Ten Sigma

by A W Wang

  My reward for winning the morning’s marksmanship contest. Although I want to stay with Suri, there’s no time to argue. With my eyes darting toward the beach, I scamper behind a pitted river of lava and follow its channel to my position.

  When a silhouette rises over the lip of the cliffs and ducks into cover, I slow my pace, keeping low.

  Over the next minute, I catch enough movement to map out their advance. Each attacker expertly uses the bumpy terrain, presenting little or no opportunity to receive fire. I count thirteen, and given the silence from the shore, assume our ten allies are gone, having killed seven of our twenty enemies.

  My boots hit the shallow part of the heights before the next set of shooting starts. While the sharp impacts of bullets register on the rocks, the attackers don’t press their slight numerical advantage, unexpectedly staying content to hold their position.

  The slope steepens, and I exert more effort to maintain my progress. After a few steps, I find a narrow curving trail, which allows me to negotiate the nearly impassable rockface to reach the top.

  When the path ends, I pull myself over a two-meter-high stone lip, flopping onto a large tabletop of dirt. After I scoot to the battle side, I have a commanding view of the action.

  Nothing has changed during my climb. Although bullets crackle along the length of line, the enemy hasn’t advanced.

  A disturbing thought washes over me. Haiku said the forces should have parity. My assumption was twenty enemies overwhelmed the reserve force, taking seven casualties. What if it was fifteen with only two dead? That would leave five coming from an unknown direction and explain the temerity of their approach.

  Frantically, I weigh the different options for the opposing commander. Our defense is anchored at the peak and extends with the mid-island ridge. Because our half of the island is smooth, a flanking attack at the far end of the line or from directly behind would destroy us.

  Soft footsteps pad up the narrow trail.

  I raise my rifle.

  Syd’s head pops over the rock lip.

  With many regrets, I refrain from pulling the trigger. We need everyone.

  After he scoots next to me, I ask, “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “Just checking to see if you’ve changed your mind about my offer.”

  “Now?”

  “I didn’t feel like following Rick’s strategy. They should have made you the leader.”

  Ugh.

  “I don’t have time for this.”

  Twisting my body, I scan the miniature plain toward the long tip of the island. There’s nothing.

  Could I be wrong?

  Tugging at the skinsuit sticking to my chest, I squint at the barely visible triangle of sand. The glitters of the quartz particles wink from dark forms, moving with caution.

  “Wow,” Syd says. “That’s an unfortunate turn of events. They’ll roll up the flank starting with poor Carol. Then, Suri and Walt. Glad I’m not down there.”

  I should have killed him.

  “Shut up. We have to help.”

  “Our weapons don’t have the power to cover the flank at this distance.”

  This I know. At over two hundred meters, and with the enemy’s movement and cover skills in addition to the silencer limiting the rounds to subsonic speeds, a hit isn’t a realistic expectation from this range. “We have to get closer.”

  “I’m not moving. If we stay here and pick off the enemy as they advance up the hill, we’ll win.”

  “Everyone else will die.”

  He shrugs. “Mostly.”

  It’s all I can do not to throttle him. I take deep breaths, letting the battle unfold in my mind. I can impede but not stop the flanking attack from this position. If I call out and we pull back and try to form a defense around the heights, they will still swamp past Carol and Suri before we can slow them down. With the higher ground, we might win, but plenty of my friends aren’t going home.

  Or I can run and try to take out the second team by myself. If successful, I can save the flank. If I get killed, then everyone in their stretched-out positions dies with me.

  I wish I had someone to talk with besides Syd. My chatty, optimistic, and imaginary husband is silent.

  “You’re running out of time, Brin. Stay here with me. We’ll form a great partnership.”

  My mood turns angry as I ignore him and scrutinize the battlefield.

  Screw it.

  Taking the crazy option, I abandon my post and dash down the slope, accompanied only by Syd’s fading laughter.

  Seventeen

  I leave the path, and staying inside the shadow of a tapering ridge, slide down the slope. After I hit more forgiving ground, I use my long strides to make good use of the meager time we have left.

