Nightfall

  Chapter Eighteen

  The next evening he rode the Defense Forces cruiser from the naval station in Saint Petersburg out to Edgmont Key, just as he’d done every weekend for the past two months. His heart was in his throat the moment he stepped off the dock, but the guard only rummaged through his bags for contraband and patted him down in a desultory kind of way before waving him on. They never noticed the pack of single-edged razor blades stuffed inside his underwear, and it was all he could do not to sigh with relief when they let him through. They put him outside the northern wall of the compound, just like always, and then he had to walk the mile and a half or so to where the cottage stood.

  Then for a night and a day he walked the sands, and lived quietly, and said nothing at all to Annabelle about the upcoming escape attempt. But when Saturday evening came, he knew he couldn’t put it off any longer.

  “Come on, sugar baby; let’s take a walk,” he said lightly, offering his hand and doing his best to smile.

  “It’s awfully late for a walk on the beach,” she said.

  “I know, but we won’t go far. Bring Tyke’s life jacket though, just in case we decide to swim a little,” he said. He didn’t dare say anything incriminating while they were still inside the cottage, of course.

  So they walked along the bayward side of the island, throwing sticks for the dog and talking about nothing in particular. It was indeed a blustery evening, just as Philip had predicted, with gusty wind and occasional spits of rain. Mike was glad to see it.

  He could make out the point of old Fort Desoto and the line of the Sunshine Skyway Bridge across the choppy waters of the bay, maybe two miles off. Otherwise there was nothing to be seen but sea and sky.

  Soon they were far down the beach, with Tyke running ahead to play with crabs or collect shells or whatever it was that caught his eye for a few minutes. The beach was one of the safest spots for them to have a private conversation, without needing to worry that a transcript of everything they said would immediately end up on Lieutenant Bartow’s desk. There were directional microphones which could have picked up what they were saying even then, of course, but Mike hoped no one was determined enough to listen to baby-talk.

  “We’re leaving tonight,” he whispered in her ear, as if telling her a sweet line. She never missed a beat.

  “I thought it was something like that. What’s the plan?” she whispered back, giggling as if he’d said something funny. Annabelle was no fool; she knew all the tricks just as well as he did.

  “Philip is coming to pick us up at ten o’clock with a row boat and a set of thermal suits. We’ll cross over to the fort, and then Joan will take us to the marina in Treasure Island. Damon is supposed to buy us a little ship to get away in. Then we’ll see what we see,” Mike said, and she didn’t ask how all this was possible or why he hadn’t told her sooner. She simply nodded.

  “We’ll have to cut the chips out or they’ll track us,” she said immediately, and he nodded.

  “Already got that covered,” he said, pulling the razor blades from his pocket.

  “What about the body heat alarm?” she asked.

  “Let Spot swallow them. He’ll keep them nice and warm for us,” Mike said.

  “We can’t take him, then?” she asked.

  “No. He’d give us away with his body heat; they don’t make thermal suits to fit dogs. I know Tyke will be sad, but we’ll find him another dog when we get to Campeche,” Mike said.

  “We’re going to Campeche?” Annabelle asked, and he couldn’t mistake the distaste in her voice.

  “Yeah, for a little while at least. Maybe not forever, but it was all we could think of on short notice,” Mike said, and Annabelle sighed.

  “I’m sure we’ll learn to adjust,” she finally said.

  “I hope so,” Mike agreed.

  “Well, we might as well get this done. It’ll be dark soon and we don’t dare do it back at the cottage,” she said, taking the razor blades from his hand.

  “Yeah, you’re right,” he agreed, getting down on his knees so she could reach his neck.

  “I’m afraid this might hurt pretty bad,” she said apologetically.

  “I’m sure it will. But it can’t be helped. Try to do it fast instead of slow; then at least it won’t last as long,” he said, and braced himself. Then she slashed the back of his neck open with the blade, and it did hurt, like white-hot fire, and he felt warm blood running down his back. But he gritted his teeth and didn’t say anything. Seconds later she showed him a tiny chip barely half a centimeter across, lying in her bloody hands. As soon as he saw it, she closed her fist to keep it warm.

  “I’m glad you found that so quick,” he muttered, putting pressure on his cut with both hands.

  “I’m not sure I would have, if the scar hadn’t been there to tell me where to look,” she admitted.

  “All right, then. Your turn,” he said, and she nodded and turned around. He pushed aside her long brown hair to expose the tiny scar where her own chip was buried, and then hesitated. It was hard to make himself hurt her, even though he knew it was dire necessity.

  “Come on, I’m ready. It just makes it worse if you wait,” she said, and he forced himself to do it. Bright red blood soaked the back of her dress, and he heard her hiss with pain. But he quickly found the hard little cube which was her tracking chip, and then held it in his fist as she was holding the other one.

