by Gard Skinner
“I’m sick of playing defense,” York muttered. “I need to pull a trigger.”
No one spoke after that for a long time. A couple hours later, with the security sweep gone, I found a strip mall that basically had nothing left but adobe walls and torn-up flooring. It’d been a big one, with interior halls and support rooms, but most of it had been scavenged long before any of us were born. The roof was gone. Maybe it had been made of tin or aluminum.
We did our due diligence, making sure we knew the access points and secondary escape routes. Those habits, they never left us.
Night fell. It got a lot colder, but the stars were stunning. We huddled together, taking turns sleeping, eating what we’d bought from XMart. It was horrible. The chocolate feed tasted like manure. And it was the best flavor.
It amazed me, to be honest, that I could make that distinction out here. Inside the games, when I chose chocolate anything, it was always the best. Maybe it was just my cable telling my submerged taste buds how sweet and dark the candy was, but that memory was overwhelming now.
Out here, everything was different from everything else. I picked up a handful of old pencils from a desk drawer, and every one was unique. Varying erasers, tips, lengths. Even the bite marks on a couple were as distinctive as fingerprints. Inside, every one of these pencils would be exactly identical—pure copies, to save the designer time. In there, a hollow-point .46-caliber gunshot always rang the same. Airplanes flying as a fleet behaved identically. Backgrounds repeated. Snowflakes were not individual. Days were the same length no matter what the season.
But out here, variety was the only consistency. It made me wonder how the search teams had found our neighborhood so easily.
Was I too much a product of games? Had I become predictable? How could they have tracked us so quickly? Perhaps I needed to change things up. Perhaps it was me, my simplicity, that was the biggest danger to my team.
And right then, that’s when I heard the sound.
I knew this sound. When a small pebble gets stuck in a combat boot tread and the boot comes down on a hard surface, the rock hits first. It doesn’t sound like a rock has dropped; no, it’s been pushed down, slowly, because the foot is moving so slowly.
The boot was creeping. Then the other foot stepped silently. That boot had no pebble wedged in the rubber lug.
And the wearer, whoever was out there, down the hall, he knew the mistake. I could almost see what he did next. He’d heard the rock hit too, so now he was balancing on one foot, taking a hand off his weapon, lifting a boot, and prying the stone away.
Then he could creep in silence again.
We weren’t alone.
At least one hunter was out there.
And that sneaky mother knew what he was doing.
Level 30
Quickly, one of us tapping the next, everyone was awake. But we were inside, in a closed hall. Just two clear exits: up where the intruder was, and to the rear. Were we being flushed that way? We could try to climb up and out, over the walls, but I was pretty sure we’d be cut down as we moved from the shadows into the starlight.
Down here, down low, darkness was our best cover.
If we’d had weapons, we would have pointed them toward the creeper. Without any, we formed into a tight diamond, Dakota in the middle. Five sets of ears and eyes trying to pick up anything through the gloom.
“P?” Mi whispered, waiting for an order. A team again. Just like that.
I listened hard. What was our best move? Rush him? Them?
Attack first: that would have been my normal order. I’d given it ten million times out of ten million opportunities.
But not now.
It was still too soon. We had no hints as to troop strength or position. We were small, weak, and unarmed.
“Retreat,” I whispered. “Assemble at location four if we get separated.” Habits die hard. We’d used our map and chosen a few safe areas around the city.
Our feet, all at the same time, began stepping back, back, back, down the long hall. The choreography was perfect. And dead silent.
In thirty steps, I knew, we’d get to a junction where two other corridors came together. At that point, we had multiple exits and could scatter and rendezvous at our meeting place. In any case, when we got to the crossing, we had a way to confuse whoever had made that sound.
TINK! Clumsy. Now he’d bumped a wall. Or had he just made that sound to give us a false location? This whole thing might just be a diversion. The bulk of the BlackStar troops could be waiting in the direction we’d been pushed into going. That’d be a good move. One of my moves.
