Edge Walkers (11 page)

“Uhm, actually...” Gideon let his words trail, but Carrie turned. She already knew that hesitant tone in his voice and it hadn’t meant anything good before this. Eyebrows lifting, she stared at him.

He met the look and gave a shrug. Voice quiet, he said, “Five is pushing it for safe.”

“Five what?” Jakes asked.

Carrie decided her brain was still rattled by too much loud noise and too much death. Her body hummed with fatigue. But she remembered what Gideon had told her. She remembered Chand’s uncanny eyes, too, and shuddered. Small groups. Anything more than five or six drew the Walkers. Drew them to the hum of living bio-electromagnetic fields. “God, they’ll find us. There are too many of us?”

Face set, Gideon nodded. The move pulled a wince from him and he pressed his hand against his side. He’d done that once before and she knew he needed to get off his feet—
healing, not healed,
she thought. She glanced back to Jakes and started a stumbling explanation—the accident in the lab, the explosion, the deaths. It must have been coherent enough since Jakes’ expression soured.

“Goddammit, is nothing easy around here? So you’re saying those things—whatever the hell they are—are like goddamm heat-seeking missiles and we’re the heat?”

“Fuckin’ EM fiel—” Shoup started to clarify. Jakes cut him off with a narrow-eyed stare. Shoup lifted one-shoulder and made a face, but he didn’t look all that sorry for interrupting and went back to an easy slouch, his gun propped against his hip.

Carrie put her focus on Jakes. “Yes. Close enough. And the more of us around, the more heat. That’s not good.”

“So how do we—” Jakes’ stare shifted to just behind Carrie. “Hey, want to back it off there, buddy?” Gideon’s hand had settled on Carrie’s shoulder. She shot Jakes a look to stop his complaints. But Gideon’s weight kept pulling on her. Her knees buckled as Gideon’s lean turned into a slow fall. Feet braced, she grabbed for him. Temple moved faster, silent, easing an arm around Gideon’s waist that pulled a hissed breath from Gideon.

White faced now, eyes pressed closed, Gideon muttered, “Sorry. Sorry…I’m…thought I was doing better.”

“Brody, there a place you can take him?” Jakes asked. He’d strode over to her side and had taken hold of her elbow to steady her. Mouth a tight line, he looked even more unhappy than earlier, but he’d at least slung his gun over one shoulder. She glanced at Temple. The man said nothing to her, but the impression flooded her mind of a room nearby, dark and cool, with a large flat soft surface.

She looked at Jakes and nodded. “We’ve got him.”

“Fine. One thing at a time. Shoup, you’re with me on neighborhood watch. I’ve had it with surprises, and that’ll thin our numbers for now. Brody, get him good enough to sit through a meal. I’m going to want a lot more answers.”

“I’m not sure he has them.”

“Someone better. This is no place to set up goddamm housekeeping. And don’t tell me again about any kind of stuck. That’s not an answer.”

Gideon’s head lifted, his eyes opened to show a faint blue-silver gleam and the skin around the edges crinkled. “God, you’re bossy.”

“Yeah, kinda comes with the uniform and the gold leaf.”

“Those won’t help you here,” Gideon said. And Carrie knew him to be right. She glanced at Jakes, face tight, stomach knotting.

Eyebrows lifted, Jakes slung his weapon off his shoulder and into his hands. Gideon closed his eyes and the smile reached down to lift his lips before it twisted. Carrie tightened her hold, but Gideon opened his eyes and waved toward Jakes’ weapon. “That’s not going to help much, either. Not when you run out of bullets. But…I expect you’ll have to find out the hard way.”

“Brody, move it. Your guy is about to pass out, so unless you want the joy of carrying deadweight—”

“Thanks. I think we can manage,” she said, stiffening. She spread her feet wider to make it the truth. Every muscle screamed under Gideon’s weight, even with Temple on the other side and taking most of it. But she met Jakes’ knowing look with what she hoped had to be a hefty amount of belligerence. And she wasn’t going to look at Shoup, because she’d seen his smirk before and if she saw it again she’d want to smack it off his face.

Jakes shifted his gun and reached into one pocket. He pulled something out, held out his hand. When Carrie offered her palm, he slapped cold metal against her skin. She glanced down, saw a pocket knife and a penlight. She looked up to see Shoup falling into step on Jakes’ left, long strides taking both of them out the door with the easy gait of men who knew they were dangerous and had the intention of proving it.

