by Agster, Joe
Cassie frantically zips the last of her bags, giving the room one final stare confirming that everyone packed and ready for the trip. Alaina stares out the window once more, admiring a view she will never see again. Cassie gentle pats her friend, also peeking at the lights and the people below, telling her she’s make it up to her one day.
They head downstairs, then to Cassie’s car, walking in a casual manner. Friend sits in the front, where Cassie wants him to be. She touches his hand, a soft brush, to quietly say thank you.
“Here’s the coordinates. Hanford is just north of Richland, Washington. There’s a secret entrance.” Friend relays to Cassie, looking at the instructions in the envelope.
“ON!” She barks to her car. “Destination, Hanford, Washington”
The navigation system calculates an optimal route based on current road conditions. It displays the route: north on Interstate 11 until Boise, then Interstate 84. She accepts, and the car begins to drive itself out of the parking garage.
Friend can’t help but be overcome with a mild case of paranoia after all he has been through. Every tweak of the events, a call here, a text message there, talking to someone new, always seems to spawn a new surprise. Will the FBI show up again, just as they leave town? Or stop them before they even get to the freeway? Or perhaps halfway there, when they least expect it. He sighs in relief though, that he made it this far.
The car enters the freeway without delay. While the car drives itself, Cassie checks the illuminated instruments on her dashboard. “Crap!” she yelps, “The fuel cells are low. Before we leave town we’ll need to pull over somewhere and recharge.”
The gauge on Friend’s panic meter just needled back into the red. He’s not sure what a fuel cell even is, but he deduces it must the primary power source for the car.
“What’s a fuel cell?” he asks, to the snickers of Alaina and Wyatt, even Cassie.
She explains it to him. Eventually fuel cells replaced gasoline, allowing cars to run on electric power. Cars come standard with two fuel cells, capable of powering the vehicle a thousand or so kilometers. More expensive cars have four fuel cells. Before, during the gas era, a person would refuel once per week. Now they recharge once per month at the most. There are recharge stations everywhere, but it can take fifteen minutes to recharge a fuel cell. People can even recharge from their homes, but since Cassie lives in an apartment, she doesn’t have that luxury.
They stop at a large recharging station and truck depot. It has a mini mart like the one Friend is familiar with, along with an adjoining restaurant. Cassie pulls into a recharge spot, hooks in and applies payment by tapping her watch to the pump station interface.
“What do you say we grab some food and drinks for the road?” Cassie recommends. “It’s double charging so we need to wait fifteen minutes, tops.”
They venture into the convenience mart. Friend buys some clothes, knowing he’ll need it once they make it to the bunker. He wonders if they’ll have those types of supplies. Max did say it was an underground city, but doesn’t want to take a chance. Cassie gathers some dried fruit and seaweed chips, enough for her and Friend. She smiles to herself as she stares at him from across the store, relishing in his naivety, finding it subconsciously attractive just as the many times before.
Once the recharge is complete, they get into the car and hit the road. As they coast away, the distant view of the city becomes more mesmerizing, especially since they ascend up toward a higher elevation. Many kilometers later, the view disintegrates into nothingness.
“Well, about 1,500 kilometers to go. We should be there in about ten to twelve hours,” Cassie notifies everyone. In the quiet and dark night, Cassie stretches and leans back, turning to face Friend, letting the car do its thing.
“Friend. I want to know everything, how my father knew about you. So talk!” She demands, in a soft voice and warm smile.
He’s explained it to her so many times, but it never seems to get old. He wonders if after so many more of these iterations she’ll just eventually know. “I live the same six days over and over. I’m now in my seventh iteration. Each time we meet, you somehow know me, more and more each time. When you first told me about your father, about timelessness after death, and about your destiny, I knew it was my purpose here… to save you.”
She absorbs what he is saying, the scientific nature of it. It no longer surprises her.
