Thread War Page 8

  “Yes, boss?”

  He sighed. “You gonna keep calling me that?”

  “Thinking about it.”

  Great, he thought, thinking of Torg. Snakes, he missed the magenta skid. “Well, as you’re thinking about it, see if you can coach Zen here on flattening his treads. If he can make skates, he gets some of the basic concepts already. Shev?”

  “Yes, boss?”

  Crisp Betty. “She gets to do it, not you.”

  “That doesn’t seem fair.”

  He stifled a scream. They didn’t get it—none of them did. Everything around them just looked too much like home. “Listen to me,” he said, trying to keep calm. “I want you to keep a perimeter around us, using skis. You do not go out of sight—and I don’t mean scoping, I mean natural sight. You see anything, you do not take a look. I repeat: do not take a look. You come right back here. Got it?”

  “Okay,” he said, and flattened his treads.

  “What about me?” Akash said.

  “Stay in the line.” When he caught the expression on Akash’s face, he added, “I know it sucks, Akash, but until we know more, it’s best. Help Zen.” It occurred to him that he was going to have to be careful about giving even Onna and Shev jobs. He was thinking of them the way he’d thought of Bian and Torg, but Bian had been a Level Seven and Torg had been a Nine. Onna and Shev were a Four and a Three, respectively; they were more like Torres and Aaliyah.

  Johnny scowled in the direction Trist and the others had taken off. “Think they’ll send someone back if they find something?” he said to Shabaz.

  “We can hope,” she murmured, one eye on the woods behind them. “Johnny, we should go.”

  “Right,” he said. “Krugar, let’s go check out this trail you found.”

  They rolled about a hundred metres and then the bramble largely disappeared from beneath their treads. They began making better progress, although they still had to match Zen’s best speed. Johnny kept checking on Shev to make sure he wasn’t doing anything stupid, but the silver skid stayed about fifty metres out, circling the group.

  “He isn’t very observant,” Krugar said, nodding towards Shev.

  “Why?” Johnny asked. He knew almost nothing about the soldier—had no clue what he could do or how much he could be trusted—but the man did exude competence.

  “Because I’m pretty sure there’s movement off that way too.”

  “Really?” Johnny scoped in that the direction. Sure enough. “Shabaz, is that something behind us still behind us?”

  “I think so.”

  “Snakes.”

  “There’s a fork coming up,” Krugar said. “We can take the right, buy time.”

  “All right,” Johnny said. “Don’t be too hard on Shev, he’s at a lower level than Shabaz or me. His scoping won’t be as good yet.” How Krugar had seen it, Johnny had no idea.

  “Levels. Right,” Krugar grunted. They hit the fork and angled off to the right. It began to snow harder. “Do you have any idea where we are?” Krugar asked.

  “Not really,” Johnny admitted. “I’ve never seen this part of the Thread.”

  “What’s the Thread?”

  “This is. Everything is part of the Thread. The place we came from, the place you came from.” He sighed. “It’s complicated. There’s a skid who, if she’s still alive, can probably explain it better than I can.”

  “The black one,” Krugar said, nodding. “With the pink stripe?”

  “Yeah. You remember her?”

  Krugar grimaced. “I’m not sure what I remember anymore. It’s more like a feeling.” He shook his head and then exhaled. “This is not the way I normally operate. I have a memory of the black one, except it’s like I have the same memory several times. Does that make sense to you?”

  A shiver went through Johnny’s stripe. “Yeah.”

  Something in Johnny’s tone drew a look from the soldier. “And that is terrifying. That it makes sense to you. Anyway, I remember seeing her—just her—several times, but then, in the same time and place, I remember her and you and your girlfriend and a bunch of others. None of this lot, I don’t think.”

  “Yeah. I remember that too. The black one, Betty, is a lot older than most of us and spent time out here. She’s the one who explained everything to us.”

  “But now she might be dead? In your games?”

  “No. Not in the Skidsphere. Out here. In the Thread.” Johnny’s eyes dipped. “I don’t know. There was a big fight. She sacrificed herself so we could do what we had to do. But she might have survived. Some of my . . . friends went to find her, after. If we can’t find Betty, hopefully we find them.”

