The Navigators

by Dan Alatorre

  “Minnie, it seems around 10,000 years ago, the lovely seaside town of Vero Beach was literally inundated with mastodons. Yep, they were crazy for the place—what, with three underground springs and all, it was an easy place to graze and water. Mastodon heaven.”

  He cranked the machine’s latitude knobs. “It still might be, too, if they hadn’t all died off. Now it’s geriatric heaven. But that’s a whole other thing. It’s a relatively short trip, so we should be able to go and get back on the fuel we have left, and we’ll only be gone a few minutes… What’s that? Peeky and Melissa?” He rested a hand on the frame. “Good point, old girl. They’ll miss out again.”

  “Well.” He patted his broken leg. “We all have to make sacrifices.”

  Barry glanced at the phone and made the last few adjustments to the knobs. “What do you say, darling? Are you up for a late night stroll?”

  Placing his hands on the levers, he pursed his lips. “Hold your ears and close your eyes tight, Minnie, there’s going to be a heck of a racket in a minute. But you already know that, don’t you?” He leaned over to toss the phone onto the bed–no cell service 10,000 years ago–and stopped himself.

  The tiny dot of the phone’s camera stared at him. “Pictures. Minnie, what a good idea. Thank you.” Glancing around at the room one last time, his eyes fell on the packets of crackers. “And there’s lunch.” He reached over and grabbed them, stuffing them into the backpack with the phone.

  “I think that’s about it, Minnie. Ready?”

  Dropping his hands onto the levers, he shifted them into place one after the other.

  Here we go. Sorry about the noise, neighbors.

  The whirring started. He let the backpack balance on his knees while he covered his ears with his hands. “I remember this as being pretty bad, Min!”

  The whirring grew louder. “Yep,” Barry shouted. “This is what I remember.”

  The noise grew to a deafening pitch. He scrunched down, pressing his hands to his head as hard as he could. “Damn, this sucks!” He squeezed his eyes shut. “Wow! Owwwww!”

  Then there was a brilliant flash.

  * * * * *

  It had already been a long day and still a lot needed to be done. Melissa leaned against the truck and inspected her feet. The lone security light from behind the mall shoe store was enough to see what she already knew.

  Blisters.

  She sighed, shutting the truck door. The keys dangled from the ignition.

  If we can pull this off and somehow save ourselves, these sore feet won’t matter. If we don’t, all the blisters in the world won’t make a difference in what happens.

  Basically, the blisters don’t matter.

  So let’s get ready for a nice long jog across campus, because nobody cares about your sore feet, Missy.

  * * * * *

  Barry’s head throbbed. He uncoiled himself from the backpack and looked around. A lush tropical forest stretched out in all directions, bright green and sunny.

  This definitely isn’t the motel.

  The ringing in his ears wasn’t as bad as he expected, and his eyes didn’t seem to have the afterburn problem he’d had as an observer. Humid air washed over him, bringing the noise of birds and the scent of pine trees.

  He eased himself off the metal seat, holding the machine by one hand, taking in his surroundings with a silent reverence as though he were in a church. The awesomeness of what he’d just done came to him in a wave. Roger hadn’t explained it. The raw forces of physics coming together to take him to another place in time. It was overwhelming. His knees wobbled, causing him to grab the oval frame.

  He swallowed, blinking back a tear, his voice a whisper. “Minnie… I think we did it.”

  Massive palm trees stretched toward the sky and huge ferns hugged every available inch of ground. The heat rose up from the tall, wet grass like a sauna. Flights of small birds cut through the clear sky.

  Barry stood there, mouth open. “My God. It’s so beautiful.” In the distance, a light mist hovered over patches of the long grass.

  I guess it just rained.

  Stepping out and holding the frame for balance, he inhaled and tasted the ancient air. “It’s… paradise. Hard to believe that in just ten thousand years, none of this will be here.” He chuckled, drawing his eyes over the tree line. “I sound like my grandpa, not a scientist. ‘All of this used to be palmettos’—that’s what he was always saying. ‘Now it’s condos. Damned shame.’”

