At the top of the hill, where a street ended and the land began its climb upwards to the mountains, she stopped, breathing hard and exhilarated. The docks were hidden by the higher buildings of downtown, the tall structures smudged against the backdrop of the ocean by the morning mist.
She imagined the men scouring the alleys, searching for her hiding spot, not thinking that she could run so far or so fast. The boat’s horn sounded far below, yet it felt close, as if she should be standing at the rail watching the wake froth and churn against the dock as she and it pulled away.
She would miss the sleeping bag in her pack and the food she had collected for the trip, but the men rifling through her belongings would find only the gear of a lone traveler planning to explore the North.
She turned her back on the town and the boat sliding up the coast. A footpath continued from the end of the road, winding up, and her first steps felt light and sure on the packed dirt. Freeman was out here somewhere, hoarding the knowledge that Maria needed. The same way she had from the beginning. A goose honked from above, part of a straggling v-formation of Canadian geese flying across the dead gray sky, heading north.
SEVEN
Birds dove from the tops of the dated buildings, their circular flights forming a frenzied, silent cloud above the white bulk of the Gatherer. Maria stretched her leg muscles, her heels aching with broken blisters, scanning the main street for a grocery store she might find a dumpster behind, or a restaurant ready to close that would have food they were willing to spare. Several of the larger birds, some kind of dove, lay dead or injured on the ground and she considered plucking one clean and cooking it over a fire down by the river, but she wasn’t quite there yet.
The birds swooped and careened in a strange, erratic pattern through the lengthening shadows of mid-afternoon, the sun having already dropped behind the westernmost rock. The Gatherer loomed larger in the growing shadows, its clean, simple lines out of place in the worn exterior boards of the buildings and the streets that were more dirt than pavement. Not as large as the units Maria had seen being guarded on the train, it still dominated the square, the open glowing hands of the logo echoing the concave curve of the roof.
Screens mounted in the square flashed and changed in the growing dusk of the afternoon. Shining new signs hung above rundown storefronts and new streetlights had been installed on every block. The few vehicles she had seen had glided like silent ghosts through the mostly empty streets.
The town lay at the bend of the Yukon River, and the place couldn’t hold more than a few hundred residents. Someone would have had to remember seeing Freeman. What she couldn’t figure out was how Freeman had chosen here as her destination. It contained nothing of significance but for the spectacles of the three rock walls that loomed above the small cluster of streets and buildings that had seen their prime decades pass.
She winced as her socks pulled at the burst blisters, the blood having dried in the few minutes she had let herself sit. The square was empty and she considered lying on the bench and letting the distance she had travelled ease out of her legs. The bench would be drier than the moss she had slept on the past few nights, the flap of the birds’ wings making her head heavy, her eyes close.
She lowered herself onto the boards, adjusting her shoulder blades between the slats, and looked up into the fading light of the day. A bird crossed within arm’s reach and she turned her head to follow its soaring path when a brightness flashed from the far end of the street. She sat up for a better view of what was reflecting the light of the store signs as it moved in and out of visibility.
The person moved erratically, bursting forward before stopping to lean on a lamppost, the reflections coming from the silver suit that covered their entire body, with some kind of mesh blocking the face. A strange creature against the muted colours of the town.
She expected the person to stop when she saw Maria, or at least acknowledge the only human presence in the square, yet the veil didn’t once turn towards her, the suit’s pace growing slower and more faltering the closer it drew to the Gatherer.
The figure carried a backpack and a crowbar in one hand, and as it grew closer its shape was distinctly female. Maria had the unexpected thought that the woman had come for the dead birds, hunger the cause of her desperation, but she stepped over them like cracks on a sidewalk. There was something about the long-legged gait in between her frequent stops and the heavy clumsiness of her footsteps that made Maria rise.
