Skyline (5 page)

Monroe
bit his bottom lip, his eyes staring through her. But he didn’t say what was on
his mind.

“It
was her dying wish,” Charlotte said. “We have to at least
try
.”

With
a nod, Monroe placed his hand on her shoulder. Bill did, too. Charlotte took
them backward four more years. To the morning of the Blast.

•
• • • • • • • • • • •

The
sun
slowed, and the scent of burnt apples was in the air.

“We
have fifteen minutes before the Blast happens,” Charlotte said. “Keep your eyes
out.” She led them up a few blocks, and there stood the cinema Dad took them to
as kids. Beside it was Monroe’s favorite after-movie doughnut shop. But down
the street was Charlotte’s true destination. She’d been to Suni’s so many
times; she knew its storefront would be safe from the Blast.

Right
now, the building looked run-down, not even a sign in the window. A few worn
stools stood beside the bar, but the few couches were a little too pristine.
Unused. Right now, Suni’s was about to go out of business.

The
Blast would change that.

Monroe
slowly followed, gazing at everything that would be taken away in a few
moments’ time. Bill was beside Charlotte, but kept sniffing. Distracted by his
nose. “Is that apples?”

Monroe
inhaled, a grin growing. “God,
yes
. That’s how the day started. I forgot
about all those weird news stories about it.”

Bill
tilted his head, frowning. “Could the smell and the Blast be connected?”

“If
apples were an appetizer for disaster? No one ever found out,” Monroe said.
“There’ve been dozens of mystery smells over the years. Waffles, syrup, a nice
Brie. Most figured it was a coincidence. But if I ever smell apples again? I’m
running.”

Charlotte
nodded along with his story, but wasn’t paying attention. There had to be
something here. Leanor would know that Charlotte would visit Suni’s. Why else
would she make this the first place they went after Charlotte learned what the
astrolabe did? A hidden clue to the future—or past. But no matter how much Charlotte
looked, nothing seemed out of place.

Cars
raced by as the lights aligned green. A stream of people hurried across the
street. Somewhere nearby a truck backed up. A jackhammer destroyed concrete. A
cab honked when a bicyclist veered into its path. Just like at the World Trade
Center, they had one final moment of normalcy.

The
city would never regain this.

A
minute out, Charlotte drew them back against Suni’s storefront. She hadn’t
visited the Blast before—she couldn’t dare—but the destruction would race
through the city. Here they could see it all. But here was a little more
dangerous than the apartment where she and Monroe had lived seven years ago.
Now.

“Will
we be safe?” Bill asked as they pressed themselves against the grate covering
Suni’s front entrance. He laced his fingers into the metal grate, clinging
tight. “This close to the Blast?”

“We
should be,” Monroe said. “That’s another weird thing. No one at the edge of the
Blast zone got hurt. I guess we’ll see why.”

“Brace
yourselves,” Charlotte said, checking her astrolabe. Below, the clock shining
on the ground was only ten seconds away from noon. She stashed it away, then
counted down. “Three. Two. One.”

One
second later, the street lit up bright white. Charlotte closed an eye,
squinting the other to look for clues. After an instant the light vanished,
taking all the buildings and the ground with it. All that remained was a wide
pit, curved at the edges up to the sidewalk where they stood.

Across
the way, three blocks south, a man snatched a tottering woman back from the new
cliff.

A
delayed boom sounded; wind howled forth and knocked down everything within a
mile. Charlotte gripped the grate closed over Suni’s, her fingers turning white
as the wind tried to tug her away. The air calmed just as suddenly, a brief
moment of complete silence.

It
didn’t last.

With
a roar, water crashed through the clean channel in front of them, splashing
eagerly into subway lines and sewers. People spilled from a nearby subway
station with white faces, their pants drenched with water. They collected on
the new shoreline, standing in a line, watching with wide eyes and open mouths.

Sirens
erupted city wide. Hoarse chatter, screams, and sobs filled the air. On all
sides, people tiptoed to the edge of the newly-formed river, staring in shock.
Horrified laughter bubbled out of a nearby man’s mouth.

