Jerking a thumb to a point back over his shoulder, he said, his voice reverberating from the hard walls, “There’s a collapsed tunnel back there. I’m not sure it’s safe so we’ll head back the way we came in.” He finished his circuit of the room, turned and faced her, and put into words the same thing she was thinking. “Are you sure about this?”
She wanted to shrug and say something flippant, or nod and offer up firm certainty. Instead, she glanced at his face and gave up her own thin pretense. “Seems like there’s only one way to test a theory around here. And that’s by putting it into action.”
Lowering the laptop to the floor, she put her palm on the crystal mounted in the pedestal. Warmth tingled on her skin and that had to be a good thing—had to indicate a power source of some kind was still operating. Right now, given the walls, she’d bet on minerals being used to generate a chemical charge here, too. But why hadn’t the Edge Walkers drained this? Was that due to the power cycling on and off? Or the type of power? And how was this putting out a dampening field without killing its own power? She had too many questions—well, she had one way to find out.
Pulling out the Swiss Army knife, she leaned in, stopped and held still.
Already the memories had become distant as dreams, fading and chopping up into indistinct flashes. Drawing her hand back, she tightened her grip on the knife, which lay cool in her sweat dampened palm. What could she safely touch? What did she need to touch?
Behind her, Gideon muttered, his voice low and fierce, “Hurry.”
Pulse kicking hard, she knew what his tone meant. Walkers coming. She could hear the static as well. It lifted the hair on the back of her arms. She muttered a curse and wiped her palm down her leg.
Remember, dammit.
One memory teased, a quick flash of an image. Folding up the knife, she put it away. She settled both hands on the cylinder. She twisted, tried each direction. Nothing. She was missing something. Leaning down, memory flashed stronger—there, that slim plate on the side. Heart pounding, she knelt and pulled out the screwdriver blades on the Swiss Army knife.
The slimmest edge fit into the seam. The panel gave a hiss and slid open. She heard Gideon’s step, felt the warmth of him on her back.
“Think of Temple—he’s your way into the memories,” he said. She glanced at him and he gestured to the pedestal as if offering it up to her. He flashed a quick, humorless smile. “Don’t know if it makes it worse or better that I knew what I was putting you through.”
He meant the memories, and she knew what else he meant, which was pretty much everything that she’d had to go through since crossing to this world.
“Better,” she said. “Sharing Temple’s memories…that wasn’t easy on anyone, but…I…I appreciate the trust.” Oh, that’s a great way to say you care. “I…” she tried to get the rest of the thoughts out, but her throat tightened. This wasn’t the place, and they didn’t have time. “It’s not bad to have back-up. You know—on the memories.”
“Yeah, well I never knew what to do with them. I’m glad you do.” Gideon turned, strode to the doorway, and glanced up the barren stairs.
His movement stirred another flash of memory for Carrie. It rose like a mirage. She put her thoughts on Temple and her stare on the device. The memory surged back and she knew suddenly how it functioned. It didn’t emit power, it absorbed charge, soaked up current like a sponge with water, and bled the energy back into the ground—back into the earth current of this world. That’s why it was warm, that’s why the Walkers didn’t try to feed from it. This thing drank power better than they could.
With a sharp pang, she wished she had time to learn the physics behind why this worked—how did it work?
She stared at the crystal, willed it to give up its secrets. At one time, this must have kept the Walkers at bay for more than a fear hours each day. For some reason, the device was slowly failing. She knew that from Temple’s memories. The rest of the knowledge blurred, but she hung onto one image, clung to it with desperate heart-pounding need.
Biting her lower lip, she reached into the opening she’d revealed. She found a toggle, pressed it, and held her breath. A sharp click answered and she rose fast, caught the cylinder as it fell. Cradling it, she let out a breath and knelt. Digging her laptop from the bag, she slipped the cylinder into it instead—she needed this thing to be safe.
Shrugging the bag’s strap over her shoulder and hugging the laptop, she stood and gave Gideon a nod. She hoped this was all they needed, that she wasn’t missing some vital memory.
