Find Me Where the Water Ends (So Close to You) (23 page)

I go with Dr. Bentley while he radios the naval base. The blue jeeps arrive in ten minutes, bringing dozens of soldiers. A fire truck emerges from the trees, cutting a path through the dense woods. Men climb down off it, dressed in thick suits, carrying a large hose. They disappear into the smoke.

Dr. Bentley and the other doctors organize a makeshift hospital near the edge of the woods, and I help them set up cots and lay out sterile bandages, though most of the Project’s guards and soldiers dissolve into the crowd instead of visit. A few scientists sit on the ground nearby, coughing and pressing their hands to their foreheads. I see Dr. Bentley eyeing my arm, my face, the low, defeated set of my shoulders, with concern. But I ignore him. Wes is gone, and I do not have the time to stop and think about it. I don’t
want
to think. I want to keep going, to never stop, to never acknowledge what happened in that room filled with flames, the TM as gnarled and broken as Wes’s body must be.

The sky has turned hazy from the smoke that seeps out of the ground in black waves. The Facility is large, and these explosions have only wiped out the TM chamber. There are still so many corridors down there, crawling with scientists and soldiers.

Some of the soldiers from the navy follow the firemen down into the smoking bunker. But they need to find the children, and I’m the only one who knows how to get there. I approach a group of soldiers and say, “I know another way in. We have to hurry.”

One of the soldiers looks at me skeptically. “You’re just a girl. And you’re hurt.”

“I said, I know another way in. There are children in there, and they need our help. Follow me.” My voice is stern enough, cutting enough that a few of them exchange glances. An officer steps forward, his expression dark.

“Show us where,” he says.

I lead them to one of the nearby bunkers. It is deeper in the woods, more hidden in the trees, but the concrete doors are wide-open. When we get closer, I see that the secret door in the back is open too, left askew as soldiers and scientists fought to escape the blasts.

“It’s down there.” I point into the darkness. “Follow the corridor, then take a right, a left, a right—”

The officer holds up his hands. “You said you were going to show us, and that there’s not much time. We’ll follow you. Lead the way.”

I hesitate at the top of the stairs. Wes died down there, and now I have to go in again, smelling smoke on top of the bleach and the battery acid. But I can’t give up now, not when the children are still inside.

I lead the navy men down the dark staircase, ignoring their gasps as they see the white corridors for the first time. It is darker than normal down here, the black smoke thick, but I do not falter, keeping my head low as I bring them directly to where the children are kept. A few guards from the Facility run past, ignoring us as they speed toward the exits.

The firemen have already found the room, thankfully, and they are carrying the children out one by one. A tall man passes me, and the girl in his arms blinks as our eyes meet. Her head is shaved, her arms are limp, but her mouth is curved up the smallest bit, making me think she’s not completely lost.

Wes was like her once, though no one ever came to save him. I shove the thought away. Being in the Facility is like being inside his tomb.

The navy men are silent and grim as they wade into the group of children. They each carefully pick up a child. Only about ten remain in this large room, and already more firemen are coming back for them. These small recruits are like dolls, expressionless as they are lifted into different arms.

I lead the soldiers out again, knowing that I do not have the strength to carry one of the kids. I barely have the strength to carry myself, but I will keep going until this is over.

Outside I take a long, slow breath. The soldiers and kids around me are coughing in the fresh air. We were being suffocated by smoke in there, but I didn’t even notice.

I follow the soldiers back to the nearby bunker where everyone else is gathered. The crowd is thicker, and I see a few women scattered here and there. Some are nurses, some are women who live near Camp Hero. It means word of what happened today is spreading, making a cover-up almost impossible.

We have exposed the Montauk Project and saved the recruits. I am no longer beholden to the Project, not because they’ve stolen my grandfather, and not because of the destiny that the future Lydia laid out for me. I’m free.

The cost of that freedom was Wes. He sacrificed himself so that I could have the life I wanted. But he was always supposed to be a part of my future, and I do not yet know how to believe that he is gone.

The smoke is still trickling out of the bunker, though it’s thinner now and more gray than black. Another fireman emerges, a child in his arms. I wonder if they are finding the labs, or any proof that this underground Facility was run by the government.

I can’t stay still for much longer or I will start to think about what happened to Wes. I turn toward where Dr. Bentley is tending to the children, but something makes me stop.

A soldier comes out of the smoking door of the bunker, his dark hair plastered to his forehead, his skin covered in black dust. He is bleeding from his cheek, from his shoulder, but I watch the way he moves, even graceful when he stumbles on the wet grass.

