My father and Owen wait just inside, frozen by dozens of people who have stopped what they were doing to stare at the newcomers. I’m about to try getting through to Kuzneski one more time when I hear my small voice say, “Cassie?”
28
Cassie’s face transforms from confusion to recognition to unfettered delight upon seeing Owen. Here is her old friend, just as she remembers him, before he was lost to sorrow and hardened by the military. She shoves her way past the strangers between them and crouches down to place her hands on his face.
The moment must be strange for Owen. This Cassie is thirty years older than the one he is friends with, but he had no trouble recognizing her.
“There you are,” she says, looking in his eyes, seeing something in him that’s been missing in me. She kisses his forehead and pulls him into a hug.
Then she looks up and sees my father. As tears fill her eyes, she all but leaps into his arms, “Mr. McCoy!” Despite them being nearly the same age now, she still refers to him the way she did when we were children.
“You’ve grown up,” my father observes. To him, the reunion is different. He saw eleven-year-old Cassie just yesterday. I think he’s a little thrown by her affectionate response, but eventually he wraps his arms around her.
For him the reunion is a leap through time, for Cassie, and for me, it is a kind of resurrection.
When she finally sees me standing there, eyes wet, she slips away from my father and gives me a slow, gentle hug. I attempt to blink away tears as she cries into my chest. This isn’t just about my younger self’s appearance or my father’s return. She’s as relieved to see me alive as I am her.
This is my Cassie, I tell myself. The woman in the woods is her future. Was her future. Whatever brought her to that point, I’m going to stop it.
When we separate, it’s by inches, just enough to look each other in the eyes. Before she can speak or move any further, I lean down and place my lips against hers. It’s the most gentle and loving physical contact I’ve had with another person in all my life. We’re locked there for what feels like hours and we separate only when the silence around us hints that we are being watched—by everyone.
“What was that for?” Cassie whispers.
“Making up for lost time.”
“Yyyes!” Owen says with a pump of his fist.
After a good laugh, I say, “Apparently I’ve been waiting a long time to do that.”
“Too long,” she says.
And then the romantic moment comes to a sudden end. “I was wondering when you two would finally bone.”
Kuzneski. He’s left the security booth and entered the barracks full of people he’s holding prisoner? Then I realize that while his voice is the same, the tone is different. His smiling face is free of the scars I gave him, and his eyes are devoid of loathing. This is my Kuzneski, still dressed in his Synergy security uniform.
Despite the sour circumstances, he greets me with a smile and a firm handshake. “Holy turdballs, is it good to see you. Have you seen the shit going on around here? I mean, time travel? Shit. And my future self? What an asshat.”
Seeing him gives me hope that the rest of my people are alive and well. “Where are the others? Brown? Harper?”
His smile fades. “Dude…” A slow shake of his head tells me everything I need to know, but I can see there’s something more weighing on him.
“What is it? What happened?”
“It was like a cull, man.” Kuzneski steps closer, lowering his voice but not nearly enough to conceal his words from anyone around us, which is a lot of people. “Those robots. Fucking robots. They appeared out of nowhere. Like an army of them. And they just tore into people. But not everyone. It was like they had a kill list. They’d lock on to a target, pause for a second and then either blast them to bits or let them go. Far as I can tell, those of us who were spared have our future selves to thank.”
Like me, even Langdon must not know what would happen if your past self died. Would it create a paradox? Would you cease to exist? The safe bet, in their situation, was to gather up their past selves and lock them away for safe keeping. But that would mean…
“What about Langdon?”
Kuzneski hitches a thumb over his shoulder. “In the back room, talking to some guy dressed like he’s from the 1920s, but I’m telling you right now, he’s ex-military or something. Has the same kind of ‘I could rip your throat out with my pinkie toe’ look that you sometimes do.”
“You can do that?” Owen asks, eyes wide.
“No,” I tell him.
Kuzneski seems to notice my younger self for the first time. Gives him a double take.
“It’s me,” I say. “He’s me.”
“I’m him,” Owen says. “But younger, and still good looking.”
Kuzneski’s eyes widen. “Holy shit.” He looks at my dad. Sees the familiarity. Knows what it means. “Holy shit!” He’s smiling again. “Dude, you must be psyched. I mean, ho-ly-shit. Right?”
“Holy shit,” Owen says with a smile, and this time my father places a hand on his shoulder, prompting a quick apology. “Sorry.”
“I’m a bad influence,” Kuzneski says as an apology to my father. “It’s why I don’t have kids.”
“Or a girlfriend,” Cassie adds.
“Hey, until like ten seconds ago both of you were part of the solo master debating team, so—”
“What’s a master debater?” Owen asks. “Like someone who’s good at debating?” He looks at me. “I thought you were a soldier.”
“Oh, he likes to play with his gun—oww!” Cassie slugs Kuzneski in the shoulder. “Okay, okay, I’m just glad to see you guys.”
“Likewise,” I say. As much as he might be introducing my younger self to a bevy of new foul language, I appreciate the levity.