  “Johnny!” Shev called, from off to their right. “I think there might be something on this side.”

  It was getting harder to see as the snow intensified. Even as he scoped and spotted what might be something moving in the mass of white snowfall against black tree trunks, he heard Krugar say, “He’s right, there’s something there.”

  “Snakes,” Johnny swore. “Shev, get back here. Stay tight.” He suddenly wished he had a gun. Krugar had at least one and presumably knew how to use it. Johnny would have preferred to keep moving rather than fight, but it was beginning to look like that might not remain an option. He knew it was possible to create a weapon, he’d seen both Betty and Bian do it. He just had no idea how. “Hey babe?” he called.

  A snort came in response. “Yes, sugarmouth?”

  Okay, so she really wasn’t fond of pet names. “When you guys fought off the Vies with Bian, you all created guns, right?”

  A moment of silence, then: “Yeah, but don’t ask how we did it.”

  “What?”

  “We were all so charged up. Bian did it, so I did the same, without thinking. So did Torres and Torg. But I have no idea how we did it. I’ve been trying for the last half an hour.”

  So no guns then. Which meant if they had to fight, they were going to have to rely on Krugar. As if on cue, the soldier said, “This is bad.” He scanned left and then right. “It’s a funnel. We’re being led somewhere.”

  “Trist and the others went ahead of us, so we can’t be surrounded.”

  “Unless they ran into something.”

  “Oh snakes,” Shabaz said suddenly.

  “What?” Johnny said, scoping behind them.

  “Not back there. It’s the others. I heard you mention them, so I brought them up on the map. Check your scans.”

  I should have kept that active, he thought, silently cursing himself as he checked his mapping system. Immediately, he found the other signals; they were coming back. A chill went down his stripe. Even if he’d hoped Trist would change his mind, it was way too soon. “That can’t be good,” he murmured.

  “What can’t be?” Krugar said, his rifle up.

  “They’re coming back.” Except there were only two signals on his scan.

  “Johnny,” Shabaz said, “There’s only—”

  “I see it.” Johnny frowned. Kesi and Dillac. Were the hole was Trist?

  “There’s a clearing coming up,” Krugar said. “We might not want to be in the open.”

  Johnny couldn’t see anything in the trees now, the snow was getting so thick. “You think it’s worse than this? Whatever’s out there, it doesn’t have guns.”

  “Why not? We do.”

  That was a good point. “All right, they probably don’t have guns.” He looked at Zen. How long had it taken them to get out of the white space the last time? Did he even know what the door to this place would look like if he found it? “Okay,” he said, “listen up. From this moment forward, if Shabaz or I tell you to do something, do it right away.” He glanced at Krugar. “Come to think of it, listen to him too. Zen, stay between Onna and Shev. Akash, you too. I know you’ve got your third stripe, but it’s awful new. Guys, keep them safe. If you see something black, run and do not let it touch you. If it’s white, run faster.”

  “What if I can’t?” Zen said, his stripe shak
ing.

  “Then we’ll carry you,” Onna said firmly, eyeing Johnny. “We’ll take care of them.”

  They emerged from the woods into a large clearing roughly one hundred metres wide. “If we’re going to clear the trees,” Krugar said, “head for that rise.” About thirty metres away, the ground rose to a small hill. “What little elevation we can get.”

  The ground was free from any brambles, only short grass under layers of white. But the snow got deeper—in some places the drifts were higher than Johnny. As Johnny’s group struggled up the rise, two skids came out of the woods on the far side of the clearing. Even from seventy metres away, Johnny could see they were terrified.

  “Kesi, where’s Trist?” Shabaz sent over her com.

  “I think he’s dead,” Kesi shot back, in a tone that barely kept it together.

  Dillac wasn’t keeping anything together. “What the hole was that?!” he cried, his voice cracking with horror. “They ate him!”

  A memory shivered through Johnny’s stripe: It killed Peralta! He scanned the trees. “What ate him?” he commed, trying to stay calm. It couldn’t be Antis or Vies, they would’ve been attacked by now. Antis would have flown over the snow and cut them to shreds.

  “I don’t know,” Kesi yelled, switching off her com and changing her skis back into treads. “They were grey. And there were skids—”

  “Skids?” Johnny and Shabaz said together. The only skids out here should have been Albert’s crew or maybe Betty.