“When he told me he saw into the future, it’s certainly possible he saw many possible futures,” she calmly explains. “Time, and time travel is not about a single thread of time, but multiple threads… infinite number of threads spanning the universe. Maybe he saw all of it.”
He listens and hangs on to her words, understanding the nature of it. She can take the most complex idea and make it sound simple.
“You are basically thread jumping, Friend. For some reason or another you have this power. You exist on one thread, riding it out until its conclusion, which I imagine is the asteroid crash, then you jump back to that same single point in time, starting a new thread each time. Your whole being is anchored to a single point in spacetime.”
“A single point in spacetime?”
“Yes, where you respawn. Reset. Whatever. Here’s the intriguing part. When we think of time, we think of an endless tree. You make one decision, or another, and that creates two branches in a timeline. But the fact that my father saw you means it works backwards too. In one timeline, he sees you, and in another he doesn’t.”
“This, Cassie, is why you need to further your studies. I believe your father foresaw this,” he advises her with a hint of laughter. He’s never fully understood why she spent the past five years not living up to her potential, instead taking a detour that is her current life. Beyond stories of some horrible ex-boyfriend, he’s avoided probing too deep into her reasons.
“I know,” she sweetly replies. “I made that decision the moment I met you.”
They are about two hours into their trip; Las Vegas is nothing but a forgotten memory now.
“So what am I like…? In the other timelines.”
Friend bursts out in laughter, amazed at the curiosity in such a silly question. She’s clearly and suddenly developed a sense of self-consciousness, not a typical Cassie-ism. He feels the need to have fun with her. “You are so different each time… I’ve never seen such a multitude of personalities.”
He then goes silent, purposefully dodging her repeated prods to get him to answer. Finally, the desire for a serious answer gets to her, causing her to snap.
“Listen, dumbass! I’m serious here,” she playfully shouts, laughing, throwing him a whimsical punch to the shoulder, one that actually stings a bit.
He switches to a slightly more serious tone. “What I can tell you is how much we’ve been through. We’ve partied in Las Vegas on the night of the asteroid, watched it crash down together, and got locked up in an FBI holding cell. We even got married once. I’ve been shot a couple times. It’s been fun, but I’ll be glad to get to the bunker.”
The conversation continues as midnight passes. Her friends are asleep in the back, but she doesn’t have that option. She must stay awake while the car drives itself in auto mode. There could be a sudden crash or accident, anything that requires immediate manual mode. If she’s caught napping while the car is driving it could mean big trouble, possibly derailing their trip. Cassie decides to stop fighting her will to sleep and pulls over at a rest stop, to get a few hours’ rest. They find a quiet, wooded location on a desolate road, secluded from the sparse stream of cars that drive past. She sets her alarm for 4:00, and quickly zonks out.
Day 2, 4:00
The alarm endlessly chirps, prodding her to abandon her dream and come back to reality. The others begrudgingly wake as well. Friend has no trouble waking. It’s as if he can control when he feels tired or not.
They hit the road, eventually crossing into Idaho. Snowflakes whisk around in the air, something they’re not used to seeing in the
mild climate of L.A. or Las Vegas. The car speeds along, focused only on its destination. As they near Boise, the topic becomes breakfast, something of which everyone comes to agreement. The navigation system recommends a pancake house, coming up in five minutes.
They are seated in the empty restaurant. The waitress is lifeless, tired from life, unable to find a smile. The group is unmindful to this but not Friend, who has a soft spot for brightening up people’s day. Juna, Steve, even Lars. When she returns to take their order, everyone dictates their desired menu choice, pancakes, Eggs Benedict. Friend of course having whatever Cassie is having, a spinach omelet.
As the waitress haplessly verifies the order, Friend speaks out to the waitress, identifying her by name. “Katie, if you had a choice, would you live the best day of your life over and over?”
“You mean the day I kicked out that haggard bum of a husband.”
Friend thinks about the negative response, then offers his own. “No, I mean the day you married him?”
Friend stands up, looking at her straightaway. She has a look of confusion, then resentment. “You can’t tell me that was a happy day?”
