Edge Walkers (7 page)

She could hope bad lighting had left her so pale. Nothing less than a shower or a fire hose could deal with the hair poking up or the dark circles under her eyes. Dragging her fingers through her hair, she flattened some of it. Taking the alabaster bowl with her, she walked back to the main room.

Gideon sat opposite Temple. They faced each other like two ragged monks in meditation, except they had their eyes open. What was this—male bonding on some ultrasonic level?

She didn’t ask, but went and got more water and came back and said, “I won’t ask for coffee, but is there a chance of something hot?”

Gideon glanced at her and back to Temple, who gave a nod and stood. For a big man, Temple moved with the grace of someone who knew how to use his body. Really, really well. He went to the charred spot near Gideon’s bed, to a pile of splintered wood in front of those Voodoo dolls. Furniture broken apart it seemed, since she could recognize something that looked like a chair leg. Temple settled next to it and pulled out wooden matches. He had a fire snapping in minutes. It smoked, but heated the alabaster bowl and the water inside.

As she drank the warmed water, Gideon sat next to her. She glanced at him and asked, “How long have you been...?” she let the words trail, finished with a wave of her hand. She still couldn’t say it.
This other world—this different reality.

He wet his lips. “Uh...”

“Complicated?” she asked, her mouth twitching.

His mouth didn’t lift, but the skin around his eyes crinkled again. He had long arms to match the long legs and long-fingered hands. He wrapped his arms around himself now. “It’s hard to judge. Calendars are different on this side, but I think…maybe—” He broke off, shrugged and his voice dropped to low and hollow, as if he knew to the day how long it had been but wouldn’t admit it. “Almost two years.”

She drank her water and thought he sounded as empty as the bowl in her hands. “Gideon, you have to...” He started to rise, so she caught his hand and made him stay. “If you don’t help me, I’ll go on my own. Or I’ll try to. You can’t keep me tied up everyday—well, maybe you can, but at some point, you’ll drop your guard and—”

“And you’ll die.”

“When did you stop trying?” she asked. She willed him to answer, but he shook his head and his mouth pulled down into a stubborn frown. Letting out a breath, she pressed her lips tight, thought about letting her frustration boil free. She had to find out what had happened to the others, even if it was her worst fears and those nightmares realized. “Please, Gideon. Take me back to where you found me. Maybe if I can piece enough together, I can get us all out of here. Please—help me?”
CHAPTER SEVEN

I don’t know about quantum theory really. Alternate worlds…uhm, Carrie can…she understands that. But…statistics would seem to dictate that there’s more than just this reality, wouldn’t they? And…some of the other places should be better than our own—you’d think. But…we’re lucky. That’s all I do know. Everywhere else…well, destruction actually seems the truest expression of nature that I’ve seen. — Excerpt Interview with Gideon Chant

Gideon kept his stare on Carrie. They shouldn’t do this—this wasn’t smart. But he had a feeling she’d do what she’d said. She wouldn’t give up and he would drop his guard at some point. He’d be too tired, too battered after a fight—or if he got himself killed...damn, that was all too possible. So she had to know everything and she had to learn fast.

He glanced at Temple for agreement and saw the other man didn’t like this either. Images flashed into Gideon’s mind of how they could end as charred corpses. Or worse.

Gideon nodded. He agreed, but didn’t see another choice. He looked at Carrie again, took in the stubborn tilt to her jaw, the sharpness in her eyes. “You’ll have to do as I say, and we should do this now.”

Her mouth thinned, and for a moment he thought she’d argue something else. Setting down the bowl with a clatter, she rose. He put her between himself and Temple and she started to say something about that—at least her mouth opened, but he shot her a look. She stopped her words, so he’d bet she’d been about to say something about how she could look after herself. Which was probably true most places, but not here.

Once they reached the front doors, she hesitated—she must realize now just how much they did need each other in this world.

The sky was still sludge, overcast and dark. Rubble filled the street; buildings falling in on themselves, collapsing from neglect. There were days he felt as if that might happen to him. The smell of things rotting drifted on a chill breeze. Fires burned in the distance. Carrie let out a sharp, shocked breath. He knew why—the destruction looked worse during the day.

