Tandem: The Many-Worlds Trilogy Read online

  The rest of the buildings were more modern-looking than they would’ve been in my Chicago, as if they’d just been built. They were mostly glass, with elegantly curved edges and tinted windows that reflected the light from the sun in a rainbow of colors like pools of oil. But they were more dilapidated, too, as if they’d been around for ages and not well kept up. The awning that protruded from the entrance of a nearby condominium was torn, the shreds of what remained fluttering half-heartedly in the breeze. There were no trees—I looked up and down the street for blocks without seeing one—and more trash in the gutters. It was as if I’d been transported to a slightly distant future where nobody took care of anything. Cars lined the edges of the street, but they were models I didn’t quite recognize. They were sleeker, and more compact, all except a large, intimidating, black SUV parked a few doors down. Thomas headed in that direction and motioned for me to follow him.

  “Stay close,” he said in a low tone. “If anyone passes by, don’t look at them.” Who is this person that I look like? I asked myself. She had to be someone important, otherwise Thomas wouldn’t have gone to all this trouble.

  When we reached the SUV, Thomas went around to the trunk and pressed his thumb against a small LCD pad the size of a Post-it note near the handle.

  “Yeah, this vehicle isn’t at all conspicuous,” I said.

  Thomas didn’t rise to the bait. He simply opened the cargo door and said, “Climb in.”

  “Absolutely not.” I stared at him in disbelief. “I’m not getting into the trunk, are you serious?”

  “I’m serious. I don’t want anybody to see you, even through the window. You don’t know how recognizable your face is here. If someone sees you and reports it, it’ll be all over the press boards in fifteen minutes and we’ll never get out of here undetected.”

  I waited for him to explain further; when he didn’t, I sighed and asked, “What are you talking about?”

  “You’ve been to Times Square?” Thomas asked. “On Earth, I mean.”

  “No.” Granddad wasn’t big on vacations. He’d taken me to Lake Okobogee a handful of times, and Florida once, because he liked to fish, but that was about it. “I’ve seen pictures.”

  “Well, you know the big screens?” I nodded. “The press boards are like that, but they’re everywhere, and there are people in this city that I’d prefer had no idea you were here.”

  “Like the authorities?” I asked sharply.

  “I am the authorities.”

  “ ‘Here’ as in Chicago, or ‘here’ as in … Aurora?” I whispered the last word, afraid of being overheard, though there was nobody within earshot.

  “Both,” he said. “Now get in.”

  I was curled in a ball in the mostly empty cargo area of Thomas’s SUV. He’d draped a blanket over me, and my back was pressed against a long chrome box; God knew what he was keeping in there, but it wasn’t like he was going to tell me.

  We cruised along for about ten minutes before we hit traffic. From my place in the back, I could hear Thomas’s muffled swearing. In the dim quiet, I began to formulate a plan.

  First things first: I had to get the anchor off. If it was the thing tying me to Aurora, then it had to go as soon as possible. I shifted to face the metal box. If Thomas really was some sort of CIA-style government agent, then I figured it was at least possible the box contained weapons and other gear—guns, night-vision goggles, a couple of hand grenades … knives, maybe. I was hoping to find something I could saw through the anchor with, since there was no way I was going to be able to slip out of it; it was fastened too tightly around my wrist.

  But the box was locked. There was a small LCD panel on the front; it glowed blue, staining my skin with cerulean light. I’d just seen Thomas use a similar panel to unlock the car door. He’d pressed his thumb against it, so the technology was probably biometric. Was it set only to recognize his print, or would mine open the box as well? It seemed unlikely, but at the very least I had to try.

  When I touched the panel, it changed to the red color of burning coals. I jerked back instinctively as an alarm sounded.

  “What’s going on back there?” Thomas called out.

  “Nothing,” I told him. “I just accidentally hit this … whatever it is, with my shoulder.”

  There was a pause, like he was deciding whether to believe me. “Be careful with that,” he said finally. The alarm quieted and the panel turned blue again. “It’s dangerous.”

