Killian’s scream lodged in his throat as the green gel—not fluid, but alive—slithered up his wrist, seeping into his skin like it was tasting him. It didn’t burn, but the sensation was alien, a thousand microscopic threads weaving through his nerves. He dropped the fused Trident-Z-PEG unit onto the paving stone, shaking his hand as if he could cast off the intrusion. The gel shimmered in the pale fall light, then retreated, pooling back into the device like a predator biding its time. Killy’s heart hammered, his breath fogging in the crisp air. As one of the original survivors who’d built Pine Hollow to defy the Ascendancy, he’d faced bears, raiders, and drones, but this tech was a new kind of beast—one he’d let touch him like a damn fool.

  “Junior, you okay?” Killy rasped, eyes darting to the kid, who clutched his dad’s Milwaukee Fastback knife, backing away, wide-eyed in the morning light.

  “I’m fine, Killy, but what the fuck was that?!” Junior’s voice cracked, his tough facade wavering. He pointed at the device, its bck surface now still, glinting coldly on the stone.

  “No clue, kid,” Killy said, flexing his hand, half-expecting green veins to be snaking up his arm. Nothing visible, but a faint hum lingered in his bones, like a current tying him to the Trident. “The robot said it shoots psma—makes bdes, shields. Maybe it’s… syncing with me.” The word felt wrong, but he’d heard the cnker’s human voice, its plea. This tech was beyond his traps and trails, but if he was going to save those kids, he had to master it or die trying.

  “Syncing?!” Junior’s face twisted. “Like it’s alive? What if it’s Ascendancy shit, tracking us?” Killy’s gut churned. The kid was sharp, and the Ascendancy’s tech—imploding trailers, kidnapping kids—was godlike. But he couldn’t let fear show, not when Junior looked to him, not when Nora, Reese, and Cy needed him.

  “We’ll outsmart it,” Killy said, voice steady. “We’ve kept Pine Hollow hidden twenty years. We’re not dumb enough to let them track us now.” He grabbed the Trident-Z-PEG unit, gripping the Z-PEG end, lens pointed away. No gel moved, but a vibration pulsed in his palm, like the device was awake. He shoved it into his pocket, his other hand tightening on his bow, its familiar weight anchoring him. “We move, Junior. DC’s far, and that ship might circle back.”

  Junior nodded, swallowing hard. “What about the vilge? Shouldn’t we bury them? Say something?”

  Killy’s chest tightened. Pine Hollow—his legacy, built from salvaged steel and sweat—was ash. He’d taught these people to vanish, to survive, and now they were gone, save Junior and the kids in Ascendancy hands. Burying the dead was right, but every minute here widened the gap to the kids rescue. “We’ll come back,” he said, meeting Junior’s eyes. “I swear it. But those kids are alive, and we fight for them first.”

  Junior’s jaw set, and he nodded sharply. “Let’s get ‘em.”

  ***

  They scavenged Killy’s trailer, its frame scorched but standing in the frost-kissed clearing. A half-burnt backpack, a canteen, five arrows, and a tin of dried venison from under his bed—meager, but enough. Killy slung the bow over his shoulder, the backpack dangling off one strap, and led Junior east through the woods toward Willow Creek, a trading settlement hours away. DC was hundreds of miles—weeks on foot through half frozen terrain, with no safe paths. Before The Cutoff, Killy had driven that distance in a day, hauling freight. Now, survival demanded cunning, and over the st couple of decades, he’d honed it.

  The forest was silent, its autumn hush broken only by their boots crunching frozen leaves. Frost clung to pine needles, glinting in the snted light. Killy scanned the canopy for drones, his hand brushing the Trident’s hum in his pocket. It felt alive, waiting, and he hated it. “Killy,” Junior whispered after an hour, voice urgent. “You hear that?”

  Killy froze, ear cocked. A faint, rhythmic thump—mechanical, heavy. His blood chilled. “Down,” he hissed, yanking Junior behind a gnarled oak, its bark rough under his palm. He nocked an arrow, steady despite the adrenaline. The thumping neared, and Killy peeked out, breath fogging. A damaged cnker dragged a tentacle-like leg, its white polymer shell cracked, green light flickering on its chest. It limped toward Pine Hollow’s ruins, sluggish but purposeful.

  “That’s the second one,” Junior whispered, trembling. “They said two cnkers.”

  Killy nodded, mind racing. It might be reporting—or tracking them. He couldn’t let it reach the vilge, but fighting blind was suicide. The Trident hummed louder, as if eager. “Stay here,” he told Junior, pressing the kid’s shoulder. “Don’t move.” Junior gripped his knife, nodding. Killy crept forward, weaving through the leafless trees, keeping low. At twenty yards, he saw the cnker’s organic core leaking green fluid, its gait faltering. He aimed his bow at the flickering light—a control unit, maybe—his broadhead arrow meant for deer, not machines. Exhaling, he loosed.

  The arrow struck, shattering the light with a crack. The cnker froze, light strobing, then colpsed with a thud, limbs twitching before stilling. Killy waited, arrow nocked, steam puffing from his mouth. Nothing. “Nice shot!” Junior called, stepping out.

  “Stay back,” Killy snapped, approaching cautiously. The cnker’s core oozed, grotesque. A glowing blue shard pulsed in the organ, thumbnail-sized, humming with life. Killy pried it free with his knife, its warmth unsettling. The Trident buzzed in response. “No idea what this is,” he told Junior, wrapping it in cloth, “but it’s ours now.”

