Thread War

by Ian Donald Keeling

  She just remembered the panic. The wild fear of plunging into some unknown world, out of her depth, desperately trying to survive. She would have died without Torg and Bian coaching her and the others—of that she was sure. But everything else until the house where they met Wobble was just a sense-memory of wild, blinding panic.

  So it was strange how little panic there was now.

  She was crushed by how many skids she’d lost in the grey. Worried about what the black and grey—what was that, anyway?—had done to the others. Concerned for Johnny. Concerned about where they were. A little afraid, even; no matter how normal these woods looked, this was not the sphere and it was not safe.

  But she’d survived the Thread before, even when it had almost killed her. She’d helped save herself, and then she’d helped save the Thread. So when she caught something out of the corner of her peripheral vision—and heard Krugar say, “Movement,” at almost the exact same instant—a spike of adrenalin had shot around her stripes. But no panic. And she heard herself say in a remarkably steady voice, “He’s right. There’s something out there.”

  “Where?” Johnny said.

  “What is it?” Kesi whispered.

  “Shhh,” Krugar said. “I can’t see it, but something’s there. Straight back, little to the left.”

  Johnny glanced at Shabaz. She liked that he did that. He was going to lead, there was no way he wasn’t. The Thread might have changed him almost as much as it had changed her, but there was no way Johnny wasn’t going to race in, stuck in first gear. But twice now, maybe even three times, he’d thought of her before gearing up, and that was sweet.

  She returned his gaze and tilted her stripes in answer to his unsaid question. “We need to know if anyone else got through.” It was hard to make out anything with the falling snow and the density of the trees.

  “If it’s skids, they landed pretty far away,” he mused, squinting. “Not like last time.”

  “Not much of this is like last time,” she said ruefully.

  “You mean other than being lost and in danger?” He grinned. Raising his voice, he shouted, “HEY! ANYONE OUT THERE! SKIDS?”

  “What are you doing?” Krugar hissed.

  “We need to know if there are any more survivors,” Johnny said. “Trust me, whatever might be out here, making noise probably isn’t going to make it worse.” He raised his voice again. “HEY SKIDS! CALL IF YOU CAN HEAR MY VOICE!”

  Silence. Nothing but the falling snow. But far back in the woods . . .

  “I’ll check it out,” Krugar said, taking a step.

  “Hold on,” Johnny said, grabbing the soldier’s arm as he looked at Shabaz. “What do you think?”

  She wanted it to be other skids; there’d been so many in the Combine, there’d been so many in the black. But her gut was telling her otherwise. She sighed. “I think both Vies and Antis would be a pain to spot in this mess. Especially the Antis. If it was a skid, we’d see flashes of colour.”

  “And they’re not making any noise.”

  “And they’re not making any noise.” Shabaz eyed the direction opposite the movement, feeling a sense of déjà vu. “I say we get clear. At least of the woods if we can.”

  “I can find out what it is,” Krugar insisted. “I know how to move in the woods unseen.”

  “Do you know these woods?” Shabaz said, wondering how much the soldier was like Johnny. “Whatever’s back there, it’s probably not something you’ve experienced.”

  “And you have?”

  “Maybe.” There was definitely something moving back there now. And if she had to pick a colour, it would be grey. “Johnny . . . ?”

  “Yeah, I got it. Okay, let’s create some space.” He looked at Krugar. “I’m asking you to trust us on this. We move until we know more.”

  Krugar looked at Johnny’s hand, still holding his arm. Johnny released him. “Fair enough,” the soldier grunted, then to Shabaz’s surprise, he smiled. “The second best idea is still usually a good one.”

  “Thanks,” Johnny said, turning to the group. “Okay, we’re going to put some distance between us and whatever that might be. See if we can’t get out of the woods. Stay close together.”

  “Where are we going?” Trist protested. “Who put you in charge?”

  I sounded like that, Shabaz thought, staring at Trist, unsure if she was annoyed or amused. That’s exactly what I sounded like. Snakes, it’s a wonder they didn’t leave me to the Antis. She rocked forward on her treads and whispered to Johnny, “I’m so sorry.”

