by Damien Boyes
The thing is—and I can’t believe it’s even come to this—bouncing around New York’s past is getting old. I’ve flirted with jumps into 1984, but other than that one accidental jump to 1985, never any further. I’m afraid I won’t be able to handle the future. The past seems safer somehow, I know what to expect. Staying in the past I don’t have to worry about jumping into a nuclear wasteland or a world ruled by killer robots. If the way New York is falling apart is any indication, the world doesn’t have long before it blows itself up. I’m not sure I want to see how it all ends.
But since it scares me, I know it’s what I need to do. I’ve been careful with my jumps so far, holding myself back. There’s more inside me, I can feel the potential every time I move through a few days or weeks—I could go much, much further if I wanted.
I can go anywhere, see anything. Watch the signing of the Declaration of Independence. Tour the Roman Empire. Witness the birth of Jesus. I could see a dinosaur …
But I don’t want to go back. I want to see what comes next, good or bad.
That’s why I came to the Statue of Liberty and blinked up to the viewing area surrounding the torch. I’ve seen enough movies to know that if I’m about to leap to the end of the world, if anything’s still going to exist, it’ll be the Statue of Liberty’s torch.
I close my eyes and feel time swirling around me like a raging river, rushing ever forward. It’s pulling at me, urging me on. It wants me to jump, so I do.
One second the sun is just rising and then it’s warm on my face, shining red through my eyelids. I open my eyes and the city’s right where I left it. There are a few new buildings here and there, but nothing drastic has changed. I think I only jumped a few years though, no more than ten. Not much is going to change in ten years. I need to go further.
I keep my eyes open for the next jump and arrive in the middle of the night, but other than that, the biggest difference is the World Trade Center towers are gone, replaced by a huge glass building lit up and shining in the night like crystal. There are more new buildings, and more light than before. The city looks great. I’m amazed it managed to not collapse in on itself.
We haven’t killed ourselves yet. So far so good.
I jump again, going for distance this time.
Up until now the city has remained fairly static, and the changes mostly cosmetic. I don’t know how far I’ve come this time, but there’s no doubt I’m in the future.
It’s daytime again and where the New York I knew was mostly brick and concrete, with the glass skyscrapers clustered around Downtown and Midtown, here massive buildings stretch across half of the island. Vehicles, like flying cars, are streaming across the sky in neat rows. The East River is a garden.
Incredible.
I turn to look out to sea and there’s a giant wall stretching across the outer harbor. I can’t believe it—humanity’s still kicking.
And there are flying cars!
My chest relaxes. We did it, managed to not kill ourselves. I must be at least a hundred years in the future. If we made it this far, what’s gonna stop us now? Let’s see where it all ends up.
This time I don’t hold myself back, just stretch out and see how far I can get—and land in the aftermath of the apocalypse.
I knew it was too good to be true.
It’s nighttime, but the air is hot and humid. Clouds lie low over the city. We were always taught World War Three would end in a nuclear winter, but this isn’t winter. More like summer gone rotten.
The city’s still there—most of it, anyway, but Downtown is a wasteland and I have no idea what’s going on with Midtown. The entire lower part of the island is encased in gloom. Even from out here I can see it’s crumbling, half-flooded, and lit by smoldering orange light, as if on fire, drowning and burning at the same time. The big clean buildings from my last stop are gone, and the old brownstones and warehouses have returned. I thought New York was bad in my time, but this makes 1983 look like a paradise.
As strange as the city is, Midtown is freakier still. While the rest of Manhattan is in the dead of night, a bubble of midday covers Midtown, like a giant glass marble of daylight and prosperity embedded in the middle of ruined Manhattan. I don’t know if it’s a dome or what, but the buildings inside are clean and well-maintained, more like the future I just left than the city around it.
None of this is normal.
I reach out with my mind once more, to see how much further I can jump, but the raging stream of time that was flowing around me back in 1980 has dried up. Somehow, I can feel there’s nothing ahead of right now. I’m as far into the future as I can go.
