Lost Time (The Bridge Sequence Book Two)

by Nathan Hystad

  “At least,” Clay agreed. “What could have caused this much destruction?”

  There were over ten large buildings crumpled to the ground, their bases jutting into the air. Two of the towers appeared intact, farther away from their position. They only became visible as the pair moved closer, and the fog lifted as the morning heated up. When they arrived at the fissure, Dirk was sweating. Clayton was too, but he didn’t even complain.

  The cleft in the ground was around a half-mile wide and maybe two hundred yards deep. It would have taken one hell of a weapon to cause so much damage. Dirk kept glancing to the horizon, in case the perpetrator was planning a return visit. But judging from how tall the vegetation was along the inner edges of the carved-out hole, this place had been attacked decades prior, maybe centuries. Trees rose from the soil and through hard-packed land, stretching a hundred feet up.

  “I see a way across,” Clay said, indicating a spot nearby where the short cliff wall terraced adequately for two people to climb down. With any luck, they’d be able to find a similar passage to return out of it on the far side.

  Dirk felt exposed on the ground, though no one would be able to spot them unless they peered over the edge. Something dangerous had damaged the region years ago, and he hoped they were long gone. Clay was usually the more reserved of the pair, but today, he took the lead. He stepped with a calm assurance, like he was born for this moment.

  Grass grew in tufts from the dense beige soil, and the ground was fissured and cracked, like the area hadn’t seen moisture in months. That didn’t necessarily correlate with the dense fog from earlier, but Dirk couldn’t presume to estimate how an alien weather system should operate. He soaked it all in, touching the dirt, running his palm across the rough sides of a green-barked tree trunk. Dirk plucked a leaf from a low-lying branch, rubbing the veiny purple foliage between his fingers. It left a greasy residue.

  Clayton ran ahead, scrambling up the cut-out stairs. Dirk tried his best to follow the man’s footsteps, and he made it, dust clinging to his face and arms as he heaved a few breaths.

  Everything seemed far closer here, and it smelled different. Gone was the scent of trees and nature, replaced with the musty smell that reminded Dirk of ancient underground ruins: the way the stones held the scent of minerals from water deposits, and the mortar that absorbed the history of the region over the centuries.

  “This is an astonishing find,” Clay said, slowing as they approached the first of the crumbled structures.

  “How big do you think this was?” Dirk asked. He’d already begun to mentally calculate using the amount of debris around it. Roughly three stories persisted, with half of the top floor torn in half, exposing it to the elements.

  “Best guess, ten stories.” Clay’s answer mirrored Dirk’s own estimation. His companion started climbing the hunks of rock.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Let’s see what’s inside,” Clay suggested.

  “How about we save that for another day, or wait until we reach one that’s more intact? You know my rules concerning unsafe sites. We don’t enter. Not until we’re positive the structure is reinforced.” Dirk smiled as Clay nodded, clambering off the rubble.

  “Rules are rules.” Clay shrugged, returning to the path.

  Dirk guessed there had once been streets here, but nature had overtaken them. It was also difficult to differentiate between the rubble from the buildings and what might have been roadways. Everything sat together, a mixture of an ancient race. “I wonder how many years ago they dropped the Tokens on Earth.”

  Dirk’s comment achieved the desired effect. Speculation on this kind of topic was an easy way to distract Clayton, and he didn’t disappoint. Clay rattled off the information they had, stating that the first Token had likely been discovered by the Egyptians around 3000 BC, making a solid five thousand years.

  “That means these people could have been targeted any time after that.” Dirk took the lead again, finding an intact walkway between the next two structures. These were worse off than the first one, with nothing remaining of the original base.

  The ground descended toward a distant body of water here, and Dirk couldn’t tell if it was a lake or ocean. From this vantage point, it continued for some distance, and spread out far in either direction along the shore.

  “Look.” Clay’s voice was quiet, and he crouched at a huge boulder. A winged animal fluttered high in the sky, gliding lower. It was difficult to tell its size, but the noise it made was reminiscent of a falcon on the hunt. They watched it for a few minutes, and it finally flapped, shooting for the water, into the wind.