Gideon strode to her side, grabbed her hand—and jerked back, his eyes flaring wide. Ozone had flooded the room at his touch, and Carrie flinched back from the faint black line tearing open overhead. She flattened herself against the far wall, her heart hammering into her ribs, her skin iced.
Not now…Not yet.
Waving for her to follow, Gideon edged around the opening Rift. “This way.”
She kept her back to the wall, kept her eyes on the thin black rip overhead. She edged herself after him, feeling the wall for guidance, her fingers stumbling over intricate, carved designs. A gap opened behind her. She pivoted, turned into darkness, panic tight in her shoulders. She wanted to grab for Gideon, ached for the reassurance of his hand in hers, but she didn’t dare reach out. They’d only trigger the Rift to open wider. Stumbling on a step, she almost went to her knees. She caught back a gasp. She struggled up, braced a hand on the wall, staggered up the stairs and back into gray daylight.
She stopped at the sight of six Walkers on the street.
Walkers crowded into the main doorway of the Tower. They turned, all of them, eyes glowing, skin sparking in the storm-ridden morning, their flesh and clothes hanging ragged from skeletal faces. They’d been locals. To judge from the tattered clothes and bodies that reeked of decay, they’d also been Walkers a very long time.
Throat dry, Carrie glanced around for an escape. A hand pressed into her back, spun her right and pushed, and Gideon yelled, “Run. Now!”
She did. Laptop clutched tight, she sprinted down the street, pulse thundering in her ears and the bagged cylinder pounding her hip. It was better to move, to run, but she imagined the Walkers one step behind her, reaching out, clawed hands ready to grab her. The crystal in her pocket jabbed into her and she winced. The loud pop of shots cracked behind her. She ducked, instinct driving her low. At the next corner, she grabbed the edge of a stone building and spun herself around.
Gideon stood in the street, his gun up and aimed, blocking the path so the Walkers would have to get past him before they could get to her. Three Walkers rushed him, eyes glowing bright, torn skin sparking, movements jerky and fast. Dammit, she wasn’t losing Gideon again.
She bent, grabbed a rock and threw it, hit the building on the other side of the street. The noise distracted the Walkers, made them pause and turn. Three more shots from Gideon’s gun and the Walker nearest to him burst into light with the scream of metal on metal.
Another earsplitting screech spilt the air—this one sharper, higher, a whine that staggered.
Buckling under the wail, Carrie clapped one hand over her ear, and tried to turn from the noise to shield her other ear. The sound vibrated in her chest, shook her bones, churned her stomach into sick knots. The Walkers staggered as well, blundered into each other like creatures blinded—or left drunk—by that noise. Lightning flashed, and with it so did the bright flash of light on sharp metal.
Carrie turned toward the flash and saw Temple in the shadows.
He came out at a run, knife swooping and tearing into the nearest Walker. Thunder clapped in the sky, and Temple dropped another screeching metal pineapple. The two other Walkers that had hung back from Gideon dove for it, started to fight over its power source. Grabbing Gideon’s arm and pulling Gideon with him, Temple staggered away from the noise he’d created, from the Walkers. Carrie turned to run with them now and slammed herself into a shuddering stop.
The sixth Walk
er had come around from behind and had flanked them. It stood in the street in front of her, blocking her path. For an instant, Carrie’s vision blurred and memories crowded. Bits of the face the Walker wore reassembled into something else. I know him, she thought. But she didn’t really. However, that didn’t hold back the ring’s memories of sorrow.
Those imprinted emotions stole the blood from her face and the strength from her arms. Slumping against the building, she caught a sob. The image of the boy who’d worn this mangled face echoed in her head.
This had been Temple’s son.
Tears stung her eyes, mixed with the rain spitting from the sky.
She saw Temple’s son as he’d once been, not as the stark skull that grinned at her now. She saw his skin whole and dark, not frayed into sparking, bloody strips. She saw him not yet grown into his long limbs, body not yet filled out. Smiling, alive, and so very young. And she remembered how his future had been stolen in a flash of multicolored lights.
Fury welled at the injustice of his death—raw, blinding red anger surged into her.
