Atom Bomb Baby

— Sample Chapters

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 located the radio, switched it off, and then heard the low drone of flies coming from somewhere deeper in the cabin.

Following the sound, she located the source of the stench in a bedroom down the hall. A man lay on the bed amid a shifting mass of glowing purple worms and flies.

It was one of the most revolting things she’d ever experienced. Holding her breath didn’t even help.

She retreated, muttering, “You, my poor fellow, need to be evicted.” After shedding her chameleon suit and leaving it neatly folded on the kitchen table, she found the switch that disabled the turrets, and made a mental note to reactivate them later.

Gagging at the malodor that rose with every step, she wrapped the man in the sheets, dragged the bundle outside, and returned to clean up everything else around the bed. Once finished, she washed her hands, face, and arms—anything she could—to rid herself of the lingering taint.

Despite its run-down appearance, the cabin 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 dove into searching 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.

“Freakin-A!” She howled. Her mother’s shadow still enforced high-society standards, but some allowances could be made when necessary.

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. A rogue part of her brain supplied an irresponsible observation: He’s kind of cute.

“Stop coming closer!” she howled in frustration. Why would she even think that now, of all times?

He reached the porch steps. 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 came up behind him, his features dark as the night. Ashe snapped the Arbiter toward the new target.

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

Heat rose into Ashe’s face. 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.”

Backing into the cabin, Ashe lowered her rifle yet still maintained a vigilant grip. The tall, dark man walked in and scanned a flashlight across the remains of the growlers near the stairs. He briefly met her gaze and then effortlessly hoisted the first one in a rescue hold, carrying it outside.

The other guy bounced into the cabin, sporting a broad smile, and declared, “Awesome sauce!” He wore a ragged AstroTec jacket over a tattered purple shirt adorned with the AstroTec logo.

Pushing dark, wet, curly locks of hair out of his almond-shaped eyes, he introduced himself, “So that gloomy fellow is Rainwood, and I’m Moonbeam. What’s your name?”

“. . . Ashe,” she answered hesitantly.

Internally, she couldn’t help but think of her real name, Ashley. But no, that girl was left behind in Fenclave. Only a burned-out husk wandered the badlands—the ashes of who she once was.

She knew they wouldn’t even recognize the dark irony.

Rainwood returned, sent a glance their way, and added, “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.

She sighed and asked, “How bad is it?”

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

Thunder rumbled, and the storm crashed down with unrestrained fury.

Switching on the AstroCom’s lamp, Ashe gestured with her Arbiter towards a vinyl-padded kitchen chair, directing, “Take your jacket off. Let me see.”

As Moonbeam settled into the seat, Rainwood growled and strode down the stairs, muttering, “Someone should check the blasted basement door.”

Blood had soaked down Moonbeam’s arm, and she reluctantly set her Arbiter on the white-and-cyan mica table, complete with aluminum trim. Helping him was the least she could do, considering she shot him.

The wire across the cabin floor shook as Rainwood tugged on it from below. Soon after, the reactor emitted a familiar whine, and the lights flickered on. Ashe made a beeline to the switch and reengaged the turrets, feeling relieved when she heard the chirps declaring their active status.

Moonbeam rolled his shirt sleeve up, exposing his bicep. Ashe hesitated, contending with hormones and internal emotions that, by her reckoning, were entirely inappropriate given the state of the world outside. Even then, she couldn’t deny that he seemed well fit.

Pinching her lips, Ashe assumed the professional demeanor she’d witnessed countless times from her parents in their roles as medical professionals and probed at the wound before commenting, “You’re lucky. Just a graze. Doesn’t even need stitches.”

Locating bandages, Ashe cleaned and wrapped Moonbeam’s wound while Rainwood cleared the growlers, tossing them from the porch—they would have to move them again after the storm cleared. He then shook the rain from his trench coat before hanging it on a hook and working his way around the cabin, closing the steel shutters on all the windows.

Ashe retrieved her Arbiter, pointing it at the couch on the far wood-paneled wall, “Sit there. I suppose you two can stay. At least till the storm is over.”

Smiling innocently, Moonbeam stood up and opened his arms to embrace her in a friendly hug while he said, “Thank you, Ashe!”

Her first instinct was to punch him in the throat and run, but she managed to keep her fists in check. She still backed away quickly, which caused him to stop with confused surprise.

