She peered up at him. “I care about you a great deal. In case—in case we die in here.”
Epson let out a great laugh of surprise. Peter looked down at his shoes, noticing the way Dr. Epson and Ms. Stewart had begun to look at each other. They’d been hiding their love from each other for all this time, in this lost decade.
“We have to move,” Peter said. “Start looking!”
“What are we looking for, exactly?” Larsson asked.
“Not sure. I guess anything that looks out of place,” Peter replied, thinking that everything in the lab looked out of place to him.
They began the search, through the many cabinets and hiding places in the lab. With every step, Peter knew that they were losing time.
To his right, Dr. Epson and Ms. Stewart had begun to hold hands and search together, dashing in and out of various offices. Peter tried to imagine the blast that would overtake them; he wondered if it would be similar to the explosion at Oradour-sur-Glane—all-encompassing, leaving few to no survivors.
Peter found himself in the great stairwell, climbing up the familiar army-green steps. He remembered this place from its future days, its massive subterranean levels. On this day, the only employees hard at work were Dr. Epson, the doctors, and Ms. Stewart. Luckily, not many would perish, Peter thought—if, in fact, Mandrake succeeded with this mission.
As Peter searched for the bomb, his anger at Mandrake for trying to force him to stay in this past, to never see his children again, grew exponentially. He turned over tables, scouring the level, the cabinets, the various small offices for the bomb. He would see his kids again; he had to. He had given up too much already to die here, in the explosion in 1942.
Peter rushed forward and found the steps once more, then hurried back down to sublevel six to find the others. Their time was running out. Everything had been turned over, filtered through in order to find the ticking bomb. But so far they’d found nothing.
Dr. Epson came toward him, his face bleak. “Peter, I think it might be time to consider evacuation. I’m sorry. But if what you’re saying is true—I can rebuild the time machine. I can make it stronger and better, someplace else.”
Peter shook his head. “No. We have to find it. This is my only chance.” He knew that Mandrake would find a way to stop the rebuilding process in the future, and he didn’t want to linger on in this uncertain past. For all he knew, Mandrake was out in front of the lab that instant, waiting to ignite the bomb. What a grand show he would have, Peter thought.
Suddenly, they heard a scream from down the hall, in the control room. Ms. Stewart was crying out: “I’VE GOT IT!” The words echoed through the halls.
Peter and Dr. Epson darted from their positions and raced toward the control room. The doctors were already there, peering at the bomb and shaking their heads. “No deactivation, Doctor,” Dr. Lamb said, shaking his head fearfully at Dr. Epson.
The thing was monstrous, with clusters of yellow, green, and red wires encircling it. Its tick-tick-ticking made it seem antiquated and truly frightening as it rested in Ms. Stewart’s hands. She held it delicately, like a baby. Peter ran his hands through his hair, certain they were about to die, that the bomb would explode between them.
“What the hell am I supposed to do?” Ms. Stewart whimpered, her eyes moving toward Dr. Epson—the only man she’d ever trusted. “What can I do?”
CHAPTER 22
No one spoke as the bomb beeped before them. The tension filled the entire control room. Peter’s thoughts were only on Julie, on their baby, on his children. He thought about them and closed his eyes, wishing them all a somber goodbye. He would go down with the ship; nothing else could be done. He wouldn’t even see the end of the war.
But suddenly, Miss Stewart darted between him and Dr. Epson, still holding the bomb, carrying it out before her, like a beacon. Peter was so distracted with his own thoughts, he hardly noticed. Dr. Lamb and Dr. Larsson rushed forward, already chasing after her. “Where is she going?” Dr. Lamb called out.
Dr. Epson was panicked. He launched himself in front of Peter, his white coat flying behind him like a cape. “Gertrude!” he screamed to her. His voice cracked. “Don’t do this!”
