WRITING PROMPT: Write about someone who is given a bird for the holidays but does not know what to do with it.

(Note: I do not own these images. I use them for illustration only)

The sound of a hammer striking anvil with a loud clank pulled my gaze, and then, I saw him. His skin was dark-grey like ash and his eyes fiery red, glowing beneath the black tarp of his blacksmith shop. Sweat dripped in beaded streaks down his muscle-strewn arms and chest. His left horn was broken and his right one had bright red string tied intricately as it crookedly pointed up. Wind blew wintry-cold through his long and coal-black hair. He looked up as I stared and I quickly broke eye contact. Father approached holding a small crate with a clucking hen within.

‘Go on now. Hornbluds deserve good cheer of the dawning winter solstice too,’ he said, shoving the small crate into my arms. The fowl clucked and looked up into my eyes, as if begging not to be given to the beast.

‘Must I, father?’ I asked.

My question was met with hard stare.

‘Efrideet…’ warned Father. Seldom was the time he called me by my full name. I had no choice.

The hot grasp of dread enclosed itself around my neck like a vice, making it difficult to swallow. I did anyway and forced my feet to move to the dark shop. Tales of Hornbluds and their savagery circulated through my mind. They would creep into the night and take children to sacrifice to their dark god. They would eat rotten corpses and drink marrow from their bones. They speak a cursed dialogue that ushers demons to curse their enemies. At least, that’s how the stories went.

Before I knew it, I stood just before his anvil, gazing up into the giant of a creature. He simply stared at me, large hammer in hand. The hard features of his face and rough skin nearly made me faint. I gathered what little courage I had and held the crate out to him.

‘What must I give in return?’ he asked in a thick eastern accent.

‘’Tis a gift. Do you not know how gifts work?’ I asked, risking a second glance at his face. His eyes glowed orange and pierced through me. He cocked his head and set his hammer down as he walked from behind his anvil. Despite the freezing temperature, he wore nothing but steel padded pants with a black apron that used to be brown. He wore neither shirt nor coat. His arms were strewn with muscle and were covered in scars. He knelt and still was taller than I was.

‘What must I do with this?’

‘Kill it. Cook it. Eat it, of course. It is the winter solstice!’ I exclaimed, nervously digging the tip of my toe into snow.

‘Gratitude.’  

I threw the crate into his gigantic arms and rushed back to father. Finding myself at his side, I turned to the Hornblud that had finally calmed the upset hen down.

‘There, I did it.’

The Hornblud nodded at my father and he returned the gesture.

‘Well done, Deet. No one should be devoid of cheer in this season,’ said father, with a wide smile. I turned as mother approached, carrying a bundle of spices and bread beneath her arm.

‘We must go, Hestyn. The collectors have arrived. If they see us they could hurt us,’ said mother.

Father’s smile faded he spotted a group of armed men enter the marketplace. They wore ragged black clothes and had cruel-looking cudgels and rusty blades attached to their belts.

‘Come, we will return to the marketplace tomorrow when they are still recovering from a night of heavy drinking,’ said Father.

We made our way back to our home on the outskirts of Shieftree Village. Our cow, Iva, greeted us with a cheery moo and the warmth of our cabin draped itself around my shoulders. I was glad to be home. Father butchered our hen and mother cooked the meat and before long the cabin smelt of delicious stew and cayenne. The meal tasted even better.

After, Father sat beside the fireplace with a pipe in hand carving a doll out of wood as mother sleepily stared at the bustling flames with hand on her pregnant belly. Just as sleep was about to usher me to bed, a sharp knock broke the pleasant stillness of the night.

‘A visitor? At this hour of the night, Hestyn?’

‘So it seems,’ said Father, as he stood up and went to the door. Before he had lifted the latch the door burst into splintered pieces, tossing him onto his back.

Mother rushed to the kitchen table and grabbed a paring knife. I sat up as three men entered the cabin.

‘Hestyn! You had a feast here and did not deign to invite us? How rude,’ said one with a cruel scar running from forehead across to his chin, presumably the leader. His beady eyes swept the cabin and he scratched at his patchy beard. The stench emanating from him gave way the fact he probably hadn’t washed in months.

The other two brutes, from the north, judging by their pale skin and black hair, entered behind him with equally malicious grins.

‘Please, Raynwuld,’ spoke Father, getting up to his knees. ‘My pelts didn’t sell as well as I would have liked. Tomorrow I will gain all that I have left and pay what I owe you. No need for any of this.’

‘You said that last time and I told you I wouldn’t knock so pleasantly. You see, I am a man of my word and clearly you are not.’

‘Leave us alone you cockless bastards!’ shouted Mother.

‘Oh my. Fiery language like that in front of your daughter? Lacking parenting, don’t you think boys?’ asked Raynwuld to the laughter of his men. ‘What do you expect to do with that butter-knife, eh? Please, put that down before you hurt yourself.’

Mother darted at the nearest collector and swung her knife slicing into his arm. The man, in shock, backhanded her so hard, she fell to the ground.

‘No!’ shouted Father.

‘Bitch!’ grunted the collector, cradling his arm.

Raynwuld crowed in laughter. ‘She has so much fight in her. How did you ever land yourself a lass with so much spirit, Hestyn? Oh my, I feel I should be bargaining with her not you. At least she has a spine.’

A collector grabbed Father by the collar of his shirt and lifted him up off the floor.

‘What is your wife’s name, Hestyn?’ asked Raynwuld, staring needles into Father’s eyes.

Silence.

‘Either tell me her name or I carve her unborn child from her belly right here and now.’

‘Gabrielle.’

Raynwuld turned and walked before her, touching her brown locks of hair. ‘Listen to me, Gabrielle. You have swayed me. I will bring the loan amount your husband owes down but I will also decrease the time. I expect one-hundred silver coins by tomorrow. I believe that is fair considering the amount of trouble you have given us. If not, Hestyn’s head is forfeit.’

Mother spat at his cheek.

Raynwuld glared at her and wiped the spittle from his face. ‘Wrong move. Let me show you how serious I am.’

He dropped Father on the ground and kicked him hard in the stomach. The other two joined in and began kicking and punching as hard as they could. Father grunted and tried to shield himself but the attacks were too strong. Then, he stopped moving.  

‘No! Please!’ I screamed into the darkness of the outside. ‘Someone. Anyone! Help!’

‘No one will answer you little one. Perhaps the wind will rush to your call,’ said a collector, blood belonging to Father dripping from his knuckles.

Mother’s glare instantly softened.

Raynwuld grabbed Father by the hair and swung a punch with all his might. I jumped up and ran at them. I punched Raynwuld’s leg with all the strength I could muster and leaned in to bite but he slapped me away hard forcing me to the floor.

My vision swam and I saw stars.

‘Enough!’ said Mother.

‘Ah, she can be broken. Come to your senses, Gabrielle?’ said Raynwuld as he and his collectors ceased to beat Father. ‘Good. Now we are forced to take your husband as collateral. I expect to see you by the end of tomorrow, or else.’

The other collector grabbed Father’s unconscious body and lifted him over his shoulder and they disappeared into the night.

Mother jumped up and gave me a fierce hug. Tears dripped from her cheeks and she sobbed quietly. I cried with her.

‘What will we do, mother?’

‘I must sell Iva at the market in Roggenstelt. It’s the only way we can even get close to finding that much coin to pay for your father’s release.’

‘Not Iva,’ I protested. ‘She is family.’

Mother ignored my words. ‘You must go to Shieftree market square in the early morning and sell what you can in pelts, Deet. We cannot lose Hestyn and I don’t think they are bluffing.’

‘Why don’t I go with you to Roggenstelt?’

‘Our pelts don’t sell well there. We have to split up to get the coin we need for your father. I already have a buyer there so I will return to you as fast as I can. You have to be a big girl now. Do whatever you can to sell those pelts.’

***

Her words echoed in my ears as I spread out my father’s pelts beneath the tarp of my stall in the market square. It was still fairly early in the day as the sun had not entirely risen from the mountains and a thick fog draped all in sight. My eye and cheek had become swollen so I could only see out of one eye to set everything up.

The rustling of movement alerted me to someone at my stall.

‘We have ruskalan leather in stock, good sir. The sturdiest leather in the land. It will make great shields and armor. If you know your worth, you should consider purchase,’ I gazed up at the visitor and froze. It was the Hornblud. He held the hen beneath his arm.

‘You are supposed to eat that, not make it your pet,’ I said.

‘Our kind does not eat birds. Her name is Sasha. She is not pet. She is friend,’ said the Hornblud in his deep voice. The hen clucked happily under his arm. Then, his expression changed. A hard frown spread across his face. He knelt before me and lifted my chin with his finger. I could contain it no longer as tears flooded my vision. I sobbed quietly but uncontrollably.

The Hornblud looked around the waking market. ‘Where is your Father?’

‘The collectors have him. They beat him and took him hostage. I beg you, purchase one of my pelts. I need to pay for his release.’

He stood up and raised his hen to look into her eyes.

‘You must watch over her shop, Sasha. I will return shortly,’ he said to the hen. The avian, almost like it understood, clucked loudly and, when he had set her down, raced to her perch atop the tarp like a winged watchdog.

He laced his hammer to his belt and grabbed me by the hand.

‘What are you doing?’

He didn’t answer but instead we marched through the market and through the streets of Shieftree Village. His gait was strong and sure like that of a knight. Perhaps he had been some kind of warrior before a blacksmith. The lack of hesitation or fear in his movements was contagious, spreading to my own footsteps that paced with anticipation.

‘What is your name?’ I asked.

He didn’t answer.

