Time's Divide (The Chronos Files Book 3)

by Rysa Walker

  Tilson sighs. “I think so. I’ll find a way to get a message to him about . . . all of this. Hopefully without alerting anyone else.”

  “You might want to wait on that. I’m—” I pause because Trey’s not going to like this. “I’m going back in to see if I can save her.”

  Trey shakes his head vehemently, and Tilson says, “No. You’re not.”

  “I’ll be careful. I can’t just let her—”

  “Kate,” Tilson says, “please take a look at the papers you signed when you joined the Fifth Column. The rules are absolute. No time alteration for any reason not directly related to preventing the Culling. Julia made it clear that this included preventing member deaths, even her own. There are no exceptions . . .” He pauses like he’s about to add something, then just repeats, “No exceptions.”

  I know Tilson’s right in terms of the big picture, but it feels so wrong not to even try. “I actually never signed those papers. And Julia’s gone. There’s no one to enforce those rules anymore.”

  A long, rather ominous silence follows. “Don’t count on that, Kate. You’ve only seen the surface of the Fifth Column. And you’re sensible enough to realize there’s more at stake here than one person’s life.”

  I’m tempted to tell him it’s easier to say that when you’re not drenched in that one person’s blood. But I don’t.

  “Hold on. I’m going to give the phone to Trey.”

  I press mute and hand Trey the phone. “Back in a few seconds. Try to figure out a meeting place without telegraphing it to anyone who might be listening.”

  When I lean forward to kiss him goodbye, he grabs my arm. “You’re not going back there, right? Please tell me you’re not going back there.”

  “I’m not going back there.”

  He starts to smile and then it fades. “Are you just telling me that because I asked you to, or . . .”

  “No. Tilson’s right. This is just another of those cases where all the choices suck. But I’ll keep my focus on the big picture. I’m going to shower, change, and come right back. Promise.”

  BETHESDA, MARYLAND

  September 12, 10:47 a.m.

  I peel off my jeans in the bathroom and toss them, along with the poncho, into the sink. This entire situation reminds me of jumping back from Georgia with Delia’s blood all over my sweater. And then just before that, jumping back from Six Bridges in the containment suit when Kiernan and I got the virus sample. Maybe I should set a stable point inside the shower to save time.

  While the water runs over my body, I take deep breaths and try to center my mind so I can devise a game plan. But I keep seeing Julia’s face.

  Smoke hits my nose as I’m tugging on a clean pair of jeans. The detector in the hall goes off the same second, as if my noticing the smoke reminded it to do its job already.

  Whatever calm I found in the shower shatters instantly. I snatch a T-shirt from the closet and grab my phone as I run to the door, remembering at the last second to see if the handle is hot before opening it.

  It’s cool, but smoke is pouring from the library, and I see flames in the corner. Books are pulled off the shelves, dumped onto the floor, and their dry, brittle pages are perfect kindling.

  “Katherine! Connor!”

  No response.

  I run to the railing and look down over the living room. It’s empty except for Daphne, who’s at the door, whimpering. She moves toward the stairs as I run down, dragging one back leg.

  “Oh my God! What happened, girl? Where are Connor and Katherine?”

  I dial 911, then scoop Daphne into my arms. She yelps when I lift her, but I can’t stop now to see where she’s hurt.

  The emergency worker answers as I reach the backyard. Once I’ve given the address, they tell me to stay clear of the house. Sound advice, even though I can’t follow it until I find Connor and Katherine.

  “Daphne, stay!” I command, setting her down near the bench swing. “Stay!” She whimpers, but doesn’t follow.

  The garage door is open, which is unusual. I reach inside the door to grab the fire extinguisher, only to find it missing. Then I head back inside, despite the voice in my head screaming that it’s a very, very bad idea. The smell of smoke alone has me looking over my shoulder, half expecting to see H. H. Holmes following me.

  The fire extinguisher inside the pantry is gone, too.

  I check Katherine’s room, and Connor and Katherine aren’t there. That leaves upstairs. I run to Connor’s rooms, Dad’s, and then the attic. Between my shrieking and the smoke alarm, they should have heard me by now unless they’re unconscious.

