Persistence of Vision

by Liesel K. Hill

  Maggie ran, knowing she wouldn’t make it, and got all of ten feet before huge, vice-like fingers closed around her elbow. In one movement, the man whipped her around to face him and knocked her onto her backside. The weight of the child falling on top of her drove the air from her lungs.

  Now that she was right next to the Trepids, there was no denying it: they were bigger than the Arachnimen she and Marcus escaped from. This man stood well over six feet tall with tree trunks for legs and boulders for arms. He could probably kill Maggie with his bare hands without even breathing hard.

  She could also see why their faces had looked darker from a distance. The Arachnimen had spider web tattoos over their eyes. The round, web part had covered their orbits with only bare strings stretching out over their faces. These Trepids had much larger webs that covered most of their features. The man she was looking at had strange symbols tattooed where lines of webbing came together and gems encrusted at certain junctures. He had an earring in his right ear that looked like the one the Arachniman who had attacked Maggie in her home had worn—only this one had a dot both below the X and to the right of it.

  Maggie didn’t have time to think about what it all meant. Her right hand moved frantically over the earth, searching for a weapon.

  I have to find one, she thought. I will. I will! Her palm closed over a smooth, round rock, perfectly fitted to the curve of her hand.

  The boy was not fighting Maggie now. He was facing into her chest, legs wrapped around her waist, tiny fingernails digging into the back of her neck.

  The Trepid put one Godzilla foot on Maggie’s knee, letting his entire weight rest there so she had no chance of twisting away. He reached down and gathered a handful of the boy’s shirt.

  Maggie held her rock with one hand and the boy with the other. When the Trepid tried to yank the boy out of her grasp, she twisted her hip, arced her arm, and used the upward momentum of the man’s own pull to swing around and clock him in the cheek with the donut-sized rock. She felt more than heard the faint clacking sound, like plastic fence slats bumping together, and knew she had shattered his cheekbone.

  Her blow didn’t knock him down, but he staggered backward, clutching his cheek in surprise. The second he let go of her, Maggie twisted around onto her hands and knees and crawled away. The boy was clinging to her, which left her free to use her hands to push up from the ground. She gained her feet and ran toward the cave again.

  Before she got far, an immense weight thudded into the back of her calves. Her knees buckled, and she was grateful that the blow had been below her knees, which allowed her to catch herself on her hands rather than landing on top of the tiny, terrified child.

  Strong hands grabbed her waist, sausage-like fingers digging into the tender skin of her sides, and flipped her over. It was the same man she’d just hit. He’d taken her down with a flying tackle.

  Maggie pushed the little boy over her head toward the caves, knowing if he stayed between her and her attacker he was going to be hurt. She’d dropped the rock after getting away the first time and now had no weapon.

  The man closed one massive hand around her neck and pulled her toward him. His other hand went behind him like a slingshot winding up. If he hit her she’d lose consciousness. She could be killed, raped, taken hostage, or absorbed by the collective. At the very least the child wouldn’t be saved. She couldn’t allow that to happen, so she couldn’t allow him to hit her.

  She kicked her legs and twisted her body; she whaled on him with her fists and connected a few times near his groin, but it did no good. It was like kicking a boulder and hoping the mountain would move.

  Darkness came in from the sides of her vision like curtains. Weakness seeped into her arms and legs, and she knew she was losing.

  Through the hazy, opaque net that was her vision, she saw her attacker look at the caves behind her in surprise. Then he let go.

  The impact of her shoulder blades hitting the ground was jarring, even though she’d only been a few inches above the earth. A reflex in her diaphragm spasmed, and she inhaled air sharply. Her throat was instantly raw and throbbing.

  Another pair of legs was standing over her, but it was not her attacker. This person had his back to her and was jolting back and forth, blocking and slashing at the Trepid. Maggie knew who it was without seeing his face.

