Since he was looking around, I did, too. It was difficult to describe the Chicago of Aurora. If someone had insisted that I was standing in the city I’d grown up in, it would have been hard to point to anything definitive that would prove them wrong, but I knew instinctively that this wasn’t my home.
There were some things, though, that were obviously unusual. I squinted to read a nearby street sign: West Eugenie Street. We were in Lincoln Park—or we would’ve been, if we were on Earth—but the neighborhood, which I knew, was unrecognizable. The surrounding buildings were taller than I would’ve expected, given that we weren’t downtown; there should’ve been houses and apartments no taller than four stories, but there were towering high-rises in their place, as far as the eye could see. The basement we’d emerged from belonged to one of three side-by-side redbrick row houses that sat in the center of the block, overshadowed by their larger neighbors, remnants of a bygone era. I wondered at their even being there; it was as if someone had forgotten about them, or they were being protected, although they were so run-down that it seemed unlikely.
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.