Dead Time

by D. L. Orton

  “’Kay.”

  “Who’s Diego?”

  I hold my breath for a second.

  Go big or go home.

  “He’s your parallel from another universe—only he’s from the past. So he’s twenty years younger than you are. He came here in a time machine, but it was by accident. The targeting was broken or something.”

  He’s doesn’t respond.

  I stop moving for a second. “You do know about the time machine, right?”

  “Mierda.” He coughs. “It’s downstairs next to the bowling alley—but we never got it to work.”

  “Well, in Diego’s universe, they did.” I lift up my braid, letting the Ray Gun get underneath. “And he has the biotech devices in his blood too. The ones that protect him from Doomsday. The instructions were inside a mysterious metal sphere, sound familiar?”

  “Yes.”

  “And Diego’s the guy who told us about you, about the Magic Kingdom, that is. If it weren’t for him, we wouldn’t have known that there was a government installation here.”

  He’s quiet for nearly a minute, and I continue bathing in the invisible ultrasonic stream.

  “James?” I say, at last. “Are you still there?”

  “Yes. Is Lucas alive in Diego’s universe?”

  I lower my arms. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think Lucas ever existed in his world.”

  “And Isa? Is she married to him, or did Dave fuck Diego over like he did me?”

  “I don’t know, James.” I hold up my backpack and point the beam inside. “You’ll have to ask Diego when he gets here.”

  Something bumps his microphone, and there’s a bit of feedback. “He’s coming here?”

  “When Diego finds out you have a time machine, I don’t think the devil himself could keep him away. He wants to get back to his universe. He wants to go home.”

  I glance at the Doomsday sensor.

  It’s green.

  “Just a couple more minutes now,” he says, “and it should be safe to let you in.”

  I start putting everything back into my pack. “Are you immune, James? Did you get an injection of the biotech devices like Diego did?”

  “As far as I know, they never deciphered the plans. They were destroyed in the explosion.”

  “Damn. I was hoping you had the instructions in here.”

  “Well, there is a state-of-the-art genetics lab downstairs—and, believe me, they tried to come up with a vaccine—but even the best geneticists in the world couldn’t make heads or tails of the melted bits they recovered from the Bomb.”

  “The Bomb?”

  “That’s what we called the metal sphere. It took out a good chunk of Moscow when it came down. People thought it was a nuke, because it ignited gas lines all across the city. Blew up everything.”

  “I remember that—the bombings in Russia.”

  “Took the Ruskies months to determine it wasn’t a terrorist attack, but they never told the public the truth.”

  We’re both quiet for a bit.

  “Anything else I need to decontaminate?”

  “No. The sensor’s been green for a while.” He blows his nose again. “Ready to open the door?”

  “Are you sure it’s safe, James? Once it’s open, there’ll be no going back.”

  “Pretty sure,” he says. “Lucas and I used the Ray Gun to clear out the space we’re living in now, and it’s much bigger than the airlock.”

  “Clear out?”

  “Yeah, someone overrode the computer and opened the blast doors back when things started to get dicey. Because Lucas and I were kept locked downstairs, we survived. But all of this area was contaminated. When we realized what had happened—that we were alone—we built the Ray Gun and took turns wearing the one biosuit we recovered to shut the blast doors, seal the airlock, and decontaminate this whole upper level.”

  “Wow.”

  “We had plenty of time to do it,” he says. “Years, in fact.”

  “I imagine so.”

  “Okay,” he says. “I think it’s probably safe to enter, but if you wouldn’t mind breathing right on the sensor to check? We’ve never had to decontaminate anything living, and I want to make sure we killed all the Doomsday virus in your lungs.”

  “Of course,” I say and walk over to the sensor. I breathe right on it, filling my lungs with air and exhaling five or six times.

  It stays green.

  “Good. I’m opening the airlock now.”

  One whole wall of the room starts sliding sideways, and on the other side is a huge cavern, the walls and ceiling rough-cut rock.

  Walking across the large, empty space is a man in a knee-length, plaid bathrobe and fuzzy slippers.

  He’s cut his hair and shaved, and the resemblance to Diego is striking now. He’s a very fit—and quite attractive for his age. There’s a gray furry animal with big round ears sitting on his shoulder.

  James walks up to me and stops, his eyes widening when he gets close enough to see the scar tissue.

  We stand there in awkward silence, and I resist the urge to touch the mangled skin on my face.

  “Nice to finally meet you,” I say and offer him my hand. “And I like your new haircut.”

  “You do?” He stares at my hand for a second and then shakes it. “At first I hated the short hair, but now it’s growing on me.”

  I laugh. “That was a good one.”

  He frowns. “You think so?”

  I nod, but I don’t think he believes me.

