SEVENTEEN

For those traveling east, Ramona was the last pocket of suburbia in San Diego County. The town was home to fifty thousand people, twice the population of the Ramona that had existed on the Silvers’ world. In the wake of the Cataclysm, millions of East Coast emigrants made a cold rush on California, crowding every city, burg, and hamlet until the state cracked in half. By 1940—when Ramona, CA, became Ramona, CS—the local headcount had tripled and the town had bulged a half mile in every direction.

Theo groaned like an old man as he hunkered down on a wooden park bench. He’d spent the last four hours trekking through the margins of civilization, all the ranches and branches and gulches of South California. He wanted nothing more than to take a deep nap, but he knew from experience that cops didn’t take kindly to rumpled dozers. The last thing the group needed was more police attention.

At 11:30 on a Monday morning, the playground park was only minimally occupied by human life—two mothers, three toddlers, and four weary Silvers. A string of single-level storefronts lined the street across from Theo, brandishing offers both familiar and strange. An auto supply shop professed to be the number one place for custom liftplates and swore that none of their parts were tooped. A spa clinic advertised a special on Circadian Adjustment Therapy, inviting all to Extend Your Day the Natural Way. A business called Farsight Professional Augury peddled fortune-telling services with the elegant veneer of a bank. A fancy sign boasted that their staff had a prediction accuracy rating of 68%.* Theo was too far away to read the asterisk’s fine print.

He rested his face in his palms, dreading all the new headaches ahead of him. He was used to wandering cashless through California, but never sober, and always alone. He wondered if he’d be better off without the group, and vice versa. He didn’t know them very well (and vice versa). Besides, what did he bring to the table? He wasn’t all that resourceful, and he didn’t sport an eerie talent like each of them did. Of course, after witnessing Amanda’s tempic blowup, Theo didn’t feel too bad about being left off the weirdness wagon.

A three-year-old girl in a little pink romper wandered away from the playground and studied Theo from a curious distance. It took a few moments for him to notice her.

“Uh . . .”

Theo scanned the park behind him. The two mothers on scene remained rooted at the swing set, hopelessly distracted by the sight of a shirtless David.

He shined the girl an awkward smile. “Hi.”

She shyly bit her fingers. On seeing Theo’s bloody arm bandage, her half grin melted away.

“It’s just a scratch,” he assured her. “A little owie. Listen, you should probably—”

One of the mothers, a chubby woman not much older than Theo himself, hurriedly scooped the girl into her arms. She shot Theo a glare of nervous judgment, as if he were holding a fishing rod with candy on the hook.

With a jaded sigh, Theo turned his gaze back to the augury service. He wondered if people were all that friendly here in Altamerica.

Hannah rested in the comforting shade of a sugar pine tree, her mind even more exhausted than her legs. All throughout her trek, her thoughts had run circles around her. I wish I knew what Azral was wow I bet every cop in the state is looking for Christ I really broke their fingers when damn we’re all gonna starve if Amanda can’t Jesus what did she do to those policemen?

By the time she’d reached Ramona, she couldn’t conjure anything more than a few impure notions. David stood bare-chested against a nearby elm tree, staring off into the distance like a high-fashion model. For a teenage genius who didn’t eat a lot of protein, he sported a surprising amount of muscle tone. The skin on his chest was hairless and glistening. To the women of the park, he was the thing to look at. He wasn’t just the group’s David anymore. He was Michelangelo’s.

“What are you thinking about?” Hannah asked him.

He continued to gaze at an empty patch of grass as he absently tapped his wristwatch.

“David?”

He shook his head and blinked at Hannah. “I’m sorry?”

“Just checking up on you. You look so lost.”

“Actually, I was scanning the local past in my head. I can’t help myself. Everywhere I go now, I nose through history like a curious dog.”

“Yeah? See anything interesting?”

“Oh yes. Every year, around October, they host a candlelight vigil in this park. Everyone wears white robes and masks, and no one says a word. It’s quite eerie. There was also a gruesome murder here about five years ago. Some poor woman got stabbed in the neck.”

“Ewww. God. Why would you even look at that?”

“Guess I’m just in a grim mood.” He grew a sheepish smile. “Though I admit I keep coming back to a sunbather who was here last weekend. She’s . . . quite nice to look at.”

