by J. F. Halpin
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Summers was screaming, hitting something, slamming the butt of his rifle into its skull. Once. Twice.
The skull gave, leaving Summers gasping for air over its remains. He needed to kill it. He needed to . . .
To what?
It was a skeleton. He was in one of the homes somewhere in town. How did he get here?
It wasn’t important. He got up.
God, he was hungry.
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Time passed. Summers wasn’t sure how long he’d been walking, but he could see more than just white. The air was clear, but he still couldn’t find what he searched for. He was sure it was out there, waiting for him. It would come for him if he rested. He could smell it. He needed to find it—to kill it, before it could kill him.
Wait, what was he looking for? He couldn’t remember.
He could smell something in the air, but he wasn’t sure what it was.
Then he heard soft footsteps in the snow. He turned just as the first wolf lunged for him. Raising the barrel of his gun almost automatically, he held down the trigger, watching the spray of gunfire tear the wolf apart in an instant. It fell into a heap at his feet. Dead.
Two more came. He aimed, fired. His gun clicked uselessly, empty. He brought it up in front of him just as one wolf barreled into his chest, teeth scrambling for purchase.
Summers drew the knife at his thigh, slamming it into the neck of the wolf. Warm blood ran down his face. He pulled the knife free and stabbed again, over and over, until he felt the creature go slack in his arms.
Before he could stand, the other was lunging for his head. He stabbed forward, but the creature caught his arm in its mouth. Somehow, it didn’t hurt.
He pushed forward, straddling the wolf, wrapping his fingers around the jaw holding his arm in a vice grip. He pulled, ignoring the sound of wet flesh tearing as it came loose. Summers freed his arm and slammed the knife into the wolf’s skull. It twitched a few times before it lay still.
Summers got to his feet. It was silent. He could smell the hot blood in the snow around him.
He was so hungry.
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Summers heard shouting in the distance and straightened. Something was coming. An enemy?
He heard his name. What was his name?
Summers, right?
A girl appeared in front of him. He raised his rifle. Something in his head screamed at him to stop. Why?
More people were coming. They had guns, too. He aimed at the closest man and pulled the trigger.
Click.
Nothing happened. Right, his gun was empty.
His name again. They weren’t trying to hurt him like the wolves. Why? Why were they waiting?
“Summers! Put the gun down!” Nowak yelled.
He considered the man. He had a gun. Why shouldn’t Summers have one, too?
“We’re your friends, man. We’re just trying to help you!” The woman spoke this time.
Friends? Right, he remembered them. He recognized them.
“Summers, please. Put it down,” Nowak continued.
He stared at the man for a long moment. The gun was useless, anyway. He let it fall to the snow.
Nowak stepped forward hesitantly. A part of him wanted to tear the man’s throat out. He repressed the urge.
They were his friends, weren’t they?
“Summers?”
Right. He was Summers.
Slowly, Nowak reached for his gun. He let him take it.
“Can you walk?” Nowak asked.
Summers nodded. Nowak placed a hand on his back. Mechanically, he started forward, Nowak guiding him.
He only then realized how wet his face was. He looked at his hands—red. Right, the blood. He was hungry. He was still hungry. But these were his friends. He wanted to sleep.
They took him to a car. The Humvee? Before he knew it, he was in the back seat. It was comfortable, somehow. Familiar.
“I need you to keep your shit together for a little longer, buddy. We can’t stay here, all right?” Nowak’s voice was distant, but he understood.
He needed to sleep. Then, he’d decide what to do next.
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“You feeling better?” Cortez asked.
“Yes.” The answer came out as a growl, which was unsettling even to him.
“You haven’t blinked in three hours.”
“I. Feel. Better.”
Cortez just stared at Summers.
“Blink, motherfucker.”
Summers’ head turned almost mechanically toward Cortez. He forced his eyes closed, then open. That seemed to satisfy her.
Summers had slept for the better part of a day. It was a truly dead sleep, which was for the best, all things considered. They’d decided to push through the night just to avoid running into any more surprises. The forest was still relatively empty of any kind of wildlife, despite the distance they’d put between themselves and the town.
“Leave him be,” Nowak called back. He’d taken over the chore of driving while Summers dealt with himself. Logan and Asle sat beside him, both staring with concern.
“You’re looking less . . . freaky at least,” Adams said.
Summers hadn’t noticed, but much like the wolves he’d slaughtered, his eyes were beyond bloodshot when they’d found him. Now, it just looked like he had a bad hangover. Felt like it, too. Apparently, it had taken the better part of two days to find him. Running in circles for that long was tough on the body. He wasn’t even sure what he’d done under the effects of the fog.
All he could remember were vague feelings of absolute, unrelenting rage. Given how much blood he’d been covered in when they’d found him, Summers could parse out at least some of what he’d been up to. He was just glad his friends were up in a tree for the worst of it. They’d only figured out where he was after he’d fired off a few shots.
It was easier for him to think now, but he still wasn’t back to his old self. He felt trapped in his own head, sort of like his brain was working on low power. His thoughts were coming, but far more slowly than they should be. The fact that he was aware of that at all was probably a good sign.
