Dropping to his knees exhausted, he thrust the point of his spear into the sand before sliding the bag off of his shoulders. His hands pulled a few nutrient packets from it and stuffed them unceremoniously into his digester before gazing from where he had come from. Snapping his abdomen shut again, he stood. The pack was quickly re-slung and weapon retrieved before Spear returned to his quick pace.
Over the last day he had put space between himself and the city, but the guard had waded through the buildings, killing and burning everything.
Spear had watched the demise of the inhabitants from afar. The energy beam had struck out, lighting up the smoke and dust from the crumbling buildings. Even from the distance it was able to be seen.
Even now, near the end of the following day, black smoke could still be seen rising to the east along the horizon. The thick black tendril caught in the wind and pressing inland away from the ocean.
Spear jumped over a beached log and chanced a look over his shoulder again. A black dot barely visible on the horizon indicated that the guard was still following. Disappointment filled him. Spear had hoped that either the inhabitants would coordinate to repel the attacker, or the guard would lose interest, or at least the trail.
Spear had considered that the guard was simply following the beach. He reflected that it might be prudent to move towards the tree line, but he knew that once in the trees he would be slowed. The guard would simply be able to press through in its search, not to mention level the forest with a single pass of the weapon.
Here he had a chance to build some distance and accrue some time that he might need later.
The sun was setting behind him now, and Spear knew that he would likely be running through the night. Despite the uniform terrain and relatively full moon, he did not relish the idea of moving in the dark.
Over the last few hours of light, the sand dunes on his right slowly became more and more grass covered. Stunted trees clung to their surface.
Above him the stars began to poke through the dark blue sky, fading in as the sunlight splashed oranges and reds across the hazy rainclouds. He was pleased that the rain had faded away with that day’s morning, but now that the evening was coming he recognized that he would not be able to stop to sleep.
Slowing to a halt for a moment he repeated the dropping of his pack and refilled his abdomen with fuel. Looking inside his digester, he noticed the layer of fine salt crystals building up. He had filled himself with the water from the ocean earlier in the day.
It seemed to be fine, but he would need clean water soon. Scooping out most of the granular crystals and wayward sand particles, he dropped them to the ground before closing up.
In the moonlight, he could no longer tell how close the guard was. Considering for a moment that it might stop for the night, Spear tried to justify the merits of sleeping.
In the end, the inevitable truth was that he needed to keep moving. The faster he could get to where the originals slept, the more time he had in advance to wake them.
Pushing onward, he put on the bag and continued moving.
The moon cast a silver light across the water and shore. The steel blue sand was in high contrast to the black water of the waves. Occasionally he would step across a small stream, or
For a while, he thought about how that each step brought him further and further from anything he had ever known. If he had not been pursued, it would have been invigorating.
Spear recognized that there was a killing machine following him, but he also appreciated that he was free, and no matter what happened, he would die free. Even if it was running across a beach to exhaustion.
Slowing he could see a small inlet of water spilling a small strand of water from higher on the beach. In the dark, it was impossible to judge the depth of the water, but he didn’t have the luxury of time. Continuing he raised his knees jumping as far over the water as possible before landing most of the way across. His feet sunk into the dark mud, and his body threw itself forward to claw at the far bank.
Pulling at his feet, he fought the suction, feeling every second of the advantage he had burning away. One of his legs came free, and he drove his knee high onto the dryer sand before pulling at the other. The suction was released, and he crawled forward, standing. Each time he stopped or looked back in the dark, he half expected to see his pursuer right behind him.
Throughout the night he crossed a few small rivers, some he waded through, others he had to crawl along the bottom, fighting the current. When he was lucky fallen trees worked as bridges.
It was only as the sunrise began burning across the horizon ahead of him did he stop and place the last of the nutrient packets inside his body.
Kneeling in the wet sand, he realized that his time was beginning to run out. Although the specter of his tracker was nowhere to be seen on the horizon, it did not mean that he was not there.
He hoped that the guard had been caught up in some of the quick sinking sand, or washed out into the ocean from a fast flowing river, but he doubted it.
As Spear continued running, he surveyed ahead, and could see that the ground was becoming more and rockier. In some places, the plateaus of stone lay covered with small creatures which scuttled into pools or under the wet green carpet.
The waves crashed far out to his left as the rock pushed its way out from under the water and onto the beach. The sand disappeared more and more with each step. Soon his feet were dodging deep pools where water had swirled stones for hundreds of years. He moved higher as the water slowly, over the course of the morning, climbed onto the stone surfaces.
Spear stopped at the edge of a shallow bay. The stone cliff he stood atop was capturing water, and forcing the incoming waves up and into a blow hole. The jettisoned water splashed up and over his head in frequent intervals.
He turned and moved inland, determined to continue west. The ground around him was covered in the flat black stones of the trails he had traveled on earlier. He took it as a good sign that there would be easy movement ahead as he followed the grass covered path. Again the ancient routes provided quick movement across the ground. Never too steep, and never too overgrown.
