The Half-Life Empire II [Chapters 1-9] (Patreon)

Hey peeps!

I know most of you are here for Astra Academy, BUT the Half-Life Empire is a sci-fi series I signed with Podium. The first book was released here on Patreon, but it ALSO goes live in Oct (with ebooks, physicals, and audio). So, the sequel, Half-Life Empire II, will also be posted here for anyone who wants to read.

(Above is the cover for book 2)

Hopefully you enjoy! I think it's written in a way that you can understand the story, even if you didn't read the first, lol

Shami

Half-Life Empire 2

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 ascended 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 all 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. Ever since I spoke to the architect, I think it’s wise for us to live in peace with one another. The only way to do that, I think, is to demonstrate how it can be done. If we raise some Teth aliens ourselves, it should be easy.”

“Easy, huh?”

I nodded once.

“Pfft.” Bishop shrugged. “All right. So, let me get this straight. Your new-newplan, 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 any medical supplies? I can pay you in ammo. Twenty-twos.”

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.”

The rumble of nearby 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.

Trading it to a random man under an overpass seemed like a waste. Our handgun didn’t take twenty-twos. We could give him the medicine… 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 just have some on you?” He met Bishop’s gaze. “What do you want for it?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?” the man repeated.

“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. I love it.”

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 for their poor timing.”

Chapter 7

Trucks tore across the road, their tires squealing.

At first, I thought there were only two trucks, but three pairs of headlights flashed across the outside of the coffee shop. Gunfire came from the last two trucks, and I had lived in this wasteland world long enough to know what that meant.

The first truck was being chased.

I didn’t know why—I could make a few guesses, and all of them involved rail gangs mugging random people—but this had nothing to do with me or Bishop. We were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.

A loud crash and the twist of metal killed all quiet within the tiny deserted town. I wanted to know what was happening, because I hated being in the dark, so I crawled over Bishop and glanced out of the coffee shop.

One truck had slammed into a dead streetlight. The front end of the vehicle was dented, one of the tires torn apart, and smoke billowed up from under the hood. The other two trucks screeched to a stop, one on either side.

The driver of the ruin vehicle stumbled out of the cab just as flames erupted from the engine.

Gunshots. So many gunshots.

The driver was dead before I could glean any more details.

“Get out of the truck!” someone shouted to the passengers in the flaming wreckage. “Get!”

“We can wait this out.” Bishop pulled me close and slipped deeper into the darkness. “Once they’re done robbing those corpses, they’ll leave. Probably.”

“Is it a rail gang?” I whispered.

It had to be. This whole area had plenty of railroads, and ever since the Forever Winter, punks with some knowledge on how to work a cart or a basic engine could get a locomotive running fast down the tracks. Gangs used the railways to attack any towns that settled along the tracks, and then speed away before the locals could do anything about it.

Some rail gangs, like the one in front of us, hauled trucks from location to location. They would stop their train, unload their vehicles, and then drive around, stealing anything not nailed down.

They were land-based Vikings, basically.

“Who cares who they are?” Bishop huffed a laugh. “They have rifles. We don’t. It’s a simple equation as far as I’m concerned.”

“We have a firestorm grenade.”

The rapid fire of more rifles told me whoever the gang was mugging was already dead. Outside the protection of cities, there was no justice unless you made it for yourself.

Killing members of a rail gang wouldn’t leave me sleepless at night. They went on murder frenzies regularly.

“You sure you want to use thatgrenade on a group of random thugs?” Bishop huffed. “It would fetch a nice price in any major city. Or kill some real assholes, if we were ever in a pinch.”

“Well…”

Before I could mull over the benefits of using the grenade, another crash shook the street, this one heavier than the last. Something heavy cracked the asphalt, and I wished we had a light to shine, because the gloom of an overcast night made seeing anything difficult.

The hiss and low hem of A-tech electronics told me that something terrible had entered the city.

