Robinson Crusoe 2245: (Book 2)

by E. J. Robinson

  And then he saw her. Through the crowd. Blonde hair and green eyes.

  “Tessa?” Jaras called out.

  Tessa turned, her face lit with panic. She screamed his name, but he couldn’t hear the sound over the roar of the crowd.

  “Tessa!” He shouted again, desperately fighting against the mob to get to her. He pushed and shoved, but the mob was hustling her farther away, toward the destination he most feared. The Western gate.

  “Tessa!” Jaras screamed. Someone struck him in the face, but he pressed harder against the horde, shoving with all his might. He called her name again and again. He surged closer and saw her hand come up as she continued to scream his name. But it was too late. Just as he reached for her, the crowd lifted her and threw her into the abyss.

  “No!” Jaras screamed.

  He was living the worst moment of his life over again and it felt as real as the first time. He wiped the blood from his eyes, searching the area ahead, sure he’d made some mistake when a familiar face passed in front of him. It made no sense, but he turned and called out.

  “Robinson?”

  The hooded figure glanced back but disappeared quickly after.

  Jaras was half-blind, shaking with fear, but in that moment he was sure of what he’d seen. He climbed atop a low wall, searching for the hooded figure before calling out again.

  “Crusoe!” Jaras yelled.

  This time, the figure turned and locked eyes with him. There was no doubting his identity anymore.

  “It’s him,” Jaras said, bewildered. “It’s Robinson. Stop him! Someone stop him!”

  But Robinson had already vanished in the crowd.

  Jaras was screaming at the top of his lungs when a meaty hand twirled him around.

  “Who did you see?” Arga’Zul asked.

  “Crusoe,” Jaras croaked. Tears were running down his eyes. He was a blithering mess. “He went that way.”

  Arga’Zul ordered one of his men to take Jaras inside before tore a path through the crowd, followed the rest of his guards.

  The dead merchant’s dagger sank into the guard’s stomach. As he collapsed, Friday drew it out and sliced the inside of the second guard’s leg. Arterial spray wet the earth as the remaining two guards rushed forward, unaware their pikes were too long for short-range combat.

  Friday worked quickly to drag the bodies inside the hangar before turning for the flier. A memory shot through her of the first time she had seen one from atop the memorial she and Crusoe had cheered, believing his father had come.

  Friday had just pushed open one of the hangar doors when she saw Arga’Zul heading in her direction. She ran and leapt in the flier.

  The instrumentation panel was just as Jaras had described. She thrust the key into the hole and looked for the words: ACTIVATE THRUSTERS. With a press of a button, the engines roared to life. She grabbed the stick in front of her and pushed it forward, but nothing happened.

  Robinson whirled around in the crowd. Friday was nowhere in sight. Even worse, the crowd was thinning out. If he had to guess, he thought she’d head west, but just as he was about to head in their direction, he spotted Arga’Zul speeding across the grounds and followed. They were approaching a large building when Robinson heard the familiar sound of thrusters starting. Horrified, he watched the Flayers fire arrows inside. He had no idea who they were shooting at.

  Friday punched every button on the console, while trying to ignore the ping of arrows bouncing off the flier. It wasn’t until she hit a prompt that read: ENGAGE GRAVITY DRIVE that the flier jolted into the air.

  Friday slammed the yoke forward, and two Bone Flayers were crushed between the ship and the closed hangar door. Friday pulled the yoke back and slammed it forward again, narrowly missing Arga’Zul as he dove out of the way.

  Several Flayers rushed the ship, prying at the doors, but Friday torqued the yoke sideways until the attackers were crushed against some crates. With more Flayers rushing in, escape looked increasingly impossible. So when Arga’Zul stumbled into her path, she aimed the ship at him.

  Robinson watched Arga’Zul leap out of the way again as the flier ripped through the hangar door, sending it toppling end over end. Through the smoke and fire that followed, he saw a familiar face race out of the flier and disappear into the darkness.

  “Friday!” Robinson screamed.

  The shout drew Arga’Zul’s attention instead. Arga’Zul yelled a command, and several archers took aim. Robinson was running for his life when, suddenly, a massive explosion shook the entire city.

  The first stack of gunpowder had been detonated.

  One by one, the detonators erupted, just as the kid said they would. Only Boss never expected the brain-rattling force of the blasts. Half the Flayer army had managed to close within twenty-five paces of the train, but they’d made the unfortunate mistake of taking cover behind the gunpowder. As a result, the fields were now covered with flesh and gore.

  Boss’s team had managed to secure the train and get it reversing before the first explosion, but the second explosion sent a wave of fire rolling over the engine. Boss looked out and saw the third pile of gunpowder on fire. It was only a matter of seconds before it too would blow.

  Robinson rushed around the rear of the hangar in time to see Friday spurring a horse out of the paddock. Cries rang out as three Flayers, also on horses, took up pursuit. The last had barely cleared the open gate when Robinson jumped off some crates and tackled him to the ground. After a quick strike with the axe, Robinson leapt atop the horse and sped after the others.

