“Took all of your weapons, he says...”

“Took all of your ammo, he says...”

“Text me when you’re in the city, he says...”

“I told the whole world about your shit, he says...”

Mitch seethed as he drove as fast as the sputtering old box truck could move; bouncing jaggedly over potholes as the barely-there suspension threatened to finally give out.

There was no time to make more weapons, with perhaps the exception of an old style blunderbeam, and there was definitely no time to create more mana crystals. Not to mention that the blunderbeams were not the best solution to every situation and no more crystals were available to make more of the precision weapons (name pending): in particular, the gigantic diamonds the warden had made were completely irreplaceable.

Mitch’s mind had run circles over this scenario the last half-hour to the point that it wouldn’t be surprising for someone who cut open his skull to find a ring worn into the folds of his brain. A frustrated hand switched on the trucks radio.

Crackle

“Hellforsaken mana, messing with the godforsaken reception...”

Several clicks later:

Static… hiss… crackle… pop… “-recorded message. As directed by the President via executive order all facilities and services other than hospitals and emergency response such as police, fire departments, and ambulatory services are closed and not operating for the duration of Tollingday-hiss-our station and all our members pray that you and your loved ones surpass this terrible day unharmed. May God bless you all, and keep those who are lost. We at -static- message will repeat every ten minutes. The following is a predetermined playli -static-”

Finally, some music began playing; even if it was a brainless top one-hundred list enhanced by intermittent static and the irrepressible squeak of the box truck’s decrepit chassis.

Mitch managed to focus on the tracks for a full twenty minutes before white vapor started to escape from under the truck’s hood and the temperature gauge shot to the red-line.

“Of all the...” The truck buzzed over the warning pattern in the road and squealed to a stop before it puttered to stillness.

Creak-crunch-slam-crunch, crunch, crunch-pop-scrape-clank.

There had been no doubt but… “Coolant leak. Of ALL the trucks in the world I got the incontinent one.” The reservoir was empty and heat roiled out of the engine bay. There was no time for this!

Mitch kicked the bumper but his foot slipped off the curved metal and his shin slammed into its bottom edge. The strength that came with the return of mana meant that he left an inch deep dent, but it still felt like he’d kicked a baseball bat.

“Gah! Beardless Zeuss!” Hop, hop. “The Minotaur was a steer!” Limp, limp. “Helen was a lesbian!” Hobble, hobble. “Popeye beat Hercules...” Sigh “Aphrodite is asexual...”

Mitch tenderly made his way back towards the vehicle where the hissing and vapor threw him back.

“What is it dad?”

“The car overheated kiddo.”

“What’s overheated mean?”

“The engine got too hot. If we keep driving it’ll break and we’ll have to get a new car.”

“Ohhhh….”

“C’mon little man, there’s a gas station a bit up the road, they should have coolant there.” The father said, referencing the sign he had seen a few moments ago.

The father and son walked about a mile in the summer heat before the young boy couldn’t take it anymore.

“Dad… can we stop?”

The father wanted to keep going, he needed to have time to prep for tomorrow’s client meeting, but looking at his son’s sweat drenched face he couldn’t bring himself to force the issue.

“Sure son. Look there’s some shade just a bit ahead, let’s stop there.”

“Okay...”

The two trudged a football field or so more until they reached the welcome respite created by a small hill and the late afternoon sun. Father and son sat relieved in the shade of an outcropping beside the desert road.

After a few moments of rest the son spoke up.

“Dad, you said the coolant is like water in the engine right?”

“Mhmm”

“Why can’t we use the water in the car?”

“Mmm… well coolant has other things in it.”

“Like what?”

“Polypropylene glycol.”

“Pollypropeen gleicol?” The father smiled at the young boy.

“It’s a chemical. It does a couple things. It keeps the coolant from freezing when its cold in the winter-”

“What do you mean?” The father was belatedly reminded that his son had never seen a winter, having lived his life to date in a place where that didn’t happen. The boy thought fifty degrees was cold.

“In other places it gets cold enough sometimes that water freezes, like ice cubes. Also snow, like in the movies.”

“Snow is water?” The boy looked amazed. It didn’t snow where they lived so he had never seen it outside of television.

“It is. But the other thing polypropylene glycol does is stop the water from boiling as early as water does normally.”

“Is it bad if it boils?”

“Yes, the best case is that it just evaporates out and you need to add more all the time, but the worst case is that the pressure from the boiling water breaks something in the coolant loop and does more damage to the car.”

“So you definitely can’t use water?”

“Not if you want to keep using the car.”

“Shit.”

“Mitchel Harrison Conner! Where did you learn that word?”

Mitch shook his head to clear the unwelcome memories and considered his situation. He had no coolant, he didn’t even have water, and based on the message he had heard on the radio gas stations wouldn’t be open.

