When I reach the table, Kane says, “Open it. Nice and slow. No sudden movements. Tell me you understand.”
“I understand.”
I reach out and touch the plate that unlocks the lid and then move the top out of the way.
“Step back,” he barks. “Ten steps. Big ones.”
The buttons are right there, so close. Three seconds, four tops is all I need. But Kane needs only one to pull the trigger, so I move away.
Once I stop, he lowers the gun and drags the chaser closer to him. From inside the backpack, he removes an old, leather-bound book. I’m close enough that I can see there’s no title on the front or spine. A bookmark sticks out of the top, and he opens the book to that page. When he sets it on the table next to the chaser, I can see just enough to know that the text is not commercially printed, but rather handwritten. A journal?
After studying the page, he shoots me a look to make sure I haven’t moved and then does something I’m not expecting. Looking back and forth between the book and the chaser, he enters information into the device.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“I told you to be quiet,” he says.
I don’t care what he told me. He could damage the machine, and this period of time that I’ve been thinking is only temporary might become permanent. “You shouldn’t be playing around with that.”
“I know exactly what I’m doing.”
He takes another look at the book, and enters something else into the chaser.
“So to use this, I just press GO, right?”
“It won’t work.”
“Let’s see.”
He picks up the chaser and taps the go button. But as I’ve already warned him, nothing happens.
Looking disappointed, he says, “Because it’s keyed to you?”
“Yes.”
Kane considers the box for a moment before setting it back down. “But you can take someone with you, correct?” He taps the journal. “Says here you can take someone. Which I’m guessing is how you got your sister here, right?”
I nod, momentarily unable to speak.
Kane glances at Iffy and back at me. “What about three?”
I don’t like where this is going at all so remain silent.
Kane picks up the journal. “You don’t need to answer,” he says, flashing the book in my direction before putting it in his backpack. “That’s in here, too, so I already know you can.”
If the journal was a curiosity before, I absolutely must get my hands on it now.
Kane pulls my satchel over his head so that the strap drapes across his chest, removes a hefty collapsible knife from inside the backpack, and dons the bag, effectively securing the satchel in place. He then uses the knife to cut away the tape holding Iffy’s ankles to the chair.
Before he does the same with the loop around her chest, he says, “This is very sharp. I wouldn’t try anything if I were you.”
Once the tape is off, he closes the knife and slips it into the small pocket on the side of my satchel just below where the strap connects. He then pulls out the chaser.
“It’s my understanding that we need to be in close contact,” Kane says. “Is that correct?” Even if I wanted to answer, he doesn’t give me enough time before he starts talking again. “I’m sure you’re thinking this is your chance to overpower me, but don’t forget I’m the one holding the gun. Now, we will do this in exactly the way I describe.”
I’m instructed to stand a few feet in front of Iffy and then turn my back to her. As I do this, I catch a glimpse of the chaser’s control panel. Kane has input a number into the destination box at the top that appears to conform, at least in length, to a standard location number. The glance I get is too quick to memorize each digit, but the last four stick with me—3928—because they’re familiar, but at the moment I’m too occupied to figure out why. I also note he’s input a date, but the only number I catch is a 2 at the end.
Once I’m situated, he has Iffy stand up and press against my back.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers as she puts her arms around my chest. “He surprised me.”
“It’s okay. Don’t wor—”
“No talking!”
From the sound of Kane’s voice, he’s right behind Iffy now. I feel a bump as he moves against her back.
“Just so you know,” Kane says, “I’ve got my gun to your girlfriend’s head again.”
He has obviously given this considerable thought. To further prove this, he grabs my hand and pulls it back toward him, out of my sight.
“Extend your finger and keep your hand right where it is,” he says.
I do it, though it’s hard to remain completely still in such an awkward position.
He grabs my wrist and says, “Here we go.”
The words are barely out of his mouth when I feel the chaser’s go button press against my outstretched finger.
CHAPTER NINE
The gray mist of the journey swirls around me like a cloud. I think I still feel Iffy behind me, but it’s hard to tell. The sensations of touch and pressure within a jump can be misleading.
No more than half a minute passes before the shroud begins to fade and the world takes shape around us. It’s nighttime, so at least Kane’s done that part right. Without seeing the chaser, though, I have no idea of the exact hour. It’s also significantly colder than it was in the warehouse. I feel Kane’s hand slip from my side, and hear him grunting in pain as the price of the time trip is extracted in the form of a headache.
I, too, am feeling it. Even though it’s far from the worst I’ve ever had, it still takes me a moment to realize this is my chance to grab the chaser.
I try to twist around, but Iffy is still clinging to me, her face contorted as she works through her own internal torture.
“Stay here,” I whisper as I pry myself loose. “I’ll be right back.”
By the time I’m free, Kane is weaving and stumbling away from us, and is already a good thirty feet away. I head toward him, intending to run but barely able to manage an ugly jog. We are on an open surface that crunches strangely under my feet. I can’t get a sense of what exactly it is or tell how far it goes on because my eyes are still accustomed to the relative brightness of the building in LA.
I’m only a few feet away when Kane lurches around, his gun slicing through the air like a club. The only way I can keep from being hit is to arch backward as I skid to a stop, the ground crumpling loudly under my feet.
Kane seems to find his balance, and aims the weapon at me.
There’s nowhere for me to hide, so I yell, “You’ll never get back if you kill me!”
I can see him thinking about this for a moment, and then he shakes the end of the gun at me. “Stay there.” He watches me, daring me to defy him.
I hold my ground.
After a few moments, Kane’s gaze moves beyond me, and then he starts scanning the area. “Where are we? Where’s the city? Where’s the damn city?”
Keeping my voice calm and low, I ask, “Which city?”
“Which city? Los Angeles! What do you think?”
He spins around, taking in our surroundings, but as I can see from my position, there are no city lights in that direction, either. In fact, except for the stars above us, there are no lights anywhere.
He focuses on me again. “Where are we? What did you do? Are we even in the right time?”
I have no idea where we are, but I know what’s causing his confusion. Not only have we been traveling disconnected from a companion — a human grounding point that rewinders at the institute used to keep their chasers on course — we have also been affected by the three of us jumping together. Either factor alone would be enough to throw us miles off course. Together, who knows how far we are from his target? As for the date, though, whatever he input is the date we arrived. That is always accurate.