Jane grabbed his right hand. The wound was deep, pulsing blood onto the floor. "We need to bind it. Now!"
He clenched his fist. Jane threw the fire door open and sprinted into the office. She returned a minute later with a giant roll of paper towels and her dagger. Without a word, she sliced a strip from her right cargo pants leg, ripped it free, and wrapped the rough fabric tightly around his palm. She shoved a wad of paper towels into his fist.
"Squeeze."
The pain hit — a sickening throb with every heartbeat. The paper wad darkened to crimson in seconds.
"Dammit," Jane muttered. She tore another strip, fashioning a rough tourniquet higher on his arm. "We need a hospital. Now."
A wave of dizziness washed over him. Jane half-dragged him back to the truck, shoved him into the passenger seat, and vaulted behind the wheel. "I passed a clinic on the way in!"
As her door thudded shut, a chime sounded in Van's skull. Blue text scrolled across his vision.
[ SYSTEM ALERT: VEHICLE UPGRADE ]
LV4 (175/270)
[ SELECT REWARD ]
1. Vehicle Dimensions +20%
2. Unlock Customization Module
3. Bind One Firearm. Generate 100 Rounds/Day.
The engine roared. Jane stomped on the accelerator.
WHUMP.
The truck threw them back into their seats. Jane gasped as it launched forward with power she wasn't expecting.
"Slow down!" Van gritted out. "The drivetrain's modified!"
A frantic stab at the brakes sent him pitching into the passenger footwell.
"Sorry!" Jane hauled him back up by his jacket.
Van breathed through the pain, his lips pale. "The truck. I can upgrade it now. Bind a weapon. It'll generate ammo. A hundred rounds a day."
Jane just shook her head, wrestling the steering wheel back under control. "Fine. Just pick one so we can get you stitched up."
Van grunted. In his mind, he selected the third option.
A shimmering grid of blue light flickered around the AR-15 on the backseat. It traced the weapon's outline, then sketched the form of an ammo crate in the space behind them.
"The AR," Jane said, her voice finding steadiness. "It's versatile."
As the blue light solidified and faded, the searing pain in Van's hand dulled to a deep ache. The dizziness receded. Frowning, he began picking at the blood-soaked bandage with his left hand.
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"What are you doing? Leave it on!" Jane glanced over, alarmed.
He unwrapped the crude dressing. The deep, bleeding gash across his palm was gone. In its place was pink, new skin. No scar.
Van stared. A new, silent message hovered in his vision.
[ LIFE FUNCTION: REGENERATION ]
Charges Used: 1/3
SCREECH.
Another violent stop. Van's chest slammed into the dashboard glovebox. "Trying to finish me off?" he wheezed.
"That's impossible," Jane whispered, her eyes locked on his perfectly healed palm.
Van buckled his seatbelt with a definitive click. "I told you I had upgrades."
"Superpowers?"
"Sure." He wouldn't correct her. His mind replayed her actions in the office—the quick thinking, the sacrifice of her own gear. His eyes flicked to her right leg, where the torn pants revealed a stripe of pale skin. He looked away.
They stopped on the barren roadside, shedding the makeshift cardboard armor. Jane leaned into the back and retrieved the backpack. "Got a few clean sets of fatigues."
They both looked at each other—at the drying blood, gore, and grime caking their skin and clothes. A silent agreement passed between them. Changing now was pointless.
Jane's face was a map of smeared makeup, sweat, and dust. "I'd kill for a shower," she murmured.
Van felt the same. The blood was stiffening on his skin. "North about thirty klicks, then east. There's a motel off the old highway. If it's clear, we hole up there."
Jane nodded, finally getting a feel for the truck's monstrous acceleration. She muttered to herself, "This thing launches harder than a Bugatti."
Van raised an eyebrow. "You'd know?"
She gave a weak, tired smile. "Yeah. Right."
The silver-sided truck was the only moving thing on the long, straight road. At a lonely crossroads, Jane took the right fork as instructed.
The new sound began as a faint tremor, then grew into a distinct, heavy whump-whump-whump that vibrated through the truck's frame.
Jane's head snapped up. "Helicopters! It's rescue!"
Van was already scanning the horizon, his eyes narrowed. "No. Those aren't medevacs."
The dark shapes resolved against the blue sky—twin AH-64 Apaches. They thundered directly over the truck, the downblast whipping sand into a frenzy that rattled against the armored panels.
Right behind them came the guttural roar of jet engines. An A-10 Thunderbolt II screamed past, its GAU-8 Avenger cannon a silent promise under its belly.
"What's happening?" Jane whispered, watching the war machines vanish toward Heli.
Van turned on the radio. Static, then the same inane pop music. No emergency broadcast.
"Oh, God." Jane's voice was a choked gasp. She was staring past Van, out his window, back the way they'd come. "Van… they're bombing Heli."
He twisted in his seat. On the horizon, multiple plumes of thick, black smoke were coiling into the sky. A moment later, a distant, ground-shaking thump reached them, followed by another. Bright flashes of orange fire bloomed at the base of the smoke.
"Why…?" Jane's face was corpse-white. "There were still people…"
"Go! Off the road! Into the desert, now!" Van's command was a snarl.
Jane didn't argue. She wrenched the wheel left. The Express bucked and slid as its tires left the pavement and dug into the soft sand. "Why? The motel's the other way!"
"Just drive! As deep as you can! Floor it!"
She complied. The truck fishtailed before finding purchase and surging forward, carving a deep, chaotic scar across the empty basin. They left the road a quarter mile behind.
Another series of distant, concussive whumps echoed. Van looked back. New, separate pillars of smoke and fire rose from a point on the horizon he knew all too well.
The location of the roadside motel.
He said nothing. The truth was cold. They weren't containing an outbreak. They were erasing it. And anyone who might have seen it.
The truck raced deeper into the barren heart of the desert.