The War Gate (39 page)

That could be the answer.

But how to calculate the formula. What was the most logical means to measure the distance traveled with a walking step? It was possible that one statute mile for every single step might be the formula. If she hadn’t felt so miserable, she would have laughed aloud. She wrote “19S” on the end of her map, then stood up. Problem solved. It was possible to step through any door regardless of the direction it faced, adjust for it with her body position, reach terminal velocity, count the seconds for years then take nineteen steps. Voila! The landing should be somewhere near her intended destination.

Maybe.

She walked around to the rear of the gas station. She faced the women’s lavatory door. To travel backward meant using the love emotion. Considering her present state, there wasn’t much in her inventory she could use to bring those thoughts to bear. All she had to do was concentrate on the last memories that had uplifted her heart. The letter her mother had written to her. Chubby’s wonderful devotion came to mind, along with his tiny dog Gretchen. Those memories were brimming with love and peace.

She let the feelings flush through her body, casting her into a euphoric dream-like state. At the peak of the high, she stepped through the door, clicking the stopwatch function on the watch to begin the countdown.

It was a simple matter to pivot her body until it pointed northwest. The images raced by in mud-like swirls until they began to take on soft pastel shades. In the next moment, she passed through a syrup of bright rainbow colors—the river of terminal velocity. She began to walk in a casual, relaxed manner. The digital seconds on her watch ticked down. When she reached nineteen steps she stopped, but continued the ride back into the past, watching the seconds mark the years. When the proper year mark arrived, she vanquished all loving thoughts from her mind. Her exit came with a loud snap.

Still warm from the friction of travel, she clicked the stopwatch button.

Total darkness.

Right away, a foul odor assaulted her. She flung her hands out and groped for a surface. Her knuckles hit a plastic panel that sounded like the side of a drum. Her hands followed a wall—a flimsy door swung open. Sunlight rushed in. She stepped out of the container, then turned around to look at it.

Portable outhouse.

Well, it
was
a door. She had landed in the middle of a construction site. A bulldozer kicked up a dust storm a few dozen yards away. Some men acting in chorus lifted up on a modular building frame. A foreman shouted orders in the distance.

She walked off the construction site until she came to a street. The next trick was to find anything that gave her a timeframe reference. Everything looked normal—the earth, the sky, the streets, houses, and trees. Except for one thing—the cars.

The automobiles were much older, looking like they came straight out of the seventies. Yet they all shined and appeared nearly new. There was no way to guess the exact year since she had no concept of what the seventy models looked like. More confirmation came when she watched a long-haired boy shoving his way down the sidewalk on a skateboard. Not so unusual in itself until one spotted the striped bellbottom jeans.

This was a tract home division. She made her way along the streets, watching where the traffic appeared to be heaviest. She turned onto a larger avenue and followed it to the end. At a major intersection, she recognized the name of the street when she glanced at the sign. The location was familiar. It was about one mile from ground zero. Not bad. Judging by the sun overhead, she guessed it was sometime in the afternoon. Her watch read eleven thirty at night, the old time she had left in the future.

She headed north on Vesper Avenue, taking long strides. She found a doughnut shop, gas station, and a variety store sitting on a small dusty lot. She knew the intersection well enough, but did not remember the micro businesses. A postage stamp square of white was just visible in the distance. It was a familiar drive-in theater that had been shut down ten years ago. There was little doubt that some things would be familiar, while other physical markers might have changed or disappeared.

She passed by the gas station placard that announced gas at seventy-nine cents a gallon. A very long line of parked cars ran down the street. Some of the drivers had exited their vehicles to sit on the hoods. Once inside, she went to the magazine rack to read the headlines of the local paper:
King of Rock and Roll Dead 42.
The date on the paper read August 17, 1977. She had overshot her target location by almost six months. She scribbled some calculations on her map, then headed out the door.

