Echoes: The Ten Sigma Series Book 3

by A W Wang

  A glint comes from a bayonet halfway down the hillside.

  Dirt plinks nearby.

  We dive to the other side of the boulder.

  “Damn,” Jake says, “we’re caught too.”

  Just like the enemy planned.

  I force away the morbid thought and tap Jake’s shoulder. “We can’t wait. Let’s head down and find the others.”

  “Remember to watch your back. They’re everywhere.”

  “You too.”

  After Jake slides to the left, I go right, trying to make as little noise as possible. The effort doesn’t work as well as I’d wish, and every leaf I crunch or fallen twig I break sounds like one of the gunshots echoing through the ravines.

  Before I get too far, I spy a helmet lying on a crimson-splattered bed of rocks.

  While I pick my way over, the threads unleash advice about watching for the enemy and keeping quiet. The resulting confusion winds up being more distracting than anything else, and I ignore them, trusting to my athleticism and common sense.

  A few strides later, a bloody body appears beyond the last of the rocks. From amid a sea of dreadlocks, Whip’s glassy eyes stare with accusation.

  I sit next to him and drag my hand over my face, struggling to calm myself. Only four of us are left.

  The bayonet glints again. This time from only a few steps away. The rifle is held by a person with stupid platinum blonde hair flowing from an ugly helmet.

  Relieved, I almost call out to Cheri, but her rigid posture stops me.

  She hops over a fallen tree trunk and out of sight. Someone gurgles, and then gunshots crack from a nearby tree.

  I hop up, charging at the ambusher as he ducks behind a thick oak.

  An M1 cracks from the other side, and the man tumbles down the slope. Jake comes out of hiding and heads to the body to make sure he’s dead.

  I rush to where Cheri disappeared.

  Behind the log lies a man in red trim, stabbed through and through. Cheri rests next to him, holding a red-stained weapon and bleeding from horrible wounds.

  “Shit,” I say.

  Her eyes roll to me. “Oh, my darling, you came back.”

  “Of course, I did.” I manage a smile. “I’d never leave my favorite actress. You played the assassin superbly.”

  Blood drips from the corner of her mouth as she coughs. When she speaks, the French accent disappears and the words come out as pure New England. “But not perfectly. And that’s what it will take to get out of this place.”

  While I hesitate, trying to search for the right thing to say, she surprises me.

  “Stop acting and come to terms with the darkness inside you. Then be a noble knight and never stop looking for your wife. Love is the only pure thing in the universe. Follow your true love.”

  A smile graces the famous actress’s face, and her eyes close. As a last sigh leaves her mouth, moisture grows in my eyes.

  “Vic, let’s get out of here,” Jake says from nearby.

  I bite my lip, struggling to control tremors running over my body.

  Jake scoots over and slaps my helmet. “Come on. We’re still alive, but if we don’t move, we won’t be for long.”

  Reluctantly, I pull my gaze from the former movie star. “She deserved better.”

  “We all do, but this is war and deserve has nothing to do with it.”

  I nod. “Whip’s gone. We have to find Ann.”

  He shakes his head. “She’s dead.”

  My focus goes past Jake to the boulder at the top of the hill. At least three, maybe four or even five red-trimmed figures flow over the crest.

  “Crap,” I say with alarm.

  Jake turns and sees the coming trouble. “Let’s run.”

  I follow as he angles downslope, and we rush into a tangle of wood and shadow that leads near the side of the map.

  Things are happening too fast, and I search through the threads, hoping to find a solution.

  Jake jams his foot into the ground and swivels behind a tree. An instant later, he’s firing.

  Not understanding what he’s shooting at, but suddenly terrified, I drop into cover and empty my clip toward the crest.

  A flood of conflicting information roars from the threads about different battles and strategies. However, a single unifying notion rises above the confusion…

  We can’t sit still.

  “Gotta keep moving,” I yell to Jake.

  Eyes wide, he nods, knowing our position is indefensible against the superior numbers above.

