TWENTY

“The dune buggy,” I said. “We left it on the edge of Area 51.”

“That’s like, miles from here,” Kent said. “A lot of miles.”

Brock glanced at his communicator.

“Roughly sixty miles,” he said. “Over open desert, and it’s only going to get hotter. It’ll take hours that we don’t have.”

“Then we better start walking,” I said.

I helped Tori to her feet. She was shaken, but okay.

“Can that thing tell us the right direction?” she said.

Brock checked his device and pointed north. “Looks like there might be some rough terrain.”

“Gee, big surprise,” Kent said sarcastically.

We all took one last look at the burning wreck. The guy inside had sacrificed his life to try to stop the invasion and avert another massacre. No words were adequate.

“He won’t be be forgotten,” Brock said.

I started walking and the others followed. The sun was already heating up the desert floor. It wouldn’t be long before we would be laboring in hundred-degree heat, without water.

“We find that dune buggy,” Brock said. “Then what?”

“We left a car further back in the desert,” I said. “If we can get there we’ll have wheels that can cover a lot more ground. We can drive to Los Angeles. There’s a SYLO ark on Catalina Island. Hopefully between here and there we’ll get somebody’s attention and they’ll send a helicopter.”

Nobody offered an opinion about the plan but I knew what was going through their heads. They were calculating the time it would take to do what I had just suggested. With the Sounders’ mission set to roll in under eight hours, the grim reality was that even if everything worked out perfectly, we would be cutting it very close.

“Look,” I said, sharply. “I never said I could get us to SYLO. This whole plan is a total long shot.”

“Understood,” Brock said. “We’ll just do what we can.”

The sun was rising higher in the sky and along with it, the temperature. After walking for nearly an hour, the odds of us making it back to Area 51 were feeling very small.

“We’re in trouble,” Kent said.

“You think?” Tori shot back.

“No, I mean we haven’t been walking for all that long and I’m already hallucinating.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked.

“I’m seeing a mirage. It’s total wishful thinking because it’s something I’m dying to see.”

“What? A swimming pool?” Tori asked.

“No, that’s number two. I see somebody driving our way.”

“Shake it off,” I said. “We’ve still got a long way to go.”

“I see it too,” Brock announced.

He pointed ahead to a distant dust storm that was rising from the desert floor. At first I thought it was being kicked up by the wind, which would have been a welcome relief from the heat, but as I focused I saw what was actually creating it: a speeding blue pickup truck.

“Can you share a mirage?” Kent asked, dumbfounded.

“No, it’s real,” Brock declared.

We started waving our arms and screaming to make sure whoever it was would see us. Nobody feared that it would be a Retro vehicle. They didn’t drive beat-up old Fords. The truck definitely saw us and was headed our way, speeding across the dry lakebed.

“Why would anybody be driving around out here?” Tori asked.

“Who cares?” Kent shot back.

The pickup drove straight for us. There were two people in the cab wearing cowboy hats. The truck may have been ancient with faded paint and rusted side panels, but it was the sweetest ride I had ever seen. It drove right up to us, then turned and stopped as the driver leaned out of the window.

“No way,” Kent said with a gasp.

“Never thought I’d be seeing you all again,” the driver said with a smile. “Looks like you’ve been busy.”

It was the elderly Native American man who had set us up with the dune buggies for our assault on Area 51. The Paiute tribe had been helping the survivors of Las Vegas plan the attack. They were the survivors’ eyes in the desert, watching over the fleet of Retro drones.

Tori ran up to him, reached into the cab, and threw her arms around him.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” she said.

“It was quite the show you all put on the other night,” he said. “You really lit up the sky. We’ve been sifting through the wreckage of the base ever since, looking for survivors. We pulled a few out and got them help. Others weren’t so lucky. There was no reason to watch the base anymore, so we turned our eyes to the test site. Every so often we’d pick up someone who escaped into the desert but mostly we just watched. After we saw this last explosion I decided to come see what was happening for myself.”

He gave us all a quick look and added, “You join up with the other side?”

“The uniforms?” Tori said. “No, this is how we escaped.”

“What’s your name?” I asked.

“Foote,” he replied. “Jimmy Foote. This is my nephew, David Foote.”

