CHAPTER 12
A DIRE WARNING
1
Michael had just been killed again by a working grenade. If he’d learned anything in Devils of Destruction, it was that no matter how many times your body exploded, it never got any easier.
Sarah was waiting for him back in the tunnel. She was sitting on the ground, back to the wall, legs folded underneath her, and she looked exhausted. Michael sat down across from her, and she told him.
“I found it,” she said softly. Her voice sounded dead. Michael felt just as empty, and he thought he knew why: they’d paid too heavy a price. He knew he’d never be the same.
He did feel some sense of relief, though. “Where?” he finally asked, and the way Sarah looked at him, he knew she was just as relieved as he was.
“It’s five trenches in from the tents, near the middle, on the left side. There are five or six people inside, who knows what kinds of weapons. I barely detected the Portal before they killed me.”
“We’ll be fine,” Michael told her. “We’ll wait for Bryson, and we’ll come up with a plan. Maybe we can even do it without jumping in there and going medieval on everybody.”
She gave him a smile. It was weak and small, but it lifted him up a little. “At least we know where it is. I don’t think I could’ve lasted much longer out there, running from one trench to the next, wondering what joyful way I’d die next.”
“I’ll take a nice trip through space killing aliens with lasers anytime over this.”
Sarah’s eyes met Michael’s and stayed there, both of them silent, sharing the experience they’d just endured. Then pain exploded inside his head.
2
Michael collapsed to the cold floor and curled up into a ball, barely aware of Sarah by his side, leaning over his shoulder, yelling at him to tell her what was wrong. He couldn’t form words. He gripped his head, rocking back and forth as the pain pounded inside his skull. He was aware enough of what had happened to him in the alley back home that he refused to open his eyes.
The visions. Those creepy, terrifying visions. He didn’t know if the effects on his mind would be the same in the VirtNet as they were back in the Wake, but he didn’t want to find out. He kept his eyes squeezed shut and waited for the pain to fade.
Finally, just like before, it vanished in an instant. No slow recovery, no lingering ache. He was in agony one second, totally fine the next. Though he thought he’d heard a voice.…
According to Sarah, the episode had lasted three minutes—it could’ve been an hour for all Michael could tell. She put her arm around his shoulder and helped him sit up. He leaned back against the wall and stared at the ceiling. What a splendid week he’d had.
“You okay now?” Sarah asked.
Michael turned to look at her. “Yeah. When it ends, it totally ends. Doesn’t even hurt right now at all.” But he was exhausted and sick with fear—he hadn’t had an attack in a few days, and he’d been hoping that maybe they’d stopped.
She ran her fingers through his hair. “What did that monster do to you?” she murmured.
He shrugged—he assumed she meant the KillSim. “I don’t know. I just remember it felt like it was sucking my brain out. Maybe it did—part of it, anyway.”
“At least you went a while without an attack, right? Let’s just hope it happens less and less frequently. Maybe it’ll eventually stop altogether.”
Bryson appeared back from the game then, a look of pride brightening his face, and Sarah dropped her hand from Michael’s head.
“Hey, I found it!” Bryson called. “I found the Portal.”
Sarah smirked. “Big deal,” she said. “I beat you to it, slowpoke.”
But her face filled with a genuine smile. Michael’s heart felt a bit less empty, though he was still concerned. He hoped it had just been the delusion of his attack, but he could’ve sworn he’d heard a voice, whispering a phrase inside his mind.
You’re doing well, Michael.
3
Bryson described which trench he was talking about, and it was indeed the same one Sarah had found. Michael and his friends racked their tired brains to come up with a plan. They had to get close enough, and have enough time, to probe the Portal and hack their way through its code. But jumping inside that ditch, knives and fists first, was the last thing any of them would ever want to do again.
Which is what made Michael think of grenades. He’d been killed by them three or four times, so he knew they were effective. And he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want the tiniest bit of revenge.
When he suggested it, Bryson said, “Well, it sounds good, but we’ll need something extra to make sure they go off.”
Sarah answered, “We’ll just bring a whole bunch and start tossing them. I’ll program a Spectacular Spark from the Munitions Maniacs game and hope it triggers them.”
Michael grabbed his backpack and unzipped it, then took everything out. “Let’s start stuffing.”
4
Once everyone’s backpack was full, they hitched them over their shoulders, got gloves and hats, then headed back out the door into the wintry air.
