The ledge near the chimney was a narrow strip of brick and mortar, sheltered by a secondary overhang of corrugated steel. To a human, it was a ledge of debris; to them, it was a cliffside terrace.
"The cloth," Sarah commanded, pointing to the blue microfiber roll Thomas had brought up. "We need to wedge it between the chimney stack and that loose brick. If we angle it right, the heat from the furnace will trap underneath."
Thomas moved to the blue fabric. Even though it was just a glasses-cloth, it was heavy enough that Sarah would have struggled to drag it. Thomas flipped it over his shoulder like a silk scarf.
"Wait," Thomas said, pausing as he reached the chimney. He extended a hand and touched the massive metal cylinder. "It's cold."
Sarah froze, her heart sinking. She scrambled over and pressed her soot-stained palm against the metal. It wasn't just cold; it was ice-flecked.
"The furnace is off," she whispered, her voice hollow. "If the furnace is off, that means the base's internal power is failing. Thomas, without the heat from this pipe, we won't last the night up here. The Colorado wind will turn us into ice cubes."
Thomas did not reply immediately, prompting her to look back at him.
He was pointing past the edge of the building. Down in the valley, nestled among the giant, frozen pines, stood a small cabin. To them, it was miles away—a sprawling wooden kingdom. Through the clear mountain air, a thin, gray wisp of smoke curled up from its chimney.
"Real fire," Thomas whispered. "Real food."
"Okay, you're right," Sarah conceded, her voice trembling slightly. "But Thomas, you're not the only thing out there that can fly. There are bugs, rodents, and birds in the forest—they're all apex predators now. How are you going to deal with them?"
"We'll fly faster than them," Thomas replied with quiet confidence. "If you roll yourself in the fabric, I can fly much faster."
"The fucking fabric..." Sarah muttered, her eyes widening. "Thomas, you can't be serious. We aren't doing—"
A deafening, rhythmic thrumming shattered the air.
The sound did not come from a single direction; it echoed from everywhere, vibrating through the metal ledge and making the air pulse with kinetic force. Sarah froze, her eyes darting to the sky.
From beneath the eaves of the warehouse roof, they emerged. A dozen of them. To a human, they were ordinary yellowjackets. To Sarah and Thomas, they were fighter jets forged from obsidian and gold, their barbed legs hanging like heavy landing gear, their multifaceted eyes locked onto the two specks of movement on the ledge.
"Run!" Thomas yelled, but there was nowhere to hide.
The lead wasp dived. It moved with a twitchy, unnatural speed that defied physics. Before Sarah could raise her plastic shard, the monster slammed into Thomas. Its mandibles—thick as industrial shears and glistening with venom—clamped violently around his waist.
"THOMAS!" Sarah shrieked, skidding on the brickwork as the impact nearly threw her off the cliffside.
The wasp took flight, dragging Thomas into the open air. He looked small in its grip—a struggling captive against a nightmare. But Thomas did not panic. His expression turned stone-cold as his lab-bred instincts took over. As the wasp's abdomen curled downward, trying to drive a stinger the size of a broadsword into his chest, Thomas reached up.
He locked both hands around the wasp's head.
With a guttural roar that sounded less like a man shouting and more like metal tearing, Thomas pulled.
There was a wet, sickening snap.
Thomas tore the creature's head clean off its thorax. Yellow ichor sprayed across his face and wings as the headless body went limp. They plunged back toward the ledge, Thomas kicking the carcass away as he slammed onto the brickwork with a bone-shaking thud.
Sarah stared, her mouth agape, the plastic shard trembling in her hand. She had seen human violence, but she had never seen a person dismantle a beast with their bare hands. Drenched in yellow slime, Thomas looked less like a boy and more like an ancient god of war.
"More," Thomas gasped, wiping the residue from his eyes. "Too many more!"
The rest of the swarm had seen the kill. The air turned into a roaring blur of black and yellow stripes as the swarm descended.
"Get in!" Thomas commanded. Without waiting for her consent, he grabbed the blue microfiber cloth and wrapped it tightly around Sarah like a cocoon, leaving only her wide, terrified eyes visible.
"Thomas, wait—"
He didn't wait. He scooped the bundle into his arms, tucked his chin, and launched off the ledge.
This was not a controlled descent. It was a desperate, vertical plunge toward the valley. Thomas pushed his body to its absolute mechanical limits, beating his wings with terrifying power. The freezing wind hit them like a solid wall. Sarah felt the G-force crushing her into the fabric as her vision began to tunnel.
Behind them, the wasps formed a buzzing cloud of death, but Thomas was a streak of black lightning. He banked sharply into the wind, the air shrieking against his feathers as the giant pine trees rushed up to meet them.
"Hold on!" he roared.
The sheer speed drained the breath from Sarah's lungs. The world faded from gray to total darkness.
Thomas saw the cabin porch ahead. There was no time to decelerate. He flared his wings at the final second, his boots slamming into the wooden floorboards with enough force to crack the grain. He tumbled, rolling across the timber while keeping the wrapped bundle locked securely against his chest.
He came to a halt against the heel of a colossal leather boot resting beside the cabin door.
"Sarah?" he gasped, his lungs burning, his wing feathers ragged and torn from the dive.
