Chapter 2

When the priest passed, I removed the strap buried in his beard and pulled on the helmet until it popped off and slammed my chin. If my tongue were out, I would have bitten it in half. The shell and visor were thick and unmarred, despite the battles. His face wasn’t so fortunate.

Hundreds of fights left his cheeks disfigured with gashes, and his nose looked like someone hammered it flat. His face was a timeline. Patches of soft, youthful skin, crows feet spread over the years, and layered scars stacked from his encounters. How many battles had he survived? He fought powerful beasts beyond anything I had seen, and he survived until I came along and killed him. If God really existed, I’d have to answer for what I did to one of his warriors.

After struggling for a few minutes, I removed his protective vest and strapped it to my body. Even with the straps stretched to their limits, it was loose. The cross had to go. I wasn’t part of The Order and didn’t want a fanatic chasing after me. A metal club with a block and five serrated flanges hung from a loop on the vest and looked like an easy weapon to swing.

I searched the priest and found two knives tucked inside a waistband, a holster with no pistol, and most importantly, a supply pouch. Before reviewing the contents, I tore at the slippery wrapper of an energy bar until giving up and biting a corner open. My hands shook, and the tips of my fingers were numb, but once the fragrant aroma of chocolate, peanut butter, and dried cranberries wafted out, all my worries drifted away.

For as long as I could remember, I loved sweet foods. Grandpa grew strawberries for Lia and me to pick, and Grandma made strawberry shortcake. Behind their house, we picked blueberries and blackberries for pies. Foods I'd never eat again, and people I lost.

No amount of acting tough could mask how badly I wanted to see them again and how much I craved the sweet foods we shared. After one bite, my body floated as if I were on a tube, flowing down the winding river at the water park with Lia. I wanted to devour the remaining bars and keep Lia with me, but I fought the urge and licked my fingers clean. There was one remaining piece of equipment I knew of from Mike, and I needed them badly.

Frontliners had contact lenses called scanners fused to their eyes for battle. The ability to determine particle mass from energy outputs and view anybody’s ID in the database from soul signatures was powerful. Not to mention night vision and the way scanners outlined essence like infrared .

After a little prodding, the scanners released from the priest’s eyes, and fused to mine once I placed them in my eyes. Thirty seconds after the melding completed, the scanners synced to the chip in my neck, and for the first time since the cities fell eight months ago, I reviewed my body’s status.

Name: Amy Sullivan

Age: 22

Expansions: 47

Essence-Particle Mass: 1.437g

Expansion Mass: 0.063/0.094g

Particle Output: 190.5W

Attenuated Eff: 31.4%

Attenuated Mass: 0.471g

Attenuated Output: 59.8W

Soul Status: Abnormal

Body Status: Sub-Optimal

I gripped my legs and clenched my jaw to hold back the smile splitting my face in half. I wanted to dance around the cave while yelling until my vocal cords exploded. Finally, I had a way to strengthen myself.

I could only use 31 percent of the essence stored in my soul for physical strengthening, but before I patched the priest’s soul to mine, that percentage was zero. Now I could use the decay energy and transfer the particles throughout my body wherever I needed them.

The changes were incredible and explained why it took so long to clear the corruption and bind the priest’s abilities.

I only stitched five percent of the priest’s soul, but my particle mass doubled, and it took three times longer than Lia—whose entire soul I bound to mine. Like me, she couldn’t hold on to the energy released, meaning after I connected to her, nothing changed, other than my ability.

According to the news, the essence particles that bound themselves to our souls decayed and released an energy people absorbed to fuel their bodies. Essence strengthening required a lot of energy, and a portion came from the particle decay itself. I understood the concept but had no way to experience it for myself.

I spread essence particles through every muscle and allowed myself a moment to take it in. The waves of energy washed over me like a warm bath on a frigid night. Each layered expansion of my soul would bring me a little closer to surviving the apocalypse.

With a good grasp of my body’s potential, I checked on my soul’s status to see how the system recorded the change.

Soul Status: Abnormal - Multiple Signatures Detected

Amy Sullivan: Weaver

Lia Sullivan: Seeker

William Roberts: Essence Manipulation

Every soul had a marker, and the system logged everybody with a chip into the database. The priest was in the database, and his ability was common amongst frontline fighters; common, but powerful.

Other than the metal club and knives, The Order created his equipment from squid based materials, which allowed particle manipulation and damage repair. His vest and helmet were shields capable of strengthening and self-healing. I’d need practice.

Body Status: Sub-Optimal

Essence Corruption: 7.4%

Injuries: None

Illnesses: None

Genetic abnormalities: None

Physical Impairments: None

Neurological Response: 63.4%

The constant fleeing and stress of being hunted left my body and mind exhausted, which lowered my neurological response. I hadn’t cleared all the corruption I gained from the priest, either. The fighting tired me, and somehow the system calculated my response time and gave a percentage of normal. Although my soul healed injuries, I didn’t know how to overcome exhaustion outside of sleeping. I didn’t look forward to more fighting.

