by Jasmine Walt
“I’ll apologize, and it won’t come up again.”
Footsteps pound toward us from the front hall. His face eases into a smile.
“Good, thank you.”
I nod for the third time, just as Juliet enters the kitchen.
“If you’re done eating,” she says in her always calm tone. “I need you in the gym.”
“Yup.” Tripp nods at me as he follows Juliet out of the kitchen.
I linger for a while, then leave to join them. When I enter the gym, Juliet is standing in front of three piles of black clothing. Hills of what looks like protective gear. Army style canteens and packs. And weapons. Badass looking weapons.
I go to stand on the other side of Tripp. Juliet stands before us, hands on her hips.
“Okay, before I ask you to gear up, I want to take a moment to discuss our mission.” Her arms lift, and she brings her hands together in front of her.
For a second, I think she’s about to lead us in prayer.
“As you know, the rise of berserkers started with the mutation of Atera, a tech virus engineered by a group of scientists who discovered a technological way to make people immune to descendant magic.” Her eyes swept toward me. “My race wanted a scientific answer to counter the effects of you all… The things the gods made.”
I narrow my eyes but remain quiet.
“The virus, as I said, mutated and had a… devastating effect on everyone it was given to. The general population uses the word berserkers to describe them, because people did literally go berserk. Mad. To the point of self-destruction.”
I sigh. “To the point of the destruction of all things.”
Juliet pauses and coughs into her elbow. “Six months ago, Compound Four located a cure and sent the details to us for execution. That’s where you all come in.”
Tripp plants his hand on his hip. “Okay… what is it, and where do we go to get it?”
“That’s classified.” Her eyes dart toward me and the muscles in her neck tighten. I almost grin. She’s not afraid of me, but she feels my presence inside her. A tiny pull in her gut that feels the need to ask my permission.
Luckily, I don’t want to do anything to fuck with this thing.
“The cure is located at a place of crossroads. A sacred ground near what used to be Virginia Beach.”
A dump truck of nasty shit builds up inside my throat. I try to swallow it down. Sweat beads up on my forehead. Now it makes sense. Now I know just why they needed me, and how badly.
My hands ball into fists. The rest of what she says starts to float away. The cure, whatever it is, is in on grounds sacred to the gods.
The crossroads.
A door to the immortals. A path to the gods.
And not just any crossroads, but the one that I can't enter and leave again, alive. The one guarded by the god that cursed my bloodline.
I am a black dude pulled over in Mississippi fucked.
As my eyes close, Kiwi asks, “When do we leave?”
“In three days.”
Shit burger.
I clench my jaw.
“Now, I need you to gear up and get used to it, because out there you will be in this gear at all times. Meet me out back in fifteen minutes.”
I glance up in time to see her do the hair flip and saunter out of the gym. I glance sidelong at Tripp, who shrugs and bends over to pick up his gear. I follow suit, then shuffle into a corner to change.
Shit is shiny black and skintight. Kevlar, I realize. When I put it on, I feel like I’m smearing black icing on to my body. Then I add the weapon holsters and padded vest. When I’m done, I’m decked out like the token black guy an action movie.
Turning around, I spot Kiwi and Tripp kneeling over the weapons. I shuffle over and join in, loading myself down until I almost forget about the crossroads bomb that was just dropped on me. Yeah, I’m ready to shoot things.
Kiwi is the first to leave. Tripp and I follow her out of the house, and into the back yard. I squint as the harsh yellow light streams its fake glow onto the ground.
Juliet is positioned in front of us, hands behind her back, like drill Sergeant Barbie. I lift my hand to cover the smile on my face.
“You all have skill sets vital to this mission, and you all know your way around weapons. Now, there are lots of dangers outside the compound that we need to prepare you for. The changing climate, displaced descendants, and, our focus for today, the berserkers.”
She removes her side arm. A Browning. Dual action pistol.
