False Future (13 page)

I
come out of my trance and I’m on my feet, pain temporarily forgotten. I step out of the store and scream as loud as I can—
“Incomiiiinnnggg!”

The warning carries through the sleeping station, and other voices repeat the words, and soon there are soldiers everywhere. I peel the stamp off the back of my head and try to crush it under my foot, but it’s too strong, so I kick it underneath a vending machine.

I want to stay and fight, but we can’t be taken alive. Who knows what they can do to make us follow their little plan—they may not kill us, but there are worse things than death. If abandoning these people right now means we can save more in the end, perhaps
billions
more, we have to do it.

I don’t know why Olivia gave me the heads-up. Maybe she feels bad. Maybe she knows she made a mess she no longer knows how to fix.

I hobble as fast as I can back to Peter. Noble and Sophia are already there, troubled sleep all over their faces. Seeing them safe loosens the wire around my lungs just a little. I stare at Peter, trying to imagine the life he left behind. And the life I left behind. The lives that were stolen from us. I wonder what our families were like, and what they thought when we were taken away by Olivia and given to the creators.

We were friends before we were taken, when the most dangerous thing we had to worry about was school. If only there were some way to get back there. But would I give up the life I know now, would I
willingly
wipe my identity again?

Peter is staring at me funny, probably because I’m staring at him funny. “Are you okay?”

“Fine. Yes. Sorry. I’m together.”

“Safe house,” Noble says.

“What?” I say.

“We’re going to the secondary safe house on Twenty-third Street, across from the Flatiron. The one overlooking Madison Square Park.”

“Fine, let’s go.”

“We’re just going to leave these people to fight alone?” Sophia says.

Peter shakes his head, climbing off his gurney. “Once True Earth discovers we’re not here, they won’t care about these people. Our being here is putting them in danger.”

Sophia can’t really argue with that, so we head for the exit. I’m not sure what Peter said is true, though—what’s to keep them from slaughtering out of spite?

As we walk, Noble says, “We can’t go in a group. Miranda, you go ahead, keep your hood up, and pretend like you’re just trying to stay out of trouble. I know that’s a stretch for you.”

“Got it,” I reply. Surprisingly, Peter nods instead of objects. I tug my hood tighter around my face, then walk in a different direction.

The guards on the escalator have left for the other side of the station. Bursts of gunfire and shouted orders come from that direction. I climb the dead escalator as fast as I can, pain flaring through all my injured parts. I’m exhausted by the time I get to the top and find my way blocked by dozens of cars piled on top of one another. The soldiers must have stacked them to create a makeshift barricade.

But one car window is open. I half crouch, look through it, and see a path through another window. The cars are arranged in such a way as to provide a path you can crawl through. A clever way to bottleneck any assault by the enemy.

I shimmy through the first window of a small red sedan. Then it’s up through the window of a black SUV. It’s difficult work, especially since I’m working one-handed, and I groan every time my body hits a part of a car. It’s so cold I think about giving up and turning back. I can’t feel my nose at all, and the swollen side of my face begins to sting.

I make it through the tangle of cars and onto the empty street. More vehicles are strewn about, some smashed together, all of them abandoned. The sky overhead is black and starless. The city still has power, but most of the lights are off, as if darkness can keep the people inside safe. The silence is crushing.

I only have ten blocks to walk, but in my current state I’m worried about getting jumped by anyone who wants my stuff, not that I really have stuff. I almost go back a second time, even slowing my pace for a moment (which is already super slow), but then I press on. After a block I find a shortcut through an alley. It’s dark, as alleys usually are. I slip through a broken chain-link fence and stand in the middle of the lane, my breath coming out in huge, dim clouds. There is so little light, I can’t see my fingers at arm’s length.

I hear a soft footstep behind me, the crunch of a foot on snow. I whirl, and something thumps me in the hip hard enough to send me spinning to the ground, jarring every bone in my body. I don’t stand up right away—the pain is too much. I grit my teeth, then push myself to my knees.

From the darkness in front of me a shadow steps forward.

The director is clad in her golden armor, with a thick fur coat that goes to her knees. She wears a crimson scarf wrapped delicately around her neck and a smile on her lips.

“Hello, Miranda,” she says.

Well, shit.

“I wouldn’t,” she says softly when I try to stand up. In her right hand is a sword. She presses the point against my neck, keeping me pinned to the freezing ground.

“You wouldn’t? Then we truly aren’t the same person,” I say.

“You viewed the memories Olivia gave you, correct?”

I nod, not taking my eyes off her.

“Then you see now how vital you and your friends are. You will need to bring this world under control, or all will truly be lost. There is really no choice.”

I’m getting a little tired of hearing that. I do have a choice.

“You know we care about your future,” the director continues. “Nuclear war will take this world, whether it’s five years from now or twenty. Even if we weren’t here now, your civilization would still end. So why does it matter
when
it happens?”

“Funny, you didn’t care about our world before Olivia told you the truth, before your time got screwed up. You were ready to wipe us off the map, as you’ve done to so many worlds before.”

She can’t really defend that, and she doesn’t try; she just looks away briefly, then says, “Things change. Now we’re here to make it right.” She removes the tip of her sword from my neck.

Slowly, I stand up, making sure I won’t suddenly fall.

The director puts her hand on my shoulder. “And you know I’m right,” she says again. “Because you see the world you live in now. War, famine, corruption. Genocide. Murder and rape.” The director leans in, putting her lips right against my ear, and she whispers, “What are you trying to save?”

