Chapter Nine — Chalice

Aecker:

Looking Back at the mountain framed the skyline, I wonder how I ever could have survived it. It’s a monstrous creature. It took us all day, night and a few hours of the morning to pilot our way over. Dyllian says we should bless the storm for keeping the wild things at bay last night. I am not so sure, my body has hardly recovered from the first hit it took, but like always we keep moving forward and through the pain.

“So glad that is over,” I comment.

“Shhh,” he replies.

“I hear it, too.”

He points in the direction of the sun as it climbs over the treetops. “It’s coming from there.”

Despite our exhaustion, we track toward the rush of water. Finding our way to the tumultuous river that seems to be calling out to us, we almost collapse on its banks in relief of fresh running water. Removing our breathing masks, we take mouthfuls. Rolling over onto my back, I stare at the midmorning blue sky. White clouds pass overhead, casting a play of light and dark shadows over the forest floor. The air is cleaner in the depths of the valley. And I notice huge vultures and even an eagle circling above.

“Dyllian!” I point up at them.

“What is it?”

“Our next meal.” I beam.

Dyllian removes his mask, looks up and grabs his binoculars. “They’re close.”

Sitting up, I look around for the corpse of a dying animal. It must be big, too, considering the amount of predatory birds stalking the area.

Dyllian lowers his binoculars once he has followed the direct path of their target. “Aecker,” he whispers.

I don’t have time to wonder why his face now resembles that of a dead man’s, because I hear the growl before my eyes come to rest on the angry stare of the mountain lion that’s joined us. Immediately we take note of her tender and swollen nipples—she’s just given birth.

I turn ice cold, realizing we must be either too close to its cubs, or standing between her and lunch. Nose scrunched, eyes vicious and intense, she threatens us with a snarl, bearing white teeth, drool pooling at the edge of her mouth. But no blood stains her perfect tawny pelt, it glitters in the sun’s rays stealing through the trees.

Dyllian and I share a look. The creature must weigh at least ninety pounds. Between the both of us, we can take her. We retreat slowly, listening to the increased grunts and growls, until a vicious snarl stops us in our tracks. That’s when I see what it’s so possessive over. To the left, almost covered entirely with bark and other river debris, is a human arm; blood caked over a large wound on its hand.

“Dyllian, look behind her, to the left, under the bark.”

“Is that human?” he murmurs incredulously.

“No, it’s a fairy, you idiot.”

“A what?”

I roll my eyes, forgetting my brother was never into stories the way I am. “Never mind.”

“I have an idea,” I say to him, looking up at the congregation of vultures above. “Can you reach for your gun?”

“Umm, I’d rather stay very still, thank you very much.”

“She won’t kill us. There are two of us against one oversized cat. Please, we got this.”

“Tell me you are not thinking of shooting that animal.” My brother’s voice rises in protest.

“The birds, you twit.”

As Dyllian unhurriedly removes his handgun from his back holster, the cougar takes offence and curves her back in a threatening manner. She is pretty intimating, I’ll give her that. My heart is thumping in my chest. I am sure she picks up on it, as she starts pacing in front of her meal.

“How many?”

“If you get three in before she reaches me, I’ll give you half of my next meal.”

“No deal,” he says. “You make me pine beer.”

“Deal.”

“One, two…”

Bang! The shot rings out, and the cougar lunges for me. Bang! Bang! Birds start falling from the sky. She’s quicker than I gave her credit for, going straight for the immediate kill, not the least disturbed by falling birds. She’s upon me and I twist as a huge claw rips across my arm. My hands lock under her front paws and, using my entire body, I roll on to my back, lock my feet into her chest and catapult her over me into the river. Her disgusted, furious snarl rings throughout the forest, high-pitched and burning with deadly annoyance.

