Not wanting to be rude, she stood over him and shook his shoulder. “Hey,” she said. “You okay?”
Dell awoke and sat upright. He rubbed his forehead but did not appear to have any cuts or bruises. He scrambled to his feet. “Where are we?”
“We’re in Gray’s Harbor. At the Westport marina. I parked the boat.” She extended a hand to shake. “Thanks for the lift.”
He shook her hand. “Thanks for getting us here.”
She then turned away and climbed a white metal ladder that led to the deck. At the top of the ladder she swung open the hatch and crawled out to tie up the sub with ropes.
Fresh air flooded her lungs as her eyes adjusted to the hazy sunlight above. Two hundred feet out in the harbor, the Ashaug surfaced and turned its head toward her. The creature arched its back, plunged back under the surface, and pulled its tentacles with it.
Dell poked his head out of the hatch. “So are you just visiting for the holidays? Should I expect a return phone call?”
Kansas tightened the grip on her duffel bag and adjusted the backpack on her shoulders. “I don’t know.”
Dell nodded but there was a hint of longing in his eyes. “I wish I could have gotten to know you better. If you’re ever in town again, feel free to look me up. And Merry Christmas.”
“Same to you,” she said and turned to walk onshore.
The Bottles of Time
After breakfast was done, Duncan poured sand on the last of the fire. He dumped the last of his cold coffee out on the ground and waited for Kurt, his guide, to emerge from the tent. The spruce and tamarack trees around them stood still and a clammy November chill began to settle into his bones. The morning fog was slow to burn off and today the ridge to the north seemed longer than ever. He began to calculate how long it would take to cover that much ground and soon lost count of the hours.
“How’s it looking?” Kurt said from behind him.
“Looks like we’ll have to work twice as fast today. Might be some snow coming later,” Duncan said.
Together they set off again, hiking into the woods like they did the day before. Kurt withdrew a tattered contour map from his camouflage jacket pocket and held it out for Duncan to see. Kurt’s hands shook as he held the map, just like yesterday morning.
Duncan looked again down the road and back up at the ridge. “Do you think my wife thinks I’m crazy?”
“Does she know what you’re searching for?”
“No. I never tell her.”
“Probably better that way.”
Duncan picked up a spade shovel and a burlap sack that he stashed by their tent the night before. “Hope she doesn’t think I’m being selfish. Do you think I’m being selfish?”
Kurt continued to stare on at the map. “Where’d you hear about these bottles anyway?”
“I heard about them years ago around a campfire.”
“I’ve been a guide in this area for a long time and I’ve heard my share of stories. Man-eating bears, Bigfoot, haunted cabins. I ain’t ever heard about bottles that buy you time. But hey, it’s your money.”
“Your ad said you’re the best in the business. Go home if you want. I can figure it out on my own.” Duncan strode off down the path.
After a few seconds, Kurt caught up to him. “Well, if we do find ‘em, who says you have to open ‘em up? Maybe you could sell them to the highest bidder.”
“She doesn’t have that long.”
“What do you mean?”
“She’s stage four.”
In minutes, the two men stopped at a fork in the wilderness trail that cut two sharp, narrow paths through the trees. To the left was a muddy already-researched trail and to the right the path was dotted with half-buried rocks and tree roots. They turned right since this trail led them to the ridge.
Over logs and tree roots they hunted for an hour. They scoped the distant ground with binoculars. Kurt ticked checkmarks off on the map like tiny daggers of defeat. Then, Duncan spied a green reflection off to the right of the path and twenty yards into the trees. They both paced up to the reflection, and arrived at what looked to be the top third of a green Coke bottle jutting out of the mud.
Duncan’s heart pounded as he knelt down and brushed away some matted autumn leaves. He took the shovel and the burlap sack off his shoulder and jabbed at the wet ground around the bottle. He dug into the overturned earth and withdrew the bottle. It had a metal bottle cap, still intact, yet no label or liquid inside. He swept the remaining leaves and mud off the bottle and held it up to the sky in triumph.
