3
A FLICKER OF LIFE
Darwin stayed watching Teresa for a while before leaving. There wasn’t anything he could do to help. And in the small room, he was only getting in the way as the students bustled around. She continued to sit by the injured man’s side, her head bowed, her eyes unfocused, and her breathing deep. Occasionally she asked the interns to help, whether it was with some healing Threads, or to get some more water and cloths.
Paul glanced and nodded at him as he left, but stayed in the room.
The bright glare of the sun stopped Darwin in his tracks until his eyes adjusted to the light. Nobody stopped him from walking around the compound. The place was fairly large, covering four city blocks in each direction, but the housing looked close and cramped and a large portion of the space was unused. The first thing he did was go back to where he and Teresa had left their bikes, suddenly uncomfortable with the thought that they’d left them out in plain view. As he checked them, he saw that all their safeties were still in place. No one had even gone near them. Whatever this place was, it was certainly safe. Whether that safety was due to the quality of the people who stayed here, or some sort of justice system that he didn’t know about yet, was still up in the air.
Even with the size of the compound, it didn’t take long to find the place of worship. When you sometimes have to handle upward of two hundred people, the building needed to be pretty big, and it was. They had converted an existing church. Massive stone blocks reached into the sky and stained glass windows surrounded the second story. By the looks of it, the building had been earthquake proofed after the original structure had been built, and the massive stabilizing arms attached just below the roofline looked out of place. The steep roof was covered in solar panels soaking up the bright glare of the sun. He wanted to go inside, but the doors he checked were all locked. As he pulled on the large oak door entrance, the unease that had nestled in his gut blossomed and grew.
The faces of the people he met were friendly, though not completely outgoing. His clothes showed him to be an outsider, but the burns visible on his face were what they noticed. That was something he was used to. The adults would give him a quick smile, their gaze lingering on the half of his face partially covered by his long hair. Then they would look down at their feet or at something in the distance as they walked past. The kids would almost always stare. He would hear them asking their parents questions.
Mom, what happened to his face? Look, Dad, he’s melting.
Their questions didn’t bother him. Kids would always be kids, inquisitive and open. Their forthrightness actually made him feel better. He could deal with that. It got uncomfortable again when their parents shushed them and pulled them along the street.
He finished his circuit of the compound and was back at the gate they had entered through when he realized what was really different here compared to other cities they had been through. Anything that could have been a reminder of the days before the Source was gone. There were no rusting cars on the road, no telephone poles or rotting wires stretching across the street. Even parking meters and power junction boxes had been removed. They’d gone to a lot of trouble to take away anything that could remind them of the time before the QPS was turned on.
Darwin stepped through the still-open gate and into the world outside the compound. It felt like he had entered a new world, one that he was used to. Grass and weeds grew from the cracked concrete and rusting metal hulks crowded the streets.
Despite the removal of anything pre-Source, the people in the compound were nice. He wasn’t locked in, no one seemed to be locked in. So why was he so uncomfortable? There was something here that he couldn’t put his finger on. Maybe it was just all too normal, too nice. Something like this always came at a price.
He walked back into the compound and pulled a book out of his trailer, sitting at one of the tables in the eating area. It was a ratty copy of Kabu Kabu by Nnedi Okorafor. He’d only just started, but the writing had grabbed him, and he’d added the extra weight of the book to his already loaded trailer. He opened it up and lost himself in the words.
By the time lunchtime rolled around, he’d read half of the book, putting it back in his trailer as he watched the cooks prepare lunch. As soon as the food was ready he filled a bowl with the stew and added a slice of sourdough bread, grabbed a spoon, and went back to where Teresa was working. As he walked in, he could see that she was exhausted. One of the interns had a cold cloth on the back of her neck, and the other one held a glass of water at the ready for her. Paul sat on the far bed, still watching her work.
“You need to take a break,” Darwin said. “You’re not going to be any good to him if you collapse. If he’s stable enough, have a little bit of lunch and lie down for a bit. I’ll wake you up if anything changes.”
Teresa held up a hand to stop him. She stared at the man on the bed for a minute more before her head drooped. She put her hands on the edge of the bed and let out a huge sigh.
Paul jumped to his feet and went to her side, helping her stand and bringing her to the bed he’d been sitting on. “Lie down. You’ve worked hard this morning.”
She sat on the bed and Darwin brought over the stew. He filled the spoon with the thick, rich broth and lifted it to her mouth. She nodded her head and drank what was on the spoon, asking for more. Five spoonfuls was about all she could handle. Darwin put the bowl on the bedside table and helped lower her onto the bed. He found a pile of folded laundry near the back wall and grabbed a sheet from it, draping it over her sleeping form before beckoning Paul and the interns to leave the building with him.
Paul spoke as soon as they were on the street and the door was closed. “Will she be all right? She worked really hard this morning.”
“She’ll be fine,” Darwin said. “She’ll sleep for a few hours and then get back to work if she needs to. She may need a couple of days’ rest after this. I don’t know how bad your guy’s injuries were, though I can guess by how tired Teresa is. The good thing is he is still alive. From what I’ve seen, most people injured that badly . . . if Teresa was willing to get some rest, he’s stable and has a good chance of making it.”
“We’ve only ever found one other who’s fallen. We always have a couple of boats ready, just in case, but usually it’s a pretty fruitless search. The water is extremely cold and dangerous.”
“What happened to the other one you found?”
“She died,” Paul said. “She was the orchestra leader, telling the others what to move, listening to the music and making it more pure. She was my wife.”
The statement was said so bluntly it took Darwin by surprise, and he stuttered out a quick “I’m sorry.”
“It was a long time ago. We didn’t even have this compound then. Not finished, anyway. She would have been happy with what we’ve done here.”
Darwin remained silent as they entered the food hall, sitting down for their own bowls of stew and sourdough bread. He could feel Paul watching him as they ate. Neither of them said a word. When he finished, Darwin returned to the infirmary alone, getting his book from the trailer.
Teresa still slept when he got there. He changed the wet sheets of the bed the man had been on when they’d first gotten here, and sat to read. She woke up a couple of hours later, a little groggy, but surprisingly able to stand on her own, and went to her patient’s bedside, taking a quick look before going back to bed and falling asleep again. It didn’t seem to register that Darwin was there.
Though he was offered a room, Darwin put a sleeping bag in the infirmary and lay on top of the extra bed, staying in the same room with her. He separated the bikes from the trailers and pulled all of them into the infirmary. It didn’t leave much space for moving around, but his level of trust only went so far. Pulling more of the dried fruit from his backpack, he placed it on the small table beside Teresa’s bed with a full glass of water in case she woke up. He rolled into his sleeping bag and fell asleep almost right away.
