Crimson

by Jordan Summers

  hey’d been walking over sand dunes for two days and hadn’t come across a soul. Red had thought the Republic of Arizona was barren. It had nothing on no-man’s-land. This place made the back side of the moon look subtropical. She wiped at the sweat clinging to her face. It had already started to slow. Soon she’d be completely dehydrated.

  She glanced over at Demery, who was wearing a white protective suit that glowed in the emerging sunlight. He looked nice and cool despite the hideous temperature. For a second she was jealous, then she brought herself up short. His body didn’t change temperature unless it was exposed to the sun. In which case, he’d explode and die, thanks to the genetic alterations he’d received during the last war.

  She looked at Morgan, who was trudging along on her right. The heat didn’t appear to be affecting him either. At least not as much as it was getting to her. Of course, he was used to living in Nuria, which had never had a protective biodome. Red had always considered herself prepared for anything, but nothing could’ve prepared her for the harsh, unforgiving desert landscape that lay before them. She’d never seen so much sand.

  “Maybe we should seek shelter before the sun gets too high,” she suggested, hoping they’d take the hint without her having to acknowledge she was tired.

  Morgan looked around. “That would be fine, but I don’t see anyplace we could hole up for the day. Do you?”

  Red squinted into the retreating darkness. There was nothing for miles but dunes. “I guess we keep walking.”

  Demery signaled them on. “We might find something over the next rise,” he said.

  “Where did you rest the last time you crossed?” Red asked, licking her chapped lips.

  “I didn’t come this way. Too barren,” Demery said.

  Red stopped. If the place was barren, then why in the hell was he taking them this way? Red glanced around, her senses alert. “You do know where you’re going, right? There’s no shame in admitting you’re lost.”

  “I’m not lost.” Demery chuckled. “I know where I’m going . . . more or less. We went this way to throw off anyone who might be following. They wouldn’t think to look for us here. They’d assume we’d head west where supplies are more plentiful.” He pulled out a canteen and tossed it to Red. She caught it without thinking. “Take a drink. It’ll make you less grumpy. I’ve enhanced the water with minerals.”

  “I’m not grumpy!”

  Morgan and Demery laughed.

  She was uncomfortable. There was a difference. Red took a drink. When she finished, she secured the lid and tossed it to Morgan, who took two big swallows before sealing it and handing it back.

  “We have to find someone we can trade with. We need more provisions,” Demery said.

  Nothing turned out to be over the next dune but more sand. The grit covered Red’s face and hands until it seemed a part of her skin. They walked through the heat of the day and into early evening. Red was ready to drop by the time they spotted fire light flickering in the distance.

  “Am I seeing things?” she asked. It had been two days with no signs of human life. Hallucinating wasn’t out of the question.

  “No.” Morgan stepped forward. “I see it, too.” He sniffed the air. “I smell a lot of purebloods.”

  “Get down,” Demery said and they all three hit the ground without question. “We need to figure out if these are squatters, drifters, or Sand Devils.”

  Horned creatures with forked tongues and red skin flashed in Red’s mind. “What are Sand Devils?” she asked.

  “They are bands of outlaws who rove the dunes in search of unsuspecting squatters and drifters.”

  Red reached for her pistol. Demery noticed the movement. “Relax. Let’s find out who we’re dealing with before we go in shooting. Okay?”

  “Just want to be prepared.” Red shrugged and looked over at Morgan, whose entire body was tense.

  “If they’re squatters, they’ll have two lookouts. One stationed on each side of the group. They check in by signaling each other. The signal changes from group to group, but we should be able to catch something within the next few seconds,” Demery said.

  Red watched the inky horizon, waiting for a sign to tell them they wouldn’t have to fight their way past this group. She was tired and hungry, and doubted she’d have the energy to put up much resistance if the situation called for it. Patience had deserted her long ago.

  The silence was tense as they waited. An orange fireball exploded against the night sky with a boom. It was followed by another a second later. Demery released a breath and grinned.

