Stolen Time Page 21

  And, below that,

  “13.8,” Ash read out loud. He almost laughed. The idea of an earthquake hitting 13.8 on the Richter scale seemed impossible.

  A stair creaked.

  Ash’s body started working before his mind did: hands reaching, legs spinning, arms lifting. He tightened his hands around the grip of his gun, muzzle aimed at the Star’s entrance. The first nerves hit a second before his thumb pressed into the hammer.

  Another creak, and a soldier appeared at the door.

  Ash blinked; it wasn’t a soldier, it was Dorothy. She wore an army-green uniform, her dark hair tucked into a boxy hat. The clothes were too big on her, and there was something suggestive about the way her pants hung low on her hips. Or maybe it was the way she stood. Or maybe it was the fact that Ash had never seen a woman in uniform before.

  His fingers twitched. The backs of his ears grew hot.

  “I thought I saw you come up here.” Dorothy’s eyes flicked down. “Are you planning on shooting me?”

  Ash realized he was still pointing the SIG Sauer, one finger hovering over the trigger. He lowered his arm. “Where are Willis and Chandra?”

  “They couldn’t find a way across the gateroom, so I came on my own. They’re going to get the Second Star and find a closer place to meet the rest of us.”

  Ash frowned. “How did you get here?”

  “The normal way. Stole an unconscious soldier’s uniform. Conned another soldier into giving me the password to the security door. He’s still down there, by the way.” She turned in place. “Is this the time machine?”

  Ash nodded without hearing her.

  She likes you, too, Zora had said.

  “Ash?” Dorothy drew closer, frowning. “What is it?”

  Ash swallowed. Some of Dorothy’s hair had come loose from her hat, and it framed her face in soft brown curls, making her look—

  “It’s nothing,” Ash murmured, looking away. Zora had said they needed the Dark Star’s exotic matter to get back to 2077. She’d said the Second Star wouldn’t fly without it and the Dark Star was currently locked up in a military hangar, so they couldn’t take the bigger ship back instead.

  He knelt, grateful for something to distract him, and felt beneath the control panel for the spare key the Professor kept taped there.

  Dorothy crouched beside him, and now he could smell her skin. Old-fashioned soap and lilies. The scent still clung to her, even after everything that had happened. Ash’s nose twitched. How was that possible?

  She was close enough that, if he turned his face, they would touch.

  His breath was a lump in his throat. It seemed an incredible distance.

  She likes you, too.

  He fumbled the key, and it fell to the floor between him. “Sorry,” he mumbled, reaching for it. She reached, too, their hands brushing.

  He jerked away, trying not to think about how soft her skin was.

  “Is everything okay?” Dorothy wasn’t smiling, but there was something about her lips that hinted at it. “Because you’re acting very strange.”

  Ash nodded, but he didn’t look away.

  He’d come here expecting to find the Professor. To keep himself from dying.

  And then he’d come here expecting to kill Quinn Fox and—once again—keep himself from dying. And he’d failed. Twice.

  He could feel the phantom pain of the dagger in his side. The soft press of lips against his own. Things that hadn’t happened yet.

  Things that didn’t have to happen. Maybe if you fall for Dorothy instead of this girl with the white hair . . .

  Ash wasn’t sure whether Zora was right. But the Professor wasn’t here, and neither was Quinn. But Dorothy was.

  Maybe he could still change his future.

  Dorothy released a short gasp of breath as Ash leaned closer, curling a hand around her neck. For a second, he forgot all about black water and dead trees and white hair. He forgot the feeling of cold steel sliding through his skin, and heartbreak ripping through his chest.

  Instead, there was this: Dorothy’s lips, warm against his. Her hand touching the back of his neck.

  Then, she pulled away.

  “Why did you do that?” she murmured, her eyes still closed.

  Ash’s voice felt thick. “I thought—”

  Lights flashed on, filling the Dark Star with an eerie, white glow. Dorothy’s eyes went wide.

