by KM Fortune
The trip down the mountain had been challenging, but it helped ease her mind knowing the men who hunted her were now further behind. Believing Raven was frozen before the sterility plague and the nuclear wars which followed, she knew the brothers of the underground colony she escaped from wanted to harvest her ovum. Only through the kindness of one man was she able to escape with her life. Matthew, she thought and not without a touch of sadness. Where are you now? There was no way to know. He was the scientist who found her frozen in the glacier and then revived her in his laboratory. When it came time to terminate Raven for her eggs, he set her free and she knew he would be punished for his actions. Perhaps even put to death. She could only hope he had somehow survived and Raven wondered if she would ever be able to thank him. It seemed impossible but she knew the universe was complex and if their paths were meant to cross again, it would be so. For now she must focus on the present.
KIT CROSSED THE HERMIT’S trail as it ran along a faint deer path near the base of the mountains. She had been on her way back up to the clearing where she first saw the bizarre stranger. Seeing the small footprints in the dirt along the path surprised her, mainly because the prints lead down the mountain toward the high desert. Kit was puzzled. Why would the funny man leave shelter? Had the Patrols come? She had to assume the stranger was escaping the Patrols. There was no other reason to abandon good shelter. It was the only reason her clan ever moved. But if that was the case, why was he moving so incredibly slow?
Turning east, Kit easily followed the stranger’s track down the mountain. She was dismayed when, after only a day of tracking she came to the hermit’s prints beside The Old Road. This is very dangerous, she thought. The Old Road was traveled by the Patrols as they moved across the prairie. Over the years, Kit remembered how they would drive along in their trucks and jeeps and bring death and destruction with them. Mutants frequented it too, although rarely by vehicle. Only the Patrols had the knowledge it took to keep a car going for any substantial period of time.
Kit stepped onto The Old Road and looked off into the horizon, the sun setting at her back. The pavement was cracked and had huge potholes on its surface. Stiff grass grew up through the gaps. It was not much of a road now, but it was still easier and faster to travel on than the rocky, snow swept high desert floor. Kit, as a rule, avoided The Old Road, preferring to use the occasional dirt road if the need arose to move in a direct path quickly. Deer paths worked better though, and she hesitated to continue after the hermit now that the trail led her to move exposed. She could not fathom where the stranger she followed was going. The Old Road ran for miles and miles, eventually ending at the Forbidden City, a dangerous and hostile place. No one would wish to travel there alone. The hermit had to know this, and yet he did not seem to. Kit frowned. It was almost as if the hermit did not know even the most basic of things like The Old Road was dangerous to walk on and it lead to nowhere except trouble. But that is almost impossible. Where could the hermit have come from to not know? Kit again was intrigued by this strange and unusual person. She sensed there was something very different about him and she was determined to find out what it was exactly. Picking up her pace, Kit jogged along the highway hoping to catch up to the hermit by morning.
RAVEN AWOKE WITH A start. The night was still black, and she was sure she had been dreaming of her past life. Of a car, actually. The sound of a horn and the roar of an engine were predominate in her dream where she lived in a big city and vehicles and their drivers were everywhere. Yet now that she was awake and sitting up among some boulders on her unrolled piece of worn carpet, she could still hear a car horn honking. Raven rubbed her eyes and looked around. She was camped in a shallow dip about twenty feet from the highway. After night had fallen, she was not able to see well enough to continue along the broken and pockmarked pavement. She had not wanted to stop, not yet having come to water and she was afraid her thirst would only become worse while she slept. All day she had walked, looking from side to side, hoping to find a spring or a puddle or even a shadowed patch of snow clean enough to try and melt, but to no avail. As twilight fell, when it became too dangerous to keep walking, she stopped and sucked the last bits of liquid from the deer hide she still carried. The meat was long gone. Raven had contemplated moving on once the moon rose, but worried she would not be able to spot water in the now blue-gray landscape. She determined it would be better to sleep now and go at first daylight rather than risk her neck and a missed opportunity.
