《SANCTUARY》


 Prologue

    It was cool inside the cafe, though the air had the telltale taste of having been recycled once or twice prior. It was stale and damp, as if it had somehow retained a bit of the moisture from every body that it had passed through. Tristan shivered, suddenly aware of the faintest hint of iron on his tongue. He paid dearly for the acuity of his senses in places like these.


    Turning away from the entrance, he settled himself down in an empty seat and pulled his hood down. The seat he chose was carefully selected, tucked in the corner but still possessing a wide view of the front of the place. The table and chairs were both the dull, fake-metal grey of recycled plastic. A cheap and careworn cushion provided a bit of protection from the unforgiving, sanitary hardness of the chair.


    Everything in the cafe was equally worn out and sterile. There were two digital boards mounted above the counter, one of which had a white stripe running horizontally across it and the other with a distinctly washed-out tone to its color display. The screens were clearly long past their prime.


    A glass case displayed acrylic models of food and pastry, but even those once-perfect copies looked faded and unappetizing. There was a fly buzzing loudly inside the case, butting dumbly against the glass. All in all the place wasn¡¯t what you¡¯d call inviting, but it was nice and cool inside and not terribly crowded.


    The temperature alone was a huge relief after the stinging heat outside. Tristan savored it for a moment, ignoring the scent and salty taste of sweat. His own perspiration still beaded in the places where the cloth of his hood had rested against bare skin. Wiping it away absentmindedly, he turned to look out the glass storefront.


    The streets were almost empty, the midday heat having long since driven the masses inside and out of the sun. A few children were the notable exception, their skin freckled and hair bleached blonde from too much time spent outside. Two adults, tall and swathed in shapeless white clothing and helmets, watched over the children.


    They were imposing figures, each sporting a large gun that looked as if it hadn¡¯t been cleaned in ages. Tristan knew that was probably not the case; the guns could well have been near new. Nothing managed to stay clean for long when exposed to the constant heat and dust. Nothing and no one, he thought to himself, grimacing.


    His own clothing was worn thin and bleached to a uniform shade of near-beige. He remembered when his shirt was first given to him. It had been a soft green then, supple and comfortable and entirely different from the unrecognizable rag it had become. He brushed a bit of dust off his chest and watched , momentarily fascinated, as the particles hung suspended in the light slanting through the window.


    ¡°You gonna order anything?¡± A clipped voice close to his shoulder made him jump. One of the cafe¡¯s employees, an older woman with the unmistakable signs of skin disease taking her face, squinted down at him. Her eyes were milky white, though with age or illness he couldn¡¯t tell. He cleared his throat, wondering if she could even see him.


    ¡°Uh, yeah, sorry,¡± Tristan muttered. He averted his eyes and lifted his arm to let the loose end of his sleeve fall away. The woman held out a small reader and waved it in front of the steel band encircling Tristan¡¯s left wrist. It gave a reedy sound of confirmation and a green LED flashed. ¡°Just a coffee, please.¡±


    ¡°No coffee, sorry. We¡¯ve got chicory.¡±


    Blinking, Tristan glanced back up at her face. She looked back at him with her eyebrows raised impatiently. It took a long moment for her words to sink in. He was miles away, lost in thought. ¡°Oh,¡± he finally said. And then, more quickly, ¡°yeah that¡¯s fine. Thanks.¡±


    The woman walked wordlessly away and disappeared behind the counter. Behind her she left an unpleasant odor of mingled cheap perfume and rot. She didn¡¯t have long left, Tristan figured. Not long at all. He wiped at his nose unconsciously with a faded green sleeve and turned back towards the window.


    The children were gone, and the bodyguards along with them. Clouds had blown in, he could see. The wind was picking up and the dust outside growing restless, floating in hazy drifts down the road. He could even hear it beating the windows and sides of the building if he listened closely, a barrage of tiny grains that made him think longingly of his bed, and sleep.


    ¡°Here,¡± the serving woman had returned, interrupting Tristan¡¯s thoughts for the second time by plunking down a stainless steel cup on the table before him. She stalked off before he could offer a tip.


    Just as well, this isn¡¯t even hot. The cup was lukewarm. He took a distracted sip anyways. The taste hardly registered. Or, perhaps more likely, he was just used to the flat, bitter taste of it.


    The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.


    ¡°What is that!¡± A voice suddenly cried off to his right. He looked around and saw a number of people staring outside the window. They were all frozen, pointing. More and more people joined in and added their own gasps and whispers. Incredulity echoed around the room.


    ¡°Is it real?¡± Someone, teenaged at most, asked in amazement.


    ¡°No way¡­¡±


    ¡°It can¡¯t be, something must be wrong!¡±


    Tristan followed the commotion and found himself facing the window once more, only this time the children were back.


    And there was rain.


    The cup fell forgotten from his hand, spilling pale brown across the table.


    Outside, the steady pattering of dust had been replaced by a much less familiar, softer noise. He could see it coming down in sheets outside the window, quickly blackening the road to a mess of mud and slick blacktop. It blurred the buildings in the distance and threw up little droplets every time it hit the ground.


    Tristan stood slowly, only half aware that the spilled drink had stained his favorite shirt, and placed both hands on the glass of the window. Others around him were doing the same, all staring in transfixed awe at the water pouring down outside.


    The two children were laughing and running around in happy circles, stomping in the mud and covering their bodyguards in splatters that the men ignored completely. Both of the guards, guns forgotten at their sides, stared straight up at the sky with their mouths slack.


    For a long moment the entire city seemed deathly silent save for the rushing of the sudden downpour. People were frozen in place in the middle of their day, staring out or up or down and gawking in utter confusion at the water that poured from the clouds.


    The water that none of them had ever seen before.


    It pelted the dirty streets, sloughing off decades of oil and grime and causing the children to slide around in their play. They screamed peals of laughter into the silence while one of their bodyguards now held his hand up in front of his face, watching as water gathered and ran in rivulets down his gloved palm and into his sleeve.


    Another man, who had been riding a motorbike when it began, now stood with one foot on the ground and the bike leaning against his thigh, forgotten. His helmet was off and his face was up, his features wild with awe. He blinked rapidly as the rain fell into his eyes but didn¡¯t make any move to look away.


    Outside everyone seemed to slowly turn their gaze up, as if trying to spot where all the water was spilling from. Tristan let his palms fall from the glass of the window and crossed to the entrance. He was not alone. Half of the people in the cafe had already made their way outside. An electronic tone sounded behind him as he pushed through the door and stepped out into the rain.


    The first thing that hit him was the smell of it. All around it swirled, washing the must and heat from the sky with amazing speed. Something new drifted up from the ground; something rich and clean. He closed his eyes in spite of himself and breathed it in. It was intoxicating. A grin spread on his face.


    ¡°Rain?¡± A wheezy voice from the doorway made him turn. It was the cafe worker again, a joyous expression taking years off her pocked, red face. She had followed him outside.


    ¡°Rain¡­¡± Tristan whispered. ¡°I think it¡¯s really rain.¡±


    ¡°Real rain?¡±


    He grinned again. Damned if he knew. Part of him wondered if this wasn¡¯t all some vivid dream that he might wake up from at any second. But that smell, that smell that was so rich and so foreign in his nose¡­ Surely his subconscious couldn¡¯t have made that up.


    The children were crouching now, splashing water at each others¡¯ faces from the gathering puddles. Their delight was reflected on the face of every other person Tristan could see. And more of them appeared each second.


    In doorways, in windows, pouring out of every building. People gathered like ants to a piece of forgotten food. Smiling people, looking at the sky and feeling the rain with unbelieving, grasping hands.


    Shocked people blinking at each other with confused grins. Even the occasional frightened person, as horror-struck as if the sky had just begun to collapse.


    Another cafe patron, who walked straight past Tristan and out into the street, wordlessly raised his eyebrows at a nearby woman. She shook her head, eyebrows just as high, face openly delighted.


    An elderly man grinned over at Tristan from across the road. He had just gotten out of a car and stood laughing, crying, arms spread wide in a gesture of welcoming. Tristan couldn¡¯t help but grin back. The giddiness seemed to spread to everyone the water touched. Rain! Real, actual rain. It was unheard of.


    Tristan, dazed by the sight of it, almost didn¡¯t notice the black vehicle coming down the road to his right. He would have missed it entirely if not for the bodyguards across the street suddenly hissing orders to the children. The four of them disappeared in an instant as Tristan looked around for the source of the disturbance. He flinched when he spotted it.


    The car was nondescript, but instantly recognizable. The people who had come outside to gape at the rain faded back into the background at the sight of it, slipping around corners and into houses so quickly that it was as if they had melted away. Tristan took a few steps back, the beginnings of fear blooming deep in his stomach, and pushed his way back into the caf¨¦.


    By the time the car approached the window, he was already hunkered back down in his seat, hood pulled up once more, eyes nervously glued to a fresh cup of tepid, chicory tea that the server had brought him. The car slowed to allow whoever was inside to stare out of the tinted windows and into the caf¨¦. Tristan forced himself to take a slow, steady sip. Be unafraid, he told himself. Don¡¯t show the fear.


    After a tense moment, the car moved on, and conversation inside began to pick back up, though noticeably subdued now. Everyone was quite distracted.


    Outside, the rain continued.

 The Road

    Atlas sat back on her heels. She drew in a ragged breath, wishing to God and all the other entities she could name that this trip would end soon. She felt she would lose her mind if she had to spend another day in this dust. Every lungful of air brought with it the taste of metal and plastic, along with a fresh mouthful of grit. It did nothing to alleviate her feelings of nausea from being in a hot car.


    She started coughing, wrestling with her own body to get control of the fit before she made herself sick again. It was no easy feat when every inhalation made her lungs seize up against yet more dust. After a moment, though, it settled. She spat on the sandy ground between her boots and got slowly to her feet.


    A piece of orange cloth was tied around her neck, wet from sweat. She yanked it up to cover her nose and mouth and took another shaky breath. This time, though, the sweat-and-cloth filter did its job and she didn¡¯t cough. One breath, two, and she felt well enough at last to try her voice.


    ¡°Hey!¡± She called out without looking up. ¡°Hey, let¡¯s find some shade for a bit, okay?¡± Her voice was still hoarse, but it carried as intended. Footsteps heralded the approach of someone behind her. She glanced up, squinting against the searing noon sun, and saw her grandmother.


    ¡°Yes, we can stay inside til it gets cooler,¡± the older woman responded soberly. Her voice was strong, unaffected by the frequent coughing fits that plagued the rest of them.


    Atlas rolled her shoulders and shielded her eyes with one hand. ¡°Great, thanks. And Anji? Is she¡­¡± the urge to cough cut her short and she briefly struggled again to contain it.


    ¡°She¡¯s fine,¡± her grandmother reassured her. Rather than risk speaking again, Atlas nodded curtly and turned back towards the car. Facing away from the sun was an instant relief. Her cheeks tingled briefly, sweat prickling at the mere memory of it.


    The car was parked a ways down the road, on the far side of a small hill that provided a scrap of shade that was more for looks than actual protection from the sun. No amount of shade felt deep enough out here to shield from the constant white-hotness of it. It felt, to Atlas, inescapable. She took another steadying breath and, patting her grandmother on the back as she passed, started back up the small slope to the road.


    ¡°You should really cover your face, Aana. This shit can¡¯t be good to breathe.¡± Atlas gestured to indicate the dusty air. Aana smiled widely.


    ¡°I¡¯ve survived much, granddaughter. A little dust isn¡¯t going to do me in.¡± Atlas shrugged. She could tell her grandma was having no issues just from the way they walked up the hill. Atlas was almost immediately huffing and puffing, struggling with each breath, while Aana climbed noiselessly beside her. By the time they reached the car again, they had stopped twice for Atlas to battle another bout of coughing.


    ¡°Attie!¡± the small voice of Atlas¡¯s cousin, Anji, greeted them as they started down the far side of the hill. Her small body rocketed from the car so fast she skidded the last couple feet. ¡°Attie, are you okay?¡±


    ¡°Never better,¡± Atlas assured her, catching her in a brief hug. ¡°You taking good care of your dad?¡±


    Anji rolled her dark eyes. ¡°He¡¯s asleep, Atlas.¡±


    ¡°Ouch!¡± Atlas feigned a pain in her chest. ¡°The full name treatment? Damn, kid.¡±


    Anji¡¯s eyes lit up with laughter, but this close Atlas could hear the small whistle that came with each breath her cousin took. Frowning, Atlas turned to her grandmother, whose face was grim. A silent understanding passed between them.


    Anji, small for her age, was bundled from the eyes down in a recycled work mask and a makeshift balaclava. What little there was of exposed skin on her face was bright red with sunburn. She was entirely clothed in materials they had scavenged along the road; it was all lighter fabrics than they had at home and more suited to the endless sun and heat. The only remaining thing she wore from the start of their journey was her pair of handmade boots.


    Aana had made them herself, in a tradition of careful craftsmanship handed down through generations of women in their family. They were soft but durable, and had held up well despite looking a little worse for wear. When they were first made they had been decorated and lined with fur, but once the weather had begun to change, Atlas¡¯s father had seen to carefully cutting it out to keep Anji¡¯s feet cooler.


