Pistol Packin’ Mama

Ashe collapsed at the top of the cliff, gasping for breath. Cold seeped from the granite into her burning muscles. Tree branches stirred in a light breeze above her, but their soft rustling did little to calm her pulse after the mad dash through the forest.

At least she couldn’t hear anything following her—but she had nowhere else to run.

She closed her eyes and let her fingers loosen around the rifle.

Should I give up? The world ended twenty-five years ago. Everyone left is walking dead; we just don’t know it yet.

A distant scream made her sit up.

No gunfire. No cries from the growlers. Just wind stirring through the leaves of the restless forest.

As a favor to the nearby settlement of Mosstown, Ashe had agreed to locate the raider warlord known as Warthog. Seeking directions from a wandering band of raiders had seemed like such a good idea.

It was not.

They had laughed at her requests for information and completely ignored her demands to be left alone—even going so far as to suggest they “keep her” for their amusement.

At least she’d gotten free, but it had come at a cost. The raiders had ripped her backpack away during the scuffle, then chased her into the trees.

And because the day wasn’t bad enough, she’d run across several gaunt, zombified humans. But she was quick on her feet, and before they could even react, she was gone. The gunfire that followed suggested that the growlers had taken the opportunity to properly introduce themselves to the raiders.

The backpack’s loss weighed on her. Sure, she’d only been without it for a few minutes, but it was her life. Food and ammunition could be replaced. The recordings of her parents, her mother’s journals, Kelly’s bandana, and the other family mementos could not.

A branch snapped somewhere nearby.

“Introductions must be over,” Ashe muttered.

Shimmying forward on her belly, she peered over the cliff’s edge. The wind brought tears to her eyes. The rock face dropped away steeply, broken by small ledges, roots, and patches of moss.

She forced herself to breathe and dragged her gaze past the sheer drop to the trees beyond. The roof of a cabin caught her eye.

“That’s right. Look at the cabin,” she said stiffly. “Cabins are good. Don’t look at the terrifying drop. Just the cabin.”

Almost a year ago, Ashe and the other residents of an underground nuclear bunker had been forced to the surface. Life in Fenclave had been orderly. Regulated temperatures. Stocked cafeterias. And most important of all: the ceilings were a civilized distance from the floor.

None of this wide-open space and steep cliffs crap.

Until they had to leave, the highest she’d ever been was the main plaza, which rose only four stories and had sturdy railings to keep people safe. This was at least twice that distance.

Ashe glanced left, then right. Why had she run out on this outcrop? She made herself peer over the edge again.

There were no words to describe how much she did not want to climb down the cliff.

She grabbed her rifle. It had no bullets. The only round she had left was tied around her neck, and that one was for the woman who had exiled everyone from Fenclave—the Commissioner.

“It’s your fault that Mom, Dad, and—” Her voice broke.

Ashe closed her hand around the bullet and waited for the pressure in her chest to ease.

A feral cry rose through the trees. And another.

“Alright, fine!” she groaned, then turned onto her stomach and slid backward over the cliff.

The rock scraped beneath her ribs. Wind whipped loose strands of hair across her face. Her legs dangled over an abyss that felt like it must be miles deep.

Every sensation surged at once: the earthy scent of damp moss, the nervous chatter of the trees, and the ache in her fingers as she clenched the granite edge hard enough to turn her knuckles white.

“Relax. Relax. Relax,” she muttered.

Her legs swung freely.

“Come on.”

She lowered her shoulders a little more, stretching until the toe of her boot brushed a narrow shelf. Rocks rattled down the cliff, and her stomach lurched after them.

She was going to die—there was no doubt in her mind.

“It’s just a few meters,” she said. “That’s all. Not hundreds. Only a few.”

She had become skilled at lying to herself over the last year. But if it helped her survive—

Movement stirred near the edge of the forest.

Her boot found the toehold again. She shifted her weight onto it, and it held.

The growlers broke through the trees. Their bodies were twisted, almost charred, and their clothes hung in filthy scraps.

Ashe ducked lower, searching for another handhold and moving as quickly as she dared.

Loose gravel tumbled around her when the growlers reached the cliff’s edge. A young man in a red baseball cap was the first to see her. He threw himself onto his stomach and swiped his arm, snarling through cracked lips, “Escape!”

The single word sent a chill down her spine. Growlers said things sometimes. Pleas. Warnings. It made no sense. Best not to think about the rumors that someone was still trapped inside, trying to warn their victims.

Ashe continued downward, testing every hold before trusting it. Apparently people used to do this for fun, but they had ropes and harnesses.

“Ropes. Yes. Ropes would be nice.”

And she was barely getting started.

Stone scraped her palms raw. Her arms trembled, and she had to hold still from time to time until the dizziness passed.

Finally, her boots touched solid ground.

She slumped against the rock and waited for every part of her to stop shaking.

“I never doubted myself. Not even once.”

Once she could trust her legs again, she moved through the trees toward the cabin, keeping to the shadows.

Toe-tapping music drifted from somewhere inside. Ashe quickly recognized “Atom Bomb Baby” by the Five Stars. Unfortunately, that meant the place wasn’t abandoned. Someone was there, and she wasn’t about to discover a lovely, untouched stash of supplies.

She wondered if the owner might be friendly.

“Fat chance.”

Still, it looked to be in decent enough shape. A rusty truck rested nearby, complete with all the signatures of pre-Arrival styling: rounded fenders, a broad front grille, and flaking chrome trim.

She pulled the hood of her bodysuit over her face and tapped her thigh. The chameleon fabric shimmered, blurred, then settled into the shapes and colors behind her until she seemed to disappear. She’d discovered the rare suit in an abandoned AstroTec lab up north.

An automated turret chirped a warning after she’d taken a few steps, and she froze.