  “They were all grey,” Kesi said, plowing through the last of the snow. “There were other things with them. Trist tried to blast through them like you have to do sometimes on the Gauntlet and they . . . they overwhelmed him. And then . . .” Her voice choked up. “And then he . . . he joined them.”

  “What?” Johnny said.

  “Yeah, squi, what?!” Dillac cried. If his eyes went any wider they were going to pop. “What the hole, squi?”

  Johnny didn’t have any answers. He didn’t know what this was.

  “What do you mean there were skids?” Shabaz said.

  Kesi tried to regain some control. “It was this pack of things. Some of them looked like skids, but they didn’t have stripes. I think I recognized one. Coret. She was in our group, in Trist’s . . .” Her composure slipped, her voice breaking. “Betty Crisp, what the hole happened to him? That group swarmed him and then he turned grey and joined them.”

  “You came back here,” Krugar said firmly. “You warned us. That was good.” Johnny wasn’t sure if warning anyone was their intention—he was pretty sure it wasn’t Dillac’s—but he’d give them the benefit of the doubt.

  “Tell me what to do,” Krugar said, looking from Johnny to Shabaz. “How do we fight it?”

  Johnny’s stripe tilted hard. “I don’t know. I have no idea what this is.”

  “Grey,” Shabaz said, her eye-stalks scrunched in thought. “We fell through grey.”

  “Uh, guys,” Akash said, looking back at the woods.

  Something emerged from the trees.

  CHAPTER TEN

  It was a skid.

  Its skin was mottled grey, like it was sick. One of its eye-stalks was missing and the eyes looked rotten.

  No stripe at all.

  Another skid emerged beside it. Then another. With a wave of horror, Johnny realized he recognized the third one. “Oh, Crisp,” he whispered. “They’re the skids from the Combine.”

  Skids continued to flow out from the trees, more and more, in depth. All the same shattered grey. They weren’t moving fast, but there were dozens of them, then dozens more. Johnny swallowed. How many panzers and squids in the Combine at any given time? Ten thousand? Twenty? If the whole thing had fallen into the black . . .

  “Are they yours?” Krugar asked, his rifle up and centred on the foremost skid.

  “I . . . I don’t . . .” Johnny stammered, recognizing two or three now, slowly rolling through the snow like it wasn’t there. If they’d fallen through the grey and survived, could he and Shabaz save them? Get inside and drive the grey out? But they’d attacked Trist, made him one of them. And there were so many, with more and more coming. . . .

  “No,” he said, feeling ashamed. “I don’t think so.”

  Before Johnny had finished the sentence, Krugar tapped his trigger three times, three shots dead centre on the skid in front, the sound echoing throughout the clearing. The skid kept rolling.

  Krugar raised the rifle slightly. Two more shots, this time one to each remaining eye.

  The skid kept rolling.

  “Any weak spots I should know about?” Krugar said calmly.

  “I don’t know,” Johnny said, backing down the far side of the rise. “Let’s get the hole out of here.”

  “I don’t know if we can,” Shabaz murmured, pointing at the woods where Kesi and Dillac had emerged. A ghostly line of skids appeared through the trees and began to cross the clearing as Krugar’s rifle rang out again. The soldier tried the treads and this time had some success. The tread cracked and ground to a halt. The wounded skid strained forward, but the tread remained broken.

  He should be able to repair that, Johnny thought. “Keep doing that.”

  “I’d love too,” the soldier said, pivoting for his next shot. “I’m not sure I have enough ammo.”

  Johnny scanned the clearing. As he and the others rolled towards the centre, dozens of new skids appeared from every side. “Can you stagger a group? Create a hole?”

  Krugar stopped firing. “Maybe. We could use another gun.”

  “I don’t think that’s a possibility,” Johnny said, seeing the pained look on Shabaz’s face.

  “Oh, boz,” Dillac whined, “this is so bad, this is grease.”

  That was a great help. Krugar stopped three skids in a row, waited three seconds and stopped three more a few feet beyond them, trying to create a gap. It worked briefly, then the skids behind simply pushed forward or rolled right over or came around.

