Skyline (7 page)

The
world swirled as Charlotte corrected their assumptions. Not the blue-haired man
at all.
Ana
.

“She?”
Monroe wasn’t quite ready to believe what Charlotte felt instinctively.

“Can
you describe her?” Charlotte asked.

“Sure,”
Nellie said with a sigh. “Almost white-blond hair, red jewels on her ears.
Slightly … odd.”

“They
have to be working together,” Charlotte hissed.

Monroe
shook his head. Unable to see what was right before him.

“Did
you see where she went?” Bill asked. “After she met with you?”

Nellie
clenched her jaw. “I thought you were here for me.”

“We—”
Bill tried.

“She
barely spoke to me,” Nellie said. “She just shook my hand, told me she looked
forward to my report. And then, after Miss Grupe took me away, I saw her
ascending the spiral staircase.” She stood. “Can I go now? Let you get to your
actual business?”

“I
…” Bill stood, too. Reached out a hand to take hers. “I’m sorry, Nellie. What
you’re doing is important. And this woman, she, well …”

“Is
none of my business,” Nellie said. “As I was none of yours.” She knocked on the
door, and it was immediately opened by Miss Grupe.

The
nurse’s face tightened when she saw them standing. “Not yours?” She gripped
Nellie’s shoulder, pulling her from the room. “You can see your way out, I
presume.”

They
pressed through the door to watch Miss Grupe shoving Nellie down a hallway.

“I
feel awful,” Bill said. “Couldn’t we have helped her?”

Charlotte
shook her head. “She doesn’t need our help, remember? Two days from now, she’ll
change this whole place.”

“And
I was right,” Monroe said. “Something’s going on.”

“That
woman lied to you, ’Roe.”

“Maybe.
Or maybe …” Monroe’s eyes drifted to the ceiling as he ascended the spiral
staircase, up to the final floor. He didn’t finish, and Charlotte sensed that
he couldn’t. He had no idea why Ana had told them to come here. He lifted his
shoulders. “Maybe Ana has something else to tell us.”

“Sure.”
Charlotte sighed. He wasn’t going to see how foolish this was until they were
caught in her trap. “Maybe she didn’t lie to us at all.”

Monroe
sneered at her and began to search around the dirty floor. There wasn’t even a
door leading to the patient wings here. The cobwebs above, the warped wooden
floor, the dirt everywhere showed that this place wasn’t important.

“What
are you even looking for?” Charlotte asked. “The hinges of the trap that’s
about to spring?”

Monroe
paused, flicked a look back. “You weren’t there, Charlotte. You didn’t see how
changed she seemed. She wants our help. Maybe she left a clue.”

Charlotte
surveyed the small level. There wasn’t even a window looking out onto the
grounds. Just a single flickering bulb on either side of the octagonal room.
Only silence came from the lobby far below. “What clue could be …” But
Charlotte’s voice dwindled as she saw something odd: a single black dot burned
onto the floor. The edges of the black dot were too crisp to be anything
created in this time. “What is that?”

Monroe
squatted beside her. “Dirt?”

With
a shake of her head, Charlotte licked a finger and scrubbed away the grime. The
dot remained amid the now somewhat clean floor.

“A
black dot,” Bill said. “Is that important?”

With
sudden inspiration, Charlotte glanced across the floor and saw another dot. And
another. “Not just one,” she said, pointing to the dots splayed across the
floor, then up the wall, squished into a sort of rhombus. “Seven.”

Maybe
Monroe wasn’t wrong at all. Maybe Ana had left them some clue to the bomber.

“But
there are tons of dots,” Monroe said. He turned and pointed to a few dots scattered
on the wall. “It’s just dirt, Char.”

He
was right. Dots were everywhere, scattered across the floor, the walls, the
ceiling. All of the dots only proved Charlotte’s point. She stood, pulling the
astrolabe from her purse. An insignia illuminated the astrolabe, and lights
scattered across the dingy room, some covering the dots she’d pointed out.
“It’s not dirt, ’Roe. They’re
constellations
. Pointing to wherever Ana
went.”

“Aw.”
Monroe touched his heart. “You called her Ana.”

Charlotte
ignored Monroe’s jokey tone. Twisting her fingers, shifting the stars through
time, she matched her lights to the burned dots of the Big Dipper. Then she
stepped around the room, watching other dots, tracking each, trying to match
them up exactly. “April,” Charlotte said. “1995.”

