Seize Today (Forget Tomorrow)

by Pintip Dunn

  I open my mouth to tell him precisely this when something in his eyes stops me. He looks at me like I’m fully capable of attacking any obstacle head on. He looks at me like I’m…like I’m…Jessa. And Fate help me, that makes me want to try.

  “No reason.” I try to smile. “Just making sure.”

  We climb onto our hoverboards, and Ryder rattles off a set of instructions. Follow him closely. Blink my headgear twice if I need to rest. If I lose him, stay where I am. He’ll double back and find me.

  “We’ve got a few hours before sunset,” he says, squinting at the sky. “If we push hard, I think we can make it before dark.”

  He reaches out and fastens my helmet strap. I freeze as his knuckles brush against my cheek. All too soon, he moves away, and I’m left wondering if I imagined the touch.

  “You ready?” he asks, his voice husky.

  I drag my words from where they’re hiding underneath my heart. “Ready.”

  We hover back to the river, and Ryder stops at the base of two tree trunks twisted together. He reaches under one of the exposed roots and comes up with nothing. “Our rendezvous point.” He brushes the dirt off his palm. “If they moved camp, they would leave me a message here. Otherwise, I’d never find them again.”

  We continue on our way. Three hard hours later, during which I meekly blink my light only once for a rest, Ryder slows his hoverboard and hops off. “We’re here,” he pronounces.

  The sun is caressing the treetops with its last fingers of light, and this patch of the forest looks no different than the woods through which we’ve been traveling: dense clumps of trees, a smattering of boulders, moss battling dirt on the ground.

  “Let me guess,” I say. “Holographic ‘spiders’?”

  He grins like I’ve said something clever. “You got it. Of course, these spiders are even more advanced than the ones we used at Harmony, ’cause they also absorb sound and heat waves. That’s why the chairwoman hasn’t been able to find us. No doubt she’d send in her troops if she could figure out our location.”

  I sag against a boulder and gulp the air. I’m no weakling—there was ample time in isolation to train—but I feel like I’ve taken a shower in my own sweat. “Aren’t you going to ask how I’m doing?”

  “Nah.” He grins. “I don’t need to ask. You’re a fighter, Olivia.”

  Am I? I take a swig of water. Maybe I am. Or, at least, I could pretend to be.

  He hoists both of our hoverboards over his shoulders. “Enough rest. Let’s go.”

  I push myself off the boulder and follow him, keeping my eyes glued to his solidly muscled back. There’s still enough sunlight to see, but if these spiders work the way I’ve heard, he’s going to disappear any moment.

  Three…two…one…

  Poof.

  As if on cue, he’s gone. My steps falter, but I force myself to continue walking. I brace myself for some kind of zing, but there’s nothing. One moment, I’m surrounded by woods, and the next, I see a handful of tents, pitched in a half-circle around a flaming fire.

  A wail wrenches the air.

  “Oh. Is that Remi? Do you think she’s hungry?” I rifle through my backpack for the food rations, but Ryder puts his hand out, stopping me.

  I meet his stricken, horror-filled eyes—and that’s when I realize that the cries are unmistakably adult. Unmistakably female. And they sound just like Jessa.

  But it’s not Jessa, clearly. She’s back in Eden City.

  My stomach drops. Oh dear Fate. It could be only one other person. Callie Stone—my idol, the girl who’s inspired me to keep going all these years—is screaming like her fingers are being sliced off, one by one.

  16

  The screams seem to come from everywhere at once. Ryder starts running from one tent to the next as he tries to locate the origin. Just as he approaches the largest tent in the center of the half circle, a woman steps out.

  My breath catches. The woman’s skin is as dark as Ryder’s, and, even in the fading light, her eyes pierce into me. She wears her shoulder-length hair in a million tiny braids, and a long piece of fabric is wrapped around her upper body. She exudes a potent combination of strength and gentleness: firm shoulders, relaxed lips, erect posture, soft movements. Even though they have no blood relation, I know in an instant that this is Angela, Ryder’s mom.

  He runs straight into her arms.

  “Oh, dear boy, you’re back. You’re back.” Even though he towers over her by a foot, she embraces him like a child. In the tight hold of her arms, I can almost see the scrawny six-year-old he must’ve been when she adopted him. “I thought for sure they captured you.”