I wished I could spray that area behind us with a few bullets. But I knew he wouldn’t make that mistake again, giving away his position. Nor would he stay in that spot.
I listened. Yes. Whoever it was, he had training. He moved immediately to another angle in the dark. He was stalking. Playing cat. That made us the mice.
“There’s just one of him,” York whispered low as we retreated. “I’ll lie in the dark under some garbage. You lead him in. When he passes, I’ll hammer his knees.”
“No,” I said, “we don’t need to engage yet. This is a lose-lose, we have no toys or tools. If this were my assault, I’d have sent this guy to flush us into a bigger area with more troopers.”
Mi agreed. “He’s pushing us in exactly the direction he wants to push us.”
“Ten yards to the corridor junction,” York announced. There was the four-way there, the way we’d come in.
“We’ll split quickly,” I decided. “Make him think.”
Mi was back in her element, offering, “I’ll go right, with Reno.”
“Good,” I agreed. “York, take straight.” That’d put me and Dakota going left. “He’ll pursue you since you’ll be the single quarry, but I’ll flank around once you’re clear. And we’ll play it by ear, try to take him out or trap him. Quietly.”
“Without killing him?” York asked. “I mean, right, yes, without killing him.”
I grinned slightly. York caught on. No reason to murder someone when all they’d done was scurry toward us and bang into a chair. Those weren’t exactly execution-level offenses.
“Five steps to the junction,” Dakota continued, then, “CRAP!”
She said it loud. Too loud. Our position was given away.
“Cover!” I barked, and we all dove into alcoves and doorways off to the sides. That took only a split second, but at least now we had our backs to something solid.
I listened for a fast approach. Nothing came.
“What, Dakota?” I demanded, angry as I get. She knew better than to cry out like that.
“There’s a gate now,” she hissed. “We’re trapped! The sliding door that covers the hallway! It’s shut!”
I didn’t believe it, so I moved over to where she was. Bad news. She was right.
“That was open a half hour ago!” Mi said. We all knew it had been. Reno had scouted it. And we trusted him not to make mistakes.
I grumbled to the rest, “Someone got in here quiet, behind us, and closed off our—”
Tick tick! More noise from the hall.
What could it be?
Tick tick! It was a faint echo, like a rat’s nails on linoleum, but not a rat. No, it was the sound a rifle’s sighting scope makes when the power source starts to build up a charge.
Two blips, red dots, popped on and glowed toward us through the night. I knew exactly what they were. They were as familiar to me as the green in Mi’s eyes.
Because they were eyes.
Night vision. Infrared goggles, staring at us from down the hall.
And then we heard more. The unmistakable CLACK-CLACK of machine-gun shells being chambered in a military-issue assault rifle.
That beautiful noise. Smooth, oiled, precise. I could probably have told you the weapon’s age and weight.
“Don’t move,” a man’s cold voice rang out. It didn’t shake. It didn’t waver. Whoever was out there was
used to being in situations in which he pointed a loaded weapon at unarmed citizens.
He continued, “I can see you all plain as day. Move to the center of the hall.”
We paused. It’s what you do. Push the limits, see if—
POW! POW! POW!
A muzzle flashed as three shells buzzed by my ears, just centimeters away.
My ears. Not warning shots at any random ears, but mine.
“I said move out!” he repeated.
My brain searched. This was not a low-rent wall guard. Or a store guard. No. The equipment was too nice. The guy using it was in command. This guy was a pro.
I motioned to my team. We had a bit of faint light from the commando’s goggle beams, but it didn’t compare to what that guy could see. I knew his rig—the weapon sights fed the scope reticule into his goggles. He could aim as easily as you do with a cursor when you play a game. We might be able to see shadows, but this guy could look right through our rib cages, put his red dot on any valve in our hearts, and cut away.
“OK, to the center,” I agreed. The five of us reluctantly shuffled into a pack. Mi, cleverly, was in the back, trying to feel for a gap in the outer edge of the wooden barrier, hoping for a way to make a break for it.
