I hold Tessa until she’s cried out, and she straightens. As she does her hand grazes my right side, and I gasp in pain.
“Oh, Sarah,” she exclaims, dropping to her knees in front of me. She lifts my shirt without ceremony or apparent concern for all the eyes on us. “You’re hurt!”
“It’s fine,” I say, but cry out in pain when she touches the area without warning.
“Sarah!” Drosdan yells, and I hear his feet pounding the sound.
“It’s fine,” I shout. “Tessa is looking at the bruise.”
His feet stop pounding on sand which is good. Tessa continues looking my bruise over, touching it with a much lighter touch now that is a somewhat less debilitating pain.
“You’ve got cracked ribs,” she says. “This is bad Sarah. You need medical attention.”
“So do you,” I counter. Biting her lower lip, she doesn’t argue.
“Food and water, we’ll recover. That won’t help this.”
It doesn’t matter that she’s right. I can’t leave these people here.
“Can you wrap them up? Are there any bandages left out here?” I ask.
“Yes, but that’s temporary. You might have a pierced lung or internal bleeding. Sarah, I’m serious—this is really bad. You need to get back to the City. You need a doctor, medical machines. We don’t have anything out here.”
“I’ll be fine,” I say. “Get the bandages.”
Drosdan comes back with both guns.
“Are there other guards?” he asks the crowd.
They exchange looks, fear on their faces. No one answers.
“Look,” I say. “We’re here to help. He’ll go get food for you, but he’s not leaving until he’s sure I’m safe. If you want to eat, answer him.”
“Food?” the murmur runs through them.
“No,” a thin, balding man says. “Those two are the only ones left.”
“Where’s Gershom?” I ask. Silence falls like a heavy blanket. No one looks at us or each other even, finding something else to focus on. Drosdan hisses his frustration. “Well?”
“He’s… gone,” the balding man says at last.
“What happened? He was holding all the supplies for himself when I left. How can he be gone when all of you have survived?” I ask.
“No one… knows… for sure,” balding man says, holding something back.
“He was a liar,” someone shouts from the back of the crowd but other voices hush him. “No, he was. A liar, and we all know it, even if we don’t want to admit it.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, searching out the one who is speaking in the crowd.
Silence greets my question stretching into another long pause. They shift their weight, quick glances, it takes me a bit to see it, but they’re ashamed.
“Answer her,” Drosdan hisses.
“He was taking epis!” the man from the back yells.
“We don’t know that,” balding man says. “It could have been… a disease or something.”
“Are you saying he’s…?” I can’t even finish the thought.
It’s a game changer. If Gershom is gone then why are they still here? Why didn’t they return to the City when they figured out his betrayal?
“He’s dead,” someone answers.
“Then why are you still out here?” I ask.
“Why?” Balding man asks. “Why? Do you really have to ask? We’re not welcome in the City. We don’t want to live under alien rule. We don’t want to watch them take our women from us. We don’t want any of this! We just want to live in peace. Live our lives without them interfering.”
Drosdan’s tail drags across the sand making a swishing sound, and his wings rustle. The crowd looks at him with open fear. Tessa comes back out of the ship, bandages in her hands and stops, looking from the survivors to Drosdan and me.
“Okay,” I say, a cold empty void opening in my core. Even now, facing certain death, they’re blinded by their own hatred and fear. What would Rosalind do? That’s the question. This group needs to survive. We need them if we’re going to make it on this planet. Rosalind has run the numbers, and the gene pool of survivors is barely enough to prove viable past the next three generations. If we lose too many there will be inbreeding, and our entire race will die. “Drosdan get them some food, please.”
“Sarah—”
“No,” I cut him off. “I’ll be fine, trust me.”
