by Ethan Cooper
“Oh, so you just found her like this?”
“Yes. She was the last of her coven.”
If this is going to work, I have to take her word.
JACK continues, “I told you before, I don’t know if I can control it, but it’s easier to resist the urge when I’m near you.”
“So, stay close then.”
“That is what I want. That is why we are here.”
“I want that too,” 2-85 says.
“This isn’t going to be easy,” I say, pulling on JACK’s hand until she’s sitting beside me, her shoulder warm against mine, her hairstalk curling around my ankle. The static disappears like the last sigh of a person’s final breath.
“Good things rarely are,” 2-85 says.
Sometimes all you can do is accept life and move on. I can’t dwell on the pain, holding onto it as if the past can somehow be erased. I want to survive. I can’t escape the reality that the coven is my best chance at that.
(how could you let yourself)
(become a)
(witchfriend?)
I don’t want to be alone.
“Your sister,” I say, to 2-85. “Did you talk with her?”
“Yes. She was upset.”
“Is she safe? Does she have a way off the island?”
He shakes his head. “I don’t know. We left the Haven to look for you as soon as we noticed you were gone.”
“I’m sorry. I hope she’s makes it out of here.”
(she’s a guardian she’ll be the)
(last to leave).
I hand out food packets from my backpack, and we eat, gradually transitioning from a comfortable silence to quiet conversation and planning. I tell them as much as I know about what’s happening to the island, but not about Calamity Carl. Not yet. There will be a time to tell the coven about him, but this isn’t it. I’m not ready. When we’re done, I use the wash room to clean myself up, then settle on the floor with my backpack for a pillow. JACK lies down beside me, her back to mine for warmth. Every once in a while, I feel her hairstalk brush my shoulder. It’s as if she’s trying to make sure I’m still there.
“Is my baby alive?” I whisper.
“Yes.”
I let out a stuttering exhale, allowing myself to weep silently at this.
“We need to talk about your baby,” JACK says, wiping wetness from my cheek, “but not right now.”
“Okay.”
PIIX and 2-85 stand guard by the door.
I close my eyes, luxuriating in the slow slide toward slumber.
When I wake, it’s to the hollow echo of muted explosions. At least, that’s what I think they are. Each is a low frequency BOOM, as if the Rusted Whale is being bombarded.
“What is that?” I ask, pushing myself to a sitting position, my arm tingling. “Are we moving?”
“No,” 2-85 says. He’s still standing by the door. Did he sleep?
That’s when the ceiling in the middle of the room starts to glow with a gray light. A light I recognize. A light I fear. Seconds later, a black, tentacle-laden mass drops through ceiling and onto the floor. Part of its body bursts from the impact, expelling a sticky mucous through a flapping wound.
(now this island will bleed everybody here)
(will bleed)
It’s a Bleed.
It’s still alive.
56/Eoapocalypse [T-minus 4]
2195.12.30/Morning
And just like that, I’m not sure the Rusted Whale is my way off this island.
“Kill it!” I yell, scrambling for my backpack and the pulse dagger.
A blur of movement from PIIX has her leaping across the room, one arm narrowing into a sharpened spike as she goes. She lands close to the creature, slamming her arm down into its center. The force of her attack drives the Bleed to the floor. Its body pops like an ink-filled balloon, splattering PIIX with goo.
“Ew,” I say.
“Glitch. What is that?” PIIX asks, extracting her arm from the leaking corpse, Bleed blood running in rivulets down her arm, dripping onto the floor.
“That is one of those things I was talking about earlier,” I say.
“The Bleed.”
“Yes. They’re destroying everything.”
“We have to go outside,” JACK says. “We’re not moving yet, and we can’t just stay in here and hope these things don’t tear the boat apart.”
2-85 stands underneath the hole in the ceiling, his form bathed in a wide beam of light. The harsh contrast of light and shadow makes him look like he was chiseled from stone. JACK may lead the coven, but 2-85 is an alpha male.
