On a particularly high rise, they stop and scan the landscape ahead. The hills continue into the distance in every direction except behind. To the far-distant north, an oddly triangular mountain peak pokes into the afternoon clouds.
“Erebor,” Io murmurs. “The Lonely Mountain.” Then she snorts, smirking. “Always wanted to say that. Sorry, I’m being dumb.”
Lucas smiles. “You should be in charge of naming things.” He sweeps an arm to take in the view. “I don’t see much competition, anyway.”
“I appreciate that.” She starts down the far side of the hill, headed north-east. “Should be nothing but hills between us and the wood. Clear skies, too.”
For a little while, they walk at a leisurely pace. Zechariah is tallest, and constantly scans in all directions, ready for any sudden threat. Io produces a big piece of heavily-noted butcher paper from her backpack and pores over it, muttering calculations.
Lucas reluctantly allows himself to be entranced by their surroundings. He stoops and pulls up a handful of grass, examines it as they walk; it is utterly foreign, down to the design of the blade, and its color is very slightly off. The soil coating its roots is weirdly dry and crumbly.
But the sky is undeniably breathtaking. The longer he watches it, the more apparent its stripes and eddies become. The atmosphere itself behaves in alien ways, wind currents warping the heavens into a thousand delineated shades of blue.
Io notices him watching the sky. “Ever seen close-ups of Jupiter? This atmosphere works the same way. The bands are moving in opposing directions.”
“It’s beautiful.”
“Almost makes it all worth it,” she murmurs, folding up her map. “I was always jealous of the scientists on our team. Give them a truck full of supplies, and they’d have happily spent years studying this place.”
“Why did Drews recall everyone back to Earth?”
“At first, he was gung-ho about exploration, thinking we could find more of the blue orbs. But my sister and I figured two hammers was enough. When we mysteriously stopped finding them, he decided the expeditions weren’t worth the risk, especially after the previous Director was killed on one. There’s a reason we haven’t mapped very far from the portals: This place is beautiful, but it’s also dangerous. I’m surprised we haven’t encountered anything since we left the trees.”
“Didn’t all the monsters go through the portals and into Gothic?”
“Near as we can tell, this area has been seeing an influx of migration ever since the portals opened. More arrive every day, more than the soldiers could hold back — and that was before Drews ordered a withdrawal to FOB Abbott. This place should be swarming.”
“Disappointing,” Zechariah puts in, his bloodthirst soured.
Lucas hurriedly shrugs. “I’m not complaining. Let’s save our energy and bullets for Drews.”
“Don’t get comfortable yet.” A shadow has fallen over her eyes. “It’ll be dark soon, and we’re out in the open.”
After hours of walking, a thin sliver of wood is now visible on the forward horizon. The vine-forest has disappeared into the distance behind them., “We’re more than halfway there,” Io estimates.
Zechariah’s vigilance has increased to the point of paranoia. “Getting dark.”
Lucas is reluctant to admit it, but the younger man’s nervousness is contagious. They’re trapped out in the open, and his companions are mere silhouettes against the sunset sky. The stripes of blue above have become stippled, swirling violet. “Campfire?”
“In a valley,” Io agrees, stopping on a peak for a moment to scan the purple horizon. “The light won’t travel far. We just have to find a spot without water in it.” She shivers. “This isn’t right. I mean, I haven’t personally been through this area before, but it should be teeming with needle-life, same as the plains near the portals.”
Lucas reaches the bottom of the valley first and stumbles about, soaking his ankles, until he finds a large, dry patch. The three gather a small pile of sticks from a patch of bramble; Lucas rearranges it into a proper campfire, and Zechariah sets it alight with a pocket lighter.
The little circle of golden light instantly fills the travelers with ease. As they settle down into the short grass to rest, the violet sky gradually darkens to black, and the stars multiply. Zechariah pulls his shoes off and airs his aching toes, while Io hands out water bottles from her backpack. To each of the men, she also hands a can of beans and a protein bar.