When I turn around, I realize my throw was way off. She’s been taken by the river’s harsh rapids―I can see the terror flash in her electric-blue eyes. She can’t swim… the rapids are far too strong. Looking around, I spot a decent-sized log. Amidst frantic splashing, the cat calls out for help. Lifting the log, I time the throw so it intercepts her path. Although coming up a bit short, she manages a few flailing movements in a desperate attempt to grab hold of the trunk, managing to dig her nails into the wood.

“Dyllian,” I shout for him.

The rapids are strong. There must be a fall not too far away. I run down the bank with Dyllian beside me. Taking a huge leap, I catch the stump with both hands before it reaches the edge of the precarious fall. It is more difficult than I imagined it to be and my body aches in protest at the wide stretch. My arm is an open wound that tears at my every move. Her weight adds to the current’s deadly pull, but Dyllian has my legs, attempting to hold on as I clamp the log between my own desperate fingers. Tugging, we manage to pull the stump with the cougar precariously hanging on to it to a nearby surplus of floating logs caught up by rocks. The log comes to a stop and we watch her leap, preparing to run. She stops only inches away, as if deciding whether to offer up her thanks, or do what comes naturally and finish us off―heroes or not. Taking a deep breath, I watch her sprint into the forest.

We both collapse to the ground. I’m laughing hysterically. That was too close.

“You are bleeding.” He looks over at me.

“I know.” I stare down at my shoulder.

My jacket is shredded, the skin on my body flayed, and the flesh is both red and pink. The injuries are such that I’m able to see right to the white of my collarbone.

“I really thought the falling birds would have distracted her.”

Simultaneously, we remember the body, shoot up and run toward it. Amongst the black, feathery corpses of the vultures lies the ghostly remains of a girl. Her frame is petite… and motionless. As I inch closer, I feel a boulder of pain and fear drop in my stomach, leaving a cold burn in its wake. The icy ripples are carried to my face and drain my head of all its blood and oxygen. I fall to my knees beside the body. I can’t see her face, but I know it’s her.

The silver bracelet sparkles in the sun. Blond hair spreads over the sand beneath debris. She’s not wearing a jacket. Her entire midriff is open and wounded. Her legs are lifeless, stretched out in an awkward twist. Frantically, I start removing leaves, mops of moss, and a net of twigs from her body. I feel the cold tendrils of dread as a fog threatens to suffocate me from the inside. My chest implodes, sucking my heart into a void.

Dyllian and I lift the larger pieces of debris off her. On the inside, I want to be wrong. It’s not her, it can’t be her, it’s just some kind of insane dream. But then, I see her sweet face and feel sick to my stomach. Her beautiful mouth is now dark purple in color, and the bruises covering her flesh are blue and black. The flesh that is unscarred has turned completely white, announcing that death has claimed her. I feel for a pulse, listen to her heart, but all I feel is cold.

“Opel!” I shout, touching her lips, kissing her cheeks.

“No! Not again, you can’t do this to me again!”

My brother is frantically rummaging through his bag. He thrusts me away from her. Using Mom’s stethoscope he places it at her throat, then her chest. I sit back, speechless. Hopelessness crawls beneath my skin. Although I want to, I can’t tear my eyes away.

He lays his head on her chest. “I’m not sure, but I think she has a pulse.”

A wrecking ball of relief crashes through the barricade of cold, spiteful dread. I gather her up in my arms, holding her head close to my chest.

“Don’t move her, you idiot! What if she’s hurt her neck, or back?” he shouts at me.

“Oh.” I look down at her, but don’t let go. I will never let her go again.

“Can you help her?” I beg.

“Not out here, no.” When our eyes meet, Dyllian’s guilt matches mine. We should have saved her.

“I might be able to help the young lady,” a voice says from behind us.

Dyllian’s reactions are quicker than mine, his gun already pointing at the old woman dressed in rags. But as her delicate gaze locks on mine, she smiles―a very familiar smile.