Michael and Sarah followed Bryson around the left side of the valley, careful to stay below the ridgeline, out of sight. When they got to the rise, they dropped to their stomachs and crawled to the top.
Then it hit Michael. “What if we just wait until morning and try to get there before anyone else?” What he really wanted to say was, Please don’t make me run down there into that mayhem again. He didn’t know how much more of it he could take.
“I’m dreading this, too,” Bryson said. “But we can’t afford to lose another night. Let’s just try this thing. Guards or no guards.”
“Okay,” Michael grumbled. “But remember—either we all get through or none of us do. We can’t go through the Portal alone or we might never hook back up.”
“Fine,” Bryson said. “And how about we don’t get killed? We’re forming bad habits.”
“Amen,” Michael responded. “Dying is my new least favorite thing.”
Michael looked out over the open space again. They had to get past dozens of battles, as well as ten or so other trenches. The odds of making it to the Portal without getting pulled into some sort of fight weren’t good. And judging by the look on Sarah’s face, she thought the same thing.
“Okay,” she said, suddenly in charge. “I think we can get through, but you have to follow my lead. If one of us gets intercepted, we need to stay and fight.”
“We got it,” Bryson said. “Stick together. Now let’s get this over with.”
Michael’s heart pumped like pistons in a race car. “Yeah” was all he could get out.
“Come on.” Sarah climbed to her feet and was suddenly running down the icy hill. Michael and Bryson hurried to catch up.
5
It took an hour to make it to the trench, and they fought the whole way there. Sometimes it was a single man or woman—those were the easy ones. But they faced a few that were far more difficult—gangs of two, three, or four soldiers coming after their small alliance all at once. The only positive of having died so many times was that it gave Michael and his friends the experience—and a little help from their programming-boosted powers—to fend off those attackers.
They weren’t going to die this time. Michael swore it to himself over and over. He grew more exhausted by the minute, but his adrenaline was high, and his energy seemed to reignite with every new confrontation.
They finally found themselves just a few feet from the edge of the Portal trench. The group was bloodied and bruised, their clothes ripped. Bryson had lost his backpack, and they only had one knife. But for a brief moment, they were alone.
Sarah dropped to her knees and unzipped her pack, dumping her cache of grenades onto the frozen ground. Michael added his own as Bryson ran over to the edge to scout the guard situation. “Five or six of them,” he reported back, falling to his knees next to them to help. “Start pulling and chucking! They’re just sitting there with guns, smoking.”
Michael got right to work. He grabbed a grenade, pulled the pin, then threw it into the long, narrow pit. He didn’t stop to see what happened; he took another one and repeated the process, throwing it at the same spot. Then another one. Another. Bryson and Sarah were just as fast, and in a matter of seconds they’d tossed more than a dozen into the trench.
Then Sarah closed her eyes—they flickered under her eyelids as she searched and manipulated the code. A bright flash of light flared up at her chest, brilliant enough to make Michael shield his eyes with his arm. He peeked and saw it whoosh away from her and shoot down into the trench like a fiery comet.
Michael noticed a man climbing up from the inside of the trench on the far side. He opened his mouth to warn his friends, but a deafening boom exploded from within the deep-cut ditch. Flashes of fire lit up the day, and metal shards flew in every direction.
“Let’s go!” Sarah yelled, already on her feet and moving toward the ladder. The man Michael had seen earlier was flat on his stomach at the very top, a huge gash sliced down the back of his coat. Nothing but red and ruin.
Michael ran after Sarah, Bryson by his side. They reached the edge of the trench. Michael ran alongside it, looking for survivors, but all he could see was death. He watched the bodies disappear one by one.
The three friends got to the ladder just as the man at the top rolled over onto his back. He wasn’t dead, but he was close, and the look on his face showed he knew.
Sarah started down the rungs, as did Bryson. Michael was right behind them when the man reached up and grabbed Michael’s arm, then spun him around. His strength was surprising for the condition he was in. Michael was able to pull himself free, but before he turned away, the man started mumbling something, his lips quivering with the effort, his whole body shaking.
Michael leaned in closer, thinking he’d heard his name. “What did you say?” he asked.
The soldier seemed to gather his strength for one last effort to speak. And then it came out in a short burst, and Michael heard every word.
“Be careful with Kaine. He’s not who you think.”
Then the man died, and his wrecked body vanished into the air.