ã€ŠFlint on Ashã€‹


 1 The World Band

    Stealing the world band was Arthur''s best chance of survival.

    Arthur crept down the dank tunnel, his heart pounding in his throat. Despite being a professional, no amount of experience could have prepared him for this. The air had long since grown uncomfortably warm in the subterranean labyrinth. His clothes clung to his body, wet with perspiration, and his slick palms tightened around his weapons.

    Five rounds. That''s all he had¡ªfive rounds for his pistol, plus one slide for the slide launcher he had taken from a Critter who no longer needed it. The alien weapon resembled a muzzle-loaded pistol but with a vertically flat slot instead of a barrel.

    How had it come to this?

    Arthur''s flashlight battery had died hours ago, so he hiked on, his path illuminated by the pulsing light of yellow crystals embedded in the wall. The glowing amber glass forked into veins and spiraled around the tunnel like bolts of lightning frozen mid-strike. The warm glow emanating from the crystal grew brighter the deeper they got. They were close.

    "Arthur?" Jacob wheezed from behind.

    Arthur realized he had come to a halt. The mercenary glanced over at his final companion. Arthur wasn''t surprised that Jacob was the last survivor of his unit. What Jacob lacked in experience, he more than made up for with youthful energy. If anything surprised Arthur, it was that he, himself, was still alive. Teeth, acolytes, and other survivors had picked off the members of his platoon one by one until only the two of them remained.

    "You holding up?" Arthur asked.

    Jacob grunted in agony without an answer as he clutched his side. A tooth had ripped out a respectable chunk of flesh when they were still on the surface. Jacob smiled weakly, his face ashen and his eyes distant. He leaned against a radiant vein of warm light to stabilize himself.

    "Can you make it?" Arthur hissed, keeping his voice low.

    "I think so," Jacob winced.

    Arthur looked at the wound again. Deep crimson spotted through the third layer of hemostatic bandages.

    The boy needed a medic and rest, but stopping would mean failure. He hefted his pistol before turning the corner. As he rounded the curve, Arthur gasped and instinctively ducked back into the mouth of the tunnel.

    "What is it?" Jacob asked in a low voice.

    Arthur peeked more carefully this time, taking it all in as his lungs momentarily forgot their duty. The tunnel widened into a colossal cavern. Its top would have been lost in shadow, if not for the thousands of glowing sun-gold veins that spiraled down the walls, all meeting on the ground in the cavern''s center. A bright tree grew from the center of the cavern where the veins of crystal light started. Arthur rubbed his eyes to make sure they weren''t deceiving him. Yes, it was a tree made up entirely of golden light, as though millions of fireflies were synchronized in their flight to make a tree out of their brilliance. The tree of sparks seemed to shimmer. The crystals embedded in the ground ran off from the tree-like roots.

    It wasn''t until Arthur finally pulled his attention from the tree that he noticed something less awe-inspiring but equally surprising. A series of folding tables sat near the tree with computers, monitors, and humming generators. Several thick power cables ran from the generators, snaking over the glass-like roots, casting wormlike shadows. The power cables ran to massive coils surrounding the tree, containing it.

    "This has to be his base," Arthur hissed in delight. He could feel the end of his time on this hellish rock approaching. After being adrift in an ocean of nightmares, the cavern was the first sight of land. The relief winked out as Arthur heard voices approaching from somewhere within the cavern.

    He ducked back next to Jacob, cursing himself. This place had been left unguarded as they arrived, but their moment of opportunity had passed.

    "What is it?" Jacob asked as he heard the voices.

    Arthur peered over. Three men walked to the monitors. Arthur recognized them¡ªall humans, two acolytes, and their leader. Arthur growled. Michael.

    "Michael?" Jacob asked through clenched teeth.

    Arthur nodded. Michael wore their ticket home in the form of a metal world band around his arm. Arthur knew nothing about the bracelet or how it worked, but he was confident he couldn''t return to Earth without it.

    The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

    "Is he alone?" Jacob asked as he hefted his sawed-off shotgun.

    "No," Arthur muttered. "He''s with two acolytes."

    "Two acolytes?" Jacob choked. "We don''t have a chance!"

    "I don''t know," Arthur said, daring another glance at the monitors and tree from behind his cover. "There are some computers and generators. If we destroy those, we might have an opening."

    "But two acolytes!" Jacob lamented.

    "Make that three acolytes!" a voice sneered from behind them.

    Arthur ducked as he spun to find another grinning acolyte blocking their exit. He was tall, with a beard of neglect sprouting from his face.

    The acolyte wore torn jeans and a dirty t-shirt. The only thing that marked him as Michael''s servant was the metal circlet he wore on his forearm. Runic figures pulsed with familiar golden light on the armlet.

    Already, the acolyte held a glowing, golf ball-sized stone that melted in his grip. Liquid light ran down his arm, working its way into his flesh. The same light began spilling from his eyes, and the runes on the armband flared brightly.

    "Move!" Arthur shoved Jacob aside before diving to the ground. A bolt of yellow light flashed from the acolyte''s palm and streaked past him, slamming into the wall behind with a crack. Rocks and liquid fire sprayed dangerously close.

    On his back, Arthur raised his weapon and quickly squeezed off two shots at point-blank range. The bullets slammed into a barrier in front of the acolyte that was invisible until the rounds hit it. A wave of glowing yellow runes rippled through the air.

    Only three rounds left. Arthur wouldn''t have any weapons to face the other three in the chamber. Three, which undoubtedly heard the gunfire.

    The acolyte grinned as he raised his hand at Arthur again, his eyes and armband burning furiously.

    "Hey, dumbass!" Jacob grunted as he pulled himself up to the acolyte¡¯s feet.

    The acolyte frowned, forgetting Arthur momentarily, as he looked down at Jacob in surprise.

    Jacob placed the barrel of his shotgun up between the acolyte''s legs. "Go to hell!" he spat, and he pulled the trigger.

    His gun bucked in his hands as it spat a shell of buckshot through the acolyte''s groin. The acolyte shrieked, and he collapsed to the ground, cradling himself.

    Jacob lunged at the fallen man, bludgeoning him with his empty weapon. Arthur ran up to the grappling men and kicked the glowing pebble, which was noticeably smaller, out of the acolyte''s hand. He raised his slide launcher and pulled the stiff trigger.

    Shchiiink! The slide launcher jolted in his hands as the spinning card-like blade flew from the flat weapon and bit into the struggling acolyte''s shoulder.

    The acolyte screamed, and his eyes lit up with light as he threw Jacob aside like a weightless pillow. The acolyte searched frantically for his dropped stone, but Arthur was already moving. He reared back and kicked it further down the tunnel before turning his pistol on the man and firing his final three shots.

    The acolyte staggered, and the yellow light in his eyes dimmed before he collapsed in a heap.

    Arthur ran at the fallen acolyte and furiously fumbled for the armband until it finally slipped off.

    So they can die! Arthur noted with bitter satisfaction.

    "You actually did it," a drawling voice said in lazy surprise.

    Arthur cursed and turned to see Michael and his two other acolytes standing in the mouth of the tunnel. Michael was entirely unimpressive. The middle-aged man''s shirt stretched tightly across his pudgy belly, and the beginnings of a double chin drooped over his thick neck. A patchy, shallow brown beard sprouted from his face.

    "You would be the first," Michael continued, sounding mildly impressed.

    Arthur panted as he drew his pistol and leveled it at Michael.

    His acolytes started protectively, but Michael held up a dismissive hand. "Don''t worry, he''s out of bullets."

    Arthur dropped his pistol with a growl and held up the armband threateningly.

    Michael''s eyes widened, and he took a protective step back. "Don''t!"

    Jacob grunted as he climbed to his feet next to Arthur.

    "Don''t let him put it on!" Michael cried, and his cronies sprung at Arthur.

    Arthur would have found another way if he had any other options. He would have been more cautious if he wasn''t exhausted and death wasn''t imminent. Acting on instinct, he slipped the band on.

    The metal ring instantly tightened around his wrist, clamping down hard and threatening to cut off circulation. Arthur cried out as the ring began to heat up.

    "Hunger!" an omnipotent voice sounded in his head, no, coming from the cavern, from the tree. "Meat!"

    Arthur''s vision blurred, and he pitched and reeled as he became one with the acolyte ring. He felt good¡ªgreat, actually; powerful and in control. Arthur''s vision flashed yellow as his green eyes started to burn with amber light.

    "Leave him!" Michael laughed, calling his acolytes to an abrupt stop. "You think these men serve me out of their own volition? I made those bands. They''re not weapons; they''re shackles!"

    "No!" Arthur tried to say, but his voice didn''t work.

    "Dispose of your friend," Michael ordered.

    Arthur watched in helpless horror as he turned on Jacob and drew his knife. "What are you doing?" Jacob cried, scrambling back.

    Arthur strained and tried to stop himself but to no avail. He cocked his head to the side and smirked. Thoughts, feelings, and impulses injected themselves into Arthur''s mind. Jacob was the enemy; he needed to die. Two voices coexisted in Arthur''s mind, but one had been severed from the controls.

    "Arthur!" The wounded soldier staggered back, and Arthur lunged. His knife took Jacob in the chest, sinking through ribs like twigs. Jacob choked and collapsed. Arthur flipped his blade point down and dropped on top of his former ally, slamming the blade into his lifeless body over and over again. In his mind, he screamed in despair, but physically, he cackled through the tears streaming down his face.

    Arthur stabbed his companion''s corpse a final time before rising and turning toward his new master. He snapped a sharp salute. "Commander?"

    Michael grinned. "You''ve been the biggest thorn in my side," he said.

    "My life is yours to take," Arthur said, exposing his neck to Michael.

    Michael chuckled, "Are you kidding me? You''re easily my greatest asset now. At ease, soldier."

 2 Flint

    Flint checked over his shoulder, searching for signs of pursuit. He didn''t notice anything out of the ordinary. The dull roar of the occasional car driving along the overpass reverberated above.

    The only light came from a flickering billboard''s spotlight, advertised to the few people driving the freeway so late. "Jericho, an off-world experience," the massive promotion said in dimly lit, purple lettering.

    Flint rarely noticed Jericho boards. They had always been around long before he was born. He seemed to notice them for the first time because of what he was looking for.

    The Jericho tours were a big deal a couple of generations ago, but Flint didn''t see the appeal of traveling for years to live under a dome on a faraway dead planet.

    Flint''s grandparents would have considered the possibility of cross-space colonization impossible. To his parents, it became a miraculous reality, and now, no one really cared.

    The fact that everyday people inhabited other worlds was now mundane. Still, Jericho tried to lure young hopefuls off Earth with the prospect of new opportunities in interstellar colonies.

    Flint pulled his black baseball cap down so it sat on his eyebrows. He wasn''t here to contemplate the Jericho expansion that started long before he was born. He was here to find answers and maybe pick something up he could sell in the process.

    His breath curled out under the ridge of the cap in the cold. He pulled the scarf around his neck over his nose, obscuring his features. He couldn''t risk the video surveillance system identifying his face.

    He walked along the base of the freeway until he saw the storage units. An eight-foot wall topped by another six-foot chain link fence surrounded the facility. Flint had come prepared for barbed wire, but it looked like it wouldn''t be necessary.

    He ran to the border, staying low. Slick mud threatened to trip him. As he approached, he threw himself at the wall, kicking into it to borrow height from his speed. He reached up and snagged a hold of the top of the wall with his nimble fingers.

    Flint wasn''t very strong, but he was thin and light. He grunted as he pulled himself so he could peek into the yard. The storage garages were dark and quiet. Near the gate, a guard in a black jacket with SECURITY emblazoned in golden letters dozed in a chair.

    Security wouldn''t take kindly to finding a fifteen-year-old kid sneaking around in the thick of the night. He had been able to talk his way out of being caught in different places in the past, but the bolt cutters, shims, and picks in his backpack painted a damning picture.

    Flint grunted as he scaled the chain link fence that topped the wall. It rattled under his weight, but the guard didn''t stir.

    He set himself down on the other side as silently as he could. He looked at his phone¡ªUnit 32 B.

    He pushed on, weaving in and out of blocky garage units, darting from corner to corner.

    He glanced around each corner carefully, looking for guards or motion detection spotlights.

    He moved, sticking to the shadows with shoes slapping wet asphalt until he made his way to Unit 32 B. Flint sighed in relief as he arrived at the keypad. It didn''t take a trained eye to see that his dad had torn out the original padlock clamp and replaced it with a more advanced mechanism.

    Flint held his phone next to the keypad, and the display on his screen blinked as metal bolts slid, unlocking the reinforced door. He had to download the key from one of his dad''s other computers, but he couldn''t risk coming through the front door during the day. They might be watching.

    Flint slid in and closed the door behind him. The lights turned on automatically, and he found that the storage garage had been converted to a small base or hideout.

    A low cot lay on one wall, facing a punching bag. On the far side of the room was a computer with two monitors next to a long gated locker with dozens of firearms. They ranged from massive scoped rifles to tiny, easily concealed pistols.

    Flint''s eyes darted around, searching for anything worth taking. Reminding himself why he was there, he focused and went to the computer.

    He turned on the computer and pulled up his father''s login screen. The second monitor flashed to life, unveiling a six-way split screen that gave Flint a vantage of different sections of the storage yard through the yard''s security feed. His father was always a cautious man.

    "All right, Dad, where are you?" he muttered.

    The password screen denied him access. Flint reached for the keyboard.

    ¡®[email protected]</a>¡¯

    Flint felt a victorious flush of excitement. The words, ''Welcome, Arthur Vance'' lit up on the screen.

    "First things first," Flint muttered as he navigated the home screen to pull up his dad''s wallet. He gasped. It displayed three whole Jericoin and at least fifty Manticoin¡ªpocket change for a dirty PMC like his father but an absolute fortune for Flint.

    Flint dug into his pocket for his wallet and fished out his card. It was a universal card that would hold both coins, but only if he knew the correct password.

    ¡®[email protected]</a>¡¯

    To Flint''s joy, the Crypto coins vanished from the screen and appeared as digital numbers in his account.

    Flint had to pause and momentarily consider the potential repercussions of stealing from Arthur Vance.

    If his dad was angry about it, there was no knowing what he might do to Flint, but then again, he might just be impressed. Maybe after seeing Flint''s skill, his dad would finally see him and even consider training him.

    After weighing each option, he reminded himself that it was hardly a loss for his dad. He would keep it.

    Of course, none of that mattered if Flint couldn''t find him. Flint pulled up his dad''s email and searched the inbox for a relevant name. Janis Vance.

    At least two dozen emails addressed to his father from his mother and, not surprisingly, several more from Manticore Inc. popped up.

    He smiled as he pulled out his tablet and slid a memory stick out. "Download," he said, voice prompting the stick to copy the folder of emails into its memory. Flint swiftly plugged the stick into his tablet and dumped the files into his cloud storage.

    Several plastic tubes wrapped in paper stacked in a plastic tub on the desk caught Flint''s eye. Flint smiled as he took a handful of them. These, he could get paid for. He crammed many of them into his backpack. If he had time, he¡¯d pack even more later.

    Flint moved to exit the email when he noticed that most of the emails to his father were titled the same thing: The Ash Contract.

    Moving to log out, Flint saw a file on his dad''s plain default desktop titled Ash.

    Flint tried to enter it but was barred by a second password option.

    Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

    ¡®[email protected]</a>¡¯

    Denied. Two more attempts before security lockout.

    Flint frowned.

    ¡®3scape?_w1th_d1ff1culty2054buw%@.fel¡¯

    Denied. Two more attempts before security lockout.

    Flint''s frown deepened. What was the Ash Contract?

    ¡®Vancefamily2030*kwl@xaf¡¯

    Locked out, see security settings.

    "Dad," Flint muttered, "Where are you?"

    Flint, barred from the computer, scavenged the pod for anything that looked valuable. He stopped when he found a hard plastic shell case with the name Manticore Inc. stamped into it. Flint moved the container onto the desk and opened it.

    Inside, he found a metal device that looked like a spinning top, if the toy were sized for a giant. The sizable metallic funnel shape was made of dozens of rings, each slightly smaller than the last, making a cone with a short shaft sticking out of the base. The whole thing was slightly smaller than a football. Inset metal writing circled each ring in a language Flint didn''t recognize.

    Flint grinned. He had no idea what it was, but it looked expensive, and was labeled with Manticore Inc. He felt sure Jericho would pay a handsome price for it.

    He pulled it from the plastic mold it was seated in. It was heavier than he expected. Then, a flicker of light in the case stole his attention.

    A small yellow luminescent crystal emitting a gentle light pulse sat in the case-molded cavity.

    Cone forgotten, Flint pulled out the translucent stone and examined it eagerly.

    As far as he knew, gems didn''t glow, and the fact that this was in one of his dad''s pods made his mouth water at the potential value of ¡­ whatever it was.

    Something moved on the security footage, and Flint turned his attention to the monitor.

    Two security guards took a nonchalant stroll through the yard, flashing bright flashlights into dark corners. They didn''t seem alert or aware of intruders, so Flint returned to the strange cone and glowing stone.

    He crammed them both into his backpack and stood to continue his raid, but he stopped when something else caught his eye on the security feed.

    Two men in dark polo shirts, obviously unseen by the guards, dodged behind the security team at a distance, making their way toward Arthur''s pod. Were they police? That was unlikely do to their effort to remain unnoticed. Who were they, then? Flint frowned as he made the image with the best camera angle larger, paused the feed, and zoomed into one of their faces.

    Flint sprang off the office chair, sending it rolling back across the cement floor. He recognized them. Flint had caught glimpses of these men wherever he drifted. He now knew for sure that these men were following him. Why else would they have trailed him in Phoenix and then followed him here? There was no denying it.

    Flint took the plastic shell container and buckled it shut. Then he returned to the general security feed page.

    His stomach dropped as the still image jumped, catching up to live footage, and the men suddenly appeared just outside the pod.

    Flint stepped away from the door and looked for an escape route. Of course, his father would have one, but it wouldn''t be easy to find.

    The doorknob rattled, and Flint threw himself to the hinge side of the door. He flicked off the light as he rolled, hugging the container to his chest. He held his breath as the bolt slid, and the door opened next to him.

    Powerful flashlight beams clicked to life, flooding the far side of the storage pod with a harsh glow.

    "You''re sure he was here, bruv?" a man asked in a thick British accent.

    "Yeah, you don''t think he saw us and led us to the wrong one, do you?"

    A light illuminated the caged gun rack.

    "No, this is definitely one of Vance''s hideouts." The door opened wider, and someone started to walk in. "Which means the kid''s still here."

    Flint, in his futile hiding place behind the door, slammed the hard plastic case on a hand holding a flashlight with every element of strength or surprise he could muster. A man cried out as the heavy plastic smacked his wrist, causing him to drop his flashlight and fall back from the blow. Flint swung again, pushing the British man into his companion.

    "Help!" Flint screamed as he swung the case again, opening a gap for him to dart through. The second man snatched at him and grabbed the case. Flint gave the container a convincing jerk, but the man wrenched it from his hands.

    Flint let out a mock cry of despair before turning and bolting away from the storage unit.

    He saw the approaching beams of the security guards, roused by his cry. He darted to the side, into the grid of identical storage units, shooting one final glance at his cursing pursuers. The man who had snatched the case swore as he got it open and saw that it was empty. He dropped the shell and drew a pistol from his belt.

    Flint ran fast across the storage yard to the far wall, hoping the security and the intruders would clash. The beam from a bright flashlight illuminated him.

    "Hey, kid! Stop right there!" a security guard with the uniform windbreaker barked, and Flint turned right. His path should have led him away from the security and the Jericho agents if he had his bearings right.

    Flint sometimes wished he was strong or tough, and he was the first to admit that he didn''t know the first thing about fighting, but he was fast and could certainly move when motivated.

    Flint weaved in and out, dodging and ducking between storage pods. He hid behind a dumpster near the center as one of the guards passed, then slid under a parked truck just as a Jericho agent rounded the corner.

    The man muttered a curse as he ran away from an approaching guard.

    Flint waited in silence under the truck as the guard gave chase. Though Flint had noticed guns on both parties, no one fired.

    Flint looked out from under the truck and saw a pair of feet and ankles trying to sneak toward his concealment.

    Realizing he had been found, he scrambled frantically out from the side, shifting his weight from his belly to his palms, rapidly worming himself laterally out from under the truck.

    The British Jericho agent abandoned his stealthy approach as he realized Flint had seen him.

    As the man approached, Flint started away from the truck, but he forced himself to turn around and face his pursuer.

    Flint cried out in panic as he charged the agent. The man hesitated beside the truck, surprised to be rushed by such a small youth.

    Flint didn''t attack, as his pursuer seemed to expect, but used his momentum to vault into the bed of the massive excavation truck. The Jericho agent made a desperate swipe for Flint''s ankles. Flint landed on his feet and charged down the length of the vehicle. He jumped, caught hold of the top of the cab, and pulled himself up as the taller man climbed after him into the bed of the truck.

    Flint took a short breath before jumping from the cab to the roof of a garage pod and sprinting away.

    "Oh, hell, no!" the British Jericho agent behind him cried as he jumped out of the truck bed, apparently content to continue chasing Flint from the ground.

    Flint''s feet thundered against folded tin roofing as he noticed more flashlights lining the rows of pods. The reserve security had been called.

    Flint sped towards the line of storage units and let his pace falter slightly before he threw himself into the air, arms and legs flailing.

    His heart seemed to stop momentarily as he hung suspended in the air, and he realized he might miss the following line of pods.

    He kicked forward, his foot found the next row, and he hit the roof, rolling awkwardly. A buzz of static shocked his arm and fingers as his funny-bone rapped the tin roof.

    Flint pulled himself up and charged the next one, his breath ragged and rough. He didn''t allow himself to hesitate or falter. Flint needed his momentum. He leaped from one row to another, the roof thundering from the impact of each jump.

    Ahead, he saw his exit. The cement wall with an elevated chain link fence on top rose ahead. If he had been on the ground, getting to the top of the cement would have been much more challenging, but approaching it from the roofline, he had a chance.

    A second set of footsteps pounded against the tin roof behind him. Flint glanced over his left shoulder to find the other Jericho agent on the roof one row over. The man in the dark polo puffed and growled as he tried to keep pace with the wiry youth.

    A renewed kick of determination pumped into Flint''s run as he leaped to the final row.

    Flint ground his teeth together as he realized the distance from the last row of pods to the wall was almost twice the distance of the space between individual pod rows.

    He launched himself off the roof, soaring through the air, not daring to lose momentum. Everything, from blood, organs, nerves, and his lunch, seemed to pitch. His gut lurched as he lost velocity and started to free-fall.

    He cried out and clawed for the chain link fence. He slammed into it. His hooked fingers snagged into the steel links while his shin collided sharply with the corner of the cement wall.

    He almost lost hold and fell back. Only adrenaline kept him hanging on the fence. He groaned as he started up the chain links like a spider, hand over hand, foot over foot. His shin smarted pointedly, but he ignored it.

    "Stop right there!" the American Jericho agent barked as he leveled his pistol at Flint.

    "Andrew!" the British Jericho agent panted from below as he looked up at his partner on the roof. "What are you doing?" he demanded. "Put that away."

    Andrew, obviously the junior of the two, obeyed but continued to glare after Flint.

    Flint allowed a sigh of relief as he swung his body over the top of the fence and started to ascend on the outside of the yard.

    "Randy, looks like we''re going to have company soon," Andrew told his partner as several security guards rushed to them.

    The British man nodded, turned away from Flint, put his hands over his head in a gesture of peace, and turned to face the oncoming security.

    "Freeze!"

    "Get on the ground!" the security guards barked at the two men. None of them seemed to notice Flint as he reached the bottom of the fence and started to slink down to the edge of the wall on the outside of the compound.

    "My name is Randy. I''m with Jericho," Randy said in a level voice. ¡°Jericho will pay one Jericoin to whoever brings us that kid and his backpack!"

    Flint gasped as a dozen flashlights spun towards him.

    Flint dropped from the wall and grunted from the impact as he hit the wet ground.

    Security guards on the other side of the wall cried in surprise as they no doubt forgot their current prisoners. A jericoin would be just over half of what one would make in a year. Flint ran like his life depended on it. Because, well, it did. The manhunt had begun.

 3 Jason

    Jason and Rachel wailed the final words of Unpaid Phone Life in a tone-deaf harmony. The pop tune blasted through the speakers at an unhealthy volume as they pulled up to their cabin. Jason loved timing his songs so that they ended precisely as he arrived at his destination and made a game of it.

    He hit the brakes harder than he intended in order to get the timing right. The sound system, much newer than the rusted truck, shut off as he cut the power. Allowing his playlist to start a new song would ruin the effect.

    Rachel giggled at him. They didn''t sing because they were any good at it. They both knew they were hopelessly tone-deaf, but that didn''t matter. They screamed the words because it was fun. Singing badly when they were together was okay. Laughing at each other if they mixed up the words when an unfamiliar song came on was also on the table. They wouldn''t dare sing their lousy tunes of mumbled verses and screamed choruses if another passenger was present. But together, they could be themselves.

    Jason grinned at Rachel, leaned across the armrest, and kissed her gently. After the peck, she smiled in return, but her smile faded as she glanced out of the windshield.

    "Jason," she prompted as she grabbed his arm lightly.

    He followed her gaze to see a figure sitting on the wooden porch of their cabin. The person was small, a young teen, by the looks of him. He sat hunched over, his black baseball cap concealing his face. A backpack with what appeared to be a brace of dead rabbits hanging from it lay at the stranger''s side.

    Jason froze for a moment.

    "Stay here," he told Rachel as he reached for the door handle.

    "He''s just a kid," Rachel muttered. "Where did he come from?"

    Jason didn''t like this. The nearest cabin was at least two miles away, and they were supposedly isolated by miles of pine forest ¡ª precisely the type of place where they weren''t supposed to get surprise visits.

    Jason momentarily contended with the stubborn door handle before forcing the door open and stepping out. He left the keys in the ignition.

    "Can I help you?" he asked suspiciously as he shut the door and walked down the dirt driveway. He crossed over to his unexpected guest and scanned the surrounding trees for any other abnormalities.

    Rather than speaking, the teen answered in American Sign Language by waving, hooking a pinky, and wrapping his fore and middle fingers around his thumb. Hi, Jason.

    Jason gasped.

    "Seriously," the kid said as he looked up, exposing his eyes. "Is that how you greet your brother?"

    Jason''s jaw dropped. "Flint!"

    A ghost of a smile tugged at Flint¡¯s lips, though cloaked in fatigue and a hint of something more bitter.

    "Flint, what are you doing here?"

    "I came to see you," Flint said. "Or is that not allowed?"

    The truck door opened behind Jason.

    "Jason, who''s this?" Rachel asked from the truck, seeing that the two were familiar.

    "Rachel ¡­ this is my brother, Flint," Jason said, still trying to understand the impromptu visit.

    "Brother?" Rachel said, surprised. "It looks like you have some explaining to do, mister." She pulled the key out of the ignition and hopped lightly out of the truck.

    "He didn''t tell you about us?" Flint asked.

    "Us?" Rachel repeated. "Jason, just how many siblings do you have?"

    Jason felt a flush of guilt as he looked away nervously.

    "Well, you see, there''s six of us."

    "Six!" Rachel said emphatically. "And you had no intention of introducing or even mentioning your family to me before we got married?"

    This time, Flint looked stunned. "Married?" he asked dryly. ¡°Yeah, man, you ran away for years and got married. Was it too much for you to call?"

    Jason groaned inwardly. He knew he would have to deal with this eventually, but he wasn''t expecting it so soon.

    "Look, Rachel," he said, "I never lied about my family."

    "You told me that your father''s a war criminal and your mother was abusive; you never said anything about siblings."

    "I never said I didn''t have siblings," Jason tried sheepishly.

    "Not good enough." Rachel huffed as she pushed past Jason and approached Flint. "I''m Rachel," she introduced herself politely. ¡°I guess we''re family now."

    Flint evaluated her cautiously; the alien anomaly was foreign but potentially exciting. He groaned as he pulled himself to his feet; he steadied himself on a wooden pillar and extended a hand.

    "I would hug you, but I''m ripe with B.O." He chuckled in embarrassment. He swayed unsteadily and held the post to ground himself.

    "Poor thing, you''re exhausted!" Rachel exclaimed as she saw Flint¡¯s fatigue. Then, looking at the darkening sky, she said, "Let''s get you inside; it''s getting cold."

    She motioned for Jason to get the door.

    Jason mumbled his assent and went to the door. "Leave those outside," He said, pointing to the two rabbits hanging from Flint''s backpack. "We have real food inside."

    Jason grabbed the doorknob, and it beeped as the biometrics in the knob read his fingertips. It clicked open at his touch.

    The Vances ushered Flint in and let him raid their kitchen. Jason apologized to Rachel every five minutes as Flint took a long shower. Whenever he saw fit to apologize, Rachel shrugged and said, "He seems nice. I can''t wait to meet the rest of them soon."

    The implication was clear. Meeting the rest of Jason''s family wasn''t a request.

    Flint, now showered and dressed in clean clothes, slumped on a sofa in the living room. Jason and Rachel sat on the adjoining couch. Jason angled away, but Rachel studied her brother-in-law head-on.

    "You must be tired," Rachel said. "Of course, you''ll stay with us."

    "He will?" Jason asked.

    Rachel shot him an icy stare.

    "I mean, make yourself at home, Flint," Jason corrected himself, "For tonight."

    Flint nodded and leaned back, putting his feet on the glass coffee table. Jason noticed this familiarity with a flickering hint of distaste.

    "I really want to get to know you," Rachel said. "Be ready to answer ten million questions in the morning."

    Flint chuckled. "I''m tired, but I''d like to get to know you. It isn''t every day someone finds out they have a new sister."

    "Flint." Jason cut in, still trying to understand how Flint found him. "What are you really doing here?"

    Flint returned the level look at Jason. "Mom''s in jail."

    Rachel gasped, but Jason only nodded. "About time," he muttered under his breath. "But did you guys move? I thought you lived in Arizona."

    "We did," Flint said.

    "Then how did you get here?"

    "I crab-walked," Flint said dryly.

    Jason glared.

    Flint shrugged. "Walking, hitchhiking. I, uh, borrowed a car a while back."

    Jason frowned at the word borrowed.

    "How old are you now?"

    "Fifteen."

    "Flint," Jason said, disappointed. "You''re still a kid; don''t be like Mom and Dad."

    Flint scowled. "I can take care of myself; I''m good at improvisation."

    "You''re half-starved; how is that ''taking care of yourself''?"

    Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

    "I''m fine," Flint insisted. "I just need a place to lay low for a while, and you¡¯ve done a great job disappearing."

    Jason''s eyebrows arched slightly. He liked this less and less." Lay low? Flint, are you in trouble with the law? What did Dad make you do?"

    "No, of course not!" Flint panicked. "Well, maybe. Mom was just put in jail, and I am a minor, so I''m technically wanted by CPS."

    "CPS?" Rachel asked.

    "Child Protective Services," Jason explained. "I used to pray every day that they would find me and take me away when I was a kid. Why are you running from them, Flint? I''m sure they could find you a wonderful foster family."

    "What a great idea!" Flint chirped. "Then I can have tea parties in the sunshine, sing nursery rhymes, and live happily ever after as a typical civilian whose greatest achievement is getting a diploma and a wife who doesn''t even know anything about his scattered siblings. Yeah, I don''t think so."

    "That''s it. I''m calling CPS right now," Jason said as he pulled out his phone.

    "No!" Flint cried. "I''m looking for dad."

    Jason stopped. "Why? You think he cares about you? You think he cares about any of us? If he''s missing, he''s probably dead in some African proxy war."

    "He''s not dead." Flint insisted, "I know where he is."

    "Good," Jason decided. "Tell me, and I''ll tell the cops."

    Flint sobered and took a cautious breath. "You know those people who have disappeared in random flashes of light?"

    This time, Rachel sat up straight, and Jason saw it.

    "That''s actually a thing?" he asked dejectedly.

    "It''s been on the news for at least half a year," she affirmed. It happened to one of my patient¡¯s sisters.¡±

    Jason rolled his eyes. Now she agreed with him? "Flint, you''re chasing a conspiracy theory."

    "It''s not!" Flint insisted. "It''s happening worldwide; Manticore Inc. and Jericho both have files on it."

    "Jericho, as in Jericho Incorporated? As in ¡®colonizing other planets¡¯, Jericho?" Jason asked.

    "No, Jason, Jericho, as in the walls came tumbling down, what do you think?"

    Jason held up a dismissive hand. "Flint, don''t do this; Dad only cares about his contracts. He''s better off gone. Stay away from him."

    Flint''s eyes hardened. "You''re an ungrateful coward, you know that, right?"

    Jason started in surprise. Was Flint actually defending Dad?

    "He tried to make you strong and train you, and you ran away. People respect Dad, and they would have respected you too."

    "Flint, Dad''s a criminal in almost every country on the planet." Jason stopped. That may have been an exaggeration, but the point was valid. "He wanted us to be like him. I''m sorry, but I couldn''t let you go after him if you found him. That is if he were in a real place and not in some trending news hoax."

    Flint shut his lips tight, seemingly restraining himself from further debate. "I''ll be gone in the morning."

    Jason blinked at the response. That was precisely what he wanted, but he wasn¡¯t relieved. Instead, a pang of guilt twisted in his gut. His little brother had come to him for shelter and refuge, and he had been nothing short of arduous and even a jerk.

    "Flint, I''m sorry." Jason sighed with regret. "I didn''t mean to come off so harshly; it''s just that we got married less than two months ago. Your appearance is just so unexpected. Please, stay as long as you need."

    Flint shook his head. "I don¡¯t need to be here. I thought maybe you would help me find him, but I see there''s no point in asking for it. I''ll just follow his contract on my own."

    Jason''s eyes widened. "You have one of Dad''s contracts?"

    Flint shook his head. "Forget it."

    "Flint, stay away from that stuff. It''s dangerous. What kind of brother would I be if I let you throw your life away doing something so perilous?"

    "I don''t think it''s up to you," Flint muttered. "You have no familial duty to us anymore. You chose that when you left us."

    The three of them sat silently for a moment, and Rachel, who had been silently studying the boys, piped up cautiously. "I clearly don''t know enough about what''s going on," she prefaced. ¡°But I see my brother-in-law, exhausted and half-starved. You can make your own choices, Flint, but I''m not letting you leave until you''re well-rested and ready to travel."

