into tatters and rags, and a great fountain of blood sprayed out from him. He
landed flat on his back, his knife flying high in the bright morning air. The
shot had hit him in the center of the chest, pulping ribs, driving the razored
splinters of bone into his heart and lungs, killing him instantly.
Some of his blood splashed onto the broken wall behind him. Ryan looked up at
the tortured figure of the Christ on the cross. Its midnight sheen was now
dappled with fresh crimson that ran down the anguished face, the thighs, the
ankle stumps.
“Got the ace on the fuckin’ line with that one, Doc,” said Okie, grinning
appreciatively.
The old man bolstered the smoking pistol and turned away without saying a word.
Henn was almost gray with exposure, and it took a great blazing fire and much
effort to bring some life back into his limbs. The shooting had awakened
Finnegan, who came lurching outside just after Doc iced the leader of the
crazies. Wiping the sleep from his bleary eyes, he asked, “What the fuck is
goin’ on?”
Henn eventually recovered, though there were numerous scratches and bites on his
body, particularly around his thighs and the lower part of his belly. And his
penis was scabbed and bloody from what looked like severe friction burns on it.
As soon as he was coherent and dressed, Ryan ordered everyone back to the
buggies, ready to move.
Doc had walked off on his own and returned only now, when he heard the roar of
the engines. He looked pale. Ryan took him to one side.
“Yon feelin’…you know, Doc? You did what you had to. That bastard would have
opened you from…?”
“Thorax to pubis, Ryan. Yes, I know, but killing does not come easy to me.”
“It’s a craft you have to learn, Doc. Just like any other.”
“Then I confess I will do my best. Ah…”
“What?”
“While walking there alone with my contemplations, I recalled something I had
forgotten. I mentioned the word crater brought back memories. I have now managed
to remember it.”
“Go on.”
“Chron-jumps.”
“What the…?”
Doc looked around to make sure the others were not within hearing distance. “The
gateways. You know they’re mat-trans ports. You get in and instantly you’re
carried somewhere else.”
“Yeah. Look, I’m fuckin’ freezin’ to the bone out here, Doc. Can’t we…?”
“It won’t take much longer, sir. I said that there had been some dreadful
accidents. I didn’t tell you because I couldn’t remember it, but the gateways
have also been used for other experiments. Chron-jumps. Time travel. It does
work.”
“Never. Come on, Doc. You know you get confused sometimes.”
“Most of the time, my dear Mr. Cawdor. But here is a moment of crystal clarity.
I know that time travel is a reality—I know better than any living soul, believe
me. But they tried other times. Once, and once only it nearly worked.”
Either Doc Tanner had completely lost all his creds, or he was telling the
truth. Ryan shook his head, resisting the temptation to slap himself to see if
he was dreaming all this.
“It is passing strange how I can fail to know even my right hand from my left
and still recall some fragments of the past in such clarity. It was the sixth
day of August in the year 1930. Seventy-one years before Armageddon. A man of
great distinction got into a cab in what was called Manhattan, in old New York.
He waved to a friend and disappeared forever.”
“What’s this got to do with talkin’ about volcanoes and craters?”
“Wait. The men who ran the Gateway and the Cerberus projects were evil. Oh, such
wickedness and misery! My dear, dear Emily! They were trawling and they picked
up this man. I was there when he came through, or when what was left of him came
through.”
Ryan had enough sense not to interrupt Doc to ask who Emily was. That might have
been enough to throw his memory off the subject forever.
“It nearly, so nearly proved a success. A justice of the supreme court. It would
have… I can still see what came.”