by Chad Morris
“I thought I heard someone behind me.” It was a man. Abby could only make out his silhouette. “But I didn’t plan on seeing any students down here.”
“Who are you?” Carol asked.
Mr. Hendricks stepped into the light. He looked ragged and tired. “I assumed only teachers would have lockets, but I guess it would make sense that Oscar would give one to his granddaughter.”
“You have a key too?” Abby asked.
“I spent a full night in the simulator with Shackleton’s crew stranded in Antarctica for it,” Mr. Hendricks said. “But I got it.”
Carol shivered.
Relief swept over Abby. Someone else had a key, and it was Mr. Hendricks.
“Where do we go from here?” she asked.
“We continue down farther. There you’ll see the real Bridge. I’ve come here several times hoping to find someone else, and fortunately, tonight I’ve found you.”
“Has anyone else been here?” Abby asked, remembering her grandfather’s instructions that they would need three keys to go back in time. They needed one more person, or they wouldn’t be able to save her parents.
“There may be one other,” Mr. Hendricks said. “I came late one night, and thought I saw someone leaving. Unless of course, that was you.”
Hope swelled inside of Abby. It hadn’t been her. There was one more person out there with a key. “It wasn’t me. This is the first time we’ve made it this far, but we need to get to the Bridge as soon as we can. My parents are trapped in time.”
“What?” Mr. Hendricks said.
“Somehow they were put on the Titanic,” Abby explained. “And we only have”—she checked the clock on her rings—“less than an hour to save them before it goes down. It’s already hit the iceberg.”
“Then let’s hurry,” Mr. Hendricks said. He led Carol and Abby down the dark corridor. They walked fast but didn’t dare run, through the twisting, dark corridor. The cave finally opened into a large room.
In the middle of it was one of the most unusual sights Abby had ever seen—what looked like a massive metal tree. A machine jutted up from the ground, with several thick supports anchoring it to the granite floor. It had a thick metal core, which, as it rose toward the ceiling, branched off into what looked like thousands of silver limbs that spread through the top of the room and disappeared into the ceiling. In the “trunk” was a console, complete with a screen and a shelf with three keyholes.
The real Bridge.
Abby stared at it. This was the invention that had now caused them so much trouble. It was one of her grandfather’s great accomplishments—one of the greatest accomplishments in history. Abby imagined that the branches of the Bridge connected it to all of the booths in the school.
“Kids?” a deep voice asked aloud.
Abby looked across the room and saw two figures in the dark. As they walked closer, she recognized them: Coach Adonavich and Coach Horne.
“Not just any kids,” Mr. Hendricks said. “One of them is Abby Cragbridge. And they have one key between them.”
“Hello, Abby and Carol,” Coach Adonavich said. Coach Horne repeated the greeting.
The girls said hello back.
“And do you have a key as well?” Coach Horne asked Mr. Hendricks.
“I do,” he answered. “You?”
“No,” Coach Horne said. “My locket was stolen over a month ago. I told Oscar about it, and he saw the theft as a warning that something might be about to happen. Ever since, I’ve been extra vigilant in trying to detect any signs of strange happenings around here. When I noticed a strange wound on Coach Adonavich, I followed her. She led me to the basement.”
“I let him in past the simulator,” Coach Adonavich said. “I’ll vouch for his trustworthiness, as Oscar Cragbridge did when he gave him the locket.”
“Or so he says,” Mr. Hendricks said, stepping toward Coach Horne. “Does anyone else know that Oscar gave you a locket?”
“No,” Coach Horne said. “But he did.”
“Even if someone stole it, how do we know it wasn’t because you traded sides in this whole adventure?” Mr. Hendricks asked.
“You don’t,” Coach Horne said. “But frankly, you don’t have to believe me. I submit we destroy the keys. We have to assume that someone with bad intentions has my key, and we cannot risk someone gaining access to three of them.”
“Or you and those you work for already have three, and you want to destroy the others,” Mr. Hendricks suggested.
“Listen!” Abby burst out. “I don’t have time to talk about this. We have to save my parents.”
“Your parents?” Coach Adonavich asked.
“They’re trapped on the Titanic,” Abby explained. “And it sinks in a few minutes.”
“I don’t believe it,” Coach Horne said. “I know they are just kids, but this could be a trick to keep us from destroying this danger.”
“She’s Oscar’s granddaughter,” Mr. Hendricks said.
“Yes, but another girl is with her,” Coach Adonavich said. “I would never suspect betrayal from Carol, but you never know if Oscar’s granddaughter was being coerced to come here. For that matter, they arrived with you, Mr. Hendricks, and no offense, but I don’t believe any of us can afford to completely trust anyone.”
“Point taken, and none of the offense,” Mr. Hendricks said. “Abby, can you show us your parents using this Bridge? I’ve tried it, and I know it works like any other Bridge booth. There is nothing special about it—until the keys are in place. You work the console here.” He pointed to the center of the Bridge, the trunk of the metal tree. “The image, however, only appears behind it—not all around us like in class. I believe that is because if we are to enter the past, we want a place to both enter into and exit from.”
Abby moved to the Bridge and turned on her rings.
