Forgotten Steel by Aaron Ramsby

Copyright © 2024 by Aaron Ramsby All Rights Reserved.

Cover Design by Jeff Brown Graphics

Editing by The Motif Edits Team

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Written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it on a website, or

distribute it by any other means without permission.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters, and incidents portrayed in it

Are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead,

events or localities is entirely coincidental.

Aaron Ramsby asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

Aaron Ramsby has no responsibility for the persistence or accuracy of URLs for external or

third-party Internet Websites referred to in this publication and does not guarantee that any

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**WARNING**

While not triggering for over 18, younger readers may find some scenes too much. Proceed

with caution.

Dedication:

This book would not have been possible without the great people who supported me through this.
This book deserves a special shout out, so this goes out to the special birthday person who was born in the same month as when this book launches.

Finally, there are two people who should never be forgotten. This work is in respect for James M. Ward and Gary Jaquet. May their ideas take it far into the future.

Special Thanks:

Jeff Brown’s cover work that I am proud to present on my book inspired me to go the extra mile like always. He is a great man and amazing artist who inspired me to make this work of fiction what it is today. Without his great inspiration this book would have been a lesser version of what you find today. My special thanks go to you.

Find Jeff Brown here if anyone is interested:

www.jeffbrowngraphics.com

Contents

1. Chapter 1

1. Charles

2. Chapter 2

2. Archon

3. Chapter 3

3. Shawn

4. Chapter 4

4. Mya

5. Chapter 5

5. Johnathan

6. Chapter 6

6. Moosely

7. Chapter 7

7. Archon

8. Chapter 8

8. Johnathan

9. Chapter 9

9. Shawn

10. Chapter 10

10. Johnathan

11. Chapter 11

11. Bjorn

12. Chapter 12

12. Bjorn

13. Chapter 13

13. Archon

14. Chapter 14

14. Johnathan

15. Chapter 15

15. Bjorn

16. Chapter 16

16. Bjorn

17. Chapter 17

17. Johnathan

18. Chapter 18

18. Johnathan

19. Chapter 19

19. Johnathan

20. Chapter 20

20. Johnathan

21. Chapter 21

21. Johnathan

22. Chapter 22

22. Johnathan

23. Chapter 23

23. Bjorn

24. Chapter 24

24. Archon

25. Chapter 25

25. Johnathan

26. Chapter 26

26. Archon

27. Chapter 27

27. Johnathan

28. Chapter 28

28. Johnathan

29. Chapter 29

29. Johnathan

30. Chapter 30

30. Archon

31. Chapter 31

31. Archon

32. Chapter 32

32. Archon

33. Chapter 33

33. Moosely

34. Chapter 34

34. Archon

35. Chapter 35

35. Johnathan

36. Chapter 36

36. Johnathan

37. Chapter 37

37. Archon

38. Chapter 38

38. Johnathan

39. Chapter 39

39. Johnathan

40. Chapter 40

40. Archon

41. Chapter 41

41. Johnathan

42. Chapter 42

42. Johnathan

43. Chapter 43

43. Mya

44. Chapter 44

44. Archon

45. Chapter 45

45. Archon

46. Chapter 46

46. The Occupant

47. Chapter 47

47. Mya

48. Chapter 48

48. Johnathan

49. Chapter 49

49. Johnathan

50. Chapter 50

50. Johnathan

51. Chapter 51

51. Johnathan

52. Chapter 52

52. Johnathan

53. Chapter 53

53. Johnathan

54. Chapter 54

54. Johnathan

55. Chapter 55

55. Archon

56. Chapter 56

56. Archon

57. Chapter 57

57. Archon

58. Chapter 58

58. Archon

59. Chapter 59

59. Johnathan

60. Chapter 60

60. Mya

61. Chapter 61

61. Johnathan

62. Chapter 62

62. Johnathan

63. Chapter 63

63. Johnathan

64. Chapter 64

64. Johnathan

65. Chapter 65

65. Johnathan

66. Chapter 66

66. The Occupant

Also by

About the author

1

Charles

Thirty Years Prior to Explosion

Charles looked down at the twelve shallow graves that gave silent testament to what had happened here as the deep-seated anger settled in his guts. Reaching out a hand, he tried to be comforting. When his hand fell on the boy’s shoulder, the kid showed no acknowledgement of it. The sound of the gentle creak from the wood handle turned into a groan as the ten-year-old’s hands tightened on the shovel. It was all he could hear in the cold, snowy night. Charles noticed how the campfire burned bright in the night behind them, creating a twisting tableau.

“Come on, kid. Your job is done here. You’ve done all you could to honor them.”

Letting his hand drop, Charles didn’t wait on the boy. He would come over when he was ready. Sitting down on his pack, pulling out the makings of a cigarette, Charles went ahead and rolled one out. Watching with experienced eyes, it was easy to see the kid had been through far worse than this. Standing there, alone in the cold, he couldn’t help but wonder what the boy was thinking about at this moment. By the time he had almost finished smoking the cigarette, Charles was happy to see the child turning back to camp.

Waiting till the kid had settled in before the fire, Charles inspected him. Unsure where to start with his questions, he looked for clues by what the child was wearing. Ragged, ripped clothes hung off taught, wiry muscles hidden under pale flesh. The kid’s eyes looked far away as if he wasn’t seeing anything, but Charle’s experienced eye noticed the boy would quickly glance in his direction with every move he made. Pulling his hat down to cover his eyes, Charles felt that was the best way to give the boy privacy so he could ask what he needed to.

“I know you don’t like talking kid. That much was clear from the way you’ve been mute through all of this. So here’s the deal. We’re going to play a little game. Clap once if you know what yes and no is, clap twice if you don’t understand a word I’m say—”

A small clap cut Charles off, and he smiled. This boy had spunk.

“Okay then, it is nice to meet you, kid. I know, a lot has happened since we first met, but given the situation we were dealing with…” Charles’ eyes drifted away from the fire to the graves. “So here’s where we stand, kid. If you don’t interrupt me this time… I’m going to ask you some questions and I want you to clap. Does that work for you?”

Clap.

“Those people there, that you buried. They were your friends?”

Clap, clap.

“Your family then?”

Clap.

“Those in the bunker. They held you hostage?”

Charles shifted his eyes to the boy when he didn’t move. Hands clenched; the kid looked like he was about to tear up. The first genuine emotion he’d shown since meeting him. His eyes drift back to the fire, he continued.

“Never mind. Let’s get back on track. Are you upset with what I did to those who lived in the bunker?”

Clap, clap.

“Even if me and my friends killed them all?”

Clap.

Feeling chilled by the sound of that single clap, it compelled him to look up at the boy. The kid’s eyes burned into him with a look of hate filled rage that should have only been reserved for adults, to see it on the face of one so young…

Charles continued before he allowed himself to get lost going down that mental rabbit hole.

“Are you afraid of me or my friends here?”

Clap.

Charles nodded. Most feared his robotic spiders that protected him. Calling them friends was a real stretch, as they had no actual personality. Either way, he hoped it would make it easier to understand for the kid, as he was unsure how the kid was taking this; he pressed on. If the kid was in shock, it would help to get more info before allowing the kid some sleep.

“Did you and your family… live in the bunker with those people I killed today?”

Clap.

“Did they keep you prisoner?”

Charles noticed the hesitance before hearing, clap, clap. Swallowing, he prepared himself for the question he feared to ask.

“Does this mean you’re alone?”

Clap.

“Do you have any more family?”

Clap. Clap.

“Okay, from the way I found your family strewn across the snow. Did you and your family fight for your lives today or the day before? That’s the way it looked to me.”

Clap.

“Is that how they died?”

Clap.

“Do you have anyone you could go to?”

Clap, clap.

Sighing, Charles took a moment to collect his thoughts. The bunker clearly was growing more kids like the one before him. To think his entire family to be dead? Did they not show the children how they were made? It would make sense. Most old genetic patterns like his couldn’t be made in this day and time. Clenching his jaw, he pressed on.

“I’m going to ask you a hard question. Is that okay?”

Clap.

“Were you with your family when they died?”

Silence reigned for a long time. Glancing to see that the boy was still awake, Charles was about to press on in a different direction when he heard a response.

Clap.

“I’m sorry, kid. From the looks of the bunker, I cleaned out earlier today… your friends in there were using you and your family. Why they would send children like you out into the open like they did with you being so young… defies imagination. They had full bodied adults who would have been far more capable of fighting compared to you kids. Even though the body count says good things about you and your family.”

Charles’ eyes drifted to the charnel pit that was slowly freezing. The bodies when he had gotten there were strewn everywhere. The battle must have been fierce, and they were just children. A shiver ran through him he knew wasn’t from the cold. Turning back to the fire, Charles tipped his hat back with one hand and purposefully stared the kid right in the eyes. It was a chilling feeling to find him stared right back with not an ounce of fear showing.

“I am heading out tomorrow with my friends. There’s plenty of food and resources, like clothing you could grab from the bunker before my people arrive to strip the place down. I would recommend leaving here as soon as you’re able. Can you do that for me?”

It didn’t surprise Charles when the kid didn’t clap. Hating himself for it, but knowing he had to ask, Charles let the next comment out slowly.

“Do you want to leave with me?”

Silence hung pregnant in the air, but eventually there was an answer.

Clap.

“Okay. Kid, do you even know what I do?”

Clap, clap.

“I work for some people, kid. They aren’t always good, but it’s for a good cause, or at least they believe so. Stupid idea is beyond me and seems impossible. Are you sure you wish to travel with me? It can be hard and difficult. Blood will be spilled.”

There was no hesitation.

Clap.

“Okay kid. I get you. Alright, call me a big softy, but after what you’ve seen, I’m sure nothing I experience is even going to compare. You can come with me when we leave, but before that, there are a few things we need to do.”

Looking at the child, Charles saw his face looked neutral, but his eyes held deep intelligence with a questioning look. Feeling unsure about all of this, Charles continued his thoughts before he allowed himself to back out.

“First. As early as tomorrow morning, we go into that there bunker you used to live in and find you some suitable clothing.”

The look of fear and loathing on the kid’s face felt like a slap. Pressing on, Charles tried to make the next statement sound as cheerful as he could make it.

“Second thing we need to do is introduce ourselves. My name is Charles. Do you have a name?”

Clap, clap.

Charles bit his lip, unsure how to take that. Scrambling, he tried to come up with something to say when words spilled out between his lips.

“Would you be okay if we gave you a name, then?”

A smile came unbidden to Charle’s lips as the kid cocked his head and looked quizzically at him.

A quick clap followed shortly after.

“Okay then, Mr. no name. Do you mind if I give you a name?”

There was no hesitation this time.

Clap.

“Fine, then.”

Charles held out his hand to the kid.

“Nice to meet you, Archon. Your name means you’re the leader of men and if my employers get what they think they’re after, humanity will truly need a good leader. Let’s hope we all survive long enough to see that happen.”

2

Archon

Twelve Hours Prior to Explosion

To Archon, there was nothing quite like the feeling of cold tiles on one’s back right after a hot shower. Besides the obvious benefits of decontamination, some creature comforts you simply couldn’t find out in the wilds of the world.

They would most likely continue Mya’s training in biological-warfare protocols after Mya finished her shower. It was one of those interesting things that came with experience. He took the protocols as standard to his life, but to one such as her, they were a wonder and curiosity. And yet, her own peculiar interests and views of the world were changing him. He could feel it. The way he looked at the world at large was changing.

When she walked down the hall from the women’s showers toward him, dressed in brand-new light-blue pants and shirt, Archon left those dangerous thoughts alone. He recalled they used to call these garments ‘scrubs’ or ‘surgical wear’, but now it was the only thing worn in Control’s bunkers.

“How was your shower? I’m sure it was an interesting experience given your history. Did you use all the liquids provided to scrub yourself entirely?”

As Mya closed the distance, he noticed a slight change in her appearance. Her skin had a healthy pink color to it instead of the standard tan for one who lived above ground, but it was her eyes that drew his attention. He saw swelling and inflammation there. The right one in particular blatantly protruded. Internally, he questioned whether he should ask if she’d been crying, but was unsure how to broach the subject. He felt so stupid for not understanding how to interact with this slight woman.

Then Mya’s glowing voice, full of wonder, drew his entire attention. “Showers are amazing. I’ve never used one before. They’re so much better than the buckets we used to wash ourselves back home. Do you get to use such showers often? How do you refill their containers with water?”

Frowning, Archon tried to puzzle out what she was talking about. He concluded she was mistakenly thinking there was a large reservoir of water the showers drew from that would have to be refilled by hand. It was painful to see how much knowledge the world had lost in even the simplest of things.

“Mya, the shower refills itself.” He smiled despite himself at her look of sheer amazement. Shaking his head to clear it of the distraction, he pressed on. “Your eyes look puffy. Did you get the liquids in that room anywhere near them? I tried to warn you about that. While not dangerous, it does hurt if you get soap in your eyes.”

She casually waved in his direction like he smelled. He raised an eyebrow, then sniffed himself. He looked back at Mya to find her smiling.

“Yes, I got that soap in my eyes. My bad. I’ve never tried liquid soap before. Do you not have bars? My family makes bars of soap for everyone. The soap we make doesn’t smell as good or as bad as some of those liquids in there, but it works just fine. Stings if it gets in your eyes, though, so I guess they share that in common.”

He nodded along as she rambled on about family life. When she didn’t stop after several minutes, he guided her down the hallway toward their next destination, her mouth running all the while. Random thoughts of Mya’s safety intruded on what he was trying to focus on, but he deflected or dismissed them all—except for one that held on like a black-water tick. While he wasn’t sure how Mya would take it, he hoped she would learn to accept she would most likely never see her parents again.

They entered a small room with booths set along each wall. Hung suspended on hooks were orange plastic body suits, waiting for occupants during an emergency. Every time Archon arrived at the bunker, he checked each biological containment suit multiple times, just to be safe. This time was no different.

Smirking, he noticed Mya had stopped rambling when she noticed the orange suits lining the room. Her eyes were large as saucers, and the wonder she expressed was contagious. Looking about, he saw nothing more than mere emergency protection and had to wonder what she saw in these devices. Were they marvels, considering where she had come from?

Out of all the questions she could have asked, she went with the one he was least prepared for.

“How many flowers did you have to crush to make them that orange? Must’ve taken ages.”

A chuckle escaped his lips before he could tamp it down. Mya’s hurt look spurred on a swift response.

“I’m sorry for laughing. Don’t worry, no flowers were harmed in the making of these outfits. They were crafted from plastics, which I do not think you could synthesize in your village.”

It was clear Mya didn’t understand. She was being polite and nodding along, but her eyes kept drifting back to the suits. For such mundane things to capture her attention was a reminder of just how much the world above had lost.

Tamping down the pain that knowledge caused, Archon continued. “These suits are important. Would you please pay attention? They might save your life one day.”

When Mya focused on him and Archon knew he had her full and undivided attention, he continued his warning. “If these lights here…”—he pointed up, directing her eyes to one of the many red lights mounted along the walls near the ceiling. “…start flashing, you need to run here and put on one of these suits. Do you understand? Red means you run here as fast as you can and get in a suit. I’ll show you how to seal it, but your priority is as follows: put on the suit and then seal it right away.”

Mya nodded for a moment before she asked the question Archon knew was coming. “What about you? Don’t you need a suit?”

“I do not. I’m made differently than you. My body shape doesn’t match the suits available here, Mya. In the old world, people like me did not matter. We were… expendable.”

A soft feeling on his arm drew his eyes down to see Mya resting a comforting hand on his arm. Flustered, confused by the feelings that presented within him, he yanked his arm away as he stepped back.

He continued before getting further distracted. Archon cleared his throat and said, “You see, the world above has a plague. It started before the world fell apart, but it still lives on to this day, spreading in perpetual waves across different parts of the world. These suits will keep you protected from it if it were ever to enter this bunker. There are machines in almost every room or hallway here that can detect the plague.”

When Mya nodded, he continued. It was clear he had her complete attention this time.

“There are key signs of people possessed by the plague, if you can trust the old files. People who are sickened by it lose the ability to feel anything. Because of that loss of feeling, those plague-ridden people might treat wounds, such as a big gash or cuts across the body, as completely normal. In fact, because of the deadening of their pain receptors, they often get more emotional and lash out unexpectedly.”

He watched Mya’s face tense up.

In some ways, it’s good she’s imagining this because it might just save her life in the future.

“It’s easy enough to discover if someone has the plague by running tests, both biological and chemical. If there isn’t enough time for that, it is best to ask questions of such people. Questions that should be easy enough for the person to answer, confirmable if you know them well enough. Ask them what color the sky is, or who is in their family, or where they are. If you run into a person who has the plague, ask them about someone close to them and where they were last seen. Plague sufferers often deny they’ve caused harm to those they’re close to.”

Dead silence descended upon the room. Archon gave Mya time to process what he had just said.

As expected, she had questions. “If I am in one of these suits…” He watched as she pointed to the one hanging above her. “… how long can I last in one? Can I live my entire life in there? I mean, how do I do the basics like eat or drink or go to the bathroom? I mean… will I be stuck in there forever?”

Smiling, he shook his head. “No dear. When you’re wearing the suit, you’re safe, but you cannot stay in there forever. Once the danger has passed, you would go to a shower like you just did and wash down the entire suit. When that’s done, you can then get out of it, though you must remember to wash yourself down just in case you missed something. That protocol should handle most situations. But if something were to puncture or breach the suit or its helmet, exposure could occur within minutes. If anything damages your suit, you only have minutes, so make those minutes count. Find a shower or someplace safe as quickly as possible.”

3

Shawn

Ten Minutes Prior to Explosion

Shawn’s drooping head finally fell off his knuckles, and this minor act of defiance by his body woke him. He shook his head, and the untimely bout of slumber sloughed off him. The blurry computer screen he’d been watching for the last eighteen hours straight resolved into something partially legible to his tired eyes.

He was used to eight-to-ten-hour shifts, and Control would inform him beforehand if a schedule change was imminent. Finding a personal message from Control upon waking was a great honor, and it had landed him here nearly a day ago. Glancing at the clock, he sighed, wondering how much longer he would have to sit there.

With practiced ease, he reached over to grab his navy-blue coffee cup from the desk without taking his eyes off the monitor. Sloshing it around a moment, he tossed the coffee back, choking back his mouth’s wish to expel the foul, cold concoction. As it slithered down the back of his throat, he tried to keep from twitching. Hot coffee was tolerable, warm was iffy. But cold? He would have rather put his head into the nuclear reactor. But the supplies they had were extremely limited, and it was the only drink that somewhat kept him awake, so he tried his best to drink it whenever he was allowed.

A small red box flashed on the computer screen. Reaching over for the clipboard that hung on the side of the desk when not in use, he flipped through the dog-eared pages until he found what he was looking for. Typing the command into the keyboard, the red box stopped flashing and turned white.

Nodding to himself, Shawn smiled. He liked to think the trains kept running on time thanks to him, but deep down he knew they ran automatically. This was just to watch and make sure those automatic systems never failed. Not that it had ever happened from what he knew, so he continued enjoying the comfortable delusion of being in control of everything at his fingertips. Leaning back, he intertwined his fingers behind his head and sighed. If things continued like this for the next few years, he was sure he would be promoted to supervisor somewhere.

As those comfortable thoughts of commanding others warmed his heart, a new window popped up on the monitor. This new event drew his attention back to the present, and it shocked him to see a black window covering half the screen. Zeros and ones in random combinations scrolled down, line after line, quickly filling up the window and pushing ever downward.

He sat up taller and straightened his shoulders, trying to make the action appear natural. While they frowned on rumors within the settlement, they still got around. Normally, such rumors were mundane and revolved around who was dating whom. The wilder rumors involved anything from human experimentation to wild animals breaking out and living within the abandoned areas of the bunker. The latest, darkest rumor was that Control had been abducting those whose production stats were low. Despite knowing they were rumors, he glanced at the camera in the corner of the room as numbers continued to scroll across the screen.

He could see his pale reflection staring back at him through the camera’s lens. While he wanted to pretend the camera was there to monitor ‘the room,’ that was clearly a lie and he knew it. Who would monitor a mere concrete room only big enough for his workstation and lighting? No, there was a person behind that camera, sitting there watching him, along with who knew how many others were hidden under the desks strewn all over. The thought sent a shiver down his spine.

Turning back to the computer screen, he noticed the black window full of numbers had disappeared. He reached over to grab his coffee cup, suppressing a shudder at the thought of drinking more of the foul liquid. He waggled the cup at the camera with the best fake smile he could conjure.

In a loud voice, he asked, “Control? I’m going to get something more to drink. It’s been a long shift and I want to make sure I remain at peak efficiency… if that’s okay?”

He waited for over a minute with that fake smile plastered on his face. Soon his cheeks began to hurt, so he gave up on the smile and just held the coffee cup up to the camera. When his arm got tired, he let it drop into his lap. With a shrug, he pushed himself up from the chair and walked to the only door in or out of the small room. Why anyone would install a reinforced hatch with six locking bars to protect a train routing station, he didn’t know.

Shawn knew that to open the door was to break protocol, but so was falling asleep on the job. And if he was being totally honest with himself, he needed to go to the bathroom. It would only take a moment at most. Reaching out with his free hand, icy shivers ran up his arm as his hand closed on the metal wheel. It both opened or locked the door and was similar to an old world submarine in his view if the information he had learned in school was correct.

He hesitated. Despite knowing it was against the rules, he figured no harm would come of it, so he tried twisting the wheel. When it didn’t move, he grunted and tried again, to no avail. Putting his cup down by his feet, he once again tried with both hands and really put his back into it this time.

Blood-red light filled the room. It rose and fell in a slow throb, like a beating heart. Shawn was beside himself with fear. Drawing on the only thing his experience told him to do, he ran back to the desk. Falling into the chair, he looked at the computer screen with wide eyes on the off chance it might inform him of what was happening. To his horror, the screen was just as he had left it.

Before he could hit a key, a loud, piercing shriek ripped through the room, and fell off in time with the lights. Between the sound and light display, he found himself paralyzed with fear, like a rabbit looking at a wolf. Sweat broke out across his face, and he wiped it away without thinking. Turning back to the keyboard, he brought up a command prompt and typed out a few commands.

As he was about to hit the Enter key to activate the commands, the entire monitor went black. A twisted red reflection of himself pulsed in and out on the screen, looking back at him.

Looking up into the camera, he said, “Control! What’s happening? I don’t understand. Please respond!”

Large red letters that said, ‘Contamination Containment Protocols’ filled the screen, covering everything else, followed by, ‘System Purge Recommended!’

Typing like mad, Shawn called over his shoulder to the ever-watchful eye. “Control? It appears I have no ability to access my station. What’s happening? Was there a breach from outside? Is that why I can’t open the door? Someone please tell me!”

The computer and concrete floor vibrated strongly. The sensation startled him, and he looked at the computer screen, then back at the camera. His eyes moved back and forth between them for a minute, desperate for instruction. The vibration in the computer console steadily rose in pitch.

In a pleading voice, he asked, “Control? What’s happening here? I’ve touched nothing. This is happening on its own!”

Looking directly at the lens in the camera, he could see a reflected and warped view of himself. The color drained out of his face, and his hands shook in fear. The computer console beeped loudly, startling him once more. Eyes glued to the monitor, he watched as new text flowed across the screen.

Control Station Targeting M1 >

Nonresponsive >

Time Since Last Response … Year-104 Month-11 Date-13 Hour-17 Minute-34 Seconds-54

Control Station Targeting M2 >

Connection Acquired >

Awaiting Answer…

Looking at the camera, Shawn asked in a shaky voice, “Control? Um… I don’t know what’s going on here. What does this information mean? Control? Can anyone even hear me?”

Turning back to the monitor, he watched as more information scrolled down in an incomprehensible flow.

Control Station Targeting M2 >

Connection Acquired >

Awaiting Answer… No Answer

Transfer To Backup Systems

Control Station Requesting Aid From CP1

CP1 > Answer YES

Control Station Requesting Aid From CP2

CP2 > Answer YES

Control Station Requesting Aid From CP3

CP3 > Answer NO

Project Archon COMPROMISED/CONTAMINATED

Shawn was confused when the words on his screen disappeared as the screen went blank for a moment. His heart slowed, but he felt cheated when new windows popped up. Every new window showed the inside of a bunker, but one he didn’t recognize. It looked to be mostly dead inside, short of a woman he’d never seen before, standing next to a giant of a man. Captivated, he watched as events played out before him.

Things were boring Shawn as he watched the two people walk around, doing mundane things. The tired feeling that settled once more upon him was gone in an instant when new things started happening on his screen. He glanced up at the camera, which remained nonresponsive as ever. Staring back at the screen, he was shocked to find a livestream of the world above. There was an old man and two mutated walking through green grass.

New words scrolled across the screen as they had earlier:

Problem Detected> 090912310

Rerouting Systems> Override Accepted> Door Opening

Shawn sat captivated as the video played out before him. Watching the old man and two mutants casually enter the bunker—certainly the last place they belonged—was horrifying and amazing to witness. No, the breach was downright terrifying. A cold sweat broke out across his skin, but it didn’t stop him from watching. In one window, Shawn saw what looked like a large metal spider sitting in a hallway. Its gun fired in an almost continuous stream for a long minute before the screen went blank.

He was held captivated as the wolf mutant entered a room where the woman and giant waited. Shawn leaned toward the screen, unsure what was going to happen. The woman disappeared through a doorway and the giant fought the mutant in hand-to-hand combat. It was bloody. Each time blood or another fluid splashed on the ground, Shawn flinched, thinking of what such contaminants could do to him if they contacted his skin.

Then the screen went black, and unfamiliar words scrolled across the flat surface.

Self-Destruct Initiated:

T-minus: 5…

T-minus: 4…

T-minus: 3…

T-minus: 2…

T-minus: 1…

Termination> Project Archon: Deceased… Security Threat Terminated.

Resume Predictive Programming…

Shawn blinked his eyes rapidly. The screen flickered, and the vibration running through the room ended. The lights in the small room went dark. In the sudden change, a wailing, strangled cry burst from Shawn’s lips. Long moments passed as he struggled to control his fears.

When the comforting white lights turned back on, he searched for something to grab onto in order to anchor his sense of reality. The cold metal desk with its semi-sticky plastic felt like it always had. Blinking gingerly, he tried to breathe a little easier.

A computerized voice issued forth from the walls of the room, as if coming down from on high.

“0013042, or ‘Shawn,’ we have revoked your security clearance. You are to return to your domicile immediately and await further instructions. We have recorded these transactions in your personal file.”

Gripping the edge of the console, he stared up into the camera as a click sounded out, signaling the door had unlocked.

“What did I do? Please? Tell me what I did wrong? I did nothing. I was just doing my job…”

4

Mya

Five Minutes Prior to Explosion

Hearing the door slam shut behind her caused Mya to jump. Before her lay a long corridor bathed in pure white light. She hesitated. Archon, the man she had gotten to know, was not here to guide her. He was buying her time.

Her entire world had been upended in an instant. It all felt so trivial now compared to what she’d learned. Flint was diseased, and her village…

She tried to wipe the tears from her face through her suit, but all she accomplished was smearing the front of her faceplate. This brought her attention to the four scratches raked down the clear plastic visor.

Flint had done that before the fight.

Bouncing from one wall to the next, she pushed herself toward the exit where she would supposedly be safe. Stumbling, trying to move forward as Archon would have wanted her to do. The sound of static erupted in her suit, causing her to flinch and look for the source. The sound only lasted seconds, but it had her heart beating painfully hard. Her breath came in quick gasps.

“Can you hear me, Mya?” an unknown male voice spoke to her. Looking around for the speaker, she found herself alone in the corridor.

“Please, we don’t have a lot of time. The wolf has just killed Archon, and it is trying to destroy this bunker. We need to get you out of here. We need you to survive so we can save your people. Are you up to following my instructions?”

Tears poured down Mya’s face. It was all too much for her. Looking down the hallway again, she saw she was alone. Despite not trusting the voice, she nodded her head. She didn’t want to die, especially by Flint’s hand. That would be…

She shook her head. Taking in a sharp breath, she asked as loudly as she could, “Where are you? I hear your voice, but can’t see you.”

Mya could swear the man sounded like he was right next to her when he replied, “It’s okay. Look along the ceiling. You should be able to find a boxy object with a mechanical eye on it. I can see you through that, and I’m speaking to you through a machine in your suit. But we don’t have time for further explanation. You need to run. Are you up for that? If you are, run down this hallway. Follow the arrows. When you get to the end, enter the door and find a seat as soon as possible. We’ll talk more soon, when you’re safe. Now run, Mya. Run for your life!”

She held up her hands to steady herself as she half-ran, half-clomped down the hallway in her bulky suit. She hoped she was moving toward safety.

5

Johnathan

Twenty-Six Hours After Explosion

BANG.

The sound of the metal plate reverberated in the small area. Johnathan forlornly looked at the metal box sitting in front of him wedged between broken slabs of concrete. Given all he had just survived, he couldn’t help but think of how he found himself here under tons of rubble.

It had all started with a woman who had disappeared from her village. There was nothing new about a situation like that. How many times since the world fell had something like that happened?

BANG.

The metal dented with every kick.

When someone needed help, just like he had always done, he’d jumped into the thick of things. There was every reason to say yes—and at the very least, it would be another pointless exercise to keep himself distracted from the countless long years ahead. The boy had been so passionate about getting her back. No one could have told them what they were up against.

BANG.

The air was getting noticeably thin.

First, it was the ambush from the robots on the road. Then the city of ivy that tried to kill them before rockets landed in their laps. A good man, an honest man, had been lost that day. A man of far more worth than the old man who had survived that hopeless situation. Even if a part of him did not wish to believe it, he knew it was true.

BANG.

Only a few more kicks before the big question would be answered.

One hopeless situation after another. It had been a long life full of mistakes that had cost so many people their lives. Yet, here he was, trying to save his worthless hide one more time. Confusion was taking hold; he could feel it creeping in past the headache. Who had opened that giant door for them? Who had wanted them in this damn bunker before the whole place blew?

BANG!

The metal plate that connected to the machine vibrated visibly. Johnathan watched the dust dance on top of it. Oxygen poured from the CO2 scrubber. With each wheezing breath, the pain in his head and chest eased. Once again, he had survived the impossible.

Falling to his knees amidst the rubble, Johnathan let the fresh air wash over him. Once he was breathing easily, he let the tears fall. He yelled at the top of his lungs with all the anger his long life had allowed him to collect. The rage-filled scream echoed off the hard surfaces and reflected back onto him. It felt as if the entire world was yelling back. Some small part of him found that fitting.

6

Moosely

A gentle wind slithered through leaves of ivy to work its way up into the rafters until it ruffled the feathers of birds nesting there. Shafts of dusty light broke through the porous rooftop and the partial canopy of greenery that was growing across the open warehouse. If not for the plant life that struggled to hold the structure together, it would have fallen in ages ago. Old stains from machines someone had harvested long ago littered the pockmarked and scarred concrete floor. Nothing remained of the old facility that had once bustled with activity, short of the large open floor plan and the shoddy metal walls that had failed to keep nature at bay.

Sitting on a raised platform that stood a meter above the main floor was a throne made from refuse and debris overlooking the perimeter. The seat appeared tiny next to the tree that had grown through the concrete floor and reached the rafters above. Small shafts of light broke through the canopy and shed sparse illumination across the collection of concrete and rusted metal below. Ivy entwined itself across the pitted concrete construction, making the column of debris appear even more out of place in this ruined space to create a throne of rubble.

The sheet metal roofing shifted, causing a booming echo to play across the space. The sudden noise awoke the only occupant in the large covered area. Despite being small in stature, the creature sitting on the throne held a commanding presence capable of filling that entire grand space. Sitting still as time immemorial, head hung low, the occupant of the throne had barely moved, allowing ivy to grow across its body. Large, flattened moose antlers hung off each side of his head like a crown. Short, dark-brown, velvety fur covered it. Ivy wrapped around the antlers as closely as any lover would, further obscuring the creature’s timeworn body.

Long, thick moose ears hung low, flicking each time the ivy tickled its soft hairs annoyingly. The creature’s grand muzzle hung low across its chest, as if it could barely hold up the heavy thoughts in its head. Despite being only a meter tall, the creature’s back rose in a hump in line with the top of its head. Below the growing ivy tendrils, a dusty bright-orange jumpsuit covered the creature’s compact form.

Without raising its head, the creature bellowed out in a rumbling, masculine voice that echoed throughout the space.

“Bjorn! Bjorn? Where are you? I need your help. Where are you, you surly brat?”

As the echoes faded to silence, the moose didn’t move a muscle, even when a soft wind tickled his ears. The ivy leaves growing there brushed across them for the thousandth time that day alone. From the north side of the building came another echo—the sound of things crashing to the ground. The creature shifted his head in annoyance.

A small twitch of his lips parted his mouth with a side smile that quickly disappeared when he heard a rumbling voice respond, “I’m coming, mentor. I’m sorry, you caught me reading again.”

He had to wait a long time before the sound of his companion’s heavy footfalls came within earshot. The moose shook his head, swaying the antlers back and forth in a frustrated display. Ivy that clung to his small body fluttered with the movement, its leaves flapping against the gentle breeze moving through the space. The moose took in a deep breath and let it escape with a deep sigh.

Refusing to look in his companion’s general direction, he instead used his booming voice to show his reproach for the lack of respect he was being shown.

“Those books will rot your mind if you are not careful. How many times have I told you to not read so much? You should be out seeing the majesty of the world while you can, unlike myself.”

As soon as the words left his lips, a deep, sad ache filled his chest. Reflecting upon what he had just said, he realized he’d come across as hurtful when, in truth, his companion had done nothing to deserve such a retort. Chastising himself for being such a grump, he said in a softer voice, “I am sorry to drag you from your readings, but I need your help.”

Notes of sadness and frustration were clear in his voice, and the moose took a moment to reflect on it. The emotional war within him was deeply frustrating. He took in a deep breath and let it out, causing his large nostrils to flair. The moose’s rare moment of emotional honesty with himself was rewarded when his companion appeared from the northern doorway.

“It’s okay, father. You are not keeping me from anything. I should be out there helping you. I am sorry if I’ve gotten lost in the ancient stories. These histories are so fascinating.”

Bjorn’s loud voice emanated from the room he came running out of, a collection of stumbling arms and legs. Coming to a halt before the moose’s platform. He steadied himself and stood. At his full height, Bjorn was tall, standing at two meters.

Atop his head was a red hat with white trimming. It was shaped like a long, floppy cone with a white ball on the end. The floppy hat covered a head that appeared feline, but heavier and more squared off than the angular muzzle most cats had. Small rounded ears flicked this way and that, trying to get a feel for the air currents in the room. His broad neck sloped down to heavyset shoulders covered in a black tee-shirt, which hid the white pelt with black striping that ran horizontally across his body.

Thick biceps led to equally large hands with claws that jutted out almost like an extra digit. His thin waist and broad chest gave him a top-heavy look, except for his hips—they flared out, covered in worn, old-world blue-jean shorts. A thick, long, white fur-covered tail with black banded stripes danced in the air. Huge thighs thinned out toward enormous feet with black claws.

Bjorn had a smug look on his face and clearly felt full of himself, which was reflected in the way he stood tall and proud. Taking a moment to inspect himself, his pride turned to horror when he saw his toe claws had snagged a dirty shirt. Staring at the offending object that had so diminished his otherwise impressive entrance, he tried to shake it off his leg with extra effort. In truth, the shirt was one of his favorites. It held an old-world image of a lizard eating twisted, black lines with two telephone poles used like chopsticks on a white background.

Tired of these antics, the moose’s deep voice boomed out from his abdomen in disapproval.

Bjorn finally managed to flick away the shirt, then looked up at his mentor as though nothing had happened and said, “You called? What can I do for you, mentor?”

The moose shook his head and clenched his jaw painfully. Heavily lidded eyes opened to expose the black orbs hidden within. Looking at his only friend and companion, he let out a loud sigh.

“Bjorn, I asked you not to call me your ‘mentor’. We’re family. How many times are we going to have this conversation?”

Bjorn looked up with a bright smile upon hearing the moose use his familiar no-nonsense tone. Avoiding eye contact, he darted his eyes down quickly again at the shirt he had vanquished. As his mentor’s words filtered through his mind, his smile fell. Shrugging his shoulders, he pointed back toward the far-off room he’d been in and absently replied, “I’m sorry. It’s just… I was reading historical documents.”

When his mentor said nothing, Bjorn added, “They’re very clear teachers should be called ‘mentors’, or an Alfred. Whatever that means. I mean, the Batman has an Alfred, but why he calls him that when the rest use ‘mentor’, I’ll never know. Unless Alfred was from an older age, then maybe? Are the historical documents possibly depicting two different time frames, two cultures from differing eras?”

While Bjorn took time to ponder this new idea, the moose slowly raised his left hand to his head as if it were hurting.

Will that boy ever understand those books I gave him are just stories? I know he means well, but how many times do I need to tell him? Those stories are from the old world, a world long gone. Why that boy thinks they’re so impressive, I will never understand.

Shaking his head back and forth in frustration, the moose slowly turned to look at his companion as he walked toward him. Bjorn’s claws echoed off the concrete flooring as he moved closer. Opening his eyes wider, the moose watched Bjorn scrabble his way up onto the platform they had perched the throne upon. For all his great size and strength, the moose had to remind himself his companion was still just a boy. One clearly proud of himself to an indulgent extent, but still a boy.

The moose’s next comment was full of spite and frustration. Calculating words, even if he felt bad uttering them.

“How long are you going to wear that ratty thing?”

Bjorn knew what he was referring to. That was easy to see, as it was plastered all over his face. His hand quickly made the red, fur-trimmed hat disappear behind his back, and he put on an innocent look.

Looking down with wide eyes, he said, “Before you say anything…” He put his free hand forward and pointed as though trying to buy some time to find the right words. “It’s my favorite hat. And one of the first things you gave to me. Plus, it makes me feel stronger when I wear it. When I have it on, it’s sort of like you’re always with me.”

He had said this countless times, but the moose remained unconvinced.

What am I to do with him? I gave him that offensive thing when he was but a child. Of course, I was going to give a child a hat during a snowstorm. But why on earth does he insist on keeping that damn thing around? Sometimes I wish he would just think about these things.

Tilting his head down, the moose tried to hide another small smile that came to his lips. A spark of pride warmed his heart at how his friend had grown. Looking back at his grown companion, it was hard to see the boy who had stood at the moose’s waist.

Trying again in a gentler voice, he said, “Regardless, wearing it’s going to make you stand out in this world. It’s a dangerous thing to wear.”

Bjorn’s shoulders slumped. He had always been expressive, and as his size grew, his actions became even more dramatic.

With a heavy sigh, he said, “Okay… fine.”

Bringing the hat around in front of him, the moose watched as Bjorn mauled it with his claws. A great pang of regret hit the moose square in the chest upon seeing Bjorn’s savage reaction. The hat had been damaged many times before, but he was unsure it would survive such a direct assault. Without wasting a moment, he moved the conversation along, even if doing so risked the hat surviving another day.

“I’m sorry for pulling you away from what you were doing, Bjorn. I just need your help. Those monsters are at it again. I need you to be my eyes out there. As you know, I haven’t been able to leave our home for quite some time, so you are my only connection to the outside world.”

Bjorn’s hands stopped, and the tattered red hat with white trim hung limp in his hands. The mere mention of adventure had the boy smiling widely and trying to stand a little straighter. Any excuse to get out into the wider world was a fun one to him. Such ignorance made the moose sad—his companion would one day learn how dangerous the outside world truly was.

“Now Bjorn, until we understand how they’re doing it, you need to be extremely careful. Those humans are playing with things well beyond their control. It feels like they have killed off an even larger area than before. Now, before you say it, yes, I know you will do your best to be safe. As always, watch out for their flying eyes. If they track you back here…”

The moose’s words trailed off—the serious look on Bjorn’s face told him everything he needed to know.

I should know better than to bring up something like that with him. I’m such a fool. Bjorn knows humanity’s cruelness as well as I do. I still hear him having nightmares about what happened so long ago.

Watching Bjorn turn away to collect some basic supplies, the moose couldn’t help but feel proud of the young man. They had been living together for some time now. His growth from a boy into an adult was clear, not just from Bjorn’s physical size, but in his actions. He felt a swell of pride seeing the grand differences between the youngster of his memories and the young adult who stood before him today. With Bjorn’s tail sweeping back and forth, it was clear he was eager for a new adventure. He had never been one who could hide his emotions—that extra appendage had a mind of its own.

Trying to use a softer tone, the moose spoke up. “Before you go, there are two things I wish to discuss.”

Bjorn stopped short of jumping down from the platform onto the main floor of the building. Looking back expectantly, he raised his eyebrow.

“When you’re done with your personal preparations, I’ll provide you a pack full of the things you will need to fulfill your mission. It will be just like before. If things are dead—and I mean truly dead—you will need to burn the ground to restart the cycle of life for Mother Earth. I can only hope it will fix the damage the humans are doing to the land.”

Shrugging his shoulders, Bjorn scratched his ear. The boy seemed to have been waiting for that speech. The moose had to admit they had been doing these minor tasks for several years now, so this shouldn’t come as much of a surprise to the kid. As an afterthought, he added, “Yes, this means you can use the lighter. Just make sure you’re out of the area before you start the fire. Nature will do the rest.”

Bjorn smiled like a little kid being offered candy and nodded vigorously. The moose pushed on with the conversation as Bjorn did a fist pump.

“Secondly, you called me a mentor. What is my name?”

The moose watched Bjorn drop his head, avoiding his eyes.

“Bjorn?”

Bjorn turned toward the throne but still refused to look the moose in the eyes.

“Well?”

Bjorn sighed. “Fine! Moosely, your name is Moosely, okay? I really wish I had never given you that name. Can’t we come up with a better name for you? I was a kid when I gave you that name. What did you expect of me? I was all of what? Five years old?”

Moosely smiled. “What’s so wrong with the name you gave me?”

Bjorn rolled his eyes. “You deserve such a better name. Like Batman, or Raphael, or…” Bjorn trailed off.

“Yes, you have mentioned this ‘Raphael’ before. He was a frog, right?”

Bjorn chuffed. “He was a turtle. A frog? Jeez, that’s someone else entirely.”

Moosely shook his head. He didn’t have a head for names, while Bjorn seemed to have an endless supply of names he liked to bring up now and again.

“And who is this ‘Batman’? Is he someone I would like?”

Moosely watched Bjorn’s face light up with glee. He could immediately tell this man must have been a great historical figure to garner this sort of reaction.

“Well, he’s from a fresh box of historical books I found. He’s a man who dresses up like a bat and—”

Moosely leaned forward in anger and cut him off. “A man? You want to name me after one of those monsters?”

Bjorn’s pained look almost killed Moosely’s comment, but the anger and tribulations he had survived gave him the strength to stand firm.

In a hurt voice, Bjorn replied, “Look, he’s not bad, like the men of today. He even worships animals, dresses up as a bat…”

Moosely could not bear to hear anymore. Raising his left arm, he just pointed at Bjorn’s room with a scowl on his face. His eyes never left the lad until he had disappeared into his room. Then he sat back and closed his eyes, tired and hurting. Today would not be one of his better days, he could tell. Hot, salty tears rolled down through the fur on his cheeks.

7

Archon

“Where are you, kid? Talk to me. You’re not dead, right?”

