vibration throughout the entire building…”
Alfredo had heard enough. Without bothering to relay the information to the rest of the council, he raced out of the room. Isabella’s team was the only one traveling at noon. The only one.
Having no time to wait for the elevator, he sprinted to the end of the hallway and opened the door to the emergency stairwell, setting off the alarms. The claxon shrieked all around him as he took the stairs two at a time, gasping with the effort. When he made it up to the ground floor, he ran into several technicians evacuating the building. He screamed at them to get out of his way, and continued his race toward the launch station. Guards in gas masks were already in the room when he arrived and moved to hold him back.
“Get off me!” He snarled at them, pushing his way to the console. It had been blown apart and, despite the halon, was still on fire. There was no way he could get information from it now. Feeling helpless, he turned away from the console and looked down.
His vision blurred with tears and from exposure to the gas, but as the two guards moved away from him, he could see clearly what happened to Cody Peterson. Alfredo coughed in the thinning air and steadied himself a moment. Forgetting the useless console, he kneeled next to the prone boy, who was miraculously still breathing. His eyes were a bloody mess and his nose was simply not there. One of the guards held his head steady, waiting for the medics to arrive with a brace.
Alfredo put his face next to Cody’s fragment of an ear and whispered, “If you can talk, I want you to tell me if Isabella made it to Brussels.”
The labored raspy breathing got thicker. There was so much noise around him, but Alfredo heard none of it. He didn’t hear the alarms, or the fizzling of the empty halon dispensers. He didn’t hear what the medics said to him as they pushed him out of the way to help Peterson, nor did he hear the prayers Padre Lopez-Castaneda was saying over the boy. He hadn’t even realized any of them had entered the room. All he heard was Cody Peterson’s response to his question: don’t … know … just … gone .
5
“What’s that?” Isabella asked the question just in time to see Peterson and the launch station vanish into a dull grey fog. She felt the expected wave of nausea of time travel, yet something was wrong.
The freezing water crashed in all around her just as she realized she was falling. Water roared in her ears and weighed down her limbs; the cold shock forced out any air remaining in her body and her lungs burned inside her chest. The pretty red dress tangled around her legs, constricting her movement as she desperately clawed her way to the surface; she tore her head from the water, gasping for air. A current pulled her through the water as she pushed her sopping hair from her face.
She was in a river, most definitely not where she was meant to be. With slow strokes, she swam to the muddy bank, only just realizing rain was pelting her face in addition to the river water. Something had gone terribly wrong with the transmittal; she was too terrified to speculate on what just yet. She plunged her hands into the mud and wrenched herself out of the cold water, ripping grass out as she went.
It was slippery, and the ever-thickening rain did nothing to assist her. She slithered on her belly, her hair still in her face. The chignon had not survived the fall and both of her stockings had come undone. But that didn’t matter; only one of her accessories truly mattered. She allowed herself a gasp as she collapsed and rolled onto her back by the riverbank. The rain fell hard on her face, but compared to the thick slime of mud coating her entire front, it felt good. Her hands clumsy from cold, she felt around her neck and was relieved to find the crucifix still there. This reassured her that all was not lost and she sat up to survey her
Alfredo had heard enough. Without bothering to relay the information to the rest of the council, he raced out of the room. Isabella’s team was the only one traveling at noon. The only one.
Having no time to wait for the elevator, he sprinted to the end of the hallway and opened the door to the emergency stairwell, setting off the alarms. The claxon shrieked all around him as he took the stairs two at a time, gasping with the effort. When he made it up to the ground floor, he ran into several technicians evacuating the building. He screamed at them to get out of his way, and continued his race toward the launch station. Guards in gas masks were already in the room when he arrived and moved to hold him back.
“Get off me!” He snarled at them, pushing his way to the console. It had been blown apart and, despite the halon, was still on fire. There was no way he could get information from it now. Feeling helpless, he turned away from the console and looked down.
His vision blurred with tears and from exposure to the gas, but as the two guards moved away from him, he could see clearly what happened to Cody Peterson. Alfredo coughed in the thinning air and steadied himself a moment. Forgetting the useless console, he kneeled next to the prone boy, who was miraculously still breathing. His eyes were a bloody mess and his nose was simply not there. One of the guards held his head steady, waiting for the medics to arrive with a brace.
Alfredo put his face next to Cody’s fragment of an ear and whispered, “If you can talk, I want you to tell me if Isabella made it to Brussels.”
The labored raspy breathing got thicker. There was so much noise around him, but Alfredo heard none of it. He didn’t hear the alarms, or the fizzling of the empty halon dispensers. He didn’t hear what the medics said to him as they pushed him out of the way to help Peterson, nor did he hear the prayers Padre Lopez-Castaneda was saying over the boy. He hadn’t even realized any of them had entered the room. All he heard was Cody Peterson’s response to his question: don’t … know … just … gone .
5
“What’s that?” Isabella asked the question just in time to see Peterson and the launch station vanish into a dull grey fog. She felt the expected wave of nausea of time travel, yet something was wrong.
The freezing water crashed in all around her just as she realized she was falling. Water roared in her ears and weighed down her limbs; the cold shock forced out any air remaining in her body and her lungs burned inside her chest. The pretty red dress tangled around her legs, constricting her movement as she desperately clawed her way to the surface; she tore her head from the water, gasping for air. A current pulled her through the water as she pushed her sopping hair from her face.
She was in a river, most definitely not where she was meant to be. With slow strokes, she swam to the muddy bank, only just realizing rain was pelting her face in addition to the river water. Something had gone terribly wrong with the transmittal; she was too terrified to speculate on what just yet. She plunged her hands into the mud and wrenched herself out of the cold water, ripping grass out as she went.
It was slippery, and the ever-thickening rain did nothing to assist her. She slithered on her belly, her hair still in her face. The chignon had not survived the fall and both of her stockings had come undone. But that didn’t matter; only one of her accessories truly mattered. She allowed herself a gasp as she collapsed and rolled onto her back by the riverbank. The rain fell hard on her face, but compared to the thick slime of mud coating her entire front, it felt good. Her hands clumsy from cold, she felt around her neck and was relieved to find the crucifix still there. This reassured her that all was not lost and she sat up to survey her
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