Lost Time (15 page)

“Long as it’s not the Last Supper,” I say.

“Well,” Madders says, “if you believe in God, you might want to get on the horn to him right now. We could use all the help we can get.”

“Unidentified aircraft approaching from the northwest,” says a male voice with an accent like Forrest Gump’s, “you have entered restricted air space. Reverse your course immediately, or we will be forced to take action.”

We all look at each other.

“It’s clearly not a dinner invitation,” Mr. C says.

Madders flips a switch. “Catersville Approach Control, Cessna one-fower-zero-niner-fife, twenty kilometers to the west-north-west, inbound for landing. We are from the Kirk Biodome in Colorado. We are on an urgent humanitarian mission and are low on fuel. Repeat: low on fuel. Request permission to land. Over.”

There is no hesitation. “Permission denied. Do not attempt to land. You are not welcome at the True Evangelical Church of God’s Sacred Ark. I repeat: Do not attempt to land.”

“Catersville, this is an emergency. The biodome in St. Louis suffered catastrophic failure today, and it is currently undergoing emergency evacuation. They rerouted us here. We do not have enough fuel to continue. I repeat: We are out of fuel. Over.”

“You are violating God’s commandment to stay out of the Garden of Eden, so he is punishing you. Who are we to challenge the will of God?”

Madders flips off the radio. “Jesus Christ, we’re screwed.”

“That’s it!” I say. “Tell them Mr. C is Jesus, that he can go Outside without protection.”

Madders makes a face, but then he looks over at Mr. C. “He certainly looks the part.”

Mr. C starts shaking his head, but Madders ignores him and turns the radio back on.

“Catersville,” Madders says, “we are transporting the man who was found naked in the Garden of Eden. We believe God sent him to redeem men and their evil ways. Brother
D—”
He clears his throat. “Uh, Brother James can live Outside without protection, your honor.”

He mutes the radio and glances back at me. “Now what?”

“I don’t know,” I say. “I didn’t get that far.”

“Bloody hell.” He turns the radio back on. “Catersville, I have been instructed by God to fly Brother James to the Chesapeake Bay Biodome. Righteous men are standing by to decipher God’s message of mercy. Brother James, the Chosen One, carries the message in his blood.”

I no
d—
but Mr. C slices his hand across his throat, his eyes wide.

Madders ignores him. “Let no man doubt the Hand of God, for He has granted the Faithful an opportunity to witness His miracle. Those who truly believe will know I speak the truth. Over.”

They say something indecipherable, and a different voice comes on. “We need to consult the Giver of the Law.”

The radio on the other end clicks off, and we all let out a cheer.

“You,” Diego says, glancing at me and then Madders, “make quite the pair. I’m surprised you didn’t tell them we’ve got the Ark of the Covenant in back.”

Madders shrugs. “Once Shannon came up with the idea, it was easy. My grandfather was a Baptist preacher. Guess I’m a bit of a natural.”

A few minutes later, we fly over the biodome. One quarter of it is collapsed, a loose piece of insulation flapping over a gaping hole on the side.

“That’s not good,” Madders says. “I wonder how much useful space they have left?”

The undamaged part of the bubble is covered with a thick, black layer of shiny clot
h—
which turns out to be birds. Thousands of them take flight in one huge cloud as we pass over.

“Bloody hell, I hope they don’t dart into our flightpath. That would definitely put paid to our little jaunt.”

He banks the plane away, and we get our first look at the airport. There’s only one runway, but it looks to be in good condition. I take paper and pencil out of my bag and start drawing a map of the area, just in case we have to land and walk back here.

“Looks like we have a bit of time to kill,” Madders says. “So let’s see if we can’t find an alternate runway, just in case.”

“How is it that so many biodomes happen to be right next to airports?” Mr. C asks, looking out his window for a place to land.

“They planned it that way,” I say. “The property around the airport was flat and cheap, and getting access to service
s—
electricity, water, gas and suc
h—
was straightforward.”

“Yes,” Madders says. “Most airports had back-up power generators for emergencies, and we made deals to tap into those reserves.” He glances over at Mr. C. “Even if you’re not a fan of David Kirk, you have to give him credit. He got a lot done back when every day counted.”

“There,” I say. “Four o’clock. Looks like a good place to put down.”

He banks the plane to the west to get a better look. A raised section of concrete freeway stretches out in either direction. It’s surrounded by swamp, but straight and flat.

Madders brings us down to within a few hundred feet of the ground. “We’ll give them five more minutes to invite us to tea, and then we’ll land there and wait.”

“What are all those big black things on the road?” I say. “They look too thin to be cars and too big to b
e—”

“Crikey. I think they’re alligators.”

“Holy shit,” Mr. C says. “I’ve never seen any that big before.”

