8
THE DANCE MASTER
DARWIN, WALLY, AND Carlos walked through dawn and most of the day. As promised, they stopped for a quick breakfast before continuing the torturous journey. On a normal day, Darwin wouldn’t have had any issues, but his three months of sedentary life with the Qabal coupled with his throbbing calf turned the day into a prolonged nightmare. Every step was either up or down hill. Sometimes they even had to scramble across rock faces using their hands for support. At one point, he was so scared of the potential fall that it took Wally and Carlos half an hour to coax him across a span of only six feet.
As the day progressed, the culmination of the dog attack, the thin mountain air, and the tension he’d carried with him since the attack concentrated in his muscles. He hurt. Every part of him ached and he fought through the exhaustion to keep up. When they stopped, looking around an area for its holing potential, he would slump to the ground while either Carlos or Wally would find a reason to not like it, and struggle back to his feet, plodding along behind them as they moved on. By the time they found something they both liked, he was beaten both physically and mentally. Even his bones hurt. When they stopped again, he simply lay on the ground struggling to breathe while Wally set up the single tent and Carlos prepared an easy meal of cold peas and carrots from a can.
He ate sparingly and drank water when he was told to. The third time he almost dropped his plate Carlos pulled him to his feet and walked him to the tent.
“Get some sleep,” he said. “Wally and I are both keeping watch tonight. We’ll wake you up in time for breakfast.”
He fell on top of the sleeping bags and slept through until morning.
Carlos woke him up early, placing a handful of dry crackers and a cup of water in his hands. He choked down the food with the tepid water while the two men packed up and hid everything near the base of a small cliff. Yesterday’s walk still weighed heavily, though he was sure it was more due to the mental strain of the last few days and someone wanting to kill him than the actual exercise. The thin air couldn’t have helped either. He wasn’t that out of shape. Despite that, all he wanted to do was lay still until his body had a chance to heal and to pull in a full breath.
After their meager breakfast, Carlos created a hole, pulling in yellow Threads that reminded Darwin of the color of fresh corn. For the first time, Darwin wasn’t sent through before anyone else. He stepped through after Wally, and almost tumbled back. After days of holing into woods or onto mountains, the painted walls of a small room took him by surprise.
Four people stood facing the hole, and from the way they were greeting Wally, they were all old friends. When Carlos stepped through, he walked around Darwin and joined them.
Darwin took the opportunity to look around. The room was bigger than he first thought. Most of it was behind the hole they’d just come through. The far wall was filled with racks and shelves, each stacked with an assortment of outdoor gear. This place was cleaner than the house they’d stayed in, but it had the look of being heavily used. He finished his quick scan and refocused on the group that had greeted them.
The four were dressed pretty much the same as Wally and Carlos. Worn but good condition jeans and dark, muted-color t-shirts and jackets. Two of them, a tall blond man with a few extra pounds around his waist and a shorter woman, wore backpacks. Her dark hair was tied up in a bun, and her t-shirt hugged her slim form. She caught Darwin looking, and gave him a quick smile and a once-over. He quickly glanced down, his cheeks turning warmer.
“Who’s your friend?” Her voice was harsh and raspy, and Darwin saw the top of a scar at the base of her throat.
“Ah,” said Carlos, some of his humor that had gone missing over the last day coming back. “That would be our very own Darwin Lloyd. Fresh from the clutches of the Qabal. Darwin, this is Mellisa. The other three would be Toby, Brian, and Manuel. There will be a test later, so keep sharp.”
Darwin struggled to fight his natural desire to melt into the background and grinned sheepishly. “Hi.” Inside, he wanted nothing more than to be alone, although he knew the first thing he would do would be to go over the events of the last few days, second-guessing his decisions at every step until he drove himself crazy.
He’d noticed that since the attack, Wally and Carlos had treated him more like a companion than a prisoner. Maybe almost being turned into a wet smear by the Qabal had changed their minds about him. Even before that, being with them was different than being with the Qabal, prisoner or not.
In hindsight, everyone with the Qabal was always so serious, almost suspicious of each other. Especially when Rebecca was around. All of the smiles and camaraderie had felt forced. Carlos and Wally were the complete opposite. A point driven home by the four that met them here.
Carlos continued. “Speaking of the Qabal, we were hit yesterday, up in the mountains.”
All four turned to look at Carlos. “That close?” Manuel asked.
“Yup. Darwin and I were fast asleep. I had just holed, so Wally was on watch and . . .”
Mellisa gave Carlos’s cheek a quick kiss and grabbed Darwin’s arm. Instinct almost made him pull it away. He stopped himself. If she noticed, he couldn’t tell.
“Come on, I’ll show you around SafeHaven while these two embellish their story. I’ll read it in the report before Toby and I head out again.” She turned and stuck her tongue out at Carlos. He just grinned in return and winked at Darwin. Darwin couldn’t help but smile back.
“Welcome to SafeHaven, California. It’s actually a pretty nice place to be,” Mellisa said. “It used to be called Alpine, until Enton and some of his crew got here. They found the place abandoned, and over time built a piece of it into this.” She led him through a door and onto a busy street.
