Convergence Point (27 page)

 

CHAPTER 20

We are never so lost as when we believe we know ­everything.

~ excerpt from
Among the Wildflowers
by Andria Toskoshi

Date Unknown

Location Unknown

Iteration Unknown

S
unlight burned Sam's eyes. She had been expecting night and the cover of darkness. Heart racing, she rolled away from the portal, still clutching the machine. It seemed her grip was loosening. She looked down and saw the metal dissolving, steaming into the air like dry ice on a hot road.

Mac scrambled to his feet beside her. “That's not supposed to happen, is it?”

“This plan didn't come with a training manual.”

They watched it vanish until there was nothing left but a glass tube with a metal fitting on each end filled with a viscous purple liquid that moved like mercury. Sam looked up at Mac. “Thoughts?”

“Don't break the tube.”

“Good thinking.” She tucked it into her pocket and looked around. “This . . . could be Alabama.”

“This could be anywhere.”

Sam shrugged. “Let's find a road. Some sign of human civilization would be nice.”

“Just so we know we didn't accidentally wander into a dystopian wasteland populated only by rabid dogs?”

“You're not allowed to watch sci-­fi movies anymore.”

“Considering I think we're currently
living
a sci-­fi movie, I feel it's good preparation for time traveling.”

“We're not time traveling. That was a onetime deal. Now it's over. No more machine.”

“We still have the pieces.”

“We're going to lose the pieces as soon as I find a convenient abyss.” She took a deep breath. “Do you smell something . . . weird? Like, museumish?”

“Museumish?” Mac inhaled and shook his head. “I smell grass, wildflowers, maybe jasmine or magnolia. Not to mention asphalt, tar, and diesel.”

“Diesel?” Sam raised an eyebrow. “Who runs anything on fossil fuels?”

“We're not arresting anyone,” Mac warned.

“It's illegal to use fossil fuels! The pollution fines alone . . .” Sam trailed off as she noticed a face in the distance. Or at least the outline of a human body. “Mac, is there a little green man over there?”

He spun around, squinted, and raised an eyebrow. “That is a soldier in a combat uniform.”

“We did not go back to the Civil War!” Sister Mary Francis would be horrified to hear how bad her math skills had failed. They couldn't have possibly traveled back further than 2069. That's when Emir made the machine . . . “Mac.” She turned to him in a panic. “When are we?”

“That's the uniform we had from 2057 until America became part of the Commonwealth.” Mac shrugged. “We didn't leave Fort Benning.”

“We didn't land in 2069, either,” she growled.

“Hands where we can see them!” a man shouted from behind Sam.

“Mac?” She raised her eyebrows and willed him to find an exit plan. He'd been a Ranger. He was supposed to have a plan for disasters like this.

“Put your hands out and let me talk.”

“We're relying on your ­people skills for survival?”

We're going to die.

Mac flashed her a grin. “Exciting, right?”

“A laugh a minute.” She closed her eyes and prayed to St. Jude. If there was ever a hopeless cause, this was it. “Don't kick him in the nuts,” Sam muttered.

“Would I do that?”

“You're not good at making friends.”

“I have you.” Mac winked and turned to the soldiers stalking up to them with unfamiliar rifles in their hands.

Mac could probably name the rifles. Heck, he could probably fieldstrip or undress or whatever it was soldiers did with guns with their eyes closed in under thirty seconds. Right now, she hoped that he could get out of this without their winding up in jail, or worse.

“Hi,” Mac said. “We are a little lost.”

“No kidding,” the soldier said. His uniform had the name
BENTLY
embroidered on the right side of his chest. “This is a training ground.”

“I know, we were just trying to take a short cut. My car died, and my girlfriend's got to catch a flight home from Atlanta. I thought we could cut across here and catch the main road, but I think I took a wrong turn.” Mac patted his pocket. “Here, I've got my ID.”

Sam closed her eyes. They didn't know what year it was, and he wanted to use his ID. This was going to be so much fun.

“Right here.” Mac held out his wallet.

The soldier took it. “Lieutenant MacKenzie? This ID expires next month you know.”

