Our eyes lock and my breath fails me. So much pain in those eyes, but so much determination too. He truly believes he can save me, and in that moment, I believe it too. My gaze flickers to his lips, and I want nothing more than to press mine against them, to forget everything except this moment. I lean into him, my face lifting to meet his. His breath flickers over my skin, and I part my lips—

“Adam? Elena?” Chris calls. “You out here?”

We jerk apart, the moment over. The outside world rushes in again. Cold grass on my butt. City lights stretched out in front of me. One day left to live. And Chris behind us on the patio, calling our names.

Adam rises to his feet. “Yeah?”

Chris eyes the two of us like he knows something is going on. “We’ve sat around long enough. Let’s get out of here.”

“Just give us a minute,” Adam says.

He holds out a hand and helps me to my feet. My skin tingles as my fingers grab on to his, but as soon as I’m up, I pull away and wipe grass off myself. I avoid his eyes—I can’t get sucked back into them again. It was good Chris stopped us before we kissed. There’s no point getting close to Adam if I won’t see him again once we get back to the present. He’s better off without me. With my impending killing spree and suicide looming over me, I don’t have time to get involved with Adam anyway.

Chris is right. We need to get going. Time is running out.

11:14

After some debate, we decide to get fake IDs first, like Future-Adam suggested. That way we can buy things without having to rely on Adam’s fingerprints, which might send the police after us again. This time I sit in the front of the car with Chris, after practically shoving Trent out of the way. I can’t sit next to Adam again. I can’t even look at him. Not after our near-kiss.

Chris enters the name Future-Adam gave us—Wombat—into the car’s navigation system, and we take off. The car heads north over the hill into the Valley, and the homes of the rich and famous soon give way to busy shopping areas and rows of nearly identical homes, and then to seedier parts of town.

It’s dark by the time the car stops outside a rundown house with peeling paint and a broken window. A rusted old trailer with no wheels sits smack-dab in the middle of the front lawn, with weeds growing over the front bumper.

“Future-Adam knows someone who lives here?” Zoe asks. Her sketchbook is out, but she doesn’t bother to draw this place in it.

Chris checks the car’s navigation. “It’s the right address.”

“What kind of name is ‘Wombat’ anyway?” Trent asks.

Adam tugs his baseball cap on. “Maybe it’s a code name like ‘Wolverine.’”

I get out of the car and scan the road for cops. I don’t really expect them to show up, but it can’t hurt to be careful. Now that we’re out of the safety and comfort of Future-Adam’s house I’m back on alert.

My gaze flicks to Adam for a second. Yeah, I definitely got way too relaxed at that house.

Chris knocks on the front door and the rest of us crowd behind him. A large woman in a floral dress opens the door and grunts. No words, just a grunt.

“We’re looking for Wombat.” Chris says. “He here?”

“Around the back.” She slams the door in his face.

Chris raises his hand like he’s about to pound on the door again, but then drops it. “Nice. Real nice, lady.”

“I feel better about this place already,” I mutter.

We kick through weeds and past mounds of trash piled along the side of the house, almost to the roof. The woman must be a hoarder or something. Everything reeks of garbage and cat piss. Or at least I hope it’s cat piss.

Music blasts from an open garage door, like heavy metal but with a pop vibe to it. Inside, tables and desks that look like they were scavenged from different garage sales fill every open space. Each one is stacked high with electronic equipment and pieces of hardware I couldn’t even begin to guess at. Some of it looks futuristic; some looks like it’s from our time or even earlier.

A guy around our age with an unshaved face glances up from a toolbox, and the music switches off. He wears a blue T-shirt with the Superman logo, and his flexi has a green-and-yellow pattern that looks like a circuit board. He wipes his hands on his jeans and steps around his desk. “Looking for someone?”




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