Apocalypse Parenting

I suspect they’ll offer such tools as rewards for the next Challenge, but that remains more than two-thirds of a duodenary away. Even Threats that appeared at minimal sizes and did not manage to kill any contestants will likely be three times as big by then…

--Radio transmission from Voices for Non-Citizens

Just over an hour later, I stood in a huddle with my hastily-assembled team, most of whom I’d met only minutes before.

The only people in my group I knew from Fort Autumn were the Turners.

Matilda and Benjamin had been assigned to Clarice’s squad, and Helen and Darryl Packard were in the high-risk ground floor group. The ground group would be guarding the entrance we’d make into the treezilla and only coming all the way to the center at the very last moment. They’d probably already be tired by the time they reached the heartvein - as we were calling the column at the center of the treezilla - but that would hopefully be balanced out by the fact that they’d only have a few Intensifiers and would need to deal with relatively fewer treewalkers.

I was currently seesawing between “Oh hell, why did I agree to this?!” and “Thank God I’m the one in charge.”

The reason for my emotional distress?

All the children present had been assigned to the “safest” group.

My group.

Malia, the teen who’d been at the Arsenal with us last Challenge, had joined us, along with her dad and college-aged older brother. Two of the other kids who’d been with us in the dino-volcano Challenge had arrived, as well as one who’d made it through this week’s maze Challenge.

The presence of the kids had made my group into a small army.

Each child had come with at least two family members. On top of that, Zwerinski had been as good as his word: each kid had a small squad assigned to guard them, and another squad assigned to take the treewalker they summoned down. There were more than 70 people in my group, almost twice as many as the next-largest, a difference that both comforted and worried me.

Will we have enough space to fight? I’m happy the colonel is placing such high priority on keeping the kids safe… but then, I guess more emergencies will arise. If a kid dies during this onslaught, it’s going to be awfully hard to convince anyone to let their child come the next time they’re needed.

Privately, Colonel Zwerinski had confided to me that they hadn’t managed to convince everyone. They’d located the other child who’d been present at the dino Challenge, but his parents hadn’t been willing to let him come, no matter what promises the military made or how serious the threat was.

I kind of wished he hadn’t told me. The knowledge that someone else had held their ground and said “No” didn’t help me quiet the voices in my head that were suggesting I ought to have done the same.

The crowd we’d gathered was both huge and worryingly small. There were around 400 of us, which was by far the largest attack force I’d ever been a part of. On the other hand, we wouldn’t have even filled half the bleachers in a high school gym.

We could have had ten times as many people with us, and it wouldn’t have felt like overkill to me. Plus, about thirty people would be staying behind.

Colonel Zwerinski would remain at the fire station temporary headquarters. I resented that a little bit, that he got to stay back and be safe, but I couldn’t deny the utility. If he didn’t have to pay attention to his own safety, he could devote every ounce of his focus to monitoring the situation and communicating everything we needed to know. Over eighty people with healing powers would be accompanying the attack force, but another dozen were staying back here, staying fresh to help out anyone who needed to retreat or to charge in and stabilize people if we managed to defeat the treezilla. The exhausted team who’d built the assault tunnel would be staying behind, too.

A series of deafening cracks silenced the anxious rumble of conversation.

The Arsenal had dragged out three enormous contraptions. Two were the muddy green common on military hardware, all ugly rivets and confusing struts. The third was a gleaming silver-and-black construction with a larger barrel. They were all howitzers, but - confusingly - the shiny one was about fifty years older than the other two.

It would be their job to initiate the assault on the treezilla, doing as much damage as they could before we put any human beings into the danger zone. Colonel Zwerinski was worried we didn’t have enough Intensifiers with us, so we wanted to make sure that we did all the “free” damage we could before the treezilla’s immunity triggered. If we could take out some of the tree’s branches at the same time? All the better.

We were multiple miles away, but I’d been assured that the distance was well within the capabilities of the artillery pieces. Precision targeting of specific branches was still in doubt, but the teams had seemed confident about hitting the giant monster.

“Yes, ma’am,” a soldier setting up one of the ugly green howitzers had said. “We used to be able to put an Excalibur round within thirty feet of where we wanted it to go from about 15 miles away. We haven’t been able to fix the guidance and nav systems, but we’ve got some Abilities that ought to help. Plus we’re about two miles out and our target is fu- uh… really big. Won’t be a problem.”

I hadn’t asked what an “Excalibur round” was, but it looked like the soldier hadn’t made an idle boast. Three blooms of fire and smoke appeared near the top of the tree trunk, macabre foliage that suited the nightmarish plant. The artillery teams were racing around at superhuman speeds, with another round cracking away from the howitzers only seconds after the previous one had landed.

Even if the tree is healing quickly, being actively on fire ought to slow that down. Hm. The hits aren’t super focused… they’re spread out all across the top of the tree. We’re well below the howitzer’s maximum range, so that’s probably due to the guidance being destroyed. I feel like they’re doing a lot of damage, but it’s hard to tell through the smoke. Oh! There we go!

