Young Adventurers

by Austin S. Camacho

  This hunt was for more than their lives. It was for all life, all packs, for survival.

  A gray shadow detached from the underbrush and raced beside them. Footsteps almost silent. River-Jump paused, sniffing the air, then turned to the left. Prey runs this way.

  Scout only, answered Kara as she changed directions.

  Found prey. Wind sounded distant. Female guards old den.

  Kara put on a new burst of speed. Protect the pack.

  Remnants of a chained enclosure came into view. A half-collapsed building leaned against one of the remaining posts. Poking through the roof stood a tulip poplar. Nature was taking back its space.

  In the dimming light, Kara saw Mrs. Ericson pace beside their car near a doorway. The woman held a crossbow in her hands like a rotting fish, clearly uncomfortable with the weapon. There was no sign of the men. Shivers ran up Kara’s spine. She choked back a growl before it could escape, but couldn’t stop her lips from curling back.

  Ethan put a hand on her shoulder. Me talk.

  She nodded, but fear gnawed at her like an old bone. There was no telling how the woman would react. Careful.

  “Let us by, Mom.” said Ethan as they slipped out of hiding. The tip of his crossbow pointed down, but he held it ready to aim. Tension etched his face.

  “Kara. Ethan.” Panic crept into her voice and she raised her weapon, but didn’t call out. “You don’t need her, Ethan.”

  “Don’t need her? Mom. I’ve spent the last eight years mourning her, my best friend. Her mom was your friend as well. Or was that a lie, too?”

  “I…we were friends once. But then she started that wolf-talk nonsense. I mean, really. Wolves can’t talk.”

  Kara glared at her, unable to keep silent. They needed to get past her, quickly. “Wolves talk, Mrs. Ericson. But they don’t lie like humans, or kill their young.”

  “I’m protecting my children,” said Mrs. Ericson. She stood taller, eyes defiant and aloof. “From freaks like you. Those wolves of yours killed the game we should have taken. I’m not letting my son get sucked back into your world again. This will save Ethan and other human children.”

  Kara shook her head and tried to inch her way around, but Mrs. Ericson kept her weapon on her. The woman just didn’t understand. “That virus will kill wolf-talkers as well as wolves.”

  “Oh, yes, child. You and your kind will be destroyed forever.”

  Emotion tightened Kara’s throat. “Ethan will die from that virus.”

  “No he won’t, he…” Her voice trailed off and she looked at Ethan. Color drained from her face as understanding dawned. Her head shook back and forth. “You can’t…that’s impossible.”

  “No, Mom. I never told you about talking to Mist because I didn’t think you’d understand. I’ve always been a wolf-talker. There were simply no wolves to talk to after you and dad murdered Mist and her pack.”

  She crumpled to the ground, dropping the crossbow. “Oh god. You’ve got to stop them. My baby. I was just trying to protect you.”

  Kara dashed into the building, drawing her knives as she did. Every hair on the back of her neck stood on end. This was where it all started, the pandemic, the wolf-talking, the end of the old civilization. It was also the reason her parents were murdered. And if they didn’t hurry, more would die.

  Dried leaves crunched under Kara’s feet. Beside her, Ethan peered into the semi-darkened space. Dim light filtered down through the broken roof, illuminating several hallways. Most ended in darkness, but a soft glow emanated from one of them. Carefully, they followed the hallway. The weight of the structure seemed to press down on Kara. If it weren’t for the urgent need to find the two men, she would have bolted. As it was, each step sent her heart leaping.

  Mr. Ericson’s voice echoed in the hallway. “Damnit. Why isn’t it opening?”

  “It’s been fifty years, Dad. Maybe it’s stuck.

  “No, no.” The irritation in his voice was clear. “The girl’s mother put it in here eight years ago. I saw it. She must have changed the damned password.”

