Burning Bridges Is My Specialty
The air inside Eli’s detached garage is stifling. I’ve been suffocating in here since before sunup, trying to stay busy but unable to focus on anything besides the mystery of Daemon and what I learned about him before the shot heard around the world.
It’s like he was chasing the impact of both accidents. Maybe he was after the energy created from his own chaos. He jumped towards the front of that diesel when it smashed into the bus we were on. The second time around, he leaned into the collision with the passenger bus and wouldn’t let me buckle up. Reactions opposite of what they should be.
Inside the truck, after he tossed the driver out onto the high-speed roadway and took over, and right before the maniac dove headlong into a greyhound full of unlucky passengers, he mentioned my dad. At that moment, I thought we were both dead and there was nothing I wanted more than to see him and know he was alright.
“It makes no damn sense,” I mutter.
“What?” Eli asks, careful to keep his voice low.
“I wish you’d open the door,” I whisper to Eli as we work. “I can’t think when it’s this hot.”
The electricity thrumming throughout Los Angeles is practically limitless. The fuel that opened the funnel cloud in the small town of Ivanhoe was drawn from an electric transformer. That’s proof that accidents aren’t the only way to gather power. But Daemon is harnessing the energy from his chaos. Sadistic bastard.
Sweat drips onto the concrete floor as I squeeze the two sides of taut fabric together trying to help Eli close the heavy duty zipper on my hiker’s backpack.
“You’re looking at about a hundred pounds, give or take.” He grunts, forcing the last few metal teeth together.
“Oh hell no, that’s way too much.” I release the sides, letting the bag gape open.
“That’s the overall weight of the backpack and radiation suit combined.” His sweeping gesture calls my attention to the charcoal-gray rubber suit draped across a nearby shelf.
We’ve spent the last two hours repacking the bag, trying to make everything I might need in any given environment accessible at a moments’ notice. The weight of all this shit escaped me.
“Why do I need a gas mask?” I point at the wide nozzle of the black mask attached to the hooded suit.
“You never know what type of world you’ll be heading into.”
“I know exactly where I’m going.”
Elijah’s face takes on a frustrated scowl—a look that’s become more common the past few days. “You cannot be certain the stones will take you to World Two and I refuse to assist if you won’t take precautions.”
The recurring, idle threat grates my raw nerves.
“At least compromise on the food supply.”
“A week,” he offers.
“Two days,” I counter.
“Ten days,” he crosses his arms.
“The tent,” I growl, scanning the garage for something to hit him with.
When Eli shakes his head his dark hair flops over into his eyes. “Unpacking anything is a waste of time at this point. You better get into your suit.”
“I thought I was putting it on when we get there?” I complain. “I’ll suffocate.”
He wags his head a little and ignores me. “It was not my intention to have you take this particular suit but the one I ordered hasn’t arrived yet. I borrowed this from the University lab. It’s thicker than the one I bought, but I’ll replace this one with the other when it comes. In any case, it’s a better quality than I could afford and better to err on the side of caution.”
To save the trouble of finding a place to dump the body, I give in and get inside the hot, bulky rubber bag of a body suit.
The list of things he’s stuffed inside my backpack has steadily grown since he decided to create one. What started out as a simple first-aid kit has become a set of topographical and street maps, food rations, rope, tent, compass, and a box of Band-Aids. Then, things like night vision specs, radiation suit, space blanket, non-aerosol bug spray, and multi-purpose pan began crossing his mind. He printed out an itemized inventory.
I don’t know what his deal is. From what he’s making me take, you’d think I was going to climb Everest.
“They were motels in 1996,” I mumble.
Eli’s also having me bring back soil and water samples because he has a compulsive need to turn every aspect of this pursuit into a damned discovery expedition.
It’s difficult to find the nerve to complain, though, when the only thing he wants in return for his risk and expense is for me to stay alive long enough to bring him information.
We are heading outside the city, away from all man-made energy sources to open the gateway. To do that, Eli has constructed these ingenious cartons he’s calling ‘boom-packs.’ Well, they’re more like envelopes. The outer casing is thin, clear plastic about the size of a pack of gum. Inside, he’s placed three thin vials—two are full of some kind of clear liquid, the third is slightly yellow—each one is a different chemical that I can’t remember the name of. The inner vials are made up of super-thin, breakable glass.
All I do is gently crunch the casing and toss the packet. As long as the stones are out, they absorb the energy from the explosion and trigger the gateway.
But first, we must go north. South is only beaches and more cities until you get to Mexico. Border security has tripled since they’ve started searching for me.
I pull the tapered neck of the suit up around my shoulders and slide my arms inside. The material that looks so much like rubber feels different and I want to know, “what’s this made of?”