When the rail gang had bothered us, I hadn’t been frightened. I had seen too many wasteland thugs to be bothered by their interruptions.

But when I heard the stomp of an exoskeleton power suit, I knew we were in grave danger. I couldn’t even see it yet, and already my heart was trying to leapt up my throat and escape my body. It pounded against my ribcage, my vision tunneling.

“What’s that?” one of the rail thugs shouted.

A flash of superheated plasma lit up the road beyond the coffee shop. It was so sort of blade, and it was extending from the arm of a nine-foot-tall suit of power armor. The shine of the metal and the MARK VI on the leg told me it was the same power suit I had seen in the weapons factory.

I had never seen a JUDGE-0X suit with a plasma blade before. Normally, they just had metal blades used for cutting a path. This weapon—glowing bright bluish-white with barely controlled heat—was hot enough to illuminate the whole damn road.

It would carve its way through solid steel, there was no doubt in my mind.

And if it touched flesh—that was an immediate game over.

“They found us,” Bishop whispered, panic in his tone. “The Iron-Blooded never take a goddamn vacation.”

I took his arm. “We need to go.” The hammering of my heart wouldn’t ease.

“There’s only one way out.”

Through the front, right onto the road with the hulking suit of power armor.

Luckily for us, the rail gang desperately wanted to be our distraction. They all opened fire, the barrels of their rifles lighting up the other side of the road, the fire of the ruined truck an intimidating backdrop.

Bishop stood, grabbed what little supplies we had, and then met me back in the corner of the shop.

The Iron-Blooded soldier stomped forward, the bullets harmlessly bouncing off its advanced armor. Normal guns would have no effect against a JUDGE-0X exoskeleton. What were those goons even thinking?

With brutal competency, the soldier rushed forward, each step of his steel alloy boots shattering the road further. He brandished his plasma sword, and it left a streak of color through the air wherever he moved it, a beautiful tracer for the deadly blade.

Watching the Iron-Blooded slice the first thug was both elegant and horrifying. The plasma was so hot, it effortlessly tore through the gunner. Straight through clothing, flesh, bone—the resulting two halves of an adult man hitting the ground in different places bordered on cartoonish.

When the man in the judge armor turned his sights on the five other rail gang members, they did the only intelligent thing they could.

They all ran in different directions.

“Now’s our chance.” Bishop stood and ran from the shop.

I followed close behind, but in a moment of clarity, I remembered something.

MARK I and II variants of the JUDGE-0X armor had several weaknesses, including an inability to handle EMPs. The later suits rectified that, but there were some problems the suits could never overcome.

Firestorm bombs—and grenades—had damaged the older models of the armor. Perhaps the MARK VI variant still had that weakness? Could it even be overcome? The suit would have to be airtight, and the filter system, and oxygen system, protected from the deadly flames of the firestorm A-tech.

If the suit wasn’t protected, we could kill the pilot inside with our grenade.

That was worthy losing it, in my opinion. The man inside would be turned to ash, and most of the suit would likely survive. I could buff out the damage and wear it for myself.

And even if this suit wasdesigned to handle those kinds of hazards, there was still a small chance it was damaged in some way. Perhaps it wasn’t airtight, or the vents or filters were open just a little too much, and the man inside was vulnerable to the firestorm.

It was worth a try.

I pulled Bishop toward another building across the road. We leapt over the sill of a shattered window and then ducked behind it. He turned to me, his eyes narrowed.

“What’re we doing?” Bishop motioned wildly to our surroundings. “We can’t keep stopping in the middle of perilous situations. The first step to fixing this is to admit you have a problem.”

“Let’s try to kill him.” I pointed to the grenade in his hands.

It took a full two seconds for my words to settle over him. Bishop honestly laughed once. “You’re insane,” he playfully muttered. “Okay. Let’s do it.”