With a scream, she pushed off the wall. She lashed out at that mockery of a face with the weight in her hands, smashed at that grinning skull. It had no right to that skin, that face, that life. Rain struck her arms and she drew back to hit the thing again, to tear the memory out of herself. The Walker hit back first, struck her chest with a fist and a sizzling growl.
Electricity arced into her in a sharp, paralyzing tear. Crying out, she staggered, her hands opening, her muscles going limp. Metal clattered at her feet. Chest burning, she fell. Her back slammed into wall and the breath whoosed out of her in a sharp gasp. The Walker whose face she’d smashed loomed over her. She groped for another weapon—anything. Shots burst out, and the Walker staggered back, light pouring from the holes in its chest.
In the next instant, Gideon wrapped his arm around her shoulders. He crouched next to her, his gun leveled on the Walker. She tensed against his touch, but heard his rough whisper. “Let it happen.”
She did. Turning her face into Gideon, she kept her skin pressed into his, pressed her lips to where the pulse pounded hard in his neck, and willed the world to change. The Rift tore open with a howling screech.
It pulled on her, dragged at her—gravel scraped under her thighs, dug through her trousers and into her skin. Eyes squinted shut, she held onto Gideon. She dug her fingers into the ragged threads of his shirt, anchored herself on him. The screech lifted, sharpened. An acrid smoke—burning hair, frying skin—thickened. The Rift pulled in the rain, whipped the air into a biting wind. They were going to get pulled in unless they could close this.
Teeth clamped against the drag, against the pain, Carrie squinted up at the Walker—at the remains of Temple’s son. It fell to the ground, crawled toward them against the pull of the Rift. Fear surged through her along with raw hate.
“Shoot it, dammit,” she yelled.
Gideon lifted his hand. Two more shots into its head and the Walker burst into light. Desiccated flesh splattered the street and Carrie covered her face against the gore. A plume of dark sludge lifted from what had been Temple’s. It surged into the deeper cut of blackness across the sky, and seemed to implode in another dark flash. The Rift snapped closed.
Shaking in the quiet patter of rain, Carrie pulled away from Gideon. Moving from his warmth was the last thing she wanted to do. She forced herself anyway. They had to keep that damn Rift closed.
Huddling in on herself, she clutched her arms. Heart pounding in her throat and wrists, she gulped down the hiccup of a breath. She tried for a second breath and had one fill her lungs. Her chest ached where the Walker had hit her and damp bloomed around the pain, tricked down over her belly. She could still smell ozone as well as the copper tang of her own blood. She still had the hairs standing on the back of her arms. Bits of bone and body clung to her trousers and tunic. Bile stung her throat. She swallowed it and tried for a shaking smile—they were still alive, after all.
Gideon reached a hand out for her face. He checked the movement and brushed the edge of her sleeve instead. “You good?”
Carrie nodded, and then shook her head.
Her pupils had blown wide, and Gideon could see the tremors in her shoulders and hands. Shock had hit her and he wanted to pull her into his arms and keep hold of her. He didn’t dare, not given what they kept doing. What had she said about opening the Rift too often? About how they were straining the barriers between realities?
Carrie pushed up to her feet. Gideon did, as well, following her up, staying close, his fists closed tight on his own frustration. He could see blood on her chest, but he could do anything about that right now. He still had a gun in his hand. The other one hung empty at his side. Carrie coughed and steadied herself against the half-fallen wall.
He saw her bag on the ground. He scooped up the tattered sack and held it out. She took it, peeked in, and swore.
Glancing at the scattered bits of the laptop computer, he wished he could tell her it didn’t matter. But it did. The back had come off and the guts lay in a battered mess. When Carrie looked up again, tears glittered in her eyes. She wiped the back of her hand over her nose.
“I am not losing it over a piece of hardware, but…it’s just...”
Gideon stepped closer. “If the choice was you or it, I’ve got my pick.”
She shook her head and her voice came out rough and low. “It’s stupid. And…”
“And one thing too many?” he asked, and he risked sweeping a stray lock of wet hair away from her eyes. It wasn’t as good as touching her skin, but it pulled a shaky smile from her.
