Far out on Rad’s left flank stalked Valkyrie. She was a pale, slender woman with hair dyed jet black and chopped short. Her face sported war paint in a matching deep black, and two long knives glittered in her hands. I’d always thought that if she hadn’t made it to the Summerlands, Valkyrie would have been a serial killer. She enjoyed killing more than any other adventurer; her stream was always noisy with her excited panting while Golden Apple fought, and her eyes gleamed bright and wide in the aftermath. She took her name seriously, and often talked (in Icelandic) about delivering the souls of the slain to Valhalla. Her fans were more like worshippers; a few had even killed themselves in hopes that she would gather up their souls. No word on whether it worked.
Wolfheart was behind Dr Agony’s drone, so he was out of view of the stream, but I could hear his voice faintly as he rattled off an endless string of patter to his own viewers. He was a small man with a sardonic smile perpetually plastered on his face. In fights he often hunched to one side, chatting casually with his viewers as he waited for a teammate to need healing magic. He was also notoriously impossible to interview, as he took reporters about as seriously as he took everything else.
Valkyrie was the first to spot the trash snakes, when a scaly tentacle topped with a snapping, toothy head shot up from the water a few feet ahead of her. Shouting something in Icelandic, she leapt forward, her knives glittering in the gloom as she neatly decapitated the tentacle and came to a splashing stop a foot beyond it.
A dozen tentacles thrashed up from the roiling water where she had just been standing. Their heads snapped as they began to move towards Valkyrie in an undulating roll, bobbing up and down above the waterline with neatly synchronized movements. That was the trick with trash snakes: they looked like individual beasts, but were actually the many tentacles of a single wide, flat creature pressed against the floor beneath your feet. If Valkyrie had stayed put or moved backwards when the first snake popped up, she would have been caught in a forest of grasping arms.
Rad waded in among the tentacles without fear, his massive arms flexing as he swung his maul. Snakeheads shattered with each swing and backhand, spraying long teeth everywhere. He was laughing and mugging for the camera when another full set of tentacles, twenty or more, shot up around him. Half a dozen wrapped around the arm that held the maul; the others began nipping at his torso, taking out palm-sized chunks.
Wolfheart appeared in the frame, his hands making arcane symbols as he spat out a staccato series of words with no cognates in any Earth language. Wolfheart cast from the so-called “white group” of spells, so there was nothing I could learn from him, but Noah had gone over this section of the video at least two dozen times.
Wolfheart was suddenly as entangled as Rad, as what must have been a third trash snake erupted around him and dragged him under. My favorite part was coming up and I felt my heart thudding in my chest despite knowing exactly what would happen.
The video’s point of view pulled back as Dr Agony stepped away from the fight. His hands dipped to his waist and came up with a palm-sized bronze bell in each. His drone hung over his right shoulder as he stuck his arms straight out at his sides and began to swing both bells. They clanged through swooping arcs and sudden jerks as Dr Agony twitched his hands and wrists almost imperceptibly. His fine motor control was incredible, especially considering he was shouting a string of magical commands at the same time.
From the roiling chaos of the fight at the top of the screen, dozens of tentacles stood suddenly rigid, like soldiers at attention. The other members of Golden Apple appeared from under the surface, gasping and shaking water from their eyes and hair. The tentacles quivered as though struggling against the spell that bound them. Muttering, Valkyrie slashed them down two at a time, misting the air with white blood.
The clip ended just as the bus pulled up at the strip mall where my job waited. My head was clouded with awe as I hopped off. It was such an incredibly precise piece of magic, taking such control, even if you ignored the less-than-ideal circumstances. But to my immense joy, the camera had captured it all in perfect high definition.
Dr Agony’s Book of Elvish Magic included a handful of spells and more had leaked since the game opened, making their way onto fansites and into third-party books that were usually equal parts reprints and BS. The spell in this clip wasn’t one of them. Whether Agony had dug it up somewhere or it was his own invention I had no idea, but I’d been trying to master it since the clip had come out.
