Decoherence (20 page)

 

CHAPTER 34

“I made one choice, then another. They fell like dominoes, each as inevitable as the last, pushed by the gravity of inevitability until I no longer had any choice, I was only falling into the future. Ever falling.”

~ excerpt from
Everfall
, a work of fiction by Del Eya Monsien I2—­2063

Monday March 3, 2070

Florida District 8

Commonwealth of North America

Iteration 2

“A
nd what did I say about the cemetery?” Sam grilled Nealie for what seemed the millionth time as he roasted a tarpon fillet over the campfire.

“Go with Connor, talk with my dad, don't pick up hitchhikers or strangers.” He flipped the fish, and Bosco whined. “What are you expecting me to see, miss?”

She'd never figured out how Nealie met Donovan or Gant. “Just . . . be careful. There are mean ­people out there.”

“I'll keep an eye on him,” Connor promised.

“Even at the college?” Sam pressed the point.

Connor nodded. “Watch him, keep an eye on Henry, and if I see an Officer Clemens, I'm supposed to treat her with respect.”

“Good.” Sam nodded. “That's all I need.”

A car driving along the dirt road to the camp scared up a flock of barn swallows that nested under the eaves of the derelict building they'd been using. Sam had a tent in the back that she'd moved into after Maribel tried to drag her into a sweat lodge. It probably was only a few degrees cooler than the lodge in the middle of the day, but it made her untraceable. The last thing she needed right now was for Ivy to stop by Tickseed Meadows looking for her.

She and Bosco had been there more than a week before she realized it was the same building she would eventually chase Gant to before arresting him as his mind shattered. Gant's future was likely hers. She knew the risk was there once she crossed over into the other iteration.

A half-­forgotten prayer to St. Jude skipped across her mind, and she crossed herself.

“You okay?” Connor asked.

Sam shook her head. “Probably not, but I don't have many choices left.”

On the far side of the hedge, a cloud of dust heralded Henry's arrival. He pushed through the indigo bushes and waved.

Sam waved back in welcome. “How was work?”

“Awful.” He sat down next to Nealie. “Not because of Krystal. I don't know how you did it, but they've swept the whole thing under the rug.”

“I might have hinted that Krystal was an undercover agent working to infiltrate radical groups who posed a threat to national security.” She shrugged. “There's no proof she wasn't.”

Henry raised an eyebrow. “And, being suspected of murder? I expected that to come up at least once.”

“You stayed silent because you didn't want to put Krystal at risk,” Sam said. “Making you look very noble and patriotic.”

“You used to be worse at lying,” Henry said.

“I used to be a normal person,” Sam said. She tossed a twig in the campfire. “Why was work so awful?”

“I couldn't sleep last night. I keep having these car-­wreck dreams. This morning, I was up at three with a sore neck, half-­convinced there was a piece of glass in my eye. My roommate would probably think I was crazy if he'd been home to see me stumbling around.”

“It's memories from the other iterations,” Sam said.

“I know, I read the journal you brought back.” Henry took his satchel and pulled out both copies of his private journal from his bag. “This is the weirdest thing I've ever seen.”

Sam smiled and held up her plate for Nealie. “You say that six times a day, Troom. Find some new material. How is everything tracking?”

“Good.” He grimaced and shook his head. “Not
good
good, but everything is still lining up. The dreams are all the same. The timeline doesn't seem to be damaged by your arrival.”

She hmmphed in annoyance. “I'm trying to change the timeline. I'm not giving you all this information because I want you two to go kill yourselves again.”

“I don't kill myself,” Nealie said. “You said someone else kills me. I don't have suicidal tendencies.” He smiled proudly.

“Right.” Sam looked to Connor for help.

“She doesn't want you to get killed. That's why she's telling us this. If you don't listen, then you're a fool, and you got yourself killed,” Connor said. He flipped hoe cake on another cast-­iron griddle and swore as the wind picked it up and threw it in the dust.

Sam laughed. “Bosco,
t
â
n cô
ng
.”

The dog leapt up and attacked the hoe cake with enthusiasm.

“Good boy, Bosco. Good boy!” Sam rubbed his ear and gave him a bite of her carefully deboned fish. “Henry, did you ever come up with a theory of what will happen to Bosco if he crosses over?”

Henry shrugged. “Without experimenting, all I have is guesses.”

“And?”

