Find Me Where the Water Ends (So Close to You) (21 page)

Chapter 24

B
lood
blossoms across his white shirt like a rose fully opening for the first time. It would almost be beautiful, if I couldn’t see his pale face, his mouth open in horror, the way he claws at the edge of his desk.

“What the hell are you thinking?” I snap at Althea. Wes quickly shuts the office door.

I run forward, pushing Faust back in his chair, and press my hands to the wound, a little below his shoulder. It has missed his heart, but he could still bleed out.

Wes pries the gun from Althea’s hands. She stands in the middle of the room, watching me impassively. “He needed to die, didn’t he? I knew neither of you would do it. I had to.”

“Not here.” Wes’s voice is harsh. “Not like this. We can’t have a dead body on our hands. What if someone finds it? What are we going to do with him?”

She lifts one shoulder. “Dump him in a supply closet. Who cares?”

The doctor groans, sweat forming on his forehead. I can almost smell his fear, sour and sickly sweet.

“He’s not dead yet,” I snap. “Stop talking about him like he’s dead.”

“Give me the gun and I’ll finish him.” Althea holds out her hand and Wes scowls at her.

The blood is seeping through my fingers. I feel it, warm and thick. A red drop falls onto the white tile floor. All of a sudden I am crouched in the leaves and the pine needles, the gunfire drowning out Tim’s wet, strained breathing.

“Wes . . .” I whisper. “I can’t do this.”

He quickly comes over, holding a large handkerchief in his hands. He nudges me out of the way and presses it onto Faust’s bleeding chest. I step back on shaking legs. There’s blood all over my fingers, and I wipe them on my shirt. Wes holds the gun out to me with his free hand and I take it from him and tuck it into the waistband of my pants.

I spin to face Althea. “We were going to send him through the TM. It’s a better punishment for him.”

She crosses her arms over her chest. “He should be dead. He’s the one who started all this. Without him, none of us would have ended up here.” Her fingers are digging into her arms, so hard they are turning white with the pressure. Soon she will break through the skin. “We have to kill him. He stole our lives. It’s only fair.”

She is starting to snap. Being in this room, seeing the man who created the Montauk Project is breaking her. “We need the timers,” I say quickly. “They should have them in their weapons room; there’s no Assimilation Center here yet. It’s in the East Wing, Level Three—”

“I know where it is.” Her arms drop and she squares her shoulders. “I’ll get what I can and meet you in the TM chamber in fifteen minutes.”

“Fine. Just go.”

She quickly leaves the room, perhaps grateful to have a task to get her out of this office, even if it does come from me. I have a moment of panic, wondering if we can trust her, but then I turn back to Wes. She shot Faust because he’s connected to the Project; her only priority is to make it out of here.

“How is he?” I ask.

“Alive.” Wes keeps the handkerchief pressed to the wound. The blood is slowing. “He’ll make it; it’s mostly a flesh wound. But we can’t leave him here.”

“I know. We’ll take him to the TM chamber. It’s what we were planning anyway.”

Dr. Faust is breathing heavily, slumped back in his chair, and he turns his glazed eyes to Wes. “It’s you,” he whispers. “You were here before.”

Wes doesn’t answer him. “Lydia, the journals.”

“Right.” I turn to the file cabinet, ripping open the bottom drawers. They are filled with files on dead soldiers, information on the subjects they’ve sent through time—but nothing about the TM or Tesla. I try the top two drawers, but they’re sealed with the kind of combination locks that look like they belong on an industrial safe. “What is it?” I ask the doctor. “What’s the code?”

“Not . . . telling you,” he croaks out.

Wes leans onto his chest, pressing into the bullet wound. The doctor groans again. “I can’t. . . . I won’t.”

“The more you fight us, the worse it will get,” Wes says.

The doctor stares up at him and suddenly smiles, his teeth still clenched against the pain. “You’re magnificent,” he breathes.

Wes flinches, moving his head back.

I glower at Faust. “If he’s so magnificent, then tell him the codes.”

Wes presses down again, not hard, but enough to show we’re serious. The doctor gasps. “Seven, ten, one, eight, five, six.” He spits the numbers out.

“Tesla’s birthday,” I mumble. “I should have known.”

