Split Infinity (25 page)
I send another message to Mason before stashing the comspecs:
Thanks. I’m OK.
The streets shift into higher gear, people pouring down around us from their buildings and onto the footpath. The smartcars heading in the direction of the fire turn around and come back the way they came as even more smartcars pull onto the streets from car parks all around.
I send one more message to Mum:
I’m OK. Promise. If I don’t meet you at home, it means I’ll be back in a few days.
She’ll work out what that means. Hope she’s made it out by now.
I stash the comspecs in a pocket and pull off the woman’s shirt so that I’m just in a T-shirt underneath. Then I wrap the shirt around my mouth, tying it at the back of my head, trying to block the smoke as much as possible. I begin along the nearest street that leads in the opposite direction from the fire. My instinct is telling me to move south, so that’s what I do. Maybe I can help someone before I jump.
The wind has picked up and embers fall like black snow. People are coughing and calling to each other. To one side, two male voices rise in anger and the crowd ripples outwards.
Behind us is the distant rumble of the fire and closer is the sound of shuffling shoes in between wheezing and coughing. It’s difficult to move fast enough, there are so many of us. It’s as if we’re all stuck on a slow-moving conveyor belt, held in tight by each other and the buildings around us.
The smartcars are no faster than the people walking. Some honk their alarms. One guy climbs out of his car and pushes past other people on foot, leaving his car blocking the way. It’s not long before the crowd surges onto the road, and the cars come to a complete stop.
A deep rumbling makes me turn to find the shifting plumes of black smoke so close that I can see the flames rising beneath. The crowd shifts into a new gear, surging forward. To one side a man falls. Another man tries to grab his arm but he gets pushed down by the momentum of the crowd. Above it all, the wind picks up and the fire behind us accelerates into a roar.
My pulse rises and I concentrate on my breathing as tears blur the edge of my vision.
I try to angle my path towards a side street up ahead as I’m pulled along by the crowd. A few steps later I decide that this is getting me nowhere fast. If I stay in here, the crowd will dictate which direction I move, not me.
Behind us is the sound of breaking glass and a kind of whoosh as one of the buildings goes up in flames. Again, the crowd surges and this time I use it to manoeuvre towards the edge. The side street is busy as well but we’re not crammed as tight.
I scan the chaos around me. Buildings can burn. Bricks can collapse. Nowhere is guaranteed to stay clear. To one side I hear another whoosh. The shattering of glass is followed by shrieks and cries.
My heart hammers, my lungs screaming. Why did I waste so much time? I should have been searching for a safe place to jump: a place that would likely be safe for return. Now even
my
time is running out.
I make my way to the raised median strip in the centre of the road. A wall might fall, or someone might be standing here when I return, but this is the best I can manage.
I wipe my damp palms against my thighs, already scared about what I’ll find on the other side. I close my eyes and leave the chaos behind.
Three days later I return into clear space, sucking in stale air. Beneath me is only dirt, baked black and smouldering warm. No sign of the clothes I was wearing. A lump of twisted metal and plastic lies to one side.
Gradually my senses return. The graze on my ribs from the helejet jump is weeping and raw, my throat still dry and lips cracked. It hurts when I swallow. One of my toes is stubbed and bleeding, although I have no idea how or when it happened.
When I lift my head though, I’m shocked numb by the scene around me. With this single skip, somehow I’ve been transported to hell’s graveyard.
The whole world, gone in a blink.
Everything around me has been transformed, levelled to piles of black rubble and twisted metal. Plumes of smoke rise from four or five mounds around me, mixing with the stale ash I can taste in the air. I shut my mouth.
Dumbly, I turn to find more of the same. Buildings that once stood four or five storeys high have been demolished to single-storey mounds and I find myself playing a macabre game, trying to work out what each twisted lump used to be. Streetlights there? Melted bricks among metal beams?
The sky is pale blue through the ash and smoke and automatically my face lifts in search of colour, clear air. Life.
Because there’s no-one here. No sign of the people who were trying to make their way out. No hint at fallen bodies, no bones. Nothing. The devastation of the firestorm is complete.
Or maybe they made it out in time.
I shut my eyes. It’s only now that I realise what still waits in front of me, in some ways the worst. I was lucky to time skip and escape the danger, but now I have to face reality.
It’s the thought of Mum waiting for me that gives me the strength to step forwards. Another step. The only way home is through hell.
Our room is glowing blue from the standby light when I tap on the window. A few seconds pass before Mum’s face appears over the back of the armchair, a palm rubbing her eyes.
Before I realise what’s coming, I break into sobs at the sight of her here, safe.
Mum slides the window open, guiding me gently inside. Her arms reach around me, holding me tight. My face is pushed against her shoulder as tears fall like whispers.
I’m not sure how long she holds me like this. It’s as if I’ve been holding my breath ever since I heard Alistair’s words so long ago.
Your mother died
… I don’t have to push it down anymore, don’t have to lock it away.
So much is released, a wave of relief rising above the fear, hope. Love.
But there’s sorrow in the comfort. My tears aren’t only for us.
It was late in the day when I began to reach the edges of the burnt area. So much of the city had been destroyed that I’d begun to feel like I was the only one left. Near the edges of the fire, a lot had still been burned – but some things had survived. I was able to recognise the shapes of burnt-out cars, walls still standing tall, shrunken black forms of bodies melted together where they tried to shelter.
