Chapter 1: Prey

Dead Boy runs on and on into the night.

The murky fog envelops him, blinding him to the dark shadows that leap from every corner. Brittle ice crunches beneath his boots step after faltering step. His chest heaves with heavy breaths. Thick, humid air chills him to the bone.

He isn’t certain how much longer he can keep it up. He’s been on foot since before the sun rose that morning, and has probably been running full-out for at least an hour straight. A deep weariness grips his entire body, threatening to overtake and throw him to the ground. He doesn’t even know where he’s going anymore.

A streetlight, dead and decades disused, looms out of the darkness before him. He flings himself toward it. He throws an arm around the post for support and lets his body slump forward, fighting to catch his breath in pitched gasps and starts. His heavy red fireman’s axe clatters to the street at his feet—the jarring sound of steel scraping on icy concrete echoes into the darkness in a dissonant staccato.

He pulls off his gloves and scuffs his hands over his face, beating away the bitter cold that stings his ink-stained cheeks. He rubs harder, as if wiping away the thick black X’s tattooed across his eyes can save him from his encroaching doom. Clotted blood slicks off multiple crusted lacerations all over his face, a parting gift from his fight with Katana not too long ago. Fresh blood begins to ooze in slow, syrupy rivulets and his hands come away red.

A whooping howl sounds from the mists behind him—it’s impossible to tell from how far away. A second howl answers from a bit farther to his right. From his left, closer: “Yip yip yip!” followed by raucous laughter.

They’re getting closer! How?!

He curses and wipes away tears from his eyes. He’s so tired! He desperately wants to find a place to hide, to rest, to stop running, but he’s terrified of what’ll happen if they follow him, find him when he's vulnerable. After all, they’ve tracked me perfectly so far…

Despair grips his heart, but fear wins out. He wipes his bloody hands on his thighs as he bends down to pick up his axe and continue his flight.

A booming hollow CLANG! rings out as a heavy metal pipe whistles over Dead Boy’s back and bounces off the lightpost. Dead Boy stumbles forward in surprise, dragging his axe across the concrete behind him. The metal pipe clanks to the ground nearby, spinning like a top on an iced-over manhole cover by the feet of a solitary Frozen corpse standing like a sentinel in the center of the street.

The shadowy figure of a man lurks in the fog some sixty feet away. His arms are spread wide, empty hands open, ready for anything. He shouts, “I found him! Over here!”

Dead Boy fishes the metal pipe from the ground, then turns and flees as fast as he can. His arms pump hard, but the two steel weapons are like dead weight in his hands. He can feel his forward momentum flagging.

Sprinting footsteps and callous yipping follow not far behind with other howls resounding in the distance. A deeper, louder crashing sound echoes from all directions at once.

Dead Boy reaches the end of the block and jags left around two Frozen into a side alley behind a brick apartment complex. Thinking fast, he ducks behind a large metal trash bin that stands next to the nearest building. Maybe I can get the drop on him…

But he’s not alone. With a start, Dead Boy turns to see a Frozen crouched low down behind the trash bin alongside him, an unfortunate homeless man who’d perished in society’s refuse during the Fall. And the Frozen’s staring right back at Dead Boy like it can see into his very soul.

Dead Boy can feel it starting to happen almost instantaneously. Usually the Frozen are far enough away that he can quickly avert his eyes to stop the connection. But this time, it happens all too fast, catching Dead Boy off guard. His vision immediately blacks out as he feels his psyche getting sucked into the Frozen’s mind.

Damn this damned psychic curse! I— His inner monologue cuts off like a cord being ripped out of the wall. A lone thought flits around the corners of his mind, of being helplessly transfixed here like this when that crazy guy turns the corner and finds him. He tries to focus on this image and regain control of his body. His body! He can already see himself through the Frozen’s eyes—the connection is complete.

With an immense effort, Dead Boy wrests his gaze away from the Frozen and snaps back into his own self again with a sensation like receiving a heavy, cold slap to the face. He shudders against the cold trash bin, trying to ignore the tickling feeling of the wispy ice wraith slowly wriggling free of the Frozen’s corpse right next to him.

He doesn’t dare leave his hiding place. He waits there quietly, crouching down low. His lungs burn as he struggles to slow his wheezing breath. The booming, crashing noise grows louder, closer, while the wraith next to him squirms ever more eagerly for his flesh.

