Decoherence (24 page)

Donovan chuckled. “Why don't you come down here? Pretty girl like you, I'll make it quick. Slit your throat.”

“Your ­people skills need work.”

“Considering how much I dislike ­people, not so much.” Donovan walked toward around the bow of the boat, moonlight shattering off the knife blade like broken glass.

Ivy pushed Bradet behind her. “I have a backup unit and an ambulance on the way. Don't be stupid. Put your knife down.”

“You hear any sirens? See any lights? No? That means I'm taking
him
, and that ambulance is taking
you
to the morgue.”

His first kick knocked her flat on her back. He followed up with his knife hand.

Ivy kicked back, arching her back and slamming both booted feet into his chest. Donovan staggered backward. She lunged at his legs, missed, and fell in the dirt.

Donovan dropped to his knees on her back, driving the air out of her. He chuckled as he pulled her braid from her throat. A heavy hand pushed her face down into the grass.

Ivy choked, tensing, and then hot blood splashed on her neck. The weight on her back lifted, and she pushed up, shaking. Rolling over, she saw a nightmare in the spotlight of her fallen flashlight; a body on the ground and Donovan standing over it.

“Bradet?”

A muffled scream made her turn. Bradet was standing where she'd left him.

Donovan was standing over the body holding a combat knife now.

And the body was . . . Donovan.

She scrambled to her feet. “What the hell?”

Donovan, the other one, stepped toward her. “I can help you.” He was leaner than the first one, with a wild look in his eyes and dried blood on his hands.

She shook her head and stepped back, nearly tripping over her flashlight. It seemed dangerous to reach for it, but she did, grabbing her only weapon and shaking off the fire ants that came with it. The sharp stings of their bites were the only thing that convinced her she hadn't fallen asleep in the patrol car. “Who are you?”

“Donovan,” the man said calmly, as she scooted back to Bradet.

“What, like a clone of him? Or was he a clone of you?”

“He was my other self.”

“Okay.”
Not okay.
“I'd rather deal with Crazy Ivan the Cannibal, but sure.” She grabbed Bradet's wrist. “We're leaving. You just . . . stay. Or go. I-­I don't care which.”

Donovan walked toward her with slow, deliberate steps. “You're coming with me.”

“No.” Ivy shook her head, quick, jittery shakes. “I don't see that happening.”

“You're the red-­haired woman.”

She took another step back. “I'm
a
red-­haired woman. We're really not that uncommon.”

“You're mine.”

“Oh. Oh, hell no.” Here she was on familiar ground. “I am no one's property. Not yours. Not Jenna's. No one's.”

Donovan reached to grab her, and she brought her flashlight down on his head. Hard.

He dropped to his knees. She stomped on his hand, driving it into the tide-­dampened ground. Her knee caught his nose. For good measure, she hit him over the head again.

“Run,” she told Bradet, pushing him toward the road.

“Can't . . . can't run.” He swayed as he spoke.

Ivy grabbed his arm and put it over her shoulder, half carrying him, half propping him up. “We're leaving. Now.”

Donovan wasn't unconscious, just stunned. In another minute, he'd have adrenaline enough to work through the broken nose and come after her.

Bradet fell down in front of her. Ivy picked him up by the armpits, dragging him into a standing position. “Up the hill. It's not much. My car is right there on the highway.” But it was “much.” He was heavy, a good thirty pounds more than she weighed, and barely walking.

He turned to look at Donovan scrambling to get up. “He's going to kill us.”

“If he tries, I'll hit him again.” She brandished her flashlight like a sword, but her legs were trembling. As if to echo that sentiment, the beam of light quivered, blinked, and faded, leaving them alone in the moonlight.

“We're going to die,” Bradet repeated in a quiet whisper.

“You're in shock,” Ivy said. She glanced over her shoulder. Donovan was watching them, the shadows of night making his face a harsh mask, but he wasn't following.

They reached the crest of the small hill.

Bradet sagged against her.

Ivy looked up and down the road. “I don't . . . never mind. Just across the bridge. There's a little gravel parking lot. And backup is coming.” Backup had probably stopped for burgers and fries at Kelli's Kajun Kitchen, and she was going to give them hell about it.

Headlights flared up ahead. For the briefest moment, she hoped it was backup; then she saw the license plate. It was her car. Someone had stolen her car and was approaching at a reckless speed.

At the last second, she pulled Bradet to the relative safety of the guardrail. Nothing but a hand span of cement between them and the inky inlet below. Ivy looked down at the dark water. In his condition, Bradet couldn't swim. If they jumped, he'd die, and she'd be back down with Donovan.

