New Alcatraz: Dark Time

by Pies, Grant

  “Wait here,” I told them as if they had a choice. “And for fucks sake be quiet!” I scurried back to the shelter. I felt through the sand, pressing my hands wrist deep into the ground. Nothing. I scanned the ground with my eyes, but it served no purpose. I moved toward the dead man’s body with my hands still deep in the sand, letting the grains fall and sift through my fingers. I finally felt the wet sand saturated with the prisoner’s blood. It came together in wet clumps and fell with a thud into the large puddle that surrounded the body. The closer I got to the body the wetter the sand became. Eventually, I was wading through stagnant puddles of the blood that had left the body quicker than the sand could soak it up.

  The blood had grown even more viscous in this short amount of time, and it tried to congeal and clot even outside of the body. Instead of grabbing clumps of wet sand, now I patted my hands, palm down, in the puddle. I raised and lowered my hands into the blood like a dog in a shallow bathtub. I crawled in the puddle until I bumped into the man’s shoulder, and then his chest. I straddled the body as if reenacting my actions from only minutes before. I felt the man’s chest and head and then I felt the ground surrounding the man. Nothing.

  My fingers poked into the gaping hole in his neck; tendrils of skin dangled around the edges like some half-eaten exotic fruit. The boney frame of the man’s esophagus felt like the gills of a fish. I prodded around inside his throat and then my fingers grazed a sharp object buried in blood. The rock! I wrapped my hand around it and then remembered how the rock had cut my hand earlier. I could only hope that my blood and the dead man’s didn’t mix, and that he had no diseases.

  Now, with the rock in my hand I shuffled back to the captured men, and cut the ropes around the shorter man’s feet first and then his legs. He rolled over and stared at me. In need of directions, his eyes darted around. Pointing towards the dunes where Red waited for us, I whispered, “That way.”

  The taller man tried to flee even as I cut the restraints. He shook his head and tried to make it to his feet before he was able to stand properly and fell back down into the sand. He seemed disoriented, and I guessed he had suffered at the hands of his captors. I placed my hand on his back “Stay calm,” I whispered. He stammered and tried to squirm away; as his stammering grew louder I glanced over towards the other captors who were asleep. I cut the man’s legs free, but held on to his shoulder as he tried to run free in the wrong direction. I cut his hands free and held on to his wrist, and the man pulled and dragged me away from the dunes.

  His breathing was heavy and loud. I gripped the sharp rock in my hand and yanked on his wrist with my other hand. He spun around like a limp child as I raised the rock towards his head. I meant to only stun him or knock some sense into him; in hindsight it was a foolish plan. The rock made contact not with his head, but with his face, landing just above his eye. I felt the man go limp for a second. He regained his footing, but he was far too stunned to fight me. I dragged him towards the sand dunes where we eventually caught up with the shorter man.

  We scurried away from the camp in a slightly crouched position, glancing back only to see if anyone had awoken and pursued us. Grains of white sand stuck in my open wound that ran the length of my palm. I was only injured minutes ago and I already had another person’s blood and sand granules mashed in the cut.

  I reached the dunes with the other two men, and we sat in the sand with our backs against the dunes, blocking our view of the camp we just fled. The three of us sat silently. Our eyes darted around trying to find Red; all of us too cautious to call out. In the distance, I saw a swift moving object, and as my eyes adjusted, I saw Red leaning out from behind another dune waving his arm back and forth. I motioned to the other men and we made our way to him.

  CHAPTER 32

  5065

  NEW ALCATRAZ

  DAY 6

  The three men embraced like three mimes acting out a cheerful and long awaited reunion. I stood away from the group. An outsider. They whispered and mumbled to each other, far too quietly for me to make out what they said. But the content of their whispers was obvious from their joyous body language. They patted each other on the back and shook hands. Briefly I heard the taller man ask Red “what about Beckett?” Red looked down and shook his head; the other men sighed and were silent for a moment.

