The Rift Uprising (3 page)

“Hi,” I say with a smile on my face. He looks up and I really see him for the first time. I catch my breath. He is gorgeous—specifically,
my type
of gorgeous. His skin is one shade darker than olive. His hair is tousled and brown, his eyes are azure blue. They look almost unreal, like he's wearing contacts. I push this thought aside. Even from this distance, he doesn't seem like a guy who would wear lenses to enhance the color of his eyes. Then I push
that
thought aside.
How the hell would I know what kind of guy he is?
Yet even as I think that, my heart begins to race and I clench my fists. ARC is monitoring my vitals through my suit. The last thing I want them to see is my attraction. It's so embarrassing. My cheeks flush. I suck in a deep breath and center myself. I'll be fine as long as this kid doesn't come too close or make any sudden moves to reach for me. He looks at me and narrows his eyes. He seems more wary than scared, which is good. He
should
be wary. But he's not panicking, and that is even better.

I force a grin. “Pretty crazy, right?”
What a stupid thing to say.
He looks at me and then at The Rift.

“Where am I?” he asks slowly.

“Washington. State.”

“Well, then,
when
am I?”

The question catches me off guard. He's smart. He knows that whatever has happened to him is huge and mind bending.

I walk closer to him, my arms open, my body language showing vulnerability. “When do you think you are?”

“Please don't come any closer,” he says politely. He tries to smile, but it's forced. He is standing stock-still but looks as if he could bolt at any second.

“Do you think you've time traveled or something?” I make it sound like that could never happen in a million years, but in a way it's not that far off from the truth.

“I don't know—have I?” He looks down again and then back at The Rift. His gaze finally falls back to my face, but his eyebrows are raised in a way that says he knows something and there's no point in making small talk.

I tell him what year it is and he nods.

“Same year, then,” he says hesitantly.

“What's the last thing you remember?” I ask with genuine concern. How disorienting that trip must be. How terrifying.

“I was working in the lab at school. I heard a kind of drumming noise coming from outside. I walked toward the sound to investigate it and I saw this green light.
That
light,” he says, pointing to The Rift. “And then the next thing I knew, I don't know . . . it sucked me inside and I couldn't breathe. It felt like I was being dragged underneath a wave and didn't know which end was up. What is it?” His words are cautious and carefully chosen. Most people are in shock when they end up here. Maybe he is, too, but he's holding on to his rationality pretty well.

Our eyes really lock for the first time and something passes between us. Heat maybe? Or just plain interest?

Or maybe wishful thinking. Get it together, Ryn.

“It's a cosmic anomaly—that's really as much as I know. Can I come a little closer? I promise I'm not going to hurt you.”

“Okay,” he says. Yet his voice is anything but casual. I walk toward him slowly. We are beside each other now.

I hear Violet's voice in my ear. “Watch yourself, Ryn.” She's part of my team, so that's not surprising. But she's also my best friend, and that means she knows exactly what's going on in my brain right now. She's not warning me against any kind of sudden attack by him. She knows he's my type. She's heard us talking. She's worried
for him.

“I'm not really trained to answer all the questions you must have. There are people here who can, though. I can take you to them,” I offer. But I don't really want to take him anywhere. I wish we could just stay here for a while. I wish we were two normal people who met by chance, and who decided that they would like to get to know each other better. It's a selfish thought. We are a thousand light-years away from normal and the answers he wants won't bring him anything but pain.

It hurts
me
to think about that, and I start to wonder when in the past couple minutes I stopped being a Citadel and started acting like a teenage girl.

Never mind the fact that I
am
a teenage girl . . .

He looks me up and down. “What are you trained for, then?” he wonders out loud. Is he flirting with me? I'm so crap at this kind of thing, I have no idea.

“I'm like”—I fish for a word—“a guard.”

“You're a girl,” he says flatly.

Now it's my turn to narrow my eyes. “A girl can't be a guard?”

“A woman can, sure—a female—but you're a
girl
. How old are you?”

His words sting. He thinks I'm a child. I imagine picking
him up by the collar and holding him in the air. He'd change his mind pretty damn quick about me being a little girl.

Definitely back to being a Citadel again.

