The tank was gone. He’d not even heard it crash, making him wonder just how deep the crevice went. He knew many deep rifts crisscrossed the continent. They had a few in Emerald, too. Bad places were usually home to things that liked to eat people. Alive. While screaming.
Not the way he wanted to die, and death seemed certain with Burton gone. All his rations. His weapons. His means of transport.
Gone.
Rising to his feet, he allowed himself a moment of pity. Casey was right. How dumb of him to come here thinking he could find a way to help. He should have stayed where he was safe. Where his skin didn’t burn.
Fuck that hurt.
He stared at his hands. Thought about pulling off the gloves. Decided it was better if he didn’t see the skin blistering or sloughing off. The doctors used to make him look when he was a kid. Showed him things no kid should ever see. The smell of burned flesh and the sight of bone sticking through skin stuck with a boy. Cam learned young just how much pain he could take before he had to give in and scream. Each time it took a little bit more pain to get him to react and beg.
He was just happy they never did the same so-called tests on Casey. Her specialness lay in other areas.
Since Cam was already a stupid fuck, he saw no reason not to peek in the crevice. A glance down showed a river of red, hints of mauve and black, even the occasional yellow and orange. It was a moving stream of molten rock. It had to mean there was a volcano feeding it.
It reminded him of the dream he’d had that first night, the bubbling heart feeding the magma veins and obviously the source of the ash and poison air. He’d found the cause, and it did him no good. He’d lost the moment Burton fell into the lava. All he had was his suit, a knife, a big gun, and a smaller pistol. No food or water.
No hope.
Best not think of that. What he needed to do was decide on a direction and start walking because standing around lamenting his ill luck wouldn’t solve anything. But where to go?
Back to the Marshlands meant he would have to admit defeat. If he made it. Several days of driving translated to how many on foot? Too many for a man with no food or water. Leaving what other option?
Completing his task. Never mind he didn’t know how to stop a volcano. Perhaps, had he not managed to lose all his supplies, including those lovely bombs he’d brought, he might have stood a chance. Still, he wasn’t about to give up.
He followed the lava along the edge of the crevice, doing his best to ignore the way his hands burned. The good news was his lungs didn’t. His re-circulatory and filtration system appeared to be working. Now if only he had a way to let Riella and the others know that the suits and sealed vehicles worked—if you stayed out of a lava-filled crevice—so they could send a more prepared group. One that wouldn’t fall asleep at the wheel and manage to lose a tank.
How did he ever think he could do this alone? So much for the prophecy about him saving Ozz. He could barely save himself.
Woe is me. He used his annoyance at his own self-pity to power his steps.
He didn’t know how long he trudged. The endless monotony of the falling ash and the lack of any change in the landscape made it hard to track anything. For all he knew, he remained where he started. Perhaps he’d already died and was in Hell, trudging endlessly, bored and alone.
Silence joined paranoia as his other companion. Even though night had yet to fall, the whispers wouldn’t stop, teasing the edges of his consciousness. He knew better than to listen to strange voices. He walked quietly for a man his size, and the soft downy dust didn’t make a noise when he stepped on it but rather rose in puffs.
Following the rift, he entered a forest, the trunks of the trees long calcified, so many branches broken and fallen onto the ground. A few trees had toppled, but of more interest, a big one had created a bridge over the impassable crevice.
Standing on it, he really had to wonder what he was doing. Would it hold his weight? Why was he still going forward? He should be trying to make it back to the Marshlands and admit defeat.
Instead he balanced carefully as he stepped across. At the halfway point, suspended over the hot river, the fallen trunk shifted ominously. Throwing caution to the wind, he sprinted the rest of the way. His boots had barely thumped onto the other side when there was a crack. He whirled in time to see his bridge falling into the abyss.
There would be no going back, which proved almost as deflating as the fact that the other side didn’t prove to be any better. Same dead world.
Was it any wonder he didn’t expect the attack from above?
Chapter 3
One moment Cam was walking, wondering if the road he’d stumbled upon—framed by a marching line of trees—would lead to a village that might have something of use, and the next, something swooped and knocked him to the ground.
“What the fuck!” he bellowed as he rolled and jumped to his feet.
The flying beast had disappeared from sight, but he had a feeling it would return. Let it. He hadn’t lived this long by panicking in shitty situations. In a moment, he had his big gun raised and ready as he waited for it.
The ash made it hard to see. The animal swooped, appearing suddenly, and he shot wild, missing the damned thing. He whirled to try and track it, but the agitation of the ash meant it hung thickly around him, an effective curtain that hid all from sight. The next thing he knew, the creature had slammed into him from behind, knocking him down. He lost the grip on his gun, and before he could roll, the beast had him by the shoulders. It dug in talons that pierced his suit and skin.
It got worse from there. With a flap of its wings, a mini ash storm rose into the air while Cam dangled helplessly.
He’d lost his big weapon, but he did still have his knife and a pistol to shoot whatever captured him. He never even bothered to try. Heck, he didn’t dare move, not when he realized how high they rose. And higher.
They emerged above the band of poison fog, and he saw undiluted sunlight for the first time in days. He blinked as his eyes watered at the brightness. Once his gaze adjusted, he glimpsed a strange sight.
The world below appeared as a rolling pillow of mist, thick enough he couldn’t see through it, broken only by the occasional jutting peak of a mountain or hill. Even odder, those promontories had color. Stubborn trees that might be twisted but determined to grow. He even caught sight of a bird rising from one branch and flapping over to another. A bird much smaller than what held him. What creature had captured him, and carried him, a grown man, as if he were a simple rodent?
Even tilting his head as much as he wanted, he couldn’t see much, not with the helmet in his way. He made the mistake of looking straight down and gulped. The shadow projected onto the fog bank appeared huge, the wingspan massive, the body narrow with a serpentine tail.
Certainly not any bird he’d ever seen.
Whatever the creature, it appeared to have a destination. It flew toward a tall mountain, the tallest in sight. Atop, he saw ruins, what appeared to be a building partially smashed. Was that where the thing headed?
It veered, angling instead for the side of the mountain, not slowing one bit as it arrowed for the hard rock.
Since Cam didn’t need to see the stone wall that would kill him, he shut his eyes tight. The impact, when it came, rolled him. It took him a moment to realize he’d not been slammed into stone, but he still hurt.