6
MOTHER NATURE HAS TAKEN OVER
THE IMAGE OF Bill’s shattered body lying in the street seared through Darwin. He ran with Michael, stumbling over curbs and cracks in the concrete, every crevice overgrown with vegetation, not seeing where he was going and not caring. Houses slipped past them. Their empty windows, some with tattered remnants of curtains hanging from the barren frames, stared into his soul and saw nothing but darkness and pain. Tears blurred his vision and ran down his face, dropping to the ground to be run over and forgotten.
Bill was . . . had been the friend he’d never had, the mentor. He was attentive, appreciative when Darwin did well, sharing his joy, and stern when he needed to be. He was always there. The only stable thing in the world Darwin had found himself in.
Besides Rebecca.
And she had killed him. In a single instant, she had robbed Darwin of both of his anchors in this new world he had been shoved into.
Darwin’s foot caught on the edge of a crumbling piece of fencing and he almost fell. Michael’s strong grip kept him on his feet, constantly moving forward. They stepped over the rotting wooden stump, running toward the houses.
“We need to get off the streets,” Michael panted, his breath misting in the air.
They sprinted between two bungalows, the shade a cool respite despite the frigid temperatures. Michael stopped and leaned against the white stucco of one of the houses. Darwin put his forehead against the rough wall. He gulped the air, trying to force more into his burning lungs. He turned, sliding down the wall, wanting, needing, to sit. To rest for just a minute. Rough stucco pulled at his blue anti-static jacket and scratched his back. He barely felt it. Michael pulled on his arm again, forcing him to rise to his feet.
“Come on. We can’t rest yet. They followed us through the hole, so they know where we are. There’s nothing stopping them from creating another one and sending more people after us.”
“Why don’t you make another one? Get us out of here?”
“I can’t. It just takes too much energy. I don’t have the concentration for another one. Seeing Threads is the easy part. Manipulating them is tough. Come on, we need to keep moving.” Michael dragged Darwin between more houses and through backyards before heading down a back lane.
For the next hour, Darwin’s world was a blending of houses and streets, some of it looking like it had been on the losing end of a war. At some point they left suburbia, walking across a cloverleaf intersection, staying off the fractured concrete and in the long grass and bushes at the sides when they could, before heading back into the jumble of never-ending houses and overgrown yards. The setting sun shone directly in their faces when Michael finally called for a rest.
“I think this is good enough. We can’t run through the dark, and we need to rest or there won’t be anything left in us tomorrow,” said Michael.
Darwin fell to his knees. He felt as though he had been running on empty for too long. For months.
“Get up.” Michael offered his hand. “Let’s at least get under some shelter before the sun goes down. We’ll stay in one of the houses tonight and start again in the morning.”
Darwin lifted his aching body off the ground, ignoring Michael’s outstretched hand. They walked through the broken back door of a dark gray two-story house, its paint cracked and peeling off in sheets. He barely noticed the dust and the animal tracks before collapsing under the table in what was left of the kitchen. He was out almost instantly.
Morning came too quickly. He opened his eyes, spying the spider webs that hung thickly where the legs met the tabletop. He was pretty sure there was movement, though it must have been his imagination. Nothing could possibly be living in the cold that permeated the house. He shivered in his blue anti-static jacket, wrapping it tighter around him and wishing he had something warmer to wear. He rolled out from under the table, his body protesting even the smallest move. Every muscle reminded him of yesterday’s mad rush in a single instant. He hadn’t exercised in months, and yesterday had pushed him to his limits, and well past them. He groaned as he forced himself to his hands and knees before using the table to lift himself to his feet.
He wrapped his arms around his waist, hugging himself to keep warm, the cold driving aside the pain. He knew it would only be worse tomorrow. He could still feel, or imagine he felt, the strange wrenching and tearing sensation he’d experienced in his head when he was pulled through the blue mesh. It was like a dam had burst and all the water that had been held back poured through the gaping hole. With the release came thoughts of home and his dad. Good thoughts. Thoughts he hadn’t had in a long time. Had Rebecca done something to him? How much of the last three months had been real, and how much had been created by her manipulating him, using the Threads or that damn inhibitor against him?
What was it that she’d said that first time they had talked? Don’t make me do that for you again.
