Pilot, Lucia and Benson escaped the nursery with the caretaker and children in tow. Benson didn’t make a peep for the entire journey, even when they darted past the fountain square and a crazed invader flung a pile of cobblestones at their group. The salvo exploded into shards against the nursery building, showering Pilot while he shielded the children from falling debris.

Annie barked when she saw their pack, bolting from the nook Pilot had left her in. She joined them, licking all the bare skin she could get to.

They joined the tail end of the fleeing citizens. For what was effectively a mass evacuation, it was remarkedly quiet. The cocktail of fear and anger and dashed hopes was offset by how few people were around. Without a mob of people, there was no Mob. Pilot’s meagre group was just a dozen pairs of cold feet scampering away from the roaring flames like frightened mice.

In the distance, each scream was distinguishable and isolated. They felt personal. Direct.

Once they cleared the city, they joined a mass of residents taking refuge on a hill to the north-west. Some held their worldly belongings in their arms, others lay on the damp grass and wept. All of them had lost their home for the second and final time.

Ourense weathered the asteroid, but it couldn’t handle the savage people who came after.

Lucia bumped into Pilot. She held Benson with one arm, the child’s face buried in her neck. He was asleep. Somehow.

“Hi again,” she said. “I didn’t get the chance to thank you, so…thank you.”

Pilot smiled. “It’s all good. You should really be thanking Old Ollie. If he didn’t mention the nursery, I would’ve been one of the first ones up here.”

“Where’d he go? Ran off and left you to do the hard work?” She chuckled as she spoke, then her smile dipped when Pilot didn’t emulate her amusement.

“Invader shot him with an arrow. Straight out of the bar, barely a step off the kerb.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah.”

Pilot took a deep breath, letting it out in a puff of steam as he stared down on the city. It reminded him of a painting he’d seen of The Great Fire of London. Flames stuck to the tallest buildings like corrosive glue. The smaller houses and buildings were engulfed by the towering pylons of fire around them.

“Why would anyone want to do that? What purpose does it serve?” he asked.

“Your guess is as good as mine. We call them Cons, though. Short for Conflagrators. Most of the bastards have some kind of fire-related Power, and they use it about as much as they can. They get a lot of practice, so they’re pretty handy with it. Few travellers have come in recently, just like yourself, telling us what was coming. I guess we didn’t want to believe them.”

Lucia shuffled in the grass, scratching her shin with her spare foot. Her black pants were torn at the thigh in two places. The blood leaking out indicated that the holes weren’t there for fashion purposes.

“How’d you get those? I’m guessing it has to do with why you left the bar before me, but arrived at the nursery after?”

She glanced down at the ripped fabric and grimaced. “I’m honestly more pissed off about ruining these pants than I am my leg. The asteroid killed my entire wardrobe, and these were the only pair of pants I found that fit. Searched three whole blocks of houses for ‘em. Turns out my neighbours had better fashion sense than they let on.”

Pilot nodded. “And the part about the nursery?”

“I…tried to get back to my home. I’d left some things there, things that reminded me of Before.” She paused for a moment. “I couldn’t get them all. Paid the price when a dumb fuck Con threw a bunch of shit at me as I left.”

She fished around in her pocket and produced a medal. It had a circular green wreath at its base, with four arrows pointing into the centre. On top of that was a blue circle, and a figure holding a sword in the centre.

Pilot recognised it. He knew someone that had one, a military man who became a commercial pilot after sustaining a nasty leg injury.

Cruz Laureada de San Fernando. The Laureate Cross of Saint Ferdinand.

He opened his mouth to ask about it, but Lucia just smiled weakly and put the medal away.

Soon, people started to move. The ones with food stuffed in bags tried to escape into the shadows with their hauls. People noticed, attaching themselves to the well-prepared person or persons. Voices were raised and fingers were pointed when one young man claimed that a similar-aged girl had stolen his can of carrots and peas. They argued for a while before realising that not a single person was interested in their quarrel.

Again, it was every man for himself.

Pilot and Lucia, along with Benson and Annie, headed south-east, around Ourense. They gave the city a wide berth, avoiding sightlines that would grant the Cons a fresh target. The criminals would have to have eagle-eyes to see them in the dark, but it wasn’t worth testing. For better or worse, none of the other refugees joined them.

The moon cast off enough light to guide their path. Pilot spotted a hedgehog ambling along in the darkness and tried to control it to no avail. It was an exploratory exercise — the hedgehog was rather large, and he was pretty sure it didn’t count as a rodent anyway.

Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

Having learnt from the previous night’s mistakes, Pilot suggested they set up camp as soon as they breached the edge of the forest. He went about ripping down branches for two ‘beds’, and Lucia gathered dry wood for a fire. Only when Pilot lit the first match did they realise that a fire would be a beacon to any prowling Cons. Pilot snuffed the match. It would be a cold night.

Lucia insisted they put their leafy mattresses together and place Benson between them while they slept. She had no concerns about the closeness, nor any embarrassment when she pulled down her pants to her knees to clean her two wounds. She said no to using the gauze — they’d have to do multiple laps around her thigh to keep it in place, and that was just too wasteful.

Eventually, they climbed onto their bristles and pretended it was comfortable. Pilot didn’t think he’d be able to sleep in that awkward position — Benson’s itchy hair just below his chin, Lucia’s arm digging into his ribcage, his hip bone already aching — but he drifted off soon enough.

He dreamt of the girl’s muted face and glowing eyes.

She reached out with her left hand, her tattered sleeve dripping blood, then wine, then olive oil. She made a ‘come here’ motion, and Annie trotted up out of the viscous dream fog and sat on her foot. The girl gave her a scratch behind one ear, much like Pilot was doing in Javier’s bar.

