Eternity's Edge (8 page)

“We don't have any choice.” Nathan pulled, and Daryl hobbled along, though with her legs buckling, he practically dragged her across the path.

When they reached the edge, Kelly spoke in a smooth, quiet tone. “It's okay, Daryl. Trust us. Like Nathan said, we've been through scarier stuff than this, and he hasn't let me down yet.”

“Yet?” Daryl squeaked.

Nathan tried to hide a painful swallow. How could he be sure? Maybe this Abodah lady had no clue. Maybe she was lying and thought it some kind of macabre joke to get them to jump in on their own. But he had to believe the best, and he had to give Daryl reason to believe. Softening his tone, he loosened his grip. “Daryl, we're going, and you can't stay here. Are you with us?”

As her trembling eased, Daryl gazed into the void. “It's … so dark.”

Kelly looped her arm around Daryl's. “C'mon. We'll stay together no matter what happens.”

Daryl squeezed Kelly's arm and closed her eyes. “Tell me when it's over!”

Abodah jerked her head to the side. Far along the pathway another white-haired figure approached. Nathan snatched up the violin, gave her a nod, and whispered, “Now!” The three bent their knees and jumped into the void.

5
FOUNDATION'S KEY

 

As soon as they fell into the chasm, a stream of blue rushed out from the surrounding walls of mist, wrapped around their bodies, and guided them down a dizzying corkscrew path into the darkness. Above, the edges of the chasm seemed to merge, like a giant animal's jaws closing to trap its prey. The sense of utter helplessness, falling without knowing when or if the plunge would end, jerked the breath right out of Nathan's lungs. Daryl screamed, but the rushing wind snuffed out her cry. Kelly's eyes dimmed until her inner light completely vanished.

After what seemed like a full minute of free falling, a sense of wetness brushed Nathan's cheeks. The darkness began to fade, revealing a familiar swirling mist surrounding their bodies. Seconds later, their descent slowed. The mist thinned out. The mirror, jagged and misshapen at first, materialized in front of them, slowly regaining its square form and reflective clarity as the fog swept away.

Nathan pried Daryl's fingers from his arm. “It's okay. We're back.”

She crouched and laid her palms on the carpet. “Terra firma! Am I glad to see you!”

“So,” Nathan said as he walked toward the mirror, “we have to find Abodah's mate if we want to know what to do next. I'm guessing it's Patar, but how do we get him to come back?”

Kelly, her eyes glassy once again, lifted the camera. “In the
meantime, do you want to develop the film? I took quite a few pictures while we were up there, especially the girl in the dome. Maybe —”

“You did? That's great! I was trying to tell you not to.”

“I know,” she said with a wink. “That's why I left the flash off.” She angled the camera's photo counter toward him. “Only a couple of pictures left, but it won't hurt to go ahead and process the film.”

Nathan glanced at the mirror. For a second he thought he caught a glimpse of Patar, but nothing unusual appeared in the reflection. Patar's words, however, continued to haunt his mind.
Play the violin, and all will be made right … Sarah's Womb … follow the wisdom you gain each step along the way.

He touched the top of the camera. Could the photos be part of that wisdom? He couldn't risk missing out on such a potentially important clue. “They might help,” he said. “I'll call Wal-Mart and see if they're open. The roads are dicey, but we should be able to make it.”

“Only if you walk,” Daryl said as she looked out the window.

Nathan set the violin on the floor and strode toward her. “What do you mean?”

As she backed away, she pulled a curtain to the side. “The car's gone. No sign of Clara.”

Nathan pressed his nose against the glass. Although windblown fog still saturated the area, he could see the entire yard. “She just left without us?”

“Or something made her leave.” Kelly peeked over his shoulder. “Maybe she had to escape.”

Nathan checked his watch. Five till noon. Only about a half hour had passed. Backing away from the mirror, he searched the walls. “Is there a clock around here? Something that doesn't run on electricity?”

“I get your drift,” Daryl said. “A time warp kind of thing. Maybe she got tired of waiting.”

Kelly pointed toward the hall. “My father has a clock in his den with a battery backup. Kelly Blue's father probably had one, too.”

“I'll look.” Nathan jogged to Tony Clark's den at the opposite end of the house and halted at the doorway. A wide-screen plasma TV dangled on the wall by one of its corners. A half-size refrigerator lay open on its side with at least ten bottles of beer lying next to the door. Three long gashes marred a plush recliner, and clumps of padding lay scattered across the carpet. Jagged slices ripped through basketball posters that lined the perimeter. What was once a sports fan's paradise was now the victim of a malevolent vandal, or worse.

