by Mallory Kane
Rider gave her a disgusted glance. "Thank you."
She laughed and he watched her mouth, thinking how much he wished he could give her laughter for the rest of her life.
"You know what I mean," she said.
"I told you, Doc," he said. "Most of these guys were criminals. I was a volunteer. No." He shook his head. Sometimes his brain was still fuzzy. "No. I wasn't a volunteer. I was forced into it. I had something those other poor guys didn't have. I had my hatred for them to sustain me, even when I couldn't remember it, it was still there to motivate me. Now, get dressed. We've got to get out of here."
His words hurt Kristen. He hated them because they'd killed his wife. But she knew he was right. Even with the assurance of the strange little orderly that no one would die over the weekend, now it was Sunday night and the hospital would be getting busy. They always admitted a lot of patients on Sunday night for surgical procedures on Monday. The corridors would be teeming with people before many more hours.
"You're right. We've got to go," she said. She got up and got dressed quickly, running her fingers through her hair. "I guess we'll just walk out," she said as she dressed. "We'll both have on scrubs, and we'll look terrible. They'll probably think we're residents on call. If anybody says anything, just let me talk."
"No problem," he said, pushing her through the office door ahead of him. "Lead the way."
Kristen stepped out into the dark corridor as she buckled Skipper's belt pack around her waist. She looked both ways. "Looks like the coast is clear. The elevator is this way." Rider was right behind her, the blaster in his hand.
"Put that back in your pants," she whispered. "You can't walk around with a blaster! Maybe if you were twelve years old, they'd think it was a toy."
"You could tell them I'm an escaped mongrel," he muttered.
"That would certainly work," she retorted as they rounded the corner to the elevator lobby, and heard the bell ring.
Rider stopped her with a hand on her arm. They pulled back against the wall.
"We can't sneak around here like spies. We look suspicious," Kristen whispered urgently. "We need to just walk right by whoever it is."
"Just wait."
They stood pressed against the wall and watched the elevator doors through the wide-angle mirror that was mounted at the turn of the corridor. As Kristen watched, a very big man got off the elevator. He was dressed in white, but there was something strange about the uniform. The distorted image made it difficult to study details, but it looked too white, too pressed, too perfect. He was carrying something in his hand.
"I know that guy," Rider whispered in her ear.
“You know him?” Kristen stopped. “But you don’t know anybody—oh.”
“Yeah, oh,” he said, then almost jerked her shoulder out of its socket. They ran silently back down the hallway. They were both in sneakers, so Kristen could clearly hear the click of the man's boots as he walked down the hall.
“Who is he?” she whispered, certain she already knew the answer.
“He trained with me.”
She nodded, and slowed down as they approached the morgue.
"No!" Rider hissed at her. "There's only one way out of there. Where can we go?"
She looked at him blankly. "We're in the subbasement, two stories underground. There's no way out anywhere. The elevators are the only exit."
"There's got to be something. Come on!"
"Wait!" She stopped, but Rider grabbed her and pulled her along. As he did, she glanced behind her at the other end of the hall. She could still hear the man's boots, clicking, clicking, coming inevitably closer. "Why isn't he running?
Rider jerked on her arm. "Maybe he knows there's no hurry. What the hell?"
Rider pulled up short and Kristen bumped into him. The corridor dead-ended into a piece of plywood.
"What's behind there?"
"I don't know. The pipe space, maybe. There's unfinished space down here, but I thought it was on the other side of the elevator lobby." She looked at the plywood barrier. "On this side—?" What was on this end of the building? Something was tickling the edge of her brain. "Oh! I know. A long time ago they were thinking about building a tunnel to the Medical Arts Building across the street. But I think they abandoned it when they couldn't guarantee the structural integrity. There's some kind of clay around here that shifts and slides, and they decided the tunnel wouldn't be safe." The click-click of their pursuer's boots echoed relentlessly in her ears.
Rider pulled on a corner of the plywood. "It's probably safer than what's behind us."
