Steve asked the powers that controlled the system for another quest; one to find Bart.

  “Well that’s a first,” Steve said.

  “What happened?” Pow asked.

  “It denied my request for a quest.”

  “What denied your request?” Emily asked floating up next to Steve quietly.

  “Whoa…you gotta be a little noisier. Can’t be sneakin’ up on people like that.”

  “What denied your request?” she asked again.

  “I don’t understand how it works, but somehow, we see words like in a video game. These words give us information on bad guys, items, quests, weapons, and ourselves. I asked it earlier for a quest to find you and Vic, and it granted it. We earned 200 experience points to help us level up. I’m level five and Pow is level three.”

  “Actually, I’m ready to level up again.” Pow said.

  At the mention of his name, Vic looked up. “Why don’t we see these words?”

  “I don’t know. It doesn’t make any sense,” Steve said. “You both obviously have magic now, so you should. Bart has it too. Keith had it before he died.”

  “Keith Majors?” Vic asked concerned.

  “Yeah. Unfortunately. You knew him?” Pow asked.

  Vic shook his head in disbelief. “What is going on out here? Susan, Keith? Who else has died?”

  “Oh, man. Too many people, Vic. The Fontenot’s. Tony, Shaun and Joe. Dorien and Danny Broussard. Who was the deputy who came out with Sheriff Crochet?”

  “LeBlanc? He was a rookie!” Vic looked like he was about to break down again.

  “I’m pretty sure he died too, ami. I’m sorry.” Pow said trying to sound consoling. “It’s been hell out here.”

  Emily hovered close again. “Would it help if I asked for this quest?”

  “You can try,” Steve said, looking hopeful.

  She looked up at the sky and said, “Can I have a quest to find the Cash family please?”

  “Well?” Steve asked.

  “I see the words—a quest. It’s very strange to see the words no matter where I look. Now what?”

  “We are a team. I should get a directional indicator showing where they are. AAAaaaand there it is.”

  “A directional indicator?” Vic asked.

  “Yeah. It’s part of my lineage. I have a compass, bearing indicator, and a quest indicator.”

  “So how do you know what your lineage is?” Vic asked.

  “Well, you are obviously a rat.” Both Steve and Pow laughed at that.

  Pow added, “I’m surprised you don’t see anything yet. I bet you just haven’t adjusted yet. It’ll come, buddy.”

  “I’m not your buddy,” Vic said disgustedly.

  “Grump,” Steve joked.

  The AK-pine bristled, its quills firing in rapid succession like a living machine gun. At least thirty shots slammed into the monstrous centipede’s armored hide, most needles ricocheting off with a clink that mocked the porcupine’s desperation. The ones that penetrated did little damage. The beast didn’t flinch. It didn’t bleed. It didn’t even acknowledge the assault.

  Then, with a nightmare’s inevitability, the centipede struck. Its countless legs, each tipped with barbed hooks, wrapped around the porcupine like a grotesque embrace. The AK-pine thrashed, squealed, and fired more quills in blind panic, but the centipede forced it down against a blank segment of its body that looked smooth, pale, almost normal.

  The porcupine’s claws scraped, its body convulsed, but the centipede pressed harder, pinning it like a UFC fighter working an arm bar.

  Next came the horror: the segment opened in an ominous haze, flexing like a grotesque wound, and the porcupine was absorbed. Its body sank into the carapace, swallowed alive, its squeals muffled into silence.

  The sound. The wet crunch, the muffled shrieks, the grotesque slurp of assimilation etched itself into my mind like acid on stone. I knew I would never be able to pry those memories out of my brain.

  Moments later, the porcupine was gone. Not dead. Not alive. It became a segment of the New Jersey Turnpike Centipede; another unwilling face in its chain of victims.

  The centipede was so caught up in its battle; it hadn’t seen me. Not yet. My instincts screamed to run. To vanish. To let this abomination crawl its way into oblivion while I lived another day. But another voice, deeper, older, wiser, annoying, whispered that if I didn’t act, this thing would reach a town, a city, or a playground. I knew normal people wouldn’t stand a chance.

  I clenched my jaw. I hadn’t chosen the hero’s life. The hero’s life had chosen me. Take that Tupac. I’m an idiot. I’m going to fight this damn thing, ain’t I?