Turning toward her, Gideon held out his hand. “I know it’s bad. But you get used to it.” It was a lie, of course. You never got used to this. Or, at least, he hadn’t.

He had learned, however, to shut out the worst. He could look past the city to the far hills, lifting sharp in the distance, sparks of crystal glinting on purple ridges and beautiful in their own right. He knew how to scan the city for trouble and nothing more. The stench that rose on the breeze let you avoid any rotting husks—the remnants of something, someone, no longer alive. But they didn’t run across many fried bodies these days; anyone still living, still with a soul to call their own, knew better than to get caught with a heart that still beat. That or they’d gone into hiding in the Crystal Hills. For those that hadn’t, well, some could be saved. That’s how he’d met Temple.

He’d been trying to save her. Again.

And he had failed. Again.

But Temple had pulled him out of it before Gideon had had his skin stolen. They’d gotten away after that because of Temple’s decoy—electronic toys had a use in this world, but not as anything for a child’s play. He’d learned that from Temple; they’d learned more from each other since then.

Temple knew the ruins of the city—he was a native after all. But Gideon had taught Temple how to use the EM meters that had been dragged through from what had been his old life. They’d found a common purpose in the effort to slit the throat of any lone Walker they could ambush and in running like hell from everything else. They’d also learned how to use the Rift between worlds. Or almost.

Rift openings had become less frequent and shorter lately. And the larger ones—the silver-black cracks that gapped like wounds—were harder to manage. Gideon didn’t know if that was good or not. Of course, until now, he’d pretty much ignored anything beyond the next target. Now they had Carrie and Gideon wasn’t sure what that meant.

Maybe more fractured gaps to the Rift opening, for her and because of her? Because she was new and didn’t belong. He’d have to warn her about them—or maybe she could use one to get back. He’d never tried that. He was a little worried it would kill her if she did try.

She looked at Gideon, jerked a thumb at Temple and asked, “Is he one of the survivors?”

Gideon nodded and looked at Temple. How much more should he say right now? Temple wasn’t helping with that decision. He kept his mind blank and his opinions silent, stared back, his face revealing even less than his thoughts. Gideon shrugged and turned away. When Carrie stumbled, he took her hand in his and let the warmth of her skin settle into his bones.

In the distance, the scrape of rock on rock echoed. They stopped and Gideon crouched, pulling Carrie down with him. He swapped a glance with Temple, and when no other sounds echoed down the street they got up and moved out again. That was the trick. Keep moving during the day, find a safe spot to hide at night where you could get some sleep. This idea of going back to where you crossed, he didn’t see much use in that. But Carrie seemed to need this.

He glanced at her. Her palm slicked his. She stayed close to him. Was that her being smart? Or was this the result of what they’d done last night—what he really shouldn’t have done with her? God, what he still wanted.

It had been a long time since he’d had the comfort of another body, the ease of touch, the bliss of release. He’d gotten used to ignoring those needs, or taking care of them quick, alone at dawn, when he was so exhausted he couldn’t sleep and didn’t want to dream. He wasn’t sure if Temple had sexual needs—or how he took care of them—which was probably a good thing. And Gideon wondered now if part of his insistence that Carrie had to stay came from his wish for more than what he had. He hated to think that, but he had to be honest.

Which meant, if she could go back, he should let her. Sooner had to be better—right? Or would another full crossing kill her? God only knew, a partial felt like part of your body was being fed into a tree shredder. Crossing here in the first place, well, he’d forgotten the worst of it, but he still had the scars on him. He’d seen them on her, too—fine white lines imprinted on her skin. He wasn’t sure she’d noticed them yet.

He looked down at his feet, scuffed a fragment of bone from the street with the toe of his boot and thought about what he should tell her.

Truth was truth—he had a reason to stay. He might ache for home, but not before he finished. It could be he’d lost his chance anyway. He’d fought to stay here. He’d learned how to anchor himself, almost like a damn Walker. But that didn’t mean Carrie had to. And what if she did stay? What if one of them got her like...

No. That wasn’t happening. They’d have to take his skin first. But, thank god, Carrie didn’t need that of him right now.

