Tourists of the Apocalypse (42 page)

“No,” I shake my head and let a smile cross my lips. “You would have met a girl named Violet and fallen in love. She told me before I came back. She thought it might lend credibility to my story.”

“Violet?” he mumbles.

The look on his face sends a chill down my back.
Did I steal Graham’s chance to meet his love in search of my own?
Before I can condemn myself further, the fact that he is executed right in front of her occurs to me. This brings Violets final words to my lips.

“She wanted me to tell you she misses you.”

“Who?” Izzy cries.

“Violet,” Graham mumbles. “You said Violet didn’t you?”

“I did, but we’re running out of time. In roughly twenty minutes the Inversion Reactor under the building is going to melt down and explode,” I remind them in hopes they will leave with me.

Graham ponders this and then starts to speak, but I cut him off.

“The lake won’t stop it,” I warn. “The gates won’t open and the water won’t get to the core.”

“How do you know?” Izzy barks. “You’re not from the future, you’re from the past.”

“I have it on good authority. We should leave.”

“And go where?” Izzy demands, stepping within arm’s length of me.

“We go to the lobby,” I explain, pulling the cell phone out of my pocket. “This will lead us to a car in the satellite lot. The GPS will take us to Lucy’s father and he will explain everything.”

“Who’s Lucy?” Graham shakes his head as if he’s having trouble keeping all the names in order.

“The relative who shocked me back to life in the
Catch Room
. After we get to safety, you and I need to have a long talk,” I suggest, putting out my hand and tracing a finger down Izzy’s wrist.

At first she starts to take my hand, but then pulls away. We share an uncomfortable moment, and then Graham starts toward the main lifts. My mind clicks back on Lucy and I put a hand on his shoulder, pointing to the lift that runs down to the
Observation Room
.

“We need to take that one.”

“Look at the lighted panel over the doors. Someone locked it out from downstairs.”

“They probably didn’t want the dangerous gunman coming back down,” Izzy comments, bumping her shoulder on mine.

They both jog to the main bank of lifts, leaving me standing in between. I arrived here from that direction and have never been to the lobby. If I change course now it’s unlikely I could find Lucy from downstairs.
She’s probably dead anyway.

“Hey, whoever you are,” Izzy shouts, one hand holding the door open. “Let’s go.”

“Dylan,” I yell, hurrying over to the lift. “It’s Dylan.”

“Nice to meet you Dylan,” Izzy smirks letting the door close behind us.

I stare into her eyes as the lift descends. I saw this woman take a bullet to the head and yet here she is. I lift my hand slowly and brush a finger down the side of her cheek. She starts to flinch, but then holds her breath and allows me this moment. Tracing my fingers under her chin I lean down and kiss the top of her head.
This alone was worth coming back
.

A tear wells up in my right eye and she notices it. Catching it with her thumb on my cheek, she smiles. I have to put a hand on the wall to keep from losing my balance. My body trembles from emotion. A concerned look comes over her and she wrinkles her nose. This gesture takes me by the heart and rips me away from reality.
I can’t believe she’s really here.

“Were we really in love?” she whispers. “Really, really in love?”

“Yeah,” I choke out. “Really, really in love.”

“Will you tell me about it?” she leans up on tip toe and whispers into my ear. “Will you tell me the story of Izzy and Dylan?”

“Yes,” I nod, but the word
story
makes the hair stand up on the back of my neck.

The lift opens revealing that the lobby in shambles. People rush to the front doors from various departments with access to the lobby. A man falls from above, hitting the floor to our right before rolling over. His lips are bloody from the impact, but he rolls over and limps to the doors. We take a few steps out into the room and I can see balcony offices above us. A woman jumps, hitting the marble floor to our right hard. Unlike the previous jumper, she hits her head, landing awkwardly with one arm pinned behind her back.
She’s not getting up.