The car's tires squealed on the asphalt as the driver turned sharply. It rushed toward them, then stopped, with screeching tires and the smell of burning rubber. The window rolled down, and a man leaned forward. “Hello.”

Ivy's jaw clenched in anger. “That's. My. Car.”

The driver looked casually at the lit dashboard and the torn-­out dispatch radio. “It needs repairs.”

“Get out. I'll make sure you get the mechanic's bill.” She stepped in front of Bradet.

“That's not how I work.”

“You are under arrest.”

The driver shook his head.

Bradet screamed, and there was a sudden draft of chilly night air behind her where he had been. She turned to see Donovan stalking toward them. Bradet crouched on the ground beside her.

The man in the car tilted his head. “That's not my partner.”

“Your partner have a fillet knife?”

He nodded.

“He's dead. This is the other Donovan.”

The man in the car grunted. “Give me that one”—­he stabbed a finger at Bradet—­“and I'll run that one over for you.” He pointed at the approaching Donovan. “Life for a life.”

“I am Officer Clemens of the New Smyrna Police Department. You are under arrest. He is under arrest. Bradet may be under arrest. I haven't decided yet, but I think I can charge him with Loitering with Intent to Annoy. You are all under arrest!” she shouted.

“It's only a law if you can enforce it,” the man said. “And you can't.” He lifted a strange gun from the seat behind him. “
Vaya con Dios, Oficial Clemens.
”

Sirens screamed as backup rounded the corner and sped toward them.

Ivy glared at the man in her stolen car. “Pull that trigger, and you won't have time to get away.” Donovan, or whoever he was, was already running back to the swamp. “Go ahead.”

The man in the car snarled, then stomped on the gas.

She had no doubt the car would be dumped in the next town. But, for now, she let it go. Crouching down beside Bradet, she squeezed his hand. “See that? The ambulance is here. All you have to do is keep breathing. Just keep breathing. It's all going to be okay.”

Even if nothing about this makes any sense.

 

CHAPTER 39

“What would the Borgias do?”

~ engraved on a family crest created in during the Neo Renaissance I3—­2061

Day 206/365

Year 5 of Progress

(July 25, 2069)

Central Command

Third Continent

Prime Reality

S
he was shaking again. Even the sleeping pills couldn't stop her nightmares. Every time she slept, she dreamt of dying. The memory of her death haunted her waking hours. Colored every shadow.

The only thing that offered her a respite was running, burning all her energy until she collapsed into the cold bed at night. With the gym closed as part of lockdown, she'd taken to running in the empty ser­vice tunnels under Central Command. Her footsteps echoed, a steady cadence completely at odds with her racing heart.
It will soon be over,
she repeated to herself.
It will soon be over. It will soon be over.

Decoherence is coming.

If she could just hold on to her sanity for a few more days, everything she'd done would be worth it. The deaths, the lies, the losses.

She slowed, stopping at one of the old watering fountains to take a drink. The water wasn't as well filtered on this level, and it tasted of rotten eggs, but she found she didn't care. Not about the water, or Donovan, or even Emir. She stared at the brick walls painted white and let her fears soak into the stones.

Shadows flickered down the empty tunnels. A flash of light was followed by the tread of heavy boot steps.

Donovan turned the corner, blood dripping from his nose.

“What happened to you?” Rose demanded, terror rushing back like the recoil of a gun on her shoulder. Fear of invasion and erasure pumped her with adrenaline until the world snapped into sharp focus.

Donovan looked up, and it seemed like he wasn't seeing her at all. His gaze roved through the shadows, catching on the lines of the brick and the shine of the water dispenser. “She's mine!” The shout bounced off the walls.

“Who's yours?” Rose took a step forward before realizing he'd fallen into the abyss he'd always teetered on the edge of. “Captain, report to the infirmary.” Her voice cracked with fear.

Donovan charged her, raging forward with his fists leading.

Rose ducked under his initial punch, stuck her leg out and tripped him. That ruined his momentum but didn't knock any sense into him.

Donovan came back, twisting and rising up with a fist aimed at her torso.

Rose took the blow on her shoulder and drove her fist into his gut.

It didn't slow him down. Donovan lashed out with a left hook, a textbook response straight out of their training drills. He always had been stupid.

Catching his arm, Rose pulled, using Donovan's own momentum to throw him into the wall. “I will kill you,” she warned. “I might not want to, but I will.”

“You ruined it! She's dead. Senturi is dead. This is your fault!” He pushed off the wall, trying to tackle her.

Rose stepped to the side and used her boot to send him sprawling onto the floor, where his head bounced. She took off her belt and tied his hands behind his back while he was still stunned. “You're not in your right mind. I'm going to get the guards. If you're still here when I get back, I'll tell Emir this was pressure brought on by decoherence. If you try to escape or come after me, I'll tell him exactly what you said.” She peered at his hands. There was more than his blood there.