Lucas borrows her can opener and cuts open his share, then holds out the tool to Zechariah — only to find that the younger man has somehow opened the can without it and is already eating.
Io has noticed, as well. “You can already make blades with your hands.”
He shrugs, not looking up from the food. “That’s the least I can do, once the needles think they’re in danger.”
“Maybe I can teach you some combat techniques.”
“Hang on. Techniques?” Lucas looks back and forth between them. “I didn’t know you have combat training, Io.”
“I don’t. Or, well, only as much as you get hanging out with soldiers for months.” She looks uncomfortable. “I was talking about needle techniques.”
“Don’t they just heal you?”
“Our bodies — well, mine and part of Zechariah’s — are basically huge walking sacks of magnetized particles. Well, not magnetized, exactly.” She drinks down a water bottle. “Okay, imagine if a pile of sawdust could get up and talk, and it was held together by weird alien energy that kind of works like magnetism, but not exactly. Now imagine that the sawdust is self-aware. It can actually reshape parts of itself.”
He eats his beans in silence for a minute, contemplating this. As she drinks water, Io silently demonstrates a few ‘techniques’ with her free hand — melding her fingers, lengthening her hand and forearm into a wicked longblade—
“Could you change your face?” Lucas asks suddenly.
She lowers her water bottle, blinking at him. “Wait. You think this is my real face?”
They stare at each other.
Zechariah smirks. “Chameleon. Shape-shifter.”
Lucas makes a frustrated sound. “How am I supposed to know these things?”
Io sits back, looking extremely pleased. “I don’t mean you’re dumb or anything! I just— I can’t believe I did a good enough job that this looks like I was born this way! I’m so happy right now!”
“Did you, uh . . . change your nose?”
She throws back her head and laughs, then quickly covers her mouth. “Ahhh! This is the greatest. Almost makes the infection and dying and experiments worth it, just to finally be comfortable in my own damn body.”
Lucas shakes his head at her confusedly. “You sound like one of those sex-change people.”
“Gender, race, height — abstract concepts at this point.” She tilts her head and gazes happily up at the stars. “Who knows? Maybe when all this is over, I’ll try being Asian.”
The two men jerk in surprise, albeit for different reasons. Zechariah opens his mouth, but it’s Lucas who speaks first: “Wait, are you not black?”
She gives him a ‘wow, you dumb’ look. “Of course I’m black. But to answer your question, I was born white.”
Zechariah gives her a suspicious look. “Wouldn’t that fuck up your personality?”
“I’ve always been a pretty fluid person—”
Lucas holds up his hands, a nervous grin on his face. “Hang on, hang on. Isn’t that kind of fucked-up? All you’re doing is putting on really advanced blackface. You can’t just pretend to be of another race.”
She gives him a tired look. “I’m the last person you want to lecture on social justice. For one thing, I’m trans.”
“I don’t care what you are. All I see is a white kid who decided it would be convenient to be a minority, when you don’t even know what it’s like—”
“Maybe aciculars are the newest oppressed minority! There’s only three of us,
after all!” When he starts to object, she holds up a finger and insists, “No, I know what this is really about. You sold me out to Drews and almost let him blow my brains out, turn me into his obedient lobotomized prisoner or whatever the fuck else they’re doing to my sister right now — all because you thought I was this trouble-making bitch invading your campsite. Now you find out I’m ‘really’ white and you feel bad.”
He stares at her, open-mouthed. “Where the fuck did you pull that complete load of horseshit from?”
“Quiet!” Zechariah barks, earning sharp looks from both of them. “You’re making way too much fucking noise. Io can do whatever she wants with her body. Lucas can be offended about it if he wants. All I care about is who’s taking first watch, so I know when I’ll be able to get some goddamn sleep.”
Io has the grace to look chastened. “Didn’t mean for it to become an argument. Things are shitty enough right now as it is.”
Lucas reluctantly nods. “The last thing we need to do right now is fight amongst ourselves.” He gets up and stretches his back, wincing at his popping shoulder-blades. “You two get some sleep. I’ll sit with Mjolnir for a few hours, then wake up Zechariah.”
