by Dana Fredsti
A mammal of some sorts, a big honking mammal. It had an arm flung over her, large enough on its own to be a bolster pillow.
The thing suddenly growled, a deep, rumbling stretched-out sound. Amber stopped breathing. It shifted slightly, then settled back down with a snuffle. Without moving, she looked at the arm, following it to the end where the sight of four velociraptor-sized claws nearly stopped her heart.
Oh my god. Oh my god.
I’m so dead, I’m so dead…
Lying very still, she focused on her breathing, and slowing her heart rate so it didn’t reverberate in her chest and head like bongo drums. Then, slowly… very slowly, she started trying to wriggle out from under the arm, hoping against hope that those intimidating talons wouldn’t suddenly dig into her flesh.
They twitched… then settled back down, then the huge animal slowly curled up, bringing its head down to Amber’s face, opening its jaws wide. They were more than big enough to take off her whole face.
It yawned.
She dared to breathe again, exhaling in relief.
The creature wasn’t a grizzly, though it did have a bearlike, stretched-out face. Its long conical head ended in a mouth that seemed more made for a camel or a giraffe. Then she recognized it from pictures in library books, the scary-big claws, the face… an adorable face. She’d been spooned by a giant ground sloth.
Okay, they’re herbivores, she thought. I should be alright. If it hadn’t messed her up so far, it probably wasn’t going to. Still, she moved very slowly and carefully, sliding out from under its massive arm. Scuttling low to the ground, as quietly as she could, she waited until she was a good twenty feet away to stand up again.
Amber looked back at her furry friend. The giant sloth was curled up against the base of a cypress tree, making little snoring noises almost impossibly cute for something that big.
Relieved beyond belief, she took a look around. There didn’t seem to be any other super-sized Ice Age beasts in the immediate vicinity, for which she was grateful. She’d had enough of prehistoric carnivores trying to turn her into a meal.
She was also grateful for the parka and overboots the Vanuatu had provided. It was cold here—wherever here was— though not as cold as Antarctic summer. Still, chilly enough. Tentatively she wiggled toes and fingers, relieved to find everything apparently in working order other than a slight crick in her neck.
Taking stock of her surroundings, Amber saw that she was in a clearing at the top of a hill, surrounded by stony outcroppings and trees. Two green picnic tables stood in the middle, and the smell of smoke drifted on the breeze. Down below a little lake encircled the hill. Past that lay a long patch of carefully manicured park, now a refugee camp.
Makeshift tents and campfires dotted the meadow. In between them, hundreds of shell-shocked people milled about, or huddled together for warmth and comfort. Most wore turn-of-the-twentieth-century clothing—ladies in big hats who looked as if they should be strolling with parasols, and mustachioed men dressed up for barbershop quartets. A handful sported more contemporary outfits.
On the outskirts of the camp sat a circle of what she supposed was a native American tribe, roasting fish on the fire. The men, their long black hair tied back in ponytails, were naked except for shell necklaces and nose rings, while topless women wore deerskin aprons and ornate necklaces of feathers and shell, their chins tattooed with a trio of lines. Some had capes and blankets made from animal skins, and all had plastered themselves in mud for warmth.
Where the hell am I?
The hilltop afforded Amber a clear view. Beyond the roughly half-mile-wide shard of parkland, alternating patches of frosty tundra and sand dunes stretched to the south and west. Far off on the western horizon, she could make out a glazed sliver of ocean.
Past the tents to the east and to the north lay devastation—a blasted hellscape of still-smoking rubble and whole city blocks still being devoured by flames, clouds of smoke billowing up from the burning buildings. Yet even in the destruction, there were isolated patches of other shards—glacier and dune, city and jungle, each one an island of color in a sea of blackened ash.
To the north, a flash of red-orange caught her eye—the partial span of what had once been the Golden Gate Bridge.
Time stopped.
San Diego—and her family—was only a nine-hour drive down the coast. No, that was pre-Event.
I have to get there.
