‘Right,’ she said. ‘Yeah, a bunch of stuff happened, Bob. You recall Abraham Lincoln running out on us?’
> Of course. According to my internal clock, we sent Liam and the others to retrieve Abraham Lincoln two hours and sixteen minutes ago.
‘Yeah … well, you’re now out of sync. We need to reset the archway field and go back to our normal deployment time. You need to do that now.’
> Affirmative, Maddy.
‘Then we’ve got to open a window for Liam and the others to bring them back.’
> I do not have a reliable data stamp for them. My last data stamp is …
‘They’re not down in Quantico, Virginia, any more. We’ll need to use the data stamp before that one. You should still have that sitting in your memory cache.’
> New Orleans, 1831? This does not make sense. How did they get there?
She smiled wearily at the webcam. ‘It’s a long story, Bob. I’ll talk you through it later, OK?’
CHAPTER 95. 1831, New Orleans
The man’s bloodshot eyes focused on Sal.
‘My … my God! It’s … it’s … you!’ he gasped. His mouth flapped open and closed. A thick gout of blood oozed out from between his lips.
Sal leaned close to him, grabbed one of his hands and held it tightly. ‘You … you’re going to be fine!’
No, he wasn’t. Of course he wasn’t. She looked at the awful turned-inside-out remains of two horses and one man. One of the horses was still kicking, the other already dead. And so would this poor man be, very soon. He was so very far from fine.
Bob knelt down beside her. ‘This was a density overlap error. This man will not last …’
‘I know!’ she hissed, glaring at Bob to shut up.
Liam’s face looked grey, like he was going to heave, but he somehow managed to hold the churning contents of his guts in check as he hunkered down beside them. ‘I’ve seen this before. It’s a time-window mistake!’ He shot a glance at the dying man’s face. ‘Maybe he’s a …’ His eyes widened. ‘Jay-zus! Maybe he’s a TimeRider? One of us?’
‘Listen … listen to me,’ gasped the man. Struggling to find his breath between mouthfuls of blood. ‘I … I … tried … warn … you …’
‘Warn us? What do you mean?’
‘P-Pandora … it … was me …’
Pandora? Liam looked at Sal. Back at the man. ‘You left that note? In San Francisco? That was you?’
‘Y-yes … I … my name … J-Joseph …’ The man’s eyes started to glaze, to roll. He was going into shock.
‘What is Pandora?’ asked Sal.
His mouth gushed blood. His hand began to spasm, flexing and squeezing hers.
‘Pandora! What is it? Please!’
His gaze focused back on her. ‘… W-Waldstein … the … end … he knows …’ His voice was little more than a rustling whisper.
Sal leaned in closer till she could feel the tickle of his dying breath against her cheek. ‘You’ll be OK,’ she whispered to him pointlessly, squeezing his hand again, as if that was going to help. ‘You’re going to be fine.’
‘You! … S-Sal … Saleena …’
She looked at him, their faces inches apart, intimately close. ‘You know me?’ she whispered.
‘You … y-you are …’ His hand began to spasm again, gripping hers tightly, painfully. ‘… are … n-not … who you th-think … y-you … are …’
His eyes rolled until only the whites were showing, his hand crushing her. Then suddenly he released her hand with a lurch. Out of his nose came a fine spray of blood.
‘I … know … a-about … the … th-the …’ His mouth gushed blood on to his chin. And he sighed. Not so much a death rattle, just a simple and protracted sigh of relief at escaping the agony.
But it came with words, two very faint words. She could have sworn that’s what she heard him mutter as the poor man died — it wasn’t her mishearing him. It wasn’t a random contortion of mouth and tongue. She was almost certain she’d heard two distinct words. A message for her alone.
The bear.