  The echoing sound of a hundred combat boots hitting concrete thundered through the hangar. There was a shuffling of movement, and then a sound Ash knew too well: hammers, dozens of them, clicking back.

  “We have you surrounded,” called a single, deep voice. “Please exit the vehicle with your hands raised.”

  LOG ENTRY—JULY 21, 1969

  08:15 HOURS

  THE DARK STAR, THE PUGET SOUND ANIL

  My hands are still shaking. I’m sure you can tell—my handwriting’s all over the place.

  The moon landing was even more amazing than I thought it would be.

  Let me take a moment to explain how we did this. It was quite a bit trickier than I’d expected.

  Back in the 1960s, NASA went to a lot of work to make sure that the moon landing could be broadcast live. They went as far as sending an erectable antenna up with Buzz and Neil so they wouldn’t have to wait for a tracking station to come within range.

  I figured that meant it would be easy to find a place to watch the moon landing unfold. The whole country was watching, after all! Surely we would be able to find a spare TV!

  I was incorrect, to say the least. Natasha kindly pointed out that the sixties were the golden age of television. Gone were the days of gathering on the sidewalk to catch a broadcast from a corner-shop window. Everyone had a TV in their own living room! They’d be watching the moon landing at home.

  Which was all well and good, except that we are time travelers and, thus, we do not have access to a home in 1969.

  This is where my brainstorming comes in. The Fairmont hotel in Seattle has been around since the 1920s. Their hotel guests must need a place to watch the moon landing as well, and I doubt there are televisions in all the private rooms. There would be a television in the lobby, though. I figured we could all sneak into the lobby and watch the moon landing there. I’d even be willing to pay for a room. In my opinion, it’s a small price to experience one of the most scientifically important moments in history.

  It worked brilliantly. There was already a crowd gathered around the black-and-white screen in the lobby, and they didn’t seem to notice the presence of six time travelers among them. (This, thanks to Natasha, who spent the day perfecting our 1969 costumes but, sadly, had to sit the event itself out as she was home sick with the flu.)

  I’ve never heard a silence so perfect. The image on the screen was fuzzy and hard to make out, but people waited with bated breath to watch Neil Armstrong bounce down those steps and utter his famous words:

  That’s one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind.

  And then, the whole place broke out in cheers. People hugged. People screamed. It was magic.

  I’m still buzzing. We’re almost home now. I’m writing this in the passenger seat while Ash pilots the Dark Star, and I can see the familiar swirl of clouds that marks the year 2075.

  That was . . . wow. It was really something else. I’ve written down everything I saw so that I can tell Natasha all about it. The clothes! The energy! The excitement! It was intoxicating!

  Hell, now I want to be an astronaut!

  We’re exiting the anil now and—

  Oh.

  Something appears to be wrong. I can’t see the lights from the bay, and there’s something different about the shoreline. It looks flooded.

  No. Not just the shoreline. The whole city’s been flooded.

  I . . . I don’t understand what I’m seeing. We’ve returned just a few hours after we originally left. Was there another earthquake? What could have happened?

  Everything’s gone. Th
e entire city is underwater.

  I saw this. It’s just like my vision.

  Oh God—

  Natasha.

  Part Three

  Time is chasing after all of us.

  —Peter Pan

  31

  Dorothy

  MARCH 17, 1980, FORT HUNTER COMPLEX

  “We have you surrounded,” shouted a voice. “Exit the vehicle with your hands raised!”

  Dorothy couldn’t quite register what was happening. Her mind was still on the kiss, reluctant to let the memory go even as circumstances demanded she act. Ash pulled away from her, his face a shadow blurred by white light. Dorothy felt cold air circle her waist where his hands had been.

  “How many are there?” she asked. Her voice didn’t seem to belong to her.

  Ash was peering out the window of the time machine, his back to her.

  “A hundred. Maybe more.” He scrubbed a hand over his jaw. “They’re armed.”