Peter ran behind him, part of his mind lost in reverie. So much of this reminded him of Oradour-sur-Glane—of the instant before the disaster. He rushed down the hall, watching as Miss Stewart powered forward with the bomb in her hands. She didn’t have anything to live for except Dr. Epson, Peter knew. And the only thing Dr. Epson lived for was his work. It would be her ultimate honor to die for him, to allow him to keep going: to learn the secret of time travel and give the world a lasting legacy. She didn’t know he was meant to die in his lab; she didn’t know that all would be lost, even if she died today in order to save him.
In many ways, Peter thought, this act of kindness was so much like Julie. Julie had remained in France, taking the baton forward on the strange path of raising her grandmother, of helping her family create a strong and healthy bloodline. She’d accepted this duty wholeheartedly, throwing herself into a fire and wrapping her arms around young Marion, allowing her another chance at life. When Peter had asked her to take back the life she already had, she’d refused it. Who would care for Marion if she did that?
Peter knew that Miss Stewart was gifting them a free and safe world, even as she worked to sacrifice herself. She was far too quick for them to catch her, darting on toward the stairwell—the very stairwell, Peter knew, that was altered in the future after brand-new reparations. History was going to repeat itself if the bomb did, indeed, explode.
When Miss Stewart reached the stairwell, she looked to her right, toward a great wall of books. The bookshelf was tall and thick, with hundreds of science books stacked far and wide. Peter watched as the young woman carried the bomb with in hand and lifted the other to the bookcase, shaking it back and forth and allowing it to crash to the ground as she darted into the stairway.
Dr. Epson gasped as he reached the bookcase. It was completely blocking the heavy steel door, and its books had fallen, making it nearly impossible to clear the mess in time. Peter and the doctors began tossing the big, bulky books wildly to the side: physics books and time travel books and chemistry books. They all slid down the hallway. Peter understood that the books would be fodder for the fire that was about to erupt from the bomb in Miss Stewart’s hands, just a few rounds of stairs above them.
Epson sweated as he worked toward the door, quivering in his passion and love for Miss Stewart. Peter wanted to assure him that it was going to be all right, but he knew his words would sound empty. He hadn’t wanted to hear anything on the voyage from France to the United States except his own sad, lonely thoughts.
Finally, they flung the last book to the side. Dr. Epson reached out and spun the handle to the right, creating a dark portal into the five flights of stairs. They could hear Miss Stewart crying up above, and they darted into the stairwell and up the flights of steps. Peter felt his thighs screaming as he ran faster and faster. Dr. Epson passed him on the left, a look of passion and fear etched through his eyebrows, on his lips. His breath came in jagged inhales and exhales. “Gertrude!”
Miss Stewart had reached the top and had disappeared around the bend of the steps. She wouldn’t stop. Where would she go?
Peter realized that the two doctors hadn’t followed him and Dr. Epson. He assumed that they’d raced outside, trying to save themselves from this horror. But Peter wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he allowed Miss Stewart to die. He continued to run, to feel the pain in his thighs, in his knees. Keep going. Keep going, he continued to think. He wondered if this was how Emmett had felt all those weeks ago on the battlefield. Emmett was meant to be an enemy to Julie and Peter, at Mandrake’s direction. And yet, he’d become a friend, certainly a protector. He’d flung himself over Peter, allowing him to live. Peter longed to give Miss Stewart a chance at life, as well. After all, he was the reason all of this was happening. She shouldn’t
have to die for him, just as Emmett shouldn’t have had to give up his life for Peter.
But time seemed to repeat itself, over and over again, in a series of insane patterns.
Dr. Epson and Peter reached the last step. Dr. Epson was a few feet away, tearing down the hallway. He lurched to the right, toward the first sublevel. Peter followed, ready for the end with every step he took. He would be there for this grand moment in time—for this end of all things.
CHAPTER 23
They found Miss Stewart standing at the end of the long, shadowed tunnel. She was cornered. She held the wiry, ticking bomb in her hands, and she stood gawking at the man before her: Gallagher. His face was harsh, and he was spitting as he screamed at her. His hands flapped wildly around his stout body. “You can’t mess with time, Miss Stewart! It’s the only thing that holds this world intact!”
