OtherLife

by Jason Segel

  “So you’re going to use disguises and devices to visit this young man in prison?” James Ogubu sums it up once Kat has finished. “Does your mother know about all of this?” he asks Busara.

  I see him frown when his daughter laughs at the mere idea.

  “But she is on the island with you,” he follows up.

  “Of course,” Busara says.

  The answer seems to give him some solace. “You’re going to a great deal of effort to see this Max Prince. What do you imagine he’s going to tell you?” James asks.

  “We’re not sure,” Busara confesses.

  “The Company has been testing the OtherEarth disk on men in New York,” I say. “Several of them have ended up dead or under arrest for assault or murder. Max Prince’s mother is convinced her son has some kind of proof.”

  “What do you think the Company’s end game might be?” James Ogubu asks. “This is different from the Facility. They’ve taken an enormous risk testing their product out in the open in this way. What do you suppose they’re after?”

  “They want to make money,” Kat says. You can practically hear the duh in her voice.

  James Ogubu blinks. “How well do you know your stepfather, Kat? Do you think money is what drives him?”

  I once sat in a boardroom with Wayne Gibson and the Company’s board of directors. You never would have guessed which man was in charge. The other guys all wore bespoke suits and watches that cost more than the average house. Wayne had on a pair of Dockers and a button-down shirt that looked like he’d bought it on sale at Walmart.

  “I couldn’t say,” Kat responds.

  “Well, I only met the man a few times,” says James Ogubu. “But he didn’t strike me as the sort who’s driven by a desire for the finer things in life.”

  Ogubu is right. When Wayne moved to Brockenhurst, he could have bought a mansion. Instead he chose to fix up an old shack in the woods. I don’t think living large is his motivation.

  “Wayne wants power,” Busara says.

  “Certainly,” her father agrees. “But why? How does he intend to use it?”

  The two girls are stumped once again. “I don’t know,” Kat says.

  James Ogubu smiles. “I’m glad to hear you admit it. Only dangerous people believe they have all the answers.”

  I get the sense he’s trying to tell us something, but I can’t figure out what it is.

  “Perhaps if you got to know your stepfather a bit better, you might figure out what he wants.”

  “I’m not sure that’s an option,” Kat says. “It’s not like he’s going to answer my calls.”

  James Ogubu turns to his daughter. “You should ask your mother what she thinks. She’s an excellent judge of character. Among other things.”

  “Mom?” Busara replies as though the suggestion makes no sense. These days, her mother looks to her for help—not the other way around. That must be what Busara’s thinking when her eyes suddenly widen with horror. “Oh my God! What am I going to do with Mom when the rest of us go back to New York? We can’t leave her on the island with Princess Paranoia.”

  “I wouldn’t worry too much about your mother,” James replies. “You haven’t known her as long as I have. Nasha is the ultimate survivor.”

  I should join the conversation, but something outside the window has caught my eye. The lights in a nearby building are flashing as the décor in one of the apartments changes. Modern, rustic, tatami mat, log cabin. The ability to change the décor was one of the perks provided to residents of the White City. They could choose from a vast menu of options. A few blocks away, another apartment begins flashing. I’m confused. There shouldn’t be anyone else inside the White City.

  I look back over my shoulder to see James Ogubu watching me. I get the sense he’s been waiting for one of us to notice the lights. Kat and Busara catch on and swivel to face me.

  “There are people out there,” I say. “Who are they?”

  “Not people. Children,” Ogubu says. “They began moving in months ago.”

  “Months ago?” Busara asks. “But I was here this morning.”

  When James Ogubu looks down at his daughter, he reminds me of the Clay Man, the avatar Busara once used here. Now that I think about it, I’m sure that isn’t a coincidence. Busara’s father has always been her hero. There was a time when she would have happily sacrificed me to save him. “Your morning was a long time ago,” Ogubu replies.