  Armed. That meant guns, a hundred guns aimed at them. Dorothy absently lifted a hand to her throat, a thrill of fear moving through her.

  “You stay here,” Ash was saying. “I’ll go down. I’m betting they don’t know there are two of us. I can probably convince them I was alone up here. Then you can . . . get somewhere safe.”

  Safe. He said it like he thought he was doing her a favor. She opened her mouth and, at first, nothing came out. Then, sputtering, “You think I’m going to stay behind?”

  “If we’re both caught, we’re screwed.”

  “Who said anything about being caught?” Dorothy frowned. “I don’t get caught.”

  “Didn’t you hear the thing about them being armed?”

  “So?” She hated the idea of being left behind, like she was someone who needed protection from the big, bad world. She thought of the women she’d seen in the gateroom—strong women, soldiers—and felt a pang in her chest.

  Not jealousy. Want.

  She wasn’t any different from those women, not in any way that mattered. Why did everyone insist on treating her like she was someone who needed to be protected?

  She thought back to the moment in the bar, when Ash first told her about time travel. She’d thought he was being a jerk then, teasing her.

  But, later, when she’d realized it’d been the truth, she appreciated that he’d just told her instead of dancing around the facts, acting like she might break.

  She wanted to say something about that now, to explain, but Ash was already tucking the EM canister beneath his jacket. It made an odd bulge below his arm. He pulled the zipper up to his neck. “We don’t have time to argue about this.” His eyes slid back to the window and then narrowed. “Wait here for the others. Can you do that?”

  No, Dorothy thought. Several insults filtered through her head, but none were quite what she wanted. “I’m not an object,” she spat finally. “You can’t leave me where it’s convenient and expect I’ll still be there when you return!”

  Ash leveled her with a steady look. “Please.”

  He said it with a hitch in his voice, like he was begging. Dorothy didn’t mean to stop arguing, but the voice caught her off guard, and she didn’t say anything for a beat too long. Ash seemed to take that as agreement.

  For a moment, she thought he might kiss her again. He leaned forward, and she felt her chin lift, her lips rising to meet his without asking her brain whether it was okay.

  She jerked back when she realized what was happening, her pulse fluttering. Stupid lips.

  If Ash noticed, he didn’t show it. He took a step back and lifted both hands over his head in surrender. For one confused moment Dorothy thought he might be surrendering to her, but then he stepped out of the Dark Star. And was gone.

  With effort, Dorothy pulled her eyes away from the window. For some reason she thought of Zora, in her men’s trousers, her expression unreadable as always.

  Ash wouldn’t have left her behind. The two of them would’ve walked down the stairs shoulder to shoulder, ready to take on the waiting army together. It made Dorothy feel strangely jealous. She wanted that, the chance to be someone’s ally and not just their prize.

  Something behind her creaked.

  Fear was a funny thing. Dorothy had barely felt it when Ash had told her there were a hundred or so guns aimed at the too-thin walls of their time machine. But all it took was a slight groan and release of weight—almost like a footstep—and every nerve in her body sizzled.

  That sound didn’t belong in this room. She was supposed to be alone.

  She spun around, feet nearly tripping over her too-large boots. She saw only shadows but knew better than to trust them. Someone was here. Someone was watching her.

  The dark grew thicker. It began to move. And then someone said, “What’s that thing they say in the movies? ‘So we meet again’?”

  Dorothy recognized Roman’s voice before she saw his face. That low lilt, like he was laughing at her. His eyes came next, the bright blue slowly separating from the shadows surrounding them. They were tilted up at the corners. Amused.

  For a moment, her reality seemed to fracture. She saw Roman standing in front of her and then, in a flash, another Roman layered over him—like a mirage.

  This Roman was leaning toward her. A muscle in his jaw twitched as his lips parted.

  You shouldn’t trust them.

  Something cold spread through her, but when she blinked she saw that the false Roman was gone and there was only this moment, this time.

