Summers was bent over the injured boy as Synel held a canteen to his mouth. The kid was too weak to say much of anything, and his arm was not looking ideal. Without knowing something as simple as blood type there wasn’t much Summers could do but clumsily stitch him up.
“Don’t think he’s going to die,” Summers began. “But his arm looks like it’s broken pretty badly. Gonna have to make a splint.”
Synel nodded, as she moved to get what they needed Summers took in the field around them. He couldn’t help but notice the mismatched clothing on the elves that lay broken and dead. Even through the carnage, he could see they were a rough looking people. Many wore various kinds of animal bones, some sewn into the clothing. Judging by their equipment alone, they were probably much like the bandits his group had encountered after their first few weeks in this world.
As the boy shifted below him, Summers noticed something strange. What he’d taken for bloodstains at first was instead the boys skin. His veins were red, bright red, spiderwebbing across every surface of his body. Now that he looked around, there were more than a few others like him.
“Huh, what-“ Summers was cut short as Asle tugged on his shirt.
She shook her head, gesturing for him to follow. Synel didn’t react as the two moved off.
“He’s a manpak,” Asle said after a moment.
Summers blinked. “A. . . what?”
“A. . . sick person?” She gestured to her arm, pointing at a vein.
“Sick how?”
A look of annoyance crossed Asle’s face, but it was gone just as quickly.
“Sometimes people are born different, cursed. The villages usually send them away. Or kill them. He’s one of those people.”
“So, like an exile?” Asle shrugged. “He’s just born that way though, right?”
Asle thought for a moment. “No, but people think they bring bad luck.”
“Asle, have you seen our luck?”
Asle tilted her head from side to side as if to concede the point.
“Besides,” Summers continued, “-if it’s just something people are born with it’s more likely genetic.” Summers paused at Asle’s quizzical expression. “Uh, I mean it wouldn’t be dangerous to us. Maybe. You ever hear of someone becoming a manpak after they’re born?”
Asle hesitated, then shook her head.
“Then no, we’re probably fine,” Summers finished.
She glanced at the kid. “Wanted to make sure you knew. If the village sees him, it could make things. . . harder.”
“No one will have to. We got the Humvee and a lot of space. That said, keep an eye on him, he’s a person. And people can get a little stupid when things get hairy.”
“Hairy?”
“Desperate,” Summers clarified.
Asle hesitated, then nodded again.
“I’m not happy helping a thief, just so we’re clear,” Synel said. “But we’re losing time and I’d rather not spend it arguing. Whatever we plan to do we should do it while we travel.”
“Right,” Summers looked at Asle. “You helped Nowak a lot with the medical stuff, think you can wrap that arm of his?”
Asle looked a little unsure before she moved to the boy’s side. He knew where that hesitation was coming from, they had enough on their plate without taking on someone else’s problems.
But, if he was the kind of asshole that could just let things like this lie, he wouldn’t be here now.
And they knew that well enough.
----------------------------------------
By the next day, they were close to the village. The boy had only awoken a few times, mostly to accept water and food. They’d propped him up in the back of the Humvee, against some equipment that wouldn’t mind a little blood while Asle explained as best they could that, no he wasn’t a slave, and no he was free to go whenever he wanted.
He’d been livelier since then, not talking, but looking more alert. The boy’s eyes were more slitted than he’d seen on most of the elves, reminding Summers of a fox. Something that was only reinforced by how the teen took in everything, appraising it.
“Why do you have those weapons?” The kid glanced to the gun at Summers’ side.
“It’s mine,” Summers answered, eyeing the kid. He had a little more color in his face, now. “You feeling up to talk?”
The boy watched him warily but inclined his head.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
“Can you tell us what happened back there?” Summers asked. “Or more importantly, your name?”
The kid struggled upright with one hand. “Roan,” he eyed Summers with open suspicion. “What did it look like? We got in a fight, and we lost.”
“. . .I can see that. Why did you attack them?”
“Thought we could steal their weapons.” His eyes drifted back to the gun before he caught himself. Summers didn’t miss the gesture.
“I’m not with them,” Summers said. “These people are. . . They’re more like. . . skeen?” Summers looked to Asle for confirmation.
“Hude,” Asle corrected with the actual word.
Roan took that in, a little shocked.
Point is they’re not really my people, not anymore.” Summers picked up one of the spare canteens and handed it to the boy.
The boy considered the gesture, looking a little uncomfortable.
“Why are you helping me?”
“Do I need a reason?”
“Strangers are only nice when they want something.”
Summers thought on that, truth was, he did want something from the kid. And if it helped put him at ease, all the better.
“Fine. I’ll make you a deal, tell us whatever you know about the area, and we’ll help you out until you think you can handle yourself. That sound fair?” Something told Summers the boy was still skeptical. “Kid, you got one arm and nothing to steal. I think you can take me at my word on this.”
