Jack wasn’t blinking.
“So,” she continued, “to boil it down: the buildings explode at exactly the right moment because I’m sitting here noting the exact time when Zed gestures and then, when she becomes me, that information is used to set the timers on the charges.”
Jack wasn’t saying anything.
“I know. I had the same problems. Will was very patient with me on that front, actually.”
“If I’m understanding this… that doesn’t make sense. I mean, there has to be a point somewhere in there when that happens for the first time, right? When you don’t have any of that information? When you can’t set the bombs for the right times?”
“Yes and no. Yes, and this is the first time, right now. And no, there is never a moment when I don’t have the information. How much do you know about this stuff?”
“I skimmed a Terminator argument on Reddit once.”
“No. The bottom line is: it works. The paradox is accounted for or factored out, because the behavior of fundamental particles on the quantum scale under certain conditions aren’t strictly deterministic. They follow ‘fuzzy rules.’”
“What?”
“General relativity works just fine for predicting paradoxes, but once those paradoxes are considered in, or subjected to, quantum mechanical terms they pretty much vanish-provided causality is maintained.”
“Says Will.”
“The dude built a time machine. I’ll take his opinion over Reddit’s. Also”-she waved the book again-“I have the times.”
“Jesus.”
“You should have been there when I explained this to Will. He was really upset. He said this observation could be critical in formulating a theory that unifies general relativity with quantum mechanics but, ironically, he didn’t have time to look into it. He was too busy building the Countermeasure and trying to save the future.”
“I thought science wasn’t your thing.”
He took each of her hands in his. She was still Beth. Still Zed. Still the person he fell for.
“Jack, how much do you remember about being sixteen?”
Weird question. “Not a lot, it was twelve years ago.”
“Jack,” she said. “You remember being sixteen the way I remember you. I haven’t seen you in that long.” Beth steeled herself and said, as gently as she could, “If it wasn’t for me watching you grow up I probably wouldn’t remember what you looked like. It’s been eleven years of living off the grid, staying out of the way of the future, and trying to keep both you and Will alive. I don’t need love, I don’t need romance, I don’t need drama. I just want to go home.”
Jack let go of her hands, stepped away, and turned back toward the Overlook. Paul was standing alone. Zed had led Aberfoyle away from Jack. Aberfoyle raised his gun, level with Zed’s head.
“I know you have feelings for that girl over there, but she’s gone. Love the memory. Okay?”
He really did.
Beth’s phone chirruped. Onscreen was a message. It was from William Joyce. It read: COMPLETED.
Jack said, “It’s happening.”
At Bannerman’s Overlook, Zed pointed to the horizon.
The first building went up in flames.
19
Sunday, 4 July 2010. 7:23 A.M. Riverport, Massachusetts.
Beth drove, her notebook propped on the dash, her phone nestled in the crook of her shoulder.
“I’d like to report a suspicious vehicle. Bannerman’s Overlook. I heard gunshots, and then a black town car tore right past me. Well, I believe I saw bullet holes in it. Yes, ma’am. As a matter of fact I did, yes. Do you have a pen?” Beth rattled off the license plate of Aberfoyle’s town car, and then hung up before the operator could ask for her details.
“I could murder for a frozen lemonade and a stuffie.”
“It’s seven A.M., for Christ’s sake.”
“Can’t get ’em in Future Riverport.”
“If your cash was printed after 2010 it’s effectively counterfeit.”
“It’s 2010, they don’t check.”
“What we’re doing is heading back to my place, sanitizing it, and then we’re going home to 2016.”
“Beth, we’re clear. Let’s take one last look around-enjoy it.”
“This might be novel for you, kiddo, but I’m done.”
The woods embraced the Joyce family home, the eastern fence line being the only side open to the world. Beth drove them to the southern perimeter, the side facing away from Riverport. The mesh fence on that side had a section that could be pulled aside. She drove the car through the gap, swept the grass upright behind her, and rolled the mesh back in place, clipping it shut.
There was a dip in the land into which she nestled the car, and a mess of camouflage netting that she threw over the top.
“Come on, this way.”
This was all Joyce land. Back in ’99 she had identified the best place for her to build a place to live while still being able to keep an eye on the house: a spot deep in the woods, but on enough of a rise that she had a good view of the property, and close enough that she could get there in a minute or two at a dead run.
A few trees had been felled strategically, and she’d limited her construction hours to when young Jack wasn’t home.
“Welcome to where the magic happens.”
At first glance he didn’t know what Beth meant. Then he realized he was looking at a shelter so well camouflaged it was almost invisible against the side of the small outcrop against which it was built. The shelter had a wide-but-narrow frontage made of pine logs, wattle, and daub. Beth flipped a latch and pulled open a handmade door camouflaged with greenery, scraping up earth and needles as it opened.
The interior was beautiful, dug into the side of the hill. The room was about thirty feet long, paved with stones that had been carefully selected for their flatness. The left wall had a long bench before a window that ran the full length of the room. Beth propped the window upward and open with a length of timber. Against the right wall was a raised stone shelf, insulated with foam matting, atop which was her bed: a good mattress, thick with covers. She had fashioned a simple four-cornered frame that she could drape mosquito netting over for the summer months.
“Paul and I used to play here,” he said. “Well, we never came in. We were scared shitless.”
“The witch in the woods,” she said. “I know. You two weren’t as quiet as you thought you were.”
“Will warned me off. Grounded me once because I wouldn’t stop poking around here.” His chest ached. “The whole time it was you.”
The sight of her bed and the earthy, floral scents of the place made his heart hurt. How many thousands of nights had she lain down here, waiting to catch up to the future? What had life meant for her here, day after day?
“Come on,” she said. “I need this place stripped and burned. Tools and such in the drawer under the bed.” Beth opened the door on the right and stepped inside. He heard gear being moved around.
A long recess was dug into the wall, home to books, a glass of water, candles. The walls were wooden on all sides. Jack noticed electricity outlets, a space heater, and against the far wall was a small fireplace and opening. A couple of colorful rugs lined the floor, a broom by the door. On the right wall, adjacent to the fireplace, was a door-leading farther into the earth.