Digging deep into the rocky crust, Rye had been able to scoop up rock and dirt with a shovel he found inside the bandit checkpoint, and covered the holes he made as graves for all the children. It took some time, but eventually, he hoisted dirt for the final grave.

“There; should be all of them.” He muttered to himself, wiping the sweat from his brow.

While he worked, a strange girl, who so far seemed to have hardly any regards to the corpse she sat on, quietly watched him with a wandering gaze.

“Why are you hitting them with rocks?” She asked with a curious wonder.

“I’m giving them a burial.”

Rye expected some sort of response from the girl, but the only response was of her tilting her head.

Rye let out a sigh. “Guess I should come up with something more understanding. Let’s just say I put them to rest, in a way.”

Somewhat making a breakthrough with communication, the girl’s eyes lit up as she answered: “Oh...well what about the miss’?”

Her...? Is she referring to the bandit leader? Rye’s gaze drifted to where the leader's corpse rested muddled in a pool of her own blood.

“Definitely not.”

Resting the shovel on his shoulder, Rye squatted as he gently brushed rocks off his final grave.

“Sorry ‘bout all this kid. Glad you won’t have to become a monster like me, so sleep now, Jay.”

“Hmm…”

While Rye tidied up the area, the girl had made her way over with a finger pressed against her lips.

Giving it some thought, Rye came to realize that this girl was no mere slave. Before this, he’d heard stories where some slave traders kidnap or buy a baby they deem worthy, and raise it under heavily isolated conditions. They do this for years, until they finally grow up to be a young woman, to which they trade to high bidders usually looking for a more reserved, and ignorant, woman.

“Hey,” Rye abruptly said. “You have a name?”

“Name…?” She tilted her head upwards as if her mind had gone blank.

“Rather, what do—or did—they call you?”

Her gaze fell downwards as she stared at the ground. But after some time, she beamed with a smile at Rye:

“Traz. It 's Traz!”

“Traz it is then. Do you…” His words trailed off, and he wondered how to word his next thoughts for her to understand. “Do you know what your purpose was?”

“Um, no…” Traz raised her head, but still kept her eyes locked on him.

Why does she seem sad? He thought, before clearing his throat for his next explanation.

“You were a more...pristine slave, specially cared for unlike most slaves, who was taught only the bare minimum to survive. After a few years when you come to a ready age, those people would’ve likely sold you off to some monster for who only knows what.”

Traz attempted to imply as if she could understand what he attempted to inform her, but Rye figured all his words were probably flying straight out from her head.

“What can I do?” He shrugged off Traz and her limited knowledge. There was a bigger job on his shoulders now:

Getting back on track and to head east and regroup with another diver group.

“Now, let’s get going.”

Readjusting his supply bag to support his back, Rye touched Jay’s grave one final time. “Sleep well kid.”

“Goodbye, Mr.!” She exclaimed, waving at the grave.

Rye thought back to when he first met Jay. For how such a stubborn kid could be killed, he did quite the job in keeping his humanity above all else. ”You were more human than I ever could be, kid.”

“Hmm?”

As the girl pondered on what he meant by ‘humanity’, Rye now set his focus on finding a stable, working transport cart. Luckily, he recalled one that seemed to be working near back along his route of killing. He could only hope a stray bullet didn’t interfere with its mechanisms.

“Um, sorry, but…” Traz started, but seemed to trail off.

“Something wrong? Bathroom maybe, or are you hungry?”

“I feel.” She stopped for a moment, and scanned all around her. “My feet feel shaky.”

Rye glanced back at Traz, with his hand readying to draw his machine pistol, and saw her in a deep trance at the ground. “Where, exactly?”

Traz responded not with words, but by lifting her right arm, and pointed straight down.

“Monster? And...you feel one? A cave monster?”

“Mhm, well, more like lots of scary monsters.” She nodded in agreement.

Rye didn’t quite understand what she meant by “Feel” the monster, but his gut told him something was off.

As Rye looked at his surroundings, he noticed pebbles and gravel rumble.

“Traz, what the hell do you mean?” He shot a glare at the girl, but she kept her finger pointed down.

—Then, in an instant, abrupt tremors shook the ground, causing both Rye and Traz to falter.

