The Half-Life Empire 2 [Recap to Chap 6] (Patreon)

Hey peeps!

I mentioned this before in an update, but a publisher picked up The Half-Life Empire. I posted the first book here a while back (I wrote that story years ago, actually) and it's debuting in Oct.

The sequel isn't going to hit shelves until Feb 2024, but it's coming together so it'll be all ready for release (audio, ebook, print, etc.)

I figured you all might want to see the sequel (there is a recap, if you have forgotten what happened). If not, don't worry, more Abyssal Arcanist to come!

Shami

Recap of Events

The year was 2024 when three clans of aliens arrived on Earth—the Teth, the Vay, and the Frest.

Dr. Benjamin Yamasaki, one of the first designated human ambassadors, learned Tethlite, the language of the Teth, and befriended them on behalf of the United States of America. The Teth, an amenable clan with a strict social hierarchy and the most advanced knowledge of the aliens, wanted to build a human-Teth nation.

Thus, the Teth shared their scientific knowledge (alien technology, or A-tech for short). A-tech improved life on Earth, from fission batteries to hyperloop tunnels—some humans even injected themselves with tiny blood-cell-sized robots known as nanites that kept them youthful and healthy.

Most importantly, humanity developed a weather control satellite system to manipulate the climate of Earth.

The Vay, hostile and uncooperative, were determined to cleanse the Earth and make it suitable only for their kind. The Vay slaughtered the Frest and then conquered most of Asia.

The Vay weren’t as technologically advanced as the Teth, but they did reproduce far faster, and they quickly swarmed locations. The Vay then set their sights on Africa, and the rest of the world readied itself for war.

With the help of Dr. Benjamin Yamasaki, the Teth managed to reach an agreement with the Vay. They would divide the world, there would be no conflict, and they would develop starships to send more of their kind deeper into the far reaches of space.

But humanity—and the Teth—were betrayed.

Someone from within passed information to the Vay. They gave the Vay blueprints for A-tech firestorm fission bombs, and the warmongers in the Vay used their newfound power to cleanse the planet in nuclear fire.

And as part of the grand betrayal, the weather control satellites were tampered with, rending them useless.

The year was 2035 when radiation soaked into the land and fallout blotted out the sky.

The world entered a time period known as “the Forever Winter.” It didn’t literally last forever, but the cloud cover over the planet remained so thick, temperatures across the globe plummeted. A terrible chill killed most life and left the world desolate in many places.

Those with nanites, who managed to survive the worse of the fallout, were known as “Winter Survivors.” These special few became the last of humanity who knew how to operate A-tech.

Those born during the Forever Winter—and long after—began to build a new life among the wreckage of civilization. Most were unaware of the world’s previous glories, and the A-tech that scattered the landscape was more of a hazard than a boon.

Dr. Benjamin Yamasaki, a Winter Survivor, passed his vast knowledge down to his children, and his children’s children.

But then he was killed.

Kita Yamasaki, a granddaughter to the great doctor, used her knowledge on the Teth, and their technology, to discover that the weather satellites were set to ignite Earth’s atmosphere a good fifty years after the bombs were dropped—a failsafe to make sure everyone and everything was wiped off the face of the planet.

However, since few would ever believe her claim, she traveled across the wastelands with only a handful of allies, to place known as the Meteorological Plexus—a control center for the satellites. Kita would turn them off, and save the last of Earth.

Along the way, she was hunted by a woman in a power armor suit, captured by alien-worshipping cultists known as Iron-Blooded, and nearly poisoned by radiation. But Kita never gave up.

She was aided by the junk hunter, Bishop, the mute girl, Chelsey, and the ex-Iron-Blooded soldier, Dallas. Even the woman hunting Kita across the wasteland eventually became an ally. They were a ragtag group of survivors with a goal that no one would believe.

Upon reaching her destination, Kita was confronted by a group of Teth who wanted Earth’s atmosphere ruined. One of their unmanned research ships would return to the planet if the satellites started their destruction, and thus, the Teth would have a way to return home.

However, Kita destroyed their means to reach the ship, and then stole some of their eggs, before fleeing from their facility. In the resulting chaos, Dallas gave his life to help the escape.

Knowing the Teth would fix the satellites now that they couldn’t escape Earth, Kita decided she would start her own civilization—one with a true human and alien alliance. But first she would need to collect more A-tech.

Which is where the story left off…

Chapter 1

I had been maimed, tortured, and poisoned by radiation, but today was probably the third most painful day I had ever experienced.

In order to infiltrate an old-world weapons manufacturing facility, I had to go through a tunnel that was basically covered in rusty nails and chunks of rocks shaped like broken seashells.

If the arms factory had been abandoned, I could’ve gone through the front door, but I wasn’t lucky. The entire building had been taken over by the Iron-Blooded, a group of quacks who worshiped aliens. They got their “clever” name from the nanites in their bloodstream. Those tiny machines made the Iron-Blooded deadlier than standard individuals, and able to interact with most A-tech that others couldn’t handle.

Unfortunately for me, the Iron-Blooded gave up their sanity along with their allegiance to humanity. They would gun down anyone who got close to their facilities.

Additionally, if they discovered who I was, and how much I had fucked with their operations in the past, they would likely torture me for years for the sheer fun of it all.

So, I couldn’t get caught.

Which led to me crawling through a partially collapsed tunnel under the arms factory. I crept my way along the concrete pathway, acutely aware of the smell and grimacing from the agony. This had once been a sewage drain, I would’ve bet my life on it. A portion of the factory above had collapsed, blocking most drainage pathways, but at least a few still remained.

Every cut and scrape from the jagged objects across the bottom of the tunnel burned.

“Damn,” Bishop muttered, his gruff voice echoing throughout the cramped space.

He was my only companion on this dangerous trek, but I wondered if he’d be able to make it.

Bishop had to squeeze himself through the rubble, his breath rough as he sucked in air as he slid through narrow cracks. He was larger than me—I stood only a little over five feet, and Bishop had at least a foot more over that. The man was also muscular, probably from his tough life as a junk hunter out in the wasteland.

“Do you see this?” he asked between huffs of breath. He pulled himself toward me, dragging his shoulder along the ground. A nail cut his shirt and skin, drawing a line of crimson. “It’s like crawling on Legos.”

“What’re Legos?” I whispered.

He chuckled and shook his head. “Never mind. Things from the old world. Painful to step on.”

“Ah.” Legos were probably military traps, then. I had never heard of them.

Bishop carried a little flashlight on the collar of his shirt. It wobbled around with his awkward movements, only partially shining down the tunnel.

I was ahead of him, my own flashlight held in my hand. If Bishop couldn’t fit through the tunnel, he was supposed to wait for me to return. He hated being left behind, though.

“We’re almost there,” I said, keeping my voice low. “Keep it down.”

“Kita.” Bishop dragged his shoulder over the debris, the sharp bits of concrete and rocks stabbing him in multiple places. Most people would’ve cried out, but Bishop wasn’t like most people.

He started chuckling.

“Do you see this shit?” Bishop crawled up to my legs and motioned to the many cuts and bruises along his shoulder. He laughed as he added, “All this doesn’t fall here by accident. I’m willin’ to wager someone has a camera on us—this is their most insidious trap. Their crowning achievement in torture technology.”

“I seriously doubt anyone is watching us.”

Cameras running twenty-four seven required electricity—or at least a stable power source—and all of that was in short supply.

Bishop smacked the side of my calf. He smiled at me, his eyes alight with mischief, his dark hair slicked back with sweat from the long haul through the tunnel. “You’re sayin’ we’re all alone? In a dark and cramped location? All hot and sweaty?”

My face heated. I wanted to reply with a witty retort, but my nerves got the better of me. I awkwardly stuttered something incomprehensible, my chest a flutter. I crawled forward, silently cursing myself for being socially adept.

“What’s the hurry?” Bishop scooted along the tunnel after me. I had cleared a small pathway with my body—pushing aside some of the nails, rocks, and screws—but Bishop was just so much larger, it didn’t matter.

