Chapter 17 – Ramming Speed

  Cole had been fast ever since middle school; the ace at track and field. On Earth, there was no way a guy in full plate mail armor should have been able to match his speed, let alone beat it. But the thunderous sounds of pursuit only grew louder. Even when Cole ran past a pack of mushroom zombies and a pair of fungal wood men, he didn’t slow down. Several of them gave chase, but he left them behind more easily.

  Your speed multiplier is good, so maybe you won’t get eaten, he remembered Morganstern saying.

  Good enough for the minimal risk index of Curahee, not whatever was chasing him—which almost certainly wasn’t from this neighborhood. Looking behind, he caught a glimpse of black lacquer through the forest, and a flash of steel that cut a pair of the wood men completely in half. The ram’s visage locked onto him over the distance and the hatred there was almost palpable. The sensation he’d come to associate with other people using their abilities came and went, and a red glow began sublimating off the ram-helmeted warrior. The forest in front of him literally moved out of his way as though it were intimidated, leaving a clear path almost all the way to Cole.

  If Cole had the breath to swear, he’d have done so. But he was running all out under full battle rattle, and his own obstacles weren’t kind enough to repeat the dodging trick. He finally broke out of the wood line onto a rocky patch of gravel. A wide river cutting through a valley churned, at least forty feet across. Hot on his heels, the sounds of the forest being uprooted or cleaved asunder spurred him faster. Kicking up gravel as he ran toward the river, he burned his recharged Meteoric Leap ability and kicked forward instead of straight up. The swoosh of a fast-moving blade cut through the air where he’d just been as he took off.

  Hoping his level-up had given him enough range to clear both the water and the jagged rocks on the other side, he shot up and forward like he’d been launched out of a catapult. Gravel and water flashed underneath him. He must have been moving at least fifty or sixty miles an hour, in the jump. Fast enough to turn his insides to paste if he were in a car that crashed at this speed. Only he didn’t have any airbags.

  Luckily, the kinetic energy transfer still seemed to work. When he plowed shoulder-first into a rock on the opposite bank of the river, while the impact took whatever wind was left in him, at least the loud crack wasn’t every bone in his body breaking. When he looked at the rock where he’d landed, a large fracture now ran all the way through the thing. A third of the boulder tilted away and splashed into the river.

  “Oh, sweet Jesus, I’m alive!” said Cole. He spun around. His pursuer was slowing down on the opposite bank. That amount of armor and muscle didn’t stop on a dime, apparently, and he wasn’t so foolish enough to charge into a fast-flowing river wearing heavy, metal armor. His ability must not work on flowing water. No matter how strong he was, Mother Nature could still be just as lethal. But more discouragement couldn’t hurt. Cole shouldered his rifle and began firing the last of his fungal ammo.

  Shots ricocheted off Ram-Head’s armor, heavy rounds causing him to flinch back even if they failed to penetrate. The armored man got his shield up between them and took a tentative step into the river, which came up to his shin just a pace off the shore. Cole fired until his magazine was empty and then swapped. As he was dropping the bolt on a new magazine, another gun opened up somewhere northwest of him.

  Bullets buzzed past him, striking on and around the knight, who had made it another few steps in the water that was now up past his knees. A starburst muzzle flash deep in the tree line offered Cole much-needed support-by-fire, hammering the black lacquered giant. In response, Cole moved south along the bank, firing more of his dwindling ammo.

  If you come across this story on Amazon, it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.

  Ram-head was using his shield to deflect most of the shots, which meant he didn’t think his armor could stand up to sustained fire. Just like any engagement, if Cole could maneuver his way around to hit the man from the flank, he might stand a chance. But the giant had analyzed the situation as well, and the addition of the second assailant was probably ringing alarm bells that he’d been drawn into an ambush. He backed out, retreating from the waterline behind his now mushroom-sprouting shield, and then vanished into the trees.

  Cole gasped for air, holding his rifle in position until he was sure Ram-head wasn’t going to come barreling out of the forest again. Thanks, Meteoric Leap. Ass equals saved. He looked at the forest behind him. And thanks to whoever had just backed him up, though as far as he could tell, there was only one person it could be. A moment later, a furry, four-legged figure in a Kevlar harness appeared at the tree line and barked at him. Cole lowered his rifle and jogged toward the dog, who seemed to have grown to at least twice the size he’d been before.

  The oversized boxer lolled its tongue at him and then dashed in a tight circle before running back into the woods. Occasionally, it turned to make sure he was still following. After about a half-klick, the dog barked again and ran up to Besson, who had a weapon Cole had never seen before couched in the crook of his arm. It looked like some sort of otherworld machine gun, possibly a loot pull. Its muzzle still glowed orange from the heat of the sustained fire—or maybe that was just a property of the weapon? Besson stooped down to scratch his working dog, though the thing came up almost to his belt line, now.

  “What the hell have you been feeding him?” asked Cole, jogging up, still somewhat out of breath.

  “Her,” said Besson, patting the dog on her head. “More to the point, what’d I just waste a full belt of ammo on?”

  “Saving my bacon,” said Cole. “And I don’t really know. But I’m pretty sure it killed Morganstern."

  Besson looked back east and sucked at his teeth. “That’s just fucking great. That who you were shooting at earlier, too?”

  Cole shook his head. “Nah. That dude had a partner.”

  “Had?”

  “Had,” confirmed Cole.

  Besson took a deep breath. “Good on you. Sounds like the game has changed. What’s the FRAGO?”

  Cole took a long pull from his hydration pack before dumping some of it over his face and neck. “Howie and Roxy are going to try to find Morganstern if she’s still alive. We’re meeting up and then headed up the mountain, same as before. They’ll fill in Ken and Han if they find them. Only Nona is unaccounted for, now.”

  Besson grunted. “Safety in numbers, then. That dude looked like he could take the pair of us apart, but he’ll have a tougher time against five classed Kickers. Guess the vacation’s over.”

  Vacation? Granted, Besson looked no worse for wear for having passed his first day in Curahee solo. And his K9’s rapid growth must be the result of his class ability. Still. What part of this was a vacation and how fucked up did Besson have to be to lament having to travel through a deadly, alien world with other people instead of on his own?

  Cole swung his pack off and unrolled the photovoltaic film to hang from the top. It was the only way they had to recharge batteries on Curahee. With luck and enough gaps in the canopy, his NODs power supply would be full again by nightfall. He didn’t want to be stumbling around in the dark with that giant out there. And the way Besson moved, he gave the impression that he could be pretty quiet for a bigger guy. He certainly didn’t volunteer any more words while Cole got his goggles stowed and his pack squared away.

  The dog watched him curiously, not quite managing to stop wiggling its stump of a tail. Cole held his hand out, and she bounded over before Besson could recall her. The man watched with a wary eye as Cole gave her some pats and scritches.

  “What’s her name?” he asked.

  “Nutmeg,” said Besson.

  Cole cupped her jowls. “Thanks for the assist, Nutmeg.”

  She ruffed quietly, tapping her front paws on the ground and enjoying the affection. But Besson looked impatient, like he was very much already regretting the tacit agreement to continue as a pair. Cole gave Nutmeg one last pat and moved up on Besson’s right flank, giving the man plenty of space.