Rewinder (27 page)

“We know what you’re talking about,” Morris says.

“Right. Of course. Well, clearly something happened to break North America from the empire. So I studied its history. The rebel movement is quickly squashed in our time, but here it’s referred to as the American Revolution. So I knew that’s when the break must have occurred.”

“I figured that out, too,” another Rewinder said. “But I couldn’t pinpoint the actual event that changed everything.”

Two others added their agreement.

“But
you
found it?” Morris glares at me, as skeptical as ever.

“I told you, I know that part of history,” I shoot back. “After Lidia visited me, I spent time writing down what I remembered, and then compared that to what their history was telling me. It took me a while, but I was able to narrow it down to a General George Washington.”

“I’ve seen him,” someone says. “He’s on their money.”

“That’s right. He became their first president. But in our history, he’s captured and put to death before their revolution can really get started.”

“So what did you do?” Lidia asks. “Go back and kill him yourself?”

“Of course not. I’m not going to risk causing a bigger problem by getting directly involved. I’d read about his capture and knew he was turned in to the British Army by a colonist. At first I couldn’t remember the man’s name but it finally came back to me. Richard Cahill. But there was no mention of that Richard Cahill during the American Revolution. I used their Internet. You know what that is, right?”

I see a few nods behind Bernard and Morris, but the two men look unsure.

“It’s a worldwide digital network,” I explain, “accessed through computers. I was able to find birth and death records from the eighteenth century. There was no entry for Cahill’s birth. And before you say it, yes, I know, records from that era aren’t always complete. What I did find, though, was a death record for a Susanna Cahill, and a note that she was with child at the time of her passing.” With each word I speak, I gain confidence in my fabrication. “Her date of death coincides with the approximate time frame Richard Cahill would have been born. So I thought it would be smart to check in person, see if I could confirm she was his mother. Once I knew for sure, my plan was to come here, share what I learned so we could figure out what to do together. I didn’t make the trip intending to fix anything.”

“I assume you have a good reason for not following through on that,” Bernard says.

I nod. “The first thing I did was witness her death. She was run down by a horse-drawn cart that got away from its owner.”

“Doesn’t sound unusual,” Morris said. “How can that—”

“I watched again, this time to see what caused the runaway. What I saw was a Rewinder crossing the street at the wrong time.”

“What?” Bernard says as others gasp around him. “Which Rewinder?”

I make a show of looking around at everyone before saying, “I don’t see him here.”

“Must be one of those who didn’t get back here,” someone suggests.

I don’t counter this argument. My plan was to blame a fictional Rewinder whom Lidia and Bernard were unable to find, but this works even better.

“You talked to them,” Morris says, looking over at Lidia. “Did any of them seem suspicious?”

For a moment, everyone focuses back on her, allowing me a second to regroup.

“I don’t know,” she says. “I wasn’t with any of them that long.”

“Who were they?” Carter asks.

“William Samuels, Brianna Paulson, Todd Meyers, and, um…” She pauses, thinking.

“Jared Hendricks,” Bernard says.

“Right. Jared Hendricks.”

“Meyers is a bastard,” Carter says. “I wouldn’t put it past him.”

The attention shifts back in my direction.

“Was it Meyers?” Carter asks.

“I don’t know Meyers,” I say truthfully. “And I’d never seen the Rewinder who crossed the street.”

“Then how could you have possibly known he was a Rewinder?” Morris asks.

“I couldn’t. Not at first. I followed him until he disappeared behind some buildings. When I got there, he was gone. So I time-hopped back a few minutes and hid. When he arrived, he pulled out a Chaser and jumped.”

Morris looks annoyed, obviously not expecting me to be so thorough.

“Why didn’t you just jump here then?” Bernard asked.

“I almost did. But the fix seemed so simple, it didn’t make sense not to deal with it. I hopped back to before the accident, bumped into the Rewinder as he was about to cross into the road, and delayed him enough so that the cart went by before he continued on his way.”

“You didn’t tell him who you were?” Morris asked.

