Time Trap

by David Staves

  It was a rescue machine! He must have been in a cave, and this thing rescued him. It was going to take him back to Mom, Dad, and Anya. Maybe he had hit his head. His fingers rubbed the skin of his soaked scalp looking for some kind of cut or bump. There was nothing.

  "I'm being rescued!” he heard his voice whisper in the small cabin.

  It seemed like a bad dream made real. Ezra envisioned his mother and father waiting in a hospital with Anya. Everything would go back to normal now. He made it!

  He imagined their tear-filled reunion. This thought, of the embrace of his parents, brought a smile to his face.

  He looked outside of the forward porthole. He could see lightning in the distance. Every time the lightning flashed, he thought he caught glimpses of the outside. Was that a tree? The branches were silhouetted against a black-violet storm cloud.

  It was by the light from these violent flashes that he finally determined that he was on the ground in some type of wetland. Now, at last, he might start making sense of what was happening.

  The landscape outside stopped moving. Ezra still felt no sensation of movement. He remembered the word from science: inertia.

  He settled himself back into the metal chair, fighting the sensation of vertigo. He was frightened by what he saw and felt. It made no sense. His body told him the craft was sitting still, but the view outside had rushed past then suddenly halted. These were not the forests of home. Instead, it was marshy, wet, swampland. He questioned the situation again. Where was his rescuer? What kind of vehicle was this? Just as he reached to open the door, the pod came to life. The lights of the instrument panel were vivid. There were touch screen panels and holographic displays on almost every surface. He had mistaken this for an old vehicle. It appeared to be very modern.

  He saw there was a map indicating his location. He touched the screen and was pleased when it reacted, zooming into his position. There were city streets with the shapes of buildings. This was placing him next to a blue 'H,' the symbol for a hospital. It was not a hospital he recognized. There was no writing on the screen. No street names. He got excited when he saw what looked like his middle school in the northwest corner of the screen. That had to be it! But the area around it seemed to be full of buildings. And there were no other symbols other than the 'H.' There were no buildings in the field near his middle school. He and his friends had raced that way a million times! Maybe it wasn't his school. The streets seemed familiar despite having no labels.

  He jumped out of his skin when the voice screeched over the speakers in front of him.

  "Through the back, boy! Behind you,” the static voice was a bit clearer. It was mechanical, robotic almost.

  He looked behind him and was surprised to see another sealed doorway beside the one he was brought through. This pod was part of a larger craft. He cautiously stepped around the single bucket seat. A small hole slowly opened like an iris. He crawled through the opening carefully.

  He found himself in a well-lit spherical room. He crawled out of the passage and stood up. It was a much larger version of the pod. What appeared to be touch screen monitors glowed all over the room. Hologram's hovered everywhere.

  An upright figure of a man stood in the center of the room. He regarded the boy from a raised dais.

  The man stood solid in black leather boots, jeans, and a zipped-up leather jacket. He was dressed oddly for a rescue worker. He looks like a biker! Ezra thought. Maybe a cop? He had a holstered weapon. His eyes were locked on the boy, his lips set in a wry expression.

  The electric voice boomed all around him this time. It wasn't the man. "It is my pleasure, as the automated captain of this vessel, to introduce the esteemed Doctor August Flavius Plimpt to Earthling Ezra Quell."

  "Hello, Ezra. I wish we were meeting under different circumstances,” the wrinkles of his eyes said he was middle-aged. The look in his eyes said something different. Ezra struggled to put an age on the guy. How could someone seem young and old at the same time? Ezra’s mom used to call him an ‘old soul.’ He wondered if it was something like that…

  Ezra did his best to stand up straight, to look the man in the eyes, "What is this? Where have you taken me?"

  "I'm afraid you are asking the wrong question. You should be asking ‘when’ not ‘where.’ We haven't gone anywhere. We are at the site of your former home," the man's expression was stern.

  "The site of my former home, why would you call it that?" desperation flared, "It looks like a swamp out there! This is not home!" he was yelling, "Where is my family? Where is my mom?” He was crying now.

