With Baider’s assistance, George shouldered his pack. He snapped the breast clasp shut and rolled his shoulders to set the backpack, doggedly enduring fresh pain. The straps tugged at his shotgun lacerations.
“Any idea where we are, Cap?”
From Baider’s tone, George realized his subterfuge hadn’t escaped notice.
“We’re two or three miles due west of where we want to be.” George turned and gave Baider a tormented smile. “Should have brought snow shoes.”
"Your belly wound doing okay?" Baider asked. "Maybe we should check it."
"No." George waved him off. "I'll be fine. The bandages are dry, pain tolerable. You did a good job patching me up last night."
"Thank my sail stitching for that, Cap."
"I will, when the scars no longer remind me of a fence." He clapped Baider on the shoulder and winced. "Let's go."
"Aye, Cap." Baider tossed George a sloppy salute and set off at a moderate pace.
"You ready?" George asked Heather.
"Sure. My legs still work." She eked out a crooked grin and headed after Baider.
She would bare watching, George decided. And it looked like the elements weren't going to play in their favor. Smaller flakes swirled and dipped with the fitful arctic gusts, tumbling from the sky in ever increasing amounts as they left the forest behind. The ground sloped upward. A settling mist moved in. Mounting snowdrifts forced detours, but in less than an hour they reached a wind-swept, treeless plateau with less accumulation. Heather stumbled and fell.
"Hold up, Baider." George shrugged off his backpack and plopped it down beside her, trying to ignore the sudden flash of pain. He hung his head between his knees and breathed deeply, grateful for the break. With a muted, pained sob, Heather rose to her knees, dusted the snow from her pants, eased onto the impromptu seat and pressed against him. Out of the swirling mist Baider appeared and knelt beside them. “Can't see beyond that rise, but I hear fast water. Must be a gorge.”
Heather squinted up at him, her cheeks ruddy, breath coming in short, rapid gasps. “Sit with us. Maybe...between...the two of you...I can get warm...if that’s possible in...in this god-awful place.”
George cinched his parka tighter about his face, wondering how Baider could stand the wintry blasts with only fur flaps tied over his ears, leaving his face exposed. “Snows coming down harder. How you expect us to get across something like that?”
“Depends.” Baider looked away then back. A look passed between Baider and Heather that George never expected to see. Baider's compassion laden glance was more suited to a lover than a colleague. He wrapped himself around her and rubbed her back fiercely.
“Baider stop. Please.” Her laughter, a tepid tinkle, warmed George's heart. “It’s not making me any warmer.”
The moment wasn’t lost on George, but he dismissed their play. Their survival held more sway. “Depends on what?” Despite the meds, his injuries ached, and sitting aggravated them. Would they ever reach the city? Yes. As long as they could stand and walk, hope and endurance remained. Not the time to entertain doubts.
Baider surged to his feet and pulled out his eyespy. “If that road leads to a bridge.” He made a full sweep, then focused on an area to the southeast.
Following Baider’s line of inquiry, George made out a perfectly aligned row of huge oaks shedding shriveled brown leaves with each puff of wind. “We'll make that in a few minutes. You think there’s a bridge?”
“If it hasn't rotted away.”
“Let’s do it.” George struggled to his feet and gasped. Pain seized his chest and belly, leaving him bent, hands on knees. He wished they could rest a while longer. Since breaking camp, the temperature had fallen twenty degrees. Ten inches of fluffy new snow blanketed and flattened the knee-high grass.
“Heather?” Baider offered her his hand and she took it, grimacing as he pulled her to her feet. She staggered and would have fallen, but Baider held her close until color returned to her cheeks.
“I’m...I’m okay. God, I hate being hurt,” she said.
With a paternalistic air, Baider eyed George. “Cap?”
“Sure. Just needed a moment to catch my breath.”
“At least its stopped snowing,” Heather muttered, standing on her own.
“We’re in the clouds.” Baider looked at her anxiously. “Can you walk?”
“Yeah, sure. Nothing’s changed in that regard.”