  “Come here, Spot!” she called, and the puppy quickly galloped over to snuffle her feet in excitement.

  “Here you go, boy,” she said, opening her hand so he could lick the blood. In the process, she made sure he swallowed the tracking chip. Then Mike did the same.

  “Well, there’s that much done, at least,” he said.

  “Yeah, I just hope they don’t pay too much attention and start to wonder why we’re moving around so close to the ground all the time,” Annabelle said wryly.

  “I doubt they’ll look at all, unless they get an alarm because the chip got too cold or left the island,” Mike said.

  “Hopefully,” she agreed.

  Neither of them wanted to go back to the cottage, so they sat down and waited on the sandy beach for Philip to get there, talking quietly and watching the lights of Saint Petersburg in the distance.

  “I wonder if they have lights in Campeche,” she murmured after a while, and he laughed a little.

  “Not like this, but yeah, I’m sure they have electricity, sugar baby. It’s not like they’re still living in the Stone Age, you know,” he said.

  “I know. I’ve just heard so many awful things about that place,” she said.

  “Yeah, so have I,” he admitted.

  “Will it be safe, do you think?” she asked.

  “I’ve heard the rich people hire armed guards for protection. I guess we might have to do the same thing,” he said, not liking the idea much.

  “I’d almost rather stay on the ship and cruise the ocean forever, just you and me and Tyke,” she said.

  “Maybe someday we will, sugar baby; nobody said we had to stay in Campeche forever. Just till the heat slacks off a little,” he said.

  “All right, then, sugar daddy. I’ll take you up on that offer someday,” she said.

  About ten o’clock they heard the soft sound of oars splashing in the water, and a few minutes later Philip’s boat slid ashore.

  “Come on, let’s hurry up and get out of here while we still can,” Philip said, handing Annabelle a thermal suit for each of them. They quickly put them on, and Mike noticed the heat almost immediately. It felt like wearing a heavy winter coat on a hot summer day, and sweat was soon running down his back and stinging the cut on his neck. He could only imagine how Philip must feel after rowing all the way across the Bay. He was probably parboiled.

  Together they launched out into the fitful sea, headed for the distant lights of Fort Desoto. Mike rowed while Annabelle quietly buckled Tyke into his life preserver an
d Philip took a well-earned rest. There was no immediate outcry from the guards, and they were encouraged as the bulk of the island gradually slipped farther and farther behind them.

  “I don’t see how you did it, Philip,” Mike said after a while. He was sweating so much even his palms felt greasy on the oars, and the rough seas made it even harder than usual.

  “Not so loud, Mikey; sound carries a long way over water,” Philip said.

  “Sorry,” Mike said, in a much lower voice. Then he turned his attention back to rowing; he couldn’t really spare the breath for conversation anyway.

  It took them about an hour to reach the point of Fort Desoto, which was actually a park maintained by the county. It was deserted at that hour, of course, and the first thing they all did when they stepped out on shore was to strip off the thermal suits. Mike’s clothes were soaked, and he felt like he’d suddenly stepped into the Arctic Circle.

  Joan was parked under a grove of palm trees a little bit farther down the shore, and they quickly made their way to the car, tossing the thermal suits in the trunk. She’d brought towels and dry clothes, not to mention cheeseburgers and Cokes, too; a small detail for which Mike wanted to kiss her. They hadn’t had anything to eat since noon.

  It took only a few minutes to get dried and changed, and then they sat in the car eating while Joan left the park and drove northward on the coast highway. Had they followed it all the way to the end it would have taken them right back to Clearwater Beach, but of course they had no intention of going anywhere near that far.

  Fifteen minutes later Joan pulled in to the marina at Treasure Island and killed the engine. Mike grabbed their few possessions while Philip and Joan disposed of the wet clothes and the thermal suits in a trash receptacle. They didn’t want any evidence of the escape, just in case anybody came around asking inconvenient questions.

  “Here she is,” Joan said, leading them to a thirty-six foot Bluewater Cruiser named the Lusitania; as beautiful a ship as ever sailed the seven seas, and well able to travel anywhere in the world they might choose to go. Annabelle nudged Mike, and he knew what she was thinking.

  “Someday, babe,” he murmured.

  “Please thank Damon for us, when you see him next time,” Annabelle said.

  “He knows. But we will, anyway,” Joan said.

  “All right, then. Y’all better get gone,” Philip said. Joan and Annabelle cried and hugged, and while they were doing that Philip spoke in a low voice.

  “Don’t try to contact us for a while; I’m sure the NADF will suspect we might’ve had something to do with this, even though they won’t be certain enough to arrest us or anything. They probably will be watching us for a little while, though. Get in touch with Damon if you need anything. Here’s his address and phone number,” Philip said, handing Mike a slip of paper.

