“Spread out,” someone behind them called.
Something clattered just ahead; silently, Storm placed Faller’s hand on a turnstile, then he both heard and felt her clamber over it. He followed as their pursuers shouted to each other and rushed toward the sounds.
Clear of the turnstile, Faller waved his hand around until it bumped Storm’s and she gripped his again. They moved quickly along the wall, their pursuers not twenty feet behind. It sounded like there were a dozen or more.
“Steps,” Storm whispered as she drew him down. Clutching a handrail, they scrambled lower, the darkness growing thicker and damper. At the bottom they again moved along the wall until Storm whispered, “Jump,” and Faller felt the edge of the platform and sprang blindly, landing on gravel in a three-point stance.
Storm pulled him to the right, although he was sure she’d told him to go left. They ran, holding hands. Faller held his free hand out in front of his face, praying they didn’t run headlong into a train sitting on the track. The crunching of their feet on the gravel was mostly drowned by the shouts passing among their pursuers.
After only a few dozen yards Storm squeezed his hand, hard, and drew him to the wall. When she pushed him down, Faller grasped her plan. He crouched against the wall, trying to make himself as small as possible, then heard Storm moving in the gravel and realized she was doing him one better, lying on her side right along the bottom of the wall. He did the same, her feet pressing against his head.
Their pursuers were smart. They had spread out to cover the entire tunnel, and as they approached, Faller exhaled, willing himself to melt into the wall.
A foot brushed his cheek. He tensed, anticipating a shout, rough hands reaching for him. But the phalanx forged on down the tunnel, their voices growing dimmer.
Faller rose to his haunches, felt Storm do the same. Closing her hand over his, Storm silently led him back the way they had come.
VIII
HER LIPS were still warm. If Ugo had walked into the lab at that moment, found Peter’s mouth on Izabella’s as she lay naked on the gurney, what would he think?
“Oh, God, Izabella.” He squeezed her hand. “Please. Please. Come back.”
Peter had told her he wouldn’t let anything happen to her.
Then he remembered her duplicate. He hadn’t checked her duplicate. He rushed over, turned her faceup, searched for a pulse in her still warm neck.
Nothing. She was dead.
Peter lifted his face toward the ceiling and screamed.
What had he been thinking? He should have said no. No matter how hard she persisted, he should have said no. He pulled his phone from his pocket to call an ambulance, opened his contact list, searching for the number for emergencies.
The number wasn’t under E for emergency. He scrolled down to the end of the list, passed Woolcoff, Ugo, and froze.
He should call Ugo first. He owed it to Ugo to tell him himself.
He punched Ugo’s number.
“What do you want?” Ugo said, by way of greeting.
“It’s Izabella. She’s gone, Ugo. She’s dead.”
Ugo stammered. “My Bella? How can that be? I would have been contacted.”
“No—she’s not at the hospital. She checked herself out.”
“What? Why?”
Peter swallowed, trying to wet his dry mouth. “She asked me to duplicate her. She—it didn’t work.”
Ugo howled into the phone. Peter squeezed his eyes shut, resisted the urge to pull the phone away from his ear. He tried to say he was sorry, but Ugo cut him off.
“Don’t touch her, you son of a bitch.” He disconnected.
* * *
IT DIDN’T seem possible for Ugo to arrive as quickly as he did. He burst through the door.
“Izabella.”
He dropped to her side, across from Peter, lifted her hand and squeezed it in both of his. His entire body was shaking.
Izabella’s mouth was partially open from Peter’s useless attempt at CPR, her lips curled back in a grimace, or a smile, displaying her even white teeth.
She should be breathing. Why wasn’t she breathing?
“I’m so sorry, Ugo. You have no idea. Bella kept asking—”
“Shut up.” Ugo screamed. “Don’t you dare try to blame my Bella. Don’t you dare. You did this.”
“I did, because she wanted me to. It was a chance, at least.”
Peter didn’t see the punch coming. It felt like a mallet smashing into his nose. He fell back, cracked his head on the hard floor.
“I was her chance.” Ugo stood over him, his breath coming in huge, ragged gasps. “My research was her chance.” He poked his chest. “I was going to save her. Not you.”
Peter felt blood dribbling between his fingers as he clutched his nose. “If you want to bring me up on charges, I understand.”
“Charges?” Ugo shook his head in disbelief. “I’ll fucking kill you.” He turned back to Izabella, knelt and pressed his fingers to her cheek.
She hadn’t had many good days left. The rest of her life would have been torture. Surely Ugo could see that.
Ugo slid his arms beneath Izabella’s legs and shoulders and lifted her.
“What are you doing?” Peter asked, sitting up. “You shouldn’t move her.”
“Shut up. My wife is not going to be remembered as the victim of some sick experiment. She died peacefully, in her own bed.”
Ugo shifted Izabella’s body, trying to get a better grip.
He studied her face. “You’re sure I have my wife, not the abortion you made?”
“Yes.”
Ugo headed for the door.
“What should I do with this one?” Peter called.
“I couldn’t care less.” Ugo pushed the door open with his shoulder and headed for the parking lot.
