Starfall

by neetha Napew

  Not to place blame, but to simply know. That's what we need to hand down.

  Krysty remembered some of the stories the companions had heard from the Heimdall Foundation men, Bernsen and Hoyle, while going back to Colorado to get Dean. Even after the nukecaust, the Foundation had dedicated itself to finding out what had truly happened to the world. What good's the knowing?

  The truth shall set you free, Phlorin stated.

  I'm not free, Krysty pointed out. I've got a ghost wan­dering around in my head, forcing me to see things I'd rather not see, do things I'd rather not do.

  All will be explained when we return to my people.

  That's not going to happen.

  Oh, it'll happen. It'll happen, or I'll get strong enough eventually to stop your heart. Then we'll watch your man as you die.

  You'll die, too.

  If I don't get back to my people, Phlorin said, I'm dead anyway.

  Silently Krysty hoped that Donovan's knowledge would be enough to free her from her predicament.

  Donovan is only a man, Phlorin said in disgust, and men know precious little as it is. Even before they start deluding themselves about their own grandeur.

  But Krysty heard the small tremor of uncertainty in the old woman's voice. It wasn't much, but it was enough to give her hope.

  Evidently Phlorin sensed the emotion because the world changed around Krysty again, warping into a narrow cor­ridor that led through a large house that reminded her of the Cornelius family's home in Louisiana. Dim light trick­led into the corridor, and she thought she heard sibilant voices in the distance. A cold chill prickled her skin, run­ning across her shoulders and making her spine feel brittle.

  You don't like it here, do you? Phlorin taunted. And her voice seemed changed, as well, fitting into the creaking old manse as if it belonged.

  No. Krysty froze in place, trying to ignore the slither of wet flesh cascading through the corridor behind her. It wasn't real, she told herself. None of it was real. But at one point, it had been all too real and she knew it.

  You remember this place, don't you? You almost lost your man here.

  Something lapped out, smacking against the wooden floor. Although she didn't want to, Krysty ran. It was sur­vival. She didn't have a weapon in hand, and from the sound of the thing's progress, it was huge.

  Thin gray light peeped out from a set of double doors ahead of her. She aimed for them. She couldn't remember if the doors or the room beyond them actually existed in the Cornelius house, but it fit with her memory of it now easily.

  There's no hope. No hope at all. I'll be in your dreams, and I'll rob you of sleep. You will give in to me. It's only a matter of time.

  Krysty burst through the double doors, a prayer to Gaia on her lips. The doors slammed back against the walls, revealing the dark room ahead of her. The back wall was taken up by the silver screen the companions had watched vids on. Before it were rows of folding chairs all orderly and neat.

  The Cornelius family sat in the chairs, their heads swiveling to focus on Krysty as she skidded to a stop in the center of the room. All of them were there: Elric, Thomas, Mary, Norman and Melmoth—pale haired and fiery eyed, like Jak but much, much worse.

  "Welcome," Elric said, rising to his six foot three inch stature. Wasp thin, he looked even paler in death.

  And Krysty had no doubts they were dead. The compan­ions had killed them all, ending the Cornelius family line. At least, as far as they knew.

  "We wait to greet you properly," Elric said in those cultured, dulcet tones he'd had. But the words sounded hoarse—papery and thin, like words squeezed through the cracked timber of a coffin.

  Krysty backed away, listening to the wet smack of heavy flesh hitting the wooden floor out in the corridor. The sound echoed inside the viewing room, but Elric kept approach­ing, acting as if he didn't hear it.

  Krysty backed away from him. It was only a dream, she told herself. Not real. Not real at all. But she also knew she couldn't take that chance. With Phlorin inside her head, it could be so much more. She turned and looked back toward the double doors that had let into the vid room.

  A huge crocodile lounged in the doorway, something she'd never seen in the Cornelius home. It was easily twenty feet long, its mouth a row of gaping white fangs. The beady black eyes carried a cold, reptilian intelligence. Krysty wouldn't have been surprised if it had spoken.

  The other members of the Cornelius family spread out, coming for Krysty. They moved slowly, rocking back and forth like windblown saplings. They turned Krysty back, drawing closer. They reached for her, their fingers distend­ing into vicious claws.

