Stolen Time Read online

  Fort Hunter’s security was incredibly tight back when the complex was operational, but according to this, they dropped to a skeleton crew between 0200 and 0600 hours. Their east wing was dedicated exclusively to the kind of work I’ll need access to.

  And someone managed to successfully break into the complex on the morning of March 17, 1980.

  It all fits.

  I have to go back. I have to do this. If I’m right, I still might have a chance to fix everything.

  The state of the world may hang in the balance.

  I only hope I’m not too late.

  17

  Dorothy

  OCTOBER 14, 2077, NEW SEATTLE

  It was the handwriting that left Dorothy feeling uneasy. In earlier entries, the Professor’s printing had been perfectly neat and uniform, like he’d used a ruler to get it just right.

  But this was shaky, like he’d written it very quickly. It was smudged, too, although that was probably because it’d gotten wet.

  “Oh my God.” Zora covered her mouth with her hands. “Fort Hunter . . . I—I remember that book. We used to keep it on our coffee table, but I haven’t seen it since he left.”

  “Do you think he took it with him?” Ash asked.

  “He must’ve.” Zora’s eyes went unfocused, thinking. “If Fort Hunter is the place I’m thinking of, it’s this military base hidden inside a hollowed-out mountain.” She picked up the journal and started flipping through the pages. “There was top-secret research being conducted there, but I don’t know exactly what it was.”

  “That’s sort of the point of something being top secret, isn’t it?” Chandra said, but Zora didn’t seem to hear her.

  “Nuclear bombs, maybe?” Zora flipped through the book, stopping every few moments to squint at her father’s smudged writing, or peel two wet pages apart. “He must write something else . . .”

  She paused for a moment, lips moving as she read. Frowning, she turned to an earlier page and then slowly shook her head. “There are only a few entries from after the mega-quake, and they’re mostly about Roman. This last one looks like the only place where he mentions anything about going back to Fort Hunter and this terrible thing he discovered. Damn it! Why wouldn’t he just say why it was so important for him to go back?”

  “There’s another way to find out,” Ash said.

  Zora looked up, her eyes darkening. “Ash . . .”

  “Zora, think about it. We know he’s at Fort Hunter. He wrote down the exact date he wanted to go back to, the exact time. We could find him. We could bring him home.”

  “You of all people should know it won’t be that easy,” said Zora.

  Dorothy pressed her lips together. Ash and Zora continued to argue, but she wasn’t really listening. Her eyes flicked to the Professor’s journal.

  1980, the entry had read. Almost a hundred years in the past, but still the future, at least as far as she was concerned. It was dizzying to think about.

  She leaned toward Chandra and asked, her voice low. “Do you know what the 1980s were like?”

  Chandra’s eyes lit up. “Oh, they were awesome. So many Molly Ringwald movies, and the fashion—” She shook her head, whistling through her teeth.

  “Was the world”—Dorothy nodded toward the window—“like this? Flooded?”

  “Um . . .” The skin between Chandra’s eyebrows creased. “No, it wasn’t. I think the eighties were pretty cool, natural disaster–wise. But most of what I know about that time period comes from watching old episodes of this show Dallas, which was so good, by the way. It was about these two feuding oil companies, and their kids are, like, in love? Sort of like Romeo and Juliet. And—”

  “But were there any wars? Or gangs like the Black Cirkus? Or . . .” Dorothy trailed off, her mind going blank. She knew there were other, smarter questions she should be asking, but none came to mind. “Did women ever get the right to vote?”

  “You’re asking a lot of questions,” Ash cut in, studying her.

  Dorothy started. She hadn’t realized he and Zora had stopped arguing.

  “I’m curious,” she said.

  “Why?”

  Dorothy wasn’t sure how to answer. Ash had told her she wouldn’t like this drowned world of his, but he’d been wrong. She found it fascinating.

