“Go, Lydia. If I don’t—” He stops, swallows. “You still have your family here. This is your only chance.”
“I can’t leave you. It’s not enough time. You’d die.” My voice is as jagged as the broken glass, and suddenly I am on that field again, watching the blood fall from his shoulder and thigh, abandoning him when he needed me most.
“Go!” He shouts the word, his hands balled into fists at his sides. “Let me set the bombs. Let me know you’re safe.”
Another crash. Glass trickles down. The hole is getting larger, and I can hear the guards now, yelling in the opposite room.
“I’ll set the bombs. You leave.” I don’t know how he hears me over the falling glass, but he does, and then he’s right in front of me, his hands clasped around my upper arms.
“We’ll both leave. We’ll abandon the mission. We can find another way.”
“No. We can’t.” My voice is hard, unyielding. “You know we won’t get another chance to stop the Project. We have to do it now.” I reach up to cover his hand with mine. “We’ll both stay. Thirty seconds, right? We can make it, I know we can.”
His eyes scan my face and he opens his mouth to respond, but then a louder crash echoes through the room, and we turn our heads to watch a large chunk of the mirror fall, splintering into pieces when it hits the floor. The guards can’t get through, but they see us now, and one raises a gun.
“Okay,” he says.
“Okay.” I try to smile at him. Thirty seconds is a suicide mission and we both know it. But I would rather die here with Wes than know that I’d left him here to die alone.
“You pull the chair away from the door,” he says quickly. “There’s a lighter in my bag. I’ll set the fuses and then we run.”
“Got it.” I take my hand away from his so he won’t feel me shaking.
Wes steps away to light the fuses and I pull the last piece of furniture away and put my hand on the doorknob. Bullets fly into the room, but the angle is bad and can’t reach us. I hear the shots ricocheting off the TM, see the tile floor cracking and breaking.
“Now,” Wes says from behind me.
I rip the door open. The hallway is empty, the guards all in the room with the two-way mirror. But they see me open the door and I hear shouting as they order some men into the hallway after us.
“Hurry!” I yell at Wes. I step into the empty corridor and turn back to make sure he’s following me.
He is standing in front of the doorway. Behind him, I see that the fuses haven’t been lit yet, the bombs lying quietly in front of the TM.
“What—?”
“I love you,” he says, his eyes wet and locked on mine.
“No,” I whisper as I realize what’s happening—and then he shuts the door in my face.
“Wes!” I throw my body at the door, but it will not budge. “No! Wes!” I pound on the warped metal. My arm throbs and the wound starts to bleed again. I slump forward.
“She’s there!” a man’s voice shouts from down the hallway. I keep my hands pressed to the door.
“Please,” I whisper into the metal, tasting copper and salt. “Don’t do this. Wes. Open the door.”
The guards are running toward me. I hear their footsteps getting louder. But then the first blast erupts in the TM chamber, flinging me away from the door. I hit the opposite wall and sink onto my knees. My ears are ringing, a sharp noise that will not fade. “Wes.” I crawl forward, but the second blast blows the door off, and I see into the room beyond: fire and ash and debris. The TM is destroyed, a hollow burning chunk of metal, and the ceiling melts down around it, the flames so hot they make my face burn. There is no way Tesla’s papers survived in this room. There’s no way anything could have survived. “Wes!” I scream his name.
The guards who were after me sprint past, but one slows, grabs my arm, and pulls me to my feet. I fight against him, trying to run back into the room, but he tugs me forward. “The ceiling!” he shouts. I look up. The tiles in the hallway are starting to crumble, the dust floating down to coat our hair. “We have to get outside!”
He pulls me to the end of the hallway. I wonder why he’s helping me now, when moments ago he thought I was the enemy. I push his arm off, trying to get back to the chamber, to Wes. But then the third and final blast goes off, and I watch the hallway fill with flames.
“There’s nothing left!” the guard yells, and he yanks me forward. I stumble after him. He’s right. There’s nothing left.
