by Holly Hook
Fred ducks his head into the tent. “I don't think that's the case, good brother,” he says. “It looks like the enemy is heading this way.”
“They shouldn't be,” I say, rushing to the tent. I leave Simon sitting on the cot, staring after me. “The Union is victorious in this battle. They can't lose. It's not like we did anything dramatic.” I peek out of the tent and down towards the fields. There are soldiers fighting, all right. And smoke. Lots and lots of smoke. Guns crack and bodies fall. There are blue uniformed fighters everywhere. They're more scattered now, no longer holding a coherent front. Brown uniformed Confederates break through the stone fence, climbing over and gunning down everyone in front of them.
No.
That's not right.
Us saving Frank and Fred shouldn't change the outcome of the battle.
“They might be up here in a few minutes,” Fred says. He readies his gun. “I suggest the three of you run out of here. You're not soldiers. Let us do the fighting.”
Frank's pale. Sweating. He eyes the coming battle. I watch as there's another explosion, and bodies, both blue and brown uniformed, go flying. I hear screams. A loud moan, cutting over all the noise. Fred's right. The Union isn't holding the enemy back like history says it should. The battle's not going to end the same.
“We need to go!” I yell at Isabel. She's got Simon leaning over her shoulder. I grab Simon's other arm and he leans on me.
“I'm dizzy,” he says.
“I know. But we need to walk.”
“I want to thank the three of you,” Frank says. “You saved our lives. I don't understand what just happened, but thank you.”
“And thank you,” I manage. We have to move.
Frank shakes his head. “For what?”
“For...your help just now,” I say. For not killing us in the future, I want to say. “We have to go. Good luck.”
“Now,” Isabel says.
We drag Simon uphill, closer and closer to the cluster of trees where Monica's hiding. How could the battle have gotten screwed up? We didn't do anything big. It wouldn't have mattered if Fred and Frank had died at that tree or not. What did we do? Is Time so sick that all other times are turning upside down as well?
A bullet zips past us and cracks against a tree. They're growing closer.
Or did we distract too many soldiers by running through their camp? That general did take some time to yell at us. What if, by being there, we prevented him from planning the battle the way he should have? I remember that this battle was a close one. Only one small thing could have changed it—and the outcome of the Civil war.
“Guys!” Monica leans out of the cluster of trees. She waves us closer, desperate. “Hurry!”
"Oh,” Simon groans.
“Hold on,” I tell him. “You can lie down as soon as we're out of here. And away from Isabel's dad.”
“Now,” he says. He's slipping. My heart hammers. Is he still losing blood? I glance down at the towel around his calf. It's already turning red. Splotches grow bigger by the second. Did the shrapnel sever an artery after all? The bleeding should be slowing down by now. And how long will that towel hold on in this?
Fred gives a war cry behind us. Fires his gun.
They're close.
We need to run from both sides. They're so busy fighting that a stray bullet could kill any of us.
And then something whizzes past my ear. Isabel screams. I stare at her, but she's okay. A small tree nearby splinters. Smoke fills the air and burns my nostrils. They're coming up the hill and shooting at the brothers behind us. There's another shot and a shout of pain. Whether it's Frank or someone else, I don't know.
“Up here!” Monica waves towards the tree that still has the coat tied around it. She's stayed here for hours, waiting for us. I'm going to hug her when we're out of here.
We make it into the flimsy shelter. Simon curses and grabs at his leg. He struggles to stand up straight. "Through,” he breathes.
Monica jumps into the space between the trees. She shimmers and vanishes as the hole in Time swallows her. I drag Simon and Isabel joins me. My skin's electric. We turn around to face the battle as the sensation grows stronger. Frank and Fred stand against a backdrop of smoke and bodies, guns aimed into chaos. Will they survive? I'll never know.
The electric feeling increases and consumes us. I'm falling with Simon in tow. I never thought I would pray for Frank to be okay, but at that moment, I can't help it.