The chameleon suit was great at hiding her from people—even cameras—but not turrets equipped with infrared sensors.

She refused to count the heartbeats as she waited. Finally, the turret resumed its patient sweep back and forth. Letting out a breath, she studied the cabin’s defenses.

Turrets could be slow to lock onto their targets, and she debated running for it. Or perhaps she could use the rusting truck as cover to sneak past the stupid thing?

I am shadow incarnate. I have stealthy mojo.

But she didn’t want to end up pinned down in the open.

Turrets were slow, she reminded herself. And she was fast.

“Sorry, Miss Sneaky Pants. We’re doing this the stupid way.”

She dashed toward the building at an angle across the turret’s field of fire.

Bullets peppered the ground behind her, close enough that ricochets stung her legs. With a desperate burst, she rounded the side of the building.

A second turret, mounted on the cabin wall, spun to face her.

Spotting an open cellar door, she darted for it. The turret traced her steps with a spray of bullets. She lunged through the opening, rolled, came to her feet inside the basement, and held still. The open door helped illuminate the gloomy interior while she listened for alarms or movement from the occupants.

Nothing. No response.

The radio continued its bouncy melody above.

She scanned the basement, finding shelves crowded with junk and a tired old reactor whining in the corner. Deciding nothing was about to jump out at her, she climbed the stairs with her rifle raised, wondering what was creating such a foul stench.

The stairs led into a large central room connected to a kitchen. She found the radio, switched it off, and then heard the low drone of flies coming from somewhere deeper in the cabin.

She followed the sound to a bedroom down the hall. The remains of a man lay on the bed, bloated and split open in places to reveal shifting masses of glowing purple worms. The stink was so bad she could taste it, and holding her breath didn’t help.

Struggling not to gag, she choked out, “Nope. You are absolutely getting evicted.”

After shedding her chameleon suit and leaving it neatly folded on the kitchen table, she switched off the turrets and made a mental note to reactivate them later. With some effort, she wrapped the body in the sheets, dragged the bundle outside, and scrubbed the bedroom clean. Only then did she allow herself a moment to consider the rest of the cabin.

Despite its run-down appearance, it was surprisingly intact. A panoramic window overlooked the wooded hills of the Fen. The roof had a few obvious leaks, and someone had gone crazy rewiring things with power cords snaked across the floor. But the building seemed solid enough.

As a bonus, it was isolated, and that meant random travelers were unlikely to bother her.

She took pride in her ability to unearth useful things in pre-Arrival ruins and eagerly searched the place for food. But all she could find were old clothes, dried toothpaste, and dusty books.

A second, more careful search led her to the loft, where a stray sunbeam highlighted faint scratches on the floor beside a bookcase. She pushed it out of the way to reveal a small space packed with supplies—and sitting on top of it all was a box of Frosted Sugar Bombs.

A grin flashed across her face, and she munched on the cereal while ferrying supplies downstairs. Order helped. Cans with cans. Medicine to the side. Batteries needing to be tested on the counter. Ammunition by caliber—including some that fit her Arbiter.

Confident that the automated turrets would warn her of danger, she lost herself in the work, and it wasn’t until shadows began filling the room that she realized how late it had become.

The AstroCom strapped to her forearm had a built-in lamp, and she switched it on. The multipurpose computer had a flickering green screen and two connected modules, all secured by a worn canvas strap. Bulky and awkward as it was, the device had saved her more than once in the badlands.

Every child in Fenclave received one when they turned eight. Her parents had personalized hers by filling its entertainment library with pre-Arrival tunes. She and Talia had played those songs until everyone in Fenclave begged them to use headphones.

Her last birthday had been shortly before they were kicked out of Fenclave. She counted the months and realized that somewhere between running, hiding, and burying people she loved, she had turned sixteen.

Ashe touched the headphone cable hanging around her neck. Her father had always called her his favorite daughter.

A smile flickered. “Admittedly, Dad, I was your only daughter.”

But only a select few had enjoyed the luxuries of Fenclave. The government had built the fallout shelter in case the communists attacked. Her parents were doctors, so their family had been moved in early to set things up and prove to the community that it was safe and comfortable.

Then the Kraal invaded from outside the universe, and it was too late for anyone else.

At least, that was what she’d been told.

In the end, less than a hundred people had lived in a place built for an entire city.

Until they were kicked out.

Since then, Ashe had questioned the Commissioner’s story.

We could have stayed there. I don’t think anything was wrong with the water chip. The system was fine.

The old anger began circling, and Ashe forced herself to focus on the cabin. It was secure. She had food, supplies, and a roof. For once, something was going right in her life.

She located the light switch and flicked it on.

A pick-me-up seemed appropriate. She donned her headphones and selected “Pistol Packin’ Mama.” With music in her ears, she resumed inventorying the cabin. Soon, she was bobbing along with the rhythm.

“That’s right, Miss Sneaky Pants. The dulcet tones of some dead guy can put a hop in your step long after civilization has ended. Besides, I am a pistol-packin’ mama.”

She glanced at her rifle on the table.

“Fine. An Arbiter-combat-rifle-packin’ mama, but that’s a mouthful.”

Ashe strutted in time with the music while composing a grand internal account of her survival prowess, most of it concerning her amazing stealthy mojo.

A thunderous clap struck the hills, shaking the cabin’s foundations and rattling the furniture.

She lurched toward her Arbiter. Unfortunately, her stealthy mojo failed to notice a power cord stretched across the floor.

Her foot caught, yanking the cord. The lights went out, and she slammed her knee against the floor.

“Fuuuuuu—” she cried. Her mother’s shadow still enforced high-society standards, and Ashe barely managed to turn the curse into a howl.