    Flint shook his head. "Listen, lady. I need to g¡ª"

    "Let me rephrase myself," Rachel said with a playfully dangerous gleam in her eye. "You will stay here, or I¡¯ll stab you in the leg so you can''t run. I need to practice sutures for an upcoming exam. Just give me a reason."

    Flint tried to be angry with this stranger, apparently now his sister, but he couldn''t hold back a smile.

    "Why are you with Jason?¡± he asked. ¡°You¡¯re way out of his league." Flint blushed as he considered what he said. ¡°It is getting late, and this sure beats sleeping outside. I¡¯ll leave first thing in the morning."

    Rachel smiled, satisfied at the answer, and Flint started to blink with heavy eyes.

    "Oh, you poor man, you must be so tired," Rachel realized. ¡°We''ll leave you to get some sleep." She grabbed Jason by the arm, but he resisted slightly. The reunion with his brother hadn¡¯t gone at all like he would have preferred. More than a few things wrapped his conscience in guilt, but seeing Flint flop onto the couch, back turned away, Jason realized he wouldn''t get a second chance.

    Jason slumped against the doorframe. When he¡¯d walked out of his home for the last time, he promised himself that he¡¯d come back for the rest of them, but the further he got from Phoenix, the easier it had been to focus on the future. Flint was just a kid, but watching him, an odd, familiar ache of helplessness and fury burned in Jason¡¯s chest.

    Rachel slipped her hand into his. She gently pulled him up the stairs to their loft bedroom.

    Once they entered their room, Rachel closed the door and turned to him with pleading eyes. She wanted to say something but restrained herself.

    ¡°What? Jason asked.

    "You need to try harder," she insisted.

    ¡°What do you mean?¡± he asked. ¡°I had no idea he would be here.¡±

    Rachel considered her words. ¡°I know you don¡¯t like talking about your home life, but he came here for refuge, and all he found was a cold shoulder.¡±

    Jason groaned. ¡°I know. What is wrong with me? If only I could get him to leave Dad alone. He''ll get himself into trouble. Maybe even get himself killed. I need to call CPS."

    ¡°Jason!¡± Rachel recoiled. ¡°He came to you because he¡¯s looking for someone to trust. You can do more for him than they can. If anything, we could try to get temporary custody.¡±

    Jason laughed dryly. ¡°And tow Flint around? He¡¯s troubled, Rachel. Also, we can¡¯t afford to take him in. Legal fees are expensive, and we only have one bedroom. We¡¯d be doing him a disservice. He needs a youth counselor and a family that can provide for him.¡±

    ¡°He needs his family, Jason. That¡¯s you, and that¡¯s me.¡±

    ¡°Flint is in danger, Rachel,¡± Jason insisted. ¡°So long as he¡¯s involved with Dad, I¡¯d be a bad brother if I let him go. CPS is his best chance.¡±

    Rachel crossed the room to wrap him in an embrace. "I know you''re just looking out for him," She acknowledged, "But he clearly doesn''t share your feelings about your family. If he¡¯s in trouble, you need to help him. Don¡¯t betray what little trust he has."

    ¡°I don¡¯t know how to help him,¡± Jason said.

    Rachel squeezed him. ¡°When you left home, who did you lean on?¡±

    ¡°No one,¡± Jason said bitterly. ¡°I had to find my own way.¡±

    ¡°Flint doesn¡¯t have to go through that. You can be here for him. Think about what you wanted, and be that for him.¡±

    Jason nodded as he squeezed her tight. "Okay. Flint¡¯s a good kid. I need to do better. I''m sorry." The words slipped out as an easy appeasement, but Jason didn¡¯t believe them. On one hand, the sooner Flint was gone, the sooner he could rebury old memories that had been abruptly excavated. On the other hand, Jason couldn¡¯t allow Flint to continue his insane crusade.

    "You''re a good man, Jason." Rachel smiled fondly, tipping her head to look up at him. Her eyes twinkled, and Jason kissed her softly, but his insides rolled. How could he get life back to normal while doing what was best for Flint? Rachel turned to go to the bathroom, leaving Jason to himself.

    With an unoccupied mind, suppressed memories clawed back into his mind. His mom clutched his arm as she injected him with a syringe. Fire burned in his veins. ¡°I¡¯ll perfect you,¡± she promised, madness in her eyes.

    Jason clenched a tight fist and banished the thoughts.

    He wasn''t alone in these memories. Flint was as much a victim as he was. Jason decided he was actually glad Flint was here; Mom and Dad were both gone, and it was unfair to react to Flint as though he was their mother herself.

    Invisible weight shed from his shoulders at the realization. Jason could be a big brother again. He took a deep breath and pulled out his phone. Even though Flint was reckless, he had to do the reasonable thing.

    He searched for a number and gave it a call.

    It rang twice.

    "Child Protective Services, this is Mandi," a woman said from the other side.

    "Hey, my name is Jason. I just wanted to let you know I found my brother. He''s been on the run, and I just wanted you to know he''s okay," Jason said.

    "What''s his name?" Mandi asked.

    "Flint Vance," Jason said.

    "Hmm, Flint Vance? Okay, he''s listed as missing. He¡¯s your brother?"

    "That''s right."

    "As a direct relative, it''s fine for you to have temporary custody over him, so long as you bring him in within two weeks. Do you intend to apply for permanent custody?"

    ¡°No,¡± Jason said, instinctively looking toward the bathroom door as he did. Rachel and Jason weren¡¯t ready for a child of their own, not to mention a high-risk teenager loaded with baggage. "No, I just wanted to let you know he''s safe."

    Click- The line cut off.

    "I''m sorry, bruv," a new male voice said in a thick British accent. "You said you have Flint Vance?"

    Jason looked at his phone, confused for a breath, before returning it to his ear.

    "Yeah."

    "Okay, We have to send a unit to confirm before we remove his missing status. Can we check in with you tomorrow?"

    "Um, sure," Jason said. "But you''re not going to take him, right?"

    "No. We just need to see him."

    "Okay, you''ll need my address."

    "We already have your address. Thanks for your help." The man hung up, leaving Jason slightly confused, but a more subtle feeling in his gut hinted that something was wrong.

    Flint waited for Jason and Rachel to leave before he swung his feet back over the couch. He didn''t usually trust adults, but Rachel was young, and he was secretly pleased with the addition to the family. His only real sister was Carly, who had quickly been taken by CPS when the cops dragged his mom away. Of course, Rachel could never replace Carly, but this was new and fascinating.

    Flint dug into his backpack and pulled out his tablet and the strange metal cone he had taken from his father''s storage unit. Based on his dad¡¯s emails, he was pretty sure the device was called a jumpstarter.

    Pulling out his tablet, he opened a digital map. Pins dotted the Rockies, and he zoomed in on one just over a mile north. He didn''t dare turn on his GPS. In fact, taking no chances, he traveled only after removing his battery from his phone and always avoided connecting his tablet to the internet.

    He hadn''t come to Jason by chance. Jason had been a pleasant surprise, but he was here for the jump point marked on the map. He was going to find his dad, and he was going to see him soon.

    He had stumbled into something big. According to his dad''s files, the two most competitive corporations in the world were dueling over their perceived most valuable resource: land.

    Cross-world colonization changed everything. Jericho owned several minor planets where they made the rules unrestrained by any government. Manticore hadn''t been able to get ahold of a world of its own yet, which made things between them rather ruthless, and brutality was his dad''s most marketable skill.

    If Flint played his cards right, he could find his dad, reunite his family, and become disgustingly rich while he was at it. The world would respect the Vances again.

    Flint smiled as he pulled out the glowing stone. Ice. He was sure that''s what it was called, as it was also referenced in his dad''s emails. Though they called it light ice, it was anything but cold. In fact, it pulsed with a gentle warmth. Flint touched a hidden touchpad at the base of the jumpstarter, and the top half hissed as it split into four pieces, revealing a small wire claw in the center.

    He smiled, remembering how he found the switch in an instruction brief hidden in his dad''s files. He had scoured the documents by the fire as he trekked across several states, mostly on foot. Sticking to the wilderness helped shake the Jericho agents, though he was sure they caught his trail every time a security camera picked up his face.

    Flint dropped the piece of light ice into the claw, and it reacted by firmly gripping the glowing pebble. The jumpstarter hummed as it closed again, concealing the radiant stone. The unrecognizable unknown writing scrawled across the outside and pulsed gently with golden light.

    Flint returned the now-primed jumpstarter to his backpack. First thing in the morning, he would find out who Ash was.

 4 The Road to Ash

    Flint poked the syrup-soaked waffle with his fork. His arduous relationship with food had gotten worse lately. As a growing boy, he was always hungry. However, when it came down to it, he hated eating. Something about the process of eating unsettled him. He would anticipate food with great enthusiasm; however, it was a battle when it arrived, and he had the low ground.

    He pushed his plate away after only a single waffle. Rachel frowned. She wore maroon medical scrubs in preparation for her shift at a local clinic.

    ¡°How long has it been since you¡¯ve had a real meal?¡± she asked.

    ¡°Yesterday,¡± Flint answered. ¡°I ate when I got here, remember?¡±

    ¡°Aren¡¯t teenage boys supposed to be bottomless pits?¡±

    Flint shrugged. ¡°Yeah, but because of a rare genetic disorder, the bottomless pit is in my wallet instead of my stomach.¡±

    ¡°A reckless spender, huh?¡± Rachel asked.

    ¡°We always had money growing up,¡± Flint said. ¡°Things at home were never great, but we were never poor. Both of my parents made a lot of money.¡±

    Rachel listened intently, hungry for more details.

    ¡°Really?¡± she asked eagerly. ¡°You¡¯ve just told me more about your family than Jason ever has.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t blame him too hard,¡± Flint said. ¡°There were parts of it that even I wish I could forget.¡±

    Tactfully, Rachel didn¡¯t press for those details. ¡°So what are your other sibling¡¯s names?¡±

    ¡°Dax is the baby,¡± Flint said. ¡°Well, he¡¯s ten, but he¡¯s the youngest, so he¡¯ll always be the baby. After him, it¡¯s Carly; she¡¯s the only girl.¡±

    ¡°How old is she?¡±

    ¡°Twelve, I think? Then it¡¯s me, then Steve, he¡¯s seventeen, then there¡¯s a big jump between him and Jason.¡±

    ¡°I thought there were six of you,¡± Rachel said.

    ¡°There are; Brigham is the oldest.¡±

    ¡°Oh, I assumed Jason was.¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Flint said; ¡°We hardly ever hear from Brigham; he was the only one to finish training with Dad. Now he¡¯s a driver for some billionaire and too busy to check in.¡±

    ¡°It seems like once they move out, your brothers struggle to stay in touch,¡± Rachel noticed.

    Flint darkened. ¡°Brigham does visit or call from time to time. At least he doesn¡¯t pretend like we don¡¯t exist.¡±

    A light on the waffle iron beside Rachel lit up, signaling they were done. ¡°I don¡¯t suppose you¡¯ll want some eggs?¡± she asked.

    ¡°I¡¯ll come back for them,¡± Flint assured her. ¡°I just can¡¯t eat very much at once.¡±

    Jason walked into the kitchen dressed for the day, looking up from an article on a tablet to glance out the window.

    ¡°Mark.¡±

    The simple black A.I. Assistant device pulsed with a gentle white light.

    ¡°Tell me about the disappearances where people disappear in a flash of light.¡±

    ¡°According to Jericho Times, starting last November, people prominently based in the United States, Russia, western Africa, and several other eastern Asian countries have documented cases of unrelated people disappearing in flashes of yellow light. The cause and origin are still unknown,¡± Mark A.I. said with a refined British voice. ¡°Is this the data you were looking for?¡±

    Jason frowned. ¡°Yes.¡±

    Mark¡¯s white light faded.

    Flint caught sight of the article Jason had been reading. It displayed several images of a circle of burnt markings on the ground. Some of the runic circles were seared on asphalt, while others were on dirt or in other odd places. The mark scourged the land whenever people disappeared.

    Flint was surprised to see the article. It seemed that Jason was actually looking into his claim. It was good to know that Jason hadn¡¯t entirely written him off.

    ¡°After colonizing three planets, we finally have an Alien invasion.¡± Jason sighed sarcastically.

    ¡°It¡¯s not that,¡± Flint said.

    Jason looked at him inquisitively. ¡°What do you know?¡±

    ¡°You interested in helping now?¡± Flint asked.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t say that,¡± Jason backtracked. ¡°I¡¯m just curious.¡±

    Flint pushed his chair back. ¡°Jericho isn¡¯t publishing as much as they know. I¡¯m going to take a shower.¡±

    As Flint turned, he caught Jason glancing out the window again. He turned to see what Jason was looking at but only saw the porch and gravel driveway.

    ¡°Are you waiting for someone?¡± Flint asked.

    Jason looked up. ¡°Huh? Oh, no.¡±

    Flint dismissed Jason¡¯s odd behavior and went upstairs.

    Stepping into the shower, Flint allowed himself to relax. Flint didn¡¯t use food or sleep to deal with stress, but he frequently used all the water in the water heater. It was his guilty pleasure and getaway.

    He took in every second of steamy water. Flint didn¡¯t know when the next time would be for him to have a hot shower, but he intended to enjoy it while he could. He let himself relax; after a month on the run, the hiss and the heat of the scalding water were the only things that mattered.

    Jason looked up from his coffee as tires crunched on gravel. A black and white police patrol car pulled into the driveway, and Rachel glanced up.

    ¡°Jason!¡± she hissed, ¡°Did you turn Flint in?¡±

    ¡°No!¡± Jason insisted. ¡°I just told them he was safe, and they said they would be here to check in on him. They told me that he could stay.¡±

    Rachel relaxed and nodded. ¡°I don¡¯t think he would understand. Let¡¯s be careful how we tell him.¡±

    Jason nodded as two huge policemen got out. Both were tall, but one was bald, and the other looked young enough to be in high school. After a moment, two other men with plastic tags clipped to their white shirts got out.

    Grateful that Flint was still in the shower, Jason ran to get the door for them.

    ¡°Hey, bruv, you Jason?¡± One of the CPS workers asked with a familiar British accent. It sounded like the man on the phone the previous night.

    ¡°Yeah,¡± Jason confirmed. ¡°Look, guys, Flint asked me not to tell anyone he was here. Can you be sure to make sure he knows you¡¯re not here to take him away?¡±

    ¡°Of course,¡± the British man smiled. ¡°We deal with cases like this all the time.¡±

    Jason invited them in, and the man hesitated. ¡°I¡¯m Randy, by the way. This is my assistant, Andrew.¡±

    Flint killed the water long after his flesh had taken on a bright red vibrant glow. Drying off and getting changed, he brushed his teeth. Flint was usually particular about keeping his teeth clean. He hated getting cavities filled. It wasn¡¯t until he shut off the tap that he heard a familiar voice from downstairs.

    Flint threw himself to the ground as Randy¡¯s muttered British accent came from the living room. Flint cursed himself. How could he have gotten so careless? He got dressed and turned the shower back on, letting the hiss of water mask his sound as he slipped his shoes on, and then he eased the door open.

    ¡°He¡¯ll be out any time now,¡± Jason promised. ¡°He¡¯s been in there for almost an hour.¡±

    Randy looked up as the sound of the shower turned on again, his eyes narrowing with suspicion.

    This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

    ¡°What on earth is he doing?¡± Jason wondered out loud. ¡°Thanks for being patient, guys.¡±

    ¡°No problem,¡± one older, bald officer assured Jason, but Jason frowned when he realized the other social worker, Andrew, had circled the room while the others stood near the doorway.

    ¡°Um. Can I help you?¡± Jason demanded, not liking the stranger creeping up on his blind spot.

    ¡°What?¡± Andrew asked, jumping slightly. ¡°Um, no. I¡¯m just looking at your lovely home.¡± Then he stopped where he was.

    Jason looked to catch Andrew glancing at something on the ground. Flint¡¯s backpack.

    ¡°You know ¡­¡± Jason started as he felt his heart pound a little heavier. ¡°When I was on the phone with Doris, she said nothing about this necessary check.

    ¡°Ah, right you are, bruv,¡± Randy said, ¡°But Doris isn¡¯t in charge of these checks; that¡¯s my job.¡±

    ¡°I hope Doris is feeling better.¡± Jason said, ¡°She sounded awful on the phone.¡±

    ¡°Actually, she¡¯s coming out of the worst of it. She was feeling worse before.¡±

    ¡°Really?¡± Jason asked, his eyes flickering from the badges on the policemen¡¯s uniform to a distinct bulge on Andrew¡¯s hip. ¡°So you¡¯re close with Doris?¡±

    ¡°Well, not beyond work, really.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s interesting,¡± Jason said to himself. He was sure of several things. The woman he talked to on the phone was definitely named Mandi, and she didn¡¯t seem to be sick at all. Also, the policemen had real badges, but what cause did a lying social worker have to be armed? He felt confident they might be undercover police. But why would undercover cops show up with uniformed officers?

    What have you done, Flint? He groaned inwardly.

    ¡°Excuse me,¡± Rachel said sternly as she crossed to Andrew and snatched Flint¡¯s backpack from his hands. ¡°That¡¯s not yours!¡±

    Indeed, while Randy was talking to him, Andrew continued on his course and picked up the bag.

    The two social workers tensed as Rachel took it away.

    ¡°Rachel,¡± Jason said cautiously, ¡°Give them the bag.¡± Then, turning to Randy, he held up his hands defensively. ¡°I don¡¯t know what Flint may be involved in, but leave my wife and I out of it.¡±

    Randy looked away from Jason to see the figure stealing his way to the doorway. ¡°Why, hello, Flint.¡±

    Flint lunged into the room and snagged his backpack away from the stunned Rachel. He spun and bolted out the back door, slamming it shut behind him.

    ¡°Hey, kid! Stop!¡± the baby-faced cop cried as all four of them ran after him. The police could be Jericho agents in disguise, but Randy more likely had the cooperation of the local authorities.

    Flint didn¡¯t turn but sprinted into the woods. As he ran, he glanced at the sun peeking over the mountains. North. He needed to head North. If he were going to find the jump point, he¡¯d have to lose his pursuers by feigning East. The sharp contrast from the hot shower to the chilled morning stung for a second before he started to warm up again, heated by his sprint.

    Flint peeled left towards the rising sun, but he caught a glimpse of two uniforms between the trees, puffing as they followed.

    Despite being relatively small, running came as second nature to Flint. Running seemed to be his life. He had run from his mom and fled from Jericho agents for the past few months, and now he sprinted toward Ash and its secrets.

    Flint¡¯s feet pounded against the cold ground. Grateful that he thought to put his shoes on, the weight of his backpack began to bear down on him. One mile could be too far to be chased, even for him.

    Pushing another hundred meters, Flint vaulted a fallen tree and threw himself on the ground. Striving to control his ragged breath, he looked back the way he came. He gained a long enough lead to lose sight of the cops, but that didn¡¯t mean they weren¡¯t there. If anything, not knowing where they were put Flint more on edge.

    Flint forced slower, deeper breaths to slow his racing heart. He couldn¡¯t afford to waste too much time being so close to the jump point. Flint felt his backpack for the familiar lump of the jumpstarter. After the assurance that it was there, he scanned his surroundings.

    Peering around the fallen tree, Flint saw the officers making their way further East. Perfect, so they lost his trail. A couple more moments, and he would be free to make his way North.

    A twig snapped to his left, and Flint bolted up wide-eyed.

    Jason stood only a few meters away with a look of panic that could only be associated with being caught.

    ¡°Flint,¡± he said warningly as he puffed for air. Sweat dripped down his red face in the cold. ¡°Turn yourself in. We¡¯ll sort through whatever trouble you¡¯re having through the proper channels. They aren¡¯t going to take you away.¡±

    ¡°You sold me out, Jason!¡± Flint spat, and in an instant, he was off again. This time, running from his brother. How did Jason get so close? Perdesh, he was silent. Apparently, he hadn¡¯t forgotten all of Dad¡¯s training.

    Jason cursed as he struggled to follow. He had put on a fair amount of weight since the last time Flint had seen him, and he paid for it in speed.

    After putting some distance between himself and his pursuers, Flint started to pace himself. He couldn¡¯t keep on at a sprint for too long.

    ¡°Come on,¡± Flint muttered to himself as he hurried off. ¡°Where is it?¡±

    Flint ran until he was stopped by shallow, rushing water in a much deeper riverbed. He pulled off his backpack, his sweaty back chilling from the frosty air exposure. Flint dug into the side pocket and produced his tablet. He swiped and magnified the screen, zooming in on a pin on the other side of the river.

    Clicking the tablet off and sliding it into his pack, he rolled up his pant legs and slipped off his shoes. With a quick breath that acknowledged this would be unpleasant, he slipped down the bank into the icy plunge.

    The water didn¡¯t go much higher than his knees. But his legs cramped and then grew numb. Flint took his time crossing the surging current. To fall would be to get wet, which could mean dying out in the wild.

    ¡°Flint, stop!¡± Jason¡¯s voice announced the arrival of Flint¡¯s pursuers. Flint looked back. The officers ran ahead of his brother, Randy, and Andrew, who were close behind.

    Flint pushed on recklessly as he climbed the bank on the other side. He stumbled as his numb legs threw him off balance.

    ¡°Stop!¡±

    ¡°Stop, we¡¯re not kidding!¡±

    Flint ignored the lawmen¡¯s directives but continued barefoot. It had to be near.

    Flint searched the ground for signs.

    A stump, a twisted tree, a pair of chattering squirrels, a circular clearing in the shrubs.

    Yes! The opening was perfectly circular and deliberate. Flint changed directions and headed for the clearing.

    He cried as a sharp spike of pain ran up his leg as his foot caught on something. He allotted a glance as he slipped into the opening. Something had punctured his exposed foot. Blood dripped from a gaping hole in his heel.

    ¡°No,¡± he gasped. He didn¡¯t have time for this. He had to find the circle of runes. He heard Andrew curse.

    ¡°He¡¯s going for the jump point!¡±

    The words would probably be meaningless to Jason or the cops, but he had guessed correctly.

    Flint noticed the series of symbols burnt into the ground, circling him completely. Nothing seemed to be growing in the ring of mysterious runes. Even the branches of the trees that would have hung over it twisted and gnarled as though to avoid hovering over the circle, creating a perfect pillar with an eight-foot circumference where he could see the blue sky above. Someone or an animal had disappeared here at one point, leaving this burn mark as the only testament to what happened.

    Flint dug into his backpack and pulled out the jumpstarter. Judging the middle of the circle, he stuck the stem into the ground, leaving only the cone to point up. It didn¡¯t do anything, and there was no indication that it was working. Flint frowned; according to the email, this was how it was supposed to function.

    ¡°Get on the ground!¡± A cop barked as he broke the over bush and stepped into the circle. The officer must have been a rookie, as he looked younger than Jason.

    ¡°Look, kid, we aren¡¯t here to hurt you.¡± The older bald policeman held his palms up in a non-threatening way. ¡°You¡¯re hurt?¡± He pointed to Flint¡¯s bloody foot.

    No. They couldn¡¯t be in the circle. What if it went off with them inside? Flint ground his teeth as he reached into his bag. He didn¡¯t want to do this, but he couldn¡¯t be taken and couldn¡¯t let them jump with him.

    He was so close to Dad.

    He drew a black pistol from his bag and pointed it at the officers. ¡°Back! Out of the ring, or I shoot!¡±

    The officers¡¯ demeanor changed entirely as they saw the weapon.

    ¡°Put the gun down, kid!¡± The bald one screamed, leveling his weapon. ¡°Drop it, or I will drop you.¡±

    ¡°Take it easy, son,¡± the younger one cautioned as he became defensive.

    ¡°Roy,¡± the older grunted as he pointed to the burn marks, obviously seeing them for the first time.

    ¡°What¡¯s the¡ª¡± Officer Roy asked, stepping back

    ¡°Get back!¡± Flint barked. ¡°Back, or I shoot! I¡¯m not playing!¡±

    The officers stepped out of the ring and behind cover, making themselves less of an easy target. Flint watched them like a hawk.

    ¡°Don¡¯t shoot!¡± Randy cried as he and Andrew finally caught up. ¡°He¡¯s just a kid, and you might hit the¡ª¡± He stopped as he saw the jumpstarter planted in the ground and pulsing with light.

    ¡°Flint,¡± Randy said. "We¡¯re not bad guys. We don¡¯t want to hurt you.¡±

    ¡°What do you want, young man?¡± The bald officer asked, oblivious to the situation. ¡°We can help you. There is no need for that. Why don¡¯t you put the gun down?¡±

    ¡°Why are you doing this, Flint?¡± Randy asked.

    ¡°I need to find my dad.¡± Flint said, ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re not in your right mind. You¡¯re sick; we can help,¡± the rookie, Roy, insisted, ¡°Put the gun down.¡±

    ¡°Shut up,¡± Flint barked. ¡°Don¡¯t you say a word. Just stay back there!¡±

    ¡°Then you¡¯ll put the gun down?¡±

    ¡°Do you understand what you¡¯re doing?¡± Randy asked, ignoring the officer.

    ¡°If you¡¯ll excuse us, sir, would you let us handle the situation?¡± the senior officer demanded.

    ¡°Do you know what that is?¡± Randy asked the bald cop, pointing to the cone.

    The officer¡¯s eyes widened, ¡°Is that an explosive?¡± He asked as he shied further behind cover.

    ¡°Much worse,¡± Randy assured him.

    ¡°Come on, come on!¡± Flint cried desperately as the device showed no sign of action. ¡°Dad!¡± he looked up to the sky but saw nothing. ¡°Where are you? Don¡¯t leave me!¡±

    Abandoned. Alone. Wrong. Miscalculated. Flint had put his faith in untrue things, and now here he was. Isolated, like always.

    ¡°Put the gun down. Remember our deal.¡±

    ¡°Arthur Vance, where are you?¡±

    Something stirred to the side, and Flint looked surprised as Jason broke from the brush and roared as he plowed into his younger brother.

    ¡°How dare you point that weapon at the cops!¡± he snapped as he expertly wrestled the gun from Flint¡¯s hands.

    ¡°Um, guys!¡± Officer Roy stammered nervously.

    The two young men grappled in the dirt, ignoring the police. Brother on brother, this was a family affair.

    Flint squirmed, bit, and kicked. ¡°Get off me!¡± he cried.

    ¡°What¡¯s happening?¡± the other cop cried in confusion.

    ¡°Get out of there!¡± Roy stammered in fear.

    Andrew cried out, and Randy panicked. ¡°Come back with as much lightice as you can carry!¡± He shouted.

    Flint and Jason looked up at the confused officers but were distracted by the bright rays of yellow light that beamed down from above, spotlighting them.

    The ground seemed to vibrate and grow warm with static energy.

    The officers cried out and fell back, surging deeper into the underbrush. The symbols began to burn gold, starting from the cone and finally catching onto the other runes in the dirt, igniting them with fire.

    Dirt flakes, twigs, and pebbles in the circle were released from gravity¡¯s pull, and they began to drift up and around the Vances.

    ¡°Move, Flint!¡± Jason hollered. ¡°We need to¡ª¡±

    CRACK!!!

    A bright flash of yellow light split the air, and a roar of wind ripped at the trees. With another crack of light, everything vanished. Both boys screamed as all their senses seemed to cry out in confusion. Twisting inside out, gold light streaked past on all sides. Then they were falling.

    CRACK!!!

    The boys slammed to the ground, gasping, but Randy, Andrew, and the officers were nowhere to be found.

    Thick overcast covered the sky above trees with fanned roots and actual branches bearing oddly long and flimsy needles.

    ¡°What!¡± Jason choked.

    ¡°I did it!¡± Flint gasped.

    ¡°What was that?¡± Jason cried.

    They struggled to their feet and stumbled, disoriented. The mountain pine was gone, replaced by the new trees growing from cracked clay and sprouting hooded canopies,

    ¡°The trees? The light? Officers? Was it raining before? We need to get back!¡± Jason cried in total discombobulation.

    ¡°Jason!¡± Flint cut in. ¡°I don¡¯t think we¡¯re in Idaho anymore.¡±

 5 Ash

    "What do you mean?" Jason demanded, panting to catch his breath. "Flint, what just happened? Where are we?"

    "Kansas," Flint jested as he motioned to the surrounding trees.

    Jason spun, trying to orient himself.

    Flint took the moment of silence to also look around. The dirt smelled of clay and ash.

    Flint wiggled his toes; the tan, dusty soil felt dry on his wet, smarting feet. Looking down, Flint noticed they were standing in another ring of symbols identical to the one they had been standing in before.

    Looking up, an overcast of grey mist skimmed the treetops and quickly faded, exposing the sky still bright with daylight. Flint couldn''t help but grin. Hanging in the sky was a bright white moon, twin blue moons, and a tiny red one at the furthest distance.

    He had done it. He wasn''t entirely sure how, but here he was, on Ash.

    "Flint ¡­" Jason cried as he looked up at the sky. "What did you do?"

    "I made it," Flint beamed. ¡°We''re here, which means Dad''s here, too."

    "What?" Jason cried. "Flint, what are you talking about? What happened?"

    "You don''t have to shout, Jason." Flint scolded. "I knew something like this would happen, but I wasn''t sure how exactly."

    "What are you talking about?"

    Flint laughed victoriously. "We aren''t on Earth."

    Jason looked at Flint, flabbergasted. "Not on Earth?" He spun around, taking in the scenario one more time. "But how? Where are we? New Jericho? Second or third Jericho? Was I drugged? That''s not possible. We were in the woods by my cabin only seconds ago. You can''t travel to another planet in a moment."

    "Yet here we are," Flint sighed.

    Jason stared at Flint with fear-stricken eyes. "You''re crazy!"

    Flint frowned. "Then how do you explain this?" He asked, making a sweeping gesture and motioning to everything.

    "Great!" Jason threw his hands in the air, ignoring Flint''s challenge. "I''m stuck with my insane little brother. We are hopelessly lost, and now I''m seeing things. Where are those officers? Why were they after you? What did you do to me?"

    He clawed at his pocket and pulled out his phone. "Mark!" He said, "Give me directions home."

    The phone was silent momentarily before the virtual helper''s voice sounded. "I''m sorry, there is no connection; try waiting for a better signal."

    The lack of internet carried weight if the other facts didn''t persuade Jason. "It''s not possible."

    Flint snorted and picked up the gun where Jason had dropped it. Being in the ring of runes, the weapon had made the trip with them.

    "Officers!" Jason bellowed, cupping his hands to his mouth. "Officers, help!"

    "Jason, why don''t you try shouting louder? I''m sure getting your voice to cross billions of light-years is a matter of effort." Flint snapped as he pulled the cone-shaped jumpstarter out of the ground in the circle''s center. Its runes no longer glowed. "Randy and Andrew aren''t cops. They''re not social workers; they''re Jericho agents."

    "Jericho?" Jason stammered, "So this is really¡ª"

    "A different planet, yes. I used this to get us here." Flint hoisted the cone before slipping it into his backpack. "I borrowed it from one of Dad''s pods."

    "I don''t think the word ''borrowed'' means what you think it does," Jason said. His face folded in anger. "Okay, I don''t care where we are, but you''re going to send us back right now," Jason commanded.

    "Can''t," Flint said as he shouldered his backpack. "I''d need another piece of light ice."

    "What?" Jason said blankly.

    "You are really an idiot, Jason. Why did you have to come?"

    "Why did I come?" Jason shouted. "Do you mean, why did I stop my stupid little brother from getting shot by the police?"

    Flint rolled his eyes and picked up his shoes.

    "Where do you think you''re going?" Jason demanded.

    "To find Dad and some more light ice."

    "Flint, stop! Aren''t you going to explain anything? It''s your fault we''re here."

    Flint dropped his pack and spun back to face Jason, looking up at him so he could see his older brother''s eyes from under the brim of his black hat. "I''ll answer that only after I hear three little words."

    "What words?" Jason demanded.

    "Hmm," Flint mused. "Maybe ¡®I am sorry?¡¯ Or, possibly, ¡®you were right.¡¯ Either will do."

    Jason regarded Flint, his temples bulging, and then he shoved him.

    Flint cried out as he staggered to the ground.

    "Are you serious?¡± Jason barked, towering over his brother. ¡°We are hopelessly lost and out here on our own, and all you care about is your stupid pride?"

    Flint scampered to his feet, his face a mask of controlled defiance. "You called me crazy and told me I was wrong without hearing me out! Who''s the one with stupid pride?"

    "Oh wow, nothing is ever your fault, is it?" Jason demanded.

    Flint let out a harsh bark of laughter. "This one is completely your fault."

    "What?" Jason cried. "You show up at my doorstep, practically on my honeymoon, and drag me out into the woods, and now I''m stuck here wherever here is, and it''s somehow my fault?"

    "Hey!" Flint barked at his older brother defensively. "I gave you the option to come. It was you who sold me out. You followed me out here, and you chose not to put any merit into what I said. Yes, it''s my fault that I''m here, but you''re being here also? That''s completely on you."

    Jason fumed, momentarily at a loss for words. "You were always really annoying as a kid. It''s nice to see that nothing has changed."

    Flint couldn''t help smiling sourly. "Is that all you got?" he mocked. "I''m annoying? I''ll give that to you, but at least I didn''t abandon the others."

    "What did you want me to do, Flint?¡± Jason demanded. ¡°Take care of four kids? I was barely eighteen, and Dad would have hunted me down in a minute! At least I¡¯m not like you, pretending that Dad¡¯s some sort of hero. He¡¯s a monster, Flint. Mom, too.¡±

    ¡°People respect our family¡¯s name,¡± Flint hissed.

    ¡°Mom crippled Carly, Flint,¡± Jason¡¯s voice trembled with rage.

    ¡°She hurt all of us, Jason, but at least I stayed behind to endure it with them! I actually cared about the others.¡±

    ¡°Which is it, Flint? Are Mom and Dad your heroes, or did they abuse you? They can¡¯t be both, or is your Stockholm syndrome so dense you cant see that?¡±

    ¡°This isn¡¯t about me!¡± Flint snapped. ¡°This is about you abandoning us!¡±

    Jason scoffed. ¡°So you didn¡¯t want me to save you? You¡¯re just pissed I didn¡¯t suffer with you? Well, I couldn¡¯t. Not after my tour with Dad.¡±

    Flint ground his teeth. ¡°And after your tour with Dad, he stopped training the rest of us.¡±

    This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

    Jason snorted. ¡°You¡¯re welcome.¡± He scanned their surroundings. Jason took a few grounding breaths. ¡°This is insane. There¡¯s no way this is real. We can¡¯t be on another planet,¡± he told himself, slipping back into denial.

