“Yes,” said Roman. “The Professor predicted the eruption of Glacier Peak, Mount Baker, and Mount Rainier for sure, but those might not be the only ones to blow. There’s also the Yellowstone Caldera, the supervolcano. Maybe even the Aira Caldera, in Japan.”
Mac laughed, the sound low and bitter. “Explain to me how the hell we’re going to avoid all of that?”
Roman stared out the window. “It’s just one possibility,” he said again.
Mac shook his head, peering into the black for another long, searching moment.
“I’ve seen enough,” he said. “Take me back.”
Roman flew them across the barren landscape and back into the anil. The tunnel of stars and purple clouds and black sky spun around them, and then Roman piloted the time machine through the tunnel walls, and the air around them thickened, growing heavy and wet. Water pounded against the windshield, making the glass creak—
NOVEMBER 7, 2077, NEW SEATTLE
—and then, a second later, they were surfacing, and New Seattle’s familiar skyline lay before them. Milk-white fog hung over the surface of the sound. Choppy waves rose to greet them, slamming over the Black Crow’s windshield as they hovered above the water. The city looked like nothing in the distance. Like darkness layered over more darkness. It was only when a far-off boat wove through the buildings that she could see the shape of the skyscrapers cutting into the night, the glimmer of light off windows.
Roman lifted his head and sniffed the air. Dorothy smelled it, too: brine and salt and the sweet, dank scent of mold. It was the smell of New Seattle, and it crept in through the time machine’s thick windows the second they exited the anil.
Home sweet home, she thought, numb.
Roman flew the Black Crow to the Fairmont garage and, landing, cut the engine. Dorothy’s eyes moved, restlessly, over the clouded windows and rusted pipes. It seemed strange, she thought, that this place should look so normal after everything she’d seen.
Behind them, Mac gave a deep, satisfied sigh. “Well. That was certainly illuminating.”
Dorothy let her eyes close for a fraction of a second.
“I’m glad you . . . enjoyed it,” said Roman, voice cool.
“Although we shouldn’t go so far next time.” Mac threw open the back door. He maneuvered his crutches out of the time machine first and then, grunting, hauled the rest of his body out, too. “Maybe just two years. I want to know exactly when this big earthquake is supposed to hit.”
From the corner of her eye, Dorothy saw Roman’s hands tighten around the Black Crow’s yoke.
He said, “Next time?”
Cackling, Mac said, “Don’t worry, I’ll make it worth your while.” He winked at Dorothy and headed toward the parking garage’s back exit, crutches creaking. Neither she nor Roman had made a move to get out of the time machine.
Dorothy had never considered leaving their current time period before. But now there was a wild, unhinged part of her that wanted to grab the wheel and fly them somewhere—anywhere—else.
Paris in the 1920s. Rome at the height of its empire. Somewhere they could put an entire lifetime between themselves and the horrors of the world she’d just seen.
“We could go,” she said, thinking out loud. “If that’s—”
Roman cut her off firmly. “No. We can’t.” He kept his eyes trained on Mac’s retreating figure. It wasn’t until the parking garage door closed behind him that he tore his eyes away and added, his voice softening, “At least, I can’t leave here. This city, this time period, it’s my home. It’s the last place I . . .” He scrubbed a hand over his face, trailing off. “But, if you wanted to go to some other time, I could always drop you off.”
Dorothy waited for him to elaborate—“the last place I” what?—but he stayed silent and, eventually, she shook her head, too. Neither of them would be running away. Roman was the only real friend she’d managed to make in over two centuries. She couldn’t just leave him here.
And Ash is here, said a voice at the back of her head. She gritted her teeth, heat rising in her cheeks. As much as she hated to admit it, she couldn’t imagine putting a lifetime between her and Ash. Which meant that she and Roman would need to find a way to change the future they’d just seen. Somehow.
“How does it happen?” she asked, dumbfounded. “Do you know?”
“Not here,” Roman said. He looked, suddenly, very old. “I need a drink for this conversation.”