"You don't seem to have any injuries."
Giselle pulled her battered shirt back over her head, being very careful not to put any stress on the back. Most of it was burned, hanging by threads in some places, melted edges around the holes where the plastic fibers had fused together. It was a total mess, but unless she found a way to repair it, this shirt was what she had.
"It's impossible," she said, but she knew Willow was right. She felt perfectly fine, no, even better than that. She felt great. Every bruise, every contusion, every burn or cut... they were all gone. More than that, the nagging ache in her joint she had grown used to over the years was gone as well.
Willow glanced at her, then looked away, stood up and walked towards the steep cliff-face that rose from the ground, a massive barrier that stretched out in all directions.
Their little camp nestled in a small hollow in that wall. There was a slight overhang, but it was too shallow to be called a cave. They had a large fire going, and there was a bustle of people of all ages, dragging branches to a growing woodpile.
They were a sorry lot, most of them covered in dirt and mud, none of them unscathed, all of them with a hollow-eyed look of confusion and desperation.
"How many are there now?" Giselle asked, trying to lighten the mood by changing the subject.
"20, maybe, if we count the ones that are going to make it."
Giselle winced. Wrong question. The bleakness in Willow's voice told her that dreadful story. From what Willow had told her, she knew that the woman had been a doctor on her homeworld. A valued one, at that, until she had the terrible misfortune to be called to a village that needed a specialist. Somehow, the Tyrant's eye had fallen on that village, captured the people, burned the place to the ground. The rest, they knew. Captured, questioned, tortured, and then, in the end, that bizarre escape to this place.
But while Giselle came out of that transport pod whole and better than she had been, the other pods were another story. Almost all of them broke on impact. More than half of them exploded, some with their precious cargo still inside.
Giselle had seen the angry blisters on Willow's hands and fingers, the torn nails, and knew she hadn't been the only one she had tried to get out of the pod in time. And with some, Willow had failed. Some. Too many.
In the end, they had about 20 people, men, women, children. Not all the pods that escaped had landed in this area, but nobody dared venture out too far.
They had to find a few cargo pods with the most necessary of supplies. They had food, water-purification-gear, some medical supplies and medicine. Barely any clothes, no suitable tools, no tents for shelter, and the day was coming to an end.
"What are you?"
Giselle looked up from her thoughts. Willow leaned against the wall, arms crossed, face closed.
"You should have been cut to ribbons, and those ribbons crisped to crunchy rashers of bacon, by that explosion. Why weren't you?"
Despite herself, despite the ridiculousness of the situation, Giselle laughed.
"That's oddly specific, and you're making me hungry!"
"I am hungry. It makes me tetchy."
"Tetchy, eh? Are those dry bricks that are supposed to pass for food not to your liking?"
Willow's mouth twitched, then stretched back into a tight line.
"You protected me."
"I did not know I was going to do that! It was all so confusing!"
YOU ARE READING
The Mountains of Mourning
Adventure[IN PROGRESS] After his rebellion failed, Patrick and his team escaped to another world, thinking to be safe there, and live out what remained of their broken lives in whatever peace they might find. But the world he found wasn't the one he expected...
