CHAPTER EIGHT
Digging Deeper
“Troubles?” Alina said as she and Cecilia emerged from the building. Dravin stood in the middle of the road with his cell phone to his ear. It wasn’t working, so he messed with the screen on the smart phone for a bit and tried again, until he was frustrated enough that he threw it on the ground, cracking the screen.
Dravin walked over to Alina in a rush. “Give me your phone,” he said, hands out.
“And you’ll what? Call the National Guard?”
“There’s been a serious breach in security here, so just give me your phone.”
Alina grabbed her phone and flipped it open. No cell signal and no internet. That’s odd. She always got signal here. “Mine’s not working either.”
“Bah,” Dravin said, waving his hand. “Never mind.” He stalked off in the direction of the alley behind the building.
“Follow him. Stay with him,” Alina told Cecilia.
“Alone?”
“I’ve got to go see what Motega is doing, see if we can figure out what’s going on here. But Dravin is dangerous.” How, she wasn’t sure yet, but she could tell this was personal for him, and she didn’t want to find out when it was too late.
***
“I’m coming with you.” Dravin jerked up as he opened the door to his car to see the lab tech marching over to him.
“I don’t have time for this,” Dravin said, curling his lip.
“You’ll make time.” She looked over the car at him. “Nice Mercedes. Now let me in, if you want the QED, and if you want us to continue cooperating with you.”
Dravin sat down tentatively, practically growling as he unlocked the door for her. He took off, turning north up the main road that connected North and South Mapiya. “It worked, didn’t it?” he said. He drove slowly, watching the buildings as they passed. There were people milling about, especially around the gas station down the street, but it didn’t look like anyone had power.
“What are you after, Dravin?” Cecilia asked.
“Excuse me?”
“Power, prestige, money? Why are you so concerned about this experiment?”
“I’m just following orders, um...” Dravin said, trying to remember her name.
“Cecilia.”
“Right, Cecilia.” He stopped at an intersection. The stoplights were flashing. The whole town must be out of power. “I work for the Federal government and they want to use the technology you’re creating.”
He continued on, coming to the road into North Mapiya. He took note of the odd fence surrounding the town and the guard station controlling the road, though now destroyed from the tornado.
“What the...?” he muttered. Farther into the city he saw a car hum by, hovering a foot off the ground. A hover car, of all things. “What did that thing do?”
Cecilia shook her head, just as amazed. “I don’t know,” she said. A car in a garage down the road started to life, lifting off the ground. It turned in place and flew on down the road. Back to the future? Or some kind of alternate reality?
Dravin saw a police car turn in front of them and drive, or hover... fly? It went north, away from them. Down the street the tornado had done some damage here, tearing apart a handful of houses. Fire trucks and ambulances, all without tires, were parked down that road, men scampering around to clean up after the disaster. Dravin followed the police car.
Before long it pulled into a parking lot. The police station and City Hall of Mapiya were joined in one building. Dravin pulled in right beside the squad car.
“Excuse me,” he called to the police officer getting out of the car. Dravin checked the markings on the squad car. Sheriff. “Excuse me, Sheriff. Just the man I wanted to see.”
“Joshua Hunter,” the Sheriff said and held a hand out to Dravin.
Dravin took his hand. “Joshua, I’m Dravin Davidson from the FBI,” he said, flipping his badge out. Cecilia came around the car to join them. “My phone isn’t working. I need your help to get into contact with the Bureau.”
“I’m afraid I can’t help you with that,” the Sheriff said, digging his thumbs behind his belt.
“Well, you’re going to have to, if you want to keep your job,” Dravin threatened.
“You don’t understand, son.”
“Agent Davidson,” Dravin corrected him.
Joshua scratched his chin and looked off to the side. “Agent Davidson. The Bureau hasn’t existed for, oh, about 45 years now,” he said, catching Dravin’s gaze.
Dravin grabbed the Sheriff by the collar. “What are you trying to pull? What’s going on here?”
“Mr. Davidson, take a look at my clothes,” the Sheriff said, holding his hands out. “Surely you saw my car. Look around you. This isn’t the world you once knew. You were caught in South Mapiya when it was suspended in time for 87 years.”
Dravin let go of Joshua’s collar. The man was right, but what he was saying... “That’s impossible.” 87 years? The FBI gone?
“And yet, here you are.”
“What do you mean the Bureau doesn’t exist? The US wouldn’t just do away with it,” Dravin said, his eyes darting around, trying to catch all the differences around them. The cars, these clothes. The City Hall didn’t look different, or at least not too different. There had to be another explanation.