A few preteen girls stopped in front of her and giggled. One of the girls used her finger to make an exaggerated slash in the air. “I check you off!” she said. Both girls burst into uproarious laughter then ran off to the line of cars.

Avy wondered what the fuss was about. Ah, the
Nike swoosh emblem on her jacket breast. That had to be it.

The gas station restrooms were crowded with a line of people waiting to get in. She walked to the doughnut shop. Once inside, she found just one restroom door. It stood in plain sight of the seated patrons, which meant that a time step would have to be from the inside. She entered the small room, then gave her map a quick study. Without locking the door, Avy prepared, then made the step. She took one normal stride before she exited just after peak velocity.

She emerged outside of a stockroom door inside a large supermarket. A warehouse employee seated on a stack of freight boxes glared at her. A wedge of egg salad sandwich hung from his open mouth.

Realizing it was the first time she had been caught popping out of a Gate, she said, “Sorry, wrong turn,” then hurried down the aisle. She jumped off the loading dock and circled around to the front of the store. After reading the date from a paper rack, she discovered she had landed a week off.

Miffed, she went in search of another doorway to try again.

It took three more jumps before she arrived on the second day of February at four o’clock in the afternoon. She gave herself a mental high-five, satisfied that it wasn’t possible to get any closer without overshooting her mark. According to the records, dinner at the Labrador residence would start at around six o’clock in the evening.

She called a cab from a small gas station, expecting to get to her location within the next ten minutes. It wasn’t easy to relax waiting for the driver to show up. She was in for a lot of preparation. Everything depended upon timing. But the odds of pulling it off were good.

When the taxi arrived, she settled back in the seat. The cabby spoke over his shoulder. “Where to, Miss?”

“I don’t have the proper address, but I’ll recognize the house. I need to go to East Remington Drive.”

“Name of the resident, Miss?”

“Will that help?”

“Won’t hurt—I know ’em all.”

“Tom Labrador.”

“Know it. That’s fourteen forty-five East Remington. He’s the guy who owns Cyberflow. Way too easy.”

“You sure know your population.”

“Have to, ma’am. That’s what drivin’ a cab is all about.”

They arrived at the house in seven minutes. The cabby pulled over to the curb in front of the gated residence. The huge Tudor looked just as elegant as ever, only better. In this time, different varieties of exotic trees festooned the front yard. A blaze of colorful flowers sprang up from window boxes. A small fountain fed a rock pond in the middle of manicured front lawn. She could only guess that her mother had something to do with the festive landscaping.

She handed the driver a ten dollar bill over the seat. “Thanks, keep the change.”

“What kind of funny cabbage are you trying to slip me, Miss?”

She realized with some shock that she had handed him a modern bill, printed much differently. She scrambled for some singles then exchanged it. “Oh, forgive me! That was a commemorative sample from my collection. Sorry for the mix-up.” She exited the cab, making sure he was well down the street before she moved.

She peeked through the wrought iron driveway gate. There were no security cameras mounted anywhere on the Labrador property, which was odd. The gate was locked. The tall retaining wall that circled the property had a ruddy surface, good for a foothold. She stepped up to it, looked both ways, grabbed the top, then kicked herself up. She made a smooth drop to the other side. A large raspberry bush in the corner of the yard provided a perfect hiding place.

Obscured from view, she had a good line of sight on the house front. She prayed that a dog would not bound across the lawn to attack her in the bushes. Neglecting the variables in this timeframe could result in dire circumstances. Precaution and intelligence were on her side. Chaos theory would be responsible for the rest.

She crawled on her knees to peer around the bush. The drapes were drawn against the windows, offering no view of the interior. It would be wonderful to see her mother, even for the briefest of moments. Avy had a deep-seated curiosity about their true resemblance. Of course, she had seen old photos of her. To see her in the flesh, though, would satiate the questions that had nagged her for so long. She owed her beauty to her mother—grace and talent, too. She was a culmination of all the good parts of Avalon Labrador.