  A picture of steam erupting from the ears of Sergeant Rick or Simon for yet again disobeying orders crashes into my mind. I stifle a laugh; they can shoot me after we’re dead.

  Still hidden by darkness, I plow into the surf, stopping when the freezing water reaches my waist. Because of the flatness of this side of the island, pushing through the ocean is the only way I can cross the exposed terrain without alerting anyone to my presence and getting shot to pieces. I rush toward the end of our line, my legs churning against the undertow threatening to pull me out to sea and the rest of my body fighting the waves trying to send me onto the exposed beach.

  When I pass behind Rick at the halfway point, I wave frantically to get his attention.

  He’s too focused on the battle to notice a bobbing form lost against waves of darkness.

  When I escape the shadow of the heights, moonlight brightens the surrounding ocean. Now visible, I lower my aching body until my chin scrapes the top of the shifting water. I attempt to match the rhythm of the swells, which works less often than I’d prefer, and after a few steps, my nostrils and eyes sting from crests of saltwater lapping over my head.

  Then a powerful breaker knocks me to a knee, and it’s all I can do to avoid being dragged ashore.

  The returning undertow pulls out my leg.

  I flop underwater with a mouthful of the sea spilling down my throat. Unlike the blue cafeteria liquid, this tastes exactly as it should, briny and full of salt. With the nasty taste sputtering from my mouth, I push my head above the surface. Although my muscles burn with fatigue and my rapid breaths can’t supply enough oxygen, I force myself to keep moving by focusing on terrible images of my team lying dead from my incompetence.

  After what feels like an eternity, but in reality is only a minute or two, I finally arrive near the exposed flank—numb, but just in time.

  The dark forms rise, getting ready to wipe out my teammates.

  With barely enough strength to heft my rifle, my hands shake as I aim. As the surging water threatens to knock me over, I draw a steadying breath. Hitting anything doesn’t matter, I only need to get everyone’s attention. I empty the thirty-round magazine in the general direction of the enemy, the bullets peppering nothing except for a few scattered rocks.

  The exhausted effort attracts just enough attention. Carol and Suri swivel to meet the fresh attack, and a new firefight breaks out.

  However, my plan’s too successful. From beyond the beach, a dim figure points a rifle at me.

  A bullet zips past my ear as I twist my head.

  I tumble underwater while more impacts splash around me. A wave flips me over, then the undercurrent drags me along the sandy bottom. More seawater spills into my mouth, up my nose, and then down the wrong passage of my throat. I expel valuable air coughing out the foul liquid, then even as my lungs beg for oxygen, I clench my jaw and tighten my lips.

  Engulfed by blackness, the roiling currents grab my limbs and whirl my body in every direction. Panic explodes through my dimming consciousness. I have a terrible fear of drowning, but if I try to get air, I’ll wind up getting shot.

  This is only ending with my death.

  My chest heaves as fleeting thoughts race through my mind. My te
am. Fragments of my prior life. I clutch at the one of my husband. His confident face flashes his winning smile.

  Imaginary him says, “It’s only a little water and a single shooter. Grab some air and don’t lollygag on the surface. Don’t give him too much credit either; he’s one guy struggling to hit a head bobbing in the middle of the ocean.”

  “Kisses, Major Optimism.”

  “That’s General Optimism to you.”

  More bubbles escape from my burning lungs as I snicker. Instead of heading up, I push downward and when my fingers touch the sandy bottom, I flip and finding my footing, shoot to the surface.

  I gulp one greedy breath before more bullets force me back underwater. At least I’m getting them to waste ammunition. I thank the virtual overlords for leaving my sarcasm intact.

  When I next breach the surface, Carol and Suri are distracting the enemy with cover fire. Although my insane actions almost got me killed, at least they’re momentarily safe and helping me.

  As I bob with relative anonymity in the swells, I spy an egg-shaped boulder sitting at the boundary of the beach. It’s an opportunity, but my exhausted muscles can barely stop the pulling currents and powerful eddies in the water from drowning me.