He locks eyes with me, a silent battle of wills. His hands ball into fists, his jaw tightens, and he shakes his head. Butterflies dance in my stomach. I don’t like facing off against him. Tension rises, the air becomes thick, and the crowd stares on with bated breath. I can’t look away, can’t flinch. I need him to do this. At last he hands me the guns and turns to go hunt. Tessa comes over, pulls my shirt up and reveals most of my breasts. Embarrassment floods me, knowing they’re all watching. I stare at Tessa instead of looking up, pretending we’re alone in a proper medical bay and not standing in front of crowd of hungry eyes.
“Hold this,” Tessa says, putting my hand on my shirt.
Numbly, I obey. The bruise is worse, a lot worse. A purple so deep it’s almost black covers my entire side. Damn it, I don’t have time for this. Tessa places the gauze on my back behind the bruise, and sharp pain stabs, blinding me, and I gasp air until the stars clear.
“Sorry,” Tessa says, gritting her teeth.
“It’s fine,” I lie.
She shakes her head and continues wrapping. As she pulls the bandage more tightly, the pain subsides to more manageable levels.
“There,” Tessa says, tucking the ends of the bandage into itself.
“All right, you all have a choice,” I say, dropping my shirt and looking at the crowd.
“You can follow a Zmaj into the desert and make a home for yourselves, or you can return to the City. The choice is yours, but staying here isn’t an option. You’re not going to make it.”
“You can’t tell us what to do,” Balding guy says.
“No, I can’t. What I can do is leave you here to die, which you are, or you can wake up, smell the non-existent coffee, and make your choice.”
Balding guy opens his mouth to argue more, but either he realizes the truth in my words, or that it’s futile, and his mouth snaps shut.
“You have to go to the City,” Tessa whispers.
“I will, soon,” I whisper back, watching the crowd.
Soon. I’m having a harder time breathing. The bandage is helping, but she’s right. I’m going to need a doctor, but not yet. If I breathe shallowly and focus, I can keep the pain under control. For now.
Drosdan, Tessa, and I watch the assembled survivors. There’s a soft murmur as they talk with each other. Anticipation is like ants crawling across my skin. Biting my lower lip I can only hope they’ll make the right choice. They need to go back to the City. We need them there and I need medical attention I can only get there. Please, be smart. Get past your fear, please, please, please.
They turn into each other making a rough circle leaving Tessa and I standing outside. She and I glance at each other. She shrugs and smiles tentatively. It hurts too much to give her a smile back. Shallow breaths and the constant ache accented by moments of sharp stabbing hold most of my attention.
“Fine,” bald guy says at last, the crowd turning around. As if that answers the question in anyway whatsoever.
“Fine?” I snap, anger flashing in response to his provocation.
He grins. Stepping forward before I can stop myself, I’m going to slap that grin off his face. Tessa’s hand on my arm stops me. I close my eyes and count to five, then open them and stare at the asshole who’s provoking me. It’s no wonder he followed Gershom into the desert, he’s no better than Gershom was. Taking a breath, wincing at the pain, I let it out slowly.
“What is your decision?” I ask.
“We’re going to follow the monster into the desert,” bald guy says.
“He’s not a monster!” I shout, anger flas
hing white-hot, but pain follows it, and I gasp.
“Right,” baldy says. “Sure, anyway, that’s our choice.”
Shaking my head, I wipe away the tears of pain, grimacing.
“Fine,” I say through gritted teeth. “Pack what you can carry. It’s several days’ journey.”
“There’s one more thing,” he says.
Grinding my teeth, I struggle to control myself. Heat flashes across my skin, and my hand balls into an involuntary fist.
“Yes?” I growl.
“We keep the guns,” he says. “Just in case.”
That’s a stupid idea. Stupid, stupid, stupid but can I win the argument? The options lay out before me, and I have to choose a path. If I refuse them the guns, they’re not going to go. It will be a fight I can’t win. If I give them the guns, then they have a very big advantage if they try to do something stupid. It’s more than obvious they’re stupid. They followed Gershom into the desert and even now, given the opportunity to go back to the comforts the City offers they choose to go further into the desert. They’re not rational people.
“Fine,” I sigh. “Start packing.”