    Without the fur they looked oddly naked and foreign. Bare to suit the bare landscape, Atlas supposed. Her own shoes had been scavenged near the border. They were regular sneakers, and not all that old. Plain white with an unfamiliar mark on the side. It had been a lucky find, though she was loathe at first to abandon the comfortable warmth of her own familiar boots. She glanced down at the shoes, sighing, and took Anji¡¯s hand.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go,¡± Atlas said. They started back up the hill together hand in hand.


    Peering at her granddaughters¡¯ receding backs, Aana stepped around the back of the car to rouse the last member of their ragtag little party from his sleep. He was laying on a camping pad in the small swath of darker shade cast by the car, dressed like the rest of them in scavenged clothes. Instead of the work mask his daughter wore, he had a faded bandana tied around his face.


    His breathing was slow, restful. Aana grimaced, wondering how anyone could sleep in this heat. She crouched beside him and shook his shoulder.


    ¡°Robert, time to go. Get up, son. ¡±


    He turned over onto his back and opened his eyes. They were bright blue, starkly contrasted with the rest of the family¡¯s. His hair, too, was lighter, and his skin fairer. There was even a dusting of freckles underneath the red of his sunburn. He sat up and yanked the bandana down from his nose to wipe away sweat.


    ¡°Yeah, I¡¯m up.¡± His voice was almost as hoarse from coughing as Atlas¡¯s. ¡°Is Attie alright?¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s perfect but we need to get out of the sun. All of us.¡±


    She held out a hand to help him up. He grasped it, thinking not for the first time that his mother-in-law was far stronger than she appeared, and heaved to his feet.


    Immediately the sun beat down on his head where it peeked out from the shade. He made a sound of disgust and raised his hands in a futile attempt to ward it off. Together they rejoined the girls, traveling up the embankment and out onto the road.


    ¡°There¡¯s an old building this way,¡± Atlas announced hoarsely, quickening her pace to get to the head of the group without really thinking about it. It had become a pattern since they had left home: Atlas in front, flanked by Aana, then Anji, and Robert bringing up the rear. A sunburned and odd little army shuffling through the dusty wasteland, with Atlas at its point.


    Thinking of herself as any kind of leader would have been amusing to her just a few months ago. Now it felt like it had been her responsibility all along. She led the group around the side of an abandoned, decrepit building until they came to a broken front door. At one point there had probably been glass there, but the wind had long since swept it away. It was probably dust, now. It certainly felt like they were breathing bits of broken glass, anyway.


    ¡°What is it?¡± Anji asked in a whisper.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Atlas replied truthfully. She had scoped it out a little bit before going back to get them, but the best guess she had was that it had once been some kind of shop. Taking Anji¡¯s hand, she gingerly stepped over the bottom of the door frame and into the shade of the building. It was only slightly cooler. Hardly different from outside, really, but being in real shade felt great on her burned skin.


    The building was small and divided into three smaller aisles by what had once likely been sturdy shelves. A counter, covered in dust and grime, ran along the left side of the building. Behind it there was a heap of bent and rusted metal that may have been a chair at some point. Trash littered the floor, and the walls were covered from floor to ceiling in faded graffiti.


    ¡°Cozy,¡± Aana muttered, making the girls grin.


    Robert came inside last and surveyed the place with a frown. He immediately started kicking aside trash to clear a spot on the floor. One of the aisle dividers, which was already leaning askance when they entered, pushed aside easily when he tried it. He enlisted Atlas¡¯s help and together they moved it farther back against the last aisle. This way they had a somewhat cleaner area of ground on which to sit.


    Anji dropped to the floor with a huff, sending dust whirls up in a hazy cloud. Her normally wide eyes wore a permanent squint these days from exposure to the elements, and it pained Atlas to see. Mentally she made note that if they happened to come across some sunglasses or goggles, she would pick them up. She didn¡¯t know the extent of the damage that the dust outside could do, but based on what they had seen, it wasn¡¯t likely that the answer was ¡®none¡¯.


    That thought sent her spiraling, so she shook it off and yanked the cloth down from her nose and mouth. Gratefully, she took a breath of mostly dust-free air, sucking it in as if it she were coming up for air while swimming. Anji copied her, tugging the medical mask down and inhaling loudly.


    ¡°There. Better?¡± Atlas asked her, smiling.


    ¡°Yeah, but it smells weird in here.¡± She wrinkled her nose.


    This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    ¡°Yes well, had I known we were coming I would have told room service to freshen the place up.¡±


    Anji chuckled at that, stretching out on her back and gazing up at the collapsing ceiling. Her father took a seat beside her, instinctively taking her small wrist up in his hand and beginning to count her pulse under his breath. Anji acted as if nothing were happening.


    ¡°This isn¡¯t so bad,¡± the girl said to nobody in particular. ¡°I bet we can find shapes in those stains up there. That one over there looks like you, dad, if you had a loooong beard.¡± Her dad smiled distractedly.


    ¡°How long do you think it will be now, Aana?¡± Atlas asked her grandmother somberly as the elderly woman joined them on the floor.


    ¡°Who can know, Attie.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t even have any idea?¡± Atlas tried her best to keep the frustration out of her voice, but with little success. ¡°We can¡¯t continue like this forever. If we don¡¯t die of exposure, we¡¯ll almost certainly be ca-¡±


    ¡°Atlas!¡± Robert cut her off. He cut his eyes sideways meaningfully, indicating Anji. Anji hadn¡¯t taken her eyes off the stains that littered the roof above them, but everyone could sense that her attention had changed. She was listening carefully to the adults, her shoulders rigid.


    Atlas changed her tactics. ¡°We just really need to find some water soon, Aana. And maybe some clean clothes. Anji is starting to stink!¡±


    Anji sat up instantly, confirming everyone¡¯s suspicions about her attention. ¡°Hey now, you¡¯re not exactly an olfactory pleasure to be around yourself, cousin!¡± She stuck her tongue out. Atlas returned the favor and they both laughed. Even Aana¡¯s tired face had a hint of a smile.


    ¡°Anji,¡± Robert said calmly. ¡°Now be still, I have to start over.¡±


    Everyone fell silent as he quietly counted off the rhythm of her pulse.


    ¡°One¡­ Two¡­ Three¡­ Four¡­.¡±


    His counting, hypnotic and somehow lulling, brought a curtain of silence down on them. Atlas felt her eyes growing heavy. They were not only tired from the sun and sand beating against them but from the long day, the long weeks of early rising, and the endless miles of unchanging scenery. She started to wonder about how many days they had been on the road, and instead slipped into sleep.


    Anji fell asleep shortly after, kept awake longer by her game of finding faces in the ceiling. By then her father had switched from taking her pulse to absentmindedly stroking her forehead with a long, callused finger. She stared at a stain that looked like a little like a tiger until it blurred into a restless dream.


    Robert encouraged Aana to sleep, too, assuring her he had the first watch. The older woman smiled kindly, humoring his attempt at chivalry by closing her eyes. It was purely performative; sleep was hard for her to come by these days. There was some type of rest to be found in laying still, though, and she used the time to let her aging muscles be still and recover.


    She could hear Robert preparing tea, not over a fire like they would have back home but simply by placing the kettle outside in the hot sand. When he returned to their spot on the floor the familiar smell of juniper tinged the air. Aana felt a wave of deep sadness. It smelled like home. And when the tea ran out, what would there be left of home?


    When he roused her later, she was surprised to find that she had in fact fallen asleep after all. She stretched the stiffness from her joints and sat up. It was dark outside, and Robert looked exhausted.


    ¡°Son,¡± she scolded gently. ¡°You should have woken me.¡±


    He grinned, looking years younger under the expression. ¡°I know full well when you¡¯re pretending to sleep, and I wasn¡¯t about to disturb you actually getting some real sleep.¡±


    She patted his cheek, letting the mock disapproval fade form her face. ¡°Okay, alright, point taken. But, I¡¯m up now, so get you to bed!¡±


    ¡°And a fine, comfortable bed it is,¡± he commented, yawning nonetheless as he stretched out on the bare floor. They had only one camping pad remaining, and he made the girls take turns on it. He scooted over to be near Anji¡ª it was her turn on the pad this time¡ª and fell promptly to sleep.


    ¡°Tea, then,¡± Aana murmured to herself. She dug in one of Robert¡¯s bags and found the packet of dried berries and pine needles. It wasn¡¯t quite near empty yet, much to her relief. She pinched some of it into the still-warm kettle and stood with a groan. She felt her age more than ever in this heat.


    After adding a pour of their rapidly depleting water to the tea, she crossed to the missing shop door and twisted the kettle down into the sand outside to warm. The stars were out, briefly visible during this moment of calm winds where the dust wasn¡¯t quite so pervasive. She quickly found the familiar line formed by the three runners, and felt again a pang of loss that went a few steps beyond homesickness.


    She remembered a thousand moments of gazing up at the same three stars, in cooler climates, with the familiar buzz of her village around her. Remembered the smells of salt and fish and fires as she bounced a younger Atlas on her knee and carefully taught the names of every star she knew. Pointing at each one and tracing the shapes of the constellations.


    Her two daughters hadn¡¯t had much interest in the skies when they were children, but Atlas, perhaps taking after her name, delighted in them from the moment she had first become aware of their presence in the night sky. And the sea of stars that blanketed their part of the world had been dazzling. Shaking her head to bring herself back to the present, Aana stretched the stiffness from her legs and returned to where the others slept.


    When the sun had begun its slow crawl up past the horizon, Aana made her way back outside, where the slanting dawn light was already making the temperature climb. She moved into a pool of shade near the door and sat on her heels while her second pot of tea warmed outside.


    When it had, she drank down two cups¡ªbrewed weak to conserve their supply¡ª and busied herself with unpacking and repacking all their bags. It was comforting to her, somehow. It reminded her of long, cool summer evenings spent cleaning the house. Cleaning not because anything needed tidying but because the long days stretched forever if they didn¡¯t occupy themselves with something. It passed the time and made her feel useful.


    With the sun came a steady wind that offered little relief from the heat. The sand and dust kicked up, pelting the sides of their temporary shelter. The wind blew debris around and whatever dry, hardy plants grew in the shady spots around the building tapped out an eerie rhythm on the outer walls. It was a restless, lonely sound.


    By the time everyone had awoken, the wind had made travel impossible. They shared a breakfast of stale salted meat and scavenged greens. Anji, long past complaining about their underwhelming food options, grimaced around each bite of greens but choked them all down nonetheless. When they had finished, Atlas set about her usual chore of scrubbing the dishes out with sand. She had to cover her whole head, working blind to avoid the punishing sting of the wind.


    Robert and Aana worked to rearrange their grimy camping spot into something a little more suitable and welcoming. Nobody said it aloud, but they all feared they might be stuck there for far longer than they would like.


    Atlas and Anji whiled away the afternoon by playing word games that the younger girl made up on the fly. As the wind grew too loud to be heard over without shouting, they fell into silence instead, laying with their heads together and staring up at the stains on the half-collapsed ceiling.


    Sleep stole over the group again, one by one. It was brought on by the oppressive heat as much as by their exhaustion and boredom. Only Aana remained sitting up and alert, watching over her family as she always had.


    ¡°Attie,¡± Aana hissed in her granddaughter¡¯s ear. The wind had become a steady howl across the broken doors. ¡°Attie, wake up.¡±


    Attie opened her sore eyes and sat up. What remained of her grogginess evaporated at the sight of her grandmother¡¯s worried eyes. ¡°What? What is it?¡± Atlas whispered. She glanced from side to side, found both her cousin and uncle soundly sleeping, and calmed slightly. ¡°Aana?¡±


    ¡°Come,¡± the old woman ordered. She disappeared so quickly that it seemed the word still hung in the air behind her. Atlas shrugged her arms to shake off the hours of sleeping on hard ground before standing and following Aana into the dark.


    At the doors the wind was much louder, sweeping across like breath over an empty bottle and creating a steady, haunting whistle. Atlas instinctively pulled her bandana up. She could hear all the grit in the air blowing and didn¡¯t care to breathe any of it in.


    She almost yelped in surprise when her grandma grabbed her arm. Instead she fell silent, prompted by the ghost of fear she could read on Aana¡¯s features in the dim light. The older woman¡¯s free hand was pointing out the door, towards something on the horizon.


    Something bright, and growing. A light? A moving light. Frozen by surprise, Atlas watched as it grew nearer. Aana tugged at her arm again and she finally turned away.


    ¡°What is that?¡± Atlas demanded. She had to shout to be heard over the wind.


    ¡°No, not that,¡± Aana hissed, voice almost indistinguishable from the sand pelting the walls beside them. ¡°That¡¯s someone, but¡­ behind them. Look.¡± She pointed again.


    Sure enough, this time Atlas shifted her focus and noticed a deeper darkness behind the light. It was vast and impenetrable, and, now that she was straining to make sense out of it, she realized it was also loud.


    ¡°What¡­¡± Atlas trailed off, mystified.


    ¡°A dust storm,¡± Aana¡¯s voice was grim. ¡°Whoever that is, they¡¯re running from it. We definitely can¡¯t risk leaving. I¡¯ve no idea where the next shelter is. Safer to stay here. But¡­¡±


    ¡°But that means this is probably exactly where that person is going.¡±


    Aana nodded. The two women peered anxiously out into the dark, toward the light, toward the massive cloud of dust behind it, and considered their options.


