Vlad sat by the crackling fire atop his greystone cliff, watching Flint from afar. The youth slept, curled up in his sleeping bag as if in a coma. The poor kid probably hadn't had a decent sleep since getting here. He bore a striking resemblance to his father; his face shared Arthur's arrogant features and sharp chin, but his wavy brown hair was too light to be from Arthur. It had been hard to see at first because of how low Flint wore his black hat, riding his eyebrows, hiding his constant scowl.

  Vlad couldn't help but feel a little sorry—not that Flint was a morally questionable mercenary's kid, but that he was Janis's son. Vlad didn't know Janis personally, but her reputation foreshadowed what her family life might be like. The chemical weapon developer was never known to have any sense of ethics.

  Vlad sighed. Who was he to judge others' morals? Too bad the kid ended up here.

  Desson, Vlad's second in command, crossed the camp to Vlad and squatted on his haunches. "So we're babysitting now?"

  "No," Vlad said. "But I could use the boy’s cooperation."

  "What is the plan?" Desson asked.

  "We'll set up a trap; when Arthur comes, we hit him hard. And we don't stop until he's dead."

  "Dead?" Desson asked. "How will the kid take that?"

  "Doesn't matter. We need that armlet, and getting it without killing Arthur just doesn't seem plausible. I wish there were a cleaner option; I really do. But I just can't afford any more men."

  "And the kid?" Desson asked again as he stood to sake out his legs.

  "Play it off as an accident."

  Desson looked at Vlad skeptically. "He's smarter than that. What if he reacted violently and, say, tried to put two between your eyes? This kid has at least as much steel as any actual child soldier I've seen."

  "I'd like him to join our little crew," Vlad confessed. "But if he doesn't cooperate, shoot him—preferably before he shoots us."

  Flint scanned the landscape from Vlad's peak. Forest canopied the terrain for miles. On top of the greystone cliff, he finally got a decent view of the surrounding area, but there wasn't much to see. The one thing he noted was the winding river, the place where he had last seen his brother. Where was Jason? Flint clenched his fist. Didn't he hate Jason for abandoning them? So why had his brother's safety occupied the forefront of his mind? Maybe blood meant more than respect in the end.

  "Here," Desson said, pulling Flint from his thoughts and casually tossing Flint a pistol.

  "Woah!" Flint cried as he lunged to catch it. "What, are you stupid?"

  Dessan laughed. "It will only kill you if someone shoots you with it."

  "Someone clearly didn't listen during range safety," Flint mumbled.

  "Naw," Desson drawled with a southern accent. "Guns are like a lady friend. You need to have a good relationship with them; if not, then they'll try to murder you with extreme prejudice."

  Flint looked down at the weapon skeptically. "I don't know how to use this. I'd rather not have to rely on it."

  Desson hummed thoughtfully. “Why not? You’re on Ash. Remind me how well your traps worked yesterday?”

  Flint looked down at the pistol, surprisingly heavy, with his airsoft gun being his only frame of reference. “I— “ Flint furrowed his brow. “I guess because I don’t really know how.”

  “That’s why I’m going to teach you.”

  “No!” Flint recoiled, a surge of panic shocking his fingers.

  Desson frowned as he studied the boy. “Are you scared? If you are, we don’t have to—”

  “No,” Flint said again, gripping the pistol with both hands, carefully keeping his finger off the trigger. “I think,” Flint murmured, his gaze dropping. Guilt tightened in his chest. Why did he feel so disloyal? “I always just wanted him to be the one to teach me, so I’ve avoided it.”

  “I see,” Desson said softly. “Hell, kid, most kids want their dads to teach them to play catch.”

  Flint smiled sheepishly. “I’m a Vance.”

  “Well, if you don’t want to—”

  “No,” Flint interjected. “I’m being dumb. You can show me the basics. It’s not like he’s been around to show me, so why should I wait?” Flint’s smile didn’t reach his eyes, but he nodded in determination.

  Desson nodded, somehow understanding. “Thanks for trusting me, Flint. I’ll try my best to do as well as Arthur would have. You’ll have plenty of time for him to train my bad habits out of you.”

