The Bureau of Time (37 page)

“You look like shit,” Miller commented, clapping Shaun on the back and triggering another vicious wave of coughing.

“Never mind me,” Shaun gasped, wiping his mouth. He spat another mouthful of water and straightened, his muscles aching. His eyes lingered on Miller’s gunshot wound. “How are you even alive?”

Miller shrugged. “I’m a Timewalker, after all. I can’t use my powers anymore, but it’ll take more than a bullet to kill me. I think Carl knew that.”

Can’t use his powers? I never even thought about it – all this time, I had forgotten he was a Timewalker like me. What happened to block his abilities?

Shaun braced himself against the cold wind whipping across the bay. “This is the Prime universe, isn’t it? How’d we get here?”

“A Temporal Rift,” Miller explained, then at Shaun’s blank look, he added, “When you killed Zero, it triggered a resonance effect in the universe that opened a wormhole between worlds. I never knew he was so powerful – truth be told, I don’t think
anybody
knew how powerful he was…the Resistance included.”

They stood there for several minutes, snow falling from the gray sky. Their breath clouded in the air. Both had lost their NeuroHexes to the storm or the ocean. Then Miller laughed, the raucous sound booming across the silent island.

“You killed Zero,” he said, a broad grin spreading across his face.

“I know,” Shaun said, with a low chuckle that was part mirth, part delirium. “It’s over.”

Miller kicked a rock down the small beach, his expression souring instantly. “No. No, it’s not over. It’s only just begun.”

He turned away and marched down the beach, leaving heavy footprints behind.

“What are you talking about?” Shaun glared at the back of his head.

“Zero was a figurehead,” Miller called out. “He had a special hatred for Timewalkers because they were the catalyst for the Final War. He saw himself as a savior, a self-appointed god of his own making. But the Resistance is the real threat. They are at war with White Tower, and by extension, your world. They see the Shift as a threat, a potential resource for White Tower to use against them.”

“Then what do we do?” he asked, falling into step with the older man. “How do we get back to the Shift?”

Miller stopped abruptly and turned around. “We don’t.”

“What do you mean? Hey – hey, don’t walk away!” He grabbed Miller’s arm and spun him around. “Listen, I’ve done everything you wanted! I joined your army, I left the Bureau behind; I killed Zero!”

“You think that’s
it?
” Miller snarled, his lips parting to reveal his molars. “This is
war!
You can forget any naïve notion you have of going back to your own world. You have a duty here!”

“A duty? I don’t have a
duty
to anyone or anything!”

“Then sit here,” Miller growled, jabbing a finger into Shaun’s chest. “Sit here on this goddamned beach, and pray that the first person who detects that Temporal Spike isn’t wearing red, because if the Resistance finds you, they
will
kill you.”

Shaun clenched his jaw, a tendon pulsing in the side of his cheek. Waves lapped against his boots. His wet clothes stuck like a second skin, chilling his body. Miller paced back and forth on the spot, fuming silently.

“Listen,” Miller said, his voice quieter this time. “This is a crappy situation to put you in. I understand that. But whether you like it or not, you’re now integral to this war. White Tower needs you.
Both
of our worlds need you.”

Shaun let out a long, frustrated sigh. He turned to look at San Francisco again. From the skeletal remains of the skyscrapers, smoke curled up into the sky, meeting the falling snow.

“There’s only one thing I want to do,” he said, still facing the ruined Golden Gate Bridge. “And that’s make sure no Timewalker ever has to live in fear again.”

He turned around, his jaw set firm. “You say that Zero was only one part of the problem.”

“He was. The Resistance are a rebel force, masquerading as heroes. They are prolonging a war that should’ve ended years ago. They’re agitators and a threat to our people’s safety.”

“Okay then,” Shaun said, his teeth chattering. “We’ll regroup with White Tower and I’ll help you stop the Resistance. But then we’re done. Then I go home.”

Miller stared at Shaun for a long time, neither moving. There was only the sound of the waves crashing against the island and the laborious metallic groan of the beached frigate. Miller cleared his throat, then stepped forward and placed one hand on Shaun’s shoulder, squeezing tightly.

“You are a great man, Shaun Briars,” he said, his tone solemn. “Capable of great strength and courage, more than you know. Whatever you do for this world will be more than we have any right to ask of you.”

