Dark Future (25 page)

Chapter Thirty-three

T
he ground was red and cracked from the heat and the thin air, but still heavy with humidity. Sweat ran like a river stinging my eyes and tasting of salt as it ran into my mouth. It was so much harder to breathe on Dark Planet than it was back on Earth. I dropped to my knees, unable to go any further, even if my life depended on it. And it did—mine and everyone I loved.

ConRad collapsed to his knees beside me, panting in the paltry atmosphere. He let his heavy pack and gun fall to the ground beside him. We had timed our return to Dark Planet in accordance with the planet’s rotations. Every forty-eight hours there was a graying hour, when the planet’s moons came together and glowed enough to give off a dim glare similar to dusk on Earth.

I tried to breathe through the stitch in my side, then gave up. I shot a glance at ConRad to see how he fared. The vision stilled my heart. His eyes brilliant blue spheres of color in his tanned, rugged face. Green army fatigues wet and dirty, bare chest peeking through an opened flack vest. Sweat poured down his face and neck, covered in a week’s worth of stubble, making him look like a Greek god just emerging from the sea. Determined, I etched the picture of him in my mind—my beautiful warrior.

Sweet lord, he was gorgeous. And MINE. But not for long.

“We don’t have a lot of time,” he said, voice calm and sure under pressure.

God, how could he even talk? I was beyond even swallowing.

His hand reached out and stroked my cheek. His eyes searched mine. The tenderness warmed the blue, softening him.

This was the first time we dared to stop since our mad dash across space and air. I told ConRad that Quinn had a vision of us traveling through time, back to the past to prevent the invasion of the aliens. I told him we’d be safe. I told him we’d both go through.

I lied.

But my lies worked like magic. Within a week we were ready, armed with a plan to pay off the guards at the portal and enough fire power to blow ten aliens to kingdom come. But something I hadn’t counted on went wrong—the Elders had been tipped off and an army of men loyal to the Way were after us.

When I had destroyed the passage from the compound to outside by throwing the grenade to stop the alien invasion, I thought I’d collapsed the only tun the onlnel to the outside. But ConRad had taken me the back way. Apparently the small crawl space behind the three pools was a little-known tunnel, barely big enough to walk through, which led to the outside.

But the Elders had dogs. And we hadn’t had the time to cover our scent.

ConRad’s fingers trailed across my lips and outlined the fullness of the bottom one. Tears welled up in my eyes despite the promise to myself not to cry until later—later I’d have plenty of time alone to weep my heart out. My stomach churned with a familiar sickness. I couldn’t believe I was going to go through with this.

“We’re going to make it,” he said, misreading my face.

Nodding quickly, breaking eye contact. I couldn’t afford for him to see too much. I pushed myself to my feet. “We’d better keep moving. They’re not far behind.”

We started off at a much slower pace, neither one of us able to maintain a run anymore. We traversed the rough landscape of shadowed holes and hidden obstacles much easier with the faint light of the twin moons. I was so caught up in trying to determine the landmarks of our previous desperate flight that we almost fell into the hole I had originally time traveled through. ConRad’s booted toes hovered over the edge as he lit his florescent light stick and peered in.

The hole was no bigger than a small swimming pool—and I was surprised to notice—only a few feet taller than ConRad, but in my mind I’d imagined such vastness. Terror had a way of playing with one’s perceptions.

“Are you ready?” He looked worried, his unease stemming from the unknown.

God, how I wished for the bliss of ignorance.

“Whatever we are going to face, we will face together,” he said, reaching over and squeezing my hand.

I nodded. I couldn’t speak, couldn’t help the tears that leaked from my eyes. I clamped my jaw shut to keep the sobs, piling up within me, from spilling out.

And then we jumped hand-in-hand . . . fell . . . and landed at the bottom of the hole.

“What happened? I didn’t feel anything,” ConRad said, as he looked around at the now familiar lava and rocky landscape. “This is the right place, the same place that you originally came through from?”

Chapter Thirty-four

C
old. Bone aching cold. Weird since the oven-baked earth was pressed hard against my face. Then the pain came, hard and fast like a bullet to the brain. Every ligament hurt, stretched, like I’d been sawn asunder, then hurriedly slapped back together. Sucking wind, I tried to rise above the pain. Tried to leave the body that lay on the ground, with clothes wadded tightly against its chest, ripped shirt, underwear lost in some vast darkness of time and space.

There was no oblivion. I knew exactly where I was. Back on the mountain preserve in Scottsdale, back in the past, back before I knew about The Prophesy. Before mI loved ConRad.

ConRad was dead—there was no way he could’ve survived. He would’ve taken his own life before letting Syon take him and be tortured.

And I couldn’t blame him, even as in the same breath I screamed for him to survive.

I saved my child, but killed my husband.

God, what’ve I done?

I screamed. Desperate loss weighed on my heart. I couldn’t live without ConRad . . . but I didn’t have to. I could fix this. I had to go back. Had to try again. I could reinitiate the cycle. I had the chance to change the past, to do it better this time.