Kicking him in the back so his kidneys would remember her threat, she stood. “Think very hard, Captain. Is this really how you want to die?”

With a heavy sigh, she turned . . . only to see herself watching the tableau with a curiously blank expression.

Rose blinked, shaking her head. She had the nauseating sensation of being in two places at once. Memories that weren't quite hers buffeted her. And then she saw the dog.

“You're Commander Rose?” her other self asked.

“What are you doing here?” The other iterations didn't know about decoherence. All non-­Prime threats had been removed. And if this was decoherence . . . it was wrong. She wasn't supposed to feel like multiple ­people. She wasn't supposed to feel anything.

Her other self smiled. “I'm here to pick up my husband. I may arrest someone in connection to a series of killings, but I consider that a secondary goal.” The woman leaned to the side to look around her. “That man on the ground, what size shoe would you say he'd wear?”

“What?” Rose clutched her stomach as a wave of nausea twisted her insides. Drinking the water down here had been a poor choice.

“Doesn't matter,” the other-­Rose said with a shrug. “He fits the description of my murder suspect. If he's alive when I'm done, I'll arrest him. If he's not, then I'm just picking up Mac and leaving.”

Rose shook her head as she fought the pain. “You can't. He's our node.” She hesitated and shook her head again, growing angry.
This is not how I die.
“You should be dead. I collapsed your iteration. I collapsed all the iterations. This morning, the machine was showing only one line.” Emir had told her so himself.

He'd sworn it was over.

“Is that what you were trying to do, destroy us?” her other self asked. “You're not very good at it, are you? This makes, what, three attempts? Four? Maybe you should have outsourced to the Marines. You know, for when it absolutely, positively has to be destroyed overnight?” There was a lilt in her voice, a sense of dark humor that stole the foundation of Rose's hate.

“What are we doing?” The memories were growing. Rose stepped back. Maybe the water was poisoned. That would make sense. Fatigue, dehydration, and chemicals in the water were conspiring to make her hallucinate.

The dog stepped forward.

“Why do you have an animal?”

“Because I like dogs, and leaving him with my neighbors seemed like a bad idea since I wasn't sure I'd get back to my iteration,” her other self said. “I couldn't leave Bosco alone.”

“That's not right.” Rose felt dizzy and confused. “You can't just step through like this. You can't change anything. You're a reject. A rogue. Impossible.” She shook her head. “You're wrong. Everything you do is wrong.” She grabbed her head. It hurt. Everything hurt.

Her other self shrugged. “Next time I go to confession; I'll be sure to mention this.” She raised her splat gun with a smile.

“You can't!”

But she did.

S
am watched as Landon caught the other-­Sam. Bosco sniffed her, then sat down in disinterest.

“Bit heavier than I was expecting,” Landon huffed. “Now what?”

“He needs to be secured for transfer. She needs to be hidden for a day or two. I'll need her uniform and any ID cards or keys she has. Do you think she brought a day planner?”

“To go jogging?” He sounded skeptical.

She untwisted Bosco's leash from her wrist and went to help Landon move the unconscious other-­Sam. “I can hope, right? I'm going in with no information about this building, no idea of the layout, and no clue where my husband is. If he were here, he'd kill me.”

Landon looked up sharply.

“It's an expression. He wouldn't actually kill me. He'd just be very frustrated with my choices right now.”

“He wouldn't be wrong.”

“Of course not. But, then again, if he were here, I wouldn't be hunting him down. Would I?”

“Suppose not.”

They hefted the other-­Sam to a metal sledge that they'd found in the corridor.

Sam rubbed dirt off her hands as she walked over the man her other self had beaten and tied up. He was glaring. “Donovan? I thought I recognized you.”

“I am going to kill you.” His words were calm and cold. It was a fact in his mind, not a guess.

She squatted down as Bosco trotted over to stand guard. “How many women who looked like us did you kill?” she asked. “Lexie Muñoz is the only one I can tie you to right now—­there were witnesses—­but I bet my badge your boot fits my other victims.”

“They were nothing. You are nothing.” His pupils were dilated to pinpoints of darkness. Wherever Donovan was, it wasn't reality.

“Where's Mac?” Sam asked.

Donovan squirmed, trying to stand. With a scream of inarticulate rage, he spat at her.

Sam stood up, wiping the spittle off her cheek. “The urge to kick him in the face is really quite strong,” she told Landon.

“It's going to be a pain pushing her back. With him on there?” Landon shook his head. “Do they need to live?”

