Chapter 4 Xeni
Xeni
Steam rolls from underneath the crumpled hood of the SUV.
It might as well be a smoke signal out here in the middle of the wilderness.
The urge to scream or kick the tires is nearly unbearable, though somehow, I manage.
I do, however, allow a lengthy string of pissed-off curses to roll from my throat and feel marginally better afterward.
My fingers shove through my hair and tug as I close my eye and draw a few long inhales. A rising temper bites at my insides, but it won’t help to let it take over. Losing my head does no good.
After I’ve quelled the rage, at least for now, I pull my map from the glove compartment. Out here, everything looks the same. Dust, dirt, and the occasional pocket of trees. I’ve not done enough travelling to be familiar with any of the landmarks.
I glance again at the smoke curling lazily from under the hood, thin gray wisps rising like defeated sighs into the dry air. Driving it had been a gamble from the start, and I lost that bet by a landslide.
August’s accusation echoes in my head. Self-sabotage, he’d called it. He wasn’t wrong; that part stings with truth.
But it’s only half the story.
The other half is messier, tangled in things I don’t say out loud.
Despite what people think—what they’ve always thought—I’m not the cold, arrogant bastard they paint me as.
I used to be, sure.
That fact is well-documented and permanently etched in a history I can’t erase.
Part of me despises that old version of myself, but the other part misses the freedom that came from that careless attitude. It made everything so much simpler.
Life is easier when you don’t notice the invisible scales tipping with every choice you make. Good on one side, selfish on the other.
A quick look at my past shows which way mine would swing.
Ditching a reliable ride for this wheezing relic felt like another clumsy attempt at tipping those scales back toward something better. A piss-poor penance, maybe, but it was something.
Karma has a cruel sense of humor, though. My half-hearted bid at redemption has left me broken down with two hundred miles to go. I kick at the gravel, watching dust swirl around my boots as I accept my current situation.
Stranded, alone, and exactly where I deserve to be.
My mechanical knowledge is scarce, limited to what I might need to perform my duties. Listening to Sprocket rattle on has given me some boosts here and there, but this isn’t some small gadget she’s invented.
It’s a whole-ass vehicle.
The clank from the latch seems louder than it should be, and steam scalds my face as the damaged hood squeals open. I hold it there, staring down at the motor like I have any idea what I’m doing.
I search for something obvious, some glaring neon sign that points at what’s wrong, but there’s nothing besides rubber belts and dirt caked metal.
The coolant reservoir is low. That’s the one fucking thing I know for certain, so I fill it with some of my limited water, though it's likely in vain.
The sun is hot despite the mild weather we’ve had lately, and this half-assed attempt to cool the overheated vehicle is probably pointless.
After a few minutes, I crank it again. The engine turns over, but it runs hard. Limping it along will only cause more damage, so I drive towards a cluster of trees. I’d rather hide it than abandon it in the open. At least there’s a possibility of coming back to retrieve it.
After I park between the trunks, my head thunks against the back of the seat.
My life was never meant to be hard.
It certainly wasn’t meant to be here, stranded on the side of the road in a beat-up vehicle. Selfishly, I wonder how much simpler it would’ve been if I’d just followed that predetermined path that had been laid out before me.
I wouldn’t be staring at a plume of smoke or facing a two hundred mile walk to complete an impossible task.
Entering the city without detection will be difficult enough, but finding him when he doesn’t want to be found? That’ll be damn near impossible.
Bash was always too smart for his own good.
Me, though?
Luck and charm have long been my tools of trade. The first has failed me, and the second is worthless out here among the dust. What should’ve been a straightforward drive is now a days-long walk, and there’s no point in delaying the inevitable.
I unlatch the door, and a whoosh of balmy breeze offers relief from the unbearably hot air trapped inside the vehicle. The hatch needs some encouragement as it shrieks open, and I appraise my supplies.
Water is an obvious choice. I fill several bottles and load them into the backpack, then tuck my uniform around them.
Loath as I am to wear the damn thing, it’s necessary.
I grab another change of clothes, along with extra pairs of socks and underwear, then pack the empty spots with enough food to last me a few days. My fake ID and what little coin I have are shoved into a side pocket.