But the worst of it wasn’t the shaking: it was the horrific screeching that echoed from where Rye and his diver group had been ambushed. The walls, the floors, even the ceiling; the screeching only seemed to grow louder with each passing moment.

“Shit...Ravagers! But this should still be too close to the city for them…” Rye bit down on his teeth as a lingering fear was practically around the shadows.

Typically after a battle, Ravagers were attracted by gunfire to eat the bodies of the remaining dead, or living, depending on who was dumb enough to stick around. But they were often great distances away from cities due to special programs for killing off the beast with chemicals to be considered a major threat.

Rye tried calming his breathing in hopes to stabilize his mentality. He knew if he kept a calm mind, it was his key to survival. But if he made even one error, an army of tiny, quivering bugs would devour him in a matter of seconds.

In the confines of his mind, he recalled an additional problem now attached to him:

“Traz!”

The girl looked around with her curious gaze, and without knowing herself, had slowly formed a grin.

Poor girl has to deal with this as well as everything before.

His mind told him to focus on the girl before eventually deciding it was time to act. With no further hesitations, Rye took hold of Traz’s hand and took a sprint for the spare Transport cart.

Behind, he could hear the festering prickling of thousands of Ravagers clawing their way through the rocky tunnels. A single creature was nothing but a small brown bug, which even a child could kill just by stomping on it.

But a thousand? Ten thousand? A spiral could probably only kill a fraction of them. Their rigid shells and iron-like claws were what helped them to mine through the tunnels at fast speeds.

Rye sprinted as fast as he could, but the girl had a hard time keeping up with him as her short legs could only go for so long. With the sounds rapidly increasing from behind, Rye managed to spot the cart he saw from earlier, and prepared himself by taking a deep breath. With the cart in close enough range, Rye managed to swing Traz upward to a position where she rested on his shoulders, making up for her lack of speed.

“H-hey…?!” She stammered, now facing behind Rye, and watched as a swarming darkness rushed straight at them.

“Rye. Call me Rye, understand? For now, ready yourself!”

Traz gently tilted her head in wonder as she was in awe from the view of an avalanching force of shadow. But, before she could reply, Rye tossed her inside the transport cart. She landed against an unfamiliar cold hardness, yelping “Hmph!”. Rye followed her by lifting himself up and readying next by the lever.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

A horror which felt like a non-stopping horde of Ravagers approached them. Their claws gnawed at rocks and dirt boomed across the tunnels, creating a rumbling echo.

Rye wrapped his hands around the lever, and felt the cold handles of the backside lifter. With haste, he stood and began lifting the bar up, then forcing it down. Slowly, they began making speed.

—Only slowly. They still needed time to build momentum.

“Shi...it! Sh...hit! Ssss...fuck!” Rye did his best to lift his side of the lever, but without the secondary person for the opposite side, it meant double the work needed to be put in.

Next to him, Traz calmly sat in her seat. She gazed at the mystifying works of the lever, watching how when Rye pulled up, the other end would go down, and vice versa.

“Damnit...Traz, look inside my bag, lowest pocket, and grab the red cans!”

Hearing her name, she switched her wandering gaze to Rye. “Hmm?”

“Heh, guess that’s not gonna work for you. Let me see… ‘Traz, get that’.” Pointing at his backpack, she followed the direction in which his fingers pointed, grabbing hold of the bag. “Fine work! Now, look at the...damnit, how would she understand ‘lowest’?”

While his fickle mind for a synonym, Traz called out with curiosity. “Hey Rye, what is this?”

“Huh? What...damnit kid!” Looking to find that Traz was already halfway through his bag of survival materials, a few red canisters dropped to the floor.

“Oooh, what is this?” Picking up the uniquely colored canisters, she couldn’t help but bright up as she had been absorbed by the strange devices.

“An incendiary. It’s a mix of filtered alcohol and an easy to use lighter-free and timer mechanism. Though, I’m sure it all went through your head…” Rye couldn’t help but sigh as he checked to see if they had gained any ground from their increasing momentum.

And as he turned his head to look back, a Ravager landed square on his face.

“Son of a—!” In an instant reaction, Rye swiped the bug from off his face, and tightly squeezed until its insides gushed out.

