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CHAPTER ONE
REBIRTH
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"I, Bethany Estrada-Rosenthal, do solemnly affirm that I will support and defend the legacy of the United States against all enemies, demonic and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to our undying nation; and that I will obey the orders of the Commandant of the Martial Corps and the orders of the officers appointed over me, according to regulations and the Unified Code of Military Justice.” B’syata D’shmaya.
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“Private Rosenthal! Stand down! Now!”
Corpses litter the courtyard’s fractured pavement, scorched by flame and filled with shrapnel. Pulpy blood splatters and piles of smoking viscera surround me in the shape of a sacrilegious halo or a solar corona. Either way, ominous. Also disgusting.
Among the gore, I see familiar hints of color. Shreds of my lucky undershirt: pink and green like a watermelon. Scraps of tanned leather and ribbons of yellowing pages with gilded foil edges. In an oozing puddle, Dad’s Star of David shimmers like a diamond, violently ripped from my steel wire necklace.
I look down to find myself standing naked in the cold; my skin pale, clean, and incredibly warm. If I didn’t know better, I’d think I was standing in front of a hearth. That or still wearing my suit of tempered armor. I can barely recognize the shards of it strewn around me without their fiery glow.
“Rosie! What the hell?”
Darling’s voice grounds me back in reality. She’s crouched behind a stone pillar designed to stop cars from driving into the collapsed apartment building’s courtyard—her helmet off and her dirty blonde hair wild—as she peeks around the side like a wide-eyed animal. Hers is the only rifle not aimed at my bare chest.
Half a dozen Martians step out from their own cover; a crumbled wall, a rusted firetruck that had flipped on its side, and even from under the largest corpse of our fallen comrades—a friend, Two Bulls, who must've given her life to shield her cousin—but from what, I don’t know. Each one seems like a monster in their suit of tempered armor, their bodies sleek and smoldering like golems wrought of solidified magma, but I know the people behind their impenetrable glass visors. One of them steps toward me—Corporal Wallace, the third in command of our squad—then freezes, as if he’s scared of getting too close. The others’ trigger fingers twitch, but thankfully for me, no bullets start flying.
“What—” I choke out, then gasp, surprised by the intensity of my voice. What should have come out as a whisper had sounded louder than my best shout. “What happened?” I ask, shrinking my voice as small as I can, and they all jump like I spoke directly in their ears. “I feel… different.” I know I should feel ashamed that my peers are seeing me this exposed. Instead I just feel… pride?
No. Not that.
I feel powerful.
“Demon,” I hear McCall say. The furthest of the group, and barely a mutter, but I hear him.
“Demon,” says Kirkland. Loud enough for them all to hear, and not one raises a peep in protest.
“Demon,” Darling mumbles to herself. Seemingly in agreement with the rest of the Martians.
I don’t believe she means it, but that one stings. “I’m not a demon,” I say—perhaps louder than I should’ve—and throw up my hands in surrender.
One of those itchy trigger fingers? Guess what?
It scratched.
As soon as the muzzle flashes and the bullet explodes from its chamber, my instincts react. Just not in any way I could expect. A pulse of energy seems to resonate from the middle of my chest, instantaneously spreading a good ten feet in each direction. Everything inside the bubble takes on a rosy sheen while everything outside shines blue; including the exploding bullet and the flashing muzzle behind it, as bright as a lightning bolt cast by HaShem Himself.
The bullet pierces the bubble and travels no further, exchanging its blue glow for a red one. It hangs there like a distant star in a clear night sky. Or so I imagine. It’s been too long since I’ve seen what that looks like.
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“Everyone! Fire!”
R18s are a semi-automatic rifle with two fire rates: single and triple burst. Despite that, my squad mates—sans Darling—manage to unload over a hundred tempered bullets in seconds. A few are equipped with R303 grenade launchers too, but nothing makes a lick of difference. Anything that enters the bubble starts glowing red and slows to a halt. Or near enough to it.
