Threader war, p.3
Threader War, page 3
The hole in front of him disintegrated, its Threads changing back to a dull gray and drifting from the room. The door between the two worlds closed in silence. He had left the QPS back there running, throwing its Threads into an unsuspecting world, left Rebecca behind to do what she would with them. He had left everything he knew. All to protect the woman he loved. The woman who had pushed him away without a moment’s hesitation. Even after all this time, he didn’t know why she had done it. Now that he was here, he wasn’t sure he had made the most logical choice. But then, love was never about logic.
He stepped away from the bare spot on the floor, and dust rose in a cloud around him before settling back down in the still air. Looking through the empty window frame into the lab, he saw a single shaft of light piercing the darkness. Below the light, rubble lay on the floor like forgotten soldiers.
Darwin pulled his shirt over his mouth and nose, using it as a filter against the dust as he moved toward the light. Staying just out of its narrow beam, he gazed up at the hole in the ceiling. Something had hit Quantum Labs, and hit it hard. The hole pierced the building through what looked like three floors before ending here. He tested the rubble, hoping to use it to climb out of the basement. The pile shifted, tossing even more debris onto the floor around him. It wasn’t stable enough to climb. He turned to the dark hallway. He’d have to use the stairs. The daylight shining in from above failed to pierce the shadows around the corner, and he stepped into the hall with trepidation, not sure of what might be hiding in the dark. It looked like no one had been down here in a long time, except for the footprints around the missing QPS. But it wasn’t people he was afraid of right now. Animals had ways of surviving, and hiding in the basements of buildings was one of them. For all he knew, a pack of dogs could be using this place for a den. A shiver crawled up his spine. His last encounter with a feral pack had ended very badly.
Keeping one hand on the wall, he slid into the shadows. The path was surprisingly clear, and he picked up his pace, running smack into the far wall leading to the staircase. Turning, he searched for the first step up with his foot. It was only when he was halfway up the stairs that he realized he could have holed out and didn’t need to search blindly in the dark. Still, he’d already holed three times today. He could feel the effects of the effort draining his strength as he stood in the darkness. It probably wouldn’t work a fourth time anyway.
Darwin shrugged even though there was no one to see it, and pulled at the Threads once again. Being exhausted was better than tripping over something or worse, falling down a hole similar to the one he’d seen in the lab.
The Threads felt sluggish. Though he could See them, their response to his commands was delayed. The Source inside of him remained quiet. He shrugged again. It was probably because he’d overextended himself already. He finally created the hole, sweat dripping from his chin, and double-checked that it was okay before stepping through and feeling the familiar shock of ice. He’d created a short hole, worried that creating a longer one would fail.
The Quantum Labs foyer was a mess, with empty frames in place of windows and huge sheets of shattered glass strewn across the floor. Even the reception desk had been ripped into shards of wood and splinters, and chunks of black granite from the doorway were missing. It looked like a bomb had gone off in the enclosed space. A cool wind rushed in from the north and he pulled his jacket tighter around him. Drag marks the size of the missing QPS scored the floor between the hole down to the lab and the stone encased front doors. Blood, dry and brown, seemed to cover almost every surface.
The chrome stairway to the balcony surrounding two thirds of the foyer was still mostly intact. He shivered as another gust of wind blew through the empty window frames. His legs buckled and he caught himself before hitting the floor. He’d have to rest before he made the long trip to Chollas, and the second floor felt like the safest place to do it.
The last hole, despite the short distance he’d traveled, had completely drained him. He struggled up the stairs, hugging the wall and stopping to rest every few steps, until he reached the room the Qabal had given him so long ago. It was the same as he’d left it, almost barren with the only furniture being the desk and mesh-backed chair and the cot they’d given him to sleep on.
The windows here were cracked, but still whole, and the lack of wind made the space feel warmer. He moved over to the glass, staring out on a world he barely recognized. The few cars, with their flat tires and rusting bodies, that had been in the parking lot were gone. In their place were chunks of jagged metal and plastic that bore no resemblance to what they had once been.
The overgrown grass still remained, but many of the trees had been damaged. Broken trunks and limbs, the leaves long since turned brown and blown away by the wind, lay across the parking lot. It looked like a war zone. What was left of the Qabal when he’d holed home must have put up a hell of a fight.
Movement on the expressway across the boulevard made him slip back into the shadows of the room. Six figures moved down the cracked and broken concrete of the expressway, staring at the Quantum Labs building as if searching for something. Even at this distance he could see they bristled with weapons. He didn’t move until they had disappeared from view. He wasn’t sure if they were just curious or if someone regularly patrolled the area to look for a resurgence of the Qabal. An unlikely event with the QPS missing.
Darwin turned his back on the window and eyed the cot. He pulled the blankets off and shook them out, flipping over the cot to get rid of the dirt that stayed behind.
Under the rusted frame, an old phone lay on the carpet, its case battered and scraped. His phone. The one he’d lost when he’d been pulled across last year. He picked it up, flipping the phone over in his hands. The device carried pictures of his mother and most of his old music, and having it back made him realize he’d been missing a piece of himself that he didn’t know had been gone. He pulled the small solar charger from his backpack and plugged the phone in, placing the panel and the phone on the window ledge and hoping for the best.
