"What happened?" Sheshai asked. It had been an hour since Ernest's stroke, and she had done everything possible with her limited resources. He refused hospitalization and fought her efforts to stop him sitting upright. The minor acquiescence she won was his drinking some water.
"I don't know. Let me see the names." He reviewed his writing. "That's right. The first one set off the fireworks; the others were on bikes. Get this to the government."
"Wait a moment."
"No wait. Now. The FBI needs to start surveillance as soon as possible."
"Okay, but we need to think about this first. It's only three names."
"It was three names they found in the first eight hours. You yourself said that they should be able to find the other two with this. Call them. That's an order."
"An order? You're ordering me?"
"Uh, okay," Graham said, pushing his chair back with baby steps towards his desk.
"Listen." Sheshai raised a hand. "Let's wait a few hours, test the information, and see what comes of it. I'm concerned about you. What happened? What were you doing at the time?"
"Nothing. We were having breakfast. We had the names, we were celebrating, and it was eleven o'clock, two days after the attack." A pause before, "Just like the last time."
"What do you mean, the last time?"
He stalled with a sip of water, not speaking until he placed the cup on the dresser. "The first time, when all this started, I thought it was real. I watched the news and donated some money to local charities. The next day, I went to work as normal. Both times, at the same time, I felt like my life was ripped out of me. I think... I think that's the moment I die."
Sheshai shook her head. "No. I don't believe that."
"You wouldn't. You wouldn't want to."
"It's probably just a coincidence. Look, we got what we need. Just get some rest."
"No, I need to find out what's going on. I need to go back."
"No, you need to rest. We still don't know how you do what you do, and if this time was different, we have to understand why. What do you remember about the sensation?"
"It's like someone or some force was pushing me out of my body. I can't explain it. It was like my soul being knocked out," he said, tapping his left shoulder.
Graham returned with an arched eyebrow. "A heart attack?"
"No, that's the direction I was pushed from." He pointed with a pen to illustrate.
"Diagonal on your arm? That's pretty specific. Where were you?"
"Sitting in that chair."
Graham headed to his computer as Sheshai asked. "What are you thinking?"
Ignoring her, he called over his shoulder, "Where did you feel it, the first time?"
"Like I was pushed from the back."
"If this was science fiction," Graham said, "I'd say some force caused your abilities, but we won't know until we pinpoint the origin, and we can't do that without more data."
Sheshai glared at Graham. "You want him to go back."
"I don't want him to, but he has to."
"He's not strong enough. We wait a day or two, let him recuperate."
"I'm fine," Ernest said, "and now that we know what to expect, you can prepare for it."
"He isn't strong enough to handle it," she whispered.
Graham held up his hands. "The day is coming, whether we want it to or not. We prepared a day for this. We don't do it now, what are the things we are going to miss when we don't have the time, or when this moment sneaks up on us?" He gave a glance to Ernest and whispered back, "You know him. He won't wait. The guy thinks he's going to die. If we don't do it now, he'll probably jump the first chance he gets, and when we're not around."
Sheshai sat and placed her hands together, thumbs under her chin, index fingers at the top of her nose, as if performing a Christian prayer. A few moments' reflection, and she nodded.
They returned to Ernest's bedside, where he was lying flat on his back. "I'm going back," Ernest said with a pout. "I don't care what either of you say."
Sheshai nodded. "Okay."
"Okay?" He sat up by creeping upright on his elbows. "Really?"
"You're right. You allotted a window for this, and if something happens in the future, we need to know. Talk to us, find a precise place, and we'll figure the GPS coordinates later."
***
Ernest stood on the street outside the gardening center, watching the horizon. He held a digital watch before him that displayed the time. 10:59:57. 10:59:58. 10:59:59...
***
Ernest blinked awake. "That was odd."
"What happened?" Graham asked.
"We were here, upstairs, same day and time. I was facing north, and I felt myself pushed out again, but nothing bad. It was more like a light breeze through me. I feel fine."