Except now she was awake and confused. She distinctly heard a car horn being honked and the sound of a car's engine. Standing and taking up her walking stick, she moved carefully toward the highway, not yet seeing anything on the road. If it is a car, why no headlights? Raven wondered as she drew nearer to the old pavement. When she reached the highway’s edge, she crouched and looked west, finally seeing the darker outline of a vehicle coming slowly over a low rise in the road and headed toward her. It was at least two hundred yards away still and appeared to be swerving haphazardly from one side of the pavement to the other, sometimes off onto the shoulder and then cutting hard back onto the broken asphalt. The headlights were off, which appeared to be part of the problem, and the engine was racing, as if the driver was not able to shift into a higher gear.
RAVEN WATCHED ITS PROGRESS for a moment before deciding to slowly slip back away from the pavement. Something about the continual honking and crazed manner of the driver warned her it would be better to see who was coming before exposing herself. Finding a waist high boulder to duck behind, she waited as the car drew nearer.
HECTOR, THE CAT MUTANT, roared with laughter and honked again from the passenger seat as the rat mutant driving beside him struggled to keep the jeep on the road. Nothing pleased him more than proving to other mutants he was in fact vastly superior to them. He was more intelligent by far, able to operate weapons and cars, which confounded most of the other mutants he encountered. Watching the beast beside him unable to work the simple clutch mechanism of this old jeep only confirmed what he already knew. He was someday to be Lord of all the Mutants. Happily, Hector reached over and honked out a long blast again, ignoring the angry hiss from the upset driver. He was having a blast and finally able to forget about the humiliating incident with the girl who had snuck into his camp. The attack had been an embarrassment. One little creature killed one of his band and took their weapons. He had been so furious he had ripped the throat open of the one remaining mutant survivor from his group. It had been an act of rage, but looking back, it had been wise. The rat mutant was severely burned from the flaming log which hit him in the chest. Besides, that night should have no witnesses, Hector thought. He preferred no one ever know he had been bested, in particular by a tiny girl.
The jeep stalled again as the driver struggled with the gears. He slammed on the brakes, sending Hector roughly into the dash and smacking his snout on the already cracked windshield. He yowled in anger. This made the unsuspecting driver let out his own burst of laughter. The cat mutant pounced without hesitation, knocking both of them out the open driver's side of the jeep and onto the pavement.
AS THE CAT MUTANT SLASHED and clawed viciously at his now shrieking victim, Raven watched the vehicle as it rolled slowly off the highway, across the shoulder, and down the embankment, heading straight for the rock she was ducked down behind. With a hard clunk, the jeep came to rest only a foot from her. She looked at the faded paint and battered hull and then glanced back at the road.
HECTOR WAS IN A RAGE. He had taken the time to pick up this lone rat mutant and let him ride along, drinking his booze and keeping him company while they attacked any weaker mutants they could find. It had been an okay week, even though he was constantly reminded of the assault by the girl whenever he tried to use his damaged paw. It had helped his ego to slaughter other unsuspecting beasts, but now the stupidity and disrespect of this mutant had started to irritate him. The rat mutant did not share Hector’s vision of a land ruled by a superior race consisting p
rimarily of cat mutants. Hector had planned to put him in his place by showing him the difficulties of driving, but that too had backfired. The mutant had ended up laughing at him, and the act was not going to be tolerated.
Hector now had the smaller mutant in his grasp. The two-inch claws of his good paw were buried in his opponent’s neck, and blood ran hot over his powerfully clenched fingers. The mutant struggled but was not strong enough to buck off the larger, more powerful cat mutant. He opened his mouth to squeal again, but there was no air in his lungs. Slowly his eyes rolled back, and he went limp. Hector let out a roar of victory before bending forward and ripping out his victim’s throat with his fangs.
