There are three of them, and based on their insignias they rank somewhere between me and Allyn. Which I’m hoping will be enough to save our asses. Until I recognize the one in the middle as Sommers. The flattened nose and wispy facial hair. A glint in his eyes like he skins cats as a hobby. He speaks rapid-fire German to the two men with him, and I catch the words Allies and spies before my earpiece translator shits the bed, spitting static in my ear loud enough it hurts, but I don’t want to pull it out and draw their attention. Or the bullets out of the Astra 900s on their hips.
Allyn and I are carrying period-specific pistols too—Browning Hi-Powers. Generally a stunner is enough, especially since our whole “look, don’t touch” rule forbids us from killing the two German soldiers. But going into a war zone demanded both protection and assimilation. Which took a ton of paperwork, and then finding a collector to rent them to us, at a steep markup because he could see how much we needed them.
We were supposed to give them back, but it looks like these things are staying. Along with us, in some unmarked grave.
One of the officers takes out his gun and holds it down to his side, and Sommers says something that Allyn understands—his translator must still be working—and he turns, his hands in the air. He gives me an eyeball, like I should follow him.
We march through the ruined buildings, climbing slow over the piles of rubble. I want to ask Allyn where we’re going, but figure English might get us into more trouble. I keep my eyes peeled, for something, anything that we might find useful. Something to defend ourselves with.
Then Allyn does something I did not expect.
He speaks German.
I don’t know a lot about German but his sounds easy, conversational. I’m sure he doesn’t have the accent, but everyone pauses, like they didn’t really expect that to happen. Sommers gives an offhand response to whatever Allyn says. Then one of the German soldiers responds with something like a curious question. Sommers gives a terse answer.
And the entire mood shifts.
We’re in the middle of a blasted building, the walls still standing but the roof gone, so the only light is from the moon above, soft and diffuse. The two Nazi soldiers step back and away from Sommers, drawing their weapons. Not pointing them yet, but definitely wary of him.
Sommers tries to reason with them. The three of them now locked in a fast and uncomfortable back-and-forth.
I don’t want to make any sudden movements but I tilt my head slightly at Allyn. He’s eyeing me intently, waiting for me to notice him. His hands are still up, but he moves them down slightly. Then eyes my hip.
I fall backward and reach for the stunner, manage to pull it free and shoot the electric probe into the guard closest to me. I land on my back, tucking my chin to my chest so I don’t crack my head, and pray the ground behind me is flat, which it is. I roll to the side and pull the Browning from my other hip, hoping to get a bead on Sommers.
But I misjudge. By the time I get to my knees and I have the gun out, the second guard is down, on the end of Allyn’s stunner, but Sommers is standing next to me, his gun against my head. The second the metal makes contact with my skin, my breath locks in my chest. Allyn has his gun out, and a clear shot at Sommers’s head, but Sommers has me dead on. One flinch and my brains will be stew.
I play the odds. I know there’s one good way to survive this and I hope Allyn is catching my vibe on this.
He just winks at me.
“Very clever,” Sommers says. “Getting me to talk about Hitler’s suicide tomorrow.”
“All I had to do was confuse them. You could have ignored me or written it off as lunatic rambling but you made it sound like you knew it was going to happen. Luckily you’re not that clever. It’s always the same with you guys. You all think that you’re…”
As Allyn is talking, I feel it. The pressure of the barrel against my head decreases, just the slightest bit, as Sommers’s attention is drawn away. I throw myself forward, away from the pistol, just as Allyn puts three bullets in Sommers’s chest.
The cracks of the gunshots reverberates through the space, and we give our hearts a second to ramp down before we get to work.
Sommers’s body will stay. We’re not supposed to leave anything behind, but, desperate times. Anyway, it’s a war zone. He’ll be bone before anyone notices. We just need to make sure we strip everything off him that’s not period. Which turns into a problem when I pull up his sleeve and find a tattooed portrait of a Rottweiler. Underneath it says: duke, rip, 2049–2064.
I wave over Allyn. “What do you think?”
He shrugs. “Best be safe. Otherwise it’s going to end up on some weird conspiracy website.”
I take out my knife and get to work carving it off as Allyn extracts the electric probes from the soldiers. I file this one away for the next time I’m at a party and someone asks me if being a timestream agent is glamorous.
Once the job is done I toss the hunk of skin into a shadow and rub my hands on my knees to clean off the blood. Allyn pulls out his tablet and checks it. “We have to go get whatever it is he left to bait us. Probably just his cellphone. Once that’s done we can go.”
“Hey,” I say.
He stops. Looks at me, the two of us standing in the moonlight, the city suddenly quiet.
“Where did you learn to speak German?” I ask.
He smiles. Tilts his head up. “Can you believe we get to do this for a living?”
I can see what he’s doing. Searching for some serenity as his insides are being torn up. Sommers was the worst kind of person there was, but there’s never anything to celebrate when you take a life. Allyn isn’t a cowboy. He volunteers in a food pantry in his free time.
So I give him what he needs.
A touch of comfort. My brand of it, at least.
“Let’s see what you have to say about that when you’re filling out the paperwork on this one…”
My body jolts.
Ceiling tile. Bright light sears my retinas. Brain feels like mashed potatoes. Gloopy and formless and easy to spread across a plate. Move my hands and realize they’re shackled.
My body jolts again, so hard I arch off the table.
Droplets of blood pat the blue carpet, turning from red to black as they soak into the fibers…
Another jolt.
Mena takes my hand in hers, her fingers lacing through mine and gently twisting my wrist until she’s able to place both our palms on her chest and I feel…
Jolt.
I’m crossing the TEA graduation stage, glance down at where my parents should be sitting, their seats empty…
Jolt.
Mena sits on a barstool next to me and takes my hand and leans over into my ear and she whispers, “Mi reina, my love.” And as I’m about to respond…
Tamworth. He’s holding down my shoulders.
“January, you need to focus.”
I’m still with Mena. Still at the bar holding her hand. I know I’m not there, I know it’s not real, but I’m there anyway. The smell of the coffee that Mbaye served to a man at the other end of the bar. The warmth of the sunlight spilling through a skylight and falling on my shoulder. The softness of the cushion underneath me.
“I need you to sit up and take this,” Tamworth says, holding something in his hand.
Go away, I’m not able to tell him. I hear the words echo in my head but they don’t actually make it to my mouth. Mena. I want Mena.
“Focus,” he says. “January, I’m not letting you die.”
I don’t want to die. Not yet.
Dying means sitting alone in a room for the rest of eternity.