I honestly don’t know.

“I know what the future looks like. I lived it. It is more terrifying and brutal than anything we could put you through now. Why wouldn’t you want to prevent that?”

I would. I would want to prevent it.

But I’d have to do it without sacrificing innocent lives.

“You know your world is toxic, and what that toxicity will lead to, in time,” the director says. “Do the right thing, Miranda.”

Right or wrong, I know which side I have to stand on.

And she seems to see my decision as I make it. Her eyes narrow, and I don’t even have time to fight back. She cuffs me on the side of the head so hard that I’m unconscious before I hit the ground.

I wake up in the alley, seconds or minutes later, I can’t really say. I’m on my back, shivering in the snow. Every few seconds, pain radiates from my right eye, branching out to the back of my skull. I groan and try to roll onto my side, but everything hurts.

The director crouches next to me, staring down into my face. Her fingers touch my cheek, gently.

“I don’t expect you to accept everything right away,” she says. “Or to know what’s best for this world. Rest now,” she continues. “Your journey is just beginning.”

“Wait…” I almost ask about Peter and the others, if they’ve been captured too, but I don’t want to give anything away. The director just stares down at me, with an expression somewhere between hope and disappointment, until the pain is too much and the blackness returns.

I wake up again warm and dry, in bed. All of my aches and pains are gone. Peter, Noble, and Sophia are in the room with me. It looks like a studio apartment. Peter is sitting next to me. Noble is standing at a table that holds a coffeepot and a pitcher of orange juice. Sophia is sitting in a chair by herself with her knees hugged to her chest.

The whole room is lit by candles and a few emergency glow stick things scattered on the floor. I’m wearing the same ragged suit of red armor.

Peter grabs my hand, squeezes it, and blinks away a few tears. “You’re okay. You’ve been out for four days, but you’re all right.”

I want to cry too, but I can’t feel anything besides numb. “What happened?”

Noble pours coffee into a mug. He sets the pot down a little too hard. “Four days ago we were overwhelmed. You were gone. The soldiers at Penn Station were captured or killed, and the people were sent back onto the streets. Twelve hours ago a team of Roses put us in this room with you. Four hours ago the lights went out and we were given these candles. You’ve been in a coma. We were told your brain was bleeding, but one of their doctors fixed it.”

I take the information as it’s given and don’t feel a thing. I simply can’t. We met some soldiers and now they’re dead. Whatever resistance was forming is dead.

“Why would they put us all together? Alone?”

Noble sits beside my bed and rests his hand on my forearm. His face is heavy with grief, and I doubt he’s slept much in those four days, but I still see his old warmth behind his eyes. “Because we are no longer a threat to these people. Congratulations, we lost. All you have to do is take a look outside to see that.”

“They told us everything,” Sophia says. “About who you and Peter really are. Noble thinks they wanted us to know how
necessary
it is to go along with their plan.”

Peter and I share a look. What can we say?

He winds his fingers through mine, and I focus on that.
Feel something.
I should feel relief we’re all together, but there is something crucial missing. Hope. It’s like we’re all just waiting to die.

Still, I focus on the feel of his palm on the back of my hand, warm and dry and a little rough. We’re still alive, and together. Things can always get worse, even if it doesn’t feel that way.

“You have to stop scaring me,” Peter whispers in my ear. I just look at him. There’s no witty retort this time.

Something feels off about the way Peter’s holding my hand. Then I remember my injury. I gently pull my hand free and hold it up in front of me. I have a new scar in my palm that twists up through to the tip of my little finger. It looks like it’s been healed for a few weeks, but I can tell that at one point it was burst completely open. I just keep staring at it, unable to bend my little finger all the way. The healing process was clearly sped along somehow, like the time Dr. Delaney fixed my broken nose (which also seems to be fixed for the second time).

No one says anything. Peter just takes my hand again and holds it against the bed.

“They turn on the TV every now and then,” Peter says. “They show us the news. But the last time was almost, what, six hours ago?”

Noble sips his coffee and shrugs. “Thereabouts.”

“Six hours.” Peter nods, like he’s glad he was able to confirm something. As if it’s a small victory.
Hey, we figured out how much time has passed, maybe we can figure a way out of here.

“And we’re still alive because the director needs Peter and me,” I say. “Because she needs us to put the future back on track.”

“She doesn’t
need
anyone,” Noble spits, but then his harsh look softens. “So she is you in the future. That means nothing. She could get any one of her clones to rebuild this world. She could do it herself if she wanted to. But the Originals are intent on making things a certain way. You’re still alive—
we’re
still alive because she thinks she can convince you to do what she wants.”

Sophia lifts her head suddenly. “If you’re her, then we should kill you,” she says plainly.

I look at her, and she looks right back at me. I shrug. She’s right.

“Jesus!” Peter stands up. “Nobody is killing anyone. If you did, you’d have to kill me too. Don’t you see? Miranda still has a choice. If this is a new time line, then Miranda can do whatever she wants. The director is holding the entire world hostage, but Miranda has a
choice
. We all do.”

“It’s true,” I say. “Nothing is predetermined.”

“All I know is Rhys is dead,” Sophia says. “And he died to save her.”

Peter shakes his head. “But is he really? It sounds like all our identities are stored somewhere. Even Noah’s, and especially Olive’s.”

“Yes, Peter, he is dead,” Sophia says sharply. “I saw him die, if you’ve forgotten.”

“Let’s remember we are almost certainly being watched,” Noble says.