Could she find a working vehicle?
Would there be passable roads?
She closed her hands into fists, and took a deep breath. This was the closest she had been to her hometown since the Event had hit. If she couldn’t drive, she could walk there. Sure, it would be dangerous, and take days or even weeks, she knew that. But for the first time since the world had gone haywire, she allowed herself a slender thread of hope that maybe… just maybe… she could see her family again.
After all, how could she save the world now? She was even further off track, running out of time, and her friends were gone away to—god, who even knew?
And would it really be so bad to be with her family when the end came?
Cam’s face suddenly flashed into her mind. Cam, who would do anything for her. Who would die for her. And Blake, who had crossed miles to find her again in England after they were separated. Nellie, Kha-Hotep, Leila, and even Harcourt. They were family now, the relationship forged through survival and sacrifice. She owed it to them, and to the world, to figure out how to stay on course. DeMetta had said it when he’d emerged from his sarcophagus.
“I think we’re supposed to save the world.”
He’d sacrificed himself to give them a chance to restore the world to the way it was before the Event. All the people who’d died since this nightmare began… if she succeeded, she could give them their lives back.
She wasn’t going to let them down.
New plan. First, find the others. Keeping Cam’s face in her mind’s eye, Amber closed her eyes and sent out a mental call, focusing on the strength of her feelings for him. If he was anywhere nearby, she could find him. Would find him.
Down in the desperate tent camp below her, the minds of grief-stricken people lit up in her psyche like fireflies. He wasn’t there. She scanned through them for anyone familiar.
Nothing. Not a hint.
Amber tried to expand her range, but without Dee’s help it was too overwhelming. There were too many minds to grasp, let alone to sort through. Her head began to pound harder. Feeling suddenly weak and dizzy, Amber stumbled over to the nearest picnic table and sat down. Maybe when she’d landed, she’d hit her head and now she was losing her psychic ability.
Despair swept over her like a flood, so raw and deep that for a moment she thought she’d drown in it.
“No,” she muttered. “I don’t have time for this.”
Forcing herself to concentrate, she recalled the first time she’d been on her own, immediately after the timeline had shattered. She’d found it impossible to think, and then Blake had found her, saving her from a pack of wolves. After that, she’d rarely had time for despair—and she hadn’t been alone—but now her new family was gone, and she didn’t know how she was going to survive. There had to be a reason she’d uncovered her newfound abilities, but right now she couldn’t figure out what it was.
Amber rested her head on the table and tried to think.
Across the clearing, the giant sloth snored.
* * *
“Excuse me… Excuse me, miss? You okay?”
Amber jerked awake. Her eyes snapped open and she sat up so quickly it hurt her neck.
Standing in front of her were a man in his twenties and a girl who couldn’t be much older than eighteen. She was dressed in a too-big brown duster which fell open to reveal a filth-stained and tattered linen nightgown that had once been white, and a pair of brown Ugg boots. Smears of dirt and soot streaked her delicate features, and she had her mass of long dark hair tied back with a scrap of checkered clo
th. Her china-blue eyes were sunk deep into their sockets, and she looked like she’d been through hell.
The man wore a black duster over nice jeans and a hunter green long-sleeved shirt, with a backpack slung over his shoulders. It made Amber immediately miss her own beloved backpack, still back aboard the Vanuatu. He looked the very epitome of Casual Friday, good-looking in a non-threatening way. Her mom would have liked him, Amber thought, apropos of nothing.
“You okay?” he repeated. The two stayed back a few feet.
“Yeah,” she replied. “I fell asleep. I think I’m dehydrated.”
The man immediately shrugged out of his backpack, which looked stuffed to the gills, and pulled out a bottled water.
“Here,” he said. When she hesitated, he added, “Don’t worry, we’ve got more.”
“Thanks.” Amber gratefully took the bottle, unscrewed the lid, and took a long swallow. Almost immediately she felt more alert, and saw how tired both of them looked. “Do you want to sit down?” The man nodded, and the two stepped over and sat down on the other side of the table, the girl looking as though her bones were ready to melt with exhaustion.
