by Laura Martin
“Worst-case scenario,” I repeated, wondering what he had up his sleeve. “You know,” I said, “it’s too bad we don’t have team names, because that would have been a solid choice for us.”
Elliot snorted as he hit the activation button and everything went black. A moment later I found myself on the deck of a huge ship.
“Where are we?” I asked, glancing around at the immensity of the ship’s deck. The place seemed deserted, sleepy even, which wasn’t the usual environment a Butterfly liked to work in. This whole thing was making me feel off balance, but I felt the familiar Chaos Cuffs on my hip and calmed down. Elliot was right—worst-case scenario, I could just leave.
“Where do you think we are?” Elliot asked. “Actually, better yet, what time is it?”
With a sigh I decided to play along with whatever this was and looked around until I spotted a clock. “It’s seven fifty-four,” I said, and then I felt something in my brain click home like a key in a lock, and I turned to take in my surroundings with wide eyes. “Are we?” I asked, and then the clock I’d spotted mounted to the ship clicked to 7:55, and I turned as the buzz of low-flying airplanes hit my ears.
“This is Pearl Harbor,” I breathed.
“Sure is,” Elliot said with a grin. We both turned as a bomb hit a ship called the USS West Virginia.
“But the Butterfly,” I yelled over the noise of the explosion.
Elliot shook his head. “There is no Butterfly. Welcome to our study block!” What a study block it was. I’d never done this before, gone into a simulation just to observe and learn. As we dodged bombs and fled a sinking ship amid a pack of terrified sailors, I had to admit that it made sense. Instead of focusing on finding the anomalies in the situation, I was able to actually pay attention to the history taking place.
“So, Cadet Fitz,” Elliot said when the simulation was over, his voice dripping an exaggerated formality. “Can you tell me what time the first bomb hit Pearl Harbor?”
“Seven fifty-five,” I said as a smile spread across my face. Elliot fired off question after question, and I answered them correctly. Each and every one.
“I guess your brain isn’t Swiss cheese after all,” he said as he finally sat up to detach his simulation probes.
“I guess not,” I said. “That was amazing. Do you think we could do it again?”
“Definitely,” Callaway said as he came up behind us. “It appears your idea worked out, Elliot. The only trick will be finding the time in your schedule. I feel it is important that you continue your traditional study blocks with the rest of the cadets. This new method of study is still untested, and honestly, I’m not sure your mother would approve.”
“Why not at night?” I said, thinking about what Tess had said about how roaming the mountain at night wasn’t a big deal. “Could we come here and study before lights-out? Or early before breakfast?”
“Sounds good to me,” Callaway said, turning to walk across the atrium toward where the breakfast dishes were being cleared.
“You know,” Elliot said, standing up and stretching, “if we can get this figured out, we might actually make it as partners.” And for the very first time, I believed it.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Elliot
An alarm blared, jarring me from a dream where I was doing a Glitch in a trench during what had to be World War I. I sat bolt upright, my hair barely skimming the top of my bunk, and for maybe the second time in my life I was grateful for being short. It took me a heartbeat or two to remember where I was. Regan and I had been meeting up every night for the last two weeks to do study simulations, and the lack of sleep was really starting to get to me. A fact I’d made sure to hide from Callaway just in case he decided our extra training was too much and changed his mind.
I rubbed my eyes and peered out of my bunk. The dorm was pitch-black except for a red flashing light in the corner of the ceiling that I’d never seen before. The alarm blared again, and I clapped my hands over my ears. What was going on? Was there a fire? That thought sent terror racing down my spine as I remembered that I was in the heart of a very big mountain.
A second later, the door to our dorm burst open and a pajama-clad Callaway stood silhouetted in the doorway.
“Get dressed and meet in the atrium in two minutes,” he said, flicking on the lights before rushing away. For a half second we just sat there blinking in the harsh light as the alarm continued to blare overhead, and then we sprang into action. I don’t even remember taking my pajamas off, but I was in my uniform and following Sam out the door at a run in less than a minute. We met the girls as they came barreling out of their own door in the same rush to button jackets and stumble into shoes mid-sprint. The partner groups paired up automatically as we rushed down the hall that led to the atrium. Regan looked particularly wild, her blond hair, usually straight, waving out in unruly tangles and twists that made her wide frightened eyes stand out sharply in her pale face. Her shirt was also on backward, but now wasn’t the time to point that out. Her shoulder pressed against mine as we ran, and she shot me a knowing look out of the corner of her eye, her mouth set in a grim line. Something bad had happened, and she knew as well as I did that this could very well be the reason that Cocoon had landed in our laps.
The alarm system stopped blaring as we rushed into the main atrium, but the red flashing lights that had been present down every hallway continued in here as well, casting an eerie red glow on the cavernous ceiling. The faculty was there already, but Callaway was the only one still in his pajamas. He scanned the room, mouthing our names as he counted to make sure that we were all present. That done, he clapped his hands for quiet, and the nervous murmuring stopped instantly as all eyes turned to him.
“What’s going on?!” Regan called out, and Callaway motioned at her to be quiet, his normally jovial face tight with worry.
