Annum Guard: Blackout Part 25

The door is made from heavy wood and painted black, but there are two windowed side panels. Abe and I each take one and squat down. We have a perfect view across the street, at number 426. And really, that's all we're here to do. Observe.

Well, observe and hide from Tyler, who's bound to show up any second now.

But he doesn't appear. There are a few people walking down the street, but not many, and definitely not Tyler.

"Where is he?" I whisper, even though we're inside and no one on the street can hear us.

"No idea," Abe whispers back. "I thought for sure he'd try to find us before the mission goes down."

"Maybe he isn't coming." But there's a blip of fear bubbling in the back of my throat that I can't ignore. At just after 10:30, the street is deserted. We are on the least populated section of Marlborough, which also happens to be the least trafficked street in the Back Bay. Most people stick to Boylston or Newbury, or even Comm. Ave. It's much more convenient to take any of those, especially when you hop off the T. You have to want to be on this stretch of Marlborough. I can see how some women living alone would find safety in that.

Me, I see it as being a sitting duck.

And sure enough, a few minutes later a lone man staggers down the street. He has dark hair, his jacket is zipped tight, and his hands are in his pockets. His chin is tucked into his chest. It's impossible to get a good look at him from this angle.

All of a sudden, the blip of fear rises into terror. A serial killer. Across the street from me. I look over at Abe. He's still crouched down, and he has his hands in front of him, as if he's waiting for the gun to start a hundred-yard dash.

I know what he's thinking. That we could take this guy out and stop the killer. Or one of them, at least.

"Abe."

He turns his head to me but keeps his eyes trained on the guy across the street, who's jogging up the steps of 426.

I shake my head at Abe, but I don't think he sees me. I turn back. There's a light illuminating the call box on the side of the building, and I see the man press the b.u.t.ton that's second from the top.

Shouldn't one of the second-generation Guardians be here? Isn't one of them supposed to intervene soon? XP bought this mission from one of them. And then the thought hits me: What if this confrontation goes down inside the building?

Abe and I will miss it. I look over at him again, and I can tell he's just had the exact same thought.

The door across the street opens, and Abe and I stand in unison. We have to get inside somehow!

But just then, Beta-Green's dad-steps from a shadow in 426's vestibule, and Abe and I both freeze. Words are exchanged, then there's a flash of metal as Beta whips out a pocketknife. The killer raises his hands, then bolts down the steps and away from us. Beta flicks the knife closed and heads in the opposite direction, out of sight.

I remember to breathe. My fear is gone, and I feel sort of silly for having been afraid in the first place. That was like the least dangerous situation I've ever been in. Holy letdown.

"What was that?" I ask Abe. "That was the biggest waste of time ever."

Abe nods but keeps looking out the window. "Come on, I don't see anyone."

The two of us jog across the street to 426. Abe peers through the window in the front door while I keep a lookout. I hear the snap of a twig and I jump, but I don't see anyone. There's a rustling of tree branches but no other movement. Still, I can't help but feel that something is off.

"Abey, we need to move."

He's still looking in the window, and I turn to the call box. And then I stop breathing. Because there are names on the call box. Names handwritten by the tenants. There's one next to the second b.u.t.ton from the top.

D. Callaway.

We're wrong. It's not Secretary Howe. It's not Mike Baxter.

Colton Callaway Caldwell. A family name, he said. His grandmother. Yellow was right. XP isn't Cairo as in Egypt. It's Chi Rho as in Jesus Christ. Initials. JC.

Joe Caldwell.

The vice president's husband.

And maybe even the vice president herself.

"Abe!" I yell. "We have to get out of here. Now!"

CHAPTER 25.

I grab Abe's hand and yank him off the stoop. "It's Caldwell! XP is Caldwell."

"Colton? But he's not nearly old enough to-"

"No, not Colton-Joe! Which means maybe the vice president knows, which means we need to get the h.e.l.l out of 1962 now."

But then two people are standing there on the sidewalk, and I have no idea how they got there. Abe and I skid to a halt. He squeezes my hand.

Tyler is to our left. There's another guy on the right, dressed head to toe in black. Black combat boots, black cargo pants, long-sleeved black s.h.i.+rt, black vest. And a black ski mask so I can't see his face.

"Joe?" I say, taking a gamble. I'm showing my hand, but I have nothing to lose at this point.

Tyler laughs. "Come on, you don't really think he's here, do you? But good to see you again, Iris. And so soon!"

"So you're not going to deny that XP is Joe Caldwell?" I say.

"What I am going to do," he says as he takes that silver rod from his pocket and flicks it open, "is note how absolutely adorable it is that you two are holding hands. Like children afraid of the dark." He takes a step closer to us. "And trust me, you should be very, very afraid of our dark."

