Timescape (7 page)

Both of them plunged down, like a fishing bobber, but deeper. They popped up again.

David coughed. Blinked. The fuzzy image of his dad's panicked face floated in front of him. “What's going on? I'm getting pu—”

Pulled under again. He realized the squeezing grip on his torso was the life buoy, the ring around his chest. The very thing that was supposed to keep him afloat was tugging him under. He felt Dad right with him: deep below the surface.

David emerged. Spat water. He hacked it out in a coughing fit. He felt as waterlogged as a towel that had blown into a pool.

“What's going on?” he said. It's pulling me un—”

Under again. He kicked and kicked, waved his arms in the treading-water fashion he'd been taught. His head broke the surface. All he could do was gasp for air. He didn't know how much more he could take. Going under without warning, without breath, time and time again. The short reprieves on the surface were too short, almost torture, teasing his lungs with air, his body with rest.

“Dad?” he said, and took a deep breath. He was afraid to say any more. He wanted his lungs to be ready, full for the next tug.

He had to slip out of the ring. It was the ring. It was pulling him down.

“Go with it, David,” Dad said in his ear. He was squeezing him close, pressing his lips right on David's ear. “Next time it pulls you, go with it. Don't fight it.”

David jerked his head away. He looked into his father's eyes. “I don't understand. It's under—”

Water washed over his head, and
blast it!
if he didn't swallow a gallon of the salty stuff. He'd promised himself he wouldn't be caught off guard again. He kicked, pulled at Dad, but realized Dad was under too. They both struggled and fought, and eventually David felt the cold, cold night air on his face. He spat and breathed.

Dad was there again, his mouth almost
eating
his ear. “Okay, okay. That one was a surprise,” Dad said. “Keep going when it takes you. It's the portal; the items are showing us the way. Look . . .” He pointed.

“W-w-what, the tablecloth, the doll?”

“Yeah,” Dad said, excited. “They were beside us a few minutes ago. Now they're way off that way. We should have drifted with them, not in the opposite direction. The items tugged us to the portal. Go with it, Dae.”

“But . . . but . . .” David could hardly find the words. “It's
underwater
!”

“Yes, but it can't be too far,” Dad said. “The pull is strong. Swim
toward
it. Stop fighting it.”

“You . . . you go first,” David said. “I'll hold on and follow.” He was scared and didn't mind letting it show.

“Listen,” Dad said. He held David's chin, pointing their faces at each other. “You go without me. Get home. I'm going to wait for Xander.”

“No!” David said. “I'm not leaving you. I'm not leaving Xander.” What was it with this family, always separating?

“We've been in the water, what, ten minutes?” Dad said. “I'm having trouble breathing, and I can't feel my hands or feet. You have to be slipping into hyperthermia too, Dae. Maybe worse than me.”

David had been too panicked by the constant dunking to notice. He'd chocked up his shallow breathing, his not getting enough air even when he was on the surface long enough to get it, as a side effect of swallowing so much water and being so scared. Hypothermia—freezing to death. Could be that too. His hands and feet had moved when he'd wanted them to, but that was only because they were attached to his arms and legs, heavier muscles that had not yet succumbed to the cold water. He flexed his fingers. They barely moved.

He nodded. His teeth chattered so hard, he thought they might break.

“All right, then,” Dad said. “I'll meet you back in the house.”

David saw something on a swell over Dad's shoulder: Xander! He was thirty feet away, swimming toward them. He kept looking up, getting his bearings. His arms pumped up and down—a shiny object still in his hand—and his legs kicked. The faint glow of a light somewhere caught the paleness of his face. His eyes sparkled blue, and David noticed his brother's lips were nearly the same color.

Xander opened his mouth wide to gulp in air, a plume of mist billowing out first. His bottom lip trembled so badly, David could
see
it quivering from that distance.

“Look,” he said.

Dad did. He reached out and squeezed David's shoulder.

“Xander!”

