Page 96 of Evan and the Alpha

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Evan

Evan. Evan, can you hear me?”

I open my eyes slowly, then shut them again as the sun burns into them. Or suns. There are two suns.

Right. We’re back on Veda-3. I wince again. My entire body aches.

“Evan!”

“Ow, yeah, okay. I hear ya.” I try to twist to the side, a low groan escaping me. I swallow, then open my eyes again, peering out at the desert landscape. “What happened?”

Min and Ge-Ro tower over me; the suns are both behind them, casting them in deep shadow. Behind them, the desert dunes seem to stretch on for miles, while the sky simmers up from the horizon, endless and aching.

Aching. Yeah, I ache. Everywhere. Fuck. I press into my hands and slowly lift myself into a sitting position, trying not to spin with the world as it seems to veer out of control.

“We lost one of the engines,” Min says. “I did my best to keep us level, but we hit the dirt a little harder than I wanted.”

I reach up and touch my forehead, finding blood there. “Don’t,” Min says sharply, and I drop my hand. I look up at her. “You’ve got dirt all over your hands; you don’t want to put sand into that cut and get an infection.”

I wince again. Min sighs. “I did my best, but the ship had pretty limited supplies.” I notice she has gauze around her wrist, a kind of makeshift splint almost. Ge-Ro’s leaning all his weight to his left leg; his right ankle looks funny.

I peer out at the desert. “So, uh … where are we?”

Min gives another deep sigh. “Somewhere in the desert. I was aiming for the city, but …”

She shrugs. I get it; lost engine pretty much sums everything up. I swallow again. “How far out are we?”

Min shakes her head, but Ge-Ro peers around, shading his eyes with his hand. “About … two, three days on foot?” He doesn’t sound entirely sure. Or maybe he’s not sure how long it will take because of the state of disrepair the three of us are in.

“’Kay,” I murmur.

“It would be faster by boat,” Ge-Ro murmurs, but we don’t have a boat. And I definitely can’t swim all the way back to the city.

I take another deep breath, then put my hands on my belly. There’s no movement.

My stomach gives a sick lurch. It’s okay, I tell myself. It’s okay—it’s the middle of the day. Baby’s less active in the middle of the day. Maybe they’re sleeping.

I look up at Min. “Can you walk?” she asks, offering me her hand.

“I think so,” I agree. I get back to my feet awkwardly. Baby still doesn’t move.

“We have to get moving,” she informs me flatly. “The tents went up with the engine—so did most of our supplies. We’ve got a bit of water, a little bit of first aid, and some food.”

“We’ll have more water if we can make it to the river,” Ge-Ro says. Then he adds, “I can catch something.”

We all look at his ankle doubtfully, but none of us say anything. Min glances away. “Sure,” she says at length, “but it still doesn’t solve the big problem: we’re out here with one blanket between us and no shelter and the nighttime temperatures are going to drop wickedly.”

“We can build a sand shelter,” Ge-Ro says. “And maybe a fire.”

I sigh, pressing my hands into my back. “The suns are up now,” I say. “So we might as well walk and see if we can get any closer. Maybe we’re not as far out as we think we are. Or maybe we can make it to the river or build a sand shelter or find some firewood or something.”

Thinking about those things is easier than thinking about how there’s no movement in my belly.

“Firewood?” Ge-Ro asks as I shuffle off into the sand, over the first dune, Min not far behind.

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