Stolen Time Read online

  Ash turned his attention to the far wall, the only wall made of plaster instead of rock. Four separate seals stared down at him:

  United States Northern Command

  Northern American Aerospace Defense Command

  Air Force Space Command

  Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency

  They were intimidating, all American flags and stoic eagles peering into the distance. They hung in a circle on the plaster, surrounding black block words that read: WELCOME TO FORT HUNTER COMPLEX.

  Ash felt the nerves hit his gut just then. He was a soldier going against his country. He was committing treason. If he were still in the army, he’d be court-martialed for this.

  It’ll be worth it, he told himself. It’ll be worth it if I get to live.

  The jeep rolled out of the gateroom and continued down a dark tunnel with pipes and tangled wires crawling over its curved walls. The sound of its engine echoed off the grimy brick as it slowed. The lights down there were smaller, and they did little to keep the dark at bay.

  Ash counted three security cameras before they finally rolled to a stop in front of a white station that looked like an oversize tollbooth. The soldier guarding the station ambled over to their jeep, gun at the ready.

  Ash held his breath. Here we go.

  The driver rolled down the truck window. The two soldiers looked identical, with close-cropped brown hair and cleanly shaved, unsmiling faces. They reminded Ash of the little plastic army men he’d played with as a kid. Generic. Interchangeable. He doubted he’d be able to tell them apart if the driver weren’t wearing an army-green hat pulled low over his forehead.

  “We found this group of civilians wandering around the grounds inside the perimeter,” said Army Guy Number One. “No ID, and none of them can tell us what they were doing around here.”

  Army Guy Number Two tightened his grip on his gun, peering past the driver and into the back seat. Ash looked straight ahead so he wouldn’t have to make eye contact. “Have they been questioned?”

  “Negative. Procedure says we’re to bring ’em straight to detainment.”

  Army Guy Number Two studied Ash for another long moment, his eyes slightly narrowed. Finally, he nodded, stepping aside so they could drive past.

  Ash exhaled through his teeth. So far, so good.

  He resisted the urge to look back at Dorothy. He could feel her in the seat behind him, though. Her knee brushed against the back of his chair every time she moved. He thought, again, of that moment back in the woods, when he’d imagined grabbing her and kissing her, and felt a pang somewhere deep in his gut.

  It was just the excitement, he told himself, pushing the thought away. But the image lingered.

  The word detainment had Ash picturing barred doors and windows and grimy padlocks. But Fort Hunter’s detainment area turned out to be a low-ceilinged white room with benches nailed to the floor, the walls made entirely of glass.

  So they can watch us, Ash thought. The idea made his skin crawl.

  The room was empty, but a soldier stood at attention outside the steel door. He didn’t acknowledge the jeep, didn’t so much as glance at Ash and his crew as they were led inside, hands behind their heads, eyes straight ahead. Three soldiers followed them as far as the door, guns flashing in the dim light.

  No one dared speak until the door closed behind them, leaving them alone together in the small room. Ash watched through the glass until the soldiers climbed back into their jeep and drove away.

  He sucked down a breath, trying to find some still, calm place inside of himself. They were doing this for him, after all. To find the Professor; to save his life. And, so far, Dorothy’s plan had gone without a hitch.

  Maybe it hadn’t been the worst thing in the world, having her climb on board his ship.

  He turned around. Dorothy had lowered herself to the bench affixed to the far wall, hands folded in her lap, head tilted as she watched him.

  “Ready?” she asked.

  “Ready,” he said, swallowing. “All right, Dorothy. Let’s see what you can do.”

  25

  Dorothy

  Dorothy. Ash had actually called her by her name.

  It felt like a small triumph, though she couldn’t say exactly why.

  Something in her stomach tightened as she watched him move around the detainment unit, pacing and cracking his knuckles and jerking his shoulders up and down, like there was something caught in his jacket. He was acting too guilty. He was going to get them caught.

  “Will you calm down?” She pretended to study a piece of dirt beneath her fingernail while watching the soldier outside their room from the corner of her eye. “He’ll see you.”

