Chapter Thirty
Wandering

Elizabeth Cutler

A few days after we leave Grandmother's house, we're back on foot. The train we managed to get onto was headed for a big city and we didn't want to risk that, so as soon as we could we jumped off and managed to land with only a few scrapes and bruises. We don't know exactly where we are, but we decide to head west, probably with some vague idea that even if we can't find a community of any kind near the coast, we'll at least be able to hunt for fish and birds' eggs there.

It's going to be a couple of days' travel. Moving only at dusk and dawn doesn't allow us to cover much ground at a time, but the going is tough and though our waterskins are full when we start, we use them conservatively and still rarely have enough to drink, so I'm glad to rest and conserve our strength when the sun is high overhead and when the night sky is an inky, star-filled pool that sucks the heat out of the world.

Early this morning, we got lucky. We found an arroyo with a splurge of greenery in it – greenery that, sure enough, proved the presence of water; deep under one rocky overhang there was a pool, fed by a spring. After my scanner told us it was safe, we drank our fill, filled our flasks and allowed ourselves the luxury of washing. How long ago now it seems when we could flick a switch and stand under a shower, enjoying the stream of clean water as if it was the most natural thing in the world…

Still. For all its lack of anything approaching civilization, there was a thrilling sense of absolute naturalness about it. I'd felt so grubby and dirty for so long, it was heavenly just to feel it all just falling off me as I immersed myself; and to watch Malcolm's eyes go hungrily to my naked, wet body as I hoisted myself out again, my breasts gleaming in the shaft of sunlight that pried its way in to sparkle briefly on the water.

Needless to say, it was a while before we got around to making a camp of sorts, and setting traps for the animals that would inevitably visit the waterhole too; one of which (a big iguana) failed to notice the wire loop in time, and made good eating. We can't keep the fire going overnight, even here, because of the risk of it being seen, but at least we're warm and well fed, and there's a cleft at the foot of the rocks where we can lie together and be snug. As we're not in any particular hurry to get anywhere we can linger here a little longer, and maybe catch something else before we move on tomorrow morning.

So we settle down, and almost before the last of the light has gone I'm asleep.

Though I can't say that I feel or hear anything, I wake suddenly and find the blanket beside me empty.

I can't call out; sound travels a long, long way in the silence of the desert. But I look around desperately, and finally catch sight of him at the other side of the arroyo, standing under a rocky shelf that juts out from the wall above him.

He might be answering a call of Nature, but walking that distance from me to do it would be unusual. There are lots of creatures in the desert that are active at night, and he won't normally leave me unguarded.

Pushing aside my own blanket, I pick my way across to him. He's standing quite still, his head bent, listening to something.

"Malcolm, what are you doing?"

The shadow under the stone overhang doesn't quite hide the movement as he tries to slide something out of view into a crevice in the rock. "Nothing."

He can lie far better than that. The only thing that would put that false note in his voice is grief, deep and desperate grief.

"You've been hiding something from me." I hold my hand out. "Show me what you've got there."

He doesn't answer. Instead he lifts up a rock and brings it down into the crevice, hard, so that something small shatters into a dozen pieces.

I pick out a couple of them. He doesn't try to stop me; he knows I'm no engineer, even if we had the tiny, delicate tools it would take to even attempt a resurrection.

I can recognize what's left of an audio player, though.

"Malcolm, what have you been listening to?"

He doesn't answer. He doesn't have to. I know why he came out here alone – so that I wouldn't have to listen to a recording of what happened after Marla Moore's transmission from the station was cut off; after there was nobody left to see what happens to traitors when they surrender themselves, especially under conditions that their captors find more than inconvenient.

At a guess, he's listened to it before – probably when he was out alone, hunting. But I can't help but feel there's significance in the fact that he wants to listen to it again now, as we set out on the next phase of our life.

I put a hand on his shoulder, which is rigid under my fingers. After a moment his other hand comes to rest on it but there's no warmth in the contact: none.

"Oh Malcolm," I whisper in despair. "Why did you put yourself through that?"

He steps out of the overhang. The white light of the moon spills down his face, and it's cold and hard, like that of the executioner he used to be.

"So that I'll know exactly what sounds Amanda Cole and Eloise Chastain will have to make before I finally let them die."

There's no point whatsoever in pointing out that after what she did, Chastain will be extremely well protected, if not well thought of. It seems she and Hernandez must have been lovers at some point; presumably they'll share a bed again. As for Amanda, now she's so high up in Austin's administration, she'll be pretty well unreachable, especially now Malcolm no longer has a shred of the power he used to have. And it won't look good for the Empire if either of its useful tools meets some unforeseen and messy end. He knows that, better than I could ever know it, and it doesn't change a thing.

I shiver, and he steps closer to me and wraps his arms around me. It's cold out here in the desert, and we still have a long way to go.

If you have enjoyed this chapter, please leave a review. Do you think Malcolm has any chance of ever getting to Eloise or Amanda, or is he just torturing himself? Eloise's fate, if he ever finds her, seems like a foregone conclusion, but Amanda was a MACO. Does she stand a chance against him?