Sam squinted and blinked, trying not to let the tears from the smoke cloud his vision. “Mark it,” he whispered.

Ann leaned down and marked the dead end with glowing red.

“Looks like we’re going through the murder hole,” Tom said jovially.

“Grenade?” Ann asked Sam.

Sam shook his head, tapping the earthen walls with his fingertips. “I have no idea what a second grenade would do in these tunnels.”

“Then, what?” Tom asked.

“Speed,” Sam said.

The ‘murder hole’ was the only branching path they had yet to go down. The reason was that the tunnel opened into a massive communal chamber filled with ants. The six-legged giants were lethargic from the smoke, but still, there were thousands. Unfortunately, there seemed to be no alternate route to the surface.

“Tom, you take point,” Sam said. “Blast a path through them. Ann, follow behind him and watch the sides. I’ll take the rear. And make it as fast as possible .”

Tom arranged his clips for easy access and Ann fiddled with her submachine gun , making sure the safety was off.

“We ready?” Sam asked. At their assent, Sam pulled up his mask. “Go.”

Tom jumped around the corner, sprinting through the crowded chamber with Sam and Ann right behind him. They got a quarter of the way through before an ant reared up in front of them with its antennae waving. Tom put a controlled burst through its chitinous face, and the fight was on.

The ant flipped onto its back and thrashed its legs. Tom and Ann jumped over the obstacle, since going around would put them in range of the rearing ants on either side. A barbed leg knocked against Sam’s helmet as he followed suit. He took the hit and kept running.

Ants crowded around from every direction. Tom switched to full auto , turning the approaching army into a nearly impassible wall of waving spears as they went belly-up. Still, it was only nearly impassible, and the three of them, souped up on adrenaline, ducked under, dodged around, and jumped over the tangle of sharp, flailing limbs.

Ann fired short bursts to either side as they ran, content with slowing the ants down, while Sam glanced over his shoulder to gauge the rate that the ants were gaining on them. Normally, the ants would have been able to outrun them, but they had been exposed to the bad air for a long time now , and the effects were showing. They were pulling away from the ants, whose increased bulk was a hindrance when climbing over their brethren still in their death throws.

As they approached the tunnel they had decided on, the one with the highest angle, a barbed leg caught Sam across the torso and face, digging into the Kevlar surrounding the ceramic plates in his chest.

Sam tumbled to a halt, giving one of the forerunner ants just enough time to catch up. Something closed down painfully on his shoulder and lifted. Sam was facing down, but he knew what would happen next: The ant’s massive mandibles would snip off his head .

Sam hunched his shoulders and cranked his head back, and sure enough, he heard a cracking sound transmitted directly into his ears as the mandibles closed on his helmet. Sam’s hand came up, and without time to open the closure the traditional way, he tugged his chin strap with desperate strength.

A snap sounded, and Sam’s head slid free of the helmet as the mandibles crunched the rest of the way through. The ant reared back with the trophy still clenched in its jaw.

Sam pulled his knife and stabbed the claws pinching his shoulder. He fell free--and wound up face-to-face with a white, wriggling grub about half the size of his torso. A dark splotch of what appeared to be organs floated inside its pale, translucent skin.

“Sam!” came a shout from the tunnel.

The ants closed in, and Sam lost any time to think. He picked up the massive grub, and hefted its wriggling mass between himself and the approaching ants. The ants immediately became more agitated, waving their antennae in indecipherable confusion… but they didn’t attack.

Cautiously, keeping the grub between them, he began to back toward the tunnel. Sam sped up, jogging backward while holding his hostage in front of him, brandishing it in front of the oncomers, sliding and tripping, but never quite falling as he made his way to his team.

“You’re here, drop the thing and we’ll help you up!” Tom shouted.

Sam threw the grub at the aggravated ants. He whirled and jumped, catching Tom’s arm at the edge of the entrance to the steep tunnel.

There was a tug on Sam’s leg and he felt a crack, accompanied by a throbbing pain.

Gunfire sounded over his head. Ann’s hands joined Tom’s, and they pulled Sam the rest of the way up.

Sam tried to stand, and cried out in pain as his leg folded out from under him. Lying there, he saw the first barbed legs beginning to pull their owners up into the tunnel.

Sam forced himself up. Most of his weight on one leg, and brought his gun to bear, pulping the ants that dared follow. The shots threw him off balance, and he careened against the wall.

“Come on,” Tom said, yanking Sam’s left arm over his shoulder. “You can still watch the back.” Tom began to drag Sam along the cold dirt floor while Ann scouted ahead. Sam held off the approaching ants by turning them into writhing masses of pain every time they got too close, their flailing limbs buying a little extra time for his team.

After what seemed like hours, Sam felt a cool wind blowing across his face, and he reared his head, alarmed. Sam lifted his shotgun , and found Tom kneeling at Sam’s feet, bracing his lower left leg with… some kind of wood.

“Easy there, chief,” Tom said, tightening the nylon strap around his leg. “We’re going to have to find a technician to take a look at this leg, maybe find a hospital?”

They had inferred a long time ago that hospitals were where the sick and injured went to get better. The hospital sims always had posters of the human body, beds, and things similar to the tools that the technicians had used on them when they were hurt.

“We sure as hell aren’t going back the way we came,” Ann said.

