A Brief Reprieve

Flint reunites with his friends after a short journey.

                The smell of smoke and ash clouded his eyes and diluted his breath. He was always so taken back by the strength of the refuse. Here in the plains fire materials were scarce and what dry organics there were had little to no substance. The result was one of the harshest and unpleasant campfires you can imagine, made of almost anything. In a strange way it was comforting to him though, like the others he could become lost in its vibrant chemical color and splendor. Some of his companions found themselves lost in the bottom of a bottle however, and would take to staring aloof.

            The bike hurtled to a stop on the loose sand and salts. He removed his helmet and gave them all a quick nod and a smirk. He was quiet. There were five people surrounding the flame, a girl with cold dark hair and a slender demeanor, a tired fellow laid across the ground with greasy locks of curly brown hair and a thick beard, another fellow beside him but quite younger sat tinkering with a small radio, and nestled between them was another lady with thick blonde dreads. She sat between them, telling stories and cupping a mug of rum in her hands. On the far side of the fire sat the leader of their outfit, a tall and mature man by the name of Biggs. He didn’t drink on cold nights, instead preferring to smoke an ancient pipe of sorts carved from the tusk of the once common walrus.

            Biggs took a break from his slow, comfortable puffs to peer over at the traveller. “Flint you’re later than usual, what’s kept you?” asked the warm and friendly Biggs. “You had Sandra worried sick!”

            The young girl let out a smirk and glanced over at Biggs. Her head was starting to swim from the murky rum, being older than Flint she was more responsible with such things. She turned to him saying “Young Flint, when will you ever learn to call?” They had no phones, but Flint was awkward and took slowly to the joke.

            Friendly as they were he couldn’t ease up. They were hungry, and all he had to show for himself was a hundred year old bomb. He didn’t have any food and he had let the group down. He was hoping that what he learned earlier would lift their spirits, and ease their worries. “I know I’m late, I had to look around a bit more. Guys, there was no food. The whole place was levelled; all I could find were a couple of batteries, and some bolts.” He began, anticipating the glum disappointment in their faces. “But I met someone on the road, and made a little deal.”

            This sparked their attention. The young lady quit her smirking and nearly spilt her drink. Young Flint had made a trade; this was quite a rare thing. Roads in this fringe region were far from safe and meeting traders without a banner was a story for generations to keep.

            “Just what do you mean, a Trade?” Prodded the bearded fellow, whom the rest had thought was sleeping until now.

            “I mean I saw a man riding towards me, real fast, and I flashed him the old trade sign!” Flint was overjoyed at all the commotion this was spurring. “Look at this! I traded my old belt for it, I even got a free lesson in arming it, without blowing it up I mean.”

            Flint reached a scruffy glove into his pack and pulled out the rusty mine, holding it into the light of the flames. Only Biggs caught on, the rest of the circle only squinted in vein interest. He was their elder. His skin was pocked with age marks and subtle wrinkles while they were smooth and new. His mind too was marked and lined with knowledge he used to educate them. Flint was in for a lesson.

            “How on earth did you get a hold of this, Flint? This is a cruel device, a cowardly weapon.” Biggs spat, “Though I won’t deny its usefulness, you should know to be more cautious.” He stepped over to the boy and looked down upon his ragged clothes. It was difficult for their mentor to act stern when he felt so much pity for them. They didn’t know these things, it wasn’t their fault. It was his fault, and the fault of countless men before him. Only he chose to try and right the wrongs of the past, and so he gathered his students and encouraged Flint to teach them. They might have need of this antiquated bomb, what little game there was on the plains could be hard to route.

            “Come on than, anyone who would like come over and take a look, this could save our lives.” The old man said. It was true, and all but the bearded fellow came. They huddled in a circle and stayed there for a time tinkering and discussing the new object as he slept. His name was Jacob, but most of them had begun calling him Jay. This shortened title served to describe his relaxed and forgiving personality well. Absent as he was, he was one of the oldest among them second to Biggs, and he carried many memories. Few of these memories he kept secret, as he promised Biggs long ago. It was for their own good, though it left him a pariah in his own mind. Sooner or later Flint, Sandra, and the others would wonder where they had come from. For now he let them prod one another with ideas and questions over their new discovery.