  Flint nodded, ready for his first lesson,

  "Alright, kid," Desson said. "Simple, really. Rack the slide, point the pointy end at the thing you want to kill and pull the trigger."

  "Where's the safety?" Flint asked.

  Desson laughed. "Kid, do I look like I have a safety on my guns? The trigger is the safety. Don't pull it unless you want to shoot."

  Flint sighed. He liked Desson. The man’s accent suggested he was from the southern United States. Arthur had always taught that good contractors honored their word and took their craft seriously, so Flint had expected a professional to be … well, more professional.

  "Cold feet?" Desson asked. "Go on, give her a shot."

  Flint racked the slide and set his sights on a rock in the distance. Flint held his breath as he pulled the trigger.

  The pistol bucked in his hands with an accompanying crack, and a puff of dust kicked up in the distance far off target.

  Flint gritted his teeth in frustration; he thought he had set his sights well. He forgot that problem as warm blood ran freely from his thumb down onto his hands.

  "Hey!" Flint cried in surprise. As he shook his hand, throwing drops of blood on the greystone below. Standing on greystone, no dirt animated or rushed to drink it up.

  "Oh yeah. Don't cross your thumbs, or the slide will catch you when it kicks back. Also, don't jerk so much; you're scared of the shot."

  "Some teacher you are," Flint grumbled. "Shouldn't you tell me that stuff before I shoot?"

  "Best way to learn is by doing," Desson chuckled. "But yeah, your stance, grip, technique, breath, and method were all off."

  Flint glared at his instructor. "Do you have any superglue?"

  "For the cut?" Desson asked. "I've got something, I'm sure."

  Desson searched his backpack before producing a bandage and some ointment. "Let's try that again."

  After patching up the wound, Desson instructed Flint again, this time standing behind him and directing his movements.

  This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  "Both thumbs forward, lock your arms out, breathe out slowly, squeeze the trigger, don't jerk it."

  Following Desson's instructions, Flint squeezed off several shots much more accurately.

  "Desson," Flint said after reloading the magazine.

  "Yeah, kid?"

  "Aren't bullets kind of lethal?"

  "Yup."

  "So why are we doing this? We're supposed to save my dad. Not kill him."

  Desson flinched at the comment but then relaxed. "We have three big threats on Ash. Any guess what they are?"

  "Teeth, obviously. And acolytes."

  "Right, but the biggest threat is actually other survivors." Desson continued. "Few people last longer than a week here, and I've been here six months. Take it from me. If you want to survive here, you learn how to shoot."

  "I'm hoping to go home as soon as I get my dad back," Flint said, "and I guess I have to find Jason too now."

  "And how do you plan on getting back?" Desson asked. "We all saw your jumpstarter, but do you have any light ice?"

  "No," Flint confessed. "I'm hoping my dad will have some."

  Desson exhaled lightly, his left eye twitching.

  “You don’t have ice either.” Flint said, reading the disappointment in his face. “Vlad said my dad stole it? Do you still have a jumpstarter?”

  “We have a jumpstarter,” Desson said. “But without ice it’s useless. We were sent with a team of scientists to find more. But Ash is Ash, and we lost our research team and ice to your father. We don’t know where to look and until we find the stuff, we’re as stuck here as you are.”

  Flint nodded.

  "We need to focus on saving Arthur from his shackle before we start thinking about getting home," Desson said. "And you'll need a gun to deter the teeth from ripping your head off."

  "I've dealt with a tooth before," Flint muttered.

  "Yes, you were doing a great job when we saved you," Desson said dryly. "But have you dealt with an acolyte?"

  "I thought the teeth are what made an acolyte dangerous," Flint said.

  "Not at all," Desson said. "The teeth are simply the deck of cards; the magician has a whole bag of tricks."

  Flint looked at Desson in confusion. "What do you mean?"

  “Acolytes have power, strange power, that makes them much more dangerous."

  "Power," Flint chuckled, "You mean like superpowers?"

  Desson snorted. "Hardly. Though we don't know much, I suspect their power comes from alien tech."

  "So … laser guns?" Flint tried as visions of sci-fi movies flashed through his head.

