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Authors: Shannon Donnelly
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must realize now just how much they did need each other in this world.
The sky was still sludge, overcast and dark. Rubble filled the street; buildings falling in on themselves, collapsing from neglect. There were days he felt as if that might happen to him. The smell of things rotting drifted on a chill breeze. Fires burned in the distance. Carrie let out a sharp, shocked breath. He knew why—the destruction looked worse during the day.
Turning toward her, Gideon held out his hand. “I know it’s bad. But you get used to it.” It was a lie, of course. You never got used to this. Or, at least, he hadn’t.
He had learned, however, to shut out the worst. He could look past the city to the far hills, lifting sharp in the distance, sparks of crystal glinting on purple ridges and beautiful in their own right. He knew how to scan the city for trouble and nothing more. The stench that rose on the breeze let you avoid any rotting husks—the remnants of something, someone, no longer alive. But they didn’t run across many fried bodies these days; anyone still living, still with a soul to call their own, knew better than to get caught with a heart that still beat. That or they’d gone into hiding in the Crystal Hills. For those that hadn’t, well, some could be saved. That’s how he’d met Temple.
He’d been trying to save her. Again.
And he had failed. Again.
But Temple had pulled him out of it before Gideon had had his skin stolen. They’d gotten away after that because of Temple’s decoy—electronic toys had a use in this world, but not as anything for a child’s play. He’d learned that from Temple; they’d learned more from each other since then.
Temple knew the ruins of the city—he was a native after all. But Gideon had taught Temple how to use the EM meters that had been dragged through from what had been his old life. They’d found a common purpose in the effort to slit the throat of any lone Walker they could ambush and in running like hell from everything else. They’d also learned how to use the Rift between worlds. Or almost.
Rift openings had become less frequent and shorter lately. And the larger ones—the silver-black cracks that gapped like wounds—were harder to manage. Gideon didn’t know if that was good or not. Of course, until now, he’d pretty much ignored anything beyond the next target. Now they had Carrie and Gideon wasn’t sure what that meant.
Maybe more fractured gaps to the Rift opening, for her and because of her? Because she was new and didn’t belong. He’d have to warn her about them—or maybe she could use one to get back. He’d never tried that. He was a little worried it would kill her if she did try.
She looked at Gideon, jerked a thumb at Temple and asked, “Is he one of the survivors?”
Gideon nodded and looked at Temple. How much more should he say right now? Temple wasn’t helping with that decision. He kept his mind blank and his opinions silent, stared back, his face revealing even less than his thoughts. Gideon shrugged and turned away. When Carrie stumbled, he took her hand in his and let the warmth of her skin settle into his bones.
In the distance, the scrape of rock on rock echoed. They stopped and Gideon crouched, pulling Carrie down with him. He swapped a glance with Temple, and when no other sounds echoed down the street they got up and moved out again. That was the trick. Keep moving during the day, find a safe spot to hide at night where you could get some sleep. This idea of going back to where you crossed, he didn’t see much use in that. But Carrie seemed to need this.
He glanced at her. Her palm slicked his. She stayed close to him. Was that her being smart? Or was this the result of what they’d done last night—what he really shouldn’t have done with her? God, what he still wanted.
It had been a long time since he’d had the comfort of another body, the ease of touch, the bliss of release. He’d gotten used to ignoring those
The sky was still sludge, overcast and dark. Rubble filled the street; buildings falling in on themselves, collapsing from neglect. There were days he felt as if that might happen to him. The smell of things rotting drifted on a chill breeze. Fires burned in the distance. Carrie let out a sharp, shocked breath. He knew why—the destruction looked worse during the day.
Turning toward her, Gideon held out his hand. “I know it’s bad. But you get used to it.” It was a lie, of course. You never got used to this. Or, at least, he hadn’t.
He had learned, however, to shut out the worst. He could look past the city to the far hills, lifting sharp in the distance, sparks of crystal glinting on purple ridges and beautiful in their own right. He knew how to scan the city for trouble and nothing more. The stench that rose on the breeze let you avoid any rotting husks—the remnants of something, someone, no longer alive. But they didn’t run across many fried bodies these days; anyone still living, still with a soul to call their own, knew better than to get caught with a heart that still beat. That or they’d gone into hiding in the Crystal Hills. For those that hadn’t, well, some could be saved. That’s how he’d met Temple.
He’d been trying to save her. Again.
And he had failed. Again.
But Temple had pulled him out of it before Gideon had had his skin stolen. They’d gotten away after that because of Temple’s decoy—electronic toys had a use in this world, but not as anything for a child’s play. He’d learned that from Temple; they’d learned more from each other since then.
Temple knew the ruins of the city—he was a native after all. But Gideon had taught Temple how to use the EM meters that had been dragged through from what had been his old life. They’d found a common purpose in the effort to slit the throat of any lone Walker they could ambush and in running like hell from everything else. They’d also learned how to use the Rift between worlds. Or almost.
Rift openings had become less frequent and shorter lately. And the larger ones—the silver-black cracks that gapped like wounds—were harder to manage. Gideon didn’t know if that was good or not. Of course, until now, he’d pretty much ignored anything beyond the next target. Now they had Carrie and Gideon wasn’t sure what that meant.
Maybe more fractured gaps to the Rift opening, for her and because of her? Because she was new and didn’t belong. He’d have to warn her about them—or maybe she could use one to get back. He’d never tried that. He was a little worried it would kill her if she did try.
She looked at Gideon, jerked a thumb at Temple and asked, “Is he one of the survivors?”
Gideon nodded and looked at Temple. How much more should he say right now? Temple wasn’t helping with that decision. He kept his mind blank and his opinions silent, stared back, his face revealing even less than his thoughts. Gideon shrugged and turned away. When Carrie stumbled, he took her hand in his and let the warmth of her skin settle into his bones.
In the distance, the scrape of rock on rock echoed. They stopped and Gideon crouched, pulling Carrie down with him. He swapped a glance with Temple, and when no other sounds echoed down the street they got up and moved out again. That was the trick. Keep moving during the day, find a safe spot to hide at night where you could get some sleep. This idea of going back to where you crossed, he didn’t see much use in that. But Carrie seemed to need this.
He glanced at her. Her palm slicked his. She stayed close to him. Was that her being smart? Or was this the result of what they’d done last night—what he really shouldn’t have done with her? God, what he still wanted.
It had been a long time since he’d had the comfort of another body, the ease of touch, the bliss of release. He’d gotten used to ignoring those
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