Echoes: The Ten Sigma Series Book 3

by A W Wang

  By the time we skirt around a few dunes and begin our advance from the eastern side, dawn has brightened into morning.

  With sunlight beating on our backs, we crawl forward and cut loose at a hundred meters.

  Instantly, lead pelts the surrounding sand as the enemy shoots from between wooden shutters covering the windows.

  Over the next minute, we work our way over the rolling terrain with the two groups alternating between providing suppressing fire and advancing.

  At the halfway point, I charge over a dune. As my boots struggle to find purchase on the loose sand, a hail of bullets flies past.

  A fleshy impact sounds, and the person next to me cries out.

  Unwilling to stop, I run down the slope and push onward. Uncomfortable moments pass as lead whizzes around me before I finally flop over the top of a mound and slide into cover. A feeling of elation spreads as I rush to the next and final rise. Taking the initiative and dictating the action is much better than the constant running we’ve been doing since this campaign started.

  When I reach the crest, I poke my head up.

  Only flat ground lies between me and the target. When the other group starts moving, I rapidly flick the lever of my rifle and fire. After the bullets run out, I yank out my six-shooter and empty it into a slatted window.

  I slide back down and start reloading.

  Ty thumps nearby, splashing sand over my leg. Instead of checking forward, his eyes dart to the sides before he glances to our rear.

  “Knock it off,” I say, filling the chambers of my revolver. “They won’t kill us until they don’t need us.”

  “Says you. There are less of them, and they’ll have to ambush us at the worst point to win.”

  “If they take us out now, they have to go the rest of the way alone. They won’t make it.”

  Cat rolls into the channel, stopping the discussion. “Eyes on the prize, gentlemen. Don’t let too many things distract you.”

  “How do you want to do this, the old one-two through the door?”

  She laughs as she slips bullets from her bandoleer into her rifle. “Oh, we really did make a great team. I’m thinking the door’s too obvious. How about the window?”

  I smile and shove my gun into its holster. “Window it is.”

  After our weapons are loaded, she says, “Well, are we ready?”

  When the next wave of shooting erupts from the other group, we spill over the rise and hit the flat ground running and firing. Although bullets zip uncomfortably close, our weight of fire into the doorway and windows prevents the enemy from getting a bead on our sprinting forms. When my rifle empties, I toss it and blaze away with the six-shooter.

  The shuttered window comes up quickly, and I leap, lowering my shoulder, and crash through the shot-up wood planking.

  An obstacle by the doorway swivels.

  I tumble over a hard dirt floor and send my last two rounds into him. As Cat flies through the now uncovered window and Ty thunders through the front door, I toss my gun at another darkly dressed figure and yank out my knife. While confused gunfire crisscrosses the room, I keep low and dart at a man near the opposite window.

  He swings his revolver too late, and I charge under his arm and stab upward through his rib cage. Gurgles spill from his lips as he collapses.

  I swivel, my bloody knife extended, ready for more, but the dim space is quiet. Five bodies cover the floor. Like most house-to-house fights, this one was short and furious.

  Cat steps from the back room. “It’s clear.”

  Mouse taps my side, smirking wide enough to reveal her small front teeth. She hands me a revolver. “I like knives better,” she says with youthful exuberance. “They never run out of bullets.”

  I take the gun, wondering when she came inside and if she was involved with the fighting. “Thanks,” I reply, happy she’s on my team.

  Rapid shots come from the other buildings and fall silent.

  “Looks like the others didn’t bother waiting for us,” Ty says, peering past the open doorway. “At least these opponents still aren’t very good.”

  I finish loading the revolver by the time Jill enters and announces, “We got the other five.”

  “Did we lose anyone?” I ask.

  “A couple of superficial wounds.”

  Layla comes through the door, wiping sand from her hair. “Our team lost one, Fred.”

  Although I’m disappointed our luck has changed with one dead, part of me is thankful I won’t have to kill Fred later. The awful thought morphs into guilt when I realize I’d like to have Layla and the rest of Cat’s team die in the same way.

