Edge Walkers

by Shannon Donnelly

  And she chose her words with a breathless edge, not the calm rationality she’d intended. “They built a city. The people here have to have had some level of technology.”

  With a nod, he said, “They did.”

  His hand moved lower and his fingers slipped under her panties, left her gasping and clutching for him. Eyes closing, she let him warm her from the inside out. Sex—just sex. She could handle that. Physical attraction, and…and oh, god. She fell back to sprawl on the bed, breath caught under her ribs and a glow spreading in delicious soft pulses that matched his strokes.

  Dragging her eyes open, she said, words almost lost, “Gideon…plans?”

  “Can wait for dawn,” he said, eyes glinting silver. Leaning close, he swiped his mouth over hers, a wet press of lips. He shifted his weight so that he lay over her. He slid his other hand underneath her to fumble with and unsnap her bra.

  Struggling to hold onto some level of thought, she put her hand on his shoulder, but she didn’t push him away. There were things to talk about. She had a list going in her head, but it kept fragmenting into spikes of color that danced up her spine, into gasps and sweet contractions that swept through her like a drenching desert storm.

  “Not waiting,” she muttered. She shrugged off her bra, hooked a thumb under the waist of her panties, but his hands were there first, tugging and pulling. His mouth found hers again. She drank in his breath, opened to him—she needed this, needed him.

  Grabbing his hips, she kicked the last of her clothing free. She wanted that connection with him again. Needed to feel anchored to something. To someone.

  She was insane to take what had sparked between them and make it more—but this world was mad, so perhaps this was the only path left. To dive into the deep waters and swim strong.

  He lifted up on his elbows, the cord a dark line around his neck, and held still, staring down at her, face taut, eyes bright, mouth wet from those kisses. He pushed inside with one long stroke. Closing her eyes, she gave to the sweeping heat, to the long ripple of joy, to the sweet fullness. She said his name—just once.

  Cupping a hand around his neck, she lifted one leg, wrapped it around him to pull him deeper. “More…now,” she whispered into his skin, dug her fingers into him. The world sparked into fractures. Memory of the Rift stirred in a shiver. Eyes opening, she choked on a cry.

  Gideon’s hand on her face centered her focus on him. “Stay with me,” he said, voice raw and eyes glazed. His skin glistened in the lamplight and the scent of him flooded her. Wrapping his fingers around hers, he held onto him. She shut her eyes, told herself the only pull came from inside, from the quickening rhythm Gideon set.

  But she was wrong.

  A flood of bright heat swept through her. She cried out, surprised, shocked, body alight, cresting into her joy. Breathing hard, sweat slicked, she opened her eyes to see Gideon—but over his shoulder darkness split the air, jagged and sizzling ozone.

  Sparking now, the Rift crackled and widened. She cried out, her next breath caught tight under her ribs.

  Gideon rolled, took them both off the bed and onto the floor in a bruising thump. He kept hold of her until they hit the wall. She clung to him, stared up into that tear between realities, at a moon almost lost in blurred blackness, a planetary body she knew from a childhood spent watching that sky. It rose over square plateaus and peaks carved by ancient oceans and centuries of dry winds. Eyes burning, she watched the edges of the Rift spark and fall closed, as if someone had pulled a cord, dragging it shut—and she almost cried out for the loss of that tiny window home.

  Breath ragged, sweat cooling over skin that shivered, she turned to stare at Gideon. It couldn’t be right, she didn’t have enough evidence, but...

  “Twice,” she said, the word shaken from her. With both hands, she pushed the hair back from her forehead. “That didn’t happen the first time we—against the pillar, that first night. How else… just what did Temple do to you?”

  Gideon pushed up and away from her. He started to roll off, but she kept her legs around him, trapped him. Turning back, his face shadowed in the dim lamplight, he brushed a finger over her cheek. “Carrie—”

  “It’s not touch,” she told him and pressed a fingertip against his chest. Nothing happened, so she laid her fingers over his heart’s urgent pulse. “It has to have something to do with EM fields—with us. Everyone, every living thing, generates a field. Temple did something to you. He healed you in some way that now, maybe…it must be, the two of us, the energy coming off us does that. We open the Rift.” She huffed a short laugh. “We’re something we can’t measure now—our own uncertainty principle.”

