Chapter 77 – Bouncy Bullets

  Cole headed back to where Roxy and the others were dumping out the loot hastily collected from the apes they’d killed—an assortment of weapons, ammo, and armor pieces that looked more medieval than anything. Two plates of bone at least looked like front inserts for the MSV armor, but there was also a double-barreled shotgun, one helmet with the visage of an ape skull. And a cloak of shimmering, white velvet.

  Cole passed the pile as Howie held up an over-under grenade launcher to his LF analyzer. “Hey Cole, you want to check any of this stuff?”

  “I’m going to try to meditate and evolve my class. Set aside anything useful for me, and any weapons to field strip.”

  Howie waved his analyzer at him. “I got you. We’ll wake you if we’re about to die.”

  Cole continued on to the back of the site. Nona was already under her cloak, passed out and snoring softly. Roxy sat with her back to the stone wall, looking into the empty eyes of the ape-skull helmet from the pile of loot. Cole eased himself down next to her. After a few moments hesitation, Roxy unclipped her hi-cut helmet and strapped it to her bag, donning the otherworld armor in its place.

  “What’s that do?” he asked.

  “Boosts my Acuity whenever it’s hard to see and boosts my Strength for a few seconds after I deal lethal damage.” She glanced over at Cole. “I’m worried.”

  “About Beth?” he asked.

  “About you. I think your focus is drifting after hearing your brother’s name. You were more interested in that guy’s world than about mission critical information.”

  Cole scowled. “My focus is fine. We’re on Beth’s trail. If we don’t find her before we get to the door, we’ll find her on the next floor.”

  Roxy drew her knees up and crossed her arms over them. “God, I hope so. I’ve been where she is. She may seem tough to Artian, but she’s probably scared shitless. I know we’re supposed to just make contact and withdraw. But I wish there was more we could do for her, like on Vael.”

  “This isn’t Vael,” Cole reminded her. And he was glad for it. No tunnels, and no demon commandos. They didn’t have to steal Beth back from a fortified base and high-level guardians. They just had to keep moving, keep on her trail, and then keep her alive until she could reach the next safe area.

  Rox didn’t answer right away. “I heard you tell Howie you were going to try to meditate. Besson’s on first watch and I’ll take second. That should give you plenty of time.”

  “Thanks,” said Cole.

  “What do we do about Artian?” she asked softly.

  “What do you mean?” asked Cole, glancing at the man looking out to the east over the ridges and valleys.

  “He thinks we’re his new party. That we’re going to take him to the ninth floor so he can go home.”

  Cole settled back, trying to find a comfortable position. “If that keeps him from stabbing us in the back, then let him think it. But from what he told me of his world, it’s not much better than this one. All these worlds taking kids… they’re all fucked. Fungal apocalypse, demon apocalypse, eldritch apocalypse, machine apocalypse. Why would anyone want to go back to that?”

  Roxy shrugged. “You never fully leave your home, you know? Not when there’s still a way to fight for it.”

  “Or squeeze it for everything it’s got, in his case,” said Cole, nodding over to the scoundrel. “This tower is brutal. But it’s designed to be navigable, at least. Everywhere else you just get royally screwed. Except Earth, apparently. And we’re not always doing so hot, ourselves.”

  Roxy sat for a minute before pushing up and pulling her vest back on. “I’ll leave you alone and help Howie with the loot. You said you were looking for a bolt-gun, right? I think one dropped.”

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  His eyes were already closed as Roxy strode off. He relaxed as much as he could in the heat, beginning his breathing exercises in time to the rhythm of the stars of power in the back of his mind. Maybe it was the presence of the Lewis Field, or maybe he was just getting more practiced, but this time it felt like he caught the cadence almost immediately. Before he even realized he’d drifted inward, he was walking the Georgia boonies, feeling two paths pull him with different energies. Somewhere behind, he could feel the star from his previous evolution, burning bright and strong.

  He reached the next fork in the road, this one resembling an old, worn-down gas station with old-fashioned pumps. One from the Blue Ridge Mountains, on the trip he and his grandfather had to race against a forest fire. That gas station was probably gone, now. Burnt to cinders and warped metal piping.

