Dead Time

by D. L. Orton

  “Like I said, there’s room for everyone inside the mountain, but there’s some sort of problem with the ventilation system, and the CO2 is building up. We need to get the generator up and running to clear the air.”

  “Could just need a new breaker or something,” he says.

  “Have you talked to David?”

  “Yep,” Madders says. “He’s planning to fly out to the Magic Kingdom with men and supplies right after he picks up Shannon. He’ll erect environment tents for everyone. It’ll be tight quarters for a while, but manageable.”

  “Tell him there’s a radio in there, but it doesn’t have any reception. James thinks the antenna’s broken.”

  “James? I thought the guy’s name was Jimbo.”

  “It’s James Nadales, Madders.” I exhale, still uncomfortable saying the rest aloud. “He’s Diego’s parallel.”

  “Blimey. Poor bloke got the short end of the stick in this universe, stuck inside that underground mausoleum. That’d make anyone daft.”

  “What about your plane?” I ask. “Are you going to leave it at the Bub?”

  “No. Once I see the trucks off, I’ll fly her to the army base that’s east of you—same place Kirk plans to land. Won’t take me more than an hour, and the map says you’re about twenty miles from there. I promised Kirk I’d find some sort of vehicle to ferry supplies up to you. I plan to look into that tomorrow morning. If all goes well, I should be on your doorstep in time for dinner.”

  “Send up a flare if you get into trouble? I plan to hike up to the radio tower to get some photos of the damage, but I’ll keep an eye out for you.”

  “Roger that. Is there anything else you want me to tell Kirk before I shut down for good?”

  “Tell him to hurry.”

  31

  Don’t Call Me Shirley

  Diego

  When I get back to my room, the Hulk holds the door open and lets me pass. “I’ll be back at seven,” he says. “Don’t go anywhere.” He laughs and then shuts the door, locking it from the exterior.

  I listen to his footsteps fade down the hallway, write down the GPS coordinates James gave me, and zip them into my pack. I know it’s a long shot, but I’m convinced it’s my only shot.

  A stab of guilt cuts into my gut like a switchblade, but I ignore it. I gave enough blood this afternoon to last Soleil for a month, and I tell myself it’ll be enough.

  I gulp down my cold dinner and get to work.

  Although my plan is not exactly the Colditz Escape, I figure if I can make it Outside, it’ll be nearly impossible to stop me. All I have to do is make it to the Magic Kingdom, figure out a way to get inside without getting locked up, and use the time machine before Dave can stop me.

  Easy peasy, mae.

  I take Shannon’s jaguarundi drawing down off my wall, roll it up, and put it in my backpack with the rest of my modest belongings. By now, she should be safely back with her mother—at least I can thank Dave for that.

  I stuff the pack under the blanket on my bed—in case someone peeks in to check on me—and then use the tools I ‘borrowed’ from the Vampire Lounge and start picking the lock.

  When I first found out that Soleil had ordered that I be put back in my hospital room instead of the jail, I was ecstatic.

  How hard can it be to break out of a hospital?

  I try for an hour with no success.

  “Mierda, this place is like a penitentiary. Why would they put such expensive locks on the doors?”

  I look around for something to use as a screwdriver, figuring I might be able to get the hinges off, but it’s slim pickings.

  I try to turn a screw with some forceps and nearly stab myself in the thigh.

  “Shit.”

  There’s a soft rap. I jump to my feet, switch off the light, and stand behind the door, my heart pounding in my throat.

  A key turns in the lock, and the door opens a crack.

  A slat of light cascades in from the hallway, and then Bella peeks through, her finger pressed against her lips and her gaze pinned on my bed.

  I step out from behind the door.

  She squawks with surprise—but recovers quickly.

  “Hi.” I give her a tepid wave.

  She shuts the door, turns on the light, and sets a bulky canvas bag down in front of me.

  I raise an eyebrow. “What—”

  She slaps her hand over my mouth and brings her finger back up to her lips, not looking the least bit tipsy.