            “Are you sure this thing isn’t going to blow us to hell?” asked the boy who was working on the radio. His blue eyes gleaned as he looked into Flints with a questioning look on his face. His thoughts and speech always showed in his face as if on purpose. It wasn’t his fault but was simply a mixture of nature and nurture; he learned practical skills and none of the social variety. His name was Parker but they sometimes called him Spark. They did so in part because of his inept awkwardness, his gift for the scientific, and mostly because it contained the word “Park”. Though they had all grown past childhood these names never left their minds.

            “I mean really Flint, you never even told us about this guy, you say he was French? How do you even know what a Frenchman looks like?” teased Parker.

            “Sparky has a point, you never did tell us about this mysterious rider. Was he tall?” blurted Sandra. She was the only one who could get away with using those damn nicknames.

            “No, he wasn’t tall, and I just knew, okay?” Flint said, scrambling to defend himself, “He said things different, rearranged, and his voice was nothing like yours. It didn’t sound half as snide for one and he used words we used to learn about, remember Biggs?”

            “Humph, I’m surprised you remember any of that. I gave up trying to teach you all language since you began swearing in Mandarin every night… And French, and Spanish. Flint has a point and none of us should think him a liar, understood? I may not like the concept of bombs, they alone destroyed chivalry, but in doing so they became necessary.” Biggs let his final words ring in elegant strength. He was not forceful, but respectable. He knew he was their idol and rather than remind them he encouraged them by always keeping himself well composed.

            “Flint dear, you never answered my question.” prodded Sandra. She was trying to bury the hatchet. “Who knows, maybe we’ll meet him on the road someday.”

            He thought that over briefly. They made a trade and that was that, but the man struck him as odd. None of the others could relate to him as excited as they were. Meeting a man and being given an explosive took time to understand, and he wasn’t sure he’d like to become friends with his kind. “Height wise I’d say 6 feet, and his hair was very brown and greasy. He was headed toward the lake actually, I doubt we’ll be seeing him anytime soon.”

            Everyone but Jacob and Biggs suddenly grew tense. The lake wasn’t far at all, and there were some truly peculiar stories circulating about the place. Its name was actually Lake S**t-Pit. People knew it for its unmistakable smell and color. The truth was that it was actually a swamp full of dangerous bacteria and slugs, but most rugged passer-bys saw nothing but a giant toilet in its wake. It’s said that a great ship laid underneath its depths, and the countless bodies inside had decayed and created deposits of caustic fuel and combustible gasses likely to be methane. Sadly the tale would never be proven to be true or false as nobody in their right mind would ever consider diving into Lake S**t-Pit.

            “Why the hell would anyone want to visit that old dump?” mused Parker, thinking out loud again.

            It was a good question, Flint was so full of adrenaline when the man pulled over that he forgot to think of where it was he was headed in any great detail. He had a bad feeling about this sudden realization. It stank of refugees, convicts, or worse; soldiers. They were the only type to keep quiet, and hide where nobody else would ever think to. Surprise was a prized treasure to these men. As if they still felt like hunters in a world full of scavengers.

            “What was that, Sparky?” asked Sandra in a schmoozers voice.

            “I was just, I said�"oh bugger off…” blurted Parker, realizing he had said what everyone was already thinking once more. He was never a very good sport.

            “Oh you, now than what are we going to do about it? So this French stud rolls through town on his way to Lake S**t-Piss and you expect to do what?”

            Biggs took a breath from his pipe, surprising the lot of them. “You’ll do nothing, it’s late. You should be resting, we ride for Westingly tomorrow at Dawn. We all know better than to meddle with strangers in the fringe.”

            With that Flint rose from the ground. He dusted off his leather jacket and scratched his belly as the blood rushed through his body, he was low on sugar. He remembered how he was searching for food earlier and had failed. What a simple start to such a strange evening.

            Suddenly he bumped into the quiet girl with dark hair who had been sitting with them, her name was Lani. Though he didn’t remember if he had bumped into her or if she had bumped him, he was already in a rush after getting up so fast. He hardly had time to think of who she was, though they had grown up together. She seemed like she had always been a stranger, quiet and young. A certain fear hid within her veil of hair as she muttered her apologies, and twirled towards her tent. The others didn’t seem to notice, as Parker made a point not to make much eye contact or observe much of anything. Sandra was drunk, and only smiled at Flint with an all knowing, but ultimately absent grin. It was time for bed.

Biggs stayed up to watch the stars, and cough in privacy. Strong but old, he would never show his pain to them. Flint did not hide in his tent and sleep though, before retiring he set towards his mentor. They would talk often in times like these, the brief reprieves found only during the most unconventional hours.

