POV Jacob

  Who didn't love plans? Plans were great! They let you have structured arguments and contingencies, allow you to push forward in the face of the unknown and make you look far more put together than you actually are.

  But I had no plan for the metaphorical equivalent of putting my brain in a blender to watch the pretty colours spin, because I had all the self-control of a child and wanted to push all the buttons. I may have come to terms with dying years ago, but what I didn't plan for was to become reliant on other people to heal my body and mind every couple of hours. I didn't plan to become a weak link in a group of apocalyptic survivors. I didn't plan to almost drive myself insane to keep out demons and mental attacks. And I certainly didn't plan for giants to appear in my mind and try to kill me whenever I pushed myself too hard.

  But how did I know things really weren't going to plan? The intervention style sit-down Noah wanted with me, one-on-one, in a large cottage that reeked of old boomer wealth. All of which has led me to believe my plans are shit and I seriously need to rethink my approach to this whole long-term survival thing.

  Looking around the room as Noah collects his thoughts, I note the large, intricately designed silver plate and what appears to be diamond jewellery, propped up in the glass display case. The other contents of the room didn't really strike me as useful. I had no need for family pictures of soulless resorts that were eventually forced to kick out the British population for bad behaviour before my time, or trophies of dead animals they 'bravely' hunted with a gun. Sending a quick glance at Noah, I pop up from my chair and steal anything that looked useful before plopping myself down on the overly plump chair to continue the awkward silence.

  "Sorry, this is needlessly awkward," Noah finally breaks the tension, shuffling in his chair for a moment. "Ella asked me to talk to you about your behaviour, but I personally think it's a stupid request, but it's the best way to avoid a needless argument, so here we are." He admits in a deadpan tone.

  "My behaviour? Why not just talk to me herself?" I question, slightly offended at the roundabout methods of criticism.

  "I don't know why she asked me to do it or what she expects to happen, to be honest with you. All I know is she, and possibly others, feel you put us at too much risk and throw your life around too easily because you expect her to heal you.

  Personally, I think we need to test the limits of what can be done, and the more information we gather about our mind palaces and powers, the better. I don't know what the challenge points will lead to, but if we can earn them, then we should. “But…” He pauses for a moment and looks at me, causing me to nod awkwardly as a go-ahead.

  "You throw yourself into danger and seem not to care what happens to you. You willingly take other people's place in high-risk situations and appear to have no regard for your own well-being. Given your history…"

  "You are worried I am going to kill myself?" I finish for him bluntly as he trails off.

  He coughs at my abruptness but nods all the same as he tries to find answers for my actions. But instead of answering him directly, I hum for a moment and gather my thoughts.

  "I don't talk about it much, so you properly don't even know why I tried in the first place. Hmmm, I have come to terms with my own death months ago, maybe even years, hard to remember honestly, it's all one big fucking blur. It's hard to care much about anything when everything constantly goes wrong; you end up an exhausted mess, numb to it all, and the numbness eventually spreads until it's all you feel.

  You're told again and again that something is wrong, but we don't know what. The tests come back fine, but you can't sleep, breathe, shit or eat without a pharmacy's worth of medicine. Until they finally lock it down and find out what it is. But it's not just one thing, autoimmune diseases, chronic asthma, and undetermined IBS, plus allergic reactions to histamine meant my diet practically did its best to make sure I wasn't eating." I pause to take a breath.

  "Fighting cancer while you're malnourished and your own immune system is already trying to kill you didn't give you great odds. They estimated I had a few more years at most. Maybe in the days before Reform sold the NHS to the warring conglomerates of America, I could have squeezed out a few more years, but as it stood, the medical bills were bankrupting my family, and there was only so far their nostalgia-fuelled affection would last. So, with mothers menopause on the way I figured I would just get out of the way so they could see how their next kid turned out without having the OC PAG knock on our door to take the newborn away." I listed the reasons like I was reading a shopping list, and, truthfully, I didn't mind discussing it much. I wasn't exactly lying about being numb to the whole thing.

