It took us a while to fall into a new traveling rhythm. The hexcrabs couldn’t quite catch up with Frank, and unlike the wostriches, they didn’t chase far. Even better, it was a tossup whether or not their legs could penetrate the snowplow. Many of the ones that came at us from the front got tossed aside, landing on their sides or backs, unable to right themselves in time to catch up.
A few were still able to cause problems. Most of these came in at just the right angle to dodge the plow, and eventually one came over the top. We had to stop to figure out how that had happened.
What we found was unpleasant.
The plow was still largely intact, but its smooth surface had been riddled with dents and pits. The bottom six inches were in the worst shape, with the quantity of divots decreasing as they got closer to the top.
John ran his hand over the dents. “Looks like even the ones we push aside are doing damage. We could fill these in, but anything we used would be softer than the rest of the plow. Might just make it easier for the things to climb.” He stood, shaking his head mournfully. “Hopefully Frank lasts long enough to get us to Albuquerque.”
Springy fencing held the crabs away from the engine and wheels, but our walls and ceiling didn’t have the same protection. Every time a crab made it through our defenses, Kurt would stop the truck and we’d pile out and clear out the local monsters before moving on. Wostrich herds had gotten even worse to deal with, since slowing or stopping let crabs catch up, and the stupid things could tear up Frank’s walls faster than Kurt could use the Repair ability.
The only defense we had was stopping the moment we saw a herd on the horizon. The rest of us would clear out the area around the truck, giving Kurt time to Repair any gaps in our armor, then we’d pile inside and wait for the stupid space birds to lose interest and leave. It was lucky that the population was low enough in between cities to keep the respawn timers long, and that the crabs didn’t wander far. If we’d taken a single puncture in Frank’s roof or siding, we’d have no choice but to try to plow through or fight hundreds - or in some cases thousands - of monsters. We had plans for those eventualities, but they were plans we'd rather not test.
Still, we made it the twenty miles to Santa Fe in under a day. Getting through Santa Fe? That took much longer.
The city was at war.
One side was comprised of loosely allied smaller factions, many headed by former civil authorities. There was a little encampment around the police office, another that had forted up inside a middle school, and, allegedly, a small military presence near the airport on the west side.
The other faction, larger and more unified, was led by a man named Carlton. He seemed like a warlord, for all that rumors put him as a former grocery store manager. The store had been largely empty at the time of the apocalypse, and he’d acted swiftly and decisively to barricade the doors and lock down the food they had. He’d made several smart calls, consolidating the frozen and refrigerated foods and convincing others to take abilities to help keep them cold. Those good calls and his willingness to take care of “his” people at the expense of everyone else had gotten him a lot of followers. The appearance of the Point Siphons had only exacerbated this; he’d had enough spare food to bribe people to allow him and his trusted lieutenants to use them. After two days, he and his inner circle were strong enough to take the Point Siphons without “paying,” so they started taking them by force. He’d killed multiple people who’d resisted.
Given his aggressive actions, it didn’t surprise me that he and many of his people had been invited to the first challenge. Most had come away with Shops. His faction controlled seven on the eastern side of Santa Fe.
“That makes him real hard to deal with,” a local woman told us. “A bunch of firefighters defended a Points Siphon and killed one of his flunkeys, but then the Shop at the intersection of Guadelupe and Alameda stopped working.”
Her lip curled in disgust. “It didn’t have to stop. The Shop by the post office still works, even though they killed the woman who owned it, but she had set her co-worker as her heir. But they’ve said they won’t do the same: ‘If you kill us, you should suffer for it.’”
“So… you just let them do what they want?” I asked.
“Most of us do. Most of us are smart. It’s the stupid ones making this town a death trap.” The woman gestured toward the next intersection, where barricades blocked off two sides and the glitter of supernatural abilities could be seen sporadically flying through the air. A cloud of colored gas poofed into being above one barricade, and then a blast of wind shoved it across the road. “These imbéciles… some of them are trying to kill the grocery gang anyway, and others are trying to protect them to protect the Shops. Neither likes it when you refuse to pick a side.”
“Awesome,” muttered Davi. “So we can support a bunch of bullies or we can destroy the Shops that are feeding a bunch of people.”
The woman shrugged. “This is why I say the smart ones stay out of it.”
I agreed with her assessment, but it was easier said than done. I ended up doing a lot of solo scouting to try to find safe and unbarricaded routes to take Frank through, and we had to do a lot of waiting to pick good moments to move. It was stressful and finicky enough that we discussed abandoning Frank entirely.
“We’re gonna leave the truck behind when we get to Albuquerque anyway,” Byron said. “We’ve got some wheelbarrows and stuff in the back. We could probably tote enough supplies with us to travel.”
“We can’t carry safety,” I said. “Those hexcrabs are fast, probably faster than you guys. I want walls around me when I sleep.”
“Don’t forget about the sun,” John said. “I have a buddy who’s big into gardening, who just keeled right over from heatstroke while weeding his hot peppers last year. Frank’s been keeping us safe from that.”
“Well, Frank and the Room Cooler,” said Davi.
“Yeah.” John glared at the small device, as if it might be at fault for everything that had happened to us. He’d been grumpier than usual the past few days, ever since he’d accepted me as his ruler. I’d tried to talk with him several times, to tell him that I didn’t really consider myself his king or anything… but the most I’d gotten out of him when I tried to have a discussion was that he “had to do it” but “didn’t want to talk about it.”
