Twisted Fates

by Danielle Rollins

  Ash found his eyes drawn back to the clearing where Roman’s dead sister had lain. She was gone now, and so was the younger Roman, probably frightened by the fighting, but Ash could still see the flattened bit of ground where they’d been.

  He could understand why his presence here had set off Roman. Roman was a fiercely private person, and Ash had seen a glimpse of him at his most vulnerable. This was a secret he’d been guarding for years, and now it was out.

  “Roman,” Ash said, his voice thick. “I didn’t know, I swear—”

  Apologizing seemed to be the wrong move. A grunt, and Roman was lunging for Ash again, fist swinging. His first punch missed, barely catching Ash on the arm, but his second connected with Ash’s jaw, spinning him back a step. Ash blinked, seeing stars. Damn.

  “Hit me,” Roman spat at him, furious. “Come on, Asher. Aren’t you going to defend yourself?”

  “Wasn’t my plan,” Ash said, stretching out his injured jaw. He could feel his bones shifting in place where Roman had hit him. The pain wasn’t bad, yet, though he knew he’d feel it later. “But I’ve got to admit, that last punch didn’t help.”

  Roman gave him a withering look. From this distance, his eyes were just dark pools of reflected light. “I barely touched you.”

  “Still hurts.”

  “Sorry about that.”

  Ash looked up at him, hoping for remorse, but the look in Roman’s eyes was cold. He sprang, but Ash was ready for him this time. He feinted to the left, and Roman slammed into one of the tents, the fabric billowing around him as he went down.

  A second later, Roman was up again, head lowered, charging at him. Ash thought he heard the sound of Dorothy’s voice, shouting at them to stop, but it was hard to make out with the blood pumping in his ears. Roman hit him square in the chest, but Ash manage to crack off a single blow to Roman’s gut before Roman’s fist got him in the eye—bright white burst of pain—and then he was jerking back, swearing.

  “You’re a better fighter than you used to be,” Roman said. “You finally let Zora teach you to throw a punch?”

  Ash tasted blood in his mouth. With a jerk of his chin, he spit it into the mud.

  It was a joke, sort of. Back when he’d first come to the future, he’d been truly awful in a fight, worse than both Roman and Zora, despite being the only one of them who’d been in a war.

  Throat dry, he said, “Well, you know how bossy she can be.”

  “She didn’t do a very good job. You still drop your shoulder.” Roman was inching toward him, again, his hands balling into fists.

  The muscles in Ash’s leg tensed. His heart beat hard and fast in his chest.

  “Old habits die hard,” he muttered.

  Dorothy’s voice came from the darkness, “Ash, just go.”

  “Yes, Ash,” echoed Roman, mocking. There was a smear of blood on his cheek, but Ash didn’t know whose it was. “Just go.”

  Ash suppressed a grimace. The awful thing was, he didn’t think he could go. He wasn’t sure how he’d gotten here, and he had no idea how he was going to get back.

  If they didn’t offer him a ride, he might end up stuck.

  35

  Dorothy

  If these idiot boys didn’t kill each other, Dorothy might do it for them.

  “What are you thinking?” she snapped. Roman had been inching toward Ash, taunting him. “Are you trying to get us all caught?”

  Roman’s lip curled in a sneer, and he didn’t answer her. It made Dorothy want to slap him. She’d been too shocked by the first few blows to do more than scream. It embarrassed her now, that this had been her reaction, but she couldn’t help it. She’d always hated fighting.

  She reached out to cup Roman’s shoulder, and he finally turned, giving her a long look. He had one eyebrow arched, cool and furious, but, otherwise, she couldn’t make sense of the expression on his face.

  “You’re taking his side?” he asked, in a voice that was more hurt than angry.

  Side? “Are you serious? The two of you are acting like children, and I want to know how he got here.”

  She was pretty sure Ash hadn’t managed to stow away on the Black Crow. The ship had been in the Fairmont parking garage since their last trip, guarded by a team of their best Freaks. She’d have heard if he’d managed to sneak in.