  “Looks like we’ve found our first band of squatters,” he said, rising. “They should have sufficient supplies to trade. At the very least, we should be able to get enough supplies to make it to the next encampment.”

  Red and Morgan were slower to rise, since they weren’t in a hurry to become an easy target for a nervous lookout.

  “How do you want to do this?” Morgan asked Demery.

  The camp sat a hundred or so yards away. Circular tents and lean-tos were huddled like melted marshmallows in the center of a ring of fire. Morgan couldn’t tell what they were using for fuel, but the flames burned steady and were a good barrier moat between the inhabitants and any intruder that might wander by.

  “What are they wearing?” Gina asked.

  Morgan squinted. “Looks like whatever they could find.”

  Loose rags covered the people who were by the firelight, leaving very little skin visible. A few wore big cat and coyote hides. Morgan had seen similar clothing before. It had been worn in the Middle East by nomadic tribes. It was one of the few things that had survived from that area after the last war.

  “Doesn’t seem practical,” Gina said.

  Morgan looked at her. Gina’s hazel eyes were wide in wonder. Despite the danger they were in, she was absorbing it all like a kid who’d just spotted her first flying shuttle.

  “Actually, those outfits are great for this harsh climate. It cools you during the day and keeps you warm at night. The key is layers. They can be removed or added as needed,” he said.

  Demery watched the people. “Hey mon, I think I know this group,” he said.

  “Is that good or bad?” Morgan asked. The last thing they needed after their long trek was to run into hostiles.

  “It’s good. The Sand Moles welcome traders. You both stay here and I’ll make contact.” He approached the ragtag group without waiting for an answer. “If anything happens, head south.”

  They ducked back down to watch. Morgan didn’t like it. The idiot was going to get himself killed. Could he lead Gina across the desert without a guide? Morgan knew the answer to that question. No. Without Demery they’d be wandering blind.

  “What do we do if they kill him?” she asked, following the same train of thought.

  “It won’t come to that,” he said.

  “But what if it does?” she asked.

  Morgan slanted Gina a glance. She’d gone from amazement to fear in record time. Her skin paled despite the heavy amount of sun it had received the past couple of days. Her dark hair was disheveled, torn loose from the clasp that held it.

  “We run,” he said. “And eventually head south like he said.”

  They watched Demery slowly approach the encampment. He held his hands in the air so the lookouts could see he wasn’t armed. A horn sounded. It was followed by the blast from another. People filed out of their tents, guns, bows, and pipes raised.

  Morgan took a quick look around. Other than the ridge of sand they were perched on there was no cover. If he and Gina had to make a run for it, they’d be easily picked off if the lookouts were a half-decent shot.

  “What are they holding?” Gina asked. “They look like weapons, but I’ve never seen anything like them.”

  “Those are rifles.”

  “Laser rifles?”

  Morgan shook his head. “No, those are antique rifles. They’re made out of wood.”

  “Like the kind
that used to fire metal?” she asked, inching forward to get a better look.

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” Morgan reached over and caught her leg, pulling her back. “The metal they carry is called bullets and can fire quite a distance. Getting hit hurts like hell.”

  “You’ve been shot with one of those.” Her tone was incredulous.

  “Not that exact model, but yes. It’s an experience I’d like to forget.” He rubbed his shoulder where he’d taken a bullet. It still ached when it rained. Fortunately, that didn’t happen often.

  “How did they get a hold of them? The International Police Tactical Team confiscated all of the weapons after the war. Houses were checked, buildings were scoured,” she said, sounding bewildered.

  Morgan grinned. “They obviously missed a few.”

  “Are our laser pistols any match to those weapons?” Gina asked, pulling her gun out of its holster.

  “Yes, but those have us on distance. We’d need a laser rifle to compete.”

  Gina slumped against the dune. “I knew I should’ve brought a rifle.”

  Morgan kissed the tip of her nose. “We could only carry so many weapons. We had to leave room for food and water.”

