Chapter 24: Etherland

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The next day, we fell into a rhythm of traveling, eating, and searching for cover. Our food ran low, but we found a few cans of vegetables in the basement of a farmhouse, and Rekkan shot a deer. The journey was almost pleasant, if not for Rekkan's increasing aloofness and my growing concern over what we would find in Etherland.

When Rekkan unattached his bionic leg to roast the venison over a fire, Fennikk stared at the metal limb the same way she had stared at his rifle.

"Mister Rekkan, can I hold your—" she started, but she stopped when Nikkla clamped a warning hand over her shoulder.

Rekkan finished cooking and divided up perfectly charred slices. While Nikkla and Fennikk dug into the venison, I scooched over to sit close to Rekkan.

"Hey," I said. "How are you doing? You've been quiet."

He shot me the ghost of a smile, but it quickly disappeared. "I'm trying hard not to doubt your plan."

"But?"

"You really think we'll be able to waltz into the Noble Forces headquarters and just press some button to shut this all down?"

"Well, when you put it that way..." I picked at a piece of venison. "The Noble Forces headquarter is visible from the gates to Etherland, right? So maybe once we see what it looks like now, it'll be easier to make a plan."

"Ah. Sounds foolproof."

I expelled a frustrated breath. "Do you have a better idea, Rekkan?"

"You mean other than getting back my fortress?"

His sharp tone stung a little, silencing me. He resented me for that loss—and maybe even regretted his decision. When I turned my attention to eating, his hand touched my thigh, gentle and hesitant.

"Zaf, what if whoever created this microchip is still controlling the headquarters? They've got a lot of power, and they're not about to give it up easily. What if I can't protect you?"

I softened a little, dropping my hand onto his. "Do you think your fortress will keep the Implanted out forever?"

He pushed his tongue against his teeth, brow furrowed.

"You know," I continued, "Nikkla has no idea what she's going to find in Etherland. She's only traveling there because she knows what will eventually happen to her daughter if they stay here. It's what will eventually happen to all of us."

Even as I said it, I heard an echo of Rekkan's reply weeks ago when I claimed no one could survive alone against the world: 'Watch me.' Back then, he had oozed brazen confidence.

Now, he watched the fire in silence.

* * *

The next evening, we reached Etherland.

Past the few remaining trees of the woods where we walked, a crumbling wall zagged along the horizon like the green line on a heart monitor. As the trees dissipated, the enormous Noble Forces headquarters building emerged in the distance, steel walls rocketing up from the rubble. Still closer, and the melting snow revealed a paved path leading to a giant arching gate. Watch towers flanked the entrance, though I couldn't see any people in them.

Then I noticed the detail that shoved my heart right up into my throat. The gate hung open on one side, covered in scratch marks and hacked apart by knives and axes.

Marks made by people inside.

I froze in place and lifted a shaky finger toward the door. "The citizens of Etherland were trying to escape."

But when I turned to the rest of the group, they were all looking behind us. The sparse woods appeared to have grown thicker, almost a wall of black.

"What's that?" Fennikk asked Nikkla.

The sound started like a distant roll of thunder, a barely perceptible tremble through the ground. Within seconds, it crescendoed to a vibrating drumroll, shaking tree branches. As more black blotted the woods and spilled toward us, I distinguished movement and shape.

My heart railed against its confines, matching the drumroll.

Overcooked.

Hundreds and hundreds of Overcooked.

Rekkan seized my shoulders before I even saw him move. "Zaf, get out of here!"

I swung a glance at the woods behind us and then the hacked-apart door ahead. "To where? Where do we go?"

"Just find the highest thing you can, and climb." He yanked his rifle around from the shoulder strap. "I'll hold them off as long as I can."

Beside us, Nikkla screamed a string of curses, and Fennikk melted into tears.

I shook my head. "I can't leave Fennikk and Nikkla. I can't—" My voice choked. "I can't leave you. And you were right—being Lazora's son doesn't make me special."

"Zafaru, what I meant is..." His voice cut through the growing noise with shocking clarity, and the fury and passion in his eyes momentarily superseded the onslaught of mind-dead warriors and panicked thumping of my heart. "Being her son is not what makes you special."

My raging heart missed a beat, melting in spite of the panic. This moment called for only desperation and fear, but the admiration and certainty in his voice hooked deep enough to circumvent even the fear of death.

Nikkla ripped up her pant leg and snatched the flare gun.

"No!" I screamed at her. "Don't—"

Blinding light burst through the darkening sky, a beacon of hope transformed into a dreadful omen.

"Go!" Rekkan yanked me around and shoved my shoulders. "Run!"

I sprinted toward a watch tower just outside the gate. Snow and broken gravel flew by beneath my feet, and the cold air burned my lungs. Beneath my pounding heart and rasping breaths, the herd of approaching Infected grew more distant.

Another instrument joined the cacophony—humming helicopters.

When I glanced over my shoulder, snow clouded the sputtering blades of two helicopters as they touched the ground. Then a dozen figures streamed out, clad in black full-body suits and gas masks. Two rushed toward Nikkla and Fennikk.

"Stay calm and come with us," one called.

"No!" The yell scraped blades over my throat. "No, don't go!"

Nikkla and Fennikk jogged toward the helicopters, and two figures helped them aboard. The moment they disappeared from view, the five remaining figures started toward me.

Rekkan's yell ripped through the night, shredded by raw panic. "Stop, or I'll shoot!"

"Stand down," one of them said to Rekkan. "We are not after you."

They picked up speed, darting my way.

Rekkan fired the gun once—twice—thrice. Each bullet found a target, ripping through flesh and jerking the masked figures back for a millisecond. While blood still spattered the snow behind them like impressionistic art, their bodies catapulted forward with inhuman speed.

I yanked on the door of the watchtower, but it refused to open. Instead, I scrabbled for purchase on the crumbling wall. My eardrums throbbed with Rekkan's yell, the approaching stampede, and the humming helicopters.

I climbed, arms and legs moving faster than ever before. With a final leap, I rolled to the floor on top of the watchtower, at least twenty feet above the approaching uniformed figures. But just before I could peek over the edge to check if Rekkan was alright, something sailed through the air, up to the top of the watchtower.

The figure landed beside me in a graceful crouch, its gas mask turned toward me, and its gloved hand snatched up a needle. Then three things occurred in quick succession.

A blur of disorienting motion and sound.

A tiny prick of pain.

And black.


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