  I’m sure, I thought. I couldn’t pry it open with my fingertips and Thomas would notice if I tried to break the lock. Whatever the box contained, it was no longer an option. But I wasn’t beaten yet. If there was a way into Aurora, there was a way out. I just had to find it.

  I lifted the blanket and crept up to the edge of the window, peering out. We were no longer on the sleepy side street in Lincoln Park—or whatever it was called in this universe. Thomas had navigated us onto a broad avenue; there was a line of cars behind us, horns blaring. Pedestrians gazed at the backup with mild interest. It was all so normal, which I found upsetting, even more than I probably would have if everything had been completely different. My mind wandered again to the goofy worlds Granddad and I had invented once upon a time. Anything you can think of probably exists somewhere, Granddad had said. My ears caught the drone of an airplane soaring overhead. Maybe all this would be easier if there were no reminders of home.

  Then I did something bold, something I would never have imagined myself capable of doing: I unlocked and opened the back hatch, leapt out of the car, and took off running.

  I had no idea where I was going; all I knew was that I had to get away. I would never be able to get back home with Thomas watching my every move, so I had to escape him, even if that meant throwing myself upon the mercy of a world in which I didn’t belong.

  “Hey!” Thomas was out of the car in an instant, following me at full speed. I had a head start, but the pounding of his combat boots on the cracked and broken concrete was getting louder and closer; he was gaining on me, and I was still feeling the ill effects of traveling through the—what had Thomas called it? The tandem. I wasn’t sure how much longer I was going to be able to keep up my pace in the hope of outrunning him, if there even was a hope of outrunning him.

  I sprinted down the next street, weaving through a stream of people that thickened as I pushed on. I was too afraid of breaking my momentum to stop and look back, but I couldn’t hear Thomas behind me anymore.

  Something was happening up ahead. There was a huge crowd of people assembling in what looked like it might’ve once been a park, though the only greenery that remained were the weeds that poked up out of vast stretches of dead brown grass.

  I plunged into the throng, shoving my way past men and women of varying ages. Some of them were carrying toddlers on their shoulders, or clutching the hands of older children. As the crowd grew denser, I was forced to slow down, and I started to notice things. The body language of the people was decidedly negative; their faces were angry, their voices, which had congealed into a singular noise like the thrum of an insect swarm, were tense and strained. Many of them were carrying signs or banners, and as I glanced up ahead I found I could read one. It said: WE SERVE NO GOVERNMENT.

  I felt as though I’d been doused with freezing cold water. The hairs on my arms stood up despite the heat, and I felt a new layer of fear descend on me—fear of the unknown. Thomas scared me, there was no denying it, but at least with him I had some idea of what I was dealing with, or thought I did. But these strangers seemed even more threatening, though I didn’t know why they were so riled up; that was the most frightening thing of all.

  Someone tapped my shoulder, and I whipped around, expecting to see Thomas. But it was just a young guy, in his twenties, maybe even college age, trying to get through.

  “I want to stand as close to the stage as possible!” he shouted above the churning cry of the agitated horde. I glanced behind him, but couldn’t see Thomas anywhere. “There
’s a rumor the Monad’s going to show.”

  “What’s going on?” I asked. What was a Monad? Was that a person? What kind of a name was that for a human being? And yet I felt like I’d heard it before. Where, though? Where would I have ever heard that word? I couldn’t bring myself to ask the guy. Instead, I posed a different question. “Why are all these people here?’

  “It’s a rally,” he said, narrowing his eyes.

  “I can see that. What for?” I must’ve looked strange to him, with the hood of my sweatshirt cinched so tightly it covered my face, especially given how warm it was. I pushed the hood back and brushed the hair out of my eyes.

  “Are you kidding?” he asked in astonishment. “It’s a Libertas rally.”

  “Oh, of course,” I said with a hesitant smile. The guy was looking at me more closely now. “Good luck getting up there.” I nodded at the large stage that had been erected in the center of the park. It was draped in forest-green banners; they all sported a common symbol, a pattern of ten gold stars stitched in the shape of an equilateral triangle.