They were both out of bed before the sun had come up the next morning, Teresa to check on her patient, and Darwin to take care of Teresa. She was still tired. Certainly not as bad as the day before, but dark shadows hung under her eyes and she moved as if every muscle in her body ached. They probably did. Thread work was exhausting both mentally and physically.
Teresa sat back on the bed and ate the dried fruit with a mechanical efficiency, following it with water. When she was done, Darwin reached into his pack and pulled out a homemade granola bar they’d traded for at their last stop. She wolfed it down with the last of the water, the rolled oats and sweet honey and raisins perking her up a little bit.
“How is he?” Darwin asked.
“I did what I could, but his internal injuries were pretty severe. He’s not bleeding anymore, at least. If he makes it through the morning, I’ll try to do some more work this afternoon. You know that sometimes these things take time.”
Darwin nodded.
“Let’s see if the bridge is singing this morning.”
Darwin took a step back, shaking his head. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea. You’re exhausted and need rest. It’s a bit of a walk, a lot of it uphill.”
“I can make it, especially for that music.”
“You barely had enough strength to eat breakfast, how do you think you’ll have enough to get there?”
“I’ll sleep on the ferry. Besides, I have you to help me.” She gave him a smile.
“Okay,” Darwin sighed. “If you get tired, we can always stop and rest, I guess.”
A group of fifteen people had gathered at the gate, including Paul. He gave them a quick glance before leading the group out to the streets still untouched by the rising sun. In the darkness, Darwin couldn’t see the change from the pristine interior of the compound to the regular world.
Teresa made it to the ferry, though they were the last to arrive. She sat on the floor of the vessel, leaning against Darwin’s legs with her eyes closed as it made its way across the water. The ride was better than before. Though the water wasn’t smooth, the rough chop they’d had on their previous crossing was all but gone. The wind had shifted direction, cutting across the bay at a steady pace instead of the wild gusts of yesterday, and there wasn’t any fog.
The uphill walk on the other side almost did Teresa in. Darwin and another person helped her up the hill, one on either side as she tried to place one foot in front of the other. It felt as though they had most of her weight. He knew she shouldn’t be out here. This was far too strenuous after what she had done the day before. He also knew better than to argue with her when she had set her mind to something. Why the music meant so much to her was lost on him.
As with the ferry, they were the last to reach the top of the hill. The others stood facing the bridge, their faces bathed in the early morning sunlight. Soft music floated across the still water. The sound was different. Yesterday, the wind gusted and blew, changing direction and frequency and strength with wild abandon, and the sounds from the bridge echoed the chaos. This morning, Darwin could barely feel a breeze on his face. The wind had felt stronger when they were on the ferry. The music was soothing and gentle. Soft. And it spoke to him differently, flowing into and through his body with languid ease. The tenseness he’d felt since meeting Paul faded away, as did his concern for why Teresa had insisted on coming up here. If this was what she had felt yesterday, he couldn’t blame her for wanting to come back.
Movement from the corner of his eye made him look over his shoulder. A small group had broken off from watching the bridge, their bodies swaying with the sounds. There was no beat to the music, no time, and yet the dancers moved with a silent synchronicity. Most of them were just regular people, but there was one who touched the Threads as she moved. She was young, fourteen at the most, and she moved with an abandonment that he envied. From the feelings that came from her, he could tell that she had not been trained in any way. The Threads, though somewhat responsive to her, felt off. They were rough and jagged and changed rapidly, sometimes in perfect timing with her dance and the music coming from the bridge, but more often fighting them and creating an abrasive feeling along his spine.
Teresa nudged him. “Go,” she said.
The anxiety that had all but disappeared trickled through him again.
“Go,” she said again, her voice soft yet commanding.
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know, I just . . .” His voice trailed off. “There’s something wrong here, with Paul and these people. I don’t know what it is, but I don’t—”
She smiled and placed her hand on his scarred cheek. “Go,” she repeated. “They fed us, kept us overnight. They’ve been kind to us.”
“We’ve paid for that kindness. You have paid for that kindness.”
“I know. But you know as well as I do, it’s not always about direct reciprocity. These are good people. Go.”
The pull of the untrained dancer and Teresa’s words were too much for him to deny. Though he knew he wouldn’t be able to keep up with those who were dancing, the Threads that responded to him as he danced would more than cover up his awkwardness. He stepped to the edge of the group and watched for just a moment. The untrained girl moved over to his side, somehow knowing that they were different than the others. Instinctively, he reached out and changed what she was doing. Her left hand was too low. Her right knee should have been bent. He had no idea how he knew, but he felt Baila’s touch in his movements. As he positioned her, the Threads she created smoothed out and the music flowed through her. Her eyes brightened and a smile crossed her face. She couldn’t See the effects of what he had done, but she could feel them as well as he could.
Darwin began to move. As always, he felt awkward and strange. The skill that Baila had passed on to him flowed through him, though his body didn’t respond the way it should have. Despite his lack of dancing skills, the Threads still responded, and the feelings they created took over. Soon, he was surrounded by the other people, the untrained dancer by his side watching how he moved, how he shifted his weight, the position of his fingers, the tilt of his head.
At first she tried to mimic him, and her Threads clashed with his. Then she started moving on her own. The images they created merged and grew larger. He could tell the colors matched the muted hues and sounds of the bridge, taupe and subtle blue mixed with languid greens and a splash of vivid red when someone turned the slats a little off.
One by one the mundane dancers stopped and moved off to the group listening to the bridge, until it was only him and the untrained girl. Without speaking, without knowing, they separated, building a rainbow between them. The rainbow collapsed, puddling on the ground in a miasma of color as the music from the bridge died away. They stood apart, breathing heavily as the dance left them.
The girl ran up to Darwin and hugged him so tight he was sure she was going to break a rib. A slow clap rose from the crowd and it was quickly joined by a few of the others, those who could See. The right side of Darwin’s face flushed red and the girl let go of the hug, covering her face with her hands. He could still see the smile on her face through her fingers.
Paul emerged from the crowd, the look on his face one of awe, as if he had never seen a dance before. “Come . . . Lloyd, let’s get some breakfast into us.”
Teresa joined Darwin’s side as they walked down the hill, once again trailing the main group.
“That was the best I’ve ever seen you do,” she said.
Darwin smiled his half-smile.
“I’m serious. That was incredible. That bridge, the music it makes . . . it’s magical.”
“It wasn’t just me. I had help.”
“Are you sure she was helping?”
