by Zach Milan
“Dammit,” Monroe whispered. “Charlie.” He couldn’t leave this time yet.
• • • • • • • • • • • •
Thirty minutes later, Felix and Charlie were crossing the brick and grass circles, gazing around until their eyes found Monroe. They crossed the distance, and Felix gave Monroe a tight hug. “We woke up and you were gone; we thought, I thought …” He shook himself. “What is this?”
“The Blast still happened,” Monroe said. “This is the new monument.”
“The Blast?” Now Felix spun, looking to the library, to the scaffolded buildings, to the brick. “I thought this was New York as it should be.”
Monroe shook his head.
“I thought maybe,” Charlie said, squishing one cheek upward. “My bed was just right.” God, Monroe kept forgetting how much Charlie had changed. No longer Charlotte’s little boy, but a boy influenced by three parents working in concert.
“So why are we here?” Felix asked, crossing his arms. “Just to see it?”
“No. Not just to see it.”
Felix’s gaze fell on the bag around Monroe’s shoulder. “’Roe, you can’t. If Charlotte couldn’t defuse it, if Bill couldn’t? How can you stop the Blast?”
Monroe gritted his teeth. “I’m not going to try.”
“Then why are we here?”
“I’m going to save them, Felix. They’re stuck somewhere. In some random era that Ana wanted to send all of New York to. They don’t have an astrolabe. They’re stuck there with a Council who’ll do God knows what to them. I have to.”
Felix shook his head. “You don’t.” His voice was tender, his eyes pleading. “Charlotte wanted to make sure we were safe. That we had each other. That her family was intact. And she succeeded. She gave her life for us, and you’re going to throw that away?”
“She gave her life to stop the Blast.”
Felix snorted, suddenly angry. “You think so? You think that’s what it’s been about? Then you weren’t really watching her. She wouldn’t want Charlie to have to live without an uncle.”
“Charlie shouldn’t have to live without a mom!” Monroe breathed in, trying to calm himself. “Don’t you get it, Felix? I have been watching. What’s the point of any of this if Charlotte isn’t here with us? We need her. She’s our center. Without her, we’d all pull apart.”
Felix watched him. Clenched his jaw, frowning. “So what are you going to do?”
“There’s only one way to go exactly where they went in time—get caught in this Blast. But”—he raised a hand to silence Felix’s attempted rebuttal—“I’m not going to risk you and Charlie. Either there or here, it’s not safe.”
Shaking his head, Felix asked, “Then where?”
Monroe had been thinking that through for the past half hour. There wasn’t anywhere in time that felt safe, not with Paris somehow able to spot them without effort. There weren’t even very many options. Monroe wouldn’t leave them alone, stranded in some time where they didn’t belong. He couldn’t risk the future, and a black man and his son weren’t safe too far in the past.
But there was one person they knew out of time. One person who had a means of transporting Felix and Charlie to safety if Monroe failed. If Monroe couldn’t get back, there was one person who had an astrolabe.
“Bill,” Monroe said.
Felix’s forehead crinkled. Even Charlie blinked, not getting it. “I thought we weren’t going to go with you.”
“You aren’t. Don’t you see? Leanor told us that all of a time traveler’s out-of-time actions remain, even if something from their timeline changes. Their actions differ only if another time traveler changes them specifically.”
“So …”
Monroe tried to keep his voice even, tried not to blurt out the solution so that Felix could understand the genius of it. “Even though Bill died in this timeline, his actions still exist out of time. He still went to the past, still lived there. Still has a life there.” Monroe choked through the last. “And he still has the astrolabe.”
Felix inhaled. “In case you get stuck, too.”
“Please.” Monroe wouldn’t be guilted into standing still. “I can set all of this right. I can save them.”
Felix placed a hand on Monroe’s shoulder. “Try, Monroe. But don’t give your life, too. If you can’t find them whenever the Blast goes, if you can’t find them on Liberty Island, don’t keep looking. Don’t waste years of your life, if they’re gone. Come home.”