    Flint frowned. "Don''t you see we can''t just walk back the way we came?"

    "It''s a trick," Jason insisted. "It has to be."

    "Jason," Flint said. "Let''s pull this band-aid off. I am absolutely sure that we are not on Earth."

    Jason rolled his eyes in annoyance. "What else did your conspiracy theories tell you? Should we wear tinfoil hats, or will the government plant subliminal messages directly into our brains? Oh, wait. Apparently, you don''t have one!"

    Flint picked up his backpack and put it on again. "Jason, Let me know when you''re ready for answers."

    Jason huffed in distaste and turned away, reasoning to himself under his breath.

    Flint turned away from Jason, suddenly considering the noise they made. He frowned when he realized just how quiet the day was. Where was the wind? The animals? The chirp of insects?

    The unnatural silence made the hair on the back of his neck stand. What was wrong with this place? Were the strange trees the only living thing in the area?

    Finally, Flint''s survival instincts kicked in. He scanned the surrounding area for any sign of life.

    Sun-baked cracks spider-webbed the caramel-tan soil like a dried river bed. Flint counted at least half a dozen inconsistently placed mounds in the clay. Each bump rose about ten inches off the ground with short offshoots, indicating the presence of burrowing rodents. Maybe Flint could snare some food.

    Not seeing anything that he could consider a danger, he took the chance to examine his foot. He produced a plastic water bottle from his pack and washed it before binding it with bandages from his first-aid kit. A quarter-sized wound wept blood, punctured while he ran. Flint would probably super glue it after he found a reasonable campsite, but for now, he slapped a simple bandage on.

    He gingerly slipped his shoes and socks over his bloody foot as he eyed the trees around, ever vigilant.

    In the distance, a shaft of yellow light lashed down to earth like lightning, but a straight beam instead of the twisted fork of electricity. A crack sounded eight seconds later. Nearly two miles away, Flint noted.

    Seeing no droppings or tracks of any kind in the baked clay dirt, he was satisfied that they were, in fact, alone.

    Flint needed a plan. First, he would find high ground to get his bearings. Then, he would find shelter, food, and water. This would have been easier if he had been alone, but he had to account for Jason.

    Flint would need to find this jump point again. He noted two nearby trees growing together practically from the same base. One of the trunks twisted oddly, making a distinct landmark.

    Flint collected four stones and stacked them, creating a marker.

    Just as Flint finished making the cairn, Jason approached again, breathing heavily and with beads of sweat gathering on his forehead.

    "Okay. Suppose we are really ¡­ Wherever we are. We''re going to have to be open with each other."

    "I''m going to need you to stop treating me like a kid," Flint said.

    Jason looked up at him for a moment. "Fine," Jason said. "How do we go home?"

    Flint sat back and pulled his backpack close. "We find light ice. It looks like glowing amber. It will fuel my jumpstarter, and we can reignite any established jump point."

    Jason stared at Flint dumbly. "I don''t understand anything you just said. What happened? Why are we here?"

    With a sigh, Flint reached into his backpack and produced his tablet.

    "After Mom was arrested, I ran off," Flint explained. "I looked for Dad because I had nowhere else to go. I figured if I found him, we could¡ª" Flint stopped, glancing away from Jason.

    "Anyway, I''ve been following him, tracking his contacts and storage units. I found a lead with one of his computers. His current contract."

    Jason visibly tensed at the mention of a contract.

    "I couldn¡¯t access the file, but his emails discussed it. They were full of technical lingo, so I didn''t understand much. But one word that kept coming up that seemed to be important. Ash."

    "As in, grey fire dust?"

    "I don''t think so. It seems to be a code word for a location."

    "What location?"

    "I wasn''t completely sure until we came here," Flint said. "I think this place, this planet, is Ash."

    "We''re on a different planet," Jason said, finally dragging down the walls of disbelief. "That would explain Jericho."

    "Exactly. With the discovery of Ash, both Jericho and Manticore Inc. have been scrambling for control. Especially because this planet is inhabitable. The other planets Jericho has colonized are dead; the residents live under Jericho domes. Which makes an inhabitable planet¡ª"

    "Ideal," Jason said.

    "Well, cheap to run." Flint specified. "It''s incredibly expensive for Jericho to keep their domes operational."

    "So Dad''s working for Jericho?"

    "No," Flint clarified. "Like mom, he''s working for Manticore Inc."

    "But ¡­ How did we get here?" Jason asked.

    Two distant pillars of yellow light cracked down. Jason saw them, too. Flint counted to fifteen before he heard their sharp crack. They were three miles away.

    "What was that?" Jason asked.

    "I think I know," Flint said. "I could be wrong, though."

    "Well?"

    "You know the people who started to disappear?"

    "Yeah."

    "I think they come here. Or are pulled here."

    "Pulled here?" Jason repeated. "Why, how?"

    "I don''t know!" Flint said. "Those details are in the contract itself, but I got locked out. I was hoping you might be able to help me open it. I¡¯m not good with computers.¡±

    Jason snorted. "I do information technology; I¡¯m not a hacker.¡±

    ¡°At least look at it?¡± Flint pleaded.

    ¡°Fine,¡± Jason agreed, ¡°But how do we get home?¡±

    Flint hefted the cone. "We used the jumpstarter; that''s what this thing is labeled in the instructions pictures," Flint said, patting his backpack. "I used the jumpstarter on the old jump point, with a little light ice, and wham," Flint clapped his hands together for emphasis. "We''re here!"

    "So you can get us back?"

    Flint sighed, found a stick, and dug a shallow arrow into the clay-like dirt, pointing at the circle of runes they had arrived at. "If I can find some ice, and we can return to this exact circle, it should dump us back in your backyard. I made a marker. Any other jump point will probably get us back to Earth, but as far as I can tell, each point on Ash has a single twin back on Earth. I can''t create new jump points but can reactivate old ones."

    "You know what I don''t get?" Jason asked.

    "What?"

    "How could someone who sounds as ridiculous as you figure this out on their own?"

    Flint grinned. "I may be young, but I''m not lazy or stupid. Well, maybe stupid, sometimes."

    Jason shook his head, appraising Flint. He had missed a fair chunk of his brother¡¯s life, so how could he claim to know him? Jason seemed to consider something else and furrowed his brow.

    "Flint, I need to get back to Rachel! We shouldn''t be here."

    Flint stepped away from the agitated man. "Look, I know this is probably the last place you want to be, but getting back will be easy."

    "You have some of that light ice you were talking about?" Jason asked.

    "Well, no," Flint confessed. "But I have the next best thing."

    "What''s that?" Jason asked.

    "A map of Ash." Flint smiled.

    "You can read a map?" Jason asked doubtfully.

    "Please," Flint dismissed. "A map is a picture, right?"

    "I guess so."

    "Once we find a major landmark, this map will lead us to Dad."

    Jason paled at the mention of their father. "Flint," he said, "I don''t want to go to Dad. I ran away from him."

    Flint scowled at his older brother. "If anyone can get us home, it''s him."

    "Flint, he''ll actually kill me. As in literally murder me."

    "I doubt that," Flint said. "Dad has always been a very tribal person; he won''t kill one of his own. Plus, if I could find you, he would have found you much faster, and you would have died a long time ago if that''s what he wanted."

    Flint spoke confidently, but truthfully, he was just as anxious as Jason. He had been so concerned about finding his dad that he had no real plan to return or deal with the potential threats lurking here.

    "So there are other people here?" Jason said.

    Flint nodded. "Manticore and Jericho agents, but light ice is scarce, so there won''t be many of them. There will probably be plenty of others, the people who have been disappearing."

    Jason nodded, "So we just need to find Dad and get home."

    "You''re missing a step," Flint said.

    "What?"

    "You remember what Randy said before we jumped? Get as much light ice as we can carry. I think it comes from Ash. So we load up on light ice and become so disgustingly rich we won''t have to worry about anything again when we return." Flint said with a shade of hunger gleaming in his eye.

    "Is that really why you''re here?" Jason asked. "You''re chasing treasure?"

    "It''s in my blood," Flint huffed. "Dad''s a soldier of fortune, and so am I."

    "You''re a child."

    Flint stuck his nose proudly in the air. "I''m sorry you''re not like us, but when I''m fifteen and retired, you won''t think it''s as stupid."

    "Wow," Jason marveled. "I legitimately don''t think I''ve met a living person as greedy as you. What about other things? What about happiness?"

    "Spoken like a true poor person." Flint snickered. "You may have run from the family business, but I run towards it."

    "Flint," Jason said sadly. "You''re so young. It makes me sad to see you like this."

    "And here he goes again," Flint muttered. "Pretending like he cared this whole time."

    Something strange, like a guttural shriek, cried out in the distance, and both brothers spun in alarm. The sting of Flint''s foot reminded him of the ever-present wound.

    "Do you think this place is inhabited?" Jason asked as he glanced around nervously.

    "I already explained ¡ª"

    "Yes, I know there are other people. But this place is inhabitable; you don''t think there are locals, do you?"

    "Aliens. Really?" Flint cringed. "How old are you?"

    "If we''re on an alien planet with breathable air and plants, why wouldn''t there be locals?"

    "I guess that makes us the aliens. There may be strange animals and predators, but I wouldn''t expect Martians or UFOs."

    "We should keep our heads down and our eyes open," Jason decided. "We need to get our bearings and make a plan. Do you have any food?"

    Flint nodded. "My rations would have lasted me about a week, half that with both of us. We need to find out if there is edible food here and shelter. I have no idea how fast the days are here. So nightfall may surprise us."

    Jason nodded. "And then we find Dad." He didn''t seem very pleased with the last part.

    Flint nodded.

    "Let''s get back as soon as possible," Jason said. ¡°Maybe this place is small. Perhaps we can find him and be home today."

    "We''ll try," Flint promised, though he didn''t feel Jason''s hopes were realistic. "Help me find Dad, and we''ll all go back together."

    He pulled open the map of Ash on his tablet and consulted it for a second. "Don''t worry, Jason, as long as we are true to this map, we''ll be just fine¡ª"

    A fist-sized stone cut Flint off as it smashed into the tablet, knocking it out of his hand and shattering it into pieces.

    "Ahhh!"

    Both brothers jumped back in surprise as a victorious wail sounded behind them.

    The brothers spun to five men grinning viciously down at them from behind an embankment of clay-like dirt. Their tattered clothes and aged, thick beards indicated they had been in the wilderness for a while. Their yellow hair and frizzled beards stood on end like they had stuck a knife in the outlet. Each of them brandished a club or a big knife in their filthy hands. Their leader carried a now empty braided sling. They wore the smiles of carnivorous cats before birds with broken wings.

    "Not friendlies!" Jason cried. "Flint. Get your gun!"

 6 The Locals

    Jason cried as he lunged for the shattered pieces of the tablet scattered across the tan clay.

    "Leave the map; I''ll improvise!" Flint growled as he fumbled for his weapon, though Jason caught the panic in the boy''s eyes.

    "Don''t come any closer!" Flint cried as he leveled the gun at the filthy men. "One more step, and I''ll shoot!"

    Jason quickly profiled the gun as a newer J Radiance model, but something looked off. Ignoring Flint¡¯s warning, Jason darted forward, snatching the largest fragments of the tablet. A quick glance confirmed what Flint already knew: it was beyond saving.

    "Jason!" Flint panicked.

    Jason looked up to see the five men trot forward, their eyes gleaming hungrily.

    "I''ll shoot! I mean it!" Flint threatened desperately.

    The wild men paused for a moment at the sight of the weapon.

    "Oo tech, Nime fouler dol," one hissed to the other.

    "Chedol fouler dol," their leader commanded, and they continued onward, undeterred.

    The tone and language were strange to Jason''s ears. He couldn''t begin to guess what they were saying.

    "Desh," Flint cursed as he lowered his weapon.

    "Flint," Jason cried in alarm. "Give me the gun!"

    "You think I would actually point a gun at a cop?" Flint hissed. "It''s an airsoft gun."

    "What?" Jason shouted as he made the connection.

    Though modeled after a real firearm, its edges were too smooth, and bits of the gun were flimsy. With a cry of exasperation, Jason snatched the plastic toy out of Flint''s hands. "Flint, run!"

    "The map?" Flint cried.

    "Broken. Run!"

    The brothers spun and sprinted away from the oncoming pack of savage men.

    "Stay with me!" Flint cried, but he bit his tongue as if he were pushing through pain. "If we get separated, you die!"

    "I die?" Jason cried through labored breaths. "What about you?"

    "My chances of survival are a lot better without you,¡± Flint gasped. "Good thing I''m such a great brother, right?"

    Another fist-sized stone zipped through the trees, only feet from Jason''s head, and the leader let out a cry of disappointment as his projectile missed.

    If strange men chasing them on an alien planet with knives weren''t motivating enough for Jason to run as fast as he could, that rock was.

    He screamed as he pressed on, sprinting as fast as his body would allow. His unexercised legs dragged like lead, and his lungs burned. Flint inched past Jason, making him the closest target.

    Think, Jason, think! The sound of his father''s voice etched its way into his head, slicing through his panic. The tone and timbre of Arthur¡¯s voice were part of him, cemented into his psyche through repetitive training sessions with his father during the never-ending conflicts of the Far East.

    If you find yourself outnumbered and hunted, find a way to divide your pursuers. Seek high ground and get the sun in their eyes.

    Jason didn''t want to recall his father''s voice; it reminded him of the old days, which he worked hard to forget. And yet, inevitably, in a crisis, the words stuck with him. Despite the intrusive memories, Jason had to recognize the truth in his father''s teachings. He spared a glance for their pursuers.

    The men ran gamely onward, but they seemed winded. One of them, who appeared to be the runt of the group, ran without a shirt; his skin stuck directly onto his rib cage. It was obviously difficult for the sickly, malnourished scavengers to give chase. Jason felt a glimmer of hope - if they could splinter the pack, they wouldn¡¯t have to face them head-on.

    Flint apparently reached the same conclusion: he shrugged his backpack off his back and brought it around the front, so he wore it on his chest. The maneuver forced him to fall back several paces, and Jason cried out alarmingly.

    "Keep running!" Flint cried as he awkwardly worked the zipper at a sprint. "I have a plan."

    Jason didn''t like the idea of leaving Flint behind, but still surging with adrenaline, he obeyed.

    He checked every few paces to ensure his little brother didn''t fall prey to the wild men.

    Split them up! Jason thought frantically for a solution, and Flint pulled a goose-down jacket from his backpack. Jason cried in surprise when he saw it. "That''s my jacket!" He had left it on a hanger in the closet the night before, and sure enough, it was making its way out of Flint''s backpack. Not even the family was immune to Flint''s ''borrowing.''

    "Literally the least of our problems right now!" Flint cried back as he hurled the coat into the tree branches above.

    Jason cried out again; the coat cost two perdek of a charcoin. He quickly overcame his despair as he noticed the wildman without a shirt broke off from the pack and ran after the garment as it rolled out of the branches and fell to the ground.

    Flint reached into the bag, pulled out a can of food, and chucked it to the left. The runt veered from his course to claim his prize. He snatched it, sat down, and tried to break the tin shell against a rock.

    Two others yelled in protest as they saw their comrade hoarding the spoils to himself and bounded to ensure their fair share.

    Flint seemed to have had the same idea of separating them. Jason tried to smile approvingly, but the sharp pain in his side and the acidic burn in his lungs manifested his expression as a hoarse bark.

    Seeing his idea work, Flint started throwing out cans, vacuum-sealed military rations, and granola bars, causing most remaining men to dart after the food articles and lose interest in their prey.

    Flint dug into his pack and pulled out a plastic bag filled with crushed granola bars but decided to push it back into his backpack, unwilling to part with all of their rations.

    The leader of their unwelcoming party closed the distance on Flint. The wildman flashed a toothy grin as he pulled out a large, rusted knife and held it pointed down.

    Jason forced himself to stop and turn towards them, ready to charge the wildman bearing down on his brother.

    "No!" he cried as he turned back.

    Flint held something plastic in his clenched fist and slammed it into his leg like an auto-injector allergy pen. Flint''s eyes widened, and he shot off at nearly three times the speed he was running while throwing food out. But his step was wrong; he wasn''t properly landing on his right foot.

    "RUN, JASON!" Flint cried with tremendous volume as he shot past Jason. "I TOLD YOU I''M FINE!"

    The alpha of the group howled in protest as he realized he had been baited by his smaller prey. He had been allowed to draw near and was led to grossly underestimate Flint''s speed and energy as his companions stopped to settle for the lesser offerings. He had committed to catching Flint and didn''t intend to return empty-handed.

    Jason didn''t need to be told twice; he continued to run despite his fatigued muscles as he lagged behind Flint.

    Flint sprinted at an almost inhuman pace, not growing tired or even panting. Jason cursed himself for falling victim to indulgence in Rachel''s fantastic cooking.

    They ran into an area thickly wooded with trees. The ground grew dustier instead of hard and cracked, and a layer of oddly long feather leaves covered the forest floor.

    As they fled, Flint cried out, and he pulled to a stop. Jason scanned the area ahead, trying to discern the cause of Flint''s outburst, but didn''t see anything.

    Flint retraced his steps, bounding back to Jason several paces, catching him by the sleeve. Then, pulling Jason to the side and around in a sharp but small semicircle, Flint caused them to lose their lead.

    The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

    "What are you thinking?" Jason cried as their pursuer howled victoriously, closing the final few paces.

    Flint stopped and faced the man with a smile. Jason fell back a few paces and tried to drag Flint with him.

    Jason smelt the wildman''s breath as he lunged at them. The moment seemed to suspend in time as Jason threw himself on Flint. He clenched his eyes shut, using himself as a barrier between the wildman¡¯s knife and his brother.

    The knife didn''t meet its mark. With his eyes closed tight, Jason heard a snap, a rustle of the long feathery leaves, and a startled cry from the wildman, followed by a dull thud.

    Flint pushed Jason away harshly and let out a loud and dry laugh.

    Surprised by the fact that he hadn''t been disemboweled by a rusty knife, Jason opened his eyes and turned around.

    The wildman was gone; in his place gaped a pit about eight feet in diameter. The woods echoed with a low moan of pain coming from the bottom of the hole.

    "What?" Jason gasped.

    "IT''S A PITFALL!" Flint bellowed.

    "Flint, calm down." Jason recoiled at Flint''s outburst.

    Flint shook his head helplessly. "CAN''T!" He opened his hand to show Jason the plastic auto shot in his hand. "STIM PEN!"

    Jason took the thick plastic pen from Flint and narrowed his eyes at the chemical weapon. The label read Manticore Inc., and Jason personally knew the scientist who headed Manticore Inc.''s auto-shot development lab.

    He stiffened. He had often found himself a private guinea pig for her disgusting toys.

    "This is Mom''s," Jason said. "You shot yourself with adrenaline when you fell behind."

    Flint nodded frantically, seemingly not fully trusting himself to speak. "I found it in one of Dad''s safe rooms!" Flint shouted, but he managed to gnaw off some of the volume of his screamed words.

    Jason dropped the pen to the ground and turned to the ominous hole that occupied the ground before them. The wildman was still moaning from somewhere deep within.

    "A pitfall?" Jason grimaced, not daring to look inside. "Flint, I would have run straight into it if you didn''t stop me. How did you see it?" Jason asked.

    Flint shrugged. "It''s a covered pit; it''s not rocket science!" He shouted. "I used them all the time to catch small game!"

    Jason winced, not accustomed to conversational shouting.

    Flint sauntered right up to the edge, and Jason cried out in protest. "Flint, don''t get so close!"

    "Why not?" Flint asked; his jittery movements signified that his small body couldn''t contain the energy coursing through him. "I want to see!"

    "Flint, you can''t even walk straight!" Jason ran up to his brother and grabbed Flint''s arm. Jason glimpsed the wildman clawing at the pit''s wall below.

    The pit was deep, very deep, at least twenty feet. One of the wildman¡¯s legs bent the wrong way, transforming him from predator to prey. Despair danced in his light brown eyes. He screamed unintelligible words as he clawed the earth at the side of the trap.

    From Jason''s new perspective, the hunter was pathetic. The wildman¡¯s abject terror wasn''t reserved for the Vances; he glanced around the mouth of the pit helplessly, cursing and shouting in his own language.

    Jason was struck by a sinking thought.

    "Flint, how deep does a trap have to be to trap a rabbit?"

    Still unable to stand, Flint bounced up and down on his toes. "I don''knowdonknow''donknow! It depends. If I have a bucket at the base, it only needs to be a few feet deep, deep, deep!" Flint''s hype evolved from shouted words to hyperspeech.

    Jason barely noticed; his thoughts were too busy making sense of their situation. "Then what the desh dug a pit deep enough to make a man look like a mouse?"

    The context of Jason''s question justified the fear in the man''s eyes. Jason saw no clean shovel blade marks or evidence that an excavator had dug the pit. Unless someone dug it with their bare hands, the hole was probably not man-made. What on Ash could have made such an impressive man trap, if that were the case? Seeing the dread in the trapped savage''s eyes, Jason couldn''t help but feel that the wildman knew precisely what dug it.

    "What do we do?" Jason mostly asked himself as he glanced around cautiously just in case whoever or whatever dug the trap came back.

    "We don''t stick, stick, stick around." Flint chattered. "And we watch the ground, the ground, the ground carefully!"

    "Good Idea," Jason nodded in agreement. "What about him?" Jason motioned to the panicked wildman.

    "You want to get him out, out, out?" Flint rolled his eyes as he shivered. "Good idea."

    "Well¡ªno," Jason admitted. "But we can''t just leave him."

    "Yes, we can and will. His buddies will be here soon, so let''s make sure we aren''t here when they show up," Flint suggested. "And watch out for other traps. Look for inconsistent or freshly stirred leaves."

    Jason nodded, relieved that Flint''s speech had returned to normal.

    "Oo col fulneck choi!" the man cried, with pleading eyes as the brothers turned to leave.

    "Awww, he wants our help," Flint said, returning to the man. "You want us to get you out?" He crouched at the edge of the pit. "Is that what you want, buddy?" Flint spoke like a boy to a puppy as he extended his hand.

    "Flint!" Jason cried. "What did we just decide?"

    The man nodded vigorously as he reached up,

    "Choi!" Hope gleamed in his eyes.

    Flint snorted and turned away. "Yeah, right, pal. You broke my tablet. I needed that. Let''s go, Jason. Before his friends catch up."

    "You''re an idiot." Jason scowled. "And a cruel one at that."

    "Let''s go."

    The brothers made their way away from the pit. An uncomfortable knot of guilt lodged in Jason''s stomach for leaving the man in the trap. However, he also saw the reasoning behind not letting out the wild scavenger who had just tried to kill them. He tried to banish the man''s pleading cries from his mind as they hiked away but was only partially successful.

    They moved cautiously now, more aware of the potential threats on Ash. They made slow progress, moving as silently as possible, signing rather than speaking, and scanning the horizon on all sides every few minutes. Occasionally, a shaft of yellow light in the distance and the accompanying thunderous clap kept them jumping. They trudged along, seeking any place they could deem safe so they could rest and devise a plan.

    Flint looked up abruptly once at a squirrel chattering in the trees. He tried pursuing it but it scampered away.

    ¡°That was a squirrel!¡± Flint declared.

    ¡°And this is a forest,¡± Jason answered.

    ¡°It¡¯s too quiet here, Jason. That¡¯s the first animal we¡¯ve seen.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t tell me you want to eat it?¡± Jason asked, recalling the dead rabbits Flint had carried to his house.

    ¡°Are they indigenous to Ash, or did this one migrate through a jump point?¡± Flint wondered, entirely too eager.

    Jason didn¡¯t answer but pressed on, much more concerned about getting home than understanding this strange world.

    The ground directly under the trees was loose and soft, but if the foliage broke, the soil became hard and cracked. They passed hundreds of small clay mounds, each with four or five tube-like offshoots.

    At one point, Flint pointed at one and signed.

    What are those?

    Jason hadn''t had the need to sign much in the last several years, but some things stuck around. He shrugged in response to Flint''s inquiry about the mounds.

    Silent as their trek was, Jason''s mind droned. The tablet and map were gone. How were they going to find Arthur? More importantly, where would they get this light ice that Flint was sure they would discover here? Apparently, it was their key to going home.

    They passed three more rings of runes burned into the ground, virtually identical to the one they came in. Jason regretted not memorizing landmarks around the one they arrived through. And though he would never admit it, he felt oddly confident Flint could get them back. As annoying as the kid was, he had a natural inclination for wilderness survival,

    Jason, in contrast, knew there were already multiple threats on Ash, and he wasn''t equipped to deal with them.

    Jason''s brow furrowed as Flint''s limp became increasingly exaggerated. It started with him stepping oddly but grew into an unnatural sway with every other step.

    "Flint,¡± Jason hissed, and Flint looked at him. Jason felt sickened at the ghastly pallor of Flint''s pale face.

    "What''s wrong?"

    "Nothing," Flint muttered sluggishly in contrast to his previous shouting.

    "Flint," Jason said sternly. "We''re stopping here."

    "I can''t," Flint muttered. We need to find the high ground and locate water."

    Jason shook his head. "You''re losing energy, and you''re hurt. We need to rest."

    Jason observed the mental debate in Flint''s head, hidden behind his tired eyes, but at length, the younger brother resigned to reason, shrugged off his pack, and dropped to the dirt.

    "Stim shots carry consequences," Flint muttered as he pulled himself up to a tree. "They''ll burn you to exhaustion. They were meant as a last case contingency, not a primary energy source."

    Jason nodded and took Flint''s bag. "You have first-aid?"

    Flint nodded through weary eyes. "I dressed my foot when we first got here. I can''t imagine what could possibly¡­"

    Jason realized with great concern that Flint was growing slightly delirious.

    "I''m going to take a look," Jason said as he untied Flint''s shoe. The footwear resisted, then slowly made a wet suction sound as it plopped off.

    Jason held his breath as he looked at the sweaty shoe, blood-soaked sock, and bandage.

    "What? Is it bad?" Flint muttered as he blinked sleepily.

    Jason tried to clean the foot while conserving as much water as he could from Flint''s water bottle, but he quickly found the source of the problem.

    A thick, jagged wooden chip lodged in the sole of Flint''s foot. Each step must have jarred him horribly. Jason looked at Flint sympathetically as he grabbed the splinter firmly with the pliers in Flint''s multi-tool.

    "I''m sorry,¡± he prefaced himself before he drew the shard out of Flint''s foot. He expected his younger brother to scream as he extracted the piece of wood, but Flint only grunted as his body tightened.

    Jason grimaced as he held the blood-slick splinter up for Flint to see.

    "Oh," Flint said. "I missed that? That''s why it hurt so much." Flint''s eyes began to drift closed.

    "Flint!" Jason said, shaking his brother.

    "Patch it up, okay? And don''t sleep. If we both sleep, we''ll probably die."

    Jason saw the exhaustion in Flint''s tense body.

    "Crashing," Flint said apologetically as he fell unconscious.

    Jason looked around and realized he was now alone¡ªisolated on an unknown planet, watching his unconscious brother. There was no map, little food, and almost no water. He quietly went to bandage Flint''s foot, but the weight of his worries had him thinking of home. He had left Jericho agents at home¡ªhome with Rachel. Jericho agents weren''t known to break the law, but then, they also weren''t known to hunt fifteen-year-old boys.

    "Rachel," he muttered. "Hang on."

    He had left this life for a reason; he should have known he couldn''t truly escape. Worse, he had inadvertently brought the world of super corporate contracts and mercenaries to his wife. His fists curled into tight balls, and he ground his teeth. If Jericho hurt her, he''d¡ªhe''d ...

    He''d what? He wasn''t that boy anymore. He had become someone else, a man helpless to protect his wife from a multi-world corporate superpower. He wiped tears of rage from his face he hadn''t realized were there. He glared at his brother sleeping peacefully while he held watch unarmed and alone. "Flint, if anything happens to her, I swear¡ª" He sniffled miserably.

    The small white sun dipped behind the horizon, startling Jason as he had woken up in the morning on Earth, not four hours ago.

    Jason sat up, startled, as a ribbon of gold light, similar to the northern lights back home, weaved across the darkening sky. He gaped at the alien phenomenon, temporarily transfixed.

    Flint shivered, and Jason sighed before fishing a metallic emergency blanket from his pack and wrapping it around the sleeping boy. As the temperature dropped, Jason hugged his knees to his chest. His teeth chattered, and he fixed Rachel in his mind.

    "I promise," he whispered, "I''m coming home.¡±

 7 Morning on Ash

    Flint peeked around the corner skeptically. Carly held onto him tightly, wide-eyed, and watched the exchange between their mom and Jason.

    Flint was initially excited to have Jason back, but as soon as their dad left the house, Jason gathered the bags he hadn¡¯t even unpacked.

    "What do you think you''re doing?" Janis demanded as Jason continued to cram clothes into a backpack.

    "I''m leaving," Jason grunted. Although he was only eighteen, his weather-worn skin and exhausted eyes made it look like he had aged a decade in the two years he had been gone.

    "Leaving?" Janis practically shrieked. "You just got back!"

    "And now I''m going."

    "Your father will never¡ª"

    "Dad is insane!" Jason snapped back, cutting her off. That was something he wouldn''t dare do before he left.

    Carly tugged on Flint''s arm, her wide, round eyes watching her recently returned brother. "What are they saying?" she signed. She could see their lips but wasn''t very good at reading them.

    Flint tried to keep his face neutral, but he felt numb. "Jason is leaving," he signed back.

    Carly frowned. "Going where?" she signed.

    "Away," Flint signed shortly, turning back towards the argument. Carly''s lip quivered.

    "Jason! I won''t let you go!" Janis shouted at her son as she pulled a plastic auto-shot pen from her pocket.

    Jason and Flint both froze when they saw it, but Jason drew the pistol he had strapped to his hamstring. He still wore the camo PMC fatigues Dad had issued him. He held the weapon in a quivering hand, pointed at the ground to his side. "Move," he commanded, his voice almost delirious.

    "Jason!" Janis jerked her hand across her eyes to wipe away angry tears. "Why?"

    "Why?" Jason demanded. "Because I''m not like you or Dad. Because your life is wrong, and because if I stay here, I''m going to die."

    Janis shook her head. "Jason, you''re a Vance¡ª"

    "Not anymore," Jason said. "Move."

    Janis hesitated and recognized the change in her son''s posture. Glancing at the pistol in Jason''s hand, she stepped to the side.

    Shouldering his backpack, Jason pushed past his mother and into the hall.

    "Wait!" Flint cried as he left Carly behind to chase after his older brother.

    Jason stopped as Flint caught up to him.

    "Don''t leave us," Flint pleaded. "We''re your family.¡±

    Jason hesitated for a moment before glaring at his younger brother. "Goodbye, Flint. I''m not part of your family anymore." Jason turned his back on Flint, leaving him behind.

    "Brother!" Flint cried, but Jason didn''t look back. Jason ejected the magazine from his pistol, allowing it to fall to the floor, then locked the slide back. The pistol clattered sharply as he dropped it.

    Flint felt Carly''s hand close around his fingers, but he jerked away.

    "Coward!" he cried, as he felt his throat swell and his eyes blur.

    A firm hand clapped over Flint¡¯s mouth, waking him abruptly. He groaned slightly as he forced himself to open his eyes through his drug-induced hangover. Jason looked down at him and held a finger to his lips, signaling silence.

    Flint blinked, fighting through the fog before nodding in compliance.

    He was on Ash; Jason was here. He needed to be quiet. Flint relaxed and looked at his brother, silently waiting for an explanation.

    Staying low, Jason offered no words but pointed at something in the distance.

    Flint rolled onto his stomach and followed Jason''s finger to see two men a short ways off. They wore more familiar clothing than the savages. One wore jeans and a dirty plaid shirt, the other slacks and a dirt-stained button-up white shirt.

    The most noticeable feature of the two, however, was their weapons.

    Plaid Shirt slung a bolt-action rifle over his shoulder and carried a sharpened stick. White Shirt wore a revolver strapped to his thigh and a hunting knife looped onto his belt.

    Jason nudged Flint to get his attention. He scrunched his face inquisitively as he held both his hands in front of him, palms facing himself, and wiggled his fingers as he pulled his hands closer to his face.

    Friendly?

    Flint tapped his hand to his head and pointed forward with his hand.

    Don''t know.

    Flint pointed to his eyes with two fingers and gestured at the two men.

    Watch.

    Jason nodded, and they both turned their attention to the newcomers.

    The men glanced around their surroundings constantly in an ever-vigilant sweep of their environment, each with a hand on their weapons. The Vances held still, knowing any movement might betray their presence.

    The men spoke to each other in low tones, and Flint strained his ears to see if he could pick up any of their words.

    "Tolko bossu ne govori," one of them said, his eyes worried. He gripped his sharpened stick in his hands tightly.

    "Ne Sobirayus," White Shirt seemed to assure him.

    They pressed on moving away from the brothers, and their conversation became inaudible.

    Flint and Jason waited silently for several minutes, ensuring the two men didn''t double back.

    "Hmm. From Earth, definitely," Flint thought out loud. "But obviously not American."

    "Russians?" Jason offered. "Or some other Eastern European country, anyway."

    "That makes sense." Flint agreed. "Should we have called out to them? Maybe they could''ve helped us."

    Jason eyed Flint skeptically. "Good idea. Call out to the two men with guns on a planet with no law. They definitely feel neighborly and wouldn''t kill us instantly for our stuff. Real good plan, Flint."

    "Knock it off, Jason," Flint muttered. "All I''m saying is that they could help us."

    "And until we know that for sure, we will avoid attracting undue attention to ourselves," Jason said.

    Flint nodded in agreement. With the immediate threat gone, he suddenly became aware of his migraine. "I feel like a tank ran over my head," he complained.

    "You were talking in your sleep," Jason said. "That''s why I had to wake you up."

    "I was?" Flint said, suddenly growing embarrassed. "What did I say?"

    "You were saying my name." Jason beamed triumphantly. "I should have known you secretly like me¡ªat least subconsciously."

    "Ah!" Flint winced. "Don''t flatter yourself."

    Jason shrugged innocently. He grinned and snatched Flint¡¯s black baseball cap from his head. The kid had worn it in his sleep.

