Starting Point by patricia51
(Everyone's story has to have a starting point. Wandering ex-soldier Joshua Nolan and a child of the alien Irathient race named Irisa have theirs when their paths cross unexpectedly in the dark ruins of Denver.)
(Nolan)
God the streets are a wreck here. Of course everything is a wreck so why should the streets be different? Or this city? In fact if I hadn't passed a battered sign a while ago I would have no idea that I'm in Denver. Hell I couldn't have even said for sure I was in Colorado.
Confronted by yet another street choked with rubble I lean back in my seat and shut off the engine. I need to think and there's no point in wasting fuel while I do that. What to do? I could reverse my course and simply try to go around the city. That might be the easiest thing to do, especially based on my so far fruitless attempt to get through the rubble. The problem with that is neither the roller nor me run on air. To get supplies I need to have something to trade. Or money. And by money I don't mean the old US currency, a couple of bills of which I keep from my last military pay just for the hell of it. I mean gold or silver coins. I have a couple left over from a bank vault that didn't have much more to salvage once I blew it open. They won't last too long.
So since I can't afford to leave and I can't drive I get out of the vehicle and start climbing a likely looking pile that I hope won't collapse and bury me. It doesn't, although it teeters alarmingly a time or two. When I get to the top I don't see much except more rubble. Nothing that looks promising in the slightest.
I start to get down when something catches my attention. It's a vague smell and I sniff the breeze. After a few moments I identify the scent. It's wood smoke. One might think that in a destroyed and ruined city there would be plenty of fires. Denver was devastated at the beginning of the Pale Wars and fought over more than once since then. But the war has been over for three years now. Nothing wood stays burning for that long. Someone has made a campfire.
It's not much but it's a better clue than anything else I have to go on. So I make my way around and through the shattered buildings until I catch a glimpse of the faint flickering of a fire cast against a wall. I draw my pistol. No need to make sure it's loaded. In this world an unloaded weapon is an invitation to die, usually messily and painfully. As quietly as I can I approach until I can see the place I'm looking for.
It's well chosen; a snug little hideaway buried in the remnants of once was the basement of government or business building. The walls are solid and there's a strong steel door to close. Had I not smelled the smoke through that left open door I never would have got close enough to see the fire. I slide into the hole and look around. Fuel is close to hand, surrounded mostly by empty food wrappers of all kinds. By that I mean human as well as Votan and more than one species of the latter.
One person is all that's here I'm pretty sure, judging from the way the crumpled dirty blankets in one corner are arranged. And small too. Then I spot a book sticking out from a shelter place between some bricks. Pulling it out I examine it. And the writing is not human.
Well I'm stumped now. I can speak a bit of a couple of the Votan languages. I learned a bit Of Sensoth and some Irathient working with both races during our unofficial armistice in San Francisco that turned in the Battle of Defiance and the beginning of the end of the wars. But I never had any opportunity to learn their writing, even what it might look like.
My thoughts are interrupted by a chorus of howls. I stuff the book in my jacket pocket and get out of the confined spot I'm in. I scan the area around me, one section at a time as I was taught back in my Earth Military Coalition training. It takes only seconds to spot them. A pack of I-don't-know-what-the-hell-they-are critters that appear to be large, fast and armed with more claws and teeth than I have any desire to see up close. They vaguely, very vaguely resemble wolves but they're not; they're something twisted, mutated, most likely from the effects of the Arks' terraforming run amuck. Fortunately they're not between me and my roller and I should be able to beat a sound military retreat with time to spare.
I start to head out when the howls change to snarls and deep growls punctuated by a cut off cry. And then I m running as hard as I can towards them because of that cry. Maybe it came from a human or maybe from a Votan but for sure it's from a child.
(Irisa)
Sometimes I am so stupid. I KNEW better than to get too far away from my hidey-hole. But then I had to do something. I was so hungry. When we had first got to this city there had been lots of food hidden away in ruined houses and stores but it was all gone now. And everyone else was gone now, had been for, well, I have no idea how long.
Once I remember living in a small town. Mostly everyone else was like me but there were a few others who looked different. Everybody seemed to be scared all the time even though they said the wars were over. I don't know what happened to my parents, I don't recall them at all. I lived with an older couple who found me on the side of the road where a group of vehicles apparently trying to flee the fighting got caught and blown up.
