Free Skyline by Zach Milan Page A

explain
himself. That wouldn’t save him forever.
    “A
bomb,” Bill said. He kept his gaze from Charlotte. “Bombs. Destroying hundreds,
thousands of buildings. Killing millions.”
    But
he and Charlotte had reduced that number. Snatched a few hundred from the death
tally of the Blast. They’d changed time for the better, just as Charlotte
wanted.
    The
others quieted at Bill’s news, their exhilaration quashed by the truth.
    “C’mon,”
another MTA employee said. “We can deal with that once we’re aboveground.”
    The
current took them, and they watched in silence as the ceiling passed. Bill
stayed with Charlotte as they drifted along behind the others.
    There
was more to do, more lives in danger, but Charlotte was spent. She couldn’t do
this again, couldn’t endure this again. Especially not if Bill was going to
throw his life away on the chance of rescuing someone else.
    The
group reached the earnest MTA employee with black braids. “You made it,” she
said. “You’re almost there. Swim that way”—she pointed to the side—“down and
then up toward the sunlight. You’ll see it; just follow everyone.
    “You
two,” she said when she spotted Bill and Charlotte. “I can’t thank you enough
for what you’ve done.”
    Charlotte
nodded, but Bill was already gone, diving beneath the waves.
    Light
glimmered through the water; Charlotte and dozens of others headed toward it,
over a set of ghostlike turnstiles, below a berm that separated the turnstiles
from the exit, and up the stairs onto Sixty-first Street. Up here, the only
sign of the Blast was the submerged subway and the distant sirens.
    Initially,
on the walk south to Twenty-third Street, Charlotte considered scolding Bill,
but what difference would that make? They’d saved hundreds. If it came up
again, then she could tell him not to risk his life. That she needed him here.
    Because
today, Charlotte had learned something important: not just that time could be changed,
that it was a mountain able to be carved, but that she could carve it.
She got to choose how the mountain would look.
    Bill
shucked his shirt off, twisting it, squeezing out the water into a dripping
line as he walked. Charlotte had never seen him shirtless; there was no reason
for it to happen. But now that she saw his furry chest, his larger tummy, him
strutting like nothing was the matter, she saw a glimpse of why he and Monroe
were perfect for each other. They were confident in the same way: not despite
their body, their style, but because of it.
    He
glanced over, saw her looking, and smiled warily. “Growing up,” he said, “I
always learned about a savior.”
    Charlotte
frowned, not sure why he was saying this. But she let him continue.
    “God,
my parents wouldn’t stop talking about him. I believed them, y’know?
Then I grew up. I learned that there was no man out there waiting to save me.
Because the very people I needed saving from …” He shook his head, slapping his
shirt over his shoulder.
    Ranging
across his back, from one shoulder to the other, Charlotte saw why he was
telling her this. While she was thinking about the connection between he and
Monroe, he suspected she’d been looking at his tattoo. Six enormous block
letters, spelling out a single, hateful word. SINNER.
    When
he and Monroe had begun dating, Charlotte had learned a little about Bill’s
family. How they’d ordered him out when he revealed who he wanted to date. He’d
never brought it up with her, but maybe that was because he’d memorialized their
accusation on his back. Clearly the tattoo didn’t mean he’d stopped thinking
about it. His history still informed who he was today.
    “Some
people need a savior,” Bill continued. “They want him to exist so much, but
they don’t ever realize that he’s just an example . That they can save
people, too.”
    Not
just explaining his tattoo. Explaining his actions. Thinking exactly what
Charlotte was.
    “Could
this be why Leanor sent us?”