by Rysa Walker
A chill runs through me as I wonder how long it will take for the trees to reclaim the village after Saul takes things into his own hands. There’s nothing natural about what he’s planning, and while Sister Elba might not have many years left, those kids outside have their entire lives before them.
“Well, I’d better go over and join . . . Matthew and the others. Thank you for showing me the armonica, Sister Elba. It’s beautiful.”
“You are more than welcome.”
My hand is on the door when she speaks again.
“And, child?”
“Yes, ma’am?”
“Whatever that problem is that’s eatin’ at you, well, you seem like a smart enough girl. You’ll figure out how to fix it.”
“But what if it can’t be fixed?” I ask before I even realize I’m going to speak. “Or if I can’t fix it without hurting even more people?”
Sister Elba pauses to close the armonica case and then walks toward the steps, stopping a few short feet away from the bench where she will die. “People faced those kinds of decisions every day during the War and after. It’s a hard lesson in life, but you have to accept that some things are out of your hands. Otherwise, you’ll never know a single minute of peace. You mend what you can, and you let the rest go. You just let it go.”
I have to get out of here before I break down and tell her to pack everyone up and head back to Canada. I push through the door, relieved that the kids are no longer on the steps.
I set a stable point on the lawn in front of the church. Another near the side door. I start heading in the direction that Martha took Kiernan, setting two more stable points as I go.
And then I hear laughter off to the right. The twins and two other children are inside a large mesh pen behind the houses, with chickens running around their feet. The youngest is trying his best to pull up the wire so that he can get inside with the others, and Bull is running back and forth in front of the coop, barking at the chickens. They must be used to it, because they ignore him and keep pecking away in the muck.
Beyond the chicken coop, I see the well.
I duck between the two houses and hurry over, setting two stable points facing the stone well and one behind it. Then I move closer and set a final point directly above the opening. Anyone who arrived via this stable point would end up at the bottom of the well, but it’s the only way I can be sure we’ll see clearly if Saul tampers with their water supply.
“Hey.”
I jump, but it’s just Jackson. Or Vernon. The other twin is right behind him. They both smell a bit off, probably due to the brown gunk lining the hem of their overalls.
“Whatcha doin’?” one of them asks.
I decide to give them the simple, unvarnished—although admittedly not entire—truth. “I’m looking down into your well.”
“Why?” asks the other twin.
“Because I like wells.”
The first twin nods sagely. “Yeah, this one’s real deep. Were you gonna throw that ol’ necklace down to see how long before it goes plunk at the bottom?”
I laugh. “I thought about it. It’s pretty ugly, isn’t it? But my grandmother gave it to me, so I’d best keep it.”
He looks disappointed. “Guess we can just use a rock.”
“I actually need to be going. Can one of you tell me where Brother Earl’s shop is?”
“It’s right next to his house.”
“And which one is his house?”
“Last one on the left. Just go down the road, an’ you’ll see it.”
The other boy looks at his brother and then back at me, a grin stretching his freckled face. “Martha keeps looking at him, y’know.”
“At Brother Earl?” I ask, teasingly.
“No! At your boyfriend.” And then they both collapse into giggles.
“Well, then I guess I’d better get over there right away, hadn’t I?”
I give them a smile, but it freezes on my face as I’m gut-punched by the reality that they’ll both be dead before the month is out. I turn and hurry back toward the road, but tears are blurring my vision, and I run smack into Martha when I round the corner.
“I’m sorry.” I duck my head as I go past, but she sees that I’m crying.
“Hey, wait! What Jack and Vern told you—it ain’t true.”
“It’s okay, Martha.”
She grabs my arm. “No, really. I don’ want you gettin’ all mad at . . . him. ’Cause he ain’ even looked at me. I swear it.”
I bite my lip and try to rein in the tears. “I know, Martha. It’s not that, okay? Really. I’m not mad at him. Not mad at you. The music just . . . it made me a little sad, okay? Reminded me of some things I’d rather forget.”
She doesn’t look convinced, but she nods. “Yeah. Music does that to me, too, sometimes.” She shoves a lock of hair back behind her ear, nodding down the road. Kiernan is already coming toward us, pushing the bike. “I gotta get back to Sister Elba, or she’s gonna lecture me ’bout responsibility again. Anyway, it was nice meetin’ y’all. Hope it’s a good picnic.”
“Thanks, Martha. Nice meeting you, too.”
Martha heads toward the church, stopping just long enough to yell in the direction of the chicken coop. “Jack and Vern, if the two of you have the sense God gave a billy goat, you’ll be in the next county by the time I’m done with my lesson.”
“Ain’t scared of you, Ma-a-r-tha.” Followed by giggles.
Ghosts. Just ghosts.
Kiernan can see that I’m upset, and he looks a little unsettled himself. “Were you able to . . . ?” he asks.
I nod. “Maybe ten in all. The church, some outside, and also at the well.”
“Good girl,” he says, putting his free arm around me and pulling me close. “I say we get the bikes over the bridge, stash ’em back in the woods, and take a shortcut home.”
“You’ll get no argument here.”
