“I’m not sure I won’t scream—I think I will, actually.”
Ellis tilted the light up and saw the glassy look of Pax’s frightened eyes. The light also shone off the big blade he held as if he were about to have a knife fight in some old western. What he needed was a scalpel, a razor, or an X-ACTO blade. Doing surgery with a six-inch Bowie knife was insane.
“Are you sure you want me to do this?”
“Yes.”
“I mean, I know this was my idea, but I don’t want you to think you have to—”
“Do it. Just hurry.” Pax was trying to sound brave, and actually did a fine job—braver than Ellis felt, holding that knife handle slick with sweat. He’d never cut anyone before. The closest thing was digging a splinter out of Peggy’s finger with a needle. That ordeal had lasted almost fifteen minutes, with him pinching and probing and her jerking and crying. The stress of that tiny splinter had exhausted Ellis—this scared the hell out of him.
He struggled to take a breath as he held the big stainless-steel blade up against Pax’s perfect skin. It looked huge, as if he planned to use a barbecue fork to fish out crabmeat. He remembered the online product description: perfect for gutting a deer in the wilderness. Knowing he’d need his other hand, he gripped the butt of the light with his teeth, then firmly grasped Pax’s shoulder. If he was going to do it, he couldn’t pussyfoot. He had to cut deep and fast. Anything less would just add to Pax’s misery. Recalling where he’d seen the other scars, he made a best guess.
“Brace yourself,” he mumbled around the flashlight. Ellis took another breath and pushed the blade into Pax’s shoulder.
Pax cried out and jerked sharply, forcing Ellis to squeeze hard to hold Pax still. He shoved deeper. Pax cried louder. The sound was almost surprised—a consternated “Oh!” that lingered as if Pax were starting to sing “Oklahoma.” It only took a second to make a slice big enough that Ellis could have inserted a quarter in. Blood dripped out, but not as much as he had expected. Ellis had imagined a spray of some kind, like Pax was a balloon filled with blood. With the cut made, he had to find the chip, and there was only one way he could do that.
Ellis pressed his index finger into the opening and began to probe. Pax shifted, thighs drumming as if the ground were on fire. More blood was coming out. Several streaks teared down the full length of Pax’s arm, spilling on the back of Pax’s hand that spread out on the jungle floor like the roots of a tiny tree. Pax’s fingers dug into the mulch, ripping it, squeezing it. He could feel Pax’s body quiver, hear a shuddering breath. Ellis was uncertain which of them it belonged to.
Somewhere in the night the relative quiet of the jungle exploded into squawks and shrieks.
“They’re here,” Pax managed to whisper with a stolen intake of air.
Ellis ignored the sounds. A python could have slithered up his pant leg and he wouldn’t have cared. He had his finger buried up to the second knuckle in Pax’s flesh, worming its way around tendons and…he was pretty sure—yes, that was a bone. Just when he was starting to despair at not finding anything, Ellis’s fingertip touched something oddly solid. Wafer-thin, it might have been a tiddlywink. He inserted the blade again, excavating toward it. He forced himself to tune out the grunts and gasps, jerks and jolts. The best way to save Pax pain now was to just focus and get the job done.
He was close, and if he’d had a pair of needle-nose pliers he could have yanked the damn thing out, but instead he had to use the blade again. He cut in a second incision, creating more of an X opening, giving him room to put both fingers inside. Pax’s head was back, bouncing against the tree and popping the brim of the bowler hat up, eyes squeezed tight, lips pinched, shaking hard. Then Ellis caught the thing. A slick disk he pinched tight between two fingers and pulled. It came free with a sucking sound that coincided with a cry from Pax.
“Got it!” Ellis gasped in triumph.
He set the disk aside and pulled the first-aid kit out. He tore the wrapper off a sterile pad, held it to the wound, and began wrapping a gauze bandage around Pax’s shoulder. When he was done, he repeated the process with the medical tape.
Somewhere in the darkness he could hear snapping branches.
Pax’s face was slick with moisture. “They heard me. We need to go.”
“Wait,” Ellis said. “If we send this chip through a portal, they’ll think it was you, right?”
Pax nodded.
“Then dial up someplace crazy.”
Ellis used his big, bloody knife to strip a chunk of bark off the tree, then taped the chip to it. As he did, Pax worked the Port-a-Call with one hand. The portal opened. Through it, all Ellis could see was a star field. He wound up and pitched the chunk of bark as hard as he could through the opening. Pax closed the portal and began dialing up the next as Ellis stuffed everything back in his knapsack, including Pax’s shirt and coat.
Somewhere to their left, Ellis heard people hacking through the undergrowth, and he saw a light splash across the underside of the canopy. The shrill voices of an excited jungle cut the night.
Pax popped another portal next to them, showing the same nighttime forest as earlier. Ellis threw his pack over one arm and scooped Pax up with the other, and together they staggered through the opening.
Chapter Eight
Another Time, Another Place
Pax was still asleep when the sun came up.
Ellis sat on the hill, marveling at the notion that he was very close to the same place he had been on his first morning after time traveling. He was back in Dearborn, Michigan, and somewhere down the slope to the south was Greenfield Village. The only difference between the sunrise that morning and the falselight dawn he’d witnessed at Pax’s home was the heat he felt and the realization that the genuine article was somehow less beautiful. The real sunrise was now a bit plain, like going back to vanilla after tasting peanut butter chocolate fudge crunch.
Ellis remembered how sad he’d felt the last time he sat there. He’d just lost everything, and believed he would die alone. He had the whole world, and yet no one to share it with. Ellis looked down at Pax nestled against the pillow of his knapsack, covered in the blanket of the frock coat. He lifted the corner to check the wound. He’d changed the pad once already—the old one had been a bloody mess. He threw it as far away as he could. Blood attracted animals to campsites. All they needed was a bear.
The current pad was still white.
The night before, after replacing the bandage, Pax had unexpectedly fallen asleep propped up in Ellis’s arms. He had panicked, thinking that blood loss had caused Pax to pass out. He woke Pax, who assured him nothing was wrong. “I’m just exhausted, and this”—Pax squeezed his arm—“is nice. Lying here feels good, and I haven’t felt good in a very long time.”
Pax fell asleep again and left Ellis replaying those words over in his head. Did anyone feel good for long? Ellis couldn’t remember the last time he felt that wonderful brand of no-worries-no-regrets good. Such moments were lost to the mists of youth, but most likely they never existed at all. If he really thought about it, being a child had been a nightmare of fears and a frustration of restrictions. Like photographs that yellowed, memories got rosier with age, and no memories were older than childhood.
Wallowing through the sludge of unremarkable routine, dodging bouts with disaster, humanity still survived off fleeting gasps of happiness. Ellis wondered if he’d ever feel truly good again, or if even that mundane dream had slipped past him. In the still night, on a silent world with Pax sleeping safe beside him, Ellis realized this was his moment to breathe.
As the sun rose, he was still thinking about what Pax had said and wondering what the words meant.
“Morning,” Ellis said, noticing Pax’s eyes flutter open.
Pax shivered.