He admired the special way the bottle seemed to capture the glint of the sun despite the smudges of dirt on its sides. It was as if the light did not pass through it, but rather was captured and amplified by the glass like a giant piece of emerald. “You think?”
“Maybe. But why one? Didn’t your legend say there should be a few dozen?”
Duncan stood up and set the bottle into the burlap sack. He then rifled through some more nearby debris and found nothing. Another five yards deeper into the woods, he spied a similar green reflection. And then another, five yards beyond that.
He pointed to each of the bottles in the mud and snapped off some of the pine branches in his way. “It’s a map. Or markers. Look over at those.”
“But are these the bottles? They look like beer bottles.”
“Hard to say. Let’s pick them up. We’re not too far in anyway. It should be an easy walk back, right?”
And so they traveled, for ten minutes it seemed. Then fifteen, then twenty. Duncan kept collecting bottles and set each one gently into the burlap sack with a clink.
Duncan stopped and set the sack onto the ground. He opened it up and beamed at its contents.
Kurt said, “There must be thirty in there by now. Whaddya say we break one open?”
Duncan did not see any other bottles nearby. His shoulders sagged. Part of him did not want to open any of the bottles, at least not until he was in the presence of his wife.
“Do you think it’s like making a wish or something? Or does each bottle have a set time, say, like a minute?” Kurt said as he stared into the sack.
“It doesn’t look like something you drink. I suppose it can’t hurt.” Duncan reached into the bag and withdrew a bottle. He held it in his hand a good minute or more. “Why don’t you grab one too.”
“You serious?”
“Go ahead.”
Kurt shoved his hand into the bag and pulled out a bottle. He held it up in the air toward Duncan as if to propose a toast.
They twisted off the bottle caps.
Nothing happened.
Or so it seemed.
Duncan looked at his watch. The second hand continued to tick along happily.
“Did you hear that?” Kurt said.
“Hear what?”
“The martin. It stopped chirping. For a minute. Maybe two. Now it’s chirping again. Hey, I got an idea. How about I walk in a circle. You open a bottle. If I stop moving, it works.”
Duncan winced at the suggestion and looked again into the bag. Twenty-eight left and soon twenty-seven. “Alright. Start walking.” He pulled out another green bottle as Kurt began to pace out a ten-foot wide circle around him. He twisted off the cap and let it hit the ground.
Kurt stopped moving and Duncan timed it. Two minutes passed.
“Let me know when you twist the cap off,” Kurt said, as he paced out his circle in the mud again.
“I already did. You froze in your tracks for two minutes on the nose.”
Kurt stopped. The color drained out of his face as he marched back over to the sack. “What do you think? Is there a bag of fifty minutes here?”
“Maybe an hour.”
The two men eyed the sack and then each other. In that moment, Duncan realized that either one could open a bottle and run off with the rest. “How about I carry the bag,” Duncan said.
Kurt stared on as Duncan tied it shut. Duncan put it over his shoulder and smiled
as Kurt reached down for the shovel.
“I’ll get that, too,” Duncan said.
“Don’t you trust me?”
“Sure. I trust you.”
The two men exchanged glances cold enough to freeze a lake solid. Walking side by side, they forged their way back onto the path.
A moment later, a gunshot cracked through the air. Duncan froze and watched as Kurt appeared to trip on a rock and fall to the ground. He staggered back to his feet, but soon leaned against a birch tree, and clutched his arm.
Duncan turned the guide’s shoulder only to see that his glove was soaked in blood. Duncan set the burlap sack down and crouched low to avoid getting hit himself. He took off his coat and then pulled off his sweatshirt. After helping take Kurt’s jacket off, he made a hasty tourniquet out of his own sweatshirt and wrapped Kurt’s arm as tight as he could. Then he slipped Kurt’s coat back on before putting on his own again.