  Or unless . . . they’re in the library?

  I fly down the attic stairs, hitting the last few steps on a skid. Smoke billows from the library. I pull my T-shirt over my face and am about to plunge in when it occurs to me that I’m approaching this, as Kiernan would say, far too linearly.

  I yank out my key, set a stable point outside the library, and roll the time back ten minutes to when I was in the shower. I may go back further and prevent the fire eventually—Julia’s Fifth Column rules be damned. But for now, I need to see what we’re up against and, most importantly, locate Connor and Katherine.

  Through the CHRONOS display, I see the fire was pretty much out ten minutes ago, so they must have had it nearly under control and then it blazed up again. The windows are open and spirals of smoke drift outward. White dust, possibly from a fire extinguisher, coats the bookshelves, walls, and carpet. Connor is sprawled on the floor, one canister in his hand and another near his head.

  Maybe he and Katherine were overcome by smoke trying to put out the fire? But where’s Katherine?

  I jump in. As I approach Connor, one of the monitors lights up, startling me. My movements must have jarred the mouse, pulling the computer out of sleep mode. I press my fingers to Connor’s neck to check for a pulse, giving a short prayer of thanks when I find it.

  I’m just turning around to search for Katherine when I hear Simon. “Well, hello, Katie.”

  I whirl toward the sound, cursing myself for leaving the gun in Trey’s car. But unless I was planning to shoot Connor’s computer, it doesn’t matter. Simon’s face is in close-up on the screen until he moves a bit back from the camera. He’s older, thinner, sitting in the back of a large car . . . a limo, maybe? He wears jeans and an antique-looking New York Yankees jersey with several jagged rips running down the front. There’s a makeshift bandage the same color as the jersey on his left forearm.

  He slips the CHRONOS key back into his pocket and looks up at the camera. “Yes, I’ve been watching you through the stable point to see when you’d come in. Ain’t technology grand?”

  I give him a foul look and grab my own key.

  “Nuh-uh-uh. Drop it.”

  The location at Trey’s car is locked in. I scan forward ten minutes to the current time and see he’s still there.

  I’m about to blink away when Simon says, “Drop it, Kate. Otherwise I’ll have to start winnowing down hostages, and I hate doing that so early in the game. It just ruins the suspense.”

  I drop the key as soon as I hear the word hostages and take another look around the library. Katherine’s not here, so I’m not really surprised when Simon shifts the camera to show her, gagged and tied to the seat next to him.

  “Katherine, are you okay?”

  He shifts the camera back to his face. “She’s fine. Just a bit of excitement, right, Grandma? She was playing fireman with your buddy on the floor when I dropped in. I was beginning to worry the fire would gobble him up before you finished your shower.” A slow grin spreads across his face. “Did you enjoy it? I certainly did.”

  Simon lets that comment sink in. My shiver of revulsion must show on my face because he laughs.

  “I’m glad you ducked out of the way at Julia’s office. Not only because I enjoyed the view just now—although I really did enjoy the view—but because you and I have a common goal. We can work together. I just needed to find the r
ight incentive to . . . motivate you.”

  I tell him exactly what I think of him and his incentives.

  He laughs. “You talk like that in front of our grandmother? Sheesh. But on that last part, we’re in agreement. We both know my mother, and yes, she can be a bitch.”

  I snatch my medallion up again, and he stops laughing abruptly.

  “I’m not stupid, Kate, and I’m under a key, too. If you’re thinking you’ll go back and change things, make sure I don’t grab Katherine, that would be a very bad idea.”

  The next thing I see is him holding up an image. Mom. She’s in the same position as Katherine, except she’s unconscious. I think she’s in a hotel room, although it doesn’t look like the one in London. The barrel of a pistol is wedged under her throat.

  I can’t breathe. It’s not just the smoke. Mom looks helpless, totally at the mercy of Simon’s thug. My first thought is that I should never, ever have let her stay in London. But I’m not sure what I could have done short of kidnapping to get her home. And maybe home isn’t any safer, since Simon has Katherine, too.