    The rushing sound of the dust grew louder and louder until it was absolutely deafening. Robert and Anji, awoken by the noise, joined the two of them in the doorway.


    ¡°What is it, Aana?¡± Anji asked. Her voice was completely swallowed by the howling wind. She gave up trying to ask and instead peered out into the distance where they were staring. Aana turned to Robert. There was no trace of sleep left in his features as adrenaline took over.


    ¡°Search the place for a weapon,¡± she shouted. Her voice was steady but demanded obedience. Robert immediately disappeared back into the store. Anji was looking from her grandmother to Atlas, eyes brightening with fear.


    ¡°Attie?¡± Her shout was pitched high, her expression cautious.


    Atlas leaned down to speak directly into her cousin¡¯s ear. ¡°It¡¯s alright, Anj. Don¡¯t worry. Just being careful. Go back inside, I¡¯ll be there in a sec.¡± Atlas tried on a reassuring smile but knew that if it looked anything like it felt, it wasn¡¯t very convincing. Anji swallowed hard and followed after her father.


    ¡°Aana¡­ There¡¯s not going to be anything. Shouldn¡¯t we just hide?¡± Atlas¡¯s attempt at imitating her grandma¡¯s steady voice fell flat. She couldn¡¯t keep the quaver of fear out of her words.


    Aana, stern faced, shook her head once and continued to survey the horizon. Her thin lips tightened into a frown. ¡°Help him look,¡± she commanded. ¡°Anything will do. A pipe¡­ a stone. ¡°


    Atlas blinked, unable to disguise the shock on her face. She felt the first real stirrings of fear somewhere in her chest, not at her grandmother¡¯s urging to find a weapon but at the fear on the old woman¡¯s features.


    Her grandma, her Aana¡­ The unflappable, level-headed woman that had raised her¡­ Afraid?


    The light was close enough now that they could hear the sound of whatever was coming. It was a long thin whine that sounded alien as it rose shrill above the wind. Really afraid now, Atlas let the noise chase her back inside.


    Aana fished inside the bag she wore slung over one shoulder and pulled out a small sealskin pouch. It was finely made, though covered in patches of rougher manmade materials. It was the oldest thing she owned. She pried the pouch¡¯s drawstrings loose with deft hands¡ªshe was old, but hale¡ª and carefully withdrew a small blade from inside. It was curved and resembled the blade of an axe, though smaller and without the long handle.


    It felt familiar and sad in her hand. She hefted it, slipping her fingers between the back of the blade around the handle. Held like that, the blade surrounded the front of her knuckles.


    In peaceful times this had been not a weapon but a tool, and she had to push back the memories that holding it brought flooding back. She exhaled in irritation. Old age, it seemed, was making her nostalgic. She took a deep, steadying breath, gripped the knife tighter, and watched the strange light in the distance grow as it raced across the desert towards their shelter.

 The Rains

    The sunlight was slanting through the front window almost horizontally by the time Tristan pushed his long-since-cold drink aside and slid a thin tablet from its spot inside his bag. He muffled the sound of it against the table with two fingers and looked around automatically, trying to gauge whether or not anyone else in the cafe was looking at him.


    Almost every face was still turned towards the windows, towards the rain. The buzz of conversation around him had climbed in intensity, brimming with anticipation and excitement. Nobody knew what to make of the weather, really, but at least it gave them something new to talk about.


    And, to Tristan¡¯s advantage, it provided a very effective distraction. He tapped the tablet¡¯s power button and moved his fingers across the panel of shortcut keys that shimmered into existence on its screen. A box popped up with a note that read like any casual correspondence between workers in this part of the city.


    He read it again and again, focusing on the timestamp in the corner. That was the time he was supposed to be here. His eyes shot to the time readout at the top of his screen. Two minutes now. His skin prickled with sweat.


    ¡°Do you want another?¡± The waitress rasped suddenly from behind him. He jumped as if she¡¯d shouted, and she raised her hands defensively. ¡°Woah, hey. Just asking.¡±


    Tristan relaxed a bit, forcing an awkward smile. He had gripped the tablet so tightly that he¡¯d accidentally turned it off. ¡°Er, yeah. Yes, please.¡± He woke the screen back up with a tap and let out a slow breath as she walked away.


    One minute.


    A girl near the counter laughed loudly at something her companion must have said, and Tristan heard another voice ask about the rain. The low hiss of an industrial dishwasher started up in the back, adding a baseline to the hum of activity around him. It seemed insufferably loud as he waited.


    Thirty seconds.


    Swallowing nervously, Tristan leaned back in his chair with his hands splayed across the screen of his tablet. He had to fight the urge to stare at all the people surrounding him, to search each face for some sign of fear. He desperately wished to know which of these strangers was risking their lives with him tonight.


    Who was it? And why? He knew that these things worked only because of the anonymity, but he still felt a deep sense of bewilderment that anyone would put themselves at risk of so much, for someone they didn¡¯t even know. He often wondered whether or not he would do the same if the roles had been reversed.


    Fifteen seconds.


    He focused on the scents now. The smell of bodies, the recycled air, the weakly brewed coffee cut with chicory root, and the heady, foreign smell of the rain drifting in each time the door was opened. They jostled for his attention with each breath.


    Ten¡­ He smelled the chemicals wafting from the dirty mop bucket by the door. Nine¡­ The offputting smell of sickness and perfume that blew at him as the waitress approached with his refill.


    Five¡­ She looked at him with borderline disgust as she plunked the cup down and picked up the empty one. He tried to smile in thanks but his eyes were glued to the tablet¡¯s clock. Two¡­ The waitress hurried off.


    A soft buzzing from the tablet nearly made him jump again. His heart was pounding as if he had just run up a flight of stairs, and he could smell his own sweat.


    The vibration meant he had received the file right on time. Hardly daring to believe it, he gulped down half his drink in two gulps (hot this time, to his surprise), and shoved the tablet back into his bag.


    He was shaking all over now, almost losing control entirely. He kept having to reel his senses back in. He counted his breaths and took his third sip more slowly. Staying calm was more important than ever now, and he did not intend to blow everything by getting too excited. When he had wrestled the nerves down, he felt a new, unfamiliar emotion seeping up in its place. It was eagerness and- in spite of himself- hope.


    The file that had just been passed to him by whatever stranger had dared to take the risk contained information that, with any luck, would help him find his family at last. Or at least what remained of them. The idea that he might finally see any of them again was something he hadn¡¯t dared consider before. Now, he allowed himself that hope at last. Just a little¡­ But it was enough.


    He tried to relax into the seat, taking another slow sip and smiling a little in spite of himself. To disguise the odd smile he needed only turn towards the window, towards the rain. The window was hard to see out of now, especially as twilight stretched the shadows and dampened the already cloudy sunset through the wet glass.


    Figures moved outside in the rain more and more as the day shifts ended. People, vehicles, lights began to swirl about behind the sheets of rain. Tristan couldn¡¯t remember the last time he¡¯d felt so content. Even the bad coffee felt comforting.


    The urge to rush out the door and to a place where he could safely check the file faded as he gazed out at the darkening street. Something about the rain, he guessed. It made him want to stay and stare.


    Until the front door slammed open. Two cops, armored from head to toe, barely visible behind their head-height riot shields, burst into the cafe. There was an amazingly long moment of silence, and then everything fell to chaos. The customers in the cafe began to flood out the back door, completely disregarding the ¡°FIRE EXIT ONLY¡± sign and the alarm that blared as soon as the first person pushed out.


    Tristan shot to his feet and grabbed his bag, doing his best to melt into the crowd and feeling extremely thankful for the seat he had chosen when he¡¯d first come in.


    ¡°EVERYONE FREEZE!¡± One of the cops shouted. His gun was drawn now, and those closest to him, cut off by the front counter, had no choice but to comply. An older gentleman was shoved to his knees by the second officer, and Tristan guiltily turned away and continued towards the back door. As he reached it he heard a short scream and turned back again just in time to see the officers had donned gas masks and tossed something out onto the floor.


    The waitress was one of the people pinned between the officers and the counter, with nowhere to go. Her arms were up and her eyes rolled with fear, lighting on Tristan¡¯s for a moment before darting back to the gun in her face. He shoved through the door and stumbled out into the crowded back alley where the cafe patrons were now scattering like roaches.


    The rain made the ground slippery and Tristan nearly toppled over as he skidded to a stop outside the back door, squeezed between the mass of bodies still shoving their way through the door. He turned to the left, balance regained as he slipped out of the crushing line, and sprinted away as fast as he could. He had barely made it to the end of the alley when a percussive thud shook the ground under his feet.


    This time, he did fall. He landed hard, clutching the bag to his chest too furiously to break his own fall. A hot wind blew the rain away for a moment and he looked over his shoulder to see black, smoking ruins where the cafe had stood seconds before. It, and the buildings which flanked it on the left and the right, were engulfed in flames.


    He gaped at it for a moment, shock rolling over him in waves as the rain and the fire combined to throw out stinking, oily smoke in massive plumes.


    Tears sprung to his eyes. Not tears of anger or sadness, he was embarrassed to find, but tears of relief. No doubt that bomb had been meant for two people in that place: Whoever had dropped the file onto his tablet, and Tristan himself. He of course felt the familiar rage at the amount of collateral damage the Powers That Be were willing to cause, but more than that he was just sickeningly, giddily happy that he had somehow managed the luck to scramble out in time.


    Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.


    He was new to this level of risk, where it seemed his life had been shrunk to such minimal importance that it could be batted aside thoughtlessly at any moment. This was his brother¡¯s territory, not his. He had been passed the torch and had taken it proudly if not confidently, but my god, the reality of this risk was new. And it shook him to the core.


    He got unsteadily to his feet, the whole front of him soaking wet, and turned out of the alley and towards home. He could dwell on the questions of whether or not the deaths of all those people were his fault later. Now was not the time to philosophize. He focused on his feet, which felt oddly numb. One step. Two. Three.


    The smell of smoke was already tainting the air and¡ª he shuddered¡ª under it the faint smell of burnt hair and a cooked-meat smell he could only assume was smoldering flesh. He felt ill, and again silently cursed his preternatural senses. Sirens began to wail in the distance as he pushed on.


    It occurred to him as he neared the grey slab of a building that housed his flat that perhaps the waitress had been the connection back there. He thought of her face, trying to remember if there had been any fear in her features. There hadn¡¯t, but his stomach sank as he realized that someone without long to live was exactly the sort of someone who would risk their life to help a stranger just to exact a little bit of revenge. And hadn¡¯t his tablet pinged just as she had left his table? No, he couldn¡¯t think of that now.


    He looked up, surprised to find that he¡¯d already walked the six blocks home and made it to the door. He couldn¡¯t quite remember any of the walking, he had been so lost in thought. Possibly in shock, he told himself, taking a deep breath.


    The heavy security door buzzed as he swiped his wrist across the keypad set into its center. He squeezed through as it swung open and again waved his wrist at the next door. It beeped but didn¡¯t open on its own. Tristan shoved his shoulder against it and pushed it open manually, grunting with effort.


    He was absolutely drenched from head to foot now, and when he stepped inside out of the rain he became suddenly aware that he was freezing. He tried to slick some of the excess water from his hair and clothes and gave his bag a good shake before heading down the entryway hall towards a set of very large, very old looking elevators.


    The cheap laminate flooring was slippery enough to make him walk in short, shuffling steps that he probably would have found comical in any other circumstance. He¡¯d had enough falling on his ass for one day.


    ¡°Byrne, K,¡± he spoke into a speaker between the elevator doors, holding his wrist up once more. A loud rumbling told him the elevator to the right was on its way and he stepped right, shaking all over now. Shock, he thought again.


    There was a small, deep-set window on either side of the entry and he could just make out a ribbon of dark smoke through the one on the left, though through the rivulets of rain on the glass it looked surreal and dreamy.


    The elevator doors slid open and Tristan climbed in, hugging his bag so hard that his arms were starting to ache from it. The cozy contentedness he had been feeling just a half hour ago seemed like another life; a happy daydream totally separate from the harsh reality he lived in.


    Instead of hope, he now felt only terror when his mind strayed to the file waiting on his tablet. He almost wished he hadn¡¯t gotten involved with any of this. What had he been thinking? And what had Cody been thinking?


    The door to his flat had never looked so appealing. He stumbled towards it, numb with cold, and whacked his wrist on the knob in his frenzied attempts to scan the key. The lock clicked open and he yanked the door open, snagging on the warped floor panel as it always did.


    Tristan dropped his bag at last, right on the floor, and made his way to the bathroom to change into dry clothes. He felt sick and didn¡¯t know if it was from fear, from the thought of all those cafe people in ashes, or just from the cold.


    Either way his mind was spinning out into a dissociative blankness, and he knew he was near the point of passing out. Dressing quickly in some dry pants and a too-big shirt, he kicked his bag under the bed and collapsed onto the sheets into a deep and dreamless sleep. His last waking thought lingered on the distant sirens. Was it the fire crew, or an ambulance?


    Did anyone inside survive?


    By the time he woke up again, the rain had stopped. The first thing he noticed in his haze of semi-consciousness was that te high-pitched whine of sirens still continued. They were far off now, but insistent, and though some base self-preservation instinct bade him stay in the blank cloud of sleep, he found the sound soon pulling him out. Slowly, memory of the previous evening¡¯s events trickled back in.


