“Nice driving.” Felisa’s toes tapped him on the head.
Josué turned to her. The heavily shielded vehicle behind her looked more like an overgrown beetle than anything else. It was hardly the sleek bike he’d been used to riding. “It’s a clunker with those shields on it, but it got us through.”
The night sun perched on the horizon like a phantom moon. The darkness after it set would be a welcome veil.
Felisa sat up. Her silhouette against the night sky reminded him of something he couldn’t quite place. Her teeth flashed through a crooked smile. It was a much warmer expression than the one she’d had that same morning.
“Have you forgiven me for using the link?” He propped himself up with an elbow.
“I just can’t believe we’re free.”
“Yes.” Josué cradled his head with his hands. “Now we have to stay free – and alive.” He looked down at the mass of trees looming not thirty yards from his feet.
“We’ll be okay. The sacred sands protect us.”
He thought about her statement. Hadn’t Matteo from the native village said something about sacred sands? “What are sacred sands?”
She shrugged. “They bind us to the ancient ones. Some call them the voice of the planet.” Her head turned to the river then to the jungle then to his face. “I don’t really know how to describe it. It’s like the air, only . . . fuller.”
Through the night shadows he could just make out her eyes. They were alive and focused on him. He wished he could see into them. This was the conversation he’d wanted to have at the stocks. “So are you are an elder?”
“I was anointed to be an elder – at birth. That gave me the link. But I was captured before I got my second anointing. You need more than one anointing to be an elder.”
Josué watched her as she stared into the mass of trees and vines across the river. He closed his eyes. “So you’re connected by the sands to the dinosaurs, the jungle, the marsh and the mountains? Is that it? You get an anointing and then you can talk with your mind.” He sat up and crossed his legs.
Felisa nodded, but said nothing. Her face was still turned to the jungle and she looked truly at peace.
He sat there, too; glad he wasn’t alone. Glad she was with him. The jungle offered comfort. It always had. Its deep smells and soft nighttime sway had always seemed to beckon to him, calm him.
The sun dipped below the horizon. She turned to him. “So where did you learn those fancy viper moves?”
He chuckled. “You call those fancy? You couldn’t do anything fancy with this hover bike.” He reached past her to rock the bike. “You should see the one . . .” but his voice broke when he thought of his home and the desolation there. His bike was a thing of the past, now. Nothing would be at Trevino Manor.
A lump in his throat made it impossible to go on. He could sense her waiting for him to continue, but he just couldn’t. He lay down on his back and looked at the sky, willing himself not to cry.
“You used to own a hover bike then?”
He nodded and hoped she could see the movement of his head.
“You were captured with the Trevino slaves, weren’t you?”
He cleared his throat. “My father was Porfirio Trevino.” He grimaced at how his voice wavered. “I was in the camp in disguise. If they had known who I was, they would have killed me.”
She nodded and lay back, next to him. “I kind of figured that out when the older slave called you Josué.”
He smiled and wiped at his cheek. “It’s not a common name, I guess.”
“The settler girl had almost figured you out. I bet she’s sad you’re gone. She might have turned you in for a reward.”
“I hadn’t thought about that.” Josué looked at her then at the sky. “She hated me.”
Felisa laughed. “She did.”
He chuckled one more time before a wave of exhaustion washed over him.
***
Josué, the whisper rolled across his consciousness. The gentle intonation tugged at him.
He opened his eyes to a pale blue sky. The hush of the wind through the trees reminded him of the voice still hanging in the air like a dream not quite vanished. He propped himself up with both elbows and looked into the jungle.
“Josué,” the whisper came again. It pierced through the rushing of the river and the swaying of the trees. He got to his feet just as a shadow darted into the darkness of the underbrush.
He looked over at Felisa. Her chest rose and fell in deep slumber. She’ll be fine, he told himself.
Stepping into the tree line, he brushed back a vine. The foliage was thick here. He stretched his back and noticed the pain had gone. The plush grass must have done wonders, he thought. He ran a finger along a jagged scar across his shoulder. The scab already healed.
