False Future Read Online Free PDF Page B

column of smoke must be a mile across. It curls away toward the east, over Queens. Nearer the ground, twenty of the strange four-engine jets are supporting what appears to be a thick metal disk several hundred feet across. The disk hangs in between them, suspended by cables. We watch as they lower the disk into the middle of the park. It completely covers the Black, which seems impossible because that’s where the disk had to have come through.
    As soon as the disk is in place the jets flash with small bursts of light, and I realize they’ve shot at something, but I can’t see what. Almost immediately there are several explosions in the trees, followed by the sound of cracking wood and the swish/scrape of branches as dozens of trees fall. I see glimpses of the wreckage as wind clears the smoke. They were tanks. The tanks we passed on Broadway.
    Now I realize it doesn’t matter what else the military has planned. We’re on our own.
    “What’s the disk?” Rhys asks.
    Before anyone can answer, movement on the roof of our building’s south tower catches my eye. Two people are watching us from behind the railing, their postures rigid. They’re wearing armor like ours, but in dark red, not black. It’s too far away to make out details, but I recognize the auburn hair—my auburn hair—of a Miranda, and the blond locks of a Rhys clone. A moment passes where we just look at one another, completely confused, before they push off the railing together and sprint for the stairs.
    On the north tower, Rhys and I do the same, a half second behind. We don’t even talk about it.
    “Use the grapnel guns!” Noble shouts after us. “There are two!” He knows the stakes—the Roses are fleeing because they’re going to report our location, if they haven’t already. How did they know it was us? But then I have the answer. Had it just been me and Rhys, we might’ve been able to play it off, but not with Noble and Sophia there too.
    We take the elevator to the apartment. Rhys grabs the grapnel guns from the breakfast table while I make myself busy throwing a chair through the middle window. Or trying to. The chair bounces off the glass, but I pick it up again and ram it through the window, shaking it around to break up the safety glass while cold air pumps into the room. So much for having a safe house. But it’s not like we have a choice.
    The mix of warm and cold air makes my nose run. Rhys tosses me a grapnel gun. My eyes scan the room, looking for the best anchor point. We’ve been inside for fifteen seconds. If their elevator was already at the top, they could be halfway down by now.
    “How does this work?” I say as I realize it just has a trigger and a switch marked SHOOT/RETRACT .
    Rhys shoots his at the floor, and the pointed end buries itself in the concrete under the carpet. I do the same. The recoil is so powerful it almost flies out of my hand.
    “Like this,” he says, pinching the cable with both feet. “Squeeze the trigger to slow. But hurry.”
    He holds the gun with both hands and dives backward out the window.
    “Oh,” I say.
    Rhys flies toward the ground, the gun buzzing in his hands as it rapidly unspools. I jump after him headfirst, realizing how insane this is. Have I even been back for an hour yet?
    I tuck my chin to my chest and keep my hands firm on the handle; the cord scrapes between my feet as it unspools, a high scream. Below me the pavement grows closer by the second, as the wind freezes the tears in my eyes and whips my hair against my face. I squeeze the trigger and my descent slows; the blood rushes into my head, making it feel like it’s about to burst. Don’t let go. Rhys is way ahead of me, almost all the way to the bottom. I keep steady pressure on the trigger as the sounds of the city get louder. People are still jogging on the sidewalks, and traffic is bumper-to-bumper, too many cars abandoned for there to be a proper flow again. Ten feet from the bottom, I let go of the gun and