Chương 109: 42.Wounded 42-2

Late morning, second week, day three. The moment a new marker lit on my HUD, my first reaction wasn't relief. It was the urge to swear. Because in the Evaporation Forest, the more something looked like a lifeline, the more it usually functioned like a noose—just tied with better technique. The marker appeared southwest in the rainforest zone: an official shelter bunker half-buried in fused black rock, with a small supply node tagged beside it. Not close, but worth the distance.

More importantly—it was lit on my HUD. Lit meant it was a live door for Team 144. Dark meant even with the physical door right there, it was just a very thick coffin. I dimmed the projection until only I could read it, stared at the marker for two seconds.

"Frost 01, route change," I said. Jess was crouched on a split root, opening a processed salt-water pouch. She looked up, mouth corner lifting: "Oh? Finally our turn for the Federation to toss us some decent kibble?"

"Hold the gratitude," I said, killing the display and standing to adjust pack straps.

"Might be kibble. Might also include collar and cage." Harvey asked only: "Distance?"

"Two-point-four kilometers, southwest approach through ravine mouth into access zone," I said.

"Terrain narrows. Good for hiding people and things worse than people. Frost 03, forward security. Frost 02, ground scan and strippable cover. Frost 04, time and water. Today we're not competing for dignity—we're competing to see who gets roasted last." Maki clipped her board back to her wrist: "Understood." Her understood always sounded like a field regulation—cold, short, emotionless, perfectly functional. Annoying but efficient. We pushed southwest from the burnt forest edge.

The further we went, the tighter terrain became. Open burn zones gradually gave way to hardened black rock and twisted root masses, ground dotted with half-cooked thermal pockets that exhaled hell's breath when stepped on. At the first choke point, Harvey raised his hand.

"Stop." We halted instantly. He crouched, tapping heat-bleached stone to the right-front with his tool handle. Faint scrape marks. Ash ground down by repeated boot contact.

"Recent," he said. Jess half-crouched beside it immediately, eyes scanning, tongue against her canine: "More than one team. Someone's been here. Someone's been waiting." Maki checked both ravine sides: "Branch-cutting marks on left high ground. Cleared for sightlines." I didn't speak yet. I looked up first. The black rock platform above the ravine wasn't high, but enough to hide three to five people. Direct sightlines down the approach corridor.

This terrain paired with a live bunker door was basically a sign reading: Welcome, literate bastards—please educate each other here.

"Ambush position," I said quietly.

"But we still need to read the door. Frost 03, probe left-front ten meters, don't cross the line. Frost 02, check right-side bypass potential. Frost 04, log retreat routes. First to spot people—don't pop up like an action hero, report first." Jess snorted, mocking both action movies and my need to remind her not to be stupid. She moved anyway. We pressed into the ravine mouth, heat like someone had opened a furnace in our faces.

No wind above or below—just wet heat glued in neck guards and straps that wouldn't shake loose. Reaching the access zone's outer edge, I finally glimpsed the bunker through rock gaps. Half-embedded in the black rock wall, front face dominated by one obnoxiously thick blast door. ID lamp beside it amber-dark—not yet green. The clearing ahead was small: shallow half-dry salt pool left, two gutted supply crate shells right. Good location—hard ground, elevated, perfect for surviving Gales.

Also terrible—because everyone could see how good it was. Then I saw the second problem. Boot prints on the ground. Not old ones. Fresh enough that ash hadn't settled back into them. More than one set.

"Shit," I said quietly. Almost simultaneously, Jess's voice came compressed from left-front: "Contact." Too late. The left high ground moved first. Crack—snap! Not live-round report—the sharp, brittle sound of training mag-spikes hitting rock. Black stone edge erupted in hot ash. I dropped instinctively, right shoulder scraping stone, second round incoming before the first finished.

"Cover!" I shouted. Team 144 scattered. Harvey slid behind right-side root mass. Jess rolled into a shallow left pit. Maki ducked behind half-split burnt log. I flattened against a low stone lip at the door approach's outer edge, looked up, counted at least four silhouettes above. Not an opening meant to kill us. Meant to pin us, seal the route, turn us into stationary targets. Third round passed over my head, hit burnt timber behind—clang—showering ash off the half-carbonized trunk.