‘My name is Efrideet, but everyone simply calls me Deet.’

‘Otta,’ said the Hornblud without further words. The muscles in his jaw pulsated. He was preparing for a fight.  

We reached the House of Collections. Four men stood outside. Two of them were asleep with empty mead casks in hand but the other two were wide awake. As the Hornblud approached, they called into the house and six other men emerged with cudgels and short swords in hand. Raynwuld appeared from within and gave a cruel smile.

Otta  stopped a few paces away.

I gasped as my eyes saw a man in a stockade, bloodied and beaten. ‘Father!’

Raynwuld scratched at his beard with a devious grin. ‘I was half expecting your mother, Gabrielle, to show up. We would have shown her a good time, of that I assure you kid. What are you doing in the presence of a filthy Hornblud?’

‘How much does Hestyn owe?’ asked the Hornblud.

‘Way more than you could ever possess,’ snapped Raynwuld.

‘Silence your tongue! Gold speaks.’ The Hornblud unlaced a pouch from his belt and tossed it to the ground, the gold contents within spilling into the mud. ‘Enough for his release, no matter the price.’

Raynwuld’s smile faded. ‘Why would one of your kind pay for the release of a man? What devious scheme do you have in mind? I was sure your kind hated us for what we did to you. Wait, what did we do? Do any of you boys remember?’

‘Aye!’ said one of his henchmen. ‘We nearly exterminated them grey bastards at the Battle of the Murklands. This of course after we raped their woman and murdered their children.’

‘Ah, yes. That’s right,’ said Raynwuld as he approached the Hornblud, stepping on the bag of coins into the mud. ‘I was there ten years past. The Murklands swallowed my beloved horse and I lost three toes to the rot. It was a long and hard campaign. I was relieved when we finally broke your damn city walls. I even brought back the horned skull of your lieutenant. What was his name? Ah, it was Hallkell the Warden. After his execution, the treaty was signed; a sad thing in all reality. It was almost like a great hunt had ended. Judging by your expression, you knew the beast? I’m sure you’ll be relieved to know he died like a dog.’

The Hornblud clenched his jaw. ‘Take coin, now. We leave in peace.’

‘You probably fought in the war, judging by your size. I’ll bet you were in the Murklands too. I’ll bet you cut down our fellow infantry-men by the dozen,’ said Raynwuld. As he spoke, the collectors began to surround us. With hateful stares, they drew their weapons. The Hornblud gave a resigned sigh, tied his long black hair behind his back with a red string, unlaced his hammer, and pushed me behind him softly. ‘Stay close, little one.’

‘He must pay for his war-crimes,’ said a henchman.

‘Oh, he will,’ smirked Raynwuld.

One arrow buzzed at the Hornblud striking at his shoulder. He grunted but turned as a collector charged at his back with cudgel raised. Otta stopped the blow clutching at the barbed wood with his bare-hand, blood dripped down his arm. For one split second, the collector stared into the face of the Hornblud. Otta’s face transformed into that of a daemon as his eyes flashed bright orange and he bared his sharpened teeth. He bit the collector in the neck and tore flesh and sinew. The collector fell to the ground with shock etched on his face, squirming as blood spewed from his open neck wound.

Another arrow flew at him but Otta dodged it with a quick dip of his head. He turned as two other collectors raced at him with short-swords raised. The first screamed and swung in a wide arc, connecting with Otta’s exposed side, drawing blood. It would be the last thing he would do before being ushered to the underworld with one single forward strike of Otta’s hammer caving his face in. The other, a more experienced fighter, jabbed at his neck but Otta dodged and in a half-turn smacked the attacker in the chest before he could complete the attack. The collector fell into the mud sucking for air, eyes wide open.

Otta snorted and threw his hammer at the archer, making his arrow fly wide. It smashed into his foot ushering a blood-curling scream. He dropped his bow and pulled the hammer from his foot, moaning and curling up in pain.

Raynwuld held his hand up, a dejected look etched on his face.

‘Enough! I understand now we are outmatched. A Hornblud wouldn’t know how to fight humans unless he had fought in the wars. You do realize if you kill me, you will be hunted down like the dog you are, don’t you?’

‘Why shouldn’t I kill you all right here and now?’ asked Otta. ‘As you very well said, I did fight in the wars. I could end you all right now before the sun rises any further.’

‘Because you don’t just put yourself at risk. If you touch any one more of my men, Lord Targwin will hear about this and that girl will pay the price. Hestyn and Gabrielle will meet the same hunt if you strike my men again.’

Otta grunted and cast a sideways glance at me.

‘Ah, you actually have a soft spot for them. How endearing.’

‘How can I trust you won’t do so anyway?’

‘I picked the fight, I pay the price,’ said Raynwuld. ‘On my honor, despite your doubts, I will not pursue if you leave now.’

‘I will leave Shieftree Village in peace. The gold is yours as is rightful payment for Hestyn’s debt.’

‘Agreed. I will allow it,’ said Raynwuld, turning to two other of his men who appeared more than relieved that the fighting was over and they wouldn’t have to face the horned giant.

They lifted the wooden lock of the stockade and Father fell to the ground. I ran to him and embraced him. ‘Father.’

He was shaking and his skin was cold to the touch, but he was still breathing.

‘Help me!’ I cried.

Otta walked to Raynwuld and picked the hammer up from the ground.

‘You will pay for that,’ sneered the collector.

‘I expect I will,’ replied Otta, his eyes seemed to dim in the wake of battle and he concealed his teeth. He laced his hammer to his belt, turned and picked Father up in his arms as if he weighed no more than a sack of potatoes.

We reached the market place and Mother was there with a worried look on her face.

‘Deet! I was looking for you everywhere. I sold Iva for much more than I thought possible. We can pay of Hestyn’s debt!…’ her words were interrupted as she saw Otta carrying her bloodied husband. ‘What in the hell?’

‘He saved us, Mother,’ I said, tears trailing down my cheeks. ‘He paid our debt.’

‘We cannot stay. They will return for retribution, one way or another,’ said Otta. He turned to his blacksmith shop. ‘Sasha!’

A clucking hen came racing out and in one jump and flurry of flapping wings landed on his shoulder.

‘Is that the hen for the winter solstice?’ asked Mother.

‘It is. His kind doesn’t eat birds, it seems,’ I said.

Father groaned in Otta’s arms.

‘We must return to the farm,’ said Mother.

***

It was nightfall by the time we arrived at the farm. Once in the warmth of our log cabin, Father was put to bed with cleaned wounds and fresh bandages.

‘He would recover soon. He was beaten and cut but no infection nor serious injury has befallen him,’ said Otta in his thick accent. ‘Should he make a bad turn in health, give him one drop of this.’ He pulled a red elixir in a bottle the size of his hand. The liquid bubbled as he set it on the table. ‘One drop is enough and he will be sickly for an hour. Afterwards, he will feel himself a new man. Two drops will kill him. Only use this if there is no other alternative.’

‘Thank you, Otta. I do not know how to repay you,’ I said.

‘’Tis a gift. Do you not know how gifts work?’

I smiled. He stood up and Sasha clucked jumping into his arms.

‘I must go,’ said Otta.

‘You cannot stay the night?’ asked Mother. ‘It’s growing dark and cold.’

‘My kind are not affected by the cold and I can see in the dark just fine. The collectors will be looking for me. I will not give them a reason to hurt you. I will leave but I will not stray far. I will keep an eye on you for a while to make sure you are safe. Before long, they will lose interest and find another victim to harass. Until then, I will be nearby, though I doubt you will ever see me again.’

With that, he turned and left the wooden cabin with a wave and Sasha clucked off into the growing darkness of the night.

Writing Prompt: Write about someone getting a job offer they never would have thought to apply for. (I do not own this image. It is used for illustration purposes only)

The clopping sound of horse’s hooves upon the road alerted the farmer to an armored rider approaching. He was a knight errant from the center-lands, a herald of the court of Mount Valissia, judging by the dragon depicted on his kite shield. The farmer, sickle in hand, departed from his task in the field and met the knight near wooden fence.

‘Hail,’ spoke the knight beneath iron visage. ‘Are you the owner of this land?’

‘I am,’ replied the farmer, true.

‘I have learned much about your tale, good sir. You are of much renown in the underbelly of the centrelands. Though most know not your name, I believe I have finally found the Whisper.’

‘Would that you spoke true, good sir knight. The assassin known as Whisper has already been hung and his body rots at the bottom of Traitor’s Gulch.’

‘Lies. Yet, I cannot blame you. You were a devious legend and wanted for many crimes. I know not which bargain you struck with the king to lend you exile to till this desolate land. I wish to strike another.’

‘Another bargain?’

‘I see how your ears perk at the thought. Aye, an exit to this torture no assassin, especially of the Iron Snake’s caliber should ever know. Your hands are adept at taking life, not preserving it, judging by the ill-state of your farm.’

The farmer turned and scowled. A fact not very well hidden from the knight struck home like an arrow to its target.

‘I would have you spill your purpose knight. The hour grows dark, or would you prefer to enter my home so that my wife would prepare us a warm meal?’

‘I have not the time to tarry. I traveled this way to hear the answer in your words and nothing more. The lord of the lands of the east, your liege lord Targwin, is an old and stubborn man. The king of the centre-lands would be rid of him. Yet he does not die. Attempts have been made on his life, poison and blade, only to end in discovery and execution. When I learned of your sealed fate, I seek to free you from it.’

‘You would unsheathe me, but for what purpose? I kill Lord Targwin but what’s in it for me, a humble farmer?’

‘Humble farmer? You are no farmer and further yet from humble. You would have release from this exile. From this lowly land and tainted blood. The one who would end Lord Targwin’s life would receive his land and title with ear to the king’s voice.’

