PART ELEVEN

Liz lay on her back in the darkness, just listening to the soft whirring of the ceiling fan. They used it in the winter sometimes, on nights just like this one, because it was soothing--because it cooled them off when it got too hot between them, as it had during the past hour.

But now they both lay on top of the sheets, their bodies slowly chilling beneath the rhythmic turning of the fan. Outside it had to be no more than thirty degrees, but inside, it was a slowly fading inferno.

Liz stretched her legs lazily, pointing her toes downward, and sighed contentedly. She still burned from the way Max had touched her, how he’d made love to her, long and slow. Even though they’d allowed their connection to break a few moments before, her whole body hummed with Max’s energy--and it almost felt like they were still intimately bonded, as if his echo still resounded through every part of her.

"You sound happy," Max whispered in the darkness, rolling on his side to face her.

"I am happy," she answered, closing her eyes, drinking him in with all her senses. She wished she could put words to his scent, but even after all these years, it remained something far too beautiful to name—and now, after her awakening, it was just always around her. Within her.

"Me, too," he whispered, nestling closer to her, and she could almost see his eyes in the darkness, though not quite. Yet she could feel him perfectly, his warm body folded against her own, his breath barely grazing her cheek. He slipped her within his arms, pulling her closer, and she could see the dark outline of his head framed against the window, could glimpse him gazing down at her chest.

Slowly, he traced his finger across the glowing handprint still emblazoned right over her heart.

"It’s fading," his voice was tinged with regret.

"Yes," she agreed meaningfully, caressing his upper back with her fingertips. "But not the way it affected me."

Max splayed his hand on top of the imprint, aligning his palm perfectly against the image. Heat answered right beneath his touch, spreading through her chest then ricocheted gently across her skin.

"I’m not sure how I knew to do it," he admitted, his voice filled with awe. "But somehow I just did."

"It was instinctive," she breathed.

"Instinctive. Yes."

The mood between them was strangely hushed—had been all during their lovemaking, almost like the winter earth after a heavy snowfall. Quiet, expectant. Reverent even.

What was different tonight? Liz wasn’t sure.

Things had somehow gentled between them in the past day or so, and with a sharp pang of regret she realized that this crazy season between them was fading.

But not the way it affected me. Just like she’d told Max.

Slowly, he removed his palm, and then lowered his mouth, kissing her right in the middle of the handprint, his lips lingering against her skin for a long moment.

She stroked his hair, savoring the scent of him, this quiet moment between them. Their world was often filled with such frantic noise and energy, and they had so few moments just like this one.

"You should sleep," he whispered, settling beside her again.

"You should, too."

"Yeah," he agreed, and yet Liz knew neither of them wanted this moment to end.

And then the phone rang shrilly, piercing the silence like a deadly bullet. Liz’s heart jolted sharply, as Max fumbled in the darkness for the bedside phone, knocking the receiver to the floor.

12:38 a.m.

Too late for a phone call, too late for anything good. Liz’s heart began hammering quickly, as she sat straight up in bed. Max was standing now, pressing the receiver to his ear.

The blood roared in her ears, and she could hardly hear what he was saying.

"Hello," Max answered, his hand shaking unsteadily as he cradled the phone against his ear.

"Max. It’s time," Marco stated simply. "We’ll be there in five minutes…Less. I’ll come up for you." His words were rushed, his breathing heavy—Max could hear it even over the static of the cellular phone. They were already on their way.

"Whatever you do, stay away from the windows," Marco ordered.

Max began moving in the darkness, searching frantically for his jeans. "Absolutely," he replied.

"Keep the lights out. We’re coming, just stay put."

Marco was frightened, Max could hear it in his voice, even over the phone line, and he didn’t strike Max as someone who was easily shaken. This wasn’t good, not at all, and Max couldn’t suppress the rising sense of panic he felt throughout his whole body. He tossed the receiver on the bed, and stared at Liz across the dark room. They were silent for an eternal moment, she standing just across the bedroom from him; the only sound the uneven rhythm of their ragged breaths and the soft whirring of the ceiling fan. They weren’t connected anymore, but their hearts were certainly joined…locked.

They didn’t need their bond in order to feel one another at this moment.

"It’s time," he finally said. "We’ve got to hurry, they’ll be here in five minutes."

He heard Liz’s sharp intake of breath. "Oh, God, Max," she choked out. "I just didn’t think it would be so soon."

"I know," he whispered, moving toward their closet. "But it will be okay."

She stepped close to him, and pulled his face down toward her with her tiny hands.

"Promise me you’ll be okay, Max," she begged urgently. "That you won’t get hurt."

