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“You look exactly where you’re going to attack.” Laramie relaxed her stance. “It’s a dead giveaway.”
Axel’s shoulders slumped and he groaned. “How are you supposed to attack but not look where you’re going?”
Laramie allowed a faint smile. “Like this.” She took him over to one of the punching bags hanging in the training room and placed him on one side.
Watch.” She took up her stance opposite him. She brought up her hands in a ready position, shifting her weight lightly between her feet. A light tap against the bag to start. Find a spot to focus. Follow the sway of your opponent. Don’t let them get too close. Quick jab.
Faster.
Laramie quickened the pace of her strikes, interspersing now with kicks. Always watching the same spot on the bag. One more kick finished the routine.
She reached in to steady the bag and looked to Axel.
He nodded, chewing on his lower lip. “Okay. Can I try?”
Laramie stepped back and gestured for him to start. His punches were too hesitant, but at least he kept his eyes on the bag, not on every little movement around him.
“Harder!” Laramie encouraged. “You’re not dancing over there.”
A faint grin swerved across Axel’s face, but he started throwing more weight behind each punch.
“Aw, look. The drifter’s helping toughen up the dead meat,” a sneering voice cut over the sounds of punching.
Laramie’s shoulders tightened up and she faced off with Saver, the older recruit who’d killed his way into the gangs.
“Just getting in some extra practice.” She shrugged.
She’d met Axel in the room after dinner almost every night since she’d offered. He’d improved without Harlan shouting in his ear and the older recruits tripping him up every chance they got.
“You know you can’t have boyfriends around here?” Saver kept a smirk.
“Upset you can’t either?” she shot back.
He chuckled nastily and came closer. Axel ghosted up on her left side, fists hanging by his sides.
“Relax, pipsqueak,” Saver sneered at Axel. “A few of the units challenged us to some races. Think they can screw us over. As much as I hate to admit it, you two are some of the best riders. Want to earn some cash?”
Laramie tilted her head to look at Axel with a raised eyebrow and still keep one eye on Saver. Eagerness lit the teen’s eyes. Laramie almost didn’t want to admit she felt the same confidence in her ability to go toe-to-toe with some unit riders.
If I can beat their riders, I might be able to make it out of here. And on the faster gang motorcycles, she’d have an even better chance.
“Where?” she asked.
“Track. Garage is open, so get your bikes and follow us down there.” He left with a swaggering walk.
Laramie narrowed her eyes, a survival instinct of doubt creeping in for a second. “You think there’s really a race and this isn’t some setup against us?”
Axel shucked the wraps around his hands. “It’s happened a few times before. I’ve never ridden, but there’s no fights tonight, so the units all need something to do.”
Laramie peeled off her wraps and left them on the table against the back wall. “Okay. Let’s go kick some ass.”
Her fears proved unfounded as they met up with the other trainees at the garage. Laramie took the gas can and topped off her tank. They’d all been given plain red helmets—blank until they earned a place in a unit and could paint it with the unit’s symbol. She pulled hers off the wall and followed Axel as he pushed his motorcycle from the garage.
“Run all bets by me,” Saver announced as the others joined them outside. He pulled the garage shut after getting nods from them all.
“Who died and made him leader?” Laramie muttered to Axel. The teen ducked his head to hide a smile.
“What’s that, drifter?” Saver leaned in close. His breath already reeked of the cheap beer.
She lifted her chin. “We gonna stand here and chat forever, or we headed down?”
He backed off with a warning look. One of the other teens shot her a faint grin. She winked back and pulled her helmet on leaving the visor open, and slowly accelerated behind Saver as he led the way across the compound and down to the track.
The setting sun left the western sky above the mountains awash in vibrant reds, yellows, and oranges. Darker purples lingered on the fringes, deepening the shadows of the mountain slopes into imperceptible blocks of rocks and trees.
Tall floodlights set up around the track bathed the track in bright white light. Motorcycles already grouped around the track. Dust kicked up from several riders tearing their way around.
Jeers and shouts rose up as one skidded and wiped out. The rider took a second to get up and back on his bike to try to catch up to the others.
The recruits idled to a stop in their own group. A lanky figure approached, red jacket undone and beer in hand. Moshe.
“Barns is handling the entries and races.” He swept a cool glance over them. “Don’t come crying when you get cleaned out by real riders.”
“That why you’re not riding?” Laramie smirked.
Moshe allowed a huff of a laugh. “Yeah, heard you were a cocky one, drifter.”
Laramie arched an eyebrow. Who else was talking about her?
