Time's Divide (The Chronos Files Book 3)

by Rysa Walker

  He stops again, watching my face. “What? You don’t think she would?”

  “No. If Katherine had nowhere to go, Mom wouldn’t turn her away. But she’d have been miserable.”

  “Apparently she was—”

  “My question is . . . was Pru watching them? And if so, why didn’t she let them know she was alive? I’m pretty sure she thought Katherine was behind the bombing of CHRONOS, so maybe that’s why she didn’t want anything to do with her, but couldn’t she at least have let Mom know?”

  “That part is fuzzy for me. There was something about a video . . . or a recording of some sort. With your mum. It didn’t make sense to me, so it could be something else Pru’s made up in her little fantasy world. Last time she had some new nonsense, talking about Deborah as her daughter rather than her sister. I’ve given up trying to make all the pieces fit. Anyway—”

  “That last bit might be my fault. The 1872 trip? I had to tell her something to get her to trust me.”

  He gives me an annoyed look. “Shush, okay? I’m trying to keep all this straight, and you adding in new twists and tangles isn’t helping. Anyway, Pru saw what taking care of Katherine did to your mum. So in the next timeline, after they insert the Book of Cyrus and the Book of Prophecy into the past, Pru goes back, bribes someone at the hospital in Italy that first time Katherine goes in for testing. Has them tell her everything’s fine, just an infection. The pills Katherine gets aren’t antibiotics, however. They’re an anticancer drug Pru got from some point in the future. Katherine gets better, and then wham! Two months later, she starts training my Kate. Pru was pissed. Said she did a good deed and that’s how Katherine repaid her.”

  “But . . . it’s not like Katherine knew.”

  “Didn’t say it was logical. Just said that’s how Pru felt. Then Saul decides, for whatever reason, that the best bet is to reset everything.”

  “Maybe because he was worried you and your Kate were getting too close to stopping him?”

  Kiernan shakes his head. “Pru always said Saul wasn’t worried about that. Simon, too. I suspect they’re right. Think about it. Saul tells Simon to snatch my Kate’s key and erase my memory, knowing it means Simon is writing off our friendship. He tells Pru to kill Katherine back in 1969, knowing it means killing herself and her unborn sister, too. I think they were loyalty tests. Simon once said Saul had one of the regional Templars kill his own wife to prove his loyalty, so it wouldn’t be the first time.”

  “So, like the story of Abraham and Isaac in the Bible?”

  “Yeah, except Saul doesn’t intercede and tell the guy to stop at the last minute. Anyway, neither Pru nor Simon can follow orders . . . it’s not in their nature. Simon did a decent job of hiding it. Saul may still not know what Simon did with Kate. But Pru, she told Saul flat out that she didn’t kill Katherine. She gave him some garbage about how she wanted Katherine to die a slow death and that she wouldn’t give her the cancer treatment so that she’d be too sick to train you. But she knew that wasn’t why Saul set that task for her. She’s crazy, but she’s not stupid.”

  I’m silent for a long time, trying to untangle all the threads. This stuff screws with my brain under the best of circumstances, and I already felt like crap before Kiernan started piling on the conundrums. There are at least half a dozen things that bug me about what he’s just said, but I think most of them are because I’m thinking linearly. And logically, which probably isn’t any better when it comes to Saul and Prudence. Maybe Simon, too.

  “Why didn’t you tell me this when I asked in Georgia? You knew then, didn’t you?”

  “I didn’t know for certain. Simon told me about a month after we left Martha’s. I think he was testing me. Saul taught him well, huh? But . . . the whole thing at Norumbega was bugging me. Why would Pru be there with Simon? She bloody hates him. She hated him when she was younger, too. Drugged or no, she wouldn’t have stood there quietly and . . . she wouldn’t have been watchin’ me that way, either. Like her heart was being torn out—”

  “And Simon says he’ll give your Kate back in exchange for the keys and me. What if you refuse?”

  “He yanks her key.”

  “Let’s say you did hand the keys over, then what? The two of you just go back to the cabin and don’t worry about the next century when nearly a billion—”

  “The three of us.” His tone is still low and flat as he says that, but then the next words explode out of him. “You saw her, Kate! She’s with child. You saw her. It’s not so simple. The baby . . .”