  "So you did it so your parents could have a second kid?" Noah asks in disbelief.

  "One child policy was a bitch. It's not like I had great prospects lined up for myself. All the learning difficulties under the sun; body was a travesty, so no sports prodigy there, and it's not like I had any friends to miss me. I was already going to die and hated myself and life, so why not get it over with, let someone better take my place?" I answer honestly.

  "And what about now?" Noah questioned, his monotone voice, which had become the norm over the last few days, broke, letting a hint of wariness through, as if afraid of my answer.

  "Now?" I let out a laugh "Now, I am finally out from under the doctor's thumb, free from debilitating diseases and experiencing what a normal body feels like, and my future is open for once in my life. Well, apart from being part of a mad God's televised death game that killed my parents, ultimately making my promises and desire to try for them worthless and essentially trading one doomed ending for another. But you have no idea how good it feels to not be weighed down by dysfunctional joints, chronic pain, fatigue and brain fog. I spent years trying in vain to do anything, and now I can finally have it mean something. I treat my life like it's finally my own, and I refuse to waste it cowering away somewhere when I can finally work towards tangible progress."

  "So you aren't trying to…off yourself anymore?" Noah asks hesitantly, his monotone drawl cracking further and allowing some concern to seep into his voice. I let out a sigh 'That's what he takes from all that?'

  "Nope, twas a one-time thing, I just like fighting and that sweet, sweet adrenaline. Although it did make you pity me enough to become my friend, so maybe I should give it another go." I joke as my eyes begin to wander the room again.

  "Please don't do that, and it wasn't pity that made us friends." He tries to rebuke.

  "Nah, of course not, it had nothing to do with you seeing me get taken away by an ambulance and our mums being friends and everything to do with my charming personality and lovely dead eyes, right?" I glance at the uncomfortable man and shoot him a mocking smile.

  Noah coughs and turns away from me "She did ask," he almost whispers out before talking much louder, "But we are friends now, and I don't regret that decision. And neither do the others," He adds on the last part hastily.

  "Sure, buddy," I mutter out, and let the uncomfortable silence fill the air as I watch him fidget slightly before he starts talking again.

  "Soooo um, about the Ella thing? I'm glad you aren't trying to kill yourself anymore, and I agree with trying our best, but how do we deal with the rest of it all?"

  "Fuck if I know. She doesn't like me taking her healing for granted?" I ask.

  "As far as I can tell, that's a core part of it, but I also think she's pissed because she's not getting her way within the group a lot and is lashing out at you because you're…you." He adds and gestures vaguely towards me.

  "Riiiight, but the amour, weapons, scavenged goods and fighting on the front lines free of charge are all fine though?" I ask in genuine bafflement.

  "I don't know, man, I tried to ask her, but you know how she kind of just shuts off communicating when she's pissed." He moans, rubbing his hands on his face.

  "Like when you asked her…" I start only for him to say the same thing.

  "Like when I asked her out on a date." He finishes before asking, "How the hell do you even know about that man?" Before pausing for a moment, "Oh right, yeah, Max."

  "Fucking Max." I snort out in mild disdain before putting the conversation back on track, "Leave the healing thing with me. I have some Ideas, might wander around on my own for a week to sort myself out, the caves have been hell on my social battery." A half-truth but a truth nonetheless.

  "I don't think wandering off because you are sick of people is a great idea," he laughs out.

  "Trust me, the alternative is far worse. But we shall see how it goes and all that." I grin at his amused expression

  "You do you, man, just don't die a fool's death because of your pride, yeah?" he says, good-naturedly, before I see the almost visible process of a thought worming its way to the front of his mind, and his expression changes as his eyes widen. "Completely and utterly off topic, but I have to ask, would you tell me if you were from the future?"

  My head snaps back towards him as I immediately lose interest in the cruise pictures hung on the wall, and face the other teen with renewed focus. "Would entirely depend on the situation and the actions of our future selves, but probably, yes, why?" I ask, squirting my eyes at him in suspicion.

