“We expect decoherence to affect everyone. Even non-nodal citizens will notice the changes. Many will feel anxious, uneasy, or experience night terrors. We recommend everyone be issued the proper medication needed to ease these worries until the new Prime iteration settles in, and the fan once again reaches an expansion point.”
~ memo from Central Command I1—2070
Date Unknown
Location Unknown
Grit blasted Sam’s face. Sand and dust blinded her, tearing across her bare arms and slicing at her throat. Choking, she pulled her sweater from the bag and wrapped it around her face. “Bosco?”
The dog whined.
She pulled his leash closer, grabbed his collar, and walked forward. Now she knew how she was going to die. Right here. Carved like a mountain by the wind until she was nothing but bone. She pulled her arms into her T-shirt and prayed. “I’m sorry, Bosco. It wasn’t meant to be like this.” Where, in the name of all that was good, were they? Birmingham didn’t have deserts. There was not this much pollution anywhere in the South. It was like walking into a demolition zone, only it wasn’t stopping.
Swinging her pack around front, she pulled out a sweater to cover her arms and a thin scarf to wrap around her head. Bosco’s whimpers grew louder, and she wrapped him up, too, although he fought her on the socks.
“Dùng lai, Bosco.” He stilled obediently. “No chewing until we find some shelter. Heel.”
Bosco pressed against her leg.
Left arm stretched out in front of her, Sam did the Stingray Shuffle forward. Feet scooting but never lifting off the ground, it was meant to kick rays out of the way in the water since stepping on one meant a toxic dart to the leg. Now she did it so she didn’t trip over anything. Her visibility was zero.
Even as she walked, she calculated the odds of survival. She’d learned from Los Angeles. Her pack had enough food for two weeks, water for one, but the bottle collected moisture from the air. They’d be able to stay alive if the weather didn’t kill them—which wasn’t a given. There was no way she’d be able to set up the small tent Nealie had given her in this wind.
The toe of her boot struck something hard. Bending down, she rolled her sleeve up enough to touch the surface, praying it wouldn’t be anything organic. It felt rough, like concrete or broken rock. She covered her hand again and felt around for more lumps. There was a small pile, then something smooth. Running the side of her covered hand against it she tried to get an idea of the shape. She didn’t want to get excited, but it felt doorish. Smooth, tall, rectangular.
She led Bosco through the rubble and explored the smooth surface more. It was metal, dented in a few places, but solid enough. Even if it was just the carcass of a car, it meant shelter.
There was a whine from Bosco, a muffled yap, and the reassuring sound of creaking hinges. Bosco pulled her out of the dust storm into utter darkness. The door banged shut behind them.
“Good work, Bosco.”
He grumbled in complaint.
“I know.” She reached into her bag and found the flashlight. With a click, their hiding place was illuminated. A poster of a woman holding a tube of toothpaste smiled cheerfully back at Sam from behind a layer of oily filth. “That’s . . . not what I was expecting.”
She unwrapped Bosco, washed off his scraped paws, and once they were ready to walk again, she took a better look as Bosco lay by the door. There was a long tunnel of sorts, metal on one side and rubble on the other. It looked like a bus stop almost, a nice bus station. “This must have been the high-rent district.”
The dog wuffled in response.
“I’m saying it still is.” She shook her head. “You know, if things weren’t like they were, I think I could have enjoyed this. Traveling between all the possible worlds. It’s a bit like archeology.”
Bosco curled his tail under his legs.
“It can’t be this bad in every iteration.” But what a terrifying thought it was. She tested the stairs with a little run, then came back to Bosco. “There are tunnels down there.”
He didn’t look impressed.
“The air smells better.”
Still nothing.
“Come on, Bosco. Mac might be down there! I mean, where else could people be living in this hellscape? Obviously, something triggered a nuclear winter or a worldwide storm, or we’re in a test region for a tornado-control machine. Don’t look at me like that. I’ve seen shows about this. Okay, they were spec-fic horror movies, but anything is possible, right?” Landing in the middle of a testing region for storm control did defy reason a little. The portal was supposed to open near the other machine. Since up wasn’t an option, the portal had to be down. All she had to do was follow the tunnels until she found another human being.
She hit her hand on her thigh. “Up, Bosco. Dên ðây. Let’s go find Mac.”
With a snarl, Bosco stood, shook the dust off, and followed her down the steps.
