Waypoint: The Complete Series Read online

  Copyright © 2019 Deborah Adams and Kimberley Perkins

  All rights reserved. This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of the publisher, except as provided by United States of America copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher at the address below.

  ISBN: 978-1-7325071-7-3

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblances to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Edited by Brittany Dory, Blue Minerva Copyediting and Kristen Tate, The Blue Garret.

  Rocket City Publishing

  990 Explorer Blvd. NW

  Huntsville, AL 35806

  Table of Contents

  Waypoint

  INTEL: A Waypoint Prequel

  Constellation

  To our understanding husbands,

  Matt and John, who sacrificed their wives to this book.

  Before

  Simon

  The dark red sky loomed above as loose dust from the earth whipped around the Knights of Arcadia. Granules of sand scraped across his B-CLASS visor. His new Regent-issued helmet was dirty, and no amount of rubbing would ever get it clean again. They had upgraded the HUD and improved the tactical lighting instruments but seemed to have forgotten to make the damn things scratchproof. So much for building an army of super soldiers.

  At this point, Simon would have ripped off his helmet if he didn’t think he would suffocate from the poor environmental conditions of the hostile zone. He knew it wasn’t time to die yet—not when the enemy was lurking on the horizon. His HUD didn’t detect them, but he could feel them out there. They were waiting to pounce. The bastards were trigger-happy and wanted nothing more than the complete annihilation of his military outfit—his friends.

  The invaders had started terraforming, filling the air with noxious chemicals. Their drills were digging deep into the earth, pumping in poison like a bee sting. Their foreign technology was saturating underground rivers and ecosystems with toxic venom, eating away at the indigenous life forms.

  Scenes had played out in front of Simon in recent months, scenes of children saying goodbye to their childhood homes, families packing up and leaving when they realized this battleground was no place to put down roots. He hoped they had made it far away from all the shooting and sickness.

  For him, there was no place else he’d rather be than on the front line with his comrades.

  “Listen up,” a sharp voice crackled through the com. “We’ll approach from the east. Keep a tight formation and try not to push ahead of the group.” Collins was their fearless commander. His expectations were always clear and concise, but his disapproval at their failures could be searing.

  “It’s strange, right?” Simon pondered aloud. “We crossed into enemy territory a few hundred feet back, but there’s nothing on the HUD.”

  “They’re waiting for us to make our move,” Troy said in his deep register. “Cowards.”

  Collins sighed. “Don’t worry about them. Stick to the plan, and we’ll be able to take the Citadel. Everyone in position?”

  “Ready when you are,” Malachi called out from his vantage point. Simon always felt better knowing Malachi was watching them through the scope of his sniper rifle. His quick reflexes and deadly accuracy had saved their team countless times throughout the years.

  “All right, Troy and I are up front,” Collins said as he took a step toward the looming structure in the distance. “Oh, and Tucker?”

  “Yes, Commander?” the youngest member of their squad responded.

  “So help me if you try to rush the enemy again. That never works,” Collins growled, his hulking form looking tense in the low light of the crimson sky.

  “Understood.” Tucker sounded sincere, but Simon knew better. The kid had gotten them in messy altercations in recent months, but he was Troy’s little brother. Abandoning him to fend for himself with a rookie squad was never even suggested.

  Besides, Simon knew a thing or two about dealing with brothers who act first and think later.

  He checked his ammunition and preemptively reloaded. It was always better to walk into the hot zone with a full clip. The Knights of Arcadia trudged forward along the crumbling stone walls, their large, muscular figures moving in surprising soundlessness.

  Simon continued to take inventory of their supplies. He had long filled the role of medic on their team. The others had tried their hands at it but were always too frantic in the rushed, desperate moments to make quick choices. The pressure never bothered him. There was something about everything falling apart that made the world go incredibly still. He brought up the rear, hoping one syringe of adrenaline would be enough for what was sure to be a bloody skirmish.

  The com lines were eerily devoid of chatter—so much so that Simon kept glancing at the display on his visor to see if his receiver was still operating. He could occasionally hear one of the other men taking an even breath through the constant hiss and crackle of the radio feed.

  “Malachi, any sign of them?” Collins’s head was on a pivot as the tension grew heavier in the air.

  “It’s a ghost town. You think they’re out there?” Malachi sounded doubtful.

  “How the hell am I supposed to know?” Collins snapped back. Their commander was itching for a brawl. Simon could hear it in his voice. Collins craved the bloodshed of a good battle.

  Troy chuckled. “Now, now, children. Let’s settle down.”

  “Move your ass. We can’t be out here forever,” the commander grumbled.

  Simon laughed, falling in step with Tucker. The kid was looking down the barrel of his gun, seemingly unaware of his periphery. Simon shook his head and smiled.

  He knew there was irony in his joy somewhere. He was content in this decaying world. Somehow it was better than being back home. The problems were solvable; the mission was predictable. The threat of dying a hundred times over seemed better than being helpless.

  Troy and Collins approached an intersection up ahead where tall stone walls surrounded a cross of dirt paths.