  “I know,” she said, sounding dejected.

  Demery reached the group and stopped. He held his hands out in front of him, palms up.

  One of the men in the group stepped forward and patted him down. “All clear,” the man said, then quickly rejoined the group.

  The murmur of voices rose.

  “I’m here to trade, but I also seek shelter,” he said. “My name is Demery Wilson. Does anyone here know that name?”

  There were more murmurs. This time louder as his name rumbled through the crowd on a tide of voices. Finally a single voice rose above the rest.

  “I do.” An older man with silver at his temples stepped forward. He wore similar clothes as the rest and had a scruffy beard that started at one ear and ended at the other in a smile of hair.

  “Gray?” Demery asked, stepping forward.

  The guards notched the rifles against their shoulders.

  “It’s okay,” Gray said. The man smiled, showing a gap in his teeth. “Been a long time, dread man. Didn’t think I’d see you around these parts after your last encounter with Reaper.”

  Demery shrugged casually, but Morgan could see the tension in his large frame. His scent changed, too. It was subtle, but the sour tang was still there.

  “You know me, mon. Nothing can keep me away from a good trade.” Demery grinned, showing the dimples in his dark cheeks. His body relaxed as he slipped on the jovial, happy-go-lucky mask he used freely around others.

  Morgan wondered—not for the first time—what the real Demery was like. It had taken him fifty years to understand Raphael and what motivated him. It had only been a week and change with Demery. A long way to go before the word “trust” would enter the picture.

  “This man is known to me. Show him Sand Mole hospitality.” Gray stepped forward and lowered his voice. “For your sake, I hope you brought Reaper what you promised.”

  Demery patted his shirt. “I have it right here.”

  Gray frowned in confusion, then threw his head back and laughed. “It’s nice to know your sense of humor survived intact.” He clapped Demery on the back.

  “What’s he talking about?” Gina asked.

  Morgan shook his head. “I don’t know. Now shh, let’s listen to see if we can find out,” he said.

  “Do you know where I can find Reaper?” Demery asked Gray. “He still has something of mine.”

  “We don’t run with the likes of him. You know that,” Gray said, his brow furrowing at the mere suggestion of association. “We are a peaceful people unless we’re provoked or deceived.”

  Demery smiled. “I know, mon, but you always seem to know where the devil hides.”

  Gray grinned back. “That I do. That I do. Speaking of which, tell your friends they can come out now.”

  Morgan tensed and Gina started to slip backward into the darkness.

  “Could never get anything past you, old man. It’s okay,” Demery called out. “They won’t harm you. Come on out.”

  “What do you think?” Gina asked, thumbing her pistol.

  Morgan looked at the darkness squeezing in around them. “I think we don’t have a choice. We need provisions and shelter or else we won’t get far tomorrow.”

  She grasped his arm. “I don’t like it,” she said.

  “I know, but down here Demery’s the expert,” Morgan said.

  She shook her head. “It’s not Demery I’m worried about.”

  Gina stood and put her gun away. Morgan followed, positioning his body between her and the armed men.

  When they got close, Morgan said, “My name is—”

  “Hunter,” Demery provided, cutting him off. “And this is Red.” He reached out and pulled Gina close.

  The gesture was both friendly and possessive. Perhaps a warning. Morgan couldn’t tell, so he said nothing, even though his first instinct was to rip the vamp’s arm off and use it for a chew toy. We are outnumbered, he reminded himself. If Demery’s little act would protect Gina, then he’d go along with it . . . for now.

  “I’m Gray. And these are the Sand Moles. Welcome.”

  The group turned out to be quite hospitable. They offered Red and Morgan food, shelter, and water in exchange for a laser pistol.

  Red was hesitant to give up one of her weapons, but it wouldn’t do them any good if they died of thirst. Despite the circumstances, she was fascinated by the people and their customs. Women danced around a crackling fire in the center of the compound to music that was created using scraps of metal and wires. Red had never heard anything like the high-pitched pings and pops, but found herself tapping her foot and swaying to the music.

