I buy a ticket to New Orleans, the farthest city available. I check my watch. Thirteen minutes until the train arrives. Thirty-six minutes until the window for Trent’s death begins. He’s supposed to be killed sometime between 3:00 and 4:30 p.m. But I’ve done everything I could to make sure we’ll all be safe. We’re not going to die, I tell myself over and over.
But I can’t help feeling like I missed something, like I forgot something, some piece of the puzzle, some part of the equation. But that’s impossible. I never forget anything. Everything is stored away in my head. I just can’t see how it all fits together.
Maybe I can text Trent, tell him to be careful or to get out of town, just in case. But as I grab my phone I realize I don’t have his number. I don’t even know if he has a phone.
But I remember the location where he was killed. I could go there, make sure he’s still alive…
No, I have to get on this train. It’s the only way to guarantee I won’t kill the others. The only way I’ll know for sure that I’ll be alive tomorrow.
But with each passing minute the feeling that something’s wrong grows. It gnaws at me, itching underneath my skin, begging me to scratch at it. My gut tells me none of us are safe, and I can’t ignore it.
The train arrives, but I can’t get on. I have to know if Trent is okay. Even if it might lead to my own death.
I bolt out of the station and run to the nearest bus stop, but the bus isn’t there yet. I pace back and forth under the hot, relentless sun. The future was so cold and wet that I forgot we were having a heat wave in the present.
Finally, the bus arrives. I jump inside, swipe my pass, and rush to the back. It takes about a million years for everyone to load onto the bus, and then we’re moving, but we’re still too slow. I grip the back of the seat in front of me, willing the bus to go faster, but there’s traffic. Of course there’s traffic; we’re in LA.
It’s a long ride to Trent’s part of the city. I keep muttering, “C’mon, c’mon.” People around me give me looks and move to different seats. They probably think I’m crazy or looking to pick a fight. I check the map on my phone, memorizing the route I need to take as soon as I get off. I just pray I’m not too late.
We finally reach my stop, and I jump out the side door and race down the street. I don’t know this area, but the map is burned into my mind and I remember exactly where to go. Turn right here. Then left there. My ankle and side begin to throb, but adrenaline and fear keep me going. I have to make sure Trent is safe before I can get on with my life. I have to make sure the future we saw isn’t starting.
By the time I find the address, sweat has soaked through my tank top and my entire body aches. A chain-link fence surrounds a rundown building covered in graffiti. I can’t tell if it used to be an apartment or something else, but it’s clearly abandoned now. I find a gap in the fence to duck through and slowly walk to the entrance, eyes darting around for a sign of anything suspicious.
The front door is unlocked. It creaks open, and the room inside is dark, with only pinpricks of light bursting through the boarded-up windows. A musty old smell fills my nose.
“Trent?” I call out from the doorway. Shivers creep up my spine despite the heat. There could be someone hiding inside, watching me, or a dead body at my feet, and I wouldn’t know it.
I turn on my phone’s flashlight and wave it around. The place is empty and gutted, just wooden planks and chipped pieces of tile, with bits of plaster and foam scattered around the floor. My heart pounds as I scan the space, but I don’t see any dead bodies or any movement.
“Trent?” I take a step forward, the floor groaning under my weight. A thick layer of dust and cobwebs hangs over everything, and I imagine there must be rats and spiders and God knows what else living here. But I don’t see any sign of Trent. Maybe this isn’t the place.
I creep farther inside and swing the light—and see a shape in the corner. A lump.
I hold my breath, terrified of what I might be looking at, but it’s just a pile of blankets surrounded by trash. But as I get closer, I realize it’s not trash. It’s clothes and library books and empty packs of cigarettes. Something shiny and metallic catches the light from within the blankets. I bend down and pick it up. Trent’s silver lighter.