  Cat says, “Vic, you were right. There are supplies—food, water, and bullets—in the back.”

  I push away the uncomfortable feelings and march past her and enter the storage room.

  The others follow into the cramped space.

  Against the far wall are stacked boxes with everything we need. I move to an open one labeled “Water” and toss everyone a bottle.

  As people eagerly drink, Cat announces, “Ugh, this was itchy as hell.” Completely naked, she holds up her uniform and shakes sand from the insides.

  She meets my stare and wiggles. “Like anything you see?”

  Curious glances come our way.

  Although my loins twitch as I remember our last scenario, I softly reply, “Do whatever you want.”

  “My uniform’s ripped. Anyone care if I make this campaign bearable?”

  The others, having never reconnected with their libidos, only answer with shrugs of indifference.

  I say to the group, “Grab whatever you need, and let’s get out of here.”

  “Wait, you don’t want to shelter from the heat?” Cat says, wiping sand from the top of her breasts.

  With my gaze centered on her face, I reply, “If we dawdle, more obstacles will be created, and we’ll be trapped.” I pause to pull a cloth covering from a box. “This was only meant as a resupply. The only place to rest is in a tram or way station.”

  “You take the fun out of everything,” Cat says, pulling on her unitard and throwing on a sun hat. “But you’re probably right. I’d rather have a running battle than letting them get ahead and having to attack a prepared position.”

  It takes only a few minutes for everyone to dress against the heat and fill up their knapsacks with as much as they can carry. Then without a final glance to the dead obstacles or a moment of silence for Fred, the fifteen of us set off in the direction of the next way station, which is conveniently cut as an arrowhead into a nearby dune.

  Cheerful people set their guns aside and drop into plush seats, chatting about our close escapes during the savage parts of the desert fighting.

  Quietly, I settle into my usual position next to the front window and enjoy the cool air blowing over my skin. After a few deep breaths, I take a swig of water and let my mind clear from the endless series of running fights and ferocious assaults for new supplies.

  Another ring passed with only a single casualty.

  Sorry, Fred.

  After a gentle shake, the tram glides from the way station and over low orange sunbeams cutting across the endless sea of dunes.

  As I appreciate the view, laughter erupts from the rear. Cece, who has a real flair for humor, is joking and making mock flexes for one of the Jims and a couple of people from Cat’s team. Near them, Layla good-naturedly shakes sand from Tom’s bright red hair.

  Cat slumps into the seat across from me. “I don’t think I’ll miss the heat at all.”

  I spill some water into my hand and wipe my face and parched lips. “Me either. At least for now. When we’re stuck in ice and snow, this might seem a lot better.”

  She sniffs under her arm. “Ewe, I miss getting a clean body after every scenario.”

  My nose wrinkles as I sniff at the heavy, stale odors floating around the cabin. “Me too.”

  Jill steps between us. “Any injuries?”

  I glance up, wonderi
ng why she’s cuter than the last time I saw her.

  Puzzled by my stare, she says, “Given the nature of the campaign, any injury we can heal, no matter how minor, will improve our chances.”

  Rather than explaining my weird thought, I reply, “Thanks, I appreciate that, and I’m fine.”

  “How about you?” she asks Cat.

  Fingering the rip in her unitard, Cat replies, “Just this.”

  “There are fresh ones in the back.”

  “In that case, I’m getting a new outfit,” Cat says, standing. “Wonder why they only started putting them on the tram now?”

  Jill replies in a sweet tone, “They were in the last one too. I just forgot to mention it.”

  I snicker, while Cat smirks at the honest answer and heads to the rear. As her swaying form retreats, I blow out a breath, wishing we were still on the same team.

  In the middle of the car, Ty and Layla crack up with laughter.

  “I better go find out what’s funny,” Jill says with a wink.

  When she joins the pair, the conversation gets louder and more boisterous.