“Oh yeah. Not at first, but it didn’t take long. Half of what you saw was her.”
“Under your direction.”
“Maybe. She could be a master, this one.” He unconsciously echoed the words Baila had spoken to him almost two years ago.
They walked the rest of the way in silence, watching the group ahead of them. Paul mingled with the others, stopping occasionally and talking. Darwin saw him glancing back more than once, smiling at him and Teresa, making sure they were keeping up.
Breakfast was ready by the time they got back, eggs and homemade sausage steaming on plates already on the table for them. They sat with a thank you and started eating, both of them suddenly ravenous from the work they had done, Teresa’s much more important than his.
“I don’t think I’ve talked much about what we do here,” Paul said.
Teresa looked at him, staying silent.
“Maybe if I told you our healer’s name, the one who went off on sabbatical. Maybe that would help explain things a little bit.”
Darwin’s fork stopped halfway to his mouth and his stomach turned into a hard knot as his knuckles turned white with pressure. The fork shook in his hand. He knew what Paul was going to say before the words even left his mouth, and the urge to run took over. Teresa continued to eat as if nothing was about to change.
“Her name is Estra.”
The fork fell out of Darwin’s hand and he pushed himself off the table. It took a second before Teresa joined him. It was a name they both recognized. Though Estra had helped him escape from the dam, she was a Darwin worshipper. One of the group that knew what lay inside him. Knew the power he controlled, or had once controlled.
Only one thought entered Darwin’s mind. They needed their bikes, needed to get out of here. The bikes were over a block away in the infirmary, his sleeping bag still spread out on the bed. There wasn’t time. He grabbed Teresa’s hand and pulled her away from the table. Three large men suddenly appeared behind them, stopping their escape.
“We would like to extend our hospitality,” Paul said. “It was a pleasure to watch you dance.”
The eggs Darwin had eaten moments ago rose in his gut like bile, sitting at the back of his throat. He swallowed to make them go back down. A meaty hand landed on his shoulder.
“This man will show you where you’ll be staying.”
He was pulled away from Teresa, and led into the streets by two of the men. The third stayed behind, holding Teresa back as she fought to join him.
Darwin struggled against the two men who led him out of the dining area, the veins on his neck pulsing. He roared, the sound low and guttural as he fought against them. The most he could do in their meaty grasp was look like he was falling down and had to be carried out. They took a different route to the big church he had seen earlier, not taking the main paths, instead going in between buildings and generally staying out of the public’s view. Even when they got to the church they went around back, unlocked a small door, and entered that way.
If he’d still been able to use the Threads, the two men wouldn’t have been a problem. Handling two guys like this was something he wouldn’t have even had to struggle with. Without them, there wasn’t anything he could do. Though the nine months of road travel had made him stronger, he still had issues from the burns and the damage done by Baila.
He was half dragged and half carried down a narrow, high-ceilinged hallway, passing through white-painted walls cut by dark, oak-framed doors that led deeper into the church’s structure. Halfway down the hall they turned and descended wide stone steps to a basement that showed the age of the church.
Lights flickered in the ceiling . . . the reason for the solar panels he’d seen on his walk yesterday. They weren’t the original fluorescents; those still remained dark. Someone had strung wire along the wall and small bulbs hung at intervals, leaving sections of the hall in shadowy pools. It made the place feel small and claustrophobic. The lights were the first sign of pre-Source technology he’d seen here.
They left the finished part of the basement, walking through an empty doorframe made of rough timber, and entered what had to have been the original structure. The walls were thick unfinished stone, and the doorways were narrow and short. The two men shoved him through one, forcing him to bend over so he wouldn’t hit his head. They pushed the door shut behind him as he turned and slammed his shoulder into it. The door didn’t budge.
He turned his back to the door and slid down in the perfect darkness, ignoring the slivers that caught at his shirt. The ground was dirt, hard packed and impregnable, even if he had a shovel. His thoughts went to Teresa first.
Where were they taking her? He hadn’t seen anyone following them, so he doubted she’d been brought to the same place he had. They still needed her to help the man in the infirmary, which he knew she wouldn’t do unless he was free.
Darwin’s mind went blank as the hours slipped by. He stared into the darkness, his gaze flicking from imagined motion to imagined motion, motes of light that couldn’t have been real. His throat was raw from shouting and it felt like his fists were masses of torn and bloody skin. He tried counting to know how much time had passed and lost track too many times to know. It felt like days but could have been hours or even minutes. He may even have dozed off more than once, changing the passage of time even more. The blackness refused to let him know.
He fell backward when the door opened, landing on the legs of a man, who lifted him surprisingly gently to his feet.
He blinked in the dim light coming from the finished part of the basement, the widely spaced bulbs feeling like points of fire and bringing tears to his eyes. The man let him wait for his eyes to focus.
“I apologize for the way we’ve handled this, Darwin,” Paul said. “It wasn’t our intention to rip you away and throw you into the dungeons.” He laughed at the word. “Then again, we hadn’t expected to see you at all. There were rumors that you were still around, that you hadn’t died at Hoover Dam, but nothing that anyone could substantiate. This is quite a shock for both of us.”
“Where’s Teresa?” His voice came out rough and raw.
“She’s fine. Right now she’s in the infirmary doing a little bit more work on her patient.”
Darwin frowned as they led him back up the wide set of stone stairs. He noticed they were grooved from years of people using them. Teresa working? Paul’s words finally sank in. That didn’t make sense. Why would she be still helping them?
“I want to see her.”
“All in good time. First, we need to make you a little bit more comfortable.” They turned down the hallway and went through a few more doors before stopping in front of another one. Its solid oak frame was deep brown with age, and the brass knob of the matching door had been polished clean by years and years of use. Paul opened the door and led the way in while one of the men pushed Darwin on the back, forcing him through before closing the door behind him.
The room was a suite. An ornate couch sat in one corner, all carved wood and hard edges. A small kitchenette filled the other corner with more modern equipment, all of it useless. Two doors led to the left and right.
“What is this?” Darwin asked.
“This is your new home.”
“No, it’s not. I’m not staying.”
“Darwin, I don’t think you understand. You are our guest here, whether you like it or not. Our congregation has worshipped you in absence for many years. Some of them have seen you, perhaps not quite sure of who you were, but aware enough to understand the possibilities. I can’t take your presence away from them, and I won’t. We’ve heard the stories of how the Source lives in you and how you can direct it and control it to do your bidding, and no one else can. To be the Source is a miraculous thing, and brings with it many responsibilities. One of those responsibilities is to look after your people.”