“Hey, how are you feeling?” he asked as comfortably as possible.

            “Good, lad. It’s just this damn cough. Why aren't you in bed? You've had quite the day, Flint.” The familiar ring hung in the air as the last words shed more light than was visible. Biggs knew too well how he was feeling, and it was something he respected in Flint. He was a man, he had entered the world and become a part of it all on his own, if for a moment.

“I couldn't find the will to rest, really. It’s just been such a strange day. I honestly thought that he could killed me, or that… For a moment I was afraid I would have had to kill him. I wouldn't need to worry about a thing, just aim and be free of it. It took all my strength to raise my hand.”

“Well thank your lucky stars we taught one another the signals. You’re too young a man to kill, remember that Flint. I've watched men kill for greed, for fear, for lust. No matter what, it is never necessary. It may feel natural… it may feel like all you want is to put the fear away.” He began to whisper now; and Flint could smell the tobacco on his stale breathe “But never give in. Stay vigilant lad, if you take one life your own is forever forfeit. This land may be harsh, but it will never be better if people continue to let fear run their lives. If only that much was clear.”

With that Biggs turned again to the sky, reaching for a small cask of drink in his vest. He pulled out a small flask filled with coarse liquor. Flint watched as he unscrewed it’s lid in the dying firelight. Fingers the size of chutes wrapped around the tiny lid of silver and gently lifted it, leaving it to hang by a slip of leather.

With comfort he took a long sip of it, and swallowed with a gasp and a grunt. “Here, try it.” He thrust the flask toward Flint with ease. “It’ll help you relax in these tense moments.”

The boy took the flask and first smelled its contents. Aromas of orange and honey swirled around a bitter thick fume, and without much doubt he gave the flask a sip. A great cough and a slap in the back followed, and Biggs chuckled to himself. “You’re getting to be quite the man, young Flynn. I envy you this chance to grow in such an interesting place. There were no trailblazers where I grew up, though I suppose twice as many criminals. I never tasted the open road, they were all full of gates and tollbooths, and they always lead to the same place.”

Flint’s head was spinning only slightly and he slowly began feeling calm and collected. The warm feeling of happiness washed over, but it was darkened by an empty longing. He chose to keep this to himself, as by the look of Biggs he knew this emptiness well enough. “But how is this better?” He asked, “You say it was boring, all boxes and criminals, but did you ever need to pull out a gun?”

The comment left his mouth a bit stronger than was meant. Biggs felt like his point had slipped right over Flint’s head. It was a good thing he was one for storytelling and teaching. “You see boy, we didn’t have to fear strangers out there, we had to fear people we knew. My own beloved friends traded their mothers for a drink and a quid, and robbed the block every night. We’d stop by a shop for candy as kids, not to stick a shotgun in the man’s mouth. Things were getting bad, and they never stopped. This damn fuel crisis left us all broke as hell, debt up to our necks. I don’t reckon a single man in the old-country has a dime left to his name by now.”

Flint was used to these ramblings, he and Biggs talked of the old world often. It was like having a black sheep in the family and always worrying if they’d ever realize what was at stake. Every night Biggs would have to live with the pain of his life being lost at the hands of men who hid behind corporate masks. His beloved homeland was forever a wasteland of crime and totalitarian greed. Flint thought for a moment that he saw a tear in his eye, but it was just the old man’s glossy eyes shining in the moonlight. It took more than just strength to hold it all in.

“Just promise me you kids won’t go back there, it’s not what they think it is. Fools.”

            With that the man patted him on the back and turned to his cot. Flint felt it was time to do the same. With the fire dying and his warmth fading there wouldn't be another chance to have a comfortable sleep. As he huddled into the tent he realized how sore he’d become. So much riding was hard on his thighs and his back, and his wrists were numb. He tried not to wake Parker, whose greasy blonde hair flowed in a wild flurry covering his sleeping face. The tents meek linen canvas flapped in the rolling wind as he crawled into the cot. He slept better having talked to his mentor. The lot of them would always consider him their father. Surely they wondered where they came from and why, but Biggs was always poignant in his reply. They might want to know, but he couldn't be sure they would want to understand.

            That night he dreamed he was the sheriff in a small town like Westingly. It wasn't a big town, and he had been there before many times passing through. Biggs was good friends with the owner of a bar and grill there, they weren't very prosperous people but their food tasted excellent. Everything was supplied by the residents who grew crops and farmed some few cattle. It was a hard life for the people there, but a firm security force mainly composed of the farmers themselves and a few hired guns managed to keep the city happy and healthy. In his dream however, a great storm was approaching.