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  My mind raced through tactical scenarios, ambush angles, weak points, and fallback positions, my platoon leader training kicking into full swing. However, every simulation ended the same way: me, screaming like a toddler, getting absorbed, and becoming another face added to the monster’s collection. Tactically, I wasn’t sure if I would have to kill each individual head on each segment or if I would just have to take a little off the top.

  “Let’s get this party started,” I muttered, scanning for Starla. She was conveniently nowhere to be found. “Can’t blame you, girl. If I could hide, I would too.”

  I crouched low, stalking forward. At twenty feet, the centipede froze. Its danger sense flared. It turned, soulless black eyes locking onto me. A few seconds of silence stretched into eternity. Then it moved, faster than physics should allow, charging straight at me.

  I waited until the last possible heartbeat. Then I unleashed hell, triggering my flamethrower ability right into its beady eyes.

  Flame roared from my hands, a torrent of magical fire that engulfed its face. The stench of burning flesh and singed hair filled the air. The centipede shrieked, a sound so high-pitched it felt like needles stabbing my eardrums. I answered its scream with a roar of my own. It felt primal, insolent, as I poured every ounce of energy into my inferno.

  Fifteen seconds. That was all I had. Fifteen seconds of fire against fifteen feet of a beast’s willpower.

  My flames sputtered out, but my enemy still lived.

  I drew my machete in one hand and the hatchet in the other. Using the famous kung-fu hand signal, four fingers unfurled from my clinched fist and curled back to myself twice, followed by a single finger held up proudly and defiantly.

  “Come on, you lint licker! Bring it on!”

  It brought it.

  A rat, a water nymph, and two magicians walk into a bar, Steve thought and smirked at his horrible idea for a joke. Well, the start of one at least.

  They had been walking for several minutes and had yet to find any enemies. The swamp was eerily quiet. It was as if something had sucked all the monsters into a vacuum or something.

  Off in the distance, Steve heard a voice cry out. It sounded like it said, “What the…” but he wasn’t sure. The shout came from the direction of the indicator, however, so it could have been Bart.

  “We need to hurry,” he said.

  “I heard it too,” Emily acknowledged. She floated higher at an angle to get a better view while moving onward. The others started jogging. It wasn’t easy to jog in the muck, so they had to high step to avoid tripping and losing a shoe.

  The first thing Emily noticed were several water-based creatures. They weren’t attacking anything, but they seemed to be watching something. She forced her new body to speed up, and it obeyed. She needed to test the limits of this new body when she got a spare chance.

  Then she saw it. A monstrosity like nothing she’d ever seen. No wonder the creatures weren’t attacking. That thing is huge! She thought. The thing was absorbing what looked like a porcupine. Not eating it. Absorbing it. Into its body. That explained the multiple segments and why there were other animal heads there.

  Is…is that Bart!?

  Steve, Pow, and Vic reached the water. Steve waded in without hesitation, but both Pow and Vic scanned the water looking for gators and other water creatures. When they felt safe, they too waded in. Vic discovered pretty quickly he could swim very fast. He caught up to and passed Steve and Pow, reaching the opposite bank several seconds before they could.

  At least there was one good thing about this hideous new form, he thought.

  Emily floated down to meet them on the bank.

  “You look all wet, guys,” she said with a grin. “I think Bart is fighting a monster out of his league. We need to hurry and help him. There are several water creatures on the way. I think we should leave them alone if they don’t attack first. Okay?”

  “Aight!” Steve yelled. “Let’s go!”

  Some segments glowed with dying embers as the creature lunged. I dodged, swung, and buried the hatchet deep behind an antenna. Perfect shot! The centipede recoiled violently, ripping the weapon from my grip.

  It lunged again, this time trying to crush me beneath its bulk. No. Worse. It was trying to assimilate me like the Borg. I rolled, but one of its hooked legs snagged my calf, pinning me to the ground. I screamed and cursed.

  The segment attached to that leg bore a human face. An old man’s face.

  Is that Tony? Impossible.

  Yet there it was, twisted into a silent scream, eyes wide with eternal torment.

  “No, no, no, no, no…” I snarled, hacking wildly with the machete. The blade severed the leg, spraying ichor all over me. The centipede shrieked again, retreating only to lunge anew.

  My leg was ruined; calf muscles and tendons were torn. My position was hopeless. Crawling backward, I cursed, prayed, screamed. Another leg stabbed through my boot, puncturing my other foot in an unholy stigmata. Pain exploded through my leg.