  “Let’s move,” Killy said, the forest’s chill sinking deeper. “No more surprises.”

  ***

  By midday, they reached Willow Creek, nestled in a valley with a stream cutting through. Cabins and lean-tos ringed a fire pit, the air thick with woodsmoke and boiled greens, a stark contrast to Pine Hollow’s ash. Vilgers tensed as Killy approached, hands on axes and a rusted shotgun. “It’s Killy, from Pine Hollow,” he called, hands raised. “Need Lena.”

  Lena, gray-haired and scarred, stepped forward, spear lowered but eyes hard. “You look like hell, Killy. Where’s your trade?”

  “Pine Hollow’s gone,” Killy said, voice ft. “Ascendancy hit us. Burned it, took three kids—Nora, Reese, Cy. Killed the rest. Just me and Junior left.” Murmurs rippled. Lena gestured to a cabin, pouring murky water from a jug.

  “Ascendancy? Thought they forgot us. You sure?”

  “Saw their ship—metal cigar,” Killy said, grimacing at the water’s taste. “Two armored guys, some robots. Imploded trailers with the push of a button. Said the kids are in DC, for a ‘ttice.’ You know something, Lena. Spill.”

  Lena sighed. “Got an old woman, Evelyn. Showed up years back, raving about the Ascendancy. Says she worked for them, escaped. We thought she was nuts, but maybe not. Want to meet her?”

  “Now,” Killy said, standing, his founder’s resolve cutting through grief.

  ***

  Lena led them to a shack where Evelyn sat, white hair tangled, eyes sharp. “Who’s this?” she croaked.

  “Killian,” Killy said, crouching. “Ascendancy took my kids. You know them.”

  Evelyn’s smile was bitter. “I’m Evelyn. Ran their harvesting ops, thought they were saviors. They’re monsters, trading with things they don’t grasp.” She eyed Killy’s pocket. “What’s that?”

  Killy pulled out the Trident-Z-PEG unit. “Cnker weapon. Nanobots tried to bond with me.”

  “A Trident,” Evelyn said, eyes wide. “Officer’s gear. Lucky it didn’t fry you. Follow me.” She led them to a clearing, revealing a battered Ascendancy scout ship under a tarp. “Needs a Z-PEG to run. That crystal in your pack’s a data shard—plug it in.”

  In the cramped cockpit, Killy inserted the Z-PEG, the ship humming to life. He plugged in the shard, a hologram dispying a Trident Operations Guide. The weapon’s nanobots bonded with neural pathways, enabling psma bolts, bdes, and shields, growing stronger with use. Killy climbed out, facing a tree. Closing his eyes, he focused, the Trident’s hum surging. Green gel formed a gauntlet, pulsing with his heartbeat. He pictured a bde; a pale green arc materialized, slicing a small tree clean with a hiss. It toppled, glowing faintly.

  “Fuck Luke Skywalker,” Killy grinned, bitter. Junior tilted his head.

  “Who?”

  “Exactly.”

  He practiced, firing psma bolts at a boulder, each pulse scorching the rock, and summoning a shield to deflect Junior’s thrown stone. The gauntlet tightened, syncing with his thoughts, the hum in his bones now a partner. “What’s the Lattice?” Killy asked Evelyn, panting, the gauntlet retracting.

  “The Lattice is a network,” Evelyn said grimly. “They hook kids to DMT drips, wire their brains to a quantum computer, bridging to the Shill—a pan-dimensional entity. It trades tech, like your Trident, for blood sacrifices. Your kids are fuel.”

  “Pan-dimensional entity? You sure you’re not crazy like Lena was saying?”

  “Call it whatever you want. A demon, a god, doesn’t matter. It’s as real as you and me. And if you don’t want those kids brains fried by DMT, you’d do well to listen.”

  “DMT?” Killy frowned.

  “Dimethyltryptamine. Pre-Cutoff drug for spiritual trips. Ascendancy weaponizes it, keeps kids dreaming to link the computer. It burns them out, or the Shill… pys with them.”

  Killy’s blood froze, gripping the Trident. “They’re gonna kill them?”

  “If they’re lucky,” Evelyn said. “This ship’s got one trip to DC. One-way, maybe. It was falling apart as I nded it here a few year back. If you can get it working, and you’ve got the guts, you can take her.”

  “I wouldn’t even know how to fly this thing.”

  “It’s pretty much all automated. Here’s the navigation.” Evelyn said, pointing to a small screen next to the one that dispyed the text hidden in the data shard. “Press the location you want to go, and the ship does the rest.”

  “Then this is our best bet,” Killy said, climbing in. “Ready, Junior?” Junior nodded, his eyes intense. “Let’s get ‘em.”

  The ship lifted, wobbling, then steadied. “Good luck,” Evelyn called as they cleared the treetops, Willow Creek’s familiar sight fading below. Killy set course for DC, the Trident humming, its nanobots whispering in his veins. “We’ll get them back,” he told Junior, voice iron. “Whatever it takes.”

  Junior met his eyes, fear and trust mingled. “I know, Killy.” The transport streaked east, a speck against the broken sky, carrying them to a fight Killy knew might break them—but one he’d lead, for his kids, his vilge, his soul.