“We can’t joke around,” I managed to say, my throat tight. I placed my elbow on the ground and flinched. The jagged rubble poked me through my jean jacket. “We only have a limited time to get in and out, remember?”

“Tsk,” Bishop said with a click of his tongue. “We’ve got several hours before those patrol cars get back. Plenty of time.”

“Still. I don’t think we should waste even a single second.”

“I dunno. Us—alone—on a dangerous mission? Seems like first date material, if you ask me.”

Again, my social anxiety got the better of me. For years, I had lived alone in a bunker in the middle of nowhere. Whenever Bishop flirted with me, I grew silent and red. Obviously, this wasn’t a date.

No.

We were on an important mission.

This wasn’t just any weapons manufacturing facility—this was a location where they once produced exoskeleton power armor. That was before the bombs, though. Long before the world fell.

Thankfully, the JUDGE-X0 exoskeleton power suits could last hundreds of years in a warehouse and still operate once activated. If I could get my hands on one, it would make gathering material for our city an easy task.

But first we had to get one.

This was the one time of day when the arms factory had the least amount of Iron-Blooded patrolling the halls. Some of the lunatics often went out to harvest the desolate cities, or capture wandering individuals and drag them back to their hideout. While the majority of them were away, I suspected Bishop and I could swipe a single power armor suit and flee.

At least, I hoped we could.

We crawled a little further, until we came to a wide space in the tunnel. Bishop pulled himself up alongside me.

“Kita.”

I stopped and glanced over. The harsh shadows in the tunnel obscured most of my vision, but I could see Bishop’s face just fine. He had stubble on his chin, and his eyes were clear.

“Don’t get quiet on me,” he said. “I know you want to—ow, fuck.” Bishop chuckled as he rolled to his side and rubbed at his ribs. “Damn, that one got me good.” He tugged on something embedded in his flesh.

After he sucked in some air, Bishop withdrew a sliver of steel. It was at least an inch long, and now coated in his blood.

“Do you see this?” he asked again, holding the sliver into the light of his flashlight. After a single laugh, Bishop tossed it to the side.

I lifted an eyebrow. “You almost sound happy that you got injured.”

“I am. A little.” Bishop pressed his palm on his injured ribs, stifling the flow of blood. “Pain lets me know I’m still alive. That’s always a good thing, right? I’d rather feel something than nothing at all.” His smile near wavered, even as he tilted his head back and rested it on a pile of sharp stones.

That was what I appreciated the most about Bishop.

He made being around him easy, even for someone like me.

After a few short moments, Bishop removed his hand from his injury. There was no longer a hole in his body, and the blood had stopped flowing entirely.

Although Bishop and I weren’t members of the Iron-Blooded, we both had nanites in our system. They were “gifts” during the brief time we had been held captive by aliens. I shook those memories away.

We didn’t have time for reminiscing.

“Try to be careful,” I whispered. “Once this is all over, we can have an official date. But you have to promise me that we’re both going to make it through this without permanent injury.”

Bishop wiped sweat from his face and nodded once. “I promise.” Then he pointed at me. “And it’s a date. I’m going to hold you to that.”

I didn’t know what to say. I awkwardly grabbed his pointer finger and shook it. Like a weirdo. I sometimes hated myself for being so… embarrassing.

But it didn’t bother Bishop. He laughed and then rolled onto his stomach to continue the crawl.

I focused my attention on the task at hand. The tunnel ahead became narrower and more cramped than anything before. As I squeezed my way through, the rough walls pressed hard against both my shoulders, and it felt like I were being devoured by a stony serpent.

The air grew thicker, and the stink so bad, it made my eyes water.

After I gagged, I managed to squirm my way into a maintenance room. I shined my flashlight around until I spotted a steel ladder that led up toward the arms factory. The rusted hatch into the building appeared untouched, and I hoped it wouldn’t be difficult to open.

I stood and rubbed my legs.

The minor scrapes and bruises across my body burned, but not for long. After a few deep breaths, the nanites worked their magic. My skin stitched itself back into place, and the lowkey agony faded from my mind.

I turned and watched as Bishop struggled to get himself into the room. His shoulders were so broad, I thought he was going to get stuck, but he somehow managed to wriggle his way into the maintenance room with me.

His white shirt was half stained with scarlet, and his jeans were smeared in gunk. Despite all that, when he brushed himself off, he was quite handsome.

Or perhaps I was too used to post-apocalyptic chic. Anyone who still had all their limbs and teeth was “good lookin’.”

The only thing odd about Bishop was the many tally mark scars he had across his body. His shirt and pants covered most of them, but some were visible on his shoulders and forearms. Each tally mark represented a person Bishop had killed.

I had seen him carve into his body after each battle—it was a ritual he never forgot to partake in.

Bishop carried a handgun that he had tucked into the waistband of his pants. He normally used a rifle, but there was no way his firearm was going to fit through the tunnel.

He glanced up at the rusted hatch. “This is it?” he asked, his voice quiet, but it still echoed around the room.

“Yes,” I replied. “If the information I found about the facility are accurate, we’re going to emerge into a room filled with sewage tanks. We’ll go out the door, travel down a long hallway until we reach the stairs, and then we’ll go up one flight, and exit onto a factory floor. That’s the most likely location to find stored exoskeleton suits.”

“And you memorized the facility enough to know where we need to go if any of that is blocked off? Or we don’t find suits?”

I offered a confident grin. “Of course.”

He smirked. “Good. Then let’s get through this without running into any tally marks, shall we?”

Chapter 2

Bishop climbed the ladder and wrenched the hatch open with a grunt of effort. A thick fog of odor wafted down over us. The smell of rust mingled with the faint scent of oil that had long lost its purpose. I held my breath as I climbed up after Bishop.

My leg didn’t hurt as I ascended the rungs. That revelation filled with me with energy and triumph.

Thank goodness for A-tech medicine. I had been crippled for years, but after my… visit… with the Teth aliens, they had restored my injured body to its original state.

Once in the storage room, Bishop shut the hatch. Our two flashlights were the only illumination available, which got me nervous. If the Iron-Blooded were here, why weren’t there any lights on in this room? They had clearly reactivated the factory, and most of electronics and computers should’ve flared to life on their own. Had the Iron-Blooded shut off functionality to certain areas?

No. The factory’s electronics were likely malfunctioning.

That was a bad sign.

“Lead the way,” Bishop whispered as he readied his handgun.

I crept toward the door and took several breaths to calm my anxiety. Once steeled to our task, I grabbed the door handle and gently pushed it open.

The hallway was deserted.

I stepped out and kept my back against the wall. Not only did the Iron-Blooded have nanites in their system, giving them enhanced physical abilities and rapid healing, but all of them were trained combatants, armed to the teeth. If one snuck up on me, it would be the end.

Broken piping and twisted bits of metal littered the hallway, remnants of a bygone era when this place had been a hive of industry. The debris made me wonder, though… What had happened to scatter so much junk around?

Perhaps I would never know. It was likely a fifty-year-old mystery from when the bombs fell.

Bishop turned off his flashlight once he was close to me. He tapped my shoulder and motioned for me to do the same.

Once I switched the light off, I continued forward, creeping through the shadows, my eyes adjusting to the darkness slower than I would’ve liked. A faint bit of light glowed at the end of the hall, shining down a flight of stairs, and I made my way toward it.

Bishop moved with the agility of predator. Probably because he was one. I was the hacker who had lived in a bunker for years, perfecting my ability to decipher Teth computer codes. Bishop had been busy killing people.

I supposed that made us a good team, because we covered each other’s weaknesses.

I softly chuckled at the thought.

Bishop stepped close to me, his warm breath on the back of my neck. “First rule about not getting caught,” he whispered, “is to keep quiet.”

A scream punctuated his statement, as though the universe had an ironic sense of humor.

Somewhere in the factory, someone had cried out in agony. Their yell sent ice through my veins, and I wondered if we should investigate. The scream lasted a good three seconds, which was two and half seconds too long for my comfort.