“And, nothing bad should happen. You're stepping between places, like stepping from one slat on a bridge to the next. There's a gap, there's a risk that the next slat is rotted and will crumble, but physically we're not talking about breaking you into atoms and reassembling you. Your physical integrity remains intact throughout the process.”

Nealie and Connor shared the confused look they always had when Henry started talking about advanced physics.

“What about mentally? A crazy mastiff is never a good thing,” Sam said.

Henry shook his head as if he could rattle the ideas into place. “This is just a hypothesis, you understand.”

Sam made a hurry-­up motion with her hand.

“From everything you've provided me with, it looks like the ­people who experienced the most dissonance were those who were fully aware of the changes. For the Gant gentleman you told me about, he faced extreme cognitive dissonance between what he expected as the outcome of events and the actual reality he faced. For me—­or the possible iteration of myself—­I was experiencing the psychological fallout of the collapse of other iterations. A form of psychological radiation poisoning almost.

“With you here to explain what was happening, though, I'm able to alleviate most of the dissonant anguish. The nightmares are nightmarish,” he translated for the pirates, “but I can put them in context and stay sane.” Henry looked at Sam. “I think that the last time you did this, you must have opted not to tell us what was going on.”

“Mac and I debated that a lot,” Sam said. “Whether or not telling ­people about the future would change things. Whether we had a right to interfere. I was always pro-­change. Mac felt that we needed to let our past selves have their own lives.” She twisted the ring on her finger. “Did you, by any chance, have a chance to check to see if the history I remember still existed?”

Henry nodded and smiled. “Everything up to your arrival in the Commonwealth was the same as you remembered. There's a slight possibility that the captain of the freighter you came in on was arrested or banned, but you didn't know, so I couldn't verify.”

“But Young Me and Young Mac are where they should be?” She hadn't had a way to check after she'd moved here.

“Right down to the same apartment and phone numbers,” Henry said. “Even your old passwords worked.”

“I knew that, but remind me to change my passwords,” Sam said. She wiped her hand on her well-­worn jeans, gifts Nealie and Connor had picked up at their favorite thrift shop. After a few weeks in the mangal swamps, Sam found she wasn't all that picky about where food or clothes came from. “All right, Doctor, are we ready to test your machine?”

Henry pulled out his phone and checked the time. “Eleven minutes until our first window. Are you ready to be our first temporalnaut. Tempusnaut?”

“Naut is a Greek word,” Sam said. “So, I'd be the first
foranaut
? A Time Voyager.” She chuckled at their expressions. “Mac and I had a lot of free time in Australia to look these things up. Time traveler just doesn't sound as exciting. And I don't want to be a time tourist.”

“Tourists are awful,” Nealie and Connor agreed in unison.

Henry stood up. “Do you have plans for getting back? I mean, a window picked or something?”

“Ideally, I'd return somewhere in the near future, after my younger self escapes. Realistically, it probably won't be back to this time. We have no idea how my travel will affect all of this. For all I know, the iterations will wind up so distant that I'll be stuck back in 2030 or something.” That would be awful, but if Mac were there, they'd survive. They always had.

“You might get stuck in another iteration,” Henry warned. “I can leave the machine running.”

“There were windows before this,” Sam said, “and I'll sleep so much easier if there isn't a machine here creating a bridge between iterations for Gant and Donovan to cross.”

“No,” Sam said, even as she nodded and petted Bosco's head. “I don't mind getting stuck in another iteration, not if I have Mac with me. If there's an emergency, I trust my younger self can handle it. After all, I did when I was her age. Come on, let's get this over and done with. I'm getting homesick, and it's a long boat ride back to Australia.”

Henry and Connor set up the final machine as Sam rechecked her packed bag, stuffed an extra bag of dog treats in it for Bosco, and helped Nealie put out the fire.

He watched her with a slightly hurt expression.

“Something you wanted to say?”

“I just . . . wish you could stay,” Nealie said. “You're real nice. Camp's not going to be the same without you.”

“Thanks. For what it's worth, I'm glad I got to know you. Before this, you were just one of Edwin's stories from the swamp. Marshmallows and pirates.” She sighed and fought back the tear stinging her eye. Edwin . . . she hadn't thought about him in nearly five years, and now she wished she could get a note to him, tell him not to worry. Or a note to herself telling her to get Ivy to the Academy. She snuffled.

“Sam?” Nealie touched her shoulder. “You okay?”