“It is not the end of the world,” she promised, but her hands were shaking. This couldn’t be the end, not after everything she’d gone through. This was supposed to be easy. Step in, grab Mac, flee for the far edges of the country, or alternate Australia, or even back home if it was possible.
Up ahead, voices rose in argument. Sam shut off the flashlight and pulled Bosco to the side as she crouched down.
“Where’s Senturi?” an angry man demanded. “He promised to take us with him.”
“That’s his own problem. If I see him, I’ll let him know.” The second voice was deep, also male, and vaguely familiar.
“My people are waiting,” the angry one said, his voice growing louder as they drew closer.
Sam touched her palm to Bosco’s nose, signaling him to stay silent.
Two men walked past with headlamps on that barely illuminated the space in front of them. “I’m just saying, if you want our help, there has to be some in return,” the angry man said.
“There will be,” the other replied. “Now, do your job.”
They turned a corner, and the voices dimmed.
Sam was still debating whether to follow them or not when a door slammed, and one set of footsteps started walking toward her. She waited until the man passed, then stood and turned on her flashlight.
The man turned. “What in the fragging sixth hell? Who are you?”
He was shorter than average, covered in a heavy canvas coat that looked like it might have been a Vietnam War-era tent stolen from a museum, and a heavy leather cap that covered his neck.
“Who am I? What are you?” Sam asked. “Is there a quarantine? Plague?” She held out a helpless hand to his clothes. “Diesel-punk convention?”
“I’m a survivor.” he said with an exasperated yell.
“Of what?”
“Where have you been your entire life? This place was bombed until you couldn’t buy bread if you fragged the mayor.” His face was the cragged, aging face of a man of indeterminate race hidden behind dirt and grease He looked at Bosco and licked his lips like a man in a desert sighting water.
“Don’t look at my dog like that,” Sam said. “What city is this?”
“Birmingham.” He choked and coughed, spat something black onto the dirt floor. “I don’t know what it’s like in the Shadow Prime, but show some respect. You’re in my place now. No how do you do? No manners?”
Sam shrugged, feeling a bit guilty and very overwhelmed. “Sorry. Hello. How are you? What is the Shadow Prime?” She hadn’t formed a fully-fleshed-out idea of what she expected to encounter on this side of the portal, but it wouldn’t have been this. Somehow, she’d figured it would be closer to home. More trees, maybe with better tech or a different government. This level of destruction wouldn’t have crossed her mind even if she’d extrapolated the worst-case scenario for the old countries not forming the Commonwealth.
He pointed at the dog. “Where’d you get that?”
“This is Bosco,” Sam said, petting him for comfort. “He’s a boerboel. Very well trained.” She stopped, tilting her head in thought. “Why did you ask where I’d found him? Don’t you have pets?”
The man grimaced. “Not anymore.” He leaned against a shadowy wall. “I had one as a kid. A beagle.” He shook his head. “It was hard enough keeping myself alive during the wars. I couldn’t keep a dog, too. You have a name?”
“CBI Agent Sam Rose from the Commonwealth of North America. And you are?”
“Jaycob Landon.” Landon stepped closer, cold eyes boring into her. “Samantha Rose? The commander and the Paladin?”
“That might be a version of me,” she admitted cautiously. “But I’m not responsible for anything she’s done.”
He snorted in disbelief. “Yeah. Who are you here to kill?”
“No one. I’m here to find my husband.” Sam wasn’t sure if she was appalled or amused when Landon looked her up and down with a masculine gaze.
He shrugged. “Not really my type, but I won’t say no. I mean, when Senturi said he could smuggle people out to the new iteration, he said there was a bit of a gender imbalance. Not a lot of men. But you should have waited for us to cross over.”
“I already have a husband,” Sam said “He was kidnapped by someone in this iteration. I’m here to take him back. It sounds like you’re leaving, too.”
“That’s the agreement.” Landon turned and shuffled into the darkness. “You coming, Agent? I don’t care one way or the other if you want to go back into the storm. But if you want to go for a walk, let me keep the dog. He looks friendly enough.”
Bosco bumped her knee and barked. He was bright enough that someone had said they liked him, and friendly people often gave him treats. Bosco was not above begging.
Sam sighed. “We’re coming.” Going back outside wasn’t an option.
Which left her with what, she wondered? A future living in the ruins of Birmingham?
