Chapter Twelve: A Distress Signal

The greatest problem with that world-ending catastrophe was this: it was not thorough enough in its destruction.

Eunet was simply too massive. Navigating the tangled ruins of San Francisco’s districts proved difficult; the ring of highways surrounding the city often broke off midway, and we could not get onto them. The skyscrapers were even more grotesque—old ones left standing, new ones piled atop them—rising vertically, sprawling horizontally, crowding the dead city with narrow, congested spaces, now filled with corpses, a graveyard of steel, concrete, and rampant vegetation.

I said, “I’ve heard that in ancient times, there were nuclear bombs—one blast and all these blocks would be reduced to gravel.”

Lamia replied, “But when you were alone, didn’t these buildings shelter you from the wind and rain? Have you forgotten already?”

I said, “Commander, a person’s perspective changes. These buildings were once useful to me, but now they’re not.”

Lamia thought for a moment and said, “Old Wei, ram through everything. Only look for a detour if you really must.”

Old Wei answered, “Yes, ma’am!” He began smashing the little houses, moving as if walking on level ground. The high-rises, however, were not to be trifled with—lest we be buried alive.

It seemed we destroyed a bandit lair or two. Some bandits ran out, shouting and shooting at us. Bullets against Eunet were like mosquito bites—we didn’t bother with them.

When the storm hit, we were pushing through a broken iron fence, entering Golden Gate Park. The park had also been conquered by vegetation—these vicious plants did not block our way, but were even more hateful and troublesome than concrete walls and pillars. They lodged in Eunet’s tires. Though the tires were specially made, harder and more elastic than the car’s body, if the plants packed into the treads, Eunet would start to skid, making it hard for Old Wei to control.

Thunder boomed through Eunet’s thick door panels, a deep, muffled sound. Worse, the raindrops were green oil, sticking to the bulletproof glass and blocking our view. Eunet’s wipers slashed like guillotines, but still could not clear it. Old Wei groaned, “Damn, we’ll need to spray strong acid on the glass to clean it.”

I said, “Well then, where can we buy that?”

Old Wei answered, “Buy? You can’t buy it, it’s impossible. What are we going to do?”

Indeed, even washing with a lot of water would be a luxury.

Lightning and thunder could not harm Eunet, but tiny debris and sticky slime left us helpless.

Lamia said, “Vaga, check if there’s an old gas station nearby.”

I asked, “What’s the use of a gas station?”

Lamia replied, “We’ll set it on fire.”

The gasoline from before the disaster was contaminated, no longer fit to power engines, but still flammable—a desperate solution. Eunet was an armored vehicle built to withstand military attacks; a little fire shouldn’t be a problem.

Vaga projected an image from her eyes, showing a route. But Old Wei said, “I... I can’t drive through there.”

I said, “No matter what’s blocking the way, just crush it.”

Old Wei said, “What if we fall off the bridge?”

Vaga said, “Please allow me to drive.”

Old Wei looked as if he’d been challenged like a champion boxer. “You can’t drive, don’t joke around. I’ve had professional training, you can’t imagine the effort I’ve put into my driving skills. You don’t just have to think about balance, there’s the speed for each turn, so many factors! One mistake and you’ll roll the vehicle.”

Vaga said, “Please allow me to try.”

Lamia ordered Old Wei to stand down. Vaga gripped the wheel with her iron hand, turned the car, and drove forward smoothly. Old Wei seemed a bit shell-shocked.

Lamia asked, “Vaga, can you see outside?”

Vaga replied, “I can use echolocation to build an image.”

I said, “1024.”

Lamia asked, “What does that mean?”

I said, “It’s supposedly an ancient secret code between men—means ‘awesome’.”

Lamia frowned. “Why do I feel like it’s nothing good?”

I dared not answer.

Lamia turned back to Vaga. “If that’s the case, there’s no need to clean the glass.”

Vaga said, “Echolocation imaging isn’t very precise. This is just a stopgap.”

Old Wei agreed, “Yeah, human eyes are still the safest.”

I thought this showed Vaga’s considerate side—she was caring for Old Wei’s feelings. Not only had she enhanced her functions, but she was becoming more human. All thanks to me. I hoped that when I reached the skyscraper, there would be a treasure worth thirty million waiting for me.

Vaga’s voice entered my mind: “It’s twenty million.”

Ah, that accursed mind-reading—it made Vaga less endearing.

Vaga told us we had arrived at the gas station. The slime storm continued. In this storm, I dared not venture out, for sometimes it would carry people far away, as if kidnapped by fairies in a fable. Eunet, though, was too heavy; those fairies couldn’t budge it.

After two hours, the storm abated. We exited the cabin. Lamia tested the fuel nozzle and said, “Tank’s still full.”

But a new problem: Eunet was simply too big, the nozzle couldn’t reach the windshield. Lamia said, “Everyone stand back.”