  He breathed deep. Now I know what he meant.

  “Minnie.” He patted the machine. “I hate to leave you, old girl. But if we did what I think we did, I have to go see about some mastodons.” He glanced up at the sky. “Looks to be mid-morning. Maybe there are a few around getting some water. What are your thoughts? Go check? Don’t mind if I do. I don’t think anybody’s going to come snatch you away, so…”

  Easing his foot into the wet grass, he winced and prepared for a jolt of pain. The broken ankle was still swollen and steps were becoming more difficult. “A crutch, eh Minnie? I guess I’ll have to. My armpits are still bloody from the last ones, but beggars can’t be choosers.”

  Tall, wide laurel oaks stood on the other side of a small clearing, rising above the palms. “What I need is one of those camels that used to live around here. I could sure use a ride.”

  He gritted his teeth and put his weight on the foot again. “Well, if I don’t bang the cast around too much and hop gently, I might get to those trees and find a suitable branch for a crutch. Maybe I’ll cross paths with a mastodon along the way.”

  He eyed the backpack. “In which case, I’ll be needing the camera.” Slinging the bag over his shoulder, he sighed. “It’s just as hot as modern times. No wonder people didn’t move here in volume until there was air conditioning.” He turned to the machine. “Don’t look at me like that. You were buried in a nice cool mine.”

  Balancing, he turned to the trees and took a few tentative steps. “I’ll be back in time for dinner. Don’t wait up.”

  Cicadas buzzed the tops of the grasses as birds and small animals announced Barry’s approach to the forest. A stream meandered through the clearing, winding its way around large chunks of lime rock and an occasional tree root. The thick mass of grass made walking difficult. It softened his steps but it tangled around his legs, slowing his progress.

  A sharp sting pierced his neck “Good God!” Barry slapped at it, whipping his head upright. Blood came away on his hand. “Mosquito. Figures.”

  A cloud of insects hummed around him—then came the bites, like mini daggers. The mosquitos engulfed him, flying onto his arms and his legs, up his shorts, down his neck. He was dressed for heat, not insect defense. The tiny vampires buzzed his ears and flew into his mouth.

  “Shit! Shit! Shit!” He swatted in all directions. The mosquitos attacked every inch of unprotected skin. “Shit!”

  The stream. He made a mad one-legged dash for it, batting at the attacking swarm as he ran for the water.

  In seconds, he was upon it, splashing in at full speed. He pushed his way in a few steps and fell forward into the current. Rolling over, he threw water onto his face then resubmerged, rubbing his burning arms and legs as fast as possible. Another breath. The bugs were waiting. He fanned them with his hand long enough to grab a breath, then plunged his face under the cool surface again.

  The stream’s bottom was muddy. Breaking the surface again, Barry smeared handfuls of mud across his cheeks and neck, pushing it over his nose and ears, slapping it onto his forehead and chin. “This is how the old guys did it, you little blood suckers.” He reached down and grabbed more mud and plastered it over his mouth. “If this worked for them, it’ll work for me. Try to bite through this.”

  He raised himself up to chest level as a few mosquitoes hovered near his face. None landed on his muddy skin.

  “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

  His body heat and warm breath kept the interest of the mosquitoes for a while,
but with nothing to eat they would eventually move on. The mud would work well enough as a barrier; it was simply too thick to bite through and the risk of getting stuck in it was a death sentence for a predatory insect.

  Barry sat by the side of the stream, slathering mud everywhere. Behind his ears, up his shorts, everywhere. Any forgotten surface would be remembered quickly with the next mosquito bite, and he already had over a hundred. He pushed a thick swath of mud through his hair.

  The stream was pretty, and it was cool. As he neared completion of his paint job, Barry noticed the steamy humidity again.

