Lost time, p.2
Lost Time, page 2
“I’m fine, Mom,” I say and pull the small patch kit out of the quick-release pouch on my belt. “The snake punched two small holes in my sleeve, but it didn’t bite me.”
“Akole puka, Madders, hurry!”
“We’re almost there,” he says. “Shannon, get a patch over that pronto.”
“Already on it.” I pull out the tab that releases the primer, but the patch slips out of my gloved hands and lands next to my thigh, primer-side up.
Thank goodness it didn’t land the other way—or fall into the dirt.
Unfortunately, thin items are really hard to pick up with bulky gloves, and if I touch the epoxy, it will stick to my finger and be ruined.
For a second I consider using up the second patch, but if I don’t manage to cover both bite holes with the first one, I’ll need it—assuming I’m not dead by then.
“Shannon!” Mom yells, making me jump. “The p-pressure in your suit is dropping! What are you doing, baby? Hurry up! Oh my god, why did I let you go Outside?”
“You’re not helping, Mom.” I force down the urge to panic and place one hand next to the edge of the rock. I use the other to slide the sticky circle across the rock and into my palm, being careful not to tip it over or touch the epoxy.
“What’s the holdup, Shannon?” Madders asks. “You need to get that patch on now!”
“Almost there.” I flip the patch over onto my arm—covering both tiny holes in one shot—and let out a whoop. “Got it!”
“Holy shit,” Mindy says. “What took you so long?”
“I dropped the patch.” The alarm in my suit goes silent, but the pressure indicator is still in the red. “But everything’s fine now.” Ten long seconds later, it changes back to orange.
That was close.
I hear a click—probably Mom giving Madders an earful on a private channel—and rest for a minute, waiting for the suit pressure to go green. Once it does, I pick up a stick and use it to make sure there aren’t any more snakes hiding in the rocks.
“I order you to stay where you are, Shannon.” Mom sounds really mad, but if the mysterious tree man is still alive, she’ll be too busy taking care of him to yell at me. “Madders needs to check your patch and make sure it’s on properly.”
“If it wasn’t on properly,” Mindy says, “she’d be croaking by now.”
“Mindy!”
“She’s right, Mom.” I continue scooting across the smooth boulder. “And besides, I’m already there.”
I slide carefully off the rock and land on my feet.
“Don’t touch anything!” Mom says, her too-loud voice bouncing around inside my helmet.
“I won’t, Mom.” I check my suit pressure and air supply. Everything looks fine.
Jeepers, I hate being treated like a child.
I’ve never seen a guy naked before, and I can feel my heart pounding as I approach him. He’s crumpled on his side with his back to me, so there are no boy parts visible.
I hope they’re all still attached and functional.
“Can you move a little so we can see his, um, face,” Mindy says.
I take a couple of steps closer, moving sideways so that I can see his front side. The ground is covered with translucent shards of ice—which is weird because there wasn’t any ice on the pond today—and the rapidly-melting pieces crunch underneath my boots.
Maybe he knocked it off the tree branches when he fell?
The guy’s longish, black hair is matted with blood, and his skin is a lot darker than mine, but not as brown as Madders’ or Lucy’s. I can’t see his junk, as Mindy calls it, so I can’t tell if he still has everything.
Not that it matters if he’s dead, Shaz.
“His leg must be broken in six places,” Mom says. “What was he doing up in that damn tree?”
“And more importantly,” Mindy says. “Does he have a girlfriend?”
I hold still for a minute and focus on the naked guy’s chest, watching for any movement.
“He’s breathing!” Mindy and I say at the same time.
Oh my god, he’s not dead. And I’m the one who found him.
“Ka puka akole,” Mom says, her voice full of disbelief. “Once Madders and Lucy get up there, you’ll need to be extremely careful moving him. His back may be broken, and we don’t want to do any more damage.”
