorry and sick in the stomach all at once. Sorry because it was my fault Sean had been taken. Sick because he was being treated like an animal and who knew what else the son of a bitch had done to him.

  Angry because my boy was being dragged around on a leash.

  *****

  A week before, I never would’ve done what I did next, never would’ve walked up to a guy with a shotgun who was ready to kill me. I’ll be honest, I probably wouldn’t’ve even done it if Sean’s life had depended on it.

  But times had changed.

  I walked a few more steps into the clearing, and then I stopped and shouted at the guy. Shaking the whole time and getting ready to run like hell.