Mr. Hendricks stopped her. “You cannot sync to this Bridge,” he explained. “Perhaps it was invented before the rings. You have to use the console.”
Abby placed her fingers on the screen, and it flickered on. She quickly began punching in numbers—the date of the Titanic image Derick had shown her.
In moments, the space behind the Bridge filled with the ghost of a scene of chaos. The massive ship groaned, its front end dipping into the water. Passengers piled into lifeboats over the side. Other lifeboats floated in the ocean around the scene, some only half filled.
The ship groaned again. The front end sank deeper, and the back of the ship rose farther out of the water. Those who could not fit in the lifeboats were trying not to fall into the icy ocean as the vessel tipped. Passengers clambered over the deck gates that separated the first- and second-class areas from the crew portion, trying to get away from the water.
“Where are your parents?” Coach Adonavich asked.
Everyone in the damp basement gathered closer to the Bridge to see the scene.
“I’ll check where we found them before—at the back end of the ship,” Abby said. She used the controls to push the point of view to the stern. She searched the faces—a woman clinging to the railing, tears streaming down her face, a man screaming that he deserved to have space on the lifeboat—he had investments, family, and employees he was responsible for. Another man held tight to the rod and moved as best he could along it, shouting, “Loretta!”
They searched face after face, terrified expression after terrified expression. Finally, they found Abby’s parents clinging to the same rail.
“I don’t believe it,” Coach Horne said. “That’s them. Who would ever—”
“We don’t have time to worry about that now,” Mr. Hendricks said. “We have to get them out.”
“Wait a minute,” Coach Adonavich said. “We need to consider whether this will send repercussions throughout time. We all heard what Dr. Cragbridge said.”
“It won’t,” Mr. Hendricks said. “The deed has already been done. They are back in time but belong in the now. We’re merely trying to put things right
, make restitution. But we must be very careful to not interact with anyone other than Abby’s parents if we can help it.”
The ship slanted even more, creaking as it took on more water.
“Please,” Abby pleaded. “Let us use your keys.”
Mr. Hendricks walked to the console and pushed his key into one of the three holes. “Abby?” he said, motioning for her to join him.
She did, and she put her key into the second hole.
“Only one more,” Mr. Hendricks said.
Coach Adonavich stepped forward and filled the third hole.
The Titanic disappeared, and Grandpa appeared, surrounded by blackness. “Hello,” he said. “Apparently you have felt it necessary to use the full capacity of the Bridge to go back in time. I need to explain a few things and warn you. First, you must all turn your keys simultaneously. Because one person could turn two keys but not three, this ensures that at least two different people, and hopefully three, agree to the need for traveling back in time. The more heads in these decisions, the better.”
He coughed and went on. “After you have turned the keys, you will notice a difference in the Bridge. The way into time is as big as this room. You can simply step in. However, be sure to move the perspective to a stable location, one you’ll be able to remember and find on the other side. You will, I assume, want to come back. You cannot see the Bridge portal from the past, so again, it is important to remember where it is. As long as you leave all three keys turned, you can travel in and out of the Bridge. Please be careful. Those from the past can mistakenly travel to our time if you leave the way open. Depending on the situation, it could be valuable to let someone into time, then turn the keys back to their original position to keep anyone else in the past from crossing over. To allow the time traveler back, turn the keys once again.
“Also, might I stress, you shouldn’t change anything unless it is completely necessary. Our past has made us who we have become. We should not change that. If you are here trying to correct a large wrong that I started, I thank you, and I apologize.” He disappeared, and the panicked crowd on the Titanic instantly reappeared.
Coach Horne spoke up. “Before you turn the keys,” he said, “you’re sure we should do this?”
“Yes,” Mr. Hendricks answered. Abby was glad he was there; she didn’t have to do the persuading. She nodded in agreement.
“Oh, I’m so nervous,” Carol said. “This is historical and terrifying all at once. Kind of like the first time I had my ears pierced, except on a much, much bigger scale.”
Mr. Hendricks gave a nod, and the three of them turned the keys.
The image from the Bridge warped as though a transparent wave had washed over it. A gush of frigid, moist air rushed into the room. The Titanic sank more, its stern lifting higher in the air, but this time it was perfectly clear, no longer a ghost of the past. The image was vivid, real. It was as though the terror of the sinking ship was happening in the same room.
In fact, it was.
The group looked on in awe as the scene stood out in full color, and in reality, before them. Abby moved the perspective as close to her parents as she could. Moving another reality felt strange. It was no longer like watching a movie, but like shifting the entire angle of the room only feet away. And that room was huge. Everyone on the ship seemed completely unaware that they were being watched, or that an escape was right before them. Abby walked toward her parents.
“Wait,” Coach Horne said. “Maybe I should go.”
“No,” Abby said. “I’m going.”
“Perhaps you should go with her!” Mr. Hendricks nearly yelled, competing with the wind and confusion of the ship. “You can make sure that she comes back okay.”
“Why not you?” Coach Horne asked, pointing her finger at Mr. Hendricks.
“Because I’ve taken it upon myself to make sure that the keys are turned off, and then turned back on, at the precise moment. I want Abby to return alive.”