Baider helped George shoulder his backpack and adjust the straps. Despite Baider's skilled nursing, fresh blood had seeped through George's bandages, darkening jacket and pants about his left hip.
Baider showed George his bloodied gloves, then wiped them on his pants and pointed to the line of oaks. At George's nod they trudged on, Heather between them. Dry snowflakes, stirred by gusts of wind, quickly concealed their passage. The plateau sloped upward, making it difficult for George and Heather to keep up. Baider pulled ahead, though he soon slowed to match their pace.
“Even if there is a bridge,” George wheezed, “it might not be safe.”
“It will be.”
Heather grunted, then squelched a cry when her foot plunged into a hidden dip. Baider steadied her at elbow and shoulder while she regained her footing.
"Awfully sure of yourself, sailor.” Her pandering tease was painfully strained.
“Power of positive thinking.”
George read deep concern in Baider's terse reply. He pitied her — an emotion he hadn’t thought Baider capable of — and worried his morning assessment was unrealistic. As banged up as she, he wondered who would give out first. The mountain they sought was just beyond the gorge, but the elements were playing against them finding an entrance he assumed was camouflaged to inhibit intruders. But the holoimager indicated the city's inhabitants were anticipating their arrival. Since the technology to guide them in existed in this era, he had to assume the city dwellers would be looking out for them.
“Tell me, George,” Heather huffed, “Why are you so sure this ‘technocity’ exists?”
“The beacon, mostly, and because Hanover as much as admitted he was born there. I’ve had this overpowering premonition...this sense...that this time line isn't right. We shouldn’t be here at all.”
“No doubt,” Baider snorted. “You think we can go back...in time?”
“We came forward, didn’t we?” Edgy and tired, George shifted his backpack to the right. Pain speared him from crotch to chest. He recentered the pack and let go a slow, unsteady breath, then closed his eyes. The pain monster loosed its grip. When he opened them, his companions had stopped, and were staring at him with worried frowns.
"What?" He shrugged. His belly wound throbbed. "I'm fine." He took his place beside Heather, but had to concede she might have to support him, rather than the other way around. He tongued the small scabbed puncture in his cheek. "I think that black ship, that UFO, created a time rift. It’s quite possible its still active. If we'd turned back, reentered...but we didn’t know...and we still don't.”
Minutes passed in silence. The road, buried beneath a thick layer of snow smattered with shriveled brown leaves, led east. Out of the mist loomed a massive polycrete bridge, right where Baider said it should be.
“You think this technocity holds the answers? You think whoever...lives there can help...us get back to our...own time?” Heather’s words spilled out between strained gasps. She staggered.
Baider threw his arm about her, careful to keep his hand well below her injury. George was sure he was going to pick her up, but if he did, he'd be dead on his feet in a hundred yards.
Despite turning down his thermals, George sweated, adding to the chill creeping into his bones. Dry and cracked lips stung when he opened his mouth too wide. The wind had burnished his face. Encrusted brows arched over eye lids closed to narrow slits. He used her question to distract him from the numbing cold and his own flagging strength. What was it she asked? Oh yeah.
“Uh, theoretically, anything is possible.
” He brushed snow from his parka, stalling to organize his thoughts. “As you pointed out, Heather, scientists in 2000 learned that by passing excited protons through the proper medium, they could show them leaving the medium before they even entered. We’re talking milliseconds, but if you extrapolate...”
“Slinker took us three hundred years into the future, or something did.”
“Something, Baider. Something.”
They reached the foot of the bridge. Like the road, with its flat bands and dipped middle, the structure was wide enough to accommodate an interstate highway. Though the polycrete stanchions and bright green side rails appeared intact, jagged chunks of polyphalt jutted up through the snow. A third of the way across, a huge breach blocked their crossing. Thick white swirls gusted over the span, making passage quite treacherous.
“Six feet clear on the north side. See it?”
George followed Baider’s point and shook his head. “Not much room. No telling how stable it is there.” He studied the bridge with a keen eye to detail. Rust marred the stanchions where iron alloy reinforcement rods once intertwined, wiring the structure together. Foot wide cracks ran side to side, buckled where sagging underpinnings and natural erosion had driven span plates together. Beyond the southern railing, remnants of a walkway clung in tattered. twisted patches.
