I Can Barely Breathe

by August Verona

  To replicate that energy, a large battery was connected to the craft. He had learned the hard way, and Sorrow’s Sky had paid the price, that if only one occupant’s energy was transferred to the time device it failed to carry out the time shift, bringing disastrous results that rippled out and affected the flow of time—which caused past events to find the present.

  Jon glanced beyond the empty field to the town, littered with giant redwood trees. He wiped his damp hands on his blue jeans and straightened the sleeves of his black suede jacket, then nervously adjusted the collar of his white button-up shirt. He was as ready as he’d ever be. The clock tower’s glowing face showed three minutes to four. “When will the time shifts stop?” he asked.

  “I’m afraid they may continue to spread through the town for a few more weeks, maybe a month. We really did a number with this device. This is our chance to correct that. The trees will be gone soon, and the townspeople will forget. Though I did hear that a soldier came back to life at the cemetery.” He laughed. “That probably scared the crap out of a few of the townfolk.”

  “I heard. How is that even possible?”

  “Jon, that cut on your arm that opened up back in the lab, where do you think it came from? You had a cut in that very spot, years ago. Didn’t you?”

  “How did you know that?” Jon asked, pulling up his sleeve and running his fingers over the bandage.

  “Because the past is blending with the present. A few hours from now, the cut will be completely gone. You get it?”

  “I do. That’s scary. The townspeople must be so… lost.”

  “It’ll all end soon,” the doctor reassured.

  Gary handed Jon a small digital tablet. “Once you’ve arrived, your only mission is to confirm the exact month, day, time and year. When you’ve done that, reset the dials to today’s date, October 24, 1962, at 5:00 p.m. on the dot. That’s one hour from now. You don’t want to return before your past self has left. I fear that may just confuse us all. Let’s try to avoid an awkward encounter.”

  “I got it.” Jon crawled into the hovercraft and slid the battery between his feet. “I think I got it,” he whispered.

  “This is no different from any of the times I’ve made the journey to the past. Now we’re just moving forward. The first time’s always the best,” the doctor said, adjusting his thick glasses.

  With one breath of air Jon blurted out at lightning speed, “What if I get there, and there’s a war going on, or I land in the middle of some future concentration camp that one day will exist right here in this very spot?” He took a deep—much needed—breath in.

  Gary laughed a little. “Oh, Jon, always thinking of the worst-case scenario. If you find yourself in a situation you can’t handle, reset the dials and come home.”

  “OK. I think I’m ready.”

  “Then off you go. Be safe.”

  Jon tapped the accelerator, and the hovercraft moved slowly through the field. The doctor had surmised that only a slight bit of movement was necessary for time travel, which was a load off Jon’s mind. The young soon-to-be adventurist placed his hands on the time device with his destination already keyed in. He took a deep breath of air, preparing for anything. His foot tapped a switch to power up the battery. In a heartbeat, Jon and the hovercraft vanished from the field.

  Gary looked at his watch. “One hour, Jon. Don’t be late.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  I Never Would Have Guessed

  Jon watched as the field turned to a parking lot. He let off the accelerator, and the hovercraft came to a stop. It was quiet. It was an odd transition; one second it was a blue-sky afternoon, the next a darkened evening with stars filling the heavens. The department store that belonged to the empty lot and took the place of the once-nearby forest of trees looked empty and closed up, though not out of business. A bright sign that lit the area read Jackson’s Delivery.

  After stashing his time machine on the darkened side of the store, Jon had no other option but to venture farther into town. He could see spotlights; their beams reached far into the sky, as they scanned the atmosphere, rotating and shifting like two swords in battle. The redwoods were gone, and small skyscrapers huddled around the center of town. They were shiny, constructed of pale blue metal and hundreds of reflecting windows.