  He gave her a funny look, then, remarkably, he got it. “Don’t worry about it,” he grinned. “Can you?”

  “I’ll take the rear,” she said, smiling warmly.

  Immediately, they realized the snow was going to be a problem. It was thick and wet, and deeper than it first appeared. Plus, even though the trees were spread far enough apart to let them through, a thick bramble under the snow tripped up their threads. Compared to the speed they’d moved when they were trying to escape the Vies the first time around, it was a slog. Shabaz and Johnny tried warming up, melting the snow, but that just made them sink up to their stripes. And it did nothing to the bramble beneath their treads.

  If the others had stayed directly behind Johnny’s lead, maybe they might have had some kind of pace. But Trist and his crew—and even Shev once or twice—kept swinging wide to forge their own path; their instincts making it hard for them to follow anything or anyone. She could see Johnny getting impatient, biting his tongue. They were back in a strange world with an unknown danger, and they were once again stuck with skids who hadn’t learned to work together. She wanted to tell him it would be all right, it had taken them time to learn to work as a team. She knew what his response would be: they might not have time.

  At least Zen was staying in Johnny’s trail; although, he was really struggling with the scrub. Shabaz kept having to slow to stay behind him, which meant they all had to slow to keep from spreading out. The good news was the grey didn’t seem to be catching up. So whatever it was, it probably wasn’t Vies or Antis back there—they would have caught them by now. The Antis especially wouldn’t be slowed by the snow; they’d just knife along above it.

  But no matter what it was . . .

  “Zen,” Shabaz said, gently but firmly. “I need you to gear up a little.”

  “I’m trying,” he protested.

  “I say we leave the panzer,” Trist muttered.

  Without warning, Krugar’s pistol appeared in his hand, pointed at Trist. “How about we leave you behind?”

  Trist stared at the gun. “Go vape yourself. If we’re in danger, then the panzer’s going to die anyway.”

  Krugar’s gaze narrowed. “Krugar!” Johnny snapped. “Krugar, let me deal with this.” The soldier glared at Trist, then slowly lowered the pistol.

  “Thank you,” Johnny said. “No one gets left, Trist. No one.”

  Trist sniffed. “You know I’m right.”

  Snakes, he was going to get himself vaped and it wasn’t going to be the Thread that did it. Shabaz watched Johnny’s stripe flare and rolled forward. “Do we, Trist?” she said, sweeping a Hasty-Arm across the woods. “Tell me—do you know what’s going on here? Where we are? What the rules are? Because Johnny and I don’t. Not completely. But we probably know more than you. Can you accept that?”

  “For Crisp’s sake, Shabaz,” Kesi protested, “he’s only got one stripe.”

  Shabaz sighed. “Sooner or later you might learn that’s not a bad thing.”

  “No one gets left, Trist,” Johnny said firmly.

  Trist held his gaze, then muttered something to himself and got back in line. Shev tread up beside Shabaz. “I’ll try to give Zen a bump.”

  “Thanks. While you’re at it, see if you can heal yourself a bit. You don’t necessarily need Johnny or me to do it for you.” She pitched her voice so the others could hear her, including Trist. “Try to imagine your core, try to feel where the grey is. Then, slo
wly, you have to go real slow, see if you can’t imagine pushing it out.”

  “I don’t . . .” Shev’s gaze grew distant, then widened slightly. “Oh, wait, I got it . . . I think?” He grew silent for a second, his gaze intent and focused. “This is . . .” He groaned, then the silver in his skin regained some of its shine. Not much, but better. “I think I did something,” he said, grimacing before he exhaled. “Whew! Maybe not. That’s . . . that’s really weird.”

  “You did something,” she agreed. “Every little bit helps. Take a second to get your breath back, then try again later. You’ll get better at it.”

  “Okay,” Shev said, then tread forward to work on Zen.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Trist scowl then turn away. However, a few moments later, his yellow skin brightened.