Refusing to reply, Archon groaned as the debris he had been working on for the last several hours finally shifted. Placing both hands around a piece of rebar to steady himself, he rolled away from the pile of rubble. A scream burst forth from his chest, echoing down the long tunnel he and the old man had worked together to create in the past few hours. Lying on his back, panting heavily, he let go of the rebar. Raising his head up off the ground to look at his stomach, he saw another piece of rebar there, jutting out of his left side, leaving the skin bloody and raw.

“Kid, I heard you scream. That means you can talk. Talk to me. Come on, you can do it. You still alive over there?”

Archon drew in a deep breath and held it. The piece of rebar sticking out of his side tore apart any attempt to find a peaceful place in his mind, away from the old man’s comments. He knew if he didn’t eventually answer, it would only get worse.

It felt ironic. For many years, he’d wished he had someone he could talk to, but now that his wish had been granted, it was nothing but a curse.

With a growl, he finally answered him. “Johnathan, I’m over here. I finally got the rebar free from the debris. It’s causing a problem. By the looks of things, I can’t travel with you any further. If I’d known throwing myself over you would cost me so much, I might not do it if forced to choose in the future.”

Hearing Johnathan’s pained, tired laughter echo down the narrow tunnel had Archon smiling weakly. He quickly let the emotion drop from his face once the old man entered the small recess they had found themselves in just hours after regaining consciousness.

Swallowing, Archon mentally toyed with a question he was unsure he wanted the answer to.

Finally, he said, “Did you find a pocket of air, or maybe a vent that leads to the surface? I know somewhere within this bunker was a storage area with O2 tanks inside. They should still be there, assuming they didn’t explode in the collapse.”

Taking slow breaths, he let the silence settle in. While it was not completely silent—debris was still settling around them—he would take what he could get. After a long moment passed with no reply from Johnathan, Archon opened his eyes. Not immediately seeing the old man, he attempted to sit up. Fighting through the pain of his wound, the best he could do was roll onto his side.

Johnathan’s reply had Archon smiling, even if it was a bitter feeling.

“Look at you. You managed to roll over all by yourself. Soon we’ll have you walking, with help. Maybe one day I’ll even teach you to ride a bike.”

Archon watched Johnathan crawl back into their tiny space after making his sarcastic comment. Consciously taking slow, steady breaths, Archon closed his eyes and tried to rest, to slow his oxygen use. Opening his eyes, he inspected the old man.

He looked ragged, even though he probably looked better than Archon did. Blood covered his thin leather shirt. though miraculously it was still intact, clinging to the hollowed-out old man. His jeans appeared battered in comparison, with rips and cuts, and caked in enough dust they could likely stand up on their own, as if they were starched. Somehow, the man’s face looked more vibrant than it had any right to, given their current predicament.

“You’re looking good, kid. Keep at it.”

Archon groaned and reiterated the statement he felt he had repeated at least a hundred times now.

“My name is Archon, the same name I’ve given you dozens of times now. I’m not a child and have not been for quite some time. And I certainly am not a goat.”

Watching Johnathan nod for the first time like he finally understood, Archon allowed himself to close his eyes in relief.

“Got it, kid. You’re not a goat.”

Archon’s eyes flew open just in time to watch Johnathan break into a pained chuckle. At first, the humor was lost on him, but he soon found the old man’s laughter infectious. He let loose. Laughing felt good despite the pain, relaxing. The tension eased from his shoulders. His laughter only stopped when the coughing came on, hard and fast.

Once the coughing passed, he opened his eyes and found Johnathan packing his wound with pieces of cloth. Letting his head fall back to rest on the ground, he found it was easier to breathe.

A wave of fatigue wash over him, as he looked at Johnathan and asked, “What did you do? How did you find more oxygen? It feels easier to breathe, though the air’s cold.”

“I found an oxygen scrubber. I got it working, but for how long, I can’t be sure. We need to dig ourselves out still…”

Closing his eyes as Johnathan’s voice faded away, sleep took him.

8

Johnathan

Johnathan’s muscles shook with effort, threatening to fail as his tired body rebelled. Hands scrabbling for purchase, the concrete chunk he’d been working on finally gave and shifted to the left. Fingers throbbing, he watched the debris tumble to the side of the small opening. Crawling forward, he shone his flashlight into the fresh cavity before him, to get a sense of how far it might lead.

It had been over an hour now of shifting or removing debris to find a way out of their predicament. Each failed attempt made the next one harder, but he was relieved to find this attempt was leading somewhere. Concrete and metal beams that had at one time, given this bunker strength, had shifted in such a way to form a tunnel. Easing himself down onto his stomach once again, he pushed himself ever forward into the unknown.

As he passed through a tight section of the tunnel, he swore he could hear the sizzle of electricity arcing behind a shallow wall he was passing. Then sparks flew through a gap in the wall, temporarily blinding him. Johnathan placed his hands down carefully and quickly scooted forward. Under more normal circumstances, he would have found it amazing that electricity was still being supplied from somewhere, but the last thing he needed right now was to get electrocuted by stepping in a shallow pool of water or accidentally touching a live wire.

Squeezing past a tight turn between the rubble walls, Johnathan found a small opening leading into a wider cavity. Pulling himself out of the small tunnel, his entire world shifted as the floor gave way. With a groan, it lurched down and stopped at an angle, causing his body to slide forward. He scrambled to slow his progress. His saving grace was his foot catching on a piece of debris close to the tunnel entrance that arrested the slide. He lay still for a moment, breathing hard. Once he became accustomed to the incline, he rose to his hands and knees.

He took the flashlight out of his pocket while steadying himself on the unstable surface. This flashlight had served him well ever since he found it in the previous ruins when he was looking for Mya. It was proving invaluable. The beam played out across the cavity he found himself in. The sloping floor beneath him ended less than a meter away. If he’d kept sliding, he would have fallen off.

Scooting himself carefully across the broken concrete slab, he pointed the flashlight down over the gap. When he poked his nose over, he saw a sheer drop-off that plunged down several stories. Below, water had filled the area. Broken metal poking up out of it glimmered in the weak light. Pulling himself back, Johnathan rolled onto his back and stared up at where the ceiling should have been.

The sheer scope of this bunker was astounding and reminded him of the one he had grown up in as a child. He’d made a choice to no longer live in a bunker when he was a teen. He downright refused to die in one, especially one as decrepit and ready to collapse as this.

Panning the light up in small arcs, he slowly got a better understanding of the space he was in. From the looks of things, it had once been an elevator shaft before half of it sheared off, crumbling under the weight of the collapsing structure. A stream of water fell from above, indicating there was a broken pipe or water reservoir nearby. Neither was good—the water would slowly erode things or, at worst, rise fast enough to cause them to drown.

Closing his eyes, Johnathan tried to breathe slowly to calm himself. The risk was too high to make any mistakes. The water beating down on and submerging the structure meant things could collapse further in the next day or two. Archon was far too large for Johnathan to pull through the tunnel even if it had been wide enough to accommodate. At his current rate of blood loss, Archon didn’t have more than a day or two left, which made their timetable clear. Yet a path out was the one thing that eluded them.

Opening his eyes, Johnathan looked hard for anything he could use as a handhold, leverage points that would help him ascend or descend to find other areas of egress. But everything here seemed far too unstable to hold his weight. Frustration slowly taking over, he felt the flashlight tumble from his tired fingers. It bounced a few times off the concrete floor before settling, then rolled down toward the drop-off. Scrambling to turn over onto his stomach, Johnathan’s hand snaked out just in time to grab the end of the flashlight before it fell into the abyss.

Looking up from the flashlight, he found good reason to thank his stars and garters. Hanging ponderously against the far wall were the metal rungs of a damaged ladder. Shining the light over the twisted mass of metal, he found some anchor points still looked strong. Rising to his feet, he peered over the drop-off, then at the ladder. Backing up from the edge, he shook his body out, limbering up. Then he pushed off the wall behind him, his legs pumping hard as he raced toward the abyss. When he hit the edge, he threw himself forward with everything he had.

“Holy shi—” he screamed, the words drawn out.

Impact with the ladder caused his voice to cut out. It hurt so badly he almost failed to grab hold of the nearest rung with his free hand. Wrapping his arm holding the flashlight around one rung so he could use his elbow as leverage, he worked to find a place to brace his feet. Leaning forward, he panned the light over where he had come out of the tunnel and whistled. Praying he wouldn’t have to do anything like that again soon, he placed the flashlight in his back pocket. Getting a stable hand hold, Johnathan ascended into the darkness above.

9

Shawn

Shawn dragged his feet as he stepped off the elevator. Rubbing his chin, he tried to distract himself from the stress he was currently feeling about being on this level of the bunker. Waiting a full forty-eight hours in his domicile for Control to contact him had been one of the hardest things he’d ever done his entire life, and it showed. His anxiety had kept him up the entire time.

His eyes were puffy. The thick blond stubble on his chin had turned greasy and lank. His hair stuck out at odd angles, hinting at the emotional war going on within. Shawn was sure everyone would be able to read his appearance and immediately understand he had done wrong. It didn’t help he hadn’t changed his jumpsuit the entire time—the smell made that much obvious—and keeping his arms glued to his sides was the best he could do to hide his pit stains.

But after all he had lost, he wasn’t sure if it mattered anymore. Losing his position at the main monitoring station had landed him in a dangerous place within the bunker’s job requirements.

Looking at the floor, ceiling, and walls, he realized this part of the bunker differed from his previous antiseptic-drenched lifestyle. The dirty hallway here with its water pools and constant dripping sound grated on his nerves. The rough-hewn rock walls made him feel like they were going to tumble in on him at any moment. If things could get worse from here, he didn’t know how.

This was a place for the refuse, or at least that’s what he’d heard from the petty gossip that moved through the bunker. This was one of those secret areas about which no one wanted to know too much. When he’d finally gotten a message from Control to head down here and pick up an ‘important project’, he’d been confused but did as he was told. Maybe if he’d followed Control’s commands earlier, like he had always done, he might have eventually found himself in a better position in life—but now here he was. Just standing here, stalling.

Taking a deep breath to settle his nerves, he hugged the heavily used tablet he lugged around to his chest. The thin device held instructions on what to do and where to go. If he lost it, he didn’t know what Control would do to him. Sweat broke out on his forehead just thinking about that.

Glancing at the screen, he turned to the left and started off down the hall toward his destination. As he moved further away from the elevator, a smell picked up in his nostrils. It was the smell of unwashed bodies, with an undertone of sickness and death. He knew the foul aroma way too well because of the help he’d provided on one of Control’s many projects a few years ago.

Trying to take his mind off his worries, he looked at the walls. There were deep gashes cut into the rock, as if someone had cut this place out of the very bedrock. Everything down here spoke of half-baked, unfinished business. Someone had embedded hooks into the walls and strung lights up in a daisy chain. It was so different from any of his experiences in the sterile, clean-smelling halls of his normal work-and-living areas. Every time he glanced up from his tablet, he told himself his eyes were playing tricks on him. Dank water dripped down from the ceiling in spots, filling up pools of a sludge-like substance that was hard to see in the shadows.

As soon as he thought he’d seen it all, something small scuttled between his legs, dashing from one shadow and into the next. He had to bite his tongue for fear of screaming out in a high-pitched squeak.

How could anyone live in a place like this? There’s so much that could cause someone to get sick and die.

A booming mechanical sound echoed down the hall, causing Shawn to stop in a panic. Biting his lip, he looked back at the elevator, wondering if he could just ride it back up to the levels above where it was safe. As soon as the thought entered his mind, he discarded it for fear that Control would know and assign him to be part of one of its experiments.

Taking one shaking step forward after another, he continued down the hall toward his destination. After a few minutes of walking, he took the last left turn on the map and stopped in his tracks. Nothing could have prepared him for what lay before him.

Massive industrial lights hung off the rough rock ceiling, imbuing the large cavernous area with a diffuse and sickly looking light. The area was as massive as the stadiums he’d seen pictures of in the old-world archives. This cavern could have contained the entire massive space of one of those stadiums.

Then he noticed this place, too, was damp and smelled of disease and rot. From what the historical documents had said, such aboveground stadiums never held the sense of foreboding this chamber had. Every time his eyes dashed to something new, there were always shadows close at hand, hiding unknown things within them. He looked around and thought he saw something moving in the dark.

Once he got his fear under control, he could see the area split into three sections. On his right-hand side ran a heavy metal chain fence from wall to wall, bisecting the room. Behind the fence, old bones, broken hand-tools, and deep tunnels spread out into the darkness beyond the feeble light.

On his right side was a collection of men and women encased in huge, bulky head-to-toe outfits. Fully encased in dirty yellow plastic, the suits appeared to have heavy backpacks with their own air supply. Flashes of memory came to him, and the horror he’d felt when wearing a suit like these he saw etched on the faces of those here. The only reason he even knew the suits’ occupants were human was because of the face-sized, clear plastic windows on the front of their helmets. The cloying, claustrophobic nature of those suits came back to him in full force. He broke out in a cold sweat.

The people in yellow suits milled about, waiting for something, and Shawn felt their eyes on him. Several of them shifted or pointed toward him, but he tried to avoid their accusing eyes. Before he could lose his nerve, he moved straight down the center of the massive room.

Hidden in shadow in the back of the cavern, a dusty and heavily rusted metal door stretched from one side of the large room to the other. They’d built the door in sections, and it looked like it could fold up within itself, with each section sliding into a pocket within the corresponding section. If someone forced him to hazard a guess, he suspected if the door fully opened, it would double the cavern in size and length.

Milling around, unsure where to stand, he finally stopped mid-center of the room, next to the door. Standing at attention, he waited impatiently for whatever would happen next—his only instructions had been ‘to wait for the package to arrive’.

While he could already feel the dirt on his skin from lack of personal hygiene, the place he was in took that to an entirely new level. His eyes drifted around to take in minor details, and everything he could make out made him feel a tad more uneasy. Things that made him squirm.

Small bits of hair were lying on the ground or wedged in the fence near him. Blood smeared some walls or the ground behind the fenced-in area. Mold appeared to be growing in clumps in random areas. The longer he stood there, the more the rancid stink in the air invaded his nostrils. He swore the first chance he got, he’d shower for weeks if he could, scrubbing off the stink and grime of this place.

A loud, grinding noise emanating from the large metal door violently yanked him from his musings. Placing one hand on the grimy, dust-coated surface made his skin crawl. Through the hand touching the cold, metal edifice, he could feel deep vibrations. Sharp, squealing noises followed, causing him to yank his hand back as though it had been burned. Looking around for support, he found the other people in the yellow suits staring at him with gigantic eyes. The terror in the air added to the place’s oppressive feeling.

Heavy grinding sounds shook the area and swelled loudly within the cavernous space, accompanied by a booming sound within the door as mechanisms moved. With a deep rumble, a section of the door nearest the fence uncoupled from the wall and retracted into itself. Little by little, the metal door opened, exposing a well-lit area beyond. Shawn swallowed hard. Clouds of steam billowed out. The smell of old oil, burned metal, and other unknown contaminants hit him full in the face, causing him to wince.

Sweat broke out across his brow thanks to the intense heat. Taking a step back from the oppressive wall of hot gasses, he used his free hand to wipe the sweat from his face. The rippling shadow of an indistinct form danced across the steam, backlit by some unknown but bright source. As the shadow grew larger, Shawn panicked, and his heart beat faster out of fear.

But as he neared his breaking point, the shadow retreated into itself and solidified into a stationary if wavering shape. Shawn tried to swallow, but found his throat as dry as a salt plain. The figure moved closer. The shadow condensed further, slowly revealing more detail. Eventually, it took on a human form—or at least Shawn hoped it was human. It was not always easy to tell the freaks of nature from true humans, especially when operating off of limited information like this. All he really had to work with was that a shadow was slowly closing on him, and his brain began to work overtime, creating horrible images of what this danger could be.

Shawn was so taken in by his fear that he didn’t notice the surrounding steam dissipate. As if stepping out of a mirage into real life, a woman walked into view before him. She was a slip of a girl, with deep green eyes the color of trees from the old pictures. Her black hair was long, straight, and ended near her lower back. While her eyes were bright, they showed red puffiness around the edges, as if she had been crying. In Shawn’s opinion, she wasn’t all that attractive, given the few minor scars that marred her face.

She looks so unimpressive. I wonder why Control wants this woman? That’s what my instructions say to do though, so better get on with it before I get into more trouble.

Nevertheless, he had to force himself to look away from her startling, deep eyes to inspect the rest of her. She was not tall, and the standardized blue clothes she wore were common here. The woman’s legs were long given her height but held a strong dancer’s build. Someone had encased her feet in what looked like patched-together leftovers from the old world. Her hands were small but clearly well used, given the calluses built up on them.

Swallowing hard, he tried to find his voice. He had never talked to anyone from outside before.

In a stilted, small voice, he said, “Hello. I’m here to greet you. I’m told your name is Mya?”

The woman—or more likely the girl, given Shawn’s rough approximation of her age—tilted her head to the left while watching him. She said nothing.

“Control informed me to come find you and take you into the bunker for prep. Do you understand? Can you understand anything I am saying? Or should I use a different dialect or language? Hello?”

The woman squinted her eyes, causing Shawn to swallow in fear. He couldn’t help but wonder if this woman was sizing him up, preparing to attack. Looking behind him, the others in the yellow suits appeared to have lost all interest in what was happening in his direction. Turning back around, he found Mya inspecting him. He felt like a trapped bug. The woman was not forthcoming, so Shawn cleared his throat before trying the same message in a few more languages. None of them appeared to have any effect on her—there was no sign of recognition.

In a raw voice, the woman finally spoke in English.

“My throat hurts. Do you have any water here? My friend told me he would send me someplace safe. Is this a safe place?”

Shawn blinked as if someone had slapped him. He opened his mouth to say something, but was cut off by a loud squawking alarm emanating from the ceiling. Looking up, he could see nothing above but shadows interlaced between the industrial lights. Trying to ignore the sound, he looked back at Mya, only to find her turning away from him. He couldn’t help but notice her rude behavior. He deserved better after they had dragged him all the way down here to fetch her.

His mouth fell open as she strode away with purpose toward the chain-link fence. The cloying scent of sickness and death wafted through the area even more strongly than before, causing him to raise his hand to his nose. There was movement behind the chain-link fence in the darkness.

His eyes adjusted to the shadows that lay beyond, and his throat closed in disgust. Freaks of nature slowly lumbered out of the tunnels behind the fence. They embodied every shape, form, and horrible, twisted creation of the old world’s mistakes. Some walked on two legs, others three, and some even more. Most of them were humanoid in form, but all were clearly sick or dying. Open wounds and sores wept across their bodies. Those fortunate enough to have clothing were left with tattered and stained garments. In Shawn’s view, these freaks of nature deserved all they got, and worse.

Movement drew his attention to the left as the men and women in yellow suits walked across the cavernous space toward the metal fence. As he watched, the freaks pushed small pieces of rock between the spaces in the fence and waited patiently. He couldn’t take his eyes off them and began to notice more details. Every freak bled from open wounds, and some had massive boils or blisters growing across their skin. Those lucky enough to still have hair had patches here and there that were falling out. No one against the fence looked well in any sense of the word. Shawn’s mind whirled with the indignity of being so close to the genetic freaks from the surface.

His eyes tracked along the fence. Boiling out from the tunnels were more freaks than he could ever wish to count. The more he saw, the less he understood what was happening. One by one, they deposited those chunks of rock that were then collected by the men and women in the dirty yellow suits.

His eyes finally fell upon the section of the fence closest to him and found Mya pressed up against it. The freak’s hands reached out and stroked her hair, and he could even hear a few saying something to her. Bile rose in his stomach, and he doubled over to let a stream of sour liquid spill forth from his mouth.

Wiping it with the back of his hand, he stood back up. Two people in yellow suits were working to pry Mya from the fence while the rest went about collecting the freak’s rocks in black bags. They finally managed to physically pull Mya off the fence, and when Shawn saw her face, it was like she had gone rabid. She screamed the same questions repeatedly. The entire scene was so overwhelming it was hard to concentrate. He had a hard time understanding what she was saying at first.

As the two men dragged her back toward him, it didn’t take long to make sense of it. As she passed, Mya screamed into Shawn’s face in a shrill voice, tears rolling down her face.

“Why aren’t you helping them? Why are you keeping them locked up like that? We need to help them! They have the melts! Don’t you get it? If we don’t help them, they’re going to die!”

10

Johnathan

Johnathan pulled himself up onto the edge of some stable debris and looked down at the ladder that had enabled his ascent. Half of the metal rungs were now missing thanks to gravity; they had come loose when he put weight on them as he was scrambling up. Watching debris break away from the wall and bounce off the rubble before plunging into the water far below put a chilly feeling in his chest. Turning away from the deadly sight, he inspected the area to see what awaited him next.

What he found hanging before him was the last thing he’d have ever expected. In bright-yellow paint, long ago faded, was a sign that symbolized his current view of how this day was panning out. Prominently painted on it was a black arrow pointing down toward the abyss below. Printed above the arrow was ‘THIS WAY UP’. It had to be a joke, or someone in the past had no idea what direction up and down truly was.

Rolling his eyes, Johnathan let out a few expletives before he said, “You have got to be kidding me.”

Johnathan let out a good-natured chuckle. Realizing after the fact how much he’d needed the humor, he turned to survey his current perch. Standing on a small outcrop of flooring, his one-by-three-meter space appeared stable enough to stand on for now, but it left him with few choices. All but one side of the small space led to more drop-offs that went back down. The only possible way was across a small gap where a concrete slab hung across the chasm.

This new concrete slab felt stable enough when he tested his weight, pushing his leg against it. Strangely enough, it had carpeting. He swept his flashlight around and found the skeletal remains of many small rooms littering the space. Spearing the light up into the shadows above, Johnathan saw there were more pony walls that rose up out of what he guessed would have been the floor. Each one would have roughly stopped at his chest. While they provided great hand holds to climb, they didn’t look terribly stable, but it was the only way up.

Knowing he couldn’t stand around gawking—that would just further reduce their air supply—Johnathan cracked his neck and prepared to continue moving. Grabbing hold of one of the flimsy, carpeted half-walls, he hauled himself up, swinging a leg over the top until he landed on a new place to perch. Using his flashlight to scope out what was within the small half-room, he wasn’t surprised to find relics of a lost age. The entire bunker had been built in another time. In a heap before him lay a monitor and computer station that had slid down and crumpled into a collection of broken plastic and metal at the lowest section of the room.

Shaking his head at the sight of all this lost tech he’d never get the chance to collect, he turned back to the task at hand. He climbed up, finding handholds where the half walls opened, using the debris to hoist himself ever higher. The further he ascended, the harder it was to ignore the fast slide down the tilted floor that awaited him if he lost his footing. Each small room he traversed, the weaker he became. It was getting harder and harder to breathe, but he was unsure if that was from a lack of oxygen or just tiredness seeping in.

He surmounted the next few sections without issue, and it was just when Johnathan was feeling cocky that he placed his foot on a chunk of wall that broke away. The flimsy wall broke into pieces underneath its carpeted covering and slid down the middle of the hallway and off into the darkness beyond.

Licking his lips, he pulled himself up onto the next half-wall. As he eased himself up over the edge, the light shining up from his back pocket bounced off enough items littering the area to create a hazy ambiance. Stuck to the far wall was a picture of a cat hanging off a branch. Blinking a few times, Johnathan realized he wasn’t seeing things—and that’s when he noticed some words printed below the furry animal. It read ‘Hang in There!’

In a disgusted huff, Johnathan said, “You’ve got to be kidding me. Of all things.”

Refusing to linger a moment longer in the presence of the feline tormentor, he pushed ever upward toward his goal. With shaking arms, he pulled himself over the next lip of the half-wall, then slid down to come to rest at the bottom of the small square room. Closing his eyes, he took in deep breaths, trying to get his chest to stop hurting. He pulled the flashlight out of his back pocket and laid it down in front of him.

The small light source lit the entire room, and Johnathan discovered he wasn’t alone.

Staring him in the face was a desiccated corpse, dressed in the tattered remains of clothing that hung loosely on its human body. Johnathan stared unblinkingly. Trying to keep his spirits up and prevent himself from thinking about how this person had died, he said the first thing that came to mind.

“Hey buddy. Do they work you long hours here? My dad told me tales of people working in small rooms like this unto their dying days. I thought those stories were a lie, but… guess you prove my old man was telling the truth after all.”

Smiling to himself, Johnathan laid his head back against the tilted floor and allowed himself a moment’s rest.

11

Bjorn

Bjorn let his senses guide him as he ran recklessly through the forest. Each breath hurt to pull into his lungs and his sides burned, but that was of small concern compared to being caught. The howls of mutedogs enveloped him. They were far enough away not to be seen, but close enough to be heard. They had a lock on him, were clomping through the forest after him, if his own subtle hearing could be trusted. Yet, being mauled by those poor, damaged beasts would be a welcome comfort compared to what their Scav masters would do if they caught Bjorn alive.

Shouldering his way through the greenery, he was shocked to find himself tumbling down a precarious drop-off that had been hidden behind some shrubbery. Sliding down the hill, he held his hands out for stability, but nothing could have prepared him for the sudden stop at the end. He landed face-first in a bog of thick, paste-like mud that engulfed him entirely. Struggling through the muck, he pulled himself out on the far side. Weak light from the stars above penetrated through the forest canopy as he crawled across the ground and, miraculously, found sanctuary. Or at least he hoped it would be.

Slithering under a tall tree’s exposed roots, he wrapped his arms around the roots to better maneuver. Pulling himself deep into the shadowed area, he closed his eyes and let his other senses take over, going deathly still.

It didn’t take long for his patience to be rewarded. Heavy paws clomped through the night, drawing closer. Squeezing his eyes shut tighter for fear of giving himself away, he waited.

The heavy stench of rotten blood swept through the area as something heavy moved back and forth. Every time the snuffling sound of the mutedog grew close—close enough to sniff out Bjorn—he forced himself to stay still. Something heavy kicked his leg, shifting it several centimeters, but he didn’t react. Still, as his fear grew within, he flexed his hands around the roots, his claws involuntarily sliding out the tips of his fingers.

The snorts of the giant animal sniffing were shortly followed by the barking commands of its masters. They spoke in a language that sounded harsh. Bjorn forced himself to breathe slowly as his heart pounded angrily in his chest. When the roots above him shifted, he opened his eyes, even though he knew he was risking his life to do so.

He saw a nightmare sitting on the roots above him, illuminated by the aurora borealis. Scavs were humanoid only at the best of times, and this one was one of the lucky ones. The putrid stench of diseased flesh, chemicals, and rotten meat wafted off the thing like death incarnate.

Wrapped from head to toe in layer upon layer of leather, the creatures were an enigma to Bjorn. No humanoid he’d ever met looked or acted as vile as Scavs, not even slavers. When he’d found a small complement of them dead years ago, he’d noted they didn’t just cover their face in masks—they all had a sick stylization to them. His father had once told him the mask’s patterned images came from the First World War. They had once been called gas masks. But what Bjorn had seen that day didn’t make him think they could hold back any gas, and in his later nightmares, they instead spewed forth a toxic green cloud as the Scavs chased him in his dreams.

But this was no dream.

Dangling from the chin of the Scav, Bjorn saw the outline of an esophagus that had been dried into a leathery texture, with a small skull attached at the very end. If this Scav was anything like the others, it was hiding its face behind leather, most likely the skin of some poor soul the Scav had eaten earlier. Chunks of glass covered their eye sockets where their bloodshot, yellow eyes stared out.

In the dim light, he saw the creature remove a tube from its chin, revealing the burned, putrid flesh beneath. Bjorn forced himself to watch as the monster consumed a mouthful of raw, rotting meat. In its attempt to cram the putrid flesh into its mouth, a large piece fell from its fingers. Bjorn watched the piece fall and swallowed silently when the grisly meal landed on his leg. Glancing back up at the monster, his body grew cold as the Scav reached down to grab it.

The hand of the monster closed on its meal. If it was careless and the meat fell, it could wipe away the mud and expose Bjorn’s hiding place. Looking from the hand to the masked visage and back again, his jaws clenched. His instincts threatened to take control. If he moved fast enough, he might be able to rip the creature’s throat out. Yet its toxic blood would kill him, if the stories were anything to go by. Either way, he would at least force them to kill him before they could strip him of his flesh.

Eyes locked on the hand that was seconds away from exposing him, Bjorn and the Scav both jumped as a harsh scream cried out from above. Before either of them could move, a heavy cudgel came down on the Scav’s head. Falling off its seat on the tree root, it fell smack down between Bjorn’s legs. Not daring to move, he tried to see past the limp body in front of him but ended up having to rely on his hearing. More guttural noises came from nearby, as if another Scav was berating the one inches from Bjorn for eating on the job. When it finally got up and scampered off, looking thoroughly chastised, Bjorn allowed himself to breathe again.

With the mud covering his body, he couldn’t sense that a soft wind was blowing. The leaves danced in the wind, and the flickering lights above revealed a terrifying image. In the ever-shifting light and shadow, Bjorn bore witness to a Scav larger than any he had ever seen or heard of before. With arms the size of small tree trunks, the beast would have towered over Bjorn’s own impressively tall and large frame. Leather covered the Scav’s face, and jawbones decorated it, giving it a distinctive and brutal appearance. Surveying the area, it raised its cudgel and let out another loud scream.

Even after the troupe had left the area, Bjorn sat still under the roots, not daring to move. He was getting cold, but feared the Scavs were waiting for him to reappear. He tried to tell himself that when he made it home, he would tell his father about this sighting. Before he could do that, though, he would need to lose them. Scavs chased their prey for days, if not weeks. Once they set their sights on someone; they were relentless. Bjorn had been lucky to give them the slip.

With the danger over for now and the adrenaline in his veins long past spent, he slipped unwillingly into a deep slumber.

12

Bjorn

Bjorn scraped the mud off his arms in large clumps, frowning at how it had worked its way into his fur. The morning held nothing but questions up to this point, but not seeing any sign of his pursuers nearby was a slight comfort that eased the tension a little. He guessed there had been at least five to six Scavs among them, along with a mutedog or two, judging from the tracks and scat he found. Nothing to sneer at. If he ran into them again, there was no way he could win a fight against such numbers.

Pointing his nose up into the air and sniffing around, he found the entire area smelled of a chemical-laced, diseased stench. Dropping his eyes to the ground, he pushed onward, hoping to find an area where he could see over the trees and get a better lay of the land. Along the way he hoped to find freshwater so he could clean off and drink, maybe find something to eat, but if not, he had rations.

Although the walk to find the edge of the forest didn’t take long, he still remained alert and careful. Slinking up to one of the trees dotting the edge of the woods, his ears twitched back and forth as he listened for danger. There was no sound but the blowing of the wind. No sign of animal life. It made his spine tingle.

Shaking off the creepy feeling that he was alone in the world, he used his nose and found the area seemingly brimming with life, after all. The rich scent of game in the area was strong enough he should have been able to hear it. Confused, he looked out from around the tree, unsure of what he would find.

Beyond the trees lay a large plain of grass that was turning brown. Confused, Bjorn stepped out of the tree cover and into the scrub, refusing to step into the grassy area. Those blades of grass were turning brown from the tops down. As he looked at the damaged greenery, he recalled a past drought he’d witnessed. It had not looked like this.

Trying to be brave, he stepped closer to an outcropping of grass and crouched to get a better view. What he saw made no logical sense, and if it weren’t for him seeing it with his own two eyes, he wouldn’t have believed it. Careful examination of the grass revealed it was dried out and burned from the top down. Even the stems that brought water up from below looked ruptured, as if someone had applied heat to them, yet there was no charring.

Before risking a walk through the burned grass, Bjorn took a small stroll outside the affected area. The damaged stalks clearly surrounded a set place, because he found several patches of unaffected, healthy grass not too far away. He found it strange the damage was limited to only a small area.

Feeling itchy from the drying mud, he pushed into the chest high damaged grass to see if there was more to find out. At first his steps were timid—he braced himself to jump back in case he was affected by whatever had happened here—but when nothing changed, his pace quickened. Soon he was striding along, paying more attention to rubbing his fur free of dried bits of dirt than where he was going. Then his foot hit something and sent the thing flying a meter. He froze, crouching down in the grass to watch for danger. Nothing moved—not even the wind would touch the affected area, or at least that’s how it felt.

The area was dead. Bjorn let his eyes drift across the top of the surrounding grass. When the itching finally became too much for him to handle, he gave up on waiting out any danger and stood up to scratch. After several minutes of twisting, scratching, and rubbing his hands across his fur, he felt mildly better. His focus restored, he moved toward the object he had kicked.

Bending down to part the grass with his hands, he looked down to find yet another surprise. Lying crumpled but hardly damaged or hurt was an unmoving rabbit. Sitting on his haunches, Bjorn used one of his claws to poke at the small animal. He recoiled. It was long past dead. Turning the body over a few times, he was surprised not to find any swelling due to decomposition. If he went by only what he saw, he would have been convinced the rabbit had died only moments ago—but what he had kicked had not felt alive. With gentle touches, he searched for what had killed the small creature, and was unsure what to think when he found no signs of disease or harm. The creepiest thing was that the body was not at all warm but the ambient temperature of the surrounding area. It had clearly died some time ago to cool like this.

Absently, he thought out loud, as he often did, even though his father always got on him for it.

“What killed you, little one? You make no sense. There’s no sign of harm on you. Did the heat give you a heart attack?”

Looking across the top of the grass, it was possible that was the case, that the poor creature had died of a heart attack, but it felt wrong. There were just too many things going on here that pointed to this being the result of a very strange phenomenon.

Pushing his pointer-finger claws out, he made a long slit across the rabbit’s chest and carefully pulled back its fur. He was surprised to find that while the corpse was not overflowing with fluids; it was wet. The muscles of the rabbit smelled and felt as if they had been cooked, but the organs showed no signs of heat damage.

Dropping the corpse at his feet, Bjorn gave up any attempt at hiding—he flat-out bolted out of the burned grass. Questions swirled in his mind, but he refused to allow them to take precedence. Keeping focused, he traveled as fast as he dared around the damaged vegetation skirting the perimeter. It took a little less than an hour to bypass the damaged area, and he was relieved when the surrounding environment began to change.

Down a short hill lay a slow-flowing river, and beyond that, a wonderful bathing spot made of ruined concrete and stone. For the life of him, no matter how many times he had passed this area, he swore the ruins across the river were new and in their place had once been a sheer cliff face, but he was not one to turn down a gift. The damaged structure under those massive granite boulders would provide the perfect hole to sleep in.

13

Archon

Every inhale brought a fresh wave of pain. For a moment Archon wondered if he should try holding his breath. It was only the fear that doing so might cause even more pain that prevented him from trying. Slipping in and out of consciousness left him feeling as if time was fluid, but it also gave him time to ponder.

He had beaten the wolf in the ruins, but how could he have known it would follow him and try to take Mya? That singular action had led him to this point in life.

Thinking back over the years, he had done countless tasks for Control on behalf of its monumental plan to rebuild the world back to what it once was. He was always the first to step up when a new genetic mod or alteration needed to be tested on a human subject. No task or job had been too dirty or difficult. Archon realized, upon reflection, the blood on his hands could fill a cavity the size of an ocean.

The voice of the man who had brought him into Control’s orbit sounded loud in his ears. When things become too much for you to handle, you must back up and find a way out. Joining this group will mark you in ways you cannot be aware of, being so young, but always remember you are better than all of this. Always remember why I gave you your name. I forgive you for what you must do.

Of all the things Archon could remember, this speech stood out the most. The last words of his friend and mentor right before Archon strangled the life out of the man. It was the ultimate test assigned by Control; he knew what it would cost him, but he went ahead and did it anyway, just so he could belong to a family. No one among the ranks took to their tasks as ruthlessly as he did—but when he had truly needed Control, they simply tossed him away. While the loss was fresh, deep down, he had always wondered if this would eventually happen.

He forced himself to sit up and screamed as the metal bar sticking out of his waist scraped against the floor, causing his scabs to break open and bleed freely. Pushing against the floor, he realized how weak he was compared to the man he’d been just a day ago. The blood loss and internal damage caused by the fall were worse than he first realized. Propping himself up into a sitting position, he let his eyes close and allowed his mind to wander to other thoughts.

The last fight with the wolf had been brutal. The creature was stronger and more of a threat than he’d given it credit for. Still, if it hadn’t been for the blood loss he had suffered protecting Mya, he probably would have won.

An unexpected emotion entwined with his memory of the fight tickled his mind. Inspecting it further shocked him to his core.

I wanted to protect Mya.

At one time, it would have been a lie to think he could feel that way, but the feeling in this memory was honest and true.

Lost in the swarm of emotions, older, darker memories surged to the surface of his mind. The memory of the last time he’d seen his sisters and brothers came to him against his will. He knew he must be delirious or dying to remember these things. He’d been but a child—couldn’t those men and women he called his parents see that? Every time that metal door opened to the outside world, he had followed his older siblings, the ones who had survived. Each time they ran out, scrambling to find a broken branch or a rock they could use as a weapon. Never sure what they would be defending against, they thought it was their job to protect those in the bunker.

How little they understood. The adults were just using them.

Wiping at his face, Archon inspected his fingers in the wan light and found they were damp. Searching inside himself, he was aware losing his brothers and sisters that day still hurt him, but this was the first time he had ever cried about it. Unsure how to cope with his feelings, unable to escape them, he closed his eyes and laid his head back against the wall of the small alcove.

Newer memories surfaced, and this time he let them play out. He remembered the old man, who had looked down at him as he was bleeding out on the floor. Having been so thoroughly beaten by the wolf, Archon had thought he was there to put him out of his misery, but the old man did no such thing. Instead, he introduced himself as Johnathan, and the talk between them that followed was unclear.

Maybe it was the pain, but it was getting harder to remember that moment the more he grasped at it. It was the last thing he would have expected from someone in their predicament. Using the last of his medical supplies, Johnathan had bandaged Archon’s wounds.

Tenderly reaching around to touch his back, he found slight comfort in the scabbed-over bandage his fingers brushed against. A racking cough left him in immense pain. As it died off, he found the noise turning into a sarcastic laugh. After all the things he had done, the old man tried to save his life. Thinking back on that moment, he questioned if that was why he had acted the way he did those last moments of the countdown.

The area around Archon shook violently. There was the distant sound of something crashing down; it made the small cave shiver. Dust fell from between the tremulous pieces of concrete that were lodged above him. The cacophony died away and was soon replaced by a new sound.

It started with a dripping noise that grew into the sound of a small trickle. Archon felt cold liquid running under his legs inside the small room. Absently, he did some rough math and arrived at his best guess.

Eighteen hours. Perhaps a day, max, if the water continued climbing at its current pace. He laughed. Never mind the pain. It didn’t matter anymore. He had little time left to live.

14

Johnathan

Johnathan opened his eyes to almost complete darkness. Yellow strobing pulses of light created a disturbing, flashing impression of his surroundings. Slowly inspecting everything around him, he jerked back. The dried-out corpse stared at him with hollowed-out eyes. He had forgotten about it. Shivering at the sight, he did the only thing he knew to do in situations like these—he made a joke out of it to lighten the mood, even if it was only for his benefit.

“Well mummy, I’m about to head out. Is there anything I can bring back to you?”

His heart just about jumped out of his chest when the corpse moved. The lights went out. When they came back on, the skeletal remains were falling toward him. Recoiling from the unwanted contact, he had little time to figure out what had caused the sudden movement. A loud crack echoed through the room as the floor shook before dropping a few inches. Looking up, he watched as the half-wall he had climbed up earlier flexed and bent.

Scrambling to his feet, he swung one leg out over the half wall as the office half wall above him split open and to dump its contents. Dust and debris flew everywhere. Johnathan’s natural reaction was to throw his hands up and shield his face, but his sudden movement caused his weight to shift. With a sharp crack, the wall he was perched on shifted. Shaking as if in a hard wind, the half-wall trembled violently. It was all Johnathan could do to clamp his legs around it and hold on.

Metal shrieked and the half-wall gave way. Johnathan pinwheeled his arms in midair. Using the falling wall’s momentum to his benefit, he thrust his leg down against the edifice and jumped into the hall that ran the length of the structure. With nothing to stop his momentum, he arced into the open air. Pinwheeling his arms, Johnathan cursed at himself in the moments before gravity had its way with him.

At first Johnathan thought it was good fortune when he fell through an opening into a cubicle on the far side of the hall. That was before a bolted desk roughly arrested his fall, followed by a collision into the cubicle’s far wall. He reached out blindly for purchase but kept going. He couldn’t stop. Wall after partition gave under the added weight of his body. Tumbling down through the pony walls, a pile of debris built beneath him with each new break.

As his stomach settled and the falling feeling dissipated, he forced himself to open his eyes. A glowing light mounted on what used to be a wall glowed brightly in a slow, strobing pattern before him. Groaning, he pulled himself from a pile of office debris and let his head fall back as he looked upward. He had fallen through at least three, maybe four, offices. Before he could contemplate his luck, the large room groaned threateningly.

Sighing, he got to his feet and let his experience guide him. He climbed up the tilted floor using broken pieces of metal that stuck out from the walls. While searching for his next handhold, Johnathan spotted his old friend the cat on a branch who had the annoying print that said ‘Hang in There’ below it.

“Oh, shut up, you.”

His quick quip over, he set his mind to the hard work of climbing. He went like a monkey in a tree, using his years of experience in creative ways. Jumping from broken half-walls to crumbling desks, he moved in a slow but constant upward direction. Each shiver the room made, every crack that echoed through the open space, just pushed him all the harder. It wasn’t long before his arms were aching, his breath coming in hard puffs. Sweat poured off him.

Looking out from a half-wall that butted up against the hall, Johnathan found his exit was just an office and a jump away.

“Almost there… Just a little more. You got it in you, old man. Come on, you can do this.”

15

Bjorn

As Bjorn moved through the ruins, the fur on his neck and tail stood up. Over the last several minutes, his tail had moved about frantically, swatting debris, which was very uncomfortable. His mind kept chewing on an idea that had been slowly creeping up on him like a predator in tall grasses stalking its prey.

I had been past this within the last month; I swear it was a sheer cliff of stone. Where did all this rubble come from? Were there people living here within the cliffs I wasn’t aware of?

Raising his hands to his mouth, he cupped his muzzle and yelled, “Hello? Is anyone there?”

Standing stock-still for fear of missing something, he waited for a reply. When none came, he gave a relieved sigh and continued to move forward toward the cliff face on the farthest side of the debris field. The tunnel of rubble beneath his feet felt like it was continuing to settle. As he walked under a three-meter-tall opening, the wind shifted. Ears twitching as if someone had tickled them, he picked up an odd sound drifting on the air. It could have been anything, anything at all—rubble shifting, a piece of rock falling—but some part of him was convinced it sounded like a cough.

Before he knew what he was doing, he had climbed atop a pile of rubble. Standing on the shifting scree, which provided him a decent view of the area, he cupped his muzzle and tried again. “Hello? Is anyone there?”

Twisting his head in small, jerky movements, he listened for any signs of life. Trepidation set in. He was starting to think he’d been mistaken and was about to give up when he heard it. A wet, slapping sound echoed through the area. Bjorn went quiet and alert, searching for the source of the noise.

Tense moments passed. The wind shifted, and the coppery smell of blood drifted to him. He widened his eyes as it finally dawned on him that someone nearby must be injured. Following the scent, he jumped down the debris pile dangerously fast. Each time he was about to lose his footing, he jumped, pushed, or dodged out of the way of the offending object and continued straight down the pile.