I pushed myself up as the world spun. Wetness tickled my nose. I wiped, surprised at the amount of blood smeared across the back of my hand. I’d no idea at what cost time traveling extracted from my body, but didn’t care—last ride, for me anyway. My younger self was fresher, less damaged.

The burden of what I had to do enveloped me in its thick velvet coat of guilt. It was hard to alter a life in such a harsh way, even if that life was my own. A bitter laugh escaped. I never had a clue, never really had a choice. Time for a reality check; life is hard and about to get harder. I’d no idea how many times I could restart the loop, but I needed one more chance to get it right.

I fell twice putting on my pants. My heart raced with the need to hurry. Time, my ever elusive enemy, had me frantically glancing up at the sky. The first time I’d time traveled it was at sun break and I wanted to follow the exact pattern to increase the chances of sending myself back. The current sky showed no signs of the breaking dawn, but I’d no doubt I was in a race.

I increased my speed and stumbled down the mountain path. My house was about two miles from the preserve. Previously, I was driven here by my crazed future-self and had traveled through time, but this time I didn’t have the luxury.

On the deserted paved city streets I broke into a jog. I’d never have tempted a run, alone, in the middle of the night before, but I’d been through hell, and this world was not it. Nothing scared me anymore.

I reached my single-story patio home and braced my hands on my knees, catching my breath. The world seemed so much clearer now, newer. It was simple to take in all the small details I’d never bothered with before. The way my potted plant drooped on the step from lack of water, the dirater, tht caked on the ledge of my deco security screen door, and how a person could peer into my kitchen through a gap in the blinds from a certain angle.

Maybe I should water my plant first?

Stupid Kris, do what you’ve come to do.

I knew what I had to become—scary, tough, no mercy. I was ready to start myself on a new, painful future. I bent over and reached behind the terra-cotta pot, searching by feel, for the spare key.

With a deep breath, I steadied the key with both hands and slipped it into the slot. I hesitated. Instead of turning the key, I plucked the bright orange flyer that was wedged between the jam of the door. I unfolded it as my brain reared at my delay. My heart screamed at my need to go and save ConRad as another, detached part of me, read the advertisement like I’d just come from a morning walk.

On the top of the ad was a logo of a cute cartoon puppy going around and around in circles trying to catch his stubby tail.

Does housework have you chasing your tail?

Let us help. We’ll clean up your mess so you can get on with your life.

Call us for free quotes.

A gear so long out of place slid into its groove. A new neuron synapse found its way, cutting a painful pathway into my soft gray matter.

Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.

No. No, this wasn’t the way it was going to go. This was NOT the answer. But the cold reality of the years spanned before me. Me walking the halls alone with a crying newborn, me going to teacher conferences as a single parent, me handing the car keys over for the first time to my daughter, to worry through the long night by myself.

In order to stop the cycle, I’d have to stop igniting the cycle. I couldn’t send myself forward. I couldn’t change a damn thing. Couldn’t save ConRad.

I folded in on myself, knees buckling under the weight of what I’d just realized. Gut-wrenching sobs shook my body. I quelled the sound by stuffing my fist into my mouth.

There are moments when words ceased to describe life. Where time flatlines into nothing. Where only the functions of the nervous system keep your heart beating and your lungs pumping, because, if it was up to you, you’d breathe your last breath just to stop the pain.

I’d no idea how long I sat curled into myself, but a person can cry for only so long—the tears finally run dry. My insides cauterized, scraped raw with only bite-marked knuckles as my permanent souvenirs.

Certain senses slipped under the dark abyss that was my life. The way the desert night spoke of peace with its sound of crickets and muffled roar of traffic. The way the stars dimmed as dawn approached and the comforting setting of only a single moon.

Closing my eyes I inhaled the smell of sage, mesquite, and heat. The scent of Earth. No rotting alien smell, no smell of blood and death. I sighed, as a stubborn tear leaked from behind my closed lids.

The sun rose. Darkening the horizon with shadows first, then painting the surrounding mountains with purples and reds. Warm colors spilled forth like liquid gold from a bucket God had labeled “SUNSHINE” in big block letters.

Then a ripple, like the whole world was superimposed on a still pond and someone tauntingly threw a pebble in just to watch the effect. The atmosphere shimmered, then solidified into reality. If I’d blinked, I’d have missed it. But I hadn’t, so I didn’t, and therefore I knew. Time had caught up. The continuous skipping of the record had stopped. I’d broken the loop.

It was over.

My mission was never to save ConRad, but to have his baby. And keeping with my choice, my future self caught up with my past self. I knew this like a person knew where their legs and arms were at all times. I knew before I stood. Before I turned the key, pressed the alarm code, and walked to my bedroom. I knew I was alone. There was no one here to send forward.

I flipped on my bedroom light, then the bathroom one and even the one in my closet. I was so sick of the dark. I didn’t think I’d ever be comfortable with shadows again. I stood in front of my full-length mirror and peeled my clothes from my body.