  She suppressed a smile. Johnny was great, but he always wanted to help directly. He didn’t realize that sometimes you couldn’t help; or, if you could, you had to let others help themselves in their own way. The full throttle approach could be sweet—after all, it showed he cared. But it was also annoying sometimes. And with Trist, unproductive.

  “That was smart,” Krugar said, dropping back to walk beside her. “I hope he’s worth it.”

  “We’ll see,” Shabaz said. “Give him a chance, he might surprise you.”

  “Really?” Krugar said, shaking his head. “Leave the weak behind? Before we know the situation? That’s disgusting.”

  “It is,” Shabaz agreed. “But you have to understand, in the world we come from that’s the norm. We’re born to kill each other. We don’t help one another; especially the Ones and Twos.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense. You can be born to kill and still help each other. That’s how you survive. Besides, you and your boyfriend get it.” Krugar nodded in Shev’s direction. “He seems to.”

  “Johnny and I are different. We . . . we went through an experience the others didn’t. We’re proof skids can change. Four months ago, I sounded like Trist.” Krugar gave her a skeptical look. “Okay,” she laughed, “not exactly like him but close. Trist might be a gearbox, but he’s much closer to a normal skid than Johnny or me. Give him time and maybe he’ll come around.”

  Krugar considered this. “So don’t shoot him yet?”

  Shabaz laughed. Apparently, there was a sense of humour in there. “Yeah, that would be a start.”

  The soldier sighed, shifting his rifle. “I suppose it can wait.” He pursed his lips. His eyes never stopped scanning the woods, including the trees above them, which Shabaz hadn’t considered. He might only have two of them, and Shabaz had no idea if they scoped, but she suspected Krugar might be seeing more with his two eyes than the skids could with their three.

  “What did he mean,” Krugar said, “if you die out here, it’s over?” When she scowled, he added, “Your boyfriend—Johnny, right?—he said that if you die out here, it’s over. When is dying not over?”

  He did notice everything. Now, how was she going to explain this? She thought about it—the soldier giving her the time—then said, “That place where you found us? That’s the Skidsphere. We spend our entire lives there, playing games where we kill each other.”

  As she said it out loud to someone who wasn’t a skid, she was abruptly struck by just how horrible that sounded. Ever since the Thread, she’d known there was something very wrong with her world and the rules they’d been forced to live by; but saying it out loud, explaining it so succinctly, made it brutally clear.

  This must be how Betty felt, Shabaz thought, her stipes tightening.

  “Shabaz?” Krugar said.

  She sighed. “Anyway, when we kill each other in the games, most skids don’t die permanently. We can control our molecules enough that anyone over Level Three can pull themselves together. Only Level Ones and Twos die permanently.”

  “But out here?”

  “Out here, everything can kill you.”

  “Right.” He frowned. “What do you mean by levels?”

  “Every skid has a level. A Level Five is stronger than a Level Four. A Seven is stronger than a Six. Most skids over Level Three treat the Ones and Twos like treadgrease, that’s why I was saying don’t judge Trist too harshly.”

  Krugar’s expression suggested that he probably wasn’t going to stop judging Trist any time soon. “So what level are you?”

  She decided to keep it simple. “I’m a Level Eight. Johnny’s a Ten. Ten is the highest level.” No point in explaining how Johnny and she differed from the rest of the skids, she barely understood it herself.

  Krugar trudged through the snow, nodding to himself as he absorbed what she had said. “So, if you can’t die once you reach Level Three . . . are you immortal? I mean, back in your world?”

  She laughed, but it was a bitter laugh. “No,” she said flatly. “We still all die at five.”

  “I don’t understand. I thought you said you were a Level Eight?”

  “Oh, sorry—I meant years there. The skids that get past Level Two have five years to live. We all die at exactly five years old.”

  “That seems overly complicated.” Krugar shook his head, bemused. Then he stopped. “Wait . . . are you telling me you’re only five years old?”

  “I’m only four. Most of this bunch is under three.”

  He stared at her. “How do you measure years?”

  “What? I don’t know: three hundred and fifty days?”

  “Close enough,” he said, looking out at the entire group. “Infants,” Krugar said. “You’re all infants.”