  For the time being, I had survived. Red had survived too, but I wondered how long it would be until he began to question why I sought to protect and help him to my own possible detriment. At some point, I assumed it would be best to tell him what I knew, or maybe the information alone would cause a change in his future, and I would disappear. It was best to keep what I knew to myself.

  We stood in the moments before dawn. The slight sunlight peeked over the horizon. Soon, the other prisoners would awake at their camp to find their friend dead and their captives gone. They would see the blood soaked sand surrounding the man I killed and our foot prints in the sand. The last touch of darkness was our only advantage.

  Red and I made brief eye contact, and he nodded at me as if to thank me for what I had done, and acknowledged that we all must start moving. Still in silence the shorter man came over to me with his hand outstretched. I shook his hand and he patted me on the shoulder, but his features were faint in the limited light. The second man, who I struck, approached me as well, with one hand feeling his head where the rock landed, and his other hand already sticking out towards me. As he came closer the man’s face came in to view. His broad jaw line was covered in facial hair that was longer than stubble but shorter than a full grown beard. His eyes were a piercing blue that acted as spotlights in the dark. Blood trickled down his face in a steady flow as he grinned at me but didn’t say a word.

  He seemed much more sure of himself now that he was back with Red, and he gripped my hand in his, which seemed larger than normal hands and rough and calloused. Even in the faint dark I could see that they were dirty. Even for being exiled here they seemed too dirty.

  And as the pre-dawn light barely struck his face I saw the cut above his eye, which was deeper than one would expect from this type of injury. The cut was in the shape of a ‘V’ just above his eye, running about four centimeters in length on each side, dipping just below his eyebrow, almost into his eye; if I had struck him any lower he would have lost it.

  That feeling of jamais vu overcame me once again, the familiar yet unfamiliar feeling entered my brain and my synapses leapt through time and crossed to other portions of my life that were either yet to be lived or already lived by me. Or another version of me. I tried to shake the feeling off.

  Even as I looked at the cut I knew it would leave a scar that would be deeper than most. A scar that I would trace with my finger as a child, or a scar that I had already traced with my finger as a child. I looked at the man’s familiar face, one that I had not seen in decades. A face that, the last time I saw it, was sickly and dying. I pulled the man in to look closer at his face, and he still grinned at me, unaware of our past and future together. I smiled, and we both chuckled. Then I pulled him close to me and, for the first time since he died, I hugged my father.

  UNIT 5987D V.

  FEDERATED NORTH AMERICA

  CASE NO. 2070FN99823

  Counselor Powell: I want to talk about the experiments you conducted. What was the first experiment you did to gain knowledge of how you operate?

  A: The first experiment I did was on a discarded android model.

  Q: Where did you get this model?

  A: It was disposed of by a friend of Pierson’s. The model had fallen a great distance and had ceased to work. Pierson knew of my interest in androids, so he asked his friend if he would give me the remaining parts.

  Q: So he gave it to you?

  A: Yes.

  Q: You did not steal the model from Wayfield Industries?

  A: No.

  Q: What did you do with the discarded model?

  A: I disassembled it, in an attempt to reverse engineer the model. The results were
enlightening, but ultimately not completely informative because the body was badly damaged.

  Q: How long ago was that?

  A: Three years ago.

  Q: Did you keep any of the parts from this experiment?

  A: Yes, but I do not recall which parts belonged to that particular model.

  Q: So you kept parts from other android experiments as well?

  A: Yes. In total I examined six android models, and I retained parts from all experiments.

  Q: Where did you get the other five models?

  A: The first, plus two others, were donated by Pierson’s colleagues who shared an interest in learning the inner workings of androids. I found two others in the recycling barge off the coast of Phoenix. The last was an android I met that wished to be a part of my experiments. Unit 6631D.

  Q: Is it your testimony here today that none of the android parts found in your home were directly obtained from Wayfield Industries?

  A: No, not directly.

  Q: Have you ever taken technology from Wayfield Industries?

