Edge Walkers by Shannon Donnelly Page A

soon stop feeling even that slight tug on healing muscles and internal organs. He couldn’t, however, ignore these soldiers and their weapons. He heard Carrie say something—her voice sharp—and he glanced at her, caught fear pale on her face. With her hair sticking up and blood drying on her clothes, she looked like she needed to be off her feet as badly as he did. Fatigue hollowed and smudged her eyes. But a smile tugged at him, warmed him with the sight of her, alive and without glowing eyes and cracked dead skin that sparked with unnatural light.
    One more step and her words made it though the haze in his brain, formed from random sounds into recognizable thought.
    “They shot me?” He turned too fast to face the men with guns, had to press a hand to his side to stop the flaring ache. The words came out more half-stupid complaint than accusation. “What the hell were you using for brains? Or do you shoot everything on sight out of habit? God, you—from now on, don’t even point those things at anyone unless I say. We have few enough survivors as it is.”

The older man rose, his knees popping, and while his expression didn’t change, the gun muzzle lowered. The faintest smile edged a thin-lipped mouth, but Gideon couldn’t say if that was patronizing sarcasm or something else. However, long fingers stayed curled around what had to be the trigger. Gideon knew what that meant—still on edge, still not trusting. Wary now himself, he locked stares with the guy—and maybe it wasn’t a good idea to antagonize someone who could act that quickly to shoot another human being.
    “By the way, I’m Gideon,” he said, offering his name since it was harder to kill someone you knew. At least he’d found that to be true. “That’s Temple.” Turning, he pointed behind him, but Temple had already moved closer, so Gideon’s hand smacked into Temple’s arm. He swapped a look with Temple, got back the image of jumping these two guys. He shook his head and turned back to the men with guns. “You can stay, but—”
    “Jakes,” the man said, interrupting. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “That’s Shoup. Kevlar?” Jakes gestured with the gun to Gideon’s chest as he spoke that last word.
    Gideon had no idea what the man was talking about. “What?” he asked, blinking.
    “Kevlar, as in vest?” Jakes frowned, shook his head. “Never mind. Somehow I’ve got the feeling I’d rather skip that answer.”
    Gideon lifted a hand, started to rub the healing wounds, broke off the gesture and looked from one man to the other. “Look—my head hurts. My insides hurt. I need to sleep this off, not carry on a conversation.” He glanced at Carrie again and the tension bled out of him in a slow breath. She might look bad—strain tight around her mouth, skin so pale he could count her freckles—but she wasn’t dead or dying. He didn’t want to be grateful to these two gun-jocks, but they had looked after her and that counted for a lot on any world.
    “Good to see you,” he told her, the words inadequate but true. What else could he say?
    She nodded and folded her arms, hugged herself tight. The urge to do that for her stirred, so he stretched out a hand. She took the invitation, started walking to him and crossed the empty stones between them.
    As she strode past Jakes, she shot him a sideways glance, but Gideon wasn’t sure what that meant—a warning of some kind maybe—and she stopped just out of Gideon’s reach. He let his arm fall and waited. With her gaze traveling over him, wide-eyed, only a slim rim of gray-blue around black pupils, she stepped closer. She pressed her palm to his chest as if she had to check his heartbeat. Her fingers trembled, but her palm lay warm on him.
    “You were dead,” she said, voice so tight it might snap.
    He shook his head. “No. Temple can do a lot of things, but not that.”
    “But you…Gideon, the blood.” Her stare stayed on him and it seemed as if he could see