18
Drosdan
Sarah coughs, holding her side and grimacing.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“Fine,” she says between coughs. “It’s fine.”
She’s lying to me. I feel it deep inside. She’s hurt, badly.
“Can we take a break?” one of the other humans asks.
“No,” I say, feeling no compassion. “We need to move faster.”
“They can’t keep up this pace,” Sarah says.
“We don’t have a choice,” I say. “If we stay out here, we’re at risk. This many people traveling is going to attract a zemlja. We need to get off the loose sand. The hard-packed sand close to the village means the zemlja aren’t traveling there. Every moment we’re out here our risk increases.”
“I know,” she sighs, shaking her head.
“So no breaks, not now,” I say.
The survivors of Gershom’s camp are strung out in a long line of stragglers. The food I brought them bolstered their strength but they’re still weak. Weeks of minimum rations have taken a toll on them. It doesn’t help that none of them are taking epis. Their bodies haven’t adjusted. Of course if they had been, they’d probably be dead too, like Gershom.
“Why are you smiling?” Sarah asks.
“Hmm? Oh, nothing,” I say, feeling the grin on my face get wider.
“Uh-huh,” she says, staring at me.
“It’s justice,” I say, unable to resist her gaze.
“What is?” she asks, wrapping her arms around her chest, pain in her eyes.
“Gershom,” I answer. “He got what he had coming.”
“Yeah,” she sighs. “Well, his influence is still being felt. Alive or dead, he changed the path of humanity forever.”
The thrill disappears at her words. She’s right. If not for him, these humans would be returning to the City. If not for him, it’s doubtful they would have left in the first place.
“If we keep pushing, we’ll make it by the end of the day,” I say.
“Good,” Sarah says, coughing.
Her cough sounds wet, rattling. She glances at the hand she covered her mouth with, then drops it to her side quickly, too quickly.
“How bad is it?” I ask.
“I’m fine,” she says, wheezing.
My hearts increase, pounding in my chest. She needs to go back to the City. She needs help.
“They can make it the rest of the way on their own, let me take you to the City,” I insist.
“We can’t leave them,” she says.
She’s breathing shallowly. My scales itch, and a cold ball forms in my stomach. An urge to pick her up and run with her comes, and it takes all I’ve got to resist it. Gritting my teeth, I force my tail back down.
“Fine,” I hiss, anger pounding.
“I know you’re pissed,” she says. “But we have to save them.”
She’s right. I know she’s right, but it doesn’t make this any easier. She is my treasure. The rest of them don’t matter. Only she does.
Sarah coughs and makes a painful sound. My chest constricts and my hearts stop beating. This can’t go on. I turn to her. Her eyes widen as I bend my knees.
“Drosdan… no,” she protests, but I ignore her words and sweep her off her feet. “Put me down, I can walk.”
“Of course you can, my love,” I agree without complying.
She’s stiff in my arms, resisting.
“Drosdan, I can walk. They all need help, I’m not going to be a giant weenie in front of all of them,” she argues. “You’re making me look weak.”
“I don’t agree,” I say.
“Of course you don’t,” she says, slapping a hand against my chest. “You’re big and strong, showing off all your… muscles.”
“You’re hurt. They’re not,” I say reasonably. “Besides, they could have their own Zmaj if they weren’t all a bunch of jerks,” I say.
Sarah snorts, laughs, then whimpers in pain.
“Don’t make me laugh,” she says, wiping moisture from her eyes as she relaxes in my arms at last.
“Sorry,” I smile.
She rests her head against my chest, and before we’ve gone far, she’s asleep. I listen to her breath, bringing up the rear and making sure that the stragglers don’t get left behind. Each breath she takes wheezes, and her breath catches often. She has to be okay. She will be fine. I’ll get her to the City, to a doctor, and they’ll fix her. I keep pushing. We have to get there.
“Keep moving,” I hiss at the stragglers.