Chapter Fifteen
“Get up.”
Monica's full of tension. At first I think that Isabel's father must be standing over her, gun held to her head or something. But I straighten up and Simon leans against the wall of red, angry crystal. Monica stands in the middle of the corridor, hands at her sides like she's scared to touch anything. Time is still sick. Even more so, now. The red of the walls is still there, horrible as ever, but it's duller than I remember. It's almost as if Time doesn't want to fight anymore.
I reach up to make sure I still have the hair clip. It's stayed on. I rub my hand across it and it downloads my memories. My scalp tingles. We have to keep everything and that's my duty.
"What's going on now?” I ask, dreading the answer.
Did we just change the outcome of the Civil War?
Did Frank and Fred still die?
Did we just mess up all of United States history and possibly, world history?
Judging from the look of the Hub, the answer is yes.
“I don't know,” Simon says. He catches his breath. “I am so tired of being shot at today. I hope that part's over.”
Isabel searches up and down the corridors. The fog is just as thick as before, but it almost seems listless and dead.
"What have we done?” I ask.
“I don't know,” Simon says. “We weren't trying to change anything. I swear. We didn't mean to distract anyone from winning the battle. But at least Frank's gone. That's a good thing.”
“Simon.” I can't help but feel angry at him. “This whole situation is out of control. We need to do something and now. Time is past sick. This isn't right. None of it is. Can you imagine how bad the regular world is getting? How many things are screwed up now? And not just in Nancy's time, either. What if Arnelia is dead in the future because of this?”
"She's not.” He takes several heavy breaths and faces me, gaze on my hair. “You have her invention even after that. That means she must still exist in the future. Otherwise, we wouldn't be standing here trying to mess with things, either.”
I feel the top of my head again. The wing of the hair clip still pokes out, threatening to cut through my skin, but it doesn't.
“Is this the way it has to be for Arnelia to exist?” I ask. “I don't think she wanted this. Or did she? Is the world just going to have be all screwed up? You know, for us to continue to exist, too?"
“It shouldn't have to be that way,” Isabel says. “Maybe Time just needs to heal. And we need to get out of here before my father finds us. I'm not sure how far he is."
“Not a thought I like.” I glance at Simon's makeshift bandage. It's even more red now, but is it with the light coming off the walls or his blood? I can't tell. “Simon—how are you doing?”
He's still leaning on the wall. “It hurts. That's how I'm doing.” He's snapping at me. That's not like him at all. I have to tell myself that it's the pain doing it to him. This isn't the Simon I love.
“We need to get you fixed up,” I say. “We can take you to Arnelia just long enough to get you healed. And long enough to make sure she's still there after all. I'm sure they have great medical care in the year 5000 or whatever it was. Let's go. I think I remember where that rift was.”
“I do, too” Isabel says. “I can lead the way.”
“No more jumping through times!” Simon says. “Frank's gone. But you're right that this is getting out of hand. I say we should start thinking of a way to get to the bottom of this. Like now.” He grabs at his leg and sits on the crystal f
loor. “It's neither hot nor cold in here. It just feels...stagnant. Like Time's become a corpse.”
"That sounds fantastic," Monica says.
“That doesn't make sense,” I say.
“That's what it feels like.”
I put my hand on the crystal. Simons' right. It's neither cold nor warm. It's like some kind of equilibrium has been reached here. The energy is gone.
“I don't like this, either,” Isabel says. “I've been Timeless for a long time, and this has never happened. Time wasn't even this bad after we saved my ship. Which, by the way, should still be saved—right?”
“Right,” I say.
There's a rumble from somewhere.
And another.
It sounds like distant thunder. I can't tell from which direction it comes. From the Main Chamber?
“We have to check that out,” Simon says.
“I really don't want to,” I say. “But we should.”
A dark, oily terror rises up inside of me and I think of those Chronophages. What if something even worse than them comes out to kill us at this point? Something that can destroy mortals? Time seems to have lots of ways to defend itself. It must have something it can send.