“As you know, we have designated Wranglers at each of the operating compounds, and they’ve discovered berserkers come in different classifications.” She glances at her gun, then back at us. “The less rabid ones are slower. They usually go down pretty easy.” She places the handgun back on her hip. “However, the ones that are most far gone… Well, you don’t stand a chance unless you can pick them off from a distance. So today, we’re going to do a little target practice.”
She gestures to a nearby assault rifle. An AR-15. I grin. Pretty nasty. I’ve always wanted to try one of these things.
“Go for kill shots. It’s best to get to higher ground. Now, our Wranglers have mapped one large pocket on our route that these berks are most populous in. Don’t try to engage them.”
She paces back and forth in front of us, pausing to look us each in the eye.
“Do you understand?”
I glance down the short line. Tripp and Kiwi nod, very serious. Very official. Turning back to Juliet, I copy their gestures.
“Today, I will team you up with some of our best Wranglers. Then, this evening, I will put you through an obstacle course designed to stage a real life berserker attack.” She gives us that pleasant, shit eating grin.
More nods. More seriousness.
Juliet glances at her watch, then turns around. I follow her gaze to find three unfamiliar people marching toward us. They come to a stop behind Juliet, who nods at them before turning back to face us.
She points at each of them as she says their names. “This is Vaughn, Scotty, and Flo.” From the position of her finger when she introduced the spiky haired, slightly dumpy middle-aged white lady, I’m paired up with Flo.
Juliet claps after introductions are made. “Alright, I’ll see you all this evening.”
With that, she turns around and marches off across the yard and out of sight. Seconds later, dumpy Flo is in my face.
“Pike Richards!”
I raise an eyebrow. I have no idea why she’s yelling.
“It’s nice to meet you!” She grins, exposing a yellowing, incomplete grill. I force myself to smile back.
“You, too.” I reach out to shake her hand. She starts chuckling like I’m some kind of entertainment monkey.
When I drop her hand, she points at me. “Can I call you P Diddy?”
I narrow my eyes. “No.”
“P Dawg?”
I sigh. This woman can’t be for real. “That would be no.”
“P…”
I hold up my hand. “Please, stop.”
Her eyes widen and she rushes at me, forcing me to back away. “Can I touch your hair? It’s so cool.” She doesn’t wait for an answer. No, she just dives right in. I clench my jaw while she digs through my hair like we go way back.
“Amazing.” She shakes her head. “How long did it take to get it like that?”
I clear my throat, reach up, and remove her curious hand. “Flo? Let’s say we keep this professional, ’kay?”
She frowns, and a disappointed look shadows her leathery face. Then she nods and claps me on the shoulder.
“You ready to learn how to tap into your inner badassitude today?”
I stare. “Um, come again?”
“Your inner badassitude!” She starts moving and waves at me to follow. We come to a stop at a high workbench with a rifle case perched on top. Flo pats it.
“This is your partner, okay there, Pike? Together you will become an overwhelming force for cr
eating meat sacks out of those monsters.”
My eyes widen, then my mouth drops open. Did she just say meat sack?
“Now, partners got to have a name.” She leans over and clicks open the case. “Go ahead and give her a look, then name that meat pile makin’ gal.”
I stand and stare as she bobs up and down on her feet. No idea what to do with this information. She nudges me closer to the table.
“There ya go.”
My lips turn up in a smile. I reach out and run my fingers across the collapsible site stock. Yeah, this is the shit.
“Think of a name?”
I sigh. “I’m not going to name my—“
“Pick it up. Name her.” Her voice comes out firm this time.
Lifting my hand, I scratch my eyebrow with my pinky nail. Then, with another sigh, I pick the semi-automatic weapon. Surprisingly light.
A loud pop explodes the air around me. I jump, almost dropping the rifle, and spin around. Flo cackles like a pleased witch. I glimpse Tripp and Kiwi, rifles already set up, taking aim at something across the sprawling field. I almost forgot they were here. Clutching a hand over my jack hammering heart, I follow where the barrels of their guns are aimed.
