“Sunburn,” the older Alice says. “In the most literal sense. Their skin became allergic to the rays of the sun, and they weren’t able to take cover soon enough.”

“How many?” I brace myself for the answer. A part of me would like to dive behind the veil of my ignorance, so that I can stay safe and insulated in the past. But it’s too late for that.

“The virus has spread all over the world. The US was hit the hardest because that’s where it originated,” she says, her voice hollow. “Two-thirds of our population has perished, even as we speak.”

Two-thirds of our population. That means eight hundred kids at Silver Oak High, dead. Two out of every three mothers and brothers and best friends, never to take a breath or give a hug or push their glasses up their nose ever again. More than two hundred million people in the US alone. Just gone.

“The rest of us are stuffed into caves like this one, some natural but most hastily man-made,” she continues. “Bulldozers are working around the clock, digging new tunnels. If the human race still exists in a year, we’ll have entire cities underground.” Our throat moves as she swallows. “Every sick bay in every network of caves is filled to capacity.”

She doesn’t speak for a moment, and neither do I. Instead, we breathe together. Our eyes sting. Our heart shudders. Our nose twitches with the sanitized smell of the glass.

Something wet drops onto the back of our palm. We’re crying. Or rather, she’s crying. These are her visceral reactions. Not mine.

“This is your mission, Alice.” Our throat is thick with emotions that belong to her but somehow feel like both of ours. “This is what you have to prevent. I don’t want to hurt Lalana, either. But what’s a single person when you could stop all this suffering?”

“I…” The sentence dies in my consciousness. Given the scene before us, I want to promise her my unwavering obedience. I would do anything to stop the future from arriving here, at this moment.

And yet… And yet… Can I trust her to make the right decision? She still hasn’t explained how framing Lalana could stop this atrocity. She hasn’t even told me who I’m supposed to stop. Can I put my faith in her logic and reasoning and methods just because she happens to be the future version of myself?

Something bangs on the wall, and our head snaps up. A little girl is pounding her fist against the surface. Her mouth moves, but no sound penetrates the glass.