But Miss Stewart was crying. Her face was scrunched, and she held the bomb tightly in her hands. She wouldn’t let go. She shook her head vehemently. Her only chance was to cling to the bomb and make sure Dr. Epson didn’t die in the resulting fire, to make sure the time travelers could make it back home.
Miss Stewart began to say something. Her words came in spurts between her tears. “You can’t control time any more than I can, Gallagher,” she said. “We have to let things play out their course, without violence.” She shuddered.
Peter and Dr. Epson crept close to the two people at the end of the tunnel. Dr. Epson brought up a hand, halting Peter from going any further. He shook his head. “Don’t. You need to go back. Let me.”
He walked forward with confidence, his white jacket floating behind him. “Gallagher,” he said, his voice resounding through the hallway.
Gallagher lurched back, toward the doctor. He looked fearful. “Dr. Epson. You know what needs to be done. Use that massive scientific brain of yours. Think of the consequences.”
Dr. Epson strode forward. Every time that Peter had seen him, he’d been crouched over his time machine, always frowning at the various screws and wires. And now he walked forward like a sort of knight, ready to save Miss Stewart, the only woman who’d ever understood him.
“I don’t know, Mr. Gallagher. And you don’t know either.” Dr. Epson swallowed.
Peter hung back, unsure of what to do. He wanted to rush down the steps and into the time machine, but he knew he needed to wait. These were his people, now. He knew in his heart that what Miss Stewart was saying was right. They had to allow this timeline to play out without violence, without fear of what would change in the future. He knew that Mandrake’s entire society was rooted in that fear. Those people glaring at things they could never change, at the way Dr. Epson’s new comprehension of time could end wars early, could make people never be born. They were busying themselves, trying to ensure those changes wouldn’t take place—when change was really the only thing that ever happened, all the time.
Dr. Epson continued, “I know you’ve been working for Mandrake all this time. Altering my calculations and messing my tests up just enough—just enough to make me unsuccessful.” Dr. Epson brought his hands forward, adjusting his fingers as he crept closer to the couple. “But all it did was make me work harder, deep into the night. And always for a greater purpose. To comprehend this universe we live in. And to perhaps solve serious crimes against humanity. Wars, for example. As I understand it, your Mr. Mandrake is keen on this idea: to keep people safe.”
“In this timeline. To keep people safe in the now so that it can flow naturally into the future. You’re an old fool if you can’t understand that the monstrosity you’re making down there is going to fuck up everything. This life—this one with you and Miss Stewart, here—and the lives of our children and grandchildren,” Gallagher said. His voice shook a bit as he reached toward the bomb. He needed to carry it toward Peter, Peter understood—needed to destroy both Peter and the time machine.
Miss Stewart started muttering to herself, gazing down at the bomb in her hands. She looked as if she was losing her mind. Her fingers curled around it.
Peter looked at his watch. It had been too long, at that point. He felt the tension creeping up around all of them. Peter’s mind spun, pulling him into a sort of daze. As Dr. Epson spoke to Gallagher, trying to reason with him in a harsh, authoritative voice, Peter came up with a plan. They had to get out of the blast if they were going to survive—if this mission was ever going to be worth what everyone had sacrificed. To the right of Dr. Epson, he spotted a blast door that led into another, unused laboratory.
His eyes moved from Miss Stewart to Gallagher to Dr. Epson. He had to act quickly.
Miss Stewart had begun to quiver, holding the bomb still in her hands much like a woman presents a main course at a party—so delicately, so precisely. Gallagher was still flapping his arms wildly, angry at Dr. Epson, trying to reason with him. Their voices were echoing through the hallway. Their anger was consuming them, causing them to forget that death was only moments away.
“Put the bomb down!” Peter jolted forward, toward the three of them. He reached Dr. Epson first, and caught the attention of Miss Stewart, who gazed back at him with broad, bright eyes. Her lips had come apart, like she was about to ask a question.
