Lost in Babylon

A four-wheeled chariot rolled into sight along the packed-dirt road. It was pulled by four men in loincloths, and the driver wore a maroon-colored cloak. Behind him, on a cushioned throne, sat a withered-looking man dressed in a brocaded robe. He wore a fancy helmet encrusted with jewels, which made his thin face and pointed beard look ludicrous.

As the chariot neared the moat, the crowd and the guards bowed to the ground. The slaves trotted the vehicle over the bridge, the king glancing briefly down into the water as he passed.

If he saw anything horrifying, it didn’t register on his face. He yawned, leaned back into his seat, and waved lazily to the crowds who dared not look at him.

“Is that King Nascar Buzzer?” Marco asked.

“Nebuchadnezzar,” I said. “Maybe.”

“I don’t think so,” Aly said. “I think it’s Nabu-na’id. I did some calculations. This ripping apart of time had to start somewhere. Before the split, our time and Ancient Babylon time were in sync. And I figure that was around the sixth century B.C. Which is about the time that the Hanging Gardens were destroyed. During the reign of Nabu-na’id. Also known as Nabonidus.”

“Okay, maybe this is a dumb question, but why are there ruins?” Marco said. “If Babylon time-shifted, wouldn’t the whole city have just disappeared? So what are those rocks we see back in the twenty-first century?”

“It must be like matter and antimatter,” Aly said. “The two parallel worlds existed together. Babylon continued to exist at regular speed and at one-ninetieth speed. And we are the only ones who can see both of them.”

As the king disappeared through the gate, a guard rushed out toward us. He shouted back over his shoulder, and another two followed.

Soon six of them were racing our way. “Look unthreatening,” Marco said.

“We’re kids,” Aly replied.

“I think I’m going to throw up,” Cass said, his entire body shaking.

“Confidence is key,” Marco said. He smiled at the approaching soldiers, waving. “Yo, sweet tunics, guys! We’re looking for Babylon?”

The guards surrounded us, glaring, six spears pointed at our chests.

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to understand Aramaic to know we were in deep doodoo.

The guards’ leader was maybe seven feet tall. An evil, gap-toothed smile shone through a black beard as thick as steel wool. He jabbered orders to us, waited while we stared uncomprehendingly, then jabbered something else. “I think he’s trying out different languages,” Aly murmured, “to figure out which one we speak.”

“When does he get to English?” Marco asked.

Trembling, Cass lifted his hands over his head. “We. Come. In. Peace!”

The men raised their spears, tips to Cass’s face.

“Never mind,” he squeaked.

The leader gestured toward the city, growling. We walked, our hands quivering fearfully over our heads. As we reached the bridge over the moat, I peered downward. The moat’s water churned with the action of long, leathery snouts. It was muddy and blood-red.