Future Shock (7 page)

“Really?” Adam asks. “Is there a way to contact her?”

“Um…I don’t think so. Not unless you’re her friend or something. But her last status update says she’s at work and her profile has the name of the place, so maybe we can go there?” Her eyes widen. “We can go talk to her. My sister, in the future.”

Adam shakes his head. “You can’t talk to her. She’ll recognize you. Especially with your blue hair.”

“I guess,” Zoe says, her shoulders drooping. “But you guys could talk to her for me.”

“You sure you want to risk it?” Chris asks. “Going into shock and brain damage and all that?”

Zoe chews on her nail for a minute and then nods. “I have to know.”

02:53

Zoe’s sister works at some place on Hollywood Boulevard called Blue Moon. We use the map program in our flexis to find a Metro station within walking distance that will take us into the city. This Metro line doesn’t exist yet in our time, but now the train is packed with people commuting to work or wherever they’re going in the city.

Almost everyone on board wears a flexi, some clear but most with patterns, and it’s hard not to stare at their clothes that look almost but not quite normal. Many of them are made of something sleek with a touch of shine, and some have moving or flashing lights. Uniform name tags are all electronic, and one guy even has an entire advertisement for mint gum running across his chest, playing on repeat. It’s as if their clothes—smartclothes, I guess—are all computerized too.

The five of us spread out so we don’t look suspicious in our matching, old-fashioned outfits. I sit by myself and stare out the window. The Metro train runs aboveground on raised bridges over the freeway, where hundreds of egg-shaped cars zoom by. I rode along the same freeway yesterday on my way to Aether, but everything is different now—more cars, more buildings, more everything.

It takes two trains and about two hours to get to the Hollywood and Highland Metro exit. We emerge from the station into a sea of tourists gawking at an Elvis impersonator and checking out the gold Walk of Fame stars in the sidewalk. The place looks almost identical to the last time I was here, four years ago on a school trip. Although I guess it would be thirty-four years ago now.

The street is lined with T-shirt and souvenir shops selling random crap covered in the words “Hollywood” and “Los Angeles.” Old neon signs hang below palm trees, and the air smells like piss and incense. Street entertainers and people in costumes line the sidewalk, trying to get some attention. Everything has that same dirty, fake feel I remember. The only things that stand out as different are the strange cars and the lit-up clothes people wear. And none of the tourists are taking photos—probably because the flexis have a camera app built in.

We head east, moving around the crowds and trying to stick together. Dark-gray clouds cover the sky, the air thick with the promise of rain. Adam stares down at the Walk of Fame stars the entire time, reading the celebrities’ names and nearly running into multiple people in the process. “Who are all these people? I’ve never heard of any of them.”

“Actors who haven’t been born yet probably.” I yank him out of the way of a guy in a Darth Vader costume. “Watch where you’re going.”

“Sorry. It’s just so odd. It’s like nothing’s changed in the future until you look at the details. Like that.” He points at a window display with dozens of different T-shirt styles for something called Comfortable Man. Some of them only have the logo, but others have a guy wearing typical superhero gear with a black mask and a rainbow-colored cape, along with a pink tutu. “What is that?”

“Never heard of it. Must be a TV show or movie we don’t have yet.” I shrug but then I nearly run into Adam, who has stopped to stare at something in front of us.

Outside the Ripley’s Believe It Or Not with the T. rex on the roof, a man is completely covered in fire. The flames ripple up and down his body and shoot off the top of his head, but there’s no heat from the fire. As we walk by, he hands us a ticket for 10 percent off admission, and Adam and Chris debate how the effect is done for the next five minutes.

We pass the Hollywood Wax Museum where there’s a creepy wax sculpture of an older Justin Bieber, of all people, in the window. There are other wax sculptures I don’t recognize, including an actress in a wheelchair. People in long coats stand on the side of the street and try to hand us things that look like little blue pills. Trent starts to take one until I give him a “don’t even think about it” look.

After a couple blocks, we move away from the tourist trap and the crowd thins out. The map says we’ve come to the place: a plain gray building with blacked-out windows and a dark-blue door. The neon sign above it says “Blue Moon” and has an image of a woman dancing on a pole with her ass sticking out. Classy.

“Is this the place?” Adam asks.

Zoe stares at the door with wide eyes. “The address is right, but…”

“I changed my mind. I want to go in now,” Trent says, grinning at the sign.