    The face of the waitress swam behind his eyes. Then the explosion. The grey plumes of smoke drifting up into the lighter grey sky. His backpack, innocent enough on the outside but now containing a file so dangerous it had gotten a whole building full of people killed.


    The file! Tristan bolted to his feet, his head spinning for a moment at the sudden movement, and frantically spun around in place as he tried to remember where he¡¯d set his bag. It was there, though, laying on the floor. Vaguely he recalled letting it slip from his shoulders when he came home.


    ¡°Shit,¡± he murmured. He kneeled beside the bag and pulled the tablet out, giving it a cursory once-over to make sure it hadn¡¯t been damaged in all the commotion and running around last night. It looked fine, but the power button didn¡¯t work when he pressed it. He felt icy with fear then immediately relieved. ¡°It¡¯s dead, you idiot.¡±


    The moment of terror had flooded his system with just enough adrenaline to bring a wave of nausea. He walked to the small, deep window on the southern side of his flat and set the tablet down on its dock. He tweaked it to better face the sun, adjusting the angle to account for the fact that the southeastern corner of the building would hide the bulk of the sunshine for another hour or two yet.


    Still he found himself clenching his teeth as he waited for the charging light to flick on. It did without delay, and Tristan sighed. He went to the kitchen to make some tea while he waited for it to charge.


    He had just settled down with his mug and a piece of bread he told himself he had to eat when his watch buzzed. Just a phone call. He hesitated, but thought that not answering might be even more suspicious than the current state of his face. He steeled himself, setting the mug down and balancing the bread on top.


    A quick search yielded his glasses on the floor beside the bed. He slipped them on, schooled his features into a less terrified expression, and answered the call with a tap.


    ¡°Tristan!¡± A coworker that was somewhere firmly in the grey area between real friend and obligatory work friend appeared, his face filling most of Tristan¡¯s vision for a moment.


    ¡°AJ, back up. I can see up your nose,¡± Tristan said, trying for the easy humor that he normally had at work.


    ¡°Tristan!¡± AJ shouted again. He pulled back slightly, and Tristan could see their shared office suite in the background. But AJ, far from the calm and care-free expression he usually wore, looked stressed. Tristan sat up straighter.


    ¡°Jay, what¡¯s up?¡±


    ¡°Tristan, I don¡¯t know what the fuck is going on but, there¡¯s people here at the office looking for you. Everyone on the main floor is in uproar. They haven¡¯t made it up here yet but, man, I have to ask, is this about your brother?¡±


    Tristan¡¯s stomach tightened with fear again. He was suddenly grateful he hadn¡¯t yet eaten any of the bread. He blocked the camera with a thumb and found himself near gasping for air. ¡°Jay¡­ look. I know you don¡¯t know me very well, and I know you have absolutely no reason to do anything for me but, please for the love of God, when they come upstairs, don¡¯t tell them you talked to me. Don¡¯t talk about my brother. Jay, don¡¯t-¡± He was cut off by the sound of a knock on the other end. He dug his fingers into the arms of his chair, panting outright now. Ajay¡¯s camera went black.


    ¡°Jay!¡± Tristan whispered. He could still here the mic feed from the office. Whether or not it was intentional, Ajay had killed the camera but left the call on.


    ¡°Mr. Mills?¡± A new voice came over the tiny speakers built into his glasses.


    ¡°That¡¯s me,¡± Ajay replied. He sounded tense but not frightened. Tristan began to tremble.


    ¡°We won¡¯t take up much of your time. We are here investigating an attack that occurred at a cafe in the city center last night. Are you aware of that attack?¡±


    ¡°N-no,¡± Ajay stuttered. ¡°Well, yes. I heard that there was a bomb, on the newsfeed this morning.¡±


    ¡°Wasn¡¯t a bomb.¡± A third voice responded simply. ¡°But that¡¯s why we¡¯re here.¡±


    ¡°You work on this floor, correct?¡± The first voice asked.


    ¡°Yes. Myself and three others. Document security.¡±


    ¡°Are you familiar with Cody Byrne?¡±


    ¡°Uh, I work with a¡­ Tristan Byrne. He sits over there.¡± Tristan felt gratitude wash over him. He silently promised himself that he would do something nice¡ªsomething very nice¡ª for Ajay if he ever saw him again.


    ¡°Tristan¡­¡± The second voice repeated. He seemed to be mulling over the name in a way that chilled Tristan to the bone. Like he was memorizing it. Or like he had heard it before. There was a moment of silence in which Tristan held his breath.


    Ajay finally broke the silence. He cleared his throat. ¡°Do you gentlemen need anything else from me?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± the second voice said slowly.


    ¡°No,¡± repeated the first voice. ¡°We don¡¯t. Sorry to have bothered you. You have a nice day. Enjoy this weird weather, huh?¡± The sudden bright levity in the voice sounded incredibly fake. There was a click as the door closed, and seconds later the camera came back on. Ajay was sitting at his desk now, peering solemnly into the camera.


    ¡°Who the hell¡­ They didn¡¯t even introduce themselves. Cops? Fucking FBI? Why are they asking about Cody? Tristan, what the fuck is going on?!¡±


    Tristan rubbed his hand across his mouth and sighed. Outside, he heard the rain start again. His head was beginning to throb.

 The Rest Stop

    Atlas and her grandmother stood in the entrance of the small building they had taken shelter in, staring out at the approaching storm and the vehicle that fled before it. Anji and Robert were inside, hidden from view but ready to strike with their makeshift weapons if the need arose.


    As the light approached, the mosquito-like drone of its engine increasing in volume, they saw that it was a motorcycle. It only seemed to carry one person; a lean, tall figure that rode hunched low over the handlebars. Atlas wondered briefly if whoever it was had noticed their car parked out there.


    Bike and rider pulled off the road with a nerve-wracking wobble. A plume of dust kicked up around them as the tires scraped into the turn, somehow maintaining balance at the last second. They were headed straight for the lot outside of their shelter.


    It was a small rectangular area, with occasionally protruding chunks of cement and three metal posts in varying states of decay. The flatness of the sand hinted that more pavement lay beneath. The remnants of a gas station, Aana and Robert knew. Neither of the girls recognized it as such.


    The bike finally slowed to a stop, right beside the furthest pole, and the figure riding it jumped off without bothering to try to park. The bike toppled to the ground and the person took off on foot, running directly towards the women crouched in the shadows of the abandoned storefront.


    There was light now, spilling from the headlight of the bike and bathing the desert floor. Atlas and Aana could see the rider scrambling closer and closer, perfectly silhouetted. Neither of them dared move a muscle.


    The light did nothing to help the approaching stranger. They could see him perfectly, marking every step in his approach, while he could barely go faster than a trot. His eyes were glued to the ground as he tried to pick his way over the jumble of shadows and rubble without tripping. The angle of the headlight made even the relatively small, flat stretch of land between bike and building treacherous to cross.


    Atlas tightened her grip on the long piece of metal she had found. Her uncle had called it ¡®rebar¡¯, but she had little idea what that meant. It was hot in her hands but felt strong, and she was sure that even a moderate strike to the head with it would be enough to send most anyone into unconsciousness.


    Aana crouched to her left, holding her knife. Even among the sharp shadows cast by the bike headlight Atlas could see that her grandmother¡¯s knuckles were as pale white as her face. Though Aana¡¯s features betrayed nothing beyond a tight frown, she was afraid. She kept her eyes cautiously on the approaching figure as she might keep them on a wild animal.


    The sound of uneven footsteps and ragged breathing finally reached them. Every few paces, he tripped and nearly went down. Atlas¡¯s nerves grew as she realized the approaching figure was not only a man but a rather large man. He would stand a head taller than Robert. At least a head.


    She realized, a bit ashamedly, that she had been holding onto the faint hope that the bike was carrying an unusually tall woman. They had encountered few people on their journey south, but of those that they had, their experiences with the men had been terrible at best.


    Aana had told her granddaughters time and time again. Desperation makes anyone dangerous, but it can turn men into monsters.


    ¡°Fuck!¡± The man hissed as he stumbled again, this time landing badly on his shin. He jumped back to his feet and hitched up the mask that had slipped down to his chin. He was wheezing. They could hear it clearly now, as he closed the last five yards or so between them.


    Aana whispered into Atlas¡¯s left ear. ¡°Before he spots you, Attie. You jump. If we need to we will lead him off of Anj and your uncle.¡± Atlas nodded, mouth dry with fear now as well as thirst. She counted the paces and tried her best to time it out. By the time he reached them she could easily make out the animalistic fear in his eyes. Desperation, Atlas thought ruefully, and leaped.


    ¡°HEY!¡± She screamed, her voice surprising even her with its volume. The man yelped and fell again, this time striking the ground face first. He shoved himself up and scooted backwards, throwing his head wildly back and forth before he noticed Atlas standing before him, rebar piece held like a bat and ready to swing. He threw his hands up to protect his face.


    ¡°Please!¡± He shouted. ¡°Please, wait!¡±


    Atlas hesitated but heard Aana make a soft noise and caught a gesture of encouragement in her peripheral vision. She pulled back her arms to bring the rebar down hard, but in the moment she was about to strike, he collapsed. Atlas froze mid-swing. When a moment passed and the man made no indication of consciousness, she let the rebar and her arms relax. She felt weak as all the tension drained from her muscles.


    Aana, correctly anticipating that her granddaughter had been considering rushing forward to check on the man, grabbed Atlas¡¯s left arm just below the shoulder. She looked up, startled by the fierceness in that grip. ¡°But Aana¡ª¡± Atlas started. ¡°He¡¯s not faking¡­ Right?¡± She turned her hazel eyes, so full of puzzlement that they looked like the eyes of a child, to her grandmother.


    ¡°We will know soon enough.¡± Aana said simply. She nodded her chin towards the horizon, where the dust storm was gaining on them. ¡°Better get inside, child. I¡¯ll wait here to see if our visitor is going to survive the storm.¡±


    A chill ran through Atlas, though whether it was from the rapidly dropping temperature or the cold indifference in her grandmother¡¯s voice, she did not know. She dropped the rebar and kicked it towards the door, then thought better of it and stooped to grab it again before heading inside.


    Her uncle and cousin were huddled together, eyes wide and staring towards the entrance. Anji looked pitifully small and pale in the milky light that the bike headlight cast through the store front. Her lungs crackled and wheezed with each breath. Atlas frowned and dug around in the bags for her jacket. It was a hideous thing, bright orange and oversized, but it was warm. She pulled it on and started collecting pieces of debris that might pose a hazard in the wind.


    Wordlessly, Robert stood and joined her. Atlas quietly filled them in on what had happened as she and her uncle worked to make their little aisle as sturdy as they could. Outside, the storm was starting to make its final approach.


    They had all had enough experience at this point with dust storms to know what to do and what not to do. Scavenging tarps had quickly become a priority, and they now had three that they kept folded tight in their bags. Robert had just started work on setting the first one up when Aana came back in, dragging the unconscious stranger behind her. Not for the first time, Atlas noted with surprise how strong the woman was for her age.


    ¡°Angela!¡± Robert gasped. He leaped instinctively in front of the place where Anji was huddled, throwing his arms out. Aana frowned at his use of her name. ¡°What are you doing!¡± His voice was a hiss, his eyes wide in startlement and anger.


    ¡°Peace, son.¡± She dropped the stranger¡¯s arm unceremoniously and sat down hard. She was out of breath. Hail though she was, the stranger was tall and well built despite the hunger they could all see and recognize in the hollows of his cheeks. ¡°I won¡¯t condemn him to death without good reason. And he wasn¡¯t acting¡ª he fainted.¡± She turned to Atlas. ¡°Attie, find the wire spool in the green bag.¡±


    Atlas rushed obey and rolled it across the floor to her uncle¡¯s feet. She was loathe to admit it, but she was terrified of this unconscious stranger. Aana looked at her questioningly but kept quiet. Robert picked up the wire and quickly bound the man¡¯s hands behind his back.


    ¡°There. No threat to us now,¡± Aana declared. She let her voice soften back to its usual tone. ¡°Robert, drag him over against the far side of those shelves. He should have protection enough from the storm there, but won¡¯t be able to bother us.¡±


    Atlas could see the doubt and distrust in her uncle¡¯s face but he did as instructed, easily pulling the man across the sandy, pitted flooring and rolling him like a rag doll so that he was positioned at the base of the shelves. Though her uncle was smaller, he had the strength advantage lent to him by not being in the throes of starvation. Between them, Atlas realized, it didn¡¯t seem like it would have been a fair fight regardless of size. The unconscious man looked a week from death.


    His eyes were sunken back in his skull and his hair, long and a brown so dark it was almost indistinguishable from black, looked dull and thin. His shoulders and hips were all angled too sharply and his ragged clothes hung off of him. Laying bound in the dirt at the base of the shelves as he was, he could have been a corpse. Only the whistling wheeze of his shallow breaths marked him for alive.


    The windows were beginning to rattle occasionally now, as the storm winds gusted. Anji stirred nervously as the noise grew to a steady howl. After a few minutes she climbed into her father¡¯s lap as if she were still a toddler. Her eyes kept darting over to the stranger. Robert stroked her head absently, his harrowed eyes staring out towards the light as it flickered and dimmed behind drifts of dust.