There was no other option.

“Petty theft it is.” He pulled out his phone to find the nearest gas station and waited impatiently for the map to load as the signal struggled to penetrate the mana.

“Vampire guano!” The closest station was over six miles away.

But… the map showed a creek to the west, barely a mile from the road.

“You can’t use water in a car...”

Not if you want to keep using the car…

Mitch dove into the front and back of the truck and grabbed anything that might hold water and set out towards the creek.

The box truck wheezed it’s way into the city as Mitch lied his way through the army blockade at its border.

Why are you traveling on Tollingday?

I had some car trouble and was delayed but I wanted to be with my family… my… mmm… my sister’s score is low so…

I see. I hope your sister’s score is wrong, sir. Curfew begins in two hours, please make sure you are inside at that time or you will be subject to arrest.

The soldiers had done their best to be professional but they hadn’t been able to hide the pity in their eyes as his sob story unfolded and they had let him through without too much trouble.

There were only about four hours remaining until the Tolling hit so Mitch texted Joel as soon as he passed the border.

ME:

I’m here. Where do we meet?

(220) 555-3369:

Observatory. 3 hrs.

Me:

3 hours? Are you shitting me?

(220) 555-3369:

Any sooner and you’ll leave the city before the Tolling. 3 hrs.

Mitch’s desperation peaked. It was absolutely his plan to reclaim his gear from Joel and leave the city before everything went sideways, but with Joel’s delay that wouldn’t be possible.

He headed straight for Griffith, just in case Joel arrived early and he could manage to get his gear and get out before the mana mutants hit.

“Worship the Goddess and you will be saved!” A man’s voice rang out carrying the distinctive distortion of a bullhorn.

“The Goddess came to punish us sinners! But, She is merciful and has given us time to repent! Ten years and ten trials! You can forsake your sins now and the Goddess will forgive you and allow you to survive the Tolling!”

“The Herald is not a goddess!” This voice was much fainter and her voice almost couldn’t be made out.

“She descended from the heavens bathed in fire, but unharmed. She appeared in many places at the same time. She spoke once, but every man woman and child understood her no matter what language they speak. If after this she is not divine then there is no divinity!”

He turned a corner and the scene came in to view, a woman appeared to have stepped out from the crowd gathered around a man holding the bullhorn with several people behind him. An idealized painting of the Herald hung like a banner from the pole one of the several people was holding.

“Jesus is the one true savior! He changed water to wine, healed the sick and rose from the dead-”

“Where is your proof?”

“The Bible-”

“An old book? An old book that has been translated thousands of times? That is your proof? Not to mention that there are so many versions. The King James Bible… the NRSV Bible… hundreds of translations and versions that contradict each other… this is the proof you bring? But who among us did not see the Goddess descend from the sky, with no ship or suit? Who among us did not hear her voice? Who among us have not seen the divine punishment that is the Tolling? People glow with light and vanish without a body or a trace. This is divinity which we have all seen and experienced. This is MY proof.”

“Worship not false idols-”

“False? How is something everyone has seen, felt, and known false? The Goddess brought upon us a punishment for our decadence, our materialism, our worship of true false idols in Hollywood, and the blasphemy of scientists! You have all seen it! As divine power is brought to earth the trickery created by science is failing! But again, the Goddess is merciful! Repent now! Worship the Goddess and you sins will be forgiven. If you convert truly and without premise then the Goddess will allow you and your loved ones to survive this Tolling!”

Heads could be seen nodding and cheers heard for both participants in the… debate, but the greater share seemed to be on the side of the zealot preaching for the Herald. Mitch felt like those nodding for the preacher were people with low scores, or people who knew people with low scores. People who were desperate for any straw upon which to grasp. From the outside he could understand where people could come to the conclusion that this whole affair was caused by divine intervention, but knowing what he knew the only reaction that could be mustered was a scoff.

In particular, discarding science as faulty because the things built on science to date were failing irritated him, but these people had nothing to do with him. Let them believe as they willed. The argument continued as he drove on.

The truck finally gave up the ghost a little under a mile from his destination so the final leg of the journey was covered on foot.

After hoofing it to the top of the steep winding road to the observatory Mitch was glad for the increased strength and endurance mana brought with it not even being winded when he reached the summit.

For once, although unsurprisingly, the parking lot was deserted. It seemed there was much less call for sightseeing when one-in-ten would die that day. More when one took into account the mana mutants. Regrettably the parking lot was also empty of any Joels. After making use of the outdoor facilities Mitch settled down to wait for the remaining hour until their scheduled rendezvous.

Finally, ten minutes before the appointed time, Joel walked onto the asphalt from one of the nearby hiking trails with a brace of bags slung over his shoulders.

“Finally.”

“No one asked you to be an early bird. I was clearly the one on time.”

