Dex leaned forward, surprised. “What? Why? There’s nothing left. It’s all gone, isn’t it?”
“Well, that’s kind of the burning question of the age, isn’t it?”
“I don’t get it.”
“Some of the geologists and physicists have theorized that the nuclear device may have only affected a portion of the area. A fairly small portion. Based on Bruckner’s eyewitness account, plus recent satellite imaging and magnetometrical readings, there might be plenty still there. Below. Deeper into the earth. Below the ice. Below the shelf. Who knows…?”
“You agree with them?”
Whitehurst steepled his hand in front of his face, assumed a thoughtful pose. He raised his bushy, silvering eyebrows. “I guess maybe I do. I volunteered you for the mission.”
Dex nodded. “Because of my clearances.”
“That’s one of the reasons. I figured two other ones might be Bruckner and Chipiarelli.”
Dex said nothing. He didn’t have to. Given a chance to do something — anything — that might give more sense, more meaning to the death of his friends, well, Dex would go for it. Some of the images from Bruckner’s diary would never leave him, and the chance to see things for himself would trump any other concerns. Besides that, the experience might help him with one final loose end.
“What’re you thinking, sailor?” Whitehurst had leaned back, more relaxed now that he knew Dex was onboard.
Dex looked at him. “I don’t know. Did you ever think we have a real talent for never seeing all the consequences of what we do? Until it’s too late.”
“Part of being human, I guess.”
Dex nodded. “That’s what bothers me the most about One Eleven.”
“Go on,” said the Admiral.
“Well, we both know it’s not just the Nazis we’re talking about here.”
Whitehurst said nothing, waited for him to continue.
“All the years and all the technology didn’t save them — whoever they were,” said Dex.
Whitehurst considered this. “Maybe that doesn’t matter.”
“Why not?”
“It doesn’t matter who they were. The important thing is — they’re not us. We’re different because we are still here, and as long as that’s the case, then we have a chance to get it right.”
Dex smiled. He thought about how his commanding officer might be on to something. And that made him think about that one final loose end.
The one that led to a grave marker in a small, forgotten cemetery, and to an old ammo box buried there.
Sooner or later, Dex was going to have to make a decision regarding the contents of that box and whatever profound changes it could ring upon his world.
Whatever he did, it was going to be very interesting.
About the Author
Thomas F. Monteleone has published more than 100 short stories, 5 collections, 7 anthologies, and 27 novels including the bestseller, New York Times Notable Book of the Year, The Blood of the Lamb. A four-time winner of the Bram Stoker Award, he’s also written scripts for stage, screen and TV, as well as the bestselling The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Writing a Novel (now in a 2nd edition). His latest novel is a global thriller, Submerged. He lives in Maryland near Baltimore and loves the Ravens. He is also co-editor of the award-winning anthology series of imaginative fiction, Borderlands. He is well-known as a great reader of his work, and routinely draws SRO at conventions. Despite being dragged kicking and screaming into his sixties and losing most of his hair, he still thinks he is dashingly handsome — humor him.