Reversion (The Narrows of Time Series Book 3) (8 page)

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he said, trying to make sense of the facts. She must’ve been sketching his face since she was a little girl, creating one after another—totally fixating on him. How could this be? His mind whirled with possibilities.

Was she clairvoyant, or just seeing things? Perhaps it was a family trait. Her old man was supposedly able to tap into the Akashic Field; maybe she could, too. They wouldn’t be the first people he’d met who touted the clairvoyant ability.

He wasn’t sure what was going on and didn’t have time to dwell on it. He folded the photograph in half before cramming it into the backpack.

Ten minutes later, he made it to the top of the escape ladder and climbed down into the first section of a mineshaft. The tunnel was pitch-black except for a limited amount of light behind him, leaking out from the bunker below. He took one of the candles from the pack and lit its wick with the matches he’d brought along. The flame flickered and grew in intensity, allowing him to see about fifteen feet, but little more.

The walls of rock on either side of him were nondescript except for a pair of unlit exit signs hanging nearby. He couldn’t see much else, but at least he knew the way out. Eventually, he’d catch up to Masago. He figured she was basking in the sunshine, admiring her victory over the unsuspecting intruder.

He forged ahead, leaning on the modified bow in one hand while carrying the candle in the other. The crutch carried him through the dirt and rock one painful yard at a time until he traversed the first corner. His hand was throbbing from bracing himself up, so he took a break to let it rest and catch his breath. It worked.

“Where are you, girl?” he whispered, wondering if he should call out for her. If she was still tracking the intruder, shouting might compromise her position. He decided to keep quiet and continue the journey, watching the shades of darkness peel away with every step. The tunnel could run for miles, or end around the next corner. There was no way to be sure; not until after he fumbled his way through the rocky maze.

After another seven steps, the darkness ahead revealed something near its leading edge—the bottom of a shoe. It was lying sideways in the dirt. He pressed the candle higher, sending more light down the passageway. The rest of the show came into view, plus an attacked ankle and leg.

“Masago!” he yelled, realizing she was in trouble, probably hurt and unconscious. He raced ahead, pushing the crutch and his grip to their breaking points. Seconds later, he was standing over her.

Her body was lying awkwardly on its side with her right arm tucked underneath. A blood-soaked piece of cloth was wrapped around her upper thigh like a tourniquet. But that wasn’t all; blood was dripping from her forehead and running down her cheek. He wasn’t sure if she’d been shot or beaten; possibly both. At least her chest was moving, so he knew she was still alive.

He maneuvered around her body, expecting to find her hunting bow and quiver of bolts, but they weren’t with her. He sat down next to her with his injured leg outstretched to keep his swollen knee from bending.

He removed the night vision goggles from her face, then rocked her shoulder gently. “Masago? It’s me, Lucas. Wake up.”

She didn’t respond.

“Come on, girl. Talk to me,” he demanded in a swift, strong voice.

Again, she didn’t answer.

He put the candle down, then drizzled water from his canteen onto a handful of toilet paper sheets. He gently wiped her cheek and forehead with the makeshift swab, cleaning off the blood and dirt to reveal a horizontal, two-inch gash. It was oozing red from just above her eyebrow.

“Jesus, what the hell happened to you?”

Above him was a jagged edge of rock protruding from the wall. It was red and glistening, with a shape matching the cut on her head.

He turned her over, freeing her arm and exposing her injured leg. His hands tore at the cloth to release the pressure from her thigh. Blood began to ooze from the hole in her pants, increasing in volume as her heart pumped through the seconds. His fingers worked quickly, wedging the material open so he could see inside, but there was too much blood. He wiped the area with a fresh wad of wet toilet paper, revealing a quarter-inch hole in her leg. It was perfectly round, with no jagged edges—she’d been shot.

“Shit!” he said, putting the wrap back on her leg. He pulled the ends together until it cinched tightly around the wound, slowing the blood flow to a pulsating trickle.

She moaned in pain and opened her eyes.

“There you are,” he said, smiling.

Her eyes brightened when she focused on him. “What happened?”

“Looks like you’ve been shot, and I’m pretty sure you passed out and hit your head on the way down. Who did this to you?”

