Lost Time (The Bridge Sequence Book Two)

by Nathan Hystad

  “Are you certain we should do this?” Clayton asked him. He was having a good day, with life in his eyes and jump in his steps. Clayton preferred to speak English, while recalling their old words was growing more difficult for Dirk.

  “We are Wanderers, are we not?” Dirk asked.

  “I suppose. Don’t you feel like we’ve gone too far? I think we need to leave. To explore what Rimia has to offer,” Clayton suggested. It was that time again. He brought this up like clockwork. So far, he’d been unwilling to make the trek to the mountains himself, which told Dirk that Clayton was afraid. He’d bought into the Wanderers’ fear of the region. Or perhaps he didn’t like the idea of venturing off alone. Clayton had always ceded to Dirk’s lead, and though many things had changed between them, that fact hadn’t.

  Dirk glanced at Opor, her dark skin glistening in the heat. His own was nearly as tanned, and he tugged at the leather vest he wore as part of today’s ceremony. “Why leave, Clayton? Can we not find peace in our new existence? We wanted to learn what lay across the Bridge. We found it. This is it!”

  “I don’t think so. I’ve seen more,” Clayton said.

  “What do you mean?”

  Clayton took off his glasses, wiping his nose with his sleeve. “I know things. It’s as if I’m being tested. I dream…”

  Dirk stiffened at the words. He’d never mentioned the other life he lived while sleeping. Not because he didn’t want to discuss it, but because it was too strange. No one else around here seemed to experience anything like it. Not until now.

  Dirk stepped closer, pulling Clayton to the side. “What do you dream of?”

  He stared at the town center, glasses off and in his grip. “It’s like I’m inside someone else’s head.”

  “Are they in Paris?” Dirk waited, wondering if they could both be observing the same life.

  “Paris?” Clayton seemed offended. “This isn’t a human; that much is obvious. But as soon as I wake, the memory vanishes. It’s like dissipating fog in the morning sunlight. It’s hard to explain.”

  “I understand that. How often does it happen?” Dirk saw the others preparing the town hall, carrying in firewood and seating benches to accommodate everyone. He wanted to go help, but this was important.

  “It’s difficult. The Wanderers tell me this is not uncommon,” he told Dirk. “But I feel him after I wake as well. More, lately.”

  “You’ve spoken to them about the dreams?”

  “Why not? Vereen assures me it’s part of being a Wanderer. They live multiple lives. I don’t think they quite grasp the significance of it.” Clay put his glasses on and cracked his knuckles. “Anyway. I’m hoping we’ll learn more after this ceremony. There has to be a reason they’re not reproducing. Maybe there’s a side effect to this drink I’ve heard about.”

  “Maybe we can find out. Are you sure you want to take part in this tonight?” Dirk asked, suddenly not positive he wanted to join the ritual.

  “I wasn’t earlier, but if you’re not willing to explore with me, I’ll stay here until you think it’s time to leave. I can’t move on quite so easily.” He clearly meant Dirk’s relationship with Opor, and it stung.

  Dirk was losing patience with his old friend. “Maybe you should go, Clay. Head to the mountains and let the wild animals feast on you. There’s nothing on this planet but life and death. Do we not have everything we need right here?”

  Clay smiled eerily. “Dirk, you were never satisfied with settling at home when you were married with children. But here on Rimia, it’s acceptable? What happened to the spirit of Dirk Walker, the man who inspired me to join him on this foolish quest? You’ve lost it.”

  Dirk stared at him, feeling the comments soak into his bloodstream. Clay’s assessment was accurate.

  “Fine. We’ll participate in the ceremony, but if you think you need to see the mountains, I’ll go with you. When we find a barren wasteland, do you promise to return to the village with me and stop longing for something you can’t have?” Dirk said it with more anger than he’d intended, but it did the trick. He was certain Opor would forgive such a transgression. Surely she could turn a blind eye now that they were in a relationship. He wouldn’t ask her to choose between him and her people, though. Especially not tonight.

