So Close to You (So Close to You - Trilogy)

by Rachel Carter

  I hear footsteps approaching, then the sound of men speaking. I jump back into the room, frantically searching for a place to hide. I duck under one of the desks and notice a small crawl space behind a set of cabinets. I work my way into it, curling myself around the wires and dust that twist together on the floor.

  The door opens. “There’s no one here,” a man with a deep voice says.

  “Doctor Faust said there was activity. We have to check,” a second voice says.

  “Maybe it was a glitch. This thing never seems to work right.” I hear the sound of a hand slapping against metal.

  I hear footsteps coming closer, closer, and try to make myself as small as possible. The tip of a brown boot slides into my field of vision as one of the men approaches the desk. There’s the sound of fingers tapping a keyboard, and I struggle to keep my breathing quiet.

  “Something happened here. The energy levels skyrocketed two minutes ago.”

  “Wait, do you hear that?”

  There’s a pause. I hear nothing but my own heartbeat throbbing in my chest, my throat, my fingertips.

  “Nope. There’s no one here. Let’s take this to the general.”

  “Maybe one of us should stay in case something else happens.”

  “No need. These energy readings have to be a mistake. Let’s go.”

  Footsteps fade away. The door shuts.

  I wait a few seconds, then slide out from behind the cabinets, my heart still pounding. The guards could come back and realize their mistake at any moment. It’s time to get out of this room, out of this underground lab, and back outside, where my grandfather is waiting for me.

  I slip out into the white hallway and mentally retrace my steps. Was it left after the first hallway, then right through the doorway, then left into the room? Am I forgetting a turn? Everything looks the same down here. It’s impossible to find any landmarks. Taking a chance, I turn left and sprint until I reach a door. I listen carefully but can’t hear any guards, so I push through it. Another white hallway.

  I follow it as it curves to the left. The fluorescent lights lining the ceiling in two long rows burn bright above my head. I press my hand onto the concrete wall as I walk slowly. It’s shockingly quiet down here. Where have the guards gone?

  And what about the boy from before? He’s the only one who saw me, and he had to have told his superiors by now. They must be down here somewhere, looking for me in this maze of hallways and strange rooms.

  I pick up my pace as much as I dare. I come to another door and open it. It should lead toward the staircase in the bunker. But instead it’s some kind of maintenance closet filled with folded cloth and cleaning supplies. The smell of bleach is heavy in the air. I swear under my breath.

  As I wonder where I could have made a wrong turn, I hear the distant sound of footsteps echoing on the tile. I slip into the dark, cramped room and shut the door softly. It’s pitch-black. I press my hand over my mouth as I hear someone walk past, their footsteps slowly fading.

  I count two minutes before I step out into the hall again. As quickly as I can, I retrace my steps and this time take a right after the second hallway. It comes to a T. I remember this. I’m almost out.

  I turn a corner and there’s the familiar door at the end of the corridor. I dash forward and push through it. The narrow space that seemed dirty before now looks slightly different—cleaner and brighter. Are the lights different, too? I run for the stairs at the end, but I freeze halfway there. This hall definitely looks different. It’s almost brand-new, not rotting and covered in black gunk. I touch the clean white concrete wall as a sinking feeling grows in my stomach. How can it have changed this much in only an hour?

  What happened in that machine?

  Grant’s words from the other night spin through my head: Time tunnels. Time machines. Wormholes.

  My grandfather told me that the government selected the east end of Long Island as the site of the Montauk Project because of the naturally high levels of magnetic energy in the air. According to him, that’s how the time machines run, using alternating waves of magnetic energy. I was just in a strange … vessel, and I felt—was—ripped apart, a larger force that I couldn’t see or identify or explain pulling me in different directions.

  Could I have …?

  I scramble up the stairs. I need to get out of this bunker. I need to find my grandfather. Only then can I prove that everything is normal, that nothing impossible has happened.

  This time the door at the top opens easily and I tumble into the large open space of the bunker. It looks the same as it did before, with broken furniture scattered around and dirt covering the cement floor. Thank God.