    ¡°Hey!¡± Flint exclaimed.

    ¡°I know this cap,¡± Jason realized, turning it in his hands. ¡°That was mine.¡±

    Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

    ¡°You left it, so it was fair game,¡± Flint shot back.

    Jason shook his head with a smile. ¡°I wore it because I thought it was so cool. You fell right into my edgy phase, Flint.¡±

    Flint blushed.

    ¡°I thought a plain black cap was so cool,¡± Jason reminisced. ¡°Though no team logos, obviously, because¡ª¡±

    ¡°¡ª Baseball is lame,¡± the brothers said in unison.

    ¡°Yeah,¡± Flint grumbled. ¡°I remember.¡±

    Jason smiled and handed it back.

    "Jason, where is my airsoft gun?" Flint asked, tugging the brim over his eyes so only his scowl was visible to Jason.

    "I, er, dropped it back with those crazy dudes," Jason confessed. "It just all happened so fast. Besides, it''s not like it would have offered us any actual protection."

    "But it would have been an excellent deterrent," Flint lamented.

    "In any case, I''ll start carrying one of these knives in your bag. Seeing as they did come from my kitchen."

    Flint chuckled apologetically.

    "Seriously, Flint, does your ''borrowing'' know no limits?"

    Flint blushed. "How did you even know I had¡ª?" He turned to see the contents of his bag scattered and laid out on the dirt.

    "You went through my stuff?"

    "Hey," Jason defended, "You were out cold, so I inventoried our gear. Like half the stuff in here is mine anyway."

    "You idiot, what if we had to run? Then we would be forced to leave most of it behind." Flint snapped.

    "You were nearly comatose; it''s not like we would be going anywhere anyway."

    Flint''s face contorted in irritation. Jason was right, but the unnatural jab of anger for his brother may have been the ghostlike memory of a dream he had just woken up from. Flint didn''t like the thought of Jason making a good call for some reason.

    "One thing, though," Jason said. ¡°Care to explain these?" He held a stack of fifteen or so Crypto cards, each with a digital number indicating its current balance.

    "Oh, those ¡­ I, erm, borrowed them."

    "Right. So they all belong to friends who lent them to you with the intent of getting them back?" Jason asked. "Because that''s what borrowing actually means."

    "I needed it more than they did." Flint justified.

    Jason brought out the next card, and his eyes widened. ¡°Holy shit, this is a ton of money, Flint. And it¡¯s in your name too. Where did you get this?¡±

    ¡°I borrowed it from Dad,¡± Flint said. ¡°I couldn¡¯t spend it, though, because Jericho was tracking my card.¡±

    Wide-eyed, Jason cycled to the next card. "Flint, you can''t just take stuff," he groaned. "You hurt people when you do. Real living, breathing people. Did you think of that?"

    "I needed it."

    "And they didn''t?"

    "Emergencies call for special measures."

    "Chantelle." Jason read from the card on top of the stack. "Peter, Stephan." He flipped through the deck. "Do you even remember any of these involuntary sponsors?"

    Flint shrugged. "If it were really important to any of them, they would have kept a tighter hand around them."

    "Flint, you can''t do that!" Jason chastened. "You''re just like mom!"

    Flint bit his tongue. "Don''t you dare compare me to her," he growled. "Not unless you want me to leave you out here alone."

    "Wow, is it weird that I just heard that in her voice?" Jason asked wryly but with an edge to his tone.

    "I am nothing like her!" Flint snarled at the stinging accusation.

    "You take without a second thought of who you hurt, you use her tools, and have a total disregard for others. Tell me how exactly you aren''t sculpting yourself in her image?"

    "You¡ª" Flint choked. For once, he didn''t have a response. A nauseating stone dropped in his stomach. He didn''t have a quick-witted rejoinder, but Jason was wrong. He had to be.

    "Hey, Flint," Jason''s tone softened. "I''m sorry. I didn''t mean it."

    "Yeah," Flint agreed, "Especially coming from someone who abandoned us. Why don''t you try to call Brig or even show your face to Carly before you start accusing me, you freak."

    Jason''s shoulders slumped slightly.

    Flint shook his head, not happy about how the day started. "You know what? I don''t care. Let''s find Dad, get some light ice, and go home. I''ll go back to trying to get the kids back, and you can return to pretending we don''t exist."

    Jason stayed silent and continued repacking the bag.

    Flint pulled on his shoes. Jason had found Flint''s clean socks and put them on his feet over the new bandages while he slept.

    "You have more of Mom''s autopens," Jason said, picking up the five other thick auto-injectors in varying colors.

    Flint nodded, "Be careful of which ones you use. The two blue ones are stim adrenaline. The two red ones cause paralysis. The black one is fatal."

    Jason shuddered and put them down. When his mother used prototypes on him, they had been in a clear labelless syringe with a plunger. "Why on earth does mom have a lethal auto-injector?"

    Flint shrugged, "It''s Mom. Does that really surprise you? Besides, I found them in one of Dad''s pods."

    "I guess it''s to be expected," Jason agreed. "Did you bring any more of Mom''s junk?"

    Flint shook his head. "You know I hate that stuff. We all do."

    Jason nodded in agreement. "Well, you have come surprisingly well-equipped. You have a water purifier, a tube tent, fire starters, cord, and wire. It''s almost like you were ready for this."

    "I was on my own for four months," Flint explained. "That pack is my survival gear."

    "Is this a window screen?" Jason asked, holding up a rolled-up piece of mesh.

    Flint chuckled nervously, knowing if someone carefully examined Jason''s front window, they would notice an identical hole. He decided not to explain its origin.

    "Well, we''re going to need this stuff," Jason continued. "After your little stunt yesterday, we are almost out of food. And this is all the water we have left." He held up the water bottle, which held only an inch of water.

    Flint nodded. "Leave that to me. I''ll find some water."

    Jason nodded gratefully, fatigue forcing his eyes to droop. Flint couldn''t help but feel just a little bad for him.

    "How long was I asleep?" Flint asked.

    "All night," Jason responded. "I tried to wake you to see the lights, but you were out."

    "What lights?" Flint asked.

    Jason looked up thoughtfully. "They were beautiful, Flint. In the sky, after the sun went down, there were these ribbons of gold light¡ªlike the Northern Lights back home, only they were yellow rather than green or purple."

    "Seriously?"

    "Yeah, man. I hope they come back tonight." Jason''s face fell. ¡°Flint, how long do you think we will be here?"

    "I don''t know," Flint confessed. Being perfectly honest with himself, he wasn''t sure where to start without the map, but he owed it to Jason to get off Ash as soon as possible. "Once we find Dad, he can help us get home."

    "How sure are you?" Jason''s expression begged for any form of assurance.

    "I''m sure." That was all Flint could give.

    Crack! A gunshot sounded, causing both boys to duck and spin in alarm.

    "It''s far," Flint said, mostly to reassure himself.

    "Our Russian friends?" Jason asked.

    "I don''t think so," Flint said. "Wrong direction."

    "I''m going to go out on a limb and say that if we want to live, we shouldn''t confront anyone here."

    "Yeah, right." Flint countered. "I totally intend to hug the next person I see."

    Jason rolled his eyes. "You had better carry one of these knives, too," Jason suggested, grabbing one of the three kitchen knives in the backpack.

    Flint scrunched his face in disgust. "Why? I don''t know how to use one."

    "It''s better than nothing."

    "No, it''s not," Flint said. "If I carried it, I might be tempted to use it when the occasion arrives. No, I''ll stick to my original plan should we find trouble."

    "Which is?"

    Flint shrugged as he put some weight on his throbbing foot. "Run."

    "Oh."

    "Our chances of survival are much higher if we just run. We aren''t at the top of the food chain here, so why pretend to be?"

    "You don''t know that. I mean, surely there are sane and normal people here."

    "Sure I do. The first people we ran into tried to kill us. They ran into a pitfall set by another neighborly resident. I hate to break it to you, but that wasn''t an animal trap, Jason. That was a people trap." Flint scrunched his face doubtfully. "A person trap?" he tried.

    ¡°A trap for people,¡± Jason corrected, though his heart wasn¡¯t in it. His worry betrayed his false confidence.

    "Did you see the look on those two Russian guys'' faces? They were anxious, ready for trouble and the random gunshot we just heard¡ªLook at the evidence; this is a dangerous place." Flint concluded.

    Jason nodded as he looked at the knife. "We''ll keep our heads down, move silently, and run if it comes to it. Let''s hope we don''t have to fight." He looked at Flint. "But if we do ¡­ I will. You may not know how to use this, but I do." Jason stared at the six-inch blade and seemed to see phantoms in its reflection.

    "Okay." Flint agreed. "Run first, though."

    Jason nodded, "Let''s find water, then look for a good vantage point."

    Flint nodded in assent.

    The two of them packed up and started off.

    Flint''s sore foot pounded. He tried his best to hide his limp from Jason. If it came down to it, he would run on it like he did yesterday. But predators target the weak, so he had to conceal the fact.

    Flint''s throat itched and grew dry as they walked, which only solidified a reverberating concern in his mind. What if there was no water on Ash? He assured himself that there couldn''t be trees without water, but he didn''t know that for sure; what if trees used something else here?

    "Flint," Jason said, bringing him back to the moment.

    "Hmm?"

    "Isn¡¯t that another deadfall?"

    Flint looked at where Jason was pointing in surprise. Sure enough, to their left was another patchy attempt to cover a hole.

    "Wow, Jason," Flint praised teasingly. ¡°I wouldn''t have expected that from you. Maybe there is a chance for you yet."

    Jason rolled his eyes. "After the first one, I think I know what to look for."

    "Whoever is digging these didn''t do a very good job covering them up," Flint said.

    If the boys continued downhill, it was only a matter of time before they found water. That was, if water existed here, and obeyed the same laws of gravity as it did on Earth. There were so many unknowns.

    Flint tried to identify the trees, but they didn¡¯t look like any species he knew. They had a flat-topped canopy spread overhead with feathery leaves, and their roots fanned out, breaking the surface for several yards. The stones and rocks that jutted from the ground here were rusted orange. The earth under the trees was dusty and tan, but the ground without the tree cover was cracked and dry. As they walked, they passed hundreds of small mounds with every passing mile.

    They made agonizingly slow time, and Flint''s parched throat pinched and tickled at his tongue. He was tempted to hurry, but prioritizing caution, they did their best to move silently and without a trace.

    "Flint," Jason suddenly stopped, tilting his head. "Listen."

    Flint, once again broken from deep thought, looked around.

    "Do you hear it?"

    Flint strained his ears, and sure enough, he heard running water in the distance.

    "Jason, your paranoia and eye for detail might be useful for once."

    Jason snorted. "We need to be careful. Water has a funny habit of drawing living things to it."

    "I''ll check it out," Flint said. "You know I¡¯ll be quicker and quieter on my own."

    Jason nodded. "I''ll follow behind. Be careful."

    Flint inched forward, trying to become one with his surroundings; having survived in the wild for months, Flint had a greater understanding of its ways. Though harsh, there was also an order to things. A heartbeat of sorts. The woods were alive, and if you could tap into its rhythm, you could become one with it and, by so doing, move in harmony with it. You would be silent, swift, and alert to the disturbances of the natural order.

    Flint was far from flawless, but he tried his best to listen to the forest¡¯s heartbeat, to move with it. But these groves on Ash had a different tempo than the woods on Earth. This alien wilderness felt disoriented, inconsistent, and confused. It made travel rougher than it should have been, but Flint eventually exited the treeline.

    Ahead a wide, shallow stream. It ran over caramel clay banks. Flint''s dry throat leaped at the promise of quenching his thirst, and the trickle of cool water invited him.

    He approached the banks cautiously, aware that a wise predator often waits for his prey at the water.

    Sensing no immediate threat, he bent over to drink. A rancid stench hit his nose. He reeled back, retching at the fetor. "No!" he gasped as he regarded the stream, appalled. Whether rotten or poisonous, the entire stream was undrinkable.

 8 Féˆ¥æª‰aron

    Flint sat, staring blankly into the polluted water. How did this happen? Was all water on Ash this way? Where else could he find it? Was there a clean spring where he could find freshwater? How did moving water rot?

    He inched forward, trying not to get too close to the rank stream. Clear and crisp, the water looked as though it should have been clean and refreshing. But there was no denying the warning his nose was giving him. Flint breathed in and gagged as he got just a little too close.

    He found no evidence of dead fish, algae, or other bacteria. What could it be? Back on Earth, there were only a few ways to turn water so foul. Unless ¡­ Flint squinted upstream suspiciously. Maybe a predator further up was poisoning the water to force his prey to come to him. It wasn''t the type of thing he had ever heard of happening back home but being in such an unearthly place, he didn''t dismiss such outlandish ideas.

    With a sigh, Flint backed away. He may have been acting paranoid, but he had no interest in potentially falling prey to anything while on Ash.

    Could he filter it? Boil it and filter it again? If he couldn''t find another water source, he would have to make this water drinkable, but how long would that take? He was thirsty now.

    Crack!

    Flint ducked reflexively but looked around, embarrassed, though no one was around to see him. The gunfire sounded far away, the second gunshot in the last hour, and from a different direction. First wild men, now poisoned water and strange gunshots.

    Ratatatat. Gunfire rang out in rapid succession. It was also distant, and from the fast-paced repetition, Flint gathered that it was an automatic rifle.

    Flint looked back the way he had come. He didn''t see Jason, but he knew his brother could probably see him. Jason couldn''t move as quietly as Flint, but the foliage concealed him well.

    Flint shouldered his pack and stalked back.

    Feeling dehydrated and slightly discouraged, Flint retraced his steps back to where he left Jason. He stopped when he spotted Jason crouched behind a tree. Jason scanned his surroundings in a squat, making sure no one came up behind them. He held the largest of the kitchen knives clutched in his hands. As far as Flint could tell, Jason hadn''t seen him yet.

    Flint smiled as he considered the possibility of jump-scaring his brother. He was inwardly pleased that he had gotten so close without being spotted. Flint dismissed the idea of sneaking up on Jason on account of the large knife in his hand. No prank was worth getting stabbed.

    Flint started forward, but something rustled in the trees above him, and he froze. The brim of his black cap denied him the sight of what might have been lurking up there. So far, Flint had only spotted a single squirrel. Without bugs or birds, Ash had seemed a complacently stagnant place. The branches above rustled again, and Flint¡¯s heart sped up.

    The sound of shallow, almost human breathing sounded in the canopy above.

    Flint''s skin writhed, but he held still, not daring to look, hoping whatever it was would lose interest in him and leave him alone. Running could trigger a predatory reaction.

    He glanced over at Jason. Jason still hadn''t seen him. He suppressed an urge to call for help. In these parts, it was possible that anything could aggravate a predator.

    A branch creaked above, and a bead of sweat rolled down his neck. He couldn''t stay still.

    Flint''s eyes widened as harry-clawed fingers wrapped around the rim of his hat only inches from his eyes.

    In a flash, Flint''s hat was snatched from his head.

    "Hey!" Flint cried as he swatted the air above him. Looking up, Flint''s eyes followed a spindly, furry figure that scampered through the branches in a blur with the hat in hand. The tree limbs bowed under its substantial weight, yet it moved with feline grace.

    "Oh no, you don''t!" Flint snapped as he ran after it.

    "Flint?" Jason shouted, turning sharply towards him. "Help!" Flint cried as he bolted after the creature.

    The creature scuttled up above, hand over hand, branch after branch. Leaping from tree to tree, it stole ahead. Although Flint could only catch glimpses, what he saw made him hesitate. The thing had to weigh at least seventy-five pounds.

    "Flint!" Jason cried as he sprinted toward his brother.

    "Get back here, you scratchy, twig-infested hat thief!" Flint cried. He had that hat for years. He liked that hat and had no intention of letting it get away now.

    Flint ran, and his foot flared, but it didn''t matter. There were many things Flint was uncertain about, like how he got here or where his father was. But of this, he was sure; nothing from the earth to hell and Ash between would stop him from getting his hat back.

    "Gaaah! Get back here!" Flint cried as he charged heedlessly into the undergrowth.

    The creature turned its snouted face and hissed over its shoulder, revealing a small set of fangs on a vulpine face.

    "Flint, stop! What''s going on?" Jason cried as he caught up.

    "I''m going to kill it!"

    The creature launched itself to a tree just a hair''s breadth away. It screamed as its hand snatched air, and it fell.

    With all the grace of a brick, it plunged to the ground and lost hold of the hat. Flint lunged. The creature stood on its hind legs and jumped after it. Both Flint and the creature grabbed the cap at the same time. The beast stood like an anthropomorphic fox, only several times the size of any vulpine Flint had ever seen. Its pointed ears almost reached Flint¡¯s collarbone, and its orange eyes flashed angrily.

    "What is that?" Jason recoiled, bringing his knife up.

    "Give it!" Flint barked, watching its teeth carefully. With such animals, one had to consider bite power. Flint would introduce it to Mister Drop Kick if it tried to bite. The eerily bipedal beast seemed to be considering the same thing, even if Flint stood a head and a half taller.

    Shorter than Flint on its hind legs, the creature hissed and pulled hard. Surprisingly hard.

    Flint gained the upper hand with a jerk. It cried out and let go of the hat with one hand clawing at Flint''s wrist to pry it off the cap.

    Flint instinctively jerked his hand away from the creature''s clawed fingers. Seeing his opportunity, the varmint grabbed the cap with both paws and whisked it out of Flint''s single-handed grasp.

    "No!"

    It scurried up to the nearest tree and desperately searched for the next tree to jump to. However, it was isolated and without any route for escape. In dismay, the creature chattered from the branches.

    "What is that?" Jason asked again as he looked at it wide-eyed.

    If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.

    "I don''t know, but it has my hat!" Flint seethed.

    Jason''s face fell. "Are you kidding me right now?"

    "What?"

    "You carelessly charge out here screaming and practically announcing to a world where there are continual gunshots that we''re here because of a stupid hat?" Jason fumed.

    "Hey!" Flint cried defensively. "It''s my hat."

    "It wasn¡¯t ever yours," Jason scoffed. "It¡¯s mine. He can have it. Now it¡¯s his."

    "I''m getting my freaking hat back, Jason!"

    "You''re impossible," Jason growled.

    Above, the creature panted as it started to inch its way down, probably hoping to sneak past as the brothers were caught up in their dispute.

    "Don''t even think about it!" Flint snapped, jabbing his finger at the animal, and it shot back to safety. Its eyes flickered from one boy to the next, and Flint recognized the look¡ªdread.

    Though the beast was daring, it was clearly no predator. However, that didn''t mean it wasn''t dangerous.

    With a grunt, Flint dropped his backpack and fidgeted through the contents.

    "What are you doing?"

    "Getting my hat back." Flint produced one of his few remaining protein bars.

    "You''re going to bait it down?" Jason demanded.

    Fearing Jason''s complaints, Flint didn''t respond.

    "You are, aren''t you? I''m not going to let you waste what little food we have. I don''t need to remind you that you practically threw most of it away."

    Flint pulled out a wire loop, a snare he used to catch small game. "Don¡¯t forget that this food belongs to me."

    Jason snorted. "Bought on stolen crypto cards and swiped right out of gas stations? That food is just as much mine as it is yours."

    "I''m not wasting anything," Flint said. "I''m investing.¡±

    "What are you talking about?"

    "This is the only animal we have seen here; we¡¯ll have it for dinner," Flint said as he wrapped the end of the wire around a short, thick branch, making a sturdy handle.

    Jason nodded, "I guess it''s not a horrible idea. What kind of animal is it anyway?" He looked up at it. "It''s like a huge fox, but not; it''s almost like it has hands and¡ªWhat the¡ªFlint, it''s wearing pants!"

    "What?" Flint looked up at his prey. Sure enough, the creature had a small pair of baggy pants secured around its waist with twine. The trousers almost matched its brown fur perfectly.

    "What?" Flint¡¯s jaw dropped.

    ¡°What the hell?¡± Jason shook his head.

    "Pants or no pants, I''m eating that thing," Flint said determinedly. "Take this." He handed the handle to Jason and held the loop open loosely in his own hand.

    The creature watched them suspiciously from the treetop with beady eyes.

    "Come here, boy!" Flint invited, stretching his arm to hold up the protein bar.

    The hairy figure leaned down carefully and sniffed suspiciously.

    "No conditions," Flint promised. ¡°Here, you look hungry." He broke off a corner of the bar and placed it on a low-hanging branch.

    The creature glared at him with decided distrust.

    "Seriously, just for you." Flint stepped away from the tree.

    It put the cap on its head, and then, slowly and cautiously, the creature started to creep down. The hat sat suspended on one of its pointed ears, clearly not the right shape for its head.

    "That''s right." Flint coxed, "Who''s a hungry boy?"

    "Flint, you sound stupid," Jason growled.

    Flint¡¯s face heated as he realized he was talking like a mother might who was trying to feed baby food to a stubborn baby.

    The creature snatched the snack and scampered up to safety, where he greedily and loudly chewed it up.

    "Well, that worked," Jason said sarcastically as he looked at the creature safe in the high branches of the trees.

    "Shh, I''m conditioning it. It''s all about relationships."

    Jason snorted. "Do you actually know anything about relationships?"

    "I know enough," Flint said emphatically.

    "But really, bro, do you have any friends?"

    Flint broke another more generous chunk off of the bar and placed it on the same branch. "I don''t need friends," he said. ¡°I can take care of myself."

    The creature rushed down and snatched the offering, fleeing immediately to the top of the tree.

    "Woah," said Flint. "It''s getting reckless."

    "I didn''t say you couldn''t take care of yourself," Jason said. "But you need people in your life, Flint; everyone does."

    "Are you going to help me catch dinner, or are we going to have a chick-flick moment?" Flint demanded, "Focus."

    Jason smiled apologetically and set his stance, ready to move.

    Flint held the bar up. "Come and get it."

    The creature snorted at him.

    "I''m not leaving it for you. Come, take it out of my hand." Flint commanded.

    It let out a bark of protest.

    "Well, are you hungry or not?"

    It snorted again.

    "Come on, little guy, I''ll give you the whole thing."

    It glared down at Flint. The hat hung over one of its eyes, and it had to crank its head awkwardly so it wouldn''t fall off.

    "That''s right, bring my hat back, you twig nest."

    Not wanting to risk the hat, it pulled it off and jammed it in the fork of two branches at the top.

    Flint could practically read its intention.

    It came down again, slowly, seemingly ready for anything.

    "That''s right. A little further." He held the bait up higher still.

    The creature came to rest just out of reach, and it extended its hand and grabbed the bar, but Flint held it fast, and the animal broke off a sizable chunk and began to munch on it just above.

    "I''m running out of bait,¡± Flint hissed. "Get ready to move." He unwrapped the remaining bar and stuck his arm through the open loop.

    It loudly smacked its food and looked down, expecting more.

    "The rest is yours," Flint promised. Holding it up, but not high enough for it to reach.

    The creature whined in disapproval and waited for Flint to bring it closer, but Flint was insistent.

    Finally giving in to its hunger, it reached the next perch and grabbed the bar.

    In one motion, Flint tossed the loop past his arm over the beast, looping it around its armpit and neck.

    "Now!" he cried.

    The creature screamed and scampered away, and Jason pulled back, tightening the loop and ripping it out of the tree.

    Their quarry screamed again as it fell at Flint''s feet and then took off. On the ground, it ran on its hind legs, almost like a little person in its trousers. Flint lunged after it.

    It moved in a blur, passing Jason and speeding deeper into the woods. The snare, still around its body, drew taut, and Jason jerked it back.

    Flint was on it in a moment, pinning its arms down.

    "Ahh," Jason cried again. "This is the weirdest thing I have ever done!"

    Flint ignored him as he wrestled the thrashing creature. "Knife!" he cried.

    Jason snapped out of his stupor and rushed to help his younger brother, blade at the ready.

    The creature looked up with panicked pleading eyes. ¡°Veri koo, veri koo, don tashi Veri koo ve!¡± it cried.

    "Flint!" Jason whined, "Why is the fox man thing talking?"

    "Knife!" Flint grunted in exasperation.

    "Don Tashi Veri koo ve!" it sobbed, and large tears welled in its eyes.

    "Flint," Jason barked. "It''s alive!"

    "That''s what I''m trying to fix." Flint snapped. "Knife!"

    "No, I mean, it''s intelligent, like us.¡±

    "Knife, Jason!"

    Jason took a defiant stance. "Flint, no, I won''t let you kill it."

    Flint glared at Jason, pointedly ignoring his brother¡¯s shocked look. "You have got to be kidding me right now."

    Jason puffed his chest. "No, Flint, let him go!"

    "You''re soft."

    Jason frowned impatiently. "It¡¯s not an animal, Flint. It¡¯s something else."

    "Of course, it is," Flint had to wrestle its arms down to pin it again. ¡°And from where I¡¯m standing, it looks like dinner.¡±

    "Flint, move!" Jason barked, and he shoved Flint off of the creature.

    "Hey!" he snapped.

    The creature got up and tried to run, but Jason held the wire fast. It turned caught on its leash.

    Wide-eyed as the larger of the boys approached. It whimpered, and its eyes darted to Jason''s knife.

    "Easy there, little guy," Jason said soothingly. "I''m not going to hurt you." He handed the knife to the younger scowling brother.

    "Really?" Flint demanded. "Now you give it to me?"

    "It''s okay," he said to the trembling creature. ¡°Let''s get that wire off of you." He walked up to it, slowly showing his palms in a peaceful gesture. The thing whimpered as it allowed Jason to lift the snare over his head and pull it off.

    It regarded the older Vance with confused and grateful eyes. "You''re free to go," Jason said," But my brother wants his hat back."

    The creature gave no indication of understanding.

    "Hat," Jason said slowly as he patted the top of his head. "Hat." He repeated as he pointed to the top of the tree.

    "Jason, you''re an idiot if you really think ¡ª"

    "Hat," the fur ball repeated in a labored, shaky tone, understanding dawning on its face. It patted the top of its head and then pointed to the top of the tree. "Hat."

    "Good!" Jason praised his newest pupil, "Can you bring the hat?"

    "Hat," it sang again, and then it whisked off up the tree.

    "Why was dinner speaking?" Flint asked himself. "Dinner isn''t supposed to talk."

    The creature appeared again before Jason''s feet, clutching Flint''s black cap.

    "Hat," it said.

    Flint stared dumbly.

    "It isn''t mine," Jason said. "Go give it back to Flint."

    The creature looked at Flint and furrowed its eyebrows in disdain.

    "Go on," Jason prodded.

    The creature dramatically approached Flint, dragging its feet in protest. With an upheld nose, it tossed the cap at Flint''s feet.

    Flint snatched it off the ground and jammed it onto his head.

    "Good." Jason praised. "What is your name, little guy?"

    The critter looked at him, confused.

    Jason gestured to himself, "Jason," he said, and then repeated it slowly, "Jason."

    Flint snorted. "Are you serious? You''re talking to an animal."

    "Jay-son," it said slowly as if it were trying out new sounds for the first time.

    Flint''s face dropped, and both brothers chuckled, intrigued.

    "But it''s like a parrot, right? You know, monkey see, monkey do," Flint said.

    "Flint," Jason said, pointing to his brother. And then, making an inquisitive face, he gestured at the creature.

    It smiled broadly and put its hand on its chest. "F''faron."

    "Well then," Jason said. "Nice to meet you, F''faron."

 9 The Collection of Ash

    "Don''t get friendly with it!" Flint cautioned.

    "I''m not!" Jason snapped, still annoyed at Flint''s general carelessness. Running and shouting on a hostile alien planet, all for a stupid hat, was generally unwise.

    "You''re not? Well, now that you''re on a first-name basis with a space fox-thing, I don''t think you can say you''re not pals."

    "I''m the one who got your precious hat back," Jason said pointedly.

    Jason watched F''faron out of the corner of his eye. The humanoid fox looked back and forth earnestly from one speaker to another, trying to decipher the unknown words.

    "Well, if we aren''t eating it¡ª" Flint started.

    "It has a name," Jason interjected, primarily to prod at Flint''s unrelenting enmity towards everything.

    "Whatever," Flint said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "If it''s not dinner, and I have my hat back, then let''s get out of here before something with teeth or a gun finds us."

    "Now you''re cautious?" Jason said. "Wait a minute."

    "What?"

    "We are talking to an alien. Aren''t you at least a little bit curious?"

    "Oh, yeah, good idea, we¡¯ll just talk to him. Do you speak fox?" Flint asked, his voice sardonic. "What does a fox even say?" he muttered, mostly to himself.

    "Obviously, I don¡¯t speak fox," Jason said, irritated.

    "Then we have bigger problems¡ªHey!"

    While the brothers had been bickering, F''faron had stolen up from behind and was now sniffing Flint''s backpack.

    "Get back!" Flint spat, and F''faron shied away, scuttling to hide behind Jason. Flint saw its pointed ears just barely peeking around Jason''s arm.

    "He clearly likes you, Flint," Jason said sarcastically, pushing F''faron from behind him.

    "A little space?" Jason requested.

    "See just now! All it wants is our food."

    "And whose fault is that? Mister, Give Him the Last of Our Rations? I thought you were supposed to be the survivalist."

    Flint''s jaw bulged, and eyes widened in indignation. "I am," he insisted. "But I''ve been a little too busy babysitting my older brother."

    A pair of gunshots rang out faintly in the distance, but the boys didn¡¯t even flinch anymore. Based on F''faron''s indifference, Jason assumed that gunfire was commonplace.

    Flint folded his arms, his lips pinching into a tight line. Jason hadn¡¯t realized how important being a survivalist was to him. Jason sighed. "You may think I''m a thorn in your side, but I''m older. Dad trained me, and I think I have more experience with this kind of thing, so you''ll survive longer with me. Plus, I just saved this guy''s life from my psychopath little brother."

    "You mean, your hungry little brother," Flint corrected.

    ¡°Whatever. The point is, this guy could be helpful. Nothing like having a native to scout ahead."

    "No," Flint started. "No, no, no. I see where you''re going with this, and the answer is no. We are not keeping him."

    "But¡ª"

    "Keep one, and by the end of the day, you have a whole pack begging."

    "But¡ª"

    "No!"

    Jason''s fist tightened by his side. "I''m older, so that makes me in charge."

    "In what sick world does that make you in charge?" Flint demanded.

    "In every world! Earth, here!"

    "I can cut loose and leave you in a second," Flint threatened.

    "You wouldn''t."

    "You don''t know me; I''m not the little kid you left with mom."

    Jason studied Flint''s eyes as though searching for the truth behind the threat. "I''m not going to let you get yourself killed," he said. ¡°So don''t run off."

    "Then he goes," Flint motioned to F''faron. ¡°We don''t know enough about him to trust him suddenly. For all we know, he could be sent to lead us back to his pack, where they plan to eat us."

    "Okay, but¡ª"

    "Having a pet alien would be awesome," Flint admitted, "but it would be just that. We just have no way of knowing it''s trustworthy."

    "Stop interrupting," Jason growled. "You have no respect."

    F''faron doubled back discreetly, making a second attempt to get into Flint''s backpack unnoticed.

    "Get away!" Flint hissed, and F''faron scampered back. "This thing is really annoying. I''m still on Team Eat-It," Flint growled.

    "No, not an option," Jason said decidedly.

    Flint groaned in exaggerated frustration.

    "Plus," Jason continued, building on Flint''s submission. ¡°We have other priorities. Did you find water?"

    Flint grimaced. He looked down reluctantly. "No."

    "What do you mean, no?" Jason asked." There wasn''t a river?"

    "There is," Flint said. "But the water is bad."

    "What do you mean, bad?" Jason asked. ¡°Saltwater?"

    "No, it stinks. It''s disgusting."

    "Well, what''s wrong? Don''t you have a water filter?"

    Flint shook his head. "I¡¯ve been thinking about it and don''t want to risk the filter with poisoned water. It might ruin my filter or might not work at all.

    "Why did it stink?" Jason asked.

    "I can''t tell," Flint confessed. "We''re just going to have to find it elsewhere."

    Jason looked towards the direction of the river mournfully.

    "We''re not doing so well so far."

    "We''re alive," Flint said.

    Jason nodded, "Let''s stay that way. I want to see the river myself."

    "If we go upstream, we should pass whatever makes the river stink," Flint explained.

    "If this is the only nearby water source, we will pass other people and other things." Jason looked at F''faron.

    "That''s why I have you, child soldier," Flint nudged Jason.

    Jason sneered at Flint in protest, "Don''t call me that."

    Flint shrugged apologetically as the two started back towards the river.

    F''faron fell in pace right behind them.

    "No, no, no!" Flint chided as he saw it. "Get!" He jerked his finger, pointing away.

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    F''faron flinched and got down on all fours, growling loudly as he eyed Flint. F¡¯faron seemed equally comfortable on hands and feet or walking like a man.

    "You are not coming; go!" Flint feigned a strike at the beast, but it easily dodged to safety.

    "Oh, this is going to be annoying." Flint lamented, and he scooped up a smooth stone that matched the color of the cracked dirt. He wound up and threatened to throw it.

    "Scat, rat! I will throw this."

    F''faron scooped his own stone and wound up ready to return the favor. ¡°Nok dul chow ve, se ve cho e dul!¡± it hissed.

    Flint blinked in surprise, and Jason snickered. Despite F''faron looking like an animal, and to Flint''s surprise, it acted very much like a person.

    Expecting it to fear him and run away, its distinct offense had caught Flint off guard. There was no denying the beast was easily offended.

    "Don''t get in a rock fight, Flint. I might side with F''faron," Jason said.

    "Traitor," Flint glared at Jason but reluctantly dropped the stone.

    Jason chuckled.

    "Is something funny?" Flint demanded.

    "You just got out-chickened by a foxman!" Jason grinned. "You tell me."

    "Shut up," Flint snapped. "I don''t see you doing anything."

    "That''s because I''m ready to pass out," Jason said. "Give me a sip of our water."

    "There is only a sip left!"

    "Okay, half a sip then." Jason reasoned.

    "Jason, rations," Flint tried to explain.

    "Rations work differently when you need the energy to fight," Jason said.

    Flint protested but reluctantly pulled the clear plastic water bottle out of his backpack. About an inch of water caught the light at the bottom. "Just enough to get your throat wet," Flint cautioned as he looked at it in despair.

    Jason accepted the bottle and tipped it back. He coughed as he screwed the cap back on,

    "Okay, that made it worse." He groaned as his thirst intensified.

