by Linda Mooney
“Boy, that must have pissed them off big time, thank goodness.”
Thank God.
She got to her feet, fighting a wave of dizziness that threatened to drop her. Clutching the sink, she was able to stay upright until it passed. When she felt sure enough of herself, she made her way out of the restroom to get a handle on her surroundings.
In the six years since the initial attack, nature had reclaimed most of the park. The grass stood knee high, and the twirl-a-gig was no longer visible. But she could see the top of the swing set poking above the greenery.
Her neck ached, her shoulders stiff as she looked around. She reached behind her to rub the tensed muscles. Her next thought was about Mykail. If she was able to get to the marina, would she find him there? She seriously doubted it. At the least, it was a long shot. At the most, he was more than likely dead.
Her heart hurt, and hot tears lined her eyes. Sniffing, she blinked them away. “Okay, think. What are my possibilities now? If I left here and got far enough away, could I change clothes and return to the marina in his time? Was that even a factor anymore?”
She glanced at the sun. Either it was early morning, or starting to set. Her sense of direction was out of whack, and she had no idea of the time. Worse, she was once more totally lost.
“Nice job, Em. You’ve done it again. You’re completely turned around, and you have no idea which way to go.”
In addition, she’d have to walk the whole way. The Vayva, and every other car in this time period, was useless. The roads were impassable, and there could be more gangs like the one that had tried to get her roaming the city.
“What do I do?” she muttered. “Mykail, what do I do? I’ve never been in this situation before. Everything in me wants to go back to the marina in your time and wait for you.”
At what point do I listen to my heart and stop listening to my common sense?
She frowned. “Fuck it. If I have to relive the past six years all over again, I will.”
Hefting her backpack over her shoulders, she took off in a direction that seemed less congested. She reached a street and looked both ways for any sign of movement, but so far all appeared still and quiet. Before she switched clothes again, she had to get far enough away from the park to avoid any chance of running into those idiots, if they were still around.
She’d gone approximately three blocks when she admitted defeat. She had no idea where she was or where she was going. Neither was there any way she could tell where the marina was located. Even if she changed clothes and went back in time, she’d be in the pickle, except for one very dangerous difference. Those first few months after the aliens initially attacked—well, actually the first year—had been the hardest. She’d witnessed so much cruelty people inflicted on other people as they struggled to survive, she could understand why the aliens left them alone and didn’t bother to hunt down the stragglers. The invaders knew that, given enough time, most of the creatures left to inhabit the planet would eradicate themselves. And those left over would be so few in number, they wouldn’t be worth worrying about.
She ducked into an alley when an idea hit her. What if, when I found Mykail, I changed clothes and held onto him to bring him into the future? The possibility stunned her.
“Emlee Rose! You’re brilliant!” If such a thing worked with her heavy backpack and anything else she had on her person, why not another human being?
An excitement she hadn’t felt in years filled her, along with hope and expectation. The thought of taking Mykail into her future world nearly made her giddy.
Why didn’t I think of it before?
The alley opened up to a parking lot adjacent to a vehicle repair shop. If she was going to have any chance of getting back to the marina and finding him, she needed to stop wandering aimlessly about and figure out a way to make sure she didn’t backtrack on herself. That, or run around in circles.
“Map. I need a map. Gas stations still have maps, don’t they?”
But first of all, she needed to decide whether to stay in the future and wait until she reached the marina to change, or to change now.
Something glittered on the pavement. A closer look revealed it to be a nickel. Bending down, she picked it up. “All right. Let fate decide. Heads, I stay in the future. Tails, I go back to the past.” She flipped it, caught it, and slapped it onto the back of her hand.
Tails.
“Tails it is. I go back to the past.”
For safety’s sake, she went behind a row of cars parked at the rear of the shop. There she discovered an unlocked storage shed. She stepped inside but left the door partially open, enough to where she wouldn’t be in compete darkness. Taking the damp t-shirt and gym shorts from her backpack, she grimaced at the blood saturating the neckline. Blood that still felt sticky to the touch.
“Beggars can’t be choosers,” she remarked, and stripped to put on the outfit, stuffing the jeans set into her backpack. Taking a deep breath, she gradually opened the door and peeked outside to see if the coast was clear. Seeing nothing dangerous, she left the shed and walked to the front of the shop.
She was prepared to see a car or two still on the roads. She expected to find people running around like lost rabbits. That, or holed up inside their homes in fear. She believed she might witness one of the smaller alien ships take down another high tower or multi-storied building, as those seemed to be their prime targets.
She wasn’t ready for the truth.
The glass windows were cracked, evidence someone had vandalized the place. A thick layer of dust and dirt covered the floor, counter, and chairs. Growing up through a crack in the linoleum was a sunflower, its bright yellow petals a stark contrast to the dull grays and browns surrounding it.
Emlee blinked. She had to be seeing things. This wasn’t right.
“This isn’t right!” she repeated aloud.
Running outside to the corner, she looked down all four streets, but the area was completely deserted. Worse than what she was seeing, it felt wrong. Too many things were…off.