"Liz…" he hesitated. How could he promise what he didn’t have to give--the assurance that everything would work out tonight?

"So long as I have you, I can handle any of this," she pressed, her voice desperate. "Promise me…because I know if you do, you’ll keep it."

"Yes, sweetheart. I’ll be okay...we both will."

"Alright," She drew in a shuddering breath. "Then let’s move."

****

Liz raced through the dark apartment, already dressed. She tossed her suitcase quickly on the sofa, unzipping it with one jerky motion. She could hear Max in the bedroom, rummaging quickly through their drawers. They were packed—had been since yesterday—and yet now that the moment was upon them, they both desperately searched for last precious treasures.

Liz moved to the dining room table, snapping Max’s laptop shut, jerking chords out from the wall. She shoved the computer into the top of her suitcase, to the spot she’d specifically reserved for it, and then placed all his thesis notes on top. His well-worn copy of You Can’t Go Home Again fit snuggly inside, and she zipped up the duffle bag. Small and portable, it held all she’d own in the world from now on.

But the most precious things in her life weren’t objects anyway, she thought.

She raked a shaky hand through her hair, and just stood in the middle of the dark living room, surveying this beloved, familiar landscape for one final moment. This had been their first home together, the place she’d lovingly decorated, had tried to make into something permanent for them—or so she’d always wanted to believe.

And yet deep inside, she’d always known it was an illusion, that a day like this would surely come, because they weren’t ordinary.

Neither of them ever had been.

Her eye fell on her grandmother’s small bud vase, where it sat on the dining room table. She snatched it up, and wrapped it within a kitchen towel, opening her suitcase again. Max hurried into the living room, and she slipped the vase inside the bag, zipping it shut.

He placed both their duffels by the front door, and then turned to her. "It’s been five minutes," he said, his voice shaking slightly.

They stepped silently together, and he circled her within his strong arms. There weren’t any words now, only their bodies, their hearts. The silence of the apartment hummed all around them, so familiar…so utterly lost to them already.

Max stroked her hair, and she felt hot tears burn her eyes. But she refused to cry, had to be strong, and she willed the urge away. Her husband needed her strength now, not the fear of a frightened, young girl—and she could give it to him, because she was his queen--the woman who had stood beside him for multiple lifetimes now…his Zillia.

***

Marco stepped into their apartment hurriedly, closing the door behind him. He locked it, then faced them both in the darkness. For a moment, he was silent, and the only sound was his labored breathing.

"I can’t kid either of you. This isn’t good," he began. "But I’ll get you out of here, just stay close to me."

"Yes," Max nodded firmly, and clasped Liz’s hand tightly within his own.

Marco turned to open the door, and they followed him into the hall. He sprinted down the narrow stairway, and they matched his pace all the way to the bottom of the steps. Then at the outside door, he turned suddenly, raising a halting hand in front of them.

"Wait here," he commanded, then spoke into a small black communicator—something Max had never seen before.

"Clear?" Marco demanded.

"Yes," a female voice answered frantically. "Go! Go!"

Marco jerked the door open, and nearly shoved them past him. Just five feet away, a black Suburban sat idling on the curb, pouring exhaust into the winter night. Max began running, never letting go of Liz’s hand, as Marco kept pace beside them both. Max was vaguely aware that Marco was looking all around them, scanning their perimeter.

The back doors of the Suburban flew open, everything all a quick blur. Max shoved Liz up inside, and saw someone…a woman, pulling her in. He felt Marco’s hands shoving him roughly from behind.

"Get in! Now!"

He collapsed inside, tangled with Liz and the woman. The car was moving, speeding away with a loud squeal of tires. Marco was closing the open doors….

Liz lay on the vehicle’s floor, and before he could turn to her, or take anything else in at all, Marco was pressing him down roughly.

"Get down!" he shouted, turning to look out the back window.

Max fell beside Liz, and he glimpsed the woman slip over into the backseat, which gave them a bit more room. Still, it seemed he and Liz were all on top of one another, slammed roughly against the floor, as the car sped ever faster, taking turns recklessly.

Max’s heart thundered within his chest, and he heard Liz whimper beside him. He turned to face her, and saw that she was biting her lip so sharply, it had turned almost white.

"Baby, it’s going to be okay," he breathed, grabbing her hand. "It will be."

She nodded silently, and he saw tears pool within her eyes.

Marco glanced at them quickly, then ahead toward the woman. Who was driving? It was all such a blur, and it was difficult not to be terrified.

"How far to the highway?" Marco cried.

