I am the Apocalyse

Chapter 6: A Comedy of Miscalculations

The searchlight beam burned into the damp wool, turning the apartment corner into a blinding, white-hot cage. The heavy, metallic footsteps of the intruders grew louder, crunching over glass and splintered wood.

"They're looking right at us," Ethan whispered, his throat tight enough to snap.

"Wait for it," Lyra hissed, her hand shifting toward her blade. "When I shove, you jump."

"Jump? Out of the window? We're on the fourth floor!"

"Would you rather die in a blanket or jump for a ledge? Pick one, fast."

"I pick not dying!"

The blanket was suddenly ripped away. A massive scavenger with a jagged, rusted rifle stood over them, his eyes wide behind a cracked visor.

"Found 'em! Boss, the bounty's right here!"

"System," Ethan shouted, his brain igniting. "Give me the tactical readout! Now!"

Processing, the synthetic voice buzzed. Target identified: Scavenger Squad Leader. Threat level: Low. Logic pattern: Non-existent. Warning: Opponent is currently high on illicit stimulants and completely unpredictable.

"What does that mean, unpredictable?" Ethan yelled, sidestepping a wild, drunken swing from the scavenger.

"It means he’s crazy!" Lyra shouted, parrying a knife strike and ducking under a wildly swinging rifle butt. "Watch out, he’s—"

The scavenger leader tripped over his own oversized combat boot, stumbled forward, and accidentally head-butted the refrigerator door. The fridge groaned, tilted, and dumped a stack of rusted, heavy canned goods onto the floor.

"Whoa!" Ethan yelped, performing a ‘perfect’ combat roll he’d seen in his memory, only to slide directly into a puddle of radiator fluid. He went airborne, crashing into a shaky, wall-mounted bookshelf. A literal, antique toaster tumbled off the shelf, bounced off the leader’s shoulder, and clattered across the floor.

"You've got to be kidding me," Lyra groaned, spinning to take out the second guard. "Are you fighting or doing slapstick comedy?"

"I’m predicting his moves, but he doesn't have any!" Ethan cried, scrambling up. "He’s doing things that make no tactical sense!"

"Stop thinking like a soldier and start fighting like a scavenger!"

The leader roared, pulling a grenade from his belt. His hands were shaking so violently he fumbled it twice, sending it skittering across the floor like a metal marble.

"Is that a live pin?" Ethan asked, staring at the small, dangling ring in the man's hand.

"It’s a toxic gas canister, you moron!" Lyra shoved him, her eyes darting to the floor. "Run!"

"I can't run, my boots are stuck in this muck!"

"Use the wall, Ethan! Kick it!"

Ethan slammed his heel into the drywall partition that separated the kitchen from the balcony exit. It was rotten, damp, and soft. With a wet thwack, his foot punched straight through to the other side. He lunged, shoved his shoulders into the hole, and tore the frame apart.

"The leader's out cold!" Lyra shouted, diving through the hole as the canister hissed. "He hit his head on the counter!"

"Gas! Go, go, go!"

They tumbled out onto the rusted, swaying fire escape. The cool night air hit their lungs like a blessing. Behind them, a sickly, yellow cloud billowed out of the apartment, filling the room.

"That was… that was pathetic," Lyra gasped, leaning against the metal railing, her chest heaving. She looked at Ethan, then burst into a sharp, incredulous laugh. "A toaster, Ethan? You took him down with a toaster?"

"It was a tactical deflection!" Ethan defended, wiping grime off his face.

"It was a miracle. You’re a disaster."

"A disaster that got us out alive, thank you very much."

"Barely." She wiped a smudge of soot from her forehead, her gaze lingering on his. "You're lucky the lead guy was high on his own supply."

"Is everyone out here this incompetent?"

"No," Lyra’s smile vanished as she looked down at the street below.

The alleyway was alive with movement. A dozen scavenger drones hovered in a tight grid, scanning the pavement. Below, squads of armored soldiers moved in perfect, synchronized lines, blocking every exit from the sector.

"They're sealing the zone," she whispered, her voice dropping to a dangerous, low tremor.

"The Red Zone?" Ethan asked, squinting into the smog. "Why would they care about this dump?"

"They aren't looking for a scavenger anymore, Ethan," she said, turning to him with eyes that seemed to reflect the pulsing red searchlights of the drones. "They're looking for the Arch-Betrayer. And we just triggered every alarm in the sector."

"So, what’s the plan? We can't stay on this fire escape."

"The only way out is through the drain tunnels that lead into the Red Zone."

"The Red Zone? Isn't that where the air literally burns your lungs?"

"Yes," Lyra said, unsheathing her blade and pointing toward the dark, twisted silhouette of the industrial district ahead. "And it’s the only place they won't follow us."

"You want us to run into a death trap to avoid being caught by the guys who just tried to gas us?"

"I want to live, Ethan. Do you?"

She jumped, landing silently on a lower platform. She looked back up at him, the moonlight catching the deadly, resolute set of her jaw.

"Either you climb down and we go, or you wait here for them to come back and finish the job."

Ethan looked at the squad of soldiers below, then back at the dark, looming gates of the forbidden district. He let out a shaky breath, squeezed his eyes shut, and felt the System hum in his mind.

"Fine," he muttered, swinging his legs over the railing. "But I really hope you have a map."

"I don't," she whispered. "Just a death wish. Ready?"

She vanished into the shadows of the next building. Ethan took one last look at the encroaching lights, gripped the cold metal of the fire escape, and followed her into the dark.

He didn't know what was worse: the people hunting him, or the nightmare they were running toward. But as the sound of the soldiers' boots echoed on the pavement below, he realized he didn't have a choice.

"Hey, Lyra!" he hissed, catching up to her at the edge of a gap between rooftops.

"What?"

"If we die in there, just know that I really, really hate Thursdays."

Lyra paused, a ghost of a smirk touching her lips. "If we die in there, I’ll kill you myself."

She leaped. Ethan followed, praying that the gravity of the future he had been pulled from hadn't completely forgotten how to keep him alive.