After another huff, she grumbled, “Fine. No lights. I was going to turn them off anyway. Don’t want to draw attention.”

Feeling around in the darkness, she found the Arbiter during a flash of violet lightning—which also reminded her that she hadn’t prepared the cabin for a storm.

Limping to the front door, she eased it open.

Everything was cast in a surreal, purple-tinted gloom. A wall of churning clouds filled the sky. The air smelled metallic, and the AstroCom’s Geiger counter had already begun ticking.

A void storm was coming.

The cosmic tempests had started after the Union of Stars nuked every world in an attempt to stop the Kraal invasion. They struck without warning, twisting anything caught in them into void-mutated aberrations. Insects or animals—it didn’t matter. People became growlers. And worst of all were the Deathmarks.

One of those unspeakable horrors had taken her family.

Ashe clenched her teeth and forced herself to focus. She mentally reviewed the cabin’s defenses. The front door had a crossbar. The windows had steel shutters. The turrets—

Ashe went still.

She had never turned them back on. Worse, she hadn’t even closed the basement door.

The reactor’s whine cut out, leaving a heavy silence in the darkness.

“We’re coming,” came a hiss from below.

Every part of her wanted to run, but going outside during a storm could turn her into a growler.

A stair creaked.

Ashe spun. Two growlers had reached the top.

She pulled the trigger. The Arbiter hammered against her shoulder, and bullets tore into them. They dropped. A man in a tattered business suit lunged over their bodies, hissing through withered lips, “Run!”

She fired again. Bullets ripped across his chest and shoulder, spinning him to the floor.

More followed.

She backed through the doorway.

Either the growlers killed her inside, or the storm might change her outside. She opted for the latter, turned, and ran.

The storm towered overhead, lit from within by flickers of void energy. She knew better than to study it too closely. People who did reported seeing things beyond rational comprehension—tentacles, unblinking eyes, and worse.

The growlers poured from the cabin behind her.

Lightning flashed, outlining two figures through the trees.

Ashe raised the Arbiter. Her finger pulled the trigger before her thoughts caught up with her reflexes. They didn’t look like growlers.

She jerked her aim aside as the rifle sprayed bullets.

One figure cried out and staggered. The other barked, “Don’t shoot!”

The larger man darted past her, little more than a dark flicker beneath a battered top hat. Ashe turned, Arbiter ready.

The tall man met the first growler with a fierce, bladed gauntlet. He swung twice, and the abomination fell.

Three more surged after it. Ashe sighted in on one, but the man moved too fast, and she didn’t want to hit him.

One growler broke past him. Ashe fired, and it stumbled a few steps forward before dropping.

The tall man finished off the last of them. They each scanned the area for new dangers before turning their attention on one another.

Meeting strangers in the badlands was rarely fortunate. Ashe had already learned that lesson once today.

Lightning flashed.

The taller man hadn’t even lost his top hat. His dark coat snapped as the wind picked up. Behind him, the other stranger held one hand against his shoulder, blood darkening his sleeve.

Ashe experienced an inconvenient pang of guilt, then she turned and darted toward the cabin.

“Don’t run!” the wounded stranger called. “We’re friendly! We come in peace!”

Ashe reached the porch and turned, lowering her voice as best she could to sound intimidating.

“Then go in peace. Or come closer and be in pieces! Now make like a tree and leave!”

She thought that was pretty clever. Rain began to fall, creating a hush among the trees.

The wounded stranger approached with his hand raised. “My friend Rainwood said we should find shelter. Then, would you believe it, we saw your cabin!”

“If you come any closer, I shoot!”

“Well… that wouldn’t be very nice.”

He continued forward.

Ashe backed into the cabin, keeping her Arbiter trained on him. “I’ve killed hundreds.”

She racked the rifle to emphasize the claim. The ejected round rolled away.

He took a few more steps.

Annoyingly, he appeared close to her age, and had a gentle smile that did not belong anywhere in the badlands. Wait—why was she thinking about that now, of all times?

“Stop coming closer!” she howled.

He reached the porch steps, and Ashe gave him the dead stare she imagined scary killers used. She wore raider clothes. She had war paint. She could be intimidating.

He didn’t appear intimidated. The taller man stepped forward, his dark features lost in shadow.

Ashe shifted her aim.

“Go on inside, son,” the man said in a low voice. “She ain’t gonna shoot us.”

Heat rose into Ashe’s face, and she racked the chamber again.

He caught the ejected round in midair and walked past her, his gaze already sweeping the cabin. Scars crossing his face and the white peppering his hair marked him as somebody old enough to have experienced the Arrival firsthand.

Ashe clenched her teeth to suppress a sigh.

“Fine. Come in.” She pointed toward the far side of the room with her rifle. “But stay over there, where I can keep an eye on both of you.”

Crazy He Calls Me

The tall man considered the remains of the growlers near the stairs. He glanced at Ashe, said nothing, then hoisted the first one and carried it outside.

The other guy bounced into the darkened cabin. He wore a ragged AstroTec jacket. Pushing dark, wet locks out of his eyes, he gestured toward the tall man. “So that gloomy fellow is Rainwood, and I’m Moonbeam. What’s your name?”

She hesitated. Ashley had been her name in Fenclave, but that was another life. Now she was just the ashes of her former self.

“Ashe,” she said flatly.

Rainwood returned. “Boy, check the basement. Looks like they came in from below.”

Moonbeam raised his arm to give Rainwood a thumbs-up but winced and grabbed his shoulder. Blood had soaked through the jacket’s sleeve.

Helping him was the least Ashe could do, considering she’d shot him and all. She sighed. “How bad is it?”

“I reckon it’s fine,” he answered, “but it does smart some. And it’s still bleeding.”

Before she could say anything else, the storm arrived in full force. Wind howled, the walls creaked, and the roof shuddered hard enough to make Ashe worry the whole thing might come apart.

