“I’m partial to hamburger and onion,” Dirk said.
“That has bad breath all over it.” Veronica shoved her bag into the overhead console and took the window seat. I joined her after nervously putting the Case and Tokens above us.
Tripp had the window behind our seats, my dad the aisle like me. The plane was filling up, the anxious flyers slowing down the boarding process. I checked my watch, noting seven minutes before take-off.
The others continued their inane conversation about pizza, before it shifted to best kinds of pasta. It was obvious we were all nervous, and we welcomed a distraction. If this plane didn’t leave, we were screwed.
I watched a young flight attendant grab the phone and nod a few times before ushering a family of four onto the plane. She shut the door, sealing it tight, and picked up the receiver again. The plane’s lights flickered off and on, and the engines rumbled, sending vibrations through the seats.
I grabbed Veronica’s hand, feeling comfort in the contact.
One minute to six, our plane ascended, beating the clock.
I pulled out the book I’d taken from the place in Palm Springs, and began where I’d left off. The author had been recalling an ancient site filled with artifacts, including thorough documentation the Believers needed in order to prepare for arrival. I struggled to see how they could have kept such a secret all these years.
The Unknowns reference their return in the third such site, a secluded city near New Zealand, sunken after land movement millions of years ago. There they spoke of leaving Earth behind, but claimed they would ‘come when called.’
We cannot understand who they suggest will contact them, but I trust they are referring to a high level of attuning. In a future chapter, I will reference my experience with my first encounter with one of the Unknowns. It was awe-inspiring and life-changing, let me assure you.
I read on, while Veronica dozed off, and eventually fell asleep myself.
____________
Rimia: Day 2,926
Dirk washed his clothes in the river. They were threadbare, and his feet had grown thick calluses, compensating for the leather homemade shoes. His gaze drifted in the village’s direction a mile away. Smoke rose into the clear midday sky, and he could see what today held. More funerals.
Clay had disappeared for hours. His friend had grown stranger with each passing day. At times he was taken over by the other man, the one from Clay’s spirit walk, and when he was himself, it was a dark version, a sad and withdrawn man Dirk didn’t even know. Dirk wanted to watch over him, feeling an obligation to Clay he couldn’t part with.
Dirk finished his task and laid the clothing out on the river rocks. The sun was high and hot, and it would dry them quickly. He pondered the last few years, and how tragic they had been. Opor wouldn’t speak to him, claiming he’d betrayed them. Several more of the Wanderers had died since they’d left for the mountains, and Opor had assured him they were to blame. If he and Clay had left well enough alone, and continued to stay with the village, they might have thrived.
Dirk didn’t believe that for a second. There was something sinister at play here, and he’d had ample time to contemplate what that was. First, he’d assumed it was a health issue, a genetic flaw from the lack of a nutrient, or perhaps evolution had taken a wrong turn. They couldn’t survive in this lonely world that was Rimia.
But the longer he spent with Clayton, and the more he dreamed about the man in Paris, he knew this wasn’t the case. The damage to the Wanderers was purposeful, and he suspected it was from the Unknowns Brian Hardy had mentioned. It sounded crazy to the rational part of his mind, but he’d seen enough here to know he was correct.
He’d continued his search for the seventh Token, even without Clayton’s help. Each night, Dirk would return to the dome, in hopes someone would come through. Clay had given up hope but kept him company most days, sleeping on his cot in the corner.
Seeing the platform and domed glass ceiling in the distance set a wash of sadness over Dirk. He was resigned to the fact that no one would use the Bridge, and it was his fault for trying to hide the Tokens from the Believers.
He waited until his vest was dry, and slipped into his pants. There were five or so patches sewn into them, and he tied the rope around the waist. He’d never been a large man, but his diet had made him a lot thinner than before.
Dirk rubbed his beard and walked to the village. He hadn’t stopped by for months, or braved entering their perimeter for over two years. The last visit, he’d been lucky to leave with his life. Today, he didn’t care. He needed to see her, and discover who’d died.