  Still, she didn’t think she wanted to stay here, not when she knew there were other places, other time periods to explore. She felt the same thrill of adventure she’d felt back in the clearing outside the church, when she’d first glimpsed Ash’s airplane. More.

  Time travel meant there were endless options, each filled with their own wonderful, terrible things.

  Her heart thrummed inside her chest. She wanted to see them all.

  “I have my reasons,” she said finally.

  Ash held her gaze for a long moment. There was something unfamiliar in his expression: confusion, maybe, or concern. It softened the hard lines of his face and made him look very young.

  Young, Dorothy thought, but still like himself. Ash didn’t seem capable of looking like anyone other than himself. In her mind, Dorothy pictured her own face reflecting back at her from the church mirror. That perfectly pinned hair, those painted lips. She felt a sudden, inexplicable twist of anger. That face had belonged to a stranger.

  There was a part of Dorothy that felt like she could leave that girl—that face—behind, if only she kept running.

  But these weren’t thoughts she could put into words, so she didn’t try.

  Instead, she sat up straighter, looking Ash in the eye. “I’ve decided on my favor.”

  His eyebrows went up. “Already?”

  “I want to go with you.” She nodded at the Professor’s journal. “I want you to take me back in time, to 1980.”

  18

  Ash

  Ash wasn’t sure he’d heard her correctly. “What?”

  “I said that I want to come with you.” Dorothy spoke slowly, enunciating each word. “To 1980.” And then, as if it had just occurred to her, she added, “Please.”

  He sputtered, “Why?”

  She looked at him like she thought this was an odd question. “That’s my concern.”

  Ash studied her, at a loss. In the short time she’d been here, she hadn’t once asked to be returned to her own time. She hadn’t mentioned a family or friends or the man who’d surely been waiting for her back at the church she’d snuck out of. Did she really have so little to lose?

  Or was there something else? Something she was running from?

  “Excuse me,” Zora cut in. “But none of us are going back to 1980.”

  “I’m afraid I’m likely to side with Zora on this,” Willis said, as he set his empty mug back on the counter. “The Professor has the means to come back to 2077 on his own, if he should so wish. He has the better time machine and a larger store of EM. Why would we force him to return if he doesn’t want to?” He nodded at the journal. “It sounds like he had reasons for going to 1980.”

  “Are you freaking kidding me?” Chandra said, rounding on him. “He’s the one who took us from our homes and time periods in the first place!”

  Willis frowned. “He gave us a choice, Chandie.”

  “Yeah, a choice between living in our lame old time periods and exploring all the mysteries of the past and future in his time machine.” She made a noise in the back of her throat and motioned to the room around them. “Does this look like a time machine? Or does it look like a damp, boring room in the middle of nowhere?”

  Willis straightened to his full height, the top of his head nearly brushing the ceiling. “Do you want to go back?”

  Chandra scoffed. “That’s not what I said!”

  “After what happened, I would expect—”

  “Stop,” said Zora. Her voice was low, but Chandra and Willis stopped arguing at once.

  Zora turned to Ash. “Can I speak to you in the hall, please?”

  “Wait, what?” Chandra asked, annoyance leaping across her fa
ce. “Willis and I are part of the Chronology Protection Agency, too. Or did you forget?”

  Willis didn’t say anything but crossed his arms over his chest, looking menacing.

  “And there’s the small matter of my favor,” Dorothy added. Ash was annoyed to see that she, at least, seemed delighted by this turn of events. She was watching their argument with interest, a smile curling her lips.

  “This decision involves all of us,” Chandra said. “We should discuss it together.”

  “There’s no decision,” Ash cut in. “The Second Star is my ship, and I’m going—”

  “Give us a second.” Zora grabbed Ash by the elbow and steered him into the hallway outside the kitchen. She pushed the door closed with her hip and spat, “What are you doing?”

  Ash yanked his arm free but didn’t step away. “What do you mean, what am I doing? You knew I’d want to go back for him.”

