Fade

by Chad West

  Jonas had been right. She wasn’t ready for this. In using power she didn’t understand, she somehow copy-and-pasted almost the entirety of Jonas into her mind. It came close to driving her mad. But now that she had this knowledge, there was no more need for stupid mistakes.

  The memories of the Fade were the strongest right then. Hundreds of memories of death and loss. She began to cry the moment before she realized their voices were in her head. Not some memory, but the distant rumbling of their alien minds. The Fade camp was not so far she couldn’t walk there.

  Right then, she decided there would be no more running. They should be the ones running. Lucy managed to stand, pointing herself in their camp’s direction. As she narrowed her eyes, looking at the dim way ahead, she took in a slow gulp of air. Jonas wanted them dead—every last one of them. But they had taken from him his ability to do that. They had not taken hers. The scope of her power was clearer now, and she had his knowledge to guide her. No more mistakes. The Fade would cry out like millions of others had at their hands. For him. For her father. She pulled herself along, beginning her walk toward them, resting against the trees when she had to, each step hurting.

  ***

  Jonas and Cynthia were damp with sweat, and the woods were getting more difficult to navigate as the sun hid itself behind the horizon. But Jonas hadn’t slowed. The quick, wet crunch of the leaves was a cadence that each of them had stepped into without realizing it. For a while neither of them spoke.

  “You’re afraid they won’t be alive, aren’t you?” Cynthia said at last.

  Jonas did not reply.

  “That’s why you wanted to go by yourself. How are you planning on ditching me?”

  He stopped, the volume on the crickets seeming to rise as he turned to look at her. “I was going see if I had enough juice left to put you to sleep for a few hours without passing out myself.”

  Cynthia stared at him. “You just giving up then?”

  “The Fade wouldn’t have taken them prisoner. They’ll be…” Emotion stopped him. He turned his head to the side, screwing his eyes shut.

  “Like the others you told us about. To destroy your people’s morale.” Cynthia was white at the thought.

  “Strung up.” He said the words as if they had offended him.

  “There’s a chance that—”

  Jonas interrupted her. “I’m going to leave you the transporter box. Write out directions on how to use it. Go home. Sounds like the war’s over on that side, to hear Kah’en talk. Take your mom. Anyone else you care about. Maybe they can send help back.” Jonas looked at her earnestly. “It’s what I told myself I should do ever since we got back to the shelter. But I knew if the gate failed to open it would lead them right to us. And I thought if Kah’en could pull off his rebellion. I thought you wouldn’t have to leave everything you knew. I’m sorry.”

  “I won’t leave you, okay? You gave up everything for us,” Cynthia said, head down. “It took me a while to see that.”

  “I failed.”

  Cynthia ignored him. “I haven’t known you that long, but your life has been this—I don’t know—love letter to me. To all of us. To me, even though I don’t know you, I know your heart, and that makes you family. That makes you somebody I care about too.”

  “I can’t even protect you,” he said.

  She put a hand on his shoulder. “This from the guy who told me what we can accomplish doesn’t make us whole? You did what you could.” She hugged him now as they stood there between the trees, the night creeping in around them. “You don’t have to save the world. You loved us. Your whole life, you loved us. Gave up everything for three messed up girls.” She chuckled through her tears. “Isn’t that a type of redemption? At least something like it.”

  He took her embrace and added his own. “Your mom would be so proud of you. Your mom would…” He trailed off, straining back the tears. Then, after a while, he took a step back. “I am so proud of you.”

  She shook her head. “Shut up with all your touchy-feely bullshit.” A smirk killed her frown. “I work hard on this tough exterior.”

  He squeezed her arms. “I want you to live.”

  “Me too. I also want to protect the people I love. Like you said, I’ve got abilities to get that done that other people here don’t.”

  He considered this. “You have about two miles to change your mind.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” She took the gun and pack he was carrying. “So, even though I’m going,” she started to say as they began again toward war, “is it still okay to be scared shitless?”

  He smiled. “I’d be worried if you weren’t.”

  ***

  It was a week before they found a place Kah’en believed was suitable to camp for an extended period. They would, he promised, plan their next step while they rested—built up reserve supplies. Angela helped him build a lean-to against the smooth face of a rock the size of a small house. It was large enough for both of them to get out of the direct sun, but still too warm in the day, and too cool at the deepest part of the night.

  Game was scarce, but Kah’en killed a deer-like creature their third day. Its flesh tasted bitter and made them both sick, but its hide was thick and soft, and he tanned it using the shade of the lean-to and its boiled brains. Angela wrapped it around her at night with quite a bit of reluctance, the fur side against her skin.

  It was a creature Angela would have never thought to eat under any other circumstances that saved their lives. It was small, no bigger than a housecat, its skin hairless and a sickly gray. It had one black eye in the center of its round head. Its mouth was filled with needles. And it was delicious. It was also plentiful once Kah’en discovered where they hid themselves and how to tempt them out.

  Each day she gave up a little, reconciled herself to this place. But, as she washed herself in the narrow river they camped near every day, she would close her eyes and imagine it to be the water of some hot springs spa, and this to all be a horrible delusion the best psychologists money could buy were working her through right then.

