I knew that the area was completely protected from the denizens of the sea, but my memories of the man-of-war were still strong. So, my heart raced as I swam from one pillar to the next until, at last, I reached my destination.

  This column was a good deal larger than the others, and I knew from my research that it was one of the hubs that controlled the Mist-gathering function associated with the lattice. It only governed a relatively small portion of the overall structure, but it was enough for what I intended. The only problem was that it only had two terminals that could get me into the system. One was atop the lattice, where I would doubtless be seen. The other was underwater.

  I took a deep breath, then slipped under the waves. The moment I looked down, I saw a forest of glowing red kelp. Crimson energy danced from one frond to another, arcing between them like electricity. Going down there was out of the question; I still didn’t know what exactly would happen if I did, but I’d heard from Calvin that it was dangerous. Thankfully, I didn’t have to chance it because I quickly located the panel that was my goal.

  I flipped over and kicked down a half dozen yards and grabbed ahold of the handle. When I turned it, the latch released, and the small door swung open to reveal a terminal. I could hold my breath for a while—far longer than most people—but I didn’t want to waste any time. So, I quickly extracted the black-and-gold cord of my personal link from my artificial wrist and thrust the end into the terminal’s port.

  A familiar message flashed on my HUD:

  Secure terminal:

  [Enter Password] or [Mistwalk]

  I chose the latter and was immediately confronted by an elaborate puzzle that was far more complicated than most defenses I had encountered. It didn’t matter. I spent most of my spare time training my Mind by completing one puzzle after another. I’d even graduated to creating my own and letting an AI try to break through. I never succeeded in thwarting the artificial intelligence, but it was great training. Whatever the case, the terminal’s admittedly stout defenses eventually fell before me, giving me access to the lattice.

  It took a few minutes for me to find the appropriate section—after all, it was an unfamiliar system—but once I did find it, I wasted no more time before tripling the Mist-condensing function. Immediately, I felt the Mist stir, which told me that the job was done. Now, I just had to get out without being seen.

  The excess Mist would almost assuredly kill the kelp in that section. And even if it didn’t, it would mutate. Either way, it would completely ruin an entire crop and shut down harvesting in that section for weeks while they let the Mist normalize. That would cost Blue Epoch hundreds of thousands of credits. Perhaps even millions. But more importantly, it would get their attention. If everything worked properly, they would send someone to investigate, and when they did, they would discover that Calvin was a junkie. The blame would land squarely on his shoulders, and if he was lucky, he would go home in disgrace. If he was unlucky, Blue Epoch might make an example of him.

  Regardless of which outcome presented itself, his mother, who’d gotten him the job in the first place, would shoulder some of the blame, as well. Humiliated and brought low in the eyes of her employer, her star would dim, giving Mia Salvatore the chance to rise.

  And all it took was ruining one man’s life.

  I wanted to believe it was worth it, but niggling doubts crept through my mind. As I swam toward the shore, I squashed them mercilessly. I would ruin the lives of a hundred Calvins if it meant I could get my revenge.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  A GRIM REMINDER

  The wolves are nipping at my heels. I’m surrounded on all sides by people who want to take what I’ve worked so hard for. I wonder if Jeremiah ever had to deal with anything like it.

  —Nora Lancaster

  Ileft Biloxi much as I’d entered, though I managed to get out without running into any more of Blue Epoch’s guards. When I finally left the town behind, I let out a sigh of relief. Performing that kind of a mission wasn’t as adrenaline pumping as getting into a firefight, but it was, perhaps, even more stressful. The whole time I’d spent creeping between the buildings, my heart had been beating out of control. But finally, with my task complete, I could relax a little.

  Of course, that was when I was attacked.

  I was only ten miles or so away from Biloxi when something raced out of the night’s shadows and tackled me from my hover bike. Due to the uneven terrain, I hadn’t been going that fast, so the impact as I hit the ground wasn’t very jarring, but still, I was a bit surprised that I hadn’t sensed whatever it was that had attacked me.