  "The acolyte ring, the same thing that enslaved your pa's mind, protects him. Makes him strong and dangerous."

  "What can he do?" Flint asked.

  "Good question. Better question: What will he do?"

  "What do you mean?" Flint asked.

  "Your dad isn’t like other acolytes," Desson explained. "It's kinda like what you said about the guns and not wanting to rely on them. Arthur doesn't rely on aurora, so he's much more unpredictable and dangerous than the others."

  “A-what-now?” Flint asked.

  "Aurora. It's like the juice that powers the armband he's got on. It gives him power. Light ice is concentrated aurora."

  "So we can power down his band?" Flint asked.

  "Only he can. The problem is Arthur hardly uses it; his tank is always on full."

  "So what do we do?" Flint wondered.

  "We force him to use it," Desson said.

  "How?"

  "We attack him and make him protect himself," Desson said.

  "What exactly can he do with it?" Flint asked.

  "He can leap from one jump point to another or even off-world."

  "I know, jump points. They’re those rings of runes I activated with my jumpstarter to get here."

  "Yeah, as far as we know, every jump point has a twin, and they can only access each other. Jumpstarters can reactivate the connection if it’s already been established, but acolytes can create new jump points."

  "Right," Flint said as he recalled the jump point in Idaho. "You don't sound so sure in your answers."

  "It's like I said," Desson shrugged. We don't really know. This is mostly speculation."

  "How many jump points are there?" Flint asked as he started to calculate how to get home.

  "Thousands in the earth district," Desson said. "At least in the near area. Most acolytes don't venture far from jump points; it's their quick escape. They prefer using existing ones to create new points. But they’ll make a new one if they’re desperate."

  "So we lure him away from a jump point," Flint said.

  "Now you're thinking," Desson beamed. "Cut him off from his escape and make him desperate; make him use his aurora to survive. And once he's empty, he's just a man."

  "A professional killer." Flint corrected.

  "Right. Like me."

  "Is that it?" Flint asked. "Use jump points and control teeth?"

  Desson let out a bark of laughter. "I wish. No, acolytes can make aurora walls—impenetrable barriers, where not even a rocket could get through."

  "And so we corner him, make him make a … forcefield?" Flint asked, resorting to more familiar terminology.

  "Call it whatever," Desson said. "There's no technical name for it yet."

  "So we trap him behind his forcefield until his power runs out."

  "It would work if he were any other acolyte. The problem is Arthur knows our guns, and he can use his aurora to jam them."

  "No guns?" Flint panicked. "This just got a lot harder."

  "Well, some guns," Desson said. "In past encounters with Arthur, he has only jammed the guns trained on him."

  "Why is that?"

  "My guess? It's probably hard to do. We'll make good use of our guns on his teeth. Plus, it must use aurora to jam guns, so we keep trying to shoot until it drains."

  "How long will that take?" Flint asked.

  "Long, so we need to try to hurt him."

  What?" Flint cried. "Hurt him? We need him alive."

  "Relax,” Desson chuckled. "Making an acolyte heal himself is one of the fastest ways to drain their aurora."

  "They can heal themselves?"

  "Yeah, rapid cellular regeneration burns through ice quickly."

  "Anything else I should know that they can do?"

  "Hmm, they can make themselves strong and fast. No chance of beating them hand to hand. Even the untrained ones."

  Flint looked down as he took it in. "So, he can jam guns … how? Can he move things with his mind?"

  "Hmm,” Desson pondered. "I don't think so. I haven't seen anyone do it anyway. He sort of just freezes it in place."

  "Well, good," Flint sighed. "At least that's one thing they can't do."

  "Oh, by the way, they can throw fiery energy bolts."

  "What?" Flint cried. "Well, this royally sucks."

  "I seriously doubt your pops will do it, though," he said. "He'll just shoot us."

  "Oh," Flint grinned sarcastically. "That's all?"

  Desson chuckled, "Not so easy is it? We're going to shoot him a lot, Flint, and I need you not to think we're trying to kill him. Once we wear him down, we'll do our best to save him."

  Flint bit his tongue. "He could die, couldn't he?"

