Running Out of Time

by Margaret Peterson Haddix

“I know,” Ma said. Her voice was sympathetic, then turned brusque, the way it did when Nathan or Bartholomew asked for more food, and there wasn’t any. “Get changed and I’ll help you through.”

  Jessie looked at the strange clothes Ma called blue jeans and a T-shirt, and swallowed a lump in her throat. She took off her bonnet and handed it to Ma, then began unbuttoning her dress. The night air was cold on her skin and she slipped quickly into the shirt. It had short sleeves and wasn’t much protection.

  “Here. I have a windbreaker, too,” Ma said.

  Jessie put on the strange coat, which was slippery and had long rows of teethlike bumps along the front edges.

  “It’s made of something called nylon, and that’s a zipper in front,” Ma said, showing Jessie how to fasten it.

  Jessie thought she must look odd, with her woolen dress still hooked around her waist and the nylon jacket at the top. She sat down and took off her boots, then pulled off her dress and petticoat. Ma slipped the dress over a long branch.

  “I’m going to carry this to the cabin so people will think I’m bringing you back from the woods,” she explained.

  “That’s smart,” Jessie said as she pulled on the blue jeans. The pants’ metal teeth, it turned out, were also a zipper. The trousers were a little too big, but felt stiff around Jessie’s legs. Ma handed Jessie a pair of shoes she called sneakers—funny things made of cloth, with a sole that bent. But they flapped on Jessie’s feet no matter how tightly Ma tried to tie them.

  “You’ll have to keep your boots, because you may have to walk a mile or so to find a phone. I hope nobody notices your feet.”

  Jessie put her square-toed boots back on and stood up. She felt different, freer. But she missed the loose skirt around her legs.

  Ma pulled her back down to whisper, “You should unbraid your hair. I don’t know what the styles are now. You might have to cut it to fit in when you see. We don’t want anyone guessing you’re from Clifton.”

  Jessie yanked the pins out of her hair and it came down wavy from the braids. Ma held the lamp up to look at Jessie.

  “Well, you don’t look like 1840 anymore. You don’t look like 1984 either. Let’s hope you’ll do okay in 1996.”

  Ma put down the lamp and hugged Jessie long and hard. Jessie felt like crying, but she squeezed back the tears. She’d told Ma she was brave. Now she had to be.

  “Be careful, little one,” Ma said. Then she turned and began digging at the crack at the bottom of the rock. In a little bit, Jessie saw a round piece of rough metal. She could make out the letters MANHOLE across the rim. Ma pulled a handle at one side. Moving the lamp, Jessie could see a rusty iron ladder leading into darkness below.

  Ma kissed Jessie’s forehead and handed her the package to carry.

  “Go on, and I’ll cover the hole,” Ma said.

  Jessie started down the steps. The rungs of the ladder were mossy and slick. Jessie hesitated halfway down.

  “Shouldn’t I take a lamp?” she asked. Ma held her own lamp near the hole, but its light was weak and didn’t reach the bottom of the steps.

  “No,” Ma said. “That would give you away.”

  Jessie didn’t understand, but she kept climbing into the dark. Finally she felt the ground under her feet and began edging cautiously into the blackness.

  “Have you found the door?” Ma asked softly from above.

  The tip of Jessie’s boot scraped something and Jessie reached out her hand. She felt smooth metal and then a knob, also smooth. What kind of blacksmith made things that even and unblemished? Jessie’s pa was good—everyone said so—but even his best work had some bumps and pockmarks.

  “I think this is it,” Jessie whispered.

  “Good. I’ve got to leave now.” Jessie could hear the tears in her mother’s voice. “Godspeed.”

  Jessie didn’t trust her voice enough to reply. In seconds Ma had re-covered the hole, and everything was black.

  Jessie turned the knob.

  SIX

  Remembering Ma’s warning about guards, Jessie pushed the door open slowly. When the crack between the door and the wall was wide enough, she peeked out.

  The door led to a long, dimly lit corridor. No one was in sight, so Jessie stepped out and shut the door.

