Chronometer journey

  Coulter looked overjoyed. He had Kendra translate the Chronometer instructions and decipher the labels to the diagram. He kept smiling and nodding. Having spent months trying to figure out how to operate the Chronometer, he seemed to absorb the meaning of the instructions without hesitation, although to Kendra the directions sounded extremely confusing.

  "The Chronometer is here in the attic," he said once Kendra had finished. "No time like the present, right?"

  "I see no advantage in waiting," Grandpa agreed.

  They passed out of the turret into the main part of the attic. Coulter retrieved the Chronometer, a golden orb etched with engravings and bristling with little buttons and dials. Coulter fiddled with the switches and dials, asking Kendra to retranslate a few instructions from the scroll. Applying the settings did not take him long.

  "This should do it," Coulter announced. "Everyone who is coming needs to place a hand on the device. And I need to slide this lever, then flip this little switch. "

  Kendra felt her heart racing. This was all so sudden. Was she really about to see Patton again? Might he have advice that could help them out of their bleak predicament?

  The others had placed their hands on the orb. Kendra added hers.

  "Here goes nothing," Coulter said. He placed a finger on what looked like an embossed symbol, slid it along a groove, then toggled a tiny switch.

  Kendra felt like somebody kicked her in the stomach. She doubled over, the air violently escaping her lungs. She looked up, unable to inhale. Coulter, Grandma, and Grandpa had collapsed to the attic floor, hands around their midsections. Warren crouched with his hands on his knees. She averted her eyes, because none of them had clothes on.

  Coulter made a miserable croaking sound. Warren started coughing. Kendra let out a little burp, then found she could inhale again. Her temporary panic melted as her lungs continued to function.

  A robe was gently placed over her shoulders from behind. Kendra turned. It was Patton, his hair white and wispy, his head liver-spotted, a roguish smile enlivening his withered face. A faint scar that Kendra did not recall slanted diagonally across his forehead. He seemed slimmer and shorter, his frail shoulders stooped.

Chapter 7