“Control yourself, Quern,” someone shouted in Tethlite. “Commander Dannik wants them alive. Look what you’ve done…”

Bishop and I peeked over the top of the sill. The man in the power armor stood over the corpse of the thug, his plasma blade still powered and hemming with energy. I wondered how many energy cells the suit took. Was the blade’s power use efficient? I suspected not.

Two Iron-Blooded men dressed in their classic black with white skulls painted across their chest strode down the road. They held rifles, but they kept them down.

“The architect won’t tolerate our failures,” one of them said, his Tethlite perfect. “Remember—Dannik wants to question them. Did you hear me, Quern? Keep them alive. Don’t make me say it a third time.”

The man in the suit didn’t give an auditory reply. Instead, he answered by shutting his plasma blade off. It died with a soft sigh as the power drained from the metal coils. Then it retracted into the arm of the suit.

“I’ve changed my mind,” Bishop whispered as he peeked over the sill. “You should’ve stolen that suit.”

I held back a laugh. “Too late for that now. We just have to hope they don’t find us.”

But then the armor turned on its heel, the helmet visor aglow with power for a short second.

In a voice distorted and robotic, the man inside said, “There are two individuals in the buildings fifty meters from here.”

Oh, damn.

The suit had the ability to detect life signs. The MARK V variant wasn’t as capable.

One of the Iron-Blooded not in the armor scoffed. “There are seven of them, then. Hunt them all down.”

“What’s wrong?” Bishop whispered. “You went pale.”

Again, he couldn’t speak Tethlite. “You need to throw that grenade.”

Bishop didn’t even question why. He peeked over the sill, and as soon as the power armor and people turned to face a direction down the street, away from us, he armed the grenade. Then Bishop threw it as hard as he could. The deadly weapon sailed through the sky in a high arch. Together, we hit the floor and tucked ourselves close to the wall. As long as the firestorm flames didn’t get us, we’d be fine.

For the first time in my life, I caught a glimpse of the grenade detonating.

The flames were white and red, brilliant and terrifying. They exploded outward in a flash, swirling around the road, into nearby buildings, and across the Iron-Blooded.

The heat and intensity were so great, the Iron-Blooded caught fire. They screamed, but only for a moment, before their voices were forever stolen. The firestorm grenade made quick work of their flesh. They collapsed to the ground, their clothes also ablaze, but less than their skin, muscles, and insides.

The firestorm A-tech really wanted organic material…

When the fire rushed over the JUDGE-X0 MARK VI power armor, the vents closed and sealed, protecting the pilot inside. Then the flames waved over the metal and continued for a short distance before eating all the oxygen it touched and then dispersing.

Quern, the Iron-Blooded in control of the power armor, was untouched. He stepped around the charred corpses of his comrades, scanning the rubble of the city around him. That was typical for the Iron-Blooded—death was commonplace. They were trained from a young age not to care about one another. They only cared about serving their alien masters.

I closed my eyed and rubbed my eyelids. The heat from the grenade had reached me, if only slightly. I shuddered as my imagination painted a picture of my charred corpse found in the wreckage of this town weeks later.

Or worse—if Bishop was somehow killed, and I was left maimed by his scorched body. The terrible thought haunted me, and sent a lance of pain through my chest.

I didn’t want to lose any more people.

When some of the last of the heat receded, I fluttered my eyes open. Then I peeked over and out into the road, hoping Quern had decided to head after the others.

My heart hammered.

Quern stomped over the corpses and headed straight for Bishop and me.

“We need to go,” I said.

But Quern was fast. He crashed into the front wall of our building, his suit so sturdy and powerful, it wasn’t even scratched for the effort. The whole damn building shook. Parts of the wall collapsed, and debris went everywhere, filling the air with a thick mist that clogged my lungs.

“Kita!” Bishop shouted.

Quern activated his plasma blade. It was bright enough to shine through the clouds of debris, and it was deadly enough that when Quern swung it, the blade cut straight through a still-standing wall.