“You got a better idea?” Baider asked.
“No.” George shrugged and looked back. "We go back, we die. We go on, we might live."
The giant oaks, now consumed by a swelling blizzard creeping over the plateau, were reduced to shadow. Ahead, sporadic gusts lifted snow from the roadway, masking the far bank and burying danger beneath pristine white anonymity.
“Heather?” Baider squinted at her, his usually stoic voice laden with concern, his earlier good cheer abandoned.
“I don't care anymore. I’m on autopilot.” Barely heard above the tumult, her words dripped of resignation.
“Lead on, Baider,” George prodded, “I’ll take up the rear. Keep a little distance, in case this old thing can't support us together, okay?” He tried to sound optimistic, but failed to carry it off.
Baider nodded.
“Sure, Cap.” Heather managed a feeble grin.
Since leaving the ship, she had hardly used the moniker. George smiled back, gladdened by her fighting spirit.
Staying close to the left railing where the surface wasn’t as broken, Baider took one cautious step after the other. When Baider had a five yard lead, George nudged Heather to follow, and waited until she was equidistant. He matched their footfalls, which disappeared almost as he reached them.
An unnerving crack resounded. Up ahead, lost to sight in the snowy mist, Baider cursed. The ancient bridge shuddered. Far below came the muffled thud and rumble of a massive chunk of polycrete slamming into the granite wall and breaking up..
For an instant, George caught sight of a crouched Baider. The distance between them had grown. Heather made laborious, but steady progress and soon reached Baider, then shortly, George. Gulping for air, their lips and noses were slimed with ice crystals, exposed skin ruddy and raw.
“What’s up?” George yelled to be heard.
“Didn’t want you guys to stumble over this!” Baider pointed to a jagged, foot-wide fissure connecting the side railing to the massive break in the roadway. Except where Baider kicked it away, snow and ice concealed the crack.
Cautiously testing for support, Baider stepped over the trouble spot and, slow and deliberate, continued on. The mist thinned as the wind gusts gained power. Snow rose from the creaking expanse in great clumps, just to be blown apart at chest height. George helped Heather over the fracture, waited until she was at arms length, followed, gained quickly on her, then paused until a small distance opened between them.
It took eons for George to reach the hole and minutes more to get beyond it. The pavement’s condition worsened, forcing him to traverse one especially rough section on his hands and knees. Old and tired, the disintegrating edifice swayed to the moaning winds whipping through the structural supports, making it difficult to keep his footing.
He squinted to locate Baider. The seaman had reached the far bank and turned to wave them on. The wind changed direction and tenor, its eerie howl gradually overcome by a distant, intensifying rumble. Without warning the bridge shifted hard, tossing a startled George into a snowdrift. He blocked the brunt of the fall with his left hand, spraining his wrist. He staggered to his feet, injured hand compressed between his arm and side in a futile effort to ease the pain. He took a step. The roadbed felt spongy, like the Miami Beach causeway after hurricane Thelma destroyed much of south Florida in 2052, just before the overpass collapsed. Collapse!
“Damn! Heather! Run! Run for your life!" Fear clawed up his back. Panic set his heart racing. He lunged forward, but the bridge trembled and slammed him to the ground, bruising his knees and chin. Terrified, he surged to his feet and ran. A distant rumble swelled to a frightening crescendo. Above them the mist darkened, then broke open. Shoving the clouds aside, an enormous black rectangle emerged from the mist fifty yards above, casting the bridge them in twilight.
Favoring his injured wrist, George scurried on, violent tremors shoving him from side to side. He searched out Heather, saw her fall and roll onto her back, her face twisted in abject terror. She tried to stand, but couldn't seem to get her footing. The railing beside her wavered, snapped and crumbled. She screamed and curled into a ball.
Within a long stride, he lunged and landed beside her with a jarring thud, knocking the wind from him. Gasping for breath, he grabbed for her hands, but petrified, she clutched them to her chest, her eyes squeezed shut.