  I nod and she releases me.

  She glances at the pile of medical instruments on the floor, takes my arm, and leads me into the bathroom.

  “What the hell’s going on, Bella?”

  She turns the sink and the shower on full blast, pulls me into the tiny bathroom, and shuts the door.

  “Don’t call me that,” she says. “David started calling me that years ago, and I’ve always hated it.”

  I stare at her, not having any idea what to say to this baffling, but hauntingly-familiar woman.

  “I’m leaving as soon as it gets light,” she says, “and you’re coming with me.”

  “But—”

  “Sit.”

  I push down the lid on the toilet and follow orders—with Isabel, that’s generally the best thing to do.

  Bella leans back against the sink and crosses her arms. “Here’s the deal: I break you out. You get me to James. James gets you to the time machine. We all get to live happily ever after.”

  I laugh. “You’re breaking me out?”

  “Yes,” she says. “Assuming I don’t strangle you first.”

  “So you can go with me?”

  She narrows her eyes. “Didn’t I just say that?”

  If looks could kill, I’d be bleeding to death.

  I shake my head. “You can’t be serious.”

  “Oh, I’m dead serious.”

  I stare at her, trying to absorb what she’s proposing.

  She taps her foot. “Yes or no?”

  “How are you going to survive Outside, Dr. Kirk?”

  “Damn it, don’t call me that either!”

  “Well?”

  She pins me with those beautiful green eyes. “I’m going to help myself to the universal biotechs Soleil is stockpiling. I won’t need many, and whatever I don’t use, I’ll give back.”

  I raise my eyebrow.

  “And I’ve taken the liberty of putting together food and camping supplies, along with a map, a compass, and a portable GPS.” She puts her hands on her hips. “Are you in or out?”

  “It’s eighteen hundred miles, Bella. It could take days, weeks even.”

  She glares at me. “Don’t call me—”

  “Yeah, sorry. How long will the biotech injections protect you?”

  “A couple of weeks. But we’re going to take an SUV—so that should be more than enough time to get to the mountain.”

  “Christ, Dr. Sanborn, how are we going to find gas for it? And even if we do, the fuel will have been sitting in a rusty tank for twenty years. There’s no telling if it’ll do anything other than ruin the engine.”

  “It’s been decades since someone called me that,” she says and laughs.

  I stare at her, not following.

  “You called me Dr. Sanborn.”

  “I’m running out of options.”

  “That old gas works fine,” she says. “David’s been scavenging it out of tanker trucks and gas stations for years—you just have to strain it through a sock.” She crosses her arms. “But if we run out, we’ll find bicycles. And if that doesn’t work, we’ll walk, goddamn it. You were always good at winging it. So improvise!”

  “Across eighteen hundred miles?” I can’t keep the disbelief out of my voice. “No offense, but you’re over sixty. It’s winter out there, and the whole world is crawling with giant reptiles—and God only knows what else. Alone, I’d have a decent chance, but with two of us…”

  “The pioneers did it two hundred years ago, and they didn’t have
paved roads. I’m a medical doctor who knows the flora and fauna. I may not be as young as you, but I’m just as determined—and twice as smart. We’ll stay on the old freeway and sleep in empty buildings and scavenge for food when we run out.”

  I don’t know what to say.

  “At least,” she says, “we don’t have to worry about lions and tigers and bears.”

  “Oh, my.” I stare at her. “That’s a shit plan, doctor.”

  “Yeah, I know. You got a better one?”

  I glance back and forth between her eyes. “Yeah,” I say. “I go by myself.”

  “How were you planning to get out of your room, Mr. Crusoe?”

  “Don’t call me that,” I say. “And for your information, I was picking the lock when you barged in with that shit plan of yours.”

  She rolls her eyes, and I almost laugh.

  “I was doing just fine until you showed up, doctor.”

