ã€ŠWolves of the Apocalypseã€‹


 Life Before Death

    Jase gave no indication he had awoken. He listened for an absence of movement before opening his eyes to the static grey of his barely lit empty room. The sole amenity beyond the mattress left in the corner, a water heater unplugged on the otherwise bare counter. Through it, water went from a bottle into Jase¡¯s last breakfast ration. He wouldn¡¯t drink from anything else. The faucet was nearly sealed with calcium from disuse.

    The remains of the ration¡¯s packaging went into one of a growing mound of trash bags and Jase pried a panel from the wall and removed two laptops from the interior, then replaced the panel and retrieved two hard drives from a hidden compartment beneath the floor. Depositing them on the bed, he clambered onto the counter and removed the light fixture. From the hole he withdrew a blue card with a rook emblem imprinted on the face.

    After returning the light to its proper place, Jase installed the hard drives and entered some commands into the window that popped up, then swiped the card through a reader accessory when prompted for each.

    On one screen a box listed codenames of clients and prospective clients, the other screen contained identity information, access passes, clearance codes, and several other data fields fitting the ¡°restricted¡± tag gracing their window. This monitor occupied many hours of his time before he pulled a flash drive concealed in the lining of his mattress and migrated the information he collected to the other laptop.

    Messages came in as he sent files to the names on his client list. Additional requests and ¡°friendly¡± reminders weren¡¯t uncommon, but Jase preferred the usual payment with an occasional death threat. With a hand on each keyboard he searched through information and managed his clients simultaneously. His only frustration was he had no third arm to move the flash drive between computers without interrupting one of his workflows.

    Long after he settled into the motions, through no action of his own, dialogue boxes suddenly obscured his screens. He froze, staring at the blinking cursor intruding into his virtual space.

    hello jase

    He ripped the hard drives out and reduced them to fragments at the head of a hammer, then listened. He was hesitant to crack open his door, glanced down either end of the hallway before so much as sticking his head out. Finding no human or humanoid figure illuminated in the flickering lights, he scurried across the hall to retrieve a red card from behind the opposite apartment¡¯s number panel.

    In the safety of his apartment he recovered another laptop taped to the side of a cabinet and logged in. Officer manifests, patrol routes, list of recent outbreaks, but nothing about an information breach nor any increase in activity in the immediate area.

    Jase let out a sigh of relief and cut the connection. Though the unsolicited greeting left him uneasy, the absence of his name in the red card database meant he was still anonymous in the only way he cared about. The pulverized hard drives scattered across the counter were a more immediate concern. He couldn¡¯t care less about what was on them. Most of it was potential evidence he would have destroyed anyways and everything he cared to preserve was backed up and encrypted, but he would need new computers if he didn¡¯t want to use his backup laptop to broker information.

    Additionally, the possibility existed the blue card gave him away to whoever or whatever breached his computers in the first place. His sense of self-preservation would not allow him to use it again, but it wasn¡¯t the kind of thing that could suddenly appear in the trash without arousing suspicion.

    The empty box of rations next to the pile of trash further impressed upon him the stagnation of his feeble living area. It was not difficult to conclude he needed to venture outside, as averse as he was to the notion.

    Reluctantly, Jase shook the dust from his dresser and dressed to go out. He was about to dawn his jacket, a heavy thing bulky with extra fabric around the forearms and a high collar to guard the neck, when he heard a slow scratching from the window.

    Jase opened the shutters to a silvery cat sitting on the windowsill whose meow at the sight of him was inaudible until the window was opened. ¡°Hey there, Smudge. Still alive?¡±

    The cat patiently let Jase pet it before attending to the empty ration pack he left at its feet, licking up the nutrient rich juices clinging to the wrapper. Jase grabbed his backpack from beneath the counter, tossed the remains of his hard drives into a trash bag along with the empty ration box and the cat¡¯s cleaned wrapper when he noticed it watching him watching from the window.

    After permitting him to pet it once more, the cat nimbly leapt from window to window, seemingly uncaring that the slightest slip up could send it falling seventy-four stories into the streets of a mega city stretching from one end of the horizon to the other.

    Jase closed the window, threw the garbage bags over his shoulder, slipped the blue card into the lining of his shoe, put the red card back in its hiding place before boarding the elevator. Disregarding the perfectly good trash chute on his floor, he went up to the seventy-seventh floor to dispose of his refuse before descending to the third floor which was committed to a tram station.You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

    Selecting a card from a small booklet of near identical tram passes, Jase boarded a tram toward the distribution center. He didn¡¯t bother browsing the aisles of unbranded merchandise. He gathered what he needed and waited in line. A woman in front of him wasted his time trying to convince the cashier to let her go over her weekly ration limit because she had the funds. Jase kept careful track of his chip¡¯s limits so when he came close to reaching it, he¡¯d select a different one from a keyring he kept in his backpack, though he never used more than one in the same store.

    He reached the capacity of his pack before using up his chips. When that happened, he found an electronics store and bought replacement laptops. The clerk tried to sell him on the newest models with limited time deals and discounts, but Jase disregarded anything other than what he came for.

    He passed two peacekeepers on the way out, their presence being odd in an electronics store, but Jase knew better than to draw attention to himself by paying them any. Before the automatic door shut between them, he overheard one of them inform the clerk they were going to inspect any recent transactions.

    Rather than find the nearest transit station, Jase turned sharply down an alley. He ripped an identity chip from his keyring and dropped the rest down a drain. There were three cell phones in his backpack, he tossed all of them down pipes and gutters as he passed them. There was no excuse if he was caught with this much food on him at once, but the punishment for throwing away rations was worse than unlawful stockpiling.

    He rounded a corner right on time to hear the plastic like clunk of peacekeeper boots at the end of the alley. If he was not calm he did not show it, his eyes darted from beneath half-closed lids between park benches, display stands, open vehicles, anywhere at the edge of security camera coverage he could inconspicuously drop his backpack and claim reasonable disassociation if it was found.

    His lapse in focus on the path ahead of him led to a head on collision leaving him looking right into the visors of a squad of peacekeepers.

    ¡°Excuse me, officers,¡± Jase mumbled in a semi-authentic bored tone.

    ¡°Wait,¡± one of the peacekeepers commanded, his voice bearing static from his helmet¡¯s speaker.

    Jase knew what was happening. His face must have just been uploaded to the city¡¯s search network. If that was the case, there was no getting away. He let the few seconds the facial recognition required run its course and came quietly when ushered into a squad car. They didn¡¯t need to cuff him. Jase knew better than to resist.

    The peacekeepers led him by cuff and collar into the precinct, the only place an on-duty peacekeeper could be seen without their helmet and the last place a law-abiding citizen wanted to see if they wished to keep their rights.

    When it was their turn at the processing window, Jase¡¯s peacekeeper separated his computers, emptied his backpack of its contents, and emptied his pockets. The attendant on the other side of the window plugged Jase¡¯s identity chip into the computer and a name that wasn¡¯t his popped up.

    ¡°You¡¯re a long way from your home district, Mr. Tarkovsky,¡± the attendant droned.

    ¡°The distribution center was busy,¡± Jase replied with disinterest prompting a shove from a peacekeeper for belligerence.

    ¡°The suspect is implicated via anonymous tip in the forgery and use of false identity chips and suspected identity theft. Aside from a quantity of rations exceeding his household stockpiling limit nothing suspicious was found in his possession.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ve been getting a lot of ¡®tips¡¯ today,¡± the attendant sighed. ¡°All the holding cells are full. Put him in a quarantine cell to await processing.¡±

    The peacekeepers gave a militaristic affirmative and took Jase to a wing of the precinct separated from the rest by a glass wall. The plexiglass cubby they shoved him in was only just large enough to fit a body laying down. After indifferently waiting for his cuffs¡¯ removal and noting the pop of his ears once the door sealed shut and depressurized, Jase slumped into the bench extending from the back wall to await his turn for processing.

    Across the lobby he spotted the holding cells he would have occupied had he been caught earlier. There was barely enough floorspace to contain its current occupants. Part of him thought to appreciate sitting in his airtight bubble rather thanmashed in with thieves, assailants, and perpetrators of sexual misconduct, but given a choice, he''d rather be anywhere else.

    Looking through the transparent walls of the cells, the few occupied contained citizens near death. Usually victims of violent crimes awaiting transfer to a medical facility and elderly individuals apprehended for refusing to admit themselves to a home for orderly disposal.

    The old man huddled in the corner of the adjacent cell looked at Jase between coughing fits like an intruder, young and healthy as he was. Jase disregarded his gaze but noticed the red spatter on the old fellow¡¯s hands and wall. Without getting up, Jase tapped on the glass between him and the watchman¡¯s desk.

    The watchman glanced up from his digital book and turned on the intercom in Jase¡¯s cell. ¡°What do you want?¡±

    ¡°This guy¡¯s started hemorrhaging,¡± Jase drolly replied, motioning with his head toward the adjacent cell.

    The watchman shifted forward in his seat to look in, then hit a button on his control panel and went back to reading. A few minutes later, three peacekeepers in hazmat suits arrived. Two of them loaded the old man onto a gurney and sealed him in a body bag, then the third disinfected the cell with a combination of a chemical hose and a UV light, finishing it off with an alcohol fire Jase felt through the plexiglass.

    The old man was in a coughing fit the whole way to the elevator now that there was no need to conceal his condition. At least Jase didn¡¯t have to listen to it. Not much sound made it through the cell¡¯s walls. With that in mind, Jase tapped the glass again and pointed to his ear and then a monitor across the room displaying city wide news. Deciding it was the best way to be left alone, the watchman relented.

 Life After Death

    Activity in the precinct abruptly lulled once Jase was brought in. All that meant to him is the tv didn¡¯t have to compete for sound dominance.

    It was odd though, because rush hour usually keeps the peacekeepers active. More people than ever were battling the tide of traffic, which is why nearly the whole city fell to a standstill when the missiles crested the horizon.

    The news broadcast turned abruptly to focus on the missiles, speculating fireworks or a military display as they maneuvered above and around the taller skyscrapers. A riotous gasp preceded the panic when they exploded at regular intervals into a thick, blue mist, distinct against the overcast sky.

    Sirens immediately blared. Auto locks denied sanctuary to all but the first of the throngs of people desperately beating against the windows and doors. Those with the morbid fortune to be inside watched in horror as the gas consumed the streets like a flood. The futile pounding on the walls weakened as the doomed citizens gradually succumbed. The briefest sense of perverse relief only just set in when the air vents suddenly latched open, followed by a cut to the main power, and the blue gas poured into the building.

    Jase appreciated the blackout cutting power to the intercom, saving him from the cries and pleas of those denied their sanctuary. Emergency power kicked in minutes later, but by then the precinct was still.

    He paced at first, but it quickly became clear he was wasting energy. The blackout made keeping time simple since the clocks reset. The blue gas cleared within ten minutes of emergency power turning on. Whether that meant the contagion was gone or simply not visible, Jase didn¡¯t know. Three hours in he suspected this ventilation failure wasn¡¯t an isolated incident, otherwise a response team would have checked on them by now. At four hours, it occurred to him his oxygen supply in the quarantine cell was not infinite. When the clocks struck five, Jase¡¯s unwillingness to wait for rescue outweighed his fear of any lingering contagion.

    By design the holding cell inhibited attempts to escape. The glass was bulletproof, the sole piece of furniture he might have used to chip it was bolted down, and the lock was electronic. In consideration of that, Jase recalled the blue card hidden in his shoe, not entirely certain if it carried access to peacekeeper quarantine cells.

    Jase swiped the card across the back of the door panel a few dozen times, but the sensor wasn¡¯t sensitive enough to detect a swipe, much less read it. His jacket had wire support like any other. Digging out a few lengths from the lining, he tried shoving it between the door, but the sealing insulation was too tough. The bench was bolted down, but it wasn¡¯t indestructible. Some violent jostling was enough to dislodge a panel narrow enough to dig away at the rubbery filling.

    Fifteen minutes of digging and a brief period of panic when the pressure stabilized got him an opening wide enough to fit the card. The air hadn¡¯t killed him yet, so he coiled a wire around the card, hung it from another and snaked it through the opening, around the door, and over the security panel.

    He held it there, but nothing happened. He had less than a centimeter to maneuver with on his side and his sweat tormented his grip. The card eventually fell off the hook, but not before the panel registered a read and the lock clicked.

    The others incarcerated in the quarantine cells watched fevered with anticipation as Jase breathed the free air. Failing to die, he let his satisfaction briefly show on his face. The gas seemed to have settled into a fine, pollen-like dust. It might have been inert or it might need to be inhaled; regardless, Jase minimized contact with his bare skin.

    Ignoring the other quarantined prisoners, Jase reclaimed his things from the evidence room, found the building manager¡¯s key, and put the precinct behind him.

    Apathy was difficult to maintain in the bleak city streets. The digital signage displaying their emergency ¡°quarantine, stay inside¡± notification came across with increasing mockery with every building Jase peered into. After passing five with no signs of life, he stopped checking.

    Sticking to the center of the road was the best way to avoid stumbling, but the roads were regularly closed down with security barricades. Oddly though, some failed to close when lockdown was established. Some could be attributed to vehicles in the way, but others were fully functional and wide open.

    Jase turned on a swivel at the sound of breaking glass echoing down back alley sparsely populated with the dead. The corpses were still many hours out, possibilities ranged from survivors, response teams, or the party or parties responsible for the attack.

    Cautiously, he strayed toward the direction of the sound. He wandered a seldom used back street, unsure of what to look for, but certain when he found a woman sprinkled with broken glass laying motionless between two buildings.

    The glass seemed to be from a window several stories up. If a crack on the opposite building meant anything, she must have failed to leap from one building to the next. Her dark suit was a far cry from civilian fatigues and peacekeeper uniforms, but not so much as her gas mask caked with blue dust around the filter. A badge dangled from her blazer depicting an emblem of a rook and her arm hung limp over a case showing ballistic damage, but most telling detail was the retention of color in her skin.

    She was warm to the touch. Jase pried off the gasmask and held a finger under her neck, but before he could detect a pulse she suddenly gasped and jerked from his grip. Jase shoved her away and put as much space between them as the confines of the alley would allow, but she did the same. She pressed herself against the wall with the case in her arms, eyes darting around like a cornered animal.

    ¡°You!¡± she maniacally called when she noticed Jase was present and alive. ¡°You¡¯re not one of them?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m no one important!¡± he stammered.

    The woman¡¯s legs folded unsettlingly beneath her when she lurched forward and thrust the case into Jase¡¯s arms, pleading, ¡°Take it! Please, take it!¡±A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

    ¡°Woah, woah, I don¡¯t want your case! Just tell me if there¡¯s a safehouse nearby and I¡¯ll¨C¡±

    ¡°Nonono you have to take it! It can¡¯t stay here! They knew! They knew and they came for it! They came and everyone died!¡±

    ¡°Slow down, who came?¡±

    ¡°Go! Take it somewhere safe! Somewhere far from me! Now!¡±

    The woman suddenly seized up and gagged on her words. Spasmed on the floor when Jase managed to break her iron grip and staggered away. Out of the corner of his eye he might have seen a cracked syringe with a feather like a tranquilizer dart fall from the folds of her clothes, but he couldn¡¯t tear his eyes from her darkening veins creeping from under her collar. By the time he¡¯d backed out of the alley her skin had given over to the color of rust and muscles squirmed and expanded underneath.

    Jase took off the way he came as fast as he could bear, but the anguished gasping rose to meet him until ending in a guttural cry. The mass of flesh emerging from the alley only partially resembled the woman it used to be. Easily three times its original size, bone and muscle pushed through skin, one leg dragged behind it like a sock full of mud, the other partially useful with only a single fracture. It dragged itself after Jase with terrifying speed the instant it spotted him with its puss-yellow eyes, snarling with every breath through its chewed off lips.

    With only its arms and one partially useful leg it was still faster than Jase. He scanned the bodies carpeting the ground, for the inability to turn a corner without bumping into one when the city was alive, it took him forever to find a dead peacekeeper. He pulled at the sidearm, but holster would not surrender the weapon until the peacekeeper¡¯s wrist was near the mechanism. He fired at the monster, but the safety locked the trigger. The creature was uncomfortably close when he finally got some shots off into its leading arm. The stun darts were far from lethal, but their collective charge paralyzed the arm long enough to put distance between them.

    A cord prevented the weapon from leaving the body, so Jase ran unarmed until coming to a dead end. Paths opened up on either direction, but the highway was on the other side of the gate, and while quarantine was in effect any other path would take him in circles. So, he ran along the wall until he came across a maintenance hatch. It and its control panel were locked down tight as always, but Jase smashed the panel open with the case he neglected to drop and crossed wires until the hatch opened. He never thought he¡¯d be so happy to see an on ramp when he emerged on the other side of the barrier.

    The faint hope the bloated creature might not fit through the hatch was dashed when its starved wails echoed through the shaft and it pressed itself through the opening to the detriment of its own flesh. Its putrid visage pressed through the opening soon enough to spot Jase rounding up the ramp, a point it reached before he was halfway up, and it was gaining.

    The vehicles littering the road were abandoned shortly after the missiles went off. Jase wasn¡¯t about to count on their owners leaving their keys behind, but he reached into an open car and disengaged its parking break. It barely lurched before the monster reached its bumper, and it carried the thing partway down the ramp before it leapt off. Encouraged by this, Jase did it again, this time with enough space between them to pick up enough speed for a substantial impact. It didn¡¯t ride it down the ramp this time, rather catching it and flipping the car over the railing.

    The last vehicle on the ramp was a flatbed. It took forever to start moving, but it didn¡¯t even bump when it hit the creature, carrying it all the way down the ramp and into a building, bisecting it at the waist.

    Jase was slow to believe it was over, but when the exhaustion caught up to him he hit the floor and laid there. That was more exercise than he got in a year and more excitement he intended to have in his lifetime; now that the adrenalin was ebbing away he felt just as dead as anyone else in the city and twice as miserable. The difference being he could move right now, and he¡¯d have to if he wanted to live.

    Legs trembling, barely able to bear his weight, he hobbled to the closest car. When he found the keys he callously dumped the limp driver into the road and turned on the heater. There, in the driver¡¯s seat he contemplated his exhaustion, his survival, the damned case he tossed in the passenger¡¯s seat, but mostly he dwelled on his own misfortune and whether or not he¡¯d be better off dying right then and there.

    As if to answer his question, the car lurched upward and a gurgling howl mingled with crumpling metal and cracking glass. Jase floored the accelerator, but the front wheels spun freely until the mutation reached in and they could touch only long enough to pull forward a few feet before the monster¡¯s weight lifted them again. Jase was battered senseless before the thing became frustrated and flipped the car over the railing, then he was helpless to watch as the ground rushed at him from four stories away.

