Twisted Fates

by Danielle Rollins

  A roll of his eyes. “We’ll go in through the morgue. No one’s going to look twice at two emergency responders returning with bodies. It’ll get us through the door, at least, and that’s the hardest part. After that, we just need to work quickly.”

  “B-bodies?” Dorothy had asked, her voice thick.

  Roman had only grinned at her. “Body bags,” he’d corrected. “And don’t worry, they’ll be empty.”

  Empty though the body bags may be, they were still heavy. They weren’t actually bags but hard, plastic cases attached to stretchers. Dorothy gritted her teeth as she pushed hers before her, careful to hold it steady as the wheels crunched over gravel and concrete.

  They crossed the parking lot in silence, carefully avoiding eye contact with the other medical professionals swarming around them. Roman had procured the body bags, and uniforms, which were the same odd metallic scrubs that the other hospital workers were wearing. They didn’t have an ambulance, and Dorothy had been concerned that this would look suspicious. Now she could see that it had been foolish of her to worry. There was chaos in the parking lot, so many people rushing into the hospital that it was impossible to see where they were all coming from. She and Roman blended in easily.

  They reached the sidewalk that wrapped around the hospital’s main entrance, and the uneven ground beneath the wheels of her stretcher became smooth pavement. Her heart thrummed anxiously. She glanced at Roman, but he kept his eyes trained ahead, jaw tensed in concentration.

  The front doors whooshed open, releasing a blast of cool air. Dorothy smelled the sharp, antiseptic smell of the hospital; she heard phones ringing in the distance and the mechanical sound of someone speaking over an intercom. She had to remind herself not to look shocked.

  A young man with a clipboard stood just inside the doors. He appeared to be checking people’s credentials.

  His eyes passed over them, disinterested, and landed back on his clipboard. “Where are you headed?”

  Dorothy’s palms grew clammy. “We—”

  “We have two DOAs,” Roman said, nodding at the body bags. “This is just a drop.”

  The man flicked a hand, already moving to the people who’d come in behind them. “Morgue’s in the basement.”

  And that was it. They were in.

  Dorothy sped up a little so that she was walking beside Roman now. She tried, again, to catch his eye and, again, he wouldn’t look at her. She noticed that there was sweat glistening on his forehead and a crease wrinkling the skin between his eyes: nerves. But why was he so nervous? They were in. The hard part was over.

  They entered an elevator, Dorothy giving a little start as it began to drop. She’d been inside an elevator before, but she was never fully prepared for the surreal sensation of the floor moving beneath her. She braced a hand against the wall, her stomach turning over. She much preferred stairs.

  They descended deep into the building, stopping at the basement. The doors opened onto an empty hall. Lights flickered—somewhat ominously, Dorothy thought—and the walls were painted a sickly green. It gave her the feeling of being underwater.

  Roman nodded at a sign: MEDICAL STORAGE, MORGUE.

  “Here we are,” he murmured, moving ahead.

  Dorothy swallowed, tasting something bitter at the back of her throat. Glancing at the storage rooms, she saw shelves stuffed with bandages and gauze and glinting glass bottles. Their plan was to sneak inside those rooms and load up the empty body bags with as many supplies as they could manage, and then bring them back to New Seattle.

  Roman pushed his stretcher past the storage room with a soft grunt.

  Dorothy hesitated. He was supposed to go into the storage room and start loading up medication, but he kept moving, pushing his stretcher farther down the hall.

  “Where are you going?” she asked.

  “I have to find something first,” he said. “Don’t worry, we’ll go back.”

  Something clenched in Dorothy’s chest. He sounded anxious. She’d never heard Roman sound like that before.

  The wheels of his stretcher squeaked over the hospital’s linoleum floors. Roman was halfway down the hall now, but he didn’t slow down, and he didn’t turn.

  Swallowing, Dorothy followed him.

  32

  Ash

  JULY 10, 2074, NEW SEATTLE

  Something coarse and sharp pressed into Ash’s cheek. Rain pelted the back of his neck.