But Moshe turned his attention to the other trainees. “Most of the unit leaders are out. Could be a chance to make an impression.” He left, heading back to his unit, walking with the same deceptive grace as Gered.
Laramie didn’t feel a threat from him, but he could become one too easily. He was still one to watch out for.
“I’ll talk to Barns about setting the next races,” Saver said.
Laramie rolled her eyes at Axel again and followed the self-appointed leader to the track. They set up on a small rise, braving the scorn of the nearby units. The jibes devolved into something more friendly after the initial abuse. Laramie stayed out of it, preferring to let the other trainees rub shoulders with the units.
She didn’t have anyone to impress. Just focus on who to beat here.
“Drifter, you’re up first!” Saver waved her to the start.
Two other riders were already revving their engines at the starting line by the time she made it down.
“Three laps,” Barns shouted over the noise.
She gave a thumbs up and snapped the visor closed. Barns dropped a hand and she pushed off in a roar of dust. The unit riders rode more aggressively than the trainees, forcing Laramie to a higher level of riding she wasn’t used to. The travelers would often hold races like that—but less cutthroat.
She came in second, respectable enough for her first race of the night. Saver glared at her as she rode back up to the group. She flipped the visor up and returned his look with a slight curl of her lip and ignored him, turning to wish Axel luck before he headed to the starting line.
The floodlights grew brighter as the last lingering vestiges of sunlight faded from the sky. The stars appeared—cold bright spots pinpricking every available inch of the night sky. A broader band of light streaked overhead, running from one end of the horizon to the other—a deep track cut through the sky with a wake of lighter clouds and stars around it.
She pulled her helmet off to better look. Aclar legend said it was the wake from Jaan, one of the four winged messengers of God, taking the form of a mighty eagle to roam the skies between earth and heaven. She’d never seen it so clearly before as stretching above the Christan mountains.
“John’s Path,” Axel pulled up beside her, turning his head up to look. “It’s always clearer in the summer.”
John, Jaan—the difference in culture she sometimes forgot existed. Aclar, like the Itan, weren’t natives of Natux. They’d come over shortly after the Rifts opened on each continent — the Itan to try to engineer bridges between the newly formed upper and lower countries, and the travelers, driven from their own home by wars between the tribes and invaders trying to harvest more magic from the barely affected Aclar. But they’d each clung to the original tenets of their culture, passing them on to subsequent generations until some bits merged across the barriers into new ways of living.
“It’s beautiful,” Laramie said.
“Yeah.” Wistfulness covered Axel’s voice. “You think there’s some being up there who flies around as a giant eagle, keeping an eye on all of us for some other greater being?”
“Interesting place for an existential conversation.” Laramie flicked a finger down at the track.
Axel chuckled. “Yeah.”
Laramie balanced her helmet on the seat in front of her. “Travelers are pretty religious, so I was raised with the preacher and the books, and plenty of other Aclar legends.” She tipped her head back to the stars. “Yeah, I think someone’s up there. Doesn’t seem like it sometimes though.”
Axel grunted his agreement. “Churches don’t really function around here, but we still talked about stuff back home. Just sometimes looking up at the sky like this, you’re struck by the vastness of everything, and then look back down and see this.” He jerked his chin at where a rider wiped out on a turn and took another bike with him.
“Fair point,” Laramie allowed. She touched the medal still hiding underneath her shirt. Jaan was the favorite of the four messengers among the travelers, and now and then she felt guilty about leaving Matteo, or Maatu to the travelers, the winged patron of the Itan, behind. But no matter which she prayed to, sometimes the heavens returned nothing but silence to her prayers.
“Stop chatting!” Saver slammed a hand between her handlebars. “You’re up again!”
“Okay!” She pulled her helmet back on and headed back down. The two riders she went up against were more cautious of the turns, and one ground his clutch. She took first easily, not even pausing at the finish line and riding directly back up to her place.
Axel exchanged a fist bump and went to claim another first place win for the trainees. One of the other teens brought a round of beers. Laramie sipped hers with a grimace of distaste. She’d prefer something darker, or even water, but the grainy beer seemed to be the preferred beverage of the entire Barracks.
Betting picked up as her group showed themselves just as capable as most of the riders in the units. Saver stopped yelling so much and gave her and Axel a few more runs than the rest of the trainees. No one complained either.
The gang motorcycle was almost addicting in its speed and power. It was becoming more and more likely it would come with her when she made her run.
