Fade (7 page)

There was a sloppy sound of wet clothes coming unglued from the muddy ground as he got to his feet. A stone dug into his hand as he pushed himself up and he winced. He held the hand up to examine it. Then, he brought the other up beside it. Neither looked right. They were calloused, thinner, stained.
How long had he been gone?
Then a more important question came.
Where were the children?

He stank. That was another thing he noticed aside from the Grizzly Adams beard and the mop of stringy hair languishing on his head. The smell reminded him of rotted apples and old cola, and he forced it out of his nostrils, angry at himself for letting all this happen. He should have found a way to stop it. He should have found a way to be there for the girls. That was his lone job, the only damn job a broken soldier was good for, and he even screwed that up somehow.

Bits and pieces of what happened stuck like pinpricks of light through the fog in his mind. It wasn’t enough to paint a coherent picture, or tell him how long he’d been…
crazy
or whatever had happened, or even how he’d gotten better. There was just enough to frustrate him more.

Jonas opened his mouth and found it dry; his throat shut tight. He licked his lips and tried his voice, unsure how long it had been since he’d used it. “Jonas.” He tasted his own name, and then cleared his throat and spat. Wanting out of these woods, he looked up at the sun, the trees, and walked north, hoping it was a good direction. The old boots he wore slipped on the muck. Gushes of brown water leapt out of them with each step, but he managed to stay upright. He thought of those little girls again and picked up his pace.

Jonas found the end of the woods and tramped out, finding himself on the edge of a highway. Cars growled by and a huge billboard across the road raved about the new Ford. He stared at the year of the new model and trembled.
That long?
It had been that long since he
went away
? For the first time, the thought occurred to him that the war was over for him. If more than a decade had passed since he’d brought the girls there, if that long had gone by without an incident—and things looked much too normal to indicate the Fade had come—then it was doubtful the Fade were going to find them.

His thoughts then changed from fear for the girls to curiosity about their lives. Were they safe? Were they happy? Did his daughter have a family who cared for her? Did he have any right to pull her away when there seemed no need—no ghoulish alien army bearing down on them? A heavy drop worked its way down his cheek. If they’d found a peaceful—a normal—existence, then he had to stay away. But, he did have to know. He had to find them and make sure. Then he would go about rebuilding whatever kind of life he could manage in this place. Although unlike they’d all imagined, his job would be done—the children safe.

Jonas stepped out onto the gravel beside the highway and stuck out his thumb. Then he thought about what he looked like and dropped the arm. Home. He’d have to go to what was meant to be home for all these years. Then he could start his final mission.

The first thing he did after arriving on this other Earth all those years ago was open up two cases which were filled with several types of valuables that the scouts who had first explored this Earth had reported were worth money there. Turned out to be the same diamonds, gold, silver and other, shiny trinkets
his
Earth had found worthy of a hefty price tag. He sold every bit of it, amassing a small fortune over the first six months he and the three girls were there.

By some miracle, the shelter was finished by the time the headaches started all those years ago. He hadn’t lasted long after the headaches began. They had warned him that some of the scouts had experienced minor vertigo, and even gave him meds for it. Said it was nothing. Losing one’s entire self for almost fifteen years wasn’t
nothing
. Something about being on this alternate Earth had stolen his mind. Like it had rejected him for not belonging there. But, thankfully, it hadn’t affected the children.

The shelter was all but underground, but the inside had been bright and comfortable, for the kid’s sakes. But he only got to see them enjoy it for a short time. It seemed that no sooner had the last bit of paint dried than he began having blackouts. Waking in strange places, or looking up from a soggy, lukewarm bowl of cereal to see that three hours had passed. He was sure he’d finished his last meeting with the adoption agency before the bleeding from the ears and the great, sudden spouts of blood from his nose began. He’d forgotten one of the girl’s names in those last weeks; woke up in an alley all the way in town the next; lost almost two days at some point. That was when he knew he could not take care of the girls. If he could have sent them back, he would have. But it was too big of a risk. He remembered that much, the rest just in broad strokes.

