by KC Klein
“So then why am I here?” I blinked rapidly to dispel the burning in my eyes.
“Hell if I know.” He faced me again and ran both hands through his hair. “Aura told me that you passed through time and space. She also said ‘someone’ sent you. When I pushed for more information, she said that all I needed to know was that you are not a spy. Damn goddesses, they get so cocky sometimes. Do you know who could’ve sent you?”
I shook my head, but c my-us got that sick guilty feeling in my stomach.
He sighed. “Of course not, why would anyone tell me the truth. I’m just the Commander of this hell hole.”
And for one second I felt sorry for him, and then it was gone.
He shook his head. “There are myths about time travel, but I want to be crystal clear on my thoughts here—they’re just that, stories. But hell, if someone talks against the myths and prophecies that are spewed out by the Elders and goddesses alike. That kind of talk can be construed as heresy and before you know it, you find yourself buried up to your neck with a bunch of people throwing rocks at your head.”
My God, what if he was telling the truth? What if all of this wasn’t a dream and this really was the future of the human race. And with all our advancements, this is what our race had come to. Capital punishment and heresy? Shock thickened my brain, making his words hard to digest.
ConRad took two steps and braced his hands on either side of the table, crowding me with his presence again. “But there is one thing I do know, and that’s that you came to this planet through some type of portal, and it wasn’t the one under my guard. So where is it? Because if you’re hiding information about another portal and the aliens find their way through, I’ll cut you up and feed you to them myself.”
Okay, so he scared me—a lot, but hell if I was going to let him know it. “Oh, another threat from you, how original. And here I thought we had moved past that to, I don’t know, dirty looks?”
ConRad leaned in close, a sly smile slithered across his face. “Oh, we can move past that if you like. Right on to the part with you moaning my name, legs clasped around my hips.”
Ahhh . . . jerk anyone? Because only an arrogant prick would bring that up. And there was the crux of the problem. He believed I was hiding something and I saw him as a bully who used his authority to get what he wanted. But if I was sent here to enlighten his views, it wasn’t happening today. An overwhelming fatigue permeated through my muscles. The fight seemed to have been leached out of my body. “I don’t know. I just don’t have any answers for you.”
ConRad backed off and nodded, sensing I was physically and mentally done. He stood and opened the door. “Soldiers, escort Ms. Davenport to her quarters, we’re done for the day.”
Relieved I wouldn’t be spending another night in “cave jail,” I stood and stifled a yawn.
The corner of his mouth lifted, which I assumed was his version of a smile, and nodded.
“Call me ConRad.”
“Okay, ConRad. By the way, there were large floating blocks of ice. They were called icebergs.”
His eyebrows popped slightly as if contemplating a whole new concept. “Good to know.”
Was it? I always thought knowledge was power, but now . . . now all I wanted was to go back home, open a bottle of wine and lose myself in a trashy novel. Yeah, it was good to know. I hoped he was right and walked out the door.
Chapter Ten
Bits of white floated in a puddle of red. I didn’t want to get my princess slippers wet. They were my favorite, but there was blood everywhere. Mommy had told me to stay in bed, but I had to help. The red on my hands made grasping the small bits so hard. They kept slipping. There were so many pieces. How would I ever get her back together? I wasn’t scared though. She’d be alright. I just had to get all the small, white pieces back together and she’d be fine, and then I could wash off all the blood—so much blood.
I sat straight up in bed, panting. Tears wetted my cheeks like always, the images lingering on the inside of my eyelids long after I’d awakened. I checked my hands. No blood. Instead, a fine white dust coated my palms, clothes, and hair. What the—?
I jumped out of bed and franticly brushed at my clothes and hair. Where did this come from? A tremble from above answered as a new fine mist of dust rained down on me. I threw my arms up to cover my head. Earthquake!
