New Alcatraz (Book 1): Dark Time

by Grant Pies

  Each moment of dreaming and reminiscing was shattered when a man in an oversized containment suit tethered to the ceiling by plastic tubing walked in front of Ellis’ cell. Or when a Time Anomaly Agent with a standard issue pistol strapped to their upper thigh walked down the hall.

  One day, as Ellis jogged on the treadmill platform embedded in the floor, a group of Ministry scientists and Time Anomaly Agents walked down the wide hallway. These scientists did not wear the plastic containment suits that they typically wore. Instead, instead they wore lab coats and carried thin sheets of aluminosilicate glass to store notes on. Three Time Anomaly Agents accompanied them, all wearing dark pants, boots, and a tight fitted gray shirt. The standard nine millimeter pistol was strapped to their right thigh in a holster. The group stopped just to the right of Ellis’ cell. Presumably to examine another surveyor housed next to him. Eventually, the group moved to his cell and stopped.

  Immediately, Ellis noticed one of the Time Anomaly Agents, a female, standing in front of the wall of glass with impeccable posture. Her pants and standard issue gray shirt hugged her body in a seemingly deliberate manner. She looked at the scientists as they spoke. The agent’s dark brunette bangs were brushed diagonally across her forehead. When she nodded they slipped down, and her long eyelashes brushed against them as they fluttered in front of her face. She glanced at Ellis out of the corner of her eye, and Ellis watched her as she spoke to the scientists outside of his cell.

  Ellis dismounted the treadmill and approached the wall of plastic. Everyone outside of his cell continued to talk as if he was not there; except for the woman. She glanced in his direction sporadically and they caught each other’s gaze. The scientists tapped on their glass tablets and spoke to each other. Ellis stared only at the woman as she stood facing him, behind her, on the endless scenic screen, was a still lake surrounded by blue spruce trees lightly dusted with snow.

  She glanced at him, never holding eye contact for any longer than a second or two; Ellis never took his eyes off of her. The scientists walked away and the agents followed them. The woman glanced back over her shoulder one last time before she disappeared down the hall, and Ellis turned to watch her until she was out of sight. For the first time since being held in his cell Ellis wanted out.

  CHAPTER 44

  2067

  DENVER, CO

  Once the Ministry was done watching Ellis, they let him leave the facility for short periods of time; sometimes a week and sometimes a month. Ellis returned to his own apartment outside of Denver, which was only slightly larger than his cell at the Ministry’s underground facility. But he was glad to be outside the stomach of the city. Out here space was still a commodity, but not as much as it was in the city center.

  Ellis returned home to a refrigerator full of spoiled food; every time he left he forgot to empty it. Ellis popped the cap off of one of the beers in his fridge, held the bottle under his nose, and breathed in. The stench of stale beer rushed into his nose, and he pulled the bottle away from his face and grimaced as he told himself to buy better beer next time.

  Ellis looked around and tried to guess what time it was. There had to be a bar opened somewhere, he thought. After several surveyor expeditions, Ellis’ internal clock was skewed to say the least. It was the disorientation of jet lag without the benefit of the trip. At least with jet lag Ellis only had to worry about his sleep cycle. With time travel, Ellis had to worry about aging at a rapid pace.

  For every three or four hours he spent in the future only a minute or two passed in the present. His body aged, as his cells divided and replenished. After several trips to the future, Ellis had aged days more than he would have had he not accepted the Ministry’s offer to become a surveyor. These detours in time were robbing him of life he could live out in the present.

  Ellis walked to the nearest bar marked with flickering neon signs. In pink lights the word ‘Bar’ flashed on the outside of the building. Underneath the pink sign, two other signs shined in yellow and green. One had the word ‘Cerveza,’ and the other read ‘Jiàochē.’

  Black tint and metal bars covered the windows. When Ellis pulled the door open a rush of moist air smacked him in the face, and the smell of smoke and burnt leather battled with cheap air freshener. Except for the lone bartender, and two men who slept in a booth in the corner, the bar was empty. No music played in the background. The only sound was the rhythmic click of a broken ceiling fan as it pushed the stale air around the bar, and an old television that hung over the bar.

