My body ached, a combination of sitting too long and the remnants of my injuries.

I was more careful on the journey home, never entering unnecessary fights, avoiding those I could, and making plans that involved little action from me. I’d collected a lot, most of which I put into my space without looking at it too closely. It would take me days to sort through.

Okay. That wasn’t why it took two weeks to get home. I’d taken the scenic route, giving my injuries time to heal. My mother didn’t need to see that. Mostly, I didn’t want to hear her nag.

It was early morning. The sky was still a murky grey color that never seemed to change. The towering walls of the base were in sight, and trains of vehicles adorned with colorful flags flew past me. Only a few cars were returning to base most headed out for the hunt. I wondered how many would remain. I looked away, my eyes passing over the shanty settlements on either side of the road. They had grown since I left. Humans hobbled about the pale gaunt faces not that different from zombies. I forced myself to look away. There was nothing to be gained in there.

It wasn’t long before I drove through the first wall, ending up in the holding area. I exited the car and opened all the doors to make the search easier, placing my credentials on the hood and double-checking the list of items I’d be paying for the toll. It was a familiar routine, something about it made the tension in my shoulders ease.

I looked around the enclosed parking lot. It could house over a hundred cars at a time. Thankfully, there weren’t many people entering the base. I was seventh in line and eager to get this over with quickly. On the walls, guards with guns watched the people inside. They were ineffective against the mutants they'd have to fight, but their presence acted as a deterrent. If there was a fight, my biggest challenge would be the mutants. There were three on duty. None of them were stronger than I was, but they could buy enough time for reinforcements to come. Using assassination techniques where my best bet. I'd start with the boy close to the guard tower, he wasn't used to holding a gun. He'd hesitate to fire at me. I'd shadow-step behind him and break his throat. That would put me closest to the strongest mutant. I'd use the tower as coverage to launch an attack on him, a shadow blade to the neck, catching the body before it fell. Then I'd move on to the mutant in the bay, checking cars. I'd launch myself at him- I stopped myself short. These people weren't my enemies. As a habit, I planned how I'd fight them if necessary.

Conversations happened around me in tune with the hum of cars idling. There was a lot of excitement about something, but the mix of voices kept me from hearing specifics.

A guard I’d seen before came over wearing a grin. It took everything out of me to smile when I'd just planned how to gut. I sort of wished someone would start a fight as a few people threw dirty looks my way. They all backed down after seeing the emblem on my car door.

It would be a lie to say I didn’t want to get through here faster, and I’d never shied away from stepping on toes, but it was better to lie low. “You don’t need to skip over anyone for me.”

His grin got bigger. “You’re on the priority list.”

That was strange. My parents insisted I not get any special treatment unless I earned it. I hadn’t. The priority list had requirements I had no interest in fulfilling. “What happened?” I asked, getting out of the way as he started the search.

“The farm program.” He said, tapping his clipboard against his thigh. If his smile got any wider, his face would split.

“Yes?” I prompted for answers. The farm project was an area of interest for me. I’d been working on the project as an intern. It helped supplement the knowledge I had, which was all theoretical and self-taught. School wasn't a priority when the world was trying to kill you.

“Three new species got added.”

That was surprising. I was an avid follower of my mother’s work. When I left, there were no significant breakthroughs. How did she do it? I couldn’t wait to get my hands on her research notes. My mother was brilliant, but Blythe Blake did things that resembled magic more than science. It was a family joke that she willed the world to conform to her ideas, and it complied. “Tell me at least one is an animal.”

He started giggling, his face scrunching into a giant smile. “Chickens. Eggs and everything.” He bounced around the car. “I had it for breakfast.” He licked his lips, eyes glazing slightly. There were a few woos from people listening to our conversation.

That was good. My stomach rumbled as I thought about it. I could understand the excitement. Food was the most significant resource and also the scarcest. I was salivating at the thought of eggs, unable to remember the last time I’d tasted one.

“At least crack a smile,” he said.

“I’m laughing on the inside.” I wasn't, and my lack of visible emotions dampened his enthusiasm. I tried to force a smile, but I couldn't muster the energy. I'd been on the road too long, alone too long. I considered forming a team but discarded the idea. It was more trouble than it was worth. Humans were the biggest threat in the apocalypse.

He rolled his eyes, putting on a stern face. It looked odd, with the edge of his lips still curled into a smile. “Any open wounds?”

I lifted my shirt, showing the gash on my side. I’d have to go to the hospital for a thorough check. It was easy for open wounds to get infected. It was less likely to happen to mutants, but there wasn't a reason not to get checked.

The smile left his face. “Hide that,” he said, pointing at my side.

