Dead Time

by D. L. Orton

There’s a harsh beep, like the sound of a smoke detector triggering, and a few seconds later it stops.

  “There’s a goddamn helicopter out there,” James says.

  “A helicopter?” I say. “Dave?”

  “Well, he’s not in here,” James says. “After I let him chat with the access computer for an hour, he gave up and took the trucks back to the Bub. To be honest, I don’t think he wanted to be around when the two of you arrived.”

  “Smartest decision he’s ever made,” I say.

  “Mierda,” James says. “It’s landing right out front.”

  “Who’s flying it?” Bella asks.

  “Some guy without a suit or mask.”

  “Maybe he’s using the temporary vaccine?” I say, trying to fit the pieces together.

  “He’s the spitting image of that Civil War idiot, what’s-his-name…”

  “Custer,” I say.

  “Yeah. Zow-wee, that’s some mustache he’s sporting.”

  “Custer’s one of Dave’s minions,” I say. “I wouldn’t trust him as far as I can throw him.”

  “Gotcha. There’s a woman with him too—also without protective gear.”

  “It would seem this mountain is a very popular tourist destination,” I say. “Maybe you should sell tickets.”

  “And ruin the solitude?” James says. “I’d have to be nuts.”

  We hear the computer announcement out in the tunnel, followed by “Place your hand on the biometric panel and state your full name.”

  “Daddy?” a woman says. “Are you in there?”

  We hears James’s sharp intake of breath. “Soleil? Mierda, it’s good to see you! Give me a minute, and I’ll let you in.”

  “Have you heard from Mom?” she says. “I’m so worried about her. She left C-Bay—”

  “She’s in the airlock, sunshine,” James says, a smile in his voice. “She and Diego just arrived. They rode all the way out here on a scooter—the one right beside you—but she’s fine now. In another minute or two, she’ll be inside.”

  “Dad,” Soleil says, “she’s not fine. She has cancer. I found out yesterday.”

  The flashing Virus Detected light goes from red to orange.

  “Cancer?” James clears his throat. “Isa? Is that right?”

  She looks up at me, her eyes pleading, and I nod.

  “Yes,” she says and shuts her eyes, “but we don’t need forever.”

  “Not now,” James says, his voice breaking down again. “Not after all this time. Just… fuck.”

  “I found your medical records, Mom,” Soleil says. “You should have told me.”

  “What purpose would it have served, Sol? There was nothing to be done.”

  “Oh, Mom!” Soleil sounds like she’s crying too.

  There’s a click, and the LED light on the speaker goes off.

  We sit in silence, the virus detector green, and watch the timer count down from thirty. There’s another melodic bong and the inside door slides open.

  My sixty-year-old twin walks in breathing hard, his eyes red and swollen.

  “James,” Bella says and tries to stand.

  He rushes over and takes her in his arms.

  And something in this universe is right again.

  ∞

  I give them a few minutes together, and then James calls me into the Control Room.

  Bella is asleep in his arms, and I can see Soleil and Custer standing in the airlock, waiting for the all clear.

  Lucy knocks softly and steps in.

  I put my finger to my lips and then give her a big hug.

  “Lordy, Lordy,” she says, straightening the Air Force cap she’s wearing. “It’s good to see you, Mr. C—but you sure could use a shower.”

  I smile. “I’m looking forward to it.”

  She turns to James. “There’s a gurney in the hallway, James. If you want to put her on it, I’ll take her down to the hospital and get an IV started. Dr. Nadales is one of the best doctors in the world, and the facilities here are unbelievable. Don’t you fret, now. It’s in God’s hands.”

  James lifts Isabella up, sets her gently on the bed, and then covers her with another blanket. “I’ll be down as soon as Soleil comes in, Lucy.”

  She squeezes his arm and then wheels Isabella away from him.

  He stands there, staring into the empty hallway for half a minute.

  “So all the Bub folks are here?” I ask.

  “Yep,” he says. “Once we got the CO2 cleared out, everyone moved downstairs.”