“I’ve never seen any in Tennessee before.” Madders flies back around, and we take another look. The freeway is littered with huge reptiles sunning themselves. And they don’t flinch, let alone dive for cover, when we fly over.

Mr. C glances over at Madders. “You got a horn on this thing?”

“I think if I get close enough, the propeller will scare them.” He checks his watch and then takes out the clipboard in his door pocket and makes a note before he circles around to the west.

Dark, heavy thunderheads are massing on the horizon, and there are ominous-looking clouds to the south too. Any way you spin it, in an hour, we’ll be at the center of a huge thunderstorm.

Madders glances out at the worsening weather. “I hope to hell they make up their minds soon.”

As if on cue, the radio clicks on. “Cessna, this is tower control, you are clear to land on runway four-five right. I repeat: You have been granted permission to land with the stipulation that Brother James will show us God’s miracle. Once you have wheels down, you will have five minutes to prove your claim. Do you agree?”

“What happens if we fail to convince you?” Madders asks. “Over.”

“You and your airplane will be destroyed for desecrating the Garden of Eden.”

“Jolly good. Give us a minute. Over.” Madders switches off the mic. “Just bloody great. I always wanted to be an abomination to a bunch of wackjobs.” He looks over at Mr. C. “What do you say, Diego? Feel up to walking on water?”

“It definitely worked at KC,” I say, looking up from my drawing. “Those guys couldn’t take their eyes off you strolling around the tarmac. So I definitely think we should lan
d—
but maybe we could check that they have fuel first?”

They both look back at me. “Yeah,” Mr. C says. “Good idea.”

“Nice map,” Madders says when he sees what I’m doing. “I should have insisted that you fly with me sooner.”

“Thanks, Mads. Just making use of the view from up here.” I finish drawing in the river and hills to the south while Madders circles back around, noting that the main freeway heading East is mostly above wate
r—
and starts a kilometer or two directly north of the biodome.

He flips the radio back on. “Catersville, Cessna zero-niner-fife. Do you read me? Over.”

“What is your decision, Cessna?”

“If Brother James demonstrates his miracle, will you fill us up with one-hundred low-lead airplane fuel? Over.”

“We don’t have airplane fuel, Cessna, only unleaded gasoline. The last plane that landed here used that.”

Madders shuts his eyes. “How long ago was that?”

“Nine, ten years. But I warn you: We will offer no other assistance, emergency or otherwise. If Brother James can prove his miracle, we will refuel your airplane, and then you must leave. Immediately. Any other action will have dire consequences.”

Madders looks at Mr. C, who nods.

“We agree,” he says. “Over.” He turns the plane around and then starts preparing to land.

The thunderheads are nearly on us.

“Okay, Shannon,” Madders says. “Stay down and keep your body covered.” He glances back at me. “I’ll get us out of here as quickly as possible.”

I put my drawing stuff away, unplug my suit, and disappear under the blanket.

Chapter 23

Diego: Walk on Water

I
reach back and pull the blanket over Shannon, wondering for the hundredth time what it would be like to have a child of my own.

Did James and his Isabel ever meet? Did they fall in love like Iz and I did?

The questions bump around in my head like bowling balls, smashing into things and setting off a rush of sorrow and regret that makes my chest hurt.

Did he get her pregnant? Did she tell him? Christ.

I do the math and decide that if they did have the baby, he or she would be a couple of years younger than I am now.

Would I recognize my own child?

There’s this part of me that has latched on to the possibility that James and his Isabel made it inside the Magic Kingdom. Maybe her last name was different, just like Dave’s, and maybe that’s why they aren’t in the records. Assuming that they have the sphere, it’s possible that his name was inside it too, and that Picasso figured out early on that the writing was hers and brought her in.

It’s possible.

They’d be in their sixties now.

Mierda.

Five minutes later, our small plane taxies up to a large, corrugated metal building. Parked in front is a fuel truck behind a wall of jeeps, one of which has a machine gun mounted at the rear.

Matt laughs. “Afraid of automatic coffee pots, but they’re goddamn happy to outfit an army with M2s. What a bunch of sanctimonious hypocrites.”

There looks to be around ten people in biosuits sitting in the jeeps, but the driver’s compartment of the truck is empty. Matt shuts down the engine, and the propeller slows to a stop.

The original voice comes over the radio. “You have three minutes to demonstrate God’s miracle.”

I take off the headset, glance over at Matt, and open the door of the plane. “Be right back.” I stretch my legs for a minute
—
we’ve been sitting for the better part of five hour
s—
and then climb down onto the crumbling tarmac. I walk to the front of the plane and then glance up at Matt.

He gives me a goofy thumbs-up.

I walk up to the closest jeep and stand with my hands at my sides, palms out.