“I’m Andrew,” the man said, “and this is Rose.” He put a protective arm around the young woman, who leaned against him and closed her eyes.
“I’m Amber.”
Andrew reached into his backpack again, pulling out more bottles of water, two bags of chips, and a chocolate bar.
“We’ve been walking for hours,” he said. “Might as well have a picnic, since we’re here.” He indicated the tents down below. “Didn’t want to take this out down there—people are going crazy at the sight of food. Saw one guy get the shit kicked out of him for an apple.”
Rose nodded, but didn’t say anything.
“I was working late when this crazy shit went down,” Andrew continued. “It was like an earthquake, but like the northern lights were going on all around, and suddenly half of the Transatlantic Pyramid is gone.” He shook his head. “I mean, literally gone, like someone took a giant axe to the building and just chopped it away. And suddenly it’s not night anymore, and I’m stuck on what’s left of the eighth floor along with the janitor. Luckily it was the part that still had stairs, so we could get out of the building. But when I got outside…”
He swallowed, his shock still evident. Rose squeezed his hand in mute support. Amber liked her for that.
“There were buildings I didn’t even recognize on fire, with a bunch more already collapsed into rubble, and… and people were dressed all old-timey. Like… well, like Rose here. It’s like the 1906 earthquake happened all over again.”
“But it is 1906…” Rose said softly.
“See what I mean?” Andrew said. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think they were filming a movie, but it’s so much crazier than that—some real Marshall, Will, and Holly Land of the Lost-type shit, you know? Frickin’ dinosaurs, man! My whole neighborhood is just gone, I mean gone like-it-never-existed gone.” He stopped and took a deep breath. “What the hell has happened?”
Amber nodded. “Yeah, I pretty much went through the same thing.” She didn’t elaborate, since Andrew didn’t look as if he could handle much more of the weirdness.
“Anyway, I followed a bunch of people toward Golden Gate Park,” Andrew continued, “and ran into Rose. Bare feet, no coat…” He paused, shook his head again. “Weirdest thing—there was this little Aussie import store just sitting there in the middle of all these ruined buildings. Fire hadn’t reached it yet. Got her these boots and our coats.”
“There was an earthquake,” Rose said suddenly. “I was trapped in my boarding house. Sinking into the muck. The fire was coming, and then… something happened.” She smiled, but it wavered into confusion. “I could just walk out the building… but half of San Francisco was gone.” She picked up a bottle of water, stared at it for a moment. “And I’m still alive.”
The three of them sat in silence for a moment, sipping water and eating junk food as the sun began to set.
“Do you mind if we stay up here?” Andrew asked. “I think it’s safer for Rose if we don’t go back down.”
“Sure,” Amber said. “Just don’t bother my friend over there.” She nodded toward the sloth. “I think he’s safe, but I wouldn’t want to risk it.”
Andrew’s and Rose’s eyes widened.
“Yeah, we’ll just stay over here,” Andrew said.
He and Rose set up a little camp on the opposite side of the clearing from the sloth. Amber gave them their space, but she wasn’t ready to start settling in. Not just yet. Judging from their story, she’d somehow ended up in San Francisco just a few hours after the initial Event. That meant she was in her own immediate past, two weeks and some change before the Vanuatu had landed at the station in Antarctica.
God, wrapping your head around time travel is a bitch. Apparently the aftershocks hadn’t started kicking in yet, which meant there was a little bit of time before the world started breaking down further. What should I do now? She thought about the ship, waiting for them back in Antarctica. She’d failed to reach Cam, but she’d been able to communicate with the Vanuatu more than once. Plus, Antarctica wouldn’t have other minds to get in her way.
Might as well give it a try, she thought. But if it doesn’t work, what do I do then?
“I think we’re supposed to save the world.” Dee’s voice echoed in her mind.