A digital clock sat on top of a trophy case. The numerals read 3:36. Nathan checked his watch again. They had been gone for four hours! No wonder Clara took off.

He walked in and pushed the trophy case's door closed, using his foot to move a toppled basketball statuette out of the way. Shards of glass lay on the carpet and inside the case. Obviously a hefty kick made an entry key unnecessary. Someone must have been desperate to find something.

Inside the case, a folded sheet of paper under one of the trophies caught his eye. He pulled it out and read a scribbled note on top, “Foundation's Key.” The lettering was clearly his own. He unfolded the sheet and found musical notes hastily written on a hand-drawn staff. He recognized the style — the way the quarter notes weren't completely filled in and how the numerals in the time signature didn't quite align. Again, this was his own notation. Nathan Blue must have squirreled this music away in the trophy case for safekeeping.

After tucking the sheet in his back pocket, he hustled across the house again. When he breezed into the bedroom, Daryl
lifted her cell phone. “I had a signal for a minute, but Clara didn't answer.”

Kelly cocked her head toward the garage side of the house. “If the motorcycles are here, we have wheels.”

Nathan laid his hand on his back pocket. Telling them about the music could wait. It might be nothing. Best to develop the photos and try to call Clara later. “Daryl, can you operate a motorcycle?”

“I've seen
Ghost Rider
six times,” Daryl said. “Looks easy enough.”

Kelly rolled her eyes. “Oh, sure. In fog, on icy roads, with high winds.” She pressed her finger against Daryl's shoulder. “You ride with Nathan. I can see well enough to stick to your trail.”

Nathan touched his shoulder. “Do you need to change your bandage first?”

“No. The bleeding's stopped. I'll be fine.”

After prying the Quattro mirror loose and packing it, the camera, and Nathan Blue's violin in a waterproof saddle pack, the three mounted the twin motorcycles and navigated the icy roads toward Wal-Mart.

While Nathan watched Kelly in the rearview mirror, Daryl kept a death grip around his ribcage as she sat in the saddle behind him. With every icy skid and blind journey through a dense fog bank, her arms tightened around his torso. Kelly seemed to have no trouble. With her head tilted downward, she kept her front tire planted in his rear tire's groove.

Nathan slowed down in front of an Arby's restaurant at the entrance to the Wal-Mart parking lot. At least twenty cars roared out of the main lot, ignoring the traffic light. Tires squealed. Horns blared. Most of the drivers displayed sheer terror — wide eyes, gritting teeth, and fingers strangling the steering wheels.

When the last car cleared the intersection, as if summoned by the wake of the frenzied exodus, a fresh breeze from the north
swept the fog away and left a clear, sunny sky. But the wind brought with it a sharp chill, like the coldest day in January.

The frigid air beat against Nathan's dampened sweatshirt, making him shiver hard. Earth Blue's reflection of Earth Yellow's weather felt like a climatic roller-coaster ride. But what effects was interfinity having on Yellow? Was the nightmare epidemic he had witnessed there still going strong? Had their prophetic dreams spread to Earth Blue?
Something
had sent the Wal-Mart customers scampering away like frightened mice.

They parked the motorcycles in the nearly empty lot. Nathan dismounted, pulled off his helmet, and tried to call Clara again. After several rings, her voice mail picked up. He left a message, then fished out the mirror and camera.

Kelly set her cycle's stand and slid up her visor. “You going in?”

“Yeah, but I'll try to stay in sight. You two hang here till I signal you.”

Hugging herself, Daryl shivered. “Glad to. Just make sure the signal doesn't include burned-out eyeballs.”

He hustled to the door and peered through the glass. Only the barest of lights illuminated the aisles, leaving the shopping area almost completely dark. He pulled the door open a crack. Obviously the store wasn't closed.

Raising a finger to signal “hang on a minute” to the girls, he squeezed through the opening and eased inside. Taking small, quiet steps, he scanned the massive store. Dim light from the windows revealed long lines of shelving with shadowed merchandise, but little else. The aroma of burnt popcorn blended with a cleaning fluid of some kind, and a low hum sounded in the background— a good sign that electrical power was available somewhere in the building.

An odd crackling sound mixed into the hum, like garbled music played on blended radio stations. It seemed to carry a cadence, a musical rhythm searching for a matching melody.

He returned to the door and held it open, waving at the girls. After a few seconds, they walked in, shivering as they pulled off their helmets and shook out their hair.

“There's not a soul in the store,” Daryl said, her voice echoing.

“I'll run the photo machine myself if I have to.” Nathan pointed at the ceiling. “But if the store's on generator power, these hazard lights might be the only thing drawing electricity.”

Kelly turned toward the registers. “Are those lights over there?”