Kristen's heart contracted with fear. "No, we can't go in there! I don't know how far they got. It could still be a dead end."
"Want to fight him?" Rider jerked his head backwards, then pushed her out of the way. "Stand back." He stepped away from the barrier, stood for a few precious seconds with his head bowed and his arms raised in what looked to her like a placating gesture, then with a yell and a movement so quick she couldn't follow it, he kicked a hole in the plywood.
Dust and stale air buffeted them. Kristen coughed and fanned the air as Rider pulled her through the hole.
On the other side was a dirt tunnel bolstered with thick boards, like an abandoned mine in an old movie. It was barely high enough for Kristen to walk upright. Rider had to crouch. He pushed her in front of him. "Lay on, Macduff," he said.
She turned around to look at him, surprised by the reference. "That's Shakespeare."
"Yeah? I know a little Chaucer, too."
"Well, I guess it's good to know humans haven't lost their taste for good literature."
"Actually, they're considered quite racy. They aren't allowed in the schools."
"You're kidding."
Rider pushed on her bottom. "Get a move on, Doc. We can discuss how tastes in literature have changed in the past five hundred years—or the next five hundred years—later. What do you think's up there?"
She pushed through cobwebs and dust, trying not to recoil, trying not to think of what might be living down here in the dark. "I don't know, okay?"
She tripped on a fallen board. "It's dark. Did I tell you I'm really afraid of the dark?" She heard her voice trembling. Get a grip, Doctor Skipworth. Don't be such a slipper.
Rider must have heard the note in her voice too, because he spoke gently to her. "Hey, Doc. It's going to be all right. You're doing great."
"No, I'm not," she said shakily as the pallid light became dimmer and dimmer. She looked back over her shoulder, her eyes starving for the last glimmer of light back down the corridor. "I'm scared. I get really claustrophobic in the dark." She could hear the edge of panic in her voice. She gritted her teeth against the temptation to break and run back toward the light.
Rider put his hand on her neck, caressing her nape. "You're brave and tough. You're a hell of a partner, Doc."
Behind him he heard the unmistakable sound of blaster fire. It was faint, and he hoped his angel-doctor hadn't heard it. If she had, she might panic. The bastard had probably been too lazy to kick his way through the barrier, so he'd blasted it.
He remembered the guy. He’d barely started his training when Rider had been hurtled back into the past. Rider almost hadn’t recognized him. He looked older. It made Rider’s head hurt to think about the reasons a man younger than him would look older after a few days.
He picked up his speed a bit, crouching enough so he wouldn't hit his head, and urging Kristen forward when she faltered. "Come on, Doc. It won't be much further, I'm sure."
"I guess if it's too dark for us to see him, he can't see us, right?"
"Right." Rider didn't tell her his fear, that if they could send metal back into the past, there was no telling what kind of weapons his TAINCC buddy back there had. He could have night vision goggles. Suddenly, he remembered what he had been in prison for. Torture and mutilation.
"Rider?"
"Yeah, Doc. What is it?" The edge of panic was still in her voice. She'd done so well
so far. He couldn't afford to have her bark out on him now.
"Do you see that?"
"What? All I see is black."
Then he saw it. A tiny pinpoint of light ahead. After so much darkness, it was hard to believe his eyes.
"Well, well," he said lightly. "Egress."
Kristen sped up slightly, which was okay with Rider. He was ready to get out of this hellhole, too.
Slowly, agonizingly slowly, the pinpoint of light got larger. By its size, Rider figured if it was an exit, it was at least twenty miles ahead. He laughed to himself bitterly. He'd never tell Kristen, but a light that tiny couldn't be anything more than a flashlight or a single bulb. She’d find out soon enough. Still, the question was, what was it? Or who? Was it a beacon to safety, or a lure to destruction? Grimly, he continued.
As they got closer, Rider saw that the pinpoint of light was exactly what he'd thought it was. A single light bulb. Where it had come from, how it was powered, he had no idea, but as they approached it, he tensed, ready for anything.