“Well… it was,” she carefully replies, looking around, as she remembers it in her mind.
“Whenever life’s got you down, go back to that day. That’s your anchor. Remember it well. Then work your way backwards from the present, recounting the steps of what went wrong, undoing them in your mind. Then you’ll find happiness.”
The words strike a chord in her. She perks up, feeling renewed, smiling, probably for the first time in ages. Friend then sits back down.
“Friend, you just changed her perspective on life.” Cassie explains, her tone projecting a strong and sudden feeling of respect for him.
“In about twelve hours, that bum will be her rock. She’ll cherish him more than ever, even more than her wedding day.”
During the rest of the meal Katie approaches the table, joyous and full of life once more. The group wraps up the meal and pays the bill, and leaves her a sizable tip, wishing her well.
It’s 8 in the morning as they connect to Interstate 84 en route to Hanford.
“It’s about four hours away, guys.”
The weight of the situation suddenly sets in. Life, nature, the green Earth will all be a distant memory. As they roll past farms and ranches, rivers and streams, they all feel the tension of it all. The sad reality that what once was may never be again.
As they cross into the state of Washington, Alaina and Wyatt plead with Cassie to pull over. She feels it too, that last chance, that one more time to embrace the natural wonder of things. They stand on the edge of the road, basking in the view. Farms, vineyards, grass, lakes, and mountains, all of it. All of its wondrous beauty.
Even the outwardly macho Wyatt tears up. He stands next to Friend, secretly thankful for him bringing along him and Alaina. “Friend, I suddenly wish you were wrong about everything,” Wyatt confides.
“Me too sometimes,” he returns the thought. “Don’t worry, the dinosaurs also fell victim to an asteroid, did they not?”
“Yeah, and they went extinct.” Wyatt retorts, humbled in the fate of this moment, wondering if humans are next.
They get back in the car. As the clock passes noon, they eventually drive past Richland, and as the town wrapping the road turns back to rural, they realize they are close.
“Friend, let me have those coordinates.” Cassie asks.
She updates the navigation. It takes them past the official posted entrance, into a smaller road, some type of alternate entrance. They eventually come up to a gate, protected by razor sharp wiring and signs warning of electrocution. Through the gate all they see is flat, brown wasteland. Several guards are stationed at the gate entrance. Cassie engages manual mode and slows down to greet them.
“State your business!” the guard demands.
“We have bunker assignments,” Cassie responds, holding the envelope.
“I need your authorization numbers and the cards please.”
She hands the guard the four silver cards, and a piece of paper with a series of numeric codes written down. He carefully studies them. Friend swells up with anxiety, hoping everything checks out.
“Proceed down the road, and check in with the building up ahead,” he steadfastly explains, waving them through the open gate. “Please be aware that once you pass through this gate you cannot exit. And since you didn’t arrive by bus, your vehicle will be destroyed, and used for spare parts.”
After winding through kilometers of the nothingness, dotted by few dried shrubs that barely hold onto their green color, they finally reach the one small building, a gray rectangular structure that looks like it can barely hold a hundred people. But surrounding it are hundreds of cars parked in random disarray. An eerie, unwelcoming sight for sure.
They enter the building, and are greeted with a long line that circumscribes the central circular desk several times over in a converging spiral. Cassie remarks how it feels like the DMV on a Monday morning. She grabs Friend’s hand, trying to find comfort in the cold and unforgiving vibe she feels around the building. Each step closer brings intensified edginess, as Friend still fears some wrinkle that will torpedo all of his efforts. After an hour or so their turn is up, and they proceed to the counter.
“Bunker cards and identification please,” the personality-void woman asks.
They hand it all over, the bunker cards, their IDs, and the authorization codes. The woman emotionlessly scans everything into the transparent monitor terminal, voicing commands to check each person. Alaina, Wyatt, and Cassie go in that order, and are cleared. When the woman voices Friend’s info, her monitor suddenly turns red.
