by Rod Serling
Farwell smiled at him. “You know what you’re doing. I’ve explained it very precisely to you.” He turned, taking the other men into his conversation. “All four of us will be placed in a state of suspended animation. A protracted...rest, Mr. DeCruz. And when we wake up,” he pointed toward the pit and the gold stacked alongside, “that’s when we take our gold and enjoy it.”
DeCruz turned from the glass box and faced him. “I say everybody should get their cut now and take his own chances!”
Brooks took out a large switchblade that gleamed in the dim light. “That’s what you say, DeCruz.” His voice was quiet. “But that ain’t what we agreed on. What we agreed on was that we’d stash the gold here and then do what Farwell tells us to do. And so far he ain’t been wrong. Not about anything. The train, the gold, the gas—everything. Just like he said. And all we had to do was walk over a lot of horizontal people and transfer a fortune like it was cotton candy.”
“Amen to that,” Erbe said.
“Amen to that, sure,” DeCruz said excitedly, “but how about this!” He swiped at one of the boxes with the back of his hand. “None of you mind being helpless and closed up in these?”
Brooks went very slowly over to DeCruz, the knife still held in his hand. “No, Mr. DeCruz,” he said softly, “none of us mind.”
The two men faced each other, and in this moment of challenge it was DeCruz who wavered and turned away. He continued to stare at the semi-opaque glass of the box, and he took a deep breath. “How long, Farwell?” he asked in a different voice. “When we each push the button inside and the gas comes out, and this...this suspended animation thing takes over. How long?”
“How long?” Farwell answered him softly. “I don’t know exactly. I can only surmise. I would say that we would all wake up within an hour of each other—no more.” He looked again down the long row of caskets. “I would say approximately one hundred years from today’s date.” He looked around the circle of faces. “One hundred years, gentlemen, and we shall walk the earth again.” He turned and went over to the pit, then looked at the gold bullion. “As rich men, however,” he continued, “as extremely rich men.”
DeCruz’s lips trembled. “One hundred years.” He shut his eyes. “Just like Rip Van Winkle.”
It took them the rest of the day to pile the gold into the hole and cover it with earth. The moving van was blown up with the last remaining block of TNT. The sedan was pulled into the cave, covered with cosmoline and then with a large tarpaulin. And then Farwell closed the giant steel door covering the opening, its outside a twin to the rock walls on either side.
The four men stood in the shadowy light of the lanterns set around the cave and their eyes were drawn to the four glass boxes that waited for them with quiet invitation. On a signal from Farwell each man climbed into his box, closed the lid, and locked it from inside.
“All right, gentlemen,” Farwell said over the intercom system linking the four boxes. “First of all, I want to know if you can hear me. Knock once on the side as I call your name.” There was a pause. “DeCruz?”
DeCruz moved a shaking hand and knocked on the side of the glass.
“Erbe?”
There was a muffled sound from Erbe’s coffin.
“Brooks?”
Brooks, grinning, tapped his fingers on the glass and tossed a salute.
The lantern light flickered weakly and the room was filled with an orange dusk in the last few moments before the darkness.
Farwell’s voice was cool, deliberate. “Now I’m going to give you, in sequence, precisely what will happen,” he said, his voice hollow in the silence. “First, you’re to check the air locks located on your right. Do you see them there?”
Each man looked up to a spot just above his eyes.
“All right,” Farwell’s voice continued. “The red arrow should be pointed toward ‘closed and locked.’ Now you each count to ten very slowly. When you come to the end of the count, reach up with your left hand to the shelf just above your head. There’s a small green button there. Do you all find it?”
There were movements within the other three coffins.
“You’re to press this button. When that’s done, you’ll hear a light hissing sound. That will be the gas being measured into the enclosures. Take three shallow breaths, then a long, deep one. After a moment you’ll begin to experience a heavy, drowsy feeling. Don’t fight this. Just continue to breathe regularly and try to remain as still as possible. A good idea would be to count backwards from twenty. This will occupy your mind and keep you from any excess movement. By the time you reach eight or seven you should lose consciousness.”