He knew the Qabal had more people, but he’d never seen so many at one time as he did here. He took an involuntary step backward. After so many days with just Carlos and Wally, it was a bit too much for him. Mellisa must have noticed his hesitation.
“It’s a bit busy here, but once we get further down Columbine, it will thin out. You want to wait inside, or . . .”
Darwin shook his head. “No, it’s fine.”
“Okay.” Mellisa continued her description of the place as though there had been no interruption. “SafeHaven is a training ground for Threaders. That is what we call ourselves, anyway. This is where we learn to use the Threads, and how much we can safely handle without going insane. Everybody Sees differently. Some, like us,” Mellisa pointed over her shoulder with her thumb, back at the doorway they had walked through, “are scouts and watchers. We can hole, clean up, and be defensive if we need to. Some become healers or teachers—”
“And some learn to fight,” said Darwin.
“Yeah. Unfortunately, we need that too, thanks to the Qabal.” She touched the scar on her throat.
“What happened?” Darwin mentally kicked himself as soon as the question came from his mouth. She probably enjoyed talking about her defects as little as he did about his.
She didn’t skip a beat before answering.
“I met a Qabal troop on a recon mission three years ago. My partner didn’t make it. She created a hole for us, and never stepped through.” She touched her throat again. “The healers managed to give me this.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it. I don’t. The sooner you figure out what the Qabal are, the better off you are.”
“I think I’m getting there.”
“Good. Now come on, I’ll show you the important places.” She pulled Darwin down the street. “This is pretty much all living space, though you’ll find some places like where you holed into.” They went through a T-intersection with some large pine trees on the corner. Mellisa pointed right. “This sidewalk will take you to the old Community Association building. That’s where we eat. Mealtimes are fixed, just listen for the bell and walk in, you’ll get a pretty decent meal. Over here is the . . .”
Mellisa took the morning to show Darwin where everything was. SafeHaven wasn’t a big place. They had only taken over a tiny portion of the original neighborhood—an outskirt suburbia type of place with a couple hundred houses and only two roads in—building walls around the neighborhood they controlled. When he asked if there was anyone else living nearby, he was told no. Everyone had moved into SafeHaven or one of the smaller communities down in San Diego.
SafeHaven was obviously well organized. People patrolled the walls in pairs, and it looked like everyone had some sort of job to do. He even saw what he thought was a classroom sitting in the shade of a building, and watched a teacher as she wrote on a large whiteboard. The one thing that stood out to him was the lack of neglect that he had seen outside Quantum Labs and during his run with Michael. There wasn’t any vegetation taking over the yards and roads, and the houses were well maintained, if a bit worn. The small spots of grass in the front lawns were all brown, but without running water, that was to be expected.
Before she left him to hunt down Carlos, Mellisa said someone would show him where to bunk down before night came. She also warned him about leaving. “We’re kind of in the middle of nowhere here, and we close the gates at night. If you leave the compound, make sure you’re back inside before the sun goes down.”
Before she left, he finally got up the nerve to ask the question that had been bothering him most of the morning. “Why do you have the wall?”
“We’re willing to give food and shelter to anyone who needs it, but for some people, that doesn’t matter. They can only think of taking and stealing. Nothing like that has happened in a few years, but we stay vigilant. It looks like we may need it against the Qabal now. With Carlos and Wally having seen them so close . . .” She shook her head, letting him complete the sentence for her.
Only think of taking and stealing. He’d heard that sentiment before, and it didn’t make him feel any better about being here. Was he a guest, or was he still a prisoner? Was the warning about the locked gates meant to keep him inside? He couldn’t quite figure out what was going on.
He spent the rest of the day walking the perimeter of SafeHaven and some of its smaller areas, avoiding any place that looked crowded. No one tried to stop him or asked what he was doing.
The slow pace he kept helped loosen his stiff muscles, though he rested in the shade whenever he had a chance, even falling asleep a couple of times. At one point, he asked someone for water and got an old plastic bottle with a screw top handed to him. He carried it with him for the rest of the day. When the dinner bell rang, he found his way back to the mess hall. The place wasn’t big enough to feed everyone who lived here at the same time, but no one seemed to mind when he joined the tail end of the line leading into the large building.
The meal wasn’t as good as what the Qabal had fed him, but it was filling and better than what Carlos and Wally had given him on the way here. Strangely enough, even the background sound of people talking and eating felt reassuring. Despite that, he found a spot at an empty table near the door. It was always easier to put up with crowds when he was close to a way out.
No one sat with him while he ate, and he didn’t see Wally, Carlos, or Mellisa walk in. They’d have to walk past him to get to the door. Maybe it was better that way. The less he knew people—the less he cared—the less chance there was of him being fooled again.
Supper consisted of not quite fresh bread slathered in butter and a hearty serving of what he thought was pumpkin soup. It was tough to tell, but the color matched and it tasted pretty good. As the food settled in his stomach he decided he would stay here as long as he could . . . at least until he could figure out a way to get back home.