  Ash’s back arched as he coughed up a lungful of seawater. Everything in his body ached, and the ground seemed to shift and move beneath him.

  He forced his eyes open, but the rain obscured his eyesight so that, for a moment, all he saw was gray and black. He could feel water lapping at his feet, the cold seeping into his boots.

  The last thing he remembered was leaping out of the motorboat and Zora’s screaming. He’d thought that the anil was pulling him in, that he might somehow follow the Black Crow into the time tunnel, but he must’ve been mistaken. The tide must’ve dragged him back to shore.

  Well that was a failed experiment, he thought, pushing himself off the ground. He blinked through the rain, hoping that Zora wasn’t too far, that she might be able to take him home. He lifted his head—

  And froze.

  The Seattle cityscape spread out before him, dark and glittering. It wasn’t the hulking black outline of New Seattle’s remaining skyscrapers that Ash was familiar with but the dazzling, lit-up skyline of the city before the flood. The roads were dry, and buildings rose high into the air, every window golden and glowing. The old highway curved through it all and, on it, Ash could just make out the twinkling of headlights as cars and trucks and motorcycles roared past.

  And then there was the ground itself. He was on a beach, a real beach. Ash laughed and dug his fingers into the sand, amazed that he hadn’t realized it before. There were no beaches left in New Seattle. Everything was underwater.

  He’d gone to the past. Somehow, unbelievably, he’d traveled through time without a vessel. Without any exotic matter.

  It . . . shouldn’t have been possible. Ash gave his head a hard shake and pushed himself to his hands and knees, trying to make sense of what had just happened. People had tried before. The Professor had performed experiment after experiment. This thing that he’d just done should’ve killed him, but it didn’t. Why?

  Ash found himself wishing that Zora had come back with him, that she were here to offer him some sort of explanation for what he’d just done. But she wasn’t, which meant that he’d have to figure out what to do next all on his own. It was a more daunting prospect than it should’ve been.

  Standing, he peered up at the city, shielding his eyes against the fierce glow of light. In her broadcast, Dorothy said that she and Roman were headed back to the old hospital to pick up medical supplies. Ash thought it might be too much to hope that he’d not only traveled back in time but also somehow managed to wind up at the exact moment that Dorothy and Roman had gone back to. But, hell, stranger things had happened today.

  He could see the top floors of the hospital from his spot on the beach. It was downtown, one of the largest buildings in the city. Couldn’t be more than a mile away.

  Pulling his wet leather jacket more firmly around his shoulders, Ash set out for the hospital.

  33

  Dorothy

  Down dark and twisted hallways. Past more rooms filled with medical equipment and drugs they were supposed to be stealing.

  Roman didn’t stop, but said only, “This way.”

  And now, the skin on the back of Dorothy’s neck crept. His voice sounded . . .

  Feverish. Desperate.

  He stopped at a room that looked just like all the others, abandoning his empty body bag at the door. “Come on,” he murmured, seeming to speak to himself.

  Dorothy stayed in the hall, wary and watchful.

  Roman knocked a bottle over with his elbow. It toppled and then rolled off the shelf, exploding on impact with the hard tile floor, spr
aying the toes of Roman’s heavy boots. He appeared not to notice.

  Dorothy’s palms had started to sweat. Something was very wrong.

  “Come on,” Roman murmured, digging a hand through his hair. Dorothy came up behind him, reading the medicine labels over his shoulder.

  “Insulin?” she read.

  Roman’s hand jerked forward, snatching a few small bottles off the shelves, knocking even more to the ground. He shoved them into his pockets, his movements erratic.

  And then he was in the hall again, running for the exit.

  Dorothy followed him up a staircase, through a set of heavy metal doors. She felt the prick of water on her cheeks and, blinking, realized that they were outside and it had started to rain. The streets were dark and glittering, and even the shadows seemed edged in light.

  “Roman, wait!” she called, but Roman didn’t turn around. He was racing across an expanse of black asphalt, boots slapping wetly against the pavement. They must’ve exited at the back of the hospital because she saw no sign of the crowd and chaos that had been gathered out front. Swearing, she darted into the street after him—

  A sound like a bullhorn blared through the night, shocking her. She stopped short as a car skidded to a stop inches away.