    Atlas was looking intently at her grandmother, feeling deeply uneasy at the fear she saw in the set of those old, familiar eyes. The light faded out as the wind continued to pick up. Outside the smashed glass of the storefront the dust cloud approached like a wall of darkness, blotting out everything as it approached.


    Robert pulled the tarp up around them, readying it. Small eddies would swirl in around the edges with each new gust of wind, but they were for the most part protected. When the storm rolled over them they would tuck themselves under it and wait it out. All that could be heard now was the roar of wind and grit pounding the tarps and building around them.


    Atlas squinted her eyes in a smile over her mask at Anji, who echoed the expression reflexively. Her eyes narrowed then sprung wide as saucers, her head coming up so fast she smacked into her father¡¯s chin. She was gesturing furiously towards the aisle behind them, where they had left the bound stranger. Everyone turned to look almost as one, and saw that their captive had woken up.


    ¡°Make sure he doesn¡¯t move!¡± Aana ordered, almost shouting to be heard over the wind. Robert pulled a dirty bandana from his neck up over his nose and mouth and fumbled in his pocket for a small flashlight. He clicked it on and shown it towards the collapsed aisle, illuminating the man who had just discovered that his hands were bound after a few groggy attempts to sit up.


    ¡°Don¡¯t move,¡± Robert barked. His voice wasn¡¯t threatening, but the stranger instantly froze at the words nonetheless. Atlas could see his chest rising and falling in shallow, quick breaths. She felt a moment¡¯s sympathy for him as he tried to look around, blinded by the small flashlight.


    ¡°Please don¡¯t hurt me,¡± the stranger whispered. The noise of the wind nearly swallowed the words, but Atlas could make them out on his lips. Robert placed the flashlight on the ground and crawled towards the man, leaning close to be heard.


    ¡°Stay still. We¡¯re here sheltering from the storm same as you. We¡¯ll let you ride it out in here with us if you behave, alright?¡± Robert eyed the stranger¡¯s hollow cheeks and trembling lips. ¡°You¡¯re clearly in no condition to fight anyways, I suppose.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m-¡± the stranger started weakly, but he was interrupted by a coughing fit.


    Aana materialized at his side, holding up a bottle. She offered it to the stranger but he violently shook his head, coughing all the while.


    ¡°It¡¯s safe,¡± Aana said, demonstrating by taking a long sip from it herself. She offered it again but he shook his head once more. His face was reddening from the effort of coughing. The older woman sighed and placed a strong hand around his jaw, holding him still. She tipped a small amount of water into his mouth and he choked, jerking upright and out of her hold and gasping.


    Before he could fully recover she had the bottle back to his mouth and her other hand supporting his head. He swallowed reflexively and made a slight movement as if he meant to break away again, but then stilled. His eyes fluttered closed and he gulped at the water in a way that told Atlas he had been thirsty for a long time.


    ¡°There,¡± Aana said. She capped the bottle and stood. ¡°Robert, we best get under cover now.¡±


    The stranger gasped for breath then let his head fall back to the ground. He looked relieved and exhausted.


    Atlas noticed Anji had come up behind her and took her hand, leading her away from the stranger and back into the nook where they had made their camp. Robert stretched another tarp out over the stranger, tucking it under him, and warned him again not to move. It hardly seemed necessary, as he was almost unconscious again.


    Anji fetched one of the large, scratchy blankets they¡¯d had since leaving home and dragged it over to Atlas. They bundled together in it and kept their backs to the broken storefront, relying on their own backs to protect them from the worst of the storm, should all else fail.


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


    Robert came by after double- and triple-checking the tarps and secured their one precious particle mask over Anji¡¯s face. She looked at him gratefully and leaned her head against Atlas¡¯s shoulder.


    The two girls watched as Robert secured their bags and then wrapped Aana up with himself. Talking was useless now, as the sound of the wind had reached deafening levels. They all looked at each other quietly in the growing dark, fear contesting with exhaustion on every face.


    The building shook when the wind finally hit, and then came the familiar eerie hiss of dust hitting every surface with enough force to slough away paint and pit metal. Atlas rocked slowly back and forth, trying to soothe Anji and to just have something to focus on besides the deafening noise, the warm thick wind, the pitch blackness, and the occasional moments of dust swirling up against the exposed parts of her skin when the wind managed to make its way around the tarps. It stung and sent her eyes watering and her nose running.


    Time seemed to spool out, the small group huddled in their tarps quickly losing sense of day, night, hour. It might have been five minutes or five days for all Atlas could tell. She felt her legs start to ache from the way she was seated and adjusted them, wincing at the pins and needles that swept in after the pain. Anji had fallen asleep and woken back up, and now laid in her arms dazed and unmoving.


    She was about to doze off herself when the storm finally started to slacken off. The tinny sounds of sand against the building lessened and light began to filter back through. Robert and Aana were peering through the dark at the girls and Atlas looked back at them, wondering if it was safe to leave the tarps.


    As if in answer, her uncle tapped his face to indicate to her to keep her mask on. She nodded. He stood up, stretched, and pushed aside the edge of one of the tarps to look out. The silence the storm left behind it seemed almost as loud as the wind had.


    ¡°¡­Aana¡­¡± Robert said. His voice sounded odd. Aana got to her feet in a hurry and looked over his shoulder. She gasped.


    ¡°What is it?¡± A new voice asked from the other side of the shelving. Atlas jumped before remembering the stranger who was tied up over there. His voice sounded stronger now. Nobody acknowledged him beyond a wary glance.


    ¡°Girls,¡± Aana began. ¡°Girls, come look.¡±


    Atlas roused Anji and shrugged the blanket off their shoulders. They got up stiffly and joined the adults at the tarp. The dust was mostly settled now, aside from the usual low-to-the-ground cloud of it that remained sometimes for days after a storm passed through.


    It was a little past sunrise, and the heat had already started to pick up again. The desert looked slightly odd after being swept with sand all night; the landscape that had been vaguely familiar now looked strange and new. The sky was grey, though, as if the storm was still there. But the air was clear.


    No, Atlas thought. Not clear, exactly. It¡¯s hazy in the distance. She squinted through the open storefront.


    ¡°Rain,¡± Aana said.


    ¡°Rain¡­¡± Robert repeated.


    Anji was on tiptoe, trying to see past her dad¡¯s shoulder. He stepped aside and yanked the tarp down. The sand that had gathered at the bottom in a small heap should have fallen away easily, as dry as the desert was, but it stuck stubbornly to the plastic.


    Atlas noticed this curiously and stooped down to feel it. It was¡­ Wet? She hastily straightened as realization dawned on her. Anji had taken a few steps out into the sun and was peering up at the grey sky.


    ¡°Rain clouds,¡± Aana said beside her. She always seemed to know exactly what her granddaughters were thinking. ¡°Today will be a great travel day, if they don¡¯t burn off.¡±


    ¡°Attie!¡± Anji shouted. She was twirling on the spot, arms now raised up, hands outspread. ¡°Anji! Come see this!¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s been off and on for three days.¡±


    The voice made everyone jump this time. They had almost forgotten that he was there. Atlas turned around and saw the stranger propped up on his elbows in the shadow of the tarp they had sheltered him with. ¡°I¡¯ve been in front of that storm for the past day or so. Trying to outrun it. I had to stop to search out water and it¡­ Caught up.¡±


    He trailed off, noticing the wary look in every eye upon him. Even Anji had stopped twirling and stood half-hidden behind her father, staring at the stranger as if he might attack at a moment¡¯s notice.


    ¡°Uh¡­¡± He tried again, clearing his throat. ¡°Thank you for not, er, killing me on sight. Yesterday. ¡± He turned his eyes back to the ground when nobody responded, his dark shaggy hair falling around his face.


    Atlas glanced at her grandmother, who seemed to be sizing the stranger up. Her thin, dark eyes were narrowed in thought, the creases around them deepening with the expression. ¡°You¡¯re welcome.¡± Aana said suddenly. ¡°And you¡¯re welcome for the water, too.¡± Atlas raised an eyebrow.


    The stranger cast his eyes upwards again and smiled, looking slightly abashed underneath his relief. The light hit his face and Atlas saw what the shadows the evening before had hidden from her¡ª he wasn¡¯t just a little lean, he was positively gaunt. What might have been passably handsome features in better times had been robbed by hunger.


    Aana seemed to notice too, because she made a tutting noise to herself and left the entrance of the store to rummage around in their bags. ¡°I am called Sedna,¡± she introduced herself to the man. ¡°But most just call me Aana.¡±


    ¡°Aana¡­¡± The stranger repeated the word as if it felt strange on his tongue. ¡°My name is Cody. I¡¯d shake your hand, but, well.¡± He waggled his wrists behind him, still bound in wire.


    ¡°Ah, yes. You¡¯ll forgive me if I don¡¯t untie you. We haven¡¯t had the best of luck with strangers on this road, I¡¯m afraid.¡±


    ¡°Sure, I¡¯ll try not to take it too personally.¡± He grinned. Atlas felt suspicion at the grin. This man wasn¡¯t acting like the others they¡¯d met, but the easy humor he had made her even more suspicious. It was the hidden snakes that were the most dangerous.


    Aana smiled back at him. A real smile. ¡°That¡¯s my son-by-marriage, Robert. His daughter, Anji, and my other granddaughter, Attie.¡±


    Atlas nodded politely and took Anji¡¯s hand, leading her out into the overgrown parking lot that was even more covered in sand than it had been when they¡¯d arrived. She intended to check out the vehicle this stranger, this Cody had ridden in on.


    She paused for a moment when she felt the rain. It was pleasantly cool and reminded her of home. She closed her eyes. Anji was giggling at her side, sounding for once like the young child she was.


    ¡°Do you remember the snow at home, Anj?¡±


    ¡°Do you remember I was ten, not three, cousin?¡± Anji shot back. So much for sounding like a child.


    ¡°Okay, okay. But do you remember when we would dig out a hole of clean snow, and chuck it at each other?¡±


    ¡°Mmhmm, and one time David got me in the back of the head with one, only there was ice in it, and it-¡± she broke off, gasping for air. Atlas¡¯s bemused smile tightened at the rattling sound she could hear behind the breath. ¡°-made me bleed!¡±


    ¡°Oh, hmm. I seem to remember you shoved him so hard he fell on his face in the grey-snow and he broke out so bad you couldn¡¯t see the skin on his face for a week!¡±


    Anji grinned, unabashed. ¡°He deserved it.¡±


    Atlas playfully jabbed Anji with an elbow and both of them laughed. The laughter died quickly, as both girls tried to avoid thinking of what had happened to their childhood friends in the end.


    David was long since dead. They all were, and laughter at the good memories couldn¡¯t guard against the pain of that truth for very long.


    When they reached the overturned motorbike, Atlas kicked aside the wet piles of sand and inspected it for bags. The bike had definitely seen better days. It was dented and rusted out all over, and even the headlight--which had gone out in the night¡ª was cracked down the middle.


    There wasn¡¯t much to search over, just one small pouch slung over the seat that had blown open in the wind and was full of sand. Atlas crouched beside it and scooped out the sand, brushing her hand off on her shirt afterwards. She reached inside and felt only a few items, which she dumped unceremoniously on the ground.


    A bottle, empty judging by the hollow sound it made as it landed, fell out first. Then came a small zipper pouch made of a clean, shiny material that Atlas didn¡¯t recognize. Lastly, a glassy tablet which was had a crack spreading out from one corner like a web. This she caught with one hand before it hit the ground. She tossed the empty bag aside and turned the tablet over in her hands, inspecting it.


    ¡°A computer?¡± Anji asked.


    ¡°Sort of, yeah.¡± Atlas frowned. ¡°Your father used to have one like it. Remember?¡±


    Anji shook her head. She reached out and clicked a button on the side of it but nothing happened. ¡°No power.¡±


    ¡°I think we¡¯re still quite far from any cities.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t remind me.¡±


    Atlas grinned at the cynical seriousness in her cousins voice. ¡°Okay,¡± she said airily. ¡°I won¡¯t.¡±


    Anji narrowed her eyes and Atlas swept the tablet up and took off running back towards the door, laughing.


    ¡°Hey!¡± Anji shouted after her. ¡°Attie, wait!¡±


    The two of them laughed as they ran back up to the store, the rain pleasantly cool and the air tasting cleaner than it had since they¡¯d left home. Even Anji, her small lungs damaged as they were, was able to sprint most of the way.


    They tumbled into the store entrance, panting, and Atlas¡¯s laughter halted as she felt the telltale rattling deep in her own lungs. She cleared her throat and held the tablet out towards Aana. ¡°This was in his things. That¡¯s it.¡±


    Robert was crouched beside Cody, talking in a low voice. Cody¡¯s eyes darted over to Atlas and then returned to staring straight ahead. He looked intensely focused. And¡­ Scared? Atlas wondered what on Earth her uncle was saying.


    Aana turned the tablet over in her weathered hands, frowning. ¡°Well it wouldn¡¯t be much use to him out here,¡± she muttered.


    ¡°That¡¯s uh, that¡¯s mine¡­¡± Cory¡¯s voice was louder, more assertive than it had been.


    All eyes shifted to him, except Aana¡¯s. She just smiled a knowing smile and continued her inspection of the device.


