I Choose the Skills Everyone Else Rejects

Milo stopped asking how far they had left.

That worried Nate more than the blood.

They had covered less than half the distance back to Coach Eleven. Iris supported Milo beneath one arm while Nate dragged Holt across the maintenance path on a sheet cut from the mercenary leader’s coat.

The fabric caught on every stone.

Holt had not moved since killing the man.

Her breathing remained shallow, with long gaps that made Nate turn around to check whether her chest was still rising. The damaged lines beneath her skin had darkened from red to a deep purple. They spread from the centre of her chest toward her shoulder and neck.

Milo’s condition changed faster.

His injured leg no longer bled much. The severed tendril had closed the wound behind it, leaving a black opening above his knee. Thin marks extended beneath the skin around it.

Every few minutes, the muscles in his leg tightened on their own.

Iris stumbled.

Milo nearly pulled her down with him.

"Stop," she said.

"We stop, we stay here."

"I need to look at your leg."

"You’ve been looking at it since we left."

"And it keeps getting worse."

Nate lowered Holt carefully. His ribs tightened when he straightened, and the wound across his cheek burned beneath the dried blood.

The forest had become quiet again.

He disliked that too.

Iris helped Milo sit against the remains of a signal post. She cut higher through his trouser leg and exposed the skin above the wound.

The black lines had reached his thigh.

Milo looked away.

"How bad?"

Iris placed two fingers against the inner side of his leg.

Her Skill produced no light. Nate only noticed the change because her breathing slowed and her attention turned inward.

Milo’s leg jerked beneath her hand.

Iris pulled back.

"The strand is still inside."

"We cut it."

"We cut what was outside."

Milo looked at the opening above his knee.

"What is it doing?"

Iris did not answer immediately.

Nate felt it before she did.

A pulse moved through Milo’s circulation.

It was weak, but wrong. His energy contracted around the wound, then released in a wave that travelled through the rest of his body.

The surrounding trees remained still.

Nate tightened his grip on the rifle.

"That was him."

Iris looked toward him.

"You felt it?"

"Yes."

Milo swallowed.

"Will the others feel it too?"

Neither of them needed to ask who he meant.

The adult Hound had followed Holt’s active Circuit from a distance. The young one had found Milo within minutes of entering his leg.

Iris pressed her hands against the wound again.

"I can slow the bleeding. I can support the circulation around it. I can’t remove something that has already entered the pathways."

"Can you take the leg?"

"Here?"

"If it stops the pulse."

"It won’t." Her voice sharpened. "The strand is already above the knee. Cutting through it could release whatever it’s carrying into every open vessel."

Milo let his head rest against the signal post.

Sweat ran down his face despite the cold.

"How long?"

"I don’t know."

"That means not long."

Iris began wrapping the leg anyway.

Nate looked back along the track.

Nothing moved between the trees.

He lifted Holt’s weight again.

"We need the coach."

Milo pushed himself upright before Iris could help him.

His injured leg touched the ground.

The muscles locked.

He made a sound through his teeth and nearly fell, but he remained standing.

"Move," he said.

They continued.

Coach Eleven had been opened from both ends.

One door hung from its lower hinge. Several windows had been broken, and the emergency lights were dead. The bodies left inside had been moved or searched. Bags lay open along the aisle, their contents scattered across seats and floor.

The mercenaries had taken every visible weapon.

They had also taken the medical cabinet.

Iris stood before the empty compartment near the rear door.

"They knew where everything was."

Nate lowered Holt between two rows of seats.

The coach smelled of blood, burned insulation and the chemical powder released by the emergency systems. His stomach tightened when he saw the place where Milo had been sitting before the derailment.

One of the black cases still rested beneath the damaged seat.

The other had slid halfway down the aisle.

Milo noticed them too.

"Still here."

"They couldn’t open them," Nate said.

"Neither can I."

Milo sat beside the smaller case and pulled it toward him.

His fingers failed to close properly around the handle.

Nate moved through the coach, checking the storage compartments the mercenaries had left behind. Most contained clothing, broken personal devices or food crushed beneath luggage.

He found two sealed bottles of water.

Iris took one and returned to Holt.

Holt’s pulse had weakened again.

She cut open the front of Holt’s uniform and placed both hands near the damaged Circuit.

The purple lines reacted beneath her fingers.

Iris flinched.

"What?"

"The damage is still spreading."

Nate crouched across from her.

"Can you stop it?"

"She needs suspension support. A brace, a field chamber, something that can keep the broken section from trying to circulate."

"We don’t have one."

"I know."

Milo reached into the space beneath the seat beside him.

His hand came back holding a narrow metal container.

"I found this before the train left."

Iris stared at it.

The container was marked with a red medical stripe and a royal rail seal.

"Where?"

"Under the floor panel. There was a maintenance kit."

She took it from him and opened the seal.

A single injector rested inside.

The liquid within the transparent chamber was pale blue.

Nate recognized the casing. He had seen stabilizers used during awakening accidents, when a Core or Node reacted badly to formation.

Iris checked the label twice.

"One dose," she said.

Milo laughed once, though there was no humour in it.

"That sounds about right."

Iris looked from his leg to Holt’s chest.

Nate understood before she spoke.

"What can it do for him?"

"It could suppress the strand’s reaction and stabilize the circulation around the wound."

"For how long?"

"Hours. Maybe less."

"And Holt?"

"It could prevent her damaged loop from collapsing before we reach proper equipment."

"Could?"

"I haven’t treated a torn Circuit before."

Milo leaned back against the seat.

"Give it to her."

Iris did not move.

"Milo."

"She carried us here."

"That isn’t how I decide."

"I’m deciding."

His voice weakened on the final word.