RAVEN WATCHED, STUNNED. Even in the dim light and at a distance, she could see the creatures fighting were not exactly human. They are some kind of man-beasts. Are these the mutants Matthew warned me about? she thought. The violence taking place was also upsetting. It was evident the larger, cat-looking mutant was vicious and without mercy. Looking around, Raven contemplated running. The land was relatively flat and without good places to hide. Only a few boulders would be available for cover. She turned her attention to the stalled jeep. It had rolled about twenty yards, including the trip down the embankment, before hitting the rock and stalling. It looked old and worn, the black and gray paint faded, a little rust showing through in parts, and the tires were threadbare. Still crouched, and listening to the cat mutant howl in triumph, Raven slipped around the rock and looked in the jeep. The key was in the ignition. She glanced back at the road. The cat mutant, apparently done celebrating and now moving on to other business, was rooting through the dead mutant’s possessions. It's now or never, Raven thought and jumped into the jeep.
CHAPTER 3
BACK AT THE HUMAN NOMAD’S camp, Blaze woke up with a start. Pushing his copper-colored hair out of his face, he opened his hazel eyes and stared up at the ceiling of what had once been a large warehouse. It was still night and the soft glow of moonlight shined in through the holes in the crumbling roof where time, weather, and war had left their mark. Beside him, he felt a warm body and Blaze brushed back his thin blanket to find Mouse, one of the clan’s girl children, curled up in a ball on his sleeping mat beside him. Blaze smiled. Even though Mouse was only five winters old, she had already laid claim to Blaze. “Someday we will marry and raise twenty babies,” Mouse would insist to anyone who would listen. The other members of the clan found it amusing, and Blaze was a good sport about it. He ran a brotherly hand over the small head of long, black hair. Who knows? he thought. Maybe in ten more winters, they would marry. He was only seventeen himself, and with the nomadic population so sparse, any match who could lead to offspring was welcome. The harder part would be both of them living so long. Ten winters was a very long time in the wasteland of a world where they lived and the likelihood of the two of them each surviving was small.
Blaze frowned. Especially lately, he thought. The Patrols from the Great Cave hunted with more determination than ever now. For as long as Blaze could remember, attacks were always a threat, but the danger was nothing like the last few weeks. It’s suddenly as if the Patrols had a new reason to hate us. They act like they intend to track and kill every human who lives in the high desert. Blaze ground his teeth in frustration. There was nothing he or anyone could do to stop it. At least we have not seen any near the shelter, he thought, thankful that so far his clan had avoided detection.
Shifting a little, Mouse murmured unhappily in her sleep, as if sensing Blaze’s dark thoughts. He slipped an arm under her and pulled the small child onto his chest. She opened her large dark eyes for a second and smiled sleepily at him. He smiled back and kissed her on the forehead. Mouse sighed and slept again. Such a sweet little child, Blaze thought while he listened to her deep and steady breathing. But not innocent. Like the rest of the band, she carried a deadly knife, fashioned to razor sharpness from a thin piece of scrap metal and banded with a leather strip to a carved block of wood for a handle. She had already been taught how best to use it. It saddened Blaze to think the littlest in the clan had to practice what to do if a soldier of the Patrols ever cornered her. “If you can’t run, wait until the man picks you up and is carrying you,” all of the children were instructed by the adults in the group. “Then slip the knife out of hiding as quick as you can and bury it in the soft part of the man’s belly. Be sure to give it a twist and never, ever, let go of the knife when he drops you.”
Letting the girl sleep, Blaze looked around the room where he lay on his mat and counted his group. There were twelve now, plus Kit, although she was out searching the plains once again. Such a small number, he thought. As a young boy, only a little older than Mouse, he remembered caves full of people. Groups like his having thirty or more and often traveling across the snow-filled plains to meet with other clans of nomads for holidays and celebrations. There would be dancing and stories, specially made foods and treats, and other children to play with. The grown men and women would hold competitions and test each other's strength and speed. Sometimes, if game were present, they would even use precious ammo to challenge each other’s marksmanship.
