Rift (Rift Walkers #1)

by Elana Johnson

  “How have you done it?” I ask. “How do you make sure your walkers won’t name names?”

  “Not now,” Dad hisses just as a Hood meets me inside the door. I flinch away. He doesn’t touch me, but simply turns and strides toward my cell. I take note of the width of the panel where he swipes in the configuration to kill the electricity.

  “How do you close it?” I ask.

  “None of your business. No talking if you want dinner,” the Hood warns me as I step past him. I settle on the narrow cot, and watch as the door regenerates itself after ten seconds, exactly as the device specs I studied in Wilder’s office indicated. As soon as my cell is sealed, the guard leaves.

  “Where have you been?” Cooper whispers.

  “Security department,” I whisper back. My mind whirs with all the codes and clearances I learned. I purposefully keep my fingers away from Wilder’s stolen data stick that I slipped into the seam of my jeans.

  “Heath came by this afternoon,” Cooper says. “He had a girl with him.”

  “Who?” The only girl Heath knows well enough to bring to the Bureau is Soda, but Cooper would’ve just said her name.

  “Saige Phillips.”

  I gasp too loudly, and Cooper and I pause to listen for a Hooded rebuke. None comes, so I hiss, “Saige Phillips? You’re kidding.”

  “I’m not. Heath said she came through the rift last night. She saw you and Cas get arrested in Heath’s backyard.”

  “She’s Cascade’s sister.”

  “That’s what she said. I wasn’t sure if I believed her.” He lowers his voice so I have to work hard to hear him. “I mean, they don’t look anything alike.”

  “Yeah, well. They’re not twins, and cosmetic codes aren’t hard to upload.” I wait while a Hood approaches. Cooper closes his eyes and feigns sleep. As soon as the guard’s gone, I ask, “What did you guys talk about?”

  “Escape possibilities.”

  “And?”

  “Heath is talking to his Privatize contacts. And if your dad can get you out….”

  I hear what he doesn’t say. If I’m already out, I can get back in pretty easy. Especially now that I know details about the Bureau’s security.

  “He said maybe in the morning,” I say, admitting defeat to myself. I feel like I need to separate myself from my dad, and accepting his help is the last thing I want to do.

  A deafening metal-on-metal clanging echoes through the level as the exterior doors are opened. “Dinner!” voices shout. My cell door vibrates as a thin strip of electricity is disabled. I watch the guards shove trays through the open slots and count until the electricity returns.

  Four seconds. By the time my tray is pushed through the disabled band of electricity, at least two minutes have passed. Two minutes I can work with, I think. But I immediately dismiss it. I can’t break out of prison during dinner service, especially not without Circuit access and non-functioning cybernetics.

  I leave the cot to inspect my dinner for a note. There’s a microscopic circle on the lip of the tray, a data dot big enough to carry a simple message. I pick up my tray, and as I do, I press the dot. My dad’s voice says, “Tomorrow morning. I love you, Price.” That dot wisps into smoke, leaving only the echo of Dad’s words and a faint burnt smell behind.

  He sounds sincere, but I can’t ignore his lies, his deception, or the bruises on my face. My resolve hardens. I’ll take my father’s help to get released, but only so I can then turn around and help my friends. My stomach flips, but I devour the sandwich and apple provided, simply because I haven’t eaten anything all day.

  I return to my cot, only inches and that clear wall separating me from Cooper. “I’m out in the morning.”

  “Perfect,” he says. “Heath said the evac would likely happen tomorrow afternoon, right before dinner. You can track him down?”

  “Definitely.” I lean back and close my eyes. “Heard anything about Cascade? Do we know where she is?”

  “I’ve asked everyone here that I trust. No one’s seen her.”

  I feel sick. No one’s seen her. I know there are locked, fingerprinted, and coded areas of the Bureau. And thanks to my “programming skills,” I also know how to get into them.

  “You up for a little jamming tonight?” I ask.

  “Listen, blood, I don’t know if that’s the best idea,” Cooper whispers. “The way to win this is to play it safe.”