Bishop grabbed my arm and hauled me to my feet. I coughed, and my eyes watered.

“Time for an adventure,” he wheezed as he pulled me deeper into the building, away from the street, and away from the power armor.

I wished I could speak, because that was certainly the wrong way.

Chapter 8

Bishop took off running.

The deserted city was a dangerous obstacle course of collapsing walls, rusty pipes, and fragile floors threatening to shatter at any moment. Bishop—still shirtless—crashed through a window and threw us both into a dirty alleyway.

Quern didn’t bother with the window. He bulldozed through the wall, his power armor unaffected by things like bricks and drywall. With one swipe of his plasma blade, he cut his way through the rubble. The hum of his weapon was like a thousand fly traps all working together. Bishop and I were the flies.

It was difficult to see with all the debris in the air. We were caught in a cloud of destruction, but that didn’t stop Bishop from charging forward.

Quern stomped along behind us, shaking the whole neighborhood.

As if luck was on our side, one of the rail gang thugs launched himself out onto the street, trying to flee from the rampaging power suit. Quern stopped and glanced over as the thug took off running.

The Iron-Blooded wanted everyone alive…

Which meant if it was easier to get the rail gang member, Quern would likely abandon us in favor of a guaranteed target.

I grabbed Bishop’s elbow. “Underground,” I shouted. “We need to get underground!”

While the power armor suits were very useful, they were heavy. Going down was easy, but getting back up was trouble. If Quern wanted to round up a few people, the intelligent thing to do would be to grab anyone on the roads. If Bishop and I went underground, it would only slow Quern’s pursuit of everyone else.

I just hoped Quern was logical.

And that he didn’t know if was Bishop who threw the grenade that killed his allies.

Through the cloud of dust wafting around us, I spotted a manhole not too far off. Bishop must’ve spotted it as well, because he headed straight for the hole. There was no cover—most had been taken to use for other things—and we if we could just get down below…

But my insides turned to ice as the road cracked beneath our feet. Quern’s stomping was an anathema to the neglected roads within this crumbling city.

Right as Bishop and I reached the hole, the road broke. Bits of concrete and asphalt gave way to the sewers beneath us. It was like tumbling into an abyss of darkness. Bishop barely had time to wrap his arms around me as we fell into the depths of the forgotten city.

When I hit the ground, my head snapped backward onto a piece of unforgiving cement. My head spun.

Heavy chunks of road crashed all around us. I kept my eyes closed, my heart beating so hard, it was taking all the energy my body had left.

The stomping of the power armor continued. I thought Quern would jump down onto us, killing us in an instant, but that never happened. Instead, Bishop’s heavy breathing reassured me that we were still alive.

Minutes went by. Dust and rubble settled.

Then the stomping resumed. Closer than before.

Concrete and blocks of cement moved all around us. I kept my eyes closed, my head pounding. The power armor—the hum of the plasma blade was so distinct, I saw it in my mind’s eye. Quern cut his way closer and closer.

And then Bishop was yanked from my body.

I wanted to yell out, or grab him, but it was then that I realized my body wasn’t reply to my commands. Sluggish and barely breathing, all I could do was rest my head back and exhale.

Everything became black as the stomping faded into the distance.

***

When I finally opened my eyes, I realized it was day.

It was difficult, because the clouds never really parted to allow for the full shine of the sun, but it was obvious. The air was warmer, and there was more light than before.

My head still hurt, and I was wedged between two pieces of the road. Was that why Quern hadn’t taken me? I was too deep in the rubble? It took most of my willpower to yank myself out from the devastation.

It was quiet.

Normally, that would’ve been a good sign, but dread crept into my thoughts, poisoning me with panic.

“Bishop!” I called out.

My voice echoed in the wrecked sewer tunnels around me. They were the only answer I got.