But Peter lurched into Dr. Epson, and they tumbled into that vacant laboratory. Peter brought his hand up and grabbed the blast door, slamming it behind him. The explosion outside burst against the door, but the door held firm.
Dr. Epson had fallen to the ground as Peter slammed into him, and he lay on the ground during the blast, banging his hand against the ground in fury. “NooooOOOOO!” he wailed.
But it was too late. All around them, test tubes and lab equipment crashed and clanked and fell to the ground. It seemed like the end of the world, if only for a few moments. Peter felt his heart racing as the noise and vibrations of the bomb fell away, leaving the floor beneath them solid and steady once more. He slid down the door, feeling beads of sweat drip down his forehead, through his eyebrows.
Dr. Epson went on slamming his fist against the floor, drawing blood now. His screams had turned to silence. The chaos around them turned into unbroken silence—like every ounce of energy in the room had been sucked into the explosion.
Peter gazed down at his hands, noting how fragile and pink they looked. How youthful he still was, even after all that had happened to him. He’d been surrounded by dead soldiers on the battlefield in Oradour-sur-Glane; he’d seen their dead eyes gaze into the sky as he marched back toward freedom, toward life.
And now, he’d flung himself away from death once more. He’d allowed Epson’s beautiful assistant and the good-for-nothing Gallagher to die in the explosion outside the door. He couldn’t have reached them, he told himself over and over. It couldn’t have happened.
Finally, Dr. Epson righted himself, peering at his hands much like Peter had. His right fist was slathered in blood. Peter knew that the pain probably felt good; it fit with everything else Dr. Epson was feeling. It fit with the pain in his heart.
“I tried to reason with him,” Dr. Epson began to whisper, shaking his head back and forth. “I tried to make it work.”
“You can’t do this to yourself, Doctor,” Peter said. He stood up then, placing his hand on the door. All around him, the lab had been torn to pieces. “There was nothing you could have done. Mandrake was out for blood.”
Peter longed to tell the doctor that they’d won against Mandrake, that they’d beaten him at his own game. But he knew that in Dr. Epson’s eyes, they hadn’t won anything. He’d lost the only woman he could have truly loved in this world. And Peter knew that feeling all too well.
He opened the door and allowed Dr. Epson to stand, bumbling to his feet with enormous sadness written on his face. They coughed into the haze, the blackness that surrounded them as they stepped into the once-white hallway. Much of the floor and the stairway had fallen in, crushing some of the laboratories below. An electrical unit above them had begun to crackle and hiss, emitting small jol
ts of electricity into the air. Peter pulled his shirt up over his mouth. He didn’t want to inhale anything. He alerted Dr. Epson to do the same. Dr. Epson did so slowly, his eyes still red above the white lab coat.
They moved down the hall, toward the other staircase—the staircase that didn’t exist in the future. They stepped lightly, toward the side of the hall, where much of the floor was still intact.
Peter felt his mind rushing in overdrive as they moved up the steps to the ground floor. He burst through the door into fresh air and helped Dr. Epson out behind him.
They were outside, in the fresh light of San Francisco. This was peace.
CHAPTER 24
Peter put his arm around Dr. Epson as they stood and coughed in the sunlight. Behind them, Dr. Lamb and Dr. Larsson ran up from the parking lot, calling out to them.
“Oh my god! Where did the explosion come from?”
“Is everyone all right?”
“Where’s Miss Stewart?”
But Peter and Dr. Epson just looked at the doctors, their eyes hazy. The doctors understood, then, that Miss Stewart was dead—that she’d sacrificed herself by running with that bomb. She’d run away from the time machine and away from the time travelers, protecting them all. She’d been lost in the struggle against time.
Dr. Lamb and Dr. Larsson volunteered to go downstairs and make sure Dr. Epson’s lab equipment was all right after the explosion. They came back with good reports and cups of water which they passed to Peter and Epson.
“It all looks good. Not a single inch of the place was disturbed by the bomb.” Their voices were quiet as they spoke, as if they’d just returned from war.
9781940740065 Page 37