A security area with a wide white tunnel is deserted, leaving people pushing out through the entrance doors. It’s humid and warm, the tile under my feet heating up the soles of my shoes. Graham holds the shotgun with one hand and takes Izzy by the other. She looks at me with pleading eyes and reaches for my hand. Glancing up to make sure no bodies will land on us, I grasp her hand and hold on tight. I follow them through the crowd. We pass Abel as we leave the lobby and he points me out. He’s talking to several other men, none of which are uniformed security.
Possibly he is trying to apprehend me to see what I know
.

Huge glass doors are being held open by men in office attire. It seems these are the decent ones, not running away, but rather stopping to help their fellow employees. We stagger out into the sunlight onto a concrete walkway. I slow, looking at the blue glass rising up the front of the impressive structure.
How many people are still inside?

“Dylan,” Izzy barks grabbing me by the shirt and pulling my arm around to face her. “Where do we go? Where is the car?”

I’m reaching in my pocket for the phone, but stare transfixed at her trembling red lips. I feel faint and all that runs through my mind is her asking me to tell her the story of Izzy and Dylan. Is my time with Izzy just a fairytale?
Did any of it really happen?

The phone must know we are outside as it has changed to a flashing dot over a white map of the parking lots. It will be easy enough to track it to the car in question.

“Here,” I mutter, handing it to Graham with a shaky hand. “Follow it to the car. Point it at the door and it will open. All you have to do is follow the GPS to Lucy’s father.”

Graham looks at me funny. He seems to have noticed the way in which I explained how to get out of here. It’s an issue of phrasing, but Izzy doesn’t seem to pick up on it. Without warning, I take her in my arms and pull her close. At first she doesn’t hug me back, but then she warms and tosses her arms over my neck. I bury my face in her ear and smell her hair.
Even here it smells like lavender.

She’s a perfect copy of my Izzy. It’s possible in time she might come to love me, but it would not be the same love. She is a virtual blank slate, while I’m a crowded bulletin board littered with people and places she will never understand. She would never know Fitz or Dickey. There would be no memory of our first kiss or her skirt pushed up, popping a seam. She wouldn’t recall spending a week with me in Pensacola or watching airliners fall out of the sky. She would have no memory of sitting in the lifeguard tower watching the sunrise over acres of corn fields. More importantly, she would have no memory of Robert rubbing his eyes and yawning in my arms.
Dylan and Izzy would always be just a fairy tale to her.

“What’s this all about?” she whispers.

“Izzy, I have to go back inside for a minute,” I explain, taking her by the upper arms and pushing her back. “I’ll meet you and Graham at the car.”

“No, what did you leave behind?” she stammers. “Just come with us.”

“I’ll be there in a few minutes,” I assure her, then draw her to me in another tight embrace, my mouth to her ear. “I love you. I love you more than anyone ever could.”

She pushes me away, but still holding me by the shirt buttons in front.

“I don’t understand,” she whimpers eyes watering. “Are you coming or not?”

I draw her to me once again, looking through her hair at Graham, who seems to understand what’s about to happen. The realization is only just beginning to dawn on me fully.
This isn’t my Izzy and she never will be
.

“I’ll be there in five minutes,” I lie in a whisper. “Then, I’ll tell you the story of
Izzy and Dylan
.”

Graham listens and waits. Before letting her go, I mouth a silent plea to him.
Take care of her.
It reminds me of the woman at the hotel whispering for me to help her. I repeat it a second time and he nods understanding.

“But you are coming with us?” Izzy moans tugging desperately on my shirt.

“Take this,” I order, pulling out the letter and wave it at Graham.

“What is it?”

“Just read it,” I demand, releasing Izzy and backing away. “People have been adding to it over the years, but I have a feeling she may have left you a message.”

“Who?”

“Violet,” I affirm, feeling better for keeping my promise and almost sure there is a note from her in the envelope.
She probably sat down immediately after I left and penned one.

Izzy’s eyes have slipped from watery to teary now as have mine. A frantic, confused expression twists across her face.

“Gun,” I demand, holding out my hand to Graham. “Tell the man on the other end of the GPS that Lucy was amazing,” I say sternly. “Lucy was amazing. This is very important.”

“Got it.”

“Wait, what’s going on?” Izzy whines, her fingers still entwined in the front of my shirt.

