by William Oday
“It’s no movie and we haven’t opened a window that far back. But essentially, yes.”
It took several minutes to get the chattering voices to quiet down. He waited until every last person was silent and listening. This was too important to miss.
“Which brings me to my proposal. Our time in this world is doomed. But we have gates to other times. Think of it as a do over. Humanity evolved too quickly. Our technology outpaced our wisdom. That would typically end in oblivion. But perhaps not this time. We are going to attempt to colonize the past. The goal is to move as many of us from this time back to other times and restart civilization with a clean slate. If we are successful, humanity will have its second chance. It will have many second chances in independent timelines.”
They hadn’t conclusively proven the independent part, but modern theories in the field of quantum mechanics coupled with his gut feeling made him believe that it was true.
“My offer is this. You can have a new future that starts in the past. You can be part of the first group to go back and begin to build a better tomorrow.”
He expected another wave of conversation. Confusion or excitement or disbelief.
Something.
But no.
Not a single person spoke. There was nothing but the constant background hum of the air exchangers keeping the air breathable.
It stayed like that for a minute or two. And then one voice pierced the suffocating silence.
“I’ll go.”
57
BOB drew the sleeping bag up over his shoulder. The military issue collapsible cot creaked under him. He rubbed the crust out of his eyes and blinked them open. He looked up at the perforated off-white ceiling tiles above. If he’d had a sharp pencil, he would’ve put money on being able to stick it up there on the first try.
The tile above the desk in his office, old office, used to require replacing every few months because he’d chew it up with thousands of throws. He used to think of it as his exercise for the day. Sure, it wasn’t running or yoga or whatever, but he was too old and lazy for that.
Running would’ve killed his knees and yoga would’ve made him feel like a new age freak.
So, he’d thrown pencils at the ceiling. Ten tries at a time, at least ten times a day. He’d gotten so good that there were days when he’d stick every last one.
Part of his assistant’s job was to knock them down, resharpen them, and put them back on his desk for the next round of throws.
Veronica.
Her sultry lips and curvy hips rose in his mind and he took his time remembering every inch of her long legs. His loins stirred with interest, but then slumped into disinterest.
She was a million miles away.
And probably dead. Ashes spread across Los Angeles.
She deserved better than that.
She’d deserved a better boss than him, but there was nothing he could do about that now.
But while he couldn’t change the selfish jerk he’d been for as long as he could remember, he didn’t have to continue being that person.
That old saying about old dogs was BS.
An old dog could learn new tricks.
His episode and Flo’s death had taught him that.
But what did a new and better Bob look like?
He didn’t know. It wasn’t a path he’d travelled before.
I’ll just keep walking, trying to do the right thing whenever I can.
Chief Stuckey, wearing a face full of ugly bruises, pulled up a chair and sat down next to him. He held out a steaming cup of something. “Glad to see you wake up.”
“Why? Did you think I was going to die last night?”
“With all the moaning and groaning you did over a sprained ankle, I was kinda hoping you would.”
Bob pushed himself up against the cool cinder block wall and winced a few times from the ankle, but the bandage wrapped around it kept it from moving too much.
He looked over and saw Rome sleeping on a nearby cot. His wide girth spilled over the edges on both sides. His head hung off one side with his mouth open and a long tendril of drool dangling halfway to the floor.
Kids could fall asleep like that. Any which way on any kind of surface.
What Bob wouldn’t give to feel like that again. But no, he’d left those years behind long ago.
His back and shoulders were pinched up tight and he knew from experience that it would take a couple of hours of movement to work some relief into them.
Getting old sucked.
But the alternative was worse.
He realized that now. After the episode.
“You want it or not?” Stuckey said.
“Sorry and yes.” He accepted the cup and discovered that it was black coffee. Not a latte like he would’ve preferred. Not a latte made by his gorgeously curvaceous assistant like he would’ve preferred even more.
But it was coffee.
And it was hot.
He took a sip and burned his tongue.
He took a long slow breath, letting the burnt earthy aroma fill his chest.
“Hey, how about a refill over here?”
Bob turned and saw the two old men from the diner, huddled up in the corner, sitting in chairs with a lantern glowing on a table between them.
They’d run across the two last night on their way here.
The two idiots had been sitting in their usual booth in the ruined diner. Drunk as drunk skunks. Drunker.
Yelling and laughing and carrying on like they didn’t have a care in the world.
Stuckey had dragged them along for their own good.
The one with cracked tectonic plates for skin pointed at his cup. “This cup isn’t going to fill itself.”
Stuckey grabbed the nearby pot and stood. “Careful, Earl.”