“Oh God,” I whisper, and then I am running, pushing soldiers and doctors out of the way.

“Wes.” I scream, I whimper, and I throw myself at him, my body slamming hard against his. He takes a step back, his arms folding around my waist.

I feel my legs give out, but he pulls me up against him. He is an anchor, holding me in place.

“I hate you.” I say the words into the skin of his neck, tasting ashes and Wes. “I hate you so much.”

“I know.” His voice is like sandpaper.

“I thought you were dead. I thought I’d never see you again.”

“I’m sorry.” He winces as I squeeze him tighter, and I know I should loosen my hold, but I can’t.

“I love you,” I whisper. “I love you so much.”

He lays his hand on my hair, heavy and strong. “I know.”

The Project is destroyed and he is alive. The nightmare we’ve lived is over. We’re together now. Nothing else matters as he pulls me closer to him in the sunlight.

Epilogue

M
ary
slumps down onto the bed, her white dress falling around her like deflated meringue. “I just can’t believe Suze isn’t here. How could Mick choose
today
to come back from the war? It was supposed to be next week!”

I pick up the veil she flung onto the floor only a minute ago. “I don’t think he had much of a choice.”

“Oh, applesauce. Stop being so cheerful, Lydia. My life is ruined.” She throws herself back against the pink bedspread.

I laugh. “Your life is not ruined, but your hair might be if you don’t sit up.”

She pops up again, smoothing the soft curls that frame her face. Suddenly her back goes straight and she smiles. “Why don’t
you
be my bridesmaid? I thought about asking you in the first place, but Suze has been my oldest friend for forever and it just didn’t seem fair to her, what with you getting back into town only a month ago. And Suze seems a little jealous of you since we both have red hair and everyone says we’re like sisters, but this is perfect! Wes is already Lucas’s groomsman and the four of us will be a little wedding party up there at the altar. What do you say?” She clasps her hands together as though she’s praying. “Say yes, please, please, please.”

“Yes!” I say. “Of course I’ll do it.”

“You’re the best, Lyd, the absolute best. And you look like such a Grable today, no one will even notice me.”

“Now you’re just lying.”

She smirks and hops up from the bed. Her dress is a long, fitted flow of white satin, with princess sleeves and a sweetheart neckline.

“Sit down.” I point at the chair in front of her vanity. “I’ll put your veil on.”

She does, smiling at me, her lips red against her powdered face. I arrange the crown of white flowers in her hair, the lace veil spilling out the back and over her pale shoulders. “There. You’re all set.”

Our eyes meet in the mirror. “Remember how I did your hair when you first came to stay with us?” she asks. “You wouldn’t sit still and you had the strangest long bangs. It’s so much prettier now.”

I touch the curls that rest against my shoulders. One afternoon a few weeks ago, Mary insisted that I let her cut it, saying that she refused to look at it anymore.

“And I’m so
glad
you let me take you into town to buy your dress. That blue is divine against your skin.”

I smile. She would like this dress—she picked it out, insisting that the column of blue silk with the fitted bodice would be perfect for her wedding. I stare at myself in the mirror over her head. I’m starting to lose the defined muscles from the constant training, and the hard angles of my face are softening. I look like myself again. Like Lydia, instead of Seventeen.

Mary reaches her hand up and clutches mine where it rests against her shoulder. “Do you think I’m doing the right thing? Even though I don’t want to go to Georgia?”

I bend down until our faces are close together, looking back at us in the mirror. We really do resemble sisters, with the same green eyes, the high cheekbones, and full lips. “You are absolutely doing the right thing. Lucas even told Wes that he’s happy to leave the farm to his brother-in-law. He says he has no interest in smelling like cows for the rest of his life. Besides, he loves you and you love him.”

She squeezes my hand. “I want us to be like you and Wes. You make me believe that I can forget . . . that I can just be with Lucas without any other darkness.”

“There’s always a little darkness,” I tell her. “But Dean would want you to be happy anyway.”

At the mention of Dean, her eyes fill with tears and she looks away. “Oh, I’m being so silly.” She grabs a handkerchief off the vanity and blots at her face. “It hasn’t even started and I’m already crying.”

“Cry all you want. We can always redo your makeup.”

She gets up from her seat and turns to face me. “That’s why I like you, Lydia. You’re unbelievably practical.”

I laugh. “Not really.”