“No one asked you to fuck with my life.”

“No one asked you to mess with theirs.”

“I didn’t mess with anyone’s lives.”

“You know what? You’re right. And that is exactly the problem.”

“Not my job.”

“One-hundred and fifty-six thousand, three-hundred and seventy-seven.”

“That’s number of times your mommy said she loves you? Do you think she was trying to convince you or herself?”

“That’s the number of comments on my post about acupressure and acupuncture increasing scores where people said they had similar results. Just on my post. No re-shares or links. I read somewhere that posts have a one-percent response rate. Not much better than a chain letter. That’s one-point-five million people Mitch. An entire city that could have been saved if you just opened your godforsaken trap.”

“Good for you. Maybe you can find that city and they’ll give you a big golden key.”

“Goddamnit. What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Wrong with me? What’s wrong with you? Nobody asked you to save them. ‘Oh Joel, you’re the chosen one, protect me, please!’. Why should I have to take care of all these meat bags I’ve never met?”

“Because you can.”

“I can therefore I must? Great power, great responsibility? You’re throwing cliches at me now?”

“Sometimes cliches got that way for a reason. All it took was five minutes of typing man, and you couldn’t even do that.”

“Not. My. Job.”

“You’re hopeless.”

“I’m American. Take what you can, give nothing back.”

“That’s Pirates”

“Same difference, ask the one percent. Give me my shit.”

Mitch confirmed his gear was all there in the bags Joel had stuffed them into before turning to the other man.

“I know you want to be the good guy, follow the leader with those people you see in kung fu movies.” He opened his mouth to keep talking and kneed the younger man in the groin and punched him in the gut as he fell down. “Do you really think messing with someone against their free will makes you a hero? Do you think that just because you dragged me down here and stranded me in ground zero of World War Mutant that I’m going to walk around saving people out of some sense of civic duty?” He didn’t shout but his voice carried a near murderous intensity.

Joel coughed as he curled around his jewels and spit.

“No. I don’t think that. I think you’re going to look out for yourself. I think your going to do every possible thing you can to save your own useless hide and that you’re not going to give a devil’s wank about anyone else.”

“This fucking guy...” Mitch threw his hands helplessly. If he knew that then why-

“But… I also know that every mutant you kill to keep your frozen heart beating is a chance for someone else to survive. A chance that some starving direwolf doesn’t eat a kid or-”

“So you’re throwing me to the pack so the herd can get away, is that it?”

“Absofuckinlutely.”

“Well. You’re not completely blinded by idealism. Congratulations.” He racked a bag on either shoulder and turned to go.

Joel flopped on his back as he waited for his balls to allow his legs to move again. “You know what a cockwad is Mitch?”

“I presume along the lines of asshole.” He didn’t stop walking.

“It’s a person for whom the highest point in their existence was when they were still swimming in the wad their daddy’s cock shot to make them. It’s all been downhill from there. And you Mitch, you’re a fucking cockwad.”

Mitch didn’t bother to reply. Also, he decided to remember that one.

DONG!

Streamers of belmist began rising from the ground as the birds in the surrounding woods took flight, frightened by the tolling of the bell cawing and screeching their displeasure. “Beelzebub’s ball-hairs.” Mitch immediately dropped to one knee and set both bags in front of himself hurriedly working to get them unzipped.

DONG!

The belmist kept rising, much more quickly than in the previous tollings: it also appeared much denser quickly beginning to pass beyond a mist and into a shimmering fog. A murder of crows cawed harshly overhead just as the first pearlescent mana crystal plonked into its magazine the sound of which was followed by three staggered plops from behind. Mitch finished loading one of the beampups (name selected). Three crows had fallen from the murder and lay on the ground twitching. Joel was up, still limping, but moving with the rhythm for gathering lightning nevertheless.

Mitch turned his eyes back towards the birds and saw that rather than glowing and vanishing they were suddenly about twice the size they had been before.

DONG!

Mitch took aim at one of the crows and fired. He also completely missed; by a lot.

“What was that?” Joel shouted over incredulously.

“If you’ve got time for criticisms finish that electric boogaloo and fry one yourself.” Mitch shouted back.

Joel immediately took the other man’s words and shoved them back in his mouth as he took a final step, pointed with a two-finger gun, dropped the hammer, and perfectly dropped an arc of electicity on the bird closest to him. The air filled with the scent of burnt hair and fried chicken.

“Sun of a nebula!” Mitch seated the beampup back into his shoulder and took another potshot; which missed almost as miserably as the first one.

“Are you kidding me?”

“Shut it Joel!”

This time he didn’t even bother trying to aim and merely pointed the barrel in the general direction of the crow. He kept the trigger down and once he saw where the beam landed drew a line directly through the creature bisecting it across the stomach and leaving a track of molten tar bubbling atop the asphalt.