Something terrible was happening, and it drove me insane not knowing what.

Bishop must’ve understood my feelings, even though I had said nothing. He stared down at me with a hardened expression. “Second rule about not getting caught—don’t investigate strange noises.”

“What if there are people who need our help?” I asked.

“We have a single handgun between the two of us. How about we find that power armor first, and then save some sad sacks.”

Heh. That was a good point. We’d be much better help if we actually had the means to fend off some Iron-Blooded.

Despite the gnawing dread that ate away at my focus, I pressed forward. We headed to the stairs, just as planned, and then ascended to the next level. The lights destroyed my dark vision and I shielded my gaze as I hesitantly stepped to the top.

Everyone one of my senses strained to catch any hint of movement.

Besides the screaming—which came frequently, and only got worse with each new cry—I heard nothing else, and saw no Iron-Blooded lunatics. Instead, we came to a loading garage that was mostly empty. It was an industrial garage, with high ceilings and walls made of stone and steel.

The factory had four garages in total, each placed in the four cardinal directions. This was the south garage. As along as I could keep our location straight in my mind, we wouldn’t need a map.

Hopefully we wouldn’t get turned around.

The lights overhead flickered once. They were powerful A-tech devices that would last for another two hundred years, so long as they were not destroyed, but the wiring in the walls might not be as advanced.

The large doors that led to the heart of the factory were open, though. I quietly hurried over and glanced inside. There was a mechanized assembly line meant to mass create power armor exoskeletons. Large claws, long motorized belts, and industrial welding tools dominated the interior of the factory. The equipment was all steel gray and bright yellow, with warnings written on the side of everything.

“This place is nice an’ spooky,” Bishop whispered once he managed to get his own peek.

I pointed to the far line. “There’s no materials,” I muttered. “This can’t actually create a new suit.”

“A shame.”

“We should look for a full suit.” I turned my attention to the south garage. Then I pointed to some steel crates located in the far corner. “There might be a few here.”

Bishop huffed as he turned his attention to the area I had indicated. “And you think the Iron-Blooded haven’t pilfered them yet?”

“Only people with interface implants can pilot the power suits.”

I grazed my fingers over the back of my neck and then touched the base of my skull. Neuro-implants were fused into my spine that would allow me to control one of the exoskeletons.

I had never done that before, but in theory, I had the capability.

Not many had access to the implants, and they were notoriously difficult to “install” into a human. Before the Forever Winter, it was a simple task done at most hospitals if someone had the need to use an exoskeleton. Since the Forever Winter, though, only a few nations had access to such technology.

Ex Cathedra, the new nation to the east, was one of the few places with a Winter Survivor who could do the operation. That was why Ex Cathedra had their own division of “judges”—soldiers permanently in their power suits who fought raiders, other newly formed nations, or anyone who interfered in Ex Cathedra’s business.

Since I had implants, all I needed to do was get into a suit, and then I could pilot it out of this factory. That was Plan A.

If I couldn’t get a suit, Plan B was to sneak back out the sewage tunnel.

Another scream brought me back to present.

My throat grew dry as I swallowed hard. Then I crept into the large garage and headed for one of the crates. Letters and numbers were painted onto the side of the giant ten-foot-tall boxes. I suspected they were military designations and shipping coordinates.

“You think these boxes have suits?” Bishop asked as he slowly walked around one. He glared at the electronic locks along the edges. “Why would they make so many and put them into these crates? Who does that?”

“Right before the Forever Winter, the United States and their allies had been gearing up for war.” I searched the create until I came to a keypad. The small computer on board was designed with A-tech, and I smiled to myself as I touched the keys. The screen flickered to life.

“War with who?”

“The Vay,” I muttered. “The other aliens that came to Earth. The Teth and the Vay hated each other, and the United States was caught up in the conflict.”

Bishop clicked his tongue in disinterest. He didn’t care much for my history lessons.

I didn’t blame him. They were depressing. But my need to understand and gather knowledge always kept my digging for explanations and answers.

The crate was likely powered by an atomic battery, a can-sized object filled with radioactive isotopes. The decay of the isotopes generated electricity, and they often lasted sixty years, sometimes longer.

Even if the crate didn’t have any power armor exoskeletons, I could steal the battery and still make out like a bandit.

I tapped at the keypad, putting in commands to bring up the operating system for the crate. The Teth and their A-tech weren’t difficult to navigate—so long as the person knew the alien language, Tethlite. It wasn’t like English, where you could sound out letters and read it with your eyes. The Teth didn’t have eyes, after all.

It was a language of sound and tactile sensations. Using a computer designed by the Teth was an infinitely different experience than something made by humans. I had to feel my way through the menus, basically, but once I had, I knew breaking in wouldn’t be difficult.

When the Teth first came to Earth, and helped humanity develop A-tech, they had a few simple operating systems that could easily be hacked. The Teth never managed to make improvements because the war wiped most of them out before it could happen. Now the archaic tech was just lying around the wasteland with all its flaws still intact.

In a few short minutes, the electronic locks on the crate hissed and released. Bishop flinched and took a step back, his grip on his handgun tighter than before.

One side of the crate went down, and I held my breath as I waited to see the contents.

Empty.

There were hooks for hanging power armor suits, but they had nothing on them.

Crestfallen, I cursed under my breath and then hurried to the next crate. Bishop stayed close to my side, but when a third round of screams echoed into the garage, he seemed distracted. He stared at the far door while I tapped away at another keypad.

“I don’t think we should stay here long,” Bishop murmured. “Finish this quickly.”

It took me another couple minutes, but I managed to open a second crate. Again, it hissed as one side lowered down to the floor. This one, too, was empty.

I exhaled, confused by our findings. There weren’t any more crates capable of holding exoskeletons. Just these two.

“Let me get the batteries.” I stepped into one of the crates. “Then we can check one other area.”

“Kita.” Bishop held his gun close. “I don’t think we have time for that.” He jogged over, his attention on the far door. “People are on their way.”

They were? I glanced around the garage. The crates were still open, indicating our presence. It would take me a few minutes to shut them—did we have time for that? Would it be better if we hid?

I motioned to the interior of the crate. Perhaps we could duck down, out of sight, and hide here.

Bishop grabbed me by the elbow and yanked me out of the box. “Third rule about not getting caught—never pick a hiding spot with no exits.” Then he scooped me up into his arms and ran across the empty garage.

He was rather strong, which I appreciated. Although, there was no need to carry me anymore. Bishop had done so when I had a lame leg, but that part of my life was long over now.

Still—I wasn’t going to complain. I liked being in his arms.

Bishop ducked into the heart of the factory just as the door to the garage opened. The screaming became louder—and clearer—as someone was dragged inside. Voices carried in the open garage, and the crying echoed around, creating a noise worse than a thousand wailing infants.

Bishop ducked behind one of the conveyor belts. He set me down in a sitting position, and then motioned to the back of the factory line. There was probably an exit in the back, but we would need to make it there without getting caught.

“Does this room jog your memory?” a man asked in Tethlite.

I’d recognize the language anywhere…

Tethlite sounded garbled and disgusting. Speaking the language required a thick use of the tongue. It wasn’t human, even if humans could technically speak it.

Someone moaned in agony. From behind the conveyor belt, I couldn’t see what was happening, so I poked my head up enough to peek over the machinery.

Three human men in black armor stood in the middle of the hanger. They surrounded a single individual who was huddled on the ground. Blood pooled around the man on the floor, but I couldn’t immediately spot any injuries. Where was all the crimson coming from?

The lights flickered overhead.

The Iron-Blooded wore armor that had been dyed black and marked with white symbols. It was equipment made with A-tech from before the Forever Winter. Tough vests, thick pants, and boots that could withstand a bed of nails.

And their clothing also bore a mark…

A white painting of a human skull inside of an alien skull’s open mouth.

That was their symbol—like how old-school pirates used the skull-and-crossbones to designate themselves as cutthroats. The Iron-Blooded had a fucked-up sense of humor. They were all humans who served aliens, so clear, the human skull needed to go into one of the Teth’s.

