Capturing Today (TimeShifters Book 2) (10 page)

“You need to get back to Michael.”

“I’m glad I got to meet you.”

“You’ll see me again. And next time it’ll be for a better reason. My wedding.” He starts to smile, but the weight of the dead soldiers behind him seems to stops the motion. Our goodbye is quick. A part of me wants to hug him, but it would weird Eddie out. Friends in his time don’t go in for hugs. Especially friends of the opposite gender.

Dodging puddles, I head back to Michael’s tent and wrench open the door flap. Anger surges through my veins, making my temples ache. My whole body feels warm. He knew there was a Portal this whole time. And didn’t use it. What on earth was he thinking? That he was capable of single handedly turning the war? Michael’s amazing, but he’s no Captain America. He knows that, right? Well, if not, I’ll be more than happy to enlighten him.

I stomp over to the bed and shake his shoulder. “Wake up. You need to wake up.”

He stirs but only to pull the blanket up to his shoulder and turn away from me.

“Michael. Get up.” I grab his arm and yank him to sitting.

He makes eye contact with me, raising his eyebrows as he rubs the side of his head. I probably made him dizzy again. I’m sure he feels like a semi-truck hit him, but seeing him that way, all drooping shoulders and scrunching eyes, only makes my blood boil hotter. 

I shove his boots into his stomach. “Put these on. We’re leaving. Now.”

“What’s going on?” He finally speaks. “I need to sleep.” Still groggy, he starts to lie back down, but I grab his arm and keep him upright.

“Sit up. And put your shoes on.” My voice has a deadly calm quality, like when a father tells his kid,
“we’ll deal with this when we get home
.” 

It works. Michael takes forever to slip his foot into his shoe, but he starts.

I trudge over to the trunk and pull out his backpack. Sling it on and cross back to Michael. I push his hands away from where he fumbles with his laces. “How dare you not tell me there’s a Portal nearby.”

He groans. “Gabby—”

“Not now. We’ll have it out later after Darnell fixes you.” I lean down and grab his arm, looping it around my shoulders to help him stand. “But be ready.” I wrap my arm around his waist. “Because the second you’re well, I’m going to slug you. Do you understand?”

Michael scrubs his hand over his face a few times. “We failed. Didn’t we?”

“It’ll only be failing if we don’t get you back to the Portal. Now tell me where it is.”

We’re out of the camp and heading into woods on the edge of town when I realize I might not be able to do this. Michael is weak. Much weaker than I guessed. Once we started, he agreed with me and gritted his teeth, forcing himself to move. Every step requires concentrated effort on his part. He’s sweating up a storm as he leans heavily into me. And I’m not strong enough to shoulder his weight for much longer. I’m just not.

He steps into a puddle and slips. Dragging me down with him, we hit the ground. My knees sink into mud. Michael’s flat on his back. He starts to cough and can hardly keep his breath. My muscles are shaking. I try to stand, but my legs give way.

That’s when the tears start.

I’m not a crier. At least, I never was before this shifting nonsense. But hunger and exhaustion and stress and fear, when working as a joint force almost always win the tug-of-war with my emotions. Yanking me right into a pit labeled
despair.

 Michael scoots so his head is resting on my thigh. “I just need a minute. We’ll try again. In a minute.”

I bend down, my forehead touching his. “I don’t know if I can make it.”

“Gabby. Don’t cry.” He coughs. “Please don’t cry.”

Sucking in a deep breath, I straighten my spine and tip my head back. Look up at the stars. Michael once told me that’s what he does when he’s starting to lose hope. No matter the time period, the stars are constant.

I fill my lungs with cold air, snapping my senses back to attention. “Help! Someone help us,” I yell into the night. Probably a stupid move. We
are
in the middle of a war zone after all. But at this point, I’m willing to take the risk.

Muffled footfalls. Someone’s behind me. I swivel to see who it is.

It’s a Shade.

My heart punches into my throat. I instinctively curl my body over Michael to protect him. “Go away.”

