Threader origins, p.10
Threader Origins, page 10
“Come on. We can’t rest yet. They followed us through the hole, so they know where we are. There’s nothing stopping them from creating another one and sending more people after us.”
“Why don’t you make another one? Get us out of here?”
“I can’t. It just takes too much energy. I don’t have the concentration for another one. Seeing Threads is the easy part. Manipulating them is tough. Come on, we need to keep moving.” Michael dragged Darwin between more houses and through backyards before heading down a back lane.
For the next hour, Darwin’s world was a blending of houses and streets, some of it looking like it had been on the losing end of a war. At some point they left suburbia, walking across a cloverleaf intersection, staying off the fractured concrete and in the long grass and bushes at the sides when they could, before heading back into the jumble of never-ending houses and overgrown yards. The setting sun shone directly in their faces when Michael finally called for a rest.
“I think this is good enough. We can’t run through the dark, and we need to rest or there won’t be anything left in us tomorrow,” said Michael.
Darwin fell to his knees. He felt as though he had been running on empty for too long. For months.
“Get up.” Michael offered his hand. “Let’s at least get under some shelter before the sun goes down. We’ll stay in one of the houses tonight and start again in the morning.”
Darwin lifted his aching body off the ground, ignoring Michael’s outstretched hand. They walked through the broken back door of a dark gray two-story house, its paint cracked and peeling off in sheets. He barely noticed the dust and the animal tracks before collapsing under the table in what was left of the kitchen. He was out almost instantly.
Morning came too quickly. He opened his eyes, spying the spider webs that hung thickly where the legs met the tabletop. He was pretty sure there was movement, though it must have been his imagination. Nothing could possibly be living in the cold that permeated the house. He shivered in his blue anti-static jacket, wrapping it tighter around him and wishing he had something warmer to wear. He rolled out from under the table, his body protesting even the smallest move. Every muscle reminded him of yesterday’s mad rush in a single instant. He hadn’t exercised in months, and yesterday had pushed him to his limits, and well past them. He groaned as he forced himself to his hands and knees before using the table to lift himself to his feet.
He wrapped his arms around his waist, hugging himself to keep warm, the cold driving aside the pain. He knew it would only be worse tomorrow. He could still feel, or imagine he felt, the strange wrenching and tearing sensation he’d experienced in his head when he was pulled through the blue mesh. It was like a dam had burst and all the water that had been held back poured through the gaping hole. With the release came thoughts of home and his dad. Good thoughts. Thoughts he hadn’t had in a long time. Had Rebecca done something to him? How much of the last three months had been real, and how much had been created by her manipulating him, using the Threads or that damn inhibitor against him?
What was it that she’d said that first time they had talked? Don’t make me do that for you again.
Thirst cut through his thoughts, and he looked for something to drink. The kitchen was big and open with brown water-stained walls and splotches of black mold bleeding from the corners. He instinctively threw an arm over his mouth and nose. Two counters created an L against the walls, with dusty gray granite on top and a sink in the corner with yet another broken window in the wall. A brisk wind blew through the empty frame, chilling him to his core. Ignoring it, he walked past the stove and turned the taps on. Besides a short, faint hiss of air, nothing came out.
“You won’t find any running water.”
Darwin turned and stared at Michael. He looked like Darwin felt. His clothes were covered in dirt and grime and his eyes were shadowed in deep black circles. Darwin’s own clothes were in the same condition, and the blue anti-static smock was torn in a few places. He had no idea how that had happened. Michael returned the stare.
“I got some water from the hot water tank in the basement. It’s a bit stale, but it is clean. Food will have to wait until we get to a cache.” Michael’s voice sounded cheery, though it was obviously forced. “I thought getting away from there would be a bit more organized. That we would have time to grab my stuff before we left. I should have known better.”
Darwin practically snatched the water out of Michael’s hand and drained the cup. “Where are we? Can I get more water?”
“Definitely west of Philadelphia,” Michael said as he poured another glass from a canteen. “My best guess is somewhere in or near Marple. I was hoping to at least get to Lancaster, but I didn’t have time to get us that far. Hopefully we’ll get there this morning. I have a cache there, which includes food and some warmer clothes for you. We’ll have to wait until then before we get to eat. You can look around the house for some clothes, but I imagine it will be slim pickings.”
“What about Bill?” Saying his name filled Darwin with conflicting emotions. Bill had been such a big part of his life for months, and yet he barely even knew him. The signs that he had been against the Qabal and Rebecca had always been there, but to be actively working against her? How could he have missed that?
His thoughts must have shown on his face. Michael’s voice lost its forced cheerfulness, and he sighed. “There is nothing we can do for him. We can’t go back. The Qabal know exactly where he is and will most likely be waiting. If they left him there, there won’t be much to go back to anyway. You’ve seen what we ran through yesterday. Mother Nature has taken over, and she knows how to attend to the dead.”
Dead. The word struck at Darwin like a direct blow and he stumbled back into the counter, placing a hand behind him to stop from sliding to the filthy floor. Of course he was dead, but hearing it spoken out loud made it so concrete, so final.