"Hi, there. Going my way?" a voice said from out of the darkness.
Except that. He whirled and pointed the blaster in the direction of the calm, slightly amused voice right behind him.
Kristen jumped and whirled at the same time. He could hear her rapid breathing.
In the semi-darkness, it was hard to make out the speaker until she stepped into the pallid circle of light cast by the bulb.
"You —" Kristen muttered.
Rider turned to look at Kristen, then back at the small figure confronting him. "You two know each other?" he asked wryly. They ignored him. The little girl was grinning at Kristen.
"So you finally recognized me?" she asked.
“What’s going on here, Doc? You recognize her?” Rider studied Kristen out of the corner of his eye while he kept a watch on the other, smaller figure. His angel doctor was no longer terrified. In fact, she seemed relieved, lured into calmness by the strange little person confronting them.
Kristen stepped up beside him. "No, not until just now. Why have you been following me?” she asked the girl. “It was you, wasn't it? Every time?"
"Could someone tell me what's going on here? We don't exactly have all day to chat." Rider was getting fed up. They didn't have time for old home week here. “We’re being chased by a psychotic murderer.”
Kristen stared at him. “He’s psychotic?”
He ignored her and glared at the girl. "You know how to get out of here?"
"Just keep on the straight and narrow, and don't waver," she said, then disappeared into the shadows.
Rider stepped toward the spot where she'd vanished, but there was nothing there. He ran his hands along the dirt wall, bent over and examined the floor. "What the hell was that?"
Kristen put her hand on his shoulder. "I don't know, but I swear, Rider, she's been everywhere."
He stood, dusting his hands on the scrub pants, peering through the dimness at Kristen. "What do you mean?"
"She was a runaway in the alley, then she was the homeless old woman who told me about houses being safe, and the electric company." She shrugged fatalistically, as if she knew he didn't believe her, didn't even understand her. "And the orderly, too," she finished. "She said no one would die this weekend. I know, it doesn't make any sense to me either."
Rider stared at her in the semi-dark, trying to absorb what she was saying. "You're saying she's some kind of guide or something?" He thought about it. A guide sent by who knew who—from who knew where—to taunt them with cryptic remarks that didn't make sense? “I guess it’s no more unbelievable than what I’ve told you. But where did she come from. Where did she go?” And why didn't she take them with her?
Kristen grabbed his arm. "Listen," she said.
He did, and heard the crunch of heavy boots echoing down the dirt corridors. "Let's go."
He pushed Kristen ahead of him on through the corridor. It got blacker and blacker, darker than he'd known anything could be. Was this what death was like? An unending void? A black hole in life? He shuddered.
The trip back to this time had been like being born in reverse. He'd left a light, sterile room in the TAINCC and hurtled through darkness so deep it had shrouded him like fabric, clinging to him, suffocating him. Then he'd been slung into a solid wall of brick like a piece of rotten fruit tossed by an angry kid.
Had that darkness been any darker than this? With his heart pounding against his chest wall, with the smell of wet dirt and mold in his nostrils, with the memory of that tiny light teasing his retinae, he couldn't be sure.
Kristen's breaths were becoming more rapid and shallow. He knew how she felt—he was terrified and exhausted, too. He reached out in the darkness and touched her arm.
She gasped, a tiny choking breath, then put her hand over his. He understood what she was seeking with that touch—she needed to feel his assurance, glean courage from his calm. It was what he needed, too. So he gritted his teeth and tried to give her what she wanted, knowing what he tried to broadcast was a lie. But he did it anyway. If she found out he was terrified, she might break, and if she broke, he didn't have a chance.
Her quiet bravery kept him going, so he did his best to send her messages of strength and courage, and in doing so, realized that it helped him. She was the reason, the instrument of his determination. He had to keep her safe. Her safety was worth more than his life. He had to be brave to protect her.
Behind them walked certain death. Ahead of them—Rider swallowed the dregs of bitter panic that suffused his mouth—ahead of them was the unknown. The bizarre little person had told them to keep on the straight and narrow, and Rider couldn't see any more logical reason for not believing her than for believing her.