Xander nodded. Something that might have been a smile twisted his lips. He dropped his head to plow ahead. The current or his numbing muscles or
something
caused him to veer off course; if he kept that trajectory, he'd miss them by a mile. Then a strange thing happened. Xander zipped toward them—sideways in the water, still pedaling and paddling with his head down, facing the wrong way. It was like that girl at the beginning of
Jaws
who gets grabbed by the shark and pulled through the water this way and that.

Dad and David watched him come.

“It's the portal,” Dad said. “He's got the items from the antechamber. They're pulling him to the portal.”

Dad turned to offer David a trembling smile. His eyes flashed wide, and he lurched into David as a breaker—and Xander—crashed into him.

Xander's arms flailed out. The metal thing in his hand slammed into David's forehead. Xander's frightened eyes locked for a second on David's, and he tried to say something, but only water spat out of his mouth. Then he was gone: straight down under the water.

“Xan—!” Dad said. He stuck his face within inches of David's. “Ready?”

David pulled in as much air as his frozen lungs could handle. The ring pulled him like an engine block tied to his body, and he went under. Dad went down right beside him. They ran into Xander, who was coming back up, his limbs twisting and pumping.

He's fighting it
, David thought. Though he'd done it himself and understood the impulse, his brother's efforts to reach the surface, to keep them there longer, frustrated him. He pushed down on Xander's shoulder. He grabbed his bicep, and let the tugging take them both down.

I hope Dad's right
, he thought.
The portal better be close. And I hope

Xander has enough breath to survive the trip.

Xander clawed at him. His fingers found David's face.

They squeezed and scratched.

David tried to turn away.

Something hit them. At first David was sure the
Titanic
had somehow returned to the surface, lurched in the water, and struck the struggling Kings. Then he realized it was he, Dad, and Xander doing the striking. They had reached the portal door.

CHAPTER
fifteen

WEDNESDAY, 7:30 P.M.

They fell into the antechamber in a cascade of water.

David remembered thinking that Spear-man, being sucked into the portal, looked like he was shooting down a water-slide. This was
exactly
a waterslide: fast, wet, with a landing that flipped them into the air.

Tumbling, David caught a glimpse of a wave slapping the antechamber's hallway door shut. Then the ceiling light flashed past. More water hit his face, forcing his eyes closed. His back slammed into the floor.

A body—David thought it was Xander—hit the floor in a gush of water and kept coming, right into his head. Another body—had to be Dad—tumbled down beside them.

The water kept pouring, churning over them, making them flip and swivel. It was like the time he'd lost his balance in the surf at Santa Monica Beach. The water pushed them into the antechamber's hallway door, against the bench, into each other.

David forced an eye open. Water rushed through the portal in a solid rectangle. Then the door slammed shut. The water splashed down and was done.

Silence . . . except for their breathing—deep, exhausted panting. And coughing—wet, miserable hacking.

David's back was pressed to the floor. His legs were bent at the hips; they rose straight up along the hallway door. Water dripped off his sneakers onto his bare belly: his shirt was bunched up under his arms and over his chest. His right arm was wedged under the shirt, and he felt his heart pounding like he'd sprinted through a marathon.

His eyes stung. They felt swollen and too large for his sockets, so he kept his lids closed. He remembered a song Dad liked: “Doctor, My Eyes,” he thought it was called. It was about a guy who suddenly couldn't see, and the singer wondered if it was because of all the sad things he'd seen.

I could write that song,
he thought.
But I better not be blind. Yeah, that's just what I need now.

He snapped his eyes open. The bulb on the ceiling, inside a wire basket to keep it from breaking, shot white spears into his head. He clamped his eyes closed again.

Okay, easy does it.

He cracked his lids just enough to see through his eyelashes. Dad sat on the floor to his right, leaning his head back against the wall. His chest rose and fell with almost cartoon exaggeration.

David shifted his gaze. Xander's head was pushed up against him. His legs stretched up to the bench, where his feet rested. His teeth chattered like Morse code.

