Apocalypse Parenting

It’s so hard to say. Based on size alone? I’d say six or seven twelves. Based on how early this Threat appeared and how quickly it grew? We should start preparing another lawsuit if it takes more than three twelves of Intensifiers.

– Radio transmission from Voices for Non-Citizens

We didn’t have to wait outside for long. Shortly after we’d reached the trunk, the treezilla’s regenerative capabilities outpaced the damage it was taking, and the axe-wielders began making steady progress on their tunnel. When they sent word back that they’d broken through to the lowest central chamber, people began streaming inside.

I held my group back at first, trying to let the higher floors precede us. Not only did they have further to travel before they reached their assigned positions, no one wanted the kids to be the ones to trigger any further nasty surprises the treezilla had in store.

Unfortunately, just under 200 people had made it to the base of the tree. Helen had been in touch with Colonel Zwerinski, so we knew that our missing allies weren’t dead - at least, not most of them - but they were lost, delayed, or stranded in the shattered hellscape that surrounded the base of the tree.

“You’d better take your group in,” Helen told me. “Colonel’s using his eyes in the sky to find paths for the people still out there, and we’ve got our speedsters on call to guide them in. You’re Floor 2, right? How many from your team should I still be looking for?”

“None,” I said.

“None?!”

Helen’s obvious surprise at that answer made me question myself, so I flickered Analyze, making sure.

“Yeah. Seven of my people retreated and two…” I shook my head, unwilling to finish that sentence. “Anyway. This should be all of us. Maybe four more, if the escorts get their charge clear quickly and come back?”

“Huh.” Helen stared at me for a second. “At least something’s going right. In you go, then.”

Two of us dead and seven people retreating is “Going right?!” I didn’t like the sound of that at all. I guess only about two-thirds of us have made it to the treezilla so far… But the rest will follow. Won’t they? They know the secret to dodging the tree limbs now. That has to help, doesn’t it?

I exchanged a worried look with the Turners as we headed inside. The necessity of coming here, of bringing our kids here, had been questionable to begin with, a chain of suppositions and fearful predictions, that, yes, had been reinforced by things we’d overheard from the space lawyers’ communications, but weren’t actually proven.

When I’d been asked to bring the boys I’d felt terrified, unsure whether saying yes or no was more dangerous. I’d said “Yes,” but now I’d seen people die and I knew that a full third of our attack force wasn’t where it was supposed to be.

What if we failed? What if the treezilla was too strong for us to kill? It was an idea that I hadn’t let myself fully consider. I still didn’t want to dwell on it, but it kept pushing itself into my thoughts intrusively, forcing me to consider all the difficulties and dangers we’d face if we had to retreat.

And even if we do retreat… even if we run all the way back to Huntsville… we know the tree’s already killed at least three more. That means it will be growing at least a little bit faster than my most optimistic predictions. How long will our home be safe? Long enough, hopefully, for the Soundless to offer us another solution for stopping it? But… my kids and I are already at maximum Novelty. If they offer us a solution in the next Challenge - and we survive the Challenge - the army will want us right back here on the front lines, likely doing something even worse and more dangerous than what we’re doing now!

And all of Fort Autumn is heading to the next Challenge! Our pylon might be ten times the size! The next treezilla to spawn in our neighborhood might start as big as this one! It might wipe out out instantly!

I was starting to hyperventilate.

This wasn’t acceptable.

I jogged forward, using a floating blade to bat aside an evil bird, and grabbed Priya’s hand. “Little heal, please?” I tried to keep my voice light.

Controlled voice or not, I couldn’t fool Priya’s ability. Her eyes were sympathetic as a tingling pulse spread through my body and my overwhelming levels of adrenaline receded to something more normal.

There was a reason I’d asked my friend for a heal and not my son.

I focused on controlling my breathing as we emerged from the tunnel and moved into an open chamber. It was cavernous, and I use the term intentionally. It reminded me of the rotunda in Mammoth Caves, a massive, vaguely circular area about 100 feet across, with a ceiling about two stories high.

