“I brought you these.” Tag is standing in the doorway holding up a pink cotton dress and a pair of scuffed leather oxfords. They will be perfect for 1943, the year the Project started, the year the TM was first built.
“Thanks,” I whisper.
Tag steps forward, handing me the clothes. I take them from him, dropping the shoes onto the floor with a dull thud. I do not look up.
“LJ tells me you’re not sure what to do.”
“I know there are benefits to stopping the Project. But there are also negatives. So much about the world could change. More than we can even imagine.”
He moves to sit next to me on the bed and I feel the soft mattress tilt under his weight. “But you would finally be free.”
“And stuck in the forties. Alone. Mary and Lucas and the Bentleys would have no idea who I was, and Wes—”
I cannot bring myself to finish the thought. Tag is watching the thin line of my lips, the way my shoulders fall.
“What happened to Wes?” he asks softly.
I shake my head but don’t answer, and I hear him sigh.
“Did LJ tell you why he wants you to go back?”
“He said they’ve been waiting for the chance to find the right person to attempt it.”
“He also knows that you understand how much the Project can steal from a person.” He leans forward, clasping his hands together at his knees. It is a mimic of my pose and I wonder if it’s deliberate, if he thinks he can win me over through body language.
“We named our son Chris for LJ and Nikki’s older brother. He was taken by the Project too.”
“I remember.”
“Did LJ tell you that he contacted him?”
“No.” I turn to look at his profile. “How did he do it?”
“He hacked into the Montauk Project’s mainframe, and somehow located the files on where a group of recruits had been sent. He eventually figured out some mission Chris was on and met him there. LJ said Chris was like a zombie, and barely recognized him. But he kept at it until Chris finally cracked. That was around two thousand twelve.”
In the hardware store, that same year, LJ told me he was close to contacting a recruit. He must have meant Chris. “What happened?”
“As soon as LJ broke through to him, the Project figured out what was going on, and Chris just disappeared. He was supposed to meet LJ in New York, and he never showed. We couldn’t find a trace of him after that.”
“They killed him.”
Tag shrugs. “Maybe. Probably. By that point LJ had told Nikki and me what was going on, and we were all living down here in hiding. Since then, he’s been able to rescue a few more recruits and get them out . . .”
His voice hangs there, and I finish the thought. “But it’s not enough to make up for what happened to Chris.”
“No. It’s not.”
I stand up from the bed and pace to the opposite side of the room. There are water stains on the wall, dark lines that drip from the ceiling to the floor. “I know all this, Tag. I know what they do. I know how horrible they can be.”
“Then why don’t you want to stop them?”
“Because . . . because I left Wes on the side of the road with the FBI surrounding him. I swore that I would go back to the beginning of the mission and fix it. With access to a TM I could do that.”
Tag stands too and when I pace back toward him he grabs my shoulders, holding me in place. “Lydia, this is the best way to save him. I knew Wes for a long time. When we were living on the streets together, before the Project snatched him away, we were happy. It was tough, yeah, but we had each other, we had a gang we ran with. Wes was smart and he was handsome and everyone knew he would get out of that life eventually. After I saw him again when you both came to the eighties, he was like a shell of what he used to be. Shaking all the time like his body was falling apart. Constantly staring over his shoulder. Cold. The Project did that to him. The only time I even saw a spark of the old Wes was when he was with you.”
I try to pull away but he tightens his grip, locking me in place. It’s not anything I didn’t know, but hearing Tag’s words feels like I’m living that car crash all over again, thrust up in the air with no way to anchor myself, the sharp metal ripping into my skin.
“Even if you can go back and save Wes, then what happens? You keep working as slaves for the Project until you both die, maybe on a mission, or maybe from the TM breaking you down? That’s the life you want for yourself, for Wes?”
“No,” I whisper. “No. I want us to be free.”
“Then set him free, Lydia. Set him free and let him go.”
After Tag leaves, I sit on the bed, holding the pink dress in my hands. Seeing the future me and meeting LJ again has all led to this moment—I finally have to decide how my future will be tied to the Montauk Project.
If I destroy the Project, Wes and I would never meet. My family and friends might know a different Lydia, but it wouldn’t be me. Any good the Project has done will never have happened, and the time line will be a mystery, with no one left to stand guard or protect the world from future mistakes.
But the Project has stolen so many lives, including mine. They control and manipulate the time line, and no one even knows that it’s happening. It’s the kind of power that is too great, especially when it falls into the hands of someone like Colonel Walker.
If I end the Montauk Project, Wes and Tim and my grandfather could have a chance at a normal life. I wouldn’t be in it, but is that the sacrifice I have to make?
I walked away from the destiny that future me presented. I can’t go back now. If I don’t stop the Project, then it will control me for the rest of my life, either as its leader, or as a fugitive, forever looking over my shoulder. I don’t want to run away anymore, or put my head down and live the life of a recruit, moving blindly forward, only surviving by hiding my true self from everyone around me.
I have to stop the Project. It’s the only choice left.