He broke off, brushing snow from his jacket. “Come on, I’m freezing my ass off out here. I want to make land before sundown.”

Shaun looked up at the sky, an unyielding mass of dark clouds that let through only a thin, watery light. “How can you even tell what time it is?”

“Leftover Timewalker ability,” Miller grunted, leading Shaun back toward the frigate. “About the only thing the Resistance didn’t carve out of my brain.”

So that’s why,
Shaun thought, his gut squirming.
Even in this world, he still died. A part of him was lost…taken away by the Resistance.

He pushed down the anger rising in his chest. “Are we teleporting off the island?”

“Afraid not. There’s a good chance that the Resistance have taken the city. Until I can contact Langley, we have to assume that the enemy is everywhere – and that rules out any obvious uses of our Temporal abilities.”

“Then how are we getting to shore?”

Miller gave a cocky smile and rounded the side of the frigate, pointing at a black dinghy hanging off the edge of the ship. “Hope you don’t mind the water.”

Shaun groaned. “No,” he muttered, “I love boats.”

*     *     *

The dinghy approached Pier 39.

Once, it had been a bustling tourist destination, but the Final War had turned it into a graveyard of overturned and sunken boats. Luxury liners and yachts had been tossed against each other, the berths broken apart, allowing the boats to float away into the bay. Restaurants and cafés were now empty shells. Red flags hung from broken windows, the tattered rags bearing crudely painted emblems of a yellow sickle-and-hammer.

“Soviet Reunification Army,” Miller explained, one hand on the dinghy’s tiller. “Or the remnants of it, anyway. They own everything from Pier 39 back to Russian Hill.”

“Soviet Reunification?”

“They were the ones who started the Final War,” Miller explained. “A rogue army of nationalists and rebels from the ex-USSR nations. The Russian government started backing them, and most of our Timewalkers were deployed to the Ukrainian front. But the Kremlin had an elaborate sleeper-cell network throughout the United States, and they took advantage of the ’17 social collapse to launch a home-grown attack. The SRA still have a strong presence all along the West Coast, coming down from what we used to call Alaska.”

The dinghy rocked as it navigated the choppy waters, splashing frigid water in Shaun’s lap. “Seems like everyone is fighting everyone here.”

“Truth is, while White Tower and the Resistance have been fighting, we haven’t been paying attention to the smaller factions. The SRA, the Anti-Temporal Revolutionary Party, whatever crude alliance the scavengers have; they might be small, but they’re growing quickly. The more disillusioned people become with the rebels or with the government, the more these smaller factions will grow.”

“Are we going through there?” Shaun asked, eying the Soviet territory.

Miller shook his head, turning the boat to the left. “White Tower’s not on particularly good terms with the SRA, even
with
the peace treaty. We need to get into the heart of the city, Civic Center. Last I knew, there was a Safe House there, and an encrypted line to Langley.”

They passed piers and wharfs in various states of decay, garbage littering the cracked concrete. Birds circled high overhead, small dark shapes that Shaun could barely make out, their bodies blending into one swarm. Feral dogs howled in the depths of the city, then fell silent. The dinghy roared across the bay, slowing as they approached a wharf that might, long ago, have been a ferry terminal.

A squat clock tower stood above a low building, metal letters spelling out:
PORT OF – CISCO.
The letters in between were missing completely, and the clock itself was frozen at 11:40, though whether it had stopped working during the day or night, Shaun couldn’t tell. Miller guided the dinghy toward the wharf, using a rope to drag the boat against a concrete pylon.

The ferry terminal was in ruins. Stale water pooled in the open, and several cars and vans were clustered around the terminal, abandoned. Miller led Shaun past the deserted buildings, their footsteps echoing loudly in the dead city. They passed an ornate marble building with intricate fretwork, the façade crumbling.

“How do you know the Safe House is still
safe?”
Shaun asked, nervously feeling for his waist. The six-shooter hadn’t made the passage with him to the Prime universe. Miller was unarmed too, but he radiated combat prowess that Shaun simply didn’t have – the Bureau had only given him so much training, and none of it had related to post-apocalyptic parallel universes.

Miller didn’t answer his question.