There's another rumble that reminds me of those cannon blasts.
It's louder this time. More desperate. Something about the noise makes me think of some giant crack opening into nothingness. I want to scream. I still remember the sight of that Chronophages's open mouth all too well.
“Okay,” I say. “We need to go investigate. Then we'll think of what to do next.” Will Simon's bandage hold? I'll need to help him.
"I don't like the sounds of whatever that is," Monica says. She's pressed up against the wall between two rifts. "Here. I'll help Simon walk."
"No. No. I'm fine," he says, and steps away from the wall. He puts his full weight on his injured leg and curls up, seething. "Okay. Maybe I'm not. I'm going to have to use you girls as crutches. My calf feels like it's on fire. It's cramping up, too."
"That's fine," I say, letting him put his arm over me.
The four of us walk towards the Main Chamber. Isabel leads the way and Simon keeps his injured leg off the crystal, hobbling along on one foot. There's yet another crack and rumble. Whatever's going on is out there. All of the Timeless seem to have vanished. If any remain, they're staying safe out in the regular world, tucked away in random times. I find myself hoping that they don't manage to come through any rifts.
“I don't like this,” Isabel says.
Another rumble.
Another crack.
I break into a run, but Simon pulls against me, slowing me down. “Careful,” he says. “I don't want to open the wound again. And I still feel dizzy."
“Sorry.” The hallway curves more up ahead and I know we're close. The fog seems even thicker up here. It almost smells rotten. Strange. I never noticed that smell before.
And then the world opens up.
Fog spreads out in all directions as if that's all there is. There's something huge ahead of us, something round only about ten feet away. I jump back and Simon cries out in pain as I step on his toe. I don't have time to apologize again.
It's a Chronophage, ramming itself up against the red wall of the Main Chamber over and over like it's beating its face against it in frustration. With each hit, the wall rumbles like it's ready to come down. I back away more. The Chronophage rams the red crystal again, and there's a definite cracking sound. It's the source of the noise.
"What's going on?” I ask. “It's like Time is trying to attack itself now."
"I think you're right," Simon says. "Maybe that's because it's so messed up, it doesn't know what to do.”
"This whole situation is messed up," Monica says. She stares at the Chronophage, eyes wide.
Isabel enters the Main Chamber, keeping her distance from the giant, gelatinous sphere. "What if Time starts falling apart or something? We need to be out of here before that happens."
"How will that affect everybody?" Monica asks. "Will it just make it so that people can't travel through time anymore?"
"I don't know," I say. I face Isabel. She has the most Timeless memories out of anyone. I need her input.
The Chronophage head-butts the wall again. There's another cracking sound, but I don't notice any splits in the red crystal. Maybe Time isn't going to fall apart after all. I can hope. But what if they continue this forever and eventually, the crystal begins to crack? Right now it's holding up. And how can some giant, glorified white blood cells take down all of Time? This place is huge.
The rotten egg smell gets stronger.
Isabel holds her nose. "It's like Time has lupus or something. You know, that disease where your body attacks itself and can't stop. It's gone crazy and its signals are crossed. Since we changed history three times now and in three different places, it's like Time's body parts are rearranged and not working the way they're used to."
Simon stares at the red walls. "Let me see if this does anything." He breaks away from Monica and I and kicks at one. There's no groan or anything like I expect. That might be too much. "Nothing." Simon seethes again and grabs his leg. "I...I have to lie down."
He slumps to the floor. Another rumble sounds from the other side of the Main Chamber, and another.
"Simon!" I yell.
He bends his knees up and I kneel beside him. Monica joins me.
"Are you bleeding again?" she asks.
"I don't think so. I'm just dizzy. I'll be fine." He sounds groggy almost. "I just shouldn't have done that."
"Stop being such a tough guy all the time," I say. "Stay down. You're not feeling good and you've lost blood. Now's not the time to argue."