I agreed. It spoke volumes about my mother’s temper that a random guard knew to be worried. “That’s the plan.” It would fail. My mother had a sixth sense for these things, but I would try anyway.

“You shouldn’t be going out there on your own.”

I’d heard this argument before, but I had no interest in joining a mercenary group or forming one myself. I thought about it often, but the two times I'd tried it ended in disaster. And, I wasn’t fit to conform to the military rules or regulations. “I’m one of the best, even on my own.”

“Can’t argue with that, but it makes me wonder what it would be like if you had someone wa-”

“Shut the fuck up!”

My head turned to the speaker. He was red-faced, towering over the guard who was checking his car, a red SUV that had seen better days. Two people were at his side, trying to pull him back. They looked concerned, eyes watching the rest of the crowd. They'd lost their advantage if a fight broke out. The guards on the walls had their guns trained on the trio. Another man leaned against the car, his eyes cold as he looked at what I assumed was his team.

They had everyone's attention.

The guard clearing my car circled the vehicle and positioned himself closer to the confrontation.

I stepped back, an action mirrored by anyone who wasn’t base security.

“It is protocol. That man needs to go to the hospital,” the guard said, standing his ground. He was a mutant, stronger than the red-faced man. But at a slight disadvantage in a group fight.

Red Face shook loose from the people holding him. “I told you. There ain’t nothing wrong with him.”

“Is there a problem with him going to the hospital?” The guard dropped the clipboard, freeing up his hands.

The three people froze before reanimating.

“What are you trying to say?” Red Face asked.

Could they have been any more obvious? Shifting to the side, I craned my neck to see. A man was lying in the car trunk. He was unconscious. His veins were prominent under his pale skin. There was a flash of red as a lightning pattern bloomed on his face before vanishing.

“He’s infected.” The guard put some space between them.

“He’s a mutant. He’ll sleep it off.” That was true. Mutants couldn’t get reinfected with the Z-Virus, but that didn’t mean they weren’t carriers and could infect others. There were also secondary illnesses they could contract when immunocompromised. And, sepsis from infections wasn't a joke. It was also painful.

“Is there a reason he shouldn’t go to the hospital?” the guard asked. There was a shift in the air. It made me tense. The fight was about to start, I could taste the tension.

The man leaning on the car started laughing. “They threw him in a hoard of zombies when they needed to buy time to escape, but when he didn’t die, they wanted to retrieve him because he’s a space user holding most of our resources.”

“That’s not true!” The Red Face bellowed. A wave of warm air rushed through the space. His hair flickered, fire running along his skin.

My body loosened, a knife dropping from my sleeve into my hand.

“If he goes to the ho-”

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“Shut up.”

Things descended into pandemonium.

I put away my Hummer, not willing to have it destroyed. That earned me a side eye from the guard at my side.

The Red Face wasn’t winning, but he wasn’t losing. He was skilled, holding off the guards and the man who spoke against him, but they outnumbered him. Various skills clashed. The guard was a wind mutant, which was a bad match-up. Huddled at the back were the two teammates who stood by his side earlier, making themselves as small as possible. They hesitated to join the fight, manifesting and dissipating their abilities.

One against ten weren’t good odds. Red Face also had to watch out for the other mutants in the room who'd step in if they thought they had to. I'd flip a coin whether I'd help--I blinked, tilting my head to the side as a fireball whizzed past my ear, singeing my hair. A large body was in front of me in a second.

I caught the hand reaching towards me.

Why me?

I wanted to go home, and because of this asshole that wouldn't be happening anytime soon. I could imagine the paperwork I’d have to fill out.

Lifting my foot, I place it in his stomach.

My kick sent him rocketing back. He crashed into his car, crumpling the door. His arm stayed in my hand. I threw it to the side, checking to see if there was blood on my clothes. It took me days to get the green sap from the corn off my skin and hair, and I wasn’t looking to repeat the experience.

The knife sat in my hand, unused.

That was a pity. If I’d used the knife, that idiot wouldn’t have lived. The kick wouldn’t kill him. If he met a skilled healer, they might reattach his arm.

“What made him go after the kid?”

“Must be new here.”

“That whole family is nuts.”

“Have you seen his mother fight?”

“Who’s talking about his mother? Have you seen his brother?”

“I did. The kid is barely out of diapers and already a menace.”

The conversation picked up as people went back to what they were doing. My grinning guard came back much more somber.

“You were saying something about teamwork?” I asked.

He cracked a grin, shaking his head at me. “You know what happens now, right?”

I did. There would be an interrogation at the military base.

I wasn’t in trouble. It was standard protocol. The issue was that my mother would hear about it. The thought of her smirking at me set my teeth on edge. I should have killed him. It would have made the irritation more bearable. I watched as they put him on a stretcher.