Hannah was sure the girl would feel the same about him.

“You probably think that’s creepy,” he said. “It is creepy. I should stop.”

“Sweetie, you do whatever makes you feel good.”

Mia sat alone at a nearby picnic table, forcing her anxious gaze at her journal. For the fifth time in four minutes, she lost the fight against her teenage id and drank David in. In the corner of her vision, she caught Hannah smirking at her. Mia suddenly grew hot with humiliation and anger until she took a second glance and saw that the actress wasn’t mocking her at all. Merely empathizing.

Mia reeled with guilt. She kept misjudging Hannah, even after everything that happened today. While Mia had to be rescued from her attacker in Terra Vista, Hannah saved herself. While Mia couldn’t handle her one simple job of keeping Amanda in the van, Hannah did everything that was asked of her. She took on armed policemen with just a nightstick and set her friends free.

Too tired to find the right words, Mia shined Hannah a look of warm regard, and then quietly resolved to think nicer of her in the future.

The future . . .

She focused on her journal again, scanning all the hints and warnings of her elder selves. If the notes were right, then Mia was due to visit the rebuilt New York (“So beautiful, it brings me to tears”) and ride a flying taxi (“Holy @$#%!”). She was supposed to meet a man named Peter, who was either great or untrustworthy, depending on which of the two contrasting notes she chose to believe. And of course the prophecy remained that Hannah would one day save her life. Mia no longer had trouble envisioning that scenario.

On the second page of her notations, an old message jumped out at her.

If you see a small and creepy guy with a 55 on his hand, run. That’s Evan Rander. He’s bad news.

Mia had originally filed the warning away as a distant concern, as none of the physicists matched the description. Now it merited some thought. She decided to wait a bit longer before burdening the others with this information. They were all running on shattered nerves right now. She feared one in particular was dangerously close to snapping.

—

Amanda bit her thumbnail, tapping a nervous beat on the counter as the sweaty man conducted his tests. She could see from the pawnbroker’s license on the wall that his name was John Curry and he was twenty-nine years old. Genetics had unfortunately screwed him in two directions, giving him the acne of a teenager and the hairline of a middle-aged man. To make matters worse, he carried both the shape and smell of an overstuffed trash bag. Amanda was too unglued to think charitably, and could only assume that one of the torments that awaited her in the infernal beyond involved handcuffs, a bed, and John Curry.

He’d already examined her wedding ring through a grading loupe, inspecting every curve and facet for impurities. Now he put it inside a device that resembled an Easy-Bake oven. As the machine whirred, the pawnbroker fixed his appraising eyes on Amanda. He studied her in a way that made her empty stomach churn.

She turned around to check on Zack. He’d accompanied her to the store to help negotiate a good sale price. Now he strangely hung back near the entrance, browsing the hocked watches.

Amanda threw him a tense, baffled shrug. What are you doing?

He replied with a nod and an assuring palm. It’s okay. You’re fine.

Though Amanda had been through hell and a four-hour hike, and was forced to wear David’s T-shirt to cover the bloodstains on her own, she was still a fetching sight. Zack saw the pawnbroker’s eyes pop with interest the moment she stepped through the door. He figured Amanda would have a better shot handling the business on her own.

The pawnbroker scratched his pitted cheek as he pondered the machine’s analysis. “I’ll give you five hundred.”

Amanda balked at him. “Five hundred? The ring cost eight thousand dollars.”

“I doubt that.”

Zack wasn’t able to remind her that she was working from another world’s economy. All the same, the offer was disappointing. Come on, man. You know she puts the “dish” in disheveled. Cut her a deal.

“How about six hundred?” Amanda asked.

“No way. I’d be taking a loss.”

“How? This is eighteen-karat gold with five diamonds.”

“Right. And it’s also been juved.”

Zack was surprised to learn that his work left traces, and that reversal affected the resale value.

“Five fifty,” Amanda offered.

The pawnbroker removed the ring from the scanner, holding it out to Amanda as if he were proposing the most cynical marriage ever.

“You only have two choices here: five hundred or keep walking.”

She slapped her palm on the counter. “Look, I wouldn’t be selling this if I didn’t need the money! I guarantee the extra fifty dollars will mean a lot more to me than it will to you.”

