Dig Ten Graves Read online

  If you were incapacitated but happened to have a little money stashed away, like me, the money was confiscated and you were assigned living quarters in what was called Capable Acres—more popularly known as Cripple Ghetto.

  The protest movement that sprang up after the incorporation got nipped in the bud early on. Dissidents were ‘fired’ for insubordination, imprisoned, and sometimes executed.

  They dropped nuclear bombs on Iran, Libya, Pakistan and Afghanistan one spring, effectively ending the ongoing hostilities in each of those places, along with the lives of millions of innocent people. This was classified as unfortunate but acceptable losses. Other rogue nations fell quickly into line and all assets were turned over to the U.S.’s shareholders.

  A rebellion in Austin, Texas was dealt with in the same manner.

  I watched all this from my chair. I watched in grim isolation, and every single day I thought about the woman, and I thought about the man who had crippled me. I thought and wondered and pondered. I subscribed to the Head News Feed and scoured it every day.

  And then one day, one fine morning thirty years after my spine was shattered, I saw his face.

  A billionare. An industrialist. A scientist. And one of U.S.I.’s favorite people.

  He’d been instrumental in developing the technology needed to maintain the Corporation’s dominance across the globe, but very few people knew he existed. The handful who did speculated—in private, of course—about his work. One of those speculations involved secret projects involving time travel.

  No one believed it possible. No one but me.

  I had been in contact the last ten years with a small rebel faction based out of the Lansing-Detroit Territory. Through a series of carefully encrypted head-mails, I learned that the scientist was in the final stages of a project that could potentially change the course of history.

  An area of three square miles, in the middle of the desert that used to be Austin, Texas, was scheduled to be cordoned off for one day. One day, two weeks from now. The project was top-secret, but the name of the billionaire-industrialist-scientist was attached to it.

  It took a week for me to secretly arrange travel to Austin, through the rebel faction. It took the bulk of the second week to work out a way into the desert compound.

  They were very helpful, my rebel friends. That morning, after evading the security forces around the perimeter, they dropped me off in the dusty desert, an old man in an old-fashioned wheelchair, an old man who hadn’t smiled in decades and was bent and broken by bitterness and hate.

  “Good luck, friend,” their leader said to me, before driving away. They didn’t think I’d survive. I didn’t think I would either, but it didn’t matter.

  I wheeled through that desert for three hours, sweat pouring from my brow, through the rubble of devastated buildings and playgrounds and freeways, all half-buried in hard black sand.

  When I finally came to the site, I was almost disappointed with its simplicity. Nothing but a small clearing, lined with a simple metal gate. Two or three modest machines. A metal fold-out table. That was all.

  And no scientist.

  But I wasn’t expecting him to be there, not yet anyway. I unlatched the gate, wheeled through, and positioned my chair facing the empty part of the clearing. I didn’t know how long I’d have to wait, but I felt sure it wouldn’t be too long.

  I waited, and the hazy sun beat down on my head and nothing stirred in the dead desert air.

  It wasn’t terribly long, fifty minutes by the clock on the arm of my chair. Fifty minutes, and then something shimmered in the air, a very small, white light. Then the buzzing noise, the buzzing I hadn’t heard in thirty years.

  The white light expanded, the buzzing grew louder, and then he stepped through the portal, dragging the woman behind him. She was still kicking and fighting and screaming.

  He yanked her through the portal, cursing, and threw her to the hard ground, and she crumbled there, crying.

  I said, “Hello,” and he jerked around to face me, startled.

  “What…” he said.

  “Long time no see. Although for you it’s been… what… five seconds?”

  The look of bafflement on his face was immensely satisfying. He stood there dumbly, and the warmth of my coming wrath filled me from head to toe and I smiled. I smiled for the first time in thirty goddamn years.

  The woman looked up, choking back her tears, and she looked as confused as the scientist. But only for a moment. Realization dawned on her face, and her eyes grew wide and her mouth curved into something like a grin.

  God, she was lovely. For a second I was pulled back across the years, back three decades to when I walked with her through a lush garden in the night, and kissed her lips.

  But that was the past, a past that, no matter what sort of machine was invented, would ever exist again.

  The scientist said, “How did you… this is a secured area. How did you get here?”

  “Not important,” I said. “I’ve come to tell you something. This woman—“ and I gestured at her, “—stepped through the ages to reach me, to give me a warning about the future. It didn’t have to be me, but it was. And that is your misfortune.”

  The scientist took a step toward me, hands raised, ready to throttle me, no doubt.

  From the shimmering white light behind him, six bullets raced through the ages, six bullets on a trajectory through the decades, whining out of the light and into the still hot reality of the desert.

  Three of them pounded him in the spine, and one of them blew the back of his skull open. Blood spattered across the black sand and he dropped.

  But I barely saw it. The last two bullets caught me in the chest. I slumped back into my chair, the air sucked out of me.

  I couldn’t hear anything, but I was aware of the woman rushing to me. She took my head in her hands and she was crying. Her mouth moved, she was saying something—sorry, maybe?—but it didn’t matter. I didn’t blame her, not at all.