  “But that’s one child, Kiernan! How many children die in the Culling and after?”

  “How many people died in World War One, Kate? World War Two? How about the other wars in the last century? Tally up those deaths, and no, it’s not quite the ‘nearly a billion’ that you mention, but it’s not so far from it. And there’s plenty more to come.”

  “But Katherine says things get better, that they’re getting better even in my time, if people would just look at things objectively. There’s less hunger, less disease, fewer wars. The Future-Wiki that Delia and Abel put together, everything Grant told me, what Campbell and Tate said, too—everything points in that same direction. Even if that future wasn’t perfect, I’m certain it’s better than what we see here.”

  “I’m not arguing with that, damn it. Would you let me finish? What if someone said you could stop all of those deaths by sacrificing an innocent child? Would it be an easy choice for you? What if the child in question was your own?”

  I don’t know how to answer. I mean, I know it wouldn’t be an easy choice, but could I do it? Could I sacrifice a child of my own—or any concrete, living child for that matter—to save millions? I’d like to think the answer is yes, that the good of the many outweighs the good of the few or the one, but I have to admit I’m not certain, even when the idea of having a child of my own seems distant and remote.

  And while I don’t have the guts to admit it out loud, I have very mixed feelings about the news that Other-Kate is alive. I’m relieved it’s not me in Rio, and I’m really and truly happy for Kiernan, even though I think the odds of him getting her back safely with everything else currently on the line aren’t good. There’s also a touch of jealousy, however unreasonable it may be. Not over Kiernan. I care for him. Okay, yes. I love him. But not the way I love Trey.

  The jealous feeling is that she’s butting into my timeline, a timeline where she’s not supposed to exist. And that’s kind of scary. Maybe I’ll be the one who evaporates this time, like the other Other-Me did during the library fire.

  But the baby? That’s a very different kettle of fish. Thinking about this baby—a baby that shares half my genes, a baby I most likely will never see even if it survives—stirs up an odd sense of protectiveness.

  “Is it . . .” I try to think of a delicate way to phrase it, but there isn’t one, so I just blurt it out. “Is the baby yours?”

  He’s quiet for a bit, and then he says, “I think so. After I left Estero, the supply of contraceptives June gave me ran out. So Kate was taking care of it, but when most of your days last longer than twenty-four hours, it’s hard to stick to a schedule. I think she may have missed a few times, especially during the whole craziness with the jump to Georgia. She was going to get one of those implant things, but she never got around to it. And Simon swears it’s mine. Swears he never touched her, swears Saul and the others don’t even know about her, that they think she’s Younger Pru. He claims his goal all along was to give her back to me, once it’s all done.”

  “Do you believe him?”

  His laugh is nervous, shaky. “The sad thing is, I really do. Why else would he bring her to watch me at Estero? Simon took the stars down that night after he and his goons grabbed Kate—probably the same goons that knocked me out in the alley. Said he was worried Pru or Saul might catch on to the fact that he didn’t follow orders. But he’s also the one who came back later and put the stupid things back up, to let me know I shouldn’t g
ive up hope. It’s like Kate said long ago, Simon’s never loved anyone other than me. No one can love Saul, it’s like lovin’ a damned cobra. You might try to please him, but that’s mostly self-preservation. And Pru . . . there’s no love lost there. Saul set the two of them against each other from day one. With no mum, no dad, he latched onto me like a brother. So, yeah, I believe him when he says the baby’s mine. But there are limits. He’d feel bad about yanking Kate’s key, just like he’d probably have felt bad about killing her. But he’ll do it if he finds I’ve double-crossed him.”

  A defiant note comes into his voice as he continues. “But on the issue of the baby, it wouldn’t matter either way, Kate. The child is indisputably hers, and . . . she is my very heart. So the child is mine. I won’t be asking any questions of her.”

  Kiernan reaches into his pocket and then stretches his hand out to me, dropping something into my palm. “Sorry. I lied to you about that, too.”