Beside
her, Bill whispered, “What the fuck was that?”

“No
one ever figured out what caused it,” Monroe said. “Why there wasn’t any
debris, rubble, or heat.”

“In
Idaho they taught that it was a bomb, but that wasn’t anything
like
a
bomb.”

A
white, heatless light. Things vanishing into thin air. Maybe this was why
Leanor had demanded a visit to the Blast. This wasn’t a bomb; Bill was right.

Then
what
was
it?

“We’re
missing something,” Charlotte said, turning from the vanished buildings, the
still-churning dark water, to Monroe. “We’re supposed to be seeing something,
but I can’t. Tell us, ’Roe. Tell us what happens today.”

He
lifted his hands. “It’s nothing you don’t know, Char.”

“Try.”
There was something here, and Charlotte didn’t want
to have to go back through time to re-watch the Blast. She couldn’t take
watching the event again. Couldn’t just stand here as a sobbing line of people
formed along the shoreline. “Please.”

Shaking
his head, Monroe began, “Power’s knocked out on the Triangle. Immediately, as
soon as the Blast happened, it was out. Toilets won’t work there for months,
contractors working overtime to repair all the pipes. The Circle Line boats
have to come in, cart people to and fro until they build new water taxis and
gondolas.”

“No.”
Charlotte’s voice came out too harsh.  “
Today
, ’Roe. Not tomorrow
or months from now.” Even though she’d been there, she needed his memory. He
taught the Blast every year. Maybe he’d know something she hadn’t seen.

Monroe’s
hands curled into fists. “What do you want from me, Char?! Today? Today was
awful. All of these people?” He flung an arm out toward a gathering mass on the
shoreline near the subway. “They’re going to keep sobbing at their homes, if
they still
have
homes. Hundreds of New York’s Finest will take to the
streets, but what can they do? Thousands of people will die, trapped on
subways, too confused to escape the water, even if they get out of their metal
coffins.

“The
only
good thing that comes out of today is the people who do good. Who
give up food for those who don’t have any. Who offer their homes to others. Who
gather when their TVs won’t work to console one another, to be
together
.
That’s it.”

Monroe
fitted his arms over his chest, gritted his teeth, and stared out, finished. He
wasn’t going to say another word now. She’d pushed too far.

And
he was right. Today was an awful,
horrible
day.

Would
Leanor have called this time “perfect,” too?

Charlotte’s
gut ached. Bill’s face was contorted, his gaze on the people beside the subway.
Charlotte crossed in front of Monroe, letting him stew, and whispered to Bill,
“Time is malleable?”

He
whipped his head to her, squinted, then nodded.

“Then
why are we standing here?”

“You
mean?”

Charlotte’s
gaze slid back to the subway entrance, and Bill turned his head to follow. With
a nod, he looked back to her. “Thousands drowned in the subways, right, ’Roe?”

“What?
Yes. Why?”

Charlotte
didn’t answer Monroe’s question. They’d have time later to figure out what was
going on. Time to figure out why Leanor sent them here. For now, Charlotte
needed to act. She hadn’t been able to save Leanor from death, not yet. But
that didn’t mean that every death was fixed.

Bill
met her eyes, and she found herself connected to him once more. “We’re going,”
Bill said to Monroe. “We have to.”

“Going?
Going where?” Monroe tugged at Charlotte’s shoulder. “Why would you do that?
Thousands died in the subway cars, yes. But did you miss the second part? Those
who could get out drowned, too. Dead in the water.”

“Then
they need a guide.”

Charlotte
nodded at Bill’s words, and dropped her purse from her shoulder. “Take care of
the astrolabe, ’Roe. We’ll be back for it.”

“Char,
Char.
” Monroe spun her around, despair written on his face. “You can’t!
Do you really think Leanor sent us here for this? To throw your life into the
waters of the Blast? We were lucky to survive it once, to live those few blocks
away. And now you want to risk that? Why?”

