“Clyde,” the female's eyes tracked them like a hawk, and Beth gave Merrick an uneasy glance as she absently stroked the weapon at her hip.
“Roberta,” he replied.
Her eyes swept them and Clyde, “Who are these bozos?”
“Like clowns?” Merrick frowned.
“No,” Beth responded. “It's meant as a disparagement.”
Roberta stared.
“Okay, who the grand fuck are these two, Clyde?”
Clyde frowned. “You know my stance on coarse language, Roberta.”
She bobbed her head. “I gotcha, lover, but it's 2030, not 1930… you've gotta buck up, baby.”
Oh, dear Principle… they’re—together?
Merrick gave Beth the look of horror she was feeling.
Roberta took Clyde's hand.
“Can we trust these two? Because I'm getting a weird-ass vibe, especially from the tall dude there.”
“It is fine, sweetheart. They came to my aid when the ruffian bunch of scallywags tried to give me a taste of hickory.”
“I'm so sorry, baby.” Roberta’s right hand left her weapon to caress his rotting flesh.
At Roberta’s touch, Clyde’s skin knitted together like fabric, becoming fuller, tighter, and smoother.
Color bloomed on his cheeks, spreading and giving ruddy life to every piece of visible flesh.
Beth's eyes snapped to Roberta.
“What are you?”
“Okay, what is your story? You should know what I am instantly.” Her eyes narrowed on Beth then went to Merrick. “Look at how fine my man is now,” she purred.
Beth shuddered.
It didn't matter that Clyde seemed as alive as she. Beth remembered the smell, the taut gray skin that lay stretched like badly pulled canvas across the high cheekbones of his face.
In Roberta’s presence, Clyde was handsome, virile, and very much alive. He no longer smelled of the horrible rot that had hung in the air as they’d fought his attackers. His hair had filled in and was a true, light chestnut. His eyes were a perfect cross between moss green and brown.
The sockets were no longer shriveled. The whites of his eyes were flush in the pocket of healthy flesh that held them.
“What magic is this?” Merrick whispered, well and truly shaken.
Beth couldn't blame him.
“Let us not push our questions…” Clyde said.
Beth could see expression in his eyes because they were now fully formed. He knew there was something different about them.
They would have to be careful in this sector, where the random young person could know their thoughts through touch and where the dead walk.
In their presence, Beth thought then landed on the answer.
“Affinity for the Dead,” Beth blurted.
Merrick turned to her.
“Of course,” he said, nodding.
“Wow, give the girl a prize!” Roberta rolled her eyes. “Who else could make a corpse stay alive?” She gave them a critical look. “I guess you two are okay, if a little slow up top.” She tapped her head, and Merrick frowned.
Beth had forgotten how rude Sector Three people could be.
One of the men lying on the ground groaned.
Roberta strolled over to one. “Who's the one who did in your arm, Clyde?”
“Roberta, leave them. They are not worth your time.”
“Which one?”
Clyde sighed, leaving Merrick’s and Beth's side. He pointed to the one that was propped up against the wall.
He had partially regained consciousness, though Beth determined he was not a very smart adversary.
“I'd do him again, bitch,” he said.
A smile unfurled like a sail in full wind, right before Roberta landed a boot to his crotch.
Merrick and Clyde flinched.
The man groaned and rolled over onto his side.
It must've been a decent strike, because he threw up whatever trash he'd consumed for his afternoon meal.
“Was that necessary?” Clyde asked. “You know I could tear their limbs off and beat them about.”
“Yes… but that’s not nearly as satisfying.”
“Wildcat,” Clyde said, bending from his considerable height to nuzzle her neck.
“I think we're done here,” Beth said.
Merrick nodded, returning her uneasy glance.
They needed to find a large water source. Beth hoped against anything they would be able to jump to Papilio without a locator. The larger the reflective surface, the easier the jump.
She didn't possess the finesse that Merrick did.
Beth could jump through anything, but her destination was a crapshoot. She shivered at the memory of the jump she’d made that fateful day in Rachett's office. She'd been a youngling. It was a miracle that she hadn't spun off to Sector One.
She glanced at Merrick, and he gave her the barest nod.
Beth's shoulders dropped in relief.
She could turf it to him.
Roberta's face turned to study the retreating pair.
“Where are you guys going?”
Clyde's healthy eyes followed them, glittering with knowledge. “Let them go, Roberta.”
“Wait.” She moved away from Clyde, and his fingers slid down her arm reluctantly. “Why did you save Clyde?”
Beth thought about it, knowing she could never take back the pause in her answer.
Roberta's brows jerked together in a frown.
“He was in danger.”
“So let me get this straight,” she said, shooting Merrick an appraising glance. “You just decided to tag team this carload of assholes when they would put the beat on Clyde—a zombie?” She barked a disbelieving laugh.
Beth didn't reply.
Zombies were a newer development, and they were still rare enough that their history hadn’t been logged. But apparently—her eyes went to the disbanded group that decorated the alley—they were abhorred because they simply did not live.
Their existence offered tangible proof of death and a grim reminder of every person’s mortality.