“What is it?” I ask as I stand, drawing my backpack onto my shoulders, making sure the pulse dagger is in one of the outer pockets. I really need to pee.
“It’s the sun. That thing made it down here, all the way from the upper deck. It’s morning.”
“The sun? Now I really want to go outside.”
More explosions, though we can hear them more clearly now due to the hole.
I discover that it’s more difficult to pee when you can’t stop looking at the ceiling, because any second a Bleed could pop through. Also, there are explosions going off in the background.
After I’m done, I distribute food packets, and we eat as we move. I’m down to half of my original supply, so we’re going to have locate more soon. That is, assuming we make it off this island.
2-85 takes the lead.
“You know how to get us out of here?” I ask. “The route Pex took was pretty twisty.”
“Wirewitches don’t forget things,” 2-85 says.
Something hits the Rusted Whale so hard that everything shudders
I see JACK reach forward and touch 2-85’s shoulder. “Faster.”
I run several steps behind JACK, willing my body to take deep, even breaths. They’re going slower because of me. Not a lot I can do about that. PIIX is behind me, so I do my best to not get trampled. I do hear her sigh a couple of times.
We don’t encounter any of the Pure or any technomancers. I’m hoping that means Aran found them a safe place.
When 2-85 and JACK step into the room that serves as the entryway to the boat, I hear JACK swear.
“Wait,” 2-85 says as I push past him.
I ignore him.
The world that greets us as we exit the boat is unlike anything I’ve ever seen before.
BLINK.
The sun burns bright in the heavens, searing through a sickened gray haze and plumes of smoke. It’s warm on my skin. It’s wonderful. A cloud slips in front of it, returning us to the dull pallor we’re all accustomed to.
BLINK.
While the gangway remains intact, the pier is a scorched thing now, large sections of it missing, the supports underneath crumbling so the entire thing lists to one side.
BLINK.
Aran’s technomancers guard the far end of the pier, denying access to all violent intruders. They are surrounded by motionless bodies and pools of blood.
BLINK.
The riots have breached the dock area. Crowds consumed by chaos surge through the streets, a directionless river of unguided violence. I’ve never seen anything so terrifying.
BLINK.
Winged soldiers—ACCUs, which my brain tells me stands for Armored Civilian Control Units—streak through the air, their red and gold battle armor sparkling like fireworks.
BLINK.
Don’t see any other Bleed. Should feel comforted by that. Don’t.
(everybody here will bleed)
I pull my pulse dagger from its pocket. “We have to help. There aren’t enough of them.”
“She’s right,” 2-85 says, sounding like he believes JACK’s going to argue with me.
“Syl stays here,” JACK says. “That—that’s a war out there, and she’s not prepared.”
“I agree,” PIIX says. “She won’t survive.”
“You don’t know that,” I argue. “None of us are guaranteed anything out there.”
&
nbsp; “What is it you think you can do out there?” PIIX asks.
“Listen, I don’t want to go out into that, but I’m not going to stay here by myself. No matter what situations we’re in, I’m safer with the coven.”
“That’s debatable.”
“We have to keep her close,” 2-85 says.
JACK acknowledges this with a jerk of her chin. “I don’t like it, but you’re right. We didn’t search all that time and come all this way to let you get away from us, Syl. There’s no good answer here. We have to help the technomancers protect the Rusted Whale, but it’s not exactly safe here either.” She reaches over to take my hand and squeeze it. “I’m not letting you out of my sight. We fight together.”
(but for)
(how long?)
We follow JACK down the gangway. We’re halfway to the bottom when I hear a high-pitched whistling sound. 2-85 whirls around, and in one move takes me in his arms. We’re still spinning as we take to the air. There’s a flash of heat, a flare of light, an explosion, and the sound of metal screeching as it’s torn apart. 2-85 comes down hard on the pier’s surface, his body crumpling as he absorbs the shock. I come loose, my body rolling until it comes to an abrupt stop against a pair of boots—PIIX’s.
“Are you okay?” 2-85 asks, standing over me, taking my hand and pulling me to my feet.