A few moments later, his pursuer rounds the corner and runs straight past the trash bin at full tilt. Gotcha! Dead Boy hurls the metal pipe and breathes a silent cheer as it catches between the man’s legs, sending him sprawling to the ground.

In one fluid motion, Dead Boy rises and swings his axe over his head, twisting his wrist at the top of the arc. He sends the axe head crashing down sideways on the man’s left ankle—he can't bring himself to hack anybody’s foot off, but at least the man won't be able to chase him now. The man screams in agony, a ragged howl that tears from his throat like an alarm.

Turning to run again, Dead Boy’s breath suddenly catches in his throat. A massive, ominous shadow lurches into view through the thick fog, thirty feet tall and nearly as wide as the street. Another crash booms out as the monster rocks its great bulk, taking another step closer.

The man continues screaming and screaming with his destroyed foot clutched in both hands. The giant turns toward the noise and bends down low, peering through the mists toward the sound. Dead Boy can see the huge form taking shape, the thin moonlight that filters through the fog glistening on a massive body formed of stacked ice boulders. Its eyeless, featureless head somehow seems to be looking right at him.

As Dead Boy turns and runs, the giant flings a massive fist toward him with a wide swing that explodes right through the walls of the building Dead Boy had just been hiding next to. Brickwork rains down all around as Dead Boy leaps over the injured man and tears down the street. He's oblivious of whether he's running toward or away from the other gang members pursuing him, but he doesn't care—human enemies he can figure out a way to deal with. But that thing? Not a chance.

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Half an hour later, Dead Boy weakly drags himself up a narrow ridge that barely rises above the surface of the fog. Two small, delapidated buildings sit halfway up the hill, alone on a barren crest of land that probably once bore a small forest.

The sound of his pursuers had completely died off a while ago. It still hasn’t been long enough for Dead Boy’s liking, but there’s no way around it—he needs a place to rest for the night.

As he nears, he can see that the buildings are mostly destroyed. Parts of the walls have long since been dismantled by scavengers, leaving rotting frames and mouldering drywall exposed to all the elements. The buildings are obviously abandoned—with an ocean of freezing fog lapping not even fifty feet down either side of the ridge, the hilltop is a cold and unforgiving place for any squatter to risk living on.

Looks as good a place as any, Dead Boy thinks. He wishes he could find a nearby Frozen and use his psychic ability to find out if any of those gang members ever frequent this place, but knows he can’t risk waking any wraiths nearby when he really needs to hunker down for a rest.

Dead Boy ducks inside the larger of the two structures and hides himself within an interior room. He breathes a sigh of relief as he crawls inside his sleeping bag and curls up on the floor, careful not to lean on anything that looks unsturdy. Before he lets his eyes drift shut, he warily checks around for the closest exit; if the gang manages to track him here, the first warning he'll probably get will be the giant’s thundering footsteps, which might very well bring the roof down in this shaky old shack.

He lays like that for what seems like ages, struggling to calm his belabored breath. He fights to stay awake, his mind constantly teetering on the edge of unconsciousness like a child who's played himself out. It isn't long before he gives in and a dreamless sleep claims him.

He awakes with a start some time later. A burning ache floods his entire body, but at least he's breathing normally now. Darkness still fills every corner with shadows. With no idea how much time has passed, he creeps outside and, once he's sure the coast is clear, leans back to look up at the stars.

The sky above is deep in night, with a sliver of crescent moon hanging low in the sky. Thousands of stars light the heavens, the Milky Way stretching from one horizon to the other, not a cloud in sight. Maybe a few hours till morning, and no sign of trouble. Good.

Dead Boy looks around and spots the NBAZ in the distance to his left. Dozens of skyscraper windows are lit up, painting the night sky with orange pinpricks that are uncharacteristic for this late hour. A ways off to his right, Dead Boy spots a large bulky shadow blotting out the stars. I think that’s San Bruno, which must be … south of here? Dead Boy nods to himself when he confirms the longer stretch of shadow and faint lights even farther south beyond that.

Metatropolis.

That’s where Jamar must be. And where I’m going.

###

“There’s so much more out there than just scavenging for the NBAZ,” Jamar had told him one afternoon last month.