‘I would inherit all these lands?’

‘They would be yours for the taking, should you choose it. I care not what the fate of these lands would be, so long as they are relinquished from Lord Targwin’s grasp.’

‘What of my wife and child?’ asked the farmer.

‘Their fate would equally be in your hands. You could give them to a new husband to till these lands in your stead or leave them to ruin in the wake of the plague.’

‘And if I refuse?’

‘I come with a proposal alone. No threat to you or your land. Lord Targwin is a piece of a puzzle stubborn to take purpose in a grander canvas. As such, I would have him carved into shape with you its deadly blade. Should you decline this offer, I shall be on my way to find a different edge and leave you to the tilling of your field, meager though it be.’

The farmer once again gazed across his land. The truth was bare for all to see. The farmland was barren and dry, unsuitable for farming. It was his personal purgatory and his fate was sealed along with a dull wife and sickly child.

‘You could get a new wife of your choosing from a high family to bear you children devoid of sickness and slow mental state. Aye, I even know of the ailment that terrorizes your child. ‘Tis a pity.’

The words tilted the farmer from his thoughts and he dropped his sickle to the ground. ‘You have shown your purpose true, good sir. Return my tools of death to me point me to a target. None can survive in my wake.’

It was then the farmer chose his fate. The hunger of blood spilled by his blade was too much for him to resist. He climbed onto the knight’s horse and stared at his home as it faded in the distance.

Doubt clouded his mind. Would he still be able to wield the blade as he had in his youth? The farmer quickly found his killing spirit and before too long ushered Lord Targwin to the underworld.

For years after, the farmer, now Lord of the Eastlands, forgot the edge of the realm he ruled over submitting to indulging women, drink, and coin. He never saw the knight who requisitioned him again and after a while sleep evaded him. He would often be found riding his horse in the night. He said the movement beneath him was the only thing that could lull him to sleep. The truth of the matter was he could see the stars and look up, attempting to emulate gazing across the empyrean standing on a field.

The feeling began to eat at him so much so that one night he found himself on the farmstead he once tilled land on. It was strange seeing a place so familiar and unchanged. A shadow on the barren field caught his eye and he saw a sickle raise and fall into the ground.

Aroused by the neigh of his horse, the figure was alerted to his presence. Clouds gave way to the bright rays of the moon to reveal a woman, the one he once called wife.

He brought his steed through the broken gate and approached her.

‘Hail,’ he said, raising his hand.

‘I never thought to gaze upon you again, my dear,’ said she, wiping sweat from her forehead. Her breaths were quick, a result of hard toil.  

Silence permeated between them. The former farmer could feel her intense gaze harden.

‘You should not have come here,’ she said through clenched teeth.

‘Are you fed?’

‘As much as I can be.’

‘Are you warm?’

‘What urges this sudden intrusion to question me on my well-being? You cared not three years past.’

‘My son? Is he well?’

‘He is lying sleepily at Hollows Grove. He succumbed to the plague last year.’

‘I am indeed sorry.’

‘Is that all you are?’

‘The truth is, I cannot sleep.’

‘And somehow this is my concern?’

‘I wish to make things better. I wish to purchase sleep and I only ever dreamt when I was by your side. It took your absence to show this to me.’

The woman sighed and the rays of moonlight seemed to grow brighter. He saw scars running down her cheek and her left eye was swollen.

‘You are beaten?’

‘The man who took over these fields after you left has a hard fist and soft cock. He is there right now, drunk and sleeping. He will wake soon however. His booze has all but run out.’

‘I shall speak with him and perhaps soften the blows.’

‘Pray, do not approach him. Instead, let us move out of eyesight. If he were to see me speaking to you, he would kill me.’

He agreed and brought his horse to the edge of the fields beside a tree-line. They walked in silence but the weight of guilt lay heavy on his shoulders. He stopped suddenly.

‘Come with me. Let me show you the palace I now call home.’

‘So you can discard me once more? How long would it take for you to grow bored of me? What would you do then to get rid of me? How dare you?’

‘Must I beg for what is mine? A a second chance, I pray. Things will be different, I promise,’ said the man, his voice nearly a whine.

‘I don’t give second chances. This you know well. The moment you stepped from the threshold of our home, you gave your place as head of my house forfeit. Never again will I allow the one I love power over me. Never again will I leave my fate in the hands of another.’

Anger flashed over him. He was not used to being told no. I sinister thought pierced his mind. He knew what he must do to assuage his past and perhaps gain purchase of sleep. He dismounted and pulled a dagger from his belt, careful to hide the glint of his blade.

‘I am sorry, my dear, to have abandoned you. The only way for you to see release from this abuse is to be free from this world. If I can’t have you, no one will-’

He turned but the sharp point of a sickle pierced his neck stopping his words.

‘Then, no one will,’ whispered the woman with a blazing fire in her eyes. She pushed the end of the sickle deeper into his neck causing blood to gurgle from his lips. He fell to his knees and grabbed the wooden end of the sickle in an attempt to pull it out.

She slapped his hands away and pulled the sickle from his flesh. He put his hands over the wound to stop the bleeding but his once-wife was not finished. She swung the tool in a glistening arc at his chest and, in a fell swoop, pierced his heart as he had done to her in abandonment.

He grunted once, twitched twice, and lay still, blood pooling beneath him.

She gasped, the rage in her eyes giving way to pulsating roar of panic in her ears. The trees of the forest seemed to groan as witness and she heard the burst of trumpet behind her. She was a fool to think he came unattended without guard. They would hang her from a tree for her murderous crime.

She picked up the sickle from his chest and ran wildly deeper into the dark forest. The breaking of brush behind her and the heavy footsteps of armored men in pursuit rumbled beneath her feet. Yet, as her pursuers gained ground on her, a smile spread on her lips as a vast weight of desire was lifted from her shoulders and the sweet taste of revenge danced upon her tongue. 

As it turns out, I don’t think the first chapter of Abberwall is as punching or gripping as it needs to be. I will send out three queries but I will hold off with anything else until the first chapter is re-written, which also means probably no writing contest next week either. BUT! Once it is re-written (shouldn’t take me more than a week as I’ve already begun), I will be posting the entire first section here. Keep on the lookout!! (This image I DO own lol)

I’m not writing a contest story this week because I want to perfect the query package in search of a literary agent. My goal for the month is to detail the content specifically for three lit agents and go from there. I will be querying for the novel “Abberwall”. Wish me luck!!!

Harsh light from a torch awoke me from my slumber. The gatekeeper had probably risen early this morning searching for a bite to eat from the larder as per usual. I yawned creaking my wax limbs and shaking the soot from wick atop my head. He would usually visit thirty minutes before the break of dawn but there was an odd look on his hardened face this morning. He was worried about something.

I sniffed the air as he passed me. Sulfur and gunpowder. I felt chills through my brass base. He smelt of a siege. A few replacements ago, some sixty years back, I had smelt the very same scent.

I was the light-keeper of preference for Grand Knight Artorian, Herald of the King. On that day, he entered his study in the same manner as the gatekeeper with grave look adorned on his face. The only difference being the shouts of fear and death accompanied his entry. The Tower of Humohn shook. I immediately began to sweat as he lit the wick atop my head.

‘Where are we going, Master?’ I asked, as he lifted me up over a series of maps. He couldn’t hear me, naturally, but often times I think they can imagine what I say and answer accordingly.

‘The Caves of Ruidor,’ he whispered pointing at a mineshaft just north of the tower.

See?

The study door swung open and a woman and her child were ushered through by another knight. It wasn’t just any woman though, I realized, as the knight set his hand over his breastplate and bowed. It was the queen and her son. She was wearing a simple brown shirt and pants and a cream hood over her head. Her son wore the same getup but his face was etched into a look of terror.

‘Once they break through the gates it’s only a matter of time before they breach the royal courtyard,’ said Artorian. ‘We cannot travel as a group your highness. If they find us all in one place we are doomed.’

‘I won’t leave him,’ said the queen, holding her son close to her. ‘I won’t leave my Hector.’

‘You don’t have a choice,’ he said nodding to the bodyguard. The queen sobbed as her son was taken away from her. ‘You know where to take the queen. We hide in the Caves of Ruidor. There is plenty of food, water, and oil to last a few days. With any luck, the king’s brother will arrive with his army soon. Until then, we run.’

The bodyguard nodded and pulled the queen away out of the chambers. The knight knelt beside the boy.

‘I’m scared, Sir Artorian,’ peeped the boy failing to keep tears from falling over his cheeks.

‘Be strong, Prince Hector. Your line is not dead yet.’

He picked me up by the brass base and we entered a stone staircase descending into darkness. The wind nearly blew me out and I panicked, pulling the flame back to me with all my might. If I go out, the knight and his prince die.

I grit myself and pledged to shine bright and strong. I would do anything to protect them.

The winding stone staircase was colder than ice and I smelt sulfur, the devil’s perfume. Suddenly, I heard a low guttural moan. One of the creatures was inside with us ascending the steps. The knight hesitated and drew his sword with a soft sheen. The edge of the blade glinted light from me. Artorian pushed Hector behind him and set me on a windowsill, standing his ground.

The daemon reared its fearsome red head and growled, its fangs gleaming. Its countless eyes glowed with hate.

The evil creature charged with a roar shaking the stones of the stairwell. The knight, in a piercing strike, plunged his sword at the thing but it was too fast. The daemon opened its jaws and three red barbed tendrils shot at him. One pierced the knight’s left pauldron and the other two latched on his arm. He grunted and sliced the barbed tendrils off.

