by A W Wang
Drenched and blinking from the streams of water cascading down my face, I steady myself against the brunt of the storm.
Several figures raise their rifles.
I yank the pin from a grenade and toss it onto the beach.
Everyone scatters.
The muffled explosion sends up a shower of sand that the violent winds and deluge of rain immediately erase.
In the confusion, I start a sniping battle with my appropriated rifle. Although my goal is funneling the advance into a narrow front by attacking their flanks, I would consider any incidental death or injury I cause a positive.
I flinch but keep shooting as suppressing fire sends stinging jets of water laced with sand and pebbles past my head. The magazine empties too quickly, and I toss the rifle. My bare feet slide in the worsening terrain as I turn, retreating for my next set of weapons.
A blast of wind slaps a sheet of rain over my face as I exit the overwatch position. Raising a hand over my eyes, I stagger toward the center of the island, catching more cuts from the plants on the gashes covering my shins. Although the pain is beyond terrible, I silently thank Mother Nature. Without the chaos, I would already be dead.
Forcing aside the distractions, my situational awareness uses the illumination from every type of lightning crossing under the black clouds as well as glimpses I catch from flashes of gunfire through the wind and rain to create a map of the battle. When the attack spreads too far to the sides, I fling a grenade to entice my enemies to stay together.
The grenades are gone by the time I get to the dead rearguard. I grab his rifle, and continuing my retreat, shoot at the fleeting forms through the gale. In the impossible conditions, I surprisingly hit one, the dark form jerking and dropping from sight.
A stray shot pops in front of me as I adjust my path to avoid a row of plants. The enemy is too close, and I hasten to my next objective, climbing up a slope, my fingers grasping at muddy rivulets and my feet sliding on the unsure ground.
Lightning crashes on a nearby mound, the concussion knocking me into the muck on the other side.
Ears ringing, I ignore a plant leaf hovering a millimeter from my nose and start crawling through a torrent of water rushing toward the beach. Occasionally, when cracks of lightning break the blackness, I lean up and shoot along the flanks until the second rifle runs empty.
After discarding it, I swivel and run for another weapon but promptly trip over an extinguished fire, the doused wood digging into the bloody meat around my shins. The wind whips away my angry curses as I rise and wipe mud from my face. With my feet struggling to find purchase in the glop, I stumble to the next set of arms.
A howling gust slaps fat raindrops across my body as more shots splatter the nearby ground with wet pops.
I disregard them, and shielding my eyes with both hands, I hunch and push forward.
“The enemy has the same problems too.”
“There are almost twenty of them.”
“And you were doing so well with my optimism.”
A crack of thunder overwhelms my cry of frustration. I hate new internal me.
Crawling more than walking, I finally reach the woman I killed. When I flip her over, flashes of lightning expose her face.
Although it’s not the girl with the violet eyes, I’m furious I even care. Grabbing her rifle, I shove her back into the mud and keep moving, all the while shooting at more targets of opportunity until the gun empties.
When I arrive at the main line of the AI dead, I nab another two rifles and extra ammo without disturbing the precious booby traps, which remain blessedly intact from the mayhem. To avoid the worst of the vicious weather and not present a prime target, I keep low, reverse crawling toward the flag with the rain pounding the hundred cuts running along my legs.
While the pain builds, I grit my teeth, forcing my thoughts from the distraction.
A bullet explodes a plant next to me. I recoil from whizzing metallic chards. A second afterward, other shots follow as the rest of Syd’s team arrives.
Taking a quick survey through the bedlam, I notice the shooting originates from only a small arc. At least that part of my strategy is working.
I return fire, but for every round, ten rifles crack in response.
As the impacts shred everything nearby, pulverized rocks mix with jagged fragments of flora and join the torrents of rain splattering over me. Soon I’m covered in the foul mixture, with the sharp edges of the organic matter rubbing into the raw tissue of my exposed wounds.