A man answered from up front, probably the driver. "Two miles."

"Are they behind us?" the woman demanded.

"Not sure," Marco answered, wiping off the back window with his sleeve, so he could get a better look.

"I see headlights," he groaned, shaking his head. "I just don’t know."

Max wanted to ask--needed to know--exactly what was happening, yet his instinct was to keep completely silent for the moment. One thing was certain: their lives weren’t just on the line, they were in absolute jeopardy.

"Gaining!" Marco called, whipping a tiny pair of binoculars from his jacket pocket. He stared through them for a long moment, adjusting them quickly—they had to be some kind of night vision glasses. "Oh, God…it’s them," he called. "Riley…Move!"

Max felt the car lurch beneath them, and he rocked against Liz at the sudden motion.

"Marco, here!" The woman cried, and Max saw her toss some kind of small weapon. It passed over them, Marco catching it deftly. Max shifted a moment, considered sitting up, but Marco planted his hand squarely on his chest, pressing him back to the floor of the Suburban.

"Whatever happens, stay down," Marco commanded.

Max could feel the vehicle head out onto open highway, could judge it by the way they no longer turned, by their speed.

"Marco," Liz asked in a shaky voice. "What exactly is happening?"

Marco didn’t answer, just stared out the back, raising the glasses again. There was silence a moment.

"Ten feet back!" he shouted. "Riley, go. Go!"

"I’m going as fast as I can!" Riley roared in response.

Suddenly there was a sharp burst of what sounded like gun fire, though Max could see quick flashes of blue light. Obviously not a human weapon, somehow he knew it…and then the back window exploded, and Marco ducked as glass flew everywhere. Max threw up his shield right over Liz and himself, the green glow filling the entire cab.

"Good, Max!" the woman called. "Keep it in place until this is over."

"Oh, God," Marco groaned. "There’s a second one."

"Shit!" the woman cried.

"Left side now, left side," Marco shouted, and Max could see the woman readying for imminent attack along the side of the vehicle. She lowered the window, cold air whipping her long hair, and raised her weapon, aiming. More bluish bursts, and there was the sound of squealing tires.

"Got ‘em!" She shouted.

"Gaining from behind!" Marco thundered, raising his weapon.

"Marco, take them out," the woman ordered.

"I’ve got to get lock…got to," Max watched as Marco squinted, then he fired several quick rounds with the alien weapon. He could hear the eerie squeal of tires answer in response, then a loud crash.

"Got it! Got it!" Marco shouted, then collapsed in the corner of the cab, staring down at them. Max let the shield drop, felt a quick burst of energy as he drew it back within him.

The frigid air blasted them from the shot-out back window, the only remaining evidence that they’d just been in a life-threatening battle. Marco drew in desperate, heavy breaths, then placed his hand on Max’s arm with surprising gentleness as he stared down at him.

"You okay?" he asked, his eyes passing from him to Liz. Max didn’t miss all the emotions he saw passing over Marco’s face—worry, relief, protectiveness-- and he sensed in that moment that Marco didn’t just feel a sense of duty toward them. Somehow, strangely…he loved both of them.

Max nodded, slowly sitting up. He glanced down at Liz, and pulled her gently to a sitting position.

"Where are you taking us?" Liz asked, smoothing her hair with a nervous hand.

"Someplace safe," the woman answered from the seat in front. It was Max’s first good look at her—she had long blonde hair, pulled back in a tight ponytail, and appeared to be in her mid-thirties. She met his gaze, and something odd flashed within her eyes—and it struck Max that it was a glimmer of recognition. Perhaps even awe, though it was difficult for him to understand someone feeling that upon meeting him.

"I’m Serena," she explained in a raspy voice, extending her hand to him. When he took it, he felt a little surge of heat--not just hybrid energy. What he sensed was pure alien.

Their eyes locked for a moment, and she smiled faintly, then released his hand, turning to Liz. But Liz just sat beside him, her mouth slightly open. "Serena?" she asked, as if the name were familiar.

Serena nodded, still holding her hand out to Liz, who slowly took it, glancing at Max with wide dark eyes. Then he remembered—his future self had said she’d be a friend of theirs one day--that Serena was the one who’d helped him use the granolith to travel back in time.

"Well, Max," Serena laughed softly. "Sorry it’s under these circumstances, but we’ve all waited a long time for this moment." She paused, gazing into his eyes deeply, meaningfully, then finally spoke. "Welcome to your revolution."

For some absurd reason, he thought of The Beatles--but then Max’s heart began thudding crazily--because it seemed that his life had changed forever, with her one simple statement.