Targets.
Kiwi is a pretty good shot. Tripp, a pretty bad one. Another loud boom, then a series of them pound the air. I turn back around and start set the rifle onto the stock.
“Whoa, whoa!” Flo smacks the side of my arm. “You always jump right in like that?”
Ignoring her to the best of my ability, I pick up a magazine and prepare this beauty to shoot things.
“You have to name her if you want her to work hard for you.” She’s shouting over the now consistent rounds of fire Kiwi and Tripp are getting off.
I sigh, guessing she’s one of those people it’s easier just to give in to. Through narrowed eyes, I study the rifle like I’m actually giving this a lot of thought. Then, I say the first name that comes to mind.
“Lily.”
“No way, she looks more like a Mia.”
“Fine, Mia it is.” I drop to the ground and set Mia up, all the while pretending to listen as Flo run off at the mouth about something or another. When I’m all set up, I peer through the scope.
Targets are spread all over the yard, in differing distances and sizes. The farthest one looks about four hundred and fifty feet away. A draft of wind rushes past my ear as I line up my shot.
I tune out the gunfire.
I tune out Flo’s manic chatter.
I force myself to only see my target in the distance, small round and wooden with dark blue paint on its surface. It’s settled between two bare trees. There, in the stillness I create in my mind, some advice given to me when I was ten years old echoes back.
Shoot between heartbeats, my keeper always used to say.
I breathe.
My heart thuds.
I wait, then pull the trigger before the next beat of my heart. The small target splinters into wood shavings, and I grin. Hardly any recoil. I feel like a kid playing laser tag again, and I shoot the damn thing off until its lunchtime.
The rest of the day consists of target practice and working out. After we eat a quiet dinner, we head back outside and prepare to take on the obstacle course. I glance over at Kiwi, and for the first time today, Tripp is not flanking her.
My eyes dart to him. He’s seated on the ground, staring up at the darkening sky. I trudge over to her.
“Hey,” I say when I’m only inches away.
She looks up and glowers at me. I offer a forced smile, a gesture she returns with a hiss.
I ignore her usual reply to me and say, “Hey, look… About earlier, I’m sorry for being a dick.”
Her eyes narrow. “What?”
I hesitate because I didn’t expect her to be confused. “Um, I’m apologizing?” My face wrinkles. “I didn’t mean to…”
She reaches over and pats my shoulder. “It’s all good, Pike.”
My shoulders relax. “Oh, good. Because you seemed…”
“I said we’re good,” she says, not interested in the rest of what I was going to say. “Not friends, but we can be civil.” Then she turns and saunters off in Tripp’s direction.
I try not to stare at her ass as she goes.
I try, but it’s a great ass.
As we all wait outside for Juliet the ground starts to shake. I dart my eyes around, trying to find the source of the quaking. Finally, a streak of silver flashes across my vision.
I squint against pale yellow sky.
“What is that?” Tripp asks.
I shrug, folding my hand over my eyes to see better. The closer it is gets, the harder the ground rumbles. Within seconds, its close enough to tell it’s a large a mining truck. A smaller, armored car is trailing it.
I start to back away as the vehicle’s monster tires come digging through the dead grass. When it vibrates to a stop, I slide my gaze across the bed of the truck. Six silver cages sit in the back.
There is a loud rattle. It goes from being a patient knock on the door to a persistent banging heard by everyone. Doors open and slam shut, followed by the sound of a machine flaring to life.
A wheeled excavator starts to inch the cages toward the back of the truck. I assume there is something at the other end to catch the cages because all I see from where I’m standing is them falling off, one by one.
A flash of pale hair sweeps across the right side of my vision. I glance over. Juliet is marching toward us.
“Hello, everyone.” She stops when she is in hearing distance. “I take it you’re all ready for this evenings obstacle course?”