Missing was the bright, somewhat well-used appearance of the world in general—the buildings, the streets, the parked cars. A world that had just had its umbilical cord cut and was struggling to accept and adapt to the new reality. Instead, she was looking at the remains of a city which had suffered through six years of abandonment and neglect. Of lawns that had gone untended. Of loose trash and debris littering the ground and the pavement. Even the houses across the street seemed vacant, their front doors broken open by whoever had gone inside to scrounge for food.
In addition, the world was eerily quiet. Too quiet. She remembered that once the aliens arrived and began firing on them, the birds fled for safer ground. So did all the wild animals, including mice and rats. Dogs and cats, along with other domesticated pets, had met cruel fates as their owners faced starvation.
She placed a hand to her chest. The damp top was cool against her skin. “I’m wearing my past clothes. I should be in the past. I should be six years in the past!” she yelled.
It felt like the wrong time because she knew she was in the wrong time.
The clothes hadn’t taken her back to the past. They hadn’t worked. Their magic was gone, and she was still in the future. In her time.
Year Three A.D.—After Destruction.
Because they got wet, a nasty little voice whispered. You shouldn’t have gotten them wet.
“Nooo!” Clasping her hands together, she bowed her head and struggled not to hyperventilate. “Nooo! Mykail! Nooo!”
The pain was excruciating.
Unable to stop herself, she dropped to the ground as huge sobs racked her body. There was no way she could go back now. No way she could meet up with him again. No way she’d ever see him again.
This loss was worse than anything she’d ever felt before. Lifting her face to the sky, she screamed in anger and from loss. “Meeeeeeee-kiiiiiiiiiiil!”
Nothing answered her. No one responded to her.
The world was dead. Maybe Mykail, too.
Hugging herself, she wept.
Chapter Twenty-One
River
It had been eighty-one days since the last rainfall. The lack of fresh water demanded he dock next to land and search for some, as much as he hated going ashore, but he had no other choice. Not if he wanted to stay alive.
Mykail had gotten adept at letting the currents take the sailboat where he needed to go. Only when he needed to adjust course did he unfurl the sail. Otherwise, he tried not to use it, as it might attract attention. He needed to remain as inconspicuous and under the radar as possible.
He’d given Emlee more than a week to make it back to the marina. After nine fruitless days, he’d come to the conclusion she was truly lost to him, and he admitted defeat. Since then, he traveled up and down the bay, keeping far enough off-shore to prevent anyone from coming after him if he was spotted.
It was the hardest thing he’d ever had to do, leaving her behind. And that’s what it felt like—that he was deserting her. What if something had detained her, and she’d managed to find her way to the marina, to find him gone? What if she’d met with trouble and needed his help? Dozens of similar scenarios plagued him and burrowed into his dreams at night. She was never far from his mind, and his sense of guilt continued to taunt him despite his belief she’d vanished permanently into the future.
Eventually, each day melted into the next, until the time came when the first cool front dropped the temperature and hinted at the coming fall. Daytime he could handle. It was the nights he had the most difficulty with. He had trouble getting any decent sleep for fear of being boarded. Of being killed while he was in his bunk by someone either swimming out to where he lay anchored, or using a rowboat so he’d never hear their approach, and silently taking him down. He halfway remedied that problem by sleeping on deck so he could become aware of anyone getting near. He’d even figured out a way to improvise a small tent by using the mast, to give him some protection when it rained. The gentle swells helped to rock him to sleep, but many nights he laid there and watched the distant lights flickering across the sky as the aliens fired upon random or selected targets. Blowing things up in bright spurts of orange and white flames. It was almost like watching a fireworks display.
But with colder weather heading his way, he knew he’d eventually have to take his pallet into the cabin below deck. “Unless I choose to head out to sea and warmer climates,” he considered aloud. It was a sensible idea, yet he remained reluctant to venture outside the natural barrier of the bay. Mostly because there were the winter storms to consider. Keeping within sight of land enabled him to seek shelter whenever anything stronger than a gale approached. If he chose to go out onto the open waters, out on the ocean, he’d be unprotected. There was no way he’d survive the heavy winds and waves in this little sailboat.
A brisk breeze came in from the northwest. He raised the canvas to take advantage of it, and steered the boat around a point, to discover a small inlet cove. There was no dock, but he noticed a well-worn trail leading up into the tree line. That indicated a cabin or campground might be in the vicinity. Not seeing anyone in the area, he headed for shore. He got within a hundred yards when something told him to hold off. He didn’t think twice, and quickly turned the sailboat around to leave. Emlee had told him to trust his instincts, and not to question them. In this case, he was glad he’d listened. A warning shot came from behind him. He automatically tensed and ducked his head, expecting the bullet to drill into him. Fortunately, it hit the water a few feet away. He never looked back to see where the shooter was located, and let the boat race back into more open water.