There was another silence.
“All right,” Farwell’s voice continued. “Check your air locks first, gentlemen.”
The other three men followed his directions, and then three sets of eyes turned in their confinement to look across the cave toward the first coffin.
“Now begin to count,” Farwell’s voice said, “and on ten, release the gas.”
The lips of the four men moved as the quiet countdown took place—then, very slowly into each glass enclosure came a white stream of milky gas until the bodies inside were no longer visible.
“Good night, gentlemen.” Farwell’s voice was heavy and indistinct. “Pleasant dreams and a good sleep. I’ll see you...in the next century.” His voice became weaker. “In the next century, gentlemen.”
There was no more movement and no more sound. The lamps around the cave flickered out and there was nothing but darkness.
Inside the glass caskets the four men breathed deeply and regularly, unconscious of the quiet or the darkness, oblivious now to the time passing outside the cave ninety miles from a wrecked train in the Mojave desert.
Time passed. The wrecked skeleton of the moving van turned brown with rust, and then disintegrated into little pieces of metal that mixed with the sand and was eaten by it. Winds blew; the sun crossed the sky day after day.
And time continued to pass, until there came a moment when a small lever inside the first glass box went “click” and the top started to open.
Farwell opened his eyes. For a moment he looked puzzled; gradually awareness flooded into his face. His body seemed heavy and sluggish and it was a while before he could move. Then very slowly he sat up and reached for a flashlight beside him. He had built this with a set of batteries of his own design, set in a welded case made of steel and magnesium. When he pushed the switch a beam of light shone up toward the ceiling of the cave. There was movement down the line as two other caskets opened and Brooks and DeCruz could be seen sitting up inside their caskets. The last box in line remained closed.
DeCruz climbed out of the box, his legs stiff and unfamiliar. There was a tremor in his voice. “It didn’t work” He felt at his face, then moved his hand up and down his body. “We don’t have any beards,” he said. “Our nails haven’t even grown.” He stared accusingly at Farwell. “Hey! Mastermind with the big brain and all the answers—why didn’t it work?”
“It must have worked,” Farwell said. “It was foolproof. All the body functions stopped—there wouldn’t be any growth of beard or nails or anything else. I tell you, it worked. It had to work”
DeCruz moved across the dim cave and felt around the wall. He found a giant lever half surrounded by rocks. There was a clank of rusting chains, and after a moment the steel partition moved on its tracks. It let in blinding daylight that made the three men shut their eyes. It was several moments before they could become accustomed to the light. Then DeCruz walked out to the broad ledge and stared out over the horizon.
“Look,” he said, his voice shaking, “there’s the Goddamn highway. It hasn’t changed. It hasn’t changed a bit.” He whirled around, and grabbed Farwell by the shirt. “Mastermind! Big brain! So instead of a hundred years, it’s maybe an hour—and we’re still hot. And all that gold back there is so much garbage, because everybody and his brother’s going to be looking for it—”
Farwell flung off DeCruz’s hand and turned around, staring back into the cave. “Erbe,” he said. “We forgot Erbe.”
The three men ran to Erbe’s coffin. Farwell was the first to see what had happened. He picked up a large rock and stared at it. Then he looked up toward the ceiling and then down to the crack in the glass cover of the coffin.
“This is what did it,” he said softly. “It cracked the glass and the gas escaped.”
He looked down at the skeleton in the glass coffin.
“Mr. Erbe has proven my point, gentlemen. He’s definitely proven my point...the hard way”
Brooks and DeCruz stared. Neither of them spoke for a moment. Finally DeCruz asked, “How long...how long would it take”—he pointed toward the skeleton—“for this to happen?”
Farwell made a gesture. ‘‘A year, or a hundred years.” He looked toward the entrance to the cave. “But the odds are, Mr. DeCruz, that we’re now in the year twenty sixty-one.”
The three men walked into the sunlight.
“Now the next step, huh?” DeCruz’s voice was urgent. “We get the gold into the car and we take it into the first city we find. And we either find a fence, or we melt it down some way.” He faced Farwell. “That’s the deal, isn’t it?”