“Foot?” Kent said. “As in running stealthily through the forest?”

“No. Foote with an ‘e,’ as in I’ll use it to kick your ass if you make any more racist jokes.”

“Noted,” Kent said, chastised. “Glad to see you again, sir.”

“Any chance of you giving us a lift back to our car?” I asked.

“You don’t need the car,” Foote said.

“But we do,” Tori argued. “We have to get to Los Angeles as quickly as possible.”

“That won’t be a problem,” Foote said. He held up a walkie-talkie and added, “As soon as I saw you I put out a call.”

“Call to who?” Kent asked, skeptically. “Your tribe?”

“Yes,” Foote said. “Without phones, this is the only way to relay messages across any distance.”

“You mean beating drums doesn’t work?” Kent said, then quickly thought better of it and added, “Geez, sorry, that just came out.”

Foote stared him down, then let out a small smile. “No. And it’s been too windy for smoke signals.”

Kent kept his eyes on the ground, but he was smiling.

I think those two liked jabbing at each other.

“After the base blew up, I watched as you got picked up by that military helicopter,” Foote said. “You all seemed to know each other.”

“The woman was my mother,” I said.

Foote nodded knowingly, as if I had confirmed his opinion. “Well then, seems as though I made the right choice.”

“What did you do?” Tori asked.

As if in answer, the far-off sound of an engine began to grow. It quickly transformed into a distinct thumping.

“Is that what I think it is?” Kent asked hopefully.

“Please say it is,” Tori added.

“It is,” Foote said.

It was the sound of helicopter rotors.

We looked to the sky to see a black speck in the distance that was approaching quickly.

“Did I do the right thing?” Foote asked.

Tori leaned into the car and hugged him again.

“You have no idea,” she said.

“Sir,” Brock said. “Forgive me for being dramatic, but you may have just saved the lives of millions of people.”

Foote raised an eyebrow and said, “Really? I guess we redskins know a thing or two.” He looked to Kent and added, “Right, Paleface?”

“Absolutely, sir,” Kent replied with a big grin. “Well done.”

The two shook hands.

The helicopter hovered overhead, giving us a clear view of something we had seen many times before. For the first time it was a welcome sight.

Painted on its belly was the unmistakable rising-sun logo.

SYLO had arrived.

The flight to Catalina Island took less than an hour, which meant we had roughly seven hours to convince the SYLO command to storm the Retro camp and secure the dome.

As we approached the island from the air, the scene reminded me of Pemberwick. The island was surrounded by Navy warships. There looked to be even more than on Pemberwick, because the entire land mass was surrounded, not just the stretch of shore between Catalina and the mainland. SYLO looked as though they weren’t taking any chances here. It made me wonder what kind of shape Pemberwick Island was in.

When we circled down toward the center of the huge island, I saw that a tent city had been erected, much like SYLO had done on the golf course outside of Arbortown. Again, it was a much bigger operation than back home. This wasn’t just a makeshift prison camp. This had become a full-on military base with several barracks, antiaircraft guns along the shore, and what looked to be hundreds of attack helicopters lined up on a dusty field.

There was also a herd of buffalo that bolted away from the landing pad as we came in. It was an odd touch to an already strange scene. As soon as we landed, several SYLO soldiers wearing the familiar deep-red camouflage fatigues threw open the door and motioned for us to exit.

“Good luck,” I said to my friends and we all piled out of the helicopter.

Brock was immediately taken into custody by two of the soldiers.

“He’s a friend,” I called to them.

They didn’t hear me. Or didn’t care. With a soldier on each of his arms, they hurried Brock to a waiting jeep.

“Seven hours!” Brock called over his shoulder to us.

“He didn’t need to say that,” Kent said.

We weren’t treated much better. I guess the fact that Tori and Kent were wearing Retro uniforms didn’t help things much. A SYLO soldier was assigned to each of us. With other armed soldiers keeping watch, we were patted down and our pulsers taken. We were then separated and brought to individual jeeps.

“Talk fast,” I called to my friends.

We were each pushed into the back of a different jeep, along with our escorts, who had yet to say a single word. The jeeps took off, kicking up dust as we sped toward the encampment. I took those few minutes to try to figure out what I was going to say to whatever SYLO officer we would see. I had to believe that they knew everything about the Bridge through time, so at least I wouldn’t have to sell that part of the story. But convincing them to stage an all-out raid on the Retro base in Nevada? That was a tall order.