I spin the dial quickly, and the first drawer opens. Inside are personal documents—a birth certificate from Austria, a passport, proof of US citizenship. I open the lock on the second drawer. The first thing I see is a folder with
NIKOLA TESLA
on the front in bold letters. I pull it out and leaf through the handwritten sheets of paper. Most are covered in equations; a few have pictures of machines with detailed instructions. I stop at one that resembles the TM. Tesla’s Machine. It is circular, stretching up and narrowing into a tube that only stops at the top of the paper, implying that it goes on and on. I shove it back into the folder, and tuck the whole thing under my arm. There is only a thick notebook left in the drawer and I open it. It is in different handwriting—it must be Faust’s—and is filled with more detailed notes on the TM, various formulas and possible renderings.

I turn, holding both the folder and notebook in my hands.

“You can’t take those!” Faust yells though his voice is weak, his face lined with deep wrinkles. “There’s nothing else like that in the world. If you destroy it, you destroy me. You destroy everything Tesla and I have built.”

“From what I’ve read about Tesla, I don’t think he’d approve of what you’ve been doing with his ideas,” I say.

The doctor’s mouth falls open. It is the worst insult I could have given him.

Wes looks up at a clock on the wall. “If we want to meet Althea in the TM chamber, we need to go now.”

“Should we hide his blood?” I glance around the room and see a lab coat resting on one of the chairs in front of the desk.

I grab it as Wes lifts the doctor up. He’s a short man, but heavy, with thick arms and a rounded stomach. We shove him into the new lab coat, keeping the thick handkerchief pressed against the wound in case it starts to bleed again. It makes him look like he has a slight growth on his shoulder, but all we need to do is get him to the TM chamber without anyone noticing.

Dr. Faust groans and leans heavily on Wes, who winces under his weight. I pull out the gun and point it at him. “Stop being so dramatic. You can walk. You weren’t shot in the leg.”

As soon as he sees the weapon, he stands up straighter.

I hand the notebook and the folder over to Wes. He takes them, then reaches down and grabs the open journal off Faust’s desk, a few drops of blood already drying on the pages. “We can’t leave this here either. Who knows what’s in it.”

I press the gun into Faust’s side and lead him to the door. “You’re going to be really quiet, or I’m going to shoot you. And I won’t miss like Althea did.”

“What are you doing with me?” The fear is back in his voice.

“We’re going to send you into the past.” I push him forward. “Just like you tried to do with Dean Bentley.”

“Tried? He didn’t end up there?”

I don’t answer.

“And you, how did you make it out?” He looks over at Wes. “Your blood was on the floor of the chamber.”

“Stop asking questions,” Wes growls. “If you’re quiet, we won’t kill you. It’s that simple.”

The doctor presses his pale, thin lips together. I hide the gun in the folds of his lab coat, prod him in the back, and we slowly walk out of the room.

We turn another corner, and I hold my breath, only letting it out when I see that the hallway in front of us is empty. I keep my head down, the butt of the gun jammed into the doctor’s side. He winces with each step he takes. Wes is behind us, ready to act if Faust tries anything.

“You won’t get away with this,” the doctor whispers.

“That’s such a cliché,” I respond softly. “Now be quiet.”

We reach the end of the corridor. We are so close to the TM chamber, only a few feet away. If we can just make it around this corner—

“Doctor!” The shout comes from behind us. I slowly turn, guiding Faust’s body.

A younger scientist with white-blond hair is running down the hall. He reaches us and bends over, breathing heavily. “I’ve been looking for you,” he gasps. “But you weren’t in your office. I have the results of the new serum. We were up all night testing it, and it seems to be working.”

“Incredible,” Faust breathes. “Did the subject make it through alive?” He jerks forward, and I dig the gun into his back in a silent warning.

“We’re still waiting, but so far his body has not rejected it. We’ll test it on the TM if the results are positive.”

Wes shifts so he’s standing in front of us, blocking Faust as much as he can without looking suspicious.

This is taking too long. I push the gun into Dr. Faust’s back and he hisses under his breath.

The scientist narrows his blue eyes. “Are you all right?” He looks from Wes to me, taking in our black uniforms, our grim expressions. “Who are these people?”