“I’ll be right behind you,” I lie again, stepping away so she’ll let go. I stop to take a mental picture of her. Her watery eyes locked on me in an almost frantic state. Her red lips trembling.
I need to remember this moment.

“Where are you going?” she sobs.

I nod in Graham’s direction in an attempt to end this exchange.
Until they go I can’t look away.
In her confusion, Izzy reaches out her hand to me. Without thinking I lift mine to take it. Only inches separate our fingertips, then Graham pulls her away. She is dragged by Graham, her head turned back watching me. I stumble sideways a step, then wittiness her disappear into the crowd. My last glimpse of Izzy is her bouncing off another escaping worker into the street.

“I’m sorry,” I speak aloud as people rush past me. “I am so sorry. Lance was right all along. This is all my fault.”

A journey of a thousand miles begins with a first step…

Turning the car onto Oakmont street gives me goosebumps. I round the corner and move past two houses, coming to a stop under a huge willow tree overhanging the road. Pushing open the car door, I step out and soak in the history. So many things have taken place on this quiet small town street. Check that, will take place. The passenger door opens and Lucy struggles to balance on her artificial legs.

“I hate this tumbleweed infested backwater already,” she complains.

“We only just got to town. Give it a chance.”

“I was talking about the twenty-first century. What year is it again?”

“2005,” I answer, even though she has been asking me this for the better part of a year.

“Oh right, I forgot,” she chuckles, seeming to enjoy our never-ending patter on this subject. “How many zeros is that?”

Lucy grouses about coming back with me, but in truth she’s enjoying it. It wasn’t my plan to wind up back here, but circumstances forced it upon us both. When I went back inside to rescue Lucy, we were confronted by Able and several large men. The only way out of the
Catch Room
was escaping in the elevator to the fifth floor. At that point, we ran out of time and were faced with either vaporizing in the explosion or jumping into the time portal; the decision was simple. To be honest it’s been a blessing, even with Lucy’s whining. We have inadvertently returned to the point where the tour guides’ path intersected mine. The difference here is that they don’t exist and no one here knows who I am.
It’s truthfully invigorating.

“Are you even listening to me?” she gripes.

Holding up a hand to her, I stare down the road to where it dead ends into the cul-de-sac. At the end are three lots, but no one has built on them yet. The last house on the left is familiar.

“Fine, which one’s yours,” she grumbles, sliding onto the hood of my car and pushing her prosthetic legs off. “From which one of these humble shit-boxes were you hatched?”

“Blue one on the end,” I reply, shading my eyes with a hand.

“And a younger version of you currently resides there?”

I nod, but she doesn’t make a sarcastic remark this time. We share silence for several minutes which is rare with Lucy. The drone of traffic from the highway fills the background. Voices can be heard and doors open and close. Last time I was here the silence was overpowering.
The sound of man-kind is comforting, even if it’s not going to last.

“These legs itch,” she finally complains, tossing them one at a time down the front of the hood onto the ground.

“I was under the impression you were the engineer,” I needle her without turning around.

“What time is the real estate chick supposed to meet us?” she huffs, impatiently.

“Seven,” I answer then spin about as a truck approaches and makes the turn onto our street.

Jarrod’s red truck passes me and I get the prerequisite nasty look from him as it does.
He doesn’t need to know you to dislike you.
It rolls down the street, the brake lights coming on just before it turns into my mother’s driveway. He hops out and slams the door, then stomps inside. Shouting can be heard even at this distance as he demands breakfast.

“That him?” Lucy asks the sound of her lighting a cigarette loud and clear.

I turn and see her sitting in the middle of the hood with her back against the windshield. She’s wearing a very short pleated skirt and a long sleeve red hoodie. She has white tights over her stumps and her hair is pulled back in a long braid that hangs over one shoulder. Her sweatshirt reads
REALLY?
in white block letters.
Why doesn’t anyone else notice how surreal and out of place she is except me?

“You’re going to burn the hood with ash again,” I complain, looking at the small imperfections on the hood of my brand new Corvette.