The pawnbroker stared in turmoil at the cash safe under his desk. The moment Amanda struck the counter, the tempic shell rippled like jostled milk. It took five seconds for the walls to settle back to normal.

“Look at me, John. My name’s Amanda Given. I’m not a gambler or a drug addict. I’m not . . .” Once again she suffered a tactile flashback, and could feel the broken ribs in the chests of those policemen. “I’m not a criminal. I’m just someone who’s hit bad times. A bunch of us need this money for food. Now, you’re going to make a profit on this ring regardless. I’m asking you out of the goodness of your heart to raise your offer. Please.”

Between the freakish incident with his safe and Amanda’s unbearable intensity, the pawnbroker’s sexual interest became replaced by a burning desire to get her out of his store.

“Five ten. That’s my absolute last deal. Take it or go. Just decide fast.”

Frustrated, Amanda glanced at Zack. All he could offer was a hopeless shrug.

She turned back to the pawnbroker. “Fine, John. Fine.”

He counted out a thin blue wad of bills. Amanda snatched it from his hands.

“Fine deal. Fine profit. Fine person you are.”

While the pawnbroker glared, Amanda took a final look at the ring that had traveled with her across the multiverse. Her thoughts teemed with images of Derek, a flip-book chronicle of decline that began with his marriage proposal and ended with his last spiteful words.

She joined Zack at the exit and passed him her money with trembling hands. “It’s not enough.”

He led her outside. “It’s enough for now.”

“No. It’s not enough money. I should . . .”

She fumbled for her golden cross necklace, tucked away under two T-shirts. “I should see . . . I should see how much . . .”

“No.”

“It’s just a symbol.”

“Amanda . . .”

“I don’t need a symbol to be a good Christian.”

The walls of her composure crumbled away. She fled down a narrow alley between the pawnshop and a bakery. There among the boxes of old discarded bread, she crouched to the ground and wept into her hands.

Zack followed her down the alley and took a seat on the milk crate next to her.

“I should have listened to Mia,” Amanda confessed. “I should have never gotten out of the van.”

Zack knew this wasn’t the best time to agree with her. “They’re being fixed. Whether it’s through temporis or good old-fashioned medicine, those cops—”

“Doesn’t change the fact that I did it.”

“No. Can’t say it does.”

Zack fixed a dreary stare on the abandoned loaves and rolls. He assumed it was only professional pride that kept the bakers from selling rejuvenated bread.

“I hurt that guy back in the building. Rebel. I panicked and I aged his hand. If Dr. Czerny—rest his soul—was right about what that does to a body, then I probably shot a bunch of fatal air bubbles into his heart.”

“You were defending yourself,” Amanda said. “That man was trying to kill you.”

“Yeah, and you didn’t attack those cops until one of them fired a bullet at Mia. It’s also worth noting that Rebel would have killed me and Theo if you hadn’t stopped him. I’m sorry I never thought to thank you until now. I just hope the next time you think about the two men you hurt today, you also remember the two you saved.”

Amanda looked up at him with red eyes. Though she was loath to praise him in their tense early days together, she’d noticed from the start that Zack was humble to the point of self-deprecation. There wasn’t a vain bone in his body.

She took a deep wet sniff and gazed across at the bread boxes.

“They’d have to be big bubbles.”

“What?”

“Rebel. You’d have to make big bubbles in his bloodstream in order to kill him. A few centimeters at least. Even then, he could still survive if he got treated in time. You don’t need a reviver. Just a hyperbaric chamber. Most hospitals have one, at least where we come from.”

Zack almost laughed at his conflicting reactions to her information. He was relieved to be that much less a murderer, and worried that Rebel would be that much more alive to murder Zack someday.

“Thank you. It’s been bugging me all morning. I needed that perspective.”

“No problem,” she replied, with black humor. “I’m here to help.”

What began as a snicker soon escalated into a series of near-maniacal giggles. She caught Zack’s puzzled grin.

“I was just thinking about that pawnbroker. The expression on his face when I got all pissy on him. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve gotten that look from people, Zack. Complete strangers. My husband always said I made a strong first impression on people. It wasn’t a compliment.”

The cartoonist smirked sardonically. “That’s all right. I once had a woman slap me just thirty seconds after meeting me.”