  I frown. I should be happy the teams are closer…

  “Facing death does that sometimes,” internal me says. “And even by ten sigma standards, those last battles to reach the tram were pretty vicious.”

  “But does that make it a good thing?”

  “I’m shaking my head.”

  I sigh and let my gaze wander from the mingling people.

  Cat returns dressed in a new but baggy unitard. “What do you think of the fit?”

  “Zip it up.”

  When Cat pulls up the zipper, the garment alters to fit snugly over her skin. “Not bad, but I still need a shower.”

  A second later, the rope-like black trim on the outfit changes to green.

  My eyes drift to the orange running over my unitard.

  If anyone else noticed the change, nobody mentions it. The good-humored conversations continue with more than a few chuckles and good-natured slaps.

  Nothing quite like surviving death to build teamwork. Like I wish had happened with my first team.

  When I wonder what they’d think of my current predicament, Saya whoops, filling my imagination with approval.

  “Saya’s stupid,” Jake says. “You needed to know more about this special program before you volunteered.”

  Cheri adds dreamily, “How you got here no longer matters. Imagine what you need to do to get out of this place.”

  “You mean kill Cat?”

  “We do what we must, not what we want.”

  “Vic?” Cat says.

  I blink, refocusing on reality.

  Layla, Ty, and Jill come to the front. After they sit nearby, Layla says, “So far, we’ve only seen these obstacles from the overlords. Not that we’re going to start fighting each other, but we might meet another team soon. They’ll probably be a lot tougher.”

  I reply, “This map is over two thousand kilometers in diameter. That’s a lot of space. But I suppose the rings become smaller as we get closer to the volcano, and at some point, we’ll meet one. Anyone know how many teams there are?”

  When nobody else responds, Cat answers, “You guys didn’t ask enough questions during your orientation. There are fifty of these teams. More than half are the lowest-ranked, 2.5s and threes. Then there are the low fours and so on. The highest are sevens.”

  “Sevens,” Jill says and blows out a breath.

  “They’ve just been in more scenarios, but they aren’t tougher,” Mouse says from next to me.

  I flick my gaze to her, unsure of when she joined the conversation.

  Ty says, “I guess there aren’t any eights or nines in the program.”

  “Or they weren’t stupid enough to volunteer for this,” I reply, annoyed.

  Cat bites her lip but mercifully stays silent.

  “I’d assume a lot of the lower teams will get chewed up by these obstacles, especially now that the weapons are more advanced,” Layla says.

  Cat leans forward. “The lower-ranked teams will have more tram hops within the circles to face more hardships. The thing is, the top team will face fewer odds than everybody else. They’ll be tough to beat.”

  “It doesn’t seem fair that they’ll get to the volcano first,” Ty says.

  “The starts were staggered, so every team has the same chance of getting there first,” Cat replies.

  I blow out a breath. “If they get there…”

  Cat nods. “If they get there.”

  The conversation lapses as everyone wanders into their own thoughts.

  Outside, the last of the sunset gives way to twilight, and the soft interior lights switch on.

  A few minutes later, a gust shakes the cabin, and snowflakes whip across the front window.

  I push my face close to the glass.

  Dark rocky outcroppings sprout from sheets of ice that gleam under the moonlight.

  “Oh, pretty,” Mouse says.

  I stand and head to the rear car for a new kit.

  The winter wonderland is upon us.

  Fifty-Three

  Dressed in white parkas, Cat and I wait, kneeling against the icy side of a crevasse clawed into a wide glacier.

  A lonely wind gusts up the gentle slope, dragging a thin curtain of snow.

  I twist my head, taking the brunt of the blast off my hood. When the freezing air stills, I bring up my binoculars and scan the barren landscape.

  Although clouds stretch over much of the arctic-terrain circle, long swathes of the afternoon sunlight glare off the frozen surface in front of us.

  I force my numb lips to move. “Looks like a storm’s coming. We should get to cover.”