  It’s too far. I can’t do it.

  My frustration boils. Why is everything ridiculously hard? As one of a hundred and sixty-two people surrounded by a rising sea of red acid, fighting was so simple. I barely had a chance to think.

  “Then stop thinking and act!” Major Optimism screams.

  A wave hits my back and instead of resisting, I angle toward the protection of the boulder, letting the force of the water propel me ashore. When my hands scrape sand under the foam of the surf, I rise and using more of a stumbling crawl than run and dragging the rifle, which has miraculously stayed with me during the ordeal, cross the narrow beach and flop behind the big rock.

  Amazingly, I haven’t been hit. While not based on talent, I’ll welcome the dumb luck. I want to do something but have to wait a moment to stop shivering and expel saltwater from my nostrils and mouth. After setting the weapon against the boulder, I wipe mucus from my chin and then rub my arms and legs to rid them of numbness.

  Still trembling, I peer past the shaded side of the rock. Four of the enemy, dark against the glittery terrain, duel with Carol and Suri. The fifth points his rifle at me.

  I tumble back as a three-round burst spikes into the rock, whizzing splinters past my head. As blood trickles down my cheek, I close my eyes.

  They’re good.

  My anger rises.

  So am I.

  After shakily reloading the rifle, I twist past the opposite side of the boulder with gritted teeth and snap off a shot. My main opponent isn’t at the same location, but it feels good to do something proactive.

  Against this caliber of enemy, staying put isn’t an option. Even though I’m not reaching the ten sigma level, dying in scenario one would be an embarrassment.

  I roll to my right and crawl away from the egg-shaped boulder. Not needing a stray bullet to find my head, I slither into a fissure running behind a lava channel.

  As I slip around my enemies, I hug the bottom of the shallow cut, the rough surface painfully scraping through the skinsuit over my knees and elbows.

  From the faint clicks of the triggers to the zips and sharp impacts of the bullets, I develop a mental map of the nearby fighting. However, the most important piece, the location of the person hunting me is missing.

  Since my team has to stay in the cover of the mid-island ridge, our position is extended and vulnerable with Carol bearing the brunt of the attack and Suri only able to provide sporadic suppressing fire.

  The situation is tenuous at best. When the main force coming from the rocky side of the island reaches us, the two prongs will envelop Carol and Suri and then rest of the line will collapse.

  With growing desperation, I move another ten meters and edge into the long shadow of the peak. I peer from the darkness. Everyone is where I expect them to be, except for the last enemy. I roll back into cover and take long breaths to slow down the speed of combat. I have to end my opponent quickly to rescue my friends.

  Something clicks in my thoughts. My most important enemy doesn’t know I’m the only one making a headlong rush through the ocean. When I mentally review the flattish landscape, only one place is suitable for protecting the beach and covering the flank against Carol and Suri.

  The sounds of fighting from beyond the ridge edge closer. Suri turns and engages the new threats, leaving Carol and myself matched against five opponents.

  No more time to waste.

  I prop myself up on an elbow. With my aim centered on a dark space extending from a large rock slab near the water, I empty the rifle.

  Most of the shots fly into the ocean except for a single dull impact. A second later a body crumples into the sand.

  Amazed, I pop up, and slapping in a fresh magazine, move forward in a combat crouch, shooting at the nearest enemy.

  Fleshy impacts erupt across his body.

  The one behind reacts by rolling and firing.

  I jump to the side, the rushed shots nicking the ground behind me, and return fire.

  More dull thuds. Two left.

  The one after lies in a lava channel dueling with Carol and doesn’t notice me.

  I fire a headshot that ends with a sharp crack of skull. The remaining enemy jumps for better cover, but Carol kills him with a three-round burst.

  The flank is secure, and I’m stunned to be alive and unhurt.

  “Score one for Major Optimism,” declares my cheery husband.

  “Score one for General Optimism,” I reply.

  “Yay, a promotion on my first day!”

  I reload, letting my frayed nerves calm.