Duncan searched around them in the distance with the binoculars. He saw no sign of life. He then picked up the sack and shovel again and helped the hobbled guide back toward camp.
Once they reached camp, Duncan looked at his watch. The hospital was at least another thirty minute drive. After checking Kurt’s arm again, they climbed into Duncan’s truck. Duncan put the bag of bottles between them in the front seat. “Can you open a bottle with one arm?”
“Probably,” Kurt said, leaning his head back. “Why?”
“Just open a bottle. When two minutes pass, open another. Then another.”
“But that would…”
Duncan started the truck and held a bottle out to him.
“Wait. Shouldn’t you open the bottle?” Kurt said.
“You’re right.”
Duncan put one hand on the wheel and stuffed the bottle under his leg. With his free hand he twisted off the cap. As he peeled out of the woods and onto a nearby highway, he noticed a car in the other lane had stopped in the middle of the road and soon diminished in the rear view mirror.
Minutes passed. Bottle caps hit the floor.
Duncan tore off caps until he was down to a handful of bottles. With each bottle he pulled out, his heart sank a little lower. He thought of his wife again and how wonderful it would be to have a candlelit dinner with her along with a bottle of wine and a few bottles of time.
In the distance, he could see the hospital now. As they neared the emergency room entrance, he dove into the bag one final time and withdrew another bottle. This particular one was ruby in color and seemed to capture even more sunlight than the others.
Kurt reached out a hand and stopped him. The man appeared to fade in and out of consciousness. “Don’t.”
“Why not?”
“Save it. Your wife needs it and so do you.”
Duncan readied the bottle anyway and put his hand on the cap.
“Stop. Please. Who knows how long it will last,” Kurt said.
Duncan pulled into the hospital lot and then up to the emergency room entrance. He set the bottle back into the bag and got out of the truck. By the time he arrived at the passenger side door, Kurt’s eyes were closed.
He pulled open the door and helped the guide out of the truck. All the while he was consumed with thoughts of his wife’s welfare.
After they hobbled into the hospital, Duncan led him over to a navy-blue vinyl-backed chair in the waiting room. He then notified the nurse at the emergency room desk and sat down next to Kurt.
Kurt stared straight ahead. Across from him was a wall picture of a snow-covered forest at the foot of a rugged mountain. The scene was framed with a silvered edge that reflected their faces like a mirror.
After a minute, he spoke up. “Remember when you asked me if I thought you were selfish? I didn’t answer. I thought you were. Maybe even heartless.” He closed his eyes a moment and then opened them up again. “But you know what? I’m the selfish one.”
The Pitcher at the Fountain
Bernard pulled out a pair of khaki pants from the closet and slid them off the hanger with trembling hands. He laid the pants on the bed, folded them into thirds, and pressed the creases with his wrinkled hands. Next, he removed another pair of pants from the closet, but stopped at the foot of the bed. The pants dropped into a heap on the floor.
“Dad, what is this?” Evelyn, his oldest daughter, said as she entered his bedroom. She cradled a black box in her hands. The box had four silver buttons on one side, a pair of lights on the front, and a recessed square on the top. “What does it do?”
Embarrassed, Bernard bent down to pick up the pants. He tried to fold them on the bed but struggled to make the first crease. He stopped and stared at the box. “Your mother and I found that at a garage sale. It’s a holographic video camera.” For a brief moment, he allowed himself to smile. “It’s remarkable. Only a few of them were ever made.”
“If it’s a camera, where’s the lens? How do you use it?” She spun the box in her hands and gave him a confused look.
“Here. Let me show you how it works.” He reached over and took the device from her. He pressed the first silver button with his thumb. The four-inch recessed square on top opened to reveal an inner chamber full of black marbles. “This button open and closes the shutter.”
Evelyn peered inside. “It’s a box of marbles?”
“They aren’t marbles. They have wings.” He pushed the button again to close the shutter.