    A combination of an airbag and a compulsive need to put on a seatbelt even in a stationary vehicle saved Jase¡¯s life, or prolonged his suffering, depending on the perspective. He was in so much pain and the simple act of breathing was so labored he didn¡¯t realize he¡¯d survived until death crashed through a nearby car.

    He pulled himself from his wreckage before the monster pried itself from its own. The arm it landed on dragged limp behind it, but Jase barely had the faculties to stand anymore. Limping, then stumbling, then crawling with the same desperation the creature pursued him, it didn¡¯t occur to him the creature¡¯s rasping weakened with every lunge. Lethargic from the gallons of ruddy fluids draining through its waist, the creature slowed to an ultimate collapse less than an arm¡¯s reach from Jase. It might have been conscious, hungry, but no longer able to move.

    As far as Jase was concerned, if it got up and killed him now, it earned it.

    Drawn by the noise, a curious, mostly silver cat came to investigate.

    ¡°That you, Smudge?¡± Jase muttered when he noticed it perched on a nearby car, completely apathetic to the enormous abomination. ¡°Are you¡­ alive?¡±

    To his eternal disbelief, the cat meowed once, groomed itself, then meowed again the way it does when it¡¯s hungry. It didn¡¯t seem to care the ration he opened for it was dry.

    Now that it looked like he was going to live after all, Jase limped off to find a way back to the highway from whatever part of the city he landed in. The case sitting in the wreckage floated through his mind barely long enough to consciously disregard it.

    Things weren¡¯t looking good when he abruptly stopped and backtracked a few steps to a notice board like any of the thousand others on this road alone, except this one didn¡¯t have a quarantine notice, it was occupied by a featureless command prompt reading only,

    ¡°hello jase¡±

    No one up the street, no one down the street. Even the cat had wandered off.

    ¡°Thirty degrees east by north east

    mega city armitage

    trust slowly

    they thought it was worth a city

    what is it worth to you?

    commandcode -Lupa¡±

    The window closed and an error report popped up in the prompt¡¯s place. Almost immediately a nearby quarantine gate opened.

    Jase groaned, now certain he was being watched. After much thought, he retrieved the battered case from the crushed car, harvested phones and batteries from the nearby corpses, confirming they had a compass function before following the newly opened path to the highway.

    Sitting in the driver¡¯s seat of a peacekeeper cruiser was a unique experience, but not nearly as odd as the cat when it leapt in and curled up in front of the heater. Jase considered kicking it out. That it managed to survive in the city where hygiene and cleanliness was paramount was suspicious on its own, to say nothing about making it through the gassing. Deciding it wasn¡¯t worth the effort, he let it lie. He had several hours to drive before reaching the edge of the city. Then come the wilds.

 A Stranger in the Den

    A red glow illuminated the interior of a troop chopper loaded with two spec-ops fireteams and two agents dressed more for the rain than a military operation.

    The older agent was asleep with his collar pulled up and feet propped on the opposite seat. The other was the freshest face in the helicopter, young and anxious, loading clips for her sidearm to steady her nerves.

    The helicopter weaved between towers, the streets below an undulating, grey mass like grass in the wind. When the target building was identified, it ascended to reach the roof and the red light in the holding bay flashed. There was a stir of fabrics and clicking of firing mechanisms moving into place as the soldiers prepared to move out.

    After the bump of a touchdown, the light went out and the soldiers streamed into the rain. Only then did the older agent see fit to stir and accompany his partner after their contingent. After blowing the lock, the fireteams moved in with mechanical efficiency. The elevators inoperable, small arms fire rattled down the stairwell until the fireteams reached the hundred and ninety second floor. At that point they split, one set up a barricade between them and the lower floors, the other cleared the floor.

    At their brisk walk, the agents didn¡¯t see more than bodies and muzzle flashes in the dark. The leader of the primary fire team stopped them at the entrance to their destination with the warning of a hit on the heartbeat monitor.

    The agents drew their sidearms and the fireteams worked with hatchets and knives moving forward for the sake of discretion, losing no efficiency in spite of it. The first sign of anything other than the dead was a light shining through a cracked door.

    Peering in, the older agent identified a tall man typing at a massive monitor. He wore a dark duster damp with the spatter of the bodies littering the floor and a black helmet devoid even of eye holes, obscuring everything above the neck in a smooth obsidian skull. The agent signaled his fireteam to circle around. A nervous nod from his young partner and he threw the door open, but did not expose himself.

    ¡°ICC, identify yourself!¡±

    Without looking away from the monitor, the figure unloaded a hand cannon into the wall, nearly nicking the agent with bullet fragments and thoroughly dusting him with wall fibers. The younger agent opened fire, but the older one warned, ¡°you¡¯ll hit the mainframe!¡±

    At the sound of gunfire, the fireteam blasted through the wall of an adjacent room and fired blindly through the dust.

    Unperturbed, the figure turned from the monitor, whipped out a machine pistol, and suppressed the fireteam¡¯s movement. He dropped the empty hand cannon in favor of an sub-machine gun concealed in his coat and the agents took advantage of the brief pause to take up positions with a better angle.

    A dozen shots glanced peppered the figure, but they were little more than an inconvenience until one of the soldiers unloaded a shotgun into his arm, nearly severing his wrist, and then into his leg, taking him down to one knee, but not removing him from the fight. A direct shot to the head and a plume of grey matter only incapacitated him long enough to remove an injured soldier and relocate to structurally sound cover before bullets started flying again. There was a pause when the monitor declared a completed task, with his good hand the figure removed a memory card and emptied a magazine into the computer.

    With a panicked cry, the younger agent charged from cover into the figure, carrying him through furniture, two walls, and a printer with all the subtlety of a locomotive, ending in a bone shattering impact with the high rise¡¯s reinforced windows. Between collisions, the figure grabbed the agent¡¯s own knife and jabbed her, doing little to slow her down, but giving him a point of leverage to further stress the clear gap in skill. If not for the Kevlar weave of her coat, the three shots he put into her after tossing her aside would have ended her.Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    The fireteam¡¯s sergeant appeared with fresh shells. The second shot broke the window and the third knocked him through it.

    ¡°You alright?¡± the older agent asked, helping his partner to her feet.

    ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± she sputtered through the shame. Turning so the knife faced him. ¡°How¡¯s it look?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ll live.¡± The older agent whistled and a soldier tossed a spray can. He dusted the area twice then returned the knife with barely a dribble of blood in its place.

    The figure was still falling when they got to the window, rag dolling occasionally off the building¡¯s taper. His landing wasn¡¯t audible at that height, but infinitely more disturbing as they watched the barely coherent mangled mass of limbs pull itself from the car it landed in and hobble toward an underground accessway before the hoards could close in around him.

    ¡°The hell was that?¡± the younger agent asked.

    ¡°An escalation of urgency.¡± The older agent returned to the mainframe room and spoke into his wrist. ¡°This is agent Holt, we encountered a humanoid hostile entity, suspected operator: Revenant. Over.¡±

    ¡°Repeat, agent Holt. Confirming presence of operator Revenant?¡±

    ¡°You heard me! Holt out.¡± The older agent swore as he attempted to access the damaged computer in vain. ¡°Hardware¡¯s blown to shit. Pack up the hard drives.¡±

    They hauled the city mainframe¡¯s suitcase sized hard drives up to the roof and took off before the second fire team ran out of bullets in the stairwell.

    Down below, the dark figure dragged himself deeper into the subway tunnels. When he was sure the roaming dead lost interest in him, he sat down and worked his arm until it faced its original angle, then flexed the fingers until they regained their shape. With a newly operable hand he snapped his severed wrist which had begun to heal in its dangled position and held it in place until it could support itself, then let it hang limp. He twisted his head until it was no longer locked sideways and pushed his vertebrae into place, sometimes snapping tendons first if they¡¯d already healed incorrectly. By then the nerves in his other hand reconnected, allowing him more dexterous corrections.

    Drawn by snapping and tearing, a straggling dead staggered nearby. If its dragging did not give itself away its involuntary haggard breathing did, but the figure disregarded it until it was nearly on him. A single shot above the left eye, not even worth a glance. Just a momentary distraction between him and getting on his feet.

    Upon their return to basecamp, the agents were flagged down to the command tent where the coordinators were patching up a conference call. They hadn¡¯t been in the tent long enough to shake the rain from their coats before the officer on the other end impatiently called them over.

    ¡°About time. I thought your chopper went down in the storm. Talk to me, Holt.¡±

    ¡°The mainframe was sabotaged before we could access it. Maybe the techies can recover something, tell us what happened after the bombs went off.¡±

    ¡°Gather all the evidence you can. Councilors want to hold someone accountable and it¡¯s our asses until we figure out why nothing worked.¡±

    ¡°You mind telling us what Revenant was doing and what he wanted with the mainframe, major?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s above your clearance level, agent.¡±

    ¡°I lost a man and two more will be medically discharged.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re lucky you didn¡¯t lose your whole team. Get those hard drives to operations, Holt.¡±

    A field operator burst into suddenly burst into the tent with a plastic wrapped tablet in his hand. ¡°Agents, major! We¡¯ve located agent Rickles¡¯ tracker!¡± Unbidden, he linked the screen footage to that of a drone hovering beneath a highway where a once human torso laid in a clearing of the dead. The rain had yet to wash away a trail of refuse linking it to two smashed cars.

    ¡°I thought contagion blue didn¡¯t make augers,¡± the younger agent remarked.

    ¡°Someone put that here,¡± Holt replied.

    ¡°Who killed it?¡± the field operator nervously asked.

    ¡°Perhaps a meeting with the commander is in order,¡± the major solemnly stated. ¡°I expect you both at headquarters as soon as you finish your investigation. Major Simmons out.¡±

    The tension in the tent alleviated the instant the feed cut, except the younger agent, who sighed to herself a soft yet course, ¡°dammit.¡±

 A Waste of Life

    Jase was still unaccustomed to waking up in the wilderness. He always panicked as if he only just realized he was not in his saferoom, then to add to the disorientation, light made the surroundings look different than when he settled in the dark. Not that there was much to see; it was difficult to say if it was a typical winter or the wilderness was simply dead.

    Rations that should have lasted him weeks disappeared by the day to make up all the energy he wasn¡¯t used to expending. He grew numb to the soreness by the fourth day, but the razor¡¯s edge his psyche teetered over never dulled. Every sound and shadow could and would kill him; the instant he stopped believing that, it would certainly come true.

    So, he ate dry rations in silence, kept all of his trash so he left no trail to follow, and often considered skinning that cat which only reappeared to beg for food in a way which could alert everything living and otherwise within five hundred yards to their location. But most of all, he kept his eyes open.

    The wilderness was dead but restless. Crumbled remains of old highways and cars neglected for decades were common. Much less common but not nonexistent were the nearly skeletal former inhabitants of the old world. Days could go by without spotting one standing still, waiting for some stimulation. Mostly lacking eyes, they gravitated slowly toward sounds or vibrations; each other, if more were nearby. Jase lost an entire day hiding in the trunk of a car when a hoard following their own rasping moans passed by.

    Thirst was the first to threaten his survival. He only had a few bottles, not from lack of supply, there was only so much he could carry between the rations, the phone and batteries, and the case. That case he devoted the time between meals and sleep to opening, to no avail. It had no latch, barely a seam, and all but impervious to damage. Any damage he thought he could inflict without drawing attention to himself, but his judgement declined with his hydration.

    On the fourth day without water he was so overcome with thirst when he stumbled on a pond, he didn¡¯t notice the decaying elk partially submerged on its bank until it groaned at him. If it fouled the water, dunking his head wasn¡¯t enough for the infection to take. He wasn¡¯t about to take the risk and left the mound of elk to putrefy before its weak baying attracted anything capable of chasing him.

    That evening, when the cat came for its chunk of a ration, Jase considered how long the fluids coursing through its body would sustain him; then it occurred to him he hadn¡¯t watered it once. When it finished its breakfast the next morning, Jase stalked it through the dead woods, a task made easy by its stark coat. His waning patience paid off when it arrived at a hollow tree harboring a small pool of crystal-clear water.

    The cat wasn¡¯t too happy to be interrupted, but there was enough for it to lap after Jase filled a bottle and got as many mouthfuls as the opening would permit his frame to access. Reliably leading him to fresh water was the least it could do for the food, as far as Jase was concerned; and the only reason he didn¡¯t immediately kill it for meat when the rations eventually ran out. He suspected it might abandon him once he stopped supplying food, but it kept with him, perhaps under the impression he was holding out, or maybe following the scent clinging to the wrappers.

    Nights got colder to the point Jase nearly considered risking a fire. But his mind was made up when the cat signaled its presence with a growl rather than a sassy mewl. An inaudible speck of a helicopter combed the horizon. Jase immediately found high ground and zoomed in on the chopper with the phone¡¯s camera.

    It was a black, unmarked thing, understandably armed, but Jase had a suspicion of its purpose, and rescue was not one of the possibilities. He remained hidden and it left when the sun began to set. The next evening it appeared on the horizon behind him, flying its search pattern over the grizzly terrain until nightfall.Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

    From then on, Jase consumed precious battery power to illuminate his path a few hours every night to outpace the helicopter. The extra activity helped to battle the cold but did not solve the problem.

    A night came when the cat decided sleeping alone was no longer a preferable alternative and surprised Jase by curling up on his stomach. He appreciated the shared body heat, however little, but it felt as if a whole person stood on him; when he commented on it, the thing flexed its claws almost spitefully.

    If not for the calendar on the phone, Jase would have lost track of the weeks. Doubts about the probity of the directions flooded his mind, the existence of the helicopter fueled his paranoia; but he had little choice but to continue thirty degrees east by northeast.

    One month, three weeks, four days, twelve and a half hours. Completely starved, barely warm enough to stave off hypothermia, at the brink of his own sanity, Jase was reluctant to believe his own eyes when he saw the angular protrusion of a tower tease him from the horizon. As tall as they are built, he was still two days out, but its existence drew a smirk.

    Gratification of his survival sustained him to his final obstacle. A stagnant river stood between him and the city, a few dozen feet wide at its narrowest, fish skeletons carpeting the banks, its depth impossible to gauge through the murk.

    The dead wood from the forest was barely buoyant enough to remain afloat without added weight and its structural integrity couldn¡¯t be counted on. The only option flew in the face of every instinct that got him this far. Yet, he was starving.

    Beckoning the cat, it clambered onto his shoulders, and after balancing under its unusual weight, he held his jacket, backpack, and the case over his head and trudged into the river.

    He moved slowly, partially to keep his balance and partially because he was blindly feeling his way across the bottom, shying away from every bump and flinching every time he imagined something brushing his leg. The water gradually rose until he craned his neck. The cat edged away, digging its claws to avoid the river. About halfway across the water leveled out. Remaining upright reduced their pace to an unbearable crawl, but the tension went down when the bottom of the river began to incline.

    Then something tugged Jase¡¯s leg.

    The startled cat cried indignantly and held on for dear life while Jase struggled to keep his head above water. He struggled to breathe and free himself and keep his luggage dry all at the same time, then failed all three when a sharp jab spiked through his leg.

    At some point, the cat swam the rest of the way on its own. Jase dragged himself ashore with the upper half of a dead man with no lower jaw driving its upper jaw into his exposed calf. Its skull had the integrity of wet cardboard, but the damage was done. A terrifying amount of blood oozed from his leg, but blood loss was the least of his worries.

    His jacket became a tourniquet. The sharpest rock he found only left bruises and he lacked the flexibility to reach the wound with his mouth. Even if he had the tools, doubts arose about his ability to amputate his own leg, and further doubts circulated regarding his ability to survive it.

    Jase dragged himself to the base of the nearest tree, jammed the case in a crevasse between the roots, and swept a light covering of dirt over it. Pitiful camouflage was all he could manage in his state. Righting himself on his good leg with the tree for support, he started hobbling toward the skyline. Though it dulled the pain, desperation denied him the sensibility to keep his heartrate low or weight off his bitten leg.

    The grey ring ate away at the edge of his vision until he could barely make out where he would place his next step. Trees put themselves in his path as if with a will of their own and the pounding in his ears mutated the shuffling of his feet into ripping and snarling.

    Suddenly the forest opened up and Jase found himself a hundred yards from a perimeter gate.

    Guards startled by his appearance pointed guns. Jase waved his arms and cried for them not to shoot, or maybe he begged them to put him out of his misery, he had no control over his words.

    He didn¡¯t get to see what they acted on because at the foot of civilization his consciousness left him.

 Den Mother

    Tori unwillingly matched Holt¡¯s industrious pace through the facility, simultaneously dreading their arrival and eager to get it over with.

    Major Simmons and a half dozen other officers stood around a table full of documents while a logistics specialist explained the relation between them. At the end of the table sat a giant of a woman, seven and a half feet tall, scarred down the right of her face with burns, and supported by a prosthetic left leg and right arm, which at her scale could qualify as heavy equipment. Her uniform was unbuttoned to display a tattoo below her collar depicting a barcode with the Greek beta. She was also Tori¡¯s perfect image, though weathered with experience, scars and stature notwithstanding.

    The rhythm of the room didn¡¯t falter when Tori and Holt walked in, though Tori couldn¡¯t help perceiving judgement directed at them. The officers deliberated on the information presented to them, then turned their attention on the agents.

    Holt tossed a plastic bag on the table containing a pill shaped device spattered brown. ¡°That tracker was inside a dead type one auger, bisected and neutralized before ICC arrived, no ballistic damage. Best as we can tell, it didn¡¯t eat her.¡±

    ¡°You think it was Rickles?¡± one of the officers asked.

    ¡°Probably. Lab results will confirm it in an hour or two.¡±

    ¡°How many powers have access to the calliergo strain?¡±

    ¡°At least three we¡¯re aware of,¡± the logistics officer replied. ¡°But only SpireTech could produce enough contagion blue to disperse over a city.¡±

    ¡°We can¡¯t confirm Rickles¡¯ attacker is the same to attack the city.¡±

    ¡°Given the number of interest groups, it seems unlikely,¡± the logistics analyst added.

    ¡°But who knew Rickles was there? Her team¡¯s movements were heavily covered up.¡±

    The room quieted and it became apparent the woman at the end of the table was going to say something.

    ¡°Is that all?¡± she stated, cold as steel.

    ¡°Until the analysts are done,¡± Holt answered.

    ¡°What about the package?¡± Simmons asked.