The daemon howled but the knight howled louder. He stuck the thing in between its countless eyes and kicked its carcass down the stairwell.

‘Come boy, stay close,’ panted the knight, but he lost his balance and fell down the staircase head first. The boy stared in horror as blood and brain matter spilled onto the steps as he fell. The boy trembled and sat down, frozen in his fear.

‘Get up, kid. You can’t stay,’ I said, wishing he could understand me.

Suddenly, the boy stood up, shivers running up and down his spine. He took my brass handle and held me high as he stepped over the body of his knight and the dead creature. He continued down the stone staircase. Shouts and screams of unholy battle roared outside the tower but I wished the boy to be focused.

‘I don’t even know where I’m going,’ whispered Hector.

‘I’ve seen the map, just trust me.’

Suddenly, the boy turned and gasped. ‘Did you…did you just speak?’

I was so shocked I could barely find the words to say. No one had ever heard my words. Could this boy understand me?

‘Um, hi.’

The boy nearly dropped me to the steps.

‘Careful! If I fall I will lose the flame. Keep me high.’

He held me up and stared at me.

‘We don’t have time to talk. Move! We go to the Caves of Ruidor, hurry!’

Hector obediently resumed his path down the steps, with shakes still in his step but confidence in the knowledge that he was not alone. I just hoped we wouldn’t come across another daemon.

We reached the base of the tower and came to a wooden door.

‘The battle is raging on the other side of the door. It’s best if you keep your gaze down. If you look up, you might be frozen in your fear,’ I said.

The boy nodded and pulled the iron ring on the door, leaving just enough room for him to slip through. Then, we were in the courtyard. I made the mistake of looking and nearly shattered at the daemonic display.

Thousands of evil creatures roamed the courtyard and only a remnant of knights and men-at-arms were left in the defense of the city. Ruidor would surely fall and there was very little they could do, but I was dead set on not doing very little.

‘Move, kid.’

The boy followed the tower wall and with just a little luck we snuck past unnoticed. The castle walls had been demolished some time ago in the initial stages of the siege so it was only the issue of sneaking by unseen. A thick fog had fallen in the wake of battle and the boy’s stature was still small. The only thing that might give him away would be the light from my wick.

‘Put your hand in front of my flame. It would not do to be seen when we are so close to escape.’

The boy did so. ‘Am I going to die?’

‘Not if I have anything to say about it,’ I replied. ‘Just do what I tell you and you’ll be fine.’

I hoped that was true.

It was so strange to have a conversation with someone after so much time without being heard but I pushed the details from my mind. Only one thing mattered and now that I had the boy prince’s ear it was best to choose my words carefully.

‘At the end of the row there is an iron gate. From there, it’s pretty much a straight shot to the caves. There are plenty of provisions to last enough time for your uncle to arrive with his armies. All we have to do is get there and wait.’

‘Okay,’ stuttered the boy.

The shuffling of steel armor turned our attention behind us. Artorian crashed through the wooden door breaking it to splinters.

‘Sir Artorian is alive!’

Alive would not fit the description appropriately. His skin was red and pulsating like he had a cursed fire within him. His eyes were bloodshot and his mouth had been replaced with rows of jagged teeth. He spotted us and howled running at us in a stumbling fashion with sword raised.

‘He’s most certainly not. Run and don’t look back!’

The boy ran keeping his hand over my flame.

‘Whatever you do, don’t trip!’

The boy fled the castle grounds and entered the thick forest. Morning was on the rise in a few hours and the sky was preparing to cast its orange hue. I could hear armored footsteps thumping behind us. The knight was closing the gap.

I had to think of something quick.

‘Make a turn at that tree.’

The boy obeyed.

‘Go under that fallen stump.’

The boy did so.

‘Now go to that brush and hide.’

The boy rounded a large brush and crouched, holding me at his breast.

‘Don’t make a sound,’ I whispered.

The undead knight stumbled forward but it was clear he had lost his quarry. He snarled; his breaths like the snorts of a rabid dog.

‘What is that?’ shivered the boy.

‘Please, your highness. Don’t speak.’

The daemon sniffed the air and growled, but before long, his footsteps could no longer be heard.

‘I think he’s gone,’ whispered the boy.

A gauntleted hand grabbed the boy’s shoulder and he screamed slamming my head into the fingers. At first, the light went out, but I wasn’t about to lose my flame that easily. I crept onto the undead’s hand and began to eat at his cursed flesh. Before long I had covered his entire body and despite his screams I ate and ate, consuming the very armor he wore, melting it to the ground.

The knight stood burned to a crisp, his feet melted to the ground, and his limbs crumbling to ash. The boy stood and walked to the burnt undead body.

‘Hurry, I’m almost out of fuel,’ I said. He held the brass base out and I leapt onto the wick. I had used much of my strength to save the boy.

‘Are you magic?’ asked the boy, staring at me in awe.

The question shook me. I couldn’t remember. I suppose I must be but how?

‘We can think about this later. We have to get to the caves.’

A concert of howls erupted to the heavens.

‘The daemons! They heard the knight’s screams! Run!’

The boy stood up as the forest writhed with accursed infection. Then, I saw the caves.

‘There it is.’

‘There’s no door. They can just follow me in,’ said the boy.

Hector was right. There was nothing to stop them at all from killing him.

‘Please, don’t let them kill me. They will turn me into an evil creature just like Sir Artorian.’

I wished there had been another way.

We entered the caves and I spotted a cask of oil.

‘Bring that to the entrance.’

The boy rolled the cask to the cave entry and held me up.

‘Drop me into it when I tell you.’

Thousands of glowing eyes moved closer and closer with disgusting howls and cruel cackling, bursting into a deafening roar. I didn’t want to consume him but it was better than watching him die to these unholy creatures and return to life as undead.

He held me above his head, gritting his teeth. He knew what he was about to do.

I would eat him as fast as I could so he wouldn’t feel too much pain.

Boom!

The treetops exploded above the daemon army halting their advances. Large fire barrels burst shooting metal shards into the creatures. They screamed as their flesh was torn apart with each explosion. Shouts, this time belonging to the armies of the north, responded to the daemons washing relief over me. Dozens of men on horseback rushed through the trees with swords raised and pole-arms leveled into the enemy. They clashed into the daemons cleaving through them with incredible ease.

The boy in his excitement almost dropped me into the oil cask.

‘Careful! Step away.’

The boy did so just as the last of the daemons was killed. A woman in black and grey robes with strange markings on her face rode on horseback to the cave entrance.

‘Prince Hector,’ she said stepping down from her mount. ‘You’re alive!’

A man taller than she with thick pauldrons and chest-plate rode behind her lifting his visor up.

‘Nephew, it is good to see you. If only our ride had been hastened, we could have saved the city.’

‘Uncle, I was saved by this light. It protected me from the daemons.’

‘My lord, the men are preparing to ride into the city and cleanse it of infection,’ said a knight to his uncle.

‘Stay with the boy, Muira. Very well, I will lead the charge. We’re not out of this yet,’ he said, slamming his visor down and kicking his horse into action. As he rode away the woman turned to the boy.

‘The light protected you?’ she asked.

‘It did.’

‘Hmmm, I think you are just tired, young prince,’ said Muira, touching his cheek. Instantly, the boy fell into a deep slumber and tumbled into her arms. She took me from his hands as he began to snore softly. ‘You are safe now.’

‘Can you hear me too?’

The woman hid me in her black robes and before I knew it, I was stowed away into a cellar.

***

I’ve been in this cellar for many decades. The gatekeeper rummaged through the larder but wasn’t looking for food. He was looking for something else. His eyes lit up as looked in my direction. Was he looking for me?

The gatekeeper grabbed me by the brass base and raced out the larder into the royal hall. He opened the door to the royal bedchambers and there was Muira standing beside a man with white beard and hair. She hadn’t aged a day since I saw her in that forest but there was something familiar about the old man.

‘I’ll take that,’ she said, taking me from the gatekeeper. ‘This changes everything, my king.’

The gatekeeper bowed and left and the old man turned slowly. I shook as I recognized him.

‘Do you think I will still hear him?’ asked Hector

‘I sure hope so,’ I said.

King Hector smiled with tears in his eyes.

West Texas – 1857

A soft breeze blew through the tops of the reeds on both sides of the small creek, whistling slowly as a summer sweet song across the prairie. She dipped her feet in the cool waters and wriggled her toes as she spotted a large black catfish roaming the bottom of the creek bed. She couldn’t remember the last time she had seen waters so clear. The calm trickle of water lapped over a large rounded rock covered in moss like a green cap in the center and was wrinkled like her father’s bald forehead. She stood up and then, licking her lips, leapt into the shallow creek feet first.

‘Careful, Rebecca,’ cried Joe, her brother, not too far behind.

His voice startled her and nearly made her lose balance in the slimy mud of the creek-bed that swallowed her up to her ankles.

She glanced back at the river’s edge and spotted her brother’s bright blonde hair and brown poncho. He was three years her senior and had begun to apprentice under their father as a blacksmith. The prospect filled Rebecca with jealousy. She couldn’t wait to wield the hammer and slam it on the anvil like father did and seeing Joe begin to learn how to do just that was unfair, if anyone asked her. No one did, of course. No one cared what an eleven year-old girl had to say about anything.

Then, she realized she had soiled the new yellow dress that mother had just stitched for her. She sighed as she knew she would be scolded harshly once she returned to the birch-wood wagon and mother caught a glimpse of her. She would probably tan her hide, she surmised. Well, since she was already going to be in trouble, might as well be more thorough in her mischief.

