by Various
“Rather be a poor eagle than a wealthy lab rat. I get that,” I say.
He nods. “Tatton told me you were an idealist. A thief and an idealist, what a combination.”
Wraith brushes him off. “Yeah, she’s a modern-day Robin Hood. You know why we’re here?”
He nods, motioning us to follow him to the next room. It’s a massive open space with a single pedestal in the center of the room. A thick, round arc stretches across the top.
“Jump rings.”
I whistle again.
“Are you sure it’s safe?” Wraith asks. “The government banned time-travel research in the late 21st century for a reason.”
“It’s been successfully tested,” he mutters.
I raise one eyebrow. “That doesn’t sound very confident.”
Alistair shrugs. “The problem is, one can only travel once, and only backward. So there is no way to bring someone back to the present to give evidence.”
“Then how do you measure success?” I ask.
“In the lack of bodily fluids left over,” he answers flatly.
“Tasty,” I say. “Wait, why can you only go back?”
He waves me off. “It’s very simple. Time exists in two states only: the past—time that has already occurred—and the present—time that is currently occurring. There is no future time, not from this moment. The future is only a concept. It… hasn’t been born yet, for lack of a better term.”
I nod, pretending to understand. Sometimes, when the smart scientist talks, you just nod and go with it.
“Great, let’s get this show on the road,” I say, clapping my hands together. “Wraith, when did you want to go back to?”
“September 9th, 2106.”
“Great, and I need to go a bit further,” I say. “Mid 21st century.”
Alistair shifts his gaze between us. “Well, the 21st century, that’s doable. But as for your request,” he says and turns to Wraith, “I’m afraid that’s quite impossible.”
“Why?” we ask in unison, his voice more on edge than my own.
Alistair splays his hands. “Well, you already exist in that time. I’m afraid that is one of those pesky rules. We cannot predict what would happen if the same matter were to collide within a timeline. It’s unpredictable at best, catastrophic at worst. You might, for example, jump into your existing form from that time, or you could unravel the very fabric of time itself.”
Wraith’s face falls. It’s heartbreaking, a mixture of shock and disappointment.
“Besides,” Alistair continues, “jumping requires a large amount of radium to make the device work, and I only possess enough for one trip.”
I brush past Alistair, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Wraith.
“It could still work,” I say. “I could change things. I could fix everything.”
“I suppose,” he hesitates, “it wasn’t as much about saving her as it was… I just wanted to see her one more time.”
Hesitantly, I reach out, putting a hand on his arm.
Then, I hear the sirens.
***
The sound rips through the room like a tornado. The cops are here, and probably the mayor’s personal guards, too. How the hell did they find us? I’d been so careful.
That’s when something dawns on me. I grab Wraith’s arm, examining the skin below his elbow. Sure enough, there’s the distinct lump left by a tracking device.
“Damn it!” I swear. “They tagged you. They’ve been tracking you this whole time.” Releasing his arm, I rush to the window, peeking through the gap between boards.
“And we are out of time,” I say, counting six cars surrounding us. A dozen cops and at least as many white suits are converging on the place, stun wands in hand.
Alistair is already at the panel on the wall.
“Get on the platform,” he yells.
I obey without hesitation.
“I’m so sorry,” Wraith says, backing away slowly. “I didn’t know.”
I shake my head, holding out my hand.
“Come with me,” I say.
He freezes, clearly torn.
“Come with me,” I say again, stretching out to him. “Please, Wraith. Come with me, and we can fix everything. We can stop this—all of it. I know we can.”
He hesitates only a moment longer. There’s a slam from the other room as the door collapses. Without a word, he rushes forward, leaping onto the pad beside me, taking my hand in his. Alistair flips a large switch, and the ach overhead separates. The platform shakes, and I cling to Wraith so I don’t lose my footing as it stretches skyward. The arch bursts through the roof, littering us with debris. The arch, now three separate rings, begins to spin. I feel my hair whipping around my face as we cling to each other. Sparks fly, making the tiny hairs on my arms stand up as the current tingles through me. There’s a flash of blue light, and…
I blink. Why is everything blue? I wonder. My head is pounding against the inside of my skull. It takes me a moment to realize I’m lying on my back, looking up at a perfectly blue, cloudless sky.
Then, I remember—I’ve never seen the sky this shade before. For as long as I can remember, the sky has been gray and red, the ash from the flare. No, this is a new sky.
Or an old one. From before the flare.
The before sky.
I sit up slowly, feeling an ache in each muscle as I move.
“Are we alive?” a voice beside me asks.
I throw my arm up, blocking my eyes from the bright sky.
“I think so,” I manage weakly. “I think if we were dead it wouldn’t hurt so much.”
He groans, and I struggle to my feet. It takes me a minute to get my bearings. “I think we’re in a park,” I say, looking around.
There are a handful of people milling around, children playing, dogs chasing round disks. Then, I spy a bench next to a green trashcan. I walk over to it, rummaging through the papers.
Then I see it—the date plastered across the top of one of the black-and-white pages.
“It worked,” I whisper to myself. I don’t realize how much I’ve been expecting to die until that moment. “It worked,” I call out. Wraith hobbles to my side. “Look.”
