It’s a prison collar.
I let go immediately, shaking hard. Leave it, I tell myself savagely, leave it buried. But my hands don’t obey; they reach out to brush sand from the collar, to read the name engraved there.
A cry of horror dies in my throat. The name is my own.
I kick it back into the hole. Has the General seen? I look around and find her gone.
Not just her. It’s all gone; the wrecked wagon, the dead grubhawker, the mule, even the sky. There’s nothing, only endless stretching desert and a terrible flat yellow light.
I scream. Dark sand spills from my mouth.
A blow to the head sends me reeling to the dirt. I scrabble up. The General stands above me, the sun at her back.
‘What the hell’s wrong with you?’ she demands.
Trembling, I look around. There’s the wagon, the mule, the corpse. My hands are filthy, the ground around me spattered with vomit.
I begin to answer but stop, terrified that sand will come pouring past my tongue.
‘I don’t know,’ I croak eventually. ‘I thought I saw…’ The hole I dug is empty, the grubhawker’s tag still in my hand. I throw it down. Where the cut had been there is only a thin, pale line, like a scar, long-healed.
‘Low?’ the General barks.
‘I am fine.’ I force the words out and wipe my mouth. ‘Just tiredness. Too much sun.’
The General sighs. ‘If you’re going to go mad, do it on your own time. We have a deal to—’
She stops. Our eyes meet. From somewhere close by, too close, comes the sound of engines.
* * *
We haven’t taken six steps before a red light scores the dust before us. I grab the General, hauling her back by the shoulder.
‘What the hell are you doing?’ She throws me off. ‘We have to run!’
‘Tracking beam. Don’t move.’
Cold sweat breaks out beneath my clothes, slicking the skin of my neck. ‘Cover your head,’ I tell her.
‘What?’
‘Do it. Now. If they see you’re hurt…’
She must hear the fear in my voice, because she drags the scarf over the head wound without another word. I don’t move an inch, not even when the shadow of the ship slides over us, blocking out the sun. The belly of the craft is scarred and battered, bearing signs of being made and remade a dozen times over.
‘Can they be bargained with?’ The General’s voice is tight.
‘I don’t know.’ Few have lived to find out.
‘Weapon?’
‘On the mule.’
She swears. ‘I’m not going to die in the middle of goddam nowhere thanks to your stupidity.’
Her voice is lost in a roar as the ship blasts its stabilisers, whipping the dust into a choking cloud. My body screams for me to run, even though I know that would be suicide. They would pick me off in an instant.
A hatch slides open, and cables unravel. Through eyes stinging with terror I see figures emerge. Effortlessly, they slide down to the dirt. No faces, just goggles, masks, clothes like tattered wings. Silver glinting at their belts. Scalpels, the blades nicking the light.
Slowly, I raise my hands and force out the words that have saved my life more times than I can count.
‘No harm. Medic.’
One figure makes a gesture. I keep my head down, too afraid to meet the dark glass of those eyes. For a fleeting instant, I find myself wishing they would sweep upon us, roaring and hungry, as they had at the ranch.
A Seeker steps forwards. ‘Medic?’ they repeat, voice rasping as if with thirst. ‘Alive?’
I swallow. ‘Yes.’
The Seeker shakes their head. ‘No.’ They turn towards the General, one hand straying to the scalpels at their belt. ‘Seen you both. Walking with the dead.’
I force one trembling arm in front of the General and look into the Seeker’s face.
‘She is a child. She will live.’
The Seeker stops, as if surprised. I can see nothing through their goggles, only my own reflection, wavering in the dust. Mine? For a moment, another face looks back…
A roar makes my skin leap as another Seeker craft appears, banking low above us. For an instant, the tracking beam disappears.
‘Go!’ the General shrieks.
The Seeker’s head snaps back towards us too late. I dive after the General, running headlong towards the mule. The second craft’s engines have kicked up the dust and for one breath, two, we are lost from sight.
I scramble onto the mule’s seat as the first charge explodes against the side. I stamp the accelerator, and we take off, skidding in the dirt.
‘Can you see anything?’ I yell.
The mule’s engine roars, complaining that it is too hot, that we are riding too hard.
‘The second craft’s changing course.’ The General beats on the seat. ‘Faster, goddam it!’
‘We’re going to burn out!’
A charge sears the air red, smashing into the back of the mule. It lurches up and crashes to the ground with a sickening, grating noise. Another charge whistles past. Up ahead through the dust, I see something approaching: the edge of a gulley.
‘We have to ditch the mule,’ I yell.
‘Are you crazy?’
‘It’s our only chance. Might be enough to lure them off.’ I grab at her. ‘Can you drive it?’
‘What? Yes—’
‘Then drive!’
I let go. The mule swerves and sways as the General scrambles into the driver’s seat and takes the wheel. I throw myself into the back. In the chaos my hands are too slow, the mule too unsteady, but I grab what I can, slinging the medkit around my neck, stuffing my hat under my arm and a water canister into the layers of my clothes. Behind us, the blades of the Seekers’ engines whip the air into a frenzy, until I can barely see. The shadow of the ship