On the bright side, while I’m not sure if I’ve hit anything, at least I haven’t been hit either. However, it’s a situation that can only end badly. I have to give ground before a lucky shot or flying piece of plant kills me.
Cradling my rifles above the mud, I slither backward, only stopping when I reach the flag—my last stand position.
Suddenly, the storm abates. The crashes of lightning stop, and the rumbles of thunder disappear. A moment later, the air stills while the torrential rain ebbs into a light shower.
I stare helplessly as moonlight fills the thinning clouds and casts a blue pall over the landscape.
“This is bad.”
A torrent of bullets flies through the newly sedate surroundings. Nearby plants explode with sharp clacks while metallic pings reverberate off the flagpole.
Panic rising, I flatten, willing my body to shrink behind the scant remaining cover.
The enemy is just beginning. The level of firing rises to a crescendo, the staccato of pops, whistles, and pings from the projectiles smeared into a long note of death, inching ever closer to my position. As I push lower, my fingers clawing at the ground, a bullet scorches the back of my thigh, leaving an angry furrow of pain. Another clips my hair while more ricochets spatter mud over me.
My fear explodes and closing my eyes, I twist my face and launch a scream into the muck.
As dirty water bubbles into my nose and sludge smears my lips, bullets leave streaks of sizzling air crisscrossing my back.
My body trembles as I lose control. Although we don’t need to pee, the utter helplessness consuming my insides threatens to empty my bladder. I clench my lower half while mixed curses of frustration at my impotence, rage at the overlords, and fury at my enemies pour from my mouth.
Time stretches into eternity as I try to slither further into the mushy ground, cowering and waiting for the end. My competing thoughts merge into a storm of incoherence, hating the situation and wanting to lash out and leap into any foolhardy action that might change the predicament.
At the height of my hysteria, just as I’m ready to stand and perish in a hail of lead, a soothing image of Suri enters my mind. Others follow, Bob, Odet, poor Cleo, the boy in the icy cabin, and my original teammates, Rick, Jock, and Ally. All are victims of Syd and his kind. The composites are the enemy, and I need to punish them for their crimes.
The sliver of calm guides me from the brink.
Moments afterward, the fusillade subsides.
Shedding my surprise of remaining amongst the living, I peek past the base of the flag. My enemies have advanced into the line of the dead AI soldiers.
I swing a rifle up, and with a prayer to the great blue dome, fire into each of the booby traps.
The dead jerk from my flawless shooting, releasing their presents.
I hug the earth, thanking the seven sigma for teaching me the shooting the hidden grenade trick.
Seconds later, explosions rip through my enemies. Gore, blood, and weapons intertwine with spatters of mud and tumble through the lingering rain.
Before the final scraps hit the ground, I grab the fresh rifle and stuff an extra two magazines into the front of my panties. Then, letting wrath cleanse the last trepidations from my mind, I focus on my enemies and transform into an avenging angel, rushing past the flag and hurdling the gleaming remains of a despicable plant.
I’m going to kill every last evil one of them.
A dark shadow on the flank runs. I fi
re a three-round burst and the malevolent thing falls. Holding his head, a huge man stands and explodes into gore when I empty the magazine into his torso.
As I reload and advance, metal chards from broken leaves stick into the soles of my feet. The new torture is inconsequential in the face of my mission. Grimacing, I charge past the remains of the fallen AI soldiers and leap beyond the shallow ridge. I land in the midst of my enemies. A few of them I recognize from the scenario where Suri died. My glee surges.
One, two, three of the vile forms crawling in the muck go down to sharp cracks from my rifle.
Another fiend pokes his head above a mound. As my shot rips through his helmet, I stifle a giggle.
A bullet smashes a nearby plant into metallic flakes.
No time to get sloppy.
Dark against the dim moonlight, his visor shattered, the tallest of Syd’s team advances, trying to wipe blood from his eyes while blindly shooting his firearm.
