Dany leans forward between the front seats. They’re on Columbia Drive now, easing onto the small dead-end lane that fronts the swing bridge. As Dany watches, the car rolls to a stop next to a squat brick building that looks like an enormous Lego cube.
Dany is the first one out of the car.
The night air smells of creosote, dust and a hint of something green. But everything about the place is coated in a film of ashen dust. In the distance, Dany can just make out the river. There’s the sound of rushing water – and in its empty noise, she can almost hear the voices of children, playing just out of sight. The quantum amplitude. In some other world, Mac is down by the river’s edge. In this other universe, unsplattered by blood, hair free of broken glass, night is day, and the world is fille
