A Long Time Until Now (3 page)

“Listen up. Leak if you need to, then get back over here. I’m going to keep talking.

“First, we’re going to deal with the immediate situation. We are a small unit, but we are large enough to support ourselves, and God willing, we’ll make this work.

“I don’t have an answer on getting back. First we have to find out where and when we are. Then we need to survive and thrive. Then we focus on finding our way back.

“I need fifteen minutes to make some notes. Then I’ll dictate our plan of attack.”

Hopefully he could silently scream it all out in fifteen minutes. Or maybe he’d throw up.

Martin Spencer was surprised he wasn’t more shocky. Woolly rhino, cool weather, lusher growth, no people. Time travel. There wasn’t any other explanation. Time travel was impossible, except in sci fi and movies, but it had obviously happened.

His brain suddenly remembered an old joke.
You may get drafted or not. If not, no worries. But if so, there are two possibilities. You may deploy or not. If you don’t, no worries . . .
his mind raced through to the ending.
If you get wounded, you may survive or not. If you survive, no worries, if not . . . but there are usually two possibilities.

It was either time travel, or time travel. He was alive. He had people, tools, skills. Either they could get back or not. Always two possibilities if you looked for them.

The LT, though, was sick with shock and fear, and he couldn’t think, and he was angry, and he couldn’t think.

“Sir, can I offer some suggestions?”

“No,” Elliott replied, gripping his rifle, trembling, and staring at the horizon.

“Understood, sir.”

That was bad. The man was shaking, wasn’t making decisions, and wasn’t all there. He needed backup. If the man wasn’t in command, the troops would panic all over the landscape.

But a few moments later, Elliott turned around and gave orders.

He said, “It’s dry but going to be cool tonight. Dress as you need to for the weather, let’s hang some ponchos or tarps around the wheels like lean-tos, and we can sleep under there tonight. We don’t have much fuel, but I want a small fire in that crack in the rock. Two people on watch as I said, and keep feeding grass stalks to it if nothing else. The smoke will help with bugs.”

The ponchos went up in a few minutes, but no one crawled into the shelter.

Dalton said, “If it’s okay with you, sir, I’ll be first watch.”

“You and me, then,” he agreed.

It was pretty clear no one was going to sleep. Elliott could order it, but it wouldn’t work.

Still, he was giving orders. That was good. Spencer added, “Keep the fire small. Light, a little heat, a little smoke.”

“How about three on watch, sir?” Barker asked. “We can keep an eye out in three arcs at once.”

If there were rhinos, there might be mammoths, bears and sabertooths, and he doubted M4 carbines would stop them, but they might have to try.

Elliott said, “Yeah. There should be a good view from the ledge.”

There wasn’t much talking. Spencer didn’t even know who’d lit the fire, and that bothered him. It was dusky. They’d been here for hours, and where had the time gone?

Was time moving at a different rate, too? Or had they just completely zoned out in shock? He checked his watch. No, it had been eight hours. How?

He needed to piss again, badly. He went to the side of the outcropping and let loose. He kept looking over his shoulder to make sure everyone was still there.

The fire was the only warmth he felt. He moved in as close as he thought safe, and felt a nervous itch in his exposed back. He closed his eyes and focused on leading by example, then opened them in fear. He realized he was shaking in stress, and nauseated.

It’s like a firefight,
he
thought
. But it’s been going on for eight hours, and there’s nothing I can do to take cover or evade, or call for support.

He heard someone make a deep, shuddering sigh that turned into sobs, and in moments, they were all whimpering and gasping. They’d be panicking until they got through every stage of dealing with trauma, he expected.

He thought about suggesting camp songs, cadences or even jokes, but . . . nothing felt right.

I have to do something, if only to keep a perception of discipline,
he thought
. We have to stay together.

Absolutely nothing came to mind.

Devereaux said, “If you look up, you can see the constellations. We’re in late summer, early fall, and we’re about the same latitude we left, possibly a bit farther north. So we’re not terribly far away.”

“Except in time.”

Devereaux’s camo showed up better in the starlight than his dark skin. His outline was ghostly. He said, “There’s a fifteen billion light year universe we could be lost in, and eternity. We’re not far. Whatever screwed up is likely to happen again. We just need to watch for it.”