After a few heartbeats, with the cabin somehow keeping itself together, Ashe gestured toward a vinyl-padded kitchen chair. “Take your jacket off. Let me see.”

Moonbeam settled into the seat. Ashe set her Arbiter on the chrome-trimmed white-and-cyan mica table and switched on the AstroCom’s lamp.

“Someone should check the blasted basement door,” Rainwood growled, heading down the stairs. A moment later, the reactor emitted a familiar whine from below. The wire across the cabin floor shook a few times as he tugged on it, and the lights flickered on.

Moonbeam rolled up his sleeve. Ashe realized she was staring at his toned bicep a little longer than medically required. Pressing her lips together, she adopted the professional demeanor she’d seen her parents use in their clinic and examined the wound.

“You’re lucky. Just a graze. Doesn’t even need stitches.”

After locating bandages, Ashe cleaned and wrapped his wound.

Rainwood continued clearing out the growlers, then shook the rain from his trench coat and hung it on a hook before working his way around the cabin, closing the steel shutters.

When she finished with Moonbeam, Ashe retrieved her Arbiter and pointed it at the couch against the far wood-paneled wall. “Sit there. I suppose you two can stay. At least till the storm is over.”

Moonbeam stood and inspected the bandage. He beamed and stepped toward her with open arms. “Thank you, Ashe!”

Her first instinct was to punch him in the throat and run, but she kept her fists in check and took a few steps back instead.

Rainwood gave Moonbeam a weary look. “Boy, you have no sense in that head.”

Moonbeam seemed disappointed, then shrugged, scanned the room, and began touching and prodding everything in sight with the enthusiasm of a six-year-old fueled by too many Pop-a-Colas.

He picked up a box of mashed potato flakes—which she had sorted alphabetically with the other food items on the countertop—and declared, “Wow, this is a great place you have. Nice and dry, too.”

Ashe took the box away from him and returned it to its proper place between the cans of imitation crab and pork-n-beans.

No, he doesn’t have a nice smile—it’s infuriating. How could anybody be so happy in this destroyed world? We are all living corpses, just walking out what’s left of our lives.

She turned back to him. Water dripped from the leaky roof and landed on his head, apparently without bothering him at all.

“Nice and dry, huh?” Ashe resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “Surely you are kidding.”

He froze and looked at her with wide eyes. “I am? Well, I didn’t realize I was kidding. Oh, hey!” His attention jumped to a display shelf in the corner. “You have a Pop-a-Cola bottle collection!”

Rainwood unbuckled his bladed gauntlet and set it on a side table before easing himself into a reclining lounge chair—not the couch she had pointed at.

Ashe clenched her jaw. This—this was why she avoided people.

Moonbeam stared at the guns Ashe had sorted on the floor by size and stopping power—gifts from the prior owner. “You know, it’s bad for these to be on the ground,” he said. “You should have them on a rack. On the wall, maybe.” He glanced around as if expecting a gun rack to materialize.

What’s the deal with this guy?

Ashe took a deep breath.

No. I won’t let him get to me. I can be nice. Cultured, even.

And yet, she suspected Moonbeam had plenty more ways to test her patience. Her shoulders sagged, and she asked Rainwood, “How did you know I wouldn’t shoot you?”

Rainwood studied her for a moment. “You may dress like a raider, kid, but a raider would’ve plugged us before we could even say hello. And why bother cocking a gun twice? Waste of bullets.”

Ashe straightened a little. “Well, perhaps I will shoot you next time. One can’t be too careful in the badlands, you know?”

He nodded, a tiny smile teasing at the corner of his mouth. “True.”

An awkward silence filled the room. A year spent evading people had eroded Ashe’s social skills. She was great at conversing with herself, but that wasn’t the same. Those internal dialogues were rather stimulating… except when her thoughts bickered like an old married couple—and she couldn’t even banish herself to the couch in anger.

This would be easier if I just told these guys to take a hike—

Rolling thunder shook the cabin, reminding her she couldn’t simply do that, and her hopes of having a pad of her own withered a little more.

Moonbeam wandered downstairs, upstairs, and through every room, whistling to himself.

Ashe chewed on a fingernail, then retrieved a backpack she’d seen in the loft and began filling it with food—she needed a go-bag in case things went south. She tried to ignore Moonbeam’s tune, but it wasn’t any song she recognized, and for some reason that bothered her. She suspected it wasn’t even a song. Perhaps it was free jazz—that stuff always sounded like noise to her.

A few minutes later, Moonbeam returned, still smiling. “While you two were conversating, did Rainwood mention we’re hunting treasure? And we’re lost!”

Rainwood’s lips flattened. “Would you stop saying that?”

“Oh… right, yeah, sorry, Daegom—we’re not lost. But we are hunting treasure.” Moonbeam pulled a loosely bound book from his backpack and held it up as if its mere presence explained everything.

Rainwood grimaced and spoke slowly for emphasis. “Stop telling folks we’re hunting treasure. It’s nothing like that.”

Moonbeam cocked his head. “But we are hunting treasure? We aren’t lost now. We’re here at Ashe’s cool digs. We even have a treasure map. But it talks about places we can’t find. We just arrived a few weeks ago and don’t know anything about this planet!”

“You aren’t from Arcadia?” she asked.

Moonbeam grinned and launched into an excited explanation. “Not me! Rainwood got us a ride on a freighter that used a Star Ranger’s jumpship. I’m from the planet Miratori—not that it’s much different from Arcadia, from what I can tell. It also has void storms, and everybody is just trying to survive—and the freighter dropped us off at some big, empty spaceport back east, near a ruined city called Saratoga, I think—and we walked through a bunch of badlands until we came to the Fen, but we can’t figure anything out here—”

“Boy,” Rainwood interrupted. “All you need to say is, ‘We’re not from around here.’”