“It’s more paperwork if he dies,” the guard said, looking between the man and me.

I shrugged.

I didn’t plan to do anything. I’d killed humans before, I usually had a reason, but I abhorred cruelty just for the sake of it. “Didn't plan on doing anything.”

The look on his face made it clear he thought I was crazy. “You might have a poker face, but every bone in your body radiates mischief and malicious intent.”

That was an unfair assessment of my character. I never started the trouble, but it seemed to find me. It was the face. Something about it made people think I was an easy target. “Let’s just get this over with.”

I didn’t know what he found amusing, but he was grinning again. “Do you think I can get your mom’s autograph?”

The more I thought about the idea, punching him in the face made perfect sense.

***

“Ignacius, darling.” My mother’s drawled words held a hint of a posh accent that she’d had for as long as I could remember. “You find yourself in the most delightful situations,” she said.

That was one way of putting it. I buried my head in my hands. I could imagine her expression “Mom,” I said, not turning to look at her. The familiar floral scent of her perfume enveloped me. It was comforting. Surprisingly, it didn’t seem out of place in the barracks that smelt of gun oil.

“What have you done now?” she asked. Her gentle wind chime-laugh tinkled through the room, charming everyone.

Blythe knew. Her hand came to rest on my shoulder, squeezing it. It was her way of letting me know she was joking around. I appreciated it, but it didn’t make it any less embarrassing. My mom had this way of making me feel like a child. It was something I loathed and cherished. It made this fucked up world bearable. Like something hadn't changed, parents were still--it didn't matter.

“Where’s dad?” I asked.

Her hold tightened a fraction. “Vaughn went to speak to the gentleman who caused the commotion.”

I looked up in time to see the sergeant in front of me wince. It was a pity he didn’t know it was better for Vaughn to go than my mom.

Vaughn Blake-Huxley was a retired four-star general and the de facto leader of this base. It wasn’t a position he wanted, but everyone with a problem went to him first. He was a soldier at heart and had the moral compass to go with it, preferring to follow the established law.

Blythe Blake-Huxley, on the other hand, was the person who taught me the correct way to skin a man and dispose of the body without leaving traces. She reserved her kindness for a select few.

“Did Iggy go with him?” I turned to look at her. She looked immaculate in a black tailored suit with a blue ruffled shirt beneath. A sword hung from her waist, the glint of the scabbard matching the look in her eyes. Gray orbs peered at me knowingly, but something sad swirled in their depths before she looked away. A gentle smile graced the corner of her lips, and not a strand of her shining silver hair was out of place.

“Ignatz,” she said, emphasizing the name, “is waiting for you at home.”

“Would this be a good time to convince you to call me Kaz?”

“Are you finished with Ignacius?” she asked, turning her back to me. Her chin raised an inch.

“Yes, mam.” The guard jumped to attention, having forgotten about me. Sweat dampened his forehead, and he tugged at the edge of his shirt.

“Thank you. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your help.” She gave him a nod, the barest tilt to her head. He acted as if he’d won a medal. His chest puffed out with pride, a blush staining his cheeks.

I followed her out of the room, hands tucked into my pockets, resisting the urge to roll my eyes. Objectively, I knew she was beautiful, but I’d grown numb to it. “What’s for dinner? I heard we have eggs now.”

She sent me a flinty glare. “Don’t you have something to tell me?”

I didn’t appreciate it when people lied to me, and I did my best not to lie to people I cared about, but I felt the words creeping up my throat. That look was a surefire way to make me feel like a toddler. “I got in a bit of an accident,” I said.

“Yes. I’m aware. I would have loved to see your gallant display as you battled dinner. If you give me a cob, I’ll cook it for you.”

I wanted to find a hole and bury myself. I also wanted to know how she knew what happened. Mom always knew when I was in trouble or injured. I never had the heart to ask how she did it. I was just grateful she could, even if it annoyed me now. I caught up to her. Walking side by side, I took her hand and tucked it into the crook of my arm. “After I go to the hospital, what’s for dinner?”

Her finger tapped a beat on my arm. “Didn’t I tell you it was corn?”

“We don’t know if it’s edible.” I didn’t mind eating it, but not every mutated plant was safe to consume.

“Yes, it was more suited to being a battering ram.”

I let her take her digs at me. She didn’t shelter me, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t concerned. I preferred this to the babying and mothering she did with Iggy.

“We can ask Iggy to check it.”

“Why must you butcher your brother's name?” she asked.

"You practically gave us the same name. Ignacius and Ignatz."

"Because it's your birthright. It matters Ignacius."