  "You mustn't leave yet," Elric said in that hauntingly smooth voice. "We've not yet had the pleasure of having you for dinner." He opened his mouth, exposing the long canines.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Krysty turned, searching for a weapon but finding none. In desperation, she seized one of the folding chairs and threw it at Elric.

  He brushed the piece of furniture aside casually, as though it were only a moment's inconvenience. The chair shattered into a hundred pieces, proof of the incredible strength that was housed in his rail-thin body.

  Taking another step back, Krysty stepped up into the viewing area of the vid. The bright light hurt her eyes and blinded her, reducing the Cornelius family into ghostly gray apparitions that reminded her of the actors and actresses on the screen behind her.

  Then she slipped, twisting violently to catch her balance as a gust of wind caught her. There was no explanation for the wind, and no explanation, either, for the way her arm suddenly plunged through the screen behind her.

  At first she thought she'd ripped a hole in the screen. Instead, she noticed that her arm and hand had suddenly plunged into the room depicted in the vid. Filmed in noir black and gray, the term given to her by Doc and Mildred, the room was a large bar area. A man in a white jacket sat at the bar smoking a cigarette while watching a black man in a white jacket playing the piano.

  Amazed, Krysty stepped into the vid screen and into the room. The swell of music surrounded her. Couples danced close to her, and on a handful of occasions stiff material touched the backs of her hands. This wasn't real, she told herself as she gazed around for a way out of the big room. It was hard to see through all the people.

  It's real enough, Phlorin declared. You haven't managed to escape—only to prolong the hunt.

  The Cornelius family moved through the vid screen after her, picking up speed.

  Krysty rushed through the crowd, pushing through the dancers and drawing a flurry of angry curses. She ignored them all, searching frantically for an exit. Phlorin's control over her mind was like nothing she'd ever experienced.

  From the corner of her eye, she noticed the white-jacketed man push away from the bar and come toward her. There was no way out of the big room and no place to hide.

  Krysty stopped at the edge of the dance floor and turned to face the Cornelius family. You're creating this out of my mind, Phlorin, out of my memories and out of my fears. Nothing more.

  Are you so certain, then, child?

  Yes. Krysty stood her ground and let them come, her mind busy twisting the fabric of the dream. In some of the earliest days that she remembered Mother Sonja, her mother had taught her to banish bad dreams that plagued her. Krysty had never questioned where the bad dreams had come from as a child. Her mother had called them night terrors and seemed to be only a little concerned about them. Since learning the lessons Mother Sonja had given her, Krysty seldom had nightmares. Except for those produced by mat-trans jumps and premonitions.

  This, she told herself, was neither. She forced herself calm, peering beyond the veil of emotions Phlorin created inside her subconscious.

  Elric towered before her, his hand slashing out, filled with sharp claws.

  Instinctively Krysty lifted her arm to defend herself. Burning pain filled her arm as Elric's nails sliced through her arm. She didn't look, using the pain as her foc
us. When Elric struck again, she didn't move at all.

  The tall man's hand slashed through her without touch­ing her. Angry, Elric stepped back, his lips twisted in a rictus as he hissed his displeasure.

  Krysty closed her eyes, regulating her breathing, reach­ing inside herself to slow down her racing heart. Then she stepped out of the dream into wakefulness.

  KRYSTY SAT UP in the cool, clean darkness of the night. She pulled off the covers and found out she'd started to get drenched with sweat underneath. She shivered, still feeling the hypnotic pull of the dream.

  Next time, Phlorin called from within her, it will get harder and harder to resist me.

  Ignoring the old woman's threat, Krysty pushed up from the ground, drawing Ryan's attention at once. She couldn't see him where he sat outside the perimeter of the campfires, but she knew he was there on watch. She sensed his atten­tion on her at once, and his concern.

  She knew J.B. had been scheduled for watch first, so she knew she'd gotten some sleep. Glancing around, she saw the companions and the others scattered across the ground, wrapped up in the blankets brought from the boat. No one stirred.