I roll my eyes. “Keep it in your pants, perv.”

“C’mon, can’t we all go in?”

“Shut up,” Chris says to Trent. He looks back and forth between me and Adam. “You two know what to do?”

“Yeah, we got it.” I take off my jacket and hand it to Zoe, leaving me in just a plain black shirt. Adam zips up his jacket. It’s the best we can do until we get some new clothes. We keep our backpacks—I don’t want the others peeking through mine and finding the gun.

While we were on the train, Chris and Adam set up our flexis so Adam and I can record everything we see and hear while streaming it to the others, so they can watch and even speak to us. From what Chris said, it will be like they’re looking through our eyes. Personally, I think it’s creepy as hell. I’d much rather be on the receiving end, but I’m stuck with the job. Zoe can’t go inside in case her sister recognizes her. Chris and Adam split up so we have a tech guy on both ends, and none of us trust Trent not to screw this up.

“I’m turning on the camera,” Adam says. “How’s it look?”

“Looks good,” Chris says. “We’ll hang out around back. C’mon.” He waves for Zoe and Trent to follow him.

Adam opens the door, and we walk into a dark room that reeks of beer and desperation. Loud music thumps in the background, and two older men sit at the bar. Above them, a dark-haired girl dances around a pole with only her underwear on. She twirls around and stares off into the distance, her movements mechanical. Another scantily clad girl walks around the room and stops to talk to a guy with a long beard at a table. Otherwise, the place is empty.

“Man, strip clubs are depressing this early in the morning,” Trent says, his voice loud in my head. I jump at the sound. It’s bad enough hearing him out loud.

“How many have you been to?” I ask.

“Um…none.”

Figures. I scan the room, feeling like a creeper every time I look at the women, and a little angry every time I see the men. But I’ve been in worse places than this, so I keep my cool.

“Are any of these your sister?” I ask quietly. I focus on the dark-haired girl, who looks like she could be Asian. “Her maybe?”

“I-I don’t know,” Zoe says. “I don’t think so. But I’m not sure what she looks like.”

“You don’t know what your sister looks like?”

“It’s been a while since I saw her.” She sighs, and I can hear the pain in her voice. “We were kids when we were split up and put into the foster care system.”

“That sucks.” No wonder she wants to see her sister so badly. There were many nights growing up in foster care when I wished I had a brother or sister, someone who would stick with me through everything, who’d understand what I’d been through like no one else could. But maybe that would have been worse—to be split up from the last person you called family.

“What do we do?” Adam asks. He’s been silent until now, taking it all in with a grim expression.

“No clue,” I say. “I’ve never been to a strip club.”

“Me neither.”

“Get a table or something,” Chris says.

We pick a spot across the room from the bearded guy. The table’s surface has bright blue bubbles floating all over it, and when I touch one, it pops. Adam slides his hand across the table and the bubbles move around him, blown away by his movements but never going too far from the surface.

“This is awesome,” he says, as he pops the bubbles one by one. Each time, another bubble appears in a different spot. He’s probably the only guy in here more excited by the technology than the half-naked girls. “Check this out. You order at the table here.”

A menu hovers over the bubbles. From it, we can order food and drinks, as well as other…entertainment.

I scan the list of names and photos of girls we can request. There are a few guys listed too. I find a way to narrow it down to only Asian women, which cuts it down to three. Only one of them is available right now.

“That’s her!” Zoe says. “Jasmine! Or I think it’s her. That’s not her name, but it looks like her. I just…I can’t believe she works here.”

I focus on the photo of Jasmine—one of the older women listed, maybe in her late thirties or early forties. She’s pretty, with raven-black hair and porcelain skin, but compared to the barely twenty girls she looks almost ancient.

“Sorry, Future-Adam. Looks like you’re paying for this too,” Adam mutters while he orders a private room with Jasmine.

“Okay, now I really want to go in there,” Trent whines.

I wish I knew how to mute him. “Now what?”

Adam orders two sodas and pops another bubble. “I guess we wait.”

A minute later, the scantily clad waitress sets our sodas on the table without a word. A ring of light appears around each glass when it touches the surface, and the bubbles cluster around them.

I pick up my soda and chug it to relieve the pressure in my throat. When I set it down, windows appear above the table asking if I want to order another soda, along with suggestions for other drinks and an icon to “share with your friends.” Adam leans forward to examine the options, but I shake my head and look away.