Monroe
lifted his hands. “Doesn’t ring any bells, but I guess that must be where she
went.” He placed a hand on Charlotte’s shoulder expectantly.

She
couldn’t release yet. “You’re sure we should go?”

“It’s
probably a trap, Monroe,” Bill said.

“I
just don’t think it is,” Monroe replied, shaking his head. “But there’s only
one way to find out.”

Charlotte
hoped she wouldn’t regret this. She didn’t trust this woman who’d appeared in
their lives. How could she? Ana spoke with absolute certainty, never doubting
anything. But time travel didn’t seem clear-cut to Charlotte. It never had to
Leanor.

Still,
Monroe had a point, so Charlotte released her hand. Time sped forward.

Age
swept through the Octagon, dirt filling every corner. Cobwebs grew until a
wrecking crew knocked down the wings, leaving gaping holes streaming sunlight
up from the lobby below.

“You’re
sure it’s now?” Monroe asked, suddenly whispering.

Before
anyone could respond, Ana appeared on the opposite side of the balcony. But she
wasn’t waiting with a knowing, cruel smile. No trap sprang. Ana didn’t even
look their way. Instead, she dropped to the ground, settling a massive metal
box on the floor.

“Is
that … ?” Charlotte asked, her voice barely audible.

“A
bomb,” Bill agreed.

Charlotte’s
heart thumped wildly. Ana hadn’t just lied about who would be here; she’d lied
about who she was. She wasn’t Leanor’s friend or assistant.

She
destroyed New York City.

There
was no question now. The Blast was a time event.

The
box that Ana placed on the ground glowed with light. Several windows showed
blinking red and green lights inside and a red readout on top showed eight
hundred million seconds, ready to countdown. It had to be part of the Blast.
The fact that it was triggered in the nineties wouldn’t mean much to a smart
enough time traveler.

Ana’s
hair was cropped tightly instead of feathered out as it had been when they’d
seen her a few hours ago—thirty years in the future—outside Suni’s in the wake
of the Blast. Now, instead of mirror-Bedazzled pants and a red-piped jacket,
she wore all black.

Beside
Charlotte, Monroe chewed his lips in fury.

Charlotte
couldn’t be thrilled that she’d been right not to trust Ana. Because, for
whatever reason, she
had
led them here.

As
Ana sat beside the bomb, unpacking an orb, a screwdriver, and a few screws from
a bag around her shoulder, Charlotte remembered trying to save Leanor. When
she’d failed, Bill had had another idea of how to stop Leanor’s death. Not
traveling back in time and enduring a memory rewrite. He’d suggested that they
could send Felix back.

Only
someone who hadn’t been at the initial event could help.

Ana
looked younger than who they’d met prior, more the girl Charlotte had first
thought she was. Her mouth was turned down in anger as she worked. She was so
focused on her task, not at all the woman who’d come back to talk to Monroe
beside the Blast.

She
was the bomber; that was certain. But perhaps, with time, she’d also become the
woman who wanted the Blast stopped. Just like Leanor.

Once
the lid of the bomb was off, Ana connected a small metal sphere to the guts.
She fiddled with a few wires, checked their connection points, and nodded to
herself. With a magnetic screwdriver and a few small screws, she resecured the
lid. Then she turned the screwdriver over, holding it above a small hole that
it could fit into perfectly.

“Ha,”
Ana muttered to herself. Perhaps for her, the Blast hadn’t happened yet.
Perhaps she didn’t realize that she’d want to stop herself. But perhaps, if she
got a little push, she could get there faster. They could stop the bomb before
it was ever set.

“Ana.”
Charlotte stepped forward. “You don’t have to do this.”

Her
head snapped up to look at them. “Who the
fuck
are you?”

“You
don’t have to bomb the city,” Bill said, joining Charlotte.

“So
you’re with them?” Ana asked. “Well, guess what? You’re too late.” She inserted
her screwdriver into the tiny hole, and the readout on top began to count down.

“No!”
Bill said, leaping toward her. Charlotte raced with him, not having to speak to
know their plan. Their time in the subway had bonded them. But the readout was
counting down; they were too late. They only had …

Well,
almost a billion seconds.

“Who
is
them
?” Monroe demanded from behind. “That short man? Darker skin,
blue hair?”

Ana’s
eyes widened. “Paris sent you?” She reached for the bomb, but Charlotte knocked
her hands away, gripped a wrist.

Bill
tugged the bomb from Ana’s reach. “Tell us how to stop it.”