  The concrete doors are sealed shut from the inside. I sprint across the bunker and push at the rough surface. Nothing happens. I pry at the edge of the door. It won’t budge. No.

  There’s a sound behind me. I whip around.

  The boy I was trying to escape stands in the doorway, silently. Watching me.

  I shrink back against the concrete wall behind me. But I let go of some of the panic twisting in my chest. If he’s still here, then I couldn’t have traveled to another time. Nothing has changed. My grandfather is waiting for me out there in the park. But my relief is short-lived: This boy stands between me and freedom.

  “What do you want?” My voice echoes in the empty space.

  He has that stricken, confused look on his face, as though he’s not sure what he’s doing here. He says nothing but takes a small step closer to me. I crawl along the wall, looking for something I can use as a weapon. I’ve almost made it out—I won’t let him take me back down into those labs.

  He sees my expression and stops. “I won’t hurt you.” His voice is soft. I look at him warily. Can I believe him? He did let me go once before, but maybe he realized he shouldn’t have? Maybe now that I’ve gone through … whatever I just went through in that machine, things are different.

  “Stay back.” I slide until I’m pressed against the corner of the door. The curved wall behind the boy is filled with metal doors that lead to the underground labs. Even if I could get to one, I’d be stuck in the bowels of Camp Hero again, running for my life.

  A part of me would prefer running for my life rather than stand here under this boy’s still gaze—but I can’t force myself to move.

  “I won’t hurt you,” he repeats. There’s something quiet in his voice that makes me pause. “But you can’t stay here. It’s only a matter of time before the guards come to investigate the noise from the stairs.”

  I dig my fingers into the concrete at my back, not sure if I can trust what he says.

  “Where should I go?”

  “With me.” He points to one of the doors along the back wall of doors. “I’ll help you hide until it’s safe.”

  I scoff. “You’re crazy if you think I’m going in there with you.”

  “The guards are coming. If they find you here, they’ll kill you.”

  I study his face. His jaw is clenched and his mouth is tight. It should probably intimidate me, but his eyes are soft, almost pleading. I can see that he badly wants me to trust him. I just don’t know why.

  If I try to run away from him, I’ll be further from escaping than I am now. If I stay here, the guards will find me. Kill me, according to this boy. My best option is to believe what he’s telling me. But I really don’t want to go back there.

  I cross my arms over my chest. “If you want to help me, then get me out of here. And not back through the bunker. Open the door.”

  He hesitates, still watching me. I can’t tell what he’s thinking. After a long moment, he finally nods.

  He steps forward and I instinctually jerk back. The edges of his mouth rise so slightly I barely see them move. He lifts his hand in a gesture of peace. Everything he does and says seems measured and deliberate. “If I’m going to open the door, I need to get to the lock. It’s behind you.”

  “Okay. Okay.” I don’t take my eyes off him, but
I step away from the concrete. He walks toward the door. I watch as he pulls something from his pocket. It’s a long, thin metal rectangle with random shapes carved into it. He reaches forward and slides the metal into an almost invisible opening. The concrete seems to groan, then begins to shift and open.

  The second there’s a large enough space for me to fit through I push myself out of the bunker and into the woods. I have to shut my eyes against the sudden brightness. I had gotten so used to the artificial light in the underground labs that the sun momentarily blinds me.

  Squinting and blinking, I stumble across the open area of grass until I reach the tree line. Something touches my upper arm and I yank away. The boy freezes, his hand outstretched.

  I back up quickly. “Why did you just help me get out of there? Why didn’t you turn me in?”

  His face is expressionless, but his eyes are watchful. I notice his features: sharp cheekbones, strong jaw, a slightly crooked nose, as though he’s broken it more than once. Black eyes. Black hair.

  He’s beautiful. Thinking it shocks me a little. I’ve been so busy being afraid of him that I hadn’t really noticed him.

  He interrupts my thoughts when he tells me, “If they found you, they would have killed you.”

