“We should really pick a camp site and get set up before we start having fun.” While Mark spoke, he surveyed the terrain with a critical gaze.

  “Dude! We just busted our asses getting up that mountain!” Warren groaned. “Let’s take a minute to chill! Soak up some rays. Breathe the clean air. Who wants to swim?”

  Pablo shifted his pack higher on his shoulders, trying not to draw attention to the fact that his chest still felt tight from earlier. The worst of the asthma scare had passed, thanks to Eden hanging back with him on the trail. He’d had to work to not let his frustration show as she’d ambled slowly along the trail, relying on social convention to make him keep pace with her. Worse, he’d how gentle she’d been about it, like he was fragile. The kindness stung almost as much as the wheeze.

  “There’ll be plenty of chill if we don’t have a camp and fire going before the sun drops behind that ridge.” Mark pointed up to the higher mountain peaks encircling the clear waters of the lake. “It’ll be here sooner than you think.”

  “He’s right,” Sasha said with a reluctant sigh.

  Pablo’s gaze flicked toward her, then stuck. Warren was flopped down beside her on the sun-warmed rock, shirt off like he was auditioning for some fitness supplement. Broad shoulders, golden skin catching the light. Coming up the trail, he’d heard Sasha laugh at something Warren had said, the sound bright and easy. A sour twist coiled in Pablo’s gut. He told himself it was just the leftover burn in his lungs, but the truth was sharper: jealousy. Warren never had to fight for breath, never had to pace himself. The guy could sprint the whole damn mountain and still have enough energy to flex in the sun, while Pablo was left counting inhalations and trying not to look pathetic.

  “Fine!” Warren heaved himself to his feet, but didn’t pull his shirt back on. “Anyone want some THC? I brought plenty of gummies.”

  Mark took up the lead, guiding their party while Warren shared out gummies to Zoe and Sasha. Pablo hung back a little, forcing his legs to keep rhythm. The air here was even thinner up here. It felt insubstantial in his lungs. He wasn’t going to be the weak link. Not with Warren strutting around like he owned the mountain.

  They proceeded clockwise around the shore of the lake in search of a suitable campsite for their long-weekend stay. Middle Velma Lake was nestled in a bowl among the craggy peeks of the Desolation Wilderness in California’s Sierra Nevada Mountains, not far from Lake Tahoe. It was small and relatively isolated, but that also meant it was less popular. The Fellowship expected to have the entire lake to themselves.

  The wind had begun to pick up with the afternoon and the clear waters of the small lake were rippling with inch high waves. The land itself was rocky and dotted with irregular clumps of rugged pine trees. Reaching up from the highest of the encircling peaks, was the wildfire lookout tower. It was a squat structure raised up on metal poles with a small steep roofed cabin-like structure atop it.

  Squinting up at the tower, Pablo spotted a dark vaguely human-shaped figure through one of the cabins massive windows. It remained entirely motionless for several seconds, and Pablo was beginning to think that maybe it was just a jacket on a coat hanger or something. However, he felt ice cold fingers creeping up his spine and the hairs on the back of his neck stood erect. Along with the sensations came a sudden bone deep certainty that he was being watched by someone or something that meant him harm. Then, between eye blinks, the silhouette vanished and so did the feelings.

  “Hey Mark, didn’t you say the fire spotter tower was closed?” Pablo asked.

  “That’s what they said on the subreddit post I read. It got damaged in a storm. Why?”

  “Thought I saw someone up there just now.”

  “Probably just another camper. There was always a chance of that,” Warren said. “I was thinking we should go up there ourselves. The view has got to be amazing. That’s the whole point of a look out right?”

  Zoe smacked her younger brother in the shoulder. “Want to get another ticket for trespassing?”

  “Allegedly trespassing!” Warren held up finger like he was correcting a finer point of the law.

  “Could be someone’s up there fixing the damage,” Eden said.

  “Yeah, I guess.” Pablo frowned and tried to shove the chilling memory of being watched out of his head.

  ***

  Vellgrin the NecroMaster was murderously displeased by the new arrivals at the lake. The knuckles of Harold’s human hands cracked as he clenched his fists, agitation bleeding through his stollen body. Vellgrin had observed them first through Harold's eyes—his current host body—and the crude surveillance of several servitors. At first, he had assumed the interlopers would pass quickly through this pitiful valley. But instead, they’d built a camp near the water. Settled. Unacceptable. Their presence risked exposure. They had to be dealt with.

  Truthfully, Velgrin had been simmering in dissatisfaction since his assignment to this cosmic cul-de-sac more than 200 cycles ago. Earth, this primitive, stagnant mudball, was an insult. An unrefined, stagnant world where the aether oozed pitifully instead of flowing in a torrent. Was this truly where the Infernal Court believed his talents would be best utilized?