Thirst cut through his thoughts, and he looked for something to drink. The kitchen was big and open with brown water-stained walls and splotches of black mold bleeding from the corners. He instinctively threw an arm over his mouth and nose. Two counters created an L against the walls, with dusty gray granite on top and a sink in the corner with yet another broken window in the wall. A brisk wind blew through the empty frame, chilling him to his core. Ignoring it, he walked past the stove and turned the taps on. Besides a short, faint hiss of air, nothing came out.
“You won’t find any running water.”
Darwin turned and stared at Michael. He looked like Darwin felt. His clothes were covered in dirt and grime and his eyes were shadowed in deep black circles. Darwin’s own clothes were in the same condition, and the blue anti-static smock was torn in a few places. He had no idea how that had happened. Michael returned the stare.
“I got some water from the hot water tank in the basement. It’s a bit stale, but it is clean. Food will have to wait until we get to a cache.” Michael’s voice sounded cheery, though it was obviously forced. “I thought getting away from there would be a bit more organized. That we would have time to grab my stuff before we left. I should have known better.”
Darwin practically snatched the water out of Michael’s hand and drained the cup. “Where are we? Can I get more water?”
“Definitely west of Philadelphia,” Michael said as he poured another glass from a canteen. “My best guess is somewhere in or near Marple. I was hoping to at least get to Lancaster, but I didn’t have time to get us that far. Hopefully we’ll get there this morning. I have a cache there, which includes food and some warmer clothes for you. We’ll have to wait until then before we get to eat. You can look around the house for some clothes, but I imagine it will be slim pickings.”
“What about Bill?” Saying his name filled Darwin with conflicting emotions. Bill had been such a big part of his life for months, and yet he barely even knew him. The signs that he had been against the Qabal and Rebecca had always been there, but to be actively working against her? How could he have missed that?
His thoughts must have shown on his face. Michael’s voice lost its forced cheerfulness, and he sighed. “There is nothing we can do for him. We can’t go back. The Qabal know exactly where he is and will most likely be waiting. If they left him there, there won’t be much to go back to anyway. You’ve seen what we ran through yesterday. Mother Nature has taken over, and she knows how to attend to the dead.”
Dead. The word struck at Darwin like a direct blow and he stumbled back into the counter, placing a hand behind him to stop from sliding to the filthy floor. Of course he was dead, but hearing it spoken out loud made it so concrete, so final.
Michael took a step toward him and then paused, leaving the kitchen table and its nests of spiders between them. “I . . . I’m sorry, Darwin. He spoke highly of you.” He turned and left the kitchen.
They didn’t make it to Lancaster that morning. Michael sat in a small circle he’d created in the overgrown backyard, trying to build what Darwin thought of as a tunnel. He watched from the kitchen window as the Threads pulled together before fizzling out and disappearing. Michael was exhausted by the time it was done. He stumbled from the backyard and back into the house, muttering “not my forte” under his breath. Darwin found him a few minutes later on the filthy, stained beige carpet in the living room, fast asleep and still covered in sweat from the effort of trying to create one of his tunnels.
Darwin sat on the floor by the doorway watching Michael’s chest rise and fall in a steady rhythm. What was he supposed to do now? Just hang around until the guy woke up? Take off and run to the Qabal? The thought stuck in his head.
The Qabal had given him something he’d never had before, something he didn’t realize he even wanted. A sense of belonging, of being part of a group that accepted him for who he was. A place where he wasn’t shunned because he didn’t fit in.
Only yesterday he’d told Rebecca he wanted to stay. Only yesterday he couldn’t have imagined wanting to go back home. There he’d be just another student at university, never having the right friends, the right clothes, the right personality. He hadn’t even thought of his dad. Not really. It was as if the man who had helped him through the toughest time in his life didn’t even exist. All that had changed when he’d been pulled through the steel-blue mesh. What had they done to him to make him forget the only person in his life that meant something?
Inside the blue-walled prison, everyone liked him. They all said hello in the hallways, welcomed him into the Sanctum services, sat with him at lunch. Now he saw it for what it was. A sham designed to fool him into doing whatever they wanted.
The image of Bill’s twisted, tortured body rose to the surface. In his head, he watched again as the blood pooled around Bill’s broken chest. A feeling of helplessness filled him from his head down to the soles of his feet. This time he let the tears fall.