The Threes and their obsession with life.
Their concern was an insult to those who wished to ignore their eventual demise, a robbery of the lies they would feed themselves.
The zombies starved them of the lies, leaving only the truth.
“What does it matter?” Merrick tried for casual.
Her eyes narrowed. “I just wanted to know. Don't get all defensive, fella.”
Merrick was treading water, and Beth jumped in. “We're just trying to do the Good Samaritan routine.”
She shrugged.
Roberta studied the two then stabbed her hand out midair. “Then—thank you.”
Beth understood the custom of shaking hands. She gripped the other woman’s hand and toned down her own strength. Beth loosened her grip more when Roberta winced.
“Bobbi Gale,” she said then grinned. “Nice handshake ya got there.”
Beth released her hand.
“Officer Gale!”
At the mouth of the alley stood another officer of the law. Beth did quick calculations of physicality.
Hispanic descent, mid-thirties, six feet, one hundred ninety pounds, left-handed.
She couldn't sense his intelligence from the distance, but as he moved toward them, she knew he could handle himself in a fight and almost run her down.
This, they did not need: complications and questions that could not be answered.
“Merrick.”
He was already ahead of her. They exchanged a look with Clyde when Bobbi Gale was distracted by the appearance of her partner.
Merrick jogged silently to the opposite side of the alley.
Beth whirled to tail him.
They ran in sync, her hair a nuisance streaming behind her.
“Good day,” Clyde said in a low voice, allowing their departure.
The Reflectives’ hearing was perfect, though they did not turn back to
return the goodbye.
“Stop!” cried the unknown officer.
“Hey!” Bobbi shouted.
Merrick slapped his palm into Beth's.
They simply had no time.
“Where?” She delivered the single word like a terse slap.
Running footsteps echoed. Beth heard a weapon clear a holster.
Beth's assessment of the officer Bobbi Gale had found her to be of keen intelligence.
The Reflectives’ potential had been gleaned and found to be other. They'd missed their jump and were desperate to remove themselves from the moment.
Beth's palm began to sweat in Merrick's hand as it swallowed hers.
“Beth!” he hissed, using her given name for the first time.
She scanned the parking lot that the alley had opened into.
One transport was parked alongside the curb; a shattered side mirror poked out like an ear.
“No,” Merrick said, following her gaze.
A warning shot fired above their heads, and Beth ducked.
“I'll shoot!”
Beth unconsciously analyzed the officer’s voice patterns: Unknown male voice, English as second language, stress detected, follow through likely.
“He's going to plug us,” Beth said as the sun bled into the horizon.
A final strangled bit of sunlight cut the parking lot like a knife. The dull blade of gold shimmered, striking the spiderweb of glass in that small mirror that hung off the car like a severed body part.
The reflection called to Beth like a melodious note that sang for her and her alone.
Merrick's eyes widened as he wheezed.
He could have cut away at any time. Instead, he moved closer to Beth's body.
Trust was the last thing she saw in his eyes as Merrick's arms wrapped her small frame.
She leapt, tearing into a piece of mirror that was a fractured remnant and an impossible jump.
Bobbi Gale and the man known as Raul Garcia almost dropped their guns when a blinding flash of light burst like a falling star in front of them. Two entwined bodies, a muscular male and a small female, glittered in a fragmented rainbow, rivaling the bloody tangerine of the sunset as it broke over the curb.
They became a ribbon of swirling color, slamming into the side mirror of the car.
They they were gone.
The pieces of mirror fell like rain onto the curb, splintering into smaller fragments.
Clyde turned to Bobbi.
“What in Fuckenstein was that?” Bobbi whispered.
Clyde made a noise, and she ignored him for the moment.
Raul met her eyes, holstering his weapon without looking. “I'm not sure, but if I was a betting man—”
“You're not,” Bobbi said without rancor.
“Let the man speak,” Clyde said.
Bobbi folded her arms across her chest in a huff.
Raul narrowed his gaze on her. “I'd say they were Dimensionals.”
“Like Randi Chen?”
“Exactly like.”
The three stood together in a loose triangle of unease. In the world of paranormals, a new threat was not met with welcome.
The trouble was: the purpose of the two strangers was uncertain.
***
Jasper could jump through what was nearly untraceable with even Reflective eyesight.
However, her landings left quite a bit to be desired.
Jeb instinctively curled around his partner, again stretching out of the familiar because she didn't share his gender.
He fell hard, his ribs bruising instantly. One cracked as Jasper's weight added to the insult of the rough landing.
The air left him, and Jasper rolled away.
Jeb opened his eyes. Without air, he just lay on the ground like a fish stranded out of water.
He heard Jasper scramble up and could just make out her silhouette in the gloom.
“What are you doing? Get up, Merrick.”
Her hands flew to her hips.
He lay there, his lungs begging for oxygen, rebelling against the pain it would cause his ribs if he filled them.
Jasper toed him. “Come on. Don't be a pussy.”
Anger flared through Jeb and he struggled up. And suddenly the movement unlocked him. He took a great, swooping lungful and a harsh cough barked out of him.