Rimia was the same as always. The city had crumbled from an attack, or so they presumed. After years there he wondered if it wasn’t the result of an asteroid or natural disaster. The ground occasionally shook with tremors, but none were powerful enough to topple an entire metropolis.
There wasn’t a structure he and Clayton hadn’t attempted a search in, but even so, the remains held no value. Their simple electronics were dead, anything not made of stone or metal long decayed. Clayton had found a graveyard three miles from the edge of town, in the opposite direction of the village. The harsh environment had dissolved any evidence of life. Everything had gone to dust.
The walk did him good, and Dirk was at peace as he entered the forest bordering the Wanderers’ village. He hadn’t come across a single person. Usually, there would be a sentry, which seemed like overkill. Despite the fact there was only the hundred or so villagers, and Clayton and Dirk, they took their guarding the place seriously.
Dirk couldn’t tell exactly what they were protecting, and neither could they. It was remarkable what kind of knowledge was forgotten with each passing generation.
He was sweating when he strode through the main section of the village, and it was eerily quiet.
His first interaction was with a child, one of the few to be born during his stay on Rimia. His name was Barem, and Dirk greeted him.
“Who are you?” The boy was small, his arms as skinny as sticks.
“I’m a friend.” Dirk spoke in the local language. “Where is everyone?”
“They’re having a meeting.” He jabbed a thumb toward their town office. Dirk hadn’t been inside since the last spirit walk he’d attended, and didn’t love the idea of entering again.
“Thank you, Barem. Be well.” Dirk tousled the boy’s hair, moving on.
He arrived at the door, shoving the wooden slab open. Voices spoke in hushed tones, and he listened before revealing himself.
“We can’t go on like this.” It was Opor. “We’ve lost four more in as many days. We need to do something.”
“I suggest another spirit walk,” Vured, a soft-spoken farmer, said.
“We have done as many as we dare. They seem to be frustrated with us, and we only lose more of our population afterwards,” Opor said.
Dirk stepped in, clearing his throat. He was astonished to see thirty or so people in the room. “Is this all of you?”
Opor’s eyes burned with fury. “It was your curse! You brought this on us.”
He shook his head. “I don’t believe that.”
“Then why? Why are we dying?”
“Let me stay here. Let me help,” Dirk said.
“No. You have done enough. You’re lucky I don’t kill you where you stand,” Opor told him, but he saw the fire burn out inside her.
He walked over, grabbing her hands. She let him. “I love you.” They’d been apart for years now, but he still felt the same connection to her.
“You can’t. Go,” she whispered.
“I…”
“You heard her, trespasser. Leave us.” Vured rose, brandishing a knife.
“Fine. But you know where to find me.” Dirk released Opor and walked away, quietly contemplating his life. Eight years on Rimia. Eight miserable years. He wished he could leave and never return, but… he also wanted to help Opor. If he could use the second Bridge, maybe he’d finally hav
e the answers he’d been seeking all this time.
Whether they knew it or not, the Unknowns were killing the Wanderers. He finally understood this. If he found the Token, he’d be able to save Opor. That was all that mattered.
Clayton surprised him near the dome. He smiled at Dirk, holding up two small fish on a crude line. “I found dinner.”
“So you did. Feeling okay?” Dirk asked, building a fire.
“Clear as can be. I think today was a good day.” Clay sat with him, beginning to filet the fish.
Dirk didn’t feel the same, but at least he’d seen Opor. And she had let him touch her.
They ate, reminisced about things from home. After, Dirk trudged to the Bridge room within the dome. Clayton tagged along, still talking. He was going to fish again tomorrow, and he asked Dirk to come with him. It was like his old friend had returned, and it was a delight to see.
Lights flashed from down the hall, and Dirk guessed it could only mean one thing. He dashed from the dome room, rushing to the Bridge access. Clayton breathed heavily behind him as they went, and made it much faster than Dirk would have thought possible. Wind blew around him, and he set his hands on the podium. Clayton stood with him, unmoving.