    ¡°No signs.¡¯

    ¡°Chatter indicates other groups are still looking,¡± the logistics analyst replied. ¡°We would know if it was recovered.¡±

    ¡°Then we¡¯ll start reclamation efforts from districts K-12 and J-13. With any luck, the package didn¡¯t make it far. Elsewise, we¡¯ll pick it up in a sweep.¡±

    ¡°A dustup will take years!¡± cried the head of intelligence. ¡°For all we know it¡¯s no longer in the city! If it is, every second it stays out of ICC custody is time a rogue operator has to find it! Interest groups are already moving within our walls! Revenant proved as much.¡±

    ¡°Not to diminish the significance of the topic at hand, but what about the quarantine failure?¡± the security officer asked. ¡°The buildings were specifically designed to withstand this kind of biological attack! Are we going to ignore the breach of security to look for this ¡®package?¡¯¡±

    ¡°Someone thought it was valuable enough to wipe out a whole city. If we can¡¯t recover it, we should do everything we can to destroy it!¡±

    ¡°Quiet,¡± the woman at the end of the table commanded. ¡°Officer Mills, you will oversee investigating the failsafes. Find out what went wrong and why, then purge the rest of our locations of the error.¡±

    ¡°Yes ma¡¯am,¡± the security officer respectfully replied.

    ¡°Major, continue clearing out the city. Prioritize recovering supplies for redistribution. We will divert manpower and equipment from any facility that can spare it.¡±

    ¡°Right away, commander,¡± Simmons affirmed.

    ¡°What about the package?¡± one of the officers asked, surprised and the impertinence in his own voice.

    ¡°Holt, I am reassigning you and your partner,¡± she continued after holding the officer¡¯s gaze like a knife to his throat ¡°You will pick up where agent Rickles left off. Resources will be made available as needed.¡±

    ¡°With all due respect, commander,¡± the officer nervously interjected. ¡°Given the gravity of events, recovering the package and neutralizing the hostile party should be top priority.¡±

    When it became apparent the commander did not see fit to provide a reply, Simmons said, ¡°We are stretched thin as it is. A larger force will be committed when a lead is found.¡±Stolen novel; please report.

    ¡°If it¡¯s as significant as the late agent Rickles assured before deviating from her original mission, why don¡¯t we recall operative Hammond and put him on it?¡±

    The name invoked a hush over the conference room, one only the commander saw fit to break.

    ¡°Report to analytics. They should be done sifting through the security footage by now.¡±

    ¡°If I may be so bold,¡± Holt replied. ¡°What was agent Rickles¡¯ original assignment?¡±

    ¡°Classified,¡± the logistics officer replied.

    ¡°What is the package?¡±

    ¡°Top secret.¡±

    ¡°Is it ¡®need to know¡¯ or is it ¡®we don¡¯t know?¡¯¡±

    Nervous glances passed around the conference table. Before Holt could become annoyed with the red tape, the commander selected a file from the table with her immense prosthetic arm and slid it to him. ¡°I don¡¯t believe I need to impress upon you the significance of this assignment. We lost seventy two million people and one of our best agents. If it does not interfere with your primary objective, find out who pushed the button and end them. I will leave the ¡®how¡¯ to your discretion.¡±

    ¡°Whatever you say, boss,¡± Holt answered, leafing through the folder before snapping it shut.

    Tori held her tongue throughout the exchange. On her way out the door, she caught the commander¡¯s eye, and for a brief moment the stony exterior gave way to something akin to reassurance and a nearly imperceptible nod. It could have been nothing more than Tori¡¯s mind playing tricks on her.

    The elevator took the agents to a dark floor cluttered with the hard drives recovered from the city. A cable haphazardly intertwining them snaked over and through several machines and computers into a server room walled off with glass growing frost around the edges. Adjacent was a desk supporting a cathedral of monitors projecting endless figures and layers of video boxes. At its center, absentmindedly twirling a yardstick was Geek, complete with glasses, sterile lab coat, and plastic booties over their shoes.

    ¡°Welcome to my lair, how may I help you, my dear agents?¡± Geek asked, spotting them in the reflection of the monitor.

    ¡°Finished analyzing the footage?¡±

    Geek scoffed. ¡°No.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ve had the drives for weeks,¡± Tori remarked.

    ¡°Yeah, and JULI can only analyze fifteen terabytes an hour, not including decrypting and cataloguing. Even with two thirds of the data destroyed or corrupt, the footage alone will take well over a month to get through. Command can give me arbitrary timetables all they want. Won¡¯t make it happen any faster.¡±

    ¡°Gees, Geek, if you didn¡¯t have anything, just say so.¡±

    ¡°Of course I have something, I¡¯m not an idiot. I had JULI start with the most recently accessed information. Should tell us what your friend in the black mask was looking for. First few files are missing. Must have taken them with him.¡± Half a dozen security feeds opened up across the monitors displaying the city at various times of day. ¡°This is agent Rickles¡¯ last known location.¡±

    On cue, Geek brough up a clip of Rickles¡¯ helicopter landing. Even through the grainy quality she looked shaken, like a cat in a storm, clinging to the package as if any of the landing jockeys would rip it from her.

    ¡°The footage surrounding the building after she arrived, to the point the missiles were launched is corrupt or removed,¡± Geek explained.

    ¡°What about inside?¡± Tori asked.

    Geek tapped a few keys. ¡°It appears Rickles had surveillance disabled shortly after she arrived.¡±

    ¡°The hell would she do that for?¡±

    ¡°Probably didn¡¯t want anyone watching,¡± Holt obviously replied.

    ¡°Moving forward from here¡¯s easy, at least,¡± Geek muttered, then grabbed a speaker and slowly and clearly stated, ¡°JULI, search for movement after emergency power kicked in.¡± He looked back at the agents. ¡°Fewer cameras run on emergency. Shouldn¡¯t take as long.¡±

    Seconds later, a window popped up and intrigue culminated around the monitor.

    ¡°Hello,¡± Holt remarked. ¡°Looks like we¡¯ve got a survivor.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s just a civilian,¡± Tori replied.

    ¡°As far as we can tell.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s good at looking away from the cameras,¡± Geek noticed. ¡°Can¡¯t get a good angle on him. You think he¡¯s a sleeper or a spook?¡±

    ¡°Probably a drug dealer or a bookie¨C where¡¯d he go?¡± Holt asked when the subject passed out of frame.

    ¡°No coverage between buildings,¡± Geek explained.

    They rotated through shots of either end of the alley until he suddenly rushed out the way he came with the package in hand and a crippled auger close behind. They observed the chase when camera coverage and uncorrupted data allowed all the way up to ramp. Highway cameras didn¡¯t have emergency generators, so they were blind until the car crashed into frame one district over.

    ¡°He¡¯s leaving it behind,¡± Tori observed after the auger died for good.

    ¡°Was the package in the wreck?¡± Geek asked, to which Holt only shook his head.

    Then the subject stopped, attention fixed on something just off camera.

    ¡°What¡¯s he looking at?¡± Holt demanded.

    ¡°Uh, a notice board, I think,¡± Geek replied, hastily tapping on the keyboard. ¡°Hold on.¡± They cycled through a dozen different feeds. Aside from two which were corrupt, none got more than the board¡¯s frame.

    ¡°Two hundred million cameras and not one of them can tell us what¡¯s so fascinating?!¡±

    ¡°Well, he¡¯s on the highway,¡± Geek sighed. ¡°He could have gone anywhere.¡±

    ¡°At least we have something,¡± Tori acknowledged.

    ¡°If he¡¯s still in the city, JULI will find him.¡± As if in response, a notification popped up on screen. ¡°Speak of the devil.¡±

    They were not presented an onramp or the corpse of the survivor, but the roof of the building where Rickles met her end, many hours after night fell. The dead meandered in the dim glow of the emergency lights as a helicopter lowered and soldiers filed into the building, one of them taking the time to shoot every security camera with line of sight.

    ¡°It¡¯s about¡­ thirty hours before the first ICC response team arrived. Ten hours after everything went down.¡±

    ¡°I should have guessed,¡± Holt dully sighed. ¡°Let us know if anything else turns up.¡± He motioned to Tori and they left.

    ¡°What¡¯s our next move?¡± she asked.

    ¡°We¡¯ll head over to Phoenix Brigade, ask them what their ops team was doing in our city.¡±

    ¡°You think they did it?¡±

    ¡°No, but they were there awfully quick. Quicker than us, which means they know something we don¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°And the civ?¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ll send a team when a body turns up.¡±

    ¡°Assuming he¡¯s dead.¡±

    ¡°If he isn¡¯t, he won¡¯t show his face any time soon,¡± Holt grumbled slightly more gruffly than usual. ¡°I doubt the package will sit still long, regardless.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s bothering you?¡±

    ¡°Revenant took what he wanted.¡±

    ¡°So?¡±

    ¡°He left us a lot to work with.¡±

 Scrounging the Dregs

    Jase woke with a start, the faint remnants of what should have been pain flittering dully out of his nerves.

    Cuffs prevented him from raising his arms and his legs were bound by a belt under blankets. Alarmingly, an IV dripped into the crook of his elbow. If the heart rate monitor beeping beside him and the bandages constricting his leg meant anything, someone was keeping him alive.

    Hospital beds filled the room in varying states of occupation, most of them empty. The place was far from clinical, despite the tools indicating otherwise. There wasn¡¯t much dirt, but the floors and ceiling were stained yellow with age. The only person in the room both upright and conscious was a slender woman in a lab coat, evocatively cross legged on a stool beside Jase¡¯s bed. His heart monitor quickened at the sight of her, not because the shameless exposition of her legs, but of her more deliberate presentation of what was strapped to her thigh: an array of needles loaded with fluids of varying colors. On her hip hung a cattle gun, a necessity in her line of work.

    ¡°Are you lucid or merely conscious?¡± she asked mechanically without looking up from her clipboard.

    Jase was slow and suspicious to say anything. ¡°Where am I?¡±

    ¡°My clinic,¡± she answered with inverse interest.

    ¡°¡­Why am I here?¡±

    ¡°You collapsed outside the checkpoint.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not dead.¡±

    ¡°I can see that.¡±

    ¡°Why am I tied down?¡±

    ¡°Standard safety precaution.¡± A patient across the room flatlined and the woman blankly excused herself to plunge his brains with the cattle gun and returned before Jase could make any headway with his cuffs. ¡°Please, continue.¡± she impatiently stated.

    ¡°How am I alive?¡± he asked suspiciously.

    ¡°The border watch brought you here before you could succumb to blood loss and malnourishment¨C¡±

    ¡°But I was bitten.¡±

    ¡°Yes, I know, I dressed the wound.¡±

    ¡°Why am I alive?¡±

    The woman closed her eyes and exhaled sharply. ¡°Your malnourishment was worse than the bite.¡±

    ¡°Bullshit, bites have a hundred percent lethality.¡±

    ¡°Thirty-seven-point-two-one percent of the population prior to the outbreak were genetically predisposed to resist early stages of the base infection. Disinformation was spread so no one becomes brave or careless. Instead we have a population predisposed to suicide.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m¡­ immune?¡±

    ¡°You can survive the fever in small increments. Assuming you aren¡¯t devoured first.¡±

    Jase only begun to digest the information when he realized he was wearing a hospital gown and his bag was nowhere to be seen. ¡°Where are my things?¡±

    ¡°Anything on your person was stolen between here and the gate.¡±

    This was annoying, but an inconvenience at best. ¡°I have to go.¡±

    ¡°Perhaps you do, but in your time at my clinic your body consumed three and a half bags of IV fluid.¡±

    Jase eased himself down and searched the doctor¡¯s gaze watching him through emotionless spectacles. ¡°I can pay you.¡±

    ¡°You may be telling the truth or you may not. I do not care, I¡¯ve no shortage of income. I did not perform a service by treating you so much as make an investment for a future service.¡±

    ¡°What do you want from me?¡±

    ¡°There is an Armitage warehouse in the city, certain medical supplies need to disappear from the books.¡±

    ¡°I won¡¯t do that.¡±

    ¡°It is in everyone¡¯s best interest if you do. I am not physically prepared nor willing to be bothered to coerce your compliance. Just know I have invested more than IV bags into you.¡±

    Jase was so focused on the doctor and the strap around her leg he failed to notice the dish beside his bed holding an empty syringe until a drop of the metallic yellow fluid dripped from the needle into a pan. His heartrate went up sharply.

    ¡°Symptoms will manifest within ninety hours, but the effects will be irreversible after eighty.¡± The doctor deposited a key on Jase¡¯s lap and left to attend to her less able patients.

    There was no shortage of clothing for him to pilfer from the waste basket. Most of it was going to the incinerator, so no one objected. His leg showed signs of several days¡¯ worth of healing, an uncomfortable amount of time to be out, but enough to regain use of the limb.

    The clinic was located in a slum outside the city, a perfect opposite of the surgical sterility where Jase grew up. The better part of the day was spent sizing up the place. As best as he could tell, this was a dead-end zone where the city¡¯s trash ultimately arrived, whether material or human. Everything was jerry rigged or recycled, dirt was an accepted inconvenience, not a liability, and rats were not exterminated at the fist sign of pellets, rather they were baited in and hunted as potential food by children as if they weren¡¯t a vector for disease. Starkest of all was the crowd. Every eye noticed you, half of them pegged you as prey, the rest as a potential predator.

    Armitage law enforcement patrolled the area, but with visible faces and little more than a passing investment in preserving order, they were far from the robotic entity of the peace keeping force. More like a behavior encouraging presence. For that reason, Jase stayed on busy roads, away from narrow openings.

    A massive road wide enough to host a jet landing went from the main gate in the city wall to the outer checkpoint where he collapsed. Though by the absence of tracks it looked as if Armitage hadn¡¯t used it for traffic in some time, in their absence the space served as a courtyard for a marketplace. Uncomfortably close to the far fence was a mass grave full of poorly lobotomized elderly remains. Whether they came exclusively from the slum or a citywide lack of a dedicated disposal system could not be gaged as financial status was unintelligible from naked bodies alone. At the very least, steps were taken to prevent the dead from stirring, and continuous construction efforts to widen and cover the grave prevented a smell from putrefying the slum or attracting something slightly more than dead.This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

    Jase resisted the compulsion to find the case immediately, despite the very real possibility his pursuers in the helicopter caught up with it. In addition to general seediness pervading every crack and rust hole, he was glancing over his shoulder as if someone was waiting for him to lead them back to the case before slitting his throat, among the various other reasons someone here might slit his throat.

    The more tangible problem was the city gate. Entrance to the walled city was sparse and highly regulated. Armitage had its own form of ID chip distinct from the type Jase was used to seeing, and unlike in the ICC where misplacing an ID was like suspending civilian rights, possessing a chip in the slum was a status symbol held only by peacekeepers and laborers. Anyone who so much as looked at the gate without an ID chip in hand was stared down like a criminal, and anyone who got too close was turned away. Often violently.s

    The slum didn¡¯t have shops so much as pawn brokers and peddlers. The most legitimate businesses looked sketchy at best. He even found his jacket for sale, but lacking liquid funds and in inclination to reacquire it, he continued searching in vain for a working computer. Some of the shadier pushers offered a selection of counterfeit or stolen ID chips, proving to Jase the need existed at every level of society, but he knew from watching the gate, these fake chips lacked his professional quality and efficacy.

    Shoplifters were common and brazen. As long as they got away no one cared if they were seen. Jase wasn¡¯t about to risk drawing that kind of attention to himself for anything less urgent than a meal. He was more subtle about it.

    With little way to move forward, the night was spent in the clinic. Plenty of beds were open for various reasons and the doctor didn¡¯t seem to care if anyone wandered in for reprieve, she certainly wasn¡¯t using them. Though only a few were so desperate to choose her beds over the street.

    A very tired man limped into the clinic and slumped onto the bed next to Jase¡¯s. ¡°Never seen you. New here?¡± he asked unsolicited and received no reply. ¡°Guess no one told you not to get hurt out here. Lost my leg in an industrial accident, she reattached it and now I can¡¯t even go back home ¡®till I do her errands, like she was doin¡¯ me a favor. Bitch didn¡¯t even ask. How¡¯d she get you?¡±

    ¡°Starved to death,¡± Jase absentmindedly replied.

    ¡°Bet you wished they left you there, huh? Too bad she pays a bounty to people who bring her dying people like you and me, prolly so we feel like we owe her something or some shit. Can¡¯t even die in peace out here. I hear the gangs won¡¯t mess with her. Fucking bitch. A guy came in yesterday with a stab wound, guts spilling out all over the floor. He got to pay for surgery, walked out the next morning with all his guts and not a drop of ¡®medicine¡¯ in his veins. Lucky bastard. What makes her decide to act like a doctor for some people and treat the rest of us like guinea pigs? Guess it doesn¡¯t matter, as long as we do the job, get our meds, and we¡¯re out, right?¡±

    Jase checked to make sure the man was still talking to him. ¡°I don¡¯t recall asking.¡±

    ¡°Just antsy. You get it. Word of advice: when your life¡¯s fuse is burning, don¡¯t sleep in.¡±

    Jase woke early the next morning to the disconcerting sound of a cattle gun plunger. Shooting up in fear he was the recipient, his nerves went at ease seeing the doctor standing over the talkative bedmate. The man¡¯s skin was stained vomit yellow and his veins bulged a putrid orange. His body was stiff as if full of concrete and his orifices dried and shriveled. The doctor apathetically noted each detail on her clipboard.

    Jase¡¯s attention drifted toward the usually locked office where he spied cases full of vials through the crack in the door, but more interestingly to Jase, she had a computer.

    As if she had eyes on the back of her head, the doctor calmly dissuaded him. ¡°Don¡¯t bother. Nothing is labeled and I keep more contagions than cures.¡±

    He didn¡¯t trust himself to reply in a way that wouldn¡¯t make things worse. Instead, with his mind the clearest it¡¯s been since his arrest, his thoughts turned to the case. Speculating about its contents was pointless and he knew no method of finding out aside from opening it, which he knew was beyond him. A more troubling issue was the identity and motive of the entity directing him to this city, an entity he called ¡°Lupa.¡± By merely surviving he was playing into someone or something¡¯s hands. Subverting their intentions and finding out who they are was his number one priority, but first he had to get his life back.

    Jase scrounged around the place for a blade suitable for removing a month and a half of facial hair, a task made tricky due to his refusal to use the running water. Clean shaven, if not nicked a few times, he still looked as destitute as any other inhabitant of the slum, and likely would until he could get a shower and a full night¡¯s sleep.

    Even if he could get in the city like this, fulfilling his reaper¡¯s wishes was another matter entirely.

    ¡°Find a new lease on life?¡± the doctor asked dissatisfactory, addressing the knives and bandages she did not give him permission to take.

    ¡°How do you expect me to do this job?¡±

    ¡°Scrub the books, seduce the floor manager, burn the place down if you have to, I don¡¯t care, as long as it doesn¡¯t lead back here.¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t do anything from outside the city.¡±

    ¡°That is a complication associated with the job. Not one I will concern myself with.¡±

    ¡°Can I use your computer?¡±

    ¡°No.¡±

    Jase rubbed his eyes. An idea came in the form of his former bedmate who was dressed in a working man¡¯s suit like he¡¯d seen worn by slum residents working in the city.