Fearful of being observed, she crawled back behind the bush. Something nudged against her backside. Startled, she expelled a great whoosh of air, then spun around.

Janus sat on the grass, his legs folded Indian style. He gazed at her, twisting little dandelion stalks between his fingers.

“Holiest God almighty,” she said, drawing back. “You almost stopped my heart.”

“You should keep it down,” he warned, “if you plan to go in there. You wouldn’t want anything to go wrong.”

“I swore that I’d never talk to you again.”

“Then all you have to do is listen, daughter.”

The long hair, smug, handsome face, and priest’s garb was all there—nothing had changed. Still the same old Janus. “What are you doing here? Why do you even bother interfering?”

“World affairs are in need of a ‘bother’ when thousands of lives are at stake. This is just one of the many War Gates that have been opened. A tumultuous humanity is in constant struggle with itself. This time, this place is a seed from a melon that belongs to a very large patch. Though a smaller struggle abides here, it is no less significant.”

“You know you can’t stop me from what I plan to do. You’re too late to put things on the path you want.”

“You are correct that I cannot stop you, but I thought it would be fair to warn you that this will play out again, but worse than before. You might be able to stop this death and rewrite the time path. But the path will double back to where it all started. You will erase your existence, which means you will not be here to stop it.”

“Who cares? I’m expendable.”

His voice softened. “I’ve never had a child who was willing to give up so much for the sake of others. It is the noblest attribute known to humanity when one is willing to lay down their life for their fellow man. It would mean so much, accomplish such great things, if not for the fact that the act would be such a terrible waste. You feel that you are responsible for everything that has happened. You are not the cause, dear daughter. You are the solution. You are the cleansing force, the righteous judge who imposes the verdict.”

“Look into your little crystal ball, then tell me that all of these deaths haven’t affected hundreds of lives. There won’t be an end to the pain. How could it be any worse than it is now?”

“I’ve seen the outcome in all its variations. You can trust me when I say that stopping this murder will fortify the perpetrator into committing the act again. The consequences will be more devastating than before. The string that you wish to snap will set another scenario into motion, escalating to another, then another until it is out of control. There will be no stoppage to the roll call of death or misery.”

“How can you see what it will be like when–” She paused. “Are you saying we’ve gone through this before? You know every outcome?” The answer was obvious. He could slice through space-time like a steak knife. That brought up another nagging question. “Why don’t
you stop all of this right now?”

“I cannot change the path. I am resigned to follow the one with the least resistance. I do not rule the destinies of humankind. That is reserved for the cosmic creator. I can lessen the negative forces by serving as the guide for those who can influence the outcome. I am the director, in concert with the producer. You are my actor. I can prod you into a great performance. It is up to you to believe in me, delivering those lines while acting in the play. I cannot stop you from improvising—that is your prerogative. A wise director needs to convince from a perspective of respect.”

“Yeah, well, what if the actor doesn’t like the play or the direction? What if they don’t want any part of it?”

“If you do not have ears to hear, I must try again. I have to widen that opening in your heart. Even I am not perfect and get it wrong sometimes. In answer to your other question, yes, we have been here before many times. Right here, this time, this place, sitting together upon this grass. I am appealing to you again like I have done before. I seek to show you the path of least resistance, hoping that you will find it.”

She looked dubious. “If I’m still here in this now, what did I do before?”

“You left without interacting.”

“You mean I chickened out?”

“You lost your confidence.”

“Why me?” she begged. “How could you put me through this knowing everything that you do?”

“Because you are my most wonderful creation. There have been other candidates, but none have been so divine or touched so many lives. You are the pathfinder, the one who can bring this story to an end. It will not end here either. Your strength will live on in your tomorrow. Your love for others will pour from you, affecting countless numbers. All of those whom you touch with your essence will be the better for it. The string that you travel from here on out is the string that belongs to infinity.”