“You’re only looking for answers? You’re not trying to change anything?” His voice is softer, more thoughtful.
“I’m not trying to change anything,” I lie. I wish I could tell him the truth. I want him to know how conflicted I am, that this isn’t an easy decision for me, and that I’m terrified of what might happen. But it’s the only one I can make if I want to save my family from the pain of Dean’s disappearance.
Wes sighs and looks at me for a minute. I can barely see his eyes in the dark forest, and I can’t read his expression. “Okay. Let’s go.”
My mouth falls open. “What?”
“I’ll help you get into the Facility. Let’s go,” he repeats.
I give him a suspicious look. “Why do you want to help me now? You don’t agree with what I’m doing.”
“You’re right, I don’t. But I know you’re going to do it anyway, unless I physically restrain you.” At my alarmed expression, he keeps talking. “Which I’m not willing to do. If you go into the Facility alone, you’ll get caught and the guards will kill you. Or worse. If I go with you, at least I can keep you alive. And if you’re only after information, then you probably aren’t a threat to the time line.”
I wonder again why Wes cares so much if I live. Is he trying to prevent me from changing the past—or is it something else, something about me that keeps him here?
“Okay.” I grin at him in the dark. Sneaking into a heavily armed government lab doesn’t seem half as scary with Wes coming with me. “Let’s go.”
Instead of going directly to where I know the bunker is, Wes circles us through the woods.
“Why aren’t we using the entrance?” I whisper as I follow behind him, my eyes glued to his dark form.
“Too conspicuous. And loud.”
We walk for a few minutes before he stops at a random point in the trees. I can’t see anything special about where we are, but then Wes points to a metal disk set into the ground.
“We’re going in through the vents.” He crouches down next to the round metal and pushes it. It makes a loud grinding noise as it slides open, and I look into the woods. Distorted shadows hide in the forest and the moon is heavy in the sky. Something moves in the grass near my feet and I jump.
Wes looks unconcerned as he stands and holds out his hands. Our eyes meet as I slip mine into his. He pulls me forward. The metal disk has been pushed to the side to reveal a large hole that seems to drop into blackness.
I look up at Wes. “Once we’re inside, we need to be quiet, and we need to be fast,” he says, his voice urgent and low. “I’ll be right behind you. I’ll direct you through the vents. If there’s trouble, you need to do what I say, even if that means running for your life. Can you do that?”
I nod, my eyes wide. My heart is pounding, so loudly I imagine Wes can hear it. I start to panic. Maybe this is a mistake. But then Wes squeezes my hands and I feel a little bit better.
I sit down on the edge of the hole, still holding on to Wes. He slowly lowers me into the depths of the Facility.
CHAPTER 13
Idrop down into a dark, narrow vent. It only curves in one direction, and I crawl forward on my hands and knees. I hear Wes enter behind me.
“Follow it,” Wes whispers, so soft I barely hear him. As quietly as I can, I crawl through the tight space. It comes to a fork.
“Left.”
Sweat drips into my eyes as I move. It stings, but there’s no room to sit up and wipe it away. The air is stale and filled with dust and it smells like old batteries again, mixed with the burning scent of bleach. I have to cough but I fight the feeling, a tickling sensation growing and growing in my throat.
Wes guides me left again, then right.
Up ahead is a patch of light and I crawl toward it on my hands and knees. It’s a metal grate, an air vent, looking down into a fluorescent-lit room. There’s an empty desk, a hard-backed chair. Nothing else. “Keep moving,” Wes whispers.
There’s another grate up ahead, a glow of light. I crawl toward it, then suck in a breath as I realize there are people inside, sitting on the white floor of a large, empty room. No one speaks or moves. They’re all dressed in matching gray nightgowns, and their bodies are small and delicate—too small to be adults.
I crawl closer, then freeze. I feel Wes tense behind me. The room is filled with children, maybe ten of them, anywhere from five to twelve years old. Some are pale, some have darker skin, but they’re all skinny to the point of starvation, and their hair has been cut razor short. They are covered in bruises. One of them, a gaunt, yellow-haired girl in the corner, lifts her head and looks right at me. I flinch, though I’m unable to pull away from her vacant stare. She’s like a zombie, there’s so little life in her face.
“Lydia.” Wes’s voice is hard, completely devoid of emotion. “Don’t stop moving.”
“What is this place?” I breathe.
I remember Grant telling me that the Montauk Project kidnapped children to use for experiments. I never could have believed that he was right. But here’s the proof, right in front of me. Acid rises in my throat as I unconsciously press one hand into the sharp metal of the grate. As if I