    ¡°Does he need his ID chip?¡±

    Standing at a corner with a comprehensive view of the courtyard in front of the city checkpoint, Jase noted movements and patrols of the peacekeepers. Even in his appropriated Armitage worker¡¯s clothes and borrowed lab coat, Jase was nearly indistinguishable from a dreg who could have stolen such things; the ones the peacekeepers watched with hands on their weapons.

    The current shift of peacekeepers was returning to clock out. Barefoot, he ducked behind a trashcan and shoved papers into the dead man¡¯s shoes until they were no longer loose on his feet. Cutting across the courtyard to a maintenance shack, Jase scooped a puck of pitch black grease from a junked engine and ran it through his hair so it glistened with illusory cleanliness. He swiped a binding cord from a bundle of fluorescent lightbulbs to tie it back and watched the last of the peacekeepers file through the gate as he wove through the densely packed courtyard.

    The commotion caused when the loose bulbs fell distracted a bookkeeper long enough for Jase to pickpocket his spectacles. Maneuvering through what amounted to a food court or maybe a soup kitchen, he snatched a biscuit, a suitcase, and a digital PDA from the tables of inattentive diners.

    His path took him out of view for moment he used to straighten his hair as best he could and scrape the residue from his hands without sullying his disguise. He snatched a chunk of soap from a briefly unattended window, took a bite out of it and rubbed the rest into his armpits so when he emerged from the pathway he had the air of a physician on house call.

    The only peacekeepers out were the three at the gate. In a few minutes, a fresh batch would start their shift, eager to find trouble where there might not be any.

    Jase spit out the soap, took a bite of the biscuit and lowered his vision to the PDA. He couldn¡¯t have told you what was on it as his attention was on his peripherals, but occupying his vision made him less suspicious.

    He made it to the checkpoint, waved the dead man¡¯s ID chip over the reader, got a clean pass, and went on his way as if it was the most natural thing in the world. He¡¯d almost made it through when a peacekeeper abruptly stopped him.

    ¡°May I help you?¡± Jase asked, finding little difficulty feigning benign inconvenience, his disposition masking a surge of panic he had no idea how to address.

    By all rights he should have been dead, but the officer merely said, ¡°No organic materials are allowed past the checkpoint,¡± referring to the biscuit.

    Apathetically, Jase disposed of it and infiltrated the city.

 Something a Little Different

    The dulcet tones of AC/DC fought for sound dominance with a caravan of choppers flying low over crags thick with thistles and brush.

    The glorious emblem of a scantily clad woman dancing with a fiery bird adorned each of the helicopters and the soldiers within were equally bombastic. Heads shaven to mohawks or grown to foxtails, their gear was a haphazard collection of bullets, trophies, and very little body armor personalized with fiery decals, emblems scratched in with kill counts, and always a tattoo somewhere visible reading ¡°Firebirds.¡± Except one man flashing his teeth in a self-satisfied grin whose tattoo, running the length from his shoulder to his elbow, dropped the ¡®s,¡¯ and his arm alone might have the surface area of a whole man.

    Nothing but lean muscle barely contained in black jeans and a vest, he took up two seats not because he needed the space, though his shoulders pushed that boundary, but for comfort alone, plus one to put his feet up and another for his boombox. No one, not even the soldiers sharing seats, contested his claim to them. A headband with ¡°Firebird¡± printed on it, in case anyone neglected his tattoo or happened to stand on his right, normally keeping hair spiked to hell and back out of his eyes was lowered to a blindfold, and he let his vest fly open to show off more than just his muscles and scars. A device embedded in his chest opposite his heart pulsed with red energy in time with the music.

    The pilot struggled to shout over the music, ¡°We¡¯re approaching the target zone! ETA, seven minutes!¡±

    The firebird signaled ¡°OK,¡± then turned up the boombox.

    A song and a half later, a cave the convoy had no way of spotting among the crags stirred. A swarm of giant humanoid bats lacking hair and eyes alit on the helicopters before the first startled soldier could yell ¡°Snatchers!¡±

    The firebird raised his headband to see the augers live up to their name and grab his team out of their transports. Some took down helicopters by getting caught in the blades, others battered themselves against the sides until people fell out or they wrecked. The nearest chopper suffered a head on collision with one that smashed the wind shield and flew off with the pilot. His own helicopter shuddered at the sound of shredding metal, one of the bats attacking the noisy engine.

    He grabbed a weapon which could have been mistaken for part of the helicopter. It looked like a rifle with no barrel, stock, or trigger, just a huge chamber on a grip painted up with hot rod flames. The fact it was blunt didn¡¯t stop the firebird from impaling the bat on it. Being an auger, it was far more durable than that, but the device in his chest glowed red hot and energy surged up his arm into the weapon and the snatcher exploded in a ball of fire, but the helicopter blades were already slowing down.

    The pilot was having a fit pressing all the buttons he usually isn¡¯t supposed to press when the firebird grabbed his boombox and carried the pilot out of the cockpit by his flight jacket.

    ¡°Come with me for a sec,¡± he casually suggested.

    Several snatchers foolish enough to target them were bisected after he jumped, he even had to fight over the pilot with one, they made it to a chaotic landing in the helicopter stalling out nearby. He deposited the pilot in the empty seat and reclined in the back while a chorus of gunfire cleaned up the last of the snatchers.

    ¡°Awe fuck! Hell!¡± a soldier gasped as he ripped his hand from the mouth of a dying snatcher. It was bleeding good, already turning brown. He growled, more annoyed than anything else, and drew his sidearm to his head, but the firebird put his hand over the hammer before it could fire.

    ¡°Bite down on something.¡± In one slash, he removed the arm below the elbow and cauterized the wound. If the infection made it further up, he would have swung again, but he didn¡¯t need to. ¡°Hope you¡¯re ambidextrous.¡±

    The soldier bit back the initial cry of pain and worked up to a chuckle. ¡°Used to be.¡±

    ¡°Fuck yeah.¡±

    The soldier enthusiastically received his firearm pried from his thoroughly gnarled, nearly animate right arm and the convoy continued barely any worse for wear.

    They approached a stagnant lake full of black water, barely more than a pond surrounded dead land where even the thistles didn¡¯t grow. At its center, a massive growth like the bulb of a flower with teeth and a thousand eyes turned to see what was making so much noise. Is shrieked and cooed curiously as it watched the helicopters circle.

    ¡°Target identified,¡± the pilot affirmed. ¡°Waiting go-ahead.¡±

    ¡°Double its weight in lead!¡±

    Every man and woman with an arm and line of sight opened fire. The first few seconds, the bulb thrashed and screeched and tried to retreat under surface, but it was too big and the pond wasn¡¯t deep enough. The next, tendrils emerged from the lake and swatted helicopters out of the air. The bodies that remained intact were grabbed by graspers at the end of the tendrils and even more tendrils erupted through them.

    Anyone with the mixed fortune to survive a crash had to return to the wreckage or find a sizable rock, since standing on solid ground was a good way to be spontaneously buried to your waist and turned into a sprout of whipping tendrils.

    ¡°God dammit!¡± the pilot shouted. ¡°We¡¯re losing too many men and equipment! We¡¯ll have to come back with reinforcements!¡±

    ¡°Like hell we will!¡± The firebird cranked the device in his chest like a dial and the others on his chopper shielded themselves from the head radiating off him. They didn¡¯t have to bear it long because he jumped from helicopter, this time rolling into a sprint toward the nearest tendril, felling them one by one. When the grabbed bodies continued to seek prey, he gave them a proper cremation so the survivors could focus their efforts on putting holes in the bulb.You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

    A tendril got a hold of the firebird¡¯s leg, but he was burning too hot to hold for long, let alone infect, so it flung him into the air once, had its second grab disintegrated, then latched on again and tossed him over the lake. The bud blossomed into a flower of tongues lined with undulating teeth ready to receive a live meal, but got a mouthful of fire, steel, and someone having a pure, unadulterated good time.

    The soldiers continued firing. Any bullets that would have hit the firebird vaporized in the air. When the heat became too much to bear, the creature retracted its tendrils and tossed him into the water. The burns left behind regenerated slowly, but the petals torn from its head did not grow back.

    A rescue was called for, but just as quickly called off. The firebird grinned, plasmaic flame dancing off his body, the lake violently evaporating around him until only he and the sundered flower bud remained on the dry lakebed.

    The sky began to change color when another pyre of fire scorched the dry lakebed, surprising none of the soldiers camped out in the shade of the helicopters. When the dust cleared, an unarmed soldier descended the slope toward the firebird standing over the charred remains of the bud pathetically attempting to regenerate.

    ¡°It¡¯ll be dark soon,¡± the soldier informed. ¡°The rest of us can¡¯t survive out here after nightfall.¡±

    The firebird sighed. ¡°I don¡¯t think this thing can die. Fuck!¡± He blasted the thing once more, then signaled for a helicopter. As he loaded up, the personnel on medic duty held up a scanner to the device in his chest.

    ¡°You¡¯re really pushing it, Craid,¡± the soldier warned. ¡°That thing has limits.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, yeah.¡± He twisted the device, releasing a jet of superheated air, stabilizing the erratic blinking.

    It took most of the helicopters to uproot the thing, nearly all of which were loaded down with injured when they eventually got moving. Every single soldier flying out of that hole, intact or otherwise, reveled in another neutralized auger, buts the hero was sullen the whole flight back to base.

    The bud grew back most of its petals and part of its root system when they crossed the perimeter. Patrols dispatching zombies with militant cattle guns through the chain linked fence gave an oorah to their triumphant return and even then, celebrated between prods.

    Every trooper Craid passed clasped his hand, jostled him appreciatively, or whooped his praises, but his heart wasn¡¯t in it. In his navigation of the main facility, he passed two individuals neither ripped nor scarred. Two very nondescript individuals in trench coats, one a middle-aged man Craid didn¡¯t recognize and one with an uncanny resemblance to a much larger, very terrifying woman.

    They passed each other wordlessly, but not without a flare of tension between them.

    Craid ultimately ended up in an office overlooking an industrial facility. An older man in a crimson officer¡¯s jacket watched with his hands behind his back as a mechanical arm carried in the bud auger, flame units curbing its regeneration until it was over a vat of molten lead. The glass dulled the hissing and shrieking as the abomination was submerged and the vat chilled to a block with liquid nitrogen which was then immersed in a tank of glufosinate solution and locked away with a dozen other blocks in various modes of storage ranging in size from water tower to coffin.

    The man noticed Craid in the window¡¯s reflection and glanced over his shoulder to confirm. ¡°Hello, Craid. Congratulations on your safe return.¡±

    ¡°What the fuck is the goddamn ICC doing here?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s nice to see you too. I worry about you, sometimes.¡±

    ¡°Reeve!¡±

    ¡°Relax. We just made a field op in one of their cities without their permission.¡±

    ¡°They don¡¯t send agents over ¡®just a field op.¡¯¡±

    ¡°Have you visited the med bay yet? You should probably head to the med bay. Get a checkup, a test done. The last supply run brought a case of candy! They have lollipops!¡±

    ¡°I swear to God, Reeve, if you don¡¯t give me a good reason in the next five seconds, I will immolate them both!¡±

    ¡°Take a seat, Craid and cool off,¡± he admonished. He hit a button on his phone and said, ¡°Send nurse Qillian to my office. And tell her to bring the sizzler.¡±

    Craid didn¡¯t sit down, but his clothes stopped smoking. ¡°All right. What did they want?¡±

    ¡°Standard ICC affair. They want to know everything, but don¡¯t want to share anything, but that¡¯s not important. What is important is why we staged a mission on their turf.¡±

    The nurse entered the office with a device like a bar code reader attached to a tablet under her arm. ¡°Good evening, Mr. Craid.¡±

    ¡°Janet.¡±

    She turned him so his chest faced the light and told him to sit since the device sat half a head above her. A stern repeat of the command got him to comply, and she plugged her device into his.

    ¡°A few months ago,¡± Reeve began, ¡°One of our operators assisted an ICC field agent. Got her out of a hot zone and back into ICC territory.¡±

    ¡°Who¡¯s the bastard helping the drones? Was it Ike? I already owe that guy a broken nose.¡±

    Nurse Qillian quickly drew her hands back as the device began glow and she reprimanded Craid for getting worked up.

    ¡°You¡¯re not going to touch Ike,¡± Reeve asserted. ¡°You¡¯d lose your arm if you did, and I don¡¯t think you¡¯ll want to after hearing who he helped the pup get away from.¡±

    ¡°What, Rust Devils, SpireTech, Hedron?¡±

    Reeve shook his head with each suggestion. ¡°Gennex.¡±

    Craid¡¯s eyebrows briefly went up in surprise and his grin rolled out a slow laugh. ¡°I might kiss Ike full on the mouth next time I see him.¡±

    ¡°Thought so. He kept tabs on the agent after they split. Said she was carrying something important.¡±

    ¡°Can¡¯t be good if Gennex wanted it. Any idea why?¡±

    ¡°None, but a few days later, a whole ICC city, the one Ike believes she went to hide, went completely dark.¡± He made a cutting motion over his neck. ¡°No survivors.¡±

    Craid looked at Reeve as if he was expecting him to punctuate a morbid joke with a punchline that never came. ¡°¡­Shit. What did we find?¡±

    ¡°A metric fuck ton of C-blue dust and not much else. But we know two things for sure thanks to our ¡®friends¡¯ you saw earlier: Gennex isn¡¯t the only group after the asset, and anyone who does want it doesn¡¯t have it yet.¡±

    ¡°Any guesses who or where?¡±

    ¡°None. This whole thing is a powder keg ready to blow and everyone¡¯s in a mad scramble to find the match.¡±

    ¡°We aren¡¯t going to let anyone beat us to it, are we?¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t think we can help it. We kill things and we¡¯re good at it. Cloak and dagger, not so much. But you bet your ass once that asset turns up we¡¯ll blow it to hell before another city goes to shit.¡±

    ¡°God help anyone who tries to stop us.¡±

    Nurse Qillian unplugged the device and shook her head. ¡°There is only one known way to damage corterrum, and you are using it to sustain the least stable variant of that very reaction. If that engine fails in an excited state it will go critical.¡±

    ¡°If I¡¯m in an excited state and this thing stops working, we¡¯ll have bigger problems.¡±

    ¡°The casing embedded in your chest represents one tenth of the world¡¯s supply of the single rarest metalloid known to man. We don¡¯t have any more, we can¡¯t make any more. Unless you can find fresh corterrum, my professional opinion is that you should get it removed and plug it into a city reactor for the next ten thousand years. But knowing you, I¡¯ll just say¡­ try not to blow your top near a population center.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll do my best, but if anything bigger than a type two appears, I won¡¯t have a choice.¡±

    ¡°Thank you, nurse,¡± Reeve replied.

    ¡°My pleasure.¡±

    Reeve saw his visitors out with hardy reassurance. Before closing the door behind him, he cast a glance at one of the chairs in front of his desk. His vision would have passed through a bug hidden beneath the cushion, but his expression was neither surprised nor confused.

    In a borrowed officer¡¯s dorm across the facility, Holt decided the door closing and subsequent silence meant he wouldn¡¯t miss anything by taking out the earpiece.

 A Return to Form

    Security inside the city wasn¡¯t very different from the slum. A slight absence of the stink of piss, a slight increase in peacekeeper density but no apparent rise in attentiveness, and the presence of outdated CCTV cameras at intersections and in front of important or busy buildings. Jase¡¯s instinctive reaction to look away from recording devices still functioned after so much time separated from society, even if most of them lacked the visual acuity to render a face.

    The warehouse indicated by the mad doctor was nearby, but Jase ignored the address she wrote down and cased the streets. No sensible pattern to layout made itself apparent. Shops, restaurants, and services haphazardly occupied buildings, with densities largely reliant on whether it was a residential or business sector. The towers were not evenly distributed as Jase was accustom to seeing; rather, they existed in scattered groups of skyscrapers descending in height outward from a central tower with the Armitage logo. The groups were only so far apart that if the central tower fell, it would not knock over another central tower. Jase was currently in lower area between urban zones.

    Public transportation wasn¡¯t regulated, but cost money, and quarantine gates and checkpoints didn¡¯t seem to exist. As far as he could tell, any strategy for surviving an outbreak here was reliant on how fast one could get out. Aside from that, everything was mostly the same. Walls kept the world out and the citizens lived complacently.

    Finding an ATM, or what amounted to one in this city, that was both secluded and under poor surveillance was a chore. Slightly less annoying was the prompt for a pin number that popped up when he inserted the dead man¡¯s chip. Subtly making sure he wasn¡¯t being watched, Jase rammed a dent into the maintenance panel with his elbow and pried it open. He plugged the PDA¡¯s retractable charger into a port and through it forced the ATM into a hard reset. With a combination of developer shortcuts and console commands, he gave himself temporary admin access which, on this device, only gave him unrestricted access to the dead man¡¯s account.

    In his mind, he only had minutes to work. He wasn¡¯t brave enough to attempt such a thing at home, as the system would detect an anomaly in the machine instantly and send peacekeepers to check on it, but with no computer, no money, and no identity, he had little choice. He learned the name of the man he was impersonating, which the doctor did not think necessary to provide, his security credentials, and funneled as much money from the account onto the chip as he could without triggering a flag on the transaction.

    Someone surprised him by approaching from behind, but it was only a citizen intending to use the ATM. They became thoroughly confused by the window on screen.

    ¡°Ah¡­ it- it¡¯s broken,¡± Jase sputtered.

    ¡°Crap!¡± they groaned and trudged off in search of another teller machine.

    Jase sighed and dared not consider what might have happened if they¡¯d been the least bit technically literate.

    With money to his name, he found a love hotel and checked in for an hour. He got weird looks arriving alone, but he desperately needed a shower. Clean, refreshed, and possessing credentials, Jase was now as inconspicuous as any other inhabitant of this city.

    Using the bus ride to the nearest urban center to glean as much information as he could from the PDA, Jase deduced he stole it from a floor manager at a shipping hub, or given that he lived in the slum, worked for one and was made to do his tedium. Whoever they were, they scheduled several appointments at the large tower at the center to do things like ¡°renew business operation parameters,¡± ¡°File for unjust confiscation,¡± and ¡°register for permission to conceive.¡± Clearly, the building was administrative in nature.

    By far it was the busiest building in the district. The first few floors were equally accessible and functioned as a collective lobby, each large enough to comfortably service a few thousand individuals, though all of them appeared in a constant state of congestion. Comprehensively, security amounted to no fewer than seven visible cameras, forty-five peacekeepers, two different sets of security gates, two canine units, and mandatory registration with a receptionist requiring ID checks, fingerprints, and documentation relevant to the purpose of the visit. And that¡¯s just to reach the elevators.