  “They did.” He buries his face, briefly, in the crook of her neck, his hands dislodging the strips of fabric on her back. I finally figure out what the contraption is: a baby carrier. Her daughter, Remi, must be sleeping in a tent somewhere, not too far away. Jessa’s told me stories of Angela’s overprotectiveness, and who can blame her? I’d be a stealth-copter parent, too, if I had Angela’s future memory of her baby crawling off a cliff. Jessa said it took ages for Mikey to persuade Angela to risk even having a child—and she agreed only after Callie proved that the future could be changed. Still, Angela watches Remi like a surveillance bot. According to Jessa, she’d have her daughter surgically fused to her if she could.

  “That’s not important now,” Ryder continues. “How’s Callie? Not good, I guess. I have antibiotics.” He fumbles with the backpack, his hands large and clumsy. After he grapples with the clasps for the third time, Angela gently takes the pack from him.

  “I wish I could say it’s worse than it sounds,” she says. “But Callie’s deteriorating, fast. She has these episodes where she thinks she’s somewhere else. They’re not nightmares or night terrors. She’s not asleep. She’s simply…not here.”

  “But we had time!” Ryder cries. “She wasn’t supposed to succumb to the infection for days, weeks even. That’s why I didn’t come straight here.” His voice breaks on the last word.

  Angela pats his arm. “You couldn’t have known. This isn’t a regular infection, and both her brain and body are reeling from it.” She pauses, as if not sure she should continue. “Zed, Laurel, and Brayden left yesterday, to search for you and to procure the antibiotics. We had no idea where you were, or if you’d ever be coming back. Logan would’ve gone himself, but he can’t bring himself to leave Callie’s side, not when…”

  She cuts off, but the words might as well be projected in the air. Not when he might lose her again.

  I swallow, pushing down fear—and a selfish sliver of relief. Six months ago, Zed kidnapped me and almost beat me. In fact, a future version of him did…and sent that memory to his younger self. Because of Jessa, he was able to stop himself before he fulfilled his memory.

  They returned me to isolation, unharmed. But not undamaged. I never felt safe in my cabin again, and it was almost a relief when my mother pulled me out to integrate me back into society.

  To this day, I’m not sure how I feel about Zed. But at least I won’t have to see him.

  Angela peers over Ryder’s shoulder. “Who do we have here?”

  “She’s a ComA employee,” he says. “She helped me escape.”

  A ComA employee, I remind myself. Not friend, not ally. That’s how he thinks of me. That’s what I can’t forget.

  I could assert that I’m also the girl he’s going to kill in a little over two weeks, but I don’t. It won’t help either my feelings or the situation.

  His adoptive mom lifts the flap of the tent, ushering us inside. “I’m Angela,” she says as I approach. “What’s your name?”

  “Livvy,” Ryder interjects quickly. “Her name is Livvy.”

  So, he doesn’t want her to know who I am. At least not yet. It shouldn’t matter. When I was in isolation, no one called me by any name. That I have a name at all is what’s important.

  Except…“Livvy” isn’t just a name. It’s Tanner’s nickname for me, the only s
emi-affectionate nickname I’ve ever had. And hearing it on Ryder’s lips—when he’s using it only for artifice—strangely deflates me.

  “Go ahead, Livvy,” Angela says warmly. “I’ll wait out here—too many people.”

  We duck inside. In the center of the tent, Callie lies on a thin inflatable mattress, the kind that has air conditioning and massaging vibrations built in. Her eyes are open, and she thrashes around, alternating between screams and nonsensical mumbling.

  I haven’t seen her in a decade, but I’d recognize her anywhere. She looks just like Jessa, after all, albeit thinner and older. They were formed from the same egg, although Jessa’s embryo was removed and re-implanted eleven years later.

  Pop-up tables surround the bed, and a woman in her fifties, along with three men in their late twenties or early thirties, crowd around Callie.

  I recognize all of them immediately. The woman with the silver hair must be Callie’s mother, Phoebe, which means the man with black hair and the familiar teardrop eyes is her time-traveling father, Preston. The other two men, with their dark blond hair and muscular builds, have to be the Russell brothers, Mikey and Logan.