  Gathering her own blanket, she crept through the camp­site toward Ryan. Her movement didn't go completely un­detected. With the enhanced perception that came as a re­sult of the dream, she sensed that Jak, J.B. and Dean woke briefly and recognized her. With all the awareness, she felt like she had no privacy. Her mind was constantly buzzing.

  "You should be sleeping," Ryan told her when she found him leaning against a tree just back of the campsite. He had the Steyr cradled in his arms.

  "Couldn't, lover." Krysty stretched out and wrapped her arms around him. "Sleeping tonight might be the death of me."

  "The old woman?"

  "Yes." Krysty pulled him close, trying to get as much of her flesh in contact with his as she could.

  "Won't be much longer."

  One way or the other, Krysty couldn't help thinking. But she pulled back and looked up into Ryan's face. "I know." She slipped a hand inside his shirt, brushing her palm against the hard planes of his flat stomach and broad chest, drawing in his warmth. She'd always loved the feel of him, the unyielding presence he exuded.

  "We'll be moving early in the morning," Ryan told her. "Sooner we shake the dust from us here, better off we'll be. Not going to leave much time for sleeping."

  "I'll sleep on the boat if I'm able." Krysty put her head against his chest, listening to his heartbeat, slow and rhyth­mic. "Mebbe sleeping in the light will be easier."

  His free hand came up behind her, threading his fingers through her sentient hair. Her hair coiled around his fingers in return, pulling him tight. Then she realized that his hand hadn't been placed there out of any tenderness. She sensed the withdrawal in her lover, a cold spot just beyond her reach.

  It hurt her, feeling it and knowing it was there. He doesn't trust you, Phlorin taunted in the back of her mind.

  Ryan doesn't trust you, Krysty said. She held on to her lover harder. You should know. He chilled you once.

  You, me. It's the same difference now, Krysty.

  It's not going to stay that way.

  You can't be sure of that. How do you know that I won't take over your arm at some point, have you pull out your blaster and blow a hole in this man?

  Krysty shivered at the thought. She hadn't even consid­ered that. But Ryan had. That was why his fingers were tangled in her hair. Because Ryan won't let you.

  And he'd chill you before he let himself be chilled?

  Yes. And the truth of her answer gave Krysty strength. Ryan was a survivor. He wouldn't let even her take his life without a fight, and he wouldn't be diminished. He'd still be every inch the fighting warrior she'd fallen in love with. The joy she felt burned her eyes, turned to tears that dripped across her cheeks. You can't kill him. No one can.

  You're so sure.

  "Cold?" Ryan asked.

  "Just a chill, lover," Krysty said. "Somebody walking over my grave, like Doc would say."

  "Wrap up in your blanket."

  "Rather wrap up in you."

  "I'm on watch."

  "I promise not to be too distracting." Krysty's fingers unbuttoned the front of his trousers, feeling Phlorin retreat in the back of her mind. Why don't you stay and play? She had Ryan's cock in her hand, feeling the way it stiffened at her touch.

  You're an abomination, Phlorin stated.

  Krysty didn't argue, but took Ryan into her mouth, bath­ing his hot flesh in the heated caress of her kiss. Ryan kept his hand twisted in her hair but he quickly gave himself over to her touch. And for the first time in hours, Krysty felt truly at peace.

  RYAN OPENED HIS EYE and stared up through the canopy of branches overhead. Dawn streaked the sky, threading it with orange and gold that slashed through the retreating purple.

  He heard Jak walk over to him before he saw the albino.

  "Time move," Jak said. "Wasting daylight."

  Ryan nodded, then shifted gently to extricate himself from the arm and leg Krysty had draped over him in the night. She hadn't slept well, and he was surprised to find her asleep now. Cold fear touched him briefly when he thought her slumber might be something else. He placed his fingers against the side of her neck, and relaxed when he felt the thumping of her carotid artery.

  He shook her slightly, watching her sentient hair pull back tightly against her scalp. As her eyelids flickered and she fought her way to sleep, he slid the SIG-Sauer from under his thigh and holstered it He'd kept it in his hand the whole night against the possibility that Krysty might have lost herself in her slumber. He wouldn't have killed her, but the old woman trying to take over her mind might not have known that.

