Decoherence

by Liana Brooks

  “With you here to explain what was happening, though, I’m able to alleviate most of the dissonant anguish. The nightmares are nightmarish,” he translated for the pirates, “but I can put them in context and stay sane.” Henry looked at Sam. “I think that the last time you did this, you must have opted not to tell us what was going on.”

  “Mac and I debated that a lot,” Sam said. “Whether or not telling ­people about the future would change things. Whether we had a right to interfere. I was always pro-­change. Mac felt that we needed to let our past selves have their own lives.” She twisted the ring on her finger. “Did you, by any chance, have a chance to check to see if the history I remember still existed?”

  Henry nodded and smiled. “Everything up to your arrival in the Commonwealth was the same as you remembered. There’s a slight possibility that the captain of the freighter you came in on was arrested or banned, but you didn’t know, so I couldn’t verify.”

  “But Young Me and Young Mac are where they should be?” She hadn’t had a way to check after she’d moved here.

  “Right down to the same apartment and phone numbers,” Henry said. “Even your old passwords worked.”

  “I knew that, but remind me to change my passwords,” Sam said. She wiped her hand on her well-­worn jeans, gifts Nealie and Connor had picked up at their favorite thrift shop. After a few weeks in the mangal swamps, Sam found she wasn’t all that picky about where food or clothes came from. “All right, Doctor, are we ready to test your machine?”

  Henry pulled out his phone and checked the time. “Eleven minutes until our first window. Are you ready to be our first temporalnaut. Tempusnaut?”

  “Naut is a Greek word,” Sam said. “So, I’d be the first foranaut? A Time Voyager.” She chuckled at their expressions. “Mac and I had a lot of free time in Australia to look these things up. Time traveler just doesn’t sound as exciting. And I don’t want to be a time tourist.”

  “Tourists are awful,” Nealie and Connor agreed in unison.

  Henry stood up. “Do you have plans for getting back? I mean, a window picked or something?”

  “Ideally, I’d return somewhere in the near future, after my younger self escapes. Realistically, it probably won’t be back to this time. We have no idea how my travel will affect all of this. For all I know, the iterations will wind up so distant that I’ll be stuck back in 2030 or something.” That would be awful, but if Mac were there, they’d survive. They always had.

  “You might get stuck in another iteration,” Henry warned. “I can leave the machine running.”

  “There were windows before this,” Sam said, “and I’ll sleep so much easier if there isn’t a machine here creating a bridge between iterations for Gant and Donovan to cross.”

  “No,” Sam said, even as she nodded and petted Bosco’s head. “I don’t mind getting stuck in another iteration, not if I have Mac with me. If there’s an emergency, I trust my younger self can handle it. After all, I did when I was her age. Come on, let’s get this over and done with. I’m getting homesick, and it’s a long boat ride back to Australia.”

  Henry and Connor set up the final machine as Sam rechecked her packed bag, stuffed an extra bag of dog treats in it for Bosco, and helped Nealie put out the fire.

  He watched her with a slightly hurt expression.

  “Something you wanted to say?”

  “I just . . . wish you could stay,” Nealie said. “You’re real nice. Camp’s not going to be the same without you.”

  “Thanks. For what it’s worth, I’m glad I got to know you. Before this, you were just one of Edwin’s stories from the swamp. Marshmallows and pirates.” She sighed and fought back the tear stinging her eye. Edwin . . . she hadn’t thought about him in nearly five years, and now she wished she could get a note to him, tell him not to worry. Or a note to herself telling her to get Ivy to the Academy. She snuffled.

  “Sam?” Nealie touched her shoulder. “You okay?”

  She wiped her nose on the sleeve of her long T-­shirt. “Yeah. I’m fine. There’s just a ton I want to do here, and I can’t. I’ve got friends here. I miss ’em. They don’t even know I’m gone, and I miss them.” She shook herself. “I’m here, but it’s not really me, you see? The Agent Sam Rose walking around in town doesn’t have my memories. She doesn’t have my experience. I’m worried she’s going to get it wrong and ruin everything.”