Eli turns from the empty wall he’s been staring at. “A meld of several materials coated with Demron.”
“Demron?”
His forehead creases like he’s distracted. “Protection against alpha and beta radiation, gamma radiation—it is your basic nuclear emissions shield.”
“Oh,” I’d ask for something more specific if I thought I could understand the answer. He’s been so anal about every little detail.
“You haven’t said much regarding your expectations for this trip.”
“I trust you’ll tell me what I need to know.” Eli has read through most of the papers from the box my dad left. Every time I’ve walked through a gateway, I was confused afterward, so I’m depending on him and his sharp memory.
Adjusting the shoulders of the bodysuit, I seal the zipper and then slip the rubber pouch that holds the three stones into a concealed pocket sewn into the lining on the right side of my chest. Next, I slide my shoes into the galosh-like boots and follow Eli’s instructions to attach them to the suit.
I feel like a giant, sweaty ball sac. I’ll be lucky to fit in the car at all, much less the backseat.
“G, how do you plan to manipulate the wormholes’ destination? I haven’t come across any instructions in the papers from your father.”
Attaching the gloves proves easier than it looks. For practice sake, I slip them on and pull closed the straps that hide the zippers. I thought the bulk of the material might make it difficult to perform fine motor movements but the grip pattern covering the outer gloves works really well.
Now my hands are sweating, like my feet.
“Well?” Eli demands.
“It will go wherever I want it to.” I’m careful to keep my eyes on my gloved fingers so I don’t have to see the look on his face. Doesn’t stop my ears from hearing his scoff.
“Unless you’ve run diagnostics I don’t know about, how can you be certain?”
“The explanation’s a bit fuzzy.” I don’t know how to make clear the connection I feel. “But my destination is not a problem.”
When Eli and I were walking through that pasture adjacent the orchards in Ivanhoe and those scattered cows were running, I wanted to run with them. But then I saw the unyielding power of the fiery blue funnel and all my fears disappeared. I was safe inside the eye, swa
thed in an encompassing calm, completely separate from the storm. The bubble seemed impenetrable. Eli was right beside me but I don’t think he felt it.
He was afraid, and I was at home.
“When you saw that wormhole-vortex open, what was running through your mind?”
“It was beautiful... and mesmerizing. It was so tall and... and there were all these colors I’ve never seen before. It scared the hell out of me, too, but the scientist in me wanted a way to record the event; visually and atmospherically. I wanted to document the phenomenon, to replay and study every aspect.”
“Did you think of jumping inside?”
Eli’s mouth flies open. No sound for a second. Then he scoffs. “The constructed inconsistency of the multidimensional loop theory produces a huge improbability factor. With each dimension working on its own clock, time is different in each world, G. That means any place the gateway leads to will be in different evolutionary stages. Some ancient, some futuristic, most may not be capable of supporting human life whether in past or future bands. Simply jumping in, unprepared, is tantamount to suicide.” He belts a high-pitched chuckle. “No, I absolutely never considered jumping inside.”
“By your calculated analysis, you considered it too risky.” Now I know. All the times he asked to come with me, he hoped I’d refuse him, maybe even counted on it.
“‘Risky’ is a severe understatement.”
“Here’s what I thought: that it was deadly for sure, but it wasn’t dangerous, Eli. Not to me. The firestorm kept to the exterior. Inside with the stones, it was all calm.”
His eyes miraculously open wider; he looks half crazed-half terrified.
“You’ve made your position clear and I am taking precautions, so you won’t feel responsible.”
“I agreed to help; that mean I’m accountable.”
“My dad is the one who told me to go, Eli. I’d do it with or without your help. These stones are my inheritance. I have a... connection to them.”
Now his eyes are shrinking. His arms are crossing. “Could you explain how you intend to get to World Two?”
“The key to my destination is all up here.” One finger taps my temple. “I can’t explain it because I barely understand it myself, but I know I am the only one who can do this. I can make the stones take me wherever I want because... well, because it’s my destiny.”
Eli’s expression gains some color as an awkward grin plants itself in his sticky mug and grows to full-blown amusement. “Let me see if I understand. Are you saying you share and extrasensory connection with rocks?”
“Shut up.” I take up the heavy backpack and pop the trunk.
“You sounded all weepy for a second.”
“You’re a dick.”
“‘It is my destiny.’”
His terrible impression makes me laugh. I’m being serious—this whole situation is deadly serious—which is why it feels good to laugh. It reminds me of why I liked hanging around with him in High School. When things got too heavy, serious Eli would do what he could to lighten the mood.
A quick and deadly sound from outside suddenly rips through the stuffy garage, stopping my heart and our reprieve: the plucky sound of a knock.
We both freeze, waiting for an indication of who might be dropping by at the butt-crack of dawn. After a minute, another knock sounds. This time, the sound is much louder. Closer.