The Qabal had killed him. Rebecca had killed him. The woman he’d trusted. In the blink of an eye, Bill went from a living being to an empty dead shell, broken as easily as Darwin had broken the rail on that stupid device. He rubbed his eyes with the backs of his hands, wiping the tears away. In the end, even Bill hadn’t told him the whole truth.
It was Bill who had pushed him to run with Michael. It was Rebecca who had pushed him to be part of the Qabal, to agree to having his mind probed for information he wasn’t even sure he had.
He jumped to his feet. It was enough. Enough of being told what to do by other people, of being controlled. He wasn’t going back to the Qabal, wouldn’t give Rebecca the chance to brainwash him again, or whatever it was that she had done to him.
How could he trust her to keep her word, to let him go back even if he did have the information they needed to create the link between the two worlds? That she wouldn’t use the link and her power with the Threads to wreak havoc on his world?
Anyone who could get rid of someone like Bill so easily, take a life without a second thought, could get rid of him as well, and probably would. Especially if they thought he had joined Michael. Then there was Lyell, and he suddenly knew the man who had helped him didn’t just leave the Qabal. Rebecca wouldn’t have let that happen. He was as dead as Bill was.
And Michael. Should he follow him to wherever he led? Bill had thought he should, but in the end, Bill had lied to him, making him as bad as Rebecca. Maybe worse, because Darwin had thought of him as a true friend and confidant. What was it that Bill had said? That he’d had enough? The implication was that he didn’t want to be there in the first place, that he wasn’t Qabal. His double agent cover bullshit hurt almost as much as losing him did.
One thing was sure, he trusted Michael about as much as he trusted Rebecca, and that was enough to make the decision. He was better off alone. It had always been that way, and always would be.
He could try to find his mom. Lyell had said his dad had died, but was she still alive or had the wars Rebecca talked about taken her? If she was alive, would she want to see another version of her son? As much as every part of who he was yearned to look for her, a small part of his brain kept telling him it was a bad idea. He was the stranger here. Despite the quiet voice, he knew he was heading home.
He glanced at Michael, still fast asleep on the floor with a faint sheen of sweat on his face. He grabbed Michael’s bag and emptied it on the kitchen table. There was no food, so Michael had been telling the truth about that. There were a couple of canteens of water. One felt full and Darwin put his head through the strap, resting it on his shoulder. Even full, there wasn’t enough water to last more than a day. He’d have to get more as he went on or he would end up a babbling dehydrated idiot.
He grabbed a big hunting knife as well and wove the sheath through his belt. He wasn’t sure what he would use it for, he had never hunted in his life, but its weight on his hip was weirdly comforting.
His search of the house had given him an extra-large man’s button-up shirt and a pair of dress socks with holes in the heels. He wore them both anyway. Any little bit helped against the cold.
He closed the door on his way out, hoping it would keep some of the animals that had made the tracks on the floor at bay.
Things were as they should be, as they always had been. He was on his own.
Darwin looked at the sun and headed what he thought was northeast. Michael had said they were just west of Philadelphia, and that meant home was in this direction. It would bring him closer to the Qabal, but it was a risk he was willing to take. Just the hint that his mom was alive, that he had the chance to see her, to hold her, was worth the risk. His heart had won the battle over his brain.
He had no idea how long it would take to get there, and winter was settling in, but he’d find warmer clothes along the way. He’d make it. He’d read somewhere the average person walked just over three miles per hour. He had no idea how far Philadelphia was from his home. It was over two hours by car, but what it was on foot was something else.
Once he got home, whether his mom was there or not, his next plan would be to find someone who could send him back to his world, or could teach him how to do it himself. Maybe she would come with him, and they would be a family again. He laughed quietly as he left the yard. So simple.
He traveled most of the morning before realizing he’d have to change his priorities. The water he’d taken from Michael was already running low and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so hungry. His lethargic pace, set by the aching muscles created by yesterday’s mad dash away from Rebecca and her Qabal, slowed him even more. His body was craving anything that could keep it fueled.
That changed his first order of business to finding some place to get more food and water, and something to carry it all in. He figured he’d made it far enough from the house he’d left Michael in that it would be next to impossible to find him.
