Kyle grabbed Ayers’s leg, trying to pull him down from the belt, but Ayers pushed his foot against Kyle’s chest, sending him reeling backwards into a rack of candy across from the checkstand.
Now, Ayers lowered the gun toward the crowd of people in front of the registers and squeezed the trigger. Kyle watched as employees and customers scattered, running for their lives. Ayers quickly flicked one cartridge out of the gun and loaded another. He was shooting indiscriminately now—high and low.
Kyle saw an older woman take a bullet to the shoulder, blood spurting to the floor next to her. He got back onto his feet, reached across the checkstand, and pressed the button to move the conveyor belt. Ayers stopped shooting as he stumbled a bit from the surprise. Kyle jumped up onto the belt now and wrestled the gun from Ayers’s hands. He pointed the gun at him.
“You don’t want this boredom, Kyle,” Ayers said, smiling again as he lay on his back on the checkstand. “Come with me and we can have some real fun together. Once we never, no one can hurt us. Want to fuck Marilyn Monroe? Just go find her when she was still some slutty orphan. We can stop the Kennedy assassination just for fun. Or, we can kill him ourselves. Doesn’t that sound more exciting than working at this dump? Want to invent the iPhone? Direct Star Wars? Hijack the first moon landing? It’s all possible if we work together.”
Kyle wanted to pull the trigger, but he thought of what Allaire told him: If he dies, the Seres die with him.
Ayers squirmed out from beneath Kyle and jumped down from the conveyor belt. Kyle pointed the gun at him. No one was left in sight. He picked up a Twix bar from the rack of candy that he’d knocked Kyle into. He ripped it open and stuffed a bite into his mouth. “Your whole life can be dessert before dinner, Kyle. I don’t know why you’re fighting me so much on this.”
Ayers pulled the silk blot from his jacket pocket and held it toward Kyle. “It’s time for us to kiss and make up,” Ayers said. “C’mon, Kyle. Enough of this nonsense. Do you think any of these people would turn down eternal life for you?”
Kyle squeezed the trigger and hit Ayers’s in the middle of his chest. Ayers fell backward on top of the fallen candy rack. He looked shocked.
Ayers tried to speak, but grimaced and couldn’t get the words out. As he started to pull the silk blot around his head, Kyle knew that if Ayers made it into the tunnel, he would likely heal up immediately and survive the wound. The trigger clicked, but there was no more ammo in the gun. He saw another clip attached to Ayers’s belt and jumped down to grab it.
As he reached down, he heard a loud boom come from the front of the store and froze. Kyle saw the outer gate rolling up now. There was a line of police cars, lights on, parked right in front of the Mega-Market’s entrance and about ten officers working together to lift the gate and get inside. Even if he found a way to convince the cops that he hadn’t been responsible for everything that had just happened, Kyle knew there was no way he’d get back to his silk blot before it expired if he stuck around to be questioned. As much as he did not want to go into the tunnel again, Allaire might need him. If there was a way to save her, he had to try.
By the time Kyle looked back at Ayers, he was gone—vanished into thin air with his silk blot. Kyle laid the machine gun on the checkstand, hopped down and raced toward the back of the store. He felt relieved when he noticed a group of scared looking employees and customers huddled in a corner in Cosmetics—the furthest section in the store from the cash registers. It wasn’t until he almost slipped in a pool of her blood that he noticed the mother he’d seen earlier lying dead in the same place she’d been hiding with her daughter. The preteen girl lay on her chest, stunned and silent. “She needs help,” the girl managed to say to Kyle, almost inaudibly. But she was beyond help. Kyle looked back and police and EMTs had just made their way in through the front of the store.
He sprinted to the employee break room and, without hesitating, threw open Brady’s locker and grabbed his car keys. Kyle raced toward the heavy metal door of the loading dock, pushed against it, hopped down to ground level, and plunked the alarm button on Brady’s keys, praying that he’d parked in the back. Kyle heard the car answer him back and then sprinted to the blue Ford Taurus.
He took the back way out of the parking lot. The police would be looking for him any minute now—especially since there was at least one dead person inside the store.