“Hide.” Eli commands with a controlled wave and speaks again in an upbeat tone, “Hey, let me call you back. I think someone’s outside.”
He nods when I gesture towards the open trunk and I can only be thankful that he’s so quick with an explanation for the low conversation.
With all the cautious speed I can muster, I lift my overloaded bag and move it to one side of the space while Eli makes for the side door to the garage, rather than lifting the rolling door which is where the knock came from.
As he passes, I see a cell phone is in his hand; more evidence to back up his ‘it was only a phone call’ ruse. It should work so long as no one’s looking too close.
Sliding over the fabric of the back seat while wearing the heavy protective gear isn’t as smooth as I hoped—it sticks to everything. I pull the release lever near the headrest to open the trunk from the inside, intending to crawl into the trunk from the back seat and prop up the entry way. Opening and closing the trunk would be too loud.
Sliding in and over, I scoot alongside my pack and take a deep breath.
The irony is inescapable; I am, on the brink of the extraordinary, swallowing my fears and boldly striking out to slay the giant of my life’s most unexpected journey... and stuffed into the trunk of Eli’s green Jetta in a mock rubber suit to hide from whoever the hell is knocking.
Outside, there are two voices going back and forth. They sound masculine and far off, maybe near Eli’s back door.
In my imagination, Eli’s talking with his neighbor. I’ve heard about him but we’ve never been introduced, for obvious reasons. In my imagination, he’s Costanza-like; short, stalky and miserable with signs of male pattern baldness. What hair he’s got is brown. He’s early-fifties, wearing his soon-to-be ex-wife’s terrycloth bathrobe. I imagine she left him for a man she worked with and when she packed her things, she forgot to take the robe that was left hanging behind the bathroom door. Bald Neighbor has been depressed with missing her and decided to put it on. I imagine he’s very lonely, staying up ‘til the wee hours cyber-stalking his love on Facebook. She’ll never take him back, though. Not even if his new memberships to the gym and the hair club result in a horses’ mane and iron abs.
And why should she, I bet that the soon-to-be Ex never cared what her husband looked like? No, her issues were with heaps of little things. He never called when he was going to be late and was constantly forgetting to perform tasks she specifically asked; like picking up the dry cleaning and taking out the trash. Even after she wrote notes and called to remind him.
Maybe all of that has culminated into this moment—Baldy knocking on the door—because he hasn’t really tried to change. I mean, it is obscenely early yet he is at Eli’s back door begging for enough grounds to brew a pot of coffee because he forgot to pick it up while he was out yesterday.
At least, that’s how I imagine the visitation is going. I have to think it’s nothing because if it’s something our plan is shot to shit. Eli is screwed, too, being an accomplice.
The day I showed up in Eli’s classroom, when he left me in his office at the university, I rifled through his papers to pass the time. There were dozens of research reports and documents riddled with scientific terminology. One paper caught my eye because the expressions in the title aren’t usually found side by side. At least, I never thought of putting the terms ‘Time Travel and the Bible’ together.
I don’t know why that’s coming back to me right now. Seriously, whoever thinks about the Bible anymore?
I guess it’s because Elijah is such an oddball. With his math, he’s created this strange little world full of possibility, which is the essence of theoretical physics, I guess. As far as I understand his line of thinking, it seems that if the numbers add up, anything is possible.
It must be nice believing in the impossible, possessing that kind of unbreakable hope in something greater. But reality and ideology are two different things. Reality is far more unsettling.
It’s freaking hot in here. Whatever Eli is doing is taking forever and this Demron bag feels like a sauna suit. I’m moist in places only a shower should touch and as distracting as that is, I can’t help wondering where my journey will end.
A rocking motion signals someone getting inside the car. No one speaks, but music comes on. A girl’s chanting a pop tune about no regrets and taking chances. I lower the seatback just enough to catch Eli’s nervous reflection in the rearview. He glances at me through the mirror and shakes his head infinitesimally.
That’s all the signal I need.
The seat
back goes up to rest in a closed position without snapping shut. I start fumbling around the dark space. I’m just beginning my journey and I can’t imagine where it’s going to take me after World Two—1996. Before I leave, though, there’s one stop I need to make in case I don’t get another chance. Carrying a hundred-plus pound bag on my back, my journey may end before it starts. I’ve got to be able to move.
The rumble of the garage door sounds and the car rolls back.
I reach into my bulky duffel bag, feeling around. The tent goes first. It’s too heavy and I don’t need it. When it flips from the bag, I hear what sounds like paper crumpling and decide I need to turn on the small light on the opposite side of the trunk.