“Because,
’Roe,” Charlotte said. She’d thought the words would come out in a fury, in an
angry explosion. Instead they were quiet. Serious. “I can’t stand here and do
nothing.”

Bill
stepped beside her. “We can’t.”

Monroe’s
forehead wrinkled upward. “And you think … ?” But he shook his head, exhaling.
“Fine. Go. I’ll stay here, see if I can learn why we’re really here by the time
you get back. Because you’re
going
to come back, okay?” He stared her
down. “I’m not going to lose you.”

Already
water covered the steps of the subway entrance. The current wet the surrounding
concrete, making it dark and clean. Water churned at the top of the steps,
cluttered with debris from the subway tracks. A hushed group stood around the
entrance, murmuring to each other, frowning at the submerged steps.

This
was why Charlotte and Bill had to move. So many people didn’t understand the
scope of the tragedy. Most wouldn’t until later today, as they trudged home and
saw the lines extending from one side of Manhattan to the other, all the way
down to the Upper Bay.

Bill
pushed through the group and stumbled down the steps into the water. Charlotte
followed, ignoring the looks they got. There couldn’t be much time.

The
chill water bit at Charlotte’s skin; her clothes weighed her down. Her sinuses
flushed, and the water tasted like dirt on her tongue. Despite the sunlight
above, the water was too murky to see through. But Bill swam on until Charlotte
reached out and grabbed his arm.

She
felt him shift, so she kept her grip, and pulled him back toward the stairs.

Once
above the surface, she said, “It’s no good. We can’t see anything. It’s only
gonna get darker in the tunnels.”

Pulling
his mouth to one side, Bill stared through her. Then, “Hey!” A few from the
nearby group turned. “Does anyone have a flashlight? Anything with a light?”

Those
who’d looked Bill and Charlotte’s way shook their heads. But at the edge, one
girl dressed in neon pink sat down. She placed her teal backpack on the wet
ground and pulled out a doll, some crayons in a plastic baggie, and a skinny
book before finding a small flashlight. She held it out in her hand.

Bill
clambered from the water and knelt before her. “Thank you.” He scooped up the
baggie too, asking, “Can I have this?” The girl nodded, so he dumped out the
crayons, slid the flashlight in, and sealed the baggie.

Charlotte
nodded his way. Not a bad improvisation.

He
raced back to the water and plunged past Charlotte.

She
dived after, following the tiny light even as the chill water shocked her
senses once more. The light glimmered in the murk, barely bright enough to show
the subway turnstiles, the platform, and where the platform ended and the
tracks began.

No
train was in the station, and Bill’s light bobbed with the current flowing
north.

The
shadows vanished, the girl’s flashlight illuminating empty water. The tracks
below were hidden in the gloom. The light stopped, and Charlotte swam forward
to find Bill spinning about, looking down, to the left and right, even though
nothing was visible. Charlotte tapped his shoulder, and they rose.

The
ceiling met Charlotte’s hands, and she moved with it until the plaster ended.
They surfaced into a pocket of air, away from the platform’s ceiling. Although
the water was coursing all through Manhattan, the air couldn’t escape
everywhere. They should be able to breathe in various places throughout the
underground system.

Bill
gasped in the air, pointing the flashlight up into the dark. Metal struts held
up the dirty ceiling, but at the water line the steel was being washed clean.

“It’s
too murky,” Bill said. “I can’t see anything.”

“But
we saw the turnstiles. If we get close enough …”

Bill
nodded, watching the ceiling pass as the current swept them farther north.
“We’ll never be able to follow the tracks,” he murmured.

That
was okay. Somehow Charlotte remained calm, confident. All her life she’d worked
out, trying to be strong like her Dad. Now she had her opportunity—to use not
those muscles, but what Leanor had given her. Trust in her own intuition.