"That makes no sense. Which way did you feel it that time?" When he pointed on his right arm, Graham shook his head. "The first time it was here, it was violent and southeast. The second time was non-violent and southwest. The first time, where were you sitting exactly?"
He pointed at the table chair. "Right there. Oh, wait. Not here; in Bethesda."
"Bethesda?" Graham started to anger, but a look from Sheshai reminded him not to agitate Ernest. A loud exhale before, "Even though Bethesda looks the same, the inside faces a totally different direction." He typed coordinates into his computer, bringing a map up on screen. "Okay, Bethesda and D. C. are practically neighbors, while New Orleans is over a thousand miles away. The angles from Bethesda and New Orleans both point generally to D. C. If something happened there, then maybe the closer you are, the worse it is for you."
Sheshai approved of this. "Good. You see, you're not dying. Something in Washington caused your problem. All we have to do is keep him as far away as possible."
"The problem is that we can't pinpoint a location. The farther away he is, the less accurate we can be about the source of the... whatever. If he's closer, like really close, we can maybe figure out where down to a block."
"He's not getting closer."
"We creep him up towards it. We still need to see what happens when he gives the information to the government." Graham examined the map, increasing the size to see the names of cities. "Let's cut the difference; go halfway between there and here, like--"
"Incrementally by ten percent."
"He felt nothing at this distance. We may not have the time to inch forward. We have a facility in Atlanta, over six hundred miles away."
There was some mild arguing before Sheshai acquiesced. To Ernest, she said, "When you're there, first send the names to the government and let us know if the attack is stopped."
"Okay, thanks." He held her fingers and gave them a little shake. "It's going to be fine."
"We'll see," and after some preparations, Ernest was off again while Sheshai sat vigil by his side. Graham sent files to the printer as he manipulated data. "Okay. We're good today and after. We have names and locations of all the major events. Tomorrow is a mass shooting; the day after, a nasty bank robbery. The guy for tomorrow, Donald , uh,... Donald S., I'll find where he lives so we can, you know, intercept with some pre-emptive action." Graham ran searches while trying to get all the cards in envelopes for the next forty-eight hours. He knew there was little chance Sheshai would move until Ernest returned to the present.
"I found a Facebook page," he called out. It was part of their routine that kept everyone informed of their progress. "Same name, claims he works at the Braghen plant, has a family, likes guns and bars. There's also references to--"
***
Ernest's stroke was worse this time, and Sheshai's countermeasures were not having a noticeable effect. He seized up and the bed shuddered from his spasmed lurching. "Stop," Sheshai said. "Stop. Please stop." To Graham, "Call an ambulance!"
"He doesn't want that."
"I don't care what he wants. He'll die if we don't."
Graham cursed and pulled out his phone. Sheshai placed her hands on the sides of Ernest's face. He twitched some more before passing out. They retrieved a wheelchair, struggled to lower him into it, and guided him outside to an awaiting ambulance. Sheshai informed the paramedics of the variety of drugs she administered and rode with them to the hospital. Graham watched from the doorway before locking the sunlight out once more and retreating back inside.
***
In the ER, Sheshai stood on the sidelines as emergency physicians administered various TPA and antiplatelet drugs, stabilizing Ernest. She used an alias, but the credentials were good as his personal doctor. After covering his medical history, she stepped aside. Doctors and nurses have a rhythm and she wasn't a part of it. Besides, despite time and a different hairstyle, she was in a hospital once more, and there was a chance someone might recognize her.
Her phone rang with a call from Graham. "We don't know anything yet."
"Okay, but that's not why I called. Monty's on his way in to pick up equipment and their lists. I haven't finished the research on the auto plant shooter, and we haven't been able to backtrack the bank robbery. If we had their names, we could stop them before they show up--"
"Just give them what we have. They'll just have to make it work. And whatever you do, don't mention Ernest. They can't help, and they can't afford to be distracted."