  The floor of the corridor was smooth and shiny, with a pattern of alternating black and white squares. They glistened, even in the dim light. To think: This had been down here the whole time Jessie lived in Clifton! Jessie had never seen a floor that wasn’t wood or dirt, so she bent down and felt it. She loved it—until she began walking. Her boots clattered so loudly she had to tiptoe.

  The lights in the corridor didn’t flicker at all—not like any candle or lamp Jessie had ever seen. She wasn’t tall enough to reach the globes that lit the hall every fifty feet or so, or she would have felt them, too. As far as she could tell, the globes held no flame. How could there be light without fire? Jessie wanted to go back and ask Ma, but resisted. Somehow she knew she’d have lots of questions, the longer she was away from home. Maybe Mr. Neeley could answer some of them. The rest she’d save for when she got back to Clifton.

  In spite of the sickness in Clifton and the mystery and danger Ma said she faced, Jessie felt a rising excitement. She was only a few minutes into her journey, and had already seen a miracle: flameless light. What more might she see? How could Ma and Pa have left such an amazing world?

  And then Jessie saw two men way down the hall. Pressing against the wall, Jessie wished the light was a little less steady.

  “—going to patrol there?” one man was asking.

  The other man glanced down the hall, and Jessie felt he was looking right at her.

  “Okay. You do the other end,” he said. “Did you punch in?”

  “Oh, thanks. I forgot. Knowing them, they wouldn’t pay me if I was five minutes late.”

  Both men passed out of sight. A minute later, Jessie heard a click down the long hall. What were they punching?

  The men’s voices were too low to hear now. Had they seen her, or heard her footsteps before she stopped? Jessie didn’t think so, but her heart pounded so loudly she couldn’t believe they couldn’t hear that. For a minute, she stood frozen, too scared to move. These had to be the guards Ma had warned her about. They mustn’t find her. She had to hide before they patrolled this hall.

  Tiptoeing as quickly and quietly as she could, Jessie raced back to the door she’d come through only a few moments before. She turned the knob every way she could, but the door didn’t give. Frantically, she tried jerking it, yanking it, pushing it.

  It was locked. It must have locked behind her.

  Jessie peered up and down the corridor. Its smooth walls seemed unbroken—but wait, straight down from this door there was a gaping darkness. Jessie wasn’t sure what it was. Her only hope, she thought.

  Jessie rushed toward the darkness. Behind her, she heard one of the men whistling off-key. She might have laughed at him if Ma’s words weren’t echoing in her head: “I believe they might kill, rather than have their secrets out.” She was sure the man was walking down the corridor now, though she was too scared to turn around and look. His steps were loud and fast; any minute now he’d be close enough to see her.

  Inches from the dark opening, Jessie took a chance and leaped.

  “Hey! Who’s there?” the guard yelled. His footsteps stopped, as though he was listening.

  In the safe darkness, Jessie let out a silent breath. The guard would have to go back for a lantern now, she thought, and she’d have time to figure out what to do.

  “Hey, Ernie,” the man called out. “Hit the lights, will you?”

  Almost instantly, the corridor was flooded with bright light. It seemed the man had turned on some kind of inside sun. Jessie suddenly wasn’t so fond of the miracle globes of flameless light. She had to think fast. She was still in a dark area, but enough light shone in from the corridor that she could see the tinker’s cart, a stagecoach, and a buggy like the o
ne visiting politicians used. There were also hoes, rakes, and a wheelbarrow. Absently, Jessie realized that the tinker, the stagecoach driver, and the politicians must only pretend to live in the 1800s when they visited Clifton: This was where their Clifton things were stored. But that didn’t matter now—where could she hide? Jessie saw a pile of burlap bags by the door. Was that the best place? Or was it the place the guards would look first?

  Jessie remembered a time she and Andrew had hidden under the stagecoach for a prank, planning to ride out a few miles before they jumped out and scared the passengers. They’d been found then, but the stagecoach looked like the best place to hide now.

  Moving quickly, Jessie dived under the stagecoach and crawled up by the wheel axles. She tucked her hair into the collar of her coat, afraid it would hang down and give her away. Clinging to the axle, she realized she’d left her package on the ground. She reached down for it just as the bright light burst into the room.