“I'm seventeen,” I say, trying not to sound defensive or pouty. “How old are you?”

“Eighteen. Technically an adult. And last time I checked, you had to be an adult to be in the military, especially if you're guarding something like that,” he says as he points to the huge shimmering green pool in the sky. “So again, where are we?”

“We're in Washington, like I said.” I have to move things along now. They aren't going to give me forever to get this guy to trust me.

“Yeah, but where exactly in Washington?” he asks—not in a cocky way, but in a way that says he's not going to be distracted from getting an answer.

“Battle Ground,” I say.

He jerks his head up and takes a slight step away from me.

“I mean, this isn't a battle ground—at least, not always . . .” I bite my lip. I've never done anything like this before—gone in alone and made first contact without my team. Boone is better at this kind of thing. Way better. “The name of the
town
we're in is Battle Ground, though actually, technically, we're at Camp Bonneville Military Base.”

“And why would a seventeen-year-old girl be in charge of a cosmic anomaly?” He cocks his head, almost daring me to answer.

“I'm not so into the tone you're using when you say the word
girl
—just gonna put that out there,” I snap back, and he gives me a half smile.

“Sorry. Why would
someone
so young be guarding something so . . . I don't know, what's a synonym for terrifying, but, like, way, way more?”

Now it's my turn to give a hint of a smile. “Have you ever heard of the Multiverse Theory?” I ask tentatively.

“Ryn!” Applebaum barks in my ear. “Enough. You do your job and let the experts do theirs for the intake. You have sixty seconds,” he warns.

“Yes, the Multiverse, heard of it, go on,” he says warily.

“Okay, so that thing is a portal to different versions of Earth. Some versions are similar to yours and mine and some are different?” It's weird that I'm framing this as a question. Am I trying to be cute? I am not cute. Applebaum is yelling objections through my earpiece and it's throwing me off. I need to take charge here. “I have a very particular skill set to deal with the ummm . . . more dangerous variations of other Earths.” I do not take charge with this statement. I sound ridiculous.

“A particular skill set?” he counters immediately with sarcasm. “Like Liam Neeson?”

“Well, no, but yes, I mean, that's great. You have a movie star Liam Neeson on your version of Earth and so do we. We're getting somewhere!” He frowns. I am screwing this up royally.

“Thirty seconds, Ryn,” Applebaum growls at me, “and I am not happy at all.”

I sigh and then I disable the audio. I don't need the colonel's disappointment buzzing in my ear. I take a step closer to the guy in front of me. I get so close that my mouth is just an inch away from his ear. He smells like the woods and something else, something spicy. I like it, but I do my best to ignore it.

“Look,” I whisper, “I don't have time to walk you through this. I know you have no reason at all to trust me. But, if you just let me and my friends escort you away from here, to someplace safer, there will be a bunch of people who are far better equipped than I am to answer all your questions. Okay?”

He turns toward me. His eyes are like turquoise and they are boring into me, making my knees go a little weak. I make a fist and push my short nails into my palm. “What if I say no?”

“Please don't do that,” I plead. There must have been something in the tone of my voice because he nods his head slightly. “All right,” I say softly, “my friends are going to come over here from behind that rock. Don't be freaked out. They have guns, but it's just standard procedure. That being said, don't, like, make any crazy sudden moves.”

“Given that I can barely feel my arms or my legs right now, I don't think that will be a problem,” he says, and stands perfectly still.

“Hey, guys, I think we're ready to go back up to Base. We just need to get a reading.” Boone, Henry, and Violet pop up from behind the rock and make their way toward us, much faster than I would have liked them to. I can see him tense up beside me. But Boone, with his open face and his casual body language, immediately changes the energy among us all.

“Hey, man,” he says, extending his hand. “I'm Boone and this is Violet, Henry, and of course you've already met Katniss.”

Vi stifles a giggle.

“Your name is Katniss? Seriously?”

“No, it's not. That's Boone's idea of a joke. My name is Ryn.” I hold my hand out and he shakes it and smiles genuinely.

“Ezra.”

“Ezra, great!” Boone says. “Okay, we're all friends now and we're gonna get outta here 'cause, I'm not gonna lie, this particular spot is very not safe. All I need to do before we leave is use this little machine,” he says, holding up a small silver box about the size of a phone, “to make sure you aren't radioactive. It's cool, right?”