The man with the giant fuzzy caterpillars for eyebrows laughed and then groaned. “Don’t make me laugh. My head hurts.”
Stuckey sauntered over and filled their cups. “Serves you right for getting stupid drunk.”
His bugbrows dipped and hid most of his eyes. “What are you? The morality police? We survived the end of the world. That’s cause for celebration.” He screwed off the cap of a hip flask and poured some booze into his cup before doing the same in Earl’s cup.
Stuckey held out his cup for a splash. “Come on, then.”
The old man complied with more than a splash.
“Thanks, Jim,” he said before returning to the chair by Bob.
“You?” Jim said as he held the flask up.
“No, I’m fine with this,” Bob said as he treasured the hot cup and the warmth ebbing into his stiff fingers.
The muffled sound of rain made it through the second story above.
After they’d finished with Charlie last night, they’d discovered that Red and the rest of the gang had disappeared. That was a problem for another day, though. There was a more immediate threat.
The rain.
The fallout.
Upon leaving the processing plant last night, the rain drops had started coming down. They hadn’t had much time and Stuckey had decided to shelter in the nearby high school. It had two floors and a few interior rooms on the first floor that didn’t have windows or other access to the outside.
After picking up Earl and Jim, they’d all made it inside before the drops had turned into a downpour.
Bob took another scalding sip. “How’d you make this?”
“Don’t tell the principal, but I had a small campfire going in the break room sink earlier this morning.”
“Your secret is safe with me.” He took another sip. “How’s the kid?”
“Banged up six ways to Sunday but he’ll be okay. How about you?”
“You mean aside from my mangled ankle?”
“Yeah, besides that.”
“I’ll survive. You look pretty good for a man that could’ve died several times yesterday.”
He didn’t look that good, but Bob was trying on his good g
uy role. It felt like a suit made for someone else. The collar itched. The sleeves were too short and cut into his armpits.
Nobody ever said change was easy.
Just that it could be done.
Stuckey shrugged. “I’ve been through worse.”
“Is that madman really dead?”
The chief nodded.
“But Red got away.”
He scowled. “Yep.”
“What’s our next move?”
Stuckey looked up as if he could see the rain pelting the roof of the floor above. “Have to wait this out for starters. After that, we’ll see. There are a lot of folks that didn’t make it to the marina last night. They’re going to need help.”
Bob took another sip.
“Thanks for doing what you did with the truck. I don’t know if Rome and I would be alive if you hadn’t helped.”
“Just doing my job.”
The chief laughed. “When I met you, I thought you were a worthless piece of human garbage. And I’m a good judge of character.”
“Are you saying you’ve changed your mind?”
Stuckey shrugged. “I’m thinking about it.”
The two sat quietly for a few minutes, listening to the rain, listening to Rome snore, listening to the two old men slurp their spiked coffees.
“Bob, how would you like to be a deputy on the Kodiak police force?”
Bob took another sip of coffee, luxuriating in the cheap bitter brew. He closed his eyes and breathed in the acrid scent.
For such a terrible turn of events, there was still good in the world.
A few minutes passed in silence.
Stuckey cleared his throat. “Well? What do you say?”
Bob grinned. “I’m thinking about it.”
58
EMILY didn’t know why she was the first to volunteer. Not in the moment, anyway. It just came out. People had looked at her like she was crazy. Most of them.
Not Marco.
He understood, probably before she did.
She scooted up and adjusted the pillow to help her sit up. He was picking up their lunches and would be back soon. They hadn’t had a chance to discuss it because she’d passed out as soon as the meeting in the cafeteria ended.
Not actually passed out, but close enough. Her eyes had blinked and she’d drifted off to sleep for several hours.
And when she’d woken up, he’d been right there in the chair next to the bed.
A warmth spread in her belly and rose up into her chest. Even in this dangerous, desperate, ruined world, she felt safe with him by her side.
A knock at the open door.
She looked up to see Dr. Yong standing in the doorway.
“May I come in?”
“Sure,” she said as she gestured at the empty chair.
“Thanks, but I can’t stay long. There’s too much to do.” He paused and stared at her, measuring her. For the task ahead, no doubt.
Did she really understand what she was getting herself into?
Of course not.
How could she?
Mankind had grown to inhabit every corner of the world because intrepid explorers had pushed beyond the known world and risked everything to see what was beyond.
And all that they had done paled in comparison to what she faced. Going back in time to help restart the human race.
Never had the stakes been so high.
Never had the destination been more unknown.
“Emily, I wanted to talk to you about something.”
Was he about to refuse to let her go?
Was she too beat up to take part in the mission?
Now that she’d committed, she wasn’t about to back down.
