The question took Winston by surprise, but before he could think to answer, the man with the clipboard approached close enough for Winston to make out the scuff marks on his black leather shoes. Winston tried to hunch deeper into the shadows, but there wasn’t much coverage. He should have pulled his black hood over his head to hide his white hair. He could still muster a blast from Little e to silence the man if they made eye contact, but he didn’t want to hurt anyone. The man was tall and stooped, with thick-rimmed glasses that slid down his beak of a nose.
“Tango beta one-five-nine-five,” he muttered to himself. “Tango beta…” He surveyed the shelving’s contents to each side of Winston, including on the rack above, and seemed to find that he was in the right place. “One…five…”
The man paused only a few paces away from Winston, head turned back over his right shoulder as he read labels. “Seven three…seven eight…”
As soon as the man looked down, he would see Winston. He had to.
Winston tightened his grip on Little e and prepared to strike.
“Hi, Donnie!”
A woman stood in the warehouse doorway at the far end of the aisle. At this distance, and with her partially backlit, Winston couldn’t make out many details. But he didn’t have to. He would recognize that voice anywhere, in any time.
***
Amanda wore a calf-length dress, dark and short-sleeved, with white stripes and strangely large white lapels. Her hair fell in broad waves onto her shoulders and rose into large curls atop her head. As she strode into the warehouse, shoulders and hips slowly swaying, lipstick in dark red contrast against a pale, fine-featured face, Winston found himself suddenly remembering that photo of Joan Leslie hung in his father’s retirement home bedroom. Yes, now Winston could see the similarity. She was strikingly beautiful.
The man with the clipboard turned to face her, and Winston noticed his arms slowly fall to his sides, forgotten.
“Hi, Am— I mean, Miss Dabrowski.”
The lips broadened into a bewitching smile. “Donnie, you can call me Amanda like everybody else.”
“Am-Amanda,” he stuttered, then cleared his throat. “Can I help you?”
“Maybe.” She continued toward them, pace unhurried. “Do you remember two or three days ago finding a box of I-44 containers for bio-chem?”
Donnie straightened, head tilting back as he thought. “I think so. Mr. Abernathy signed for them, right?”
Amanda stopped before the man, eyes sparkling and mouth pulling from a smile into a half-frown of concern. “He says he did, but the box isn’t in his lab.”
“Oh, no,” said Donnie, “it wouldn’t be. I dropped them off to him in Lab Seven.”
Amanda’s frown deepened. “You know, I looked all around there, but maybe I missed it.” She set a hand gently on his arm. “Would you mind being a dear and helping me look? If you’re not too busy, of course.”
Winston saw the clipboard slip a couple of inches through Donnie’s fingers. He barely caught it in time.
“No, that—” he started. “Sure. I’d love to. I mean—”
“Thank you, Donnie.” She squeezed his arm and turned with him back toward the warehouse entrance. “I really appreciate it.”
In the second it took her eyes to pass over Winston, she saw him. Amanda carefully kept her features unchanged, but Winston discerned the curiosity and lack of recognition in them. Then she was on her way, guiding Donnie out and leaving Winston alone for the moment.
Winston fought down the urge to argue. He had to stay focused. The only thing that mattered was getting Bernie back to the present.
Winston began to edge toward the doorway, keeping both eyes on the exit while staying aware of places he could quickly duck and hide. His sneakers made no sound on the cement floor, but he was all too aware of how he must stand out in his dark clothing flanked on several sides by shadows that moved with him, cast by the overhead lights.
Winston reached the doorway. Careful to hold his body against the wall, he peeked around the metal doorframe and found himself at the end of a long hallway. The floor was made of the same textured concrete, the walls and ceiling of the same roughly carved stone. Regularly spaced lights dangled from thick cords, and other hallways branched off at random intervals. Winston had the uncomfortable image of being at the bottom of a three-dimensional labyrinth from which he might never find his way out. He had no bread crumbs, no string, and nothing but cryptic statements and half-hearted assistance from those who should be doing everything to help him save the world.
That gave Winston pause.
Winston rolled his eyes and fought down the urge to thump his head against the wall. He was starting to wonder if coming after Bernie had been the best plan, after all. If the alien wasn’t willing to give him answers, would he help rescue his mom and Shade in 2013? For that matter, would he come forward into the future at all?
Winston glanced back into the warehouse and considered the tall wooden ladder still propped against the wall. He could return into the caves, try to race through the carbon monoxide pool while holding his breath, get back to the surface, and come up with another plan.
Or…
Or maybe he just needed to be a little less predictable.
Winston took a deep breath and stepped into the empty hallway. No matter how much Bernie might reassure him, Winston couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was about to come around one of those corners any second. It was too empty, too quiet. He quickly tiptoed down the hallway and paused at the first branching to the right before doing a second-long peek around the corner. He saw green-painted walls along a corridor with wooden doors, each bearing its own small sign. He zipped past this and did the same routine at the next intersection. This corridor featured yellow walls, whi
ch seemed more inviting. With no one in sight, Winston allowed himself a longer look. The signs on the two nearest doors read “Y-23 HYDRO” and “Y-22 MECH.”
said Bernie.