Every house he passed looked like the one he had left, broken and ransacked. Paint peeling in sheets from the outside walls, leaving whatever was underneath it exposed to the elements. Maybe if he could find something more commercial, he would have a chance. He left the streets lined with empty and collapsing homes and followed what he hoped was a main road to a place with small businesses. Any place with restaurants or small neighborhood stores.
The first store he came across, a small corner Indian grocery called Patel Foods, had obviously seen better days. The bars had been ripped from the windows and doors, and broken glass lay scattered on the floor and empty shelves, a large brick nestled amongst the shattered shards. Even the sign had been smashed, though he didn’t know if it had been intentional or just Mother Nature doing what she always had—reclaiming what was rightfully hers anyway.
Darwin moved through the store and examined the empty shelves. He was too late, and by the looks of things, years too late. Dust lay on the shelves in an even layer, indicating that nothing had sat on them for years. There wasn’t even the track of mice or rats to indicate anything lived here at all. Taking one more chance, he got on his hands and knees, brushing glass away from in front of him as he went, and peered under the shelves. Hoping something was left behind by the looters who had obviously been through here.
A lone tin of cat food with a pull-tab top lay wedged deep in a corner. He stretched as far as he could, pushing his shoulder into the metal shelf until it hurt. His fingers were still inches away from the can. He pulled out Michael’s hunting knife, using the extended reach to sweep the can closer, and grabbed it out. No-name Beef Supreme with real chunks of meat. Even the label was a generic yellow with plain black text. The can was halfway back to the shelf before he changed his mind and shoved it deep into his front pocket. He wasn’t going to eat it yet, but he was at the point where he knew he had to think about it.
There was nothing else left in the tiny space.
He left the store, his thoughts on the single tin of cat food. How hungry would he need to be before he opened it? The fact he’d even kept the can was indication he was pretty close already.
A deep growl drew him from his reverie. Ahead on the broken road stood a German Shepherd, its tail straight and tense with its ears pulled back along its skull, staring at him. Its face told a story of battles won and lost, scarred and misshapen, lips curled to reveal long white teeth. Matted fur covered its body. No one had taken care of this dog in a long time. Another low growl started in its chest and Darwin took a trembling step backward. The dog took a forceful matching step forward.
Fear shot through him, and his stomach churned, forcing what little was in it into his throat. He swallowed and slipped the hunting knife from its sheath, gripping it tight, sweat making the leather-wrapped grip slick.
The last few months of training with Bill fell away as though they had never happened, and Threads pushed into his view, each one clamoring for his attention, begging for it. The dog took another step forward and deep red Threads shot out from it toward Darwin. Pain drove into his head like a rusty nail.
He struggled to regain control, but it wasn’t working. His mind tried to follow every Thread at once, crowding into every corner of his brain. Blackness narrowed his vision and threatened to close off the world completely. He dropped the knife, falling to his knees and grabbing at his head, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes.
Another low growl came from his left. He raised his head, trying to push through the blinding pain, and stared blankly at the massive beast. The dog stood only a few yards away, its eyes level with his. It took a second before he realized it wasn’t the Shepherd.
He closed his eyes, blocking the starving animal from his view, and concentrated on the exercises Bill had taught him, forcing the fear—the emotions—away. He groped wildly around before finding the knife and forcing himself to stand, pushing through the Threads that threatened to drown him.
New Threads forced their way into his view. He could hear Bill’s voice in the background telling him to breathe, to concentrate. Darwin opened his eyes and looked at the dogs surrounding him. He could see seven of them now, spread out in a rough circle. Two were blocking his retreat back into the store. The pack had taken a step back when Darwin stood, but had not moved since.
He saw the Thread just before the attack. It shot out from the German Shepherd to the other dogs in the pack, then seven strands flew toward him all at once. They rushed forward before he knew what had happened.
Reacting instinctively, he pushed hard on the Shepherd’s Thread, not knowing if it would even work. The dog yelped and faltered and Darwin was hit on all sides by the pack. Teeth grabbed at his leg and his world slowed to a crawl.
The German Shepherd attacked the other dogs, unused to being the last one to the prey.
He felt his jeans resist the pressure of a dog’s teeth squeezing his calf.
Two dogs left the attack, turning to face the threat from the Shepherd.
His jeans gave way in a sudden release, and sharp teeth punctured his skin, sending searing pain lancing through his calf.
