BACKTRACKER by Milo Fowler (books to read in your 30s TXT) 📗

I knew a good one, once. Armstrong was his name.He was sure of it.

Muldoon glanced at the door. Another knock. They wouldn't stay outthere all night, and they wouldn't bust down the door. Soon they would loseinterest, move on to the next unit, figure there were nothing but zombiesinside. Linked up and dead to the real world.

There's someone in here who can't live likethis. Not anymore.

Muldoon strode toward the door.

"You're not—?" Horton hissed incredulously.

Muldoon pressed his palm against the sensor grate.

The door to unit 893 slid open. Two officers outside, clad in bodyarmor and carrying automatic rifles—standard fare for any trip intoHellTown—turned sharplywith muzzles trained, laser sights burning whitepinpoints of light through the darkness.

"Who's there?" one of them barked.

Silence. Boot soles squeaked against wet tiles.

"Anybody there?"

They stared into the dark cave beyond the open door frame. One ofthem ventured forward and leaned inside, making themistake of drawing breath. He fell back with a curse.

"Something died in there."

"Somebody opened that door," his partner replied.

Small fingers, grey with unkempt black nails, curled around thedoorframe.

"What the hell?" Rifles clinked, drawn close, fingerscurled around triggers.

A girl stepped out into the light and stood off-center beforethem. Matted black hair hid most of her pallid features. She didn't make asound.

"Stand down," said the first officer, and both of themlowered their weapons. Careful not to startle the girl, he dropped to one kneebefore her. He hesitated as he looked her over, glancing into the rank darknessbeyond. "You okay, kiddo?"

"You alone here?" asked the other cop. He peered inside,holding his breath. With a click, a light came on, shining forth from his riflelike a spotlight. It spread across two zombies twitching on the couch. Thekid's parents, at one point in time. "Guess not," he muttered with awince.

The girl's throat constricted. She cleared it softly.Then she spoke: "I remember him."Her chapped lips twitched into what could have been a smile. "From adream..."

As soon as Muldoon had pressed his hand against the sensor grate,he turned back to Horton and his lighter, stared into the flame, felt hisinsides swim against the confines of his flesh and bones as the air beside themundulated like a vertical pool of water. He heard the old man say something,but it was garbled and slow, as was his arm, reaching to nudge Muldoon into therippling singularity.

Then everything was coldand silent, blackand still. Freezing cold.

"You okay, Harry?" Cyrus Horton's voice came from acrossthe room. "Breathe, remember to breathe. Makes your firsttime more tolerable. And rub your chest, get your blood moving, warm yourselfup the best you can. Wormholes aren't the most tropical of destinations. Goodthing we don't spend too long passing through. The blood would freeze in ourveins!"

"We're—" Muldoon shivered, blinking in the darkness."We crossed over?"

Horton chuckled. "Yep. You're in my world now, son."

"Where are we?"

"Let's take a look." Horton flipped the cap off thelighter, and the light of its flame danced against four dingy walls of an emptyroom. "Unit 893, I'd say. Same building, different reality."

The unit was unoccupied, stripped bare, floor to ceiling. Stuffy.But it didn't smell nearly as bad as before.

"So when you cross over, you don't really go anywhere." Muldoonfrowned. "I mean—"

"You stay put, as far as location. That's right. But thereality around you changes. Similar to the BackTracker—but with temporaldisplacement, it's the same where, different when." Anotherchuckle from the old man, echoing in the vacant room. "Quite a trip,huh?"

Muldoonpaused to listen, his ear turned toward the door andthe hallway outside.

"No cops. They're not looking for you here. In this world,you're-uh..." Horton's jovial expression wavered.

"There's another one of me here?"

"Well, there was." Horton cleared his throat."Twenty years ago, I mean."

"You knew him."

"I sure did."

Muldoon paused. "What was he like?"

Horton's expression quivered in the flame. "He was a goodman."

"What happened to him?"

Horton stared into the flame. He seemed hypnotized by it. "Hedied, Harry," he said at length. "He was murdered."

Muldoon didn't know how to respond. Somebody killed me here, inthis reality. It was a strange feeling that swelled within him. Grief?Relief? It wasn't me—not really. Where had he been, two decades ago?

He thought back, sifting through memories that threatened to slipaway beyond his grasp. He remembered being a private investigator, that he knewwith certainty. Working out of an officein the Hancock Building downtown, he'd beenyoung and brash, leading a double life to makeends meet. Workingwith elements of the city's underbelly as a middle man, locating items ofscarcity. Years before he met Irena.

His heart lurched.

Is she alive here? Was it possible?

"I feel bad saying this, but maybe it's all for the best. Imean, if you were to meet your alternate, who knows what might happen?"Horton laughed. "The space-time continuum could implode! Or something lessmelodramatic."

"Then it's possible," Muldoon began, his eyes darting ashis thoughts took form, "for someone to be gone, deceased in one reality,and alive and well in the other?"

Horton nodded. "Yes, it's quite probable. But why do you ask,Harry?"

Muldoon looked away. He couldn't speak the thoughts that whirledthrough his mind. They were too private, and he was afraid his eyes wouldbetray him if he said her name aloud. He refused to shed a tear in front ofthis strange old man.

"So both of our alternates are dead. We have somethingin common." Muldoon glanced at the sensor grate beside the door. Despitethe derelict nature of this apartment, the grate glowed faintly. They would beable to open the door and get out of here. "I saw yours murdered bymandroids outside The Pearl."

"Lennox must have thought my alternate created theBackTracker."

Muldoon frowned. "He didn't?"

Horton shrugged with half a smile. "Beats me. It's afull-time job keeping track of myself, Harry. I can't be my alternate'skeeper!"

"How many of these realities are there?"

The old man raised his eyebrows. "So, you believe menow?"

"Seeing is believing."

"Then where does faith come in?"

"I don't follow the Way," Muldoon said.

Horton chuckled. "Obviously not. Well, to answer yourquestion: At one time there were multiple realities. A real multiverse. Theywere sprouting up everywhere, due in large part to my ill-conceived crusadesinto the past to right the wrongs of the world. I was the inauguralBackTracker, so to speak. But once