The eye beams approached three steps. Then three more. This guy was systematic. Trained. Mistake-free.
He panned around, making sure there were no tripwires or traps.
Man, I wished I’d left York lying in the hall behind him before the guy turned on his night vision.
But I hadn’t. So now he had the upper hand. But he hadn’t shot us yet, had he?
There must have been a reason.
Of course there was. In a flash, I realized the biggest difference between our old world and this new one: In there, everyone gets to go to Re-Sim. Out here, tough luck, the game is really over. This guy must have had strict orders not to harm us. He couldn’t kill us on sight or he’d fail his mission, so he didn’t hold all the cards.
I still had that one ace.
Now if I could just find a way to play it.
Level 31
What I’d have given for a gun just then. Anything that could penetrate his armor.
I did what I could. I reached up the back of my shirt and pulled a short wooden staff I’d found and kept. With one thumb I unfolded a long, rusting blade I’d ground from a piece of the scrap Mi and I had brought back in to sell. Not quite a samurai katana, but I bet I could cut pretty deep given the right arm or leg joint.
Did you think I’d have walked around completely unarmed all that time?
That was when I saw Mi reach into her boot and slide out a short club with a bicycle-chain ring strapped to the head.
She looked at me and my sword and shrugged at her own weapon. Our eyes locked for a sweet moment.
Reno pulled a heavy spiked bat with dual wrist straps. York had a pair of riot batons squirreled away. He’d bound fist guards over the slots for his knuckles and lined them with hard plastic blades. Yeah, that’s my team. Old habits don’t die at all.
Even Dakota whipped a bone cleaver from some hidden pocket. I could tell by the way the serrated edge glowed in the infrared light that she’d hardened it in a flame. Did she really think she was so different from the rest of us? She might be some kind of new version, an upgraded recruit, but the bottom line was that she wanted to live—even if others had to perish to make that happen.
POW! CRACK! Two more warning shots. The commando was moving forward again. And those last two blasts, as before, had been right at me.
This guy knew who the leader was. He knew which dog to beat first.
“I am gonna get max chits for this little capture.” He snickered, What, was it a bounty thing? Did he get paid for every escaped BlackStar unit he could re-tank? Were there more? Maybe this was a regular event and he was some kind of post-apoc blade runner.
A well-armed one. He was now within view, and I could tell we had our hands full.
First, he was much bigger than any of us. Bigger than any working-class adult or BlackStar thug we’d seen. Every inch of his body was covered by a corrugated layer of next-gen armor. Solid stuff, but so lightweight he barely knew it was there. Combat boots. Not a speck of skin showing. Kevlar everywhere. A helmet with full mask, and those x-ray eyes gleaming out, tracking each move. Giving him instant targets right through flesh, bone, and even some walls.
His left hand came off the weapon, to the side of his smoked-plastic helmet, and I saw him key a mic.
“Got them. Alive and kicking,” he reported. “Well, they do have some really scary pointy sticks to wave around. No trouble here. Send me a wagon.”
Damn. Backup on the way, but how far off? Although, he was right. It wasn’t like any of our prehistoric hack-’n’-slash melee weapons would even make a dent in that armor. He was a one-man juggernaut. A gun turret with legs.
Legs, then. That’d be our only shot. But we’d probably take some hits on the way in, right?
“Nice run, Phoenix.”
He recognized me? And by name?
“What? How do you know me?”
A snort. Then a step closer, keeping us all in his field of fire.
I saw the rest of his gear. A shotgun slung across his back. A pair of pistols on either hip. Sticking out of his boot tops were electrified wands, the kind with a million volts to send you into cardiac sleep as soon as they hit your grounded body.
Great. Even if we could boost his primary weapon, he had a whole rash of secondary choices. Knives. A machete. More.
“Seriously. How do you know my gamer name?”
Another snort. It was funny to him.