            Storms normally never passed through this edge of the plains, and normally clashed over the wet and cold peaks. They could be seen from miles around as great clouds of thunder beat against the earth and shrieked through the hot air. This time the thunder was coming closer, and in it were two dark riders. One wore a mask, the other a crown, and he alone stood the greet them. He flashed a sign of peace, but they only grinned complacently. A fever episode elapsed the entire scene where he disappeared and all he could see were the two riders alone in front of him. Glitches and bumps in reality clicked through his mind as they reached for their guns.

            It was then that the dream changed. He didn't reach for a gun, or a bat for that matter. He simply pulled a beam of light out of a great sheath at his waist, and the thunder began coursing through him. He became the storm, rattling and roaring about as the riders began to cry and flee in a panic. Westingly faded into the ether of his mind as he became violently engaged in the pursuit. The two riders were on sleek militaristic bikes that raced across roads of stone and he tumbled and crashed at their feet. His hand became a thrust of torrential wind and rain swiping the crown and pulling the mask from their heads. He wanted to hurt them for what they were going to do. Bad men did not deserve mercy he thought, and they would burn under his flashing light. He woke up just as the final beam of light blinded him and silenced his thoughts.

            When he woke Parker was sitting up rubbing his eyes. The tent was filled with a film of red morning light and the sandy floor was cold. The air was fresh and cool. It wouldn't last. The heat would come creeping back in again, it always did.

            “You sleep about as well as an atom, you know that Flynn?” complained Parker, pushing his blanket away in a desperate effort to savor the cool air.

            “What are you talking about?” He was confused, they were both tired. And his throat was dry.

            “Last night you’d think there was a storm going on behind your eyeballs, woke me up twice. I can imagine you had quite the dream, not that you could remember if you tried.”

            But he could remember it very vividly. Inside the blurring ether of his thoughts he could make out picture frames of menacing men, armies and droves of them. Some wore the crown, others the mask.

            “Flynn?”

            “Oh, sorry man. You were right I had one hell of a dream. Sorry if it kept you up, lunch is on me okay?”

            “Yeah okay. Thanks Flynn, but I think you should talk to someone about those dreams. We need our sleep out here, both of us.”

 With that Parker stood up and began looking for his shirt. They kept only a minimum of clothing this far out, so every morning it was easy to prepare. Flint forgot to take off his own shirt last night thanks to his drink with Biggs. He noticed it smelled even worse now, a mix of both active and long dormant sweat.

Parker finally snatched up a faded, threadbare cola shirt. It was red and showed the shape of a bottle. Everyone thought the shirt was cool but Flint never understood why, it was just a bottle. There were things in the world he would die to see, and these people get googly eyed over a cola. He reached for his brown leather jacket beside the cot. It was small and fit him perfectly, most people didn’t look as casual in such a bulky piece of clothing.

With that the two boys decided to emerge from the tent as one and see what was going on. A quiet humming of activity could be heard in each tent as the others went through the same ritual. Only Jacob and Biggs had their own tents and that was because they had either bought them or stolen them. Flint often times would daydream of how he would get his own tent. Most times it would end with him narrowly escaping frontier justice of some form or another.

Sandra was the first to join them. She pulled the draping door to her tent open with thick yet lanky hands. She wore a large coat with embroidered cuffs and a small belt around the waist. Arguably in two places at one time, she was noticeably hung-over and didn’t even try to hide it. In fact she explained it to them as if they really cared.

“Oh my… ugh I feel so sick. I’m never drinking that swill again.”

“Isn’t that what you said last time?” smirked Parker, before he realised they were all thinking the same thing again. “It is, isn’t it?”

“Yes Sparky. That’s what I said last time, thanks for reminding me.” Even her insults sounded weak. Her blonde hair hung in loose dreads; they always started coming undone as she slept. Flynn couldn’t remember the last time he saw her long hair hanging free, it was beautiful.

“The pleasure is ours, isn’t it Flynn? We always love hearing the latest epiphany, keeps these early hours from getting stale.”

“Unfortunately the pleasure isn’t mine at all. If it helps I’m feeling the same way Sandy.”

The two looked at Flint with a smirk and a quirk. It was surreal enough that Flint was hungover but the fact that neither of them had heard about it, and that he was using nicknames was just out of the ordinary.

