“Something happened here. The energy levels skyrocketed two minutes ago.”
“Wait, do you hear that?”
There’s a pause. I hear nothing but my own heartbeat throbbing in my chest, my throat, my fingertips.
“Nope. There’s no one here. Let’s take this to the general.”
“Maybe one of us should stay in case something else happens.”
“No need. These energy readings have to be a mistake. Let’s go.”
Footsteps fade away. The door shuts.
I wait a few seconds, then slide out from behind the cabinets, my heart still pounding. The guards could come back and realize their mistake at any moment. It’s time to get out of this room, out of this underground lab, and back outside, where my grandfather is waiting for me.
I slip out into the white hallway and mentally retrace my steps. Was it left after the first hallway, then right through the doorway, then left into the room? Am I forgetting a turn? Everything looks the same down here. It’s impossible to find any landmarks. Taking a chance, I turn left and sprint until I reach a door. I listen carefully but can’t hear any guards, so I push through it. Another white hallway.
I follow it as it curves to the left. The fluorescent lights lining the ceiling in two long rows burn bright above my head. I press my hand onto the concrete wall as I walk slowly. It’s shockingly quiet down here. Where have the guards gone?
And what about the boy from before? He’s the only one who saw me, and he had to have told his superiors by now. They must be down here somewhere, looking for me in this maze of hallways and strange rooms.
I pick up my pace as much as I dare. I come to another door and open it. It should lead toward the staircase in the bunker. But instead it’s some kind of maintenance closet filled with folded cloth and cleaning supplies. The smell of bleach is heavy in the air. I swear under my breath.
As I wonder where I could have made a wrong turn, I hear the distant sound of footsteps echoing on the tile. I slip into the dark, cramped room and shut the door softly. It’s pitch-black. I press my hand over my mouth as I hear someone walk past, their footsteps slowly fading.
I count two minutes before I step out into the hall again. As quickly as I can, I retrace my steps and this time take a right after the second hallway. It comes to a T. I remember this. I’m almost out.
I turn a corner and there’s the familiar door at the end of the corridor. I dash forward and push through it. The narrow space that seemed dirty before now looks slightly different—cleaner and brighter. Are the lights different, too? I run for the stairs at the end, but I freeze halfway there. This hall definitely looks different. It’s almost brand-new, not rotting and covered in black gunk. I touch the clean white concrete wall as a sinking feeling grows in my stomach. How can it have changed this much in only an hour?
What happened in that machine?
Grant’s words from the other night spin through my head: Time tunnels. Time machines. Wormholes.
My grandfather told me that the government selected the east end of Long Island as the site of the Montauk Project because of the naturally high levels of magnetic energy in the air. According to him, that’s how the time machines run, using alternating waves of magnetic energy. I was just in a strange … vessel, and I felt—was—ripped apart, a larger force that I couldn’t see or identify or explain pulling me in different directions.
Could I have …?
I scramble up the stairs. I need to get out of this bunker. I need to find my grandfather. Only then can I prove that everything is normal, that nothing impossible has happened.
This time the door at the top opens easily and I tumble into the large open space of the bunker. It looks the same as it did before, with broken furniture scattered around and dirt covering the cement floor. Thank God.
The concrete doors are sealed shut from the inside. I sprint across the bunker and push at the rough surface. Nothing happens. I pry at the edge of the door. It won’t budge. No.
There’s a sound behind me. I whip around.
The boy I was trying to escape stands in the doorway, silently. Watching me.
I shrink back against the concrete wall behind me. But I let go of some of the panic twisting in my chest. If he’s still here, then I couldn’t have traveled to another time. Nothing has changed. My grandfather is waiting for me out there in the park. But my relief is short-lived: This boy stands between me and freedom.
“What do you want?” My voice echoes in the empty space.
He has that stricken, confused look on his face, as though he’s not sure what he’s doing here. He says nothing but takes a small step closer to me. I crawl along the wall, looking for something I can use as a weapon. I’ve almost made it out—I won’t let him take me back down into those labs.
He sees my expression and stops. “I won’t hurt you.” His voice is soft. I look at him warily. Can I believe him? He did let me go once before, but maybe he realized he shouldn’t have? Maybe now that I’ve gone through … whatever I just went through in that machine, things are different.
“Stay back.” I slide until I’m pressed against the corner of the door. The curved wall behind the boy is filled with metal doors that lead to the underground labs. Even if I could get to one, I’d be stuck in the
