Whoever was in charge of Fate, Charlie decided, really had it in for him. Charlie had been all set to go out in a blaze of glory, to set off the bomb and save Western Civilization—or at least a substantial part of the west coast of the United States—and now look at him. Pinned under a rock with no way out. No food, no water. And when Don finally found this cave, assuming that he got the message that Charlie left on the laptop, he'd believe that Charlie had been immediately killed in the explosion that had collapsed the roof of the mine. Not left to die a lingering death of hunger and thirst and generalized boredom in the dark. Not fair. Dammit, not fair!
At least the explosion had killed Scarface and Abdu. Of that, he was certain. No one could have survived the mine collapse. Charlie's priority outcome had been accomplished. And the secondary goal too, most likely; there was now no reason for the third terrorist outside to go after his father or Amita; he wondered briefly what had happened to the fourth that he'd seen. Reassigned, perhaps? He'd never know. He hoped that Larry and Colby would understand why Charlie had done this. Colby would, Charlie was certain; the young man had served overseas and knew that death was always a possibility. But Larry? The physicist had had more contributions to make to his chosen field and for taking that away, Charlie feared, Larry would never forgive him.
But at least the terrorists wouldn't trouble anyone ever again—crap!
More cursing, more than he'd done in the last three months, all in one day. Charlie felt like he deserved the opportunity. This isn't supposed to happen to mild-mannered mathematicians, dammit!
"I kill you!" Scarface hissed.
The terrorist looked dreadful. He wasn't supposed to still be alive. He clutched his flashlight in his hand like a weapon, trying to illuminate his path to freedom, the meager light only serving to add shadows to the blood trickling down his face. One leg no longer functioned; Scarface dragged it painfully behind him.
"I kill you!" Scarface repeated, the insane glow in his eye adding to Charlie's fear. The need to escape from this hellhole had been replaced by a need for revenge for the terrorist. Charlie swallowed down his sudden fear.
What am I afraid of? I'm going to die here anyway. Wasn't I just hoping for a swifter death? Can't I make up my mind?
No matter. Instinct took over; Charlie tried to escape. But the huge boulder that had cracked the mine floor just inches from his legs pinned him fast. And with his hands still tied behind him, Charlie was helpless to move.
"I kill you!" Scarface gasped for breath, clearly hurting inside. But anger drove him on. He inched closer to Charlie.
"They're coming for us!" Charlie tried to reason with the madman. "We can get out of here. They're looking for us."
"They will find your dead husk of a corpse, with the crows plucking out your eyeballs!" Scarface vowed with more fury than sanity.
What could Charlie say to that? "There are no crows in here," he croaked. "Let's go outside and find some." Whatever possessed me to say something as stupid as that?
"I kill you first, and then I go kill some crows."
Okay, so he bought it. Timeline is a little off, maybe I can work with that. I'm as crazy as he is. "Go kill the crows first. I'll wait right here for you to get back."
Scarface dragged himself close. "I kill you!" It was what the terrorist had focused on, what had driven him forward: revenge. "I kill you! They find your dead corpse here with the rocks!" Not all intelligence had left; Scarface hoisted himself across Charlie's ribcage, where the broken rib was, letting his own body weight do the damage. "I crush your lung! You drown in your own blood like the pig dog that you are!"
Charlie tried to call out. No good; he couldn't draw enough breath to shout and the black hole of unconsciousness beckoned. Not that shouting would help—who was there to hear him? Dammit, he didn't want to die! Not yet! There was still the Cognitive Emergence work to be done…
"Well, Charles." Larry perched himself on top of the boulder that pinned Charlie to the mine floor, looking remarkably like an elf about to sit down to a breakfast bowl of Lucky Charms. The physicist calmly observed the terrorist still flailing away at the mathematician. "This is a pretty dilemma. Can you calculate the amount of force required to dislodge that man before your lung is punctured by your fractured rib? Remember to take into account that you are incapable of using either your hands or your feet. Which equation would be appropriate for use in this situation? You must limit yourself to those theorems developed prior to the Twentieth Century, since you were foolish enough to leave your laptop behind in the terrorists' home. Might I suggest the Alchimedes Priniciple?"
Charlie looked down at himself. The terrorist still looked ferocious, and Charlie pitied the poor slob he was pounding on. The poor slob, Charlie noted uncomfortably, wasn't putting up a terribly effective defense. "Determining forces is more physics, Larry." He frowned. "Aren't you dead? Didn't I see you die?"
"Charles, I have always been One with the Cosmos." Larry tipped the elfin green cap that suddenly appeared in his hand, raised both arms, and levitated himself on a flying carpet. A little twitch of his nose, and he was gone.