Before I know what's happening, Abe's flying through the air. He spins and lands a kick right across Tyler's jaw. Tyler staggers back and goes sprawling onto the sidewalk.

The other guy rushes me. I raise the bag and swing it into his nose. He stumbles backward, and I don't hesitate. I elbow him, then grab on to him and knee him in the groin. He screams as he sinks to the ground.

I reach into my dress and pull out my watch, then open the face and spin the dials backward. I don't know where I'm going, and it doesn't matter. I just need to grab Abe and project the both of us out of here.

But then the guy has me. He yanks my hand from the watch. "Don't even try." I know that condescending drawl. I reach up and yank off the ski mask, and I'm not surprised to find Colton staring at me with that c.o.c.ky grin.

All right, prep-school Ivy League, let's see how you do against government training. I lunge forward and throw a punch, but Colton deflects it. He grabs my arm and twists it behind my back. I try to spin away again, but he holds me. He does have training.

I look over at Abe, and panic strikes. Tyler has him in a full nelson, Abe's hands wrapped behind his head. Tyler's got that long metal wand. He hits the top b.u.t.ton.

"Abe!" I yell. "No! No!" I squirm, but Colton squeezes my arm and tears p.r.i.c.k my eyes. I think he's going to break my wrist.

The silver wand starts to whir-a soft humming at first but then it builds and builds into a shriek, and I match it pitch for pitch.

"Abe!" I keep squirming. I don't care about my wrist anymore.

And then the wand erupts into an arc of light. It showers all of Marlborough in a white glow.

I squint. I can hear Abe shouting over the noise. "I love you, Amanda!" And then there's a scream and a click, and then darkness. Colton lets go of my arm, and I spring away. To where Abe and Tyler should be standing. But they no longer are.

"Where is he? What did you do to him?" I yell at Colton.

Colton shrugs. "Guess you're about to find out." He pulls out another metal wand and slams his palm into the top. It starts glowing and humming. Colton lunges for me, but this time I'm quicker. I sidestep him, sweep his leg out, and knock him to the ground. I kick the metal pole into the gutter.

"Tell me where he is!"

Colton just laughs. I grab my watch again, grab onto Colton's bicep, and slam the face shut.

Both of us are ripped through time. Pain shoots down my arms, threatening to tear my body in two. And then it goes to my legs, to my toes. I'm projecting for both of us, taking the pain for Colton. I try to push the pain out. I'm going to need my strength when we land.

And then we stop. I gasp for air, but instead water rushes into my lungs. I choke and swallow and gag and let go of Colton. I go into survival mode. I kick and find the surface. I spit out water and choke again. I flail and choke and flail and choke, and finally it all comes up. I vomit up a cheeseburger I bought for a dime in 1962 and barely even notice.

I'm under the water again. Two strong hands are pus.h.i.+ng me down. I claw at them. Dig my nails in, but it's no use. I kick. I whip myself around, and my chin makes contact with Colton's arm. I open my mouth and sink my teeth in. I feel the skin break and taste blood. And then I'm released.

I come up for air.

"You b.i.t.c.h!" Colton screams. He's treading water and holding his arm. And then he propels himself at me again.

I dive under him and start kicking. I need to get to sh.o.r.e. I need to get Colton to sh.o.r.e. I kick and kick until I can't breathe anymore. I come up gasping. Colton's behind me, swimming quickly. I don't have time to process anything. I launch into a freestyle stroke and sprint toward the sh.o.r.e.

1810, I think. I set the watch for 1810. Because I am a complete moron. I knew the Back Bay wasn't filled until the middle of the nineteenth century. I knew this. And still I went and projected myself right into the middle of the d.a.m.ned Charles River.

I'm close to sh.o.r.e. Twenty yards maybe. Colton grabs my ankle and twists, but I take my other foot and smash it into his chest. I feel his grip release, and I swim like h.e.l.l again. I launch myself onto the sh.o.r.e and, not a second later, Colton is on me.

He grabs my hair and yanks it. I scream, then slam my elbow into his temple. He lets go and staggers back.

"Who pulls hair?" I yell. "What are you, twelve?"

He flies at me again, and I duck, then raise another elbow. It catches him square in the chest, and he falls to the ground. I pounce on top of him. Both of us are yelling and cursing and panting. He tries to push me off, but I take hold of his head, lift it, and ram it into the ground. Once. Twice. Three times. His eyes roll back and he's out.

I check Colton to make sure he's breathing. Then I look up. A crowd is gaping at us in horror. I smile weakly. I don't know where I am. I turn my head and see Beacon Hill and the State House in the distance.

"Alert the authorities at once!" a man shouts. He pushes his way to the front and points at me. "Ma'am, raise your hands and step away from the young man."

I can't imagine what these people must think. A woman dressed in clothing that won't be popular for another hundred and fifty years, pummeling a man dressed all in black. Well, it's time to confuse them even more.