She walked next to him. He heard the scuff of her step, a little unsteady. She had to be in shock still. And he really should not have given in to how she’d felt in his arms last night, but it had been an awful day, more deaths, more blood on his hands. She’d been so blessedly alive. She was now one of their rare successes. And he knew Temple felt the same—they wouldn’t let anything touch her. But keeping her safe meant she had to understand the danger.

Risking a glance at her face, Gideon saw the rawness of his world was sinking in. He could see it in how her eyes widened, how her breath caught, how her gaze darted over the remnants of a civilization.

“My God,” she muttered.

He nodded. “I know. Power grids are gone. Support systems have fragmented into underground pockets. There’s—well, glimmers of hope. Or endurance maybe.” She glanced at him and he kept his voice low and soft as he said, “They tried to drive out these things. Now it’s a matter of who can hang on the longest. Them or us. Which side has the best hunters.”

Like Temple. Like what Gideon had become.

Keeping his gaze moving, Gideon watched the sky for any telltale spark. That’s how it always started. A visible distortion, a spike on the EM meter that sizzled before the Rift opened. Temple had the meter with him, so that was covered. They’d hear any movement from Walkers looking for new skins to replace ones too torn up by hard use. But dawn and twilight tended to be low cycles. He didn’t know why, but he was glad for even an hour of emptiness. Still, he watched the sky and kept his movements quiet. Of course, he hadn’t gotten used to the silence in this world, either.

No cars or planes or vehicles broke the stillness. It was worse than a city emptied by a major holiday, because the stores weren’t just closed, they were shells. He led Carrie past them, to the ends of the city. The buildings thinned and spaces widened and the dust swirled, red and so fine it clung to any drop of sweat on your skin. The dust lifted up from the quarry, or that’s what he called the open pit dug into the ground.

Stopping, Carrie stared at it and pushed the back of her hand across her cheek, smearing the dust in a streak. “What is it?”

He shrugged and stared at the ruins to see what she saw. “Power station maybe. Once. Or a factory. It’s abandoned, like everything. Come on. We have to be quick.”

They approached from the south, if you judged orientation by the faint glow of a sun moving across the dull sky. He headed toward the remnants of some kind of processing equipment. A metal conveyor belt, creaking in the breeze, stretched between rusting towers. The place must have used water to generate power, but the water had long ago stagnated into a dank tarn at the bottom of the pit. He’d never given a thought to using any of that water because of the bits of things he’d once seen floating.

They skirted the edge of that gaping gouge in the ground. Gideon put his hand over his nose and mouth to block the worst of the putrid stench. A doorway gaped open, black and bleak, and Gideon led the way.

Inside, the smell lessened. The empty shell of the structure rose around them. Their steps echoed dull from rusting metal walls. Light filtered in through dirty windows to their right, the glass surprisingly intact still. He’d been surprised, too, when he’d gotten a reading on this place before Carrie had showed. Now, Temple gave him another silent shout.

Turning, he saw Temple lift the EM meter to show the flickering needle. The man pointed toward the far wall.

Damn—this shouldn’t be happening. This place should have been emptied—that’s how the Walkers worked. Walkers raked a spot over for every scrap of energy. They should have bled the place dry—nothing should be here.

Eyes narrowing, he glanced at Carrie. “What the hell were you—?”

“Oh, my…” Her words broke into his and she broke away. He tracked her as she stepped forward, put out a hand to stop Temple from going after her. Two steps from his side, she stopped. She pointed to a shimmering image on the far wall and said, “That’s my lab.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

The universe seems to want to maintain order—if you cross to another dimension, it wants to put you back. Which is why Edge Walkers need physical form. They don’t want us because we’re pretty. If they’re inside our skins, they can hold onto the dimension they’ve entered. And they have plenty of reasons to stay since it has to be, for them, close to an all you can eat buffet.                                                                      — Excerpt Carrie Brody’s Journal

Carrie stared at the far wall, at the rusting metal and the image floating over it, behind it, inside it. It looked almost as if someone had made a hole in the wall with a blow torch, leaving charred edges, so that she could see outside to foggy twilight. Except daylight filtered in behind her and to her right, so that hole wasn’t showing the outside of anything. Through that circle of murky-gray, she could see her lab. Or that’s what it looked like.