She gritted her teeth and lifted the entire fuel tank. She didn’t look relaxed—besides, the tank wasn’t even full—yet I never imagined she possessed such strength. Breathing heavily, she said to me, “Be ready to shoot the tank in the air.”

I muttered, “Madness.”

Lamia hurled the tank at the windshield. I fired a few shots at it, and it exploded, flames and fuel raining in all directions. I dodged through the blazing spectacle, watching as the flames engulfed... a small part of Eunet.

Lamia ran a few steps and suddenly collapsed forward. I caught her and brought her to safety, saying, “Commander, 1024.”

Lamia, weak, said, “Shut up.”

While waiting for the fire to die down, I gathered some plants and berries to restock my medicines. Vaga watched my every move. “These plants are ordinary. They can’t make you invisible, nor can they poison a demon.”

I said, “You’re missing one thing, my child: the power of people. Where there’s a will, there’s a way. With my clever hands, I can make first-rate elixirs.”

Vaga said, “That’s not possible. Just as plain water can’t burn, and wood can’t hold strong acid, you can’t change the chemistry of a potion.”

I laughed. “Child, you’ve seen too little. Not every phenomenon can be explained by science. For instance, Nephilim—”

I sensed if I continued, Vaga might silence me, so I stopped.

Vaga looked away, but still spoke to me telepathically: “I think these potions are just a psychological suggestion you give yourself. They activate your potential.”

I thought, “Is that so? Do you admire me? Do you think I’m awesome too?”

Vaga replied, “I’m just curious. In Ulysses’ secret room, I noticed your hand and eye dissolved into black liquid. You drank it, and then seemed to teleport.”

I asked, “Teleport?”

Vaga said, “I suspect you moved from one place to another, ignoring the limits of time and space. You passed straight through the wall, entering an undetectable realm.”

This topic chilled me to the bone, sending my blood pressure soaring. I thought, “Little princess, you’re mistaken. Let’s leave it at that.”

Vaga said, “Indeed, the likelihood of that phenomenon is almost zero. Topic canceled. Assessing other possibilities.”

It took a long time for the flames to extinguish. Eunet’s surface was scorching hot but remained unscarred; the slime had burned to dry ash, which we could remove. Old Wei and I dumped hundreds of pounds of it. Old Wei said, “This is the king of trucks. It would take a whole company to maintain Eunet. How can just four of us manage?”

Lamia, after eating (her sandwiches long gone, she had to eat my poor-quality meat), was much improved. She said, “Try to open Eunet’s cargo hold. There must be tools inside.”

We returned to the cabin, searching every nook and cranny. I found a key, opened a lock in the corner, and inside was a button labeled “Cargo Hold.”

I called, “Found it!”

Opening the cargo door revealed toolkits, large barrels of cleaning fluid, various oils, and attachable dust covers. Old Wei and I studied them, then fitted the dust covers onto the windows—retractable shields that would protect all windows in future storms.

Vaga said, “There used to be a food company nearby. There may still be food and water.”

I said, “Even if there was, scavengers would have picked it clean. Those rats get everywhere.”

Lamia glanced at me. “Aren’t you a scavenger?”

I said, “I’m not anymore. I won’t live off scraps again. I’ll have a bright future in paradise.”

Lamia said, “One should not forget their roots so easily.”

I said, “Commander, this isn’t forgetting—this is turning over a new leaf, saying goodbye to a wretched past.”

Lamia said, “Alright, but we still have a long way to go. Let’s try our luck at the food company.”

Even if the food inside hadn’t been taken, it would be rotten by now. But there would be plenty of water—where plants flourish, there may be edible berries and mushrooms, and some wild animals to hunt.

Guided by Vaga, Old Wei turned a corner and resumed demolishing the small houses in our way.

At a certain intersection, Vaga said, “There’s a distress signal from the Rangers.”

Lamia had been dozing against the window. She immediately woke and turned on the radio. A clear voice came through: “Help, help, this is Salvador of the Black Coffin Rangers. We are in Top Ridge Park, coordinates... Requesting support, requesting support.”

Lamia said, “Is that Salvador?”

Old Wei said, “They... they’re still alive?”

Lamia and Vaga’s group had once been large, but the storm had scattered them. I’d thought they were all dead. Who would have thought they survived?

I felt uncomfortable. After all, Lamia was my commander, but Salvador and those others had known her far longer—their bond was deeper. I felt like an only child suddenly saddled with siblings, doomed to be overlooked.

Four people were enough—any more and it would be unbearable.

I said, “It’s definitely a trap. Ignore it.”

Lamia said, “That’s definitely Salvador’s voice. We’re going to Top Ridge Park.”

See—my commander was already showing favoritism, even risking herself for them. That wretched Salvador, those wretched survivors.