  “I guess we’re not alone.” Dirk peered at the dome, noticing it was farther away than he’d thought. It looked so small from this vantage point. The sun was more than halfway through the sky, and Dirk didn’t know what that meant for the duration of the day. He was sure they didn’t want to be caught out there at night. There were too many unknowns on this planet. “We should head back.”

  “Now? We just started. Do you know how much work it’ll be to return?” Clay asked.

  “What if they open the Bridge?” Dirk doubted it.

  “It’s too soon, and you know it. You wanted to cross the Bridge, Dirk. Well, look around. You have. We’ll find somewhere to crash tonight. We’re only an hour or so from the standing towers.” Clay was correct. The pair of buildings was upright, like beacons on this otherwise desolate wasteland.

  A few hardy plants grew along the pathway, their exteriors tough and shell-like. Dirk touched one, and the sharp needles bit into his skin, drawing blood. If he was going to survive this adventure, he figured he’d need to emulate the plants.

  An hour became two when they encountered a particularly dangerous section of the city. The ground had spread apart again, and it dropped into darkness. “We can’t climb around this,” Dirk said, grabbing a palm-sized rock. He tossed it into the void, listening as the rock clattered off the edges, continuing to fall to the count of twelve. “Maybe half a mile deep.”

  “Jeez.” Clayton was losing his confidence. It was evident in his posture, and the way he’d nervously billowed his sweat-stained shirt in the heat. He took a drink of water from his canteen, and Dirk realized another thing.

  “We need water. If there are birds, there has to be a source nearby.”

  “Will that sea have salt?” Clay asked.

  “Only one way to find out. If it does, we’ll have to follow the animals to a spring.” Dirk didn’t like their options much, but it wasn’t like they had a choice. They wound around the huge gash in the street, adding over an hour, but finally made it to the first standing building in the city. There were no windows, and it wasn’t built of stone like the rest. It was like a developer had come to town and upgraded the scenery with a couple of projects. It had either stood the test of time, or it had been engineered after the initial attack.

  Clay was walking around the base level, searching for an entrance, when Dirk first smelled it. “Clay, someone’s here.”

  “What do you…” Clay sniffed the air, looking for a sign of smoke. “Fire.”

  “Where there’s fire, there’s life. Come on,” Dirk said, moving with a renewed sense of urgency.

  The sky was darkening when he finally spotted the smoke. Small tendrils rose into the air a short distance away. They’d arrived at the rear of the city, the damaged ruins bordering a forest. The trees were thin, the grass a dry brown color.

  “What’s the plan?” Clay’s eyes were wide as he kept between Dirk and the city they’d just passed through. He was looking to Dirk for leadership. Dirk pulled the revolver, feeling the weight of the gun. It did little to relax him.

  “We can’t turn around. Not this late.” Dirk took a tentative step forward, entering the treed area. A branch snapped in front of them, and someone spoke. More twigs. Dirk spun slowly as the beings stepped out from their hiding positions. They were surrounded.

  5

  Veronica’s car
was inside the garage, and we pulled into the tight space beside her, not wanting our vehicles to be in the open. So far, we hadn’t heard any sirens or seen any police copters scanning the area. Maybe the housekeeper really was going to stay quiet. Tripp had a way of keeping people from talking.

  Veronica greeted us at the door, clearly upset.

  “What’s going on?” I asked.

  “Dirk and Clay. They’re missing,” she said.

  “What the hell do you mean?” Tripp barged past her, trudging snow into the house as he searched the rental unit.

  “Like I said. Their jackets and shoes are gone. I saw their tracks leading to the street, but they disappear afterwards. The streets were plowed. They must have covered their footprints.” Veronica had her own coat on.

  “We have to go after them,” I said. “Marcus, stay here, keep searching for what Hunter had on that drive. Call me if they show.”

  “Should we split up?” Veronica asked.

  Tripp was back, leaning against the closet. His expression told me he was extremely annoyed. “What would they be doing?”