  I started to work my way through the crowd again, hoping to leave the guy behind, but he put his hand on my shoulder and held me back. I jerked out of his grip and turned to face him.

  “Hey,” he said, pointing at me. We were so close, his finger almost touched my nose. “You know, you look a hell of a lot like—”

  I caught a glimpse of Thomas over the young man’s shoulder. “I’m not. I have to go.”

  I wrenched away and kept moving, ducking my head low to keep from being seen. After what seemed like an eternity, I finally broke through the last wall of bodies on the north side of the park. A voice began booming through the loudspeakers, but I couldn’t locate them in the scrum. It was as if the voice was coming, godlike, from the sky.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” the voice said. It was deep and masculine, strong but musical in tone—the kind of voice that could command an army with a word. “This is the Monad. I regret that I could not join you today, my brothers and sisters, in your homes and in your cities, but I deliver unto you this message. You all know why we’re here today. You all know of the injustice we have suffered under the tyrant rule of this declining monarchy. You all know of the promise that comes with revolution. The promise of liberty. The promise of freedom. The promise of choice. Our ancestors lived under the oppressive rule of a foreign royal for centuries, before the fathers of the First Revolution raised an army against them, and yet their true and solemn purpose was hijacked by thieves and traitors, a man that would crown himself king. And now, today, his inbred, worthless spawn sits on a throne while we—the people of this once-great nation—bleed and toil for his benefit. The king and his advisers say that the only way to make peace with Farnham is to force two teenagers into marriage, but the true path to peace is overthrowing both monarchies and forming one republic, of the people, by the people, and for the people!”

  The furious hum of voices swelled to a roar. People teemed around me on every side, pressing forward to rush the empty stage. Someone shoved me and I took a step back, grinding the toes of a nearby protester under my heel.

  “Hey!” he shrieked. I turned to apologize and he got a good look at my face.

  “It’s you,” he whispered. Then, louder, “It’s her! It’s the princess!”

  Princess? I thought in a panic. What the hell was he talking about? I was no princess! Then I remembered what Thomas had said back in the basement. Your face is a little bit more familiar to the average person. People were turning and staring, and I suddenly felt very exposed. They thought I was someone else.

  Someone they hated.

  As I scanned the scene, I saw, for the first time, clumps of armed men dressed in black. They were carrying military assault rifles and patrolling the perimeter in groups of two or three. One of them noticed me, and we locked eyes. He pointed me out to another guard, and instinct took over. I began to run again, sprinting as fast as my legs could take me.

  NINE

  Trapped, trapped, trapped. The word echoed through my head, banishing any other thought as I ran past shops and homes and cars and people who turned to look at me with unabashed curiosity. I was going too fast to tell if anyone else had recognized me, but I really hoped no one had.

  For a while, I didn’t even look to see where I was going—I didn’t know the city anyway, so what was the point? Then it occurred to me how dumb that was—I was in Chicago. The Aurora version of Chicago, but still, it was possible there were similarities, that there was something I could use to orient myself. The Sears Tower, the enduring symbol of the city on Earth, had to be around somewhere.

  I scanned the tops of the buildings, trying to locate the singular silhouette of the landmark and navigate by it. There were other skyscrapers, everywhere in fact, huge ones that disappeared into the clouds that had started to gather, including what looked to be an enormous campanile rising in the distance, but I couldn’t find what I was looking for. The Sears Tower didn’t seem to exist in this version of Chicago; perhaps it had never been built. I knew its shape so well, there was no way I’d ever miss it, or mistake it for something else. I was completely adrift in this unrecognizable world.

  My home wasn’t here. It didn’t matter which way I went or how fast I ran.

  But I kept running. I passed several of the press boards Thomas had mentioned earlier; none of them, to my relief, were showing my picture, or his, although I could see now why he’d feared the possibility. The boards were like giant TVs, broadcasting silent news reports and advertisements in an eye-straining array of bright, dazzling colors. There was one every few blocks or so, mounted on the sides of buildings and rooftops, big as billboards. If someone had put my picture up, it would’ve been seen by almost everyone in the city in minutes, maybe less.