Michael took a step toward him and then paused, leaving the kitchen table and its nests of spiders between them. “I . . . I’m sorry, Darwin. He spoke highly of you.” He turned and left the kitchen.
* * *
• • •
They didn’t make it to Lancaster that morning. Michael sat in a small circle he’d created in the overgrown backyard, trying to build what Darwin thought of as a tunnel. He watched from the kitchen window as the Threads pulled together before fizzling out and disappearing. Michael was exhausted by the time it was done. He stumbled from the backyard and back into the house, muttering “not my forte” under his breath. Darwin found him a few minutes later on the filthy, stained beige carpet in the living room, fast asleep and still covered in sweat from the effort of trying to create one of his tunnels.
Darwin sat on the floor by the doorway watching Michael’s chest rise and fall in a steady rhythm. What was he supposed to do now? Just hang around until the guy woke up? Take off and run to the Qabal? The thought stuck in his head.
The Qabal had given him something he’d never had before, something he didn’t realize he even wanted. A sense of belonging, of being part of a group that accepted him for who he was. A place where he wasn’t shunned because he didn’t fit in.
Only yesterday he’d told Rebecca he wanted to stay. Only yesterday he couldn’t have imagined wanting to go back home. There he’d be just another student at university, never having the right friends, the right clothes, the right personality. He hadn’t even thought of his dad. Not really. It was as if the man who had helped him through the toughest time in his life didn’t even exist. All that had changed when he’d been pulled through the steel-blue mesh. What had they done to him to make him forget the only person in his life that meant something?
Inside the blue-walled prison, everyone liked him. They all said hello in the hallways, welcomed him into the Sanctum services, sat with him at lunch. Now he saw it for what it was. A sham designed to fool him into doing whatever they wanted.
The image of Bill’s twisted, tortured body rose to the surface. In his head, he watched again as the blood pooled around Bill’s broken chest. A feeling of helplessness filled him from his head down to the soles of his feet. This time he let the tears fall.
The Qabal had killed him. Rebecca had killed him. The woman he’d trusted. In the blink of an eye, Bill went from a living being to an empty dead shell, broken as easily as Darwin had broken the rail on that stupid device. He rubbed his eyes with the backs of his hands, wiping the tears away. In the end, even Bill hadn’t told him the whole truth.
It was Bill who had pushed him to run with Michael. It was Rebecca who had pushed him to be part of the Qabal, to agree to having his mind probed for information he wasn’t even sure he had.
He jumped to his feet. It was enough. Enough of being told what to do by other people, of being controlled. He wasn’t going back to the Qabal, wouldn’t give Rebecca the chance to brainwash him again, or whatever it was that she had done to him.
How could he trust her to keep her word, to let him go back even if he did have the information they needed to create the link between the two worlds? That she wouldn’t use the link and her power with the Threads to wreak havoc on his world?
Anyone who could get rid of someone like Bill so easily, take a life without a second thought, could get rid of him as well, and probably would. Especially if they thought he had joined Michael. Then there was Lyell, and he suddenly knew the man who had helped him didn’t just leave the Qabal. Rebecca wouldn’t have let that happen. He was as dead as Bill was.
And Michael. Should he follow him to wherever he led? Bill had thought he should, but in the end, Bill had lied to him, making him as bad as Rebecca. Maybe worse, because Darwin had thought of him as a true friend and confidant. What was it that Bill had said? That he’d had enough? The implication was that he didn’t want to be there in the first place, that he wasn’t Qabal. His double agent cover bullshit hurt almost as much as losing him did.
One thing was sure, he trusted Michael about as much as he trusted Rebecca, and that was enough to make the decision. He was better off alone. It had always been that way, and always would be.
He could try to find his mom. Lyell had said his dad had died, but was she still alive or had the wars Rebecca talked about taken her? If she was alive, would she want to see another version of her son? As much as every part of who he was yearned to look for her, a small part of his brain kept telling him it was a bad idea. He was the stranger here. Despite the quiet voice, he knew he was heading home.
He glanced at Michael, still fast asleep on the floor with a faint sheen of sweat on his face. He grabbed Michael’s bag and emptied it on the kitchen table. There was no food, so Michael had been telling the truth about that. There were a couple of canteens of water. One felt full and Darwin put his head through the strap, resting it on his shoulder. Even full, there wasn’t enough water to last more than a day. He’d have to get more as he went on or he would end up a babbling dehydrated idiot.
He grabbed a big hunting knife as well and wove the sheath through his belt. He wasn’t sure what he would use it for, he had never hunted in his life, but its weight on his hip was weirdly comforting.
His search of the house had given him an extra-large man’s button-up shirt and a pair of dress socks with holes in the heels. He wore them both anyway. Any little bit helped against the cold.
He closed the door on his way out, hoping it would keep some of the animals that had made the tracks on the floor at bay.
Things were as they should be, as they always had been. He was on his own.