“But how do you take pictures? How do you play the movies back?”
“Follow me.” He passed by her and set the camera onto the kitchen table. He thumbed the second silver button and a holographic image appeared in cubical form just above the camera. The three-dimensional image of the inside of a car driving up a mountain pass in Colorado filled the entire space. On the right side of the image was Benard’s now-deceased wife, Renata, laughing as she pointed out the passenger side window. Her curly red hair was just as beautiful as the day he met her and her green eyes sparkled with wonder. She wore a beige leather jacket with a floppy white scarf. The realism of her image caused him to reach out and touch her jacket as if it was real. Despite his instinct, his hand passed through her jacket without a ripple of difference. As the video played, his mood shifted from joy to longing to despair.
“How old was Mom in this?” Evelyn said.
“It was just after we got married. She just turned twenty-four.”
“How come us kids never saw this? Or saw pictures from this trip?”
“Oh, we showed you the pictures. Just never the movies.” He turned away from the kitchen table as tears welled up in his eyes. “Watch as many movies as you want.” He called out from the bedroom. “I don’t know if I could watch them anymore anyway.”
“Why not? Daniel and I watch videos from our trips all the time. They’re a hoot.”
Bernard was too weary to answer. He tried to fold the pants on the bed again but his vision blurred. He did not want to be alone right now, so he returned to stand in the doorway of his bedroom.
Evelyn pushed the buttons on the camera in an attempt to become familiar with its controls. “Is this from your drive to Glacier? What other videos are on here?”
“There are hundreds of hours of videos on there. The ones from Glacier alone would take you days to get through. On some of our hikes we took videos of the hiking paths we didn’t have time for.”
Evelyn leaned over and passed her hand through the holographic image of a pine-tree covered mountain. “I don’t understand.”
“I found the feature by accident. It’s the third button from the left. When I pressed it, those marble things flew out. They had wings on them so I called them fireflies, but I don’t know what their real name is. They flew off for about an hour and then landed back in the box. When we got home we found all those alternate videos.”
“How many alternate videos?”
“Twenty. Maybe more. Some of the fireflies never made it back. Some went up all around Avalanche Lake and through the trees near Lake McDonald.”
Bernard slipped back into the bedroom. He picked up the pants again and this time was able to fold them into thirds. Exhausted from the funeral earlier in the day and at the thought of going through all of his wife’s clothes, he lay on his bed and turned to face the side where Renata used to sleep. Her pillow was cold now and undisturbed but it did not stop him from dreaming of their last days together.
* * *
In the middle of the afternoon, Bernard worked up the courage to venture out to his backyard vegetable garden. Brown maple leaves crunched underfoot as the stinging scent of a bonfire lingered in the air. He flicked open a black plastic garbage bag and set it on the ground. With gloved hands he jerked the first decayed pumpkin vine out of the grass. The green-and-gray vine was dried and split in multiple places but gave them two basketball-sized pumpkins before its demise. He stuffed the vine into the bag before rounding the perimeter of the fence to uproot another.
The back door of the house opened with a crash. Evelyn called out, “Dad? Why didn’t you ever show me this?” She marched out to the garden and leaned over the green chicken-wire fence with the camera in her hands. At once there was a look of marvel and shock in her eyes.
“It holds a lot of great memories, don’t it?” He said as he pushed another tangled vine into the garbage bag. On this vine powdery mildew took hold and covered many of its leaves with a thin layer of whitish-gray fuzz. He tried to avoid inhaling the spores that drifted upward.
“So you didn’t hike down all these trails?” Evelyn said.
“Only a few. We were only there a week.”
“I found a graph in here that shows the number of times you watched the Avalanche Lake video. Why didn’t you watch the other videos?”
“We did. Once. But we kept watching the Avalanche Lake one because it was our favorite.”
“Is that the one you hiked with Mom?”
Bernard nodded and moved on to the next pumpkin vine.
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