  Clay stuck his hand out, still grinning. “Deal.” They shook on it, and Opor waved them over from the town hall.

  “We’re almost prepared,” she told them, and pointed at the sky. “When the sun sets, we will begin.”

  Anticipation burned through Dirk. The first time they’d performed the ceremony, he’d only been on Rimia for a few months and hadn’t been permitted to join. When the locals came out of the town hall, they’d been glistening with sweat, their pupils dilated like saucer plates. Opor had spoken with an accent, and the rest of their people had acted just as strange. It went on for a day, but eventually, they came out of it, sleeping it off like they’d had a terrible hangover.

  The Wanderers had been taught the ritual, and it was said to have gone on as long as they’d been on Rimia.

  Clay and Dirk went to pluck a piece of fruit from the town’s orchard. Clay bit into his, purple juices dripping over his chin. “Do you ever feel like you’re losing yourself?”

  “Every day.” Dirk patted Clay on the back. “We’ve been friends forever. I’m sorry for drifting apart. I’ll be there for you moving forward. I’ve failed our friendship, Clay.”

  The sun set, the stars shining brightly in the cloudless sky. It was the most perfect and serene night Dirk had experienced on Rimia. A slight breeze brought warm air from inland, and he was already hot as they entered the log cabin. Two hundred of the Wanderers were packed inside, ranging from the gray-skinned elderly to a pink baby clutching on to its mother. A few children were inside, but mostly the Wanderers were in their thirties, forties, and fifties, if Dirk had to compare them to humans.

  They all wore versions of Dirk’s and Clayton’s outfits: leather shorts and skirts, with matching vests. Some wore bands over their brows, preventing sweat from pouring into their eyes, and Dirk grabbed one from near the entrance, tying it around his head. Opor was near the fire in the center of the room, and she motioned for the duo to join her at the front of the crowd.

  The eldest villager rose near the fire, stirring a giant cauldron and chanting. The words were unfamiliar to Dirk.

  “What are they doing?” Clay whispered as they sat on the wooden bench.

  Dirk could only shrug. They hadn’t been told what to expect.

  Opor rose, and Gunow, the town’s largest man, went to the doors, dropping a locking mechanism across it. He stayed there, arms crossed. There was no backing out after this part.

  Opor smiled in Dirk’s direction and started. “We are Wanderers. We’ve been tasked with remaining here, and that is what we will do, now and forever. This ceremony is our last connection to our ancestors. We feel their presence from above. Despite their requests to return, know they cannot be pulled from the heavens. The stars have absorbed their astral bodies, and we are here to assure them that we are performing their duties. Guarding Rimia.”

  Clay seemed nervous, and Dirk grabbed his arm as he tried to stand. “Don’t.”

  He stayed put, glancing at the bowl while the old woman’s voice rose in pitch, stirring faster.

  “Let us drink from their spirits, so that we may walk amongst them!” Opor said, and five women with round, deep bowls arrived, allowing the elderly matriarch to ladle liquid into the dishes. They went row by row, handing the bowls to the first person in line. Dirk watched as they each sipped from theirs and echoed the same word, “Remember,” then passed them on.

  Opor took her own dish, and came to sit beside Dirk and Clay, drinking a mouthful before handing it to Dirk. It was murky and smelled odd, like meat and sulfur. He dove in, swallowing some before handing it to Clay.

  Opor was holding his hand, and Dirk was mesmerized by the fire, which appeared to expand before him. The flames felt
like they were licking his face, his hair melted against his scalp, but he hadn’t moved. No one had. Clay sat still, mumbling inaudible words.

  Dirk glanced up, seeing the smoke rising through the open gap in the ceiling. It reminded him of the Bridge access near Porto. The stars above were the same he’d seen once the swirling blue light had arrived, and he suddenly wanted nothing more than to return home.

  Clay slid to the floor, eyes closed. The villagers sank to the ground as well. Opor let go of Dirk’s hand, a euphoric smirk on her beautiful face as she slumped forward.

