G U I D E D B Y T H E C R O W
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.
He’d get to another base. They’d radio the survivors. Sariah and Tomas would be okay. He could do this. He only had to make it a little further…
Eventually, he couldn’t hear the gunfire or the screams, and his legs were on fire, his steps becoming clumsy as his muscles began to give out, trembling every few steps. He didn’t know where he was. Maybe he was closer to the city than he thought. Not that it mattered — not when they’d likely prosecute him the same they had the others. So Neo fell to the ground, leaning his weight against a large rock before he tore his mask from his face, taking a moment to breath in — somewhat — fresher air. His entire body was coated in a fine layer of dust, and the murk still hung in the air — but it was better, and he was alive. Without even realizing it, his eyes fluttered closed, and within minutes, sleep, albeit uncomfortable, found him.