Most scabs were physically stronger than me, but they weren’t overwhelmingly strong. I could handle one or two with my ability as long as I could grab them. They stopped growing stronger when their souls reached their maximum potential and hit a barrier. The pressure from their soul’s expansion reflected inwards, and it collapsed.

The problem with scabs, though, was their numbers. Unfortunately, they ran in packs of six; a handler, and five with entirely collapsed souls. What they lacked in strength, they made up for in numbers, so my body’s sub-optimal status worried me.

I had no time to practice my new abilities—no time to rest either. Without making a noise, one had already arrived.

The scab twisted its body—joints dislocating, then returning—and tore its near translucent skin on the gritty stone crevice without pause. Blood smeared against the rock wall and dotted the floor like a trail calling to others. Its mouth expanded like a snake swallowing, readying themselves to eat. When our eyes met, it roared loud enough to shake the cavern walls.

Half-human, half-beast—soul collapse led to essence poisoning and turned healthy people into horror movie stars.

I placed the helmet over my head and strapped it tight, bit my lower lip until a metallic taste reached the tip of my tongue, then shuffled across the cave floor. The club rattled in my clammy hand as I fought to control my quivering. For the first time, I’d fight a scab not with my ability to tear souls, but with a weapon.

A large part of me wanted to run. Escape through the tunnel on the opposite side and take my chances by strengthening my legs, but I moved forward.

The scab’s skin had open wounds and pustules oozing pink fluid. Long stringy hair stretched to its chest, and underneath its wax paper skin, veins and muscles twisted, as if the flesh above was nothing more than a loose-fitting shirt. It was a young woman once, perhaps no older than me.

Scabs had a hierarchy, and somehow those not fully transitioned had a way to control others. They captured women alive and brought them back to clan leaders, so they wouldn’t kill me. That didn’t mean there’d be no injuries. At one time, the female scab may have been someone’s toy before she transformed.

Part of me empathized with her. That could have been me in a year if I hadn’t escaped. But I didn’t plan on getting captured twice.

I pressed the particles from my soul into my arms, strengthening my muscles and hardening my skin. Particle manipulation wasn’t something I could master in one hour, though, and I didn’t have enough to cover my entire body.

I raised the club above my head, took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and swung down on the scab’s unguarded head. My wrist numbed from the first strike, which bounced off and hit the rock wall, and I lost my balance. She shrieked in pain and ripped her way through the crack, but she wedged herself too tight.

After three more tear-filled swings, the sharpened flanges on the club ripped and dug into her skull. The screams ended, and the club cracked through the bone, not stopping until it pushed deep into her brain.

The club burrowed so far I couldn’t wiggle it out, and when I pressed my leg on the wall and pulled, I fell to my back once it broke free. Pieces of bloody bone and hair remained on the flanges. Blood and bone that belonged to someone’s daughter. Someone I may have gone to school with.

The breaches made us all into what we became, and I did nothing more than end her suffering. I wasn't a bad person. Her whimpering before death sounded no different from mine. She didn’t deserve this. None of us did. But it didn't make me a bad person. No, this didn't make me a bad person. I wasn't a bad person.

Her wedged body dangled in the crack, and a sour scent like rotten cabbage leaked from the hole in her head. I twisted onto my hands and knees and prepared to stand when an echoing roar shot through my ears, and I fell forward from a kick to my back.

I tried to get up, but a scab slammed me to the ground again and kicked me in the ribs. It hovered over me with dangling saliva that whipped through the air and snapped at the ends. I swung the club but missed its leg, and it stomped on my stomach, forcing the air from my chest.

The scab grabbed me by the arm, flipped me over, and pushed my head under the icy water, intent on drowning me. I fought against his pressing, but the scab pushed me deeper and twisted my arm behind my back until it popped, and a bubbly scream escaped my helmet.

He pulled me from the tiny pool and dropped me, watching as I dragged my body with my right arm towards my weapons.

Before I reached them, though, the scab stomped me to the ground and placed its club-like foot on my back. I fought to rise, but he was too heavy. Once I stopped flailing, he flipped me over and dropped his knee hard into my chest. On instinct, I grabbed its veiny leg with my uninjured arm and pressed my soul into its corrupted body, then attacked.

I tore at its gel-like collapsed soul, at what little of its humanity remained. The corruption burned as it traveled from the scab to me, but I continued. I continued until bloody foam poured from the scab’s mouth, and it crashed to the ground. Ten seconds passed before he stopped shaking on my legs.

I squirmed from beneath him, then gathered the weapons.

Out of breath, injured, and mentally exhausted, I crawled through the tunnel past the priest and tumbled down the hill once I reached the end. My arm became pinned under me, and I screamed loud enough inside the helmet to ring my ears. I’d need to heal it while I ran.

The sun was close to setting and formed an oddly blue halo in the dusty sky. I’d have to push my new body to its limit if I wanted to escape. My stomach sank and knotted. I wasn’t sure if I could make it.