One of the Jericho private military contractors stepped forward. He was a short, thin man with a hawkish nose and dark hair.

  "Thank you," Flint gasped, wiping black tooth blood out of his eye.

  "We were there from the beginning," the man said in a thick Eastern European accent, probably Russian. "We were going to let it kill you."

  Flint panted, scrutinizing the men who worked for the same corporation as Randy and Andrew. Unlike the Jericho agents back on Earth, these men didn't need to find legal workarounds or wear a facade. If they wanted to murder him, they would. "Why didn't you let it kill me?" Flint asked, turning away to conceal his uncapped paralysis injector.

  "I need answers," the Russian man said. Behind him, his silent men fanned out, taking defensive positions, and turned away from them.

  "I don't know," Flint shrugged, "I'm kind of dumb."

  The man's lip turned into a suggestion of a smile, and he pointed. "Where did you get that?" He pointed to the jumpstarter lying in the dirt, where it fell from his pack.

  "That's mine!" Flint said quickly.

  The contractor cocked an eyebrow. "So you know what it is, then. Where did you get a Manticore Inc. jumpstarter?”

  Flint froze. Jericho was inherently at odds with Manticore Inc. Flint bit his tongue. These men were probably Arthur's enemies, but they might be his best chance at finding him. "It's my father's."

  "What's your name, boy?"

  "Flint—" Flint considered the risk, "—Vance."

  The man's pistol was out instantly, with Flint looking down the barrel. "Of course," the contractor muttered. “Now I see the resemblance. You're Arthur's son."

  Flint held his hands up. “You know my dad?" The weapon's barrel overshadowed his renewed determination at the potential lead.

  The man nodded, but held his weapon on Flint, unwavering. "The Wolf of Ash. Where is your father?"

  "I don't know. I've been looking for him," Flint said.

  Off to the side, dirt crept up around the fallen tooth's legs, cocooning them, but it didn't move to its upper half, which fell on a slate grey slab. "I think my father tried to kill me today." He pointed to the fallen beast. "That's what's left of his attempt."

  The man nodded slowly, chewing on his response, and lowered his weapon. "Come with us," he said. “Maybe we can help each other find answers. "

  "Okay," Flint said, eyeing the guns and realizing he had no choice. "What's your name?"

  "I am called Vladimir," he said. "But you can call me Vlad."

  Two shafts of light from activated jump points cracked down to Ash, striking deeper into the critter zone. Arthur glanced at them as he approached F'fintek. The critter acolyte turned to Arthur, his air of confidence betrayed by his defensive posture.

  Arthur cocked his head with a smirk. At least F'fintek had the stones to meet without bringing teeth. Arthur did note the rapier buckled at the acolyte's side and the slide launcher. Those were new.

  "What do you want, Arthur?" F'fintek demanded, and Arthur halted.

  "One of my sons crossed over to your side. I need your permission to hunt him."

  "Do you?" F'fintek asked, a contrived smile tugging at his vulpine lips.

  "I've tried splicing with your zone to find my son, but it doesn't work. Michael says I need your permission, as it falls under your authority."

  "I don't think so," F'fintek said.

  The runes on F'fintek's acolyte shackle flickered with muted, dim light — a sure sign of the critter's poverty.

  "I need to find my son," Arthur repeated darkly.

  "That's not my problem," F'fintek sneered.

  "Don't be a child," Arthur warned.

  "Michael didn't command me to give you access. Looks like you'll have to crawl back and beg him to command me," F'fintek grinned. "I wonder how his favorite toy will look, groveling at his feet."

  Arthur's smirk melted, and his hand came to rest on his pistol, a motion that F'fintek readily noticed.

  "What, are you going to fight me?" F'fintek asked, taking an involuntary step back.

  Arthur paused. "No."He swung a bag over his shoulder and handed it to F'fintek.

  F'fintek accepted it, surprised. As he unzipped the top, the glow of ice shone on his face.

  "I know you're behind on your quota," Arthur said. "Let me splice with your zone to find Jason, and the ice is yours."