“I don’t have a people,” Darwin snapped. “I don’t know what you heard, but none of it’s true. I can’t even use Threads. I can’t see them. I can dance. I can barely feel when they’re being used. I’m not the person you think I am.”
“And that’s where you’re wrong. Darwin. You see, people don’t believe because of physical and actual truth. They believe because they need to. Everyone wants to know that there’s something out there better than them. Whether it’s God or Allah, or in this case, you. Reality has very little to do with it.”
Darwin stepped back, staring Paul in the eyes. “But you don’t. You don’t believe.”
Paul shrugged. “Whether I believe or not is beside the point. I have a job I need to do and people who have come to depend on me. Part of that job is to make them happy. Having you here does exactly that.”
“What makes you think I’m going to help you?”
“Oh, there’s no doubt about that.”
“Fuck you.”
“Let me tell you what I told Teresa when she refused to return to the infirmary. If you don’t do what we ask, she will pay the price.”
“What do you mean?”
“Exactly that. If we ask you to do something and you don’t do it, she will be whipped. The punishment will fit the crime. If it is something as simple as you refusing to eat, she will be whipped. If you decide not perform one of your assigned tasks for the congregation, she will be beaten until she can barely walk.”
Darwin lunged at Paul, his shoulder driving low into the man’s stomach. He lost his balance as Paul stumbled back into the closed door. Darwin scrambled to his feet for another mad rush, hitting the solid oak as Paul dodged out of the way, his breath wheezing out. Paul grabbed him by the scruff of his shirt and dragged him backward to the couch. He felt the Threads in the room shift and was thrown into it with more strength than Darwin thought Paul had.
“That one was free,” Paul said. “But if you get up off the couch without my permission, I guarantee that whatever you try to do to me will be done to her.”
Darwin didn’t move. They wouldn’t dare hurt her. She was a healer, and they still needed her. He glared up at Paul, the anger showing in his eyes, knowing he couldn’t risk it.
“Good. You’re smarter than you look, although that’s not saying much.” Paul turned to the door and knocked three times. When it opened he stepped partway through and looked back at Darwin still sitting on the couch. “We’ll figure out your tasks in the next few days and tell you what they are. And remember the consequences if you don’t do as you’re told.”
The door closed behind him.
Darwin rushed from the couch, twisting and pulling the doorknob.
The door didn’t budge.
The first thing Darwin did was examine the entire space. The door was obviously locked, and breaking through the solid oak was not something that he was going to be able to do. The walls themselves were cold, hinting at the thickness of brick and stone that made them up.
The door on the left led to an old-fashioned bathroom with a pedestal sink and a tall wood side table on four spindly legs. The plumbing looked newer, as though it had been added on after the place had been built. The water wasn’t running, and the toilet was dry. A towel-covered bucket sat in the corner. He left and examined the rest of the living space. The kitchenette was wasted space. Even with the solar panels, the appliances would draw too much power. When he opened the door of the fridge, the stale air that filled it dominated the room before he slammed it shut. The door opposite the bathroom was a bedroom. A single bed took up most of the space. On either side was a small side table matching the one in the bathroom, their drawers empty. He sat on the hard bed, running his hand over the coarse blanket. There were no windows, no ventilation shafts to circulate the air, leaving the space with a stale, dry smell that had nothing to do with the fridge. There was no way to get out except for the door. The lighting was a repeat of what was in the hall, simple bulbs hanging from wires along the wall. He pulled a bulb. Maybe he could start a fire using the bed sheets and sparks. The bulb was a simple twelve-volt LED. It was barely enough to light up the space, never mind start a fire.
He was alone in the room for no more than half an hour before someone brought him a meal to replace the one he hadn’t finished earlier that day. There was a quiet knock at the door and a small delay before it was opened and a tray was left on the coffee table in front of the couch while one of the men who had dragged him down here stood in the open doorway. The meal itself was nothing more than what the food area was serving to everybody else. It looked like an evening meal rather than the breakfast he’d been eating, which meant he’d been locked up for most of the day.
He’d considered not eating, knowing that it was a petty move and a waste of time. If he didn’t keep up his strength there would be no chance for him to get away, and if Teresa found him, he didn’t want to slow down their escape. He ate what was on the tray, even though he didn’t feel hungry, before resuming his pacing around the perimeter of the suite. A short time later Paul came in with five other people, introducing them as the community leaders. His attitude was different with the others around. He was less demanding, less controlling. His posture and his tone were subservient rather than that of one in charge. It dawned on Darwin that the other five didn’t know Paul was a nonbeliever. That might be something he could use.
Darwin forgot the names of the people the second the door closed behind them. He wasn’t going to be around long enough to have to remember.
With the lack of windows, he had no idea what time it was. When he got tired he lay on the hard bed and closed his eyes. Sleep took a long time to come. He woke up feeling more exhausted than he had when he first lay down, not knowing how long he’d been out for. He resumed his pacing, moving along the walls of each room until he’d completed a circuit and then starting over again.
He didn’t know how long he’d paced in the small area before the door opened again and Paul stood there, a bundle of white cloth in his hands.
“Today is the first day of your new job,” Paul said, sounding like the happiest man on earth. “You’ll do exactly what you’re told when you’re told to do it, and you’ll be happy for the entire time. Remember, if you don’t cooperate, Teresa will pay the price.”
“How do I know she’s still here? How do I know you haven’t hurt her already?”
Paul sighed. “I understand your mistrust. I hope—with time—we can get past it. For this morning’s services, you’ll be sitting on the stage with us. If you look to the far left corner just as we start, you’ll see Teresa standing there for a few moments. Don’t move. Don’t let her know you’ve recognized her in any way, and pay attention to the sermon. There will be a couple of times you’ll be asked to stand. I want that to happen with no hesitation. Is that understood?”
Darwin nodded. This would be his chance. Get up on stage, and with the number of people that would be there, he could make a run for it. The only person that he knew of who knew he was there against his will was Paul and the men who had dragged him here. There was no reason for the congregation to stop them.
Paul unfolded the bundle and laid what looked like robes on the couch. “Put these on. Someone will be here to bring you to the sanctuary in ten minutes. And remember what will happen if you don’t cooperate.” He left and the door closed behind him.
Darwin picked up the robes. They were heavier than he’d expected and the material felt coarse and stiff under his hands. He raised it to his nose, smelling mothballs and cedar. The material was a thick linen, almost a pure white, with gold and blue embroidery at the cuffs and down the front. He slipped it on over his head and stood waiting, feeling more than a little foolish. It was big on him. His fingers poked out of the sleeves and the bottom hem dragged on the floor. The worst part was how it hindered his movement. Maybe that was part of Paul’s plan.