  “Prudence should be right there with her, but she can be a slippery one. My point is, if you change anything about this sequence of events, I’ll know. So don’t go splitting any of my memories if you want these two ladies alive.”

  “What do—” I stop, coughing as a bit of smoke catches in my throat. “What do you want?”

  “The same thing you do. Pru can’t get her hands on the other keys. You bring them to me—intact—and I’ll let them go.”

  “Why don’t you get the keys yourself?”

  He shrugs. “Easier to let you do it. Yes, I could jump in there and get Pru’s key from you, but I really don’t look much like her, and then I’d have to fight the guy, find the keys—”

  “And you expect me to just trust that you’ll release them?”

  “You don’t have any choice, Kate. And hell, I’m a nice guy. Give me what I want, and maybe I’ll even protect all of you from our little . . . event . . . that’s coming up. And the aftermath. I’ve looked ahead, and it’s going to be interesting for a few years.”

  So he knows we know about the Culling.

  But he doesn’t know we have a vaccine. Not if he’s offering to give it to us. One tiny island of good news in a sea of catastrophe.

  “Why would you give us protection?”

  “Who said anything about giving it to you? Consider it a trade. The flock is going to freak a bit while things are . . . leveling out. I need a spare Sister Pru to help them stay calm. The one I’ve got isn’t very reliable. You help me, and we’ll find a nice safe spot for the fam. Maybe even the boyfriend, although he’s got a little payback coming for this scar on my forehead.” Simon runs one finger across the spot where Trey whacked him with a tire iron in the previous timeline.

  And this is how I end up in Rio.

  Simon knows I won’t just walk away—not when he has Mom. Not when he has Katherine. Not when he’s threatening everyone I care about.

  I won’t simply offer up the keys. There’s too much at stake. But what if we can’t stop him? If we’re stuck with a world where Cyrists call the shots, I’ll do anything I can to keep those I love alive and safe within that nightmare.

  “If I agree to this, you’ll bring both of them to the same place. I give you the keys, I come with you, and you let Mom and Katherine go.”

  “Sounds fair.”

  “Where?”

  Simon looks confused, so I repeat it, spitting the word at the camera as another wave of coughing hits me.

  “Oh, don’t worry. I’ll find you. But . . . Katie, you really might want to take care of that fire. Looks like it could get out of hand.”

  The monitor goes dark.

  Simon’s last words are an understatement. The carpet near the books is once again ablaze, and Connor is only a few feet away. The fire extinguisher near his head is empty. Wrenching the other one out of his hand, I point the nozzle toward the carpet near the burning books. It blasts for a few seconds, and then it’s empty. Hopefully the fire department will arrive soon, because there’s no way I can get Connor downstairs on my own.

  I can, however, get him out of this room. I’m just grabbing his feet when I hear, “Katherine! Connor!”

  My voice comes from the other side of the house, followed by the fire alarm in the hallway, and I remember no one has actually called the fire department yet.

  I look at the gadgets in this room and beyond them at myself in the hallway. Was calling the fire department a good idea? The jeans in my sink are covered in the blood of a woman the police will soon find murdered in her office. And how would we explain this library? The odd contraptions? Or the information on the computers they’re likely to find if this is treated as arson, which I suspect it will be.

  “Oh my God! What happened, girl? Where are Connor and Katherine?” I watch the earlier version of me run downstairs and get a queasy feeling totally unrelated to the smoke.

  Because I’m about to do what Katherine told me to avoid at all costs.

  I drag Connor to the doorway and run to the banister. Earlier-Kate is almost to the kitchen. Daphne’s in her arms, looking pathetic, and my mind suddenly connects her injured leg to Simon’s bandage and the rips in his jersey.

  Good girl, Daph.

  “Kate! Don’t call 911! And don’t . . . turn around.” I should have said the last part first, although I’m not sure it would have mattered. The double memory starts coming in, coupled with the strangest sensation, sort of like a feedback loop.