  “For God’s sake, James, even if you did manage to pick the lock, you’d never make it out of the hospital. There’s an alarm on the front exit, and David’s wolves will be all over you the minute it goes off.”

  “I’ll go out the back way,” I say and then add, “And stop calling me James.”

  She ignores me. “You’re a prisoner here, with an armed goon following you around, and I’m offering you a way out.”

  “Thank you for unlocking my door, doctor. I’ll just be leaving now.”

  She puts her arm in front of me, blocking my exit. “You walk out on me, Nadales, and I’ll sound the alarm. I’ll tell them I caught you trying to escape. David will lock you up and throw away the key, and in the meantime, I’ll leave without you.”

  “You wouldn’t.”

  She narrows one eye. “Try me.”

  “How do you know I won’t put a gag in your mouth and leave you tied up in here?”

  “I don’t,” she says. “So, I didn’t disarm the front door.”

  I let out an annoyed huff. “I should have guessed you’d do something like that. You always were one step ahead of me.”

  “No, I wasn’t,” she says. “I was just a bit more pessimistic.”

  This time, I do laugh. “Once we get to the Magic Kingdom, how are we going to get inside without getting arrested?”

  “So you’ll do it,” she says. “I knew you’d see reason.”

  “It doesn’t look like I have any choice.”

  “Give me your word you’ll take me to James, and I’ll tell you everything.”

  “I give you my word that I’ll try, Isabella.” It’s the first time I’ve called her by her first name, and it feels like poetry on my tongue.

  She looks away, her eyes tearing up, and it makes my heart hurt.

  “James will be expecting us,” she says and wipes her face on her sleeve. “I’m sure of it.”

  I nod, knowing she’s right.

  “And,” she says, shutting off the water in the sink. “I’m betting he’ll figure out a way to keep David out too.” She takes a bottle of pills out of her pocket, dry swallows four, and puts it away.

  I turn off the shower. “You’ve got a lot of faith in a guy who fucked things up thirty years ago.”

  A smile sneaks across her lips for the first time. “Yeah,” she says. “Funny how he reminds me of you—or is it you who reminds me of him?” She shrugs. “We’re pretty good together, aren’t we?”

  I nod. “You should have believed James when he said he’d find you.”

  “Yes.” A tear runs down her cheek. “I hope she waits for you—your Isabella, I mean.”

  “Me too,” I say, unable to meet her gaze. “I only have eight days left before it’s too late…”

  We stand there in silence for a moment.

  “Okay,” she says and opens the bathroom door. “There are clothes and a wig in the bag. I’ll be back when they unlock the front doors at seven.”

  “Why don’t we leave now?”

  “I need to get the vaccine and make the other arrangements.”

  “But—”

  “Trust me.” She puts her hand on my arm. “Okay?”

  “I always do.”

  She opens the door and checks that no one is in the hallway. “Good night, Mr. Nadales.” She gazes up into my face, her lips slightly parted. “And thank you.”

  “Good night, Mrs. Nadales,” I say and wait for her eyes to get big—and then wink and kiss her on the cheek. “See you at dawn.”

  32

  Making the Braid

  Shannon

  When we exit the airlock the following morning, we find a stack of arrows—thirty or forty of them—next to a smaller compound bow.

  On top of the arrows is a handwritten note:

  8 mor masks plez. 6 adalt. 2 kidz.

  I do the math. There are eighteen Others hiding in the Wilds.

  We spend the morning walking across the biodome to get more masks from the box I have marked on my map. We manage to find some child-sized ones, and spend an hour stripping and fixing two of those when we get back. Those plus the ones we made a day ago means we’re still short four. In two more days, we’ll be able to deliver all the masks and then start making some extra ones.

  After lunch, Peter and I spend an hour testing out the new bow and arrows. Peter insists on trying each of the new arrows in his own bow first. I stand to the side, arms crossed, and watch him notch an arrow, pull the bowstring, and aim. He exhales, keeping his body still, and then lets the arrow fly.