Blaze would watch the competitors from the crowd of onlookers and cheer with the other boys and girls, wishing they could compete. Later, when the competitions ended, he and his friends would take to wrestling each other, practicing for the events they looked forward to joining and winning one day. For Blaze and for all the nomads in the high desert, those days never came. As the long winters began to shorten and the deep snow on the ground receded, the Patrols began to come into the high desert more often. They crept down from the mountains with their weapons and vehicles and killed. At first, the elders of the different bands tried to reason with them, but the Patrols were not interested in words. Whenever they spoke, they preached their mission was righteous and in the name of The Creator. The nomads did not understand, but everyone soon learned the Patrols only came to the plains for two reasons. To take any females they captured back to the Great Cave with them and to massacre the men.
Blaze closed his eyes against the memories of death. He felt hot, angry tears burn behind his eyelids. He remembered the last great celebration of the nomads. It was a wedding, and even though travel had become dangerous because of the constant movements of the Patrols, the clans decided to meet and celebrate the union anyway. Even still, the gathering had been different. There were no competitions, no sports, or trials of strength. The wisest and bravest of the clans instead sat in a circle and discussed what to do about the invasion of the Patrols from the mountain. Blaze, then only twelve, and still one winter away from being considered a man, sat at the edge of the group and listened.
The arguments raged on and on into the night. One side wanted to attack and fight the Patrols. Another spoke of negotiating peace. A third group wanted to leave the plains altogether and search for a new home far away from the danger. Blaze watched as men and women stood and said their piece. Each would turn to address the row of leaders, a group made up of the head of each clan, and try to explain why one option was better than the others.
Among the leaders was a tall, red-haired young man, Blaze’s older brother, Cedar. He listened attentively and nodded to some, showing his agreement, while frowning at the arguments of others. Blaze watched Cedar’s face carefully, wanting to see his impression of what was being said because, in Blaze’s mind, Cedar was the smartest and bravest person in the world. Even though Cedar was only twenty-one winters, he was already the leader of the nomad clan he and Blaze lived with. When Patrols killed the first chief in a raid the year before, Cedar was the unanimous choice to replace him, even though other clan members were older and more experienced. Blaze was very proud to be the little brother of the clan’s young chief.
Eventually, the first hints of dawn approached and Lance, the most senior and therefore head of all the clan leaders, rose and told the still undecided group to go get some sleep. “A wedding, a time of joy and celebration, is set to take place i
n the morning. Let us not dwell on these evils today. Besides, it only seems fair to let the groom have a few hours’ sleep,” Lance turned and grinned at Cedar. "From the look of his beautiful mate, even this young buck will need it.” There were chuckles from the others as they agreed and left the gathering. Blaze walked with his brother back to the large tent where their clan slept.
When they entered the tent, Blaze saw Willow, Cedar’s soon-to-be-wife, waiting up for them. She had a kettle of water on the fire and made the two young men a quick cup of chamomile tea to help them unwind from the stresses of the long day of meetings. Cedar sat down beside Willow and wrapped an arm around her. They kissed, and Blaze could see how much they loved one another. He felt happy thinking about the two of them together for life. Their union would be good for his clan as well as the others.
Willow was an incredible woman. Her hair was golden, and her eyes were bright blue. She was smart, a good hunter, and quick with a knife. Blaze had overheard many in his clan say Cedar was a lucky man. Willow came from another band, and everyone knew not all young men and women in unions between nomad tribes were so fortunate. Everyone agreed Willow would make the young leader a good wife and a powerful ally as well as unite two powerful clans who hunted opposite ends of the vast high desert.
Blaze drank the rest of his tea and went to lie down on his bedroll beside the fire to sleep. He dozed off watching Cedar and Willow talk quietly with their heads together in the firelight. They looked serious and concerned, and Blaze knew they were speaking about the troubles with the Patrols, even though today was their wedding day and they should be happy and be rejoicing instead. For Blaze, it was the best time ever and he could hardly wait for the celebration. With a sigh, he snuggled down under his blanket and knew the day to come would be one to remember.