Amanda laughed. “Yeah. I remember. Guess I made a strong first impression on you too.”

“Well, part of me.”

She wiped her eyes and brushed back her hair. She realized now that she’d have to dye it a different color. God. I’m already thinking like a fugitive.

“Zack, why does that trash bread look so good to me?”

“Because we haven’t eaten all day. Come on.”

He rose to his feet and extended a hand. As he helped her up, she wrapped herself around him.

“Oh. Hey. Huggage.”

“Thankful huggage,” said Amanda. “I’m glad you were still with us when all this stuff happened. I’m glad you’re still with us now. You’re a good man, Zack. Sometimes, on rare occasions, you’re even funny.”

He grinned along to her surprisingly droll humor, his hands falling awkwardly on her back. As a jaded New Yorker from an aloof and broken family, he was severely unskilled in the art of physical contact. But there was something jarringly beautiful about this embrace. They were both the same height, with the same limber frame. Her warmth and symmetry were a little too nice to handle right now.

At the end of their hug, Amanda suffered a sudden flashback to Esis Pelletier. The madwoman had approached her in an alley much like this one, uttering words so bizarre and cryptic that Amanda quickly forgot them in the chaos that followed. Except now a tiny fragment came back to her, an angry warning to not entwine with something. Or someone.

She crumpled the thought into an angry little ball and buried it in the back of her mind, along with the policemen, the pawnbroker, and Derek’s harsh words. No more of that business. It was time to be strong again.

—

They returned to the park with nourishing goodies, their first meal on Earth that wasn’t provided by physicists. For a gratifying twenty minutes, the Silvers sat around the picnic table, devouring their bounty like a pack of wild predators.

Amanda returned David’s T-shirt after the meal. She watched with puzzlement as he sniffed the fabric. She wasn’t sure if he was checking for sweat stink, cooties, or something worse.

While the others waged a run on the nearby department store, Amanda stayed in the park with Theo. Their clothes were too bloody for close public mingling. Theo was in no condition to go shopping anyway. Once Amanda finished changing his bandage, she led him to the shade of the pine tree and ordered him to take a nap. Though he insisted he was fine, he quickly drifted away on a bed of grass.

Amanda rested against the tree, mindless in the wake of her meltdown. She occasionally heard Theo mumble in his sleep. He called out to a woman named Melissa, then mumbled something about a girl with two watches. Amanda hoped he was at least having a good dream.

An hour and a half later, the others came back with fresh supplies. New clothes for all. Better shoes for some. A map. A compass. Two flashlights. Six knapsacks to carry it all.

Amanda wasn’t encouraged by Zack’s crabby expression. “How much do we have left?”

“Don’t ask.”

“Tell me.”

He sighed defeatedly. “About a hundred and fifty.”

“What?”

“We bought the cheapest stuff they had. But even bargain basement clothes add up when there are six of us.”

“So what are we going to do about money?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “You think you can write the Harry Potter books from memory?”

Amanda fought a grin. “No.”

“Twilight?”

“Zack . . .”

“I have some ideas. We can talk about it later. In the meantime, you may want to have a chat with your sister. Or Mia. Or both.”

“Why? What—”

Hannah dropped her bags on the picnic table, then brusquely walked away. Her face was grim. Her eyes were red from crying. Mia soon slapped her own purchases on the table and shuffled off in the other direction. She looked even worse.

When Amanda turned to Zack, he chucked his hands in hopeless quandary. He had no idea what happened between Hannah and Mia. Neither one of them was talking.

—

They’d split up four ways inside the Harvey Mark, with a plan to reassemble in an hour. Mia wandered the aisles in a moony daze, marveling at the daft embellishments to this otherwise familiar environment. A stock boy pushed giant boxes on a hovering aeric platform. A two-dimensional ghost woman hawked the benefits of a Harvey Mark purchase account. A young boy hobbled after his mother on legs of pure tempis.

More alarming were the fashions, a mix of 1950s and 1980s clothing styles, flavored with a twist of madness. Mia saw two teenage girls dressed in sleeveless turtlenecks with cleavage holes cut in the fabric. One wore a bob of orange-red hair that was teased to looked like flames. The other sported blond bangs that were long enough to obscure her eyes. Mia couldn’t tell if the girls were cookie-cutter trend slaves or bold fashion rebels. All she knew was that she’d never be anything more than an alien here.