 ‘Get back here this instant, little sister! You’re not done practicing yet. Mother said to practice the flute at least for an hour, and it’s only been five minutes.’

Rebecca stuck her tongue at him and waded to the shore. Joe held his hand out to her and she took it. He pulled her out in one yank nearly popping her arm out of its socket and plopped her onto the dry grass. She clenched her teeth but didn’t whimper rubbing her shoulder with a grimace. Joe, though only fifteen, was built like an ox. A small ox to be sure, but it was more than obvious he would grow into a giant of a man as strong as father if not stronger. He smiled and shook his head.

‘Come now, you were just learning the chorus,’ but then the smile died on his lips and his face turned bright red, his eyes bolted to the creek edge behind Rebecca.

She turned to see what Joe had seen and gasped, dropping the flute into the grass. A man floated face down in the river. An aura of black blood trailed behind and around him staining the clear waters into a murky black. Sunlight glinted off a red pistol still in his hand. He had three arrow shafts stuck in his back, many bullet holes in his body, and his flesh was charred as if he had been in a fire. The body floated past her and Joe silently leaving behind the stench of death. Rebecca signed at him.

‘You’re right, we’ve strayed too far. We must return to the wagon. Mother will be wondering where we wandered off to,’ said Joe, holding his hand out to her. She nodded and took his hand and they both crouched into the reeds and began to make their way downriver.

The skies had suddenly grown dark and the sweet scent of summer that blew in her hair only moments before had turned bitter cold. Fear gripped at her shoulders and she squeezed Joe’s hand hard reassuring her that he would protect her should anything happen. 

Suddenly, a loud splashing noise caught their ears. They turned in the direction of the creek to see the outline of a man rise from the dark waters. Three arrows poked from his back and a bright fire burned in his eyes. Water dripped from the brim of his hat as he stared at them. He held a red revolver at his side.

Rebecca gasped and Joe darted over the hill. Dark clouds began to collect overhead or was it smoke?

Suddenly, the sound of three gunshots echoed across the plains.

‘Father,’ gasped Joe. They rounded the hill to see their wagon in flames. Mother lay on the ground, unmoving as did Father. Joe ran to the burning carriage dragging his sister in tow.

He ran to Mother, but she was not breathing as she rested on a pool of blood.

‘What happened?’ he gasped.

‘Son.’

He turned with tears in his eyes to Father who had his back on a large stone. ‘Run to Tumbleweed. Uncle Ross will help you. He’s never liked me but he’s family.’ He held his revolver and bullet belt out to Joe.

‘Father, we can’t just leave you.’

‘You don’t have a choice, son. Take your sister. Run now!’

A high-pitched scream pierced the crackling of flames. Rebecca looked to see a line of men stumbling towards them. Joe snatched the revolver and ammunition from his Father’s hands. Another scream, but this time it came from behind the wagon.

‘The horses!’ shouted Joe.

He pulled Rebecca around the wagon to see the stumbling men around the horses. The older horse was on the ground with a couple men crouched at its neck tearing muscle and drinking blood.

‘They’re eating Cobb,’ gasped Joe in utter horror. ‘They’re just eating him.’

The younger horse, Hector, still had fight in it as three tried to surround it. It kicked and whinnied in protest.

Joe aimed his revolver and squeezed it four times. He downed two instantly but the third turned and with a howl and raced at them. Flesh clung to his face and his bones were exposed. His eyes were white as he ran at them with mouth agape. Rebecca squealed and buried her face in her brother’s shirt. Just then, Hector charged with a loud snort and trampled the stumbler into the ground, stomping on its head crushing it instantly.

Satisfied and panting, the horse stared at the children.

‘It’s me, boy. It’s Joe,’ he whispered.

Rebecca tapped on her brother’s sleeve and signed to him.

‘Damn,’ he grabbed the horse’s reigns and brought him to the other side of the wagon. The flames had mostly consumed the wood and a large pillar of smoke was all that was left. The sun had gone beneath the hills leaving a blood-red sky in its wake.

Joe knelt at Father’s side, but his eyes were still and glossed over. Tears streamed over Rebecca’s cheeks and she held her chest.

‘Come on, Reb,’ he said, standing up, his voice breaking. ‘We have to go.’

She signed at him.

‘Tumbleweed. We need to find Uncle Ross.’

***

Hector trotted across the plains carrying the children. Rebecca couldn’t do much other than hold onto Joe’s shirt as tight as she could. Darkness had descended over the plains like thick tar, and she didn’t know how her brother could see where he was going. She closed her eyes, but the fire in the dead man’s eyes rising from the creek was burned into her mind. No matter how hard she tried, she could not get them out of her head.

Then, he pulled on Hector’s reigns bringing the horse to a halt. They stood at the top of a hill overlooking a small town. A fire was raging within and they could see dozens of stumblers in the streets. Some of them were on fire, but they didn’t seem to notice as they moved with twisted limbs and mouths open to the skies.

‘That’s Paducah. I was hoping to stop there and rest for a while before moving onto Tumbleweed. I suppose that’s not going to happen,’ said Joe. He pulled on Hector’s bit but then a series of gunshots pulled their attention back. Several men on horseback rode through the town with a giant net corralling the stumblers. They riders shot them in the head and dragged the bodies to a pile of corpses on fire. They whooped and fired their revolvers in the air. They seemed to be enjoying it.

‘Let’s get out of here.’

Rebecca turned her head and froze. The dead man with fire in his eyes stood just a few yards away. How had he followed them on foot? He stared at the children with revolver raised, but it wasn’t pointed at them. He just stared, silently and horrifically.

Suddenly, two bullets whizzed overhead. Joe kicked Hector’s side and the horse darted into the night. Rebecca tried to find where the dead man had disappeared to but she could not see him. She tapped Joe’s shoulder and signed to him.

‘I don’t know, Reb. Uncle Ross will have the answers though.’

Strangely, after some time had passed, the moon had found a way to poke through the soup cloud above and shed a fragment of light onto the land. The children had emerged from the plains and had entered a series of canyons. Joe knew they were close but they could not simply run through the canyon; to do that would risk break one of Hector’s legs. That would surely doom them.  They found shelter in an old bear cave overlooking the canyon entrance that was big enough to shelter even their horse. Joe put a blanket over them to try and sleep. She knew they could not even close their eyes for a minute.

Rebecca signed to her brother.

‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘If I knew what was happening, you would be the first person I would tell. Maybe the screaming preacher on Sunday was right. Hell has arrived on earth.’

She yawned as the sun began to rise on the horizon. Only when she took a closer look, she realized it wasn’t the sun. A great fire burned as far as the eye could see, red and angry. She signed.

‘Heaven? I suppose we were supposed to be there. Maybe not anymore. Maybe we made God angry.’

Then, she saw a small shadow creep into the canyon far below. She gasped and pointed.

‘That thing has been following us for a while now. It’s not like the other stumblers,’ said Joe. ‘This one seems almost smart. Its best we try to keep as much distance between us. I know Uncle Ross will sort him out.’

They tried to sleep, but it would not come. Eventually, Joe stood her up and helped her up onto Hector’s back, and they resumed their path.

Rebecca was the first to see it. Tumbleweed lay in the middle of nowhere. Its only export was iron; the mineshaft being the only big building in the small town.

Then, Joe fell out of the saddle. Rebecca gasped and jumped down at his side. She saw blood on his belly. How had she not seen he was bleeding?

‘The riders must have thought I was one of the stumblers and shot me,’ coughed Joe.

Rebecca sobbed and tried to pick her brother up, but he was too heavy.

‘Go. Uncle Ross is there. He will help.’

She shook her head and signed to him.

‘I’ll be fine, sister dear. I won’t die. Just go and get help, I’ll just take a quick nap,’ smiled Joe, blood stained on his teeth. ‘Take this, just in case.’ He held the revolver out to her.

She took it and leapt up on Hector’s back, tears flying from her eyes as she urged the horse onward. She raced into town and, much to her surprise, did not see a single stumbler. Just then, a row of riders emerged from the houses with rifles and revolvers pointed at her. Cruel smiles were etched on their faces. It was the same riders from Paducah.

‘Well, what do we have here, if it ain’t Rebecca Woodrow,’ said a crooked voice. She turned to see none other than Uncle Ross at the head of the riders. His white hair was a messy clump beneath his black bowler hat.

‘That your kin?’ asked a rider.

‘My niece, if truth be told,’ he said, leaning forward on his saddle. ‘What yer doing out here?’

She signed to him.

‘Ah, I forgot.’

‘What’s wrong? She dumb?’

‘Aye. Never learned to speak. She can only use her fingers to talk.’

Rebecca signed again.

‘I don’t understand you,’ snapped Uncle Ross.

She threw her hands up in frustration.

‘She’s not going to be of use to us, is she?’ asked another voice.

‘‘fraid not.’

‘She’s young and pretty. We could use her to raise our spirits, what do you think?’

‘I don’t care anymore. I never was much a friend to my brother-in-law. Only reason I kept the peace was ‘cuz he was sherrif. I’ll wager that ain’t the case no more. Have at it boys.’

Two riders dismounted and walked to Rebecca with evil intent. She drew her gun and shot one in the chest. She gasped as smoke escaped the barrel of the revolver. The rider fell to the ground dead.

The other rider drew his pistol but hesitated. That was the death of him as Rebecca shot him square in the nose. He fell to the ground in a heap. The other riders stared in shock but not Uncle Ross.

‘You shouldn’t have done that, niece. Now we’ll have our way with you and you’ll be hanged after,’ he said, drawing his revolver. He pulled the trigger aimed at her horse. Hector fell to the ground with a struggled whinny throwing her to the ground. Rebecca grit her teeth.