  Kara peered into the room. Michael and Mr. Ericson hovered around a wall safe. Gouges covered the concrete around it, but none deep enough to free the safe. A dust covered pickax leaned against the wall just below it. Wires stretched from a car battery to a key pad. Next to the pad, embedded in a small hole, hung Kara’s necklace. A faint beeping sound rang out every time Mr. Ericson pressed a button. He tugged at the safe door again and uttered more curses.

  Beside her, Ethan’s wolf-talk voice laughed in her mind. Key pad lock. Needs password.

  Hope flared in Kara. There was still time. The two were so intent on the safe, they didn’t notice her slink into the room with Ethan. Michael saw them first, but Ethan’s arrow struck his crossbow before he could raise it, snapping the string. Wood and metal whipped back, leaving a bloody line across his face. A second weapon rested on the floor near his father’s feet. Mr. Ericson had reflexes honed from years of hunting. His arrow shot off within seconds of grasping the handle.

  “No!” Ethan shoved Kara out of its path, then lurched back, grunting in pain.

  He stumbled to the ground. Feather fletching protruded from his left shoulder. Blood began to soak his shirt. Other pack members had fallen over the years, part of the risk hunting large prey. But nothing twisted Kara’s heart as much as seeing Ethan hurt. She stood over him, lips curled back. Protecting, guarding.

  Her sight narrowed to the two men by the wall. They would slaughter what remained of her family, her pack. Defend the land. Protect the pack. Like the crows who steal a kill, these murderers needed to be run off or destroyed. A growl burst from her throat, deep and full of anger and pain.

  “You will never open that safe,” she snarled.

  “You’re outnumbered, wolf girl,” Mr. Ericson said, reaching for the pickaxe.

  Kara leaped, just barely nicking his hand as he raised the weapon. A line of red glistened where her blade struck, but it did nothing to slow him down. He swung the axe in a wide arc, driving her back. Her first kill had been a bull elk with a rack more deadly than the weapon she faced now. But she had had a pack to help take that beast. Adrenaline surged through her veins, driving her on. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Michael reloading his father’s crossbow. Two foes, one of her. It was a losing battle. In her mind she heard the wolves howl, sensed them circle the building. She also knew they wouldn’t enter a human building…for any reason.

  Defend the land. Protect the pack. All her focus went to battling the man with the axe. It was the only way to save Ethan. An arrow whizzed by her left ear just as she darted right. Sparks brightened the room where it struck the concrete wall, drawing her attention. She hastily dodged Mr. Ericson’s swing, but not fast enough to miss the flat edge. It hit with bone crushing force. Pain lanced her arm and she dropped her blade. The axe swung again, this time aimed at her head. Instead of running back, she dove closer, and sank her other knife deep into his thigh. He yelled in pain then grabbed her before she could dart away. Fingers, heavy with calluses, tightened around her throat, lifting her off the ground.

  “Let her go, Dad.” Ethan sat propped against the wall by the door, his crossbow loaded and aimed at his father. There was steel in his voice. “Let her go or I’ll shoot.”

  Mr. Ericson laughed, but it wasn’t a humorous sound. “And risk hitting your pet? I don’t think so, Ethan. I’m doing this for your own good.”

  Kara’s chest began to burn and she struggled to free herself, kicking and hitting with her uninjured hand. It was like fighting a bear. His grip didn’t budge. A coppery haze clouded her vision. The twang of a crossbow and a dull thump barely registered. The fingers loosened their grip. Kara sucked in air as he fell back, an arrow protruding from his neck.

  “You’ve murdered enough, Dad,” whispered Ethan. Tears stained his face.

  “What have you done?” Michael stared, mouth open in shock, hands shaking.

  Ethan looked at his mother, w
ho sobbed in the doorway, then back to Michael. “Protected my family.”

  There was no moon tonight, which suited Kara just fine. A single lamp flickered outside the house. She had promised to wait here while Ethan said goodbye to his mother and Michael, but it was taking longer than expected. For a few panicked moments she imagined him bound and locked in a room, or bleeding to death. But he would have wolf-talked if something like that had happened again. Too many bad memories haunted this place, and she longed to leave it far behind.