The bulk of the backpack blocks most of the light so I pat the bottom of the trunk around my bag to make sure nothing I need has escaped. The pages at the bottom of the bag are copies from one of my dad’s journals. Eli recommended I read them when I get the chance.
The car pulls to one side in a turn, pressing me against my bag as I zip it back up and ready myself for what has to happen.
Peeking out from behind the seatback, I see Elijah’s hand on the car stereo. The music’s volume doubles. Eli adjusts the mirror until I can only see the reflection of his mouth, forming the word “floor.”
This is nothing like we planned. I was supposed to ride back here, just like this, but we were going to review our plan on the way out of the city. He’s a plan-junkie. Something is wrong.
Who was it that knocked on the garage? What was that conversation about?
While lowering the seat back all the way, I search for signs of disapproval. Finding none, I shove my backpack out through the hole from the trunk and slide it onto the bench of the adjoining seat and then pull myself into the backseat of Eli’s car, making sure to stay below the line of the windows.
Eli clears his throat. When I check in the mirror, he repeats the silent word, “floor.” When I look down, I see it. On the rubber mat in front of me is a small, black box like the kind used to hold index cards. When I open the lid, the inside is a sectioned block of dense foam. Lifting the top section, I find the boom packs. It looks like he’s giving me three. One for leaving, one for coming back, and an extra in case I foul up.
Leaving the box on the floor, I carefully slip the three small packets into the hidden pocket of my radiation suit with the stones. No chance of them going off in there. The rocks suck up any and all energy within their perimeter. Eli was going to test them before I left, to see if he could get a more accurate range. Somehow, about eleven yards isn’t good enough.
Staying as low as possible, I slip the suits hood up over my head, then my shoulders into the straps of my backpack.
When the car stops at a traffic light, I have to veer further away from the plan to protect my co-conspirator whose risked everything but won’t be coming with me.
Eli doesn’t see me sliding up just behind him until he checks his rearview mirror again. Then his eyes go wide.
“Sorry,” is all I say and I mean it. I don’t want to hurt him, but this has to look real.
One shot to his temple. Eli’s head rockets to one side, smacks the window, and his foot relaxes. I pull the emergency brake and fly from the back of his small green Jetta.
The lanes of traffic are congested with early morning commuters and their horns. I head for a grouping of trees on the opposite side of the road. Crossing the third lane, several car lengths back, I spot a black SUV with all four doors swinging wide open.
A man with a familiar crew cut hops out of the drivers’ side. He’s stalwart, jumping over and around the surrounding cars, making his way towards me and gaining fast.
Tires screech as two more men in suits appear in the roadway.
My backpack is strapped to both shoulders, but not buckled around my waist. Every kick in my stride jerks the eighty-pound burden up and down.
The trees that block the roadside from the adjacent property loom closer. In between the low branches, I think I see something but my momentum’s too strong. My body slams into a high chain-link fence as I fight my way through the drooping tree branches.
My boots can’t fit inside the wire fence and I am so screwed.
When I turn my head to get a better idea of my position, I see that I’m already surrounded by four... five, no, six different suits. All bearing arms, all pointing at me. When they see the chain-link fence behind me, they think I’ve got nowhere to go and pause.
They don’t know I have other options.
The stretched black pouch falls from my pocket when I open it. Voices call out my full name, screaming their demands.
“Gerald Springer! Freeze! Hands in the air!”
One man assures me any sudden moves will be taken as a threat. Another assures me that they have no problem opening fire.
The stones are more beautiful than I remember. Not quite mineral, not quite crystal but something in between. Maybe a weird combination of the two or some new element. One black, one white, and one red. I hold the small ovals in one palm and place the charge on the other before slowly obeying the command to turn and face the group surrounding me.
“I’m not a terrorist,” I call out, staring into their grim faces. My radiation mask muffles the sound.
“Drop it!” The familiar man with a crew cut says and I remember that I saw him in the corridor of the hospital. He’s the closest to me and probably the agent in charge.
“I haven’t done anything.” I insist and lightly squeeze the plastic envelope, breaking the delicate glass the exact way Eli told me. On one end so the chemicals mix slowly.
“Drop it!” Crew Cut repeats.
This makes me smile because that’s what I was planning to do. The non-threatening square falls between me and the semi-circle of crew cut suits.
It’s crazy how much the mind can absorb in a single second. The slender carton of nitroglycerin explodes the moment it kisses the roadside. DHS agents dive left and right in tandem and cover their faces. The instantaneous, violent grace of the blue funnel appears before me, opening like a window and stretching up into the clouds. A long, bending hall that takes only one step to walk through.
The calming bubble envelopes me and I feel at home.
The heat of the stones is barely felt through my gloves. They glow and burn from inside my hand, protecting me from the hail of bullets as I step through the fire and into the rainbow wheel of the wormhole.
Part 4