He was going to have to think about where she had come from at some point. There was only one way he knew of for someone to appear out of the blue. The same way he had. Through time. But when he'd left the future, the trip had been one way. Had they perfected the return?
"Oof!"
Kristen stopped abruptly and he ran into her.
"Ouch," she said. "I—think this is it." Her voice quavered just a bit.
Rider's heart filled with admiration for her. Admiration and something else. Something so wonderful and so awful he wasn't sure he could bear it. Somewhere along the way, Kristen Skipworth had become the most important thing in the world to him. Important in a way that had nothing to do with Mari's betrayal, with the TAINCC, or even with the need to protect the skipworths through time.
His hands shook and he swallowed hard. He wanted to see her eyes. He cursed the darkness for depriving him of the pleasure of her face. He wanted to hold her, tell her everything would be all right, even if he didn't believe it. She deserved everything he could give her, and he was so damned afraid of what was going to happen. He'd lost what objectivity he'd had. And without it, he wasn't sure he could keep her safe.
Her bravery made him ashamed. She had believed in him, had struck out into the darkness with him. He wrapped his fingers around her neck and massaged the knotted muscles there. "You think this is what?" he asked.
"The end," she said flatly.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Rider's fingers tightened on her neck as her hand touched his. Her fingers pulled at his, urging him to let go, urging his hand forward until his palm flattened against cold damp dirt.
"See. The end of the road."
He could tell she tried to laugh but it came out sounding like a sob. His stomach knotted in panic. The end of the road. Was it? Did it end here, with him and his angel-doctor flattened against the cold wall of dirt while the tank picked them off like little dots in a vidgame?
"Just a minute," he muttered, listening. There was a soft whoosh of air coming from below them. Kneeling down, he ran his hands along the wall. At about knee height, he encountered a void. "There's still a tunnel here," he said, pulling her down to kneel beside him. Her limbs quivered.
He touched her cheek. It was cold as i
ce, and wet with tears. "It's awfully narrow, but it's a tunnel."
"Straight and narrow," Kristen murmured.
"What?"
"That's what she said this time. Everything she’s told me has been true. Oh, Rider, I don't know if I can do it." Her voice cracked and she crumpled to the ground.
He reached for her and found her turned in on herself, arms wrapped around her knees, face buried in her arms. “Sure you can, Doc.”
He wrapped her whole body in his arms, holding on to her as tightly as he could until he heard her muffled voice.
"What if it's a dead end?"
He almost shuddered, hearing his thoughts echoed in her broken little voice. But he checked himself and took a long breath. "Didn't you say that little girl was right every time?"
She nodded against his chest.
"Well, then. Shouldn't we trust her?" He couldn’t believe what he was saying. Despite his confident words, Rider's whole body tensed with fear. He, too, was afraid of being caught like a rat in a trap in that small space. It was too much like the chambers in which he’d been locked while being conditioned—dark, inescapable. He didn't want to die that way, didn't want to die at all.
It was strange, this new urge to live. For a long time after he'd learned of Mari's betrayal, it hadn't mattered to him. He'd begged for death, cursed God for cheating him out of it. But that was before he'd learned to use his hatred to keep him strong, before he'd sworn vengeance on them, before their conditioning had made him forget that it was them he hated, not the skipworths. And now his angel-doctor needed him, and that was more than enough to live for.
Wrenching his thoughts back to the matter at hand, he put his palm against her cold cheek. "It's your call, Doc. I'll do whatever. We can fight him from right here if you want to."
"Which way do you think is a better chance?" she asked quaveringly.
Don't make me tell you, Doc. Don't make me say we've got a cometsicle's chance in hell either way. Don't make me tell you you're going to die here with me, and I can't do a damned thing about it. He wiped his brain of the cowardly thoughts, still not quite convinced she couldn't read his mind as well as his feelings. "Maybe we should believe your little prophet."