  The gold is tinted blue in the light of the CHRONOS keys. It’s still obvious that it’s a wedding band. Something is engraved inside, but I can’t read it.

  “It was just a civil ceremony in Boston, about three months after my mum died. Jess and Amelia stood up for us. Katherine would’ve had a fit, and so would your mum and dad, probably—Kate had barely begun college. We had so much uncertainty in every other part of our lives, though, and I needed . . .” He shrugs. “Kate would’ve been just as happy to wait, but she humored me. Simon said he had to drug her to get the ring off her finger.”

  That image clearly riles him up. He clenches a handful of the sand-stuff and squeezes it into a firm ball, then smashes it back into the ground.

  “So . . . you’re pissed at yourself because you couldn’t betray me—and what we’re working for—to save your Kate and the baby. And you’re also pissed at yourself for even thinking about doing it. Is that it?”

  “Yeah,” he says, still looking off in the distance. “Pretty much sums it up.”

  “Kiernan, would you just look at me?” I wait until he finally turns toward me. “I’m not angry. Well, maybe a little, but I understand. I just . . . I wish you’d told me. You acting like such a jerk makes a lot more sense now that I know what’s been weighing you down. And we’re not at odds here. We’ll both do our best to stop this, but if we can’t? I’ll go with Simon and help him do whatever he needs to do to calm the survivors if he keeps his promise and lets Mom and Katherine go—that’s my fallback option, too. This just means there are two more lives we might be able to salvage if all else fails.”

  It’s my best effort at making peace, and I give him a hopeful smile. But if anything, he looks even angrier than before.

  What did I say to set him off this time?

  Kiernan struggles with whatever it is for a moment, and when he finally speaks, it’s through clenched teeth. “First, let’s not forget that it wasn’t just a matter of trading you for her. I was toying with the idea of looking the other way, of accepting Simon’s argument that all those lives are irrelevant. And second, cut the bloody martyr act. I’m not letting you sacrifice yourself. I suspect there are others who might object to that as well.”

  I really, really want to punch him. To hear him talk, it’s like I’m one of those Koreshan women, eager to sacrifice my life for the cause. I take a few calming breaths, but my voice is still quivering when I reply.

  “First—and I know this was your second point, but since it’s what pissed me off the most, that’s where I’m starting—if you think I plan on just giving up, that any of us plan on giving up without a fight, you are sadly mistaken. And as for your other point, everybody toys with the idea of walking away, Kiernan! Do you think I haven’t thought of it? I haven’t even seen Saul’s demo reel of the collected horrors of the next few centuries. But even without seeing everything you’ve seen, there’s a part of me that just wants to say screw it all and run. I want to believe that voice would never win out, but if I had the option of finding a safe corner of the past and taking the people I love with me . . . the way you can? Let’s just say the temptation would be a whole lot stronger.”

  He doesn’t respond. And that’s fine, because there’s only about fifteen minutes before the bots come rolling through to clean the area. Hopefully a few hours of rest were enough.

  I pull up the hotel stable point, set for five thirty, as I promised. Trey is on the corner of the bed near Charlayne and Ben, watching the point where I’m really hoping I’ll arrive. Eve and Max are off in the corner by the window. Her hands are duct-taped in front of her, as are her ankles. I guess Max decided to hold off on securing her to the chair since I didn’t leave him coordinates.

  And even though I was arguing in favor of jumping in at the hotel earlier, seeing Eve again bothers me. The idea of taking these keys into a room where she is sitting—even if she’s restrained—sets off all sorts of alarm bells.

  So I pull up the foyer at Katherine’s. Simon’s watching the library, he’s watching my room, maybe even watching the kitchen. But the foyer? Maybe not. I could yell upstairs and . . . I have no idea beyond that, but I’d really love Dad’s and Connor’s input on the next steps.

  But . . . the foyer isn’t empty. Or rather, the living room, which is just beyond the foyer, isn’t empty. Connor and Dad should still be in the library—in fact, they were still in the library at this exact moment, the last time I checked.

  Something has changed. Connor and Dad are sitting in the two chairs across from the sofa. They look confused. Worried. Daphne is on the floor between them, head between her paws.