I squeeze my eyes shut, blocking them out, focusing on Mum.
She’s here, she’s alive.
It’s like a chant in my head that I can’t silence.
Mum shifts her arm, brushing the graze on my ribs and making me wince.
‘You’re hurt?’
‘I’m okay,’ I say, because how can I complain? I’m alive too. Mum continues examining my bruised knees and bloodied feet as I reach for a blanket that was on the back of the armchair and wrap it around my shoulders. ‘Mum, I’m fine.’
She gets the message and looks at my face again, cupping my head in her hands. ‘Oh, Scout. I’ve been so worried.’
She’s about to say more but I don’t want to talk about any of it. ‘You made it out,’ I say.
‘Yes. Thanks to your warning. I was busy with a report … not checking messages. I never would have stopped if you hadn’t called –’
She trails off and I try to smile but instead I’m flooded by a fresh wave of heartache.
‘Here.’ Mum guides me to an armchair, hovering before she drags a side table close and sits beside me. ‘There’s something …’ Her head lowers.
My shoulders stiffen and I lean closer, trying to see her expression.
‘Your friends are safe, but …’ Mum lifts her head and lets out a breath. ‘Alistair died in the fire, Scout. I’m so sorry.’
I pull back, pushing against the idea in my mind. ‘But he would have been sent the first alert. He had time to get out.’ She must have it wrong. Alistair survives the fire. He’s going to grow old. He makes it to 2089.
But that’s a different timeline, not this one.
‘We had confirmation yesterday, but I already knew.’ Her voice catches. ‘When he didn’t come home.’
Mum reaches for my hand as images flicker in my thoughts. Alistair’s hand gripping mine, papery and cool.
I didn’t want you to find out on your own …
My eyes trace the faint blue veins on the back of Mum’s hand as she keeps talking. ‘He sent me a warning so he must have received the alert. I just didn’t see his message.’ Her tone is faint, as if she can hardly breathe. ‘There was an accident not far from his office building, complete gridlock. There were just too many people trying to get away.’
Too many people.
Too late to get them out without causing mass panic.
My throat constricts, biting down on my bottom lip. In another world Alistair made it out, but in this one something was changed. A second alert, sending hundreds onto the streets, blocking his escape.
An alert sent by me.
I
STAY IN BED
for days. My whole body aches, but that’s not why.
After I raced out of Alistair’s hospital room in the other timestream, everything moved so fast that I didn’t really process losing Mum in the fire. Mostly I just pushed it down, so I never had to live under the cloud of having left her, not being there to help her. But I know now how it would it have been, each moment worse than the last, each breath weighed down with the truth that I’m still here when a person I love is not. It’s almost like I have two worlds of grief to face now, two losses. Except, this one is worse; Alistair died because of me.
This time, there’s no-one else to blame.
Sometimes I think about time skipping so deep that I disappear, wiping reality away. Trying to make it back, maybe, to undo what I’ve done. But even now, I’m not sure I’d take the chance if I had it. I’m not sure I could handle the responsibility. How many more ways can I lose someone I love?
How many other mistakes would I make?
It’s not just me who is struggling; the whole city is in shock. Some people made it out, only lost their homes and everything they owned. Others weren’t so lucky. The official deceased count doesn’t take long to be released; everyone’s chipped, so it’s easy to count. It’s warped and sick, but I can’t stop staring at the figures as they go up, lying in bed and flicking
update
every ten minutes. Each increase slices me inside: 834 … 915 … 1023 …
Around 1200, it slows. It’s fewer than the thousands who died last time. It’s something, but how do you measure a single life against so many when it’s someone you love?
How can I celebrate the fact that Mum’s alive, now that I know the cost?
Not many people go to work, and food deliveries hit delays. Hospitals struggle to cope. There’s a second wave of deaths as some people miss out on the treatment they need and again I obsess over each increase to the death toll.
Still lower than last time. Still way too many.
The rumours are confirmed that the water treatment plant was destroyed and soon after we receive the official announcement that rations will be halved. As a result of the ag farms being burnt, there simply isn’t enough water and food anymore.
The city goes into a different kind of shock after that. It only takes a day on half rations before protest marches begin, calling for an end to the ration system with chants and phrases: EQUAL RATIONS! ACCESS FOR ALL!
I watch the reports as if through a glass wall. It’s not really equal rations they’re fighting for. They’re not campaigning for illegals to have access to rations. They only care about fairness and equality now that they’re the ones missing out.
It’s only when I’m checking the ration level of the stolen chip that I remember Alistair’s words from the other timestream:
A bank account. Transfer the credits before I die, or the state will seize control.
The idea of facing his bank account now makes my chest ache, but the idea of letting the government use Alistair’s life savings is worse. It’s enough at least to make me swallow, take a breath and begin a search.
It’s not like I’ll use the credits for myself; maybe I can set up a foundation in his name that supports kids on low rations, or something like that.
It’s easy to find the account, but near impossible to hack in and see what’s going on. The security levels are massive; I doubt even Alistair would be able to hack his way in. Except, he seemed sure I could work out how to transfer the credits …