They entered a wide street with tall buildings on either side. Some had survived the war, still standing proud. Others had been brought low by missile strikes, local combat or the ravages of nature and time. Shaun and Miller walked either side of the rail lines, passing a decaying cable car. The smell of rotting flesh hit Shaun’s nostrils and he gagged, turning away from the streetcar and vomiting into a gutter.

He recovered, his body trembling, and tried not to think about what would cause that smell.

“Where
is
everyone?” Shaun asked, wiping his mouth. His whisper boomed down the street.

“Keeping a low profile,” Miller replied, the wind tugging at his clothes. “Most stick to their communes, where it’s safest. Out here, in the streets, you’re fair game for scavengers.”

The conversation fell silent again, and they kept walking. More crumbling buildings, more abandoned cars, more evidence of a once-great civilization on its knees. As they moved away from the Bay the snow drifts deepened, piling up on the sidewalk, forcing them to walk in the middle of the road.

They managed a half-mile before they slowed to a crawl, the ground becoming uneven with rubble and crowded with cars. Shaun was silently grateful for the reprieve. His chest was heaving rapidly, forcing him to suck in oxygen as quickly as he could. He was exhausted, physically and mentally, and he knew he couldn’t keep this going for much longer. How long had it been since he’d slept? Or eaten? He was running on empty, forced to draw on his Regenerative powers just to stay moving.

“Stay down,” Miller said suddenly, grabbing Shaun and forcing him into a low crouch. They were sandwiched between a rusted pickup and a nondescript white van.

“What is it?” Shaun asked, but Miller instantly
shushed
him and pointed.

He leaned around the hood of the pickup. A makeshift barrier stretched across the street, constructed from assorted pieces of corrugated iron, car doors and concrete blocks. Long pieces of rebar and sharpened garden tools had been stuck at the top, and spray-painted onto the side of the barrier was a slogan, each letter six feet high.

FIGHT FOR FREEDOM.

“The Resistance,” Miller breathed, swearing under his breath. “We’re too late. They’ve already taken the city hall.”

“What do we do?” Shaun asked, swallowing past a thick lump in his throat.

It was a third voice that answered.

“Get up, nice and slow,” a woman said, her voice firm. Shaun felt something cold and metallic press against the back of his neck. “I said
slowly
.”

Shaun and Miller obeyed. Out of the corner of his vision, Shaun saw two burly men with shotguns, but the unidentified woman was hidden behind his back. Miller stared ahead, his hands interlaced behind his neck.

“We’ve been watching you,” the woman said, her voice oddly familiar. “Where have you come from?”

Miller remained resolutely silent, and Shaun followed suit.
They won’t get a word out of us.

The woman chuckled, shoving the gun into Shaun’s back. “I love it when they play tough. Makes the interrogation more
fun.
Move.”

They marched through the piled-up cars, the barricade looming ever closer. The two soldiers flanked Shaun and Miller, with the mysterious woman directly behind them both. Shaun reached out with his Affinity, detecting a strong Temporal signature emanating from her, a signature that was familiar and foreign at the same time. Like a faded photograph – vaguely recognizable but not clear enough to trigger a memory.

As they approached the reinforced wall, he saw that a crude door had been fashioned from the remains of a taxi cab. Two more men stood guard outside, dressed in plain civilian clothes, assault rifles slung across their chests. Scarlet sashes encircled their biceps.

“We’ve got two more!” the brute on Shaun’s left said. “The rats washed up down at the old Ferry Terminal.”

“We should toss ’em back in the bay,” one of the barricade guards laughed, a scruffy late-teen with a thick beard, wearing a coat to ward off the cold. “Or let the scavs pick ’em clean.”

“We won’t do anything of the sort,” the woman snapped. “Open the gates!”

“Yes ma’am,” the guard said, mollified. There was a horrendous creaking of metal and rattling chains; the gates shuddered and shrieked as they parted, revealing a narrow passage hemmed in by more barriers, these ones made from streetcars and taxis.

“Move,” the woman said, jabbing the gun into Shaun’s back. He took an apprehensive breath – this was it. Once they passed through those gates, they wouldn’t get out easily.
Why aren’t we fighting?
He desperately wanted to lash out at the towering hulk of a man beside him, but he needed Miller’s support.
If we go in there, it’s a death sentence.