  I closed my eyes, felt her lips on mine, felt her hot tears on my face.

  I could have loved her, maybe, but it was too late now. It had always been too late.

  The Most Natural Thing in the World

  The flashlight beam jittered and jerked, and its pale light skipped over black stone, caught glimmers of dust, still drifting down from the cave ceiling like ash. It moved over jagged edges of rock, skimmed across the cave floor, and came to rest on Lex.

  Lex whined, cocking her head at the sudden glare. Her front paws shifted, as if she were about to run. But instead she huffed once and settled in the dirt. The flashlight beam wavered on her, and she lowered her head and gazed benignly.

  Patrick, slumped against the cave’s far wall, held the beam on his dog and said, “Good girl. Good girl, Lexie.” Lex made a hrmph sound in response to hearing her name, but didn’t raise her head.

  With trembling fingers, Patrick flicked off the light and the cave again plunged into total darkness. It was uncomfortable, that complete and utter blackness, but he didn’t have a choice. The flashlight battery would only last so long.

  He placed it carefully on the dirt next to him, leaned his head back against the cold stone, and closed his eyes. He tried not to think about the pain in his right leg. A hunk of stone had come down on it when the walls caved in, and even in the roar of earth shifting around him he’d heard the snap of bone in his thigh and knew it was broken.

  The splint he’d tied around it was make-shift, the result of one class, three years ago, on improvised medical emergency treatment. It would keep the break from moving, but it certainly wasn’t set properly, and Patrick knew that if he didn’t get real medical attention right away, he’d walk with a limp for the rest of his life.

  He chuckled bitterly in the darkness. A limp, he thought. Yeah, a limp. That’s the least of my goddamn problems right now, isn’t it?

  The more pressing issue, of course, was the fact that he and Lex were trapped a good fifth of a mile under
ground, tons of rock and earth above them. And it seemed highly un-goddamn-likely they’d be rescued.

  The air was close and heavy, like sticking your head under a thick dark comforter on a sweltering day. Every breath in and out felt labored and hot. Patrick wondered briefly how much air they had left in there, but pushed the thought away. No, no… it would do no good to start worrying about that. It was something he had no control over.

  Of course, he had no control over anything presently. The air, the pain in his leg, the dehydration. The hunger.

  The hunger most of all. He had no way of keeping track of time, since his watch broke in the cave-in, but he estimated it had been something like five days. All he’d brought along on this little expedition was some water, some dog biscuits for Lex, a bag of crackers and some lunch meat, and they’d eaten all that some time ago.

  He’d expected to be back at the motel by early evening.

  There was food there, at the motel, in the mini-fridge. Some cold chicken from the previous night’s dinner. A box of Cheezie Bits. Some microwave rice, mushroom-flavored.

  The thought of all that food, all that fantastic food back at the motel, was almost enough to drive him nuts. He wiped drool off his chin and his stomach twisted and made a loud, unhappy noise.

  Oh my God, he thought. So hungry. And poor Lex…

  In the darkness, the dog snuffed and shifted, and Patrick groped again for the flashlight. He shined it in Lex’s direction, only to see the dog open her eyes and gaze at him with mild curiosity. She sighed and turned her head away from the light.

  Lex hadn’t come anywhere near him in what seemed like a long time, and that troubled Patrick. Now, in these horrible circumstances, it would be nice to have Lex near him, her narrow head on his lap. It would provide some comfort. But Lex didn’t seem to be in need of comfort—at least not from him. It was as if she blamed him for this whole awful ordeal.

  Which was a silly notion. Granted, it was his fault, Lex would never have chosen to enter this remote Kentucky cave, but to suppose that Lex knew it was his fault was just ridiculous.

  Patrick said, “Hey, Lex. Hey, Lexie old girl.” He patted the dirt next to him. “Come on over here with Pop, huh?”

  Lex didn’t respond.

  That worried him. Lex was such a loving, affectionate girl usually. It’s hunger, he thought. She’s hungry, and doesn’t have the energy to get up right now.

  The thought of Lex suffering because of his stupidity brought stinging tears to his eyes. He whispered, “I’m sorry, Lexie. I’m sorry, old girl. This is all my fault.”

  He studied her in the gray glare of the flashlight. She was a great-looking dog, no question. A mutt, but with a strong showing of Golden Lab, and more than a little German Shepard in the thick snout. She was eight years old, and for all eight of those years she’d been Patrick’s best friend in the world.

  They’d been everywhere together. The road trip to San Francisco. The hiking trip in upstate New York. The fishing trip off the coast of Maine. And now this, this “cave exploring trip” in Kentucky. Old Lexie, always right there by his side, always running when he called, always snuffling up to his hand and licking his palm and looking up at him with calm, sincere affection.

  Hunger and fatigue were making him weepy, morose. He wiped tears away from his face with the back of his hand and turned off the flashlight.