  Leaning into her, he pressed a warm breath into the crook of her neck. He kissed her cooling skin. Dragging himself from her hold, he stood and turned away.

  Muscles aching, twinging, she followed him to her feet, desperate for answers. “Gideon? What is it? Why don’t you want to know what—”

  “Know? What is there to know? It’s…I didn’t expect this. And now… you won’t let up on this, will you? You’re going to try to reopen the Rift with this. What if it kills you? “

  He turned away, ran a hand over his spiked hair. He looked good without clothes, lean and muscled, his body flaring up from narrow hips to a wide chest and an angle of broad shoulders. Reaching out, he snagged his jeans, started to drag them on. When he had them half buttoned, he threw himself onto the edge of the bed, set the rope frame rocking. He braced his elbows on his knees. “If our screwing around is doing that—we could open the Rift and bring through more Walkers. Is that all you want to use us for?”

  Her own temper flared and she pressed her lips tight. She snatched up a blanket—all she could find—and wrapped it around herself. “That’s what you want to call it? Screwing around?”

  He reached out a hand. “Carrie?”

  Shaking her head, she moved away from his touch, started searching for her clothes. “No. You’re not wrong. I get your point. But we also need more data.” He gave a sharp laugh and she turned to frown at him. “What?”

  He waved a hand at the room. “You want to do this with controlled conditions? Observation? Make this your lab? Me your experiment?”

  Heat washed her face. Kneeling in front of him, she put her hands on his thighs, thought better of it, pulled back. But he grabbed her hand, turned it palm up and traced the white lines scarred into her skin.

  Staring at him, she tried to see into his thoughts—how did he want this to go? She shook her head, because she wasn’t ready for this. She never was when things went wrong. She let out a breath and said, “I know…okay, I don’t know much about this, but this isn’t the time to argue. And Gideon, the more we do know, the better our chances. Not only to survive, but to get home. It’s not just our lives on the—”

  Footsteps, fast and hard on the stone, interrupted. Standing, Carrie pushed up from Gideon and turned to see Jakes on the stairs.

  Jakes glanced from her to Gideon and gestured to the doorway with his free hand. “Get up. Gotta go. Company’s coming.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Fuck yeah you can kill ‘em. Nail one of those fuckers when it’s in a body and…boom. Does the job. And Brody, she’s got ideas how to do it without one of ‘em needin’ to be in some bastard’s skin. — Excerpt Debriefing Airman First Class Edward D. Shoup

  Jakes knew a door-to-door, even if whatever was doing the searching wasn’t human. They had the bodies for it, but not the moves.

  The things looked human, had been human. But they shambled along, swaying with a loose, staggering gate, more like drunks than anything deadly. Until one stopped, stood, and you could mistake it for being blind with that sparking-white shimmer over the eyes. Before the next heartbeat, it’d dart forward, static blaring, sparks jumping from the ripped flesh, stopping just as fast, face lifted, like it was scenting.

  Hunting.

  His own skin crawled at that thought. They could track. But the damn things wer
e something inhuman inside dead flesh.

  The skin hung loose on all of them, so did the gaping mouths and the tattered clothing. They stank like a walking slaughter house. And surges, electric arcs, crawled out from the inside, snapped over burn-blackened skin like heat-lightning. His fingers itched to take out every goddamm one of ‘em. Because he’d seen one peer into the sky and, for a second, the light in her eyes had faded.

  In that instant, he’d seen what had been a woman’s face. He winced for the agony carved there, probably the last thing she’d felt. Sparks flared again, whited-out anything that had once been a person. A blank-faced thing scented the air with a hair-lifting static whine.

  Crap, but they didn’t have a goddamm clue what they had here—except death on two legs heading their way.

  Easing to the right, Jakes glanced at Shoup, signaled to fall back. Shoup kept his stare locked on those things, as if all he could see were targets moving into range. But Jakes knew Shoup’s peripheral vision as well as his own. He gave the signal again, made it clear. He’d shoot the son-of-a-bitch before he’d leave Shoup in a position that’d be overrun in five minutes.