Wasting away from some disease in the water or from radiation poisoning?
Her and Mac’s fifth anniversary was coming up. They had been planning on finding someone to watch Bosco and sail down to see Antarctica. She had tomatoes to harvest at home. Friends who would miss her eventually.
She sighed again.
Landon turned on a flashlight and shined it directly in her face. “You don’t look like what I expected. Senturi made it sound like everyone in the Shadow Prime was real serene. Docile, he said. You look angrier than I expected. Like you could handle a fight.”
“I can,” Sam said. “I don’t know what the Shadow Prime is or who Senturi is. Sorry. You work for him?”
Landon shrugged. “With him. Sort of. His squad caught me raiding the food stores in the towers a year or so back. I took a beating for it, wound up press-ganged into the infantry. But I’m smarter than a grunt. Worked my way up, and as soon as they gave me enough freedom, I skedaddled. Thought it was over until a few months back, when Senturi hunted me down.
“Offered to get me and ten people I picked out of here if I manned a stationary landing site. Two, one here and one in the control tower. Senturi used the mobile sites more often, but this one was static jumping between here and the new world.” He looked at Sam. “I thought maybe the jump had gone wrong.”
She shook her head. “Sorry. Henry—Dr. Troom—he used the Fountain Variance Calculations to pick a location near a big city. We tried to find a place where someone stepping out of a glowing portal wouldn’t be noticed.”
“A park?” Landon guessed.
“A known drug alley where everyone would be high.” Sam shrugged. “In my world, the security in that area is more or less ignored. There have to be a few blind spots for undercover agents to meet their handlers, and most the drugs are legal. It’s a Vagrant Walk.”
He flicked the beam of light to the floor. Pieces of asphalt appeared.
Bosco walked up to Landon, straining at the leash, and put one giant paw on the man’s thigh.
“He’s hungry,” Sam said. “He only just ate a fish three minutes before we came, but you know how dogs are.”
Landon patted his head and pushed Bosco away. “Not sure we have much to offer. Why’d you bring the dog?”
“I was afraid that if I left him, I’d never see him again. There’s only a fifty-fifty chance I’ll get my husband back. Leaving Bosco would be too much. Plus, he keeps me safe.”
Landon glanced sideways at the dog and nodded. “The main substation is this way. Not far now.” He turned and walked on.
“What happened here?” Sam asked, as they passed a pile of shattered glass and rusting metal.
“Emir happened. Him and the world government,” Landon said. “Anyone who didn’t agree with their terms fast enough was eliminated. EMP bombs, regular bombs, street sweeps with snipers and assault rifles. I wasn’t here then. But I moved here. Kept getting pushed out of everywhere ’cause I have a record.”
“As what?”
He shrugged one shoulder as if it didn’t matter. “A bit of everything small time. Carjacking was what got me, but I did a bit of hacking, bit of grifting. Wasn’t born rich but didn’t want to die poor. I should have gone to jail, but the hard-line judge I was supposed to get was sick. So I got this real nice old lady with a soft spot for bad boys, I guess. I was a lab rat for a new rehab program. Instead of jail, I went to be a locksmith’s apprentice. Wound up designing custom locks. It was lucrative for a few years. Until the whole Manifest Destiny of Time and Forward Progression of Humanity projects changed everything. There’s no custom anything anymore. No luxuries. No . . .” He waved his hand over his head. “You know, whatever. We’re all the same. That’s why we all want to leave.”
“Makes sense to me,” Sam said.
Landon nodded. “Everything’s hyperregulated here. Makes all those old communist governments look like Little League soccer games. Down in the tunnels, things are . . .” He laughed. “They’re worse. Much worse. No running water or food allotments or medicine. But we’re free.”
“I read a book once that said true freedom was the freedom to die alone.”
“Sounds like a terrible book.”
“I think it was meant to be satire.”
Landon stopped and leaned against a section of the cement wall that looked no different than the rest. It swung open in silence to show a squalid room illuminated by tallow lamplight. “Welcome to my little piece of hell. Mi cuchitril es su casucha.” He must have seen despair on her face because he shrugged with an apologetic grimace. “It’s temporary. All tunnel homes are, but this one is really temporary. Soon as Senturi gets back, we’re leaving for the new world. Big fields, small towns, lots of food, quiet women.”
Sam gave him a look of feminist disgust. “Quiet women?”