“Josué,” the whisper echoed through the trees.
He scanned the canopy. A cloaked figure flitted between two branches a hundred yards away. Marking where it had been, he ran toward it, noticing how strong he felt. The freedom of the trees and the underbrush almost overwhelmed him. When he reached his mark he stopped. There was nothing here.
“Josué!” the word was no longer a whisper. It was a woman’s voice and it had called his name with authority. He turned his head to see her standing on the far side of a clearing.
A grey robe hung around her shoulder. Her skin and irises glowed golden in the midst of the jungle around her. His mouth felt dry.
Stepping over to her, he stopped opposite the sandy clearing. She remained still as he walked. Only her eyes followed him.
Bright warm sunlight shone on the sandbar between them.
“Who are you? How did you get here?” he asked.
But she turned and walked back into the jungle as if he hadn’t been there at all.
Josué took a step into the clearing to follow and pitched forward. His foot sank into sand that wasn’t sand. Before he could stop himself, he had fallen up to his shoulders. “Quicksand!” he shouted.
He struggled to turn back, but every movement he made pulled him further down and in. It was up to his ears, now. His heart raced. His mind reeled. What should he do? He couldn’t see the woman. Could she see him?
He tilted his head back, trying to push down with his foot, but the motion only dragged him in further. His legs were leaden weights, pulling him down.
“Help,” he cried.
The woman walked around the clearing with a slow, deliberate step, a grave expression framing her face.
He lifted out his arm to her, but she didn’t take it. “Help!” he shouted with more anger than he’d expected.
She looked at him. This will be your second anointing, Josué, he heard in his head. Let it fill you . . . Let it prepare you for what is to come.
“Help me!” he cried before grime filled his ears. Sandy liquid touched the corners of his mouth. He coughed. Then wished he hadn’t.
Chapter 2, The Raptor
Josué coughed again, but it felt more like a regurgitation of his lungs. The violence of the movement pushed sand and slime out of his nose and mouth. Air pulled its way back into his chest, burning as it made its way down.
The ground under his knees felt solid and precious. How he’d gotten there, he could only guess. He put his hand against a tree. Wet, heavy mud slid between his shoulders and off his back. He took a hesitatingly-deep breath, thankful to be able to, thankful to be alive.
He pulled himself up and saw light. It was more of a streak in his mind than a recognizable image. He was sure someone had replaced his eyeballs with sandy mud. When he blinked, agony shot through his head and down his spine. Gritting his teeth, he wiped his face until he could see trees.
He took another breath, thankful it didn’t end with a gag reflex. His body felt ten times heavier than it should. He staggered in a direction he hoped would take him back to the river. His heart quickened when he heard the muffled sound of water through plugged ears.
When he stumbled onto the grassy knoll by some miracle, Felisa’s surprised look met his. “What happened to you?”
“Quicksand.” He choked on the word and proceeded to a coughing fit that forced him to his knees.
He felt her hand on his back. “Let’s get you into the water.” She led him down the bank and into the river.
The cold was a shock, but the cloak of mud insulated him from the worst of it. The memory of the day he and his father had rescued the native somewhere along this same river came back to him. Thankfully, it wasn’t as cold as it had been that day.
Josué held up a clean hand. It did look pale – like a settler’s.
“There! You look almost human again,” Felisa said with a smile in her voice.
He drank the water, amazed at how good it tasted. “I feel almost human again.” He looked at her, startled to see a clarity in her eyes he hadn’t seen before. The night in the jungle must have been good for her too.
“What are you looking at?” she asked.
His smile widened as he tried to think of something smart to say. Then his blood turned cold when he noticed a large shadow in the tree-line. He stopped moving. Jagged teeth gleamed from under the foliage. Fierce eyes glinted in the morning light.
Josué stepped backward. Don’t move, he said mentally. Raptor!
The creature peered into the clearing from the broken underbrush and sniffed. Felisa stiffened – her eyes wide.
