Holden

"She told me I was a catalyst for the apocalypse," Holden said.

He was lying on the grimy floor of the air-conditioned IT office with his backpack under his head, he and Angel taking turns playing patient–therapist to pass the dead hours of summer. He'd just listened to her unload about her ex wanting to take her to court over their junky Nissan. Now it was his turn, Saturday night's party still fresh in his head.

"Those were her exact words?" Angel sat in a plastic chair near one of the monitors, painting her nails as she half listened. "‘Holden Sharpe, the world is going to end because of you'?"

"She might as well have said that. Seriously, I was having a perfectly horrible night without some fortune-teller calling me the harbinger of doom. Chelsea didn't even want to go home with me. She probably hooked up with that other guy who hugged her all creepy."

"Oh yes, poor you." Angel splayed her fingers to scrutinize her nails. "You got to fuck a cute blonde for a couple of months, knowing full well that was the extent of the relationship, and then some manic pixie dream girl reads your cards in the woods and calls you special. You have a cool roommate who takes time out of her life to listen to your sad boy problems, and then there is me, the hot piece of ass who also listens to your sad boy problems." She pointed a glistening nail at him. "Don't get any ideas. I may go for the tall, dark, ethnically ambiguous type, but you are far too pathetic for me."

He glared at her from the ground. "You're a terrible therapist."

"And you are choosing to be miserable."

He propped himself up on his elbows. "I'm not choosing anything. I'm depressed."

"Then get on antidepressants."

"I can't afford them."

"Then get a second job. Or move back in with your parents."

"We're not on good terms. And I hardly have time as it is."

Angel groaned. "Are you even listening to yourself right now? Does it feel good to make excuses for every shitty thing that comes your way? I swear to god, Holden. You're good-looking and smart and not a raging dickhole. Find something that tickles your pickle and do something meaningful with your life for once."

"Wow, you should be a motivational speaker," he said dryly.

"You better be glad I'm not, or else I'd be charging you for this, and you'd have to pay me with your antidepressant money."

Holden fell back onto his backpack. The worst thing about all this was that Angel was right. After graduating, he never tried leaving Corvallis. He never tried searching for a career he loved, settling because he was happy with Becca. But settling meant never taking risks and never disappointing himself. In theory, at least. But now he was in his thirties and still disappointed. He'd blown the past decade of his life with nothing to show for it.

Great, now he was feeling even sorrier for himself.

"This was a bad idea," said Holden.

"Welp." Angel blew on her nails. "We can always listen to Dr. Dupont's next recording."

Holden sat up. "It unlocked?"

"Yesterday."

"And you haven't listened to it yet?"

"No, darling." She curled her fingers and studied her nails from a different angle. "I was waiting for you."

That was bullshit, because she had never waited for him before, but he didn't pry. Instead, he stood with a grunt and joined her by the monitor. The screen brightened as Angel wiggled the mouse, and she dug into her Dropbox, pulling up the recordings. There was only one item left with a red exclamation. All the others had uncorrupted themselves, including the third to last file, which they hadn't listened to yet. It was less than a minute long.

Angel yanked her earbuds out of the computer's headphone jack and double-clicked the file.

"Day eighteen of the Alpenglow study. Thought I broke the recorder when I threw it against the wall this morning, but alas, dumb thing is still working. I guess I can count that as a win... not that I'll be needing it much longer.

"It's late. I should be asleep right now given we're leaving tomorrow, but every time I close my eyes, all I see is the mule.

"We should have left today. This place—it's scaring the shit out of me. That doesn't mean I don't hate myself a little for giving up. After all the work we've done, I don't think I can bring myself to ever come back here.

"I know I need to document my recollection of what has happened so far, but I won't have the bandwidth until we're back down the mountain. Shouldn't be more than a five-day trip. So I guess you'll hear from me again after eight-four-twenty-three."

"Don't have the bandwidth until we're back down the mountain? Girl!" Angel clicked out of the audio player. "You're killing me. Just tell me what happened to you."

Eight, four, twenty-three.

"Holden? Bud? Can you give me back my arm?"

Holden blinked at the monitor and glanced down at the desk, where he clutched Angel's wrist in a death grip. He quickly relaxed his hand, and she stole her arm back. "Eight, four, twenty-three. What is that?"

