David Walton - Superposition

While I ran, I unzipped my jumpsuit halfway down, pulled my arms out, and then tied the sleeves around my waist. I hoped that a guy running in orange pants and a white T-shirt would be less conspicuous than a guy in an orange jumpsuit. I steered clear of Baltimore Pike, figuring it would be swarming with cops, but there was an old line of train tracks that hugged Chester Creek, and I aimed for that instead. It was mostly in the woods, where I was less likely to encounter any people, and it was easy to run along it without twisting an ankle. Best of all, it would lead me nearly to the fitness club’s back door.

I repeatedly heard sirens, and once I saw the flashing lights of a police car, but if they were creating a perimeter, they either missed the train tracks or underestimated my speed. I reached the club without incident and slipped inside. There were only three cars in the parking lot, and I avoided being seen as I made my way through the halls.

I had a locker here with a change of clothes. I was breathing pretty hard—prison life had not been good for staying in shape—but I shoved the jumpsuit into the trashcan and put on the sweats and T-shirt from my locker. Now all I needed was transportation.

I checked the showers. One of them was running, and based on the little Nissan Flash in the parking lot, I was pretty sure I knew who was inside. It was Frank Reed, a guy I knew slightly from working out together, whose locker wasn’t far from mine. The lockers had combinations, of course, but a lot of people didn’t bother spinning them. I found Frank’s, checked inside, and found some business clothes, a wallet, and a ring of keys.

I hated to steal, but I was beyond such considerations. I needed a car, and I didn’t have time to quibble. I scribbled a quick note that said, “Frank, I’m sorry. I’ll return it unharmed and with interest, if I can.” I left it in the locker and took the keys.

The Flash was a tiny car—electric and made of lightweight materials. I thought I might even be able to pick it up if I had to. Frank was a small guy and fit easily. I wasn’t and didn’t. But it was a car, and once I wedged myself inside, I was on my way down the road, heading for New Jersey.

As I crossed the bridge, I had a sudden vision of the varcolac standing over me. Every muscle in my body tensed—I could see the varcolac almost as clearly as I could see the road in front of me. It wasn’t like a dream or a vision; it was more like I had a second pair of eyes in a completely different place, feeding images to my brain.

I knew what was happening. Jacob and I were becoming one person again. The electric shock must have been from him; maybe it was even the reason the probability waveform had started to collapse. I could tell that he was underground right now, probably in the accelerator tunnels, and that the varcolac was there. I couldn’t see everything that was happening; only the occasional glimpse.

I stepped on the gas. I didn’t know how much time I had left.

With the help of the car’s GPS system, I found Jean Massey’s neighborhood and pulled up to her front door. I stepped out of my car, eyeing the place warily. The tiny yard was neatly mowed, with a small flowerbed under the eaves. I couldn’t imagine Jean doing any gardening, so I guessed this to be Nick’s work. Suddenly, I remembered the phone call—Nick, accusing me of sleeping with his wife. But that had been the other Jacob, not me. I had been in prison at the time, but the memory flashed into my mind as if I had actually experienced it.

I knocked on the door. Nick answered, wearing a white polo shirt and slacks and bare feet.

“Hi, Nick,” I said. “Is Jean—”

“She’s given you too much as it is,” Nick said. “I’m sorry, but this is our family time. She’s not available.”

I shoved my foot in the door before he could close it. “Is she with your daughter right now?” Some of my urgency must have come across in my voice, because he stepped back. I pushed inside. “Your daughter’s in danger,” I said. “Where is she?”

He believed me. I didn’t know how Jean had been acting since she arrived, but clearly it hadn’t put his mind at ease. I followed him up the stairs and down the hall.

“Honey?” Nick called.

I walked slowly after him and peered into Chance’s bedroom. It was empty.

“Jean?” Nick said, and then louder, “Jean!”

“She took her,” I said. “They’re gone.”

Nick stood in the center of the room, surrounded by Chance’s things—her changing table, her crib with blankets still tangled and warm, a scattering of baby toys—and bellowed his wife’s name.

Elena sat up with a groan. I was by her side in an instant, as close as I could get with the bundle of wires between us.

“Are you all right?” I asked.

“My head hurts.”

“I’m so sorry.”

She pressed fingers into her temples. “Not your fault.”

I wanted to hold her in my arms, to stroke her hair and press her close. My space was roughly square, with three edges made of bundled wire and one edge against the wall. I examined the spot where the wires passed into the wall, but there was no way to cross it. I started to kick the wall. The wall was made of cinder blocks and didn’t budge, but I kept kicking anyway, thinking that if I could knock loose even a small amount, then over time I could widen it, tear some of the wall away, and then get around the wire barrier to Elena.

“Use your keys,” Marek called. He was in a center square, out of reach of a wall, but I understood what he meant. I pulled my keys out of my pocket, chose the largest one, and started scraping the wall close to the floor. A little dust drifted down, and a shallow scratch appeared. I kept scraping. It was going to take a long time to make any progress this way, but it was better than just waiting for the varcolac to come back and start hurting my family again. I scraped until my muscles ached, but I accomplished little more than a small pile of dust on the floor. It wasn’t going to work.

I noticed Alex scrabbling at a round metal grating that covered a drain on the floor. I wasn’t sure what she would accomplish if she got it loose—the drain was far too small for her to fit inside, and probably didn’t lead anywhere very helpful anyway—but at the least she would have a piece of metal, a possible weapon if it came for her again. It was difficult for her to make any headway, since moving her broken arm made her gasp with pain.

“Here,” I said. I tossed my keys across the gap. They flew across the wires with no ill effect, landing on the floor at her feet and sliding a few inches. She used a key as a lever, trying to pry up the grating, but it wouldn’t budge and there were no visible screws. I wondered if it was welded to the pipe underneath, or if the concrete floor had just been poured around it, holding it fast. Whatever the reason, it wasn’t moving.

I had found my family, but now I was going to lose them again. The varcolac was going to come back and torture them all while I watched, and eventually they would all die, and still the varcolac wouldn’t kill me: it would just smile hideously and watch my reactions, and maybe kill Marek, too, just for fun.

I paced my cell. I had to do something. I couldn’t just sit here, helplessly waiting.

I started looking at the wires. Where did the energy for the electric shock come from? The varcolac must be manipulating the electromagnetic field somehow, allowing a free flow of electrons out of the wires and into anyone who got too close.

What if I could get higher? If I crossed the wires close to the ceiling, would that be far enough away not to cue the electric shock? The ceiling was wooden planking and beams, with no drop ceiling to hide the pipes and wires. There weren’t many secure places to hold on, and I realized it would be very difficult to climb around up there. Besides, I couldn’t reach it, and I had nothing to stand on to lift me higher. That wasn’t going to work either.