New Manhattan

by Charlotte Amelia Poe

  When you grow up having never seen the sky, only the blue of curved time energy, it is hard to conceive of outside as anything other than terrifying. But as Matthew trudges forwards, onwards, it doesn’t feel like coming home, and he wonders if perhaps humans are built for more than containment, control. That perhaps he is built to wander, to see the sky, which surrounds him like a blanket, growing darker with every passing minute. Darkness is novel and he trips slightly as he stares up and distinguishes stars, for the first time in his life.

  He left the dome to die, to be Split, to be ripped apart by time. It hadn’t been a conscious decision, but he doubts that those kind of decisions ever really are. Reckless, impulsive, and convinced that somehow he would see his mother again, his last anchor in the storm, the only one who had ever protected him, and as his belly had bloated with hunger, he had thought, well, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

  Gabe had stopped him. Gabe had, perhaps without realising, brought him to a new place to call home. Gabe, with his secrets and his far away eyes, with the appearance of a monster, had shown him a world where a strange new kind of life and family and love was possible, and as Matthew had sat with Sofia that first night, he had gazed at her, her blue eyes shining so bright against the alabaster of her face, her white hair braided delicately, and he’d realised he couldn’t be afraid of her, because she giggled when he put on high pitched voices as he narrated the stories of her princess Legos, and he couldn’t remember anyone ever giggling before.

  There had been happiness there, though Gabe would deny it. Hope for a future where the world wasn’t so monumentally fucked up.

  And Gabe –

  Nothing so trite as love at first sight, but dammit, it was close. Matthew feels about Gabe like he’s felt for nobody else, his heart quickens and his mind, in all its irrationality, repeats over and over, I would die for this man. And whatever Gabe may say, he is still so human, the same as Sofia, the same as Caleb, the same as Nathan. The same as Aubrey.

  The same as Matthew.

  So he marches with them now, breathing heavily through the mask that covers his face. He doesn’t know what is going to happen, the hairs on his arms are standing upright and not from cold, and he keeps half expecting to turn his head and see Aubrey walking beside him.

  The dome is so large now, this city, this sanctuary, this prison. It sits in the landscape as though it has always been there, but Gabe is proof that once it was not, and that it is only man’s folly that has led to this eventually.

  When, if, this ends, if they make it back to the base, home, then Matthew wants to ask about the time wars. Wants to know who dropped the first bomb. When the first dome was built. How time energy even works.

  He wants to know if Gabe remembers what colour hair he had, what colour eyes. Not because he wants to change how Gabe is now, because he likes how Gabe looks, with his shoulder length white hair and pin prick eyes. There’s just this itch inside of him to know, and he can’t put why into words. Maybe just something as simple as reminding Gabe that he was human, after all. That his heart had once beat with nerves just as Matthew’s does now, hummingbird fast and erratic and vulnerable.

  Gabe glances back at him, as though he can read Matthew’s mind. His face is pinched and his eyebrows drawn, but for a second he softens, and Matthew can see the youth in his features. And then it’s gone again, and all Gabe is is some marble creature, ageless and vengeful.

  *

  Matthew has never been this far into the city before. The outskirts are old metal and tarpaulin, cobbled together from whatever people could find, but as they approach the centre, the buildings shine, glass and metal stretching up towards the top of the dome. He cranes his neck to try take it all in, it’s beautiful in its decadence and so far removed from his own experience. He wants to smear fingerprints on the windows and dirty it up, this sterile eye of the storm that is not his world. Instead, he keeps walking, following Gabe’s long strides, towards the tallest building, the most brutally beautiful building, and if a building could be insincere, this one is.

  There are guards at the door, toting guns and staring straight ahead, straight at them. Matthew becomes aware that Nathan is flanking his left side and Caleb his right, whilst Gabe has positioned himself in front of Matthew. It’s a small comfort.

  There’s a silent exchange as Gabe nods to the guards and the guards nod back, and then they’re each taking a step into the revolving door and stepping ever closer to what feels like a conclusion.