    Flint chuckled and began to unscrew the cap.

    "Bune!" F''faron cried as he jabbed a clawed finger at the bottle.

    "You get away," Flint spat. "This is strictly for the Vance brothers. We can''t spare any for rats."

    "Bune, bune!" he cried again, motioning for the boys to follow.

    Jason regarded F''faron''s curious expression but sat up alert. "Flint. I think he may know where we can find water." He tugged the bottle out of Flint''s hand.

    "Bune?" he asked, giving the bottle a little jiggle.

    "Core! Bune!" he grinned.

    "Take us!" Jason commanded.

    "Bune, Bune," F''faron cried and scampered ahead. Jason started after him, moving as quietly as he could.

    "You''re going after him?" Flint cried. "You idiot, it''s obviously a trap."

    "Pardon where I put my trust, brother," Jason said flatly, "but the last guy I sent to get water came back empty-handed. Now, if you''ll excuse me, I''m thirsty." Jason followed after F''faron, leaving Flint speechless. Flint growled in exasperation and followed.

    Jason quickly recognized where they were. They had come down this way before. He was sure of it. In addition to some prominent landmarks, some of the tan-orange clay mounds in the area looked strikingly familiar.

    Flint skulked as he fell behind, but Jason pressed forward eagerly, almost forgetting to advance cautiously. Flint followed with a more watchful air, waiting for the moment fifty more F''farons jumped out to roast them on a spit.

    "Cha!" F''faron cried as he scampered past a few clay mounds and pointed to a sagging surface of twigs and pine needles. Jason recognized it as the pitfall he identified before.

    "Ah-ha!" Flint cried, "We have been here before!"

    "Right." Jason agreed. "That''s the last pitfall we passed. But what does he want us to do with it?"

    "Isn''t it obvious?" Flint asked. "He wants us to fall in it."

    "Why would he want that?" Jason asked.

    "I don''t know. To eat us?"

    "You really think he dug these pits?"

    "Not by himself. But maybe there is a pack of them."

    "Bune!" F''faron chirped, pointing down.

    "That''s it," Flint said. "I''m throwing him in."

    "Flint, wait!" Jason snapped. "Let''s at least take a look."

    "This is literally a trap," Flint said. "You know what, fine, don''t listen to me. No sense in starting now."

    Jason rolled his eyes and made his way over to the edge. "Bune?" He asked F''faron, and Flint snorted at Jason''s use of F''faron''s dialect.

    "Bune!" F''faron promised eagerly.

    Jason got on all fours, surveyed F''faron cautiously, and pushed back some branches.

    Flint braced himself as if waiting to see a volley of blow-gun darts or a barrage of furry creatures engulf Jason, but nothing came.

    "Well, I''ll be." Jason mused.

    "What is it?"

    "It''s not a deadfall. It''s a well!"

    "What?" Flint surged forward, dismissing his previous paranoia, and joined the other two at the pit''s edge.

    Jason grinned at the light reflected from the bottom of the pit.

    "This one isn''t sour!" Flint cried joyfully. "Hey, Ratface." Flint turned to F''faron. "Fill this up, yeah?" He handed the water bottle to the confused F''faron, who attacked the lid with his teeth, trying to open it.

    "Hey!" Flint barked, snatching it back. "That''s gross. No, like this." He showed F''faron how to unscrew the cap and put it back on again.

    F''faron scrutinized the bottle as though it were a heaven-sent relic as he successfully screwed it on and took it off again.

    "Good," Flint praised. "Now go fill it up."

    F''faron looked at him, perplexed.

    Flint sighed, "I can''t believe I''m doing this. Bune!" he said, pointing down, his face brightening a little as he was, in fact, trying to speak to an oversized rodent child.

    F''faron nodded in understanding, and without hesitation, he scampered down the steep side of the pit into the darkness below.

    "Well." Flint muttered as he slumped back onto one of the mounds, "Maybe he does have his uses after all."

    "You''re horrible," Jason said, appalled at Flint''s treatment of their new acquaintance.

    Flint shrugged. "Maybe. But I''m still alive." He glanced around, only half convinced that this wasn''t a trap.

    "So am I," Jason said. ¡°I promise I''ve survived worse than you, and I try not to be a jerk about it." Jason instinctively scanned their surroundings.

    The pitfall, or well, whatever it was, was built in an opening, but the tan clay took on a more orange hue near the trees here.

    Flint examined the ground curiously. Several more of those small mounds protruding slightly from the ground here than in other places. They stuck up six to ten inches. They resembled the lumps left by gopher tunnels, but their shape was inconsistent. They all seemed to have a bigger portion and four or so smaller runoffs going in different directions.

    At least a half dozen mounds, including the one he was sitting on, were scattered nearby. They also seemed to be made out of hardened mud. Now that he had thought of it, he had seen thousands of them everywhere. As he had been fairly busy trying not to get eaten or find water, Flint had ignored them up to that point.

    "Jason," Flint said as he also studied the mounds.

    "Yeah?"

    "What do you think these are?" Flint asked, pointing to one of the banks.

    Jason shrugged. "Rock formations?"

    "Not rock," Flint said. "Clay."

    "And?"

    "I think they might be animal burrows," Flint said.

    "That means¡ª"

    "Food," Flint said eagerly.

    Scraping sounded from below as F''faron clambered up the side of the pit. Pinning the full water bottle between his chin and chest looked tedious. He climbed two steps up, then slid one step back. He used his clawed hands to make handholds and grab any roots or stones he could use to hoist himself.

    After F''faron had gotten about halfway up, Flint opened his backpack and produced a wound-up paracord spool. "I don''t know why we didn''t use this to start."

    He looped the end and tossed it down to F''faron, who gratefully stepped into the loop.

    "A little help," Flint grunted. "He''s heavier than he looks."

    Jason joined him, and the two of them hoisted F''faron up. The thin cord dug painfully into their hands.

    Once at the top, F''faron eagerly handed the bottle to Jason and glared back at Flint.

    "Way to hold a grudge," Flint threw up his hands defensively. "It''s not like I''m the one who gave you the bottle or anything.¡±

    "Thank you!" Jason said as he opened the cap and removed Flint''s water purifier from his backpack. Pumping the filter, he drank directly from the straw, gulping it until it was about half empty. "Here," he offered it to Flint.

    "Finish it," Flint said.

    "Wow." Jason marveled. "Is Flint Vance acting selflessly? What day is it? Surely, this day will go down in history."

    "No," Flint insisted. "It''s called being efficient. I''ll get the next one."

    Jason returned to his task, downed the rest of the bottle, and handed it empty back to F''faron.

    F''faron looked at it in dismay. Seriously? His look seemed to say. Again?

    "We''ll help out this time," Flint handed the rope to F''faron.

    Several trips later left the boys hydrated with a full bottle for the road.

    "Well, I''m glad we figured that out," Flint sighed.

    "Flint," Jason said.

    "What?"

    "We need to find this light ice."

    "Yeah."

    "Are you sure you don''t know where to get it? We need to get home, and we''re no closer to that than when we got here. What''s our plan? How do we find ice? How do we get back?"

    Flint looked around as if seeking refuge from the inquiries. They were necessary questions, but Jason knew Flint couldn''t answer them. They were questions that Flint felt responsible for and issues he couldn''t hide from.

    "We need to find Dad," Flint said.

    "Yes, but how?"

    Flint nodded several times, "The same way I''ve tracked him so far: we ask around and look for the right signs. We know there are Jericho and Manticore Inc. agents here. If we find them, we can find Dad." Then, seeing Jason''s look of trouble again, he added, "Stay focused. If we give up, we won''t survive."

    "What about Rachel?" Jason asked, a little harsher than he intended.

    "What do you mean?"

    "We left Jericho agents at my house. What if they hurt her?"

    "They won''t do anything to her," Flint assured him.

    "Do you really know that Flint?" Jason asked with furrowed brows.

    Flint paused. "No, I don''t."

    Jason tried to push aside his annoyance and fear. "Flint¡ª"

    A reverbing earthshaking crack sounded, and a shaft of yellow light shot down from the sky nearby.

    Both boys bolted upright, and F''faron shot up, his ears twitching.

    "What was that?" Jason cried.

    "I think someone just arrived on Ash!" Flint said.

    "Someone from Earth, like us, and they''re close."

    "Let''s get to them," Jason suggested. "If we can find people like us, we might have a better chance of making it home!"

    "No," Flint interjected. "If we saw it, then others surely have too. Remember, we had a welcome party when we arrived."

    Jason nodded in agreement. Realizing they were in the open, he turned to Flint. "Let''s get back to the cover of the trees."

    "First sensible thing I''ve heard all day," Flint muttered.

    Jason jogged towards the trees. Staying low and scanning for any potential danger.

    Eyes averted from the ground, Jason''s shoe landed on one of the mounds, and it cracked, causing his foot to fall in a couple of inches and sending him into a headlong spill.

    Jason threw his kitchen knife to the side to avoid falling on it.

    "Jason!" Flint cried as he ran to help his brother, but he gasped as he looked at the mound Jason had broken with his foot.

    Climbing back, Jason Jason followed Flint''s eyes to the broken mound.

    A human skull stared up at him from the hole in the heap. Both brothers cried out and took an involuntary step back.

    Jason slowly spun, counting the mounds. Dozens of them lay scattered about, and they had passed thousands of them so far.

    The clay form possessed a similar undeniable shape¡ªlike giant gingerbread men, with a central portion for the body and four runoffs for limbs. They weren''t an animal''s burrow. They were graves¡ªcorpses encased in clay.

    Ash, as far as they had known it, was a graveyard.

 10 The Teeth of Ash

    Flint wasn''t a squeamish person. The likes of death or corpses seldom bothered him. He accepted demise as natural, as long as he wasn''t the corpse. Flint obviously didn''t know any of the bodies encased in clay tombs, yet a stone seemed to plummet in his stomach. Not the lurch of disgust but the tug of panic. Alarm constricted around him as he spun in a full circle, counting six, ten, twenty more clay banks.

    Jason recovered his discarded weapon and scanned the treeline, searching for whatever may have entombed these people.

    Flint looked at his older brother. "Jason," he started, "We need to get out of here." Flint tried to ignore the cadaver-strewn landscape.

    Flint scooped up a fist-sized stone. He had to be sure. Moving to the nearest mound, Flint reared back and struck it where he would have assumed the head would be. The rock punctured the earthen coffin with a hollow thud and shattered under the second blow. Peeling back parts of the clay shell like a boiled egg, a second skull grinned back at him.

    "Flint," Jason muttered as he squatted down low. "Leave them alone."

    "We need to know what we''re dealing with," Flint muttered.

    F''faron walked closer, watching Flint with absorbed interest.

    Flint glared at the creature. Everything about F''faron was unnatural. Animals weren''t supposed to walk on two legs like people, wear pants, or talk. He didn''t know what to make of it, which made him uncomfortable.

    Flint moved from mound to mound, cracking several more open from head to foot. Some of the clay shells were thicker and more stubborn than the other. But they all yielded skeletons. None wore clothes, but Flint found several belt buckles, zippers, keys, rings, and watches among them.

    "I''m pretty sure they''re from Earth," Flint said as he picked up a gleaming vintage gold watch, leather straps missing. Without a second thought, he pocketed it. He attempted to discreetly remove a gold wedding band from a bone finger under the pretense of examining it closer.

    "How did they die?" Jason asked, only daring to shoot a quick glance over at Flint''s find.

    "I''m not exactly a pathologist," Flint said as he worked the ring off the finger and slipped it into his pocket, "But this guy has a heavy cleft in the skull." He narrated as he moved to the next largest one. "This one has some broken ribs, and this one ¡­" Flint squatted. The body he was examining had several broken bones, but most disturbing of all was the shoulder was splintered in the way a dog''s chew bone might splinter. The most likely explanation was that something big, with powerful jaws, chomped into it. Flint looked at Jason, who shivered.

    "Flint, we need to get away from here," Jason said.

    Flint nodded. But something disturbed him. "Why did the metal survive but no clothes?" he asked.

    "Clothes rot," Jason reasoned, but Flint shook his head.

    "These bones aren''t dehydrated; they smell. Besides, people only started disappearing about half a year ago, and that¡¯s not nearly enough time for clothes to disintegrate completely."

    "What are you saying?" Jason asked, his eyes darting as he scanned the horizon full circle for signs of hostiles or predators. Rehydrated, fresh beads of sweat gathered on his forehead.

    Flint glared at a mound that appeared less sun-baked than the others. Grabbing his stone, he swung into the rise and instantly gagged as he recoiled from the stench. Rather than cracking, it crumbled inward, revealing part of a decaying corpse.

    Behind him, Jason wretched as the stench hit him. "Flint!" He coughed and gagged. "What are you doing?"

    Flint started to pick away at the mound with a stick, crumbling the outer edges and revealing a much fresher, wetter, rotting corpse than the ones in the mounds around it. As Flint broke into the shell further, slimy, rancid juices ran free of their clay container.

    It was unlike any roadkill or dead animal Flint had ever seen. Usually, when something rots, it dries and turns to dust, but this body was slimy and wet, and the steaming acid smelled like fermented vomit.

    Flint''s face scrunched in distaste at the stench as he examined the body. He couldn''t recognize its facial features, but this one wore wet clothes supporting a woman''s build. The clothing was as far gone as the body and as if it were¡ª"Dissolving," Flint muttered out loud.

    "What?" Jason asked.

    "It''s in some sort of acid," Flint speculated. "But why? Who would do this?"

    An ear-splitting howl sounded from the forest on the far side of the clearing with the well, causing both boys to spin in panic.

    "Shette," F''faron cried.

    "What?"

    "Shette, koul!" He ducked behind Jason.

    "Let''s go," Flint agreed, "But carefully." He shouldered the pack and jogged back into the forest away from the sound.

    The three of them ran only as swiftly as any degree of stealth would allow, making slow but careful progress.

    They only made it thirty meters before Flint realized they weren''t alone. He heard them before he saw them. He caught flashes of movement from people running through the trees on either side, and they fled from the direction of the bestial cry.

    "Jason!" Flint hissed as he slowed his pace.

    Jason signed back to him with his free hand. "I see them." He held his knife firmly. "Run."

    Flint nodded, and they both bolted away, replacing stealth with speed. F''faron ran with them, taking Jason''s cue without hesitation.

    Flint cursed himself with every step; the hole in the bottom of his foot didn''t take kindly to running. He paid for his injury by falling behind Jason by several feet. Flint had run on it the day before, but it had obviously become infected since then. Then he saw them.

    People ran in from all sides, running toward them. With a quick glance, Flint counted at least five.

    "Jason!" he cried. But Jason had stopped; three more people in ragged but regular earth clothes barred his way. They looked like anyone the Vances would have passed on the street back home. With dirty, sweat-streaked faces, as if they had been forced on an impromptu week-long campout. Despite their familiar garb, their wide, frenzied eyes gave Flint pause.

    "Get on the ground!" their leader barked, and the others closed in around them.

    The Vance brothers looked around, stunned; they had walked¡ªor, more correctly, ran¡ªinto a trap.

    Seeing the newcomers, F''faron bolted off, shooting up a tree and leaping from treetop to treetop.

    "Well, thanks for having our back," Flint growled.

    "Let me see your hands!" their leader cried. He wielded a small pocket knife.

    Jason took a defensive stance, pushing Flint behind him.

    "He has a knife!" another one cried, pointing to the weapon in Jason''s hand.

    Jason took a deep breath and held up both hands in a gesture of surrender.

    Flint''s teeth ground in irritation. Dad had trained Jason. With his field experience, Jason should have been as dangerous as Arthur or as ruthless as Brigham, but now he trembled like a lost child. Flint would have given anything for Jason''s skills and training. He wouldn¡¯t have crumbled so easily if their roles were reversed.

    "Drop the knife!"

    The pack fanned out, tightening the circle around the Vances.

    "Hey!" Jason cried. "Alright, easy, you speak English! What''s going on?"

    "The knife!"

    Flint evaluated their captors. Most of them didn''t look overly dangerous. Their leader was a tall, thin man who appeared more tired than antagonistic. The others included a man in a mechanic''s jumpsuit, a wiry balding man with glasses, an olive-skinned man and woman who stood side by side and wore matching grey beanies, and a middle-aged woman who looked like a mom whose biggest problems should have been dropping the kids off at soccer and providing healthy sugar-free snacks for the team. Finally, there was a teenage girl who was probably younger than Flint¡ªor maybe older? Flint had never been good at predicting a woman''s age.

    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

    The only pack member that Flint considered particularly intimidating was a muscular, dark-skinned man brandishing a thick club. Flint wouldn¡¯t have been surprised if he could benchpress a truck.

    Realizing Jason wouldn¡¯t Fight, Flint realized they needed to change their approach. "Drop it," he advised Jason. Something about weapons dehumanized people, and Flint sensed a lot of potential sympathy in this group.

    Jason considered his options but eventually agreed with Flint''s assessment. He set his knife on the ground, held his palms out, and the teenage girl ran over and snatched it.

    Flint smiled at her, and she blushed. She was cute, but he wasn''t flirting; he was just trying to make as many human connections as possible.

    "Where are we?" Jason asked. "Can you help us?" He stepped up, and all the others hissed, tensing threateningly.

    Flint recognized the primal dread in their eyes, and his palms began to sweat. He had miscalculated; he thought they were cautiously curious, but they were terrified, making them dangerous.

    Another angry shriek echoed from behind, causing them to jump, but it sounded much closer this time. Yes, the mob was like a man wandering the desert without water or a child abandoned in a war zone. Their eyes were filled with dread and desperation, the poison that changed unwilling men into killers.

    "What made that noise?" Jason demanded.

    "Can we just leave them to the teeth?" the balding man asked, ignoring Jason''s question.

    "That won''t work," their leader grumbled, his eyes fatigued. ¡°The teeth would ignore them and come for us; they always chase the larger numbers. We have to kill them."

    Kill? Flint stepped back.

    Jason raised his voice, "Hey, now easy. No need to be so hasty; if you just let my brother and I go¡ª"

    Flint had to act fast. He usually wore his hat just over his eyebrows so he wouldn''t have to look people in the eye, but Flint tipped it all the way back, exposing his face as well as several locks of brown hair; his regular smirk melted as he softened his face and used the most childish voice he could muster. In seconds, he changed his appearance from a cynical, moody teenager to an innocent boy.

    "Why are they saying that, Jason? You won''t let them hurt us, will you?"

    Jason looked down in surprise at Flint''s shifted posture.

    "Jason," Flint sniffled, "I''m scared."

    Understanding dawned on Jason''s face, and he turned to Flint. "Don''t worry, Flint. It''s going to be okay."

    Flint tried to break into tears, but he could not muster any. He burrowed his face into Jason''s shoulder and shook.

    "Please, let us go." Jason pleaded. He looked them each in the eye, and they stiffened uncomfortably. "Or if you have to kill anyone, kill me; just let my brother go."

    "No!" Flint wailed as he broke into a fresh fit of sobs.

    Jason looked around and saw the couple in grey beanies standing together. "You all look like reasonable people. Are you going to kill us?"

    The pair of them looked sick.

    "And you." He turned to the teenage girl who now held his knife. "You''re just starting life. Are you sure you want to do it as a murderer?"

    "I ... I¡ª"

    "Don''t talk to them," the soccer mom snapped. "Look, we don''t want to do this, but we have to."

    Flint turned his face away as he slowly unzipped the side pocket on his backpack and eased out two pens. Red and black. Paralysis and lethal auto-injectors.

    "Why?" Jason asked, not needing to act scared but trying to get a hand on the situation. "Why do you have to murder us? I''m just trying to understand."

    The cry sounded even closer.

    "They won''t stop until they''ve killed," the teenage girl muttered. Her lean face, lightly freckled, drained of color. She crossed her arms awkwardly, gripping the knife, and shivered.

    "What won''t stop? What is that?" Jason asked, apparently associating the approaching noise with the unspoken entity.

    "Teeth," she whispered with a break in her voice.

    "Teeth?"

    "Enough," their leader snapped, growing impatient, "We don''t have time. I''m sorry, but it''s you or us."

    "Oh, I wish we could have caught the critter. I hate killing people," the man in the mechanic jumpsuit lamented.

    "We could split up," The woman of the couple suggested.

    "No!" their leader snapped. "If we split up, we''ll get killed by other survivors."

    "Oh, I hate this," the mechanic moaned.

    Another cry sounded, responded by two other howls coming from three different sides.

    "Desh," their leader cursed. "There''s more than two, and they''re getting smarter."

    "We''re trapped?" the man in a grey beanie panicked. His partner grabbed his hand and tugged him away.

    They all fidgeted, glancing around in apprehension; the base instinct to flee itched at their minds.

    Flint was no different; his adrenaline screamed to escape from the party. He was too small to fight; if he ran, he would lag behind because of his foot. An injured small target would be the first that a predator would pick off. Predators often found their quarry through behavior patterns. Prey was expected to be scared and run, so the best he could do was not act like game.

    Flint sighed, dropping his facade. He tossed his backpack on the ground and then dropped down after it. He lay on the dirt, using the pack as a pillow to prop his head up.

    Everyone regarded him in startled surprise.

    "Flint! What are you doing?" Jason cried.

    "While you bicker about whether or not and who will kill us, I''m going to take a nap. Care to join me?"

    The pack members looked at him like he was licking ice cream from a toilet.

    "Flint! Now is literally the worst time¡ª"

    "Which makes it the best time!"

    "Flint, get up," Jason pleaded.

    Flint took both pens in one hand and grabbed Jason by the ankle with the other, digging his fingers into Jason''s skin.

    "Ow!"

    "Sit down, Jason," Flint growled.

    Jason looked down pleadingly, and Flint glared back. Reluctantly, Jason squatted next to him.

    Flint''s heart surged in tempo, but he had to keep his composure. Hoping to look the part, he yawned widely, looking as bored as possible.

    "Let''s play a game," Flint suggested. "It''s called, who is dumb enough to stay?"

    Another set of howls sounded very close.

    "Wow, it looks like we have a whole crew of winners."

    The mechanic looked around, sweat glistening from his face. "You said they are attracted to numbers, right?" He asked the leader.

    "Don''t you run! If we kill the two, then¡ª"

    "Running out of time," Flint taunted.

    The mechanic glanced around momentarily, perhaps gauging his chances, and bolted off.

    "Dwain!" their leader cried.

    The mechanic darted off into the trees, headless of their leader''s outrage.

    "He''s going to make it," the man in the couple noted. "Let''s go!" He pulled his wife by the hand and sprinted off after him. The others, now five in number, looked troubled.

    Something shrieked, and a horrible shape shot into the clearing, racing towards them. Built like an elongated, hairless ape, its mud-caked hide blended with Ash''s dirt. Unlike a primate, its fangs were practically tusks, and barbed claws grew at the end of its fingers.

    The beast cried out gleefully, an excited vibrato rolling its howl. It loped in on all fours, one of its fists crushing a burial mound as it bounded towards the group.

    "Screw it, run!" the middle-aged woman cried. The remaining people scattered.

    "Get down!" Flint grabbed Jason''s head and pulled him down.

    The wiry man tried to skirt around the boys, but in a muddy flash, he screamed as a second beast slammed into him from the side.

    Flint cried out in alarm at its unexpected appearance. The second one had silently snuck past them, not snapping and snarling like the one in the lead.

    The beast reared and used its mighty arms to beat the thin man. Flint looked up; the creature''s sturdy feet were only a foot away from his face, within arm''s reach.

    The first beast bolted past them after the fleeing people, giving them no head.

    The monster reared up and opened its first, exposing its curved, jagged claws at the wiry, balding man. Flint flicked the cap off of the black pen and slammed it down into its butt.

    Click.

    The creature looked back at Flint in surprise, black eyes seemingly soulless. Deep and without remorse, it snarled as it swung at Flint. Curved claws raked at the boy, catching his flesh, snagging his shirt, and throwing him back.

    Flint gasped as he hit the ground, but the air stopped coming after that. He choked as he tried to draw breath.

    The beast snarled as it skipped past Jason after Flint. It took a wobbly step, looking confused, as its body didn''t respond appropriately. It stepped again before collapsing. Its shallow breath gargled through failing lungs.

    The thin man got to his feet, looking flustered. His glasses lay broken at his feet. He looked at the beast on the ground and then at Flint before snatching his snapped spectacles and running into the overgrowth.

    "Flint!" Jason cried. He crawled over to his younger brother, who was failing to breathe. "Flint!"

    Flint found his lungs and sucked sweet life-giving air. Funny how one never fully appreciated oxygen until they''d gone without it, even for a short time.

    "Run!" Flint gasped. He grabbed his dropped red pen and pulled himself to his feet.

    He looked down at the beast, which now lay still; its inky black eyes seemed to look everywhere at once. The dirt that it lay on almost seemed to shift for a moment. Jason grabbed Flint by the hand and ripped him away from the scene, towing him in the other direction, away from the carcass. Flint broke into an uneven run. Hot blood ran down his abdomen, and his pulse roared in his ears.

    Jason kept him in tow, pulling much of Flint''s weight.

    This was bad. Usually, Flint was the faster one, but he stumbled behind.

    Two cries sounded from behind them, but they seemed fainter. Flint could only hope the second beast wasn''t making a meal of the others, even if that would have been his preference over being eaten. They ran until Jason huffed to a stop.

    "Need to ¡­ breathe," he gasped.

    "They''re smart," Flint panted. "And coordinated."

    "What are you talking about?" Jason asked.

    "They moved together. Master hunters. Predators. Jason, I''m scared." Flint surprised himself with his honesty. One had passed over them, leaving its brother to finish them off. That wasn''t the action of a hungry animal but an intelligent pack of killers. One of the beasts corralled them loudly while its partner silently cut them off. This wasn¡¯t animalistic instinct but a deliberate strategy.

    "Flint," Jason said. "You''re bleeding!"

    Flint looked down to see three slashes running across his abdomen. Luckily, they didn''t look too deep.

    "Funny," Flint chuckled. "I can''t even feel it."

    No sooner had the words left his mouth when the gashes blazed like glowing red steel.

    Flint cried out as he clutched his gut.

    "Can''t feel it, huh?" Jason unzipped Flint''s backpack and pulled out the first-aid kit.

    "No, it, it stings, bad," Flint groaned.

    "Flint, you killed it."

    "Mom''s autoinjector," Flint said. "The black one, I honestly didn''t know if it would take to work. That thing was massive."

    "You saved that guy." Jason pointed out as if trying to distract Flint from the pain, "You might not be so bad after all."

    "I saved us." Flint corrected. "And gave them something else to hunt. Gah, this hurts!"

    "Hold still." Jason pulled Flint''s shirt up. Based on his grimacing face, Flint could tell the wound was ugly.

    "How bad?"

    "Not deep, just really jagged. I hope it doesn''t get infected. You''ve got hemostatic powder. It should stop the bleeding, but it''s going to hurt."

    Flint sat back, propped against a tree as Jason bandaged him up. He shut his eyes so tight his eyes stung, part to block the pain and part to withdraw his thoughts to himself.

    One day on Ash and, they could have died several times. Flint hated admitting it, but their chances looked slimmer with every passing hour. They still had no leads on Dad. The awful situation broke through Flint''s usual confident assurance.

    Realization finally took Flint; he had seen the graves and could die here just as easily as anyone else.

    "Flint, look." Jason broke Flint''s focus as he pointed to the darkening sky, "There it is again. It happened all night last night."

    Flint looked, and in the not-so-distant horizon, he saw bands of yellow light streaking through the night sky. Like the green and pink northern lights back home, only these burned gold.

    "Woah," Flint muttered as the light grew brighter in the night. "I hope Dad''s seeing this."

 11 Breach Way Denied

    Michael Bichsel stood on a solitary plateau flanked by two of his acolytes. He stared at the amber aurora overhead, watching the ribbon of light dance, weave, and sway against the wind. It reminded Michael of a time many years ago when he was back on Earth in Alaska. The aurora was as beautiful now as it was then, but it blazed gold instead of glowing green and pink as it did on Earth. It was a constant reminder that this planet wasn''t his home.

    Michael had designed the stone plateau where he now stood, which hadn¡¯t existed months ago. He had spent weeks in the planet¡¯s soul cavern manipulating the radiant tree of light he had imprisoned. Using his athanium pen, he told Ash how to change, and the planet grew the protrusion according to his reprogramming.

    He created the plateau to get him closer to the aurora ribbon. Initially, he had tried to pull the aurora down to him permanently, but such a feat lay beyond his skill with a pen.

    Michael bristled as he remembered his dark mentor, who had taught him that planets lived and had anima sequences that could be rewritten. This ¡®Genesarch¡¯ masquerading as a human college professor had manipulated him into waking this cursed rock and left him a prisoner shackled to this world. Now, Michael wished to escape his exile, but nothing had worked.

    "Pull it down, boys," Michael instructed.

    His two acolyte companions dug deep into a sack, which glowed from the light ice within. Once opened, the ice''s light illuminated the acolytes'' faces, and the bag''s opening shone like a flashlight.

    The two acolytes he had chosen for this task were Roe and Torn, two of his more reliable but ultimately expendable attendants. Each thrall wore their athanium shackles on an arm with glowing runes that compelled them to obedience.

    Roe was a Momalgan, and he headed the Momalgar zone. Momalgans didn''t look much different from the humans native to Earth. Roe¡¯s short black hair and pale skin suggested he had Relrin blood, but his incredibly thick eyebrows hinted that he also had some Colgan ancestry.

    Michael''s second escort, Torn, looked drastically more unsettling. Torn was a Totion, about seven feet tall, with impressively long, straight horns protruding from the crown of his head, adding another foot to his total height. Although not very good at thinking or problem-solving, Torn was a fantastic thug. Fuzzy red hair covered the Totion''s body like a peach or a recently buzzed head, giving his skin a stark crimson hue.

    His thick tail flicked absently, and his blood-red eyes didn''t carry the same intelligence as most of Michael''s other acolytes. Michael preferred to use locals as heads of each zone, so Torn was responsible for the Totion zone.

    Michael sighed impatiently as Roe and Torn pulled out a handful after a handful of light ice. Keeping a firm hold on it, the solid light melted in their fists, running down their arms and working its way into their skin. The aurora charge from the ice was evident as their eyes ignited with ochre light.

    "''ow much?" Torn grunted, his snorted language weaved into English when it reached Michael''s ears. The world band on Michael''s wrist generated the effect.

    "Well, how many times are you planning to fail?" Michael asked.

    The slow Torn looked up thoughtfully as he considered a serious answer.

    "None," Roe cut in, recognizing the jest in Michael''s question.

    "Use it all," Michael instructed as he started tapping his foot against the ground. His usual carefree confidence began to slip as his excitement took its place. This was it; it had to be it. He reached into his jacket pocket and fidgeted with his greatest tool, his athanium pen.

    His acolytes melted handful after handful of ice, assimilating the aurora from the glass and infusing it into their bodies. Their eyes burned brighter, matching the flame of the script on the metal armbands they wore. An errant clear pebble ticked off the stone and rolled to Michael¡¯s shoe. He stared at the glassy shard, its light putting a splotch in his vision. On any other planet, this tiny pebble was priceless. Ash generated the concentrated aurora in mass.

    Michael''s foot tapped quicker as he waited, beyond his notice or concern. How had it come to this? He had been deceived, and what was worse, he knew better than to let that happen.

    Ash, the small world where he was God, was also his prison. Ash was not his paradise or his salvation. Ash was his master, and he was its slave. Once he escaped, he would make the Genesarch pay for his treachery.

    The acolytes looked at him expectantly as they dropped the now-empty sack.

    "Bring it down," Michael said.

    Both acolytes peered up at the aurora band dancing hundreds of feet in the air above and held their hands overhead. With aurora-infused bodies from the ice they assimilated, they used their aurora to reach beyond their bodies and grab the ribbon.

    The aurora ribbon grew taut and shuddered, like a bird accustomed to flying free but finding itself in the unseen hands of a massive child.

    "Bring it down!" Michael cried again.

    The two acolytes grunted as beads of perspiration formed on their foreheads. They strained against the radiant curtain, aurora blazing in their amber eyes until, with a tremulous shudder, the ribbon began to drop. Quickly at first, but slowing down the closer it came to the mesa, like a massive rubber band, growing tauter the further it stretched. The feet turned to inches as the shimmering ribbon groaned to their head level.

    Michael reached forward with his aurora and grabbed the band, adding his effort to those of his acolytes. The aurora ribbon jumped several feet before inching the final few inches and contacting the plateau''s ground.

    "You have it?" Michael asked.

    "Yeah," Roe grunted.

    "You sure?" Michael asked. "Cause if I let go and you screw this up, I''m going to be super pissed."

    "We''ve got it," Roe assured him, and Michael released his hold on the aurora ribbon. The acolytes grunted as they took on the brunt of the weight.

    Michael stepped forward with his metal pen and began to write code into the aurora ribbon. He wrote into the translucent golden wall, leaving seraph-script runes blazing brightly on the luminescent curtain. The pen also pulsed with its own amber coding. It didn''t have any ink, but Michael willed the aurora in his body to flow into the pen, leaving fiery lettering on the light wall.

    The ground where the aurora wall touched dirt lit up, flickering brightly as Michael finished his code.

    "Locked," he noted, satisfied, as he looked at the metal bands on his acolyte''s arms. The light emanating from the coding on their armlets had greatly diminished, leaving the runes glowing like candles.

    "You can let go now."

    His acolytes gratefully relinquished their hold on the shimmering ribbon, and the lock on the ground held true.

    Michael allowed himself a grin before he continued to write coding into the misty veil. Michael wished coding was faster, but a simple mistake could have disastrous consequences. Michael furrowed his brows in concentration as he continued writing his meticulous script.

    Like computer programming, which Michael had studied as a young man back on Earth, he knew how to recode anything on this planet, changing its nature to suit his needs. Unfortunately, aurora coding was also prone to bugs. A simple mistake could result in an unexpected explosion that could wipe out a city block or open an unexpected black hole.

    He should have been able to simply will the programming into the wall, and he would have¡ªif Ash itself weren''t working against him. Even now, he felt Ash¡¯s mind, young and enraged at being contained, bound by Michael¡¯s coils around the tree in the soul chamber. The Genesarch had probably expected Ash to possess Michael¡¯s mind and wear his body like a flesh suit, but Michael had written careful contingencies that locked him into a stalemate with the young world. Alone, he had to reprogram by hand, penning the script into existent and subreal matter.