  F'fintek looked back at Arthur. "Honestly, I expected a fight, not a bribe."

  Arthur shook his head. "As fun as that would be, I don't have time."

  "More," F'fintek said, the greed of his eyes illuminated by the ice in the bag.

  Arthur frowned. "Unless, of course, you’d prefer that fight," he said, stepping closer.

  F'fintek threw his hands up defensively. "Fine, you can splice with my zone to find your son, but only until you do. Then, you need to leave immediately."

  "Deal," Arthur agreed.

  "Does this mean you already killed the other one?" F'fintek asked. "You had two sons, right?"

  "No," Arthur muttered. "Flint disappeared; I can't sense him anywhere. I suspect it's Vlad's doing, but once he resurfaces, I'll be ready."

  F'fintek didn't respond, quickly throwing the bag over his shoulder. "Well then, don't get in my way."

  "Don't worry, my teeth and I will be finished before you know it."

  "My teeth and I?" F'fintek asked, turning to face Arthur again, "I don't recall giving you permission to bring any of your teeth to my zone."

  "F'fintek …" Arthur said with heat, "Don't test me …"

  "For a price, I might be persuaded to change my mind." F'fintek grinned viciously. "Or maybe I'll just catch him myself first. Showing Michael that I'm better than you is worth more than a bag of rocks."

  Arthur smiled back, and before F'fintek could flinch, Arthur slammed a fist into the critter's face, shattering his nose.

  F'fintek cursed as he fell back, and Arthur drew his pistol, firing all fifteen rounds of the magazine into F'fintek's furry body.

  F'fintek moaned as he collapsed, and light began to bleed out of his wounds along with the blood.

  "Well then," Arthur turned as he loaded another magazine into his pistol and started away, "This will take me longer on my own. I wonder what kind of trouble I can cause you during my prolonged stay."

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  F'fintek coughed as he pulled himself to his feet. Crimson droplets splattered to the dirt to instantly be absorbed. F’fintek retched. Bullets expelled from the perforations and clattered to the clay. Light bled from his wounds as they sealed, and the runes on the acolyte’s band dimmed.

  "I'm not mad at you, F'fintek; I love it when you challenge me." The air grew dense, and characters of light snaked into existence on the ground in a circle around Arthur as the jump point initiated.

  "I'll be seeing you," he said, jumping back to his zone.

  Flint sat in Vlad's camp, nested on one of the greystone peaks. He ate readily out of the tin mess kit. Ravioli from a green, vacuum-sealed army food pouch. This was his third one, and his stomach had finally tried to protest, but Flint could hardly contain himself. His mental block wanted to gag and reject it, but his body's needs overrode his general distaste for food.

  "Easy now, my friend." Vlad chuckled in his heavy accent. "There's plenty; it won't run from you."

  Flint slowed down, but the food was so nourishing he could feel his focus and energy return with each bite.

  Overhead, a giant camouflage net covered the whole camp. Flint sat on a black plastic tub with a heavy latch; dozens were strewn around the camp, all marked with Jericho Inc.'s logo.

  Flint looked around the camp. Six large military tents surrounded a radio antenna, which protruded like a spire.

  At least ten men in personalized body armor and individual tactical gear occupied the central area. Rather than camouflage or a uniform, most wore blue or black denim trousers with T-shirts or polos under their body armor. Only the Jericho patch marked them comrades. Flint observed that they carried themselves much like his dad, confident in their skill and competence.

  An additional eight men lounged around the camp, their bearing noticeably different. They clutched weapons with untrained stability, watched the contractors almost suspiciously, and wore no patches.

  "Who are they?" Flint asked.

  Vlad looked over at the second group. "We've lost many men, and we've needed to supplement our ranks with other survivors. We offer them protection and training, and they help fill the gaps left by the fallen." Vlad considered Flint. "We may have such a position for you."

  Flint recognized one of them as the Russian man in a plaid-flannel shirt they saw on their second day here. Flint didn't see his buddy in the white dress shirt. Was he on assignment or encased in one of Ash’s digestive cocoons?

  "I don't know," Flint said. "Are you going to tell me how you know my dad?"