The woman circled the Gatherer, an urgency to her steps. Maria flipped up her hood and matched her pace, reaching the smooth, featureless side of the Gatherer at the same time the suit disappeared around its curve. Maria had to stop herself from running, not wanting to scare her away, for it didn’t make sense that she would be here, doing this.
Maria circled below the open wings, the exterior shell hard and seamless. A camera lens was fitted into the top edge of the wall and she kept her face turned away. The unit was larger than any Maria had seen before if she didn’t count the ones on the train, its silent efficiency more powerful in this larger form. Its beauty was in its simplicity, the smooth lines of the outer shell protecting the crystal structure inside, an integral part of the design that drew an unseen energy into it and condensed it into a usable form. Freeman’s smaller units had been rougher, yet they had elicited a sense of wonder that the simple device quietly tapped into something previously unknown, an infinite energy source that when offered up to the people had reduced poverty, ended wars, and improved lives. It was no wonder people had treated Freeman like a saviour. For the changes she had been able to achieve with the simple device had felt like miracles. People were convinced that this solution had come from a higher place.
The sound of scraping and hammering came from beyond her line of sight. She approached carefully, her fingertips resting on the Gatherer’s side. Havernal hadn’t been able to come near the Gatherer, its drawing of energy a poison that left him racked with pain. Maria felt only a distant restlessness, like raindrops tapping at a dark window.
The woman had her back to Maria, her legs planted wide as she struck the crowbar repeatedly at the Gatherer’s side, the blows glancing off with no effect. She grunted with each blow, half-collapsing after each strike as if it would be her last. She was unaware that Maria was there, and Maria no longer needed the veil to lift to confirm who this was.
With a sudden fierceness, Storm Freeman jammed the end into the seam of the access door and pushed hard against the bar, the plastic cracking enough for Storm to slide her hand in, release something and spring the door open. The pause was infinitesimal, a momentary gathering of purpose, before she stepped into the interior. Maria followed.
A circular corridor ran inside the outer wall of the shell, leading around the outside of a second interior chamber. She heard no banging or tearing of a forced entry and the corridor was strangely muted but for a low sensation that wasn’t so much a sound as a vibration just beyond her perception.
Storm was bent double at the second entrance, clutching a black box to her chest, the small access door opening inwards. She had lifted the veil, her face so drawn and gaunt as to not be Storm at all except for the distinctive red hair across her forehead.
Maria opened her mouth to call out, remembering all the words that she had rehearsed, as Storm stepped through and out of sight.
There was a crash of glass shattering and the clang of the crowbar to the floor. Maria reached the opening as Storm hit the floor and a high keening sliced through her ear drums. Its source was the concave dish of crystals covered with broken glass and the black box.
Storm’s neck and back arched, each muscle triggered by the keening, her eyes rolling back, violent tremors jerking through her. Glass crunched under Maria’s boots as she grabbed Storm, the keening changing to needles of pain inside Maria’s head. Storm was so light Maria fell against the wall when she lifted her, the sharp corner of a metal junction b
ox digging into her back as her vision blurred from the piercing pain. She lifted Storm over her shoulder, nausea joining the pain, and she had the sudden sense of Havernal beside her on patrol, the smell of burnt oil, and the cold wash of water down her legs as she stumbled to the door.
Her foot was on the threshold when the pain and sensations stopped, a clearing of the air, the sudden quiet complete but for the drop of a single fragment of glass to the floor. Storm trembled on her back, her arms striking Maria as they jerked and Maria turned back to the dish, searching for what had happened. A giant bird bath filled with an intricate web of crystals, the broken glass resting in the crevasses of the lattice, a black box perched on top as if it had been thrown. It hardly resembled the Gatherers she had first seen at Storm’s lab—coarse, awkward things that hadn’t looked like they could collect anything at all.
A moan emanated from Storm and Maria started moving, their breadth barely fitting in the narrow hall and too wide to fit through the final door to outside. She lowered Storm to the ground, leaning her against the side wall, but she kept slipping down. In the end she dragged her under her arms, her legs bouncing on the threshold, Maria feeling the outline of every rib.