Soon Mia and Hannah spotted each other in the women’s clothing section. Their overwhelmed expressions were identical, enough to evoke a mutually nervous giggle.

“This place is like Wal-Mart on acid,” Hannah said. “It’s freaking me out.”

Despite Mia’s resolve to think nicer of Hannah, she found herself squinting with reproach at the box of black hair dye in her handcart. Your sister sold her wedding ring so we could eat and live, not touch up our roots.

It was actually Amanda who’d requested the product for herself. Though Mia had misjudged again, Hannah wasn’t entirely innocent this time. She’d convinced her sister to go black over blond just so she could use the leftover dye on her roots.

Peering into Mia’s cart, Hannah winced at the pair of dark, long-sleeved shirts she’d chosen for purchase. Oh sweetie. You’re going to bake like a muffin in those things. Is it worth getting heatstroke just to look slimmer for David?

Loath as she was to jeopardize Mia’s fresh goodwill, Hannah plotted a course of delicate pestering. “Uh, hey, listen—”

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

Mia spun a quick circle, urgently scanning all shoppers within eyeshot. From her panicked expression, Hannah feared the girl was on the verge of a gastric catastrophe.

“Are you okay?”

“No. She couldn’t have picked a worse time. What the hell is she thinking?”

“What? Who are you—”

A bead of light suddenly appeared ten inches in front of Mia’s chest. Hannah took a step back.

“Whoa. Jesus. Is that . . . is that the thing your notes come from?”

“Yeah.”

Mia raised her handcart until it obscured the glowing breach. Hannah skittishly peeked inside.

“Wow. I’ve never seen one of these before. It’s like a tiny sun. How long before a note pops out?”

“It varies,” said Mia, increasingly tense. Something wasn’t right about this delivery.

“And does it usually—”

“Hannah, I can’t talk right now. I need to focus on this.”

“Okay,” she said, dejectedly. “I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”

Wincing with guilt, Mia bent her knees until she was eye level with the portal. She could see another Mia through the tiny circle, anxiously pacing the carpet of her Terra Vista suite. She was dressed in the same clothes Mia wore now, and radiated a sense of worry that was painfully easy to recognize. It was her just fourteen hours ago.

Mia’s skin blanched as she grasped the scope of her new problem. “Oh God. Oh my God.”

“What? What’s the matter?”

“This is a past portal. I’m not receiving, I’m sending. I know exactly what I need to write but I don’t have the right pen. You need to find me a red pen, Hannah. It has to be ballpoint and it has to be red.”

“Uh, okay. Why—”

“I’ll explain the rest when you get back! I promise! Just please go! Hurry!”

Hannah rushed toward the school supplies, wondering just how scared she should be. She vaguely recalled David mentioning something about Mia’s newfound fear of paradoxes, the devastating consequences of changing the past. He didn’t seem to share her concern.

“I don’t believe it works the way she thinks it does,” he’d told Hannah. “I certainly can’t imagine that some minor inconsistency in her notes will somehow bring the universe to collapse. Then again, what do I know?”

David knew plenty, enough to alleviate Hannah’s fears. Still, after everything that happened to their world, she could understand why Mia would be deathly afraid to screw with time.

Hannah quickly returned with an assortment of red pens. Thin trails of sweat rolled down Mia’s temples.

“Oh thank God. I don’t know how much longer it’ll stay open.”

“I’m here. I have it.”

Hannah shielded the portal from all prying eyes while Mia tore a pen from its packaging. She ripped a careful swatch from the back of her journal and then double-checked the archive of her original message. She didn’t know why she bothered. The words had been laser-burned onto her psyche.

They hit you all at sunrise. Sleep with your shoes on. Get ready to run.

During the eighty-two long seconds of Hannah’s absence, Mia had considered all the things she wished she could write in place of that vague warning. With the right words, she could have ensured that the building was evacuated hours in advance. Nobody would have died.

Conversely, she pictured what would happen if the portal closed without any warning sent at all—a revised chain of events in which Rebel and his people killed everyone in their sleep. It was too terrible to think about. It was worse to think that it could still occur retroactively, just because Mia didn’t have the right pen.