Angel shrugged. "I don't know. A date?"

They stared at each other.

"A date," Holden repeated. "A date as in, August 4th, 2023?"

Angel opened her mouth, shut it, and shook her head. "No, wait. That makes no sense."

"Dupont said, ‘You'll hear from me again after eight, four, twenty-three.'"

"I know what she said."

"They left in July. Eighteen days had passed, so it would be August. It's a date."

"Then she misspoke." Angel's words were hesitant. She stared at Holden as hard as he stared at her, the tension between them tight enough to snap. "I mean..." She pulled at her lower lip with her teeth. "You heard from CalTech months ago. They said Dupont was back in the field, and the department was still trying to cope with a death. If the Deadswitch Expedition took place in 2022, then that timeline adds up."

"Unless it wasn't Isaac's death they were talking about." Sweat prickled the back of Holden's neck, like how it always did right before he threw up.

"Whose death would it be, then?" Angel asked.

"Wilder Feyrer. Dupont's mentor. Chari said he just died of cancer. I assumed from the other recordings that he wasn't on the expedition because he was sick, not because he was dead."

Silence lapsed between them until Angel laughed uncomfortably. "I don't really know what you're getting at, here. You found those files back in March. We're not in a sci-fi movie, Holden. The rules of space and time don't bend when they feel like it."

Holden swallowed and nodded, picking up his phone. "It doesn't have to stay a mystery, right? We can find out when they left right now."

"How?"

"If they went this summer, there will be a record." Holden swiped his thumb across the screen of his phone to unlock it. The date and time glared back at him.

2:17 p.m.

July 31st, 2023

Angel was right. He was being absurd.

He searched through his call history and in seconds found the number for the Deadswitch Ranger Station. He double-tapped the string of digits and turned on speaker mode as it dialed out.

Someone picked up on the third ring. "This is Frank."

"Uhh, hi. Is this the Deadswitch Wilderness Ranger Station?"

"You bet. What can I do for you?"

"I, uhh..." Holden cleared his throat. "I'm from CalTech and need to check on the permit of some of our researchers."

"Oh yeah, I remember them."

Holden clenched his phone. "You do?"

"Picked up their permit a couple weeks ago. Four of them. A young group."

Holden locked eyes with Angel. She looked as nervous and confused as he felt. "Can you do me a favor and read me their names and the entrance and exit dates?"

Frank grunted. "I guess. You're lucky we aren't busy or I'd tell you you're SOL. One sec here, gotta find where Carol put the binder. We're not digital yet—that'll probably come back to bite us in the ass one day. Ah, here it is. Right where it's supposed to be. Let's see... July, July. Here we go. Siena Dupont, party of four. Other names listed are Cameron Yarrow, Emmett Ghosh, and Isaac Perez. Entrance date... looks like seven-thirteen-twenty-three. They got an extended permit for the old cabin on Agnes, exit date set for the week of eight-twenty-eight-twenty-three. So, they'll be out by the end of the month."

Blood rushed through Holden's ears. He gripped the side of the desk. "Are you sure?"

"That's what the permit says. Anything else I can do you for?"

July 13th, 2023. The day Siena Dupont entered Deadswitch Wilderness was eighteen days ago. Which was impossible. It meant he and Angel had listened to her recordings days, weeks, months before she ever recorded them. Before she'd even stepped foot into Deadswitch.

And if Dupont had made the recording about Isaac's death on day thirty-two of the expedition, it meant he was supposed to die within two weeks.

"Sir? Can I help you with anything else?"

Impossible.

Holden had made the acquaintance of the impossible months ago. His favorite memories, a string of impossibilities with a partner who couldn't remember. But they were real. Deep down, he knew they were real, regardless of what Becca believed.

Just like this. The recordings were real, too. He couldn't explain how, but it didn't matter. He was out of time.

Because if the recordings were real, then something was going to stop Siena Dupont and her team from hiking back home. They were still going to be in Deadswitch in two weeks, burying Isaac in the ground.

"She's in trouble," he finally said. "Siena Dupont—all of them. They're in trouble, and we need to find them. Now."