Two more dogs backed away, looking uncertainly between Darwin and the Shepherd.
Blood flowed from Darwin’s veins, soaking through his pants and rushing into the dog’s hungry jaws.
Darwin slid to the ground and a mangy mutt rushed in, its bared teeth reaching for his throat.
He rolled to the side and his world began to fade as he felt a sharp tug at his shoulder. Another yelp pierced the air and the darkness dragged him under.
Darwin floundered awake in a darkened room, memory and pain rushing in to fill the place left empty by sleep. The bed he lay on smelled of dust and old age and when he moved he could feel a cloud rise and re-settle on his face.
From a closed door on the opposite wall, voices sounded like they were arguing. He shut his eyes, pushing through the urge to sneeze, to hear what they were saying.
“. . . Darwin Lloyd . . .”
“. . . superficial . . .”
“. . . leave him here . . .”
“. . . Enton . . .”
“. . . No . . .”
There was a brief moment of silence followed by, “He’s awake.” The voice sounded excited, and Darwin heard a faint slap. The door opened and two men walked into the room. Silhouetted in the light streaming through the door, they looked like twins.
Both men wore dark pants and shirts and had short-cropped hair. They weren’t wearing the Qabal blue smocks, but Darwin wasn’t sure that meant anything away from Qabal headquarters.
He glanced quickly to the window, dismissing it as an escape route. Maybe if he rushed them fast enough he would be able to squeeze through the door and get out.
“I wouldn’t do it,” said the one on the left.
“Yeah, not a good idea. The window isn’t either. We’re on the second floor,” said the other.
“He could do it, though.”
“Yeah, maybe. There are the bushes right underneath. They might break his fall.”
“Nah, too close to the building. You’re right, it is a bad idea.”
Darwin raised himself to a sitting position in bed, realizing for the first time a thin sheet had been pulled over him. They had talked about both of his ideas to escape. Either they had done this before, or they were reading the Threads to See what he was planning to do. That meant they were either Qabal or with Michael’s group. Or another group he didn’t know about. Either way, this didn’t feel like a place he wanted to be
“We cleaned out the bites on your leg and wrapped it. You won’t need a healer; the damage was fairly superficial. Bled like a bugger though. You’ll need new pants.” He bent over and picked up a pant leg, torn at the calf and cut just above the knee.
The one on the left spoke up again. “The shoulder was just a scratch. We stopped that dog before he could do any serious damage. So, how did you get here?”
Darwin just continued to watch them.
“Last we heard, the Qabal still had you. If you got away from them you should have been with Michael.”
Well, that made that clear. They weren’t Qabal, but they were with Michael and his group. On one hand, Darwin felt relieved. He was pretty sure if they hadn’t found him, he’d be pieces of meat in a dog’s belly. On the other hand, he was back where he didn’t want to be. What did it take to get away from these guys?
“I guess the dogs got his tongue as well. We kind of forgot to check that.”
The one on the right laughed and elbowed his friend in the stomach. “Good one!” He looked back at Darwin and got serious. “Now, Carlos here has first watch. Until we figure out what’s going on, you are basically a prisoner. One of us will be watching,” he made a double quotation mark in the air with both hands, “all the time. Even when you go to the bathroom.”
“Hey, that’s your job, not mine,” said Carlos.
The door closed on their arguing. Darwin could See steel-blue Threads form and cover the glass-filled window and the door.
He collapsed back onto the bed, the new cloud of dust finally releasing the sneeze that had been threatening since he’d woken up, and fell into a fitful sleep, his calf throbbing in time with his heartbeat.
The phone on his desk rang, and Darwin pulled himself from the equations and simulations running on his screen. He was only halfway back into the real world when he picked up the phone.
“Hello?”
“Darwin, come down to the lab. We’re having an issue calibrating the quantum receptors and I’d like you to look at it.”
“Andy knows more about that than I do, or Rebecca.” He was already looking back at his screen. His math was off, and some of the results he was looking at weren’t making any sense.
“Andy isn’t in today. His kids are sick and he stayed home to be with them.” His dad’s voice sounded angry, which meant he was so deep into a problem he didn’t have the extra capacity to be polite. “You worked with him on this. Pick up the calibration schematics from my office on the way down.”
