“Christ!” he said aloud.
The sense of disquiet he felt in the empty clothes store had not entirely dissipated and as he watched the rapidly approaching storm of smoke, his uneasiness returned with a vengeance, teetering on the verge of panic.
“Get a grip of yourself, man.” His voice was muffled by the bandana over his lower face. Jim was surprised by the trace of nervousness he detected in his own voice. He just needed to reason this out, not let the panic blind him to his situation. I must have got to the mall somehow. So there has to be a car parked somewhere out here, he thought.
Pushing his hand into his jeans’ pocket, he pulled out a three-inch rectangle of green plastic, blank on one side. He flipped the piece of plastic over. On the reverse side, he saw the glittering laser etched hologram of the Ford Company. What car had he been driving back then — back now, he corrected himself. He stared at the plastic ignition key in his hand as if it might be able to answer him.
Of course, it was the Ford Phoenix. He’d only ever owned the one Ford; the great-granddaddy of all motor vehicle companies had gone belly-up in the late thirties, finally swallowed up by Nissan who immediately laid off all the subsumed company’s employees and closed down all the plants.
The Ford Phoenix was a great little car. It was one of the first vehicles to switch from the gas-electric hybrid system to a hydrogen fuel cell. Simone had bought one for him for — when was it? — His thirty-fourth? No, his thirty-fifth birthday? They had still been living in California. He was still working for J.P.L. and they had the place in the San Fernando Valley.
They were still together back then, too. They were still a family, back before everything had fallen apart, back before the accident had taken Lark and destroyed their marriage.
Jim froze. Simone! He hadn’t dreamed she might be caught up in the event. But if it was as widespread as he was beginning to suspect it might be, and he had truly travelled back in time, somehow, well, then was now. They still lived in the house in the valley at this point in time. They wouldn’t put it on the market for another two years and Simone would be there. God knows what she might be going through.
He hadn’t talked to his ex-wife in years but, if there was even a slight chance he was correct about the event then there was no way he was going to leave her alone. He had to get to her.
Now, if he could just figure out where the hell he had parked the damn car.
The key-card had two raised studs; press one to unlock the vehicle and the other to switch the anti-theft protocols on or off. The alarm system would give an electronic warble and flash the car lights when activated or disarmed. If he were within fifty feet or so of the car, the system would pick up the transmission from his key-card.
He was just going to have to walk the rows of parked vehicles until he found his car, hopefully before the bank of choking fog suffocated him.
It took Jim nearly half-an-hour before he finally found his Ford. He was beginning to worry the little power cell that powered the key-card would exhaust itself and he had rationed himself to pushing the button every ten cars to conserve its charge.
He heard the unmistakable boop-boop of the alarm sound off to his left, but he didn’t catch the flashing lights. He pressed the button again and turned to face the direction of the sound of the alarm, squeezing past an ancient SUV and into the next row of parked vehicles. This time, when he depressed the stud, he spotted the flashing red taillights of his blue Ford Phoenix through the swirling mist of smoke, one row across from where he stood.
A smartphone lay on the passenger seat, tossed there he guessed when he had parked the car. Jim grabbed it and activated as he climbed into the car. It had power. Scrolling through the list of saved telephone numbers, he found the number for the house landline and tapped the call button. The phone beeped the tone for each of the numbers rapidly in his ear then… nothing. Not even an engaged tone. The screen flashed NO SIGNAL repeatedly at him.
“God damn it,” he hissed, tossing the useless phone onto the back passenger seat. He pressed the car’s start button on the dash and heard a low mechanical thrum fill the cabin as the electric-powered engine hummed efficiently into life.
The dashboard computer glowed with electronic luminescence and a synthesized voice swam unexpectedly from the car’s concealed dashboard speakers.
“Hello James, please fasten your safety restraint,” it said in a husky female contralto. Jim pulled the safety belt into place across his chest, knowing this would be the only way to mollify the eternally persistent onboard Artificial Intelligence of the car. Besides, if he didn’t comply with the AI it would not allow him to engage the drive and he would be stuck here until the fire reached him.
“Thank you, James,” the disembodied voice said as the clasp of the seat belt clicked into place.
The Phoenix came equipped with an onboard navigation system as standard. Its display was set into the dashboard, within easy reach and view of both the driver and passenger. It had already identified his location, displaying a graphical representation of his vehicle in the center of the screen. The surrounding streets and roads, along with places of interest, were all illustrated and labeled, as well. Jim tapped an icon on the screen. Instantly, a box popped up with his current address: 21207 Topanga Canyon, California, 91614.
Quickly, Jim tapped through the menu system until he found the Directions button. He was relatively sure he knew the general direction of the house but it had been a quarter of a century since he had last made this drive and he did not want to get lost out here. He was going to need a little help from the sat-nav.
Choosing Current Location as the point of origin for the trip, he pressed the Home button as the destination and waited for the navigation system to calculate the fastest route to get him there.
“You are now off-track,” announced the car’s AI.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” mumbled Jim, as he slipped the car into drive and edged out of the parking spot.
“Turn right ahead,” the sat-nav said, as Jim drove the car to the junction leading out of the Mall’s parking lot and onto Topanga Canyon Boulevard.
According to the navigation computer, the house was twelve miles away. If he was lucky, he would make the trip in less than thirty minutes.
Twelve
His eyes opened to blue sky overhead and pain throughout his entire body; a relentless sharp throb made his hands spasm and clench involuntarily.
Grass; his hands had grabbed a fist full of grass, his fingers dug deep into cool loose dirt.
Byron Portia sucked in a lungful of clean air and coughed violently, the wave of pain that washed over him so intense he willingly accepted the black sheet of unconsciousness that rippled around the edges of his mind, longing for the painless embrace of oblivion. Instead, the pain subsided a little and with it the darkness, replaced by a glow filtering through his tightly shut eyelids. Light motes swayed and eddied across his vision.
His eyes fluttered open. He was alive.
Overhead the sky stretched limitlessly, filling his vision, summer-blue and still, undisturbed by either cloud or aircraft. Carefully, with no wish to experience another nauseating bout of agony, he raised his head from the soft earth.