Moonbeam raised an eyebrow. “But people like to know about each other! If you say that, then they just ask, ‘Where are you from?’ I’m simply skipping to the good parts!”

Rainwood huffed. “It’s not about them! It’s about keeping your own hide safe. I really don’t know how you’ve managed to survive this long.”

Something about their comfortable banter made Ashe feel safe, and the realization immediately put her back on edge.

They probably don’t even know about the horrors of the Commissioner.

Ashe had done her best to make sure everyone in the Fen knew. She’d gone from settlement to settlement explaining exactly whose fault it was that the residents of Fenclave had been banished, detailing every mistake the Commissioner had made. Most folks merely shrugged and told her she was lucky to have spent even a few years inside the enclave, which only made her angrier.

Ashe wanted to avoid people, but she wanted even more for someone to understand. The familiar need to set the record straight won out. “The Fen is dangerous!”

They looked at her with startled curiosity. Moonbeam opened his mouth to respond, but Ashe couldn’t stop. “I don’t know how it is elsewhere, but here we have lots of horrible creatures, like growlers, skulks, star vines—and much worse, like Deathmarks. We all had to leave Fenclave, which made no sense because it was perfectly safe. You should leave—and not just the Fen. Try to find another rocketship off-world—”

Rainwood listened patiently, his eyebrows lifting until he cut her off with a question. “If it’s as awful as you say, why haven’t you packed up and left?”

She froze, not wanting to voice her hope that she could sneak back into the safety of Fenclave, fix things, and make everything go back to how it had been, even though she knew that would never happen.

“Well… some of us are here trying to, uhh, to make it safe again,” she said awkwardly, knowing she wasn’t part of that “some of us.”

Rainwood glanced at the shuttered windows. As if on cue, a flash of violet lightning from the void storm illuminated his features, followed by a curdling wave of extra-cosmic unease.

He lifted an eyebrow and stated flatly, “Safe.”

The word struck harder than it should have.

Everyone talked about how things had been before the Kraal invasion. Packed city streets, bustling spaceports, theaters, restaurants—and malls. Enormous places with glamorous storefronts where people could spend entire afternoons doing nothing but shopping, eating, and hanging out with their friends. The entire concept had captivated Ashe since she was little.

And now it was all lost.

Ashe resumed stuffing things into the backpack, her thoughts spiraling. Even if I could take a rocketship, where would I go? Another blasted world like Miratori?

Moonbeam stood in the middle of the room, fidgeting from foot to foot like he had something to say but didn’t dare speak. He still held the loosely bound book in one hand, notes protruding from between its pages.

Perhaps even a treasure map.

Ashe had heard of others searching for troves of ancient knowledge, vaults stocked with food, and even caches of replacement parts for all the failing machinery—but she’d never heard of anybody having a map to one. She stuffed another can into her new pack and placed her hands on her hips.

“Alright, fine. Tell me more. Where did you get a treasure map?”

Rainwood pinned her with an icy stare, and Ashe suddenly wished she hadn’t spoken. A desire to reconsider many of her life choices came over her.

It was that good of a stare.

Of course, she tried to remember every part of it, tucking it away for future reference.

Moonbeam cast a sideways glance at Rainwood. His next words were measured. “It… isn’t a treasure map?”

After a moment’s thought, he added more boldly, “It isn’t a treasure map. It’s a map that guides us to a place of… hidden things which have great value.”

Moonbeam leaned casually against a cabinet, looking very proud of himself as he opened the book. “It’s supposed to lead to the greatest treasure there ever was.”

Rainwood rumbled but didn’t interrupt. His gaze lingered on the journal until he caught Ashe watching him.

Moonbeam continued, “But the Fen… it’s different. All the trees are tangled up, roads are washed out, and the land has moved. But now—”

His gaze went distant. Finally, he nodded. “Now, we are currently… unable to find our way.”

Ashe noticed that he held the book upside down. Wondering at his symphony of self-assuredness, she clarified, “So… you’re lost.”

“Yes!” he declared. Then, catching his mistake, he quickly turned the book around.

It took some effort, but Ashe resisted the urge to smile or laugh. She was beginning to wonder how much of his foolishness was intentional.

Determined to reclaim the conversation, she searched for words suitably profound and bleak. “Surely Miratori can’t be as bad as the Fen. Perhaps your world has things that can kill you without warning, but have you seen the star vines? Does it have Deathmarks? An unwary traveler here could get killed just wandering around—”

Then Ashe’s pride grabbed the reins. “Although, for somebody like me who’s walked every corner of the Fen, it’s not a big deal.”

Moonbeam grinned. “Well, if you’re such a cool cat, surely you could help out some unwary travelers?”

Ashe’s mouth hung open in a decidedly uncultured way until she clamped it shut and scowled.

“No.”

Moonbeam nodded. “That’s fair. I’m sure we’ll eventually find somebody else who knows the Fen that well.”

Ashe folded her arms. She wanted to insist they’d have a hard time finding anybody who’d covered as much of the Fen as she had, but she knew that was exactly what he was expecting.

“I bet you think you’re so clever,” she finally said.

His eyebrows lifted, and he turned to Rainwood. “She said I’m clever!”

“That’s not—” Ashe sputtered.

He laughed. “Okay, sorry. You don’t have to help us. But could you just point us in the right direction? Show us the first little bit. Make sure we don’t wander into any Deathmarks. After that, we’re on our own.”

“I suppose that is something I could do, but you’ll still be dead before lunch on your own.”

“See? Already giving out useful advice. So, we’ll start tomorrow, and you can help us stay safe along the way.”

Ashe blinked. “I just said I could point you in the right direction, not take you there.”