  It had been a month, thirty full days (she still counted them with diligence) when she heard him too late. She yelped as a hand that tasted tart and dusty covered her mouth, pulling her naked, kicking from the water. It happened faster than she could process.

  There was the hand, the splash of water as she exited, and then he was on top of her. He was lithe and filthy, his skin the deep purple of a new bruise. He raised a long, lean arm in the air and brought it down fast, toward her face. She caught it without thinking—Jonas’ training—and began to twist it. But he pulled free of her awkward grip, rising.

  He kicked at her. She raised her leg, fending it off. It still hurt like hell, his shin nailing her thigh. She fought the urge to cover her nudity and stuck both of her arms straight out, feeling them ignite. Her attacker’s eyes widened. He pulled a blade from a scabbard at his side. Those eyes narrowed and he gnashed his jumbled, rotten teeth. The thought that she would have to kill him ran through her head, and her heart seemed to stop. She had taken the lives of the Fade at the shelter, and perhaps that’s what gave her pause now. Her eyes looking into the silver of his, she was unmoving. He stood before her, about to murder her, her body unresponsive to her deep desire to live.

  He moved an inch forward before stumbling off to his right, those silvery eyes rolling into the back of his head as the shaft of the arrow entered it with a wet thunk. He hit the ground, his upper torso a shimmering ghost under the water, the feathered end of the shaft Kah’en had made poking up like the stem of a cattail.

  Angela pushed herself up, watching blood cloud the water, then turned to see Kah’en in the distance, bow in hand. She covered herself and scrambled for clothes that were still lying on a nearby rock. He waited for her to put them on and approached. She watched him come, mentally thanked Jonas for dumping all of that fighting knowledge into her head. But he had been right, knowing was different than doing. She had reacted, but,
just like he’d said, her brain was telling her muscles to do things they weren’t prepared for.

  Kah’en stared down at the body then grabbed one of his legs, pulling him from the water. “I will do away with this,” he said and then looked at her. “Then we will begin training you.”

  She started to protest, but knew he was right. She could still taste his hand on her mouth, feel how roughly he had pulled her from the water. If he had gotten in just one lucky blow, she would have been—powers or no—unconscious. She closed her eyes, trying not to imagine what might have happened next.

  “There is food,” Kah’en said.

  She nodded and he turned to walk away, the body rumbling along the ground behind him. “Thank you,” she said. “I didn’t say thank you.”

  He said nothing in return. Angela watched after him, thinking she would take a moment to gather herself. But as he grew smaller in the distance she began to panic at the thought of being alone again and followed.

  ***

  The first of the Fade guarding the outer edges of the camp came at Lucy. The warrior only made it three feet before every rock and pebble within a ten yard radius joined the tangle of roots shooting out of the ground to form a crushing hand around him. A second warrior forgot how to breathe (which took more out of Lucy than she’d prepared for). The third and final Fade to fall under her wrath had almost every valve to his heart (she wasn’t as strong in anatomy as she’d like) clamp closed. Then the Wraith came.

  This close, she could tell that there were three of them left in Aern’s army. She wondered, as two of their mutated-human Golems came at her, if they could sense her as well. With a glance, she took one of the Golem’s over and it turned, ripping the head from the other. It made it a few feet toward Aern, who stood watching from the trees at the far end of their camp, before it was killed.

  Next, she lashed out at the Wraith, sending them sprawling as she smirked. But the smile disappeared as they lashed back. She gasped in pain and fell to her knees. They pressed down her powers. Surprise flushed through her entire body as she found she could not overcome them. She heard Aern laugh.

  Lucy had defeated one of these Wraith even when she didn’t know what she was doing. But with three, even at what she considered her best, she was failing. She had let her father down. Cynthia too. It had all fallen apart. Even Jonas’ memories, now seen on the other side of defeat, had been warning her that this was too much for one person. Still a fool. A weak, stupid fool.

  As two Fade warriors pulled her along, her feet hissed against the grass, knocking along the ground, which pulled at her ankles in painful jerks. Her makeshift bandage slid in a great red glob to the grass. She was going to change the path of the war. But she had only given them another victory. A hot trickle of blood slid down her stomach.

  The warriors dragging her gave off warm clouds of funk. The three Wraiths, smelling of warm batteries, followed behind her like reverent worshippers at some sick ceremony. They took up residence in a semi-circle around where the warriors began to hang her with rope by her arms from a tree.

  “Before you die,” Aern’s voice boomed from behind them, “tell me where Jonas and the other girl are.”

  ***

  It was as they neared the Fade’s camp that Cynthia first began to wonder if Jonas might have been right. The shock of everything that had happened was fading, and she’d begun to think more clearly. By going, was she serving any purpose other than to feed her self-image that she was a person who would never abandon a fight—would never leave family alone against a foe, no matter how pointless the endeavor? Jonas was off to commit suicide. He felt like a failure and was going to throw himself one last time at the thing that had systematically dismantled his life, hoping, at the least, to take with him a small chunk on his way out of this world.