    ¡°Please!¡± Cory tried again, this time nearly shouting. His face was almost as pale as it had been after his fainting spell last night. Atlas, her ears already attuned to the sound, could hear his breathing becoming labored and wheezy. ¡°Please, you can leave me tied up, I don¡¯t care, leave me here to fend for myself, just please, please don¡¯t take m-¡±


    ¡°Take?¡± Aana interrupted, her eyebrows raised. ¡°We¡¯re not thieves.¡±


    It was clear from the desperate look in his eyes that he did not even consider that she might be telling the truth. He started to struggle to sit up, shifting his arms around behind him and squirming against the wires that bound him. His breath grew louder and more uneven.


    ¡°We are headed south.¡± Aana had crossed to the boy and crouched, speaking into his panicked face. In one hand she offered him the tablet. ¡°We have been on the road for a long time now, and most of the people we¡¯ve encountered have been less than friendly. You, boy, are another stranger to us. But I don¡¯t get the sense that you bear any malice. You have a hunted look, like you¡¯re running from something just as we are. So, I¡¯m going to trust you. Do you understand?¡±


    This was all spoken in a low voice, but a voice just cold enough to plainly say she would not hesitate to bind him or worse should he prove himself less than trustworthy.


    Cody¡¯s eyes were darting all around, and he didn¡¯t grab the tablet right away. He obviously thought it was some kind of trick. But his breathing was getting away from him. Atlas felt pity return as the wheezing grew louder. He had forgotten the tablet, now, amid the effort to catch his breath. His lips were growing pale.


    Without really thinking much about it, Atlas pushed her grandmother aside and roughly shoved the stranger over, toppling him to his side. She held her hands on his back so that he was balanced on his left side.


    ¡°Breathe,¡± she commanded. He may have tried to obey, but it was impossible at that point. He could only gasp like a seal that had found its way into bad waters. Atlas turned to call to Anji but the girl was already there, clutching a worn red backpack in one hand and digging around in it with the other.


    She pulled out a small metal pot and a book of matches and handed it over. Atlas quickly struck one up, lighting the bottom of the pot and shoving it towards Cody¡¯s reddening face. Anji wrapped a piece of cloth around her palms and cupped her hands between the pot and Cody¡¯s mouth.


    ¡°Breathe the smoke,¡± Atlas instructed. His eyes were rolling in fear but he obeyed. As best as he could, anyways, with his lungs seizing as badly as they were. One labored, halting breath. Then another. The third came easier. And by the fourth there was only the high pitched whistle beneath the gasps. Color returned slowly to his face and he slumped against Atlas¡¯s hands. She could feel him trembling.


    ¡°Worse than Anji,¡± Aana mused to nobody in particular. She came over and squatted beside the girls, peering into Cody¡¯s gaunt face. ¡°Where did you come from, Cody?¡±


    ¡°S¡­¡± he sucked in another breath mid-sentence. ¡°A city¡­ West. Southwest of here.¡±


    Atlas could hear his breathing evening off and slowly lowered him back to a supine position. He glanced at her gratefully.


    ¡°A city?¡± Aana repeated. She looked at her companions, her face blazing so fiercely that she looked decades younger. ¡°And how many days did you travel?¡±


    Cody just shook his head at the question, squeezing his eyes tight. He was shaking harder, now.


    ¡°Gran¡­¡± Atlas plead. ¡°Please, Aana, let¡¯s let him be for now.¡±


    Anji plunked a heavy bottle into the dirt beside Cody¡¯s head. ¡°Drink,¡± she ordered, with a confidence far surpassing what someone her age should have been able to manage. Cody drank, needing help at first to tip the bottle back but gaining strength enough to hold it himself.


    ¡°That vehicle couldn¡¯t have held much fuel. The city, I¡¯d wager, is a few days¡¯ travel at most. We¡¯re almost there.¡± Aana¡¯s voice didn¡¯t betray any of the excitement that shown on her face. Robert looked wary at his mother¡¯s sudden change.


    Cody set the bottle back down and pushed himself to his elbows. ¡°Ma¡¯am¡­¡± He stopped to clear his throat. It didn¡¯t take the hoarseness away but he continued regardless. ¡°Sorry, but¡­ That¡¯s not a place you want to be right now. The entire place is on lockdown. I barely got out.¡±


    Aana¡¯s face didn¡¯t change in the slightest. She looked at him and blinked, lost in her own thoughts. After a moment of silence she asked him, in a strange and cautious voice, who he was running from. She asked it as if not expecting an answer, and he didn¡¯t offer one.


    Instead, he laid back down and closed his eyes, still breathing in shallow and trembling gasps. Atlas watched him settle into a shallow sleep before turning to her grandmother. She narrowed her eyes, almost accusatory, and pointed at the sleeping boy. ¡°What on Earth, Aana!¡± Her voice was a hissing whisper. ¡°What did he mean, ¡®lockdown¡¯, and what did you mean, about him running? You know something you¡¯re not telling us.¡±


    ¡°Not telling any of us!¡± Robert agreed, frowning.


    Aana looked at all of them, serenely. ¡°I don¡¯t know about the lockdown. I know that, the last time I was in the South, the¡­¡± She paused, frowning. ¡°The Powers That Be were creating all sorts of problems.¡± There was a mirthless smile on her face now. ¡°There were rumors¡­ Only rumors.¡±


    ¡°Rumors of what?¡± Atlas prodded. She frowned at her grandma¡¯s sudden reticence as much as at the clouded, thoughtful expression on the older woman¡¯s face.


    Robert cleared his throat. ¡°Well. Regardless of what¡¯s going on over there, we¡¯re dead if we don¡¯t find some kind of civilization. Likewise if we stay here for much longer. Shouldn¡¯t we get going?¡±


    Aana snapped back to reality at the words and turned to Atlas, who sighed. Loathe as she was to admit it, her uncle was absolutely right. They had to keep moving. ¡°So we leave Cody with his bike to follow and murder us in our sleep?¡± She asked flatly. ¡°Or do we tie him up again and leave him to die?¡±


    Anji looked stricken by the options, and Atlas almost regretted saying it all aloud. Almost. She avoided the accusing stare of the younger girl and looked at the other two adults. They just frowned thoughtfully, understanding the dilemma.


    ¡°No, we won¡¯t do that,¡± Robert said, though he didn¡¯t sound entirely convinced himself.


    ¡°So we take him with us.¡± Everyone turned to look at Anji, who had drawn herself up to her full height. Her face was fierce. ¡°We take him with us, we can keep an eye on him, and we know at least that he won¡¯t die in the desert.¡±


    Atlas glanced over at Cody, who was still sound asleep. She didn¡¯t like the idea of dragging this stranger along with them, but she knew she couldn¡¯t leave anyone to die who did not deserve it. And he hadn¡¯t been a criminal. Just someone lost in the desert, exactly as they themselves were.


    Letting out a long sigh, Atlas nodded. ¡°I think that¡¯s our only solid option.¡± There was a long pause, during which Anji continued to stare at the adults as if she towered over all of them.


    ¡°Okay,¡± Aana said finally. Relief slid across Anji¡¯s face and she relaxed. The women all turned to Robert.


    ¡°Alright,¡± he sighed. ¡°He comes with. Attie, wake him up.¡±

 Lockdown

    The first of the rains continued for twelve days.


    It started off as occasional, gentle showers and grew in intensity and duration into a steady hissing downpour.


    On the sixth day, the disused runoff systems reached a breaking point and the streets began to fill with murky water. The general sense of amazement faded to resignation, then to mild unease. Strangers went from jauntily telling each other how badly the water was needed to exchanging nervous shrugs. What can you do? Those shrugs said. It has to stop eventually.


    Natural disasters and extremes were not something the city was unfamiliar with, but there had been a period of relative calm for ten, twenty years at least. Nobody cared to return to the chaos of days past.


    The older folks dispersed only haunted glances and tight frowns. The younger generations might kid themselves, but the elderly knew all too well that sudden shifts like this one usually heralded even more extremes. They didn¡¯t believe it would end anytime soon. On the contrary, they all knew that it was likely only the beginning.


    On day eight, the flooding began in earnest. Nobody was delighting in the showers anymore. No more children in the street, no more grins and laughter. That brief glow of comaraderie in the city flickered out as if it had never been.


    Evacuations were ordered in all of the low-lying areas. These were, of course, the pits of the city where runoff and pollution laws were lax; inhabited only by the poorest of the poor. Nobody paid much attention as they were herded out in sodden crowds like cattle, following routes to higher ground that were marked by road flares and the occasional neon-vested cop.


    Those with more financial resources watched from their hills and skyscrapers, sickened but comfortably removed from the muddy thronging in the streets below. And the middle ground¡ªthe inner suburbs and the business districts¡ª were forced to make way for the masses now seeking refuge.


    Every public building with a roof and a working bathroom was quickly requisitioned by the city. It wasn¡¯t a permanent solution, nor a very good one, but it was all that the panicked government could think to do. It at least kept people calm for a little bit longer. The illusion of control was more important than the actual power, in some cases.


    Days passed with general compliance. People were resigned, trusting. Willing to listen and obey instructions without much ado. The problems only came when the stream of refugees didn¡¯t end. Buildings began to fill. Doors closed. Officers cordoned off shelter after shelter, and begin to turn everyone away. They would be pointed out, towards the next place. More often than not, that place would be full too.


    Day and night crowds trudged through the mud, adding a soundtrack of crying children, shouting, and occasional gunfire to the steady drum of rain. Eventually, there was nowhere else to go.


    Displaces masses bled out into the city, endlessly searching for somewhere dry to wait out what the government at last on the seventh day acknowledged as an ¡®unprecedented¡¯ storm.


    The rain mixed with thick dust and grime on the surface roads, creating a slurry of muck that sucked at shoes; the vertical surfaces of the city, though, experienced an odd renewal. Buildings whose walls had been layered in decades of filth were suddenly washed clean, sometimes revealing colors beneath that had been long since forgotten.


    The landscape was transformed. Gray, faded surfaces appeared as if they¡¯d been freshly whitewashed. There was even a sparkling quality to some of the polished cement signs, in stark opposition to the increasingly disgusting streets. The bank building in the center of downtown suddenly shown with its original red brickwork.


    An occasional stray refugee would pause to gawk up at it, wondering at the rusty color that had sat unseen for generations. Even the mobilized soldiers often got lost as landmarks became unfamiliar. The seemingly monochromatic cityscape washed into something new; something oddly vibrant. It added to the feeling of surreality.


    On the tenth day, riots began. Unrest spread through the city like wildfire, starting with only the smaller neighborhoods in the seedy area south of downtown and fanning outward until breaking upon a wall of soldiers in the financial district. Helicopters brought in more and more military until the crowds receded back.


    Tristan watched from his window as the first of many barricades was erected just a half a block from the entrance to his building. A unit of eight uniformed men waded through knee-high water there, carrying between them a large length of metal fence. He watched them struggle to place it amidst the torrent of water that streamed over the pavement.


    They shouted at each other and twice had to ward off would-be rioters, but eventually managed to secure their railing between two buildings. Once it was in place, they left to fetch another piece. Tristan felt ill. He pulled his head away from the windowpane and sat hard on the floor.


    More and more pieces of fence were brought in, until the entire eastern length of the block was effectively walled off. Soldiers were stationed between each section, carrying guns and not at all bothered by the ever-rising waters that rushed by their legs.


    Each time Tristan risked another glance down to the street, the wall was longer, the lights brighter. There were floodlights and flashlights and armored vehicles coming in almost as fast as the water. His heart thudded harder and harder as the scene below unfolded. How the hell was he supposed to get out of the city with half the bloody military lined up and ready to shoot anyone who dared leave their buildings?


    At around four on the eleventh afternoon, an announcement was piped through the speakers sprinkled around the city for emergency use. It called for a total lockdown. Nobody was allowed to be outside until further notice. Rations would be delivered building by building. Anyone caught in violation was to be arrested.


    The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    Shot on sight, more likely. Tristan grimaced. His head had not stopped hurting for more than an hour or two since the cafe. His mother had always told him that the headaches were from nerves. He privately agreed, but liked to call them migraines whenever anyone asked.


    He crossed to the small bathroom off of the living area and leaned over the sink, cranking the tap fully towards cold. There was a loud spluttering noise and then a metallic clunk, and only a thin stream of water came out. He barked a laugh. Water outages were not unusual, true, but the irony of it happening during a flood was not lost on him.


    ¡°Cody, the fuck have you gotten us into!¡± He muttered, abandoning the sink and opening the medicine cabinet to search for a painkiller instead. There was only two left in the bottle. Groaning, he popped them both in his mouth and leaned back to the faucet to gulp them down with the last trickle of water before the pipes signaled empty with another loud thunk.


    Just then, there was another rattle of gunfire from the street below. He yelped and jumped, catching the edge of the mirror on the back of his head. Cursing, he slammed the cabinet closed and rubbed the spot where a bruise was now forming. Laughter came again, at the absurdity of the now doubled pain in his skull.


    He wondered vaguely if he was losing his mind. Probably. ¡°And does it matter, after all of this?¡± He asked his empty apartment. His tablet, still where he¡¯d left it when he¡¯d come in the night before, beeped and lit up. He reflexively dropped to the ground, getting out of view of the camera built into its face.


    The screen turned red, with scrolling white lettering flashing on it. Just another emergency alert. Scolding himself for being so jumpy, he crawled on his belly towards the thing and hastily flipped it face down. Just in case, he told himself.


