Travelers by Brett Riley

Author:Brett Riley
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: literary fiction, science fiction, fantasy, young adult fiction
Publisher: Imbrifex Books
Published: 2022-08-02T00:00:00+00:00

When Christian found the Team again, they were facing each other, talking in low voices as if something might try to listen in. She saw no sign of the shaper—no Kenneth, no bear. No Parker, either. Why didn’t they get the hell out of the park and look for Parker in the daylight?

You know why. No man left behind. If Jamie had disappeared, you’d scour every inch of this park.

“Look at this barrel,” Greenwalt was saying, holding his ruined weapon. “That thing bent it like it was made of paper, but it didn’t break.”

“Forget the gun,” Mossman growled, though his voice shook. “Doberman’s the priority.”

“Should we split up?” Jeffcoat asked, trying to see everywhere at once. “Cover more ground?”

“Hell, no,” Greenwalt said.

“Well, what about those kids?” Jeffcoat asked. He held his strange scattergun at the ready.

“If we’re lucky,” Mossman said, “the shaper will eat them.”

As the men debated which direction to go, Christian gritted her teeth. She would have loved to turn Mossman’s face into spaghetti sauce. Still, she couldn’t leave Parker to the shaper. She still had to live with herself. So, as the three government agents walked shoulder to shoulder toward the pond, she turned and ran perpendicular to their path, her vision enhanced so that she could see the darkened shapes in the park before she tripped over them or ran into a low-hanging branch. She ran all the way to the park’s border, moved north ten or twelve feet, and headed back the way she had come, scanning the forest floor, hurdling obstacles and holes in the ground. As she began her fourth lap, she spotted something on a bench at the top of a small hill. She veered off and stopped beside the bench. The form lying on it was human—a man in a coat and slacks, his black shoes covered in dirt. He lay on his stomach, face pressed against the wooden slats. Blood dribbled from his right eye. His breathing was even but muffled, as if his nose had been broken. His left arm lay underneath him. The right hung over the side.

“Agent Parker, I presume,” Christian muttered. “Sometimes known as Doberman. Looks like you lost this dogfight.”

“Indeed,” said a deep voice from behind her.

Christian whirled, ready to run or lay some smack down.

She was looking at herself. The same clothes, the same haircut, the same height and weight—everything but her voice. The other Christian moved to the far end of the bench. Its features shimmered, as if it were still perfecting her image. Christian stepped backward, then stopped herself. Her legs shook and her hands trembled, and her breathing had quickened, but she would be damned if she’d let the shaper know she was afraid. If it made a move, she would fight it as hard as she could, run if she had to, kill it if possible. But she would not cower.

“Does my hair really look like that?” she said as Parker snorted and shifted. He didn’t wake up.

If her flippant comment bothered the shaper, it gave no sign.

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