  "Sorry boy." the man's expression softened. "Your journey is only beginning. Maybe you'll find the answers you're looking for. Sorry to say, I don't have them."

  "I thought you were saving me! Where is my family?” Ezra could feel panic welling up in his throat.

  "Yeah, I saved you. But we're not quite out of the woods." the man looked at him with the most solemn expression.

  Ezra had a sudden urge to laugh. Tears were still streaming down his face.

  Assess, his father's voice whispered. Maybe the map was malfunctioning. He knew there was a golf course somewhere near his house that sometimes flooded. That might explain the flat landscape outside.

  He knew he wasn't dreaming. Was this who he saw in the hallway? No. That was someone else, he was sure. And this craft seemed more like a submarine than anything used for rescue on dry land. His mom and dad taught him to always be respectful of his elders. He bit his lip. Assess. He formulated his next question carefully.

  "Wha-?" his question was cut off by a bang. The room shook. He held onto the curved metal wall, somehow managing to stay on his feet. Something hit this craft. The lights were winking on and off, and the man had fallen. He was struggling to regain his footing. He looked up at the boy, a look full of pity.

  Somewhere overhead, a speaker crackled to life. The mechanical voice he heard when he was outside, the one that walked him through his escape, spoke urgently. "One of the creatures has breached the hull in the center quadrant! Evacuation will be required unless we take action immediately!"

  The man regained his footing. "We’ve been discovered. Find the mill. Use this if it finds you," he unholstered his gun, "follow the road uphill. The mill should be a large building at the crest of the hill.” He tossed the gun to Ezra. It hit the metal floor and slid to his feet. He picked it up. Heavy. Smooth. Metal. "You better run. I'll try to hold it here."

  A barrier came down over the dais where the guy was standing. "Ezra, when you get there, call me. Call for Gus. Don't try to kill it. Only use the weapon if you have no choice. I have no way of knowing if it will even harm it. Just keep running until you get to the mill. It's bad business, but you've already made it through the worst part. And beware the overlaps. I wish I had time to explain. If you can get to the mill, you'll be fine. I hope you run fast for your sake. I'll do all I can," the guy rubbed his eyes, blinking, and squinting. He was a sorrowful man. Was he wiping away tears? He seemed impossibly old for a man so young. Another boom rocked the craft.

  Ezra watched as a crack on the ceiling became a crevasse. Three glistening fingers tipped with curved claws slipped into the crack and began pulling. The sound of rivets popping as metal protested with a high screech made Ezra want to cover his ears. No time.

  The man stood looking forlorn, a misbegotten spectator, from behind the tube which now enclosed his dais. Ezra watched in horror as the claws made slow progress. The lights of the room were flickering. Ezra turned to retreat through the passageway. The spiraled iris closed behind him as he returned to the original rescue pod. He was surprised to see the instrument panel lit up. There was a star marked on the map.

  The little speaker under the porthole crackled back to life, "That's it boy, Chapel Creek Mill. Good kid. Smart kid. Go there. You know the way. And go now. It wants you bad! Really bad! It smells you. No time for a suit. It'll slow you down anyways. You better run faster than you've ever run! Go, boy, go!" t
his was the original voice. This was not the man. Somehow it was the machine, the craft that he now needed to escape from.

  "Wait!" he gasped, "Who are you?” He spoke into a small speaker set into the display panel.

  "I am Casper. I am a friend. No time boy!" the voice sounded excited and afraid. The exterior hatch popped open letting in the reeking air from outside.

  Ezra started toward the door and paused, putting his lips close to the speaker and whispered: "How did you know my name is Ezra?"

  He didn't wait for the answer to this question, this key question, so crucial to his purpose, his destiny, in this doomed realm. It was a question that the great Dr. August Flavius Plimpt failed to contemplate, being of a culture that took robots and their keen insight, for granted.

