Carlos raises an eyebrow. “A bird.”
I laugh in surprise. “No it’s not.”
Carlos knits his brows together and looks at me sideways. “Yes it is.”
I chuckle again and shake my head. “A bird is a helicopter.”
“Ha ha,” Carlos drawls.
The look on his face stops me short. He honestly thinks I’m kidding around. “I’m really not joking,” I say. “‘Bird’ is just a slang term for ‘helicopter.’”
“Are you serious?”
I nod.
“How can you use the words ‘context clues’ correctly in a sentence and then thirty seconds later think a bird’s a helicopter?”
I lift one shoulder. “I don’t know. I can do other stuff, you know. Walk, breathe, pick locks. Maybe it’s muscle memory or something. Maybe where I come from, we don’t have birds.”
“Impossible. Everybody has birds.”
“Have you been everywhere?”
Carlos rolls his eyes. “No, but I just know. Birds are universal. And every city has pigeons. Some people call them rats with wings, but I kind of like them. They’re tough. And, bet you didn’t know this, doves are just albino pigeons. Everybody loves doves.”
“You’re right, I didn’t know that. So” – I tick two fingers – “pigeons and doves are birds. Helicopters are too, but we can agree to disagree about that. What else do you have?”
“Want to go to the waterfront and meet some seagulls? Maybe a duck or two?”
“The water…front?” I ask, furrowing my brow.
“The beach? The shore? Where the land meets the sea? No?”
I shake my head to all of them.
“Maybe you’re from Kansas?” Carlos claps his hands together and rubs them briskly. “Yes. You’re from the dead center of the Midwest, where you lived a dry, bird-free existence, your boredom broken only by the drone of helicopters and the click of one successfully picked lock after another.”
“Ha ha. You’re hilarious. Is the waterfront…dangerous?”
“Not any more dangerous than any other part of the city. Probably less, because of all the tourists. It’s just a little farther downhill.”
I shudder involuntarily.
“Come on. It’s fine,” Carlos says, walking a few steps away and beckoning me to join him. “I’m not gonna let anything bad happen to you.”
I glance behind me, up the hill, where somewhere cops are probably still looking for me, then back to Carlos’s tall, rangy figure, grinning and crooking his finger at me. And somehow, I believe him. I place my palms on the bench and push myself to standing. “All right. Let’s do it.”
I stand on a weathered wooden dock and stare at a sparkling blue expanse in front of me. It shimmers and flashes in the sunshine, each little ripple in the water appearing to have a diamond on top. “You mean it just stays there? It doesn’t come any closer?” I ask.
Carlos closes his fingers around the railing and leans his upper body over the moving water. I still haven’t agreed to approach the edge, but the wood feels sturdy beneath my feet, and I shift a couple more inches toward him.
“Nope, tides don’t seem to affect the shoreline here. I don’t know why. I bet there’s some scientific reason. It’s deep through here. The ferries pull in over there” – Carlos waves his hand to the left – “and cruise ships too. Is that what scares you? The depth?”
“It’s not the depth that scares me, I don’t think. It’s just water in general. I can’t describe it. I feel like, I don’t know, like it’s toying with me.”
Carlos gives me a questioning look.
“I can’t explain it any better than that. It just doesn’t feel right. It’s dangerous and we shouldn’t be so close to it. I have no idea what’s lurking down there, but it’s going to come roaring at us any second.”
“Are you afraid of all water or just the ocean?”
“I didn’t know there was more than one type.”
“Sure. Oceans are salt water, lakes are fresh water.”
“Fresh water is for drinking, so lakes should be fine. Salt water is the dangerous kind.”
“Okay, so you’re afraid of the ocean. That’s different than being afraid of all water. The ocean goes all over the place in Seattle, but we can work around it. There’re lots of places where you can’t even see the ocean. We could head up to the U District, or Northgate. Those are both near Lake Washington, but that’s fresh water, so it should be okay.”