    Jase was considering how many days of preparation he¡¯d need to properly infiltrate the place without arousing suspicion when he noticed a variety of person bypassing registration and one of the second of the two security gates. Judging by their consistent business attire and dead expression, they worked there. A fair assessment, since they were leaving in droves at about lunch time. Since he wouldn¡¯t live long enough to enact his working plan, Jase followed them to their preferred lunch dives until one particularly downtrodden sat down alone at a relatively empty bar.

    Jase in no way looked forward to what came next, and search as he might, could not find any reasonable alternative. So, he wiped the grimace off his face and took a seat next to him.

    ¡°H- Hey there,¡± he unsurely greeted.

    The man looked at Jase like nuisance, then continued disregarding him.

    ¡°Wow,¡± Jase sighed, as if speaking to himself. ¡°Work¡­ am I right? It¡¯s just¡­ yeah. Exhausting. All the time.¡±

    The man moved over a seat and ordered a meal when the tender came by. Jase did the same but made a point of ordering a drink. ¡°Something hard,¡± and got a weird look from both the tender and the man from the administration building. Already on thin ice, Jase didn¡¯t say anything until his drink came. He exaggerated a conservative sip and let the alcohol do its work.

    ¡°Oh, sorry,¡± Jase said a little more comfortably. ¡°Did you want some?¡±

    ¡°¡­I didn¡¯t come to a bar to day drink,¡± the man grumbled.

    ¡°Oh, yeah. Of course. I didn¡¯t. Don¡¯t usually. Then I thought, ¡®it would make it easier to deal with my¡­ coworkers?¡¯¡± The raised eyebrow the man shot let him know he hit the correct nail on the head. ¡°Yeah. Those damn coworkers, always working and stuff.¡± He pretended to take another sip them pointed at the tender. ¡°You¡¯re lucky the only people you have to deal with give you money.¡±

    For a solid minute, Jase thought he overplayed himself, but after visibly weighing something in his mind, the man relented to ordering stiff drink. Once he was buzzed, it was easy to get him absolutely shitfaced. From there it wasn¡¯t hard to pretend to be the guy¡¯s friend, the true challenge was willingly associating with a drunk.

    ¡°Who does he think he is?¡± the man slurred in no relation to the last thing said. ¡°Walks around likey they owns the place.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, how dare ¡®that guy?¡¯¡±

    ¡°Got damn Philips is who! Riding my ass like a¡­ uh¡­ assholes! Shupervisin¡¯ and ass¡¯n and kissin¡¯ assses.¡±

    ¡°I know, supervisors¡­ who needs them?¡±

    ¡°Not a damn thing, that¡¯s who! Can¡¯t check¨C clock in until they lack¨C lock¨C log you in and they take their sweet ass time with the shecretary they porked in the data room, ¡®t¡¯s already lunch ¡®n they get to ya. ¡®Nd d¡¯you get to fuck the secretary? No, secretary fucks you! Fuck.¡±

    ¡°Crime, just a crime,¡± Jase impatiently replied, his own precursor to a buzz having never progressed past the first sip. ¡°Hey, you know, I always wondered, what¡¯s past the elevator in that place where you work? What kind of security is above the third floor?¡±

    ¡°Hey. Hey¨C hey¨C hey. You know¨C Hey, y¡¯know, you don¡¯t have a badge. Thought you were a fop, but you have no badge. I work with badges, so you¡¯re okay.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, yeah, badges are bad. Do you have a password or¡­¡±

    Any chance of wringing the man for information was lost when he started crying on the bar, babbling incoherently about a childhood pet euthanized after a rat bit it. Jase paid for the drinks and the food and escorted the man to bathroom, where he took him into a stall and stripped him down to his underwear. The friendly advice to ¡°don¡¯t throw up on your clothes,¡± no longer seemed so cordial when Jase left dressed in his clothes and ID chip in his pocket.

    He wasn¡¯t accustomed to the hustle of the administration building, but the environment was reminiscent of a time when he was still on the grid. The first gate was a standard metal detector. It went off on him, but security passed him due to the metal latches on his stolen briefcase. He crossed the waiting area, mindful of the peacekeepers surveying the crowd. He was the only one in the building looking around, watching things, studying his surroundings, and that made him stand out from the vacant stares surrounding him.

    Obviously, that meant he was selected for a random check at the second gate leading to the elevators. Only his intentions were untoward, so Jase was calm throughout. The only cause for alarm was the stack of pornographic magazines the unfortunate laborer from the slum kept in their briefcase. Concerning, but not illegal. He made it through without a hitch.

    Among the several dozen office workers disembarking the elevator was one a fair bit more important looking than the others. A neater suit, styled hair, probably wearing makeup, it was no stretch of the imagination to think he was middle or upper management. Likely not an executive, but the most intriguing detail was the yellow pin on his lapel. One might say it was a badge of sorts.

    When the badge reached into his coat, Jase intentionally bumped into him so they both dropped their chips. He made a brief show of aggravation to put off the supervisor so when they picked up their chips, he didn¡¯t realize they were switched.

    Jase scanned each floor until it reached a cubicle farm both fully operable and mostly devoid of people by downsizing or simply being out to lunch. Either way, dozens of empty cubicles hosted an equal number of unattended computers. Finding the most secluded space in the furthest corner of the floor, Jase was glad he got the supervisor¡¯s chip because each computer had something like a child safety lock preventing the keyboard and mouse from activating without one.

    Muscle memory kicked in like a narcotic the instant his hands went over the keyboard. Console commands and forced code executions bypassed user restrictions and granted admin access, then fiddling with the code around the command shell lifted any barriers between that computer and the Armitage network. Compared to accessing the ICC network this was like poking holes in a wet paper bag.The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

    The first thing he did was search the various security layers for any mention of himself, his actions, or the case. Finding none, he hid some lines of code among the sub processes to replace any mention of his name or aliases with randomly generated information. Now if he ever got caught by Armitage or if chatter about him picked up, his tracks would cover themselves. Judging by the age of the hardware and state of the code, his alterations could go unnoticed for decades.

    ¡°May I help you?¡± asked a curious office worker.

    Jase nearly fell over as he was crouched suspiciously in front of the monitor. ¡°Uh, I¡¯m with IT?¡±

    ¡°Oh,¡± she unsurely replied. ¡°Okay.¡±

    He let out a breath once she was gone and took a proper seat in the office chair. She probably wouldn¡¯t be a problem, but the network administrator would detect strange network activity any minute. Browsing through military operations was a waste of time since finding a relevant pattern would be impossible from the hundreds of pages produced every minute. He didn¡¯t have the time to hack anything, even if he doubted their system would be hard to crack or worth the effort, so he scrolled over to the Armitage persons of interest database.

    The list was almost as long as the military reports and full of the most dangerous people in the world. Jase could have browsed for days without getting bored, but he didn¡¯t have the time nor the popcorn. He narrowed the search down to independent and unaffiliated, then to those whose location was known, then once more to in Armitage territory. The results came back with fifty entries, two of which were in this very city.

    One was a criminal currently incarcerated in a processing station for aggravated assault and conspiracy to commit larceny and wanted in two other cities for two accounts of murder and five accounts of grand larceny. Jase just skipped that one. The other was a freelance operator with known ties to the Phoenix Brigade, Rust Devils, Aegis Front, ICC, and countless independent operators. Notes listed him as ¡°Not a threat, extremely dangerous.¡±

    Jase took the liberty of adding three accounts of extortion to Mr. Reuben McCord¡¯s entry and downloaded his file photo onto the PDA. His location was listed as one of three airports in the city as of half an hour ago. Since the airport flight plan listed the last arrival at thirty-four minutes ago and the next departure at four hours from now, it was a good bet he was still in the city.

    The last thing Jase did was engage a database wide search for the keyword ¡°Lupa,¡± but he didn¡¯t just find nothing, he found less than nothing. Some ¡°glitch¡± in the system outright kicked him out of a search if the letters ¡°lupa¡± were present in the keyword. Searching the periphery yielded something more worrisome. A black hole of information identifiable only by absent documents, holes in reports, and corrupt data suspiciously censoring incredibly specific information. As if someone circumnavigated decade upon decade¡¯s worth off the city¡¯s compiled information and scrubbed it clean. Surely digging any further would draw unwanted attention.

    After cleaning up any evidence of tampering with the computer and remotely accessing the warehouse inventory before he forgot, he put everything back the way he found it right down to the marks on the carpet. On his way back to the elevator he saw the woman who walked in on him talking to someone in front of the floor¡¯s IT office. Panicking now would draw too much attention, but his pace did become brisker. However many dozens of floors there were in this sky scraper, the elevators took far too long to respond. Jase was sure any second someone would come around the corner, and suffice to say, he was not confident in his ability to talk his way out of what would follow.

    Any anxieties diminished once he checked out through the security gate. Since he was on his way out, security largely ignored him, possibly because there was a man on his way in wearing an unusual black suit with pale skin and slick hair. Probably executive.

    Reuben McCord bided his time between flights outside an airport caf¨¦, drinking weak coffee and reading a personal news reader. Clothes and mannerisms peaked in diversity near the airports due to the mingling of people from vastly different cities and powers, but there was no missing Reuben. Tall, but not over-tall, he was middle aged and looked on the upper end thanks to the grayness of his swept back hair and short, gruff beard. The worn leather coat, thick jeans, and leather boots suggested an outdoorsman, but his steely gaze suggested other professions. He had the air of a sleeping bear, harmless as long as you don¡¯t poke it. Yet he couldn¡¯t help drawing attention to himself thanks to the wide brimmed hat sitting on the table in front of him. Jase wondered about it as he watched from a public call station across the street. Everything about the man was strange to him, especially that hat. He¡¯d never heard of a cowboy before.

    He checked the picture again to make sure, then hung up the station receiver. He sat down across from Reuben and said nothing.

    ¡°May I help you?¡± Reuben asked with a curious drawl.

    ¡°Yes, you may.¡±

    ¡°¡­And how may I help you?¡±

    ¡°I need to get out of the city.¡±

    ¡°Plane leaves in three hours.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not it. I need to get out of the city, I need to do it quietly, and I¡¯ll need help making my move once I¡¯m out.¡±

    ¡°Boy, I don¡¯t know what makes you think I can or will help you. You know what¡¯s good for you, you¡¯ll get your permits and put up with due process.¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s no time. I can pay you.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sure you can, I¡¯m not looking for work.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t need you to work for me, I just need you to take me with you.¡±

    Reuben laughed. ¡°If you know who I am and what I do, you know that is a terrible idea.¡±

    ¡°I can help.¡±

    ¡°You can get in the way.¡±

    ¡°Trust me, I have my uses, and I have a very good reason for what I need to do.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll take your word for it.¡± He turned his attention back on the data reader and washed his hands of this business. Ten minutes later, Jase was still sitting across from him. ¡°Don¡¯t you have something better to do?¡±

    ¡°I do, actually. I¡¯m currently dying.¡±

    ¡°Go take care of that and find a hobby while you¡¯re at it.¡±

    ¡°It won¡¯t matter if I can¡¯t leave. The longer I stay, the more likely everyone in this city will die. Including me.¡±

    Reuben was about to take a more aggressive stance when a pair of peacekeepers stopped at the entrance behind Jase and scanned the crowd. Begrudgingly, he turned his gaze down and tried to cover his face without drawing too much attention to himself.

    ¡°What¡¯s the matter?¡± Jase asked with a knowing smirk. ¡°Peacekeepers?¡±

    Reuben would have hit him with a sharp retort, but the peacekeepers approached their table. He shifted uneasily in his chair, knowing full well Armitage shouldn¡¯t have any problems with him, but Jase¡¯s relaxed expression didn¡¯t sit right in his gut. His hand floated uneasily around a gun shaped lump in his jacket.

    ¡°Are you Reuben McCord?¡± the peacekeeper asked. ¡°Wanted for three counts of extortion?¡±

    Before he could answer, Jase said, ¡°I don¡¯t believe he is,¡± without looking away from him.

    As per standard procedure, one of the peacekeepers pulled out a scanning device and did a facial recognition scan.

    Reuben stared death at Jase while that red beam raked across his features, is hand ready to shoot into his jacket the instant the scanner beeped a match. Some long dormant primal instinct told Jase just how thin a wire his life hung by, that any given moment he was less than a blink away from instant death. The peacekeepers must have also picked up on the killing intent, because between the four of them Reuben was the only one not sweating.

    But, the peacekeeper¡¯s antiquated scanner buzzed and went back into his holster. ¡°Thank you for your compliance, we apologize for any inconvenience, Mr. Birch.¡±

    Reuben crossed his arms as the peacekeepers left and Jase wiped his neck and forehead. ¡°You¡¯re from the ICC.¡±

    ¡°¡®From,¡¯ not ¡®with.¡¯¡±

    ¡°¡®Course. One of their spooks would know Armitage calls their law enforcement ¡®orderlies.¡¯ Who¡¯s ¡®Mr. Birch?¡¯¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it. The point is, what I¡¯m capable of if you don¡¯t help me¨C¡±

    ¡°You have my attention,¡± Reuben interrupted, humorously. ¡°What¡¯s the matter, someone after you?¡±

    ¡°By proxy. That¡¯s not why I need your help. I¡¯m looking for information.¡±

    ¡°Shoot.¡±

    ¡°Not information you can provide. Once I¡¯m out of the city I¡¯ll need to figure out where I can find it and how to get it. I¡¯ll decide what to do from there, the problem is I know fuck all about anything outside an ICC city.¡±

    ¡°That you¡¯re professional opinion?¡± Reuben sardonically asked. ¡°You want a babysitter.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d like someone who can teach me to survive with a target on my back.¡±

    Reuben expressionlessly sized Jase up. ¡°Alright.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ll do it?¡±

    ¡°Only because you¡¯re smart enough to know you¡¯re useless.¡±

    ¡°I have luggage.¡±

    ¡°So?¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t have anyone trying to open it.¡±

    ¡°¡®Long as you carry your gear, we won¡¯t have any problems.¡±

    ¡°Okay. I have some things to do. I¡¯ll be back before the flight.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t hurry.¡±

    On his way back to the slum, Jase went on a shopping spree, had a proper meal and bought some clothes that actually fit, several computers, along with a trunk and duffle bag to carry it all. When he sat down in front of the doctor and informed her of his success, she watched him with harsh skepticism until confirming it on her own computer.

    ¡°It appears you have,¡± the doctor stated with hidden mix of disappointment and frustration. She retrieved a syringe from a refrigerator and ran it under hot water until its contents turned from rust red to lime green. Jase was reluctant to let her stick it in the crook of his elbow; his ultimate consent did not stem from any sort of trust, faith, or suspension of common sense, but consciously doing something he knew was a very bad idea.

    ¡°Don¡¯t overexert yourself for the next few days,¡± the doctor droned. ¡°You may urinate orange and you may experience lethargy and shortness of breath, all of that is normal and will subside within a week.¡±

    Jase suspiciously rubbed a bead of blood off the injection site. ¡°How do I know you didn¡¯t just delay the reaction or poison me again?¡±

    ¡°Amaphorensis paralysis is an allergic reaction experienced by living cells infected with the dormant base virus after prolonged exposure to an active compound of my own design. By administering the neutralizing agent, I¡¯ve not only halted the process, I¡¯ve allowed your immune system time to target it, preventing you from succumbing to amaphorensis in the future. I have nothing to gain by killing you and credibility to lose if I do. Especially since you have proven yourself useful. Do not hesitate to come back if you have another medical emergency.¡±

    Jase had no intention to return to this city, let alone this clinic.

    It took him half an hour to find the case after hopping the fence. Part of it was his cautious pace, but once he found the river, locating the tree was trivial since the cat partially unearthed the case to sun itself on its metal. He was unsurprised when it walked up to him, alive and uninfected, and brushed up against his bitten leg.

    ¡°Yeah, it¡¯s good to see you too, Smudge.¡±

    He left the cat some food and checked up on the case. Before touching it, he looked over the hiding place. He never found out how long he was unconscious, but he estimated a few days. His memory of hiding it was hazy and wrought with panic and hunger, but he was sure he jammed it between the roots at a different angle. It still looked hastily buried, and the cat had cleared a spot for itself, but that didn¡¯t explain the new set of fingerprints overlapping his much older ones. He checked his surroundings to make sure he was alone, no stalkers, no helicopters, no dead things, when he grabbed the thing and put it in his trunk.

    Predictably, the cat followed him back to the slum and became indignant when he started climbing the fence. It was already on the other side when he hit the ground and didn¡¯t seem inclined to stop there.

    There was no way a cat would make it through customs, but this particular feline did survive in an ICC city for who knows how long. He figured it would find a way regardless and he did feel a very strange sense of obligation toward this creature who¡¯d frankly done more for him than the whole of society, so he opened his duffle bag and warned it to be very still and completely quiet.

    The volume of luggage put Reuben off when he walked up. He noticed the mud around his shoes and pants, but didn¡¯t say anything about it.

    When their plane loaded and they approached the bag check, Jase became uneasy. He had two things best left undiscovered, one of which would get temperamental if handled too friskily. When the airport attendant asked for his things, Jase didn¡¯t make a move. He didn¡¯t know what to do except tighten his grip on his luggage and hope she didn¡¯t make a scene.

    Reuben sighed and slipped the attendant some paper. She glanced over it, then let them through without a search.

    ¡°What did you give her?¡± Jase asked in a low, inconspicuous tone.

    ¡°Not all money fits on an ID chip.¡±

    Jase had seen planes fly overhead, but he¡¯d never seen one so close, much flown. Civilian travel was far less common in the ICC, partly due to population density control and partly due to strict jet fuel rationing. He was nervous until they were airborne, not for fear of flying or anything like that. He was worried the engines would stop and orderlies would storm the place. Even when they were on their way and the city was shrinking into the horizon, the possibility existed they would turn around; but Reuben¡¯s leisurely attitude wore off on him after a bit.

    ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡± he asked.

    ¡°Call me ¡®Jase.¡¯¡±

    ¡°That your name?¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it.¡±

 Crossing a Game Trail

    It was a torrential downpour in the dead wilds when a convoy of three all-terrain vehicles built like armored busses and half a dozen gun platforms decorated with the ICC rook plowed through a forest in the process of turning into badlands.

    In the second transport from the front, Holt and Tori looked over a map projection while a recording of Reeve¡¯s conversation with Craid played in the background. Holt had his feet up on a table as he filed a report while his ward paced restlessly.

    ¡°Something the matter?¡± Holt asked.