The emergency doctors approached, so she extended a curt good-bye and hung up. They stated that the preliminary examination showed no paralysis or slurred speech, but there would be nothing definite until morning. As his primary, she was allowed to stay beyond visiting hours. She sat by his bed and watched him sleep. He never slept enough in the first place, and the day's exertions had taken a lot out of him. She sat bedside through the setting sun, noting the routine appearances of the nursing staff, watching to ensure all procedures were performed satisfactorily.
At some point, she must have dozed off herself, awaking with a start at daybreak. Ernest was already up, though he seemed to have aged ten years overnight. He smiled with effort. "You look as tired as I feel."
"How long have you been awake?"
"A few hours. I wanted to let you sleep. You needed the rest."
"You're the one who needed to rest. You're up eighteen hours a day easy."
"If it's bad for me, well, you're usually up before me and awake after I've gone to bed."
"That's different. I don't do what you do. We really don't know what effects it has on you long term. And we never should have tried again so soon. That's my fault."
"It's okay."
"No. It's not."
"Yes, it is. I'm going to be fine."
"You can't know that."
"Actually, I am pretty much the only one that can be certain of it. We already discussed it." He smiled at her confusion. "Another you. Future you."
"You did it again? After what just happened?"
"I had to. I needed to talk to someone."
"You could have woken me, talked to me."
"I did talk to you, and you found a new problem."
Sheshai leaned back in the chair, fuming. "What now?"
"When this thing hit me, the last bad time, I was facing north on the edge of Atlanta, and I felt as if I was hit from the back and from the side."
"Okay."
"If the sensation came from D. C., I should have felt it from the front, so I asked you all about it. You and Graham came up with a theory that we tried out about six times."
"Are you telling me that you've jumped multiple times since last night?"
"It's okay. You said it was okay."
"I would never say that."
"You said you were really mad that I did it again so soon after what just happened--"
"I am really mad that you did it again so soon after what happened. Furious."
"But you also said that since I had already done it, it was probably better that I was in a hospital at the time. That's not what's important."
"Your health is what's important."
"No. This is. I tried again, far away, and did not alert the government, and we made sure that I was facing D.C. Every time, I can say that the feeling came from D.C. When we contacted the government about the attack, it took a little maneuvering, but we isolated it down to Atlanta."
"That doesn't make sense."
"You've said that each time. You also said that when I came back here, I needed to tell you two things. First, after the first stroke, I had a dream, or I thought I had a dream, but we think it might be a memory. I don't remember much from the first time, but these last two times, I remembered a bright flash before I was sent back here. You got a real concerned look on your face, like you were thinking of something." He pointed at her face. "Yeah. That look."
Sheshai was considering something, something unpleasant. Quietly, she asked, "What was the other thing?"
"I'm supposed to tell you about the storm."
***
Sheshai watched as a sedative was administered to help him sleep. His breathing slowed and his vitals stabilized, but her worry was now not so much for him as it was for what he had said. She needed to talk to someone, and Graham was her best option, but he couldn't come to the hospital and she couldn't call him. The NSA's ECHELON project scanned phone conversations for specific key words, and in order to tell him what she was thinking, she'd probably end up using half of them.
***
Sheshai returned to their garage expecting to find Graham standing under the industrial air filter hot-boxing a cigarette. It was where he smoked whenever everyone left. Graham knew neither of his roommates approved, especially since he would normally be a meticulous health fanatic, except for times of stress or celebration, where he would scarf down junk food or knock back a couple beers. She parked and walked back into the main room.
"How's he doing?" Graham asked as Sheshai entered.
"We won't be sure until tomorrow. They'll do tests and we'll see then. They're not sure what it is that's going on. It was more like a mini-stroke combined with an epileptic seizure."
"Is he going to make it?"