She dragged Storm away from the Gatherer in deep dusk, keeping her face turned from the cameras. There was no point in hiding Freeman, she would already have been recorded. Night had arrived quickly and it was only when she paused to readjust her hold that she noticed the darkness of the town. The signs above the shops had gone out, buildings that had once had lighted windows now shadowy outlines against the fading sky. There came angry shouts in the distance, the erratic points of flashlights moving towards them from the end of the street. She lifted Storm, trying to get her to take some weight on her legs, but she flopped on Maria, almost all her weight across Maria’s shoulders. More bobbing lights appeared in a separate laneway, a group of four or five. Maria hefted Storm onto her back, locking her hands behind her rigid knees.
The main street ran south from town, the only route she knew, now filling rapidly with tiny lights. To the north lay black hills covered in a thick forest, its shelter two, maybe three streets away. She turned into a laneway going north, the darkness complete between the high walls. She had no time to let her eyes adjust before charging blindly away from the square.
EIGHT
The adrenaline from the Gatherer had long ago worn off and Maria dropped to her knees, the muscles on the right side of her back spasming as she lowered Storm to the ground, her arms sluggish, and her head spinning with hunger. She collapsed to the ground and leaned back against a tree not much wider than a broom handle.
She listened for sounds of pursuit, hearing nothing above the low rustling of the river and the whisper of the breeze through the bare trees. It concerned her that no one had come after them, despite the cameras. You didn’t shut down a Gatherer without consequences, which meant that they were either waiting for them somewhere or were silent, skilled trackers who had chosen not to show themselves.
The outline of Storm’s silver suit offered the only visible shape, the rest of the woods sunk into darkness but for a lingering glow in the sky and a narrow brightness coming from the openness of the river. They had been following the river’s flow since they had left town, the low murmur coming close and moving away. She had hoped the path would touch the river for a chance to quench her thirst, yet she had been stumbling along for over an hour, tormented by its taunting presence.
It was ironic that she was once again cold and hungry in the dark when she had so expected something to change as soon as she found Freeman. She freed Storm’s arm from underneath her and slipped the small nylon backpack off her shoulders. Her limbs were heavy and lifeless and Maria felt a jolt of frustration at the woman’s helplessness. She wanted to wake her and make her answer for what she had done. Yet there had been so little flesh on Storm’s legs where she held her, the sharpness of her hip bones so near the surface.
She opened Storm’s backpack, the click of the zipper’s teeth a ratchet of noise in the quiet. She groped inside, touching first puffy softness that she pulled out slowly, the material taking the shape of a down coat she ached to slip over her shoulders. She tucked it tightly around Freeman instead. She found Storm’s wallet and a glass bottle of liquid, half full when she shook it, smelling sweet and tasting bitter on her lips. She was so thirsty and hungry she took three gulps before she could force herself to stop. She returned the lid and placed it between her and Freeman as her body woke up to the sudden nutrients. She carefully opened a long, hard case, and when she felt inside, made out two tiny glass vials and the delicate cylinder of a syringe and needle. She wished for light and a closer look at the contents, to figure out if this was something meant for Storm or others. She placed it next to the drink, finding only a pair of canvas gloves left in the bottom, too large for Maria’s small hands, though she kept them on, already feeling the creep of cold now that the heat of the walk had left her. The pack still held weight, tilting forward when she lifted it, her hands wrapping around a nest of webbing and plastic that she pulled from the narrow front pocket, hoping it would untangle into what she desperately wanted. She slid the straps onto her head, adjusting them over her ponytail, shocked at the sudden closeness of the tree trunks when she clicked on the light. The reflected brilliance of the silver suit and the deeper darkness shone around them. She stood, the head lamp bringing the closest dangers into focus: animals, fatigue, and cold.
