Survival Read Free Page A

Do it
gradually. It’ll come back to you.”
    Bryan made a fist, the pads of
his fingers exploding in a rush of pin pricks as blood rushed into his hand. He
awoke in stages, the agony of disuse powerful in his extremities.
    Damn, but life could be hard as a
mushroom.
    “I’m going to take a look.
Wait...don’t move,” Fausto said. He parted the fronds and glanced into the
woods. Slowly, he rose and scanned up the hill.
     “Ok,” Fausto said, rubbing his
biceps and forearms. Bryan joined him and they crouched there, considering
their first violent minutes in the throes of Labor.
    “Where did you learn that trick?”
Bryan asked.
    They were hunched, scampering
from tree to tree, Fausto looking ahead while Bryan watched their flank.
    “I read about it in a book. The
Struggle . It was written decades ago by one of the Labor pioneers—a fellow
named Bic Trenton. He survived televised Labor in Miami, back when the
Authority was publicly executing dissidents.”
    Bryan had never heard of the
title. Media on surviving Labor was so scarce—the penalty for trafficking it so
steep—that the spectacle had managed to sustain its macabre mystery through the
long centuries.
    They fell into a rhythm,
scampering from tree to tree, pausing periodically as fresh gunfire crackled in
the distance. They trudged up hills and descended into ravines.
    It was in the bottom of one of
these ravines that they encountered Derek Gorman.
    He sat on a hunk of granite, a
look of dazed complacency in his blue eyes, while a cloud of bacteria
methodically devoured his left arm. There was nothing left below the elbow and
the bacteria were just beginning to digest the flesh of his bicep.
    Another batch chewed at the
muscle of his right shoulder.
    Gorman slowly raised his head at
the sound of the men skittering down the steep ravine.
    “Oh, shit,” Fausto said when he
reached the man. “Oh, no.”
    Gorman offered a weak smile.
“Digital obstacle. My advice: don’t touch anything.”
    “What was it?” Fausto asked.
    Gorman laughed, the sound a
rattle in his chest. “A fucking gun—a prop, of course. I’m so stupid,” he
replied, shaking his head. “I don’t know what I was thinking, you know? I saw
it... and I just reached for it without thinking. I slung it over my shoulder.
Instant pain.”
    “And now?” Bryan asked.
    Gorman shook his head. “Can’t
feel a thing. I guess they secrete a chemical or something. Industrious little
boogers, ain’t they?” He lifted the nub of his arm, a portion of gleaming bone
terminating in the ragged meat of his shoulder. “Won’t be long now.”
    Fausto sighed. He bit his lip.
“You want...you want me to help?”
    Gorman looked at him, a mixture
of confusion and gratitude in his eyes. “You’d do that?”
    Fausto nodded. “Quick as I can.”
    Gorman blinked up at the gray
sky. He was crying. “What’s your name?”
    “Fausto Ruiz.”
    “My name is Derek Gorman. My
wife’s name is Annabelle. We’re having a little girl named Rachel. I want
you...I want you to tell them how much I love them. Tell them I’m so sorry that
I let them down.” His words ended in a little sob. “Tell them I’ll wait for
them—that I’ll be watching over them. Tell them that I love them.”
    Fausto nodded. “I will, Derek. I
will, I promise.”
    He slipped behind the man and, in
one efficient motion, snapped his neck. Gorman’s body slumped off the rock and
Bryan watched as Ruiz turned and plunged into the creek, fording it quickly and
scaling the far banks.
    Who was this man?
    Bryan followed, and they slipped
back into their routine. “Biology. Technology,” Fausto said. “The Authority has
no scruples. They’ll take any advantage to execute their policies. We need to
do the same. This angel—his name is Fornoy. He will be our advantage— our equalizer.”
    “You know his name?” Bryan said.
He studied the sky—a thick blanket of gray clouds—and guessed it was after
3:00. They’d made it to