The cartoonist stepped off the landing with a listless yawn. He wasn’t fully awake yet, and he was nervous about all the wrong things. His mind was still trying to predict Quint’s next move.
He saw the door to Quint’s office and fought the temptation to reverse the lock. Maybe his parting cash was already in there. Or maybe he would find some smoking-gun evidence that would convince the others to leave with him. The closer Zack got to his departure with Theo, the worse he felt about splintering the group.
Sighing, he abandoned his burglary scheme. Odds were slim he’d find anything useful in there. And knowing Quint, he probably trained his mice to attack.
He continued down the hall, glancing in perplexity at the many unmarked doors. He cupped his hands around his mouth and projected his voice.
“Uh, hey, Theo? It’s Zack. Just thought I’d play fire marshal and see if you’re okay. The thing is, I don’t know which room is yours. Can you give me a yell? Or better yet, come out?”
After ten more seconds and two more calls, Zack reeled with fresh unease. Three of his friends seemed to be missing in action. Half my world’s population, he bleakly mused.
“Okay, Theo, I’m at orange alert now. Last chance to speak up before I get twitchy.”
Theo kept his back to his door, his face trembling. He couldn’t bring himself to move. His higher functions and lower instincts seemed united in the fear that Zack would die if he made a sound.
Frustrated, Zack began testing locked doors. He soon noticed one that was open a crack.
As he touched the knob, a tinny squeal filled the building, loud enough to make him wince. Mia’s high voice blared down from the ceiling.
“—AWAY FROM THERE! THERE’S A GUY WITH A GUN IN THERE! ZACK!”
The door flung open. A large man shoved Zack across the corridor, pinning him against the elevator doors. Hot air escaped his lungs.
The intruder pressed his gun to Zack’s temple. Mia screamed through the speakers.
“NO! I ALREADY CALLED THE POLICE! THEY’LL BE HERE ANY SECOND!”
The man kept his gaze and his muzzle fixed. He spoke in a deep graveled voice, peppered with the unmistakable inflections of a native New Yorker.
“Would you please do something about the girl?”
Zack shook his head. “I don’t know what you want me to—”
“I wasn’t talking to you.”
Zack could see a small microphone clipped to the man’s collar.
Mia debated extending her bluff. In truth, she had no luck reaching anyone on the phone. The concepts of 0 and 911 were purely old-America. There were no signs, no stickies, no wisdom again from Future Mia on how to reach the authorities.
She suddenly felt a deep chill on her skin. She saw the steam of her own breath. Mia turned around, just as the door to the security room grew white with frost. It creaked. It splintered.
—
The moment the gun touched his skin, Zack lost his foothold on time. He existed in a breathless state of suspension, in which every sensation and detail was exponentially magnified. He could feel each bead of sweat on his skin, count every peach-fuzz hair on the scalp of his assailant. He could see through the man’s sunglasses, into his dark brown eyes. Early thirties. Italian. Maybe Jewish. Doesn’t look crazy. Doesn’t even look angry.
For all his hyperclarity, Zack couldn’t reach the trigger to his own special weapon. His weirdness rested deep on the other side of his mind, behind a cyclone of fearful distraction. He didn’t want to die here. Not like this. Not without knowing why.
“Who are you? Why are you doing this?”
Without taking his eyes off Zack, the large man fired his gun at two different parts of the ceiling. Zack grimaced at the booming gunshots, then noticed the new glass fragments on the floor.
He shot the cameras. He shot both cameras without even looking.
The gunman pulled down his bandana. He had a wide and bumpy nose that had clearly been broken more than once, plus several tiny scars along his cheeks and chin. Zack could only guess that he’d been picking fights from the moment he left the crib.
“Folks call me Rebel, but that doesn’t matter. All you need to know is that this is my world and you ripped a hole in it.”
Zack spotted a hint of movement in the corner of his vision. He fought to keep his gaze on Rebel. “You think it was my choice to come here?”
“Doesn’t matter either. The longer you people live, the worse the problem gets. I’ve seen the future, brother. I’ll do whatever it takes to stop it from happening.”
He pressed the gun to Zack’s chest. What was once a cool muzzle now burned like a stove.
“No!” Zack yelled. “Just go! Go!”
“Sorry. This is how it’s gotta be.”
Zack wasn’t talking to Rebel. Ten feet away, Theo continued his sneaking approach. He’d crept out of his room, chair leg in hand, then deftly skirted the broken glass on the floor.
Sadly, none of his stealth mattered. The moment he got within eight feet of Rebel, the man’s muscular arm swung like a hinge.
He shot Theo without even looking.