Border Crossings - John Wolf
Boundaries that form the edges of our lives,
Edges that cut through time,
Time has the power to stab like knives,
Crossing time’s border is the crime.
- John Wolf
“Did you see that, Alejandro?”
“Yeah, but I didn’t get an IR reading. It must have been a quick moving
bird, flying through the sensor,” Carlos said, while checking the instrument. “I’m
gonna get this fixed. That’s the fourth time we saw something move across
the border and like the others, nothing came up on the screen.”
Alex or Alejandro, as Carlos preferred to
say, was fidgeting in his seat, trying to get a better look using a powerful
set of night binoculars. Carlos was always serious, more formal about everything.
He got out of the vehicle and walked down the dusty road northwest of Del
Rio, Texas that stretched up the Rio Grande into the Big Bend country, lonely
and threatening. He stopped after ten yards and strained his
eyes. There was a quick, but loud hiss, then a streak of faint, white light
that flashed across the border into the heartland. It wasn’t
a bird. There was a shape and it was close to the ground. He ran down the
road with his pistol drawn. He stopped and stepped into the bush to his
right. He heard a scratching sound in the distance that faded to silence.
Something came through here. His footsteps made a quiet crunching, while
stepping back into the road. The chamesa left a faint sweet smell in the
air. It was hot that night, even though it was close to midnight. The moon
had gone down, but there was still some light dancing on the scruffy landscape.
Ten more minutes and the shift would be over. He and Alex still had
a thirty minute ride back to the border station.
From a distance, Alex said, “What is it? You
see something?” His
voice was muffled by the heat and the puffy tuffs of bush and cactus.
“I saw nothing, but something went through
here.” Carlos
was down on one knee, looking at the ground. There were impressions in the
sandy dirt, spaced about three or four feet apart. They looked like something
had barely touched the high points on either side of the ruts left by patrol
vehicles that had come down this road thousands of times. The fresh
marks were long nicks that went crosswise to the road. They continued into
the bush and were quickly lost. Carlos stood and looked at the border fence.
Nothing looked disturbed. Alex had brought the vehicle up closer, stopped,
and got out. The headlights burned an oval into the red patch of dirt where
Carlos was standing. They stood together analyzing the area where, whatever
it was, must have crossed the fence. Nothing. Their thoughts were broken
by the sound of a tumbleweed, scratching against a metal fence panel with
each light gust of hot August wind, struggling to catch its breath. Carlos
waved his hand and the two got back in the vehicle, turned into the weeds,
and reversed their path back toward Station 126.
Coming from an old television on a wall-mount at the end of the room, was the voice of a politician on the newscast, talking about how successful the sealing of the border had been between the United States and Mexico. A reporter asked, “Yet, there are reports from the INS that a number of unexplained social security applications have been mounting up – how do you account for this?” Carlos and Alex dragged their tired bodies into the station and started noisily shedding equipment, and then went into the locker area to change. “The truck’s got about a half a tank and is working okay,” Alex said in passing, slapping the shoulder of his replacement for the next shift, continuing into the locker room.
Their friends Jose Pena and Billy Jefferson were the replacements. They were sitting at the crew room table. Jose was writing a letter and Billy was surfing the Internet on a laptop computer that belonged to the State of Texas. Billy said, “According to this, every one of those Nostradamas predictions have come true.”
“That’s a bunch of crap,” Jose snapped back. “That all went out the window in 2012 when that, so called prediction about the Aztec calendar, never came true. What was it, the end of the world, right? That was five years ago, and we’re still kicking.” Jose folded his letter and put it in the envelope.
“2037 is the end of the world.” Billy looked at Jose like a Supreme Court Judge staring down at a rapist. “No, I’m serious. Nostradamas’ predictions stop then. His writings just end.”
“So? The whole thing is baloney. Are you
all hopped up over this because of that show on TV, showing that dude’s
predictions being linked to stuff they found in a time capsule?”
“Hey, the best minds in the world agreed that stuff in that capsule was from before Nostradamas and it matches. Maybe he was aware of it and repeated it in his own words to become famous.”
“About the only thing that matched was the end of world crap in 2037.”
“Well, there you go.”
Carlos and Alex were heading for the front door when Carlos turned and said, “You
guys keep your eyes pealed out there. Something or somebody jumped the fence
about twenty miles north and went into the bush.”
“What are you talking about?” Jose got up, turned off the coffee pot first, then the TV, and picked up his gun belt.
“I’m just saying, both of us,” Carlos waved a finger between Alex and himself, “saw tracks going across the road. I even heard the sound of something running away. Funny thing is, nothing registered on the equipment and all we saw was a flash of light.”
“Amigo, you need a vacation,” Billy said, while closing up the computer, pulling himself out of his chair, and collecting his gear.
The four of them ambled out of the station. Carlos and Alex got into their cars and left. Jose and Billy climbed in the big green and white truck and turned north, headlights bouncing off the road and the dust billowed up behind them.
Two weeks later
a border patrol truck from Station 126 was found on its side in the Big Bend
area. Jose Pena and Billy Jefferson were recovering in the hospital from concussions.