“Why not leave that job to Coach Adonavich and me?” Coach Horne asked.
“Because I’m not sure I can trust anyone else to do it!” Mr. Hendricks shouted.
“Perhaps it would be better if I went,” Coach Adonavich said. “Abby can stay here, and then—”
But Abby didn’t wait for the adults to figure out who should go in and who should watch the keys. The Titanic was nearly at a seventy-degree angle. It wouldn’t be easy to leave the basement of Cragbridge Hall and board a boat on such a tilt. She focused on a railing. She should be able to grab on and be close to her parents.
Abby held her breath and jumped from the sturdy Cragbridge basement toward the railing. That one movement sent her back over a century in time.
32
Rescue
Ms. Entrese peeked around the corner into the lecture hall, then turned back to the gorilla and rhino. “He’s in there,” she said. “He’s tied to a chair and surrounded by at least six guards. He’s ...” She paused and swallowed hard. “He’s watching the Titanic sink.”
Derick had suspected that was the case earlier, but hearing it confirmed made him feel sick. Perhaps it would have slowed him down, if he were not so connected to his avatar rhino anatomy. Derick suspected that rhinoceroses had much stronger constitutions than humans.
Derick watched Rafa’s avatar gesture for Ms. Entrese to stop. He pointed at the ground.
“You want me to wait here?” she asked.
The gorilla nodded. Back in the lab, Rafa said, “Give me two minutes. Then Derick, you come in with everything you’ve got.”
Derick nodded with his rhino and watched as the gorilla gave him a thumbs up.
“Two minutes exactly,” Rafa said.
“How am I supposed to know how long it’s been?” Derick asked. “I’m a rhino. I can’t sync in and check the time.”
“Count the seconds,” Rafa said. “It’ll have to do, but I think I’m going to need all the help I can get. Start ... now.” He crawled into the room.
Derick began counting in his mind—one thousand one, one thousand two. He tried not to go too fast. He didn’t want to rush because of his nerves. One thousand three.
Derick brought his head low and peeked into the room. It was a decent-sized lecture hall with several hundred seats and a platform up front. There on the platform stood a bed, a series of simple chairs and several guards. And his grandfather, flanked by several men. Derick was sure they had guns.
How could they stop this?
He realized he’d stopped counting. Where was he? At almost thirty seconds. He skipped a few numbers, hoping he was close to where he should have been in the count.
One thousand thirty-four. One thousand thirty-five.
The gorilla crept across the floor, using the seats as cover. Rafa made it to the far wall, out of sight of those on the stage. With amazing dexterity, the gorilla climbed up a beam beside the stage and up to the lighting above. He was easily thirty or forty feet in the air.
One thousand fifty. One thousand fifty-one.
• • •
Crossing to the past felt strange, like taking a scalding shower for a fraction of a second, followed by the chills, and the same nausea Abby often felt after a long car ride.
She caught the railing with her hands, but her feet slid across the metal until her body was fully extended. After such a strange sensation crossing over, she was glad she’d caught on at all. Abby tried to stay calm and hang on, but her feet kept slipping.
“Dad! Mom!” she yelled.
Her father’s eyes bulged for a moment before he hustled across the railing toward his daughter.
“Abby!” her mom cried out, racing behind her husband.
Abby clung on with everything she had. Finally, her father came close enough to extend his hand. Abby’s mother held him securely. Abby took her father’s hand, and he lifted her up to where another railing extended out toward the middle of the ship, giving her a secure place for her feet.
The lights of the huge s
hip flickered out. Abby couldn’t see a thing.
“Brace yourself against the railing and the floor of the ship. We only have a few seconds,” her father cried out.
Abby threaded her arms through the railing and pushed one foot against the wooden deck. Abby felt her father and mother do the same, but surrounding her.
What sounded like an explosion, followed by the rattle of a massive chain, echoed through the night. The whole boat shuddered.
“Hold on!” Abby’s mother screamed.
More explosions. Abby heard shattering glass and tearing metal. And then she knew she was falling. It felt like one of those rides at an amusement park where you free-fall for several stories, except this time, there were no safety restraints—nothing to keep her safe. The stern of the ship fell backward, over a hundred feet toward the ocean.
• • •
The gorilla managed to swing himself from one set of lights to another. In the background, the Titanic rose higher out of the water. Derick was counting his second minute. One thousand seven. One thousand eight.
Grandfather cried out. Had he seen something? Derick looked again to see his grandfather standing, watching the Titanic intently. The guards were too. Were his parents okay? What was happening?
The lights on the massive ship went out.
The gorilla swung to the next set of lights, catching it by only a few fingers. He dangled directly above the guards and Oscar Cragbridge. With the stage below him, the gorilla was less than thirty feet above the ground.
The Titanic fell, crashing into the water.
One thousand thirteen. One thousand fourteen.
One of the lights near Rafa shifted out of place and fell to the ground.
One thousand nineteen.
The team of guards, their attention ripped away from watching the Titanic, looked at the fallen light. In a second, they’d see Rafa. They’d shoot him before he could do any good.