“Get out of here, Flint when did this happen! You think you can just get drunk and start calling me ‘Sandy’, like I give a s**t! You’d better speak up,”

“It was just me and Biggs, we shared a drink nothing much. You guys were asleep, except for you Sandy, I think you were just passed out.”

Parker smiled at Flint. He was tense about the rough night but now it all made sense. Flint’s body was probably just dealing with its first taste of liquor, and it was funny enough having two wrecks to poke fun at.

“Good work Flint, I don’t think I could come up with a more sorry excuse for a morning if I tried, you two enjoy the ride.”

They were to ride to Westingly soon. That would be interesting; at least three of them including Biggs were going to need to focus more now than ever he thought. Though he could still see the humor in it, and it was nice to let go of the reins and try relaxing a bit. Maybe this was the secret to being happy all along, letting go.

            With a rustle and rumble Jacob rose out from inside his tent. He wore a threadbare plaid shirt, his long dark hair pulled back to reveal a dirty face. He was always slow to wake and grumpy in the morning, and gave the others little recognition. He sat by the remains of the fire and breathed the fresh morning air. Flynn found himself perplexed by his tall build. He seemed so much older than them. That was the most perplexing part in itself. Flynn saw himself in Jacob except that he wouldn't be so solitary and cold. Or so he hoped.

            “Hey there stranger, did you hear about Flint?” belted Sandra, not realizing how loud she was being this entire time.

            “Our friend here had his first drink,” added Parker.

            Jacob turned to them with two squinting eyes. His dark eyelids made the slits look like pearls in a soft shell. “Since when did you have any friends, Sparky?”

            That was as much as they would get out of him at this hour. Sure enough he’d be himself over breakfast, laughing himself silly with a mouthful of potatoes. Parker was used to it anyway.

            “I’m going to go tune up my bike, you three have fun.” Parker walked away without another word. He felt complacent in his role underneath the other men. Let them be quick-witted, the thought, on the trails he would be the quickest.

            Flint relaxed his shoulders and stood loosely against the cool wind. He looked over at Sandra and noticed she was squinting. Her face was veiled in sunlight, her hair a wild but orderly mess. A sense that something had changed lingered between them.

            “You really surprised everyone last night, you know that right?” She said in a much quieter voice. “Biggs would've just gone himself if he thought you’d have found any food. It was a stretch to begin with. But you always take your chances, even when it comes to a stranger. Why is that?”

            “I never thought about it to be honest. Whenever I've been in a tough spot I just think to myself “How is this meant to end?” Do you know what I mean?” She was staring, he figured it was hard to explain this when they were both so incapacitated. “I can’t just sleep at night knowing I didn't try everything I could, it just doesn't work that way. ”

He realized he was squinting and his face had become tense. It was difficult to explain such personal things.

“Don’t you ever feel afraid though? I mean he could have killed you Flint, and nobody would have caught him!”

“But he didn’t.” He said with new clarity, “And if he did his own life would have been forfeit. There are worse things than being caught, or so Biggs told me.”

“I bet he was puffing away all night, the old man will say just about anything to keep us listening sometimes.”

“That he will,” Grunted Biggs, stretching his neck in the morning light, “But I always lend an ear, don’t I tummy-aches? Let’s get ready than, you all be ready to ride by eleven sharp, no more whining.”

            The cool morning air was beginning to dry out and become a translucent and smelly fog. This was to be a rough day, he could tell. The kind of day where the winds blow in from the new coasts, the soggy beaches that surrounded what was left of the seas. The winds would pass through the hollows of ships, the fields of salt, and through the mountains of refuse. The result was a sickening humidity, but it was bearable after an hour or so. With eyes on a pleasant breakfast, he walked toward the makeshift metal corral. Six bikes sat waiting, but only 5 riders had risen.

            Flynn walked to his bike, the red Husq. That was all that remained of the name that once spanned the gas-tank, half the paint was lost to reveal a stainless steel casing. Thanks to some help from Biggs and Parker he was able to keep most of the bike from rusting over, and gave it a truly resilient shine.

            “Jacob, Sandra, have either of you seen Lani?” Biggs barked from the corral.

            The two looked to one another indifferently. It was obvious she was still asleep, and they both knew this was a job for Sandra. “You two are like sisters,” is what Jacob would always say. She knew it was just an excuse for him to get to keep to himself. She never understood why he couldn’t enjoy being a brother to them, but if it meant she was able to spare the poor girl from a rude awakening than so be it.