The pain about did him in, his ribs like shards of glass.
Jeb lurched to his feet and Jasper stepped away, making the look on his face easily with only a dimly lit quarter moon to aid her.
“I am not. A. Pussy,” Jeb said slowly.
So much for chivalry.
Jasper glanced away, and he could almost taste her embarrassment.
“I do have one cracked rib and several others that are tender.”
“I suck at landings,” Beth admitted, keeping to the sector's verbiage.
Jeb put a hand at his side, wincing.
“You can drop the English slang.”
He peered through the gloom, seeing nothing but a thick wood and mountains beyond.
He pulled his pulse from his pocket and thanked Principle it had survived their horrible transit. He depressed his thumb.
Merrick, Jebediah—Sector Three, Quadrant Cascade Range, Greater Quadrant of America.
Jeb raked a hand through his hair, and his ribs shrieked at the sudden movement. He ignored it, thinking coordinates.
46.18N by 122.18 W
He depressed his thumb and hung his head.
Jeb was unfamiliar with the region, but they were no longer in the Kent Quadrant. Their current location was too rural to find another marker like they’d had in the previous location.
Jasper was too green to know anything about all of it. She was a superb linguist, as evidenced in their engagement. She also had sector histories down… but coordinates were his area, and even he felt out of his element.
“So?” Jasper asked, looking around. “How long?”
“You mean before I can shake off that bludgeoning I just lived through?”
He let her have a taste of his irritation. After all, his bravery was not in question, and he didn't like Jasper implying it was. If he had not broken her fall, she would have punctured a lung—or worse.
Jasper kicked a twig on the forest floor. Though it was late summer, as it was in Papilio, the coming of fall bit the air.
“What do you gauge the elevation?” he asked, letting her off the hook.
Beth took in a lungful of air and closed her eyes, tasting the subtle difference of air pressure.
“One thousand.”
The pain bore down on him as Jeb mimicked her inhalation. “Eight hundred forty-six.”
“Don't sound so smug, Merrick.”
He walked into her personal space, his body working to knit the damage, but it was too soon.
When they didn't return, more Reflectives would be sent.
Rachett would be notified.
They would look like imbeciles.
He could hear it already: “You missed a timed jump for a zombie?”
Jeb opened his mouth to tell Jasper what she'd cost them. But instinct—or self-preservation; he would never know what—kept his mouth shut.
Instead, he barked out, “Find the nearest quadrant.”
After all, she'd gotten them out of one mess and into another that was barely better.
What do the Three's call it?
Ah yes… out of the frying pan and into the fire.
CHAPTER NINE
Beth went through the motions with her thumb, pulsing to find the nearest quadrant.
She was ashamed.
She'd put Merrick through the paces of her novice landing, injured him, then basically called him a coward.
What is wrong with me? Why did she allow Merrick to get under her skin? And why, for the love of Principle, did she let him boss her around?
Well, that one was easy. He was her lead. She was the hot-shot jumper who could move through mist.
The answer flo
ated to the surface of her pulse screen.
Quadrant—Marblemount, Washington
Merrick's face was chiseled stone in the shadows made by the canopy of woods.
“Marblemount,” Beth said.
“Fine.” Merrick scanned their surroundings. “Let's hike it.”
“What?” Beth asked, exasperated.
She was hungry, thirsty and homesick.
Merrick put his hands on his hips. “You don't see anywhere to jump out here, do you?”
She knew there wasn't.
They'd completed their mission by giving the fraudulent fingerprints to the splinter faction that would stop the Zondorae scientists from committing a purely preemptive mass infanticide.
It would not be enough—for their future intel said it was partially successful—but their action had allowed for a future that was not so bleak. Killing that many of the world's children would leave the Threes without the hope of the future The Cause had seen for them.
Merrick strode away without waiting for a response. His back was straight, not a trace of injury, though Beth knew he needed more sustenance than they had available.
Beth hoped the hike would make up for their lack of warm clothing. She'd leapt right into a deeply wooded, vaguely mountainous region that was a breath away from autumn.
Hypothermia was not out of the question. They would not die, but the compromise would leave them vulnerable to discovery.
“Direction?” Merrick asked, never breaking stride as he traversed the terrain easily. A Reflective's night vision was superior among inhabitants of all sectors, save One.
“East,” she said quietly, knowing Merrick would hear her.
He grunted in response, and Beth wondered how long she would be in the doghouse.
She trudged after him with a heavy heart.
*
Beth's legs were killing her by the time they breached the edge of civilization, where homesteads hugged the forest. As she and Merrick walked out into the open, frogs, crickets, and early birdsong met them. A thin fog had seeped in, undecided if it would be wet and become mist or just hamper their vision enough to be annoying.
“Can you jump this?”
Merrick's gaze hit her like a slap. The neutrality of the mist seemed to cause him to float, his gold hair glowing softly in a wavy cap moistened by the humidity, his stark eyes a clear dark gray. Storming.
“No,” Beth answered. “I'd just bounce back. The fog… it's like a circle of jumps.”
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