“Yeah.”

“You fail landnav, LT?”

“I . . .” Mac winced. “I might have been paying more attention to my girlfriend than my step count.”

Bently eyed Sam. His look traveled up, down, and back up to rest on her chest before making eye contact again. “I guess that makes sense.”

Sam swallowed an angry reproach as Mac put an arm around her. If they survived this, she was going to give him a long lecture on believable lies. It was a stretch to think anyone, even MacKenzie, was so distracted by her nonexistent beauty that he wasn't paying attention to their surroundings. Actually, it made even less sense with Mac, since he took hyperawareness to a whole new level.

“Can you point us in the direction of the main post?” Mac asked.

Bently sighed. “You've got a good ten-­mile hike, and this is a restricted area. We're out here on exercises. If the MPs had found you”—­he grimaced—­“boy howdy would you be in trouble. Look. One Ranger to another, my car is just behind those trees. You know the roads here?”

“Better than I know the fields,” Mac said.

“Can you drop my car off at the PX?”

“Sure thing,” Mac said with a smile.

Bently took a set of keys out of his pocket. “It's the black truck with the sniper sticker on the back. Leave it at the PX with a full tank of gas.”

“Hooah.” Mac saluted. “Come on, Sam. We can get a taxi from the PX.”

“Thanks.” Sam waved good-­bye to the soldiers and hurried to follow Mac. “What is a PX and where are we taking the taxi? There's no way I can fly anywhere. All I have is my passport, and it was issued in 2066.”

“The PX is the post exchange. It's the general store on base, where you can buy everything from clothes to gardening supplies. It's across from the commissary.”

“A food court?”

“A grocery store. And it's October, 2064. My lieutenant's ID expires in November.”

Sam frowned as she followed him through the grass. “I thought you were a captain.”

He nodded. “Officially promoted just before I left for Afghanistan. I never pinned the rank on.” Mac clicked a button on the keys, and a black truck flashed its lights and unlocked. “Here's our ride to our taxi, which will take us to the bus station.”

“I can't believe you're stealing a soldier's car!”

“I'm not stealing it!” Mac said as he climbed into the driver's seat. “He's letting us borrow it. Soldiers did this all the time before we joined the Commonwealth. If your car was low on gas or you needed a ride, you borrowed a buddy's car. No big deal. Fill the gas tank and leave it somewhere easy to find. Sergeant Bently will hitch a ride with a friend and pick up the car. No one thinks twice about this sort of stuff.”

Sam strapped herself in. “What is that smell?”

Mac sniffed. “Stale french fries, gun cleaner, boot polish, and wet dog. Why?”

She peeked at the back bench of the truck. “This is filthy.”

“It's a soldier's truck! What do you expect?” Mac turned the key, and the engine roared like a jet.

Sam covered her ears. “Is it broken?”

“It's an old gasoline truck. Haven't you ever been in one?”

“We had electric cars in Canada.”

Mac laughed. “Oh, you are in for a ride.”

She looked nervously at the field behind them. “Where's the taxi going to take us?”

“The bus station, for a start. Fifty dollars can get you a ticket to anywhere. If we're in our iteration, we can head to my place up in D.C. I just got home from Afghanistan, and between the pain meds and the alcohol, I wouldn't know if a stranger walked into my place at all. Plus, there's a sweet combat bonus waiting to be cashed in that expires in January. I'll never know it is missing.”

“Your plan is to rely on your past self's inebriation for safety and rob yourself blind?”

He shrugged. “Pretty sure it's not illegal.”

“Why not go all the way to my place in Canada?” Sam said sarcastically.

“Because the border is closed, and you're currently not old enough to vote.” He winked at her.

Sam frowned. “What if this isn't our iteration?”

“Let's deal with one thing at a time. First, we need a phone.”

“First, we need a plan!” She crossed her arms and tried not to breathe deeply. “I can't believe you used to live like this.”

“You know you love me.” His voice warmed her to the core.

Sam smiled in spite of yourself. “You're my Captain United. Always there to save the day.”

He leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Always and only yours, baby.”