“During the Oil War, or World War III,” the Sheriff explained, “the United States ceased to exist. It joined forces with Canada and Mexico to form the North American Coalition.” He glanced at Cecilia. “There’s an agency like the FBI, the Internal Investigation Agency, IIA. But no one even knows you still exist, let alone cares that you used to work for the FBI.”
Dravin grinned. “Well, they will. Now, I’m going to need you to get me in contact with the agency. And get me a phone.”
The Sheriff crossed his arms. “And why is that?”
“I think I can explain that,” Cecilia said with a glare at Dravin.
“Sure, talk away,” Dravin said. “After you make that call.”
***
Kevin burst into the police station, ignoring the dozen or so people crowding the lobby. Everyone was talking at once. The Deputy was busy trying to calm them down and hear from them in an orderly manner. In 2012, the police station had been in South Mapiya. Actually, with the downtown split as it was, Kevin figured they now had several duplicate buildings: police station, post office — they always had two High School campuses, so that didn’t count.
Kevin strode past them all to his desk and picked up the phone. No dial tone. He hit the phone several times and listened. Still nothing. “Wentworth,” he called out to the Deputy. Kevin cursed silently to himself; Wentworth would be his only Deputy still around. The others, along with a majority of the residents, lived in the north. “Wentworth,” he called out again, louder this time, to be heard above the crowd. “Hey, quiet everyone!”
They stopped and turned to the Sheriff, who breathed a sigh of relief at the silence. “Yes, Sheriff?”
“We need to use South Campus as a temporary shelter. Get the word out.” He was explaining quickly, maybe too quickly, but with recent events he wanted to follow up on it quickly. “Have anyone who had houses in North Mapiya to meet there, in the auditorium. We should be receiving some help from the police in the north.”
“Wait, what are you talking about?” a woman from the group asked. “What do you mean had houses in the north?”
“I didn’t explain that part?” Kevin said.
“No.”
He looked at the group and took stock. Fine upstanding citizens, all of them. Could they handle the truth of what just happened without starting a panic? He saw that barb wire fence now surrounding the town. The sky went from dark to light, the weather from cold to warm, and a tornado passed over the city. That’s what everyone knew. Would they react better, these dozen or so, knowing what really happened before everyone else? What was the normal way to react to the news that you and your town had been suspended in time for 87 years?
“Just go to the school auditorium. We’ll explain everything there. Gather up friends, neighbors, coworkers — anyone who was with you here in South Mapiya — and meet us there.”
Kevin waited for everyone to file out and turned to Wentworth. “Sheriff, what’s going on?”
He stared at the Deputy, calm and serious. “You’re not going to believe it.”
***
Motega strolled down the street at a level pace, trying to appear casual. He looked over his shoulder for the third time. No one was around for the moment. The next building on his right was the city armory, an old two-level brick building.
It was a holdover from the 80’s, when the Cold War was going strong and the commies could attack at any time. Today it was mostly dormant, but still held by the military. Motega had walked past it plenty of times in the past couple months, on his way to Caribou for his morning hot chocolate. It still held weapons.
Motega trotted up a long set of stairs to the raised entrance. He took a look at the door; it had an electronic locking system. The building was old, but they kept the security up to date. The light was out on the key card reader, though. The electricity was still out. He gave the door a good hard tug but it wouldn’t budge. He jerked it hard a few times, just for good measure. Nothing.
Jogging back down the stairs he exhaled in frustration. There has to be another way in, he thought, so with another glance down the street — still no one around — he took a walk around the armory, looking for another entrance. In the back he found a steel door, the kind with the lock in the crossbar system, wedged open. Someone’s been here, he figured. Since the experiment, or maybe just before it. The Event that turned night into day and winter into summer.
Motega slid into the armory. He needed only one thing.
***
After his stop at the police station, Kevin drove farther east to Shem Sweeny’s house. It belonged to the father of Jack Sweeny, the boy who had his locker broken into back in 2012.
Kevin sucked in some air and surveyed the lot. The house was small, one bedroom, and a dirty blue with broken white shudders. It couldn’t have been more than 600 square feet or so and the porch caved in on the right. The sight struck Kevin as sad; Shem was capable of so much more than this. An American flag flapped proudly in the wind, hung from the rim of the roof, but even it, too, was showing significant signs of wear.
The place felt a bit strange, but he couldn’t place it. It wasn’t horrible maintenance or the vacant expression of the house staring back at him. It was like... Kevin shook his head. It just felt strange. But then, the whole city felt a bit strange after what happened.
Shemuel Sweeny, Jack’s dad, had several cars parked farther back in the yard, behind the house, collecting rust and taking up space. A stack of old tires near them was still wet from the snow melting. The yard was littered with good deals or free tickets like that, half-finished projects that, at the time, were sure to have brought Shem that extra cash needed to make ends meet, in a someday that never came.
