“They’re late.” “They’re always fucking late.” Rosie answered Charlie over the comm. Noon came as they waited in the single street of ruins. Matt at a distance with the antique sniper rifle. Rosie covering Charlie while she sat atop one of the drums. Changed out of her frame and black fatigues, she looked like a wastrel in her leather jacket and jeans, riot shotgun across her lap. “Movement, four inbound from the north.” Matt saw them first. Rosie shifted in her frame, as she had done every thirty minutes for the last seven hours to prevent cramp. She checked her exit to the rear, and the one to the front, then readied her suppressed carbine. Rosie zoomed in on the north end of the street as four raiders came into view. “Same one.” Rosie identified the leader despite the changes in his appearance. The crude spiked armour had gone, replaced with woven metal and tight chain. They all had new boots, one had twin submachine guns made from pipe, another with an assault rifle. “Cyclone, Tornado. Can you see what they’re carrying?” Rosie asked Matt over the comm while Charlie pretended to absently throw pebbles at a tin can. “Looks like bundles of rebar with wheels attached. Not a weapon. How copy?” “Solid copy.” “Green on the rear two.” Matt had kill shots on the rear pair of raiders as they found cover. “Copy. Green on primary.” A quick scan gave Rosie shots on three out of four. But she did as ordered and covered the leader as he approached Charlie, who pretended to see him at that moment. “You’re late.” Charlie sprang the drum, shotgun in hand but lowered. “Yeah. Traffic.” The lead raider made a joke that Charlie laughed at but Rosie didn’t get. “Caps.” Charlie tossed an empty pack at his feet. “We need to test first.” The raider nodded to the same woman as last time who came over to the drums with tin cans and a hose. “You’ve got one of those bosses too.” Charlie’s mock complaint sounded perfectly natural. “Yeah. Something like that.” The lead raider lit a cigarette as the woman spat and spluttered fuel from her mouth. “Can I get one of those handsome?” Charlie slung the shotgun and took a cigarette, seeing the woman scowl as she moved in close. She let her hands linger on his as he held the lighter. Rosie thought about how much Charlie hated Brandon’s cigars. “So where’s the metal bitch?” The leader asked. “Oh she’s around.” Rosie reacted to Charlie’s coded answer, trying not to laugh as she pointed the red laser sight Brandon gave her, bringing it to rest on the woman. “But it’s not her you have to worry about honey.” The leader laughed. “I bet you’re right.” “We’re good.” The tin cans had melted and the female raider seemed eager for Charlie to leave. “Caps.” Charlie held up the empty pack as the leader tossed in five pouches of caps. Charlie flicked the cigarette and headed out of the north end. “Tornado, Cyclone. Moving to cover Whirlwind. You have the eyeball.” Matt spoke over the comm before pulling out to cover Charlie as she walked away. “Solid copy, I have the ball. Tornado out.” Rosie watched over the raiders as they assembled their cart. Two long bundles of rebar and two short, lashed into a rectangle. The shorter bundles had a single, longer strand that acted as a poor axel for salvaged car wheels. They heaved the drums onto it and two pulled with ropes while two pushed, heading south. The raiders stuck to a broken road for the next couple of hours, making them easy to follow. Rosie found a shadowed spot at the treeline without even thinking about it. The lead raider stopped to check his watch. They all took pills from the same container and dosed themselves in the neck with their own injectors. Whatever they took worked fast, giving them all the same vacant look for a few minutes. After the quiet high faded the four became more animated, breathing heavily and heaving the cart up. Leaving the wheels behind to go off road. They made so much noise in the darkening forest Rosie could track them with her eyes closed. The forest began thin as the ground sloped down. Trees became sparse, those that remained dead and missing leaves. Without enough cover Rosie had to stay high and cut wide. She’d never been this far south. The Glassedlands looked like a small sunset, frozen in purple, as the stored sunlight radiated into the fallen night. Distracted by nature pushed to the extreme, Rosie lost sight of the raiders. They had to be in the only structures around. A series of buildings that were little more than shells running along the dried lakebed. Rosie worked to stay calm, scanning the view beneath. Her breath quickened as she caught sight of the drums, left abandoned in the middle of the road, and the raiders striding right at her. She thought about running, making a break in the opposite direction, but stopped herself. Instead Rosie darted to her left, clearing a fallen tree and skidding flat. Rosie worked her elbows and knees into the dirt. With black greasepaint around her green eyes and the fabric mask pulled down, she peered over the log at the raiders ten feet away. They wore gas masks, painted with snarls and sadistic grins. Rosie couldn’t tell if they were for protection or intimidation, they did neither well. The four removed their canvas, glass and metal masks, getting excited over the two sacks they’d collected. The leader tossed each a