Grasping the edge of a lab table, Peter struggled to his feet. A few drops of blood dribbled to the floor; he pinched his nose to stop the flow.
The duplicate Izabella lay pale and silent under the fluorescent lights. If Ugo wanted people to believe Izabella died of the disease, this Izabella had to disappear. Peter squeezed his eyes shut, trying to think of what to do.
Nothing came. Izabella was gone; he’d killed her. That was all he could think of. He needed help.
Harry. Peter pulled out his phone. Harry would help him figure out what to do.
19
“WHY DON’T invaders use these tunnels to cross under the walls?” Faller asked as they crept along.
“They’re blocked off at the borders,” Storm said.
Things had developed so differently on this world. Walls and boroughs, wars and dictators. Things had been a hell of a lot simpler on Faller’s world. The people had seemed simpler as well.
The chatter of rats grew louder, along with a rancid stench, then it fell away as they moved past what must have been a side tunnel.
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m wondering how you ended up with a man like Moonlark.”
“He wasn’t always like this.” Storm caught herself, paused. “No, that’s not true. There used to be more to him, is what I should say. He stood out in the early days, when everyone was acting like animals. He helped me without asking for anything in return. He showed me respect when he didn’t have to.”
Maybe it was the sense of anonymity the darkness created, or fatigue bringing her guard down, but Faller felt like he knew Storm much better than he had a few minutes earlier. Did he trust her enough to show her the photo? It was in his back pocket.
The darkness shifted from black to dark grey, and Storm slowed. “I think this is our stop.”
They climbed onto the platform and skulked along the wall until dim light and a staircase became visible.
They surfaced on a calm side street, but sounds of fighting were close. They were half a block from a weed-choked field that bordered one end of Moonlark’s compound, and decided their safest bet was to push straight through the field. Faller led the w
ay, weaving through head-high weeds and brush until they emerged across the street from the gate.
Dozens of men patrolled inside the compound’s fence. As soon as someone spotted Storm and Faller they rushed them inside.
“Is Moonlark back?” Storm asked as Hammer met them at the door.
“No.” From his tone and expression, it was clear he didn’t expect to see Moonlark again. He grasped Storm’s elbow. “Listen to me. It’s not just Uptown. Riverdale and Bordertown are coming from the other side. There’s a breach in the wall between us and Bordertown. It’s only a matter of time before Gateway falls.”
Storm’s reaction confirmed what Faller already suspected: the news was a death sentence. They would kill Storm immediately, and string Faller up as soon as it was clear he couldn’t operate the weapons. There was nowhere they would be safe.
At least, there was nowhere on this world they would be safe.
Faller reached for Storm’s hand. “Come on.”
Storm pulled her hand away. “What do you mean, come on? Don’t you get it? There’s nowhere to run.”
“Yes there is.” Faller held up a finger. “Wait there. Don’t move.” He raced down the hall, slid the last five feet on the slick floor and darted into his room. The parachute and his pack were bunched on the dresser with his jumpsuit.
“We need food and water,” he said to Storm as he raced past her toward the kitchen.
“Wait a minute,” she called after him.
In the kitchen he filled two empty glass jugs with screw-on caps from a trough of water under the window, grabbed a loaf of bread from the counter, slabs of cured meat from the pantry, half a dozen apples.
Storm appeared in the kitchen doorway. “Where are you suggesting we go?” She said it a word at a time.
“The only direction left.” Faller pointed at the floor. “Down. If there are two worlds, why not three? Or a hundred?”
He shrugged on his pack while Storm laughed dryly. “You’ve got to be kidding. I’d rather take my chances with the invaders.”
Faller stopped, looked intently at Storm. “Would you really?”
“I’m not jumping off the edge.” She made a slashing motion with her hand. “Forget it. Even with your little parachute stunt, I’m not sure I believe your insane story. Even if I did, there’s no way.”
Faller pulled the photo from his pocket and handed it to Storm.
She studied it, her expression melting from bemused, to serious, and finally, to shock.
“Where did you get this?”
“I found it in my pocket, on Day One.”
“Day One?”
“Day One. When time began.”
Her usually pale skin was alabaster. She studied the picture, shaking her head in astonishment. “We look like lovers.” She looked up from the photo, studied Faller’s face carefully. “What is this?”
“I was hoping you’d know.”
Storm brought the photo close to her face.
“Let me ask you something,” Faller said. “In those early days, people discovered a lot of photos of themselves, with people they didn’t know, in places that didn’t exist. Did you find any pictures of yourself?”
She looked at him as if he’d performed a magic trick. “No. How would you know that?”
He tapped the photo. “This is the only picture of me. It’s as if I’d just arrived there on Day One, while everyone else had been there a while.”
Storm turned the photo over and examined the back, as if she suspected it might be two photos cleverly joined together.
“I really did fall from another world.”
When Storm didn’t respond, Faller reached out and clutched her hand, squeezed it. “Storm, I’m not joking. I’m not insane. I’m not full of shit. I. Fell. Here.”
Her eyes flicked across his face, then back to the photo. “Why are you showing me this now?”