  "We are … colleagues some days; others, we are rivals."

  "You're mercenaries. Like him?"

  "Please, this is not the dark ages. Call us private military contractors."

  "PMCs," Flint said. "I know the trade term.”

  "Yes. Your father is an—esteemed contractor. I have worked several jobs with him, some against him. I respect your father, Flint."

  "You're adversaries in this job, aren't you?" Flint asked.

  "What makes you say that?"

  "Your patches and these crates," Flint said, tapping the crate he was sitting on. "They are from Jericho Incorporated. Manticore Incorporated hired my father. They’re your rivals. You're here for the same reason."

  One of the contractors laughed. "Crikey, the kid is smart!" he said in an intense Australian accent.

  "Oui, " another said, "must have been a Frenchman. "Not as stupid as you look."

  "—Thanks?"

  "Don't mind them," Vlad said. "Actually, your father and I were working together. Our employers are rivals, true. But the nature of our job benefits from cooperation in this case."

  "What's your contract?" Flint asked.

  "We are both after acolyte rings. The companies that hire us would kill to have one in their research labs."

  "What's an acolyte ring?"

  Vlad sat on a plastic tub across from Flint. "Honestly, I don't know. It's a piece of technology both companies desire. Acolytes are people who wear this band. They can command teeth, and we believe they can move to and from Ash at will."

  Flint nodded. "I see why Jericho might want something like that."

  "Precisely," Vladimir agreed. “We used jumpstarters to get here, and we’ve been back a few times, but we’re out of light ice. We’re supposed to find it here naturally, but let’s just say we’re stranded.”

  “You and me both,” Flint said.

  "Your father, being a little more aggressive in his tactics, actually managed to get an acolyte band before me but foolishly put it on."

  "He can control teeth, can't he?" Flint asked.

  Vlad nodded. "The teeth in this district are his infantry."

  "District?" Flint asked

  "Yes, we are aware of seven districts. Each zone has an acolyte to manage and feed it."

  Flint recalled the hundreds of digestive mounds he had passed, and a ghost of heat from the camp flames tickled his memory. Was it just his father managing a zone?

  Vlad continued. "Your father killed the earth district's acolyte, and when he put the ring on, he took his place."

  "But why?" Flint asked. "Wouldn't he just bring it back? Contracts are sacred to him."

  "He has no choice," Vlad said. "Once he put the ring on, he became a slave."

  "A slave to Ash," Flint realized.

  "A slave to Michael Bichsel," Vlad corrected.

  "Huh?"

  "Michael Bichsel is the one who controls it all, a very powerful and dangerous man. Your father now serves him."

  Flint bared his teeth in frustration. "You mean there's an intelligent person responsible for all this death? It's not just a force of nature?

  "It's all Michael's fault; he's the one who brought Ash to life."

  "Once I free my father, I'm going to find this Michael guy and make him pay for what he did to my family," Flint growled.

  The contractors laughed and flashed each other grins. "He sounds like a child soldier," the Frenchman chuckled. What can one expect from Arthur's son?"

  "I'm no soldier," Flint said. "Dad never trained me after my older brother ran away. It's like his kids became a failed project because one abandoned the family tradition. I hope he'll accept me as a successor if I find him."

  Flint grabbed his now bandaged wound on his abdomen, ache numbed by the painkillers they had given him.

  "I'm willing to fight. I even killed a tooth earlier, and I'll do it again if I have to."

  "Did you?" Vlad asked, his Russian accent and big voice an odd match for his small body. "You know there are only five living people I know who have killed teeth. Your father is one, and the rest are sitting in this circle."

  The contractors smirked as they puffed their chests.

  "We can start your training and give your weapons; we'll up your tooth kill count and save Arthur from his shackle."

  "I don't know the first thing about fighting," Flint warned, not wanting to create an illusion he couldn't live up to. "I've just been lucky."

  "It's in your blood then," Vlad concluded. "But the fact is you are one of the most proven soldiers in the Earth district."

  "Earth district?" Flint said. "This district is called the Earth district?"

  Vlad nodded.