Cortez looked over at Asle.
“You sure you don’t know anything else?”
Asle looked at Summers for a long moment, shoulders tense. “No.”
Asle shifted in her seat. She was nervous. Even Summers could tell at this point. She shrank back as Summers’ head turned in her direction. There was something else there, too, something besides fear.
“Asle?” Summers started, then stopped as Asle scooted closer to Logan, eyes wide. His voice was coming out harsher than he’d intended.
Even Nowak could tell something was wrong with Asle. They’d questioned her more than a few times while Summers was asleep. Now, with him awake, she looked at him almost guiltily.
“Asle, please,” Nowak started. “If you know anything, anything at all, tell us.”
Asle seemed to consider this for long a moment. Nowak was about to press again when she finally spoke.
“I heard stories about fog,” Asle murmured. “The man, General, liked story a lot. Asked about it a lot. Brought people to talk about it. When I saw fog, I remembered. He . . . ordered not to talk about it. Not with anyone.”
“What?” Cortez yelled. She sounded pissed.
They’d assumed Asle knew about the poison because it was just some weird quirk of this world. If she had known beforehand . . .
Logan held up a hand to calm the others and looked down at the girl. “Asle, did you know we were going to run into that?”
“No!” Asle said quickly. She shrank back at Cortez’s obvious skepticism. “Thought they were stories. General ask people about places near town a long time ago. Mountains, lakes—not know where . . . not know we here.”
Nowak looked back at Summers. “The general mentioned a drug in his messages. It might be why the 63rd came to our ba
se. All he’d need to do is narrow down an area that matched the description he got from the locals.”
Cortez looked back at Logan. “You were in the 63rd. If she knew about this, I’d bet my ass you did, too. Or you really think we’re buying that whole need-to-know shit?”
“He didn’t know,” Summers muttered. His eye twitched, almost imperceptibly.
“What makes you so sure? Guy was with the group who kidnapped a girl and expects us to believe he’s playing babysitter?”
“He saw the fog. Didn’t run. He didn’t know,” Summers repeated.
Cortez watched Summers, an almost pitying expression on her face. Summers was aware of the look she gave him, and that a part of him should care. He didn’t.
“So, you don’t know if it’s permanent?” Cortez asked.
“No.” Asle curled her arms around her legs.
Summers made no response.
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They crested a large hill on their seventh day in the valley. Fortunately, they hadn’t run into the strange, poisonous fog again. Looking at the road they’d left behind, it was obvious they’d gotten lucky—very lucky. The forest below them was covered in patches of white. The source seemed to be a crater nearly half a mile wide to the west, or rather, a hot spring. But although they had no idea what was causing the fog’s odd symptoms, they had little desire to find out, either. Not if it could be helped.
They’d only considered the fact the Humvee might have some leftover residue on it after they’d made their escape. The fact that they were all fine after that first day was another stroke of luck, and the only reason Nowak had been convinced not to torch the Humvee or the rations they carried on the spot. That, and the threat of starvation. He had at least left a standing order not to lick any exposed surface before they’d had a chance to scrub it down, but that was mostly directed at Asle.
Summers was nearly back to his old self by the time they were out of the valley. He could talk normally again and felt more lucid, though he did still have the lingering taste of wolf in his mouth and didn’t expect it to go away any time soon.
He’d also noticed that at some point his arm had taken some very big, very painful-looking gouges in it, likely from the wolves he’d encountered. It didn’t hurt, though. Not even when Nowak had stitched it up. That should have been worrying, but Summers had just accepted that whatever drug was in that fog must have had a numbing effect. Compared to everything else he’d experienced in the last few days, it was something he barely registered.
In fact, the only thing that had been bothering him was the smell. Summers couldn’t quite place it, but something about the Humvee was off. It was like someone had dumped a bottle of Febreze into it—not really an offensive odor, but an overpowering one. No one else made any comments, so Summers could only assume that they were dealing with the predictable result of jamming seven people into a tight space for so long.
That night, Summers felt lucid enough to help set up camp. They’d found a cliff wall to put their backs to, and the thick vegetation around them shielded them from the main road. He was laser-focused on trying to wire one of the lights to the Humvee, with mixed results.
For some reason, the fog had sharpened some reflexes and senses, but made doing literally anything else difficult. It was as though his body had little interest in anything that was not immediately related to violence. It was frustrating to not be able to use something as simple as a fork, and the frustration made him feel as though he would lose control of himself again. He didn’t, but the constant resting bitch face he now had was not a comfort for his friends. Needless to say, despite his progress, the rest of the camp was keeping their distance from Summers. And he didn’t blame them.
So, he was angry, alone, staring out at the vast forest still in front of them. He’d only slept in short, fitful bursts for the last few nights. And nothing smelled or tasted like it should.
Summers looked over to where Nowak stood, still looking at the map they’d found. It had no actual scale and was more reminiscent of a nine-year-old’s treasure map than an actual road map. Still, they knew they were on the right track. A crossroads they’d passed earlier corresponded to one shown on the map itself. After that, the road got a lot smoother.