    At length, he stepped back to examine his work. The transparent amber wall glimmered gently, then shone translucent, revealing a house on the other side as if behind yellow-tinted glass.

    Michael threw back his head with a bark of laughter. "Suck it, Ash!"

    "What is it?" Torn asked in wonder. Michael found that Torn was easily impressed.

    "It''s a breach in space," Michael said with victory in his gleaming eyes. "I''ve breached the laws of space and folded this spot with the space in front of my house."

    "You can get back¡­" Roe marveled, his lip twitching as Michael caught a glimpse of jealousy and grief buried deep beneath Roe¡¯s compulsion.

    "Damn straight I can," Michael said before reaching forward and touching the wall of light. His finger passed through as if moving through half-boiling fog. Despite it being uncomfortably hot, he smiled. He saw his finger on the other side and encountered no disastrous symptoms. The breach didn''t rip him to pieces or boil him alive, and his finger didn''t disappear. The code worked, finally.

    Michael withdrew his finger, and it returned unscathed. He allowed himself a final laugh before stepping through the breach way.

    He stepped through, finally free of his prison, the yellow tint dissolving as he stepped foot on Ohio soil. His lungs constricted as they threatened to betray him to emotion. She could be home.

    His joy and triumph of victory shifted into dread as an unseen force buffeted him, two like poles pushing each other on a magnetic charge. Gravity doubled back on him and violently spat him back through the breach way.

    Michael screamed as he tumbled across the plateau, stopping only feet away from an extended plummet.

    Both of his acolytes yelped as they ran to him. Michael groaned in despair. "Why?" He moaned, not expecting an answer.

    If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.

    A rich, masculine, yet somehow youthful voice answered, speaking directly to his mind.

    Because you are my voice, I won''t let you go.

    Michael cried as he scrambled to his feet. He had heard Ash speak before, but he had silenced it¡ªit shouldn''t have been able to talk.

    "How?" he muttered, frustration seething through his veins. "I have you confined."

    Ash didn''t respond. Whatever opportunity allowed it to find its voice had passed.

    "Paramount?" Roe asked.

    Michael glanced at Roe''s confused face. Clearly, the Momalgan couldn¡¯t hear the voice.

    "It''s nothing," Michael said as he dusted his pants and got to his feet. "Roe. Go through the breach way and walk back the way you went. If it doesn''t work, make a jump point and get back here."

    Roe saluted with a flotilla salute, bringing the back of his left hand, fingers closed in a fist, to cover his mouth before running into the shimmering breach.

    Michael''s gut twisted horribly as his acolyte passed through the breach as though it were made of vapor. On the other side, the Momolgan appeared in front of the house. Roe abruptly turned and walked back, but he disappeared from view as he passed the point where the breach was.

    "One-way breach," Michael noted.

    He counted to ten before the air thickened, and a crackling shaft of yellow light struck down with a roar of thunder. Roe stood in a newly burned symbol of circles only feet away from Michael.

    "Paramount, I couldn''t get back through the breach."

    "I have eyes," Michael growled, venting his dejection. His final plan had failed.

    He tapped the breach with his pen. The ember curtain rippled before turning back into a translucent window, replacing the house on Earth with the other half of the plateau. Several code runes glowed brightly as the breach reverted into the aurora wall.

    One by one, he tapped the symbols with his pen, pulling them off the breach. They followed the pen''s tip, fluttering as they were removed from a solid surface. Michael flicked the pen as he removed each one, and they lost their form, dissipating into the air like vapor.

    He dismissed the coordinates¡¯ coding before removing the ground lock on the aurora wall.

    The ensnared ribbon of gold light seemed to cry out in relief as it released from its restraint and sprung back up into the night sky where it belonged, slowly weaving under the moons on its own accord.

    The air coagulated again, but it was much more concentrated than when Roe had jumped.

    "And¡ªcue the three little pigs," Michael muttered.

    On that note, three more shafts of light roared from the sky, hailing three more of Michael''s acolytes.

    One of them, Chris, headed the Third Jericho zone. Chris was definitely born on Earth, but he was snatched from Third Jericho, the most recently discovered of the Jericho planets. He was a colonist of the Jericho Movement. Chris was a man of a thin yet athletic build; he wore worn jeans and a dirty grey t-shirt. In true Third Jericho fashion, the pigment of his hair had been genetically altered, causing it to grow fluorescent yellow.

    The other two were of a more strange visage.

    F''fintek''s body was covered in fur with a fox-like snout and a bushy tail. F''fintek stood as tall as Chris and wore baggy pants and a tight red leather vest. Michael didn''t like Critters. The race of rodent-like men came from the word Shth, which was within Ash''s feeding range, so Michael had programmed Ash to harvest from there as well.

    The same could be said for the world of the final acolyte, Sel. Michael liked Sel the most out of the three, even if Sel possessed an irritating loyalty, bordering on religious fervor, to him.

    A wet green scarf covered Sel''s face. His body was armored with some sort of shell cut into body-formed plates. A lingering mildew scent followed Sel wherever he went. It reminded Michael of his grandmother¡¯s house, which had had a severe mold problem. His people from Fenjeck called themselves Fenji, but Michael called them Jeckies.

    "What do you want?" Michael asked. The acolytes had shown up simultaneously, much to his annoyance, which meant they had presumably left their zones defenseless. "No, let me guess. You need more ice?"

    They must have sensed his distaste because all three heads bowed like scolded puppies.

    Michael sighed. "Already? You guys go through your ice faster than my mom left my dad."

    The three newcomers glanced at each other nervously.

    "It''s not our fault," F''fintek whined, his pointed ears and furry snout twitching. "The meat in our Districts has been building little tribes, banding together and fighting back."

    "That''s what teeth are for." Michael chastened. "I designed them to take care of that problem for you. How do you manage to be so high maintenance?"

    "Boss, we have used our power to create more teeth and to protect ourselves," Chris muttered.

    "No," Michael corrected, "you use it to jump everywhere and to give yourselves superpowers. You''re just a bunch of kids who can''t get enough of a new toy."

    "If you hadn''t taken most of our ice for your experiments, we wouldn''t run out so quickly,¡± F¡¯fintek interjected, his orange eyes snapping. Besides, you have so much of it in the mind cavern, why can''t you just¡ª"

    "Let me stop you right there." Michael interrupted. "First of all, the ice isn''t yours; it''s mine. Second, it doesn''t come out of thin air; it is the residue of Ash''s feeding. It''s literally Ash''s shit, meaning if Ash doesn''t eat, you don''t get ice. Third, you morons are the only ones running out of it so fast; why can''t you at least try to be efficient with it, like Arthur?

    His acolytes acolytes tensed visibly at the mention of the newest member of their crew. They had received this lecture before, and it probably wouldn''t be their last.

    An unseen force lifted dust and pebbles in a five-foot diameter near Michael. The dust swirled in a lazy circle, foreshadowing a jump.

    Michael felt the static build-up as a conduit of light streaked down to the ground with a flash, temporarily blinding everyone on the plateau with its glare.

    Michael blinked away from the flare to see Arthur standing in the place of the light, a ring of symbols scorched into the ground around him.

    "Speak of the freaking devil. What, were you listening for a theatrical entrance?"

    "Commander," Arthur smirked and cocked his head to the side, a common tick for the mercenary.

    Michael''s favorite title was a toss-up between being called ''commander'' by Arthur and ''boss'' by Chris. Roe called Michael ¡®Paramount,¡¯ which was absurd but not nearly as bad as when Torn called him ''Supreme Alpha Mate Chief.''

    Michael had never ordered his acolytes to address him by any title, but the acolyte shackle seemed to compel them to use a familiar term of deference.

    Michael glanced over the motley collection of indentured servants. Most were randomly chosen and then granted power, but Arthur was the exception. For one thing, Arthur carried a pistol on his side, making him the only acolyte who had a weapon. The next defining factor was his acolyte ring. Rather than pulsing weakly as the others did, the rays of golden light brightly beamed out of the characters. The soldier always carried aurora in his body but seldom used it. The Earth zone produced more light than the other regions. Well, all except for maybe the Crode Zone, but as far as efficiency was concerned, the Earth Zone set the standard, and Arthur was his star acolyte.

    These physical differences weren''t the only difference between Arthur and the others. More distinctive than his weapon and his shackle was his smile, which dripped with arrogance. The smirk that he carried before he put on the shackle carried over to his compelled servitude. Michael''s acolytes'' personalities weren''t erased once they put on the shackle. It just forced them to comply with his directives. They were the same people, only utterly obedient to his commands.

    "Anyways, who bought marshmallows for this impromptu powwow?" Michael asked.

    "I did," Arthur said as he dropped a sack to the ground, causing several large chunks of light ice to roll to Michael''s feet.

    "Kafreakingboom!" Michael cried. "That''s how it''s done!" He faced the other three, who turned green with envy. Rivalry and jealousy were still problems Michael had to deal with; he sometimes felt more like a youth camp director and less like an overlord demigod.

    In the distance, two tributary jump points lashed down in the Crode District, bringing fresh meat.

    "How do you provide such good profits, Arthur?" Michael asked, then turning to the other five, he added, "That means results, in case you didn''t know."

    "It''s not hard," Arthur said. "I''m just not using my ice unless I have to." He shot an accusing grimace at the other acolytes.

    Heat radiated from the others. Chris looked away, grimacing, his neon yellow hair catching aurora like a blacklight. Sel took the slight stoically, simply leveling his eyes at Arthur.

    "How many teeth do you have in your district?" F''fintek asked. His bushy brow furrowed over his snout. "Or do you personally shoot the meat in your area with your gun so that you can hoard ice?"

    "Your district is probably crawling with teeth to do your job for you, isn''t it, rat?" Arthur guessed.

    The critter bared its teeth and uttered a low growl in response.

    "How many teeth do you have in your district?" Michael asked Arthur.

    "Eight."

    The acolytes gasped in surprise. So few?

    "Yet you keep Ash well-fed in the earth zone. How?"

    "I only use my teeth in famine areas. The survivors kill each other to keep Ash fed for me. It''s an efficient system. It''s easier to kill another survivor than to slay a tooth. So they murder each other to keep the teeth away."

    Michael nodded in approval. "You turn your residents against themselves. Good." He turned to the other acolytes. "And it seems that the residents of your districts are uniting against you. Why?"

    "If I may?" Arthur prompted.

    Michael nodded in permission.

    "Snatched people are only interested in survival. When you swarm them with teeth to butcher them, uniting is simply a matter of perseverance for them. If you use teeth to feed Ash only when people aren''t dying enough, they will turn against each other to increase their chances of survival and, therefore, save us ice, which, if I understand correctly, is what you need to leave this place."

    Silent realization dawned on Michael. Arthur was, indeed, his greatest asset. Sparing him was Michael''s best choice. Maybe he could break through the breach way if he had enough ice. Possibly, he could go home.

    "Everyone, pull your teeth to the Bowl. Leave only eight of your teeth in each zone. Manage your zone like Arthur does and divide the people in your District against each other. I expect you to conserve your ice and feed Ash efficiently without abusing your ice reserves.

    "Eight teeth?" Chris shrieked. "We''ll die!"

    "Then maybe, Chris, you aren''t competent enough to wear that band.¡±

    Chris turned pale and instinctively cradled his acolyte arm ring. "It''s not a problem, boss."

    "Allow me to clarify," Arthur said. "I usually have nine teeth, but one died earlier today."

    Michael cursed. He designed those teeth, knowing they were vicious and tough to kill. In fact, to his knowledge, only a handful of people on Ash could kill them. "Was it Vlad again?" he asked.

    "No, commander," Arthur said. "It''s a new arrival. Vlad has been staying low."

    "Why isn''t he dead yet?" Michael demanded.

    "His movements have been difficult to follow," Arthur said. "Don''t worry. I''ll find him. He can''t hide forever."

    Michael nodded, satisfied. A new arrival? Killing a tooth? That was both impressive and unsettling.

    "How did the newcomer kill the tooth?"

    "A lethal dose injection from a Manticore Inc. chemical weapon."

    "What?" Michael tensed. Another one? Had Manticore Inc. sent another team of security contractors to kill him and take his world band? Arthur was the leader of the last one they sent, but after he put on the acolyte ring, his mind was bent into submission. "Who have they sent this time?"

    Arthur stiffened. "It''s not an agent; it''s¡ª" He grunted as though he were in pain, and his body clenched.

    The unsettling understanding dawned on Michael as he watched his best acolyte strain. He was trying to resist the band. That, he knew, was impossible.

    "Speak," Michael said. "What are you hiding? Who is it?"

    "It''s my, it''s¡ª" Arthur growled as he tried to hold back.

    "That''s an order; tell me who it is!"

    "It''s my sons!" Arthur cried. "Two of them!"

    "Your sons?" This was bad, very bad. Arthur Vance was known worldwide as a ruthless security contractor. If he had two sons here, fully equipped with Manticore Inc. weapons to finish their father''s job, things could bode poorly for Michael.

    "Then you go and kill them, Arthur."

    "No!" Arthur begged.

    "You will destroy them with extreme prejudice; you will do it quickly, and you will do it now!"

    "I can use them! To bring Vlad to you!" Arthur pleaded.

    His desperate objections were a deflection but also an attractive offer.

    "They can be a great asset," Arthur insisted.

    Michael didn''t like this. Arthur was clearly trying to resist the shackle to find loopholes. As far as Michael knew, acolytes had to obey direct directives and felt an unnatural sense of loyalty. Warm sweat dampened Michael''s palms. He had never seen a conflict of interest strong enough to meet such resistance. Arthur was dangerous, and his sons likely presented a comparable threat. Keeping the acolytes'' devotion was crucial for ensuring they followed the spirit of the command and not just the letter. In Arthur''s case, he would have to be more direct.

    "You will hunt¡ªand kill¡ªyour sons quickly, within the week. You will not tell them about this directive; you will not seek any way out of this directive. You will immediately stop plotting if you find a way around this. Your loyalty is to me first in all things. Do you understand?"

    Arthur''s eyes burned bright yellow as the aurora from his shackle programmed the directive directly into his mind.

    "Yes, sir. I''ll do it as you say."

    Michael turned to his remaining acolytes, who regarded him with downcast eyes. So needy, so draining. Arthur needed ice, and they were supposed to help him, not get in his way. "What are you standing around for?" he snapped, impatience welling inside him. The grey sky rolled with thunder. ¡°You have your directives. Get to it!" A column of light cracked down in the Fenjeck region as if in agreement.

 12 The True Predator

    Jason glanced at the sky just in time to catch a jump point lash down in the distance. Did that mean rain? The weight of exhaustion set in from the all-nighter he had pulled the previous night. A storm was the last thing he wanted to deal with.

    Flint sat abnormally still, back up against a tree, facing Jason. Even after patching him up, the poor kid must have hurt with every movement.

    Flint was obviously trying to put on a stoic face, but Jason saw through the facade.

    "At least you''ll have an epic scar," Jason said, trying to lift Flint''s spirits.

    "You think so?" Flint asked with a faint smile; he had seemed to be considering the idea before Jason brought it up.

    "Yeah," Jason continued, "You can tell people a tiger got you."

    Flint raised a single eyebrow. "Are you kidding? The real story is way cooler. I got it from a rabid mutant space ape."

    Jason couldn''t hold back a laugh but quickly tried to smother it. In light of their most recent encounter, even a laugh was dangerous here.

    Flint also cracked a smile¡ªa rare occurrence but much better than his persistent scowl. Jason couldn''t fault his younger brother. Flint desperately wanted to be strong, no doubt, because he felt weak. They had very little control back home, and in idolizing their dad, Flint feigned agency by pretending their upbringing was his choice.

    "Hey, I can give you some cool scars, too, if you want," Flint said as he pulled one of the remaining knives out of his backpack. There it was again, the tough guy act.

    "You know what, I''m okay." Jason declined. "Though getting scars from my psycho little brother would be a much more believable story back home."

    Flint looked downcast, the brim of his cap hiding his eyes. As the chill began to set in, Jason longed for a jacket to pull tighter around him. He curled his knees in front of him and wrapped his arms around himself.

    "Jason, I''m not psycho," Flint said gravely. His tone instantly made Jason perk up. It lacked the usual arrogance and cocky confidence Flint usually spoke with. He sounded simultaneously serious and vulnerable, a combination that Jason had seldom heard from Flint.

    "Hey man, I''m sorry. I didn''t mean¡ª"

    "It''s okay," Flint dismissed with a grimace. "I know I''m not easy to be around; I really do. I just wasn''t taught to be any better."

    "I know," Jason said. "Living with mom ¡­ I''d say you turned out well, all things considered."

    "Why did you leave us, Jason?" Flint asked, and Jason looked away with an inward stab of regret.

    "We were all so young; why did you leave us with her?" Flint asked as he tried to hide the ache in his eyes, but Jason saw it.

    "Look, Flint, I was young too. I couldn''t have taken you with me, any of you."

    "But you left us," Flint said emphatically. "Even your wife didn''t know we existed. Were you ever going to come back for us?"

    "Flint, I¡ª" Jason started but knew that every justification or excuse he could invent would be a lie. He exhaled slowly. "No. No, I wasn''t."

    His answer was met by Ash''s silence, as dense as drums. No crickets chirped, no frogs croaked, only silence; the faintest whisper of wind fluttered through the trees.

    "Why?"

    Jason had to force himself to meet Flint''s gaze. "Because when I ran, I ran from my former life completely. I wasn''t just running from mom."

    "You were running from us too?"

    "No, of course not. I was running from everything, starting fresh."

    "How could you start fresh knowing we were there?" Flint demanded. "How could you forget us?"

    "I didn''t forget you, Flint," Jason groaned. "Listen¡ª"

    "Did you ever think about us? Of me, of Dax ¡­ of Carly? Did you think of us every day, or even any day?"

    Flint''s questions cut at Jason, and Jason realized it was nothing less than what he deserved. "Flint. I don''t think that''s a fair question; I mean, I had my own life to think about."

    "So, no?"

    "Flint ¡­"

    Flint stared back, resisting a retort.

    In Flint''s shoes, Jason wouldn''t be able to blame himself for running or for not coming back, but as Flint accused, he had abandoned them in thought and deed.

    "No. No, I didn''t think of you."

    "You forgot us?"

    "It''s not that."

    "Then what is it?"

    "Flint, you would have done the same if you were in my position."

    "Bullshit," Flint snorted. "I could have survived on my own years ago. The only reason I stayed behind was for the kids. I left the second CPS took them."

    "You''ve been stealing and eating out of garbage. Flint, that''s hardly looking after yourself."

    "I''ve been trying to find dad." Flint insisted.

    "But why? What has Dad ever done for us?"

    Flint rested his head against the tree and clutched his bandaged abdomen. He opened his mouth to speak but stopped.

    ¡°What is it?¡± Jason prodded, sensing his brother¡¯s turmoil.

    Flint sighed in surrender. "The court said unless a competent direct relative can be found, the kids will be separated and adopted into different families."

    ¡°Oh,¡± Jason said simply as Flint''s eccentric desperation suddenly made much more sense.

    Flint looked away as if embarrassed, but Jason surprised himself by how impressed he was.

    Jason chuckled, and Flint glared defensively. ¡°What?¡± Flint demanded.

    "And so you messed with space magic to get us stuck here, crossing the two biggest interplanetary corporations on earth, to find Dad and keep the family together?" Jason shook his head, an amused smile on his lips.

    ¡°I never said it was a good plan,¡± Flint muttered.

    ¡°It¡¯s a ridiculous plan!¡± Jason exclaimed, but then his voice softened. ¡°But it''s more than I had. You¡¯re a good brother, Flint.¡±

    "I''m not like you," Flint said defensively. "I haven''t forgotten them."

    "Flint, you know Dad''s an underground military contractor, right? There is no way the court would give him custody of children."

    Flint''s face went pale. "Really?"

    ¡°Any sane court will lock Dad up with Mom the second he arrives," Jason said.

    "Well," Flint muttered, sorrow etched across his face. ¡°Then we''ll steal them back. Dad''s good at hiding; he has money and can help us figure this out. At least we''ll be together again."

    "Mom''s in jail now, they''re safe. Why can''t you just let them find families that will actually love them?"

    "Safe?" Flint snapped. "What do you mean safe? Farmed out to infertile couples who think they can buy us like pets?"

    "It''s out of your control," Jason said.

    Flint scoffed and sat back. "You love that excuse, don''t you? It keeps you from having to make any choices.

    Stolen novel; please report.

    "Flint¡­" Jason pleaded.

    "You left us. How can you call yourself a Vance? You''re pretending like this started with us; what about Grandpa or Great-grandpa? Vances have been warriors for generations."

    "Yes! I ran away. It''s true, I started my own family. I''m supposed to be there for Rachel." Jason looked down. "But I''m here instead."

    "You slept at night safe on your own while you knew what mom was doing to us, that she would test her experiments on us. She would stick us with her needles. Jason, you were there when Carly lost her hearing. That was mom''s fault, too."

    "Don''t forget that I was the first to learn how to sign for Carly," Jason said. ¡°You¡¯re acting like I never cared about her, or Dax, or any of you, but you don¡¯t know anything. Of course, I cared.¡±

    "So if you cared so much, why leave?"

    "Because I was scared," Jason snapped.

    Flint looked away, pulling his jacket even tighter around him. Jason would have coveted the garment if he wasn''t suddenly sweating.

    "Look, Flint," Jason explained, "Dad took me to the East. He used me as a soldier when I was sixteen. I watched men die; I pulled my trigger and saw men drop. I saw war, real war. It''s not like the movies, Flint, and I endured it because Dad was always watching me. The first chance I got when I got home, I had to leave. I was scared that I might become him."

    Flint scoffed.

    ¡°Flint, Dad¡¯s not like Grandpa or the Vances before him. Dad¡¯s a bad guy who married an evil woman.¡±

    Flint pulled his hat off, giving Jason a look at his youthful face. His eyes shimmered. ¡°I didn¡¯t want you to go.¡±

    "What?¡± Jason blinked dumbly. ¡°Flint, I''m ¡­ I''m sorry."

    "Well, look at that." Flint taunted as he sniffed and wiped an eye, "Magic words, the past six years have been erased."

    "Do you have to be so bitter about everything?" Jason demanded.

    "Jason, just because you were scared doesn¡¯t mean you get a pass to leave us all behind. Don¡¯t you think I wasn''t scared, too? Every time Mom stuck a needle in me, not knowing what it was going to do. Listening to Dax cry all night as her chemicals made their way through his system? You don''t think I was scared then?"

    "No, Flint, I don''t. I''ve watched you recklessly throw your life to the wind. I think there is something seriously wrong with you. What mom did to you must have turned you cold, made you sour."

    "Better a sour survivor than a victim. Flint snorted.

    "Flint, you''re a victim, too."

    "No, I chose to stay, which made me a survivor." Flint set his jaw in determination. His eyes burned hot enough to melt steel.

    Jason sighed. He knew it was unfair of him to expect Flint to move on so effortlessly. Old wounds took time to heal.

    Up in the dark sky, the golden river continued to shimmer; it lit up the clouds but did little to cast light on the ground below. The biggest and brightest moon, which would have shed the most light, was lost to the cover of clouds. With exhaustion setting in, Jason forced himself to consider their accommodations for the night. Would it rain or even snow? If so, a real shelter could be crucial, but setting up Flint''s orange tube tent could leave them vulnerable. It might be time to make a natural shelter with the elements around them.

    "Did you lose my knife?" Flint asked.

    "Yeah," Jason said apologetically, "I left it with that girl from the group that ambushed us. Besides, if I''m not mistaken, it was my knife¡ªunless you have a set identical to the one in my kitchen."

    Flint jerked his hand across his eyes and sniffed to regain his composure. "Take this one," he said, handing over the medium-length knife from his backpack, still wrapped in a makeshift cardboard case.

    Jason looked down at the weapon. "What was all that talk about not carrying a knife because you would be tempted to use it?"

    "I don''t want you to use it," Flint said. "But there''s something comforting about having a weapon."

    Jason started in surprise. "Did you just give me a knife to make me feel better?"

    Flint stiffened. "Maybe."

    "Flint, that may just be the most cynically sweet thing you have ever done for me."

    Flint threw up his hands. "Gah, why do you need to make everything so awkward with your touchy-feely crap?"

    "What, Flint?" Jason grinned. "I''m moved."

    "Last time I''m going to be real with you," Flint groaned, and Jason stifled a smile. Although a laugh would surely ease some of the tension, Jason recognized the grim reality that laughing too loudly on Ash could get them killed.

    Twigs snapped in the darkness, and Jason was instantly on his feet despite his exhaustion. Flint was slower to get up, groaning and grabbing at his abdomen as he did.

    Jason slid the cardboard off the knife and pulled his phone from his pocket.

    "Jason!" Flint hissed and signed ''no'' as Jason looked back.

    Jason furrowed his brow in irritation. Of course, he wouldn''t blindly flash the internal light into the dark. He would wait until it was advantageous. Jason nodded and crouched lower by a tree, knife at the ready.

    Footsteps sounded, crunching through heat-cracked clay, and a dark silhouette of a man loomed in the darkness. His form was not easily distinguishable in the dim moonlight filtering through the overcast sky, but he held the vague shape of a weapon lost to the shadows.

    The figure stepped closer, and Jason turned on a bright flashlight, illuminating the face of the large coffee-skinned man from the group they had run into earlier.

    The man squinted in the glare of the flashlight. He scowled through the wet blood on his face. He clutched a large club.

    The boys instinctively yelped as they jumped back, but the man just walked past them several paces before he plopped down and rested his back against a tree. He closed his eyes and started to breathe deeply.

    "Um ¡­ okay?" Flint said.

    "Let''s make our camp elsewhere," Jason suggested. Staring at the large stranger who so abruptly invaded their campsite.

    "Sit down," the man ordered, his eyes still closed. His voice was deep and rich, with an African accent Jason couldn''t place precisely.

    "Umm, I''m going to go with no," Flint said.

    "At least four of my friends died today; that should be enough to satisfy Abonsam''s hunger for now. You don''t need to fear me today. Killing you would be a waste."

    Jason looked at Flint, who shook his head and turned to leave. Why should they trust a stranger? There was nothing about this man that wasn''t purely intimidating. For crying out loud, the man had fresh blood on his face.

    "Please," the man said, his voice softening. "It gets lonely out here when you''re on your own."

    Flint ignored him, but Jason placed a hand on Flint''s shoulder to stop him. Exhaustion made him dizzy, and he had no desire to wander aimlessly in the dark. "Let''s stay," Jason said.

    "Are you stupid?" Flint demanded.

    "Maybe we can get some answers from him."

    "And you trust him because?"

    Jason''s face grew dark for a moment, "Because the moment he tries anything, I''ll cut his throat."

    Flint recoiled slightly. "You look just like Dad right now."

    "You know I can hear you, right?" the man said.

    "Can we get a second buddy?" Flint snapped.

    Jason sighed, slightly perplexed. "We need answers, and he''s the first one who wanted to talk rather than murder us. If you meant a word of your sweet talk about not abandoning family, you''d stay with me."

    Flint let out a grunt of exasperation. "Oh man, I''m really going to regret talking about that, aren''t I?"

    "Yes," Jason said before turning and plopping down across from the man. He held his knife loosely in his hand.

    Flint growled to himself but grudgingly sat down, forming a triangle between them, each with their back to a tree.

    "What are you called?" the man asked. "And where is your hometown?"

    "I''m Jason Vance, and this is my brother, Flint. We''re from Arizona, but I live in Idaho now."

    "Oh, the United States?" he asked.

    "That''s right," Jason responded.

    "I have always wanted to visit your country."

    "What about you?"

    "My name is Nana Kwaku. I am from New Ashanti, but I was visiting Nigeria when God sent his angel to take me to this place."

    ¡°Your name is Nana?¡± Flint snickered. ¡°Isn¡¯t that like an old grandma¡¯s name?¡±

    Nana frowned. ¡°In my language, it means chief.¡±

    Flint fought an immature smile but managed to compose himself. "There are jump points in Nigeria?" he asked.

    Nana looked at Flint inquisitively. "There are many from Western Africa here."

    "I knew there were jump points worldwide, but few have been recorded in Nigeria. Manticore Inc.''s data must be incomplete."

    Nana looked at Jason, confused. "What is he talking about?"

    Jason shrugged. "I just smile and nod when he goes off like this."

    Flint scowled at Jason before turning to Nana, who was rubbing his hands together to generate warmth from the friction.

    "Can you help us understand what''s going on here?" Jason asked

    Nana looked at him. "I do not know why God has brought us here, but this place is not good; people kill people, their brothers and sisters."

    "What about you?" Flint asked. "That''s a big stick. What do you use that for? Is it your nutcracker? Or perhaps your head basher?"

    Nana looked at his club in surprise. "This? It''s not for humans like you or me; I save it for those Abonsam."

    "Teeth?" Flint said. "That''s what the other guy called them."

    Nana nodded. "Ash''s teeth."

    "Why are they called that?" Flint asked.

    "I do not understand everything here. But I have been here three weeks, meaning I''ve lived here longer than most."

    "But why are they called teeth?" Flint asked. "That''s a frankly stupid name for a predator."

    Nana exhaled onto his hands, a feeble attempt to warm himself. "Predator? No, they are not predators. A predator needs to kill and eat their prey to survive. The teeth do not eat. They do not drink; they only kill."

    "That doesn''t make any sense." Jason objected. "If they don''t eat, why kill?"

    Nana looked at Jason, his dark eyes twinkling in the moon''s light as its cloud cover drifted away. "You do not see it?"

    "I don''t see what?"

    "The predator, it is not around you. It is under your feet."

    Jason looked down, confused. What did that mean? Burrowing carnivores living underground? "Is that supposed to make sense?"

    Nana rose to his feet with a sigh, "I will show you, come."

    "Whoa, whoa. You expect us to believe you aren''t leading us into a trap?" Jason asked.

    Nana shrugged. "You lead the way then. You don''t have to go far before you find one."

    "Find what?"

    Nana waved them over, and the tired boys followed cautiously. Flint didn''t use his flashlight, electing to travel under the moon''s illumination; their march felt cold and numb on the hard dirt. Dirt and grime caked Jason''s socks, which had grown stiff and wet from two days on his feet. Flint walked hunched and with a limp.

    Nana stopped them as he approached a cluster of those clay grave mounds.

    "The graves?" Jason said pointedly. "Who digs them? I''ve never seen anyone bury a body that way before."

    "They are not graves," Nana said as he slid a tarnished scrap knife with a stretched hide handle from under his shirt. The brothers started in alarm but relaxed as Nana crouched over one of the corpse casings. He put his ear against it and knocked, producing a hollow noise. "Too old," he muttered before moving to the next.

    "If they aren''t graves, then what are they?"

    Nana knocked on a second one, which sounded much denser. He reared up and jammed his knife down into where Jason would have guessed the face to be. It stuck in an inch, and he pried a piece of the clay shell off, revealing the eye of the fresh body of a dark-haired man. Seconds later, a familiar stench accosted them.

    "Ugh," Jason wretched. "Why do they rot like that?"

    "They are not rotting." Nana said, "They are being digested. Now, do you understand where the true predator is, Jason?"

    Jason looked down at the glazed-over eye, and his stomach churned. "Ash." He realized. "Ash is the predator."

    "The world here is carnivorous, Jason Vance," Nana''s voice cut through the darkness like a pin through cloth. "You are here to feed Ash. And the teeth are only here to chew you up."

    Jason looked at the eye, staring back, transfixed in place. Slowly, tan dirt started to trickle up the shell, moving on its own accord. Slowly and truly, it flowed over the eye, covering the piece of shell Nana had chipped off before melting and hardening, covering any disturbance.

    Ash was alive.

 13 Hunters

    Arthur stood mesmerized before the steaming mud pit, hands resting on his hips. Although he had created teeth before, he always felt compelled to watch the alien process.

    The mud pit bubbled and churned, thick and scalding as though it were boiling. Arthur had burned his hand once when he touched it. This bio-geological incubation process would have made a chicken soup jealous.

    Heavy feet fell behind him, and he waited until he felt hot breath on his neck before he turned to find himself eye-to-eye with one of his teeth.

    It sat hunched on its haunches, its glassy black eyes dark as obsidian. Its bare hide lacked fur, scales, or feathers, making it look almost like human skin stretched over an alien killing machine. Fangs lined its twisted snout, and dark, curved claws tipped its fingers. The broad-shouldered beast lacked reproductive genitalia. Teeth didn¡¯t breed, but Ash spawned them, as it did in the pit now. The tooth squatted on thick legs, but its long arms supported itself on its fore knuckles like an ape.

    "You saw them?" Arthur asked the grotesque figure as casually as he would talk to someone at the supermarket.

    The tooth snorted in response.

    "Let''s see your report, then," Arthur extended his hand and rested his palm on its lowered head.

    "Show me."

    Arthur lost awareness of his surroundings. Looking into a tooth''s memory was risky, leaving him vulnerable, but with the other teeth patrolling the area, he doubted even Vlad could sneak up on him.

    Arthur¡¯s consciousness plunged into the tooth''s memories, seeing the world through the tooth''s eyes as their minds intertwined. He clung to his self-awareness even as the tooth''s desperate bloodlust seeped through him, tinting his vision yellow. Arthur¡¯s echoic perspective dropped out of the trees, reliving the tooth¡¯s assault. The tooth howled, charging at a group of survivors to divert their attention while another tooth stalked toward them¡ªa tactic Arthur had programmed into them. The pack of survivors scattered in chaos, and Arthur¡¯s perspective shifted as the tooth sprinted past his sons. The tooth-programmed logic dictated its next move: leave the sons for the other tooth and hunt fleeing survivors.

    Arthur willed the image to stop, and he got his first glance at Flint in over a year and Jason in much longer.

    There they were¡ªhis sons. Flint had grown at least three inches. The boy wore a black cap that nearly covered his eyes, and his mouth twisted into a scowl.

    Jason''s frozen face contorted in alarm, but Flint¡ªFlint looked focused and cold.

    Arthur smirked and cocked his head with a touch of pride. Jason was a failed experiment¡ªprobably Arthur''s greatest mistake. Arthur had successfully trained his eldest, Brigham, who went into the family business independently. But Jason cracked under the strain, fleeing at the first chance he got. After that betrayal and disappointment, he hadn¡¯t tried to train Steve or Flint. However, Flint had been persistent, pestering Arthur for guidance. And now, as Arthur caught a familiar glint in Flint¡¯s eyes, he began to regret that decision.

