They began at dawn after a quick breakfast. Knives seemed much more rested but Kira insisted on pulling the cart. She was still worried about him. It was impressive he'd been able to bounce back so quickly from his severe dehydration but she didn't want him to overexert himself. She made a mental note to keep their pace slow until she was sure he'd fully recovered.
As usual, they walked in silence. She tried engaging him in conversation a few times but he clearly wasn't interested. He was probably still mulling over what had happened the day before. The deaths of the angels had been a shock to him although she wasn't entirely sure why. If he knew they'd fallen from the ark, how could he not have heard the rest? Literally every paper on the planet covered the story. Just something else to add to her never-ending list of questions about him.
Maybe he'd deserted from the No Man's Land Federal Forces during the final battle. Then he'd wandered around and somehow made it up to Delnashville… But why there? Of all the cities he could go to, Delnashville was by far the most desolate, not to mention inaccessible. If he'd chosen December or Augusta even, he could have made a decent go of it. They were both in good enough shape that the Federation would probably rebuild if they hadn't already.
Delnashville had been hit first, and it had been hit hard. Her stomach clenched as she forced painful memories from her mind. No. Not now. She couldn't think about it right now or she'd be lost in depression for the rest of the day. She let out a heavy breath and glanced over at her 'charge' yet again.
He was moving with an even stride, his jaw firmly set, his attention focused on the ground. He was doing well. She could see a little sweat on his brow, but his breathing was steady. He looked determined. Strong… She couldn't stop a small smile from creeping across her lips. He certainly was gorgeous. Tall, with jet-black hair and unnaturally blue eyes—like shards of ice. He flashed his sapphire gaze at her for the briefest instant and she immediately snapped her head forward, feeling like an idiot for gawking.
They had enough to worry about. She looked down at Knives' shoes for a moment. They seemed to be holding up well enough, but she'd need to get him a decent pair as soon as possible. It still drove her crazy not knowing why the man was wearing shoes that didn't fit. He must have arrived in Delnashville with a proper pair! What—had he walked holes into them? And if so, then how long had he been there? How had he survived? It just didn't make sense!
She bit back a growl of frustration and let out a calming breath instead. When he grew more comfortable, he'd tell her more about himself. She was sure of it. Until then, she'd just have to be patient. In the meantime, he really needed some fucking shoes. And a bedroll. And about a hundred other things. He'd emptied his pack that first night—some shirts and pants. That was all he had. Fucking hell.
The Arrows waypoint was two days away. She hoped it wasn't as empty as the San Marco had become or there would be little chance of acquiring new supplies for him. It was jarring how quickly the area had changed. A little over two months ago there were people milling through the streets, socializing, trading. There was a small store, a saloon and an inn. But day-by-day, person-by-person, the population had dwindled. She sighed. If Arrows was empty too, he'd just have to make-do until Caston, the waypoint that followed it. It had a very loyal community. They wouldn't leave until the last water truck pulled away. They should have some kind of marketplace…
A soft curse from Knives caught her attention. He shook one of his feet and a small rock came tumbling out of his shoe. "Sorry," she muttered, feeling slightly accountable. "I hope your feet are okay…"
He gave her a quick glance before returning his gaze to the ground. "It is still an improvement. An occasional stone is better than blisters."
"Glad to hear it… Have you done much hiking before this?" She was hoping it was a vague enough question that he'd be willing to answer it.
He pursed his lips. "Some."
"How are you feeling—I mean with the dehydration and everything? Is the pace okay?"
"I'm fine."
Yup. Definitely not in the mood to talk. "Well, let me know if you need anything," she said in as friendly a tone as she could manage. She wished he would open up, even if he didn't talk about his past. It might make him feel better to share some of whatever it was that was weighing on his mind. Concern for the angels, maybe? Or about staying hidden from the Federation…? Or…?
Of course, she held her own pain pretty close to the chest so she couldn't exactly blame him. All she could do was wait.
x.x.x.x.x
By the following afternoon Kira had settled into a resigned acceptance. Her charge was as tight-lipped as ever. She'd tried talking for the both of them that morning, telling him a little about life in San Marco before everyone left and about her fleeting friendships with other scavengers. They weren't exactly an honorable group of people, but there had been a few she trusted enough to work alongside. There was safety in numbers. One-by-one they had left in search of more lucrative destinations and she'd been surprised to find that she missed them… or at least the fellowship they provided.
He'd listened to her rambling, acknowledging it only with the occasional sidelong glance. He didn't seem particularly interested in the topic so eventually she gave up. She let her mind drift to a checklist of things they'd need once they reached Arrows when a slight haze on the horizon caught her eye. She paused, squinting. "Fuck."