There was a knock on the door and it opened. One of the big meaty guys who had brought him to this room stood at the doorway.
“Come with me.”
Darwin stepped meekly out into the hall, almost tripping over the hem of the robe. They would expect him to run here, expect him to make that mad dash for freedom, and he pondered whether he should try or just be a good little boy until he had a better chance. His feet reacted before he’d actually made up his mind, pounding on the hard floor as he ran down the hallway, scrunching white linen at his waist to keep his feet free.
A second man popped out of a doorway and stood in front of him, blocking his path.
“Did you really think you’d get away with something like that?” he asked. He grabbed Darwin’s shoulders and turned him around, heading him back in the direction he’d come.
The trio turned him down a couple more hallways before stopping at a small set of stairs that led up to a recessed door. The door opened toward them and one of the meaty fellows pushed Darwin forward, forcing him up the stairs. Darwin resisted at the top, until the pressure on his back became too great to resist. He stepped through and into the sanctuary, his gaze darting toward the nave. Stained-glass windows high on the walls threw multi-colored light onto the pews. A massive arched ceiling above them amplified the sounds of the people filling the benches. Below the windows, large archways lined the nave and the worn wooden pews seemed to go on forever. The second thing he noticed was an almost pure white standing wall behind the altar. Carved into it were the twelve disciples and Jesus on the cross, except that someone had altered Jesus’s face, scraping the left side into a parody of the burn on Darwin’s. He stopped in his tracks, his feet refusing to move as he stared at the carving.
One of the five he’d met the day before, a short plump woman with dark wavy hair, touched his elbow and led him to an ornate chair set just off center stage and beside the altar. Her attitude was deferential and calm, but the grip on his elbow was firm. He stumbled beside her and fell into the seat, staring at the far left corner behind the filled pews, waiting to see Teresa. His body tensed when she appeared and his knuckles turned white on the arms of the chair. Even from this distance he could tell her arms were twisted behind her back, and he could see the pain written across her face. A flash of cold metal against her neck froze him to his spot.
None of the congregation saw it. They all stared at him sitting on the stage as if he was a performer in a traveling show. But to Darwin the blade was unmistakable. He could see the tension in her body, the way she stood rigidly. There was more than pain there, there was fear as well. The urge to fight left him as she was pulled back into the dark corner and disappeared from view.
He sat in the hard-backed chair for the next hour, standing when the congregation stood and sitting back down as they did, his mind numb, before being led back down the stairs to his small room in the center of the church. For the next week he was pranced around like some sort of trophy, occasionally instructed to speak, to give his blessings to a newborn baby, or to smile from the sidelines as a couple married. He was never allowed to leave the church. The only places he saw were his room, the sanctuary, and the nave. Every time he left his room he watched those who were with him and memorized the layout of the land.
As the weeks went on, he remained complacent. There was no hesitation when he was ordered to do something, unless he was unsure of the instructions. When meals were brought to him, he stood far from his room door. When he was out of his rooms he never strayed from his keepers’ sides. He’d been a prisoner before. He knew how to handle his controllers as much as they knew how to handle him.
Over time, the guards began to relax. Instead of two people leading him from his room to the sanctuary door, only one did. The only time he was left unguarded was in his room behind the locked door or while he was performing his duties. The weeks rolled into the next, and the next, and the pattern continued.
A knock on the door pulled Darwin from a light sleep and Paul entered without waiting for permission, as always. “Tomorrow is our celebration of the Source being turned on. You will be expected to give a speech. I’ve written it for you.” He handed Darwin a sheet of paper, browned with age, though the ink looked fresh. “You don’t need to memorize it. But I want you to become familiar with it. I don’t want you to stutter while you’re reading.”
Darwin nodded.
“This celebration is typically held in the open plaza outside the front of the church. Even though you’re outside, you’ll be on your best behavior. We’ll have extra people watching you and Teresa.”
Darwin nodded again. “I want to see her again.”
“No.”
“How do I know she’s still here? How do I know that she’s still safe?”
“You don’t,” Paul said. “You’ll do what you’re told.”
Darwin crossed his arms and his voice tightened. “I don’t see her, I don’t talk.”
Paul raised his hand as if to hit Darwin, and Darwin responded by taking a step forward, his body trembling.
“If I don’t see Teresa when I’m out there, you get nothing from me.” Maybe he was pushing it too far, but even a complacent prisoner had to have a reason for being complacent. He needed Paul to believe he was being controlled, so when he made his move, they wouldn’t expect it.
Paul stared at him for a couple of seconds before stepping back through the open door, slamming it in Darwin’s face.
Only a few minutes later, the door opened again and his guard shoved robes into his hands. Darwin knew they were different just by the weight. Instead of the simple embroidery on the cuffs and in the front, this one almost shimmered with colors. The material itself was still pure white, but the embroidery swirled across its entire surface. The soft colors swooped through the material and around each other. Strands of silver and gold reflected the light, making the robe look like a living object when it moved. It was the best facsimile of what Threads could look like that he had ever seen.
The next day, Darwin slipped it over his head. The extra weight hampered his movements even more than the normal robe, but that was something he could use to his advantage.
He rushed into the bedroom before anyone came to lead him out, a plan solidifying in his head . . . one he’d been thinking of for quite some time. Pulling the nightstand away from the wall, he kicked the back leg near the bed, hoping to break it. A weapon, any weapon, would be useful, and the damage to the table would be hidden when it was pushed back. The bed would stop it from falling over. The nightstand banged against the wall instead of breaking. The legs might look thin, but they were stronger than he had thought. That would make the leg even more useful. He raised his knee high and brought all of his weight onto the nightstand’s leg. It snapped and he pushed the nightstand back in place before picking up the sharp, splintered piece. He lifted the robe and slipped the stick down the back of his pants before picking up the few wooden chunks from the floor and slipping them in his pocket to hide what he had done.
When the guard came to get him, he was ready. The second he saw Teresa they’d be gone.
Darwin was led from his room and down the now familiar hallway, back to being escorted by two burly men who stayed at his side. This time, instead of turning toward the sanctuary door, they climbed the worn stairs to the main floor and brought him into the nave, the long wooden pews lined up in front of him. He was steered toward the center aisle and faced the closed doors to the outside world. Darwin’s heart pounded in his ears, blocking any other sound out. The doors swung open, and one of the men grabbed his upper arm and squeezed right before letting go. He almost tripped down the long flight of stairs to street level, where they’d built a stage.