  Shabaz wasn’t sure what an infant was, but it sounded like a panzer. “So you’re older than five? Five years?”

  “I’m forty-two years old.” Now it was her turn to stare as, just ahead, Zen got caught in another bramble. “This is ridiculous,” Krugar said. “We need to find you a trail. I’ll scout ahead.” He looked at Shabaz. “Thanks for explaining a few things. You good here?”

  “I think so,” she said. “I don’t think they’re catching up.”

  “We’re not losing them, either,” Krugar muttered, bounding forward. He moved much faster than the group.

  He was also right about whatever was pursuing them. It wasn’t getting closer, but Shabaz could still see hints of movement, back along the trail. Of course, it probably didn’t help that they were leaving a huge trail plowed through the snow, but she didn’t know what they could do about that.

  Krugar returned after a few minutes. “There’s some kind of animal path a hundred metres over there. It’s not completely clear, but it’s better. Less undergrowth.”

  “All right,” Johnny said. “Let’s try it.”

  “You do that,” Trist said. “I think we’ll find our own way back.”

  “Trist,” Johnny said, rolling his eyes. “There is no back to find.”

  “Yeah, we’ll see. Look, I don’t know if this is a new glam from GameCorps or a new game—and I have no idea what the hole he is—” Trist jabbed an eye at Krugar as he, Kesi, and Dillac turned off the trail “—but we’re done following Johnny Drop. You have your entourage; count us out.”

  They couldn’t see it, Shabaz thought. They still thought they were in the sphere. It was understandable: they weren’t in some bizarre, empty white space; no black scar hovered ominously overhead. Instead, they were surrounded by woods. The trees might be different, but this could be home.

  Except it wasn’t.

  “Trist, listen to me,” Johnny said, and Shabaz could hear him trying to stay calm. He wasn’t very good at it. “This isn’t what it looks like. We have to stay together. If you want . . . I’ll follow you. You can pick the direction, you can lead the way. Just . . . we need to stay together.”

  The Level Seven stared at Johnny as if he’d never expected the offer. “I don’t understand you at all,” he said, bewildered.

  “Trist,” Shabaz tried. “What do you think happened before we got here? What do you think happened between here and the Combine?”

/>   He returned her gaze as if he knew she’d saved his life but he didn’t want to admit it. “That doesn’t mean anything. It’s like what happens when you fall off the Rainbow Road.”

  “Trist,” Johnny said. “Please.”

  Shabaz knew how much it cost him to swallow his pride. Surely, that had to mean something.

  Trist pursed his lips, snow dusting his yellow skin. “And if I say ditch the panzer and the freak?”

  She watched Johnny’s expression change, felt it mirrored in her own stripes. What a piece of grease. “Not a chance,” Johnny said coldly.

  “Then we’re done here.” Trist said, as he turned to Kesi and Dillac. “Let’s slide.” He bumped the tree beside him, flattening his treads into skis as he did. The momentum sent him into another tree, then another, each one adding to his speed. Within a few seconds, he was sliding away, Kesi and Dillac following in his trail.

  Faster than expected, they disappeared into the trees.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Johnny watched the three rogue skids disappear, as the ground rumbled faintly beneath his treads. “Skis,” he said, shaking his stripe. He looked at Shabaz. “Please tell me you didn’t think of that and were just humouring me.”

  “Nope,” she said, looking as bemused as he felt.

  He raised two eyes towards the sky, where he’d always looked to the Out There. “Level Ten,” he said derisively.

  “Maybe he’ll get two names,” Shabaz murmured.

  “How the hell did they do that?” Krugar demanded. “That trick with their treads, I mean.”

  “We can all do it,” Johnny replied. “We should have been doing it from the beginning.”

  “Uhh . . . not all of us,” Zen said. “I figured out skates, but I haven’t done skis yet.”

  Which was the second surprise in as many minutes. The fact that Zen could even form skates this young was amazing. Maybe there was something about the ones that survived. Nevertheless, they couldn’t carry him. “Okay,” Johnny said. “It’s okay, Zen. We’ve been all right so far, we’ll keep going like this. Onna?”