On that much, it seems, we all agree. But none of them have agreed to hand over their keys.
“Yes,” I say. “I know the odds are stacked against our side. But what should we do? Quit? If we can’t bring the Cyrists down, they win.”
I decide not to add that I still have some niggling doubts about Kiernan’s commitment to our side. Keeping secrets, lying, and disappearing when needed aren’t traits you generally want in a partner, especially when the stakes are high. But if he’s not on our side, then Abel’s assessment is even more dead-on.
Delia is curled up on the couch next to Abel. “What about other allies, then? People in power who oppose the Cyrists? Who don’t trust them?”
“In power? Maybe. But, at least in my time, they have trouble staying in power if they’re open with those views. Cyrists have friends in high places,” I say, borrowing a line from Trey’s dad. “I’ve met very few people who’ll openly say they’re against them.”
“Without allies, you’re going to fail,” Delia says. “So you might want to start looking.”
We’ve told the three of them everything we know in the past hour, even Kiernan’s theory about Pru getting the other twelve keys in 2305. Personally, I’m not convinced on that front. Katherine tried to blink into that black void over and over after Prudence disappeared. Abel also dismissed the idea, saying he tried to do the same thing when they locked him in the cell. But I suppose it’s possible there was a fail-safe that didn’t work on Prudence, since her genetic code wasn’t locked into the system. Or maybe, as Kiernan noted earlier, it’s just a very unstable stable point.
Grant has barely spoken. When they came in, he sank down into the same chair he’s in now, on the other side of the room, and started looking at something in his diary. Maybe he’s gone back into trainee mode, since Delia seems closer to her usual self now that Abel is here and they’re clearly back in charge. Delia finally asked him to take over what I was doing—monitoring the stable points at the gate and the jail—so I could join in their discussion about the Cyrists. He seemed glad to have something to do at first, but I think he’s discovered it’s a pretty boring chore. The crowd outside the jail gradually thinned out a little after eleven, and aside from the one car that drove past shortly after I let the Buick through the front gate and another that passed by around midnight, the road has been quiet.
“What about the internal division you mentioned before?” Abel asks. “Between Saul and Katherine’s daughter. What you really need is a fifth column. Maybe that group—”
“I’m working on that,” Kiernan says. “But both sides . . . agree on certain points, like the need for the Culling. Different reasons, maybe—but same result. Neither like the future they think we’re headed toward, and they’re willing to take drastic steps to prevent it, so I’m not sure that’s going to work.”
Delia sniffs. “I can sympathize a bit after today. I’ve met several people I’d happily ‘cull,’ given the chance.”
“Yes,” I say, “but the crowd outside that jail isn’t the type Saul would remove.”
Kiernan and Abel are discussing Cyrist motives when Grant gets up and goes into the kitchen. He’s sitting at the table with the medallion active and doesn’t notice when I walk in. At first, I think he’s still watching the gate, because the display is dark. But as I get closer, I see it’s the black hole that’s probably CHRONOS headquarters.
Grant blinks very purposively, twice, but each time he opens his eyes, he’s still in the chair.
“I don’t think it will work, Grant.”
“It might.”
“But it looks like . . . nothingness. You can’t even set a time. What if you blink and arrive in the middle of the explosion?”
“I don’t think I would. But even if I did, it’s better than staying here.”
I’m pretty sure this isn’t about his new identity—he has credentials to get him into law school, and that shouldn’t be too awful for a legal historian. It must be about the girl waiting back in 2305. I want to tell him he’ll meet someone else, he’ll be able to start over, and things won’t seem so bad in a few years. But the advice rings a little hollow for me right now, and judging from Grant’s expression, he’s not to the point where he’d listen anyway.
“Where did you leave off with watching the gate?” I ask. “I’ll take over.”
He gives me an odd look. “I stopped when I came in here.”
“No, what time were you watching? Like I said when you started, I’d watched both stable points until 12:45, jumping ahead a minute or so at a time.”
“I just . . . I was watching the current time. The lot outside the jail is pretty empty, and—”
I sigh. “The point was to build up a buffer, so we’d have some advance notice.”
“I’m sorry,” he says, tilting his head back and staring at the ceiling. “I didn’t hear that part. I’m not used to using the key that way.”
His jaw is clenched, and I can tell he’s trying really hard to hold it together.
“Are you okay?”
“Not really,” he says. “But there’s nothing you can do to make it better.”
I pour the last of the coffee into my cup and leave Grant to himself, taking up the armchair he vacated. The point outside the jail is fairly empty between 12:46 a.m. and 12:56 a.m. Everyone has left, except for one man in a police car, talking to someone standing outside.
I’m about to check on the gate when I see Delia standing next to me. “I thought Grant was handling that?”
“It’s okay,” I say. “He seems a bit upset about the new reality. There’s a girl back—”
“No.” She shakes her head, giving me a sad smile. “Not a girl. Which is the problem. I think Abel and I will find somewhere we’ll be okay, even in this era. By the time we have grandkids, it won’t be too strange that Grandpa’s black and Grandma’s white. But even if Grant finds somebody else to love, marriage and family are no longer in his future. That may take a while to accept.”
Delia goes into the kitchen. Hopefully, she’ll be better at consoling Grant. I’m really glad I resisted giving that chin-up-you’ll-find-someone-new speech.
I keep an ear on Kiernan and Abel’s discussion about Cyrist organizational structure as I watch the front gate through the key. All clear until 1:00 a.m. Back to the jail—clear to 1:15 a.m. Back to the gate.
I’m thinking I may need more coffee when I skip from 1:05 a.m. to 1:06 a.m. and see two sets of headlights at the gate. Suddenly, I’m wide-awake. I skip to 1:09 a.m., and there are a couple of cars across the street and two very familiar trucks. The men aren’t wearing their masks now, and I spot Willis, along with his two nephews and several others from the fight. At 1:10 a.m., one of them has an ax and is chopping through the boards in the fence near the gate.
“We’re going to have company in about twenty minutes.”
I run upstairs to let Martha know. She must not have been sleeping, because she’s at the door in her dressing gown as soon as I knock. Joe takes a bit longer, and once we all get downstairs, I realize that’s because he stopped to grab a couple of shotguns. He hands one to Kiernan and props the other one up beside the china cabinet.
“The root cellar will hold all of you,” Martha says. “I’d go down and get you settled in myself, but I don’t like cellars much since . . . not since I was girl.”
Joe gives her shoulders a brief squeeze and says, “I’ll get them settled. Y’all grab your stuff. We got water and blankets down there in case we have to go down for a tornado or what have ya, but there ain’t no outhouse, so y’all might want to take care of that before we go.”
A few minutes later, Kiernan and I are outside, waiting for the others.
“How do you think they found us?” I ask.
“I don’t know. Maybe the car you saw was following them and they went back to get reinforcements? Did they see you unlock the gate?”
“I don’t think so, but I can’t be sure. Whoever it was, they were well behind the Buick.”