  Arga’Zul was bellowing at his men when someone pointed out Friday racing across the open ground toward the trees. Hot on her tail were three Flayers. Or at least, he thought they were all Flayers, until the third one extended his arm and a red beam of light touched the first two riders before blasts of fire sent them toppling from their steeds.

  Arga’Zul howled with rage. He couldn’t believe it. The boy. The boy had stolen the Aserra princess right out from underneath him.

  Friday heard the gunshots but never turned to see her pursuers fall. She sped over the tracks as the train whistle drowned out Robinson’s call.

  Robinson struggled for control of the horse, its wild gait nearly unseating him again and again. But one look to his left and he knew he was running out of time. The train was belching black smoke, and the engine screamed as it picked up speed. Robinson’s legs dug into the horse’s ribs, pushing it as hard as he could in hopes of beating the train.

  The horse suddenly realized it was in a race too. When it saw the train rushing toward it, it stopped fighting its rider and pinned back its ears. Its mouth frothed and legs churned, but as it scaled the berm holding the tracks, the train’s whistle screamed.

  Robinson closed his eyes as the horse jumped just as the final stack of gunpowder tore open the night.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Sun and Moon

  He whipped the horse through the trees and down through the basin. Several times he was nearly bucked off, but he clung to it out of desperation. A terrible thought occurred to him that this was as close as he would come to finding Friday before losing her again.

  The half-moon cast a lattice of light over the forest floor. Far ahead, Robinson thought he saw Friday cresting a small hill, only to quickly disappear again.

  He knew the Flayers would be hot on their heels. He’d heard Arga’Zul’s commands reverberating over the parade grounds just after the last detonation went off. When he felt the wind at his back, he cursed. If he was ever to have any luck, he needed it to be now.

  Once over the hill, Robinson slowed at a small stream. He scanned the water and saw the moonlight illuminating rocks overturned in the riverbed. He spurred the horse into the ravine and headed east, away from the main river, believing Friday would try to use the water to throw off her scent for the dogs.

  The ravine was fed from a gulch that formed large canyon walls on each side. He found horse prints at the mouth and called F
riday’s name again and again. When he got no answer, he pushed deeper inside.

  Several hundred paces inside the gulch, the walls began to narrow, and Robinson’s horse grew more and more skittish. He worried he might get bucked, but there was nothing left to do but continue on.

  All at once, the stream opened into a pool. Robinson was searching for more tracks when something flashed in his peripheral vision. He turned just as a figure slammed into him and sent him flying into the water. Air exploded from his lungs as he hit bottom.

  Robinson surfaced, gasping for air just as his attacker was wheeling back with a rock in hand. He turned his head a fraction of a second before the rock hit water. He screamed, “Friday, it’s me!”

  But Friday didn’t stop. Her elbow slammed against his throat before both hands tried to gouge his eyes. He grabbed her wrists and felt her strength waning, but that didn’t stop her from trying to head-butt him twice.

  Robinson fought hard to keep his head above water, only at the last second managing to spit out her name again.

  “Friday! Stop! It’s me!” he said.

  All at once, the attack stopped. Robinson felt Friday’s body struggling for air. He couldn’t see her face, but he knew his words were sinking in. He called her name again. Finally, she uttered a response.

  “Cru-soe?” she whispered.

  “Yes, Friday. It’s me.”

  He slowly let go of her wrists, but her arms stayed frozen there, as if she didn’t know what to do with them. And then, slowly, one hand descended ever so carefully to touch his face. Her fingers were wet, but she found the curve of his cheek, both familiar and foreign. His face was dotted with stubble, but there, beneath the surface, she felt scars only her hands knew.

  When at last she believed it was him, she sucked in a tremulous breath and fell into his arms.

  No words were spoken. None were needed. This was a moment they had both spent every waking second of the last six months thinking of. The moment stretched as if words might awaken them from a dream. But they were not dreaming. Their touch was real. They were together again.

  Friday leaned back and stood, pulling Robinson up with trembling arms that had lost too much of their muscle.

  “We must go,” she said when she could speak at last. “He will send many after us.”

  “Lead the way,” he replied.

  Friday turned toward the narrow inlet, where a culvert formed a path too small for the horses to traverse.

  “Here,” she said. “Our scent won’t carry inside.”

  “What about the horses?” Robinson asked.

  “They can go no farther,” she said.

  Robinson understood. The horses were magnificent creatures, but they would only return the way they had come and lead the Flayers to them. He pulled his pistol and shot the first horse in the head. As it dropped into the pool, Friday’s horse squealed a dozen paces away. As he moved closer, the horse stamped his feet and snorted. Robinson felt pity in his heart, but knew there was no other choice. He shot it and then followed Friday into the gorge.

  The ground was uneven as they wound their way through, but eventually, the gorge opened into a mountain pass. The pair trudged on deep into the night.

  And yet neither of them spoke.

  Friday’s breathing was ragged, worse than the day Robinson had first met her. He wondered if she had taken in too much water at the pool or if she had a disease of the lungs. Whatever the case, he knew she wouldn’t be able to travel far.

  And yet, defying odds was what Friday did. When the pass eventually opened, the water widened and rose to their knees. The wind continued to blow and both were cold, but they did not stop until they came to an old bridge, its belly caved in long ago.