    Tori shook her head. ¡°This is the furthest I¡¯ve been from a city.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ve flown farther.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s different. I¡¯ve never heard an ¡®Ike¡¯ before, what¡¯s he doing so far out from civilization?¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s sort of the Phoenix Brigade¡¯s answer to our surveyor¡¯s corps. Not as likely to kill you for bumping into him, still not fun to deal with.¡±

    ¡°Ugh, another Phoenix Brigade. Loose cannons and unstable psychopaths.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re not wrong, but the world would be a much harder place to live in without a few trigger-happy jar heads who consider the term ¡®biological immortality¡¯ a personal challenge.¡±

    ¡°They¡¯re all high on gunpowder fumes and THC! Their leader doesn¡¯t have any better idea what¡¯s in that case than us and they¡¯ve already decided to destroy it!¡±

    ¡°Our goal is still the same. Find and recover the package, shoot anyone who tries to stop us.¡±

    ¡°And if we fail?!¡±

    ¡°Nothing changes. If the Brigade is anything, they¡¯re thorough. Whether the package is the next world ending super plague or a miracle cure, they won¡¯t leave enough of it behind for anyone to find out.¡±

    Tori hit the wall in passing, denting the metal plating and sending a crack along a nearby window.

    ¡°Don¡¯t get worked up over hypotheticals. Need a muscle relaxant?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± Tori insisted, taking a seat and going through breathing exercises, continuing once she got her heartrate down. ¡°Why do we even want Ike?¡±

    ¡°You mean besides the probability he¡¯s the last living person to lay eyes on the package?¡±

    ¡°That would have been over two months ago.¡±

    ¡°Sure, but he might know something that could fill in some blanks, wipe away some of the black ink. By the way, don¡¯t think I don¡¯t appreciate that you shut up during meetings, but I shouldn¡¯t have to do all the talking. I¡¯m your partner, not your drill sergeant.¡±

    ¡°Fine. I¡¯ll do the talking once we find him.¡±

    ¡°Oh, we¡¯re not ¡®finding¡¯ Ike,¡± Holt chortled. ¡°People who spend months on end exploring the dead wilds don¡¯t survive by making themselves easy to ¡®find.¡¯ We¡¯re headed to the last base he checked in at. With luck, he filed a report.¡±

    ¡°Doubtful. I just hope all our harassment doesn¡¯t instigate a conflict.¡±

    ¡°The Brigade doesn¡¯t need an excuse to start a fight. If they really wanted a war with ICC, they wouldn¡¯t wait for us to give them a reason.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not worried about doing our job. It¡¯s just¡­ Phoenix Brigade operators tend to have a really short fuse. They have a few members I¡¯d prefer not to enrage.¡±

    ¡°Oh, well, in that regard you should be worried.¡±

    The lights suddenly went out and a red hue flooded the cabin. The other transports did the same.

    ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± Holt demanded. ¡°Status!¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know!¡± the driver frantically replied. ¡°I just got the order to go dark! Wait¡­ lookout says they saw something!¡±

    ¡°Augers?¡±

    Before they could get their answer the bus was knocked into the air and went tumbling end over end. When Tori regained her senses, she was sprawled out in the rain, the armored bus cracked in two and heaped with the rest of the convoy like a junkyard, anyone still conscious firing wildly into the storm. For a brief moment, she saw some canid or felid creature as large as a house silhouetted against a sky damp with lightning.

    It was untraceable between flashes. Darting with supernatural agility through the ranks of ICC troopers like a shadow in the dark. Hiding was useless, a swarm of barb tipped tentacles surged from its mouth to seek out prey to dismember as it was dragged into the beast¡¯s mouth.

    Tori spotted Holt pinned under some wreckage across the clearing and ran to his side.

    ¡°Tori!¡± he grunted through grit teeth.

    ¡°How bad is it?¡±

    ¡°Right leg¡¯s fractured. Probably shattered. Left should hold weight.¡±

    ¡°Hold still.¡± Tori got a grip on the bus fragment holding her partner down and her clothes became incredibly tight. With a grunt, the bulkhead went up, she held it there with one arm and the opposite shoulder and dragged Holt out. After that, carrying him was a breeze, but by the time they made it to the most intact piece of discarded bus, the auger was running low on targets.

    Tori hadn¡¯t set Holt down when he suddenly covered her mouth and lurched both of them behind cover. She was thankful for it, because she might have let a gasp slip when she saw the creature illuminated by a flash of lightning prowling right over their hiding place.

    The gunfire was dead. Any trooper unlucky enough to be alive wisely hid. But the thing knew they were there. It prowled because it knew.

    Holt held a finger to his lips and made a series of hand gestures, to which Tori nodded an understanding. He threw a shard of glass and Tori ran in the opposite direction, thankful for the rain to mask her footsteps.

    She slid to a stop at the opposite end of the artificial clearing and took refuge between two rocks. Steeling herself, she exposed only enough of herself to see what was going on. She quickly hid when lightning exposed the thing rooting around at the far end of the wreckage hiding Holt, probing every crack with its tentacles. She caught her breath and noticed a terrified trooper hiding under a rock, clamping his hands over his mouth like a vice. Tori missed working with special forces, but she wasn¡¯t exactly the image of a perfect soldier at this moment.

    Taking a higher position, she aimed her sidearm at the auger. Two terrifying lightning flashes went by before she opted to steady her arm on the rock in front of her. When the next flash illuminated her target, she fired and missed its eye by centimeters.

    The flinch was enough time for her to slide into cover far enough away that when the creature scoured the area she was out of reach of its tentacles, but only so long as it didn¡¯t wander to its left, the other direction taking it to the hiding trooper.Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

    Holt swore under his breath and readied his gun.

    Tori never found it so difficult to breathe quietly, she was glad the soldier wasn¡¯t there to see her mimic his mouth covering as the sound of clawed tentacles scraping wet sand and stone drew closer. Her heart skipped a beat when the shot rang out, and another when the auger screamed in pain barely a dozen feet from her hiding place. Running was difficult from the tremors of the titanic auger thrashing around, but Tori made it to a torn-up bus fragment. Knowing Holt couldn¡¯t run, she wolf whistled and its head snapped in her direction, spotting her in a shattered image with an eye ruptured and hastily healed into a cluster of three new ones.

    A full sprint got her to the back of the bus and out of reach of the tentacles. By then, the auger¡¯s movements seemed slow and sluggish. As she clambered out a broken window, she sped up her breathing and increased her heartrate so when she touched solid ground, the world was moving in slow motion. Rain fell like it was sliding down a glass pane, lightning flashed for seconds on end, it was a bombardment on her senses.

    Holt was rummaging through storage compartments the moment he got his shot off. He found an ordinance cache and hobbled out of the bus with a rocket launcher on his shoulder.

    As if moving underwater, Tori charged under the auger, knocking its front leg aside and rammed a back leg to the point of inverting. The adrenalin coursing through her thick as blood prevented her from knowing if the crunching sound coursing through them was its bones or hers, but she didn¡¯t stop. In what seemed like minutes, only a second to anyone else, she was across the clearing and grabbed a wrecked truck. Too heavy. She ripped its door from the hinges and launched it through the air, embedding in the auger¡¯s head as it freed itself from the other bus.

    Running with a broken leg and a fractured one inevitably resulted in falling into the mud. When he righted himself to take the shot, Holt swore up and down at the unnecessary technology jammed up by the spill.

    The ground was wet and her sense of inertia shot from the bullet time, Tori¡¯s legs flew out from under her. The auger was on her like a dog on a rabbit. The clawed tentacles didn¡¯t puncture all the way through the weave of her clothes and though her adrenalin was ebbing, but she had the strength to resist dismemberment and even tear a few from their sockets. Try as she might, she couldn¡¯t stop them lifting her into the air and pulling her toward its mouth.

    She only saw what happened next because her perception of time was not fully normalized.

    A metal cylinder passed through its neck, then a second through its head in a span of time that to a passive observer it looked like a single explosion.

    Tori had to crawl out from under the auger¡¯s head where they landed a good seven yards away. She lay there on her back, breathing through clenched teeth. She couldn¡¯t unclench her jaw, every muscle in her body was stiffening, she even lacked control of her eyelids.

    Holt hobbled over with a med kit under his arm, dug out the muscle relaxants and gave her a double dose. ¡°Are you going to live?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± she whimpered as the tension in her body eased painfully slowly.

    ¡°You¡¯ll live.¡± He dumped out the kit and gave himself a shot of painkillers. Before they had the chance to kick in, he put his legs in their proper shape and delivered injections of a cloudy white substance as deep and near to the bones as he could, then sat back against the auger¡¯s head and let them do their work. He offered a can of healing spray to Tori, but at this point it was patronizing and she turned him down.

    The rain began to let up, but the sky didn¡¯t show any signs of getting brighter. Every muscle was in pain, but Tori sat up and surveyed the decaying carcass. ¡°That wasn¡¯t you.¡±

    Holt shook his head. ¡°Misfired. You see who made the shot?¡±

    ¡°No.¡± However, she traced the trajectory of the cylinders to a ridge some miles away. ¡°There.¡±

    ¡°Heluva shot.¡±

    ¡°Yeah,¡± she panted. ¡°You good to walk?¡±

    Holt flexed his feet. He couldn¡¯t feel his toes, but he couldn¡¯t tell if that was because the breaks weren¡¯t healed, the cold, or the painkillers. ¡°Good enough.¡±

    Through no small amount of effort, they both got to their feet and began the trek to the ridge. The going was slow, both limped and their boots stuck in the mud. Tori occupied her mind by refilling their clips, both kept their eyes open for anything attracted by the blast.

    They saw the tire tracks first. Small but heavy, starting at skid marks where the shot was taken at the ridge¡¯s peak. The shock made the earth settle, covering up the trail before the shot, the rest led under an overhanging rock formation where a heavily modified jeep with red fire mark painted on the door parked where it was dry. Armed out the ass, with guns and ammunitions strapped to the hull like quills on a porcupine, a man was on the roof, seemingly unaware or uncaring of the three rotting dead struggling to pry at the plating as he cleaned a meter gun mounted on top of the vehicle, so named for the size of the hole it leaves in concrete fortifications.

    Holt stopped Tori before the got too close and hailed the jeep. The man maintaining the cannon lifted the brim of his slouch hat and grinned when he saw the trench coats struggling to stand. ¡°G¡¯day, ICC puppets. To what do I owe the pleasure?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re Ike, I take it?¡± Holt replied.

    ¡°Bullshit,¡± Tori replied.

    ¡°Aye, that¡¯s me. You fans or am I under arrest?¡± he asked, casually drawing a .45.

    ¡°Little bit of both, not really either,¡± Holt answered. ¡°Have to say, love your handiwork laying out in that ditch.¡±

    ¡°You like that, did you?¡± Ike replied, amicably holstering his gun. ¡°Would¡¯a shot sooner, but the blasted thing wouldn¡¯t sit still. Lightning wasn¡¯t flashing long enough to draw a bead and the night specs died last week.¡±

    ¡°Bullshit, there¡¯s no way you¡¯d just stumble on us,¡± Tori insisted.

    ¡°But it was you and your secret police who stumbled on me,¡± Ike gladly retorted. ¡°Been tracking that beastie for three weeks. I have to thank you. If it hadn¡¯t stopped to massacre your convoy, I¡¯d still be on the hunt. How many o¡¯ you survived?¡±

    ¡°Just us,¡± Holt admitted.

    ¡°Pity,¡± Ike said apathetically. He jumped down from the roof and relieved the zombies pawing at his car of their frontal lobes with one of several knives sheathed in his vest. ¡°Can¡¯t say I¡¯m too cut up about it, they died like bitches. You, on the other hand nearly gave me a heart attack.¡± He pointed at Tori. ¡°If I hadn¡¯t seen you standing next to someone, I¡¯d have hauled ass.¡±

    ¡°We appreciate that you didn¡¯t, because we need to ask you some questions.¡±

    As if oblivious, Ike asked, ¡°What are you spooks doing on the ground anyways?¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re here to ask you about an agent you helped a few months ago.¡±

    ¡°Should have known,¡± he sighed. ¡°Guess I shouldn¡¯t complain. Don¡¯t have company very often. I found your spook at a crash site. Long distance VTOL, one of yours, I think. Thing was up in smoke, thought it would attract some augers, so I set up a position to pick ¡®em off. Somehow, over half the crew was still alive. Alive and digging in. Wasn¡¯t about to give up good bait, but your spook sees me and hauls ass to my position. She had a wild look in her eyes, like she was on something a might bit stronger than a stim. Thought she¡¯d turned at first. Kept yapping about her case, how something¡¯s hunting her for it. Would have turned her away, but somewhere in the mess she said ¡®Gennex,¡¯ and that changed my tune.¡±

    ¡°You didn¡¯t stay to kill what was after her?¡± Holt asked suspiciously.

    Ike laughed as he strapped down the meter gun. ¡°I¡¯m not equipped to take on anyone from Gennex. But if getting your friend to her friends rubbed them the wrong way, I was all for it. Whatever happened to her?¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s dead.¡±

    ¡°Pity,¡± Ike shrugged. ¡°Heard about your city. Thought one of your types would survive it.¡±

    ¡°Did she say anything?¡± Tori asked. ¡°What she was doing, what was in the case?¡±

    ¡°She¡¯d just as soon bite you as say hello. The crash shook her up something fierce, but mostly she kept her eyes on our tracks. Didn¡¯t sleep a wink the two days it took getting her to one of your outposts.¡±

    ¡°You sure she didn¡¯t say anything?¡±

    ¡°Swear on me mum,¡± Ike sardonically replied.

    Tori sneered and ran a hand through her hair.

    ¡°Nothing much happened between the crash and the outpost, but a few days after dropping her off, I shot down three buzz drones trying to pick up my trail.¡±

    Holt and Tori shared a pensive glance.

    ¡°Now Hedron¡¯s involved?¡± Tori asked.

    ¡°Hard to hide anything from them,¡± Holt replied. He called out to Ike.

    ¡°How can I help you?¡±

    ¡°My partner and I have found ourselves in need of transportation.¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s the rub. What were you doing on the ground and not in one of your planes or helicopters?¡±

    ¡°Birds have been going down in the area. Nothing that¡¯s flown over the Chattanooga badlands has been seen again.¡±

    ¡°Chattanooga you say?¡± Ike pulled out a map and added to a long pencil trail spanning the map and circled an area marked in red. ¡°Much obliged.¡±

    ¡°We were headed for base Nacogdoches,¡± Tori stated. ¡°If you could leave us with your friends there, we¡¯ll set you up with some ordinance.¡±

    ¡°Sorry, love. Just came from that way. Once I bag what¡¯s knocking down your birds, I¡¯m headed east.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s all well and good, but I¡¯d rather not walk anywhere ¡®til I see a doctor about my legs.¡± Holt replied.

    Ike sized the agents up. ¡°Normally, I¡¯d tell you to piss off, but I¡¯m in a good mood today. Just bagged a beast, got a bead on my next quarry, and you might not have known, but I enjoy the company. I can take you as far as Concord.¡±

    ¡°Concord?¡± Tori asked, not recognizing the name.

    ¡°What? No. No!¡± Holt insisted. ¡°I¡¯m not going to see a goddamn Rust Devil doctor!¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s a crying shame,¡± Ike responded. ¡°Concord¡¯s the closest I¡¯m coming to civilization ¡®til I run out of ammo. Don¡¯t worry, they love me there. Fished up a nasty mutator poisoning their water.¡±

    ¡°We don¡¯t have many options, unless you think we can survive a walk back to Chattanooga,¡± Tori acknowledged. Holt gave her a look and she replied, ¡°I¡¯m not carrying you.¡±

    ¡°Fine!¡± Holt relented. ¡°Take us to Concord.¡±

    ¡°Splendid,¡± Ike replied. ¡°Take a seat anywhere, just don¡¯t touch my shells or I¡¯ll cut your arms off. Oh, and if you ever bump into Craid, tell him I helped you.¡±

 A Hunt Interrupted

    ¡°I¡¯m a little out of my depth,¡± Jase whispered into the microphone.

    ¡°What do you want, a cookie?¡± Rueben replied. Jase was still unaccustomed to the drawl. He¡¯d already known him two days, but the man didn¡¯t speak often enough for him to get used to it. ¡°If I need to guess someone¡¯s password, you¡¯ll be the first to know. For now, I need your eyes and your face.¡±

    Jase sighed and scanned the plaza with a rangefinder. ¡°At least tell me what I¡¯m looking for.¡±

    ¡°Anyone suspicious.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know what¡¯s suspicious in this city.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not asking you to build a damn rocket. If you see something weird, call it out.¡±

    ¡°There are kids with green and pink hair running around, give me something to work with.¡±

    McCord groaned. ¡°Fine.¡± He thought for a second. ¡°Do you see a guy with a robot arm twice the size it should be?¡±

    ¡°No.¡±

    ¡°Do you see a tall guy with a real big sword, dressed up like a Japanese samurai?¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s a samurai?¡±

    ¡°Never mind. You¡¯d have seen him by now. How ¡®bout a lady with paper white skin, eyes cold as ice, and a little, glowing metal can planted between two huge fuckin tits?¡±

    ¡°Think I¡¯d notice that first.¡±

    ¡°Alright, alright.¡± He sighed and thought some more. ¡°What about a big guy, real big, built like a jock, with a face like a semi-truck, and almost definitely wearing sunglasses.¡±

    ¡°That could be anyone slightly larger than¡­ woah.¡± He spotted an immense figure, not just tall, but wide. Muscled up in leather with sunglasses despite the overcast. The buzz cut and drop-dead expression stunk of military, but he lacked any scars, sun wrinkles, laugh lines, anything denoting combat experience. Which might have meant he was new, or so good at his job he had yet to accumulate any. Either way, he was terrifying to look at, but not so much that he stuck out like a sore thumb. Ignoring his size, he was nondescript.

    ¡°What, you see him?¡±

    ¡°I see someone like him. Gees, he¡¯s big.¡±

    ¡°Is he a stone-faced bastard who moves like he weighs a ton and a half?¡±

    ¡°Yeah. What do we do now? Are we pulling back?¡±

    ¡°Nope. We¡¯re moving forward.¡±

    ¡°But I saw the guy,¡± Jase replied as he descended a maintenance ladder.

    ¡°If you hadn¡¯t seen anyone, we would have pulled back. Lesson one: if you don¡¯t see someone, it¡¯s because someone saw you first.¡±

    ¡°Alright. Enforcers are getting antsy. I¡¯m crossing the street.¡±

    ¡°Be ready, when it goes down, it¡¯ll go down quick. Shut off your radio and don¡¯t look suspicious!¡±

    That was something Jase was prepared to do. He was dressed in clothes bought from a local store, counterfeited an ID chip on the flight, and had years of experience going unnoticed. Seamlessly merging into the crowd, he steadily drifted across the plaza. The enforcers attempting to gather unassumingly were unsettling but expected. Look like you have somewhere to be and nothing to hide and they won¡¯t look at you twice, as long as you don¡¯t give them a reason to bother you, you¡¯re untouchable. The problem was the big guy.