  Not too many animals would be out in this heat. Certainly not big ones like mastodons. Where would one go to avoid the sun and to graze? The forest seemed likely. It contained thick trees and thin ones, a variety of leafy plants for mastodons to eat, and shade—important relief from the incessant, broiling sun. Although modern elephants used mud for that, too, tossing dirt onto their wet backs to make a sun shield. He didn’t know if mastodons did.

  They were cousins, though, the mastodon and the elephant. Aside from a haircut, they looked alike. Maybe they acted alike, too. How much could change in ten thousand years, anyway? After all, the long trunk remained, and so did the big ears.

  They were known to have a keen sense of smell but only mediocre eyesight. Their hearing was top notch, though.

  I guess if you’re the biggest beast in the jungle, you don’t have to worry too much about seeing what’s-

  Out of the corner of his eye, something moved. It glided through the tall grass, a large shadow on a path parallel to the stream. Barry held his breath and lowered himself back into the water.

  What is it? An animal of some sort. A predator, from the way it moves.

  The shadow was only about twenty feet away, but the wind was in Barry’s favor. He held the backpack on his chest and submerged up to his nose.

  All animals can be dangerous, and a surprised animal is the most dangerous. Whatever this was, it was inadvertently coming near him, but hadn’t seen him yet. His heart pounded in his chest as he watched the shadow creep closer.

  A shock went through Barry as he realized what had happened. The fragrances used in shampoos and deodorants—so common in his time—would be intriguing scents here. Getting wet in the stream had revived the aromas, but as he piled on the mud, he dampened the modern human smell.

  Dampened, but not eliminated. He slid down another inch. The mud on his head helped hide him visually as well as aromatically, but he needed air—and he needed to see.

  This would be a game of wait and watch. If Barry didn’t move and the animal didn’t see him, he could stay put until it passed. Maybe it wasn’t even stalking him at all. Every animal needed water, so the streams were a natural watering place—and a natural hunting ground.

  Maybe whatever it is just needs a drink.

  He remained rigid, not daring to blink as the shadow slinked through the ferns and grass, moving slowly as though it had lost sight of whatever it had been tracking. It moved steadily alongside the stream, closer and closer, obscured by a few feet of tall grass.

  It stopped and raised its head to sniff the air. Its nose and ears became visible. It was one of the big cats, a relative of the saber toothed tiger, and just as dangerous. It looked to be five or six feet long, not counting its long tail. Normally it might hunt a baby mammoth.

  It lowered its head and took a few more steps, gliding effortlessly through the underbrush. The long grass made no noise as it passed over the animal’s long body. Barely a twig snapped under its tremendous weight.

  Barry remained frozen in the water. His only hope was if the predator didn’t see him. He squeezed the backpack. It wouldn’t make much of a weapon. Fighting a bear or any large predator, the idea is to make yourself “big,” to present yourself as a threat and hope to avoid a conflict.

  If an attack were to occur, the goal was to fight back as hard as possible. The animal wants a meal, not an injury. Even the smallest wounds got infected in the jungle, and infection is death—even for a tiger.

  He wrapped one strap of the backpack around his hand. Maybe throwing it at the tiger would be enough of a scare to chase it off.

  If not, I’ve lost my only weapon.

  He drew another slow breath.

  The tiger moved again, lifting its snout to the sky. It smelled something, and it seemed to want to explore that smell. What could intrigue a big cat that much?

  Then he understood.

  Blood.

  Barry pulled at his shirt. His armpits has been stained with blood from the crutches, and the scent was now in the water. Sitting by the stream while he piled mud onto himself had put the blood scent into the air.

  The tiger would eventually figure it out, and then find its source.

  That’s why he’s hunting in daytime.

  The big cat moved again, this time drawing a line in Barry’s direction. No longer walking parallel to the stream, the cat now looked to actively enter it. In a moment, it would spot Barry, too.

  Do tigers swim? I know gorillas can’t. I’m pretty sure tigers can. What do I do? I can’t outrun it. I have to stand my ground and fight. Is that better done in the water? I can get up a tree—but so can it. Better than me, especially with a cast on.