Xander spoke, the cold clinging to his words. “Are . . . are we al-al-alive?”

“I'm t-t-too cold to be d-d-dead,” David said.

Xander tried to laugh, but it quickly turned into a series of coughs.

Wind blew in from under the portal door. It swirled around the room, buffeting their clothes and hair. Drops of water filled the air. Then the wind and the water whooshed under the crack beneath the door and were gone.

David felt warmer. Still bone-cold, but not nearly as icicley as a few seconds ago. He touched his hair. It was cold, but perfectly dry. Except . . . a sore spot on his forehead was wet. He looked at his fingers: blood, not enough to scare him. He lifted his head and said, “Xander, what did you hit me with?”

“Oh.” His brother held up the shiny object David had seen from the water. A sextant, which once helped sailors use the stars to navigate. “This old-fashioned GPS. It was one of the items I picked up to unlock the door. Sorry.”

David
thunk
ed his head down. His brain was numb, as though the cold had penetrated and frozen it. He knew, however, that it wasn't the cold that had flipped the off switch in his mind—it was the craziness of what he'd just gone through.

“That wind thing,” he said. “It took all the ocean water back where it belonged. Right out of my hair and clothes.

How freaky is that?”

“We just survived the sinking of the
Titanic
, and you think the
wind
is freaky?” Xander nudged his cast.

“Among other things,” David said. “There's just too many things happening to get my head around them all.”

He felt Xander at his side, nodding.

David held up his fist and straightened a finger for each point he made: “We went from Phemus coming after us . . . to Keal fighting him in the clearing . . . to finding out the world gets destroyed sometime in the near future . . . to running from, then running
into
, those future-world humanlike things . . . to nearly freezing to death in the Atlantic—
because we jumped off the
Titanic!” He pushed out a heavy breath. “Did I miss anything?”

Dad patted his leg. He said, “We found Nana. We rescued her.”

“Twice,” Xander said.

David looked at Dad. “It worked?” he said. “Throwing the creature into the portal instead of Nana worked?”

Dad smiled and nodded. “Next time we have to do something like that, try not to let them pull you in, okay?”

David thought about it, where they had gone. He said, “We killed that guy, that creature.”

“Better him than Nana,” Xander said.

Dad didn't comment for a while, then: “We didn't know where the portal would take him, Dae. Besides, maybe somebody rescued him.”

David tried to imagine that thing jumping into one of the lifeboats, screeching and flying around, scratching and biting people. They'd think he'd gone insane. Probably throw him overboard. He saw Dad watching him and realized Dad didn't think that was the way it had worked out, either.

“So what?” David said. “They find his body and list him as an unidentified victim?”

“
If
they found his body. A lot of people—like twelve hundred—were never found, just lost at sea. A couple hundred were found and never identified.”

David blinked at the ceiling. “It's sad,” he said.

“Don't worry about it, Dae,” Dad said. “He followed us, tried to hurt us.”

Then David remembered. He propped himself up on his elbows. “What about Mom? The face, Bob!”

“What about him?” Xander said.

“We saw him. Someone drew him on the ship. It had to be Mom!”

“Back there? On the
Titanic
?” Xander stared at the door as though ready to go back through it.

“Xander,” Dad cautioned, “there was nothing we could do. When we got there, it was minutes away from sinking completely. There's nothing we can do now, at least this time.”

Xander's mouth was a perfect circle. “What do you mean, this time?”

Dad nodded toward the door. “That world—the
Titanic
—it might come back around. Maybe we'll have another chance.”

David felt his brows scrunching together. He said, “What,
before
the sinking? We just saw it go down.”

“That's the thing about time travel,” Dad said. “It can happen again and again and again. It's just a matter of whether the house opens it up for us again. But you know something? Mom could have been there then, when we were there—in which case, I'm sure she would have gotten on a lifeboat—or she was there some other time and she's in some other world now.”