Then the scene changed. The girl sat on the floor of the destroyed house, not far from where he’d seen her before. She was rocking back and forth, a blue aura surrounding her feet and hands. A mangled body lay in pieces on the ground around her, steaming.

What the hell? What did she do?

He tried to walk to her but couldn’t. His feet were bound to the floor, invisible roots securing him to this specific room and angle. He waved his hands and a swirl of dust shifted around him like monotone confetti.

The girl looked up. She stopped rocking, but now her bottom lip trembled. Her eyes found his, and she spoke.

“What’s your name?”

*

Lucia awoke in a foul mood. Apparently Pilot shuffled around too much, which kept Benson awake, which kept her awake. It didn’t help that the pine needles on the ground were stabbing through her ‘mattress’ and into her skin like…well, needles.

“I slept rather well,” Pilot proclaimed, earning himself a scowl. “Feels like someone took a piece of sandpaper to my hip bone, but other than that, I’d do it again. Didn’t appreciate the funky dreams and hunger pangs, though.”

Lucia looked up from inspecting her leg. “Funky dreams? Not about me, I hope.”

He laughed. “God no. There’re about this girl. She’s got these glowing blue eyes and…well, she isn’t doing too great. I’m not sure how much of it is real, or maybe none of it is. She even looked me dead in the eye and asked my name.”

They sat in silence for a while. Pilot looked around for an unexpecting squirrel, wishing he’d eaten dinner rather than drinking that sour wine. He’d grown lax and lost his sense of caution the moment he stepped onto that bridge over the River Minho. He thought making it to Ourense was the final piece of the puzzle, but it wasn’t. It was a steppingstone, one that immediately sank into the pond after he shifted an iota of weight onto it.

Sank like a cat in a fucking bag. And now I’m here.

He thought about where they would go next. Ourense was good, but the larger population meant more survivors. Which meant more Cons. They needed to find someplace that was big enough to have a few survivors and some lasting infrastructure, but not so big as to be worth ruining.

It was a big choice to make on the third day of his new life. And there was something else to keep in mind — how would he develop the Gem’s Power? The nomadic life would be better for training his capabilities than big-city living. It seemed to work for the Cons. They were like Genghis Khan’s Mongolians, traversing the world and conquering all that lay before their army.

And if I’m going to have a chance against them, I’ll have to do something more special than telling a couple mice where to go.

An army of bears would be nice. Maybe a lynx or two.

“Hey Lucia, do we have wolves in Spain?”

“Iberian wolves, yep.” She paused for a moment and squinted at the canopy above them in thought. “Actually, probably not anymore. There were only a couple thousand of them Before. I can’t imagine their numbers fared too well.”

“Damn. Thanks for the bad news.”

Before leaving camp, they ripped apart the branches that made up their mattresses and tossed them into the dewy undergrowth. The tepee of sticks that was their failed campfire was scattered. The last thing they wanted was to leave a trail for Cons to follow.

“Sorry to harp on about it,” Lucia began, “but can I ask why you need to know that? I’m guessing it’s something more than just caring for nature?”

Pilot ran a hand through his hair, clearing a blonde strand from his eyes. It was at the length where the tips constantly wheedled their way past his eyelashes and blocked his vision.

“I suppose I can tell you since you already showed off your Power. Mine’s called Animal Authority. Basically, I control rats and things. Like a reverse Ratatouille.”

Lucia laughed. “Oh I fucking loved that movie. I was like, twenty-something when I first watched it, but it still ended up one of my favs. It seems weird that my kids have no idea what it is.”

“Oh, there’s more than just Benson?”

Her face fell. “There was. Benson is the youngest of three.”

Pilot didn’t push for more detail.

They headed south, following the fringe of the forest and kicking up dust on a dirt track. It was uncomfortable being in plain sight, but the mountains rising up on either side made for some decent natural cover. With the River Minho so degraded, the whole area was dry. The vibrant trees that used to grow along the riverbank were jaundiced and droopy, whilst the sheath of long grass covering the mountains looked crisp. Annie nosed her way through, stopping every now and then to raise a leg or check on her human’s progress.

After a few thirsty kilometres, Lucia retrieved Benson from Pilot. They’d been carrying the boy in shifts, which he didn’t seem to mind. Lucia’s wound was also looking a lot better; there wasn’t any of that yellowy liquid that stuck her pant leg to her skin and had them both worried about infection.

“You know, Pilot, I’m starting to think you’re planning on crossing right over the Mediterranean and landing us both in Morocco. Can you tell me where exactly we’re headed?”

Pilot ran his arms in windmills, easing out the soreness from holding Benson. It was still better than carrying Annie — the dog insisted on licking his ear at every opportunity.

“I don’t have an exact plan, but I can assure you that bathers won’t be required. Lord knows how long it would take to find a decent-fitting pair. Anyway, the current goal is a little place I used to fly over — you hear me tell Old Ollie that I used to give flying lessons?”

Lucia nodded.

“Yeah, well, there’s a place out here called A Gudiña. Barely more than a thousand people. Nice folks though, I’m sure. Always waved when we flew low.”

“Okay, A Gudiña, I know of it. But why, exactly? I’m happy to follow along — not complaining — but I don’t understand why we’re suddenly doing the goddamn Camino pilgrimage instead of hunkering down and trying to survive.”

They walked on while Pilot came up with a reply. His feet ached. Little white stones dug into his heels. He was sweaty and flustered.

“It’s kind of hard to explain, and you might just turn around once I tell you, but I think something is guiding me. It’s like this magnet in my chest pulling me along — my Gem, maybe. I think that girl is waiting at the other end, and by the looks of things, I don’t have long to get to her.”

Lucia sighed. Of course she got stuck with the crazy one.