We walk quickly past the church, and I grab my bike from its resting spot against the tree. The music of the armonica, discordant and even more eerie under Martha’s fingers, drifts through the open windows as we push the bikes back to the road. I pull the handle to start the motor before the wheels even leave the grass, to block the sound. I don’t even put my helmet on, just gun the motor and take off down the trail, eager to put as many miles and years as possible between me and God’s Hollow.
∞14∞
Trey is on the bed, propped up on his elbow, staring at the stable point when I return to the townhouse, exactly thirty seconds after I left, as promised. I think there was still some part of his brain that didn’t fully believe all of this is real, because his eyes are wide, his jaw has dropped about an inch, and he looks a little pale.
I probably look a little pale, too. The six hours we spent in 1938 were anticlimactic after God’s Hollow. Kiernan tried to talk me into resting first, but all I could think about was getting the trip over with so that I could get back home. Back here. I’m too tired to give the full report Katherine and Connor will expect the moment I arrive. Trey, on the other hand, said he doesn’t want the details, and right now that’s beyond fine with me.
After a long moment, Trey closes his eyes and shakes his head. Then he reaches out and pulls off the hat and glasses. “You changed your hair.”
“Yeah, well, the gray wasn’t working for me. I like the hat better.”
“So—how long were you gone?”
I give him a tired smile. “Thirty seconds.”
He taps me on the head with the hat and then reaches down to pull me up next to him. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it. I asked how long were you gone, not how long were you not here.”
“That doesn’t make any sense at all, you know.”
“Kate, none of this makes any sense.”
“Fine. I’ve been gone a little over sixteen hours. I had to make a side trip, and things got crazy.”
“Crazy how?”
I am not going to cry. I’ve done enough of
that for one day. So I just bite my lip and look away. The first thing my eyes land on is my ceiling, covered with my own glow-in-the-dark stars. I used to love those things, but now I’m tempted to stand up on the bed and yank every single one of them down.
Trey pulls me in closer, so that my head is on his shoulder, and then tips my chin toward him. “Hey, I was just curious, okay? This isn’t an interrogation. You look wiped out. Do you want me to go so that you can get some sleep?”
“No. I mean, yes, I’m tired, and I’ll probably be rotten company, but . . . I really don’t want to be alone. Would you stay? For a little while? Maybe we could put in a movie.”
We go downstairs for drinks, popcorn, and The Princess Bride DVD and then take them back upstairs to my room. We put real butter on the popcorn, which usually means I crunch the unpopped kernels and slide my fingers along the bottom to get the last bit of salty, buttery goodness, but I’m too tired to eat more than a few pieces. The last thing I remember is Buttercup climbing into the harness and wincing as Fezzik begins to lug the three of them up the Cliffs of Insanity.
When I open my eyes, the sky framed in the window above me is a dark blue, with a few faint streaks of dusky orange and purple. My head is on Trey’s chest, and he’s reading my copy of The Fault in Our Stars.
I reach over to the nightstand and grab the soda I was drinking before I conked out. I swish it around my mouth a bit to chase away the dragon breath, then roll to my side and snuggle up against Trey.
“Hey, sleepyhead.”
“I’m sorry. How long was I—”
He plants a kiss on the top of my head. “About three hours. And no apologies. I’ve been planning to read this for a while now.”
“You could have gone home.”
“I know. And I’ll definitely have to go in an hour or two, because we have school tomorrow. But right now, I’m hungry.”
“Yeah. Me, too.” Aside from a handful of popcorn, the last time I ate was about ten hours ago, before we left for 1938—slightly squished cheese sandwiches and fruit from the picnic basket. But then I noticed the bag of candy was still in there, and I was so angry at myself for forgetting to give it to those kids that I lost my appetite.
“So,” Trey says, “should we call for pizza or Chinese?”
“Mmmm . . . moo goo gai pan and wonton soup. And an eggroll. From Red Dragon. They’re good, and they’re like six blocks away, so it’s really fast.”
An hour later there are empty cartons of comfort food scattered about on the coffee table. We crack the fortune cookies, and Trey learns that a new “wardrope” will bring great joy and change in his life. Mine says that constant grinding can turn an iron “nod” into a needle. Apparently the fortune cookie company needs a better proofreader.
Trey helps me clear off the table, and while I’m rinsing my hands at the sink, he comes up from behind and puts his arms around me. I turn around and give him a long, slow kiss. I could have stayed right there for at least an hour, but he pulls away much sooner than that and leads me back to the couch, where we curl up.
I assume we’re going to pick up where we left off at the sink, but he asks, “So, what happened today?”
“I thought you didn’t want the details.”
“I don’t, but part of that whole open-and-honest-communication thing is sharing how you feel. You don’t have to give me a play-by-play, but I want to know what made you look so sad. Not just now, but every few minutes since you got back. It’s like a cloud passes over your face.”
The truth is I’d really rather not talk about this to anyone right now, not even Trey. In some ways, especially not Trey, because I don’t like the moral choices I’m having to make. Will he look at me differently when he realizes that my decisions are going to result in a bunch of innocent people dying?