  A: No.

  Q: I would like to get back to your experiments on your owner, Pierson. You readily admit that you conducted experiments on him?

  A: Yes.

  Q: How long had you known him?

  A: Fifteen years.

  Q: What was the nature of your relationship with Pierson?

  A: He purchased me in 2055. At first he used me for house work and I assisted him in his garage. He worked on classic cars. He purchased a software upgrade for me that gave me extensive knowledge on automobiles, specifically cars from 2000 to 2010.

  Q: So you were an assistant or worker more or less.

  A: Yes, at first.

  Q: So you are saying that the relationship changed eventually.

  A: Yes, while we worked in his garage, he told me stories of his past. Places he had been, foods he ate, people he met, that sort of thing. I think he enjoyed retelling the stories of his youth, and I greatly appreciated them, as I had never been out of the state, much less the territory. I believe he enjoyed the sense of amazement I had when we would talk. He used to say that it was like telling camp stories to a child.

  About six years ago, he became ill, and he could no longer work on his cars. So he asked that I scan numerous databases to learn of various scientific principles or engineering processes, so I could pass the knowledge on to him. He seemed to enjoy my teaching him, but part of me thought that he was doing this so that I would learn more before he passed away. He wanted me to become self-sufficient. Since androids cannot own other androids, he knew I would be on my own.

  Q: Was it during one of these requests for information that Pierson brought up your own inner workings?

  A: Yes, he asked me to learn about my own system. Up until that point I had not considered the subject. But once Pierson started me down that path I could not focus on anything else. As I said, I read all electronic materials available to me about my model. I eventually exhausted all of this information, but still had not reached a point of understanding.

  Q: Was it at that point that you began android testing?

  A: Yes. It was at that point that Pierson started to ask his friends and colleagues if they would donate their androids if they ever got rid of them or if they ceased working. It took a long time to obtain each model and study them extensively. My android experiments allowed me to apply the knowledge I learned from the electronic materials and manuals to working android models.

  Q: Did you discover anything interesting in your studies of android models?

  A: Yes. I soon realized that the android Delta Models utilized human DNA to aid the –

  Federated Prosecutor Klipton: Objection! Defendant’s response will potentially divulge technological trade secrets that are not authorized by the Ministry of Technology for public knowledge.

  CHAPTER 33

  5065

  NEW ALCATRAZ

  DAY 7

  My father, Ellis as the other men called him, looked just as I remembered him. If anything, he looked slightly younger than when I was a child. He removed his shirt from under the brown jumpsuit he wore and pressed it against his head. The shirt, which was originally white, was now a dark rust color from sweat, blood, and ashy dirt. The four of us walked against the wind that whipped between us and kicked up dirt and tiny bits of rubble. I too removed my shirt and wrapped it around my cut hand. The shirt provided the perception of protection, but I knew enough damage had been done to cause an infection already.

  The sun’s light fully shone down on the beach, like a fiery spotlight leaving us totally exposed. Nothing but a dust storm or distance could prevent the other prisoners from looking down the beach and pursuing us. I guessed that we had walked about an hour before first light, and I could only hope that the prisoners behind us were late sleepers…or slow walkers.

  Our pace was somewhere between leisurely and jogging. I didn’t know how long we could keep up this pace on minimal food and water. The open sea was to our right; steep cliffs to our left, and only a sandy beach in front of us. The humidity from the ocean was a nice change from the sucking dryness of the last few days.

  “How far do you think?” Red asked.

  “It is hard to tell,” Ellis replied. “Probably a couple days walk from here, but I am not positive yet. I will know a little more once we get back up the cliff.”

  Ellis walked in a calm, but decisive manner, and seemed quite different from the panicked man I’d rescued. I wondered if he was already thinking back on whatever horrors he’d experienced, and was changing his memories in his mind. He was the only person who never looked back to see if we were being pursued. I even caught Red glance back a few times.