He sounded confident. He needed it to be true, and Martin did, too.

Someone asked, “Why? We couldn’t see this one.”

“We weren’t looking.”

Caswell said, “No pollution. Look how bright and clear they all are.”

She was right. He’d never seen anything that bright in the remotest areas of A-stan, Alaska or even on the side of the Tetons. The stars were icy points, and there were billions of them. Except for the fire, it was completely, utterly black.

That brought everyone silent for about ten seconds.

Then the sobs started again.

They stopped when a wolf howled. A big wolf. Then others.

Everyone fumbled with their weapons.

Barker said, “No shooting. Those are a long way away.”

“Can I spotlight something?” Dalton asked.

He was about to say, “Yes,” when he remembered something. “We have night vision on the trucks.”

Dalton nodded, and took a tentative step toward the hatch, then stopped.

Spencer said, “I’ll go with you.” He’d rather be in the truck.

Dalton let out a breath and nodded.

Yeah, they were all terrified. It was bad enough being alone in the dark. Any distance from other human beings was unwelcome.

He scanned with the NV and looked at the terrain in monochromatic green. Grass, creepy-looking scrub, and a few herbivores. He breathed a deep sigh and felt cold.

He reported to Elliott, “Goats. Some kind of antelope. Maybe wolves way to the west. And I could swear I see a lion.”

Elliott asked, “How far can you see?”

“With moon and no pollution, a long way.” It was a little less scary in monochrome.

The LT said, “Okay, I want one on cupola and one on night vision.”

“I don’t think anyone’s going to sleep, sir.”

“Yeah. Rotate through just the same.”

He was getting cold. It was quite chill, and damp, but he wasn’t going to go into the other vehicle for his gear. There were people out here, and there weren’t in there.

They couldn’t see him shake or tear up again.

There was no coffee unless he used an MRE packet or opened a jar of Folgers instant and heated water. He grabbed a Ripit. He didn’t want to sleep.

As dawn grayed in the east, Gina Alexander felt a little better. Her eyes were gritty, her bladder very full, and she wanted some light before she went to drain out. She was uncomfortable to the point of pain. That wasn’t enough to overcome the cold, loneliness, and sheer panic. She was damp and sticky all over from sweat and dew. They were lost beyond anything imaginable, anything real, and she was terrified.

It got a bit grayer, and pressure overcame fear.

“Caswell, can you come with me? Latrine break. SFC Spencer, can you be backup again?”

“Sure.” “Can do.”

She leaned against the rock, rifle across her lap, and it came out in a flood. Caswell took care of business, and Spencer politely kept his back turned. Or maybe he was more afraid of what might be out there.

She buckled fast, and they jogged back to the trucks.

It was a striking sunrise, and she fumbled with her camera, but couldn’t recall how to shoot that close to the sun, and she was disoriented from fatigue.

Spencer said, “With your permission, sir, I’m going to suggest we take turns napping in daylight, inside the vehicles. Two hours each, two at a time.”

“Yeah. Do it.”

“Roger. Alexander, Ortiz, you’re first, lie down. You both look rough.”

“Thank you, Sergeant,” she said.

On the one hand, she didn’t want to sleep. There was too much to do, and she wanted nothing more than to be close to everyone else. What if they all transported back and she got left behind alone in the MRAP? But she was delirious, nauseated and hallucinating. She climbed up the metal stairs and into the back in the gray twilight, slumped into a seat, and realized she was passing out as she reached for the collar of her armor.

Bob Barker dug through the piled crap in the back of Charlie Eight, looking for his E-tool. He’d use the shovel if he had to, but the entrenching tool, there it was, was better. He needed to take a dump something fierce, and he didn’t want to leave a mess.

When he got back he’d need to say something about cleaning stuff up. The back of the vehicle looked like a trash truck. If they couldn’t find their gear, they couldn’t react well.

Without a word, Trinidad followed him. He nodded. No one wanted to be out of sight of anyone else, and they knew there were wolves here.

In the movies, something always took people home, or they pulled together into a team and accomplished greatness. He didn’t see that happening. They were all scared shitless, or rather, scared into not shitting. He felt like he had a rock inside.