“We’ll
follow the current,” she told Bill. There was no way the current would match
the path of the subway lines exactly, but it was a direction. “Search
everywhere we can.” The water swept them to another low ceiling, and Charlotte
ducked under it, following the plaster ceiling of another station. Bill’s light
didn’t show any train below, and soon they were back in a pocket of air.

She
was ready to dive, but Bill was watching her, waiting. “What?”

He
squinted at her. “Thank you.”

“For?”

He
lofted the flashlight in a shrug. “Changing time.” And then he dived down into
the water. Charlotte followed.

He’d
been so hesitant until that anachronistic woman mentioned that changing time
was like carving Mount Rushmore. But he was right; time travel was powerful,
dangerous
in the wrong hands, as they’d learned. But why should that asshole who’d killed
Leanor be the only one to fuck with time? Charlotte could do it. With Monroe,
with Bill, they could do anything. Bill would know how, innovating as he’d done
with the flashlight and the bag. Monroe could direct them through history and …

Was
this what Leanor wanted them to learn? How to change time?

Before
she could think it through anymore, Charlotte slammed into a metal wall.

Clutching
her banged arm, she rose, seeing Bill’s feet drift up, too. He must’ve done the
same idiotic thing, probably just as lost in thought. “Damn, that
hurt
,”
Charlotte said.

Massaging
his head, Bill asked, “You okay?”

“Yeah.
Just hit my arm on something metal. …”

“The
train,” they said in unison.

They
dived together, fighting the current, and almost immediately found the top of a
train car. Following with her hands, Charlotte felt the empty space between
cars. Bill came alongside, shining his light at the window, illuminating dark
shapes standing on the seats as the water rose.

At
the light, someone pounded on the glass.

As
she’d thought, those inside hadn’t realized the enormity of the Blast yet. Most
likely, they’d assumed the tunnel had flooded, but would be emptied soon. Who
would imagine that the East River, the Hudson River, and the waters from the
Upper Bay were flowing through?

A
wide bubble came from Bill’s mouth, drifting up. He must have some plan, but
Charlotte couldn’t hear it. She shook her head and pointed to the crooked metal
door handle that would lead in. She yanked it down, but the door didn’t slide
open automatically as it should’ve.

Bill
touched her side, and they rose back to the surface.

“Here.”
Bill grabbed onto a small stalactite hanging from the ceiling. “What d’we do?”

“The
main doors.” The doors between cars had some locking mechanism that she couldn’t
undo with the water pressure. But if they tugged enough, the double doors that
let passengers on from a platform should open. That was their only chance. “If
we can pull them open, they should stay open. Then we can get everyone else.”

“That
sounds risky. Couldn’t people drown in the gushing water?”

She
chewed her lip. “It’s that or suffocate, waiting to see what happens.”
Charlotte had read enough to know that the brave police and firemen throughout
the city had saved only a fraction of the submerged subway passengers.

“Okay,”
Bill said. “You ready?”

“Terrified,”
Charlotte said. But it wasn’t like they could make anything worse. “Ready.”

They
swam down again, keeping close, and reached a train car attached to the same
subway. Once there, Charlotte felt her way over the top to the sides where
passengers entered. At a set of doors, the current sucked in through the rubber
seal at the bottom, spraying water inside.

Charlotte
found the opening and shoved her fingers in, then propped her feet against the small
lip on the doorframe. Below, Bill did the same with the opposite door. Together
they pulled the doors apart. With a
ca-clunk
, the doors slammed open and
waves gushed inside.

In
those few seconds, there wasn’t time to coordinate. Charlotte swam through,
grabbed someone, and directed them to the door, pointing up. “There’s a pocket
of air!” she shouted in the diminishing air in the train car.

Bill
did the same, sometimes next to her, sometimes grabbing people from the
opposite side. When she needed air, Charlotte would go up to the metal roof,
sucking a little oxygen from the bubble floating near the ceiling.

At
last the car was empty, and Charlotte swam out, up to the feet dangling there.
The air was bright with a burning red flare. Fifty faces looked her way, and
she felt Bill surface beside her.

“What
happened?” someone called out.