The alien night is silent, without even crickets or tree-frogs to fill the cool air. Lucas sits on top of a hill, legs crossed, the hammer in his lap. For the first time in hours, he lets his mind pick over the absurdity of the past day.
Somewhere behind him, in the dim light of the waning campfire, Io stirs and sits up. A minute later, he hears her soft footsteps approaching.
“Alright if I sit?” she whispers.
He shrugs, absently making sure Mjolnir is firmly closed.
Io drops down into the grass at his side, wearing a long t-shirt and loose pants. She radiates with heat, but does not sweat. “How you holding up?”
He shrugs. “Been thinking about times back in Gothic.”
“When you were a cop.”
“Sometimes, we’d pull an all-weekend-er trying to catch some jackass who’d robbed a liquor store or shot someone. Eating nothing but takeout, sleeping on couches, lots of hurry-up-and-wait.”
“What brought it to mind?”
“This is no different.”
They sit in silence for a little while, under the light of alien stars.
“Okay, maybe a little different,” he admits.
“I hate to bring it up again, but . . . Sorry about earlier. The argument. I really don’t want this to come between us.”
He snorts softly. “Don’t worry about it. I just hate you thinking I’m some kind of racist. It’s a shitty stereotype of police.”
“I never thought you were the bigot type at all. But lots of people are casually racist without even really thinking about it. It’s a subtle, culture-level thing, you know?”
Lucas looks at her, smiles sadly. “I’ve been Hispanic all my life. I know.” He can’t help but smile. “No offense, but it’s strange talking about race with someone made of needles.”
“I’m still people. Only my . . . perspective has changed. And even then, not by much.” She shakes her head. “But, listen, I’d rather we drop it entirely. I . . . wanted to talk about something else.”
“Sure. What’s up?”
“Getting arrested by Drews’ people sucked, even before they shot me for trying to run. And for a bit there, I was sure you weren’t going to intervene. I hated you, sometimes more than Drews. But I see now that you were only siding with him because you didn’t know — partly because I didn’t tell you what was going on, or what I am. Yes, you distrusted me, but then it turned out you were right to, because I had lied to you.”
She presses her lips together for a moment, containing the last vestiges of her anger. Then her tension melts away, and she looks at him with new eyes. “But the moment you saw the truth, once you saw that you were on the wrong side — you gave your life for me.”
He looks away, deeply uncomfortable. The truth is, at the time, he genuinely thought he could force Drews to leave. He wants to blame his death on ego, not heroism.
“I fucked up your entire life,” Io whispers. “I got you shot, got you into this mess—” She indicates the nighttime alien landscape. “I owe you. And I need to pay you back before I can ever properly argue with you.”
He smirks, still unable to meet her eye. “If we pass a steakhouse, you’re buying breakfast.”
“I mean it!”
“Keep me alive, then. I’ll be happy to—”
“That would just be preventing further damage. You’ve lost a hell of a lot thanks to me. You should gain something, dammit.”
He shrugs. “I got to travel to an alien planet. It’ll be a great story to tell the grandkids.”
“Wait, you have kids?”
“Er, no. Hypothetical grandkids.”
She thinks about this, and her eyebrows slowly come together. “Is there a Mrs. de la Mora?”
He nearly laughs out loud. “No. And you don’t have to marry me to pay me back.”
“Oh, God, no, I wasn’t thinking of myself. You’re not my type. I’m more into, uh.” She glances over her shoulder at the campsite. “Bad boys. But!” She holds up a finger. “I think I know a girl. That is, assuming you’re straight.”
He gives her a sideways look. “Y— Yes? Isn’t that . . . obvious?”
“Wow. You’re more perfect for each other with every passing second.” She rubs her chin. “How did your previous relationships end?” In a fortune-teller’s raspy whisper: “Tell Io the Matchmaker your secrets!”