  "You're making theories left, right, and centre, and pushing people as much as possible, trying to get them to experiment with their abilities. You don't seem to care about your own pain and shrug off the existence of giant fucking spiders, monsters and Gods like it's normal."

  "Ok?" I asked, not sure if he was done yet.

  "You are growing at a scary pace, and before this started, you would constantly send me those shitty apocalyptic novels, a fair few of which had Gods take over the world and someone go back in time to do better with a second chance…" He trails off.

  "Oh, oooooh, hahaha, you think I'm from the future? You don't have some secret phrase or something?" I ask with a laugh.

  "Not really, but are you? Sudden rapid growth and a personality change out of nowhere? Wait, what phrase?" Noah asks more directly while trying to maintain eye contact.

  "I'm surprised you read some of those…" I say with a slight smile as I remember sending 'shitty novels' to Noah after he told me he was into manga. Turns out it wasn't quite as transferable as I hoped. "No, I'm not from the future, I'm just no longer weighed down by as much shit. And we are both growing pretty rapidly, Noah." I send him a hard look like I knew something I shouldn't. "I may not be some super athlete, academic genius like you, but I'm happy to push weird magical systems to the limit and play with the fire it makes."

  Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

  "Right, right. Kind of disappointing. And the phrases?" He asks curiously, ignoring my comment on his rapid growth.

  "I know, right, time loops are perfect for repetition and testing shit…" I trail off in wishful thinking as well as dread at the prospect that may no longer be fiction. "When I was little, I made a bunch of phrases that I have updated as time goes by, so that if someone came from the future and wanted to convince me, I would know that they are at least dabbling in some mythical shit," I say with a grin at the weirdness of the situation.

  "You were a strange kid, you know that, right?" Noah says with a hint of amusement.

  "Hey! I will have you know I am still very much a weird kid at heart." I state in mock defensiveness as the conversation lulls back into silence.

  I tap a tuneless rhythm against the heavily cushioned armrest as I try to think of a way to ask the question on my mind before just deciding to blurt it out with little regard for social norms. "When do you think the group will break up? 10% of the world-altering event remains; if that keeps happening, we will be overrun in a few weeks, depending on what the fuckers make us do. And two of our group mates refuse to do adaptive training due to a self-mutilation phobia and laziness. Plus the whole healing business," I laugh at the absurdness of it all.

  He pauses to think about my question for a few seconds before responding, "We may be screwed long term, but, well, humans die of old age eventually. We are just trading one world war for another, really. Best we can do is try our best and try to build each other up as we go; from there, it's their choice. I don't know how long we will last together, but acting like it is inevitable may just be what causes it all to fall apart." He says in a cold yet sombre voice, as more of the numbness creeps back in for a moment.

  "Born too late to explore the world and too early to travel space, but we made it just in time to be fucked over by the gods. Always a higher power with an ego that brings the people close to the breaking point, but this time the best chance of our survival is a high-stress group project." I click my tongue in annoyance.

  "Hey, at least we don't have to pay taxes", Noah jokes in a dry tone.

  "You just know someone is going to try it, though. Odds on the military if they can sort their shit out?" I ask.

  "Oh God, don't even man, I don't want to pay taxes." Noah moans before a knock on the door interrupts our conversation.

  "You guys alright?!?" Calls Ava through the door. "Mia found out where we are, it's like a two-hour walk to the house, so we are getting out the bikes, but her pets need a hood to hide their eyes from the sunlight!"

  Noah and I glance at each other and give a mutual nod of understanding.

  "Well, looks like we are on the move then," Noah says while slapping his hands onto his thighs.

  I hum in acknowledgement and stretch my back as I stand up. We both make our way to the house where we meet the others, and I make a few hoods for Mia's tunnel pets so we can head off on our bikes. I debated running with my weighted armour for the extra challenge, but decided that making it back to our stashed loot before it fell into the wrong hands was more important.

  So with minimal fucking around, we peddled away from the small street of stone cottages and headed down the winding B-roads that made up the English countryside, dodging and weaving through the small packs of undead or putting them down if needs must.