  Bosco bumped her knee.

  “Don’t travel in time, Nealie. It only messes with your head.”

  He nodded. “I’ll do that, miss. No time traveling. I’ll stay right here.”

  “Good choice.”

  “Rose!” Henry waved his arm. “You have forty-­five seconds until your window opens!”

  She picked her pack up. “Ðên ðây, Bosco. Let’s go. Is it calibrated?”

  Henry nodded. “This is set to take you to the same iteration you saw when you rescued me, and it matches the iteration the killer is coming from.” He took a deep breath. “Be careful. I can’t guarantee you won’t walk in on the killer, and you’re his type.” Henry shook his head. “I wish I knew how to get you home.”

  “You destroy this machine and let me worry about getting myself home,” Sam said.

  The machine hummed as a dark purple light appeared and began spinning. The whirling vortex turned lilac, then topaz blue, then blinding white.

  Sam gave the boys one last smile. “Don’t wait up for me.” She stepped through the vortex, Bosco trotting along beside her.

  CHAPTER 35

  “We expect decoherence to affect everyone. Even non-­nodal citizens will notice the changes. Many will feel anxious, uneasy, or experience night terrors. We recommend everyone be issued the proper medication needed to ease these worries until the new Prime iteration settles in, and the fan once again reaches an expansion point.”

  ~ memo from Central Command I1—­2070

  Date Unknown

  Location Unknown

  Grit blasted Sam’s face. Sand and dust blinded her, tearing across her bare arms and slicing at her throat. Choking, she pulled her sweater from the bag and wrapped it around her face. “Bosco?”

  The dog whined.

  She pulled his leash closer, grabbed his collar, and walked forward. Now she knew how she was going to die. Right here. Carved like a mountain by the wind until she was nothing but bone. She pulled her arms into her T-­shirt and prayed. “I’m sorry, Bosco. It wasn’t meant to be like this.” Where, in the name of all that was good, were they? Birmingham didn’t have deserts. There was not this much pollution anywhere in the South. It was like walking into a demolition zone, only it wasn’t stopping.

  Swinging her pack around front, she pulled out a sweater to cover her arms and a thin scarf to wrap around her head. Bosco’s whimpers grew louder, and she wrapped him up, too, although he fought her on the socks.

  “Dùng lai, Bosco.” He stilled obediently. “No chewing until we find some shelter. Heel.”

  Bosco pressed against her leg.

  Left arm stretched out in front of her, Sam did the Stingray Shuffle forward. Feet scooting but never lifting off the ground, it was meant to kick rays out of the way in the water since stepping on one meant a toxic dart to the leg. Now she did it so she didn’t trip over anything. Her visibility was zero.

  Even as she walked, she calculated the odds of survival. She’d learned from Los Angeles. Her pack had enough food for two weeks, water for one, but the bottle collected moisture from the air. They’d be able to stay alive if the weather didn’t kill them—­which wasn’t a given. There was no way she’d be able to set up the small tent Nealie had given her in this wind.

  The toe of her boot struck something hard. Bending down, she rolled her sleeve up enough to touch the surface, praying it wouldn’t be anything organic. It felt rough, like concrete or broken rock. She covered her hand again
and felt around for more lumps. There was a small pile, then something smooth. Running the side of her covered hand against it she tried to get an idea of the shape. She didn’t want to get excited, but it felt doorish. Smooth, tall, rectangular.

  She led Bosco through the rubble and explored the smooth surface more. It was metal, dented in a few places, but solid enough. Even if it was just the carcass of a car, it meant shelter.

  There was a whine from Bosco, a muffled yap, and the reassuring sound of creaking hinges. Bosco pulled her out of the dust storm into utter darkness. The door banged shut behind them.

  “Good work, Bosco.”

  He grumbled in complaint.

  “I know.” She reached into her bag and found the flashlight. With a click, their hiding place was illuminated. A poster of a woman holding a tube of toothpaste smiled cheerfully back at Sam from behind a layer of oily filth. “That’s . . . not what I was expecting.”