  “Yes, and if you were just risking your own life that would be fine—”

  “That would be fine?” Ash felt his eyebrows shoot up his forehead. “I seem to recall many, many arguments with you that would indicate the contrary.”

  Zora pointed at the closed door. “They don’t understand the risks of traveling through an anil with so little EM. I don’t think you even understand the risks.” She began ticking items off on her fingers. “We’re talking skin being pulled from bones, eyeballs liquefying—”

  “Yeah? And what about the risks of staying behind?” Ash drew closer to Zora and tapped the cover of the Professor’s journal with one finger. “You read the same entry I did. I don’t know about you, but I take phrases like ‘the state of the world may hang in the balance’ pretty damn seriously.”

  Zora opened her mouth. Closed it again.

  “We always wondered why he didn’t leave a note. What if this was his note? What if we were always meant to find the journal, but Roman just got to it first?”

  Zora pressed her lips together. Ash knew she was replaying that last day with her father. Mining each word and gesture for hidden clues. Wondering.

  Ash had spent two years talking Zora into doing things she didn’t want to do, and he knew when he was winning. He lowered his hand to her shoulder, going in for the kill. “What if he needs us to come back for him? What if he’s stuck somewhere, if that’s the reason he never came home?”

  Her eyes flicked back to his, flashing something painful. She said, in a small voice, “I can’t lose anyone else. If something happened to you, or Willis or Chandra . . .”

  “You keep saying that, but if I don’t do this, I’ll die for sure.”

  He saw it clearly. Black trees. White hair. A kiss, a knife . . .

  Zora curled her hand over Ash’s and left it there, the only sign she gave that she was bothered by this conversation. He wondered if she were picturing it, too.

  And then, behind them, a small voice choked out, “What?”

  Ash jerked around. The door to the kitchen was open a crack and, through it, he could see a sliver of Chandra’s face, her eyes monstrous behind her glasses.

  “You’re going to die?” she said.

  The door opened wider, and Willis appeared, mirage-like, from the shadows behind the door. He said nothing but kept his eyes fixed on Ash’s face, frowning.

  “Why didn’t you tell us?” Chandra looked at Willis, like she was worried she might be the only one left out of this secret. “What’s going to happen? Oh my God, will one of us die, too?”

  “None of you are going to die,” Ash said, and, with that, he gave them a quick overview of the prememory, telling them about the boat and the knife, the water and the trees. Something inside of him tightened as he spoke.

  Now, he thought. Now was the time to tell them about the girl with the white hair. The kiss. Now was the time to admit to his friends that he was going to fall in love with his murderer.

  “And then . . . um, it ends. It just ends,” he finished, losing his nerve.

  Zora raised one eyebrow when she noticed the omission, but she said nothing.

  Ash wouldn’t have been able to explain, anyway. He didn’t want his friends to know how weak he was, how foolish.

  “And you think the Professor will be able to help you avoid this future?” Willis asked. “How?”

  “My father spent years studying time theory before the rest of you got here,” Zora explained. “I can’t say for sure that he can prevent the future from unfolding exactly as it did in Ash’s prememory, but I know that he performed extensive experiments on that exact subject. If there’s anyone in the world who can stop it, it’s him.”

  Ash’s eyes flicked up, meeting hers. He felt a cruel hope unfurling inside of him. Did this mean they were going?

  “So that’s it,” Chandra said, as though reading his mind. “We have to go back.”

  Willis smoothed the edge of his mustache with two fingers. He said, “The risk would be worth it, if it meant there was a chance that you would survive.” He nodded toward Ash. “I agree with Chandra. We have to go back.”

  “We don’t have to do anything,” Ash broke in. “I can go on my own. I can—”

  “Don’t be a fool,” Willis muttered, voice low.

  “He’s right,” Zora said. “Fort Hunter used to be one of the most secure places on the planet. Even if you were able to get inside on your own, you don’t know how long it would take you to find my father, or what state he’ll be in when you get to him.”