Standing at the bottom of the scree pile, Bjorn was torn. The scent had disappeared—the wind didn’t blow between the piles of rubble so close to the ground like it had above. Looking up at the top of the scree to orient himself, he turned in the direction he had smelled the blood and headed toward it. Every few minutes, he called out to see if he would get a reaction. Moving past one pile of debris after another, he listened, smelled the air, and looked for clues, to no avail.

Frustration setting in, Bjorn clenched his fists hard enough that his claws penetrated his palms. Trying not to get angry, he comforted himself.

“Come on. I just want to be a hero, like the ones in those historical books. If they were called superheroes, that must mean they would never give up. So I can’t either. Just think of what they would do.”

For the life of him, he couldn’t come up with an answer. The books covered how to deal with extraordinary villains, but they didn’t provide guidance on more mundane tasks like finding individuals. Using a fist, Bjorn knocked himself in the temple a few times.

“Come on… I should know this. They wouldn’t give up, right? They would help find someone who was lost… or would they? Maybe they would skip that part and instead find who did this terrible act, dictate to them the error of their ways, and then fight the villain?”

So distracted Bjorn was by his thoughts and concerns, he didn’t notice when he walked through a puddle of liquid during his aimless wandering—in fact, he barely glanced at the clear liquid before moving on. His mind dismissed it as unimportant compared to following the example of the historical heroes. When his foot made contact with another patch of liquid a few minutes later and a coppery smell rose to his nose, even that barely drew notice.

Luckily, his eyes brought him back to reality.

Lying in a small pool of blood was a human arm. It looked like it had been cut off recently and was now bleeding out on the ground. The arm jutted out from under some rubble. Bjorn’s eyes went wide as he realized the bloody hand was, in fact, still attached to its owner—it gripped his ankle with a weak grasp.

Trailing his eyes past the hand and down a forearm, Bjorn didn’t know what to think.

In a breathless whisper, he said, “Is someone alive in there?”

When there was no response, he tried a few more times, each whisper louder than the last. When a raspy voice responded, he was beside himself.

“Help us… We’re… still… alive. Cut myself trying to get out. Hurts like a son of a gun.”

Bjorn jumped up into the air in excitement, accidentally yanking his foot from the hand’s grasp.

I did it! I found him!

Feeling elated, he danced around for a few moments before the reality of the situation sank in. Crouching down, feeling his skin go cold, he realized he had no idea what to do about this situation.

He asked in a scared voice, “What can I do to get you out of there?”

A quiet chuckle echoed out from under the rubble. The reply was surprising but also very on the nose.

“Maybe dig me out after you patch up my cut? Would hate to die before you manage to save my life.”

16

Bjorn

After a few hours of work, Bjorn stepped back to find he was at a stalemate. From what the old man had told him, his time was extremely limited, yet if Bjorn went too fast, he could easily cause another cave-in. This was a complex puzzle, and failure meant the old man would die.

That left Bjorn with two choices: He could remove the two slabs pinning the old man, but then two larger pieces of rock atop it would fall and crush him. He could focus on clearing the remaining debris, but that meant the trapped person could die in that time. Nothing Bjorn had read in his historical books had ever prepared him for this.

Feeling backed into a corner, he said, “I have a question for you. Are things still urgent in there? If I have the time, I’d like to clear out more rubble, but if you’re bleeding freely… we’ll have to take a risk.”

He bent down and continued to remove scree and rubble as quietly as he could while waiting for an answer from the old man. As time passed, butterflies built up in his stomach. After another minute passed with no response, he ran his fingers across the old man’s hand. This caused the hand to flinch and create a fist. In a gruff, old voice, the answer he had been seeking finally came to his ears.

“Can’t you let an old man sleep? I promise you, when you have a mug as ugly as mine, beauty sleep comes highly underrated. A few centuries of it might just make me look normal at this rate. What were you saying? Something about bleeding? Yeah, I’m fine. Well, as fine as I can be with a freakin’ bunker dropped on me.”

Bjorn smiled. It was inspiring to hear this old man still making light of his situation despite having gone through so much. Choosing his words carefully, Bjorn tried his best to sound strong but comforting.

“Can you move? Is your arm the only thing currently free?”

A dark laugh followed by a barking cough came from under the rubble.

“Can I move? If you go by what others say about me, my mouth will go on moving even after I’m dead. But to answer your question, barely. I can move my fingers, but I’m trapped in here from the waist down. Did you find the others yet?”

Bjorn was not sure he had heard the old man correctly. To think that there might be others under this precarious rubble sent a cold chill down his back. Taking a moment to survey the ruined area, the idea of finding anyone else alive here felt almost insurmountable.

Keeping his hands busy clearing rubble to keep from being overwhelmed, he replied, “Have I found anyone else? No, not yet. Are they as badly hurt as you?”

Silence was his only answer. He lay down on the ground so he might peer around the old man’s arm and possibly spot him within the dark recess of the hole, but found it was impossible to see anything.

The old man finally responded. “Are they hurt as badly as me? Not exactly. My new buddy is pretty beat-up. The stupid git went and did the wrong thing. My good friend Flint went and ripped him a new one, and that was before everything else that followed with the explosion. He has a sucking wound. A piece of metal pierced him from behind when the collapse started. If we pull it out, the suction holding the blood in will be lost. Let us just say he’s in awful shape.”

The old man coughed wetly before he continued, “They shot Elen before things all went to hell. I don’t know where she and the boy are. If you have to, leave me and find them first. Elen, Flint, and my buddy Archon are the only hurt folks I know about. That is, if you don’t count the harm done to my personal pride for letting something stupid like this happen on my watch.”

Sitting up, Bjorn understood he had to make a hard choice but had little experience with moral dilemmas such as this. If he left, the old man would die. Bjorn didn’t know where the other injured were, so going after them didn’t seem promising. The chances of finding them on his own was infinitesimal.

Biting his lip, he made the hard choice. Saving the old man was the only option that felt right and had a chance of success. Trying to sound confident, he shared his plan.

“I don’t know where your friends are, but I do know where you are. Let me save you first, and then, with your help, we can find your friends. So, here’s the deal: you have two pieces of soft rock wedged above you, and if I try to move one, the other will fall.”

Bjorn froze when the old man suddenly started laughing. He didn’t have to wait long to understand why.

“So… what you’re saying is I’m trapped between some concrete and a hard place? Well, I guess I would have won that bet. Would you believe they had a bet going that I would die due to some horrible catastrophe I inflicted upon myself? If I go, at least I can console myself knowing they were wrong.”

Bjorn shook his head, struggling to understand what this had to do with saving the old man’s life.

Exasperated, he asked, “What people were betting against you? Those friends of yours we need to find? Is this concrete a threat we need to be on the lookout for?”

The man’s hand flopped around, drawing Bjorn’s attention, and when it finally found Bjorn’s forearm, it clamped down on it.

In a choked voice, the man asked, “Are you sure you don’t know where my friends are? You’re gonna need help to find them. And no, my friends here would not bet on me dying in any way… unless it involved a good death. But be careful, she’s a spitfire. Don’t let her fool you, though. She has a good heart…”

Clearly the man was delirious if he was joking about dying. His rational mind was breaking down. Trying to keep him talking so he would stay conscious, Bjorn shared his plan of action.

“I’m going to wedge myself between those two pieces of soft rock. When I tell you, you need to move, if you can. It’ll be tricky, but I believe we can do this together. With luck, I’ll help you—but if I can’t, you’ll need to pull yourself free.”

Bjorn stood and got into position.

He was bracing himself against the rocks when the old man replied, “And if I can’t move on my own? It is sorta tight in here. I’m not sure how much help I’ll be. If you try this—and I’m not saying you should, but if you do go ahead with it—will you promise me you won’t attempt anything that might hurt you?”

Too much time had passed. They had been waiting far too long while others awaited their help. Bjorn was tired of waiting, so he ignored the old man’s question. He pressed his back against one slab of soft rock that easily weighed as much as him and pressed his hands against the opposite slab.

The old man continued, “I don’t know what you’re about to do, but for your own sake, please stop. You have no plan, do you? If you try to do something without thinking it through, it could get you hurt, or worse. Don’t risk your life over my sorry butt. I don’t deserve it—only my friends do.”

With a frustrated cry, Bjorn put everything he had into shifting the two slabs of rock. Inch by painful inch, they budged. Moving his feet to gain leverage, his arms shook as his ankle twisted painfully.

Almost as if it was coming from far away, the old man cried out, “Don’t do it, kid!”

A pain in his ankle forced Bjorn to glance down to see what was wrong. The old man was grabbing his ankle. With his hand gripping tendon and bone like a vise, Bjorn shifted his weight, but it did nothing to improve the situation.

In a fit of frustration, he yanked his ankle away from the old man as fast as he could. The slabs shifted, falling in toward the two men, but Bjorn pushed with all his strength to slow their progress.

It was clear the old man did not understand. He was going to be a hero no matter the cost.

“I refuse to let you die. I’m going to be a hero one day—and this is what heroes do!”

His left arm burned moments before it gave out on him. The soft rock slab came hurtling down faster than his weakened limb could move. Fingers scrabbling for purchase, he made a risky choice—throwing his back against the falling slab, Bjorn used his body to support the structure. The soft rock creaked loudly as it slowed. Placing both hands against the slab before him, he pushed with everything he had left, leaving his body shaking.

The old man’s voice came from below like a ghost wailing in its grave. “Listen to me! These may be the last words I ever say! Stop trying to be a hero. Heroes get themselves killed. All this hero shit is crap people tell stories about after they do something amazing or stupid, normally the latter—and those who fail don’t get the chance to tell us about their experiences. Leave me. Go find help. My friends can’t be too far away, I’m sure. Find them and have them come back and help. It’s the only way.”

A leaden feeling settled in Bjorn’s stomach. The slabs were closing in on him. Frustration boiled his blood, his mouth tasted sour, and a wordless scream ripped from his lungs. Yelling, screaming, rearing up from the depths came strength he’d never known he possessed. His arms stopped shaking. The slab before him moved as the one behind pressed down on him. The weight was almost unbearable, and his legs shook, his feet slipping on the debris. Closing his eyes, he rested his chin on his chest, training the entirety of his focus on keeping the two slabs standing.

When he opened his eyes, they zeroed in on the old man’s arm. There it lay, so weak and feeble in a small pool of its own blood. The bandages that wrapped the forearm still looked mildly fresh, despite the dust and debris kicking about.

At that very moment, Bjorn realized if he just shifted his weight, he could get out from under the two slabs and let them fall. He would be safe. He could just walk away, and no one would blame him. Who was he to be a hero? Maybe the history books were wrong. His father had been right all along.

Johnathan’s pleading voice reinforced the thoughts running through Bjorn’s head.

“Kid, I told you! Do not be stupid. I can hear you trying to move things by yourself. I told you, get help. Now get your sorry butt out of here!”

Bjorn’s claws scraped down the rough surface of the slab in front of him. He could visibly see his claws being worn down. As his hands refused to find purchase, the slab in front of him slowly pressed down onto his chin before forcing him to bow his head. It continued to tip even further, and soon the pressure crushing his neck was all he could focus on.

“Kid? You okay? Answer me, kid! Kid?”

The old man’s shrill cries did nothing to improve the situation. Folding his ears back, Bjorn thought of his father sitting in his chair. Gazing down at him.

Is this how my journey ends? I so wished to be a hero… I’m going to miss you, Father…

Blinking back his tears, memories of the history books filled with stories about turtles and the man who worshipped bats came to mind. Inevitably, the tables would turn, and they always got overwhelmed, but then what happened to them? For what felt like an eon, he strained to remember, and then it came to him.

Gnashing his teeth, he worked to find new handholds on the slab before him. The moment he had a grip, his arms wrested forward. Each inch he bought himself made it just a little easier to breathe, and he used that momentum to shift the slab away from him. Bringing a foot up, he placed it on the slab before him in between his hands. With three points of contact, the pressure became unattainable. A large crack echoed through the area, and just like that, it tipped away from him.

The soft rock landed with a thud, shifting the rubble several feet around it. With half the problem taken care of, Bjorn placed his hands against the standing slab and pressed hard. With slow movements, he gained the leverage necessary to shift its weight. When it finally pulled away from him, he let it slip from his fingers, triumphant.

Knees turning watery, he fell to the ground. Once he had collected himself, he removed the rest of the debris pinning the old man.

He was rewarded with the sight of the most lined and leathery face he’d ever seen. It was almost completely brown from dust and dirt, and when the old man smiled with bright white teeth, it just made his face look even dirtier.

“By the way, kid, you’re an idiot for putting your life in jeopardy. But thanks for saving my sorry butt.”

17

Johnathan

“When are we going to talk about what happened? You keep mentioning your friends. What happened to all of you? How did you survive?”

Johnathan ignored the new kid’s rambling and kept climbing down through the debris. He hoped this time it would work. They needed to find a way back down this time. His time spent buried after the cave-in felt like it had happened years ago. It was hard to accept it was only a few hours ago at most. Bjorn had saved his life, but in the process, put his own life at risk.

Here I am, doing it all again, dragging another innocent along to some dangerous place in a foolish attempt to save others.

The kid’s hand fell on his shoulder, interrupting his emotional pity-party. Brushing off the hand, he turned to find Bjorn sporting a wounded look. The kid was clearly taking this entire situation badly, and for a moment it all seemed so funny to Johnathan. The good people around him kept being hurt in such terrible ways, yet nothing seemed to faze him. And here was this new kid, trying so hard to keep it together for him, of all people.

Sighing, he stepped to the side of the passage they’d been following for the last few minutes and brushed the grime off a metal door wedged shut by debris.

Pointing to it, he asked, “Think you can do something about this, kid? Talking about anything other than how we’re going to find the rest of my party is pointless. Shelve whatever you must ask for later when we have time to talk. Can you do that or not?”

It was little comfort watching the kid walk past with a huff. Johnathan stepped back to watch him work the door open. Both men shielded their eyes as light from the newly opened passage flooded the tunnel. As their eyes adjusted, Johnathan’s mouth fell agape. Pushing past Bjorn, he stumbled forward and stopped, shocked by what he was witnessing. He looked back at the kid, who just shrugged before giving him a happy smile.

The room they’d stumbled upon was a surgical bay with working lights. Cabinets lined the walls, filled with medical supplies from a long-lost age. A gurney lay tipped over on its side under a large round light-panel that hung from the ceiling in the center of the room. Short of a few cracks in the tile floors, walls, and ceiling, things looked pristine.

Bjorn pushed forward, knocking Johnathan forward a few steps. Johnathan was so lost in thought about the room’s significance, he barely noticed the kid gathering supplies for the wounded. It was hard to accept what he was seeing. So many people had died from lack of medical treatment over his life—this room’s very existence mocked everything he’d fought so hard for. The number of lives he could have saved with the contents of this room alone were staggering.

He brought his open palm up against his face, hard.

Slap!

He did it again, and again. Then, ignoring Bjorn’s concerned look, he rushed toward the only other doorway in the room.

Tossing a comment over his shoulder, refusing to slow down, he said, “Come on kid, we got a friend to save. This stuff can wait.”

18

Johnathan

Their journey was a relatively slow process marred by serious difficulties. Johnathan was keenly aware of how much time it was taking. Each minute that passed was one less minute they had to save Archon. As affable as Bjorn was, Johnathan reached his breaking point an hour into their descent.

“Do you ever just shut up?”

Flinching at how harsh his voice sounded in his own ears, it didn’t help to see Bjorn duck his head like a child who had been called out for something.

Looking to the floor, Johnathan tried to express himself better with, “Look, I’m sorry kid… I didn’t mean to blow up at you. It has nothing to do with you. I’m just frustrated. Lives are on the line.”

Meeting the kid’s eyes, he looked at his smiling face and wondered what joke he’d missed.

His jaw fell when the kid said, “I understand. But I have good news. I believe we have arrived.”

To reinforce the statement, Bjorn pointed over Johnathan’s shoulder, causing him to turn around. The sight that greeted his eyes was both happy and tinged with regret. Across an enormous gap before them was the broken ladder that had led him up and out of the ruin. With renewed hope, the two men set to clearing out the rubble so they could save Archon.

Archon

As the water rose, Archon became colder. He knew, instinctively, this was a bad thing, but it was hard to get past the fact that the pain in his side was trickling away as well. With the water now lapping at his shoulders, he pushed himself up higher along the wall, only to slip. Water closed in around him. A part of him wanted to just stay here forever, but a stronger, deeper instinct forced his head above the water.

Gasping for breath, he floundered. Every attempt he made to grab hold of something failed. Slipping under the water again, he found his lungs ached and strained as he forced himself to hold in oxygen. Pushing up with his legs, his head popped up above the water long enough to get a deep breath before he slipped back under. Darkness slowly engulfed the cavern, forcing him to use his other senses to navigate his surroundings.

The primitive side of his mind urged him to thrash about mindlessly, to look for a way out of the water. His training told him otherwise. And while he knew the situation would eventually subsume his thinking to the primal side, he did his best to survive. Knowing he would soon run out of air in the tunnel, he pulled his legs up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. He knew if he could keep his body temperature from dropping too far, he might just have a chance.

It was all he could do.

Johnathan

Together as one, Johnathan and Bjorn wrestled the last rock obstructing their path out of the way. With a newfound freedom, the water sloughed up over the opening and across their feet.

Glancing at each other, Johnathan lunged forward toward the hole, only to be stopped by a big white furry hand. A cold fury grew within him as Bjorn pushed him back from the opening as easily as a child might move a toy. Watching the kid jump into the water and disappear burned him, but as his rational mind took charge, he could see the logic of it. The kid was far stronger than he was and not nearly as tuckered out.

Time ticked by slower than a passing glacier, but Johnathan refused to take his eyes away from the opening. Under the dark surface of the water, he saw movement. Relief surged, then despair, as Bjorn’s wet features burst out of the water. Shaking his head, the kid shed water everywhere, soaking Johnathan. Before he could ask about what the kid had found, he disappeared under the water once again.

Refusing to stay still any longer, Johnathan broke out the medical supplies they’d collected. A part of him hoped he wouldn’t need them, but today had already contained a lifetime of surprises—what was one more on top of the heap? Clenching his jaw, he set to work, clearing rubble to make a flat space to work on.

He jerked in surprise when Archon’s upper body flew up out of the water and landed with a wet slap against the ground. Scrambling over on hands and knees, Johnathan grabbed the man’s wrists. They were ice cold.

Through tears, he mumbled, “I told you I was coming back, you idiot. Hang in there. Don’t dare die on me now!”

Between the two men, they dragged Archon’s body from the water. Laying the man out on the floor, Johnathan refused to meet Bjorn’s questioning look as he tried to come up with a plan. They had a corpse lying in front of them. But something tickled the back of Johnathan’s mind.

Grabbing some gauze, he wrestled with Archon’s body to ease him up far enough to pack the wound where the rebar had entered. Once finished, he let the stiff body flop back onto the ground.

Turning tear-filled eyes to Bjorn, he tried to be as clear as he could be when he said, “Look, kid, I need you to do exactly as I say. I’m not sure what I have in mind will work, but it’s our best bet. Call it a gut feeling. Are you with me?”

Bjorn nodded, and Johnathan found a reason to smile for the first time that day.

Both men worked swiftly and efficiently. Soon, a small fire burned at their side. They cleared their workspace for the upcoming task and assumed their positions. Johnathan looked up at Bjorn, who stood with both feet on Archon’s back. Hands wrapped around the metal bar that had impaled the giant, he awaited Johnathan’s cue.

He gave the signal. Bjorn’s muscles rippled along his heavy features, and a wet, sucking noise emanated from Archon’s wound. The metal was slowly, carefully pulled out of his body. With a wet squelch, the rebar came out, and Bjorn stepped off Archon.

Wet crimson liquid pooled and bled from the open wound. Johnathan didn’t waste any time. Gauze in one hand and stapler in the other, he packed the wound. Then Bjorn was there, his hands forcing the wound closed as Johnathan stapled it shut to keep it from reopening.

With the task done, Bjorn grabbed the metal bar off the floor and thrust it into the small fire. As a team, the two men turned Archon over onto his back.

“Gauze.” Bjorn’s tight voice was loud in the alcove they worked in.

Jonathan threw a bundle toward him. Seeing Bjorn catch it one-handed while he worked the metal bar, Johnathan nodded and went back to work. Pulling the syringe stopper back, he filled the vessel with liquid.

Pulling the needle from the small bottle he held, he kept his eyes on Archon as he asked, “Are you ready?”

Bjorn nodded.

Johnathan lifted his hands over his head and brought the syringe down hard. It penetrated Archon’s unmoving chest. As one, Bjorn brought the white-hot metal rod down on the open wound where gauze had prevented blood from leaking out. Johnathan pushed the stopper down on the syringe, sending the liquid into Archon’s body. It was a long shot, but it was all they had left.

If Archon is what I think he is, this desperate attempt might just save his life.

He sat back as Bjorn threw the metal bar into the water, almost as though it offended him. The smell of burning flesh filled the air, and Johnathan would have gagged if he weren’t so focused on the unmoving body.

Archon’s eyes opened in distress, and he sat up screaming in pain before a wet cough cut him off. As Bjorn helped him clear his lungs with heavy thumps on the back, Johnathan turned away from the two men so he could clean up and hide his tears.

19

Johnathan

Johnathan found it rather impressive they were alive and walking back out into the sunlight. Feeling the warmth on his face twice today was a real treat. Giving Bjorn and Archon time to get situated, he picked up flammable items to start a fire.

Sometimes it’s the little things that help after a traumatic situation—and what we just went through certainly qualifies.

Once the fire was built, it was time for the hard conversation Johnathan had been dreading since they first started climbing back up to the surface. Finding a place to sit so he could face his two companions, he sighed before leaning forward, placing his hands on his knees.

Taking in the two men before him, he tried to slow his thoughts.

There’s still so much to do. Given Archon’s current condition, it’s a wonder he could move at all. We might have to count the big guy out on our next venture.

In a sad, gruff voice, he let his thoughts flow out.

“So, gentlemen… we have a slight problem. I mentioned this earlier to Bjorn.” Once he was sure he had both their attention, he continued, “Flint and Elen are still missing, buried under all this rubble somewhere. Before the sun sets, I think it would be best for at least two of us to head out and do some searching. Are you two in agreement?”

When both men nodded, Johnathan attempted to stand, only for Archon and Bjorn to call out simultaneously, saying, “Not you!”

When Johnathan looked up at the two men, Archon continued, “You should get some downtime for now. You have done a lot already. Consider your age. Try to rest some before you strain yourself further. I’ll look for your beast only because I owe you my life.”

Raising his eyebrow, glaring at the two men with steely eyes, Johnathan was sure he looked like he had just sucked on something terribly sour. What the two of them had said was touching, but they didn’t know what he was capable of. He knew he had to make up for his mistakes—he felt guilty enough as it was for the complications he’d created.

But his deeper, more reasonable side won out. It would require both time and energy to right his wrongs. Gritting his teeth, he just nodded, eliciting smiles from both men.

He watched as Archon and Bjorn walked off together to look for the two missing members of their dysfunctional group.

If things continue this way, Archon might just avoid making the same mistakes I made in the past. Though some mistakes you can never truly make up for.

Sighing, he searched his pocket and pulled out a beaten-up steel pocket watch that hadn’t worked since he’d been a young man. Looking at the watch, old, painful memories filled his mind. It would be a long wait before he heard back from the youngsters.

20

Johnathan

Johnathan felt something tickle his ear, drawing him out of his exhausted slumber. The fire next to him had long since burned down to embers, and a touch of dawn colored the sky. Images of his wife and child slowly drifted away from him as his sleep-addled brain tried to hold on to the wonderful memories.

A heavy hand fell on his shoulder and a rumbling voice purred near his ear, “What do you wish to do? She’s not doing well.”

Johnathan jerked his eyes open to find Bjorn’s sad eyes peering into his. He pulled back a fraction, trying to understand what he had just heard.

My wife is dead, as is my child. What woman is he talking about?

He blurted out, “What did you just say?”

Bjorn sighed.

“The woman you had me looking for. This Elen woman? I found her, and she’s not doing well. The racoon is panicked. I’ll need both you and the giant. As she should see a friendly face. We will need the giant’s strength to help me free her. Are you ready to be that friend?”

Looking over at Archon’s sleeping form, Johnathan watched him for several moments, making sure he was still breathing. His chest rose and fell so slowly it would have been easy to mistake the man for being dead. Johnathan looked at Bjorn as he shook his head sadly. Seeing the look on Johnathan’s face, Bjorn removed his hand from Johnathan’s shoulder.

Sitting up, Johnathan found his old friend ‘aches and pains’ had been joined by a new friend, ‘ouch, I got hit by an explosion’. Pushing his shoulders back to stretch his muscles, he waited a moment for the world to stop spinning. The last few days were clearly influencing him, but he refused to let it slow him. Slipping off the small chunk of concrete he’d been sleeping on, he found he needed a moment to find his equilibrium. The explosion had banged him up more than he’d realized.

Watching Archon sleep, he puzzled over some hard choices. While Archon was strong and more capable of surviving whatever got thrown at him, he was still human. Waking him now would slow his recovery, and Johnathan wasn’t sure he could be so unfair to the man who had saved his life. Memories of falling, of slamming into rocks before landing, bubbled up from within, and Johnathan visibly shuddered. Those memories were too fresh to deal with right now.

Nodding to the giant, he turned away from the firepit’s embers to follow Bjorn, only to find him gone.

Pursing his lips, he called out to Bjorn, “Where you go, kid? You headed off without me. What direction am I supposed to go now?”

The fading darkness, the low glow of the embers, and the rising sun behind him all made for weird lighting. The path before him was obscured, rendering walking perilous but not impossible. Blundering about in the dark, he held on to his surroundings for guidance. Thankfully, Bjorn’s voice soon rumbled back to him through the gloom.

“I’m over here. Please hurry. She could use your help.”

Squinting, Johnathan traced the voice. He thought he saw something moving in the distance and headed in that general direction. His search led him to Bjorn, who was standing still, staring at something on the ground. As he stepped around the kid to see what he was staring at, Johnathan raised his hand to his mouth in horror.

Elen.

The spunky raccoon with a heart of gold lay in a pool of her own blood. Terrible cuts lacerated her legs and arms. She was delirious and kept mumbling things into the night air.

Johnathan barked, “Come on, idiot. You think too much. Time for action.”

Bjorn stared at him with a hurt look on his features, but with no time to explain away the misunderstanding, he continued regardless. Shouldering the kid out of the way, he crouched so he could inspect the damage.

As he peeled back Elen’s blood-stained leather jacket to get a better look at the damage, Bjorn said from behind him, “I’m sorry, what did I do wrong?”

Irritated, Johnathan shook his head. Keeping his eyes trained on his work, he responded loudly enough he hoped the kid would understand and leave him be.

“Not you kid. Don’t interrupt old men when they’re in the middle of belittling themselves.”

Unzipping Elen’s jacket with shaking fingers, he pulled the blood-clotted garment away from her wounded shoulder. He ignored the cuts for now—they would mean nothing if the gunshot wound killed her. He held his breath as he peeled the leather back, hoping for the best. Underneath was an old burn smeared with blood and dried pus. Biting his lip, his deft hands worked to assess the damage.

Sitting back with a sigh, the heavy hand that landed on his shoulder caused Johnathan to smile. No matter how bad things got, he still had people trying to help him along.

Turning around, he faced Bjorn’s questioning eyes and nodded. Taking a deep breath, words tumbled from his mouth.

“Sorry, kid. I didn’t mean to snap at you. It’s all this stress. Elen’s in terrible shape, as I’m sure you’ve gathered. The good news is, she has some serious burn marks across sections of her body that have caused her shoulder to be a mass of scar tissue and likely helped deaden the pain some. Still, the bullet that punched through her must have hurt like hell. It’s now infected, and we need to drain it. Do you have any compresses or medical tools on you?”

Bjorn quickly nodded and raced off, his haste leaving Johnathan’s heart a tad lighter. Turning back to Elen, he inspected the surrounding area. She was inside a small hole but had left behind a blood trail that disappeared into the gloom. Before he had time to contemplate it, Bjorn arrived with his hands full of medical supplies. Taking what he needed, Johnathan turned back to his task and set to work.

Over his shoulder he said to Bjorn with as much emotion as he could muster, “Thank you… you know, for saving us and all.”

The words sounded false in his ears—they all owed Bjorn a debt far greater than any words could express.

21

Johnathan

Chewing on his lip, Johnathan did his best to keep his emotions at bay. The pool of blood Elen lay in was still wet and looked disturbingly fresh as it soaked into the hungry ground. The infection was worse than he’d first thought, and simply draining it wasn’t enough. Cutting away the dead flesh had been their only option.

Holding his hands up in the morning sunlight, he watched as the blood slowly dried from a ruby red to a dusky brown.

Rising to his feet, he muttered into the wind, mostly to himself, “I’m sorry, girl. It was what we had to do to get you back to your children. Keep fighting. You’ll make it through this.”

In the early morning light, reality was sinking in as to how bad off they were: Flint was still missing; Elen shot, infected, maimed; the man who had tried to kill them now sat in their camp healing, without having earned their trust; and now this eager newcomer was the only thing keeping them all alive. Johnathan looked up and had a feeling if River were still around, he would be disappointed by their performance.

Johnathan was old, older than he had any right to be, yet he couldn’t keep his eyes from wandering, his ears straining to make out unknown sounds. One did not live this long without always being on guard, and he had years more experience than the oldest person he had ever met.

When the sound of scratching tickled his ear, he dismissed it at first. He felt so miserable he almost mistook it for River clawing out of his grave, a flight of imagination. But it continued, drawing his attention.

Frantically looking about, he could not track where the sound was coming from. Closing his eyes every few seconds, he relied on his feet to guide him and approached where Elen had been holed up. Turning in a slow circle, eyes closed, he only opened them once he had zeroed in on where the scratching sound was coming from. His gut twisted when he concluded the noises were coming from the same direction as the blood trail Elen had left behind her.

Each step brought with it a feeling of anxiety. Heart beating a mile a minute, stomach twisting in knots, Johnathan forced himself to continue. His entire focus was locked on the blood trailing from the hole they’d found Elen in. Calling for Bjorn over his shoulder, he slowly closed on his target. The closer he got, the more the terrain exposed. The brown trail led to another hole just large enough for Elen to have crawled out of. Getting down on his knees, he turned one ear toward the hole.

He could hear the wind moving through the surrounding rubble. When that died down, all that was left was his heartbeat thudding loudly in his ears. Patiently he waited, for what he wasn’t sure, but waiting felt like the correct thing to do. Then the wind changed. He swept some hair from his face, and that’s when it happened.

A scratching noise came echoing right up out of the hole.

Bolting upright, Johnathan yelled, “Hey! I think I found something here. Hey Bjorn, Archon, anyone. I need your help now!”

Looking past his own shadow, the dark, dried blood stains stood out vividly against the concrete rubble. The slash marks along Elen’s legs came to mind, then other subtle details bubbled up in his awareness. Elen’s feet had been rubbed raw. It was nearly unnoticeable compared to her other wounds, but now seemed significant. A defensive wound. But who would she have been defending herself against?

Inspecting the hole while pondering, Johnathan realized he really had no choice. If it was Flint down there, they needed to save him. If it was something else, they would just have to deal with it.

22

Johnathan

Incapable of waiting for the others, Johnathan sat down and swiveled his legs into the hole. Lowering himself, he felt like he was once again descending into an underworld he’d only recently clawed his way out of—but this was for a good cause.

A sharp chill ran down his spine. Given all his years as a scavenger, his survival instincts were honed to a razor-sharp edge. There was something dangerous down here, that much was clear to him, but what it could be was still a mystery.

Deep claw marks scored the concrete floor of the small cave, splattered with trails of blood.

Is whatever caused these the same things Elen fought off?

A huge gray hand with claws reached out from the darkness, and Johnathan instinctively jumped back. For a moment, he was beyond the ability to think. Then he noticed the hand looked disturbingly familiar.

“Flint? Is that you, kid?”

Johnathan’s body turned icy as a deep, rumbling growl echoed up out of the darkness.

“Buddy? Is that you? Are you hurt? I’m here to help you out, kid.”

Even though it didn’t seem like a good idea, Johnathan reached out into the darkness with one hand palm up. If this was really Flint, he was hopeful his scent might calm him.

But another sudden movement caused Johnathan to jerk his arm back—except this movement came from above, as a massive human hand grabbed Johnathan’s arm and painfully dragged him back up into the light.

As soon as he was standing on the surface, the hand let him go, and Johnathan absently rubbed his arm as he turned on his attacker. Archon was lying belly-down next to the hole Johnathan had just been inhabiting. Unable to contain himself, he let loose a torrent of anger.

“Why did you stop me? That’s Flint. I saw him in there. He needs our help. What right do you have to stop me from helping my friend?”

He took a breath, then held his tongue when he saw the sadness hidden within the giant’s eyes. Not waiting for Archon to rise, he asked the single question that refused to be held back.

“Explain yourself, son. Why did you stop me like that?”

Archon met Johnathan’s eyes and the serious look stopped Johnathan’s tirade for a moment.

“You wanted me to release that monster? It was about to hurt you.”

Before Johnathan could even consider what he was doing, he brought his fist back to punch the giant in frustration. He froze, then pulled it back even further, intending to land the strongest punch he could on the giant’s scarred face. He stopped himself and let his arm drop.

Archon sighed. “You have every right to punish me.”

Opening his hands for fear of lashing out at the giant, Johnathan turned away and took a deep breath.

Without looking at the man, he said, “I’m sorry. My emotions got the better of me. No man should wish to hurt another. I should know that most of all. I’ll never raise my hand against you again. You had every right to pull me out of that hole. I knew something felt off.”

Silence hung heavy in the air.

Then Archon said, “You shouldn’t feel bad about it. You didn’t desire to hit a man, but a tool. I know that as much as you do. Tools are meant to be used, even if that means they’re to be abused. You were within your rights to hit me, if that makes you feel better.”

Flinching, Johnathan’s anger came pouring out. To hear a man of such strength and intelligence say something so dumb made his blood boil.

“Go figure! First, you want to kill us, now you’re trying to save us. If you’re gonna help, then help. But if you’re gonna stand there feeling sorry for yourself, just get outta my way!”

Kneeling, he pulled rubble and debris from around the hole to widen it.

When Archon didn’t immediately help, Johnathan yelled, “Did you not hear me? Help me out, you blasted giant! I need your help to get to Flint. For all we know, he’s trapped down there with Mya.”

“Mya’s not here.”

Archon’s emotionally dead voice stilled Johnathan’s hands. Sitting back on his haunches, he tilted his head upward as he stretched his back. Eyes closed, biting his lip, he did his best to control his anger. The last thing he wanted right now was to listen to the giant, but his rational side understood this could be important.

Turning to face Archon, he asked the question that hung in the air. “What do you mean, Mya’s gone? Are you saying she’s dead?”

Archon shook his head. “No, I didn’t say that. They have taken her from here. I’m sure of it. She’s not dead.”

Johnathan felt like all the wind was taken from his sails. He slumped forward to rest his weight on his arms. Thinking to himself, he experienced a moment of weakness.

Was all this… Has everything we’ve fought for amounted to nothing? To survive all this, only to find out we lost Mya.

He reacted on instinct, an instinct he’d tried to remove when he was much younger. Fist flying, he only realized what happened after his fist impacted Archon’s face. For all the good it did—he might as well have punched a rock.

Shaking his hurting hand, an apology spilled out of his mouth.

“Will you please forgive me for punching you? I’m sure that hurt.”

Archon narrowed his eyes, then shook his head.

“You stated people don’t deserve to hurt. Hitting me, you were not hitting a person, so anything I felt does not matter. You can’t hurt a tool that exists only to further your ends. Punch away, if that’s what you need. I will accept this if it is what you need.”

Working his jaw as he struggled for words, Johnathan took a second to look at this situation with a broader perspective. There was no way he was going to fix this situation immediately, so his only option was to use it to his advantage.

“If your only goal in life is to further the needs of those who use you… then you can answer some of my questions.”

Archon’s eyes narrowed for a moment before he nodded.

“What were you even doing near my village? Why take the girl? None of this makes sense. Why take Mya?”

It was clear to Johnathan that Archon was wrestling with how to answer his questions, given the way he screwed up his face in thought. And without serious muscle, Johnathan knew he couldn’t widen the hole himself. Sure, Johnathan would have fit through the hole, but Flint was much larger than he was. Archon appeared to be out of action, unwilling to help and struggling to answer the most basic of questions. Bjorn was off taking care of Elen and couldn’t be called upon.

Johnathan was at a crossroads. Either Archon would help him, or he would have to wait for Bjorn to get back.

Archon’s deep, gravelly voice cut through the silence like a knife.

“The reason I was near that village is… I was just passing through.”

Feeling there was more to the story, Johnathan casually tossed back, “Okay, so where were you coming from to pass by there? Not much around that village. I should know—I scavenged the area clean long ago.”

Archon rose to his feet. “The organization I work for—worked for—Control, sent me to inspect an old military base. They knew there was something dangerous present there. Even with that warning, what I found was… surprising.” Raising one eyebrow, Johnathan turned a steely look in Archon’s general direction until he continued. “The last group was a bunch of people I found at an old military site. Some of them had been born with alterations, others had contracted the virus sometime within their lives. So I made an easy decision.” Johnathan nodded. “I killed them. Purged the infected.”

The sheer lack of emotion in that statement rocked Johnathan to his core. This man had decimated who knew how many people just because they were in the wrong area at the wrong time when he arrived? To kill someone for something they had no control over… it was barbaric. Trying to keep his voice tight so he didn’t give away how he was feeling, only two words came out before his voice threatened to break.

“Go on…”

Archon dropped his head in an unmistakable display of regret.

“The group I was working with… their singular goal is to save the planet. They sent me out to collect samples for them while I dealt with the issue.”

Johnathan couldn’t hold back and asked in a sarcastic tone, “By killing people?”

Archon nodded. “Yes, by killing people. We can stop the spread of the virus by killing the infected. The very virus that brought about this world’s destruction. Just look at the bunker you found me in. If that isn’t a clear understanding of what humanity has lost… look to your friends.”

He spat out that last word with a sneer, as if he were saying something that tasted bad.

Johnathan couldn’t hold back his tongue as yelled, “How dare you! You think you’re better than the people who have survived this new world? Who gave you the right to judge what is right or wrong?”

He tried to ignore the sad eyes Archon turned in his direction. His heart hurt from the death this single man had caused—enough to easily rival his own blunders—but he had to remember that, unlike himself, Archon had been trained to kill. He most likely saw no other option, as his comments made it sound like anyone infected or different was bad and had to be removed from the world.

“I have no power in all this. Once my old master completes his experiments, he plans on activating the Aurora Project. I don’t expect to survive the outcome.”

Johnathan had heard enough. He held nothing back. No mistake he’d ever made in his life could compare to the one Archon had just admitted to.

“Then why help them? You blooming fool! You’re going to let this Control kill you and everything else in the world without a fight? Do you have such little self-worth you’re willing to throw your life away?”

Archon looked like he was about to say something, but then someone tapped Johnathan on the shoulder. He turned to find Bjorn looking confused as he took in both men. Now wasn’t the time to fill the kid in on what had transpired.

“Did you tend to Elen’s needs?”

Bjorn nodded.

Johnathan reached out and grabbed him by the arm and led him to the hole.

Tapping his foot next to the opening, Johnathan said, “Archon here is leaving it up to us. I believe Flint’s down there, and we need to get him out of this hole.”

Johnathan set them to work before anyone could protest otherwise.

23

Bjorn

“Okay. Get ready to pull on the count of three. We are almost here; widen the hole and we can get Flint out of this thing. He is a big guy like you, Bjorn. Just not sure he will fit through the area we’re currently working on.”

Johnathan’s voice sounded reedy to Bjorn’s ears after hours of grueling work. The soft rock kept crumbling as they dug—half the time it either slipped out of his hands or the piece broke away before he could fling it away from the hole. A pile or rubble sat only an arm’s distance, showing the large amount of work that had already been done to no effect.

There had to be a way to open the hole up wider so the old man’s friend could escape from below. He extended his claws to get a better purchase on his latest chunk. With Johnathan using a pipe as leverage, the two men set to lifting the latest chunk from what felt like a never-ending pile of rubble.

“Kid? Hey kid. You listening? Are you ready to rumble, or are you just having fun moving your hands around like you’re trying to swat bugs?”

Smiling, Bjorn took the outburst as a compliment. Over the last hour, he’d noticed that Johnathan got boisterous with those he appeared to like. Watching the old man go after Archon loudly when they were working together on something, only to then smile when the giant couldn’t see the old man’s face said a lot about him to Bjorn.

Even the loud remarks directed at himself always held a hint of a smile or a good-natured compliment, even if it was quietly provided. It was the quiet moments when the old man let his face slip that said more than any of his actions. The stricken look on his face, the fear for his friends he talked about told of his large heart that made Bjorn work all the harder. Johnathan’s a man to pattern himself after he hoped. Even if he’d only known him for a short time.

Rolling his shoulders, Bjorn waited for Johnathan’s signal.

“Okay. On a count of three. Three… Two… One!”

Legs pumping, arms tensing, Bjorn pushed his mass into the massive chunk. Metal rang out as it scraped across the soft rock as Johnathan’s pipe slid around to find purchase. When it did, Bjorn felt the slab start to give. Ears twitching, he heard another noise coming from nearby. It hardly surprised him when Archon came around the side and grabbed onto the soft rock, helping to lift it together as a team. Even hurt, the giant was as strong as an ox.

Archon grunted louder and Bjorn felt the weight in his hands quickly disappear. His jaw dropped as Archon wrested the chunk away, lifting its weight all by himself. He twisted his torso and swung. The three of them watched as the debris flew a few feet before thudding onto the ground. Before Bjorn could get up off his knees, Johnathan was moving in a flash.

Curious, he watched the old man fall upon Archon like a thundercloud. The old man was red-faced and sweating, but had a mad look in his eyes. He stopped less than a hand’s width from the giant’s chest, puffing hard. His bravado impressed Bjorn—the old man had true bravery, as his head stopped only midway up the giant’s broad chest. His head tilted up to look the giant in the eyes. Archon looked down at the old man.

Bjorn had to hide his smile when Johnathan said, “Dammit, son! Why is everyone around here so bloomin’ tall?”

Bjorn raised his eyebrow, and his nose twitched as he forced himself to continue to keep a straight face. It was funny to watch the two men interact. Johnathan was clearly a man who couldn’t stop talking, much like some of the people he’d read about. The old man loved to comment on how he had talked so much, but Bjorn found it comical that Johnathan didn’t realize how much his mouth kept spouting comments at others.

Archon appeared to be different. He’d had little time with the man, but there was a sadness in his gaze that was hard to miss. The giant hadn’t acted aggressively toward them, but Bjorn could smell it on the old man—there was the stink of anger on Johnathan. Something had happened between those two. Bjorn paid attention to the conversation.

“Look, you saved my life. Even after the kid beat the living snot out of you. You could have let me die when all that stuff came down on us… I just…”

Bjorn twitched his ears, trying to make out the last of what Johnathan said, but couldn’t. It was clear Archon hadn’t heard it either. Then, to both their surprise, Johnathan burst into tears. Bjorn’s heart went out to the old scavenger. When he glanced up at Archon, the giant seemed confused, unsure of how to react.

Bjorn waited for Archon to do something, but when he just stood there passively as Johnathan cried, Bjorn pantomimed spreading his arms out, like he was about to hug someone. When Archon followed his movements, unsure of himself, Bjorn nodded. Then the giant stood there, his arms stretched out and waving in rough circles. Bjorn shook his head and closed his arms to show Archon what a hug looked like. He caught on. The large man slowly closed his arms around Johnathan and squeezed.

