Edge Walkers

by Shannon Donnelly

  His fingers skimmed her skin at the ankle, and she touched his shoulder with the tip of one finger, just enough to make him look at her.

  “I need to go home,” she said. She almost hated to say it, but it was the truth. She had responsibilities—she had to find out what had happened to the others. If they were dead…well, she’d deal with whatever she found. She had to figure out if she’d screwed something up, if this mess was her responsibility. What had she missed? She needed a lifetime of answers.

  Gideon stood, looked away, and didn’t say a word.

  She pressed her lips tight, scooted around so she was sitting with her knees up and her butt still on the makeshift bed.

  It was past time to put everything into objective analysis. Admittedly, the information she had was entirely subjective. She’d give a lot for something that could use to measure this and prove conclusions. All she had, however, were her senses and what they told her. So she’d have to go for the hope that she could rely on them.

  “I remembered some things last night,” she said. And she had—in shattering dream images that wrapped her chest, tight as razor wire. Gideon glanced at Temple before he looked at her, doubt dark in his eyes. She swallowed the knot in her throat and added, “More than a few.”

  She didn’t say that what she had were disjointed flashes—men screaming and the splash of Thompson’s blood. Lightning falling and Zeigler seeming to burn up from the inside out, falling to the ground, his mouth cracked open in an agonized scream. Static had stood her hair on end and the world had seemed to flip, to shrink and expand. Chand had batted at something with his hands, something crawling into him. He had turned...

  Her memory failed at that point—it all had gone white.

  But too much truth had always been her personal siren’s lure, as well as her biggest flaw when it came to any kind of relationship. She always had to know—even if it would be better for everyone to pretend otherwise. The need for facts dragged at her now. She had to collect the pieces and fit them into a pattern that made sense. It would be the only way she’d ever find any peace again.

  “I remembered…before. It looked like ball lightning in the lab.”

  “It wasn’t,” Gideon said.

  She sat up straighter. “How do you know that?”

  Gideon shook his head. “They don’t call them Edge Walkers just because they come from…well, the edges between realities. They’re made of edges, or they…well, they look like that. Like lightning wrapped up in a ball but with those edges sticking out. When they’re…well, if you make any kind of hole they’ll come through. They’re good at that.”

  She stared at him and thought about how little she knew of this world and the wreckage outside this structure. She thought of her experiment with fluctuating EM fields and amplified power. There had to be cause and effect and... Come through? Oh, god—she had done this. She shook her head. She was leaping ahead for what might have been the cause. She didn’t have enough data. Not yet.

  “Look, I need to see where you found me. I need to start there. There’s got to be some residual evidence of what—” Gideon was shaking his head and she broke off, changed her approach, went for giving him something so she could see what he might give back in trade. “I know quantum theory postulates an infinite number of realities—that every possibility spawns a possible reality.”

  Gideon’s face tightened. “Little past theoretical here.”

  She sucked in a breath. She’d known that since last night when she’d looked out those doors. But it still shook her to hear utter confirmation. The implications at having proof for science that had only been speculation kicked her pulse to an excitement under thickening guilt.

  Digging a thumb into a stain on her lab coat, pushing at it, she said, “The work I was doing—I triggered something didn’t I?”

  Gideon glanced at Temple. Eyes dark, Temple’s expression said pretty much everything about sympathy and understanding. A heavy share of the same remorse haunted his eyes.

  She lifted her chin as she took that in. “God, you did the same thing.”

  Turning away, Gideon hid his expression and asked, his voice sharp, “Hungry?”

  “Dammit! I can’t sit here! “

  Gideon turned to her, reached out a hand, but he didn’t reach far enough to touch. “I’m sorry, but—well I’m—I’m sorry.”

  Climbing to her feet, she put herself in front of him. “Sorry as in you don’t know how to get me back, or sorry as in you won’t?”

  He glanced at Temple and she wished he’d stop that. It was almost as if he was checking with the other guy about things, but neither man had said a word to the other. Gideon looked at her again and he spread his hands, palms up and empty. The color of his eyes shifted from a darker blue to pale, like water icing, and he dropped his hands to his side. With a shake of his head, he said, “I’ll get some food.”

  He headed out through a narrow doorway cut into the wall just beyond the altar. For a moment, she wondered if she should try leaving again, now that it was lighter. She slid a glance over to Temple.