Rainwood rubbed one hand across his mouth, hiding a faint smile. “You’ll find he’s very persistent.”

Moonbeam looked pleased. “Don’t worry, Ashe. We can help you out too. Surely there’s something you need?”

“No. Nothing.”

He waited.

Ashe had absolutely no intention of getting dragged across the Fen by two strangers looking for some mythical treasure. But now the thought of recovering her stolen backpack wouldn’t leave her mind.

Moonbeam nodded. “So you thought of something.”

She was going to keep exploring the Fen anyway. If they helped her recover it, tagging along for a while might even lead her to something useful.

“Fine. But first, you two are helping me retrieve my backpack from the raiders who stole it.”

Rainwood considered Ashe, then nodded. “We’ll get your pack.”

Moonbeam turned to Ashe, beaming, and spread his arms wide for a hug.

Rainwood growled, “Hands down. We’ve talked about this.”

Ashe watched Moonbeam reluctantly lower his arms and wondered if fleeing into the storm might be the smarter choice.

I Don’t Know Enough About You

Ashe woke to the glorious aroma of rendered fat and fried eggs. Sunlight filtered through the windows, and Rainwood stood over the wood-fired stove, tending a skillet. The night’s void storm had passed.

Trustworthy or not, spending the night with two strangers had kept Ashe on edge. She already knew the Arbiter made a lousy bedtime companion, but that didn’t stop her from sleeping on the couch in the main room with it close at hand, where she could keep an eye on both of them. Rainwood had disturbed her when he slipped outside sometime before dawn. Combine all that with the bone-rattling void storm outside, and she’d had a rough night.

She pulled the blankets tighter, reluctant to abandon her pocket of soft, fuzzy warmth.

Noticing her stirring, Rainwood glanced her way. “I scouted the raiders’ camp. Right where you figured. You still set on getting your backpack? They have themselves a decent-sized compound, and I spotted some mech repair frames.”

Ashe lifted her head to meet his eyes, keeping the blankets tucked around her. “Are you scared of a few raiders? Do you really think you’re up for this? And did you actually lay eyes on anybody suited up in Mechanized Armor, or did you just see the maintenance frames?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he brought the pan to the table. The sight of greenish scrambled eggs with unknown meaty bits didn’t even dampen her appetite, but she wasn’t ready to relinquish her warm nest quite yet.

Between bites, Rainwood glanced at her on the couch. “Take my help or leave it, but cut out the nonsense. I simply asked if there’s enough value in it to be worth retrieving. It’s on you to decide.”

“Some things just don’t have a price tag, you know? Like things from people I’ve lost.”

He hesitated a moment, then nodded. “Then we’ll get it.”

Moonbeam continued snoring lightly from the lounge chair—apparently, he was a deep sleeper. Ashe studied his AstroTec gear. His shirt and jacket looked similar to the branded uniforms everyone wore in Fenclave, but he didn’t have an AstroCom and didn’t seem like someone who had come from an enclave. And why would he keep wearing the stuff? It only made him a target. Ashe had ditched her own enclave attire as soon as she could.

He lurched upright with a yelp, then scanned the room in confusion. When his gaze landed on Ashe, he studied her for a moment before approaching, hand outstretched as if they’d never met before. “Hi, I’m Moonbeam!”

Ashe scrunched herself deeper into the blankets, shooting him a puzzled look. Rainwood went still, and a flicker of alarm crossed Moonbeam’s face.

Rainwood pointedly emphasized her name. “Boy, quit pestering Ashe and come eat.”

Moonbeam tilted his head and studied her for another moment. Then he smiled, shot her an exaggerated finger-gun, and said, “Hey there, Ashe.”

Without missing a beat, he turned, wandered into the kitchen, and started poking through the drawers while muttering, “A fork, a fork, my kingdom for a fork!”

Ashe shook her head in bewilderment. “Somewhere, there’s a village missing its idiot.”

Rainwood’s expression flattened, but he let the comment pass. “Seeing as there’s two entrances to the raiders’ compound, and you’ve mentioned your ‘smooth prowess’ at sneaking into a Warden’s camp, perhaps the straightforward approach is best. I noticed a few gaps in the outer wall on the south end of the compound, so how about we draw their attention at the north gate, which should make it easier to slip in and fetch your pack.”

Ashe let sarcasm salt her words. “Gee, why didn’t I think of that?”

Rainwood raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

“I was hoping for more, you know? Something clever, like the mythical Trojan horse, but maybe as a crate of food instead of a wooden horse. Then, after they took it into the middle of their camp, it’d release sleeping gas. We could just stroll in wearing gas masks and take what we want. But you seem to prefer a frontal assault.”

Locating a fork, Moonbeam turned and gave Ashe a thumbs-up. “Gas masks are fun. Let’s do that!”

Rainwood asked, “Do you possess a timed or remote-controlled sleeping-gas dispersal system?”

“Well, no.”

“And even supposing you did, how are you aiming to deal with anyone in Mechanized Armor? The suits have filters.”

Moonbeam poked at the green eggs in the skillet with his fork, then mumbled, “Plate,” and stood again.

Ashe had to make the tough decision, and she reluctantly climbed from her blanket nest. It wasn’t easy because they had finally accepted her as one of their own.

Taking a seat at the table, she scooped up a handful of eggs with her bare hands. “Hey, no need to get bent. I was just saying there’s probably a better plan than ‘I yell at them in front while you pick their back pocket.’ No worries, though—I’m sure it’ll be just fine.”

Rainwood held out his fork, but Ashe waved it away, smirking to herself. Silverware is optional when surviving on your own in the Fen.

Rainwood put his fork away. “Like it or not, in my book, simple plans tend to work best.”