  “True,” I say. With Cooper, there might be too many feet, too many chances to get caught.

  We wait in silence until the Hoods leave. The outside door is locked. Finally, the orbs dim and darken, plunging the entire room into blackness so thick I can feel it as I breathe. But I know I won’t play it safe. I can’t just sit here all night. I have to jam, and soon.

  Price

  SINCE I SLEPT THROUGH LUNCH and spent the afternoon looking at code, I’m not tired. Still, I have to fight off the urge to sleep. It’s impossible to tell how much time is passing. There’s no Circuit access, and no moon, and nothing to reckon by but my own breathing.

  Every minute feels eternal, and when I can’t take waiting for another second, I sit up. I need to activate the code to open my door, or maybe disable the slot for my dinner tray. But I don’t have Circuit access, and I can’t deactivate anything while I’m still inside Sub-D. The electrical field stretches from floor to ceiling, and from the plastic on the right to the plastic on the left.

  I get up and feel my way toward the door. It’s completely see-through, and since everything is obscured by darkness, I can’t see it. I can certainly feel it though. The energy buzzes against my fingertips. I wonder if the tappable interface is two-sided.

  My gut says it can’t be, because how can electricity have two sides? So I simply need to key in the correct configuration—and I saw the Hood do it when I came back from Security. My heart pounds in my throat. I know the code to get out. I know the code to get out!

  With security running on their skeleton crew, a correct code down here shouldn’t be noticed until it’s too late. I take a deep breath and tap the door. A burst of orange sparks, and I leap back. There was no orange in my code.

  I take the time to orient myself to the keypad, tapping in random places and waiting for minutes in between. I locate the seven buttons I need, seeing them backward in my mind—and noting the three sliding connections—because I know I have to tap in the configuration as if I were standing in the hall.

  I take a steadying breath, and press in the code. I expect the electricity to disappear, but when it actually does, I’m still surprised. I leap into the hall and count until it regenerates. Ten seconds. I don’t look back as I streak toward the exit.

  This door also has a code, and getting back in requires a retinal scan. I’m not worried about that either, because Wilder’s data stick is in the inside seam of my jeans. He hasn’t checked his security stream, or he’d have seen me slide it into place in his office earlier this afternoon. He must have a dozen sticks, because he hasn’t missed this one—and I downloaded the holographic faces and fingerprints I need to get anywhere in the Bureau. I’m hoping to avoid using fingerprints of any kind, because those alert security afterhours. The retinal scan on this level shouldn’t, because the Hoods are on-call twenty-four/seven. Hopefully before anyone notices, I’ll be back in my cell, pretending to be asleep.

  I’m not entirely sure where to start, but I know I need access to the Circuit. I want to get into my dad’s office. But I’d seen him use his pinky finger to trigger the lift, and that’s one clearance I don’t have.

  Just before I reach the lobby, I switch on my Circuit. Since I have time—and what are the Hoods going to do if they catch me? Beat me again? Lock me up?—I start by calling up a list of the Sectors the Bureau houses.

  Some of them are interesting, like “Data Collection, Sector D” and “Enforcement Procedures, Sector E.” I’d like to be a fly on the wall during Hood meetings, but that’s not the jam I’m going for tonight.

  I wan
t to be invisible, sneaking into the system I just assisted Wilder in strengthening. Just to see if it can be done. Finding something about time rifts and time travel is also high on my list.

  Sector O is listed as simply “Other.” I decide to start there, because it’s so vague it must be hiding something. I take the stairs, stepping carefully and staying away from any doors with windows.

  I arrive in O, exit the stairwell, and find a hall with closed doors along its length. A large room sits at the end of the hall, with screens that are awake and glowing. I drop into a crouch, silently cursing this hallway for being devoid of hiding places. If anyone exits that room and comes this way, they’ll see me. A silhouette passes in front of the screens, pacing to the right and then the left.

  They gesture with their hands, and they move casually. The stature appears male, and he seems to be chatting with someone off-site. He definitely doesn’t know I’m here—yet.