            “Hey kiddo, you were really out like a light huh?” she whispered.

            The girls dark hair was a silky blanket over her face, the morning light glaring through the tent’s door gleamed off its black sheen. An ancient growl and a slow raise of the hand was her only response, her dry skin cringed as she climbed out of the covers.

            “How late is it?”

            “Well it’s late enough, Biggs is being a big buzz-kill again. Wants us to head out in a half hour.”

            “Oh, thanks.” The girl muttered, reaching about for a shirt.

            “Are you okay sis?”

            She didn’t respond immediately. She just kept rummaging in the sand until she gripped the grey button up. She coughed as the foul wind blew into the tent.Whenever I'i

            Sandra’s eyes kept on her, not in a stare but more a gaze. She knew this side of Lani and it was hard being reminded of it after such a nice morning.

            “You know we all hate going without food, and it gets pretty miserable out here but I thought we agreed that we were going to try together. C’mon sis!”

            “Okay, I’m sorry. I just had the strangest dream, I feel like it’s happening again.”

            “Come here…” She whispered, taking the girl in her arms. Lani was a special girl, always shy and observant. She was destined for great things, but she found it hard to find things great. If not for Sandra’s warm spirit and low maintenance she would never have found comfort among her companions. They would always need one another to survive. “Let’s go get ourselves some breakfast than, shall we?”

            The great roar of an engine rattled outside the tent as they walked out together. Flynn and Parker had already started to dismantle their tent, whereas Jacob was able to fold his into a small fiber bag. They began doing the same, helping one another unpin the edges. Teamwork helped them to feel normal and young again. Under the hot sun the campsite emptied and was returned to its owners, the sand and bones.

            Biggs sat atop a thick muscly bike full of chrome pipes and hardy leather. He grinned behind black goggles and a cracked onyx helmet. His gruff face was covered in a fine musk dusted with salt and sand, and his lips cracked in the dry climate. He signaled to his flock to file in behind him. Each of them mounted a small dirt bike fitted for the rough and tumble of the plains.

            Parker practically jumped onto his ocean blue bike. It was an extreme model with plenty of metal wings and sharp aesthetics. It was older, and the style was of another time. A time of more friendly sport and fun, and it was meant for tricks. He used his knowledge to transform it into a beast of burden. Biggs had thought him crazy for trying, but he worked hard and earned his prize.

            Sandra’s bike was a neon yellow. It fitted her personality and her blonde hair. It was like Parkers but much less lean. It was thicker and newer and was lightly maintained. She was less of a rider than the rest of them, preferring visiting towns and settlements to travel, but it was important to always be ready for long trips.

            Jacob climbed onto a bike covered in camouflage. The yellows and browns of the desert covered the limbs of his beefy military bike. A great lamp sat inbetween the short handlebars, and he often crouched over them while he rode. It looked uncomfortable and menacing, but he liked that about it. He didn’t much like being pushed around, and plenty of people saw them as easy pickings. As cold as he could be he always protected his friends.

            Lani always put one foot on the pedal and launched herself onto her seat. She sat atop a sleek green bike, and was able to sit upright because of it’s long design. It was decorated like a sports model and had thick absorbent shocks. Watching her ride was like seeing cougar pounce across the plains in long soaring steps.

            Flint watched as Jacob and Sandra filed in behind Biggs smoking exhaust. He and Parker loved this part; they revved up and took off as one, with Lani fitting in between to two groups. They left the time behind them as the long hours of sunlit racing motion began.

            Technicolor rainbows of light were caught and suspended in the foggy humid air. Radioactive rainbows filled the hot atmosphere and blurred around them as they raced down the thin hunting trails. Flint found it easy to see today, and trusted his gut despite being in the back of the caravan. They were young and their eyes were keen, even when having dust thrown against their helmets from their companions.

            He took a spare hand and zipped his jacket open to catch the last of the cool morning air. His thoughts began to wander as he gazed at the girls hair waving through the wind under their helmets. He skipped over a rock and was bumped back into focus, earning him a worried glance from Parker. He could feel the judgement, but didn’t hold it against him. Together they flew into the horizon with the dust at their backs and the heat against their hearts.

            Flint spied a twisted gnarled tree by the trail ahead. It was surrounded by small bones and a pool of morning dew. He hoped it would grow as tall as a mountain by the time they returned. It disappeared behind the rolling hills of sand and rock as the hours rolled away.

Author's Note

Many new characters being introduced, don't underestimate their potential...