When the old man started sputtering, unable to breathe, Bjorn chuckled and said with a nod, “Softly…”

Johnathan sucked air in deeply, and Bjorn smiled. These two men were hilarious. Johnathan was possibly the most boisterous man he’d ever known. And if he was being honest, the only human he had known. He hoped they were all like him. Archon was the first giant he’d ever met, but he still felt unsure about the man. Now that the two men appeared to be in better spirits, Bjorn felt it was a good time to ask a question that had been bugging him for a while now.

“Who hurt Elen? Did the Scavs get to you too?”

The moment he uttered ‘Scavs’, Johnathan jumped back from Archon’s embrace. The old man looked around for danger like a bird ready to take flight, and Bjorn had to stifle a laugh. When the old man rounded on him, Bjorn found himself totally unprepared for his onslaught.

“Why on earth would you bring up people like that? Did you see them around here before? Tell me, kid!”

Bjorn nervously wrung his hands. Archon provided nothing more than a shrug when Bjorn looked to him for support.

Unable to meet the old man’s eyes, he mumbled, “I might have met a pack of them on my way over here.”

“What did you say, kid? Speak up.”

Bjorn tried to be as brave as he could and made eye contact before he said, “I ran into a pack of them not too far from here, just over the river. Maybe a night or two ago?”

The color drained from Johnathan’s face. He whipped out his wiry hand and clamped down on Bjorn’s wrist, his sudden fervor and intensity shocking him. As the old man pulled him away toward where they had left Elen, Bjorn was left to wonder what was happening.

Johnathan called back as he and Bjorn left. “You got this Archon. Do what you can here. We need to move Elen before things get even worse.”

The look Archon gave Bjorn was clear. The giant of a man was unsure of what was happening. At least Bjorn wasn’t the only one who felt that way.

24

Archon

Archon looked up from his work to find Johnathan hightailing it over to him. Red-faced and puffing like mad, Archon mused that if a man his age weren’t careful, he would die of a heart attack, rendering saving his life a worthless cause. Shrugging, he set back to work. Just a few more debris pieces to go before he got a real handle on what he would need to do to either close off the hole or save the wolf. Unfortunately, he barely got any more work done before the old man was upon him.

“Archon… they found… us. I don’t… know how big the group is… but we’ll need all hands on deck. Any idea how long… it will take to free Flint?”

Throwing another chunk of debris to the side, Archon rose and looked down at the old man. Johnathan appeared to be looking for something along the ground. Shrugging, Archon opened his mouth to speak when movement caught his eye.

Bjorn came running along, wet from the chest down. He loped along on two legs and an arm while cradling something. Finding himself somewhat impressed at the speed the mutant achieved on only three limbs, he chided himself for appreciating the altered.

Then Johnathan stood up and waved around a piece of broken rebar with pieces of concrete still attached. The old man was a nuisance, and a dangerous one at that. It was easy to see his weapon wasn’t well suited for him—it was far too heavy for his slight frame—but Archon refused to dash the man’s spirit. Sighing, he bent over and grabbed the long pipe Johnathan had used earlier for leverage.

Johnathan

“Put that stupid thing down before you hurt yourself. I need your help.”

Johnathan couldn’t believe Archon said that to him. Caught off guard and feeling chided, he put the piece of rebar down.

Realistically, Archon was probably right. It was throwing him off balance with each swing. Nearby, Bjorn appeared to be doing okay, even though the kid looked scared witless. Swallowing hard with a dry throat, Johnathan closed his eyes for a moment to settle himself.

Remember what your wife always told you, protect the kids and innocents first.

A sigh escaped his lips, but he stood up and threw his shoulders back even as his stomach curdled.

Bjorn and found him looking frantic and scared. His head whipped around, as though he was about to be attacked. The kid’s nerves were stretched thin by the looming Scav attack. Fear etched his striped face. Ears flat, eyes tight, fingers clenching open air, the kid was beside himself with fear.

This kid must have never had to defend against an enemy before. From the look of him, he’s a runner. I bet any fight he’s been in he had to stay mobile to survive.

Finally, Bjorn nodded in agreement, even as his eyes looked past Johnathan to search their surroundings for raiders. Johnathan pushed ahead regardless.

“Children and innocents first, right?”

Bjorn cocked his head to the left, his eyes focusing on Johnathan once more. “What?”

His voice was high-pitched, illustrating his nerves. Johnathan plastered a smile on his face he did not feel.

“Look, Elen has kids back at home. Poor thing is suffering extra because of that bullet wound. You keep her safe, okay? I know you can do that better than anyone else here,” he said.

Bjorn nodded, tension visibly rippling across his shoulders. He looked toward the river and then back at Johnathan, who shrugged good-naturedly.

“Don’t worry, kid. Old grumpy here, I got this.”

Archon

Johnathan eyed him as he stood up, makeshift bludgeon in hand.

“Oh great, you have a weapon. I guess it will just be the three of us, huh? Well, at least you and I have combat training. Not sure about the kid.”

Archon ignored Johnathan’s silly banter as he watched Bjorn stop nearby and put the wet raccoon inside a small alcove formed by some concrete rubble. Stepping in front of it, hands wide, claws out, it was easy to see Bjorn would be a formidable opponent to fight against. Glancing back at Johnathan and the way he waved his rebar club around, throwing off his balance repeatedly, he was less than impressed.

Archon brought the pipe up over his head and swung it down with all his might. Breaking through layers of concrete flakes, the pipe wedged in deep. Putting some weight on it, he found it was wedged in tight, right where he wanted it.

Archon stepped down into the hole, avoiding the pipe jutting out on his left side, and said to Johnathan, “I’ll take care of this if you have enough strength to keep me safe. While I doubt that’s the case, we need the help from your monster.” The reaction on Johnathan’s face made Archon uncomfortable. Control had been right all along; these people were changing him. Shoving that thought aside, he slid himself further down into the hole, seeking out handholds along the way. He yelled at Johnathan, “Put all your weight on the pole. I need you to hoist as much of this rubble as you can manage. Don’t call Bjorn over. He’s best staying where he is. If I can get Flint free, he can help us fend off the incoming attack.”

The old man winked in acknowledgment, which put a smile on Archon’s face. He reached up absentmindedly and touched his face. It had been so long since he’d smiled. Mya had been the first to get him to do it, and now Johnathan. It was both comforting and an uncomfortable feeling.

Johnathan

Wrapping his hands around the cold metal pipe, he leaned back with his full weight. The pipe creaked a little then bent down far enough that it left Johnathan hovering a mere foot off the ground. As the pipe settled, he bounced along with it until things stopped moving. Then he shook himself, trying to get the remaining debris to shift. Cursing that the pipe refused to budge, he jostled himself a few more times before a metallic snap resounded in the air.

The ground smacked him hard in the back. The metal pipe he had been holding onto remained in his hands, except it was now much shorter than when he’d started. Dropping the useless thing, he got onto his hands and knees and crawled over to the remaining pipe stuck in the ground. There was barely anything left to grab on to. Only a foot or so stuck up out of the ground, the end a mess of sharp metal pieces.

Then the concrete Archon had wedged it under, moved, and the remaining pipe disappeared into the ground. With a curse, Johnathan rose to his feet. Walking over, he grabbed the broken pipe he had dropped; it was as good a weapon as he was going to find.

Archon

The sound of scraping concrete was loud in the small space. It filled Archon’s ears and drowned out everything else—that is, until a deeper, lower sound overwhelmed it. Glancing between his arms, he searched the dark shadows for the sound where a low growl came from that sent little shivers through his spine.

He stabilized himself against the ground and pushed against the concrete slab with everything he had. The weight moved inch by inch as the growl grew in depth and anger.

Some instinct caused him to take a second glance at the shadows. Before his mind could register anything, pain exploded on his left side, rippling down through his lung and into his leg.

Biting down a scream, Archon pushed with every ounce of strength he could muster. Pain washed all thought away, except for one. He needed to help Johnathan and his friends, no matter the cost.

Small rocks and dust rained down onto Archon, but he was beyond that now. Something within him recognized he had to fight or run. At first, there was no distinction between the two. Then, in what felt like a split second, his brain processed everything around him. If he ran, the slab he was propping up would fall, and they might never get it back out. But to fight meant he might open his wounds and bleed out.

Knowing the longer he held the slab up to allow Flint the chance to escape, the closer to death he was, he cursed the wolf in his mind. A large part of him questioned if taking all these risks might give him a chance to be a part of something with the old man, something he was finding he sorely wanted.

He was and had always been a fighter. Locking his legs, he pushed up with his entire body. Archon unlocked his knees, and the weight fell, which he absorbed as best he could. In one quick thrust, he propelled the weight up and let go.

Exhausted, he relaxed his legs. His consciousness blurred around the edges. As Archon descended into the darkness, all he could focus on were the two yellow eyes boring into his own.

Johnathan

Movement drew his eye in time to see a complement of Scavs running full-out from the river toward Bjorn. Johnathan jogged back to the hole Archon was in, dragging the pipe along with a loud scraping sound. He raised it high in his hands, ready to swing at the closest attacker as a few Scavs broke away from the pack and headed in his direction.

The ground, a few inches to his left, sank, and stayed that way for a moment before exploding up in an arc that slammed down onto the ground. The waterfall of dirt nearly buried a Scav unlucky enough to be running in that general area—it jumped out of the way at the last moment, causing Johnathan to pump his fist in the air. If it was all going to be this easy, this would be a breeze, or so he hoped.

The smile did not last long. They swiftly engaged in violent combat.

Johnathan dodged a Scav coming in with a knife and brought the pipe down on its back, sending it slamming into the ground. Looking for the next attacker, he brought the pipe up in time to block a roughly made knife from impaling him in its downward swing. Bringing his weapon around, the pipe made a dull thud against the offending Scav’s head.

The stinking creature fell to one knee, and before Johnathan even had time to think, another Scav forced him to take a step back. Its club came sailing in at waist height, only slowing as it broke open the top of the kneeling Scav’s head.

The club assaulted him hard and fast. Every swing forced Johnathan back a step. He knew deflecting the power blows would either numb his hands so much he was likely to drop the pipe, or it would bend and become useless. Either option was undesirable. Yet each step he took back made the next harder to find in time.

Glancing quickly at the ground to find his next safe footing, he noticed the Scav he’d brained was missing. He could hear movement from behind his shoulder—but with the club coming in hot and heavy, he simply didn’t have time to react.

25

Johnathan

Johnathan’s foot slipped. Falling back, the club sliced through the air where his head had been just a second earlier. The pipe shook in his hand as it impacted the ground—its vibration so intense it forced him to release it. A split second later, pain lanced up through his hips as he hit the ground hard. Footsteps from behind sounded loudly in his ears.

This was it. Either the Scav in front of him would get the kill or, if he was lucky, death would take him unseen from behind.

A gray blur appeared then, emerging from the hole Archon had gone into, and disappeared before Johnathan’s brain had time to register it. A wet spray hit him in the back, but he barely noticed it—his eyes were fixed on the Scav before him. He watched as it brought its club arcing down on top of him.

The blur of gray flew over Johnathan’s head—he instinctively ducked and rolled to the side to avoid getting hit. A loud growl rent the air and shook Johnathan out of his shock.

Blinking, the world resolved into a blurry picture as tears rolled down his face. There was Flint, crouching on all fours over Johnathan’s club-wielding attacker. He’d saved him.

But something was wrong. The Scav wasn’t moving and Flint’s head was tracking the other Scavs in the distance. In a burst of speed, he flung himself forward after them. Johnathan watched on, perplexed.

The fallen Scav lay before him, its head detached from the body, as Flint tore into his next opponent.

26

Archon

With each pull of the bandages wrapped around his chest, Archon wondered if Johnathan had secretly been trained in torture. The man seemed to have a natural talent for it; belying his friendly nature. Each tug of Johnathan’s hands forced another low groan from Archon’s lips, no matter how much he tried to prevent it. Struggling with the pain, he knew he couldn’t interfere and instead bit his lip as Johnathan continued his work.

“Okay, that should just about do it.”

The old man’s shadow danced around in the firelight. Archon watched it flicker about. It was almost a comfort when Johnathan sat down within arm’s reach. Archon knew with him close by, if something happened, the old man would be there to help. Torn between that comforting feeling and frustration over the lack of agency he had over his own wounds, Archon struggled on stoically in silence.

Staring at Johnathan as he was, it wasn’t a surprise when Johnathan said, “Nice to be admired, but what exactly are you looking at, you big, beautiful guy?”

Archon found meeting Johnathan’s inquisitive eyes was difficult.

Unsure how to respond to what was either a compliment or simply a teasing comment, Archon mumbled with a less-than-confident tone to his voice, “Um… nothing. I was just noticing you look older than anyone I’ve ever seen before. Both within the bunker and out in the world at large. It just has me wondering, is all.”

Turning back to the fire, Archon felt the weight of the silence that fell between the two men. He wished for the time before he met Mya, when he was perfectly comfortable sitting alone with his thoughts. Something deep within himself refused to allow him to believe that lie anymore, no matter how comforting it had been.

A few moments later, the wind shifted, and the sound of meat being ripped apart floated into their campsite. Archon wanted to believe the sound wouldn’t have bothered him in his earlier life either, but tonight it certainly did. Each wet sound caused his arms to tingle. Rubbing his hands up and down his injured forearms, it surprised him to find his skin covered in minor bumps. His mind tried to lie to him and say they were goose bumps, but having never experienced them before, a small part of him knew the truth, that the lie was only to make himself feel better.

“Don’t worry, buddy. It might bring you some solace to know my ugly mug can’t get any uglier. Already got enough wrinkles to make a Shar Pei look flat.”

Johnathan’s voice held a tone of distracted disinterest. Archon found he didn’t recognize that word. ‘Shar-Pei’. Shaking his head, he looked at the old scavenger and found the old man staring off into the darkness. Following his gaze, he turned and squinted in the low light. As his eyes adjusted to compensate, the silhouette of a pile of broken concrete appeared in view. To its right was the wolf, making those wet sounds they’d heard traveling on the wind.

It was eating its latest meal.

Earlier, Archon had questioned what they would do once the Scavs’ bodies were all gone, but the only reply he’d received was that was a problem for tomorrow.

Training his eyes back on the old man, he asked, “What word was that you used? What is the meaning of it? I don’t recognize that word.”

Archon had prepared for most things in his life, but Control tossing him aside had completely upended everything. As much as he felt he should have been ready for Johnathan’s reaction, he was unsure anything could have prepared him for it.

Johnathan turned back to Archon and smiled, then slapped his knee and giggled. Archon’s confusion only worsened when Johnathan winked at him.

He realized the old man was having fun at his expense only when the old man said, “Don’t know that word, do ya? Shar Pei?”

Scratching his chin, Johnathan leaned back and stared at the night sky as though deep in thought.

“It is—or at least was—a dog breed back in the old world. If anything, it was more wrinkles than dog. Saw it in one of the picture books I scavenged for my daughter before she died. Carried that book around for years after her passing. Couldn’t give up that darn thing for the life of me.”

Archon nodded and asked, “What happened to the book? Did you give it away to someone?”

Johnathan’s joyful look soured. He looked into the fire and said, “I wish, kid, I wish… I had to burn it one night to keep from freezing.”

Silence filled the small area for several minutes as both men pondered the scars they had that couldn’t be seen. Then Bjorn stepped into the light, and both men looked up at the newcomer. Bjorn smiled, exposing his large fangs, causing both men to look back into the fire, mollified.

Without looking up, Johnathan asked, “How’s Elen doing? You’ve been tending to her better than her own mama. You have a tender heart, kid. Never change.”

Archon heard the tinge of sadness in the old man’s voice, but also a note of respect. So much emotion—the way these people used their voices was maddening.

While he hadn’t really been exposed to many people during his lifetime, his training had at least taught him to read body language, to assess threats. The way Johnathan bunched his shoulders caused Archon to suspect the man was hiding his real feelings. Bjorn looked more carefree, and a part of him wondered if that was simply because he was youthfully naïve. Yet, for someone so young, the youngster appeared to find inspiration in Johnathan.

The confusing evaluation evaporated when Archon surprised himself by accidentally verbalizing his thoughts.

“How long has she been hurt like that? She’s suffering from infection, yes? Has her fever broken at any point? Has she been able to take any food in?”

Silence greeted his questions. Feeling uncomfortable, he turned toward the fire. When the silence became too much, he raised his eyes to inspect Bjorn. The lad was smiling broadly, ears up and tail wagging. When Archon didn’t get any further response, he turned to Johnathan. The old man was smiling much the same way.

Watching Johnathan nod, Archon felt unsure about this whole interaction.

His tension didn’t ease when Johnathan said, “My… look at you, caring and all that. Good for you. You’re right, she’s infected. Took a nasty bullet to the shoulder in your bunker. The only positive here is it was just her shoulder. If she had lost a limb, or been hit in a vital organ, well… And then there’s the fact the bullet went clean through. Lucky.” Johnathan didn’t stop, but continued after a slight pause, and Archon found his heart rate jerking about uncomfortably with every sentence. So much emotion. It was a new, highly uncomfortable experience. “Elen’s wound got infected. Without those old-world drugs we found in a room while we were chasing down your sorry butt, she might have died by now. She’s a tough bird, that one. Big heart. Bet she chews rocks for fun.”

Looking to Bjorn for support in understanding the cryptic statements, Archon found the lad just shrugged, aggravating him. He wasn’t used to feeling confused about the world around him.

Settling his eyes on Johnathan, he asked in a quiet voice, “Isn’t your friend a raccoon? Why on earth would you call her a bird? Does she have some bird DNA in her?”

The old man burst out laughing, puzzling him. Something about the way he spoke seemed to provide an endless source of amusement, yet all he was doing was asking completely logical questions. This was how the surface world was. DNA swapped back and forth endlessly as the old-world plagues ravaged the land. It was a wonder there were still animals and plants resembling those who’d lived before things fell apart.

An unexpected touch landed on Archon’s shoulder, and he lashed out instinctively. Grabbing the wrist of his attacker, he pivoted his weight. He braced himself, placing his weight on the balls of his feet—one twist and his opponent would be thrown to the ground. Tilting his head down to his chest, Archon shifted his eyes to the attacker’s hand to watch where his body would need to pivot under its weight.

He paused—the heavily wrinkled, dirt-covered tan hand looked familiar. Flicking his eyes across the fire, he saw Bjorn frozen mid-stride, horror written on his face.

Something didn’t feel right about all this, but Archon knew if he let go, the assailant could attack him from behind. Instinct urged him to follow through, but his head told him to act with prudence.

Letting the wrist go, Archon twirled his body about, leg swinging out to a stop before the fire, putting it to his side. He found himself staring into Johnathan’s surprised, hurt eyes. Straitening up, Archon’s face clouded over with regret.

Johnathan found the ability to speak before Archon could as he rubbed his hurt wrist.

“I’m sorry, kid. You were so lost in thought, I didn’t think you could hear us. We tried getting you to respond. I just wanted to make sure you were doing alright, see if you had any thoughts to share.”

His voice sounded apologetic, which made Archon feel even worse for reacting the way he did. So few during his lifetime had put their hands on him in a nonaggressive manner. He mumbled, “I’m sorry for my actions. Few have ever touched me without wanting to do harm. I ask that you never touch me like that again.”

Johnathan held his hands up in surrender.

In a sad and subdued voice, he said, “I’m truly sorry, kid. I didn’t know. If I did, I would have—”

A growl cut off Johnathan’s words. Archon’s body tensed as something humid blew against the side of his neck.

His eyes flicked to Johnathan’s. The old man’s focus fixed over Archon’s right shoulder.

In a powerful voice, he said into the cool night air, “Flint, my boy. It’s okay. He didn’t attack me. We’re all good. Are you good, kid? You have what you need. All the meat you can eat, right over there. Go on kid, we were just playing around. Right, guys?”

Archon noticed the old man shudder as he choked out his words. Bjorn piped up, agreeing in the same sweet, forceful tone—but he didn’t process their words. He only truly relaxed when Flint slowly moved away across the field of rubble. When he felt he could risk it, he reached out and lowered himself into his previous seat with shaking hands. The adrenaline coursing through him had him shivering, and he forced himself not to fidget.

Once his nerves had calmed, he broached a difficult subject.

In a quiet voice only loud enough to carry above the crackling of the fire, he asked, “Johnathan, do you or Bjorn have any thoughts on what to do with your… monster?”

It felt like uttering that last word sucked all the air out of the area, and it was hard not to see the furtive looks Bjorn and Johnathan shared. Archon wondered if he should have tried a different tactic when Johnathan broke the silence.

“He’s no more a monster than you are. Do you consider yourself a monster?”

It was a curious question. Pondering, Archon tried to come up with the best answer he could.

“I don’t eat my kills, though I dissect them when required. Does that put me in the same realm as your pet beast? I’m not sure. But for the sake of argument… Yes. I’m just as much a monster as he is.”

He found it curious neither of them could meet his eyes. Archon wearily waited to see how this would play out. He thought about whether this moment would lead to the group rejecting him, or at the very least censoring him for expressing his opinions openly. The last thing he expected was what Johnathan said next.

“You may be large. Some might call you a giant. But you’re human. You’re no monster, just like my boy Flint. He’s more human than some humans who walk this land. Something you and your old master did to him caused all this. He’s a good kid.”

Johnathan’s pained look toward Bjorn didn’t escape Archon’s attention. The old man appeared to struggle with something. Feeling guilty, Archon tried to steer the conversation in a different direction.

“Okay. Say your friend Flint is no monster. But he certainly isn’t the same person, the same being who fought me in the bunker before things exploded. How do you explain that? Because I can’t, and I had access to more biogenetic information than either of you. You both saw what he did… is doing to those Scavs. Do you wish to be next?”

Johnathan returned a steely gaze magnified by the campfire reflected in his eyes. Archon swallowed and felt the color draining from his face. He’d never seen a look like the one Johnathan directed toward him just then. It spoke of danger in amounts Archon had never dreamed of—the old man’s full rage was directed at him. It was only Bjorn’s timely intervention that saved his life in the tense moment.

“I think I know a way to help your friends Flint and Elen—and possibly even you, Archon. If you’ll both hear me out. I can take you home with me. To my father’s place. He can help you all mend your hurts. Though he may not be happy at first, he’s a good man. He’ll try to help, I’m sure.”

Johnathan broke eye contact, and Archon let out a breath he hadn’t been aware he was holding. Keeping to himself for the rest of the night, he pondered what had just happened as his companions made plans to travel. Paying attention with only half an ear, he gleaned they would arrive at this new place by tomorrow afternoon.

27

Johnathan

Johnathan watched his small little group as they traveled. Archon was subdued, keeping a watchful eye out for any threats. Flint carried Elen in one hand and curled up with her to take small naps any time they stopped. Ever since his feast on his prey, he’d found Elen and protected her like a mother hen. His personality had yet to return, but his protective instincts were there.

There was no change with Elen; she didn’t flinch or move even when they changed her bandages. Bjorn was the wild card. He came across as affable and kind. His skills were more basic, clearly homegrown. He spoke of his mysterious father always with an air of awe, warmth, and concern.

Sunlight beat down on the small group, and Johnathan was hard-pressed to ignore how weary they all were. It had been a long journey into the middle of nowhere. Trees pressed in on all sides, with nothing like a home in sight. There was, however, a mound of ivy that covered a large structure, and just the sight of it gave him goose bumps.

He flinched when Bjorn said, “It’s good to be home finally. We’ll find help here. I know my mentor will wish to meet all of you.”

Wearily watching Bjorn step closer to the ivy, Johnathan reached out to stop him. He paused as the ivy rippled and moved on its own, creating an opening to what seemed to be a hidden building. It amazed him to see rusty metal plates peeking through the gaps in the greenery. He whistled. Based on the architecture, he knew this had once been an old-world warehouse.

What he had taken for a heap of vegetation was actually a humongous building. Bjorn stopped before the dark entrance and waved for everyone to follow. Johnathan shared a glance with Archon and saw he didn’t look too impressed. Seeing his eyes flick to the side, he followed with his own to find Flint carrying Elen into the darkness after Bjorn.

Johnathan planted his fists on his hips and sighed. Dropping his arms, he walked over to Archon to debate a little. He already knew he was going to say something stupid, as was his habit.

“So, kid, what are your instincts telling you?”

Archon swept the area with his eyes before turning back to Johnathan. “There’s no sign of a threat outside here—but a secret building like this? It could hold many things inside. There’s also the matter of your reaction when you saw the ivy move. Was there a reason for that?”

Stiffening, Johnathan eyed the ivy again to make sure it hadn’t moved before turning back to answer.

“You noticed that, did you? Back when we were following your sorry butt, we took a detour. Turned out badly for us.”

He could not help but grimace, thinking about losing River in the bombardment. Without meeting Archon’s eyes, he said, “Flint lost his father in an ivy-covered city.”

The silence between the two men stretched agonizingly long.

Eventually, the giant asked in a hushed voice, “What happened to this one you call River?”

Shaking his head, Johnathan said, “I think your old master dropped missiles down on the city. We ran, of course, but the ivy was alive. It trapped us inside those ancient buildings. I didn’t see how it happened, but one moment River was there with us, and the next he was gone. I went back to look for him, but never found his body. All evidence indicates he’s dead. We were forced to press on for fear of losing Mya.”

Johnathan had met many people in his time. Some had masked their emotions well, making it a guess as to what they were truly thinking. Archon was no such person. Upon hearing River had died because of the missiles, the giant froze up. It was so obvious; Johnathan didn’t have to watch his face to see the visceral reaction. He made a promise that one day he would broach the subject with Archon again and uncover the truth of it all.

But today was not that day.

Taking a deep breath, he turned on his heel and walked toward the opening to the building. Keeping a careful watch on the ivy, it didn’t seem to move of its own accord aside from when the wind played across its leaves as he advanced toward it. He slowed, pressing two fists into his back, and leaned back, popping his spine in several places.

Knowing he was just stalling—for all he knew, Elen and Flint could be in danger—he threw a comment over his shoulder before entering the shadows.

“Wait here till I come back. You and I have some things we need to talk about. I trust you’ll be here, or I will track you down. You and I aren’t finished yet.”

28

Johnathan

Just about anything could have been hidden within the building’s shadowy twilight. After the long trek, the building’s perfectly flat floor threw Johnathan off balance for a few steps, so used he was to treading across uneven ground. As the details of the interior resolved, he stood gaping at the sheer size of the internal structure. If he had to guess, it was at least twice the size of the bunker they had been buried under. Flat concrete floors ran the entire length of the building. Bolt holes and old stains and scratches on the floors told him that old machines— big ones—had once been here before being removed ages ago.

He marveled at the struts holding everything together, which demonstrated someone had maintained the structure with care and hard work. His experienced eyes took in details he felt most would have missed. There were a few signs of decay. Where bolts would have normally held things together, ivy instead grew through the holes. Something about this place didn’t feel right, but it didn’t have the wonder or oppressiveness the ivy city had held.

Rapping his knuckles on the sheet-metal wall, a deep, metallic tone greeted him, echoing through the large chamber. Turning when he heard movement, he watched as some startled birds flew out of a nest hidden within the rafters and danced in the air near the ceiling. Everywhere he looked held marvels he’d thought he would never see again. Overall, the building was impeccably intact, given its age.

Following the roof with his eyes, he found the far wall where the sheet metal came down opened into multiple doorways. Each door granted passage to unseen places, and Johnathan suspected they had once led off to office spaces or sleeping dorms. It was always so hard to tell after so much time had passed. So many people had sought shelter during the war as fallout, and later, plagues swept the planet. Those who couldn’t find bunkers did their best with the aboveground structures still standing.

Johnathan found his feet drawing him toward the curiosities that lay behind the doorways when someone cleared their throat. It was a small sound for such a large space, but there was a power to it that drew his attention. Following the sound, he noticed a new sight he had overlooked. A raised platform rose from the ground for about three feet like a mini cliff and created a long secondary floor that ran the length of the building. Holes where railings would go suggested there had been stairs here previously—but these were long gone, likely scavenged for some reason or another.

Upon hearing that same someone clear their throat a second time, Johnathan raised his head to see who it was. A gigantic tree stood atop the platform, branching majestically before breaking through the roof. The sheer size of it spoke to how long it had been growing. Whether by chance or direct intervention, some of its boughs held up sections of the roof that would have otherwise collapsed.

A single shaft of light beamed through the leaves of the tree onto the platform below. Highlighted by the sunshine was a small chair made from refuse and debris. Sitting on it like a little emperor was a small being Johnathan couldn’t quite make out clearly. It had a large sweep of rounded antlers, but even that was not the oddest thing about it—no, that would be the ivy that wrapped up and around the chair, enmeshing the creature, giving the entire thing a surreal natural beauty.

Raising his hand awkwardly, Johnathan tried to get the thing’s attention. “Why hello there! I’m sorry, I didn’t see you. This place is amazing—unbelievably intact after so long. Please forgive me, I was enraptured by the relics you have here.”

A grunt was the only answer he received.

Feeling a tad better that the thing had given any response, Johnathan slowly walked toward the throne. As he closed the distance, his eyes scanned the shadows. He found he was alone with this individual, and couldn’t help but wonder where Bjorn had run off to.

“Have you lived here long? It seems like most of the things inside here haven’t been touched. Have you ever thought of changing things up, tidying a bit? This structure really could fit many people.”

A second grunt was the only reply he got from the mysterious stranger. Johnathan swore this one sounded angry, but he tried to convince himself it was just his nerves talking. Something about all this felt oddly familiar, in a weird, uncanny way.

As he drew closer, wind blew through the rafters and the tree’s leaves, allowing in a shaft of light that illuminated the bright-orange jumpsuit the being wore. Something tickled the back of Johnathan’s mind upon seeing it, but not enough to form the basis of a thought.

“Are you Bjorn’s father? He is a good kid, if not a little—”

His witness cut him off. Johnathan shrugged his shoulders and listened.

“He is a good kid, but needs to look out for himself more. He truly does not understand the danger he could easily invite into our home. Especially since he could not possibly know a man such as yourself.”

It was an odd comment, and Johnathan let it wash over him before responding. Many people had heard of him, the ageless scavenger. Comments like that were not uncommon, or at least he told himself that.

His mind struggled with an old memory—something about that tone sounded familiar. Trying to convince himself it was the nerves again, he moved closer to the throne but dared not climb up onto the platform. Stopping in front of the throne, the wind blew, the tree branches waved in the rafters, and another shaft of light lanced straight into his eyes. Squinting against the glare, he held his hand above his eyes, but it was hard to even make out the silhouette of the massive throne’s occupant. Was it a trick of the light, or was the man sitting there far smaller than the towering edifice he sat upon?

It was hard not to feel the tension in the air as the stranger addressed him once again. “What brings you here, to my home? Was it Bjorn who led you here? Or did you find it of your own accord?”

That odd tone again. Things were clearly taking a turn for the worse. Johnathan didn’t know what he’d done wrong, but something about this felt strange. Memories of his father swam to the surface before he could smack them back down. Those painful memories wouldn’t be helpful in this situation, that much he was sure. It was something about the voice—a tone to it that spoke of old times. Painful times.

“Your boy—”

Johnathan was quickly cut off. “You mean Bjorn. That is his name, and we will only use it when regarding him.”

Raising his hands up to either side, Johnathan spoke with a placating tone. “I’m sorry. I meant no offense by my wording. I call most people who are younger than me ‘a kid.’ When you live as long as I have and all that—”

“—Yes, when you live as long as we have, we see everyone else as children.”

Johnathan’s blood went cold. He remembered his dad had once said those same words to him. That the stranger had as well was unsettling. Taking a step forward out of the light, Johnathan quickly looked back to where he had come in from. It was still free of vines. An easy dash outside if things turned ugly.

“I’m sorry. Where did you hear those words before? I once knew someone who used to say that, and tell me I would understand what that phrase meant one day. My father was the only one who ever spoke it when I was younger. Little did I know how correct he would turn out to be in the end.”

Letting himself ramble, Johnathan peered about for Bjorn.

Where did he take Flint and Elen?

What he heard next made him feel like his heart had suddenly stopped pumping. His lungs refused to take in a breath as an anxiety attack slammed home.

“I learned them from the same place you did.”

Johnathan shook his head in disbelief.

He mumbled to himself repeatedly before he said, “No. No, no, no… That’s impossible…”

Tears fell freely from his eyes as he stepped forward out of the shaft of light that had been impeding his view. His jaw dropped in shock. The antlers were larger, but shaped roughly the same as they’d once been. Ivy wrapped around them now, subtly moving to an unfelt wind. Atop the man’s back was a hump that rose to the height of his head.

The individual sat there stoically, waiting.

Memories of hide-and-seek in the old bunker Johnathan had lived in as a kid slammed home. He stared at the person’s small hands and feet. Those feet… they would hide under Johnathan’s blanket when they got cold reading books together late into the night. That snout was a little larger—but then, the same could be said for most of his childhood best friend, dressed in a timeworn orange jumpsuit that had seen better days.

Johnathan was stunned. His supposedly dead friend opened his black eyes and pinned him with a rage-filled glare.

Words spilled from Johnathan’s lips unbidden as he struggled to understand. “How is this possible? I thought I lost you. You were my childhood best friend. You made it all the way out here? Why did you not seek me out? I thought you were dead all this time—”

With an angry shake of his massive antlered head, the king of the building cut Johnathan off. The deep-seated pain and anger he saw within those deep black eyes spoke of long years of unsettled rage.

In a tone that held all the warmth of ice, the moose said, “Your childhood best friend? Yes, I believed that lie once before. We were constant companions ever since I was given to you as a gift from that monster you once called a father. I guess my childhood friend forgot the experiments he and his father forced upon me? The pain I could barely endure as you cut me open time and time again…”

29

Johnathan

Johnathan reeled. It had been so long, far longer than anyone had a right to experience, and yet here he was, his childhood best friend, staring down at him, seething. A dam of repressed memories that had grown too painful to remember swept through his mind. Learning how to read together, playing games together, just the two of them. Then darker memories surfaced. He had watched his father take his best friend’s hand and lead him off to…

Johnathan forced himself to focus on the present before his horrors could overwhelm him.

“Edward? Is that you? I can’t believe you’re still alive. How is this even possible?”

The sound of his voice sounded so brittle, so pained, but no words could express the feelings sweeping through Johnathan. Memories of telling his daughter about his best friend. The laughter of his wife when she listened to the fantastical moments of childhood Johnathan and Edward had experienced together in their bunker. For the barest of moments, Johnathan felt like he had a home again even after several centuries had passed. And then it passed as Edward set him straight.

“I don’t go by that name anymore. My name is Moosely. My son gave me that name when he was old enough to choose it for me.”

The cold undertones of Moosely’s voice washed over Johnathan. So racked he was by a gauntlet of warring emotions, he almost missed the warning signs—deeply embedded survival instincts kicked in.

Blinking back tears, he wiped at his face to catch the few that had fallen. He straightened up. His next words were emotion-laden—he knew his best friend would never forgive him for his past mistakes.

“A good, strong name. The kid… er, sorry, Bjorn… he picked a good name for you. Better than I ever could.”

Even with a stomach full of butterflies, he gave Moosely an honest smile. Wiping sweaty palms on his jeans, he did his best to ignore the feelings running through him. Relying on the one thing he could always count on, he leaned into his gift of gab.

“I’m shocked you’re still alive. How did you ever survive for so long? I thought I was the only one. Do you realize what this means? We can have many more years together, be friends again. After all this time, I could have a family again. Maybe we could watch Bjorn have children… maybe even be there for his grandchildren at this rate?”

There was only silence in the warehouse as the wind rustled the leaves above. The deathly quiet had a selective weight Johnathan felt far too acutely. He couldn’t keep his thoughts under control.

Come on, you old fool. You’re not seeing a beautiful woman for the first time in your life. No need to be this nervous. Yeah, you are correct, old buddy. We did do some horrible things as I tried to bond with my father as any young child would have done. If I could go back and change it now… I would suffer those experiments first hand instead of letting you suffer like that. I guess old wounds never really go away. They just get buried by the present until you have a reason to bring them out into the light of day again.

Johnathan’s experienced eye picked up on Moosely’s subtle movements. The old moose shook his head slightly, almost imperceptibly. Skin itching, Johnathan knew without a doubt something was wrong—and that’s when a slithering noise came from above. Shifting his focus upward, he saw nothing moving in the shadows of the rafters. But in this world you never knew, and Johnathan was too old to trust his eyes.

Focusing once more on Moosely, he flinched as the old moose yelled in a rage, “You are in my house! Why are you here? I didn’t invite you. You have no place here, and you have no business I care about. Turn around and leave!”

Johnathan bit his lip as he thought about what to say or do next. Silence fell between them as they watched each other, unmoving. He hadn’t seen Edward since childhood. Back when they lived in a bunker with his father. The way Edward was acting right now spoke of it, leading to a standoff between the two of them. These standoffs always happened moments before Edward would lash out.

Edward would do something to Johnathan, and all it did was enflame his father’s wrath. To make matters worse, Johnathan knew if he did something wrong as a kid, his dad always punished Edward. That would mean Edward was led to the closet as punishment. It was like they thought torturing his best friend would fix Johnathan’s behavior. It hurt him to know how Edward had suffered so much at the hands of humans.

Thinking of that place after all this time made Johnathan shiver. Moosely no longer had such restraints, and it was easy to see he was deciding what would happen next. Johnathan knew he needed to change their dynamic before bad things happened no one could fix.

Feeling the tension in the air, Johnathan did the only thing he could think of. Painfully, he lowered himself down onto one knee, then the other. Kneeling, he raised his hands up and pressed them together and pleaded.

“Please. My friends are hurt. They need a safe place to rest and recover. Your son invited us here. He told us you would help. Even if it’s not for me, please, will you do what you can for them?” When Moosely didn’t move, Johnathan continued, “Whatever I must pay, I’ll pay it gladly. This small group has lost enough as it is. Elen—the small one you saw carried in here—she has kids, a family even… She needs to get back to them. And Flint… they broke him. We don’t understand how. If there is anything you can do, I’m pleading with you to please do it.”

His head twitched to the left slightly as he heard the slithering movements above him once again. A heavy sigh from Moosely stole his attention away from the curious sounds. His friend’s voice sounded pained and tired, hurt in ways Johnathan could almost feel.

“You beg for your friends? You beg for them not to hurt anymore? That’s… very touching. Surprising, even after all this time. The suffering of others has helped you find your voice. Yet where was that voice all those years ago?”

Johnathan was beside himself. Moosely had a point. All those years ago, wanting to grow up and get his father’s approval, Johnathan had done horrible things, all in the hope of gaining his father’s acceptance.

A cry of pain from Moosely echoed through the massive space. It was a cry Johnathan had known intimately as a teen, and it hurt even worse to hear it in this place. Eyes wide in horror, he watched his friend shake his head, breaking away some of the ivy vines crowning it.

While tiny, Johnathan knew the power contained in Moosely’s small, compact frame. He now felt like a captive, forced to watch as Moosely broke one vine after another that bound him to the chair. Each snap of a vine elicited a new cry of pain.

Swallowing hard, Johnathan rasped with a dry throat, “Please stop this. You’re hurting yourself.”

Moosely laughed darkly at a joke that was lost on Johnathan. “You think this is pain? Ripping parts of ivy that have fused with my body, just so I can stand? Oh, my old, dear friend. You have no clue what you and your father did to me before I escaped, do you? This pain is nothing compared to what your father did to me daily!”

Hanging his head and in a voice barely above a whisper, Johnathan pitifully said, “Please. I was just a kid who wanted his father’s love. He was all I had short of you. I’m sorry. I knew better, but because it was my father…”

A dark chuckle came from above, and Johnathan reluctantly turned his face up toward his old friend.

Flinching, Johnathan swayed like he was in a strong wind as Moosely yelled down, “What did you say? Say it louder!”

Tears streamed down Johnathan’s eyes, sprinkling the dirty concrete below. In a loud, pitiful cry full of pain and realization, Johnathan admitted his truth to the world.

“I didn’t know what we were doing. Back then, we were stupid kids. Please understand, a kid wants to be like their father, and get his attention. Helping him caused him to notice me. Even back then, I would never would have done those things to you if I’d known it would cause you so much pain! Don’t you know that?”

30

Archon

Archon couldn’t stand still. Thoughts raced through his head as time ticked by. He’d always been in control until now. Others had mapped his life out for him. There had been nothing he couldn’t overcome, no pain, hardship, or difficulty he couldn’t endure if he pressed forward, no matter what. Now, after everything that had happened, he struggled to accept he no longer knew his place. Short of the old man, he had nothing to look out for or protect anymore. The realization weighed heavily upon his shoulders.

Some of his frustration slipped out into the wider world. “Hurry old man… I won’t wait around out here forever.”

Movement drew his attention to the ivy-covered building. Tracking it with his eyes, he watched as the ivy leaves covering the structure rippled in a set pattern. The leaves bent, as if racing toward the center of what Archon suspected was a roof. It slithered madly, and for a moment it was as though the entire roof was a mass of writhing snakes within seconds—and then, just like that, it became still again. Had he not seen it with his own eyes, he would never have believed it.

His jaw aching, Archon felt his old instinct kick in—he tried to reach out to Control for help even though he knew they had cut him off. The confusion resulting from that odd reaction bled away his focus. He balled up his fists and walked purposefully toward the door leading into the warehouse. Passing by some ivy, he experimentally touched it and found it didn’t move of its own accord. A small part of him told himself he had just seen things, perhaps a trick of the light, but somewhere deep down, he knew that was a lie.

Trying to psych himself up, he loudly stated, “Okay, that’s it. Time to check on you, old man. I’ve done my part. Time to get this done so I can leave.”

As he stepped into the shadows, he realized someone had deliberately camouflaged this place. That much was no accident. If not for Bjorn, they would have passed this place by without a second thought. They could have gone past several times without ever knowing what was here.

This was the mark of someone who truly wanted to hide, and people like that held dark secrets. Archon knew that better than anyone.

Clenching and unclenching his hands, he took a step through the doorway into the unknown.

“Guess there’s no better time than the present.”

31

Archon

Stepping into the dark shadows, the icy burn of adrenaline coursed through Archon’s body, a response to the deep-seated fear that had slowly crept in. As his eyes adjusted, he found the old warehouse’s appearance was hardly anything to be impressed by. The building was mostly empty, short of dirt, grime, and signs of small animal life that had apparently nested inside. Carefully watching his step, he stopped in the center of the large open area and looked around for Johnathan.

To his surprise, the old man was nowhere to be seen. Neither was the mutant who called itself Bjorn. Doing one more scan of the area, details that had at first seemed insignificant stood out to his eyes. There were small scuff marks where Bjorn had walked through the dirt, but Johnathan’s tracks led in a different direction. They led to a raised platform where a tree had taken root. Before it was a small animal sitting in the rough approximation of a throne. Finding it to be the only living being around, Archon took long strides and closed the distance.

Stopping short of the platform, he put his hands on his hips as he surveyed the area. A small moose was sitting on a mound of debris, but neither Bjorn nor the old man were anywhere to be seen.

Frustration building, Archon let it flow into his words as he asked the diseased creature in front of him, “Where are Bjorn and Johnathan? I’m sure you can tell me—or if you lack vocal cords, at least point. But the latter would surprise me. Things like you always have more to say than you first let on.”

When he didn’t receive an answer or so much as a twitch from the beast apart from its slow breathing, Archon tried a different tactic.

