Nibelheim was still weeks away.
It was in the mountains, far to the north, if the maps in the vault had even been right, and at this point he wasn't sure of that much. But now, it might not matter. He raised his hand to block the heavy midday sun out of his eyes, but it didn't do much good. He couldn't deal with this heat. Back home, when they'd first gotten out, any sunlight had been a shock. Over time he'd gotten used to it, maybe even come to like it over the fluorescent lights. But this dry heat — he couldn't handle it. His sweat had soaked through his heavy shirt, and his breath came in short, shallow pants.
The ground beneath his feet was barren and dry. There were no weeds in the cracks running along the ground. He couldn't remember the last time he'd even seen a plant. Only rocks and dust.
He looked up at the long stairway and the buildings he could see up on top of the cliff before him. The stair was the only way he could see up to the town; it was a sheer drop off either side.
He knew he didn't have the strength to get up there. The last of his water had run out that morning. Same with his food. He could hardly bear the weight of the sword on his back. Climbing a thousand stairs just to get to this village was out of the question.
They were probably going to shoot him on sight, anyway. If anybody was even home. He didn't know what he'd do if it was another abandoned village.
This sucks, he thought, and started up the stairs.
There hadn't been a cloud in the sky all day, and he could swear he felt the sun burning his skin off as he trudged forward, one step at a time. He'd been lightheaded since he woke up this morning. He rubbed at his eyes. Everything was so fuzzy.
He wasn't sure how far he'd made it up, but it wasn't like the thing had railings, so he wasn't about to look down. Or sideways. He already wanted to stop and rest, but he refused to let himself. He was gonna get up there or die trying. He'd come too far for this.
Damn, he regretted drinking all that water right about now. He really, really hoped this place wasn't a ghost town.
His sword clanged against his back as he climbed, sounding out a pattern. Don't stop, don't stop, don't stop—
His vision was too blurry to see anything but the stairs in front of him by now, but he didn't care — he didn't need to see to focus on the repetitive motion of putting one foot in front of the other, of hauling himself up, one step after another. He didn't know how far up he was, or how close to the top, so that when he did reach the top, he was still moving on autopilot.
And he promptly passed out, sapped of strength.
She tended to hum while she worked.
It was a bad habit, and no matter how many people pointed it out to her, Tifa could never bring herself to stop. She would be tidying up the pub, wiping down the counters or cleaning up after a customer, and before long someone would tell her to knock it off. She'd smile and apologize, but before long she'd be at it again.
Today no one could hear her over all the activity in the pub. A caravan had come in from Corel earlier that morning, and while the merchants were all off trading their wares, the mercenaries hired to protect them had settled in at the pub for the duration.
"—and then I shot 'em right in the eye!"
Laughter filled the pub. Tifa caught snatches of the conversation as she worked, but it was hard to follow any one thread. From what she gathered, the trip hadn't gone as smoothly as the caravaners had hoped, but it had kept the mercenaries busy.
"Two more beers down here!" one of the mercs called.
"Coming right up!" Tifa pulled down two warm beers and set them on the counter. "Eight caps."
The merc pulled a handful of bottlecaps out of her pocket. Tifa made a quick count, then dumped them into the register. They were doing good business today; she would have to empty the till soon.
The door behind Tifa swung open, and Delia, the pub's owner, emerged, her arms full of plates. She pushed past Tifa, setting the plates down on the counter. "Order up! Who had the gecko steak?"
There was some commotion as food was doled out among the mercenaries, but once served they fell quiet, devouring their food. One merc didn't join the others but remained at the counter with his drink. "Aren't you hungry, darlin'?" Delia asked.
"I'll eat later," the man said. "Don't really have an appetite."
Tifa looked at him, curious. He was dressed as the other mercs were — combat armor, a shotgun slung on his back and a pistol on his hip — but he had barely touched the whiskey he'd ordered. Tifa wasn't sure why, but Delia seemed to understand. "Rough road?"
"Yeah," the man said. "We... we ran into raiders."
Tifa turned away and started cleaning the glasses by the sink.
Every caravan that came through Cosmo Canyon had stories about the raiders. They were the reason these mercenaries were celebrating their safe journey. If it weren't for the raiders, it would be easier to travel through the wastes. If it weren't for the raiders—
If it weren't for them, Tifa wouldn't be here at all.