“Where are the supplies?” one of the Iron-Blooded asked, his voice icy.

The man on the floor sobbed, clearly unable, or unwilling, to answer.

I scooted up a little higher, just to see more details.

The Iron-Blooded, the one who had spoken, knelt and grabbed the bleeding man. With a pair of pliers—rusty, old pliers—the Iron-Blooded proceeded to yank out one of the broken man’s teeth. Slowly, painfully, twisting and wrenching until the front tooth popped out of the man’s gums and sent blood splattering to the floor.

The scream only grew louder—and then it became gargled.

I regretted my curiosity.

Shivering back empathetic pain, I ducked back down behind the conveyor belt.

“How fucked are we?” Bishop whispered. He held up his handgun, as if to ask the firepower of the enemy group.

“I think they’re distracted,” I muttered. Then I motioned to the factory floor. “We should go. Quietly.”

“What the?” one of the Iron-Blooded shouted. “Look! The crates! Someone opened them.”

A loud string of curses filled the south garage, and I knew Bishop and I were quickly running out of time.

“Alert Commander Dannik! Inform him that we have intruders!”

Chapter 3

Commander Dannik.

His name was the equivalent of the world spitting in my eye.

He was here? Of all places?

While my heart twisted in my chest, my thoughts went into overdrive. If Commander Dannik was here, that meant there probably was power armor still stored somewhere in the facility. Dannik led crucial missions for the Iron-Blooded, after all. My gut instinct told me he wouldn’t be present if this was just a normal operation for them.

The Iron-Blooded ran around the garage, checking the steel crates and the shadows in every corner.

“Find them!” one shouted.

“They’re all speaking gibberish,” Bishop whispered. He rubbed his ear. “What’re they saying?”

Bishop didn’t understand Tethlite. That was fine. He didn’t need to.

“We need to hurry.” I crept toward the back of the room. “They know we’re here.”

The last time I had seen Commander Dannik was nine months ago, but I knew he would remember my face. We had to avoid him at all costs.

Bishop and I stayed ducked down as we hurried our way to the back of the assembly room. The place had all the welcoming warmth of a graveyard. The dead machines hadn’t been activated in over fifty years, and some of the robotic arms—the ones used for moving large pieces of metal—had fall over, their claws pointed awkwardly in the air, like grasping hands reaching for salvation.

I jogged through a thick collection of spiderwebs and then slowed in order to wipe them from my face and black hair.

A while ago, my hair had fallen out due to radiation poisoning, but it had slowly grown back in. Now it was pixie-short, which was light and effortless to manage—and also easy to clear of bugs and their webs.

Bishop ran into me. After a quick grunt, he said, “What’s wrong?” He glanced over his shoulder, his handgun held close. “We shouldn’t stay still. We should get back to the sewer tunnel as quickly as possible.”

“I know a way,” I whispered as I pictured the maps of the facility in my mind’s eye.

The sounds of the Iron-Blooded echoed throughout the dead facility. But then the hum of power flared through the factory floor, almost causing me to yell out. Someone had fixed the power problem, that much was certain. Lights flicked to life overhead, and portions of the assembly equipment groaned as they stiffened into working positions.

Bishop glanced around, a slight smirk on his face. “Looks like things are getting more interesting by the second.”

“They couldn’t have gone far!” an Iron-Blooded shouted. “Post men at all the doors!”

I tugged on Bishop’s elbow and led him behind one of the large assembly machines. The safety lights flashed on the side, indicating it was ready to operate. It didn’t move, though. Everything had readied itself into starting positions, but now they were all waiting for commands.

Two Iron-Blooded entered the factory floor the same way Bishop and I had entered. They both carried assault rifles, and they kept their weapons up as though they would need to use them at any second. I had no doubt in my mind they would shoot first and ask questions later.

The moment the two Iron-Blooded dogs were looking in opposite directions, I went to step around the machine. Bishop grabbed my shoulder and kept me back.

“They always travel in threes,” he whispered.

Sure enough, a third soldier stepped onto the factory floor a moment later. He would’ve seen me had Bishop not been on his game.

We needed a distraction.

I turned my attention to the machinery in front of me. There were several computer panels around, each one tied to a major position of the assembly line. I crept close to one and then tapped at the screen. Thankfully, nothing was password locked, and it was made with humans in mind. There was a visual competent, which made navigation easier and faster. I went straight into the menu and activated the robotic arms.

Several of the toppled over arms stuttered to life, their metal scraping against the concrete floor and creating a cacophony that filled the room. Sparks flew from the aged machinery, and I suspected more of it would crap out soon enough.

But I didn’t care. It was noisy—that was all that mattered.

The three Iron-Blooded dashed over to the assembly line, their rifles at the ready.

I was about to turn and run off with Bishop, but I stopped when I realized the machinery menu had several interesting items.

“What’re you waiting for?” Bishop hissed. He tilted his head to the side. “Let’s go, Kita.”

“W-Wait. I found something interesting.”

I tapped my way through the menus, searching for all the specs and specifications. The factory was designed to pump out exoskeleton power suits, but it was also configured to create advanced greenhouse supplies.

The type of greenhouses that were built underground using A-tech—the kind that could last centuries without any sort of outside influence. They grew food without any fear of radiation or ambient poison, and were sheltered from extreme weather.

I had once fantasized about fleeing to the BC Oasis, the largest underground greenhouse in the world, but there were obviously other greenhouses to find. This factory was creating parts for more to be built.

How many underground greenhouses were created before the Forever Winter?

Maybe this factory would know.

The factory would keep a shipping list, wouldn’t it? A list of places where all the new parts would be shipped off too. Or perhaps a distribution facility that would know the answer.

“It’s just the machines going haywire,” one of the Iron-Blooded stated. “Leave it.”

“Kita,” Bishop growled, his body tense. He glanced around the assembly line and groaned in irritation. “I think we lost our distraction. What’s taking you so long?”

I poked away at the screen until I arrived at the information I was looking for. There were addressed for the underground greenhouses and a shipping facility with parts. However, I didn’t have anything to write the information down on. Instead, I stared at the letters and numbers—an old-world address for when the government kept track of everyone’s owned property—and tried to memorize everything.

I could find these locations. There were ways to use the pre-Forever Winter maps, and I knew all them all.

“Kita,” Bishop whispered, his urgency bordering on panic. “We don’t have time.”

A second later, one of the Iron-Blooded goons stepped around the machine we were hiding behind. Bishop didn’t hesitate. He lunged, grabbed the man’s arm, and yanked the villain close. Without missing a beat, Bishop shoved his handgun into the underside of the man’s jaw and fired.

Blood exploded across the nearby equipment.

And the floor. And parts of the ceiling.

The Iron-Blooded fell backward, dead nearly instantly from the shot. Unfortunately, now everyone knew where we were.

Bishop grabbed my arm and pulled me along as he ran across the factory floor. The other Iron-Blooded lunatics fired at us, their bullets ricocheting off the machinery all around, the whole room filled the sounds of a battlefield.

The whistle of a bullet whizzing by my ear caused all the hair on the back of my neck to stand on end.

Bishop charged through a door and dragged me deeper into the factory.

“The other way,” I said between huffs. “The exit is the other way!”

I figured Bishop heard me, but he never slowed his pace. He dashed around a corner, headed through another door, and then pulled me through a large area filled with ancient cubicles, decaying work computers, and a dusty conference table. The overhead lights flickered as they struggled to stay on.

Several doors were positioned around the walls, but I suspected most of them led to personal offices.

Someone entered the room right after us and opened fire.

Unlike the assembly line, there wasn’t much to hide behind here.

A bullet sliced through Bishop’s bicep and he staggered forward, groaning in pain. He ducked into a cubicle, yanking me along the way. The gray cubicle walls were only four feet tall—we couldn’t stand and run, not unless we wanted to get shot again, and they wouldn’t offer much protection.

Bishop grabbed at his injury, chuckling to himself as he applied pressure. He handed me the gun. “They’re coming. I need a moment. Cover us.”