Rainwood interjected, “Boy, you have no sense in that head.”

Moonbeam seemed disappointed, then shrugged, scanned the room, and began buzzing around with the enthusiasm of a child fueled by too many Pop-a-Colas, touching and prodding at everything in sight. Each action set Ashe’s nerves on edge. The audacity of his casual comfort within her newfound sanctuary stoked the flames of frustration within her. This was her new pad. How dare he, in such a nonchalant manner, invade the sacred space she had already claimed as her own, even if only a few hours before?

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

Ashe stared at the water dripping from the ceiling, then took the box away from him and put it back in its proper place between the cans of imitation crab and pork-n-beans.

Trying not to grind her teeth, something deep inside her began to dislike him. 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 the last of our lives.

Accept it.

She watched drops from the leaky roof hit his head, and sarcasm lined her response. “You must be kidding.”

He froze and looked at her with wide eyes. “I am? Gee, I didn’t realize I was kidding. Oh, hey, you have a Pop-a-Cola bottle collection!” He wandered to the corner to look at the display shelf.

Rainwood unbuckled his fierce-looking bladed gauntlet and set it on a side table. She’d heard about people who fought with these, preferring to engage in close-quarters combat. From what she knew, the twelve-inch blades along the top of the gauntlet were keenly effective if wielded properly—but it took some finesse to learn how to use them well.

The old man then eased himself into a reclining lounge chair with a suppressed groan—not the couch she had pointed at.

Ashe ground her teeth, suppressing a rising tide of frustration as the situation spiraled out of control. Threads of anxiety wove through her, and she grappled with their tightening grip.

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. You should have them on a rack. On the wall, maybe.” He glanced around the room as if expecting a gun rack to appear on the wall.

What’s the deal with this guy? Ashe wondered, then forced herself to calm down, wrestling to rein in her emotions while taking a deep breath. No. I can be civilized. Cultured, even. Not everybody is out to get me.

With that thought, her shoulders sagged, and the will to fight drained away. She adjusted her grip on the Arbiter and asked Rainwood, “How did you know I wouldn’t shoot you?”

He grumbled like an ancient bear, “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? That was just for show.”

“Well, maybe 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 as he responded, “True.”

An awkward silence filled the room. Ashe wasn’t sure how to have a casual conversation anymore—a year spent evading people had eroded her social skills. She was great at conversing with herself, but that wasn’t the same. Those internal dialogues were typically stimulating and agreeable . . . except when not, and then things just got ugly. It’s not like she could banish herself to the couch in anger.

Chewing on a fingernail, Ashe debated whether she could trust the two men or if she should insist they leave. The prospect of staying awake all night in worry lingered in the back of her mind. Rolling thunder shook the foundations, reminding her she couldn’t simply put them out. Her hopes of having the cabin as her own began to sink, and she fretted that if they stuck around, she couldn’t claim it as her pad. She was a solo wanderer, not a team member—best that way for all involved.

While her thoughts continued bouncing back and forth, Moonbeam wandered downstairs, upstairs, and through all the rooms. His footsteps occasionally echoed through the cabin during lulls in the storm as he whistled a tune to himself.

Unsure what to do, Ashe nervously started packing food into a backpack she’d found in the loft, glad to have something to keep herself busy so she didn’t have to talk. As a contingency plan, she always liked having a bag with critical supplies ready.

A few minutes later, Moonbeam returned, still sporting that smile, and broke the silence with a question. “While you two were conversating, did Rainwood mention we’re hunting treasure? And we’re lost!”

Rainwood’s lips made a flat line. “Would you quit saying that!”

“Oh . . . right, yeah, sorry Daegom—we’re not lost. But we are hunting treasure,” Moonbeam said, retrieving a loosely bound book from his backpack and holding it up like it explained everything.

Rainwood grimaced, speaking slowly for emphasis, “Stop telling folks we’re hunting treasure.”

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 started explaining with excitement, “Nope! 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 trying to survive—and the freighter dropped us off at some big empty spaceport back east, by 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, I’ve told you, and told you, you need to stop sharing so much,” interrupted Rainwood. “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, they just ask, ‘Where are you from?’ I’m simply skipping to the good parts!”