  Pressure built in his head, and Dirk fought to retain control. A presence pushed itself in, a foreign entity he didn’t give permission to. “No!” he shouted, but everything was shifting around him. Whatever he’d drunk was similar to an ayahuasca he’d consumed on Earth, and he understood that he’d been drugged. But he wasn’t ready to let the Wanderers’ ancestors invade his senses. The brief encounter left him feeling dirty, and he was glad to have scared it off.

  But he was drifting away. Dirk slumped back, his legs sliding down the bench. He pictured his family as he lost consciousness, and for the first time since arriving at Rimia, he dreamt he was Rex, his son, instead of the French Believer.

  He struggled to comprehend the dream, because Rex was far older, but he was definitely Rexford. Rebecca had aged, as had Beverly. They sat around their very same kitchen table, and Dirk cried openly at seeing them all together. Was this a vision from the future? How was this possible?

  Rex? He called out from inside the boy’s mind, but he didn’t seem to hear Dirk. They spoke of Rex leaving for college, and the air was tense around his family. Rebecca didn’t smile once, Bev relayed a heavy sadness, and Rex… he could feel his son’s emotions boiling over. He wanted to study archeology like his father, and it was breaking his mother’s heart.

  Rex… Dirk felt himself receding from the dream and attempted to cling on.

  4

  I recalled several moments in my life when I’d experienced something similar to what had happened to me in the van with my father. The first had been the dinner before I escaped home for university. I’d felt his presence and swore I heard his voice calling my name. It had been a sign at that moment; I took it to mean I was following the right path.

  It happened again when I first discovered his journals years after I found out my mother had hidden them from me. I began to study the drawings, learning where he’d been planning his search for what I now understood were the six Tokens. The encounter had been brief but powerful. I was so convinced it was him, imploring me forward. At that point, I’d thought he was dead, and began to investigate theories of visitations from the afterlife. It had been a dark time for me.

  This morning had been something far different, but the signature was the same. The familiarity of Dirk’s resilient spirit remained. I was beginning to understand there was something much deeper at play here than invading aliens in the Objects. They were advanced, with the ability to dream walk. It was probably what the Believers were practicing when they learned about attuning. Were they just opening themselves up like vessels to the aliens? Inviting them in to take over their bodies? It was a distinct possibility, one that I couldn’t dismiss very easily.

  My father was aware of so much more than he was letting on, and I needed him to be truthful. He had to open up and lay it all on the table if we were going to have a shot at saving humanity. I could sense the secrets he kept buried, even in the moment I’d been inside his mind. It was sealed off tight, like he was purposefully hiding things from me.

  “You going to stay in the van all day?” Veronica waited at the sliding door with her and my bag on her shoulders.

  “No. I’m coming.” I took my bag and stared at the hotel. Boulder was a beautiful city, with a gorgeous mountain backdrop. The air was thinner this high from sea level, and I inhaled deeply, enjoying the brisk winter air. A resort bus pulled up in front of us, dropping off the morning skiers from the slopes. Everyone looked so relaxed here, oblivious to any of the craziness happening in our misadventures. I envied their simple existences. Eat, love, sleep, work, play. It made me wish I’d done more of those things before I had the burden of the Believers, Tokens, and Bridges.

  The hotel was nice, adorned like every mountain resort town I’d ever seen. Woods and stone décor. A roaring fireplace greeted us inside the lobby, and I spotted Carson throwing a snowball at his sister outside. Bev watched them with a smile on her face.

  We had six rooms in total, with hopes that we’d rescue the other four of our friends. It still seemed like such a long shot, but we needed to attempt it. Not only that, but they held the Token, and that was our priority. After viewing Tripp and Clayton through Dirk’s eyes, I had to admit that my own objectives had changed. They were more important to me than the Token. There was no way of knowing what the Token would even open, if anything.

  Veronica gathered the room keys and paid using a credit card linked to Hunter’s accounts. His death was still a secret burden of ours to keep.

  My phone vibrated while I trudged through resort halls. Everyone that had this number was in this hotel. Well, almost everyone.