But if I don’t talk to him, he’ll think I’m hiding things, and that’s not good either.
“You know the Culling thing I mentioned?”
“Where your grandfather is planning to take out half the planet?”
“Yep, that’s the one. We think Saul did a test run on a little village in Georgia in 1911. Whatever he used, it killed everyone, nearly fifty people in all. The authorities found them sitting in their little church, all very dead, a few weeks after it happened.”
“I thought Saul couldn’t use the key?”
“He can’t. This was when he was younger, back before he destroyed CHRONOS.”
“And you know it was Saul?”
“There’s some pretty strong circumstantial evidence, but no, we aren’t certain yet. That was our first stop today. We set up stable points so Kiernan can monitor various locations around the village. I got to meet a really nice old lady and some kids, who are all going to die in a couple of weeks, along with everyone else in their community. And I could stop it, Trey. I could go back and tell Sister Elba to pack everyone up and leave before Saul comes. I could make her believe me.”
“So . . . why don’t you?”
“Because he’ll find another secluded little town and try again. We’re lucky we found this place—it’s probably our only chance to find out what he’s planning to use for the Culling. I could take extreme measures and shoot him, but that has its own set of complications, since we don’t know for certain that Saul is the only CHRONOS member who was in on the sabotage. There’s a really good possibility that anything we do will change the timeline that results in me being here to stop the Cyrists. Simply put, I can’t do anything that tips him off that someone knows what he’s up to. And that makes me feel guilty and angry and . . .” I press my palms against my eyes and then slide them back, tugging at my hair. “Ugh. All of the choices just suck.”
“But some suck worse than others, right? There are lesser evils you have to accept to stop a greater evil.”
“I guess. But it’s a lot harder to be objective when there are faces attached to the people that this so-called lesser evil will kill. And at what point do you pile up so many lesser evils that they aren’t lesser anymore?”
Trey is quiet for a minute and then says, “Okay, this may sound a little cheesy, but anytime I face a moral dilemma, Estella recites this serenity poem, prayer, whatever. I don’t remember the exact words, but it’s something about changing what you can and accepting that you can’t change everything. You may need to accept that you can’t save everyone and focus on the people you will save if you stop Saul.”
It’s pretty much the same advice that Sister Elba gave as I was leaving the chapel. And it’s good advice, I know it is, but . . .
“The big problem here is that there’s an if in there. If we stop Saul. And I don’t know for certain that we can do that. Isn’t the last part of that serenity prayer about having the wisdom to tell what you can’t change from what you can? It’s not so simple when everything is all mixed up like this, and there are things that I could, in theory, change, except that it will screw up who knows what else. Including my own existence. Is there a serenity prayer for that?”
After Trey leaves, I consider going upstairs to sleep. But I’m too wound up from talking about it, and I keep running through the same things over and over in my head. Might as well thrash them out with Connor and Katherine. I just hope she’s in a reasonable mood, because I suspect she’s the only one who will have the answers I need.
They’re both on the couch in the living room when I get downstairs. Katherine’s showered and changed out of her nightclothes since I spoke with her in the kitchen earlier. I’m hoping that’s a positive sign.
“Okay,” I say, sitting in the chair opposite them. “The good news is that 1938 went pretty well. I spent a little over five hours hanging around Athens, near the campus and over by the Morton Building, where Delia, Abel, and Grant were working today. I got some awkward looks when I walked into a café on that side of town, because it didn’t occur to me that segregation sort of works both ways. I mean, I’m sure they would have let me buy a cup of coffee, but the guy behind the co
unter looked really nervous when I walked in, probably because I was by myself. I just acted like I was lost and asked for directions to campus. And I saw all three of them—they left the Morton Building together. I walked behind them for a few blocks before they split up over near Broad Street.”
Katherine nods and says, “Grant. What did he look like?”
“Average height, muscular build, sandy hair. Young, seemed nervous. Delia was jumping his case about something.”
“Grant must have been a first-year. If this was one of his first trips, then he’d have been your age or a year older, at most. Delia was nice enough, but she had a reputation as a tough instructor. She’s a bit of a stickler when it comes to rules.”
Katherine kind of wrinkles her nose as she says this, and I bite back a chuckle. It’s way past ironic to hear her sniping at someone else for enforcing rules. I sneak a glance at Connor and see that he’s also trying to hold it together. As soon as we catch each other’s expression, we both break into laughter.
“What?” Katherine rolls her eyes when she gets it, and she ends up laughing, too. It’s been a while since I heard her laugh. I wish I could just stop the discussion here, on a cheerful note. But they’re both looking at me, waiting for me to go on.
Katherine says, “I’m guessing that’s not all you wanted to discuss, is it?”
Her arms are pulled into her sides, and she’s hunched over slightly, and I wonder for a moment if she’s cold. There’s something familiar about the position, however. I glance down and realize that I’m sitting the same way, like I’m bracing for a blow.
“Do you remember Saul mentioning a place called Six Bridges? In Georgia?” I ask.
“No. Is it near Athens?”