  Still, within 50 cycles of arrival, he had detected faint traces of the enemy’s Nexus presence. That alone had validated the mission. Though he had immediately requested permission to scour the planet and seed it with anti-life—the systematic erasure of organic sentience, replaced by obedient necroconstructs fed by ambient decay—but the Court had refused. They desired the world intact. Useful. Colonizable. They had other plans.

  That left him with one option: complete his mission. Destroy the dormant enemy probe hidden somewhere on this wretched world. Only then could the sheltering influence of the Nexus be obliterated and replaced so that the aether could transform the planet into something more useful.

  It had taken over a hundred cycles of methodical, covert work to narrow the probe’s location to this mountain valley. Its exact coordinates still eluded him, but he could taste the foul oppression of the Nexus threaded through the local aetheric currents. It was close. Agonizingly close.

  The NecroMaster refused to remain tethered to this world a moment longer than necessary.

  A quarter cycle ago, he had established a permanent base in this region, using Harold’s identity as a forest ranger to avoid local scrutiny. The flesh itself was beneath him, revoltingly organic and powerless, but the disguise granted operational freedom. Harold had no real power. No aetheric alignment. Just access. Uniform. Authority.

  If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  With minimal effort, Velgrin had swelled his ranks to nearly a hundred servitors; reanimated beasts and humans. Inferior tools, but serviceable. In truth, they were merely his front-line scavengers, expendable fodder raised from local biomass. His true strength remained tucked away in the vast dimensional pocket-space he had carved during his first hundred cycles of exile, an arsenal of elite undead equipped for war, held in reserve. He had rarely needed to draw upon them; co-opting the native life had proven efficient enough. The new arrivals, however, complicated matters. While six more corpses would hardly strain his power, their presence brought risk.

  He considered simply dispatching them, to let the servitors tear them apart. Perhaps even enjoy the dissection. Study their physiology.

  Yet...Velgrin paused. Perhaps there is another way.

  A better way; one that required patience, certainly, but promised a far more satisfying result. To manipulate the very system he sought to destroy, to weaponize its own chattle against it. Yes, that appealed. Not only would it serve his mission, it would humiliate the enemy and elevate Velgrin’s triumph in the eyes of the Court. Victory by corruption, not just destruction.

  For cycles, he had assumed the Nexus probe was dormant, perhaps disabled, perhaps inert since before this world’s sapient life had even emerged. But what if he could provoke it? Force it to awaken? If he triggered a significant enough aetheric anomaly, the probe’s defenses might activate, exposing its location.

  These interlopers, then, were not merely a threat. They might be a tool. Pawns to play against the system he despised. He would test them. Apply pressure. Observe the probe's response.

  Velgrin’s meat host grinned, an involuntary twitch of lips and teeth. The motion surprised him. Ever since his ascendance, he had never much cared for the habits of organic expression, nor the cascade of chemical sensations that accompanied them. But this smile? It sparked something alien and curious, an echo of pride, or perhaps anticipation. He found that he enjoyed it. Perhaps more than he should. Perhaps the host's primitive neural architecture was more robust than he realized.

  Velgrin strangled such primitive considerations of the flesh and turned his focus back to the humans. He would allow the children to survive for now. Perhaps, if he set up the pieces correctly, they would be selected for awakening. Then he could let them lead him to the probe.

  And then he would end them, as he had ended countless others.

  Despite himself, Velgrin's lips quirked into another anticipatory grin. He sent a mental command to Skelter to draw the death knight away from his task overseeing the excavation.

  Let the game begin, and let the Nexus fall.

  ***

  With Mark’s approval, they selected a flattish area about a dozen feet from the pebbly lake shore, in the lee of a couple pine trees where the grass wasn’t too tall. They pitched their tents – one for the boys and one for the girls – set out a stone circle for their firepit, and designated some scrubby bushes and sheltering rocks for nature’s inevitable call.

  Throughout the process, Pablo had tried to find opportunities to work with or at least in near orbit to Sasha, but every time he turned around there was Warren in an even closer orbit. From years of experience with Warren, Pablo could tell that the guy was cranking up the charm. However, he couldn’t tell if Sasha was going for it or not. She laughed at his jokes and didn’t seem to mind Warren’s constant close proximity. However, she seemed equally well disposed to anyone else in their fellowship. Pablo was getting so frustrated that he thought he might just scream.

  What do I have to do? He had thought plaintively.

  When it was time to gather firewood, Sasha had volunteered to go. Warren had been down at the lake filling up some buckets with water, and Pablo had leapt at the opportunity. The two had wandered up the slope from the lake, collecting sticks for kindling and fallen branches. At first there’d been minimal chatter between them, and Pablo wasn’t sure if the awkward tension was entirely one sided. Finally, he cleared his throat and took a stab at a mutual interest he thought might spark some conversation between them.