  His inner Meteoric Valkyrie, or the mental projection of his class, or his Id/Ego/Superego (which he didn’t know the difference between, because who the fuck paid attention when literature teachers start bringing Sigmund Freud into the mix?), or whatever it was, stood leaning against an overgrown sign-post, stony arms crossed, spear pinned in the ground. A glassy, black rifle hung from a sling on its shoulder. Cole approached it.

  “You’re back,” it said. “Bout time you stopped dragging yer feet, Colton. We got work to get did.”

  This time it didn’t sound like his grandfather. It spoke in the voice of his late company lieutenant, Hoscoe. Neat trick.

  “Always work to do,” said Cole. “And always more waiting when it’s finished.”

  “Hooah, soldier. Great thing about work is it’ll always wait for you. But first you gotta get there, and the only way to do that is one foot ‘front of the other.”

  Cole shook his head. Hoscoe had been a bit of an asshole, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about the man’s personality rattling around in his head. Who was the Viking going to sound like next? Gillis? Roxy? He looked along each path, feeling them out. One direction, a cool breeze, sun filtering through the canopy, highlighting birds and bugs, and air so clear and cool he almost felt as though he could drink it in a glass. A single, strong, steady pull urged him toward that path. That had to be the path of the super-mark target. The one he could use to share and coordinate with his team. The path of a leader. He took a step towards it, feeling a gentle push like he was in a lazy river. But stopped.

  The other direction led into a dark, disjointed hollow. Bats screeched and fluttered, jerking in the air to catch bugs. The power at the other end didn’t feel like it was pulling him. Rather, it was subtly repulsive. It lashed out. But not randomly, with intent. Bouncy bullets. Howie had practically begged him to walk that evolution path. He wasn’t about to let the kid dictate his entire career, but he had spent more time thinking about future evolutions than anyone else on the team, rather than just taking them as they came.

  He looked at the Viking, watching him silently. He’d pushed off the signpost and now leaned on his spear.

  “No do-overs, huh?” asked Cole.

  “Real life don’t have an undo button, Colton. I sure as hell didn’t get one in Syria, or Kevlesh, or wherever the fuck I ended up smeared across the inside of an M-ATV. You get one chance.”

  Cole had been leaning strongly towards the team-oriented talent. But other meteoric Kickers had come and gone, and few had found power, real power. That right-hand path? That pulsing, punishing lash? That felt like power. That was how he became the kind of Kicker who could vault over an Oshkosh and gun down a horde of heart-eating demons.

  Before he could pass the point of no return toward the super-mark evolution, he did an about face and began to walk the path of the bouncing bullet. Unlike the other path, this one didn’t invite him. As soon as he was under the darkened canopy, insects began to needle him. Bats shrieked around his head, and the repulsive push from the star at the end of the trail quickened its tempo, as if to ward him away. But he persisted, pushing stray branches and insects out of his way, swatting away bats and bugs, and struggling under the pressure. The drone in his ears grew louder and more oppressive. He dropped to a knee as a force slammed into his gut but kept moving forward.

  By the time he dragged himself into the clearing, he was on all fours. He crawled, gasping for every breath, toward a dark star. A disk of spinning, white light warped around the midnight orb in a hectic, unstable weave. Every few seconds, a glowing mote would rocket out at an angle, burning through anything it touched.

  Is that a black hole? he thought to himself as he struggled upright. The weight on his chest intensified as he approached. Is this what I want burning in the back of my brain? This endless pit and its violent expulsions offered only death. And the closer he got, the more it began to pull him in. His feet slid across the dirt, carving furrows in the path. He continued towards it, watching light bend around and across its surface, and raised his hands. They burned as he broke the ring of white light, scattering phosphorescence through the clearing. Then his fingertips came apart, like he’d been driven through a fine mesh. He tried to scream, but the rest of him followed as the star pulled him in, changed him, remade him.

  Suddenly, he was standing in the clearing again, with the slowly churning black hole reflecting his own face.

  He could feel the evolution burning in the back of his mind, the new, chaotic, repulsive force ready to be unleashed with each of his four charges.