Kyle realized that Ayers’s plan in coming there had been wickedly perfect. If Kyle came with him, Ayers got what he wanted. If he didn’t, by shooting up the Mega-Market and leaving Kyle to answer for it, it would be nearly impossible for Kyle to stay in 2016.
Kyle couldn’t worry about whether Ayers had won or lost, though. The silk blot under his bed was a lower quality one, only meant to last forty-eight hours, and he needed to hurry. He sped toward the apartment and covered the fifteen-minute ride in about seven minutes.
He bounded up the outside steps, and opened the door to the apartment. When Kyle reached his room, he dove face-first like a baseball player and threw his arm under his bed. At first, he didn’t feel anything, but then he swung his arm back and forth and touched the blot. He pulled it out. The incandescent light emanating from it was weaker than usual. He pulled it over his head, praying it would still work to get him into the tunnel.
CHAPTER 13
January 22, 1989
* * *
Twenty-seven years earlier
Kyle felt something slimy beneath his knees as he began making his way from rung to rung in the metal tunnel. He dabbed his finger into the liquidy substance and raised the silk blot for some light so he could take a look. He recoiled when he saw it was blood and quickly wiped his finger on the wall of the tunnel, over and over, and then on his pants just to make sure it was all off.
From the light of the blot, Kyle could see that the blood extended in front of him for a few feet and then stopped. Just like Kyle had healed in the tunnel, it seemed that Ayers’s wound had as well. Kyle thought about the similarities between them, and wondered why he and Ayers shared this mutation that was supposed to be unique to the Seres bloodline.
He needed to go to 1989, where Ayers and Allaire would have had whatever confrontation they’d had before Ayers came to see Kyle in 2016.
But Kyle remembered something Allaire had shown him in 2060. Now that he’d seen first-hand Ayers’s disregard for life, he considered making the long trek through the tunnel toward the future, before going back again.
A while later, Kyle exited the tunnel in 1989 exhausted from his journeys. He had no idea where Allaire was, or if she was even alive. He found himself inside of an apartment in Flemming nearly three decades before he would inhabit it with Brady, his boss at the Mega-Market.
He was happy to find the sparsely decorated apartment free of any people or animals. After rifling through drawers long enough to find one hundred seventy dollars in pre-1989 bills, he hustled out to the sidewalk heading in the direction of Flemming’s bus depot. He’d start by going to Yalé’s factory building in New York City again. It was the only place he knew of with a connection to Allaire, since the silo wouldn’t be built for another few decades.
Unlike the other times Kyle had come to the factory, when he arrived several hours later, Yalé greeted him right away, as if he’d been expecting the visit. He was much younger now, but he had a pained expression on his face with none of the calm attitude Kyle had seen from him the last time they’d met. Perhaps this version of Yalé hadn’t yet resigned himself to the coming shit storm that would result from Ayers’s reckless time weaving.
“You’re Kyle,” Yalé said. “I would say I expected you sooner, but we both know that wouldn’t make any sense.”
“Is Allaire here?” Kyle asked.
Yalé nodded grimly. “My nephew has taken it too far.”
“What are you going to do about it?” Kyle asked.
“I’m not sure there’s anything to do,” Yalé answered.
“I just saw him fire a machin
e gun into a crowd like he was playing a video game,” Kyle said, not bothering to elaborate even though video games of the 1980s hadn’t nearly reached the level of violence they would during Kyle’s childhood.
“Ayers is the only one left to carry on our bloodline,” Yalé said. “That’s more imp—”
Kyle walked past Yalé, even though he didn’t know where he was going. “More important than people’s lives? Take me to her.”
“It’s not good,” Yalé said, leading Kyle down a long hallway. When they arrived at a well-lit, blue room, Allaire was laying on something that looked like an operating table, except there was no medical equipment nearby. She was covered up to her neck with a soft gray blanket. Her eyes were open, but they looked glazed over. Her left cheek had a couple of deep scratches in it.
“What did he do?” Kyle asked Ayers.
Yalé shook his head. “I don’t know. Ayers generally prefers gunpowder to metal. But, from the wound, it looks like he may have found a way to use one of her blades against her.”
“Has she been seen by a doctor?” Kyle asked.