We bumped along the dirt road and drove straight into the base. There were no fences and no barbed wire. This wasn’t a SYLO prison. SYLO soldiers were everywhere, but unlike Pemberwick Island, where they wore only fatigues, most of these soldiers also had on body armor and helmets.

Everyone carried a weapon.

This base was in war mode.

The jeeps separated, headed for different destinations. I was driven to a small wooden hut and hurried inside. There was a long table with chairs spaced along one side. Across from it was a single chair. I knew this drill. I was about to be interrogated. Again.

“Wait,” was the one word the soldier said to me as he headed for the door.

He left, but then came back almost immediately with a bottle of Gatorade.

He handed it to me and said, “Welcome to Catalina.”

“Thanks,” I said and took the bottle, gratefully.

He left and I downed the entire bottle in seconds. I hadn’t realized how thirsty I was. I could have knocked back three more. A few minutes later three people filed into the room. There were two women and a man in fatigues. Officers, probably. They showed no emotion as they filed in, sat at the table, and set up recording devices.

It was odd how nobody was talking. I could say that they were being all business, but I wished somebody would at least tell me why they were treating us like prisoners.

“State your name please,” the man said.

I sat in the chair and said, “Tucker Pierce.”

“We will be recording this interview as well as the interviews of the others who were brought in with you. Forgive the perfunctory treatment. We do not want to influence or guide your statements in any way. We have separated you in order to get each individual version.”

“To see if we’re all telling the truth,” I said.

That got no reaction from the group.

“Just for the record,” I added. “We’re running out of time. Do whatever it is you’ve got to do. Ask whatever questions you want, but do it fast. Once you hear what I have to say, you’ll know why.”

“Understood,” the man said. “There will not be many questions. We want you to do the talking. Please begin by relating the events between the time your helicopter was shot down over the Nevada Test Site, until you were picked up in the desert an hour ago.”

I spent the next fifteen minutes telling the story. I needed to talk fast, but I didn’t want to leave out any key details. If my words were stunning to any of them, they didn’t show it. I didn’t see any reaction until I dropped the bomb about why the Sounders helped us to escape from the island: We were there to convince them to invade the Retro base and capture the dome.

The three exchanged quick looks, which I’m guessing for this sober bunch was roughly the same as if they had all jumped up on to the table and shouted, “What!”

“So that’s it,” I said. “The Sounders will detonate the bomb in roughly six and a half hours, and three hundred some odd years from now. If the dome in this time isn’t secured, there will be nothing to stop the Retro soldiers from going through the Bridge into the future and preventing the explosion. I know it’s a lot to swallow. Or maybe it isn’t. I’m sure you guys have known about this time travel Bridge for a long time. It’s all new to me. I have nothing else to say to convince you other than to remind you that my friends and I destroyed the entire Retro fleet of drones at Area 51. That ought to give us a little credibility. Now that you know why I’m here, you know why acting fast is critical. And that’s all I have to say.”

The officers turned off their recording devices and stood.

“Now what?” I said.

“Obviously we will have to discuss this,” one officer said. “Please remain here for the time being.”

With that they headed for the door.

“Don’t take your time,” I said.

They opened the door to leave, and another soldier entered carrying a tray of food. I’d never met the guy, but I loved him on sight. I was starving and still beyond thirsty. He put the tray down on the table and said, “I’ll be right outside. If you want anything else, call me.”

“Thanks,” I said and sat down to chow.

It was just like Thanksgiving dinner. Turkey and mashed potatoes and all the other goodies. I was in heaven. I also noted that they had given me a metal fork and knife. It was a small thing, but it proved they didn’t consider me a threat. I ate, too fast, and loved every second of it. Once I was done I was left not knowing what to do. I didn’t want to risk going outside. I didn’t want to do anything that would go against what they told me to do. It was crazy, but the future of our world could very well depend on our ability to convince these people that we knew what we were talking about. That was a scary thought.