  "Morning, lover," Krysty said in a tired voice. Her eyes cracked open reluctantly, exposing the bloodshot lines threading through them.

  "Get much sleep?" Ryan asked.

  "Some. I don't know." Still, she forced herself to her feet with effort and helped him gather the bedding they'd shared during the night. "Sorry. I know I kept you up."

  That had been the truth in more ways than one. After she'd finished getting him off and he'd finished his turn at watch, she'd taken him to bed and had sex with him twice more.

  Ryan hadn't thought she'd gotten much pleasure from the encounters herself. But she'd been driven, giving her all each time with a fierce abandon that had exhausted them both.

  "Sore?" she asked.

  "Feels like I spent the night in a rough-riding wag with busted shocks," Ryan admitted. His groin was tender to the pressure even from the weight of her leg lying across him. Her own passion had sparked his, and the anxiety filling both of them had found release.

  She smiled, pleased with his answer. Some of the haunted look left her eyes for a moment. "Makes me feel good to hear you say that, lover. Been a while since we've had something like that."

  Ryan rolled up the bedding and tied the restraining straps. "Made things better for you?" He hoisted the load to his shoulder.

  "Gave me a little more control," Krysty admitted. "Phlorin doesn't care much for the sex. She's never had it."

  "I guess she can't say that now."

  "She still doesn't care for the idea of having shared it."

  Ryan shook his head. "She's less than a fucking ghost. Whatever you think she shared, she won't be keeping that."

  "Mebbe, lover. I hope so. But I also know that whatever she is inside my head, she's capable of taking my life away unless we do something about it."

  "We're going to," Ryan promised.

  Krysty knew she'd drawn the promise from him again in spite of the fact he'd already given it. He saw her brow wrinkle in displeasure, disappointed in her own weakness.

  He reached out and touched her face. "It's going to be okay," he told her. Red clouded his vision as the anger at his own inability to fix the problem now hit him for a mo­ment.

  "I know," she said, and her acceptance helped him curb his own emotions.

&nb
sp; THE CAMPSITE CAME ALIVE slowly. Breakfast was a repeat of the previous night's meal, only gone cold. The only thing heated up was the coffee sub they had, and that only be­cause the pot had been kept going all night to fuel whoever had been on watch.

  Ryan joined J.B. and Mildred at the water's edge. The Armorer cleaned his glasses with his shirttail and looked at the murky brown water roiling with moss.

  "Going to be bastard tricky getting back into the boat without getting leeches all over us," Mildred commented.

  "Then there's the piranha," J.B. pointed out.

  Ryan gazed into the black and evil eyes staring back up at him. The piranha glided easily through the water, school­ing in lethal pools.

  "Guess they took the feeding we dished out last night and decided to stay on," Mildred said.

  Glancing around the campsite, Ryan called out to Jak, "Save some of that rope. We're going to need it."

  The albino nodded, sorting it out from the gear they'd brought out from Junie.

  "Climb over?" J.B. asked.

  "We get a line across," Ryan said, "we can do it."

  "Won't be easy with the children we've got tagging along," Mildred said.

  Ryan glanced at the children and the others they'd res­cued from the coldhearts.

  Mildred looked hard at him. "We can't leave them here. These people were barely making it along whatever path they were taking. We abandon them here, we might as well bury them."

  Ryan felt the back of his neck grow hot. "Fireblast, I know it. The situation we're in ourselves, taking on other responsibilities is a bastard nightmare." He turned his eye to the doctor. "But I'm not going to cut them loose here. We'll see them off someplace safer—if we find one in these woods—and get clear."

  "YOU MISS, you're more than likely going to be fish shit by nightfall if you don't make it back to shore."

  Jak looked up at Ryan and nodded. They both stood in the big tree they'd chosen to rig up the ropes. They'd tied one end to a large branch above the albino, out as far as they could reach.

  Grabbing the other end of the rope, Jak scampered back into the tree, choosing a branch that would give him enough of an arc to hopefully reach the boat. He stood on the branch barefoot, feeling the rough bark against the soles of his feet.