  When her eyes flicked back to his, she saw that he was already staring at her. Heat prickled up her neck. His gaze lingered for a moment, and then he looked away.

  “How am I supposed to calm down? We’re in a military prison, in case you haven’t noticed.”

  “It’s a detainment room, not a prison. Stop being dramatic.”

  “We could be tried for treason.”

  Good Lord, she thought, biting back a laugh. “But we won’t be. Didn’t you hear them talking? They think we’re kids playing around in the woods. The worst we’ll get is a slap on the wrist. Haven’t you ever been arrested before?”

  Chandra gave a small laugh. “Ash? Arrested? Please, he’s a total Boy Scout.”

  Dorothy frowned. Boy Scout?

  “It’s a saying,” Willis explained. “Chandra is implying that Ash is a Goody Two-shoes.”

  Ash’s eyebrows went up, challenging. “What about you, princess? You spend a lot of nights in a jail cell?”

  Dorothy groaned internally. So they were back to princess, again. She should’ve known his use of her real name was just a fluke.

  She said, “Define a lot.”

  “More than two.”

  She bit her lip. She’d been arrested four times (and two of those really hadn’t been her fault) but she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of admitting it now.

  “You really are a Boy Scout,” she muttered, glad that now she had something unpleasant to call him, too. She knelt in front of the door. “Lucky for you, I’m not. Otherwise we’d never get out of here.”

  There was a twitch at the corner of Ash’s mouth as he said, “I suppose that’s true.”

  Almost a compliment. Dorothy smothered a grin of her own as she turned back to the door.

  There was no lock on the handle—it must only be accessible from the outside. No surprises there. She hadn’t really expected this to be as easy as fumbling with a few hairpins.

  She glanced through the window, studying their guard’s skinny, pink neck. He was younger than the other soldiers had been, the stubble on his cheeks still patchy. Had they been anywhere else, she would have had him eating out of her hand like an excitable puppy within the space of a few minutes. But she doubted even this boy would be foolish enough to flirt with a prisoner.

  She chewed at her lower lip, studying him. He wore a giant key ring on a belt at his waist. Dorothy should have been able to relieve him of those keys with little difficulty, but there wasn’t much she could do with a wall of glass separating them.

  She flexed her fingers. That left only one option. She reached into her pocket, where she’d stowed the tiny bottle of ipecac that’d fallen from Chandra’s medical bag, twisted off the lid, and drank.

  It tasted sweet, like syrup. Dorothy made a face, and tucked the rest of the bottle away.

  “Be ready to move when I get the door open,” she said to the others. “I’m not sure how long—”

  A thick, acid taste rose in her throat. She closed her mouth, swallowing it down. That was quick. Covering her mouth with one hand, she stood, and knocked on the window.

  The soldier tapped his gun against the glass. “Miss, I’m going to need to ask you to step away from the wall there.”

  “I don’t feel so well, sir.” Dorothy curled her to
ngue around the word sir. She knew from experience that men were more likely to play the hero if they thought you respected them.

  The young soldier glanced around, like he was looking for help. “The sheriff’s department should be here shortly.”

  Dorothy moved her hand from her mouth to her stomach. She let her legs wobble beneath her, and collapsed against the glass wall, groaning. The soldier had his gun up in a second, the butt of the weapon propped against one shoulder.

  “Miss, I’m going to ask you again to step away from the wall.”

  “I don’t think I can stand.”

  “Don’t make me use force!”

  “Please—” Dorothy’s stomach cramped. She groaned and hunched over. Her knees really were shaking now. She thought she might actually collapse. The soldier was shouting something, but she couldn’t make out his voice over the blood pounding in her head. She doubled over, vomiting.

  She heard keys clinking, followed by the grinding metal sound of a lock opening. Now seemed like a good enough time as any to faint. Being mindful of the mess, Dorothy swooned, falling into a heap on the concrete. This wasn’t her first time, and she made sure it looked good. She fluttered her eyelashes and let her lower lip quiver. Beneath her shirt, her chest heaved.