“Traz, I don’t know if this is too much to ask of you, but do you see those strings on the side?”

She looked down at the strange item, noticing a singular thread of string on top connecting down to the bottom. She lifted the item and lightly plucked at the string to see if she was right.

“No! Er, I mean yeah, but no! Pull the string once I say so, then toss the thing behind. Got it?”

With a deep breath, Rye put his strength to surpass his limit and more so they could outrun the filth of bugs with enough space to throw incendiaries. He waited for the right moment as they picked up speed, until…

“Now!”

Pulling the string away from the incendiary, Traz was able to clip off the trigger.

“Great, now toss!”

Increasing his speed while maintaining a steady momentum, Rye tried his best to crouch from the fiery head that was soon to follow. But looking up, his expression turned to horrified once he saw Traz still holding the bomb.

Does she not understand toss?!

In a few moments, they would be dead. An end caused by a child's ignorance. Unless, if only she knew some other words similar to toss...

“Toss, throw, fling, deliver, send...shit, what else?! Lob…? Traz, please!”

Her ears perked at the sound of ‘lob’, and she quickly ‘lobbed’ the incendiary behind Rye. An instant later, the bomb engulfed a portion of the area behind, but was quickly swept away by darkness from the heavy amount of Ravagers.

“Oh so you understand lob? Well, whatever keeps us alive isn’t hurting us now. Keep ‘lobbing’ the bombs!” He shouted, hoping Traz would understand that. But once he looked up, he saw something unexpected—her lips had managed a slight grin.

“Traz! Keep on lobbing!”

Returning back to Rye’s bag, she quickly grabbed a few other bombs lying on the floor. One by one, she triggered and tossed them. Small patterns of light reached out from behind Rye. It may have not been enough to kill the swarm, but now they were at least slowing them down.

She lobbed and lobbed to her hearts content, and with each incendiary she threw, the more clearly she expressed her enjoyment in doing so. The wind from moving forward on the transport cart fought against the opposing force of explosions caused by the incendiaries, which had made her greasy hair fly back and forth.

***

“Gah!”

Rye let out a tired sigh as he plopped on the floor. He felt as if his body's energy had been completely drained, and so far, he couldn’t tell exactly how long it’s been since their escape from Ravagers. To him, it practically felt like days.

“Mr. Rye?”

Traz peered over Rye from her seat.

“Yes...Traz?”

Over the course of time that he had been giving the transport cart speed, Rye used this opportunity to try and teach Traz a few words, and the objects associated with names around them. He taught her rocks, satchels, transport carts, bombs, clothes, and guns. He found it hard to believe at first, and would have expected her to know at least a good amount of things, but she really did have little knowledge about the world.

He even delved into proper etiquette and the basis of respect, but that seemed to hardly interest her. Least she got the “Mr” part.

“I know your name now, but what of the people we left behind? What were their names?”

“And how exactly would I know all that?” Rye glanced at the girl, who curiously eyed him back. “All you need to know is that they’re a bad group commonly referred to as bandits.”

“Meanie bandits!” Traz raised her hands as if they were in front of her, and swiped at them.

The girl reminded him of an eager child learning about the above, and the many questions they’d ask.

“For all these questions, I oughtta find you a book rather than having an old man teach you. Though, if you do want to learn firsthand how to survive, arm explosives without accidents, or to clean firearms properly; I’m probably one of the best alive.”

“Ooo! Teach me more about those ‘incendiaries’ please!”

“Heh,” Rye couldn’t help but chuckle, lifting himself from off the floor. “For now, all you need to know is fire comes from it, and how dangerous they can be.”

“Aw…” Traz lowered her gaze and sulked, pouting her lips out like a child.

What more does she want to know? How the damn thing works? Or how to make them? What makes a kid her age want to know something like that…

Her age? A thought popped in Rye’s mind: He had never asked how old she was. “Hey Traz, how old are you?” He asked, trying to keep it simple and coherent.

She lifted her gaze upwards, quickly changing from pouty to curious. “Hmm?”

“She doesn’t understand that… What about your age? Or years of life, maybe?” Rye had hoped she would know at least one phrase, but a simple nod of no to each crushed that line of thought. He thought of her to be around ten, but it still wasn’t good for a child to not know their own age.