“I copy that,” Lucy says. “Assuming I don’t die before we get there. One little misstep and I’ll be feeding the fish for the next decade. Lordy, I never signed up to go Daniel Boone-ing when I said yes to emergency medical duty this morning.”
“Be careful, Miss Lucy!” I say.
“Bless your heart,” she answers, her breathing audible.
“What should I do now, Mom?” I ask, flutters of excitement making my chest ache.
“Is it safe to move so we can see his face, baby?”
“Yeah, sure. Just a sec.” I tramp around the tree, then stop and turn my camera back on the injured man.
There are broken bones sticking out of his arms and legs, and there’s a bloody gash above his left ear, but his, um, manroot seems to be intact. Still, given all the stuff I’ve read, it does look kind of small and shriveled.
I’ll have to ask Mindy about that.
I notice something bright orange in his hand. It’s spattered with blood, and before anyone tells me not to, I use a dead leaf to pick it up.
“It’s a real seashell!” I say, holding it up for the camera.
“Watch out!” Mom says. “Those spines look sharp!”
“Yep,” I say and take a minute to admire the beautiful lines of orange and brown swirling around a milky white core.
If I put it up to my ear, will I be able to hear the ocean?
“Why would he be holding a seashell?” Mom asks.
“Because it’s important to him,” I say and place it carefully in a cargo pocket.
“Duh,” Mindy says before Mom shushes her.
I turn back to the man. There’s dark beard stubble covering his cheek and jaw, so he’s definitely old enough to make babies, and he has nice hands with long fingers—and even some muscles in his chest.
Mindy squeals, and I know she’s thinking the same thing I am.
Assuming he doesn’t die, the dating options in the Bub just improved dramatically.
Madders walks up behind me, takes a quick look at the patch on my sleeve, and then rests his hand on my shoulder. “You did good, Shenanigans. I’m proud of you.”
“Thanks, Madders. Just following protocol: Identify the problem, engineer a fix, and Bob’s your uncle.”
“Bloody right.” He squeezes my shoulder, and we turn and watch Lucy and the others tramp up the hill. “We’ll get him back to the biodome and see if your mom can’t fix him up good as new.”
We turn back to the naked man, and I notice that all the ice has melted into the damp ground. “I don’t recognize him, Madders. Do you?”
Madders shakes his head. “Except...” He steps closer. “Nah, couldn’t be. He’s definitely not from the Bub. Lani, you ever seen this guy before?”
“No,” Mom says. “And just for the record, Miracle Man doesn’t have a mask on.”
“Nope,” I say smiling, despite the fact that I just blew my oxygen consumption average for the next decade. “He’s naked as a blue jay, and I call chopes.”
Chapter 3
Diego: The Undead
I awaken inside a darkened room, and for a minute I wonder if I’m back in the Magic Kingdom. That underground city smelled like an old hunting lodge, but there’s something else in the air here, some odor that tickles my memory.
I take a deep breath and wince.
I must not be dead or it wouldn’t be this painful.
And then I remember where I am—or rather where I am not—and how I got here.
At least it’s not the Jurassic.
I stare at the IV in my wrist, my heart racing.
So where the hell am I?
I try to sit up, but a sharp pain in my chest convinces me otherwise. I rest for a bit, forcing myself to calm down, then start again with wiggling my fingers and toes. My right arm and both my legs seem too heavy, and there’s some sort of giant rubber band wrapped around my torso, but I don’t seem to be missing any major body parts.
I take a more careful look around. I seem to be in a small hospital room. There’s a small flat-panel display on one of the machines and digital locks on some of the cabinets—not something you’d expect to see twenty years in the past.
I’m in the wrong place and the wrong time?
If so, all the sacrifices and suffering, all the time away from Iz, will have been for nothing. Christ, I’m a time-traveling Robinson Crusoe stranded god-knows-where, while the world I left behind goes to hell in a hand-basket, taking the only woman I ever loved with it.
