Everyone here is broken somehow. The only choice is how we carry the pieces.
By morning, Sara is gone. Took water, some dried meat, and disappeared into the pre-dawn darkness. The only sign she was ever here is a message scratched in the volcanic glass: “Settlement is safer.”
Smart. She survived Gresh for six years by being practical, not sentimental. She knows what's coming for us. Can smell Vek's determination on the wind just like we can.
“Will she make it?” I ask.
“Settlement is two days south. She'll make it.” Khor packs our supplies, the vials of secretion secured carefully. “Survivors always do.”
Eighteen days to decide which broken I choose to be.
MARA
DAY 13 - MORNING
The route we took to the crater is gone. Volcanic slide during the night, tons of black glass now blocking the main path. We stand at the edge of the destruction, our packs heavy with harvest vials that we can't afford to lose.
“New path.” Khor studies the options. “Through the lowlands. Longer but no choice.”
The lowlands mean exposure. No ridge cover, no defensive positions. Just flat stretches of cracked earth and the occasional dead tree. But he's right. No choice.
We descend into the heat. The temperature here is worse, trapped between ridges with no wind. My feet are still healing from the obsidian cuts, each step reminding me of the damage. But we keep moving. The payment must be delivered by Day 24, and we're three days from home.
By midday, we find the first dead zone in the territory.
Not like the ones near the crater. This is older, maybe a month. The ground is white with mineral death, crystallized in patterns that spiral outward from a center point. Nothing grows here. Nothing will grow here for years.
“Third one this season.” Khor's voice is flat. “Territory is failing.”
We circle it, adding distance to our journey. The sun beats down without mercy. My water is rationed, just enough to keep moving. The tonic makes me need less, but not none.
As we walk, I notice the marks. Scent markers on rocks, scratches on dead trees. Fresh. Maybe a day old.
“Vek?”
“Yes. He's been through here. Marking.” Khor examines one mark closely. “Not just marking. Claiming. Trying to establish presence in my territory.”
“Can he do that?”
“He can try. Won't hold unless he can defend it.”
More marks as we continue. Not just Vek now. Other scents mixing with his. At least two, maybe three other males. They're moving as a group, marking together.
“Alliance.” Khor says it like it tastes bad. “Young hunters joining together. Happens sometimes when they think an older hunter is weakened.”
“Are you? Weakened?”
“I'm carrying full payment and traveling with an unbonded female. To them, that looks like opportunity.”
The sun begins its descent when we find another dead zone. This one is fresh, maybe three days old. The edges are still expanding slowly, killing the scraggly grass as we watch.
“What causes it?”
“Don't know. Started same time as water failures. Planet changes. Dies. Regenerates. But this feels different.” He touches the edge carefully. “Wrong.”
We're forced to go even further around. By the time we find shelter for the night, full dark has fallen. The temperature plummets immediately. Desert extremes that make my teeth chatter despite the transformation.
The shelter is just a depression in the rocks, barely enough to block wind. No thermal vents here. No comfortable furs. Just stone and cold.