“Intruders. Outside,” she said in a weak voice.

“Then I need to get you someplace safe in case they follow you here.”

She shook her head. “I led them away, then doubled back once I was sure I’d lost them.”

“After you were shot?”

“It’s not as bad as it looks.”

“Not as bad as it looks? Are you kidding me? There’s a frickin’ hole in your leg, and it’s bleeding like a stuck pig.”

“It’s not the first time. Trust me, I’ll live.”

“We’re gonna have to figure out how to get you back inside so we can take the bullet out.”

“Won’t be necessary.”

“Why not?”

“Bullet went clean through. Just need to disinfect and suture it. There’s a med kit in the kitchen. Second drawer on the right. It has what you’ll need.”

“You want
me
to stitch you up? Here? In the dirt?”

She nodded. “Don’t worry, I’ll walk you through it.”

Lucas held out his hands. They were shaking. “I don’t think you want Mr. Shake-O-Potamus working on you with a knife. I know I wouldn’t.”

“You’ll work through it. I trust you. Now, go. Please.”

Lucas grimaced, then nodded, grabbing his crutch. He used it and the wall to stand up.

“Leave me the candle,” she said, giving him the night vision goggles.

He put the goggles on his head and took a quick look around. Every detail in the tunnel was now clear and visible, including the parade of exit signs covering the walls of tunnel. They looked to be installed every ten feet or so. “Your old man must have gotten one hell of a discount on signage.”

“The kit?” she asked, reaching out and smacking him.

“Sorry,” Lucas replied. He made his way to the ladder, scurried down, and hopped through the bunker. He found the medical kit right where she said it would be—in the second drawer on the right in the kitchen. He returned to Masago, who was now sitting up with her back against the wall.

He spent the next ten minutes closing her wound, carefully following her instructions. Blood flowed and she winced each time he penetrated the folds of her skin and pulled the thread tight, making his stomach turn flip flops in the process. His hand tremors never stopped, but he managed to complete the last suture and tie it off without vomiting.

“There, that ought to do it.”

“Nice work, Shake-O-Potamus,” she said, laughing. She flexed her leg. “Are you sure this was your first time?”

“Yep. I’m not a virgin anymore. At least I didn’t hurl chunks. Blood usually makes me queasy. Just ask my friends back home.”

She smiled. “Maybe we need to change your nickname to Mr. Hurl-O-Potamus.”

Lucas laughed, then pointed at the wound on her forehead. “What about that?”

“A butterfly bandage should do. There’s one in the kit.”

He found a split-angle bandage and applied it to her head. The wound closed enough to stop the bleeding. “You’re good to go. We should get moving.” He wrapped his fingers around her arm.

Her grin faded into a scowl as she pulled away. “Get your hands off of me!”

“Hey, what’s wrong?” he asked.  

She pulled her knife out and pressed it against his throat. “You’ve got ten seconds to tell me the truth.”

“What truth? What the hell are you talking about?” he said, trying not to move. He could feel the razor-sharp edge of the blade starting to penetrate the first few layer of skin on his neck.

“The violent, sadistic men outside weren’t just any men. They all looked like you!”

His mind went blank.

Her eyes flared and her face turned beet-red. “No more lies, Lucas. Are you with them? Part of their gang? Tell me right now or I’ll bleed you.”

“Wait! Wait! Wait! Let me explain.”

“You now have five seconds . . . Four . . . Three . . .”

He pushed the words out as fast as they’d go. “They look like me, but I’m not with them. They’re the bad guys not me. I’m here to save the planet.”

“I told you, no more lies,” she said, pressing the knife harder against his throat. “The truth, now!”

“I am telling you the truth. But you have to let me explain. Please, just put the knife down and I’ll tell you everything.”

“I’m listening,” she said.

He felt the knife’s pressure ease a bit. “What I’m about to tell you will sound a little crazy, but it’s absolutely the truth. I swear to God.”

She didn’t respond.

“Just keep an open mind. That’s all I ask.”

“I’m listening.”

He paused to formulate the words. He needed to soften the blow; otherwise, too harsh a reality might send this chick over the cliff. But after running through a few choices, nothing sounded better than the truth.

