by Nancy Osa
The griefer tossed two items into the chamber. Rob collected them, recognizing them immediately: one was Judge Tome’s old UBO ring, and the other was a crumpled print-out of Colonel M’s ribbon-cutting speech.
“Those belong to the judge and the colonel.” Rob felt terror rise in his chest. “I’ll kill you, you scum!” He leapt up and threw himself at Termite.
The composed criminal calmly drew a golden axe and knocked him down with its handle. A thin trickle of blood ran from the corner of his mouth.
Frida jumped to his aid but drew back when Termite threatened her with the gleaming blade. “Thanks for all the gold, by the way,” the griefer said in her measured speech. “Your villagers won’t be needing it.”
“Wh-what have you done with them?” Frida ventured.
“Not a thing. They will make their own decisions to vacate this wasteland when the time comes.”
Stormie retorted, “They’ll build it up again. Even if you bomb the city, you’ll never weaken folkses’ taste for freedom.”
“Hyeh, hyeh, hyeh . . .” The humorless laugh made Rob cringe. Termite gazed down on Stormie as though she were a bug. “I couldn’t care less about your city. Nor could those little people. It’s you six they look up to. And with you gone . . . I’ll wager they won’t be quite so hungry for freedom anymore.”
Kim narrowed her eyes. “You meant to capture us all along? Why didn’t you do it before? You had any number of chances.”
Termite’s lips twitched. “And miss this drama? Perish the thought.” She jerked her head back. “No, perish you! You and your silly captain.” She retreated to the door. “You were such easy marks. The name ‘Battalion Zero’ really suits you.”
This backhanded compliment put a damper on what little courage the troopers had left. But Rob rallied his. “And the name ‘Termite’ suits you!”
The slur enraged the unstable griefer. “Your anguish will know no bounds, cowboy! You have yet to experience the highlight of my final act for you.” She backed into the corridor’s gloom. Before sealing them in, she shrieked, “This bomb? The trigger has a five-second delay.”
*
Rob’s mind spun. How was a long fuse a greater threat than they already faced? As Kim, Frida, and Stormie converged in a frightened hug, the captain turned to the sergeant and quartermaster. “What does that mean?”
With the burden of understanding, Jools said, “That means that someone can escape . . . and the rest of us will die.”
“And probably be buried under the rubble,” Turner added.
Rob’s heart thudded to earth. He wouldn’t abandon his friends again. “I could never live with that.”
“Me, neither,” Frida said.
Jools shook his head sadly. “I always thought there’d be . . . another tomorrow.” He choked on the last words.
Turner growled, “Nobody’s tomorrow is guaranteed.” But the mercenary wasn’t through yet. “We could make some noise,” he offered. “Start yellin’—some guard is bound to hear us.”
Tears sprang to Stormie’s eyes. “And just wait until some poor, innocent villager tries to rescue us and gets blown to smithereens? I don’t think so.”
Kim looked around helplessly. “So, I guess we’re stuck here, then.”
Nobody replied.
Slowly, the light returned to Jools’s expression. “. . . maybe not.” His words hung in the air.
Rob raised his head. “I’m listening.”
Jools repeated that the trigger delay would allow someone to make it out the open door before the bomb went off. “Five seconds . . . I’m thinking, two of us could get out of here. Might not make it in one piece, but there’s a chance.”
Stormie wiped away her tears and thought this over. “Could work. Two of us could escape and try to salvage what’s left of the city—maybe get a piece of Termite before she gets away. Frida, Turner, seein’ as how y’all never changed spawn points, I reckon you’d be the logical choices to go.”
Rob’s face went red. The two survivalists glanced at each other, and then at the captain.
He cleared his throat. “Uh, the truth is, I didn’t change my spawn point, either.”
This floored the others.
“But Stormie’s right.” He eyed Frida and Turner. “You two should go. Get away. Maybe the rest’ll respawn in camp.” Rob couldn’t even begin to fathom where he might wind up.
It was the sergeant’s turn to look uncomfortable. “Fact is, Captain, I did follow orders,” he mumbled. “Just last night.”
Now everyone’s face showed disbelief.
Jools found his voice first. “You changed your spawn point? You—the mighty mercenary, master of your own fortune. . . . You’re telling me you knuckled under and threw in with the group?” He seemed to have forgotten that fighting with Turner might not pay off. In a passable imitation, he lowered his voice and said, “Harrumph. Man’s spawn point oughta be kept secret. What’s the Overworld comin’ to?” He failed to get a rise out of Turner.
The subdued mercenary explained, “Was Rose did it to me. After she turned sour, I figured I could still come out ahead if I respawned along with the folks who really matter. So I switched spawn points.”
Rob’s mouth fell open. Hearing this almost made up for facing an untimely death.
“Naw,” Turner went on, “it’s you two should go, Cap’n.” He turned to Frida. “Unless . . . you got somethin’ you ain’t tellin’ us.”
Frida’s skin deepened by a shade of green. “Uh, sorry, Meat. Nope.”
Rather than being disappointed in her, Rob felt a surge of a much deeper emotion. Frida was a creature of the jungle—of the Overworld jungle, if she was right about her origins. If she died and came back into the game, there was no place else for her to call home.
Rob reached out and took her hand, and squeezed it hard. “Come on,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
Frida addressed the group. “Are you all . . . sure?”
They gave her their silent blessing.
Frida hung back a moment. Then she scrambled to her feet and said to the others, “Take cover. We—we’ll see you back in camp.”
The troopers nodded.
Rob switched on his headlamp, pressed on the door, and—without looking back—pulled Frida through it after him.
*
The blast was louder than anything Rob had ever heard. He felt the concussion slam through his chest and shoot him down the tunnel.
“Frida!” he screamed.
For a moment, nothing but the sound of tumbling rock and rumbling earth filled his injured ears. Then, miraculously, she answered.
Half-blind and half-deaf, Rob crawled toward the faint sound of her voice and felt for her. “It’s gonna come down. Run!” Again he grabbed her hand and pulled them both up, moving like there was no tomorrow. The weight of leaving his troops behind could not stop his heart and mind from propelling him forward, upward, and into the light with Frida.
They ran. They kept running until they reached the city garden, far enough to escape the debris that rained down from the cliffside. Then they turned and watched where the opening had been. They waited, hoping, as block upon block of falling stone made it clear that no living being would emerge from the wreckage.
After moments or hours—Rob wasn’t sure which—he tugged at Frida’s hand, and against her objections, pulled her down the main street, through the gaping chainmail fence, and back toward cavalry camp.
Movement in the distance caught Rob’s eye. It looked as though there was life down there yet. Whatever they’d left behind, they owed it to the people to move forward, to go through with their mission.
Frida stopped and looked over her shoulder. “D’you think they’ll make it?” she asked, meaning Kim, Jools, Stormie, and Turner.
“If they didn’t take too much damage.” Rob pulled Frida to him and hung on for a moment, before letting her go. “With any luck, we’ll all be right back where we started this morning.” He paused. “Right?�
��
Frida didn’t answer.
“At least it’s something,” he said.
She pushed away a tear. “Not much.”
But Rob could see she didn’t mean it. Maybe she felt as bad as he did about not changing spawn points. Anyone could tell they were both committed to the battalion, heart and soul. After all they’d been through, they still believed in the Overworld, still believed in their friends—and in each other.
“Hey.” He looked Frida in the eye and said truthfully, “Might not be much. But it’s enough.”
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