  “Well, I’ll be—Ernie, someone left the storage room open,” the guard said.

  “Maintenance always forgets,” the other one said. “I had to lock it last night, too. But—what’d you hear?”

  “Who knows? Mice? Look around.”

  Jessie heard the men pacing the large room. One kicked the pile of bags by the door, and Jessie was glad she hadn’t hidden there. The other guard opened the doors of the stagecoach and buggy. By the stagecoach, his foot was close enough Jessie could have reached down and touched it. She held her breath. Her arms ached from clutching the axle, but she just tightened her grip. She couldn’t be found. She couldn’t. Why wouldn’t the men leave?

  They pounded the wheelbarrow, kicked over the hoes and rakes. Jessie was sure her arms were going to give out. They began to tremble dangerously. Jessie felt dizzy from the lack of air, but was too scared to breathe.

  “Must have been mice,” the first guard finally said.

  “They should put out traps. Or poison.”

  “Yeah. Ready for coffee?”

  The light went out again, and the door slammed. Jessie heard the guards’ footsteps echo down the corridor. She gulped in fresh air, but for a long time was afraid to let go of the axle. With the door shut and the lights out, the room was totally dark. But Jessie kept seeing awful visions of herself being caught. She almost had been. What would have happened to her? What would have happened to Katie and all the other children who needed her to get help?

  Finally Jessie’s arms went numb and she dropped to the ground. She still crouched under the stagecoach, in case the men came back. Her ears roared from listening so hard to the silence. Was it safe to leave? Ma had said she should hide during the night in something called a rest room, which Ma described as an indoor outhouse. In the morning, when the tourists came in, Jessie could just walk out of the rest room like one of them. Jessie had thought how much easier the chore of emptying the chamber pots would be if she didn’t have to go outdoors. But she had wondered how people could stand the smell of an outhouse inside.

  Now, all she could think about was how she’d have to walk the whole length of the corridor to get to the rest room. What if she just stayed under the stagecoach? But no—it would look suspicious if she was found in this room in the morning. And Ma knew a lot more about the outside world than Jessie did. This wasn’t a good time to disobey.

  Reluctantly, Jessie crawled from under the stagecoach and inched toward the door. She listened at the door, heard nothing, then turned the knob. The door shut behind her and she knew it was locked, just like the first door. She had to get down the corridor without being seen or heard this time. Otherwise—Jessie didn’t let herself finish the thought.

  It seemed an eternity before Jessie reached a huge room at the end of the hall. Her ankles ached from the effort of tiptoeing. The whole hall slanted up ever so slightly; Jessie thought she might be at ground level by the end. Ma had explained that was how the tourist part of Clifton was designed—though she’d never been there, she remembered the diagrams when Clifton was first built. Ma said the big room was where tourists gathered during the day. Jessie peeked around the corner, hoping no one was in the room at night. But the guards were. They were sitting at a table at the far side of the enormous room. Coffee, Jessie remembered. They were drinking coffee.

  Jessie ducked back around the corner. Panic welled up in her. There was nowhere to hide now. All they had to do was walk this way and they’d see her.

  “—heard they’re hiring over at Ryan Industries,” one guard was saying.

  “Yeah? How much?”

  “Nine dollars an hour.”

  The other man whistled.

  “What shift?”

  “Second.”

  “You applied?”

  “Wilma wants me to. I’m going to look into it. Especially now they’re getting so picky here…. You’d think we were guarding a prison.”

  “Wouldn’t you want out, if you was those people? ‘Sides, they never said we was supposed to look for escapees.”

  “What else we looking for? Ever heard of so many guards at a place like this?”

  “I don’t know…. Did I tell you? Jack said they’re going to close this place soon, anyhow. No more tourists, no more freaky people living in the past, no more paychecks for us.”

  “That rumor’s been going around for years….”

  Jessie didn’t hear the other man’s answer. What did he mean, close the place? Why wouldn’t there be any more tourists? What would happen to everyone in Clifton? It was a puzzle Jessie didn’t have time to worry about. She stored the idea with all the mysterious things Ma had told her, to think about later. She risked another look around the corner. And then she saw it, not far along the wall in the opposite direction from the two men: a sign that said REST ROOMS, with an arrow.