Outside is chaos: soldiers and shouting and trucks and smoke. I see Dr. Bentley in the crowd and he runs for me. “Lydia.” He wraps his hands around my shoulders. I know he is jarring my elbow, but I can’t feel the pain anymore, not with my heart broken open and bleeding like this. “What are you doing here? Are you okay? What happened to your arm?”
“Wes. Wes. Wes.” His name is a mantra. “He was inside. He’s—he was—the fire—I think he’s—” I fall to the ground near the door of the bunker the guard just dragged me out of. It was the same one I traveled through the very first time I wandered into the Facility.
Dr. Bentley crouches down next to me, his face lined and tired. “Are you saying Wes was in there? The whole ground caved in. I think there was some kind of underground explosion. The army base is trying to rescue people now. If Wes is still alive, we’ll find him.”
But they won’t find Wes. I was in front of the exit. The only other way out was through the two-way mirror, filled with guards who wanted to kill him.
Wes is gone. After everything we went through, it’s over. Just like that.
“Lydia?” Dr. Bentley shakes my arm. “You look like you’re going into shock.” All I want is to curl up in a ball like my grandfather did in his cell, rocking back and forth and trying to forget what just happened. But I can’t. I won’t let Wes’s sacrifice be for nothing. We came here to stop the Project, and it’s not over yet.
“The children.” I lift my face, tear-stained and covered in soot, to look up at Dr. Bentley. “We have to get the children out.”
“What are you talking about, Lydia?” he asks. “Let me fix your arm.”
“The navy. Call the navy and ask for help. Not the army. I don’t know how much they know. We have to get people in there before they cover everything up.”
“Lydia—”
“Just do it!” I scream. A few more soldiers in black tumble out of the bunker. One is clutching his shoulder, another has blood dripping from his forehead. They melt into the crowd, ignoring the doctors who hover around them.
Dr. Bentley releases my arm and stands up again, his face creased with worry. “Please, Lydia, let me look at your arm, and then I’ll do what you want.”
“No.” I force myself to stand too. My legs feel like water, but I have to do this for Wes. There will be time to fall apart later. “If I stop now I won’t start again. My arm can wait. We have to save the children.”
I go with Dr. Bentley while he radios the naval base. The blue jeeps arrive in ten minutes, bringing dozens of soldiers. A fire truck emerges from the trees, cutting a path through the dense woods. Men climb down off it, dressed in thick suits, carrying a large hose. They disappear into the smoke.
Dr. Bentley and the other doctors organize a makeshift hospital near the edge of the woods, and I help them set up cots and lay out sterile bandages, though most of the Project’s guards and soldiers dissolve into the crowd instead of visit. A few scientists sit on the ground nearby, coughing and pressing their hands to their foreheads. I see Dr. Bentley eyeing my arm, my face, the low, defeated set of my shoulders, with concern. But I ignore him. Wes is gone, and I do not have the time to stop and think about it. I don’t want to think. I want to keep going, to never stop, to never acknowledge what happened in that room filled with flames, the TM as gnarled and broken as Wes’s body must be.
The sky has turned hazy from the smoke that seeps out of the ground in black waves. The Facility is large, and these explosions have only wiped out the TM chamber.
There are still so many corridors down there, crawling with scientists and soldiers.
Some of the soldiers from the navy follow the firemen down into the smoking bunker. But they need to find the children, and I’m the only one who knows how to get there. I approach a group of soldiers and say, “I know another way in. We have to hurry.”
One of the soldiers looks at me skeptically. “You’re just a girl. And you’re hurt.”
“I said, I know another way in. There are children in there, and they need our help. Follow me.” My voice is stern enough, cutting enough that a few of them exchange glances. An officer steps forward, his expression dark.
“Show us where,” he says.
I lead them to one of the nearby bunkers. It is deeper in the woods, more hidden in the trees, but the concrete doors are wide-open. When we get closer, I see that the secret door in the back is open too, left askew as soldiers and scientists fought to escape the blasts.