Ezra gulps, and his eyes widen in alarm. “Why would I be radioactive?” Boone doesn't answer his question, nor does he wait for permission; he just waves the machine up and down over Ezra's body. He looks at me, wondering if Boone is kidding again. I mouth the word
sorry
to him and then crane my neck and look at the interface. It's blue. Ezra is fine, which I pretty much knew, but in our line of work you can't take anything at face value.

Even a face as gorgeous as Ezra's.

I suppose I was distracted by what I had just done, and that being so close to Ezra threw my senses totally out of whack, because I'm a bit surprised when he points at The Rift and says, “Why is it doing that?”

I glance over, and my eyes widen: The Rift has escalated to Stage 3. We all look at each other for a moment. This is how quickly things can go wrong here. This is how stupid mistakes can get people killed. I enable my audio right away, report to Command, and I'm instantly treated to an onslaught of expletives from Applebaum.

“We need to get to cover,” Henry says calmly, but I can hear the strain in his voice. He's pissed. I feel a pang of guilt that my rash decision to come out and meet Ezra alone has now put us all at risk. I sweep it away. I can't afford to feel anything right now. I have to let my training take over and go back to being a soldier. The Rift doesn't usually open up again so quickly, but of course, this would be the day it does.

“There's no time, everyone, just hold your positions. It could be a dog for all we know. Just calm down and keep your hand on your weapon. Do not draw, though. Repeat: Do not draw your weapons,” I say with authority. “The Nests have eyes on our situation and can provide ample backup if we
need it.” My team listens to me, and Ezra to his credit is also standing perfectly still. A lot of other people would have run, so his staying says something about him.

Of course, he could be doing the whole deer-trapped-in-headlights routine. That happens sometimes, too.

The Rift turns to deadly black and seven men come tumbling out. They aren't Karekins, so at least there's that. But they are very large. They have fair skin and long beards, and long hair, though some have pulled it back in rows of braids. They are wearing leathers and pelts. They are armed with an assortment of weapons, some axes, some broadswords. Each is holding a wooden shield with enough decoration and symbology to give me a clue. Apparently Ezra has the same idea as I do.

“Are those
Vikings
?” he says incredulously.

“Yes, it seems like . . . yes, those look like, uhh, Vikings.” I take a step forward, but I do not reach out my arms. If they are anything like the Vikings we had on our Earth, they will not respect passivity.

I put my hands on my hips and give the newest Immigrants what I can only describe as a Peter Pan stance. “
Legg ned våpnene. Jeg gir deg kun en advarsel. Legg ned våpnene nå!
” Which roughly translates into:
Put down your weapons. I'm not going to give you another warning.

“You speak Viking?” Ezra asks, noticeably shocked. I would argue that the fact that I speak Norwegian is far less fantastic than the fact that real-life Vikings have just tumbled through a Rift of time and space, but bantering seems inappropriate. The warriors shout and shake their weapons.

“Vi har visst dødd og er kommet til Valhalla. Det er vÃ¥r rett til Ã¥ ta vÃ¥re vÃ¥pen til Odin selv, for Ã¥ bevise at vi er krigere. Vike trollkvinne!”

Boone can't stop the laugh that escapes full throttle out of his mouth.

“What did he say?” whispers Ezra.

“They think they've died and have arrived at Valhalla. They need their weapons to prove what hard-asses they are to Odin. They also say I'm a witch or demon.” I wonder if Ezra thinks that we'll just shoot them. I know that would probably be my initial thought if murderous warriors just popped out in front of me. As easy as shooting them would be, though, things don't work that way. We don't kill people without prejudice. It was our scientists who created this Rift, and the thirteen others around the world, albeit accidentally. I mean, I think it was an accident. That's what we were told. ARC has never fully explained the experiment, and even though we all have advanced intellects capable of understanding the complexities of the exact cause, we've never been given the full debrief. It's been deemed top secret, above our security clearance. I guess they don't want us Citadels blaming any one scientist specifically. Which is ridiculous. As members of ARC, we collectively shoulder the responsibility for what happens with The Rift. We are way past finger-pointing.