    Arthur laughed. Maybe Flint did fall close to the tree.

    Arthur glanced at the pen clutched in Flint''s hand. One of Janis'' for sure. How was she? He drove the thought out of his mind. He had a directive, and nothing else mattered.

    Arthur severed the link, returning to his own mind just as a sucking sound from behind drew his attention. He turned to see a newly born tooth crawling out of the mud pit.

    Hand over hand, it croaked as it pulled itself free from a biological sack in the mud.

    It was born of Ash, a tooth of Ash. Its black, soulless eyes blinked for the first time in the morning light. Newly born, it was an adult. It didn''t need to be nurtured to mature. Teeth were born with one purpose: to feed Ash.

    Arthur pushed himself into the new tooth''s mind, establishing a splice link. From watching the other acolytes, he knew his eyes glowed yellow every time he made the connection. Their minds synced, and the tooth became an extension of him.

    "We have a new hunt," he announced as he spliced into all nine of his teeth''s minds simultaneously. He pushed the image of his sons into their minds. "Find them," he ordered. "Take me to them."

    Flint liked to consider himself proficient at sleeping under less ideal circumstances. Back home, he rarely slept in a bed, even though he had one. He had slept in public restrooms, forest floors, and abandoned vehicles, and though it wasn''t pleasant, it always worked for him.

    But that night. Flint spent what felt like the coldest and longest night of his life huddled on the hard dirt, constantly pulling his jacket tighter around himself. He would steal minutes of sleep, but visions of teeth , wild men, and his mom would jerk him awake. At one point, he dreamt he could hear gunshots, but opening his eyes, he realized that his nightmare was, in fact, his reality. Somewhere far away, gunfire popped, echoing over the forest cover.

    Flint''s discomfort worsened. His throat grew sore, his nose congested, and he shivered in the cold. Unable to sleep, Flint gathered several armfuls of the trees¡¯ strange, feathery needle leaves and built a nest. The insulation didn''t bring him much warmth but separated him from the cold dirt and softened the ground, even if it was just slightly.

    Finally, after wiping his nose for what felt like the ten thousandth time, he drifted back to sleep.

    The sound of something thumping woke him. At first, pounding sounded distant, somewhere in the back of his mind, but with each thump, it brought him closer and closer to consciousness, to the point that he realized he was still asleep. On the line between sleep and consciousness, waking up was only a matter of choice.

    Flint groaned as he sat up, his throat raw and his nose stuffed. The thumping came from right behind him. He rolled over to see Jason and Nana huddled over a flat stone. Nana repeatedly pounded some pasty substance with his big stick. Flint''s small pot from his mess kit was also out, lying next to a small smoldering fire.

    "What''s going on?" Flint grunted as he rubbed his crusty eyes.

    "Ash food," Jason said. "Hungry?"

    Food? Suddenly, Flint was wholly awake. The last time he ate was a partial breakfast at Jason''s two days ago, and he felt like he was housing an angry titan in his stomach. His cut abdomen probably didn''t help with that.

    Flint got up but instantly cried out in pain and dropped back down the second he put pressure on his foot. It felt like a red-hot spike had been shoved up his foot and exuded venom up his leg.

    "Flint, what''s wrong?" Jason asked, his brow furrowing with concern.

    The air grew heavy as he cradled his foot. The pain persisted, like a knife twisting back and forth. "Jason, it hurts." He gasped as his eyes welled up with tears. Flint didn''t want anyone to see him cry; he usually didn''t, but this pain was an entirely new experience.

    "Flint!" Jason exclaimed and squatted by his brother. "Nana, help."

    Their new companion dropped his big stick and ran over to Flint. "Is it your foot? What is wrong?" he asked.

    Flint shook his head in frustrated confusion. He had walked on it the previous night with only a subtle limp.

    "Infection." Flint gasped, taking deep pained breaths.

    "Let me see," the large man said, gently grabbing Flint''s foot.

    Flint squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. ¡°Ow, ow, ow, ow, stop!¡±

    "Listen to me," Nana cautioned. If we can''t look at it, we can''t see what is wrong. The shoe is dirty inside; we cannot clean it unless we take it out."

    Flint shoved his fist into his mouth and gnawed his knuckle. "Just cut it off," he strained to say, fighting back tears.

    This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.

    "Cut off your foot?" Nana recoiled in surprise.

    "What? No! Cut off the shoe," Flint corrected himself.

    "Let us try to get it off," Nana said. "There are no shoe markets for you to find a new one."

    Flint hesitantly nodded in agreement, and Nana carefully unlaced his shoe.

    "What can I do?" Jason asked.

    "Turn around," Nana said. "Keep watch. No sense in getting attacked while we are vulnerable."

    Jason hesitated, his lips drawn tight as he watched his suffering brother, but he managed to pull himself away.

    Nana gripped the shoe firmly with both hands, and Flint inhaled sharply. "Careful," he chided.

    "Do you want me to tell you on the count of three only to pull it off early?" Nana asked.

    "What would be the point of that?" Flint demanded. "How do you plan on surprising me if I know you''re going to pull¡ª" Flint screamed as Nana firmly but smoothly drew the shoe off his swollen foot.

    As the shoe slid off, the smell of rot followed shortly. Nana looked into the shoe; brown blood stained the inside.

    Flint glanced down at his sock. Crusted blood caked the sole, and grime stained the once-white fabric grey.

    "You were running on that rotten foot?" Nana said in disbelief.

    "Help me get it off," Flint grunted. "I can''t ¡­"

    Nana nodded and turned to collect some water he used to wash his hands.

    "Where did you get the water?" Flint asked.

    "There is a stream not far from here."

    "And it has good water?" Flint asked in surprise. "We passed one earlier, and it was rotten."

    Nana chuckled. "It was the same. There is only one good stream nearby. It rots for several hours daily but then becomes pure again." Nana started working the sock off Flint''s foot, tugging it, pushing the scab, and slowly peeling it away.

    "Curious," Flint said, mostly trying to distract himself from the painful peeling sensation. "Why is that?"

    "I don''t know," Nana said. "I have only been here for less than a month. I still lack answers." Nana pulled off the sock, and Flint got his first good look.

    His severely inflamed foot was taut and pale around the wound. Green pus oozed out of his newly irritated scab. The cool air felt oddly sharp on the exposed puncture, free of the sweaty shoe and crusty sock.

    "I should have some first-aid stuff in my backpack," Flint said. "But I''m running low."

    "Will you be able to walk?" Nana asked in a hushed tone so Jason couldn''t hear.

    Flint prodded his foot, earning another wave of pain. "No," he said, shaking his head.

    "Here in Ash, if you can not move, you die," he said somberly.

    Unsure how to respond, Flint nodded. "I''ll figure something out."

    "We must kill the infection," Nana said as he drew his big knife.

    "Wait, hold on!" Flint threw up his hands defensively." What are you doing with that?"

    "I will heat the blade and drain the wound," Nana said matter-of-factly.

    "Have you done this before?" Flint panicked.

    Nana chuckled nervously. "How hard could it be? I have always wanted to try."

    "Not today." Flint insisted. "I''m doing it."

    Nana turned around, disappointed, but stopped short. "Hey!" he shouted.

    Flint looked to see the F''faron''s hairy figure sniffing the small camp pot by the fire.

    "Get away from there!" Nana snapped as he rushed to defend his cooking.

    "F''faron!" Jason cried gleefully, and F''faron, faithful as ever, rushed over to hide in Jason''s Shadow.

    "You know this bushmeat?" Nana asked in surprise.

    "It''s F''faron, he found us some water," Jason explained. "He''s a friend."

    "You are friends with a critter?" Nana asked in disbelief.

    "Huh?"

    "We call his kind critters," Nana explained as he eyed F''faron suspiciously. "They live some distance across the stream, and usually, they are not friendly to man."

    "Are they dangerous?" Flint asked, trying to take his mind off the pain.

    "Critters are smart, like us," Nana explained as he placed his knife in the fire. They use weapons. But I do not know too much. They usually do not cross the river; those who do usually die quickly, killed by other survivors."

    "Why?" Jason asked.

    "Food for Ash, to keep the teeth away. It is easier to kill someone different than one of your own."

    "This place is horrible," Jason grimaced as he placed a hand on F''faron''s head between the critter''s ears.

    F''faron turned on Jason, hissing in protest.

    "Woah!" Jason recoiled. "I''m sorry, but you were all up in my space, too."

    "This one looks young," Nana said. "Not an adult."

    "He just wants our food," Flint said. "He''ll turn and run the first chance that he gets."

    "He¡¯s been useful in the past," Jason tried.

    "We should get rid of him."

    Nana pulled his blade from the fire, the tip blackened by smoke. "Are you ready?"

    "Give it to me."

    Nana brought his bottle of water and Flint''s first-aid kit.

    "Keep it away from our food," he cautioned Jason. ¡°It would be unfortunate if breakfast was gone by the time I finished helping your brother."

    Jason nodded.

    Flint accepted Nana''s knife, but it took everything to hold it steady. He propped his ankle on his knee and got to work.

    Gently pressing the irritated area, he squeezed out a decent amount of pus; despite the pain, he found it oddly satisfying to watch. Once it no longer flowed freely, he slit the wound, and it continued to drain with blood as well.

    Once Flint worked the inflammation down, he accepted the water from Nana and washed it thoroughly.

    Finished, he turned to Nana. "Food?" he asked hopefully.

    "Bind your wound," Nana said.

    "I think I''ll let it air out." Still aching, he flexed his foot free from the shoe''s pressure.

    The four of them gathered for what Ash offered for breakfast. Nana had boiled some root and pounded it to a paste, which sat in a soup made from tangy leaves and something that looked like oysters. It was a relatively colorless meal, but it didn''t lack flavor. But that was probably because of how hungry they were.

    The soup was sour but not altogether unpleasant, and Flint choked on the paste the first time he tried it.

    "Don''t chew," Nana cautioned. "Wet it in the soup and swallow."

    The thick, blobby paste sank right to the bottom of their stomachs.

    Flint sat back, satisfied, but he screamed as dirt started to creep up his exposed foot.

    "What?" Jason asked.

    "Look," Flint said as he put his foot down. Surely, dirt coagulated began to trickle up his foot.

    "Flint!" Jason cried. "Is Ash trying to eat you?"

    The wound on the sole of his foot tickled as dirt encased it up to his ankle.

    "Flint!" Jason cried. "Move."

    Cautiously, Flint picked up his foot, and the dirt settled, becoming dormant. Flint¡¯s eyes popped at the reaction. He didn¡¯t want his foot to get dirty. He stared at the indent his foot made. Would it happen again? What if it tried to bite him?

    Curious, Flint gently put his foot down, and the dirt came alive like metal dust taking a magnetic charge. Flint snickered as the cool dirt slid along the bottom of his foot. ¡°This tickles.¡±

    "You''re letting it eat you?" Jason asked, bemused. ¡°Dude, do you have a death wish or something?¡±.

    "Relax. If it starts to hurt, I''ll pull it out."

    "That''s dumb; what if it numbs you like a mosquito bite?"

    Flint didn''t answer but watched, intrigued, as the dirt boot hardened and turned into more of a shell.

    "You are a curious person, Mr. Flint Vance." Nana chuckled as F''faron stared at the cocoon boot, his eyes wide. Flint''s foot was wedged in tight, but he had enough room to scrunch his toes back and forth.

    "I thought that it only goes after dead things?" Flint said, confused.

    "I couldn¡¯t say," Nana said. "I know very little about Ash."

    "It must be triggered by blood, or maybe the dead skin?" Flint pondered. "Do you think it will try to eat all of me? Or just the wound?"

    The others stared at him blankly.

    "What?" Flint asked. "We are here. It wouldn''t hurt to know how it works."

    "That''s so gross," Jason said. "You''re sticking your foot in Ash''s mouth."

    "I''ll bet I taste good!" Flint chuckled.

    Jason asked Nana a question, but Flint filtered their conversation out as he looked down at his foot. Encased in a clay shell at the ankle, it looked like his foot was more extensive and made of clay, like some dirt-based superhero! That was dumb. Clay Footman would hardly be a good hero.

    Something warm and wet began to seep in from the boot''s bottom. The new juices were oddly comfortable, but the infection point stung.

    The prickle didn''t hurt badly enough to cause him concern but was more like irritation in a sensitive area. In fact, it felt better than worse.

    Flint needed a plan. He hadn''t seen his dad yet; he didn''t even know where to start looking, but he felt slightly hopeful with Nana''s assistance. There was even something comforting about F''faron, even if he had yet to prove his reliability.

    In general, their situation seemed dire, but things weren''t so bad at the moment. Even now, surrounding the campfire, he felt almost like they were just friends camping.

    Casual camping wasn''t something that Flint had actually done in the past, seeing as he didn''t have many friends and Mom never took him out. He had spent many months in the wild alone but couldn''t exactly count that. However, this is precisely what Flint would have imagined recreational camping to be like. It was peaceful, quaint, and relaxing. All things that didn''t strictly conform to Ash. Something was off.

    "We always have heated water in America, even in public restrooms," Jason explained to Nana, who looked intrigued by the concept.

    "There haven''t been any gunshots all morning." Flint noticed. "Must be a good morning on Ash."

    Nana sat up, scanning the horizon for signs of life. "We should move. I take comfort in hearing gunshots because I know they are far away, but silence concerns me."

    Flint nodded in agreement. "My thoughts, too."

    "Can you walk, Flint Vance?"

    Flint worked his foot back and forth, cracking the clay encasing his foot. The familiar scent of Ash''s digestive juices escaped through the cracks, though it wasn''t nearly as bad as they had been in times past.

    Flint washed his wet foot and looked at his wound, intrigued. The inflammation had gone down drastically. Not only that, but the blood and pus that had dried to his foot were gone as though they had been licked off.

    "Well, I''ll be¡­" Flint marveled.

    "What is it?" Jason asked.

    "It''s like Ash ate the infection and dead stuff," Flint said, "and cleaned the wound. Maybe it''s like maggot therapy and only eats dead flesh."

    "What? A psycho-carnivorous planet did something helpful?" Jason asked in surprise.

    "Ash isn''t bad," Flint decided. ¡°It''s just like you or me. It has its own needs. We are just not at the top of the food chain for once."

    Nana stood and grabbed his large paste-pounding stick.

    "We must go now!" he said, his eyes narrowing. "Someone is here."

    Flint got to his feet, not bothering to bandage or wrap it, and scooped up his backpack.

    "Well, well," A balding man with a pot belly sneered with a heavy drawl as he stepped out from behind a tree. He held a broadhead arrow and knocked on a hunting compound bow.

    ¡°I reckon they¡¯ve spotted us, boys."

    F''faron turned and bolted away, but a greasy, longhaired young man with a bandana headband jumped out of the bush, tackled the critter, and placed a revolver to his temple. "Hey, Beau, I caught that meat you like!"

    Four more men stepped out, one with a pump-action shotgun and the two others with hunting rifles. They wore a patchwork wardrobe of dirty camo, oil-stained overalls, and animal hides that looked like they could have once been F''faron''s parents.

    "Now hold still, y''all, or we''ll have to get messy."

 14 Captors

    The intruders forced Flint to sit down as they rummaged through his backpack. He growled internally at their encroachment. Going through his bag almost felt more violating than the handsy pat-down they had given him. It was his stuff; at least, he¡¯d stolen most of it fair and square.

    "What''s this?" A black-bearded, long-haired man inquired as he tugged on the window screen that Flint had cut out of Jason''s cabin. He wore a red flannel shirt with a wood axe looped over his shoulder on a paracord sling.

    "Ain''t it like some kinda bug net, Jed?" a freckled man with a gold tooth asked. He wore a buckskin jacket with tassels and a pelt draped over his shoulders.

    "It looks like a small screen for a swingin¡¯ door," the balding pot-bellied man said. Flint assumed this was their leader. Partially because he wore an impressive five critter pelts hanging from the straps of his overalls. The long-haired guy pinning F¡¯faron had called him Beau.

    "Hey, you. Do ya have any windows?" Jed demanded. A glorious waxed mustache curled up on his upper lip.

    "I was going to use it in a stream to catch fish," Flint snapped bitterly. ¡°Make a stream funnel.¡±

    "Well, there ain''t no fish here," Jed lamented mournfully.

    In the distance, a tooth wailed, and the men stopped to listen. ¡°Damn mud monkeys,¡± Beau swore as he gripped his compound hunting bow. ¡°Always so hungry. They sound far.¡±

    "Hey, look, Beau. This kid got plenty of crypto cards," Buckskinned Gold-tooth laughed. "I don''t think he even got a credit score. I reckon the small one¡¯s handsy."

    "Well, I reckon," Flint spat, ¡°We are of entirely different intellectual caliber, as it is self-evident that I have the utmost care and concern for oral hygiene, while you clearly are completely and totally indifferent on the matter."

    "Huh?" Jed and Gold-Tooth looked at him in a stupor, which indicated they couldn''t follow past the word ¡®reckon.¡¯

    "Hey, the pipsqueak talks like a politician," Beau sneered.

    "A politician?" Flint gasped. "Oh desh no, you didn''t just¡ª"

    "Hey Beau, should I kill the hairy guy now or wait until we are back at camp fixin'' for some grub?" the long-haired man with a bandana headband asked.

    Beau shook his head. "Nah, don¡¯t kill it, Billy; we''ll keep it fresh. Quinn will know how to cook it up real good."

    "You''re going to cook F''faron?" Jason cried, appalled.

    "Ya named it?" Billy scoffed. "What, is he your pet? Tell you what, they make for right good eating."

    "You can''t!" Jason cried. "He''s smart, like us."

    "Smarter than some of us," Flint implied darkly through a fit of coughs.

    "What are these?" The one rummaging through the bag pulled out Flint''s remaining three pens. This one had an impressive bass voice and an impossibly wide jaw. He wore a dirty camo jacket and had a shoulder bag made from presumably a critter pelt at his side.

    "Those are for my allergies," Flint said. "I need those; if I get stung, I could die."

    "I¡¯ve heard about these, Bobby," Jed said. "Better give ¡®em to the kid, or he can get real sick."

    "He would," Beau interjected. "If there were bees here. I haven''t seen any, have you?"

    They shook their heads in agreement. "And you forget, we''re just gonna tie him up outside camp and leave him for the mud monkeys. Who cares if he gets sick?"

    Nodding in agreement, Bobby haphazardly shoved the pens back into the pack and slung the bag over his shoulders.

    ¡°Let¡¯s go,¡± Beau ordered, but F¡¯faron kicked and squirmed. Billy cursed, so Jed and Gold-Tooth helped him bind the critter with plastic zip ties. He then dropped him into a sack, his head sticking out miserably.

    ¡°The rest of you keep your hands on your heads, or you¡¯ll get the same,¡± Quinn warned. Flint, Jason, and Nana all complied. Still, Jed kept his shotgun trained on Nana, and Bobby continuously watched him carefully.

    Billy threw F¡¯faron¡¯s sack over his shoulder and moved with considerably more effort, even if he was lean and young.

    They marched away about a mile and a half before showing up at what must have been their camp. A ditch surrounded by sharpened timber palisades interwoven with patches of chain-link fence and siding made for a surprisingly impressive fortification.

    A curious earthwork, roughly shaped like a giant termite''s nest, caught Flint¡¯s attention. As he looked closer, his eyes widened. The grotesque form must have been several dozen bodies dumped in a pile and left for Ash to consume.

    The front of the camp had been cleared of trees, denying intruders cover. Several bloody poles mounted in the front of the gate, with chains bolted to the wood, testified of offerings made to appease the teeth.

    Flint noted a hunter''s perch nestled in a tree and thought he could see a rifle barrel sticking out of it.

    "You guys don''t play around," Flint said.

    "Welcome home, boys!" Beau said.

    They were greeted by the sound of a dog barking.

    "A dog?" Flint remarked. "Did you bring it with you?"

    "Ain''t no animals naturally here. Well, nothing but the mud monkeys, n'' the critters," Jed explained. ¡°Ol¡¯ Buckshot came here with us.¡±

    The bloodhound rushed through the gate, barking happily.

    Flint counted at least eight more people, including a few women and children. All of them were dirty, and most were in overalls. Everyone carried at least a hunting knife.

    "How many of you are there?" Flint asked as he combed the camp for vulnerabilities. The interior of the base consisted of tents and makeshift shelters. Fires burned in pits, probably used for cooking, and some furs stretched out, drying in the sun.

    F''faron shrieked in horror as he saw the furs. But a blow to his bag silenced the young critter.

    Flint caught Jason¡¯s hand twitching at his side as he finger-spelled the word, truck. Flint cocked a curious eyebrow, and Jason discreetly pointed.

    A rusted pickup stood, parked between tents.

    ¡°Don¡¯t get any ideas,¡± Billy snapped, following Flint¡¯s gaze. ¡°She¡¯s out of diesel, and there ain''t a gas station around.

    ¡°Look,¡± Jason tried. ¡°Let us go; we¡¯re no threat to you.¡±

    "Enough," Beau snapped at Jason. "Now you just stop talkin'' and stick yer hands out so we can tie ¡®em."

    Jason looked over and studied a large cage made of lashed branches built in the middle of the camp. Horizontal bars held the structure in place.

    "What''s that?" he asked.

    Flint eyed the square-jawed guy who took his backpack with the auto pens. He was too far away to get to it before they were tied.

    "That''s where you¡¯re goin''."

    "Why?" Jason asked.

    "Because we gotta survive," Beau explained. "We keep the strong who can fight and feed the weak to the mud monkeys so they don''t come here. It''s called the law of selection."

    "No, you''re thinking of natural selection. This is called murder," Jason snapped.

    ¡°It¡¯s survival,¡± Billy countered. ¡°Mud monkeys get hungry, so we feed them.¡±

    ¡°Mud monkeys?¡± Nana shook his head. ¡°Do you mean teeth?¡±

    Billy let out a snort of laughter. ¡°What a stupid name.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re the one calling them mud monkeys,¡± Flint pointed out.

    Beaue shrugged. "Most people come here on their own. Seven of us Hoggins and McCallisters got taken all at once while we were hunting. We¡¯re a family, and together we¡¯re strong. We let the strong join us and use the weak as tribute. Mud monkies don¡¯t try to get into camp if there¡¯s fresh meat outside."

    "So you''ll let Nana join you?" Jason asked. "He''s strong."

    Beaue shook his head. "American club only. We don''t take foreigners."

    "What about me?" Flint asked. "I''m much more dangerous than any of you."

    Beau threw his head back and laughed. "Sorry, Mr. One Shoe, into the cage with you."

    If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    Acting fast, Flint turned to the Beaue and threw his arms around him. "Please, no!" he cried. "I''m scared of dark spaces!"

    "What?" Beaue stammered as he pushed Flint away. "Ge''off me; it''s an open cage; stop whining."

    Flint sniffled as he nodded.

    "Your hands."

    Flint held his hands in front of him, and his captors roughly tied them with a phone charger.

    The three of them were shoved into the lashed cave, and Flint had to duck to avoid hitting his head. Lastly, they tossed F''faron in, who was unable to brace himself because of the sack tied off around his neck.

    "Do us a favor." One of them laughed. "Don''t eat him before Quinn gets back."

    Flint blinked a few times, allowing his eyes to adjust to the dim cage. The cell was oddly spacious for them, but he realized he wasn''t alone.

    Two men and a woman with obsidian skin, even darker than Nana''s, sat together. Four young men with Asian features huddled in their own group, and a few fair-skinned prisoners glanced up.

    Body odor and the stench of human feces permeated the cage. The ragged collection of survivors refused to make eye contact and stayed self-segregated in their groups. Nana picked F''faron up and immediately went to work, freeing F¡¯faron from his bag, but he lacked the tools to remove his zip ties. The four of them settled in their own little corner away from the others and cast worried glances at each other.

    "Hey!" someone piped from the corner.

    Flint looked up to see a youthful boy, probably his age, with yellow-blond hair and a dorky smile. He looked bored as if he were waiting to get out of detention, which clashed with his hands being tied in front of him.

    "Do you speak English?" he asked.

    "Yes," Jason said. "What is this place?"

    "This place? It''s a cage, I think," he chuckled.

    "That''s not what I mean," Jason said, irritated.

    "What''re your names?" The boy asked.

    "Jason," Jason said shortly, trying to regain his footing. "This is my brother Flint, that''s Nana, and this guy is F''faron. What''s yours?"

    "William," he said. "So they caught you too?

    "So it would seem," Flint said as he eyed the newcomer. All the others looked downcast and broken, but William grinned and carried himself with an air of assurance that was at odds with their circumstances. "How long have you been here, William?" Flint asked.

    "Just today," William said. "Do you know what they plan to do with us?"

    "I have heard of places like this," Nana said. "Men with weapons band together to make villages. But when large groups unite, it attracts teeth like a mosquito to warm blood."

    "So they capture people as some kind of sick offering?" Flint realized. The image of the bloody pole and restraints flashed through Flint''s mind, making his stomach twist.

    Nana nodded. "When teeth are hunting, they will chain people to the posts outside of camp. The teeth kill the easy meat on the outside, leaving them safe inside."

    A heavy silence fell, and Jason''s face twisted in horror.

    "Well, what do we do?" William said, his face pale, his eyes panicked. "And what are teeth?"

    "Teeth are savage animals that kill to feed Ash," Flint said, gratified to find that, for once, they weren''t the most ignorant people on the planet. "They''re literally the planet''s teeth.¡±

    "Well, we need to get out of here!" William exclaimed as he grabbed and shook the bars of the cage.

    "We sneak out when it''s dark," Flint said.

    "How?"

    Flint looked around. "What about them? Do you think that they can help?"

    William shook his head. "I don''t think any of them can speak English."

    "Any chance they know ASL?" Jason asked dubiously.

    Flint turned and waved, but anyone looking his way glanced away pointedly. "I doubt it," Flint said. Then, looking at their little group of five, he felt a glimmer of hope. William seemed bright and intelligent. Nana was strong and wise, and he knew he could trust Jason.

    "Do you think F''faron could slip between the branches here?" Flint asked.

    "He''s like a ferret; he could slip under a kitchen door," Jason said.

    "Can we trust him not to run away the first chance he gets?" Flint wondered. "And how do we communicate the plan with him?"

    "Let''s get him out of these zip ties," Jason said as he took F¡¯faron¡¯s bound hands in his.

    "Will this help?" Flint smiled as he slipped out Beau''s small folding knife.

    The other four jaws dropped, and there was even a shift of interest among the other prisoners.

    "Where did you hide that?" Jason asked in disbelief. "They were very thorough in their pat down."

    "I didn''t hide it. I lifted it off of Beau as he tied us up. Are you still going to give me crap for borrowing things back home, Jason?"

    "Flint!" Jason stammered. "I''ve never been so glad someone has been so dishonest."

    "Thank you, Jason. Thank you indeed." Flint puffed his chest in mock pride.

    "So what do we do about the guns?" William asked. "I mean, they have guards."

    "I haven''t gotten that far yet," Flint said. "We''ll have to wait until dark and need a distraction.

    "Wow," William marveled. "You''re good."

    Flint shrugged casually, but a ghost smile traced his lips. He wasn''t usually comfortable around people his age, but being respected was nice.

    "Can I see the knife?" William asked with awe in his eyes.

    Flint smirked. "Sure." He found himself extending it before he stopped short. Not respect¡ªthis was flattery. "Why?" he asked.

    William snatched the knife from Flint''s hand and bolted for the door.

    "Hey!" Flint snapped as he rushed after William.

    "Duke, the door!" William cried, and the square-jawed man in the buckskin jacket man rushed up to open the cage door, allowing the fleeing youth through, slamming it in Flint''s face just in time to keep him out.

    "You traitor!" Flint snapped.

    William laughed and gave Duke a high five. "This one stole a knife from Beau, " he said as he handed it to the guard. I''ll be real: He''s good, and we might want to keep him."

    "I''d rather sit on a cactus," Flint sneered.

    "Well, that''s too bad," William said. "I actually didn''t totally hate you."

    "Why did you sell us out?" Flint demanded.

    William shrugged. "This is Ash. A man has got to do what he has to do to survive. It''s nothing personal."

    "You will pay for this!" Flint shouted.

    "Now, now," William chided. "The cage rules are, if you get on our nerves, we feed you to the teeth first."

    "Uh, you mean Mud Monkeys," Duke corrected. ¡°We¡¯re on an alien planet; we get to name them whatever we want.¡±

    William rolled his eyes. "Whatever."

    Flint pulled off his other shoe and threw it at William as hard as possible. William''s eyes traced the projectile as it sailed horribly off course. "Well, you had better tie me to one of those poles right now," Flint snapped, "because if you don''t, I''m going to¡ª"

    Flint felt a hand clap over his mouth, and Jason pulled him back. "Our heads down and not a sound," Jason promised.

    Flint struggled, but his brother dragged him back into the shadow.

    "Flint!" Jason snapped. "What was all that talk about being a survivor?"

    Flint grunted. "I am so tired of lies."

    Jason nodded. "I understand, man, but I need you to keep your head. You promised to take me home, right?"

    Flint looked away.

    "Right?" Jason persisted.

    "That''s right," Flint confirmed.

    "Great, and how does getting yourself chained to a pole and being eaten fit into that?"

    "It doesn''t," Flint mumbled.

    "That''s right. It doesn''t, so just breathe, and we''ll devise another plan."

    Flint nodded in agreement. "I''m sorry, man."

    "It''s okay. But help us think of a new strategy."

    "Untie my hands," Flint said.

    Untying another person¡¯s hands turned out to be tricky if your own hands were also tied. But after some focus and careful maneuvering, all three of them were untied. Flint had missed the second restraint earlier, but F''faron whimpered as his hands and feet were cinched tight by a zip tie.

    "Why do they even bother?" Jason asked in surprise. "Seriously, what''s the point?"

    Flint realized that the other prisoners were also untied. Their bindings¡ªcables, twine, shoelaces, and cords¡ªwere strewn about the floor. The most secure restraint was F''faron''s plastic cuff.

    "What do we do for him?" Jason asked.

    "One sec," Flint said. He pried the metal tab off of the zipper on his trousers. "I need you to relax, F''faron," Flint said in his most soothing tone, and the critter looked at him pleadingly.

    Even through the fur on his wrist, the plastic dug into F''faron''s skin. The zipper tab was thicker than ideal. Flint wedged the metal tab into the narrow gap where a tiny lock caught the plastic teeth. Working his tab, he felt it catch, but it resisted. Nearly dropping his zipper tab, he tried again until the lock opened with a faint pop, and he slid the tie off F¡¯faron¡¯s wrists.

    F''faron looked around, wide-eyed, as he rubbed his thin wrists.

    ¡°You learn that at school?¡± Jason asked dryly, if not a little impressed.

    ¡°Online,¡± Flint said simply. "F''faron," he said sternly, getting the critter''s attention. "I''m going to get this zip tie off your feet, but you can''t run just yet."

    F''faron furrowed his brow as though he were earnestly trying to understand what Flint was saying, but desire couldn''t make up for ignorance.

    Flint sighed. ¡°Of course, you¡¯ll run off. It¡¯s what you do.¡±

    Jason crouched down next to them. "Let me try to explain. He likes me more.¡±

    Flint nodded in agreement.

    ¡±F¡¯faron, if you run, they will kill you,¡± Jason said patiently. ¡°I don¡¯t want that.¡±

    F¡¯faron stared blankly, and Jason let out a breath. ¡°You," he said, jabbing his finger at F''faron. "Do not." He waved his arms in front of him, shaking his head and frowning. "Run." He held one hand flat, simulating the ground as he wiggled his fingers above it, signing running legs.¡± Jason blushed, but Flint didn¡¯t blame him. He looked ridiculous playing charades with an oversized ferret.

    Flint took over and shimmed the zip tie on F''faron''s feet, but rather than running off as expected, F''faron approached Flint and licked his hand.

    "Woah," he tried not to flinch at F''faron''s warm, wet tongue. F''faron simply looked back somberly.

    "You''re welcome, buddy."

    F''faron curled up in a ball next to Flint and closed his eyes. He looked so ¡­ in place? Apart from his baggy trousers, he looked like he could be a family pet. Flint couldn''t precisely say what pet, but all he needed was an oversized chair and a fire to complete the picture.

    "Don''t worry, buddy," Flint whispered. "I won''t let them eat you."

    Arthur perched in the tree, looking into the camp from above. Fires lit it from the inside. Primitive but well-fortified, out-turned spikes encircled the entire camp; it was a virtual porcupine. He could just order his teeth to wipe them out, but with at least twenty men armed with guns, he would lose several of them, and those things cost an inordinate amount of aurora to spawn.

    He squinted as he tried to see where his sons were. He turned to the tooth that hung from the tree with claws sunk deep into the trunk.

    "You''re sure they''re inside?" Arthur asked.

    The tooth cocked its head and uttered a strenuous croak as though it were trying to form words. It couldn''t, of course. It wasn''t designed to speak, but oddly, that didn''t stop it from trying.

    Arthur sighed and dropped out of the tree. Moments later, the heavy thump behind him indicated that the tooth had done the same.

    He had to be sure. Teeth were only so reliable at reconnaissance. They were killers, not scouts.

    He hated to do this, as it greedily drank his aurora, but he had to be sure before moving against an established camp like this. While he didn''t care about the men inside, they constantly fed this section of his district. It was practically a farm of food supply for Ash. But he would destroy it and everyone inside if it was between him and his prey.

    He looked around as the remaining eight teeth entered from all sides. Great, the pack was all here.

    "Ash," he said as he took a knee. "Lend me your eyes." He slammed his palm down into the ground. Arthur grunted in frustration as he felt the aurora slipping from his arm and pouring into the ground before him.

    The earth under him flashed as his mind became one with Ash; the aurora rippled forward as a wave ran from his hand towards the camp, combing out. And he became one with it. He was every rock, every tree, and every crack in the clay. Sentries walked on him; he felt them all and spliced with them. The ripple continued; he was Ash; the men of this camp had forced spiked logs into him, and he was one with the logs, and he continued, more inside, tents, fires, and people. He synched with them.

    Aurora continued to pour back into Ash.

    A wooden cage and people inside had been built in the middle of the camp. Among them were¡ªyes, Flint and Jason were there. Flint was the easiest to see; he wasn''t wearing shoes, and the contact of his bare skin on Ash allowed Ash to see him with heightened clarity. Flint gasped and looked down at the ground as if he could see Arthur¡¯s essence beneath the dirt at his feet.