  “With that pair, I can’t tell. If they hitchhiked somewhere…”

  Veronica held up their passports, which had been laid out on the table. “Don’t think they’re going too far. It was their only ID.”

  “What about money? Did they have any?” I had a few bills in my wallet, but that was on me.

  “I’ll check.” Tripp left again and returned, frowning. “I have a stash from Hunter’s house in Boston. It’s been tampered with, but if they took any, it was only a few hundred.”

  “Okay, then they weren’t planning on abandoning us. They probably went to find food. Or groceries.” It was the sensible option.

  Tripp shook his head but smiled as he did so. “No.”

  “Then where?” Veronica asked.

  “Marcus, we’ll be in touch.” Tripp tossed the van keys to me. “You’re driving.”

  Twenty minutes later, we were pulling into a run-down bar in the heart of Montauk. Most of the businesses were closed for the season, but this place remained open.

  “Every town has a watering hole for the locals. Hell, it’s probably as profitable in the winter as the summer,” Tripp said.

  True to his word, there were ten vehicles parked outside, most of them older models: rusted-out pickup trucks and dented four-wheelers.

  “I still think this is a long shot. It’s quite the hike,” I told him.

  “For them? Nah. It’s not that cold out. A little snow never hurt anyone,” he said.

  “You’re forgetting our trip to Antarctica,” I reminded him, but he didn’t take the bait.

  A couple of thick-set men smoked near the entrance, talking low as we passed them. Sad country music played inside and grew much louder as we approached, a bell chiming as we opened the door.

  A waitress peered over and dropped off a few overflowing pitchers at a table before waving us inside. “Sit anywhere you like.”

  If that was my choice, I’d have selected another establishment, but I didn’t tell her that.

  At first, I thought Tripp might have been wrong, then I spied the pair sitting at the bar. “There they are,” I whispered.

  The floor was sticky as I crossed the bar, and Tripp stayed behind Veronica and me. I doubted anyone was going to cause trouble, but none of the patrons seemed overly pleased to see tourists in their hometown dive.

  I stopped short of our parents, watching them for a second. Dirk had two hands clutching a short glass, the brown liquor filling half of it. Clay had a beer, with an empty shot glass beside it. They didn’t speak, just stared at the TV screen above the bar. The volume was off, but a black bar with subtitles scrolled across the bottom. The four Objects were a constant news story, and today was no different.

  “Dad, what are you doing here?” I asked him. The bartender looked at me, then him, and I realized most people wouldn’t believe he was old enough to be my father. I had to be more cautious.

  He turned around slowly, as if he’d been expecting us. “Rex, have a seat.” He pushed out a stool. I obliged, and Tripp took the seat beside Clayton. Veronica sat next to me.

  “What’ll it be?” the rugged bartender asked us.

  “We’re not staying,” I said, but Dirk disagreed.

  “Have a drink. I’m not ready to go home yet.”

  “I think you are…”

  “It’s okay, Rex. I’ll have a…” Veronica probably wanted to request a glass of wine but didn’t trust the quality of the vintages here. “Gimme a pint of lager.”

  “Same for me,” Tripp said.

  “Make it three.” Dirk smiled as I ordered.

  No one spoke until the drinks were delivered, and when the bartender vanished to serve another customer, Dirk leaned in. “Did you locate what you were after?”

  I sipped the beer, nodding. “And more.”

  “What does that mean?” he asked. I could smell the booze on him, and he was slurring his words. I bet if he rose, he’d sway on his feet. I’d never been around my father drunk before, and it was a strange sight. But I hadn’t seen him do most things, so that wasn’t out of the ordinary.

  “We’ll discuss it later. Looks like you two are having fun,” I said.

  “Clayton was feeling thirsty. You do understand we were alone for eight years.” The way he said it, every third word attached itself to the next.

  “I sympathize.” I sighed, wanting to be patient with the man. He was so much different than I’d expected. Sometimes, he was clear and concise, like the night he’d explained the Unknowns and Hardy’s theories. The next day, he’d grown reclusive and shut down. Clayton was even more difficult to read. Veronica barely remembered her father, and I’d only met him a few times as a boy, so we didn’t have a lot to compare his behavior with.