Rainwood gasped with exasperation, “It’s not about them! It’s about keeping your own hide safe. Truth be told, I don’t know how you’ve managed to survive this long.”

Ashe had become distracted by their comfortable banter. Something about them made her feel safe in a way she hadn’t felt for some time, which scared her. She knew she should stay on edge. But they had given her no reason for alarm. The opposite, if anything.

A flicker of interest grew within her as she realized they probably didn’t know about the horrors of the Commissioner. The Fenclave residents’ banishment was common knowledge in the area, and Ashe had done her best to further elaborate on the mistakes of the Commissioner whenever the opportunity presented itself. Yet, the prevailing response from the locals remained dismissive—they usually felt she was lucky to have had even a few years in the enclave instead of on the harsh surface.

Despite wanting to avoid people, Ashe yearned to vent about the hard times created by the Commissioner. While her thoughts tumbled about, the desire to tell them overcame her, and she abruptly blurted, “The Fen is dangerous!”

They looked at her with baited curiosity, and Moonbeam opened his mouth to respond, but Ashe needed to get it out and dove in, “I don’t know how it is elsewhere, but here we have lots of horrible creatures, like growlers, skulks, star vines, and even things 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, a smile teasing at his lips until he cut her off mid-sentence 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. That she could fix things, and everything would get back to how it was. 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, feeling a twinge of guilt. While she had witnessed fellow Fenclave survivors striving to make life better—encouraging people to create towns and trying to make communal farms, in truth, she wasn’t part of that effort.

Rainwood glanced at the shuttered windows. As if on queue, a flash of violet lightning from the void storm illuminated his features, followed by a curdling wave of extra-cosmic unease that often came from the void storms. He lifted an eyebrow and stated flatly, “Safe.”

The bleakness of his statement hit her like a splash of cold water. Her motivation spiraled downward like it did when she pondered why she bothered trying to survive alone in such a destroyed world.

The Kraal changed everything. Nobody knew why they had arrived, but they had appeared across the galaxy from another dimension out of time and space and fed upon the essence of living creatures—most notably being attracted to large gatherings of people. Within months, they had killed 98% of the interstellar population. Between that and the Wardens’ “cleansing,” everything collapsed, leaving those few survivors to pick over the ruins of their lost civilization—an intergalactic wasteland, with communication and interplanetary travel controlled by only a handful of power groups, like the Wardens and Star Rangers.

While hopelessness teased at Ashe, she resumed stuffing things into the backpack, telling herself, These two are walking dead, just like me. Really, is any world safe? Even if I could take a rocketship, where would I go? Another blasted world?

Moonbeam stood in the middle of the room, fidgeting from foot to foot while considering Ashe’s shifting demeanor.

After a moment, her thoughts settled, and she returned to what he’d mentioned—a treasure map. She’d heard of others looking for treasure, vaults, and archives—troves of ancient technology, food, and supplies—but she’d never heard of anybody having a map.

With focused intent, Ashe stuffed another can of food into her new pack and then shifted her gaze to the book Moonbeam still held. Its pages were loosely bound, with notes protruding from the sides.

Placing hands on her hips, she said, “Okay, fine. Tell me more. Where did you get a treasure map?”

Rainwood pinned her with an icy stare, and she realized what a cold-hearted killer’s gaze actually looked like. Ashe suddenly wished she hadn’t asked the question, and 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 sent a sideways glance at Rainwood, and Ashe could detect a thread of trepidation and confusion in his voice. “It . . . isn’t a treasure map?” Then, after a moment of determined thought, he confidently clarified, “It isn’t a treasure map. It’s a map that guides us to a place of . . . hidden things which have great value.”

Rainwood put his head in his hands with a deep sigh.

Moonbeam casually leaned against a cabinet, looking very smug. He opened the book, explaining, “It’s supposed to lead to the greatest treasure there ever was. But the Fen . . . it’s different. All the trees are tangled up, roads are washed out, and the land has moved. But, now—”

He paused, deep in thought, while scrutinizing the book, unaware that he held it upside down. After a moment, he nodded with a clever surety. “We are currently . . . unable to find our way.”

“So . . . you’re lost,” Ashe clarified, wondering at his clumsy symphony of self-assuredness.

“Yes!” He answered confidently, then, noticing the book was upside down, quickly turned it around, his aplomb only increasing.