The layout almost exactly matched the inside of the church, minus the structure showing the twelve disciples and the modified Jesus on the cross. With a small push on his back, Darwin walked across the stage, going directly to his chair, and sat down without being told to. The congregation that stood outside wouldn’t have been able to fit inside the church. The plaza was filled with people, and some of them swelled into the streets behind them. Most of them wore brightly colored shirts or patches pinned to whatever they had. Along the outside edges of the square, booths had been set up. The smell of food drifted across the plaza, opening a hollowness in Darwin that he didn’t expect. The smells and the sounds reminded him so much of traveling with Baila’s troupe and performing for the towns they’d passed through.
He scanned the crowd, looking for Teresa’s face, seeing only the rapturous gazes of the devotees. Paul hadn’t told him where she would be, only that she would be there, and this was a big crowd. He scanned again, using a different pattern, but still couldn’t find her, and felt his chest tighten. His hopes of getting away were zero if he had to hunt for her. He shifted uncomfortably in the chair, the broken leg of the table scratching his back through his shirt.
Paul gave him a sideways glance and placed a hand on his shoulder. “These are your people, Darwin. This is the most we’ve ever had for this celebration! Over three hundred of your followers have come to see you. The least you could do is smile for them.” He paused, joining Darwin in looking over the crowd. “It’s unfortunate that our healer couldn’t make it back in time for this. I’m sure she and Teresa would have gotten along fabulously.”
Darwin responded without stopping his increasingly frantic search of the crowd. “Where is she?”
“Still here. She’ll join us for the service part of the celebrations. I don’t think we’ll leave her out for the festivities. Ah, here she comes now.”
Darwin glanced at Paul’s raised hand pointing in the direction of the infirmary as Teresa entered the large plaza. She wasn’t alone. Even at this distance Darwin could see that she was being watched by three men. One of them walked beside her and the other two were only a few steps behind. She stumbled and the man beside her caught her under the arm and lifted her back to her feet. There was something strange about the way she walked . . . her step. She was too far away to see clearly, but it looked like she was taking tiny steps.
“What have you done to her?”
“Done to her? As long as you cooperate, nothing.”
“Why she walking like that?”
Paul laughed under his breath. “We have her feet tied together. As I said, in a crowd this large it’s a little too easy to get yourself lost.”
Darwin ground his teeth as he watched her trip again, lifting himself partially out of his seat before Paul’s hand on his shoulder pushed him back down. How dare they do this to her? He had done everything they had asked, biding his time until he could make a move, and they had the audacity to treat her like this. He swallowed the words threatening to come out of his mouth, taking a deep breath to get himself back under control.
“I have done everything you asked me to. I haven’t tried to run. I haven’t tried to get away, and you still do this?”
Paul shrugged. “We weren’t going to. But when you walked out with that broken table leg tucked into the back of your pants, we felt it wise to take extra precautions.”
The unburned side of Darwin’s face flushed. Though the anger remained, it was tainted with a touch of fear. How had they known? Were they watching him while he was in his room? Did the stick somehow show through the loose robe? Paul hadn’t shown any abilities as a Threader, so he couldn’t have Seen him break the table leg. But he did See Darwin’s dance on the top of the hill . . .
“You didn’t know we searched your room every time you left it? I think we’ll let you sit with that stick scratching up your back for a little while,” Paul said with a smile. “It’s good to be a little uncomfortable.”
Darwin slouched back in his chair, the stick—useless now—pressed hard against his spine. He’d lost sight of Teresa. Either they had merged with the crowd, or the guards had taken her back to where she was being held. Even with his hasty plan discovered, he had learned something that perhaps Paul hadn’t wanted him to. He now knew where she was being held. Not with absolute certainty, but he was pretty sure that it was the infirmary. With her legs tied that way, and the way she had stumbled, he didn’t think she’d had a chance to learn how to walk with the hobbles on. That meant the distance hadn’t been far. The direction she had come from was right as well.
A band started playing at the side of the stage, its music eerily similar to that of the bridge yet different enough for him to recognize that it was played with normal instruments. He wasn’t sure how they produced the sounds they were making. It was as if every instrument was slightly out of tune but still in harmony.
The crowd parted and dancers walked in front of the stage. Their blue shirts glittered with silver embroidery, catching the sunlight just right. He recognized the young girl he had danced with on top of the hill. The others could have been part of the same group, but he wasn’t sure until they started dancing. As they moved, he could feel the pull of their work. This was a troupe, a cohesive unit that worked with the Threads.
Their movements were different than those of Baila’s and her troupe, and though he couldn’t see the Threads, he could feel that they were harsher, grating on the back of his teeth like fingernails on a chalkboard. When the lead dancer had started, she hadn’t taken the time to focus on the emotions of those around her, simply beginning to move.
Once again, the young girl stood out. It was as though she was separate from the rest of the dancers, even though they were right beside each other. What made her separate was the feeling of the Threads that she generated. They were smooth and full of muted colors, though no shape had come to them. She was the only one dancing with emotion.
The leader of the troop moved closer to her, the look on his face speaking of anger rather than the beauty of the dance. Without touching her, he clamped down on the beauty she was creating. Darwin didn’t hear the Dance Master’s harsh whispers, but he felt her Threads change. Once again, he felt it in his bones as the troupe took over and covered up what she had almost created. He felt her soul disappear into the background noise of the other dancers. Paul touched his shoulder, pulling him from the scene below.
“Join them,” he said.
Darwin stayed sitting.
“That wasn’t a request. I said join them.”
“No.”
“They are here to see you. I Saw what you did on the hill by the bridge.”
Paul put a hand under Darwin’s armpit and lifted. Darwin let his arm go limp.
“If you don’t join them, Teresa will lose a foot. She doesn’t need it to remain a healer.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” Darwin said.
“You don’t think so? Would you like to test your theory?” He waved his hand in the air and a single shout rose over the hush of the crowd as they watched the dancers. The shout turned into a scream, quickly stifled as though a hand was put over the mouth. Several people in the crowd turned, losing interest when they couldn’t find the source of the scream.
To Darwin, there was no doubt whose voice that was.
He stood.
“Good choice, Darwin. We don’t want her hurt, almost as much as you don’t. But if you push us, it will be done.”
Darwin moved toward the dancers, his pace hesitant. The slow burn he had felt in his chest when Paul had threatened Teresa turned into a deep empty pit. He felt his robe lifted in the back and the stick removed. It was of no use to him anyway.
“We wouldn’t want this to hamper you, now, would we?” Paul asked.