“I didn’t show it to you before because I didn’t want Moonlark to cut my throat.”
Storm laughed. “Wise move. But why are you showing it to me now?”
Did he need to spell it out for her? The photo said they should be together.
“So you’ll trust me,” Faller said.
She handed back the photo. “Why should I trust you? You just admitted it yourself: you have no idea if there are more worlds below this one. You’re just guessing. I’m not jumping off the edge of the world on a guess.”
“It’s an educated guess.” He returned the photo to his pocket, tucking it beside the blood sketch. “It makes sense that there should be—”
The blood sketch appeared in his mind’s eye: ovals, set one above the other. Only in Faller’s mind, his world—as it had looked after he fell off it—was superimposed over the top oval.
“Faller?”
Faller pulled the sketch from his pocket, flattened it on the kitchen counter. His heart racing, he examined the sketch with fresh eyes—the eyes of someone who has seen worlds from a distance.
“What is that?”
“It’s a map,” he whispered. His fingers brushed the top oval, the one with a bloody thumbprint over it. Faller had assumed the thumbprint was a careless smudge, but now he saw it for what it was: a marker.
You are here.
And the X on the lowest oval.
X marks the spot, the part of his mind that supplied the words offered up. He had to reach that bottom world. Whatever it took, he had to get there. That was where the answers were.
He looked at Storm. “I’m not guessing. There are more worlds below this one, and I have to reach the bottom one.” He tapped the map. “On Day One I found this in my pocket, along with your picture. Look at it—it’s a map.”
“It’s not a map,” Storm said, frowning. “It’s a bunch of ovals—”
“It’s a map. I know how my mind works.” He held up his left thumb, the one he’d cut to draw the map. “I drew it with my own blood so I’d know how important it was that I take it seriously, that I figure it out and reach that bottom world. I left it in my pocket, beside a picture of you—of us—because I was supposed to find you on the way.” Faller lifted her hand, laced his fingers into hers.
“Tell me that doesn’t feel right to you,” he whispered. “Tell me it doesn’t feel as if our hands are grooved to fit together, because they’ve spent so much time like this.”
Storm disengaged their hands, drew hers away.
“Trust me.” Outside, the shouting had grown noticeably louder.
“I don’t even know you,” she shot back. “And even if I did, you only have one parachute.”
“We can share it. Look, Storm, at the risk of being blunt, you don’t have many options. If you stay here, they’re going to kill you. With me, at least you have a chance.”
She reached into his vest, drew out the photo. She seemed to be studying her own face, perhaps marveling over how happy she looked. Faller guessed that since Day One she’d never once smiled like that.
She offered him the photo; but when he grasped it, she held on. “You’re sure we can both land with just one parachute?”
Faller nodded emphatically. “Yes.” At least, he thought they could. He’d figure out the details later.
“And you’re sure there’s another world below us?”
“Yes.”
She let go of the photo. “We’ll need a torch.”
IX
THE CHURCH came into view at the top of the hill. Peter looked away, wishing it were still a hundred miles away, or ten thousand. Izabella and Melissa’s Uncle Walt and Aunt Rose were on the sidewalk out front, heading for the big front doors wearing a black suit, a black dress.
There was no way he could do this. He would feign illness, drop Melissa off and go home and get into bed. He wouldn’t have to feign illness—he was nauseous, sweating, his bowels roiling at the thought of going in there and facing Ugo, and Izabella’s family and friends.
Beside him, Melissa was hollow-eyed from lack of sleep, the ridges of her nost
rils pink from blowing.
He should tell her. If Melissa knew, and was still willing to stand at his side through this funeral, Peter thought he could make it through. But each time he tried, the words choked him. When he’d wheeled Bella into the lab he’d felt like he was doing a noble thing. Now it felt unspeakable.
Melissa parked behind the church. The van’s engine went silent; they sat staring through the windshield at the back of the church, the mourners silently filing around to the front, their heads bowed, many of the younger ones recent draftees in dress uniforms.
Finally, Melissa opened her door, and Peter had no choice but to open his and follow her toward the church. Melissa reached out, took his hand, and he started to cry. She squeezed, thinking he was crying simply because Izabella was gone. He was crying because she was gone, but it was so much more than that.
Ugo was standing just inside the doorway, for once hatless, accepting condolences. Melissa fell into his arms; they hugged fiercely for a long moment, Ugo’s eyes squeezed shut, the veins in his temples bulging. When they finally broke off, Peter stepped up to Ugo, his legs shaking so badly he was sure he’d crumple.
He held out his hand. “I’m sorry,” he managed.
Ugo turned to the next mourner in line, as if he hadn’t seen Peter. Peter closed his hand, turned away.
Melissa was gaping. “My God, he just ignored you. Why would Ugo do that?”
“Maybe he didn’t see me. He looks like he’s in a daze.”
“He saw you. Could this still be about the Nobel? Surely he wouldn’t turn his back on family over something like that. Not at a time like this.”
“I don’t know what it’s about.” As he uttered the lie, he was back beneath the lab, carrying Izabella’s duplicate through the chilly darkness of the old factory with Harry. He’d hidden the body like a criminal.
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