“Do I need to restart the countdown?” she said in a hurried voice.

He decided to just let it fly. “I’m from the future, sent back in time to stop something terrible from happening.”

“Really? That’s the story you wanna go with?”

“You said you wanted the truth. Do you want me to explain, or not?”

“Sure, go for it,” she said with attitude, keeping the knife against his skin. “This ought to be good.”

“The first time I saw those men was when I arrived on top of the mountain. Yes, I know they look just like me, but they’re not clones or twins or even brothers. They actually
are
me, versions of me, pulled here from two hundred and eleven different universes by mistake. None of this was supposed to happen.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’ve heard some whoppers before, but this one takes the cake. You don’t seriously expect me to believe any of this, do you? Even my high-strung brother wouldn’t buy this one.”

“I know it sounds crazy, but consider the facts. When you found me in the desert, I wasn’t wearing a climbing suit. It’s called a Smart Skin Suit and its made of advanced nano-wire circuitry that allows me to travel across time and space with the help of a powerful machine on the other end. Earlier, when you asked me if I was in the military, I told you that I wasn’t. Those helicopters weren’t trying to rescue me, they were trying to kill me and all the copies of me. My copies and I had just arrived on Earth when General Alvarez and his men swooped down and started shooting. Until a few minutes ago, I thought I was the only one lucky enough to have escaped. Apparently not. Now I guess they’re looking for me.”

She pinched her eyes and tilted her head, taking a few seconds to respond. “Okay, I’ll play along. Why?”

“They think I’m responsible.”

“For what?”

“Bringing them here.”

“Are you?”

“Well . . . yes and no. My incursion brought them here, but it was an accident.”

“And now they’re pissed and want revenge.”

“Or maybe they just want to go home. I’m sorry they hurt you.”

She hesitated again, then responded in a softer voice, “One of the men
was
wearing the same outfit as you.”

“That’s a Smart Skin Suit. We were all wearing them when we arrived. None of us could have gotten here without it.”

“Or go home, I’ll bet.”

“Exactly. That’s why I was upset earlier when I found out you cut a piece off and burned it.”

She nodded slowly, looking at the ground.

“Think about it. All the versions of me, the helicopters trying to kill us all, the Smart Skin Suits, the copies showing up outside—all of it. It can only add up to one thing.”

She made eye contact with him, giving him a skeptical look. “If what you’re saying is true, why do they think you’re responsible for what happened? Why not one of the other copies? After all, you all look alike and were wearing the same outfit.”

“Remember those glasses I asked you about?”

“Yeah.”

“They are part of my time traveling equipment, but I was the only person wearing them. That’s why they think I’m responsible. I had the extra technology. You know, like on Sesame Street—one of these things is not like the others.”

“I hated that show.”

“You’re not the only one.”

“What are the glasses for?”

“Basically, they’re a head-mounted supercomputer that sees all and knows all. Plus, it allows me to communicate with my team back home. I must’ve dropped them somewhere when I tumbled down the cliff. If you help me find them, I’ll prove all of this to you, I swear. But first, you have to believe me. I’m telling you the truth. Some of this is top-secret, classified information.”

She shook her head. “I don’t know. It’s all a bit much.”

“I agree, it’s a lot to process,” he said in his most sincere voice. “But if you step back and think about it for a minute, everything I’m saying lines up perfectly. Who would make up a story as ludicrous as this?”

She rolled her eyes. “Maybe someone who fell down a mountain and cracked his face open, then went into a fever coma after a snake sunk its fangs into his knee.”

“Okay, I’ll give you that.”

“Then again, all it would take is some paranoid lunatic to make up a story like this. The desert is full of crazy.”

“Yeah, tell me about it.”

“What does that mean?”

“Nothing. Never mind,” he said, wishing he could control his lips better. He searched for a better explanation. Something that could shake her stance and make her believe. “Let’s start over . . . How many men did you see in the clearing?”

“The ones that looked like you?”

“Yeah.”

“Twelve at first.”

“What do you mean, at first?” Lucas asked, wondering how many of his copies had survived. If they were gunning for him, his odds of survival or success were dropping fast. “Were some of them killed?”