  Jessie thought it was dark enough on that side of the room that they wouldn’t see her. And there were enough tables between her and them…. She decided to crawl.

  Strapping her package around her neck, Jessie crouched along the wall. Each motion took great nerve. She wished she’d stayed by the stagecoach. She wished Ma had picked someone else to leave Clifton. Andrew, maybe. She wished Katie and the others had never gotten sick. She wished she’d never heard of the world outside Clifton. She wished Ma and Pa had never moved to Clifton, but stuck with whatever happened in the twentieth century.

  Wishing all that, Jessie reached the sign with the arrow and followed the arrow down a short hall. There were two doors. Looking up, Jessie could see the word LADIES on one, with a small silhouette of a woman in a bonnet and long dress, like Ma or any of the other women in Clifton might wear. The sight comforted Jessie. The silhouette was etched in a strange hard substance, but Jessie didn’t take the time to marvel at it.

  She pushed open the door and went to sit on an odd white chair that matched her mother’s description of a “toilet.” It would not be a comfortable place to sleep, but Ma had insisted.

  Jessie crossed her legs up on the toilet, as Ma had directed, and leaned her head against the smooth metal wall around the toilet. She had made it safely. The guards hadn’t caught her. Her terror slipped away, and she fell asleep wondering how this indoor outhouse could be used more than once, since the toilet was so shallow.

  SEVEN

  Whoosh!

  Jessie woke to an awful sound of rushing water. She remembered learning about the Niagara Falls in geography—was this what they sounded like?

  Confused by the noise, at first Jessie couldn’t remember where she was and why she wasn’t sleeping cozily in the bed she shared with Hannah. Her whole body ached from trying to balance on the white porcelain chair—the toilet—all night. She wondered if it was safe to move yet. The room was as bright as midday, but Jessie couldn’t see any windows. So it was those globe things again, putting out more light than Jessie had ever seen from a candle or a lamp. Even though the lights had almost led to her capture the night before, now that she was safe, she decided once again that they were in
credible.

  “Heather, is that the ring Jason gave you?”

  “Yeah. Like it?”

  The voices came from in front of Jessie’s little metal stall. She was so eager to see what real 1996 girls looked like that she knocked her elbow against the back of her toilet getting up.

  Whoosh!

  This time the sound came from her toilet. The water swirled powerfully, then disappeared. In a few moments, more came pouring in from the back. Jessie watched it in amazement and felt the pipes that led to the wall. So that was why the toilet hole wasn’t very deep. But where did the water go?

  Jessie decided it was too much of a mystery. She went to the door she’d fastened so carefully the night before. Through a crack, she could see three girls standing before a mirror. One had her hand held out for the other two to see. All three girls had hair as wild as Jessie’s, and Jessie grinned. Her hair fit in without her having to do a thing with it! For the first time she could remember, she could get up in the morning without trying to braid her hair.

  Jessie tried to see what the girls were wearing, to compare with her own clothes. But it was hard to tell through the narrow crack. And while Jessie was peering out, the girls finished admiring Heather’s ring and left.

  Jessie wanted to follow them, but first she wanted to find an outhouse. She started to unfasten her door, then remembered she didn’t have to. Minutes later, she pushed the whoosh lever and felt quite proud that she’d figured out 1996.

  Finally stepping out of her stall, Jessie faced the mirror. It was enormous, stretching the entire length of the wall. And unlike all the mirrors in Clifton, it was clear and undistorted. For the first time in her life, Jessie saw herself without waves and lines and blotches.

  Half fearing this might be another mirror people watched through, Jessie still stared in fascination. Her dark hair, unbraided, swirled around her head like a cloud. Digging through the bag Ma had given her, Jessie pulled out a wooden comb and began yanking it through her tangles. She went slowly, preoccupied with gazing in the mirror. Her eyes, she saw for the first time, were exactly the same color as Pa’s in sunlight: greenish with flecks of hazel. But hers were impatient, curious, and she had never seen his look that way.