  After a few minutes, we finally reached a junction and headed onto the M5 motorway, where we started heading towards the locally, and sometimes hatefully, named spaghetti junction. It was a large, tangled mess of poor road planning at the M5-M4 junction, often causing crashes that left all of Bristol landlocked for several hours.

  Our plan was to travel along the M5 until the spaghetti junction, using the unnecessary number of lanes, bridges, and foliage to hide from prying eyes, and then make it onto the M4, which conveniently ran close to the nature reserve and my house. This way, we would avoid the previously highly populated Bradley Stoke, which used to be a residential area but was now nothing more than a maze of houses filled with ravenous undead.

  Mia's pets scouted the Motorways while Sam kept an enhanced ear out for any trouble in our immediate surroundings. After a few close calls from the increasingly large hordes of undead, we dismounted our bikes so we could move relatively unseen through the entangled vehicles.

  The highway was eerily quiet, with its once-busy lanes reduced to a graveyard of deformed scrap-metal husks that littered the roads like corpses on a battlefield, from drivers suddenly dying or chaotic wheels obscuring their vision, making them crash into their fellow commuters.

  Only in this instance, drivers and passengers alike came back in a twisted form of life that only wished to defile and devour what remained of the living. With the open roads of the motorway and the high quantity of death, the undead had managed to pool together into hordes ranging from 50 to 100 strong, far too many to realistically deal with without some serious preparations.

  It was one of these hordes that had us hiding in a Megabus on its way to Cardiff, transporting financially struggling students to university. The bus was high enough that the undead wouldn't be able to see us through the windows, even if the front half was infused with the tarmac, presumably from a tunnel opening and closing under the wheels of the bus.

  Not that the elevated position and fused shut door stopped us from hearing the tormented symphony of the undead or helped in any way when the sheer amount of them with their enhanced strength was enough to violently shake the bus as they pushed through the gaps between the broken vehicles.

  'And yet it was only the second most stressful experience I've had on a bus,' I think to myself, lying on the floor of the bus that tried to hide its filth with colourful erratic patterns that did nothing to conceal the suspicious stains and empty wrappers that were now at eye level.

  It took fifteen long minutes before the bus stopped shaking, the snarling faded into the distance, and we were given the all clear to continue our journey through the motorways, which, in hindsight, might have been the longer of the two options.

  This time, we were far more successful at gaining ground and didn't have to play a high-risk game of hide-and-seek for a whole two minutes before Mia pushed us down behind a flipped caravan to inform us that there was a flying human woman. With wings, a beak and the taloned feet of an eagle, it used to carry off a suspiciously limp man. The sight of another mutant human so close to home sends alarm bells ringing through everyone's mind, especially when the last two were working together, and this one could fly, allowing her to easily find us if she got lucky and lead the rest of them right to us.

  That was if she was as sadistic and cannibalistic as the last mutants we ran into, for all we know, she's helping the man who she just dropped from a great height over the local shopping centre that had cars piled around like makeshift walls and various heads on spikes that were half eaten by crows. Yeah, I'm sure they're great and mean us no harm whatsoever.

  While that information was concerning, we collectively set that problem aside for later so we could focus on getting back home for a proper night's sleep and a hot meal as soon as possible. Once Mia had a moment to settle her stomach after witnessing and describing the mutant's abode, we headed off again.

  Not long after the shopping centre came the nature reserve that by this point had completely overtaken our old school with a thick canopy of trees and underbrush of razor-sharp brambles that almost seemed to move on their own to ensnare an undead and bring it to the floor and out of sight in a worrying display of savagery.

  And the closer we got, the more mutated giant plant life there was. We made the final stretch of the journey through the now unfamiliar motorway, cast in deep shadow by the trees that battled the hardened Bitumen, with roots pressing up against the road, cracking its blackened surface into an uneven maze of jagged potholes.

  The monuments of humanity wouldn't last long under nature's renewed onslaught, but it did create a picturesque fusion of greenery and infrastructure that we cut through, towards and through a high wooden fence that finally had us back in familiar ground.