  Rolling onto her side, she pulled her knees into a fetal position before looking toward the cave. The little boy was still sitting three feet from her head. His head was in his lap, elbows over his ears and tears streaming down his face. Despite the weakness that had expanded like gas to fill every part of her body, Maggie dragged herself toward the child and gathered him into her arms. He collapsed against her, clutching her with tiny, trembling hands.

  Only then did Maggie turn to watch Marcus fight. He was not the only one. A group of eight men had come out of the cave to Maggie’s rescue. Karl was the only other one she recognized, but they were all large men; they had to be to take the Trepids on.

  A flat, gray rock rested against their palms and was secured by some kind of elastic that stretched across the back of the hand. While Marcus traded blows with Maggie’s attacker, he kept aiming the flat rock at the man. She wondered if it was some kind of weapon.

  Marcus also had a large stick. He held it like a walking staff but didn’t use it to fight. The Trepid swiped at Marcus with a knife, but Marcus ducked under the Trepid’s arm and slammed the flat of his foot into the back of the Trepid’s knee. The man went down. With the upper hand, Marcus brought his elbow back and drove the palm of his hand—and the flat rock—into the Trepid’s forehead. Maggie could feel the energy of the impact from where she sat. Something about the blow told her it was a killing one.

  It occurred to her that the flat rocks allowed the wearer to channel enough energy to kill a person with their bare hands. The thought made her shiver.

  Marcus’s chest heaved as the man hit the ground. The cave dwellers had bested the first wave of Trepids, but more were coming toward them, appearing over the rise a hundred yards away. They were pouring in by the dozens.

  A hand grabbed Maggie’s shoulder, and she turned to find Joan staring down at her.

  “Maggie, are you deaf? Come on. Back to the mountain. Hurry!”

  Maggie had been sitting in one place for several minutes. She now followed Joan to the safety of the cave, berating herself for not moving earlier.

  Once there, Maggie placed the little boy into the grateful arms of his mother. When the boy saw who he was being handed to, his chest shuddered and heaved anew, and fresh tears flooded his cheeks while he plastered himself to his mother’s neck. She was led away, and Maggie whirled to see what was happening outside.

  Joan closed a hand around Maggie’s wrist, anchoring her to the spot. Maggie hadn’t intended to run back out—she didn’t think—but what happened next she wasn’t prepared for.

  The men with Marcus had fallen back, leaving him out in front of them before the oncoming Trepids. The ground was littered with those they’d already killed, but the approaching wave of violence was gargantuan in comparison. Maggie’s heart quickened with fear, and she wondered what they would do. Marcus, standing twenty feet ahead of the others, still holding that wooden staff, would surely be crushed.

  He stood perfectly still, staff in hand, as dozens of Trepids rushed toward him. It was an army coming toward him like a moving wall. The other cave dwellers were taking slow, tentative steps backward toward the cave.

  “Joan, what’s he…?”

  Joan still held fast to Maggie’s wrist, but she gave Maggie a reassuring look.

  With the Trepids less than ten feet from him, Marcus finally moved. He hefted the staff in his left hand, tossing it up a few inches so he could get hold of it farther down. Then he took a knee while slamming the staff into the ground. He timed it perfectly so that his knee and the butt of the staff hit the ground at the same time.

  The wave of energy that radiated out from him w
as unlike anything Maggie had ever felt. It came up from the ground, through her shoes, and into her body, spiking her heart rate and making her skeleton vibrate against her flesh. The very mountain quivered as if from a seismic aftershock.

  It was a similar sensation to the one she’d felt when running across the field the day before, when they’d come through time. It wasn’t exactly the same, but similar. Everything was moving in slow motion; the power radiating from Marcus had caught and absorbed everything around him. His warped bubble of energy had trapped them all, and for only a heartbeat, connected them…

  A pair of boots moving across the ground at eye level.

  Maggie couldn’t move. Her mind was reeling, but she couldn’t make her fingers obey her brain. She didn’t know what had happened, but fear lay over her chest like a restraint. Everything was blank—or almost. Everything she knew—everything she was—was slipping through her fingers, and she had no way to stop it. She couldn’t even move.