  A heavy, soaking wet cast.

  Barry could see the whole outline of the tiger as it moved, glimpsing its long, extended fangs. It was less than ten feet from him now. He froze as the big cat pushed effortlessly through the tall grass toward him.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  I had stayed mostly to side streets and alleys as I made the long hike to the free clinic. There weren’t many cars on the street at this hour, and the few that passed were mostly late night party goers—nobody interested in a dirty, disheveled young man walking alone.

  The dark store windows and the street lights overhead created a mirror every twenty feet. I didn’t dare look. I wasn’t sure about that person anymore.

  I shoved my hands into my pockets and continued onward. The time would come when a decision had to be made.

  Does the possibility of running away even exist anymore? Probably not. Not for an exchange student with a student visa.

  Less so for a fleeing felon.

  On the corner stood a shoe repair shop with a pay phone on the wall. A relic from another time. A sign from the gods that fate is the result of choices.

  I could call Findlay and tell him the location of the machine, then just walk away. I could save myself and maybe restore my family.

  As I stared at the phone, I thought of my father and grandfather.

  How will you be remembered?

  I knew the ancient answer to the riddle. I had been raised on it. We are remembered for the difficult choices we make, never for the easy ones.

  And this was no easy choice.

  * * * * *

  The tiger had a fix on Barry’s scent. It was crouching, sniffing the air for him, but so far the wind wouldn’t comply. It was close enough for Barry to hear the big cat’s breathing—a low, menacing rumble.

  He tightened his grip on the backpack.

  The big cat turned and stopped, raising its head. It glanced back toward the tree line, perking its ears.

  Then Barry heard it, too. The familiar whirring of the time machine as it revved up to make its return trip.

  Minnie was announcing it was time to go.

  * * * * *

  Melissa had run the campus par course many times. Rarely at night, and usually in running shoes, but tonight the dirt surface and periodic water fountains between the outdoor exercise stations gave relief like they never had before.

  She was soaked in sweat and her feet were bruised.

  A few miles remained between the mall and her friends’ apartments; even the closest ones lived on the far side of campus. The shortest, safest route was this one—a dark, slender running path.

  She paused for a moment by the fountain, getting a second wind.

  A
difficult day had turned into a difficult night. As long as she appeared at least a little like a jogger, nobody would give her a second thought, but the threat of campus security loomed as word had certainly gotten out about the Sun Dome by now.

  The cops weren’t likely to let that slide, and since I’m still wearing the same clothes…

  It wasn’t worth thinking about.

  Move quickly, move quietly, and stay in the shadows.

  It’s going to be a long night and it’s still just getting started.

  * * * * *

  The noise from the time machine grew louder, beckoning its imminent departure. Barry sat still in the water, afraid to move and afraid to stay. The saber tooth tiger seemed intrigued by the sound but hesitant to explore it.

  The whirring grew more intense. Barry thought to cover his ears, but couldn’t risk catching the eye of the big cat.

  Minnie’s wailing reached a deafening peak. Barry closed his eyes for what was about to happen next. The cat crouched, its ears obviously hurting from the noise.

  It was dizzying. Barry wasn’t sure what was taking so long. Usually the machine had let out with its blast of light by now. Instead, the incessant siren continued.

  The cat was feeling it, too. It flinched and shrugged against the noise, backing away.

  A huge blast shot out like lightning. The cat leaped back and ran for the trees. The echo of the whirring faded through the forest, and only a ringing in Barry’s ears remained.

  Minnie had saved him.

  And maybe she had killed him, too. If the machine had returned without him, he was now dead to all his friends and family, anyone he had ever loved. But he had survived becoming dinner for a saber tooth tiger – for now.

  Barry inched his head out of the water, straining to ensure the tiger had departed. There was no sign. The big cat had had enough.

  He sat on the side of the stream, breathing hard. After his pulse returned from the stratosphere, he decided to go see what had happened to Minnie—but he walked a long circle from the tree line where the tiger had disappeared.