Mia rolled up the note and deposited it into the breach. As the portal vanished silently into the ether, she wrapped Hannah in a delirious hug of relief.

“Oh God. Thank you so much. I’m sorry I made you go running like that. And I’m sorry if I was ever cold or mean to you. It’s just stupid jealousy. You’re so pretty and you have this amazing body. But I know you’re a good person too. And I promise from now on . . .”

She suddenly realized that Hannah wasn’t returning the embrace. Mia pulled back to find her white-faced with horror, stammering as if Mia had stabbed her.

“You knew.”

“What?”

“Your note. I saw it. You knew we were going to be attacked today and you didn’t say anything.”

Mia tensely shook her head. “No. Hannah. I didn’t know. I mean not for sure.”

“‘They hit you all at sunrise’? ‘Get ready to run’? What did you think it meant?”

“You don’t understand. I’ve gotten bad notes before. Conflicting notes. I wasn’t sure what was happening and I didn’t want to worry people without—”

“You didn’t want to worry people?”

In hindsight, it sounded pretty bad to Mia too. “Hannah, I’m so sorry.”

The actress didn’t care about Mia’s remorse. She didn’t care how this whole scene looked to the bystanders who were watching. Her mind was trapped six hours in the past, lost in battle with the Motorcycle Man.

“I went out jogging at sunrise,” she cried to Mia. “Do you think I would have done that if . . . do you know how close I came to dying?”

“I’m sorry!”

“Sorry doesn’t fix it, Mia! People died! Czerny died! Erin got cut in half, all because you didn’t want to worry people!”

The tears flowed wildly on both of them now. Hannah held up a trembling hand.

“I can’t even look at you.”

She retreated down the aisle, crashing into a fellow shopper as she brusquely turned the corner. Both their handcarts fell to the floor.

“Oh God. I’m so sorry.”

“My fault,” the man assured her.

He wasn’t wrong. It took five rewinds for Evan Rander to stand in just the right place for a spilling collision. Now he shined a cordial grin as he stooped to gather Hannah’s belongings.

“Oh, you don’t have to—”

“No, no, no. I insist. What kind of gentleman would I be?”

Even in a better state of mind, Hannah wouldn’t have recognized him from their first encounter. Evan had swapped his ostentatious cowboy getup for a simple gray business suit. His hair had been respectfully parted to one side, and he wore soulful blue contact lenses behind rimless glasses. He was the humble good Samaritan now. He was Clark Kent.

Soon he presented Hannah with a refilled handcart. She sniffed and wiped her nose. “Thank you.”

“No worries. I sense you’re not having the best of days.”

“Yeah. That’s putting it mildly.”

“I saw you arguing with your sister back there. Listen, I have siblings myself. These things always blow over.”

Hannah rubbed her eyes. “She’s not my sister.”

“Oh.”

“Look, I’m sorry. I really need to go.”

“Of course. Of course. I understand. You take it easy now, all right?”

There was very little for Hannah to find creepy or suspicious about this incarnation of Evan. And yet as she made her brisk journey to the restroom, a dark voice in her head urged her to not look back. She couldn’t shake the feeling that the man was still standing at the scene of their accident. Still watching her. Still smiling.

—

David studied the map on the picnic table. The nearest cradle of civilization was ten miles to the north. Their abandoned van lay a scant eight miles to the southwest. It wouldn’t be long before the police search made its way to Ramona, if it hadn’t happened already.

“We can’t do ten more miles today,” Amanda insisted. “We can’t even do two miles. Look at us, David.”

Over the boy’s grumbling objections, the Silvers bought two rooms in a cheap motel off the main drag. The accommodations were pitiful compared to their suites in Terra Vista, but each room had two beds and each bed was soft. By three o’clock, they were all out cold.

Mia woke up four hours later, groggy and alone. Purple clouds peeked in through the curtain gaps. She could hear the shower running.

As she sat up, her hand brushed a small object on the blanket, an eight-inch cigar tube. Future Mia must have sent another delivery in her sleep.

She unscrewed the lid and shook out a roll of blue currency. Her jaw went slack as she counted fifteen hundred-dollar bills.

Mia used her finger to fish out the other two pieces of the parcel: a small white scrap containing a Brooklyn address and an eight-by-ten sheet of notebook paper densely crammed with text. The lettering was blocky and angular. A man’s handwriting.