  Inside the building there is more glass, more brushed steel, and strangely artless paintings hanging in place as though they were picked to be aesthetically pleasing by someone who had no taste whatsoever.

  There’s an elevator and as they approach it the light above the doors blossoms and the doors slide apart, waiting for them. Piped music plays from invisible speakers and the back wall is mirrored, and Matthew catches a glimpse of himself as he steps inside, and god, but he looks tired. The elevator jolts and Matthew’s stomach drops as he’s propelled upwards, bumping against Gabe’s shoulder. Gabe looks at him for a few seconds before taking his hand and squeezing. Matthew closes his eyes and waits for the ride to be over.

  His first thought on exiting the elevator, behind Gabe but still with hands entangled, is that he’s never been this high up in his life. If there are any floors above them, the elevator doesn’t go to them, and the entire floor is walled with glass, and Matthew can see the entire city, how, from his point of view, it starts off so tall, brushing the heavens, until it dissipates, the ground level of the ghettos and slums a mere smudge in the distance.

  His second thought is that there is a man standing there waiting for them, and Matthew recognises this man as Wyatt Welland, president of the Union of States and New Manhattan’s ruler in chief. And, beside him, so small and scared, is Sofia, her blue eyes wide and red from crying. His hand grips her shoulder just a little too tightly, his knuckles white.

  Gabe surges forward, dropping Matthew’s hand, but Welland raises his own hand and shakes his head.

  “At ease, soldier,” he says, and his voice is like honeyed poison. Gabe stills, and Welland tilts his head slightly. “Weapons, please.”

  “We don’t have any,” Gabe says, and Matthew knows Welland can see the gun holster strapped to his leg, and knows that Welland knows he knows.

  “I want this to be as peaceful as possible please. I come to you empty handed, without guards. Violence is an unnecessary complication, don’t you think? Hand over the gun, and anything else you have stashed away.”

  “Matty, give him the gun,” Gabe says, voice breaking, and Matthew unbuttons the holster with shaking fingers and steps forward, and Welland takes the gun from him with a shark toothed smile.

  “Is that everything?” Welland asks, and Gabe nods.

  “I believe you. You have lived too long to be so foolish as to try to deceive me,” Welland says, and twirls the gun in his hands.

  “Gabe – ” Sofia cries and tries to wriggle free. Matthew can see Welland’s grip tighten further.

  “It’s okay, babydoll, it’s all going to be okay,” Gabe says wetly, and Matthew can see the way he is squeezing his eyes shut as though trying not to cry.

  “I have a choice for you, Gabriel, and it’s a simple one. You see, you are extraordinary. Sofia here is proof of that. You have, unwittingly, shaped the centuries, and I am hoping you will work with me to do it one last time,” Welland says, as though discussing what he’d like to order for lunch. He’s still twirling the gun around his little finger. “The choice is thus: you and Sofia can come and help me, help me bring about a new age of Shades loyal only to myself. The first batch were defective, but that is to be expected when you are working with,” he shoots Caleb a look of disgust, “less than ideal specimens. My men are willing and ready to serve me, to make this nation great again. And all we need is you and your daughter.”

  There is silence as the last word rings around the room. Gabe’s face creases an
d Sofia starts to cry again.

  “She’s not my daughter,” Gabe says finally. “She’s just a little girl.”

  Welland shakes his head again, and laughs a laugh that has no humour to it at all.

  “Oh, they really got in there, didn’t they? Scooped it out and mixed you up. Tell me, have you never looked at her? Really looked at her? Wondered where that urge to protect her came from? Certainly, all adults feel the need to protect children, but what you feel goes beyond that, doesn’t it? Think – if you can, think back. A lifetime ago, two, three. A veteran returned from the war and his illegitimate child. The first to respond to the program, and, your daughter, the only Shade ever to be turned by another Shade. You never wondered about her eyes, about why she’s different? She was your daughter in life, and you, my winter soldier, forever outside in the cold, you made her your daughter again in death. And I am dying to know how you did that.”