  I rolled across the ground, using the Hand of God to block the monster’s snapping jaws as we skidded to a stop. The cybernetic hand was nearly indestructible, so it served well as a bit until I finally yanked Ferdinand II from his holster and hip fired into the monster’s torso.

  One shot.

  Two.

  Then a third.

  Each one tore a massive hole through the creature, but it didn’t stop fighting until the fourth. I pushed away, and I only had a moment to confirm that my attacker was a wildling. Long, rangy, and naked, the creature even had teeth that had been filed to sharp points. If I’d let it get to the bare skin around my neck, those needle-sharp teeth would have easily torn through my throat. After all, these former humans were strong enough to survive among the wild monsters. Thinking that my Constitution attribute—or even my Sheath—would protect me was folly.

  I climbed to my feet and, just to be sure, put another bullet in the monster’s head. Then, I holstered Ferdinand II and drew my R-14 from my arsenal implant. It was loaded, and I was ready for whatever came next.

  With a flick of my mind, I de-summoned the Cutter. It had kept going for a few dozen feet before sliding from the road and into the woods, so it was at the edge of my range. Any farther, and it would have been too faraway to de-summon.

  But I wasn’t really worried about that. Instead, I was on the lookout for the wildling’s pack. Like the people they’d once been, wildlings were social creatures. I’d only seen individuals a couple of times, and those had been scouts. So, if there was one around, it was almost guaranteed that there would be plenty more to follow.

  Flaring Observation to its limits, I swept my gaze around. As dark as it was, that ability represented my only hope of seeing them coming. The wildling had attacked from the north—the right side of the road—so that’s where I focused my attention. And sure enough, I saw dark shapes flitting through the trees.

  There weren’t just a handful of the humanoid monsters. There were dozens. Maybe more than a hundred. I’d never seen a pack so big. More, they had never hesitated before attacking. These wildlings, though, showed some level of intelligence in that they took the time to surround me.

  Like wolves.

  Or the intelligent human beings they once had been.

  It was a terrifying thought.

  I brought my weapon to my shoulder and slowly backed away. I could stand and fight, but there was every chance that they’d get through my defenses. Or they’d continue to encircle me. If that happened, I’d end up as food.

  One of the wildlings got tired of waiting, and he darted out of the forest, his bare feet kicking up leaves as he dashed toward me. His fingernails had either been filed or transformed into claws. I didn’t want to get close enough to find out, so I fired a burst in his direction.

  He twitched to the side far more quickly than I thought a human being could move, and though the plasma burst clipped his shoulder, it should have hit him in the chest. How had he moved so quickly? I had no idea. I fired again, this time accounting for his twitchy speed. He tried to dodge, but my aim was true.

  His chest exploded.

  But he didn’t stop. Not immediately, at least. Instead, he leaped across the space between us and swung at me in a sweeping strike, his claws leading the way. I ducked, then used my rifle’s stock in an uppercut that sent him flying into the air. He thudded into the ground, still twitching, but he didn’t rise.

  My panic rose, my heart beating through my chest. That was just one of them. And there were dozens—maybe hundreds—more slowly surrounding me. I couldn’t take them. Not in the open, at least. No—I needed a strategic retreat.

  So, I turned and ran.

  It was as if a dam had burst. The wildlings flooded out of the forest, howling with glee and anticipation. I could practically feel their bloodlust. Their hunger. It spurred me to run even faster.

  My Constitution was impressive, and I had the willpower to eke the most out of the attribute. But still, I knew I couldn’t escape. The wildlings were faster. Stronger. They were going to catch me. It might take a few minutes, or it could be over in a couple more seconds, but eventually, they would overtake me.

