Chapter 375 (1/2)
PLANET HESSTLA
ONE YEAR AFTER CASE OMAHA - LOCAL
TWO MONTHS AFTER CASE OMAHA - GALACTIC
The darkness was pushed back by the light of the moons streaming down, hitting the snow, and illuminating the entire forest. The night was cold, tiny snowflakes drifting down from the heavy clouds, dancing on the cold wind that rustled trees and bushes. The lake was covered in ice, the same with the wooden dock that extended out over the frozen water.
A hole was chopped in the ice, a figure sat on the end of the dock with a fishing pole in one hand and a can of self-cooling fizzybrew in the other. The figure wore a grav-skiing mask that was undecorated pushed back from its face, was clad in heavy insulated coveralls, with a heavy leather belt around its waist where a bulky and weighty Terran magac pistol rode in a holster.
The face was furry, short soft fur, with a triangular nose and short whiskers.
Dambree took another drink off the fizzybrew as she stared at the night sky, twitching the fishing pole now and then to try to create interest in the lure.
Beside her Mister Mewmew lifted his head, looked at the lake, then curled back up.
”We're a pair, aren't we, Mister Mewmew?” Dambree asked.
Mister Mewmew looked up, a :-) appearing on the black macroplast triangle on his forehead.
”It's been a full month,” she said softly.
Mister Mewmew nodded.
”Do you think it's really over?” Dambree asked, finishing off her fizzybrew and putting the empty in her tacklebox. She started winding the reel, pulling up her lure. ”It's been a full month,” she repeated, staring up at the larger of the two moons, which was full and shining brightly.
Mister Mewmew put up a sigil for a shrug.
”I wish I could stay here, with you, for the rest of my life,” Dambree said. She pressed the button beside the reel and the fishing rod clacked as it turned into a short baton.
The memory of beating a boy her age to death with it surged up and she pushed it down, pushed away the horror of how his eyes were surrounded by blackened flesh and bloody tears had run down his cheeks, pushed away how it felt for his hands to paw at her, grabbing at her clothing.
She hung the collapsed fishing rod from her belt, tugged her grav-skiing mask down over her face, then knelt down and closed her heavy tacklebox. She grabbed the line of five fish and the tacklebox and slowly stood up.
When she had first started fishing the tacklebox had been heavy enough she had been forced to set it down several times on the trip from the cabin to the dock. Now she barely noticed the weight.
The snow crunched under her boots as she slowly walked back to the cabin. She passed a burnt out car. Wild animals had gotten at the burnt corpses, leaving nothing behind.
She could remember loading the bodies of the two men who had chased Tru into the car before setting it on fire. The third had escaped and she'd tracked him until he had reached the road before she had given up. She had grabbed a branch and dragged it behind her as she wandered back to her cabin, stopping by other cabins, making sure she erased his footprints.
Dambree was frowning under the mask as she passed by a cabin with broken windows, charred wood around the windows and smoke damage to the siding.
That had been the cabin that had taught her that nobody could be trusted. Not kids her age, not adults, not girls, not boys, not men, not women. They had seemed so sad and pathetic, their eyes hadn't been bruised, they didn't weep bloody tears.
They had still tried to take what was Dambree's.
”It's been a long six months,” Dambree said softly. She pushed through the bushes she'd planted in what had been the only road leading to the little cabin off to the side. She'd planted them and made sure they were in the way, concealing the cabin.
Mister Mewmew just made a meow-ing noise.
At the cabin Dambree stomped her boots a few times, knocking the snow off of them. She ignored the fact that Elu was pointing the shotgun at her when she came in. Tru was standing with her back flat against the wall, next to the door, a long bladed knife in her hand.
Just in case someone tried coming in through the back door while Elutra was 'distracted' by someone coming in the front.
Nee was laying on the couch, covered by a blanket, sleeping with a sucky in her mouth.
Elu put up the shotgun, making sure it was out of reach of Nee and up on the wall-pegs before dropping the decorated cloth over it. Tru moved over and put the knife back on the counter.
Dambree moved over and put the fish in the water filled sink where they drifted to the bottom, only the movement of their gills betraying they were alive.
”I'll make dinner,” Dambree said. ”We'll have cake for dessert.”
Both her siblings were overjoyed at it, even though Dambree could hardly breathe because of the anxious feeling in her chest. She boned and scaled the fish, rolled them in flour and spices, then cooked the strips, serving it up with baked tubers and fresh vegetables.
The cake was the last canned cake they had, thick with frosting and overly sweet after months of eating home-made food.
Dambree waited until after her siblings went to sleep, till Nee was curled up with her sister, sucking her thumb, before lifting the basement hatch.
She went down into the basement with a flash, going back to the 'survival pack' that the military had dropped off a couple of months before. She opened the pack, finding what she was looking for quickly. When she left the basement she checked on her siblings again.
All three were asleep.
Dambree dressed slowly, forgoing the mask, and walked out to where the remains of the car she'd driven, half crazed, through the hellish first days of the Slorpy Invasion.
She swept the snow off the seat where the door was missing, sitting down.
Dambree lifted up the device and turned it on. She'd read all about it on the dataslate.
”civil authorities are confirming that there have been no sightings of Precursor Autonomous War Machines for the last three weeks but urge the population not to grow lax. Report any suspicious activity via text or voice. Do not approach susp...” a female voice said.
Dambree turned the knob on the top, changing the channel. The device started making clicks and beeps with what sounded like parts of words.
”Hello?” Dambree said, pressing the button on the side. ”Is there anyone listening?” She let off the button.
”Who is this? This is a restricted military channel,” a voice answered. ”State your emergency.”
”No emergency,” Dambree said. She took a deep breath and exhaled it. ”I think I'm ready to come back.”
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Dambree sat on the hood of the car, watching as the heavy grav-lifter, the military markings on it scuffed looking, set down slowly in the small clearing. She could see patched and repaired damage on it, see the weapon pods under the short stubby wings. The craft touched down with a whine that slowly oscillated down to silence. The side door slid open and a Terran in the weird shifting colors clothing jumped out.
”Are you Dambree?” the Terran asked, noticing that the young Hesstlan was holding a Terran magac pistol in one hand.
”Yes,” the young female said.
”How many of you are here?” the Terran asked. Dambree wasn't sure, but she thought the Terran might be female.
”Five of us. Me, my younger sister, my little brother, and my youngest sister,” Dambree said. She smiled. ”And Mister Mewmew.”
”There was a scout report that suggested you might have had it a little rough,” the Terran said.
Dambree just nodded. ”I kept them alive. Does anything else matter?” she asked.
The Terran noticed that the Hesstlan girl sounded much older than her features suggested.
”We found out that you have an aunt and two uncles still alive,” the Terran said. ”We haven't notified them yet.”
”Oh,” Dambree said. ”I didn't know anyone else from my family had survived.”
”Should we contact them?” the Terran asked.
Dambree shook her head. ”Not yet.”