Nathan set his helmet in an empty space on a clearance shelf and walked toward the vacant checkout lanes. Indeed, two of the registers in the self-serve aisle were turned on and seemed ready to operate. He glanced out the window. Snow. Heavy snow. Whatever reason the employees had for jumping ship, with this weather, they wouldn't likely be returning soon.

He stripped off his wet sweatshirt and gestured with his thumb toward the merchandise area. “Daryl, Kelly, I'll find the photo lab. You two get some warmer clothes. I'll need a coat … large, maybe with a lining.”

Daryl set the other helmets beside Nathan's and took Kelly's elbow. “You got it, boss.” The two walked into the dimness and disappeared from sight.

After finding the lab at the front of the store, Nathan turned on a desk lamp and aimed it at the film processor. He draped the camera strap around his neck and scanned the controls. Good. It was similar to a machine his father often used when he was in a hurry and couldn't process the film at his home lab. Since his photos were frequently top secret, a drugstore owner would let him come in after hours and develop them himself, and Nathan often helped.

He flipped on the switch. If it had been shut down only recently, the chemistry wouldn't take too long to warm up, and
there was no need to turn on the printer. He could just burn them all to a CD and print them later.

A dull thud sounded from the main store area. He jerked his head toward the noise. Nothing but motionless shadows in the dimness. A new chill raised goose bumps all over his arms. Were the girls safe? Should he have let them wander into the darkness without him?

He grabbed his mirror and jogged toward the women's department. As he closed in on the racks of clothing, he slowed, trying to make sure his shoes didn't squeak. A heavy foreboding of danger throbbed in his mind. Yet, no one was in sight — no hint of Daryl's usual chatter or the sound of footsteps. Everything was deathly quiet.

Still pressing his feet softly, he turned and walked backwards, using his mirror to see what lay behind him. Nothing. Only circular racks of ladies' sweatshirts and jeans.

He stared at the shadowy, feminine clothes. No sign of movement. Could they be in the men's department looking for his coat? He hurried along the dim aisle and again slowed and soft-stepped backwards, guided by his mirror. After passing the underwear and sock aisles, a rack of coats came into view, dark and indistinct.

A shadow darted from one rack to another — small, fast, fleeting. He jerked around. Nothing there. Walking on tiptoes, he approached the rack where the shadow had hidden, reaching his hand toward the thick coats hanging from the circular turnstile.

He snatched a coat and shoved it to the side. Still nothing.

Leaning over, he peered into the dark gap. Something touched his shoulder. He jumped and swung his fist but pulled back just in time to miss Kelly's chin. He shook his head hard. “Don't scare me like that!”

“Sorry. I wasn't sure it was you till I got close. It took me a while to grope my way over here.”

He searched the dark aisle. “Where's Daryl?”

“In the restroom. We found one of the customers hiding there, shaking like a leaf. Her name's Carlita. Daryl knows her, so she stayed behind to settle her down. I heard you walking around, so I knew I could find you.”

“Did Daryl's friend say why the place is deserted?”

Kelly leaned close and whispered, “Ghosts.”

“Ghosts?” Nathan glanced back at the coat rack. Still no sign of the shadow.

She nodded and pulled on his sleeve. “Come on. You can hear her story for yourself.”

“Not the ladies' room again,” he said, rolling his eyes.

She pushed him into the aisle. “Lead the way. You should be good at finding it by now.”

After taking a last look at the coat rack, Nathan hustled with Kelly to the restroom. Inside, they found a petite Hispanic woman leaning back in a lounge chair. Daryl, wearing a new coat with a tag still hanging over the collar, knelt at the middle-aged woman's side. She fanned her with a newspaper, blowing back her mussed black hair and open white collar. When the lady looked up at Nathan, her eyes widened. Sweat glistened on her brow as she raised two fingers. “¡
Fantasmas! … ¡Vi fantasmas negros!
”

Nathan translated in his mind.
Ghosts! I saw black ghosts!
Through all of his travels, he had learned enough Spanish to figure out what some people were saying, but he didn't dare try to speak it. He'd botch it for sure. “What did they look like?” Nathan asked. “Could you see their faces?”

The lady shook her head. “
No sé cómo responder
.”

Daryl dabbed the lady's forehead with a paper towel. “Kelly, can you be her interpreter? She understands some English, but she's pretty spooked. Besides, my Spanish stinks.”

“Sure.” Kelly set her hands on her knees and leaned toward Carlita. “
¿Pudiste ver las caras?
”

“
¡Sí!
” Her eyes widened again. “
Una joven y un hombre
.”

Kelly turned toward Nathan. “She saw a girl and a man.”