  But that was what the woman said would happen, hadn’t she? What had her name been?

  A pair of brown boots walked across her field of vision. They were walking directly in front of her eyes, though at a slightly askew angle. She was lying on the floor.

  The boots turned so the person they belonged to was looking at her. After an almost imperceptible pause, they ran toward her. The legs fell into a squat, and she could see a torso—obviously a man’s. Then she was looking at the ceiling.

  Marcus’s face came into view. He had a black eye and his question mark scar seemed fresher. His mouth was moving, but it was like someone had hit the mute button. Focusing on his lips, Maggie realized he was saying her name. She could feel his hands on her shoulders, squeezing and shaking.

  “Maggie,” his mouth was saying. “Maggie, are you okay?”

  But even her ability to move her eyeballs was receding. She forced them away from his lips and to his eyes. If she remembered anything, she wanted it to be his eyes.

  She screamed his name in her mind. He was slipping away from her. Everything he—they—were was leaving her, and she was powerless to stop it. She had a sensation of sobbing, but her body was paralyzed, so it was only her soul weeping. Her memories, her identity was fading. She was slipping into oblivion.

  Marcus’s arms were under her now, lifting her. Joan came into her view, but everything else was blurring out.

  Where was she? What was this strange place? Who were these people?

  Marcus!

  Vertigo made Maggie step back with one leg to catch herself. It was like a dream where you feel like you’re falling until you kick yourself awake. The instant her foot hit the ground, the dizziness was gone, and then there was only silence in the cave and Joan holding Maggie’s hand, looking at her speculatively.

  Maggie looked out to where the battle had taken place. Her mouth dropped open. All the Trepids who’d been coming—every single one of them, and there must have been close to a hundred—had fallen to the ground. The utter silence made Maggie’s breathing sound loud, and she knew they were all dead. He’d killed them all.

  People began moving and talking around her in the cave, but Maggie took no notice until Joan turned Maggie firmly to face her.

  “Are you all right, Maggie? Anything broken?”

  Maggie shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

  “You’ve got finger marks on your throat. How’s your breathing?”

  “Fine.”

  Joan looked skeptical but said nothing else. When Maggie’s eyes went back to what was happening outside, Joan followed her gaze.

  Marcus hadn’t gotten up. Two men—one was Karl—had put a shoulder under Marcus’s arms and were hauling him toward the mouth of the cave. Marcus was trying to walk, but his feet were dragging through the grass.

  They brought him inside and set him gently on the ground. Maggie squatted down beside him. His body slumped, his chin on his heaving chest.

  “We’ve got to get this door shut,” Karl called as soon as he set Marcus down. “More are bound to show up, and Marcus is out of commission.”

  People moved to the cave door. It comprised an entire wall of the cavern, so they stood with hands on the adjacent walls as close to the opening as they could get. They shut their eyes and placed their palms against the rock. When room ran out, others simply put their hands on the shoulders or arms of those touching the stone. They also shut their eyes.

  Maggie could feel the energy they were calling on. It was different from the wave she’d felt when Marcus and his staff hit the earth. That had been urgent, powerful, overwhelming. There was still a power to this, but it was steady, calm, expectant, and well controlled.

  With a rush of air, the cavern was suddenly whole—completely entombed in rock and no longer open to the outside world. Maggie looked over to where only seconds before daylight and wind had been streaming in. Now there was only a thick wall of stone.

  The magnitude of what had just happened—her own brush with death, the child, the monstrous men, the dead bodies on the other side of the rock, the way these people lived, the awesome power of it all—hit her with such force that it took her breath away. She clapped a hand over her mouth and let her weight fall heavily to the ground, her body wracked with sobs and tears spilling over her cheeks.

  A hand rested heavily on her shoulder, and she turned her head. Marcus was looking at her. It probably took all his energy to do so, but his gaze was penetrating, now more than ever.

  “It’s all right, Maggie,” he whispered between deep breaths. “Everything’s okay.”

  “Are you okay?” she sobbed.

  He nodded. “Just exhausted. But I’ll be fine.”