  Matthew has never seen another being break as quickly as Gabe does. His face contorts, and he grabs at his hair, his teeth bared. His face is wet with shed tears, and all Matthew can hear is his repeated denials, broken ‘no’s slipping from his lips and he crumbles. In that moment, Gabe is not marble, he is something soft and fragmented and vulnerable.

  “Daddy – ” Sofia sobs, and Gabe lifts his chin.

  “I’ll do whatever you say. Just let her go.”

  *

  Welland shakes his head and tuts. He holds the gun properly now, safety off, finger stroking the trigger.

  “I’m afraid that’s not good enough, Gabriel,” he says, and Matthew shivers to his core. “I’m afraid I need you both. Oh – don’t be mistaken, you’ll live a life of unbridled luxury, you’ll be treated like a king. And, of course, a princess. But there are no deals to be made here. I have you, and I intend on keeping you.”

  “I could kill you,” Gabe snarls, and Welland just smiles that awful smile and presses the gun to Sofia’s temple.

  “Are you faster than a bullet, Gabriel? You could break my neck in a heartbeat, but you’re not fast enough to stop me blowing her brains out.”

  “You wouldn’t, you need her,” Gabe pleads.

  “You’re right, actually,” Welland says, and lowers the gun. Gabe stance barely relaxes before Welland points the gun at Matthew, and without saying a word, pulls the trigger. “But I don’t need him.”

  The first thing Matthew feels is not pain, but heat, intense heat, and a tugging that makes it feel like his chest is being pulled out through his ribs. He places a hand over where the bullet has pierced his torso, and swallows with difficulty, tasting copper. His hand comes away brilliant red, and it looks like rubies, and he thinks, oh, but it’s too bright to be real. And then the world tilts and he realises he isn’t standing any more, but slumped on the floor, and he hears Gabe make an aborted step to reach him, and then Welland’s firm command for Gabe to stop.

  The world isn’t making much sense any more, the colours bleed together and voices overlap, but someone is pulling him into their lap and holding his head up, and he coughs weakly, trying to catch his breath.

  “This is your choice. It’s also – let’s call it a test. I’m curious, I want to see you in action. You see now what I am capable of. I want to see what you can do. Turn him. Make him like you. Show me how you will build my army.”

  Someone’s stroking his hair and he thinks it’s Caleb. He can feel the pain of it now, spreading outwards, and he can’t seem to breathe properly, it hurts to try. His top clings to him, soaking up the red, and he can only see Gabe’s boots, and Sofia’s wide eyes as she stares at him, and he tries to smile and reassure her but his voice isn’t working and his face won’t co-operate.

  “It’s okay, man, just hang in there,” Caleb murmurs, and Matthew likes Caleb, and he’s sorry that he’s getting blood on Caleb’s clothes. He tries to apologise but the words get stuck in his throat and he coughs again, and it hurts.

  “I’d say he has about ten minutes, if that,” Welland is saying, and Matthew can just make out the gun still pointed at him if he squints. “I would suggest you make up your mind. And, ah, I want to make you aware that, and I do apologise, but I lied, and that this room is surrounded by guards, all of whom are ordered to shoot to kill. We will take you, head blown to bits or not. We know you can heal. They’ll shoot her too, you know. Something to chew over. You can’t kill them all before they disable you. I’m one man, albeit a very powerful man, but as the old saying goes, cut off one head, and two more will grow in its place. You can’t win. Now, actually, that’s not true. You can win. But right now, you’re on the losing side. Turn him and join me, and you’ll never suffer another day in your life. Gosh, I may just allow you conjugal visits.”

  Matthew’s vision is going spotty now and his head feels like it’s somewhere else, floating just above his body. It doesn’t hurt so much anymore, it’s like his body isn’t really his, that he’s divorced from it. He can barely feel Caleb’s hand running through his hair, and as he spits up more blood, his eyelids start to droop.