Fine, Amber told herself. Sure. That’s a great Plan B. Before she could talk herself out of it, she sent a thought winging out into the aether. “Ship? Ship, can you hear me?”
Nothing.
She waited a moment, then tried again.
“Ship?”
Still nothing.
Damn it. She grabbed handfuls of her hair, squeezing her skull in frustration. A cold wind suddenly began to knife through the clearing. Alright, come on, she told herself. Let’s do this. Doing her best to ignore the wind, she reached out, focusing on the unique signature of the ship’s artificial intelligence. Ah. Much better. There were millions of human minds, but only one of the Vanuatu.
Except… there were two of them.
How was that even possible?
She zoomed in on the pair of signals. Sensing the Vanuatu’s thoughts didn’t feel the same as reading a human mind. That felt like listening in on a conversation, or watching a movie. This was more like reading a textbook, or looking at a phone directory or a map. She mentally skimmed the first of the contacts, and identified its location as somewhere over the South Atlantic Ocean, speeding north. There was a human mind aboard the ship, as well. It was Dr. Meta—her Merlin— dazed from the Event and uncertain as to what to do.
Merlin before she’d met him.
Of course. Think fourth-dimensionally, McFly. She was two weeks back in time.
She toyed with reaching out to Merlin or his ship, and flashed on the butterfly effect. The thought of being caught in some kind of time-loop horrified her.
Nope. Uh-uh. Not gonna screw with the timeline.
The thought almost made her stop altogether, but she decided to check in on the second Vanuatu. The result was instantaneous. The ship was close by—just a few yards away.
Her eyes flew open. There was nothing to be seen, and yet the contact was so close—no further than… than where that giant prehistoric ground sloth lay curled up asleep.
The spot where I arrived. That meant the hole in space and time was still active. Screwing her eyes tightly shut again, she focused on reaching through it, feeling on the other side.
“Ship?”
“Amber?”
“Ship! It’s me!”
“Amber, where are you? I cannot determine your location. How are you able to effect this mode of communication?”
“It’s a long story, and we don’t have time for it. Are you still where we left you?”
“Yes. All of you disappeared from my sensors shortly after you left for the station. I have been waiting for you and the rest of t
he passengers to return.”
“I’m in San Francisco, back in time, right after the Event happened. I guess it’s two weeks ago.”
“Is everything alright? You have all been gone for a considerable amount of time.”
“Yeah, I’ve been stuck here for about three or four hours now—”
“No, you vanished more than nineteen hours ago. Global Event aftershock activity has increased substantially since then. I’m afraid there is not much time before the planet reaches critical mass.”
Amber paused for a moment. She couldn’t begin to unwrap that bit of news.
“Listen,” she replied. “I must’ve slipped through some sort of, I don’t know… some sort of wormhole or something.”
“Give me a moment to set up new sensor arrays. I need to augment my baseline parameters.” After a few beats the ship’s voice returned. “Thank you for your patience. Since this morning I have been making a topological model of the local chronotopography, and am tracking its perturbations by monitoring particle interaction.”
“Um… okay.”
“Earlier, I was unable to detect the visual interplay between various nuclear force particles manifesting as bijective isometries in this curious n-dimensional hypervolume region of schizochronal disruption. That has since been remedied.”
Amber just let it go.
“This has enabled me to study the anomalous chronospatial phenomena you labeled ‘the Shatterfield.’”
“Wait! So you can see the Shatterfield now?”
“That is correct. Now that we are in contact, please stand by…” The ship paused for a moment. “Yes. I believe I have identified the particular portal from which you are contacting me.”
“Good. Keep an eye on it.” She thought for a moment, then continued, “Okay, now see if there’s a way to isolate it on your end. I need you to capture it somehow, pull it away from the rest of the field so I don’t just fall out of it and into another one.”
“I’m sorry, Amber, but my data strongly suggests that would be impossible. All the portals on this end appear to be anchored in a very particular orbital zone surrounding the center point of maximum chronospatial disruption.”