Chapter 30: Masks

  Back in the fire. Acceleration. Faster!

  From above, the deafening sound of 30mm autocannon fire rocked Jack to the bone. The tender backdrop jingle of shells cascading down on metal framing was a relief in contrast, like a reminder of Salvational Heaven caught in the sticks of Fiery Hell. The latter stabbed his eardrums: sharp pain slowly dulling. Most of the passengers covered their ears. Jack couldn’t. Hands on the wheel, soldier; foot on the pedal. Floor it or die.

  They rocketed down a ponderous mountain trail, unable to slow down to any modicum of safety. A hyper-focused, ever calm Jack was nonetheless thankful there was a road at all, or they’d have been doomed — some wonderful, unlikely protocol of escape foreseen for a civilization that didn’t need roads. Momma Mem’s love for her children, perhaps.

  Jack spared a glance in the side mirrors for their pursuers — spot-lighted in the night, a dozen sprinting terrors of talons, bared teeth, and whipping tails continually testing the virtually off-road speed of the human getaway vessel. Gunfire had created distance thanks to their hesitation and evasion. Another went down before Jack’s eyes in the mirror, its torso practically exploding from the powerful rounds blasting through like its exoskeleton was made of paper.

  The hail of fire stopped, though. Momentarily, to aim. To make it count. That was the issue: ammo capacity.

  Meanwhile, small arms fire came from the backseat, as Major Rockingson leaned out of the window and peppered out erratic rifle fire. Jack wasn’t at all sure how effective it was, but if it caused even one second of delay, it was well worth it.

  Vim was next to Jack in the passenger seat, muttering to himself behind the mask and laughing, his head intermittently drooping to the side. Out of it. Possibly deteriorating.

  He’ll die. Short of a miracle, we all will. Just like the corpse I stowed in the back, strapped down like it mattered. I said nothing. Major Rockingson met my eyes. He knew. He knew I knew; nodded. Like I made the right choice? But I didn’t. I just couldn’t tell them. He made a choice, though — he’s using it. Keeps them together, gives ‘em hope. Or maybe just the younger girl. She hasn’t handled things well. The Major… a typical high agent type. Always keeping an eye out for the right manipulation. If he weren’t a dead man, he’d be going places.

  Screamer was also out of her seat harness, rummaging around in the back for something. He forgot what, but she was endangering her life for it.

  Jack kept focused on the ‘road’ in his headlights, praising the vehicle’s fantastic suspension as they bounced and bounced — but just barely. Absorption of rough and rocky terrain; a path through the wilderness, in-between pits, boulders, and other varieties of certain death speeding by. He was making for the greater provision, a sweet and unlikely higher salvation in the elusive distance: a nigh final straightaway on even ground. Straight shot for a hundred kilometers on eatable pavement, maximum speed, sure to leave the sprinters in the dust.

  He didn’t need Memoria’s guidance — she’d already invested that blessing into him. It was his job to know how to reach it. Knowledge understood to have the capacity to save many in a crash, crisis, or evacuation scenario. He always took that seriously. He knew the maps like the back of his fraggin' hand. It was his honor and duty to know the byways and, if necessary, to cross them by whatever means.

  That’s right — I can’t let reality win. Miracle or no, I have to make it because it’s my job. They have to live because it’s my job. That’s all. Cut and dry, Jack, cut and fraggin' dry. This is what I do: I get people where they need to go. I’ll never fail to. Never!

  Like a bomb in the darkness, he saw metal debris in the path ahead. Reflexes on a razor’s edge and more than capable, he almost swerved around it. But he couldn’t.

  The girl unstrapped, Rockingson leaning out the window-!

  He wasn’t in a simulation, wasn’t scoring for style — people’s lives were in the balance. Zero time to even call a warning and expect it to matter. Hands gripping the wheel tightly, Jack resisted the impulse and cut the debris down the middle, taking a chance, seeing the totality of the risk and measuring. Maybe, maybe, maybe…

  Thnk-kkkreeeeeenk! A mild impact, and then metal grinding on metal underneath, making for a horrific sound. A nasty bump to hit, and they even lifted slightly. But the vehicle kept going, merely rocking slightly. Built to take mines underneath to some degree, the errant metal had no chance of stopping the vessel.

  “Everyone!” Jack effectively screamed to make sure he was heard. “Debris in the road! Buckle the frag up or die!”

  Jack intermittently glanced in his rearview mirror — only useful for the interior — and saw the major slide back in from the window. He snorted at Jack and muttered, “Yessir,” sarcastically, but did buckle up his harness, sighing and leaning back in his seat with his eyes closed.

  Screamer, on the other hand, was still rummaging around, her backside the only thing visible to Jack.

