Future Lost

20

“I was going to tell you everything when I got back, I swear. I just didn’t want you to worry.” He drops his head. “I thought I could fix things. It was supposed to be a quick trip, in and out of the future in no time. I’d talk to my older self, figure out the issue with the cure, and be back before you knew it with the answer. But as soon as I got here, I realized I’d made a huge mistake.”

I drag my hands across my face. I’m still upset with him, but our time is running out here, and we can’t have this argument now. “When we get back to the present, we need to have a serious talk.”

He draws in a shaky breath and nods. In the past year, I’ve learned to read Adam well, and I see regret and exhaustion written all over his features, although the more I study him, the more concerned I become. He has dark circles under his eyes, and his glasses are nowhere to be seen. He’s wearing a gray work shirt I’ve never seen before, and his jeans have a new tear through the knee. His hair is longer than when I last saw him, and he looks like he hasn’t shaved in days. But most startling of all is the brand-new scar along his jaw.

I raise a hesitant finger to the scar. “How long have you been in the future?”

He turns his head away, brushing off my touch. “Seventy-three days.”

“My God,” I whisper. I thought the accelerator was only off by a few hours, possibly even a day or two, but he’s been in this future for months. “Have you been in this base the entire time?”

“Yeah. The Militia arrived within minutes of me stepping out of Aether. It was long enough for me to get attacked by Infected though.” His fingers graze the scar on his chin. “I was relieved to see the Militia at first. Now I just want to go home.”

“Why are they keeping you here?”

“They want me to develop a vaccine or a cure for the Infected. They won’t let me leave until I do.” He gestures to the counter beside us, where he was using a microscope when I walked in. For the first time, I drag my eyes off Adam and examine the room we’re in. It’s a lot like his lab in the present, with science equipment scattered around the room, although on a smaller scale. No windows, and the only door out is reinforced. The room is completely sealed, probably to prevent contaminants from getting in or out.

“Why you?” I ask.

“Because I’m the one who caused all this. I’m the one who’s responsible for the end of the world.”

“What do you mean? I thought a neo-Nazi terrorist group released the virus as some sort of ethnic-cleansing bullshit.”

“They did. But I’m the one who made it. The virus that wiped out the world was genicote. They turned my cure for cancer into a biological weapon.”

“Like in the other timelines,” I say. “First Aether, then Pharmateka, and now this White Outs group.”

“Yes, but they did it much faster and made it even worse. Something I did caused that, whether it was making the cure earlier from the sample we got from Jeremy or coming here now. I’m not sure.” He gazes across the laboratory with haunted eyes. “It’s my fault the world is going to end. And I have to be the one who stops it.”

03:50

Michael returns with some water for us, then leans against one of the lab’s counters, crossing his arms as he appraises us. It’s such a Chris pose that I momentarily see my friend there instead of his son. “You know, until Adam showed up a few months ago, I never really believed you two about time travel. But you look just like you did when I was a kid, and you were here when you said you’d be, so I guess it’s all true.”

“How much did we tell you?” I ask.

“Not much,” he admits. “You two were always pretty secretive.” He stares off into the distance as he continues. “My parents died when I was eleven, and you took me in after that, but neither of you was especially open about what you’d been through. But things changed after Ava…”

He stops and glances at me with apology in his eyes. Adam reaches out and grabs my hand, sadness written all over his face.

“It’s okay,” I say, squeezing Adam’s hand. “I already know.”

Michael nods. “After she died and Adam killed himself, you gave me something.” He pulls a crumpled envelope from inside his uniform. “You told me one day I’d meet your younger self and that I should give this to you. And here we are.”

I take the envelope from him and turn it over in my hand. It weighs nothing, has yellowed edges, and looks like it’s never been opened. I tear into it and find a single item inside: a black-and-white photograph. From the angle, it looks like it was taken from a security camera. The photo shows a guy with a Dodgers baseball cap, a light-colored windbreaker, and a large backpack walking through a crowd of shoppers. A time stamp marks it as taken on Black Friday at 2:58 p.m. in the Beverly Center—a shopping center not far from Miracle Mile.

“Who is that?” Adam asks, peering over my shoulder.

“You both believed it was one of the men who released the virus,” Michael says.

My breath catches. With this photo, we might be able to do something to prevent the virus. If we can find this man, maybe we can trace him back to the rest of the White Outs and stop them.

“I waited fifteen years to give that to you,” Michael says. “I hope you can use it to stop all of this from happening.”

My head snaps up. “I died fifteen years ago? How?”