Occupational Hazard [abridged]

Author's note:

This story was abridged to reach the word limitation for this contest. You can read it in full length here: https://editor.reedsy.com/s/WysfOUl/c/ZFMm-aXpWtxsB0ZY

***

Trip groaned as he sat down. Aching bones were a side-effect of his trade. Even now, in the body of a 78-year-old man, Trip’s mind was focused on his contract. He kept his weapon trained on the other man. As he sat, Trip scanned his quarry.

“P-please Mister…” stammered the man. Trip shook his head. Judging by his youthful face and the high-pitched voice, the man - or rather boy - can’t have been older than 16.

“Please don’t shoot me, sir,” cried the boy.

Trip sighed, “Stop whining,” he said.

The boy, taken aback, took a step backward and almost fell over a tree branch. Trip scanned the abandoned beach for the familiar light. Nothing yet.

“Don’t hurt yourself, kid,” Trip said.

“What do you want from me?” said the boy, anger slowly replacing fear in his voice.

Trip sighed again. Always the same questions.

“I’m here to kill you,” he said calmly. Fear spread over the boy’s face once again.

“Wh- Why? I didn’t d- do anything!” the boy squealed.

“Not yet,” said Trip, the gun never wavering from its target.

“What?”

“I said, not yet.”

“I heard what you said but what do you mean by that? What the fuck is going on?”

Trip searched his pockets for cigarettes. He gave up the search when he remembered when he was. The middle of the tobacco prohibition of the 2050s.

“Shit,” he mumbled, “Listen kid, you wouldn’t happen to have some cigs?”

To Trip’s amazement, the kid actually produced a package of unlabeled and currently very illegal cigarettes. Trip raised an eyebrow as he snatched them out of the boy’s hand. He lit one and dragged on it.

“So you ain’t done nothing but you’re walking around with these?” Trip finally asked, waving the package in front of his face.

“They’re for my dad. He’s addicted.”

“For your dad, huh?” Trip mumbled through cigarette-clenching teeth. He checked his watch and looked around the beach again. Nothing yet. Did he make a mistake?

“Why the hell doesn’t he get them himself?” Trip asked.

“He’s got… He’s got the…”

“Oswald Disease,” Trip finished the boy’s sentence as he recalled the 2054 outbreak.

“Shit, are you infected, kid?”

“I- I don’t think so!”

“You stay the hell away from me. Go, walk over there,” Trip commanded, pointing at a spot further along the beach with his gun.

After minutes of silence and Trip scanning the beach periodically, the boy spoke up again.

“Why do you want to kill me, sir?” he said, tears reflecting the moonlight in tiny sparkles.

“Look, kid, they don’t tell me much,” Trip said.

“So you just kill kids because you were told to?”

Trip’s face snapped around. He fixed the boy with a furious stare.

“What the fuck did you just say to me?”

The boy flinched and walked backwards until his back was pressed against a large boulder. His lip quivered as Trip approached slowly.

“I don’t kill kids,” he said, “I kill monsters.”

“I’m not a monster!” shouted the kid, “Sure, I smuggle cigarettes. Sure, sometimes I- I have impure thoughts, but-”

“Impure thoughts?” Trip spat, “You wanna know what my job is, you pissy little cunt?” he asked.

Before the boy could answer, Trip continued.

“My job is to prevent dumb shits like you from killing millions of people in your personal genocide projects.”

The boy’s knees trembled.

“G- genocide? I’m just a teenager, I-”

“Yeah, yeah. They all say that. According to our historical records, you’re becoming another Hitler. Another fucking Genghis Khan. Fuck, for all I know, you could be Darth fucking Vader. I don’t care.”

“How can you- How would you know what happens in the future?”

“Oh believe me, we know what you’re going to do. And you ain’t worth the hair on your head.”

Trip dropped the cigarette and aggressively stamped on it. It sank into the sand.

“Now get on your god-damned knees,” he shouted, grabbed the boy’s shoulder and shoved him to the ground. He looked up at the sky.