  “Be advised; you’re in my blind spot,” Malachi said.

  “C’mon,” Collins said as he pushed forward with Troy at his side.

  When Tucker gasped into his radio, Simon felt his stomach sink. He whipped his head around to see the kid break formation and dash toward a flash of metal gleaming in the Arcadian sun.

  “Tucker! Don’t!” Simon called out. The alluring alien weaponry beckoned Tucker forward into what was sure to be—

  The familiar whisp of a grenade flying through the air signaled the ambush.

  “Dammit!” Troy shouted.

  Simon dropped behind cover as the grenade beeped. He searched the ground for the threat as the shrill tone warned him of its impending detonation.

  “I think it’s stuck on me,” Tucker said quietly, looking grim. He appeared small in the middle of the dirt path, holding his newfound weapon and staring at it forlornly. “I didn’t even get to fire it.”

  The beeping reached the height of its intensity, and their rookie disappeared into a ball of fire. Simon swore out loud.

  “It’s a trap!” Collins called out. “Get to the Citadel! Now!”

  He and Troy hurried toward the white tower in the distance at full speed. Troy didn’t even glance back to the black smudge marring the ground where his brother ha
d stood moments before.

  Tucker’s last words echoed in Simon’s head. A shiny new weapon—it was classic bait, and their most naïve squad member had fallen for it.

  Simon was shuffling to follow the departing forms of his teammates when his visor dinged. Malachi was wounded.

  “They went wide,” he said weakly. “I’m down.”

  Simon whipped around toward Malachi’s vantage point. “I’m on my way!”

  “Negative! The Citadel is the waypoint, Simon,” Collins barked. “We’ll need you to capture it.”

  “I can save him!” Simon cried out, already a quarter of the way back to the rooftop where Malachi had set up shop. He dodged around the familiar layout of the crumbling courtyard. He just needed a second to get back.

  “Get back here!” Troy said through the com. Collins’s fury had devolved into unintelligible shouts at their incompetence.

  “You’re not going to make it, Simon,” Malachi said. “They got me good, and I think my time is running out.”

  “Don’t say that! I can do this!” He tossed his gun on his back so he could run faster up the weathered stairs that led out of the maze of stone walls. “I’m almost there!”

  “You guys will be okay without me,” Malachi said. “I think I can hear my mother calling.” His voice was faint and far away.

  The building was up ahead. He was going to make it. Simon would get him back on his feet, and they would catch up with the others at the Citadel.

  His helmet dinged. He stopped in his tracks.

  Malachi was dead.

  Simon gulped and took a second to collect himself, absorbing his failure. He cast a wary look at the HUD on his visor. A red dot on the radar was rapidly approaching. He pivoted quickly, shooting from the hip as the Draconian soldier came around the corner, silver blade drawn and poised.

  His submachine gun recoiled violently, spattering reckless bullet holes over the stone wall and into the pasty gray form of the enemy. It wasn’t a great tactic as far as accuracy went, but at least he was still alive. The light dimmed in the nameless Draconian’s inhuman yellow eyes.

  He could hear gunfire in the distance. He shook his head and dashed up the middle of the courtyard toward the Citadel. There was no time for stealth in his approach.

  “I didn’t get to Malachi in time,” he told them over the com, his footfalls echoing steadily in the weaving corridors.

  “No shit,” Collins said. “We’re under heavy fire, Simon, and guess what? You’re not here!”

  After a burst from Troy’s Death Machine, an indicator on his display blinked out of existence.

  Troy cheered loudly.

  “Any eyes on the other ones?” Simon asked as he slowed and crouched behind cover, poking his head out to survey the base of the Citadel. Collins and Troy were huddled up behind an old altar. Troy was threading an ammunition belt into his heavy weapon as Collins laid down fire to keep the invaders behind cover.

  “Two are pinned down,” Collins said, his temper in check for the moment. “They have a sniper somewhere out there. I can hear the rifle firing. Keep your head out of the line of sight unless you want to be eight pounds lighter.”

  “Best diet in the Arcadian Army,” Troy quipped.

  Simon grinned. They had lost a lot today, but it would be okay. They would get through this battle and eventually, when his luck ran out, he would see his friends again.

  “Death Machine’s ready. Throw your ’nade, commander.” Troy heaved his large weapon off the ground, arms straining under the weight. Collins ducked behind cover to pull the pin from his grenade. He popped back out, hurled the projectile, and then dropped back behind the altar.

  As predicted, the Draconians shouted, warnings spilling from their helmets in a foreign tongue, and ran forward to escape the boom of the grenade. A shrill hiss, like a kettle on the verge of explosion, preceded the continuous fire from Troy’s heavy machine gun.

  The Draconians fell.

  Simon grinned widely.

  “Finally!” Collins shouted. “The Citadel is ours!”

  “All right, gentlemen,” Troy said smoothly as he turned toward the looming structure, “I think I deserve the honor of opening the doors. After all, I got three of them.”