  “Of course he will.” Karl’s booming voice behind her made her jump. “But we should get him to Doc, just to be safe.”

  Karl hoisted Marcus up again. Maggie watched them disappear around a crusty stalactite. Marcus wasn’t making much effort to walk anymore.

  “You too, Maggie,” Joan said, taking Maggie’s arm and pulling her to her feet. “I want Doc to check you out.”

  Maggie wiped her eyes. “Joan.” She looked at the blunt rock wall that obscured the battleground from view. “Did Marcus just kill a hundred men and save us all?”

  Joan’s eyes slid sideways as she considered. “Pretty much. Yeah.”

  Maggie passed a weary arm over her face. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but why isn’t he the protector?”

  Joan chuckled behind her hand.

  Half an hour later, Maggie was in an area of Interchron everyone referred to simply as Medical. Several of the individuals who had arrived were injured and needed attention. A frenzy of activity buzzed around the room for the first twenty minutes Maggie was there, but Joan stayed close to her, holding her hand.

  Finally Doc made his way to her.

  “Maggie, are you hurt?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “I wanted her to be checked out, Doc,” Joan said. “She was a bit overwhelmed by what happened.”

  Doc nodded. “That’s to be expected, I suppose, but I heard you were knocked down by one of the Trepids. Did you really run out of the cave to get a child?”

  Maggie nodded. Both Doc and Joan gave her annoyed looks, and she shrugged.

  Doc shook his head, the corners of his mouth turning up. “Well, it’s nice to see that you’re still exactly the same person.”

  “Meaning what?”

  “You were always doing insane things like that before. But hold still. Let me make sure you’re okay.”

  With one hand on the smooth gray rock he’d used before, Doc closed his eyes. She felt a tingle of energy run through her and knew it was his scan. The scan took longer than before.

  When Doc opened his eyes, he was frowning. “How do you feel, Maggie?”

  “Fine. A bit weak. Why? Is something wrong?”

  He gave her a reassuring—albeit tight—smile. “Probably not. Just something strange—a spark of energy in your brain that I can�
��t quite identify. But if you feel okay, I’m sure it’s nothing. Just adrenaline or something.”

  Maggie had debated over how much to tell everyone. “Doc, what part of my brain is this energy in?”

  “That’s what’s strange. It’s in the part that houses memory.”

  Maggie’s heartbeat quickened. She kept trying to tell herself that what she’d seen was just a hallucination—sparked by the information overload she’d had in the last two days. But if what Doc was saying was true…

  “Maggie, what is it?” Doc leaned forward and took her hands.

  Maggie hesitated. “Doc, how’s Marcus? Is he going to be okay?”

  Doc sat back, frowning at her change of subject. “Yes. When he—that is, what he…did takes a lot of energy. He’s not injured, but he’ll probably sleep for eighteen hours. It’s a matter of recuperation.”

  “What was it that he did?”

  Doc and Joan exchanged glances, but Maggie was not going to volunteer any information until they explained. She folded her arms and jutted out her chin.

  Doc sighed. “Marcus is the Healer, Maggie, but that is only one of his unique gifts. He has the ability to seek out and find anything he needs in the universe.”

  “Anything…like what?”

  “It’s what makes him a great Healer. In any situation, the energy needed for whatever task a person is performing exists somewhere in the universe. Marcus can…send his mind out, if you will, to search for it. He identifies what he needs and brings it to him. He has the ability to assess exactly what kind of energy an injured person needs and how much he needs in order to heal the injury they have. He does all this instantaneously, with greater ease than anyone I’ve ever met. That’s what he did today.”

  “Are you saying that he reached out to the universe and found the energy he needed to kill?”

  Joan squeezed Maggie’s hand. “Don’t think of it so negatively, Maggie. Marcus wouldn’t have. Most likely he thought of needing the energy to protect all of us.”

  “Yes.” Doc nodded. “He pulled in the energy he needed and unleashed it on the enemy. He did it with such power and force that they died instantly. All of them.”