While I was driving, I popped open my most recent notification, filtering out the old levels and upgrades.
Current Level:
D20/D100
Equipped Upgrades:
Rusty Bumper Reinforcement
Duct Tape Patches
Extra Loud Horn
Homemade Smokescreen
Blinding Headlight High-Beams
Road Spikes
CB Radio Jammer
Spike Strip Deployment System
Nitrous Boost
Drone Scout
Available Upgrades:
Drone Scout (deployed)
Current Vehicle:
Level 15. Dodge Dakota
Available Vehicles:
Level 20. Ford Crown Victoria
The Springfield XD-S, another smallish 9 mm handgun, was now available to me. So far, other than the Drone Scout, I wasn’t all that thrilled with the Level 20 upgrades. The good news was that the next level would supposedly open up machine guns and the Midrange Trucks & SUVs.
At least I had the drone scout. I’d deployed it just before I lost sight of the shade. Hopefully, it would collect some useful information.
I headed down Arlington Street to Tremont, then hopped onto Waltham Street, which would take me into the heart of the South End. If I went any farther south, I’d end up in Dorchester, and any farther east, back into South Boston.
By the looks of it, the area I found myself in had to have been an industrial center at one time. Most of the brick buildings likely dated back to the early 20th century, though they’d obviously been fixed up and repurposed.
The roads were narrow and unfamiliar to me. It was a good thing that I’d already mapped to Lanie’s position because as I got to Harrison Avenue, the Endr interface started glitching. It wasn’t exactly like it had been up in Maine, when I’d had a full-blown outage. This was more like spotty WiFi. The directions that came through were delayed. Notifications didn’t seem to be working at all.
I carefully approached Lanie’s last known location on Randolph Street, a one-way road. To my right was a fenced-in MBTA parking lot. The public transit buses were lined up so tightly that I couldn’t help but feel sympathy for the bus drivers who’d have to navigate them in the morning.
On the left side of the street, a massive green space erupted in the middle of a block’s worth of brick condos. Rotch Field was a multi-sport field for Emerson College, and on any other day, I might’ve paused to snap a picture of the sign to text Cam the obvious crotch joke. Today, I was focused on the awful-looking Chrysler LeBaron Convertible resting just inside a broken metal chain. The car’s lights were on, and the front grill smoked from where it must have crashed through the chain.
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The tell-tale sign of a bumper reinforcement upgrade and Duct tape window patches told me this had to be Lanie’s ride. Pulling in behind her car, I scanned the area for any sign of my fellow Endr. Nothing. I hopped out of my truck, turning my head toward the sound of gunfire. Flashes of light came from the field.
I had only one handgun equipped, but I knew it would take too long to get my knife out of the glove box, and longer still to get another gun out of the truck bed. Fuck it. Whatever Lanie was facing, she would at least face it with me and my sole handgun.
I sprinted to the field, where I found Lanie standing in center field. She stared up at the sky, screaming and firing from two guns at the two shades circling above. She bled from multiple wounds, her hands wavering as she continued to fire at the creatures. There was a clicking sound as one of her weapons ran out of ammunition.
I pointed my handgun and fired off three controlled rounds. A shade fell to the ground, and Lanie’s eyes flicked to me for a split second. She threw her empty to the ground, gritted her teeth, and adopted a double-handed grip before firing her remaining bullets at the second, final shade. Both creatures evaporated into the air.
Lanie stood still for a moment, her eyes finding mine. She stumbled, and I ran to catch her before she could fall. Her signature white tank top was stained red with blood from the gouges running along her shoulders and back. She was pale and disoriented in the faint light of the field. I gently walked her over to her convertible to place her in the driver’s seat.
“Come on, songbird,” I whispered as she slumped in the seat.
“Thank you,” she said, her voice faint. “I would have died out there.”
“But you didn’t. You’re too tough for that.”
“No, I…” she trailed, looking down at her slowly mending flesh. She looked back up at me, seeming confused. “I leveled three times, Max.”
I realized the level boost had never come up in any of our conversations, and as a fellow Endr, there was no way for her to check my level status other than observing what I was driving and noticing which upgrades I had access to. Given she hadn’t seen me in action since the Fellsway many weeks ago, and I had never explained that part of my battle with the shades, it was no wonder she was surprised. Still, all of that would have to wait.
“Can you drive?” I asked. The color was slowly returning to her face–a good thing given I was starting to hear sirens from somewhere behind the maze of brickwork houses that surrounded us.
“I think so.”
“Change your shirt, if you have one, and transform your vehicle once we’re out of visual range of this spot.”
She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, Max. I know.”
I mentally kicked myself, having forgotten for a minute that she’d been doing this a lot longer than me. I gave her an apologetic smile before shuffling back to my own car and moving it out of her way. We sped the rest of the way down Arlington Street, switching into other vehicles as we went.
A minute later, I saw the message that had appeared on my chat screen.
songbird: Can I stay with you tonight?
I had to remind myself to breathe. Lanie wanted to come over to The Central?
Play it cool. Play it cool.
Max: Fuck yeah!
songbird: Is it safe there?
Max: Should be. The shades haven’t come after me in almost a month.
I thought about joking that being with me was probably the safest option, given the shades appeared to be going after other Endrs now, but I had a feeling the joke wouldn’t land well just yet. We hopped on I-93 and practically raced to my exit in Somerville, ironically, the same one we’d taken to drag-race the Fellsway not that long ago.
According to my status screen, I was now Level D22 and had access to a Jeep Cherokee and a Ford Explorer. My vehicles also had access to a Minigun Hood Mount and something called a Sticky Bomb Launcher. Inside the hidden well bed, there would be two additional guns that were considered machine guns, a Heckler & Koch MP5 and a freaking Uzi. Now we were talking!
I was pulling up to park near my apartment building when I remembered the drone I had sent after the shades. The feed was dead and had been for some time, according to my interface. I’d have to figure out how to analyze the footage it had gotten before it died, assuming that was something I even could do in the strange, magical system inside my brain. Yet another thing to discuss with Lanie.
Despite her earlier rejection, I couldn’t help but wonder if anything would happen between us. She had asked to spend the night at the Central. She’d been hurt, and her ride would have expedited her healing, but she’d still need to rest to fully recover.
So did I think anything would happen between us? Likely no. But did I hope there was a chance?
Hell yeah, I did.
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