  “I don’t think this is working,” Johnny murmured.

  “Oh, boz,” Dillac whined. “This is so bad . . .”

  “Dillac,” Kesi snapped, “shut up.”

  “No way, boz. This is game over, squi.”

  They reached the centre of the clearing, as Krugar’s rifle rang out again and again. “Down to half a clip,” he said crisply. Johnny didn’t know what a clip was, but half of one didn’t sound good. He scanned the horde closing in. The direction they’d been going seemed thinnest, although that was the direction that Trist had gone.

  But Johnny wasn’t Trist. And he had Shabaz with him.

  “I don’t think subtle is going to cut it.” Krugar said, flicking a switch on his rifle. “I’ll mow a path, you follow, protect the weak.”

  “No,” Johnny said grimly, looking at Shabaz. “We’ve survived things you haven’t. If anyone can break through, it’s us.” She moved beside him. “Everyone get behind us. If we get overwhelmed, head in the same direction. No stopping.”

  He looked at Kesi and Dillac, but one was losing it and he still didn’t know if he could trust the other. He turned to Onna and Shev. “Keep Zen and Akash between you two. You stay right behind us. Krugar, do the same, but cover our back and sides if you can.” He made eye contact with all of them. “You have to go as fast as you can. Stay right in our wake, you should be able to keep up.” Shabaz reached out and took his hand. “You sure you don’t know how to create that gun?” he asked as the pack closed in.

  “I wish.” She squeezed his hand. “That one,” she said, poking an eye at the largest skid. Johnny wasn’t positive, but he thought he might have trained her the week before. “Hard and fast?”

  He had no idea. “Hard and fast,” he agreed, returning the squeeze. They geared up.

  They had to plow through the snow if Zen had any hope of staying with them. Sheets of white sprayed up from each side as Johnny and Shabaz surged forward. Remarkably, they hit a decent speed. It was the first time they’d both cut loos
e in weeks.

  They hit the lead skid and bowled it to one side. Immediately, there was another behind it. Then another. Then another.

  Then another.

  They began to slow. Grey seemed to clamour at Johnny from everywhere, hands slapping at him, skin crushing inwards—did something just bite him? He heard Krugar’s rifle ring out time and time again. Dillac was roaring incoherently; Shabaz had his hand clamped like a vice so nothing could squeeze through.

  “Johnny!” Onna screamed. “Shabaz!”

  Zen had caught a tread on a root or a rock, slowing momentarily. The grey mass pressed in, squeezing towards the fragile One.

  “No,” Shev said grimly, forcing his way between the grey pack and Zen. He pushed at the swarm with his Hasty-Arms as Onna grabbed Zen and yanked him back behind Kesi. But then Shev’s eyes widened as his arms were pulled forward into the grey. “No!” he said again, but this time there was panic.

  “Shev!” Johnny yelled.

  Before he could start to turn, Shabaz squeezed his hand, hard. “We keep moving forward or we all die,” she snarled.

  Johnny didn’t even have time to respond before Shev was pulled into the grey mass. Three different skids bit into him before Shev’s screams died. Then Johnny—who had seen skids literally fall apart in his arms—saw the most horrible thing he’d ever seen in the Thread.

  Shev’s eyes clouded over, then went white. His silver skin dulled and his green stripe faded into his body.

  He turned grey.

  “Nonononono . . .” Dillac wailed, pressing into Johnny’s back. Behind him, Onna tried to push Zen and Akash forward. Kesi was reaching back from behind Shabaz, Krugar was firing shot after shot. Shabaz’s grip began to slip. . . .

  A screaming sound filled the sky and missiles exploded into the mottled grey horde. A familiar white shape, like a cross between a bullet and a knife, roared into sight. It held a purple-orange skid against its undercarriage.

  “Claw-clacks and falcons from the sun!” Wobble cried, a broken-toothed grin somehow visible even in his souped-up Anti form. “GMO, we-we’re back again!”

  He released the skid, and the purple ball literally fell like a bomb into the front of the horde, cratering the ground as a shockwave hurled the mass away from Johnny and the others. As smoke from her impact curled around her treads, the skid popped her Hasty-Arms, split her single orange stripe with a ferocious grin, and swung two eyes.