Timeline by Michael Crichton

“It’s the cells,” Gordon said. “They’ve leaked hydrofluoric acid.”

Obscured by smoke, figures in gas masks were running into the room, helping the injured technicians. Overhead beams began to crash down, shattering the remaining water shields. Other beams smashed down into the center of the floor.

In the control room, someone gave a gas mask to Gordon, and another to Stern. Gordon pulled his on.

“We have to go now,” he said. “The air is contaminated.”

Stern was staring at the screens. Through the smoke, he could see the other machines shattered, toppled over, leaking steam and pale green gas. There was only one still standing, off to one side, and as he watched, a connecting beam crashed down on it, crumpling it.

“There are no more machines,” Stern said. “Does this mean—”

“Yes,” Gordon said. “For now, I’m afraid your friends are on their own.”

* * *

36:30:00

“Just take it easy, Chris,” Marek said.

“Take it easy? Take it easy?” Chris was almost shouting. “Look at it, for Christ’s sake, André — her marker’s trashed. We have no marker. Which means we have no way to get home. Which means we are totally screwed, André. And you want me to take it easy?”

“That’s right, Chris,” Marek said, his voice very quiet, very steady. “That’s what I want. I want you to take it easy, please. I want you to pull yourself together.”

“Why the hell should I?” Chris said. “For what? Face the facts, André: we’re all going to get killed here. You know that, don’t you? We’re going to get goddamn killed. And there is no way out of here.”

“Yes, there is.”

“I mean, we don’t even have any food, we don’t have goddamn anything, we’re stuck in this — this shithole, without a goddamn paddle, and—” He stopped and turned toward Marek. “What did you say?”

“I said, there’s a way out.”

“How?”

“You’re not thinking. The other machine has gone back. To New Mexico.”

“So?”

“They’ll see his condition—”

“Dead, André. They’ll see he’s dead.”

“The point is, they’ll know something is wrong. And they will come for us. They’ll send another machine to get us,” Marek said.

“How do you know?”

“Because they will.” Marek turned and started down the hill.

“Where are you going?”

“To find Kate. We have to keep together.”

“I’m going to stay right here.”

“As you like. Just as long as you don’t leave.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be right here.”

Chris pointed to the ground in front of him. “This is exactly where the machine arrived before. And that’s where I’m staying.”

Marek trotted off, disappearing around the curve in the path. Chris was alone. Almost immediately, he wondered if he ought to run and catch up with Marek. Maybe it was better not to be alone. Stay together, as Marek had said.

He took a couple of steps down the path after Marek, then stopped. No, he thought. He’d said he would stay where he was. He stood in the path, trying to slow his breathing.

Looking down, he saw he was standing on Gomez’s hand. He stepped quickly away. He walked a few yards back up the path, trying to find a spot where he could no longer see the body. His breathing slowed still more. He was able to think things over. Marek was right, he decided. They would send another machine, and probably very soon. Would it land right here? Was this a known spot for landings? Or would it be somewhere in the general area?

In either case, Chris felt certain he should stay exactly where he was.

He looked down the path, toward where Marek had gone. Where was Kate now? Probably some distance down the path. Couple of hundred yards, maybe more.

Jesus, he wanted to go home.

Then, in the woods to his right, he heard a crashing sound.

Someone was approaching.

He tensed, aware that he had no weapon. Then he remembered his pack, which was tied to his belt, beneath his clothes. He had that gas canister. It was better than nothing. He fumbled, lifting his overshirt, searching for the—

“Ssss.”

He turned.

It was the teenage boy, coming out of the woods. His face was smooth and beardless; he couldn’t be more than twelve, Chris realized. The boy whispered, “Arkith. Thou. Earwashmann.”

Chris frowned, not understanding, but an instant later he heard a tinny voice inside his ear: “Hey. You. Irishman.” The earpiece was translating, he realized.

“What?” he said.

“Coumen hastealey.” In his ear he heard, “Come quickly.”

The boy was beckoning to him, tense, urgently.

“But . . .”

“Come. Sir Guy will soon realize he has lost the trail. Then he will return to find it again.”

“But . . .”

“You cannot stay here. He will kill you. Come!”

“But . . .” Chris gestured helplessly toward the path where Marek had gone.

“Your manservant will find you. Come!”

Now he heard the distant rumble of horses’ hooves, rapidly growing louder.

“Are you dumb?” the boy asked, staring at him. “Come!”

The rumble was closer.

Chris stood frozen in place, not certain what to do.

The boy lost patience. With a disgusted shake of his head, he turned and ran off through the forest. He immediately vanished in dense undergrowth.

Chris stood alone on the trail. He looked down the path. He didn’t see Marek. He looked up the path, toward the sound of the approaching horses. His heart was pounding again.

He had to decide. Now.

“I’m coming!” he shouted to the boy.

Then he turned and ran into the woods.

:

Kate sat on a fallen tree, touching her head gingerly, her wig askew. There was blood on her fingertips.

“Are you hurt?” Marek said as he came up to her.

“I don’t think so.”

“Let me see.”

Lifting the wig away, Marek saw matted blood and a three-inch gash across the scalp. The wound was no longer bleeding freely; the blood had begun to coagulate against the mesh of the wig. The injury deserved sutures, but she would be all right without them.

“You’ll survive.” He pushed the wig back down on her head.

She said, “What happened?”

“Those other two are dead. It’s just us now. Chris is a little panicked.”

“Chris is a little panicked.” She nodded, as if she had expected it. “Then we better go get him.”

They started up the path. As they walked, Kate said, “What about the markers?”

“The guy went back, and he took his. Gomez’s body was trampled, her marker was destroyed.”

“What about the other one?” Kate said.

“What other one?”

“She had a spare.”

“How do you know?”

“She said so. Don’t you remember? When she came back from that reconnaissance trip, or whatever it was, she said that everything was fine and that we should hurry up and get ready. And she said, ‘I’m going to go burn the spare.’ Or something like that.”

Marek frowned.

“It makes sense there would be a spare,” Kate said.

“Well, Chris will be glad to hear it,” Marek said. They walked around the final curve. Then they stopped and stared.

Chris was gone.

:

Plunging through the undergrowth, ignoring the brambles that scratched his legs and plucked at his hose, Chris Hughes at last glimpsed the boy running, fifty yards ahead. But the boy did not heed him, did not stop, but continued to run forward. He was heading toward the village. Chris struggled to keep up. He kept running.

Behind on the trail, he heard the horses stamping and snorting, and the shouts of the men. He heard one cry, “In the wood!” and another answered with a curse. But off the trail, the ground was densely covered. Chris had to scramble over fallen trees, rotting trunks, snapped branches as thick as his thigh, dense patches of bramble. Was this ground too difficult for horses? Would they dismount? Would they give up? Or would they chase?

Hell, they would chase.

He kept running. He was in a boggy area now. He pushed through the waist-high plants with their skunklike smell, slipped in mud that grew deeper with each step. He heard the sound of his panting breath, and the suck and slap of his feet in the mud.

But he didn’t hear anyone behind him.

Soon the footing was dry again, and he was able to run faster. Now the boy was only ten paces ahead of him, still going fast. Chris was panting, struggling to keep up, but he held his own.

He ran on. There was a crackling in his left ear. “Chris.”

It was Marek.

“Chris, where are you?”

How did he answer? Was there a microphone? Then he remembered they’d said something about bone conduction. He said aloud, “I’m . . . I’m running. . . .”

“I hear that. Where are you running?”

“The boy . . . the village . . .”

“You’re going to the village?”

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