Midnight loomed ever closer and the races started coming to an end. Most of the units began heading back in packs, collecting whatever winnings they’d earned. Saver paid out as soon as they got back to the garage, impressing Laramie. She’d expected him to pocket the winnings. He begrudgingly lifted his chin in a nod of almost respect. Another win for the night.
She secured the wad of bills in her jacket and walked back to Unit Four’s barracks with a hand on her pistol. She also figured Saver wasn’t above following her and stealing the money back. Him or another of the units. But she reached the bunker without incident.
Inside was quiet. Some of Unit Five lingered in the common room. She’d beaten at least one of them in the races. Not many had participated, most seeming content to bet and drink. They’re probably already sleeping it off.
She punched in the code to the room and stepped inside. A breath of relief escaped at the solid click behind her and the sight of the empty room. The constant tension accumulated during the day began to ease from her muscles, and she sank down on her bed.
Bending over, she unlaced her boots and tried not to wince at the smell of sweaty boots and socks, and unshowered mess. Unit Five hadn’t made any sort of move. Should I just go shower and not worry about it?
But the late hour and the fact Harlan wouldn’t care that they’d still be tired in a few hours when they showed back up for training prompted her to stay in the room. She dug out the small notebook from her bag instead. Untucking the pencil from the spine, she started to make notes alongside the rough diagrams of the Barracks.
Another page was filled up with a sketch of Rosche’s territory. Or as near as she could remember from the maps she’d looked at before foolishly heading in. Most of the upper territory and borders she remembered. South was hazy lines and uneven smudges that had refused to come clear no matter how much she tried to remember.
The Christan Mountains were a thicker line of triangles sketched in. They weren’t more than an hour’s ride from the Barracks, but she’d yet to decide if heading west was the best option. If she made it through the mountains, there was the unknown of the western slopes. And not much after that, if Gered was to be believed.
He’s probably lying. Can’t trust a Viper. But an annoying part of her did believe it, so she hadn’t actively pursued the idea of heading into the mountains.
She jotted notes on the units and their riding and racing tactics from that night. She’d quiz Axel on them later. The kid was a walking encyclopedia on all the units. Part of making her move would be planning it when the least threatening units were in the barracks.
Flipping back to the map, she tapped her pencil against the paper. North? The desert floor heaved up into a caprock at the edges of Rosche’s territory. Over the caprock’s ledge came greener flatlands and smaller mountains that crept east from their parent range of the Christan Mountains.
She couldn’t go too far north past that or she’d hit the Rift. There might be better places to hide among the lower hills. There were sure to be units after her when she made her run.
I wonder if I’d have time to put the booster on the gang bike? The pencil beat a new pattern on the paper as she gave it more thought. A few new parts, fiddle the wiring a bit to match with the gang bike, and it could work. Give her a needed edge on the units...But the idea vanished once she remembered the canister needed a refill before getting another good use out of it, and she hadn’t seen any harnessers around the compound.
I don’t think they’re letting me out to find a harnesser. And still don’t want anyone getting a look at it.
Setting the notebook aside with a sigh, she reached into her jacket’s inside pocket and pulled out the pictures. Kayin and herself smiled up in bright pigment. She rubbed a thumb along the edge. The camera had caught the bright speckles of their knacks—blue for her, gold for him. She could almost feel his arm around her shoulders, the way she fit perfectly against his side, cheek pressed against the sun-warmed leather of his jacket.
Smiling, she flipped it over. I love you to the sun’s fading, his scrawled script reminded her.
Love you too. And I’m trying to get back, promise.
She slid it behind the small stack, the next set of faces showing Ade half turned, a mixture of laughing exasperation as she reached toward Laramie, her husband in the background, head tossed back in merriment.
A suspicious sniff tickled her nose. She quickly flipped away. The faded faces of her first family laughed up at her. Habit sent her fingers turning it over.
Solfeggietto. Her thumb traced over the curling loops of the name. Back over to brush the familiar features. Remember scattered bits and pieces of laughter, hugs, and songs.
You’re the reason I’m in this mess.
Her parents kept smiling. Her younger self kept laughing.
Yeah, I know. It’s my fault. She couldn’t remember a time when she wasn’t impulsive. Though once she’d had a brother chasing after her and telling her to slow down.
A yawn threatened to split her face. She returned the notebook to its place at the bottom of her bag, tucking the money into her wallet and storing it safely away. She trusted Gioia enough to not go through her things when she wasn’t there, and she’d come to trust the lock on the door, but it didn’t hurt to keep the same level of distrust she fostered when on the road.
Still, she’d be glad to see the somewhat friendly faces of Unit Four when they came back.