Yalé grimaced uncomfortably. “That’s not an option, I’m afraid. But, I have some training, and I’m doing everything I can.”
Kyle looked at Allaire, afraid to see what was under the blanket. “That’s bullshit. If she needs a doctor, she’s going to see a doctor.”
“It’s not a good idea for someone outside of their own timestream to go into a hospital with strange, aggressive wounds like this,” Yalé said. “They could give her painkillers that would make her forget her obligation for discretion. They could question her. It would not be good if the police come looking around here.”
Kyle looked at him incredulously. He lifted the blanket from her side and looked underneath. Allaire’s blood-saturated shirt was pushed up above her belly, revealing a huge gash running diagonally just under her ribcage on the left side. It wasn’t actively bleeding, but Kyle noticed a huge pool of dried blood on the metal table underneath her. He had no idea how many hours it had been. “Either you help me get her to a hospital right now, or I leave, and when I come back, I bring an ambulance to your front door.”
Allaire opened her eyes, and moved her mouth, trying to speak.
Kyle looked at her. She was gray and weak. He didn’t care if she tried to stop him. “I’m sorry, Allaire. I’m not gonna watch you die.” He teared up. The wound was serious. Even with medical attention, there was no telling if she’d lost too much blood. Not to mention, there was the possibility of an infection. The blanket on her didn’t look anything close to sterile.
“Where’s Ayers?” Yalé asked.
Kyle shook his head. “You Seres are something else. She’s dying here, and you’re worried about the guy who did this to her? You know what? I shot him. Right here in the chest,” Kyle said.
Yalé’s face went blank. The courteous smile fell from his lips. “Did he make it back into the tunnel?”
“Unfortunately,” Kyle answered, “he did.”
“If he got into the tunnel, then he’s likely fine,” Yalé said. “His blood would heal him quickly in there.”
Kyle looked at Allaire. Her eyes looked the way Joe Stropoli’s did right before he died when he slipped on the blood in Kyle’s living room, the second time Kyle had gone back to the day of the bus crash. Her eyes seemed like they were staring off toward a more permanent home in a faraway place. She didn’t look like she had much time.
“Do I have the mutation?” Kyle asked.
“I’ve heard you might . . . If you do,” Yalé said, “it might not be too late for her. Get her into the tunnel, coat your hands with your blood and massage it into her wounds. Since the ratio of your blood to hers will be low, you’ll need to stay in the tunnel for a few hours to see if your blood can help her.”
Kyle pulled his silk blot from his pocket and held it in his hand. Without speaking, he and Yalé worked together to sit Allaire up on the table. She screamed in agony as sitting up stretched her wound.
Kyle quickly brought the silk blot over Allaire’s head, leaning in close to her. Even screaming, she seemed like a zombie. There was none of her playfulness, or her intensity. Just blankness.
Yalé said, “Give me your hand.”
Kyle took one hand off the silk blot and moved it toward Yalé. Yalé pulled the knife from the small clip holster on the side of Allaire’s belt and sliced a straight cut into Kyle’s palm. Surprised, Kyle pulled his hand away and grabbed it. He looked at it in horror as the blood began to flow from the open wound.
Yalé grabbed his hand back and pressed a vial against it, collecting the blood as it dripped.
“What are you doing?” Kyle asked.
“Your wound may start to close immediately inside the tunnel,” Yalé answered. “You’ll need this blood to coat your hands. Remember, you need to get it deep inside of the wound. Be sure to come right back here after you’ve tried. Whether it works or not, she’ll need somewhere safe to go afterward. We can provide that here.”
Kyle pulled the silk blot over Allaire and himself. Just before he pulled it down, Allaire weakly reached out with her arm and grabbed her blade from Yalé.
Allaire was in no better condition upon arriving in the tunnel than she was on the table in the factory, and now she laid back and rested her head on Kyle’s lap. He tried to avoid touching anything with his cut hand, which was beginning to sting now.
He held one hand out and poured blood from the vial into his palm, then he switched hands. Already he could see his own cut beginning to heal. He lifted the blanket from where it was covering Allaire’s wound and put his hand over it. “I’m sorry, Allaire. This is probably going to hurt.”