About to answer glibly, Monroe looked into Felix’s deep black eyes. He was serious. And he wasn’t going to take no for an answer. “I will. I won’t let Charlotte’s work be in vain.”
“It’s okay, Dad.” Charlie was gazing at Monroe, his dark eyes almost looking through his uncle. “He’s gonna do it.”
Felix squeezed Charlie’s shoulder. “Then we’re ready.”
Once they gripped him, Monroe spun the orb beneath his fingers. He was cautious, trying not to overshoot, trying to get them sometime thirty years prior. The grass and red rings unbuilt, leaving a large spherical pit below them. Buildings tottered nearby. And then the city returned unmarred. The sun zoomed around; shadows of people flitted around them, going to the Christmas markets, enjoying summer concerts, tanning in the sun.
Time slowed; the sun was low and red. Bryant Park was empty. On the grass, a page of The New York Times fluttered nearby. Monroe snatched it from the air and folded it to see the date. September 18, 1999. In only a few months, Bill would leave this time and go on a date with Monroe, tell him everything he’d seen.
Monroe could go with Felix and Charlie. He could guide them through this time, show them to Bill’s precinct. He could see Bill.
But no, Monroe was going to see his Bill. Saving him and Charlotte was what this was all about.
Monroe pulled a crumpled page from his pocket and handed it over. “Here you go. This is where Bill works. I don’t know his apartment, so you’ll have to meet him there. Come back next Tuesday.” Monroe ripped the date from the top of the news page and stuffed it into his pocket. He’d have Charlotte and Bill then. “And, Felix?”
There was so much to say. To tell Charlie and Felix that he loved them. To enjoy life if he didn’t come back. But he wouldn’t make the face Charlotte had when she’d said similar things. He wouldn’t even say those things.
As if he understood Monroe’s thoughts, Felix swept Monroe into another bear hug. It was a sign of how different Felix had become, or the possibility that had always been within him.
Below Felix, hugging hard, was Charlie. “It’s okay, Uncle ’Roe. We’ll see you soon.”
• • • • • • • • • • • •
Monroe shifted forward a year at a time, until he was in 2016. Then he inched himself through the days until April eighth. The day of the Blast.
Sun splashed onto the long green lawn, shadows falling onto the edges. It was still a few hours to noon. Only a little time to wait before the bomb appeared in the center. The round red disk was gone, of course, but Monroe situated himself where it had been. From his own bag, he pulled out a small book, ready to read until the sun was overhead. The Blast would occur at noon.
Then a smell wafted over, breaking his concentration. “Apples,” Monroe said, breathing the scent in deep. That hadn’t changed. No matter what sort of bomb Ana used, no matter that the first four had been prevented, the scent of burnt juicy apples still lingered.
Monroe lay back in the grass as the sunshine crept over the lawn. Soon the news would be filled with funny stories. Baristas would bring it up their whole shift. Tourists and New Yorkers alike would walk around with their noses aloft. It was—would be—such a good morning.
Monroe sat up with a frown.
The smell didn’t make sense. It had to be part of Ana’s Blast; that was the big event of the day. But this bomb wouldn’t arrive until a minute or so till noon. So why would the smell be here so much earlier?
Unless …
Unless the smell had something to do with the Council. Not the Blast at all, but a sign of their coming. That made a little more sense. Except why hadn’t he smelled this every time Paris arrived? Or in the future when they’d seen all three members of the Council?
Maybe it wasn’t from an astrolabe.
The Council had planned to come into this time, had likely chosen Bryant Park for the information shelved far below the grass. Was that all? Three people and some books wouldn’t get them much in this age. But if they could bring more in …
Monroe thought of Ana’s bombs. Big enough that hundreds of New York’s buildings had been taken through time. Why? To get at three people? It seemed ineffective and stupid, when Leanor was never anything but methodical. Even as Ana, she must’ve planned for something more.
If Leanor wasn’t sloppy, neither was Ana. She’d made this final bomb so big because it had to be. Because it wasn’t just three people who would enter New York City. The Council must have brought something else. Something to help them gain power swiftly. Not just schematics, or a little technology, but something enormous. “God,” Monroe said to himself, thinking it through. “It wasn’t the information at all. It was the land.”