Hello, Mia,

You don’t know me yet, but I’m a friend of your future. In fact, you’re sitting next to me as I write this. The Mia I know is fourteen, just like you. But this one traveled across the country to get to me. She made it here with flying colors, along with all her friends.

Mia spotted her own scribble in the margin. Hey girl! See you on the other side!

The author continued:

 

It’s of great importance that I earn your trust, which makes this next part all the more difficult. I’m sorry to say that the people who attacked you in Terra Vista are my people. My clan. There’s a group of us who live in the outskirts of New York: forty-four families, all natives of this world, all gifted like you and your friends. We even have a few folks who can fly on wings of aeris, though they can’t do it as often as they’d like. Through discipline and the occasional use of misdirection, we’ve managed to keep our talents hidden from the public at large. We don’t want to be lab rats any more than you do. For us, the price of living free is living quietly.

Recent developments, however, have put us all in a bad state. In the weeks since your arrival, several of our own have gone missing. Worse, the augurs of our clan—the ones who can see the future, live the future, and hear from their future selves—have all gotten wind of a terrible event coming. A second Cataclysm, of sorts.

Shortly after our troubles began, a man named Richard Rosen (you know him as Rebel) determined that the disaster ahead can be averted by destroying all the new people who arrived in this world. He believes you’re all living ruptures in the fabric of time, breaches that need to be plugged. Though his theory isn’t entirely based in fiction, it’s deeply flawed. Unfortunately, fear won out over reason and Rebel got the clan to see things his way. For your sakes, I wish I’d fought better. All I managed to do was get myself banished from the councils.

But I’m not out of the game yet. I’ve got my own plan to stop what’s coming, one that doesn’t involve murder. Unlike Rebel, I don’t think you and your friends are part of the problem. In fact, I believe you’re part of the solution. One of you in particular.

So I’m writing you now, Mia. I’m asking you to come find me at the enclosed address. I can provide you all with shelter, safety, and crucial information. For those of you looking for a purpose on this world, I can sure as hell give you that too.

Come to Brooklyn. You won’t have to worry about Rebel for a while, but there are other people on your trail. I’ll let your older half tell you about those folks, on the other side of this note.

I’d say I look forward to meeting you, but I already have and I’m already glad. I’ll just say I look forward to you meeting me.

All the best,

Peter Pendergen

Beleaguered by all the new information, Mia turned the letter over. The other side was written in Mia’s hand, an assortment of quick thoughts scrawled at various angles. A passage at the top caught her attention. It was circled twice and garnished with a smiley face.

Apology from Hannah in 3 . . . 2 . . . 1 . . .

Mia jumped when the door opened. Hannah stepped out of the steamy bathroom. She adjusted her towel wrap and aimed a soft expression at Mia.

“Hi.”

“Hey. Where’s, uh . . . ?”

“She’s checking on Theo. How are you doing?”

Still reeling from the letter, Mia could only shrug. Hannah fixed a somber gaze at her feet.

“Listen, I talked to Amanda. She told me you spent all night in the security room with Erin, looking out for intruders. She also said you’re the one who pulled the fire alarm and warned Zack about Rebel. I’m . . . I don’t know what came over me. When I learned about your note, I just flipped out and assumed you didn’t do anything with the information. But it turns out you did a lot. So, I’m sorry. And I’m so sorry for saying you were responsible for Erin and Dr. Czerny. Can you forgive me?”

Mia bit her lip, nodding in warm accord. Hannah leaned against the doorframe and crossed her arms.

“Okay. Now that I got that out, I have a favor to ask. In the future, should you get another—”

“Evan Rander.”

Hannah blinked at her. “What?”

“A note I got. A warning. If you see a small and creepy guy with a ‘55’ on his hand, run. That’s Evan Rander. He’s bad news.”

Though Hannah had failed to notice any numbers on anyone’s hands, she could think of two different men who’d set off her creep alarms today.

“Okay. Wow. I don’t know what to make of that yet. But I’m glad you told me. Thank you.”

Hannah glanced at Mia’s journal on the end table, then nervously scratched her neck.

“Is there, uh . . . is there anything else from the future I should know?”

With a flustered sigh, Mia looked down at the fresh new dispatch in her hand. Yeah. There was something else.