  After reloading, we stay low to the frozen hillside and, sliding more than running, head toward a nearby drop that curves over a gully.

  As we move under sunbeams and past trees, shots fly around us, jerking the leaves and splattering black dirt.

  We stop and push against the broad base of an oak, gobbling down heavy breaths.

  More sounds of fighting come from beyond the blinding beams of sunlight to the east.

  “Jake,” I whisper. His head stays glued to the landscape. “Jake,” I say louder.

  “We’re getting flanked on both sides.” He points at the underbrush and gravel below us. “There’s not enough cover down there. We have to fight.”

  Sunshine reflects off Jake’s bayonet as he aims to our right and fires. Fifty meters upslope, a figure in red jerks and falls.

  Bullets strike the wide trunk, and I duck as splinters fly everywhere.

  A fleshy crack comes from next to me.

  Shocked, I slide to Jake, who has flopped down the hill. Blood leaks from a neat hole in his forehead.

  The first scenario has barely started, and my teammates are all gone.

  Panic rockets through my being as my eyes dart over the terrain, searching for something, anything.

  More shots echo through the trees.

  I scoot back up and crush my body into the frost-covered roots spreading from the oak, trying to control my trembling emotions.

  Steps crunch from the wide swath of forest above me.

  “You know, the Chinese have thirty-six stratagems,” internal me chimes.

  “How do you know that?” Somehow, the incredulous question is the only thing my racing mind can form.

  “Oh, I’ve been poking through these threads. There’s a lot of interesting stuff that might help you if you bothered to look.”

  Despite the circumstances, I roll my eyes. “This really isn’t a good time. Do you have a point to make?”

  “I was thinking you should try strategy number thirty-six, the one you’re good at.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Running.”

  I frown.

  Rifles crack, and bits of tree root rattle over my helmet as clinking metal accompanies nearing footsteps.

  “You’re outnumbered. I think you’d better run.”

  It’s sound advice.

  I shove myself back and retreat, rushing past the scant undergrowth toward the gully which wraps around the hillside.

  The slope drops away, and I jam my boots into the ground, coming to a quick stop.

  From the exposed position, I turn and fire blindly.

  An instant after the empty clip pings from the rifle, a searing pain rips through my stomach.

  Gut-shot, my body jerks backward as my feet slip on loose gravel.

  I tumble down the steep slope, my view spinning between pebbles sliding over the frost-covered ground and the bare branches of the forest canopy, trying to hide the clear blue sky above.

  Seventeen

  The short, mostly vertical journey ends when my severely wounded body crashes into a stream bed, accompanied by a shower of pebbles and dirt.

  I roll through matted leaves, groaning, as more rifles crack from above. Staying in the open isn’t an option.

  My eyes rove past the frost-dusted rocks bordering the hillside and into a clump of woods, searching for suitable cover.

  A pair of boulders rest a few steps behind the tree line.

  With one hand c
lutching my rifle and the other trying to staunch the bleeding, I stagger upright and stumble down the gully. Even though my feet slip on treacherous patches of ice lying under the leaves, fear of being shot again drives me onward. I pass a pile of rocks and hobble from the stream bed, dizzy and blinking from sweat. A few painful strides later, I flop behind the twin ovals of stone.

  To my dismay, a dripping trail of red points across the whiteness of the frost, directly at my location.

  I fumble with an ammo pouch, bloodying the canvas but managing to drag out a clip. My fingers tremble as I pull the bolt handle back with the base of my hand and push the clip in with my thumb. The rifle makes a satisfying snap to complete the reload.

  It’s none too soon. Two red-trimmed soldiers scoot down the steep slope.

  I flatten, desperately hoping to get a clean shot before I pass out.

  Instead of looking for me, my pursuers stoop and edge away as gunfire splatters the dirt above them.

  My finger tenses on the trigger.

  As opposed to me, these people have little trouble using the threads, only fleetingly poking their heads up and scanning the area without allowing any opportunity to kill them.