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
I was mostly successful in choosing a safe route through Santa Fe, but it was a slow and difficult process, with lots of backtracking.
And sometimes?
I made mistakes, or was left with no good options.
My first big mistake came while we were still on the east side of the city. I’d chosen a route clear of obstructions, but hadn’t realized that several large groups in the area were all grocery-store loyalists. By the time it was clear they were hostile, they had us surrounded.
Kurt, goddamn word wizard that he is, managed to talk them down through a combination of truths and smoothly-told lies, leaning heavily on the mysterious “driver” he claimed was still waiting inside Frank, but would come out and destroy them all if necessary. They were suspicious, obviously, but Kurt’s utter disdain for them, his apparent concern for their well-being… hell, I was half-convinced we had a mysterious superhero in the truck. The lack of blue glow on the truck itself was explained away as a benefit of getting over 1000% synergy in Animate Machinery.
“That was a ridiculous number,” Byron said afterward.
“Well, I know Vince has over 400% in some of his abilities, so I figured with a Points Siphon-”
“I could have over 500% if it wasn’t for that shitty Powerful Blow!”
Byron raised his voice. “Not the point, Vince! Kurt, if you’re going for a big round number, it should be 1200%, not a thousand. Base-12, remember?”
“Eh, know your audience. Those people clearly hadn’t picked up on that detail.”
Byron gave Kurt a hard look. “Don’t bullshit me. You just forgot.”
Kurt gave Byron his best hurt expression. “How could you say that? Of course I remembered. It was a strategic decision. ”
I snorted.
“You don’t believe me, Vince?” Kurt sounded utterly wounded.
I shook my head. “Nah. But what I really don’t believe is that all the practice you had bullshitting us into staying on-board as corporate overlords took away our benefits is actually saving our asses right now.”
Kurt laughed.
His silver tongue won us an extra day of safety. A critical one, since I earned enough points to snag my seventh ability and was able to take an augment for Enhanced Musculature.
I hadn’t been sure what to expect from the ability, although my hopes were high. We’d found other people who’d taken it, but they’d had relatively few abilities at the time, with synergy percentages in the 200s.
When I picked it up, my existing abilities meant I gained the ability with 516.6*% synergy.
Usually, taking a new ability caused an odd, ticklish sensation to spread through my body. This time, the feeling was particularly intense, and I felt my body actually lock up for several seconds. I couldn’t even breathe.
When I could move again, I took what was intended to be a small step and almost launched myself across the room. Gravity still affected me normally, but the amount I weighed was now completely insignificant.
Center yourself. Sliding steps. My aikido experience came in handy once again. I slid my feet in gentle arcs, barely lifting them from the ground. The motion was meant to help me keep my balance when fighting, but it also helped me limit the impact of my suddenly-extreme strength.
My legs and arms looked different, too. You know how superheroes look? Comic book muscles, the kind you never see on a real person outside of body-building competitions?
That was me now.
“Damn,” said Byron. “We gotta see how much you can lift.”
I was tempted, but Kurt vetoed. “Not here. Things will be better when we get to Albuquerque. We can break into a gym and get real equipment there.”
Neither Byron nor I protested much.
Despite all we’d done to be careful, John noticed people following us on the morning of our third day through the city.
“Come on,” I said. “We’re almost out. Just a little further.”
As Kurt turned the next corner, onto a road that had been clear when I’d scouted it five minutes prior, people spilled onto the street from buildings on both sides, blocking our way.
“Turn back,” John said.
“Too late,” Kurt said tightly, his neck craning to inspect a rearview mirror. “There are people behind us now, too. Better go talk.”
John caught his arm. “I don’t know if you should go out there, son. That’s a right big crowd.”
“I talked my way out of this last time, didn’t I?” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. We could all see this was different. The people seemed more organized, their postures more aggressive. There was a clear leader, a man in a leather jacket standing slightly in front of the rest with a metal band around his brow just like mine.
Kurt shook off John’s grip and slowly climbed down from the truck. The rest of us crowded into the front of the cab, watching with rapt attention as he waved. His voice was loud, but calm. Friendly. “We’re just passing through. We don’t want any trouble.”
“No trouble? Are you saying you’re not the one who threatened my people?”
Before Kurt could answer, a young woman’s voice rang out loudly. “It’s them, boss. They said they had a really powerful person driving the truck that would smash us if we didn’t stand aside.”
The man in the lead - Warlord Carlton, maybe? - put his hands on his hips, looking at Kurt. “You saying my people are lying?”
“I think there’s been some miscommunication. We don’t want to fight. We just want to keep moving. We’re travelers. We’re trying to get home to our families. You understand, right? You have any kids?”
“You think I give a shit about you? Any of you?”
“Then just let us leave. You’ll never see us again, and-”
Kurt cut off mid-sentence. I didn’t understand why at first, before I noticed Carlton extending a hand toward him, and I realized that Kurt had frozen up completely.
Carlton sauntered forward. “I can’t let you disrespect me like that. You’re nothing, and this leader of yours is nothing too. He can get out here and fight me, or he can watch you die.”
A pinkish mist swirled on the ground around Kurt’s feet, slowly accumulating to push toward his face.
“That’s got to be poison!” Davi said, starting toward the door.
I pushed past her, swinging myself out of the truck and raising my voice. “You’re not worth our leader’s time. I’ll fight you instead.”