hand.
But
there could be other pieces of this device. There’d been two orbs; could there
be three, four, all doing who knew what? The Blast had been as wide as three
city blocks.
She
pulled out all the cables she’d undone to get a better view of the computer
board she’d felt. On the right, beside where the second orb had been, a
gyroscope spun. Lights connected to it blinked on, off, then three quick
blinks.
The
readout on the floor sprang back to life, two numbers lighting up in blinking
red. Twenty seconds.
“Shit,”
Monroe said.
“Goddammit!”
Charlotte wrenched up the second black chipboard and revealed a mass of
luminescent purple goop. Buried in the goop was some kind of metal mesh
connected via cables to the gyroscope and computer board. Charlotte froze,
chipboard still in hand. Maybe she was wrong about what the device did. The
goop looked thick enough to be an explosive.
There
was no time to defuse this. Charlotte knew tech, but not true bombs. She shook
herself, grabbed Bill from his crouch, and shoved Monroe away. “C’mon!” she
shouted. She looked back to see the bomb count to five, four, three, two, and
Charlotte leaped out into the air, tugging Bill and Monroe with her.
“Char?”
Monroe shouted, twisting as they fell to stare at her.
With
a colossal boom, Ana’s device exploded. Heat blossomed behind and above,
pressing against Charlotte’s back. Monroe’s eyes widened, the whites of his
eyes visible. The shockwave sent them tumbling toward a staircase, too fast.
They
careened into the stairs; Charlotte took the brunt of the impact to her gut. The
astrolabe slipped from her purse and bounced down the staircase. Then the
structure cracked, and they tumbled through the air again as the stairs fell.
They
slammed into another set of steps below, and this staircase held steady. Their
momentum took them tumbling down and out into the center of the Octagon’s
lobby. Charlotte curled into a ball as debris smashed onto her back, all around
her.
Monroe
groaned. “Nice. Very well thought out. ‘Let’s jump into the air!’”
“We’re
alive, aren’t we?”
A
massive rotten log smashed between her and Monroe. She scrambled back as a few
more timbers slammed against the floor. Far above, wooden struts snapped from
their places in the domed roof, chunks of wood flying. The creaking roof dipped
toward them as the remaining support beams bent to their breaking point.
“Let’s
go. Let’s go!” Monroe said, and Charlotte scrambled to the orb where it had
fallen. She made the C, and it sprang to life despite its fall. Charlotte
reached a foot out toward Monroe, and he clutched it tight, grabbing Bill’s
shirt at the same time.
A
final beam cracked, and the lobby was flooded with sunlight. The dome fell
toward the trio.
Charlotte
spun the ball in her hands quick as she could to get them home. She didn’t
consider the risks—that if this hadn’t been the bomb that caused the
Blast, they’d fall into the waters of the Mid River. She released as the roof
crashed where they’d been moments before. They sped through time, watching as
the Octagon was renovated into luxury apartments. For a split second, a flash
of white light filled the building, but the lobby remained. The only sign that
the Blast had still occurred was a wide cut in the lobby wall, filled by a long
glass pane.
When
they could finally uncurl from the floor, it was bright inside, but the cut the
Blast had made revealed the night skyline of Manhattan. The Mid River still led
into the city, just slightly reduced from the width it had once been.
“God,”
Monroe said, standing and patting off the dust from the stairs. “That was
fucking close .” Then he looked around, spotted the six-foot-wide cut in
the wall, and sprang to his feet. “What year is this?”
Charlotte
glanced around, less concerned with the Blast’s residue and more concerned with
others. But the men at the concierge desk didn’t seem too concerned
But
there could be other pieces of this device. There’d been two orbs; could there
be three, four, all doing who knew what? The Blast had been as wide as three
city blocks.
She
pulled out all the cables she’d undone to get a better view of the computer
board she’d felt. On the right, beside where the second orb had been, a
gyroscope spun. Lights connected to it blinked on, off, then three quick
blinks.
The
readout on the floor sprang back to life, two numbers lighting up in blinking
red. Twenty seconds.
“Shit,”
Monroe said.
“Goddammit!”
Charlotte wrenched up the second black chipboard and revealed a mass of
luminescent purple goop. Buried in the goop was some kind of metal mesh
connected via cables to the gyroscope and computer board. Charlotte froze,
chipboard still in hand. Maybe she was wrong about what the device did. The
goop looked thick enough to be an explosive.
There
was no time to defuse this. Charlotte knew tech, but not true bombs. She shook
herself, grabbed Bill from his crouch, and shoved Monroe away. “C’mon!” she
shouted. She looked back to see the bomb count to five, four, three, two, and
Charlotte leaped out into the air, tugging Bill and Monroe with her.
“Char?”
Monroe shouted, twisting as they fell to stare at her.
With
a colossal boom, Ana’s device exploded. Heat blossomed behind and above,
pressing against Charlotte’s back. Monroe’s eyes widened, the whites of his
eyes visible. The shockwave sent them tumbling toward a staircase, too fast.
They
careened into the stairs; Charlotte took the brunt of the impact to her gut. The
astrolabe slipped from her purse and bounced down the staircase. Then the
structure cracked, and they tumbled through the air again as the stairs fell.
They
slammed into another set of steps below, and this staircase held steady. Their
momentum took them tumbling down and out into the center of the Octagon’s
lobby. Charlotte curled into a ball as debris smashed onto her back, all around
her.
Monroe
groaned. “Nice. Very well thought out. ‘Let’s jump into the air!’”
“We’re
alive, aren’t we?”
A
massive rotten log smashed between her and Monroe. She scrambled back as a few
more timbers slammed against the floor. Far above, wooden struts snapped from
their places in the domed roof, chunks of wood flying. The creaking roof dipped
toward them as the remaining support beams bent to their breaking point.
“Let’s
go. Let’s go!” Monroe said, and Charlotte scrambled to the orb where it had
fallen. She made the C, and it sprang to life despite its fall. Charlotte
reached a foot out toward Monroe, and he clutched it tight, grabbing Bill’s
shirt at the same time.
A
final beam cracked, and the lobby was flooded with sunlight. The dome fell
toward the trio.
Charlotte
spun the ball in her hands quick as she could to get them home. She didn’t
consider the risks—that if this hadn’t been the bomb that caused the
Blast, they’d fall into the waters of the Mid River. She released as the roof
crashed where they’d been moments before. They sped through time, watching as
the Octagon was renovated into luxury apartments. For a split second, a flash
of white light filled the building, but the lobby remained. The only sign that
the Blast had still occurred was a wide cut in the lobby wall, filled by a long
glass pane.
When
they could finally uncurl from the floor, it was bright inside, but the cut the
Blast had made revealed the night skyline of Manhattan. The Mid River still led
into the city, just slightly reduced from the width it had once been.
“God,”
Monroe said, standing and patting off the dust from the stairs. “That was
fucking close .” Then he looked around, spotted the six-foot-wide cut in
the wall, and sprang to his feet. “What year is this?”
Charlotte
glanced around, less concerned with the Blast’s residue and more concerned with
others. But the men at the concierge desk didn’t seem too concerned
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