The image that reflected back was disturbing on so many levels. Two inches of dark roots from the regrowth of hair, face crusted with blood, and a still board-flat stomach. But it was my eyes that had me worried—cold, hard, calcd, hard,ulating. I’d seen eyes like them before, in ConRad’s face, and remembered wondering what suffering did a soul have to endure to get such haunting eyes? Now I knew.

Just lose everything that you’d ever cared about.

This time the tears didn’t stop for a long time.

S
even and half months later.

I lay in bed and watched my ceiling fan lazily cut through the cool night air. At least I’m not pregnant in the middle of July—yep, there’s always a silver lining. Some lining. Being a single mom was so not what I’d planned. I was going to have a daughter who’d never met her father. I shied away from the memory of the ultrasound tech telling me my baby was a little girl. I knew it, of course, but knowing the sex confirmed the vision Quinn had forced into my mind. I thanked the tech and then proceeded to lie on the table and sob until the doctor asked if I needed a sedative.

I stopped the memory from looping again and again in my brain.

No more. No more self-pity.

I relocked the thought tight in the steel box in my mind, then threw another lock on the latch for good measure.

But that was why, once again, I was revisited by my good friend insomnia. There was something else that needed to go into that box, but it kept slipping out.

The Prophesy.

The words ran around and around in my head. When Quinn first spoke them to me, they seemed vaguely familiar. At the time life-and-death situations were exploding all around us, but now, after seven months of relative peace, my mind couldn’t help but replay every moment.

Had I really heard the words before Quinn mentioned them to me? Or had they become so much a part of me that they always seemed familiar?

Who wrote the words? Who could possibly know the future to such an extent to be able to pen the details? Why was I chosen to have ConRad’s child? And for what purpose?

I still didn’t have any answers. When I’d first come back, I tried to derail any type of new advancement toward satellites. Stop the contact between us a betweennd any alien race. Stop Armageddon.

But I was no scientist and had zero connection with NASA. I didn’t even know if it was the United States that had made first contact with their super satellite. Most likely it was China and China sharing its top-secret information with me was hopeless.

Not that I didn’t try. The great World Wide Web was a beautiful thing. After a few weeks I was able to pinpoint some scientists at NASA who were working on satellites. Of course, I didn’t get anywhere. After numerous emails I realized I was coming across like a crazy fundamentalist with words like “technology was evil” and “stop all work on satellites because it could trigger the end of the world.”

Yeah, it was time I got smarter.

So I set up the premise that I was a student doing my thesis on space technology and the possibility of being able to expand a satellite’s reach. I hadn’t received a response yet, but my emails weren’t being blocked anymore. I took that as a good sign.

I wasn’t even sure what I was looking for. I remembered ConRad talking about atomic power being used to power the satellite and the use of UFCs, whatever the hell that was.

Way out of my league, but at least it gave me key words to look for.

Deciding that sleep was again my elusive partner tonight, I jumped—no, more like rolled—out of bed. On swollen, fat feet, I padded down the hall to my office and switched on the computer. It’d been weeks since I sent the email, but I couldn’t help checking daily. Regardless, my new issue of
Science Times
would be sent via electronic delivery. Gone were the days of
In Style
magazine and recorded episodes of the latest reality shows.

The Internet connected and began downloading email messages into my in-box. My heart raced as a message from Dr. Robert Edwich at NASA.gov popped up on my screen. My finger tapped restlessly on the mouse as the damn hourglass symbol mocked my impatience. Finally, the blessed white arrow, I clicked and scanned the note.

Dr. Edwich seemed interested in helping me and wanted me to call him. He gave me his office number and the best hours to contact him. I shot a glance at the clock and did the mental math. NASA headquarters were located in Washington, D.C., and East Coast time worked in my favor. It was early, but maybe I could get ahold of him before his day began.

I dialed the phone and waited an eternity for the interoffice connection to go through. I wasn’t sure what I was going I was gto say. It wasn’t like I could stop the research, but I had to know how far off the technology was and then maybe.  . . .

“Hello, this is Dr. Edwich,” he said, picking up on the fourth ring.

“Yes, hi. This is Kristina Davenport. I just received your email and thought I would take a chance and call you right away.” My voice sounded steady, but my palm was wet underneath the black receiver.

“Ahh, Dr. Davenport. Yes, hi. I really enjoyed your email, flattered actually, that someone would want to quote me in their thesis. There are so many more experts in the field of space satellite development. Really, I’m just starting my research, haven’t done anything yet to put myself on the map.”

His nasally voice was annoying, but I decided I could deal.

“Please call me Kristina, and no, not at all, you’re exactly what I’m looking for. Someone who has new and fresh ideas.” I couldn’t tell him that everyone else had written me off as crazy.

“Ah well,” he chuckled. “What can I do for you?”

I told him about my interest in satellites and telescopes and asked about the possibilities of expanding their radio range.

“Well, we’re always interested in furthering our reach. As of now, the Hubble telescope will be out of commission in few years, possibly sooner. The second-generation telescope will be more powerful, but at this time, with budget cuts, I’m not sure the project will ever get off the ground. Of course, the length of transmission is always a limiting factor, and we don’t have the funds to pour money into researching alternative power sources.”