I must have waited there for an hour either nervously tapping my foot or pacing. I kept telling myself that the SYLO honchos were taking us seriously and were meeting to discuss what they were going to do. That wouldn’t happen quickly. You don’t launch a massive attack on a whim.

I did everything I could to burn energy and stay inside my own skin. I did push-ups and sit-ups. I counted the cracks in the floor. I licked the lunch plate a dozen times just to make sure I got every drop of gravy-goodness. Finally, when I couldn’t take it anymore, I decided to go outside and ask the guard what was going on.

I had gotten halfway across the floor to the door, when it opened.

Stepping into the room was Captain Granger.

“Hello Mr. Pierce,” he said, all business.

I think my draw dropped. Literally.

“You . . . you’re not dead,” I mumbled.

“Not yet,” he said with no hint of irony.

He held an iPad that he was reading from. I assumed it showed transcripts from our interviews. He walked to one end of the long table, the end without the dirty plates, and sat.

“What happened to you?” I asked. “After the crash, I mean.”

Without taking his eyes off of the iPad he said, “I was unconscious, so I can only go by what I’ve been told. Another Skyhawk came in to rescue survivors. They were only on the ground for a few moments when they came under heavy fire. They only had time to pull out one survivor.”

“So they chose their boss,” I said.

Granger went back to his reading. I paced, desperately wanting him to say something.

“The future sucks, you know,” I finally said. “They blame us. You, me, everybody who came before them. Part of me understands why they’re trying to get the hell out.”

“So you agree with their methods?” he asked.

“No,” I said quickly. “But if I could press a button and wipe out every last one of them, I’d do it. Does that make me any different than them?”

“It makes you human,” Granger said. “As for the morality of it all, that call has to be made by somebody with a much higher pay grade than me.”

“How could this have happened?” I said. “The Bridge was open for decades. Why didn’t anybody do something? We saw what was coming.”

He finally put the iPad down and looked at me. “I’m not a politician. I’m not a sociologist or a psychologist. And I am far from a scientist. I’m a simple soldier. The circumstances that led us to this place are beyond my comprehension.”

“How long have you known? About the Bridge, I mean.”

“Ten years. That’s about the time when the idea for SYLO was born. The way I understand it, from the very beginning there was tension between the governments of the present and the future. It made the Cold War pale by comparison. The future government pushed to have its existence revealed. They felt if the people of the past knew what they were creating, they would choose a different course. The present government resisted, for fear it would tear apart the fabric of society. The only reason they were able to keep the situation under wraps was because the Bridge was so isolated. All of those alien spaceship theories about Area 51 weren’t far from wrong. They just missed it by sixty-five miles.”

“So the present government ignored the truth?” I asked.

“No, but they were fighting a losing battle. Over the years only a small group of scientists were allowed to study the twenty-fourth century. The movement to develop renewable energy and to reduce greenhouse gases, even the push to recycle, began because they saw what was coming. But they couldn’t battle against the tide of commerce. People complained the government was trying to rule their lives. The bottom line was the bottom line. Money. And yes, the various administrations and governments kid themselves into believing the small efforts that were being made would be enough to avoid the nightmare that the future had become. The truth is, we still don’t know. We won’t know until we get there.”

“Because changing the past won’t affect a future that already exists,” I said.

“Exactly. Once that became known, the die was cast. When the future government realized that nothing we did could actually help them, they prepared to invade.”

“And we knew about it?” I asked.

“No, we suspected it,” Granger replied. “Every movement of our scientists in the twenty-fourth century was suddenly controlled and monitored. We witnessed signs of an immense military buildup. We asked to inspect various manufacturing areas and were refused. We were given the rationale that the United States of the future needed to build up their military in order to defend themselves against the other six countries they were at war with.”

“But they were really preparing to invade the past,” I said.

Granger nodded. “That’s what we feared and that’s why SYLO was born.”

“Sequentia yconomus libertate te ex inferis obedianter,” I said. “These guardians obediently protect us from the gates of hell.”

“Or something like that,” Granger said with a dismissive huff. “I didn’t come up with that. The decision was made to create smaller communities that we had a better chance of defending. Arks, if you will. Over a ten-year period we chose volunteers to populate these arks. We selected people from all walks of life with different areas of expertise. Doctors, engineers, architects, musicians, pretty much every skill and talent that needed to be preserved was represented, along with every race and religion.”