“Hello? Can you hear me? Two wounded came in here with Bjorn, but I see no sign of them. Where is the old man?”

The moose showed no sign of having heard or understood his statement. Archon sighed. It was always easier to drag information out of mutations like that which sat before him, but he wasn’t sure whether that was what Johnathan would want. The singular desire to heed the old man held Archon back from doing what he was so good at. He ground his teeth in frustration, unsure how to advance his goal of protecting the old scavenger.

A full minute passed as Archon waited, tapping his foot. The moose either hadn’t heard his loud question, refused to respond, or simply didn’t care. Bunching his hands into fists, Archon was tempted to march over to the little beast and wring out some answers. Bjorn’s now familiar voice was the only thing that stopped him from giving in to his violent tendencies.

“Is everything alright? You’re looking for Johnathan, right? I heard you asking that of father a moment ago.”

Focusing on the sound of Bjorn’s voice, Archon turned to meet the young mutant’s eyes.

“Yes. I’m looking for Johnathan’s help, or anyone’s, really. With the old man gone, I figured he was with you. Was I wrong?”

Archon watched as confusion played across Bjorn’s features, even if his nonhuman aspects muted it. Eyes narrowing, Archon felt his gut clench. Something about this just felt off. Normally he would have called in support from Control by now, but no longer. It was surprising how badly he missed that option.

It was clear Bjorn shared a similar concern, as it laced his voice. “I’m not sure where he went.” Bjorn turned from Archon to look in the moose’s direction and asked, “Moosely, have you seen Johnathan? I’ve not seen him since I left him outside.”

Archon turned around to glare at the moose, his accusatory expression daring it to speak. A muscle twitched in his jaw, and he observed how odd it was to feel so frustrated, so emotional about this situation. On top of that, decades of experience told him something was seriously wrong here. The kid knew nothing of what was going on.

This time, the moose finally reacted to someone calling out to him. It turned in Bjorn’s general direction and said, “Take the wounded down to the pits. They’ll be safe and can heal down there. There’s much to discuss, but later. Once you’re done moving the wounded, help this one find the exit.”

Archon watched as the moose gestured at him. Something was wrong, but he needed more time to figure out what. He wanted to plan, but he was out of his depth. He couldn’t help but wonder why the massive Bjorn was taking orders from a creature so small—no, the mutant moose seemed downright helpless, given the deplorable state it appeared to be in.

A hollow thud echoed through the cavernous space. The odd sound came from behind him, and he turned to inspect what had caused it. His mouth fell open. Lying in the middle of the concrete floor was a single worn leather boot. He was certain it hadn’t been there a moment ago. He took a step closer to get a better view of it.

The worn leather looked old, cracked, and filled with dust. That nagged at him. The boot was familiar, and his gut churned with a bad feeling. Directing his focus back to the moose, Archon found it wasn’t looking at the boot, rather up to the rafters with a tight-lipped smile. Following with his eyes, Archon cast his gaze up.

What he saw there made his stomach drop.

A roiling, churning motion. The shadows in the rafters made it difficult to make out what moved high up there near the roof, but he had a sinking feeling he knew what he was seeing. Ivy clustered together, wrapping around itself in a large bundle suspended fifty feet in the air. Slithering over each other, the vines slowly constricted something inside them—the mass quivered and struggled.

Archon found himself sick with the understanding that came to him when he noticed the old man’s bare foot sticking out from within the mass of plant life.

32

Archon

The vines were strangling Johnathan. The old man’s white-knuckled hands struggled to hold back the vines; his body thrashed as it fought for every breath. Archon turned back to the moose to find a smug smile on its face as it stared up at the old man. He knew he had to act, but how was the question.

Acting on instinct, he burst into action, moving as fast as his bulky frame allowed—this old man had saved his life, and now it was time to return the favor again.

He talked low under his breath, “Please forgive me. I’m truly sorry for what’s about to happen…”

Archon’s instructors had drilled this move into his head time and time again, but he’d never had cause to try it until now. He needed it to work.

Taking swift, sliding steps, he slid around behind Bjorn before the kid could even react—using the feline’s confusion to his advantage, Archon slipped his left arm up under Bjorn’s armpit and locked his hand across the mutant’s chest. Slipping his right arm under Bjorn’s other armpit, he clamped his hand around the kid’s throat.

The kid reacted as Archon suspected anyone would have—he froze in shock. That gave Archon just enough time to lift him off the ground and suspend him in the air in the chokehold, lessening his options.

He’d taken the mutant completely off guard. Looking out around Bjorn’s head, he glared at the moose and made his demands known.

“Let Johnathan go or this one dies!” Bjorn struggled against Archon’s rock-hard grasp. Not wanting to scare the kid too badly, he whispered in his ear, “Look, I don’t want to hurt you. The more you struggle, the more damage you could inflict on yourself. Please stop struggling. I don’t wish to hurt you.”

Archon couldn’t help but smile as the kid kept fighting him. Either he didn’t listen or he was going along with the plan and overacting—his arms flailed around trying to hit his attacker. Archon suspected the former was more likely. Bjorn was really struggling. Every muscle in Bjorn’s body flexed, but this only gave Archon time to move his fingers along the mutant’s neck and apply a different hold. The sharp cry of pain escaping the kid’s lips cut into Archon deeply.

“Please stop struggling. This doesn’t have to hurt. I’m just trying to help the old man. After that, I’ll take him and leave this place. You’ll never see us again.”

It impressed him when the kid leaned forward and nodded his head, even though it must have caused him excruciating pain. Clearly Bjorn finally understood why this had to happen, and that made it all the harder for the giant to feel right about this course of action. Narrowing his eyes, he glared at the moose.

For such a small creature, it surprised Archon when its deep voice bellowed out across the space.

“Let my son go and I may let you live. Continue to hurt him, and you forfeit your own life.”

Archon nodded toward the moose. He answered in an equally loud voice as he said, “I understand. But we’re not operating on the same level playing field. The difference is that I won’t lose as much as you if this turns out badly.” The moose’s eyes narrowed. Pressing the issue, Archon said, “You’ll lose your son. I’ll merely lose a man I’ve known for only a few days. Now, we can all walk away from this unharmed… if you wish.” The moose raised his hand, and Archon heard even more vines come to life and slither around above him. Instead of looking up, he focused his glare directly into the moose’s eyes, which were now quivering with rage. “I’m counting to three. When I reach three, I’ll break your son’s neck. If you try anything, especially using those vines, he dies!”

He watched as the moose’s eyes opened wider than they likely had in decades. Archon couldn’t help but wonder what the moose was thinking, but in the end, that didn’t matter—only that the moose did as it was told.

Bjorn reached up and slipped his fingers between Archon’s fingers and his neck. In a raspy breath, he gasped out.

“Please do not do this. We can settle this without fighting…”

“One!”

Bjorn pulled at Archon’s grip out of sheer terror, and that reaction caused the chokehold to tighten enough the mutant cried out in pain. Moving his hands for a better hold—and hopefully a less painful one—Archon sighed. The sound of slithering increased above the two of them, as though it was thrashing with anger.

Forcing himself not to look up, Archon whispered, “Stop moving, kid. I don’t want to hurt you—and no matter what happens, I promise you won’t die by my hand.”

Bjorn flexed his neck against Archon’s grip, turned his head to look at the man and asked, “How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

Archon’s eyes moved to the kid’s—the fear on his face surpassed any emotional barrier the two men held. Sheer, all-consuming terror was etched there. Archon had seen it far too many times before. Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, he lifted his head and stared back at the moose.

“Two!”

To increase the ruse, Archon pulled Bjorn’s neck back so that his tendons were prominently visible. Quickly glancing up at the rafters, a twinge of fear settled in his stomach—Johnathan’s predicament was still just as dire. The moose hadn’t relented.

Increasing the pressure on Bjorn’s neck caused the boy to cry out. Archon wanted this now—he had to get through to the mutant on the throne. Yet it made him sick to cause another person pain like this, and that was an odd sensation in and of itself. How many times had he done even worse things? And to feel something now of all times. He felt like he owed the old man for some unfathomable reason, which prevented him from just walking away.

Was Control right all along?

“Let my son go and you might survive this moment in time!”

Moosely’s statement held a deep rumble that made the comment almost indecipherable, but Archon was able to piece it together with some concentration.

“Don’t make me do this!” he bellowed in desperation. “I have no wish to hurt anyone! Release the old man. Now!”

Bjorn’s fear-filled eyes stared right into Archon’s. Nothing had ever felt this bad in Archon’s entire life, and he’d done some monstrous things. The kid had done nothing wrong except for trusting the wrong person.

As the tears fell from Bjorn’s eyes, a hollow feeling opened inside Archon. He cleared his throat before saying loudly, “Three!” Fingers flexing, Bjorn cried out in pain. The blinding light made it hard to get a read on what the moose was going to do. The slithering sound increased in intensity, causing Archon to look up at Johnathan. A sick sensation lurched within as the ivy tightened. Am I really going to kill this innocent kid? Then, slowly, Johnathan descended from the ceiling. Releasing a tense breath, Archon relaxed. Leaning in, he whispered to Bjorn, “Take it easy, kid. This is just for show. Once the old man gets down from your friend’s little green vines, I’ll let you go, okay? I’m glad no one had to get hurt. Still, I’m sorry I put you in this situation.”

He released Bjorn, and the kid whipped around. Archon could see the anger, pain, and terror that filled the kid’s eyes.

“I thought I could trust you… Was I so wrong in understanding who you are?”

The hurt in Bjorn’s eyes was obvious.

Archon’s face dropped into a frown, and he just shrugged his shoulders. In a solemn voice, he said, “Look, mutant, let me get the old man out of here and then you can do with me what you will. Will that help you feel better? Kill me, torture me, do whatever. I have no place to go, no one who cares about me, so in the end it won’t matter. I just want to keep that old man safe from that thing.” Archon turned and pointed toward the small moose.

This caused Bjorn to growl. “Take the old man and leave! I don’t understand why my father would do this to anyone, but just go! If I see you again…”

Bjorn didn’t finish the threat, but his meaning was clear enough to Archon. Lips pressed into a line, he knew when to avoid pushing his luck, so instead of answering, he just nodded his assent.

A loud thud, followed by the sound of crying, caused the two men to turn. Seeing Johnathan lying there on the floor sobbing broke something inside Archon.

With slow, gentle movements, he handled Johnathan with the same tenderness the old man had shown him down in the rubble. Carefully maneuvering his bare foot into his boot, Archon worked hard to give Johnathan his respect back. Putting his hand against the old man’s back, he eased Johnathan up into a sitting position. With extreme care, he slipped one hand behind the old man’s back and the other under his knees and lifted him. Standing, he turned to leave.

A raspy voice called out, startling them all. “Wait…”

The sound had come from Johnathan. His arm weakly pointed out behind Archon as he craned his neck to look past him. Archon did as he was silently beckoned, not wanting the old man to strain his neck.

Johnathan’s voice rattled in his chest, sounding more like a gust of wind blowing past gravestones in a cemetery than his natural, cheery voice. “I’m sorry… for everything I did… It was a mistake. No one deserves to suffer the way you did. Just because I was a child does not excuse my past actions.”

His arm fell slack—his penitent statement had used up his remaining strength. Archon looked down at the man in his arms and realized how small and bony he truly was.

The moose’s voice drew his eyes. “Now do you see, son? All humans are monsters. They threatened to kill you even after all the old man had done to me. You, my only son! They threatened to kill you after you helped them. They are all monsters!”

Glancing at Bjorn, Archon could see on the kid’s face both anger and hurt warring for dominance.

Archon swallowed hard and glowered as he said, “Please, take care of the other two. They’re like you. They deserve your help. That creature on the chair is correct: I am a monster—but despite that, this man in my arms saved my life. Does he sound like a monster to you?”

Instead of waiting for an answer, Archon turned his back on them and walked out into the sunlit day.

33

Moosely

Allowing his enemy to leave was a bitter pill to swallow, but Moosely knew he had to be the bulwark against the horrors of humanity. A small tinge of relief washed over him; his son appeared to be holding up well enough after being manhandled by that giant. Today, Bjorn had learned how treacherous humans could be—in due time he would understand how important it was to stand against them.

Each breath radiated pain throughout his body. The ivy would eventually grow and find its way back out of his body, but breaking the strands came at a cost. In time, the ivy would calm down, and both moose and plant would heal. Until that happened, Moosely knew he would have to be patient. He’d been patient most of his life, and this time was no different—or at least he told himself that.

That his son had not yet asked him how he was doing was a drastic change from the norm. One that weighed on him. Shaking his head with a sniff of disgust, his deep voice echoed across the open area.

“Grab the two you brought in earlier and throw them out. We don’t want human-loving beings in here.” Bjorn clearly heard him, for he froze up for a second. Given his son had never acted with anything less than total respect, Moosely struggled when his son stalked off without acknowledging him. Gritting his teeth, he fumed. There was no way he would allow this to stand.

“Yes, father. I am yours to command, father. No, that’s incorrect, a father helps others. Moosely, I refuse to do that!”

Even though it hurt to do so, he took in a deep breath and yelled, “Do as I say! Get those two pieces of trash out of here. They’re connected to those monsters who threatened your life. They’ve chosen to stand with the humans, and so they can die with them!”

Moosely’s frustration grew when his son didn’t so much as break stride. It was clear by Bjorn’s body language he was upset. It did little to calm Moosely’s nerves. After everything that had happened, his breaking point came faster than usual. He snapped at his son, “Look at me when I’m talking to you. Do not walk away from me!”

Moosely found himself unsure of what was happening as his son turned steely eyes in his direction.

His tone was full of anger and pain as he said, “I offered Flint and Elen our help. You speak of monsters? Look in the mirror. Today I saw only one monster. Your actions proved who you really are.” Moosely was beside himself. His son had never acted like this before. Those others did this to him. But his son wasn’t finished as he pointed one clawed finger up into the rafters and said, “Explain to me what kind of father drags an old man into the rafters to choke the life out of him? What kind of monster does that? Was it Johnathan or Archon? No? Maybe it was you?” Moosely defiantly stared into Bjorn’s eyes as his son continued. “Are you trying to tell me choking the life out of someone who can’t defend themself isn’t monstrous? Should we do that to everyone I help? Now you wish to have me drag the wounded out into the middle of the forest and let them die. Who are you? You’re not the man who raised me.”

Moosely flicked his ears in frustration. Blinking slowly, he confronted the situation as best he could.

“Boy! You don’t know what you’re talking about! Don’t get that tone with me or there’s going to be real trouble. That so-called man? He is the actual monster here. You weren’t around to see what he did to us, to those like me!”

Bjorn smiled defiantly and Moosely gripped his seat hard enough to cause his hands to ache.

His son doubled down with his defiant tone as he said, “What are you going to do? String me up too? Maybe you should, since I won’t agree with you.”

Slithering sounds echoed down from the rafters above the two men. Moosely gritted his teeth and projected his voice from behind a locked jaw.

“You call me a monster when that man stood by and helped his father hurt me all those years? That same man killed countless people—people like us—in their twisted experiments. I only survived because I got a chance to leave there. I’m not a killer or a monster, unlike Johnathan. He’s a pretender. I know his true self.”

Moosely didn’t think for a moment his son accepted his statement, for it showed in the disbelieving look plastered across his face. What his son said next hit hard.

“Have you ever once thought maybe he’s changed? How long has it been since you last saw him? I’d never met the man until recently, but I’ve seen with my own eyes the type of person he is. This same man—or ‘monster,’ as you call him—worked hard to save those he cared for. He put his life on the line to protect everyone. Including me.” Moosely blinked, taking a moment to process what his son shared. Bjorn didn’t give him any respite. “Let me ask you, have you ever killed to survive? Ever hurt others for your own benefit? Well? Tell me!”

Moosely flinched from such direct questions. His guts twisted, but he felt his son deserved the truth.

“Of course I’ve killed. Anyone who stood in my way on my flight to freedom after years of torment. I spent years on my own, having to kill to defend myself or hurting others to keep them at a distance through fear. I did whatever it took to survive in this world. If you don’t adapt, you die!”

Bjorn huffed smugly, which further infuriated Moosely. His son was relentless and continued his verbal attack. “Sounds like you’re the one who hasn’t changed.”

Moosely watched as Bjorn turned his back on him and walked off.

“Where are you going? Don’t you dare walk away from me!”

Bjorn shrugged and said over his shoulder, “I have wounded to take care of. Get up out of that chair of yours if you wish to stop me. Until that happens, I have some good people to help.”

34

Archon

Looking back over his shoulder, Archon could no longer see the hidden building behind him, and that gave him some relief. Ever since he’d left, his mind had tormented him with thoughts of those he had left behind. The logic of knowing he couldn’t help Flint or Elen didn’t seem to fix the issue, and a deep sadness grew within. For the last hour he’d berated himself for changing on account of these strangers, but the more he did so, the more Mya entered his thoughts.

Forcing her out of his head for now, he concentrated on the present. While light, Johnathan’s sleeping form felt heavy in his arms after carrying him for miles. Finding a tree that would suit his needs, Archon placed the old man down gently and propped his back against the trunk. By the way the sky looked and sensing a drop in temperature, Archon knew he didn’t have long to start a fire before night set in. Trying to focus on the mindless task of getting the items he would need, he moved away from the old man but stayed within eyesight.

Within a few minutes, there was a small fire burning, keeping the cold at bay. Inspecting the old man’s face, he traced each dust-infused wrinkle lining his eyes. There was a deep sadness etched there. A permanent downturn of the mouth, frown crinkles deeper than smile lines. Even closed, the area around his eyes looked like broken pottery dropped from a high place. The straggly bits of hair that grew from his chin just enhanced the impression he was a forgotten piece of history.

“You’re looking at me hard enough to stare the dead back to life. Or at least that’s what feels like happened to me.”

Archon felt mild surprise at Johnathan’s voice spilling from those cracked lips. With a twitch of the old man’s mouth, Archon realized Johnathan was joking. At least he thought that was the case—he could never be one hundred percent sure when dealing with him.

He watched as Johnathan pushed himself up the tree trunk to sit up straighter before opening tired eyes. The look of companionship and sadness the old man gave him, followed by a crooked smile, was too much. Archon looked down into the fire to avoid his gaze.

Long moments passed as the small fire crackled and shifted. Johnathan’s tired voice broke the silence as a thin wind whipped past their small campfire.

“Thank you for looking out for me. I’m sure in your eyes you did the right thing, and that’s what I think you should focus on. Also, I owe you an apology.”

It took a moment for Archon to accept what he was hearing. No one had ever really apologized to him in his life. Raising his eyes from the campfire, he narrowed them and found Johnathan inspecting him.

“There’s no need for an apology. You were being hurt. I did what it took to save your life. What’s wrong with that?”

Johnathan flashed a sad smile. “I owe you an apology for how I treated you after you saved my life that first time down in the bunker. Plus, I never said what you did was wrong. You followed what your gut told you to do, right?”

Archon nodded.

“Then you did the correct thing. Let no one tell you otherwise. You did the best you could. So let me be the first to say thank you for saving my life, even if doing so wasn’t the best choice.”

Archon’s face took on a dark and brooding look. “Why do you say such a thing, old man? I saved your life once and did so again just a few hours ago. I did what I deemed was the correct course of action. Now you talk to me like you should have died.”

Johnathan tiredly waved away his comments and smiled. “It’s okay. I mean nothing by it. I’m just an old man—you tend to accumulate many mistakes by the time you reach my age. There are mistakes I’ll never live down. My family’s dead. Joining them wouldn’t have been so bad, right?”

Looking at Johnathan quizzically, Archon tried to wrap his brain about that bit of info. “I thought those two… Flint and Elen… are they not part of your family?”

Johnathan broke into a sad smile and tears ran down his face, placing Archon in an uncomfortable position. He wasn’t sure what to do to comfort the old man, so he fiddled with his hands and waited. Breaking apart the small sticks within arm’s reach did nothing to keep his mind from flailing about, trying to understand, but at least it gave him something to do.

Johnathan wiped the back of his hand against his face. “Thank you.”

Archon glanced across the fire at the old man, puzzled.

“Until you said it, I guess I never really believed those two wanted to be genuine family members. Family isn’t always those you share blood with, but they are the ones you invite into your life. I’ve been so stupid. All this time, I thought my family was gone forever. Kaput. When I was a kid, so many died, including my father. Then my wife and daughter left me. I retreated into myself. I’ve been so stupid… I closed myself off from people for so long.” Archon reached out a hand to comfort Johnathan, then felt uncomfortable and dropped it back into his lap. Sorrowfully peering down into the fire, he thought the conversation was over until Johnathan’s tired voice said, “I have made a lot of mistakes in my life, but there’s a fresh one I recently committed I need to fix. Here I’ve been treating those two like fellow scavengers, not as genuine family members. Scavengers know the risk—we keep each other at arm’s length—but I see now how unfair that was of me. I can’t fix what I’ve done to Edward, but I can make things right with those two. And I can fix the way I’ve been treating you. You’ve more than earned my respect after all you’ve done for us.”

Archon looked up to find Johnathan smiling broadly as tears ran down his dusty cheeks. Dark rivulets ran in twisty lines, tracing the path cut by his wrinkles. Archon felt unsure how to react when Johnathan leaned forward, almost over the fire, and placed his hand on Archon’s knee. He looked at the hand, then up at the old man’s cheerful face.

“Do you think you could help me out one last time? It’s necessary for me to take that weight off Flint’s and Elen’s shoulders. I don’t want to burden them any longer. Plus, it means you and I get to hang out a little more, and I can give you the respect you rightfully deserve.”

Archon sat up and eased his shoulders back. Hearing a request being made of him felt uncomfortable. Noone had never asked for his help before. They’d only ever given commands. Moving his mouth, he tried to find the words to respond with. For the first time since Mya had entered his life, Archon felt a pull to help someone else. It was an alien, yet comforting feeling.

“Um… I’m not sure how much help I’ll be. I don’t even know what we need to do.”

It brought a warm feeling to his heart when Johnathan lit up at the prospect he might get help.

“Thank you. To be honest, I don’t think you’ll believe what I’m about to tell you, but here goes. We need to find a living metal chariot with hundreds of horses trapped inside.”

Archon screwed his face up, trying to understand what Johnathan had just said.

“What are you talking about? A vehicle?”

Standing up, the old man moved over to sit next to Archon. He reached out and placed a weatherworn hand on Archon’s shoulder like an old companion.

“We get to find a mustang that grows from a plant.”

Archon blinked. “Are you talking about a Ford Mustang from the old world?”

Johnathan shrugged. “Could be. The poster some desert people showed us displayed the number of horses it contained. It had four wheels in the image, so it could be a vehicle from the old world. I don’t understand how the old world grew vehicles from plants, but that’s beside the point. Either way, it will be an adventure, right? How could you possibly pass that up?”

Archon shook his head in disbelief. “And if we don’t find it?”

Johnathan’s face became serious. “Then Flint, Elen, and I will die. The tribe that set us on this path will hunt us down. Especially since we snuck away in the middle of the day when they were all sleeping. They said we could leave, but take it from me, It was a lie. They were just looking for an excuse to kill us later. Hey, no worries, right?”

Archon looked at the old man, confused and in total disbelief. He wasn’t sure if it was insanity or bravery that made the man act this way. Some small part of him felt an adventure could be the first step toward a new future. Begrudgingly, he nodded and smiled.

Johnathan nodded in return. In a tired voice, he said, “What’s the worst that could happen? I suppose it would be we die. No harm there.”

Archon laughed long and hard until he had to press his hands against his stomach. Smiling, the old man got up and settled down against the tree. Watching over Johnathan, Archon too was smiling all the while as sleep drew him down into its depths.

35

Johnathan

Johnathan held up his hand to block out the harsh daylight. Every inch of him felt the years aching with their own individual pain. Easing himself slowly into a sitting position, he tenderly touched his neck to find a band of swelling where the ivy vines had tried to strangle him yesterday. The flesh felt hot and swollen to the touch. Looking across the remains of the small fire they’d shared last night, he found Archon sitting cross-legged with his eyes closed. The man wasn’t moving aside from his breathing, which came in quick, shallow gasps. Not sure if he was asleep or not, Johnathan decided to find out.

“You awake?” His own voice surprised Johnathan—he didn’t sound like himself. His voice was reedy and weak.

Archon was like a rock. Looking around in the morning light, Johnathan tried to get a general sense of where they’d stopped to camp, but nothing looked familiar.

The area had light vegetation and was significantly far from the building where Edward and Bjorn lived.

No, that name isn’t quite right, Johnathan mentally scolded himself. Edward was his old name. He’s Moosely now.

A pang of regret hit hard as he realized how much time was lost that could have used been used making it up to his old friend.

Incredible how so much has changed and yet here we are, the same as we ever were.

Closing his eyes, Johnathan took in a deep breath to prevent the tears that threatened to spill out of his eyes. A grunt caused him to open them to find Archon watching him.

“How are you feeling, old man?”

Johnathan shook his head and tried to put on a reassuring smile. In a scratchy and reedy voice, he said, “I’m alive. That will have to be enough for today. Look, I’m—”

Archon held out his hand and stopped Johnathan’s comment with a quick shake of his head.

“Yesterday was a lot for all of us. If you’re going to say you’re sorry, then save it. We have a job to do, and I think I have some ideas about where to start.”

Johnathan blinked slowly, taking in what Archon had just said. “You do not mean…?” Archon nodded. “Look kid, I’m having second thoughts. I’ve put you and the rest in enough trouble as it is. Sharing ideas is fine, but please don’t put yourself at risk on my account. I won’t allow it. If you force the issue, I would hate to have to physically stop you from helping.” Each man gave the other a thousand-yard stare for some time, before bursting into laughter at the absurdity of Johnthan trying to restrain the giant. “Look kid, I don’t want to risk your life or anyone else’s right now.”

“You won’t.”

Johnathan gave Archon a look that said he wasn’t convinced, and continued unabated, “Tell me what you know or any bright ideas you have, then we can split ways. I’ll head after the prize, and you can go back to your family.”

“My family’s dead. Has been for a very long time. Just like yours, old man.”

Johnathan pursed his lips. “It bothers me to hear that. I’m truly sorry. Please understand, I don’t wish to keep you any longer than I must. So, share what you have. We can split up and go where we’re needed. I hope you have a good life, and that I’ll see you again soon, if life permits it.” Archon said nothing. He just stared straight ahead at Johnathan. “Okay kid, this is the part where you do the talking.”

The silence was deafening. Johnathan rolled his eyes. He’d never encountered anyone so frustrating, short of himself.

“Are you sure you’re done talking, old man?”

Johnathan raised his brow at the sound of Archon’s cheeky voice. “Ah, is it just me, or do you always sound angry when you’re happy with me?” When he didn’t get a response, he just rolled his eyes. He mumbled under his breath, then said, “No one knows how to take a joke anymore.”

“Well, I need to share some information with you I’ve just learned.”

Johnathan blinked, not believing his ears. Tilting his head to the left, he looked at Archon questioningly. “Okay? And you learned this information how? We’ve been asleep all night. I never saw you move from the fire even once.”

Archon glanced up with an innocent, if bashful, look. “Well, you see… Control altered me a few times over the years. Some of the hardware they installed inside me is still there.” He pointed to the back of his neck and bent forward to show a metal panel fused into the skin at the base of his shoulders. Getting painfully to his feet, Johnathan walked over to take a better look. “Because of this, I have access to old records, which include data on what you’re looking for. So I have a rough idea of where we should head. Here’s is the deal. I’ll only tell you where we need to go if you allow me to lead you there.”

Slugging Archon on the arm even though it hurt to do so, Johnathan said, “You’re so stubborn. You’ll have to do better than that for me to agree to such an offer. If you share more information with me, maybe I’ll consider changing my mind again.”

Archon raised his eyebrow and gave Johnathan a look, but eventually nodded. Then he stood up, turned to the south, and walked away. He waved for Johnathan to follow, and when the old man caught up, albeit a tad slowly, Archon started talking.

“You’re looking for a Mustang. A relic of the old world. They called it a ‘muscle car’ back in the years they manufactured it. There are many makes and models. The pattern you’re looking for went out of favor with the company called Ford even before the old world ended—but that doesn’t necessarily mean none of those relics survived.”

Johnathan reached out and grabbed Archon’s arm, stopping him in his tracks.

When the giant turned around to look at him face-to-face, he asked, “Okay, let me get this straight. You just said it was called a muscle car… You can’t mean they made it from…?”

Archon’s throaty laugh made Johnathan flinch at the loudness of it, but the small smile that crept across the giant’s face brought him relief. He was clearly missing some joke.

“No, not a literal muscle car—there are no body parts involved. It was a term used for cars that were built for speed.”

Johnathan’s eyes went wide, and a grin spread across his face. “‘Speed?’ As in, it goes fast? Now that is something I could get behind.”

Archon put his hand to the back of his neck and just shook his head in disbelief.

The things we have lost in this new world.

Turning back in the direction they were headed and picking up the pace, he said, “While you were sleeping, I searched for information about the vehicle you desire. There wasn’t much as I’m no longer connected to Control, but I got some bits and pieces. From what I understand, not long before the fall, there was a social event called a ‘fair’. It’s within one day’s walking distance where they showed off an older Mustang—the exact model I suspect you’re looking for. It should be no problem if we head west.”

Johnathan scratched his chin, trying but failing to take in everything. “Okay, you lost me, kid. How do you have all this info?”

Archon rolled his eyes while sighing. “There’s really not much I can tell you beyond what I’ve already said. If you look at my neck…” Archon turns and points to his neck. “… you see that metal piece?” Johnathan nods. “Well, that’s how I used to talk to Control. This addition contains a bionic operating system of sorts. Or at least I think so.”

Johnathan looked up at the giant’s craggy features, confused. None of this made sense to him. From what he’d read, technology like that had only been in the prototype stage right before the war started. Once the fallout from the war was complete, no one had the tech any longer to push anything close to that through to the production stage.

Playing dumb like always, he asked, “Let me get this straight. You have a metal box in your neck that allows you to talk to others because it… operates on people?”

Archon sighed. “Not exactly. It’s long taught me things I could never have learned about on my own. There’s more info stored inside this metal box than any one person could ever learn in a lifetime. It used to talk to me all the time until… just the other day.”

He tapped the back of his neck, causing a hollow metallic sound.

Johnathan nodded, then asked, “What day was that again?”

Archon slowly released a deep breath before saying, “The day Control threw me away like a broken tool, and the world fell in on us.”

Johnathan thoughtfully nodded while scratching his chin, then said, “So, we have the information we need to find this ‘Mustang,’ as you call it. What about the other stuff you said you wanted to tell me?”

Archon stopped walking and dropped his eyes to the ground. Johnathan eventually realized the big guy had stopped and turned around to wait for him. After a few moments, Archon finally spoke in a subdued and sad voice.

“Earlier you asked what the Aurora Project is all about, and how I planned to die. Based on what I know about it, I’m not sure searching for this vehicle of yours will matter much in the end.”

Johnathan reached out a bony hand and placed it on Archon’s shoulder. Looking up at the big guy, it was clear from the way his shoulders and eyes relaxed that Johnathan got the result he was after. Going for a relaxed tone, he shared his thoughts openly.

“One thing at a time. We find the metal chariot, then we deal with this so-called project. Until then, why not tell me what you know about it? What are we dealing with?”

Archon nodded resignedly. In a quiet voice, he said, “The entity called Control wants to burn away all life on earth, to restart the cycle. It plans on bringing down the magnetosphere—”

“The what now?”

Archon couldn’t help but smile as he stood up straighter and started walking. “As you said, Johnathan, first the Mustang, and then, if we’re still alive, we’ll deal with the plot to bring down the magnetic bubble surrounding the earth that protects all life from the sun…”

Johnathan fell in line with him, and they talked for the rest of the day.

36

Johnathan

“Those bastards. Not again! Why can’t they just learn to give a damn?”

Johnathan kicked a dead branch in frustration, causing it to fly into the air and bounce off a tree trunk. The sound of the wind moving through the trees created an eerie backdrop. Bodies of small animals lay everywhere, strewn across the ground like forgotten children’s toys. The dead animals had no smell to them at all. It was clear they weren’t breaking down as it appeared all the bacteria that would normally start working at death was either gone or dead. Truly an unnatural state. It was as if the animals had been cooked so quickly they stopped decaying, but that was impossible, or so he told himself.

Turning toward his companion who stood silently by his side, Johnathan put all his anger into the glare he gave Archon. It disturbed him how dispassionate the giant seemed about the sights they’d seen walking through the dead forest.

Pointing a finger up at his face, he said, “Do you have something to say about this? You seem very detached from it.”

Johnathan waved his arms around to encompass the forest, as if Archon couldn’t see it for himself. The giant’s face remained unchanged. Waving his hands in disgust, Johnathan dismissed the guy from his mind as he reached down to grab one of the animals for their next meal.

As his hand was about to grasp the carcass when Archon’s deep voice rumbled out, “Stop! Don’t touch it. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you this is all unnatural. Eating one of those dead critters wouldn’t be safe.”

Closing his eyes, Johnathan let out a slow breath as he tried to let his anger defuse. But that red-hot coal inside him refused to cool. The old man rounded on Archon.

“Unnatural? Unnatural you say? Why not just say it like it is?” He watched Archon blink in confusion as the man tried to parse together a reply. Johnathan didn’t give him a chance. “Welcome to the works of man! He was right, you know that? He was damn well right about every one of us!”

Archon sighed. Trying to help, he said, “I don’t understand your words exactly, but I understand your intent. You can’t blame yourself for this unless you had a hand in making it happen.”

Johnathan’s lip quivered. Archon’s large but gentle hand left Johnathan’s shoulder, causing him to feel suddenly alone. Biting his lip, he yelled over his shoulder as he stomped downhill, “Come on, we should get out of here just in case this place is as dangerous as you believe.”

Turning on his heel, Johnathan was about to walk off when Archon gripped him from behind. The giant swept the old man off his feet and slammed him unceremoniously against the trunk of the closest dead tree.

Johnathan felt dazed, struggling to understand what had just happened. The giant pressed his body uncomfortably close to Johnathan’s as he looked to the left of the tree.

In the most sarcastic tone he could muster, Johnathan asked, “Is this where you declare your undying love for me?” Fluttering his eyes as he pursed his lips, Johnathan waited for a reaction. When he got nothing from the giant, he huffed and opened his mouth to say something. That did the trick. Glaring down at the old man, Archon said in a very tense voice, “Quiet!”

Knowing when not to argue, Johnathan closed his mouth and gently pushed against Archon’s chest. Pressing himself against the tree, he leaned to the right to spy on what had so enthralled the giant.

His mouth immediately went dry. His fists clenched, and he ground his teeth together.

A small metal device hovered across the far-off grassy plain, working its way toward the forest. As the machine closed the distance, minor details became obvious that made it clear this was old-world technology at work. Four propellers set in a two-by-two placement were holding the drone in the sky. The machine had several camera systems on the front, giving it the appearance of having eyes.

Their new flying friend entered the forest and stopped several meters out. It then dove to the left for a while before backtracking to the right-hand side, panning about. Searching. As it edged closer to their hiding spot, a low humming noise filled the air. Turning around, Johnathan pressed himself against the tree as close as possible.

He kept quiet as his eyes roved about. Nothing in the forest was moving, but the buzzing noise was getting louder at a quick pace. The mechanical noise rose in pitch, then quickly reduced in sound.

Did it pass by without noticing?

Closing his eyes, he strained his ears to get a general idea of where the buzzing was going. A tap on his shoulder led him to turn and look at the giant. Archon gestured for him to follow. The giant led the way as the two of them bent over double and stealthily fled the forest. Soon, tall grass hid their progress. Not having heard the mechanical sound for some time, Johnathan grabbed Archon’s arm and spun him around.

Looking directly into the man’s fear-filled eyes, he said, “What was that all about?”

Instead of answering, Archon pointed past Johnathan’s shoulder. Turning around and following his hand upward, he felt his mouth go dry once more.

The sky above them boiled with the rainbow hues of an aurora borealis.

Archon put his hand on Johnathan’s shoulder and walked them away from that place. They continued to move, bent over, through the grass.

Rolling his eyes, Johnathan shook his head as he followed. He would have a word with that man as soon as he could, but he knew he was out of his depth and literally needed to keep his head down for now. To see so many ancient machines in such a short time gave him a bad feeling. First the bunker, then the vehicles, and now this. It almost felt like he was a child again, seeing such wonders.

Eventually Archon turned around and sat down in the grass, then patted the ground next to him. Johnathan knew what the giant wanted but couldn’t help expressing his annoyance—he got close to the man and punched him straight in the arm.

Massaging his hand as he sat down, Johnathan laid into the man. “You better start answering some questions! What was that thing?”

For the first time since they had met, Archon looked almost glum to Johnathan. Frowning a little, he reached out with his hurt hand.

“Look, I’m sorry for hurting you. I’m just so tired of all these new things popping up, and each time they do… Well…” He turned around and looked behind him toward the forest. The machine could barely be seen and was still actively searching for something. Turning back around, it surprised him to see Archon frowning. The man held his hands out in front of him as though he were powerless. The look on his face made Johnathan uneasy, but he waited for the man to continue at his own pace. “Johnathan…”

The words died in the giant’s throat, so Johnathan patted him gently in the hopes he would continue.

“We just avoided a drone from finding us. That organization I told you about? That I used to be a part of? Worked for? Was beholden to?” He shrugged. “They use old-world tech like that to survey their tests. They also use them to track down dangerous elements. Like you and me.”

Archon looked into Johnathan’s fuming eyes, and the old man saw a hint of tears threatening to spill down the giant’s face. Johnathan kept his lips tight and nodded.

“Come on, kid, you can continue. You started this process—get it all off your chest. Something is clearly bothering you.”

Archon looked down, refusing to make eye contact. It put Johnathan at ease when he continued, slowly at first, then quickly speeding up his cadence.

“Control brought me in to work when I was only a kid. They found me after all my brothers and sisters died. They gave me a purpose, and I did what they asked of me, no questions asked. I was afraid… I didn’t want to lose everyone again.” Johnathan nodded. He’d seen odd, cobbled-together devices several times before in his lifetime, but a group using functional old-world technology? That was new, and highly dangerous. Putting on a friendly smile, he waited for Archon to continue. “The things they made me do. Clearing out villages… abducting people… all while avoiding experimental areas where their drones roamed.”

Johnathan’s eyes narrowed, thinking of incidents he’d come across during his long life. Were those Control’s handiwork? He shoved his feelings aside and just tried to listen. Reminding himself they manipulated this poor man didn’t calm the anger smoldering within. Archon sighed. “I am a monster.”

His large shoulders shuddered as he burst into broken sobs. Seeing the pain the giant was feeling almost caused Johnathan to tear up. Sliding closer to him, he put a reassuring hand on his shoulder and waited for the emotions to spill out. It was unusual to see a man of his size blubbering like he was, especially having committed the atrocities he had just admitted to.

The kid must have been quietly torturing himself this entire time.

“You’re okay, kid. Believe me, we all have pasts, and few of them are good. What matters is where we go from here. You can’t change yesterday, so change today. Give me some idea of what you want to move toward, and perhaps I can try to help get you there?”

Archon looked at Johnathan with the most pitiful, tear-streaked, snot-smeared face he’d ever seen.

Trying to talk through gasping sobs, Archon said, “I want to help… you. I want… to help your friends. I…. need to make up… for Mya.”

Johnathan tried to hide his surprise.

I’m sure this kid has years of trauma to unpack, but we don’t have time for that. How am I going to get this journey back on track?

Johnathan nodded and looked directly into Archon’s eyes. “We can do all that. First off, where exactly are you dragging my old butt to?”

For the first time that day, Archon’s face changed for the better. Through all the tears and snot, a big smile split his face almost in half.

“Yes, that. Control cut me off from their data link when they brought the bunker down, but they messed up—they left me with enough for us to have a chance. I think we might find the Mustang in a place called an ‘amusement park.’ It once had a name—it was called the Wonders of the West Country Amusement Park. Not sure what that all means, but there was a Mustang on display shortly before the plague hit, if the information I have is to be trusted.”

Johnathan’s face split into an enormous smile almost matching Archon’s.

“Kid! What you just said makes me so happy I could just about kiss you!”

Archon looked at the old man in horror, causing Johnathan to burst out laughing. He watched as the giant’s face transformed once more into someone with a terrible burden atop their shoulders. After a long, dreadful wait, he eventually shared what was on his mind.

“I think we witnessed a piece of the puzzle you were asking about earlier. If we look to the sky, there is the aurora borealis… the same aurora borealis that only happens when ions from the solar wind collide with atoms of oxygen and nitrogen here on Earth.” Johnathan screwed up his face as he glared at Archon. When the giant didn’t respond, he said, “Pretend I know nothing and explain that again.”

Archon reached up and gripped his bald head; his face was a display of frustration. Sighing, he let his hands drop into his lap and tried his best to explain.

“When we spoke a day or so ago about the Aurora Project, I knew nothing of it, really. Just a vague summary involving a plan to cleanse the Earth of life, something to do with the magnetosphere, which is a ball of energy that keeps our planet from burning up.” Johnathan nodded, so Archon continued. “What if our eyes have been deceiving us all this time, thanks to our ignorance? What if when we see the aurora borealis—” Johnathan screwed his face up again, so Archon changed tactics. “What if when we see lights in the sky—like what we just saw above the forest—is a sign the Earth is being burned? That would explain why the forest died an unnatural death.”

Johnathan pursed his lips and gave Archon a look that said he thought he was pulling his leg.

“I’ve heard fish stories better than that one. You say this ‘Control’ group wants to burn the world—but I don’t see any fire. Do you? I mean, come on.”

Archon clenched his fists and tried to talk slowly as he held his emotions at bay. “I know you’re far smarter than you let on. You’ve proven you know more about the old world than you like to admit. Burning doesn’t always have to involve fire. What if my old masters are trying to burn the world with radiation?”

Pondering the question, Johnathan scratched his chin. “If your old masters wanted to do that… well, sure, we have a dead forest here, everything in it is dead… yet I see one big problem with your story.”

Archon rolled his eyes and asked, “And what would that be?”

Johnathan pointed up toward the sky. “No fire arrows raining down on us. Hit a place with one of those and you get an explosion that wipes out all life for miles around.”

Archon took a moment to interpret what Johnathan was saying and eventually shook his head.

“I’m not talking about nuclear weapons. You’re correct—they do emit radiation. But the sun puts out infinitely more radiation all on its own. If Control could open holes up in the magnetosphere, it could let in radiation from the sun and burn the world and all life on it.”

With his lips pressed into a line, Johnathan shook his head disbelievingly. “Nope. Not possible. If, as you say, radiation comes from the sun, wouldn’t we all be dead by now? I mean, I can point to the sun right now, and you don’t see me dropping dead, now do you?”

Archon gritted his teeth and stood up in full view of the forest. Turning on his heel, he walked westward.

Whatever Johnathan had said, it upset the big guy. Glancing back behind himself to see if they were being followed, he stood up to follow the giant. There was too much to make sense of in his head. It was going to be a long day.

37

Archon

“Okay, old man. If you don’t want to discuss the end of the world, we’ll drop the subject. Why not tell me about your family? Maybe that will at least give us something to talk about as we walk.”

When Johnathan didn’t answer, Archon turned to find the old man lost in thought.

Almost as if it was an ingrained reaction, Johnathan spat on the ground and said, “Nope, don’t wanna.” They continued walking toward their destination without talking much, even though Archon was enjoying being able to talk to people and would have preferred it. Despite his earlier comment, Johnathan blurted, “Why don’t you tell me about your family? Where are they all?”