Mr Fessy greeted me at the doors of the Expedition store. He was already smoothing his mustache as I came in. My stomach lurched: more bad news?
“Ah, Emma, I’m glad you’re not late,” he said. “One thing before you clock in. You remember Mr Schneider died?”
“Sure,” I said. It felt like a year ago that we’d had that conversation.
“Well, we need a new Assistant Manager. Mr Sorolla thought you might be a good fit.” Mr Sorolla was our Regional Manager, a step above Mr Fessy. “No need to respond. This isn’t an official offer. That would be from HR. Just letting you know that you’re under consideration. The final decision is Mr Sorolla’s, not mine.”
“Sure.”
“Would you accept some advice?” asked Mr Fessy.
I nodded, only half-listening. A promotion? Me?
“Good. I suggest that you try your best to get the position. The pay increase is notable.” With his head cocked to one side, he looked like an attentive dog.
“Uh, thanks,” I said.
“Can I share a personal thought?”
“Sure.”
“I believe you’re capable of the position. A number of managers started as techs. From a compensation perspective, if you’re given an offer and accept it, the higher wage might enable you to afford an apartment of your own rather than living with your parents. Perhaps you might even support another person or two, such as a family, for example. If I may, the quality of life can be quite high in a management position.”
“I see.” I nodded. “Um, thank you.”
“Okay, good,” said Mr Fessy. “Oh, you understand that this conversation can’t count towards your clocked time? Okay. Go get clocked in.” He walked away, tapping at his phone.
***
“Emma, that’s great!” Keats’s genuine smile stabbed me deep in my gut. It felt wrong that I should have a chance at a promotion when I’d just cost him his job and it felt even worse that he should be so happy about it.
“Do it,” said Jason, passing me the bowl of yesterday’s leftovers, which was all we had for dinner. “Whatever the raise is, you can give me the extra since you’re already flush with cash.” I wasn’t quite at ten thousand, but that day’s pay had gotten me close. If only Keats hadn’t gotten involved, the incident with Jamie Bullard could have been forgotten in another day or two.
“I need the money more,” said Noah around a mouthful of pasta. “You should give it to me.”
“How about we wait until she actually gets the job before we loot her corpse?” said Cass. “Buncha vultures. Jason, bowl please.”
Three sharp knocks sounded on the front door of the apartment, freezing Jason in the act of passing over the food.
“Who’s that?” asked Cass.
“Dunno,” said Keats. “Everyone I like is already here.”
“I’ll get it,” said Jason.
“Better let me,” said Keats, standing. As he left the kitchen, shutting the door to the hallway behind him, the four members of Hearthammer shared a look.
“I smell trouble,” said Cass. “We should go out there.”
Noah stood and eased the door open a few inches. Through the gap I saw a slice of bicep, thick neck, red face in a battered black riot helmet, the butt of a gun: the huge cop who’d stared at us that morning. Out of uniform, but with the same riot gear strapped over a black T-shirt and jeans.
“—he’s not here—” Keats was saying, but he was cut off as Noah shut the door and put his back to it, his eyes w
ide and white.
“Keats’ll handle it,” I said, looking at Jason and Cass. “I’m sure that guy just came to give his condolences.” Nobody laughed. Jason was rubbing his thumb along the blade of a butter knife in his hand and Cass was glancing around as though a longbow might suddenly appear in the kitchen.
There was a crash, then silence.
Keats’s voice came suddenly clear through the door, “Don’t worry about it, Porter. It’s only a vase.”
Cass stood up. Jason stood, too, putting his hand on her shoulder.
“He’ll handle it,” I repeated.
There was another crash, then something hit the door. Noah stumbled forward as it swung half-open, revealing Keats with his back to us, his hands up, palms out. He looked over his shoulder for a second that lingered for an eternity as his wide eyes held each of us in turn.
“Run,” he said.