  “Here,” Friday said. “We will rest.”

  They climbed into the recess beneath the bridge. A small furrow gave them shelter from the wind, the cold, and the eyes of others. There were no blankets to be had, and they couldn’t risk a fire, so Robinson pulled Friday tightly to him, wrapping both arms around her.

  They lay there for some time, shivering and quaking but wanting to be no other place in the world.

  Finally, Friday whispered, “I knew you would come.”

  Robinson felt like sobbing in that instant but held it back. He had traversed thousands of miles to find her, and in that time, he’d never once succumbed to weakness. It was the second greatest gift she had given him. He wouldn’t break that covenant now that he was in her arms.

  Their hands ran tenderly over each other in the dark, both realizing they hadn’t even laid eyes on the other.

  “Your hair is so short,” he said.

  “And yours so long,” she replied.

  They laughed.

  Robinson pulled Friday to him again. Her breath warmed his chest and neck. He took several deep inhalations. He wasn’t even aware of what he was doing until he found it. Beneath the scent of water and dirt, blood and sweat, was the essence of her.

  Only then did he close his eyes.

  That night, Robinson dreamt of the river. Not the Missup, but the one in D.C., where Friday had nearly been swept away and he had leapt after her without a second thought. Only this time, when she rushed by him, their two hands failed to touch and she disappeared beneath the surface of the water.

  His eyes jolted open as his head shot up and smashed into the bottom of the bridge. He cried out.

  Then he heard a snort.

  Robinson turned to see Friday watching him.

  “Oww,” she mocked.

  Robinson chuckled with the memory of how many times she’d chided him for reacting to pain.

  The sun had barely cracked the surface of the horizon, but the light was enough for them to see each other for the first time. Robinson felt his heart flutter. They both looked so different. Friday was thin, her cheekbones poking from her skin. And Robinson had grown into even more of a man. Neither knew what to say.

  Finally, Friday broke the silence.

  “We should leave soon,” she said. “But first, eat.”

  She revealed a handful of berries, likely foraged while Robinson slept.

  “You eat them,” Robinson said. “I can wait.”

  Her mouth set in a hard, familiar way, but her eyes were soft. She couldn’t be mad at him. Not here and now.

  “I’ve eaten enough,” she said before handing the berries to him. “When you’re finished, we must go.”

  “Where are we headed?” Robinson asked as he swallowed the berries.

  “In the old days, we would stick to the rivers, but Arga’Zul will send warriors out in every direction. Our best chance is to head north.”

  “What about Cowboytown?” he asked. Friday looked confused. “The train people. Their leader helped me get into the city. After the way things went down last night, she’ll be needing allies as badly as we do.”

  “We are better on our own,” Friday said. “Some Aserra tribes used to come this far east. It may be that they still do. They will have left signs. If I can find one, it might lead us to them.”

  Robinson agreed and started to rise when Friday reached for him. She was not a woman prone to sentiment, but her eyes were moist. Robinson reached out and took her face with both hands before kissing her gently. “My sun and moon,” he whispered.

  “My wind and my rain,” she answered back.

  “Nothing will ever separate us again.”

  “May the Goddess pity any who tries.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Hunted

  The fastest route north were the ancient streets, though they were broken and made for hard traveling.

  Friday searched through old buildings until she rooted a Render from its hovel. When it was dead, she wiped its blood over both their bodies. The smell was atrocious, but it was the best deterrent to dogs tracking their scent.

  On the third evening of their flight, the pair stumbled across an old winter lodge, where they lit their first small fire. Friday caught several s
mall rodents to cook over the flames.

  “Stop,” she said without turning.

  “What?” Robinson asked. “I can’t look at you?”

  Her hand went to her face subconsciously, but Robinson pulled it gently away.

  “You have never looked more beautiful,” he said. He meant it.

  She rushed him this time, her mouth greedily seeking out his. Her hands tore at his clothes, and soon they were both naked. Friday’s skin felt hot to his touch, her mosaic of scars shimmering like stars against the firelight. The floor was cold at first, but their heat warmed it quickly, until they were both consumed by a passion that reached fevered heights.

  The next morning, Robinson was cleaning his pistol on the floor when Friday woke.

  “What happened to your second axe?” she asked.

  Robinson groaned and said, “I lost it in the river.” Then he patted the gun on his hip. “But Boss—the woman who runs Cowboytown—gave me this.”

  “I am not liking this woman you speak so often of,” Friday said.

  Robinson laughed.

  “Jealous? An Aserra princess like you?”

  Friday’s mouth fell flat, and Robinson knew he was in for a beating.

  “Okay, okay!” He laughed, holding his hands up. “Before you pummel me, maybe you should take a look at this.”

  He pulled the prophet’s map from its case.

  “The City of the Pyramid is here—what used to be Memphis. It looks like we took this route and came out somewhere in this area. Any idea where your people might be?”

  She ran her finger over the map.

  “They move with the seasons, but often return to areas where there is good hunting or shelter. This time of year, they would be heading south and may be in this area.”