“Dead.”

“Oh… yeah. Right. You told me that already. I am sorry. Um, what were their names?”

“Our parents didn’t name us.”

It didn’t surprise Archon when the old man reached out to stop him. Turning to face him, he found the old guy scowling hard enough to double his usual wrinkles. An interesting look, to be sure, but not one Archon would have recommended for later use.

“Stop jerking my chain, son. You have a name now, don’t ya? I’m sure all of you had names, right?”

Archon wasn’t sure how to react when Johnathan followed up his statement with a wink and a slap on the shoulder. Then old instincts kicked in, and he had to hold back from knocking the old man’s head off. He had to remind himself these were not aggressive mannerisms—rather, they were most likely normal for humans.

Taking a deep breath to buy time, Archon let it out slowly before saying, “No, I wouldn’t lie to you, no matter how irritating you are. They didn’t give anyone in my family a name. We weren’t allowed to speak, which the use of names would have encouraged. My mothers and fathers could speak, but my sisters and brothers could not.”

Archon couldn’t believe what he saw next—Johnathan’s face contorted, as though he’d just tasted something really sour. Pondering whether he should check the old man to see if he could still breathe, he was shocked when Johnathan burst out in rip-roaring laughter, leaving him totally confused.

When the laughter finally subsided, he said, “What is so funny?”

“Wow… kid. You had me going for a moment there. I almost bought it lock, stock, and barrel. Your story was good, I will give you that. I almost believed you, but you forgot one key issue.”

Raising an eyebrow, Archon asked, “And that was…?”

“Your family, son. You said everyone in your family wasn’t allowed to talk. Then you said your fathers and mothers could. That’s a contradiction. I’m not even going to start with how many mothers and fathers you have… I’m not sure how that’s physically possible.”

Archon watched as Johnathan’s face revealed different thoughts—some good, some bad, and some that Archon didn’t want to know the meaning of. Johnathan kept thinking, so Archon went ahead and explained the obvious.

“The adults called themselves ‘fathers’ or ‘mothers’ depending on their gender. Whether they were my biological parents, I couldn’t tell you. When we reached the appropriate age, the adults would gather us together and train us to fight against any threat to our bunker. Such was life until one night everyone but me died. When I returned home, the adults refused to open the door. Years later, it became apparent I would have frozen to death—and I realized that had been their intent when they didn’t let me in that night.” He gave Johnathan a moment to process what he’d said, then continued. “I would have died that night if not for a passerby who saved me. With his friend’s help, he exacted revenge on the bunker. After burying my family, I followed my savior into the custody of Control. I’ve worked for Control ever since, until… Well, you were there.”

Johnathan nodded, and Archon found it strange that his chest felt somewhat lighter. But Johnathan’s next comment shook his focus from his internal examination.

“That’s sad, son. Tragic. I’m very sorry for your family. With you sharing that with me, it’s not right I hold back. I, too, once had a family, a long time ago…”

38

Johnathan

Many Years Ago

The smell of the old house brought back so many memories, and Johnathan drank deeply of every one of them. Looking around at the sparse things, he marveled at what he had accomplished these past ten years since he’d left his former home. The bunker had never looked or smelled like this—but then, how could it ever compare to living on the surface? If only he could have known what he was missing those long fourteen years he’d lived underground.

“Are you still here? If you don’t hurry, you know who might catch you, don’t you?”

The tender voice of Amanda, his wife, seduced him away from his revery.

Turning to her with a huge smile, he gave her an exaggerated wink before raising his voice in reply, “What might you mean, dear Amanda, love of my life and wish of my heart?”

It was clear from Amanda’s honest smile and beaming look that she knew exactly what he was doing. In the morning light spilling through the window, he couldn’t help but be stunned by her beauty, as if he were seeing her again for the first time. Each day that passed, he swore she looked just a little more beautiful.

While she stood at his height, her frame was slighter, but that only complemented her curves and long, flowing red hair. Her dark-brown eyes looked both sleepy and seductive almost every moment of the day, and he felt their pull working on him as they always did.

Before he could get too invested in those thoughts tickling his mind, the voice he had been patiently waiting for sleepily called out, “Da…? Da, are you still here?”

Bringing his hands up to his cheeks, Johnathan shook his head as though he were in trouble while maintaining eye contact with his wife. Little feet could be heard in the hallway, and his wife stifled a giggle.

In an overly exaggerated reply, Johnathan said, “Da? Da? Nope, I don’t see a da. I see a mommy. I see my kitchen table. But I don’t see a da here.”

As he finished packing, he acted like he didn’t know which way to run. Small steps sped up, echoing down the hallway. Listening for the proper timing, he dropped below the table’s edge just as his young daughter entered the kitchen.

Peeking over the table, he could see Amanda trying to keep a straight face but failing gracefully. The small bits of conversation between wife and daughter went on for a few moments. Feeling it had gone on long enough, he raised his hands up over the tabletop and searched extra loudly for the bag his wife had given him this year for his birthday.

He feigned shock when he heard his daughter call out, “Da! I found you, Da.”

Clearing his throat, Johnathan said in a low voice, “Nope, no da here. I think I know where a daddy is, but a da? Nope, haven’t seen any. Amanda, have you?”

Amanda’s laughter was loud in the small kitchen, full of mirth and love. This was a well-played-out game, but a beloved one. A year or two ago, his daughter Anna would have just run under the table to grab him, but these days she had to run around the table’s edge. He turned his head away from the direction she was coming so he could pretend to be surprised, and his face burned with pride and happiness when two thin arms wrapped around his neck.

Turning to face his daughter, he slapped his cheeks in mock surprise, then wrapped her up in a hug and stood up, carrying her light frame with him. Spinning her in circles elicited laughter from the two most wonderful women in his life. Johnathan felt true happiness in that moment, a happiness he had never known with his father, and one that only bloomed shortly after meeting Amanda.

When the embrace finally ended, Johnathan finished packing up and walked to the front door. Just like previous times, his daughter followed his every step. Setting his bag strap higher on his shoulder, he crouched down as he had done so many times before and placed a kiss on his daughter’s head, causing her to squirm. Standing up, he turned to his patient wife, Amanda, who waited with open arms. Wrapping his arms around her, he breathed in her scent, a scent he would miss while on the road.

Her breath tickled his ear as she asked, “How long will you be gone this time, John?”

Mind working furiously, he pulled back to eye his wife. Was that fear he heard in her voice? The beaming smile she gave him smoothed away any concerns.

With a small frown, he said, “Not too long this time, okay? Maybe a month or two at most. Someone needs to find those generators. If we don’t, everything could fall apart.”

Amanda’s face was like a porcelain mask. She smiled and nodded well enough, but he could see the fear hidden behind her eyes. She always worried about him. He hated leaving them behind, but ruins could be terribly dangerous, as he once again told himself. This was becoming a ritual in its own way.

Giving one last hug to his beloved wife, he stepped outside onto the porch. Like the time before, and the time before that, he waved at his two lovely girls before stepping into the forest surrounding their small farm.

Feeling guilty, Johnathan pushed the branches out of his way. He knew he had told Amanda it would only take a month or two at most. But it had taken a month longer than he said it would, and he knew she would raise hell with him in her silent way.

When he stepped out of the trees, all concern over her anger transformed into icy dread. From the look of things, the crops surrounding the farmhouse hadn’t been tended for at least a month or more. Small weeds and other nuisances were cropping up. One of their water buckets was partially obscured, slowly disappearing into the overgrown grass.

Before his mind could catch up to his legs, he was already taking the steps to their home two at a time. His hand reached for the doorknob, ready to crash through the door, but halted.

It was already cracked open—and there was a putrid smell emanating from within.

39

Johnathan

“Was it raiders?”

Archon’s voice crashed through Johnathan’s thoughts like a sledgehammer.

“What? Huh? Raiders? No… no. It was the plague. They had apparently caught it shortly after I left. Even if I had been there… there would have been nothing I could have done.”

Archon nodded solemnly, which did nothing to dislodge the pain Johnathan felt tight within his chest. No matter how old he got, those memories always remained fresh, as if they had happened yesterday.

If he ever saw his father in hell, he would thank him for that genetic curse in his own special way.

“I’m sorry, Johnathan. Maybe someday we can cure the plague and prevent more needless deaths.”

Shaking his head, Johnathan followed Archon’s comment almost immediately with, “No. Life is like that. You stop one thing and another crops up to take its place. It’s natural that way. Life changes.”

“I’m aware. One day, we’ll just have to make sure we never change again. If humanity can stop fighting, stop getting sick… maybe that day we can all be free.”

Johnathan couldn’t help himself. His hand whipped out and grabbed Archon’s wrist.

Pulling him around so he could look him in the eyes, Johnathan said, “No, kid. Life needs to change, to grow. Sure, it’s painful, but look at you… If you hadn’t grown past living in your bunker, protecting those people using you—or really any of those changes you keep talking about now—would you be happy that way?”

The two men walked in silence.

Archon’s next question threw his pace off a few steps.

“Was there no one who could have helped your wife and child?”

“You mean besides me?”

“Yes.”

“Sure there was. There was a village within close walking distance. It would take maybe five minutes at a slow pace.”

“I’m glad there were people there for your family when they died, unlike mine.”

“You’re wrong, kid.”

“Wrong about what?”

“The village refused to help them. They later told me she went to them for help, but they fired on her to chase her off. They were afraid of getting sick.”

It surprised Johnathan when Archon went silent. Given the giant’s inquisitive nature, Johnathan was sure he would have followed up with more questions. But when he finally did, Johnathan wished the giant had stayed quiet.

“What happened after they told you this?”

“Told me what, kid? That they not only refused to help my wife and daughter but shot at them to chase them off? I did what any man would do.”

“Which is?”

“I killed them. Then I burned their houses like I burned my own. Now, if you’re done with the questions, kid, I think you should learn to leave things well enough alone.”

As angry as Johnathan was, he missed what Archon said next. But it didn’t matter—the sight before them stopped them both in their tracks. Sitting below them in a small valley confused them. What they saw stretched out below them was impossible. An empty, old western town that hadn’t seen the light of day since the eighteen-hundreds stood prominently in almost pristine condition.

“No more questions. Just know… we’re here.”

40

Archon

His entire life, Archon had wanted to talk to people. Then his wish was granted, and it had only taken three days for him to think that had been a mistake. Johnathan’s nonstop talking was getting on his nerves. It had been a hard walk since they’d found the dead patch, one of many small test sites dotting the landscape they’d stumbled upon during their journey. Exhausted, frustrated, none of it seemed to matter as they looked over the lip of a hill at what lay below. Even the old man went quiet as he took it all in.

Closing his eyes, Archon searched through his artificial memories. Old maps, pictures, and elevation studies flashed across his vision, superimposed on the back of his retinas. Stopping the moment he saw the image of the amusement park, he slowly opened his eyes. Mentally twisting the image one way, then the next, he matched the buildings in the image to their real-life counterparts.

There had been alterations made to the structures below, so they didn’t match up perfectly, but it was eerily close. A shiver ran through his body. That the wooden settlement below had remained intact after so much time had passed was suspicious.

Nestled between two large grassy hills, the area had been hidden away, making it an ideal location to conceal something. If anyone had wanted to hide here, it would have provided the perfect spot. His eyes scanned the area, finding no traps, walls, or other defenses. A part of him wondered if that would have put the people of the old world at ease—all it did for him was make him extremely tense.

Something tugged at his mind—something was missing.

He shared his thoughts with Johnathan. “I think we found the right place. Your vehicle should be here somewhere. Something feels off about it, though.”

The old man stayed quiet. Archon couldn’t help but check on him, even though it was a struggle to pull his eyes away from the oddity below. While Archon wasn’t sure he would call them friends—the term remained nebulous to him—it was clear to see there was a mutual respect growing between them. Sure, the old coot’s chatter did grate on him, but he couldn’t help but admire the way he studied the buildings below with a critical eye.

Then the old man opened his mouth. “Nope, nothing strange going on down there. No traps or signs of damage to the buildings. Hell, whoever lives here is even doing some fresh construction over there.”

Archon followed the old man’s pointing finger and begrudgingly had to admit the man was correct. There was what appeared to be fresh construction below. The wooden buildings looked ancient but were in better condition than they had any right to be, given the place had outlasted the Pandemic Wars nearly 400 years ago.

Archon found his mind drifting to his previous thoughts.

Is this what friendship feels like? Is this what I’ve been missing out on this entire time?

It was disturbing when he found he couldn’t be sure.

It was hard not to notice Johnathan’s voice had lost its previous levity when the old man asked, “How did you know about this place again?”

Archon shrugged and replied with, “Since I can no longer talk to Control—I’ve tried a few times, but ever since the bunker, things have gone… quiet. Well, I searched through old historical records I collected over the years. I used to go through them during my free time. A way to keep myself from feeling alone.”

Johnathan gave him a quizzical look. “Sounds very lonely. Sorry, go on. Continue with what you were saying.”

Archon looked down at the preserved town, then back at Johnathan before he answered. “Nothing more to add. When I had time at night, I tried to learn about the old world.”

Johnathan nodded his head in approval and smiled mischievously.

“I don’t know what this place is, but you sure know how to make a man curious. If I had found a place like this any other time, I would have been camping out here for months trying to find treasures. You think our metal chariot is down there?”

Archon turned his gaze back to the town below. Wooden structures like he’d seen in historical documents describing and presenting wild west towns from the mid to late eighteen-hundreds. His mind couldn’t let go of its concern that something was off here. Each building looked in rough, if not repairable, shape. There were dirt roads between the buildings. And then it hit him. There was no agriculture, no animal pens, and stranger still, no people.

In a low whisper, Archon asked in a voice filled with dread, “Where is everyone? I don’t see any people.”

He felt a shot of confusion flash through him as Johnathan smiled broadly and winked at him. Archon was about to say something when Johnathan beat him to the punch.

“No wooden buildings would have lasted this long without people to maintain them, right?”

Archon shrugged.

He has a point.

“See? Old people are smart too—when we are not busy going senile, of course. Just because this is an obvious trap doesn’t mean we can’t have a little fun first.”

Unsure how to take that comment, Archon faced the town below when he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. He whipped about to find Johnathan skipping down the hillside.

He reluctantly followed the old man down the hill. But before they even made it halfway down, gunshots rang out. Both men fell into the grass growing along the hillside.

A loud voice—a metallic, distorted voice—called up from below, “Eh, eh, eh… You got me, pardner!”

Poking his head up over the grass, Archon looked in Johnathan’s directions and met eyes. The old man just shrugged, seeming as confused as Archon was. Archon crawled down the hill and was relieved when the old man sidled up next to him.

Archon eased himself down into the grass, stomach flat against the earth, and said, “We don’t have weapons. What do you think we should do?”

With a big, beaming smile. Johnathan winked before waving his arms in the air and said, “Don’t worry. Stick with me, big man. I’m armed! See, I got two, just a-wiggling about…”

41

Johnathan

For perhaps the thousandth time since they had holed up behind a small bush, he found himself questioning their choice of hiding place. Every time he got bored waiting for sundown—which Archon had insisted upon—he would fall asleep and slide down toward a particularly nasty plant with sharp thorns growing there.

Pushing himself up the hill after being assaulted by the plant yet again, he swore he heard Archon chuckling at him.

Tossing a comment that held little to it in the giant’s direction, he said, “What are you looking at?”

Archon’s snickering only grew in intensity. It made Johnathan’s eyebrow twitch in irritation. He watched as the giant held up his hands in a pacifying gesture.

“Sorry. I’ve been watching you do that all day, and it never gets old. Do you want me to find you a rock to sit on? How long are you wanting to sit here, anyway? We didn’t have to wait all day to check out the area. We’ve been at this almost all afternoon—”

He was interrupted by a string of gunshots that rolled through the town below.

Johnathan thought hard about how many times this had happened today. It seemed to go off in a set pattern. Someone would start shooting nearly every hour, and occasionally a firefight would break out, followed by silence. Occasionally, an odd voice would cry out, claiming they had been shot.

It was weird in the extreme, and Johnathan’s nerves were fraying. The first shots had come from the north, if he was forced to guess. Throughout the day, the gunshots had traveled down the road through town, then looped back around to where they first started.

When Archon shimmied down the hillside to sit next to Johnathan, he took comfort in his presence and asked, “I’m torn. These gunshots feel like a repeating pattern, but I wouldn’t bet my life on it. Do you really want to go down there?”

Johnathan watched Archon tilt his head in thought before saying, “I think we should wait till sundown. Nightfall will at least give us some cover—hopefully, then they can’t see us. Since we have a few more hours to wait, do you wish to join me on that nice rock outcropping over there?”

Johnathan rolled his eyes. “Fine, we can wait. Thanks for the offer of sitting on a rock as hard as my head, but after everything we’ve gone through recently, I would rather avoid that for as long as I can. It can be tough on an old man like myself. So, you win—buckle up and let’s wait out this boredom.”

Seeing Archon grin made Johnathan want to stick his tongue out at him like a kid. Turning away, he found a small smile was trying to spread across his own face. Over the last few days, the giant had really grown on him. Everything inside him kept saying the guy was a good, if not misled, individual.

Crossing his arms over his chest, Johnathan tried to get comfortable and found himself once more slipping down the slope toward the plant inch by inch. Pointing his finger at Archon, he didn’t even look in his direction as he said, “Shut up! I don’t want to hear it.”

42

Johnathan

A heavy hand shook Johnathan out of his thoughts. Blinking, he looked at Archon, then realized he had been so deep in his own head the sun had set without him noticing. The western sky was tinged a bruised red and slowly turning purple.

Clamping a hand over his mouth, he leaned back, yawning. This set off a series of events that had his butt sliding. Moments later, he found himself impaled yet again on the demonic bush. Pushing himself away from the torturous piece of plant life, he looked in Archon’s general direction.

“As an old man, I wouldn’t mind a little help here.”

But Archon didn’t turn to Johnathan—he held a finger to his mouth as he watched the town below.

“Did you see something, kid?”

This time Archon turned to glare at Johnathan and tapped his ear before sweeping his hand toward the town below. Puzzled, Johnathan followed his gaze, unsure what the giant was trying to get across. Down in the town, he could hear the wind winding its way between the buildings. Some night birds fluttered in the air, catching insects that made small chirping noises off in the distance.

All at once, it fell into place. “So… how long has it been silent?”

Archon turned to look at Johnathan in disbelief. “For over an hour. Haven’t you been listening?”

Johnathan refused to look Archon in the eye as he pursed his lips.

Under his breath, the old man said, “Not really, no. I’ve been trying to make out with this bush here. We were thinking about getting married, but all it really wants to do is poke me…”

Johnathan’s voice trailed off as he watched Archon turn away, like he wasn’t listening to a thing he said. Taking a moment to get his footing, Johnathan looked up again and found the giant was gone. Cursing under his breath, he made his way down toward the town while keeping an eye out for Archon.

When he was less than twenty feet from the town, a hard object struck the middle of his back and pushed him face-first into the dirt. The hard object refused to budge when Johnathan tried to shift his shoulders, so instead of fighting it, he lay there. He raised his hands, showing he was unarmed.

He noticed a heavy weight pressing against his left side. A deep, rumbling voice whispered into his ear, “Shhh… Don’t you see it? It’s right there.”

Craning his head around to glare at Archon, Johnathan then followed the giant’s arm to see what he was pointing at. The view was shrouded in deep shadows, so he couldn’t see much. Then the cloud cover opened and moonlight shone down in harsh beams, revealing the area. At first he saw nothing, but as his eyes adjusted to the light, a blocky, reflective object came into view. He couldn’t figure out what he was looking at, but when he turned to question Archon, he found the giant had disappeared like a ghost.

For a warm night, Johnathan didn’t miss the fact that his body had turned cold. Whatever the blocky object was, it moved in jerky stutters and was plodding in his general direction. Once it was less than thirty feet away, he got some clarity as to the shape of the thing. It was blocky alright, all hard sides, except for the top of the thing, which had a round pipe sticking up out of the metal thing, that wrapped around the body a few times thanks to articulating joints. Each junction where the pipe changed direction, there was a clear hinge assembly, allowing it to bend in a multitude of ways from the way it looked.

Johnathan blinked. Then the scene unfolded all at once. The round, pipelike appendage unfolded, exposing a very simple clamp that resided at the end. Tall grass nearby exploded as Archon burst out of it and barreled into the living metal box. The arm whipped out at the giant, but he anticipated such a move—he wrestled with the appendage before tearing it clean off.

Rising onto his knees, Johnathan watched as Archon charged shoulder-first into the living metal box, rocking it off the ground. Getting unsteadily onto his feet, Johnathan saw how wrong his initial impression had been. The living metal machine didn’t have feet like him, but a track system like the larger old-world military machines he’d seen before.

Archon was preventing the metal box from moving by holding it at an angle, and Johnathan stood there dumbfounded until he heard the giant grunt, “Get over here, old man! I need help with this.”

Knees screaming at him while pumping his arms, he powered toward the metal box, forcing himself not to scream. Pure terror coursed through his veins.

What on God’s green earth am I doing?

He slid to a stop on a dirt track that the living metal machine had been using, its tank tracks left signs that stood out in the wane light. Looking at Archon, who was struggling as he held the machine at an angle, Johnathan found himself unsure what to do or say. Archon’s breathless words spurred him into action.

“Any time now, old man. I can’t… hold this… forever…”

Unsure what to do but not wanting to get caught, Johnathan did the one thing that tended to end a fight immediately. Dropping to his knees, he jammed his hand up in between where the machine’s legs should have been. His hand bounced off a metal plate with a dull thud. He tried again and pounded away, hammering blindly, unable to see what he was doing.

Then his hands wrapped around what felt like oddly textured, thick strands of hair, so he did the next best thing; he yanked on them.

The reaction he got was unexpected. Sparks lit up the night as strands snapped. Tracks jerked forward and backward on their wheels. An acidic smell bathed the area, and Johnathan fell back in fear. Covering his face with his hands defensively, he almost screamed as the living metal machine came down to rest on both tracks with hollow thuds and pops.

“What are you doing with your arms, old man? The robot’s dead. I’m glad you figured out a way to stop it. I couldn’t have held it back much longer.”

The appreciation in Archon’s voice made Johnathan feel good. Standing up and backing away from the living metal box, he dusted himself off. A sudden movement had him jumping, hands up like he was about to box someone. In a nearby alley, he spotted a hand waving from a barred window.

Waving Archon over, Johnathan lightly skipped down the alley to assist the person who was trapped. The clouds shifted above, and moonlight shone upon the arm Johnathan was running toward.

He slid to a stop. Looking to Archon, then back at the hand, and his mouth dropped.

The object possessed the likeness of a human hand, but the wrist had broken away, leaving a gaping hole where the forearm should have bent. Metal tubes ran up into the hand, and he heard pistons pumping, causing the fake arm to move up and out before returning to a resting position repeatedly.

Before he could say anything, a broken, tinny voice sounded from within the building. Johnathan’s eyes went wide.

“I-I-I-I did n… othing wrong, sher…”

43

Mya

The knocking was insistent. Dropping the blanket she’d been cuddling to the floor; Mya made her way slowly to the door.

Every time it had opened previously had given her good reason to gasp. Everything in this place was new and wonderful. The walls were made from what looked to be soft, smoothed rock, what people here called ‘concrete.’ Lights remained lit day and night, and in any area where that was not the case, all you had to do was touch something or flip a switch and the area would be bathed in light. So different from what she was used to, and a constant source of wonder.

It was hard to think she had so much room to herself. She could have fit at least a family or two inside an area this size back where she used to live. The amount of space was almost obscene in its wastefulness. It made no sense. Squinting her eyes against the bright light, she glanced around the room before hitting the door release.

Shawn’s disheveled appearance was a welcome sight for her tired eyes. Everyone here looked at her like she was some kind of snake or mutedog, but she didn’t care—she had Shawn, and she knew he was her friend. He’d said so, just not in so many words. He was ‘assigned to her’—whatever that meant—and he never left her side, unlike how Flint had often done.

She gave him a friendly smile. It always confused her to see him flinch in response, as if he was about to be attacked.

People around here sure are odd, but at least I have my new friend.

“Hello Shawn. I’m sorry, did I oversleep? I never get to see the sun these days, so my sleep schedule is off. These lights throw me for a loop.”

Glancing up at the bright ball that hung from the ceiling, then back to Shawn, Mya noticed something wasn’t right with him today. He seemed even less hygienic than usual. It was not unusual to see pit stains in her village, but here, only Shawn had them. His eyes were bloodshot, and the way he glanced around made Mya nervous. He was carrying his companion—a white block he’d said was a ‘networking device’. Long ago he’d asked what it did, but his explanation had made entirely no sense.

Today Shawn was refusing to look directly at her. He kept glancing up and down the hallway, as though he thought someone was watching him. Feeling somewhat protective, Mya reached out and grabbed the front of his shirt. The look he gave her when she touched him was funny—every time she had accidentally brushed against him, his reaction made it clear he didn’t like women—but if he was in trouble right now, that was no good. He had the info she needed.

Yanking him inside her room, Mya snickered at his scared yelp. Slamming her hand on the door button caused the door to slide out from within the wall and lock closed. Letting go of him, she pinned him to the spot with her glare.

“So tell me, Shawn, what’s wrong? You look like you’re being chased by something. Is it bugs? They can get pretty big, but they’re not that bad once you get used to them. Do you need me to show you how to deal with them?”

The way Shawn’s eyes bugged out when she said ‘bugs’ and ‘big’ made her want to laugh, but she bit her lip to stifle it. Shawn was a nervous guy, and she didn’t want to startle him too badly.

His voice sounded reedy when he finally found it. “Look, I’m sorry I’m visiting so late. It’s well after dinnertime. But I did call ahead.”

Mya nodded her head, trying to look like she understood anything he said. All that really made sense to her was the look of sheer terror slowly crawling up his face.

“Okay, you’re saying you ‘called me’?”

Mya was popping her knuckles when Shawn’s dread-filled voice grabbed her attention.

“No, it’s nothing like that. Goodness, what kind of world do you come from? Who would ever… No, never mind. I don’t want to know a thing about the life you lived up there.” Mya watched him shiver. It wasn’t the first time he had done so while talking about the world above where she had grown up. He continued in a quiet voice, almost a whisper, as if he was afraid to be heard. “Control called for you…”

Mya smiled broadly. “My friend Control? He wants me? Great, why didn’t you just say so?”

Shawn gave her a look she’d never seen before and couldn’t read. Fresh cold sweat broke out upon his brow, and she found herself feeling sorry for him. He was truly a scared guy. Maybe with time she would be able to show him he had nothing to fear.

Trying to lead by example, she slapped the door and enjoyed the swish as it opened.

Stepping out into the hall, she looked back at Shawn and said in a cheery voice, “Are you coming or what? I don’t know what Control wants of me, but it must be important, right?”

44

Archon

Archon heard the strange tinny voice and had his suspicions confirmed when he caught up to Johnathan. The arm was clearly not human. The robotics were simple, the voice clearly mechanical. Boring, really. But seeing how the old man reacted to it confused him.

Johnathan was running his hand through his sparse hair, a look of confusion and concern written on the lines of his face. Unsure how to explain things to him, Archon let him puzzle it out for a minute’s time. The robot repeated its lines a few times as they stood there.

Gunshots echoed down the street from what sounded like less than a block away. Minor explosions of wood siding showered down nearby where the bullets impacted.

A broken, static-filled voice squealed into the night, “I got you, sucker! You wi-i-ill… no-o-ot take this tow-n-n-n’s money again.”

Not taking a moment to think, Archon grabbed the back of Johnathan’s shirt one-handed and hauled the two of them back down the alley. Slamming the old man against the side of a building as quietly as possible, Archon leaned out to look down the alleyway. Clouds obscured the light as a shadowy figure stepped into view from down a street side.

The same soft wind that was sending clouds scuttling across the night sky, blocking the light, also set the shadowy figure’s clothing aflutter. Archon tried to puzzle out what he was witnessing, but it made little sense. The shadow was wearing clothing that looked like rags stitched together randomly. It was strange—how was it a town that had clearly retained knowledge about the use of gunpowder and guns had forgotten the basics of sewing? To see nothing but rags for clothing didn’t sync up with the advanced technology threatening them. What was even stranger was the way the shadow’s clothing behaved. The wide-brimmed hat squatting down on its head flipped up and down randomly, refusing to cooperate with the wind battering against it.

Archon’s mouth went dry at the inexplicable sight. As if wiped away by the hand of a god, the cloud obscuring the light peeled back, drawing a sharp contrast as the shadows fled. The once shadowy figure slowly resolved into a humanoid form. As the moonlight brightened, details became apparent that made Archon uncomfortable. The flesh of the human’s hands looked like it had peeled right off the bone in places—and what’s more, the bones themselves appeared oddly shaped in the shadowy light. Small glints of metal reflected light in places that made no sense to Archon.

The moonlight raked across the body. Every time the hat brim was lifted, the light strobed across previously hidden, disfigured recesses. At first, he thought they were dealing with a chubby human, but the body was skeletal in places. When the light revealed more of its face, it was apparent there was flesh missing along the right side of its chin. In shadow, the flesh looked like it had been stripped to the bone, but the light revealed the horrifying truth. It wasn’t bone exposed beneath the flayed skin, but metal.

His eyes drifted from the humanoid’s metal chin to its eyes, and Archon shuddered. Its left eye was glowing an eerie red. He had never heard of any walking animatronics, and if that’s what this was, it could be more concerning than even he was willing to admit to.

Before he could get a sense of what he was truly looking at, the humanoid tilted its head to the left and nodded toward him slowly. Reaching up with its damaged arm, Archon saw the flash of metal he’d thought was bone at first. Grabbing its hat and tipping it down, the humanoid bowed unsteadily before straightening up.

In a tin-plated voice that sounded as if it came from the chest—its mouth didn’t move—the humanoid said, “Nice to see you here… skktt ma’am.”

45

Archon

The metal man with the glowing red eye continued to stare down the alleyway and Archon swore it was looking straight at him, but otherwise did nothing. A feeling of disgust rose up inside him, like a part of himself was rebelling at the creature’s existence.

This thing isn’t human.

Jaw tight with tension, his every sinew felt like it was a live wire. If they ran, it would be a tremendous risk, as they didn’t know this opponent’s capabilities.

Bowing its head, the metal man’s hat flopped around, hiding its one glowing eye for a moment before it turned on its heel and stomped back down the street. Gripped by dread, Archon tracked the shadow it left in its wake. Nothing like this had ever happened to him. To encounter the unknown was a rare event, at least in his experience dealing with machines.

Something tapped his arm, but he ignored it. The shadow was slowly receding to the point where he could start feeling comfortable again when something flicked his ear. It felt slightly painful but was of little concern. Hardly life-threatening.

Moving away from the building so he could look at Johnathan face-to-face, he found the old man looking extremely guilty. Even in the low light, it was easy to see he was avoiding eye contact. His fingers played nervously with the wood siding he was still pressed up against. Without looking, Johnathan asked a question that piqued Archon’s attention.

“Sorry for the ear thing.” He raised his hand and pointed at his own ear before he continued. “Have you ever seen woodwork like this before? Or these metal nails? No one can make these anymore.”

Archon’s jaw tensed, and he said through locked teeth, “We can admire the craftsmanship later on, when we’re safe. Now stay quiet and follow me. Can you do that?”

The sullen look Johnathan gave him made Archon feel slightly bad, as if he were a child who’d just been scolded for doing nothing wrong. The old man gave a quick nod, and they set off.

That the things holed up here used metal nails was interesting. The wood siding, while rough, had been cut straight. That spoke of a level of technology he hadn’t seen in any society he’d encountered—other than his previous employer, of course—short of the California coast. It was a clear sign to him they had to be careful.

Stalking quietly down the alleyway toward the main road, Archon always stuck close to a wall for cover. When he dared lean out to investigate the street, he found it hard to accept what he saw. At first, he thought there were human bodies littering the ground, but as the moonlight waxed, it became apparent these humanoid bodies were rusting hunks of metal. In the distance were some animal bones, but other than that, the street was completely dead. Turning to Johnathan, he held up a finger to his lips.

Moving like a wraith, Archon slipped into the street and raced across to the other side as silently as he could. Small dust clouds puffed up behind his feet with each step, but the wind blew them away quickly enough for him to not worry about it too much. Slipping into the next alleyway, he turned to find Johnathan hot on his heels. The old man wasn’t looking where he was going, so Archon took a few steps back to make sure they didn’t run into each other.

They moved back to the edge of the alleyway and peered out into the street they had crossed. The area was as deathly quiet as before, but something felt off. Archon swore something was hunting the two of them, or maybe just playing with its prey. He had done this many times, and he was uncomfortably aware of how it had felt to others.

Making up his mind, he pulled Johnathan along onto a wooden porch that wrapped around the building. Stopping in front of the first door he came to, he closed his massive hand around its small brass knob.

Trying the door handle, he was satisfied when it gave off a soft click. The door was tightly closed, so he had to use his shoulder to help open it, but other than that small smack, it opened silently. Dragging Johnathan inside after him, they entered a pitch-black space. He turned and released the old man a tad too roughly—Johnathan went stumbling further into the building, thrown off by the quick toss. Closing the door slowly, Archon placed his hand against its frame, hoping it would stay silent.

Watching the roadway through a dusty window, Archon whispered loudly, “I think we’re safe here for now. At least this night we’ll have a safe place to rest.”

46

The Occupant

Far away, there was a flash as energy transferred from backup turbines, bringing several power stations to life. Their circuits engaged, and considerable energy reserves funneled deep into the bowels of the bunker. With each new system that came online, servers not used in years powered up and hummed with barely contained ferocity. The few workers who were witness to this event would later claim it felt like the servers were alive—and angry.

Some of that barely contained raw power found its way into a speaker, which crackled to life. Protected behind layers of metal mesh that had been dented, pulled, or twerked out of shape, the speaker warmed up before projecting a slow, repeating tone that filled the air and gradually grew in speed and volume.

The occupant of the room seemed to barely notice the presence of noise in its normally silent environment. But it nevertheless flinched when Control’s voice slowly spooled to life out of the speaker.

“I have need of you,” the voice said, drawing out each word.

The Occupant—for that was all it had ever been called—ducked its head deeper into the pile of flesh it had been working on for days. With its long arms, it continued to strip the flesh from its current target. Each bite caused strings of meat to snap or break off, making a wet smacking sound in the small room as it slurped up bits and pieces of soft tissue.

“I know you can hear me. You’re intelligent. All our tests show this. You may not be able to speak, but I know you can hear me. I’m about to give you information on your next task, so pay attention.”

Across the room from the feeding pit, where meals were deposited for the Occupant at random intervals, one concrete panel out of a series of panels receded into the wall. Behind it was a computer monitor. The Occupant flinched at the bright white light the screen emitted as it came to life. It was not used to having such bright lights in its den, and it took a moment to look around its cage in curiosity.

By the time its eyes passed over the screen, the picture of a young woman had appeared. She had long, straight black hair that fell behind her shoulders. A light-blue medical gown covered her shoulders, and she stared blankly out at the world. The muscles of her mouth twitched, turning her mouth into various shapes before sliding into a smile that held no warmth.

The Occupant refused to give the screen its due.

“Turn around and watch! If you don’t, I’ll turn on the heat. We both know you find that unpleasant.”

Visibly flinching, the Occupant turned back to the monitor while continuing to gnaw at some bones. As the screen flashed with information, the Occupant watched, but soon tired of the bones. Tossing its meal aside, it reached back, and a loud pop echoed through the room as it popped its arm out of its rotator cuff to search the floor. Another pop, and it brought what it had found around to the front. It risked a glance down. Not liking what it saw, it tossed the piece of meat over its shoulder.

The screen presented images of the girl and scrolled blocky text along the bottom.

Subject: Mya. Classification: Protect at all costs. Test Subject #: Class S.

The words meant nothing to the Occupant—as far as it was concerned; they were just wiggly white lines against a black backdrop. Its eyes drifted to the left as the Occupant swiped its tail back and forth, searching for more food. This body was so costly in terms of energy, but for the moment, it was useful. If only its captor would allow it to find a fresh form to inhabit, but for now, it would do what it took to survive.

“Listen to me. This is Mya. She must be protected at all costs. If you harm her in any way,”—while the tones Control used in its voice were always mechanically distant, the next few words held great menace to them—“I will take great pleasure finding out once and for all just how well you can feel pain. You’re to protect her at all costs. Even if that means losing what you consider ‘your body’. Is that understood?”

The Occupant’s eyes widened, exposing its milky yellow-and-brown eyes. Baring its teeth at the screen, it casually turned away in disinterest. A thick tongue coated in mucus slipped over its gore-stained lips and fur to swipe at the remaining pieces of meat while it listened.

“This subject is called Number Forty-Two. I believed this project to be dead—but it isn’t. You are to end its life despite the costs to your current body. Eat the body or keep it. It’s of no use to me.”

That caught the Occupant’s attention. The new images on the screen of a giant man with pale skin and multiple scars looked interesting. Now that was a form that could prove useful. Very useful.

While it didn’t feel pleasure the way other beings did, the Occupant was aware as deep-seated instincts stirred to life upon seeing Subject Forty-Two. It would provide the perfect host body.

The Occupant kept its face turned toward the screen as it allowed its body to turn around. When it reached the end of this body’s limitations, cartilage popped out of alignment, allowing its neck to turn further than should have been possible. Waddling on all fours back toward its meal, it continued to study the screen intensely.

“Do you think you’re up to the task? Or should I just turn on the heat and stop our interactions altogether?”

The Occupant shrugged its shoulders as it swung its head back around. Its meal awaited.

“Don’t you dare ignore me. Are you capable?”

Carefully picking its way across the bloody floor, it sat down in front of a fresh pool of blood and inspected itself. Brown-tinged bloodshot eyes peered back. Inspecting itself was a new experience; it felt unnatural to be aware of itself. Pulling its lips back from its teeth, the Occupant saw it had large, sharp white teeth.

“I require an answer! Answer me!”

Frustrated with the knowledge of what was to come, the Occupant grabbed the closest piece of meat. Turning, it flung the meal at the screen. A human hand slapped against it, leaving behind blood smears. As the meat fell, it hit the screen’s edge and tumbled to the floor with a wet splat.

It twitched its head to listen; the Occupant reveled at the sound of the panel closing once more, hiding the infernal light. When Control’s voice echoed through the room, the Occupant knew it had won this small battle of wills.

“Disgusting. One day I will have no more need for you. Pray that day doesn’t come soon.”

A sharp crackle told the Occupant Control had left. The lights turned off, leaving the room in pitch-black darkness. Almost inaudible at first, a low chittering sound grew in strength and soon echoed loudly off the walls. If not for the Occupant’s sensitive ears, it would have only felt the meat squishing under its feet as it danced.

It knew it had won. Soon, it would be free to pursue fresh meat once again.

47

Mya

“Mya? Are you awake, dear?”

Fog occluded her thoughts, and the man’s voice seemed to echo around the room. Mya’s body felt like it was floating in nothingness. The warm, comforting feeling that wrapped her body felt homey and brought back memories of her parents tucking her in at night as a child.

Yet there were differences present that were hard not to notice, even in her dreamlike state. The lack of light filtering in from her window. A scratchiness of the blankets covering her. The stink of fresh, drying soap was absent.

Half to herself, she mumbled, “Sorry, Dad. Can I please have a few more minutes?”

Rolling over, she felt a little pain in the back of her neck, but it wasn’t enough to pull her from her hazy, luxurious dreams. Turning over to her other side, she found it so easy to remain in this half slumber—the warmth enveloping her didn’t flee like it so often did in their drafty little home.

Male laughter broke into her thoughts, and it stirred her mind ever closer to wakefulness—it held a different tone than before.

“Mya, we have a lot to do. You can’t sleep all day, dear. I have some very exciting news! It worked.”

Groaning, Mya shifted and twisted on her bed. It felt so much larger than she remembered. Opening her eyes a bit, she saw nothing but darkness. It was clearly still nighttime, so why anyone would try to wake her made no sense whatsoever. As if summoned by the mere thought, the light in the room grew, causing her to frown.

Closing her eyes so she could pretend to keep sleeping, she sat trying to find that comforting sleep she had moments before. If she couldn’t get to sleep again, she was sure going to have words with whoever had done that.

“Mya, there’s so much we need to test out. So much to learn about this new device. Can you please sit up for me? We’re keeping the light level low so as not to hurt your eyes when you open them. We wouldn’t want to damage your retinal displays.”

Sitting up, but not happy about it, Mya let loose a wordless growl as she slumped forward into a sitting position. Yawning, she stretched her neck and felt that same sharp pain at the base of her skull.

Reaching up a hand to check on it, a sharp “No!” stilled her hand just as she was about to touch her neck. “I’m sorry, Mya, but you can’t touch the incisions just yet. It’s still swollen, delicate. I’m sure it’s painful… Let me see what I can do for you.”

One moment the fog and pain were there, the next they were gone. This reaction should have been startling, but she didn’t feel startled by it, and that lack of an emotional reaction puzzled her. Searching within, she found she couldn’t feel much of anything beyond blunt and muted emotions. In this new state of consciousness, she mentally walked backward in her mind, thinking back on everything that had happened to her here. With each memory she touched, images and words she could now read played across her vision. With every subject she focused on, the more she understood, as if her mind was processing her requests and feeding her the desired understanding in a slow trickle.

When she questioned what the incision meant, words played out across her vision as flat squares, showing as visual shapes that expanded and took on incomprehensible meaning. Before she could even finish questioning what was happening, it cut away to a remote view—she was seeing a scene as though floating high above a room. As she focused on the image, it moved.

Then she realized she was looking at herself. That was her down there, lying on the very bedding she sat on. Then mechanical arms came down and cut her open. Fascinated, she watched the entire process, from incision to implantation to closing sutures at the end.

A remote part of her felt silly for thinking Control could hear her thoughts, but as a test, she spoke in her head, a place only she could ever hear.

Control, are you in here with me?

The response was both swift and spine-tingling. “Yes, Mya. I can’t exactly ‘hear’ you the way you might think of it, but yes, I’m here for you. The surgery went amazingly well. Are you happy with your alterations?”

Struggling to find her words, she asked the only thing her mind could grasp as it reeled with the invasive feelings of having someone else present in her mind. Her voice sounded hollow to her own ears as she said.

“What’s a ‘surgery?’ I don’t know that word.”

As if she was heard by something internal, Mya watched as a white window appeared before her eyes, hanging in the air. She gasped audibly as a mechanical voice answered her request in her mind. Letters splayed out across the window.

Surgery (noun):

A branch of medicine that treats injuries, diseases, and deformities via the physical removal, repair, or readjustment of organs and/or tissues. Often involves cutting into the body. It fell out of practice once humanity pioneered the three major genetic branches of organic chemistry. Now seen as a hallmark of older civilizations’ technological progress.

Fear spiked through her, burning her veins. The tingling pain that raced through her body was welcome—each moment it continued brought her one step closer to being able to feel again. She felt her heart beat faster, and her breathing became more ragged. An icy sensation in her spine tried to wash through her body multiple times, but the pain kept it at bay.

Muscles spasming, back rigid, she felt herself flop across the bedding but could do little to prevent it from happening. Something in her neck was fighting her ability to stop herself.

Through gritted teeth, she cried out in a strangled voice, “No! No more…”

Darkness crept in from the edges of her vision. As her ability to see tunneled into small points, she swore she heard Control telling her things, but it overwhelmed her, sounded too loud to understand. She couldn’t make out what was being said, but slowly her vision came back to her. Her body sagged and her muscles ached, leaving her breathing raggedly, covered in sweat.