***

Prilla is the old woman’s name. She has lived in the woods for over ten years. I can’t see how she has survived. The storms close to the mountains are insufferable. This is part of the reason why we stay so well hidden. The ST won’t venture this close to the mountains, and Cupola is built under a dam that borders the south side of Mount Helicon.

I carry Opel in my arms; she’s as light as a feather, and I wonder how such a tiny thing survived in the horrific tempest of water.

When we near the cottage, I come to understand how Prilla and her humble home have survived the extreme squalls of Mother Earth. The distinct low hum that comes with the sharp, burning metallic taste in my mouth alerts me to some kind of tech surrounding the area. Looking around at untouched trees and immaculate garden, supports my theory. It is quite clear that there is some kind of invisible shield that protects the little cottage from outside forces.

Entering the cottage, Prilla swears she can heal Opel, says she used to be a doctor. I recognize her raspy voice and kind eyes, yet I’m not completely sure from where. Perhaps she worked with my mother in our time before the violent riots tore through our little town, destroying the hospitals and clinics. Or, perhaps she is like us, escapees from The Gate before The Clearing commenced.

***

After we devour our warm soup and freshly baked bread, I feel refreshed and back to my suspicious self in no time. I ask Prilla why she’s helping us. Is she after something? Is she willing to heal Opel so she can hand her over to the ST for a reward?

But all I receive is a knowing smile in response to my questions. She’s hiding something behind her eyes, and seems to revel in her secrecy a bit too much for my liking.

“What do you want in return?” I ask, warming my hands over the burning coals in the small fireplace. Prilla was kind enough to not hurt me too much when she stitched up my shoulder, so I reckon she can’t be all that bad.

Frantically looking for something on her cluttered shelf, Prilla moves book after book. Statues of the body’s anatomy and a few metal sculptures of first generation Trackers are placed on the table. Papers, pens and computer hardware are sprinkled over the floor as she continues to move the tomes around, looking behind them, and between the pages of hardcovers.

“I hid it so long ago I have forgotten… Oh, wait!” She pulls out a glass vial, turns it upside down, and swears out of excitement. “I forgot I had some stash left.” Her face gets an evil grin as she becomes lost in the white liquid inside her find.

Dyllian clears his throat, as if to let her know that she is not alone.

“Next time then, my precious,” she says the odd words and kisses the bottle, dropping it into the pocket of her dark gray coat. Her hair perfectly matches the color of the clothes she’s wearing, and it’s no puzzle why we didn’t see her stalking us in the forest. She blends in perfectly with tree stumps and shadows.

Jumping up, she runs over the litter on the kitchen floor.

Dyllian and I share a curious look. She is insane.

When Prilla returns, she walks right to Opel and runs a round metallic object over her body. Then, with a few hits against its exterior, a bright light shines through a tiny opening on its metal belly.

“Oh, heavens.” She giggles as it blinds her.

Turning the object around, she then proceeds to scan Opel’s entire body. Runs over to a table, and throws some dusty rags off of an old-school computer monitor, like the kind we used back in the day before the scavenger hunts were permitted. The screen is huge, something they used to call a Protech, a.k.a. Projection Touch Screen. She blows on the silicone keypad and wipes it with the old rags. Just a few seconds later, it beams to life in an array of colorful patterns dancing across the screen. The keypad glows in various shades of pink, purple and orange. A logo burns in the same colors on the screen.

I know this symbol, the colors are all wrong, though. But the center badge is exact. A burning, spinning shield with the initials STE, which stand for Sync Tech Environ, appears―the company that saved us from the apocalypse.

The first rise of STE was during the time of healing after WWIII. The idea running amok was the cloning of organs and limbs, which then spawned into genetic encoding. The purpose was to save what remained of the world’s population; to heal them. History only repeated itself, of course, when power corrupted some major players in the organization. Infiltrated by another rising party, STE was replaced by ST and Suzerain. With them, came the new mission to eradicate impure humans, or use them as slaves to build their machines.