One night there were horrible noises and screams as some group, I have no idea who they were, destroyed the town and nearly everyone in it. The older woman I lived with and a young man from next door managed to get away with me, dodging the fires and the killing.
He must have been injured because he died several days later. The woman, Somandia, and I made our way down the road on foot, reaching the outskirts of this city finally. We had no idea where else to go so we settled here and scavenged. One morning she didn't wake up and then I was alone.
As the days went by I had to go farther and farther from my place. And that's why I found myself nearly face to face with these creatures. I had seen them before but always avoided them. Until today.
I ran and I ran, dodging from one pile of ruins to another. If I can get back to the hideout and close the door I'll be safe. I know these things, after a while they will give up and go look for food elsewhere. Then my foot catches a brick and down I go, falling into a hole. Not a nice tight hole but a pit, open all around but with broken rocks and building stuff and hard to climb out of even if I had time. And I don't.
I'm an Irathient and we are fighters. I was taught that. But my ankle hurt a lot and I was scared and as the creatures ringed one side of the pit I couldn't help it. I cried. But as it turned out that was a good thing.
(Nolan)
God, I'm out of shape. I'm almost reeling but I keep on running. How I avoid falling I will never know for my eyes are fixed on the snarling pack growing nearer and nearer. I don't pray much but right now I'm praying to whatever might be listening that I reach them in time.
And I do. I come up to the edge of a pit and there's a slight figure in torn clothing at the bottom. I don't take time to look and identify him. I open fire. I empty one magazine. By the time I reload the pack is in full flight, minus the half-dozen bodies they leave behind. But I hear more howls in the distance. They'll be back and with reinforcements.
I jam my sidearm in its holster and climb down into the hole. And in spite of everything I can't help but grin. In front of me is a young Irathient girl, not more than about ten. She's malnourished and thin but her eyes blaze and she's holding a power knife that spits blue flames. Erratic blue flames, showing it's almost out of charge.
I say another prayer, this one of thanks for not only being on time but for having learned some Irathient. Whoever is out there or up there is working overtime today.
"Are you hurt? Can you walk?"
(Irisa)
At first all I can do stare. I was dead for sure and now I'm not. And this human male speaks my language. I don't know much about humans but I look in his eyes and I see only concern.
"Are you hurt?" he repeats, looking back over his shoulder as howls come from at least three different directions.
"My ankle," I finally manage to say.
He bends over and quickly examines it.
"Shtako," he mumbles.
I don't know what he is going to do. Will he leave me? Just as I have that thought he scoops me up in his arms and starts climbing. As soon as we are out of the pit he starts running.
At first I try to tell him where my shelter is. He shakes his head. When I kick up a fuss he takes my hand, STILL running and puts it against a pocket of his jacket. He's got my diary! Okay then, that was all I wanted anyway.
I hear at least one creature closing on us. In fact I'm not sure if it's only my imagination or I really can feel its hot breath. It must be close for he shifts my weight enough to draw his pistol. But how is he going to shoot?
He isn't. He presses the butt of the gun into my hand. "I hope you can use this," he gasps.
I can. I do. And then we reach his destination, an armored roller and he loads me into the right side seat. Slamming the door he staggers around the front, gets behind the wheel and we're off. We don't stop until the city is far behind us.
That evening we stop for supper and sit at the fire after we eat.
"What now?" I finally ask him.
"Do you have any family? Anywhere to go?"
I shake my head.
"Neither do I," he says. "So I guess we're stuck with each other."
I search his eyes again. They're sad but there's no evil in them. Only tiredness and compassion and a longing that I find answered in my heart. And he sees that too and takes my hand.
"I'll always take care of you," he promised.
My father has broken a lot of promises over the last twelve years. He's impulsive, especially with money and females of any and all races. He does things first and then apologizes later. I swear, every time we get ahead he blows it. Sometimes he drives me completely up the wall.
But that one promise is one he has never broken. And I know that he never will. That's why I love him.
(The end)
(Note: I know that Irisa told Tommy that Nolan had saved her by murdering her parents. Not that she has much of a sense of humor but I prefer (for this story anyway) to think that she was puling his leg.)