There’s a lot of wild gesturing inside the jeep two to my lef
t—
the one with the machine gu
n—
so I turn and walk over to the driver’s side and peek in.

I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t a look of abject terror. I lock eyes with the driver, forcing my face into what I hope is a look of universal love and peace, then nod and walk back to the plane.

Matt is laughing when I climb back in, and I ask with my eyes if it’s safe to talk.

“Well I’ll be a bum-rag if that wasn’t the best display of a miracle these folks have ever seen.” He glances over at the jeeps. “Did you see the driver with the M2 in the rear? He’ll have to change his pants when he gets back inside.”

Large drops of rain smack the windshield.

“You doing okay, Shannon?” I ask.

“Happy as an oyster. Are they going to give us the fuel now?”

“Let’s find out.” Matt flicks on the radio. “Okay, boys. You saw the miracle. Either give us the fuel or shoot us. If we wait much longer, that storm is going to be on us, and we’ll never get out of here alive. Over.”

“We hear you, Skylane. We’re waiting for the Giver of the Law.” Just as he finishes speaking, a vehicle appears around the end of the building: an expensive-looking SUV with tinted windows and a massive antenna sticking out of the top.

Goddamn government vehicle.

I’m half expecting Agent Dick to step out when a raspy female voice says, “He Who Is Most Holy is here to witness God’s miracle. Brother James must present himself to The Reverend of Light as God created him. So it has been spoken, so it shall be done.” There’s a pause. “Now.”

I glance at Matt and then start to take off my sweatshirt, but he reaches out to stop me. “Brother James just showed thirteen of God’s army that he can go Outside without a biosuit. That was the deal. Why do you insist on denying the miracle?”

The woman’s voice is sharp as a knife. “How dare you question the Messenger of God! Your insolence shall be punished by th
e—”

The tirade stops abruptly and an old man’s voice, calm and soothing, comes on. “Easy there, sugar. We don’t want you blowing a gasket.” He clears his throat. “May those who have witnessed the miracle live to tell their great, great grandchildren, but I have seen the evil and insidious nature of Man, and I know that looks can deceive. If Brother James has been granted the gift of life in the Garden, then let him walk through Eden in the fashion in which God intended. If he fulfills my request, your fuel will be provided.”

The woman adds, “So it has been spoken; s
o—”

Matt switches off the mic. “I’d swear I’ve heard the man’s voice somewhere before, but I can’t place it.”

I start untying my shoes. “He was President of the United States when I left twenty years ago. Too bad we didn’t pack any chocolate donuts.”

Matt gives me a curious look.

“Inside joke. Sorry.” I climb out of my clothes and pile them at my feet.

“Did you undo your ponytail?” Shannon asks from under the blanket. “It would give you a bit more of the Jesus look, if you know what I mean.”

“Right.” I pull the rubber band out, letting my hair fall around my shoulders.

“Yeah, that’s better,” Matt says, placing his hand on my bare arm. “Be careful. Anything funny happens out there, you hightail it back to the plane. I’ll get us out of here quicker than they can say ‘Jesus Fucking Christ.’”

I climb awkwardly out of the plane, feeling totally exposed. I no longer use a cane, but I have a pronounced lim
p—
and probably will for the rest of my life. I stand there for a minute in my bare feet, trying to muster as much dignity as a naked man in a world full of biosuits can. The wind has picked up, buffeting my hair and other body parts, and with the sun behind heavy clouds, the temperature is dropping fast.

I shiver as I hobble across the gravel-covered tarmac toward the Grand Imperial Poobah. Lightning flashes in the distance, but it’s still too far away to hear any thunder. I stop ten feet from the massive SUV, my hands at my side, and take a deep breath with my mouth open wide enough for them to see that there’s nothing inside.

The old man’s voice comes out from under the hood of the car. “Raise your arms and turn around.”

I do a painful three-sixty, the sharp gravel cutting into my feet, then lower my arms. There are splotches of blood on the tarmac all around me.

“Speak to me of this miracle the Lord has given you.”

What?

This is more Shannon and Matt’s thing, and I resist the urge to look back at the plane.

The car hood booms again. “Show us that you know the one, true God.”

Show us that you’re not an asshole who manipulates people for his own gain.

I stand staring at the opaque windshield of the SUV, trying to decide what I can say that won’t get all three of us shot.

I’m not much of one for memorizing poems, let alone Bible verses, and I can’t think of a single one. I could do the Gettysburg Address in a pinch, but I don’t think that’s going to cut it here.

Think, Diego.

The only movie I can think of is
Shrek
, but I’m pretty sure it had a song with a couple of Bible references in i
t—
and the word hallelujah. It’s the best I can come up with on short notice.

So before I have a chance to chicken out, I shut my eyes and take a deep breath.