He hadn’t looked beyond the walls during his walk, but from the palm trees and other plants he’d seen, never mind the dead brown grass that covered a lot of the front lawns, he didn’t think they grew a lot of food locally. That meant SafeHaven traded with other communities, and trade meant communication, which meant he had potential access to a wider network of people here. People who might know how to send him home.
Someone came by and cleared away his plates as the room started emptying out. The vast majority of the people seemed to be heading in the same direction. Since he hadn’t been told where to sleep yet, he followed them, winding through the street to a dead-end cul-de-sac. The people streamed between the houses and through the backyard, following a drainage ditch down a slope. Below him, a circular stage had been built and benches had been cut into the rocky slope.
The amphitheater started to fill up. He figured it would be able to hold at least five hundred people, maybe more. Couples sat close to each other, families quieted their kids, and some, like him, sat alone. Everything looked so normal, so routine. He was filled with a sudden feeling of loss so intense he could almost smell home. It wasn’t the setting that had done it, or even the families that sat grouped together. This came from inside, and the loneliness it brought with it blurred his vision with tears.
He wiped them away as the crowd fell silent and seven people walked onto the stage. They were all dressed the same, light brown shirts and pants, loose at the wrists and ankles and tied with a golden sash at the waist. Their ages varied. The youngest, a girl, looked like she was only nine years old, while the oldest looked older than his dad, older than Bill.
With their entrance, his homesickness became physical. His stomach felt hollow and his chest tightened and burned. He blinked to force back the fresh batch of hot tears that fell down his cheeks without warning. He realized he’d been so focused on getting home that he hadn’t thought about his dad in a long time, and the sense of loss threatened to overcome him. It wasn’t easy losing the only person he had a connection with, the only person he could talk to. Who would listen. He’d been here so long. Did his dad think he was dead? Had an empty casket been lowered into the ground beside his mother’s, his name engraved on a new headstone? He didn’t want his dad to hurt that way. He knew that kind of pain . . . how it tore you apart every day, made you feel somehow less than what you had been. Made you remember things long since forgotten. Made the world an unbearable place to be.
At that exact moment, the oldest in the troupe—Darwin thought of her as the leader—stopped scanning the crowd and looked straight at him. She began to move, never taking her eyes off of him. As if he was the trigger for the start of the show. It unnerved him, yet he couldn’t tear his gaze away.
The dance was simple at first, the troupe moving along the stage in slow languid motion, looping between each other but never directly interacting. The movements looked like a martial art, but they were smoother and suppler. Definitely slower. It took Darwin a few minutes of absolute boredom to realize the audience was enthralled by the performance, moving in time with the dancers and occasionally gasping out loud. It was as if they were watching a different show.
What if they were? In theory, everyone here could See, in some form or another. What if the Threads were part of the dance? Darwin opened his Sight, and gasped.
The Dancers weaved amongst each other, sometimes running and jumping, sometimes barely moving at all. The Threads, multi-colored and shifting between vibrant hues and muted wisps, wove between them, creating a tapestry of color and making the individual dancers a single cohesive unit. Where the leader went, the patterns changed and the colors shifted. One half of the stage was a brilliant version of the Aurora Borealis he remembered from camping as a kid. The other half looked like a tartan, shifting and changing its pattern in sync with the aurora. In the middle the leader blended the two into a curtain of color that she threw over the audience until a huge Bald Eagle made of Threads flew from it, its beating wings shifting the patterns once again. Darwin had never Seen Threads like this before. Not even Rebecca had done anything close to what he was Seeing.
“They do not See.”
“What?” The voice shocked Darwin from the artistry being created before his eyes. An old man had sat down beside him. When he had done so, Darwin couldn’t say. He had been pulled too deeply into the performance.
“The dancers, they do not See,” the old man repeated. “It is said they feel, and the intensity of the emotions changes the color and strength of the Threads.”
Darwin turned back to the dancers. They stood in a rough circle now, with the leader at its center, and as she spun and danced, Threads arced between her and the rest of the troupe, creating the images Bill had told him would only slow down his learning. He watched, mesmerized at the immeasurable beauty on display in front of him. The old man beside him was completely forgotten.
It was over before Darwin realized. The troupe of seven stood sweating in the center of the stage and bowed once before leaving. Threads flickered off their bodies like flames, slowly dissipating as they controlled their breathing—their emotions. The old man beside him waited until Darwin looked at him again. He held out his hand.
“I’m Enton. I think you and I should talk.”
Darwin and Enton stayed seated as the audience moved out of the amphitheater, their voices carrying in the curves of the ground, merging into a dull drone. Enton said hello to those who passed close by, calling each one by name. He didn’t say anything else to Darwin, and when Darwin got up to leave, he simply placed his hand on Darwin’s shoulder and continued to acknowledge those who walked past them.
The last to leave were the Dancers, now out of their performance clothes and into well-worn blue jeans and t-shirts. The lead woman came up to them. She nodded at Darwin and looked at Enton, smiling.
Enton introduced the Dance Master.
“Where do this one’s talents lie?” she asked.