  Scowling, Shoup finally looked over to him. His eyes narrowed. Shoup glanced back once more at the things prowling these streets. He threw them the finger, rose and retreated with Jakes. They didn’t stop until they’d put ten blocks between them and that damned search party. That was all the distance they had.

  “Coulda taken ‘em,” Shoup said, kicking up dust now that he could without giving away his position.

  Jakes angled a look back over his shoulder. The way those things moved, all that stopping and starting, could be they had half an hour. Or could be about sixty seconds, given that darting speed. No telling if those things—what’d Brody call ‘em, Walkers?—if they covered ground quick or slow. He didn’t want to stick around to find out.

  He gave Shoup a nod. “Yeah. And if that’s a scouting party for a main force?” Shoup lifted one shoulder, shifted his weapon to a more comfortable hold. Jakes knew he’d better make orders clear so Shoup didn’t go his own way on this one. “We have no supply lines—that means you do not spend so much as a dime without direct orders or a threat in your face. That clear?”

  Right shoulder hunching, hitching his weapon higher, Shoup glanced around at the ruined city. “Gotta be some ordinance around somewhere.”

  “What we need’s a better hole to pull in over us. Keep an eye on our six. I’m gonna hustle our civvies outta here.”

  Leaving Shoup at the door, Jakes jogged inside. He didn’t see Temple or anyone else in the space that Brody had led them to, but he followed his instincts to the back. It wasn’t hard to find them from there. One doorway led to storage, the other to stairs. The tang of sex hung on the air, so he followed that and stepped down into what looked like a face-off from the aftermath of sloppy emotions. Well, fuck-up was more than a phrase, but no time for that. He glanced at them, told them to move their asses. Pity he couldn’t stay to see more of Brody’s. She looked to have the kind of ass that should be appreciated. Seemed Gideon had thought so, too. And what new mess would fall out of this? Jakes really didn’t want to know, but he might have to.

  He stopped at the top of the stairs, started to wonder if he needed to hustle these two again. The slap of footsteps told him no. They came up dressed, giving each other space. Gideon followed Brody, moving slow, and Brody had given up on that lab coat of hers. She’d swapped it for a shirt and trousers in a dingy gray-brown. She’d kept her shoes and belted the pants—Gideon’s maybe—and the top hung loose enough that Jakes would bet it had to be Temple’s. Hurrying up the stairs, she rolled up the sleeves, kept her head down and her stare anywhere else but on someone’s face.

  Jakes started for the exit, where he’d left Shoup. “A half-dozen of those Walkers of yours are headed this way. Thought you said they never come here? Thought you said five or less could hide out?”

  Gideon’s mouth tightened. He shook his head. “They haven’t. Not before. There’s…I don’t know what’s changed,” he said, but his stare slipped over to Brody and filled with about ten kinds of worry.

  Jakes glanced at Brody as well. She had some color back in her face but she’d wiped away any emotion that might give away something of what had just gone down between these two.

  She looked up—must have felt his stare on her—and muttered, “I’d kill for some coffee.”

  Jakes’ mouth twisted. “May come to that.” He glanced at Gideon, who’d come up the stairs with a decent sized knife in hand. Jakes was going to hope they didn’t get close enough to anything for it to be of use. But hope got you zip, so, yeah, not bad back-up to have steel in your hands. That left only one of them unarmed.

  Teeth gritted against the need for his next action, Jakes stopped and pulled out his sidearm. He offered it grip first to Brody and asked, “Got any training?” She took the weapon, checked the safety with a glance, chambered a round and settled both hands in a practiced grip. That answered his question, but Jakes had to ask the other one. “Ever shoot anything on two legs that wasn’t made of paper?”

  She turned an edged stare on him, eyes too bright, mouth pressed flat, more behind that pulsing jaw than determination. She gave a nod and said, words flat, “Gideon’s knife worked fine on the last Walker that came at me. And if you want to start patronizing the civilians, pick a time when our lives aren’t on the line.”

