Threader origins, p.15
Threader Origins, page 15
“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.
9
MERCY OF ANGELS
THE AMPHITHEATER REMINDED Darwin of pictures he’d seen of World War Two refugee camps. People crowded the area, dressed in whatever they had on their backs when they’d run. They sat or stood in small groups, looking lost and confused, speaking in hushed tones. Occasionally the din of hundreds of people was shattered by shouts or screams. Darwin carried the boy through the ring of Threaders protecting the space and stood in the mass of humanity.
He looked down at the frail figure in his arms, the dirty face looking almost peaceful in sleep, or passed out, his chest rising and falling in a ragged rhythm. The arm resting across his chest still lay at an awkward angle, but the boy seemed beyond caring about it. Darwin brushed the boy’s dirty face with his thumb, wiping away the tears that hadn’t had a chance to dry.
He stepped further into the crowd, trying to find a path to the stage. From where he stood, he could see people lying on it and being tended to by others. The natural acoustics of the amphitheater made every sound clear, even over the noise of the crowd: the soft consoling voices of the caregivers, punctuated by the sharp cries of those hurt.
He spotted Wally through the crowd and pushed his way over. Sullen faces turned to look at him, until they saw the young boy in his arms, and then they separated, giving him room to move.
“Wally,” Darwin yelled, trying to raise his voice above the crowd’s.
Wally spun around, scanning the faces in front of him. He passed over Darwin and looked like he was going to turn away before he spotted the boy Darwin carried. Darwin watched as Wally moved easily through the crowd, people separating just before he reached them, and closing back together shortly after he passed. Instinctively, Darwin tried to watch the Threads. It felt like he’d had a fresh batch of inhibitor put in him; what he saw was faint and few. When Wally reached them, he looked down at the boy.
“He’s hurt,” Darwin said.
“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.
9
MERCY OF ANGELS
THE AMPHITHEATER REMINDED Darwin of pictures he’d seen of World War Two refugee camps. People crowded the area, dressed in whatever they had on their backs when they’d run. They sat or stood in small groups, looking lost and confused, speaking in hushed tones. Occasionally the din of hundreds of people was shattered by shouts or screams. Darwin carried the boy through the ring of Threaders protecting the space and stood in the mass of humanity.
He looked down at the frail figure in his arms, the dirty face looking almost peaceful in sleep, or passed out, his chest rising and falling in a ragged rhythm. The arm resting across his chest still lay at an awkward angle, but the boy seemed beyond caring about it. Darwin brushed the boy’s dirty face with his thumb, wiping away the tears that hadn’t had a chance to dry.
He stepped further into the crowd, trying to find a path to the stage. From where he stood, he could see people lying on it and being tended to by others. The natural acoustics of the amphitheater made every sound clear, even over the noise of the crowd: the soft consoling voices of the caregivers, punctuated by the sharp cries of those hurt.
He spotted Wally through the crowd and pushed his way over. Sullen faces turned to look at him, until they saw the young boy in his arms, and then they separated, giving him room to move.
“Wally,” Darwin yelled, trying to raise his voice above the crowd’s.
Wally spun around, scanning the faces in front of him. He passed over Darwin and looked like he was going to turn away before he spotted the boy Darwin carried. Darwin watched as Wally moved easily through the crowd, people separating just before he reached them, and closing back together shortly after he passed. Instinctively, Darwin tried to watch the Threads. It felt like he’d had a fresh batch of inhibitor put in him; what he saw was faint and few. When Wally reached them, he looked down at the boy.
“He’s hurt,” Darwin said.