Someone called down from above, voice carrying that self-righteous irritation of people who think high ground makes them right.

"You down there—don't move!" I almost laughed. You've got us pinned to the ground. Want us to pose for the training video too? Second voice followed, male, roughly our age but affecting senior tone: "Hand over your team lead's HUD route. We hold this point first. You back off, we don't pursue." Jess, flat in the left pit, let out a cold laugh through comms: "How touching. Robbery with courtesy." Harvey was more direct: "Four visible. Two high, two mid. Possible reserve right."

Maki reported like roll call: "Suppression coverage complete. Two left high ground, one center ridge, one rear suspected. Close assault disadvantageous."

"I know it's disadvantageous," I said through gritted teeth, staring at the amber door light that wasn't yet green.

"But the door is live." Half a beat of comm silence. Because they all knew what that meant. This wasn't just a headstone. It was active bait that could actually eat people. And as long as I was breathing, I was the only one who knew if it would open. The team above seemed to guess it too, because the tone turned uglier.

"Hoshino Shimo, right? Project your HUD route! We just want the point, not your lives!" My spine went cold. Not fear. Irritation. They weren't camping this spot by chance. They'd been tracking us—the squad with steady movement, sudden route changes, and a team lead clearly navigating by nodes. Tracked until they confirmed we were here to open doors. Perfect. Shelters weren't safe zones. They were nets.

"Frost 01," Maki called quietly.

"We cannot sustain prolonged engagement."

"I know." This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it. Knowing didn't help. Team 144's weaknesses had been measured and someone was driving knives into the gaps. We carried close-quarters weapons, entrenching tools, short-range suppression gear—perfect for night fighting, tight spaces, choke points. Against high-ground fireline control like this, we might as well bring butter knives to a sniper duel. Survivable, but ugly. Jess couldn't hold back first.

"Give me ten seconds, I can crawl up the left—""No," I cut her off instantly.

"We can't stay pinned here, Frost 01."

"I know," I said low.

"But the second you show, they shoot your legs. You're not here to look impressive, you're here as a cautionary tale." Two more mag-spikes punched down—one into Harvey's root cover, one straight into my stone lip, numbing my wrist with vibration. Their firepower wasn't heavy, just dirty. Angles where you couldn't raise your head. Impact points painful but not lethal, designed to lock you in place. They didn't want kills. They wanted us pinned like specimens.

"Last time," the male voice shouted.

"Hand over the route!" I licked dry lips and roared back: "Go petition Academic Affairs for faster reincarnation!" Good. At least my mouth still worked. Next second, the suspected right reserve moved. A mag-spike came down at a vicious diagonal angle, raking past Maki's burnt log cover, forcing her to compress backward entirely.

"Fifth contact, right side!" she reported immediately. Shit. More than Harvey estimated. The situation just deteriorated. My brain spun fast, but thinking didn't close range gaps. We couldn't assault, couldn't wait them out. Drag this on and we'd be ground down here by educational methodology before any Gale arrived. Then— The left high ground lead pitched forward without warning, like someone had kicked him from behind. No scream. Just one dull impact sound. I froze half a beat. The second dropped.

This time I heard clearly. Not standard gunshot. Short. Cold. Like someone tapping steel ruler against glass until it shattered. Crack. Third shot came faster—straight into the center ridge suppressor's shoulder. His hand went slack, training mag-spike rifle tumbling, and he slumped sideways. Tranquilizer rounds. And the kind with penetration high enough to be infuriating, precision high enough to make you want to curse the manufacturer.

"…Oh," Jess breathed softly over comms, like she'd just spotted something more vicious than herself. Part admiration, part resentment. A heavy thud from the right-rear—something large hitting timber—followed by a voice I recognized, loud enough that the black rock itself had to make room.

"Hoshino! Head down!" I dropped on instinct. The next second, a reinforced pod shield panel came crashing out from behind the right-side root mass. The guy carrying it was unreasonably huge—dark skin, shoulders built specifically for arguing with the Federation, the whole body like a wall that had been forcibly stuffed into uniform and gear. Dwight "D" Barkley. We'd been paired once in a class exercise. That's when I knew he wasn't normal.

Normal people don't haul blast shields like they're taking a stroll, and they don't deliberately soak up training fire in simulated urban combat just to complain afterward that the opposing side's aim was disappointing.