Josué stepped back to the far bank. His only plan was to distract the beast. If he’d thought it through, he might have tried standing still himself. He didn’t think it through.
His foot slipped on the far side of the bank. The dinosaur’s head turned to him like an auto-cannon.
Josué watched it coil in the tree line. The muscles on the animal’s powerful neck braced. How much time would he have if the animal leapt, he wondered.
Before his eyes traced the distance between them, the animal launched itself across the river like a rocket.
Felisa shrieked as the tail whipped past her face. Desperation rose in his chest. The beast moved quicker than he’d thought possible.
He scrambled onto the bank and shouted, “Use the viper cannon!” He hoped she’d been watching last night, or maybe flown one before, somehow.
Thankfully, the dinosaur slipped on the same muddy bank. Josué took advantage of the precious second, grabbed a vine and pushed himself over the river.
The vine, however, didn’t cooperate, catching in the canopy halfway across. It shuddered and dropped him a few inches from the current.
Felisa grabbed the viper handlebars, her fingers working the starter. “Hurry!” he cried. The cold water lapped at his tunic.
The engine caught and revved just as the vine jerked violently. A tail slapped his head. Josué let go.
He splashed into the chilly current and kicked. A second splash pushed him up and away. The noise of the viper hovered near him. “Get on,” Felisa shouted.
Scrambling halfway onto the bike, he looked down. The animal had crawled onto the bank and was readying to leap at them again.
“How do you use the cannon?” Felisa asked over her shoulder.
“The red trigger – there.” Josué pointed to the left handlebar.
She squeezed it and a laser bolt shot across the water.
“Aim it at the raptor.”
“I’m trying!”
He dove into the river just as the raptor’s head slammed into the side of the hover bike, sending it into a tailspin.
The world was lost in a flurry of bubbles. A large talon snagged his tunic, pinning him against the soft river bottom. His lungs burned in his chest with the weight of the animal.
Just when he thought he couldn’t stand it any longer, a red cloud blossomed in the water above him. The raptor’s talon lifted from his chest in slow motion.
He pushed to the surface and gasped. The body of the beast floated beside him, a long burn mark across its neck.
“Nice shot.”
“Lucky for you.” Felisa smiled.
Josué grabbed the tail of the beast and pulled it onto the bank. Memory of the meal he’d eaten at the native village set his stomach rumbling. “Raptor for breakfast?”
Chapter 3, The Agent
The lone agent for the President of the Parliamentary Revisionist Party waited in a trance, watching the roaring fire in the center of the small room.
He puzzled over the need for a fire on this planet. Toreon was cool this time of year; a fire wouldn’t have been out of place there. Here it was perpetually summer. Who would have even built a fireplace this big?
The agent stood as far away from it as possible. Every now and then he would rock back a little too much, his hand would make contact with the scorching brick wall and he would jump.
There was a faint toasty smell in the air. A downward glance revealed steam coming from his pants and shoes – or was it smoke?
He loosened his collar and removed his tie, something he should have done hours ago. If he’d been a man needing to lose weight, he would have welcomed his time here. As it was, he felt himself sweating into nothing.
He glanced at his watch. Had it really been three hours?
Trying to turn without scorching his legs against his pants, he ran his fingers through his thin damp hair. At least he wasn’t in the city. He’d lost count of the explosions and laser blasts he’d heard last night. Sonora City had proven to be the war zone he’d heard it was.
The morning newscast had taken his appetite away. “Twenty-Seven Dead” was the headline. The Omri Family had clearly won the body count. Their unique way of marking kills was graphic and unmistakable. The news anchor had gone into great detail to describe it, complete with vivid 3D images. The agent shuddered at the memory.
Thankfully, his unpleasant thoughts were interrupted by a tall figure with dark hair. Though the man’s piercing features and steel eyes did little to set him at ease.
“Are you here to see Ormand?”
The agent tried to think of who else he might be here to see, but only nodded, smiled, and said, “Yes. I’m from Mr. Apolino’s office.” He hoped the name of Mr. Apolino would win him a margin of respect even on this backward planet.