Monroe
said, “Ana, please, help us. We’re not with them—him. Paris.”

She
laughed. “Please.” Ana twisted her wrist out of Charlotte’s grip. “Like I’d
trust that. You know him. You knew where I’d be. You can travel. So.” She
backed away.

“You
can help us,” Charlotte said. “Whatever this is for, we can find another way.”

Again
Ana laughed. “You don’t even know
why
you’re after me, do you?”

On
the floor, Bill fumbled with the edges of the box. They hadn’t brought a
screwdriver.

“Bill?”
Monroe asked. “Do you even know how to defuse a bomb?”

“Clearly
Paris should’ve trained you better.” Ana lit up her mesh astrolabe, the lights
springing onto their surroundings, burning an impression of where she was
headed. Then she was gone.

Her
bomb kept ticking.

•
• • • • • • • • • • •

“
We
have to go after her,” Monroe said.
“There’s no time to—”

“No,
Monroe,” Charlotte said. “This isn’t the Ana you met.” Didn’t he see how
different she was? What mattered now was the bomb. “This isn’t just a normal
bomb, with eight hundred million seconds ticking away slowly. She placed an orb
in here. A little time device nestled amid all these wires. Sometime soon, the
orb will be activated; the bomb will be taken through time.”

“You
mean all those seconds …”

“Are
probably more like thirty or sixty,” Charlotte said.

Bill
exhaled, hands still clinging to the corners of the box.

“Then
we have to go!” Monroe shouted. “We have to get out of here; there’s no way we
can defuse it in time. Bill, c’mon.” Monroe tugged at his thick shoulder. “You
don’t know the first thing about defusing bombs.”

Bill
wouldn’t move. Just like in the subway, he was being an idiot. “I can’t.”

Charlotte
shoved him to the side, getting her hands on the bomb. “Then let me.” Within
seconds she had a grip on the lid, and she pulled it as hard as she could. The
thin metal bent, creaking with Charlotte’s strength, tugging the few screws Ana
had used. With Bill’s help, the lid sprang off, revealing the mass of wires
within.

Nestled
inside the wires was the orb that Ana had placed. Not wire mesh like her
astrolabe, not a glassy orb like Charlotte’s, but there was no doubt the dull
metal sphere contained a time device.

If
Charlotte could get it free, the bomb would never relocate to the future. Would
never cause the Blast. The problem was: she didn’t have the time to investigate
each wire connecting to the orb. She couldn’t see what risks there were. The
orb could activate at any second, and those eight hundred million seconds would
count down all at once as it launched forward in time.

Without
any other options, Charlotte yanked out the wires connecting the orb and tossed
it to Bill. He snatched it from the air, closing one eye in a flinch. But
nothing happened. Bill wasn’t transported away. The rest of the bomb didn’t
trigger.

“Okay,”
she said, leaning back to the box. “Now we should have a little time.”

“Almost
a billion seconds,” Monroe said with a smile. But as he flipped over the lid
that Charlotte had wrenched off, his smile fell. The nine digits were no longer
counting down second by second, but by a thousand, ten thousand, one hundred
thousand. She hardly had any time at all.

Charlotte’s
hands trembled as she plunged them into the wires of the bomb, trying to
understand how it was constructed, what all the wires did, whether there was
any fast way of defusing it. But there wasn’t any easy-to-see switch. The wires
all tangled into a computer board below. As she ran her fingers through, she
felt another round object. She shifted the wires around, twisting her head
closer to see it.

Another
time orb.

“Um.”
Why would that be there? What could this bomb be
for
? The first orb
would likely get it to the Blast day. But why would there be a second?

Could
it be that this wasn’t an explosive at all?

“Another
one?” Bill asked.

Charlotte
didn’t reply; there wasn’t time. The red digits ticked past ten hundred
thousand.  She pulled out small wires to disconnect the larger cables,
slowly freeing the orb. As the timer ticked past two hundred thousand, there
were only three cables left. Two. She yanked out the remaining cables, right as
the timer hit zero. She could breathe again, and found herself chuckling.
“We’re fine,” she said. “See?” She held up the small sphere for Bill and
Monroe. Without the box’s power, the orb remained in her hand.

But
there could be other pieces of this device. There’d been two orbs; could there
be three, four, all doing who knew what? The Blast had been as wide as three
city blocks.

She
pulled out all the cables she’d undone to get a better view of the computer
board she’d felt. On the right, beside where the second orb had been, a
gyroscope spun. Lights connected to it blinked on, off, then three quick
blinks.