But it wasn’t, and won’t be that easy, I thought. Our people rose from the ashes, crawled out from under the safety of their rocks and fought back. We continue to fight, calling ourselves Emblazers, because our path is to ignite the future for the young generation. They will be our leaders, after all. We fight not for ourselves but for those who come after us. We know it might take many generations to achieve the perfect society, but the spirit of a free man drives us on.

“Please, log in,” the computer says, pulling me from my silent reverie.

The sudden beams of light scan Prilla’s irises.

“This is so 2016 tech,” my brother whispers.

I swear, sometimes I think he is the kid brother.

It all falls into place; the objects in the cottage; the technology; the old STE symbols and tech. I know who this woman is, and I definitely know she can help heal Opel. As much as I deny it not only to her but to myself, I now know Opel’s truth. She is a New Gen Tracker. I think Noah was right… she might have been sent to be my Delilah to make me succumb. I fell, yes, but so did she. Is this why they come after her now, because she is not like the others? Because she has a mind of her own? I want to burst into laughter. Opel holds the secret to a type of intelligence they cannot master—one they created to hunt their enemy has become their fall.

“What are you grinning about?” Dyllian pouts, as if I am ignoring him completely.

He watches me carefully watching the woman I’ve come to suspect is Dr. P. Greenhorn. Now I know it is definitely her. She came to our school once, before The War. I must have been about six years old then, but like my father, and very much like my brother, we loved anything tech and scientific. I remember that day so clearly because of my twin sister, Arora.

It was our last day together before the first initial strike on our town. Arora and I were fighting over who got to slice the frog open first. Arora did it just to get to me, always competing. While she hated genetics, she had a huge fascination for anatomy; the anatomy of everything, really. If Arora had half a chance, she would have probably cut open my brain while I slept just to see what it did while I dreamed.

Dr. P. Greenhorn was not like any other teacher that day. She was a leader, comprised of the world’s patience. She was also the most famous person in the world at that time, the first doctor to successfully clone everything from veins to human limbs. She later became one of the founders of STE, bringing about the rise of genetic empowerment and the key to human survival after WWIII.

Dr. P. pulled out a giant toad from her freezer that day and plonked it down right in front of me and my sister. Handing me her very own scalpel, she said, “The first one of you to dissect, with correct incisions, grouping, and tagging completed correctly, gets to visit my lab.”

She had offered a grin, her green eyes backlit by massive intelligence, causing them to shine as bright as emeralds. The shape of her eyes was exotic and welcoming, and her hair was as dark as a raven’s wing. I might have had a little crush on Dr. P., but the lure of visiting the most famous lab in the world was more potent. My sister won that day, but the very next the bombs hit―the catalyst to WWIII.

Dyllian punches me in the arm, pulling me back from the past.

“It’s her.” I use my shoulder to shove him away.

We are both standing, arms crossed over our chests, and a curious look about us.

He cocks a hairy eyebrow. “Who?”

“Greenhorn,” I whisper.

We stare at the doctor.

“No,” Dyllian disagrees. “She died in the takeover.”

“Did she?” I laugh. “She looks pretty good for a dead woman.”

He strokes his chin.

The doctor goes about hooking up all kinds of wireless tags onto Opel’s body to monitor her vital signs. She even performs some other tricks to assure the non-tracking of her device resting inside the silver armlet. Coming up for air from her patient, she hardly looks at us, just carries on pretending to be some kook.

The way her hands move is delicate and precise. It’s her. She’s quick, too. She scans Opel on the underside and sends the biometrics to the workstation. The screen changes from its fiery colors to lines and diagrams, numbers and letters. A 5D scan of Opel, in full color, projects above her body, creating a mirrored ghost with visible innards.

When the doctor looks up, we are both staring at her.

“So…” She draws the word out and pauses, rubbing her hands together. “Figured it would be the two of you who’d work out who I am.” She winked. “The Halt brothers never thought I’d see you two again.”