She wiped her nose on the sleeve of her long T-­shirt. “Yeah. I'm fine. There's just a ton I want to do here, and I can't. I've got friends here. I miss 'em. They don't even know I'm gone, and I miss them.” She shook herself. “I'm here, but it's not really me, you see? The Agent Sam Rose walking around in town doesn't have my memories. She doesn't have my experience. I'm worried she's going to get it wrong and ruin everything.”

Bosco bumped her knee.

“Don't travel in time, Nealie. It only messes with your head.”

He nodded. “I'll do that, miss. No time traveling. I'll stay right here.”

“Good choice.”

“Rose!” Henry waved his arm. “You have forty-­five seconds until your window opens!”

She picked her pack up. “
Ð
ê
n ðây
, Bosco. Let's go. Is it calibrated?”

Henry nodded. “This is set to take you to the same iteration you saw when you rescued me, and it matches the iteration the killer is coming from.” He took a deep breath. “Be careful. I can't guarantee you won't walk in on the killer, and you're his type.” Henry shook his head. “I wish I knew how to get you home.”

“You destroy this machine and let me worry about getting myself home,” Sam said.

The machine hummed as a dark purple light appeared and began spinning. The whirling vortex turned lilac, then topaz blue, then blinding white.

Sam gave the boys one last smile. “Don't wait up for me.” She stepped through the vortex, Bosco trotting along beside her.

 

CHAPTER 35

“We expect decoherence to affect everyone. Even non-­nodal citizens will notice the changes. Many will feel anxious, uneasy, or experience night terrors. We recommend everyone be issued the proper medication needed to ease these worries until the new Prime iteration settles in, and the fan once again reaches an expansion point.”

~ memo from Central Command I1—­2070

Date Unknown

Location Unknown

G
rit blasted Sam's face. Sand and dust blinded her, tearing across her bare arms and slicing at her throat. Choking, she pulled her sweater from the bag and wrapped it around her face. “Bosco?”

The dog whined.

She pulled his leash closer, grabbed his collar, and walked forward. Now she knew how she was going to die. Right here. Carved like a mountain by the wind until she was nothing but bone. She pulled her arms into her T-­shirt and prayed. “I'm sorry, Bosco. It wasn't meant to be like this.” Where, in the name of all that was good, were they? Birmingham didn't have deserts. There was not this much pollution anywhere in the South. It was like walking into a demolition zone, only it wasn't stopping.

Swinging her pack around front, she pulled out a sweater to cover her arms and a thin scarf to wrap around her head. Bosco's whimpers grew louder, and she wrapped him up, too, although he fought her on the socks.

“
D
ù
ng lai
, Bosco.” He stilled obediently. “No chewing until we find some shelter. Heel.”

Bosco pressed against her leg.

Left arm stretched out in front of her, Sam did the Stingray Shuffle forward. Feet scooting but never lifting off the ground, it was meant to kick rays out of the way in the water since stepping on one meant a toxic dart to the leg. Now she did it so she didn't trip over anything. Her visibility was zero.

Even as she walked, she calculated the odds of survival. She'd learned from Los Angeles. Her pack had enough food for two weeks, water for one, but the bottle collected moisture from the air. They'd be able to stay alive if the weather didn't kill them—­which wasn't a given. There was no way she'd be able to set up the small tent Nealie had given her in this wind.

The toe of her boot struck something hard. Bending down, she rolled her sleeve up enough to touch the surface, praying it wouldn't be anything organic. It felt rough, like concrete or broken rock. She covered her hand again and felt around for more lumps. There was a small pile, then something smooth. Running the side of her covered hand against it she tried to get an idea of the shape. She didn't want to get excited, but it felt doorish. Smooth, tall, rectangular.

She led Bosco through the rubble and explored the smooth surface more. It was metal, dented in a few places, but solid enough. Even if it was just the carcass of a car, it meant shelter.

There was a whine from Bosco, a muffled yap, and the reassuring sound of creaking hinges. Bosco pulled her out of the dust storm into utter darkness. The door banged shut behind them.

“Good work, Bosco.”

He grumbled in complaint.

“I know.” She reached into her bag and found the flashlight. With a click, their hiding place was illuminated. A poster of a woman holding a tube of toothpaste smiled cheerfully back at Sam from behind a layer of oily filth. “That's . . . not what I was expecting.”

She unwrapped Bosco, washed off his scraped paws, and once they were ready to walk again, she took a better look as Bosco lay by the door. There was a long tunnel of sorts, metal on one side and rubble on the other. It looked like a bus stop almost, a nice bus station. “This must have been the high-­rent district.”