  The air feels strange, electric, and he wonders if that’s what dying feels like, time energy coming to claim its own. He closes his eyes, and hears Caleb say something muddled, something his brain can’t decipher. He’s tired. So tired. It’s been such a long couple of days. It’s okay to sleep now, right?

  His head lolls and his body goes lax, and his skin tingles all over, but it’s okay. He wishes he could apologise to Gabe, that his promise wasn’t good enough to save Sofia. He knows enough to know that Welland won’t keep his word, and that Gabe and Sofia will suffer endlessly.

  But he’s tired. Gabe was right. This was never his fight.

  An image of his mother pops into his head and he smiles. He was never sure what he believed, but she was always there to protect him from the worst evils of the world, so it makes sense that she’s with him now.

  And yet, just before the blackness engulfs him, a shudder slips up his spine, and the air in the room changes.

  There’s a voice he recognises but can’t find the energy to put his finger on. But if he were a betting man, he’d put all his money on it being Aubrey.

  *

  One minute she isn’t there, and then the next she is. Standing behind Gabe and in front of Matthew, she reforms herself, a vision of red hair and red lips and sparking with time energy. She looks at Welland, and smirks, because he’s nothing.

  He’s backing away from her, which is funny. The gun is limp in his hand and so she moves forward and simply takes it, whilst his mouth moves trying to form some kind of sentence, reaching for an explanation.

  Foolish, to presume that a time bomb would destroy her. Putting herself back together was the first trick she learnt. It had taken her years, but like riding a bicycle, she’d never forgotten. She tilts her head and sizes him up, this stupid, mortal man with ideas of grandeur and a desire for destruction.

  “That’s quite enough of that,” she says, and hands the gun backwards to Gabe. He takes it loosely, as though he can’t quite believe she’s there either. Honestly, men.

  “It’s funny, you know?” She says, and Welland is paying attention to her and only her, in a slack jawed kind of way. “I learnt it growing up - watching movies, television, in the media, everywhere I turned. They always underestimated what women were capable of. Sofia, come here, you’re safe, honey. Hold Gabe’s hand and go stand behind me.”

  “No,” growls Welland, his first word since she appeared.

  “I rather think so,” she says, and looks pointedly at his hand on Sofia’s shoulder. He loosens his grip, and Sofia runs over to Gabe, and he holds her close as they move to stand behind her.

  “I have been alive for a really long time, you know? But what I’m about to tell you I learnt whilst I was still human. And oh, you won’t like it, but it’s true. Do you want to know?” She’s not really asking, but is satisfied when Welland nods along. “You know the problem with dictatorships? Throughout the history of mankind, they h
ave always fallen. And – ” she leans in close as she can bear, her breath on his cheek, “ – do you want to know a secret? So. Will. Yours.”

  “I have men outside this room,” Welland says, his voice smaller than it was.

  “No, you had men outside this room. You don’t think I took care of that? I think you forget, but I’m fucking psychic. No, Welland, it’s just you now. You and a room of people who are, oh, quite pissed off. Now, I’m afraid Matthew is running out of time, much as I’d love to monologue and make you really regret every life choice you ever made up to this moment, so I’m going to make this quick. You lose. Men like you always lose. Because you can’t fathom the existence of anyone outside of your own experiences. Your small mindedness will always be your fatal flaw. The men who came before you, who rounded people up and turned them into something other, they were just like you. And they died at the hands of what they created. So let me make this very clear. I am going to kill you. And there is no power on this earth with the intent or desire to stop me.”

  Welland is noticeably panicked now, taking hurried steps away, but Aubrey keeps walking forward, calm and determined.

  “Nathan, take Sofia, take her to the window and don’t let her watch this. Gabriel, save Matthew. And Caleb? I believe you’ll get great pleasure out of watching this.”

  She doesn’t need to look behind her to know that people are falling into place, that everything is falling into place. Welland is backed against a glass wall, his back to the empire he has ruled over. If his citizens could see him now, they would see a coward.