She gestures for us to move closer to the screen. “You look just like them… your parents, I mean.” She sighs. “What beautiful humans they are. I miss them.”

We have nothing to say to the doctor who obviously, from years of non-stimulating her genius, has lost it altogether. She’s like some kind of hippy. Our parents were murdered. My mother was the first. She gave her life to save ours.

“Look here.” She points to the screen. “I can’t believe they succeeded, or even tried this after so many years.”

“What?” my brother snaps impatiently.

“These lines indicate one thing, but her brain patterns suggest another.”

She moves back as we dumbly take a closer look, pretending to know what she is implying.

“If you are to read her vitals, she will appear dormant. But her brain waves suggest something else. The way I figure this is that the genetic coding is for super healing, shutting down her vitals in order to restore her body. Like a reboot, or virus quarantine, this process repairs and deletes issues within the subject. I am not sure what starts it back up again. It was a theory I worked on when my daughter was diagnosed with cancer.”

She stands quietly, staring up at the dirty ceiling. Webs cover the walls and ceilings in every corner. In some, I can actually see the spider’s nest, its prey cocooned and ready for take-out. I move closer. “There is something you missed out.” Staring at the 5D inner workings of Opel, it’s very clear her heart does not beat like it should. In fact it looks metallic…

Abruptly, she spins around, squinting at us. “Which one of you caught her interest?” She lifts my arms. “The gorgeous, skinny, bad boy, I assume?”

“Hey!” I protest, as she lifts my jacket to inspect by body.

“Ooo, muscles and more muscles.” She pats my stomach.

“Cut it out,” I tell her.

She points to me while speaking to my brother. “He has some beef under there.”

I feel myself blush. Not even my mother would do such a thing to embarrass her boy.

Dyllian produces a belly chuckle.

“Or did she fall for the handsome one with the burly unibrow?” She smirks at Dyllian.

“What! I do not…”

Greenhorn and I join in laughter. I actually have to hold on to the counter behind me in order to steady myself.

“I think she has a thing for your unibrow!” I scream out.

My brother stomps off, sulking. Greenhorn looks at me. We keep silent for about all of two seconds before she spits out yet another howling laugh.

“Dyllian, come on!” I call to him. “Your skinny brother was only joking!”

But he doesn’t turn back, instead he walks straight out of the tiny cabin and silently closes the door behind him.

When I turn to look at Greenhorn, she is thoroughly inspecting Opel’s body; pulling back the eyelids, looking under her nails, amongst other things. At some point, I feel she’s searching for clues on a dead body, like in one of those detective books I’ve read. She lifts Opel’s arm and stares at the silver bangle.

“Is she going to survive?” I whisper, my voice breaking.

“I am not sure, son. I suspect this has happened before?”

I nod. “How did you know?”

She ignores my question, lost in her own train of thought. “Curious. They have introduced my old theories in the new generation Tracker. But she’s different... she’s some kind of hybrid, although human for the most part.”

“Her heart, it’s made of metal,” I add.

“Another idea they stole from me.”

“Can you help her?”

“I can, don’t worry. I am just not sure what is needed to deactivate the defensive state her body has gone into. Perhaps we should leave her to heal for a while. She’s pretty banged up. Her ankle is broken in two places, her ribs are cracked, and her lungs have collapsed from all the water intake.” She looks up at me. “I need the serial number on that heart if I am to figure out exactly what went wrong. This mechanical heart has malfunctioned. My tech is too old…”

The doctor leaves the monitor running and covers Opel with a blanket, stroking her hair out of her face. “She is remarkable, isn’t she?” She smiles, a proud look gleaming in her eyes.

I swallow against the dry lump that has formed in my throat. As much as Opel looks and acts human, is she in any way like us? She eats, breathes, gets cold, injured, and feels. But parts of her are like a machine. Then I think of her smile, her face, her sweet voice, and all doubt crumbles away. She is no way a Tracker. I believed it once and I must believe it again.