While Carlos has been talking, I’ve inched ever forward, and I’ve finally made it all the way to the rail. I grip it hard and force myself to look down. “No. I don’t want to go anywhere. I don’t want to be afraid of things. I have to face my fear, let it wash over me, and when it’s gone, I will prevail.”
“That’s a good attitude.” Carlos flexes his fingers and looks out over the water, and I force myself to do the same.
“Hey, Carlos?”
“Yeah?”
“Why are you being so nice to me? Wouldn’t it be easier to just walk away?”
Carlos turns around, his back to the water, and puts his elbows on the railing. He looks up at the sky.
“You’re an interesting conversationalist.”
“No, I’m not. I’m a burden. I don’t have any memories, I wrecked your tent, I was really sick, and the cops are after me.”
“You have no safety net. That resonates with me. Plus, you remind me of someone who was important to me.”
The weight of how alone I am hadn’t hit me until now. His words surround me like the flock of pigeons in Pioneer Square, pecking at invisible chinks in my soul. I sniff back a lump in my throat. “You’re right. I have no people. Other than the cops, no one came looking for me at the hospital, did they?”
Carlos shakes his head. “I’m sorry. I wish I could tell you different. They ran your stats and dental records against a bunch of databases, but no matches. It doesn’t seem like anybody knows you’re missing. Or if they do, they’re not trying very hard to find you.”
Chapter Eleven
April 13, 2074
David Columbia stands on the 40th floor of his tower, stroking his chin pensively. It’s been more than three weeks. Where is Rosie? What could have caused such a delay? He ticks through the points of her mission in his mind: tetanus boosters, sanitary napkins – a couple tasks, nothing too difficult. He stares at the wall in front of him, boring a hole in it with his eyes. The same beige wall as always, next to the mural of pre-Collapse Seattle. He flung out that last request to Rosie practically as an afterthought before he’d raced off to answer the Achtung. He sent his daughter on a time travel mission with a goodbye thrown over his shoulder. Now he can’t even remember what the Achtung was about, and his daughter is missing.
“Paint the wall blue,” he told her. Repainting an interior wall was a luxury their limited resources couldn’t afford, but every tower needed a blue wall, to give the citizens hope. It seemed like a brilliant move to have Rosie paint it in 2007. And if she’d done it, he’d be looking at a blue wall right now. To everyone else, it would have been their normal – what they grew up with. But not to David. Since he was the one who gave Rosie the instructions to make the change and sent her on her mission, he would remember dual timelines. His mind would store memories of both the old, beige wall, and the new blue wall.
David grits his teeth. He doesn’t want to send his daughter on these missions. But who can he trust? Anyone else he sent through time might simply choose to stay in the past and take their chances on surviving the Collapse. The further back they had to travel into the past to get the items they needed, the more of a lure it would be. The Collapse didn’t occur until April 19, 2019. A traveler who went back to 1994 could get twenty-five good years. They could build a life. They could have children. And who knows? Armed with knowledge of the coming calamity, perhaps they could find a way to ride it out. Maybe there could be survivors beyond The Towers, if David would allow it. Should he? Send chrononauts back
with the express purpose of never returning? Their mission to colonize other, better areas for long-term survival?
David runs his fingers through his dark hair. No. It’s too much to think about. It’s a miracle anyone lived beyond the first year of hell on Earth. His mother saved humanity, and it’s his job now to make sure these few thousand humans in The Towers hang on, until the Earth recovers enough to walk it once more. There is no going back. There are no do-overs.
David glares at the wall and wills it to turn blue in front of him. It isn’t about interior design or giving his citizens hope. It’s about knowing Rosie is safe. A blue wall means she’s out there, in 2007, taking care of business. It means she’ll be home soon. “Where are you, Rosie?” David murmurs. “I need to know you’re okay.”
“David.” Sarah’s voice behind him startles him, but he controls his bodily response. His wife is one of the few people who can successfully sneak up on him. He supposes it’s part of her attraction. She’s different. Smooth. Sinuous. That’s what he wants. Isn’t it? That’s part of what makes her interesting. But lately…David can’t remember feeling anything for the woman. Why did he marry her?