“We don’t know yet, Baila,” said Enton. “He just came to us today.”
“A bit old to be recently discovered.”
“His circumstances are quite unique.”
“Hmm. It’s a shame he’s so old. Even with the Sight, I would have been able to teach him to dance. He has the ability to become a Master, this one. Perhaps he still does.”
“Thank you, Baila. I’ll keep that in mind.”
She turned to Darwin, and he was immediately drawn into her almost black eyes, unable to break contact. “I and my students believe emotions are key to the Threads, and emotions run deep in you. Learn to trust them, to control them, so they don’t control you. If you do so, the Threads will do your bidding. If you do not, you will fail.”
The Dance Master left with her troupe behind her, leaving Darwin confused. What the hell had just happened, and what did she mean?
“Apparently, you’ve managed to impress several people during your short time here. Bill was quite overwhelmed, though Michael not so much.”
At the mention of their names, Darwin flinched, the pain of Bill’s loss still too fresh, and he turned away.
“Yes,” Enton said, tightening his grip on Darwin’s shoulder as if reading his mind. “Bill will be missed by all. He was one of our best teachers, and a dear friend. When he volunteered to infiltrate the Qabal, he knew the choices he was making. We were fortunate he was there to guide you. You, on the other hand, have no idea what your choices are, and when you make a decision, no idea of the consequences. A person’s life is made of choices. Some are easy, some are difficult, and each one molds you into what you are today and what you will become tomorrow.”
Darwin pulled his shoulder out of Enton’s grasp with a sharp jerk, uncomfortable with the intimate contact. “So you’ll be making decisions for me?” His voice was harsh, and the anger that had become so familiar after his mother died rose to the surface. He didn’t know if it was because of Enton trying to take control or because of Bill’s betrayal.
“No. We are not the Qabal. Your choices will be your own. We will simply give you the information you need—or help you find it yourself if you wish—to make an informed decision. Having you here is an anomaly no one had even thought of. The many-worlds interpretation of quantum mechanics had been discarded long ago. Traveling between the worlds, between the decision trees if you will, is quite remarkable. Can you imagine the branches, the complexity, if every decision made by humans alone created a new world, a new path? What if the choices made by animals or fish did the same thing? The mind boggles at—”
Enton must have seen the look in Darwin’s eyes, and he abruptly stopped, apologizing.
“I’m sorry. I tend to ramble at times.” He changed the subject. “I heard about what the Qabal did to your tent last night. It seems they don’t like you.”
“That’s an understatement.” For the first time, it occurred to him that maybe it wasn’t the Qabal who did it. Maybe it was some of Enton’s people. Maybe they were trying to convince him they were better than the Qabal, trying to guide his choices. Everyone had been surprised the Qabal had struck so close to SafeHaven. Were they trying to control him, just using a different method than the Qabal had?
Enton just smiled. “It’s late, and an old man like me needs his sleep. I’m sure you have many questions. We’ll get together in the morning. Just ask anyone you meet; they’ll tell you where to find me. You’ve been assigned a room in the house behind the mess hall. Get some sleep.” Enton turned to go, then paused to look back over his shoulder. “And welcome to SafeHaven.”
“So I’m just supposed to trust you? I get brought across the country, most of it as a prisoner, and suddenly everything is fine?”
“That will be your choice to make,” said Enton without turning around.
Darwin was woken up by a bell ringing outside his window. It took a few seconds for it to sink in that it was the call for breakfast. He hadn’t set his internal alarm clock to wake him up, and had obviously slept in. Either that or they had breakfast pretty damn early here. He stood and opened the curtains to bright sunlight. He figured that answered the question. He’d slept in. He pulled on his shoes and left the room to find a table.
As soon as he left the house, he felt the chill in the air. His breath misted and he pulled the cold air deep into his lungs. He still hadn’t gotten anything more to wear than his t-shirt, and the slight breeze cut through the thin material. This wasn’t quite the warmer south he’d expected. He ran across the open area to the mess hall.
The place was fuller than it had been last night. The odor of people was overridden by mixed smells of porridge and toast and eggs. He’d never seen so many people so eager to start their day. It made finding a quiet place to eat alone impossible. In the end, he decided to brave the cold and took his food out to the street and sat down in the sun, leaning against the building. He wolfed the eggs and buttered bread down as fast as he could, missing even the weird-tasting coffee substitute the Qabal had served, and was almost finished when someone sat down beside him.
Mellisa’s raspy voice spoke before he even knew she was there.
“Good morning,” she said.
“Hey.”
“Nice day to have breakfast alone, out here.”
If she was being sarcastic, he couldn’t tell. “I don’t know anyone, and I . . . I don’t feel comfortable in crowds.”
“Because of the accident?”
Darwin stared at her. “How . . . how do you know about that?”
“Carlos told me.”
“I never told him. I don’t tell anyone.”
Mellisa shifted uncomfortably on the curb. “When they were looking at your wounds from the dog attack they saw the scars. Even buried beneath the surface, a trained healer can See them. You were hurt pretty bad.” She raised her hand to her throat.