Friend and Cassie look at each other in fear. Within moments, several guards emerge.
“The four of you, come with us now!” the lead guard barks, grabbing them by their arms. The stunned crowd looks on at them in a combination of shame and displeasure.
They are escorted to a lifeless, white-walled back room. Friend recalls the nature of these rooms, like the one from the interrogation room at the FBI field office. A hopeless Friend wonders what went wrong this time. They were so close he could taste it! What action did he perform wrong this time?
As they sit and wait at the interrogation table, a man, dressed in a suit and tie, with a long, wide mustache and a ruthless look to him, enters the room.
“Mr. Aiden Pollock.” The man speaks, but no one says a word. Friend realizes he is supposed to be Aiden. Friend now understands the mishap.
“This silence, it proves my point. Poor Mr. Pollock had his ID stolen yesterday,” he sternly reveals. Friend is so mad at himself. He knew taking that man’s ID was wrong, and now he is suffering the brunt of the consequences. He can already feel the laser of Cassie’s stare. He has come to really hate that feeling.
“You see, every citizen being offered a spot in our facilities must be accountable. We’ve already terminated your bunker assignments. But we cannot let you leave, since this location is meant to be a secret. So instead we are sending you to an alternate site, where you will fend for your own survival. Then, may God have mercy on your soul.”
Friend protests, standing up. “It’s just me. I had the stolen ID. Please let them through.”
“Sorry. No exceptions!” he firmly declares, getting up from his seat, and leaving the room.
Wow, this government is void of compassion. He ponders on little else as they are escorted down a series of corridors through an underground cave of some sort, then placed into a holding cell room. About an hour later, they are escorted onto a small bus, where they are funneled through an old converted subterranean railway to another similar area.
They are placed in a large room, about twenty or so meters across with ashy gray walls made of cement. Since they are underground it is devoid of any windows, the only light coming from barely lit sand-colored LED lights embedded into the ceiling. The guard firmly slams the steel door shut, vanish
ing into the darkness of this frightful building. About a couple dozen or so miscreants and outcasts give them deathly stares. He can feel their disheartened glares without even looking at their faces. He has let Cassie down yet again.
But she seems upbeat, sitting next to him on the concrete bench. She wraps her arms around him to console him. “We were so close, Friend. Cheer up. It’s not like we weren’t going to die anyways.”
The others around her smirk at the futile talk. She senses this then turns her voice down. She thinks on it for a brief moment, offering up advice. “Pay him for the ID. Tell him you just need to borrow it for twenty-four hours.”
Friend replies, “Not a bad idea, but what if he comes looking for the ID after that and reports it stolen.”
“By then, panic will have set it. He probably won’t care about it anymore. Just use your charm on him… your ‘Friend’ charm.”
“What about the iris scan? The last time we were in a cell, the FBI figured out the ID was stolen when my iris scan didn’t match.”
“It’s probably because the FBI scanned your iris when you were arrested and booked at that time. But I didn’t see them scanning anyone’s eyes during processing. Besides, privacy laws have made it difficult for government agencies to share iris data, since they’ve been hacked so many times.”
Excellent, he feels. If she is right, then this final wrinkle is potentially solved. He just now has to live through it all one more time. Until then, they sit and wait in this horrible place, death being the only way out.
12
Iteration 8, Day 2 - December 27, 13:00
Hanford Survival Installation, Waiting Area
They now sit in a prodigious waiting area, big enough to hold the hundreds of others that await their fate. The ambiance is peaceful and serene, the walls painted in Earthly shades of brown and gray, perfect for Friend as he can finally put his mind at ease. His watch reads a prompt 13:00, smiling at it on this second day, December 27. He clinches his hand to look once more at it, the bronze metallic card embossed with the name of Aiden Pollock. It is a token of welcoming to the underground fortress, his ticket finally stamped as he awaits the next step, something called orientation. But from his standpoint, how he finally got to this moment is nothing sort of legendary.
