He leaped down, landing in a crouch, and barely pausing before running straight at the kumakre. At the last moment, he veered left, dodging the tail strike, and slashing with his blade.
Aiming for the joint in a leg, the blade sliced through the weak spot. The kumakre shrieked as the limb fell away.
Havik spun, dust floating in the air. Reduced to five legs, the creature still moved swiftly. The tail lashed out. He rolled away but did not escape unscathed. The barb pricked his right leg, near his ankle.
Rising to his feet, his right foot already felt sluggish and numb. He had little time.
Havik leaped onto the beast’s back. It bucked and thrashed, trying to dislodge him, but his legs wrapped around its torso tightly. The tail struck him again and again in his shoulders and back, each blow hitting his armor jacket.
The kumakre had a vulnerable point in the back of its head where two carapace plates joined. He noticed the deep black color of the joint with disappointment. No powdery white fungus.
Energy hummed along the edge of the blade, crackling blue, as he pushed it in. Meeting resistance, he threw his entire weight against the blade, driving it deeper.
The dying shrieks of the kumakre filled the desert air. The tail whipped about dangerously, hitting the back of his neck and his jaw.
Havik held tight, refusing to loosen his grip until the creature stilled. He slid off it, landing ungracefully on his back. The venom made him lethargic. He needed to reach shelter to protect him from the cold night air before his body shut down.
Stumbling to his feet, he retrieved his abandoned pack and returned to the creature to remove his blade. His hand fumbled around the handle, but it would not move. Frowning, he realized he had run out of time.
Once more, he tried for the blade, this time wiggling it out. Blood and fluid oozed out of the wound.
Grasping the tail, still warm to the touch, he said, “You were a worthy foe. I will wear your barb with pride.” Concentrating, he removed the barb and placed it in his pack. Warriors who defeated a kumakre alone often wore the barbs around their necks. He would do the same—if he survived the night.
Havik dumped half his pack onto the ground. He curled up next to the hulking body of the kumakre, letting it block the wind. His heart thudded slowly. The natural effects of the cold on his person combined with the venom threatened to drag him down into unconsciousness. Wrapped into a foil sheet designed to trap body heat, he would stay awake and endure the night.
The poacher had been apprehended in short order. In an outbuilding, Havik searched through documents and equipment for any other collaborators. He found evidence that the poacher worked for a wealthy individual in another settlement. They were also arrested.
Then, buried under heavy tarps and broken equipment, he found a trunk with a heavy, top quality lock. Curious. The trunk was rickety and nearly falling apart. Why give it such an expensive lock?
Using the handle of his blade, he broke the rusted hinges and removed the top. Inside, three pink shelled eggs nestled in rough cloth.
Kumakre eggs.
Another three months. Wind and sand scour away the top layers of his epidermis. The sand worked its way into every joint in his tail. He tasted sand, constantly. He dreamed of sand.
Fucking sand.
Only one of the kumakre eggs had been viable. Using his pack as a harness, he kept the egg warm with his body heat. One day, it jostled and cracked, and an infant kumakre emerged.
With pieces of damp shell clinging to its bright red back, Havik offered it water and dried insect mill as a first feeding.
Havik wanted to leave it in the sands but it followed him, chirping, and tumbling on unsteady legs. It was too small to survive on its own. Reluctantly, he carried the tiny creature, telling himself that it was only until it was big enough to hunt for itself. He could barely care for himself, much less a companion.
Weary down to his bones, he approached the domed city. Perched on his shoulder, the kumakre rattled its segmented tail. Sand rippled across the pavement in the wind. The setting sun turned the sky red and the spire of the city appeared gray. Small points of light flared into existence.
Home.
He could already feel the pulse of the sonic shower surrounding him as it dissolved dirt and grime and tasted his mother’s sweet rolls. With each step, he created a menu, a feast of fruit soaked in rich syrups and covered in chopped nuts, bread still warm from the oven, slathered with a thick layer of butter, water so cold it made his teeth ache, and anything that did not involve him picking sand out of his teeth.
As much as he longed for the comforts of the city, Havik settled on a cluster of rocks near the road. He unscrewed the cap to the water container and filled it for the kumakre. While it drank its fill, he sipped. Thirst quenched, the kumakre returned to its perch on his shoulders. Watching the sky change from a placid blue to a vivid orange streaked with pink and gold, he fed the creature tiny pieces of dried meat and fruit. His companion hummed and chirped, blending with the wind.
The air grew cold as the sun vanished below the horizon and the lights of the city sparkled in the darkness. A dome contained the city, protecting the inhabitants from the elements and the worst of the radiation that still lingered in the sands. As a Mahdfel, his ancestors had once been genetically engineered to be the perfect soldiers and slaves. Since rebelling and winning their freedom, they were further altered to better fit the harsh environment of