She shook her head. “Nope. Don't call me baby. You've got to find something else.”

“Love?”

“I could work with that.”

 

CHAPTER 21

And we danced to the music of the spheres. Our fates entwined. Our fears forgotten. Our hearts luminous.

~ from the
Song of the Radiant Lover
poet unknown I4–2061

Monday October 27, 2064

District of Columbia

United States of America

Iteration 2 (probably)

T
he taxi rolled up in front of a brick building with part of the roof missing and several windows missing on the second floor.

“This is the right address?” Sam asked, looking at Mac in bewilderment. Six hundred dollars, nineteen hours, thirty-­seven minutes, and three buses had hauled them northward to dump them in front of a dump.

“Home sweet home.”

She looked at the domicile in despair. “You should not be allowed to pick housing. Why . . . just . . . WHY? I thought the place in Alabama was bad.” The apartments had been so bad, the owner tried to set them on fire. How had Mac found something worse?

“That'll be sixty dollars, seventeen cents,” the cabby said.

Mac handed him a green bill and opened the door for Sam. “Come on.”

“Mac, there's no roof. This can't be the right place.”

“It blew off in a storm during the summer. The landlord swears it'll get fixed soon.” He hesitated. “This is a good sign.”

“Is it?” Sam demanded, as the cab pulled away leaving them stranded in the slum. “Saints and angels, protect me.” She closed her eyes. “We're going to die of tetanus poisoning.”

“It's not that bad.”

“Yes it is!”

He walked up to a door and kicked the faded welcome mat to the side. “No key.”

“Great. So we can't even break in.” Sam tried counting to ten, but that didn't work. “Let's call the cab back, go find a hotel, and figure out what we're doing from there.”

“We can't get our names in the system,” Mac said. “We need to avoid cameras and public places. We need to lie low. Right now, I'm considered a risk to public safety.”

“You?” She stared at him in bafflement. When she met him she'd have doubted Mac's ability to win a fight against a cockroach. He was a danger to himself, not anyone else.

He raised an eyebrow. “A soldier fresh from the war zone with training and no support network? Didn't you watch horror movies when you were a teen? I'm the bogeyman of this era.”

A car rolled up behind them, and Mac stepped in front of her.

“Captain MacKenzie?” a man's voice shouted from the car.

“See?” he said. “Even the house is being watched.” Mac turned around and stiffened.

“Captain?” the man in the car repeated.

“Yes?” Mac sounded like he wanted to say no. He hadn't sounded that hesitant even when they'd first met. Sam leaned to the side, trying to peer around him.

“I'm Sergeant Gillam, sir. I'm here to drive you to the ser­vice.”

Sam tapped Mac's shoulder. “What ser­vice?” Mac froze under her hand.

“We have an hour before we need to leave, sir,” the sergeant said.

Mac's hand found hers and squeezed hard.

“What ser­vice is he talking about?”

“The funeral,” Mac whispered. She could hear the pain. “It's the funeral I missed.”

Sam hugged him quickly and squeezed his hand back, than she stepped around him. “Sergeant, we still need to get dressed. I just flew in, and my luggage went missing. Would it be a problem if we met you there?”

The sergeant looked from her to MacKenzie. “You sure, ma'am? I can wait.”

She gave her sunniest smile and prayed it would work. “I really don't want to inconvenience you. And”—­she looked at her abused running shoes and pretended to blush before looking back up—­“we haven't seen each other in a long time.” She drew out the word long. He was staring at her, and Sam wondered how obtuse a soldier could be. Time to draw him a nice verbal map. “I'd really like to reconnect with my boyfriend.
Alone
. Without an audience.”

Understanding widened the sergeant's eyes. “Of course, ma'am. I'll see you two at the ser­vice.”

“We'll see you there!” Sam waved cheerfully and turned back to Mac. “I need a dress.”

“We?” Mac looked at her. “We're going?”

“Yes, and we have a whole hour to break into the apartment, find me a dress, and get there.”

He shook his head. “We don't need to go.”