  I refrain from attacking. My shots have to count because, with dizziness threatening to overwhelm me, reloading under fire will be impossible.

  Loud pops come from nearby, and my enemies duck. Instead of returning fire, they seek better cover and crawl past the hillside, disappearing from sight.

  Someone from my side is helping me.

  “Um, you might want to help them back.”

  I roll from behind the boulders with a grimace. After crossing the stream bed, I advance around the steep incline with slow steps to avoid slipping. As the gun battle rages, I take quick breaths to push through the fogginess stemming from the loss of blood. Somehow, my noises don’t attract any attention, and when the distinctive ping signals the ejecting of a clip from an M1, I leap past the bend.

  Although preoccupied and facing the wrong way, my opponents swivel, reloading and bringing their rifles to bear in a single motion.

  Scattered shots whiz past as I yank the trigger. While their surprised shooting leaves me unscathed, my bullets blow gory holes in their flesh. Furious with the loss of my friends, I stagger forward after the eight-round clip empties, leading with my bayonet.

  The unmoving forms don’t so much as twitch as I puncture their bodies. When the surge of anger fades, I sink to my knees, spent and leaking more blood from the effort.

  However, there isn’t time to rest. I force my hand under my trench coat and into a canvas pouch.

  As I fumble for a fresh clip, footsteps come from my left.

  Slowly, I twist my head until my vision centers on a soldier wearing blue trim. My bleary eyes make out a dark-complexioned woman with long, wavy black hair. Although pretty like everyone else in this universe, there’s a hardness to her angular face as well as a harshness layered into her large brown eyes. Like someone who rolls out of bed on the wrong side every morning. Her sigma score wanders through my mind. The ghostly touch pronounces she’s something around a three. Or is it a thirty? Through the fogginess, I can’t pin the hazy digits down.

  “The scores only go up to ten,” internal me states.

  A weary sigh leaves my lips. She’s probably rolling her eyes.

  “Oh, the eyes are definitely rolling. Rolling like there’s no tomorrow.”

  “That makes no sense.”

  “Does it have to? Does anything a figment of your imagination says have to make sense?”

  Instead of continuing the inane conversation, I focus on my new friend and, by habit, send her a smile.

  She’s unimpressed. “Are you functional?”

  Yup, definitely wakes up on the wrong side.

  “I’m shot.”

  “Can you hold a rifle? Because if you can’t, I’m leaving you.”

  “I think she means it,” internal me says.

  “I’m sure she does,” I reply while nodding to the newcomer.

  After a quick check of the area, she drops next to me and pulls out her bayonet. As she stabs into my winter coat and cuts off a long strip, she says, “Your first scenario?”

  My breaths come faster while I nod to the rhetorical question. “Everything happened so fast. My team. They’re gone.”

  Sadness crosses her eyes.

  “I don’t understand, we all have the threads,” I say.

  “Okay, Mr. Bright Smile. Lesson for the day. Knowing how to fight doesn’t mean you can fight. That’s why I didn’t just attack these guys. One was a 3.5 and the other almost a four.”

  “Is that good?”

  “Really good.” She expels a nervous breath. “Someone getting that high means they’ve survived a lot of scenarios and are really tough. Which is why I distracted them for you. So you could kill them.” She yanks the strip of cloth tightly around the wound.

  I force my grimace into a pained smile and croak out, “Glad to be of service.”

  “Took you long enough,” she says, knotting the ends of the crude bandage. “This might hurt, but just be happy the wound is to the side. If it was in the center, you’d be useless.”

  “I know. And you’d leave me.”

  The corners of her lips rise into a faint smirk.

  “What’s your name?” I ask.

  “Cat, but that’s not important.”

  “I’m—”

  “That’s not important either,” she says, destroying the friendly moment. “We’re in trouble.”

  “What about everyone else?”

  “Either dead or running.” A frown crosses her face as her eyes dart toward the nearby hills. Nestled between two precipitous slopes, we’re shielded from the rest of the map.