  A creak of a door opening, and the sound of footsteps as the soldier entered the cell.

  “Back against the wall!” he barked. Dorothy had her eyes closed, but she imagined him brandishing his gun in a very manly fashion as Ash and the others backed up against the wall. She gave her lip an extra quiver.

  “Miss?” His voice was closer now, just above her. “Can you hear me? Are you all right?” She didn’t answer, her eyes still closed. She heard him fumble with something, and then, in a more professional voice, “This is Private Patrick Arnold down in detainment. We have a situation—”

  Dorothy let her eyes flicker open, peering up at the soldier through the fan of her lashes.

  He lowered the boxy device he’d been speaking into. This close, he looked like he was still a boy. Big brown eyes took up most of his face, and the beginnings of a scattered mustache clung to his upper lip.

  “Miss?” He swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. “Are you all right?”

  “W-what happened?” Her voice actually cracked. Mother would be so proud.

  “You fainted. Do you—”

  Willis slipped one arm around the boy’s neck, easily lifting him off his feet. Dorothy wouldn’t have thought it possible for a man his size to be so stealthy, but Willis had crossed the cell without a sound, his combat boots silent on the concrete floors.

  Poor Private Patrick Arnold groped, desperately, for the giant’s arm. His fingers trembled. He lost his grip on his gun and the weapon clattered to the floor. His lips went pale.

  “Shh . . . ,” Willis murmured, his muscles bulging around the soldier’s skinny neck. “Go to sleep.”

  Private Arnold’s eyes drooped. Dorothy stood, cringing at the sour taste in her mouth. She wished for a mint leaf or something to cover the flavor of vomit.

  “Do you think he has any breath fresheners?” she asked, as the soldier’s eyes closed, his head nodding off to the side. The poor boy was going to be in a mess of trouble when he came to. She almost felt sorry for him.

  Willis placed Private Arnold’s unconscious body on the floor on the other side of the cell, being especially careful not to let his head knock against the concrete. He reached into the soldier’s pocket, producing a small, red-and-white tin.

  “Altoids?” Dorothy reached for the mints. “I’ve actually heard of these.”

  She popped a mint into her mouth, eyes moving over the soldier’s pocket. He probably had a wallet in there.

  Ash’s hand was suddenly on her arm. “Don’t.”

  She bristled. “But he’s already passed out. It’ll be easy.”

  “It’ll still be stealing.”

  The way he said stealing sent a prickle of shame up the back of Dorothy’s neck. She let out an exasperated noise, muttering, “I think I deserve some sort of reward for breaking us out of here.”

  Ash’s grip on her arm loosened, but he didn’t pull his hand away. “I can’t believe that actually worked.”

  He didn’t sound like he was laughing at her this time. He searched her face, frowning. “Where’d you learn all this stuff?”

  “Don’t sound so surprised,” murmured Dorothy, but she felt something warm curl in her stomach. She’d never actually been complimented for her con work before. “I already told you, I’m very skilled.”

  Ash cleared his throat and dropped his hand, but not before Dorothy saw the barest hint of red blossom across his cheeks. “Well,” he muttered. “It was impressive.”

  Dorothy chewed her lower lip. That look he’d given her . . . it was like she’d finally earned his respect.

  The thought caused a strange fluttering in her chest. She hadn’t realized she’d wanted it so badly.

  The talking device made a buzzing noise from its spot on the floor, and then a voice said, “Private? Are you there? Come in, Private—”

  Ash snatched the device off the ground and lifted it to his mouth. “This is Private Arnold,” he said, in a surprisingly passable imitation of the now unconscious soldier. “Sorry for the false alarm. We’re all set over here.”

  More static. And then, “Roger that.”

  “He’ll come to in a few minutes,” Willis said, nodding at Private Arnold. “We should be elsewhere when that happens.”