  A moment passed, and then Roman’s shoulders slumped, reminding Dorothy of a chastised child.

  “He started it,” he muttered. But he let his arm drop.

  Children, Dorothy thought.

  That should have been the end of it. Dorothy thought it would be the end of it—

  But then Ash lunged, slamming into Roman and knocking him to the ground. Dorothy turned and found the two of them rolling around in the mud again.

  She let her eyes close for a fraction of a second, annoyance thrumming inside of her.

  Oh, for heaven’s sake.

  The last time all three of them had been together, things had gone just as poorly. She still remembered that moment on the docks outside the Fairmont. Roman and Ash would’ve fought to the death if she hadn’t intervened.

  Since showing up in New Seattle a year ago, she’d had this fantasy that she might just shove the two of them in a room together and force them to work out their differences but, now, she could see that it wouldn’t be that simple. She hated the both of them in that moment.

  But she couldn’t just let them kill each other. She couldn’t bear to lose either of them.

  She waited until the boys had separated, and then she grabbed Roman from behind, using a hold he’d taught her months ago: she merely grabbed his arm and pinned it behind his back, wrist cranked upward to send pain shooting through his forearm. It was a move designed to use an attacker’s own strength against him.

  Roman gasped in pain and shot her a furious, betrayed look.

  “Ash,” Dorothy said, and she was surprised by the sound of her own voice, low and pleading. “Please. Just go home.”

  And now Ash turned his gaze on her, hurt. Dorothy felt something inside of her clench. He looked back at Roman.

  “Fine,” he spat. His lip was bleeding. He glanced at Dorothy, opened his mouth like he was about to say something else, and then shook his head, apparently deciding against it. Shoulders bunched up around his ears, he turned to go.

  36

  Ash

  Ash should’ve just asked Dorothy and Roman to give him a ride, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He opened his mouth wide, stretching his jaw again. His face throbbed where Roman had punched him.

  “Asshole,” he muttered, even though no one was there to hear him. He was standing on the beach, staring at the anil out on the water, waves lapping against his ankles. The only thing he could think to do was swim out to the anil and see if whatever had allowed him to travel through time the first time would work again. He was . . . more than a little nervous.

  He bounced on his toes and clenched and unclenched his hands, working up his adrenaline. And then he dove into the water.

  The swim out to the anil was rough. Waves crashed over his head, and the undertow pulled at his feet, wanting to drag him under. He used all his adrenaline from the fight, all his anger and frustration to propel himself forward.

  He couldn’t make out the anil through the water in his eyes. It was a glimmer of silver light, and then it was yellow liquid pouring through the waves. Blue lighting. Holding his breath, Ash dipped below the surface of the water. He felt that pull, again, but this time he didn’t think it was the ocean. It was the anil tugging him toward it, calling to something deep inside him. Acid rose in his throat. There was a strange, static electricity prickle inside of his gut, starting where the piece of the Second Star had lodged itself into his body four weeks ago.

  The air around him grew thicker, and the water seemed to dissolve so that he wasn’t floating through the waves any longer but hanging, suspended, in the thick and heavy air. It felt like he was falling and flying all at once. He opened hi
s eyes and saw that everything had gone black. Distantly, he thought he could make out the pinprick glimmer of stars.

  The piece of ship inside of his body stung, painfully. His lungs began to burn. He pulled upward with his arms, thrashed with his legs.

  He was underwater again. His brain spun, trying to figure out what was happening. Did it work?

  Or . . . was he drowning?

  You don’t die like this, said a voice in the back of his head.

  The water was cold and unforgiving. It pounded at Ash’s temples and stung his eyes. He could make out a distant flicker of light above him.

  Gathering his strength, he swam. Up and up until he surfaced, gasping. He was conscious of water rising and falling all around him, carrying his body aloft on crashing waves.