Normally, I avoided firing handguns, but this was a necessity. I would do what I needed to in order to survive—it was a promise I made myself, and I made to others.

I held the gun close and waited for the Iron-Blooded to get closer. Bishop reached into his pocket and removed a small amount of gauze. It wasn’t much, but enough to soak up some blood until his nanites kicked in and started stitching his body up.

The thug opened fire again, his rifle fire ripping through the flimsy cubicle walls. I ducked down, hoping beyond hope that I wasn’t randomly struck. Bishop ducked a bit, but the chaos and danger didn’t shake him. He wrapped his arm without hesitating or shaking. We could be sinking into an active volcano and Bishop would be a cool as ice all the way until he fully melted.

The Iron-Blooded soldier momentarily stopped firing. The room smelled of gunpowder and mold, and I knew he was close. My ears still rang from the fury of his weapon.

I glanced at the forgotten workstation and spotted an old ceramic mug. Desperate to do something, I reached up, grabbed the mug, and then threw it across the aisle, shattering the cup in the opposite cubicle from us.

The man turned on his heel and opened fire on the empty cubicle.

This time, I wasn’t going to waste my distraction.

I stood and shot my handgun twice. The first bullet struck his bulletproof vest, but the second hit his neck. The bullet shot through his flesh, and he stumbled down onto one knee, clearly caught off guard and now choking on his own blood. While the man was down, I planted my feet, took a second to aim, and shot him through the chin.

Bishop’s handgun only had fifteen bullets. We had used it four times. I needed to conserve our ammo.

Once the Iron-Blooded fell to the floor, I stepped forward, intent on stealing his rifle, but I never reached his body. A third Iron-Blooded fiend stepped into the room, no doubt drawn to us by the sound of gunfire.

More would show up.

I opened fire on the man, shooting twice, and he used the door as a shield. While he was hiding, I backed up and motioned to Bishop.

“We need to go,” I muttered.

“Heh. Now you’re in a hurry.” Bishop pushed himself to his feet and smirked. “There. Look.”

A red ‘STAIRWELL’ sign flickered over one of the back doors. I never turned my back to the soldier across the room. When he poked his head around his cover, I fired two more bullets. Cover fire was important, but our ammo was vanishing fast…

Bishop ripped open the door and we fled through of it. The Iron-Blooded opened fire, the bullets almost catching me as I fled into a narrow stairwell.

We could go up two stories, or down one. My thoughts were jumbled, so it took me a moment to recall the layout of the factory. I had to visualize the map…

Bishop slammed the door shut behind us and then held it shut. The thick steel of the door was enough to protect us from the bullets, but not forever.

The sounds from the cubicle room shifted from gunfire to shouting.

“They’re trapped,” someone yelled.

I recognized the voice. Commander Dannik. He had a gruff and icy tone that haunted my nightmares.

“Use one of the firestorm grenades. It’s imperative no one know we’re here.”

Oh, just my luck.

Firestorm weapons were some of the most powerful A-tech used during the wars before the Forever Winter. My blood iced over as I imagined the destructive flames filling this whole stairwell. Bishop and I would be incinerated within seconds, nanites be damned.

“They not chasing us, which is weird,” Bishop muttered, obviously oblivious to our impending doom. “Let’s pick a floor and go.”

I really wished he would learn Tethlite.

“We need to run,” I said, practically tripping over my words in my haste to speak. “The next floor up. Right now. Hurry!”

Chapter 4

I leapt up the stairs three at a time, my legs burning by the time I reached the floor above. Not as much burning as if I was hit with a firestorm grenade, though. Running as fast as my agonized legs could go, I slammed through the second-story door and stumbled into the foreman’s office.

Bishop rushed in after me, his gaze searching our surroundings. Dust motes hung on the air, as though unaffected by gravity.

This was a foreman’s office. It once belonged to someone who oversaw the factory. Bishop cough and grabbed the handle of the nearest door. He threw it open.

A closet.

“That one.” I wheezed and pointed to a far door. “I think we can go through there…” I hacked back more dust. “And then take the mezzanine floor around to another stairwell.”

Bishop nodded. He grabbed my elbow and took me straight across the room, avoiding the large desk and metal cabinets with such speed and accuracy, it was like he had done this before.

He grabbed the door handle, and a loud boom rocked the factory. Bishop yanked me through the door, both of us stumbling onto the wire-mesh floor that overlooked the assembly line. White hot fire exploded from the stairwell and washed into the foreman’s office, charring everything it touched.

The A-tech bombs were specifically meant to damage carbon-based life. I wasn’t entirely sure of the method, but firestorm bombs damaged living matter more than metal, plastics, or ceramics. Bishop shut the door behind us, preventing some of the fire from flowing out onto the mezzanine.

“Damn.” He laughed once. “They really want us dead.”

“Seems like it,” I said, my voice shaky.

“C’mon. We’re not gonna be anyone’s tally mark today.”

We ran along the mezzanine, our footfalls rattling the rusted steel-mesh walkway. Several bolts holding the mezzanine to the wall fell loose as we dashed by, and my throat tightened with ever-growing anxiety. I decided to stop, and I held my arm out to signal Bishop to do the same. He almost slammed into me, but he voiced no complaints.

Shouts from around the factory rang out. The Iron-Blooded were still searching.

“The ones in the stairwell must be dead,” someone said. “Check the rest of the facility. Make certain we have no more pests.”

Barely anyone outside of the Iron-Blooded spoke Tethlite. They probably assumed their commands and plans remained unknown, even as they yelled them at the top of their lungs. To Bishop, their schemes were completely secret. Unfortunately for the Iron-Blooded, I knew quite a bit about the Teth, including their language. The Iron-Blooded had no advantage I didn’t also possess.

I grabbed Bishop and pressed a finger to my lips. Then I crept along the mezzanine walkway, careful not to rattle it too much. Bishop followed suit, his hot breath on the back of my neck. When we reached some stairs, I glanced out over the assembly floor. Sets of three Iron-Blooded soldiers were diligently searching the corners of the room, careful to sift through every shadow.

I took the stairs as quietly as possible.

Bishop practically slid down the railing. The man was a risk taker, and I held my breath until his boots softly touched down on the concrete. What if the rusted metal had given out under his weight? What had he been thinking?

He offered me a shrug as he tip-toed by, but then he grimaced and grabbed at his gunshot wound. I gave him a “that’s what you get” look, and Bishop just gritted his teeth and forced another shrug.

He would drive me insane.

That was fine. At least… I wasn’t alone anymore. Raiding bizarre facilities for parts was infinitely more exciting, and bearable, with someone to do it with.

The two of us remained hidden behind ruined machines until we could dash to the nearest hall. Then we quietly made our way into the east garage. From what I remembered of the maps, this garage was meant for vehicles. Unfortunately, if we drove out of here, the Iron-Blooded would chase us down in a heartbeat.

We couldn’t risk taking a vehicle.

The garage was just like the other. Wide. Open. And there were vehicles at the far end.

I turned to run for the door that would lead us back to the south garage—and our sewer tunnel exit—but before I could move, I caught sight of an exoskeleton.

My heart practically stopped. It was nearly eight feet tall, and made from the most advanced A-tech imaginable before the Forever Winter.

The steel alloy of the power armor was so clean and scratch-free, it practically glittered. I had never seen one of the exoskeletons look so brand new before.

It was shaped like a human, and meant to fully encase an individual within. There were vents on the neck, and lights to indicate the power cell situation, but everything about the suit of armor was cold. Lifeless.

It hadn’t yet been activated.

The words JUDGE-X0 and MARK VI were painted onto the front leg.

“Look, Bishop,” I whispered, gesturing to the exoskeleton.

It stood next to a transport truck, completely stiff and unmoving. It was likely placed there by the Iron-Blooded, so it could be loaded and then hauled away. Unfortunately for us, nine of the Iron-Blooded soldiers were milling around the vehicle, each with a rifle. Even if I could somehow sneak over to the suit—which was unlikely, given that the garage was mostly empty, with nothing for me to hide behind—the power armor looked as though it had no power.