“It’s down there.” I point into the darkness. “Follow the corridor, then take a right, a left, a right—”
The officer holds up his hands. “You said you were going to show us, and that there’s not much time. We’ll follow you. Lead the way.”
I hesitate at the top of the stairs. Wes died down there, and now I have to go in again, smelling smoke on top of the bleach and the battery acid. But I can’t give up now, not when the children are still inside.
I lead the navy men down the dark staircase, ignoring their gasps as they see the white corridors for the first time. It is darker than normal down here, the black smoke thick, but I do not falter, keeping my head low as I bring them directly to where the children are kept. A few guards from the Facility run past, ignoring us as they speed toward the exits.
The firemen have already found the room, thankfully, and they are carrying the children out one by one. A tall man passes me, and the girl in his arms blinks as our eyes meet. Her head is shaved, her arms are limp, but her mouth is curved up the smallest bit, making me think she’s not completely lost.
Wes was like her once, though no one ever came to save him. I shove the thought away. Being in the Facility is like being inside his tomb.
The navy men are silent and grim as they wade into the group of children. They each carefully pick up a child. Only about ten remain in this large room, and already more firemen are coming back for them. These small recruits are like dolls, expressionless as they are lifted into different arms.
I lead the soldiers out again, knowing that I do not have the strength to carry one of the kids. I barely have the strength to carry myself, but I will keep going until this is over.
Outside I take a long, slow breath. The soldiers and kids around me are coughing in the fresh air. We were being suffocated by smoke in there, but I didn’t even notice.
I follow the soldiers back to the nearby bunker where everyone else is gathered. The crowd is thicker, and I see a few women scattered here and there. Some are nurses, some are women who live near Camp Hero. It means word of what happened today is spreading, making a cover-up almost impossible.
We have exposed the Montauk Project and saved the recruits. I am no longer beholden to the Project, not because they’ve stolen my grandfather, and not because of the destiny that the future Lydia laid out for me. I’m free.
The cost of that freedom was Wes. He sacrificed himself so that I could have the life I wanted. But he was always supposed to be a part of my future, and I do not yet know how to believe that he is gone.
The smoke is still trickling out of the bunker, though it’s thinner now and more gray than black. Another fireman emerges, a child in his arms. I wonder if they are finding the labs, or any proof that this underground Facility was run by the government.
I can’t stay still for much longer or I will start to think about what happened to Wes. I turn toward where Dr. Bentley is tending to the children, but something makes me stop.
A soldier comes out of the smoking door of the bunker, his dark hair plastered to his forehead, his skin covered in black dust. He is bleeding from his cheek, from his shoulder, but I watch the way he moves, even graceful when he stumbles on the wet grass.
“Oh God,” I whisper, and then I am running, pushing soldiers and doctors out of the way.
“Wes.” I scream, I whimper, and I throw myself at him, my body slamming hard against his. He takes a step back, his arms folding around my waist.
I feel my legs give out, but he pulls me up against him. He is an anchor, holding me in place.
“I hate you.” I say the words into the skin of his neck, tasting ashes and Wes. “I hate you so much.”
“I know.” His voice is like sandpaper.
“I thought you were dead. I thought I’d never see you again.”
“I’m sorry.” He winces as I squeeze him tighter, and I know I should loosen my hold, but I can’t.
“I love you,” I whisper. “I love you so much.”
He lays his hand on my hair, heavy and strong. “I know.”
The Project is destroyed and he is alive. The nightmare we’ve lived is over. We’re together now. Nothing else matters as he pulls me closer to him in the sunlight.
Epilogue
Mary slumps down onto the bed, her white dress falling around her like deflated meringue. “I just can’t believe Suze isn’t here. How could Mick choose today to come back from the war? It was supposed to be next week!”
I pick up the veil she flung onto the floor only a minute ago. “I don’t think he had much of a choice.”
“Oh, applesauce. Stop being so cheerful, Lydia. My life is ruined.” She throws herself back against the pink bedspread.
I laugh. “Your life is not ruined, but your hair might be if you don’t sit up.”