Inside, he felt anything but natural. Nothing about this was natural. And the more Bernie helped him, the more Winston was starting to feel like a puppet. Time to be spontaneous.
He pictured his mother’s face as they had locked eyes only moments ago, and, as he walked down the yellow hallway, he tried to reach out to her with his mind. Dimly, almost like the buzz of an insect across the room, he heard his tinnitus begin in his right ear. It rose to a steady hum but did not exert its usual pressure. After a few seconds, the hum quieted and he heard a woman’s voice in his mind.
14
Impulsively Meeting Amanda
It took every bit of self-discipline Winston could muster to keep walking at his normal pace and not outwardly betray how he felt. Without having a person before him who looked visibly younger than the mother he knew, the voice in his head could have been the same person he’d seen staring after him as he fell from the airplane. The memory of that explosion, of the cockpit windows blowing out and black smoke billowing in a long, downward-arcing trail, tore another small fissure in Winston’s heart.
And yet…here she was. Not some recording or phantom. The real Amanda — in 1948.
His first instinct was to create a story. He was from another lab. He was a different alien. He was collaborating with Bernie in secret.
No sooner did the possibilities flash through his mind than Winston discarded them. They all sounded equally ridiculous. And besides…he never lied to his mother about stuff that mattered. After a lifetime of the two of them only having each other to rely on, he wasn’t about to break that rule now, even if she wasn’t aware of it yet.
In the following silence, Winston wanted to stop and focus entirely on her. Did she believe him? Was she already calling security — or Bernie?
Winston saw the stairway entrance and slowed. He needed more time to talk with his mom.
More like extra poky. He switched back to his mother.
And there she was — the mother he knew so well. Straight from being dazed to all business in half a second flat.
Winston gripped the stairwell door handle and gently turned it. He heard the mechanism click and pop within the lock, but it turned easily. He held the door open and listened, both for practical safety as well as to buy himself another few seconds. He still wasn’t sure how much to tell her.
That didn’t take long, Winston thought to himself.
Winston had arrived at the second landing and now stood before another wooden door bearing the characters S6 in large red stencils. He pressed his ear to it and listened.
Winston couldn’t hear her gasp, but he felt the sensation of it in the back of his awareness.
she asked slowly.
And that’s not even the beginning of what you’ll give up, Winston thought.
He heard a thump and felt a slight vibration through the door. This was followed by a short, dull rasping noise, and Winston guessed that someone nearby was scooting an object across the floor, most likely a chair. If this was the sentry posted in the hallway, he’d likely just stood up.
Winston switched to Bernie.
Winston was careful to pick his mother’s frequency.
Winston froze, aware that it had not taken long at all for him to accidentally communicate on the wrong channel. He desperately tried to review the last few exchanges, wondering if he had already revealed his break from Bernie’s plan to the alien, and found himself unable to piece together if he had done so.
Winston switched frequencies to Bernie.
He switched back.
he said to Amanda.
Winston pulled his ear away from the wall, trying to think clearly. If his plan had always been to link up with Bernie, then going to his mother first should be completely off script. That would shake things up. Perhaps it would make Bernie nervous enough to stop playing games with him and—
His eyes flicked to the red characters.
Winston didn’t want to move. If anything, he wanted to sink down in the stairwell corner and take a ten-minute power nap.
That impulse vanished when something bumped against the door, almost maki
ng him cry out in alarm. An instant later, he heard the unmistakable sound of a man yawning.
Slowly, the door handle turned and the door opened. Winston hugged the wall beside the door hinge. Through the crack between door and doorframe, he spied a green uniform, pale hand, and the long, brown shape of a rifle.
Winston held his breath.
“Is anybody here?” called Amanda, still some distance away.
The soldier froze.
“Hello?” she called again, and now Winston could hear the sound of distant but rapidly approaching footsteps.
The soldier began to back up, pulling the door closed with him.
Just before the door closed, the sound of Amanda’s footsteps grew clearer, and Winston guessed that she’d just rounded the corner into this hall.
“Miss Dabrowski,” said the soldier. He sounded young. “Is everything all right?”
“I’m not sure,” she said, footsteps slowing. “I…I put in a call for maintenance, but no one has come. Have you seen anyone?”
“Maintenance? But it’s the middle of the night.”
Her footsteps stopped. Winston guessed she was at least ten feet away.
“Yes, private, I’m aware of that, thank you.”
“And it can’t wait?”
“I keep smelling ozone in my office, and every so often I catch sight of a spark from one of my electrical outlets.”
“Huh,” said the soldier. “May be a short.”
“Exactly. That’s why I called maintenance. It’s urgent. I have a report due, and I can’t concentrate if I’m sitting there waiting for my office to catch on fire.”
“That’s understandable, ma’am. But I haven’t seen anyone from maintenance tonight.”
“Well…shoot.”
Winston wondered if he should try to retreat down the stairs. One audible slip, though, and he was toast.
“Would you be able to take a look at it?” she asked.
“My patrol is along Research wing, ma’am. I can’t—”
Winston Chase- The Complete Trilogy Page 72