    Jase didn¡¯t think too hard about why McCord cared more about him or any of the others he described, but as long as they went unnoticed, he was a nonissue. He cast an occasional glance to make sure the big guy was still lumbering around, then halfway across the plaza, ducked into a bathroom when he wasn¡¯t looking.

    He checked under the stalls for boots, finding only one civilian, Jase went into the furthest stall and pulled a pipe bomb from his backpack. It was made with rubber tubing instead of rigid piping, so it was oddly floppy. He carefully put it in the toilet, more worried about getting water on himself than setting it off, lit a magnesium fuse that burned even underwater, and flushed the toilet.

    Jase hurried to compose himself once out of the restroom. The large man was nowhere to be seen, but he didn¡¯t have time to mull over it and continued up the plaza where enforcers were thickest. Exactly forty-five seconds later, a muffled boom erupted from the pipes running under a distribution center across the plaza.

    Jase made sure to show just as much shock as anyone standing nearby, though his reaction time was delayed by a split second. A call went out and the peacekeepers mobilized, completely ignoring the perpetrator. Jase allowed himself a brief moment of satisfaction which immediately fell flat when he saw the big guy standing motionless in the throng of panicking civilians, watching him.

    He turned down an alley. Logic told him to keep moving, but he had to set up some spike traps first. He didn¡¯t know the penalty if he was caught in the act in this city, but in the ICC it¡¯s grounds to shoot first. His hands were shaky and inaccurate from rushing himself, which led to mistakes drawing him out longer. He outright dropped the thing partially deployed and whipped around, wide eyed, at the sound of someone¡¯s voice.

    It was the big guy. He was standing at the entrance to the alley and said in a cold, monotone voice, ¡°Identify yourself.¡± Jase dropped his bag and ran. ¡°Suspicious activity confirmed. Beginning pursuit.¡±

    The big guy wasn¡¯t so slow anymore. It took him a bit, but he picked up supernatural speed. Jase took a sharp turn, hoping to turn his momentum against him, but the guy plowed through the stone and polymer building like Styrofoam. It felt like he was hit by a truck. The next thing Jase knew, he was gasping under a him shaped dust smear on the opposite wall. He tried crawling a way, but the big guy lumbered over and lifted him in the air with one arm.

    ¡°Identify yourself.¡± His jaw flapped, but his lips didn¡¯t move.

    Jase punched him in the face and was treated to the sound his shattering knuckles running up his arm. The sunglasses were dislodged and Jase found himself staring into two bright red lenses set in metal sockets rimmed by artificial flesh.

    It threw him clear down the alley like a sack of papers and the landing knocked the wind from his lungs. It didn¡¯t help the trash landed on was full of metal and glass, a shard of which lodged between his ribs. The pain was short lived, since it became difficult to feel anything when the man-machine lifted him by the neck and squeezed. He nearly didn¡¯t hear the shots ring out.

    Metal exploded from its elbow and base of its neck. Its eyes flickered and its grip went slack as it staggered to the ground. Jase had to pry its hand away and he coughed up a fine red mist until his vision returned. Even then it didn¡¯t return all the way.

    ¡°God dammit, I told you not to look suspicious!¡± Rueben shouted, putting three more bullets in the base of the machine¡¯s skull, yet its eyes refused to go out for good.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t,¡± Jase indignantly wheezed.

    ¡°You looked at it, didn¡¯t you?! Never look directly at anything unless you¡¯re shooting at it or it¡¯s shooting at you!¡± He grabbed Jase by the collar and threw him to his feet. He wasn¡¯t ready to stand, but McCord wasn¡¯t about to let him recoup.

    When they came out the other side, peacekeepers were already responding to the gunshots.

    ¡°What are you doing?! There¡¯s a terror attack in progress!¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t go in there!¡± McCord shouted in feigned panic. ¡°There¡¯s a crazy guy with a gun!¡± The enforcers wordlessly ran into the alley while McCord kept his revolver behind him. They¡¯d barely passed when he started reloading.

    Way up the road, mayhem erupted as an armored truck added to the chaos caused by the perceived terror attack.

    ¡°It¡¯s getting close!¡± Jase nervously informed.

    ¡°Yeah, yeah, don¡¯t rush me,¡± McCord replied, taking aim up a perpendicular road rushing with recklessly endangered traffic.

    Machinegun fire rang up the road. On closer inspection, the man in the armored truck¡¯s passenger seat was shooting at something. Following from the rooftops was a woman dressed in what is best described as a tactical mourning gown and veil. The dress was split in the front and trailed behind her so she was not hindered as she ran, harnesses went up and down her torso and sleeves holding clips and grenades, but chief among her equipment was a silver gun like a space age sniper rifle built around a small cylindrical device emitting pink energy. The gun shot beams that left no marks and her heels were actually devices channeling that energy allowing her to keep up with the truck on foot. The light pink mist left behind in her wake coalesced reminiscent of flower petals blowing in the wind.

    As attractive as she was even through the veil, she was cold and relentless. Every time the man in the truck¡¯s passenger seat emerged to shoot at her, she¡¯d pin him back in with a narrow miss of her rifle. When he wasn¡¯t shooting at her, she withdrew a submachinegun from the folds of her dress and fruitlessly fired on the shielded tires.

    Worrisome as it was, Jase¡¯s fight or flight response went into overdrive when a commotion in the alley drew his attention to the big, metal guy, skin peeled back like rubber by new bullet marks to reveal a skeletal metal interior suggesting the blood splattered on its arms and face were not its own. The damage to its neck made its visual feed stutter, but it immediately recognized Jase.This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

    ¡°McCord!¡± Jase cried.

    ¡°I know!¡± He spotted a truck barreling up the perpendicular road and shot the driver in the shoulder, then shot out the tires on its left side so it careened into the intersection. ¡°Don¡¯t fuck this up!¡±

    The road blocked and stopping not an option, the armored truck took the only path available to it and plowed into the alley, ramming straight into the metal man. While it was screeching to make the turn, Jase and McCord scrambled to latch onto the tailgate.

    The driver panicked, believing he hit someone, but that panic turned into sheer terror when the hit and run victim pried itself from the indent and clawed its way up the hood. The man in the passenger seat riddled it with lead until his clip went dry and barely left a dent. McCord had his hands full applying suppressing fire to the woman in the mourning gown without getting crushed against the alley wall while Jase was busy doing his best to not die.

    Several pink beams peppered the truck and McCord called out, ¡°Don¡¯t let that hit you!¡±

    ¡°No shit!¡± Jase responded.

    ¡°It¡¯s worse than a bullet, kid!¡± She was too nimble and her outfit was bulletproof, but McCord shot out the support strut on a beam she was about to land on, earning him time to vault onto the roof, freeing a hand to reload so he could fully excise the metal man¡¯s arm before it smashed in the windshield. ¡°Where are the spikes?!¡±

    ¡°I was interrupted!¡±

    The metal man changed priorities and clambered onto the roof. Jase swallowed his cautionary sense and peered up the alley, spotting his pack holding two unrolled spike traps coming up quick. His arm nearly ripped from its socket when he snatched it up, then nearly lost his grip when their emergence into the plaza surprised him with a sudden vacuum pull. He tried to follow McCord¡¯s suit, but between biting back the pain of his broken hand and habitually covering his face in the presence of cameras, he was lucky he held on at all.

    Pink beams landed within inches of his hand, narrowly missed McCord, struck the metal man in the chest, and hit the passenger¡¯s arm. No observable change came over the metal man as the energy coursed through it and dissipated, but a look of pure ecstasy came over the passenger and he dove from the truck.

    Running down the staircase lining the plaza did not make staying on top of the truck easy, least of all for the metal man, but it didn¡¯t stop McCord from shooting a flashbang on the woman¡¯s grenade belt, setting it off. With her indisposed for the moment, he launched himself at the metal man, knocking them both over. However, McCord jammed a hunting knife into the truck for grip, and the metal man went over the edge alone.

    Jase wasn¡¯t having any luck, so he took a spike trap and threw it over the hood. It did its job and the truck peeled out, launching him and McCord across the road when it crashed. He could barely swear through the pain of the road rash. It wasn¡¯t too bad, but it was his first and it hurt like a bitch.

    ¡°Walk it off,¡± McCord groaned. ¡°We¡¯ve got work to do and not long to do it.¡±

    The first thing the driver saw when he came too was a revolver barrel.

    ¡°Hands where I can see them.¡± McCord had Jase search the man and the cabin, collecting two sidearms, a taser, a night stick, and a key ring, the last of which McCord took off his hands. ¡°Go get the car before any of our ¡®friends¡¯ catch up.¡±

    They were a long way away from where they expected to be, so Jase double timed it back to their getaway vehicle.

    ¡°P-Please, don¡¯t kill me!¡± the driver pleaded.

    ¡°You¡¯re a bigger problem dead.¡± McCord clubbed the man over the head with the butt of his revolver, knocking him out cold.

    He thumbed through the keys as he went around back and opened up the armored compartment. Two enforcers lay strangled and bludgeoned on the floor.

    ¡°What the hell is going on out there¨C¡± A man with more scars on his face than hairs on his head froze and grinned when he saw who opened the door. ¡°Reuben, you magnificent son of a bitch! Of all the people I never thought I¡¯d see again!¡±

    ¡°Yeah. Sorry it had to be this way, Bobby.¡± Two gunshots splattered Bobby¡¯s brains across the inside of the truck. McCord reloaded two rounds before the barrel stopped smoking. ¡°No hard feelings.¡±

    Jase threw open the door to the backseat and sprayed himself down with the contents of a first aid kit. The relief on his road rash and glass splinter wound was almost immediate, but his hand wouldn¡¯t unbreak so easily. Approaching sirens cut his recoup short.

    McCord was on the street before Jase came roaring up the road with enforcement vehicles hot on his tail. ¡°Move over!¡±

    They peeled out onto the main highway just as half a dozen cruisers screeched into view. In their wake, the metal man pulled itself out of a dent in the concrete and began picking up speed.

    McCord adjusted the rearview mirror, then made some potshots over his shoulder, blowing out two cruiser¡¯s tires and wounding another driver, making the rest swerve. ¡°How¡¯s the path looking?¡±

    Jase, with a laptop open, growled his frustration with typing with only two good fingers on his right hand amidst McCord¡¯s erratic driving and pressure from gunfire. ¡°Channels are cluttered with chatter about the bombing. The only enforcers who know about us are on our tail.¡±

    ¡°Fan-fucking-tastic.¡± He pushed his revolver onto Jase. ¡°Make yourself useful.¡±

    ¡°What am I supposed to do with this?!¡±

    ¡°Shoot!¡±

    The gun was heavier than expected and pointing it in the right direction was made more difficult since he couldn¡¯t use his dominant arm. The barrel danced around the windshield he intended to hit, jostled by every bump and jerk of the wheel, the whipping wind, flinching from the enforcers shooting at him, and his own ineptitude. When he eventually did pull the trigger, the kick was heavier than he anticipated. The bullet went wide, he lost his grip and had to watch the cold steel bounce off the highway.

    McCord did a double take when he saw Jase empty handed. The look in his eye made Jase glad the gun was out of reach.

    They were about to have bigger problems because the metal man caught up with the chase. The clothes and false skin around its joints wore away from the friction and burned in some places. The enforcers were caught off guard when that thing overtook them on foot. It was heavy enough to shrug off the bullets they put into it with little more than a flinch.

    ¡°Shit!¡± McCord spat, spotting it in the rearview mirror. ¡°Under my seat!¡±

    Jase clambered into the back, thoroughly annoying the cat sleeping in the footwell, and slid out a gun case. He got a gun into McCord¡¯s hand and he emptied all six chambers on the pursuer, but it tracked the angle of the barrel and covered its delicate joints.

    ¡°Can¡¯t you go any faster?!¡± Jase cried.

    ¡°These things weren¡¯t designed to break the speed limit!¡±

    Its pelvis was smoking when it got within arm¡¯s reach and drove its fingers into the chassis. Only possessing one arm hindered its approach, holding on was all it could do between the evasive maneuvers and bullets McCord put into its fingers.

    The metal man detected an unfamiliar signal emanating from the trunk, and during a reprieve while McCord reloaded, latched on with its feet and pried it open. Observing Jase¡¯s trunk as the source of the signal, it changed priorities.

    In a panic, Jase lowered the back seat as the metal man grabbed the trunk and let go of the car. Jase tried to save his trunk and was nearly dragged out.

    ¡°Drop the luggage!¡± McCord shouted as he tried to get an angle that wouldn¡¯t perforate Jase.

    His tendons were about to snap, but he wasn¡¯t about to give up the case. Thinking quickly, he opened the trunk, removed the case inside, then let go. The metal man went under the wheels of a cruiser, wrecked one, and sent another off the road.

    The outer gate was wide open, having just received a transit, but when the chase came into view, the guards hit the emergency shutdown. McCord wasn¡¯t worried about beating the doors, slow as they were, but some fresh cruisers that recently joined the chase were threatening to run him off the road. Without any bullets in reach, their escape relied solely on a civilian grade commuter¡¯s ability to outrun law enforcement cruisers.

    Recovered from the flashbang and too far removed to rejoin the chase, the woman in the mourning gown found a vantage point from which she spotted the procession. She turned a dial on her rifle and took aim. After a brief charge up for each, pink beams struck the drivers of the cruisers one by one. Her crosshair lingered over McCord for a moment, then turned to Jase. Her breath caught when she saw the case. She twisted the dial, steadied her focus, and pulled the trigger just before the gate closed behind them.

    Jase saw the flash. He didn¡¯t have the reaction time to do more than move his arm, so he lifted the case into the beam¡¯s path. It deflected into the roof, but residual energy coursed through the case into Jase.

    He fell to the floor, not by going limp, it was as if he lost the will to hold himself up. Visions flickered over the roof of the car. He saw the woman in the mourning gown, but she wasn¡¯t in a mourning gown, she was in a wedding dress. He saw her up close, close enough to touch, and she was beautiful. There was no way he should know what features framed the piercing blue eyes burning through that veil, but it was beautiful. Beautiful enough to make a man forget to breathe.

    ¡°Dammit, boy, stay with me!¡± McCord dug out the taser taken from the armored truck and shocked him in the neck.

    The visions were already fleeting when he was jolted from his stupor as if waking from a dream. The blissful stupor was swept away by terror that he can and did lose his faculties, but also anger and longing that he had to regain them, which worried him more.

    ¡°You all there?¡± McCord asked.

    ¡°Yeah¡­ Yeah. I¡¯m¡­ I¡¯m fine.¡± McCord tazed him again. ¡°What was that for?!¡±

    They followed the crumbling highway in silence until the car¡¯s battery died. McCord got out of the car and fired a shot into the air, then dumped the remaining bullets onto the ground and tossed the gun to Jase.

    ¡°What¡¯s this?¡± Jase asked cautiously.

    ¡°A gun. You¡¯re going to learn how to use it.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t need a gun.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re about to, or something is going to get a real easy meal.¡±

    Jase looked around in alarm. ¡°If you¡¯re still mad I dropped your gun, I am sorry!¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not mad about the gun. And you didn¡¯t just drop the gun, by the way, you dropped five perfectly good bullets with it. I¡¯m pissed because you nearly got both of us killed four different times back there!¡±

    ¡°We got out.¡±

    ¡°We got lucky. Luck¡¯s probably the only reason you made it to me in the first place.¡±

    ¡°I never did anything I wasn¡¯t prepared for.¡±

    ¡°You think I ever surfed an armored truck? You won¡¯t survive if you spend all your time worrying about what will kill you. If you can¡¯t wrap your head around that, you¡¯re better off marching right back up to that city.¡± A pair of near skeletal dead shambled into view in search of the source of the shot. ¡°Speak of the devil. You¡¯d better learn fast.¡±

    Jase looked at the corpses, then at the bullets strewn on the ground which doubled in number as McCord emptied his other gun. ¡°My hand is broken!¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll break the other and feed it to the zombies if I have to take one step from this spot.¡±

    Jase grimaced and rushed to the ammunition. Hands shaking for various reasons, the zombies were uncomfortably close when he finally closed the chamber.

    Holding the gun with his left hand, he steadied with the broken one. He aimed at the nearest corpse¡¯s head and took several seconds to stabilize before pulling the trigger. He overcompensated the recoil and hit the shoulder, staggering it and not much more. The second shot went wide.

    ¡°If you can¡¯t hit the head, aim somewhere else,¡± McCord stated.

    Jase sneered and aimed lower. The next shot landed in the dirt some distance behind the lead zombie.

    ¡°Knees are smaller than the head and move more. They can¡¯t walk without a pelvis.¡±

    Taking his advice sent the zombie to its stomach, which made the head a more reasonable target.

    ¡°Don¡¯t fight the recoil. Keep both eyes open.¡±

    The next shot downed the second zombie, but Jase realized he wasn¡¯t counting when a click failed to relieve the dead man of its head. It was already closer than it ever should have gotten, so Jase only grabbed one bullet and delivered it at point blank range after pinning the groping hand under his foot.

    ¡°Good enough, for now,¡± McCord sardonically congratulated.

    ¡°What¡¯s this ¡®for now?¡¯ I shot it, didn¡¯t I?!¡±

    ¡°You shot a few rounds into walking compost. Doesn¡¯t mean you can shoot for shit. Don¡¯t get used to getting practice swings, the wasteland rarely offers the courtesy of a second chance, and she¡¯s the most merciful bitch left in this godforsaken world. If you can¡¯t survive on your own grit, I¡¯m leaving you for the scavengers.¡±

    McCord left Jase standing in the middle of the road to grab his things from the car, shooing away the silver cat watching them from the back seat.

    Jase frantically put the rest of the bullets on the ground into his borrowed gun and followed suit.

    A few dozen miles down the road, they passed an old gas station overgrown with foliage. McCord bade Jase to keep going and hurried in. There were a few shots, some animals ran out the back, and he soon emerged shoving several decades-old packets of cigarettes into his bag.

    ¡°Cigarettes will kill you,¡± Jase muttered as he relinquished the lighter.

    ¡°They can get in line.¡±

 Dealing With Devils

    The crunch underfoot of gravel and dead overgrowth was inescapable, but preferable to leaving prints in the dirt for anyone to find.

    What was once a highway lay in ruin, rusted out cars from a bygone era piled up at the shoulders. Occasional trees jutted out of the fragmented asphalt, but now they were just as dead as the forests framing either side. The only life vivifying a lonely stretch of forgotten highway in the middle of the dead winter was a single figure clad in black from his boots to his trench coat to his featureless, obsidian mask.