  “And Shannon?” I say. “Did Dave get her out of Catersville?”

  “No,” James says. “That overconfident prick pissed off their new head honcho, and Catersville sent out the big guns to show him who’s boss. According to Ted—he’s the radio operator at C-Bay—Dave skedaddled out of there with his tail between his legs faster than you can say bait and switch.”

  “Mierda.”

  “And when he got back to C-Bay,” James says, “he tried to blame the whole thing on Shannon. Said she got into some sort of trouble with the law—so it’s not his fault.”

  “Shannon? Mierda, she’s as close to an angel as it gets. He probably just fucked it up and—”

  “—needed someone to blame it on,” James finishes for me.

  I clap him on the shoulder. “Goddamn, it’s nice to find someone else who thinks Kirk is a prick.”

  He laughs, but I can feel the rage behind it.

  “Do you know anything about a time machine?” I say. “A computer with wires attached to a barrel-sized capacitor and a big metal coffin. Might be in the bowling alley?”

  “Game room, actually. Lucas and I tried to use it hundreds of times before the carbon dioxide forced us out of there. We could never get past the lock screen.”

  I raise an eyebrow.

  “It’s some sort of riddle about a man who’s able to see the future but surrounded by cretins who don’t believe him.”

  “Woman,” I say. “Cassandra. She worked on the project—insisted that the targeting was off, but no one ever listened to her.”

  “I’ll show you how to power it up first thing in the morning,” he says. “Right now, let’s go meet my daughter.”

  40

  Smoke and Mirrors

  Shannon

  I set down my backpack and watch Peter light a small campfire of dry tree branches and some paper scraps from his pack. There’s a breeze blowing out of the east. So he’s arranged the wood next to a large boulder, using it as a windbreak.

  Now that we’ve stopped hiking, I’m getting cold. I pull my sweater up around my neck and rub my hands together. The sun is low in the sky and, with the rain last night, the air is cold and damp.

  I glance at the long, straight line of asphalt running next to us and then scan the treetops to the west.

  There’s no sign of the plane.

  “Grab me ten or twelve of those big leaves?” he says, pointing to a huge tree. “Just the green ones, please.”

  I do as he asks, water droplets raining down on me as I tear the wet leaves off the low-hanging branches. When I bring them back, the fire is blazing. I drop the leaves next to the boulder and move closer to the flames, warming my hands and face.

  He tosses two or three leaves on the fire, turning the heat into useless smoke.

  “What are you doing?” I ask, now cold and wet.

  “Making smoke.”

  I give him a funny look.

  “So the plane can find us.” He stands up. “As soon as they spot it, I’ll put it out.”

  Peter may not have read many books, but he knows a lot about how to survive—way more than I do.

  “Aren’t you worried someone else might see the smoke?” I ask, wrapping my arms around myself to stay warm.

  “Of course I am.” He walks over, stands behind me, and puts his arms around me. “But we’re six days out from Catersville, and I figure even if the men did manage to open the bulkheads, retrieve their biosuits, and get out thro
ugh an airlock, they won’t know which way we went.”

  I lean back against his chest, basking in his warmth.

  “But I could be wrong about the men following us,” Peter says, his cheek touching my temple. “That’s why I made you hike for an hour this morning—so we’d be away from the campsite.”

  Last night, Peter told me he wanted to leave camp early, so I said my goodbyes before bed. I told Gran that I’d talk to Mr. Kirk and ask him to send help—and that I’d tell him about the terrible conditions at Catersville and see if he would offer asylum to the women and children still imprisoned there.

  When Peter woke me up before dawn, I thought it was so we’d have plenty of time to find a makeshift runway. But just like always, he’s one step ahead of me.

  I shade my eyes and search the sky again.

  It’s full of scattered, high clouds and, with the breeze out of the east, it’s perfect flying weather. There’s still no sign of the plane, only bazillions of blackbirds flitting above the trees—like in that creepy old horror movie where the birds take over the world.

  I shiver and snuggle against Peter.

