“To save millions of people—you’re damn right.”
“They aren’t people. You and I are the last real humans, Ellis. All these others”—he pointed at Pax—“are an abomination—test-tube sideshow freaks. This is our one chance to fix it. Don’t you see? That’s why we were sent here. That’s why God chucked us through time. He needed our help in putting His world back together. God needs us to kill off these abominations so that His real children can fulfill the scriptures. You have to be able to see that.”
Ellis shook his head, taking slow steps forward. He wanted to close the distance in case he did have to shoot. He wasn’t a good shot. He’d only fired the gun a few times. He’d managed to hit Hal because he was at point-blank range. Warren probably wouldn’t let him get that close. “I have a problem anytime anyone uses kill and God in the same sentence.”
“That’s because you haven’t read the Bible. God—the real God, not the liberal-bullshit-hippie God—is like a Mafia boss. The God of the Bible ordered killings all the time. Ordered his number one follower—Abraham—to kill his own son. Talk about some messed-up shit. Then He had Moses slaughter all those Egyptians and the others who were on the wrong side when he came down the mountain—they changed that scene for the movie The Ten Commandments, but it happened. And God ordered Joshua to take out Jericho—killed a whole city, every man, woman, and child slaughtered. Why? To make room for His chosen people. And that’s what I’m doing. That’s what God wants us to do.”
“Not today.” Ellis took a step forward. “Now back up—I mean it, Warren.”
“Shoot him,” Pax said.
Ellis was shocked. Pax’s tone was dead serious. More than serious—earnest. Remembering how Pax had reacted to the last shooting, he couldn’t understand. “What?”
“He has a pistol,” Pax spoke quickly. “Tucked in the belt of his pants behind his back. It’s his little Sig P245, the one he never told you about because he bought it when he decided to rob Olson’s Liquor over on Fenkle. Ford was on strike, and Kelly was whining about money. He hid the gun for years. Only now he’s going to pull it out and shoot you with it.”
“Warren?” Ellis stared across the length of the golden tunnel at his friend.
“He thinks you can’t be trusted anymore,” Pax went on. “He thinks you’ve been brainwashed by us—by me especially. He’s thinking I’m controlling you right now like a puppet master. Maybe we did something to you when we operated on your heart and lungs—put something in your brain, a chip perhaps. Yeah—that has to be it. The fuckers put a goddamn chip in Ellis’s brain, and now they control the poor bastard. He’s a zombie for them now. Holy fuck! How is that freak—that fucker is reading my goddamn mind! Saying out loud everything I’m thinking as I fucking think it! Oh shit! Oh shit! Sorry, Ellis—Jesus, man! I really hate to do this, but if there is any of you left in there, you know I have to. Goodbye, buddy.”
Warren twisted, reaching around behind him.
“Shoot him! Shoot him now!” Pax yelled.
Ellis flipped off the safety. He could do this. He took aim at Warren’s left thigh and pulled the trigger. He was rushed, frightened, and the instant he pulled that trigger, he knew he’d missed.
Squeeze the trigger. Don’t pull it!
That’s what the instructor had said at the gun range; that’s what the instruction manual had indicated too. Take a deep breath, let a little out, hold it, and very slowly, gently, squeeze the trigger.
Maybe that worked on a gun range where they had nice earmuffs and nonthreatening targets with concentric circles. Things were a tad different when you were standing near a ticking H-bomb in a transparent corridor over a lake of lava, and your best friend was about to blow your head off because he thought you were a zombie.
The gun shoved Ellis back, his arms popping up like they had last time. He needed to bring the gun down, take better aim, and shoot again before—
Ellis hadn’t missed. He could tell because Warren jerked.
There was a hole in the center of Warren’s radiation suit. Not in his thigh, but in his chest. If Warren had been one of those silhouette targets at the range, Ellis would have scored a perfect bull’s eye. His oldest friend glared at him, shocked. He tried to speak, the mumbled gasp drowned mostly by the echo of the gunshot. Knees buckled, and Warren crumpled face-forward to the floor of the tunnel.
Ellis didn’t understand.
What just happened?
He stood frozen, looking at Warren, confused.
I didn’t kill him. I couldn’t have killed him.
Ellis expected Warren to get up even though he knew he wasn’t going to.
Warren can’t be dead. I aimed for his leg! I aimed for his leg!
Pax had the Port-a-Call out and jogged forward.
A portal leading to a star field of open space appeared inside the corridor. The conflicting energy of the portal in a portal created a rainbow of colors that sparked like a Tesla coil. From the wide eyes of Pax, Ellis could tell the light show was unexpected. Still, Pax had the presence of mind to shout back at Ellis, “Hurry! We need to roll this through.”
He looked at his watch. The glowing blue numbers read: 00:3:48.
Ellis ran forward and helped Pax push. The portal was only three feet away and right in front of the warhead, but even on wheels the bomb was hard to move. The thing felt like it weighed the same as a Volkswagen, and the portway gave little traction. Ellis’s feet were slipping and sliding. Then the case began to move, rolling slowly at first but then picking up speed.
“Don’t follow it through,” Pax warned, grabbing him. “Let it roll.”
The bomb continued to coast without their help, but when it reached the portal, it slammed to a stop.
“Storm it all!” Pax shouted.
It was obvious what had happened. The opening Pax made was an inch too high, and the wheels caught the lip. Objects needed to fully pass into a portal. Another safety feature, Ellis guessed, to stop people or things from being sheared off. Unless they could lift it and heave it through, the portal would need to be lowered.
Ellis looked at his watch: 00:2:38.
Pax pulled out the Port-a-Call again, and a second later the light show ended as the portal to space disappeared.
Ellis glanced down at Warren. There was a hole in the back of the suit. A much bigger one. Blood bubbled up like a tiny artesian well and drained down his sides onto the floor of the portway, where it made a growing puddle, spilling out bright red that was being illuminated from below by the lava. Warren wasn’t moving—wasn’t breathing.
“Stupid, stupid!” Pax was shouting even while manipulating the tiny control. Another portal appeared, this one at the same level, but a foot to the left. “Wrong bleezing coords, Pax!”
“Two-minute warning,” Ellis said.
The portal winked out.
Pax glared at the Port-a-Call with a fierce intensity that reminded Ellis of Isley playing with his Game Boy. Epic boss mob, Dad! he had shouted when Ellis had told him to empty the kitchen’s garbage. I’m down to my last life!
Another portal appeared, kicking out a new lightning-storm light show that caused it to flicker. This portal dipped down below the surface of the tunnel about a foot, and at the intersection the two wormholes fought each other. The whole portway flickered briefly, threatening to cut out.
Don’t worry. We haven’t had a tunnel failure yet. Everything down at this level runs off the Big D, and nothing’s going to interrupt her. Ellis hoped Geo-12 was right.
The new portal was also three feet back. Pax wisely realized they would need a runway to get the bomb rolling again.
Without a word, the two began pushing, only to find that Warren’s blood had spread out across the floor of the tunnel and partly around the bomb. It was like trying to push a car on ice.
Ellis pulled off his sweater and threw it on the ground, giving them something to get traction on.