* * *
• • •
Darwin looked at the sun and headed what he thought was northeast. Michael had said they were just west of Philadelphia, and that meant home was in this direction. It would bring him closer to the Qabal, but it was a risk he was willing to take. Just the hint that his mom was alive, that he had the chance to see her, to hold her, was worth the risk. His heart had won the battle over his brain.
He had no idea how long it would take to get there, and winter was settling in, but he’d find warmer clothes along the way. He’d make it. He’d read somewhere the average person walked just over three miles per hour. He had no idea how far Philadelphia was from his home. It was over two hours by car, but what it was on foot was something else.
Once he got home, whether his mom was there or not, his next plan would be to find someone who could send him back to his world, or could teach him how to do it himself. Maybe she would come with him, and they would be a family again. He laughed quietly as he left the yard. So simple.
He traveled most of the morning before realizing he’d have to change his priorities. The water he’d taken from Michael was already running low and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so hungry. His lethargic pace, set by the aching muscles created by yesterday’s mad dash away from Rebecca and her Qabal, slowed him even more. His body was craving anything that could keep it fueled.
That changed his first order of business to finding some place to get more food and water, and something to carry it all in. He figured he’d made it far enough from the house he’d left Michael in that it would be next to impossible to find him.
Every house he passed looked like the one he had left, broken and ransacked. Paint peeling in sheets from the outside walls, leaving whatever was underneath it exposed to the elements. Maybe if he could find something more commercial, he would have a chance. He left the streets lined with empty and collapsing homes and followed what he hoped was a main road to a place with small businesses. Any place with restaurants or small neighborhood stores.
The first store he came across, a small corner Indian grocery called Patel Foods, had obviously seen better days. The bars had been ripped from the windows and doors, and broken glass lay scattered on the floor and empty shelves, a large brick nestled amongst the shattered shards. Even the sign had been smashed, though he didn’t know if it had been intentional or just Mother Nature doing what she always had—reclaiming what was rightfully hers anyway.
Darwin moved through the store and examined the empty shelves. He was too late, and by the looks of things, years too late. Dust lay on the shelves in an even layer, indicating that nothing had sat on them for years. There wasn’t even the track of mice or rats to indicate anything lived here at all. Taking one more chance, he got on his hands and knees, brushing glass away from in front of him as he went, and peered under the shelves. Hoping something was left behind by the looters who had obviously been through here.
A lone tin of cat food with a pull-tab top lay wedged deep in a corner. He stretched as far as he could, pushing his shoulder into the metal shelf until it hurt. His fingers were still inches away from the can. He pulled out Michael’s hunting knife, using the extended reach to sweep the can closer, and grabbed it out. No-name Beef Supreme with real chunks of meat. Even the label was a generic yellow with plain black text. The can was halfway back to the shelf before he changed his mind and shoved it deep into his front pocket. He wasn’t going to eat it yet, but he was at the point where he knew he had to think about it.
There was nothing else left in the tiny space.
He left the store, his thoughts on the single tin of cat food. How hungry would he need to be before he opened it? The fact he’d even kept the can was indication he was pretty close already.
A deep growl drew him from his reverie. Ahead on the broken road stood a German Shepherd, its tail straight and tense with its ears pulled back along its skull, staring at him. Its face told a story of battles won and lost, scarred and misshapen, lips curled to reveal long white teeth. Matted fur covered its body. No one had taken care of this dog in a long time. Another low growl started in its chest and Darwin took a trembling step backward. The dog took a forceful matching step forward.
Fear shot through him, and his stomach churned, forcing what little was in it into his throat. He swallowed and slipped the hunting knife from its sheath, gripping it tight, sweat making the leather-wrapped grip slick.
The last few months of training with Bill fell away as though they had never happened, and Threads pushed into his view, each one clamoring for his attention, begging for it. The dog took another step forward and deep red Threads shot out from it toward Darwin. Pain drove into his head like a rusty nail.
He struggled to regain control, but it wasn’t working. His mind tried to follow every Thread at once, crowding into every corner of his brain. Blackness narrowed his vision and threatened to close off the world completely. He dropped the knife, falling to his knees and grabbing at his head, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes.
Another low growl came from his left. He raised his head, trying to push through the blinding pain, and stared blankly at the massive beast. The dog stood only a few yards away, its eyes level with his. It took a second before he realized it wasn’t the Shepherd.
He closed his eyes, blocking the starving animal from his view, and concentrated on the exercises Bill had taught him, forcing the fear—the emotions—away. He groped wildly around before finding the knife and forcing himself to stand, pushing through the Threads that threatened to drown him.
New Threads forced their way into his view. He could hear Bill’s voice in the background telling him to breathe, to concentrate. Darwin opened his eyes and looked at the dogs surrounding him. He could see seven of them now, spread out in a rough circle. Two were blocking his retreat back into the store. The pack had taken a step back when Darwin stood, but had not moved since.
He saw the Thread just before the attack. It shot out from the German Shepherd to the other dogs in the pack, then seven strands flew toward him all at once. They rushed forward before he knew what had happened.