What was Bryant Park but a perfect unused lot in the center of the city? Where else could you put a building in a city with no space? You’d have to use a park, and here was one ripe for the taking. They were bringing their empire in a building that would fit seamlessly into New York’s skyline.
That was what Ana had tried to prevent. The Blast reached out into the other buildings so the sphere of light could take the entirety of a tall building—exactly as the lines of light had done in Monroe’s timeline.
Just as Monroe made the connection, the sun shone down above. His shadow cowered underneath him.
And then the sun was blotted out.
Monroe found himself staring at a black tile ceiling. He hadn’t traveled through time; time hadn’t unspooled. Instead, his theory was proven immediately. An entire building had materialized around him.
He scrambled to his feet, black tile underneath. All around was black tile, intermixed in the walls with bright white panels. It was a lobby. A normal New York lobby. But empty, devoid of anyone. No receptionists, no guards. Empty, just like the era it had come from.
Despite the emptiness, the lobby sent chills through Monroe. It was unremarkable; it fit too well with New York. The Council had known what New York was like and created a perfect way to infiltrate it. They’d succeeded; they’d brought their empire to New York.
The more Monroe thought about it, the less sense it should’ve made. But something was changing his mind. Something telling him that the building had always been here. Just like the Empire State, the building was a part of New York’s skyline.
But that wasn’t true. Monroe knew it wasn’t true.
The apples. It must’ve been the scent. A gas, somehow convincing him of a lie, even as he battled with it in his mind.
Fear swept through Monroe. Was stopping Ana a mistake? This Council was dangerous; Paris had proven that. Maybe it would’ve been better if the city had remained ruined. If Monroe didn’t stop Ana.
As if summoned, she appeared. Ana stood with her foot on a thick metal box with a glass top and not a single screw visible—the fifth bomb. Just as he’d hoped, she wasn’t going to let this bomb out of her sight until the last moment.
Ana rolled her shoulders back, a snarl on her face. “I knew you’d be here. You’re what, a history teacher? And you’re going to defuse my bomb? You’re going to get sucked back just like your friends.”
The relief Monroe expected upon learning he was right failed to wash over him. He was too worried that he was making the wrong decision. The Council had brought their empire through time, and for some reason Monroe remembered visiting it, talking about it in class. Could the gas work that fast?
But the Blast had still been too big. Even the smaller bomb had taken more than just this building. New York’s skyline was in danger. “You’re right,” he said. “I can’t stop your bomb. But I can stop you.”
Ana put up her fists, ready for another fight. But Monroe had other plans. He swung a hand out and, when she moved to block it, gripped her arm instead.
“Agh!” Ana stepped back, pulling. “Let go!”
Monroe grabbed her other arm. “What do we have, twenty, thirty seconds?”
“Let go! Help!” she yelled out to the lobby. “Help!”
But he didn’t look away. The Council wouldn’t come down yet. If they did, they wouldn’t help her. A slow smile built on his lips. “Ten seconds now, maybe?”
“No!” she shouted, struggling to get away, kicking at his legs. “No!”
“Time to see exactly when your wonderful invention takes us.”
“But if we go back …” Ana said, eyes darting to the bomb between them. She didn’t have enough time to convince him.
Right on schedule, a blinding white light blossomed out around them.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
THE EMPTY ERA
1,803,241 BCE
Outside the lobby windows, Monroe watched as Ana’s final bomb—it would be her last; he was certain—took them through time. While the building around him stayed intact, New York’s skyline unbuilt itself. Skyscrapers vanished, replaced by small wooden houses, by dirt, by trees, by ghosts of the wandering Lenape tribe.
The small circle of New York City surrounding the transplanted building traveled back farther and farther. Trees reverted to saplings, were replaced by a swampland, then by more trees, which faded into saplings. Time regressed through several thousand life cycles. The rivers on either side of Mannahatta—the landmass that would one day be called Manhattan—coalesced into huge chunks of ice, leaving behind thick trees in their wake. Soon the ragged circle of the city rested within a shifting glacier, which sped backward up toward the polar ice cap. As it went, it took little rivers-turned-ice with it, the glacier growing larger.