  When he leaves my line of sight, I dart to the first door. I have time to realize that it’s not glass, and I can’t see inside like I’ve been able to everywhere else in the Bureau.

  Sector O has steel doors, bullet-proof and electricity absorbent like the one at my house. The voice gets louder, and I need to hide, fast.

  I access the Bureau interface and frantically search for the code that will open this door. At the same time, I’m not sure I want to find out what’s on the other side. The man retreats, his voice becoming softer as I find the right sequence and slide my fingers over the datapad.

  The door silently slips into the wall, and I enter a sterile room that’s filled with data stations. Glass counters are littered with sticks and panels and Receivers. Tall stools wait for researchers. A charging tower in the corner holds more equipment.

  I snatch a data stick from the nearest counter and toss it on the door’s hydraulic track just as the door begins to close. It pushes the stick until it wedges against the wall, leaving the door open half an inch. I press in close, listening through the gap.

  Ten minutes pass. I’m starting to wonder if I’ll make it back to my cell tonight when I hear footsteps approaching. I don’t dare breathe, but I remove the data stick so the door can close. My heart seizes when it actually makes noise. I can’t hear anything in the corridor, so I dart toward the corner of the room and wedge myself behind the charging tower.

  I stay in the data entry room until I’m sure I’m alone in Sector O. I re-enter the passcode and jump back as the door opens. When nobody charges in, electroray at the ready, I peek into the hall. The screens in the room at the end are dark, save for a thin ribbon of light cascading across them.

  Taking courage, I stride toward the room. It’s set up for a presentation, with a podium in front of the wallscreens and two dozen chairs stationed to face them. The man who was here was probably practicing for his big day tomorrow.

  I wake his flatpanels and access his history. A list shows the last few things he looked at were .sps files. Snaps. Before that, a .flk file indicates that he watched a flick. My heart skips; I’m so sick of watching flicks. Every one I’ve seen lately has complicated my life, my loyalty, my relationships.

  I glance behind me, prolonging the moment when I know I’ll tap to see those snaps and slide to watch that flick.

  I turn back to the flatpanel and touch my finger on the first .sps file. A snapshow begins and the panels brighten with two side-by-side pics.

  On the left, I’m staring into my own face. I’m half-smiling, and my eyes say something’s amusing me. It’s definitely me, though there are no labels or other identifying data.

  On the right, I’m staring into my own face—almost. The guy in the pic is sort of me, with the same slate-blue eyes, the same dark brown hair. But his eyes hold a predatory glint; his neck is too taut; his muscles are defined and wiry.

  He’s experienced hardship, while the most I’ve endured is a few sleepless nights spent at my Link station.

  He has no identifying data either, but I know deep in my core that he is not me.

  I flip back a snap, but it’s only text. On the left, where my picture was, the words read “VersA,” and on the right, where the not-me was, they say “VersB.”

  Maybe he is a different version of me. I flip to the next snap, hoping for more information.

  The next image is of Mom. At least the one on the left. I recognize it from her personnel badge. The woman on the right looks like a version of Mom. Her hair is shorn, and a scar puckers the skin near her left eye. She is not smiling, and she looks like she might leap through the screen and attack at any moment.

  Again, the snaps are labeled “VersA” on the left and “VersB” on the right.

  By the time I’ve looked at a leaner, meaner version of my father, pieces are starting to click into place. These people exist. Not as alternate versions of us, but in an entirely different dimension—another universe. Where that dimension is, and how the snaps were obtained, I have no idea.

  That’s the end of the images, and I navigate back to the history of the panels. Right before looking at these snaps, the presenter watched a flick. I take a deep breath, my insides trembling with uncertainty. Whatever I watch, I can’t un-watch.

  I could leave now. I know the codes to get out of Sector O. I don’t have to watch this….

  I press play.

