Page 42 of Tapeworld Induction

For now, they had to keep moving away from the house, in the hope of exiting whatever sphere of influence it was that prevented him from summoning the tube. He would have tried to explain this to Dylan, but between breathing hard and weaving through the trees and narrowly avoiding falling flat on his face tripping over some rock, he couldn’t muster the words.

Like before, she was running ahead of him. You’re out of shape, Isaak. As he attributed her advantage fully to his own flaws, he noticed something about her form. She wasn’t stumbling or flailing at all as she ran. Sweat and the rush of air pressed her dress against her stomach to reveal the outline of well-defined abs, and the muscles of her arms and legs painted a picture he hadn’t properly taken a look at before. This was a disciplined run, born from training. Dylan must have done more in her life than simply calling meat-eaters to get them off the stuff. And like a colt, she threaded through the obstacles effortlessly. He puffed and huffed just watching her do it.

Dodge, swerve, jump through the forest.

It suddenly dawned on him.

“Dylan! Wait! There’s going to be a fallen tree on your right… just about… now!”

She jumped over it. “What the…?” Her black Dr. Martens hitting the ground in a perfectly maintained rhythm, crushing vegetation, she gave him a glance. “How did you know that?” Her tone was even, tempered, the cost of running for this long clearly not affecting her as much.

He’d realised what felt off about the trees earlier – what had been feeling off since then. The trees repeated, the branches and gnarly roots and mossy undergrowth coming into view at speed in a pattern he was beginning to learn. “The forest. It’s a loop! When they made this tape-space, they must have used a cheap algorithm to fill in the trees, and the pattern keeps repeating.”

She ducked below another outgrowth. “Good job! But what are we going to do about it?”

He braved a look back.

“Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

He turned away and kept running. Don’t look back, Dylan. Please, don’t look.

She looked. “FUCK!”

“I know!”

Two large blotches of light and colour were bounding towards them, leaping over fallen trees, each footfall landing with a loud thud. Neon-drenched nightmares, they looked like large metal dogs adorned with all manner of tubing and lights and sharp teeth. Whoever had dreamed them up couldn’t be the same person who’d designed the mid-century modern house. Minimalism and finesse were not concepts known to whoever summoned these beasts.

If they had been designed. No, they must have been.

The vibrations inside his bag increased, and the hum from the box got louder, the closer the wolves got. Isaak’s legs were shaking and he was beginning to run out of breath. He wouldn’t be able to keep this up much longer. And the neon wolves were nearly upon them. If he was going to do something, now was the time. It was risky. Were these wolves like Miss Kitty? Summoned beings that you couldn’t control one hundred percent, but you could take down? Perhaps.

“Isaak, I—” Dylan started.

He couldn’t wait. “I’m going to try something!”

Dylan slowed and looked at him.

He tensed his stomach, extending his arm, and jumped, flipping backwards towards the mechanical beasts. It was a London Lazarus move. A blue storm bubbled around his arm, and with the clicking sound of a thousand particles coming together, the black gun Astrid gave him materialised in his hand.

Time slowed down as he aimed at the closest wolf. The flesh of his finger swelled as he pulled on the trigger – hard, hard as he could – in the split seconds between rise and fall, trusting his landing to the tape and hoping the bullet would hit home.

“No!” Dylan’s shout rippled through the space around him, knocking off his aim. The bullet fired into the air and died on a tree.

As he hit the floor, Dylan sped past him. She stepped on a broken tree trunk to gain speed and jumped at the creature, one foot extended outwards in a kick. Her booted foot slammed into the side of the closest wolf, through matted hair and neon lights, the impact pushing it away from them. It snarled and pawed the ground. The blow hurt it, but didn’t stop it. The wolf was preparing to attack them again, and the other wolf wasn’t far behind.

“You can’t!” Dylan said, her voice shaking. Taking deep breaths, she planted her feet on the ground and took up a fighting posture, one arm raised in front of her, the other arm folded near her body, one leg out in front of her at a ninety-degree angle, hands curled into fists.

Whoa. Again.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Isaak shouted. “I have to shoot them.” He had memorised the repeating pattern of the forest, had timed his jump to land perfectly on the mossy patch he knew was coming up…

“I thought you were vegan!” The lines of her face were drawn in, eyes narrowed, her brows furrowed.

She wanted to do this right now?! He’d hit his back pretty hard, and struggled to get up immediately. “I’m not going to be lectured, Dylan. Step aside!”

“No! I can take them down without killing them!”

Whatever military or guerilla group she’d trained with, it had given her the confidence to stand her ground. But Isaak couldn’t let her fight. It was too dangerous. He thought of the man he’d shot. The expression on his face had been one of surprise, he now realised. Surprise at being shot? Surprised it hurt? The more he thought about it, the more he was convinced…