“My father is a civil engineer,” I said. “My mother is an accountant. Quinn’s parents were doctors.”

“Hundreds of people quietly volunteered to uproot their lives and move to an ark. The idea was that if the Retros ever attacked, we would need them in order to rebuild our world.”

“When SYLO came to Pemberwick, you must have known the attack was imminent,” I said.

“It was more than imminent,” Granger said. “It was underway. The Retros finally made their move to come through the Bridge. I showed you the aftermath of that battle from the air.”

“All those wrecked aircraft surrounding the dome,” I said. “They were trying to keep the Retro planes from coming through.”

“They failed,” Granger said. “The battle lasted for over a week. Once we realized it was hopeless, we activated the arks. That’s when SYLO landed on Pemberwick Island and here on Catalina and Fort Knox and a dozen other places. These arks were to be our last stand. But even that plan was flawed when we realized how many Retro spies had infiltrated them. You may have thought my methods were ruthless on Pemberwick Island, and they were, but I was doing all that I could to protect the ark.”

I sat listening, letting this all sink in. Everything that Granger said fit. Every last piece of the puzzle had come together.

“And that brings us to today, and what you and your friends have learned,” Granger said. “I believe I know you, Tucker Pierce. I shudder to think that I nearly caused your death.”

“Yeah, about a dozen times,” I said.

“What I’m saying is I believe you. I believe Sleeper and Berringer as well. Do you know for an absolute fact that the Retros are preparing a second-wave invasion?”

“I do,” I said with confidence. “It could be as soon as tonight. We saw a dozen of those monster planes lined up on the other side of the bridge, ready to come through. They’re going to wait for nightfall and finish the job. First the cities, then the population at large.”

Granger nodded thoughtfully.

“This Major Brock who came back with you,” Granger said. “He is an impressive young man.”

“All the Sounders are,” I said. “They formed an underground network that is ready to fight back. Olivia Kinsey is a Sounder. You should shudder to think that you almost killed her, too.”

Granger ignored that comment and said, “Do these Sounders realize that if they succeed in their plan to destroy the Bridge, they’re ultimately committing suicide?”

“They do. That’s how strongly they feel about stopping the invasion. They’re planning to detonate an atomic device in the dome at six o’clock. Sharp. I believe they can do it, but only if the dome on this side of the Bridge is protected.”

Granger stood and paced. It was the most nervous I’d ever seen him, except for maybe when he got the word at Fort Knox that an attack was imminent. Or when our helicopter was plummeting to earth.

“We’ve had a plan in place to stage a ground attack on the test site for years. But it was never carried about because of the drones. We simply cannot stand up to them.”

“Unless the Sounders take them out of play,” I said.

Granger’s eyes lit up. The idea that the drones could be stopped was like an impossible dream come true.

“We didn’t know about the Sounders,” he said. “We had suspicions. Even hopes. But we never had conclusive evidence that there were forces within the Retros that could help us bring them down . . . until now.”

“So does that mean you’ll attack?” I asked.

Granger sat on the edge of the table and rubbed his face. The guy suddenly looked a hundred years old. I guess fighting a war will do that to you. He looked at me and chuckled. He actually chuckled.

“If a superior officer told me they were going to put our troops in harm’s way based on information brought to him by a bunch of kids, I’d immediately call for his removal and court-martial, not to mention a psychiatric evaluation.”

“But you aren’t crazy,” I said.

“Sometimes I wonder,” he said, wistfully. “But there is one thing I do know: We’re losing this war. SYLO has failed. All we’ve managed to do is prolong the inevitable. It won’t matter if the Retros choose tonight to launch another attack or next week or next year. They hold all the cards. Two of the arks have already fallen. Three others are barely holding on. It really is only a matter of time before they take complete control and wipe out every last hint that our time, our society, ever existed.”

It took everything I had not to ask him about Pemberwick Island, and my father.

Granger looked at me, as if seeing me for the first time. “You’re a hell of a kid, you know that? All three of you are. I wish I could have met the Kinsey girl, knowing what I know now.”

“Without shooting at her, you mean?”

We stared at each other for several seconds.

“Six o’clock just keeps on getting closer,” I said.