She considered the plan and shrugged, unable to think of anything better. “Very well. Any thoughts on the timing of this bold venture?”

Moonbeam raised a hand. “So… that’s a negatory on the gas masks?”

Rainwood shook his head and answered Ashe directly. “We should head out right away. Chances are they’re sleeping in late. Raiders aren’t exactly known for their discipline.”

Excited at the prospect of getting her stuff back—even if she had to do most of the work—Ashe declared, “Let’s go for it!” She stuffed the last of the eggs into her mouth and retreated into a side room to get ready.

There, she checked her chameleon bodysuit for wear and tear—not that she even knew how it worked, especially with clothes over it, but it had saved her life more than once. Satisfied that it seemed intact, Ashe dressed in the rugged Western attire she’d discovered in the cabin—a functional and flattering ensemble of jeans, a blouse, and a cowhide vest.

Upon her return, Ashe found Moonbeam still at the table, staring at the empty skillet while holding a fork in one hand and a plate in the other. He looked at her. “Do we have more eggs?”

She grinned and tossed him a package from the food supplies. “Have an Atomic Cake. They never go bad!”

At the door, Ashe paused and looked back over the comfortably worn interior—hopefully nobody else would discover the cabin before they got back.

What Do I Care

Ashe worked her way around the compound and crouched behind a bush with a clear view of the barricade. She wondered how long it would be before the guys sent up their firework signal. It could come at any moment, or she could sit here for hours. Rainwood had been very clear: one to start, one to bug out.

She checked the clock on her AstroCom. It was set to Solar Time, where 7:00 a.m. was always sunrise no matter where you were on the planet. Talia had always insisted on using universal time on hers because that was what spacers kept aboard their ships. But since Solar Time shifted by seconds each day, Talia was always late to everything.

Which made no sense at all. You’d think for half the year she’d end up early, and yet she never was.

Ashe blew a loose lock of hair out of her eyes.

Talia could make any boring moment entertaining, turning even the dullest wait into an action flick.

But no! That was then. I need to stay away from people now. They can’t be near me, or—or—

Forcing her attention back to the moment, Ashe looked through her scope at the barricade—if you could call it that. The entire compound was a mismatched assembly of salvaged materials, including the hull of a rocket and what looked like the observation deck of an old airship.

A mohawked raider woman stood watch, and like most sentries, she looked incredibly bored.

Should I just go in? I can take her out now.

…When did I become such a callous killer?

I won’t kill her—just hit her in the shoulder, put her out of commission. Did Moonbeam forget the signal? Or perhaps the fireworks are duds?

Another thought struck.

What if they’ve already split up my stuff? Most of it I can replace. But not the tape of Mom and Dad. Not Mom’s journals. And not Kelly’s bandana.

She swallowed against a lump in her throat, reminding herself that Kelly was just a dog. After a deep breath, she admitted something else was bothering her: the size of the compound.

I might have overpromised to all those folks at Mosstown. This is a big operation. I can’t just sneak in and take out the leader.

Calls of alarm interrupted her thoughts, and a firework hissed up through the trees, exploding overhead.

Finally!

The sentry straightened but didn’t follow the script. Instead of running off to join Rainwood and Moonbeam’s distraction with the others, she stayed put.

Ashe pulled the trigger before she could reconsider.

The shot hit the sentry in the shoulder, twisting her before she dropped out of sight.

Ashe ran forward. Rainwood had been right—the outer wall was a hodgepodge of logs, corrugated steel, old tires, and whatever else the raiders had scavenged. Plenty of openings. She sucked in her chest and squeezed through a gap.

The sentry writhed on the ground, clutching her bleeding shoulder. Not dead. Good.

Ashe scanned the area, unsure where to even go. The compound was big. Several ramshackle buildings sprawled up the hill. One larger structure on the lower side seemed more important, so maybe there?

Ashe poked the moaning sentry with a foot.

“I’ll give you a Stimpack if you tell me where you keep stolen gear.”

The girl spat. “You think you can just waltz in here? Warthog is going to have fun with you!”

Ashe didn’t have time for a lengthy interrogation. She pulled the hood of her chameleon suit over her head and left the sentry behind. The path led her to a smaller structure. She carefully eased the door open and slipped into the darkened interior, then held still so the chameleon suit could work its magic.

The gloomy room was perhaps ten by twenty feet. Faint light came through a crack in the rickety doorframe on the far side. A table to her left held scattered vacuum tubes, electronic parts, and an empty rocket-shaped Pop-a-Cola bottle.

No backpack.

Ashe crossed the room and peered through the crack. A bridge crossed over to another building with corrugated tin sides. Most of the raiders had run to the other end of the compound, which was good. The sprawling maze of buildings wasn’t—she’d never have time to search them all.

She pushed the door open.

The faint voice of a child came from the room behind her.

“Don’t go. Can–can–can you help me?”

Ashe glanced at her arm to verify her chameleon effect was active, then looked around the room, wondering where the voice had come from.

“Here,” the voice whispered.

Finally, she spotted a small boy sitting in a cage. His brilliant green eyes were fixed directly on her.

He must have heard me—he can’t actually see me, right? I can just move on. He probably has family here and did something to get in trouble. It’s like a raider timeout—

“I–I don’t have a family. I need–I need–” He struggled with the words, then managed, “These are bad people.”

Yeah, she thought, well, I need to get my stuff and get out of here quickly!

“I know where your stuff is,” he said. “I can–can–I can show you.”

Ashe blinked, wondering if she’d spoken aloud.

A burst of gunfire erupted outside, closer than before, and she started across the bridge.

I don’t need some kid adding to my problems. Somebody will let him out eventually.

She made it halfway before her steps slowed. Ashe knew too well what it felt like to be completely alone in the badlands, without even a family to depend on.