He scooped out a hole fast, dropped trou, and squatted. He could smell various human urines. They’d need a proper field latrine, too. Everyone was freaking out.

Then he was, too. A rush of heat, panicked breathing. He couldn’t see the vehicles. He looked up at Trinidad, who looked back briefly, then toward the troops again.

He wiped with a paper napkin, tossed it in the dip, pulled up his pants, and shoveled dirt back over it.

He should probably have some water. He’d been eating the coffee powder, and his throat was raw from a half pack of Marlboros.

He was going to be out of those by tomorrow. Crap.

He noticed Alexander and Oglesby had their phones out. They might be looking at pictures or listening to music, but they needed their attention here on the mission, whatever that mission might be, not moping. He wanted to grab his, too, but he shouldn’t.

“You need to put those away,” he told them.

“But . . .” Oglesby looked like he was about to argue. Alexander just powered hers down and slid it into a pocket. Oglesby followed suit. He looked annoyed.

Armand Devereaux was surprised to find he’d actually napped, and hard. He woke as Barker kicked his boot. He squinted and twisted. He was too tall for these seats, and his neck ached.

“Yeah, I’m up.”

His dream had been messed up, too, but he didn’t remember it already.

Using one hand for support, he staggered out the back.

“Drink water,” he said. It was almost a conditioned reflex to remind the troops, and right now, they needed it more than most. Where the hell were they? “And brush your goddamned teeth,” he added.

He hadn’t prayed in years. Sure, he went through the motions, went to Confession and Mass, but that was largely for Mama. It was important, but he’d been a pretty undevout Catholic.

He was praying now. Perhaps Mary could intercede for them. He had no idea which saint would apply. So he picked several.

The troops were going through motions, too. Ortiz and Caswell were atop the guns. Dalton and Oglesby wandered around the perimeter. The CO was swaying.

Spencer met his eyes and flicked them toward the lieutenant. He nodded.

He approached the lieutenant from the side and said, “Sir, you need rest, too. We’ll need you alert later.”

“Can’t sleep.”

“I have Benadryl, but I would rather save it.”

Spencer said, “He’s right, sir. Listen to the medic. I’ll cover things; you take a break.”

“Goddamnit, okay.”

They watched him mutter and stumble his way up into Number Nine. He was literally unconscious in twenty seconds.

“What do you think of this, Sergeant Spencer?” he asked.

“I think it’s fucked up, but I don’t think we can do anything about it.”

“Yeah. And we’re definitely a long way off.”

“Oh?”

“Did you see the constellations? They shifted slightly.”

“I’m well read, but not that much.”

“I’m taking some astronomy. The stars have moved a bit. We’re either later or earlier.”

Spencer said, “Earlier.”

“Unless some future Earth is a park and some aliens have brought us here as a zoo exhibit.”

The SFC raised his eyebrows and said, “Damn. I hadn’t considered that one. But you’re right. Could be.”

“I always wanted to get out of Queens so I could see more stars.”

Spencer shrugged.

Armand looked him over. He was haggard.

“You rest next.”

Spencer nodded slowly. “Yeah. If I can.”

“You will. Right now, can you help me get people to drink?”

“Yeah. Listen up!”

Armand said, “Drink water. That’s an order. You should have had a liter each today at least. And no more Ripits or Red Bull. Caffeine withdrawal is ugly.”

A couple of them grumbled, but they all complied.

“Hey, I don’t want to have to stick you and bag you out here. And someone dig a latrine.”

“Already did,” Barker said. “Just a squattie, but it’ll keep things cleaner.”

“Thanks.”

Martin Spencer woke in pain. His back ached from trying to sleep in odd positions, and he wasn’t twenty anymore. He was sweaty and grimy. His guts burned because hadn’t been taking his stomach meds, and had been chewing MRE coffee powder. Stress and lack of sleep wasn’t helping. He washed down two of the meds. Then he thought about that.

His paranoia was a good thing. He always carried a year’s supply of meds, but had about three months left. If they were stuck here, he’d need to develop workarounds, or he’d start dying slowly and painfully.

Outside, everyone moved around stiffly. They were all fatigued, all scared, and all worn ragged.