"Yeah. He's tired, but conscious, alert, eating. He even decided to do some more investigating on his own."
"Are you serious?"
"Don't even get me started on that. I can't tell you how furious I was." She headed to the couch and dropped heavily onto the cushioned pillows. "Twice, apparently."
"I figured you'd still be at the hospital."
"I would, but he's sleeping, and I need your opinion, get your thoughts." She patted the space beside her. Once he joined her, she said, "I'm going to tell you what he told me about what happens in the future. I want your assessment without my biasing your conclusions."
Graham understood scientific reasoning. He waited until she relayed all the information before speaking. "Okay, first, whatever is happening seems omnidirectional. Wherever he's at, whether north, south, east, or west of D. C., he still feels this thing, less with more distance. It's like a pulse, or something emanating from a single source, something manmade."
"We know that how?"
"When the attack on the Monument is successful, the event is always in D. C. When the attack is thwarted, it moves. Seems logical that they're connected."
"Agreed."
"So, if there's a causal relationship between this event and a terrorist attack, it makes sense that they're related." Sheshai said nothing, so he continued. "Now, unless terrorists or a rogue state developed a device that lets people see the future, it might be simpler to assume that this is an unintended side effect. So, there's only one thing I know of that terrorists would want to use that has measurable effects hundreds to thousands of miles away." He winced as if pained by his next thought. "A nuclear bomb."
Sheshai exhaled. "In the future, he says he remembers something from the first time. He stated that right before he was sent back, he saw a bright flash."
"Shit, Shai. A nuke. A nuclear bomb."
"That's what I'm thinking. The initial attack is before Memorial Day. Do you know how many politicians, celebrities, and news agencies would be there? The Monument attack is a lure for the real one. When it failed, they may have figured D. C. was compromised and relocated."
Graham leaned back to stare at the ceiling. "Well, that sucks, and I hate to say it, but given the choice, it'd be better if it went off in Georgia rather than the nation's capital."
"No, actually, Atlanta's the worse place possible."
"I'm sorry." He sat up. "You're talking the President, some of Congress, and maybe the Supreme Court. How do you figure Georgia's worse?"
"Washington and the President are greater symbolic value, but Atlanta's has worse consequences. Our guess is that the bomb goes off downtown. The EMP would take out the Hartsfield-Jackson, the busiest airport in the world."
"Washington has a major airport, too. I still think that D. C. outweighs Atlanta in importance. I don't know about population density."
"Depends on where it goes off. When the blast knocks over buildings, it matters whether it takes out the CDC, home of the nastiest diseases on Earth. There's Marburg, the Spanish flu, the bubonic plague, and copies of every other population killer from history. It's the possibility of having to deal with the radiation as well as the Black Death. And that's not the worst of it."
"Because that's not the worst of it."
"Fallout is what's dangerous after an initial blast. Contamination spread is based upon the wind patterns. According to Ernest, there is a Class Three hurricane off northeast Florida. It doesn't make landfall, but it's projected to move along the coast, causing high winds, which will pick up the nuclear fallout and distribute it farther and faster than usual. A nuclear explosion is bad on its own; a nuclear explosion in a hurricane is ten times worse. We're talking about lethal radiation travelling up the lower half of the East Coast, deep into New England, D. C. included.
"Of course, it may not be as cataclysmic as I think. With a serious hurricane, planes may be re-routed or grounded for a time, so the EMP can't knock them down, and if the CDC gets destroyed, releasing a bunch of pathogens, the radiation might kill them off, unless they're stored underground, where the blast may just free them from containment, but leaving them too deep where the radiation can't penetrate. I don't know. I'm not an expert." She headed to the kitchen. "I'm making something to eat and going back. Do you want anything?"
"I'm not hungry anymore, thanks for that. By the way, in D. C. versus Atlanta, I think that maybe you win."
Her hand on the refrigerator door, Sheshai said, "If that bomb goes off, nobody wins."