“Er. I haven’t really had any relationships. Even back in Gothic, I was too busy with work and lifting. I’ve hooked up a few times, mostly with women I met at physical combat meets, but never anything—”
“Hmm, active sex life. Might be a turn-off. Hmm. What is your ideal woman like?”
He struggles for a moment. “Sexy, smart, funny? Thin is good, Spanish-speaker is good, but I’m open to any—”
“Yeah, yeah, I could have guessed all that. Those things are meaningless. What is she like? What do you talk about? What do you share?”
“This is ridiculous. We’re on an alien planet and you want to ask personal questions.” When she doesn’t retract the question, he grimaces and thinks. “She’d be smart as hell, but at the same time, we’d . . . We’d be on the same wavelength. I want someone I can sync with. She could—”
He pauses, taken aback by the words coming to him. This is all so heavy, and he’s sharing it with a near-stranger — but he and Io have already saved each other’s lives.
To hell with it. “She could be the heart I’ve never had. And I would be her fist.”
Io smiles tightly, pleased with herself. “I’ll be sure to introduce you to my sister. This may all be kismet, after all.”
“Kiz-what?”
“Don’t worry about it.” She gets to her feet and stretches. “If we survive, I’m making this happen. Promise me you’ll give her at least one evening.”
He chuckles to himself. “I’m probably a wanted fugitive, but sure, dinner and a movie — on your dime.”
“It’s a date! Now, I’m going to try to get some more shut-eye before it’s my turn to w— Fuck!” She slams into him, shoving him to the ground.
Something huge sweeps past in the darkness where she was standing only a second before.
He hurriedly sits up, looking around in the hissing darkness. His shoulder and head smart where she tackled him. “The fuck?”
“Exes!” she screams, scrambling to her feet right behind him. “Get up, get up! Where’s the hammer?”
He feels around in the grass, finds it lying next to his foot. “Got it!”
She’s already running back toward the campfire. “Zechariah!”
Lucas instantly understands: The hammer is his only chance of survival, but deadly to the other two. They’ll have to split up.
A buzzing whine fast approaches from off to his left. He hesitates for only a moment more, and then switc
hes open the hammer and holds it in front of him.
This must be the tallest ex of all, taller even than himself. It hisses and spits as it rolls toward him out of the darkness. Its swastika arms chop down into the grass and thrust it forward, a living buzz-saw. It narrowly dodges Mjolnir’s field and whizzes off into the darkness.
Lucas looks back at the campsite and finds it deserted, the fire nearly dead. Surely, the others can see him, a blue dot in the darkness -— but to him, they are utterly gone.
The alien night above him suddenly yawns with horror, and the blackness around him is a writhing pit. His palms are sweaty on the hammer. He turns in a slow circle, scanning the darkness for any sign of movement.
That galloping hiss comes again, passing him on the right. Off in the distance, he hears Io cry out in pain, hears Zechariah’s bloodcurdling roar. The air fills with the sounds of running and slicing and screaming and falling.
Long minutes pass this way, as the sounds of commotion increase. An ex occasionally whirrs past him, careful to avoid the blue light. None confront him.
Several times, he starts toward his companions in the dark — then holds back, too afraid of accidentally harming them with the hammer’s glow. “Zechariah!” he calls. “Io!”
In the campfire’s dying glow, he spots Io’s backpack and heads for it. Despite instincts screaming at him to run, or at least watch out, he kneels and digs frantically through her bag.
A flashlight. “Gracias, Cristo,” he mutters, yanking it out with a shaking hand. He switches it on, nearly blinds himself with its beam. He hurriedly slings the backpack over his shoulder, grabs the plastic sack containing the gun and laptop, and stomps out the fire.
Another scream from over the hill.
Lucas climbs the rise between himself and the noise — careful to keep Mjolnir low, in case he encounters a friendly. From the top, he can tell that the fighting has moved down into the valley below. He holds the hammer close for protection with one hand; with the other, he aims the white beam down into the battlefield.
New Night (Gothic Book 2) Page 11