  “Screamer,” Jack called insistently, “you gotta sit down! Screamer? Screamer!”

  All he got back was something unintelligible and the sound of heavy gear being moved around.

  Vim, still helmeted like the rest of the Nons, laughed as he slouched in his harness. Then coughed. He’d been doing that off and on. “Never listens! Silly girl! Not like me. I’m all strapped in.” He slapped his harness.

  “That’s cause she strapped you in, dumbass,” the major said mildly without opening his eyes.

  Vim made to turn himself sharply to look back, though it was difficult in the harness. “Hey!” He coughed a few times. “Hey, show some respect, homo sapien. I’m a fraggin' Exemplar Nonpareil, you know. A big shot!” His tone and expression weren’t very serious.

  The major did not respond.

  Vim laughed. It was barely heard over the 30mm blasting rounds again. “Hey, don’t worry! We got this! It’s what we do! Doesn’t anyone believe it? Well, I did get beaten, after all. Or was it a draw? Poisoned. That’s right, I was stung…”

  Into a brief, awkward silence, Vim guffawed. “Fraggin' irony!” His helmeted head turned to Jack. “Can you believe that fraggin' irony, Jack?”

  Jack shook his head, wincing as he went around another piece of metal. He didn’t quite have to swerve. But there was a banging in the back and a yelp from Screamer as she fell. Damn her. Sit down!

  Vim was apparently waiting for him, so Jack asked, “What irony, Vim?”

  The Non gasped. “You don’t know? Hold on.” He sat back, cleared his throat, then sang in a ridiculous attempt at baritone, “The head of a snake to gaaaze… The legs of a lion to ruuun… The claws of an eagle to graasp… And a scorpion stinger for fuuuun!” After this, he descended into a fit of coughing and laughter, having somehow held it all in for the rendition.

  Jack did not get it, though something tickled about it. “What is that?”

  Major Rockingson answered, “Mushhushshu. The symbol of the Exemplars. And that’s just some crap our elites sing on group runs and such. Might be more of a Non thing.”

  “Ah. Right.” Jack waited for more from Vim, but he had instead descended into silence, breathing heavily and slouching.

  Not much gunfire. Jack glanced in the side mirrors. The monsters were running behind a large line of covering rocks, their shapes barely seen. It probably meant they’d gain significantly.

  Great. No slowing down.

  “I found one!” Screamer exclaimed in sudden joy. “I got it, I got it, I got it!” Squealing in relief, she scrambled back to her seat from the back compartment with something in her hands. Jack could not pay much attention, but all too soon he knew what it was because she was putting it over his head and ears. It was a headset.

  As Screamer quickly strapped in, he heard her voice clearly through the headset. “I got Jack! I think! Jack? You plugged in? Sound off, please!”

  Jack was a bit stunned but managed a lame, “Yeah…”

  “Perfect! Now Ham Up can reach you easily. Memoria, even, maybe. And less shouting for us here. The major has an earpiece, by the way. Oh! And they’re noise-canceling, right? Saves your poor eardrums. I saw you wincing.”

  Indeed, sounds were muted. Too late to undo damage, but it would mitigate future harm. She risked her life for these? She shouldn’t have, but… “Yes, they are. Thank you.”

  “No problem! I just want to feel useful. I-I strained my powers. It’ll be okay, but I can’t use them for a while, and even then…”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s alright. I-”

  “Can it and keep the line pertinent!” Ham Up interrupted testily. “Stop distracting our driver before you get people killed.”

  This quieted everyone for a spell. Fortunately, the road was relatively clear. Jack didn’t exactly feel safe, considering he was flooring it over ill-kept dirt. Even lightning reflexes weren’t enough if a real barrier showed up.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  Vim started coughing and wheezing heavily. “Frag this… hrmph! I-I can’t breathe, I can’t-,” he muttered balefully. “Frag this thing!” He began undoing the straps associated with his helmet.

  “What the hell are you doing, Vim?! Stop stop stop!”

  “What is he doing?!” Ham Up demanded over the comm.

  But it was all too late, as Vim pulled his helmet off and threw it down on the floorboard, gasping for air. It felt like sacrilege to look, to see his face, but Jack couldn’t look away.

  Matted, slightly too-long platinum blond hair. Young, as Jack had assumed of his voice and attitude — but with a Non, he couldn’t be sure. Vim looked sickly pale and terrible, his face slick with sweat. He coughed and met Jack’s eyes briefly. Unique gray with amber around the middle like irregular stars.

  “How could you?! Damn it, Vim!” Screamer admonished, caught between anger and horror. “You’re an idiot!”