My head swims and my skin tingles. I can feel the blood shooting through my veins, like, actually feel it, and I can’t tell if the tiny sparks floating in my vision are in the air in front of me or coming from inside me. Every time I turn my head I see flashes of movement out of the corner of my eye, but I can never catch sight of anything, and after a moment of spinning in circles I do my best to ignore it. Maybe it’s radiation poisoning, affecting my vision.
Behind me, Jersey looks a little better than Lower Manhattan, but not by much. Some of the industrial buildings still look like they’re in okay shape, the wharves are still standing along the river—and that’s when I notice it, over probably in Newark somewhere: a pair of skinny towers topped by dull white pearls.
Entanglers.
Those are the things that Thrane used to steal my world.
Which means—
My thoughts go numb and my stomach clenches. This is their world. Thrane and the other Remnants. They’re here.
I found them.
The hard knot of grief in my stomach spikes into anger. I flex my fingers on the railing and the metal crumples like tinfoil.
A deafening crack sounds behind me and I drop to the metal walkway, hands clasped over my ears, waiting for a blast to incinerate me, but the night crashes again and I realize it’s just thunder. A storm’s coming in from the ocean. I get back up and peer over the railing and notice whitecaps surging toward the city. There’s no seawall here, and the wall of black cloud is pushing the waves in.
Lightning dances between the clouds and the water, and for a moment everything slows down. I’m able to follow every arc and branch of electricity as they ricochet back and forth between the air and the water, and an instant later the sky rumbles like a slow-moving freight train.
Then the world snaps back to speed and nearly throws me off balance. I grab hold of the railing to stop myself from falling.
What was that?
I keep still a moment, waiting for it to happen again. Whatever it was, I don’t think it’s radiation …
Something’s weird here, in the air. With this world. My abilities, it’s almost as if they’re supercharged. I feel like I could flex my legs and leap to the city from here, fly straight across the water, land in that shining domed city, and fight my way to Thrane. If he’s here, that’s where he’ll be. I know it.
So, what’s stopping me?
There’s a whirring hum from behind me and I turn to see one of those flying cannons that destroyed Buffalo streaking across from Jersey City, just ahead of the storm. I wonder …
I climb up onto the railing and find I can stand there. I don’t get dizzy, don’t feel unbalanced. I could stay here for hours.
Other than jumping through time, I haven’t had to use my powers since that night in the alley with those punks. I came close a couple times, but managed to talk my way out of trouble instead, which was fine with me. I haven’t felt great about how much I hurt those kids—but Thrane? I could pound on him all day.
All this time I’ve wasted, jumping from concert to concert, hanging out with rock stars, indulging myself … I have abilities. I can move through time, do incredible things—but I’ve been holding myself back. All my life I’ve been afraid to find out what I’m capable of, what might happen if I pushed myself too far.
Well not anymore.
M
y body is singing with power. I want to see what I can do.
I flex my legs and leap, shooting for an arc that will land me on the passing cannon so I can tear it apart, and instantly know I’ve miscalculated. I’m going way too fast, I’ll miss it by a mile.
I know I can blink myself on top of it, I can see it easy enough, just close my eyes and I’ll be there—but where’s the challenge in that?
Instead, I grab hold of the passing air with my mind and drag against it to slow myself down, and it works, puts me closer to the tank, but the way I’m falling now it’ll be past me before I hit it. I need to move more to the right, but how am I supposed to turn in midair?
I don’t think about it, that’s how. I move to intercept the cannon and my body does what it’s told.
Now go faster.
I force myself through the air, aiming for the cannon, and then I’m flying.
I want to laugh, but I’m about to rip a tank out of the sky and somehow laughing while I do it seems just a little too morbid, so I limit myself to an internal yelp and pour on speed until I’m moving like a bullet.