“Are these… real?” Sam said, picking up a stick with his hands, and snapping it off with a dry crack in one hand. Tears came to Sam’s eyes. It wasn’t plastic. Sam had no idea what it would feel like, and discovering something new for the first time in thousands of sims made something burst in his chest.

Sam began to sob. Burying his face in the grass, he savored the smell he’d imagined, but never known.

“So… a hospital, then?” Tom said, his brow raised.

Ann sighed. “He’s lost it,” she said, her eyes scanning the dark woods . “Let’s get him to a hospital and see if they can put him back together.”

She stiffened, eyes narrowing. “Wait. I see lights. Someone’s coming this way.”

They took off, dragging their weeping CO on a path to intercept the lights. The vehicle was moving fast, and so the two jogged through the woods, jostling Sam between them.

“Alright, we’re good here,” Tom said as they found the well-worn dirt path. The truck approached, its beams blinding. “Let’s flag them down.”

The truck came to a skidding halt in from of them as they waved. Tom and Ann carried Sam around to the side of the truck and Tom started talking. “We need medical assistance,” he said, patting Sam on the back as he tried to see the driver’s face. “Can we get a ride to the nearest hospital?”

The barrel of a gun emerged from the cabin of the truck. With a flash of light, the driver fired.

Tom’s head exploded. He fell away from Sam, who steadied himself against the car.

Ann jumped forward and yanked the gun’s slide back even as the shadow in the truck turned it towards her. With the gun disabled, Ann twisted it to capture the shooter’s hand. There was a feminine cry of pain from the truck.

Ann twisted the murderer’s hand up and out of the way as she drew her sidearm. She pulled the gun free from the tough fabric holster with a ziiip. She brought the gun up, her face carved in an animal snarl.

Sam struck her wrist just as she pulled the trigger. The shot went through the roof of the cab. The gun slipped from Ann’s numb hand, clattering into the dirt.

“What the fuck are you doing, Sam?” Ann asked, her voice cold.

“Listen,” Sam said. A little girl was whimpering on the far side of the truck’s cab. “We can’t kill the girl’s mother in front of her. We have to arrest her. The moment you disabled her gun, you were no longer acting out of self-defense.”

Sam could faintly make out the woman sitting inside. Blood streaked from her ears, and she watched the two of them with fear written across her face.

“I don’t give a shit,” Ann said, reaching for her knife. “I’m getting her back for Tom.”

Sam pushed off with his good foot and tackled Ann to the ground, using his bulk to his advantage as he pressed his stun gun against her ribs. Ann gave a cry of pain and writhed under the assault. Once she was limp, Sam gave her a bit more juice--enough to keep her out for a few minutes--then hoisted himself upright.

Sam’s stomach turned as his gaze flickered over Tom’s corpse. He swallowed down the white hot anger that urged him follow through with Ann’s plan, and leveled his pistol at the occupants of the truck.

“Ma’am, please step out of the vehicle,” Sam said, his voice steely. “You’re under arrest for the murder of a Human Resources Rapid Response Team member.”

The woman in the car stared at him with wide eyes for a moment. Then she glanced down at Ann, still incapacitated, and the truck roared to life.

“Shit,” Sam said as the truck began to slide by. He fell forward and grabbed the side of the truck bed. Sam’s feet were dragged along the dirt road as the truck gained velocity, jostling his injured leg.

Sam let out a cry of pain and effort as he tossed his gun into the truck bed. He swung his unwounded leg up, then pushed himself the rest of the way into the bed, rolling onto his back.

Sam grabbed his gun and moved to the cab’s back window. He knocked on the glass with his pistol. “Pull over!” he shouted, making sure the woman in the cab saw him.

She mashed the brakes, and Sam’s great bulk was slammed into the cab, knocking the wind out of him. Then the truck’s engine sputtered out. “Fucking manuals!” the driver cursed. The young girl whimpered, peering back at him with fear.

Taking the chance, Sam swung out of the bed and hopped up to the door. He yanked it open, pulled the driver out, and threw her onto the dirt road with one hand. She looked about to scramble to her feet when Sam leveled his gun at her and switched on the recording device .

“Suspect is female, Caucasian, early twenties, minor gene cosmetics in the ears and eyes,” Sam said dispassionately. “License and registration, please.”

“You’re kidding, right?” the woman said, standing.

“Are you saying you don’t have them?” Sam asked.

The woman crossed her arms.

“Alright then,” Sam said, shifting his grip on his gun as he leaned on the truck. “I’m taking you to the nearest police station.”

The woman tapped her finger on her arm. “You’re taking us to the nearest police station?”

“Yes,” Sam said. Then, “Where is it?”

She pointed the direction the truck was facing. “There’s a town that way.”

Sam nodded and hopped around the front of the truck, never taking his eyes off the woman who’d shot Tom. He opened the passenger side door, and saw the little girl hiding in the footspace. Sam picked her up by her shirt and deposited the thrashing child on the middle seat before jumping in himself, favoring his leg.

Sam gazed out the open door at the woman. “Ma’am, I suggest you come with me. My team member is going to wake up any minute now, and she’s not the type you can stop with words.”

She seemed to consider for a moment, before she nodded and climbed into the cab, watching Sam closely. With trembling hands, the woman turned the engine, and put the truck into gear. After a few false starts, the truck was once again bumping through the darkness.