The dog wuffled in response.

“I'm saying it still is.” She shook her head. “You know, if things weren't like they were, I think I could have enjoyed this. Traveling between all the possible worlds. It's a bit like archeology.”

Bosco curled his tail under his legs.

“It can't be this bad in every iteration.” But what a terrifying thought it was. She tested the stairs with a little run, then came back to Bosco. “There are tunnels down there.”

He didn't look impressed.

“The air smells better.”

Still nothing.

“Come on, Bosco. Mac might be down there! I mean, where else could ­people be living in this hellscape? Obviously, something triggered a nuclear winter or a worldwide storm, or we're in a test region for a tornado-­control machine. Don't look at me like that. I've seen shows about this. Okay, they were spec-­fic horror movies, but anything is possible, right?” Landing in the middle of a testing region for storm control did defy reason a little. The portal was supposed to open near the other machine. Since up wasn't an option, the portal had to be down. All she had to do was follow the tunnels until she found another human being.

She hit her hand on her thigh. “Up, Bosco.
D
ê
n ðây
. Let's go find Mac.”

With a snarl, Bosco stood, shook the dust off, and followed her down the steps.

“It is not the end of the world,” she promised, but her hands were shaking. This couldn't be the end, not after everything she'd gone through. This was supposed to be easy. Step in, grab Mac, flee for the far edges of the country, or alternate Australia, or even back home if it was possible.

Up ahead, voices rose in argument. Sam shut off the flashlight and pulled Bosco to the side as she crouched down.

“Where's Senturi?” an angry man demanded. “He promised to take us with him.”

“That's his own problem. If I see him, I'll let him know.” The second voice was deep, also male, and vaguely familiar.

“My ­people are waiting,” the angry one said, his voice growing louder as they drew closer.

Sam touched her palm to Bosco's nose, signaling him to stay silent.

Two men walked past with headlamps on that barely illuminated the space in front of them. “I'm just saying, if you want our help, there has to be some in return,” the angry man said.

“There will be,” the other replied. “Now, do your job.”

They turned a corner, and the voices dimmed.

Sam was still debating whether to follow them or not when a door slammed, and one set of footsteps started walking toward her. She waited until the man passed, then stood and turned on her flashlight.

The man turned. “What in the fragging sixth hell? Who are you?”

He was shorter than average, covered in a heavy canvas coat that looked like it might have been a Vietnam War-­era tent stolen from a museum, and a heavy leather cap that covered his neck.

“Who am I?
What
are you?” Sam asked. “Is there a quarantine? Plague?” She held out a helpless hand to his clothes. “Diesel-­punk convention?”

“I'm a survivor.” he said with an exasperated yell.

“Of what?”

“Where have you been your entire life? This place was bombed until you couldn't buy bread if you fragged the mayor.” His face was the cragged, aging face of a man of indeterminate race hidden behind dirt and grease He looked at Bosco and licked his lips like a man in a desert sighting water.

“Don't look at my dog like that,” Sam said. “What city is this?”

“Birmingham.” He choked and coughed, spat something black onto the dirt floor. “I don't know what it's like in the Shadow Prime, but show some respect. You're in my place now. No how do you do? No manners?”

Sam shrugged, feeling a bit guilty and very overwhelmed. “Sorry. Hello. How are you? What is the Shadow Prime?” She hadn't formed a fully-­fleshed-­out idea of what she expected to encounter on this side of the portal, but it wouldn't have been this. Somehow, she'd figured it would be closer to home. More trees, maybe with better tech or a different government. This level of destruction wouldn't have crossed her mind even if she'd extrapolated the worst-­case scenario for the old countries not forming the Commonwealth.

He pointed at the dog. “Where'd you get that?”

“This is Bosco,” Sam said, petting him for comfort. “He's a boerboel. Very well trained.” She stopped, tilting her head in thought. “Why did you ask where I'd found him? Don't you have pets?”

The man grimaced. “Not anymore.” He leaned against a shadowy wall. “I had one as a kid. A beagle.” He shook his head. “It was hard enough keeping myself alive during the wars. I couldn't keep a dog, too. You have a name?”

“CBI Agent Sam Rose from the Commonwealth of North America. And you are?”

“Jaycob Landon.” Landon stepped closer, cold eyes boring into her. “
Samantha
Rose? The commander and the Paladin?”

“That might be a version of me,” she admitted cautiously. “But I'm not responsible for anything she's done.”