  She unwrapped Bosco, washed off his scraped paws, and once they were ready to walk again, she took a better look as Bosco lay by the door. There was a long tunnel of sorts, metal on one side and rubble on the other. It looked like a bus stop almost, a nice bus station. “This must have been the high-­rent district.”

  The dog wuffled in response.

  “I’m saying it still is.” She shook her head. “You know, if things weren’t like they were, I think I could have enjoyed this. Traveling between all the possible worlds. It’s a bit like archeology.”

  Bosco curled his tail under his legs.

  “It can’t be this bad in every iteration.” But what a terrifying thought it was. She tested the stairs with a little run, then came back to Bosco. “There are tunnels down there.”

  He didn’t look impressed.

  “The air smells better.”

  Still nothing.

  “Come on, Bosco. Mac might be down there! I mean, where else could ­people be living in this hellscape? Obviously, something triggered a nuclear winter or a worldwide storm, or we’re in a test region for a tornado-­control machine. Don’t look at me like that. I’ve seen shows about this. Okay, they were spec-­fic horror movies, but anything is possible, right?” Landing in the middle of a testing region for storm control did defy reason a little. The portal was supposed to open near the other machine. Since up wasn’t an option, the portal had to be down. All she had to do was follow the tunnels until she found another human being.

  She hit her hand on her thigh. “Up, Bosco. Dên ðây. Let’s go find Mac.”

  With a snarl, Bosco stood, shook the dust off, and followed her down the steps.

  “It is not the end of the world,” she promised, but her hands were shaking. This couldn’t be the end, not after everything she’d gone through. This was supposed to be easy. Step in, grab Mac, flee for the far edges of the country, or alternate Australia, or even back home if it was possible.

  Up ahead, voices rose in argument. Sam shut off the flashlight and pulled Bosco to the side as she crouched down.

  “Where’s Senturi?” an angry man demanded. “He promised to take us with him.”

  “That’s his own problem. If I see him, I’ll let him know.” The second voice was deep, also male, and vaguely familiar.

  “My ­people are waiting,” the angry one said, his voice growing louder as they drew closer.

  Sam touched her palm to Bosco’s nose, signaling him to stay silent.

  Two men walked past with headlamps on that barely illuminated the space in front of them. “I’m just saying, if you want our help, there has to be some in return,” the angry man said.

  “There will be,” the other replied. “Now, do your job.”

  They turned a corner, and the voices dimmed.

  Sam was still debating whether to follow them or not when a door slammed, and one set of footsteps started walking toward her. She waited until the man passed, then stood and turned on her flashlight.

  The man turned. “What in the fragging sixth hell? Who are you?”

  He was shorter than average, covered in a heavy canvas coat that looked like it might have been a Vietnam War-­era tent stolen from a museum, and a heavy leather cap that covered his neck.

  “Who am I? What are you?” Sam asked. “Is there a quarantine? Plague?” She held out a helpless hand to his clothes. “Diesel-­punk convention?”

  “I’m a survivor.” he said with an exasperated yell.

  “Of what?”

  “Where have you been your entire life? This place was bombed until you couldn’t buy bread if you fragged the mayor.” His face was the cragged, aging face of a man of indeterminate race hidden behind dirt and grease He looked at Bosco and licked his lips like a man in a desert sighting water.

  “Don’t look at my dog like that,” Sam said. “What city is this?”

  “Birmingham.” He choked and coughed, spat something black onto the dirt floor. “I don’t know what it’s like in the Shadow Prime, but show some respect. You’re in my place now. No how do you do? No manners?”

  Sam shrugged, feeling a bit guilty and very overwhelmed. “Sorry. Hello. How are you? What is the Shadow Prime?” She hadn’t formed a fully-­fleshed-­out idea of what she expected to encounter on this side of the portal, but it wouldn’t have been this. Somehow, she’d figured it would be closer to home. More trees, maybe with better tech or a different government. This level of destruction wouldn’t have crossed her mind even if she’d extrapolated the worst-­case scenario for the old countries not forming the Commonwealth.