Ashe resisted the urge to smile or laugh, which demanded some effort. She needed to stay on topic. It seemed as if the guy was deliberately trying to divert her anger, which, upon reflection, only fueled her frustration.

With her emotions properly realigned, she glanced at Rainwood, trying to find the right words to articulate the profound bleakness that had enveloped her world. “This place is terrible. Is Miratori really as bad as this? I don’t know about elsewhere, but here in the Fen, things will kill you in an instant, and there are also the Star vines, which did a number on things, from what I can tell—”

Then, Ashe’s pride took the reins, and her tongue, which had already landed her in trouble by boasting that she could take care of Warthog, continued. “Although, for somebody like me who’s walked every corner, it’s not a big deal.”

Moonbeam grinned, a mischievous glint shining in his eyes as he asked, “Well, if you’re such a cool cat, you know how to get around the Fen, right?”

A sense of dread struck her as she realized she, once again, had let her mouth run too much.

The rocketship’s hull blazed with fiery intensity as it reentered the atmosphere nose up. The engines thundered to life, altering the vessel’s trajectory and slowing its descent as it pierced the clouds. Closing in on a landing pad etched into the mountain’s summit, it hovered briefly in billowing dust and smoke before the engines cut out, leaving the craft standing upright.

Two robots rolled boarding stairs toward the hull, and with a hiss, the hatch opened, revealing a man in a military flight suit. Straightening his hat, he surveyed the pad. Aside from several HWG-125 “Hog” transport aircraft lined up on the west side, a control tower looming on the edge, and the two maintenance robots, the pad was deserted.

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

Descending the boarding stairs, the Captain replied, “The slipstream drive is acting up, and Engine-3 was running hot. Have the service bots look it over. How is the hunt? Our benefactor’s patience is running out.”

The soldier fidgeted, nervously adjusting 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 growled, passing the soldier without comment as he headed to the tower doors.

***

Ashe woke to the glorious aroma of rendered fat and fried eggs, causing her mouth to water in anticipation. Rainwood worked at the wood-fired stove, frying something up. Bright sunlight filtered through the windows, revealing a clear sky after the night’s void storm.

Even though Rainwood and Moonbeam seemed trustworthy, staying the night with two strangers still left Ashe feeling uncomfortable. It wasn’t just because of the void storm hammering outside with enough noises and howls to make one’s imagination go wild—she also didn’t want to leave them alone with her new supplies.

So, instead, she’d kept her Arbiter at her side on a couch in the main room, where she could keep an eye on everyone. This wasn’t the first time she’d slept with her rifle, but as she’d learned previously, it wasn’t a great bedtime companion. That and the bone-rattling void storm made for a restless night—but what else could she do?

She pulled the blankets tight, relishing the pocket of soft, fuzzy warmth they created while wondering where Rainwood had gone in the early morning. He had slipped out while it was still dark, rousing her briefly, though she had resumed a restless sleep until his return hours later, and the sizzle of breakfast preparations woke her again.

It was hard to want to leave her nest of warmth, so she chose to remain curled on the couch. After some pestering from Moonbeam last night, she had relented, agreeing to help them out, but only as long as it was convenient for her. And with the condition that they help get her gear back from the raiders. Yet, the entire situation remained outside her comfort zone, and she considered changing her mind.

Rainwood, noticing Ashe stir, glanced her way before returning his attention to the food and adding in a quiet voice, “I scouted the raider’s camp. Right where you figured. Are you still set on locating that backpack? They have themselves a decent-sized compound, and I spotted some mech repair frames.”

She bristled at the thought of him backing out and growled, “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 for said armor?”

He ignored her response and pulled the pan from the stove, bringing it to the table. Ashe watched with hungry interest.

Moonbeam continued his light snoring from the lounge chair—apparently, he was a deep sleeper. Ashe pondered Moonbeam’s AstroTec gear, curious about his origins. His shirt and jacket were similar to the uniforms everyone wore in Fenclave. The colors indicated your job and were always branded by AstroTec since they were the primary corporation behind building Fenclave. But Ashe had ditched all her Fenclave gear as soon as possible.

Yet his choice of clothing made her curious. He wasn’t from Fenclave, of course, but was he from an enclave on Miratori? He certainly did have a lot of AstroTec-branded items.