  I step away from him, retreating into the trees. “Why do you care?”

  He doesn’t answer.

  “Who are you?”

  “Elev—” He pauses. “Wes. I’m Wes.”

  “But who are you?”

  He frowns, making his jaw look even harder. “We shouldn’t talk here. They’ll see us. We’re too exposed.”

  I look behind him. The concrete door, now wide-open, begins to groan shut again. We’re standing just inside the circle of trees, barely out of sight. He’s right. We need to get out of here.

  He steps toward me cautiously, waiting to see how I’ll react. I turn around and begin to walk into the woods. He quickly overtakes me and leads us deeper into the trees.

  “Be careful,” he says over his shoulder. “You’re not wearing any shoes.”

  I glance down at my feet with surprise. Somewhere along the way I lost my sandals, and I never even noticed.

  We move quickly through the underbrush. Leaves crunch under my feet. The sun is hazy, and I sense that it’s late afternoon, maybe even early evening. I wonder when it stopped raining. I also wonder where my grandfather is and if he’s looking for me.

  I’m so distracted that I step on the pointed edge of a stick. Pain shoots up my leg and I hiss out loud.

  Wes stops abruptly and turns to look at me. “Are you okay?”

  I jump up and down on one foot as I try to assess the damage. “I’m fine. I think I’m fine.”

  “Sit.” He points to a large boulder between two trees. “We can stop here. We’re far enough from the facility. Their guards can’t comb the forest around the base. It would be too suspicious. They’ll send out scouts, but not for a while.”

  I limp over to the boulder and sit. Wes’s gaze is trained on the woods around me, behind me. I can’t stop staring at him. Who is he? If he works for the Montauk Project, why is he helping me?

  Clearly something huge is happening underground at Camp Hero. It may be the Montauk Project or it may be something else entirely. Wes is obviously caught up in whatever it is. He should be dragging me back to the underground labs, not helping me escape.

  “What happened in there? I fell in that machine, and I pushed a button, and everything went …” I shudder, unable to finish.

  He looks at me, then down at the ground.

  “The less you know, the safer you’ll be,” he responds.

  I sit up straighter. “What does that mean?”

  “Listen to me.” He takes a step closer. “I will make sure you live, but we have to go back into the facility.”

  “I don’t understand. Tell me what that means.”

  “There are things I can’t tell you.” His voice is even and soothing, but his mouth is a hard, tight line. “You need to trust me. We wait here until we’re certain that the scouts have come and gone. Then we’ll go back in.”

  “I don’t even know who you are! How can I trust you?” I stand up, barely feeling the pain in my foot. “I’m not going back in there.” I spit the words at him.

  Wes goes still, his black eyes combing the trees again.

  I open my mouth, but he puts his hand up before I can get a word out. “Someone’s coming. Get down.” His voice is so quiet I can hardly hear him.

  I duck behind the large rock and sit in a tight ball. He stares in the direction of the bunker and then looks back at me. Our eyes lock. “Stay here. Stay down.”

  He waits for me to nod before he disappears into the woods.

  I listen for strange noises. All I hear are the ordinary sounds of the forest in the state park—birds calling to one another in the trees, a cricket chirping. Five minutes pass. Wes seems to have vanished into thin air.

  I peer over the top of the rock. There’s nothing out there but trees. I clench my hands into fists, suddenly feeling like an idiot. Why am I waiting in the woods for someone who might be connected to a deadly government conspiracy and who definitely wants to lead me back into a death trap? My grandfather is probably waiting for me in the parking lot. As soon as I find him, this will all be over.

  I stand up and stare at the point where Wes slipped into the trees. I hesitate for a second, then pivot and run in the opposite direction.

  I run through the woods as quickly as I can without shoes. After a few minutes, I slow to a jog, searching for a way out of the woods. Everything seems strangely unfamiliar.

  I listen for sounds of the ocean. If I can find the cliffs, then I can find the parking lot and my grandfather. But before I hear any waves, I come across a road. It’s little more than a wide dirt path, covered in tire marks. In the distance, dogs are barking, a man is shouting, and a car motor turns over.