“There has been an attack at the Academy,” he said, and there was an audible gasp as everyone took that in. Regan’s whole body went rigid next to mine.
“What kind of attack?” she asked.
“We aren’t sure yet,” he said. “All we know is that the entire Academy island has lost communication, and we are on lockdown until we know more.”
“What do you mean lockdown?” Regan asked, her voice high and shrill. “Aren’t we going to help them? Is anyone hurt?”
“Regan,” Callaway said sternly. “I am telling you everything I know. And no, we are not going to help them. At least not until we know more.”
“But,” she started to protest, and I did everyone a favor and put my hand over her mouth to shut her up.
“Thank you,” Callaway said as he turned back to the group. Regan sank her teeth into the fleshy part of my palm, and I jerked my hand away. She wiped her mouth and glared at me, and I got the distinct feeling that she was wishing she’d bit me harder.
“All we know right now is that the Academy suffered a security breach after midnight tonight. We were alerted to it so we could make sure our own security was tightened. However, within five minutes of receiving the notification, there was a series of explosions on the Academy island, and we lost all communication.” Regan’s already pale face got even paler, reflecting the horror I felt flooding through my system like a tidal wave. This couldn’t be real. Not the Academy.
“We are kept up to date with the Academy’s Glitching activity, down to the second, in case a crisis like this ever occurs,” Callaway went on, and I saw the other kids exchanging questioning looks with their partners. I didn’t even bother since my partner was a biter. “For that reason, we know that there are four Glitch agents who were mid-mission when the system went down.” I saw the face of almost every person in attendance go white at this new bit of information. If there were four agents mid-mission when the Academy lost power, then those agents had no way of making it back to the present. They were stuck in whatever time they’d been sent to. Worse than that, if left in that time period for too long, they would inevitably become Butt
erflies themselves, meddling with the ebb and flow of time by their very presence. No one asked why agents were Glitching at this time of night, since we knew that missions happened at all hours.
“So now, despite the fear I know you are all feeling, I must ask you all to rise to the occasion for the sake of the Academy,” Callaway went on, talking over the nervous murmuring. “We are going to send each partner team after one of those agents. Your job will be to bring them back to the present. Preferably intact.”
“But we’ve never actually time traveled before,” said Blake.
“That doesn’t matter at the moment,” Callaway said. “Trust me, I’m not happy about this situation either, but all of the staff here at the mountain have been deactivated, which means that you are the only option.”
“What about the Butterflies?” I asked. “The ones the agents were sent in to catch in the first place? What about their missions?”
Callaway sighed. “Right now, we just need to retrieve our agents. We will have to send them back in once the Academy is online again.” His lips pressed into a thin line as he didn’t say what everyone there was thinking, that the Academy might never be back online, that we didn’t know what was left of the Academy or the people in it. The thought made me feel as if the bottom had dropped out of my stomach. The Academy had been the only home I’d ever known before coming to the mountain. Everything and everyone I knew was on that island, and now we didn’t know what had happened to them.
“Is this a hostile takeover by Mayhem?” Regan asked, and my head snapped over to look at her. But she ignored me, her arms crossing over her chest as she stood a little taller and looked at Callaway.
“Well?” she prompted.
Callaway just shook his head. “Regan,” he said, his voice tight with warning, “I’ve already told you all that I know. The clock is ticking, and we need to get ready for the retrieval. The longer we wait, the longer our agents are without a line back to the present.” I nodded, trying not to think about how tricky the timing on this one would have to be. If they sent us too early, the agent might confuse us for the Butterfly, catch us, and haul us back to the Academy just in time for it to explode, but if we showed up too late, the agent could have accidentally become a Butterfly themselves.
“Can’t we just connect them to our equipment?” Regan asked.
Callaway shook his head again. “If only it were that simple,” he said. “But since we didn’t send them, we can’t bring them back. They will have to hitchhike home with each of you via your Chaos Cuffs. Now, we don’t have any time to waste. Each team will be briefed by a professor and costumed appropriately for the jump. Move!”
We moved. Or rather, everyone moved around us as professors started pulling each partner group in a different direction. Callaway hustled Regan and me over to the corner of the atrium that housed the combat mats, Professor Tramble close behind him. Regan walked with a stiffness that made it obvious that it was taking every ounce of her self-control not to pummel Callaway with more questions.
“Keep it together,” I whispered under my breath.
“I am,” she replied through gritted teeth. “I went through all the same crisis training as you. I know not to fall apart.” I raised an eyebrow at her and her hands balled into fists at her sides. “I’m not!” she insisted.
“Okay,” I said, holding my arms up in submission. “You’re not. But remember this is the real deal, okay? Someone’s life is on the line, and the entire history of the United States and possibly even the entire world could be altered if you screw this up.”
“We,” she said. “If we screw this up, and we won’t.” Callaway turned to face us when we reached the combat mats, and he shuffled through the papers in his hands until he found the one he was searching for and looked up.
“What do you know about the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory fire?” he asked.
“Nothing,” Regan said at the exact moment that I said, “Everything.”
Regan turned to me. “There is no way you know everything about it,” she said accusingly.