  I suck in a deep breath, getting ready for the ordeal of returning to the blue fort.

  “Look at you, all eager.” Cat gives a humorless laugh and reloads my rifle. After handing it to me, she pours water on my fire. “When we get back to the fort, somehow we’ve got to defend the flag. I’m not getting my score zeroed.”

  The image of the crazy woman chasing me around the platform in the middle of the sea of acid crashes into my mind.

  “Who I did not have a crush on,” I say for the benefit of my internal sidekick.

  When no answer comes, I push myself to my knees with a groan.

  Although Cat snorts at the effort, she stands and extends her arm.

  “This is going to be tough. Can you make it?”

  “I can make it,” I say, grabbing her hand and letting her pull me upright.

  “Good, because the second you look like you can’t, I’m leaving.”

  “This woman definitely wants to leave you here,” internal me says for nobody’s benefit.

  “Great.”

  Rifle at the ready, Cat trails down the gully in the direction of our fort.

  I stagger after her, wincing with each step.

  “And you did have a crush on that crazy woman.”

  “Do you always have to be right?”

  “I only speak the truth.”

  Cat stops and turns. “Be quieter and move faster.”

  “I’ve got a hole in me.”

  “So what? We’ve all been wounded at some point. Move it or I’m gone.”

  “I kinda like her.”

  I ignore my annoying sidekick and force my feet to speed up, gritting my teeth. After a few steps, I glance at the terrain and wipe sweat from my brow, sighing. As opposed to the morning’s jog, the hills seem taller and the paths so much longer. Not to mention, the shadows lurking between the barren trees being so much darker.

  Before long, the stream bed leads into a narrow side ravine that bumps into the cliff defining the boundary of the map. Without worries about being shot, we make decent time. After the trail hooks inward, Cat stops near a rise and surveys the surroundings, allowing me time to catch up.

  Precious seconds later, I stumble next to her, sucking down he
avy breaths.

  Her brows are furrowed.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask.

  “Things are too quiet.”

  “That’s good, right?”

  “No, they’re regrouping. This scenario might be over before we reach the fort.”

  “Do you think we can win?”

  She shakes her head. “That depends on how many others make it back. And we’ve got the four people defending the flag. So maybe.”

  “I guess that’s better than nothing,” I say, attempting to smile through the pain.

  Distant steps and faint clinks disturb the calm.

  Cat glances up the nearest slope. “The main attack’s coming. Let’s go,” she says, pushing under my armpit and lifting.

  “Thanks,” I say, surprised by her helpfulness.

  “Don’t thank me. We’re going to need everybody who can hold a gun before this is over.”

  “I really like her,” internal me chirps.

  “At least one of us does.”

  With a clenched jaw, I embrace the pain and will my legs to keep pace with Cat’s hurried strides.

  The medium-sized woman is stronger than she looks, and only a few minutes pass before the blue fort comes into view.

  We hustle past the vertical logs of the front wall to the entryway. After Cat pounds on one of the double doors, wood scrapes as the barrier is pulled back.

  As soon as we enter, the door is shoved closed and the thick locking bar jammed into place.

  In disbelief, I let my eyes roam over the interior, thinking I’m missing something.

  “We’re fucked,” Cat says softly.

  Aside from the four guards left for defense, the rest of the area is empty.

  Nobody else has returned from the morning’s attack.

  Eighteen

  Despite the frosty surroundings, a sheen of sweat covers my skin, gluing the thick woolen uniform to my body.

  I wipe moisture from my forehead as the shivers from my loss of blood get worse.

  “Don’t fall asleep,” Cat says from my side.

  Too exhausted to reply, I dip my head and concentrate on sucking air into my lungs.

  Six of us remain from the original fifty, hunkering inside the shallow ring of stones encircling the flag. Although the giant swath of blue waves proudly overhead, the enemy only needs to touch the metal pole in order to win the scenario.