Down the hall another being was laying in a bed. There was an armed guard in
the room. A man in a dark suit was standing next to the bed asking questions.
A technician was making a video recording.
“I can understand you, but speak a little
slower, please. Your accent is worst than a clod-buster from the panhandle,” the
suit said.
Click on this: next column
“I said, I’m sorry about
the vehicle. We came through the time portal with a lot of force and the truck
was right in the way.” The stranger had deep scratches across his right
forearm and cheek, like he had blocked a blow. He had part of his scalp shaved
on the left side and a row of red shiny stitches made a three inch arc across
the open space. His brown hair was long and smooth, twisted into a braid that
ran down the right side of his face and onto the pillow. He had a round face
with an olive complexion and slightly almond shaped eyes. His eyes were large
and had small folds above them, where the lids stacked up. He had a penetrating
stare.
“You said the four others that were killed,
came through this portal with you. Looks like they hit the vehicle and you were
last and got knocked off into the cactus. Lucky you. I need to know where you
were coming from, how you got to the border, and why you decided to cross into
Texas.” The suit was getting impatient, because he had to have the man
repeat his answers to fully understand his words, and he had a report to write
that better be accurate.
Three more suits walked in and the guard closed
the door. The first suit did the introductions. “This is Mr. Chavez. He
is from INS. Mr. Harris, Washington representative for homeland security. And
Mr. Treppinheim, internal affairs, representing Senator Davis’ office.” His
hand moved from one to the other.
“Greetings. Let me explain who I am and how
I came to be hit by one of your trucks. My name is Alphan Delfenia. I originate
from where you call Cyprus, but in my time the names are different. I am part
of a group of people that have seen the end and the fire that waits. We were
the fortunate ones that learned how to span time and reach relative safety. Our
great disappointment is to discover we are trapped in the gap along with you.”
Mr. Harris spoke, “I’ve interviewed
several people like you that claim the same thing, but we never caught anyone
in the act of entering the country on a beam of light. The story was similar,
but how could this be real? We found them through screening applications. There
was a real determination to become American citizens.”
“We found it the best place to find acceptance.
We have gone to other countries and not been accepted at all. Our journey to
safety ended by imprisonment or being shot.”
“This isn’t over, fella,” Treppinheim
said. “There has been thousands of your kind showing up here. Now, I get
reports it could be in the millions. This is crazy. Where are you coming from?” Treppinheim
was red faced. He was getting heat from Washington to get to the bottom of this.
Now he had a real live guinea pig. To him, this was an invasion and not just
a case of political asylum.
“I will tell you, but you have to be open
about this. I feel comfortable here. It feels like we made the best choice. We
decided a remote border crossing would raise the least attention, so we placed
our portal there. I guess that was a mistake, but at least you are listening.
Here’s what I know: Time is a mysterious blend of physics and purpose that
springs from the lifeblood of the universe. You will understand more as you approach
the abyss. There have been many that had foreseen the future with great clarity.
There is an end, a place where time ceases. I have been close enough to tell
you it is coming. By your calendar, it will happen in the year 2037.”
“What you’re telling us is soothsayers
like Nostradamas were right?”
“He was clearer than others by not being
able to see beyond that date. He saw nothing passed that point. He was correct
in not being able to project further, even though, he didn’t realize what
that meant.”
The first suit, the FBI guy was getting angry. “This is crap. If you came
back in time, why now, why 2017? If you’re running from the end of time,
why not a thousand years earlier?”
“That is the great disappointment. We came
back in time as far as we could. Time is marching on toward its inevitable end.
We now know that there have been many time travelers, and they went much further
back, but those of us approaching the end learned about the wall only recently.
We discovered a way to travel back to escape, but now I see the whole mechanism
is marching toward the cliff. The gap is narrowing.”
“So a future does exists? I don’t
get it. Where is this place in between now and where you come from?” The
suit giggled a little. He couldn’t believe he was going along with this
nut.
“Look, I think it is crazy that you are here
in front of me just as much as you can’t come to grips that I stepped into
Texas from another time. We researched the situation and stumbled upon time travel.
We also found that the universe is folded time. The folds were many, but now
they are running out. I can’t tell you how many more will figure out how
to get to this time and place, but if they do they will all come. It’s
the only way to escape, but it is all a joke, because we just jumped a little
farther back on the belt carrying us into hell.”
Treppinheim continued the thread, “You say
you’ve seen the end. How could you and not have gone over the edge?”
“We know how the time folds work, we laid
out the patterns, and we projected forward, until we hit the end. What we found
was duality. The laws of physics canceling. The balance of the universe being
preserved. I have no doubt that somewhere in the universe, another time is unfolding
and there is a birth. But that excludes those on this path. I can’t explain
it further. You have twenty years to see if what you have witnessed here is true
or not, but believe me, as we all approach the end, the panic will be real and
it will be hell.”
The words fell like a hammer on an anvil. The room
felt the chill in this man’s face. You could hear a clock on the wall slowly
clicking, counting off the time left in the gap.
Author John Wolf - yes, sometimes I have nightmares.
Thanks F&Q readers for being there... J. Wolf
© 2007 John Wolf, all rights reserved