The door to the building opened behind me. Granger looked up and did something I never expected. He stood up straight, like a soldier at attention.

I had no idea what he was doing, until I turned around to see who had walked into the room. When I saw him, I jumped up too.

It was a guy whose face I had only seen on TV. The last time was when he was explaining to the world how Pemberwick Island needed to be quarantined. It suddenly made sense why the defenses around Catalina Island were much stronger than anywhere else.

President Richard E. Neff was there.

He looked exactly as he did on TV, though maybe a little older. His short gray hair had become grayer and his eyes looked tired. He wore jeans and a windbreaker. Not exactly presidential attire.

“Relax son,” he said with an easy smile. “I just wanted to meet the fella who has been causing all the stir.”

He walked up to me with his hand out to shake.

“I’m Richard,” he said warmly.

I shook his hand and mumbled, “I . . . I’m Tucker.”

“I am very pleased to meet you, Tucker.”

After shaking my hand he sat on the edge of the table and glanced at Granger’s iPad.

“I’ve heard your story, Tucker,” he said. “I’ve heard all of your stories. You’ve had quite the adventure.”

“Yeah, you could say that,” I said.

Neff chuckled. “That’s exactly what Tori said.”

That didn’t surprise me.

“I have complete faith in Captain Granger and those in his command,” Neff said. “But the decision about where we go from here rests with me. I need to ask you one question.”

“Anything, sure,” I said eagerly.

“Can the Sounders do this?”

I started to answer quickly, but stopped. This wasn’t some random question that I could offer a quick opinion on. If these people believed me, if the president of the United States believed me, we would be responsible for sending an army into battle. People would die. Lots of people. These words would be the most important I had ever spoken in my life.

“I can’t say that for sure, sir,” I said thoughtfully. “It’s not that I question them, or don’t believe they have the ability, it’s just that I’m not an expert. Anything can happen. But if you’re asking me if I believe the Sounders are going to put their lives on the line to destroy the Bridge and take control of the drones, then my answer is yes. They’ll do it, or die trying.”

The president nodded thoughtfully.

“There’s something else I can say for sure,” I added.

“What’s that?” the president asked.

“Unless you’ve got something brilliant up your sleeve that I don’t know about, the Sounders are our only chance. Our last chance.”

The president looked me square in the eye for several seconds. All I could do was hope my words had gotten through to him. In those few moments I saw the resolve and confidence of someone who had to shoulder the burden and responsibility of being the most powerful person in the world.

He abruptly stood and put his hand out to shake.

“Thank you, Tucker,” he said. “From the bottom of my heart.”

We shook hands.

He then turned to Granger and offered one simple yet profound command, “Go.”

“Yes sir,” Granger said with enthusiasm. It was the word he had been waiting to hear.

Neff started for the door.

“Just one thing,” I said.

The president stopped and turned back. “Yes?”

“I’m going too,” I said.

“Negative,” Granger said quickly. “There’s no place for you on this mission.”

“If it weren’t for me and my friends there wouldn’t be a mission,” I shot back. “All I’m asking is for my pulser back, and a ride in. You don’t have to be responsible for me.”

“Look, Pierce,” Granger said. “Nobody has more respect for what you’ve all done than me. Not just respect, awe. But you aren’t trained for a mission like this. It would be suicide.”

“Why do you want to go so badly?” the president said.

“My mother’s in that camp,” I said.

That stopped them both. Granger opened his mouth to argue, but didn’t.

“I’m going to get her out of there,” I added.

“Funny thing,” the president said. “Your friends both demanded to go as well.”

“Seriously?” I asked. “Even Kent?”

“Oh yes, Mr. Berringer was quite insistent. Apparently you all want to be in on the endgame.”

“We do,” I said. “I think we earned it.”

“Your friends said that as well.”

The president looked to Granger and said, “They earned it.”

“But Mr. President—”

“They earned it,” Neff said, forcefully.

Granger softened and said, “Yes, they have.”

“Good luck, Tucker,” the president said. “Find your mother. Oh, and maybe save the rest of the world while you’re at it.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” I said.

The president of the United States stood up straight, looked Granger square in the eye, and said, “Now go take those bastards apart.”

It was high noon.

Showdown time once again.

Six hours before the boom.