  “Excuse me?” Collins said, sounding scandalized. “I guess you forgot about my daring heroics last Thursday.”

  Troy chuckled. “Pardon my poor memory. Must be from all the killin’.” He tossed the strap to his heavy gun over his head and let it hang from his back.

  “What do you think is in there?” Simon craned his head back to look up at the stone obelisk stretching into the sky. The sight made his stomach turn, and he crossed his arms. Months of missions had gone into storming the Citadel, filled with battles, bloodshed, and hours laughing with his friends. He wished Tucker and Malachi could be here to see what was inside of it.

  Troy pushed on one of the large stone doors as the few remaining members of the Knights looked on in awed silence.

  The booming shot of a sniper rifle ripped through the air, sparking adrenaline in Simon’s veins. Troy’s outstretched palms slid along the stone before his knees hit the ground.

  “Medic!” Collins cried out. “Hurry! Revive him, Simon!”

  The sniper. How did they forget about him?

  Every moment felt like an eternity as he heard the bolt handle reset, spitting out the hot empty cartridge. It fell out of the chamber and onto the gravel. Simon barely had a moment to duck into one of the corridors surrounding the Citadel before the gun fired again.

  “I can’t revive a head wound, Collins. I can’t save him,” Simon said into the radio.

  The com line was quiet. A glance at his HUD told him everything he needed to know.

  He was alone.

  That second shot—he hadn’t been its target.

  His hands shook as panic finally took hold of him.

  He could hear the crunch of boots on gravel. He checked his gun and reloaded while safely tucked behind cover. Metal shifted, and something heavy thumped as it fell to the ground.

  A sharp whistle—that same familiar buildup from Troy’s Death Machine—rang out, and the gleaming smile of a lone Draconian flashed before Simon was cut in half.

  DEFEATED appeared in large red letters on his ComSphere visor.

  “No!” Simon raged, slamming his palms into the arms of his desk chair.

  The score was tallied, and the game lobby appeared.

  “Well—” Tucker started.

  “Don’t,” Troy said.

  “—at least we got further than last time.”

  Simon shook his head and unclipped the front display of his visor before turning the volume down on his headset.

  “What kind of idiot thinks they’re just going to find a Draconian weapon lying in the dirt?” Collins shouted. Simon could hear something being hurled across the room four hundred miles away in Richmond.

  “I can’t believe we forgot about the sniper. I feel like such a noob,” Simon grumbled.

  “You outlived me.” Malachi laughed. “Thanks for the attempted save, by the way.”

  “You can thank me next time when I actually save you,” Simon said wryly.

  “It’s cool though. My mom came in and made me fold my laundry. So, it’s not like I could have played anyway.”

  “Can we try again?” Tucker asked, upbeat as always.

  Simon glanced down at his battery. “I only have ten minutes left. Gotta recharge soon.”

  “Pitiful.” Collins must have finished his tantrum. The guy was an ass, but Simon had known him and Troy since Arcadian Fortress II. They had met at the Annual Northeast Regional PlayerCon Qualifier and co-oped together through two iterations of the game. They met Malachi at the con a few years later. Their fifth had come and gone, and then Troy had started inviting his younger brother into the fold.

  Tucker sighed in relief. “Good! I’ve had to pee for like an hour. Talk to you guys tomorrow!” He didn’t wait for anyone to s
ay goodbye before he dropped his headset on his desk with a thunk, making the others wince. When he logged out, Tucker’s online handle vanished from the holoscreen display on the gauntlet strapped to Simon’s left arm.

  “We only played the level once, Simon. What’s up with your rig?” Collins asked.

  “I have two panels charging my reserves all day, but I can’t use all my batteries for this,” Simon said, his face warming. It was hard to talk to a chatroom full of gamers about playing fewer video games. “I don’t know how it is where you guys are, but it’s getting bad here.”

  “There have been riots in Charlotte,” Troy said quietly. “Some people came through town and told us about it. I thought for sure the rations would be better if you lived in a city, but from the way they looked, they’re getting almost nothing. Skin and bones, you know?”

  “What about you and Tucker? Your family. Are you guys okay?” Simon hated to pry, but he had been friends with Troy for seven years.

  “We’re fine. Gastonia has a lot of farmland. We’ll survive.”

  Simon stayed quiet and watched the circular holoscreen display as another percent ticked off his battery. “Did you guys get into the maintenance records last night?” he asked hopefully.

  “Can’t you get in trouble for accessing government databases? I mean—UNID, they send people to prison for this stuff, right?” Troy asked.

  “To get caught by the UN’s Investigation Department, you have to be intercepted by their cybersecurity or leave footprints that set off red flags,” Malachi said. “Luckily for us, they either can’t do their jobs without the grid, or they don’t think anyone else can hack in without it, so they’re not even trying to stop us.”

  “So, you got in?” Simon took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes, stretching.

  Collins sighed. “Yes, but let’s just take a second before—”

  Malachi laughed humorlessly. “I knew it! I knew you were going to pretend like—”