  He pointed at the dog. “Where’d you get that?”

  “This is Bosco,” Sam said, petting him for comfort. “He’s a boerboel. Very well trained.” She stopped, tilting her head in thought. “Why did you ask where I’d found him? Don’t you have pets?”

  The man grimaced. “Not anymore.” He leaned against a shadowy wall. “I had one as a kid. A beagle.” He shook his head. “It was hard enough keeping myself alive during the wars. I couldn’t keep a dog, too. You have a name?”

  “CBI Agent Sam Rose from the Commonwealth of North America. And you are?”

  “Jaycob Landon.” Landon stepped closer, cold eyes boring into her. “Samantha Rose? The commander and the Paladin?”

  “That might be a version of me,” she admitted cautiously. “But I’m not responsible for anything she’s done.”

  He snorted in disbelief. “Yeah. Who are you here to kill?”

  “No one. I’m here to find my husband.” Sam wasn’t sure if she was appalled or amused when Landon looked her up and down with a masculine gaze.

  He shrugged. “Not really my type, but I won’t say no. I mean, when Senturi said he could smuggle ­people out to the new iteration, he said there was a bit of a gender imbalance. Not a lot of men. But you should have waited for us to cross over.”

  “I already have a husband,” Sam said “He was kidnapped by someone in this iteration. I’m here to take him back. It sounds like you’re leaving, too.”

  “That’s the agreement.” Landon turned and shuffled into the darkness. “You coming, Agent? I don’t care one way or the other if you want to go back into the storm. But if you want to go for a walk, let me keep the dog. He looks friendly enough.”

  Bosco bumped her knee and barked. He was bright enough that someone had said they liked him, and friendly ­people often gave him treats. Bosco was not above begging.

  Sam sighed. “We’re coming.” Going back outside wasn’t an option.

  Which left her with what, she wondered? A future living in the ruins of Birmingham?

  Wasting away from some disease in the water or from radiation poisoning?

  Her and Mac’s fifth anniversary was coming up. They had been planning on finding someone to watch Bosco and sail down to see Antarctica. She had tomatoes to harvest at home. Friends who would miss her eventually.

 
She sighed again.

  Landon turned on a flashlight and shined it directly in her face. “You don’t look like what I expected. Senturi made it sound like everyone in the Shadow Prime was real serene. Docile, he said. You look angrier than I expected. Like you could handle a fight.”

  “I can,” Sam said. “I don’t know what the Shadow Prime is or who Senturi is. Sorry. You work for him?”

  Landon shrugged. “With him. Sort of. His squad caught me raiding the food stores in the towers a year or so back. I took a beating for it, wound up press-­ganged into the infantry. But I’m smarter than a grunt. Worked my way up, and as soon as they gave me enough freedom, I skedaddled. Thought it was over until a few months back, when Senturi hunted me down.

  “Offered to get me and ten ­people I picked out of here if I manned a stationary landing site. Two, one here and one in the control tower. Senturi used the mobile sites more often, but this one was static jumping between here and the new world.” He looked at Sam. “I thought maybe the jump had gone wrong.”

  She shook her head. “Sorry. Henry—­Dr. Troom—­he used the Fountain Variance Calculations to pick a location near a big city. We tried to find a place where someone stepping out of a glowing portal wouldn’t be noticed.”

  “A park?” Landon guessed.

  “A known drug alley where everyone would be high.” Sam shrugged. “In my world, the security in that area is more or less ignored. There have to be a few blind spots for undercover agents to meet their handlers, and most the drugs are legal. It’s a Vagrant Walk.”

  He flicked the beam of light to the floor. Pieces of asphalt appeared.

  Bosco walked up to Landon, straining at the leash, and put one giant paw on the man’s thigh.

  “He’s hungry,” Sam said. “He only just ate a fish three minutes before we came, but you know how dogs are.”

  Landon patted his head and pushed Bosco away. “Not sure we have much to offer. Why’d you bring the dog?”