  Our world and Otherworld are out of sync. Time moves much faster here. But since we brought James Ogubu to the White City, we’ve had no way to judge how fast it’s passing. Until now, nothing’s ever changed.

  Kat, Busara and I all gather at the window. A third of the neighboring apartments now appear to be occupied.

  “I’ve been worried this would happen,” James Ogubu says.

  “Worried? Why?” Kat asks. “The buildings went to waste for so long. Why shouldn’t the Children make use of them?”

  “It’s not the buildings that concern me,” Ogubu tells her. “It’s the technology that was left behind in them. The Children are about to take a giant leap forward. Like humans, they are still a young species. I don’t know if they’re ready.”

  “Humans are a young species?” I ask. “The Children started showing up less than a year ago Earth time. We’ve been around for millennia.”

  “Yes, and three hundred years ago, there wasn’t a human on Earth with indoor plumbing,” Ogubu replies. “Today we’re creating new worlds. We aren’t ready for the responsibility. Neither are the Children.”

  * * *

  —

  I’m the first to remove my headset and hop off my multidirectional treadmill. It’s dark in the game room. With the headsets on, there’s no need for lights. I can hear the soft hum of the treadmills’ motors and Busara’s muffled words as she says her goodbyes to her father. Outside, the night sky is filled with stars. The constellations passing over us are the ones the pharaohs saw. The same ones our ancestors drew on the walls of their caves. They’ll still be there, I think, when our species finally destroys itself.

  I head for the living room, where Elvis is working. He yelps with surprise when I appear in front of him.

  “What the hell, Simon,” he says, clutching his chest like an old man. “I thought you were going with the girls to Otherworld.”

  “I did,” I tell him. “I was there for at least an hour.”

  “You literally left ten seconds ago,” Elvis tells me.

  “Time is speeding up there,” I tell him. “And the Children are moving into the White City. They’re using the technology that was left behind.”

  “Yikes.” Elvis grimaces. “That shit’s going to get ugly.”

  “James Ogubu said the same thing—without the profanity.”

  “Not surprised.” Elvis returns to his tinkering. “Great minds think alike.”

  “Since I’m back early, is there anything I can do?”

  Elvis sighs and points to a chair and slides one of the hats over. I think he was looking forward to some time alone. “Sit down and get to work. If we get these done fast enough, we may be able to leave in the morning. This time it’s our world that needs to be saved.”

  I’m standing on one of the bridges that cross Brooklyn’s Gowanus Canal. The brown, frothy water below reeks of chemicals and sewage. The sun is rising over the city, and I can hear helicopters in the distance. I feel more at peace here than anywhere on Abigail’s island. I don’t want to go back.

  “Something’s happening,” says the Kishka. “Abigail shouldn’t have brought you to this island.”

  “I don’t like it, either,” I say. “But where else could we have gone?”

  The Kishka turns his eyes to the sky. “It’s starting to look like you jumped out of the frying pan and into the fire.”

 
The helicopters are getting closer. There are three of them coming—slick black machines that can dart like dragonflies. The peace is long gone now. My anxiety is building. They’re coming for us.

  “Wake up, Simon,” the Kishka orders. “Wake up now.”

  * * *

  —

  My eyes instantly open. The pale light of dawn is filtering through the shutters. I can still hear helicopters in the distance.

  I shake Kat awake. “Get dressed,” I tell her as I pull on my jeans. “The Company’s coming.”

  “What?” Kat asks groggily, wiping the sleep from her eyes. “How do you know?”

  “The Kishka told me,” I say. I can’t think of another explanation to offer. It does the trick. Kat leaps out of bed and into a sundress she left in a pile on the floor.

  The sound of the helicopters is growing louder, but they’re not here yet. I have a hunch they’ll use the garden as a landing pad. If not for the Kishka’s warning, we’d all be dead soon.

