Dead Time

by D. L. Orton

  “Yes, of course,” she says. “She asked me if I could deliver this to you. Mr. Kirk is not letting anyone in to see you, and Dr. Kirk said it was important.”

  She drops the beam to her feet, and I hear rummaging in a paper bag.

  I get up and walk over to the bars, the concrete floor cold on my bare feet. “How did you manage to get in?”

  “Oh, it wasn’t that difficult. The man who’s been delivering your meals is my husband. I waited until he fell asleep—and then borrowed his keys.” She pushes something through the metal bars. “Here.”

  I take a thin, heavy object out of her hands. “Thank you. What is it?”

  “A tablet computer. Dr. Kirk said you’d know what to do with it. I have to get back now, Mr. Crusoe, before he realizes I’m gone.”

  “Yes, of course. Please tell Dr. Kirk I said thank you.”

  “I will,” she says. “Oh, and there’s one more thing. Dr. Kirk said the password is her favorite villain.”

  “Her favorite what?” I ask, not understanding.

  “Villain. You know, bad guy. She said you’d know who that is.”

  “Ah, okay. Thank you, Ingrid. I owe you one.”

  “I’m hoping we’ll all be in your debt soon,” she says. “The whole human race.” She reaches through the bars and squeezes my arm. “Good night, Diego.”

  I listen for the soft clang of the outer door and the turn of the deadlock, my pulse still racing.

  What could Bella possibly want me to know—or see?

  I take off my jeans and get back in bed, pulling the blanket up over my head to block the light. In the twenty-four hours since Dave locked me up, I haven’t been able to find a camera in the cell, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t one.

  After making sure the blanket is covering me, I slide my fingers over the glass surface of the iPad and press the home button. The display blinks soundlessly to life, a photo filling the screen. It’s James and Bella with two young kids standing in front of a huge, crumbling step pyramid.

  I stare at the photograph and then run my fingertips over the family I never had.

  At my touch, a transparent keypad appears, the words “Enter Password” hovering above it.

  I think for a minute and then type in Strasser—he’s the Nazi bad guy in Casablanca—and push Send.

  The keypad shakes and then resets.

  Shit. Maybe you’re not that similar to James.

  And then, like Harry Potter’s patronus, it comes to me in a bright surge of light. I type in Umbridge, and the device unlocks.

  The photo of Zoser’s Pyramid is still there, but in the foreground, there are three icons, one labeled David, a second named Diego, and a third entitled James.

  I tap the first icon.

  A file containing photos of official-looking documents appears. The first one is entitled Police Report and the name listed at the top as the offender is Nadales, James F.

  I scroll through the pages, reading the other titles. After the Police Report, there’s a Psychiatric Report, an Accident Report, and a Death Certificate.

  Mierda.

  I go back to the Police Report and start reading. The complaint is dated nearly thirty years ago with the offense listed as “Threatening an officer of the peace.”

  The details section contains a description of James arriving at a Denver police station mid-afternoon, asking to report suspicious behavior, and stating, “You need to contact the CIA.”

  The report details his claims, including that The Russians are attempting to kidnap me due to a meteorite from space and The object came down in Siberia and contained my name—along with plans to build a time machine.

  James insisted that he and his family were in danger—and wanted the police department to contact the NSA. After the duty officer refused to make the call, James threatened to “stalk the reporting officer until he called in the Feds.” James was subsequently taken into custody for making criminal threats against a police officer, but the charges were dropped at the request of the district attorney. Mr. Nadales was later released to his wife, a medical doctor.

  The Psychiatric Evaluation is dated the same day and must have been performed after James was locked up. The psychiatrist who examined him stated that he “suffers from acute paranoid schizophrenia” and recommended that James “seek professional psychiatric help.”