"We were almost to Midway," the man said. "They came out of nowhere — yelling and screaming like nothing I'd ever heard. Before I knew it they were attacking, and—" His voice broke off, and he looked down at the counter.
"Drink up, son," Delia said. "You made it through, and that's all that counts. Now you just sit and take all the time you need, you hear me?"
The man took a gulp of his drink and nodded. Delia smiled and squeezed Tifa's shoulder. "You let me know if we get any more orders, alright darlin'?"
"Sure thing," Tifa said.
Delia headed back into the kitchen and Tifa returned to wiping down the glasses. There wasn't that much point to it, given how hard it was to get the grime off of anything out here, but Delia always insisted that they make the effort; it was important to keep up appearances. If the place looked nice and tidy, it made people feel better.
It was a moment before she realized the man at the counter was staring. Tifa glanced up and caught him looking at her arm with interest. "You've got one of those thingys," the man said. "Those computer things. Where'd you find it?"
"It was a gift," Tifa said with an easy smile. Easy because it was the truth. Easy because she'd answered it a hundred times before. Easy because she didn't want to think any further about it.
"Really?" The man's interest grew. "Most people who have those things don't just go givin' them away, you know. I've seen 'em go for thousands of caps in Corel."
"Guess I got lucky, then," Tifa said, sharper. The man raised an eyebrow, but didn't comment further.
Even so, Tifa couldn't fault his curiosity. She knew how valuable the bulky device around her left arm was. It was one of the rarer pieces of technology still existing in the world — a PHS, Personal Handsfree System, a wearable computer and radio, with a flashlight and built-in Rayleigh counter, the last of which was invaluable in the irradiated wasteland.
Tifa looked down at the device. She kept notes on her PHS, including her chore list for the pub and a couple of the lessons Master Zangan had taught her, but lately she'd found herself wishing she had something from her father stored in it. Over the past three years she had had a lot to regret, but what she'd come to regret the most was that she had nothing from her father. Nothing but the memories.
Had it really been three years? Already so many of her memories had faded. Her life was so different now, and the most difficult thing was that she enjoyed it. She had come to love Cosmo Canyon as a second home, and she cared for the people here. Life here was different, and harder, but it wasn't all bad.
Tifa shook her head. She didn't have time to stand around thinking about the past. The mercs were starting to clear out, and she needed to clean up after them before the merchants came in to eat. She had just come out from behind the bar when the pub door clattered open.
"Welcome," Tifa called out automatically. Her eyes widened; the two guards normally posted to the front gate were coming in, carrying a man between them. He was unconscious, his limbs dangling between them, head limp.
A red-furred creature entered the pub behind them. To most eyes he would seem like a mutated wolf or coyote, but to the residents of Cosmo Canyon he was their guardian and their leader, Nanaki. "Tifa, water, please," the beast said, and Tifa broke out of her stupor and started rummaging for the bottles of water they kept behind the counter.
She came over to the man; the guards had hauled him up onto one of the tables she'd been cleaning. "Who is he?" Tifa asked, handing the water over to one of the guards.
"No idea," one of the guards said. "Never seen him before. He didn't arrive with the caravan."
Two other Cosmo residents came in, and to Tifa's astonishment they were carrying a sword almost as tall as her, barely able to withstand the weight between them. "Leave it there," Nanaki said. At Tifa's look, he gave a shake of his head. "He was carrying it."
Tifa looked back at the man, taking in his sunburned features. He had dark hair that spilled over his shoulders. Sweat had soaked through his clothes — some kind of sleeveless knit sweater, pauldrons on both shoulders, suspenders, and thick leather pants. What was he thinking wearing such clothes here? No wonder he'd passed out. Her eyes traveled back up to his arm, and Tifa gasped as she caught sight of the device strapped on his arm — a PHS.
The clothes were familiar, like an itch at the back of her skull, but the PHS — he had to have come from —
The man coughed, swallowing down the water. He groaned, starting to wake up, and Tifa leaned forward to get a better look as the man's eyes opened, glowing in the dim light of the pub.
That glow — it's just like the raiders —
"Please," the man croaked out. "I have to get to Nibelheim."