  With this final unanswered inquiry, he fled. The old cabin door popped open. The exterior sounds of rushing wind had been replaced with an eerie howl. The outside air was thick and muggy. What was that smell? It reminded him of the time their septic system had needed to be dug up. Disgusting!

  The moist air forced its way into the cabin, lapping at his face and pawing at his hair and shirt.

  He lost grip of the exterior hatch and landed face first into a slimy pool of muck. He peeked behind him, trying to get a glimpse of the creature on top of the craft. It was obscured by the darkness and storm. The musty air weighed heavy on his body. Thick viscous drops of water pelted him as the thing continued to bang and rip far above.

  The shadows seemed to deepen. Ezra heard Casper’s synthesized voice tell him to run. Find the mill, he had said. He had no shoes, he didn't even have socks on his feet; just sweatpants, and a t-shirt. A blade of lightning sliced the sky. His heart leapt in his chest when he saw the thing lit up in electric blue. It was a vicious looking monster, covered in what looked like sludge and spikes. It was hunched on the roof of the spherical craft. Ezra heard the sound of wrenching metal. The thunder clapped so loud it propelled him off of his feet and into a tangle of thorny brush.

  Of all the horrors of this bad nightmare, he had never felt such fear. Despair clutched his throat. Desperation pricked his skin. Run, his rescuer had said. His exhausted brain picked out the horrific details. His body refused the command to move. Run! Assess! Run! He watched frozen as this inky thing pulled a sheet of bent metal off the roof of the craft and flung it into the murky expanse.

  Finally, Ezra mustered the strength to pull his body up, the flatulent muck protested wetly, and the thorny brush ripped into his flesh.

  He looked back one more time at the slimy bony thing. It was evil. It was looking in his direction, sniffing the air. An irking intelligence coiled within its vile countenance.

  The reek of rotting death clutched his stomach muscles. His eyes began watering. Through the blur, he could make out the shape of massive horns on the devil-thing's head. Its skin rippled, as if with a layer of worms. Its face split in a ghastly grin. The mouth was filled with needle-sharp fangs, row upon row. Its massive sticky body slurped as it rose to sniff the air.

  A grotesque clicking sound resonated as it gulped air. He thought its red eyes were looking right at him.

  His bones shuddered. This thing would not kill quickly. It would feed on the soul of its prey. The man, Gus, called it a creature. It was no creature, it was a demon. Somehow, he knew it was from the devil. It wanted more than flesh. It wanted his essence, his spirit, his soul. "Devil," he whispered, inhaling stinking air through his teeth.

  The machines that saved him seemed so big before, now looked like toys. Flimsy little toys. He turned and began to run. The devil thing continued ripping at the craft.

  Don't look back, don't look, don't!

  He scrambled to his feet. He was running full speed when he heard more violence: gristly slurping and popping sounds followed by snapping and crunching that hurt his ears. He listened to the monster's guttural barking. The noises reminded him of laughter.

  He ran uphill like they said. Look for the road! He sprinted out of the swamp into the blotted darkness of a forest. Though his skin was ripped and torn by the thorny brush, he felt no pain. His bare feet caught purchase in the spongy ground, and the muscles in his legs propelled him mightily. He was swiftness and speed. The uncatchable boy of Raven Middle School, running for his life: Ezra the nimble, Ezra the swift.

  Dark World's Embrace

  Distant Future

  North America

  Earth

  If a guardian caught him, it might be a big deal. Though he was prepared to defend himself, he was paying tribute. He could prove it.

  The kid was another matter.

  This was no guardian. Based on the readings, it was possibly alien.

  Whatever it was, it was hostile.

  He tried to formulate a plan. Gus could lead the creature away and double back for the boy.

  As the creature got closer, its scale became apparent. It was twice as large as a grizzly bear according to the scans. It was also fast and sleek, judging by how quickly it had covered the ground between it and Gus’ craft.