small steel canister tipped with plastic at one end. Rosie recognised the look of addicts getting a fix from her childhood and the woman supposed to be her mother. They pressed the canister to their mouths and inhaled deeply. Silence washed over them for a brief moment, then the twitching started, getting more and more pronounced as they breathed in further doses. Within seconds the raiders began all but running, heading east. Amped up on the chems they moved faster than before. Rosie matched their pace with ease. “Tornado, Whirlwind. Sit rep.” Charlie’s voice came over Rosie’s subdermal comm. “Mark two eyeball on targets. They left the drums to the south, headed east, then broke north. Over.” Rosie tried to keep her breathing slow over the comm, hiding the thrill of remaining undetected. “Mark two eyeball?” Charlie asked with an amused tone. Rosie had heard them refer to a mark one eyeball and couldn’t resist the joke. “Solid copy. Vector to follow.” Rosie transmitted the current direction of travel. Charlie picked them up, allowing Rosie to sprint ahead. Matt then handed them off to her, and so it went for the next few hours. Charlie called for a meeting when it became apparent where the raiders must be headed. The Four Corners. “Cyclone, bag the frame and lose the blacks. You’re going in. I’ll watch your six.” Charlie gave the order and Rosie helped them out of their frames. “What if they spot you?” Rosie asked Charlie. She motioned for her pack while folding down the frame. She pulled her hunter's cloak free, the same as Rosie’s, and tossed it on. The mottled animal skin and hood would let her blend in. “Tornado, double time back to the drums. If they’re still there, keep watch, if not call Maelstrom for extraction by o’three hundred.” Charlie gave Rosie her orders. She wondered if she’d made a mistake by following the raiders. “Solid copy.” Rosie turned to leave, already getting too comfortable by standing still. “Rosie, you good?” Charlie asked as she stopped her leaving right away. “Yeah, I’m good. If they’re selling that stuff, try and get some.” Rosie didn’t know why that made them laugh. “Need a little boost?” Rosie got the joke, for once, and still didn’t find it funny. “I want to test it. Got to be more chemicals in it.” “Nice idea Rosie. Good hunting.” Rosie didn’t let her tiredness show as bounded away, slipping back into the shadows. Rosie pushed herself for the next hour, making good time running parallel to the road. She still wondered if following the raiders had been the right call. I’ll ask Brandon, she thought, he’ll tell me straight. The terrain dropped a few feet to either side of the road, onto what must have been a river once. Loose rocks like scree, cut through the land heading south. It has to be quicker. On foot the loose surface would take time to cross, but not in an R frame. Rocks clattered as Rosie leapt down and used the momentum to carry her forward, skipping across the stones. Stones clattered and skittered in Rosie’s wake, each step a disturbance that led to further disruption. It wasn’t till Rosie caught the scent of rot in the air and saw a shifting motion ahead of her that she realised the mistake. Something shook itself free from beneath the surface. Glossy black body the size of a dining table. A pair of snapping pincers that sounded like doors slamming. And a long tail. curved round, supporting a bulbous sac, tipped with a glistening barb. Radscorpion! Rosie had been warned about them but only a single word came to mind. Neurotoxin. She dug in her heels to try and stop, casting a wave of loose rocks that seemed to disorientate the creature. To counter the fall Rosie pushed off with her legs, arcing backwards onto her arms then dropping flat with a loud clatter. She didn’t move, holding her body from the ground on her hands and feet. The six legged monster drew back its claws and began to clack its drooling, mandible jaws. Rosie slipped into the dreamlike state, seeing the detail of the segmented carapace and frittering movement. She couldn’t reach the carbine strapped tight to her side. She couldn't pull her sidearm and stay off the ground. And the system wouldn’t target. *ERROR:SCANNING* A progress bar began to fill as sections of the creature pulsed green, too slow to be of help. Rosie twisted her fist into the loose scree, flicking her hand up and casting rocks into the air. She scrambled on her hands and feet, letting time snap back as the rocks fell and drew the beady eyed creature. With the curved barb turned away Rosie sprang to her feet and ran. Three strides brought her to the scorpion's flank before it turned fully. The stinging barb hung at eye level, dripping with venom. Rosie swung her arms, locking the blades forward at the right moment. The swing drove the blades clean through the tail at the bottom of a segment. Rosie let the bladed arms pull her, lifting her legs from the ground. She landed flat, skidding backwards, stones pinging off the blast plate instead of her chin. Puss coloured slime slopped onto the ground as the scorpion bucked and hissed. Rosie stayed prone, ready to let the animal turn what remained of its tail and run. She glanced at the bones to one side and the putrefying stag carcass to the other. She had crossed into its hunting ground. The scorpion clacked its pincers then drew them