A Day Out of Time

Chapter 9: Cat (7:27)

"T

eam Viszla to Command, we got more ammonites on the Lawn."

"Great," Cat said, picking her head up from the map. "We can have a cookout. Grunt, you know how to boil crawfish, right?"

"Not four-foot-long crawfish," he said.

"Actually," Darwin piped in through the open channel, "they're more like cuttlefish or octo—"

Cat casually switched it off and curled back up on one of the pavilion's benches. "Wake me up when something interesting happens."

Specs set his notes down in exasperation. "Why would you say that? Do you want mayhem and—I'm sorry. Of course you do."

It had been over seven hours since their clocks simultaneously struck midnight, and the most action that Gamma had seen was a liquor- and cocaine-fueled bachelor party from 1972 stumbling home somewhere in the West Side. They had turned back around with easy cheer, even inviting some of the more attractive members of Team Pit Bull (of all genders and persuasions) to join them. Now the sky was lightening from dusty black velvet to pool-blue, and other than an unusual deluge of prehistoric sea creatures (all of whom were quite surprised to find themselves suddenly out of the water), everything had been quiet on the Western front.

"Hey," the New Kid asked suddenly, "what happens if, you know, a rift full of ammonites opens in the Reservoir, or—or something? And one escapes?"

"If it survives the difference in water quality long enough for someone to find it and post pictures—" Specs began.

"Doubtful," Cat interjected.

"—then we'll have some of the ruder members of the Hive spam them with debunk posts until the sample can be collected," he finished calmly. "That's what happened the one time a siren washed up on someone's private beach."

"I remember that," the New Kid said. "You mean it was—"

"The realest," Specs said.

Cat rolled to her feet with a groan and stood in front of the map with her back to the water. "None of our problem children have shown up?" she asked, rubbing her face. "Not even Max?"

Grunt shook his head. "Not even Max."

"Jesus Christ, I never thought I'd see the day when I missed Max."

Leaning towards the historian, the New Kid asked, "So...who's Max?"

Specs sighed. "Max is a certain...admirer of Cat's."

"He's a goddamn pain in the ass," she corrected.

"He's a carpenter from the late 1910s," Specs continued, as if she hadn't interrupted. "He knows about the Days and the rifts, so he used to wander around New York looking for one that would take him to Cat. They're impossible to navigate or even spot unless you have the right tech—though if you actually touch one, it's cold enough to make you take notice—so his aim wasn't great."

"What happened to him?" the New Kid asked.

Cat smiled at the memory. "I told him if he ever came near me again, I'd push him into the Lake and laugh while the ducks ate him. He's been pretty scarce ever since."

"Oh." The New Kid furrowed his eyebrows. "Why are the rifts cold?"

"Read the Damn Handbook*," Cat said. "That's what it's there for." She lifted her arms and stretched until the ache of inactivity quieted down. "I swear to God, if something doesn't happen in the next five minutes, I'm gonna go looking for trouble myself. Is that bachelor party still around? I'm gonna—"