If anyone else had said that, had noticed that he was different on the inside, he would have been hurt. Maybe it didn’t because she was damaged as well. You could barely see the scar on her throat, but the voice was a dead giveaway.
“I know how you feel,” she said. “It took me a long time before I could just be myself again.”
“It must be different here, then,” he said, fighting the urge to run his finger along the invisible lines on his face.
“Different?”
“It has been a long time, and I still don’t fit in. At home or here.”
“You’ve just gotten here. Give it time. We’re not bad people, just ones trying to live and laugh and love. You should try it sometime.”
He didn’t answer her. What was it that Enton had hinted at yesterday? He didn’t belong here. He finished off his plate before changing the topic. Mellisa didn’t try to fill the short silence.
“I’m supposed to meet with Enton today,” he said.
“Oh?”
“Yeah. I saw him last night. Is he always so weird?”
Mellisa laughed, the sound coming out low and gravelly. “I thought he was a bit strange when I first met him as well. He loves to go off on these tangents. Sometimes you need to rein him in and get him back on track.”
“Kind of like Carlos.”
She gave another short laugh. “He wanted to know about your dad, didn’t he?”
“Yeah. It was weird.”
Mellisa laughed again. “It sounds like he talked about your old house. It was a huge highlight for him. I guess everyone has their thing. Did he tell you he knew your dad before the change? Carlos was the military liaison and he was there that day to watch the demonstration.” She changed the subject abruptly, as if she’d said too much. “What did you and Enton talk about?”
“Nothing really. Just that I was supposed to see him this morning. Do you know where he is?”
“Chances are he’s just about to begin his walkabout to see how everything is going. Your best bet is to catch up with him in an hour or so. You’ll find him in that building over there.” She pointed to a house with a faded blue door on the corner of the street.
Darwin stood to put his dishes back. Mellisa followed suit, placing her hand on his forearm.
“We aren’t the Qabal, Darwin. We’re family here. We take care of one another. Take the time to learn that. Give us a chance to show you before you decide to write us off. Please.”
She took his dirty plates from him and left him standing in the street.
Darwin spent the time waiting for Enton in the room they’d assigned to him. There was no real heat in the building, but it was definitely warmer than it was outside. He left his room twice to check the place Mellisa had said Enton would be. The door was never locked, but Enton wasn’t there yet. The second time, Darwin considered just staying and waiting, but he wasn’t sure what the protocol was, so he went back to his room. At least the sun was shining through the window and warming the place up a bit.
When he went next, Enton was sitting behind a desk reading from a stack of papers filled with handwritten notes. He smiled as Darwin walked in.
“Darwin, good morning! I hope you had some breakfast already.” He didn’t wait for an answer before continuing. “Don’t you have something warmer to wear? I’ll have to have a chat with Wally and Carlos about how they treat people. Come on, let’s go to stores and see if we can’t find something you like. This paperwork is pretty boring anyway.”
“Umm. Good morning.” Darwin wasn’t sure if Enton even wanted an answer, but it was nice to be able to get a word in. He followed the older man back out the door and onto the street, turning away from the mess hall.
The storeroom was similar to the room they’d holed into when Darwin first arrived, but a hell of a lot bigger. Someone had knocked down the wall in one of the houses, creating a large open space filled with racks and shelves of clothing. He went straight for some thick winter coats before Enton stopped him.
“Those are probably a little heavy for what you want. We’re in a bit of a warm spell, so it will probably get over seventy-five degrees today. You just need something for when the sun goes down.”
He picked out an insulated windbreaker, a dark blue that wouldn’t stand out, and they left the building, once again turning away from the mess hall. Darwin was the first one to break the unexpected silence.
“How do I get home?” As soon as the words were out, he knew he’d sounded rude. Before he could correct himself, Enton answered as if he hadn’t heard Darwin’s tone.
“I really have no idea. We don’t know how you came here in the first place. If we knew that, maybe we could work backward from there, but who knows. Threads don’t behave the way we always think they should.”
“Rebecca said that maybe there was someone out there who knew how to get me home.” He couldn’t keep the hope out of his voice.
“Maybe, but I doubt it. I don’t know how much the Qabal told you, but the world is a different place than it used to be. In your world, the Threads have just started. You still have phones and computers and ships and airplanes. We have none of that. The knowledge is still there, but there’s no oil or gas or electricity to keep things going. The shipyard in San Diego is trying to build new ships, but the skills required to make them haven’t been used in over a century. It takes time to relearn. If some group had the ability to travel to other worlds, I’d think they would be able to travel in our world as well. That hasn’t happened. We’ve grown to live in small enclaves, separate groups that trade with one another.”
“I don’t get it. Why did everything fall apart like that? It’s not like the Threads stopped everything from working, is it?”