Kevin walked up to the front door, avoiding the rotten pieces of the first porch step, and knocked hard three times. There was no response from inside. Kevin listened hard. Maybe he could hear someone scurry around from room to room. He wasn’t sure. “Shem,” he called out. “It’s Sheriff Hunter. I just want to talk with your son for a minute.”
The door snapped open and Shem wedged himself in the crack. His clothes looked about as bad as his house, torn and stained. “He... Hi Sheriff,” he said, stammering. “What can I do for you?”
“What’s going on in there?” Kevin asked, trying to peak behind him, but Shem was working hard to keep the door closed enough to block off any view of the inside.
Shem squeezed through the doorway and pulled the door shut behind him. “Nothing, nothing. Just a little project for me and my boy.”
He wouldn’t have considered himself a very good Sheriff if he didn’t know immediately that Shem was lying. “Can I come inside?”
Pulling his long hair out of his face and tucking it behind his ear, Shem shook his head. “I’d rather not,” he said. “It’s an awful mess. I’m sorry. You understand.”
Unfortunately, even when you knew someone was lying, it was hard to tell why. And his suspicion wasn’t enough to get him a warrant, that is, if they still needed a warrant in the future, or on the other hand, if they were allowed search and seizure at all. He was starting to wonder whether the other Sheriff was right, Joshua — his great grandson. Maybe he didn’t have the ability to be Sheriff anymore, so cut off from his time and his laws.
“Sure. Shem, last night...” he said. No, that was wrong. “About an hour ago there was a break in at the school.”
“An hour ago?”
“Yeah, it’s a long story,” Kevin said, trying to figure out how he would explain. “But about an hour ago it was the night of December 3rd, 2012. Now it’s July 8th, 2099.” He put his hands up. “Don’t ask me how it works, I don’t know myself. I’m sure there’s some fancy science explanation, but it’s true.”
“I believe you. I was, well, when it got real bright and warm,” Shem said. He glanced back at his house as if itching to get back inside. “I just, I figured there was some explanation. I figured I’d just wait and see what happened.”
“Well, just before it happened—” Kevin stopped short at the sound of a crash from inside the house, like ceramic breaking, and he leaned to try to see behind Shem, maybe a glance through the tall skinny window on the side of the door. “Is someone in there?”
Shem shook his head and swallowed hard, leaning to block Kevin from seeing inside. “Cat.”
“Well, Shem, there was a break in at the school,” Kevin said, continuing on. “Your son’s locker was broken into. I’d like to talk to him, if you don’t mind.”
“He’s not here,” Shem said, and Kevin was sure that was the truth.
“Really?”
Shem shook his head again. “Sorry, Sheriff,” he said, as if making a point of using his official title. “I haven’t seen him.”
“Well, when you do, could you let me know? I’d like to see if he could tell me what he had in that locker, what could have been stolen. That sort of thing.”
“I’ll be sure to have him contact you,” Shem promised. “Is there anything else? I’d really like to get back to what I was working on.”
“You really don’t know where your son is, Shem? Or, where he was an hour ago, when all this happened?”
“I’m sorry, Sheriff,” Shem said with a shrug. “You know how teenage boys are. He’s independent now, all over the place.”
You mean you’ve neglected to keep tabs on him, Kevin thought, thinking back to his son and how he imagined he’d keep control when he was a teenager, though that was probably unfair. He had no idea what it was like to raise a teenager, and now I never will. Both his wife and his son were in the north when he was suspended in time with the rest of South Mapiya.
“Okay, Shem. Oh, and call me Kevin, not Sheriff. We were friends once, and besides, I’m not sure that’s my title any longer.”
Shem nodded. “Will do.”
“Take care of yourself.”
“I will. Thanks Sheriff, er... Kevin.”
Shem waited for Kevin to turn and walk back to his car before he opened the door and slipped back inside. Kevin stopped at his car and looked back, his hand on the door handle. Something struck him as strange about this place, about that whole conversation. He was about to dismiss it again — he was just disturbed about the whole series of events last night, that is, this afternoon — but one more look wouldn’t hurt, right?
Kevin walked along the outside of the house and around towards the back. Everything still looked the same, he thought, until he noticed a large satellite dish installed on the roof in the back, looking nice and new. It seemed out of place. With how everything else looked around the house, old and run down, here was a spectacular new satellite dish.
He dismissed the thought just as quickly. People have been known, for a long time, to place entertainment above everything else in their life. For Shem, here, it was just a nice form of escapism.