Iris closed her eyes briefly.

Nate watched the black lines beneath Milo’s skin. They had passed the middle of his thigh.

Another pulse travelled through him.

This one was stronger.

The emergency speaker above the rear door crackled.

All three of them looked up.

Static filled the coach, followed by a recorded voice broken by interference.

"—rail survivors capable of movement—proceed to emergency marker seventeen. Recovery access from eastern line. Rear recovery remains deferred. Repeat, mobile survivors proceed to marker seventeen."

The message dissolved into static.

A second later, it began again.

Milo looked toward the speaker.

"How far?"

Nate checked the railway map beside the rear door. Several sections had gone dark, but one emergency marker still blinked.

"Just under two kilometres."

Iris looked at Holt.

"We can’t carry her that far."

"There’s a maintenance cart outside," Milo said.

Nate remembered the small manual platform attached beneath the coach for track inspections.

"If it survived."

"It did. I saw it when we came in."

Iris still held the injector.

Milo reached for her wrist.

His hand trembled before touching her.

"Use it."

She looked down at him.

"I might be able to slow yours without it."

"You already tried."

"I can try again."

"And if another Hound comes?"

Iris’s jaw tightened.

Milo let go of her.

"Give her the dose."

She turned toward Nate.

He hated that she looked at him.

"It’s your decision," he said.

"No, it isn’t."

Milo’s voice came from behind them.

"It’s mine."

Iris remained still for several seconds.

Then she removed the injector from its case.

Holt did not react when the needle entered the damaged area beneath her collarbone.

The blue liquid emptied slowly.

For a moment, nothing happened.

Then the purple lines stopped spreading.

Holt’s back arched from the seat. A rough breath tore from her throat before her body dropped again.

Iris kept one hand against her chest.

The damaged circulation still felt wrong to Nate, but its rhythm had slowed.

"It worked?" he asked.

"It bought time."

Milo looked at the empty injector.

"Then stop looking like you killed me."

Iris rose too quickly.

"I need to prepare the cart."

She left through the damaged door without taking her medical bag.

Nate found Milo trying to lift the smaller black case.

"You should leave those."

"No."

"You can barely stand."

"Then carry one."

Nate took the larger case.

It weighed more than he expected.

"What’s inside?"

"Someone else’s future."

Nate looked at him.

Milo adjusted his grip on the smaller case.

"I was paid to deliver them. I didn’t ask questions."

"You’re not delivering anything like this."

"Then make sure my name stays with them."

Nate started toward the exit.

Milo did not follow.

Another pulse passed through the coach.

The lights in the emergency panel flickered as it moved through his circulation.

Nate turned.

Milo was staring at his injured leg.

The black lines had reached his hip.

"Iris," Nate called.

She climbed back into the coach.

Her face changed when she saw him.

"Milo, don’t move."

"I’m not."

She knelt and pressed her hand above the infection.

Milo’s body tightened.

His heel struck the floor.

A second pulse followed the first before it had fully faded.

The speaker crackled again.

"—mobile survivors proceed to marker seventeen—"

Iris pulled her hand away.

"It’s using your Core."

Milo breathed through his mouth.

"For what?"

"I don’t know."

Nate did.

The pulse was stronger because the strand was drawing energy from Milo and sending it outward.

A beacon.

"We have to leave," Nate said.

Iris looked at him sharply.

"I know."

"He can’t come with us."

Milo’s eyes closed.

Neither of them spoke.

The emergency message repeated above them.

Milo opened his eyes again and looked at Nate’s rifle.

"How many rounds?"

Nate checked without thinking.

"Enough."

"Good."

Iris stood.

"No."

Milo ignored her.

"I don’t want to feel it reach my Core."

"We don’t know what happens then," Iris said.

"That’s why I don’t want to feel it."

"I can sedate you."

"With what?"

Her silence answered him.

Milo shifted against the seat. Pain crossed his face, and his hands dug into the fabric beneath him.

"You take Holt. You take the cases. You reach the marker."

Nate’s mouth had gone dry.

Milo looked directly at him.

"Do it before I change my mind."

Iris turned away.

Nate removed the rifle from his shoulder.

It felt heavier than the black case.

He checked the safety, though he knew it was already off.

Milo watched him lift it.

"Not the leg," he said.

Nate stopped.

Despite everything, Milo almost smiled.

"I know," Nate said.

He placed the end of the barrel against the side of Milo’s head.

Milo’s breathing quickened.

His fingers closed around the handle of the smaller case.

"Make sure they know I didn’t steal it."

"I will."

The black lines beneath his neck moved.

Nate pulled the trigger.

The shot filled the coach.

Iris flinched beside the door.

Milo’s hand slipped from the case.

The speaker continued through the ringing in Nate’s ears.

"Mobile survivors proceed to emergency marker seventeen."

Nate lowered the rifle.

He could not hear himself breathing.

Iris returned after a moment. She crouched beside Milo, placed two fingers against his neck and kept them there longer than necessary.

Then she closed his eyes.

Neither of them spoke about the blood.

The maintenance cart had survived beneath the coach.

They pulled it onto the rail and unfolded the manual drive handle. Holt lay in the centre beneath two coats, her head supported by Iris’s medical bag.

The black cases went beside her.

Nate kept the smaller one near his feet.

Iris climbed onto the opposite side of the handle.

Behind them, Coach Eleven stood open beneath the grey sky.

Milo remained inside.

Nate looked at the doorway until the curve of the track began to hide it.

"You ready?" Iris asked.

"No."

She tightened her hands around the handle.

"Me neither."

They pushed down together.

The wheels resisted, then began to move.

Marker Seventeen blinked somewhere ahead of them, almost two kilometres through the fog.

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