A hand pushed him between his shoulders. He took a stumbling step closer to the dancers. The music had turned mournful, still trying to emulate the sounds of the bridge. He ignored it and focused instead on the dancers in front of him. The harsh feelings and strange imagery that popped into his head almost stopped him in his tracks, until he heard that lone voice in the chaos. It was muted, shallow, but still there. He latched on to it, his gaze following the young girl, who tried her best to fit in with the rest of the dancers, her softness smothered by discord. His demeanor changed and he strode toward her, his pace picking up until he was within a few feet of where she moved. He reached out and touched her on the sleeve and her eyes snapped back into focus. In that brief moment between concentrating on the dance and focusing on Darwin, she had come through one more time, and the emotions she generated were filled with pain. She knew what she was doing was wrong. Despite that, she struggled to fit in with the rest of the troupe.
Darwin focused on the feelings emanating from her and slowly began to move. The girl joined him immediately, free of the shackles the troupe leader had placed on her, and from her pain flowed the peace of knowing that what she was doing was right. He could feel the Threads gathering around them, swirling in patterns and colors that made no sense. The two of them became a mass of organic motion in the midst of mechanical mayhem.
The Dance Master moved closer, reaching out to stop Darwin from what he was doing. Despite the shout from the stage, there was no hesitation as he grabbed Darwin’s sleeve. Darwin spun, the move part of his dance. His arm stretched out, and he backhanded the Dance Master across the face. He felt his knuckles slide across the man’s nose, felt the cartilage give. He pulled the anguish and fear from the Dance Master into his performance, and the colors changed, becoming vibrant and garish. The red hues deepened and the young girl, not sure what she was doing, interwove greens and blues and yellows in with his red.
The harsh mechanical Threads generated by the troupe fell away and Darwin and the girl separated, the Threads they had been generating exploding from them in a sparkle of fireworks that filled the daytime sky.
Even without Seeing them, he knew what they were doing. He lost himself in the feelings and the unseen Threads, gently guiding the young girl so that what they created became a unified whole. Emotion flowed into dance and dance into Threads, until there was nothing else.
Darwin’s chest exploded in a wave of heat and golden light and he stopped as though his shoes had melted into the concrete. The girl, so in tune with his dance, stopped at the same time, her eyes opening wide. The heat stopped as quickly as it had begun. The two remained motionless. The hush of the crowd felt like a solid wall, until, as one, they cheered.
Darwin wasn’t sure how or when he got back to his chair, the girl and the dance all but forgotten. Paul took his usual position beside him, nudging him several times during the ceremony to make sure he stayed on cue. It was a struggle to remember what he was supposed to do and when. It wasn’t that he was exhausted from the dance, it was that almost every part of his brain was trying to analyze what had happened, and how. The rest pushed down the unexpected fear that threatened to take over.
The Source had flickered to life.
Nine months after Baila had snuffed out its light, it had risen for a brief moment like a phoenix rising from the ashes. The fear came from not knowing if anyone else besides the young dancer had seen it. He hoped that those with Sight would have thought it was only part of the dance. During the thunderous applause and shouts when the dance was over, he’d pulled her into a hug and whispered quickly into her ear, pleading for her not to tell anyone what she’d seen. When he’d pulled away, he wasn’t sure if she saw the fear buried deep in his eyes, but she’d still given him a tight nod.
The ceremony ended with Darwin still in a daze. Paul escorted him from the outdoor stage to the men waiting to escort him back to his room.
“That was a shitty performance,” he said.
“I’m sorry. I . . . I haven’t danced in a while, and it took more out of me than I thought it would.”
“Don’t let it happen again.”
Once back inside the church, Darwin stumbled and caught himself on the wall. Part of it was to substantiate his claim to Paul when his goons reported back to him. Part of it was due to the plan that had started to form when Paul took his table leg away. He stumbled again on the stairs to the basement, using the railing to keep himself upright. The third time, he raised a hand to stop one of Paul’s men from helping him. As he pushed himself away from the wall, he slipped his hand beneath the robe and slid it into his pocket, almost crying out when a sliver from the splintered wood he’d placed there wedged under his fingernail. He hid his grimace by pretending to almost fall again. When he pushed his arm back through the sleeve of the robe, one of the wood pieces was nestled in his palm.
Two of his guards stood along the wall flanking the door while the third unlocked it. The man opened it and stepped aside, giving Darwin room to get in. Faking another stumble, Darwin lurched into the frame, placing his hand on the dark oak. The chunk of wood dug into his fleshy palm and he glanced at it. He was two inches above the deadbolt hole. As he pushed himself back upright he slid his hand down the jamb and the wood lodged into the hole. He pushed harder and the chunk settled flush with the doorframe. This time he accepted the help the guard offered and let himself be led inside to the couch, and he fell into it with a loud sigh.
Today’s celebration was different than what he was normally called to do during regular services, but he hoped the pattern of the day would remain the same. Now that his duties were done, he would be left alone until someone brought him his dinner.
Darwin lay on the couch until the door closed. He listened for the sound of the deadbolt driving home. He heard the slide of the lock and the thud as it settled in place, but it sounded softer. He hoped it wasn’t just his imagination. He stood and went to the washroom, removing the robe and throwing it in a pile on the floor, not caring about the fine embroidery. A new bucket of water had been delivered to his room while he was gone, and he drank until his belly couldn’t hold any more, taking the time to slow down the rapid beating of his heart.
He crept back to the hallway door, wiping the sweat off the palms of his hands on his pants. Pressing his ear against the solid oak, he held his breath and listened for the slightest sound. All he heard was blood rushing through his veins and the panicked beat of his heart. He reached for the Source in his chest, praying that the one flicker of life he had felt had been a true awakening. Though it shimmered with the faintest of lights—more than it had in the last nine months—it didn’t provide him with any Threads. He would have to do this without its help. Darwin turned the knob until he felt the latch release and eased the door toward himself. It stopped and his heart sank. He pulled again, feeling the definitive bang of the deadbolt against the wooden frame. He could still feel the soft wood in the palm of his hand as he pressed it into the deadbolt hole. It had been a tight fit, so it couldn’t have fallen out. Maybe he’d pushed it in too deep?
Darwin let the door slide back into place without releasing the knob. He braced a foot against the baseboard and yanked. The door popped open, striking him on the cheek as he hastily turned his head away. Pain pulsed through his face and his vision blurred with the onset of tears. Even his teeth hurt from the impact. He wiped his face, his fingers running along melted skin, and pulled the door all the way open.