  Desson turned to Flint. "I'm going to be honest with you. Man to man. It's a possibility. More likely, we die. But I promise you, after we've worn him down, I'll do my best to take him alive."

  Flint grimaced, not liking those odds.

  Desson considered his next words: "War is like keeping your head above water in a hurricane. Preparation helps, but in the end, it's chaos, and you have very little control."

  Flint nodded understanding. "So we prepare. What gear do you have? If we set some killer traps we can even the playing field pretty well. I don't need superpowers, but time and equipment can go far."

  "I saw one of your traps work well. The other one sucked," Desson teased.

  "Hey!" Flint protested. “I had less than ten minutes to get ready! I've survived in the wild for months. I trap my own food. I just need to scale them up, and they'll kill some teeth. Sticks and stones are hardly ideal components; I'm hoping you'll have some gear I could use to rig our web."

  Desson snickered. "We have some toys I think you might appreciate."

  Desson let Flint back down to base camp, where he went through the boxes. Curious, the other contractors gathered to see what he had planned.

  Flint found knives, stakes, rope, wire, and … Flint grinned as he pulled out a box of grenades.

  "You would think he's a child on Christmas," the Frenchman, Adam, said. “Why are you letting him go through our gear?"

  "He's a trapper," Desson explained.

  "Is so?" Adam asked. "Let us hope he doesn't kill himself, yes?"

  "He's Arthur's son. He knows what he's doing."

  "Actually, I don't." Flint interrupted. "I'll need someone to explain the mechanics behind this before rigging the traps."

  He opened another black tub to find several dark frisbee-like plates. "What are these?"

  "Landmines."

  "Landmines!" Flint cried. "You don't need me or my traps if you have these!"

  "Unfortunately, landmines won't work," Vlad said as he crossed the camp to the gathering.

  "What?" Flint said. "Why?"

  "It's hard to explain, but teeth can always detect them; they will never step on them. Also, Arthur would be able to see them. On that note, have you guys treated Flint's boots yet?"

  "My boots?"

  "If Arthur is looking for someone, he can pinpoint their location if they touch the ground."

  "Seriously?" Flint asked. "So he knows we're here now?"

  "No," Paul, the Australian contractor, cut in. "For some reason, he can't do it on the greystone; that's why we keep our camp up here. We've avoided Arthur for months."

  "Let's have your boots," Desson said. "We'll fix a thin layer of greystone to the soles, and you can walk freely on the ash clay without being tracked every step."

  “Why does that work?” Flint asked.

  Desson shrugged. “We had a geologist who might have known.”

  “What happened to him?” Flint asked but felt foolish the second the words left his lips. “Ash?”

  “Ash,” Vlad confirmed.

  "How do these weird abilities my dad has work?"

  "We don't know," Vlad said. “But we know he does it with aurora."

  "Yes," Flint grunted. "Desson was telling me. But where does it come from?"

  "From Ash, for Ash. It supplies its feeders with the tools to feed it."

  "But where does Ash get it?"

  "My theory, from the meat," Vlad said.

  "You mean those it eats?"

  Vladimir nodded. “If only we could locate a deposit, we could go home for reinforcements.

  Flint swallowed as he thought about the unfortunate fate of those travelers who had been less lucky than him; it could be him any day. It could be Jas—

  "Have you been looking out for my brother?" Flint asked, worried.

  "I've had someone on the perch with the optics keeping watch for him around the clock. We don't know what he looks like, so it's hard, but we haven't seen anyone who matches his description."

  Flint looked out over the trees spanned below. "I shouldn't have false hopes," Flint said mostly to himself.

  "Don't worry." Desson tried, "If he's anything like you or your dad—"

  “He’s not,” Flint cut in. “He’s literally the opposite. He could be like my dad, but he chooses not to. The punk is kind of a wimp.”

  https://patreon.com/SilasTine?utm_medium=unknown&utm_source=join_link&utm_campaign=creatorshare_creator&utm_content=copyLink

  https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/98335/drone

  https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/94099/courts-a-progression-power-fantasy

  https://www.instagram.com/silas_tine