“Our Parliamentary Agent then.” The tall man gave a hungry smile. “Welcome to Sonora IV. I’m Atlantos. Have you waited long?”
The agent had heard the name Atlantos before. He put his hands in his pocket, wincing at the burning sensation. Shaking his head, he lied. “Not long.”
“Mr. -” Atlantos paused and sniffed, as though he were trying to tell if the agent was fully done.
“Ciro, Mr. Ciro.”
Atlantos smiled as if satisfied then turned to lead Mr. Ciro down a long, stone passageway. “I presume you arrived from Toreón and found your accommodations in the city pleasant?” Atlantos asked over his shoulder.
“Yes, sir. Nice accommodations.” Mr. Ciro almost slapped his forehead. Had he really just called this man, sir? Three hours in a sweat room must have rattled him more than he’d guessed. At least his clothing had started to cool. He could almost bend his legs without burning them against his pants.
After more corridors than Mr. Ciro would have thought possible in a manor this size, they came to a wide room. A full bar stood to the left. Beyond it a long pastel-pink couch sat in front of a hologram wall. A curly mop of oily-black hair hung over the back.
The afternoon newscast showed, “Thirty-Seven Dead,” a revised figure from the morning. They must have found more bodies, thought Mr. Ciro. The anchorwoman was just starting to show the close-ups. Mr. Ciro busied himself looking at the wine bottles standing in a row at the back of the bar. Atlantos left Mr. Ciro there and maneuvered past the couch to lean over and speak in Ormand’s ear.
Atlantos stood to his full height and motioned for Mr. Ciro to sit next to Ormand then deputy found a seat opposite the couch in the corner of the room. Mr. Ciro gingerly stepped around to si
t on the edge.
Ormand’s hairy chest looked as if it had been stuffed into his open-collared polo shirt. His large arms hung at his sides, one hand barely closing around a beer can and the other around an old fashioned remote.
Mr. Ciro glanced at Ormand then tried to find a way to look again without being obvious. The man’s dull eyes and half-opened mouth gave him the look of being stoned.
Mr. Ciro waited.
At the end of the newscast, an ad for Trevino wine aired. Ormand finally moved. He licked his lips and drank absently from his can.
Mr. Ciro shifted in his seat. The room had the smell of socks mixed with smoky oil. He wished he were at a desk, or in some more formal setting. The couch sagged, forcing him closer to Ormand than he liked.
Ormand stretched his arms wide, yawned and turned off the holo-wall. He ran his fingers through his hair and aimed a lazy eye at Mr. Ciro.
“So, what’s old Apolino up to these days?”
“Mr. Apolino sends his congratulations on your ascension in the ranks of Sonora IV.” Mr. Ciro fixed a big smile on his face. He was vaguely aware his words were having no effect. He had planned them for a more formal setting. “You are now – er, considered a Grandee. As they call it?”
“We’ve been a Grandee for more than a month. What took ‘ol Appy so long to notice?” Ormand turned his eyes to Atlantos. A dull unimpressed look hung on both of their faces. “Is that why you’re here?”
Mr. Ciro cleared his throat and pulled at the skin under his chin. He crossed his arms, wondering what else he could say to cushion his next bit of news. “Uh, Mr. Apolino has an interest in the young Trevino boy, Josué.” The agent glanced nervously from Ormand to Atlantos. Something felt wrong about his timing, but he had to continue.
“What about him?” Ormand crumpled the beer can in his fist and gritted his teeth staring at Atlantos from beneath bushy eyebrows.
“He’s escaped,” Mr. Ciro replied, feeling fidgety. A bead of sweat made its way down his left armpit, though his feet felt cold as ice. Mr. Ciro cleared his throat. “In Apolino’s eyes this is unacceptable. He’d like you to – er, find the boy, and – uh, finish the job. Oh – that includes the grandfather – he told me – to tell you.” Mr. Ciro adjusted his collar then sat on his hands.