No one stood in the dimly lit hall. Darwin drew in a shuddering breath, bracing himself against the doorjamb to keep himself from collapsing to the floor. He pried the wood from the deadlock hole with shaking fingers and closed the door, making sure it was locked and drove the piece of wood into the keyhole. If anyone came earlier than he planned, it should slow them down a bit.
He’d only taken the path to the side door entrance once, when he’d been brought in, but the route had been etched on his mind. The thick walls were cool on his back as he crept down the hallways. His footsteps echoed in the empty space. Removing his shoes removed the noise and helped his feet slide across the floor until he reached the exit. He pushed on the bar and the afternoon sun streamed in the entry until he once again stood on the warm concrete and closed the door behind him. Not giving his eyes time to adjust, he pulled on his shoes and hugged the side of the building, using the strange arches that protruded from its side as cover, moving toward the noise of the celebrations.
His first idea was to mingle with the crowd and lose himself in the mass of celebrating people, but a few seconds of calmer thought threw that idea aside. Before he reached the plaza, he stepped away from the church and walked slowly across the open space to a side street, two over from where the infirmary was. The urge to run almost consumed him as he placed one foot in front of the other. No one paid him the slightest attention.
The sun shone almost straight overhead, leaving no shadows or corners where he could stop for a breath and look to see if he was being followed. On the other hand, it also exposed anyone who might have been following him. His mind imagined dozens of people behind him. He turned a corner and took the opportunity to look down the street he’d been on. It remained deserted. Darwin used a gap between two buildings to move closer to the infirmary, emerging once again on an empty and silent street, the festive sound of the celebration growing louder.
The infirmary door was locked when he got there. He walked around the building, standing on the tips of his toes to peer through the dirty glass into the dark interior. Nothing moved inside and his heart fell. If he had made a mistake, if Teresa wasn’t here . . . He knew he’d have to go back to the church, sneak back in, and pretend nothing had changed. He couldn’t—wouldn’t—risk what they would do to her if they found him gone. Sudden motion through the dirty glass startled him and he focused on what looked like long dark hair. It had to be Teresa. He tapped on the window lightly and the motion stopped. He tapped again. The person inside leaned closer to the glass and peered back at him, the sudden smile on Teresa’s face shining clearly through the dirty window.
She gestured toward the back of the building and her shadow disappeared from view. The sound of shattering glass reached him before he turned the corner. He sprinted forward just as she lowered herself down to street level from the empty window frame. Glass cracked under her feet as she landed. She pulled him into a hug, squeezing him so tight he couldn’t breathe before holding his face in her hands and kissing him. He pulled away with a reluctance that threatened to consume him. They’d already stayed in one place for too long.
“We need to move. I’m hoping they don’t know I’m gone until dinner time. But if they decide to come to my room, we need to be far away from here.”
Teresa nodded and grabbed his hand, pulling him in the opposite direction of the community’s entryway.
“Where are we going?” he asked.
“Side door,” she said. “It’s amazing what you can learn when your patients are under your complete control.”
Darwin grinned. Leave it to Teresa to look for a safe way out of the compound, trusting that he would find a way out of the church. He followed her through the empty streets, the sounds of the festivities fading into the distance.
The side entrance was a simple house built against the wall. It looked no different than its neighbors, dilapidated and empty. They entered the front door without knocking and moved through an empty living room and kitchen to the back. Plaster had fallen to the floor, leaving the skeletal framework of lathe and old wiring. The entire rear wall had been covered in large concrete blocks. They were obviously newer than the surrounding structure. Darwin pushed against the bricks, and gave Teresa questioning look.
“Can’t we just climb over top of the wall? It’s not like it would be tough.”
“It’s covered in broken glass and razor wire,” she answered. “You can’t see it from down here, but I’ve had to heal a couple of people trying to sneak into this place. Can you imagine?”
“It’s got to be better than breaking through this.”
“We don’t need to.” She pointed to the stairs to the basement, leading the way down. A handful of candle stubs sat on the top step and she grabbed one, lighting it before descending into the absolute darkness.
The place felt more like a cellar than a basement to Darwin. Even though he couldn’t see the walls, he could feel the moisture seeping through them, and the floor felt slimy under his feet. The air felt damp against his skin and the sudden drop in temperature sent a shiver down his spine. He tripped over something hiding in Teresa’s flickering shadow and caught himself against the wall. His hand came away wet. Teresa led them to the far corner, the candle illuminating the same concrete-block wall that he had seen upstairs. A rusted butter knife sat on the floor and she picked it up, scraping at the mortar between the bricks. It flaked away in large chunks.
Darwin picked one of the pieces up. It was nothing but mud. It took less than five minutes to scrape away the fake layer of mortar. Teresa used the knife to pry out the top brick, leaving a hole almost big enough for them to squeeze through. The brick rolled out with an ease that took him by surprise. The top of the bottom brick had been covered in small round stones, creating an easy surface to move the brick in and out. He yanked on the next brick and it dropped to the floor. Teresa crawled through the small opening.
The other side of the wall was a tiny space that barely fit the two of them. They’d left the candle on the other side, but light shining through the thatched ceiling above them revealed the marks of shovels and fingers and spoons that had been used to carve out the space. Pockets, slick and covered in mud, had been cut into the outside wall, creating a ladder to the surface. Darwin used them to climb up, pushing the hatch aside. He clambered out of the hole behind the cover of a rusted brown delivery truck, the school-bus-yellow letters still vibrant in the constant shade, and helped Teresa out. He re-covered the hole. If whoever used this exit came back to the house they would know it had been used, but they could repair what Teresa and Darwin had done without any problems. Replacing the cover on the outside hole was the least they could do.
They crouched behind the truck and scanned the area. In front of them was an empty lot, tall grass and bushes growing from where the concrete had cracked. In the distance, they could see the tall buildings of downtown San Francisco reaching for the sky. Even from here he could see broken glass and trees that grew from the windows. Teresa tensed herself to run and Darwin placed a hand on her shoulder, shaking his head no.
“Nothing that makes it look like we’re trying to get away,” he whispered. “We need to look as though we belong here, like we do this every day.”
Teresa gave a tight nod, her gaze never leaving the row of buildings across the empty lot. Together they stood and walked across the open space, appearing—or Darwin hoped—as though they were just two people who lived in the city. The walk seemed to take forever, though it couldn’t have been more than two hundred yards.
The low buildings surrounding the lot gave them cover, and they told each other what had happened since they’d been separated. Teresa squeezed his hand when he mentioned the Source, but didn’t ask any questions. She knew he would have used the Threads to get out if he could have. They entered the broken concrete labyrinth and crumbling sidewalks of downtown San Francisco with nothing more than the clothes on their backs.
But they were free.