Just as both men were turning to deal with the last bird it caught fire; the tarmac almost immediately melting around it.

“What the-” A bolt of lightning landed on the mutant, but rather than completely frying the thing this time the electricity only burned some feathers and made it let out a seemingly involuntary squawk.

“What are you doing man! Kill it!” Joel shouted.

The bird was still moving. Mitch woke from his surprise and following the same tactic as the last crow made to bisect this one. Finally the flames on the bird faded and the thing fell still.

With the flames gone they could see that the feathers on the last bird to die had gained golden, metallic looking highlights that shimmered in the fading sunlight and it had reached nearly the size of a condor. Mitch wrenched his gaze away and re-zipped and re-shouldered the bags.

From the distance the sounds of rapid gunfire started sounding out indicating that the military had begun engaging mutants.

“It looks likes its starting to get-”

A deep thrumming sound rang out and the entire hillside vibrated like a drum head. The vibration was sufficiently violent that pebbles and rocks seemed to float and maintaining balance became impossible. Joel and Mitch fell on their back and face respectively as they skittered about with the pebbles receiving the world’s most ferocious massage.

Mitch’s path took him towards the edge of the parking lot where the level pavement gave way to the precipice of a hillside that fell just shy of being a cliff. He was shaken straight over the curb and only managed to stop himself by grabbing a pylon. The frequency steadily rose for a while before reaching a crescendo and beginning to taper off.

Before the they could even begin to relax a massive tide of belmist shot over the top of the cliff behind them accompanied by heavy winds that would make walking difficult even if the ground had become stable enough. As the shaking receded the winds only got stronger and the belmist only got denser. Mitch crawled over into the lee of the outdoor restrooms, finally finding respite with the cool brick against his back.

The mist was thick enough now that visibility was reduced to about 10 feet which was helped not at all by the agitation of the winds causing confusing swirls and eddies.

Mitch scooted further towards the center of the wall and breathed deeply trying to calm his heartrate. The previous minutes had been the most intense he had ever had the misfortune to experience. As he gradually got his breath under control, deep and slow, he noticed that his heart rate didn’t seem to be slowing at all, in fact it seemed to be climbing.

Shit… panick attack?

Mitch slowed his breathing even further trying to prevent going into hyperventilation while also taking his pulse. Before he got a good count his heart stopped. It was the oddest sensation, in a way not unlike when a noisy air conditioner stops suddenly after it had run long enough to be forgotten- but also very much not like that at all.

DUHduh!

Mitch gasped in a breath he didn’t know he hadn’t taken as his heart started again and the vignette filter over his vision faded.

“Fuck!”

Guuuuuuuuuurgle

Of all the-nope hold it in. Just as few minutes until the winds pass.

Guuuuuuuuuuuurglllllee

Awe Judas’ noose.

Mitch cautiously turned and began a very awkward, somewhat pinched, crawl around the side of the building to get to the stall doors. He barely managed to get the door closed, likely only due to the fact the that other building across the way broke the wind somewhat, and latched.

“Mitch? You had the same idea huh?”

Mitch barely registered that someone was speaking as he dropped trou’ at record pace and just barely managed to plant himself before the seal broke.

***if you have a weak stomach or a strong gag reflex you may want to skip until the next time you see asterisks***

Phhhhhhhhhbbbllllllllt plop plop plop spliiiiish phhhhhhhblllt

“Ah god man now? Seriously?”

Various states of matter ejected from Mitch with unmatched volume and velocity.

“Are you okay man that sounds intens-OH GOD! WHAT IS THAT?! WHAT DID YOU EAT?!”

phubphubphub phhhhhhhhhhhrrrrrrrrbblllttrrrr

“NONONONONONO COURTESY FLUSH MAN COURTESY FLUSH!” The sounds of retching came from the next stall.

Mitch fumbled back and managed find the manual flush button on the auto-flush sensor despite the ongoing back-alley firesale. Unfortunately twisting like that set something off in his stomach.

Guh-Guh-GUH BLEEEGHHHH splash

“Stop it I’m gonna sympathy-bleeegh!”

Joel at least had the advantage of a receptacle, Mitch’s intestines were still busy impersonating a firehose, and there was no way he was sticking his nose in that business, so he was able to witness the full glory of the vile, sticky, black slime that projectiled from his mouth. Even the cold sweat that came along with the vomit came out black and sticky.

Instead of his eyes watering goop started to ooze out from his tear ducts and when he went to wipe it away it just stuck to his hand and pulled out like taffy. He felt it moving deep enough in his face that he assumed it must be a continuous glob all the way down to his tear glands. None of these things smelled any better than the rest.

*******

Ping!

Historian glanced up as he received an update from one of the clone servers.

“Oh, First Level Condensation? He might survive after all.”