If I managed to get inside, I’d just be trapped, with no way to move the suit.

We’d need power cells. Or a way to recharge the suit’s power cells. Either way.

Bishop placed a hand on my shoulder. He gently guided me away along the wall, heading for the exit door. “We’re not getting that one,” he whispered. “If we find another, maybe. But not that one.”

The Iron-Blooded men hadn’t spotted us yet. They talked amongst themselves, as though they were having an intense conversation. Each stuck close to the truck, some even leaning against the side.

JUDGE-X0 suits were among the best—and I didn’t even know they made Mark VI variants. It must’ve been one of the most advanced and cutting-edge piece of military equipment ever produced before the Forever Winter.

I stared at the suit as Bishop pulled me over to the door. Without making a sound, he opened it and dragged me through.

“Focus,” he said, keeping his voice low. “We’ll get the next one.” Bishop shut the door as quietly as possible and the turned to me for directions.

We stood at the end of a hallway, and it took me a second to reorient myself. Once I was certain of our location inside the factory, I pointed to a far door. Together, we headed straight for it, but along the way, we passed a few open rooms, one of which had Iron-Blooded provisions inside. Bishop continued forward, but I stutter-stepped to a halt and then backed up to get a better look at the room.

They had armor, rations, ammunition, and most importantly, a few more firestorm grenades. They had them all stacked on top of black steel crates. No one was around. The Iron-Blooded had several normal grenades as well, but they were much more common—and easy to produce—when compared to the A-tech grenades.

“Kita,” Bishop hissed from dozen feet down the hallway. “Why do you keep stopping to window shop?” He held out his uninjured arm and cocked half a smile. “We probably could’ve been home by now if you didn’t examine every little damn thing.”

“This’ll only take a moment.” I dashed into the supply room and grabbed two firestorm grenades and one normal grenade. I didn’t see a bandolier to carry them, however, and all three were far too large for my pocket.

As I searched for a container than wasn’t a steel crate, my attention was drawn to the upper corner of the room, right where the wall met the ceiling. A single camera had been placed there. It wasn’t something from the old factory—it was A-tech. A spying device. No doubt something the Iron-Blooded placed here to watch their equipment.

Which meant I had made a terrible mistake.

Bishop—who had obviously hurried back to my position—appeared just beyond the doorframe. He glanced around, nodded in approval, and didn’t voice any more complaints. I handed him my gun. Then I reached for another grenade.

The hallway outside the supply room exploded with rifle fire. Bullets whizzed past the door, the light of rifle muzzles coming from the direction of the east garage.

Bishop ducked into the supply room, his teeth gritted, but his lips still curled upward in a feral smile. Although the sudden violence startled me, I wasn’t without my wits. I handed him one of the grenades, and the instant there was a break in the rifle fire, Bishop yanked the pin and threw it as hard as he could back toward the enemy.

He slammed the door shut.

We both took cover behind the crates. The resulting explosion of shrapnel shook the unsteady building. Dust and debris rained sown from the ceiling, and the dull grays walls grew spiderweb cracks. A loud clang of metal echoed throughout the whole factory, and I wondered if the rickety mezzanine finally fell from the wall a few rooms over.

Bishop and I leapt to our feet and exited the supply room.

While smoke and dust filled the air, we coughed our way to the maintenance room. Our sewer tunnel was connected to it. Even with my eyes watering, I knew the way. I guided the both of us straight back to the stairway down, and then to the maintenance room we had entered from.

Bishop leapt down the hatch first, barely holding onto the ladder as he went. I slid down after him, but it was difficult while holding the firestorm grenades. Once my feet touched the ground, Bishop took one, climbed the ladder halfway, armed the weapon, and then tossed it into the maintenance room.

As fast as he possibly could, he slammed the hatch shut.

The firestorm grenade exploded in the room above us. The hatch prevented the deadly fire from blasting down the ladder.

With the aid of gravity, Bishop came back down to the ground with a hard grunt. Then he took my arm and ran straight to the hole where we crawled through. I huffed and wheezed, still carrying a firestorm grenade, a grin on my face.

Maybe Commander Dannik would be incinerated.

I wasn’t that lucky, though.

“You’re insane,” Bishop said as he crawled ahead of me. With a laugh, he added, “I love it.”

I choked back my own laugh as I scooted forward. “I think they had cameras in the supply room. I think they know it’s us.”

“Oops,” Bishop playfully said.

Although I was unable to stop myself from chuckling—I was too nervous to emote properly—I replied, “This is serious. Commander Dannik was among them.”

“Who is he again?”

“Bishop. He nearly killed us at Hoover Dam.”

“Oh, right. That douchebag.” Bishop grunted as parts of the jagged wall scraped his injury.

Fortunately, most of the nails and terrible jagged rocks that had been here before had been brushed away by our bodies when we entered. This time around, it was a much smoother experience.

“If they really know we’re here, then we shouldn’t linger once we get outside,” Bishop muttered, his tone icier than before. “We’ll get to the buggy and head straight home, all right? Over the rocks, that way they can’t follow our tire tracks.”

I huffed out an acknowledgment as I dragged my body forward.

We just had to make it through his stinky sewer tunnel.

Chapter 5

Bishop and I jogged down an abandoned roadway. On either side of us, buildings stood as tombstones, devoid of life, and a testament to once was.

The sky—like most days—was overcast. Thick, black clouds, pregnant with water, hung low, creating a cold and dark atmosphere that many considered normal. Books written before the Forever Winter talked about blue skies and warm summers, but I had never seen such things for myself.

Eventually, Bishop slowed. He glanced over his shoulder and offered me a smirk. “Well, that was enough excitement for one day.”

I turned around. The Iron-Blooded were nowhere to be seen. They clearly didn’t know about our sewer route, but if they found, I suspected they would scour the whole abandoned city for us.

“C’mon,” Bishop said. He motioned to a dilapidated shoe store. It was called Pumps and Circumstance, though the colors on the sign had all faded to a dull gray.

The front wall of the store was mostly gone, and it was easy to walk into the building. Most deserted places had a musky stink that lingered, but fortunately, that wasn’t the case with this little gem.

Bishop had driven his buggy straight into the shop and parked in the back. He then moved display cases and racks in front of it, attempting to hide the buggy from any fellow junk hunters. Those scavengers picked through the remains of civilization in the hopes of discovering worthwhile tools, artifacts, or machines they could then lug to a functioning town and sell.

The dim sunlight—what little filtered through the dark clouds—wasn’t enough to illuminate the shoe store. Bishop activated the flashlight clipped to the collar of his shirt. The light cast rays upon the piles of debris and shattered display cases.

This place was a graveyard of old shoes and bizarre marketing campaigns that incorporated too many people hiking.

Bishop and I hurried forward. The floor creaked underfoot, as if protesting the intrusion. Remnants of shoe racks lined the walls, their empty hooks like skeletal fingers reaching out for the past.

“So, did you find anything worthwhile in that factory?” Bishop asked as he hopped over a small pile of rotting leather lumps.

“I found information on underground greenhouses and—”

“Oh, what the hell?”

Bishop’s shout caused me to flinch.

The back of the shoe store had been disturbed. And was now empty.

Bishop ran over to where the buggy should have been and threw his arms up in frustration. He kicked over one of the wooden stands. It slammed to the carpeted floor and dust exploded upward into the air. We both coughed and wheezed as it settled all around us.

“First, I lost my truck. Now, I lost my buggy?” Bishop wiped off his clothing and shook his head. “I’ll kill the bastard who did this.”

I crossed my arms. “I thought you once told me that all is fair out in the wasteland? And I think you said, specifically—if you’re not actively protecting your things, you shouldn’t be surprised when they’re taken from you?”

Bishop flashed me a perfect smile. “Well, at some point our thief will find himself sleeping. And then he won’t be actively protecting his life, and I’ll just up and take that.”

I pursed my lips.