  I walk hesitantly toward the noise. I round a corner and the woods recede, the sky opening up over a large clearing. I recognize this place. I think …

  In front of me are men standing in rows, holding huge guns. Another man is yelling at them. A bunch of old trucks are clustered nearby.

  I can’t take my eyes off the buildings that circle the men. The buildings I’ve passed a thousand times with my grandfather. The buildings that were abandoned and covered in graffiti only hours before. They look brand-new, gleaming with fresh paint. The old gymnasium, a white clapboard building, has a tall steeple on the top. A steeple that was built in World War II to trick enemies into thinking the building was a harmless church. A steeple that fell down over two decades ago.

  I whip my head around. And then I fall to my knees in the dirt, staring wide-eyed into the empty sky. There’s no radar tower. It’s approaching twilight, the light is starting to fade, but you can see the rusted, wire tower from anywhere in Camp Hero. It was built years and years and years before my birth. Now it’s gone. Like it was never there. Like it hasn’t been built yet.

  I hear a distant shout, and one of the men breaks away and walks toward me. “Miss? Are you all right, miss?”

  I shake my head from side to side, unable to answer. Fear rises in my throat, so fast that I’m afraid it will come pouring out of my mouth if I open it.

  The man comes closer. He has blond hair cropped short. He’s wearing an olive-colored uniform: a khaki shirt with boxy shoulders tucked into high-waisted pants, three black stripes on his sleeves. I see the warm golden color of his skin before I close my eyes tight. “What is today?” I whisper to him.

  “Sorry?” I hear leaves crunch as he comes closer. “What did you say, miss?” His voice drawls over the words like warm honey.

  “The date.” My eyes are still closed, and I press my hands to them. “What is it?”

  “It’s Tuesday. The thirtieth of May.”

  “And … the year?”

  “Nineteen forty-four.” He sounds concerned.

  Nineteen forty-
four. Fifty years before I’m born. I gasp. My lungs feel tight, aching, closing.

  “Miss, are you all right?”

  I grasp at my chest with both hands. “I—think—no—”

  He squats down beside me. “Put your head between your knees.” He cups the back of my neck with his hand and pushes me forward gently until my forehead is almost touching the ground. “Try to breathe through your nose.”

  I breathe in and out, trying to concentrate on getting air even as my thoughts come faster, faster. Everything they say is true. That vessel was a … time machine. I’m in the past. I’m in 1944. 1944. 1944.

  I keep my head pressed into the dirt, hoping that if I squeeze my eyes hard enough that maybe this will all go away. That I’ll wake up and it will be hours earlier, and I’ll be leaning against a tree while my grandfather searches the woods for nothing.

  But no amount of hoping makes the soldier kneeling beside me go away.

  My breathing finally steadies, and I sit up slowly.

  “Okay now?”

  I nod. I’m not okay, but this guy doesn’t need to think I’m any more of a lunatic.

  He straightens and reaches his hand out. I carefully rise to my feet next to him. He’s several inches taller than me, almost six feet tall, though slightly shorter and broader than Wes.

  Wes.

  I push him out of my mind and look at the man standing in front of me. His cheeks are round and full, boyish. Some part of me notices that he has pale eyes, an even gray-blue, with light, almost invisible eyelashes.

  Oh. He’s more boy than man. He looks only a little older than the seniors that just graduated from my school. The seniors I was supposed to be celebrating with the night before.

  “What’s your name? What are you doing here?” he asks.

  The men nearby are shouting in unison, “One, two, left, right.” What am I doing here?

  I have no idea how to answer. My mind is cloudy, fuzzy. I do know who I am, though. “I’m Lydia. Who are you?”

  “I’m Sergeant Lucas Clarke, stationed at Camp Hero for the past year.” Some of the men in the clearing are watching us now. I turn away from their eyes. “Why are you here? Camp Hero is closed to civilians.”