Landon raised a shoulder. “The only women around here would kill you as soon as look at you! Quiet sounds less fatal is all. I’m not judging. Just saying.”
“In my experience, quiet women tend to be better at hiding the bodies. You sure they aren’t the reason there’s such a gender imbalance there?”
He grimaced. “You are full of nightmares. Cupboard over there has a bit of water and some antiseptic wipes. Better take care of the dog first. I’ll go see if I can find a spare bit of rations.” There was a quiet pause, then he shook his head. “Hide their bodies,” he muttered as he stomped down a narrow hall. “Flaming praying mantis woman.”
Sam stroked Bosco’s head and looked around the hovel. The first winter in Australia, Mac and Sam had driven to Coober Pedy in South Australia and spent a week in the famous underground town. In Coober Pedy, the walls were carved and smoothed by years of wear. Bright lights and colorful characters had made it a fun, vivid, and very memorable place.
This was Coober Pedy’s depressed, goth cousin. The walls were covered in soot. Every single item in the room from the three-legged chair to the leaning shelf was in disrepair. It was DIY upcycled trash without the upcycling or joy.
Grimacing, she patted Bosco in apology and led him to the cupboard Landon had indicated. “Sorry, puppy.” Gingerly, she reached for the cupboard door, ready to jump back if it fell off. Instead it stuck, the faux wood warped by the abuse it had suffered. She tugged hard, and it opened to reveal a hodgepodge of half-empty bottles and a yellowing piece of gauze.
“I hope you weren’t expecting something fancy,” Landon said from behind her.
Sam spun, hand dropping to the truncheon she carried concealed in her pocket.
Landon was holding a chipped ceramic bowl with muddy water and a rectangle covered in green plastic that might be a granola bar. “For the dog,” he said, lifting the bowl. “For you.” He held out the green rectangle. “It’s city rations. Senturi brought us two boxes a week back. Should be enough to get us through another four days, even with you around. Fifteen hundred calories and all your daily nutrients.”
Sam turned it over in her hand. “This is what people eat?”
“Mostly.”
It was awful. She hadn’t even opened the package yet, and she knew it was awful. In her mind, she started calculating how many people she could smuggle back to her reality without risking overpopulation. There was the whole duplicate problem she and Mac faced with their younger selves. And, of course, there was the risk of insanity like Gant had suffered when he was cut off from the Federated States of Mexico.
But if she established a little colony?
In Australia, or maybe New Zealand? There was lots of land in New Zealand. Or Kansas, even. Practically no one lived in Kansas.
Landon raised his eyebrows. “You okay? You zoned out there for a moment.”
“I was trying to calculate the grocery bill if I invited you and all your friends over for a proper meal. Maybe a seafood pasta with squid.”
He shook his head. “I don’t eat things that might try to eat me back. Besides, this is coming to an end. We’ve seen pictures of the new place. I’ve got a house picked out.”
“This”—she held the ration bar up to eye level—“is an abomination. This can’t be healthy.”
“Vat-grown seaweed is the only thing that grows anymore. There’s too much dust in the atmosphere for plants. Too many toxins in the oceans. They say it’s because of overpopulation, but me? I think we just got greedy.” He pulled out a wobbly, three-legged stool and sat down. “Your place is better than this, is it?”
She shrugged. “Every place has its problems, but it’s better looking than this. We don’t have the overpopulation problem. There was a plague.”
Landon sat and watched her while she cleaned off Bosco.
Sam looked up at him. “Are you expecting me to do something interesting?”
“Was wondering what to do with you, is all. How were you planning to find this husband of yours?”
“Well, that plan hinged on me having access to computers and mass transit. I thought I’d call around, find Emir, and go harass him until I found Mac. But, since I’m guessing you didn’t see a surly guy with a weird accent and a good tan come through”—she looked at Landon, who shook his head—“I’m guessing Mac came in at the other jump point you mentioned. So I’ll go there.”
“That’s in Central Command. The Ministry of Defense has soldiers and trainees in two buildings, and there’s sixteen towers for civilians. Maybe a quarter of a million people when I lived there. Maybe a bit more.”
“In sixteen buildings?”
“Eighteen.” His smile was bitter. “Security is tight. Everything’s gene locked, so you either bribe someone who has access or you threaten them.” Landon leaned forward. “You’re not very threatening.”
Sam leaned forward. “But I have great genes.”