Screw-Up Nadales strikes again.
I close my eyes, waiting for the tidal wave of pain and loss to crush me, but instead of grief, I feel a numb emptiness.
Like I’m drugged.
The door opens, letting in a slat of light from the hallway, and a petite Asian woman walks in, long black hair pulled into a loose braid at the back of her neck. Her face is hidden in the shadows, but she looks to be in her thirties, wearing sensible shoes and casual clothes.
When she realizes that I’m awake, she brings up the lights. “Welcome back to the world of the living.” Her voice is as silky as her straight black hair. She walks over to the bed, glances at the giant rubber band wrapped around my torso, and then turns to adjust my IV.
I stifle a gasp. One whole side of her face is a mass of raised and twisted flesh.
“I’m the one who glued you back together,” she says. “My name’s Lani.”
I lie there like an idiot, staring in horror at what remains of her face.
She runs her fingertips across the scars and turns away. “It’s been years since someone looked at me like that.” She adjusts the papers on her clipboard, and when she turns back to me, there’s a coldness in her eyes. “I’m sorry I startled you,” she says. “I don’t meet many new people.” She shifts her weight. “I apologize if you find me... d-distressing.”
I stare at her, embarrassment keeping me mute, and then I look away.
Who or what did that to her?
“Do you speak English?” she asks, and when I don’t respond, she adds, “¿Habla Español? Sprechen Sie Deutsch?” She makes an audible huff. “Damn, you don’t look very Japanese, and I can’t remember how to ask in French.”
I force myself to look at her. “‘Parlez-vous français?’ And yes, I speak English and Spanish, and un peu français—but keine Deutsch.”
She purses her lips, a blush spreading over her porcelain skin. “I see.”
Christ, she looks like she’s never been out in the sun.
“As I said, I’m Dr. Kai, but most people just call me Lani. And you are mister…”
“Um, Crusoe. Diego Crusoe. Nice to meet you, doctor.” I try to offer my right hand, but the cast extends from my shoulder down to my knuckles, and I only manage to wiggle my fingers. “Thanks for saving me.”
She touches her fingertips to mine. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Crusoe. Thanks for dropping in.”
“Please, call me Diego. All the people who save me do.”
She laughs, a sound like a brook tumbling over round stones, and I get a weird feeling. Something about her is vaguely familiar, but I can’t quite place it.
“Do you feel up to answering a few questions?” she asks. “I’m afraid the whole bubble is dying to hear your story, and if I don’t throw them a bone, they’ll just keep pestering me.” She glances over at the half-open door. “You can go back to your homework now, girls. I’ll let you know when he feels up to visitors.”
Two teenage girls peek around the doorframe, smiling and waving their fingertips. They look to be sixteen or seventeen, and their complexions are also vampire white.
“I’m the one who found you,” the blond girl says, blushing crimson. She’s not much taller than Lani, but she’s built like a gymnast and moves like one too, bouncing on the balls of her feet. Her straight, blond hair is pulled back in a ponytail and her eyes are glacier blue.
“But I helped,” her friend adds, bumping shoulders with the blond. “I’m Mindy, and Miss Embarrassment here is Shannon.”
I laugh. “Nice to meet you both.”
If there are any teenage boys in vampire land, they must be lining up to ask these two out.
They giggle, and I can almost see the queue forming outside my door—especially for the shorter one: Her fine features, porcelain skin, and blond over blue are quite stunning.
“Thank you, girls,” Lani says and shoos them out, shutting the door firmly. “Did I mention you’re famous?”
“Indecent exposure?”
She chuckles. “In a manner of speaking. Do you know where you are?”
The absurdity of the question overwhelms me, and I start laughing.
Christ, I don’t even know when I am.
My laugh turns into a coughing fit and pain shoots through my chest and shoulders. And then, I can’t breathe. Lani rushes over to a cabinet and takes out a vial and a syringe.