The line went dead.
Darwin took one more look at the screen and rubbed his eyes. It would take hours to get back into the problem, but when your boss called, you jumped. Especially when it was your dad. He pushed himself to his feet and left the cube he’d been assigned, heading for the stairs that would take him to his dad’s office.
He walked into the lab ten minutes later, pulling the anti-static smock over his shoulders while trying to keep a grip on the rolled-up schematics. His dad was in the QPS room, sitting cross-legged on the floor beside Garth. Both men looked up at him when he walked in, but only Garth smiled.
Rebecca walked past him, her back rigid and a frown on her face.
“Bring over the schematics and help us figure out where we went wrong. Andy picked a hell of a day to take off.”
“I thought you said his kids were sick.”
Darwin’s dad sighed. “I did. I’m not mad at him, it’s just . . . we’re so close.”
Darwin unrolled the schematics onto the floor and kneeled beside the QPS. “What’s the problem?”
“All the readings are off. Not by much, mind you, but enough to make most of our calculations invalid. We’ve swapped out the board already, and the problems stay, so we’re not sure what’s going on,” said Garth.
His dad got to his feet, knees cracking as he straightened them. “Garth and I have been over this thing a dozen times. Maybe a fresh set of eyes will help.”
Darwin moved to where his dad had been and pulled the test equipment closer. “Okay. I’m pretty familiar with the anti-oscillation circuit. Why don’t we start there?”
It took them over half an hour to find the issue. Garth double-checked all the readings while Darwin narrowed down the trouble circuit. His dad was leaning over them just as the readings flipped.
“That’s it! Where the hell is that?”
Darwin reset the tester and took another reading. “Something in the photonic sensor board. Let’s see if I can narrow it down.”
“We’ve replaced that damn thing twice already. What is it, a manufacturing problem? We’re paying those guys way too much for shoddy work.” His dad started pacing the floor again.
Darwin pulled the sensor wiring harness and checked the major system points. Everything looked good. He plugged the harness back in, and the readings faltered.
“It’s the wire harness to the data collector, or the data collector itself.”
“Let’s replace the harness, Garth. See where that gets us,” his dad said. He turned to Darwin. “You must get your patience from your mother, Darwin. We’d only been working on it for fifteen minutes before I was ready to throw everything away and start again. Good job!” He squeezed Darwin’s shoulder before leaving the room.
Darwin stared at his dad’s back. The reference to his mom’s patience took him by surprise and filled him with a sense of accomplishment. It didn’t matter how old you were, it seemed you always needed to hear stuff like that from your parent.
He passed Rebecca again on the way out.
“Was it the data collector?” she asked.
“Yeah, or the harness. Why?”
“I told them that’s what it was before they even called you down here. It seems a man has to find the solution before it’s believed. I’m sick and tired of being treated as if I don’t know what I’m talking about just because I’m a woman.”
“I wish you would have said something to me,” Darwin said. “I would have loved to have gotten out of there sooner, and I would have told them who’d come up with the solution.”
Rebecca gave him a small smile and turned back to the computer in front of her.
Darwin woke to the sound of rain splattering against the bedroom window in a slow steady rhythm. The soft sound had kept him in a half-asleep state where dreams of his dad warped his reality and made him feel like he hadn’t slept at all.
The dream made him think about his mom, about how many times he thought he’d seen her over the years since the accident, and how the frequency had increased at the Qabal headquarters. Had Rebecca been manipulating him through that as well, using the girl that looked like his mother to make him feel even more at home, make him more compliant?
Though the light from the window was dim, he took time to examine his surroundings as best he could. The window coverings were simple blinds, blue by the look of it, though that could have been reflected light from the fine mesh covering the glass. The blinds swayed with every gust of rain, which helped explain the temperature in the room.
The bed was small, a single with a plain square headboard that looked more like a piece of plywood than anything manufactured. Everything shouted low cost. If this was a regular place these guys hung out, it wasn’t in an expensive part of town, but it looked to be in decent condition. He shivered in the cold that seeped through the walls and snuck in the loose-fitting window.
Rising from the bed, he grabbed the top sheet and wrapped it around himself. Every part of him still ached, most of it probably from the run with Michael, but he was sure the dog attack had contributed its fair share. As well as having most of his pants chopped off, his shirt was missing, and he saw scratch marks covering his exposed shoulder from the dog’s attack.