  "That means that the others are…"

  "Alien? Yes."

  "I have a friend, a hairy guy."

  "A critter?"

  "That's right!" Flint cried.

  "From Shth district," Vlad said. "Though they don't survive in our district for long, people often eat them."

  “So … F’faron is an alien?” Flint grinned. He already knew that but imagined aliens would be green and have elongated craniums.

  "The word means stranger," the Australian cut in. "You are an alien here too."

  "Can I find and see other aliens?" Flint asked eagerly. "What are they like?"

  "Desson, go see if Goliath is out," Vlad ordered. One of his contractors grabbed a pair of binoculars and headed off.

  In his excitement, Flint almost forgot his worries. "I need to find my brother," he said, "and save my dad."

  "That will be difficult," Vlad emphasized. "The armband grants him certain power; he would kill us if we tried."

  "But we'd just have to get the armband off, right?"

  "In theory, We don't know if even that would work. Maybe his mind would still be corrupted independent of the ring."

  "But if we worked together, maybe we could pull it off. You would get your armband, and I would get my dad."

  Vlad stroked the stubble on his chin. "Look, do you think I haven't tried?" he asked. "I have lost half my men in the last six months. I now rely on regular survivors to fill my team." He said, motioning to the others in his camp who stood apart like kittens among wolves. Why would this time be any different?"

  "Because this time, you have me," Flint explained. "I don't know why, but he seems intent on killing me. I think he destroyed a full camp of armed survivors to get to me."

  That caught Vlad's attention. "That's uncharacteristic for him, " he muttered, "unless he is under orders."

  "If we set a trap good enough, use me as bait," Flint suggested. "We might be able to outsmart him."

  "Don't make it sound so easy."

  "I don't think it will be easy," Flint clarified. "And it will take so much precise and careful planning. But if I'm not mistaken, you guys are at a stalemate. You've been here for six months? I'll bet most of these fancy boxes are empty, you'll be running out of supplies soon, you've lost men, and now the acolyte who challenges you is a supercharged professional killer."

  "I'd say he's got the picture." The Frenchman sighed.

  "I'm not being pessimistic," Flint promised. "I'm speaking in terms of necessity. No one can afford to stand idle; either we go to him, or we wait for him to catch us and murder everyone. Those are the cold, hard facts."

  The contractors looked at him, stunned. "How old did you say you were, kid?" one asked.

  Flint blushed. "Fifteen."

  "You've got a good head on your shoulders."

  "Well," Vlad cut in. "Looks like we will need a plan then."

  Flint considered something. "Why don't you get more men from Earth? You got here somehow, right? Why can't you go back the way you came?"

  Vlad sighed. "We have a jumpstarter much like you, but Jericho made ours. Unfortunately, your Father knows this, and he stole our light ice reserve. He killed some of my best that day."

  Flint clenched a fist. He needed ice if he was going to get Jason home. "I'm sure Dad will give it back if we save him," Flint reasoned.

  The contractor with the binoculars came jogging back. "Ready to see another alien?" He asked.

  Easily distracted, Flint eagerly scrambled up and followed him to an overhang of grey rock.

  "There." The contractor said, pointing down as he handed Flint the binoculars.

  Flint held the piece to his eyes, trying to follow his directions. Quickly, he located the river and then used it as a reference; he found faint smoke in what was left of Beau’s camp. From there, he quickly worked backward to find a rough estimate of their original jump point, about four miles away.

  “You’re looking in the wrong place.” The contractor pointed eastward. “There.”

  Flint refocused the powerful bioptic to see a massive head moving just above the tree line.

  "A giant!" Flint cried.

  "Flint, meet Goliath, all the way from the Crode district."

  "He's a giant!" Flint cried again with excitement.

  The lumbering man walked into a clearing, his clothes hanging loosely from his thick body. Goliath got on all fours and pulled branches away from a pit.

  "So he is the one making the deadfalls!" Flint realized. "What's he trying to catch?"

  "Survivors. He gets hungry, too."

  Flint shivered. "Well, let's hope we don't run into him."

  Read Ahead

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