  We stand there in silence for a few minutes, watching the smoke rise.

  Then he lets go of me and puts more wood on the fire.

  After it catches, he tosses on even more leaves.

  I wait for him to come put his arms back around me, but he doesn’t. He just stands there with his hands in his pockets, staring at the smoke.

  “What are you thinking?” I finally ask.

  He shakes his head.

  “Peter?”

  He was super quiet last night, and when I asked him what was wrong, he got this agitated look in his eyes and said he didn’t want to talk about it.

  Even now, his dismissal makes my chest tight.

  “I know you thought we had more time,” I say, “but I told you my mom would come get me.”

  He nods, keeping his eyes on the fire.

  “You have to understand that Mr. Kirk needs the plane back, Peter. It would be selfish to expect them to wait around while you… decide.”

  I watch him stir up the coals with a stick.

  “Are you coming with me, Peter?”

  He gets that look in his eyes again. “I can’t abandon Gran and the other women.”

  I keep my gaze on the fire. “She’s the one who knows which berries to eat and where to dig for potatoes. And I know she can’t use a bow, but some of the other women are already better than I am.”

  “Yeah,” he says, kicking one of the burnt logs so it collapses into the coals.

  “And like you said, it’s been almost a week, and we haven’t seen any signs of the men—or anyone else.”

  He rubs his hand across the back of his neck but doesn’t respond.

  “And I know there are tons of birds to worry about, but the mammals are all dead, Peter. All the bears and mountain lions and wolves were killed by Doomsday. I’m not saying it’s safe, but don’t you think if the Others could survive for years in the Wilds without you, they could last for a couple more weeks Outside? Gran says we’re nearly halfway to Texas already… and they have the van to carry the heavy stuff… and plenty of batteries… and even if they ran out, they all know how to pump the tents up by hand.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it, Shannon, okay?”

  I stamp my foot and groan. “I hate it when you get like this.” I pick up a stick and hurl it into the fire. “It’s like you’re angry inside, and instead of talking to me, you push me away. So why don’t you just say it?” I force myself to look at him. “You don’t want to be with me anymore.”

  “Of course I want to be with you.” He looks up at me, the muscles in his neck standing out. “Why would you say something like that?”

  “Because it’s true.”

  He shakes his head, his eyes downcast.

  “What are you scared of?”

  He kicks a rock into the fire.

  “What is it, Peter?”

  “I’m afraid of losing you.”

  I stare at him, at a loss for words.

  He tosses another leaf on the fire. “I’m not coming with you.”

  I feel like the bottom just fell out of my world. “That doesn’t make any sense, Peter. I’m going back with Mom and Madders, and if you decide to stay here, you’ll be choosing to lose me.”

  “I’ll lose you either way, Shannon.” He meets my gaze. “But if I stay here, I won’t have to watch it happen. I won’t have to see you fall in love with some other boy who’s whip-smart and has read lots of books and knows how to make you laugh—and doesn’t keep getting angry inside.”

  “I didn’t mean it like that, Peter. I meant it like I… I want to know what you’re thinking. I want you to trust me.”

  “Yeah, well, I do trust you, but sometimes I need to be alone. That’s just the way I am.”

  I stand there, staring at the leaf-choked fire, feeling all the happiness drain out of me.

  A month ago, I would have given anything to be rescued, but now I’m not so sure I want to go back to my old life—especially if it means being stuck somewhere with Mom treating me like a child.

  Peter takes something out of his back pocket and offers it to me. “I thought maybe you’d want to take this with you. To remember me.”

  I glance at the book of poems and then up into his eyes. “So you’re going to let me go?”

  He nods, still holding out the book.

  “Fine.” I jerk it out of his hand and stick it inside my sweater.

  He motions with his head. “Plane’s here.”

  I whirl around and watch the Cessna flare, bounce down the old asphalt road, and roll to a stop fifty meters past us.

  Peter is already dumping water on the smoky mess behind me.

  Someone jumps out of the plane and starts running toward me—someone without a biosuit or a mask.