“And you, give me the god-damned signal already.”

As if on cue, a patch of sky above Trip suddenly flashed a rapid sequence of blues, whites and reds. When the sequence ended, Trip smiled.

“Fucking finally,” he said, turned to the boy and shot him in the head. Even while the body slumped to the floor, Trip vanished in a bright glow.

***

Trip stepped out of the machine, holding his left hand in the air. A flurry of staffers swarmed around him. He called to them.

“Stay back!” he shouted, “Oswald on this hand.”

Within seconds, a hazmat-suit wearing staffer slid a full-length glove over his entire arm to isolate the virus. Other staffers used this time to sweep him with Geiger counters, gas meters and other sensor equipment.

“Other than the Oswald, he’s clean,” said one of the staffers through an external speaker that garbled their voice. From the little he could see through the hazmat getup, he thought it was a woman. When they inadvertently looked each other in the eye, Trip recognized his wife.

“Britta?” he said.

Britta nodded as well as she could.

“Tony’s tomorrow?” Trip called in her direction as he was ushered out of the machine chamber into isolation. He saw her nod before the doors slammed shut before him.

As promised, Trip returned home 15 hours later to the smell of Tony’s signature pizza. As he walked past the wardrobe’s mirror, he took a few seconds to check himself. He had gained maybe… a year? Two? But all in all, he was back to his 40-ish-year-old self. Britta sat in front of the TV, cuddled up with their daughter, Fiona. They were enjoying the last slice of their shared pizza when they spotted Trip entering.

“Daddy!” Fiona said gleefully but with a yawn.

“Hi baby!” Trip said as he scooped her up in his arm, “How was your day, sweetie?” he asked.

Fiona babbled about her day the way only a toddler could. Every day an adventure.

“That sounds like a wonderful day, darling,” he said finally before setting her back down next to her mother. He leaned down to her next and kissed her.

“Hi babe,” he said. She waved at him lovingly.

“There’s your pizza,” she said, pointing at a carton under the infrared growing lamp on the counter.

“I told you that won’t keep it warm,” he said as he retrieved it.

“I know,” she said, “I just think it looks neat.”

They sat together and enjoyed the evening. Before too long, Fiona had fallen asleep. Trip closed his eyes while his wife took their daughter to bed. When she returned, he opened them again, no hint of happiness in them.

Britta knew the look. She sat beside him and took his head in her lap.

“Wanna talk about it?” she asked.

“He was just a kid. Maybe 16.”

“He was a monster, Trip.”

Trip nodded, “He would have been.”

She bent over to look him in the eyes.

“You trust the mission?” she asked.

“Of course I do.”

“Then you did the right thing, my love.”

Trip nodded again, reassuring himself.

“What if it becomes too easy?” he asked. It had not been the first time he had asked.

“I see them like cockroaches. A pest. They’re animals,” said Britta.

Trip closed his eyes and nodded.

“Animals,” he said, yawning.

A comfortable silence stretched the moment. Eventually, Britta ran her hand through his hair, twirling a gray strand.

“How many times have you been through?” she asked.

“The machine?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“Yesterday was number 109.”

“Gerrick keeps giving you the hard ones lately.”

“I noticed. I’ve lost five years at least over the past month.”

“How old are you now?”

“With all the added years, around 48.”

“I love you,” she said after a while.

“I love you, too,” he replied before falling asleep in her lap.

***

Trip nodded to the security guards who barred access to the machine chamber. They checked the ID around his neck and unlocked the double door for him. As Trip stepped through, he was greeted by Hans Gerrick, the man in charge.

“Trip,” Gerrick said as he patted Trip on the shoulder, “Good job the other day. Good execution.”

Trip winced at the choice of words. Eventually he said, “What took you so long with the signal?”

“Minor glitch. The eggheads didn’t calculate the temporal growth correctly or some such nonsense.”

Trip nodded. That would explain why an assignment that should have taken no more than six months off of his life took more than twelve.

