brought a cigarette to her lips, withdrawing a pack of matches from her coat pocket.
Ash turned to Dorothy—one hand lifting to point down a narrow dock that twisted back toward Dante’s—and froze, heart pounding.
She was already gone.
LOG ENTRY—JULY 12, 2174
09:45 HOURS
NEW SEATTLE
I’ve made a huge mistake.
I—I don’t know what I was thinking, really. I wanted to see it again, I suppose, to see what, if anything has changed.
But I never expected this.
I should explain. This morning, I once again took the Dark Star forward, into the future. But, instead of going just a few days ahead, this time I went one hundred years ahead.
I suppose I wanted to see how our world was going to turn out.
I exited the anil, and the world I saw before me was changed beyond my wildest nightmares.
I’ve been here for only a few hours, so my findings are rudimentary, at best. Everything is black. Ashes cover the ground and block out the sun. It’s nearly ten o’clock in the morning, but it’s still as dark as night. There’s no vegetation, no animals, no people. I flew past WCAAT and found little more than a pile of rubble frozen in ice.
My heart hurts, writing that down. The most advanced school of technology the world has ever seen, and it’s been reduced to nothing, to ashes.
This can’t be happening . . . something catastrophic must’ve happened to have left the world like this. I have no way of knowing what it was, but I can only hope there’s still time to change it back.
25
Dorothy
Dorothy moved down the docks like a shadow, ears pricked, listening for any sound besides the shuffle of her own feet. There was none, though something musty-smelling rose up from the water, making her nose twitch. She didn’t think she’d ever get over the smell of this city. How the perpetual damp left everything reeking of mold and rot.
She paused beside the door to the Fairmont’s back stairwell, glancing over her shoulder to make sure she hadn’t been followed.
The darkness twitched, and Dorothy steeled herself.
But no one came.
A moment passed and she still didn’t move. It wasn’t until she realized she was waiting for Ash to materialize in the darkness that she swore at herself and turned around.
Come with me, she remembered. And she pictured Ash’s face as it had been the night before, his cheeks flushed pink, his eyes searching hers.
She couldn’t go to him. Of course she couldn’t, it was madness, his even coming here. It was better that she find Roman and try to talk some sense into him. But her heart felt heavy as she slipped through the Fairmont’s door, and Ash’s voice stayed with her long after she tried to push it away.
The door to Roman’s room was open a crack, and a thin line of yellow light dribbled into the hallway. Dorothy lifted her hand to knock—
And then paused, frowning.
Roman was talking to someone.
Dorothy had never spied on Roman before. For the last year, he’d been her greatest ally, her friend, even. She trusted him, as much as she was capable of trusting anyone, and so she’d always extended him the courtesy of privacy.
But, for the first sixteen years of her life, she’d been a con artist. A sneak and a thief. Her mother had been the only family she had, and Loretta believed that someone was a fool if she bothered with things like friends.
Dorothy chewed on her lip. She knew perfectly well what her mother would do in this situation.
And so, holding her breath, she crept closer and pressed her ear against Roman’s door.
“Higgens looks just like I remembered,” Roman was saying. His warm tone surprised Dorothy. Usually he sounded like that only when he was speaking to her.
She leaned in closer.
“Thank God, I didn’t see that horrible dog of hers,” Roman continued. “I’m not sure I would’ve been able to resist giving it a good, hard kick. Do you remember when it got into a fight with Freddie and he came back with this huge chunk taken out of his fur? And then Higgens tried to pretend like her precious Pumpkin would never do something like that.”
Dorothy frowned. Higgens? Pumpkin? She searched her memory for where she’d heard those names . . .
It came to her quickly. Emelda Higgens was the woman from the past with the dandelion-puff hair whose solar panels they’d stolen that morning. And Pumpkin . . . that was the name of her little dog.