"Larry? Larry, come back. Don't—"
"Not to worry, Charlie. I'm here."
Charlie whipped around. "Colby?"
"In the flesh." Colby looked at himself. "Sort of. Sorry about the mess," he apologized, watching blood leak from the dozens of bullet holes in his chest, delivering rivers of red stuff that trickled off into the bowels of the shattered mine. It didn't appear to affect Colby's ability to speak. "Listen, it's okay. You tried." He leaned over confidentially. "I shouldn't be telling you this, but it's not gonna work. You failed, guy. The whole world's gonna blow up into World War Four. The terrorist outside, and the fourth guy? The guy you haven't seen anymore? They're gonna come back to investigate this place. They're gonna find you, and they're gonna find the uranium and they're gonna blow up New Orleans so that Hurricane Katrina doesn't flood it out again. That'll start World War Five."
"But Katrina already happened. And what about World War Three and Four? They come before Five." 'Bewildered' was putting it mildly.
"Really? New Orleans got taken down by a little girl of a hurricane? Couldn't prove it by me." Colby too faded away.
"Colby? Colby, don't go! What am I supposed to do? How do I fix this?"
Someone else floated into Charlie's field of vision. Someone he remembered very well. Someone he missed very much. "You'll do all right, Charlie. I have confidence in you."
"Mom?"
"I kill you! I kill you!"
Charlie didn't hurt anymore; the panic of not being able to breathe was taking over and adrenaline pushed out every sensation except suffocation. He writhed underneath the terrorist, the man's gasping anger hot against Charlie's skin. His legs were trapped, his hands tied behind him, and still Charlie struggled to take a breath. He couldn't help himself. Instinct refused to quit. Broken bones stabbed into his side.
"Charlie! Charlie, can you hear me?"
Scarface lifted his head. He heard the intruders. With a growl, he slammed the flashlight into Charlie's face. Stars went nova in Charlie's head. Through the blackness Charlie felt the heavy body crawl off of him, thought he heard Scarface slither away.
"Charlie! Answer me, buddy! Where are you?"
Toss up: could Charlie not see because there was no light, or because he was unconscious, or because he was dead? Maybe he had his eyes closed? Answer: it didn't matter. He tried to call out. What emerged was closer to a groan than a shout.
"Charlie? Don! Over here! I found him!"
It was Colby's voice. But Colby was dead, wasn't he? Hadn't Charlie just talked to poor, dead Colby?
"He's alive! Don, he's alive! He's breathing!"
But you're not, Colby. You're dead. I saw you die in a hail of bullets. Crazy. Charlie had been alone in the dark for days, and he had gone crazy, just as he'd always suspected that he would. Genius was close to madness, right? Charlie was now irrevocably, certifiably insane. If he opened his eyes, what would he see? Visions of fluffy white clouds? Maybe nasty red places decorated with molten lava?
"It's okay, buddy. We're gonna get you out of here. Just hang on."
Colby's hands felt undeniably solid, certainly nothing like that of a ghost. Do you really know what a ghost feels like? There's no proof that ghosts actually exist.
"Charlie, can you hear me? Open your eyes, buddy. Don, he's trapped underneath this boulder. We're gonna need all the help we can get. It's a big one."
Even with his eyes closed, Charlie could see the red behind his eyelids that meant that there were photons bouncing around his immediate vicinity. Okay, this is getting more and more real. And I hurt. If I hurt, Charlie reasoned, I must be alive. Which means…
"Colby?" he croaked.
"Charlie?" Colby stopped tugging futilely at the boulder and came around to peer into Charlie's face. The flashlight cast shadows over his face, darkening his eyes and throwing a fuzzy image against the far wall. That's okay. I'm not interested in shadows at the moment, thanks.
Cough. Wince. "You're alive?" he asked.
Colby stared. "You're asking me that?" Understanding dawned. "My car. Yeah, my car is officially DOA, but I survived. I'd like to say quick reflexes, but I don't think your friends cared about killing me. Otherwise, I really would be dead."
Don's voice floated out, sharp and anxious. "Colby? Where are you?"
"Over here," Colby called. "Don, he's awake. He's okay. You are okay, right, buddy?" he asked anxiously. "Don's been scared stiff. He's been ready to shoot anybody gets in his way, guy."
Charlie hurt. He was tied up, his legs were trapped underneath a boulder, and he'd just survived an explosion that collapsed a mine and killed a bunch of terrorists.
"Yeah," said Charlie. "I'm okay."