She pops up again, smoothing the soft curls that frame her face. Suddenly her back goes straight and she smiles. “Why don’t you be my bridesmaid? I thought about asking you in the first place, but Suze has been my oldest friend for forever and it just didn’t seem fair to her, what with you getting back into town only a month ago. And Suze seems a little jealous of you since we both have red hair and everyone says we’re like sisters, but this is perfect! Wes is already Lucas’s groomsman and the four of us will be a little wedding party up there at the altar. What do you say?” She clasps her hands together as though she’s praying. “Say yes, please, please, please.”
“Yes!” I say. “Of course I’ll do it.”
“You’re the best, Lyd, the absolute best. And you look like such a Grable today, no one will even notice me.”
“Now you’re just lying.”
She smirks and hops up from the bed. Her dress is a long, fitted flow of white satin, with princess sleeves and a sweetheart neckline.
“Sit down.” I point at the chair in front of her vanity. “I’ll put your veil on.”
She does, smiling at me, her lips red against her powdered face. I arrange the crown of white flowers in her hair, the lace veil spilling out the back and over her pale shoulders. “There. You’re all set.”
Our eyes meet in the mirror. “Remember how I did your hair when you first came to stay with us?” she asks. “You wouldn’t sit still and you had the strangest long bangs. It’s so much prettier now.”
I touch the curls that rest against my shoulders. One afternoon a few weeks ago, Mary insisted that I let her cut it, saying that she refused to look at it anymore.
“And I’m so glad you let me take you into town to buy your dress. That blue is divine against your skin.”
I smile. She would like this dress—she picked it out, insisting that the column of blue silk with the fitted bodice would be perfect for her wedding. I stare at myself in the mirror over her head. I’m starting to lose the defined muscles from the constant training, and the hard angles of my face are softening. I look like myself again. Like Lydia, instead of Seventeen.
Mary reaches her hand up and clutches mine where it rests against her shoulder. “Do you think I’m doing t
he right thing? Even though I don’t want to go to Georgia?”
I bend down until our faces are close together, looking back at us in the mirror. We really do resemble sisters, with the same green eyes, the high cheekbones, and full lips. “You are absolutely doing the right thing. Lucas even told Wes that he’s happy to leave the farm to his brother-in-law. He says he has no interest in smelling like cows for the rest of his life. Besides, he loves you and you love him.”
She squeezes my hand. “I want us to be like you and Wes. You make me believe that I can forget . . . that I can just be with Lucas without any other darkness.”
“There’s always a little darkness,” I tell her. “But Dean would want you to be happy anyway.”
At the mention of Dean, her eyes fill with tears and she looks away. “Oh, I’m being so silly.” She grabs a handkerchief off the vanity and blots at her face. “It hasn’t even started and I’m already crying.”
“Cry all you want. We can always redo your makeup.”
She gets up from her seat and turns to face me. “That’s why I like you, Lydia. You’re unbelievably practical.”
I laugh. “Not really.”
“You are! You’ve only been here a month and you already got Wes to put in indoor plumbing.”
“That’s because I refused to live in a place without running water. He was just scared I would leave him.”
She picks up her bouquet of wildflowers from the bed and links our arms together. My left arm is still in a cast, though Dr. Bentley says I won’t have to keep it on for much longer.
He didn’t ask me why I was there in the woods until a few days later, after the rescued children were adopted or placed in orphanages. I told him that Wes and I went out to the camp to see if the bomb testing was real, then saw that the bunker door was open, and realized there was some kind of secret facility underground. While we were exploring, the bombs went off. I’m not sure he believed me, but he let it go. By then the papers were reporting that several civilians had built an underground hideout and were kidnapping children for nefarious purposes. According to the papers, the police never found any evidence that the facility was connected to the government, and I know the labs were all destroyed before they reached them. No one was even arrested; police claimed that the culprits must have disappeared in the confusion and the smoke. Only the children and three dead bodies remained—unidentified soldiers who were too close to the explosion.
Find Me Where the Water Ends (So Close to You) Page 23