"How do you people always manage to corner yourselves in the worst possible angles?" D roared, slamming the shield forward and brute-forcing a covered position out of the death zone in front of the bunker door. I almost yelled back balanced Federation pedagogy, but before I could, the right-rear sniper position cracked again. Crack. The last suppressor dropped. Then she appeared. Short—about my height. Grey-white thermal wrap over her armor, face carrying no expression, eyes like two sleep-deprived dead fish.

She came out from behind the charred root mass in a half-crouch, and the Type-99 high-penetration magnetic sniper rifle on her shoulder looked deeply unfriendly. The Kushima Heavy Industries logo on the receiver—the one that always made me think of Maki—was stamped clean on the side. Akari Flak. She looked like the world owed her eight hours of sleep. The rifle was wide awake. She glanced our way once, tone flat as a weather report.

"Tranquilizer rounds. They won't be up for about twenty minutes. Assuming they didn't supplement breakfast with anti-serum." Jess poked half her head out of the pit, staring at Akari like she was some new species of toxic mushroom.

"…Terrifying." Akari didn't even twitch an eyebrow.

"Thank you." Two more people behind D. One male, medium build, carrying a short-range launcher and supply case—clearly logistics and transport. One female, covering the flank with a low-lethality training rifle, eyes more tense than her equipment. Good. Two support roles who clearly understood they weren't the main event today. No time for pleasantries with D. I just shouted: "Door's live! Frost 04, confirm interface! Frost 02, 03, clear left and right close angles!"

"Copy!" This time Team 144's responses practically overlapped. With long-range suppression tearing the situation open, the whole thing came alive. Jess moved like a dog off a leash—low, fast, cutting straight for the left close angle, targeting the position that had pinned her down hardest. Harvey emerged from the right, kicked the half-conscious suppressor's training rifle clear, then followed up with a tool handle to send him back to sleep properly.

Maki went straight for the ID pillar beside the door, fingers flying as she popped the interface panel. I pushed forward with her. The exposed stretch by the bunker door was hatefully short and more than enough to get someone killed. As long as anyone on the outer perimeter was watching, those few steps cost blood.

"Hoshino, get behind me!" D shouted.

"Bullshit, the door reads me!" I shouted back. He cursed—probably not a compliment—but immediately angled the shield left, blocking the stupidest firing angles. Maki had the interface panel open, expression tightening slightly.

"Secondary confirmation lock. Requires team lead HUD sync."

"I've got it." I slapped my left wrist against the interface zone. The HUD immediately threw up a string of authentication text cold enough to punch. [TEAM 144 / FROST 01] [SHELTER BUNKER B-7: CURRENT CYCLE ACTIVE] [OUTER DOOR AVAILABLE] The next second, the ID lamp jumped from amber to green. I hadn't even started to exhale when a sharp crack of displaced air came from the right-rear. Not one of ours. Someone had slipped through.

"Frost 01!" Maki spun. Too late. The shot wasn't aimed at the door. It was aimed at me. Probably one of the downed shooters forcing a last round through the tranquilizer haze, or maybe there really was a sixth shadow on the perimeter. Either way, it came in from the right-rear diagonal at an angle with genuine malice in its geometry. I managed a half-twist. Then my left lower abdomen felt like someone had driven a red-hot iron bar straight through it. Not just pain.

First a concussion, then that entire side of my torso—breathing included—got ripped out at once. My legs folded and the edges of my vision went black.

"Fuck—" My knee buckled. I nearly went straight down. Maki was first to catch me. The moment her hand touched my side, her face went dark.

"Penetrating wound." Her voice was half a beat faster than usual. Great. Even Maki was accelerating—meant the situation was genuinely not romantic. D spun and drove the shield toward the right-rear. The support girl opened two bursts of low-lethality fire to fully suppress that vector. Akari barely looked up—just reset, inhaled, squeezed. Crack. This time the follow-up shooter made no sound before folding back into the rock gap.

"No second contact," Akari said, flat. I wanted to say thanks, very reassuring, but opening my mouth made the left side feel like it was tearing. I bit the words down and swallowed them. Right then, the wind changed. Not ordinary hot air—the entire atmosphere suddenly drawing in one direction, like something enormous in the distance had taken a deep breath. The remaining Strangler Pyre-Vines started pressing back against the rock walls. Several Maw-Ferns tucked in the crevices began slowly folding shut.