  “Yeah,” Vim replied without turning. He cracked a smile and laughed, head swaying. Nonetheless, he seemed quite salient. “A doomed man shouldn’t die with his face covered against the sky. Don’t you think?” He flopped his head back and looked out the window. He coughed in a string and then wheezed, but fought it off to say, “Let it embrace me, kiss my cheek… and take me home.”

  ?? ?? ?? ?? ??

  Jack woke up with a start again, this time to an alarm he’d set on his phone. He was sideways on the bed, wrapped up in blankets like a tortilla. He’d fought in his sleep. His body somehow felt like it was burning and supercharged at the same time.

  Holy unholy frag grenades…

  He wriggled himself out of the blankets and brought a hand to his head. It felt weird — actually, it was sticky. When he slowly pulled his hand from his head, there was a gooey line like encrusted slime thinly staying connected.

  Jack let loose some kind of half-yell, half-scream as he leapt from the bed and wiped at his bare skin. A thick layer of grimy stuff came off onto his fingers. He panicked and rushed to the bathroom, slipping and almost busting his ass. He balance-walked the rest of the way and squinted in the new, bright light to see his reflection in the mirror. It was a horror show. His face was coated in off-gray gunk and slime, smudged and smeared now.

  Making hysterical noises, he hurried to the shower, turning the dial to hot this time and jumping in to get it off him as soon as he could. Meanwhile, he sent out an urgent Mem-link attempt to Lindsay, “I’m coated in gunk and slime!”

  At this point, Mini chimed in his head. “Calm down, Jack. This is expected-”

  Lindsay was right over the top of her, though. “Oh, good goddess, no one told you?!”

  Hot water sprayed him, and he rubbed at the gunk — his face first. Definitely the face! “This is normal?! Y-you! You should’ve told me!”

  “I am so sorry, Jack. Yes. Things are being replaced. Some have it worse than others. I think you’re… medium level. Because of the aquatic modifications.”

  “Medium?!” The glorious, blessed hot water scoured the gunk off. It pooled around the drain in an especially gross vision. But he saw and felt the tremendous relief of his smooth, shiny skin underneath it all.

  “Well, yeah. You’re not turning into gelatin or growing horns and a tail.”

  “Right.” As he was coming down from the panicked state, he felt embarrassed suddenly. Was it such a big deal? Staring down at the presumable remains of his prior flesh oozing down the drain, he did have some mixed feelings. “Sorry. Just, uh, you know… first thing, waking up to this… and my dreams are crazy vivid. Flashbacks, really. Memory so clear. It’s like I’m back there…” He trailed off.

  “The PTSD,” Lindsay said, her voice laced with gentle sympathy. “That’s awful, Jack. I was afraid that might happen. There are so many correlations with what is going on for you presently. Dreams are normal as it is right now, just in a biological sense. Of course, they would stab you right where it hurts. Do you want to talk? I can come over.”

  More mixed feelings in his gut. He leaned against the wall of the shower and sighed. He regretted mentioning the flashbacks. “Nah.” He almost asked right then, with the water hitting him, what he desperately wanted to know: how were they? The survivors of that collective day of horror. But he feared that the voice which had chided and tortured him for all those years between would be the truth.

  As if summoned by loathing for it, it came again, twisting the knife: ‘They’re all dead and you know it!’ He pushed it away. I’ll ask some other day. A day when I don’t expect the worst result: a non-answer. ‘That’s classified, Jack.’

  Instead, he said, “Thanks, Lindsay, but I just want to get on with my day, as prescribed. Gross-out session and growing hunger notwithstanding, I feel… stronger.”

  “Alright.” An echo of worry in her mental voice was obvious. “You should feel stronger each day for a long time to come. Otherwise, I’m not doing my job.”

  “Orders are orders. That goes for both of us. I’ll do whatever you say.”

  “Yes, you will! Get yourself cleaned up and eat. See you later.”

  Jack obliged, spending an inordinate amount of time in the shower to soap and scrub every bit of gunk off and down the abused drain pipes. And body hair, apparently. It was all gone! He checked the hair on his head no less than seven times, but it remained thick, healthy, and needing a cut. Just the body hair…

  Figures. Smoothness in the water, or something? Frag me.

  His skin seemed newer. Fresher. Moisturized/unblemished/healthy/shiny. When he got out and inspected himself in the mirror, he looked better than he had in years. The health of skin was probably something too subtle for him, but he looked like one of those guys that took it seriously; that knew what ‘exfoliation’ actually meant and abided by the associated rituals. Jack did not. But he now looked like he did — like he had a ‘regime’ involving a long list of fruity-sounding products.

  ‘Pomegranate Peach Shea Butter Coconut Palm Essence of Sandalwood — with aloe.’ That’s my stuff, bro. Don’t knock it.

  His hair looked and felt like he’d done multiple shampoo and conditioner stages. He knew because he’d done something like that when he was a teen… for about thirty seconds.