“Back in a few,” Jakes called. “See if you can keep out of any more goddamm trouble.”

She thought about swearing out his ass to show she wasn’t some Girl Scout who needed to be told how to rub two sticks together. But she didn’t have the breath or the spit. And Jakes was already gone by the time she’d managed to string a good enough curse together. She really did need to lie down. So did Gideon.

Settling Gideon’s arm to a spot on her shoulder that almost didn’t throb, she met Temple’s unblinking, curious stare, and begged, “Please tell me you really do have a bed?”

CHAPTER TWELVE

I’ve made so many mistakes—Gideon wasn’t one of them. — Excerpt Carrie Brody’s Journal

It wasn’t so much a bed as padding over a rope frame hung low from hooks sunk into the walls. Carrie glimpsed it as she stepped into the room and flashed the penlight’s narrow beam down carved stone steps and over ragged covers. Temple’s bed was at least more than Gideon’s rough altar padding, and right now Carrie would take anything that wasn’t heat-sucking stone. The hard part came in getting Gideon down the six, shallow, curving stairs. With no handrail, just uneven steps, odds favored someone falling. She let Temple half carry and half drag Gideon to the bed. Carrie followed behind, shining Jakes’ penlight on the stairs.

The beam gave off a narrow column of blue-bright light at Gideon’s shuffling bare feet. She wished the sight of him, alive even if he was hurting, made her feel better. But the knot, tight and low in her belly, didn’t start to unravel until they had Gideon stretched out and watching them from half-closed eyes, his face blanched by the dim light and exhaustion.

“You’re really going to be okay?” she asked, worry clipping her words.

His mouth lifted, curved. That faint smile didn’t reassure her about anything. Smoothing a hand over his forehead, she found his skin warm, but not hot with fever. Gideon’s mouth pulled down in a sudden wincing grimace, so she stayed with him. Temple stepped to one corner of the room.

Pulling a crystal vial from a cord hung around his neck, Temple poured glowing liquid into lamps tucked against the stone where wall met floor. Four lamps, made of a semi-translucent material—carved agate, she guessed—pushed back the darkness with a butter-soft light. Natural phosphorescence, she thought, watching him. As he worked, Temple kept turning to stare at the penlight in her hand with its bright narrow beam, his dark eyes lit by interest and speculation.

When he straightened and came back, she glanced at the flashlight in her hand and offered it to him. Hesitating, he looked at her, dark, thin eyebrows arched high, dusky skin gleaming in the pale light.

“For what you did,” she said. “It’s little enough.”

Keeping her palm flat, she pushed her hand at him, made the gesture more emphatic. His wide, thick lips lifted in the first real smile she’d seen on his face. The expression lifted only the right side of his mouth in a crooked quirk that dropped a few years off his face, but it left before it could reveal anything more about him. Taking the light, he held it, balanced and weighted, seeming to find value enough to offer a gracious nod. He turned and started up the stairs, taking them two at a time in long, quick strides.

“Hey, where…?”

He didn’t glance back, but she got the image of him tagging after Shoup and Jakes, dogging their heels to make sure they stayed out of trouble. Making sure they didn’t kill anyone—just things. Troubled by that vivid picture, she put a hand to her forehead and rubbed. It didn’t help the ache that had settled. But when she glanced up again, Temple had gone. She turned to Gideon.

He lay on his back on the bed, knees slightly bent and legs spread, limbs loose with exhaustion. Gideon wasn’t a small man, which meant he took up most of the available bedding. A patterned blanket or covering of some kind rucked up underneath him, faded and intricate in its design—geometric lines woven together, golden hues mixed with muted earth-tones. It looked good under him, showed off pale skin and lean, and sculpted bare chest and wide shoulders. She put her hand on the cross he wore, smoothed it straight and flat.

From what she could see below the bandages, he didn’t have the ripped abs of someone who lifted weights. He was all lean mass—a runner’s body. He didn’t get enough to eat and she glimpsed a hint of raised ribs. Pale hair gleamed from where his jeans rode low on his belly and from a sun-lightened dusting across his arms.

She brushed his arm with her hand and wished she had him covered to keep him from getting a chill, but that would mean she’d have to get him to move. He seemed to have had enough of that for the moment.