Enton sighed. “No, but it may as well have. There was a lot of fighting. In some places all-out war, but mainly small skirmishes. Those that couldn’t See the Threads were scared of what we could do. They didn’t understand. When you’re that scared of something, it’s human nature to try and destroy it. Both sides lost a lot of good people. Threaders destroyed almost everything non-Threaders needed like communications hubs, oil refineries, shipping yards, and airports. They didn’t think about how devastating that would be. Non-Threaders just tried to destroy us. The end result is what you see . . . smaller groups trying to survive, trying to rebuild what’s been lost as best they can.”
That explained the devastation he’d seen when he’d first been pulled from the Qabal’s grasp. How many more places had been razed to the ground by the war?
“How many died?” He hated the question as soon as it came out of his mouth.
“We’re not sure. I can say that I lost more than half of the people I knew. I don’t know if you can extrapolate that out, but I’d say it’s pretty close.”
Darwin stopped talking, keeping pace with Enton as they walked through SafeHaven. More than half of the population gone? The numbers were astronomical, and his dad had just started the same chain of events in his world. How many families would be broken—destroyed—by what his dad had started? What he had helped start? A new reason to get home nestled into his brain. He had to shut down the QPS.
They continued on in silence as Darwin mulled over everything. How long had it taken before the fighting had started? If he went back now, would it be too late? Would it matter? If he could shut down the QPS everything would go back to the way it was. Wouldn’t it?
“Rebecca . . . the Qabal thought they could get the information out of me. That’s why Bill taught me how to use the Threads, so they could get in there and not do any damage.”
“Huh. Interesting. They thought you had the knowledge but didn’t know it?”
“Yeah, something like that.”
They’d reached the eastern wall of SafeHaven and left through a small gate, moving south to catch more of the sun’s warmth.
“Come then, sit. Show me what Bill taught you.”
“Will you try to pick my brain as well?”
“That’s not our decision to make, Darwin. It’s yours. At the very least, we can find out how much you know about the Threads, and plan some more training for you, if that’s what you want.”
They spent the next few hours going over the last three months of his life. Enton somehow created a similacrum of the Thread patterns Darwin had Seen using Bill’s devices, and Darwin predicted the results he saw. By the time they were done, the sun beat down on them, and Enton’s promised temperatures were close to being met.
“Good. Bill did a great job, but then it was against his nature to do otherwise. Let’s try something else.” He placed his thumb and forefinger around the stem of a dandelion that had opened, taking advantage of the southern exposure. “I will pluck this dandelion. Doing so will set off events that have absolutely no correlation with the plant itself. On the other hand, there is a chance nothing will happen because of my actions. Look at the Threads and tell me what you See. There is the possibility of many Threads resulting from this. Don’t try to follow them all, only the strongest ones. Remember, a bird can roost upon only one branch at a time.”
Those words pulled Darwin back to Bill’s small, dark room in the Quantum Labs building as if he had never left. As if Bill was still alive. Did Enton and Bill have the same teacher, or was Enton the teacher Bill had spoken of?
Enton reached out and touched his shoulder, pulling him back to the small field in SafeHaven. “Concentrate.”
He looked at the Threads coming from the dandelion. The one showing it being plucked was the strongest, and he followed it. He had never done something like this before, following a Thread beyond its initial state to See what happened next. Without any effort on his part, the Threads split and the images started appearing. Those that stayed in the same place—by the wall—overlapped; others seemed to show places he had not seen before, places he had never been to.
The strongest image showed the weed being raised to Enton’s nose and then being crumpled in a fist. Others showed the plant being discarded, stepped on, thrown into the air to be forgotten. Against Enton’s instructions, he focused on the weaker images. In one, a rock skipped across a pond before sinking into its murky depths. In another, an owl flew through a darkening sky, intent on its first kill of the night.
A third image jumped into focus, hardening into a perfectly still picture with colors so intense it felt like he was there. Before him stood a person with their back to him. The person was in front of a cairn made of rocks and chunks of concrete in a small opening in the woods. The trees still held yellowed leaves, and the smaller plants had withered and browned. A crooked cross had been fashioned out of sticks and wedged into the rocks. He knew who was under that pile. Knew with every part of himself. Knew it was Enton.
A hand shook his shoulder followed by a soft voice. “Only the most immediate and strongest Threads. Don’t go down the rabbit hole. Few ever come back.”
He shook his head, closing his eyes, and breathed deeply. The images disappeared and the original Threads came back into focus.
“Please don’t,” he said. “Just leave it where it is.”
“Is that the action you See me taking?”
“No . . . I . . . I just don’t want you to do it.” How could he tell the man that he had Seen his grave?
“That’s not an option here. I will rip this flower from the plant. I’m only asking you what you See me doing after that.”
Darwin shook his head, trying to push the image of the grave out of his mind. Instead, it grew until he was sure what he saw was the truth.
“If you do that, you’ll die.” He blurted the words out in a mad rush, placing his hand over Enton’s. “Please, don’t.”
“What did you See?” Enton’s voice was still gentle, almost a whisper. It was as if he knew what Darwin had Seen and was looking for confirmation.
Darwin told him, describing the scene with every detail.
“Beginners often follow Threads to the wrong conclusion, Darwin. What you saw may not even be related to whether I pluck this dandelion or not.” He moved his hand away from the plant anyway. “But why risk it, eh? What did you See happening before you followed the Threads so deeply?”