His smile slowly faded. “What? You always give me that look when you don’t like my plans.”

“I just think the buggy isn’t worth an entire revenge plot over.”

Bishop rubbed his arms, his fingers grazing over some of his tally mark scars. For a long while, he mulled over my comments. Then he turned to face me fully, his flashlight shining in my eyes. “You know all our stuff was in that buggy, right? The rest of our ammo, and our food for the trip back.”

Oh, damn.

I hadn’t thought about that.

Those motherfuckers.

Bishop snorted back a laugh and sauntered over to me. “Oh, now who wants revenge, huh?” “I-I didn’t say that.”

He threw an arm over my shoulders. “Well, let’s get walking. If we’re lucky, we’ll find some kind strangers on the road who will be willing to share some of their food. If we’re unlucky, it’s just a two day walk to the nearest known civilization. Easy-peezy.”

After a long sigh, I said, “I wish I had your optimism.”

“With God’s help, anything is possible.”

My mind settled on the fact that the Iron-Blooded would eventually come looking for us. If we were strolling through the wasteland, we’d be much easier to catch than if we had a buggy.

This was unfortunate.

“Don’t worry.” Bishop turned me around and walked me toward the front of the store. “It’ll give us plenty of time to think up the perfect date.”

“Date?” I repeated.

“That’s right. You made me a promise. We both made it out of the factory alive, so now we have to go on a date.”

I held up a finger. “I submit to you that we haven’t made it back safely yet.”

Bishop clicked his tongue in disapproval.

I knew I wasn’t playing this game right. I should’ve said something flirtatious back to him, but I only realized that after I mulled over the conversation after the fact. Clearly, I was terrible at this. Perhaps I could make it up to him.

A whisper of wind rattled through the broken front windows as we exited the store. I shivered back a sense of melancholy and steeled myself to the reality of the situation.

We had a long walk ahead of us.

“So, what about these underground greenhouses?” Bishop stepped onto the cracked roadway and gave me a sidelong glance. “You wanted to get to one before, didn’t you? The BC Oasis?”

“Yes.” I hopped onto the sidewalk and then strode over to his side. “That’s the most famous underground facility in the world. Built before the Forever Winter. But the ones I found addresses for in the factory are much closer than that. And might be untouched.”

Bishop shrugged. “I thought we had a good thing going in Richfield.”

The Town of Richfield…

After everything I experienced at the Hoover Dam, I decided to head back to Richfield. It was a quaint town of a hundred and fifty residents. That was it. They were close-knit, and they had a sturdy wall all the way around town.

They also had a fission battery that kept everything running. And their numbers remained low because they barely let anyone join their little community. There were too many raids, junk hunters, and rail gangs out there who would steal the whole town blind if they were allowed in even for a single night.

Bishop knew people in Richfield and was granted access. Plus, their doctor, Tammy Claire, was a Winter Survivor, so she had mountains of medical knowledge—making it the perfect home for someone looking to survive the wasteland.

But I wanted to do more than survive.

“Remember those alien eggs I stole from the Teth?” I whispered. My boots crunched some old garbage rotting in the gutters.

“I do,” Bishop muttered.

“I’ve been giving our situation a lot of thought since we moved into Richfield. I think we should find a bigger—better—home and hatch the eggs. Then we should start building.”

Bishop laced his fingers together and then rested both hands on the top of his head. “And you want to do that in an underground bunker?”

“Well, not quite. If we have access to a massive underground greenhouse, we can build a city around it on the surface.” I gestured with my hands, unable to contain all my excitement. I pantomimed tall buildings, and then the flicker of lights. “Imagine it. Our city could be bigger and better than even places like Boulder.”

“Cuz we got aliens?”

“Because we won’t limit ourselves.” I turned me head and met his gaze. “The Teth are stuck on this planet as well. We can’t make them our permanent enemies. But if we build a home for them, too, we can make them powerful allies. Like… like my grandfather once did.”

Bishop laughed. “I thought you hated aliens, Kita?”

“I’ve reconsidered my position.”

“Just like that?”

I nodded once.

“Pfft.” Bishop shrugged. “All right. So, let me get this straight. Your new-new plan, since getting an exoskeleton obviously failed, is to find an underground greenhouse?”

“Yes, exactly.”

“And then it’s to move the people of Richfield to this new location?”

I smiled as I nodded along with his words. What a relief it was that Bishop understood so well.

“You know those people haven’t left their town since the Forever Winter, right?” Bishop chortled to himself. “You’d have better luck asking the sun to pack up and head to a different solar system.”

I held up a finger. “This is why we should find the greenhouse first. If we have proof that their new home would be substantially better—and far from the rail gangs—I suspect I can convince them.”

Bishop eyed me. Then a grin slowly spread across his face. “Maybe you should let lil ‘ol me handle the talkin’. You’re cute when you’re flustered, but you definitely get weird when it comes to people sometimes.”

I lowered my finger. As we headed up an onramp to one of the major highways that used to exit in the old world, I crossed my arms. “Well, if I manage to get my hands on a judge suit, I think more people will listen to what I had to say.”

“Because they’d be scared of you.”

“Perhaps. But they would listen.”

Bishop huffed as he stopped over a shattered piece of asphalt. “Sure, sure, Kit-Kat. We’ll add it to our grocery list. Find another exoskeleton. Then we’ll find the keys to the greenhouse.”

“Kit-Kat?” I scoffed as I climbed over the bit of ruined road. I had to step high, and carefully avoid the sharpest parts, lest they slice right through my jeans. “I told you, I’m not fond of nicknames.”

“Kit-Kat is cute, though. Suits you.”

I didn’t know how to respond to that. Was he flirting? Or directly sidestepping my displeasure with nicknames?

Bishop offered his hand. Once we were both on the highway, he stopped and glanced over the ruined city. It was small—the type of old city where every story and business were also a gas station. The factory off in the distance had been the bulk of the jobs for the citizens, no doubt.

The Iron-Blooded still occupied the factory, their vehicles easy to spot amongst the rubble of the ruined city. Dust kicked up from their tires made it effortless to track their movements along the roads as well. And at least two of their vehicles were speeding around the center of town, zipping across the derelict roads, obviously searching for Bishop and me.

We couldn’t stay here long.

“Maybe we should get off the road,” Bishop whispered. “I think they might take this route when lookin’ for us.”

I held my breath for a long moment. “You’re probably right.”

But if we didn’t take the road, our travels would be even harder, and likely take even longer. I wasn’t looking forward to that.

“Help!” someone shouted, causing my skin to crawl.

Whoever called, they were close. Perhaps even under the overpass.

“Anyone! I need help!”

The second yell was loud, and echoed across the empty landscape. Would the Iron-Blooded hear it over the sound of vehicles? Would they come looking?

“Just what we needed,” Bishop said. “Some idiot screeching.” He grabbed my shoulder. “C’mon. Let’s find him before he yells again.”

Chapter 6

Bishop and I slid down large slabs of concrete until we were under the overpass. It was darker here, and the cracks in the support beams were large enough to make me uneasy.

There were dozens of deserted cars parked along the abandoned roadway. Each had rusted, and the tires were long deflated. The harsh shadows were too thick to see through. It was like staring into a cave.

“Hello?” Bishop called out.

The Iron-Blooded roamed the city with enough ferocity that I heard the roar of their vehicles even when there were several buildings between us. They were getting closer, however.

Before I could voice my concerns to Bishop, someone replied to Bishop’s shout.

“I need help,” someone said, their tone masculine.

Bishop readied his gun, holding it both hands, but putting at the ground. “We’re here to help, but we can’t stay long. Show yourself or we’re leaving.”

The slow and steady sound of footfalls echoed under the bridge. A man emerged from the darkest of shadows, his clothing unusual. He wore a long trench coat and a scarf over that, both marked with odd white stitching, as if they were scribbled words. His boots, which were high up on his leg, were caked with grime, and his black hair was disheveled.

Small scraps and splatters of blood speckled his outfit.