  Dad says something, but not to Connor. It looks like he’s talking to someone on the sofa.

  They’re no longer alone.

  I pan to the left and suck in a sharp breath. I can’t see her face, but someone with hair very much like mine is in the sofa opposite Dad, talking rapidly. She’s gesturing with her hands, and my eye is drawn to the CHRONOS key embedded in the inside of her forearm.

  “Kiernan? We have a complication. Pru is at Katherine’s.” I lean over to transfer the point to his key. “She looks kind of crazed.”

  He gives me a look that says surprise, surprise, and pulls up the stable point on his key. “She doesn’t seem to be threatening them. Since Simon has Deborah . . . I don’t know, maybe she’s looking for help?”

  “Damn it. Pru is at Katherine’s. Eve is at the hotel. The freakin’ Cyrists have eyes everywhere.”

  Kiernan thinks for a moment. “Maybe not . . . everywhere.”

  He reaches over and grabs my hand, his eyes imploring. “Can you still trust me, Kate? I won’t blame you if the answer is no, but if we can get you back to my time, there’s a spot—no, not the cabin—where you can rest up and the keys will be safe. It’s the only spot I can think of where I’m sure . . . well, as sure as I can be . . . that no one is watching.”

  “I don’t know if I can make it that far back. But yes. I still trust you.”

  He gives me a smile that makes him look years younger, much more like the Kiernan I remember. “Hand me your key.”

  Once the stable point is transferred to my medallion, I grab the tub of keys and stand up. I still feel shaky, and it’s several seconds before I can even focus enough to pull up the location he transferred to my key. The stable point is pitch-black, just like this one was, although I think there’s a bit of light coming in from above.

  “So, where am I headed?” I ask, and then hold up my hand. “No. On second thought, you said this is the only safe spot you can think of. Tate said he didn’t believe there’s anyone in this reality who can use the CHRONOS equipment, but I’m not willing to bet the entire future on that. If I’m apprehended here before I can jump out, I can erase this stable point. I’m sure that here in 2308 there are very sophisticated methods of getting people to cough up information they’d like to hide, so I don’t want to know where . . .”

  Kiernan shakes his head. “Kate, I’m not leaving you here alone.”

  “Yes, Kiernan! Y
ou are. If this doesn’t work, if I can’t blink out of here, I’m crawling into one of the Juvapods until I can leave, and you’re getting the hell out of 2308 with these keys. So . . . here goes nothing.”

  And, unfortunately, I’m right.

  ∞20∞

  OBJECTIVIST CLUB

  WASHINGTON, EC

  September 20, 2308, 9:07 a.m.

  The Juvapod is warm and humid, like a hot tub without water. It’s all I can do to stay awake and upright so that I don’t bump into the walls. I’m safe in here—I scanned ahead on the key, and no one uses this pod today. There’s just enough space that I could lie down if I curl up into a fetal position, but I’m worried that I’ll stretch out in my sleep if I get too comfortable. I’d rather avoid another discussion with Alisa.

  I think I dozed off for a few, although I doubt it’s enough to allow me to blink out. Since Kiernan is probably correct about “draining my battery” with too many attempts, I just take a small sip from the water bottle we found behind the information desk, and I wait. Only sixteen more hours until I can climb out of this tomb, stretch out on the sand-stuff, and get some real sleep.

  Kiernan took the keys when he left. I wouldn’t let him tell me where or when. While that was an enormous, gut-wrenching leap of faith, I didn’t see much choice. He asked me three times if I wouldn’t rather keep them here with me. I think he was scared he’d give in to temptation, but that seems much less risky than me keeping them here when I’ve no idea how long before I can jump.

  With nothing else to do, I check on Dad and Connor. Still there. So is Pru. Watching her makes me nervous, so I pull up the hotel room, even though I’ve watched this scene over and over. I always stop when I see myself jump in. I don’t want to see what I do next, because then I’ll be thinking about what I saw myself do when I’m actually doing it, and the idea of that makes me crazy. And if I ignore Max and Eve’s side of the room and just focus on Trey, it’s kind of relaxing. He is talking to Ben about something, occasionally glancing over at the stable point where I’ll pop in.