As rounds fly past, I fire, my shot slamming through the cracks of the visor and plowing into the top of his lewd mouth. His long body flops, crushing the broken stems of a plant, and awkwardly rolls out of sight.
I take a quick survey. Although I haven’t seen Syd, I can’t worry. I need to execute as many composites in as little time as possible.
Rushing ahead, I splash through a puddle and charge up the next rise, seeking more targets. As I slide to the opposite side, I sink into gooey mud with water rising past my ankles.
A thin streak of lightning branching between distant clouds illuminates the scene.
Jackpot!
On its knees, a disheveled creature cradles its bloody head. Another demonic construct staggers about in confusion, tugging to free his pistol. I kill both. In the muck to my left, a brew of malevolence pretending to be a woman writhes with a shattered leg, laughing. None of them deserves any mercy, and I empty my weapon into her face.
Although not from the blue liquid, a wave of ecstasy washes over me from killing so many of the composites.
I yank the last magazine from my panties and shove it into the rifle.
A clink comes from behind me. I twist and duck, but a bullet clips my shoulder and knocks me backward. I return fire. As I hit the ground, spiky leaves shred my bicep, and my face twists in agony.
My assailant falls, one of the wave of my bullets catching his throat, but another rises in his place. Instead of flinging myself away from the awful plant, I continue rolling to get to cover. Screams of misery cascade past my clenched teeth as the points stab into my shoulder and the edges slice my back.
I pull the trigger, but the crippled muscles in my left arm won’t function properly. The projectiles fly skyward while the magazine empties. More leaves hack at my thighs as I discard the useless weapon and tumble into an adjoining gully.
My opponent moves slower than expected. A white flash shows half his helmet torn away.
Over the paralyzing pain, I will my legs to push me upright, and with my good arm, yank the pistol from my bra. I fire twice.
As he flops into the darkness, an iron grip seizes my hand, forcing me to drop the gun.
I turn to face Syd.
Fifty-Eight
“Did you really think a stupid little trick would harm me?” Syd says before backhanding me across the cheek.
As my face explodes in pain, I twist to avoid one of the plants and splash into a deep puddle.
Before I can stand, he’s on me. Grabbing two fistfuls of sopping hair, he drags me through the water and to my feet.
I pull out my knife with my working arm and swipe at his head.
He delivers a sword strike, the flat of his hand slamming into my wrist, and the knife flies into the darkness. An instant later, his armored fist drives into my bare stomach.
Gasping, I keel over, but he yanks me up and plants a full, wet, disgusting kiss on my lips.
With a snarl, I bite and draw blood from his lip. When he pulls away, I spit the vile taste into his malicious grin.
As the drizzle washes it off, I ignore his laughter and stare into the swirling hatred of his eyes, gauging the malice of the composite traits in an effort to gain some advantage from my knowledge of his inner workings.
The desperate thoughts produce nothing.
How can anyone beat so many forms of evil?
“Hello,” purrs a female voice. Boots sloshing through the muck, Syrin emerges from the gloom. When she reaches us, she rips off her helmet and tosses it aside. To my annoyance, besides a bruise on her scalp, she otherwise appears intact.
While I struggle against Syd’s grip, her hand trails down my injured arm. I wince as her fingers dig into my cuts.
Although the diminishing rain streaks the blood, she paints a circle pattern on her forehead and cheeks. Then stepping back, she draws her knife. “This will be fun.”
Hardly able to stand on my shredded legs, I clench my jaw. I won’t scream for her enjoyment.
“Only a few cuts,” Syd says. “I still need the rest of her body.”
An evil grin crosses Syrin’s narrow face as the blade plays under my eye. “Let’s blind her—”
Syd finishes the sentence. “But then, she couldn’t see what we’re doing.”
Syrin shakes her head and then says with joy, “Oh! I have something much better.”
Shuddering, I brace myself for what’s coming.
It’s not what I expect. Syrin’s head bursts with bits of flesh and bone spattering over Syd and myself.