  Ellis ordered a beer, took a stool at the bar, and swallowed large gulps from his bottle. He stared beyond the back of the bar where various liquor bottles sat on display covered in dust. He breathed in the cold damp air inside the bar and closed his eyes. For a brief moment, he was back in his cell in the underground facility. How far into the future would they make him travel? The furthest he had gone so far was the year 3065. Denver was still in one piece, but the city had grown substantially and buildings towered high into the clouds. What were once suburbs outside of the city developed into their own city in 3065. The sky was much darker than in the present and with each trip further into the future Ellis could see less and less into the distance.

  Ellis heard the whoosh of the door to the bar open, and the damp air rushed out and the dry air from outside made its way into the bar. Once the door closed the air readjusted back to normal. A man pulled the stool next to Ellis out from the bar and sat down; the bartender brought the man a beer without him even ordering one. Ellis glanced over to see the blonde surveyor who had sat next to him in the orientation meeting with the Ministry of Science. The man who was assigned to Buenos Aires. The men nodded at each other.

  The blonde man breathed heavily and sipped his beer. For some time, the man didn’t speak to Ellis, nor did Ellis speak to him. Eventually the man said sarcastically, “Gone anywhere interesting lately?” Ellis looked over at the man who had a sarcastic smirk on his face.

  “I haven’t left Denver in over one thousand years,” Ellis replied. A short silence lingered between the two men before they both chuckled loud enough to startle the men sleeping in the booth

  “Beckett.” The man said as he stuck his hand out toward Ellis. Ellis grabbed Beckett’s hand. It was clammy and his grip was weak.

  “Ellis,” he replied.

  CHAPTER 45

  2067

  DENVER, CO

  The two men sat at the bar for some time discussing their surveyor trips to the future. Beckett explained how Buenos Aires had declined over the centuries. Sometime between his third and fourth trip a large earthquake struck the city. On his return, large fissures traced so deep through the ground that noxious fumes wafted up from them. Beckett guessed that the air quality had declined, but he was not given the results of the measurements he collected. The quake hadn’t destroyed the city entirely. Some buildings remained, but they decayed, and smog covered the sky around the once large city.

  “Well it can’t be too bad. If the air quality was real harmful the Ministry would give you a mask or something, right?” Ellis asked. Beckett didn’t say anything he only laughed loudly and patted Ellis on the back.

  “Don’t you wonder what we are doing?” Beckett said. “Jumping around in the future. Charting the course of civilization. You don’t really think we are scouting ahead so the government and Wayfield Industries can save humanity, do you?” Ellis shrugged his shoulders. At best he never thought about it and at worst he thought the government actually was that noble.

  “You know,” Beckett said. “If anything, this gig has given me plenty of time to think. I have sat in my cell staring at the pixilated scenic views, and I thought about time and the future. I think about what I would do if I could travel through time unburdened by the orders of the Ministry of Science. I’ve thought of going back in time and telling myself not to take the time I had for granted. I would take money back in time and invest in certain companies or play the lottery. Go back to when I was in high school
and tell myself to not fuck that stripper.”

  “The list of things I would do is just as long as the list of regrets I have. Or I would go into the future and see how I lived and died, and then I would come back to the present and devise ways to prevent my death or better my life.” Beckett looked up at the ceiling and rolled his neck from side to side. The bones in his neck popped and snapped out loud.

  “Do you see a pattern here? I’m not going backwards or forwards through time to help strangers. I am not exposing myself to paradoxes and the unknown dangers of wormholes to help my neighbor have a better life. Or my neighbor’s kids, or their kids’ kids. And I am definitely not jumping into the future to help some people that will not be alive for another thousand years.”