  The next document is an Accident Report. It’s dated later that same evening. I begin to read, my whole body tense with dread:

  A witness called 911 at 8:17 pm to report seeing a car swerve and plunge over the north railing of the Aspen Street Bridge into the Platte River. Emergency vehicles responded, arriving within four minutes, but found no witness. (The caller ID was later traced to a prepaid, disposable cell phone.) Emergency responders were able to see the submerged vehicle through the hole it made in the ice, and at 8:48 pm, divers entered the water through that same gap to search for bodies. They found both doors on the vehicle’s driver’s side open, but no bodies inside.

  * * *

  Divers recovered:

  • a child’s slipper lodged in the rear door handle. (See attached photo.)

  • an adult’s down vest caught on the handbrake. (Subsequently identified by his wife as belonging to James F. Nadales).

  * * *

  The air temperature was recorded at 46° F and the water temperature at 34° F. Skies were clear and the road surface of the bridge was determined to be dry and free of hazards.

  Due to the 8-9 inches of ice covering the river, the freezing water temperature, and the swift current, no further attempt was made to recover the bodies at that time.

  A search and rescue team was alerted. Personnel started at dawn and spent the next forty-eight hours searching down river for the bodies. On the second day after the accident, a child’s stuffed animal (see attached photo) was recovered. It was found lodged beneath river ice approximately six miles downstream from the accident. The mother positively identified the item as belonging to the missing child (name withheld due to age).

  * * *

  The vehicle was recovered the morning after the accident, and subsequent examination revealed:

  • No mechanical problems (brakes, steering, and headlamps checked).

  • The right, front tire had lost air pressure due to a rupture on the rim near the valve stem. Probable cause: blunt force sustained when the falling vehicle struck the river ice.

  • Both windows (front and back) on the driver’s side doors were down 1-2 inches.

  • In the back seat on the driver’s side there was a 5-point, forward-facing child car seat (properly installed). The double shoulder restraints on the car seat were found unlatched.

  • A 9mm Glock 43 handgun (unloaded) was found in the passenger seat.

  • A 70cl bottle labeled Laphroaig Scotch Single Malt 32 Year whiskey was found on the floorboards of the passenger seat. No cap was recovered. The bottle contained river water.

  * * *

  The wife (Isabella Sanborn-Nadales, MD) of the driver (James F. Nadales) states that she and Mr. Nadales had an argument that day, and he had stormed out of the house in a rage, intending to spend the night with his best friend (name redacted). The accident was reported seven minutes after a neighbor saw Mr. Nadales driving away from his house. After the wife was notified by the police, her five-year-old son was discovered to be missing from the home and was subsequently presumed to be in the car when the accident occurred. (See list of items above.)

  Driver: James F. Nadales, male, 30. Body not recovered.

  Passenger: (name withheld due to age), male, 5 (son of James F. Nadales and Isabella Sanborn-Nadales, MD). Body not recovered.

  Cause of Accident: Inconclusive. Possible alcohol-related. Possible driver error. Possible suicide.

  There’s an addendum, dated six months later:

  Search for victims’ bodies suspended at the request of the family. The court has ruled there is sufficient evidence to declare death in absentia.


  Case closed.

  26

  Journey to the Center of the Earth

  Lani

  “James Nadales?” I choke out, still unable to believe it’s him.

  So everything Diego told me must be true?

  I watch the blast door close and then feel my ears pop. There’s a computer screen with a keypad on the wall, but it remains dark despite my attempts to summon the silicon genie inside. I stand in the large space for ten minutes, waiting for something else to happen, and when nothing does, I sit down on the floor next to my backpack, take a drink of water, and await my fate.

  There are worse ways to die.

  After forty-seven minutes, I hear gears turning, and then my ears pop again. The inner blast door, which looks to be identical to the outer one, begins to open.

  Pele, help me, I hope this isn’t a mistake.

  Inside the second blast door is a familiar-looking airlock, albeit a lot bigger than the one in the Bub. In the middle of the floor is a tripod with an orange and blue plastic rifle mounted on top. It looks like a big, pump-action squirt gun—except it has a cable coming out the bottom. Sitting next to it is a car battery.