David shakes his head, irritated. He is a man of action and assurance. Hesitation and second-guesses get you killed. This worry over Rosie is eating him alive. He composes his face, willing himself to erase the knots of concern from his countenance before he turns to his wife.
“You move like a panther.”
“I know you love me, so I assume that’s a compliment,” Sarah purrs, one leg bent, her high-heeled shoe pressed against the wall behind her, a hand on one hip.
David’s mouth twists into an approximation of a smile. “A panther was a big cat. It prowled jungles and rainforests a hundred years ago.”
Sarah pushes her lip out in a pretty pout. “A big animal? Me?”
“It was just a term that meant they were predators. Panthers were silent and sleek.” He closes the distance between them, puts his hands on her waist, and kisses her.
“That’s better,” Sarah breathes. “I’ve missed you, David. Are you starting to come back to me?”
“I haven’t been anywhere.”
“You know what I mean,” Sarah says quietly, twining her hands around the back of his neck and kissing him again gently. “Since Rosie disappeared.”
David’s back stiffens, and he’s silent for several long moments, but when he speaks, his voice is normal. “No one else has mentioned Rosie’s absence,” he replies calmly.
“Well, honey, nobody wants to upset you. No one’s asked me about her, either. I’m sure they’re waiting for a signal. Some sign that you’re ready to talk about it, or even to move on. And…” She blushes prettily. “I have a suggestion about that.”
David reaches back and gently removes her hands from behind his head. He encircles her wrist with a loving hand and strokes her palm with one finger. “Do you?”
She draws a triangle shape on his chest with the index finger of her left hand. “I just had my fourth period…in a row,” she says. “I know you loved Rosie, but I think you have to accept the fact that she’s gone. It’s a tragedy, honey, but she would want you to keep living. I’m ready, David. I’m healthy. I can have a baby. Your baby.”
David smiles down into her face, his pleasant expression masking his racing thoughts. Sarah is inordinately tall for a citizen of The Towers, but he still has six inches on her. His mother sacrificed so much to make sure he received the proper nutrition to grow into a well-formed, powerful man, capable of leading humanity in its fragile, desperate state during its darkest hour of need. He named his daughter after her, and until Rosie came along, he never thought he could love someone as deeply as he loved his mother.
He cups Sarah’s face in his hands, willing himself to touch her gently, when all he wants to do is seize her by the jaw and force her to spill everything she knows. “Let’s go upstairs and talk about it.”
Chapter Twelve
July 1, 2018
Carlos and I walk along the waterfront and I slowly begin to relax. I’m still afraid that a rogue wave will come out of nowhere and wash us away, but Carlos swears it won’t happen, and none of the other hundreds of people walking around smiling and swinging their arms loosely seem to be worried at all. By the time we reach Wall Street and Carlos says we should turn right and head away from the water, I think there’s been a miniscule reduction in my anxiety. I’m thrilled to be heading uphill, though, and I don’t try to hide my relief.
A couple walk past us, the man pausing briefly at an open rectangle about waist-high. He deposits a Styrofoam container into the box. As soon as he walks away, Carlos snakes his hand in and plucks it deftly out.
“What a remarkable society,” I marvel.
“How so?” Carlos asks dryly. He flicks the box open with his thumb, revealing light yellowish-brown sticks that smell heavenly.
“These boxes you have everywhere. Where people leave things if they don’t need them so you can take them if you do. It’s brilliant.”
“Um, yeah. Sure.”
“I call them ‘leave one, take one’ boxes in my head. What’s the real word for them?”
“Trashcans.”
“Huh. I had a trashcan in my room at the hospital, but they never put anything useful in it. They always brought me my food on a tray.”
“Well, it’s a multipurpose word, I guess.”
“Another word that’s been bumping around in my head is ‘library.’ What does that mean?”