A woman with short, black hair and a ton of eyeliner comes to our table. She’s well stacked, wearing a bra flashing with digital colors, a matching skirt that’s smaller than some of my underwear, and a flexi that looks like fish scales. But there’s something sad about her, with the fine lines around her eyes and the caked-on makeup, like she’s trying too hard to be twenty again.

“You order the private room?” she asks, sounding bored.

Is this Jasmine? I glance at Adam, but he shrugs.

“That’s her,” Zoe says softly. “I can’t believe it. She looks so…old.”

“Yeah, that’s us,” Adam says to Jasmine, adjusting his glasses and carefully looking everywhere except her breasts. “What do we…”

“Follow me.” She leads us into the side of the club, past a velvet curtain, and gestures at a purple love seat. Adam sits, but I think of all the men who must have sat on the couch and decide to remain standing.

The woman slides close to him, moving between his legs, but he holds up his hands to stop her. “Wait! We just want to talk to you.”

The woman shrugs, but steps back. “Whatever. You paid for thirty minutes.”

“We’d like to ask you a few questions about your sister,” I say.

“My sister?” Jasmine plants her hands on her hips. “Why do you want to know about her?”

“We’re, um…” We really should have planned this out better. I try to think of everything I know about Zoe. “We’re doing a class project on her art. She was a great artist.”

“Is this some kind of sick joke?” Jasmine cocks her head to the side, her eyebrows raised. “My sister died when she was seventeen.”

05:21

I hear a sharp intake of breath in my head, and Chris starts to swear. Zoe is
dead
? That must be why she’s not in the system. But if Zoe’s not in the system, does that mean we’re
all
dead?

No. It could just be a coincidence. It has to be.

Jasmine is eyeing me suspiciously. I need to say something. “Well, you know, art becomes more valuable after someone dies.”

“Hmm.” She shrugs. “I guess it
has
been about thirty years now.”

Oh God. That means Zoe must have died not long after we returned from this trip to the future. It can’t be a coincidence. It’s all connected somehow—the conversation with the scientists, the empty building and the wrong year, and now this.

“How exactly did your sister die?” Adam asks.

“Not sure that’s any of your business really, but she was murdered.”

Murdered
. The word hangs over us, sending chills through me. Someone starts wailing, probably Zoe. I put my hand to my forehead, feeling faint all of a sudden. I need to get these people out of my head. I need to get away from the sinking feeling that everything is going horribly wrong and there’s no way to stop it.

Adam stands up and touches my arm. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Just give me a sec.”

I push past the curtain into the main part of the club. A different girl is dancing on stage now. I dart past her and into the bathroom, which looks like it hasn’t been updated—or cleaned—since my time. I stare into the mirror over the sink, trying to ignore the computerized ads that dance along the edge of it. I still hear Zoe muttering in my head, along with Chris and Trent trying to talk to her. Even in the bathroom I can’t escape them. I switch off the camera feed and my head goes silent again.

Under the dim light my dark skin looks sallow, my brown eyes tired. My long hair is frizzing out. I look lost. Defeated.
Weak.

I splash water on my face and smooth out my hair.
Pull it together
, I tell myself.
Just because Zoe’s dead doesn’t mean you are too.

I use the toilet and return to our private room behind the curtain. Jasmine is leaning against the wall, examining her nails. Adam looks up at me, his face creased with worry. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah.” I switch my camera back on. The other end is silent. “Do you know who killed Zoe?” I ask Jasmine.

“Nah, I was only eight when she died. I don’t remember anything, except that she was shot in her girlfriend’s apartment.”

“No, please, no,” Zoe says, with a sob in her voice. “This can’t be happening. I don’t believe it!”

I hear static and a thump on the other end, and then hear Chris yell Zoe’s name in the background. Followed by more static.

“Zoe?” Adam asks. “Chris?”

Silence.

I dart through the curtain and into the club, while Jasmine yells, “Hey!” Adam is right behind me as we step outside.

It’s raining now, and I’m quickly soaked without my coat. We rush to the back of the club where the others are supposed to be waiting. I hold my hand over my eyes to peer through the downpour, looking for any sign of them.

Farther down the street, I see Trent and Chris running down the alley, their feet splashing against the sidewalk. Zoe’s in front of them and she runs like a scared child, either indifferent or completely unaware of the rain pouring down on her.