“Tell Mi to stop squeezing the grip on her stick. I know her moves.”
“What, we’ve played you?”
He mocked me. “Maybe I should make her whack you over the head with it, Phoenix? That’d be funny. OK, Mi, smash your boyfriend’s noggin with your stick really hard, or I swear I’ll, uh, shoot Reno in the leg.”
“What?” Mi asked. “You freakin’ nuts?”
POW! The rifle muzzle flashed. Reno’s pants leg twitched.
No blood, though. Straight through the fabric. This guy had great aim.
“I’m serious, chicklet. Knock Phoenix out. Crunch him good. Contract says I gotta bring you in alive. There aren’t any specifications for how alive.”
“I’m not cracking anyone’s skull with this except yours,” she assured him.
“So be it,” the commando agreed, and unleashed a burst of three quick shots, the red laser sight moving in a neat, straight line up Reno’s leg.
This time, dark liquid exploded everywhere. Reno howled and crumpled in a heap, holes opened front to back in his left calf, thigh, and hip.
That sound, that wail, it was so disturbing. It was so real. Not a canned recording or an actor pretending he’d been hit in some studio voice-over.
No, that was my buddy. And we could tell he was in agony.
But this was also our opportunity, and despite Reno’s crippling pain, we all knew we might not get another chance. The killer was trying not to kill us.
I broke right, Mi went straight for the guy’s throat, and York took the left flank.
Now, try to shoot all three of us? While we’re moving fast? Fat chance.
Indecision. I could tell he wanted to blast me first, but Mi was the closest. That moment of uncertainty can be fatal. I hit the guy low, in the sides of his knees, just as Mi drove her head straight into his chest armor.
York clotheslined the guy with a forearm to the side of his helmet, and he caught the skull flush. Now the bottom half of the soldier’s body was going north and the middle was going east, but his head and neck were being driven south. For a moment he resembled a pretzel, but just that quick, it was over. He was down and stunned. Held tight by three of us. I climbed on his big chest, my knees pinning him to the hard floor.
Using the hilt of my makeshift sword, I smashed his faceplate, over and over, sayin
g “Knock knock, let me in,” until a small crack appeared. Then I hit that spot four more times, shattering the Plexi.
Mi had one of his arms and was already stripping him of the weapons on that side. York had pinned his other arm, and Dakota was first to grab one of his pistols and level it at the exposed hole in the man’s face armor.
Behind us all, bleeding badly, trying to slow the flow by clutching holes but not having enough hands, Reno continued his leak toward death.
We’d get to him. Soon. But first . . .
The dark warrior demanded, “Get off me, Phoenix! I’ve got twenty guys racing here!”
“Maybe,” I said, knowing it was probably true.
“How does he know us?” Mi demanded. “Way better than what he’d get from a contract or wanted poster?”
I was wondering about that too. He picked us out by name in the dark, with only infrared to help him see. He knew Mi was my girl. He knew I was leader of the pack and knew to watch me the closest.
“You don’t get it yet, do you?” The man smirked. Even beaten, he still had the attitude. Pain didn’t bother him at all. Not like it was making Reno cry. He was choking on it. I knew our buddy needed help, bad.
“You still won’t win,” the man said. There was something about the way he said it, using the word win. I wished I had time to pull off that armored suit. Probably pumping meds and drugs even as we spoke. Steroids. Aggression serum. The works.
“Who are you!” Dakota barked, shoving the pistol into his groin. She found a seam between the cups, and I could tell it hurt the big man.
“You stupid crack,” our captive slurred. “Why would you want to be on the run like this all the time? This is your fault, newbie. Did you really think you’d be allowed to just disappear among the sheep? Not a chance. You’re wolves, every one of you. Even Dakota. You were made to rule, not follow.”
“Who the hell is that?” York demanded, scratching at what pieces were left of the guy’s facemask.
I remembered the radio. Enough of this; we had to get out of here, quick.