"So you've said." I smiled, turning to look at her, and stopped dead at the sight of the sad curl of her lips. "Mom?" I asked, but she kept walking. It was a familiar argument in our family, almost a routine, but she'd never reacted like this before.

***

The corn was edible, as indicated by the smell permeating the house. Iggy sat beside me, giggling as he read his book. I felt short next to my brother. At fourteen, his head reached my chin. I was five-eleven and guessed he’d be well over six feet.

“Is it that funny?” I asked, ruffling his dark brown hair. We looked very similar considering we had different fathers, the same grey eyes as our mother, and a similar face shape, but Iggy got Vaughn's height.

“It’s corn! A big-”

I covered his mouth. “Haha, you're hilarious.”

It was good to be home. I bent, kissing Iggy on the forehead. He scrunched up his face and moved away, hiding behind his book. His cheeks that hadn’t lost their baby fat, puffed up. His skin was milk-white. It was rare to see kids nowadays, and they were seldom as happy or healthy as my brother was.

“I’ll be in my room, Mom,” I said.

“Yes, oh mighty defender. I will call you to sample your spoils when it is ready.”

That sent Iggy into another fit of giggles, which my mother joined in on. I heard a grumbled laugh from the basement where Vaughn had disappeared after he came home.

I knew where I got my snark from, but I preferred it if she used it against others, not me. But her laugh tickled my ear, forced and off. My eyes rested on her figure in the kitchen. Something was wrong. Iggy was fine, but my parents were hiding something.

It was the way they watched me when they thought I wasn’t looking. Mom hid it well, but Vaughn looked close to tears.

I flopped on my bed. My injuries weren’t serious. The healer said I would be as good as new in a few days. There wasn’t any danger to the base, and the overall situation had improved.

My list dwindled as I ticked off the possibilities.

It would itch my brain until I had an answer, but I knew neither would tell me until they were ready. Blind speculation wasn’t helpful. Since Iggy didn’t know, they would talk to me at night after he went to bed.

If that didn’t happen, I would give them a few days to see if it resolved itself.

Switching lanes, I thought over the fights I’d had during this trip, cataloging them.

There were no problems leading up to the battle at the solar farm or after it.

Taking out a leaf from the plant, I had a concerning theory. I’d identified three distinct pheromone types that the plant used, but what if there were more?

How would I combat that?

I would have no way to combat it in future battles, and next time, I might not be so lucky. Taking out a notebook, I jotted down my observations and experiment ideas I could carry out.

It would be best to create a neutralizing agent.

Pulling out a textbook, I dived down the rabbit hole.

***

Vaughn and Mom sat on one side of the table while Iggy and I sat next to each other. The distance between us wasn’t physically far, but there was a crater between us.

Dinner ended. My mother carried the conversation while Vaughn pushed his food around the plate.

The corn was ash in my mouth. The three adults went through the motions of eating, glancing at each other with smiles that didn’t reach their eyes. Iggy, bless his oblivious little soul, didn’t notice.

I followed my mother into the kitchen.

“Tomorrow, Kaz’myr,” she said.

“I didn’t say anything.” Things were worse than I thought. Mom hated doing the dishes. She passed them off to anyone she could. I was standing here, rubber gloves already on my hands, and she didn’t ask.

She smiled, patting my cheek. “I can hear that mind rolling behind your stony face.” Water filled the basin and she stuck her hand in the water, warming it. “Iggy, go get ready for bed.”

“Yes, Mom!” Thuds resounded through the house as he galloped up the stairs.

My brow creased, watching her.

“Go help your father,” she said. Her shoulders were rounded, eyes fixed out the window as she washed on autopilot. I didn’t like it, seeing her so defeated. I hesitated, looking back with every step.

Vaughn was in the basement, a plane in hand, destroying a piece of wood rather than leveling it. I didn't know what he was building, but with my limited knowledge and terrible technical skills, I didn’t think that piece of wood was salvageable.

I looked at him. He’d gotten older when I wasn’t looking. Grey hair colored his temples, and the creases around his eyes and mouth had deepened. I liked to think they were all laugh lines, but most of it was stress. Vaughn was the definition of a man’s man. He was tall, square-jawed, broad-shouldered, muscled, and good with his hands. Vaughn was the strong, silent type but efficient at getting his point across. When standing beside Blythe, they looked mismatched until you saw the gentle way he watched his wife. An arm at her waist, shoulder, or out for her to hold as she swayed around in death traps she called shoes.

Pulling up a stool, I took out a novel.

“You usually have more questions by now.” His eyes were soft as he glanced at me.

I peered at him over the top of my book. “You usually ignore me.”

He grunted, returning to his piece of wood that got smaller and smaller.