  The centipede’s head whipped forward, slamming into my temple with the force of a semi-truck. Rang my bell. My vision shattered into stars. I felt the the inexorable drag toward assimilation.

  This was it. My end.

  But the sound wasn’t what I expected. Not the wet crunch of absorption. Not the muffled screams.

  It sounded like gunfire.

  Was I yelling a battle cry? Was I screaming my own name?

  Those were my last two thoughts before I died.

  “Pow, hit it with electricity, bruh!” Steve’s voice cracked like a whip, sharp and commanding, as though he’d been a platoon sergeant his entire life. “Vic, you and I will shred those faces with our rifles until we find a weak point. Emily, get Bart out before he’s swallowed whole!”

  No one questioned him. Vic, an expert marksman with years of training with various weapons, raised his rifle, eyes narrowing, and fired with surgical precision, his rounds snapping toward eyes, joints, seams, and mouthparts, any place he assumed would be a chink in the monster’s armor.

  Steve, not an expert but with luck on his side, mirrored Vic, firing his weapon in rhythm, the two men laying down a storm of lead.

  Pow’s lightning bolt cracked the air like the wrath of Zeus. It was brighter, hotter, and more violent than anything he had conjured before. Adrenaline surged through him, amplifying his power. The centipede convulsed, its grotesque faces illuminated in an electric glare.

  Bart lay sprawled beneath a segment that bore the twisted visage of a human and a rat fused together. Emily dove, her landing clumsy, splashing water from her form all over the place. She hadn’t figured out how to stop yet. She hooked her arms under Bart’s massive shoulders and pulled, muscles screaming. He was heavier than he should be, but she refused to let him be claimed. He’s much bigger than I remember.

  Behind them, a creature unlike anything Vic and Emily had ever seen roared. Fear incarnate seemed to be laced throughout the sound waves, woven into the very vibration itself. The sound rattled Emily’s bones, curdled Vic’s blood, and whispered promises of annihilation to both. Emily felt a claw at her resolve, but she pressed on, dragging Bart inch by inch away from both nightmares.

  A raccoon startled her, escaping from its hidey-hole in the reeds, as it waddled forward. In an absurd display, it nosed Bart’s injured leg and began to lick.

  Emily flinched. “Shoo! Go on now! Scat! What are you doin’?” she hissed, half-panicked. But the cute little guy ignored her. And then she saw it. The wound knitted together beneath the raccoon’s tongue. Bart’s flesh was mending and bleeding slowed.

  “Oh… would you look at that,” she whispered, astonished. “You’re healing him. Good… uh… girl? Boy?”

  Something stirred within her. A compulsion? A surge of empathy? A raw instinct? She didn’t understand it, but she poured her essence into Bart, her energy flowing from her water form, shimmering as it encased his body in a translucent cocoon.

  His chest rose with new breath. Color returned to his skin as blood began flowing again.

  Meanwhile, Steve, Pow, and Vic pressed their assault, bullets and lightning hammering the centipede. And then William, Mr. Cash, leapt onto its back, a feral silhouette against the chaos. His claws tore into chitin, ripping pieces away, black-green ichor spraying in grotesque arcs.

  Vic hesitated, wavering with his rifle. “Uh… guys… are you—”

  “Yeah!” Pow shouted over the din. “Don’ choot dat werewolf-lookin’ thing! Dat’s Mr. Cash!”

  “Wi…Wil…William?” Vic stammered.

  “Yeah!” Steve barked, incredulous. “Keep firing at the centipede! I think we’re hurting it!”

  Segment after segment ruptured under their barrage, each one dying in isolation, but the creature as a whole refused to fall.

  William clawed his way upward, riding the thrashing monstrosity like a bronco, climbing like Jack climbed the mythic beanstalk. His hands plunged into the seams where legs joined the body, tearing out jagged chunks of chitin and flesh, each movement a brutal testament to his fury.

  Lightning split the sky, gunfire rattled like drums of war, ichor rained, sprinkling the earth, and a werewolf carved his way toward the centipede’s head.

  William spread both arms wide, and with everything he had left, he drove both hands deep into the crevice between the head and the first segment. The centipede’s head shot into the air erratically, as if it were the wavy arm inflatable tube advertising man. William held on for dear life as the guys watched in awe.

  With a final bellow, the centipede fell, defeated.