Now, here he was, almost a decade and a half older, with only vague recollections of dropping the girls off for the last time. He’d told social services that he had a brain disorder and was the last of their family.
He just recalled that
. That was now his last somewhat clear memory of them, hearing one of them call for him as he stumbled out of the office. There was more, a lot more, it seemed, just out of focus. But it was all he could piece together right then. He put it out of his mind for the moment. It was overwhelming him.

His clothes stuck to him, the smell of mud and his own filth crawled ever into his nose as he walked the highway, the woods at his side. Rivulets of water slid down his face from his wet hair, tickling him. Cars zoomed by, pushing at him like weak fists. So Jonas stepped further into the ditch, not wanting to add being run over to his bad day. That was when he saw it.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the thing rushing at him. Even over his own stench he recognized its faint odor. But he reacted a moment too late. At once, he was no longer on the side of the road, or even on Earth. The Wraith had gotten into his head, showing him an auburn sky filled with screeching, gangling things. They circled him like buzzards. Their droppings smacked the ground around him, sizzling as they ate at the hard, dry earth. One of them swooped close, and the air from its skin wings knocked him forward. Jonas scrambled to his feet. Another of the things lunged at him. Its claws found his back and it rose again, wet ragged pieces of him in its grip.

Gasping, he returned to himself, to the real world, to see the empty, alien eyes of a Wraith inches from his own. Jonas had hoped in his most desperate prayers never to see such eyes again. Of the entire Fade force, the Wraith could do the least physical damage. But it was one of the most feared warriors. They sacrificed physical forms for technological advantage. The knowledge that they could enter your mind at any time, tinker with your thoughts, conjured worse fear than that of blade or gun. And they were quite sadistic in their creativity.

The Wraith were greedy with their words unless they were in your head. But this one’s gasping, echoing voice chilled Jonas. “I found you.”

With that, Jonas began to feel it climbing into his mind once more. His head already throbbing from the first round.
This is going to hurt like hell
, he thought, squeezing his eyes tight. In one moment he was wrestling the Wraith, the next he was twenty years younger, sitting in Elizabeth’s studio apartment, having tea. Fear hadn’t worked, so now the Wraith was pulling at strings Jonas feared might just make him dance. But back and forth, he fought it.
It was their first date.
The hollow eyes of the creature again.
She would kiss him soon. For the first time.
He wanted to stay so much. In fact, every inch of him argued to stay in that fantasy. But he had to fight.
She was leaning in. He could smell the tart fragrance of her perfume. Feel the warmth of her breath as she drew closer. Her mouth opening in a teasing smile.

The Wraith screamed and so did he. His brain felt like it might swell right out of his skull and his eyes felt like someone were pouring alcohol into them. It took everything he had, which wasn’t much, but the Wraith was backing off, pulling away. Jonas’ head clouded. The fantasy tried to rise one last, weak time. Jonas writhed in a cold sweat, his muscles weakened so that he could barely move. Blacking out.
If he blacked out, he would—

It was over. Falling back, he tried to catch his breath. His eyes raced about the woods. All he could think was that it was a good thing the Wraith hadn’t brought along any friends. He shook his head and sat up, splashing some of the murky water from the ditch on his face. He wasn’t going to pass out any longer, but he was dizzy, hurting like all hell too. The Wraith was gone. It was apparent that he was no longer strong enough to kill one of them with his mind, but it had retreated. It
would
lick its wounds and return.

Pushing himself up, he tried to walk. His body felt like he’d been lifting two-ton boxes for the last hour, but he could put one foot in front of the other and that was what mattered right then. He wondered where that bastard had come from. Why weren’t there more of them?
Were
there more of them? How had it gotten there? Why now?
Had they been there all along?
Were
the girls in danger, or
worse
?
It hurt to think, but the thoughts sprang up like popcorn. But all those questions were secondary to finding his girls. To do that, he first had to go to the shelter. He couldn’t run into this blind. His search for them would have to start there.