  He thought about giving her a slap on the shoulder, decided she wouldn’t like that much either. Heading out the door, he shot the words back at her. “Don’t generally hand my weapon to anyone I’m patronizing. Now show some hustle.”

  Outside, Gideon pushed past, slipped in front of Shoup with the prowling ease Jakes had seen in Afghanistan—guys used to hunting from the shadows. Jakes watched, frowned, wished he had sunglasses to cut the dull glare of the day and an armored unit to back him. He’d also have to have words later with Gideon about who was running this clam bake. Half a block later, Gideon’s unchatty pal stepped from a side-street, shoulders tense, stare sharp, stride casual. He fell into step with Gideon and the two men shared a long, long glance.

  The hair stood up on the back of Jake’s neck. He swapped his own look with Shoup and, yeah, they both had safeties thumbed off now, had damn near pegged the big guy for a target. The man could move quiet as death’s scythe. Shoup seemed to be pinging the same vibe from those two—something up with Gideon and his pal. The face of that woman-not-woman Walker flashed in Jake’s mind, the one whose real face he’d seen for an instant. He shook his head to clear it, glanced again at Shoup.

  Shoup shot back a grin, three-day-leave bright and wicked as a bad idea. Jakes gave a jerk of his chin to send Shoup after the two in front of them—not that he didn’t trust Gideon and his pal, but he was keeping them pegged as unknown quantities. He still had that plan-in-motion feeling coming off them. He also kept Brody between himself and Shoup. And he still wanted to know where the last man on Brody’s team had gotten himself.

  Was the missing guy alive or dead like Brody thought? As a betting man, he’d put money on the latter. But he needed facts to take back, or a body. If they could get home. Right now they needed safe haven.

  Four blocks later, or what looked like city blocks of abandoned buildings, Jakes took a read on what passed for sunlight in the overcast sky and stopped. Goddammit, if he could trust the slant of daylight here, they’d started doubling-back. A fresh knot twisted in his gut. He hissed out Gideon’s name and the man glanced back, mouth set to stubborn and nothing else good in his face. Jakes grabbed Brody’s elbow, pulled her into the cover of a standing wall. He counted on Gideon to follow after her.

  Gideon glanced at her. For a moment, what Jakes pegged as regret tightened lines around Gideon’s eyes. Without another word, Gideon turned and followed the big guy into the rubble of the next street, and Jakes muttered, “Where the hell is he heading?”

  “They know this place. They know what they’re doin
g,” Carrie whispered, staring at where Gideon and Temple had disappeared.

  Crouched in the chilled shade of a half-fallen wall, Carrie wet her lips. The Beretta lay sweaty and heavy in her hands, the hashed metal grip scraping her palms and the scent of gun oil metallic and dull. She kept her fingers wrapped firm, the way her dad had taught her back when they’d still been a family. Tight enough to hold, loose enough not to strangle her aim.

  She hoped like hell she didn’t have to use it.

  She also hoped that Gideon really did know what he was up to with Temple. She hated that Jakes had interrupted her and Gideon before they could settle anything. Hated even more this need to run and hide, her heart pounding adrenaline-sick fast. She’d been dragged so far out of her comfort zone she almost couldn’t remember what it felt like to be warm and fed and able to think straight.

  Her stomach rumbled and tightened, reminded her she hadn’t eaten in far too long. She had the headache going again to prove it under the other one from enforced caffeine withdrawal. But she could live with it. She knew most of her limits. She kept trying to think of this as no worse than a heavy sprint at the lab—late nights and forgotten meals. But it wasn’t good to think about that because that sent her to memories of Thompson and Chand and Zeigler and the lab tech. And to what Chand had looked like back...

  Heart tight, throat raw, she squinted into the sun. Think about other things. About the ritual when a project took off—long hours, skipped meals, dry reports, cold leftovers from the cafeteria. Yeah, she could do that. But she’d always paid a price afterwards with insomnia, exhaustion, and jangled nerves. She was paying the price here, too, and the shock mixing in with the rest of everything left her wrung dry.

  She fought her hand to steady. Her insides twanged like a struck drum head that wouldn’t stop vibrating. Fatigue hung leaden in her arms, spiraled her thoughts into a treadmill of frustration.