Linda Evans - Far Edge of Darkness

The shot ripped into the sand two inches to the right of McKee's head. Whoever he was, the stranger snarled and came up fighting.

He fought dirty .

Dan grunted, got in a punch to the solar plexus—

McKee's boot connected with Dan's ribs. Another kick caught the stranger on the point of the shoulder. A third sent his rifle spinning away across the sand.

" Halt! " McKee thundered. He'd retrieved Dan's 9mm semiauto. The unwinking muzzle refused compromise.

They rolled apart. Dan blinked grit and ash out of his eyes and wondered a little hysterically what came next.

McKee spoke first. "Collins," he grunted reluctantly, with a darting glance in Dan's direction, "I owe you my life. And that surprises the living shit out of me. I really didn't believe you."

"Great. You're welcome."

McKee turned a glare on the man who'd just tried to shoot him. Dan noted with grim satisfaction that McKee had the pistol trained on someone else for a change.

"Now just who are you?" McKee demanded.

Instead of answering, the battered, nearly naked man stared from McKee to Dan and back. "Will somebody please tell me what hell is going on?"

"Logan Pfeiffer McKee," Dan said drily, glancing at the escaped madman who held that 9mm steadily in his direction, "meet another one of Carreras' victims." He gestured toward the nearly naked man crouched nearby. "He hasn't bothered to tell me his name. Not that I blame him. If I were in his shoes, that is, if he had any, I wouldn't be too trusting, either."

The men studied one another. The stranger said to McKee, "If you're supposed to be Carreras' victim, how come you had this guy cuffed?"

McKee gave him a bark of laughter. "What would you do if you got the drop on one of Carreras' hired killers?"

"Shoot him."

The calm answer clearly startled McKee.

"He shot both guards through the head, McKee," Dan offered. "Didn't even wake them up first."

McKee's glance at the stranger was piercing. "Did you, now? And logically thought I was one of them. Thanks for saving me till last." He nodded toward Dan. "Carreras ordered this guy to kill me."

The scarred stranger shook his head. "You just lost me again, pal. If he's one of Carreras' men, why didn't he just shoot both of us? I gave him a rifle," he added brusquely, with a dark glance toward Dan.

"Yeah, well, it isn't real clear to me, either," McKee muttered. McKee rubbed grit out of his hair. "Look, buddy, I don't know much about what's going on, so there isn't much I can tell you. My name's Logan McKee, like the colonel, here, said. I'm nobody special, just an escaped lunatic who found out too much about Carreras by accident. This guy is Colonel Dan Collins, in charge of this whole mixed up time-travel mess."

The stranger shot Dan an intent stare.

McKee was still talking. "He claims his family and a bunch of other people are being held hostage. I didn't believe him. Now I'm not so sure. He did keep you from shooting me. Like you say, I don't figure he'd have done that if he was one of Carreras' men."

" Hostages? " the stranger repeated. "Jesus H— No wonder..." He focused on Dan's face. Then glanced at McKee. "I don't know what he told you, McKee, but I'd be inclined to believe him. Carreras does have hostages. I've seen the list of names. Somebody called Firelli"—both McKee and Dan started—"and some kid named Zac Hughes, and a woman and her son." He swung on Dan. "Collins. Their names were Collins. Lucille and Danny."

Dan asked very quietly, "How do you know that?"

The stranger hesitated. Then his face closed into something completely unreadable. "I've had a few business dealings with Carreras. Snooped into some things I didn't expect to find."

Dan began to sweat again. "Mister, what you know about us is not only one of the most classified military secrets in history, it's also enough to get a whole lot of innocent people killed. And we don't know jack shit about you."

The stranger just grinned, a red-haired imp in the light from the truck's headlamps. "Good. I think I like it that way. You can," he added, "call me Charlie."

"Well, Charlie," McKee said dryly, still holding the rifle, "would you mind at least telling us where we are? We weren't supposed to end up here at all."

Charlie's brows dove together. "That's very interesting, gentlemen. Very interesting, indeed. No wonder you were arguing so intently."

McKee grimaced and muttered under his breath.

Charlie laughed aloud. "You don't know how good that makes me feel, McKee. I haven't exactly had a good year—"

"A year ?" Dan gasped.

Charlie darted him a surprised glance. "Well, actually, it's been four. But the past year was, in some ways, the worst. You're the hotshot engineer, Collins. Can't you see it? Time on this end is completely irrelevant. For all I know, back home it's the same day Carreras' crew dumped me here to die. Or maybe that was twenty years ago. Or fifty years from now. Time on this end doesn't mean a thing."

Dan shook his head. "No, it can't have been more than four months. They haven't had access to the equipment longer than that."

Charlie's glance was keen. "That so? Good. Then they're still learning."

Dan shuddered. "Yes."

"Well." He seemed to shake off some impenetrable thought process, then glanced at McKee. "To answer your question, you're standing on the beachfront near the spa town of Stabiae, on the southeastern edge of the Bay of Naples, sometime on the morning after Vesuvius blew up. The year's, uh, a.d. 79, the way we count years. That"—he pointed off inland, into the heart of the black ashfall—"is Vesuvius. That"—he pointed across the bay at the triremes—"is the Roman Navy, which tried to get to Herculaneum and Pompeii last night to rescue survivors." His voice darkened. "They didn't make it. We almost didn't. We got out of Herculaneum harbor right ahead of the eruption." Something in his voice made Dan's skin crawl.

McKee's keen insight startled Dan. "Who didn't make it out, Charlie?"

Charlie turned away from them. He stared across the dark water. Ash settled blackly across his shoulders and hair and scarred back. "Another of Carreras' victims." After a moment, he added, "She's the only reason I'm alive now. She knew the eruption was coming and warned me... ."

Dan shut his eyes.

Charlie added with a growl, "Look, let me get my kid. Then let's get the hell out of here. If that's all right with you?"

Dan turned his head to see a child huddled on the beach sand. He hadn't even noticed. Evidently, neither had McKee, from the surprise in his eyes. Charlie picked up a little girl who couldn't have been a year old and carried her back toward the truck. Her hair, in the glow of the headlights, was a bright red-gold. Her eyes were wide and scared. Charlie hugged her close.

"If it hadn't been for Lucky, here, I'd have stayed and kept looking," Charlie said quietly.

Dan didn't know what to say. McKee holstered the pistol. "Letting yourself be killed never stops the enemy, Charlie. They just keep on killing as long as civilized pansies let them."

The look Charlie shot McKee was dark and deadly. "Watch your mouth, McKee."

The lunatic held his gaze. "You know I'm right."

"So how do we find Carreras?" Charlie asked. His voice was anything but civilized.

The naked brutality in Charlie's eyes shook Dan to the core. Clearly, there were several forms of hell worse than the one he'd been living.

"Get into the truck," Dan said quietly. "This'll take about ten, fifteen minutes."

Another time storm was already beginning to rumble when Collins suggested quietly, "Why don't you go around back, Charlie, and salvage some clothes? Boots, socks, parka, and all. It's going to be colder than a—" Collins glanced at the wide-eyed little girl watching him and said, instead, "It's going to cold if we get where we're trying to go. Bundle up the kid, too."