He righted the cot and replaced the blankets, lying on top of them before closing his eyes, wanting to listen to his music, to have the introspective lyrics of the Delta blues calm his racing mind. But he didn’t dare. He needed to hear if anyone came up the stairs, following the footsteps in the dust and dirt he hadn’t even thought of hiding until now. He was too exhausted to do anything about it. He’d sleep only a couple of hours. He set the alarm clock in his head, and drifted off.
* * *
• • •
The sun had settled behind the Quantum Labs building by the time Darwin woke up and the cold had seeped into the large room. He took a quick look at his watch to make sure he hadn’t slept longer than he wanted to before groaning and getting to his feet. Long shadows stretched across the parking lot, reaching for the boulevard and the expressway beyond, and he shivered in the cool fall air.
Exhaustion pulled at his bones. He fought the urge to crawl under the blankets and sleep for another couple of hours. Teresa’s screams had faded into the background, but their harsh taste still lay on his tongue like acid.
He collected his old phone and tossed it and the charger into his pack without checking to see if it would turn on.
Darwin pulled on the Threads, struggling to create a hole to Sunnen Lake, Missouri. Once again, the Threads felt sluggish to his requests, and the Source inside him still remained quiet, but the hole built and looked stable. He took one more look at the room that had been both his home and his prison so long ago, and stepped into the shade of a forest. The sun was higher in the sky, which was expected since he’d moved west, and patches of speckled sunlight shone through the canopy overhead.
Carlos and Wally had brought him here on the way to SafeHaven after he’d escaped from Michael and the Qabal. They were the ones who had told him you had to have been somewhere at least once before being able to hole there. If he wanted to reach Chollas Reservoir today, he’d need all the strength he had to do it. Or more. The almost spiteful lack of response from the Source inside of him and the sluggish response from the local Threads weighed on him, but there would be time to ponder that later. After he’d found Teresa.
He checked the hiding spots Carlos and Wally had used, finding water and bags of dried food tucked in with the sleeping bags and tent. He opened a bag and poured water into it, eating before the food had fully rehydrated. He took what food he could carry, leaving enough behind for the next group that would come through, and began to create another hole to the next stop. There was no point in using his reserves of freeze-dried food if he didn’t need to.
Creating the hole took forever. Sure, he was holing pretty damn far, hoping to make it to the mountains where the Qabal had tried to kill him, but the Threads were still slow to respond to his demands. He put it down to the number of holes he’d created already today. With only a couple of hours of sleep, he knew he was pushing well past his limits, more than he’d seen anyone else do. But he had to try. Teresa needed him, which meant he didn’t have a choice. It would be so much easier if the golden Thread inside of him was working. It took him almost five minutes to create the hole, pulling the Threads together, watching as they turned yellow and a thick Thread shot through its center before it was stable enough to travel through. He toppled to his side when it was done, his sweat soaked shirt clinging to his back and his breath coming in huge gasps. It took another minute before he moved into the hole as it slowly disintegrated.
When he stepped out, shaking the ice from his hair, the first thing he saw was the flattened tent still lying on the ground. Parts of it had been covered by dirt and other detritus from the surrounding area, but its outline was sharp and clear. Last time he was here, the Qabal had expected him to be in that tent, had expected him to die. The sight brought back the vivid memories of hiding in the gully and running through the next day looking for a new place to hole from.
At the time, he’d never felt more scared in his life.
The next hole Carlos and Wally had taken was to SafeHaven. Darwin was planning on going straight to the Chollas Reservoir area, to where he had first seen Teresa.
His legs trembled as he lowered himself to the ground, and he fought the weariness that plucked at every piece of him, threatening to stop him in his tracks. He’d never done more than a single hole in a day—not without the QPS’s help—and then he’d had a few days’ rest before he tried it again. This would be his second after only a short sleep.
Despite having just eaten, his stomach rumbled and he struggled to stand, moving to the stash of food and camping gear Carlos and Wally hid at every hole point. He pushed the rocks covering the stash aside, finding what was left. A sleeping bag, once wrapped and boxed to protect it, had been ripped to shreds by mice or whatever lived on this barren plateau. Insulation and nylon blew away in the wind that stunted the vegetation that managed to gain a small foothold. All signs that no one had been here in a long time. He fished through the debris and wrapped his hand around a can, pulling it free. The label had been peeled away, leaving its contents unknown. He considered going back to the dehydrated food, but what he had eaten sat in his stomach like a rock. He didn’t want to try it again . . . not without more time.
Shrugging, Darwin smashed the lid of the can with a sharp rock until he’d formed a jagged hole and poured its contents into a bowl he’d wiped out with his hand. Small green balls floated in liquid. He fished through the peas with his finger, looking for any pieces of the lid before shrugging and tilting the bowl into his mouth. The peas were soft and mushy and slid down his throat in a clump. He fought the urge to gag and swallowed another mouthful.