  In the far distance, he saw a train on an elevated rail that swept around the city limits; the railcars moved at unbelievable speeds. The clock tower stood tall, as it always had. Upon recognizing the iconic piece of history, Jon couldn’t help but smile. It shone bright gold all the way to its peak, as if it had been painted with the mineral. The hands were digital, meant to mimic the analog clocks Jon was used to. The computerized hands showed 8:27. He noted the time in his tablet.

  “One number down, three to go,” he said, stepping out of the lot and onto a nicely paved street with painted crosswalks and glowing stop signs.

  An oval darkly tinted glass craft hovered by, making its way down the street. Jon looked up, just as three giant ships flew silently over the town. They were like nothing he’d ever seen before. Their smooth black metallic finish reflected lights from the ground. A large blue-flamed propulsion system pushed the vehicles slowly along and told Jon that the future civilization still used liquid fuel.

  As Jon walked, he came across two odd-looking people. The closer he got to them, the faster his heart raced. They wore tight gray rubberlike suits that reminded the young time traveler of an exoskeleton. Their eyes were large, almond-shaped and bright blue, almost shining. Long arms stretched from their shoulders down to their knees, with bony fingers curled up in their palms. The two beings stared at Jon as he rushed by, trying to avoid eye contact.

  Businesses with large storefront windows stretched along one of a few different main roads. Coffee shops, bars, restaurants and venues with neon signs and computer terminals lit up with menus of touch-screen and holographic technology lined the block. Jon saw a few humans walking around, but the odd-looking creatures seemed to outnumber them. He jogged across the street and jetted into one of the shops.

  Inside, red and white dining booths lined the side wall, mostly empty. A long bar with red stools held a few customers and three of the beings, all who turned in their seats and stared at Jon upon his entrance. He quickly decided to take a seat at the bar to try to blend in.

  “What’ll you have, kid?” the human behind the long service counter asked.

  “Just a coffee, please. Black.”

  “OK, go ahead and swipe your card.”

  Jon looked down at a small computer screen built into the marble surface in front of him. The screen displayed Welcome. Please swipe your card to begin.

  “I have cash,” Jon foolishly said, pulling a wad of bills from his pocket.

  “What? The year is 2062! Where’d you get that? You need to swipe your monetary card to pay for the coffee.”

  A man to Jon’s left calmly laid his hand on the counter. “I got it, Steve. Just put it on mine.”

  Jon looked at the considerate stranger and nodded. He was young but still older than Jon, around thirty, clean-shaven and seemed very proper with good posture. His brown hair was neatly parted, and kindness was in his eyes.

  “Thank you,” Jon said.

  “You’re welcome. Are you from around here?” the man asked, returning his focus to his drink.

  Jon’s coffee was pushed toward him, and he took a sip. “No, I just got into town.”

  A metal saltshaker lifted from the tabletop and into the air. The shock and awe was clearly visible in Jon’s expression; he quickly tried to erase the astonished look from his face, but it was too late. The stranger had already noticed his reaction. They both watched the condiment hover down the length of the bar, until long bony fingers reached out and plucked it from the air. It was then sprinkled on the patron’s food.

  “They can move objects with their minds,” the stranger whispered. “But if you’re from planet Earth, you should already know that.”


  Jon looked at him. “Well, I’m definitely from planet Earth. Just a little out of sorts today, I guess.”

  “Understandable. Traveling can do that to a man. Where are you from?” the stranger probed.

  “Denver. I thought I’d cut through to Cosmos City.”

  The man sat down his drink and frowned. “Denver, huh? What part? If you don’t mind me asking.”

  “Aurora. I’m here on business,” Jon lied.

  “I’m just going to stop you here,” the man said. “The first thing you need to know is that Denver was destroyed about ninety years ago. Cosmos City was renamed about forty years ago, and no one has used cash for over seventy-five years. So if you don’t mind, could you cut the crap?”

  Jonathan took in a deep breath. “I guess I’m not very good at this,” he admitted.

  “How about we start over?”