The
readout on the floor sprang back to life, two numbers lighting up in blinking
red. Twenty seconds.

“Shit,”
Monroe said.

“Goddammit!”
Charlotte wrenched up the second black chipboard and revealed a mass of
luminescent purple goop. Buried in the goop was some kind of metal mesh
connected via cables to the gyroscope and computer board. Charlotte froze,
chipboard still in hand. Maybe she was wrong about what the device did. The
goop looked thick enough to be an explosive.

There
was no time to defuse this. Charlotte knew tech, but not true bombs. She shook
herself, grabbed Bill from his crouch, and shoved Monroe away. “C’mon!” she
shouted. She looked back to see the bomb count to five, four, three, two, and
Charlotte leaped out into the air, tugging Bill and Monroe with her.

“Char?”
Monroe shouted, twisting as they fell to stare at her.

With
a colossal boom, Ana’s device exploded. Heat blossomed behind and above,
pressing against Charlotte’s back. Monroe’s eyes widened, the whites of his
eyes visible. The shockwave sent them tumbling toward a staircase, too fast.

They
careened into the stairs; Charlotte took the brunt of the impact to her gut. The
astrolabe slipped from her purse and bounced down the staircase. Then the
structure cracked, and they tumbled through the air again as the stairs fell.

They
slammed into another set of steps below, and this staircase held steady. Their
momentum took them tumbling down and out into the center of the Octagon’s
lobby. Charlotte curled into a ball as debris smashed onto her back, all around
her.

Monroe
groaned. “Nice. Very well thought out. ‘Let’s jump into the air!’”

“We’re
alive, aren’t we?”

A
massive rotten log smashed between her and Monroe. She scrambled back as a few
more timbers slammed against the floor. Far above, wooden struts snapped from
their places in the domed roof, chunks of wood flying. The creaking roof dipped
toward them as the remaining support beams bent to their breaking point.

“Let’s
go. Let’s go!” Monroe said, and Charlotte scrambled to the orb where it had
fallen. She made the C, and it sprang to life despite its fall. Charlotte
reached a foot out toward Monroe, and he clutched it tight, grabbing Bill’s
shirt at the same time.

A
final beam cracked, and the lobby was flooded with sunlight. The dome fell
toward the trio.

Charlotte
spun the ball in her hands quick as she could to get them home. She didn’t
consider the risks—that if this
hadn’t
been the bomb that caused the
Blast, they’d fall into the waters of the Mid River. She released as the roof
crashed where they’d been moments before. They sped through time, watching as
the Octagon was renovated into luxury apartments. For a split second, a flash
of white light filled the building, but the lobby remained. The only sign that
the Blast had still occurred was a wide cut in the lobby wall, filled by a long
glass pane.

When
they could finally uncurl from the floor, it was bright inside, but the cut the
Blast had made revealed the night skyline of Manhattan. The Mid River still led
into the city, just slightly reduced from the width it had once been.

“God,”
Monroe said, standing and patting off the dust from the stairs. “That was
fucking
close
.” Then he looked around, spotted the six-foot-wide cut in
the wall, and sprang to his feet. “What year is this?”

Charlotte
glanced around, less concerned with the Blast’s residue and more concerned with
others. But the men at the concierge desk didn’t seem too concerned with their
sudden presence. “Are you all okay?” one of them called. Somehow they hadn’t
noticed the three time travelers appear. Did their minds readjust, avoiding the
impossible implication? Or had they been busy behind the desk?

“Fine,”
Charlotte called. She shook out her shivering limbs. They’d almost been caught
in the destruction, but they survived.

Thanks
to her work, so had all the people who’d lived here seven years ago.

“I
took us back to when we left,” she told Monroe. “2023.”

Monroe
squinted her way. “Wasn’t that a bit risky?” He shrugged. “But we did it! We
stopped her bomb.” He raced over to the glass doorway that had been set in the
cut. Beyond it, several tables were positioned over a boardwalk stretching over
the widening Mid River. Throughout the boardwalk, plates of glass showed the
dark water reflecting below.

Beyond
the bar seats—which must’ve been new; Charlotte couldn’t remember Roosevelt
Island being much of a hot spot before the Blast—gondolas sat, waiting to take
people back into Manhattan. A massive pier had been built along one side, where
a tour boat currently bobbed, waiting to take people along the Blast’s
destructive path.