“I'm generally opposed to murdering ­people.”

“It'd be easier is all I'm saying.”

“Very pragmatic.” She frowned down at the sleeping Commander Rose. “Do you still have that Taser?”

Landon nodded. “You want to go first?”

“At this point, it's like shooting a rabid dog,” she said over Donovan's shouts of protest.

“So you want the real gun?” Landon said, reaching for his pack.

Sam shook her head. “No, just tase him. I do not have time to hide a body.”

“Why hide it?” Landon asked as he pulled the Taser and shot Donovan in the leg. “Soon as the next opening comes, me and mine are leaving for the Shadow Prime. You're leaving. So who would track us down?”

“Dead bodies get noticed.” Sam nodded to Donovan's hands as she reached for his legs. “You leave one lying around long enough, it's bound to cause trouble.”

They carried Donovan over to the sledge and dropped him beside the other-­Sam, his feet dragging on the ground.

Landon shook his head. “Wouldn't get noticed before we get gone is all I'm saying.”

“You're going to push the same button to haul them out as you're going to push to haul yourself out,” Sam said. “The extra weight won't slow you down. Now, I need her uniform, I think.” Shooing Landon around the corner, she unlaced the commander's boots, stripped her down to her base layer of jogging shorts and tank top, then switched clothes with her. The uniform was heavy. How the other-­Sam had run comfortably in it she wasn't sure. But it fitted, and that, she told herself, was the main thing. “Oh!” She reached down and grabbed Melody Chimes's truncheon from her pocket. The faded Auburn sticker gave her hope.

“You can come back out,” she called to Landon.

He turned the corner, did a double take, then frowned. “Your hair is wrong.”

Sam pulled hers into a high bun on her head. “How's this look?”

“Anyone who knows this lady well is going to know you aren't her. Not once you get close.”

“As long as they don't notice until I'm close enough to knock them out, it doesn't matter. I still have me splat gun. I could use it.”
Could
being the operative word. If she could get away with not hurting anyone else, she would. “And I have Bosco.”

Landon didn't look convinced. “How many of those little magic bullets you got? Besides, that dog may look fierce, but he's not vicious.”

“The splat gun has nine bullets left.”

He nodded. “So, I'll expect you to come running with a fully armed battalion chasing you?”

“It will only be because they want to remind me of their love.”

Landon's eyes went wide as his lips rolled into his mouth and vanished. After a long moment, he asked, “Is everyone in your reality this crazy?”

“Nah. I'm one of the normal ones.”

“Is that supposed to reassure me? 'Cause it doesn't.”

“Don't worry about it,” Sam said. She realized she was using the voice she usually reserved for tourists and felt a little guilty. With a little placating smile, she said, “Everything's going to be fine. If all goes well, I won't even bother you again. You can jump to the Shadow Prime. I can go back to my life. It'll be great.” She rubbed her neck. She had a headache building and an uncanny sense of déjà vu about this whole place.

He grunted and shook his head. “Fine. Help me load him up?” He nodded to the cursing Donovan.

“Tase him first,” Sam said. “Otherwise, he's likely to bite.”

Five minutes later, both the unconscious other-­Sam and Donovan were loaded up.

“I'll get them to the rail line, load them there, and the auto transport can haul them the rest of the way.”

“Be careful with them,” Sam warned. “I don't trust either of them farther than I can throw them.”

“One of them is you!”

Sam nodded. “I know, that's why I don't trust her. I fight like a mongoose when I'm cornered.”

I
n Florida—­her first time through 2070—­Sam had found a warehouse full of paintings done by Dr. Emir. As Mac walked into Emir's private office in the Prime, he realized this was the parallel. The paintings weren't all the same. There were more cities and fewer depictions of Sam, but the thought behind it was the same. Emir had tried to capture the memory of the worlds he'd destroyed in his conquest of time.

Emir watched him as he walked a circuit around the room before coming to the oversized desk Emir hid behind. The doctor steepled his fingers together. “What do you think?”

“What a waste,” Mac said.

Emir cocked his head to the side. “Of paint? Of time?”

“Of life. Of possibility. Look,” Mac pointed to a painting of a glass-­and-­steel building shaped like a ship's sails. “Where was that? Who created it? What happened to the architect and the builders? To all the ­people who worked or lived there? They're gone, aren't they? Lives wasted. Because of you.”

“There can only be one iteration of each person,” Emir said.

“Why?”

The doctor blinked in surprise. “It is a matter of logic.”

“Of hubris,” Mac argued. “I know two variations of the same person can share a timeline because I've been living side by side with my younger self for five years. We shared an apartment for a few days. Neither of us imploded.”