As I’m getting ready to close the back, my attention locks on something else. I stare at my shaving kit for far too long before grabbing it and cramming it inside, and slam the hatch with another of those loud squeals.
The bag is heavy as I sling it over my shoulders, but not impossibly so.
I step out of the cover of the trees and shield my face as I glance up at the blinding midmorning sun.
It’s hot, but the temperature is slowly lowering.
Winter is coming, and the night will offer some relief.
I suppose I should be thankful for that.
The road is too dangerous, so I chart a course through the dirt instead.
I stay close enough to follow the path, but far enough to be missed by passing drivers.
Raiders would be unfortunate, military more so, but right now, I’m alone.
Dust is already forming grit on my skin and sweat trickles down my spine as I heave a long sigh and head due south.
Darkness has fallen, and with it, the promised cooler night air. I step carefully, studying the terrain as I walk. Compared to humans, species from our side have heightened senses, though I can’t see in the dark nearly as well as Elas or Ronan. They are predators down to their very bones.
My kind relies on our cunning instead of brute strength. We aren’t prey—not even close—but predators of a different sort.
In the months since I lost my eye, I’ve had to adapt. At first, my vision wanted to double when my brain was searching for input from something that no longer exists. Weakened peripherals on my left side are a disadvantage, but I’m adapting to the new reality.
I can see well enough as I dodge holes and avoid rocks or roots that might trip me. A rolled ankle won’t do me any favors out here, so I stop to rest on a large rock to plot my course.
The expanse ahead of me is filled with brambled underbrush, and I chew on the inside of my cheek as I survey how far it spreads.
The plants are low to the ground, but their briars are needle sharp. Unfortunately for me, they form a thorny blanket as far as I can see. Unless I want to add a few extra miles to my already exhausting trip, I’ll have to stick to the road.
Not ideal.
My mind wanders as I walk, trying to distract myself from the ache in my feet. As best I can tell, I’ve walked at least twelve miles so far. I’m exhausted, but I need to get further before I stop to rest for the night.
The rumble of an engine pulls me out of my head. Lights crest the horizon behind me and cast my long shadow over the dusty terrain. The flat expanse is endless around me. No rocks to serve as a hiding place or trees to offer shelter.
Not trapped, but stuck in an open arena.
My ears twitch at the growling purr of the motor. It’s higher pitched than the military vehicles I’m used to hearing, and revs as it gets closer. My hand rests on my knife as I turn toward them.
A single headlight momentarily blinds me, and I shield my face as the silhouette of a motorcycle comes into view. A man’s frame sits on top of it, and from what I can tell, he’s human.
He twists the ignition and plunges us into a stark silence.
“Evening,” he says, rolling the bike forward until the light is no longer shining in my eye.
My grip tightens on my weapon, and I blink as the green hues clear from my vision. Moonlight gives me enough glow to examine him, and my shoulders loosen a notch. He’s big, but not unmanageable. I could overpower him in a scuffle.
“Evening,” I answer.
His eyes make an obvious perusal of my body before landing on my face. “It’s not often you see lone travelers on the road anymore. Run into trouble?”
His posture is relaxed on top of the bike, and there are no visible weapons on his person. He seems to be low risk.
I shrug and give him the truth. “Car broke down a ways back.”
He glances around as if he might find evidence of my abandoned vehicle. “Fixable?”
“Not by me,” I say with a rueful huff of a laugh.
His fingers tap on his handlebars. “Where you headed?”
“Atlanta.”
“You military?” he asks as he inspects my jeans and t-shirt, then his eyes move to the leather backpack slung over my shoulders.
My gaze lingers as I try to interpret his expression, but it’s frustratingly blank. “Used to be,” I settle on.
He leans closer, and the glow from the headlight reveals a deep pitted scar on his right cheek. Frizzy, sandy blond hair is pulled into a knot on top of his head, and stubble covers the line of his jaw. There’s a flare of heat he doesn’t hide as he examines me with the same scrutiny.
When he finally breaks the silence, he nods southeast. “I’m headed towards the city. Staying in a place a little outside. I can’t take you there for safety reasons, but I could get you within twenty miles of the gates. It would save you a lot of walking.”
“That it would,” I agree warily.
This isn’t charity, and he isn’t offering out of the goodness of his heart.
“What will that cost me?” I ask.