With his mouth open, his breathing sounded rough. If she ever had a car rumble like that, she’d be taking it to a good mechanic. God, he needed more than a few hours rest. But what else could she do for him? Folding her arms, she watched over him for a minute. Standing still didn’t help anything. It gave time for the memories to flash—vivid, blood bright…Chand…the others who hadn’t made it out. Tears leaked out and she swiped them away before they could cross her cheekbones. She was almost certain Gideon had fallen deep asleep, but he shifted, let out a breath and stretched out a hand to nudge her thigh with a finger.

“It’s okay. You can sleep here, too.” The words came out heavy and mumbled. His not-reassuring half-smile lifted again and this time it creased the corners of his eyes as he muttered, “Won’t even tie you.”

She threaded damp fingers into the softness of his hair. “I’m not good with this—not with anyone. Not even myself when I’m sick.”

Eyes still closed, he shook his head. “Not sick. Need s’m rest,” he said, the words losing shape.

“An IV and antibiotics and a real doctor wouldn’t hurt,” she told him. Mouth flattening, she shook her head. Stubborn man. Good thing he was, or he’d be dead. But she didn’t have so much as an aspirin to give him—she hated this kind of helpless. God, this was back to her mother’s illness…able to do no more than sit and stare and ask questions that had no answers. That pushed her into doing one thing she could do. Turning, she stumbled up the stairs.

She came back balancing an alabaster bowl of water—an inadequate offering. But he’d brought her water earlier and somehow it seemed fitting to do this one, small thing for him. He had his eyes open and he’d propped himself up on one elbow, as if that was as far as he’d been able to make it.

The soft glow from the lamps warmed his face, showed the pain etched in lines around his mouth. He took the water and drank half as if he’d been parched and hadn’t noticed. Offering back the bowl, he blinked at her and a deep shiver shook him.

Muttering a curse, she looked for another blanket, but he was lying on all of them. She grabbed the bowl and put it down next to the bed. Pulling off her shoes and her lab coat, she thought about stripping everything away. It wasn’t toasty, but it wasn’t freezing. Physics were physics and that meant an underground room would maintain an average temperature. They would generate more heat with skin on skin, but she knew an excuse when she invented one.

Bottom line—she was tired of smelling like blood. Hell, she was just plain tired. She wanted the comfort of someone alive and close. Besides, it wasn’t like she had much to be embarrassed about with him. Not given what they’d already done with need so raw they were bleeding from it.

Stripping down to semi-sensible bra and boy briefs, she left her stained clothes on the floor. She’d figure out later how to clean them or get new ones. Gideon was still on one elbow as she sat with her back to the wall and tried to find room on the bed. She got a cushion of some kind behind her back, settled for putting her legs around Gideon. Tugging on his shoulder, she pulled him flat, so her lap pillowed his head. His hair brushed her stomach and tickled. The heat off his body warmed her legs and feet. She watched his jaw clench as she wiggled into comfort, and she kept a hand on him to make sure he stayed put in the space between her legs.

Closing his eyes, Gideon grimaced. “I think your foot is digging into my back in the wrong place.”

“No, it’s not,” she said. And it wasn’t, but she wiggled a little lower, got him framed between her legs, and made herself comfortable. She dragged the ends of the blanket up, piled it around them. They weren’t covered, but they were pillowed on either side, tucked in a canoe of fabric.

Leaning down, she snagged the water bowl from the floor and pushed it at him. “Drink. You need fluids. You only lost what—a couple of liters out of your veins?”

He shook his head as if he had no idea, but he drank the rest of the water and muttered a thanks. He let out another long breath and turned his head so his cheek rested against the inside of her thigh. His hand closed around her bare ankle. Another breath and he was asleep.

She could envy him that skill at easing away from the world if she didn’t know it had to indicate he was running on fumes. She was as well. Exhaustion nibbled on the edges of her emotions, ragged and tattered, and she pulled in a deep, shuddering breath, had to wipe at the dampness still leaking from her eyes. Nothing stopped the tremor in her fingertips.

Resting her back against the pillowed stone, she left the bowl on the bed and thought how good sleep would be. But she didn’t want to close her eyes. The images from today were too near—too fresh. Chand-not-Chand’s face. Had that happened to Thompson, too? The Tech? And to Zeigler? She didn’t want to find out what nightmares her subconscious might make of those faces mixed with today’s sights and sounds. Gideon asleep was a lot better to look at anyway.