Blue light enveloped him, and he didn’t dare open his eyes for a moment. He thought maybe he was wrong, that this was his death, that the hemorrhaging the villagers had been experiencing was happening to him. When he opened them, he was inside the cavern near Porto.
It was dark, but he knew the smell, saw the starlight from above. Someone was in the room with them, and he flicked a lighter on.
“You did it,” Dirk exclaimed. “You brought us home!”
3
It took us an hour to escape the airport, even without checked baggage. There were soldiers stationed at the exits, making me nervous as we walked out the doors, heading into the evening air.
Tripp worked on securing a car, but the line-ups were crazy at the rental place. The things I’d read today seemed so far from being real, but I guessed there was a semblance of truth behind them. Most felt like propaganda for the cultists to eat up, making it tough to sift through.
I wished I could have discussed the book with Hunter. He’d be able to explain attuning, and probably the dream walking Dirk had cited. We’d lost a credible resource for information, not to mention a strong ally and mind.
Veronica threw on a zip-up sweater, and I grabbed a baseball cap from my bag. There weren’t a lot of people here, but I felt eyes on us. The Believers were aware the Bridge was close by, and we fully expected the airports to be monitored.
I glanced around, trying to see if there was any suspicious activity, but no one fit the bill. I pretended to be searching for a taxi. We abandoned the rental lines as Tripp slowly wound his way through the crowd.
“Son, there’s something you should know,” Dirk said, keeping pace with me. Veronica stayed on a bench, texting Marcus that we’d landed.
“Go ahead.”
My dad glanced at the bag looped over my shoulder. “I’ve wanted to return since the moment we arrived, but only because I intend to rescue her.”
“Opor?”
He nodded. “When I was on Rimia, after I’d been kicked out of the village, I was determined to locate the seventh Token, to convince whoever was beyond to help her. When I found out I might be able to bring Opor and the rest of the village to Earth instead, that changed things.”
“Then why did you tell us about the other Token at all?” I asked.
“If the Believers are right, we may need to use the Token. Plus, I’m curious what it will reveal.”
“Curiosity can get you killed,” I said.
“Wise words, but isn’t that what drives us as archaeologists?” Dad asked.
“You bet it does. You voted against this. Are you still second-guessing our decision?” I glanced over, seeing Tripp at the front of a new line.
“I am, but this was what we’d worked so hard for. Brian and Hunter… Clayton and Saul. We wanted to find the Promissa Terra to protect our planet. I can’t give up, no matter what the end result will be.”
“Then we’re doing it?” I was leaving for Rimia with or without my dad, but he needed to guide us to the second Bridge in the mountains.
“Yes, son. We’re going to figure this out, once and for all.” His eyes were steel, dark like the depths of the ocean. It was obvious he was missing Clayton fiercely. They shared a bond that couldn’t be duplicated, and I could only imagine what the loss felt like.
Tripp waved at us, and we followed him to the car in the lot. It was a compact thing, a two-door hatchback with no leg room. “It’s all that was left,” he said before we had a chance to ask. It was mustard yellow but was brand new.
“Veronica, why don’t you take the front seat?” I opened the door, climbing into the back with my father.
It wasn’t five minutes after leaving the parking lot that I noticed Tripp continuously checking the mirrors. I craned my neck, seeing various cars behind us, but nothing too conspicuous. “We being followed?”
“Think so.” Tripp made a sharp turn, cutting off an old man, and sped down the street. I saw the main highway we wanted to catch to get out of town, but Tripp didn’t access it.
Veronica had her phone out and was using the GPS. The sun was set, and the streetlights cast an orange glow over the roads. The area was full of cobblestone intersections and well-maintained apartment complexes.
“We need guns,” Dirk said.
“Don’t have to tell me twice,” Tripp told us, sharply turning onto a side street. The path was narrow, with greenery threatening to overtake the stone walls on the edge of the roads. It opened up, exposing a vineyard on our left.