  Kat and I hurry to wake the others and find them already up and rushing toward us, Busara’s mom in the lead. She’s fully dressed in a black tracksuit, her braids pulled back in a no-nonsense bun.

  “Have you seen Abigail?” she asks.

  “No,” Kat says.

  “Damn it, where did that woman get to?” Nasha mutters. “Come on then, follow me,” she orders the rest of us.

  “Where are we going? What’s going on?” Busara’s the only one asking questions. The rest of us follow without argument. This is not the Nasha Ogubu I’ve come to know. But whoever it is, she clearly knows what she’s doing.

  We stick close behind Nasha as she leads us out of the house and into a grove of nutmeg trees on the north side of the garden. The helicopters are overhead now, and the bright beams of light cast from their bellies are dancing on the lawn. If one of those beams was aimed at the grove, we’d be instantly exposed. I’m starting to wonder if we should have trusted Nasha. The safest route would have taken us out toward the ocean. Instead, we’re plunging deeper into the center of an island that’s on the verge of being invaded.

  I’m about to ask where we’re going when Nasha stops, reaches down and pulls up a perfectly camouflaged trapdoor. There’s a set of stairs underneath.

  “Go,” she orders. The helicopters are getting closer. The rest of us hesitate.

  “What’s down there?” Busara is staring at her mother as if she suspects an impostor.

  “A safe room,” Nasha says. “Now go!”

  At the bottom of the stairs is a wall that appears featureless aside from a biometric lock. Nasha closes the trapdoor above. In the dark, the lock’s screen glows green. Nasha presses her palm against the screen and the entire wall slides to the side. The room beyond is lit by screens showing footage from security cameras posted all around the island.

  “How the hell did you know this was here?” Elvis voices the question we’re all thinking.

  Busara flinches when she hears her boyfriend curse in front of her mother.

  “What did you think I was looking for on all my walks around the island—flowers and seashells?”

  Busara’s jaw has hit the ground. Her eyes follow Nasha as her mother switches on more lights. There are bunk beds against one wall, food rations stacked against another. We have everything we need to live underground for a week.

  “But how—” Kat starts.

  “You think a woman like Abigail Prince wouldn’t have safe rooms hidden all around the island?” Nasha says, cutting the question short. “Until her fortress is completed, she’s a sitting duck.”

  “Yeah, but, Mom—” Busara keeps blinking like she can’t trust her eyes.

  “How about we get through this first,” her mother answers, pointing up at a screen that shows helicopters descending. “Once the guests are gone you can all ask your questions. If you’re lucky, I’ll answer a few of them.”

  I don’t know if I can wait that long, honestly. The curiosity might kill me. How did she find the safe room? How did she just open the door?

  Busara steps closer to the screens. “Do you think it’s the Company?” she asks me.

  There are no markings on the aircraft, as far as I can see. The three of them are identical—jet-black with tinted windows.

  “Yes,” her mother responds before I can open my mouth. “It’s the Company.”

  As soon as the helicopters touch ground, soldiers begin to spill out. Dressed in head-to-toe black, their faces covered, they all look like ninjas on steroids. That’s probably exactly what they are. I count fifteen of them before all but two disappear, fanning out in every direction. Within seconds, there’s a rattle of gunfire in the jungle. The irony is rich. Abigail wanted to be prepared. But when the invasion arrived, her fortress was still under construction.

  The remaining ninjas position themselves on either side of an open door on the helicopter nearest the house. A man in Dockers and a blue button-down shirt steps out. As he walks toward the house, the ninjas follow him. Wayne looks like he’s done this kind of thing before.

  A figure in a long white nightgown appears in the door of the house. Abigail rushes out, fleeing in the direction of the safe room, her blond hair and silk robe fluttering behind her. She’s too late.

  “Shit,” Nasha says. “Why didn’t she wait in her room like I told her!”

  One of the ninjas has captured Abigail and is dragging her toward Wayne. I see her shouting over the helicopters. I can’t hear a word she’s saying, but it’s pretty damned obvious she’s not happy.