  Pulling my eyes away from the me below, I say, “Get Daphne outside! Don’t call 911. When you’re done, get up here and keep pulling Connor toward the stairs. Simon has Katherine. He also has Mom. I’m going to get help.”

  I pull my phone out of my pocket—the phone she’s also holding right now—and call Dad.

  “Hey, sweetie, what’s up?” R.E.M.’s “We Walk” is in the background, the song Dad always sang to me as a kid when he was trying to lure me up the stairs and into bed.

  “Dad, turn around and go back to Grandma Keller’s house, okay? Stay there until I call.”

  The music clicks off. “What’s happened?”

  “They’ve got Mom. Katherine, too. Julia—with the Fifth Column group I mentioned?—she’s been killed. And someone’s set fire to Katherine’s library. I’ve called the fire department . . .”

  Which is true, although I’ve just uncalled them, so I guess it’s also a lie.

  “You won’t be safe here, Dad. I’ve got less than six days to fix this. I just need to know you’re safe.”

  “I understand.”

  I breathe a big sigh of relief, followed immediately by a coughing fit, because any deep breath right now means a lungful of smoke.

  “Get out of there, Katie.”

  “I will. Love you.”

  Earlier-Me is standing in the kitchen doorway looking up at This-Me. It hurts to look at her, so I pull my eyes away. But then I realize she’s holding a fire extinguisher.

  “Where did you get that?”

  “On the patio. By the grill?”

  How did I miss it the first time? Maybe I was looking down at the phone?

  “I’m going for help. See what you can do while I’m gone.”

  Will she still be here when I get back?

  I have no idea. It’s killing my head to even think about it.

  NEAR DAMASCUS, MARYLAND

  September 12, 10:48 a.m.

  “—you could take Estella and go back to Punta Cana? Or down to—”

  Trey takes one look at me and says, “I’ll call you back, Dad.”

  “Simon has Katherine. And Mom. I need fire extinguishers. The biggest you can find.”

  Trey nods, cranks the car, and is already halfway out of the parking lot when I blink to Kiernan’s cabin.

  BOGART, GEORGIA

  December 11, 1912, 11:03 a.m.

  “I spent the past six months hiding out here in
the cabin, trying to store up enough . . . I don’t know . . . jump juice, whatever the hell you want to call it, so that I can make the trip to 2305. And now we have a side trip because of a fire? Who set it?”

  “Uh . . . Simon?” It seems pretty obvious to me, so I’m not sure why Kiernan even asked. “But it’s okay. I’ll handle it without you.”

  I try to sound more confident than I feel, but I don’t think it’s working. “The other me . . . and this me. The two of me will get Connor downstairs. And then we’ll put out the fire.”

  He shakes his head and looks up at the ceiling. Then he pulls me into a hug. I kind of wish he hadn’t, because tears sting the back of my eyelids. I bite my lip, willing them away.

  “They’re okay, love. They’ll be okay.”

  “You can’t know that.”

  I told him Simon has Mom and Katherine as soon as I blinked in. And about Julia. What I didn’t mention was Simon’s bit about needing a new Sister Prudence. I won’t be mentioning that to Trey, either. Or Dad, or Connor—so yeah, not to anyone. It’s partly because I know they’d try to stop me, but also because I’m not willing to admit out loud that I’m considering it as a last-ditch option. The fact that some future version of me was there in Rio, with Simon, is like a drop of acid slowly eating away at my last sliver of optimism.

  “You smell like smoke. Again.” Kiernan’s fingers trace the scar along my jaw, and he looks lost for a moment. “We’ll get them back, Kate. But the first stage of your plan has a major flaw. There’s only going to be one of you in a few minutes. If not when you get back, then definitely before you’d be able to get Connor downstairs and put out the fire.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Watched it happen a few times. I never did it on purpose, but Simon got a kick out of it when we were first fooling around with the keys. The deal is you didn’t spin off an entirely new timeline. You just created this tiny . . . splinter. Kind of like a shard of ice that melts away. That earlier you only exists up to the point where you chipped away at your own personal course of action. She’s wearing the same key as you, so she’ll disappear. You’re the original one, right?”