  “S-sorry,” she said, though she couldn’t see the driver beyond the rain-soaked windshield.

  Roman had ducked between two buildings. She was going to lose him. Heart pounding, she hurried the rest of the way across the street.

  Tall buildings. Thinly gathered trees. Dorothy didn’t have time to stop and marvel at the world she was running through. She could only just manage to keep Roman in her sights. He was faster than she’d expected him to be, and he showed no signs of stopping to wait for her. Wind screamed in her ears. The rain came down harder, plastering her uniform to her shoulders.

  She caught sight of red brick. Pink cherry blossoms. Black concrete gave way to grass, skyscrapers became tall trees and quaint, brick buildings.

  Still, Dorothy didn’t know where they were until she saw the first tent.

  She slowed to a walk, her chest aching. First it was just one tent, nestled below the trees, door flap fluttering in the wind. And then there were half a dozen, each seeming to appear from the shadows as though by magic, and then the tents were all Dorothy could see.

  Her heart seemed to go still inside of her chest. This was Tent City, she realized. Roman had told her about this place a long time ago.

  The emergency pop-up shelters had been erected on the grounds of the university in the days right after the first earthquake. The Black Cirkus had started here, as a small gang roaming these tents, looking for food. They’d gotten their name because of how the tents sort of resembled old circus tents. Though the fabric looked near black in the darkness, Dorothy knew they were actually purple. Or they had been when the tents had first gone up. Now they were old and torn, covered in mold and dirt and grime. There were a few old signs propped out front.

  The past is our right! Join the Black Cirkus!

  It was fascinating to see this place firsthand after hearing about it for so long, but Dorothy was confused. Why had they come here now?

  She picked her way through the tents, looking for Roman. There weren’t a lot of people out and about in the rain, and every movement made her start, nerves creeping up her neck. Mostly it was just squirrels and raccoons darting between the tents, their glassy eyes reflected back at her in the darkness.

  “Roman?” she called softly, eyes straining. She stepped into a clearing surrounded on all sides by tents. “Where—”

  She broke off, walking directly into Roman’s back. His dark hair and clothes had blended easily with the night so that she hadn’t seen him until she was nearly upon him. He stared straight ahead, not seeming to notice that she’d joined him.

  Dorothy followed his gaze and saw that they were not alone in the clearing. There, straight ahead, were the two children from their trip to collect the solar panels, the ones who’d been playing in the house next door. They were two years older, but Dorothy immediately recognized the girl’s dark braids, the boy’s skinny frame. And yet something was wrong.

  The boy was on his knees in the clearing between the tents, and he was gasping, his eyes dark pits of grief. The girl lay in his arms. Her eyes were open and staring, her limbs already rigid.

  She was . . . dead.

  A moan came from Roman. He dropped to his knees. The bottle of insulin fell from his fingers, landing in the mud.

  Yards away, the boy crouching in the grass echoed the sound. “Hold on, Cassia,” he whispered, patting the little girl’s face. “You have to hold on, okay? Help will be here soon.”

  Dorothy went cold. She knew that voice. It sounded younger than she’d ever heard it, but it was still, undoubtedly, Roman. The boy crouching in the mud was Roman himself, two years ago. And the dead girl could only be . . .

  “Is that . . . your sister?” Dorothy asked, numb.

  She couldn’t think of anything else to say. Roman knew all her secrets, and yet he’d never trusted her with this.

  Had he trusted anyone? Or had he held this grief inside for years, suffering alone?

  “I thought . . . if I got to her in time.” His voice sounded strangled. “But I was too late.”

  His eyes shifted up to Dorothy’s, his face a silent plea. His skin was nearly as pale as the little girl lying in the mud.

  Dorothy opened her mouth, and then closed it again, finding that she couldn’t speak. The picture she’d spent the last year forming broke apart inside of her head. All those times Roman had seemed to bite his tongue, all the dark looks and secrets. It had been this. He’d been trying to come up with a plan to save his sister’s life.