    After a moment¡¯s consideration he pushed it under the bed, too. Couldn¡¯t be too careful. Both knees cracked as he stood. He could feel the annoying wheeze in his chest that was all that remained of the boyhood asthma that had plagued him until his medical advisor had finally approved him to get some non-required surgeries.


    It had been a joy to be able to breathe clearly, to be able to experience strong emotions without the terrifying squeeze of tightening bronchial pathways. He knew it had been more than sheer luck that had gotten that oh-so-rare approval on the procedure. Cody, certainly, had helped.


    Cody, the prodigal big brother ironically working for the Big Brother. The eldest of the Byrne sons. The one who had pulled all the right strings in the government to help as many as he possibly could. Starting, of course, with his kid brother Tristan. A lot of good it did him, Tristan thought bitterly, sweeping a hand through his dark hair. He wrinkled his nose, smelling the stink of his own fear.


    Cody. Cody, not Tris, had been Cara Byrne¡¯s pride and joy before leukemia took her. He was the strongest of her three boys. The one with the genetic luck to not suffer any of the diseases that ran so rampant amid the lower classes. At least, to not be born with any of them.


    The third boy, Finn, had died in infancy. He was the youngest, unfortunately born after their mother had been ¡°compelled¡± to relocate to a tract of houses in the southwest of the city. Near the dump. Near most of the chemical and radioactive spillage that the government continued to deny existed. Tristan of course, knew better. Cancer rates didn¡¯t lie.


    He sighed and checked the time. Almost seven. Time yet to try to get a message out to his brother. Pushing himself up wearily, Tristan eyed the wooden hutch that stood lonely in one corner of the small fluorescent-lit nook by the kitchen that served as his dining room.


    It¡¯s where he kept what his mother would have called his keepsakes. He tended to just call it his sentimental shit, or just ¡®junk¡¯ if he was feeling particularly ornery. It contained boxes of actual mementos like family photos and old documents, and then lesser odds and ends that he couldn¡¯t bring himself to let go of.


    Old electronics, gifts, an old self-heating mug that had melted a plastic coaster into an unrecognizable lump that wouldn¡¯t come off of it. It really was mostly junk, but when he had been allowed to move to a better part of town he hadn¡¯t been able to get rid of everything.


    He dug through the myriad of useless stuff to get to an old notebook that was stuffed near the bottom of the heap. It was dusty and felt heavy in his hands. Dusty, but this thing had been his pride and joy for years and so had been taken care of. Very well taken care of.


    He nudged the hutch closed again and sat down at his tiny table, shoving aside some dishes and a sweatshirt to make room for the notebook. There was a power pad on the far side of the table and he gently set the old computer down on it, holding his breath for a moment as he waited for the green light that indicated charging.


    There was a soft tone and the light appeared, and Tristan smiled to himself. Well taken care of, indeed. He wiped off a layer of dust from the top of the thing as it charged, cringing a little as he realized that dust may well have come from the bad side of town. He flapped his hands at the dust cloud that now hung around his face in a futile attempt to dispel it.


    In the distance, more gunfire sounded. There was a sharp scream, another tap-tap-tap of rapid fire shots, then silence except for some far-off siren. Tristan swallowed hard. He gave the computer a few more minutes of charging, nervously picking at his nails while he waited, then decided he could sit idly no longer and swung it around to face him.


    It made a creaking click as he opened it but seemed no worse for wear than the last time he¡¯d used it. Its ancient screen lit blue as soon as it was fully opened, and Tristan allowed himself a sigh of relief. The thing was a fossil, but sometimes the obsolete gadgets were the best chance at anonymity.


    Cody,


    Tristan began typing, nerves tightening his throat.


    Hope all is well. I picked up


    He paused. Thought about it, then hit backspace a few times and began anew:


    I ran into your old partner the other day, and she said to send her regards. Work has moved her to a different office and she doesn¡¯t get to the city often anymore. She asked if I get out much, guess you must have told her about me. One day, I¡¯ll leave the city just to get you off my back about it. Anyways, missing you always,


    -Tris


    Tristan ran through it twice more, reading it aloud to himself in a quiet murmur. He tried to find any obvious hint at subterfuge in the words, tried thinking about them backwards and forwards and at all angles until he was sure that nobody would be able to make anything of it beyond what was there.


    Once satisfied, he hovered his finger over the button that would send the message out. Hesitated there. Sighed. ¡°God damn it!¡± He cursed, slamming the laptop closed instead and slumping back in his chair. His hands had begun to tremble.


    Images from the cafe played over and over in his head. He was no longer confident in the privacy of any correspondence. If they could find and do¡­ do that to whoever dropped the file onto his tablet, then it stood to reason they could trace the file back to its origin. Back to Cody.


    No, he couldn¡¯t risk it. And no matter how insane it all was, his only chance of any of this being of any use at all was to get the hell out of the city. Before the lockdown procedures got any further.


    Tristan stood up and quickly began tossing a few of his things into the beige messenger bag he usually used for work. It was sleek and new, a gift from his coworker after he had landed a rare promotion. A pang of guilt tailed the flash of memory.


    He was never the brave one, never the one given to act first. But Cody was relying on him.

 Desperation

    For the hundredth time since he¡¯d awoken, Cody swore at the dead tablet in his hands. The thing might as well have been a slab of stone. He checked the cord running between it and the small, solar-powered charging bank he¡¯d been using for weeks to keep it running.


    The cord was fine. Just as fine as the last time he¡¯d checked. The connections were free of grit and dust; they didn¡¯t wobble. He knew that the cord wasn¡¯t really the problem but couldn¡¯t help hoping against hope that he might discover some flaw there that he¡¯d missed. He refused to let himself admit that the tablet itself might be broken.


    ¡°It¡¯s probably the screen,¡± A small voice piped up behind him. He jumped at the sound and whirled to find Anji had crept up behind him. The girl was slight for her age and not entirely over her initial fear of him, but she was also curious as a cat.


    Cody¡¯s frown deepened. ¡°It can¡¯t be the screen.¡± His voice made it clear he didn¡¯t so much believe that as want to will it into truth.


    ¡°Well¡­ It looks broken.¡± Anji shrugged. She didn¡¯t know much about technology, having been raised in a place far enough north so as to be almost detached from the civilized world. Her dad had, when she was very young, still had a cache of electronics and tech devices that he¡¯d brought north with him, but they¡¯d for the most part been defunct beyond repair by the time she was barely learning to read.


    They had stopped to shelter from the midday heat in a dilapidated old shack that Robert told them appeared to have been once used as a fire outpost. There was, luckily, still a relatively intact smaller cement building behind it that offered decent shade.


    Atlas and Robert were standing behind the building, shading their eyes against the glare of the sun. There was a broken off fire hydrant standing beside them, and they had been initially hopeful that there might be some still functioning water source nearby. An old pipe, an aquifer. Something. No such luck, though.


    Atlas sighed and let the hand shading her brow fall. Sweat that had beaded where her hand met her forehead was immediately wicked away by the dry air. She surveyed the land that spread out before them.


    Aside from the shade, the lookout station also offered an excellent vantage point. It was posted on a hill that swept up from the road and then dropped off beyond the station in a sudden series of small craggy hills. Grey-brown underbrush, bleached and worn tree trunks, and pale dirt stretched out as far as they could see in every direction.


    ¡°Why the hell did they need a fire lookout here? There¡¯s nothing here to burn.¡± Robert¡¯s mouth quirked into a grimace. His eyes looked pained. ¡°This would have been all trees and farm fields, Attie. Back then, the green stretched all the way west to the timber line in the mountains.¡± He pointed towards the sun, towards the west. ¡°The desert would have ended two hundred miles to the south.¡±


    Atlas couldn¡¯t see anything too far off through the dusty air, but she knew based on what he had told her that there was a mountain range that way. A big one. The highway they were following was supposed to lead directly to those mountains, eventually. And to the city at their base.


    ¡°I don¡¯t see any water,¡± Atlas said simply. She turned away from the sweeping vista. Robert nodded, swallowing. His eyes were tight with worry.


    ¡°We need to get closer to the mountains. There¡¯s bound to be some up there. Once we¡¯ve taken care of that we¡¯ll be in a better position to decide what to do about the¡­ About what Cody told us.¡±


    ¡°So we¡¯ll keep heading west, then.¡± Atlas glanced once more at the view. It felt suddenly as if the desolate landscape loomed over them. Something massive and insurmountable. She wondered again why they had left their home for this stinking, seemingly endless wasteland. And again thought bitterly that the fate they would have met in the north may have been preferable to this.


    A wheezing cough behind them signaled Cody¡¯s arrival on the cement deck behind them. Atlas scowled at him. ¡°It helps if you cover your damn face,¡± she muttered. He looked abashed and pulled a handkerchief up over his nose and mouth.


    ¡°I think,¡± he said, words muffled slightly by the cloth. ¡°That¡¯s a lake bed.¡± He pointed northwest, towards a slightly paler patch of land that began just where the dusty air ate up the visibility. Robert and Atlas both squinted towards where he was pointing.


    ¡°What makes you so sure?¡± Robert asked.


    ¡°Those rocks don¡¯t look like they got there naturally, and they seem to be bordering something. My best guess is it was a lake at some point. Maybe a reservoir.¡±


    Atlas swore she could feel her mouth dry up at the word. God, she was thirsty. ¡°What rocks?¡± She asked, licking her lips.


    ¡°The-¡± He lifted his hand to point again, confusion wrinkling his brow, then seemed to realize something. ¡°Ah,¡± he said, bringing his pointing hand to his face instead. ¡°I have lenses,¡± he tapped a finger to below his right eye. ¡°I can see farther with them.¡±


    ¡°Lenses?¡± Atlas asked. She glanced sideways at Robert and saw that he didn¡¯t look confused at all.


    ¡°Artificial lenses,¡± Robert said, as if that explained everything. Atlas frowned. ¡°So,¡± he turned his attention fully on Cody now. ¡°You see a lake?¡±


    ¡°A lake bed.¡±


    ¡°Artificial lenses?!¡± Atlas asked, gesturing in confusion at her uncle.


    The men ignored her for the moment, looking intently at each other. ¡°I just see rocks. It looks like a lake bed to me. Something big and man made and not a field or a town.¡±


    ¡°It would mean leaving the road,¡± Robert murmured. He gazed thoughtfully out towards where Cody had pointed.


    Cody nodded. ¡°But it also might mean water.¡±


    Atlas threw her hands up in frustration and went back inside to check on Anji, muttering under her breath. Aana was just waking up from a nap and had started making a pot of tea. She smiled as Atlas stepped inside. Anji was leaning against a wall, carefully stacking rocks in a precarious-looking tower.


    ¡°Bored, are we?¡± Atlas asked.


    Anji scowled. ¡°Dad said I¡¯m not allowed to go out until the sun starts to set. So, this is what I¡¯ve been reduced to.¡± She pointedly poked at a rock towards the bottom of the tower and sent them all crashing down. One skittered across the floor and into the tea kettle with a ringing thud.


    ¡°What¡¯s an artificial lens, Aana?¡± Atlas picked up the stone that had bounced off the kettle and chucked it back towards where her cousin was already starting on another rock tower.


    ¡°Huh?¡± The old woman asked. ¡°Oh, the eye implants?¡± She looked distant, like she was lost in her own thoughts. ¡°People¡­ They¡­ There are implants that go beyond cosmetic. They started as replacements for glasses, contact lenses¡­¡± She trailed off, smiling as she saw the clear confusion on her granddaughter¡¯s face. Anji, too, had perked up and turned to hear. ¡°I sometimes forget how much you don¡¯t know.¡±


    ¡°I know what glasses and contacts are, Aana,¡± Atlas corrected. ¡°My dad wore glasses. But Cody said he has artificial lenses, not contacts.¡± Aana just continued to smile knowingly.


    ¡°Yes¡­ Well... In the South, once gene editing had become widely available, it was somewhat of a mark of poverty to have less than perfect vision. Wearing glasses was a sign that your parents either weren¡¯t able to afford to or chose not to ¡®fix¡¯ those perceived problems before birth.


    Those kids grew up¡­ They of course didn¡¯t want to be hindered by whatever judgements people might make. Someone made artificial lenses that instead of just leveling the playing field, took it further and gave advantage over even the people who had all the genetic advantages. Nobody could look down on anyone who had sight beyond the limit of even perfect human vision.


    Of course, people being people, soon it became a trend. It spread to other alterations. Perfect outsides and insides had already been achieved so why not improve upon perfection?¡± Aana dropped a wink at Anji, who had abandoned her rocks completely in order to eavesdrop. ¡°Kind of like superpowers.¡±


    ¡°So Cody is a superhero!¡± Anji exclaimed. Atlas chuckled.


    ¡°He just has good vision, Anj. Doesn¡¯t make him superman.¡±


    ¡°Actually, my hearing and sense of smell is great, too,¡± Cody said from the doorway. ¡°Not so much on the super strength or laser vision, though.¡± He was grinning at Anji, who snorted a laugh.


    Robert stepped up beside him, looking grim. The mood in the room immediately shifted.


    ¡°Son?¡± Aana asked cautiously.