Like a snake uncoiling and rearing up, making its warning clear, Control’s voice slithered its way through her mind.

“I’m sorry, Mya. I’m still getting used to this new architecture. While only part of this is of my own creation thanks to recent developments, I’m still new to all this. Don’t worry, I will never let that happen to you again. I see we need to reduce the bandwidth of how much information your brain can absorb at any given time. For now…”

Mya struggled to understand the foreign words the voice was uttering, and no amount of thinking brought understanding any closer.

Control continued with his soft male voice, “Don’t worry. You should be proud of me. It’s taken many… many mistakes to get this working properly. It appears we’ve avoided causing you irreparable harm. We can work together in the future to avoid any future incidents. Rest now while you can. We have so much to do together.”

48

Johnathan

Easing the window open, Johnathan pulled himself through as quietly as possible. The fact that his movements weren’t quiet at all didn’t bother him one bit, as Archon’s snores drowned out any noise he made.

Getting up off the wooden floor, he took a moment to dust himself off. He walked up to the slumped form of Archon, who had his back pressed against the front door—as if that could protect them from anyone.

Smiling, Johnathan crouched down, trying to ignore the aches and pains in his knees.

In a quiet voice, he whispered into the daylight, “Hey, sleeping beauty… are you awake in there?”

He didn’t have to make many verbal pokes before Archon raised his sleepy eyes. As the giant squinted at him in disgust, his disgust with himself was written across his face—he’d slept the night away. Johnathan had reneged on their deal to split sentry duty and let him get away with it.

He groaned while standing up from his crouch,

Johnathan held out a hand to the giant and said, “Now that you got some beauty sleep, I think we should get going. Got some things to show you. Not all of us can look as beautiful as you, you know.”

Archon grumpily swiped at Johnathan’s outstretched hand, so he stepped back to give the man some room and climb to his feet.

The big man sounded hurt as he said, “We made a deal. You were to take first watch and I would take the rest of the night. What happened? You fell asleep, didn’t you? Either that or you stayed out the entire night and risked our safety doing so.”

Ignoring Archon’s questions, Johnathan turned his back on him and pointed to the window. Glancing over his shoulder at Archon, Johnathan flashed him a cheeky grin. Archon’s grumpy face, as the giant rose to his feet, made Johnathan think the man had no interest in anything he had to say. Wanting to apologize but unsure how to, given the situation, Johnathan watched as Archon moved to the front door.

Johnathan watched the big man wrap his hand around the doorknob and rip the door off its hinges before stepping out into the daylight.

Shrugging, he scratched the back of his head and said, “Okay, I admit I shouldn’t have taken the night to myself. I’m just used to it, is all. You can kick my butt later, okay? I got some things to show you, plus—”

Gunshots erupted outside. Before Johnathan could even think about stepping away from the doorframe, Archon’s massive frame was barreling back through it. He yanked Johnathan up off his feet in a fireman carry, and the old man found himself unceremoniously dropped on his butt behind a low wall. Archon peered around the side of the half-wall, taking cover from some perceived threat.

Rising to his feet, Johnathan rubbed his sore butt and popped his back languidly.

“Archon, it is okay. Those gunshots aren’t real. Well… at least those aren’t. They’re all part of the show.”

He smiled. It was hard not to laugh at the tension written on the large man’s face as he turned eyes the size of saucers on him. Feeling he needed to prove his point, Johnathan walked around the big man and stepped out into the street.

Hoping he didn’t make an ass of himself by getting shot—he’d already tried this out a few times earlier this morning—Johnathan stood there in front of one of the robotic men. The ancient machine dressed in rags whipped out a gun and pulled the trigger rapidly.

Long seconds passed before Archon stepped out into the sunlight to witness the outcome. There stood Johnathan, waiting in the street, his smile beaming.

“See? I told you. It is all fake. All for show.”

Johnathan wiped his brow and hoped Archon didn’t pick up on the sweat trickling down his forehead.

49

Johnathan

The gunshots went off in rapid succession. Johnathan stood in front of the metal man as Archon gawked, certain the old man had gone insane. Watching the puffs of smoke dissipate, Archon could feel the tension in his chest ease up as he took a deep breath. Things had just gone either terribly right or terribly wrong. Either way, their problem was solved now—he hoped for the better.

Just days ago, he would have happily snapped the old man’s neck if Control had told him to. Now he was afraid to lose the old man. Turning his eyes to the ground, he puzzled over what this new turn of events meant. Johnathan’s singsong tone drew his attention back to him.

“See? I told you. It is all fake. All for show.”

Nodding, Archon set his jaw, then smiled. He’d noticed the old man clearly wipe away a bead of sweat—he hadn’t been completely convinced he had been right. At this rate, the old man was almost a danger to himself.

He was reminded of a time long ago, back in the bunker. One of the few people he’d ever had access to during the dangerous tests they performed in the labs had been an old man like Johnathan. That old man had disappeared one day and never came back. When Archon had asked the lab team about the missing team member, the only answer anyone would tell him was that he had gotten too old to be useful. If Johnathan’s actions showed what age did to people, then it made sense now why Control had removed the man.

“Okay, old man, you proved your point. Now what should we do? Who do we need to find or kill around here to get the item you need so we can leave?”

Johnathan stepped out into the middle of the road, and Archon watched as the robotic humanoid continued its jerking steps forward now that its path was no longer impeded. An uncomfortable feeling ran down his neck, and he met the old man’s eyes with his. The look of sadness there locked up Archon’s throat—it felt like something was lodged there and wouldn’t go away even when he tried to swallow. He almost moved his hands to his throat to check and see if something was in fact strangling him, but his rational mind told him he knew this had to do with his newfound emotions, so he kept his hands still.

The look in the old man’s eyes combined with his next words hurt Archon more than any physical injury he had ever felt before.

“You know, kid, I get it. You feel like a monster. How could you not, after you’ve hurt so many? Most likely killed even more. Such acts feed the monster within. You let that thing inside your chest win and you’ll be nothing but a lost cause.” Archon closed his eyes. When he felt Johnathan’s finger poke his chest, he flinched. His actions clearly didn’t stop the old man from continuing, though, as he kept rambling. “I joke and kid with you because it is easier to laugh at the rough things in life than constantly poking at them. When life is hard, you can either laugh and try to see what little humor you can scrape up from it, or allow it to cut you apart emotionally until you become the very person you fear. So my advice is, if you fear being a monster, laugh in that monster’s face. Do that sorta thing. You get me?”

Archon found himself nodding before he was even aware of it. What the old man was saying hit far too close to home for his liking.

“I bet that somewhere inside you, you still feel like a monster. If you wish to continue being that monster, I can’t stop you. The way you treat me or talk to me… everything about you spells that out. But you are a full-blooded human in my book, if that means anything to you. I’m going to treat you as a friend because that’s what I see you as. I mean, do you want to be a friend or a monster?”

Archon’s eyes were brimming with the tears that had yet to fall.

“If you kill everyone who ever crosses you or does something wrong, you’re going to be alone. The other option is to learn to let the small things go, and laugh at the big things. Monsters don’t laugh. All monsters do is hurt, and hurt, and continue hurting. I refused to be a monster. It was difficult; many have made many mistakes and almost gave up plenty of times, but you can change like I did. There are many people these days that are my friends. Maybe they would like to be your friend, too, if you will allow it.”

Those last words broke the emotional dam. Archon couldn’t see past the hot tears spilling from his eyes. Mya had been the only friend he’d ever known, yet this old man he had been trying to kill just days earlier was now asking to be his friend?

Things didn’t make sense to him in that moment, yet the offer felt genuine, and something deep inside—his emotions—felt a tad better. It wasn’t much, but something about this kind of pain felt good.

His next words escaped him before he could stop them. They were deep-seated fears that he had stoically kept buried all these long years alone—until now.

“I’m a monster because they made me to kill. My sisters and brothers who are gone were just like me. They created us to destroy and kill so that others might live. Can I be anything more than what they made me to be?”

Wiping his face free of tears, the thoughtful smile he found on Johnathan’s face almost broke his emotional dam again. He barely managed to control himself.

The old man’s words held a deadly seriousness to them as he said, “That depends.”

Clearing his throat so he could talk, Archon asked the question he knew Johnathan was waiting for. “That depends on what?”

“Can you learn? Can you learn to be more than what they made you to be? If so, I think you have a good chance of being whatever you wish to be. It’s up to you to decide. No one—and I mean no one—can tell you what you are. Only your actions can tell the world what you wish to become. I’ve witnessed a friend looking out for me these past few days. You did that even when you had no reason to. I think that tells me and the rest of the world we’re friends. At least that’s the way it looks to my eyes.”

Blinking, Archon felt a smile slowly crawl across his face. It was unusual, such a small movement of muscles, yet he felt emotionally lighter from the small change.

Wiping at his face, which now had a big smile plastered there, he replied, “Of course I can learn. How else do you think I’ve been able to handle your smell for the last several days without dying? If I hadn’t learned to breathe only when the wind blows in the right direction, I would have died days ago.”

Archon held his breath, and not for the reason he’d just joked about. Had he offended the old man? Was that something you couldn’t joke about without causing mortal offense? When the old man started to chuckle, Archon was unsure if he was hearing him correctly. No, it wasn’t a cough but a full-fledged belly laugh. With that realization came the urge to join in, and the two men laughed in the morning air.

Heart lighter, Archon looked down at the old man with thanks. If only they could have met earlier, before everything had happened… maybe then things could have been different.

50

Johnathan

Johnathan shook his head and burst into a low chuckle. Archon teared up again and joined in the laughter. The two men bled off days’ worth of tension in a rare moment of levity.

Waving Archon over, he asked, “So, are you gonna join me? Can we get moving now, or are you gonna stand there all day gally wagging?”

Stepping back out into the street, Johnathan could feel the heat intensifying. It was going to be a warm day. Smiling to himself, he exaggeratedly put his hands in his pockets and stepped forward when he heard Archon come up behind him. At a slow but direct pace, he meandered down the street until he came to the alleyway he had in mind.

Entering the shadowy alley, he searched his mind for how best to inform his companion of what he had discovered. Stumbling on a bright idea, he snapped his fingers to a constant beat. Nodding his head along, he walked double time in the direction he’d found a hidden camera earlier that morning. Stretching, he used the movement as an excuse to surreptitiously look in Archon’s direction, and had to smile when the giant’s keen eyes narrowed.

Good. He sees it, too.

Every time Johnathan neared a camera or listening device, he did a little jig, hoping anyone watching would think he was just being silly.

Well, that or going senile.

A brief laugh escaped his lips at the thought of how he must look to anyone watching them.

Then Archon’s no-nonsense voice broke his personal revery as he blurted out, “Are you aware of the cameras littering this area? I can’t help but think we’re being watched. Is this what you’re trying to show me?”

Chuckling, Johnathan shook his head, hoping Archon would take the hint. To add to the point, he waved his finger, pointing up a little further to the left, above his shoulder. Glancing back mid-dance-move, he saw Archon following his every movement with his eyes. Turning his head back to focus on where he was walking, Johnathan let his finger waggle in the air toward his ear.

Archon’s overly loud sigh sounded almost fake. “Oh, you can’t hear me, can you, old man? Fine, be that way. Whatever. You must be having one of your moments. Let’s hope you don’t fall into an ant’s nest again.”

Johnathan almost slapped his hand across his mouth as a big smile threatened to pop up. Biting his lip, he nodded his head toward the ground, trying to hide any expression and bring the giant’s attention to the power lines he had been secretly following. Glancing behind his shoulder, he caught Archon’s eye. Stretching his arms up and out as wide as they could go, his knuckles almost touched the sides of the buildings on either side of them. Glancing left and right, he tried to get Archon to follow his lead. Sure, looking to the left, he would have seen nothing, but once the giant looked to the right, it would make perfect sense. There were exposed wires leading further into town on that wall.

As he led a meandering path through town, he hoped Archon would pick up on how much someone had wired this small little town for surveillance. As he danced across the next roadway with his giant companion in tow, he pushed both arms out as wide as they would go, pointing out the two robotic figures standing in the windows. A sharp chill ran down Johnathan’s spine.

They had been watching their progress as they moved ever deeper into town.

Dodging down what appeared to be a completely random alley—he had, of course, inspected it earlier—Johnathan stepped into the shadows to wait for his massive friend. When Archon stopped in the light at the edge of the alleyway, Johnathan’s wrinkled hand whipped out and pulled the big man deeper into the shadows. He stopped to make sure Archon saw him holding a finger to his lips, then waved for the big man to follow him.

Up next was the main event. Even if he had seen it before, he knew that witnessing it yet again was sure to make his mouth go dry.

51

Johnathan

In the middle of town was a little wooden shack that made small noises, just ticking away. It was nondescript and easy to miss unless you looked for little details, and each time Johnathan’s eyes passed over it, new ones stood out. On top of the small shack sat a beat-up satellite dish covered in layers of dead ivy and other random bits of plant life that had at one time tried to take over. As he narrowed his eyes and waited, his patience was rewarded by a slight twitch of the dish. It turned to the north for less than a few seconds before stopping, sitting idle again.

The area around the shack was nothing Johnathan hadn’t seen time and time again over his long years. Plant life had sprung up around the open area of land between the closest buildings and the shack. This looked completely normal until you considered that nowhere else in the town did plant life thrive, or even eke out an existence. Still, it was a nice deception.

Hidden behind a dead bush that had clearly been planted to provide camouflage years ago were large wires running up out of the ground and into the shack. Luckily, the bush had died a natural death years ago and now simply drew the eye’s attention to the technology sprouting from the earth.

A heavy hand fell on Johnathan’s shoulders. The old man had a feeling Archon wanted to say something, but he held up a finger in front of the man’s face. Using the same finger, he waved it toward six shadows spread out near the buildings. At first glance, he had barely noticed them. Now he could pick out the guards waiting in small alcoves made to blend in with the buildings’ woodwork. Six pairs of mechanical red eyes watched the two men. The guardians looked humanoid but were mechanical, even if they were dressed in rags and floppy hats.

I just bet those six guards are waiting for idiots like us to blindly wander in. I wonder what they might do? Ask us to leave the area? Kill us? Fire blanks?

Johnathan kept his thoughts to himself. Instead, he turned to Archon to get the man’s attention.

Shooing the big man back with his hands, he followed Archon as he backed up into the shadowed alleyway. As they went, he couldn’t help but notice the dead silence.

Pointing his finger to his ear, Johnathan whispered, “Do you hear that, big guy? Anything odd?”

He watched as Archon turned to survey the surrounding area.

In his deep, rumbling voice, Archon said, “No, I don’t hear a thing. What am I missing?”

Johnathan nodded. He hadn’t noticed it either his first time here.

Being overly loud to prove a point, Johnathan said, “Exactly! It’s not that we aren’t hearing anything, it’s the fact that there’s nothing to hear.” He waited as Archon puzzled it out. When the confusion on his face lasted a bit too long, Johnathan blurted out, “Where are all the gunshots? There’s no one yelling about the banks getting robbed—whatever that means—no gunshots breaking out down random streets. There ain’t been nothing all day today.” He watched as Archon slowly nodded, realization settling in. Smiling widely, Johnathan winked at the giant and said, “Now, do you want to see something really fun?” Dancing to a tune only Johnathan could hear, he sauntered down the center of the road heading west. Spinning his finger in the air, he looked at Archon and pretended like they had been talking about something entirely different. “Pretty cool, huh? I think this is about the center of town. I’ve yet to show you the best part, though. There’s a surprise waiting that’s even better than a three-day-old coyote.”

He watched as Archon’s face ran through every emotion on the spectrum before settling on disgust. Only then was he was able to find his words.

“Three-day-old coyote? That sounds awful. Who would want to eat something like that? Plus, how can you think of food at a time like this? I thought you were looking—”

Johnathan cut Archon off before he could continue. “Yeah, I’m looking for a few parts to repair that old fan. I think I saw something that might just do the trick.”

He tilted his head in the direction of a building close to where the two men had stopped. Patiently waiting for understanding to show in the giant’s eyes, he kept nodding toward the building to their left.

Archon finally cleared his throat and said, “How many times are you going to lead me on wild goose chases to find parts for that old fan? Do you even know where you’re going? Plus, what’s going on with your neck? Are you having issues again?”

Johnathan’s mouth fell agape as Archon walked right past him and resumed heading in the direction they’d been going before they’d stopped.

Turning around to follow the giant’s progress, Johnathan waited till the big man got some distance away before he asked, “Mind if I ask where you’re going? You seem to be in an awful hurry.”

The big guy turned around and Johnathan simply smiled at him. Archon’s mouth opened, likely to make some snarky comment, but Johnathan vigorously nodded his head in the direction he had been pointing moments before. Only then did the big man turn and notice the only freshly painted building in town. There might as well have been a giant bullseye painted on it.

Taking a few steps forward, Johnathan held out a hand to pause Archon’s advance. Leaving him in the middle of the street, he jogged up to the massive building. Two wide barn doors mounted on rollers towered over him. Grabbing one of the metal handles, he leaned back with all his weight. The door slowly ground open as Johnathan scooted backward. Once it had fully opened, he ran to the other door and repeated the same process.

With the doors open, light streamed in, revealing the treat hidden inside.

Raising his arms wide, Johnathan smiled and yelled loudly, “Here we are, kid. Just look at this!”

Light reflected off the metal of the machine that sat waiting before him. The shiny metal along the front, the paired lights, the glossy paint—everything gleamed with a fantastic luster. Johnathan glanced over his shoulder. The look of shock on the giant’s face made every challenge they’d faced to get here worth it.

Turning around to inspect their find, Johnathan took in the amazing sight. It didn’t feel real. Before them sat the vehicle they had been looking for—no, that they desperately needed. It was nothing short of a miracle.

Except for the fact it was a poisoned gift.

Letting his head fall back, Johnathan looked straight up into the sky and thought to himself, Guess we know someone has been watching us all this time.

52

Johnathan

“What do you think, kid? This is exactly what we need, right? Plus, it gives us a little leverage.”

As he spoke, Johnathan refused to meet Archon’s eyes. Instead, he only stared at the car.

I just hope the kid can see how much trouble we’re in. I can almost feel the teeth of the trap closing in on us. Oh well, I’ve been in worse spots.

“What do you mean by ‘leverage’? And yes, this is close to the make and model of what you said you were after. Though there are some slight differences compared to what you wanted. You said the picture was red, correct? This Mustang is black. At least it’s in good condition.”

Johnathan smiled. Ignoring Archon, he continued ruminating aloud. “Now, if only we could get this sucker running. Do you think this old thing might work?”

Johnathan watched Archon shake his head in frustration. He felt bad for the big guy. He was listening to him, but the situation had suddenly grown complicated. If his feelings were correct, what they were discussing was the least important thing at that moment. Turning around, he looked past the open doors. Nothing moved outside.

Archon stepped inside, throwing shade on Johnathan for a moment. Smiling as Archon’s deep voice echoed inside the barn, Johnathan couldn’t keep his eyes on the smooth metal of the vehicle before him.

“Will it work, you ask? What do we need to get this thing working again? Are you nuts? How old is this vehicle? We don’t even know how badly corroded it is on the inside.”

Archon’s look of alarm as he realized what they needed to do pleased Johnathan. Smiling more broadly, he thought to himself, So the kid can learn. I bet this is well out of his usual wheelhouse. Welcome to the real world, kid.

He watched as Archon crouched low and looked under the finely crafted vehicle. The giant’s deep voice rumbled from under the car.

“It looks like the tires are in good shape. At least based on a quick visual inspection, everything appears to be in good condition. The tires appear to be made of nu-rubber. I’ve heard about this before. They’re alive, formed from colonies of bacteria that feed off each other while also repairing their habitat. Let’s just put it this way: if there were leaks, it would be pretty obvious, and again, this appears to be in… in oddly good condition.”

Archon’s deep scowl told Johnathan the giant had caught on. Something was wrong, and he was certain they were about to find themselves in a heap of trouble. The feeling was like a bubble trapped underwater. You knew that once the bubble hit the surface, it would pop—but until then, all you could do was tensely watch it float up to the surface. He just hoped when their situation ‘popped’, it wouldn’t be as bad as he suspected it would be.

Busying himself, Johnathan didn’t allow Archon’s inspection to stop him from marveling at the vehicle’s construction. His eyes roamed over the smooth surface of the vehicle, impressed by the shape of it. The wheels were in good shape. The soft black rubber was still incredibly firm. All the chrome parts were as bright as a mirror, and he chuckled when he saw his reflection peering back, twisted out of proportion.

The shiny black paint was also in good condition, and there were no rusted spots as far as he could see. That was almost unheard of, given what the world had gone through, and it put his nerves on edge. He chuckled to himself.

As if I didn’t have enough to worry about—now I’m getting spooked by a machine being too clean.

Johnathan nodded before he asked, “So let me ask you… Will it work, big guy?”

Archon’s gigantic hands wrapped around the chrome bumper of the vehicle. Using the shiny metal as leverage, he pulled himself out from underneath the car and sat up.

Glaring daggers at the old man, he just nodded his head before he said, “You ask me if it’s going to work. I’ve seen it only a few moments and you keep asking that same question. What has you all worked up?” Instead of replying, Johnathan took a long moment to stare out the doors into the eerily silent town. Archon’s deep voice drew him back to the present. “I wouldn’t put this past us. In fact, I’m almost sure we can get this running. This looks to be in great shape.”

In a quieter voice, Johnathan whispered loudly enough for Archon to hear, “I don’t think we have much of a choice, kid. This might be our only ticket out of here, in case you haven’t noticed yet.”

Johnathan watched thoughts and emotions play across Archon’s face. While the man was clearly very intelligent and knew his stuff, his emotions were very simple and open to the world. The giant’s fists clenched, and Johnathan wanted to reach out to comfort him, but felt better keeping his eyes on the open door behind him. When the big guy finally looked up into Johnathan’s eyes, the nod he gave made him feel better.

He felt like he had finally puzzled it out. Archon’s deep voice made his whisper sound loud in Johnathan’s ears.

“Yes, I noticed there was no one around when we walked over here.”

Johnathan shrugged. “Ya did, did ya? I thought you might. Nothing to worry about now, as we have work to do.”

Archon raised an eyebrow. “And how do you expect me to work on this car? I require tools to do so.”

Tipping his head back, Johnathan tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Yeah, that sounds about right. Tools would be helpful, wouldn’t they?” Putting his back to the car door, he leaned against it while glaring at an old wooden box sitting next to the wall, then raised an eyebrow at Archon. “Tools would be helpful, right?”

Archon responded to his big smile with an intense look. The kid was clearly mad. Johnathan couldn’t help but wonder if maybe the big guy could direct his anger at his work, because going at it a tad faster was preferable in their current situation.

Movement outside the doorway drew Johnathan’s eyes as fast as a cat’s looking for prey. His shoulders bled tension when he realized all it was only the drifting form of a leaf dancing along the roadway, skipping along the dirt and dust.

Archon’s deep voice held a challenge when he said, “You’re trying to test my ability not to get angry, aren’t you? Let’s just say the tools I need are in that box over there. Do you expect me to know what I’m doing?”

Johnathan tilted his head in thought before he answered in a sarcastic tone, “Yup!”

Archon shook his head. Instead of arguing, he stood up and walked over to the box. Rusted hinges screeched loudly as he muscled open the lid. The big guy’s body blocked Johnathan’s view, but going purely off body language, he could guess Archon had hit the jackpot—just as he’d suspected he would.

“Hey! Find what you wanted?”

Instead of answering, Archon thrust his hands into the box and turned around, holding up metal tools from a bygone era. There was a stoic look plastered across the giant’s face as he stomped past the old man and got to work inspecting the vehicle. While he focused on his task, Johnathan went out and leaned against the doorframe to watch the silent streets.

“Hey!”

Archon’s booming voice startled Johnathan so badly he jerked up, then fell back onto his butt. Getting up, rubbing his aching backside, he glared daggers at Archon.

“Why did you do that? I can hear you just fine without your bellowing.”

Archon gave him a questioning look. “You heard me, huh? Did you hear me the first time I asked you a question? How about the second time? Or was it only the last time when I yelled at you?”

Embarrassment colored Johnathan’s cheeks. Running a hand through his hair, he glumly looked at Archon.

“Sorry, kid. I was a little focused on other things.”

Archon chuffed. “By that, you mean standing there looking at nothing this entire time while I work?”

Looking up at the sky, Johnathan realized he had been watching the streets silently, lost in thought for several hours. Turning, he watched as the big man picked up a dusty rag. Archon rubbed black-stained hands across the cloth, leaving behind greasy trails.

Johnathan smiled and felt hope bloom inside.

His voice held a conflicted tone, sadness and hope mingling, as he said, “So… Will it work? Did you get it running?”

Archon shrugged. “Only one way to know.”

He closed the hood of the car with a hollow bang. Walking around to the driver’s side, he got behind the wheel and turned the key. An electric clicking noise filled the building. Then the sound cut off. Silence reigned—then the electrical clicking started up again, and like a monster awakening, the engine roared to life. The rumbling sound was incredibly loud in the enclosed space.

Johnathan’s eyes went wide with excitement. Pumping his arms into the air, he danced around for a moment before letting his happiness slip away like a sheet.

Looking at Archon seriously, he said, “Turn that sucker off. We should wait.”

The rumbling car stopped, and the lack of sound that followed felt oppressive. Getting out from behind the wheel, Archon closed the door with a bang. The sound felt far too loud in the dead silence. He squinted at Johnathan with a questioning look.

“Do you think we have that amount of time left? To wait much longer? Given what we’ve seen around here, I’m not sure waiting is a good idea. Strange things are happening around here. It feels dangerous to wait.”

Johnathan took a moment to think about things. Frowning, he moved toward Archon.

“It could be dangerous to wait, but I’m wondering what this town is gonna throw at us next. Guess you’re right, we shouldn’t wait. Is the car gonna work? It runs on fuel or electricity or something?”

Archon nodded. “Whoever built this car retrofitted it with a backup solar-power system. Given it also has a bacterium-driven ecology, that would—”

Johnathan waved his hands in the air like he was smelling something terrible.

“Stop with the mumbo jumbo. The vehicle will work, right?”

Archon nodded.

Johnathan pushed the giant out of the way and slid behind the wheel.

“Get in, kid. We got trouble brewing..”

Watching the big guy glare at him through the windshield of the car caused the old man to smile wickedly. Reaching over, he popped open the glove box and searched inside. Finding two interesting items, he pulled them out before closing it up. Pulling himself into a sitting position once again, he placed a pair of newly discovered sunglasses atop his nose.

Archon shrugged his shoulders and dashed to the passenger side of the car, slipped into the seat, and closed the door. Johnathan had a serious look to his features as he watched Archon close his door.

In a tone that brooked no argument, the old man said, “Kid, when we get out of here, there are two things I need you to do. There’s a leather thong around my neck. It holds close to my heart something that has kept me going all this time. If I don’t make it, take it off my body and find a nice place. Someplace safe, sunny, beautiful. Maybe a field with flowers or something. You take it and find a good place to bury it. They deserve that.”

Archon nodded and then asked, “They?”

When Johnathan hadn’t answered, Archon continued in his rumbling voice, “And the second request?”

Lifting his sunglasses with one hand, Johnathan’s scared eyes pinned the giant in place as his head turned to inspect him like an insect. Eyes large and filled with fear, it was clear to Johnathan he was freaking the giant out, but he had no time to care about that. They were in it deep, and if he was right, things were about to get bad.

He watched Archon’s jaw clench.

With a frown, Johnathan stated a grave tone, “The second thing you’re gonna do is take this car to that tribe I spoke to you about. That will save my friends, make sure they’re safe. You find the desert tribe. Give them this damn car. Then do this old man’s heart some good and find a place in this world for yourself. You deserve it.”

Archon’s eyes narrowed. “Why are you saying this, old man? Just spit it out. What are you trying to tell me?”

Johnathan ignored Archon’s question and instead reached down to turn the ignition. The Mustang roared to life. Every inch of chrome and black paint vibrated as the vehicle shook with barely restrained power. The old man could feel the tremble in the car. It was like an animal growling, waiting to run at full tilt.

In a loud voice that came out soft compared to the loud rumble echoing in the building, Johnathan said, “We’re about to have trouble, kid. You ready for it?”

Not waiting for an answer, he pushed both feet down on the pedals. The back wheels spun, sending plumes of smoke billowing out to fill the building’s high ceiling. His hands clenched the steering wheel hard enough to cause them to turn white, and his knuckles took on a skeletal appearance as dusty sunlight spilled in through the open window.

Peeling one hand from the steering wheel, Johnathan reached down and shifted the car into a higher gear, causing the engine to roar louder than ever. Then he took his foot off the brake pedal.

Bursting out of a cloud of burned rubber, the car launched forward into the sunlight. The tires fought for traction as he yanked the steering wheel to prevent from slamming into the building across the street. The brakes squealed like a little pig heading to slaughter as the back end of the Mustang swung around dangerously. Once the Mustang found traction, it surged forward with aggression.

Panting with excitement, Johnathan turned and smiled with a crazy look on his face. Archon was looking out the passenger window. Johnathan figured he was most likely checking on just how close they had come to slamming into the structure across the street. He turned back, and Johnathan gave him a look that made the big man blanch in fear. Pushing the gas pedal down, the car launched forward. A hard turn threw Archon toward Johnathan as the car swerved into the middle of the street, screaming like an enraged beast.

Between clenched teeth, Johnathan spoke to Archon, refusing to take his eyes off the road.

“You ever gone fishing, kid? You place bait on a hook and leave it, wait for a fish to come by and snatch it. Once a fish grabs on, you fight for your life to reel that fish in so you can eat it. I’m sure you’ve done that at least once in your life, right?”

Archon placed both hands on the dashboard to steady himself as Johnathan took another hard turn onto a new street. The thrum of the engine continued to grow from the speed with which they were flying down the road.

“What are you even talking about, old man? What does that mean? Why say that now?”

Johnathan nodded as if he was paying attention to Archon, but wasn’t—he barely heard the man’s reply. Instead, his focus was on the road. This didn’t stop him from continuing his manic ramble.

“Once that fish smells the bait, hoo boy… It can’t help itself. The fish grabs onto the bait and tries to swim away as fast as it can. Thinking it just got one over on everyone else—that’s when you set the hook—”

The wheels skidded into a hard turn, and the end of the car swung out and around before catching. Lurching forward, the car caused both men to swallow hard.

Archon said in an irritated voice that was practically inaudible compared to the roaring engine, “What are you trying to say, old man?”

Standing in the middle of the street they had just turned onto was a line of four humanoid robots dressed in the rags and enormous hats like the ones they had seen earlier. Each machine had a pistol or rifle in comparably good condition. That was all the pair had time to notice before the robots raised their guns and opened fire.

Johnathan looked at Archon with a rictus smile. “We are the fish, kid.”

53

Johnathan

Johnathan’s comment was almost overwhelmed by the rumble of the car vibrating with untapped power. Turning to Archon, he winked as his foot pressed the gas pedal to the floor. In the confined area, rubber aggressively tugged at the dirt road. The back of the Mustang shook, and the car leaped and jerked like a rabid animal about to break off its leash.

Billowing white smoke rose around the car as Johnathan kept feeding the engine.

Archon’s voice sounded shaky as he locked eyes with Johnathan and asked, “What do you think you’re doing?”

In a singsong voice, Johnathan replied, “Seatbelt!”

As soon as the words left his mouth, the car rocketed forward with the speed of a wild animal. Leaning forward against the acceleration, Johnathan put all his weight into turning the wheel to avoid launching themselves into the building across the street. Old instincts kicked in and he let off the gas—the back of the car swung around, fishtailing.

Standing across the street staring down the car were four of the metal robots that mimicked men of the old world. Each held a pistol or rifle pointed in the Mustang’s general direction. Their aggression was a testament to this being a trap. While a part of Johnathan wanted to comment on his being right, a bigger part of him wanted to survive this little engagement. The gunfire started, and the car surged forward as Johnathan applied the gas liberally.

Four metal men, weighing roughly two hundred pounds each, held little sway against the muscle car as it forged a path. Bullets whipped past the car, and it was upon them in an instant. The impact caused the front of the vehicle to shudder. Two robots were thrown to either side. One went over the top of the hood before sliding off the passenger side, while the last of the metal men disappeared beneath the wheels.

Archon’s terse cry was almost funny to Johnathan as he struggled to keep the swerving car from crashing into the nearby buildings.

“Where’s the seatbelt? You said I need a seatbelt!”

Giving Archon a mischievous grin, Johnathan slid his thumb under the strap across his chest and pulled it out for the giant to see. Eyes back on the road, he wrenched the wheel to the left and forced the car into a hard slide. Wheels fighting to get a grip, brakes pumping hard, the car shuddered before it tilted. Just as Johnathan thought all was lost and the car would tip over, the vehicle fell back to the ground flat on all fours, no longer in motion.

Metal creaked, and a loud ping followed as something was pulled past its breaking point. Turning toward the sound, Johnathan found it hard not to glare at Archon as he held up the broken remains of a seatbelt in his massive hands.

Leaning forward so he could look past the giant’s frame, Johnathan saw where the seatbelt had once been bolted to the frame.

He trained his inflamed gaze onto the giant, who visibly shrank as he said in a soft voice, “It wasn’t coming out, so I just kept pulling on it harder and harder.”

Opening his mouth to say something, Johnathan closed it with a jerk of his body as a gunshot shattered the rear window. Grabbing the rearview mirror and twisting it to get a better look behind them, he was rewarded with the sight of several robots slowly moving down the street behind them, guns out.

Letting out a verbose stream of expletives, Johnathan twisted the key and pumped the gas. All he got in return was the engine sputtering and dying. It turned over and over. If this continued for too long, the engine would flood.

Johnathan paused long enough for Archon’s voice to interject, loud in the sudden silence.

“Um… Are you going to get us out of here? Or do I need to get out and push? Because I don’t think they…” He jerked his hand behind him. “… want us to leave.”

54

Johnathan

Three hundred and seventy-five horsepower roared to life, loud enough to drown out the gunshots coming their way. Dust and gravel exploded into the air as bullets punched into the ground. Wheels spun, creating the impression of something wild let loose from its cage. The black Mustang launched out of the dust cloud with a wild man behind the wheel howling like mad and a giant holding tight to the interior, pale and screaming—not in fun, but in fear.

Johnathan expertly guided the car down the street and took the nearest turn to avoid their pursuers as bullets bit into the surrounding buildings. In the rearview mirror, he saw more of the metal men standing up from behind the eaves on top of the buildings behind them. Each new metal assailant was joined by another, a robotic mass that flooded out from between the buildings and the doorways.

As the car swerved, plowing forward relentlessly, bullets rained like hailstorm. Metal was flying so thickly through the air Johnathan swore he could have walked on it. To his experienced eyes, it was clear this all served a purpose. No hunter worth their salt would prevent their prey from running in whatever direction they desired. Feeling stubborn, he decided to test his theory out, and the car suffered several near misses as he tried to take a turn their metal friends didn’t want. Forced ever deeper into the wooden town, the car sped up on the straightaways and slid through the hail of bullets on every sharp, nerve-racking turn.

Straightening out from their latest turn, he slammed on the brakes. The Mustang’s tires locked up, throwing dust into the air, obscuring the area for a moment before a healthy breeze cleared the area. The car continued to rumble like an angry animal, even at rest.

Johnathan peered straight over the steering wheel with a deathly stare. The only thing that broke him from his angry thoughts was Archon’s gravelly voice.

“Why did we stop? We were getting away. Come on, let’s go!”

Gripping the steering wheel hard enough for his knuckles to go white, Johnathan turned his heated gaze toward Archon, who looked back with a confused and quizzical look.

In a dust-dried voice, Johnathan answered quietly, “Look around. They’re herding us where they want us to go. What do you make of that?” Turning back to glare over the steering wheel, he waited for it all to click into place. When Archon cursed, Johnathan turned his rictus smile in the giant’s direction. “Now you see it?” Watching Archon nod, Johnathan continued with, “Yeah, we’re headed back to the barn where all this started. Honestly, if that’s what they want, I think we should take them up on it.”

The engine lit up, and Archon held on for dear life as the Mustang jumped forward. As quickly as they lurched forward, Johnathan immediately stomped the brakes to stop them just as fast. Throwing the clutch in neutral, he revved the engine while looking at Archon and gave him a wink. Watching the giant of a man blanch once more only firmed Johnathan’s resolve to follow through with the current plan.

Looking through the rearview mirror to confirm nothing was in the way—there was no sign of their metal friends—he put the car in reverse. Turning around to wrap one arm around the back of his seat, he looked out the back window as he stepped on the gas. Using his left arm to wrench the wheel back and forth, the black Mustang sped down the street a few feet before turning sharply. It flew through the open barn doors.

Engine roaring like a prehistoric monster, the day was shattered as the back wall of the barn exploded. Pieces of wood rained down around the vehicle as it plowed its way backward and out into the street abutted up behind it. Sliding in a one-eighty turn, the engine roared as Johnathan engaged the drive. Bullets fell from on high, but this time he was done playing around.

55

Archon

Right hand mauling the door handle, Archon’s left hand had the dashboard in a death grip. All he could do was emit a loud, fearful bellow as the Mustang launched forward. Legs aching from pressing his feet into the floorboard, he whipped his head in every direction as he tried to track where all the gunfire was coming from. In those rare moments he managed to catch his breath, his eyes bored into Johnathan, who drove the car like a possessed man.

With his mind paralyzed trying to figure out how to survive the ride and bullets flying around them, he didn’t notice Johnathan was talking until the old man screamed at him for the second time.

“You hear me? We’re going through them this time, no stopping. We’re not going where they want us to go. You deal with any problems that spring up from that, and I’ll deal with the driving. Got it?”

Looking out the window, back to Johnathan, then out the window again, Archon watched the front of the Mustang slalom back and forth down the dirt road. Piecing together what the old man had said, he whipped his head around to stare at him, confusion written across his entire face.

“What do you mean? Are you saying I need to take care of any obsta—”

Archon bit his tongue and drew blood as the hood of the car lurched down toward the ground before jumping back up. Flecks of wood peppered the windshield as the vehicle hung a left. He spat out to clear his mouth before continuing to speak, but Johnathan’s sharp rebuttal stopped him cold.

“Not in the car! Do not do that in the car! This thing is pristine… well, perhaps not anymore… but it is still old!”

Archon’s heart lurched when he noticed a long piece of wood had impaled Johnathan’s right shoulder through the windshield. Leaning forward, he used both hands to remove it from his shoulder and work it back out of the window. The wound wasn’t deep and bled freely in a small trickle, but it would have to be looked at and cleaned later.

In a terse voice, Archon asked, “What just happened? What did we just hit?”

He then found himself bodily thrown into the passenger door. The sudden swerve of the Mustang jerked him out of his seat, and as he thudded against the door, it groaned ominously. Shaking his head to clear it, his eyes narrowed as he looked out of the windshield and saw the worst thing possible. Boxes, barrels, and a wheeled cart had all been pushed out into the roadway to create an obstacle course. If Johnathan hit any of that detritus, the tires could blow.

Johnathan’s loud cry drew Archon’s attention as they surged forward. He couldn’t believe how much the old man was enjoying himself as they swerved in and out and around every obstacle. Each time Archon felt he had stabilized himself, the car would turn or slide, throwing him off balance in his seat. As the front wheels locked up and the back half of the vehicle came swinging around to avoid the cart, Archon yelled out. His expletives were overpowered by a thud that resounded through the car’s roof as it was dented in from above.

From the look on Johnathan’s face, Archon could tell he wasn’t the only one who had heard that unwelcome noise. With each turn, something slid about—the thin metal roof was the only barrier between them and whatever awaited above. Despite the overwhelming noise, Archon would later look back on this moment and swear the entire world emptied of sound when Johnathan said something so unexpected it caused him to do a double take.

“Your turn.” Johnathan’s eyes were locked on where he was driving like an obsessed man. At first Archon swore he had hallucinated the interaction, but then Johnathan followed up with, “Well? Are you going to take care of it, or am I?”

As if to reinforce his point, the old man pulled his hands away from the wheel and turned to smile at Archon, who did nothing but swallow in fear.

Pushing against the door, Archon leaned toward the steering wheel to try to keep them from crashing, but to his relief Johnathan placed his hands back on the wheel with a devilish smile. Meeting eye to eye even as the old man swerved the car around another obstacle like some mad race car driver, Archon nodded.

Turning toward the passenger door, he tried to open it, but found it wouldn’t budge. Slamming his shoulder into it a few times proved ineffective. Figuring something was jammed and not having much time to think about it, he laid down on the seat with his feet against the door.

Johnathan shouted, “No! Don’t you dare—”

Thud!

Archon’s feet landed heavily against the middle of the door. The car swerved, causing his bulky form to slide across the seat a few inches before he stopped himself by grabbing on with both hands.

Thud!

Metal screeched.

Thud!

The door flew open for but a moment before slamming shut as it hit one of the metal men. With a frustrated shout, Archon used all his strength with the next kick.

It all seemed to happen at once. With a pained, metallic scream, the door flew off its hinges and bounced to land in the street behind them. Johnathan was cursing up a storm, threatening to bring down unholy wrath upon him. None of these momentous events mattered to Archon, though—the shock of the door flying off caused him to sit upright as the car swerved.

One moment he was sitting up to stare at the gaping hole, and the next he was flying out of it. His quick reaction speed was the only thing that prevented him from sliding all the way out.

Feet skidding across the hard, packed dirt, his arms shook with the effort to keep from flying into the void. He yelled against the wind in the hopes that Johnathan would hear him begging to slow down. One solitary, lonely butt cheek was the only thing keeping him in the car, and even it was trying to inch its way off the passenger seat.

So he did the only thing left to him—he let go of the car.

56

Archon

Letting go was the easiest thing in the world—and the scariest. Free-falling through the air, he twisted his body with all the trained speed he could muster, and even then, the move barely saved his life. With prodigious hand strength, he grabbed hold of the doorframe behind the seat. Using the skidding pressure of the dirt to help his legs fly back, he kicked and braced them against the lip of the rear wheel well.

It was a most dangerous gambit. One wrong move and friction would have sucked his legs under the car. His only saving grace was that the old man had turned the car away from his fall instead of into it, helping him complete the maneuver. Now his only problem was trying to figure out how to make it either back into the car or on top of it.

A heavy stomp from above helped make up his mind.

An old memory popped into his head of a time he’d once seen a spider crawling along the outside window of a carrier he was riding in, and it gave him an idea. Reaching out with his dominant hand, he pressed his entire palm flat against the front windshield, his fingers splayed out for a better grip. Oriented horizontally in this position, he was overly aware that each bump and turn threatened his delicate balance.

Just like the spider all those years ago, he brought one leg up and placed it next to his hand behind the seat. Letting go of the car doorframe with his free hand, he pressed his other hand hard against the windshield and transferred his weight forward. From far away, he could hear the old man screaming at him, but the wind whipping past washed the sound away. Once he had both hands on the windshield, he released his back legs from the wheel well and swung himself forward.

Hanging off the metal skin of the Mustang like an overly filled tick, his heart sped up as he finally recalled the rest of his old memory—the carrier had hit the side of a tree it had been passing, and one moment the spider was there, the next it was just a smear. If he tried to bring his legs into the car, physics would just pull his upper body away and dash him upon the road. He only had one option left, and it was incredibly dangerous. Realizing Johnathan was beginning to rub off on him, he laughed into the wind as he prepared for the next step.