“You smelled it, then crushed it in your hand.”
“That was the plan, so you saw true based on the original knowledge you had. You did well. Bill was always a good teacher.” Enton drew in a breath. “If you like, we can help bring back any memories you may have tucked away. The process is not pleasant, but may help you find your way home. We can also teach you more. Your skills are strong, but incomplete, and we can help. Don’t answer now. Think about it. Let me know tomorrow.” He stood, leaning against the wall for support. “I forget I’m too old to sit on the ground for that long.” He took a step, heading back to the gate they had come through.
His right foot dragged across the dandelion, separating the bright yellow flower from the plant and partially covering it in dirt.
Darwin sat up in bed with a jolt, his heart pounding in his throat. Something had woken him from a deep sleep. He held his breath, all vestiges of sleep vanishing as he listened to the silence of the night and the thumping in his chest.
A scream filled the air, high-pitched and panicked. He flinched, the visceral reaction kicking in before thought. He jumped from his bed, pushing against the coarse sheets that wrapped around his legs, and yanked on his pants and shoes.
Another shriek tore through the night before he reached the door of his room. Feet drummed just outside, echoing down the hallway, and he paused before pulling open the door, waiting for them to recede, letting the panic that grabbed hold of him reduce from its mad rush. He drew a steadying breath and stepped into the dark, empty hall. A third scream ripped through the night air, ending too abruptly. He ran down the hall toward the rectangle of gray that led outside. The faint smell of smoke met him as he stopped just outside the door.
Deep red Threads raced across the night sky toward the northern section of SafeHaven. A mass of people surged around the corner in the opposite direction, running down the street in front of him. He stumbled back into the open doorway as they rushed past.
A mother carried a baby in one arm and dragged a small child behind her with the other. Both kids were crying, scared and not knowing what was happening. Older children grabbed onto their parents, their knuckles white and faces filled with fear as they were pushed by the crowd behind them, barely staying on their feet.
The Threads thickened, racing just above the horde of people, rushing in the direction they had come from. Darwin stepped back into the crowd, fighting to hold his position against the tide. Part of him screamed to just let go. To move with the masses, to get away from whatever was behind them. Another part made him stand his ground. Only a few days ago, he’d watched as the Qabal had tried to kill him. Before that, he’d stood only feet away from Bill as he had died. Bill had put his life on the line to give Darwin the chance to get away. In the end, he wasn’t sure what made him push against the crowd, whether it was because he wanted to live up to Bill’s standards, or because he felt he owed Bill something in return. Maybe it was as simple as thinking there was something he could do.
He drove against the torrent of bodies, hugging the buildings until the crowd thinned and disappeared. The street dead-ended and he turned left, the crowd receding as he jogged toward the flames that flickered in the night, casting the space between the houses into dark shadow. As he came around a corner he saw a girl standing alone in the middle of the street dressed in nothing but a nightgown. White streaks stood out on her dirty face like fresh paint, showing the tracks of her tears. A man rushed up behind her, blood on his face and clothes. He scooped her up, barely breaking his stride, and ran past Darwin, following the earlier mob. The look in his eyes was one of barely controlled terror, and the girl clung to him, her small muscles taut under her skin.
Sounds of fighting came from in front of him, and he slowed before he reached the next corner. Smoke billowed out from the street ahead, thick and black, shrouding the night with its acrid smell. He faltered. What the hell was he thinking? SafeHaven was a city of Thread users, and by the sounds of it, people who knew how to fight. What did he think he could do here? Help? He continued on, entering the thin smoke at the edge of the cloud. He didn’t know what he could offer, but he wouldn’t turn his back on anyone who needed help.
A small figure stumbled from a doorway just ahead, falling to her knees and crawling away from him. In one arm, she held what looked like a small bundle of clothes close to her chest. Even in the dark, he recognized her as the youngest girl from the dance troupe. The bundle in her arms let out a choked cry and squirmed, almost falling from her grasp. She held the baby tighter as he pushed through the smoke toward them and she struggled to her feet.
As he ran, the air began to clear and another figure strode out of the dark in front of the dancer. He was tall, at least six feet if not more, and muscular. In the dark, his skin looked taut and gray. Darwin skidded to a halt. The man was wrapped in a mist of fine red and steel-blue Threads, creating a violet hue around his body. A weapon and a prisoner at the same time.
The dancer looked tiny against him. She lurched to a stop, tripping over her feet again, twisting her body as she fell, placing it between the ground and the child she was holding. Her head hit the street, and Darwin could almost feel the thud from where he stood. The child rolled a few feet away and lay still. Neither of them made a sound.
The man bent down, holding his hand out as if to help her. Instead, he drove his fingers into her throat and clenched. Tendrils of smoke rose from the point of contact. The dancer spasmed once. Darwin stood rooted in the street. His body drained of all heat, frozen in time as he watched her life end. The man moved toward the baby, and Darwin’s terror galvanized into action.