  If I stopped to summon my Cutter, they’d overwhelm me before I could even mount it. I had to remain afoot. I needed shelter. A defensive position. So, I ran, my feet thundering against the cracked pavement of the road as I searched for some way to even the odds. The BMAP might do it, but I suspected the wildlings were too fast. One had almost dodged the assault rifle’s issue, so doing the same with the BMAP’s relatively slow-moving projectile would be comparatively easy.

  The scattergun, maybe?

  It would slow them down a little, but these wildlings were advanced enough that it would almost assuredly be nonlethal. My nano-sword would cut them. My Pulsar would make easy work of them. But both had problems, too. In the case of the nano-sword, I’d have to get in close. They were faster and stronger than me, so that was a recipe for a quick death. I might take a few of them out, but I’d fall soon enough.

  I considered trying to lose them in the woods, but that was a recipe for disaster, as well. After all, they lived there. It would be sheer idiocy to fight them on their home turf. So, I continued to sprint down the road, barely keeping ahead of the howling pack of wildlings. Listening to them—or even seeing them—it was sometimes difficult to believe that they’d once been human. They certainly sounded like animals, and they no longer looked completely human, with their elongated arms and legs, misshapen bodies, and natural weapons.

  But I knew that they were just victims, transformed by unrestrained and uncontrolled Mist. The only thing protecting most humans from that fate were the Nexus Implants. Without them, we’d all end up as little more than wild animals driven by instinct and cunning.

  I continued to run. I couldn’t stop, lest they fall upon me like a pack of starving wolves. Even if I took a few of them out, the rest would finish the job. And they certainly wouldn’t flinch at seeing one of their number laid low. Fortunately, with my training and Constitution, I could run flat-out for quite some time. Unfortunately, so could they.

  My steps ate up the ground, but I couldn’t leave them behind. As I pushed myself to run faster, I did stretch my lead a little, but I knew it was temporary. They would eventually catch me and rip me limb from limb. I tossed out a couple of grenades as I ran, but the creatures were intelligent enough to recognize their danger. Even as the sound of explosions filled the air behind me, the wildlings wove their way through the various blasts, almost as if they possessed some sixth sense.

  Still, I kept running. And they followed.

  My heart continued to pound, my wind finally started to give out, and still, I saw no way out. I was on the verge of turning and taking the initiative by blanketing my surroundings in the BMAP’s issue, but then I finally saw my salvation.

  It was just a house.

  Or what was left of one, at least. But I knew how to use that kind of terrain to my advantage. So, I quickly veered off course, leaping over a few bushes before I crashed through the doorway. I rolled and twisted, coming up with my R-14 pointed in the direction of the doorway. A second later, the first wildlings poured through, all screeching hunger and wicked claws.

  I fired, one three-round burst after another. Each time one of the wildlings fell, another took its place. A couple tried to get through the window, but I drew Ferdinand II with one hand while I continued firing at the door with the other. Dual wielding weapons significantly reduced my accuracy—especially when one of those weapons was a rifle—but with my enemies so close, I couldn’t miss.

  Soon enough, Ferdinand II ran dry—he only had a nine-shot canister, and I’d already used a few rounds in the first assault—so I slowly backed away and up a set of nearby stairs. They creaked underneath me, and I was prepared to leap if they collapsed. But miraculously, they held true. I continued to fire, stopping only to switch magazines.

  Dozens of wildlings went down as they flooded through the front door and up the stairs. A human would have been smart enough to come at me from a different angle. These creatures were too focused on the meal in front of them to even consider that, though. They hunted by instinct, giving them the illusion of cunning, but it was a shallow thing. They just couldn’t think.

  Or that’s what I thought.

  Just after the last of the wildlings fell on the stairs, I found out just how dangerous making assumptions about the capabilities of my enemies could be.

  A line of fire erupted on my back as a particularly huge wildling swept her claws diagonally from one of my shoulders to my ribs. I let out a scream as I tumbled forward, rolling across dead or dying wildlings. The ones who yet lived swiped feebly at me, but they caught only air.