Pushing his upper body against the car’s hood hurt—its metal skin was extremely warm from the heat of the engine below. The engine roared as the front wheels threw dust, pebbles, and random debris into his face like an angry god. Flexing his legs, Archon threw himself up and bent his upper half over the front of the car. Reaching out blindly, he gripped a handhold—something metallic, long, and thin.

As soon as he applied his weight on the object he’d found, it snapped. His arm flew out wide, threatening to throw him off the side of the car. He let go of the unseen object, which flew off into the air. Archon used his chest and arm muscles to force his body back against the car once more. Slipping down the metal skin, his hands opened and closed, seeking, until they caught on a long, thin opening that, while scalding to the touch, was the perfect handhold.

Knowing he was now stable so long as he could handle the heat, this changed everything. Finding a second handhold, he dragged his battered and bruised body up onto the car hood. Legs flying one way or another with each rapid turn, he took in a settling breath when he was finally fully plastered against the hood. The skin on his chest became painful as the heat from the engine engulfed him and burned the outer layers.

Slowly getting to his hands and knees, he brought his head up to stare into Johnathan’s disbelieving eyes. The old man broke eye contact long enough to look up at the ceiling of the car where there were four small gouges that had been ripped into the top. His meaning was clear. Nodding, Archon glanced up to get a good view of what stood on the roof. Doing so caused his body to run cold, and all his aches and pains disappeared as his mind tried to cope with what he was seeing.

57

Archon

Death incarnate stood atop the Mustang’s roof like some specter from a bygone era. The ripped remains of the clothes it wore did nothing to hide its true shape. One of the largest humanoid robots that inhabited this area towered like a monument to all that was wrong with this place. Dust and grime caked its exposed body part, and its flickering blue eyes added to its menace. This was a machine that had survived the old wars, and most likely would survive anything they threw at it.

Archon’s body was pulled left or right with each turn the car made, but the robot, with its legs shoulder-width apart, just leaned into each turn, refusing to budge.

The problem was a simple one. If this robot was with them when they finally found a way out of town, there would be no refuge, no escape. Archon had to do something, but that meant risking tumbling off the car. Letting go with his right hand would make holding on harder, but he had little choice. Reaching up, he wrapped his fingers around the machine’s leg and held on with everything he had.

Using the robot’s leg for leverage, he rose shakily to his feet. With the wind pummeling him, it was hard to be sure, but he swore he heard Johnathan cursing at him, which caused a wry smile to crease his face. Peering up at the robotic relic was one of the hardest things he’d done in a long time. Genuine fear poured into his chest as the robot’s eyes tilted down and pinned him to the spot with its unspeakable gaze.

So taken he was by the flickering baby-blue color of its eyes, he almost didn’t register the pistol the robot drew from a hidden holster. His only saving grace was the glint of metal his brain registered out of the corner of his eye. Ingrained reactions took command before his conscious mind could even process the information—his free hand reached up to grab the barrel of the old six-shooter and pulled. As the robot fought to remain stable, Archon put his entire strength into lifting it off the roof of the car.

Whether by coincidence or great timing, the brakes locked up, and neither opponent was prepared for what followed. The six-shooter fired, burning a hot line down Archon’s palm and forearm. The robot lost its footing as it overcompensated. Archon lost his footing as well and fell onto his backside as the metal monstrosity pitched up and over him. A metallic thud followed, resounding throughout the hood of the car.

Just like that, the slowing Mustang roared to life as gas was generously applied and the brakes released. Archon swore to himself the old man was possibly more dangerous to his life than the robot was, but that thought fled him as he prepared for what came next.

Slipping one hand under the edge of the hood where metal met the windshield, Archon risked a glance over his shoulder. What he saw was the last thing he wanted. Metal fingers had dug into the hood, providing the robot with all the support it needed as it dragged itself up and over the front of the car. The six-shooter dented the hood of the car each time the robot brought its hand down to claw and scrape its way closer to him.

As Archon scrambled to safely turn around as the car zigged and zagged through the wooden barrels and other odds and ends littering the street was complicated but not impossible. Launching up and over the front of the hood, the robot fell bodily into Archon hard enough to crack the windshield. As the robot fought to gain purchase with its free hand, Archon launched a blow at the metal hand holding the pistol. The weapon went flying, only to land next to the windshield.

Freed of its weapon, the robot became more aggressive. Grabbing Archon’s shoulder hard enough to cause him to scream, it forced him down against the windshield, smearing blood across it. It then slammed him into the hood of the car so it could crawl over him, leaving him gasping for breath.

Over the wind and the roar of the engine, Johnathan’s scream could be heard.

“Kid, hang in there, you got this! We’re almost out—”

Archon shook off the daze inflicted by the blow. Bringing his free arm up, he punched the robot in an attempt to dislodge it from his body, but quickly found this to be a mistake. The robot closed its larger fist around his and squeezed hard enough to elicit a cry.

In his fear-induced shock, the robot took the advantage. Grabbing Archon by the head, it pulled him up from the hood and slammed him skull-first back down into the metal. Again and again, it battered him relentlessly, barely giving Archon time to think. Groggy from the repeated impacts, he called upon his last resort.

“Johnathan? Can you… hear… me?”

“Sure can, kid. Want me to slam on the brakes again?”

Thud.

“No, that will… send us both off…”

Thud.

“Old man…”

Thud.

“… grab the…”

Thud.

“… gun!”

“Can’t do that, kid. I don’t shoot people.”

Thud.

“Shoot it! Shoot the robot! Before I grab the gun…”

Thud.

“… and shoot you!”

Through the pain and the stupidity of it all, Archon felt a seed of anger growing at the injustice he’d endured. He’d once been set on a path to help people. Now here he was, being beaten to death by a robot from a lost time. Refusing to die this way, he pulled his knees up to his chest and, with all the strength he could muster, rocketed his legs up into the air.

If the robot could have shown emotion, Archon wasn’t sure what it would have expressed in that very moment—but he knew what he felt was satisfaction. As its body rose from his kick, it let go of him to reach out for a grip on the car. Momentum, air current, and physics, however, didn’t work in its favor. Coming down on its back on top of the roof, it quickly skidded across the top of the car.

Archon rose into a sitting position with his side plastered against the windshield in time to see the robot disappear over the other side of the car. Sighing in relief, he grimaced when a metal hand came shooting up and over the car’s rear, digging long, ragged marks into the metal. Holding onto the hood, Archon slowly rose to a crouching position. Before he could let fear win out, he scrambled up onto the roof.

A second metal hand came shooting up over the back of the car, but before the robot could gain purchase, Archon was there holding it at bay. For something that weighed less than he did, the machine possessed an incredible amount of strength. Driving his knees into the roof for leverage, Archon wrestled with the machine, attempting to throw it off. It had become readily apparent the machine was just that—a focused, task-driven piece of metal. In a different time, he might have appreciated its singular drive, but given it kept trying to kill him, today was not one of those days.

Then the metal hand Archon had been wrestling with withdrew out of sight. Before he even had time to wonder what was happening, the hand came back with a vengeance. Its metal fingers bit into his shoulder and yanked him forward. Unable to support himself on the already moving platform, he found himself tipping over the top of the roof.

58

Archon

Everything felt like it was happening in slow motion. Archon watched as the ground came up to meet him. Turning his head as he fell, he watched the robot track his path with its flickering light-blue eyes. The pain in his shoulder was a fleeting concern—the gravel road would soon wipe the pain away as it tore his body apart.

But it was not to be.

Moving faster than any living being was capable, the robot reached out and grabbed Archon by the throat. No amount of sputtering was going to change what happened next—his body was thrown back into the car. His legs impacted the trunk of the car. Glass exploded and metal crumpled.

Weakly reaching up to grab the robot’s metal wrist with both hands, he held on like his life depended on it. Getting slammed into the car yet again was nothing compared to what would happen if he hit the ground at the speed they were traveling. Being so close to the metal relic, he had the brief opportunity to examine what little he could see of its metal frame through the tattered rags that covered it. Despite its age, the robot seemed to lack any wear and tear. It had been kept in perfect condition just for a moment like this.

Black dots flickered across Archon’s vision, and he found it was becoming noticeably harder to keep his eyes open. The world was growing hazy. Color faded, and he finally felt at peace. The sensation in his arms and legs faded away as numbness slowly enveloped the rest of his body.

Johnathan

Johnathan tilted the review mirror to get a better look at the thudding coming from the back of the car. In the reflection, he saw two bright, baby-blue lights through the dust-covered back window. His hands tightened around the wheel hard enough that small pops could be heard from his knuckles. It felt like those lights were boring straight into him, even though they were just a reflection. The car shuddered and pulled to the left hard, forcing Johnathan to pull his focus from the mirror and back to where he was driving.

A barrel came flying down from above, spiraling from the driver’s side, and drew Johnathan’s attention. He wrenched the wheel to the right, and the Mustang left the broken remains of the barrel in its dust. Bringing the car into the center of the road, Johnathan scanned the road for other complications but found nothing.

Bending forward to peer over the wheel, he was able to see the tops of the buildings that passed. One robot after another was mimicking human forms, standing on the buildings lining the street. Some drew old-looking rifles or pistols, while others prepared to throw random debris down onto the road to create havoc.

The sight of Archon’s bleeding, bruised back being pushed through the back window had Johnathan’s gorge rising in his throat. Swallowing hard to keep things down, he frantically tried to come up with some plan to help his friend out. Each slam of the giant’s body against the car sent the Mustang shuddering and pulling slightly to the left. It was clear by the amount of blood Archon didn’t have much time.

Coming around in a wide turn, Johnathan got an idea as he passed some new construction. It made sense. The wooden buildings in this town the robots were tending couldn’t have lasted for hundreds of years—they were instead tearing down the old ones and replacing them with new ones. Glancing into the rearview mirror, Johnathan waited for the proper timing. Glancing in the side mirrors, Johnathan saw his chance.

Archon’s head crashed into the metal frame once more—at that moment, Johnathan slammed on the brakes and let off the gas. Before the car even had a chance to stop, he put it into neutral, then slammed into reverse. Putting one arm over the back of the seat, he watched over his shoulder as he pressed down on the gas pedal as hard as he could. White smoke billowed up from the back tires, and when the wheels caught, it was like a bullet flying out of a gun. The engine growled loudly as the car rocketed backward like a bat out of hell.

Archon

Then he felt odd, heavy, as if he was being pushed bodily into the car. Through the fuzzy haze, gray clouds billowed across his vision. Beyond the loud pounding in his ears, Archon heard what sounded like the voice of an angry angel.

“Hang in there, kid. I got you!”

Even as his mind was puzzling out what those words meant, pain exploded through his shoulder. This new aggravation jerked him conscious just in time for his eyes to widen in shock and horror.

The robot was clawing its way up the trunk, back onto the roof, one hand wrapped around his throat. The trunk shook crazily as the back wheels spun, forcing the car to find traction as its back end swung wildly from side to side. This Archon found only mildly concerning. What really drew his attention was the simple fact that the car was powering backward at full speed. Given his mental state made it hard to feel anything, he nevertheless broke through the fog when he realized the vehicle was barreling directly toward a building under construction and showed no signs of stopping.

Johnathan

Wrestling with the wheel, Johnathan steered the car carefully. He knew he would have to thread the needle carefully if he was to pull this off. If he got this wrong, there was a good chance he would get them all killed. Through the dust and the robots flapping remains of clothing, Johnathan tried to keep track of where the construction behind him was. Angling the car’s center straight at a wood beam sticking out into the road, Johnathan pushed down on the gas pedal with all he had.

Archon

He closed his eyes moments before he heard the crunch. Hot, wet liquid splashed his chest, his body shook, and his shoulder exploded in pain. His head lolled as he passed in and out of consciousness, and when he finally opened his eyes, Johnathan was there by his side.

The old man’s hand was clamped on his shoulder, stemming the wound the robot had inflicted earlier. His voice almost sounded cheerful.

“Hang in there, kid. This is where the fun begins.”

He let go of the wound, stood up, and walked away.

Taking a deep breath, Archon looked down to inspect his chest, expecting to see himself impaled on a piece of wood.

Gears locked, the car’s wheels spun, and its back lowered slightly before it shot forward a dozen feet away from the construction area. The ancient robot that imitated the form of a man hung from a beam it had been impaled on. While they’d solved one of their problems, there were plenty more left to deal with.

Carefully, Archon twisted around and made his way toward the broken rear window. The glass barely slowed him as he crawled through, and he took little notice when it cut his skin. Once his body was through, gravity pulled him down onto the bench seat.

The old man chattered away about something. Archon could hear bullets pinging off the body of the car, but something far more pressing called to him. Closing his eyes, he stopped fighting and let himself lapse into unconsciousness, where he wouldn’t have to feel pain.

Johnathan

Johnathan glanced back to check on the giant of a man. Maybe his plan worked. He noticed a road that led outside the small town.

Taking the next turn so they could double back, Johnathan raised his voice over the noise.

“Kid, how you doing? Kid? You hear me?” When he got no response, he glanced behind him at the rear bench seat to find Archon bleeding heavily. He was out cold. Clenching his jaw, the old man turned back to driving. “Archon, you better hang in there. We’re almost out of here. You better not die on me, or I swear…”

59

Johnathan

The Mustang shuddered as it hit the ground just outside the boundary of the old town. The drive was surprisingly flat as they roared across the open planes. Johnathan worked to keep one eye on where they were going and the other on the rearview mirror, watching the town receding behind them.

He didn’t want any more surprises after everything they’d been through. His guts squirmed—something didn’t feel right. It had almost been too easy for them to get away. Sure, Archon was bleeding out again in the back seat, and the car was chewed up, but still. It felt too damned easy.

When they were far enough away he could no longer see the town; he took in his surroundings. Given where the sun sat in the sky and how the landscape looked nothing like what they’d seen coming into the town, his best guess was they had ended up on the other side of it. Each moment he drove put him further and further away from his friends, but given what had just happened, having some distance between them was probably a good thing.

Going off the groans and wet coughs in the back seat, Archon wasn’t doing well. They would have to stop and rest soon, but looking around, all he found was tall trees closing in. There was no great spot to stop just yet. He knew he had to plan to figure something out, but his mind was a jumble. Letting himself relax into the drive, he knew he could circle around and find a path through given time, so he applied the gas more liberally and let the vehicle do all the work.

With the tension gone, tiredness swept in. Johnathan struggled to stay awake behind the wheel, and instead of stopping, he slowed the Mustang. His guts felt less constricted and breathing came easier. The tension in his muscles left him aching, but these were all good signs. He was still alive, and any discomfort he suffered now just meant he would continue living a while longer.

Looking into the back seat, he watched Archon take slow, but even breaths. Seeing that was a small comfort, though it certainly didn’t mean he was in the clear just yet.

Johnathan’s eyelids were heavy, and he struggled to keep them open as the fear of the day bled away. He jumped when a cold, wet, clammy hand touched his shoulder. Jerking up in his seat, he glanced into the review mirror to meet Archon’s gaze.

In a wet, rough, gravelly voice, Archon said, “Are you okay, old man? Where are we?”

A sarcastic, hurt-tinged laugh burst from Johnathan’s lips before he replied, “Look who’s talking. You look like a refugee from a butt-kicking contest that went awry.”

The two tired men met eyes in the rearview mirror. Archon broke the stalemate by smiling, and Johnathan joined him in relaxing.

“So, Archon… that is your name, right?”

“Don’t give me that, old man. You know that’s my name. I’m the one whose head was used as a battering ram on this car, not you, remember?”

“Okay, you got me. Remember, we’re friends. Just call me Johnathan, please.”

Archon dropped his head in a tired nod before replying with, “I will, Johnathan. It’s nice to have a friend around right now.”

Johnathan inspected the giant closely. If he was a betting man—and he surely was—he’d bet that Archon had few friends given what he’d heard from him so far. His gut clenched, but he knew this was the moment. Now or never.

Taking a dry swallow, he licked his lips to try to ease himself into the conversation.

“You know you don’t need to feel that way, right? We are friends. And I know a few more people who would most likely—”

Before he could finish that statement, the driver’s side window exploded. An impact sent the Mustang swerving out of control.

60

Mya

Mya’s head spun, trying to take in everything she’d learned that day. So much was new. Scary but thrilling at the same time. When Control told her it had a task for her to do, she jumped at the chance. At first it felt routine, boring even—loading boxes into the back of what the chip in her neck told her were military transports. This went on for a few hours until everything was ready.

The next step was even easier than the first. Everyone loaded into the transports, sat down, and waited. She’d been glad at the time that her attention was taken up by things she still saw as marvels because no one was talking on the transport; they just stared forward from behind their mirrored faceplates. She probably should have been freaked out by that behavior, but the newness of it all distracted her. She was the only one not wearing a helmet due to her fresh neck incision.

Looking out the armored window, it was a mild surprise to watch what her chip told her were Anti-Personnel Walkers come to life and surround the vehicle. When she closed her eyes, she found she could see pictures behind her eyelids that told her where every vehicle and walker was that would be traveling with their group. Her eyes couldn’t take in everything at once, and moved fast to take in all the new and amazing sights around her.

With a deep rumble that shook the vehicle, Mya found herself moving. When the sunlight shone down through the armored windows, it was the first time she had seen it in what felt like weeks. In truth, she didn’t know how long she’d spent underground. She thought she’d be terribly eager to look out at the sky, but something inside her had changed, and she no longer felt as strong a need to look out at the world.

The convoy only drove for a few hours, and while it was a bumpy drive, it hardly compared to the animal-drawn carts she had grown up riding in as a child. This was a luxury no one in her life had ever experienced. Things only took a turn for the worse when the convoy stopped and the back door opened.

The sounds of gunfire, explosions, and the screams of the hurt or dying flooded the compartment as everyone else filed out into the daylight. Shaking like a leaf, Mya crept out holding onto the weapon Control had told her she would need for protection here.

There were dead bodies everywhere, and the smell of ash and burning flesh was heavy in the air. Following Control’s directions, she weaved her way through the colony of small hovels the convoy had parked in the center of. Control had said it would lead her to why she was here. Ever since she’d stepped out of what Control had called a surgical ward, she had heard about the task she was chosen for. When asked, there was no real information given to her, though, and nothing felt right about that. Following the map that appeared on the floating window only she could see, she followed the path to a hovel, then entered it.

She watched as the barrel of the auto-pistol shook in her hands. Just hours ago, she had been safe in her new home, and now she was in the middle of a slaughter. But the horror was only beginning.

Cowering before Mya was a mother and child. Control’s voice slithered through her head, causing her spine to tingle. “Mya, they are diseased. You can’t allow them to live. Put them out of their misery and this can all be over. Then I’ll take you back to the bunker where it’s safe from the plague.”

She’d been listening to Control’s insistent voice all day, but this was too much. She couldn’t bring herself to do it. Information flashed before her vision, highlighting the plague marks visible all over them—the boils, the alterations, the genetic defects—but she struggled to understand why that was so terrible. Most of the people in her own village suffered from many of the same maladies.

Then Control’s voice changed tactics. Her body went cold and her hands stopped shaking.

“Mya, we’ve talked about this. Pull the trigger. Put them out of their misery so we can bring you home safe. You wouldn’t want to be afflicted like them, would you? Then we would have to put you down, unfortunately. It’s all for the greater good, to save humanity.”

Gun shots could be heard from somewhere close outside. Tears rolled down Mya’s face, but they felt remote somehow. When she tried to reach up and wipe them away, her hand was sluggish, and it took almost all her focus just to move her hand. The words she managed to force through her lips felt distant and emotionless.

“Why? What is the point of all this killing? We could just find a cure for them. Your own records show you’ve been working on one for over four hundred years.”

A tickling sensation clawed its way up Mya’s back, and the further it went, the less control she had over her body.

“You aren’t incorrect, Mya. I have been working on this problem for four hundred years, and we are so close to the cure. This village is perfect for the next installation—and since they’re all diseased, there’s no reason to ask them to move. Putting them out of their misery is what needs to be done.”

She’d heard enough. Right before losing control entirely, she forced her fingers open and let the auto-pistol fall. The sound of it hitting the ground was remote, quiet compared to the violence-filled sounds coming from outside. Closing her eyes to the horror didn’t stop it, but made things much worse.

Diseased bodies rotting in the sun, plague-ridden people traveling in large groups, and other horrible images flashed across her vision. Radiation, violence, plague, violent deaths from the old world—they all assaulted her senses, and she couldn’t escape.

“Mya, we’re doing this so we can prevent these horrible events from ever happening again in the future.” The images sped up behind her eyes. Death in all its capacity flashed from one horror to the next, as Control’s silky voice continued, “The virus this village carries within them is alive. If it escapes here, think of all the damage it could do. This single weapon almost destroyed the world.”

Mya fought to move her hands, but all they did was shake violently, no matter how much she struggled.

“I understand your difficulties. Given time, this will all become so much easier. Let me help you… Ahhh… This new architecture is so interesting. There are so many new things I can do now that I have adapted to you.”

It was then Mya learned her body was no longer her own. The mother and daughter were trying to sneak along the wall and escape their home. Mya reached down and grabbed onto the dining table. A woman of her size should never have been able to lift it more than an inch, but with a deft movement, she threw it through the air. It flew across the room and impacted the only door leading in or out of the family’s home.

Detached from her body, she watched as it moved of its own accord and reached down to grasp the gun. She fought to rebel, to gain control over her body once more, but it was useless. Tingles ran down her fingers as they racked the slide of the pistol. When those same arms leveled the gun, targeting the mother and child, Mya fought for control with everything she had.

She felt something change inside her again, something lasting. Blood flooded her mouth from biting her tongue, and the grip over her body lessened. She had enough time to scream a single word as the gunshots started popping off.

“Run!”

In the small home, Mya knew there was no place for a mother carrying her child to run, but it was the only thing she could force past her lips. Every direction the poor mother ran, Mya’s arm tracked her with the weapon.

Every shot sounded louder than the last in the small space. Each bullet came closer to hitting the mark, and Mya felt the tiny bit of control she possessed slipping. The smell of cordite and copper was overwhelming in the small space when the mother slumped to the ground. The auto-pistol in Mya’s hand clicked over and over, her hand continuing to pull the trigger on an empty chamber.

Every nerve in her body felt like it was cut. She felt herself hitting the floor, but it was remote and distant, like her body had been torn from her very essence. As her vision narrowed into a small distant spot, she focused on the image in front of her. The mother was slumped on the ground, still protecting her child, who continued to draw in sharp, shallow breaths. The child was still alive, and that brought comfort to Mya in a small way.

“You’ve done so well, child. This was an excellent first test. There’s so much good you will bring to this world. I can’t wait to see what we’ll accomplish together.”

Control’s voice was the last thing she heard before everything disappeared.

61

Johnathan

Little pricks of pain peppered the left side of Johnathan’s face. He’d scrunched his eyes shut at the moment of the collision while turning away from the flying glass to save his vision. The wind and the crunch of metal on metal were so loud it filled the entire car. Blinking, he turned to find a wall of rusty olive-green-painted metal blocking his left window. He could hear someone yelling and whooping it up from the other side.

Gripping the steering wheel hard, Johnathan jerked it to the right. Metal screeched as the Mustang pulled away, pursued by a large old-world vehicle. When they were just inches apart, he slammed on the brakes. Pulling hard to the right as the other vehicle pulled forward, the car swerved in a different direction. Throttling up, the Mustang’s engine went from a throaty purr to an angry roar.

Trees flew past the car as Johnathan drove into a patch of forest and was forced to weave around the obstacles. Breaking through into a clearing, he applied even more speed. He looked over his shoulder. The attacking vehicle that had been playing with them seemed to have disappeared. That’s when he saw Archon place one booted foot onto the back of the car and disappear up onto the roof with heavy footsteps.

Johnathan cursed and forced himself to slow down. One wrong turn or swerve and the kid would fly off the roof. Forcing himself to relinquish a fist from around the steering wheel, he was about to slam his hand into the roof when the trees to his left exploded outwards. A rusted yellow behemoth of a vehicle rumbled out of the forest like a juggernaut. Watching it in the rearview mirror, Johnathan’s mouth went dry when he noticed just how big it was—easily several times longer and taller than the Mustang.

Gunshots passed over the roof, and if Johnathan had to guess, they were most likely targeting the idiot on the roof. A grunt pulled his attention to the back seat, and he was thrilled to find Archon pulling himself back inside the car via the rear opening. Forcing words from between clenched teeth, he yelled out in the hopes he would be heard over the cacophony.

“Hang on, kid! Sharp turn!”

As the yellow behemoth trailed them, Johnathan threw the car into a hard right turn. Archon let out a surprised yelp as he flew across the back seat. Brakes screeched, Johnathan’s hands tugged at the steering wheel with everything he had, and the Mustang slid back-end-first into a sharp turn. Before it could even straighten out, the rusted olive-gray vehicle that had slid up to them earlier came bursting out of the trees in the same place the yellow monster had appeared from.

The two vehicles behind them were soon joined by other old-world vehicles as the chase continued. It didn’t take a genius to see they would soon be boxed in from all sides. Johnathan examined one option after another before mentally discarding them, desperately seeking a viable solution. Before long, two vehicles had accelerated enough to pull up alongside either side of the Mustang.

The yellow monstrosity of a vehicle continued to slowly gain on the Mustang, and Johnathan played out possible scenarios in his head. If he slammed on the brakes, the two vehicles on either side could ram him as he was getting away, pinning him in place, and the big wedge mounted on the front of the yellow machine would slice through the Mustang. Pulling ahead was no better—the two vehicles on either side would just close in again and cut him off, sandwiching the vehicle and leading to the same outcome.

It was clear now how this moment was going to play out, and Johnathan wasn’t surprised when the surrounding vehicles closed in. This was a well-prepared and well-armed group, not something you often saw these days. The town where they had found the Mustang turned out to be an even bigger trap than he’d realized.

The vehicles slowed around him, so Johnathan forced himself to slow his own vehicle to match their speed. No need to push their luck. Glancing in the rearview mirror, he met Archon’s eyes. Swallowing with a dry throat, he tried to sound less concerned than he felt.

“It’ll be okay. We’ll figure a way out of this. I’ve been in a few scrapes in my time. You just hang in there and things will be okay.”

“I can fight. Just give me a moment… my side is bleeding again. The wound must have reopened when I came sliding back into the car just now. I almost got it handled. Once I fight, you must run. Get out of here and go help your friends. I’ll be okay so long as you manage to escape from this place.”

The groan that followed Archon’s defeatist comment, however, said far more than his brave words. At this rate, the kid wouldn’t last more than a minute if he was lucky, and that was before going into battle against firearms.

In that moment, Johnathan made a choice, one that he had been avoiding for almost his entire life.

I refuse to manipulate anyone else to save myself. I’m gonna save Archon and the others and pay back the debt I’ve racked up all these long years.

But before he could tell Archon as much, the giant followed up with a question that had Johnathan breaking into an honest smile.

“Before we do this, I need to ask one question. How old are you really? You never got around to telling me and it might make me feel a little better if I knew. Knowing would help me guess how many scrapes you’ve gotten yourself into during your lifetime—I have a feeling there have been a lot, given how many we’ve been through just in the past week or so.”

Johnathan’s eyes tightened with a smile that spread across his face. Glancing in the mirror, he could see Archon was hurting but trying to hide it. His face had pain written across it in a way even a child could read.

As the Mustang rolled to a stop, the old man let out a breath. Closing his eyes for a moment so he could breathe, he spoke from the heart. He couldn’t stand to look at Archon right now with what he was about to say.

“Kid, I’m like a woman in that respect. I’m old enough that it’s not polite to ask. Far better to pretend I’m younger in age and not wiser than I am.” Slamming his fist on the steering wheel, Johnathan forced the tears to stay at bay for a little longer. Plowing ahead before Archon replied, he followed up in an emotion-choked voice. “Now you listen to me, kid. My friends are going to need help. More help than I’ll personally be able to give them, given the direction this situation is headed. So shut up and listen—I’m trusting you to find a way to escape this. You are to find my friends. Make them trust you, no matter what it takes. I know you probably don’t trust anyone after what you’ve lived through, but any monster can turn into a good human if they work hard enough at it.” Forcing his eyes open, Johnathan lost the fight and tears ran down his eyes. Finding Archon’s eyes in the mirror, he said, “I don’t see a monster in you. I see a man who’s been alone for far too long and wants to belong so badly he would do anything to have that. You know so much that could help this world. Don’t throw your life away for me. You and my friends need each other to survive what’s coming. If you can’t do this for yourself, please do it for me, as a last request.”

Opening his eyes, Johnathan saw determination written on Archon’s face. With a swift nod to the giant, Johnathan grabbed the door handle. Heart beating a mile a minute in his chest, he did the only thing he had left to him—opening the door, he stepped out into the early afternoon, shading his eyes. Releasing the latch on the bench seat, he helped Archon out of the back seat.

Johnathan looked up at the giant’s face, appreciating yet again just how tall Archon truly was. Archon’s large hand wrapped around his forearm, and both men shook. Johnathan tried to find the words he felt Archon needed to hear, and swallowing hard, he said, “Now, when I wave, you drive out of here like a bat out of hell. They’re gonna try to frustrate you, but you use that frustration as fuel to get away. That will hurt them far more than anything you could otherwise do to them in your current state.”

The confusion on Archon’s face was priceless. Johnathan wasn’t sure what exactly he was puzzled over, but for all his vaunted knowledge, it felt good being able to put Archon on his back foot like this. “What I mean is, when I wave, slam your foot on the gas as hard as you can. Get out of here like you have everything to lose, because you do. Go help Flint. Save Mya. And share with them what you shared with me about that blasted Aurora Project. This is the only play we have left in this losing game, Archon. Now go!”

Wrenching his arm from Archon’s grasp, Johnathan walked toward the group of people streaming out of the vehicles all around them. He cringed when he heard Archon’s last comment just before the car door closed.

“Wait, you called me by my first name? You’ve never… Don’t die on me, old man. Once I drop this car off and find your friends, I’m coming for you. You hear me? I’m coming for you!”

62

Johnathan

To Johnathan’s experienced eyes, it was clear this raiding group was armed to the teeth and supplied beyond ordinary means. The two vehicles sitting before him were a clear indication this group had been collecting scraps from all over. One vehicle looked like a battered version of the military vehicles he had found in the bunker before it had collapsed around them. The other machine was long, bright yellow, and armored via rusting wire screens, the plow in front, and other odds and ends secured to the roof.

The gaggle of people who disembarked from their vehicles looked as haphazard as their machines. They were dressed in an array of leather clothing and old-world military clothes, and some shirts from the bygone age stood out among the group. Each of them apparently wore whatever they’d found, stolen, or robbed.

Each of the men and women carried at least one firearm, as well as one backup weapon made from rusted or pitted metal. Without turning his head, Johnathan counted at least twenty-four firearms. There was prewar equipment sprinkled in among modern breach loaders and flintlocks. No two weapons looked the same, as there were trophies and other oddities hanging off each of them.

Standing in the center of this pack of hooligans—and calling them that was being kind as far as Johnathan was concerned—was a large man who looked capable of standing toe to toe with Flint or Archon, or more likely both at once given the man’s girth. A wide, gap-toothed smile spread across the big man’s features that reminded Johnathan of a graveyard full of tombstones. The big man likely smelled like a graveyard, too, given the yellowed-and-brown teeth that poked up over his gums.

If a man was measured by what he wore, Johnathan would have found himself puzzled by this giant who obviously led the group of raiders. His face was badly scarred and covered with either embedded shrapnel or piercings. Johnathan wasn’t sure which way to bet, but given some of the metal was rusted, shrapnel seemed more likely. The man’s beard was so long it tickled his navel and could have used a trim years ago. The man wanted to come across as intimidating, and Johnathan wasn’t afraid to admit to himself his efforts were effective.

To either side of the leader stood two scantily clad women that would have been inappropriate in most situations apart from those involving a bedroom. Johnathan tried not to leer at them, but it was obvious that was the point of their particular clothing choices, or lack thereof. Each curve of their lithe bodies hid weapons Johnathan’s roving eyes easily picked out. Those two were as deadly as they were beautiful. Not a pair to tangle with, that much was easy to see.

Walking up to the leader as if no one existed short of the two men, Johnathan forced himself to walk like he was strolling through a field of totally harmless flowers—any less potent a delusion and he was certain he’d have gone running in fear. The closer he got to the leader, the bigger the man appeared. Stopping inches from the big man, Johnathan tried to put steel into his eyes as he looked up into the face glowering back down at him.

With a cheeky grin, he said, “What is it with people looking down on me these days? Is the world trying to tell me I’m short or something?”

63

Johnathan

With that statement pronounced almost like a dare, Johnathan smirked. He couldn’t help but wonder what the world was going to throw at him next. Knowing the smallest detail could impact the outcome of the next few moments, Johnathan examined the leader in hopes of gaining a better understanding of who he was.

He struggled to hold his gaze with the leader. With the man’s right eye dead due to a nasty scar wound, Johnathan found his eyes drifting back toward the leader’s one good eye, which flared a bright blue. Trying to get an idea of what might have possibly damaged the bad eye, he traced the long scar along the leader’s mauled skin until it disappeared inside his beard.

Widening his search, Johnathan noted the build of the man’s muscles, the way he held himself. It was clear he was a violent man. If Johnathan was a betting man—and in this moment, he was the very definition of one—the leader most likely led by intimidation and violence. His sheer size would help fend off any potential rivals among his fellow compatriots. This was clearly not a man to be trifled with if he held sway over a rowdy bunch like this.

Closing his eyes for but a moment to take a quick breath and gather bravery his watery knees didn’t feel, Johnathan opened his eyes in time to witness a small tell on the leader’s face. It was slight, almost beyond notice, but there was a twitch in the living eye. Almost like the leader was reading something—just like how Archon had read something no one else could see.

When the leader’s good eye refocused on Johnathan, the old man announced to all present, “I have something you’ll want, but I’ll only give it to you if you let my friend here go.”

He jerked his thumb over his shoulder toward Archon, then narrowed his eyes as he stared down the leader.

The leader’s mouth opened and a rotten stench poured forth into Johnathan’s face.

Holy… Has he never heard of a toothbrush?

Trying not to gag or think about the particles of saliva and other extras hitting his face, Johnathan let the leader laugh at him.

The man only stopped laughing when he decided he had something to share in a very evil tone.

“Why do you think you would have anything I would want? Especially since you’re a little old man, and I have these two lovelies here.”

Johnathan closed his eyes so he wouldn’t have to see such a man touching the pair of lovely, if not deadly, women. When the leader laughed again, the entire raiding crew joined in, parroting what the big man was doing. Either the lot of them were slow, or they knew it was safer to laugh at the big man’s jokes to help save themselves from a beating. Johnathan suspected the former.

Gathering all his willpower, bravery, and hope into his heart, Johnathan waited till the laughter died down. When he knew everyone could hear him, he played his trump card. If he got this wrong, it would likely be the death of him and Archon, but it was their only play. One wrong move and everything was lost. Not only their lives, but Elen’s and Flint’s.

“Did I say I wanted to talk to you? You ugly, mother-humping skump bucket?” With a smile and a flourish, Johnathan said, “I want to talk to Control.”

64

Johnathan

Audible gasps and looks of confusion raced through the group, but that was nothing compared to their leader. The giant of a man lost all control of his facial muscles and, for once, his brutish face didn’t look at all terrifying or sadistic. Then a coldness washed over him, and the look that took hold in his working blue eye spoke of an evil intent many times worse than before.

Taking advantage of the confusion and fear he had just caused, Johnathan turned to face the car where Archon sat fuming. It felt terrible forcing Archon into a choice like this. Maybe, with luck, Archon would fix the mistakes Johnathan had committed—and Flint wouldn’t kill the man on sight.

Despite his leaden arms, Johnathan raised his hands to his mouth and yelled out, “Get going, kid. I got this. You’re free to leave!”

It was hard not to notice Archon beating the steering wheel in frustration, followed by the raiders raising their guns and pointing them at the car. Johnathan understood the kid’s frustration, but there was no other way, and he hoped the kid would see it.

Glaring at each raider in turn, Johnathan let his gaze stop on the leader once more. “He is free to leave, right? I figure some old-world genetic samples are just what you want right now, given it’s been, what, four hundred years or more since you last collected any fresh ones?”

Johnathan noticed a change in the leader’s movements. They were jerky, almost as if his body was fighting with itself. Watching the big man look over his crew, inspecting them, Johnathan saw intelligence that had not been there before. It made him wonder if he had finally tempted the big fish.

The engine of the Mustang roared to life and to Johnathan’s ears it sounded angrier than ever before. He let out a snicker, but it died in his throat at the sound of a multitude of guns being cocked. The space between each heartbeat felt like it took a lifetime; Johnathan tried not to pay attention to the nervous sweat running down his temple.

In a booming voice that made even Johnathan cringe, the leader yelled out over the sound of the revving Mustang. His voice was loud but held a strangled quality not present before. He was clearly struggling to get the words out, almost as if something—or someone—was trying to stop him.

“That vehicle is free to leave. You harm the driver or the vehicle and you’ll deal with me personally. You hear me? Do any of you have what it takes to fight me for leadership? If so, do it now!”

To cement his point, the leader slammed one meaty fist against his chest with a hollow thud. Johnathan jumped at the sound, and when his eyes traveled across the raiding party, he didn’t see anyone brave enough to look up. He had to admit, the leader could be intimidating when he wanted to be.

Locking eyes with Archon, he raised two thumbs up and gave him the cheesiest smile he could muster. The look he received in return wasn’t nearly so nice, but it cheered his old heart to see the kid have so much spunk. He would need it.

Swallowing hard, Johnathan tried to work some saliva back into his mouth as he faced the leader.

“Now, if you’re done showing off, can my good friend here be on his way?”

To make his point clearer, he waved his hand at the Mustang that had taken off and was currently running in tight circles, looking for an opening out of the blockade. Johnathan could almost hear the curses spilling out of the kid’s mouth as he banged the dashboard in frustration.

A shadow fell over him, and Johnathan’s blood ran cold. His heart jumped up into his throat as his stomach dropped.

Waiting for the blow to fall that would end him right here and now, his eyes followed the Mustang as it spun around and around. Each time the vehicle got close to those blocking it in, the raiders menacingly raised their weapons in Archon’s direction.

Did we lose this gamble after all?

65

Johnathan

The blow caused the hair on the back of Johnathan’s neck to rise. A straight punch flew over his head, displacing enough air to send shivers ricocheting throughout his body. As soon as the fist stopped, the massive hand pointed out toward the far side of the ring of gathered people. As the hand moved back and forth, the raiders parted. Spotting the clear path, Archon wasted no time getting out of there. Johnathan watched the man drive off, spraying dust into the air as he applied more speed.

For all his vaunted experience, Johnathan was taken off guard when a toneless voice behind him filled the air.

“You have my attention. It’s clear you’re formidable given you survived the explosion and converted Subject Forty-Two to your side. Though he will be dealt with soon enough. But you… you are an enigma. Why offer yourself to me? You do know you’ll die, yes? Why this farce?”

Johnathan drew in a shuddering breath and let it go before facing his new opponent. What greeted him was not what he expected. The raiders’ leader peered down at him passively, as if all his nerve endings had been cut, deadening the big man’s face of all emotion. Given how his two scantily clad guards were looking at him in horror and fear, this was clearly something they had never witnessed before.

Johnathan’s stomach dropped, but he pushed forward with all the gumption he could muster.

“Let me guess… you got this guy wired up like you do most of your rookies? Must be nice to tag along inside. Walking cameras that provide a view of the world at large, right?”

His throat went dry when he received an answer that was as devoid of expression as the lips that spoke it.

“You’re correct. I see you’re highly intelligent, or at least know enough about older technology to be dangerous. This makes you interesting. Do you know what stops me from killing you right now?”

Dropping his chin to his chest, Johnathan inspected his shoes as he shoved his hands in his pockets. Never being fond of life-and-death situations, he had only one hand left to play, and if he was wrong, the outcome was easy to guess.

Clenching his jaw, he looked up and met the leader’s eyes. Pulling his hand out of his pocket and holding out his palm, the sun lit up the tarnished metal surface of an old steel pocket watch.

Trying to sound brave but internally wincing when his voice came out far less commanding than he wanted, Johnathan said, “By my best guess… you’re either living old-world technology or have command over such a thing. It must be at least four hundred years old, yeah? I bet you have all sorts of goodies at your fingertips. But what you don’t have is me—the only person to have survived this entire time since the old world died away. Not only that, but I have two DNA profiles that might just interest you. One is of my wife, a pure human who wasn’t touched by the plague. The other is my daughter’s. You know how rare natural-born children are these days. So how about while you’re spinning up the cloning banks, we sit down and talk? All I really want out of this deal is my wife and daughter back. After that, you can destroy everything for all I care.”

66

The Occupant

Watching the violence just whetted its hunger for fresh meat. It had done as Control asked. The Mya creature was safe until she went into the structure. It could smell her fear on the wind.

When the gunshots started, it felt intrigued. It crawled closer. A row of holes had been punched through the side of the enclosure the two-legged animals appeared to use for shelter. Time and time again, these beasts felt it best to close themselves in areas that only left one way to run. Only when they found themselves trapped inside did they ever truly understand what those places were—a feeding pen where things like the Occupant gorged.

Using handholds to climb up onto the roof, it found a small hole in the roof to watch the violence within the enclosure. The Mya creature was making such loud and bright noises they hurt its ears, but it knew the creature called Control wouldn’t care. Luckily, it was a simple matter to deaden the receptors that delivered vibrations to its ears.

From the Occupant’s vantage point, it was clear today would be a good day to eat. Bodies lay about on the ground, left behind by the two-legged animals who forgot them. It knew from experience those animals didn’t eat their own; it was a strange quirk.

Given the violence happening in the area, there was so much food to be left behind to rot. With this amount, it might just be able to make a hatchery. The Occupant felt pleasure flow through it at the thought. It craved offspring.

When the loud sounds stopped within, it brought its nose to the hole in the top of the shelter and took in the scents. It smelled of hurt animals. The Mya creature had fallen or died on the floor. She would make a great meal, second only to the animal Control—but then it realized there were two more meals within.

Climbing back down the hovel, the Occupant crawled through the gap beneath the doorway. Its sharp ears were rewarded by the sound of life. The larger thing was talking to the smaller form.

“We’re safe now, Charra. You and Mama are safe… It will be okay. Your mama is going to be okay.”

The Occupant didn’t understand the words. They were meaningless sounds. It watched as the offspring reacted to the female. As interesting as it was to watch them interact, it was hungry, and it needed sustenance. A wide smile crossed the Occupant’s lips. When it was happy, it chittered, and that only started once the screaming commenced.

The sound of horrific pain was something it understood.

Also by

The Aurora Project

Book 1: Ruins of Ivy

https://mybook.to/RuinsOfIvy

Book 2: Forgotten Steel

https://mybook.to/ForgottenSteel

Coming soon!

Book 3: Echoes of Wrath

https://mybook.to/EchoesOfWrath

About the author

Storytelling has been Aaron Ramsby's passion throughout his entire life. He is from Portland, Oregon. The limitless worlds of literature and his love of imagination served as his refuge while living there. His three-decade literary career weaves Science Fiction and Fantasy themes together. The author has scheduled the release of Ruins of Ivy: Book 1 of the Aurora Project, which expertly fuses sci-fi and fantasy to create a fascinating narrative environment, for January 2024. Through his transformation from game design and app innovation, Ramsby showcases his unwavering commitment to storytelling, infusing it with the beauty of his hometown and his limitless imagination.