  In the pitch black, he had nothing but time to think about how stupid this whole situation was. They had told him back in town that this particular network of caves was unsuitable for exploration—they were unstable, shifting constantly. But Patrick, twenty-nine years old, full of overblown and unwarranted confidence in himself, had smiled patiently at the locals and nodded and said nothing. And he’d packed his meager gear and went into the caves anyway.

  It would have been pointless to try and explain why these particular tunnels and warrens held appeal for him. It would have been futile to tell them that he wanted to explore these particular caves because they were unsuitable, because other erstwhile explorers had not trod through them. There were other caves, plenty of other caves, that gaped open out of the earth and invited humans to plumb their depths, but Patrick wanted the ones that had to be pried open, forced.

  Stretched out now in the dirt, head resting uncomfortably against rock, hemmed in by utter darkness, he felt especially stupid.

  His stomach groaned and whined, and a wave of dizziness swept over him. It was a kind of hunger he never knew existed, and he thought with faint amusement now about all those times he’d thought he was hungry, because he’d only had toast for breakfast or had skipped lunch. God, I’m starving, he remembered saying aloud while rummaging through the cupboard for ramen noodles or chicken rice soup or peanut butter, rummaging through the kitchen cupboard that was just jam-packed with any number of good things to eat.

  If I could go back in time, he thought. If I could go back in time, I’d slap the shit out of that other version of me and I’d eat every goddamn thing in the cupboard.

  He was aware that starvation would be his likely cause of death. It was impossible not to think about. Whenever his mind drifted off to something else, his stomach would send up a telegram to his brain, a little friendly reminder.

  In a bout of helpless frustration, he pounded his fists against the dirt, like a kid throwing a temper tantrum.

  A sharp pain stung his left forearm, and he sucked in breath, wincing. His right hand went immediately to the spot where the pain had bloomed, and he felt wetness there.

  Damnit, he thought. Ah, Christ, what the hell…

  He heard Lex shifting in the dark a few feet away from him. With his right hand, he groped for the flashlight, found it, snapped it on. He focused the beam on his left arm and saw that his sleeve was ripped open and blood dripped from a slight gash. The face of the wall next to him was jagged and sharp with protruding rock, and he’d managed to slice his arm open on it during his little fit.

  Idiot, he thought. Nice going, asshole.

  He started to reach for his knapsack, resting on the other side of his head, to find something to staunch the flow of blood, when he heard a low, dangerous growl from the darkness.

  He shot the flashlight beam in Lex’s direction, and his heart nearly stopped.

  Lex was on her feet, crouched ever so slightly, and her gaze was fixed directly on Patrick. Her tail was stiff behind her. Her lips pulled back, exposing her sharp yellow teeth, and she growled menacingly.

  Patrick’s blood went cold. He kept the light trained on Lex, and the dog only stared at him, the growl a low rumble deep in her throat.

  “Lexie?” he whispered. “Lexie.”

  Lex took a cautious step toward him, and for the first time in the eight years they’d been together Patrick saw his dog as a predator. He saw her as a hunter and a killer. He saw her in the natural state of all canines, the prehistoric state, twenty or thirty thousand years ago, before humans learned to domesticate them and train them. He saw her as what she might have been.

  “Lexie,” he said again. “Girl. Hey, girl. It’s me.”

  His bladder felt tight, even though he hadn’t had a drop of water in a long time. It had never occurred to him before, the idea that Lex—his dog, his friend—was quite capable of killing him.

  Lex took another step toward him, and Patrick saw thick ropes of saliva drooping from her jaws.

  She’s as hungry as I am. Maybe hungrier. She’s not herself anymore. And then—the blood! It’s the blood, dripping from my arm! She can smell it, that’s why she’s doing this, that’s why, it’s not her fault, it’s the smell of blood!

  He said, “Okay, Lexie. It’s okay, girl.” Slowly, keeping the light trained on her, he reached into his knapsack and rooted around until his fingers closed on a soiled bandanna. He pulled it out and, setting the flashlight carefully on his lap with the beam still focused on Lex, he wrapped it quickly around his wounded forearm.

  The cut had been just deep enough to draw out a s
udden gush of blood, but already the bleeding had started to slow down. Shivering, Patrick kept his eyes on Lex as he tightened the makeshift tourniquet with his teeth and took up the flashlight again.

  “See?” he said. “All better, girl. No more… no more blood.”

  Lex continued to growl, but her body relaxed somewhat. The stiff tail went down, the bared teeth withdrew behind her lips. Bit by bit, the tensed muscles of her body eased, until her intense and hungry stare finally broke off and she glanced around the dark cave.

  “See?” Patrick said again. “It’s okay now, right?”

  Lex’s growl diminished into a weary sigh. She snorted and dropped her head. She turned away from him and dropped to the rock-strewn ground, sighing again.

  Patrick released the long breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, and the beam of light on Lex started trembling. Oh my God, he thought. Oh my dear Christ, Lex was going to… she was ready to…

  But his mind veered away from it. It was too horrible to even contemplate.

  He felt fresh tears in his eyes and was uncertain which emotion they’d come from—sorrow or fear. He found he was reluctant to turn off the flashlight, to remove its stark glare from Lex’s still form.