  He hoped he could hold the creature back. He had to survive! He had to find Rose. Together they would succeed in finding the answer to their mystery. She was hell-bent since the death of their son. Only she wouldn't tell him what she planned. He hadn't bothered to ask. He had been too consumed with himself, trying to navigate their loss in his own way.

  She was the reason he took on this whole situation, he had to find her. His heart ached. He thought of the boy, realizing for the first time that the child lost his entire family.

  There wasn't any time to waste on sentimentality. Save it for later, Gus told himself. Now was time to survive.

  The creature would be here at any moment now.

  He felt the old but familiar feeling of adrenaline. The hair on his bare arm was standing on edge. How many decades since he had been in danger? He wasn't nervous. He wasn't afraid. He was utterly composed, ready to face the consequences of his actions without regret.

  Gus made one last calculation, trying to determine the organics of the thing. Could be synthetic, he thought.

  He never understood the appeal of synthetic life, but who was he to criticize another scientist for wanting to try his hand at playing God? That’s what had gotten them all exiled after all!

  Whatever the life form might be, it had none of the elements essential to synthetic life as understood by his computer.

  Gus turned on the exterior floodlights. He had to keep the creature's focus on his craft. For now, he should be safe.

  "The creature has breached the hull,” Casper’s nervous voice interrupted his concentration. The location of the breach appeared in a hologram in the center of the command module.

  He checked the batteries and primed the cells of his blaster.

  He took one more look at his maps. Chapel Creek Mill was their best hope for an interface station.

  The ceiling of the chamber split open. It reminded Gus of a cracked egg.

  A twisted blur, emitting the gnarled and vicious growl of a predator, dropped from the cracked ceiling.

  Gus confirmed that the boy was outside of the craft then gave the command: “NOW!”

  Casper fought valiantly.

  Arcs of violet-blue energy danced around the passenger cabin. A circle of molten flesh appeared in the creature's torso as one of the arches leapt through it.

  He expected it to fall over or something.

  Its body filled the entire command module. Instead of falling, it shifted its attention from Gus. It sniffed the air, now filling with a stench from outside, and then looked in the direction the boy had fled.

  Gus was glad he had given a weapon to the boy. It was old and quite illegal, but if this kind of attack didn't kill it, the gun wouldn't either. Maybe it would slow it down. It would protect the boy from other threats as well. There were other creatures out there.

  Casper increased voltage. Finally, it was having an effect. The creature stiffened, pulsated and then began
retreating through the hull breach. Casper increased the energy again, turning it to maximum output. Gus watched from the protection of the command dais’ barrier. He wondered if Casper's own memory cells would fry. It fell from the ceiling again, hitting the floor hard. It was still moving, though its flesh was charred and melting. It got back up, moving more slowly. Gus watched as the batteries drained from his craft, bit by bit until they were bone dry. The creature was still moving, though clearly hurt. Its progress was slow. He watched as it awkwardly slithered back out of the hole in the ceiling.

  Gus was cursing under his breath. He was checking the scans of the creature during the attack. What was this? Never had he seen such a shift in the temporal fields. Never.

  He hoped that the boy had heard him and was heading for the mill.

  He hoped that he had damaged the creature enough to buy him enough time to get to safety.

  "Status report?" he called out to Casper. There was no response.

  "Casper?" he risked yelling out. Gus's voice echoed in the ruined command module. He sounded old and tired.

  He opened the exterior hatch and hopped out. He landed in swampy muck up to his waist.

  He hadn't prayed for years. Gus was praying now. He prayed for the boy. He prayed for himself. Most of all he prayed for the one he had come here for, his wife Rose, wherever she had ended up. A swell of anger tinged grief mixed with longing and love motivated him to pursue this mission. He had to see it through. It was the only way of finding Rose.

  House

  Rotting Refuge

  His body was wet. Wet from the creek, the woods, the sweat. His scalp was cold from dripping hair. There was pain too. The rhythm of his ragged breathing slowed. He realized he had scrapes all over him. Some of the wetness was sticky and cloying. Blood. He examined his body, finding nothing severe enough to stop him.