    ¡°Someone¡¯s coming,¡± he said. ¡°A group.¡±


    Cody¡¯s smile slid off his face and everyone turned to look at Aana. She wiped her hands on her lap and stood up. ¡°Hide Anji,¡± she said. Robert scooped his daughter up like she was still a toddler, and for once she didn¡¯t protest.


    They disappeared together back out the door, and Atlas felt adrenaline pouring into her system in a dizzying wave. ¡°Well, super-vision, can you go take a look?¡± She shoved Cody in the back, harder than she¡¯d intended, and followed him out onto the deck. They stuck close to the pitted cement walls of the building, trying to avoid being seen.


    The deck wrapped around the back half before giving way to sand and stone. The shade disappeared as they came to the front, the side that faced the road. Atlas squinted as her eyes adjusted but Cody didn¡¯t seem to be affected by the light change at all.


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    The dust cloud was all he could see at first. It drifted up from the road in a wide plume, billowing around the first of three vehicles that sped towards them. Cody could only make out the first car really, the other two were swallowed almost entirely in dust. They were coming fast, though.


    ¡°Three cars,¡± he said to Atlas. ¡°Maybe they¡¯ll just pass on by?¡± The look she gave him in response was withering. He doubted it, too. Theirs was the only relatively intact building they had spotted in days, and out here every scrap of useable shade was worth its volume in water.


    Fear writhing in her belly, Atlas gave Cody¡¯s shirt a tug. ¡°Come on, let¡¯s get back inside.¡±


    Robert was just coming around to meet them, his face red and damp with sweat. He pulled his own makeshift mask up so that only his eyes, dark with fear, were visible. He ushered them all into the back corner of the little building, tucking their scant belongings behind them and dropping to a crouch to peer out of the glassless window.


    The sound of tires approaching on the uneven pavement was the only herald of their arrival. These cars¡¯ engines weren¡¯t the noisy, fuel-burning type like Cody¡¯s bike had been. They were deathly silent. Electric, and well-maintained by the sound of it. Cars of the wealthy.


    Atlas stayed in the corner, heart galloping wildly in her chest, trying not to notice that Aana had once again palmed her old scraping knife. Her small fingers looked deceptively frail against the antler handle.


    ¡°Music,¡± Cody whispered at her side. Atlas stared at him.


    ¡°What?¡± She hissed back. He had enough time to repeat the word in a louder voice and she enough time to pin him with a glare before she heard it herself: A snatch of music, drifting in through the empty window over the hissing of tires. It grew louder, loud enough for her to catch a thrumming backbeat and the words for you before it faded out again just as quickly.


    Cody raised his eyebrows and nodded towards the window. ¡°Music,¡± he repeated again. Robert¡¯s shoulders visibly relaxed.


    ¡°They didn¡¯t even slow down,¡± he said. His voice was shaky with relief.


    ¡°Hm.¡± Aana grunted, turning her knife over and slipping it back into her bag. ¡°Well. That¡¯s twice we¡¯ve gotten extremely lucky. Let¡¯s not push it. I think we¡¯d better head out.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s that you said about leaving the road?¡± Atlas asked her uncle, smiling wryly.


    ¡°Yeah, suddenly doesn¡¯t sound so bad,¡± he agreed, standing up. ¡°I¡¯m going to go get Anji.¡±


    When he returned with her she was clutching her backpack and her eyes were red and swollen with tears. Cody offered to take her bag and then pulled a face at her as she handed it over, earning a flash of shy smile from the girl. Atlas watched the exchange, prickly with unease.


    Cody had taken to Anji with a speed that would have been, under any other circumstance, endearing. He had an easy way with her that spoke of experience with children. It was an ease that didn¡¯t come naturally to Atlas, and she thought part of her distrust of him might be due to envy.


    ¡°Siblings,¡± Aana whispered, tapping her on the shoulder. ¡°I bet he has younger siblings.¡±


    That her grandmother had also noted and wasn¡¯t worried about Cody and Anji¡¯s natural rapport provided Atlas some comfort. She took a deep breath, willing herself to let go of some of the tension in her body. ¡°Yeah¡­ Siblings.¡±


    Cody grinned, turning to them. ¡°Spot on, actually. I¡¯ve got a kid brother.¡±


    Atlas scowled again, disliking that he seemed able to hear everything as well as see it. Aana laughed and clapped her on the shoulder. ¡°Let¡¯s go, granddaughter.¡±


    They all shuffled out of the cement building in a row, with Atlas at point. Aana stayed close behind her, then Robert, with Cody walking backwards and saying things to Anji that elicited peals of laughter.


    It took them until sunset to reach the rocks, and about half that time to realize it was actually the remains of an old dam. The eroded pile that was all that remained of the rock wall stretched out in both directions along it, lining a smaller abandoned road to the right and curving around to the left in a series of jagged inlets.


    There was the usual ghosts of long forgotten infrastructure alongside that road; various poles and scrap bits of metal and wiring. At the intersection of byroad and main road, a shred of rubber that may once have belonged to a tire leaned precariously out over a crevasse where earthquake or time had cracked deep into the blacktop.


    About halfway down that smaller road a small steel bridge, rusted out almost entirely, led out to a stilted tower. At one point there would have been water that necessitated those stilts, but now it just looked odd. It seemed the slightest gust of wind might blow the whole thing over.


    They all gazed somberly out over the lakebed when they got to the point where the rocks began sloping down to the bottom of the lakebed. It was empty, though there were some muddy patches where scant greenery grew. It looked jarring against the dusty landscape, a slash of green amid the monochromatic browns and grays. But, that there were plants at all suggested some kind of water down there.


    Robert heaved a sigh, pulling his mask down briefly to wipe a hand over his sunburned face. ¡°Might as well go check it out, I suppose.¡± He started picking his way down the rocks, kicking up dust with each footfall. Wordlessly, the others followed.


    It wasn¡¯t steep, thankfully, and the rocks were so packed with dust and grit and hardened clay between them that footing wasn¡¯t too precarious, either. Occasionally a loose rock would go skittering down after an ill-placed footfall, but it wasn¡¯t often.


    The stones eventually gave way to a layer of silt and clay, and then steel-reinforced concrete near where the ground began to level back out. Anji and Atlas were both wheezing audibly by the time the downward scramble finally ended. Anji crouched down to catch her breath, going to remove her mask but stopping at a glare from her father.


    They passed around the two remaining water bladders, every one of them fighting the almost primal urge to suck down every last drop. Their sips were careful, measured. Just enough to wet chapped lips and dampen dry tongues. Enough to barely sate the ache of thirst that was snaking down each throat.


    ¡°So,¡± Cody said conversationally as they passed the water around one last time. He leaned back, propped up on one lanky arm, looking somehow comfortable on the rocky ground. ¡°Do you all trust me enough now to tell me where you¡¯re headed?¡±


    His companions all looked at each other. Unspoken words passed between Atlas and Aana and then the older woman nodded solemnly. It wasn¡¯t that they trusted him, per se, Atlas knew. It was just that if they were all being perfectly honest they really had no reason to keep anything from him. At this point, if he meant harm, he¡¯d have been well done with it.


    ¡°We,¡± Atlas began, heaving a long sigh. ¡°We are headed South¡­ We got removed from our home. They told us we could find Sanctuary in the South if the world outside our colony wasn¡¯t¡­¡± She hesitated, searching for the correct word. ¡°Hospitable.¡±


    Cody frowned. ¡°And where¡¯s home?¡±


    ¡°Hudson,¡± Aana answered. Her gaze locked on Cody with such intensity that his blue eyes widened slightly. ¡°Far North. Even the bay colonies were farther South than we ever traveled. The military came from there and pushed us out. Requisitioning the land for carbon capture plants, they said.¡±


    ¡°Hudson,¡± Cody repeated. He looked North as if he could see all the way to their home. ¡°Carbon capture¡­¡±


    ¡°Hudson,¡± Aana agreed. ¡°Though Canada didn¡¯t claim jurisdiction when push came to shove, did they?¡± It was not really a question. She finally took her eyes from Cody¡¯s face, turning them skyward.


    ¡°They came with tanks,¡± Atlas continued. She said it matter-of-factly. ¡°They offered us the chance to go South to a sanctuary city, or to stay and go into their camps. We were turned out with three other families and made it as far as the bay colonies. But¡­¡± She trailed off, her face darkening with the memory. ¡°They were alrighty in resource wars. We weren¡¯t exactly welcome.¡±


    ¡°They killed everyone,¡± Anji said simply. ¡°They killed my mom. Attie¡¯s dad. My brother. All of our cousins. Our three last dogs.¡± Her voice cracked on the last word. Atlas automatically started stroking Anji¡¯s dark hair in a practiced soothing motion.


    ¡°So, we continued South. They gave us coordinates to the Sanctuary city, and we¡¯ve been traveling ever since. Once we get there we will¡­ Try to rebuild our life.¡± Atlas attempted a weak imitation of Aana¡¯s stoic strength but her voice quavered. She didn¡¯t like thinking about the future. Hope was dangerous.


    Cody looked at her. ¡°Shit,¡± he swore, dragging his legs up to hug his knees. ¡°I know it doesn¡¯t quite cover it but, I¡¯m so sorry.¡± There was sincere, heartfelt sympathy in his features.


    Atlas just shrugged. ¡°It¡¯s alright,¡± she said. ¡°Or at least it will be. One step at a time. First we really need to find some more water.¡±


    Aana nodded, standing with a stretch. She dug some protein bars out of one of their four bags and handed them out to everyone. ¡°Eat,¡± she commanded. ¡°I¡¯m going to see if those plants mean water.¡± She nodded towards the shock of green in the middle of the lake bed.


    Cody almost protested. It didn¡¯t feel right to him to have the oldest amongst them do the most physical work, but when he surveyed their little ragtag party he swallowed the words. Aana was clearly struggling less than the rest of them. He himself was trembling and weak from hunger, and Robert¡¯s sunburn had only gotten worse over the course of the afternoon.


    ¡°And what¡¯s your story?¡± Atlas demanded after Aana walked off into the gathering gloom. She took a bite of her bar and raised her eyebrows expectantly.


    Cody grinned. His entire countenance shifted in a moment, adopting a swagger that belied his gaunt face. A dimple appeared in his right cheek. ¡°I¡¯m just trying to find my brother,¡± he said.


    ¡°Oh yeah?¡± Atlas wasn¡¯t convinced. ¡°And what¡¯s with the tablet?¡±


    The confidence in his eyes flickered. ¡°It¡¯s my only way to reach him,¡± he said quietly. This, at least, sounded like the god¡¯s honest truth.


    ¡°Not running from anything?¡± Atlas took another bite. ¡°Or anyone?¡±


    She was shrewd. Cody committed the fact to memory and rolled his shoulders. ¡°I¡¯m looking for sanctuary just like you are. For myself and for my brother.¡± He started in on his own bar.


    He ate slowly, watching Aana¡¯s retreating silhouette as true darkness began to fall. Beside him, Robert took out a tube of some kind of ointment and smeared it all over his burned skin before settling down to eat. His bites were reluctant enough that Cody wondered distantly if the man was feeling well.


    Anji, after scarfing her bar down in what seemed like one gulp, curled up against Atlas¡¯s chest and stared up at the starless sky. It was darker out here than in the city, but the dust scrim blocked everything out entirely.


    They sat through dusk in amicable silence, exhausted from the day¡¯s travel. The sun pulled the temperature down with it, and even the stinging dust that the wind kicked up didn¡¯t take away from the relief of the cooling air. One by one they pulled their masks up against the swirling dust as the breeze became a steady, gritty wind.


    Aana¡¯s footsteps signaled her return about ten minutes later. The deepening darkness hid her features from them as she approached, but she was shaking her head. ¡°No luck,¡± she said. ¡°There is some water there, under the mud, but the algae would likely kill us if we dug any out. We-¡± Sh was cut off by a sudden deafening crack, and she collapsed in a heap with the word still on her lips.


    There was a moment of protracted silence where everyone seemed frozen in place. Before Atlas could even begin to register what had happened, there was another sharp crack and then a whining buzz near her left ear. Behind her, dust exploded upwards as if someone had thrown a rock.


    Once, twice more came the sound. Then the whirring noise, and another soft pop of dust shooting up from the ground. Tension and confusion had them all frozen in place. By the fourth crack, reality snapped back to normal speed, and Atlas realized with dawning horror what the noise was.


    They were being shot at.


    She opened her mouth to scream but Cody clamped a hand over her mouth and shoved her hard to the ground. At her side Anji shrieked as Robert threw himself over her, both of them tumbling to the ground in yet another cloud of dust.


    Two more shots echoed across the lakebed in rapid succession. Something stung her shoulder. Then her leg. Whoever was shooting at them continued to miss. But just barely.


    She writhed under Cody¡¯s arms, trying desperately to buck him off. What was this? Had he tricked them? Led them into a trap?


    ¡°Be quiet,¡± Cody hissed almost inaudibly into her ear. His eyes were wide with panic. In the diminishing light she could see, despite hardly knowing the man, that his fear was genuine.


    The next time the sound came, he flinched and loosened the hand that was clamped against Atlas¡¯s mouth. She took the opportunity to whip her head around to look for Aana again.


    In the last scrap of daylight, she met her grandmother¡¯s eyes across the few yards of dusty ground that separated them. Aana¡¯s familiar dark eyes were open, and staring. Staring, but not seeing.


    Ignoring Cody¡¯s warning, Atlas began to scream.