Dr. P. walks over. “Don’t worry, son, she’s a fighter. That’s what she was bred for.”

I don’t like the doctor speaking about her this way at all. And I think she sees the disdain paling my face. Walking over to the stove, she lights a fire and puts water on the boil.

I stay with Opel, just watching, but the more I see the bruises on her body flare up, the more enraged I become. I’ve never felt this strong about anything or anyone in my life before. She makes me want to fight, to live, to make a difference. Opel makes me want to do and become what I have not even thought of.

Sighing, I close my eyes for a moment and there, behind my dark lids, hides the picture of the man who attacked Opel. The memory of how I shot him upon finding Opel under his threat leaves me shivering. My anger got the best of me. I never went back for him; for all I know he is looking for us right now.

Greenhorn brings over a tin bucket filled with hot water. Dipping a yellow sponge into the warmth, she begins washing away some of the mud caked in Opel’s hair. Gently lifting her hands, she starts working on the dirt and blood between each finger. The more mud she manages to clean away, the more injuries are uncovered, scarring her perfect skin. I notice the ring is still on her finger.

My anger and confusion rage. I am so stuck in my thoughts, I don’t hear my brother return and sit by the fire beside me.

***

As time marches slowly by and Opel remains dormant, my stomach fills with the kind of anxiety that strips a starving man of his appetite. Dr. P. makes an early dinner before she begins her tests on Opel.

After she draws two vials of blood, I study the patterns on Opel’s brain waves from my position across the room, the slow beating spikes. On any normal monitor, these signs would appear as if the patient was dead, but the good doctor seems to have some of her specialty equipment from her laboratory, except the one thing we need to fix her mechanical heart. It is a very scary thought to think that this equipment was created to bring back the dead, reprogram their brains, and build an army out of such beings.

I notice a second monitor running, this one for the deciphering of genetic codes. This will tell us all about Opel’s genetic history. If that’s case, she must have a family. It will also tell us what encoding she has as a Tracker. And hopefully Dr. P. can undo it.

***

When I finally feel the sedative of sleep come for me, I take a seat next to the fireplace, shutting my eyes for a moment.

Dyllian and Greenhorn are talking about something, their voices a low murmur. Flashes of Opel’s attack, of Noah―my very own cousin, coming for her―spike across my vision. I’d rather open my eyes and deal with fatigue than think of his actions. The thought of Noah’s betrayal leaves me feeling ill and angry. I sit and wait, but for what I am not sure. I just stare into the flames and hope that in them I will find all the answers to Opel’s survival. Our survival. And what Dr. P. needs, is back in her old lab at The Gate.

By now the world knows how desperately we have acted to stay together. There is no way this flaw will be overlooked by anyone. I cannot go to The Gate and retrieve what we need for Opel, everyone will be looking for me. I stare at the shiny silver armlet around Opel’s wrist.

“I know what you are thinking, young man,” Greenhorn says. Her voice is raspy for a woman’s, just the way I remember it.

I stare at her green eyes as they twinkle in the embers of the fire. They tell me that she plans to live a full life, and that she is filled with a kind of hope many have not seen in a long time.

“We can surgically remove the armlet, eventually, but first I have to run full diagnostics. And the reason for that is because this is not just a tracking system, it serves as a genetic feeding. I think that is how her body does what it does, how it is able to heal.” She smiles. “I’m sure, if perfected, the lapsed time between episodes will diminish greatly.”

Dyllian drops his spoon into the soup bowl, which causes a loud clang of metal on porcelain.

“Can you hear that?” He leans forward.

Doctor Greenhorn jumps up, throws her soup into the fire, and claps her hands twice. The entire cottage immediately dies out―lights, stove, everything. The shield’s hum is silenced as well, so we won’t be detected by ST scanners, I suspect.