“I’m a
junior
Rewinder,” I remind him. “Would you have listened to me if I tried to stop you from doing something?”

From his expression, I know he wouldn’t have.

“But how do you know it worked?” someone else—Cole, I think—throws out.

I shrug. “Because I went and checked.”

Everyone starts talking at once. Bernard finally gets them quiet and says, “What do you mean? You checked to see that this Washington was captured?”

“I went home, back to 2015. It’s our world.”

Everyone talks at once again.

“Quiet!” Bernard shouts.

As the murmurs settle, Morris says, “The institute?”

“That’s where I went.”

“And they sent you back here?” Bernard asks.

I nod. “To retrieve you. After debriefing me, of course.” I look around. “If you don’t believe me, check your Chasers. They should be reconnected to your companions by now.”

I pull my satchel around and open the flap as if I’m going to pull out my Chaser. Instead, I “accidentally” flop the newspaper onto the ground. Bernard snaps it up and studies the masthead. When he looks back at me, he smiles.

“You
did
do it.”

“Let me see that,” Morris says, snatching the paper out of Bernard’s hands.

Bernard claps a hand on my shoulder. “I’m very impressed. I apologize for doubting you.”

“I’ll be damned,” Morris said. He turns and shows the paper to those behind him. “It’s from home. From a couple weeks after we left.”

“That’s from the first day I was back,” I say.

“How long were you there?” someone asks.

“Three days.”

Morris turns to me, his anger also gone. “You have my apologies, too.”

The paper gets passed around and I receive thanks from the others. Lidia is the only one who seems less than impressed. Out of everyone here, she’s the one most likely to see through me.

I feel a tinge of guilt when Carter says, “There’s no reason for us to stay here any longer. I say we go home.”

When the others enthusiastically voice their agreement, that guilt grows. But I’ve made my choice, and this is the only way I can ensure my plan doesn’t get unraveled.

As the others pull out their Chasers, I do as well. Without fanfare, they begin disappearing.

My finger hovers above mine, as if I’ll depress it at any moment, but I’m only waiting for them all to vanish. Since they’re all spread out, I don’t actually see each person wink out, but within a few seconds, I’m the only one standing in the meadow.

I can’t believe it. Two more jumps and I will have done it. The only thing that can go wrong is if my Chaser fails me.

With the power down to 2.23%, I enter my next destination.

CHAPTER
TWENTY-SEVEN

I’
VE VISITED THE
tavern so many times now, it almost seems like a homecoming when I arrive once more in 1775.

This time, I hide behind the wagon closest to the tavern. Three minutes later, the version of me that was here just over an hour ago in my personal timeline sneaks up behind the other wagon, intending to stop the even earlier version of me from causing the twelve-second delay.

I move in behind him. As I know will happen, he looks over his shoulder in anticipation. When he sees me, he smiles.

“They believed you?” he asks.

I nod.

“What about Ellie and Mom?”

I look to the woods where I left my sister and let him draw his own conclusions, quite literally fooling myself.

With a satisfied smile, he pulls out his Chaser and hands it to me. I enter the time and location for the same point in 2015 I jumped to after escaping the institute storeroom near the stables.

I hand the device back to him. “All set. Good luck.”

“To you, too,” he says, then hits the
GO
button, and disappears.

The theory is that he will bond with me in transit. In truth, I’m unsure what’s going to happen to him. I certainly don’t feel any different.

I wait until the original Other Me arrives in the field and heads, unhindered, for the tavern door. I don’t dwell on the time mechanics behind the fact that I’ve not only stopped the mistake from happening, but now will stop myself from correcting the error. Going down that road is a sure path to insanity.

After Other Me is inside the tavern, where he’ll delay Cahill, I hurry across the field into the copse of trees where I left Ellie. For her, it has been less than ten minutes since I left, but for me, it seems as if we’ve been separated a lifetime.

She’s lying on the ground, sound asleep.

I want to wake her, tell her what I’ve done, let her know she’s going to be all right, but there will be time enough for talk later. The truth is, she’s not all right yet.