The pain in his eyes nearly broke her. She'd do anything to take it away. “We don't, but you do. You need a chance to say good-­bye. Please?” She could tell it was the please that got him.

“Fine.”

The door swung open. A filthy man wobbled on his feet. “Who're you?”

“You,” MacKenzie said as the man toppled forward, unconscious. “I smell foul.”

“Mac!” Sam shook her head. There were so many things wrong with this.

“Get his feet,” Mac said. “We'll put him in the bedroom.”

Grabbing the younger MacKenzie's feet, she waited for Mac to grab his shoulders, and they carried him into the house. He was heavier than she expected, not yet lost to the prescription pills but certainly well on his way. She guided them through the filthy apartment, which smelled of rancid meat and stale sorrows. “Why did you live here?”

“Because I thought I deserved it.” Mac tossed his younger self on the bed.

“Don't break him!”

“It's too late for that.” He crossed his arms. “We have nothing to wear to a funeral.”

Sam walked to the closet and opened it. As she'd suspected, his dress uniform was hanging there in a dry-­cleaning bag. “Some things never change.” She saw his frown and smiled. “You had one in the closet in Alabama. If you were dragging it around then, there's no reason you wouldn't have it now.”

“And what are you wearing?”

“The first black dress I find at the nearest shopping mall. Hurry up. We have less than an hour.” She surveyed the disaster. “Where do you keep your trash bags?”

“Under the sink,” Mac said, as he reached for the uniform. “Why?”

She smiled. “I'm going to do a little spring cleaning while you get changed.”

“I don't even know if this will fit.”

She gave him her tough-­senior-­bureau-­agent look. “It will fit. We will go. It's time for a proper good-­bye.” She walked over to a tall dresser and shifted through the debris to find something that had caught her eye. A set of golden captain's bars waiting to be put on the dress uniform. Sam held them out. “Do you want me to pin them on?”

B
one-­white headstones marked the final resting places of the dead. Row upon row, a sea of fallen soldiers resting beneath the parched earth. It was raining now. Dark, sullen clouds had rolled in before dawn and sat over the city like a dark blanket. Mac hesitated. Already, they could see the funeral party. Twenty freshly dug graves with the grieving families in front of them.

Sam's hand touched the small of his back. “Are you okay?”

He took a step forward and a deep breath, then kept walking as Taps played. His old dress uniform felt uncomfortable, the starch and the pins and everything about it was wrong. This was why he hadn't come the first time. Even now, six years removed from the original stabbing despair of loss, the pain was staggering. A week ago, all these men had been alive. Now he was the only one still breathing.

They approached the back of the crowd, and Mac started looking for familiar faces.

Alina Matthews, the single mother of the lieutenant about to make captain who led the fateful charge, sat in the front row in a black dress, hat, and veil. Beside her was the wife of Top Sergeant Abel, a woman who was herself a veteran of more funerals than Mac cared to count. Her two sons wore crisp navy uniforms. None of them had tears. Not here. Not yet. She'd told him once that army wives learned not to cry at funerals.

There were others crying, though.

Flags were taken off the coffins, folded, and handed to the families. One of the POWs must have been very young, his widow was holding an infant as a confused and crying toddler sat beside her.

He would have given anything to trade places with the man in the coffin. Done anything to bring the men back to their families. He closed his eyes and let the funeral end around him as tears ran down his cheeks, and his fingernails dug into his skin.

The scent of an overly floral perfume made him open his eyes. An elderly woman with an American-­flag pin on the lapel of her black dress suit stood in front of him. “Captain MacKenzie?”

“Yes.” It was a shaky whisper, and he was aware of Sam's moving closer, getting ready to intervene if need be.

“I'm Mrs. Hastings, one of the Arlington Ladies. I thought it would be appropriate to present you with a condolence card, too.” She held out a white envelope with beautiful calligraphy handwriting on the outside. “Thank you for your ser­vice to our great nation. You are an example to us all.”

He couldn't move his arm.

Sam took the envelope with a small smile. “Thank you for your condolences. This has been a very difficult time, for both of us.”

Mrs. Hastings frowned politely at Sam. “I'm so sorry. I didn't catch your name.”