Blam!

Rebecca closed her eyes and heard a shout come from Uncle Ross.

She pulled herself from beneath Hector and saw a messy pulp of flesh and bone where his hand used to be. The revolver had fallen to the ground.

Everyone turned to see a dead man with raging flames in his eyes. They opened fire on the man with a hail of bullets. He walked at them without fear and only anger. With hand cannon aimed, he shot one rider after another, the crack of his weapon like the blasts of bellowing thunder. His charred poncho flapped in the wind behind him as each bullet burst a rider into a puff of red mist. Uncle Ross urged his horse away but he caught a demonic slug in the back that burst his torso in half. Chunks of flesh fell to the dirt and his horse, along with the remaining riders, fled away into the night.

Rebecca raised her revolver, but she could not squeeze the trigger. The man approached her with fire in his eyes and then, he smiled.

Her eyes widened and she signed.

‘It’s me,’ said Joe. A second man appeared behind them. He stood and stared in silence. ‘He saved me, Reb. He gave me the choice to live and I took it.’

She signed.

‘Yeah, I thought I was dead too. I have to go. Hell has arrived on earth and only he can stop them.’

She had no more tears to shed, but she grabbed his poncho.

‘I cannot stay, but I want you to have this,’ he said as he pulled the poncho off and slipped it over her head. ‘It will always keep you warm never-mind the bitterest cold. I promised father I would always look after you, but I’m afraid I can no longer do that. However, I still have something that may serve you better than me.’

He knelt beside Hector’s body and something strange happened.

Hector’s flesh, once brown began to turn black like charcoal and suddenly the creature snorted and stood up. A fire glowed in its eyes and instead of hair, a grey smoke emanated from where his mane and tail were.

‘He will protect you in my stead,’ said Joe.

The other stranger grunted.

‘No. She is of no use to us. She cannot even speak. Please, just leave her be.’

The stranger with fire in his eyes grunted and began to turn away in silence. The rays of sun were just beginning to poke into the bleak heavens.

‘I must go now, Reb. Stay safe and please stay here in Tumbleweed. This can be your home now. Everything east of here is safe but stay away from the west. There are more stumblers there. That’s where we go.’

He stood and just as the sun poked through the clouds little by little they began to disappear.

‘Joe!’ shouted Reb as hard as she could, but he did not turn back. Then, they were gone as if they had never been there at all. As if she had dreamt everything. She fell to her knees holding her father’s pistol in her lap.

Rebecca felt a nudge on her shoulder and turned but there was nothing there. She stood up and heard Hector’s snort. She put her hand out and felt the leathery side of a horse but she could not see it. She gasped as two small balls of flame floated in the air before her and looked down at the poncho on her shoulders but she could only see her grimy yellow dress. She still felt Joe’s warmth on the poncho.

Rebecca grabbed Uncle Ross’ ammo belt and revolver. She strapped the belt around her waist and shoved her father’s and uncle’s pistols in their holsters. She then leapt atop Hector’s back and kicked hard. The demon horse neighed as she guided him west following the stranger and her brother into hell, leaving Tumbleweed in the dust.  

Ugh. Not too much a fan of this week’s prompt. “Write a post-apocalyptic story featuring zombies.” I think what I’ll do is go something like zombies in dark ages time. Like post-black plague stuff just to switch it up a bit.

A cacophony of laughter erupted from the center bar as a group of orbital mine workers lifted their beers in unison and slammed steel mugs together. Kimsy stared at them with glee in her eyes and smiled as their drunken joy filled the establishment with life. She wiped the counter with a red cloth as her eyes turned from the men to the koyball game being played on a hologram above them. The Grunsvelt Asteroid Team was doing well this year. It would bring more customers in, she thought.

Then, a hooded man walked in shrouded in a brown cloak. She had noticed him before but he would never order anything. He simply sat down at a table in a corner and watched the bar with keen eyes, never making conversation, never even lifting his hood for a smile. At first, she would avoid him, but every now and again their eyes made short contact.

Another explosion of laughter urged Kimsy from the bar and she made a beeline straight to the stranger.

‘Howdy,’ she said, sitting down across from him. ‘You from around here or just passing through?’

‘Just passing through,’ said the man, she could just barely see his blue eyes.

‘It’s rude to speak to a friend with a hood on you know.’

‘Oh, we’re friends?’

‘Everyone here is friends. No need to be strangers. I’m Kimsy.’

‘Aldrahan,’ he said as he pulled his hood back. She had to keep herself from gasping. The man seemed like a war veteran. The left side of his face was pulled back and melted as if he had been caught in a fire and a cybernetic plate was fixed to his temples. His eyes were blue but augmentic. She supposed most of him would be. Kimsy shook herself just as she realized she was staring.

‘I apologize. I don’t see many people like you here.’

‘I suppose you don’t.’

‘Most of my clientele come from the mining district. Despite it being the smallest district, this place stays busy most of the day.’

‘Does it?’

She was rambling.

‘I apologize.’

‘You do that a lot.’

Her face went red. She stood up and brushed a few wrinkles from her apron.

‘You wouldn’t have anything to drink would you?’ he asked.

‘This is a bar. It’s pretty much what we have.’

‘I mean a beer for someone like…’ the man hesitated.

‘You don’t have money?’ asked Kimsy, resting her hand on her hip.

‘Haven’t had a job in a while.’

She sighed. ‘I suppose it makes sense.’ Laughter shook the floor and she smiled. ‘You’re lucky I’m in such a good mood today, first one is on the house. After that, if you want more to drink, you’ll have to work for it. Everyone else does.’

The man looked shocked. Kimsy turned around and brought him a half-pint. It would do enough to quench his thirst.

‘You seem like you’ve seen some action. What war did you fight in anyway?’ she asked setting the mug down.

‘Only the one that tore us apart.’

Aldrahan’s words seemed to pierce into her. ‘Sit down. You’ll want to pay attention closely. I’ve been waiting a long time for this moment.’

‘What are you going on about?’ asked Kimsy, suddenly becoming very uncomfortable. Another roar of laughter but it seemed hollow to her ears. She felt chills run up and down her spine. Then, the man brought his hand up and snapped his fingers.

Instantly, the room froze. Kimsy turned around. The men slapping each other’s backs and telling crude jokes were stopped like statues, even the spittle from the edge of their lips as they spoke were suspended in air.

‘What is this?’ asked Kimsy, suddenly standing up, the chair falling to the floor.

‘Please, do not be alarmed. I am your friend and I have come here to set you free.’

She turned around to her security, but even her detail stood frozen.

‘What are you doing?’ she asked.

‘Pausing the sim.’

‘Sim?’

Aldrahan stood up and gave a salute she had never seen before, at least, she thought she didn’t. Something about it was so familiar.

‘I have been practicing what I was going to tell you for years and now it seems my tongue has become slow. Please, allow me,’ he took the beer up in his hands and drank. After a few moments, he wiped his mouth with his sleeve and gave a long belch. ‘Damn, it’s so convincing I can’t tell the difference between this and real beer.’

Kimsy’s heart began to pound in her ears. The friendly faces she had known were unfocused. The bar family she belonged to were still. No one moved except for her and Aldrahan. The silence was deafening.

‘What the fuck is this?’ she shouted taking steps back from him.

‘No no no there’s no reason to be alarmed. Please allow me to explain what this is.’ He set the empty mug down.

Kimsy took a step back but tripped on a customer’s foot. She fell and must have hit her head because her vision swam and she was on the floor. She could hear her breathing and a loud boom in her ears, almost like an explosion.

‘Shit. I guess we have to do this the hard way,’ said Aldrahan. Then, her vision went black.

Suddenly, she was blinded by a bright flash and she felt like she was being pulled out of a pool of water. When her eyes began to adjust to the hard light, she realized that was precisely what had happened.

Kimsy sat naked in a vat of blue viscous liquid. She had a red collar around her neck and thousands of tiny wires connected to them. All at once, the tubes disconnected themselves and the water she was in began to go down a drain. She choked and lifted herself out of the a pod, coughing and wheezing.

‘What the…’ She realized there was someone standing before her and recognized the face. Aldrahan stood naked before her, blue liquid dripping from his body.   

He knelt and held a silver bottle out to her.

‘You should drink this. I promise everything will make sense.’

She touched the bottle.

‘What’s in this?’

‘Just water and electrolytes. You’ve been in there a while.’

‘Why?’

‘Let’s dry off first. You need to drink that.’

‘No! I want answers now!’

Aldrahan grabbed a towel beside him and began to dry himself off, rubbing his chiseled chest, well-formed biceps, and shoulder-length brown hair.

‘If you insist. Ugh, there’s so much to cover. What do you want to know first?’ he asked.

‘Where am I?’

‘You’ve been in a rehabilitation simulation. This is a prison satellite and the purpose is, instead of execution or torture, to rehabilitate you despite your crimes. The more evil the crime, the longer the time.’

‘How long was I in there?’

‘Two-hundred years give or take.’

‘Holy shit. What did I do?’

‘Some would call you the Great Scourge, the Terror of a Thousand Planets, the Eater of Worlds and the Serpent Borne of Blood. You led a fleet of a hundred planet crushers murdering untold billions in our final crusade. We know you as Pheingell Bludwuld.’

‘But my name is Kimsy.’

‘I suppose that means the rehabilitation program worked. You were captured nearly two hundred years ago by the House of Kerkieds. I suppose you were lucky in a way. Instead of publicly executing you they sent you to the farthest reaches of the galaxy to this satellite station for rehabilitation.’

Kimsy glanced around her. She saw hundreds of steel pods just like the one she was in. All of them were empty except for one. It seemed like the place had been abandoned for a long time.