  “That’d be fine,” Jon said. “My name is Jay.” He held out his hand.

  They shook. The stranger had a firm grip, and, when he smiled, Jon noticed his white teeth.

  “My name is Kattic. It’s good to meet you, Jay. Now, let’s start by you telling me exactly when in the hell you’re from.”

  There was a silence in the coffee shop, the kind of silence you normally only hear in a graveyard or after a terrible accident or that lull in conversation when someone has said the wrong thing. Kattic looked into Jon’s eyes, waiting for an answer.

  “I’m from 1962. I’m a time traveler.”

  Kattic sipped from his glass. “Where did you get the technology? I assume you didn’t build it yourself.”

  “No. An alien ship crashed just outside of Sorrow’s Sky. We recovered it and have been experimenting with it ever since.”

  “This may surprise you a bit, but I know exactly what you’re talking about,” Kattic said.

  “How?”

  “History books. That crash is what started all this.” Kattic looked around, finally resting his gaze on one of the beings.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Jay, that crash wasn’t an accident. It was planned. That was the beginning of their infiltration of planet Earth. The whole thing started that day, in the year 1955, in Sorrow’s Sky. Those were soldiers. Ruthless from what the books say. Their mission was to disappear into the forest and reproduce as much as possible, increasing their numbers as fast as they could, paving the way for the rest of their civilization to land here and take over. With them, conception to birth only takes two months. Seven years after the crash, those soldiers, and believe me when I say there were a lot of them, left the forest and entered the town.”

  “Seven years? That’s ’62.” Jon scanned the room. “These beings look humanlike.”

  “They are, kind of. Once the soldiers left the trees, they immediately began raping and impregnating human women. When the motherships arrived shortly afterward, the rape continued on a global scale. The hybrids you see now are the result of that.”

  “So they’re part human, part alien?”

  “Born from a crime. Exactly,” Kattic confirmed.

  “All over the world?” Jon asked.

  “Yes, there are approximately three hybrids to every one human. They wanted us humans to find their crashed craft and back engineer their technology, so by the time they arrived to take over, humans would be used to a new wave of tech. They allowed us to keep the gadgets we built from their ship and encouraged us to always keep inventing new products.” Kattic finished his drink and slid the cup toward the bartender.

  “No one even knows it’s coming,” Jon said. “I need to return and warn someone. Before I go, what day and month is it?

  Kattic was a bit surprised by Jon’s impulsive decision, but understood nonetheless. “It’s August 3.”

  Jon jotted down the rest of his mission information in his tablet, then stood to leave.

  “Be careful, Jay, and good luck out there.”

  “Thanks, Kattic. You too.”

  Jon rushed out of the café and ran back to the vacant parking lot. He set the dials on the machine for October 24, 1962, 5:00 p.m.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Scars

  Tom awoke naked, his alarm clock blaring. He hit the switch, threw off the covers and sat up. A sharp pain ran up his leg. The same pain he had felt for months after the shooting.

  “Good morning,” a short, petite brunette with a pretty smile and wide eyes said from the doorway. Her nightgown covered her body, as she sipped from a coffee mug.

  “You’re up early,” Tom said, as he smiled to her. He always found her sexiest in the mornings. “Come here.”

  She walked to him, set her mug on the nightstand, and he wrapped his arms around her waist and pressed his head against her stomach. His fingers unbuttoned her gown, and she slipped it off, while his hands explored her bare breasts. In Tom’s eyes, she was perfect; his subtle touch let her know. She put her knees on the bed so her thighs spread around his crotch and then kissed his shoulders. His dick rubbed against her bush, as his fingers felt the stretch marks on her stomach. Her hands held his strong shoulders, as her pelvis maneuvered him inside her, a neat trick she’d picked up from two years’ worth of fucking. She moaned when his manhood spread her open.

  They both knew sex after having a baby was a luxury and fully intended to take advantage of their son’s deep sleep.