Maki and I looked up at the same time.

"…Precursors," she said. As if we weren't busy enough, the HUD snapped red across the entire display. [WARNING: HIGH-HEAT CONVECTION ANOMALY] [ULTRA-LARGE PURGATION GALE FRONT FORMING] [MAIN HEATFRONT ESTIMATED ARRIVAL: 00: 18: 52] Academic Affairs chimed in right on schedule to make everything worse.

"Attention, all first-years. Firestorm front formation detected. Main heatfront estimated arrival in nineteen minutes. Proceed immediately to available shelter or establish field cover. Repeat—""Repeat your ass," Jess muttered, already dragging people. The scene became a different kind of hell. Everyone who'd been fighting over the point moments ago—conscious or not—now had to decide whether to stay enemies or avoid getting cooked together.

We had no time for the tranquilized perimeter shooters; anyone still mobile would figure out their own options, and anyone who didn't would probably earn a very cold footnote in the Academy's educational records. One thing mattered: whoever was going through this door before the firestorm hit had to be decided right now. Cold waves kept washing out from my side, but I forced the words out.

"All eight. Inside." D looked down at me.

"You sure?"

"I'm not sure I can stand long enough to push you out," I said through gritted teeth.

"But I'm sure if this door doesn't close right now, all eight of us cook at the same rate." Akari slung her rifle over her shoulder, tone still half-asleep.

"No objection. Too hot outside." Really appreciate the constructive input. Harvey had already rushed inside for a quick check: "Interior viable. Main chamber fits. Secondary doors intact." Maki kept pressure on my side with one hand, speaking faster but still clearly enough to make you want to flip a table: "Inside first, then stop the bleeding. Jess, collect people left side. Harvey, clear interior. D, carry her."

"I can—" I got halfway through the protest before D picked me up like an uncooperative supply crate.

"You can shut up. That's plenty," he said.

"Fuck, you're starting to sound like Maki."

"Then you're having a rough day." The support boy and girl shoved their gear and two mobile teammates inside first. Jess grabbed someone who nearly slipped at the threshold and booted him through, rough but efficient.

"Move it, asshole," she snapped.

"This isn't the time to audition your backbone." The wind outside was getting drier, hotter. Distant canopy fractures had started—a low grinding like the whole rainforest was announcing its bones were about to be roasted through. As D half-carried, half-dragged me into the bunker's main chamber, I looked back one last time. The ravine mouth—where people had been shooting, hiding, calculating moments ago—now looked small and flat, like ash waiting to be casually swept away by the next Gale.

Systems, firepower, schemes—in the end, they all had to bow to the fire first. Akari came in last. She paused at the threshold for half a second, raised her rifle, fired once more outside, then stepped back.

"Someone wanted to follow us in," she said.

"And now?" Jess asked.

"Sleeping." Excellent. Her worldview was refreshingly compact. Harvey and the support boy pulled the outer blast door down together. The hydraulics whined, setting teeth on edge. Maki kept one hand pressed to my side, the other hitting the interior lock. Her hands were steady—steady enough I started wondering if I'd imagined that earlier acceleration. Probably just blood loss making my brain sentimental. The blast door sealed in the last instant, and the wind outside spiked to a shriek. Then— WHUMP! Not explosion.

The Purgation Gale front slamming into the bunker's outer shell—like the whole world getting slapped flat by something invisible and enormous. The door shuddered. The walls groaned. Dust sifted down from the seams. Eight people. All inside. And I was slumped against the interior bunker wall, that damn thing still lodged in my side, blood seeping down under the armor edge, unreasonably cold.

Maki looked down at the wound and finally used the fastest speaking speed I'd ever heard from her to say something I really didn't want to hear.

"Harvey, lights on. Jess, hold her down. From this second on, nobody gets in my way." I looked up at her and managed to pull my mouth into a weak smirk.

"Wow, Maki. That tone... you finally sound human." She looked at me. Eyes as cold as always, but with something else in them now—something I didn't have the energy to analyze right now.

"Hoshino," she said.

"Shut up."