  One after the other, the arrows bury their tips in the bullseye of our improvised target.

  As I watch him aim and shoot, I wonder why he insisted that I learn to use a bow. Up until now, I thought he just enjoyed practicing with me—which is pretty much why I liked it. But now, I’m not so sure. What or who does he intend to shoot?

  “Wow,” he says as he collects the last set of arrows. “These are better than any of the ones I have. I wonder where they found them?”

  I turn the new bow over in my hands. “And why would they give us all this valuable stuff?”

  “They’re bartering,” he says. “They may not be educated like you, but they’re proud folk. They won’t accept charity. We give them something, they give us something back. That’s how it works here.”

  I nod.

  “And I don’t think we need to be afraid of them anymore,” he says. “If they wanted to kill us, they would have done it by now.”

  I find the thought unsettling, but Peter doesn’t seem to notice.

  He holds out one of the new arrows. “Why don’t you try the bow?”

  “Okay.” I move closer to him, adjust my stance, and notch the arrow. But instead of putting his arms around me, he stands there with his arms crossed.

  And then he calls off the practice after I make only a handful of shots.

  “You don’t need my help anymore,” he says. “That’s good, Shannon.”

  I’m not so sure.

  After I collect my arrows—all of which are in the target, though not as close to the center as Peter’s were—he insists that we take more food from the huge storage area back to our airlock hideout.

  After our third trip hauling boxes of canned goods and sacks of grain using a wheelbarrow and a pallet jack, I’m exhausted.

  It’s been a long day, and I didn’t sleep well last night—after I kissed Peter, he abruptly got up and went back to his own bed. I could hear him lying there, breathing fast, like he was angry at me.

  I lay awake wondering, if he loves me, why doesn’t he want to kiss me?

  And then today, he refused to put his arms around me when we practiced archery.

  I slump down on the floor outside the airlock, refusing to go back for another load. “Mookers, Peter! We already have enough food for a month. Why do we have to get more?”

  For the first time since we escaped, he raises his voice to me. “Because I said so, Shannon. Sometimes you should listen to me and just do what I ask.”

  “If you stopped ordering me
around like some sort of… house elf, maybe I would.” I pinch myself so I don’t start crying.

  “I’m going back for another load,” he says. “Stay here until I get back.”

  I look away, angry that he’s ordering me around again.

  “Do you have your whistle on?” He sounds like Mom checking if I finished my homework.

  I pull mine out of my shirt and hold it up for him, not meeting his gaze. Ever since we found the whistles, we take them everywhere—although we’ve never actually used them for anything except practice.

  He grunts and turns away.

  When he returns with another load of supplies, the sun is low in the sky—which usually means it’s shower time. But instead of leaving everything stacked outside our door, Peter insists on hauling it all into the airlock.

  I wordlessly get up to help.

  “You can rest,” he says, slinging a bag of rice over his shoulder. “I can get it.”

  “And let you have all the fun?” I say under my breath. “I’d have to be crazy.”

  When we’re done, I take a long, hot shower, put on my pajamas. Then I go back to the airlock to dry my hair and get ready for our nightly reading and writing lesson.

  There are twenty huge jugs of water lined up in the middle of the room, and I realize Peter must have hauled them all in here while I was taking a shower. We usually keep a few small bottles of drinking water in here, but never this much. It’s like he’s preparing for some sort of… siege.

  I’ve only just sat down on my bed when Peter steps through the airlock, his hair dripping wet.

  “What’s going on, Peter?”

  He sets the masks we made today outside the door and starts the sequence to shut the airlock. “Is your rebreather mask in your backpack?”

  “Yes,” I say, watching him work the heavy handle. “Why are you so angry at me?”

  He freezes for a moment, his back still turned to me—and then he finishes sealing the door.

  When he’s done, he gets up and moves the heavy jugs of water to the back of the room, then rearranges some bags of food so they’re not blocking the outer door.