Lost to sight in the swirling snow, he heard Baider scream her name. In moments the burly sailor was upon them. He looped an arm through hers and jerked her to her feet, but a sickening tremor sent him sprawling and loosed his grip. Desperate, he threw himself toward her. The bridge lurched and shoved her beyond his reach. A crack split the polyphalt between them. The polycrete span beneath her shrieked and tilted.
“God, Baider!” she wailed in utter despair, “don't let me die!”
Baider scuttled to the widening breach and reached across. “Take my hand! Take my hand!"
Sprawled out behind him, George gripped the seaman's legs in a lock hold and anchored his boots in a crack. Baider's weight dragged George forward. Agony lanced his being. He sought and found another toe-hold.
Baider snatched a handful of Heather's collar and twisted it to gain a better grip. Mouth open in a silent scream, she sought his arm in frenzied grabs.
With a splintering snap the slab beneath Heather tumbled away. Wrenched from her very soul, her terrified shriek was all but lost in the mind-numbing din. One hand clasped in Baider's brawny grip, she clawed at his arm, but failed to gain purchase there. He clutched her jacket collar and twisted the material. She inched upward as Baider's powerful arms folded back, but a mighty lurch jerked her hand from her glove.
Baider tossed aside the empty leather and swiped at her fee hand. Legs flailing, eyes wide and pleading, she cried out. Her jacket tore away. In an instant she was gone, lost in the mist, swallowed up by the water raging through the gorge.
“No!” Baider wailed. He rolled inward and threw himself over George, then beyond.
Polycrete railing supports crumbled, driving George up and over a ridge of shifting polyphalt where Baider waited. He jerked George to his feet, turned and fell. Bruising knees and hands, they attained the other bank and hurled themselves upon the bridge abutment. With a tumultuous roar, what remained of the weakened span smashed into the gorge wall and rushed to the bottom hundreds of feet below.
Baider grasped George’s arm and together they struggled up the slight incline, the ground beneath them trembling anew. From out of the tumbling clouds, a wide yellow beam slammed into the black ship. The earthen bank stuttered, throwing them down. A second beam struck before they could regain their feet. The alien craft veered sha
rply upward and away.
The noise abated and the ground beneath them steadied. Opaque mist closed in on them. Gasping, George lay on his side, exhorting the nightmare to end, beaten to the limit of endurance. This couldn’t be real; time shifts, flooded coastlands, Earth destroyed by alien space ships. This was surreal...too damned implausible...nothing more than med induced hallucinations. He would wake aboard Slinker, secure in his bunk, surrounded by the gentle murmurs of his sleeping comrades.
“We...we...can't...can't stay here, Cap.”
Saturated in grief, Baider’s words reached deep inside George, destroying the fiction he wanted so desperately to embrace. Heather’s last moments flashed across his mind. It was real. All of it. Wendell and Heather. His and Baider's prospects fleeting at best. Did the city from the beacon still exist, or had the aliens destroyed it too? He had to think straight. Was there a way back? And what the hell was that yellow beam and why was that alien ship after them? It couldn't be a coincidence.
“I know. It’s just that...” George sat up, as did Baider. Pain radiated up his side. He gasped and clenched his teeth, and breathed harshly through his nose. The fingers of his left hand were cold and bleeding where his frantic efforts had torn open the thick leather. He tucked his hand under his armpit and rose unsteadily to his feet. “I can't believe she’s gone.”
Baider slumped. His face darkened. ”I...I was going to ask her to marry me.” Tears welled and he turned away.
George looked up sharply, stunned. “I hadn't put it together...”
“I...I...well, I didn’t want to let on...not...not...until we completed Slinker’s test run. We thought that if you knew, you might put one of us off the project.” Baider cast his eyes to the heavens as great tears rolled down his ruddy, dirt-streaked cheeks and dripped from his chin. “Even Lauren guessed at it.”
“Why didn’t she go to you when she was frightened, when she needed reassurance?”
“You were her big brother. She drew comfort from that.”
They stared at each other through narrowed eyes, sharing their grief.
Mankind's Worst Fear Page 31