I slammed myself against the concrete floor and belly-crawled under the bed. Not being a Californian, I hadn’t cut my teeth on fault lines and mud slides. I couldn’t fell remember the safety protocols. Was it take cover in a bathtub or was that for tornados? The mild sifting settled and I poked my head out from behind folded arms. I scooted forward and shot my eyes to the ceiling, a ceiling made of dirt and rock. I sighed—really, since when is plaster such a modern advancement? I crawled out on my hands and knees, glad no one was around to observe my display of courage. I couldn’t help it if some people didn’t understand my utmost respect for safety—my own, of course.
Last night when the soldiers showed me to my room, I was delirious with fatigue. My gaze fell upon a small cot. I made a beeline and passed out face down. I hadn’t bothered with a tour at the time, not that one was needed. I sat back on my legs and with a small turn of my head, took in the whole room. Covered in dust was a small bed of army-green wool blankets and a hard pillow. Along one wall was a brown metal desk and chair, and crammed in one corner was a set of tall army-green foot lockers. One had a lock on it, and the other was open with a folded set of what looked like camouflaged pants and a shirt the color of pureed spinach. Oh goodie, the exact duplicate of what I was wearing. Apparently, when ConRad said billions of people had died that included every person with a fashion sense.
On the other side of the cot, tucked behind a partial wall, was a toilet—minus the seat—and a white sink with a small mirror hanging on a nail above. I went over and pulled the cord above the toilet. It flushed.
I closed my eyes, and said a small prayer of thanksgiving that this hollowed out mountain had indoor plumbing. My eyes traveled around the small bathroom. And then added a postscript to the big Guy above—toilet paper, please.
With a steadying breath, I took a peek in the hazy mirror, and then stifled a small scream. The soft blonde curls I religiously tamed at the hairdressers had rebelled and puffed into something akin to a blonde afro. Dark circles, and lord help me, puffy bags beneath my eyes like they’d never known wrinkle cream. And my complexion, once my labor of love kept up with daily masks and chemical peels, had dulled and paled.
Screw this. It’s time to go home. However I came through, they can just send me right on back. Set the dial to good ol’ year 2010 and beam me home, Scottie.
The question was how. And of the two people who might know the answer, I was willing to talk to only one—Quinn.
I turned on the silver faucet to wash my face and knocked over a plastic cup with a toothbrush and silver tube of toothpaste into the sink. This room had been occupied, and whoever they’d booted out must have left in a hurry. I shrugged my shoulders, beggars can’t be choosers, and laid claim to the toothbrush. Sorry sucker, life bites.
I ripped off the layer of gauze around my throat and smoothed my hand over t ky hream. The he healthy skin. No marks, no scab, just baby-new skin where once the knife’s edge had marred. One thing was for certain; in the future, they knew their antibiotics.
I left my “hovel sweet hovel” with relief, and I rounded the corner, intent on my mission to bleed Quinn for answers. Men bustled about the tunnels with machine guns strapped to their backs and their black combat boots leaving tracks in the dust. They seemed oblivious to the quaking above their heads. I, on the other hand, screamed and ducked beneath every metal arch, hovering until the dust settled. Consequently, I was given a wide berth.
I followed Quinn’s directions, sticking to the path marked with the number one and came upon a set of metal doors. A soldier ducked through one, and a din of rumbled conversations slipped out past the swin
ging door.
I sighed—this was as good a place as any. Pushing through the doors, I scanned the room for Quinn. But instead—there were men, lots and lots of men. They clustered around tables and benches, shoveling gray goop into bowls and drank from white mugs. The noise of clicking spoons against plates, gruff laughter and murmurs of conversation hushed as heads swiveled to take in the new arrival. About fifty pairs of eyes widened at me. My feet stilled and grew roots that burrowed deep into the base of the mountain.
The echo of a dropped spoon as it vibrated against the concrete floor cut across the room. I knew I could make an entrance, but still . . . I did a quick check of myself. Yep, still clothed—hadn’t miraculously become naked since leaving my room. With a super quick check around the room, I realized, ah, no Quinn here. I shuffled, at least one of my feet, in the direction of the door when I caught a glimpse of a steaming carafe, glistening among white mugs, on a back table. Could it be? The elixir of life—the nectar of the gods—coffee?