  The helicopter engines begin to die down, and the sound of Abigail’s voice rises above them.

  “Who the hell are you? What are you doing here? Do you know who I am? Are you from the Company? Give me my son, you evil bastards!” She turns her head back toward the house. Standing outside, two of the workers who were hired to protect the island have appeared. “Help me!” she shouts to them. Both instantly drop to their knees, their hands held high in the air.

  Wayne pulls a gun from a holster clipped to the back of his pants. There are two loud bangs, and the workers both slump to the ground. A pair of ninjas step over the men’s bodies and disappear inside.

  “Put Ms. Prince in the chopper,” Wayne orders. “Lock her up good. We have work to do.”

  Abigail is dragged kicking and screaming toward the helicopter. The silk of her nightgown glows in the moonlight. We watch in silence as the men strap her into a seat and leave her behind.

  “What do they want from Abigail?” Busara asks.

  “I don’t know, but we can’t let them take her,” Kat replies.

  Before Nasha has a chance to stop her, Kat is up the stairs and racing across the lawn toward Abigail. I head after her.

  “Simon, no!” Nasha shouts after me.

  But I have no choice but to follow. Kat doesn’t really need my protection. There just won’t be any point in living if she gets shot.

  We find Abigail immobilized inside the chopper, and Kat immediately begins loosening the restraints. There’s no telling where Wayne’s men have gone, but they’ll probably be back soon.

  “Stop!” Abigail insists. “If you free me, they’ll know you’re here. They’ll search until they find you.”

  “Why are they taking you?” I ask her. “What do they want?”

  Abigail clutches my forearm, her fingers digging into my flesh. Without makeup, she looks like a ghost. “It doesn’t matter. You have to hide. Let them have me. Just promise me that you’ll save my Max.”

  * * *

  —

  The security cameras across the island went out at some point in the night. The monitors in the safe room show nothing but snow. When I open the trapdoor, I can hear waves lapping against the shore. The sun is peeking above the horizon, and the soft purple light of daybreak reveals what at first ap
pears to be a peaceful scene. The birds are calling to one another, and the breeze carries the fragrance of nutmeg. Then I notice a body lying at the foot of one of the trees. Another is stretched out across the path that leads to the mountain. Wayne’s men killed everyone.

  “We have to get off the island.” Kat’s awake.

  That much is obvious. If anyone finds us here, they’ll blame this on us too.

  I have no idea what’s going on. You’d think I’d have gotten used to the feeling by now, but it’s driving me completely nuts.

  Shortly after dawn, a boat appeared off the coast of Abigail Prince’s island. It stayed on the horizon, as though its crew wanted to keep a safe distance. Can’t say that I blame them. Flies were already gathering on the corpses scattered around the garden. By midday the bodies were going to be ripe and fragrant.

  Nasha stood at the shoreline, her posture perfect, a hand shielding her eyes from the sun. Soon I could see an orange raft skipping toward us over the waves. I’m sure my friends were wondering the same thing I was. Someone had come to get us. We had no idea who it was. Nasha did, but she refused to tell us. She said the world would be safer if we didn’t know.

  When we all loaded onto the dinghy, I found myself sitting across from Busara. Never once during the trip did she glance at me. She was gripping Elvis’s hand so tightly that the tips of his fingers had lost all color. Her eyes were glued to Nasha as if she were waiting for someone to rip off a mask. I don’t think she’s taking her mother’s transformation well.

  We’re about halfway across the water now, and the boat is coming into full view. It’s bigger than I realized, at least a hundred feet from bow to stern. Slate gray and unmarked, it appears to be some sort of military research vessel. There are two massive deck cranes, and a bridge atop the ship’s superstructure that has three-hundred-and-sixty-degree views. There’s no crew in sight. The boat silently bobs up and down on the waves like a modern-day Marie Celeste.