  Tom’s lips sucked his wife’s nipple, and he immediately felt her milk rush into his mouth. He drank from her body, taking small mouthfuls, then switched to her other breast and drank more. She rocked on his penis, while he swallowed, and, as his hands squeezed her ass cheeks, his cum squirted into her. Her tongue went in his mouth, and she most assuredly tasted her milk. Tom absolutely loved the taste; it was sweet, like coconut water, and he found it unbelievably erotic.

  Using his shoulders as supports, she pulled off of him, and his load of semen slipped from her cunt and dripped all over the tip of his dick, then ran down the shaft. Obediently the young wife got down on her knees and sucked the hot liquid from his cock and balls. She didn’t stop sucking until her husband blew another load in her mouth, which she happily swallowed as well.

  He kissed her lips, then stood carefully and limped his way to the bathroom. As Tom stood in front of the mirror, he examined himself, finding the scar from the bullet wound was back above his right knee. He hobbled into the shower and soaked in the hot water.

  ***

  It was a relief when Tom looked out the front door and found that the redwood trees that had appeared in his yard a few days earlier were gone. He then understood that, whatever comes back to haunt the town, didn’t stay for long, though the aftereffects did. That was apparent from the giant tree-trunk-shaped hole in his neighbor’s house across the street.

  Steam rose from his coffee cup, as he made his way to his Buick. Tom opened his trunk and grabbed the shotgun, checked to make sure it was loaded and then opened his passenger side door. The Buick was customized for the job; it had to be. Tom needed things to be set up a certain way. He snapped the gun barrel into a dashboard locking mechanism that held the weapon in place, the aim focused on the roof of the car. Before he closed the door, he checked the safety one more time.

  On his way to the station he saw children in the park, older couples on their porches doing the morning crossword and a few people out mowing their lawns. It was a beautiful Friday. Road crews were out filling in the giant holes left from the mysterious trees. The town felt still, peaceful even. It was as if nothing could ruin such a sunny day.

  Tom pulled into the station’s parking lot and found an empty slot next to another detective’s car. He tried at all costs to avoid parking where the cruisers parked. He thought himself too important to blend in with everyone else.

  “Hey, Tom,” Chevez said, on his way out the station doors. “Your leg acting up again?”

  “Yes. I probably slept wrong. Stay safe out there.”

  Tom walked the halls of the old building. The stiffness in his leg was strong
er than usual, and his pain level felt like a five rather than the usual three. He walked past his framed picture on the wall with three other detectives. Above them, a larger picture of his father, the chief, hung alone. Tom ducked into his office and clicked on the metal-framed desk fan to counter the heat the department always had pumping through the halls this time of year. He sat down in the comfortable swivel chair and organized the loose papers scattered on his desktop, then put them in a drawer.

  The detective thought for a moment about his agenda for the day. The night before he had stayed in the office until 10:00 p.m., catching up on paperwork; it was a schedule he didn’t want to make a habit of. He turned to toss an empty disposable cup in his trash, when a pale blonde girl, standing in his doorway, startled him so much that he tossed it in the air.

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you,” she said in a monotone. She lacked any expression on her face, and her arms hung loosely at her sides.

  “My God,” he said with his hand over his heart. “What can I do for you?” Tom noticed a pink scar on her neck. Her eyes looked tired and a bit sunken in. “Are you all right?”

  “I am now. I had to walk from Thirty-Second Street.” It almost seemed to the detective that, when she talked, she struggled to get out each word. “My feet are a little tired.”

  “Well, come in. Why don’t you have a seat?” Tom asked, as he stared at her bare feet. They were dirty and had dried blood on them.

  She walked to the chair and sat down; her dirty yellow dress clung to her body. Tom found her very attractive, and, despite already having had two orgasms this morning, he felt aroused. It wasn’t every day a pretty girl found her way to his office.

  “I need to report a murder,” she said, cocking her head to one side.