He unrolled the blue cloth. Sarah's head lolled back, her face pale and her eyes closed. She was completely unconscious.The ledge near the chimney was a narrow strip of brick and mortar, sheltered by a secondary overhang of corrugated steel. To a human, it was a ledge of debris; to them, it was a cliffside terrace.
"The cloth," Sarah commanded, pointing to the blue microfiber roll Thomas had brought up. "We need to wedge it between the chimney stack and that loose brick. If we angle it right, the heat from the furnace will trap underneath."
Thomas moved to the blue fabric. Even though it was just a glasses-cloth, it was heavy enough that Sarah would have struggled to drag it. Thomas flipped it over his shoulder like a silk scarf.
"Wait," Thomas said, pausing as he reached the chimney. He extended a hand and touched the massive metal cylinder. "It's cold."
Sarah froze, her heart sinking. She scrambled over and pressed her soot-stained palm against the metal. It wasn't just cold; it was ice-flecked.
"The furnace is off," she whispered, her voice hollow. "If the furnace is off, that means the base's internal power is failing. Thomas, without the heat from this pipe, we won't last the night up here. The Colorado wind will turn us into ice cubes."
Thomas did not reply immediately, prompting her to look back at him.
He was pointing past the edge of the building. Down in the valley, nestled among the giant, frozen pines, stood a small cabin. To them, it was miles away—a sprawling wooden kingdom. Through the clear mountain air, a thin, gray wisp of smoke curled up from its chimney.
"Real fire," Thomas whispered. "Real food."
"Okay, you're right," Sarah conceded, her voice trembling slightly. "But Thomas, you're not the only thing out there that can fly. There are bugs, rodents, and birds in the forest—they're all apex predators now. How are you going to deal with them?"
"We'll fly faster than them," Thomas replied with quiet confidence. "If you roll yourself in the fabric, I can fly much faster."
"The fucking fabric..." Sarah muttered, her eyes widening. "Thomas, you can't be serious. We aren't doing—"
A deafening, rhythmic thrumming shattered the air.
The sound did not come from a single direction; it echoed from everywhere, vibrating through the metal ledge and making the air pulse with kinetic force. Sarah froze, her eyes darting to the sky.
From beneath the eaves of the warehouse roof, they emerged. A dozen of them. To a human, they were ordinary yellowjackets. To Sarah and Thomas, they were fighter jets forged from obsidian and gold, their barbed legs hanging like heavy landing gear, their multifaceted eyes locked onto the two specks of movement on the ledge.
"Run!" Thomas yelled, but there was nowhere to hide.
The lead wasp dived. It moved with a twitchy, unnatural speed that defied physics. Before Sarah could raise her plastic shard, the monster slammed into Thomas. Its mandibles—thick as industrial shears and glistening with venom—clamped violently around his waist.
"THOMAS!" Sarah shrieked, skidding on the brickwork as the impact nearly threw her off the cliffside.
The wasp took flight, dragging Thomas into the open air. He looked small in its grip—a struggling captive against a nightmare. But Thomas did not panic. His expression turned stone-cold as his lab-bred instincts took over. As the wasp's abdomen curled downward, trying to drive a stinger the size of a broadsword into his chest, Thomas reached up.
He locked both hands around the wasp's head.
With a guttural roar that sounded less like a man shouting and more like metal tearing, Thomas pulled.
There was a wet, sickening snap.
Thomas tore the creature's head clean off its thorax. Yellow ichor sprayed across his face and wings as the headless body went limp. They plunged back toward the ledge, Thomas kicking the carcass away as he slammed onto the brickwork with a bone-shaking thud.
Sarah stared, her mouth agape, the plastic shard trembling in her hand. She had seen human violence, but she had never seen a person dismantle a beast with their bare hands. Drenched in yellow slime, Thomas looked less like a boy and more like an ancient god of war.
"More," Thomas gasped, wiping the residue from his eyes. "Too many more!"
The rest of the swarm had seen the kill. The air turned into a roaring blur of black and yellow stripes as the swarm descended.
"Get in!" Thomas commanded. Without waiting for her consent, he grabbed the blue microfiber cloth and wrapped it tightly around Sarah like a cocoon, leaving only her wide, terrified eyes visible.
"Thomas, wait—"
He didn't wait. He scooped the bundle into his arms, tucked his chin, and launched off the ledge.
This was not a controlled descent. It was a desperate, vertical plunge toward the valley. Thomas pushed his body to its absolute mechanical limits, beating his wings with terrifying power. The freezing wind hit them like a solid wall. Sarah felt the G-force crushing her into the fabric as her vision began to tunnel.
Behind them, the wasps formed a buzzing cloud of death, but Thomas was a streak of black lightning. He banked sharply into the wind, the air shrieking against his feathers as the giant pine trees rushed up to meet them.
"Hold on!" he roared.
The sheer speed drained the breath from Sarah's lungs. The world faded from gray to total darkness.
Thomas saw the cabin porch ahead. There was no time to decelerate. He flared his wings at the final second, his boots slamming into the wooden floorboards with enough force to crack the grain. He tumbled, rolling across the timber while keeping the wrapped bundle locked securely against his chest.
He came to a halt against the heel of a colossal leather boot resting beside the cabin door.
"Sarah?" he gasped, his lungs burning, his wing feathers ragged and torn from the dive.
He unrolled the blue cloth. Sarah's head lolled back, her face pale and her eyes closed. She was completely unconscious.