Aiming a pistol, a thin figure without a helmet runs at us. Before I can see the details of his face, I recognize Walt’s running style.
Syd pushes me in front of him as a human shield.
Shooting my legs around his knees and twisting, I drop and knock him off balance.
He flops into the mud, rolling to his side, as more shots splash around him.
I lash out with a kick to his knee.
Even though he grunts, my wounded leg can’t generate enough power to do any real damage, but before he strikes back, more impacts force him to dive away.
Walt runs out of ammunition. Syd pops up and with blazing speed, attacks before the teen reloads.
Knowing Walt is inferior to Syd in every aspect of combat, I shakily rise and head to the dark forms struggling in the dim blue light.
After knocking the gun from Walt’s hand, Syd takes his time, relishing in inflicting punishment on his teammate. Ex-teammate, I remind myself.
Slowed by the mud and hobbling from my wounds, too many seconds pass before I arrive at the fight. Walt’s armor is dented in half a dozen places and he has a hyperextended knee and elbow.
I launch a stomp kick at Syd, but he’s too quick and grabs my leg.
Knife in hand, Walt jumps to my aid. Syd tosses me aside.
Helpless, I tumble down a slope between a couple of shattered plants and land in the muck near Syrin’s fallen form. After scrambling the final distance, I tug at her pistol with my working hand, but the damn thing is stuck under her body and won’t come out.
Syd twists the knife from Walt’s grasp and stabs him, leaving the blade buried deep in his lower ribs. “You little cretin. After everything I’ve done to help you, this is how you repay me?”
Defenseless, Walt whimpers.
Syd slaps him and grabs his hand, snapping one finger then another. The teen cries out, feeding Syd’s sadistic pleasures.
When another finger breaks, giggles erupt from Walt’s mouth. A tormented cackle follows. His free hand reaches to his back and yanks out a plant frond hidden under his armor. He stabs at Syd’s face.
At the last instant, Syd sees the threat, his hand rising and deflecting the metallic leaf. But the point catches his left eye and slices into his forehead. Half-blinded, he bellows in a mixture of rage and pain.
Syrin’s pistol finally comes free, but before I can shoot, Syd ducks and escapes into the dim landscape.
Walt collapses as Syd’s howls pour from the darkness.
Keepi
ng watch with the pistol ready, I stand and stumble to my wounded friend.
As I approach, he rolls and sits up with a groan. “My back is on fire,” he says, ignoring his broken fingers and the knife embedded somewhere in his liver.
“How did you manage to run and keep a straight face with that thing under your armor?”
With a sigh, he flicks the bloody leaf into a nearby puddle. “I have a high threshold for pain.”
The statement almost brings a smile, but I stop myself because his high tolerance is entirely because of his vicious upbringing.
“Walt, you can’t betray your own team.”
He raises his mangled hand. “Let me speak. I can’t control the blue liquid for much longer. Syd was only supposed to end the scenario by killing Suri, nothing else. When they tortured you, I cut Suri free and gave her the knife.” His eyes fill with tears. “I loved her, but I couldn’t bear the thought of you going all the way back to zero. I didn’t betray her for myself. You’re tired, Brin, and you wouldn’t have made it back.”
I disagree with the last point but don’t argue.
The teen sinks into the mud, his strength spent. “I was never making it out of here. But I needed to do something good before my end.”
The only person not thinking he owns the winning lottery ticket.
“You did, Walt. You saved me.” After kneeling next to him, I whisper, “We have to move.”
Walt’s eyes focus. “The blue liquid’s calling. Kill me before I can’t take it any longer.”
“Syd’s still out there. We have to kill him.” I neglect to mention I won’t have another friend dead by my hand.
Because we can’t linger, I jam my shoulder into his armpit and wrap my healthy arm around him.
“Brin, no.”
He reaches for the protruding knife handle.
I stop him. “Don’t pull that out. We don’t have anything to stop the flow of blood.”
“For you to win, I have to die.”