  “Okay,” Mike agreed, slipping the paper in his pocket.

  “The cash is stowed under the sink in the galley along with the tachometer; they don’t accept anything else in Campeche. There’s a little bit of gold, too, just in case,” Philip said.

  “I don’t know how to thank you,” Mike said.

  “You know we’re glad to do it. Just one more thing, though,” Philip said.

  “What’s that?” Mike asked.

  “When it comes time to start thinking about the plague, make sure you do get in touch with us at least a few months ahead of time so we can make all the last-minute plans; make sure everything is ready to go,” Philip said.

  That once again reminded Mike unpleasantly of the fact that he hadn’t seen himself and Annabelle on the plane with the others.

  “Philip, there’s something else you really need to-“ he began, but Philip cut him off.

  “No, Mike. Don’t tell me. Whatever it is, I’ll find out soon enough,” he said firmly, and with that Mike had to be content. He consoled himself with the thought that he didn’t have much to tell, anyway; he only knew what he’d seen, not how it came about or why, or even what it meant.

  “All right, then,” Mike said.

  The girls were done saying their goodbyes by then, and there was no more time to waste. Mike and Annabelle went aboard the cruiser with Tyke, while Philip and Joan stood on the dock waving.

  The ship was set up like a small but luxurious apartment below decks; with a little luck they wouldn’t even need to find another place to live in Campeche. That suited Mike just fine.

  He started the powerful motor and cast off, maneuvering the boat out of the marina and into the Gulf. Then he pointed the nose of the ship west by southwest, and left Tampa Bay behind as fast as the Lusitania could take them.

  The city lights gradually dimmed and faded behind them, till they were left with a dark sky full of clouds and intermittent rain showers, with no sound but the hum of the engines and the wash of the restless waves against the keel. Annabelle came to stand beside him at the wheel, and he put one arm around her.

  “Where’s Tyke?” he asked.

  “Asleep on the couch. He won’t wake up till morning,” she said.

  “Good; he’s had a long day,” Mike nodded.

  “So have we, sugar daddy,” she said wryly.

  “True ‘nuff. But we can’t stop till we get to Campeche, you know,” he reminded her.

  “Yeah, I know. No rest for the weary,” she sighed.

  “I promise you when we get there, we’ll sleep all day long and then I’ll take you out to the nicest restaurant in town,” he said, and just as he hoped, she laughed.

  “Not sure how nice that’ll be, but I guess it’s the thought that counts,” she said.

  They stood there in companionable silence, and for a while it seemed as if they might actually make it.

  Then things changed.

  “What’s that?” Annabelle asked suddenly, pointing at a pair of lights approaching rapidly from the southeast.

  “Uh. . . I don’t know; it looks like one of the boats the Defense Forces always use when they bring me out to the island,” Mike said.

  There was nothing to be done except keep moving ahead, but it quickly became obvious the other ship was much faster than the Lusitania.

  “They’re not slowing down, Mike,” Annabelle said when the other ship had gotten very close indeed. If anything, it was gaining speed.

  “They’re fixing to ram us,” Mike said. Lieutenant Bartow must have discovered they were missing somehow, and then decided to get rid of them once and for all. Just like Joan had said, he was completely pitiless when it came to serving the greater good.

  So that’s how it would be, then. A tragic accident at the mouth of the Bay, deeply regrettable. No doubt the NADF would send their sincerest and most heartfelt condolences to Joan on the death of her sister.

  But there was still one last way out.

  “Go grab Tyke and the tachometer, and the life preservers if you can find them. Quick!” Mike said urgently, and Annabelle hurried off. She returned in only a few minutes, and Mike quickly punched in the numbers with shaking hands while she put on Tyke’s vest and then her own. Fifteen years or so should do it; just enough for the plague to be over with.

  He was just about to push the button when a thought came from nowhere.

  Leave him behind.

  In the heat of the moment, Mike was so startled that at first he didn’t even comprehend what such a thing could mean. Then he remembered.

  Tyke was supposed to grow up here, in this place and time. Mike had seen him as a teenager at Philip and Joan’s house, and Zach’s words came to mind like a ghost from the past, about how to look through the tachometer was to glimpse the will of God revealed.

  They didn’t dare try to take him fifteen years ahead; not when they knew already what was meant to be. But on the other hand, they didn’t dare skip ahead only a few months or a year, either. The Lusitania would be long gone by then, along with all their money and their only way of getting to Campeche, or anywhere else for that mat
ter. They’d either drown in the Gulf or be captured and killed almost as soon as they made it back to shore. Yes, they had a promise of sorts that Tyke would survive no matter what, but they had no such promise when it came to themselves. Quite the opposite if anything, for what else could it mean that he and Annabelle didn’t exist in 2154? There was no escape for them; at least not that way.

