Rummaging through his pack, Murphy found he was doing
better on supplies than heād originally thought. The
lighthouse had held a plethora of treasures, most of which
heād only seen in books and holos of the past. Not that he
was really interested in any of those things, it wasnāt like he
could take any of them with him, considering his boat had
been pretty much shot to hell. If Murph was being honest
with himself he was surprised he hadnāt sank like a fucking
rock.
Purpose. Jaha had said. Weāre meant for more, John.
It was as much a load of shit as it was a shard of hope
glowing bright beneath Murphyās sternum. He could feel it
there, the warmth of it burning like stomach acid, harsh and
unwelcome.
John knew he was screwed, knew everyone was screwed
(or dead, jury was still out on that one). He didnāt need
anything putting the faith in him. No fucking thank you.
MREās were pretty shitty, they were not only over 100 years
old, but Murphy was pretty sure they werenāt anything to
write home about even before. Still they were so much better
than nothing, the stale crackers alone were practically gold in
the suffering heat of the desert. He munched them down
quickly, needing to get a good few more miles in before sunset.
Peering into the remaining bags in the flimsy container Murphy
crossed his fingers for something that hinted at chicken (those
were the best, fuck the red meat container things, heād rather
eat his own rancid shit). Just as he found his booty and hummed
in pleasure at the delightful not-beef, Murphy was stunned into
throwing the MRE back into his bag, a knife was out and in his
hand not three seconds later.
Heād heard the shout, but had to turn to see the person scrambling
down to meet him. Which was really fucking ā¦ strange?
Cocking his head to the side John waited for the person, girl maybe
by the voice, to get within range. He didnāt speak as he watched her
approach, noting first off that she wasnāt a grounder, of the desert
or forest people. Her skin was dark, but pale? Like it hadnāt seen the
light of day in eons. That fact, coupled with the style of her clothing
pretty much spelled out who she was.
Still, Murphy waited in silence, hard grip upon his bag and his knife.
He was on a mission goddamn it and he wasnāt about to get hijacked
again.
//PURGATORY + justasavxge
She hadnāt had much experience with grounders. Her exposure to anything not quarantined and buried in a communal cement coffin was strictly medical. Grounders were little more than sopping bags of blood in her mind. An unfair assessment, to be sure, but one she couldnāt help. Not when itād been the dirty ultimatum for twenty years of her lifeāsuck down grounder blood, or die. It became a way of life, the status quo for generations.
One quick kidnapping and a field of needle scars winding down her arms had changed things. Made it more personal.
Ivica nearly tripped over herself on her way down. She pitched forward and landed hard on her hands and knees when she reached the bottom. Sharp huff of breath, more exasperation than exhaustion, and for a moment she stared at her fingertips, dug her nails into sand and studied the dark contrast between her rough knuckles and each pale granule of tan.
When she looked up, she noticed the knife. Blinked at it. The guy was far enough away to not be an immediate threat, but a thin reflective glint flickered from his hand and flashed across her face like a threat.
Vic hopped up, dusted off her knees, studied him. Pale. Caked in dirt. A little crispy around the edges. Floppy hair with the most awkward middle part sheād ever seen. He looked like he might stab her if she blinked the wrong way.
She wasnāt sure what to peg him as. He didnāt look like any grounder sheād seen, but then again, she was romping around completely new territory.
āHey,ā she said, voice raised. Far enough away to force a couple extra decibels into her words, but the desert air was still enough not to have to shout. āYou speak English? No stabby-stabby, very no bueno.ā
She raised her arms to chest height, palms forward like she was pushing a large stone in his direction. A placating gesture. Itād suck to die from unnatural causes. Sheād prefer a sandy burial over multiple stab wounds.
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