  “That’s the supersonic annihilator.”

  I let out a gasp, almost tripping over the battery in my haste to locate the source. “James?”

  “Yeah. I can see you, but you can’t see me. Sorry.”

  “No worries.” I spot the camera in the corner. “You scared the sh-shit out of me.”

  “I guess that makes us even.”

  I laugh. “I imagine so. What do I need to do with the… squirt gun thingy.”

  It’s his turn to laugh. “That was my son’s idea—putting the components inside the water cannon—but it works pretty well. Makes it easy to know which way to aim the nozzle.”

  “Your son must have been a smart kid, just like his dad.”

  “More like his mom, I think, but thanks. You need to turn on the gun and kinda spray it around the room. See that round sensor by the inner door? Once it stays green for a while, I can let you in.”

  “So you’re not going to cycle the airlock?”

  “No. The Ray Gun will kill all the Doomsday bugs so I don’t have to waste any air.”

  “Waste it?”

  “Yeah. The back-up filtration system is on the blink, and if I dump any clean air, the CO2 level will rise. Benny and I try to avoid that.”

  “Oh my goodness,” I say. “Of course you do.”

  “Connect the red cable to the red battery terminal to turn it on.”

  “Okay.” I check out the Ray Gun, trying to decide if I should trust a man who’s been locked up inside a mountain for thirty years all by himself. If he turns out to be wrong, it’ll kill him—and contaminate the whole inside. “How sure are you this squirt gun will make the air safe for you and Benny?”

  “Willing to bet my life on it, I guess. But you seem like a nice person. I want to help you—and your friends too, if I can. Plus, it’s been pretty lonely inside here all these years…”

  “I can’t even imagine what you must have gone through,” I say. “And what you’re risking to help me.” I swallow and wipe my eyes, wondering if I would have survived as long as he did.

  Probably not.

  “Thank you, James. You’re very brave.”

  “Wait till we get the power back on before you go all gushy on me, okay?”

  I smile. “Deal.”

  “Like I said, just hook up the battery and start spraying it around. You’ll need to squirt everything in your backpack—and then stand in front of the gun and, you know, turn around, so it sprays you too.”

  “Okay. Do I need to take my clothes off?” The thought makes me cringe.

  With all your scars, he’ll think you’re some sort of hideous demon.

  He hesitates. “Well, I certainly don’t want to discourage you, but I don’t think it’s necessary.”

  I can feel my face flush.

  “No need to be embarrassed, doc,” he says, a hint of amusement in his tone. “It was a good question. The ultrasound goes right through fabric, but it doesn’t penetrate past the epidermis. You won’t feel a thing. But you might take off your shoes and coat, just to be safe.”

  I nod and remove them, along with the plastic bags around my socks. I pull off my sweater and drop it on the floor.

  “Damn it,” he says. “I should have said yes.”

  I stifle a smile and start taking things out of my backpack.

  “It’s, uh,” he says, “been a long time since I was with a…” He clears his throat. “Well, since I had any company besides Benny—and I should have said, ‘yeah, you need to take your clothes off.’ Except if you found out it wasn’t required, you would have thought I was a dirty, old man—which I’m not, at least I didn’t used to be, dirty, that is, not old. Obviously I wasn’t always old—but, Christ, it’s been so lonely in here for all these years, and then a young woman rings the doorbell, asking me for help and offering to take her clothes off, and I…” He stops. “I’m rambling, aren’t I?”

  I laugh. “Yes, but I don’t mind.”

  “Sorry. It’s just so nice to have someone to talk to. I miss that more than anything.”

  “Well, don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere—at least not until all the Bub folks are safe.” I tip my backpack upside down to make sure it’s empty.

  “What’s the Bub?”

  “My biodome,” I say, wondering if David has figured out a way to fix the collapsed wall. “The one that’s failing.”