  One woman with a thick braid of blond hair approached. She tried to coax Red into joining the other women, dancing. Red begged off. She’d never danced a day in her life and wasn’t about to start now. But she was tempted. It looked like fun. At least the women seemed to be having fun.

  The men watched, their eyes taking in every sensual movement. Morgan seemed entranced, too. He’d finally stopped staring at one of the digital diaries they’d found hidden in Kane’s home. As far as Red knew, he hadn’t listened to any of the recordings yet. The loss of his cousin was still too fresh in his mind.

  “Why don’t you put that away and try to relax?” Red pointed at the digital recorder in his hand.

  Morgan looked at the device and pain momentarily hardened his austere features. In a flash, it was gone. He shoved the recorder in his pocket, then went back to staring at the fire.

  Red glanced at the women once more. Maybe when this was all over she’d learn how to dance. She continued to watch as activity went on around them. The Sand Moles seemed so poor, yet moved with such freedom that for a moment Red envied their lot in life. That thought brought her up short. These people were criminals. She’d have shot them if she had come across them on patrol with IPTT. Now she was relying on their generosity and goodwill. Shame warred with duty, weighing heavily on her conscience.

  She was so distracted by her thoughts that Red nearly missed Demery as he passed her on his way to a nearby tent.

  “Where are you going?” she asked. Red thought it prudent to know where everyone was just in case they had to leave in a hurry.

  His brown eyes sparkled mischievously and his dimples deepened. “To get a little refreshment.” Demery nodded at the woman who’d just poked her head out of the flap.

  She’d momentarily forgotten all about his need for blood. “Sorry,” Red said.

  He started to leave.

  “Wait, I have a question for you.”

  Demery paused, his impatience showing.

  He must really be hungry. Or maybe he was just horny from watching the women gyrate seductively around the flames. “What did Gray mean earlier when he asked if you brought the item fo
r Reaper?”

  Demery’s cheerful expression faded a little. “Nothing, mon. Just old business that needs tending to while I’m here,” he said, then kept walking.

  Morgan waited for him to enter the tent, then leaned over to whisper in her ear. “What do you think?”

  Red kept her eyes trained on the flap. “His scent tells me he’s being untruthful. He’s not lying exactly, but he damn sure isn’t telling us everything.”

  “You want to go after him?” he asked.

  “No, I am willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. He may just be overly hungry. Besides, I’m too exhausted to pursue it tonight. Unless it involves us directly, it really isn’t any of our business what he does on his own time.”

  “You’re right. I’m just being paranoid,” he said, nuzzling her neck.

  Red pulled back so she could look at him. “What’s going to become of us, Morgan?” she asked softly.

  His brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

  A couple strolled by within earshot. She closed the distance between them, hoping the music would help mask her voice. “We are fugitives. How are we going to prove our innocence if we’re on the run and don’t even know if we’ll make it out of here alive?”

  Morgan brushed her cheek with his palm. “I will figure something out once we locate a communications device and find out what Roark Montgomery’s up to. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  “I don’t need you to protect me. I need you to make sure nothing happens to you,” Red said. She could handle anything no-man’s-land threw at her as long as Morgan was by her side.

  He was silent for a moment while his molten gold eyes searched her face. “I’m sure that Raphael and the others are working on a way to help us.”

  Red shook her head. If only that were true. After what she’d experienced in Nuria during Morgan’s absence, she had her doubts. Raphael, Takeo, and Juan may be trying to help, but what of the rest? They were only three men, not enough to take on Roark’s army. If the politician decided to have another go at Nuria, they’d be massacred.

  She thought about Raphael’s brother, Michael Travers. What would become of him? As Roark’s assistant, he’d been their only chance to keep one step ahead of the politician and he hadn’t succeeded. If Morgan was correct, Roark had gotten to him. Hell, for all she knew Michael was dead.