"Sorry," he says like I'm reprimanding him.
"I mean it, Simon. We need to get you some medical help and get back to our time right away."
He pauses. His face is a grimace. "I'm so dizzy. I feel like I'm going to throw up. Trust me, never feel like you're ready to pass out. It's not pleasant."
"Simon!" I prop his head up, but he groans and forces me to set it back down.
"Something's really wrong," Monica says. "He's bleeding again. Look."
I do.
His towel's loosened. It's soaked with blood. He's bleeding all over the crystal floor. I wonder if the Chronophage is going to lumber over to devour the foreign substance. It's attacking everything else. But it doesn't. It continues its assault on the crystal wall in a hopeless bid to tear it down. More cracking joins in, growing into a concert of rumbles and cracks. All of them must be beating away at the walls of the Main Chamber. The crystal around us shakes as if we're in an earthquake. That's not helping Simon's situation.
Enough arguing, then. We need to get him help now. The only place I know that can heal him quickly--and the only place that I know we can reliably get out of again--is Arnelia's time.
"Grab him," I say. "I'll tie the towel around him again. I don't know how much good it'll do, but Arnelia will know how to heal him. I remember where that rift is, thank God. We have to carry him there."
Monica grabs his arm and Isabel, the other. I can't think of anything better. We don't have a gurney to drag him with. I take his legs and place them up on my shoulders. Simon groans.
"Now!" I yell. "Keep his head low."
"We'll need to hunch over," Monica says.
"I don't care."
We carry him out into the Main Chamber. Isabel and Monica walk like old, stopped women and Simon looks up at the fog above. His hair falls and waves as we carry him. The trembling grows worse, but none of the giant cells turn to come after us. They must only want to devour things that have to do with Time itself. The Timeless, who have Time in their blood. Now, the walls of the Hub. It makes sense. I'm surprised they haven't come for Amelia's device yet, which is supposed to contain the hair of a Timeless person.
"The corridor we need is all the way across the Main Chamber," I breathe. Simon groans. At least he's still awake. "It's a long wa
lk." A scream rises in my throat. We have to keep Simon's head below his legs. I never took any first aid in any time, but it makes sense. I have to keep as much blood out of his calf as possible and hope it can clot again. The cloth stays put as Simon's heels dig into my shoulders. The scent of his blood mixes with the stench of rot.
I hold my breath as much as I can. The Hub is smelling worse by the minute, almost as if it's building up to some disgusting climax.
At last--and it could be minutes or hours or days--we reach the other end of the Main Chamber. I scan my mind for which corridor is the right one. Thankfully, I traveled to Arnelia's home when I was Timeless, so I still know where to go. It's the fifth one on the right. "Simon," I manage. My shoulders are on fire from balancing his calves. His blood soaks through my dress, making it damp. Somehow, I keep the strength to keep his legs in the air. It's not easy. My back protests. "Are you still with us?"
"Yes. I feel like rubbish."
"Good. Not that you feel like rubbish," I say. "We're almost there."
"The rift to Arnelia is half a mile down this corridor," Isabel says. "We should be there in a few minutes."
We enter. I back into the corridor, passing archways and whatever rifts they contain. The fog remains thick as ever. I realize that we haven't thought about Isabel's father in about an hour, maybe more. All that matters right now is Simon. The rest can wait. Once Simon is all fixed up, we're going to figure out how to reverse this mess.
"We're almost there," Isabel huffs.
"I hope so," Monica adds. "No offense, Simon."
We're trying to keep the tone light for him, but I can't hold back my panic much longer. If Simon dies, I won't be able to fix this on my own. I need all the help I can get. Or will I? Could I go back and save his life?
No. We need him. If he dies here, he probably won't be in 1912 to save all over again. I'll never see him again and Arnelia will die, too.
But then again, we're supposed to die. Maybe this is Time's way of fixing itself. By taking us out of it. Maybe Time even wanted us to get hit by the shrapnel.