She ran the light up and down Storm’s still form, thinking irrationally that the light had the power to wake her, the rush of the river enticingly close. She swung her head to light the southern path before she pushed between the thin trunks, Storm’s canvas gloves protecting her as she parted through branches and stumbled towards the openness of water.
The trees ended suddenly and stars shone above a steep sloping drop to smooth silty water. The river’s swirling surface extended beyond the reach of the head lamp, the opposite shore little more than a formless shape. There was no easy access to the water, its heady smell making her thirst so wild that she grabbed the trunk of a tender, pliable poplar. She bent it towards the water, lowering herself hand over hand, bracing against its branches. Shoving a glove in her waist band she scooped handfuls of icy water into her mouth, tasting grit and sand in her teeth and the overlying sweetness of the water. Her hand turned numb, her face and coat soaked, her single arm on the poplar holding her out over the water. She stayed longer than she should have, her arm weakening, even as she took just one more scoop.
When she pulled herself ashore, her belly full with water, she felt sated and strangely wild, wiping her mouth as she took in the breadth of the river and the expanse of black sky above that had grown darker and more remote with every step north.
She moved back to Storm, keeping her back to the river, moving faster when it took longer than she remembered. She stumbled abruptly on the narrow trail and panicked when Storm wasn’t there. Her first thought was that their unseen pursuers had got her, until the light picked up a flash of silver to the north. She jogged along the trail, the water sloshing in her gut, the liquid returning life to her limbs.
Storm was no longer prone on the ground but propped against a tree, eyes closed, her hood pulled back to expose the cropped red hair. When the light touched her face, Storm held a hand up to block the light. Maria removed the head lamp and held it in her hand to create a small pool of light between them.
“You’re a long way from home.”
Storm’s voice was rough, slow from either drugs or fatigue. Her left hand curled around a syringe, the open case held in her right, like a drug addict who has taken a hit.
“You too.”
Storm half-smiled, placing the needle back in its case before sliding it into the pack. Maria wrapped her fingers tightly into the webbing of the head lamp, set on edge by Storm’s subdued disinterest.
“What did you do back there?”
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Storm lifted her chin and let her head rest against the tree, skin so pale as to contain no life at all.
“Did it work?”
Storm’s gaze slid to Maria’s, the challenge there undeniable, the circles under her eyes like caverns. They had been on opposing sides since the first time they met. Storm hell-bent on releasing the Gatherer, and Maria ordered to stop it at any cost. The change from the young woman who had outsmarted her was stunning, as if every drop of energy the Gatherer had collected had come from her flesh.
“If stopping that Gatherer was what you wanted.”
Storm pulled the bottle Maria had drank from out of the pack and lifted it to her mouth, her lips stained red when she lowered it.
“You should have stayed out of it.”
The cold gathered thick against Maria, sitting deeper in the dampness on the front of her coat. The flare of irritation was familiar, the woman’s half-truths and side-steps returning her to the days when Storm had claimed they were running more tests even while she sent the device out to energy bloggers to review and stocked retail stores.
Storm returned the bottle to the pack and zipped it up, a heavy stillness on her but for the careful movement of her hands.
“Why would you destroy a Gatherer?”
She knew why Storm had destroyed it. The proof that the Gatherer was linked to the plague was undeniable, but she wanted Storm to say it. A part of her was unable to resist that need for vindication.
Storm pulled her knees in and, bracing against the narrow tree, staggered to her feet. She gripped the trunk, swaying as if pushed by a strong wind, her legs like the fragile sticks of a young bird.
“How far are we from town?”
A stand of trees lay behind Storm, the closest trunks all that were visible of the tangled mess.
“They’ll be looking for you.”
Storm released her hold on the tree and stood for a moment, testing her stability. A pure stubbornness had always driven her. Combined with her unique intelligence it had allowed her to see and do things no one had before.
The Gatherer Series, Book 1 Page 6