  The real Roman was holding a gun, its small black barrel aimed at Dorothy’s chest. Whatever she just saw hadn’t happened yet. But it was going to.

  Breathless, she lifted her hands in surrender.

  32

  Ash

  Ash hesitated at the door leading from the hangar, turning his head just enough to get the Dark Star back in his sights. A shadow moved at the window, and he flushed, remembering the feel of Dorothy’s body curved against his, the way her fingers moved through his hair.

  A gun jabbed into his back.

  “Keep moving,” grumbled the soldier behind him. Ash dragged his eyes away from the ship and shuffled forward, heat creeping up his neck. His lips burned.

  He’d thought it would be so simple to avoid falling in love. He’d figured a few easy rules would keep him safe. No dating. No flirting. No kissing.

  And it had seemed simple, when love had just been a vision of a girl with white hair and no face, just a feeling that disappeared once the prememory was over.

  But Dorothy was blood pumping beneath skin and hair tangled in his fingers. Her lips had been softer than anything he’d ever felt before. Her mouth had tasted like mint.

  He wasn’t in love with her. But he could feel something stirring inside of him, and he realized, suddenly, how stupid he’d been to think he could ever trick it or avoid it. This thing was a force. It was moving forward whether he wanted it to or not.

  A thought occurred to Ash then. Had it been a betrayal to kiss Dorothy when he knew he was going to fall in love with someone else? It was misleading, certainly. Like making a promise he knew he couldn’t keep. But that was only if the kiss hadn’t changed anything. Surely kissing Dorothy meant he wasn’t going to fall in love with Quinn.

  Right?

  The ferocious joy of the kiss was starting to wear off, and reality was creeping back in. Ash’s head spun as he tried to work out what had just happened. What it meant.

  Had his future changed at all? Or had he just pulled Dorothy down with him?

  The thoughts haunted him as the soldiers led him down a maze of dark hallways, the only sound the uniform thud of their boots smacking concrete. Too late, Ash realized he should’ve been paying closer attention, marking when they turned left and right so he could figure out a way to escape, find the Professor, and rendezvous with Willis and Chandra. Instead, he’d been replaying a kiss, like some lovesick soldier back in the war.

  “Dope,” he muttered through gritted teeth.

&n
bsp; The soldier behind him chuckled.

  “You can say that again,” he said, adding another jab of his gun for emphasis. “You don’t even know how bad your day just got.”

  Eventually, they stopped outside a heavy, metal door. A soldier opened it with a quick jerk of his hand, revealing a small pitch-black room without any windows.

  “Sit,” said the soldier, his gun trained on Ash’s back. “And no talking till he gets here.”

  “Talking?” Ash said.

  The soldier flicked a switch. A raw bulb hung from the ceiling, humming gently. There were only two chairs in the room: one was empty.

  Zora sat in the other.

  Ash felt his stomach drop. She hadn’t found the Professor, either. Somehow, they’d both failed.

  Zora squinted into the sudden light, and then her eyes settled on Ash, and her face fell. “Aw hell, they got you, too?”

  33

  Dorothy

  Dorothy stood, rigid, eyes moving down the blunt barrel of Roman’s gun for the second time in less than twenty-four hours.

  Has it only been twenty-four hours? she thought.

  It felt like more time than that. And, also, like less. It was as though no time and all the time in the world had passed since she’d first climbed into Ash’s time machine.

  “Are you frightened?” Roman’s eyes were cold, but his voice was lilting, teasing her.

  Dorothy didn’t answer, but the bullet wound on her arm flared, reminding her that he wasn’t always as careful as he should be with that thing.

  “I only ask because you’re trembling,” Roman said.

  Dorothy balled her fingers into a fist, furious with herself for giving him the satisfaction of seeing her scared. She remembered how Willis had leaped on Roman back at the dock, batting his gun away like it was a toy. Not for the first time, she wished she were a much larger person.

  She shifted her eyes to the door. She was closer than Roman was. If she made a run for it—