black flies

ERICA HACHER.

     Continuing to mind her business, Erica focused on the low rumble of her idling engine and tuned out whatever was being said to the masked stranger by the indistinct voice on the radio, only returning her attention to him when he turned back to her and replaced the device on her bike.      All this. Erica cast a glance around, unsure of what she was supposed to be looking at. Did he mean the city? And why would she ask him when he clearly didn’t have the answers? Curious turned to strange as he handed her some type of card, and the confusion was written clear across her face when she raised her gaze from it back to his unusually expressive mask.

   “No problem.”

ERICA HACHER.

   “I have somewhere to go,” she confirmed, studying him with a tinge of curiosity. Awfully trusting. Or maybe he was just desperate. “And I can’t take you there.” If it really came down to it, she supposed she could arrange a meeting for him with someone with more authority at the Haven — someone more suited to finding out more about him and whether or not he was worthy of trust.

   “Feel free to use the radio, though.”

     Neo gave her a nod in thanks before he approached the bike, unhooking the radio and keeping his back to her as he tried going through the frequencies they used among their group. “N speaking. SOS.” No answer. Then the next, and he repeated the same line. Nothing. One more. SOS. And this time there was a response, a quiet smile giving his lips a slight curl. “Eight-one-seven-one-dot-six-three, four-nine-three-one-dot-five-one-one. Over.” When they’d begun speaking, Neo held the radio against the lapel of his jacket to mute the sound, pressing his ear close so he could be sure to hear everything they said. 

ERICA HACHER.

   “I’m not from around here,” Erica explained after a short pause, wondering why he didn’t have anywhere else to go. “And I don’t live in the city. I couldn’t tell you.” She had assumed, given that he’d asked her for a ride here, that he did live within the city’s limits — but if he did, presumably he’d know where to go. He didn’t have a bag with him, so she crossed traveler off as an option. A refugee? It was none of her business. Still, she felt an odd sense of responsibility. She’d found him, and out in the desert, if you weren’t at odds, the code was that you took care of each other.

ERICA HACHER.

     Erica had figured that as soon as they were closing in on their destination, her passenger would tap her side to indicate turns; maybe point, or call out to her with a more approximate location, but he didn’t; so she kept going — further in, so he’d at the very least be able to get to a subway or something, if he was reluctant to show her where he was really headed.

     They were in Enterprise, a little south of the slums when she pulled over and idled, one leg hitting the cracked, dusty asphalt to keep them balanced as she tugged her helmet off and looked over her shoulder at him.

   “We’re in the city.” She watched him, trying to gauge whether he was in need of medical attention. Maybe he had heat stroke. How long had he been walking in the desert without water? The mask he’d put on made it impossible to tell using anything other than his body language and the way he held himself as indication. “What now?”

     Eventually, she stopped, and he recognized the area enough from when he, Sariah, and Tomas went on their runs. “Thanks,” he said from behind his mask, and the neon eyes transformed into upward arrows before he got off her bike. He’d never stayed in the city and really, had no idea where to go from here. Maybe he could find somewhere under a bridge, but drones were sure to catch him out after curfew if he slept on the streets.

ERICA HACHER.

     Without watching what she was doing, she fastened the canteen again, tipping her chin in a gesture instructing him to get up and studying him further as he did.    “Lift your shirt and turn around.”      He did as she bid him, turning in a slow circle, and there was nothing tucked in his waistband nor strapped to his side.    “Your pant legs,” she urged next, and he lifted those, too, showing her both sides of his ankles. No hidden blades.

     Slowly, she lowered the gun and ejected its magazine and slipped it into her pocket, then the round in the chamber which she didn’t bother with before returning the weapon to its holster, making sure it was secure. He’d have to hold onto her, sitting on the back of her bike, and reaching for her gun would be too easy. A split second, and she could be dead or stranded while he made off with her shit.    “Yeah,” she nodded. “I can get you to the city.”

     Erica tipped her head again, this time in the direction of her bike, then took a couple of cautious, sideways steps in its direction, still watching him closely.    “No sudden movements. Come on.” Turning around, she walked the rest of the way, straddling the vehicle and putting her helmet back in place before kicking up the stand and starting the engine.

    Wiry arms wrapped around her waist when he got on the back of her bike, and it was familiar, this mode of transportation, making him think of Sariah and Tomas once more and hoping, hoping, they were alright. Before they started moving, Neo fitted his mask back onto his face, and it was still coated in grime, but he’d take care of that once he could get a little privacy. Where? He had no idea. Maybe this person would; then again, how could he know he could trust her for anything more than a ride?

ERICA HACHER.

     Erica looked around. The landscape was open; nowhere nearby for anyone to hide, and if this was some type of ambush, it was an odd one, so it seemed unlikely. Returning her watchful gaze to him, she freed her canteen from its strap and dropped it in his lap, the gun still aimed unwaveringly at his head. There was no car, or bike, or anything around him, meaning he’d walked from somewhere — and from the looks of him, it was nowhere close. He had yet to answer her question.

     When he’d drank some, she took a step back, eyes sweeping his body for any odd bulges or places a weapon could be hidden, but his clothing wasn’t tight, and with all the dust and grime it was impossible to tell.    “Can you stand?”

     His mouth was dry and sticky and the moment the water hit his lips, he felt his entire body respond with relief. He gulped it down faster than he probably should’ve, but it wasn’t cold, and when he lowered the canteen, he was out of breath. His head was still spinning, from exhaustion, or dehydration, or both — and he wasn’t sure how long he’d been out here, but he knew he needed to get out, and quick. 