Don’t answer because I’m staring at the gangway that’s no longer a gangway. Now it’s just a hanging flap only connected to the Rusted Whale by a thin shred of twisted metal.
Down below, there’s one of those Bleed meteorite things floating in the water. It hasn’t opened yet.
None of us appear to be injured.
“What is that, and where did that come from?” PIIX asks.
“There’s a Bleed inside it,” I say. “It will hatch soon.” Then I raise my index finger, pointing up to the sky.
PIIX looks down over the edge of the pier. “Somebody really doesn’t like this place. Should I go kill that thing?”
“We’re out of time for side missions,” JACK says, pulling me in the direction of the technomancers. “They need us now.”
It’s true, the number of people advancing on the technomancers is in the hundreds. We’re running now. I activate the pulse dagger. My heart is pounding in my ears, but for once in my life, I don’t feel scared. Here—with JACK and the others—a part of me feels like this is where I belong.
I’m really messed up.
bzzzzzZZZZt!!!!!
The static hits so hard, so suddenly, that it stops me in full run. I drop the pulse dagger and clutch my head, wishing I could open up my skull, reach in, and pull out whatever’s causing this. Oh, God, it hurts. I drop to my knees.
Somebody knock me unconscious please. Make it stop. Anything to make it stop.
Metaskin against my fingers. Whoever it is, they’re grabbing my hands tight, forcing my head up. It’s JACK, her face filling my vision. She’s shouting, but if the sound is reaching my ears, then something’s stopping it from getting to my brain, because I can’t hear anything except the buzz of the saw that’s cutting my thoughts to pieces.
(what a stupid way)
(to die you didn’t even)
(get to the real)
(battle angel)
The static frequencies change abruptly, becoming something different, but also something familiar. I can hear JACK through it, yelling at me to see if I’m hurt of course, but I’m ignoring her because of the static, only what I thought was the static changing frequencies was actually the static disappearing and being replaced by something else.
It’s a roar.
I know that sound.
JACK and I lock eyes, clutching each other. There are a million unspoken words that pass between us, and in that moment, she’s not the mature wirewitch she appears to be, but the not-yet-a-teenager youngling that I clung to while waiting for death.
“What the glitch is that?” PIIX asks.
“Where are they?” I ask, my fingers still clamped down on JACK’s forearms as if she’ll float away should I let go.
JACK won’t break eye contact with me. The liquid in her eyes is in slow motion, almost frozen in fact.
Behind us, 2-85 says, “There.”
JACK helps me to my feet—a move made more difficult because she won’t take her eyes off me.
“This isn’t like before,” I tell her. “That’s not going to happen again. We’re stronger now.”
“I-I don’t like this.”
She’s been scared before. This is something different. Something we don’t have time for. As for me, I obviously don’t feel the same sort of paralysis that she’s experiencing, but I should be. Maybe the automatic me took over control and I didn’t notice.
“JACK, I need you,” I plead over the sounds of combat. Shouts and screams. Rumble of unchecked rioting. Whine of pulse weaponry. Rapid-fire explosions. Insistent hum of lasers. Roaring.
I pull JACK all the way against me, hugging her as tight as I can, her arms coming around me. She’s trembling, her body vibrating against mine like she’s being subjected to an electrical current.
“No matter what happens, I’m with you.”
“Don’t let it get us,” JACK whispers. “Please.”
“Okay.” I look over her shoulder, in the direction the roar is coming from.
There, on the shore, rearing up on its hind legs, is an eoa. It shakes its mighty head, flinging water from its glistening body. When its front legs return to the sand, they sink deep.
Where did it—?
“It came from the water,” 2-85 says.
“Eoas can swim apparently,” PIIX says. “That’s unfortunate.”
(there are more eoas)
(they will come for you)
JACK pleads, “I want to live.”
It’s like she’s rebooted. She’s gone back in time to relive our experience. I caress her hairstalks with slow, measured strokes. “Me too.”