Although my stomach was twisted with hunger, and my head pounded with a deep ache, I climbed out of the pit in the middle of the road and made my way to the sidewalk. My palms bled by the time I managed to stand.

“Bishop,” I called out again, my throat raspy. “Bishop!”

The wind howled across the tops of the buildings, mocking me. There was no one here. Bishop had been taken. That realization caused my vision to tunnel. What was I going to do? I wrung my hands together, and then fidgeted with the cuticles of my fingernails.

I kept fidgeting as I paced the cracked sidewalk. My fingernails also began to bleed.

“Kita,” I whispered to myself. “Pull yourself together. You need a plan.”

Plans gave me comfort. I could work with plans, because plans had steps. Smaller goals that led to a bigger outcome. What was the first step?

First step…

First step…

I slapped my own cheek. “Don’t get weak. The wasteland kills people who are weak.”

The first step was to get back to Richfield. I needed food, supplies, and transportation. I couldn’t save Bishop as I was. My stomach was threatening to consume my other organs in order to get sustenance. Once I had supplies—and guns—I would find Bishop.

I glanced around, my sense of direction horribly rearranged.

But once I found my bearings, I headed toward Richfield. One step at a time, and everything would be fine. That was what I kept telling myself.

***

The trek to Richfield was rough. The roads between cities weren’t a place for a lone wanderer. If any of the rail gangs caught me out, by myself, I’d be in trouble. So I walked along the barren wastes, stepping over thorn-covered weeds that grew over the dirt like moss did over rocks.

Gigantic bugs, damn near prehistoric in size and in terms of the food chain, skittered about, darting from one shadow to the next. I needed to avoid them. Some had venom that would dull all sensation in my body and cause me to collapse.

I couldn’t have that.

But the worst part about my walk—more awful than the thorns, the insects, and the rough trails—was the loneliness.

I thought I had gotten past that part in my life. Obviously, I had thought wrong.

The sun set, but it was difficult to tell. Only the presence of colder winds really told me what time it was. The overcast skies were a blanket of mystery, shrouding the world in a dimness that seemed to stifle all life.

As I made my way over a patch of brambles, I caught sight of a house in the distance. It had probably been a farm house, given the amount of land surroundings it, but since the crops were all long dead, I had no way to know for sure.

The house really embraced the hauntedvibe. Windows were shattered. The outside paint was cracked and peeling. The front door, swaying back and forth on its hinges, creaked with every movement.

I would’ve continued walking right past it, except I spotted movement deep within.

Like a deer that heard the crunch of a twig, I froze in place, my eyes wide. More movement. Something went from one room to another.

I ducked down, hiding myself as best I could amount the prickly weeds. Something walked out of the farm house.

A Teth drone.

Not a drone robot that flew through the air—a drone like ants have drones. A mindless creature that answered the command of other Teth aliens, but otherwise had the intelligence of a dog.

It had all the features of the Teth—four arms, large frame, black dull complexion—but unlike the intelligent Teth, the drone was skeletal-thin, their skin a thin coat over their muscles and bones.

They also primary walked and ran on all six of their limbs.

They didn’t speak or even wear clothing, and this one in the farm house sniffed at the ground as though following a trail. It conducted itself no better than an animal.

The Teth were an alien race with castes—a strict social hierarchy that all Teth adhered to.

Drones were the lowest caste in Teth society. They were bred to serve and were controlled through a complex system of pheromones that the other castes released from their pores.

Because they had no higher levels of thoughts, or even any empathy, drones were the scariest to me. You could reason with an innovator, or a warrior, or an architect—but you couldn’t even communicate with a drone.

The drone dug a small hole in front yard of the house. The size of the creature bothered me. The drone was as large as three full grown humans—if the humans were on their hands and knees. It also had claws the size of a spatula, however, and the beast cut through the weeds with little difficulty.

The Teth had no eyes, but their sense of smell, and their ability to detect movement and heat were unparalleled.

I slowly scooped backward, hoping to avoid the drone at all costs.