“There is no way you know nothing about it,” I countered. “It’s a really important historical event. It’s the reason factories changed their labor laws. It’s why we have fire extinguishers everywhere. It’s . . . ,” I said, pausing as I gestured hopelessly in the air for the right word.
“Important,” Regan said. “Got it.”
Callaway nodded as one of the technicians rushed over with a rack of clothing. Without a word she began holding drab cotton dresses up to Regan.
“Give me the basics of the event,” Callaway commanded.
“It happened on March twenty-fifth in the year 1911 in New York City,” I said, slipping happily back into my role of top student with all the answers. “A shirt factory located on the eighth, ninth, and tenth floors of the Asch Building caught fire and one hundred and forty-six people died. Mostly women and almost entirely immigrants, if I remember correctly. It was one of the largest industrial accidents in US history.”
“Why did so many people die?” Regan asked.
“They were locked in,” Callaway said as he began pulling leather shoes off the rack and holding them out for us to try on.
“Locked?” Regan gasped.
“Locked,” I repeated. “The owners of the factory didn’t want their employees leaving early or protesting for better working conditions, so they locked them all in.”
“But the fire department?” Regan said.
I snorted. “You mean the ones with ladders that only reached to the sixth floor and the faulty equipment? They weren’t exactly helpful. Those women had no way out and no one who could save them.”
Regan’s eyes went wide, and I felt my own stomach roll nervously as something occurred to me. I turned back to Callaway as Professor Tramble handed me a dull blue button-down shirt.
“Are we entering before the fire starts?” I asked.
“Unfortunately, in order to retrieve our agent, you will be entering mid-inferno,” Callaway said, still looking at the papers in his hand. I let that sink in for a minute as he finally looked up and handed us a page. Regan took it, and I peered over her shoulder at the picture of a slimly built woman in her forties.
“That is Agent Chris,” Callaway said. “She’s one of our best agents, and she was sent into the middle of the factory to catch a Butterfly that we suspected of tampering with the event. Your mission is to locate her and bring her back using these,” he said, and for the first time in my life I was handed a real set of Chaos Cuffs. Even though they were identical in every way to the sets we used in simulations, these somehow felt heavier.
“Study her face well,” Callaway said. “Like you, she will be in full disguise.” With that he hurried away to talk to Sam and Serina, who were dressed head to toe in what looked like clothing straight from the eighties. I wondered what event they were traveling to.
Regan and I stared at the picture, committing Agent Chris’s sharp nose, wide-set eyes, and broad forehead to memory. I was so focused that I about jumped out of my skin when someone brushed something across my cheek. I turned to see one of the technicians with a makeup palette of blacks, grays, and reds as he turned to Regan and gave her the same treatment. Within minutes, we both looked like survivors of a fire, with soot-covered faces and a few bloody scrapes for good measure.
“Are they ready?” Callaway asked as he hurried over.
“Yes,” said the tech as he stood back to take us in. He put one last swipe across my nose, gave my shirtsleeve a good rip to match the one he’d put in the hem of Regan’s dress, and then hurried over to Tess and Eliana, who were still getting dressed in what appeared to be the uniforms of Revolutionary War soldiers.
“No,” Regan said, so quietly only I could hear.
“Seriously,” I whispered. We’d made huge progress over the last few weeks, ever since I’d come up with our unique way of studying, but nothing could have prepared us for this.
“Remember,” Cal
laway said as he straightened a hem here and a collar there. “The Triangle Shirtwaist factory went up fast. You need to locate Agent Chris and get back as quickly as possible.”
“Can we switch with them?” I asked, jerking my head to where Corban and Blake were donning scuba gear. “We’ve only been training as a team for a few weeks.”
“That’s why I chose this one for you,” Callaway said. “Most of the people you meet inside the building won’t survive the fire, which means you have very little chance of accidentally changing history. The other missions require quite a bit more tact, finesse, and time. Besides, Regan is one of the best natural Butterfly spotters I’ve ever seen, so finding Agent Chris amid the chaos will hopefully be easiest for her. Now, follow me, please.”
With that, he turned and headed down a corridor on the far right that I’d never gone down before. The other teams filled in behind us, and I was a little relieved to see the same anxious expression on their faces that I’m sure was on my own. Regan was the only one who didn’t look nervous, but I’d been her partner long enough now to know that was a very convincing front and her insides were just as knotted as my own. Feeling resolved, I gritted my teeth and attempted to get in the right frame of mind for what was coming.
Callaway stopped in front of an impressive-looking metal door and held his hand up to a sensor on the wall. After a second, the panel lit up, and he keyed in what had to be a twenty-digit code. As if that wasn’t enough protection, he then pulled out a key from around his neck and inserted it into a lock, turning it three times before the door unlocked and he ushered us inside.
As I followed Regan through, I saw that the door itself was over a foot thick, which I would have thought was overkill, except that in front of me were five sets of Glitch platforms complete with the hub of computers that would be needed to send my classmates and me hurtling through time and into the past. A blast of icy air sent goose bumps rippling down my back, and I swallowed hard as Callaway directed each partner group to a different platform. For the second time that day I felt Regan’s shoulder pressed against mine as we stepped up onto the thick metal disk.