“Doesn’t matter. It’s resolved now. Did you read the briefing for this one?"

"Nope. Never do."

"Suit yourself."

With this, Trip entered the machine to leave on today's mission, ready to undergo the same process for the 110th time. The same process that he knew will age him to the exact age he would be at the time he will end up in. The same process of which he knew that it will steal around one sixtieth of that age difference in years from him. As the glow enveloped him, he focused on the mission.

*** [A scene was cut here to reach the 3000 word limit.] ***

Trip fell backwards out of the machine and didn't wait for the staffers to scan him before he burst into his boss' office. Gerrick had some explaining to do.

“What the fuck was that?” Trip shouted, "This guy was crawling up walls like a spider!"

“He was a gene freak,” Gerrick said matter-of-factly, “He experimented on his own body.”

“You couldn’t have told me that?”

“You didn’t wanna read the briefing, did you?”

“And that’s when you say, Oh gee whiz Terence, wouldn’t you like to know that your target has fucking superpowers?”

“Don’t be so dramatic. You’re fine.”

“By a hair’s breadth, Hans. I am a fucking dead man walking!”

“Then quit. My job is not to listen to you whining about yours,” Gerrick spat and pointed at the door. Trip headed home with gnashing teeth.

A man jumped in front of Trip’s car. Trip swerved and braked and only missed the man by an inch. Trip, already furious from his boss’ treatment, was incensed. He kicked open his car door and grabbed the man by the collar.

“What the hell are you doing?” he shouted. As he manhandled the figure, the beam of one of his headlights hit the man’s face. It was an ex-colleague, a man named Jonathan John. John punched away Trip’s hands.

“Brother, I am here to warn you,” John said, wide-eyed.

“About what?”

“Gerrick… Gerrick is going after your daughter.”

Trip stared.

“You are treading mighty fine ice.”

“She flashed up on the Predictor yesterday. Fiona Marsten. Future cannibal mass murderer.”

Trip inadvertently took two steps back.

“W- what?” he stammered, “You’re lying. Why are you lying to me, John?”

“I’m not lying,” John said.

“Even if it was true, how would you know about that? You left months ago.”

“I have sources.”

“Bullshit.”

John reached into his pockets and handed Trip a flash drive.

“It’s all here, brother.”

Trip looked at the drive, perplexed. He let it drop into his pocket. Eventually, he asked, “Cannibal murderer?”

“Mass murderer,” John replied.

“Fuck off.”

Trip got back into his car and drove home.

He found his wife and daughter, as always, cuddled up in the living room. He greeted them, kissed them both and quickly retreated to his home office. Waking his computer from sleep, he fished the flash drive out of his pocket. He inserted it and opened the only file, ominously named contract.pdf. The color left his face as a cold sweat developed on his forehead. John had not been lying. Trip saw before him the standard time contract made out for the death of… Fiona Marsten. Future crime: Mass murder in connection with a cannibalistic fetish.

Trip leaned over the trash can and vomited. Instantly, his world had been destroyed. He needed a plan.

Britta had added her vomit to his when she had read the contract.

“What the hell?” she finally said, “This is bullshit, right?”

“No, it’s digitally signed. I checked it,” said Trip.

“Our child?” she said, whimpering.

“Yes,” he said solemnly.

“Not our child,” she said with more force, “Not our child,” she finished, fury in her eyes.

“The cannibalism thing-” Trip started.

“Is bullshit,” she interrupted.

Trip nodded.

“We are not letting this happen,” she said.

Trip nodded again.

“We need a plan,” Britta declared as she stood.

Trip, not knowing what else to do, nodded. He knew she was right. Some error in the system. They must be mistaken. How many times in the past had they been mistaken? Why had he never read the briefings?

He was ripped out of his thoughts when Britta banged her fist on the table.

“Trip!” she shouted.

He looked up at her. In his calmest tone, he said, “I have a plan.”