  He sat on the floor, still watching her. She wasn’t about to see if he’d be interested in running her down. Thankfully, Gideon came back with his boots on, his robe gone, and distraction in the form of two bags of Doritos.

  The garish orange and yellows looked odd in this world, where color seemed to have been bled away. Even Temple seemed washed over by gray, wrapped as he was in that colorless cloth. But when Gideon offered, Temple took one of the bags, ripped it open and scarffed down a handful of cheese-flavored chips as if he was settling in for Sunday’s big game.

  Okay, this was surreal—eating Doritos in another world after seeing her co-workers die. She glanced at the bag. “They have these here?”

  Gideon’s almost smile appeared. He shook his head and held out the chips. “No, but—well, we didn’t grab much the last time—last time before you, that is. Not that you ever get much. But I thought you’d like something familiar, and what they have here…you get used to it, but not right away. It’s an acquired taste.”

  She nodded and added a few more questions to a list that was starting to get ridiculously long. She remembered a fracture of blackness—something she’d seen in the lab, a flash of memory that didn’t seem possible. “This…tear between realities…you can go both ways through it?”

  Gideon rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. “I don’t…hard science wasn’t my field.”

  “What was?” she asked, and chewed on a chip. She knew herself to be hungry but she had to choke down that single bite because she kept thinking about her guys and how she’d brought them bagels yesterday—was it only yesterday? And wasn’t that a stupid thing to think about right now.

  “Myths,” Gideon said with a shrug. “Legends. I had a grant for shamanic heritage studies of spirit paths in early North American settlements, along ley lines and magnetic hot spots. And...I taught.”

  “You’re an English professor?”

  He shook his head, looked away, and she realized she’d startled a memory from him of something he couldn’t bear to recall. Oh, hell. Well, she knew about that. She wanted suddenly to be back where she had equipment to measure a rational world. Setting down the bag of chips, she got to her feet. She started to reach for him, to touch his shoulder, but she caught back the gesture, turned it into an awkward smoothing of her clothes. She cursed herself for being too damn unsure of herself. She never was when it came to interactions with others. She let out a breath. Her body urged relief for a full bladder. Washing wouldn’t be bad, either.

  Brushing orange chip-dust from her fingers, she asked, “Didn’t you say something about facilities last night?”

  Gideon looked at her and his lips lifted. A faint dimple showed on the left side of his mouth. God, in this gray light, he looked like a guy who’d been through a lot but hadn’t forgotten that once he’d liked kittens and soft things and kindness.

  Without a word, he held out
his hand. It seemed silly—a chivalrous gesture. But his touch grounded her. She tried to pretend she hadn’t noticed. He led her through the side door he had used earlier and into another room.

  This room was small. Another one opened off from it. She glanced around. Three more bags of Doritos huddled in a corner, along with a stack of cans and a carton of something. Vague guilt stirred that she’d taken anything from him when he had so little. But Gideon only pointed at the other door. “Through there. I’ll bring you some water.”

  He left her and she thought about sitting down and giving into a good long, hard cry. Tears lurked, a weight on her breastbone, a burn at the back of her eyes. She shook them off, let practicality take hold—any kind of breakdown would have to wait for time and solitude.

  Rubbing a hand over her face, she turned. She stepped through the other door into another room. The dark spot on the floor seemed to be a hole. Facing the doorway, a long, broken mirror stood against the wall, its top a jagged edge. She glanced at it, and went to use the hole. She had tissues in her pocket, so she used them after. By the time she had her clothes back in order, Gideon stood in the doorway.

  Using both hands, he lifted the alabaster bowl, set it down on the floor, and she thought of priests and offerings. When he straightened, he hesitated and stared at her, his lips parted. Some deeper feeling had blown his pupils wide again, but she couldn’t read what it was. But he only turned and left. Walking to the water, she picked it up and stood before the mirror.

  Far more than a wreck stared back. A splash of water wasn’t going to fix anything. She stared at the dried blood on her—whose? Chand or Thompson? She’d pushed the tech down, right? He must have been okay, right? So was it Zeigler? Nothing she could do for any of them, not until she got moving. She drank half the water, patted the rest across her face, washed most of the stains from her skin, and dried her cheeks with the tail of her lab coat. She looked at her reflection again.

  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.