If the beast managed to cut me with his claws, I’d be paralyzed through its neuro-toxins.

“What would Bishop say in a moment like this?” I whispered to myself. In a fake masculine tone, I replied to myself with. “Kit-Kat, sometimes it feels like God just wants me to come home early.”

My terrible impression actually got me smiling.

I wished Bishop was here.

With a sigh, I made my way around the thorny weeds. I had to stay focused. I couldn’t be caught by the drone. Richfield wasn’t far. One more night’s sleep, and I’d been within spitting distance.

The drone continued to pick away at the ground. Then, it ripped a rabbit from the dirt. The bunny flailed and kicked its legs, but the drone opened its mouth wide and crushed the rabbit with fangs and mortals that effortless shredded the mammal’s body.

Then the drone licked its matte black lips and continued to sift through the dirt.

I held my breath as I basically crawled far around the farm house. The prickly bits of the weeds dug into my arms, and I quickly reminded of the weapons factory. It felt like the universe was laughing at me.

But then I crawled beyond a bramble bush and almost gasped.

A man was crouched there, watching the drone. His eyes immediately fell to me, his body tense, even while kneeling down.

Intense green eyes.

I recognized this man. He was the stranger from the overpass. His long trench coat was on the ground, folded neatly beside him, and his scarf was on top. He wore a black T-shirt, and his jeans were covered in stickers from the weeds.

I let out a sigh of relief. Maybe he could help me? Bishop and I had helped him.

But the man must’ve thought we were generous idiots, because he reached behind his back and pulled out a silver handgun.

Chapter 9

“W-Wait,” I whispered. Although it hurt, I forced myself to my knees and held up both hands. “I’m unarmed. Please don’t—”

“Shh,” the man hissed.

I said nothing else.

He motioned me closer with a wave of his gun. Every fiber of my being wanted to leave, but there weren’t many options. After I swallowed hard, I scooted closer to him. The man wrapped an arm around my shoulders and pulled me close.

How did I always manage to find myself in such situations? Would a normal person ever get into a situation where they hid in a field of overgrown weeds, trying not to attract the attention of a killer alien, all while a strange vagabond hugged them close?

I suspected not.

“Who are you?” I asked under my breath.

“Brecht,” he replied, his voice almost too quiet to hear. “Now shut up.”

Brecht.

It sounded like someone had thrown letters into a bowl and pulled them out at random. I knew I shouldn’t comment, though. Instead, I focused on taking even breaths. If I was prepared, I might be able to escape when Brecht dropped his guard.

He held me tighter, his fingers twisting into the fabric of my jacket. With passing second, he grew tenser, his attention still on the far-off drone. I turned my head to get a better look. Brecht smelled of whiskey and cigarettes. I didn’t like it.

A second drone emerged from the farm house.

Then Brecht stood.

He just… fully stood up. And he took me with him. Thankfully, the drones weren’t capable of seeing us. But what was he thinking? I thought he might try to tip-toe away, but that clearly wasn’t the plan. Brecht took aim with his handgun and fired.

He fired!

That lunatic filled the area with bang of heavy firearm. My ears rang afterward, and I pressed my face against his chest.

One drone—the one struck with the bullet—barely registered the attack. They were resilient aliens and designed to persevere, even when damaged. The damn drones had three hearts! And their brains didn’t process pain like normal. Although bleeding, the drone ran across the weed-covered field straight for us.

The uninjured drone also joined in, their breathing in sync with one another.

I wanted to shout run, but it quickly became a moot point.

A third Teth alien sprang from the brambles, but it was no drone. This was a warrior caste—one of the largest in the Teth race. It was hulking and muscular, and when it stood on its two thick legs, the damn beast was ten feet tall.

Its skin was shiny black, glistening in the dying light of sunset. The monster had four arms—two that were thick with muscle and ended in claws, and two that were small, thin, and capable of fine motor skills. The hands on the smaller arms had long fingers for manipulating things.