SIX

I
t took him a full three hours to make his way to the shelter. The giant lock on the gate still hung there, but he had no idea where the key might be. So, he climbed the fence, cautious of the rusting razor wire, feeling his left knee give a little as he landed. He’d been quite the soldier before leaving his world. Younger, stronger and a mind as sharp as a guillotine. It was strange waking up to a skin and bones version of himself, gray streaks being the norm instead of the exception. Add bad knees, and a brain that felt like it had been in a blender to that list and,
voila
, new Jonas.

Hobbling to the door, he waded through more than a decade of growth. Stopping mid-way, he took a deep breath of the rosemary one of the girls had wanted him to plant because she liked the smell. Now the spicy, piney odor pained him. He closed his eyes, saw the girls running around the yard, playing, yelping. Jonas shook his head and made his way to the doorway. Weeds and bushes were giant hands blocking the entrance. A sigh and he pushed through.

Jonas rubbed the concrete awning like a good dog that had stayed put, and stared down the steps at the door. As he saw it, he realized he might never remember the key code. That was, if it still worked at all. Pushing himself up on his tiptoes, he noticed that one of the solar panels had been cracked by a fallen limb. Grimacing, he started down the four concrete stairs to the door.

The door was crawling with patches of ivy. He pulled them away, the stench of their bitter life’s blood stinging his nostrils. Kneeling down, he brushed away a layer of filth from the keypad with his thumb. A faint, red light glowed. Air loosed itself from his lungs; he hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath. He punched in seven numbers into the key pad. The light flickered yellow. Another seven, another yellow light. He paused, rubbing between his eyes, trying to remember. Taking another deep breath he put his fingers on the pad and closed his eyes, hoping his muscle memory was better than his mind’s. Two more tries and the mechanism in the door clanked. He released another long breath and stood, pushing it open.

It stank of stale air and mold inside the shelter. He let the door stand open as he did a walk-through, gathering up what memories he could of the months they’d spent there. Stopping in his bedroom, he knelt down in front of the bed and pulled away a dusty rug, which began to unravel as he tossed it aside. Punching in the same code, the floor slid back with a rumbling creak. There was another vault in the wall to his left, full of weapons, but this was what he was after. He lifted out a small box containing an ID, five hundred dollars in twenties, and a very expired credit card. Taking the ID and some of the money, Jonas grabbed a small, black leather pouch from the vault too. It was heavy in his palm and he hoped the device within still worked. He debated on taking the long object wrapped in a frail, yellow grocery bag, but decided it could wait.

He set the items on the kitchen table, which was so thick with dust it looked like it might be wearing a hairpiece, and began shedding the acrid clothes he wore. He yanked open the closet, hoping the clothes there hadn’t fallen to pieces over the years. An old pair of jeans and a plain white tee (no longer all that white) would do.

The pump had to be primed, and he had little hope that it would still work, but it did. Muck and the stench of an unknown life ran off him in the cold shower. He scrubbed a generous amount of the shampoo, which had separated into its component parts, into his hair and beard, and it still seemed to do the trick. He stopped to look at the shaggy beard and wild, long hair in the dim mirror, thinking about grabbing a razor, but he didn’t have time for vanity. All he needed was to smell less like garbage for the car rental place.

Jonas hurried back into town and rented a small car. The cool of the air conditioner felt strange and amazing to him. It was like feeling comfort for the first time. He supposed he might have been. At least in a long time.

He took the leather pouch he’d retrieved from the shelter earlier from his pocket. The small, square object, which looked like a tiny, portable television, stuck to its thin leather case and had to be pried out. He flipped it on—glad it still came to life—and slipped a finger into a notch in the side. The screen flickered a few times and began loading. In a few seconds a confirmation of his identity and a map of the area appeared. A scrolling line on the bottom of the screen let him know that it was in the process of searching for a signal.