***

“You want to put her in the machine?” Britta said in a loud whisper.

“It’s the only way she has a chance. We’ll send her 50 or 60 years into the future and delete the records. That timespan is almost unreachable from now. Most agents would just die.”

Britta slowly nodded.

“But we will die, too,” she said.

“She’s worth it, if you ask me.”

“Of course but… she’ll be all alone.”

“I know my baby. She can handle it. She has to.”

Britta nodded again.

“Okay,” she said, “Let’s do it.”

They made their way to the office building above the underground facility housing the machine chamber. As Britta quickly closed the door behind them, Trip pulled out a flashlight. They followed the familiar corridors and made their way to the equipment room. They hastily emptied an equipment cart and gestured for Fiona to get inside.

“Wanna play hide and seek?” Britta said.

Fiona nodded.

“But this is a special game. You go in there and don’t make a peep. You lose if someone thinks you’re in there, okay?”

“Okay!” she said, smiling, as she stepped into the case. Britta zipped it shut and the two of them rolled their human cargo as gently as possible towards the elevator room. As suspected, it was guarded by Hector.

“Good evening,” he said, “Working late?”

“Gerrick ordered us in,” Trip said.

“That fucking prick,” said Hector before unlocking the elevator.

“Good luck,” he said before the doors closed.

“Good old Hector,” Britta said.

The doors opened five floors below and the parents almost ran to the machine room. One of the two guards held out his hand.

“Stop, please. IDs.”

They showed their IDs.

“You’re both good. Just need to take a look at the equipment,” said the same guard while his colleague reached for the zipper.

Trip’s cold sweat was back. Before he could stop himself, he grabbed the pistol of the guard reaching for the zipper and immediately shot the other guard in the head with it. He quickly pointed it at the remaining guard and ordered him to unlock the door.

“You know I can’t do that,” said the guard but his face betrayed his fear.

Trip stuck the gun into the man’s mouth and repeated himself slowly.

“Open. The. Door.”

The guard nodded quickly and reached up toward the fingerprint sensor. As he touched it, the door sprung open by a crack. Britta immediately rolled the container through it and made her way to the control room.

“Is it just the one finger?” Trip asked the man while holding the door open.

“What?”

“For the sensor. Is it just the one finger that works?”

The man nodded frantically.

“Good for you,” said Trip before obliterating the man’s index finger with a bullet from the gun. He quickly closed the door behind him and listened for the lock to engage. When he heard the fateful click, he turned and opened the container. He found a terrified and silently crying Fiona.

“Come here baby, everything is fine,” he said as he lifted her out of the case.

“There were noises!” she said.

“I know, honey, it’s all over now. Now you get to take a ride in a time machine!”

Her eyes glowed up and Trip almost burst out crying. The knowledge that this would be the last time he could hold his daughter ripped at his soul.

Britta walked out of the control room.

“It’s ready,” she said.

“I’ll take her through, you delete the records,” Trip said.

She hugged her husband and daughter tightly.

“I love you,” she sobbed.

“Mommy, why are you sad?” Fiona asked, concerned.

***

“I love you,” Mommy said again before she turned to go back into the other room.

“Mommy?” Fiona said, “Come back mommy!”

She felt daddy patting her back.

“She’ll be back soon, baby,” he said.

This made her happy. She hoped soon meant very soon.

“Can we go in the time machine now, daddy?” she asked. She could not see daddy’s face the way he carried her. Something was wrong with his voice.

“Yes, baby,” he said as he carried her into the metal box.

“Are you ready, sweetheart?” he asked.

She nodded. He set her down and she watched as he closed the big door. Then, he knelt in front of her. His face was smiling but his insides were crying.

“I love you so much, Fiona,” he said.

“I love you, too, daddy,” she said as she hugged him. That will make him feel better, she thought.

“I am so sorry,” he said, "You have to run, baby. They will never stop coming for you."

Fiona remembered thinking that this was a weird thing to say. Then she vanished in a bright glow.