  NOVEMBER 8, 2077, NEW SEATTLE

  Ash could see the bubble of the anil in the distance: swirling light and mist and smoke. It cast a glow over the black water, illuminating . . .

  Was that a boat?

  He squinted into the darkness, treading water to keep his head above the waves. It was a boat—it was his boat. And the figure crouched inside was—

  “Zora,” he croaked, swimming hard. His muscles burned in protest, but he ignored them. Spitting up water, he called again, louder this time, “Zora!”

  Zora whirled, sending the boat rocking beneath her. In the light of the anil, Ash could see that her skin was gray and tears had carved lines down her cheeks.

  “Ash?” she said, incredulous. “But you were just . . . How did . . . Holy shit, are you bleeding?”

  Ash clawed for the side of the boat. He tried to pull himself over, but his arms screamed with pain, and Zora had to help haul him in.

  It wasn’t until he was crouched on the bottom of the boat, Zora leaning over him, that he noticed a dark spot of blood just below his ribs, soaking through his T-shirt. His old wound had opened up.

  Coughing up a bit of water, he said, “You won’t believe what just happened.”

  LOG ENTRY—JULY 31, 2074

  12:16 HOURS

  THE WORKSHOP

  I’ve now traveled into that terrible future an additional three times, on three separate occasions.

  The horrors I’ve witnessed have not altered.

  I keep thinking about what’s going to happen to WCAAT. My whole life was at that school. I first saw Natasha walking across the grass between the physics building and the library, arms filled with books. And then, just two years later, we were married—in WCAAT’s courtyard, in April, when all the cherry blossoms were blooming. She waited for me outside of a graduate lecture on space time and quantum mechanics to tell me she was expecting our daughter.

  And it’s not just personal stuff. WCAAT gave me my first job. The professors there helped me develop the initial concepts that eventually became the seeds to get me interested in time travel.

  In just a few short years, it will all be gone.

  I think I’m focusing on the school because my brain can’t process what else this will mean: the destruction of the city I’ve lived in my entire life, the death of everyone I’ve ever known and loved. It’s all too much to take.

  It seems to me that what I’m witnessing is the result of a butterfly effect.

  If that’s the case, then it means that in my own timeline, between the last time I traveled into the future and July 12, 2074, something changed, probably something that seemed small, at the time.

  But what?

  I wish Roman were here. I’ve taken it for granted, over the years, how easy it is to talk to the boy, to run my ideas past him and get feedback on where I’m making leaps in my thinking. But he’s been spending so much time elsewhere recently. I suppose I’ll just have to work it out myself.

  37

  Dorothy

  JULY 10, 2074, NEW SEATTLE

  Dorothy took Roman to a twenty-four-hour diner a few blocks from where they’d stowed the Black Crow. The Mini Star, the diner was called, and it had likely seen better days. The vinyl booths were cracked, the fluorescent lights flickering. Dorothy ordered heaps of pancakes and eggs and bacon, even though she doubted either of them would be able to eat. But the act of ordering itself brought some comfort. For a moment, at least, she allowed herself to think that her biggest problem was whether to order her eggs scrambled or fried.

  She studied Roman after the waitress brought their coffee. He looked most of the way dead himself, with his gray skin and darkly shadowed eyes. He sipped his coffee without seeming to realize that he was doing it, his vacant eyes staring ahead at nothing.

  “Do you care to explain what that was all about?” Dorothy asked, after a long moment of silence.

  Roman shifted his eyes to her face. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d prefer not to.”

  “Roman,” she said, sharp.

  Roman rubbed his eyes with two fingers, sighing deeply. “Very well.” He placed his coffee back on the table, folding his hands in front of him. “As you guessed, the little girl in the clearing was my sister.” He hesitated, and then added, “Cassia.”

  “Pretty name,” Dorothy murmured.

  “I . . . talk to her, sometimes. To her picture, I mean. That’s what you heard last night.” A flush of red spread through Roman’s cheeks, and he took another sip of coffee, suddenly awkward.