  Two months of restricted activity had made recovery difficult for Kara. Broken bones were no laughing matter to a hunter. Twinges of pain still ached her arm. Ethan’s injury had been more serious. He’d lost a lot of blood before they got him to the town physician.

  Footsteps approached and Kara jumped, as skittish as a young wolf. Relief flooded her when she saw him. She looked up into his blue eyes, longing for his touch. Shivers ran up her spine as he brushed a hand across her cheek. Her heart fluttered. She nuzzled against his chest and felt his love telegraph through his beating heart.

  “Ethan” she said. A wolfish whimper slipped into her voice.

  “Ready to go?” he said with a smile.

  “For days. Are you sure you’re healed enough?”

  Ethan answered by lifting his arm over his head, something he had been unable to do for a while. Two gray shadows greeted them as they entered the woods, tails swishing low. The beginnings of a new pack.

  “Do you think my dad could have figured out the password eventually?” Ethan asked.

  Kara fingered the key that once again hung from her neck. It was merely an ornament now, with no other purpose. The virus it once guarded, destroyed, the ashes buried.

  Kara shook her head and smiled. “Only a wolf.”

  “Only a wolf.”

  In the distance a wolf howled, Hunt-leader saying her farewell. They answered back, joining in a cacophony of sound. The song rang out, echoing in her mind. Defend the land. Protect the pack.

  How would you fare on another planet, if it was a home you did not choose? Neve faces many challenges, armed only with her courage, her heart, and her humanity.

  SISTER GRASS

  Deborah Walker

  “Don’t trust the aliens, that’s all I’m saying,” said Myra. Myra had been a good friend to Neve and Penny. She lived next door, in the prefabricated huts that were the refugees’ accommodation. Neve had only been thirteen when they had first come to this Kristrall refugee world. Thirteen years old with a two year old sister to care for, she’d been grateful for Myra’s advice. But now, two years later, she found Myra’s attitude tiring.

  “You know how hard I’ve saved for this, Myra. I’ve worked every day running errands, doing odd jobs in the camp.”

  The refugees were given an allowance, call it pin money, to buy small luxuries. Neve had saved every cent. She had begged for small jobs, earning a few cents, here and there. There were always small jobs to be done. It was curious how restrained and lethargic the people in the refugee camp seemed to be. They had little to do all day, but still the small tasks, that should have been easily achieved, were left undone. There was weariness in the refugee camp; it hung in the air, the miasma of a confined people.

  “I’ve been working and saving for a year to get the entrance fee for the games. Now I’ve finally got enough, are you saying that I should give up?” Neve couldn’t understand Myra’s attitude. Myra had helped her, caring for her sister, while Neve had worked to earn the money she needed.

  “I’m saying that you should think about Penny.”

  “I think about my sister all the time. It’s Penny I’m doing this for.”

  “Is it?”

  Am I doing this for Penny? Or am I doing it for myself? Neve wondered. No, Myra’s wrong. I’m doing this for both of us. She was sure of that. Myra was just like the rest of the people in this camp. She meant well, but she’d been worn out by camp life.

  After the war, the Kristralls had been magnanimous in victory-offering a home to those displaced by war. Perhaps they were a benevolent species, giving aid to all those who asked. But they were paternal hosts, limiting and confining their charges.

  Neve looked at Myra then, really looked at her: a small woman dressed in the refugees’ uniform. Had she always looked so tired? Had she always worn that fragrance of overwhelming defeat? Neve remembered her differently.

  “I need the money, Myra. There’s no other way to get it. I don’t want to be a refugee all of my life. The Kristralls won’t allow us to work, not until they believe that we are fully integrated into their society.”

  When the Kristralls believed that the refugees accepted their status, accepted the Kristralls’ authority, things might change. The refugees would have more freedom, be allowed to work and to take on more responsibilities. But that process would take many generations, the administrators had made that quite plain. There was only one way for Neve to acquire money, real money, and that was to participate in one of the Kristralls’ games. Winning the game would mean prize-money and Neve needed money.