“You are! You’ve only been here a month and you already got Wes to put in indoor plumbing.”

“That’s because I refused to live in a place without running water. He was just scared I would leave him.”

She picks up her bouquet of wildflowers from the bed and links our arms together. My left arm is still in a cast, though Dr. Bentley says I won’t have to keep it on for much longer.

He didn’t ask me why I was there in the woods until a few days later, after the rescued children were adopted or placed in orphanages. I told him that Wes and I went out to the camp to see if the bomb testing was real, then saw that the bunker door was open, and realized there was some kind of secret facility underground. While we were exploring, the bombs went off. I’m not sure he believed me, but he let it go. By then the papers were reporting that several civilians had built an underground hideout and were kidnapping children for nefarious purposes. According to the papers, the police never found any evidence that the facility was connected to the government, and I know the labs were all destroyed before they reached them. No one was even arrested; police claimed that the culprits must have disappeared in the confusion and the smoke. Only the children and three dead bodies remained—unidentified soldiers who were too close to the explosion.

“I can’t believe you’re already thinking of moving away, even though you just got here,” Mary pouts at me. “Lucas wanted to talk to Wes about starting a fishing business.”

We leave her childhood bedroom and walk down the stairs of her parents’ house. “Don’t panic,” I tell her. “We don’t know what our plans are yet. I just always thought I would get a degree, and Wes has been thinking about it lately too. We can always come back.”

“But you’re already working at the paper! And you said you liked it!”

“I do like it.” I pull her skirt out of the way before she trips on it. “But I still want an education.”

“Just so you can lord your degrees over the rest of us humble folks.”

“You’re a nurse! Not exactly humble.”

She rolls her eyes. “Oh, let’s not argue. I’m about to get married.” We reach the front door and she stops me, her fingers digging into my arm. “How do I look?” Her voice shakes as she asks. I step back and examine her, from her rosy pink cheeks to her new satin shoes.

“You look perfect. Lucas is going to freak out, trust me.”

She laughs. “Lydia, you do say the oddest things.”

“I’m here; I’m here.” Dr. Bentley walks down the hall toward us, still knotting the tie at his neck.

“Daddy, we’re going to miss the ceremony if you don’t hurry up.”

I disentangle my arm from Mary’s, and open the front door. “I’ll see you out there, okay?”

She gives me an anxious look. “If I faint, swear you’ll catch me.”

I reach over and squeeze her hand one last time. “You won’t faint. I promise.”

“We should have just eloped, like you and Wes.”

I smile, then give her a tiny wave.

The sun is high, shining bright and hot on the crowded backyard. I start to walk down the aisle. There are only a few seats set up in the grass, and most of the guests are standing to the sides, facing the priest. A few turn to look at me as I pass. I see Wes and Lucas up ahead, talking quietly.

Someone grabs my arm and I look down. Peter is smiling up at me. “Hi,” I whisper.

“Hiya.” Peter’s mother is sitting next to him, still drawn and ghostly. But between Mary, Lucas, Wes, and me, we’ve been able to keep Peter occupied, and he seems to be doing better—asking fewer questions about his father, and making more friends around the neighborhood.

I miss my grandfather and my parents every day, but having Peter here is making it a little easier. I haven’t completely lost my grandfather. He’s still a part of my life, and I’ve become like an older sister to him in the past few weeks.

“When’s Mary coming?” Peter asks me. “I’m hot, and I want to eat cake.”

“Soon. But I have to get up there or Mary’s going to yell at me.”

His green eyes get wide. “Mary doesn’t yell.”

“No, you’re right, but she might talk me to death.”

He giggles and sits back in his chair.

“After the ceremony’s over, go ask your grandmother for cake,” I tell him. “I bet she’ll sneak you some before anyone else.”

“You better hurry,” Peter says, sounding a lot older than eight. “Uncle Wes is staring at you.”

I look up. Wes
is
staring at me, smiling slightly, his hands in the pockets of his dark suit. I smile back, and continue walking down the aisle toward him.

I take my place on the left side of the aisle just as a hush falls over the crowd. Mary and her father appear across the lawn. She is beaming, and I hear Lucas take in a quick breath.

There have been times when I catch myself in a mirror and am startled by my own reflection—the tight curls, the smart dresses, the large hats. It feels as though I am playacting, as though I will wake up at any moment and still be in the Facility, or at home in my bedroom in Montauk. But then there are times where I am wholly in the moment, and it feels more like reality than 2012 ever did.