  “Thank the Fates you’re back,” one of the Russell brothers—presumably Logan, since he’s holding Callie’s hand—says. “She’s burning up, and we can’t get her fever to break. Do you have the antibiotics?”

  “Right here.” Ryder takes the syringe out of the now unlatched backpack.

  Automatically, I step back until I fade into the shadows of the tent. There’s no available furniture to hide behind, but at least I can try to blend with the navy nylon.

  “Sorry it took me so long to get back.” Ryder hands Logan the syringe with the grass-green liquid flowing through the barrel. “I ran into trouble.”

  The man I assume is Mikey, Ryder’s adoptive dad, stiffens. “What kind of trouble?”

  “Not yet. Callie first.” Logan zaps the inside of Callie’s elbow with an antiseptic laser. When he finishes, the laser floats away and lands on the table. I blink—and then I remember I’m in the company of a group of people persecuted for their psychic abilities. Logan must have telekinesis.

  In one smooth motion, he pushes the syringe into her arm and depresses the barrel. “There you go, dear heart,” he mutters. A cloth levitates into his hand, and he dabs her forehead. “You’ve got your meds now. You’ll be better soon.”

  “How long?” Phoebe asks, wringing her hands.

  Everyone looks at Ryder, who in turn looks at me.

  My face burns. “I got the fast-acting…”

  …antidote. Limbo, Limbo, Limbo. I was doing so well. During my entire day with Ryder, I didn’t drop my words once. Gritting my teeth, I try again. “If her symptoms are from the infection, we should see improvement in ten, fifteen minutes.”

  Too loud. It figures. At least I got the word out.

  “Who’s this?” Mikey barks. If I had any doubts about his identity as the leader of the Underground, they evaporate like dew in the morning sun.

  “Livvy. A ComA employee. The chairwoman captured me. She broke me out.” Ryder’s words are short and staccato, as though Mikey might overlook them if they’re sufficiently brief. No such luck.

  “Livvy?” He arches an eyebrow. “Do you have a last name, Livvy?”

  I dart my eyes to Ryder. What does he want me to do? Should I lie or—

  “Your last name wouldn’t happen to be Dresden, would it?” Mikey continues. “And Livvy. Would that happen to be short for Olivia? As in, Olivia Dresden, the chairwoman’s daughter?”

  The question hangs in the air. Not for the first time, I wish that I could say “no.” That I could be someone else, someone they would accept. Someone to whom Ryder would give a nickname—and actually mean it.

  But there’s only one answer, and with Mikey staring me in the face, I have to give it. “Yes.”

  Mikey slams his hand against the internal structure of the tent, and the nylon wobbles violently. “Seriously, Ryder? How could you bring an enemy into our camp? What were you thinking?”

  “She’s on our side, Mikey.” Ryder runs a hand across the back of his neck. “She tortured her own mother to rescue me. And then she broke into the dispensary to get us the antibiotics.”

  “Doesn’t mean a damn thing,” Mikey says, and I know—I know—where Ryder got his lack of trust. The roots may have started with his parents’ betrayal, but it flourished with his adoptive father’s influence. “She could have her own agenda.”

  “I tested her,” Ryder says. Briefly, he describes our trip to Harmony and how no FuMA authorities ever showed up.

  Mikey softens, just a tad. “Fine. But we’re clearing out as soon as Callie improves. And then I want her gone.” He points a finger at me, and it feels like more than a simple gesture. It feels like I’ve been charged, tried, and convicted.

  At that moment, Callie’s entire body jerks, and she lets out a cry that splits the air.

  “I’m disappearing!” She launches herself up and shoves her hands in front of her. “Look! My hands are fading away. Do you see?” She wiggles her fingers. “Look!”

  We focus on those waving fingers. It’s difficult to see, on account of her rapid movement, but her fingers are all there, every last one of them.

  “No, my red leaf,” Logan says gently. “Your fingers are here. Let me count them for you.” He touches her fingers, one by one. “You see, all ten of them are present and accounted for.”

  “No!” Her voice rises hysterically. “Can’t you see? My hands aren’t solid anymore. I can pass right through them.”