  “So, are you going to SFCC again this year?”

  Pablo and the rest of the Fellowship had been devoted attendees of San Francisco Comic Con for years, always carving out space for it on their calendars. They’d only just met Sasha a couple weeks ahead of the last Con, but had invited her to join them. She’d shown up in a jaw dropping Wonder Woman costume. They’d been mobbed, by nerds wanting to take pictures with her. They’d barely been able to walk more than six feet at a time before getting stopped.

  “Oh, hell yeah. I had a blast with you guys’ last year,” Sasha said with obvious enthusiasm. “We should get the three day badges this time though.”

  “Three days?” Pablo enjoyed the Con, but it was jam packed with people and overwhelmed his introvert nature, usually he could only handle a single day. Still, if it meant he might get a chance to carve out some time with Sasha, it would be worth it.

  “Come on, Pabs! I’ll protect you from the mobs.” Sasha held up her free arm that wasn’t cradling falling branches and flexed. “With guns like these maybe I should go as Punisher or Deadpool.”

  “Not sure I’m the one that’ll need protecting,” Pablo said ruefully. “Did you pick your cosplay out yet?”

  “Yeah. I want to do something different each day. I was thinking Storm, Nubia, and either She-Hulk or Starfire. I’m just not sure if I want to bust out the body paint for either one.”

  “Nubia?” Pablo asked, surprised. “Not Wonder Woman again?”

  “You got a problem with Nubia?” Sasha narrowed her eyes suspiciously at Pablo.

  “No! Nubia’s just a kind of deep cut!”

  “You offend me, sir!” Sasha cried, but made her mock indignation evident by laughing. “How dare you question the depth of my geekiness.”

  “You’re right. My sincerest apologies m’lady.”

  “That’s better." Sasha laughed. "Besides, whenever I do Wonder Woman, they assume I’m Nubia. Then, the real jerks usually want to argue about it with me. Like just because I'm black, I can't be Wonder Woman for the day? I've got to be her black counterpart. This year, I thought I’d lean into it, just to throw them off. How about you? Gonna dress up this year?”

  “I…I don’t know…” Pablo had always wanted to go all out for the Con and go in costume, but he’d always worried he couldn’t pull it off. “I probably can’t afford to pick up the character I’d really want.”

  “Pfft. I’ll help you make it. Come on, who’s your first pick?”

  “Jamie Reyes, Blue Beetle, is one of my favorites, but that armor is so detailed.” Pablo sighed whistfully. “I found the STLs for armor, but with my old printer, it would take weeks. It’s not like I’d just be throwing on spandex and a cape.”

  “Oooo…Beetle would be great for you!” Sasha’s smile turned bright and her dark eyes sparkled with enthusiasm. “Let’s make it happen!”

  “Yeah. Maybe I’ll bust out my old Supergirl or Zatanna. We can try to get the others to do other Teen Titans. Zoe could be Wonder Girl and Warren could be…” Sasha’s voice trailed off. Pablo was just turning to check on her when she dropped her load of branches to point and shout, “What the fuck?”

  Sasha’s trembling finger was pointing at a largeish black feathered bird perched motionless on the branch of a tree just a few feet away. Pablo had no idea what the difference was between a raven or a crow, but it sat there seeming to stare at Sasha. At first, he couldn’t tell what had freaked Sasha out about the bird, and then its head rotated in a stilted jerk to direct its gaze toward Pablo. One of the bird’s eyes dangled from its socket on a bloody string. The mutilated bird opened its beak and made a sharp hissing-hacking sound while spreading its wings wide. Before either of them could do or say anything, the bird flung itself into the air and flew away from them.

  “What the hell happened to that bird?” Pablo asked.

  “I don’t know, but I think we’ve got enough fire wood for now. Let’s head back to camp.”

  When Pablo and Sasha raced into camp, the work was more or less done, and they were both feeling like they may have overreacted. Still, they felt compelled to tell everyone about the little horror they’d witnessed. While Sasha and Pablo breathlessly told the others about the gruesome raven, Warren produced a bottle of cinnamon whiskey from his pack and offered another round of gummies. Mark and Eden finally accepted some of the weed infused candy, while Pablo continued to decline. Although, he did gratefully accept a couple slugs from the whiskey bottle.

  “It’s not like the bird can go to a vet.” Mark said after hearing their breathless recounting. “It was probably a recent injury. He’ll either live through it long enough to heal, or die soon.”

  “That’s a little heartless.” Eden frowned. “We should try to help it, if we can.”

  “That’s life in the wild.” Mark shrugged and tipped back the whiskey bottle for a drink.

  “And why I, for one, only like to come out here for brief visits!” Warren exclaimed. “Who’s ready to cool off?”

  “Me!” Zoe raised both hands high.