Energy prickles up and down my forearms and I imagine it hardening, watch as a bright purple light forms on my skin, just like the shields I saw the other boundless create, and then the silvery cannon is directly ahead of me. I squeeze my fists and punch right through the side, without even flinching.
The metal skin splits like wet paper. I thought it might hurt, but I fly right through the middle with about as much resistance as if I were diving through Jello. By the time I’ve stopped myself it’s already plummeting toward the water, smoke and blue flame pouring out the hole I just made.
Damn, what did I do?
And more importantly, what do I do next?
I’m hovering, somehow floating in the air. I don’t know how I’m doing it and I figure if I think about it too hard I’ll probably drop like a stone, so I just lean into it, let it happen, take it for granted that I can fly. I can jump through time, why shouldn’t I be able to fly too?
I have superpowers.
I’m strong.
I can fly.
Midtown is lit up like a bull’s-eye and I push myself toward it, gaining speed once more. I wonder if I could fly through an entire building?
Well, I guess I finally figured out what I’m doing for the rest of eternity. I’m going to find Thrane and make him pay for what he did. No matter how many times it kills me.
I have no idea how fast I’m going, but I’m already above the city and Lower Manhattan is a blur under me, a dark smear of ruined buildings and torn-up streets. It looks like a war was fought here, a long time ago.
Midtown is approaching, only seconds away at this speed. Closer now, I see the sharp curve of the dome as it cuts through the city. It’s literally a night and day difference. On one side is a night of despair, and on the other a lovely spring morning in a New York that’s close enough to the one I remember that it feels like I’m almost home.
The Empire State building sits just inside the dome, glowing in the yellow light, while Penn Station is out here, the walls collapsed and the roof caved in. Not everything is the same though, there are a bunch of buildings under the dome I don’t recognize. For one, there wasn’t a massive golden obelisk jutting out of Central Park when I was there last. It’s huge, an elongated golden pyramid narrowing up to a peak cut off by the low clouds hanging over the dome. Well, it looks like a dome, but I still don’t see one. It’s like an optical illusion, a bubble of daylight trapped in a world of night.
Just as I’m about to cross into daytime my stomach clenches, like it knows something I don’t, and I pull up, slow myself just enough so I don’t completely splatter against the shimmering invisible barrier. But only just.
I slam into the daylight and bounce off, senseless, my whole body screaming in pain, and as I pass out the last thing I remember is the ruined city rushing up to meet me.
24
The Midtown Bubble
I wake up with rain pattering on my face, not sure where I am or how I got here. Everything hurts. I try to move but pain ripples through me and I think better of it, lie still, and wait for my body to tell me what’s wrong in its own time.
My clothes are pretty messed up. Blood, probably, but it’s hard to see in the dark. I’m inside, lying on my back, and the ceiling above me is open to the sky, like something fell through it.
Then I remember, something did: me.
I should probably be dead, with one of Thrane’s goons squeegeeing me off that bubble surrounding Midtown.
Stupid. Just because I can fly doesn’t mean I’m invulnerable. I got too caught up in the moment, drunk with power, picturing my revenge, and didn’t think things through.
After a few moments, I’m starting to feel better and sit up. While I hurt everywhere, it’s nothing a couple Extra Strength Tylenol and a few days lying around doing nothing wouldn’t fix, except I don’t have either. If Thrane went to the trouble to erect an invisible wall around himself, I imagine he’ll investigate when something bounces off it. Soldiers are probably looking for me right now, so I shouldn’t hang around.
It looks like I crash-landed in someone’s apartment—or what used to be someone’s apartment, a long time ago. I manage to stand and pick around the rubble to peer out the window. I’m on the third floor and the street outside is dark, too dark to tell what might be lurking out there. At least the storm has passed. I wonder how long I’ve been lying here?