  There came to him unbidden a memory of his father, watching him from the porch as he drove away from Goliad. Cody McGrath would probably have said that sometimes we have to make sacrifices for the people we love, even ones that break our hearts and cost us dearly. Uncle Brandon would have told him that few things are dearer to the Lord’s heart than a child who obeys even when it seems that obedience will lead only to heartbreak. His mother would have said that love and possession are polar opposites.

  He knew all these things from the tenor of a thousand talks, and up till now he would always have said he believed them. But when it came to the point of decision and his own back was up against the wall, he found that things were quite different.

  For a second Mike’s heart rebelled, and he almost pushed the button anyway. In spite of what God’s will might be, in spite of what Daddy and Uncle Brandon might have said, in spite of all the hard and bitter truths in the world.

  He could almost hear his mother’s voice.

  God is good, in this as in all things. When your time of testing comes, trust in His love and do whatever it may be that He asks of you, even if you can’t see the reason why.

  Mike looked at Annabelle in desperate agony, and saw the same look reflected in her eyes. Her mind was as quick and lithe as a cat; she already knew everything he knew, and there was no need for either of them to say a single word. They both glanced in unison at Tycho.

  “Put him out,” Annabelle whispered.

  There was no time left to think, and though it broke his heart, Mike made his choice. They both kissed him one last time, and then Mike picked up his son by the scruff of the neck and threw him across the stormy ocean with all his strength. The last sound he heard was a four-year-old’s cry of terror and the heavy splash when he hit the water. And even though he knew in his heart that the kid would be safe, why oh why did it have to feel so much like killing him?

  He quickly switched on the tachometer, letting the silvery bubble form around them. Then he sat down next to his weeping wife and held her in his arms, and heard her praying. Then he shut his eyes, and pushed the button while he still had the courage.

  Seconds later, the Lusitania was crushed to pieces.

  Epilogue

  Sunday, November 25, 2141

  “Are there any survivors?” Luke Bartow asked, when the boat was able to come around for a pass through the wreckage.

  “No sir, I don’t think so. We’re still searching for the bodies,” the sailor answered.

  “Let me know when you find them,” Luke said.

  “Yes, sir,” the sailor said smartly, and Luke paid him no more mind. It was an unpleasant business, even though he knew it was better in the long run. Normally he never doubted the necessity of such things, but there were times, like now, when it made him feel very old.

  He nursed his coffee and told himself somebody had to do it. The world might end in twelve years or it might not, but it had to get on in the meantime, and that meant having to do things he didn’t like sometimes. Simple as that.

  About an hour later, the sailor returned.

  “Sir, we found the boy. You asked to be notified,” he said formally.

  “Dead?” Luke asked, without much interest.

  “No sir, he’s still alive. We found him floating in a life preserver,” the sailor said, and Luke privately cursed. Complications, always complications.

  “Bring him here, then,” Luke said.

  “Yes, sir,” the sailor said, and five minutes later he returned carrying a dark-eyed four year old still dripping sea water.

  Luke stared at him, and the boy stared back, solemn and quiet. He had a fleeting thought of taking off the kid’s life preserver and throwing him back in the Gulf; he’d drown soon enough, and nobody ever the wiser.

  Except Luke himself would know, of course, and even he found it hard to stomach that idea. But what other choice did he have?

  “Now what am I going to do with you?” he finally muttered, and the boy said nothing.

  Luke scratched the stubble on his chin and considered the matter. The kid was too young to know or remember anything, and Colonel Burns did allow him a certain amount of leeway. He could probably afford to let the boy live, under the circumstances. If asked, he could always say the decision was purely practical; rescuing a little child from stormy seas after his parents’ tragic death in a boating accident made for an excellent public relations story. Besides which, they could always kill him later if it turned out to be necessary.

  Satisfied, Luke nodded his head.

  One thing which didn’t satisfy him at all was their failure to find any trace of the boy’s parents. He hated loose ends like that. But after two hours of searching the dark ocean with no luck, he finally had to give up and admit defeat. Strong storms were moving in from the west, and he couldn’t in good conscience risk his own men without need.

  He finally decided the boy’s parents had no chance of swimming thirty miles back to shore in stormy seas, anyway, even if they’d somehow survived the wreck and managed to evade being found. And if by some miracle they did turn up still alive, then he’d deal with that later, too. Lieutenant Luke Bartow was a very patient man.

  There was nothing dry for a child to wear on the ship, but that couldn’t be helped. When they landed at the naval station in Saint Petersburg, Luke put the kid in his own car before driving back to Clearwater Beach. It left a wet spot on the seat, which annoyed him, but that couldn’t be helped either.

  He dropped the kid off at Philip and Joan Carpenter’s house on Papaya Street before going home, and then thought no more about the issue.