But… I can’t keep anybody safe.

She hesitated, staring toward the other side of the bridge.

“This is stupid,” she growled, turning around.

He can help me find my stuff. That’s why I’m letting him out.

As soon as she opened the door, the boy said, “You came back!”

Ashe disabled her chameleon suit and whispered, “Where are the keys?”

He shrugged. “Warthog. He doesn’t let any–any–anybody have them.”

Biting back a curse, she knelt and pulled out her lock picks. The padlock was greasy, making it harder to work, and each passing second meant less time to find her backpack.

Finally, it popped open.

Ashe grabbed the boy’s hand. “Come on. Show me where my pack is!”

He led her out onto the bridge, squinted in the bright light, then pointed toward a reinforced door set into the hillside. Somebody had painted “Warthog’s Enclave” on a board above it.

Ashe sighed. Getting cornered in a cave would be madness. She needed to scout the camp properly first, perhaps even try a diplomatic approach—although based on yesterday’s raider encounter, that probably wouldn’t go anywhere.

Yet, if her gear was in there…

“Are you certain that’s where they took it?”

He nodded, wide-eyed.

Ashe stared at the door.

She really wanted her backpack.

A shout about needing ammunition came from the north side of the compound, followed by heavy mechanical footsteps.

Ashe pushed the boy down and raised her Arbiter. “Don’t move.”

The moment the mech rounded the corner, she pulled the trigger. The rifle kicked into her shoulder, barely making a suppressed puta-puta-put sound as it unleashed three bullets.

Two ricocheted off his armored shoulder, but the third punched through. He howled, “They’re back here too!” and lifted his minigun.

Fear lanced through Ashe—that thing could chew through cover in seconds—but the barrels spun with only the impotent whine of an empty magazine.

The mech resembled the raiders’ barricades. Pieces of MA-15 Ogre and MA-27 Griffin armor were cobbled together and patched with rusted steel. More importantly, it didn’t have a helmet.

Ashe fired again, aiming for his exposed head. The bullet struck between his eyes. It wasn’t pretty, and she hoped the boy wasn’t watching. The mech staggered and crashed to the ground.

A second firework hissed into the air and crackled overhead.

Ashe sighed. “Already?”

Her gaze lingered on the cave door. She’d have to figure out another way to get her backpack.

Suppressing a growl, she looked at the boy. “You’re on your own.”

Then she spun around, retraced her path, and slipped through the barricade. The boy scrambled after her, doing his best to keep up. Shouts from the compound continued as they ran through the brush and up the flinty hillside.

Ashe didn’t look back. She wanted some distance from the compound before stopping.

Eventually, she slowed to catch her breath and turned to face the boy, who had somehow managed to stay on her tail. After checking the hillside to make sure nobody had followed, she leaned down and put her hands on her knees.

“All right, I got you out. Now you’re free. Go wherever you want.”

I don’t need attachments, she told herself. I’m a loner. And he… I just can’t do it. But he’s so tiny, probably not more than five years old.

“I’m six,” he said with a scowl, “and I wanna stay with you.”

“I’m afraid not,” she answered, wrinkling her brow in confusion.

“Why?”

“Well, you see, I go to dangerous places.” The lie sat poorly with her. Everywhere was dangerous.

He fixed his gaze on her, and she marveled at how the light pulled emerald highlights from his eyes, making them almost mesmerizing. His chin quivered, and tears welled as he sniffled. “I don’t have–I don’t have–I don’t have anybody.”

Oh, come on. He can’t look at me like that.

Ashe needed to move on, but she couldn’t leave him out here alone. She straightened and scanned the area again, hoping some better answer would present itself.

“Fine, you little ankle-biter. But only until we sort out where your family is… or perhaps Mosstown will take you in.”

He smiled and held his arms out for her to carry him.

The gesture sent a stab of terror through her. Why did he think she’d carry him? She wasn’t somebody who could take care of kids.

Then she noticed his feet. He didn’t have shoes on. A trail of blood-red spots marked the flinty stone behind him. He had run through the forest barefoot, ignoring the rocks and sticks that had cut his feet without a single complaint.

And somehow he’d still kept up with her.

Ashe sighed, crouched so he could climb onto her back, then headed back to the cabin.

“So, what’s your name?”

“Jade,” he mumbled, sounding tired.

“Your mom and dad still around?”

His reply was almost unintelligible. “Never had any.”

“That’s silly. Everybody’s got parents. So where are you from?”

He didn’t answer, and Ashe felt his grip relax. She glanced over her shoulder.

He’d fallen asleep.

Fighting the fear that welled in her chest at the thought of taking care of him, she continued in silence.

But she couldn’t deny that helping him escape had felt good.

***

The rocketship’s hull blazed as it reentered the atmosphere nose up. Its engines thundered to life, slowing its descent as it pierced the clouds. It quickly closed in on a landing pad carved from a mountain summit, then hovered upright for a moment, throwing up billows of dust and smoke before the engines cut out.

Two robots rolled a multi-story boarding gantry toward the hull. The hatch opened halfway up the side of the ship, revealing a man in a military flight suit. He straightened his hat, tucked a silver flask into his jacket, and surveyed the pad. Only two HWG-125 “Hog” transport aircraft remained along the western edge.

Blast doors at the control tower’s base slid open, and a soldier hurried out. “Captain! You weren’t supposed to return until tomorrow!”

The Captain descended the gantry before replying, “The slipstream drive is acting up, Simmons, and Engine-3 was running hot. Have the service bots look it over. How is the hunt? Our benefactor’s patience is running out.”

Lieutenant Simmons adjusted his glasses. “We’re still searching, sir. No sign of JDE-82, but a local warlord claims to have found him. We have somebody investigating.”

The Captain brushed past him without comment.