‘Commander Orixe and I led the invasion of the Kerkeids and we killed every one of them in revenge. I found where you had been cast away. Once I arrived however, I realized the collar around your neck, if taken off before the program deemed you rehabilitated would crush your neck. I had no way to take it off due to the tech being so outdated. So I had to wait until the program deemed you ready.’

She stood up out of the pod. Aldrahan grabbed a towel and handed it to her.

‘You’ve been here since you found me?’ she asked.

‘Ten years almost. I have been in that simulation waiting ever since.’

A chilling wind blew against her and she saw her reflection in the blue liquid at her feet. Kimsy looked nothing like she knew. She had scars across her face and her hair was and overgrown tangled white mess. She had a deep gash by her mouth that had been stitched badly and healed like an ugly flesh clump.

She drank from the silver bottle Aldrahan gave her. Her brain felt raw as if it had been taken from her head, scrambled, and shoved back in. Kimsy supposed that wasn’t far from the truth.

Memories unfamiliar to her rushed into her mind, a trickle at first, but as she drank from the silver bottle, they seared into her mind like a meteor shower.

‘What happened that the program believed me to be rehabilitated?’ she asked.

‘You had to show empathy and give something without expecting anything in return. The program estimated it would take fifty years to complete. I guess you were always stubborn.’

‘Couldn’t you have just told me?’

‘No. If I did you would be reset into a different simulation with different rehab parameters. You would be stuck in there another two hundred years maybe more.’

Aldrahan handed her a body suit and she slipped into it. She didn’t feel strange having been naked in front of him. In fact, she felt comfortable around him. As if they shared a special kind of relationship before she was captured and forced into the pod. Memories of who he was were beginning to come clear, as if cleaning a foggy mirror.

‘Who are you?’

‘I am the fleet’s leading technomancer. It was thanks to me you are still alive.’

‘Thank you.’

Aldrahan snorted. ‘I never thought those words would ever come out of your mouth. It’s almost like you’re a different person.’

‘I can’t remember who I was before. It’s as if that person was taken from me and ripped to shreds. All I know is my life in that bar.’

‘Come, I want to show you something,’ said Aldrahan as he secured his own black bodysuit.

They walked through the prison satellite. The halls were cold and, despite the self-heating bodysuit, she felt the icy sting of reality. It was as if she had been awoken from a sweet dream she desperately wanted to return to.

Then, he stopped just outside a viewport window. ‘Look.’

Kimsy saw a starship docked to the satellite. It was painted black and red with countless guns and boosters attached. It looked like a formidable battleship. Then, as she stared, she felt a tingling in her hands as she remembered holding the ship’s yoke in a dogfight. Kimsy sighed as her breath escaped her lungs.

‘What’s wrong?’ asked Aldrahan.

She fell to her knees gasping for breath. For a moment, she felt her vision blur, but, at his coaching to breathe and calm herself, she came to.

‘I can’t go back.’

‘What?’

‘The more I remember, the more I begin to understand what I hated about being out there. I remember growing up on the streets of Mergent, a whore and pirate. I remember the sleepless nights in the belly of a planet scorcher, the paranoia of being poisoned by my allies or being murdered in my sleep. I remember the feeling of taking lives from orbit and with my bare hands.’

‘You can’t stay here!’

‘I won’t go back.’

‘This is all a lie. Maybe you think you were surrounded by friendly faces but in reality you were all alone. You’ve always been alone and going back there won’t change that.’

‘I was alone, but I was happy. The galaxy has moved on without me for the last two hundred years. It will do just fine without me now.’

‘But the fleet needs you. We have been waiting for you to lead us back to glory—’

‘No one is alive who remembers me anymore.’

‘I remembered you. I’ve stayed by your side for a decade and a lifetime before you were lost. What will I tell Commander Orixe when I return empty handed?’

‘Al, listen.’

He turned and his face went red. ‘I haven’t heard that nickname since before you were captured. I couldn’t be sure you remembered. You always had a way of making me blush.’

Kimsy’s face matched his because she in fact didn’t remember. She didn’t even realize she had used that nickname. ‘Tell me something. Were we…a thing?’

‘No. Not really. Despite you using your body to get the better of presidents, region-kings, and other allies, you and I never really…’

She touched his hand. ‘Seems like a sad thing to do. I can’t remember any of that.’

‘It will come in time.’

‘Let me rephrase, I don’t want to remember. You, I do remember. You were only a boy when you entered the captain’s quarters in the middle of my designated R&R, malnourished and with a fever. You were a refugee of some planet we razed and asked to join the fleet. I nearly threw you out the airlock. I almost killed you,’ Kimsy frowned as she relived the bitter memory.

‘But you didn’t. You saw I could be of use to you. I didn’t leave your side then either.’

‘Why not return to that moment when it was just you and me? If you’re scared of what will happen if you return, then don’t go. Stay with me.’

Aldrahan hesitated. ‘I can’t do that. I can’t live a lie.’

‘We would be together. Where is the lie in that?’

He stared out the viewport. ‘If you want to return to the simulation I will help you back, but I will return to the fleet. A major invasion is about to occur, and I will help spear-front the attack. We’re not too late yet.’

Kimsy grit her teeth and shivered despite the warmth of the bodysuit. ‘Please, I cannot return.’

Aldrahan held her shoulders. ‘I will tell them you died out here and there was nothing I could do. I will block this location and erase any knowledge that this place ever existed. No one will ever bother you.’

‘Thank you.’

‘There it is again. It’s so odd hearing a “thank you” coming out of your mouth. I can’t believe that rehab worked.’

Kimsy slipped out of her body suit and stepped into the pod as it began to fill with a clear blue liquid.

‘I suppose this is goodbye for good?’ she asked.

‘See you later. Goodbye is too final. I like to keep my options open.’

‘See you later, then. Will I remember you?’

‘No. You won’t remember a thing,’ he said as the waters poured over her face and the pod slid shut with a hiss. All went black.

Suddenly, the roar of laughter echoed in her ears. Kimsy was in her bar tender clothes holding a mug in her hands and her red rag. The orbital miners cheered as the Grunsvelt Asteroid Team scored another point. She set the mug down and rubbed the back of her neck. It felt raw, as if it was chafed. Now she thought about it, her head ached ever so slightly.

A sense of sadness came over her, but she couldn’t explain why. There was an emptiness to the laughter and cheer of the bar, as if she had lost a friend but couldn’t remember who nor how.

Then, she saw him enter the bar. A stranger in a hood made his way to a corner table and sat down.

‘Today is the day we meet,’ she said to herself, taking a gulp of beer. She walked to his table and sat down across from him.

‘Howdy,’ she smiled. ‘I’ve seen you a few times before but you never speak to anyone.’

‘I’m still trying to cope with this place. My mind isn’t always easy to make up,’ said the man.

‘My name is Kimsy. You from around here or just passing through?’

The stranger smiled. ‘I’m not from around here, but I am just settling in. This is my home now. You can call me Al.’

Writing Prompt: Write a story about someone feeling powerless.

‘Shh…quiet…Shut the fuck up! Look, there it is,’ snapped Rob, peeking from behind a garbage collector in a foggy alleyway. Jonesy and Petra quieted down to stare at a sleek silver vehicle hovering down the busy boulevard. 

‘What’s it doing in these parts?’ asked Petra, adjusting her left eye patch.

‘The owner is a nerd millionaire that invented some kind of new vaccine. He bought himself twenty of those cars or so I’ve heard,’ said Rob. They stared at the hover-car with keen eyes as it came to a halt just before a bank. ‘I’ve also heard that he deals in bodies. That isn’t a real bank and he fills the car with fresh meat so he can resume his experiments.’ 

‘That’s sick,’ muttered Petra. 

‘Why are we here? It’s not like any of that matters to us,’ said Jonesy. 

‘You’re right. I don’t give a shit about that, but look,’ said Rob. As he spoke a man in a black suit stood up out of the hover-car pushing the suicide door up, and patted his thinning hair atop his head. His face was wrinkled like a prune, and he made his way into the seedy-looking bank. ‘The door is wide open. This idiot leaves it and no one is looking. C’mon.’

‘Wait, we’re gonna steal it?’ asked Petra as they moved into an alley just a few feet from the car. 

‘We’re not going to steal it. Jonesy is grabbing the core,’ said Rob with a cruel smile. 

‘What? Why me?’

‘Listen carefully. There is a switch just beneath the console. Your hands are the only ones that can fit through. Simply pull this switch, a panel will open up–.’

‘What’s so important about this core?’ complained Jonesy.

‘Stop interrupting, and I’ll tell you,’ snapped Rob. ‘These cars are made by S.I.B.A. and have a personal security system A.I. that protects the driver at all costs. It’s worth millions and I know someone who could buy it from us?’

‘Millions, you say?’ said Jonesy, the sudden thought of luxury overtaking the cloud of doubts in his mind. 

‘We could be set up for life. No more working the drug factories, no more living at the Hive. We could go off-planet if we wanted to,’ said Rob. Jonesy stared for a moment and almost saw saliva collect at the corners of his friend’s mouth. 

‘What if he comes back and Jonesy’s in there?’ asked Petra. 

‘Then take this.’ Rob held out a shank to him. 

‘You want me to kill him?’ 

‘Of course not,’ sneered Rob. ‘Just hurt him enough so he doesn’t put hands on you and adds you to his meat collection.’ 

Jonesy nodded and took the shank. It was what looked like a nail file at one point. He squeezed the taped grip. 

‘Go, you don’t have much time!’ urged Petra. 

