White Space by Ilsa J. Bick Page B

are slowly, inexorably closing. Then, in the sky, she sees something else, and for a second, her heart forgets how to beat.
    “M-Mom?” The word comes out in a rusty whisper. Her throat clenches as tight as a fist. “M-Mom, the s-sky … i-it’s …”
    “Oh no.” Her mother’s eyes flick to the rearview, and then she cups a hand to her mouth as if she might be sick. “Oh my God, what have I done?”
    “Mom?” Lizzie can’t look away. “Mom, what
is
that?”
    “The Peculiars … all that stored energy, I’d hoped it would be enough to take out the Mirror, but I didn’t stop to think that your father had already opened the gateway; he’d
bound
that thing and … My God, I’ve only given it more
fuel
.” Mom sounds as broken as the Peculiars and the Mirror. “What did I
do
?”
    Behind them, the sky is moving. High above the trees, something steams across the night: a boiling wall of white so dense that the stars are winking out, one by one.
    Something has bled into this world, all right. Something is storming after them. Something is running them down.
    Not an aurora.
    Not clouds.
    What is coming for them is the fog.

EMMA
Not the Way I’m Made
    “EMMA.” PAUSE. “EMMA.”
    A voice, very distant, as tinny as a radio. For a horrible second, her ears heard that weird hiss—
peekaboo, I see you
—and she thought,
Kramer?
    “Emma?”
    She didn’t answer. Wouldn’t. Couldn’t. God, she was freezing. She hurt. The cold was intense, the snow burning across her skin like a blowtorch. When she pulled in a breath, she heard a jerky little cry jump out of her mouth as something with claws grabbed her ribs and ripped her chest.
    “Emma?” The voice was closer now, on her right, and it wasn’t the radio or Kramer at all. Why would she even think that? “Emma, come on, wake up.”
    A … a boy? Where? Emma tried moving her head. There was a liquid sound, and then a thick, choking chemical funk.
    “Emma, can you hear me?”
    Her neck screamed. So did her back. Her foreheadthrobbed, a lancet of pain stabbing right between her eyes, not only from the
blink
but …
    We crashed. I’m still in the van, but I saw that little girl again, too, and someone or
something
was
 … 
chasing her?
But what? She couldn’t remember. The threads of the vision were fraying, unraveling. Didn’t matter. She dragged a hand to her aching forehead. She felt the familiar nubbins and that bigger circle of her skull plate just beneath her skin, but also something wet and sticky that was not gasoline.
    Blood. Cut. How deep?
Her fingers slid over torn flesh but not metal. She must’ve hit pretty hard. Her head was swimmy and she was already dizzy from gas fumes. Her stomach did a long, slow roll.
No, please, I don’t want to puke
.
    “Emma, can you hear me?”
    “Yeah,” she breathed. She tried prying her lids open. They felt sewn shut, and she had to work to make her muscles obey. Then the darkness peeled away, and she winced against a stab of silver-blue light. “Bright.”
    “Sorry.” The featureless blot of the boy’s head and shoulders moved between her and the snowmobile’s headlight.
    “Better?”
    “Uh,” she said, and swallowed, waiting for her stomach to slither back down where it belonged. It was only then that she realized he was on his hands and knees, peering through a window. The van had flipped. She was lying on the roof. Or was it the ceiling? She couldn’t think. What was the last thing she remembered from
this
world? The sensation of whizzing through space, a free fall, and then the
bang
as the van plowed into something nose-first. Her back had slammed the windshield, and she’d rebounded, flying past the steering wheel,her shoulder clipping the driver’s side headrest as she shot for the rear window, as Lily screamed and
screamed
.
    “Lily?” Her voice came out in a weak little wheeze. “Lil?”
    “Hey.” The boy squirmed in, sloshing through gasoline until his face was right up to