  He inspected his face closely, and it was all the same. Even tones, healthy glow, no bags under the eyes. Smooth chin. No more five o’clock shadows for him! He felt an odd sense of loss despite how shaving was more of an annoyance than anything.

  It’s irrelevant, and I asked for this. Minor consequences were inevitable. Let’s be real: it’s an efficiency upgrade. And I’m probably more attractive, right? Women notice this crap even more? Plus, I’m rich now. Once I have those sweet, sweet abs, I’ll be a hell of a catch!

  He chuckled at himself and left the bathroom to get dressed and head out to the cafe to meet Auger.

  The cafe was on the second story and took a bit of a walk to get to. By happenstance, he ended up following a couple of cadets who had the same idea. The cafe was fairly large and fairly packed. He could see why: it was self-serve, basically a breakfast buffet, and the mingled smells made his mouth water. Infused? Oh yeah.

  On the other hand, it wasn’t free — he got a message on his Mini-Mem that he’d be charged a flat access fee.

  Seating was all booths on the sides. With the help of effectively a ‘quest marker’ via his Mini-Mem, he spotted Auger sitting with Inkblot and made his way over. His presence was definitely noted. Conversations paused as uniformed cadets with the faces of teens eyed him the whole while. Jack smiled, waved, and nodded to any he made eye contact with. He received some facsimile of that in return. Meanwhile, he could hear and feel the din of whispers on the periphery of his perceptions.

  Ugh! This is so uncomfortable. Next thing you know, I’ll have to stand in front of the class and introduce myself. And say what I wanna be when I grow up.

  It seemed like when he stopped at Auger and Inkblot’s booth, the whispers amplified, and there were a few snorts and snickers. He wanted to shout, ‘Grow up!’ but instead he painted on a big smile and nodded to both Auger and Inkblot separately. “Good morning, gents.”

  Auger cut off some long string of chatter he was ineffectually blasting at Inkblot to appear momentarily surprised at the visitor. He showed the white, bared fangs of happiness framed by a jet-black face. “Jack Laker! You came! Are you going to sit with us?” Hopefulness and uncertainty.

  “Mornin’,” Inkblot muttered, briefly glancing up and nodding, before soberly returning to his food. There wasn’t much on his plate, yet he still seemed to eat very slowly.

  “Of course, bud,” Jack said, and took a seat next to Auger, breathing a sigh of relief to duck away from the overage of attention paid to him. He leaned in and said low, “Man, you weren’t kidding about people being interested! I feel like a fresh ass piece of meat waltzing around a bunch of vultures.”

  Auger frowned and nodded with airs of ‘I told you so.’ Then he popped a french fry in his mouth and shrugged. “Unknown intrigues are puzzles to unravel. Some won’t be able to resist. I think you could be very popular if you wanted. Anyway, you probably should go grab some food.”

  “In a minute. Waiting for people not to be staring so much.” He glanced at Auger’s plate. Nothing but a huge pile of french fries slathered with some kind of sauce, with a few sausage links on the side. “No eggs?”

  Auger made a disgusted face. “Eggs are gross.”

  “Eggs are efficient,” Inkblot offered placidly as he cut another piece of an omelet and held it up on a fork, staring at it meditatively. “One of the highest nutritional absorption rates.”

  Jack thumbed at Inkblot. “You should listen to this guy. He knows his shit.”

  Inkblot nodded in acknowledgement to Jack as he slowly put the egg cut into his mouth.

  Auger scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Can’t absorb anything if you just puke it out, now can you? It’s a biological peculiarity of mine.” He punctuated this by cramming multiple slathered-up fries in his mouth, with a blob of sauce missing the mark and painting the side of his cheek. Around his food, he said, “Meats and starches only, for me.”

  Chuckling, Jack rose from his seat. “If that’s what the doctors say, I guess it is what it is. I’ll be back.”

  As he was walking away, Inkblot added, “It isn’t, though. And wipe your mouth. And don’t talk with your mouth full, Auger. That’s disrespectful at the table, especially with guests.”

  Auger groaned. “Aw, gimme a break for once, would you?!”

  Jack found a tray and began stacking it with a little of everything. A lot of that ‘everything’ was eggs. There were nine different types of casserole medleys! And even quiche!

  “A boy who likes quiche? Truly one after my own heart.”

  Jack turned to see a short girl of striking beauty, grinning at him with prominent dimples as she reached to put a piece of spinach-heavy quiche on her tray. She had dark hair in a wavy cascade down her back. Her entire body seemed to glow. Jack wasn’t certain if it was her powers or some abnormality of his perception of her.

  As he stared, she smiled wider and offered her hand. “Délight. A pleasure to meet.”

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