  “Benny,” he says, glancing sideways at the creature on his shoulder, “this is Lani. She’s a doctor, and she’s going to be staying with us for a bit. We’ll have to make up the guest suite.”

  “Nice to meet you, Benny. James tells me you’re looking for a new girlfriend.”

  James smiles.

  It’s uncanny how much he sounds like—and even moves like—Diego.

  He picks up my backpack. “Welcome to the Magic Kingdom.”

  27

  Betrayal

  Diego

  The final document is a Presumptive Death Certificate for James F. Nadales.

  It’s dated six months after the accident but gives the time of death as the night of the crash. The cause of death is listed as “Drowning (South Platte River below Aspen Street Bridge) due to automobile accident of same date. Suicide suspected. No body recovered from beneath the ice, but the state has granted legal Presumption of Death due to overwhelming evidence.”

  I close the file and stare at the smiling photo of a man who looks to be my twin, wondering what could have possibly gone wrong in the short time between when this photo was taken and his presumed death.

  Presumed.

  There are things a man learns about himself as he grows older, but I can say with unwavering certainty that I would never kill myself to escape my problems, not as an outcast stranded in another universe—and definitely not with a wife and family.

  Never.

  Something else happened that night on the bridge. Something that cost me my life—and cost Isabella her husband, her son, and her future.

  I close the file and tap on my name, a dark shroud of dread falling over me.

  A photo of a handwritten note appears.

  Diego-

  Thank you for giving me the courage to uncover the truth.

  * * *

  What I found out tonight can’t bring James back, but it does give me some comfort. At the very least, I know that he didn’t abandon us—abandon me. David never delivered the enclosed letter from James. I didn’t know the truth about what happened until now.

  David has been lying to me for the past thirty years, Diego, and I believe he lied to James too. Why David would do something like that—and if he actually killed James and thereby Lucas—I don’t know. But if he did it once, he could do it again.

  * * *

  If and when Soleil unravels the biotech vaccine, I fear for your life. David suspects you know something. Something you shouldn�
�t. And now you most definitely do.

  * * *

  -Isabella

  I place my finger over the last file, the one labeled James, and then freeze.

  Do I want to know what really happened?

  I tap the icon and read the first three words of a letter.

  My dearest Isa-

  It’s dated three days before the car accident, and it’s in my handwriting.

  If you are reading this letter, then the “accident “ has happened, and I am presumed dead.

  But let me assure you, if all went as planned, I am not.

  * * *

  I apologize for deceiving you. I saw no other way to keep you and the kids safe—and that has always been my highest priority.

  * * *

  Even if you can’t forgive me—and I certainly understand it if you can’t—at least let me explain:

  * * *

  All that crazy stuff I told the police about the meteorite and the Russians chasing me was true, Isa. Every word. The FSB had been following me for weeks and finally confronted me on the way to Dave’s poker game—the night I came home with blood on my shirt, remember?

  * * *

  The Russians told me about the time machine and offered me a lot of money to “disappear” with them. After I refused, they threatened to hurt Lucas and Soleil—and to kill you if I mentioned a word of it to anyone.

  * * *

  They gave me three days to think about it—as if I had any choice.

  That night, David and I came up with a plan that would allow me to “die” —while keeping all of you safe. To that end, I gave the police reason to believe that I had gone over the edge—and that things had gotten bad enough between the two of us that I might consider killing myself.

  * * *

  It was all a ruse, hun, and I’ll never forgive myself for the pain and suffering my actions must have caused you. I ’m sure you’re furious with me—and I deserve it—but I needed you to believe I was gone, so everyone else would believe too.

  * * *

  Please try to understand.

  * * *

  So what happens now?

  * * *

  If my deception went as planned, then the police believe I lost control of the car on an icy bridge, plunged into the river below, and drowned. My body was never recovered, but that is not unusual in cases like these—given the dark night, freezing water, and swift current—so I assume no suspicions were raised.

  * * *

  I imagine the funeral was held a week or so after the crash, and since then you have been picking up the pieces of your life and trying to go on alone. David has assured me he will do everything in his power to protect you, and I have asked him to give you this letter when he feels it ’s safe.

  * * *

  Please don’t hate me.

  * * *

  It shouldn’t take much to have the state declare me dead in absentia. If you haven’t done that already, please let David help. (He’s friends with the district attorney.) This will allow you to collect on my life insurance. That money should be enough to live on indefinitely, including college for the twins.

  * * *

  I can’t tell you where I am, Isa, but once I ’m sure it’s safe, you’ll hear from me. I beg you to come find me—but if you choose not to, I ’ll understand.

  I hope someday you and the kids can forgive me.

  * * *

  I love you more than life itself, Isabella.

  * * *

  Forever yours,

  James

  I stare at the letter Dave never delivered until the low power warning appears.

  Christ, I’m going to kill him.