I start to crouch beside her, but remember there’s something I should do first. I reattach the companion connections on my Chaser. I don’t know if it will reconnect with Iffy, but if it does, at least she’ll know I’m on the way.

I hug Ellie like I did before and place my thumb on the
GO
button.

“Last trip,” I whisper to her and press down.

__________

I
HOPED
THE
Chaser would link with Iffy, but Ellie and I are traveling rudderless. The last time that happened, I was on this same trip and ended up in the hospital for four days. This time, I’m not taking it in a straight shot but three hops. So I don’t throw up on arrival, but I am crippled by temporary agony.

Once the pain lessens enough, I take a look around.

I thought I set my location to the alley behind the building near Iffy’s house that I’d used before, but we’re in the middle of a park. Kids are running around on a playground several hundred feet away, while adults are sitting on benches, watching them. It’s a wonder they didn’t see Ellie’s and my arrival.

I look at the Chaser to check the information I entered, but the screen is dark. I press the power button twice before it comes back on, indicating a power level of under one percent. Before I can check the location number, the device powers down again.

Ellie sags against me, and I have to grip her around her back to keep her from falling to the ground.

“Ellie?” I say.

No response.

I move her head a few inches and see that her eyes are shut and her face slack. I press my fingers against her neck and check her pulse. Not as strong as I would like, but at least she has one.

I carry her to a nearby bench and lay her down. “Ellie?” I say, rubbing her hand. “Can you hear me?”

I’m so focused on her that a female voice makes me jerk in surprise. “Is she all right?”

I glance over my shoulder and see a woman with a toddler propped on her hip looking at us, concerned.

“I don’t know.”

“Is she sick?”

I nod.

“You want me to call an ambulance?”

That’s exactly what needs to happen, I realize. “Please.”

Others gather around as we wait for the ambulance, a few asking questions.

“Who is she?”

“My sister.”

“What’s wrong with her?”

“She’s sick.”

“What is it? The flu?”

I pretend I don’t hear the question.

After a few moments, another person asks, “How old is she?”

I almost say fifteen, but that’s how old she was when she died. “Almost fourteen,” I tell them.

Ellie is still unconscious when two fire trucks and an ambulance pull up at the edge of the park. Several uniformed men hurry across the grass, two in front carrying plastic cases, and two trailing with something to transport Ellie.

“If we could get everyone to stand back, that would be a big help,” the first man to arrive says.

The crowd pulls back but doesn’t disperse.

The man crouches down next to me and puts his hand on Ellie’s wrist. On his sleeve is a patch that reads
SAN DIEGO FIRE RESCUE
.

This, more than anything, confirms we really made it.

“Sir, can you tell me what happened?” he asks.

“We were out for a walk and she collapsed,” I say.

“Any reason why that might have happened?”

“She’s been sick.”

“What kind of sick?”

“I…I…” I’m not sure how to respond. I think the disease that killed her is called cancer here, but I’d rather a doctor figure that out.

“It’s okay,” the man says. “Is she a friend?”

“My sister.”

“What’s her name?”

“Ellie.”

The man leans closer to her. “Ellie, can you hear me?” When she doesn’t move, he says, “Just hang tight. You’re doing fine. We’re going to check you out and get you some help.”

Another uniformed man puts a hand on my shoulder. “Sir, I need you to back away so we can get her on the gurney.”

“Oh, sure.”

I watch from several feet away as they work on her before moving her onto the bed. Once she’s secure, the man who asked me to move says, “Have you contacted your parents?”

I shake my head. I haven’t figured out how to handle that issue yet.

“You can tell them she’ll be at Scripps Mercy. I assume you’ll want to go with us?”

“Yes. Please.”

__________

A
T THE HOSPITAL,
others join us as Ellie is wheeled inside. They get information from the firemen and begin examining her as we move through a hallway and into a room full of medical equipment.

It’s not long before I’m asked to step out. My instinct is to refuse, but I know I’ll only be in the way so I relocate to the hallway.