His first step made his calf pound, but after he moved around the room for a short while, the feeling subsided to a dull ache, blending in with the rest of the soreness.
The door opened and Carlos walked into the room.
“About time you were up. We need to get moving. We’ll talk later.”
“I need some clothes.”
Carlos looked over his shoulder and yelled, “Hey, Wally. He talks today! Looks like I owe ya.”
There was a muffled response from somewhere in the house.
“You’ll have to borrow from one of us until we get back to SafeHaven. We’re not stopping so you can go shopping. As for the rain,” he glanced out the window, “we have a spare garbage bag we can cut holes in for your arms and head.” A grin spread over his face.
Darwin chose to ignore it. “I won’t be able to walk fast.”
“And there won’t be much walking, so you’ll be fine. We’ll be in SafeHaven in four days, if all goes well. From there, Enton can figure out what to do with you. Now head downstairs and let us get some cleaning done.”
Carlos stepped back into the hallway as Darwin limped past him. The interior of the house felt a bit warmer than the bedroom, a small reminder that the sun still carried some heat. All that seemed to have abruptly ended this morning with the clouds and the rain.
Darwin leaned against the railing as he headed down the stairs to the main floor, almost hopping instead of walking. Most of the stiffness seemed to have left his leg already, and it didn’t feel that bad, but he figured he might as well play it up. If they thought his leg was worse than it actually was, they might lower their guard and he’d be able to slip away. As long as he could stay away from the dog packs, he would probably be okay. He reached for the knife on his hip. It was gone.
Wally sat on the floor in the middle of the living room. To Darwin it looked like he was meditating, but when Darwin walked in, he glanced up.
“Wait at the bottom of the stairs. I need to finish cleaning.”
Darwin waited, still keeping most of his weight off the bitten leg. Apparently, “cleaning” meant sitting and waiting. He opened himself up to the Threads to See if anything was happening there. It surprised him that he had blocked them without even thinking about it. Bill would have been proud. He shoved away the thought. Bill was dead and there was no point in always bringing him up.
“Look, but don’t touch,” said Wally.
Darwin used the banister to lower himself onto the bottom stair. The sudden bending of his knee relaxed his calf, making it hurt again. He straightened it out along the steps. How had Wally known he’d started Seeing? He hadn’t done anything except look, and even then only superficially.
Now that he was looking, the room was a maelstrom of Threads. There were so many he couldn’t even follow them. Generic Threads of gray were covered in tiny strands of green, moving the gray ones around the room. Without thinking about it, he slowed a Thread, trying to figure out what was happening.
“I said don’t touch,” snapped Wally.
He pulled back immediately, embarrassed by what he had done, and the quick flash of anger at being yelled at turned to guilt that he had been caught. He sat and watched, but still couldn’t figure out what was going on. Not all of the Threads seemed to be present or real, but in a different way than when he saw how a stick would fall in the future. He opened himself to the images Bill had called ridiculous, and they slammed into him.
An image of a mouse running across the floor and then skittering back in panic the way it had come dissolved. Half-visible green Threads rebuilt the movement, continuing the mouse’s path around the living room, until it linked back to where the original mouse had stopped.
A fly buzzed in through an open door, landing on the floor to explore the debris. A foot came down beside it and the fly took off. He watched the foot reverse its course until it faded into nothing.
Wally was remaking history. Things that had happened in the past were being altered to make it look like no one had been here. Concentrating harder, Darwin could See it wasn’t that the past was being replaced, but that the view of what had occurred was changed. Whatever had scared the mouse, probably Wally or Carlos, was slowly being altered from the truth.
Darwin’s head began to pulse and he pulled back, closing off his view of the images and the Threads. He knew he had overextended again and was paying the price.
Not knowing how else to describe what he had Seen, Darwin said, “You’re changing the past. Hiding that we were here.”
Wally opened his eyes and looked at Darwin. “Superficially. The past doesn’t change, but a quick look at the Threads will show nothing out of the ordinary. If someone decides to look deeper, all this work falls apart. But if you’re searching a hundred houses for us, chances are you won’t be looking too deep.” He closed his eyes and continued.
It seemed there was more to the Threads than Darwin knew.