They’re too slow. Sarah’s breathing seems to be shallower than it was. Every part of me wants to turn and run for the City. Leave these humans to fend for themselves. They made their choices, stupid as they were.
Drosdan, we have to save them. I hear her voice in my head.
The male I hissed at looks over his shoulder, eyes wide, face pale, and he straightens, moving faster. He’s scared and that’s good enough for me, if that’s what it takes to keep him moving.
Fear teaches nothing, her voice whispers. It’s real enough. I look down to see if she’s awake. A whimper slips past her lips, and my hearts skip as cold fear washes through my limbs.
She has to be okay. Has to be. I can’t face a world without her in it. While she consumes most of my attention, I can’t help but notice the humans surreptitiously glancing at me. They’re scared, sick, and no matter what, I think they are struggling. Struggling to survive, to understand, to come to terms with the world around them. Their fear is palpable, washing over me, amplifying the cold chills, pulsing through me. Of course they’re scared. They followed a madman into the desert out of fear. Now they’re being herded by one of the aliens they were trying to escape.
They’re starving, exhausted, and without hope. Sarah stirs in my arms, whimpering as she moves, her breath hitching then evening out. Her face is pale and her lips have a blue tinge to them. My only hope is to get her back to the City. One hope, same as these humans I’m pushing towards the village Sarah and I found. One hope, hanging on by a thread. No matter if I hate it, I have to admit I’m scared.
A full grown zemlja, a rampaging herd of bivo, toe to toe with a guster, a threat I can face. Something I can hit. Anything but this. It feels like I’m spinning inside my own head as blackness swirls out of the gray fog of the bijass. Hopeless, no chance. I can’t help her. Like them. A thin female with red-blond hair glances back, her lips a tight-hard line, eyes on Sarah. When she sees me looking at her she looks quickly away. Another tall male walks next to her, putting an arm around her when she stumbles, aiding her to stay upright.
“All of you!” I yell to be heard.
The humans stop in place turning toward me. A loose, rag-tag group of survivors that I haven’t bothered to get a count of. It didn’t matter as I was only doing this for Sarah. They gather together
in a huddle, the males positioning the females behind them as if trying to protect them. From me. This is what they see. Fear.
Can I blame them? What cause have I given them to feel anything else? To expect anything but violence from me. Sarah stirs in my arms and her eyes flutter open. She meets my eyes, and a smile plays across her lips. She sighs, wincing as she inhales. She touches my face weakly, then her arm drops, and her eyes drift closed again. My stomach lurches and bile rises in my throat. The humans stare, silent, I can barely hear their breathing. The males shift from foot to foot, some of them holding makeshift weapons, trying to be ready for anything.
Looking at them, I don’t have words. Words are Visidion’s or Ragnar’s, even. I’ve never been good with them. Sarah is good with them. None of them are here. I’m on my own. I have to make them understand. I have to get past their fear.
“We’re not fast enough,” I say.
“What?” the tall male who was helping the red-blond female exclaims, his voice rising and cracking. “We’re doing all we can.”
“No, we have to—”
“What in the hell do you expect of us?” he cuts me off, stepping ahead of the group.
He has a metal staff in his hand. It’s thin and anything but dangerous, but judging by the way he grips it and holds it in front of himself, it must make him feel better.
“I understand but we have to—”
“Have to what?” he cuts me off again. My anger flashes, white-hot. “We’re doing all we can. We’re following your lead, towards what? How do we know you aren’t leading us to our deaths?”
“I’m trying to save you,” I hiss, struggling to contain my rage.
“Did you hurt Sarah? What’s wrong with her?” he spits the words.
“Jackson—” the red-blond says, but not before I move.
Grabbing him by his shirt, I lift him one-handed into the air, holding Sarah in my other arm. The staff drops from his hand and clatters on the hard-packed sand. When I lower him to where his face is inches from mine, I can smell his sweat and fear. His mouth moves, but no sound comes out. The other humans gasp, accented by screams.
“Shut. Up,” I hiss. “Listen.”
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