Thinking of another way to look at it, Rye lifted his finger with his next question:

“What about parents? Do you know what happened to your mom or dad? Any siblings; brothers or sisters you might remember...?”

Rye stumbled on his words, knowing there was another word he was missing. Then, it hit him:

“Or rather, do you happen to recall anything involving your family?”

Traz’s eyes wandered from corner to corner, searching the depths of her mind in any memories of her family.

“Sorry…the people are all I can think of!” Her gaze landed on Rye. She didn’t seem sad, just confused on why he would ask such a weird question.

Figures she wouldn’t recall any family. If I were to say, she most likely was taken from the bandit party at a young age. Even if it was through forceful means…

“Well Traz, I ought to take you somewhere safe. I know of a decent town in a detour further down this route, and it’ll only take about a day or so more until we reach it. How's that sound?”

The small flame burning in her iris partially died hearing his words, and she turned the other way. She made sure to emphasize her pouts to be a little more noticeable than normal, along with her cheeks more puffed out.

“Hey, c’mon now, don’t be like that. You’re too young to be traveling the path I tread, and you still have a lot more growth you need before you can fully decide to become what I am.”

His words made no difference in cheering her up. She actually seemed more pissed than relieved.

“Fine. Once we reach the city we’re heading to, I’ll show you how much better it is there rather than here.”

“I won’t change. This is more fun than anything I’ve ever done!” Traz declared with a fierce expression.

Moving over to the lever, Rye rested his body on the cold bar, giving his mind some time to mentally prepare for the physical tortue that awaited him. “We won’t know until you try. Who knows, maybe you’ll have fun?”

“Hmph, throwing those pretty things was so much funner!”

The old man sighed at the girl who stuck her tongue out at him.

“Expected time of arrival should be around a day, hopefully, so get some rest.” Rye began lifting the metal handle up, then down. Slowly, the transport cart began to move. “...and a quick grammar lesson, ‘funner’ is used only when you absolutely mean it.”

***

A couple hours later, Rye saw the signs of the nearby ‘Vinisi City’ fly by. Atop her claimed seat, Traz slept next to the only lit lantern onboard their transport cart.

The air felt cool as they sped across the tunnels. Finding a moment in between lever rotations, Rye had been able to put his coat over Traz as a blanket, before immediately rushing back to move the cart.

Should be seeing the turn warning any second now.

Sure enough, painted signs with yellow arrows pointing left came to view, and Rye had to make sure he was prepared for the turn.

Here goes to not malfunctioning. He thought, gripping the direction shifting gear, and pushing a stern left. In response to Rye, the cart began wobbling around, until the entire thing quickly shoved its way onto a diverging railroad. With the sudden change of direction and bumps, Rye had to double time to make sure they kept up the momentum so the cart wouldn’t slide off.

“Owie!” Traz groaned, finding her hand gripping on the side for dear life to fight against gravity. “May you please be a little safer!”

“Wait a little longer. After this curve should be—”

As they zoomed, and several bumps later, they began slowing down into one of the many entering lanes for the city port.

On the side of them, were other various kinds of carts. On their left was a business transport cart, where it could store a maximum of fifty people and was used for city officials to move around the city.

As their cart screeched to a halt, a ramp for their cart came down, which had several armed guards standing watch for the sudden intruders. “...your new home!”

“Mr. Rye...I feel bad.”

“Bad? Like how bad?”

Rye batted a worried glance at Traz, who held a hand over her mouth. “Like ‘shit’ bad.”

“Hey now, language.”

But Traz ignored Rye’s scolding tone, and proceeded to lean over the edge of the cart.

Who knew a little girl had a stomach like that? He thought as Traz puked her guts out.

He tried messaging her back to help her ease down from cart sickness, but that seemed to only make things worse as even more came out.

“Please, I don’t want to do that again.” Traz painfully led her gaze to Rye. Her face seemed like all her energy had been sucked dry.

“Don’t worry. Once you fit in here, you should never have to vomit like that again.”

Rye tried to add in some cheering words, but Traz ignored them too, continuing to vomit her guts out.