I hold up the paper.
“June 20th, 2015?” he repeats, his tone unsure.
I nod.
A man pushing a metal cart on wheels approaches us. His clothes are rags, his cart full of odds and ends in black plastic sacks. Even though his face is smudged with dirt, he smiles at us.
“If you two are looking for something, there’s a shelter two blocks over. They have soup and bread. I go there every week. Nice people there,” he says, winking as he changes direction and waddles away.
Wraith and I stare at each other for only a moment before taking hands.
“I am pretty hungry,” he says.
I nod. “First food, then we get busy saving the world.”
“Deal.”
If you enjoyed The Before Sky, we recommend you check out Queen of Someday by: Sherry Ficklin.
Brad leaned back against the kitchen counter and stared at the stove timer. The digital clock seemed frozen at thirty-four minutes. Looking down at his watch, he sighed heavily.
“Come on, Dad,” he muttered to the empty New York City apartment. “Where the hell are you?”
Reaching into his pocket, Brad retrieved his cell phone and checked it for the hundredth time. The face of the phone showed the time in dull, gray tones but didn’t show any missed calls or texts.
Engrossed in his frustration, his heart leapt in surprise when the doorbell rang. Brad hurried through the arched doorway between the kitchen and living room of his one-bedroom apartment and rushed to the door.
The doorbell rang a second time as Brad opened the door. The heavyset man on the other side seemed equally startled when the door opened; his fingers remained frozen on the doorbell buzzer.
“Dad!” Brad said excitedly.
He threw his arms around the older
man and pulled him into a tight hug. His father, laughing softly, wrapped his arms around his son, and they embraced in the doorway.
“I didn’t think you were going to show,” Brad said as he broke free from the hug.
“It’s the damn airlines,” his dad grumbled. “My flight got delayed in Chicago. I don’t understand why they even fly into Chicago during the winter. They always have snow, and flights are always delayed. Just seems stupid, is all.”
Brad laughed. “It’s good to see you, too. You look really good.”
His dad looked him over. “Wish I could say the same for you. You’ve been in New York for, what, six months? Looks like you’ve aged five years!”
Brad blushed and scratched his head nervously. “Thanks for the compliment, jerk. I’ll have you know that I’ve got a lot of stress with my new job. They’ve got me flying all around the world on these business trips. It takes a lot out of you. Anyways, I’m not exactly young anymore.”
His father guffawed. “You’re twenty-three and just out of college. Believe me, you’re still a young pup.”
They stared at each other in silence. Brad’s smile broadened just being in the presence of his father again.
“You going to leave me out here in the hallway all day?”
Brad shook his head. “Sorry. It’s just good to see you again.” Reaching out, he took his father’s suitcase. “I’ll take this back to the guest bedroom. I can take your coat, too, if you want.”
“Sure, sure,” his father said, sliding out of the thick jacket. Brad smiled at his father again before walking to the back room.
“Smells really good,” his father yelled from the kitchen. “What did you fix?”
“It’s the holidays, Dad. I went traditional and fixed us a turkey.”
“A turkey?” his father asked incredulously. “I didn’t know you knew how to cook. I figured I’d be dead before any of my kids got domesticated.”
Brad’s heart thundered in his chest as he set his father’s coat and suitcase down at the foot of the guest bed. He took a deep breath, fighting off the flood of emotions.
For a long moment, he stood in the back room and composed himself. Affixing the smile back on his face, Brad walked into the living room.
“Where’s your bottle opener?” his father asked from the kitchen.
Brad walked through the archway and found his father holding a pair of beers. Shaking his head, Brad squeezed past the older man and opened a far drawer, pulling out a wine opener.
“Will this do?”
“A wine opener?” his dad chided. “I guess you’ve gotten too fancy to have a normal bottle opener like the rest of us. Too bad you weren’t fancy enough to get an apartment with a kitchen that actually fit two people at the same time!”
“Very funny,” Brad laughed. “Why don’t we go sit in the living room and turn on the game?”
They walked into the living room and took their seats. Picking up the remote, Brad turned on the widescreen television. The roar of the pre-game festivities engulfed the pair as the television flared to life. His father offered him a beer, which Brad gladly took. Before he could take a drink, his father raised his bottle in a salute.
“I figured I would raise a bottle to this moment,” his father said. “It’s the first time I’ve been able to drink a beer with my son.”
Brad smiled. “Have we really never had a beer together?”
His dad shook his head. “You were always busy with college or work. You’ve barely been home since you turned twenty-one. But that’s neither here nor there. Today, we get to drink together. Just don’t tell your mother.”
“How is Mom, anyway?”
His dad shrugged. “Sad she couldn’t be here. She really wanted to see you, but you know how much she hates flying.”
“That’s just so weird, since all I do is travel for my job. Sometimes I wonder if we’re related at all. I really need to get out there and see her soon. I feel bad I couldn’t come visit during Christmas.”
“She understands. You’re the new guy at work. New guys don’t get pick of the litter when it comes to holiday vacation time. Anyways, she knows you’ll make it out to see her soon,” his father replied, taking a swig from his beer. “She sent some presents to put under your tree. Not that you have room for a tree in this place.”