“I know I don’t look like much right now. But I’ll survive and I’m as strong and capable as anyone else you’re considering.”
He stared at her another minute and then responded. “I have no doubt of that. But that’s not why I’m here.”
Her brows knitted together in confusion. And then it hit her. In the chest.
“I was here the day your father died.”
A painful lump formed in her throat. She knew he was gone. Long before finding the ring and the message written in blood. He would’ve come home otherwise.
She choked down a swallow. “What happened?”
“He was attacked by a short-faced bear.”
“Arctodus.”
He nodded. “We found the bear dead in the cavern. A spear lodged in its head. We found your father at the security entrance. We tried to save him but he’d sustained fatal wounds. It was a miracle he made it as far as he did.”
Emily looked down, spinning the ring around her thumb. There was deep sadness, like there always was. But there was also something else.
Something that put a floor under the bottomless pit that usually dragged her down.
The knowing.
Finally. Knowing what happened.
Saying it was closure would’ve put it in too positive a light. It wasn’t like she stopped hurting and missing him. She wasn’t ready to relegate him to the past and merrily skip into her future.
But there was comfort in knowing.
Dr. Yong touched her shoulder. His eyes glistened. “I’m sorry it took so long for you to find out the truth. I know the hollow pain of losing a loved one and not knowing their fate.”
Emily couldn’t speak. The lump had returned and hardened like concrete in her throat.
Marco appeared at the door carrying two trays piled high with food. His ever present and once-again fluffy furred companion perched on his shoulder. The little weasel’s head bobbing up and down as it tracked the trays like prey.
Emily wasn’t able to eat much yet, but Marco had proved at breakfast that it wouldn’t go to waste. “Am I interrupting something?”
Dr. Yong slid the table over for Marco to set everything on. “No. I was just leaving.” He turned back to Emily with a sad smile. “We’ll talk more later. Okay?”
She nodded, still unable to dislodge the boulder clogging her throat.
He turned and left without another word.
Marco swung the table around so it slid over the bed in front of her.
Oscar leaped down onto the bed and hissed at her. His needle-like teeth showing for an instant before he turned back to the food.
She still had no idea what she’d done to deserve such ill will.
Marco uncovered a bowl of eggs and placed them at the foot of the bed.
Oscar pounced on them before the bowl touched the sheet. He fell into the bowl and began shoving egg-filled paws into his mouth.
“You need to learn some manners, you animal,” Marco said.
The weasel’s head popped up with a bit of yellow egg hanging out of his mouth. His upper lip curled back into a snarl and then he dove back in.
Marco shook his head and turned back to Emily. “What was that about with Zhang? Everything okay?”
Emily reached up for him with both arms and he leaned down into the embrace.
His broad shoulders and hard back covered and protected her like a turtle’s shell.
She pulled him closer, needing to draw his warmth into her soul.
He pressed against her, bracing himself so that they came together with the perfect weight of connection.
They stayed like that for a few minutes. Sharing breath and touch.
He lifted up and looked into her eyes. His hand cupped her cheek, thumb touched her lips. “Are you okay?”
She reached behind his head, slipped her fingers through his wild hair, and pulled him closer.
His eyes burned into hers. A line of invisible current that made her brain buzz with need.
His full lips inches away.
Soft breaths caressing her skin.
“I will be.”
She pulled him down to close the unbearable distance and their lips touched.
Soft and hard at once.
The thing she feared most and the thing she needed
most at the same time.
The walls around her heart began to crack and crumble.
And for the first time since losing her mother, then losing Hope, then losing her father, she let it happen.
More.
She embraced it.
Whatever the future held, they would face it together.
THE END OF BOOK 2
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1
One Month Ago
Washington, D.C.
DR. ANTON RESHENKO realized they resembled nothing so much as monkeys, preening and picking at each other to ease tensions and confirm social status.
He stood at the back of the small conference room, quietly waiting to be recognized. The most powerful men and women in the United States government packed the tight space in a conspicuous ordered hierarchy. The senior members each occupied a high-backed, black leather chair at the long rectangular table. The chair at the far end was empty due to the notable absence of the president.
Would that legally cover plausible deniability?
Proximity to that vacant chair reflected the relative power of those seated at the table. The next level removed were the subordinates and staff that stood along the walls behind the chairs of their respective superiors. They stood stiffly at attention, whether obviously military or otherwise, exuding the reflected glory of their seated masters.
And the furthest removed were those, like him, standing at the opposite end of the room, near the door. As if the exit behind served to remind them that they barely warranted inclusion. That their presence might end at any moment with the wave of a hand or a displeased nod.