I needed to find Quinn, yes, but first things first. By my calculations, it had been about forty-eight hours since my last caffeine fix. My addiction was a tightly controlled thing; it needed to be fed black coffee often and in copious amounts.
My nose signaled my brain, immediately sending happy endorphins bouncing through my caffeine-atrophied veins. My boots tripped on themselves in their quest to carry me toward the Promised Land, parting soldiers as if the men were merely the Red Sea. Snatching a cup and carafe, I poured the black liquid to the rim and took an appreciative sniff, savoring the aroma. The first sip was strong, almost bitter. I pushed the liquid down my throat, my eyes watered as a burn traveled and pooled in my belly. Damn. That. Was. Bad. I looked at the side of the pot for a warning label that should’ve read “Caution: will grow ridiculous amount of hair on chest if consumed in large amounts.”
I closed my eyes and contemplated one more sip. Had I mentioned I was an addict? Besides, braiding chest hairs sounded like fun.
An audible gasp shook the room. My eyes snapped open. Soldiers posed as if frozen within a photograph. One man had stilled his hand mid-shovel to his mouth, creamy goop sliding off the spoon and plopping into the bowl. The so-called coffee turned solid in my stomach. Not a very welcoming crowd. My brain refocused into three simple tasks. Get out of here. Find Quinn. Go home. In that order, no more distractions. With my mug warming between my hands, I held my head high and made a hasty exit.
Outside in the hall I breathed a sigh of relief. With a reception like that, I might have to consider ordering room service. I smiled at the thought of ConRad bustling a linen draped cart into my dirt-den and presenting me with croissants and gourmet coffee. I wondered if he was on the menu, but then again, I’d never acquired the taste for shark.
After a solid twenty minutes I found myself back at the command center. I could’ve made it in half the time, except I cowered with every mountain shudder. I needed to get home. I wasn’t made for this life. My idea of roughin’ it was staying in an RV without a five-star restaurant nearby. I had convinced myself if I went back to the original place I’d come through, then I could get back to my time. I just had to persuade Quinn to help me get out of the compound. Of course, there was the small, pesky detail of the carnivorous alien, but one step at a time.
The command center was a huge hollowed out space free from any metal support beams. Soldiers milled about checking weapons, monitors displaying black screens with blinking green cursers were on the metal tables. A loud digitized beeping rose above the low hum made from a crowd of people. It could have almost been a normal workplace—well, a workplace back before Bill Gates invented Windows and DOS was a viable computer program. And everyone had a machine gun strapped to his back and there was something that looked like a missile launcher pushed against the wall. So maybe normal was stretching it.
To the right of the rows of computers was the heavily guarded tunnel—the one I had crawled through seemingly a lifetime ago. Five men stood armed and ready in case anything bigger than a small rat came their way—even then the rat would go the way of target practice. On the opposite side of the room were the large red double doors I had noticed earlier, with another group of soldiers standing battle ready and on guard. With all the fire power in one room, I was hoping that happy trigger fingers weren’t contagious?
And of course, in the center of it all was the Commander. If the command center was the pumping heart of this compound, then he was the brains. Standing in front of a huge wall-length computer monitor, he seemed to be the eye in the middle of a storm. As men ran from station to station, he was stillness, projecting an aura of power. I stopped and stared; my jaw slacked. He was a wonderfully made specimen. All tall muscular form, biceps bared and glistening, and a six-pack subtly defined in a tight, damp tank top.
My respirations quickened, a k qua crnd a bead of sweat traced the skin between my breasts. I cut my gaze away from his body and concentrated on his face. He wasn’t as old as I’d first thought. The slight lines around his eyes and forehead weren’t from age, but from stress and fatigue. As he turned and glanced at the images flashing upon the screen, his eyes narrowed and his jaw muscles clench. And why not? He literally had the weight of the world on his shoulders.