  She looked up, noticing she’d let Jonas get a bit ahead of her. She jogged to catch up, not wanting to lose him in the dark, but also not wanting to get close enough to chance him starting another conversation. She needed to think about this, and didn’t have much time.

  Even with all of her strength, could she take out eighty some-odd warriors who were close to and maybe, in some cases, as strong as her? Sure, without that fancy armor they weren’t bullet-proof, and Jonas could kill a few before they overtook him. But then there she’d be, punching and kicking until it were her turn to die the futile death Jonas was set on.

  Maybe if she took him up on his offer, made her way to the other Earth, they could figure out a way to bring in some back-up. That seemed reasonable, didn’t it? But could they even make it back? The Fade had figured out a way, hadn’t they?

  Jonas stopped ahead of her. Cynthia stopped breathing. Was this it? She hoped not. Getting out of there—not dying a useless death—was making her certain now of her desire to leave. Why had he stopped? Were legions of Fade standing just beyond her view? If so, there would be no backing out.

  “Stay where you are,” Jonas said to her, his voice frail as an Autumn leaf.

  It felt as though a wheel was spinning out in her chest, and her lungs had shriveled. She watched Jonas step through the tall grass into a clearing in the woods. They were going to die. He was just going to let them take him and leave her to die alone. Cold sweat formed a thin sheen on her arms, her face.

  Run. Run. Run.

  Jonas turned to look at her, taking a few steps back in her direction. She could barely make him out in the dark. “I don’t want you to see this.” He gulped. “But it’s not one of the girls. They purposely left a trail I’ve been following for a while.” He looked back, flinched. “Wanted us to see this.”

  Cynthia didn’t realize she’d slid down to sitting on her heels, holding her mouth. As horrible as it was, it wasn’t the Fade there waiting for them. She still had a chance.

  “Are you okay?” Jonas asked.

  She noticed that she could breathe again. Getting up, she ran over to where Jonas was. He looked over his shoulder, holding out his hands for her to stay away. She stopped in front of him, about to tell him that she was leaving, and that they were fools to think they could take on the Fade without help, and to beg him to go with her. But her eyes moved past him to a pale, moonlit arm, dried lines of blood caked on it, the rest of the body obscured by a large duo of bushes.

  A low moan broke in her throat as every last cent of her attention went to the large, blue, gaudy bracelet on the arm. The one she had bought Jan for her last birthday.

  SEVENTEEN

  The Fade’s camp smelled of sweat and the remains of a dozen dead fires. Lucy hung by the wrists from thick ropes, tied to a monstrous, sturdy bow above. Her arm muscles felt as though they might pull apart from the weight of her own body. The three Wraith still stood in a circle, several feet from her, spread out, wavering like reflections in a lake, keeping her powers at bay. The first thing she had tried was bringing down every limb in that tree like spears on every threat she could see. Nothing. A small part of her, though, was still a bit proud that it took three of them to stop her.

  Her throat was sandpaper from the smoke and fire of Jonas’ shelter. When she swallowed, it felt like trying to gulp down a pill the size of a quarter. She cleared her throat and responded to Aern’s persistent question. “I’m not going to tell you where they are.” She didn’t know where Jonas and Cynthia were, but she wouldn’t have told Aern if she had.

  Her head throbbed like speakers were blasting at her from both sides. The terrifying thought occurred to her that perhaps it wasn’t the Wraith defusing her powers, but the slam against the shelter wall itself that had blown some fuse, relieving her of her abilities. The Fade doing damage to Jonas’ brain had taken his, after all. But, no, when she could get past her fear, she could feel the power, deep down, like the princess felt the pea. Beyond the throbbing pain of her head, the tearing pain in her arms, shoulders and sides, she could feel it trying to bubble up.

  Aern cocked his head to the side. “I would imagine Jonas did not send you alone.
That means he is likely about, or will come soon.” His mouth turned into a wicked curl. “I will gladly watch as he comes upon your torn body before I kill him as well.”

  He would too. She didn’t have to flip through many pages of Jonas’ memories to know that. They had bound up her bleeding side, but just to keep her from dying before they got the pleasure of killing her. But instead of fear, Lucy felt anger. It beat in her chest like a second heart. “You are a thing, not a person.” Her eyes flashed at the Wraith who stood there, flickering. “You’ll be watching them turn into dust, like the last one I killed, when you feel me creep into your head.”

  Aern sighed. “Bravado. Is that the word? We have taken far too long ridding ourselves of you.” He turned, addressing the two Fade closest to him. “The Queen waits. Kill her.”

  “Please!” Her voice broke. She felt a stab in her stomach, but ignored it. Lucy again pushed at the weight of the three Wraith on top of her ability. Nothing. Aern walked away. There was no flinch at her yell for mercy. The two Fade, inky outlines in the pale moonlight, approached. She felt herself tense at the realization that she was about to die. Her voice tore from her throat again. “No!” And Lucy felt the proverbial weight move. Power had rumbled like a quick gust of air through a poorly shut door. It was only a burp of energy that came before they managed to close that door again, but she saw it push the Wraith nearest her—the one in the middle—a few inches back. He took his place again, his hooded head turning to meet the glance of one of the other Wraith. Fear. Lucy liked it. She smiled and pushed again.