“No more drugs,” I manage to croak out, holding up my left hand. “I’m okay. Give me a minute.”
She brings the items back with her, looking concerned.
I will myself to take slow breaths, and a few seconds later, it works. “Sorry.” I give her a wan smile. “I’m sure it would look bad on your résumé if you spent all this time saving me, only to have me die of laughter.”
“Very funny. Fortunately, I don’t think you’re going to expire any time soon.”
“So, where am I? In a vampire hospital?”
She gives me a confused look.
“Everyone here has porcelain skin, you included.”
One side of her mouth curves down. “Well, you’re right about the hospital part. You took a bad fall. We weren’t sure you were going to make it, but I think the worst is over now.”
“Will I be able to walk again?”
“Eventually. But it will take some time.”
“How much time?”
“That will depend on how hard you want to work. With injuries like yours, recovery can be slow and painful.”
I glance down at my immobilized body and then raise one eyebrow. “So what’s broken?”
“Probably easier to tell you what’s not. You fell nearly twenty meters—over sixty feet. It’s lucky a branch or two broke your fall.”
“Right.”
She points to my rubber-band-covered chest. “You fractured most of the ribs on your left side, but didn’t puncture a lung—also very lucky.” She runs her gaze over my lower half. “So everything internal is still in the right place, and everything external seems to be nominally functional.”
“Good to know.”
She brings her gaze back up to my face. “Your right shoulder was dislocated, and your back and neck were wrenched a bit, but they should be fine. You landed in a giant fern, which cushioned your fall somewhat, so thrice lucky.”
“Yeah, I won the lottery.”
She points to a bandage above my left ear, and I reach across my face and run my fingertips over it. “You took a good bump on your head there, but no fracture. Still, you may have headaches for a while. But if all goes well, we should have you good as new in a few months.”
“A few months?” I lift my head and look over the expanse of blue fiberglass running from my right shoulder down to my knuckles.
“If Shannon hadn’t seen you fall, you’d be dead, Mr. Crusoe. So in my book, you’re the luckiest man alive.”
“That’s me.”
“All things considered,” she says, “I think you’re doing smashing.” One corner of her mouth curves up a millimeter, and given what’s happened to her face, I take it for a smile.
Of all the doctors in the world, I get the one who likes wordplay. I miss you, Iz.
“Thank you,” I say. “And please give Shannon my thanks too.”
She brushes my gratitude off with a wave of her hand. “Oh, you can thank her yourself in a day or two. She’s been camped outside your room since they brought you back.” She gets an amused look in her eyes. “And she’s told all her friends that she has chopes on you, which I think is D-1 slang for dibs.”
“Dibs in dee-won?”
She frowns, pulls up a chair, and sits down. “Where are you from?” She stares at the tanned skin on my arm and then looks up at me. “Obviously not here.”
“Nope, not a drop of vampire blood in me.”
“Good to know.” She sets the unused syringe down on a tray by the bed. “D-1, decade one, or first decade: all the kids who were born within ten years of the Extinction. With only a few thousand people left in the gene pool, we had to do some planning.”
My throat gets tight. “What are you talking about?”
She crosses her arms. “Children born in D-1 are strongly encouraged to find a mate from outside their extended family, D-2s from outside their bubble. We started doing it by generation, but that proved too complicated, so now it’s just by birth year. By the time we get to D-3, I suspect we’ll have to make the requirements even stricter.”
I shift my weight, not really listening, and a pillow slips out.
She manages to catch it before it hits the floor, then spends a minute repositioning it behind my head and shoulders. When she’s done, she places one hand on my good shoulder. “Better?”
“Yes, thank you. What year is it? And what caused the extinction?” I cough and then wince, and she reaches for the syringe, but I shake my head. “Maybe you could just start at the beginning and tell me everything?”
She’s quiet for a minute, thinking, and then she sits back down in the chair. “You don’t remember anything?”
