James Axler – Starfall

“She’s dead,” Ryan growled.

“Two kinds of dead where they’re concerned from what I’ve been told.”

“And who told you?”

“Man named Donovan,” Elmore said.

“Do it,” Mildred ordered, pulling back and breathing hard.

Ryan returned his attention to the CPR, taking care to use enough force to make Krysty’s lungs work without breaking any of her ribs. Puncturing a lung with a broken rib would have made matters even worse. Unless she was already dead. Even as he thought that, Ryan forced it from his mind. He wasn’t about to accept that.

Mildred took over again.

“Who’s Donovan?” Ryan asked.

“Project leader I worked for at the Heimdall Founda­tion.” Elmore watched their efforts.

“He knows about the Chosen?”

“Studied them a lot. His mother was a breeder, one of the children they stole away. She managed to escape before she died, had Donovan in a ville and managed to live out her life. He doesn’t have no love for them, that’s for sure, but he knows they know things that most folks don’t know.”

“What’s happening here?”

Elmore shrugged. “The Chosen got this way about those powers of theirs. They can swap memories with each other.”

“My dear chap,” Doc interrupted, “would you have us believe that these women are able to do that through some clairvoyance talent?”

“Don’t know about that. I’m not even sure what clair­voyance means. But I know what I’ve been told. And Don­ovan told me he’d seen it done. That he came upon a dying Chosen who was performing some kind of ritual with a younger Chosen.”

“Incredible.”

“Ain’t the half of it,” Elmore assured him. “Got lots of stories about the Chosen, and Donovan told me the truth was even more unbelievable. And I’m a guy been over the mountain to see the elephant in my day.”

Mildred pulled back from Krysty’s face, her own features stained with perspiration. “It’s okay,” she said hoarsely, “Krysty’s breathing on her own again.”

Beneath his fingertips, Ryan felt the flutter of his lover’s heart. As that registered, her eyes pulled down to his, fo­cusing with effort.

“Lover,” she said weakly.

“What happened?” Ryan asked.

“They’re moving out there,” J.B. called from the win­dow. “Trying to fan out to get position on the front door. If they have a couple grens, they could come knocking real hard.”

Ryan knew that, and his mind raced with the possibilities and problems that occupied his attention. Survival was first and foremost, but that meant Krysty’s survival, too, and at the moment that appeared tied to Elmore.

“Phlorin’s still inside my head, Ryan,” Krysty replied. “She was talking to me. She made me go blind here, then stopped my heart to show me she could.” She reached up for Ryan, trembling. “We’ve got to get her out of there. Can’t stand not having my head not be my own.”

“We will,” Ryan replied, but fear touched him because he knew he didn’t have the first idea how they were going to do that. The old woman was as dead as he knew how to make her. “Can you move?”

“Yes.” Krysty nodded, then acted like she instantly re­gretted the effort. “I’ll manage.”

“Good enough.” Ryan turned his attention back to Elmore as Doc continued questioning him.

“What would be the purpose of such a memory trans­fer?” the old man asked.

“The Chosen are broken down into groups,” Elmore answered. “Donovan could tell you more, but I can tell you that. This woman was one of their scouts. An explorer. That beaded pack with all the designs on it told me that. The explorers don’t travel back to their ville very often. They aren’t allowed to. They get sent out to find what they can and make sure the information gets back to the others.”

Ryan listened to the sound of Krysty’s breathing as he went to join J.B. at the window. He took advantage of the cover the windowframe offered and scanned the area. Naylor’s men were in motion, but there were few places for them to go.

“I asked Donovan about it once,” Elmore said, “and he told me that if another Chosen comes up on a dead one soon enough, mebbe even within a few hours after, then they could still force a transfer.”