  I kept time by watching the clocks on the press boards as I sped by them—it was around four thirty in the afternoon, meaning I’d been gone from my world for a little less than seventeen hours. Five minutes, ten minutes, fifteen, half an hour ticked by. The chiming of the bells in the faraway tower reached me on a breeze. Finally, I figured I’d gone long and far enough that Thomas would be hard-pressed to find me; I ducked down a quiet street and sank to the ground, panting. I’d gotten away. Though exhausted, I was proud of myself for escaping. I relished in that feeling of accomplishment for a few moments before I let myself acknowledge what I’d known all along—I was truly alone, and I didn’t have the first clue as to how to get home again.

  The only idea that sprang to mind was to keep running, but I was so tired, and I’d stopped paying attention to my surroundings. I tucked my knees against my chest, wrapping my arms around them, like if I could get as compact as possible, no one would be able to see me. There was a press board directly across the street; I spent a few minutes mindlessly watching the advertisements go by until a news program took over. I held my breath, expecting to see my own face, but instead the picture was of a building; it had been designed in the Queen Anne style, just like my house back on Earth. The headline that ran alongside the photo said: COLUMBIA CITY, NYD—BOMB SCARE AT KING ALBERT STATION. HUNDREDS EVACUATED.

  It was infuriating not to have my cell phone; if I had, I’d have been on it in a second, frantically trying to decipher the codes of this strange place, to see which parts of it corresponded to parts of my own world. Practically, that wouldn’t have worked for a number of reasons, but my fingers itched to do it anyway. I’d never heard of Columbia City on Earth, though that didn’t mean much; the United States was a huge country. But something about the broadcast told me that Columbia City was a big metropolis—big enough, at least, to have a fancy train station—which meant that it was important. Then I remembered Thomas’s badge—United Commonwealth of Columbia, it had said. Thomas had called it the UCC. Maybe Columbia City was their capital. If so, it likely only corresponded to a few places: New York, D.C., Boston, or L.A. I stopped puzzling over it then, realizing that I was only doing it to distract
myself from the task at hand, which was figuring out what to do next.

  And then, out of nowhere, someone grabbed my arm and dragged me into a nearby alley.

  I struggled to my feet and found that I was surrounded by three armed men dressed in black; each had a forest green patch on his arm, ten tiny golden stars stitched on it in the shape of a triangle, the same pattern I’d seen on the banners at the rally. I knew without having to be told that they belonged to the group called Libertas. My stomach sank. They were most certainly not there to help me.

  One of the men—bald, with dark gray eyes and a puckered pink scar across his forehead—took hold of my ponytail and yanked me toward him.

  “Who are you?” he demanded, his breath spreading, thick and sour, over my face.

  “Nobody,” I whimpered. Sparks exploded in front of my eyes and a pain so bad I could hardly think swelled in my skull. “Please don’t hurt me,” I begged. “I’m nobody. I just want to go home!”

  The bald guy laughed, tightening his grip on my hair. I winced, squeezing my eyes shut to stem the tide of tears. “Yeah, I’ll bet you do.”

  “Let go!” I cried, my fingers scrabbling against his arm, trying for a patch of exposed skin to sink my nails into. “You’re hurting me!”

  He leaned in close and whispered in my ear. “Answer my questions and I’ll think about it. Doesn’t that sound like a fair deal?” I nodded. I was shaking like a sapling in a hurricane. “Who are you and who do you work for?”

  “I’m no one,” I insisted again. “I don’t work for anybody. Please. I haven’t done anything! You’ve got me confused with somebody else.”

  The bald guy snorted. “Well, you’re wrong about that, sweetheart. I know exactly who you aren’t.” He laughed and ran the muzzle of his gun along the base of my jaw. A sob rose in my throat; to keep it from escaping I bit my lip, so hard that it started to bleed. “You haven’t given me much of a choice,” he went on. “We had a deal, and you didn’t hold up your end of the bargain, so I’m afraid—”