  “What’s the headline today?” Tripp asked Clay.

  “Same old. Nothing new to see here.” Clay waved the bartender over, asking for another drink. “I’m gonna hit the can.” He stumbled off the stool, marching across the room.

  The newscaster was commentating on gathering masses at DC, the streets near the White House filling with people demanding to hear what the President was doing about the situation. He’d failed to make the press conference they were planning, and everyone was growing tense over it.

  “Dad, was this a good idea? What if someone asked questions?”

  Dirk looked at me sideways. “Rex, you remind me of your mother.”

  “Don’t do this,” I muttered.

  “No. Not because you’re nagging me, but because you care. She was always a bleeding heart.” He drank the remaining whiskey, rotating the empty glass in front of his eyes. “I didn’t deserve her. I didn’t deserve any of you.”

  “It’s been a trying week. Let’s head back to the house. We’ll pick up some drinks at the grocery store,” I promised.

  Clay bumped into someone. He was in mid-shot on the pool table, and I anticipated an altercation. The guy was big, almost a foot taller than Clay. Years of muscles had melted to flab, but I bet he packed a hell of a punch under all that girth.

  “Watch where you’re going, little man,” he said, shoving Clayton. Veronica’s dad caught himself on a barstool near the dart boards but didn’t back down. He strode over to the offender with his arms at his sides and stared at the guy, blinking a couple of times with his chin tilted.

  Tripp had come to his aid, ready to intervene, but the man laughed at Clay, returning to his pool game. His buddy egged him on, but he didn’t speak to Clay again.

  “What was that?” Veronica whispered.

  “I don’t know.” The whole incident could have been an act of maturity, with the local man deciding better than pummeling Clayton on a weekday afternoon at a low-rent bar in Montauk, but it felt like more. Like Clay had somehow urged him to forget the confrontation.

  Tripp tapped Clay on the shoulder, and I climbed off the stool, announcing it was time to leave. My dad dr
opped one of Tripp’s hundred-dollar bills on the counter, mumbling how expensive everything was, and the bartender didn’t react, like hearing middle-aged men complain about money was an everyday occurrence for him.

  The air was cooler when we exited, but the sun was still up, almost ready to descend. We stopped at the local market a few minutes before they closed and gathered some fresh ingredients before going home.

  Dirk and Clayton were out cold before dinner, falling asleep on the couches with the TV running.

  Marcus had headphones on, and I heard music leaking from the earpieces as I walked over, tapping him on the shoulder. Without looking, he turned the tune off. “There’s so much information here. A lot of corporate mumbo-jumbo to sift through, but I found something of Hardy’s. It doesn’t seem to be organized very well, but this makes it easier to locate the others. Shouldn’t be long.”

  “And the other thing? The… device?” I asked this more quietly. We hadn’t discussed it with Dirk and Clay yet.

  “No idea. Haven’t gotten to that.”

  “Okay, keep working at it.” Veronica and Tripp were in the kitchen, talking closely while a pot of coffee brewed. I joined them, and judging by the expression on Tripp’s face, they weren’t pleased. “What’s the matter?”

  Tripp glanced at the sleeping men in the living room. “Them.”

  “What do you want to do?” I asked.

  “Something is wrong, Rex. If you can’t see it, you’re blind.” This was from Veronica. “The way he handled that guy in the bar. It’s not normal. They’re acting so strange.”

  “For all we know, they picked up a virus on this other planet. Or their brains were altered from years in another atmosphere. There are too many variables.”

  Tripp clenched his jaw, the muscles jutting out. “Regardless, we need to act.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “They might be lying about everything. We’re wasting our time searching for this seventh Token, instead of focusing on the Believers and stopping these Objects. What if they’re a distraction, sent by the Unknowns to deceive us? Maybe they’re younger than they should be because the aliens don’t understand our physiology,” Tripp suggested.