Rainwood sat at the table, extracted a fork from his pocket, and polished it on a dishtowel before diving into the food. Between bites, he glanced her way. “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.”

She considered the mementos of her parents she had in the pack before answering, “Some things just don’t have a price tag, you know? Like things from people I’ve lost.”

He nodded, “I see. Very well.”

Moonbeam suddenly lurched upright from his sleep while emitting a yelp. Then he froze and scanned the room with a slightly confused look. Observing Ashe, he paused while staring at her with a curious expression before approaching with his hand outstretched like they’d never met before. “Hi, I’m Moonbeam!”

Ashe scrunched herself deeper into the blankets, shooting him a puzzled look.

Rainwood growled and emphasized her name as he responded, “Boy, quit pestering Ashe and come eat.”

Moonbeam tilted his head and studied her for a minute, then with a smile and a thumbs up, he declared, “Hey, Ashe!” before wandering over to the kitchen, where he started poking through the drawers, mumbling, “A fork, a fork, my kingdom for a fork!”

Ashe shook her head in bewilderment and muttered her Dad’s favorite phrase under her breath, “Somewhere, there’s a village missing its idiot.”

Rainwood ignored her comment and offered. “Seeing as there’s two entrances to the raider’s compound, and you’ve mentioned your ‘smooth prowess’ slipping into a Warden’s camp, perhaps the straightforward approach is best. We’ll keep ’em occupied on one side while you slip in the other and fetch your pack.”

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

Rainwood raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

She sighed, then continued, “I was hoping for more, you know? A clever plan, 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 to give Ashe a thumbs up. “Gas masks are tight. 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 those suited in Mechanized Armor, with air filters?”

“So . . . that’s a negatory on the gas masks?” Moonbeam asked, looking like a sad puppy while poking at the eggs in the skillet with his fork, then mumbling, “Plate,” and standing again.

Making the tough decision, Ashe finally climbed from her blanket nest—which was difficult because they had finally accepted her as one of their own. Stepping over to the table, she picked up a handful of eggs with her bare hands before answering. “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 badlands.

Ignoring her display, Rainwood returned to the topic. “In my book, simplicity tends to be the best for success. Stick to the plan, and you’ll manage just fine. The south end of the compound struck me as the most accessible, as I noticed a few gaps here and there in the outer wall. We’ll draw their attention at the north gate, providing you an opportunity to slip in undetected.”

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

“Now, if you can manage. Chances are they’re sleeping in late. Raiders aren’t exactly known for their discipline.”

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

There, she checked over her chameleon body suit, a daily ritual fueled by concern over potential malfunctions—not that she even knew how it worked, especially with clothes over it, but it had saved her life a few times.

Satisfied the chameleon suit showed no wear and tear, Ashe dressed in the rugged Western attire she had discovered in the cabin—a functional and flattering ensemble consisting of jeans, a blouse, and a cowhide vest. To complete her preparations, she strapped on extra ammunition for her Arbiter and discreetly tucked away the commissioner’s bullet hanging around her neck.

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 and asked, “Do we have more eggs?”

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

Reaching the door, Ashe paused and looked back. Her eyes scanned the comfortably worn interior and she hoped nobody would discover the cabin. With a final, lingering look, she turned and stepped outside.

The journey to the raiders’ camp was uneventful. Rainwood had found an obscured road down the steep incline, after which they followed the hillside into a lightly forested area with rolling hills, mostly covered with evergreen pines and maple trees that had thus far avoided the encroaching Star Vines.

Ashe worked her way around the compound and crouched by a bush with a clear view of a potential access point in the outer barricade. She rankled at the delay and again checked the time on her AstroCom, wondering when the guys’ signal would appear.

Moonbeam and Rainwood had old-fashioned watches, so Ashe had asked them to synchronize with her AstroCom. She preferred Solar Time, which changed daily so that 7:00 a.m. was always sunrise, no matter where you were on the planet. Spacers used this timekeeping method when on-world because their ships were always on universal time, regardless of the planet they orbited. A part of her still yearned to go to space, even knowing all of the other worlds were as desolate as Arcadia.

Exhaling a sigh, Ashe internally lamented the tedium.

Waiting is a drag. When will Moonbeam light his fireworks?