  I didn’t recognize the sender, but when I read the message, it was obvious. My bag fell to the carpeted hallway, and I rested against the wall with the others all ahead.

  I’m okay. In the mountains. Pinging you the location. It’s different now. They changed their attitude towards us. Feels more like we’re prisoners. Won’t be able to find another phone. Please respond. Let me know you’re coming. Quickly.

  I hurried, assuming Marcus was risking everything to have accessed a phone. We’re coming. Two days. I hit send, hoping he’d erase our interaction.

  He didn’t respond.

  “Was that him?” Veronica circled back, and she huddled close to me, trying to see the message. I handed it over, letting her read it. “Dear God. He’s alive.”

  I’d always assumed he would be, but clearly, Veronica thought otherwise. “We’re going to save him.” I knew this with certainty. Or I’d die trying.

  “You better believe it. Let’s set up. We have a lot to do.” She turned abruptly, and I stepped in front of her.

  Instead of speaking, I just kissed her again. She smirked and dragged me down the hallway. Her room was next to mine, and we entered hers, dropping our bags at the door. The danger, the constant worry for my dad and Marcus was put on hold.

  “We might not have long,” she said between kisses.

  “Then we’d better hurry.” We went to one of the double beds, tugging our shirts free and falling onto the mattress together. I let the stress of the mission and the pain from my injuries dissolve in her arms, and could tell she was doing the exact same thing. I didn’t know what we had, but at that moment, it was enough.

  ____________

  There were a lot of moving pieces. Veronica booked the business center, which wasn’t much more than a room with a long table, and three separate desks and an old printer you could use for free. The hotel assured us privacy, and we tried to keep our work discreet. There was a chance that some of the Believers were also staying in Boulder, and the last thing we wanted was them to find us sewing cult robes.

  Evan Young and Saul had left early on, driving to the peaks to record everything with their drone. It had a limited flight time with the battery size, but Evan had splurged and bought one that would be able to film and live stream from a high altitude. To anyone watching, it would look like a distant bird in the sky.

  I was working on duplicating the badges, using a computer program I was familiar with. I’d struggled with graphic design, but Veronica helped on that front, assuring me she did all her own company design for her social media sites. All we really needed to do was scan Grayson’s badge and edit the information, adding another three numerical variations so we could each enter. We made up digits for Evan, Veronica, and Saul. He was giving me Grayson’s because he knew it would work regardless, and I might be a
ble to recognize something from my dream that would help me find them. He also stated the number sequences were how they differentiated ranks. We had to ensure we were in the proper hierarchy, so we used as high an access as we dared.

  “What about the barcodes?” Veronica asked.

  “I have no idea. Are they scanning people in at the mountain?” I smirked. “Don’t forget to fill out the survey card for your chance to attune to the biggest alien celebrity.”

  “That’s not funny, Rex,” Bev said, taking a break from the sewing machine. So far, the robes were coming together nicely.

  Carson and Edith sat at the table, playing a board game they’d found in the lobby. Neither of them seemed to be enjoying it.

  “Barcodes?” Veronica tapped her finger on the desk. We hadn’t talked about last night. I’d left and had a shower before we all met for breakfast, and when I’d knocked on her door this morning, she wasn’t there. She was with Beverly and the kids in the restaurant.

  “Let’s make them match Grayson’s,” I said, hoping that would pass muster.

  “Try this on,” Bev called.

  The robes were dark brown; they had inside ties and nothing to cinch the waist from the exterior. The arms were slightly long, and she marked them. I slid the hood up, and the front drooped over my forehead. My skin itched at the idea of wearing the cult’s clothing. I hated pretending to be them, but it was a means to an end.

  An end that was coming tomorrow. “Looks great, sis. Nicely done.”

  She beamed at the praise and set back to work. She’d already finished Saul’s and Evan’s, but they’d have a fitting later.

  “I wonder how the flyby is going.” I checked on Veronica as the printer spat out a piece of paper. I grabbed the warm page and compared it to the finished product we were emulating. “You are incredible,” I told her.