  “Mom?” I whisper.

  “Your mother’s… immune?” Peter says, sounding spooked. “Mookers, Shaz, why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Because I didn’t know,” I say and start running toward her. “Mom!”

  “Oh, Shannon!” She goes to hug me and then stops. “I don’t want to knock your mask off, baby.” She grabs my hands and squeezes them, tears streaming down her face. “It’s so good to see you. I’ve missed you so much!”

  “Me, too, Mom. I knew you’d come for me.”

  “Of course, I would. Are you okay, baby? Did they do anything to hurt you?”

  “I’m fine, Mom. Really.”

  Madders turns the plane around and taxis over to us. He waves, shuts down the engine, and a minute later, hops out.

  He’s wearing one of our masks.

  I jog over to meet him. The rebreathers seal onto your face, so it would be pretty hard to accidentally knock one off, but I’m careful anyway.

  He gives me a bear hug and then holds me by my shoulders, looking me over. “Your mother told me how you escaped that sodding place. I’m mighty proud of you, Shenanigans.”

  I give him a thumbs up, feeling almost silly about it now. “Identify the problem, engineer a fix, and Bob’s your uncle.”

  “That’s my girl!”

  “It was mostly Peter’s doing,” I say, “but I did show him how to make the masks.” I give him another hug. “Thanks for coming back.”

  He nods, looking a little choked up.

  “Come on,” I say and take his hand. “I want you to meet him.”

  Mom is helping Peter put out the fire.

  After I introduce Madders, the two guys shake hands, and then Madders puts his arm around me.

  “Thanks for taking care of Shannon for us,” he says to Peter. He glances at the bow Peter always has slung over his shoulder. “I hear you put Robin Hood to shame.”

  Peter nods, half-smiling, and turns to me, his eyes dark.

  He doesn’t know who Robin Hood is.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see Mom give me a knowing nod.


  “Excuse me for a minute,” Madders says. “I’m going to top off the fuel and check on the flaps. They didn’t want to come down when we landed, and I want to make sure it’s not something serious.” He gives me another squeeze and then turns to Peter. “Nice to meet you, son. I’m looking forward to hearing more about your adventures on the way home.”

  “He’s not coming with us,” Mom says like it’s the best thing since sandwich bread.

  Madders glances at me and I nod, my lips pressed together so I don’t cry.

  “Well,” he says and shrugs. “I guess it’s up to Shannon—and Peter.” He releases me. “Go ahead and load your stuff into the plane. I should have her ready to take off in a few minutes.”

  I watch Madders walk away and then give Peter a fierce look, angry that he told Mom—and even angrier that Mom’s so happy about it…

  I’m crushed that Peter doesn’t want to come with me.

  “I’ll help you load your stuff,” Peter says and turns away.

  “I can do it myself.” I hurry over and pick up my pack.

  “I know it’s hard right now, Shannon,” Mom calls after me. “But it’s for the best. You’re too young—both of you—and even though you can’t see it right now, it won’t end well. Soon enough you’ll have a crush on some other boy, and Peter will be left high and dry. He didn’t grow up in the same world you did, Shannon, and now that the two of you have gone and upset Catersville—Mr. Kirk says Peter’s wanted for murder—we can’t just drop him off on their front step when you get bored with him.”

  I stop and turn around, facing down my mother. “Is that what happened between you and my father? You got bored with him? But instead of crushing on ‘some other boy,’ you made the mistake of getting pregnant, and that ruined your life!”

  She takes a step back, looking horrified. “Of course not!”

  “Well it sure sounds that way, Mom.” I lift up my backpack and sling it over one shoulder.

  “No, Shannon. I never regretted having you, not for one moment.” She takes a step toward me, holding out her arms. “I love you more than anything in the world, baby. I just wish things had… turned out differently between your father and me.”

  I walk back to her, standing up for myself for the first time in my life. “So that’s why you won’t tell me who he is? And why you never got married? And why you won’t admit that you still love him? Were you too young to fall in love, Mom?”