The first bullet had been creeping millimeters closer all the while. Strangely, I can sense the path it will carve and the speed at which it will carve it. Information of over a hundred trajectories and velocities barrage me, the shock of it overwhelming enough to make me stumble back.
That’s when I realize my body is glimmering with blue light. Brighter than anything outside the bubble, and the only blue thing inside.
I can move! And can I.
One step is all it takes to reach that first bullet. I pluck it from the air like a gnat, dragging and pointing it down, directing its momentum into the ground. One by one, I do the same for its siblings, only hesitating when I approach the grenades.
Beyond the edge of the bubble, Two Bull’s cousin struggles to reload his rifle, perhaps desperate to kill what he thinks is his first demon.
The others just stare. Maybe in awe or disbelief. Maybe in fear.
I definitely don’t feel like a demon, but what else could explain this power? Demons are said to come in all kinds of forms—especially human ones—but nothing of what’s said matters. It’s not like I need any convincing. Aside from the warmth burning inside my chest, I just feel like me.
Unfortunately, I can also feel the bubble on the verge of collapsing.
I take a step back and kneel down, positioning myself so the grenades will fly over my head and the bullets will bounce around me, then stand back up as the flames start roaring and sparks begin flying. “I’m not a demon,” I insist, again louder than I had wanted. “I don’t know what I am, other than naked. Can a girl get some clothes, please?”
My squad has to see that I’m still human. How could they not?
“Rosie!” Darling shouts, finally standing and stepping halfway around the stone pillar. She must have put her helmet back on when I wasn’t looking.
“It’s still me, Hackett. I’m still me. The same Rosie from Quantico High. From Basic Training.”
I would have given anything to see the look in my best friend’s eyes at that moment. Anything.
This time nothing saves me from a knuckle-sized bullet of tempered steel punching through my stomach. It rips through my flesh and innards like a knife through butter, but instead of blood and guts, a mixture of deep crimson and bright scarlet light pours from the wound, plugging it up like magical platelets. Even so, it hurts like a bitch for a second and I stumble again, but other than a new star-shaped scar on my abdomen, I’m not any worse for wear.
None of the accounts for my heartbreak. “You shot me?” I yell, very intentionally. “Seriously?”
At least Darling’s barrel drops an inch. At least she’s uncertain.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers, simultaneously flipping her R18 from single fire to burst, and pulls the trigger.
The other six Martians had reloaded their rifles in the meantime and join in on my execution, releasing a torrential storm of tempered steel.
This time I am prepared. Prepared and scorned. An even stronger pulse resonates from my heart, covering over twenty feet in an instant—conveniently far enough to capture each of my enemies, rendering them as little more than bloodsoaked statues. My former allies, and former best friend. Helpless as they are, it would be so easy to hurt them. To kill them like they all tried to kill me…
No. That’s what a demon would do, but I’m not a demon. “I’m not a demon! I’m not!”
With tears blurring and burning my eyes, I turn and run the other way. Somehow, I know I can leave the bubble whenever I want, but what I didn’t know is that it would collapse as soon I do. And I mean as soon.
Miraculously, either luck or instincts make sure I contort my body so not one bullet hits me. More gunfire blares and a smaller bubble flares, buying me a bit more time to escape the courtyard, and in seconds I’m making a break for the closest alley I see, heading toward Broad Street.
Philadelphia is a big city, and after Ray Day, practically empty. It shouldn’t be difficult to find a place to hide. The real trick will be finding a decent set of clothes amidst the ruins. Everything worth owning had been looted long before Colonel Estrada led the Second Regiment to reclaim the ‘independently governed’ metropolis…
Mom. Mom! How could I forget Mom?
First I'll find something to wear. Then I’ll find a way to contact the Colonel. All I need to do is survive until I can convince Mom to call off her soldiers. It doesn’t help that I can hear my squad chasing after me, but thankfully, even before the apocalypse, she had made certain that survival was a specialty of mine.
Swift as a flash of lightning, I soon vanish into the daynight.