He wasn’t holding a rifle or a weapon of any kind. As a matter of fact, the man held up both his hands, his fingers flared, his palms calloused, but empty.

His eyes were a little too intense for my liking, though. He had bright green irises, which contrasted heavily with his darker tanned skin, causing them to stand out even more.

It seemed as though he had dragged himself through a sewer tunnel as well. Or perhaps I was reading too far into things.

“I’m not armed,” the man said, smooth and confident.

Which I didn’t like.

If he was unarmed, like he claimed, he’d be at our mercy. Logically, he should be more hesitant—more afraid. This man spoke with a tone that told me he had an ace up his sleeve. He wasn’t afraid of us.

“What do you need?” Bishop asked, his grip on the handgun tightening. He must’ve felt the same way I did.

“Do you have medical supplies?”

Bishop clicked his tongue in disapproval. “Tsk. Listen, I don’t know if you can hear the ruckus in town, but the Iron-Blooded are in this area and—”

“The Iron-Blooded?” the man interjected, his green eyes widened. Half a second later, he tensed, his expression back to what it once was. “Damn. Where are we?”

That was a strange question. Perhaps he really did from the underground.

“We’re near the weapons facility next to Nellis Air Force Base,” I replied.

“Is someone injured?” Bishop asked. “Answer quick. Like I said, we’re in a hurry.”

The man motioned over his shoulder. “My friend is wounded.”

Bishop reached into the pocket of pants and withdrew the gauze he had used on his shoulder. He held it up for the man to see.

“Do you know where I can find medicine?” the man asked. “My friend… needs something for an infection.”

That was a lot to ask for from strangers.

The rumble of Iron-Blooded vehicles caused my skin to crawl.

Bishop reached into his other pocket and withdrew a small baggie of antibiotics. Dr. Claire had fermented plenty back in the Town of Richfield, but antibiotics were still a rare and valuable resource.

Giving it away to a random man under an overpass seemed like a waste. Then again, he was human, and he appeared homely. A little kindness could go a long way out in the wasteland.

“You should give him the baggie,” I whispered to Bishop.

He gave me a sidelong glance. “The whole baggie?”

I nodded once. “We’ll be home soon, and we don’t need it right now.”

Bishop sighed, but then offered a shrug. “All right.”

He threw the gauze, and the antibiotics, a good fifteen feet forward. They landed on the road with a soft pat.

The man walked over, knelt, and scooped them up. “Antibiotics?” he whispered. “You’d give this to me?”

“That’s right. Now we’ll be leaving.” Bishop took a step backward, his gun still held in front of him. “I hope you and your friend make it all right.”

The stranger didn’t reply. He just held the baggie, his fingers gently caressing the plastic outsides, his intensely green eyes focused so hard, it was like he was drilling a hole through the bag with his gaze.

I touched Bishop’s shoulder, and we both jogged away from the overpass, heading south, and away from the weapons facility. The sound of the Iron-Blooded vehicles still rang out between buildings, so Bishop and I left the road and headed for a rocky patch of wasteland to the east.

The Town of Richfield was northeast of here. If we could find some landmarks, we’d be okay.

We just couldn’t get caught out in the open. That was a death sentence, especially given our lack of supplies…

***

Night.

Bishop and I sat around a fire he had constructed inside the hollowed remains of a coffee shop, a good day’s walk from the weapons factory. One whole wall of the shop was missing. I suspected it had once been a window, but the glass was long gone. Now it was just a tile floor, three walls, and a strong aroma of coffee beans that refused to yield, even to the apocalypse.

The fire was small, and made possible thanks to the wooden chairs in the back room of the coffee shop. Bishop had broken them up, piled them together, and used some filters as kindling to get the flames going.

We didn’t have any food, though.

Bishop rummaged around the empty drawers of the shop, like he would find a rare and elusive Twinkie. When he pulled out a small bread knife and smiled, I rolled my eyes.

He walked back to the middle of the dining area where our fire was positioned. Then he took a seat next to me on the floor and placed the blade of the knife into the flames.

“I need to add another tally mark to my collection,” Bishop said, flashing me a smile.

“How many?”

“Just one.”

I tilted my head. “You threw those grenades. What if you killed someone then? How would you know how many marks to add?”

“I don’t count those.” Once his knife was hot and glowing red, Bishop pulled the blade out of the heat. He ripped off his shirt and tossed it to the side, exposing his tally marked torso.

Hundreds of lines.

The groups of five were obvious. He kept them semi-neat, but some were just in random places. His chest. His ribs. His shoulder. Along his collarbones. I rubbed the base of my neck, shuddering in empathetic pain.

“That doesn’t hurt?” I whispered.

Bishop chuckled as he brought the knife down to a blemish free region near his bellybutton. “Oh, it hurts like a bitch, Kit-Kat.”

He pressed the blade into his flesh, and it sizzled. I cringed as I watched, but I couldn’t look away. The scent of cooked meat smelled disturbingly good, and I frowned at the implications. Bishop chuckled as he allowed the blade to rest in his skin for a moment.

He had to do that. If he didn’t keep the hot knife pressed against his flesh for a moment, the nanites in his system would repair him before a scar could form. However, if Bishop allowed this wound to sit for a moment, he would burn the skin enough that the nanites couldn’t repair it.

Seemed terrible and foolish, but logic didn’t always work on Bishop.

Once he removed the blade, Bishop let out a long sigh of relief. “There.”

“Congratulations,” I sarcastically said.

Bishop glanced over, his smile coyer than before. Then he rested back on his posted arms, making it easier to get a good view of his stomach. “You wanna kiss it to make it all better?”

“Sure,” I replied.

Sure.

Oh, perfect, Kita. Yes, very sexy.

Sure. What a response. Way to make him weak in the knees. I should’ve said something more seductive.

Instead, I had said sure.

I turned to face Bishop. If he thought my response was silly, his expression didn’t show it. The crackle of the fire was our only music as I scooted closer. Did he really want me to kiss him?

The tally mark was still fresh, but the nanites were already at work, sealing the injury.

It was sexy to kiss him on his stomach, wasn’t it? I wasn’t certain. The look Bishop gave me said he wanted me to, though.

I placed a hand on top of his leg as I positioned myself over his taut abdomen. I brought my lips down close to his flesh. Bishop said nothing. This close to him, my face felt hot, and I wasn’t sure if I should break the tension with a joke or just carry on. Did Bishop find this attractive? He wasn’t making fun of me?

I had never done anything like this before.

After a long minute’s hesitation, I gingerly kissed the mark. Bishop was tense. I felt it, even though my lips only briefly touched him. He had let out a soft exhale the instant it had happened.

But still—he said nothing. He did nothing.

At that moment, I felt like… maybe he wanted me to do more.

My face was close to his belt, and Bishop made no move to remove me off his lap. Why didn’t he speak? Would I ruin the mood if I asked what he wanted?

My throat was so tight, and so filled with cotton, I didn’t know if I could issue the words, even if I wanted.

The fire made everything warm. Or maybe that feeling came from the thought of removing Bishop’s pants.

With an unsteady hand, I reached for his belt. I unlatched it slow—painfully slow—giving Bishop plenty of time to say something, just in case he thought this was foolish.

My fingers trembled as I unhooked the button of his jeans.

I couldn’t bring myself to look up and meet his gaze. My face burned too much, and my heart pounded too hard. What was he thinking? His silence was uncharacteristic. Should I stop? I had already gone so far.

We hadn’t even gone on our first date.

That was such an odd thing to think.

Why was I like this?

The roar of an engine revving was as startling as a corpse at a birthday party.

Lights flared to life in the road beyond the coffee shop as people whooped and shouted, their truck’s headlights illuminating the once dark city.

The gunfire blasted through the streets.

Bishop kicked his boot across the small fire, snuffing it out as quickly as he possibly could. He grabbed me, pulled me toward the wall, and held me close, his breathing husky.

“Is it the Iron-Blooded?” I whispered, my heart going so fast, it was like I had run for three days straight.

“I don’t know,” Bishop growled. “But I’m going to kill those motherfuckers.”