  I shut off the computer, hide it under the foot of the mattress, and imagine myself choking that fat neck of his.

  If I have to murder him to get out of here, I sure as hell will.

  28

  Where the Wild Things Are

  Shannon

  In the fading light streaming through the airlock window, I mark day twenty-nine on the calendar—nineteen days in the Room of Release plus ten days in the Wilds—and then sit down on my improvised bed and towel dry my hair. So much has happened, that it feels like I’ve been away from home for months. I miss Mom and Mindy a lot, but things are getting better now that Peter and I have escaped to the Wilds.

  Still, the first few nights here were scary.

  We used the keys Peter took from his father to get what we needed from the Compound and then used the stolen access card to unlock the door through the Barrier. It’s a massive steel wall that separates the part of the biodome with power from the part that’s busted. After Peter got the door open, he squeezed a whole tube of epoxy into the lock mechanism and resealed the door.

  By that time, it was after midnight, and I was so exhausted I could barely stand. Peter didn’t think they’d find his father until morning, and he figured it’d take them a couple days to pry the Barrier door open, but he wasn’t willing to bet our lives on it. So, he insisted that we hike across what’s left of the old biodome—which is unbelievably huge and a lot like the Outside, with dirt and plants everywhere—to a maintenance tower on the far side.

  Then he made me climb what seemed like a million steps before he put our stuff down. I tried to sleep while Peter kept watch, but there were lots of strange noises, and I finally gave up and sat next to him in the dark, wishing I was at home in my room with Mom asleep in the bedroom next to mine.

  When Peter asked me what I was thinking, I didn’t want to tell him how scared I was. So, I told him about my pet rat, Wilson, and how he helped me test the rebreathers—and that he was loyal, smart and gentle.

  Even though Peter didn’t say anything, I could tell that he didn’t think keeping a rat as a pet was such a great idea. But I think he would change his mind if he met Wilson. He was much more impressed when I told him about Bearhart—and that Madders had flown all the way to San Francisco to get him for me—and about how I had taught the puppy tricks and stuff.

  Peter had never seen a real dog, and he started asking questions about Bearhart. But talking about home always makes me sad, so I didn’t want to talk about him anymore.

  We sat there staring out into the dark biodome for a long time.

  It got really cold, and I started shivering. So Peter put his arms around me to keep me warm. I snuggled against him, feeling safe for the first time since they forced me out of the airplane at gunpoint, and fell asleep.

  But I had nightmares about being crushed to death by a rotting corpse, and I woke up screaming. Peter pulled me to his chest and stroked my hair until my heart stopped pounding, and at some point, I must have fallen back asleep because when I woke up in the morning, there were two blankets over me and Peter’s sweater under my head.

  He was making breakfast, including hot oatmeal and a steaming mug of tea.

  When I asked where he’d gotten the water and the cups, he just smiled.

  That was the day we found my biosuit still lying on the floor where they had taken it off me.

  The map I drew up in the airplane was still in the pocket—along with the seashell Mr. C gave me. If I ever have to make a run for it, it will be good to have the biosuit and map. Still, I haven’t given up hope that Mom or Madders will figure out a way to get me out of here—get us out of here—but every day that passes makes it seem less likely.

  Peter says we might be able to live in the Wilds indefinitely, but I don’t want to stay in Catersville. I don’t want to live in fear of Peter’s clan, forced to scavenge for food in the half-darkness that passes for day here, and worried that the biodome could fail at any moment.

  The second day, Peter showed me his stash of camping supplies, including a shortwave radio and a portable environment bubble that works like a tent. He spent the afternoon showing me how to put it up and take it down and then demonstrated how to use a compass. Madders taught me how to navigate using the North Star—which is great in a plane but not much help inside
a biodome—but it turns out I’m pretty good with a compass too. I now have my own backpack, a wind-up flashlight, a whistle—which I showed Peter how to use for an SOS signal—and a Swiss army knife with a can opener and scissors. I grabbed an extra pocketknife to give to Mindy when I get home.

  On the third day, we went back to the Barrier to see if they’d tried to get the door open.

  They hadn’t.

  Peter said there were men who hated his father, and they were probably fighting over who would be the new leader. But he was sure they’d eventually figure out a way to get through the Barrier and come after us—especially if the men loyal to his father won.

  I asked why the men didn’t just go around the Barrier—out the airlock on their side and in the one on our side. It turns out that no one at Catersville knows how to operate the main airlocks without the computer—which is why the men brought me in through that emergency airlock on the abandoned side, and why Peter was so surprised when I told him I knew how to open and shut the main airlock by hand.

  Thank goodness for the emergency training everyone at the Bub gets.

  Manually opening the airlock requires a bit of muscle power, but we do it at least twice a day now, and I think I could do it blindfolded. Peter is faster than I am, but if I really focus, I can do it in less than a minute.