  “What happened to her?”

  “She was born with type 1 diabetes. What you just saw . . . her blood sugar plummeted unexpectedly, sending her into shock. We’d run out of insulin the week before and, with the hospitals overrun from the earthquake, there was no one we could go to for help. She went into a diabetic coma, and . . .” Roman looked at Dorothy and away. “Well. You saw what happened.”

  “She died,” Dorothy said, and Roman closed his eyes.

  “She did,” he added, voice quiet. “It’s why I can’t leave this city. It’s the last place she was ever alive. It’d feel like I’d left her.”

  “And you thought you could still save her. That’s why we came back to this day, isn’t it? It wasn’t really about bringing medical equipment to the city at all?”

  “It’s not the only reason.” Roman leaned back. The fluorescent lights caught his eyes, turning them a deep, stormy blue. “Back at Fort Hunter, you asked me why I betrayed them. Ash and the others.”

  “You said we hadn’t been acquainted long enough for that story.”

  “You remember.” A ghost of a smile flitted across his lips. “I know what Ash thinks of me, what he probably told you, but I only left the team because of what happened to Cassia. I wanted to go back in time and try to save her life, but the Professor said it wasn’t possible. He wouldn’t even try. I thought he was being selfish. But the old fool was right.” Roman laughed, humorlessly, and shook his head. “But that’s not the only reason I wanted to come back here.”

  Dorothy was confused. “What other reason could there be?”

  “You asked me about the butterfly effect before, when you saw what our future was going to become. You asked me why I didn’t want to figure out which moment changed the course of human history. Remember?”

  “I remember.”

  Roman looked up at her, miserable. “The moment Cassia died was the moment I first started thinking about defecting to the Black Cirkus. I didn’t actually leave until years later, but . . . if she hadn’t died, I’d have stayed with the Chronology Protection Agency, and everything would’ve been different. The Professor never would’ve gotten lost in the past, we would’ve found a way to stop the earthquakes. Everything that happened, everything that’s going to happen, all of it’s my fault.”

  The silence between them stretched. It felt charged. Dorothy knew that, no matter what she said, she was making a choice.

  She thought of black skies and burned cities and no sun.

  “It’s not too late,” she said finally. “Let’s try again.”

  They returned at twilight, three hours before Cassia was going to die. They snuck through the hospital’s gold
-tinted halls while the sun dipped low in the horizon. They gathered the insulin in silence and then crept out the back door and through the shadow-darkened streets. They hid the medication in Roman’s tent while he and his sister were out. They couldn’t stay near the tent because that put them at risk of being seen, and so they hid in the trees and watched the clearing.

  Dorothy felt her heartbeat thrum in her palms, her breath shallow and quick. She was sure it had worked. It had to have worked.

  Three hours passed, and then the scene played out exactly as it had before: A younger Roman stumbled out of the tent, holding his sister. She looked like a broken bird in his arms, her head lolling back, her neck long and pale.

  He collapsed in the clearing. Her eyes stared, unblinking, at the sky.

  “Thieves,” the older Roman whispered, still crouching beside Dorothy. “I’d forgotten.”

  “Forgotten what?”

  “That day, thieves snuck into our tent and stole some of our food. I thought they’d only taken the canned goods I’d been planning for dinner. They must’ve taken the medicine, too.”

  His face was stony as he stared ahead, watching his sister die. Dorothy touched his shoulder, her heart heavy.

  “Come on,” she said softly.

  They returned a half hour before his sister’s death. Any earlier, and they risked the thieves stealing the medication again. They crept through the halls. Stole the insulin. Made their way to the back staircase.

  A burly security guard heading out for a cigarette break intercepted them mere feet from the heavy, double doors that led to the back parking lot. He detained them in a back room, and they only managed to escape when Dorothy found a stray bobby pin on the floor and used it to pick the lock. By the time they made it to the clearing in Tent City, they were too late.