“Bashing in a Walker’s head was not exactly how I planned to use it. I was hoping—”
“I like the way you keep hoping.”
Carrie glanced at Gideon and frowned.
Her chest burned like fire, and he had to be joking, because she felt so far from hope she couldn’t even see a glimmer of it. But he met her stare, his eyes serious, a look in them that tugged on her. Mouth pressed tight, she looked away. She couldn’t lean on him—not physically, and not emotionally. But she had to glance back and make sure he was okay.
The cross on his chest lay dulled by sweat. His clothes showed dark at the shoulders and his chest from the rain and the stains of what they’d just been through. The ache wrapped around her heart. If they cleared the Walkers out, she’d be going home. He wouldn’t. Even if she managed to save the world, she’d lose him.
Or maybe they’d all die and she could stop worrying.
That did make her smile—gallows humor. She shook her head. Rain trickle down her neck. She needed to focus on the pure matter of survival. Tugging together her torn tunic, she turned at the sound of steps behind them.
Gravel scrunched and Temple came forward, staggering. She couldn’t see any injury on him, but he fell to his knees, his head bowed, and his robes tugged by the wind. He pressed his palm into the smear of bloody remains already being washed away by the rain—all that was left of his son.
The images and emotions hit Carrie in a tidal wave—flashes of a life, baby to boy to young man. Joy, worry, and pride flowed into her and spiraled down into an empty grief that hollowed her chest, left her gasping, and choking back a sob.
Next to her, she heard Gideon draw in a ragged breath. She glanced at him, took in his pale face, the bleakness in his eyes—he’d been by Temple’s thoughts, too. He also had his own sorrows to echo Temple’s loss.
Gideon stepped forward, knelt in the mud and put his hand on Temple’s shoulder. She didn’t see what passed between them, what images Gideon shared, but Temple looked up, his eyes red-rimmed and wet. The agony of loss faded into the wind, left behind a dull ache. Carrie pressed a hand on her chest.
Temple nodded at Gideon, an abrupt gesture and his expression hardened. Both men rose, and Temple stepped in front of Carrie.
Rain dripped from Temple’s face, from the sharp cheekbones and dark-stubbled jaw. For an instant, she c
aught the anger bubbling underneath everything else—bitter and sharp as the blade in his fist. It punched into her stomach and she almost reeled back from it. But Temple reached into his tunic, yanked on the cord around his neck, snapped it. He held out his palm, damp and bloody, the black cord snaking across his skin. A small vial dangled, glowing with the chemical energy from the cavern walls. Next to it hung an even sided cross like the one Gideon wore.
“We wear them for the lost ones,” Gideon said, his voice soft. “Temple’s people make a doll and a cross for those who’ve lost their shadows—their souls. Walkers don’t cast shadows.”
Carrie glanced at Gideon. She put up a hand to shelter her eyes from the stinging rain blown by the wind. Throat tight, she didn’t want to think about dead souls. She had to drag this back into things that didn’t punch holes through her.
“Walkers generate light—I can see how that would obliterate any…any…god, I…I just can’t—” She gestured to the cross, shook her head. And she couldn’t. She’d walked away from any memento that might remind her of her mother. She couldn’t cope with keepsakes that only kept the emotion raw. She shook her head again.
Temple pushed his hand out to her again, and Gideon said, “You saw. He shed the memories of his son. He has to give this away. And he won’t—he thinks I carry too much with me already.”
Temple was right. Carrie picked up the cord, careful not to touch Temple’s hand. She didn’t know if her touching him would open the Rift, the way she and Gideon could. But she wasn’t up to an experiment right now. She tied the cord around her neck. The metal lay cool on her skin and the weight of the slim, small vial hung heavy. She hefted the bag back on her shoulder and faced Temple and Gideon. She was shaking inside still, but they had a job to do. She’d learned enough from her father about how to push everything else aside—stuff it all into a ball and keep the damn thing bouncing. She’d fall apart later.
For now, she gave her guys a nod, pulled her torn tunic tight, and said, “Come on. Let’s finish this before they finish us.”
Edge Walkers Page 18