     His voice was whispery, lacking strength when he answered her, “Yeah. And I got stuck in the storm.” Neo answered their earlier question, though vaguely, and that was about all he was willing to give her in terms of that. Handing back the canteen, he held his hands up in a defensive stance, his tone becoming more placating, “I don’t have any weapons on me. I just…” He looked past them, at the empty desert, the rolling foothills and wisps of sand carried on the wind. No recognizable landmarks, not from here at least; he’d need higher ground, and given the raid, it made little sense to return to the carnage. He’d just get himself caught, or worse.

ERICA HACHER.

     She’d thought it was a corpse. Covered in dust, propped up against a rock, all alone in the desert, newly settled after a sandstorm, the sun barely beginning to break through the haze lingering in the air. Stopping her bike nearby, Erica approached, curiosity and mild opportunism leading her to investigate. Sometimes people who died in the desert had useful things in their pockets.

     But there were no visible injuries, and as she got closer, she swore she could see him breathing. He was rust and ochre all over with the dust that clung to his skin, and certainly no one she knew, so she freed her pistol from the holster at her hip, hovering over him.    “Not dead, are you,” she muttered to herself, listening for his breath but hearing nothing other than the breeze that was still rushing over the arid landscape around them.

     Carefully, she trained the gun toward his head, remaining upright as she gave the sole of his boot a tap with the toe of her own, trying to rouse him.    “This is no place to rest.” She couldn’t see blood on him. If there was any, the sand had hidden that, too. “What are you doing here?”

     Sand coated his tongue; that was the first thing he noticed when the sound of someone’s voice stirred him from his restless slumber and he answered with a raspy, “No.” His eyes drifted toward the barrel of the gun, and they didn’t look like Government, so maybe they were just a raider. Slowly, he turned his head to look around for others, but noticed none, returning his gaze to the weapon. He cocked his head to the side, lowering his brows as he gave them a quick once-over, and his hands shifted against the gritty sand when he straightened his posture against the rock. Neo held up both his hands, stiffening as he went still, and now he was looking at the metal canteen hanging from their hip, flinching his foot back when she tapped it with her own.

     One never knew when they were coming, not unless a random glance at the horizon showed one the wall of brown air stretching high into the sky. And that was it, that was all the warning one got before winds began bending the thin, withered branches, whistling over the stone of the canyons. Acacia trees whipped to one side, than the other, and everything became hazed in a false, orange-tinged dusk, the sun stamped out behind layers of dirt and grime. He should’ve been at the base, but he’d been sent hunting, and wasted too much time perched on a rock, drawing the peaks along the skyline, and now here he was, trapped in the middle of a dust storm. 

     Even with his mask pulled over his face, the stinging pelt of sand blasted his bare forearms and knuckles, lips pressed tight as he tried to cough up the dirty air. Grit grinded between his teeth as he pressed forward, unable to see the landmarks past the storm. Neo nearly tripped over a broken branch, buried by the gusting sands, and he could feel the dirt building up behind his mask, clinging to his sweat so that it began to chafe. And then… it became worse. And then… he heard it. Cries of panic and the powerful crack of gunfire. Neo picked up his pace, fighting against the winds, hands reaching forward until they came into contact with the hot steel of a military vehicle. Had they known the storm was coming? Were they using it as cover? How long had they known they were there?

     “Sariah!” He tried to choke out, but the shout was interrupted by a fit of coughing, and the figure that appeared in front of him was not one of theirs. It was obvious by his gear — all black, a sleek helmet covering their features — and whoever it was raised their gun, Neo throwing himself to the ground and scrambling across the sand to get away.       “We have another one!” He heard the woman call from behind, but he didn’t stop running, and the dust felt as though it infiltrated his lungs, making every breath feel like sandpaper being rubbed against his lungs. He couldn’t stop. He had no weapons and he couldn’t see shit. He couldn’t stop. He kept repeating it to himself, over and over, as if somehow he’d eventually convince himself he wasn’t a complete fucking coward. 

   “Off you go, then.”

   “Why not?” Julian felt a faint thrill run through him, accompanying the pink-haired man’s impassive gaze.

   “You think there’s someone in here more worthy of your attention?”

   “It was implied under humor.”

   “You have a problem with eye-contact or something?”

     “Not in my book.”

   “Does it? Don’t seem too cheery yourself.”

   “So—” Julian accepted two red drinks from the bartender, passing one to his company, “—elitist and self-important.”

   “No fucking sense of humor.”

     “Oh.”

     So not a bad pickup line. Something weird instead.

   “Nah. Too snobby for my blood.”

     “Oh.”

   “What, seriously?” Julian laughed.

     “Yeah.”

     Offering nothing but a nod in response, Julian called for the bartender’s attention, flashing her a smile when she came over.

     “Two of whatever your specialty is. Thanks.”

     This guy was hardly the type of person they targeted, but Neo had suffered the consequences of trawling a bar for a night and felt he earned a little comfort. Sariah was nowhere in sight and Tomas had already let himself get fucked twenty ways to Monday or whatever they said. Neo’s gaze crawled over the stranger next, doing a mental sweep for any weapons or… maybe something else.

   “You’re only saying that because your crotch is wet.” Julian plowed through the crowd to the bar, leaning on the stone surface and looking back at his pink-haired companion slash victim.

   “What do you want?”

     Neo followed the brunet, more than few paces behind, keeping a casual pace until he joined the other man. “I dunno.”