  Zora didn’t hesitate, but there was something in her eyes, and Ash knew she was going over the possibilities, imagining each and every terrible thing that could have happened to her father.

  “You’re going to need backup,” she continued, voice toneless. “And I think I’d feel better if we all stayed together. I couldn’t stand for another one of us to disappear without knowing what happened.”

  “If the building schematics were indeed outlined in this book the Professor refers to, I’m sure I’ll be able to locate them online,” Willis added. “I can use the dial-up connection to pull them up before we leave, help us find a direct route to this east wing area.”

  “My medical bag is already packed,” Chandra said. “I can be ready to go in five minutes.”

  “We don’t have to go right away,” Ash started.

  “But you don’t know when this prememory will occur, correct?” Willis cut in. “It could happen at any time?”

  “Technically, yes,” Ash said.

  “And you said they’ve been getting stronger. So chances are it’s coming soon?”

  Ash nodded.

  “So we should go now,” Chandra said. “Right?”

  Ash looked at Zora.

  Her eyes were wide and glistening, not crying but close, and the blood had drained from her lips, leaving them strangely pale. She wouldn’t look at him.

  “‘The state of the world may hang in the balance,’” she said, repeating the phrase from the journal. She scrubbed a hand over her mouth. “You’re right, it would be more dangerous to stay.”

  Ash’s heart was thudding. “We’re going?”

  She looked up, finally meeting his eyes. “We’re going.”

  19

  Dorothy

  OCTOBER 15, 2077, NEW SEATTLE

  Dorothy stepped into the Second Star, eyes wide as she dragged her fingers along the time machine’s dusty aluminum walls.

  The inside of this ship wasn’t what she’d expected. It was bigger, for one thing. The photographs she’d seen of airplanes had shown tiny, toylike contraptions with a single seat for the pilot. They’d looked unsafe and rickety, like a strong wind might blow them apart.

  But this aircraft—this time machine—was different. She looked around, at the leather chairs bolted to the floor, and at the strangely thick glass windows, and at the control panel affixed to the front of the ship, its buttons flashing red and green and blue. She itched to touch them but curled her hands into fists to help resist the urge.

  She’d only just managed to co
nvince these people to let her come with them. She didn’t want to give them a reason to throw her off.

  She lowered herself into one of the chairs as the others climbed on board, trying to keep the look of awe from her face. Belt-like straps dangled from the sides of the chair, and she gathered them in one hand, frowning. There were an awful lot of buckles.

  “It’s called a seat belt,” Willis said, and the aircraft groaned as he settled into the seat beside her. He demonstrated slipping his arms through the straps, buckling them over his chest, and then clipping them shut.

  Dorothy copied his movements. The buckles felt clumsy in her hands, and the straps were too big, but she was able to snap them closed after only a moment or two of struggle.

  “I tried to tie it around my chest my first time,” Willis explained. “And Chandra flat out refused to put it on.”

  Chandra was staring at Dorothy and didn’t seem to hear what Willis had just said. “Does your hair actually dry like that?” she asked, pushing her chunky glasses up her nose with one finger. “You don’t have to use any product or anything?”

  Dorothy frowned and touched one of her damp curls. “How else would it dry?”

  Ash climbed into the pilot’s seat before Chandra could answer, grunting as he pulled the door shut.

  “You’re sure you want to sit up front?” he asked Dorothy. “I just made some room in the cargo hold.”

  “Are you trying to be funny?” Dorothy asked, voice dry.

  “Or we could tie you to the windshield,” Ash continued, as though he didn’t hear her. “You could really feel the wind in your hair that way.”

  Turning to Willis, Dorothy said, “Is he always so insufferable?”

  “Ash has other virtues,” Willis said.

  “Such as?”

  “He’s a fair poker player,” Zora called from the passenger seat.

  The others laughed, but Dorothy shifted, restlessly, staring at the back of Ash’s sunburned neck. As much as she hated to admit it, he reminded her of someone, a boy she’d met nearly two years ago.