They were traveling back to before the ice age. Was Ana expecting the Council to freeze here? Or simply sending them to a time before technology?
The shelf of the glacier passed through Monroe and Ana—somehow traveling backward so fast that physical objects couldn’t affect them—but what was left behind wasn’t more trees or swampland or colossal mountains. Instead, towering skyscrapers popped up all around them, toppling upward. Ana hadn’t sent the Council to some random time. Not a time without technology.
No, this was their age. The empty streets and buildings around, the random snowbanks, the rumbling thunder made all that clear as time slowed to normal. This was their ruined age. Long before New York was New Amsterdam, before a single person used Mannahatta as a hunting ground, an entire civilization had lived.
“You, you’re, this …” Monroe could barely wrap his head around it. He’d seen time unwind, but to be here in a forgotten city changed everything. Civilization, modern technology, humanity itself were older than anyone had documented. Everything he’d ever taught, ever learned, was a lie. Everything.
Ana tried yanking her arms away, but the pull brought Monroe’s focus back. History was stranger than he knew, but Charlotte and Bill were here. They needed him. Ana tugged again. “Let go,” she said. “We have to get out of here.”
“Why?”
Ana tapped her foot on the bomb between them. If it was like her other bombs, one orb had brought the device—and Ana—forward to the Blast day. Another had just brought this circle of New York back. All that remained was what had ruined both the Octagon’s dome and Pier Fifty-four—the self-destruct.
“Oh.”
“Not that,” she said, rolling her eyes. She kicked the bomb away. All the details he saw—the glass top, the four orbs inside—Monroe didn’t have time to process it. “We need to get away from them.”
The bomb slid to a stop against a wall and exploded. Flames blossomed out toward them, but Monroe couldn’t flinch properly clinging to Ana. The ex
plosion stopped, feet away. The heat burned the shine from the tiles, created a smoking hole in the wall, but they were safe.
“You mean the Council.” Monroe rubbed his thumb along her arm as if he could trace the spiral lines he’d seen in the future. “Your scars.”
“I destroyed my astrolabe like you told me,” she said, “but they kept coming.”
Of course they had. They’d pursued her until, somehow, they found a better option. Instead of terrorizing Ana, they’d found three New Yorkers willing to stop her for the sake of their city. Because she wouldn’t be so worried, so dogged in her persistence if it were three foolish New Yorkers chasing her.
“Okay,” Monroe said. “I’ll go.” He shifted his hand from her arm to the bag she clutched. “If you give me the device in here. It’s Charlotte’s, I believe?”
Ana tugged at the bag, but Monroe tugged back. “I can stay here all day,” he said, faking a yawn. “I’m not scared of the Council.” But he was. They’d brought an entire building to his time. They’d killed Leanor, tortured Ana, and stolen Charlie. They had plans for his city.
Gritting her teeth, Ana stared Monroe down. With a shake of her head, she dropped her hand. “You fucker,” she said as he slipped the bag inside of Bill’s bowling ball bag, beside Ana’s astrolabe. “Now, c’mon. You’d better run fast.”
She sprinted out the revolving door, and Monroe followed. An elevator dinged behind him, but then he was through the door, into the bitter chilly air of this empty age.
Monroe slowed as he stepped onto the sidewalk that had once been in New York City. To his left, a sliced-off building creaked, then crashed to the street. The sky above was dark and booming with thunder. It felt like he’d entered one of the apocalyptic movies Bill made him watch. “Holy shit,” Monroe said, picking up his pace to follow Ana around the Council’s sleek black building, then alongside the New York Public Library. Even though he knew what had happened, he hadn’t expected this.
This was where millions of New Yorkers had had to live before the Blast had been minimized. Now the number was down to a thousand or so. Whoever was in the New York Public Library and the slices of the surrounding buildings.