Unlike the beautiful rotunda cavern, however, the interior of the treezilla was distressingly organic. The “floor” and “ceiling” were largely solid, if bumpy, but the space didn’t really have walls, just a transition where the empty cavern was overtaken by the tree’s insane mess of support struts, a maze that seemed to house an innumerable number of the little minion monsters.

In the center of the room was the tree’s heartvein, a disgusting rough-surfaced column caught in a slow-motion boil. Pink bubbles grew and grew, then popped, releasing the treezilla’s weasel and bird minions, each of which charged us immediately as soon as they were free.

Several people were climbing up the side of the heartvein, and I could tell by the number of people in the chamber that many more had already done so, but there were still over a hundred people milling around uncertainly on the ground floor.

I could understand their reluctance to climb something that was actively birthing monsters, but we didn’t have much choice. There wasn’t anything around but the baby monsters and the treezilla itself, the feel of it heavy, oppressive, and omnipresent on my life sense. There was no stone, metal, or earth plantlife except what we had carried in with us, nothing for a shaper to manipulate. Even if someone was willing to devote energy into shaping a ladder or staircase, anything they made would have to be thin and spindly.

We’ve come this far, damnit. This is no time for cold feet!

Attention, please! Form a line near the column. Floor 2’s military attack teams, I want you to stay here for now, picking off any rodents or flyers that get born before they can hurt the climbers. People with Telekinesis, please keep at least one object ready to assist any climbers who slip. If you’re not in the first five places in line or actively climbing, please watch for minions coming from the walls of the chamber and take them down. Everyone, MOVE!

The crowd shifted at my Announcement, going from an uncoordinated mob to a functioning team in seconds.

Some people even took the initiative to improve on the commands I issued. A couple near the front - the parents of one of the small kids, I thought - pressed their backs up against each other, one watching for enemies on each side of the line. In a deep voice, the man shouted “Partner up! Back-to-back!” Those behind him were quick to follow their example, giving us ample guards on every approach.

Something in me relaxed, and my rigidly controlled breathing became easier to maintain. Everyone here had been determined enough to walk through hell: it wasn’t a lack of will that had caused the disorganized mess I’d walked into, but simple uncertainty. We were surrounded by some of the strongest and bravest people in North Alabama.

The Soundless can’t make things completely impossible. Fluffy told me that. If it’s possible to win, we will.

The line got moving quickly, but more people were arriving by the second.

I’d lost most of my iron plates somewhere in the mess outside, but I still had two. I kept my eyes on the climbers, sliding the plates in place to provide support for shaky footholds or to slow a newborn critter long enough for someone else to finish it off.

By the time my boys reached the front, I felt confident enough in the system to slip in behind them and ascend to my assigned floor. My missing fingers might have made climbing a challenge if I hadn’t been right behind Gavin, who latched his tail around me like a rock climber’s safety harness, letting me use my iron plates to support Micah’s ascent.

When I reached the second floor, I was gratified to see that my team members had already replicated the system below, half watching the walls and the other half focusing on the pillar, enabling those who needed to reach the floors above us to keep climbing unhindered.

There was nothing for me to do, no commands that needed to be issued, and I sagged in relief. I kept my iron plates active, but nothing else, not even using up all my Telekinesis slots as I tried to recuperate from my earlier heavy ability use.

Eventually, the flow of people slowed, then stopped. The soldiers I’d left below ascended the column, joining us.

I snapped a Signal stick to get Colonel Zwerinski’s attention. “Is it go time?”

Not yet. We just got some last minute… reinforcements, I guess? Not sure where they came from, but it’s three more Intensifiers if we can get the last one inside. Can you hold for ten more minutes?

“Yeah, easily. I don’t know about the other floors. Do you… do you need me to send any of our soldiers elsewhere?”

There was a pause. Then…

No. Your floor will probably have the most treewalkers, if they appear where we expect them to, and you’ve got the children in your group. If you can take down your opponents quickly enough, perhaps you can send reinforcements elsewhere. I’ll trust your judgment.

I nodded, counting on his Clairvoyance to pick up the motion. I raised my voice as much as I could, trying to let it carry to the floors above and below. “We’ll go in ten minutes!”