“There’s
no time,” Bill said, his hand clinging to another stalactite for safety. “There
are other cars. If you can help, do. If you can’t, make room for the next
group!”

Charlotte
remembered Monroe’s words about those who’d drowned, unable to find their way
out. “The current’s pulling that way.” She pointed. “Follow it as far as you
can; you should find an exit near one of the lower ceilings.”

“I’ll
take them,” a woman in an MTA uniform called. Her black braids hung bedraggled
behind her head, but her face was earnest. “I know the next station well
enough. I can get us out.” She held up her flare and swung it around. “Those
who can’t help, come with me!” She passed another flare Charlotte’s way. “Good
luck.”

Bill,
Charlotte, and those who stayed behind swarmed the other subway cars. It took a
bit for the others to understand what Bill and Charlotte had done, but soon
every door in a single car was pried open. Faster still it was emptied, and
they swam to the next. Another saved MTA employee offered a few more flares,
and led the new group of survivors away.

At
the final car, Charlotte rose once more with the group of rescued people. But
when she surfaced, Bill wasn’t there. Ignoring the questions called out,
Charlotte dived back down and saw the pinprick of the girl’s flashlight, a
white speck amidst all the red light from the flares.

She
swam down, but he wasn’t in the car they’d just emptied. The idiot must be
double checking the other cars. Wanting to make sure that absolutely everyone
was safe. She pulled herself through the water; there couldn’t be much air left
in any of the cars. Just as she reached him, she saw the flashlight drift from
his hands. He grabbed at the water, but then his head slumped.

Charlotte
slid her arms under his armpits, her muscles burning under the new weight after
so much work. But she could do this. She was built for a tough workout. So she
dragged him from the car, kicking, kicking, kicking her way to the surface, to
where several others could help.

She
gasped as she hit the air, called, “Help,” but Bill was gasping too, his hands
floundering, even as others braced him. Helped him stay afloat.

“Bill!”
She didn’t know whether to hug or slug him.

“I’m
f-fine!” he choked out.

“Jesus,
you fucking idiot.”

“I’m
fine. Just—”

“Does
anyone know what happened?” a voice called, saving Bill from having to explain
himself. That wouldn’t save him forever.

“A
bomb,” Bill said. He kept his gaze from Charlotte. “Bombs. Destroying hundreds,
thousands of buildings. Killing millions.”

But
he and Charlotte had reduced that number. Snatched a few hundred from the death
tally of the Blast. They’d changed time for the better, just as Charlotte
wanted.

The
others quieted at Bill’s news, their exhilaration quashed by the truth.

“C’mon,”
another MTA employee said. “We can deal with that once we’re aboveground.”

The
current took them, and they watched in silence as the ceiling passed. Bill
stayed with Charlotte as they drifted along behind the others.

There
was more to do, more lives in danger, but Charlotte was spent. She couldn’t do
this again, couldn’t endure this again. Especially not if Bill was going to
throw his life away on the chance of rescuing someone else.

The
group reached the earnest MTA employee with black braids. “You made it,” she
said. “You’re almost there. Swim that way”—she pointed to the side—“down and
then up toward the sunlight. You’ll see it; just follow everyone.

“You
two,” she said when she spotted Bill and Charlotte. “I can’t thank you enough
for what you’ve done.”

Charlotte
nodded, but Bill was already gone, diving beneath the waves.

Light
glimmered through the water; Charlotte and dozens of others headed toward it,
over a set of ghostlike turnstiles, below a berm that separated the turnstiles
from the exit, and up the stairs onto Sixty-first Street. Up here, the only
sign of the Blast was the submerged subway and the distant sirens.

Initially,
on the walk south to Twenty-third Street, Charlotte considered scolding Bill,
but what difference would that make? They’d saved hundreds. If it came up
again, then she could tell him not to risk his life. That she needed him here.

Because
today, Charlotte had learned something important: not just that time could be changed,
that it was a mountain able to be carved, but that
she
could carve it.
She got to choose how the mountain would look.