The door opens again. This time it is LJ, and he’s carrying a heavy folder. “The plan,” he says, waving it in front of me. “You can look through it on your own, though the gist of it is simple. We send you to the spring of nineteen forty-three, and you infiltrate the new Facility. The heads of the Project are looking for personnel in the early forties. It’s a secret, of course. They plant fake advertisements in major newspapers and conduct an intensive screening process until they find candidates who match their criteria. They like people who don’t have strong family ties, who will make analytical choices instead of emotional ones. It takes months for the Project to weed out people, but we know you’ll be able to pass their tests. You can apply for an assistant position. It’ll give you close access to the head scientist, Dr. Faust. Then you’ll have to kill him before he discovers how to employ Tesla’s research to create the first TM. You’ll also have to destroy his notes and research, but that shouldn’t be too hard; apparently he’s always been suspicious, and only has the originals. There’s a picture of him in there.”
“I know who he is. I’ve met him before.” Faust’s face, his thin brown hair, flashes through my head. He becomes responsible for so much destruction, but can I really murder him in cold blood?
“The folder also has backup plans in case you end up in the wrong time.”
“The wrong time? What does that mean?”
He lifts one shoulder. “I’ve never been able to get the same accuracy out of the TM that the Project does. It’s better than it used to be. When I first went through, I was two years earlier than what I’d intended. But don’t worry. We’ve thought of every scenario and offer solutions in here. Do you want to see?”
He holds the folder out.
I take it from his grasp. It is a thick file, and I open it to see a blueprint of the Facility on top. Underneath is a blurry photo of Faust, standing in the woods of Camp Hero. Below are pages and pages of notes. LJ must have gone through time over and over to pull together all this information.
> “A lot of it will be old hat to you,” he says. “But I hope some of it will be helpful.”
“No, this is great. Thorough.”
He lets out a slow breath. “So you want to help us?”
“Yes.” I shut it again, weighing the thick folder in my hands. “The Project has to be stopped.”
A few minutes later I walk into the TM chamber wearing the pink dress, the folder tucked under the cotton fabric, taped against my back to keep it in place. LJ is already seated at the desk, Tag and Nikki standing next to him.
Their son, Chris, is across the room, standing next to a large wheel that’s attached to a generator. At LJ’s signal he pulls at the round metal, his biceps tightening under the strain. A humming, grinding noise fills the room, echoing off the high ceilings and empty spaces.
LJ taps a few buttons on his keyboard while Chris spins and spins the wheel of the generator. The base of the TM starts to flicker. He is powering it slowly, and the large machine responds, thin light traveling up the sides and streaming out of the cracks in the sheets of metal. In a few seconds it is lit up from within, as if it is glowing, as if it is alive on its own.
“Where will it send me?” I ask LJ. Without another TM to catch my body as I hurtle through space and time, I will emerge from the wormhole as soon as I meet a solid surface.
“I’ve programmed you for the woods in Camp Hero. Montauk will use the natural magnetic forces there to pull your body to it. You should land harmlessly in the woods, right where Dr. Faust will eventually create his time machine.”
The generator hums, and now the TM has added to the sound, a low, constant buzz that vibrates through my body, my bones. I have heard that noise so many times, and it’s hard not to shudder as it calls out for me.
Nikki steps over to where I’m standing near the doorway. Her arms close around mine again. “Thank you for doing this.”
I allow myself to press against her for just a minute, to feel the comfort of her arms. But I need to stay focused in order to get through this, and I step away quickly.
LJ straightens from behind the desk. “It’s time.”
I open my mouth to respond but I’m cut off by the shriek of a loud siren. It sounds like an old-fashioned fire truck, dipping down then louder again. I cover my ears with my hands, but cannot block out the noise.
“The alarm. Someone’s breached the perimeter.” Jay rushes back to the computer. His fingers move so quickly they blur as he jabs at the keys. “There’s a break near the southwest corridor.”
“The Project,” Nikki whispers, her hands pressed to her face. “They’ve found us.”
“I’m on it.” Tag moves toward the door, pausing at the last minute to look at me over his shoulder. “Good luck, Lydia.”
“Wait.” I put my hand out to stop him. “I know you won’t remember this, once the time line changes, but take care of Wes for me.”
“I will.” His wide mouth is set in a grim line. “I promise.”
I do not watch him leave, just stride across the room to the TM the resistance created. I pry open the makeshift pieces of metal that have been tacked together to create a door. The light inside is impossibly bright, and I blink, my eyes tearing as I enter the machine. I turn to pull the heavy door shut. Nikki and Chris are already gone, and only LJ remains, tapping on the keyboard, his eyes darting toward the hallway and the shrieking alarm. On the monitor in front of him I see a pulsing red dot on a black screen map. It is moving rapidly to the right.
I hesitate before closing myself into the TM. When I do this, everything changes. I will never see my parents, or Wes, or my grandfather again. My memories will be all I have, and over time, they will fade until I will be left wondering if they ever happened at all.