Her thoughts wandered, and she remembered her friend Talia from Fenclave before all the horrible things had happened. Talia could make any boring moment entertaining. With a vivid imagination, she tended to see everything as part of an action flick, even if only in her mind.

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

Growling quietly, Ashe brought herself back to the moment. At the top of the barricade wall stood a disheveled raider woman, looking incredibly bored. A grim smile played on Ashe’s lips as she sighted her rifle, focusing first on the sentry and then scanning around to consider her options.

Like most structures in the badlands, the compound was a mismatched assembly of salvaged materials, including the hull of an old rocket and what looked like an airship’s observation deck on an upper floor.

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 to light the signal? Or perhaps the fireworks are duds?

Ashe’s pulse throbbed in her forehead, and a thought struck her. What if the raiders already split up my stuff? I can replace most of it . . . But the tape of my parents, I want that. And Mom’s journals. Oh, and I need Kelly’s bandana—it’s all I have left of him.

She swallowed a lump in her throat, reminding herself that Kelly was just a dog. After a deep breath, she realized something else bothered her, and it wasn’t how long it was taking the guys or even if the raiders had split up her gear. It was the size of the compound.

If this really is Warthog’s place, I wonder if I overpromised to all those folks at Mosstown. It’s a big operation; I can’t just sneak in and take out the leader like I had planned.

Calls of alarm interrupted her thoughts. Raiders shouted and ran about, then a firework hissed up through the trees, exploding overhead.

Finally!

The sentry remained vigilant.

Ashe pulled the trigger, having overcome any guilt about shooting raiders after her previous encounter with them. The shot hit the sentry’s shoulder, spinning her before she dropped out of sight.

Taking a moment to quickly reload, Ashe bolted forward, glad to see Rainwood was right—much like everything else in the compound, the outer wall was a hodgepodge of assorted materials, including logs, corrugated steel, and old tires, offering plenty of openings. She sucked in her chest, squeezing through a gap.

The sentry groaned on the ground, writhing in pain, but Ashe ignored her and scanned for threats. Several ramshackle buildings sprawled up the hill. The larger structure on the lower side seemed more important, but she didn’t know where to look.

The girl moaned at her feet, holding her bleeding shoulder, and Ashe poked her with a foot.

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

The girl spat, laughing, “You think you can just waltz in here? You’re already dead!”

Ashe didn’t have time for a lengthy interrogation. She pulled the hood of her chameleon suit over her head and left the sentry, moving down the path to the lower structure. After carefully easing a door open, she stepped into a darkened interior, closed the door, and then froze. The chameleon suit made her invisible, but only when moving slowly.

The room was small and broad, perhaps ten by twenty feet. The only light filtered in through a door slightly ajar across from where she’d entered, leaving everything else in gloomy darkness. A table held a scattering of vacuum tubes, electronic parts, and an empty Pop-a-Cola bottle shaped like a rocket ship—no sign of her backpack.

She quickly crossed the room and peered through the opening. A bridge spanned to another building with corrugated tin sides. Most raiders ran to the other side of the compound, which was good. But the sprawl of buildings gave her a knot of worry; she didn’t have time to search each one.

Just as she moved to leave, a faint child’s whisper came from across the room, “Can–Can–Can you help me?”

Ashe glanced at her translucent arm to be sure the chameleon effect still worked, then looked around, wondering where the voice came from.

“Here,” the voice whispered. Ashe finally noticed a small boy sitting in a cage, his brilliant green eyes fixed on her.

He must have heard me—He can’t 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 but finished with, “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. I can–can–I can show you. If you help–help me.”

How does he know what I—? This is weird.

A surge in staccato gunfire across the compound urged her to move on. She focused on her needs, hardened her thoughts, and started across the bridge.

I don’t have time for this, and the last thing I need is some kid adding to my problems. He’ll have to figure things out on his own.

She had made it about halfway across when the thought struck her: What if he really doesn’t have a family?

Ashe remembered how it felt being alone in the badlands after her parents died.

But . . . I can’t keep anybody safe, she reminded herself with a twinge of pain before growling, “This is stupid,” and returning to the room while reiterating to herself, He can help me find my stuff. That’s why I’m letting him out.

“You came back!” the boy exclaimed, standing.

She pulled her hood off and whispered, “Where are the keys?”

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

Biting back a curse, she knelt by the padlock on the cage and pulled out her lock picks.