He stops and offers a tentative smile. “Didn’t you just call for help?”

“You’d help us?” Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t talk to a Shade. Okay, I spoke to Erik, but he’s different. Shades speak with an odd, ancient-sounding accent. As if they’re speaking though time, instead of in time. If that makes any sense at all. It gives me the creeps.

The Shade stoops closer, crouching to my eye level. “Were you heading to the Portal?” He’s not huge and intimidating, thankfully. He’s skinny and looks like he’s around my age. His hair is cut in a typical indie rock band style.

When I first encountered the Shades, they were the stuff of nightmares. Zombie like beings with melting faces, moving slowly. But this one walks and moves at a normal pace. He still has that slightly melting look to him though.

“I was trying, but I can’t lift him.” I indicate Michael, whom I’m assuming can’t tell it’s a Shade or he’d be solidly against him helping. So there’s one positive to my blood being tainted—I can see the melting faces, and normal Shifters can’t.

The Shade moves around to Michael’s other side and together we help him stand. My arm brushes against the Shade’s in the process. It feels as if I’m next to a block of ice. I fight the desire to reposition my arm.

The Shade leans around Michael to speak with me. “We need to get him there fast. Some of the others are tearing this one down tonight.”

“Tearing down a Portal? They can do that?”

“They can now. For his sake,” he points his chin at Michael, “Let’s hope they haven’t yet.”

“You saved his life.” Darnell folds his arms over his massive chest and leans against the wall outside a private room in the medical ward.

“I shouldn’t have had to.” I mimic Darnell’s stance, but my eyes go to Michael lying in the bed inside the room. Monitors beep, and an oxygen tank makes a whirling noise. Even with the advancements found at Keleusma, they still have to do that for him—hook him up to a bunch of equipment and give him fluids through an IV. “The flu isn’t supposed to be this bad.”

“The Spanish flu is the single worst pandemic in history. The bulk of those who perished were strong, young men. Like him.” He juts his thumb over his shoulder. “It kills by making the victim’s immune system go into hyper-drive. What’s supposed to defend you starts ransacking your body. Killing you. Which was already happening to Michael.”

Why does Darnell have to keep reminding me that Michael could be dead right now?

I pivot a little, angling myself into the doorway. “But he’s going to be all right?” I can see Michael better from here. There’s no way he can hear us over all the machines, but his hand moves, letting me know he’s still awake.

“We reset his immune system. So I believe so.” Darnell’s mouth forms a grim line.

He’s leaving something out—something vital. I feel it in his stilted words.

“You don’t sound convincing.”

Darnell glances down at the electronic pad he has tucked under his arm and shifts his weight against the wall. He taps on the screen a few times. “He’s showing some hearing loss in one of his ears. I can’t fix that. But everything else will go away shortly. By tomorrow he’ll be close to his old self. I believe most everything will go away.”

Loss is one of those words that always hits me wrong. Lost and loss sound so similar but are worlds apart. If something is lost, it can be found again. But loss. Loss is just gone.

I swallow back a question about his hearing. It doesn’t matter. Even if Michael became deaf, he’d still be Michael. I’ll learn sign language. But Darnell needs to share the totality of Michael’s injuries with me. So I can be prepared. “What do you mean by
most
everything?”

“I’ll level with you because I know Michael won’t mind.” Darnell leans forward and lowers his voice. “Actually, you’re probably the best one to help me watch for symptoms.”

Is it really so difficult to answer a direct question? My nails bite into my palms.  “Symptoms of what?”

“Shell shock.” Darnell tucks the computer back under his bicep. “He could have it, or maybe he doesn’t. It’s too early to tell. But given how long he was on the warfront—which was significantly longer than Shifters are ever out on missions—we need to be vigilant.”

“Is that like post-traumatic stress?”

“More or less. Michael tends to act like a hunted animal when he’s sick.” Darnell shakes his head slowly. “Hides it. Fakes like he’s fine until it’s way out of hand. He hasn’t realized there’s a certain kind of strength in asking for help.” He glances back over his shoulder. “But he will. Someday. You can mark my words, he will.”