My drooling presence must’ve become obvious, since ConRad turned and caught me with a diamond hard stare. My breath hitched. Could he glare at me with any more coldness? He dismissed me with a curt nod and turned back to the wall-sized computer screen.
I turned away, embarrassed. To be caught staring at him like some starstruck groupie was not the image I wanted to portray. I walked away and headed to the one room where I might feel more in control, in my element, the infirmary.
Before I could push through the swinging doors, there was Quinn running to meet me with a crazed leer in her eyes. “Thank the goddesses I found you. Where’ve you been?”
She grabbed my hand and hauled me into the infirmary. “I’ve been looking all over for you. Hurry, we don’t have much time.”
“What’s going on? What happened?” I set my coffee cup on the nearest table to distract me from the all too familiar clenching in my gut.
Something was wrong. Quinn’s appearance had altered in some way even from a few hours ago. The change was subtle. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but she looked older, as if she had aged ten years over night. My hand wanted to brush the blonde hair that stuck to her cheek, but I kept it firmly at my side. Don’t get involved. Not here to make friends. You’re here to get home.
“Quinn, what’s going on?” I yelled to be heard as the ceiling groaned and quaked, showering us with dust and small pebbles.
“It’s them,” she mouthed or shouted; I couldn’t tell. Of course, my lack of hearing could’ve been because I kept throwing my arms over my head expecting a cave in.
“It’s them. The quaking. They want in,” she said, pointing to the ceiling, her eyes wide as small pools.
“Them, as in the aliens, them?” I couldn’t help the instinctive crouching over as I shielded my face with my hand, throwing worried glances at the ceiling.
Quinn nodded, like it was okay she was in the middle of a mountain with large carnivorous beasts trying to be the first in line at the all-you-can-eat human buffet.
“And this is a . . . normal occurrence?” I asked, hoping the aliens just beat their ugly mugs against side of the mountain in some futile instinctive animal ritual.
“No, it’s worse.”
Great, no need to panic.
“Quinn.” I lowered my voice, the thunderous pounding had ceased, and I needed to make sure she received my next question with crystal clarity. “Can they get in?”
She shook her head and shrugged one shoulder. “They haven’t yet.”
“Oh, very comforting, Quinn. Very comforting. Am I the only one who is beginning to panic here?” I threw my hands up in the air. Was there no such thing as platitudes in this century? I would love to hear an “it’s all gonna be fine�
�� about now.
“Listen, you have to help him, no matter what. You have to help him!” She crossed her arms, hugging and rocking herself as if comforting a small child.
“Help who?” My hands grasped her shoulders, stilling her motions. At the same time I wanted to shake her, because once again Quinn and I were having two freaking different conversations.
Quinn’s head was bowed mere inches from mine. She tilted her face up, her gaze fixed on mine—hiding nothing. The soft blue of her eyes had been hazed over by dark rolling storm clouds obscuring the whites of her eyes with a muted blue.
I sprang back and released her as if her skin had scorched my palms. “What the—”
A loud noise crashed through the room. I whipped my head around as a soldier burst into the infirmary with enough force to bang the metal door against the adjoining wall. He stood with one arm braced against the backlash of the door, the other holding his gun. His brown crew cut matched his café mocha eyes that could’ve been appealing if they hadn’t harbored such trepidation. He scanned the room and quickly locked stares with Quinn. “Where have you been? I . . . we need you at the center. We’re going up.”
The conversation was a mere formality. Quinn was already raci k alo shake ng toward the door. With a turn of her head she glanced back at me. “Kris, don’t forget what I said, please.”
“And what exactly was that, Quinn?” I yelled to the swinging door. Religion was wrong—hell wasn’t pitchforks and fire; it was never getting a straight answer to your questions.
Jeezus, going up, really? Where exactly was UP? The only up I knew was where the aliens were. A synapse in my brain fired caught and then . . . God, please no.