He sprinted without thinking, trying desperately to close the gap between them. His body slammed into the man. It felt like hitting a wall. He stumbled back in a daze, the entire left side of his body numb and hot from the impact. The man swung the child, aiming for Darwin. With the clarity of someone just waking from a nightmare, Darwin saw it was a young boy, barely old enough to eat solid food. The boy’s heel clipped him across his chin, and in the same move, the man released his grip, slamming the boy’s body into the side of a building.
Darwin fell backward, scrambling on his hands and feet as he stared up into the man’s face.
What he saw wasn’t a man, it was a monster. Skin stretched tightly over its face like a white sheet. Where its eyes should have been were two indents, darker shadows on the waxen skin. Its nose was two small vertical slits in the middle of the blank face, and it had no mouth. The creature took a step toward him.
Darwin rolled over and raised himself to his knees, adrenaline pushing him to his limits, forcing away the numbness. He jammed a foot forward and shoved off it as he rose, launching himself away from the monster, stumbling on the edge of control. A hand clutched at his shirt, grabbing the material in strong fingers. Darwin arched his back, pulling out of its grasp.
Another faceless monster emerged from the smoke-filled street, and Darwin veered toward the buildings. Ahead of him a door swung on its hinges, smoke rolling out of the entry before being sucked up into the night sky.
He dashed for it. He could feel the breath from the beasts that followed him. A hand grabbed for his arm, fingers pushing through the thin material of his shirt to touch his skin. Heat seared into his arm and his mind went blank. Images flashed through him. A man bouncing a baby on his knee. A woman smiling as she stood over them. Nets falling from the trees, followed by sheets of agony. Then darkness and uncontrollable pain.
Darwin jerked away and the images stopped. He felt hollow, empty, as though something had been taken from him. The loss followed him as he ran into the smoking doorway.
His first breath pulled stinging smoke into his lungs and he fell forward, landing on carpet that burned the palms of his hands as he slid forward. Tears flushed his eyes and he coughed, sucking in the cleaner air near the floor. Before he could see again, before he could properly breathe, he lurched deeper into the burning structure. Anything to get away from those abominations.
He felt the floor shake, and for a panicked second he thought the building was going to collapse and bury him alive. Another shake, chased by another. Footsteps. The damn things were in there with him, following him to finish him off.
He crawled forward into the pitch-black room as fast as he could, not caring how much noise he made, how easy he was to find. His only thought was to get as far away from those things as he could. His head slammed into a wall and stars swirled across his eyes. His arms and legs kept moving with a mind of their own, and his head slammed into the wall again before he turned right, following the flat surface, hunting for a doorway. The sounds of footsteps echoed behind him. He scrabbled for another few feet before his head hit another wall.
He turned his back into the corner, pushing against it as if hoping the walls would absorb him and he would be able to pass right through.
The footsteps stopped, replaced by the crackling sound of fire consuming the building. Smoke curled just above his head and the wall behind him seared him with intense heat.
Darwin held his breath. Could they have left? Did they lose him in the dark and the smoke? He strained to look through the blackness, struggling to see. He tried to focus on the Threads but couldn’t See any. A deeper fear grabbed him. He was blind.
Darker shadows flitted across the room, drawing closer and veering off. His eyes tricked by the blackness. He heard the soft sound of cloth rubbing against something, the noise amplified in his ears. A rough hand grabbed his arm, pulling him to his feet. Darwin swung, his fist hitting something that felt like rough leather, giving slightly before his hand stopped. The grip on his arm tightened and he was jerked toward where he thought the door should be. The pungent smoke stung his eyes and he took an involuntary breath, gagging once again. Tears flowed freely down his cheeks, making him think of the girl on the street. A strange thing to think of just before you’re going to die, he thought.
The hand released him, pushing him out the door into the street. He fell to his knees again, drawing in huge gulps of the fresh air. Tears still fell, creating small craters in the footprints covering the dusty street.
Something grabbed the back of his shirt and pulled him up. Darwin spun around to face the monster, hoping that at least his death would be quick.
Michael stared back at him.
“Move.” Michael pushed him in the direction the crowds had run. “Everyone is in the amphitheater. You’re no good to us here.” Michael pushed again and then turned and ran back into the smoke-filled street the monsters had come from.
Darwin stood in the midst of the destruction listening to the receding sounds of the fighting. Some of the buildings around him threw flames high into the air, casting twisting shadows of hate on the street. As he turned to head back, he saw the boy’s body, lying where it had been thrown. He walked slowly to the baby’s side and bent over the inert form, reaching out to touch the boy’s face, still warm in the cool night air. The arm and shoulder on the left side looked out of place, probably broken or dislocated. Burn marks in the shape of human fingers wrapped the small arm. He couldn’t see any other damage. As he pulled his hand away, the boy moaned and his eyes fluttered open.
He was still alive! Darwin gently placed his hands under the small form and picked him up. The boy’s mouth opened, and he screamed, screwing his face into a tight grimace, the pain from his shoulder overriding everything else. Darwin stood, shifting the boy’s weight to take pressure off the injury, and began the walk to the amphitheater.