I tense. If Faust says the wrong thing then I’ll have to kill both him and this scientist. This is not the same as handing Sardosky a drink. This is blood and bullets and staring into their eyes as they die. But there’s too much at stake not to pull the trigger.

“They are new subjects,” Faust answers. “I am bringing them to the TM.”

The blond scientist’s expression turns assessing, and he appraises us like we’re cattle. “Are you sending them through now? Should I come help?”

“There is no time for that now. The serum is more important.”

“Of course. I’ll bring you an update as soon as I can.” He turns to leave.

My muscles finally loosen. Wes takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly.

“Dr. Roberts!” Faust yells suddenly, stopping the younger scientist in his tracks.

“What are you doing?” I whisper urgently.

His voice changes, deepens, his accent thicker as he says, “There’s a sliver in my foot.”

The blond man’s eyes widen, then he turns and takes off down the hallway, disappearing from sight.

“Shit, it was a code.” Wes moves to run after him, then looks back, clearly not wanting to leave me alone with Faust.

“Let him go,” I say quickly. “We don’t have much time. We can barricade the door and fight our way out after we set the timers.”

He looks doubtful, but turns with me and grabs Faust’s arm. We don’t bother to be subtle as we sprint with him down the hallway. When we reach the door of the TM chamber, Wes shoves it open, pushing Faust through first. He stumbles and falls to his knees on the floor.

Althea crawls out from under one of the desks. “Where have you been?”

“We’ve been made.” Wes runs toward her. “Help me block the door.”

Althea jams a chair under the knob, while Wes sweeps pencils, paper, and a telegraph machine off one of the desks. They each grab an end, drag it to the door, and shove it up against the chair.

I point the gun at Faust, still lying on his side, one hand pressed to the bullet wound in his chest. “What happened to keeping quiet?”

He lifts his uninjured shoulder. “What was the risk? You’re going to kill me anyway.”

“We’re not going to kill you, just send you back in time.”

“Isn’t it the same thing?”

Althea steps away from the door and looks at Wes. “The timers are on the table. Send me back now. I already set the date.” She points at the large, boxy computer consul sitting on one of the desks. “You just need to push the button.”

She starts walking to the TM, but stops and turns back to Wes. She steps close, hesitates, then puts her hand on his arm. Wes doesn’t move at all, his face unreadable, and she pulls away slowly. “I guess . . . well, good-bye.”

“Good luck.”

She nods and approaches the TM, the door sliding back for her when she gets close enough. She steps in and spins around to face us. Her brown eyes seem larger, the color in her cheeks high. “They won’t be able to control me anymore, will they?”

Wes walks over to the consul and clicks something on the keyboard. The door to the TM closes, cutting off the look of careful hope on Althea’s face. The machine starts to shudder and quack. The room fills with throbbing light and the familiar buzzing. I shield my face when it gets too bright, when the TM seems to explode outward, the glass on top swirling with smoke and color, Althea’s body disappearing into time.

I can’t say that we liked each other, but I hope she finds what she wants—a life without the Project.

Wes is still at the keyboard, typing rapidly. “What date for Faust?”

“I don’t care. Maybe sometime in the Middle Ages.”

I hear the doctor’s sharp intake of breath.

Wes pushes another button. “Maybe we’ll get lucky, and he’ll get the plague.”

I glance at Wes over my shoulder. And then I see his face change, his eyes getting wider, his mouth opening. I hear a scraping noise from behind me and turn to look, but something hits me in the stomach, the impact throwing me to the ground. Faust is standing over me, panting. The gun falls from my hands, slides across the floor, and he lunges for it. I launch to my feet, but it’s too late. Dr. Faust is holding the gun, and he’s pointing it at me.

“I made a mistake, last time, trying to send you both through time.” His voice is still weak, but it is angry too, lashing out at us.

I back up, inching closer to Wes.

“Don’t move!” Faust screams.

I freeze.

“I should have killed you. Shot you, like you shot me. I won’t make the same mistake again.” He looks over at Wes. “You’ll be first. I need more of your blood. We’re so close to making the serum. If we just have a bit more, we’ll succeed, I know we will.”

Something hard slams against the door, and all three of us jump, the gun wavering in Faust’s hand. The table and chair start to shake as the metal is hit over and over.

“See? They’re coming already. You have no hope.”