  The opening image is the room in the basement, the one I snuck into in the middle of the night with its leather couch and police scanner. The couch is laden with Hoods, the counter covered with flatpanels. The camera shakes a bit, and then the rift comes to life. I suddenly understand that the rift originates in the basement and not my bedroom. It’s much brighter here because there is a bank of lasers built into the wall. There’s also equipment siphoning off something—energy? radiation?—in the corner that I didn’t notice when I was down there.

  Dad enters the shot, along with a team of his guards. They enter the rift, stepping into the light and vanishing into thin air. It feels like a long time until they come back, but the timer running in the bottom of the flick testifies that it takes less than three minutes. Three people exit the rift, glancing around to take in their surroundings.

  Dad follows with his team, and everyone looks at one another.

  “Thank you for coming,” Dad says, his voice strong yet soothing. “Take a look around. See for yourself.” Dad leans toward the camera and speaks in a much lower voice. “We’ve brought back three personalities from the anchored universe. One is my counterpart, one is my wife’s, and the third is my son’s. I’ve told them that we exist here, just as they exist there, and that the only portal between us is the rift.”

  The teenager—my doppelganger—takes in the cabinets and all the flatpanels on the counter. He steps toward them, and I want to yell at him to keep his filthy hands to himself. “What are these?” His voice sounds calculating and reedy, and absolutely nothing like mine.

  “Computers,” Dad says.

  “You have computers here?” Dad’s lookalike asks. He glances at his wife, and their silent exchange says, We need those. We’ll do anything to get them.

  The guards seem to be able to read the look as well as I can, because they draw electrorays and close in around Dad.

  Dad holds up his hand to keep them at bay. He studies the alternate personalities. “What are you thinking?”

  “You’ve seen our world,” Almost-Dad says. “A computer would ensure our safety.”

  The flick cuts off at that point, drenching me in darkness. Because I’ve been watching the brightly lit screen, I’m blind. I automatically duck down, thinking maybe the presenter has returned and cut the power.

  I don’t hear anything but the palpitating of my heart. I turn toward the hallway. It’s empty, with the neon exit sign above the stairwell providing the only light.

  Suddenly, the flick starts again. This time the camera is being held, and it goes with Dad as he moves into the rift. There’s that blink of nothing, and then the spirally vortex I initially expe
cted to see inside the rift. The sensation only lasts for a second, then my bedroom comes into view. This shows exactly what I know to be true about rifts—they’re tethered to a geographic location. In this case, my bedroom, even if it is in a completely different dimension.

  There are two sets of bunk beds stationed against the wall. Patches of filthy carpet stick to the floor, and everything looks ragged and gray.

  “I activated the rift and exited our reality while in the bedroom,” Dad’s voice narrates the scene. He’s speaking in a hushed tone, and fear spikes through me. He didn’t bring any guards with him. “I couldn’t risk navigating through the house by entering the rift in the basement.” Dad pans the camera around the room. “In this dimension, eight people sleep here.” The walls have been consumed by graffiti, and there are no curtains on the windows. The doors have been removed from the closet, the bathroom, and the entrance to the hall.

  “At first I thought I’d just gone somewhere else in time,” Dad says as he continues to film. “Another random year, where someone had abandoned the house. Shawna Phillips did not detail multiple dimensions associated with time rifts, at least not in the research we received from her daughter, Chloe. We have not been able to determine if this new phenomenon is due to her repeated use of hydrogen-3 or the switch to hydro-2, or something to do with the energy influx from more powerful lasers. Or something else entirely.” He moves to the window. “No matter what, we know that this is an alternate dimension, a different universe if you will, not simply a different year. And we know that dimensional travel is a phenomenon unique to this rift only, as we have not seen evidence of it in any of the other rifts we have on register. I find it particularly interesting that dimension travel is anchored geographically, just as time travel is.”

  He stops narrating and records the scene below. It’s nighttime, so it’s dark, but the trash covering the streets is obvious. There is no grass in any of the yards, but broken down cars, lethargic animals, and dead or dying trees. I even see a tent down the street, and someone exits it as if they’re sleeping there instead of inside the house. The flick doesn’t transmit smell, but I imagine urine and decay.