back, charging Rosie. She flicked up more stones, using the distraction to stand and sidestep with enough force to bring the blades back down behind the pincer. Both claws clacked louder than the hissing, even the freshly severed one. Rosie had to lift her leg sharply as the other pincer snapped at her, then the creature tried to run. Rosie gave chase, keeping one arm low enough that the blade sparked and dinged, before the serrated edge caught the branch like legs, ripping them away. A swift kick flipped the scorpion over. Rosie unstrapped the integrally suppressed carbine and fired a burst of flat nosed bullets into the pale underbelly. A sharp flick cleaned the slime from the blades. Rosie retracted them, and bounded up and out of the riverbed, sticking to firm ground for the rest of her journey. The drums had gone. Rosie scanned the once lakeside ruins below her. With no signs of anything different she went in for a closer look. Sliding down the dirt embankment and a few bursts of crouched running brought her to the edge of the ruins. The side facing the now dry lake had bore the brunt of the erosion. Street lamps fallen in the same direction, rusted and eaten away. Wooden walls had long rotted to nothing, leaving pockmarked steel, brick, and concrete exposed. An old emergency light flickered, Rosie froze as she caught sight of a person shaped shadow on the wall across from her. From cover she readied her carbine and poked her head round the broken brick, gauging where the shadow’s owner must be. Rosie peeled back from cover, turning a corner and kneeling. The light coming from an old emergency light flickered again, revealing an empty street. Rosie didn’t understand, she waited and listened, nothing moved. Sweeping the rest of the ruins took a couple of hours. No sign of any other tracks in or out, like the drums hadn’t been there at all. She found herself back at the shadow on the wall. The arms and legs had faded, but it had an undeniable human shape. Closer inspection showed straight lines, pipes and a valve handle, all cast in permanent shadow. “Tornado, Maelstrom. Transmit grid for exfil. How copy?” Brandon didn’t give her a choice. Rosie relayed the coordinates for the nearby pick up site she’d previously scouted, and kept a quick pace to get there. She peered up as the proximity notification marked the Velo in the night sky above her. Janey dropped first, landing and ready to attack. Rosie walked out from the treeline as Brandon gave the all clear hand signal. He smiled as she drew near, picking up the acrid scent. “Radscorpion.” Brandon didn’t need to ask. “Yeah.” Rosie stood still as Brandon helped her out of the frame. “What colour?” His amusement made her feel confident, although the question threw her. “Black.” “A big one! Good work.” Brandon pulled her from the frame in a practised motion, folding the exoskeleton as it fell. “Janey, what’s the biggest scorpion you’ve ever seen?” Janey clanked over to them as Rosie sat on the edge of the Velo cabin, enjoying the hot, sweet coffee from a flask. “Records show that the giant sea scorpion could reach a length of two and a half meters.” “I’ve seen bigger, you?” Brandon asked her, hiding his concern with a joke. “No, that sounds about right.” “This is highly improbable as the giant sea scorpion went extinct four hundred million years ago.” Janey’s answer came from encyclopedic knowledge, a century out of date. Rosie showered back in the lighthouse cellar. She cleaned her gear while debriefing Brandon. He didn’t ask much, listening mostly. She told him of new gear the raiders had, the chems they took in unison, the masks. And returning to find the drums gone. “Conclusion?” Brandon asked, prompting her to organise her thoughts. “I could have missed the tracks.” Rosie had some lessons in tracking from Matt, but not enough. “I don’t know. Did I make a mistake?” “No.” Brandon answered quickly. "First you had orders, second you got a look inside their operation. We know where they sell, what they sell, and who buys it.” Rosie hadn’t realised fully till that moment the full implications of her actions. She couldn’t hide it from Brandon. “Look, these animals would be doing this whether we’re involved or not. Every deal we make gets us closer to the right throat to cut. We’re handing bricks to a drowning man.” “I get it.” Rosie understood the metaphor for once. She found herself about to ask why, but didn’t have to. “The most dangerous thing in this world is a soldier without an enemy Rosie, remember that.” Brandon let his advice sit in silence for a moment, making sure she took it in. “And besides, this Jones is a worthy quarry.” He smiled as used a word the Detective used. “Smart, organised, insulated. This is going to be fun.” “There was something else, in the ruins by the lake.” Rosie hadn’t been able to shake the image from her mind. “A shadow on the wall.” Brandon understood. “Ghosts people call them. Shadows of those hit when the bombs fell.” Brandon paused for a moment and Rosie took the opportunity to ask something. “Tomorrow night, I want…” Rosie corrected herself. “Can I go?” Brandon didn’t dismiss the idea. “I’m on with Paul. You know I might have to make a hard call.” He asked without asking. “I can handle it Boss. Please.” “I know you can handle it. I don’t know if you can live with it.”