  She lowered herself beside him, placing a hesitant hand on his shoulder. She expected him to swat her away, but he didn’t. He reached for her hand and gripped it.

  “You—you never told me,” she said, her voice thick. “Why—”

  But then Roman’s eyes shifted to something behind her, and his expression darkened. He dropped her hand and stood.

  “What’s he doing here?” he spat, bitter.

  Dorothy followed his gaze to the rain-drenched figure standing on the other side of the clearing, watching them. She saw soaked leather and dirty-blond hair against sunburned skin, and, though she recognized those things, she couldn’t make sense of them here, not until Ash took a step closer, his eyes moving to hers.

  A feeling somewhere between excitement and terror flared through her.

  Oh no, oh no, not here.

  Ash seemed to understand that it would be a mistake to address her here, and so he turned back to Roman, hands held out before him, as though in surrender.

  “Roman,” he said, taking another step into the clearing. “I didn’t—”

  Dorothy would never know what he was about to say. Before he could finish, Roman had leaped forward, his expression twisted into a look of deepest loathing. He crashed into Ash with a grunt and the two of them went tumbling to the ground.

  34

  Ash

  Ash flew backward, his head smacking into the ground with a wet thud. He’d been so surprised by the attack that he hadn’t been able to prepare himself for the fall. His arms and legs cartwheeled, cartoonishly, doing nothing to brace his body for the sudden impact with the ground.

  He blinked, stunned. For a moment, all he could see was mud and gray sky.

  And then, Roman was leaning over him. “Old friend,” he murmured. He fisted his hands around the front of Ash’s jacket, pushing him deeper into the mud. “How the hell did you get here?”

  Ash didn’t answer but grabbed Roman by the shoulders and shoved him off. Roman tumbled back into the dirt, a grim smile on his lips. Ash was vaguely aware of a slight, white shape standing in the shadows just behind him. Dorothy.

  He waited a beat, hoping she’d jump in and explain about their meeting behind the Dead Rabbit, and how she’d tipped him off on the
possibility of traveling through time without any EM. But she only looked at him with a puzzled expression on her face, and said nothing.

  “I followed you,” Ash said, not sure how else to put it. He’d reached the hospital quickly—it was closer to the shore where he’d washed up than he’d remembered—but he’d been too intimidated by the swarm of medical personnel gathered outside to try going through the front. Instead, he crept around back, reasoning that, in most cases, a back entrance was far easier to break into.

  He hadn’t been able to put the theory to the test, though. The back door flew open before he got there, and Dorothy and Roman had come stumbling out, running. Ash hadn’t known what to do. So he’d gone after them.

  Darting past cars and ducking through the rain until, finally, they’d reached Tent City and found a younger Roman kneeling in the clearing, holding his dying sister in his arms.

  Ash had felt numb, watching them. The Roman kneeling in the clearing had been younger than he’d been when Ash had known him, but not so much younger. A year, perhaps. And yet Roman had never mentioned a sister. Not once.

  “Why didn’t you tell me about her?” Ash asked Roman now.

  A snort of a laugh and Roman said, “And what, exactly, would you have done about it, Asher?” He spat the name, as though it’d left a foul taste in his mouth. “Would you have tried to help? Or would you have been like the Professor, telling me we don’t use time travel to change the past with one breath, and then going back to save the people he loved with the next?”

  Something heavy settled over Ash’s shoulders. He knew exactly what Roman was talking about. After his wife died, the Professor went back in time over and over again, trying to save her. The Professor had always maintained that time travel shouldn’t be used to change the past, that they didn’t yet know the effects that might have on the world around them. But, when it came to the woman he loved, he hadn’t cared.

  Ash had always wondered why Roman had betrayed them. Of course he’d wondered. Roman had been one of them, after all. He’d been Ash’s best friend. The Professor had thought of him as a son. But, beneath the wonder, there’d been anger, and the anger had a way of rising up to obscure it. It was so much easier to believe that Roman had left because he was selfish, because something about him was wrong. Never had Ash considered that he’d wanted to save someone, too.