    Like his namesake, the Revenant followed the highway slowly and deliberately in the east by north easterly direction it drew him. For days he walked, only resting when he came upon a hoard of roaming dead, decomposed down to the components even bacteria won¡¯t touch. He stood motionless in the center of the highway for the seven hours it took the hoard to move on. If one passed near enough and its eyes hadn¡¯t rotted all the way out, it might stop and look at the Revenant, and he would look back, and then the shuffling of its fellows would pull its attention.

    Then he kept walking.

    He stopped at a turn in the highway, at a patch of dirt by the edge of the asphalt. A footprint. Not a boot or any other shoe suited for the terrain. Average weight, worn, but not so ragged, continuing in the east by north easterly direction. Nearby was another footprint. Barefoot, female, with all of its flesh intact. Both were weathered about the same and going the same direction. It was impossible to say who followed who or if one even followed the other.

    The revenant erased the prints before following their vector.

    ¡°I¡¯ve never heard of ¡®Concord,¡¯¡± Tori said in an attempt at idle conversation.

    ¡°It was around before the outbreak,¡± Holt replied. ¡°When things stopped dying properly, people migrated into cities.¡±

    ¡°They didn¡¯t last long,¡± Ike added. ¡°This was before megacities, before anyone knew what could happen to a corpse after a few weeks. Didn¡¯t take much for the place to be overrun.¡±

    ¡°Why are we going there?¡± Tori asked.

    ¡°Because a gang of thieves and murderers cleared the place out and reverted to tribalism,¡± Holt grumbled discontentedly.

    ¡°Now that¡¯s not really fair, mate,¡± Ike replied. ¡°They don¡¯t like living in your big, clean cities. They¡¯re still people like me and you.¡±

    ¡°No one sane chooses to live in squalor. The Rust Devils are a filthy, uneducated, disease ridden hoard of criminals and psychopaths who¡¯d rather steal OUR supplies and fuck in the dirt than live a decent life.¡±

    ¡°And soon they¡¯ll have their fingers and scalpels all up in your legs.¡±

    Tori looked worriedly between them. ¡°Why are you taking us there?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m just joshing. Concord¡¯s a slice of heaven.¡±

    ¡°They¡¯ll steal your organs if you¡¯re not careful,¡± said Holt.

    ¡°Is it really their fault if you¡¯re not careful?¡± Ike adjusted the rearview on a cloud of dust on their tail. ¡°If you have anything else to say, get it out of your system, ¡®cuz you won¡¯t want to say it to their faces.¡±

    Three motorcycles pulled up along either side and behind the jeep with machetes and spear guns in hand. The one trailing closely behind had a passenger with harpoons at the ready. Holt and Tori had their hands on their guns, but Ike leisurely grinned and banged on the Phoenix Brigade emblem on his door, then held up three fingers. The biker pulled in close to count the passengers and when Tori saw the helmet spiked with nails and wrapped in a scarf, the red-brown mud of the region caking everything except the black bug eyed goggles, she understood why they were called Rust Devils.

    The rider signaled his friends who whooped and hollered as they pulled away toward their patrol, then he accelerated ahead of them, dusting Ike¡¯s windshield a few times before leading them toward a spot on the horizon. As they drew near, Tori began to appreciate the rust in the name in a more literal sense.

    The town was in the middle of an open field that was once a sprawl of urban and suburban infrastructure but was now stripped down to the dirt until only an industrial nightmare of patchwork aluminum and iron stood at the center of the barren clearing like an anthill. Two smokestacks belched a continuous cloud of inky pollution into the sky with terrifying implications for the citizens scurrying along exposed catwalks coiling like veins around and between the scaffolding built up around the buildings. The uninvitingly spiked wall surrounding the place seemed the sturdiest construct, still standing strong despite visible ballistic and biological abuse. The occasional oil well dotted the otherwise barren field between the jeep and the ramshackle monstrosity.

    Ike stopped a good distance before reaching the gate, notably just outside the effective range of a hunting rifle. ¡°Alright, any closer and they¡¯ll strip my jeep. It¡¯s been a riot. Hope you find your case.¡±

    Tori and Holt unloaded, wary of the biker prowling behind them, and reluctantly trudged toward the gate. Before they left, Ike gave them one more bit of advice.

    ¡°When you get there, ask for Andrew Thompson. If he¡¯s still alive, he¡¯ll make sure no one kills and eats ya. Oh, and you might want to keep that you¡¯re ICC to yourselves.¡±

    ¡°No shit,¡± Holt answered.

    Laughing, because this was a joke to him, Ike sped off into the wild dead yonder, leaving the two agents to confront the toothy mandibles in the wall gaping open for them. Immediately inside, walls funneled toward another gate, a portcullis of solid steel peppered with bullet dents. The ground of this little courtyard was packed down hard with tire tracks and the walls were teeming with Rust Devils armed with various sharp and flaming equipment. Only a couple had proper guns, but it hardly mattered, especially with the mandible gates locking them in.

    ¡°That¡¯s far enough,¡± a voice called when they reached the center of the square. ¡°Who are you and what are you doing here?¡±

    Holt grumbled under his breath before replying. ¡°We came with Ike, the monster hunter. Our transport ran afoul of something he was hunting, this was the nearest we could find a doctor and some wheels.¡±

    ¡°You with the Phoenix Brigade?¡±

    ¡°Something like that.¡±

    The Rust Devils behind the gate deliberated. ¡°What are you carrying?¡±

    Holt nudged Tori and they held up their weapons. ¡°Nine millimeters. Not up for trade.¡±

    ¡°What about the bullets?¡±

    ¡°They don¡¯t work too well without them.¡±

    ¡°Ike said to ask for Andrew Thompson,¡± Tori impatiently called.

    There was another moment of deliberation. One of them shrugged and they descended the rampart. An engine flared up and the inner gate lifted with a pained groan of old metal.

    ¡°Welcome to Concord,¡± Holt sighed as if disappointed.

    Their welcome met with less fanfare than their arrival. Now that it was clear they weren¡¯t here to fight or trade, the droves dispersed into the wreckage. A few of the better armed devils stayed to intimidate and prod their visitors. They were either armored up with car parts and spikes or dressed down to little more than dirt and scars. Several of them were missing fingers and a few operated on primitive prosthetic limbs, almost none had a full set of teeth. Tori did not like the multitude of eyes weighing them like slabs of meat. Especially her. She never considered herself in terms of sex appeal, but the women she saw did wonders for her self-esteem and that did not bode well for her effect on the men.

    A massive man with an empty eye socket and a blowtorch dangling from his belt blocked Holt¡¯s path, hands audibly flexing at his side. ¡°Das a nice piece you carry.¡±

    Holt put his hands on his side so he felt his gun through his coat. ¡°It does its job.¡±

    ¡°I been look¡¯n for a piece like dat. They expensive, but I think I get one for free.¡±

    ¡°Let me know if you find a place.¡± He attempted to walk around the giant of a man but was grabbed by the lapel. Holt grabbed his wrist before he could take the gun, then pulled his arm so his head was low enough to drive his forehead into the big guy¡¯s nose.Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

    Tori reached for her gun but Holt stopped her. Surprisingly, the other Rust Devils weren¡¯t very perturbed by this act of violence against one of their own.

    Holt snapped his fingers to get the attention of the big guy with a hand to his face. ¡°You know where we can find a doctor? You know, surgeon? Physician? Medic?¡±

    A wet crunch and the big guy¡¯s nose was back in place. He was scowling, but merely brushed them off and left.

    ¡°Not the friendliest bunch,¡± Tori remarked.

    ¡°That¡¯s practically how they say hello.¡±

    A small crowd stayed with them while they went deeper into Concord. Most of them were just curious to see anyone so clean, a few were definitely looking for a fight, and there were some catcalling at Tori.

    There was a skinny junk rat who jumped to his feet when he saw the two and scurried up beside them. ¡°Hello, hello, hello. Where are you two from?¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t encourage him,¡± Holt advised. ¡°Give him a good tap if you have to.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t pop me for being curious!¡± the vagabond bleated. ¡°Not every day we see someone not covered in shit. You got guns, arrived on the wings of a phoenix, and don¡¯t take flak from the peasantry, you must be kings!¡± He leaned in and sniffed Tori who immediately turned around and put a finger to his chest.

    ¡°Fuck off,¡± she warned.

    The junk rat had his hands up like her finger was a gun and stayed like that for a few seconds after she went on her way. His expression was wry and suspicious. Stealthily he crept up behind the agents. Tori was trying so hard to ignore him, she was caught off guard when he suddenly lifted her shirt. His jaw was broken before he could lift it past her navel, or as the junk rat so frightfully proclaimed, her lack of one.

    Guns went up, blades went unsheathed, and anyone unarmed scrambled for cover at the cry of ¡°infiltrator¡± spreading through the city. Holt and Tori were surrounded in seconds, unable to do much more than hold their hands over their heads and wait for the first shot. No one was willing to get close enough to lay a hand on them.

    The riot eventually died down to just a handful of spiked up Rust Devils shouting threats and demanding explanations. Between the slurs and Holt¡¯s less than friendly replies, Tori called all the attention onto herself.

    They were apprehensive, so she bit her hand, then displayed the blood she drew. ¡°See. I¡¯m bleeding. Infiltrators don¡¯t bleed.¡±

    There was a quiet shuffle when a junk rat different from the first one reluctantly entered the circle and pulled Tori¡¯s arm down. He sniffed the wound and dabbed the blood with his fingers. A quick taste and spit and he gave the other devils a nod.

    ¡°Why the hell don¡¯t you have a belly button?¡± one of them demanded.

    ¡°Look at me. I¡¯m not reaching for a weapon, just watch.¡± Slowly, she pulled down the collar of her shirt to her collarbone, displaying a barcode tattoo appended by a delta symbol. The edge of the circle cowered back as she turned to face them, but the tension seemed to lessen some when they saw the tattoo.

    ¡°See,¡± Holt affirmed. ¡°She came from a test tube, still just as human as you and me.¡±

    Confused murmurs traveled across the crowd, a few lowered their weapons, but many were still suspicious.

    ¡°I never heard of no delta series!¡± one of the more heavily equipped devils shouted.

    ¡°I don¡¯t remember telling anyone,¡± Tori aggressively replied.

    Weapons were still pointed at her, but with a little more reluctance. A few of the more cautious in the crowd advised against picking a fight with her. Eventually, the mob dispersed and everything went back to normal. Someone even wolf whistled and cried ¡°Damn boy, she¡¯s a brick house!¡±

    ¡°Maybe we should have introduced ourselves like that,¡± Holt suggested.

    ¡°I swear, I¡¯ll kill the next person that howls at me.¡±

    ¡°How do you know Andrew?¡± someone behind them suddenly asked. The agents took their hands off their guns when they saw who called. He wasn¡¯t the most physically intimidating, spindly and nervous, out of breath as if he ran here. A real pipsqueak compared to the devil Holt just dealt with. He repeated his question when uncertainty held their tongues.

    ¡°Through Ike,¡± Tori answered. ¡°Said to ask for him.¡±

    ¡°Are you Andrew?¡± Holt asked.

    ¡°I¡¯m his brother.¡±

    ¡°Where is he?¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s dead.¡±

    ¡°Oh. You have our condolences,¡± Tori replied, troubling with sounding sincere.

    ¡°Well, we¡¯re all dead. Just waiting to lose our minds,¡± Andrew¡¯s brother apathetically replied. ¡°So, what are you here for?¡±

    The brother had them in Concord¡¯s hospital within five minutes. Tori expected a tent or slum, but was surprised that the devils refurbished Concord¡¯s old hospital nearly to acceptable standards. It wasn¡¯t as pristine or sterile as an ICC hospital, but completely baffling next to the rest of the settlement.

    ¡°You¡¯re a doctor, right?¡± Holt suspiciously asked the gruff looking man in a lab coat surveying his x rays.

    ¡°Oh ya,¡± he absentmindedly replied. ¡°I cut people open and stitch them up all the time. Not used to folks showing up unless they lost something like blood or an arm. Lots of folks come in needing a new liver or lung, but can¡¯t do nothing ¡®bout that since organs don¡¯t keep anymore. Not unless they¡¯re frozen, but we don¡¯t have the machine to defrost ¡®em.¡±

    ¡°I changed my mind. I¡¯m waiting until we get back.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re already in the gown, Holt,¡± Tori warmed, holding him down in the bed.

    ¡°Bad idea to wait, friend,¡± the doctor added. ¡°You got enough ossifier in you to build a new skeleton. Any longer and you won¡¯t be able to take them apart again. You¡¯ll be stuck with bones that look like cobblestone.¡±

    Holt swore under his breath.

    ¡°How long will it take?¡± Tori asked.

    ¡°Couple of hours, maybe more,¡± said the doctor. ¡°I¡¯ve never had to take anyone apart before, but putting him back together will be easy as a jigsaw puzzle.¡± He called the nurse, or whatever they called the assistant there, to prepare the patient for surgery, though he used less professional lingo.

    ¡°You¡¯re not putting me under for this, are you?¡± Holt frantically asked. ¡°You¡¯re going to use local anesthetics.¡±

    ¡°If I was cutting them off, maybe. The work¡¯s too delicate to let you stay awake through it. People¡¯s heart¡¯s tend to beat faster when they can see their bone. Lucky for you, we got more drugs than we know what to do with. Don¡¯t worry, we won¡¯t let you wake up in the middle of it.¡±

    ¡°I trust the drugs! They¡¯re stolen, it¡¯s the hands I¡¯m worried about!¡±

    ¡°They have to break your legs like glowsticks,¡± Tori reminded him. ¡°You don¡¯t want to be awake through that again.¡±

    Holt grabbed Tori¡¯s collar and pulled her close. ¡°Tori, listen. You watch those surgeons like a hawk. You see them touch anything they shouldn¡¯t, you shoot one and do the rest yourself! Got that?!¡±

    ¡°Sure, sure,¡± Tori sardonically replied.

    As he was rolled into the operating room, Holt declared, ¡°I swear to God, I¡¯m weighing myself when this is over and if I¡¯m an ounce lighter I am shooting the next person I see in a lab coat!¡±

    The raving quieted over the next few minutes as the anesthetics went to work. Despite his rough mannerisms and dirty frock, the Rust Devil doctor was meticulous in his work. It was a proficiency built on practice as opposed to education. He was probably one of the boys scurrying around the operating room with scalpels and dishes in his youth.

    ¡°What¡¯s the deal between you?¡± Andrew¡¯s brother asked, joining Tori in the observation room.

    ¡°We work together.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s not your dad?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t have a dad.¡±

    ¡°Oh. I guess you wouldn¡¯t. Heard you were a delta. Didn¡¯t think they got that far.¡±

    ¡°They didn¡¯t. Not the same ones, anyways.¡±

    ¡°Yeah. We still tell stories about the alphas and the betas. It¡¯s been so long, though, they¡¯re almost like fairy tales. So, that mean you¡¯re really strong? And fast? And indestructible and stuff like that?¡±

    ¡°And stuff like that.¡±

    ¡°Do you feel emotions? I heard you super soldiers didn¡¯t feel any emotions.¡±

    ¡°Only the important ones.¡±

    ¡°Thought you were supposed to be taller.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s easier on my back,¡± she dully replied as she went for the door.

    ¡°I thought you were supposed to make sure no one stole your friend¡¯s organs?¡±

    ¡°He could stand to lose a few pounds.¡±

    As riveting as the conversation was, Tori had more important things to do. Things that took her to the garage.

    It was a travesty. Parts of Concord looked as if they would fall to pieces without proper lubrication, but their vehicles, equally ramshackle, were the genius of a madman. Pickups with bladed cattle guards, buggies with pneumatic legs, even a dump truck with a raised center of gravity and a roll cage built around it. Everything with tires had chains, and anything that wasn¡¯t armored and spiked up was stripped down to wheels and an engine for maximum speed. Several vehicles were simply motorized platforms for mounted guns, harpoon launchers, barrel catapults, and dozens of other improvised siege weapons that could have gone into Concord¡¯s defense, but instead decorate this rusted fleet.

    The worst part: an army of mechanics and junk rats that could be maintaining or improving Concord¡¯s infrastructure were performing idle maintenance on these chrome monstrosities.

    That isn¡¯t to say there weren¡¯t common vehicles. Tori found a scattered assortment of trucks and buggies with the bare essential parts and promptly began inspecting the nearest.

    A junk rat busy disassembling a catwalk for parts pointed her out to someone on the ground.

    ¡°Can I help you, missy?¡± a heavy set mechanic asked.

    Tori didn¡¯t stop checking the truck. She didn¡¯t even look up. ¡°I need a car.¡±

    ¡°We don¡¯t have any cars. We have bikes, we have buggies, we have trucks, and we have war machines.¡±

    ¡°I need something that can take me and my partner to the nearest city.¡±

    ¡°Any one of these can make the trip and back, but they don¡¯t leave the garage without their driver. And drivers don¡¯t leave without a reason.¡±

    ¡°What about a trade?¡±

    ¡°Those guns and bullets would make you the proud owner of our finest buggy,¡± he said, referring to her and Holt¡¯s guns strapped under her coat.

    ¡°I only need a ride, and I¡¯m keeping the guns.¡±

    ¡°Then you¡¯re out of luck. Scrappers don¡¯t go that way no more, area¡¯s picked clean and raiding parties are busy harassing the hedron in the opposite direction.¡±

    ¡°Then it should be safe.¡±

    ¡°Our raiding parties. You want a ride, you better come up with a damn good reason a driver should go out of their way.¡±

    ¡°Do you need gas?¡±

    ¡°We got no shortage of that,¡± the mechanic dismissively replied and began walking away.

    ¡°What about nitrous?¡± Noticing the word piquing his interest, Tori dug in. ¡°Send us up in a truck and we¡¯ll make sure it comes back loaded up with nitrous.¡±

    The mechanic stopped looked inquisitively at Tori. ¡°How much?¡±

    ¡°How big is the truck?¡±

    He counted on his fingers as if weighing which truck would bring back the most booty, then abruptly dropped the idea. ¡°Just one problem, missy. The nearest city is an ICC city. They won¡¯t let us get close, much less let you in.¡±

    ¡°We can take care of it,¡± Tori cautiously replied.

    ¡°What makes you think the ICC will listen to you?¡± the mechanic asked suggestively.

    Tori coiled her fingers around the handle she was gripping. ¡°I can negotiate.¡±

    ¡°They aren¡¯t known to negotiate,¡± he pressed. ¡°In fact, the only people I¡¯ve ever seen them talk to is one of their own.¡±

    The mechanic was resting his hand on the largest wrench hanging from his belt, tapping his fingers readily. Tori severely doubted it would do him any good, but she would prefer not to fight her way out of this garage. Other mechanics and junk rats were picking up on his implications, if Tori didn¡¯t think of something quick, that would be the only option.

    Before she could lay down an excuse, the metal in the garage began to clatter until the whole thing was rumbling. There was a roar of a massive engine in the distance.

    The mechanic swore and went to battle stations.