Farwell stared at him, and then looked at DeCruz’s hands. There was something in the look that made DeCruz drop them to his sides.
“Why is it, Mr. DeCruz,” Farwell asked him, “that greedy men are the most dreamless—the least imaginative—the stupidest.”
DeCruz’s lips tightened. “Listen, Farwell—”
Farwell jerked his head toward the horizon. “For the first time, DeCruz,” he interrupted him, “for the first time in the history of men we’ve taken a century and put it in our hip pockets. We’ve taken a lease on life and outlived our stay. We’ve had our cake, but we’re still going to eat it.” His voice became thoughtful and quieter. “That’s quite an adventure out there, Mr. DeCruz. Though you’re a little insensitive to it, that’s quite an adventure. That’s a world we’ve never seen before. A brand-new exciting world we’ll move into.”
DeCruz’s features twisted. “But with gold, Farwell,” he said, ‘‘with two million bucks’ worth of gold. That’s how we’re going to move into it.”
“Of course,” Farwell said quietly. “Of course.”He continued to stare across the vast expanse of desert. “I wonder what kind of a world...”
He turned and went slowly across the ledge toward the cave, conscious of this incredible moment; feeling an almost wild exuberance as his awareness whispered to him that they, of all men, had conquered time.
DeCruz followed him and began to scrabble in the pit. Each time he found another bar of gold, he gave an exclamation of excitement and joy. Brooks helped him, and the two men shared enthusiasm as they continued their digging.
But to Farwell the gold seemed no longer important. He watched them pile it up and then remove the cosmoline from the car. There was a tense moment when DeCruz sat in the front seat and turned the ignition key. The car engine roared back to life. It purred as if it had been parked not an hour ago—a belated testament to the dead Erbe’s efficiency. But Farwell was only vaguely aware of the engine noise or of the gold being loaded. What preoccupied him was what lay beyond the desert, beyond what they could see—the hidden new world waiting for exploration.
DeCruz shut off the ignition and asked, ‘‘All set?”
Farwell looked at him. ‘‘All loaded?”
DeCruz nodded. “She’s all ready.” He turned away, his eyes unsubtle reservoirs of deception. “Maybe,” he suggested, “I oughta drive her up and down a little. See if she runs okay.”
Brooks, stripped to the waist, sweat pouring from him, took a step over toward the car. ‘‘Ain’t you the most thoughtful little fella that ever come down a pike! You wanna take her for a little ride, huh,” he mimicked, “and see if she’s okay. Just you and the gold. Why, I wouldn’t trust you with gold if it was the filling in your own mother’s tooth. No, buddy boy—when we move outta here, we move out together.” He turned to Farwell. “Where’s the water can? We might as well load that up.”
Farwell pointed toward it a hundred feet away. “It’s over there where we buried Erbe,” he said.
Brooks nodded and started across the sand toward the metal can that sat beside a freshly filled grave.
DeCruz watched him, his eyes narrowed. He very carefully and unobtrusively turned the ignition key and started up the engine.
Farwell was closing the entrance to the cave when he saw the car shoot ahead across the ledge. Brooks saw it at the same moment and his initial surprise gave way to a wild fear as he saw the car, like some malevolent beast, close in on him.
“DeCruz!” he screamed. “DeCruz! You dumb bastard—”
DeCruz’s eyes remained set, focused directly in front of him, staring through the windshield. He saw Brooks make a frantic sideways leap—but too late. He heard the thump of metal hitting, jarring, tearing. And with it the scream of the mangled man. He let the car surge forward, keeping his foot on the accelerator. Then he glanced over his shoulder to see Brooks’s body face down in the sand a hundred feet behind him. He took his foot off the accelerator and put it on the brake.
Nothing happened. DeCruz’s throat constricted as he realized the far ledge was only a few yards ahead of him. Again he slammed on the brake, and reached desperately, frantically, for the emergency. Too late. The car was doomed, and it was during the few seconds before it plunged over the far ledge that DeCruz managed to open the door and fling himself out. The impact knocked the breath from him and he felt sand, harsh and gritty, in his mouth. And at the same time he heard the sound of the car smashing hundreds of feet below against the rocks.