  Beckett took a long drink of his beer until it was empty. He held his hand out to the bartender to signal for another. Ellis glanced at Beckett’s face and saw that the skin around his eyes was dark and sunken in. Maybe it was the lighting in the bar, but Ellis thought Beckett’s skin had an ashy yellowish hue to it.

  “I’m not an asshole, but I’m not winning any kindness award either. Ask yourself,” Beckett leaned in toward Ellis and turned in his stool. “Ask yourself, if I was given free reign with a time movement device, and if I wouldn’t look out for the rest of humanity, why on earth would the Ministry of Science and Wayfield Industries?” Beckett grabbed the new beer that the bartender dropped in front of him and drank the entire thing in one motion. He reached in his pocket and flung a fifty-dollar bill onto the bar. Beckett got out of his stool and patted Ellis on the back.

  “It was good talking to you Ellis,” he said and stuck his hand out. The two shook hands and Ellis stared blankly as he let what Beckett said sink in. He snapped out of his haze long enough to ask Beckett if he wanted to meet up next time the Ministry let them both out.

  “I’d love to, but I have to go out of town next time we are given time off. I have some things I need to take care of in Idaho.” Beckett said on his way out of the bar. Ellis nodded and turned back toward the bar. Just before he reached the door, Beckett turned and said, “You want to come along?” Ellis looked at Beckett; he couldn’t tell if Beckett was serious or joking. “Yeah, you can come along. It’ll be like a road trip. One day there. One day back. It won’t be too long.” Ellis was hesitant and Beckett realized that.

  “Come on. You’re probably sick of seeing Denver…even if you do get to see it at different times!” Ellis started to nod without knowing he was.

  “Sure,” he said.

  “Great!” Beckett exclaimed with a smile. “You’ll enjoy it. You ever been to Idaho?” he asked. Ellis shook his head.

  “Even better,” Beckett said. “Ashton is a great little town; full of character.” Beckett turned and left the bar, and the dry air rushed in to meet the clicking fan overhead. Ellis turned back toward the bar and stared forward.

  “Ashton, Idaho. What on earth could be in Ashton?” Ellis mumbled under his breath.

  CHAPTER 46

  5065

  NEW ALCATRAZ

  DAY 8

  Ellis was silent for the rest of the day. Every once in a while I caught him mumbling to himself. When I’d told him the agent I was accused of murdering was mutilated, his skin turned pale, like a sheet of paper. He’d made me repeat the organs that were removed.

  He then asked me if I knew Agent Emery before I was accused of murdering her; if she looked at all familiar to me. He asked if I knew anyone else that worked for the Ministry of Science or the Time Anomaly Agency. I told him no. I told him exactly what I told Agent Lee during my questioning; I didn’t know her, and I had no motive to kill her or anyone else. Ellis looked at me like he wanted to believe me. Instead of sadness and worry, his face stayed blank, flushed of all color and emotion. In a way his face did express what was left inside of Ellis. Nothing. Everything seemed to have been pulled and drained out of him; he was defeated.

  By mid-day a sandstorm whipped around us. Until then, I had frequently looked behind us to see if the other prisoners approached, but now I couldn’t see one meter behind us. For all I knew they could be within earshot. The wind crashed into me with the force of a door slamming in my face. I stumbled and tripped with each gust that pushed my weakened body, and by this time Hamilton walked in a bent over position. More so than the rest of us, he moaned in pain as his dehydrated and coagulated blood oozed through his veins. But despite the stiff winds and Hamilton’s health, we actually made quick work through the desert.

  The sun drifted towards the horizon, and the further we walked from the beach the harder the ground underfoot became. If I looked hard enough I swore I could see a remnant of an old road or runway as chips of old asphalt kicked around under my feet. Mounds of cement marked some old structure in the distance, and Red pointed at it like an old sailor who had spotted land for the first time in many months. It was a pile of cement that had the harsh angles of a manmade structure; one of the last remnants of a civilization that I would never get to see, but that lived here at some point. Red took off after the structure, his feet clapping against the hard ground. Hamilton stood and watched Red, barely able to remain vertical.

