Unbreakable (Unraveling) (23 page)

But there’s something off.

There are buildings everywhere—high-rises, strip malls, concrete parking structures, and even a park. But the leaves are missing from the trees, the grass is brown, and as I look closer at the buildings, I can see that they’re crumbling a little under the weight of the vines that are growing up around them.

I push myself to my feet and take a more in-depth look around. And I listen, but I can’t hear anything.

“What is this place?” I ask. It’s not the same as the abandoned world Barclay has taken us through a few times, but it looks like that’s the way it’s headed.

“Someplace no one will be looking for us,” Elijah says.

“Oh shit,” Barclay says, as he looks around.

“What is it?” Maybe this place isn’t as safe from the IA as Elijah thinks. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s been wrong. I reach for my gun. It can’t hurt to be ready.

Barclay shakes his head. “IA doesn’t come here,” he says, and there’s something about the way his says it, like whatever we’re about to face is going to be worse.

Still looking around, he brushes a hand through his hair. “This is Earth 36552.” His voice is drowned out by the wind that picks up, but I can see the expression on his face. Lips slightly ajar, eyes wide, he looks horrified.

I’m not sure why.

But I don’t have time to ask. The history lesson can come later.

“This way,” Elijah says.

I follow him, but Barclay grabs my arm. “Take this off.” He grabs at my hoodie, yanking it off my shoulders.

“Why are you trying to undress me, you creeper?” I shove him off.

“Nuclear war destroyed this world,” he says, giving my arm a sharp jerk.

“
I
don’t know where we are, but the radiation . . .” Barclay says. “Don’t breathe this air unfiltered.” Pulling his own jacket off, he ties part of it like a scarf around his neck so that it covers his nose and mouth.

I do what he says and copy him, even though I’m not sure it will do much good. If he’s right, and all the people in this universe died from the radiation fallout of a nuclear war, a layer of cotton between me and the air I’m breathing isn’t going to save me.

“Stay in the middle of the road,” Barclay shouts at me, and I nod. Radiation sits on the soil, on the grass, in the water, and in fruits and vegetables, like apples and mushrooms. It isn’t retained by asphalt.

We pass something that might have been an apartment building. There’s a wooden sled discarded on the lawn. It looks like it might have once been painted red, but the paint has long ago peeled off, and it’s back to being just the color of wood and rusted metal.

I turn around to look at Barclay. He’s wrapped up like some cross between a cowboy and a ninja. “How did this happen?”

Rather than shout over the wind, he jogs to me. “About sixty years ago, the former Soviet Union wanted to have missiles in range of the US, so Khrushchev moved them to Cuba. To compensate, the US armed missiles at their base in Turkey. It’s not exactly clear who started what, since there isn’t anyone left to tell the tale and IA didn’t have anyone stationed here. But the basic idea is that no one would back down, someone fired first, someone else struck back, and they started World War III.”

We pass a building that looks like a school, only the trees are growing unchecked and their roots are starting to overturn the foundation of the building.

“Nuclear war,” Barclay repeats. “About eighty percent of the population died off within the first year from the bombings and the actual war. Everyone else was gone within the next five years because of the radiation levels.”

So this is what the Cuban missile crisis could have looked like.

We go into a building slightly overrun by vines and plants. It’s an old hospital. The once cream-colored walls are gray in places and chipped in others to reveal the concrete underneath. There’s a small tree coming up through the floor in the lobby, and there are cockroaches skittering around in dark corners. I’m not surprised. The level of radiation lethal to a cockroach is over a hundred times that which is lethal to a human, and now, without people to kill them, they must be rejoicing.

“The elevators don’t work,” Elijah says.

He doesn’t bat an eye at the way either Barclay or I are dressed and covering our mouths. Which means he knows there’s a radiation risk here. Either he or Ben figured out what could have caused this at some point in their exploration. But he doesn’t make a move to shield his own breathing, which means he’s been here enough that he’s not concerned about the levels of radiation hurting him.

I reach up and pull my hoodie away from my face. It’s probably not doing anything anyway.