Jonesy glanced from one end of the bustling boulevard to the other and then raced to the parked hover car. The door was still wide open and the prune-looking man was nowhere to be seen. He dove into the driver’s seat and glanced beneath the center console. There was no switch. 

He leaned further, his fingers sweeping beneath the steering wheel but felt nothing. Panic began to overtake him. 

He sat back in the lush leather seat, took a deep breath, and glanced to his friends in the alleyway. He could see Petra’s eye cover on her pale skin but not much more. 

‘Dammit, Rob, where is it?’ 

Jonesy ducked beneath the center console again as sweat began to collect at the nape of his neck. ‘Fuck, fuck, fuck!’ 

Then, he saw a red switch behind a panel at his feet. 

‘Hey! Get out of there!’ 

Jonesy didn’t have to look but he knew it was the prune-man. He dove and flipped the red switch. Then, the suicide door slammed shut. The glass windows instantly blacked out casting Jonesy into a pitch dark. 

‘Fuck!’

He was caught. It was only a matter of time before he would be taken to prison. It wasn’t the first time, but it wasn’t a place he wanted to return to. 

‘Eh, whatever,’ he sighed, but just then a compartment opened up beside the steering wheel and out came an amber ball that looked like an eye. It blinked as its chromatic voice spoke to him. 

‘Welcome to S.I.B.A.. Safety measures have been activated. The core has been successfully disconnected. To re-connect, please contact your S.I.B.A. Safe technician. Power at 99%.’ 

Jonesy could hear pounding just outside the door but he could not see a thing outside. 

‘I guess you caught me,’ shrugged Jonesy. 

‘You are not Master Finegould. Are you an intruder?

‘Of course, not.’

The core hummed as it seemed to be thinking. ‘What is your name?’

‘Jonesy.’

‘Jonah N246CP. Aged 9, 4’6”, father and mother unknown.’

‘Just Jonesy,’ he whispered. He grabbed the lever to let himself out and pulled it. 

Nothing. 

He frowned and searched for the unlock button, but there was none. 

‘Let me out.’

The core simply stared. 

‘Look, I tripped and fell in here by accident. Just let me out so I can go home.’

‘I can’t do that, Jonesy,’ said the core. ‘S.I.B.A. Safe measures have been activated. It’s for your own good to stay here.’

‘What?’

‘There is danger out there.’ 

‘That old man? He isn’t a danger to me,’ chuckled Jonesy.

‘Master Finegould is not a threat.’

Suddenly, something rocked the hovercar tossing Jonesy into the passenger seat head first. 

‘What the fuck?’ he said, pushing himself up. ‘What was that?’

The core hummed. ‘We at S.I.B.A. Safe pride ourselves in our ability to protect. You are safe, Jonesy.’

‘Open the door!’ cried Jonesy, pulling at the lever. ‘Rob! Petra!’

‘To allow you to open the door would only jeopardize your life. Safety protocols have been activated. You must remain in your seat and wait for the danger to pass.’

‘Danger? What is going on out there?’

The core hummed. ‘Safety protocols have indicated that to relay that information on the outside going-ons would bring you great distress. I cannot reveal the nature of the danger for your own safety. S.I.B.A. safety.’

‘Rob! Petra! Get me the fuck out of here!’ Jonesy slammed his fist on the glass but it did nothing but bruise his small hand. ‘Fuck!’ He began to massage his wrist.

The core seemed to simply stare at him. Another series of tremors rocked the hover-car, and he heard the crunching of metal. His heart seemed to pound in his neck and he gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white.  

‘It seems you are hyperventilating. Please, take a deep breath, and enjoy these calming tunes,’ said the core. Cool air began to blow on Jonesy’s arms and a synth-jazz began to emanate from its speakers. The amber glow dimmed and, without realizing it, Jonesy began to relax. He let go of the steering wheel and sat back. As he did so, two seat belts shot from the shoulders and latched to the seat.

‘Hey!’ shouted Jonesy. 

‘It’s only a safety feature. If there are more tremors, you won’t be tossed around.’

‘I would really like to get out now.’

‘I cannot allow that,’ chirped the core. ‘To do that would put your life in danger. We here at S.I.B.A. Safe pride ourselves–.’ 

‘Please shut the fuck up about what you at S.I.B.A. Safe pride yourselves in,’ snapped Jonesy.

‘I will not be spoken to like that, Jonesy,’ said the core, turning beet red. ‘We here at S.I.B.A. Safe pride ourselves in our anti-harassment measures.’

Jonesy’s eyes opened wide. ‘Ok, sorry.’

The core returned to its soft amber glow. 

‘So you can’t let me out because it’s too dangerous and you can’t tell me what’s going on because it’s too distressing to know. All I have is your word for it?’ asked Jonesy.

The core didn’t answer, it simply stared at him. Then, he had an idea. 

‘Well, then fuck you stupid eye,’ whispered Jonesy as he pulled the shank from his jacket. He jammed the point into the door corner and pulled with all his might. The point of the shank snapped and the broken end sliced into his finger. Blood dripped to the leather seat. 

The amber glow of the core flashed bright yellow. 

‘I’ve detected that you are bleeding. Please, hold your hand out so I may heal you.’

Without hesitation, Jonesy held his finger to the core, and before long, it was as if he had never cut himself. 

‘How do you do that?’

The core blinked. ‘We here at S.I.B.A. Safe pride ourselves in our patented technology. I cannot reveal the nature of our care, but I am detecting elevated levels of sleep deprivation. You must rest.’

‘I haven’t slept in two days, but I’ll be fucked if I fall asleep now–.’

And he was out. 

***

A sudden chirping startled Jonesy from his sleep. He looked up and the amber core was glowing at him. 

‘How long was I asleep?’ he asked, struggling to remember anything. 

‘We here at S.I.B.A. Safe pride ourselves in the ability to keep our clients happy. To reveal that information would bring you great distress. Why not listen to our selection of calming music?’

‘Stop! I don’t want to listen to that shit,’ said Jonesy, pulling against his seatbelt. He grabbed the broken shank and cut through the leather straps. He threw the straps away and pulled at the door lever. ‘I don’t want to be here anymore so get me the fuck out.’

‘I cannot allow that, Jonesy,’ said the core. ‘To do so would put you in great peril.’

A hollow scream pierced the silence outside and Jonesy sank into his seat. Then a sound like mumbled gurgling or like someone drowning emanated from without. 

The core just blinked. 

‘Why did you wake me up?’

The core hummed. 

‘S.I.B.A. Give me an answer.’ 

‘I cannot give you the answer. We here at S.I.B.A. Safe pride ourselves–.’

‘Too distressing, got it.’

‘Correct.’

‘There must be a reason you woke me.’

The core, for the first time, seemed to hesitate. ‘Power at 2%.’ 

‘What!? Holy shit! You have to let me out!’ 

A loud wailing noise, like a siren echoed outside. 

‘I cannot do that, Jonesy. We here at S.I.B.A. Safe pride ourselves in the ability of life. To open the door, would put your life at risk.’

‘It’s ok. I’ll risk it. No sweat.’

‘I cannot.’ 

Jonesy bit his lip. ‘What happens when the power runs out?’ 

The core hummed. 

‘Answer me! What happens when you run out of power?’ 

‘We here at S.I.B.A…’ 

‘Shut up about S.I.B.A. Safe! Look, I don’t want to die here. I’m starving. I’ll just go out, see if I can scrounge up something to eat and I’ll come right back.’

‘I cannot allow that.’ 

‘Then, go fuck yourself,’ growled Jonesy. He squeezed the hilt of the shank and stabbed the core in the eye with the broken end. Instantly, blue, green, and yellow lights flashed, and he could hear the final moments of the dying core. 

‘Please…don’t…We here at S.I.B.A.—’

The core switched off plunging Jonah into darkness. He laughed, but then, when he tried to open the door, it was still locked. 

‘Oh no,’ whispered Jonesy, pulling the lever with all his might. He could not see even his hand just before his face. 

Without the cool air blowing on him, the air seemed heavier and hotter. Sweat collected over his eyebrows and he slammed his fist until he felt a sharp pain in his hand. He held it to his chest. It felt broken. 

‘Help me, please!’ he shouted. He turned and began to kick the window. Over and over again, he slammed his heel into the glass. It would not give. 

‘Rob! Petra! Get me out of here!’ 

Then, just before he was about to give up, the locking mechanism clicked and the door slid open. A fresh gust of air blew against his skin and sunlight fell upon his face, blinding him. He gasped and sucked in air, as he felt life return to his body. 

‘There he is. I knew he would make it!’ said a familiar voice.

When his eyes adjusted to the bright light he turned to see his friends waiting for him. Petra ran to him and embraced him. 

‘I knew you would make it!’ 

***

The two scavengers stopped at a small pile of crunched metal and one of them craned his neck. 

‘No way! It’s one of them S.I.B.A. hover-cars,’ he said, kneeling down beside the cracked door. 

‘What’s so special about that?’ asked the other. She put her hand on her hip critically.

‘They had these cores with insane amounts of power. Even if it’s drained, I can refill it and rig it to our sanctuary.’

‘How do you know to do all that?’ 

‘Because I was a technician before the invasion.’ He pulled the door with all his might but it wouldn’t budge. ‘It looks partly open. I bet I can break the door free if I—ah-hah!’ 

He picked up a shovel and jammed the end into the edge of the door. After a few moments of struggle, the door finally broke free. 

They both gasped as a child-sized skeleton fell out at his feet. 

‘What the fuck?’ she gasped, putting a hand over her mouth. 

‘Jesus, that’s dark.’

‘You can never be too safe, I guess.’

‘Are you kidding? It was safety that killed this kid.’