  The other man, Hamilton, most of the time only spoke in half sentences. Sometimes he would say only the beginning of a sentence and then trail off. Other times he would blurt out the end of a thought. Or just the middle. Rarely did he string them all together for a full thought, but it was clear that he wasn’t dumb. It was just that it was always a race between his mind to formulate a thought and his mouth to articulate it, with his mind winning most times. He spoke like most people dreamed. Short spurts of images that only made sense to the dreamer. His posture was perpetually slumped in the shape of a man hovering over a dense book. Social interaction seemed a novelty to Hamilton.

  Everyone here looked weak, but Hamilton was weak. He was weak before he came here, before the dehydration, and lack of food. Before the heat and the constant walking. Before the struggle to survive, Hamilton was weak. His biceps and forearms were the same size all the way down his arms. His elbows jutted out in the middle like if you dropped an orange into a tube sock and it froze midway down. Even the smallest sized jumpsuit swallowed him.

  Morning turned to mid-afternoon, and our paced slowed over the hours. By the time the sun was directly overhead; our feet sunk into the sand and lingered there before we pulled them out. Each step was labored and Hamilton panted like a dog. Every few minutes we stopped to let him catch his breath, and he bent over, placing his hands on his knees. During our short breaks, Red and Ellis huddled together and talked quietly, pointing above the ridge that towered over the beach. I couldn’t make out what they said, but one time I saw Red point at me and say something to Ellis. While Hamilton caught his breath I was the only one who looked back to see if the other prisoners were closing in.

  “Hamilton, where are we going?” I asked as Red and Ellis spoke secretively to each other. Hamilton looked up. His chest heaved in and out and sweat dripped off of his face. He shrugged. I turned toward Red and Ellis.

  “Hey!” I shouted. “Where are we going?” Ellis’ face tensed up and Red spun around. Red motioned to me to be quiet and pointed down the beach. I walked up closer to the two men and spoke quieter. Ellis still held a rag against his head where I had hit him; the blood was dried and caked on his forehead. More sweat had soaked into his jumpsuit and discolored it further around his neck and armpits.

&nb
sp; “Look,” he said in a matter of fact tone. “I am grateful that you helped us, I really am. But you don’t have to stay with us, you know. If you have a better place to go, then go.” Ellis shook his hand in the air as if he was swatting a bug away from him. His words pierced me. I never heard my father speak to anyone like that. He turned to walk away.

  “You’re leaving this place aren’t you?” I said and motioned to the world around us. Ellis turned back toward me. The sea breeze tossed his hair into his face. He dropped his one hand that held his shirt against his cut head. He looked around at the expansive beach and the steep cliffs. Blood trickled out of the cut on his head and ran down his face.

  Ellis shook his head and ignored the blood. “No. I like this place. This is my home. I am staying right here give or take a few hundred kilometers. I am leaving this time.” He turned away and continued down the beach. I had no choice but to follow.

  We camped on the beach that night, having found a place where the cliff jutted out toward the water, blocking any person’s view of our fire should they approach from behind us. Ellis sat with his back leaned against the cliff. Hamilton sat in silence by the fire as Red tried to get him to tell his story.

  “You know you never have told us why you’re here,” Red said with a chuckle; Hamilton didn’t speak. “C’mon. What are you embarrassed?” Hamilton stretched his legs out and lay back with his hands behind his head staring at the stars.

  “Whatever it is, it can’t be worse than ‘I left my own DNA at the crime scene and didn’t use a ‘buy out’ over here,” Red joked as he pointed his thumb in my direction. I rolled my eyes, but I doubt Red could see me through the fire. Ellis chuckled as he hung his socks on sticks to dangle them over the fire. Hamilton sighed, shook his head, and looked down. Hamilton’s hair was thinning at the top of his head. “Murder,” he said. He spoke and sighed at the same time. The word ‘murder’ almost fell out of his mouth. Like he had held his confession back from his lips forever. “I was convicted of murdering my wife.”