Myke Cole - Shadow Ops - Control Point

A quick glance around the ranks showed him that nobody thought they could, or if they did, didn’t have the gumption to challenge him. “First things first, many of you need healing and a chance to catch your breath. I’m going to have to gate us in outside a stronghold of creatures like Marty, but who are not friendly to us, and I can’t have wounds or exhaustion slowing us down. Fifteen minutes, then we go.”

Marty worked tirelessly alongside Therese, enduring his frozen feet in silence until Therese noticed his pained expression. Britton used his pocketknife to cut the bottom third of the parka away, wrapping the fabric around Marty’s feet after Therese used her magic to repair the worst of the frostnip beginning to form on the Goblin’s soles. That had the added advantage of making the parka fit correctly. No longer tripped up by the long coat, Marty was soon moving around more easily.

Fifteen minutes turned to twenty. Swift waved at the hot air emanating from the fire, sweeping his arms and circulating it through the small shelter of the bent boughs, warming the air to a comfortable temperature. Peapod bent to a small patch of wild onions and strawberries, gesturing until the fruits and vegetables responded to her magic. She gathered armloads of the swollen produce, distributing it among the group.

Therese leaned against a tree in exhaustion when the group’s wounds were healed, but Marty would not sit still. He scurried about the clearing, lifting his giant feet high to avoid catching the tied-on fabric on roots and rocks. He high-stepped off into the underbrush, his breath hitching in excitement.

“Marty! What the hell are you doing? Get back here!” Britton called.

The Goblin stopped suddenly, staring intently.

“What is he…” Therese asked, but was cut off by a furious squirrel perched on a pine branch directly above Marty’s head. It twitched its tail, chattering in rage at this strange creature invading its territory. Marty stared, wide-eyed and delighted, until Britton grabbed his hand and led him away.

“Come on, Marty,” Britton said. “I know it’s interesting, but there’s no time for this now. I promise we can go on a hike once we’ve got everything settled.”

Marty came along reluctantly, making petulant-sounding clucks deep in his throat and straining to look at the squirrel over his shoulder as they went.

While the rest of them rested, Marty examined the new world with absentminded curiosity. He nearly danced with delight, his ears quivering, pointing at cluster of juniper berries, before gathering them and pressing them into the pockets of his parka.

“Can eat!” Marty said, racing back to them with a handful of shriveled and frostbitten-looking mushrooms. Britton looked at the Goblin doubtfully.

“I don’t know, Marty…”

The Goblin cast a worried eye at Therese. “Must eat,” he said more urgently, then sniffed the mushrooms, wiggling his ears and smacking his lips. “Can eat!”

“Do you think they’re safe?” Therese asked, raising an eyebrow. “He does have a knack with plants.”

Britton frowned. “He has a knack for medicinal plants, but these are plants he’s never seen before. He’s in a totally different world. Being hungry is bad, but getting sick right now would be a lot worse. Better not to risk it.”

He looked at Marty and shook his head. “Sorry, buddy. I think you need to curb your enthusiasm here.”

The Goblin looked annoyed and began to gesture wildly.

Britton sighed. “Please, guy. You’re at a ten. We need you at around a four.”

Therese giggled, and Marty stuffed the mushrooms into his pocket with a resigned wave of his hand.

A few of the enrollees had sagged against tree trunks in the magically heated air. Britton looked at Therese, sitting Indian style on the ground, her eyes drooping. “We’re exhausted,” Britton said to Swift. “Let’s give everyone a half hour to grab some shut-eye before we move.”

“You sure that’s safe?” Swift asked.

“No,” Britton answered, “but it’s probably smarter than blundering back into the Source ready to drop dead. Can you keep the air heated without that fire?”

Swift nodded, and Britton turned to Wavesign. “Can you get that put out, buddy?”

Wavesign’s effort was as uncontrolled as ever, but the fire was quickly doused, the rocks splintering further and hissing loudly. Swift quickly dried the damp patch that the young Hydromancer had left. “All right, people,” Britton said. “Grab some shut-eye if you can manage it. We go soon.”

He slumped alongside Therese and leaned against her shoulder. She didn’t respond, but neither did she push him away.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I tried to do what I thought best…”

“Later, Oscar,” she said, her voice exhausted. “Later. Let’s get out of here first.”

He nodded and drowsed, grateful for the smell of her, the soft warmth of her shoulder against his.

The moon made a sparkling show of the trees and rocks as the enrollees gathered together for warmth. Swift’s heated air made that largely unnecessary, but Britton knew that the closeness to one another kept the panic at bay. They weren’t alone, and that was a start.

Britton closed his eyes and listened to the sounds of the night — the frost crackling, insects foraging, Marty making an effort at quiet and failing miserably. The little Goblin was far too excited to rest, and he paced the small enclosure, staring at his surroundings. Britton himself thought he couldn’t sleep, the adrenaline keeping him awake and alert to sounds; turning each frost-snapped twig into the footfalls of an approaching enemy, but fatigue won out in the end.

He didn’t know how long he dozed, drifting in and out of consciousness against Therese’s shoulder. Fear and pain were momentarily forgotten. Britton sank into the warm glow of her nearness and drifted off to sleep.

A cold wind brushed his cheek, lifting him from the warm comfort of sleep and Therese nestled against him. The warm air had dissipated, replaced by the reality of winter cold. Britton buried his face in Therese’s hair and clung to the fleeing threads of his slumber. Beyond it lay cold and hardship, and if he could stave it off for just another moment, he would. But the chill breeze blew again, bringing a regular rhythm to his ears, a gentle and familiar pattern that called him to wakefulness. Whup whup whup whup whup.

Britton shot awake. It was the sound of a helicopter. He reached out his arm and accidentally swatted Marty, who must have crawled to snuggle up against his back. The Goblin stirred weakly, and Britton reached over and pressed a finger to his lips.

Whup whup whup. The sound grew louder, closer.

Therese stirred. “What’s…”

Britton shushed her fiercely and pointed upward.

As the sound of the rotors passed into the distance, Britton propped himself up on his elbows. All around their small makeshift camp, the enrollees were crouched in silence, casting terrified eyes skyward.

“What the hell was that?” Swift hissed.

“I don’t know,” Britton answered. “Could have been the Weather Channel, could have been the SOC. We can’t stick around to find out. Let’s get moving.”

He turned to Marty. “You ready?” Just where is this “safe” place you intend to take them? Will Marty’s tribe welcome you? Is anywhere really safe for any of you now?

Why was he there? Why was he doing this? He shuddered as he realized that he already knew the answer.

Because you don’t know what else to do. Because if you don’t move forward, you’ll just lie down and give up, and you’ve fought far too long and hard for that.

The group froze as the rotors pounded the air overhead again. They stood still, necks craned skyward until the helo passed overhead again, and the sound faded in the distance.