The path ended in a broken graystone bridge. The material jetted out over an expanse of eroded river. Whitewater far below raged, filled from the rains that had fallen earlier.
Spear nervously gauged the space between the sides of the broken bridge to be about as wide as he was tall. An easy jump if there was not the consequence of death attached to it.
Stepping back, he focused his courage before digging in and charging towards the edge. Timing his footfalls, he pushed off and sailed through the air. Elated he could see that his feet would easily hit the other side.
As he landed, the graystone crumbled under him, his hands reached out grabbing at anything. They scraped at the featureless surface as his body weight dragged him down over the edge. Ancient metal reinforcement jutted out like brown iron roots, and his fingers wrapped around the strutting pieces. His free hand still clung to the long pipe, and he considered dropping it for a moment, but thought better of it.
Looking down he watched the massive slab become absorbed by the churning waters below.
Heaving himself upwards, Spear scrambled over the edge. Pressing himself up, he moved to off the decaying structure. Sighing with relief, he turned to look east from where he had come.
The perpetual, but faint, black dot on the horizon continued to follow.
Spear stepped a few paces from the bridge and knelt to pull the Cartographer’s map from his pack.
He had been running for a day and a half and was mentally and physically exhausted. Studying the map was difficult, and he concentrated on the drawings, ignoring the strange symbols from the language. He had yet to come to a bay but identified that the river he had just crossed was almost immediately before it.
Thrusting the rolled map into the bag, he moved west continuing his quick pace. He was almost there.
Chapter 31
/> The sunlight of the early morning peeked over the horizon. The orange, yellow light was a welcome sight, as Spear had continued moving through the perilous darkness the entire night. Luck had been on his side and the path which paralleled the rocky beach below had been without threats. With each step he had feared the shadows from the underbrush would turn out to be a sleeping beast. More than once he had stopped, examining the moonlit shadows ahead.
With the breaking light of the sun, he was exhausted. His head hung low, and he wondered for a moment how much farther he could run before he ran out of the easy path.
The steady level ground underneath contrasted the jagged boulders below. The raging waters smashed against the rocks, attempting to drag the land into its vastness with each foaming crash.
In many places, it appeared as though the graystone structures had been pushed into the ocean, off of the wall of soil. Ancient sleeping boxes, once occupied by a disappeared race, were swallowed by the angry waters.
Stepping quickly, he came to a rise in the path. The trees grew further inland. He paused in the morning light to look back, knowing that once he descended it would be impossible to see the guard. Even now with the advantage of elevation, Spear knew that he had put some distance between him and the Master’s puppet, but it was not enough.
There was no black figure on the horizon to see, and he wondered if he lost the hunting unit after the broken bridge, or perhaps his tracks had not so easily been found on the beach.
With a quick turn, Spear proceeded onward. The soft downward side of the hill was covered in colorful organic life growing to ankle height. He ran through it and smiled for a moment, feeling safe. With each step, there was a growing sense that he was clear of the ever-present threat. The weapon carried strapped to his pack was no longer constantly in hand.
Even though he was exhausted, he doubted that the guard could find him once he deviated from the shore. Spear considered that if he was careful, and left no sign of where he entered into the treeline, he might be easily be lost in the forest.
Stepping quickly down onto the familiar level ground, he continued his exhausting jog. To keep his mind against the relentless plodding he took advantage of the new light and scanned the length of the coast when visibility allowed.
Over the remainder of the morning, he compared it to the map in his bag. Part of him wondered if he had passed the mouth of the bay while traveling in the dark. Each time the worry rose to the surface he began to consider the absurd idea of retracing his steps to check. This obsessing occurred so often that at times he felt panic begin to rise, and had to reassure himself that he would see it near the end of the day.
Reassuring himself, he would occasionally stop, and check the map, memorizing the area that he was in, lining up the shape of the coast, looking for landmarks before continuing. The day passed quickly as his confidence in where he was, grew once again. The distant mountains seemed familiar somehow. Were they a locked distant memory or just a coincidence. Each peak in the mountainous chain inland appeared to look the same. All the same, they plucked at a hidden awareness in the back of his mind. Trusting it, he moved on.
Midday he reached a fork in the path. To the right, the route continued on a short distance into the forest, but it seemed to deviate from the rocky ocean. The left fork of the path at one time must have stretched along the beach, but the stony shore was all that remained. The edge of the crumbled black stony surface simply sluffed off into the rough rocks and waves.
Pulling out his map out once again, Spear compared a distant peninsula shrouded in the spray of the waves. It seemed to match the contours shown. He was beginning to come to the edge of the drawing. Nothing past the tiny illustration of two black dots was scribed onto the map despite open space. Again he wondered if this was simply a gambit. A desperate idea that something matched the illusionary image in his mind.
Running his fingers over the material he wondered if the unknown illustrator had drawn only what he had been able to get to? Was the image true? Were the twin black dots simply an artist's mistake, or cryptic note that nothing of note was further on down the coast?