Padlocks are easy, and this only has two tumblers.

Yet, it felt like an eternity passed while she worked through each tumbler, and her hands shook with adrenaline, making it even harder.

The lock popped open, and she took the boy’s hand. “Come on, show me where my pack is!”

With a nod, he pulled her to the bridge. They crouched to avoid notice in case any raiders were nearby, but from the cries and gunfire, it seemed they had all rallied to fight on the other side.

The boy pointed at a reinforced door leading into a cave on the hillside. Somebody had painted “Warthog’s Enclave” on a board over the door.

She sighed, figuring getting cornered in the cave would be madness. She needed to scout the camp better, perhaps try a diplomatic approach first. And if she was honest with herself, she now wondered if the quest to help Mosstown was really worth the effort.

Yet, if her gear was there . . .

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

He nodded with wide eyes. Ashe considered how much she wanted her stuff back.

The gunfire slowed on the other side of the camp.

A shout came from around the corner of the path, “Hold them down. I need more ammo!” followed by the heavy machine tread of somebody arriving wearing a suit of Mechanized Armor.

She pulled her Arbiter and aimed at the edge of the shack where she expected the raider to appear, and the moment he rounded the corner, she stroked the trigger. The rifle kicked into her shoulder, barely making a puta-puta-put noise as it unleashed three bullets in suppressed rapid-fire.

Two ricocheted off his armored shoulder, but the third made it through, and he howled, reflexively bringing his minigun up and raising the alarm, “They’re back here too!”

He pulled on the trigger, and they both could hear the impotent whine of an empty minigun.

She only had a moment to study his mech. They were powered suits of armor, enhancing a person’s strength and adding layers of protection. But this mech was cobbled together from different models—including armored pieces that looked like they were from the first generation MA-15 Ogre, along with the later MA-27 Griffin plus randomly welded bits of steel. Most importantly, this guy’s mech was incomplete and didn’t have a helmet.

Ashe stroked her Arbiter’s trigger a second time—focusing on his exposed head.

Each bullet struck true—between his eyes. It was like shooting a watermelon, and he stumbled back, falling with a loud crunch.

A second firework hissed and crackled in the air overhead.

Ashe hissed in frustration. “That’s the warning. Time to go!”

Her gaze lingered on the cave door while she clenched her fists, then growled, “You’re on your own,” before spinning around, retracing her path and slipping through the barricade. The boy scrambled behind 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 distance from the camp before stopping.

Eventually, she slowed, catching her breath, and turned to face the boy who had managed to stay on her tail. With a glance around to be sure nobody followed, she leaned down, putting her hands on her knees.

“Alright, I got you out. Now you’re free. Go wherever you please.”

I don’t want attachments, she told herself. I’m a loner. And he . . . I just can’t do it. But can I leave him alone? He’s so tiny, probably not more than five years old. It’s a liability.

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

“I’m afraid not,” she answered, wrinkling her brow at his unprompted statement.

“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 pupils, making them almost mesmerizing. His chin quivered, and tears welled in his eyes as he sniffled, “I don’t have–I don’t have–I don’t have anybody.”

Is he pulling puppy eyes on me? But . . . damn, it’s working. I can’t leave him out here alone.

Although the forest seemed quiet, she was anxious to move on and stood up.

“Fine, you little ankle-biter. But only until we sort out where your family is. . . or find a more fitting place for you to stay.”

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

This sent a stab of fear through her, and she wanted to growl at him. Why did he think she’d carry him? She wasn’t somebody who could take care of kids. But, her frustration came to a shuddering halt as she realized he wore no shoes. A trail of blood-red spots, clearly visible on the flinty stone, highlighted his path. He had run through the forest barefoot, ignoring sharp rocks and sticks that had lacerated his feet, all without complaint. And he was still able to keep up with her.

She sighed, let him climb on her back, and then started for the cabin.

“So, what do they call you?”

“Jade,” he mumbled, sounding tired.

“Where are your parents?”

“Don’ have any.” His reply was almost unintelligible.

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

He didn’t answer, and she felt his grip relax. She shifted his weight so he wouldn’t slip and glanced over her shoulder.

He’d fallen asleep.

She sighed, fighting the fear welling in her chest as she considered taking care of him, yet reluctantly admitted it had felt good to help him escape.