Darnell missed his calling as a philosopher.

I clear my throat. “You haven’t said what I’m supposed to be watching for.”

“Signs of anxiety, jerky movements, nightmares, depression—basically, if Michael starts acting unusual, let me know. You’re perfectly suited to help me watch for cues.” Darnell straightens to his very full, very neck-straining height. “Between you and me, I’m going to keep him a few days longer than he needs—for his own good. But for now, I’m going to get something into his system to aid his sleep.”

I nod, and Darnell starts to turn away but then faces me again. “Do you need something for sleep as well? You were out there and saw things that might make it difficult to relax. It would be understandable. Expected even.”

The best sleep I’ve had in months was on the cot beside Michael, but I can’t tell Darnell that. I open my mouth, ready to ask if he’s offering some sort of futuristic pills or if he’s talking about an injection.

Shoes squeak behind me. “Gabby?” Eugene’s voice is unmistakable.

I turn. The huge, goofy grin smeared across Eugene’s face makes me open my arms and lean in for a hug when he gets closer. “I missed you.” Something I just realized.

He gives me a stiff, one-arm, patting sort of hug. “I heard you were here so I came to see for myself. I would have come sooner but word on the street was Darnell had you guys under lock and key.” He winks at me through smudged glasses as he nudges Darnell with his elbow.

Darnell bites back a grin before turning to head back into Michael’s room. “Like I said, I’m going to help Michael rest better.”

When we’re alone, I offer Eugene my sweetest smile—usually reserved for when I’m teasing my friends back home. “Promise me something?”

“Sure.” His grin widens.

“Please never say
word on the street
again. Ever.”

“Can do.” He chuckles, saluting me.

“Did you want to see Michael?” I motion for Eugene to go into the room. “He’s still awake right now even though he wants us to believe otherwise.”

“Actually, I’m here for you.” Eugene rocks on the balls of his feet. “I have a favor to ask.”

“Ask away.”

He cups his hand near his mouth, whispering, even though it’s only him and me. Darnell and Michael can’t hear us over the instruments in the room.

“Can I have a sample of your blood?”

I want to laugh because he sounds like a vampire. Instead, I pull a face. “My blood?” Needles are not my thing. So sue me. “For what?”

“Tests.”

As much as I hate needles, I trust Eugene and know he’s Einstein-level brilliant. Whatever tests he’s running, he’s probably trying to get to the bottom of what’s different about my blood. Which can only be a good thing. Knowledge is power and all that. Right?

“How much do you need?”

“Not much.” He presses his lips together and thinks for a moment. “Maybe more later, depending on the test results of course. Or if I spill it.”

My laugh has a nervous edge. “If you spill it all, then you can run tests on your own blood, because you won’t be getting any more of mine.” My words solicit his smile again. I grin back, enjoying a rare moment in the shifting world that isn’t coupled with stress. Then I find the courage to say the only thing I can think of. “Will you be able to tell what’s wrong with me?”

“You’re kidding.” Eugene’s smile fades, and he cocks his head. “I mean, aren’t you?”

“Isn’t this about my mom and the Elixir? You want to see what it did to me.” For me, all it translates to is I don’t belong. Anywhere.

“Of course. We need to know what makes it special.” He shoves his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Wait. You think I believe something’s wrong with you?”

Out of everyone in my life, Eugene shoots straight with me. No one else does that. So Eugene has earned my weak moments—the moments when I’m raw and vulnerable—because he’s been there, been honest, and still wants to be my friend.

I bite my lip and nod. Of course something’s wrong with me. Side note: it’s completely acceptable to be vulnerable and not use words.

His voice is soft, quiet. “There’s nothing wrong with you, Gabby. Not one single thing.”

“Uh-huh.” I roll my eyes because making a joke is easier than forging deeper into this conversation. “That’s why you want to use me as a pin cushion.”