Thirst was beginning to plague him. His head pounded from the effects of dehydration, which also left him lightheaded. Rather than weave in and out of coves, he decided to do something different. He recalled his uncle telling him about the state’s rivers and streams that emptied into the bay. They’d never investigated any of them, preferring instead to go out into the ship channel and find a sand bar where they could fish for snapper and redfish, and gig for flounder. But he remembered his high school geography, and wondered if he might be able to sail far enough upstream in one of those rivers to replenish his fresh water supply.
It was certainly worth the chance.
He kept far enough away from shore to prevent anyone from coming after him, even though he felt it was highly unlikely. With the aliens still attacking at random, he figured people were less willing to risk being out on the water. Since he’d left Port Meggin, he hadn’t seen another boat of any sort, much less an airplane or helicopter.
Using the binoculars, he was able to keep track of his location by reading the signs posted along the edge of the shore, as well as the ones on the sides of the occasional bait shop he passed by. That lasted until he reached the mouth of the first river to appear in his sights early that evening.
Taking a deep breath and mentally crossing his fingers, he guided the sailboat underneath the two-lane bridge that crossed over it. The water here was a murky brown, too dirty to drink. If worse came to worse, he could try to filter it through the filtration system he had on board, but he hoped to find cleaner, clearer water further upstream before it became too shallow or rocky.
He glided past cabins, all of which appeared empty, but he wasn’t going to take the chance of checking them out. The few boat docks he saw were vacant. An empty container bobbed up and down in the middle of the river, indicating a trotline. He briefly considered checking it for fish, but his body reminded him his focus needed to remain on getting drinkable water. He made a mental note to check it on his way back.
The river quickly narrowed between banks lined with oak, aspen, and birch trees. At one point he stopped and used a gauge to check the depths, to make sure the boat didn’t scrape the river bed. Seeing there was enough room, he continued inland, until the river separated into several smaller tributaries.
Not having spotted any cabins or campsites in a while, he guided the boat up to the shore, dropped anchor, and looked around at the heavily forested area. “Can’t go any further. From here it’ll have to be on foot,” he murmured to himself.
He lowered the sail, then gathered half a dozen empty water containers, looped them together with a length of rope, and slid them over his head to carry. “In and out, fifteen, twenty minutes tops…with luck.”
Jumping off the bow, onto the patchy dirt, he turned around to get his bearings. The place was eerily quiet. Not a single bird called or insect twittered, giving the area a surreal, almost haunted feeling. But the lack of sound also meant he’d be able to catch any footsteps approaching.
Keeping one eye on his surroundings, he tracked the river a bit further inland. His prayers were answered as the fast moving water took on a crystal clear appearance. He knelt, cupped some in his palms, and cautiously sipped it. It ran cold and pure down his throat.
“Oh, God, that’s good!”
Bending over, he gulped several handfuls until he was full. The headache eased, as did the slight mental fog. Slipping the empty containers off his shoulders, he began filling them, holding them underwater as the stream bubbled over his hands. The whole thing took hardly any time to complete, after which he screwed the caps back onto the bottles. He got to his feet to hoist them back over his head when he heard a low, menacing growl, followed by the unmistakable sound of a pump shotgun being ratcheted. Mykail froze in place, keeping his hands away from his body to show he wasn’t holding any weapon.
“Turn around nice and slow like,” a deep voice demanded.
He obeyed, rotating toward the location of the voice. About twenty yards away, a man dressed in camouflage stood with a rifle pointed at him. Judging from the way the guy was holding the weapon, it was evident he knew how to handle it. Crouched next to him, a massive black dog snarled.
“Down, Hogan. Down,” the man ordered the animal. “What are you doing here?” he asked Mykail in a brusque tone.
&
nbsp; “I was out of water, so I came upstream to get some.”
“You came all this way on that boat?”
“Yeah. Hey, look. I don’t want to cause any trouble. I’ll get back aboard my sailboat and take her right back into open water, and you’ll never have to worry about me anymore.”
The rifle never wavered, but the man lifted his face from where he’d been peering into the scope. “Are you telling me you’ve been on that thing since those aliens started firing on us?”
“Actually, my girlfriend and I decided to use it to escape before they attacked. You know, get away from land and all the chaos that would occur. We didn’t want to get caught in the middle of it.”
“So you knew ahead of time that those aliens would attack?”
Mykail couldn’t blame the man for sounding dubious. “We had a hunch,” he admitted.
“Is your girlfriend with you?”
“No.” Mykail shook his head. “I’m alone. Honest. She never…she never made it to the marina to meet up with me.”
“To meet up with you? You mean you left without her?”
“We got separated.” It was the truth. Time had separated them. “We’d made plans to leave. I left her a couple of notes to let her know I’d come back to the marina if something happened. That I had to take off without her. But I guess she never got them. Or if she did, she didn’t stick around. I don’t know.”
After a moment of thought, the man gestured at the sailboat sitting anchored in the distance. “What’s the name of your sloop, son?”
“Mysty-fi. Why?”
“Mysty-fi? Is your girlfriend’s name Emlee? Spelled E-m-l-e-e?”
Mykail felt the blood drain from his face. “Yeah. Yes! How did you know? Have you seen her?”
Instead of answering, the man moved a few steps closer. “Are you armed?”