Instinct took over. By the time I had my hands on Noah, pulling him across the room to the window, Jason was already shoving it open. Only Cass hadn’t moved. Noah climbed out the window onto the fire escape balcony beyond, then clanged across it to let the ladder down.
“He needs our help,” Cass said.
“He knows what he’s doing, Cass,” said Jason in a strained whisper.
“He needs our help!” his sister shouted.
“Not the time, guys!” I cast around the room for some inspiration. “Cass, listen! Listen. We’ll take the fire escape down now. Then we can circle back to the front door and come up if we need to.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
Jason was next out the window and I was right behind him. At the far end of the balcony, Noah was banging the emergency ladder back and forth within its clamps, shaking the fire escape as he tried to get it loose. It broke free suddenly and roared down to hit the seventh-floor landing twenty feet below.
The noise of the ladder covered the sound Cass, still in the kitchen, made as she slammed the window shut and locked it from the inside. I only realized what had happened when Jason screamed her name. He darted back across the balcony as I grabbed Noah’s shoulder to stop him halfway over the edge of the fire escape.
“Cass, open it!” Back bent, Jason was straining against the locked window.
“I got this!” Cass shouted back and disappeared into the kitchen.
The windowpane exploded into shards as Jason kicked it in. He reached through the hole and undid the lock, threw the window open and went in feet-first, heedless of the broken glass gleaming everywhere. Noah pushed past me and before I could grab him he dove after Jason, making it halfway through and kicking his legs to shimmy in and spill onto the kitchen floor.
There was the bang of a gun, a hundred times louder than in a movie.
At the window I brushed away the worst of the glass with my hand tucked into the sleeve of my shirt. Across the kitchen, Cass threw open the hall door. Jason had a hand out, trying to stop her, but the table was between them. I slipped through the window head-first and stumbled to my feet next to Noah.
Out in the hallway, Porter stood over Keats’s body, rifle dangling from one hand. I could see red and purple all over Keats’s face beneath his shielding hands, but couldn’t tell if he was moving. Porter looked up, and even under the mirrored faceplate of his riot helmet, I could see his eyes lock on Jason. “There you are,” he said.
Cass took a swing at him. He grabbed her wrist with his free hand and twisted savagely, forcing her to her knees as she screamed and spat in defiance. With his other hand he lifted his rifle, braced it against his shoulder and fired three shots.
If Jason screamed, I didn’t hear it. The rifle was deafening in the little kitchen and my ears rang as I watched Jason slump to the floor, his head looking one direction and his legs twisted the other. A pool of blood crept out from underneath him. It crawled closer to my feet, but I couldn’t get away. I was frozen amidst the noise and violence.
“Stay back!” Porter’s shout cut through the ringing. “And don’t follow me!” He covered me and Noah with his rifle as he dragged Cass back through the door into the hall. He gave Keats’s body one last kick, threw Cass down the hallway as though she were weightless, and walked out the front door.
“Daddy!” Cass’s voice was an animal yowl. In a scrambling crawl she got to her father.
“Jason,” Keats said. His voice was clogged and nasal. “I’m okay. Jason.”
“He shot him,” said Noah. He was kneeling over Jason, his shirt red and sodden. “He shot him. He shot him. I don’t think he’s alive.”
Jason
In the days that followed Jason’s death, I was like an animal. Not a tiger, snarling and snapping at the world, or an eagle, cold and aloof; I was an insect, a creature without intelligence, relying on numb instinct to respond to the stimuli of the world around me in only the most basic way.
I went to work. I fixed the machines and any time I was out of the view of the security cameras, I cried. I didn’t answer my phone; I deleted voicemails. I took the bus, staring out at mirror-faced policemen guarding empty houses. Their windows reminded me of Jason’s dead eyes: portals that passed through a solid object to reveal nothing inside.
Keats was still in the hospital. Every night, I ate dinner at home with my parents then walked mechanically through the halls of our block to slip the day’s paycard under the Keatses’ apartment door. Sometimes after I did I would sit against the wall, hugging my knees up to my chest, staring at the door. It never opened.
