Behind her, Firefight looked unconcerned, bullets melting before they reached him. It wasn’t as hot as it should have been—it was as if the fire were distant, and we felt a breeze that blew out from it.
We barely understood how her powers worked. Those drones that Firefight melted weren’t actually dead, and that wall hadn’t actually been opened. The other world’s ability to affect this one was fleeting. For a minute, we were all caught in the warping of reality as the two worlds mixed, but in moments it would all fade back to normal.
“I’m fine,” I said. “We’ve got to move.”
Megan said nothing, getting under my arm again. The fact that she gave no reply—and that she’d stopped us in the middle of a fight to look at the wound—told me what I needed to know. I was hit bad, and bleeding a lot.
We shuffled away down the corridor toward the laboratory. As we did, I glanced over my shoulder to make sure no drones were following. None were, but I did catch an unnerving sight: Firefight was looking at me, again. Through the flames of distortion, two black eyes met my own. Megan swore he couldn’t see our world, and yet he raised a hand toward me.
We were soon out of his sight. The loud pops of gunfire chased us as we staggered into the laboratory room with all the organs. We stepped to the side, anxious, as another group of drones scuttled past. They didn’t even glance at us. There was an Epic to fight.
We crossed the room, then moved into the bright hallway outside. I left a real blood trail on the floor.
“What was that place?” Megan said. “Were those hearts in those jars?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Man, my leg hurts….”
“Cody,” Megan said, sounding alarmed, “is Abraham out?…Okay, good. Prime the jeeps, and have the first-aid kit ready. David’s been shot.”
Silence.
“I don’t know how we’re going to do that, Mizzy. Hopefully we can use the distraction like we planned. Be ready.”
I focused on keeping myself moving through the pain. We turned up the tunnel leading to the hidden entrance I’d used to sneak into the place. Behind us, the shooting suddenly stopped.
Bad sign. Firefight had vanished.
“You couldn’t make him follow us?” I asked.
“I need a breather,” she said, eyes forward, jaw set. “This was hard enough in the old days, when I didn’t care what it did to me.”
“You mean—” I said.
“It’s just a headache,” she replied. “Like yesterday, but worse. It’s as if…well, as if something were pounding on my skull, trying to get in. Creating such a large distortion in reality is pushing me to the edge. So let’s hope that—”
She stopped. A group of drones was gathered in the access tunnel before us, blocking our path to the exit into the forest. That exit teased me; it was several hundred feet away, but I could see that it had been blown open by an explosion, letting in filtered sunlight. It was likely how Megan had entered, but with those drones between it and us, the exit might as well have been in Australia.
Then, without warning, the ceiling caved in. Huge chunks of metal fell around us, and the tunnel shook as if in a blast. I knew enough by now though to recognize something off about the explosion. Perhaps the steel chunks didn’t scrape as loudly as they should have, or perhaps it was the way the corridor shook. Or perhaps it was how those steel chunks fell directly in front of us, blocking the drones—which started firing, but missed hitting both Megan and me with any debris.
This was another dimensional illusion, though it was still violent enough to knock me from my feet. I hit with a grunt, trying to roll to my side to protect my wounded leg. The room spun, and for a moment I felt like a grasshopper stapled to a Frisbee.
When my vision wobbled back to a semblance of stability, I found myself huddled beside one of the fallen hunks of metal. It felt real to me, for the moment. Here, in the blending of two worlds Megan had created, the “illusion” was real.
My blood, which had soaked through the impromptu bandage, stained the floor like someone had wiped it with a dirty cloth. Megan knelt beside me, her head bowed, her breath coming in hisses.
“Megan?” I asked over the sounds of the firing drones. Sparks…they’d be on us soon, blockade or no blockade.
Megan’s eyes were open wide, and her lips parted, exposing clenched teeth. Sweat trickled down her temples.
Whatever she’d been fighting off when using her powers recently, it was coming for her in force.
THIS wasn’t supposed to happen.
We’d found the secret, the way to make Epics immune to the corrupting effects of their powers: if you faced your deepest fears, it caused the darkness to retreat.
It was supposed to be over; Megan had run into a burning building to save me, facing her fears head-on. She should have been free. And yet there was no denying the frantic cast to her expression—her clenched teeth, her tense brow. She turned toward me, not blinking. “I can feel him, David,” she whispered. “He’s trying to get in.”
“Who?”
She didn’t answer, but I knew who she meant. Calamity. Calamity, the red spot in the sky, the new star that had heralded the arrival of the Epics…was itself an Epic. I somehow knew Calamity was supremely angry that in learning that Epics’ fears were connected to their weaknesses, we’d figured out how to overcome its influence on Megan.
The gunfire of the drones stopped.
“That cave-in is an illusion of some sort, isn’t it?” the voice from before called, echoing in the corridor. “Which Epic did you kill to gain this technology? Who told you how to build the motivators?”
At least he was talking instead of shooting.
“Megan,” I said, taking her arm. “Megan, look at me.”
She focused on me, and that seemed to help, though the wildness was still there in her eyes. I was tempted to step back and let her unleash it. Maybe that would save us.
But it would doom her. When Prof had succumbed to the darkness brought by his powers, he’d killed friends without so much as flinching. That man, who had spent his life defending others, was now entirely subject to his powers.
I wouldn’t have the same happen to Megan. I reached to my thigh pocket and—wincing as I shifted my wounded leg—pulled out my lighter. I held it up before Megan and flicked on the flame.
She shied back briefly, then hissed and seized the flame in her fist, burning her hand. The fallen metal chunks we’d been using as cover wavered, then faded out of existence. The ceiling repaired itself. Fire was still Megan’s weakness—and even having faced her fears, the weakness negated her powers. And probably always would.
Fortunately, so long as she remained willing to face that
weakness, she could apparently drive the darkness away. The tension left her, and she sank to the ground with a sigh. “Great,” she muttered. “Now my head and my hand hurt.”
I smiled wanly and slid my gun away across the ground, then did the same with Megan’s. I raised my hands as the drones surrounded us. Most of them were the tracks-and-assault-rifle type, though there were also a few that flew. I was in luck—they held their fire.
One of the machines rolled closer. It had raised a small screen from its base, which projected a backlit shadowy figure. “That image was of Firefight, from Newcago, right? It fooled my sensors completely,” the voice said. “No ordinary illusion could have done that. What technology are you using?”
“I’ll tell you,” Megan said. “Just don’t shoot. Please.” She stood up, and as she did so, she kicked something backward with her heel.
Her headset. Still lying on my side, I caught it under my hand and rolled onto it, masking the motion by holding my bleeding leg. I didn’t think any drones spotted what we’d done.
“Well?” the voice said. “I’m waiting.”
“Dimensional shadows,” Megan said. “They aren’t illusions, but ripples from another state of reality.” She’d stood to face the robot army, putting herself between the robots and me. Most focused their weapons on her—and if they killed her, she’d reincarnate.
I appreciated her protective gesture, but sparks, reincarnating could do unpredictable things to her—particularly with how her powers had been acting lately. She hadn’t died since we were in Babilar, and I hoped to keep it that way.
I needed to do something. I curled up, still holding my leg. The pain was real. I could only hope the way I trembled and bled would make the drones dismiss me as I laid my head on the headset and covertly whispered into the microphone.