Another guard marches down the hallway after them, his arms clenched around a gun. I don’t let myself look after them. I can’t change their fate, these children who are destined to grow up like Wes, even though I wish I could.
The hallway is clear. Wes peels himself away from the wall and approaches the guard. “Eleven,” he says to her coldly. The young woman tilts her head back and then steps to the side. Wes opens the door behind her.
We walk into a lab. Several scientists are sitting around a long table, with beakers and equipment spread out in front of them. The room smells like chemicals, gasoline, and fresh paint. One of the scientists stands when he sees Wes. He is approaching old age, with almost-white hair and a bulging stomach that he can’t quite hide beneath his lab coat.
“Which one are you?” His voice is low and gravelly.
“Eleven,” Wes responds.
“Ah, right. Of course. Are you prepared?”
“I am ready, sir.”
The scientist steps forward. He turns to look at me, and I automatically drop my eyes to the tiled floor. “This one is going with you?”
“Seventeen is also scheduled for the mission, sir.”
“They’re expecting you?”
“Yes, nineteen eighty-nine has been made aware of our arrival.”
“Good, good.” He turns to the other scientists. They are mostly younger than him, spanning from late twenties to middle age. “Dr. Provist, please escort these two to the TM. They need to be set for August eighth, nineteen eighty-nine. Five o’clock exactly.”
That’s six days before my grandpa is supposed to disappear. I wonder again if it could have something to do with this rift in time. I should have mentioned it to Wes earlier, but I was too distracted, and there’s no way to bring it up now.
Dr. Provist stands and leads us to a door on the opposite side of the room. We follow her out into a hallway. A guard emerges as if from nowhere and trails along behind us. I don’t have to turn around to know he’s also carrying a gun. We round a corner and Dr. Provist stops at a door on the left. There is a large computer screen next to it. The scientist has to press her entire palm to the black panel before the door will open. We enter the time machine room.
It looks exactly as I remember. Built-in digital screens run along the back wall, while desks with large consoles and computers sit to the left of the door. The wall to the right is a black-rimmed mirror, though I know that a narrow observation room sits behind it. I wonder who might be watching us now.
The TM is in the middle of the room. It has a tube-shaped metal frame that stretches halfway to the ceiling. The top of the machine is made of glass.
It doesn’t seem to begin or end—it rises out of the floor and disappears into the ceiling. I can’t suppress the shudder that runs through me as soon as I see it.
“Who’s first?” Dr. Provist asks. She adjusts her glasses as she presses buttons on the computer in front of her. There’s a beeping sound and the TM starts to buzz. It is so much quieter than the one I traveled through in 1944, but the vibration of it still rattles through my entire body. I can even feel it inside my head. My teeth begin to chatter.
“Me.” Wes steps forward. A door suddenly appears in the smooth metal of the machine and glides open. Wes enters the hollow tube and turns to face me. Dr. Provist is too busy scrolling through codes and inputting dates to pay much attention to us. Wes’s eyes lock on mine. We don’t break eye contact, not until the door slides shut between us. I feel the buzzing get louder, until the machine is shaking and pulsing. The light catches above it, swirling, first white, then multiple colors, brighter and brighter. There’s a moment of silence, right before everything seems to explode outward. The light is blinding, there’s a numbingly loud crash. I close my eyes. When I open them again, the machine is calmer, only lightly humming now, almost like a purr.
And then it’s my turn. When the door shuts, I am trapped in the darkness. I hold my breath, waiting. My heart feels like it’s going to beat out of my chest. And then the floor flashes once, twice, three times. The lights are so bright that I see them even when I squeeze my eyes shut. I hear a low sound, at first quiet, but then louder and louder, until I can hear it in every inch of me. It feels at once mechanical and organic, as though this stream of noise and light and metal is coming from my own body. I hug my arms around my stomach, trying to keep the pieces of me together. But the floor falls away, and everything is suspended, and then there’s a jolt and a scream. I feel myself dissolve.
When I come back into my body, I am sitting in the bottom of the machine in the pitch black. I stumble to my feet, grabbing onto the slick metal walls when the room spins. I have to be strong. This isn’t over yet.
The door opens. The room beyond is dimmer than the one in 2012. Two scientists sit in front of the slighter, older computer systems. Wes is standing next to the door. His back is straight, though I see a gleam of sweat on his upper lip and at his hairline. The machine isn’t something that gets easier with time.
I step out of the TM.
“Seventeen?” one of the scientists asks without looking up from his screen.
“Yes, sir.” My voice is rusty, unused. I cannot remember the last time I’ve spoken. Not since I was outside the bunker with Wes. It feels like hours and hours ago, though it couldn’t have been more than forty minutes.
“Good. Go with Eleven to