Adam and I take off after them, racing down the rain-slicked road. Zoe suddenly collapses in the middle of the alley. Is she hurt? I run faster.

I catch up to them, panting and completely soaked through, with Adam just behind me. Chris stands beside Zoe, who kneels on the ground, shivering. Trent smokes a cigarette, his hand shaking as he flicks the ash onto the wet ground.

Zoe peers up at us with haunted eyes, rain dripping down her face and mixing with her tears. “This future. I don’t want it. I
hate
it.”

Adam slips an arm around Zoe and helps her to her feet. “We’re going to change it. All of that stuff she said…it isn’t going to happen.”

“Can we?” She turns to me, her eyes haunted. “Can we change it?”

I open my mouth but don’t have an answer for her. Maybe this is why Aether didn’t want us to look ourselves up. Nothing good can come of knowing our own fate.

We move down the alley until we find a small overhang to hide under. I rub my arms, trying to snap some warmth back into them. My hair is dripping all over me, and my thin T-shirt is soaked through. Zoe still has my jacket, but she’s clinging to Adam and barely holding herself together.

“This is messed up.” Chris rubs a hand over his shaved head. “What do we do?”

“We need to figure out who shot Zoe and why,” I say. “And find out if the rest of us are dead too.”

Trent jerks his head toward me. “You think we’re dead?”

“Maybe.” Probably. All of us except Adam anyway.

“But why would someone do this?” Adam asks.

“I don’t know. Zoe, do you have any idea who would want to kill you?”

She shakes her head, arms wrapped around herself. She’s leaning against a dumpster, sobbing quietly. I don’t blame her. Not only did she see her sister all grown up and working in a strip club of all places, but she just found out she’s going to be dead soon too.

Not just dead—murdered.

“What about your girlfriend?” I ask. “Would she…?”

Zoe whips her head back and forth. “No, definitely not. Never.”

“What about ex-girlfriends?” Trent asks. “Or, uh, ex-boyfriends?”

She sniffs. “I have both but…I don’t think any of them would want to kill me.”

Adam rubs her shoulder. “It’s going to be okay.” He pleads with his eyes, like he wants me to help somehow. I’m not sure what he expects me to do. I’m not exactly a touchy-feely person at the best of times, and I’m barely keeping it together myself.

I lightly pat Zoe’s arm. “Don’t worry,” I say, fumbling for comforting words. “We’re going to figure this out.” Man, I suck at this. But Zoe wipes her face on her sleeve and nods. Adam gives me a thumbs-up, but I didn’t really do anything.

Rain thumps against the roof above and on the metal dumpsters around us. I shiver again and want to ask for my jacket, but Zoe stares into space, oblivious. I know I should say something, but the vacant look in her eyes stops me. At least she’s stopped crying now.

Adam takes off his jacket and offers it to me. “Here.”

“Are you sure?” I ask, and Adam nods. I slip on the jacket, which is still warm from his body heat, and pull the hood over my head to cover my damp hair. “Thanks.”

“So what now?” Trent asks, lighting another cigarette. “How do we—”

“
Police!
” shouts a man down the alley. “Put your hands up!”

Through the splattering rain, I see two people who look like members of a
SWAT
team or something. They wear dark-blue body armor that reads
POLICE
along the shoulder and full helmets with clear visors. Both have heavy utility belts with large guns, more like assault rifles than handguns, and they each carry something like a baton that lights up at the top.

I raise my hands slowly. This might be a mistake. Or it might be related to everything else that’s going on.

Adam steps in front of us, his hands up. “What’s the problem, officers?”

“Aid-Mart reported a theft in their store. We tracked the item to this location.”

That’s the name of the drugstore Chris and Trent went to. Dammit, Trent! He just had to go and steal something and get us all in trouble. I could kill him myself. We should tell them we aren’t with him and let him deal with the repercussions. I don’t owe him anything, and Trent deserves whatever he gets for being a pendejo.

“I’m sure this is just a misunderstanding,” says Adam.

The cop points his baton at Trent. “Is that a cigarette?”

Trent freezes, with the butt smoking faintly in the rainy haze. “Yeah?”

The second cop turns to the first. “Shoplifting and drug possession. That’s enough to bring them in.”

“Drug possession?” Trent asks. His cigarette drops to the ground.

The cops both take a step forward, and the first one raises his baton. “Don’t move. You’re under arrest.”