  She jams her pointer finger against the palm of her other hand. Bam. Bam. Bam. Each time, the finger connects with solid flesh and bounces off.

  And then…during one particularly strong jab…for just a few seconds…her entire hand turns transparent, as though a finger could pass through them. As though it’s a bad transmission of a hologram.

  As though she might disappear right before our very eyes.

  17

  I blink. And blink again. Did I just see what I thought I saw? Impossible. Is this…is this a psychic ability? If so, it’s not like any I’ve ever seen.

  “What just happened?” Logan asks, his voice equal parts wonder and fear. “Did she just become translucent for a moment?”

  Phoebe’s mouth forms an O, Ryder’s eyes take up half his face, and Preston’s forehead glistens with sweat. Slowly, each one of them nods. They saw the same thing. They saw the impossible.

  “What in Limbo is going on?” Mikey rounds on Preston, as though he somehow has the answers. “Does she have a spider? Small mirrors to bend the light?”

  “You know she doesn’t have any such technology,” Preston says quietly. Something passes between them, the two scientists in the room. Something deep and resonant and fearful. Something lost to everyone else.

  “I’m not hallucinating, you know,” Callie says, her voice clear and lucid. “This is real.”

  It certainly feels real. She looks from one person to the next, her eyes focusing on each one. Wherever she was before, she’s here now.

  And then, her gaze lands on me. And stays there.

  “You,” she says. “Olivia Dresden. I’d remember you anywhere. You’re the only true precognitive of our time. I know you can see what I’m talking about. Come here.”

  I stand rooted to the spot. This isn’t the way it’s supposed to be. I’m not supposed to be the center of attention.

  Ryder puts his hand on my shoulder. “Do it,” he murmurs. “If it will help Callie, please do what she says.”

  That’s why I came here, isn’t it? To help Callie. Swallowing hard, I walk forward and kneel by her side.

  She reaches out to me. “Take my hand.”

  I don’t want to. What if I touch her palm…and I feel nothing?

  A shudder moves through me, and the inflatable mattress, the makeshift tables, and the nylon walls ripple in my vision. This is ridiculous. I shouldn’t be scare
d. I’ve seen much freakier things in the future pathways. But maybe that’s precisely why my blood’s frosted over. I’ve seen what’s possible. And I’m afraid to live it.

  Someone steps up behind me. Even though he doesn’t touch me, I know it’s Ryder. I know how important Callie is to him, to all of them. And although she’s reentered my life only a few minutes ago, to me, as well.

  I take her hand. Slowly, I run my fingers over her wrist, her palm, each of her digits. Everything seems solid, intact. No holographic transparency.

  My shoulders slump, but before I can take a full breath, Callie grabs my wrist.

  “You can see this,” she insists. “Maybe not now in the present, but in the future. Go ahead. Reach into my future, and you’ll see me turn transparent, for longer and longer periods of time. I’ll become harder and harder to see. And then I’ll disappear altogether.”

  I don’t want to. I don’t want to. I don’t want to.

  But this is my purpose in this life. The reason, as the chairwoman liked to say, I was put on this earth. The only way I am any good to my mother or anyone else.

  Taking a deep breath, I reach into her future—all her futures, all the different pathways that her life might lead until it dead-ends abruptly on May Fourth, like all my visions.

  I flip through the thousands of pathways that still remain, and she’s right. In some of her futures, her body remains intact. But in others, she slowly disappears. The extremities first, and then the rest of her body. Flickering in and out of this world, first for a few seconds, then minutes, then hours. And then, at some point, she never comes back at all. Where does she go? I don’t know. Scientifically, physiologically, it doesn’t make any sense. But this isn’t my field; I don’t have any specialized knowledge. All I know is: she’s right.

  “Do you see me?” she asks. “Do you see me fading away?”

  Reluctantly, I nod.

  “So, help me, then. You’re the only one who can see. Explain it to them so that they understand. Please,” she whispers. Sweat breaks out on her forehead, on her neck, on her arms. Her lips are the color of parchment paper, and her limbs shake like leaves dancing in the wind. “I don’t want to leave Logan again. Not when I’ve just come back to him.”