He snorted in disbelief. “Yeah. Who are you here to kill?”

“No one. I'm here to find my husband.” Sam wasn't sure if she was appalled or amused when Landon looked her up and down with a masculine gaze.

He shrugged. “Not really my type, but I won't say no. I mean, when Senturi said he could smuggle ­people out to the new iteration, he said there was a bit of a gender imbalance. Not a lot of men. But you should have waited for us to cross over.”

“I already
have
a husband,” Sam said “He was kidnapped by someone in this iteration. I'm here to take him back. It sounds like you're leaving, too.”

“That's the agreement.” Landon turned and shuffled into the darkness. “You coming, Agent? I don't care one way or the other if you want to go back into the storm. But if you want to go for a walk, let me keep the dog. He looks friendly enough.”

Bosco bumped her knee and barked. He was bright enough that someone had said they liked him, and friendly ­people often gave him treats. Bosco was not above begging.

Sam sighed. “We're coming.” Going back outside wasn't an option.

Which left her with what, she wondered? A future living in the ruins of Birmingham?

Wasting away from some disease in the water or from radiation poisoning?

Her and Mac's fifth anniversary was coming up. They had been planning on finding someone to watch Bosco and sail down to see Antarctica. She had tomatoes to harvest at home. Friends who would miss her eventually.

She sighed again.

Landon turned on a flashlight and shined it directly in her face. “You don't look like what I expected. Senturi made it sound like everyone in the Shadow Prime was real serene. Docile, he said. You look angrier than I expected. Like you could handle a fight.”

“I can,” Sam said. “I don't know what the Shadow Prime is or who Senturi is. Sorry. You work for him?”

Landon shrugged. “With him. Sort of. His squad caught me raiding the food stores in the towers a year or so back. I took a beating for it, wound up press-­ganged into the infantry. But I'm smarter than a grunt. Worked my way up, and as soon as they gave me enough freedom, I skedaddled. Thought it was over until a few months back, when Senturi hunted me down.

“Offered to get me and ten ­people I picked out of here if I manned a stationary landing site. Two, one here and one in the control tower. Senturi used the mobile sites more often, but this one was static jumping between here and the new world.” He looked at Sam. “I thought maybe the jump had gone wrong.”

She shook her head. “Sorry. Henry—­Dr. Troom—­he used the Fountain Variance Calculations to pick a location near a big city. We tried to find a place where someone stepping out of a glowing portal wouldn't be noticed.”

“A park?” Landon guessed.

“A known drug alley where everyone would be high.” Sam shrugged. “In my world, the security in that area is more or less ignored. There have to be a few blind spots for undercover agents to meet their handlers, and most the drugs are legal. It's a Vagrant Walk.”

He flicked the beam of light to the floor. Pieces of asphalt appeared.

Bosco walked up to Landon, straining at the leash, and put one giant paw on the man's thigh.

“He's hungry,” Sam said. “He only just ate a fish three minutes before we came, but you know how dogs are.”

Landon patted his head and pushed Bosco away. “Not sure we have much to offer. Why'd you bring the dog?”

“I was afraid that if I left him, I'd never see him again. There's only a fifty-­fifty chance I'll get my husband back. Leaving Bosco would be too much. Plus, he keeps me safe.”

Landon glanced sideways at the dog and nodded. “The main substation is this way. Not far now.” He turned and walked on.

“What happened here?” Sam asked, as they passed a pile of shattered glass and rusting metal.

“Emir happened. Him and the world government,” Landon said. “Anyone who didn't agree with their terms fast enough was eliminated. EMP bombs, regular bombs, street sweeps with snipers and assault rifles. I wasn't here then. But I moved here. Kept getting pushed out of everywhere 'cause I have a record.”

“As what?”

He shrugged one shoulder as if it didn't matter. “A bit of everything small time. Carjacking was what got me, but I did a bit of hacking, bit of grifting. Wasn't born rich but didn't want to die poor. I should have gone to jail, but the hard-­line judge I was supposed to get was sick. So I got this real nice old lady with a soft spot for bad boys, I guess. I was a lab rat for a new rehab program. Instead of jail, I went to be a locksmith's apprentice. Wound up designing custom locks. It was lucrative for a few years. Until the whole Manifest Destiny of Time and Forward Progression of Humanity projects changed everything. There's no custom anything anymore. No luxuries. No . . .” He waved his hand over his head. “You know, whatever. We're all the same. That's why we all want to leave.”

“Makes sense to me,” Sam said.