But I will not let the Project steal any more lives, especially from those I love, and so I pull the door closed, the metal slowly grinding as it shuts. Light is all around me, throbbing, shifting, so hot that my skin burns against the fabric of my dress. I can only hear the faint sound of the alarm outside, the TM buzzing louder and louder, a constant drone that rattles through my body. I sink down to my knees, pressing my hands to my ears again. The light around me starts to change colors, first red, then blue, then green. I tilt my head back to see that the ceiling has disappeared. In its place is smoke and sparks, a churning mass. As my body slowly melts away I hear a noise, an echo, a flickering sound.
“Lydia!” it screams. At least I think it does. Or maybe I just imagine it in that final moment before I am torn apart, before I am gone.
Chapter 17
I come to on the floor, feeling metal beneath me, not dirt. This can’t be right. I’m supposed to be in the woods.
I crawl to my feet, touching those familiar smooth walls, the manual control panel built into the side. My fingers shake against the still warm metal. I’m in another TM.
The door slides open. A man in a white lab coat is standing there, his light hair slicked to one side, his pale eyes wide behind thick, black-rimmed glasses.
“You’re not one of our s-subjects,” he stammers.
I straighten fully, ignoring the way my back spasms, my arms tremble, the lingering effects of the TM tearing through my body. “What’s the date?”
“W-what?”
“The date. What is it?”
“May fourth, nineteen forty-five.”
My stomach dips as though I’m standing on the edge of a cliff looking down and knowing I have to jump. Two years late.
“You’re n-not supposed to be here.”
“No. I’m not.”
He opens his mouth to scream for help and I launch myself out of the TM, kicking him directly in the jaw. His head snaps to the side and he starts to drop, but I grab his body before he can fall and lower him gently down. He’s still breathing, his chest rising and falling with the steady movement, but his mouth is sagging, his eyes closed tight. I only have a few minutes at best before he wakes up.
I drag his body under one of the large desks that run along the side of the wall and set him on the dusty ground. He is wearing spotless wingtip shoes, and I pull them off, followed by his white cotton socks. I tie them together to create a gag. There are wires under the desk connecting to the consuls above and I rip out two long pieces and use them to bind his hands, then feet together. As soon as someone finds him, they will know there was a breach in security, but there are fewer personnel in the Facility in 1945. I just have to pray no one was watching us from the two-way mirror on the other side of the room.
I wait for one minute, then two. No one comes. I glance at the now-silent TM. It is connected to a large computer system that sits on the desk above me. There are no digital screens against the back wall, no slick tiled floors. It is a simple room, a deceptively simple machine.
Maybe I should try and travel through the TM again, hoping I can reach 1943. But this machine is so new that the metal base still gleams, and the glass top that stretches to the ceiling is barely clouded. The TM wasn’t always accurate before 1950—Faust and his team were still perfecting the machine, and the time travel serum I have in my body hadn’t been invented yet.
I think of LJ’s file, with plans for every scenario, pressed tight against my back. The most important thing is that I stop the Project. It’s still possible in 1945, just more difficult.
It’s too dangerous to stay in the Facility while I decide how to adjust the plan. And now that I’m in 1945 there are a few people I need to see again.
I slowly inch out from under the desk, pressing my body to the side of the wall as I move toward the exit. Thank God there are no surveillance cameras in the forties.
I open the door a crack. The hallway is empty, so I slide into it and run, half hunched over, my eyes, my ears, everything on alert. The walls and floors are as white as I remember—freshly painted, lit with the fluorescent bulbs that Tesla invented, too.
I turn a corner and hear voices coming from up ahead. There’s nowhere to hide here, but the door to my rig
ht is unlocked. In 1989, it leads to a storage area, so I quickly slip inside.
The small, shadowy room overflows with towels and cleaning products. The smell of bleach is strong, and I wrinkle my nose as I turn back to face the door. My foot hits a discarded bucket and it slides across the floor. I lunge for it. I can’t get caught down here. It’s bad enough that blond scientist saw my face, and I can only pray that the kick to his head will disorient him enough to forget.
My palms are slick with sweat, but I wipe them on the fabric of my dress, forcing myself to relax. I am not the same girl I was when I first traveled through the TM. I know this Facility inside and out. I have studied it, walked these hallways as a recruit, and trained in the gyms on the lower levels. I know mixed martial arts and how to kill someone thirty ways without a weapon. I refuse to be scared of what’s out in those hallways.
The footsteps are coming closer. I lean forward and press my ear to the door.
“I’ll bring the samples to your office,” a male voice says.
“What are the effects of the new formula?” I recognize the faint Eastern European accent. Dr. Faust.
“Inconclusive, but I think it will ultimately be rejected. It’s not helping them travel any easier.”
Formula. Traveling. I wonder if they’re talking about the polypenamaether. Is Dr. Faust in the process of inventing the serum?
I move closer to the door. I can only see a sliver of the hallway, but I make out Faust, with his slightly heavy frame, his broad shoulders and thinning brown hair, newly laced with white strands, even though I last saw him only a year ago.
Find Me Where the Water Ends (So Close to You) Page 15
