Epilogue

Epilogue 3.07

---Crawford---

     "Mind slowing it down a notch?" I pause to catch my breath—I may have thinned out a little over the past few months, but that doesn't mean I'm suddenly an Olympiad. Besides, Ace has the hacks—cybernetic implants in the form of an energy reactor thingumabob embedded in his gut.

     We've just about reached the edge of the bone forest—the trees are starting to thin, and up ahead I can see clusters of fuzzy boulders the size of wrecking balls. It's never fun seeing hair in places you're not expecting it (almost as bad as not seeing here in places you are expecting it), but as long as they're not fish, I'm not complaining.

     There's a rustling up above. Mighty suspicious, if you ask me—it's not like there are any leaves to be rustling in. Ace glances up at the bare branches. He powers on his arm cannon while I ready my trusty ice pick.

     Something wafts down from above; the smell of raw meat and salty blood. A fresh kill. And I'd be lying if I said it didn't get me salivating even a little. But it occurs to me that a fresh kill likely means a fresh killer, and that's not the most reassuring of things considering Ace and I are fresh prey.

     "What do you think—?"

     Ace shushes me, flattening himself against one of the bone trees. Oh hell no. I volunteered to join the search party, not the hunting party. Or rather the hunted party. And I've got a funny feeling that my virgin flesh will probably make for a more tempting meal than a cyborg's—hang on, I mean virgin in the sense that my body hasn't been tampered with from a technological standpoint, capiche?

     My eyes start feeling a little itchy, and I go to wipe them. A blur appears before me, and next thing I know Ace has been flung into one of the trees—he crashes against the bark with a loud thud, leaving a dent in the bone.

     Something pounces on top of me. A tall, lanky figure moving so fast I can barely make it out. It tackles me down into the fog, obscuring my vision even further. I lash out haphazardly with my ice pick. Stab. Stab. Stab. The thing claws at my face and I claw back. I keep on stabbing until I hear the satisfying squelch of the needle piercing skin. My assailant lets out a loud caw, and then everything gets real blurry again, and then everything goes quiet.

     My heart racing like I just got assigned to be lab partners with the hottest girl in class, I sit up and try to catch my breath. Ace limps over to me and helps me to my feet—I'd have thought he'd have fractured a limb or something what with how forcefully he was slammed into the bone tree.

     "Nice one," he says.

     "It was nothing," I reply, knowing damn well I kicked that thing's ass.

     Whatever attacked us got away with my ice pick still jammed in it. Ace hobbles forward and then nearly collapses. He slumps against a tree.

     "You aren't in any shape to be heading out there," I say, although what I really mean is he's in no shape to take on the next big and scary that tries to do us in. And without my ice pick, I'm a sitting duck.

     He shrugs it off. "I've put up with a lot worse than this."

     "Still, you might've fractured a rib or something. We ought to get you patched up before we head out again." Unlikely—Martha's already used up the bulk of her healing serums, and she refuses to waste any more unless the injury is life-threatening. I know on account of she wasn't willing to share when one of those killer koalas ripped all the toenails off of my left foot. Still hurts to walk. "Plus, whatever attacked us might still be out there."