I open the watch face and for a moment I'm afraid that it won't work. But just for a moment. I a.s.sume that if the government is going to invest twenty million bucks in time-traveling technology, they'd make sure the d.a.m.ned thing is waterproof. Which they did. My watch is still ticking.

I spin the year dial forward one click, adjust the time so I'll land in the middle of the night, then grab on to Colton. We fly forward and I'm taking it for both of us, but the trip lasts only a few seconds. Then we're in the same spot.

Colton is still unconscious. I check him again. He's breathing. I grunt and roll off of him, then grab his wrist and take off his watch. I hold it up. In many ways, it's similar to my own. There are Y, M, and D dials, but there's no fancy script with the word Annum on the face. Instead there are two boxy letters: X and P.

Whoa. Joe Caldwell bought his own version of Annum Guard. When did he do this? And why?

I have no idea what to do. I have an unconscious Colton on the ground and it's 1811. I have no money. I have no Abe.

"I hate you," I whisper to Colton.

Wait. I'm looking at this the wrong way. I have a bargaining chip, right here pa.s.sed out on the ground. I have the key to getting back Abe, and Zeta, Indigo, and Orange, too. a.s.suming they're still alive. a.s.suming all of them are still alive.

Answers, that's what I need.

I glance around. A full moon is high in the sky and the streets are deserted. So I hook my hands under Colton's arms and hoist him up. He's heavy. Maybe a hundred and sixty pounds. But I'm strong. It's been a few weeks since I actually got to the gym, but I can do this. I squat low, hoist Colton's torso over my shoulder, loop the handle of the duffel through my arm, then stand very slowly. I take a few steps to test my balance, then walk, carefully.

Yeah, I'm strong, but we're not going to make it very far, that's for sure. I need to get back to the gym.

A block or so later, there's a small shopping district. I pa.s.s a milliner's shop, a shoemaker, a tailor, a stationer. All of the shops are closed, obviously, and from the stink of the street and the grime on the windows, I can tell I'm not in a very wealthy area of Boston. I pa.s.s an empty storefront. "HUDSON'S DRAPERY" is written on the front in gold paint that's past its prime. I stop and peer in. There's a wooden mannequin in the middle of the room, which is creepy as h.e.l.l, and the walls are lined with shelves, all empty save a few crumpled sheets of paper. I squint and stare into the back, where I can see a storeroom and a set of stairs leading to a second floor.

Perfect.

I squat again and let Colton slip off my shoulder onto the ground. My legs are going to kill me tomorrow. I look down the street one more time to make sure we're alone. Then I jiggle the handle. Locked. Of course.

I step back and eye the gla.s.s. I could easily toss a rock through, but that could wake the entire block, and at best would only buy us a couple of hours until morning dawns and the damage is discovered. I go to the door and drop to my knees.

This is an easy lock. I could get this open in a second with a credit card, if only I had one of those. Or a business card or anything useful. I look around on the stoop. There's dirt and crushed leaves and . . . some old, bent nails. I use my foot as leverage to bend one of the nails into a hook. I slide another nail into the lock, then use the hook-shaped one to catch the release.

It takes four tries, but then I'm in. I open the door gently, grab Colton's shoulders, and drag him past the mannequin, into the back room, and up the stairs.

The top floor is empty, too. I was hoping for a few abandoned bolts of fabric, something that would help me tie up Colton. But there's nothing like that. Colton is still out. He's not even beginning to stir.

It's damp in here. We're past the point of a small chill. My teeth are chattering. I now understand the expression "cold, wet, and miserable." I am all of these things.

I need to secure Colton. I can tie him to some of the spindles on the staircase railing, no problem, but I need something to tie him with. My dress is the only thing I can think of, and that's not happening, so instead I yank on Colton's sleeves until they give way. Then I tie both of his arms to the railing and yank to test the bindings. Colton isn't going anywhere. I rip off his vest, twist out the water, and use it as a gag.

I sink onto the floor. My arms are howling in pain. My legs are in agony. But it's my heart that hurts the most. I lost Abe. I look at Colton. He stole Abe.

And just as soon as Colton wakes up, he's going to give me some answers. I don't care what I have to do to get them.

CHAPTER 26.

Colton stirs in the early dawn hours. His eyelids flutter and his shoulders drop back. His head rolls to one side, and I wait. Wait for the moment he remembers that he tried to drown me. And the moment he realizes I've got him.

It comes.

His eyes pop open, and his head whips down, then up, then to the side as he tries to look behind him. He thrashes against the railing, his wrists pulling at the bindings, but they don't budge. I know how to tie a knot-thank you, Peel. He tries to open his mouth, but the only sound that comes out is a m.u.f.fled choke. Then he looks at me with wide, frightened eyes.