He pressed his hands hard against her wound, trying to get as much of the blood on his hands in contact with the deepest part of her gash. Allaire convulsed, retching in pain. It was too dark for Kyle to see whether she’d actually thrown up. Then, she screamed, the volume deafening in the tight metal confines of the tunnel.
He pulled his hands away and poured the remainder of the vial inside of her. Then he pushed his fingers even deeper into the wound, trying to let the pooling blood get as deep inside as possible.
Allaire bucked her body as Kyle moved his hands around inside of her, but the screaming had stopped. He looked at her face and saw that she had her forearm in her mouth, using it as a bite block. Her zombie expression was gone as she looked incredibly aware of the pain.
“You think that’s enough?” Kyle asked. “Will that help you?”
Allaire nodded to him, seemingly unable to speak yet. Her breathing was heavy and loud now. “I hope so,” she said.
Kyle pulled his hands out of her and covered her up with the blanket. He noticed her shivering as he covered her up to her shoulders. She looked slightly more present now, but was still quiet. He touched her hair and ran his fingers through.
For nearly an hour, she slept on his lap peacefully. Kyle looked down at her and wondered whether he’d been completely fooling himself to think free will had been responsible for anything he’d done since first entering a silk blot. He wondered whether he even had free will when it came to time weaving, and whatever forces were at play here. Every time he’d backed off from being involved in the ever-spiraling web of timestreams, he found himself pulled back in.
When Allaire’s eyes opened, he put his hand on her cheek. “Tell me what he did to you?”
“Ayers?” she asked weakly.
“Yes,” Kyle answered. “He seemed so scared of you. How did he manage to do this?”
“He didn’t,” she said quietly. “I had Ayers cornered in an alley. We fought a little. I got the upper hand and drew my blade, figuring I’d force him to get in the silk blot with me. Next thing I know, there’s a bag over my head—like one of those drawstring backpacks. Whoever did it cinched the bag quick and wrapped the strings tightly around my neck.”
“Who was it?” Kyle asked, holding the silk blot to Allaire’s neck no
w to examine the rope burns.
“I don’t know,” she said, sounding slightly stronger. “Then, I felt a punch to my side and whoever it was pushed me to the ground. Next thing I heard was the two of them run off while I tried to get the bag untied from my head before I suffocated. It was a total setup. Ayers got himself cornered on purpose.”
“Did you see them running off?” Kyle asked.
“No,” she said. “As soon as I got the bag off my head, I saw that the punch was actually my own blade stuck in my side and knew I had to get to the factory for help.”
“I should’ve been there with you,” Kyle said. “I’m sorry I left. Again.”
She shrugged her shoulders meekly. “I’m sorry too,” she answered. “But you found me.” She winced in pain. Even by the dim light of the silk blot in the tunnel, Kyle could see that she was getting some color back. She lifted her shirt and Kyle could see the edges of the wound were repairing themselves.
Allaire grabbed Kyle’s left hand and turned the palm toward her. “Is this cut new?”
Kyle nodded and saw that his gash was healing right before their eyes. She sat up, this time without screaming in agony, shaking her head in disbelief. “It’s working.”
“Be careful,” he said. “You’re not fully healed yet.”
“I’ve been doing this so long, it’s become predictable,” she said. “But this is . . . I’m blown away.”
“Obviously, so am I,” Kyle said, shaking his head.
“I don’t know how this whole thing’s gonna end, Kyle,” she said. “It might be finding a way to undo everything Ayers has done, and it might be that the entire universe blows up and starts itself over again. Whatever it is, though, I’m sure now that you’re going to be there for it. I might not, but you’re a piece of the endgame, Kyle. By the end of all of this, I have no doubt that you’re going to have more answers than anyone. I just hope they’re the answers we want.”
This was the most fanciful she’d sounded in a long time. For a moment, at least, it was like the ‘old Allaire’ was back. The one who’d barely known him when she proclaimed that they belonged together. The one Kyle now believed was a sham—manufactured to draw him in and keep him close. She leaned toward him and gently pulled his head toward hers. She kissed his lips.
Blow Up and Fall Down Page 7