(you have only a little time)
(left before they do)
2-85 puts a hand on my shoulder. “The technomancers are struggling to hold the crowd back. They won’t be able to deal with an eoa too.”
“We can handle one eoa,” PIIX says.
I’d like to think so, but I’ve watched two eoas take out four wirewitches. Also, Cyberspace is offline, 2-85 is a new wirewitch, and JACK is crumbling. “Do it,” I say, because I can’t think of any other options.
PIIX doesn’t even look at 2-85 or JACK—she just turns and starts moving.
“No,” JACK says, pulling out of my arms. She doesn’t yell, but PIIX stops immediately. “We go together.”
“Are you okay?” I ask, stooping down to retrieve my pulse dagger from the ground.
“No, but I’m going to push through it. I have to.” JACK’s lips are pressed into a hard, tense line, but her eyes are swirling at their normal frantic pace. “Syl, stay back, but stay close. Your dagger isn’t going to do much.”
We’re moving then, toward the end of the pier where the technomancers are doing their best to deny access to all rioters. They are merciless in their violence, each surge of charging rioters met with slashing blade, pulsing energy cannons, and other advanced weaponry I don’t recognize.
When Cyberspace fell, were they jacked in? How many of them didn’t survive?
BLINK.
Chaos. Everything is chaos.
BLINK.
The streets beyond the end of the pier are filled with people. All shapes and colors. Angry people. Scared people. Parents with their children. Modies. Addicts. Androids. Mutants. Dokks. Wirewitches. Gooblyns. Animals. Creatures.
BLINK.
The technomancer 7 steps forward as a large group of human rioters approach. He holds up his hand, warning them to stop. The rioters charge, an assortment of colored energy beams lancing out, bouncing away harmlessly off the technomancers’ body armor. 7’s cannon whines, then unleashes a series of red blobs that slam into the attackers. Bodies, torn to pi
eces, tumble away.
BLINK.
Aran soars over the battleground, dodging rockets fired by a cluster of ACCUs. Bolts of blue energy reach out, detonating the rockets in a deafening mid-air explosion, the sound rolling across the battlefield like thunder. The ACCUs scatter.
BLINK.
“Get back on the boat,” one of the technomancers commands us as we approach. A foolish rioter gets too close. The technomancer grabs him by the neck and tosses him back into the throng.
The violence…it’s unending. How many of these people are innocent? How many of them are just like me, scared and alone, desperate for salvation and willing to do anything for a chance at escape.
“Aran doesn’t have it working yet,” I retort. “And you need help.”
“Greasy and Ta-Kyn will have it moving very soon.” He pauses to activate his shoulder-mounted laser, sending silver beams at targets so far away that I’m not sure what he’s shooting at. “We don’t need to hold much longer.”
There’s somebody with the name Greasy?
“Not all of these people deserve to be killed,” I say because I feel it needs to be said. Even though I know it’s pointless, and there’s absolutely nothing I can do about it.
(they’re on this island they’re all going to
die angel)
“We can’t save everybody,” the technomancer says before turning back to his task. “Get back onto the boat with the rest of the Pure.”
“The Pure are still on the boat? They’re not safe there.”
“They’re not safe out here.”
“Yeah, but the Bleed—”
“No more time for this,” PIIX says. “That eoa is moving this way.”
(there are more eoas)
(they will come for you)
“Sorry,” I say to JACK, who just grabs my hand and pulls me along with her. I glance at the Rusted Whale. I don’t see any evidence of Bleed, but my gut tells me they’re already inside. I can’t see everything from here. Where there’s one…
Aran wouldn’t leave the Pure undefended.
(don’t worry about what you)
(cannot change angel)
(worry about that eoa)
At this end of the pier, there are ramps that lead down to the sand. There are people down there on the beach, wandering without direction or purpose. Some of them are brainfried, jacked in when Cyberspace disappeared. As we descend, the roar of the eoa sends people scattering. Some of them away from the eoa. Some of them toward it, hastening a conclusion they’ve deemed inevitable.