“This is actually a pretty good-sized apartment for New York City,” Brad laughed.
His dad grunted before turning his attention back to the football game. “Who you rooting for in the game? Don’t tell me you’ve been here long enough that you’re suddenly rooting against Green Bay?”
Brad smiled. “No, I’m a Cheesehead for life.”
“That’s my boy.”
The pair enjoyed their beers in silence as they watched the pre-game show. During a commercial, Brad stole a glance at his father. Despite sitting in relative silence, Brad was enjoying their time together. It was moments like these that he had missed for so long—their uncanny ability to spend such quality time together without ever really doing anything of value.
His dad looked over, catching him watching. “Are you still dating Sandy?”
Brad was caught off-guard by the sudden question. Coughing politely, he set his beer down on the coffee table. “Honestly, I don’t really think Sandy and I are going to work out.”
His father furrowed his brow and set down his beer. “You two have been dating for over two years now. What happened? Is it the distance? Or did you do something stupid to screw this up?”
“I didn’t do anything wrong, Dad,” Brad said, exasperated. “We’re still great friends, but we don’t really work well together. We’re kind of drifting in different directions. Don’t worry, though, when we do break up, it’ll be a mutual split.”
Picking up his beer, his father nodded. “You know this is going to break your mother’s heart. She really liked Sandy. Not like that Christina girl you dated in high school.”
Brad laughed. “God, Mom really hated her. I don’t even really think I liked Christina all that much. I think the only reason I dated her was because it shot Mom’s blood pressure through the roof.”
“So now you’re going to be in a new city, working a new job, and without a girlfriend?” Seeing Brad’s slight flush, his dad smiled. “You don’t have a new girlfriend already, do you?”
Brad shook his head, choosing his words carefully. “No, I’m not going to start dating someone until Sandy and I officially break up. I wouldn’t do that to her.”
“But…”
“But there is this girl at work. She works in my department, and she’s absolutely amazing. We just click on a level that I don’t think I did with Sandy. Does that sound dumb?”
“Not at all, son. What’s her name?”
“Katheryn,” Brad replied, reminiscing. “I really think you’d both love her.”
“If she’s all you say she is, you’ll have to bring her with you when you visit.”
Brad’s smile faltered slightly. “Yeah, Dad. I’ll invite her out next time I’m heading your way.”
His dad took another swig of beer. Cringing slightly, his father rubbed his stomach before letting out a faint burp.
“Excuse me,” his dad said. Noticing Brad’s look of concern, he quickly changed the subject. “So, this job has you traveling a lot, I hear. London, Paris. What was that place in the desert?”
“Dubai,” Brad replied. “I’ve actually been picked to go to Hong Kong in a couple weeks for a big merger…”
His dad frowned and rubbed his stomach again.
“You feeling okay, Dad?”
His father looked at him and nodded through clenched teeth. After a moment, he visibly relaxed. “Yeah, I’m good. I’ve been getting some bad heartburn, is all. Your mother says it’s acid reflux. Says I should go see a doctor.”
“I think she’s right,” Brad said, placing a hand on his dad’s arm. “I know you don’t really like doctors all that much, but you’re not exactly a spring chi
cken anymore. Getting regular checkups could catch something bad before it kills you off.”
His father leaned in and smiled. “You sound a lot like your mother.”
“I’ve got good genes,” Brad conceded. “Promise me. Promise me when you get home, you’ll go get checked out.”
“Sure, sure,” the older man lied.
Brad patted his dad on the arm, his expression wistful and sad. Feeling another flood of emotion, Brad stood and grabbed the two empty beer bottles.
“Want another?”
“Yeah, I’ll take another,” his dad said. “Hurry back, though. It’s almost kickoff.”
Brad walked into the kitchen and dumped the glass bottles into the recycling bin. He reached out for the refrigerator door but paused when he noticed his shaking hands. Biting back the threatening tears, Brad pinched the bridge of his nose in an attempt to bring his depression under control.
“Everything okay?” his dad asked from the archway into the kitchen.
Brad looked up, his eyes glistening under the fluorescent lights. “Yeah, I was just about to grab those beers.”
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
Brad nodded. “I guess… I guess I just didn’t realize how much I missed you until I saw you here. Maybe I’m a little more homesick than I thought.”
His dad stepped forward and buried Brad in a large hug. Brad slung his arms around his father’s back and pulled him in tight.
“Nothing says you can’t come to visit anytime you want,” his father said. “We’re not going anywhere.”
Brad felt a hollow ache in his chest. He didn’t trust his voice, so he just nodded into his father’s shoulder.
Breaking the hold, his dad motioned over his shoulder. “Is the bathroom back here? I want to go before the game starts.”
“Last door on the left,” Brad said softly.
His father nodded but kept eye contact. “How about you grab them beers, and I’ll meet you back in the living room?”
“Sounds good,” Brad said, feeling back in control.
The older man nodded again before walking back through the arch. Brad cleared his throat loudly.
“Dad?”
“Yeah?”