Oh shit. These cops are serious. Would they really arrest Trent for
smoking
? Are cigarettes illegal now?

I’m tempted to leave him, but we can’t abandon Trent, no matter how much we might want to. And we can’t afford to get arrested either. Who knows how long we’d be locked up? A few hours? A day? No way—we’d miss the aperture opening again and be stuck in the future forever.

I lock eyes with Chris, and I can tell he’s come to the same conclusion. I tilt my head toward the other end of the alley, and he nods. Trent’s eyes widen, but I know he understands. We have to run.

Chris bursts into action, grabbing the edge of a dumpster and swinging it between us and the cops. Zoe and Trent take off running in the opposite direction, but Adam just stands there with his hands still up. I grab his arm and yank him down the alley. “Come on!”

“But—”

“Freeze!” the police yell.

Our footsteps splash against the puddles on the ground as we run, Zoe and Trent up front, Adam at my side, and Chris behind us. Adrenaline urges me on, and rain splatters against my face as my hood flies back.

We reach the end of the alley and turn onto Hollywood Boulevard. The police have gotten around the dumpster, but they’re slowed by their heavy armor. We weave between people with shopping bags who gawk at us and jump out of the way. Zoe is the fastest of us, leading the way through the maze of tourists and neon signs, their bright colors now faded and blurred in the rain. I don’t think she has any idea where she’s going. We have no plan, no place to hide, no way to escape. Sooner or later, the cops
will
catch up to us.

Down the street, I spot a hotel with people milling in front of it. A car stops at the door with signs that read
LOS ANGELES TAXI CO
. Two people get out, laughing, and I dash toward the car.

“In here,” I yell to the others, slamming my hand in the door before it slides shut. We pile into the car, which is empty and has no driver. That shouldn’t surprise me, but it does.

Chris is last and squeezes in beside me. The door shuts. “Go!”

I glance out the back window, but can’t see the cops through the rain hitting the glass. They have to be close. And the car isn’t moving.

The inside of the car is oval-shaped, with vinyl seats along the edges and a table in the middle. Trent looks around the interior, his hands up. “How do I—”

“Please state your destination,” says the car.

“Dude, where are we going?” Trent asks, his voice frantic.

“Anywhere!” Adam says. “Just pick something!”

“Um—”

“8411 Monroe Avenue,” Chris blurts out.

“Confirmed,” the car chirps. “Navigating to 8411 Monroe Avenue, Los Angeles. Estimated travel time: twenty-six minutes.”

But nothing happens. “Why aren’t we moving?” Chris asks.

An outline of a hand flashes on the top of the table. “Please scan payment.”

“Adam, you have to do it,” I say. “Hurry!”

He presses his hand to the scanner and the car glides forward. The only sound is the rain against the roof and the windshield wipers snapping. We’re all breathing heavily and dripping on the yellow vinyl seats, although from the holes in them and the stuffing sticking out, they’ve seen worse days.

“I think we lost them,” says Chris.

“They’re going to track us.” I stare out the window for any sign of the cops, but don’t see them. “They tracked us before.”

“Trent, where’s that laser pen?” Adam asks.

He digs it out of his jacket. “Here.”

“Throw it out!”

“What?”

“That’s probably how they found us. Get rid of it!”

“Ugh. Fine.”

The window opens and rain flicks inside at us, but Trent throws the laser pen out. For a full minute, I keep my eyes on the road behind us, certain that a cop car will show up at any second. Only after we’ve left Hollywood Boulevard do I sit back in the seat and let myself relax.

I brush damp hair off my face, feeling like a drowned rat. Adam is just as wet, yet somehow still looks put together. His black shirt is soaked through to his skin, showing the outline of his chest and arms. It’s not a bad view at all, but I take off his coat and hand it back to him.

“Thanks.” He doesn’t put it on and instead removes his glasses to wipe water off his face. His hair looks darker when wet, making his blue eyes stand out even more.

Zoe huddles in the corner of the car, her forehead pressed against the window. Chris touches buttons on the table’s screen, and a mini-fridge full of drinks opens underneath. Trent grabs two bags of peanuts and shoves them in his coat pocket.

“Where are we going?” I ask. “Whose address was that?”

“My girlfriend’s place,” Chris says. “I found the address while we were on the train. I need to know if I’m…”

He trails off, but I know what he means. It’s time to find out if we’re all dead.