Barclay grabs it and shoves it back in my face.

I gesture to Elijah. “Doesn’t look like we’re about to drop dead yet.”

“He drank a pure source of hydrochloradneum,” Barclay spits. “He’s practically immune to radiation. You’ve only had one shot.”

I roll my eyes. “Stop being such an alarmist.” But I do what he wants. He knows a lot more about this shit than I do.

“Do you see anyone
living
around here?” he says, shaking his head. He mutters something else, but it’s lost underneath the jacket covering his mouth.

We’re wasting time. We need to find Ben, get somewhere safe, figure out what he knows, and come up with a plan. Every second that goes by is a loss—and we don’t have that many to lose.

I turn to Elijah, and he must sense what I need.

“I’m not sure which floor he’d be on,” he says. “But if he’s here, this is where he’d be.”

“Why here?” I ask, my breath shallow.

“It’s a hospital, Tenner. There are empty beds, blankets and shit.” Elijah smirks. “And I stashed food and medicine here, in case we need it.”

I suppose it’s as good a reason as any. I just hope Ben is here. I’m not sure if I can stand to come this close and then wind up empty.

We climb the stairs. They’re sagging and crumbled in places, but we climb them anyway, and to make Barclay less nervous, I try to keep from touching anything.

When we get to the fourth floor, I hear something.

Correction. I hear some
one
.

I can hear him singing.

T
he singing is gravelly and slightly off-key, and it feels like my heart has skipped a beat. I don’t have to think twice to know that it’s Ben. I don’t bother with Elijah or with Barclay. I just run toward the sound. It’s the only noise there is—other than the wind outside—which means there’s nothing to throw me off.

I recognize the song, and it brings a smile to my face. It’s “Iridescent” by Linkin Park, complete with sound effects for the guitar riffs. It’s a song we heard on the radio when he picked me up for our first date. He glanced at me, turned the volume up, and we drove with the windows down, the sun on our faces, and the ocean breeze moving through the car.

He’s thinking of me.

I race through the empty hall. He’s in the last room on the right. The door is ajar, and I barrel through it, only to stop short a few paces into the room.

Because I see him.

He’s sitting on the edge of a bed, wearing a gray, long-sleeved thermal, jeans, and white socks. His Chuck Taylors are discarded on the floor a few feet away. His hair is a little longer than when I saw him last. The brown curls droop into his face past his eyes. His lips, curled into a smile as he sings, falter slightly when he looks up and sees me.

He pushes his hair out of his face, grabbing the ends, and I’m breathless at the sight of it, because even something as simple as a familiar gesture matters. Because it’s familiar—to both of us.

Ben’s mouth drops, abruptly cutting off the song, and the surprise and confusion on his face are clear.

For a split second, I wonder why he hasn’t jumped to his feet and rushed toward me. Then I remember what he’s been through—and what I must look like with my burned hair pulled back into a bun, and my hoodie wrapped around half my head. I pull the hoodie off and smile.

Around us it’s almost quiet.

Almost because I can hear Elijah’s and Barclay’s clunky footsteps as they chase after me.

And because I hear my own voice whisper, “Ben,” before I can stop myself.

Before he says, “Janelle?” his voice raised in question, before he looks down at the bed next to him, and before I realize he’s not alone.

M
y gaze moves to the bed. Under the once-white blankets is a girl. Her brown hair, highlighted with blond streaks, is thick and long, and it’s strewn over her pillow in messy waves. Her eyes are closed, but her olive skin has faint bruises that look like they could be a few weeks old. Her arms are curled around the blanket, and as I take a step closer, I realize the oversize black hoodie she’s wearing is Ben’s.

But that’s not what makes my own breath feel like it’s choking me.

I take another step closer, unable to take my eyes off her. Her heart-shaped face, the long eyelashes, and the Italian nose—even the bone structure of her cheekbones and jawline.

It’s like looking in a mirror.

“
I
never would have believed this shit,” comes Elijah’s voice behind me.