  “What exactly did they say?” asked Myra.

  “They told me about the games, described them to me and gave me a choice. I chose the lost game.” In fact, the game administrators had been rather vague. There’d been many games to choose from - all ill-defined. When Never had asked for more explanation, and administrator had said, “The games are defined by the players.”

  What was that supposed to mean?

  “Think about it,” said Myra, grasping Neve’s hand. “We’re protected here. We have food, a safe home, more than we had on Earth.”

  “Can’t you understand that I want more than all this?” Neve gestured to the sterile surroundings, an alien take on basic accommodation. Everything neutral-colored and functional, everything standardized, the same furnishing in a million refugee homes. She noticed the camera in the corner of the room watching them both. She stopped talking. It was easy to forget that you were constantly monitored. It wasn’t wise to criticize the Kristralls’ generosity.

  “I know you’ve been working for this, and it was good, good that you’ve had something to aim for. But now that you’re going to do it, I’m frightened, Neve, about what they might do to you. They’re not like us Neve. They know things that we don’t.”

  “They said that the game was fair. They said that I could win the game. I believe them, Myra. Whatever else they’ve done to us, they’ve never lied to us.”

  “Don’t forget who you are, where you came from, and who bought you here.”

  “I’m going to do it, Myra, no matter what you say. Wish me luck, it’s important that you believe in me.”

  “I believe in you,” said Myra, but she looked away, and Neve saw the doubt in her eyes.

  The technicians took out their instruments and placed a silver cap of wires over her sister’s head. She looks so small, thought Neve.

  The technicians connected the cap to a monitor, talking all the time in their fluttering language. Neve didn’t recognize their species–there were hundreds of species on this refugee world. Two of the technicians laughed, they might have been sharing a joke–this was all in day’s work for them.

  “Please pay attention,” said Neve. “She’s very young. She’s only four.” If anything went wrong Neve would never forgive herself.

  Neve looked over to Berka, the technician who spoke English. She explained the technical procedures to Neve. Neve didn’t know if she had been assigned by the Kristralls as a translator, but she was grateful for the explanations. Watching her sister undergoing these long procedures would have been more difficult without Berka’s calm explanations.

  “We will scan her memories now, and then they will be transferred to the storage file. When her mind is empty, we will put her body into in stasis, until you claim her.”

  Two of the technicians exchanged glances.

  “How will I do that?” asked Neve.

  “Part of the lost game is
not knowing. You must find your own way.”

  “Neve,” said Penny, “I can see Mummy. She’s pushing me on a swing.” Neve was surprised, in the two years that they had been on this world, her sister’s memories had faded. She rarely talked about their mother. She’d adapted well to life in the refugee camp. Too well, perhaps, the life of a perpetual refugee was not the life Neve wanted for her sister, nor for herself. Neve remembered her old life so well, but she pushed away those thoughts.

  “The process sometimes activates old memories,” said Berka. “There is no need for concern.”

  Neve watched until her sister’s expressions started to fade. Penny’s face and body grew still, her personality draining away into the alien technology.

  “Almost complete now,” said Berka.

  Neve took her sister’s hand. “I’ll see you soon Penny, really soon. Remember, this is just a game.”

  Berka took a glass slide from the machine. “Look, these are your sister’s patterns transferred onto this storage file.” Neve looked at the slide. Holographic patterns moved in the glass.

  “Kristrall technology is wonderfully advanced,” said Berka.

  “Wonderful,” said Neve, staring at the changing patterns.

  “My people started as refugees, too,” said Berka. “In a few generations we have worked our way up to technician class. There is hope, you know.”

  Neve said nothing and Berka resumed her professional demeanor. “The files will be transferred to the gaming field now. You will have five hours to find your sister’s pattern. Good luck.”

  There were a thousand patterns in the grass, the personalities of a thousand individuals scanned and transferred to this field. Neve needed to find her sister’s pattern before the time ran out, one blade of grass in a field, one pattern amongst a thousand.