Summers finally finished stowing a solar panel—a feat that took about five times longer than it should have—when he found Asle standing beside him. The girl was looking up at him, clearly waiting for his attention.
“How long have you been standing there?”
“Long time,” Asle responded. He really needed to pay more attention. Maybe add tunnel vision to the list of side effects? The girl just kept looking at him expectantly.
“Uh, what’s up?”
Asle just tilted her head at that question. Summers made a note to teach her slang at some point.
“What did you want to talk with me about?”
“Are you, you?”
Summers considered that. Part of him wanted to be offended; that part of him, however, was a child. After how they’d found him, it was more than a valid question. Hell, if he were in Asle’s shoes, he might have brought a gun with him, just in case.
“I think it’s out of my system now. Mostly, anyway.”
Asle took a moment before she stepped back. Then, to his surprise, she bowed to him slightly.
“Tosan tak.” She looked up. “It means thank you. Many thank-yous. So . . . thank you.”
“I’m going to assume this is about what happened in the town?”
She nodded. Oh good, he thought. She learned nodding.
“You saved us first by warning us. So, uh, thanks for that?”
“Welcome.” Asle looked back at him, still expectant.
Summers just stared back. There was definitely something wrong. She looked nervous somehow.
“Look, I’m better, all right? You don’t need to worry.”
Asle didn’t respond. She just kept staring, her back tense.
“Was there something else?” Summers ventured. He felt like he was missing some context here, and he couldn’t figure out if it was the fog’s effects, or his own clueless brain at fault.
“I said, thank you.”
Okay, he had no idea what she wanted.
“You are very welcome?”
Asle relaxed. She gave another quick bow and turned. Apparently, that was the end of their little discussion. He saw her walk off toward Logan—who was also walking. He wasn’t sure how he’d missed that. Nowak must have completed his prosthetic at some point, because Logan was bouncing around on it. Although, by the pained expression he wore, it seemed it was still painful for him. Summers watched as Nowak took it off the man for adjustments.
The “running blade” was apparently sound. Summers just hoped the guy watched where he was going. He didn’t look forward to getting kicked by someone with a sword for a leg.
As Summers turned back to the forest, he smelled something new. Smoke. A quick look around and he found a column of black rising in the distance, miles off. A campfire? That was odd. He shouldn’t be able to see it this clearly against the dark night sky. Hell, he shouldn’t be able to smell it, either.
“Hey, Sarge, I think we have company.”
Chapter 7: A New Friend
As it turned out, the crossroads the group had passed a few miles back was another route to the city. And the smoke he’d seen was from a merchant wagon behind them. They’d tried to get an early start in the hopes they’d outpace the group, but for one reason or another, they appeared to be in a rush. Which was why Summers was now crouched down beside the Humvee, looking at the oncoming wagon through a pair of binoculars.
“Lot of guards,” Summers noted.
There was, in fact, nothing but guards. Summers didn’t know much about history, but he was fairly sure that merchant wagons were typically run by merchants. Everyone around the small wagon was wearing armor of some kind, with shields and spears in their hands.
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��We can hide the Humvee and let them pass,” Adams suggested.
That was Summers’ first instinct, too, which was why he was surprised when Nowak shook his head. “We’re going to have to make first contact sooner or later. This might be a good opportunity for a practice run.”
His sergeant had a point. Armed as they were, he could only spot about twelve guards in total. And they were bringing spears to a gunfight. In a stand-up fight, they weren’t anything close to being a match.
“Asle, what do you think?” Logan prompted.
The girl shook her head in response. “Not sure.”
“I can probably get up that ravine.” Cortez nodded to a slope in the distance, overlooking the main road. “If things go south, I’ll at least have a decent angle on you.”
“Take Adams with you.” Nowak gestured to the private. “Wait, how often were you hitting that range at base?”
“Range?” Adams asked.
“You watch her back and do not shoot anywhere near our direction, you hear me?” Nowak pointed at Adams for emphasis. “And no explosives.” Nowak turned his attention to Cortez.
“Why not?” Cortez actually looked hurt.
“Because we can’t see what’s in that wagon. Could be a traveling orphanage, for all we know.”
“Ugh. Fine.”
Nowak looked to Asle. “We’re going to try it. Are you up to translating for us?”
Asle hesitated only a moment before she nodded.
“How ’bout you, Summers? You good?” Nowak looked at him with concern.
It annoyed him, but Summers kept his face neutral. “I’m good.”
Nowak smiled, clapping him on the shoulder. “All right, you’re with me on point. Logan, you make sure that no one gets too close to our translator.” Nowak smiled. “Let’s go say hello.”
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Summers walked alongside the others down the dirt road. Nowak called Asle over and started asking about some basic phrases in her language, which she apparently called “Nos.”
Logan bounced along beside Summers on his new leg. He still hobbled a bit, but he was surprised the man was able to keep up, even with their slow pace.
“Hey, Logan, can I ask you a question?”