“Samantha Rose.”

“Of course. Thank you for supporting our soldier. Being an army wife isn't the easiest job in the world. But, Lord, do they need us. You take good care of our captain here.” She patted Mac's arm gently and walked away to fuss over someone else.

Sam tucked the envelope into her purse. “You okay?”

“Are you going to ask anything else?”

“I don't know what to say. The only funeral I've ever been to is my father's, and at that point we were so estranged, it was like being at the funeral of a stranger.” She leaned against him for a second and moved away. “What do you need?”

He shook his head. “To go back four more months and stop all this. It was an insane plan to start with. Jerry-­rigged to hell. We couldn't get negotiations to go through. Everything was stalled out. I wasn't even supposed to be in the unit—­I was on leave—­but they needed a medic.” He shrugged.

It had been raining that day, too. A summer deluge was washing the streets out, and he'd remembered grinning as his truck dipped through potholes. The plan had been to stop in to see his old buddies at Benning. Maybe go out for dinner or hit the town. Drive up to Atlanta for a day. Then he was flying home to Idaho to finish out his R&R before reporting to the medical unit at Fort Carson. He'd walked into a planning session. Colonel Kawsay was trying to talk some sense into his troops. The mission was too dangerous, and they'd never get permission. Flying in without backup was risky. The army was being held together by duct tape and tradition as it was; one more good push, and they'd all be gone.

Then Mac opened his big, fat mouth. Said he'd go along. A medic to back up the six-­man team. He had the training. He was a good battlefield surgeon with an amazing record. Kawsay had finally allowed it. A few favors were called in, a commercial jet took them to a friendly port in the Middle East. A navy helicopter had taken them to a no-­fly zone to drop them under the radar. They'd hiked in, infiltrated the base, got their guys out, and almost been home.

Almost been safe.

“You're shaking,” Sam said as she took his hand.

“We were almost home.”

“I know.” She gave his arm a tug. “Let's sit down for a minute.”

He let her lead the way to the abandoned seats, still warm from the mourners who were leaving. “Sam . . .” He stood up. “I don't belong here. I'm on the wrong side.” There should have been a grave for him.

She followed his gaze, understood the despair in his voice. “No, you aren't.” Wrapping her arms around his she pulled in close. “You weren't meant to die with them.”

He closed his eyes. It would have been so much easier to take the bullet there in Afghanistan. A moment of pain in exchange for a lifetime of anguish.

“Eric?” a quavering but familiar voice from his nightmares asked.
Bring my baby home.

He turned, tears running down his face. “Mrs. Matthews, I am so sorry for the loss of your son.”

She launched herself at him, wrapping skinny arms around his chest and squeezing him tight. “I didn't see you here. I thought you were angry with me.” She sobbed. “I'm so sorry.” She leaned back and reached up to pat his face. “All my babies.” She hugged him again. “I thank God every night you came back. I prayed for you all. I prayed for Daniel. Lit candles for him every day while you were gone. I was so selfish, praying only for my son.”

Mac shook his head. “No. That's the right thing to do.” His family had prayed for him, he knew it. He hated knowing that only their prayers were answered. Hated God and himself for failing to bring his fellow soldiers home.

“I still pray for them. Every night I tell God to keep them. And I pray for you.” She patted his cheek again. “To survive all that? If this is what God chooses to train you with? What must God have in store for you?”

“I don't know.” He looked to Sam, elegant in a simple black dress, black hair framing her face, and wondered if she was the reason. Prayer wasn't something he'd wanted. Answers . . . he kept asking why he was alive, and there she was, smiling at him, caring for him, silently standing beside him at his worst. He reached for her.

Sam took his hand and stepped closer.

“Mrs. Matthews, this is Sam, she's um . . .”

“His girlfriend,” Sam said.

Something like that.
No—­something much more than that. She was his lifeline. His heart and soul. The reason he woke up in the morning. “Sam, this is Dan Matthews's mom.” He stumbled over his friend's name, not sure if he'd ever mentioned Dan or the rest of the soldiers to her.