The sun glinted off Wallace’s ginger hair as he tilted his head to hold Ethan’s gaze. “The one thing I feared was that by continuing to leap back through time there might come a point when I meddle just a little too much, and I could ultimately cause myself to never be born and never have the chance to alter what transpired during the Cold War.”
They entered the edge of the city, walked several paces down the empty street. Wallace said, “My fears have come to fruition. My parents never meet and I am lost to the future.”
Ethan frowned. “I don’t understand. If you were never born, how do you exist now?”
“It is quite complicated, Mr. Tannor. And I do not the have the time or inclination to get into such details, but consider me from a different, or parallel, dimension.”
“I have no idea what the fuck you mean.”
“I am from a future unlike the one that will be,” Wallace said. “But simply take this example: if I am sent from the future, and history is changed, I do not cease to exist in the here and now. There are many versions of myself left, but they are dwindling.”
Now they were in a plaza, surrounded by buildings and scattered litter. The air itself felt oppressive, and Ethan found himself thinking about how much radioactivity was probably still here. He rubbed his temples where a dull ache was forming. Was he getting radiation sickness just from walking into this place? Then he thought of Blake and felt an unexpected swell of emotion.
Wallace stopped next to a wooden bench that was cracked with age, most of its paint eroded away. “The future isn’t set in stone, Mr. Tannor. What is done can always be undone, and I will do whatever is necessary to make sure it always ends in our favor.” He paused, and when he spoke again his voice had taken on a steely edge. “Even if it means killing children in their sleep.”
The words chilled Ethan. “You don’t seem to be violent by nature. What makes you so vengeful?”
“It’s not vengeance, it’s desperation. When all other routes are closed, sometimes a darker path must be taken.”
He sat down on the bench and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, tapping one of them out into his palm. He started to light it, then hesitated, looking back up at Ethan. He smiled slightly, and said, “You may want to flee the scene of yet another unsolved death.” He motioned at a cluster of buildings down the block. “If you head in that direction, past the shopping center, the first street you come to will have a car waiting to take you home.”
Home. It was exactly where Ethan wanted to go. Somewhere familiar. To leave all of this behind. He looked around, suddenly feeling nervous in the midst of this ghost city, and headed off in the direction Wallace had indicated.
He did not look back at the man on the bench.
Ben Wallace stood and walked north, toward the abandoned amusement park. The place had been set to open just days after the disaster. It had never known the running of children’s feet, their delighted squeals, the laughter of families …
He walked by the ticket booth, strolling past the bumper cars, and the swing boat ride as he made his way down the small stretch of land that led to the park’s main feature, the Ferris wheel. There was a small roundabout near the Ferris wheel, and Wallace sat down on it, leaning against one of the corroded hand holds.
Here, he finally lit the cigarette and brought it to his lips, inhaling deeply with each pull. He sat there, looking around at the sadness of this place. The cigarette’s smoke stung his eyes and he wiped away the wetness that had formed. His lids were feeling heavy and his fingers began to tingle.
He took one more long drag with what felt like the last of his energy and flicked the cigarette into the dirt. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his favorite book, stared lifelessly at the pages. The lines he had memorized as a boy looked back up at him and began to blur. He recited them to himself a final time:
The beautiful passage was meaningful to him, for it summed up his existence. Had he changed the unchangeable? It had been a Herculean struggle; one that had come at such a great personal cost. He was so tired.
Wallace gazed at the brown pages with sightless eyes and uttered his last words.
“Tamám Shud.”
Seconds later his body slumped against the iron bar, the book slipping from his fingers to land at his feet in the dirt.
68
Sequelibrium
The car had been waiting for him just like Wallace said it would, a black stretch limousine. Ethan climbed in the back and the driver pulled away. He never spoke to Ethan, concentrating on the road as he drove. Ethan felt himself slipping into a semi-trance as he watched the panorama stream past the window, almost too stunned by all that had happened to even formulate coherent thoughts.
He half expected they would be stopped and questioned by authorities, but nothing happened. Russia didn’t seem to act like the police state he remembered. What else had transpired in his absence?
More than an hour later, the vehicle arrived at a secluded terminal on the outskirts of an airport where a private jet sat ready for him to board. The driver signaled for him to get a move on, so he climbed out, suddenly feeling drained of all energy. He wanted to sleep and forget everything.
He walked up the steps of the plane and was greeted by a serious looking flight attendant who directed him to his place in the aircraft.
“Sir, there is a change of clothes for you in the back. Make yourself comfortable.”
That was exactly what he wanted. Hex’s mangled body armor felt heavy on Ethan’s chest and the memories associated with it were not fond ones. The new clothes fit comfortably enough, and after the quick change he walked back to take his seat.
There was an envelope on the cushion with his name printed on the front in neat script. He opened the package and saw it was filled with money and a pair of keys. From the look of them, one was a house key and the other a car key. The one hundred dollar bills looked different to him than what he was used to, but he doubted they were fakes. He stuffed everything in his newly acquired jacket and collapsed into the seat. The cash hardly compensated him for what he’d been through, but he wasn’t about to turn it down either.
The plane took off minutes later, headed for New York City, or so he hoped. If he hadn’t been so exhausted, the flight would have probably felt deathly slow, but he spent most of the trip asleep. The few moments he was awake were spent in silence, staring vacantly out the small window and thinking about everything that had happened.
There was no one else aboard the plane. Not even the flight attendant who’d first greeted him was around, and Ethan wondered if the man had actually been the pilot or copilot.
He was in the throes of a disturbing dream of explosions, gunshots, and spliced body parts when the wheels touched down. Rubber screeched loudly, jolting him from sleep.
Ethan glanced around, still in a mental fog. His vision was blurry and he rubbed his eyes. Was it all a dream? The last four days had been too far-fetched to comprehend and he found himself hoping it had been a figment of his sleeping imagination.