The warrior kept his crafting arms folded and tucked close to his body, but his gigantic clawed hands were outstretched for the drones. In one fell swoop, the warrior grabbed both smaller aliens and dug his five-inch-long claws straight into their skeletal bodies.

Blood gushed outward, like the drones were secretly watermelons.

None of the Teth had eyes, but they had long heads and mouths filled with sharp teeth. The warrior bent down and crushed the head of the injured drone. The other drone flailed in the warrior’s grasp until it finally stopped moving. It had bled to death.

“We need to run,” I said, breathless.

The warrior caste was the biggest and the most aggressive. Every warrior Teth was a nightmare to face, and that alien could easily rip our spines from our bodies as easily as a fisherman rips a hook from a fish.

It turned its dead and sniffed the air. Then the beast lumbered over to us, holding both drone corpses like luggage. The warrior wore shorts made of wetsuit-like material. It was nearly as black as the alien’s skin, and blended well.

The warriors were intelligent and modest when it came to social norms. They didn’t like roaming around naked, just like humans.

I couldn’t believe it was getting so close. Brecht didn’t run. Instead, he lowered his handgun.

“Thank you, Vega,” Brecht said. He tucked his firearm back into the waist of his pants. Then he released me, but not until he had given me a rather judgmental once over.

I rubbed my knuckles, my brain finding this scenario so unlikely, I contemplated the possibility of everything being an elaborate dream.

The harsh winds and sink of blood told me this was real. For a short while, I had no words, just emotions. The warrior—Vega—dropped the drones at Brecht’s feet.

“Why do you have a human female?” Vega asked in Tethlite.

When the aliens spoke their own tongue, it sounded much different. Humans spoke using their lips, teeth, and tongue. The Teth used only their tongue. They squirmed it around their mouth while they pushed out air, giving their whole language a slurpy and gargled effect.

“She arrived here on her own,” Brecht responded, his own Tethlite perfect.

That stunned me.

“She smells familiar,” Vega said. The alien lowered its fang-filled mouth closer to my pixie-cut hair.

With a shaky hand, I smoothed all the locks disturbed by his blood-soaked breath. The Teth were “touchy feely,” and often remembered everyone they met, either through smell or by tactile sensations.

“We met her and her mate near the other city,” Brecht replied. “They gave us medicine.”

“He’s not my mate.” I crossed my arms and practically hugged myself. “And he was taken by the Iron-Blooded.”

“You can understand us?” Brecht blurted out. He knitted his eyebrows and glared. “Humans don’t normally learn Tethlite.”

“Well, this one did.”

Brecht glanced over at Vega, but the Tethlite had no eyes, so the alien didn’t glance back. Somehow, though, it seemed they were on the same page. Vega stepped around me, sniffing deep as he did. “What happened to the male with you?”

“He was… taken by the Iron-Blooded.” I rubbed my arm. “I’m currently heading to Richfield. Then I’m going to get him back.”

“If the Iron-Blooded took him, he’s already dead,” Brecht stated, no emotion in his voice. Even his expression was cold. Then he moved away from me, his steps stiff. “Vega, you should carry the bodies. We shouldn’t stay out in the open long.”

“Agreed.”

The warrior hefted the drones back up with its large hands. Then it sniffed me once more before turning to follow Brecht. The two headed into the field of grass, content to leave me alone, but the mystery of their partnership meant I had to stop them.

“Wait,” I called out. Then I switched to Tethlite. “Why are the two of you together? Where do you come from?”

My words in the tongue-based language were rusty, but intelligible.

Brecht and Vega stopped. They both turned around to face me.

“We grew up in a bunker.” Brecht placed a hand on his chest, and then placed it on Vega’s. “It was sealed until a few months ago. We escaped, but it’s been difficult navigating this world. We were told once we reached the surface, everything would be fixed, but…”

“But nothing is right about this world?” I asked.

