Chapter 4 #2
I turn to the other tarped heap and hastily uncover it too.
I can’t help the smile that slips across my face as I take in the sand cruiser.
I know I told myself I couldn’t be too flashy, but this doesn’t count.
I had to go with something top-of-the-line?.
.?. for safety, of course. The cruiser in front of me rivals a lirocar’s sexy sleekness, but this beauty was made for the desert.
She can handle rough terrain, inclement weather, has top tier stealth capabilities, and bonus… she seats six.
I run a reverent hand over the onyx exterior, studying the smooth, aerodynamic lines of the flier. It’s the exact color of the dark dunes waiting for me in the distance, and I know, even before I’ve played around with the various cloaking capabilities, that the camouflage is going to be perfect.
I suppose an extremely vigilant dragon could still spot me from above on patrol, but the sand cruiser is going to make that a hell of a lot harder.
I do a little happy dance and then remember I’m not alone and immediately stop.
I look over at Trank, but he’s not doing his best impression of a statue anymore.
Instead, he’s loading my pallet of supplies into the back of the hover-trailer.
I let myself be grateful for a moment for his help, then my paranoia kicks back in, and I wander over to observe the sorcai.
He makes quick work of the extra supplies I’ve brought and doesn’t try to do anything shady like hide a tracker anywhere.
“Are you the reason they’re down here?” he asks, pausing his stacking to point at the sky. He then makes a flapping motion with his hands for some reason. Like he’s too scared to say the word dragon now that one is standing right in front of him.
I exhale a long, tired breath. How did I end up on the border of the deadlands playing charades with a fucking sorcai? Oh right, the Tainted, The Horde, the Matron, the running.
“I have a couple clients who’ve been very concerned about their sudden presence in these parts,” Trank goes on, like we’re having a conversation.
We’re not.
One of the caged dune boars at the back of the trailer squeals in fright when Trank plops a heavy bag on the ground. It sets off the hawks and flare hares that are locked back there too.
“Are you going to eat them?” he asks, gesturing toward the cages, undeterred by the fact that I didn’t answer his last question.
“No,” I huff, unsure why I’m bothering to explain myself.
Yes, I’m wiped, and the sooner he finishes, the sooner I can leave, but my newfound open-mindedness is more than that.
My time with The Horde has taught me a few things.
Mostly that I’m the newly crowned ruler of Wrongville.
There’s also nothing like escaping months of torture just to get caught by a new enemy, who turns out to be your Bonded Mate, to make a girl really question her preconceived notions about, well, everything.
Maybe the porter can still be useful. Maybe not.
Either way, I don’t have to decide right now.
Which means his fate can be his own a little longer, or at least until I run out of heavy shit for him to carry.
“They’re decoys, that’s all. Not food.” Not that I wouldn’t eat them if I had to, but I don’t tell him that. “A couple drops of my blood on the back of their necks and then I’ll set them loose. It’ll help keep the Thrashers busy.”
“Oh,” Trank utters, clearly not expecting that answer and unsure how to process it.
Hopefully, he’ll repeat all of that to Aeson and his Wing when they show up to question him. Then, when they come across the maze of trails I’m about to leave all over the desert, it won’t take long to realize what a waste of time it’s going to be to track each one, so they won’t bother.
Trank steps out of the trailer and moves to push the now-empty pallet away, but I stop him.
I flip the pallet on its side and then load it into the trailer too.
I lock everything up and do one more final check to ensure I’m ready to go.
With the press of a button, the roof of the sand cruiser opens.
I breathe in the new-cruiser smell and exhale a contented sigh.
Trank chuckles, but I don’t pay him any attention as I familiarize myself with the controls and features of my new favorite toy.
“How are you going to get past the dragons patrolling the border?” he asks, clearly allergic to silence. Trank nods in the direction of the desert that starts just beyond the rocky outcropping that marks the end of civilization and the beginning of death by sand, sun, and sorrow.
My smile is quick, and Trank’s gaze finds my dimple. I power up the cruiser and my grin morphs from amused to radiant when the engine purrs to life.
“Don’t worry about the patrol,” I assure the nosy porter. “I have it on good authority that the Flight assigned to the border was called to deal with an urgent matter in the city. Somewhere in the financial district, if I recall correctly.”
Trank laughs and then shakes his head, connecting the dots just like I knew he would. I start to close the canopy of the cruiser but lean forward at the last minute.
“Goodbye, Trank,” I call out just before I’m sealed into the cockpit. “Oh, and if you’re thinking about following me, I’d strongly advise against it. You won’t be the only thing tracking me out there, and I promise, you don’t want to run into the others that are.”
With that, I’m locked in and ready to go.
I hurry to type a set of coordinates into the nav system and then activate the cloaking mechanisms. A delighted squeal fills the interior of the cruiser when I shoot out of the warehouse.
The dark sands of the desert part in my wake like rippling waves.
I pull the cruiser up, creating more distance between the flier and the ground to ensure I don’t leave a trail, and quickly check that the trailer behind me is doing okay.
When I see that everything is good to go, I set the cruise control and then flip Temmeh the bird.
The Scorch is calling. It’s time to go home.