I lay awake at night, my thoughts playing out the night of the killing like a movie. Porter had been watching Jason at the police station, I was sure of it. But why? Why Jason? My mind went around and around like a computer caught in a recursive loop.
First, I would wonder if it had anything to do with Jason’s phone being wiped. Then I would shove that aside and think it was some sort of sick revenge for Keats getting Jamie Bullard in trouble: killing one man’s son in vengeance for another’s. Then I’d circle back to the mystery of the phone, the cryptic message from Jason’s friend Terra, the file he hadn’t had a chance to open. Inevitably, around one or two a.m., I would pull up Terra’s contact info from an old group message and call or email her. When she didn’t answer, I would start thinking of Jamie Bullard again.
Locked in this endless cycle, I spent every night tossing and turning until morning.
Finally, after two agonizing weeks, there was a knock at my parents’ door during dinner. I nearly bent the fork in my hand as my heart began to hammer. My mother went to answer it and I watched her unblinking. I wanted to run, but I was frozen as she opened the door.
“Hello, Mrs Burke,” said Keats from a wheelchair. “Is Emma home?”
“Emma!” my mom shouted, but I was already there. Keats had lost weight. The worst of the bruising had faded everywhere but around his eyes, revealing pale greenish skin and dirty stubble. His nose was hidden by a gauzy white splint. The lines of his face were twice as deep as the last time I’d seen them.
“Keats,” I started, “I’m so—” Keats held up a hand. Two of his fingers were splinted as well.
“It’s okay, Emma.” He grimaced and shifted his weight in the wheelchair. “I just came by to invite you to the funeral.”
“Does Cass know you’re here?”
“No.” Keats looked away. “She hasn’t left their room—her room—very much. I was hoping you could talk to her at the funeral.”
“I’ll try,” I said, but I had no idea what I could possibly say.
***
Jason was buried in a plain wooden coffin at the back of a large municipal cemetery. It was a dismal place: a few scraggly, leafless trees still clung to life here and there, but for the most part it was a flat, unbroken plain of gray grave markers in thin dirt.
A bigger crowd than I had expected watched as the coffin was lowered. Jason had been respected at work and popular in school, where everyone dreamed of going to the Summerlands. But all those old frien
ds of his were strangers I had no desire to meet, just a shapeless mass at my back.
Cass, Noah and I stood together under a rare blue sky. Cass was as pale and drawn as her father, who watched silently from his wheelchair at her side. Noah was sobbing openly. I thought I had done plenty of crying in the private corners of the last few weeks, so I bit my lip and kept my face still.
It only took a few minutes for the gravediggers to cover Jason’s coffin, then fill the hole completely. One of the dirty-handed men looked over at us as if to say are we done here? I had to look away. Cass let go of my hand and stepped forward to stand beside the fresh grave.
“Jason…” She cleared her throat and wiped her eyes. “Jason never got to know our mom. He was only two when she died and he said he remembered her, but I think he was lying. Not really lying, but… I think he knew it made me feel better.
“Mom would have been so proud of him. The man he was becoming. She was an athlete, too, until she got sick. I used to think it was so unfair that she didn’t get to watch him grow up. Now…” She closed her eyes. “I had no idea what unfair really means.”
Cass opened her eyes and looked at the crowd, catching us one by one with her iron stare. Most people, the ones from Jason’s school and work, put their heads down rather than hold her gaze. “We were attacked. My father was put in a wheelchair and Jason was murdered. We’ve been paying our police insurance my entire life, but can we go to them? No, we can’t, because the man who murdered them is a cop. It’s no big secret. I don’t know why he did it, but I know that nobody’s going to do anything about it.
“I’m sure they don’t want me to say that and I don’t care. I’m done with this world. With all of this, all of you. I’m leaving. I’m going somewhere where nobody can hold me down.” Her eyes met mine. “Anybody who wants to come with me is welcome. If not, I’ll see you on the feeds.”
Expedition- Summerlands Page 4