I find the stairs, wind my way down, and poke my head out to check the street. Fires burn in windows here and there, a few blue-white artificial lights in others, but all of that is drowned out by the noon glare of Midtown. The street is covered in garbage, ruined furniture, and burned-out vehicles. A thick layer of grime covers everything, like it’s been this way for a long time.
I slip out the door and move down the street carefully, but not particularly slowly. I’m not sure exactly where I am, but the dome isn’t far away and while it would be easy enough to fly, I decide to walk instead. A flying girl is sure to be noticed, and I’m not ready to draw attention just yet. Should have thought of that before I sailed headfirst into the dome.
Signs of life increase the closer to the bubble I get—more people on the street, hunched under ragged ponchos, shuffling from one awful place to another. I see eyes watching me from windows, kids with blackened faces and sunken cheeks, and as much as I want to help them, there’s nothing I can do—nothing I can offer them except a smile as I pass.
A few minutes later I find a market of sorts set up in Madison Park, tables under canvas strung from light poles. People are eating, huddled over small tables, or passed out under them. It’s like all the remaining life in the city has condensed in this one spot. The food smells wonderful, though judging by the state of this place, I don’t want to know where the ingredients came from—but either way I’m not hungry. I’m so full of energy I don’t know if I’ll ever need to eat again.
A giant three-dimensional billboard hovers over the far end of the park, and the sound is cranked on high. Both the booming male announcer voice and the big red letters on the screen scream “REBUILDING EARTH, ONE WORLD AT A TIME. A message from James K. Price, President of the World.” Then shows it an old white guy with a square chin and jet black hair. He’s staring out into nothing with his wide and oddly fishy lips set in a bland smile and skin hanging at his jowls. He looks like every crappy president in every movie I’ve ever seen, but the quality of the display is amazing, and I find I can’t look away.
It changes to show a video of the president walking among his people—not these people though. Judging by how clean and bright everyone is, those must be the people inside the bubble. He’s in Central Park, shaking hands and waving to admirers, and it looks real, just four times the size of life and hovering in the sky. This place is horrible, but they’ve got great TV.
The show cuts to an interview with a proud female soldier wearing the invaders’ black-and
-gold armor but no helmet. She gushes about her mission to protect the Earth from hostile worlds and the pride her service brings, and then I notice the market’s revved into a new gear. People are packing up, clearing out in a hurry. Something’s about to happen.
Then I see them—soldiers, just like the invaders back home, flying down the street toward the market, weapons raised and glowing red.
I don’t even try to run. I’m done hiding.
I get as far away from the people in the market as I can before I put my fingers to my lips and whistle, wait to make sure they see me, then take two steps and leap at the nearest soldier, flying with my arms out, shields up.
“Fire!” the soldier yells, his voice shrill. Bullets sear off my shields with flashes of light and the sound of twanging metal, and a second later I plow full force into him, sending him flying backward into a bunch of his men. I don’t know anything about my powers or how to fight, but I know anger, and I know men like these killed my world. Right now, that’s all I need.
Before I know what’s happening I’m in the middle of them and start knocking heads. My body still hurts from the fall, but I ignore it as I dash from one soldier to another, slamming them with my fist or grabbing them and tossing them into a building. It isn’t pretty, but seems to be effective because the soldiers are retreating—and then I see the cannons approaching in the sky.
I was wrong. The soldiers aren’t scared. They’re getting out of the way.
The first crimson blast hits me and I’m engulfed in red fire. I expect to be incinerated but my purple skin of energy protects me and I flip out of the blackened crater and avoid the next shot completely. I don’t slow, but I stick to the air and just as I’m about to repeat my flying-through-the-cannon trick, it explodes in a burst of blue fire.
I can’t get out of the way in time, and a chunk of debris catches me in the chest and drives me from the sky. I knock into a building and crash back into the muddy grass in the park, barely getting to my knees before another tank is above me. Its cannon glows and I erect a shield over me just in time to absorb the blast, but the crackling power I felt coursing through me only minutes ago is fading.