  Carol steps onto a lava pipe, wide eyes wandering over the entire scene. “Wow.” She puffs out a relieved breath.

  Two moonlit forms appear over the ridge. I dive and hit the rough ground, jamming my shoulder as they fire. Suri twists away, but blood and brains fly as Carol jerks backward from bullet impacts.

  While leaping to my feet, I fire in fully automatic mode and in three seconds, shower the entire magazine over a wide arc.

  The nearest enemy collapses while the other tumbles and disappears behind the ridge.

  Ignoring the dull throbs from my shoulder, I reload and run to my friends.

  Suri is hit, and I jump into cover next to her. Located in the stomach and arm, her bloody wounds are awful but not immediately life-threatening.

  Ten meters away, Carol lies on the round top of a lava flow, her long hair splayed over the glittering ground with blood from a neat hole in her forehead spilling over her face.

  I hold my revulsion inside and curse myself for getting lulled into complacency. Even though we’re all dead anyway, dying for a mistake is stupid.

  “Victory is no cause for celebration,” a black thread chirps.

  Despite all the knowledge in the threads, we aren’t real soldiers. Killers maybe, but not soldiers.

  Heavy breathing from the opposite slope pulls me from my self-loathing. I’ve wounded the second attacker who killed Carol. A coldness settles inside me.

  After taking a quick peek to ensure I’m not being ambushed, I scuttle over the crest and slide into a groove pinched between two veins of jagged rock. At the bottom, my thigh brushes against a fallen weapon. Even with an unarmed opponent, I won’t repeat the mistake of being complacent. Carefully scanning every shadow in every nook, I inch closer to my enemy.

  My finger tightens on the trigger as I leap past the last of the rock formation. A breath catches in my throat and I freeze.

  The moonlight shines on violet eyes. It’s the final girl I killed on “Acid Island.”

  Dead is dead and never to return, so how can she be here?

  Despite leaking blood from the chest and abdomen, her stare is lucid. However, as I lower my face into her vision, she displays no signs of recognitio
n.

  If she’s in front of me, then…

  Consumed by fear, I swivel and search for the bald giant. Although things are quiet, I’m not fooled. Tunneling my focus, I sweep my weapon over the dark patches in the landscape, not sure if I’m going to fight or flee when he appears.

  Syd’s voice drags me from the terror. Hidden by a deep shadow, he repeats, “Well, do you want the honors?”

  “What?”

  Walt jumps past Syd. “We won!”

  While my heart leaps at the sight of the teen, I’m puzzled. “I don’t understand.”

  Walt replies, “The fighting’s over. Syd was awesome, he swept through their line from the opposite side.”

  Syd’s thin lips form a bashful smile as he steps closer. It’s fake because he would have just as easily let everyone die. As he idly uses the suppressor of his rifle to fondle our last enemy’s wounds, she groans.

  Rick steps into view. “Don’t drag it out.”

  Syd looks to me. “Well?”

  My eyes burn with disgust while I deliberately shake my head. Then without a backward glance, I walk away.

  Scenario one ends with the faint click of a trigger pull.

  The salty breeze changes into citrus and honey scented air, and I sink into the soft leather of my ready room seat.

  I roll my previously injured shoulder. True to Haiku’s word, it’s in perfect condition, as is the rest of my almost naked body.

  My adrenaline rush drains until I wrap my arms around myself, only wanting to shiver from the terror of combat and fear of the bald giant. With the violet-eyed girl coming back to haunt me, can he be far behind? And by some mystical power, I somehow can’t vocalize my anxieties to anyone.

  Across the semicircle, the other survivors express the span of emotions one would expect from surviving a life and death situation. Vela sheds a tear as she touches her cheek. Suri runs her hands over her now-healed wounds in disbelief. A nervous giggle leaves Walt as his toes tap dance on the floor.

  On my right, Ally rubs her cheeks hard enough to remove her freckles. At least narcissism still exists in the virtual world. Rick sits at attention, a satisfied expression over his face.