"What?" Knives stopped.
"You see that?" She gestured vaguely.
Knives squinted. "… Shit. Yes."
"Dammit. I was really hoping I was wrong." The haze seemed to be growing rapidly as they watched. No doubt about it—a sandstorm. Kira cursed again internally before ripping the tarp off their supplies. "Okay, start unloading the cart—just stack everything in a pile together. We probably only have twenty minutes or so, so lets be quick."
Knives gave her a skeptical look but thankfully didn't argue. By the time the cart was empty an intimidating wall of sand speeding toward them. Kira was actually glad for its speed—at least it shouldn't delay them for too long.
"Help me flip the cart so it covers everything—we're gonna hide under it."
He nodded and within moments their shelter was complete. The wind was already whipping grains of sand in her eyes and Kira slid her goggles down over her fabric-shielded face.
Knives narrowed his eyes and put a hand over his mouth as they crawled into the small space under the cart. "Okay," Kira said, speaking over the increasingly roaring wind, "there should be a handle beside you. If the wind picks up we might need to hold this thing in place so it doesn't get blown away. Got it?"
"Yes," he grunted.
They began bearing down against the storm. The cart rattled against the wind but stayed in place. A sudden errant gust kicked a small cloud of sand into their shelter. Knives coughed and swore fiercely. Kira reached into her pouch and pulled out the small blade. She quickly cut a wide strip of fabric off the bottom of her tunic.
"Here." She handed it to him. "Cover your nose and mouth. Sorry—no extra goggles."
He accepted and tied the fabric tightly across his face. He clenched his eyes shut as the wind continued to whistle around them, kicking up more gusts of sand. Minutes ticked by slowly, and then, as suddenly as it had started, the wind died down. Kira crawled out first, making sure the storm was really past before calling to Knives.
"Well that sucked," she muttered in annoyance.
"You've done this before?" he asked, motioning to the cart.
"Oh yeah—a few times. Super handy if you're out in the middle of nowhere!" She pulled down her face wrap and grinned broadly. "Was this your first sandstorm or something?"
"No—not at all. I've just never seen anyone combat a storm quite like this. It's surprisingly clever."
"Surprisingly! Screw you!"
He gave her a vexed look.
She couldn't contain an amused snort. "Relax. I'm teasing. And thank you for the compliment, even if it was backhanded. I've been travelling by myself since the war and it really sucks trying to hold everything down when you're alone, so having a cart I can maneuver easily and take shelter under just makes sense."
"Yes, I suppose it does." He gave her a calculating look that made her unusually self-conscious.
"Um, anyway, help me put this thing back in order."
x.x.x.x.x
As they continued on, Knives couldn't help but watch the girl attentively. Once again, she had surprised him. Not that she shouldn't know how to deal with a sandstorm—everyone on this damn planet should—but her method was so perfectly attuned to her particular requirements. Beyond that, her skills were strangely adept, even if she'd been developing them for the last year. Finally, his curiosity overwhelmed his desire to avoid communicating with her.
"How do you know how to travel so well?" At her look of confusion he explained slowly, pondering the words himself as he spoke. "You seem to be at ease, despite the physical exertion that is required. You also have an effective system for dealing with the environmental hazards. It doesn't strike me as normal for someone who spent their life in a city to have learned these skills."
"Well, I did spend my life in Delnashville, but I supposed the things you're talking about were passed down from my mother. She always taught my sisters and I to be aware of the world we lived in and to find ways to adjust to it rather than to fight it. She used to take us camping in the desert when we were kids, and taught us how to protect ourselves from the suns and the sand, among other things. So that's where I learned a few of my tricks… As for the physical exertion part, I've been dragging this cart around almost every day for over half a year. The body conditions itself." She shrugged.
"I see." He wondered if any of her family had survived the attack. He somehow doubted it. If they had, why would she be out here searching through the wreckage alone? "Are they gone? Your family?"
She stiffened, staring blankly at the sand in front of her. "Yeah," she finally answered.
Of course they were. Had they died when he took the angels? He felt the barest hint of culpability but buried it under a thick layer of denial. Innocent until proven guilty. Besides, why should the fate of her family weigh on him? He hadn't killed them himself—probably. Their survival wasn't his responsibility any more than it had been his sisters'. If anything, they had probably gotten what they deserved, like all the others who'd didn't have the strength to survive on their own. He scowled and tried to ignore the nagging voice arguing that he wasn't being entirely honest with himself.