  We only had to clear out a couple of undead behind our walls before finally making it to our stash of goods we couldn't fit into our inventories, otherwise known as my house, where we could all finally rest for the first time in a week. Mia quickly spread out her pets to keep an eye out on our little slice of paradise while the rest of us hauled the corpses of the dead into a shopping trolley that quickly found itself outside of our claimed area.

  We had collectively agreed to go to bed early to wake up in time for the shop opening, just in case the Gods slipped any extra surprises into the interdimensional store. So we spent the afternoon organising our inventories with the interesting corpse parts and moss people were carrying for me, quickly finding their new home in my workshop. I even made time to hang the black moss out to dry in the sun to try to improve its explosive properties.

  The ropes and extra lights were stored away while batteries were swapped and connected to solar-powered recharging stations. Food and water were restocked, and clothes and gear were washed and oiled as needed. Then, once all our chores were done, Sam took his shift to cook a late lunch while I headed out to a specific house a few streets away.

  It took me a while to find the exact address I told the copy-and-paste user to meet me at. But after a few minutes and unanimated corpses later, I finally found the blue bells house number 69 across the road from the little sweet shop, built into an old ice cream truck all the local kids knew of, which is exactly why I chose it.

  The warmer summers, thanks to the Clanker wars of 2030 and rampant human pollution throughout our history, saw many kids buying large quantities of ice pops and ice cream at the small local store. Or they did before the UK's dairy scandals came to light. Anyway, while I may not have been able to eat the cold, sweet treats, I still knew where to go, and tracking the house down only took as long as it did because people didn't have house numbers in their gardens, even though it was far safer to travel through them than the open roads.

  But when I did find the new build house in all its copy-and-pasted glory, I was happy to find the door propped open and hushed whispers from within. Not wanting to intrude, I knock softly on the door and wait as the whispers slowly fall away into the encroaching silence of the neighbourhood. I softly call out a greeting as I slowly push the door open, its rusted hinges breaking the intrusive silence with an eerie squeak that pierced my ears and had the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

  Something wasn't right, but when is it ever? The red carpet sagged into the floor as if it had lost all support from the earth; shapes lurked in the house's windows, giving me just enough warning to jump out of the way of the crude stone spear that came from the window.

  At once, the whispering returned, quickly cascading into jittery laughter. I looked further into the house, where white orbs of reflective light peered out of deep shadows back at me.

  "Help us, please."

  "Free me,"

  "Why would you do this?"

  "I'm begging you,"

  "Please,"

  "A baby,"

  "Hello, can you talk?"

  Acid rained out from the upper windows of the surrounding houses as bone spears and stone javelins hurtled through the air towards me. The surprise attack was effective but ultimately useless; there was nobody around to save them after all.

  Air ruptured in protest as twin double-barreled boom sticks fired towards the open windows, acid and stone crashed uselessly against the tarmac as I dived behind the remains of a car, the metal corpse shaking as its glass shattered and sprayed across my armoured body.

  For a moment, there was silence, but it was drowned out quickly by the roars and howls of the neighbourhood as the twisted creatures of our new world heard their prey.

  There was no more movement from the windows, but the voices inside the house in front of me still giggled and begged deep within the shadows, the pale orbs of their eyes swimming through the darkness as they crept closer. But it was too late. There may have been a more exciting way to deal with the humanoid monsters, but I deemed them a waste of time. My fluctuating core of power roared to life as it danced through the matter of the new build.

  The exact same type of new build I lived in, the same type everyone lived in. Same poor insulation, same thin walls, and same two load-bearing wooden beams that quickly collapse under their own weight after they find parts of their structure developing a more liquid disposition.

  This, of course, caused a lot of noise, but I was already moving on, not caring to extract their crystals from the rubble. A quick message melted into the driveway, and every junction I came across in the street later, and I was heading back home before the hordes, attracted by the dust billowing ruin, tore the place apart.

  With the copy user either dead, not caring, or on her way, I had other things to occupy myself with. It was finally time to see if all those near-death experiences were worth it and what the famed interdimensional shop had to offer.