  Ash grabbed the gun from the floor, next to the unconscious soldier, and handed it to Zora, who pulled out the magazine and held it up to the light, squinting.

  “Full thirty rounds,” she said, snapping the ammo back in place with a click. “Looks like our boy never got a chance to fire this thing.”

  Ash kept patting the soldier down. “Hopefully we won’t, either. You catch the make?”

  “SG 542. They all had them. Easy enough gun to handle.”

  “Why are we talking about guns?” Dorothy glanced through the door, fingers nervously tapping at her leg. “We shouldn’t need—”

  The words died before they reached her lips. There was a tunnel just next to the detainment room. Dorothy had known it would be there, of course. It had been a part of her plan. She’d seen it on Willis’s blueprints, had followed the snaking path it made through the complex with her finger.

  But she hadn’t known that the walls of the tunnel would be made of brick coated in dirt and plaster. Just like in her vision.

  “Dorothy?” Ash said.

  But she was already moving toward the tunnel, lowering her hand to those walls. She knew, before she pulled them away, that her fingertips would be wet.

  “Dorothy?” Ash touched her back so lightly that she thought it might’ve been an accident. She flinched.

  “Yes?” she murmured. Ash said something about being ready to go, but she barely heard him. Her mind was elsewhere.

  You shouldn’t trust them.

  The memory of Roman’s voice made her pulse go jagged. Had that been real, too? A warning from the future?

  Dorothy bit her lip. Even if it had been real, it didn’t make sense to believe it. Roman had kidnapped her. He’d shot her. If anyone shouldn’t be trusted, it was him.

  But, still, something nagged at her. The sense of déjà vu she’d felt when she’d first seen Roman’s face. The way he’d teased her.

  Are you trying to say that you’ve seen the future?

  Perhaps. Perhaps I’ve even seen yours.

  She was missing something, she was certain of it.

  But, try as she might, she couldn’t figure out what it was.

  LOG ENTRY—JANUARY 21, 2075

  07:15 HOURS

  WEST COAST ACADEMY OF ADVANCED TECHNOLOGY

  Today’s mission: find our bodyguard.

  The bodyguard was a necessity everyone agreed on. Eventually we’ll be traveling to some pretty frightening places, and the protection of ou
r team has to be a top priority.

  We went back and forth for a while over whether we should find the largest man, or the best fighter, but, in the end, we decided to work under the assumption that large will be a deterrent that’ll keep him from having to fight at all. People can be taught to fight, after all.

  Finding the largest man in history turned out to be easier than I expected.

  Willis Henry was working as a circus strongman around the turn of the century. At sixteen years old, he’s already over seven feet tall and weighs six hundred pounds. And he doesn’t seem to be done growing yet. My guess is that he has some form of giantism. (Giantism is a rare endocrynological disorder that causes the body to secrete excessive amounts of growth hormone.) We’ll have to get him checked out in 2075.

  According to the information Natasha dug up, Willis worked at the circus starting in 1914 and then abruptly disappeared in 1917. There are dozens of pictures of him in our archives, but surprisingly little is mentioned about his mental and emotional state. The circus billed him as some sort of monstrosity, more beast than man. In any case, I thought it safest to leave Zora and Natasha behind for this trip. Roman, however, insisted on coming along.

  “I’ve never been to the circus before,” he told me.

  The circus in question was a good one. The Sells-Floto Circus began in the early 1900s and ran up until 1929, when it became part of the American Circus Corporation. In the late twenties, the Sells-Floto Circus was considered one of the greatest acts on earth. When we arrived in 1917, it was clear that they were well on their way to that distinction. The air smelled of peanuts and popcorn. There were acrobats leaping around outside the tent, and a man breathing fire, and actual elephants. I was five years old when elephants went extinct, so I’ve only ever seen them in pictures. They took my breath away.

  Roman was taken with the circus tents, oddly enough. Old circus tents were these monstrous white structures made entirely of stiff canvas. I didn’t get the draw until Roman pointed out how they reminded him of the emergency tents back on campus.