When he was done, he rebuilt the stash—just in case—and pulled the Threads in to build a hole. This time, they didn’t just feel sluggish, they were reluctant to listen to his commands. They fought his call with an almost animal-like intensity. He froze, cold fear sinking deep into his chest. Something had changed the Threads and how they worked. For a moment, he lost Sight of the Threads, and the fear dove deeper. He reached for the Source in his chest. No matter how much he prodded, no Threads came out of it either. The world had changed.
The darkness he’d fought since his dad had died threatened to overwhelm him and wrap him in its too-familiar embrace. The echo of Teresa’s screams filtered through the darkness and he realized what they were. The smell and texture were different, but reminiscent of what he’d felt when he’d found his dad. Her pain, the screams that reverberated across worlds, was a reflection of her loss.
Her pain matched his. He pushed against the flood of memories with everything that he was, forcing himself to believe things were different enough that he could be wrong.
Despite the Threads’ reluctance, not getting to Teresa wasn’t an option. She was all he had left. He reached inside himself and tore into the Source. It felt like touching a dead body. The Source’s exterior had become hard and cold, not yielding to his request, though it still shimmered gold.
No! I have to get to Teresa. I have to find her. His chest tightened and the world fell in on him. He felt lost and alone and exhausted. Hot tears cut down his cheeks. He brushed them away with a harsh wipe of his fingers. This was only the third time he’d cried about his dad. In times like these, he’d become used to talking to him, to being listened to. That had all changed, but the memories were still felt fresh enough to cut through his need to find Teresa. He buried them as deep as he could. He was good at that.
As though responding to his thoughts, the golden Thread warmed and a single wisp escaped from it. He prodded at the Source again and this time it exploded, supplying as many Threads as he needed before shutting down once again. Seconds later, the hole had been built, perfect and complete, and Darwin stood on shaky legs to walk through.
* * *
• • •
The smell of smoke filled the small room and in the distance he could hear screaming and shouting. He sucked in a deep breath to call Teresa’s name and choked on the acrid air, tears cutting through the dirt on his face again as he struggled to breathe.
A single shout poured in through the window, amplified beyond belief and echoing in the small space. “Retreat!”
Darwin stumbled through the pale yellow curtain with red flowers covering the doorway into the living space of the house. His legs barely listened to his urgent need to move, to get out and find Teresa, and he tripped over his own feet, falling to the floor like a rag doll. He lay stunned, his arms not listening to his requests to push himself back up. He had known his multitude of holes would take a toll on him, but he hadn’t expected to feel so drained. It was as though all the life and energy had been pulled out of him and all that remained was an empty shell. Added to the mix was the all too familiar headache when he’d overextended his Thread usage. He struggled back to his feet, leaning against the dining table for support.
He pushed through the thickening haze, both in his head and in the air, and almost fell down the green-painted stairs to the street level. The outside of the building was charred and black. Though the damage looked old, he could see flames flickering further down the street, and inky smoke billowed into the blue sky, throwing afternoon into a burnt orange dusk.
What had happened here? Who was responsible for all of this?
Another shout drew him away from the house and down the street to the play structure and the gap in the fence Teresa had once held open for him.
The fence was gone. Even the posts had been pulled from the ground or bent over at the base, and the chain link lay on the ground in large pieces. Whatever had come through here had been strong enough to completely destroy an eight-foot chain link fence.
Sounds of fighting carried on the wind blowing over the reservoir, muffled and distant. Would Teresa be there? She would be where she was needed the most, and he couldn’t think of any place a healer was needed more than just behind the front line.
He knew he couldn’t go in blind. He needed to locate her and avoid the fighting. There wasn’t any way he was going to be helpful in his current state. His headache had amplified to the point where it felt like his right eye was about to explode out of its socket. Darwin stumbled down the hill to the reservoir and sat with his back to a white-barked tree, concentrating on the Threads, fighting to follow one toward the battle sounds. He lost it halfway there and tried again. Unlike when he had tried to hole, the Threads were willing and responsive, wanting to do his bidding. He just didn’t have the strength to do anything with them anymore.
The third time he failed, he used the tree to pull himself to his feet, running as best as he could around the reservoir and floundering up the knoll where Enton had holed them from so long ago. In the intersection below him, a battle waged on.
Even in his weakened state, he could see red Threads arcing across the sky and small pockets of blue protecting those who fought. The Threads were faint, a hint of color on the edge of his vision. When he saw what they were fighting against, he slumped to the ground.
What looked like a hundred Skends stormed the intersection below, circling around small groups of Threaders. The Skends’ pallid faces, with skin stretched over their eyes and mouths, reflected the bright sun, making them appear like specters in a nightmare of horrors. They were man-made monsters, people with their DNA warped by the Threads, turning them into killing machines. They couldn’t use Threads, but they didn’t need to. Their touch burned flesh and bone, and robbed a Threader of his ability to See.
The Qabal had made the Skends, and had controlled them. Darwin had changed them back to humans before he’d returned to his world. How many had he missed, and who was controlling them now? Maybe the Qabal hadn’t been defeated. Maybe they’d found a new base to wreak their havoc from, and taken the shut down QPS with them.