“I heard there was a secret chord that David played, and it pleased the Lord…”

And standing there on the disintegrating tarmac in what used to be Catersville, Tennessee, dark storm clouds shifting above my naked body, I attempt to sing a song from a kid’s movie.

And although I could use a talking donkey and a chorus of backup singers, I think it does the trick, because when I open my eyes, the jeeps have parted like the Red Sea, and someone is getting into the fuel truck.

I don’t know the second verse, so I stand there looking up at the gathering storm, errant raindrops splattering against my face and chest.

“Go with God,” says the President. The SUV backs away from me and then disappears behind the terminal building, followed by the jeep
s—
all except the one toting the M2.

I hobble back to the plane, the gashes in my feet becoming more painful with every step.

When I get close, Matt leans over and pushes open the door. “Now that was something.”

I climb back inside and shut the door. “Everything okay in here?”

“Yep,” he says. “Nothing to report.”

“I’m fine,” Shannon whispers. “Madders told me what happened. Cool song, Mr. C.”

“Good thing you made me watch that movie,” I say. “Could have been ugly otherwise.”

Matt waits for me to get dressed. “There’s a first-aid kit under your seat. Don’t know how much is in it, but help yourself.”

I use my sock to brush the asphalt off my bloody feet and then apply pressure.

“You going to be okay?”

“Yeah. It’s just a bunch of small cuts. I haven’t been barefoot in a while. I guess I should have practiced less on water and more on asphalt.”

He chuckles. “I’m going to check on the refueling. I’ll be right back.” Matt opens his door and hops down on the ground. The armed jeep bursts into action, barreling around the fuel truck toward us. The suited figure in back loses his balance and nearly falls off, and when he recovers, makes a show of aiming the machine gun directly at Matt’s chest.

He scrambles back into the cockpit. “Bloody hell. It’s my fucking plane, and they expect me to sit here and watch a bunch of twits sabotage it?”

“Everything okay?” Shannon asks, her voice anxious.

“No worries, Shenanigans.” He glares at the suited figure driving the jeep, and I’d swear he’s resisting the urge to flip him off. “Once we get out of here, we’ll put down and make sure everything’s sorted.”

The fuel truck pulls up to the plane and a minute later, the truck engine gets louder.

Matt continues staring out the window, but his expression relaxes a bit. “Well, at least that’s a good soun
d—
means the fuel pump’s working.”

A guy in a heavily patched biosuit gets out of the truck and begins to unwind a hose.

When he starts pulling it toward the plane, Matt swears and opens the door agai
n—
but thinks better of it when the machine gun operator fires a couple of rounds just above the plane. “Goddamn that trigger-happy moron. One spark and we’re all dead.”

Matt jumps on the radio. “Catersville, the fuel truck driver needs to attach a ground wire to the plane
before
he inserts the hose nozzle, or he’s going to blow us all to kingdom come.” He waits for a response, but the radio remains silent. “There should be a wire that unreels from the pumper. If you’d let me get out, I can do it myself.”

There is more gesturing inside the jeep, and then the driver stops walking and looks over at them. A minute later, he sets the hose down and returns to the truck.

“And can you tell that guy to lay off the machine gun? If it throws a spark in the wrong direction, all that fuel of yours is going to be wasted in one giant fireball, and it’ll probably take the biodome with it. Over.”

The driver pulls a wire out from a spindle on the truck, but it jams after only a couple of meters. He struggles with it for a minute and then glances over at the jeep driver.

Matt looks like he’s going to hit someone. “Let me help him, for Christ’s fucking sake.”

I cringe, but no one starts shooting.

Another guy gets out of the jeep and then hands his rifle back to the driver. His suit is faded and also heavily patched, and he walks with a bit of limp. He ambles over to the fuel truck and pulls on the wire with the first guy, but it doesn’t budge. They stand there with their helmets touching for a minute and then walk back over to the jeep. The two of them haul a metal tow chain out of the back and proceed to drag it across the tarmac.

“That just might work,” Matt says. “If they ground it properly to the truck and make sure it’s touching metal on the plane, it should equalize the static charge.”

I look back at the two suited figures hobbling away from us. “What if it doesn’t?”

“We won’t be around to complain.”

We watch the two guys wrestle a ladder out of the truck and position it next to the wing. The rain starts coming down harder, the wind blowing it at a forty-five-degree angle. “Shit. That’s all I need, water in the tank.”

Matt flips the radio back on. “Can you have them block the rain wit
h—”

The ladder bumps against the wing, rocking the plane, and Shannon’s puppy starts barking like someone’s trying to cut off his tail. He’s inside a sealed crate, but the sound carries.

“Shh,” Shannon whispers. “I’m right here.”

The puppy settles down.

Matt repeats the request to block the rain, and as soon as he releases the talk button, a voice says, “Who else is in the plane with you?”