DeCruz got to his feet and went over to the far end of the ledge, staring down at the car, which now looked like a toy destroyed in a child’s fit of anger. He looked back at Farwell, who was standing over Brooks’s broken body. Their eyes met and Farwell came over to him.
“DeCruz...DeCruz, what in God’s name!” Farwell looked down at the car lying on its side, and then back toward the dead man. “Why?” he whispered. “Tell me. Why?”
DeCruz stared back intently into Farwell’s face. “Brooks had an accident...or hadn’t you noticed?”
“Why did he have an accident? Why did you do it?”
DeCruz nodded perfunctorily at the car. “That I didn’t plan to do, I wanted Brooks dead—not the car.” Then, challenge in his voice: “Deadweight, Farwell. So much deadweight.”
He smiled, the comers of his thin mouth drew up—and Farwell noted the evil in his face. He remembered when DeCruz had joined them. This was the one man who would bear watching, he had thought. But he had remembered too late.
He looked at the battered body of Brooks, half buried by the sand, both legs sticking out at incredible angles. Too late for Brooks. Again he looked into the dark eyes that continued to challenge him Maybe too late for himself too. He turned deliberately and started to walk back toward the cave. “I keep underestimating you, Mr. DeCruz,” he said as he went.
“Farwell!” DeCruz shouted at him.
Farwell stopped without turning around.
“We do it my way now, huh? Take all we can put in two knapsacks and then hit the road.”
Farwell was silent for a moment as his mind worked. Then he shrugged. “I can’t think of any other alternative at the moment.” He thought of the car far down in the gorge lying on its side, then he began to laugh. “The obvious,” he chuckled. “The simple idiotic ridiculous obvious.”
He laughed again and kept shaking his head as DeCruz stared at him, puzzled. “Even if it had run, Mr. DeCruz,” he explained, “even if you hadn’t wrecked it”—he motioned toward the gorge— “the license plates are a hundred years old. We would’ve been picked up the moment we hit the highway.” He chuckled again, this time more softly, and looked up at the hot sun. “We’ll load what we can, but it’s going
to be very warm walking. Very warm.”
He smiled at DeCruz. “So you’re quite right, Mr. DeCruz. Now we’d better hit the road.”
The two men walked for hours down the sandy slopes toward the; highway. They plodded along silently, each carrying a knapsack full of gold bullion; each feeling the hot sun beating down on them. Early in the afternoon they reached Highway 91. It crossed the flats of Ivanpah Lake, running east and west. Farwell and DeCruz paused briefly on one of its shoulders, and it was Farwell who pointed east. They hoisted their knapsacks higher and started walking along the side of the road.
An hour later, Farwell, stumbling, held up his hand and stood there slumped over, his face a red mask of pain and deadening fatigue. “Hold it up, DeCruz,” he said, breathing heavily. “I’ve got to rest.”
DeCruz looked at him and smiled. Anything that took strength, will, resolve, resilience—this was what he understood and could conquer. He was a young animal with no breaking point. “How’re you doing, Farwell?” he asked with an enigmatic smile.
Farwell nodded, not wanting to talk, his eyes glazed with overexertion. “The map said...the map said twenty-eight miles to the next town. At this rate we won’t reach it until tomorrow afternoon sometime.”
DeCruz continued to smile. “At this rate, you may never reach it. I told you you should’ve stayed back there and watched the gold. I kept telling you, Farwell.”
This time it was Farwell who smiled. “Oh, yes—you did, didn’t you, Mr. DeCruz?” His own smile now was twisted. “But I don’t think I’d have ever seen you again. I think I’d have died back there.”
He looked down the limitless stretch of highway and his eyes narrowed. “There hasn’t been a car,” he said thoughtfully, “not a single car.” He let his eyes scan the distant row of mountains and there was a hint of incipient terror creeping into his voice. “I hadn’t thought of that. I hadn’t even thought of that. Just like with the license plates. What if—”