Roan stared at Summers, but after a moment, his eyes drifted back to the ground.
“. . .All right.”
“Okay then. So, you know anything about the villages? We’re heading there now-“
They’re empty,” the boy interrupted.
“. . .Excuse me?”
“The villagers left a week ago. . .” He paused. “My people took what was left over. We needed the food.”
Summers looked at Synel, then Asle in turn.
“. . .Well fuck.”
----------------------------------------
After a few more hours, they’d made it to smoking wreck of what used to be a village. Roan was right. It had been completely cleaned out.
“All right, this is fine. We’re still fine. This is just a setback,” Summers said, mostly to himself. “Synel, am I right in thinking people would only leave if they thought they were a target?”
“Or if they had somewhere better to go,” Synel reminded him. “Like the cities.”
“Right. So, we just need to figure out which of those it is. According to Roan, this didn’t happen that long ago, so either they’re on the road, somewhere better defended, or they’re hiding.”
“That doesn’t matter,” Asle interjected.
Summers glanced at her, curious. “What makes you so sure?”
“This is the same size as my village, they wouldn’t have a lot of wagons, or beasts. Not enough to move everyone all at once.” She gestured to the still smoldering houses. “And we had places to leave to in case of raids. Even if they were going somewhere, they’d do it from one camp to another. So, it doesn’t matter, they’d all be going to the same place to start out no matter what.”
“I have seen that before,” Synel added. “Evacuation,” She said in English, “-as I believe you called it.”
“All right. Then the question is how do we find them.”
“He knows.” Asle pointed to Roan. “That’s how they knew the town was empty. They had someone watching the townspeople.”
Roan saw Asle’s gesture and stiffened. “How did you-“
“She didn’t,” Synel pointed out. “But you just told us that her guess was right.” She laid a hand on Asle’s head. “Good apprentice.”
Asle only just managed to school her face. And looking at Roan’s guilty expression got him thinking. There were only a few reasons a group of bandits would keep tabs on fleeing villagers, and none of them were good. That, at least, made getting a little rough with the kid easier.
He moved up beside Roan, putting a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “So, let’s have a talk. . .”
----------------------------------------
After some gentle prodding, Roan had been incredibly helpful in finding the villagers, more than Summers had expected. In a few hours, and with a few more nudges, they came across some footprints in the dirt that suggested a group had been passing to and from the area.
It was the shout that Summers could hear even over the Humvee’s engine that confirmed his suspicions. As they approached, they saw a man running from a small hill and towards a cave system far into the distance.
“Ah shit,” Summers muttered.
“That would be a lookout,” Synel said. “What now?”
“Gotta follow him. Otherwise, they’re more likely to up and leave.”
“You realize we’re chasing a terrified man back to what is almost certainly a group of terrified people?”
“You have a better idea?” Summers asked.
“No, I do not.”
They followed a man for about a mile. Eventually, they made their way down a steep ravine near a river. The Humvee tilted dangerously to the front as they hit an incline. Synel panicked until the back wheels slammed back onto the ground where they belonged.
“Shit,” Summers grabbed the side of the Humvee to steady himself. This thing was already unbalanced with that monster of a turret on top, they’d made it worse with all the extra gear they were hauling. “It’s all right, stop. We know they’re around this area anyway.”
Synel was about to reply, when a series of yells suddenly tore up from the ravine below.
“What-?”
After a few seconds, about a dozen men with spears came into view, charging directly at them.
“For fucks- they’re really doing this.” Summers looked to Synel. “Do they seriously think that’s a good idea?”
“I don’t believe thinking has come into play yet.”
“Well, they’re coming either way.”
There were at least twenty of them, most screaming what they probably thought was a war cry. Something told him they would not be open to talking right now and running might see them rolling the damn Humvee.
He racked his brain for some way to save the situation, trying to think of what Nowak would have done. He remembered the first village they’d seen.
“Show of force?” Summers said after a moment.
“What?” Synel looked at him quizzically.
Summers ignored the question, popping the door on the Humvee, raising his rifle, and taking aim on the approaching spearmen. He fired a few shots into the ground in front of them, making sure to stay well clear of the men themselves. A few stumbled, but they kept coming, a little more panicked now.
“Okay, expected that to work better.”
Summers briefly considered his under-barrel launcher, but an unlucky piece of shrapnel could injure them at pretty much any distance. And with his strength, he wasn’t sure he could take them all down in hand to hand without killing them.
“Asle fire the gun.”
“What?!” Asle asked, confusion slipping into her voice.
“Not at them.” Summers pointed to a chunk of land separating the river. “That ridge, now.”
Asle scrambled inside the turret, a moment passed, then it fired. What used to be a ridge went up in a plume of smoke, and the Humvee’s engine abruptly died. Distantly, Summers could hear Roan scream. The men that were charging at them just a moment ago hit the ground in a mixture of panic and fear.
“We’re friendly!” Summers shouted.
The men ran.