    Arthur severed the connection and returned to his own mind. He now had the actionable intelligence he needed to make his move.

    "Six sentries," he said to himself. "Nineteen in camp, twelve prisoners, fifteen guns."

    This would be fun.

    "Wait for my signal," he commanded his teeth, "then make a lot of noise."

    Inwardly, a blocked portion of Arthur roared in protest, but it lacked a connection to his body or to the modified copy of himself that now called the shots. His boys were here. A suppressed wave of emotion at seeing them shook him. Jason resembled Arthur, while Flint had his mother¡¯s curly hair. They needed to die¡ªartificial impulses drove Arthur now. He had his directive, and his soldiers had theirs.

 15 Child on Ash

    The faint but unmistakable sound of sniffling in the far corner caught Flint''s attention. Was someone crying? He looked past the prisoners, who were self-isolated in their little groups, sticking with those most like themselves. Flint''s group was easily the most diverse, as it included a literal alien. Flint listened closely, tracking the noise to an isolated figure huddled in the far corner.

    Flint excused himself and hobbled past the others, trying not to disturb them. The cold ground smarted against his bare feet. As he neared, he made out the figure''s details. Huddled in the corner was a small girl¡ªmaybe nine or ten years old. Flint could never really tell someone''s age, especially girls. His mom almost never let him out, so he never spent time with other kids.

    "Hey," Flint whispered, crouching beside her, "you there."

    The girl looked up, wide-eyed. Tear streaks cleared paths on her dirt-stained face.

    "Can you understand me?" Flint asked.

    The girl nodded but eyed him suspiciously.

    Something inside Flint cracked at the sight of her. Ash was no place for a child. She sat alone and isolated; she couldn''t run or hide. She was food for any of Ash''s predators, man or beast. What if she had been Carly?"

    "What''s your name?" Flint asked.

    She didn''t say a word but stared back through wide, unblinking eyes. Her wiry shoulders trembled slightly.

    "Are you scared?"

    The girl nodded.

    "Don''t be scared," Flint said. "I''ll find a way to get you out."

    She squirmed as though to try to make herself smaller.

    Idiot. He obviously wasn''t making the situation any better.

    Jason watched Flint from across the cage but didn¡¯t cross over. He probably realized he¡¯d be more intimidating than helpful.

    "Hey," Flint said. "Do you want to meet my pet?"

    After a pause, she nodded cautiously, but her eyes were alert and curious.

    "F''faron," Flint hissed, rousing the bleary-eyed fur ball from his nap. "Come," he motioned.

    F''faron got up, fangs flashing as he yawned with arms stretched over his head and then walked over on his hind legs. The gait was quite human. He dropped next to Flint and curled into a ball again.

    "This is my friend," Flint said. "He''s really nice. Do you want to pet him?"

    The girl leaned forward, intrigued despite her fear, and smiled slightly.

    "Don''t be shy."

    She stretched out her hand and gently touched the back of his head.

    F''faron snarled at her, baring his teeth, and she cried out as she fell back into her corner.

    Seriously, F''faron? Flint groaned. Leave it to F''faron to terrify the child he was trying to comfort.

    "Oh, don''t be scared of him," Flint desperately tried to assure her. ¡°That''s just his monster face."

    She shrank even further into her corner, to the point that Flint was afraid she''d disappear completely. "Do you have a monster face?" Flint asked the little girl.

    She shook her head.

    "Really?" Flint asked as though not having a monster face was the most peculiar thing in the world.

    "I have a monster face, " he said. ¡°I use it when I''m scared, and it scares away the bad guys. Do you want to see it?"

    She nodded, wide-eyed.

    Flint scrunched his face and bared his teeth. "Grr," he said, and she laughed at him.

    "Whose monster face is scarier?" Flint asked as he growled again and touched F''faron between the ears, causing an irritated snarl in response.

    She laughed and pointed at F''faron.

    "What?" Flint gasped as if offended, "No! I''ve been working on my monster face for so long."

    "I want to see your monster face," Flint said. "Can you try?"

    She shook her head frantically.

    "Don''t be shy. If you make a scary monster face, you won''t have to be scared of anything anymore.¡±

    She looked at him.

    "Just give it a try."

    She smiled again.

    "I''ll bet your monster face isn''t as scary as mine."

    She took the bait and, furrowing her brow, barred her teeth.

    "Oh, my," Flint recoiled. "That was scary. But you''re missing one thing."

    "What?" she asked, intrigued, her voice little more than a squeak.

    "You need to make some noise with it, like this. Rahhhh," Flint cried, making his monster face dramatically, earning a few scowls from his fellow cellmates. "Bet you can''t be that scary."

    "Uh, huh!" She accepted the challenge. "Raaaaaaar!" She held her hands next to her head, her fingers curled.

    "Yikes!" Flint recoiled. "Was that your first monster face?" he asked in disbelief.

    She grinned and nodded.

    "Oh no," he lamented. "I''ve been practicing for years, and you¡¯re scarier on your first try. It''s just not fair."

    "You just need to practice more," she said.

    The amount of sass in her words startled Flint.

    "I guess you''re right." he chuckled. "Just remember, when you make your monster face, nothing is scarier than you."

    Jason silently nodded from his position across the cell, a pained if not proud look in his eye.

    Flint was interrupted as he felt something tremor ever so slightly beneath his bare feet.

    Suddenly, Flint was looking at his dad. Arthur''s eyes burned with yellow light as he knelt on one knee and held his hand to the ground. Teeth surrounded Arthur, tall, hunched, and imposing. They stood with their teeth barred.

    Abruptly, he was crouching in a dirty cage again, his head reeling. "Jason!" Flint cried.

    "I think I just saw Dad!"

    Arthur strode through the darkness alone, his pistol strapped to his thigh and his belt weighed down by the pair of hand grenades and a heavy knife. His powerful body tensed and rippled in anticipation of a fight. That was new; after putting on the acolyte band, he always seemed more aware of his body; he could feel every nerve and every muscle as though they had a consciousness of their own.

    He walked forward boldly and confidently, his boots landing solidly on Ash''s cracked clay. He was more reckless than he had been before. But he could afford to be, with the power of light ice on his side.

    Up ahead, a board sentry turned sharply, drawn by the sounds of his unstealthy approach.

    "Hey!" A voice broke the silence with a southern drawl. "That you, Quinn?"

    Arthur pressed on, ignoring the man''s challenge, walking straight at him.

    "Quinn," the man said again, his voice quivering as he raised his rifle.

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    "Not exactly," Arthur said as he kept pressing on. "Just your local¡ª" he let his arm shackle and eyes flare with yellow light, "¡ªacolyte."

    The man''s face twisted in horror, and he fumbled for his rifle.

    Arthur reached behind his back, grabbed his hefty knife, secured it horizontally to his belt, and clicked it out of its thermoplastic sheath. The knife gleamed from the aurora runes of his shackle.

    The sentry cried out and leveled his AR-15.

    Arthur knew that rifle; he had cleaned and taken apart AR-15s, M-16s, M-4s, and other comparable platforms countless times; he knew it inside and out. He was also intimately familiar with Russian and Chinese equivalents.

    Arthur threw his hand forward, reached forward with his aurora, and grabbed the firing pin, holding it in place. It took virtually no aurora to hold something so small. Much more efficient than creating an invisible, impenetrable barrier that the other acolytes insisted on doing.

    The man frantically jerked the trigger, but the firing pin refused to strike. "No!" he cried, his eyes wide in horror.

    "Yes," Arthur snarled.

    The guard screamed and swung his rifle at Arthur''s head.

    Arthur ducked slightly as he sidestepped, allowing the blunt club to pass inches from his face, which threw the guard off balance and exposed his side.

    Arthur struck. Throwing his arm under the sentry''s exposed armpit and around his neck, he pulled him in and plunged his knife into the man''s back repeatedly until he went limp.

    Arthur smiled. These weren''t trained soldiers; they were trigger-happy thugs. This would be easy.

    He rummaged through the dead man''s pockets, taking all of his bullets, a mixed collection of 5.56 and 223. Bullets were the currency of Ash, valued above food itself. After pocketing his prize, Arthur stripped the man of his coat and hat and donned them.

    "Now!" he ordered, entering the minds of his teeth. "Don''t make noise, and kill quickly." It would only take one gunshot to raise the alarm.

    He felt the minds of his teeth grow excited. Kill¡ªthe one thing they were designed to do, their favorite order, the sole thing they loved.

    Arthur glanced down at the body at his feet. Already, the dirt animated, trickling up the sides of the dead man. It knew when something was dead and was ever ready to swallow. Ash slowly engulfed him, like a swarm of ants, until he was completely covered. Once covered, the dirt became smooth and hardened, encasing him in a personal digestive cocoon.

    Arthur sensed Ash''s satisfaction at the morsel through his armband. This section of land would be satisfied for at least a day and a half, but elsewhere, where things weren''t dying, it would become ravenous.

    Minutes later, he was joined by all nine of his teeth. They came bearing the bodies and gear of the remaining three guards.

    Arthur gathered their arms, bundled them with all their ammunition, and handed the collection to one of his teeth.

    "Put these in my armory," he instructed. The tooth''s frustration at the directive permeated the beast like a radio wave. It wanted to kill, not be a pack animal, but its mind was weak. It had received an order, and so it obeyed.

    Dirt started to engulf the remaining bodies, and Arthur allowed it to do so undisturbed. While it would probably be more efficient to scatter them, the more meat there was in one place, the larger area of ground would be satisfied.

    "Get to your positions and wait for my command," Arthur said.

    He could discern their silent grumbles of protest. They were simple-minded creatures who understood little about the principles of strategy. They wanted to cry out their blood song and rush the walls, but Arthur''s command acted as a leash.

    Arthur pulled the hat down over his eyes, shouldered his rifle, and set off towards the camp. Minutes later, the gate appeared in the night. His pulse sped up.

    "Now!"

    Like hounds unloosed, the cry of many teeth split the air. The screech raddled Arthur''s teeth in his skull.

    "They''re a-comin¡¯, they''re a-comin¡¯!" he screamed in his best southern accent as he sprinted towards the entrance. "Open the gate!" The noise quickly brought many sentries to the spiked palisades.

    "It''s Bart," someone called.

    "Open the gate!"

    The wail of teeth intensified as they got closer.

    Someone cracked the gate open, and Arthur slid in through the gap.

    The men inside muttered in surprise to the disturbance.

    "How many are there?"

    "Why are they so angry? Weren¡¯t they here just a few days ago?"

    "Where are the others?"

    "All dead." Arthur coughed in the darkness. "Lock the gate, daggum it!"

    The men at arms rushed to the barricade with rifles and shotguns.

    ¡°Flare!¡± One of them hollered.

    A single bright flare hissed into the outskirts of the camp. The bright red flickering light lit up the offering poles between the camp and the forest.

    The first tooth broke the treeline, and the defenders opened fire.

    Arthur cursed and covered his eyes with his hand to shield the glow that happened when he commanded his teeth. "Pull back, dammit!" he hissed. "Tease them on the edge of the light. Do not expose yourselves."

    The tooth veered back into the forest, hissing in protest.

    Arthur stalked deeper into camp as men rushed past him to join the others at the barricade. Once they stopped coming, he rested his rifle against a woodpile and unclipped his grenades from his belt.

    He grinned at the weight of the weapons. Then, pulling the pins and allowing the spring-loaded spoon levers to flip, he lobbed each of them at the more heavily occupied parts of the embankment. Pulling from his aurora to direct their trajectory, they landed at the feet of distracted men.

    Pulling his rifle, Arthur swung to the other side of the woodpile and waited.

    Two ground-rumbling explosions shook the ground, and men screamed. Arthur peered over the woodpile and counted eight men down. And he still hadn''t been detected as an intruder.

    "What was that?" men hissed through curses and confusion.

    Arthur shouldered his rifle and sighted it at the hunter''s nest behind the barricade. A perched man fired through a scoped rifle, and the weapon was of a high enough caliber to severely damage Arthur''s teeth.

    Arthur aligned his iron sights and squeezed off a shot at the sniper.

    Wood chips sprayed the shooter, who recoiled, and Arthur cursed. A man with a different face shape and shooting posture had calibrated his sights. He nudged the weapon to the right and up to accommodate. The sniper''s eyes found Arthur as a 5.56 round put a hole between them.

    The scoped rifle dropped from the nest.

    One other sniper''s nest was on the opposite side of the gate, but Arthur couldn''t get a clear shot from inside.

    Arthur smiled as he saw the silhouette of a tooth silently stealing up the tree under the second shooter hand over hand.

    Covering his eyes again so no one would see their light, he nudged into the tooth''s mind. He had commanded this one to move in silently.

    Arthur''s vision tinted yellow as he looked through the tooth''s eyes. He heaved himself up slowly and silently with long-clawed arms until reaching the perch''s bottom. He glimpsed the rifle sticking out as the marksmen fired shots at the darting shadows in the distance.

    He listened to the man sliding the bolt on his rifle after each round. Bolt action¡ªperfect.

    In the tooth''s mind, Arthur waited for the muzzle to spit fire before swinging up and snatching the surprised marksman by the throat as he pulled the bolt.

    In one swift motion, he hurled the man out of his perch. The shooter screamed as he plummeted down. Arthur watched as the man fell onto one of the barricade''s spikes, skewering him straight through the back, leaving him suspended in the air, lifeless eyes gaping.

    Both marksmen down.

    Arthur released his hold on the tooth and returned to his own mind. Leaving his rifle, he turned to circle through the camp.

    "All men to the wall!" someone screamed as he ran past Arthur.

    Arthur whipped out his knife, cut the man''s throat, and ripped the flare gun off of the man''s belt before he hit the ground.

    He turned the flare gun to the biggest shelter, which was topped by dry, feathery leaves, and pulled the trigger. The burning flare streaked from the gun onto the roof, and the leaves instantly caught fire.

    Arthur dropped the gun and turned to find three men gawking at the fire behind him and the body at his feet with horror.

    They raised their guns, and Arthur threw up his hand, pinning his knife to his palm with his thumb. He siphoned aurora to lock each of the firing pins back. He grunted as he tried to focus on all three at once. They frantically jerked the triggers, but nothing happened.

    He pulled his pistol from his holster, and with two shots each, he dropped all three of them.

    He pried a shotgun from one of their hands before the dirt trickling up their bodies got to it and turned to the wall.

    He walked up to the barrier; several men still fired at the teeth on the outside.

    Arthur fired shell after shell into their backs, pumping the next slug into place until it was empty. He dropped it and pulled out his pistol before they even realized they were being attacked from behind. The remaining five all turned on him at once.

    Arthur cried in panic as he tried to lock onto their firing pins.

    They all fired, but nothing happened, and they cursed in confusion.

    Arthur felt his aurora draining much faster. Five points of focus required not only more concentration but also more energy.

    Soft footsteps thudded behind him. He turned to find a woman holding a revolver. Using his aurora, he held the hammer back. He grunted again, praying the men wouldn¡¯t move too much and break his focus.

    Flames bellowed deeper in the camp as the fire carried over to a neighboring structure.

    Another man arrived on the scene carrying a drawn hunting bow.

    Arthur cursed. With the amount of aurora it would take to hold back the poundage of the bow string, he would be out of aurora in no time.

    The man loosed the arrow.

    In last-minute desperation, Arthur siphoned aurora directly into his body. His blood and nerves buzzed with power.

    Time didn''t slow down by any stretch, but his movements sped up, and his mind became clear. In fact, his hold on the other six guns became more focused. He shifted back, and the arrow passed inches from his chest.

    He shot the archer three times and stopped pulling aurora into his body.

    Something hissed, and a crossbow bolt punctured his shoulder blade, piercing through his shoulder in front.

    Arthur screamed and dropped to the ground, his hold on the firearms slipping from his control.

    Arthur spun to see a teenage boy, wide-eyed, holding a crossbow.

    Damn, where had he come from?

    Apparently, the others had given up on their guns because no shots followed.

    "Good shot, William!" one of them cried.

    Arthur dropped his pistol and pulled out his knife again. He siphoned aurora from his shackle and let it flow through him into his knife. The knife hummed as glowing symbols etched themselves into the blade, and the edge burned with power. The heat and energy ate away at the steel.

    The remaining people stepped back, dumbfounded.

    "He¡¯s an acolyte!" one of them screamed.

    Arthur swiped at the bolt''s broad head, jutting out of his shoulder, and cut the barbed blade clean off, leaving the aluminum projectile glowing red where it was severed.

    Once he severed the flow of aurora, the knife returned to normal, but the edge was worn and chipped.

    The woman turned the revolver on him and pulled the trigger.

    The pistol bucked, and the bullet skimmed his leg.

    Aware that their guns were working, the others turned their arms on him.

    Arthur quickly locked back the firing pins, sweat dripping down his face.

    "William, get him again! I don''t think he can jam that crossbow," someone shouted.

    Arthur growled as he fell back to the closed gate. The gang surrounded him¡ªall but William, who was frantically trying to load his crossbow.

    Of course, Arthur could stop a bolt if he had to, but he wasn''t as familiar with crossbows, so he couldn''t simply jam it.

    "We did it!" one of them cried in disbelief. "We beat an acolyte!"

    Arthur stepped back, his back pressing against the front gate, and he smiled.

    William''s eyes grew wide in fear.

    "Is that what you think?¡± Arthur spat.

    William threw down the crossbow and turned and ran.

    "Willy!" one of them called. "Willy, where you goin¡¯? We won!"

    "He''s a smart boy," Arthur said. "Smarter than you."

    He pulled the bolt on the gate and rolled out of the way.

    The gate ruptured inward as snarling and snapping teeth poured into the camp and swarmed the remaining residents.

    Arthur pulled the bolt out through his shoulder. Now, it was time to find his sons.

 16 Separated

    The howling screech of several teeth ripped through the air, a chorus of violence and fury. The prisoners in the cage bolted to the bars, looking out wide-eyed. Was it feeding time? Who would their captors drag out of camp and tie to the poles as a sacrificial offering?

    Flint peered around the cage''s wooden bars to get a better look. Men sprinted through the camp, crying out in confusion.

    "Why they bein¡¯ so aggressive?" Jed cried from near a tent.

    "They ain''t just hungry. They sound angry!" a woman outside the cage said.

    "Should I fetch them some meat?" Jed asked.

    "Yeah!" Duke called, his buckskin tassels dancing as he rushed to the front of the camp.

    Jed ran for the cage door with his wood axe slung over his shoulder. "Now, none of y¡¯all act up, you hear?" he warned as he reached for the padlock and pulled out a key ring.

    Jason interposed himself in front of Flint and took a defensive stance.

    A volley of gunshots echoed from the palisades, disconcertingly near.

    "Jed! Whatcha think you''re doin''?" Beau called from the shadows.

    The man turned. "Gettin¡¯ the meat for the mud monkeys, Beau!"

    Flint stole around Jason and closer to the cage door.

    "Ain''t no time for that. They''re already here; all men to the wall!"

    Jed nodded, his face white with worry, and he turned away from the cage.

    "Don''t leave me here!" Flint screamed as he lunged, reaching through the cage wall and grabbing hold of Jed¡¯s flannel shirt with both hands. The motion jerked the scabs on his abdomen.

    ¡°Flint!¡± Jason barked as he tried to pull his brother back.

    "What the¡ªget off me!" he snapped. "You¡¯re safer in there than you are out here anyways."

    "Please!" Flint cried.

    The man reeled back, and with one well-placed punch through the bars, he sent Flint spinning back down to the dirt.

    Flint gasped as Jason caught him, blinking back tears as his eye began to swell shut.

    "Flint!" Jason cried as he steadied the boy. "Flint, you idiot, what were you thinking?" he demanded.

    Flint grunted, his cheek smarting. "Uh, I don''t know." he groaned. "You want this?" He held up the key to the padlock.

    "Flint!" Jason cried. "You''re amazing!"

    Two explosions interrupted the crack of gunfire, shaking the ground.

    Flint clapped his hands over his ears and threw himself down.

    "What was that?" the little girl shrieked.

    "That was war," Nana said quietly, his voice laced with cold recognition.

    Flint turned to the rest of the prisoners. "All right, guys, we''re getting out of here," he declared. They all stared back in silence.

    "What, you don''t understand me?" Flint asked, dangling the key in the air before him. He motioned to the door. "You understand that?" He asked. "It''s called freedom. Free¡ªdom." He slowed down to over-enunciate the words. "Let''s go."

    "We all speak English," a man of East Asian heritage said with a subtle accent. The others nodded.

    "What?" Flint gasped in disbelief. "You knew about William and didn''t even try to warn me? What''s with the last day of silence?"

    "We don''t want to be eaten, " a man said with a thick Eastern European accent. ¡°So, we try not to make them mad."

    "Have any of you even tried to escape?"

    A dark-skinned man shrugged. "We don''t want to get shot either." His accent was similar to Nana''s.

    "Well, do what you will. We''re getting out."

    Flint reached through the bars and started working the padlock. He ducked as a pair of people with guns ran past.

    They didn''t spare a look at the cage. The prisoners were probably the least of their problems.

    Flint dropped the padlock and pushed the door open.

    "Go, go," he hissed to his crew, who stole out, running to a shelter and ducking behind it. A few individuals ran out of the camp, joining the fight at the front. Once they passed, the rest of the prisoners began to file out of the cage.

    "Let''s go!" Jason hissed. "Grab whatever gear you can.¡±

    Flint pushed open the door to what turned out to be some sort of hunting lodge and storehouse. Furs, packs, coats, and weapons hung on the wall, illuminated by a bright propane lantern¡ªprobably the spoils of their raids. Flint grabbed a backpack, much sturdier and larger than his last, then started a raid of his own.

    He frantically crammed canned food, flashlights, first-aid supplies, several spools of paracord, and a bundle of shoelaces into his backpack. A camo hunting jacket only a few sizes too big and a sturdy pair of boots caught his interest. He snatched and donned them.

    Looking over his shoulder, Nana packed food and quite liberally took knives. "I can''t find my knife," he growled. "They took it from me. My father gave it to me when I was a small boy."

    F''faron rushed up to Flint, holding out his old backpack. Flint cried out in surprise. "F''faron, I love you, man!" Maybe the furball wasn''t so bad after all. Beau¡¯s men hadn¡¯t even emptied it. Flint found his auto-injector pens at the top where Bobby had stuffed them. Flint gladly pocketed them. Flint had to dig to retrieve the jumpstarter, then loaded the larger pack with food pouches and protein bars.

    "F''faron!" he called. The critter ran up to him.

    "Here." He handed his old backpack to the critter, who looked up with gratitude in his eyes. "It''s more your size anyways."

    The gunfire continued outside, but the teeth grew silent. Did the hunters actually manage to slay the predators?

    The lodge door swung open behind Flint, and he turned to see William staring at them in surprise.

    "You!" Flint hissed.

    Ignoring them, William grabbed a hunting crossbow from the wall near the door and sprinted away.

    "Get back here!" Flint growled as he charged after him, his foot wound rubbing strangely in the sole of his new boots.

    "Flint, no!" Jason snapped, grabbing him and holding him back.

    "That little¡ª" Flint gasped, a sudden realization hitting him. They were missing someone. "The girl!"

    "What?"

    Flint turned out of the lodge and sprinted back towards the cage.

    "Flint, wait."

    Flint ran from the hut and raced back towards the cage. His oversized coat and heavy boots weighed him down. He stumbled, his depth perception distorted by the low light and his swollen eye.

    Something hissed above, and momentarily, the night was bright as day. Flint raised a hand to shield his eyes from a flickering bright light, which shot and landed on the lodge, causing the roof to catch fire. Several nearby gunshots followed.

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    Someone must have accidentally hit the lodge with a flare.

    "Let''s go!" Flint scrambled to his feet and rushed to the cage, where he found the young girl. She stood in the open doorway wide-eyed and petrified. She flinched every time a gunshot cracked and shrunk back into the shadow of the enclosure.

    "Hey!" Flint cried over the din of war. "Come with me!"

    The girl shook her head and gripped the pole to the door with knuckle-whitening intensity.

    "I''m going to get you home," Flint urged. "But I need you to come with me. Now!"

    She whimpered.

    Flint took a breath and reevaluated his approach. "Are you scared?" Flint asked.

    She nodded.

    "So am I, which is why I need you to come with my brother and me."

    She shrank further into the cage. She didn''t like the prison; he could see it in her eyes. She wanted freedom more than anything. Only the paralyzing grip of fear held her back.

    "A little help, Jason?" Flint pleaded as he turned to find that he was alone. Damn. When had they gotten separated?

    That''s it.

    "I''m sorry,¡± Flint said. "But if you stay, you die." Stepping into the cage and catching her by the wrist, he pried her iron grip off the bar.

    "No!" she whimpered.

    "Let''s go!" Flint scooped her into his arms. She was a young girl, which only made her slightly smaller than Flint. It didn''t help that she started kicking and thrashing.

    "I''m not leaving you to get eaten," Flint snapped, "so stop struggling."

    He stumbled outside carrying the squirming child. Once out in the open, she threw her arms around Flint''s neck and buried her head into his shoulder as if she were trying to drown out and hide from the noise.

    Flint took a few labored steps that left him panting. Usually light on his feet and fast as an arrow, Flint gasped under his new burden, each step causing the scab on his foot to flare.

    He stumbled along, willing himself forward. As he fled, Flint had to step around a couple of bodies. The dirt undulated and snaked up the sides of the lifeless figures. Flint caught a glance of Duke motionless on the ground, a wide gash opened on his throat. Grateful the girl couldn''t see the carnage, he pressed on.

    Wait, a cut throat? It wasn''t a coarse, jagged cut like when he got clawed by a tooth, but clean, precise: done by a knife. This was a war between men. And the teeth just so happened to attack at the same time?

    Flint ran away from the main gate to the back of the encampment. He spotted several of the prisoners climbing the palisades at the back to escape into the forest away from the gunfire. Where was Jason?

    "Hold. On!" Flint gasped through labored breaths as his legs strained and his arms burned. "Almost. Out!"

    The thunder of gunfire died, and Flint couldn''t help but slow down. His lungs boiled, and he grew light-headed. He hadn''t exactly kept himself well-fed and could feel the lack of energy taking its toll.

    He arrived at the barricade and tried to set the girl down, but she clung to his neck as if letting go meant getting lost forever.

    "You have got to work with me!" Flint pleaded as he tried to direct her up the barricade.

    Behind, the cry of teeth sounded again, cracking the silence like a spotlight in the darkness. They were inside. She clutched Flint''s neck tighter, almost choking him.

    Flint heard someone approaching from behind. Turning, he saw William, illuminated by the glow of firelight, sprinting for the barricade.

    Flint tried to pull himself up, but with the girl hugging his neck, he lacked the strength to do so.

    William threw himself on the barricade next to Flint and started clambering up, glancing back only to sneer. "There''s no room for sympathy here. You really are stupid, aren''t you? Thanks for the head start." He snickered as he made his way over the log barrier.

    Flint groaned as he tried yet again, straining with everything he had to pull himself up. He dropped to the ground, gasping.

    "Hey," he turned to the girl, who trembled through panicked breaths. "Hey!" he begged, "I need you to work with me. Please!"

    She closed her eyes and shook her head frantically, whimpering as the sound of teeth grew louder; they had penetrated deep into the camp and were drawing near.

    "Hey!" Flint said as he grabbed her by the sides of the head, forcing her to look into his eyes. What was she doing on a world like Ash? Ash was no place for a child?

    "Grrrrrr," Flint growled his cheesy growl.

    She blinked at the unexpected snarl.

    "Now let me see your monster face."

    She considered him, nodded in understanding, and took a deep breath. "Raaah!" she screamed emphatically, surprising Flint with her intensity.

    "Wow!" Flint said nervously as precious seconds ticked away. "Can you help me get up there?" Flint asked, pointing up the barricade. "I''m scared and no good at climbing. I''ll bet you''re good at climbing."

    She nodded, freed from her shutdown. "I can climb."

    "Race you to the top!" Flint cried and started climbing, and she followed right behind. Hand over hand, it was much easier to pull himself up.

    A few more gunshots barked behind them, and then they died down, replaced by screams.

    Flint reached the top first, then turned to help pull her up. They slid down on the far side. The cold, dark night contrasted abruptly with the orange and hot glow of fire flickering from the inside of the encampment.

    They weaved between outward-facing spiked logs and headed into the woods outside. Flint ran, and the girl quickly fell behind.

    With a groan of frustration, Flint turned and crouched down. "Get on my back!" He cried. She wrapped her arms around his neck, but his backpack got in the way. It wouldn''t work. Growling in desperation, he scooped her in his arms again but didn''t make it ten steps before he was forced to set her down, panting for breath.

    Someone rushed up to them, armed with a rifle. "Flint!" Nana called. The firearm did little to make Nana look more approachable.

    "Nana!" Flint cried. "Have you seen Jason?"

    "He is safe, and the little hairy one, too. They are headed for the river. We must go meet them there," he waved Flint over.

    "I need help!" Flint cried.

    "What is it?" Nana turned, recognition dawning as he saw the girl in Flint¡¯s arms.

    "I''m sorry, Nana," Flint panted. "I''m just not strong enough."

    "You are a good man, Flint," Nana said cautiously. "But on Ash, your compassion will get you killed."

    "Nana, please help," Flint begged, his voice weak and strained. ¡°I can¡¯t do this by myself!¡±

    Nana¡¯s eyes flicked between Flint and the girl, his eyes hard. His fist tightened at his side. ¡°Abena,¡± he whispered to himself, then sighed in resignation.

    "Here!" he shrugged off his rifle and handed it to Flint. He scooped the girl up in his more powerful arms. ¡°Let us go meet up with your brother."

    The two of them broke into a trot in silence. Flint, relieved to be rid of his burden, was still weighed down by his backpack, hunger, and dehydration. Even the rifle he carried seemed heavier than it should have.

    Flint found something thrilling about the gun. He gripped the handle with the strap over his shoulder and recalled the movies he had seen of muscular men walking away from explosions in slow motion. The burning camp backlit the trio, but he didn''t feel cool. Flint knew the image of a skinny, panting youth dressed in a coat far too large and carrying a pack too heavy must have been anything but cinematic.

    Finally, Nana called for a rest. He set the girl down, panting.

    "Nana," Flint gasped. "Back at the camp, I saw that a man had been killed by a knife. Who would attack such a fortified fort? Not to mention at the exact same time that teeth struck."

    Nana hunched over, panting with his hands on his knees. "We also saw men who had been shot," he confirmed. "The teeth were far too aggressive in their attack. I have never heard of more than three teeth attacking anywhere at a time. This pack had at least five. They kill a few and leave. This is what they have always done. I have never seen them attack an armed compound.

    "So why, then?" Flint wondered. ¡°Why was tonight an exception?"

    "Politics," Nana said.

    "What does that mean?"

    "I do not know, Mr. Vance."

    "What do you think?" Flint asked, unsatisfied with the answer.

    "It is rumored that the teeth heed the call of a man. What he is called, I cannot say in English. It is not a word I have heard back home. But he is said to be some sort of handler for the teeth."

    "Someone controls them?" Flint asked in disbelief.

    "Like caged dogs. Yes." Nana nodded. "But I do not know that. It is just a rumor."

    A tooth handler. Flint recalled for a moment, just before the attack, he thought he saw his father for a moment, perched on the ground with glowing eyes surrounded by teeth. Could it be? But why would Dad be killing people? Massacring them? Unless. Could it be he was trying to rescue them?

    Flint''s abdominal wounds pricked as sweat soaked the scabs. If his father were somehow a tooth handler and here to save him, why had the tooth attacked him before? He recalled how quickly the beast turned on him, glaring with its pit-like black eyes.

    Flint reached under his dirt-stained shirt, touched his scabs, and inhaled sharply.

    "Nana." Flint started. "What if ¡­ what if the teeth were there to help us?" Flint regretted saying it the second it came out.

    "Flint Vance," Nana said sternly, "I''m not sure I understand."

    "It''s nothing," Flint said.

    "But it is," Nana insisted. "What evidence ever pointed at a tooth being friendly?"

    "Not the teeth," Flint said. "Maybe the handler."

    "Let me tell you what they say about the handler," Nana interjected emphatically, even angrily. "They say he is an angel of death who sold himself to the devil for his power. They say that is why he commands the demons of this world. I have even heard some call him the Wolf of Ash. He is a heartless killer just as bad as the teeth . Worse even. The day you see him is the day you die. He has killed many people, some of them my personal friends. I promise you if he attacked the compound with his hounds, he wanted prey, not rescue."

    Flint practically saw steam whiff off of Nana. "I''m sorry. I didn''t mean to offend you."

    "You are new here, Flint. The first law of Ash is to run. Always. If you want to live. Never stick around to negotiate with killers; they do not care about you. The teeth, least of all."

    Flint nodded.

    "We have rested too long," Nana said. "Let us get to the river."

    The pack of teeth howled, a shrieking chorus that sent chills down Flint¡¯s spine.

    "Me wo!" Nana grunted as he gritted his teeth together. The teeth weren''t done for the night. "Why are they still hunting?" He groaned.

    "Because they didn''t find what they were after." Flint realized. The image of his father flashed in his mind again.

    "They are headed to the river," Nana judged.

    "Jason!" Flint cried.

    Another howl sounded behind them, and they spun to meet empty darkness.

    "We have at least one on our trail." Flint panicked.

    "We must run."

    "We need to get to Jason!" Flint insisted.

    "And run straight into the rest of the pack? I do not think so."

    "You told him to wait for us," Flint accused. "He''ll be waiting for them on a platter."

    "Your brother is smarter than you give him credit for, Flint Vance. He is with the little furry one."

    "He¡¯ll run," Flint decided. As much as Flint faulted Jason for it, he had a good survival instinct.

    "We must run; we have no choice. We can try to find him after we escape."

    "We have one other choice," Flint insisted as he hefted the rifle, trying to hide that he didn''t know how to use it. "We fight."

    "You think you will do any better than the rest of our captors combined?" Nana asked, then stepping forward; he pressed a small button on the rifle, ejected, and retrieved the magazine. "We run." He picked up the girl and stepped off, leaving Flint with the empty weapon.

    Flint¡¯s eyes blurred in frustration as he ran after the big man, his thoughts a wish or silent prayer that Jason would be okay.