“You want to see the man in charge?” Kuzneski adds. “Not that he’s in charge. But you know what I mean. He’s the only one with any kind of sense about what’s happening.”
I scan the throng of people, looking for anyone who might be trouble or pose a threat. Most of them have been plucked out of various time periods, from the 1980s on back. They’re sitting on the hard linoleum floor of the twenty-foot-wide, thirty-foot-long space that has three dorm rooms, complete with three sets of bunk beds, on each side. Like the rest of the building, it’s a sterile and depressing place, reflected in the eyes of the folks watching me back.
Some of the people are Boone’s, all the fight taken out of them. The few people from the present I recognize are Synergy employees, though I don’t know their names or positions. But if they’re alive, it means their future selves are here, and allied with the sinister version of Langdon.
A group of Cherokee Indians are gathered in the corner, keeping to themselves, eyeing everyone else with suspicion, which makes sense. In their time, they’re being hunted and chased from their lands. And now they’re prisoners. What must be confusing for them is that they’re sharing this prison with mostly white people. Likewise, most of the people from various futures are keeping a watchful eye on the Indians, who have been stripped of their weapons like everyone else, but look far more capable of kicking some ass.
And it’s probably true.
But they’re no less afraid.
I decide to address them first. The best thing all these people can do to help our current situation, if there is any way to help it at all, is to work together.
“Give me a minute,” I say to my father and Cassie, and I head for the group of Cherokee.
They tense at my approach, but take no action. There are four men and three women, all in their late twenties and thirties I’d guess. Not quite elders of the tribe, but responsible adults, probably with children of their own to worry about. I squat down beside them and ask, “English?”
“Only the elders cannot speak your language,” a young man says. He’s full of spitfire despite his obvious fear.
“Do you know Inola?” I ask.
The man’s face lights up. “Where is she?” He looks around the room, desperate.
“Not here,” I tell him, “But she was safe the last time I saw her. She’s outside of this place, but—”
The man grips my arm. “Outside is not safe.”
“Because of the…” I can’t think of how to describe the robots. “Because of this place?”
He looks offended by the suggestion that it is Synergy he fears. He leans closer and whispers. “Tsul’Kalu.”
I nearly say, ‘Are you serious?’ but I manage to hold back. Who am I to throw water on their crazy beliefs while we’re several hundred years in the past. The world is full of unbelievable things. Instead, I nod and say, “I met Inola by his grave.”
He gives his head an exasperated shake. “I told her not to. And now he hunts again.”
“Because the grave is missing?”
The man seems to melt in fear. I’ve just confirmed his worries.
I take hold of his wrist, getting his full attention. “Who is Inola to you?”
“My sister,” he says.
“And your name is?”
“Waya.”
“Listen, Waya, I am your sister’s friend. We fought side by side. And I will do everything I can to reunite you with her. But for now, can you do something for me?”
He waits for my request in silence. I motion to my father and Owen. “That is my brother and his son, both of whom are also Inola’s friends.” Especially my father, I think. “Watch over them when I am not present. If you can do that for me, I will do everything in my power to protect your people, including Inola.”
He ponders the offer for a moment and then gives a half nod. It’s not the most enthusiastic agreement, but I’ll take it. I offer my hand and he takes it. After a firm shake, I say, “Thank you,” and I return to my group.
“Those are Inola’s people,” I tell my father. “The man I was talking to is her brother, Waya. He’s not the most personable guy, but stay with them and they’ll keep you both safe.” I tousle Owen’s hair with my hand.
“You know we hate that, right?” Owen says.
I smile down at him. “That’s why I did it.”
Then I turn to Cassie and Kuzneski. “Far as I’m concerned, all of these people are under our care. Doesn’t matter if dickhead versions of ourselves have hijacked our present, keeping these people safe is our job.”
Both nod in agreement.
I’m about to have Kuzneski lead us to my Langdon, when I’m struck by the realization that someone is missing. “Where’s Levi?”
Cassie frowns, and for a moment I fear the worst.
“We got separated when Boone’s people came for us. Last I saw him, he was headed downhill.”
From what I’ve seen, the farther he gets from the mountain, the safer he’ll be, but I still don’t know how far the time flux effect reaches. I’d hate for him to wander beyond its range and be stuck alone in the past.
“Not your fault,” I say before she can apologize. “The only way we can help him is to put a stop to all this.” I turn to Kuzneski. “Where is he?”
He motions to the rear-most bunkroom with his head and then leads the way. Most everyone in the room watches us go. Some, like people from the present, and Boone’s people, recognize me to some degree. Some of them might even fear me. The rest just seem to understand that I’m taking charge, though I can’t yet say if they resent or welcome my addition to Synergy’s temporal internment camp.
I open the door and step into the room unannounced. Despite the cramped conditions in the main hall and the adjoining dorm rooms, there are only two people here: Dr. Langdon…and Minuteman.
29
My emotional gut says to start throwing punches and wait until Minuteman regains consciousness to ask questions. But my logical mind keeps me rooted in the doorway. Minuteman’s presence irks me for a number of reasons, but at some point in the future, Cassie decided to trust him. To fight alongside him. At the very least, I’m going to find out why before slugging him.