They were sitting atop College Hill, basking in the midsummer sunlight and gazing out at the ruined landscape of San Francisco. The blanket of deadly frozen fog that covered the city resembled a wintry swamp, with mountains and rusting skyscrapers in place of islands and gnarled trees.

“You mean the Tech Lords? Carlita says it was hell living in Sausalito.”

Jamar laughed at that. “Baron Chopper? Please. At the rate people are leaving, he won’t even have anyone to rule ‘fore long.”

“Still. I mean, at least we have our freedom down in the Crypts.” Dead Boy shrugged, trying to look like it was no big deal, even though he knew it was a lie. There's no freedom living in a subway tunnel when both ends lead to the fog.

“Bullshit, son!” Jamar barked with a raucous laugh. “If you want that kinda meaningless freedom, I heard Cupertino Kingdom ain’t too bad. Not much different from the NBAZ, at the end o’ the day.”

Dead Boy just shrugged deeper into his hoodie. “What then?”

“Can you keep a secret, Del?”

He had no need to answer. The two friends had already shared many secrets—Jamar knew more about Dead Boy than anyone else in their community.

“I’ve been meeting with a group from Metatropolis lookin’ to defect and start their own little enclave,” Jamar said.

“You’ve been going that far south?”

“Sometimes.”

“But how'd they get outta Metatropolis? I heard that place is locked down tight.”

“Doesn't matter, they have ways. But listen, Del, these guys are different. They’re like you and me.”

“What do you mean?”

A long pause stretched out, filling the sun-warmed afternoon with mystery and tension. Were they runners, like Jamar and Dead Boy? Why would runners go off and start their own community?

“Prolly easier to show you than to explain,” Jamar finally answered with a twinkle in his eye. “I’ll be swinging by there again in a couple weeks. I’ll mention your name, get you an in.”

“Into what?”

“A better place than the NBAZ. Than the Crypts.”

At this, Dead Boy bit back a hurt reply and said nothing. His best friend had been planning on leaving their community for how many weeks, and hadn’t even mentioned a thing to Dead Boy until just now? How had he expected Dead Boy to react to this bit of news? Did he really think Dead Boy wouldn’t feel betrayed?

“Look, at least meet them. I promise you won’t regret it.”

“Alright,” Dead Boy finally said after the longest stretch of angry silence he could muster. “But you know I can’t just run off and join some commune. I’ve got family here.”

“Sure thing, ‘Boy! Just meet ‘em, is all I’m asking!”

###

Dead Boy closes his eyes tight, gripping the Frozen’s hands hard enough that his fingernails dig into the corpse’s icy skin.

He always hates this part.

He’d crawled back out of his hiding spot shortly after the first rays of dawn lightened the sky. A quick trot into the fog on the south side of the hill found him a Frozen with open eyes—in this case, a young freckled woman with long auburn hair like his sister’s.

He shakes the thought of Garden out of his mind and focuses on the task at hand. He needs intel, and fast—he can’t risk letting the wraith shake free like last time.

He opens his eyes and stares into the Frozen’s past, letting his mind dive straight into that black hole. He can physically feel the shadows crawling over his face. Only a few seconds flit by before his mind blanks out completely and he is transfixed on his own blacked-out gaze, like looking into a mirror that reflects only the deepest, darkest recesses of his soul.

Focus, Dead Boy! He needs to see what this Frozen knows.

He brings forth the image of Katana in his mind. Have you seen this girl? Nothing, no response. He visualizes the ice giant—surely, this one should be unmistakable, but again, nothing changes. He heaves a relieved sigh—if this Frozen’s never seen this gang before, he must be out of their territory or something.

Next, he brings up the image of Jamar. How about this guy? Seen him? There’s a long pause, as if someone were taking a moment to recall an episode from long in the past. And then, the view suddenly changes, fog rushing in to wipe Dead Boy away and replace him with a misty nighttime street.

Jamar walks by right in front of Dead Boy’s eyes, wearing the same getup he was last seen in. He’s heading due south with his bat resting over one shoulder and—of all things—is whistling a lighthearted traveling tune as he hikes down the hill.

Dead Boy snaps his head away and returns to his senses, the image of Jamar vanishing before his eyes.

He smiles.

Now he’s quite certain where to go.

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