  “This is the tenth obstacle?” Cat asks from behind the barrel of her .50 caliber sniper rifle.

  “Yeah, the last for this bunch.”

  “Let’s wait this out. I’d hate to get cornered by one of these things.”

  The frosty air gets frostier, and black shadows creep across the plain as I sweep my binoculars, looking for the final target.

  After several minutes, I pause.

  One of the few remaining gleams of light winks from a passing form.

  “Movement on the right near that outcropping,” I say.

  A scrape comes as Cat shifts her weapon.

  “Gotta give these AIs credit. There’s no retreat in them,” she replies, taking aim.

  The long gun, which is more like a mini-cannon, roars.

  As the enormous projectile zips downrange, I follow its vapor trail in case an adjustment is required.

  The action is unnecessary. A splash of red erupts, and the distant figure disappears from sight.

  “That’s a kill,” I say as an icy gust hits. “Let’s go. Storm’s coming.”

  After Cat pulls the sniper rifle over her shoulder, we dig our ice boots into the frozen surface and scuttle down one of the many creases scratched into the glacier. As we head in the general direction of the volcano, dark, ominous clouds streak overhead, wiping away the last vestiges of sunlight.

  I touch Cat’s arm and say with fogged breaths, “This looks nasty. We need to find some place to ride it out.

  “Fine, up ahead.”

  Hailstones tap our backs as we run down a slippery channel. Lightning flashes, and we move with more urgency, sliding into a narrow ravine. As the rat-tat-tat of falling ice increases, a jagged hole appears to the side.

  I unlimber my short-barreled rifle and enter.

  The cozy space is dark and empty.

  “This is small but under some solid rock,” I say, leaning my head outside. “I think it’ll do.”

  “It’ll have to,” Cat says, scooting through the opening.

  We position ourselves on either side of the faint light coming through the entrance, watching the hail get larger and listening to the rumble of distant thunder.

  I pull off a glove and blow warm breaths into my cupped hand. “Do you think anyone’s found the next
way station?”

  The folds of her thick parka barely move as Cat shrugs.

  “Do you still have the signals?”

  As an answer, she opens the flap of her waist pocket, exposing the ends of the red flares we’re supposed to shoot if we find the way station.

  Taking the hint, I settle onto my haunches and gaze at my boots, trying to relax against the creeping cold.

  After a minute, Cat pulls back her hood and stares at me, her eyes dark in the shadows.

  “What?” I ask.

  Instead of turning away as I expect, she asks, “Why did you come?”

  Because there are many reasons, I take a moment and pull my glove back on before answering. “I’m not sure. It could be I didn’t feel like hanging around with Jinn.”

  She leans into the fading light. “No joking. What’s the real reason you volunteered?”

  “What purpose does this serve?”

  “The end is coming, and one of us will have to die. I just want the truth.”

  “It’s complicated.”

  She rubs her matted hair, frowning. “When you got hard, did you fantasize about me?”

  Every fiber of my being wants to lie. A little sentiment might give me an advantage when the time comes. Instead, I sigh, and the truth spills out.

  “No.”

  “Tell me you weren’t fantasizing about the woman with the red mane.”

  Although I had that in mind as my ultimate goal, I shake my head. “A little bit of Jet.”

  A humorless laugh leaves Cat’s lips. “At least she was real. I couldn’t stand being second to someone that’s an abstract concept.”

  I have no reply, and as more silence passes, I shift my attention past the entrance and into the shrieking wind and chunks of falling ice.

  Cat shifts and yanks the huge magazine from the sniper rifle. After she finishes reloading, she turns to me with moistened eyes.

  “I want to kill you, Vic. So bad I can taste it,” she says, gripping the weapon tighter. “That day we met in the stream bed, I should have left you.”

  Although I purse my lips, I don’t interrupt.

  She rests the barrel against the lip of the opening and pushes her forehead into her palm, sighing. “I hate that we were together for so long. This would just be so easy without these feelings.”