When the room’s two occupants see me standing there, I’m surprised to see relief in their eyes, including Minuteman’s. Then there’s a flash of recognition, followed by disappointment. I’m not who they were hoping for.
“We don’t have time for your bullshit,” Minuteman says, his mood souring as I step further into the room.
I pull a chair out from under a desk, spin it around and take a seat. “Afraid I must insist.”
When Cassie enters behind me, Minuteman’s eyes light up again. Langdon stands to greet her. While my interactions with the boss have been positive, they’ve been few and far between. To hear Cassie tell it, she and Langdon have had a few long conversations about a mutual hobby—crocheting, of all things.
“Hey,” I whisper to Minuteman while Cassie greets Langdon. “That’s not her.”
“You saw her? The others?”
“Four of them,” I say, glancing at Cassie to make sure she’s still engaged. “They didn’t make it.”
“How?” The question comes out as an emotion-fueled grunt. He’s barely holding himself together at the news, which means he cares about his people.
“Mini-gun. Didn’t stand a chance.”
“You were there?”
“Nearby.”
“You see what we’re up against now?” he asks.
I give a nod. “You should have told me you were from the future. That my time wasn’t the first jump.”
“Didn’t know if I could trust you,” he says. “You’re a good company man, remember.”
I angle my head toward Langdon. “Hasn’t stopped you all from becoming pals.”
“He was part of the plan. You’re a wildcard.” He leans closer, speaking in low tones. “How would you have reacted if we’d just approached you after that first jump back in time?”
“Before or after my truck exploded?”
“That was for your own good.”
“You were trying to protect me?” I nearly laugh at the idea.
“Look…” He takes a moment to gather himself. “We need to stop measuring dicks, okay? You’re here, you look like you’re ready to do something stupid, and I’d rather we operate on the same team. So full disclosure.” He leans back and raises his voice. “Cards on the table time. For both of you.”
Cassie is a little thrown by her inclusion in the statement.
“How about all three of us,” Kuzneski says, closing the door.
Minuteman looks ready to argue, but gives in without a fight. He’s weary, and dressed in 1920s clothing not much better than rags, looking more than a little bedraggled.
“I’ll tell her,” I say, holding out a hand.
“Tell me what?” Cassie asks.
“What’s your real name?” I ask Minuteman.
I can tell he’s not accustomed to answering questions while being held prisoner. Like me, his training is to resist questioning, but he’s not being interrogated. I’m simply asking for his trust, as I’m sure he will soon do of me.
“David,” he says. “Sergeant David Flores, U.S. Army Ranger. Retired.”
He holds my gaze for a moment. Knows what that means to me. We’re both Special Forces, and while we never served together, there is an unspoken bond of having fought and bled for the same team. I don’t have to like him, but I will respect him for his service.
I turn back to Cassie. “Flores is from the future, which is where all this started. Our time was the second flux. It was his people who blew up my truck, to keep me out of the way—”
“And keep you alive,” Flores says.
His statement trips up my flow for a moment, but I press on, focusing on explaining to Cassie—and Kuzneski, who’s now leaning against the door, arms crossed. “He’s part of a team that came here to stop what’s happening, he says.”
“Screwed the pooch on that one,” Kuzneski mutters.
“I found the other four members of his team on the mountainside. All of them dead.”
>
The news deflates Langdon.
“I’m sorry about that,” Cassie says to Flores, and then to me, “But what does that have to do with—”
“You were one of them,” I tell her. “Your future self was here. Was part of his team.” When I look into Cassie’s stunned eyes, I see a flash of her dead-eyed stare, face covered in blood. “I thought…” I shake my head and sigh. “I thought it was you.”
“But it will be me?” Cassie asks. “How long from now?”
“Seven years,” I say. I turn to Minuteman for confirmation, and he nods.
“The odds against your fate repeating are astronomical,” Langdon says, taking hold of Cassie’s hand.
How can the instrument of all this pain and suffering be the kind man comforting my friend?
Death transforms the living. I know that first hand. Perhaps he is even more unprepared for it than I was at eleven?
“If the timeline continued on course, your future self would know to avoid the situation that led to your death. But…I do not think that will be an issue. With each leap back we’re tearing away layers of space-time, taking people and places, like lint on a piece of tape. Every stop picks up a little bit more…though not everything. But we’re not just lifting the lint away, we’re lifting a copy of it. Creating new timelines. New dimensions of reality.”
“Then what—” Kuzneski asks. “We’re not real?”
“As real as any dimension. We’re simply experiencing the moment of dimensional split in a way our senses can perceive. According to the many-worlds interpretation, every decision we make creates a myriad of alternate dimensions where we make different choices. The result is an infinite number of dimensions where anything is possible. For us, it’s more visceral, as we’re not just peeling away from our former lives, but also back in time, picking up more and more lint as we go. That is, if Mr. Flores’s description of what’s happening beyond these walls is accurate.”
Flux Page 17