I knew there might be other
me
s out there. Of all the universes, there have to be others where my father and my mother both existed, and they married and had children. And this isn’t the first double I’ve seen. Only a day ago, or maybe two, I had to sit across from someone who wasn’t Struz even though he wore the same face, and answer questions. But I didn’t expect this. I wasn’t ready to see another version of myself.

Because the girl lying in this bed is me.

Me with highlights.

I want to turn around, to look at Elijah and Barclay—to see the expressions on their faces. To confirm that I’m not dreaming or crazy. But I can’t. My body is frozen in place, captivated by her—by me.

I wasn’t prepared to face this, another version of me with the guy I love.

I tear my eyes away from her and look at Ben.

The whole world feels like it’s just vanished. My eyes are glassy, my face is too hot, and my hands won’t stop shaking. My throat feels so thick it hurts, and it’s a good thing I don’t have anything to say because I’m one word away from losing it.

While we’re standing there staring at each other, the girl who looks just like me—I don’t even know what to call her—reaches up and puts her hand on Ben’s arm. It’s a casual, careless gesture. Her eyes are still closed. She hasn’t seen me. It’s the kind of gesture that suggests familiarity. Probably something she does all the time.

The sight of her touching him like that—like I should be touching him—makes me physically ill. I have to clutch my stomach with one hand and cover my mouth to keep myself from gagging.

I didn’t used to be like this. I didn’t believe in love and romance and swooning. My default setting was bitch.

Then Ben came along and changed that. He made me believe. And I thought love was black-and-white. That I loved Ben, that I belonged with him, that somehow
that
would always be enough. Despite everything stacked up against us, I believed we would overcome it—maybe not today or tomorrow, but at some point in our future, we’d end up together.

I thought we were special, that what we felt for each other would be powerful enough to take down human traffickers, save the world, span universes.

I thought we had the kind of love that could do anything.

I can feel the tears threatening me in the burn behind my eyes and the tightness in my throat.

Because right now, looking at that girl—the one who looks just like me—with her hand on his arm, I suddenly don’t know who I am or how I fit with anything in this world. I’ve seen too much. I was supposed to be a normal high-school junior dealing with mean girls like Brooke Haslen and cocky guys like Kevin Collins. Instead I’ve dealt with death and the fate of the world on my shoulders. I’ve seen worlds that shouldn’t exist.

And it’s finally just Too Much.

I turn around and head for the door. I don’t look at Barclay or Elijah on my way out. I push past them and walk into the hallway.

No “I missed you.”

No “I love you.”

Nothing.

I ran this moment—seeing Ben again for the first time—over and over again in my mind. I imagined a thousand different scenarios. But not one of them was like this.

Not one of them was silent.

A
fter I leave the room, I just walk past Elijah and Barclay. I don’t particularly know where I’m going, but I know that I need to get away. My legs move like they’re on automatic, and I end up down the hallway, in a hospital room not much different from theirs. White plaster walls, two twin beds, a curtain between them. I sit on the bed farthest from the door and pick up a discarded stuffed animal on the floor. It’s a bunny.

I look out the window at the ghost town below and let myself just fall apart.

From this angle, the city looks quiet, sleepy almost, as if all the people are tucked away inside.

I’m in over my head, up against people more organized, more connected, and more dangerous. I’m beat up, bruised, worn out, and exhausted, and we’re quickly running short on time. I’m in a strange and abandoned world, and I feel like someone has reached into my chest and ripped my heart to pieces.

Right now in this moment, I don’t know who I am anymore.

All I know is that I should.

The door opens and my heart lurches. I stand and turn, expecting Ben, but it’s just Barclay.

I wipe my eyes. “Great. What do you want?”

He shuts the door softly behind him and doesn’t bother to look insulted. “You shouldn’t be this upset.”

I can’t keep in the snort that is my response. “Why, because it’s no big deal?” I almost warn him that if he comes any closer I might punch him. But I don’t because it might feel good to hit something.

“No, because you’re better than this,” Barclay says, as he moves toward me.

“Oh, that’s so original.” I roll my eyes. “Do yourself a favor and don’t try to do comforting and supportive. It’s not your forte.”