I kept lookout, noticing a black sedan’s lights a block away. “They’re still tailing us.”
“Ronnie, set the course for Hunter’s villa,” Tripp grunted.
She did as she was told, bringing up a route. “Are you sure? They know about that place.”
“What they don’t know is that I hid a stash of weapons in the lower shed.” Tripp went faster, glancing at the phone.
He slammed on the brakes as a van pulled out, honking at us. We swerved around them, and Tripp made a right turn. We were away from the dense city population here, and the houses were farther apart as we drove.
“Turn here.” Veronica pointed, and he did, taking the corner too fast. He skidded the car into the wrong lane but continued on. Lucky for us, the streets were quiet, and when I looked behind us, there were no headlights trailing after our car.
“I think we lost them.”
“But for how long?” Tripp met my gaze in the mirror. “We’re in a yellow hatchback. Kind of tough to go incognito. We’ll stick to the side roads and avoid the highway, but I expect them at the house.”
“There’s another entrance,” Dirk told us.
“To the house?” Veronica asked.
“Clayton and I went for walks during those first couple days. Explored. We were so used to walking a lot, never staying in one place for long. It kept us… sane. I found a road in the bottom of the vineyard valley. There’s a gate at the end, and it’s locked. I assumed it was for the vineyard staff that Hunter hired to maintain the area.” Dirk peered behind us.
I tried to get a better view of Veronica’s cell phone. “Do you see it?”
“It’s not showing up as a road, but if Dirk spotted it, we should be able to access the valley from this position.” She pointed to the screen. It meant driving around a low-lying peak, and my gaze followed until the road stopped at an adjacent property.
“Maybe they share an access road,” I suggested.
“Could be. I’ll direct you there, Tripp.” Veronica’s face glowed with the light of the phone. There was a detail we hadn’t discussed yet, and that was who would stay behind with the Case. I guessed now was as good a time to broach the subject.
“Someone has to remain here with the Case.” Everyone was silent. “Dirk
says it’s four days’ travel to the second Bridge, meaning we’ll be gone eight Rimia days. That’ll be nearly a month, if our math is correct.”
“That’s only an approximate time dilation,” Dirk reminded me.
“It’s as close as we can get. So whoever stays in Porto will have to hide out for a month.” I glanced to each of the people, and Tripp muttered to himself before addressing us.
“Obviously, it’ll be me staying here with the Case. You three move as fast as you can. I’ll activate the Bridge twice a day after three weeks. Be there.”
“What if they find you? Discover the entrance?” Veronica’s voice was low.
“They haven’t yet. Hell, it took a cryptic message for us to see it. Plus, the area is often cloudy, blocking the peak.”
“Where will you stay?” Dirk asked him.
“I have no idea, but I have cash. I’ll ditch the rental and use something more practical. Stay out of sight. Hole up.” Tripp let out a laugh. “Believe me, it won’t be the first time I’ve hidden while the dust settled.”
“I wish you could join the team. I’d like to have your skill set on Rimia,” I said.
“I’ve seen you guys do some pretty ridiculous things, like rescuing Dirk and me from the clutches of a psychotic cult. I think you’re going to do just fine.” Tripp’s supportive words helped motivate me.
Taking the long way added substantial minutes, but soon we were near Hunter’s villa. Tripp finally slowed as we approached the house across the valley. As expected, the road intersected between both properties. It wasn’t a real street, only parallel worn paths the width of a truck’s axle.
Tripp cut the lights, leaving the day ones on, and moved slowly. The grass brushed against the car’s low underside, and the path forked in either direction. To the right was Hunter’s property, and he killed the engine before approaching the gate.
“We walk from here.” Tripp was the first out, and I shoved the seat forward, climbing from the compact hatchback. It was chilly tonight, the January air brisk in the valley.
Lost Time (The Bridge Sequence Book Two) Page 24