  Ellis saw the structure but he just returned his gaze to the ground. His pace didn’t speed up at all. The ground became even harder and was darker than other dirt I had seen in New Alcatraz. Red reached the structure and waited for the rest of us, patting it with his open palms, as if he’d found a stray dog. He smiled like there was an unspoken race to reach this old hunk of earth first. As I approached the misshapen gray chunks of the old building or whatever, the top layer of sand disappeared from the dark hard ground. The wind scattered the tiny pebbles and revealed a large parking lot, or maybe a runway.

  The dark asphalt stretched for as far as I could see, and the solid material felt odd under my feet. It was the most basic of all remnants of a society, but Red stood amazed at the hard asphalt ground. He looked at it like someone would admire Mount Rushmore or the Taj Mahal. Ellis was the last to arrive at the mundane landmark. His breathing wasn’t labored; he didn’t seem tired or energized, and he was neither happy nor sad. His attitude matched the hunk of indescribable cement that sat in the middle of the large asphalt parking lot.

  “Well, what now?” Red asked.

  “We are standing on top of the only way out of this place,” Ellis said in a plain tone. “We just need to find the way down.”

  CHAPTER 47

  5065

  NEW ALCATRAZ

  DAY 9

  Once at what was confirmed as the remains of the old Denver airport, we divided into groups to find the entrance to the vault. I went with my father. Red and Hamilton walked in the other direction. Ellis described the vault entrance as a long door in the ground; like an outdoor pantry or a storm shelter under a house. We walked aimlessly and kicked the ground every few steps.

  “You ever heard of Point Nemo?” My father asked while we searched. I shook my head. “Point Nemo is the point in the ocean that is the furthest from any form of land. Scientists call this a ‘pole of inaccessibility.’” Ellis said and made quotes in the air with his fingers.

  “Not truly inaccessible, but so remote that no one goes there. It is in the South Pacific Ocean. The closest land to Point Nemo is Ducie Island in the north, Maher Island in the south, Chatham Island in the west, and Southern Chile in the east. It is the most remote point in any ocean; at least it was back in our time.” Now that the sun was far below the horizon, the air actually felt cold. My jumpsuit was coated in a dried salt layer from the ocean air and my sweat. It felt like thick denim on my skin as it rubbed and chaffed at my elbows, knees, and around my neck.

  “There are other poles of inaccessibility,” my father said. “Not just the oceanic pole, Point Nemo. The continental pole of inaccessibility is in northwestern China, near the Kazakhstan border. It is the opposite of Point Nemo. It is the point on land that is furthest from any body of water. It is over two thousand six hundred kilometers awa
y from any body of water.”

  He stopped walking through the desert and looked up at the sky as he stretched and exhaled. He looked around, and, kicked the light ash dirt under his feet. We both wandered around like a couple who had lost an earring at the beach.

  He changed direction and walked away from me, but he kept talking. I was reminded of when I was a child in Buford, and my father described to me how we all came from stardust. And that is what we will return to. Then and now, I wanted to add to the conversation, but didn’t know what to say. “A pole of inaccessibility is known only for its remoteness in relation to something else. Water to land. Land to water. Person to civilization. The New Alcatraz penal colony is a new pole of inaccessibility. A temporal pole. Not a physical point of remoteness, but remote nonetheless. Even more so than Point Nemo. It is the point in time that is most removed from civilization, life, and human interaction, removed from all signs of what we humans can relate to. Like comfort, the creation and continuation of human life, and past relationships.”

  “Humans are not meant to be forced in these remote and inaccessible locations. But,” he countered, “there is comfort in this remoteness.” My father looked at me, and his eyes glowed in the night air. His face looked younger than I ever saw it as a child, but his expression was more severe. The relaxed person I grew up with was not the person in front of me; the only time I saw this side of my father was the moment before he died. The moment when he explained that I needed to find St. Anthony’s Orphanage in Ashton. Now, just as he did then, he spoke with purpose and conviction.