Looking up he rolled the material up and stuffed it back from where it had been withdrawn. The wall of clouds which had hovered offshore throughout the day was now creeping in. Their presence last time had heralded blasts of wind, rain, and lightning.
Spear continued his motion forward quickening his pace to find the bay before the weather rolled in or the guard found him. The sun was shining, and he was alone, but somehow he knew it would not last.
Moving onto the path to the right, he felt the forest close in around him once again. The tall trees shadowed the path ahead. The flat overgrown trail became invaded by roots and heaved stones. The soft undergrowth gave way to decomposing bark and plant matter deadening the thumping of his feet as he moved. None of the flying animals chirped or chattered in the upper branches. In fact, Spear's fear of encountering large beasts began seeming less likely. The further he traveled the less alive the forest seemed. The lushness gave way to gnarled trees. The old growth bent and contorted in a distorted mockery of branches. No longer did they reach upward for the sky, but spiraled and sagged. Long tufts of moss and vine hung from their lengths.
The silence of the forest ate away at Spear's confidence, letting apprehension creep in. Hours of running had begun to fatigue him as well. His depleted energy was buoyed only by using up the crumbled remains of his nutrient supply. When he found any live green that looked safe, he would stuff that into his salt encrusted digester as well.
Eventually, the failing light of the later day had given up on beating back the bank of clouds. They rolled in as fog and light rain as the sun began its decent to the horizon.
Spear's progress slowed the thicker the fog became. He had relegated himself to a quick walk. Every so often stopping to listen to the crashing waves and gauging how close he was to the ocean. Even the air seemed to have stopped moving. The constant breeze he had felt from the water was now gone.
Spear had been able to run at full speed across the trail when there was a clear view of the space in front of him but with the reduced visibility, he was worried about running off a cliff. Already during that afternoon, he had tripped twice from depressions in the ground, or an unseen stone.
The confidence that he was safe had begun to waver, and he considered stopping to remove the spear strapped firmly to his pack. Opting to continue rather than stop even for a moment. The pursuing guard would not be so cautious.
Spear shuffled around a fallen tree. Giant roots tangled together like a wall, pulled up from the soft ground by winds. As he made his way around the natural barricade, the acoustics of the forest changed. The echo of the waves through the trees seemed to dissipate, and the direction of the ocean became clear. Soft waves to his left seemed nearer than they had earlier.
Was this the bay? Spear considered the distance he had covered, and it seemed to line up with where he had expected to find it.
As he rounded the edge of the roots, the gentle drifting fog bank beyond seemed to brighten with the orange glow of the setting sun.
Shorter, younger trees had sprouted in the relatively open field beyond, most of them were his height, He could not see the other side, but the lack of shadows from the trees seemed to indicate more open ground. Waves gently pulsed in the distance to his left. At his feet, he noticed the ground was covered in the familiar black pebbles of the old trails. He was pleased with his luck since it would be even easier to move across the level ground rather than the rise and fall of the hills he had been climbing to parallel the beach. He ran his hands through the stones, dropping them with a splashing sound to the ground.
A grunt echoed back from the gray wall of mist. A shadow charged into view, bent over, aggressive. Stopping just far enough into the fog ti appear as a silhouette, it seemed to lift its head listening.
Spear would have guessed it to be another unit like himself until It grunted again. It
's head swung from side to side obsessively scanning for sounds. The shadow of its hands flexed open and closed.
Spear froze, standing still. He watched the shadow pace and grunt again before slowly standing tall and become motionless. The unmoving silhouette now seemed to stare a the sky.
Spear realized that if he had been walking, it was unlikely in the fog he might had identified the unmoving body as a small tree or stump.
Part of him wanted to call out ask who it was, but something inside him told him that it would be certain death to do so. The small part of his brain that he had been using to keep himself alive recently was blaring alarms at him.
Gently sliding the pack off of his back, he maintained a view of the figure, not wishing to break line of sight. The pack slid quickly off one shoulder, and the long metal spear scraped the ground scattering stones. The hollow vibration was loud and out of place amid the silence. He winced freezing again and held the pack motionless.
The thing in the fog snapped its head, grunting once, then perhaps seeing Spear’s own shadow charged in his direction. Spear's panicked fumbled with the unfamiliar clasp's of the bags straps, but in the end opted to lift the spear and the pack as one.
Through the mist the figure became visible. The peeling plastic of a distorted face and the rusted orange-red body was running full speed towards him. Spear could see the hatred in the units eyes as it shook its head from side to side rhythmically.
Lifting the length of sharpened metal he braced himself aggressively, despite the pack hanging underneath, still attached, “Stop!” he yelled.
The unit continued to charge forward, impaling itself on the pole. The sharp metal finding its way through the units corroded frame.
The twitching attacker pressed on, unphased, pushing with its legs against the pressure. The unit was crazed and began swinging its fists, grunting repeatedly.
Spear's Journey Page 17