  That didn’t mean I was out of the woods, though. As I reached the bottom of the stairs, I rolled to my feet just in time to see a giant female wildling barreling down the stairs like an out-of-control monorail. I dove to the side, narrowly avoiding a swipe of her claws, squeezing the R-14’s trigger as I sailed through the air. The assault rifle barked, and superheated balls of plasma hit her in the ribs. However, to my enormous surprise, they only sizzled a bit.

  No giant holes. No exploded torso. Just a tight grouping of burn marks.

  As I hit the floor, skidding across ancient hardwood, she howled, her every muscle contracting as she swung to face me. But she didn’t rush. The shots had hurt her. She was wary.

  I fired again.

  Over and over until my magazine ran dry. Still, she strode forward, her arms so long that her claws nearly scraped the floor. I didn’t have time to exchange the empty magazine for a fresh one, so I dismissed the weapon back into my arsenal implant. I reached over my shoulder, drawing my nano-sword. It had been sharp enough to get through Horace Lafontaine’s subdermal armor back during my first test. It should get through this hulking wildling’s flesh, too.

  I rushed toward her, ducking under a wild swing of her claws, but I didn’t lash out with my blade. Not until I’d passed her by. Then, with a backhanded strike, I attacked her hamstrings. Once. Twice. They parted cleanly. She fell to her knees with a howl, and I tried to follow up with a fatal strike to her head, but I had to abort the attack in order to narrowly evade an overhand swipe of her claws.

  Even then, I had to whip my blade up to knock it aside. When sword met claw, sparks flew, telling me just how lethal the wildling’s natural weapons were. I backed away until my back hit the wall.

  She hissed and spat as she tried to track me, but her ruined hamstrings made her clumsy. The movement of the wildlings was jerky in the best of times—almost as if they could scarcely control their own bodies—but the severing of her hamstrings exacerbated the situation.

  I was right next to the open door. I could probably run, and she would have little chance of catching me.

  But I didn’t want to do that.

  She had attacked me. Wounded me. She had picked a fight. And I was unwilling to let her get away with nothing but a couple of wounds that would probably heal. So, I sheathed my sword, drawing the BMAP a moment later. Then, I activated Disengage as I kicked into a backward leap. The ability had only one purpose—to put distance between me and a target. It did that by augmenting the force of my next step, which, in this instance, was a leap.

  I flew through the door even faster than I could run, and as I sailed through the air, I brought the BMAP to my shoulder. At the same time, I saw the giant wildling step right into the fatal funnel. An all-too-human hatred burned in her eyes as she grasped at the doorframe.

  I fired.

  The BMAP’s round, as big around as my wrist and with a payload that could level an armored personnel carrier, flew with a slight arc. The wildling hadn’t tried to dodge my previous shots, and this one was no different.

  I was thirty feet away and still in the air when the round went off.

  Everything went white, and I was swept even farther away by the concussive blast. I slammed into a tree, which sent me tumbling into another. Then another until I hit the ground, digging a small furrow into the carpet of leaves and dirt. I skidded to a stop a dozen or so feet later, my entire body aching.

  I lay there for a long moment before I managed to gather my wits enough to push myself to my feet. I knew I had at least a concussion, but probably a couple of broken ribs, too. And my knee had been twisted in the wrong direction; I didn’t feel as if anything was broken or torn, but it certainly didn’t feel good.

  I rose on unsteady feet and looked back in the direction of the house. I could see the steady glow of flames, but I was too far into the forest to see much more than that. So, I limped forward, using the various trees to steady myself. I kept the BMAP out, but I knew that if the wildling had survived my last shot, I didn’t really have anything in my arsenal that could take her out.

  A headshot from my Pulsar, so long as I used Empowered Shot, would probably do the trick. But even that wasn’t certain. I dismissed the stubby artillery platform, exchanging it for my sniper rifle.

  Then, I crept forward, my gait rendered awkward by my left knee’s refusal to bend. I pushed through it, eventually finding my way to the tree line.

 

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