“That’s sort of like a ‘leave one, take one’ thing, except for it’s not a can, it’s a big building, and it’s just for books.”
I feel my eyes grow big. “Oh, I love books. I have three. I’ve read them each about a billion times.”
Carlos and I both come to an abrupt halt. “Did you hear that?” I whisper. “I have three books.”
“Which ones?”
“Men to Match My Mountains by Irving Stone, The 100 Greatest Mysteries of All Time by David Wallace, and Sweet Valley High #4 Power Play by Francine Pascal.”
“Eclectic mix.”
“Yeah. Books are hard to get where I come from. We don’t have many. I don’t know why I know that, but I’m sure of it. I love to read, though.”
Carlos extends the Styrofoam box to me. “Want some fries?”
I dig a handful out and say ‘yeah’ at the same time. I stuff them in my mouth and they taste even more amazing than they smell. “Can you imagine,” I say, “a whole room full of books?”
“There’s a library up on Third. If you want, I’ll take you there next. We can go in for a while, and when they close, we can spend the night nearby.”
“I’d love that.”
Chapter Thirteen
April 13, 2074
Sarah tips her cup back and drains it. She shudders and licks her lips. “More.”
David pours a glug into Sarah’s cup, and she drinks it with identical greed. Her eyes shift out of focus for a moment, then stabilize. “I love alcohol.”
“Have another.”
Sarah drains her cup again, then staggers over to their queen-sized bed and sits down heavily. She kicks her high heels off and rotates her ankles, making twin cracking sounds. “I didn’t know how long to wait to talk about having a baby. I thought it might be too soon after losing Rosie to bring it up. I’m glad I trusted my instincts.” Her voice slows down. “I got good instincts.”
“When did you first notice Rosie was gone?” David asks, sitting beside her and tucking a strand of her blonde hair behind her ear.
“Well, immediately, darling. You probably weren’t aware how close Rosie and I had become in just the last few weeks before her disappearance.”
“You’re right, I wasn’t.”
Sarah fluffs her hair and crosses her legs at the knee. “We’d really begun to bond over girl stuff. She knew about my periods and she was thrilled. She was so excited at the idea of having a little brother. She really wanted a brother.
”
“You don’t say.”
“I’m sure she would have been happy for us either way, but I got the feeling she was worried another little girl might take her place in your heart. But we both know no one will ever replace Rosie.” Sarah sniffs back a tear. “God, I miss her so much.”
“You say you noticed she was gone immediately. Can you pinpoint the date?”
Sarah cocks her head up and to the right, thinking. “I don’t remember what the date was. But I know it was the same day you received your last Achtung. She didn’t come home that night. She hasn’t been home since.”
David drums his fingers on his knees. “Do you recall what that Achtung was about? Did I discuss it with you?”
“Of course not, honey, you never do. What a question!”
David stares at the wall opposite them. “I can’t remember the contents of that Achtung myself. Doesn’t that seem odd to you?”
“I’m sure the stress of losing Rosie has caused a lot of things to slip your mind. I was starting to worry that you’d forgotten that you love me too.” Her tone grows sultry. “Let me help you remember.”
Sarah stretches back on the bed. David lifts her left arm over her head, and she writhes with anticipation. He lies next to her and reaches into his back pocket, pulling out a thin strip of plastic. He slips the zip tie around her wrist with a rough yank and secures her to the bedpost.
“David,” Sarah breathes, her voice catching with excitement, “you’re full of surprises. I like it.”
“Well, good.” David grabs her other wrist and zip-ties it to the post too. “You may have to stay this way for a while.”
Sarah’s eyes widen, and she tries to sit up, but her hands are bound too tightly to the iron bedpost behind her.
David stands up. “Nobody has mentioned Rosie’s absence,” he says evenly, “because no one is aware of it. It’s one of the rules. Only people directly involved in her disappearance have any idea she’s missing. So how do you know she’s gone, Sarah?”
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