Another round slammed home, making the whipping motion of one of the treezilla’s branch tentacles falter. Moments later, it was followed up by a lucky or skillful hit to the same branch’s connection point, and the branch sagged downward, a slow motion that steadily accelerated as the immense weight of the tentacle was placed on an increasingly smaller connection to the trunk. Finally, the connection completely snapped. The branch looked like it was falling in slow-motion, but when it smashed into the ground I could feel the vibration through my battered rainboots. The “slowness” was just an optical illusion caused by the tree’s incomprehensible scale.

Everyone cheered, me included. That’s amazing! If they can take out all the tentacles on this side, we’ll have an easy sprint over the last stretch.

That turned out to be overly optimistic.

The artillery fire managed take out two more of the treezilla’s tentacles in short order before the damage the howitzers were doing fell off sharply to near-nothing. It didn’t even take Analyze to tell the difference: hits that had previously left smoking craters were now doing nothing. A brief gout of fire and smoke would flower briefly and blow away in the wind, leaving unscarred bark behind. The tree’s immunity had triggered earlier than we’d hoped it would.

Despite the disappointment, Colonel Zwerinski didn’t hesitate.

Artillery, hold fire! Assault Teams, go!

The military personnel were in motion the instant the Announcement ended. They made up less than half of our attack force, but the rest of us took a cue from them, following closely. Our whole force thundered into a narrow subterranean tunnel that several high-powered individuals with Shaping abilities had exhausted themselves to throw together. We’d still have to run the last stretch to the tree on the surface, but tests had made me reasonably confident that the tunnel would protect us from the treezilla’s thrown projectiles and swarms of miniscule defenders until we emerged.

The ground-floor team was in the lead, since they’d be expected to make and hold an entrance into the tree, but they were the exception. The group expected to fight in the highest chamber would follow the ground team in, then the next-highest, and so on until my group - which I’d heard others calling the “family group,” although our official name was “Floor 2” - would exit the tunnel last.

The safest spot.

Still not that safe.

I spun up an Announcement, shaping it and limiting its range. I didn’t want to distract anyone or use unnecessary energy that I’d need later.

Floor 2, I’ll take the spot in the back of our group. I can keep an eye behind us as we run. If I spot monsters, I’ll make an Announcement, so be ready to pause and assist me.

I looked over my group carefully as they ran by me, Micah and Gavin staying close to the Turners in the center of the group. Most people seemed to be covering up their fear with determination, although the father of one of the smaller girls with us was doing a poor job, his face pale and his eyes wide.

Claustrophobic? I wondered. Or just terrified about carrying his little girl into danger? There’s enough fear to go around, I suppose.

We ran for several minutes. Sooner than I would have expected, I saw faint light in the distance. We were getting close to the exit of the tunnel, one of the more dangerous moments of our assault. We still didn’t know exactly how the treezillas sensed us, but it was clear that they did. Running through the exact same spot hundreds of others had just traversed? We should expect attacks.

Not strikes from the branches or roots - not until we got in a little closer - but thrown objects and waves of evil animals. Honestly, I was surprised none had come after us from behind, but we’d been moving quickly and our tunnel entrance was a long way away. The hasty nature of our assault unsettled me, but it had its benefits.

Floor 2! When you emerge, move back from the treezilla. Stay close to one another, but out of range of the roots and branches. I’ll make another Announcement after I’ve chosen our route in. We’ll have the birds and weasels after us as soon as we go out. Be ready to fight!

We’d gone over this before, but if I could remind people, why not do it? The energy cost was minimal since I was affecting a relatively small area, and it should keep my group members from getting confused and splitting up.

I made sure my own armaments were accessible: my shield and sword, now being wielded in the opposite hands, two iron plates, and two handle-less double-pointed blades I’d had custom-made to use as Telekinetic weapons. Floating behind the group was a large section of chain-link fence I’d had someone with Improvised Equipment weld together into a stiff rectangle right before we’d entered. It wouldn’t be too useful against most things, but the treezilla’s flyers had been reaching us even out at the fire station, and I’d confirmed that it was excellent at sweeping the relatively-weak monsters out of the air.

Yelling and screaming built in volume as we got closer to the exit. A crash shook the ground above us and dirt drifted down from the ceiling. The tunnel held, but I wished I’d kept running alongside my boys.

They’ll be fine, Meghan, I told myself. You’ll be with them in moments. They-

My thoughts cut off as I exited the tunnel. I’d thought I’d been impressed by the tree before, but I hadn’t anticipated how impactful it would be from close up. It was vast, filling every corner of my vision.

The whole world is the tree, I thought.

It was a stupid thought, born of fear, and I stamped down on it angrily. No, it’s not! It may be the size of a football stadium crossed with a skyscraper, but it’s not the size of the whole world. And it won’t be, not if we can help it.

That tree is probably the biggest living thing on the planet, but we’re going to kill it.