  “Are there more?”

  I nod and take the last few things out of my pack. “Somewhere around forty, spread all around the globe.”

  He makes a hoot of delight. “Did you hear that Benny? Maybe there are some girl chinchillas out there waiting for you.”

  I smile. “It’s certainly possible.”

  “Is it okay if I call you Lani?” he asks.

  “Mm-hm.” I make sure all the pockets in the pack are unzipped.

  “Thanks for finding me, Lani. I don’t know how much longer I could have…”

  I set down the pack. “James?”

  “Yeah?”

  “What was your wife’s name?”

  He sniffs his nose, and I realize he’s been crying. “Isabella. God, I miss her.”

  I swallow, trying to decide if I should tell him the truth.

  If it were you, you’d want to know.

  “She’s alive,” I say. “And so is your daughter.”

  He’s quiet for nearly a minute. “Where are they?” His voice is a whisper. “With your friends?”

  “No. They’re in a biodome on the east coast, one of the biggest and best ever built. It’s on Chesapeake Bay in Virginia. C-Bay, they call it.”

  “Dave Kirk married her, didn’t he.”

  I look up at the camera. “Yes.”

  “That bastard. He tricked me into faking my own death and then stole my wife and daughter.”

  “Mr. Kirk arranged for them to move inside a biodome, James. He saved their lives.”

  “Yeah, just like he saved me and Lucas? Got us locked up inside this underground tomb so he could be the hero and marry Isa. Made me stand by and watch my own son die…” I hear him take a shaky breath. “Fuck. I’m going to kill him.”

  I stand there, staring at my hands, unsure what to believe about David. “I’m sorry, James. It must have been terrible for you.”

  “Mierda, how could I have been so stupid?” I hear him blow his nose a couple of times. “Are you married?”

  I shake my head. “But I have a daughter, and I can’t imagine being forced to stand by while she suffers and dies.”

  “Yeah.”

  I wipe my face on my sleeve, hoping with all my heart that Shannon is okay.

  “Well, we’d better get to work, hadn’t we?” He exhales. “Why don’t you fire up the Ray Gun so we can open the damn door.”

  I connect the wire to the battery and pick up
the plastic gun. “Here goes nothing.” An LED light blinks on, and a thin cloud of dust falls off the squirt gun. I can feel a slight buzzing in my hands, but the sonic annihilator is otherwise silent. It appears to be a plastic toy with a couple of wires taped to it.

  “When was the last time you used this thing?” I ask.

  “A couple years ago. You can tell it’s working, right? The light is on?”

  I nod, but I’m not getting a warm and fuzzy feeling about the whole thing.

  What if he is crazy and the alleged viracide cannon is just a broken water pistol? What if he opens the inner door and the virus attacks him?

  You’ll be responsible for his death—and the contamination of the whole Inside.

  James must read the look on my face because he laughs.

  “Point it at the virus detector. You’ll see. It works—at least it used to.”

  I do as he suggests.

  When the nozzle of the gun is aimed at the sensor, it turns orange and then green. When I point it away, the indicator goes back to orange, then red.

  “It works!”

  “You sound surprised,” he says.

  “Maybe a little.”

  “What are the chances I could have survived in here for thirty years if I was mad as a hatter, doc?”

  “You do have a point,” I say, spraying the invisible ultrasound around the room. “You know, you can do the same thing with an ultraviolet light—kill all the viruses, I mean—and it takes only a minute, two at the most.”

  “Well, when FedEx delivers the replacement bulb I ordered, I’ll be sure to give it a try.”

  I smile. “You sound like Diego.”

  “Wedge the gun barrel so it’s pointing straight out and then stand in front of it and turn around, hands over your head.”

  I do as he says, feeling self-conscious whirling around in front of a plastic squirt gun with my arms raised.

  Thank Pele, you’re not naked.

  “The stream is pretty wide,” he says, “so you don’t need to bend down or anything.”