I run to the monitor station and throw some rags over the glowing holograms of Opel’s heart. The cloth covers the tiny vision pads and kills the graphs. I quickly pull the sheet over Opel’s face and then draw the curtain between the two rooms. In the distance, beyond the singing crickets, I hear the dogs edging closer. Their barks are loud, followed by men’s shouts, both coming together in the darkness of night.

They’ve found us! There is a sudden bang against one of the walls, and Dyllian pulls his gun out. We hit the deck, crawling on our hands and knees over the floor toward the windows. The glass is dirty and crusted with years of grime, the toll to such an extent, we can’t see out. But then, no one can see in, either. A flashlight’s beam doesn’t penetrate the room. The light only illuminates the dirt on the glass, transforming it into an amber color.

I reach for the knife tucked inside my boot. Dr. P. realizes we left the door unlocked and her eyes pin mine, causing a tight unease to spread across my chest. Both of us, on all fours, reach the door at the same time. Dr. P. is faster than me, but as her hand reaches up to throw the latch in place―the door swings open, almost falling off its hinges and slamming her in the head. I see the dark leather boots first, the silver tips gracing the toes.

Cyrus.

I stand up, staring into eyes of uncaring, unfeeling chrome. His voice of steel calls out to the troops. He will kill us this time. He takes in Dr. P., who’s crawling to her feet, then smiles poorly at me, a dangerous gleam in his eyes. He kicks the old woman in the ribs. I lunge for him, but stop when he cocks his gun and aims it at her skull.

Dyllian moves closer. “You shoot her, Cyrus, and I will return the favor.”

“One move and I get her right in the back of the head,” Cyrus warns.

He thinks he is still bullshitting me when I take my position between him and her. Dyllian has anticipated my move and tackles Cyrus, bringing him to the floor. Suddenly, a shot rings out, followed by debris from above crashing down around us, a rainstorm of shards of wood splinters that strive to impale our flesh.

“You are surrounded, you idiots!” Cyrus sneers.

I punch him in the face twice before he fully collapses. Dyllian is helping the doctor, but I fear we have not enough time before the rest of them come rushing in. Panicked, I look to the curtain that separates Opel from us. Men have moved in, and the entire cottage is surrounded. Five hurtle by and secure each corner of the dwelling. Every window is illuminated in shades of dirty orange.

Cyrus comes to and notices me staring uncomfortably in the direction of the curtain. “There!” He points, shouting to one of his men.

When I try to make a run for Opel, Cyrus commands the others to engage. Dyllian manages to get both the doctor and himself securely behind the kitchen counter, as I leap and land behind the sofa, pushing and shoving, finally obtaining a good grip and tipping the two-seater over to form a barricade. Bullets come from every angle, ripping through the cottage as if it’s made of tissue paper.

“Stop shooting!” Cyrus shouts.

I take the moment of peace we have been given and make a run for the curtain. Cyrus tries to tackle me to the ground, but Dyllian gets a shot off.

“Shit!” Cyrus shouts. “You shot me, Dyllian!”

“Good!” Dyllian retorts.

“I don’t know why you even bother fighting. It is over, for all of you.”

A storm of bullets is released in my direction. Getting to my feet, I pull Opel from the table and into my arms, kicking over the metal bed in order to wall us in and shield us from the rain of violent steel.

I hear a shout, or a command, maybe. Suddenly, all goes quiet again. Peeking around the edge of the table, I see a metal ball roll in from the open door and heading toward the kitchen, excreting some kind of smoky tail. Rolling into the cabinet, a light flickers on and a clicking noise resounds. A small panel on the ball opens.

When I look up, the entire cottage has been abandoned.

“Get out!” I shout to my brother, holding ever so tightly onto Opel.

I try to get to my feet. We have only a second before the thing explodes and the world around us ignites in chaos. We will be swallowed up by a dark cloud that sends a destructive force in its wake.

This is it.