Brecht nodded once.

I had no idea there were bunkers were humans and Teth lived together. That made me even more curious. “Are you two all alone? Or are there more?”

“Vega and I are all that’s left,” Brecht stated in English. “The others were killed by the Iron-Blooded.”

“We have a common enemy, then.” I stepped closer and forced a smile. I wasn’t happy, but I wanted to show that I was excited to have met them. “And I think we have a common goal. My name is Kita Yamasaki, and I’m building a community of humans and aliens. W-With an underground bunker and greenhouse. If you have nowhere else to go, you should join me.”

Vega snorted. The alien was so tall, it had to lower its head slightly when it spoke to me. “Do you have an architect?”

Vega clearly wanted to cut straight to the chase.

“She doesn’t have an architect,” Brecht snapped. “That’s impossible.”

“But what if the female knows of one? We must seek out an architect. We must.”

“Architect” was the highest caste of alien, better than the rest in every regard, and their default leader in any situation. They were an architect of society, not just buildings, and they were so rare and powerful among their own kind that, of the eight million aliens who originally arrived on Earth, only three of them were of the architect caste.

That was how the Teth got their name. Part of their architect’s name was Orin’Teth. This architect was so thorough, that he had invented the Tethlite language, and instilled in his kin the need for cooperation and building.

Architects also controlled which of the castes could breed. Back in Teth history, before they were space travelers, before they came to Earth, they lived in tribes, the architect their leader. If the architect wanted more warriors, it stimulated the warriors to procreate by use of pheromones.

If the architect wanted more innovators, it would do the same with them, and so on. It was the only way the alien castes could reproduce. If an architect wasn’t involved, or at least the artificial pheromones some Teth had used in a lab setting, all offspring produced by Teth would result in the mindless drones.

No one wanted that.

That was why the architects were so important. They controlled everything, and were the only way Teth could thrive as a species.

And I did have an architect egg…

But I couldn’t trust Brecht and Vega with that knowledge. At least, not yet. What if they decided to take the egg for themselves? I wasn’t in any shape to fight them—no human could stand up to the might of a Teth warrior with bare fist fighting.

“I’m going to be the architect,” I said.

That statement caused Brecht and Vega to pause.

“A human can’t be an architect,” Brecht eventually stated.

Vega snorted and nodded once. “You lack the physical capability.”

“Not for long.” Before they could argue, I held up a finger. “I’m friends with Winter Survivors—people who lived before the war. They can help with the reproduction of Teth castes. We can simulate the pheromones needed for reproduction. Plus, I have plans. Many, many plans for a civilization unlike any other. If that doesn’t make me an architect, I don’t know what does.”

Those were big words, but I didn’t care. If I wanted to make my new city—and civilization—a reality, I needed all the Teth as possible. Vega was perfect. Warriors were needed to protect our home while it grew.

And, again, I had an actual architect, so any fears of the Teth being unable to reproduce were unfounded.

“Richfield isn’t far from here,” I said when Vega and Brecht remained quiet. “You should join me. We can travel there, and you’ll be safe from the Iron-Blooded and rail gangs.”

Bishop was better at things like this than me, but I wasn’t useless. I knew how to appeal to someone’s best interests—and that was a skill everyone needed, but few ever learned, for some reason.

After another moment of deliberation, Vega said, “They did give us medicine.”

“You’re right,” Brecht whispered.

“Was the medicine for one of you?” I motioned between them.

Brecht shook his head. “It was for… someone else. Someone not with us anymore.” He quickly added, “It wasn’t the fault of your medicine. The injuries had been infected too long. Now Vega and I are all that remain of Bunker Twenty-Six.”

“R-Right.”

“If you plan on living with side-by-side with the Teth, then I want to join you.”

Brecht shot his alien companion a sideways glance. “Very well. We’ll go together. Show us to your town.”