The words come out of her mouth, but I’m not paying any attention to them, or her. My eyes are sealed on the cages. They are being wheeled on carts into a staggered formation. A group of worn looking dudes are walking with them, a few carrying one end of a thick, silver chain. Wranglers.
Where there are Wranglers there are berserkers.
Squaring my shoulders, I try to play off the fact that I’m close to shitting bricks. As hard as I try to take my eyes away from those cages and the snarling monsters inside them, I can’t. One sprays a mist of green saliva onto its bars, looks over at us with bulging, yellow eyes, and half-howls, half-growls, choking the air with an unnatural sound.
The Wrangler sticks something long and black through the thick bars. Through the murmur of Tripp, Kiwi, and Juliet’s muted speech, a high buzz hits the air, and then there is a loud zap. The Berserker growls, backing away from the bars and batting the air. I gulp and turn my attention to one closer to me. Flakes of its skin drip to the cage floor with sickening plops.
“Jameson.” Juliet says, addressing one of the Wranglers. “Release them.”
Time slows.
My brain dumbly tries to wrap around what she just said.
The doors to the cages squeal open. A blur of movement streaks from its prison, zips forward, and spews green saliva right into my face.
Adrenaline floods my body. I don’t even think to wipe the green slime off my face. I barely hear Juliet yell, “Release them all in thirty…”
The world crawls around me. A blur races past the side of my vision. I glance over. Kiwi is zipping for the distant line of trees. Shaking myself, I take off after her, ducking down to grab my rifle on the way. Even though I almost knock Tripp over, who is frozen in place, I don’t slow down. I’m moving so fast I almost smash into the oak trees.
I shove my arms in front of me to stop the impact. Then, I climb. I can barely feel my body because I’m so focused on getting to the tree box above. I toss the rifle case over the side of the box, then flip in after it. With shaking hands, I rip open the case and start to assemble the collapsible stock.
There is a loud clink below, like the sound of chains ripping. I jerk toward the movement and don’t see anything. No, it’s not that I don’t see anything. It’s that movement is all I see. Blurs and wisps of movement.
I squint through the
rushing monsters and see that Tripp is still there. What the hell is he doing? Tightening my jaw, I glance down and finish mounting the rifle onto the collapsible stock. Then I mount it on the side of the tree box.
Lowering myself as much as I can, I peer through the scope and turn on the emergency flashlight.
A howl cuts though my focus, a cry of agony like I’ve never heard before, and I freeze. Down on the ground, Tripp’s body snaps backward. There is loud, wet crack. He cries out again, the noise high and sharp.
My mouth drops open. A gush of wind passes over my face. My eyes narrow to keep it out, and I spot a berk closing in on Tripp, who is writhing around on the ground in a mess of groans and snaps.
There is loud crash from the tree across from me. I glance over.
“Over here, shit for brains!”
The gun goes off, and the sound of it is followed by a gust of wind. I rush to look back through the scope. Bulging eyes turn in Kiwi’s direction. Another loud pop, and its head explodes, spraying chunks of grey flesh across the yard.
Five monsters snap their bulging, gray necks toward us. I shake it off and look back through the scope, then turn the dial on my flashlight. Taking a breath, I pull the trigger. My aim is off. The bullet slices into the berk. Leaning back, I realign my sights, and press the trigger again.
The last shot makes it home, dropping the berk to the ground.
Tripp lets out another howl. The sound puts knots in my stomach. Lifting my head, I glance at the tree Kiwi’s in, trying to decide if I should get down there or not. A train of wails echoes through the night air. I wince because I’m sitting up in a tree while Tripp is on the ground crying in agony. I peer back through the scope.
My jaw drops.
Tripp’s clothes are ripping from his body. A body that is inching toward the sky while it contorts into unsightly bulges and impossible angles.
Another berserker goes down, only five feet or so away from him. Good looking out, Kiwi, because I’m useless. All I can do is stare as his boots rip off and his feet and stretch to the size of small islands. Another scream rips from his throat.
It soaks into the air.