Wes catches my eye and smiles again, and I know this is one of those times, surrounded by family, in a sun-drenched backyard in August, knowing that the Montauk Project is gone forever, where I can almost forget that I ever had a life before this.

Hours later, after I have eaten cake and danced with Lucas and Dr. Bentley, after the sun has gone down, shedding red and pink rays across the makeshift wooden dance floor, Wes finds me at a table in the corner, my heels kicked off and my legs propped up on a chair. “Tired?” he asks, leaning over me.

I tilt my head back to smile at him. His tie is hanging loose against his white shirt, and his newly cut hair is just starting to fight back against the grease he used to slick it into place.

“My feet are killing me,” I tell him. “I hate new shoes.”

He picks up my legs, sits down in the chair, and starts to massage my insoles, digging his thumbs into the arches. “Oh God,” I groan, leaning back against my own chair. “Have I ever told you that I love you?”

He gives me his half smile. “Once or twice.”

We are silent for a while, watching the last few couples spin in lazy circles around the dance floor. Most of the band has gone home and just a trumpeter is left. He is drawing out the notes, mournful and slow.

Wes drops my foot into his lap. “Are you ready to go home? Mary and Lucas left an hour ago.”

I nod. We stand, I slip my shoes back on, and we walk out to his truck. In the dark driveway, he holds the passenger’s-side door open for me and helps me in, his hand skimming along the side of my thigh.

When we reach the small shack, he grabs my hand as soon as I get out of the truck and pulls me down toward the beach. The moon is almost full and it reflects off the water, the circle of light a halo on the black surface. Wes sinks onto the wet sand and tries to pull me down next to him.

“No way. I’m not wrecking this dress; it cost half my paycheck.”

His voice dips as he says, “So just take it off.”

“Don’t get too excited.” I raise my eyebrows. “The girdle I’m wearing covers more than a bathing suit.”

“Fine.” He reaches up and guides me down until I’m sitting on his lap. “Happy now?”

I nod, leaning back against him.

“Don’t go to work tomorrow.” I feel his lips against my neck. “Come out on the boat with me. I want to know you’re close by.”

“I have to go to work. We need the money.”

His arms close around mine. “It was easier back then, in a way.”

I know what he means. Being a Montauk Project recruit was mindless. Food, clothes, all the basics were provided. We never had to make any choices. Our futures were laid out in front of us. But I defied that destiny, and now Wes and I are two orphans trying to survive on our own. I never thought I would be talking about bills at eighteen.

“But this is still better.”

He squeezes me. “Still better.”

The ocean is calm, the waves softly pushing against the shore. “Regrets?” Wes whispers into my hair.

I tip my head back against his shoulder and stare up at the waxing moon. It is a question he asks me once a week, sometimes daily, and I know he is worried that I miss my family and my original life in 2012.

“I won’t ever regret what we did. We had to end the Project, for us and for the other recruits. I’m just happy we both made it out alive.”

He rests his chin against my forehead. “I’m sorry I scared you.”

“You should be. That was the worst hour of my life.”

Before the first bomb went off, Wes used those thirty seconds to rush at the soldiers in the observation room. By then the mirror was almost completely broken, and he dove through, hiding behind the wall when the explosion hit. Most of them blindly copied his actions, and only one soldier died when he didn’t duck down quickly enough. Wes managed to get out of the observation room and into the hallway before the other bombs went off, but amid the chaos and the smoke and the confusion, it took him almost an hour to make his way back out of the Facility.

A few weeks ago, I convinced my boss at the newspaper to send me to Camp Hero to try to get more answers for a bigger story on what happened out in the woods that day. I interviewed the major general who oversees the army base. He gave me the same stock answers that he gave the other reporters.
We’re shocked and saddened by how sick these men were. Camp Hero is in no way affiliated with the events of that day.
But his right eye twitched whenever he lied, and I knew he was aware of what was happening down in that Facility.

But I tried to put his words behind me. Even if the men leading Camp Hero knew about the Montauk Project, it doesn’t change what happened: without Tesla’s notes, without a time machine or Dr. Faust, the Montauk Project is gone forever. Wes and I succeeded.

Wes’s hands are resting against my stomach. I pick one up and hold it in my lap, playing with his long fingers, the flat, broad shape of his nail beds. “I can’t pretend that I don’t think about my parents a lot, or wish I could see them again. And I love Mary, but I miss Hannah’s sarcasm and how cynical she could be.”