Brassworks

The Man in the Desert

"You will not find me in the garden, nor in the waters, nor in the caverns. I am not in the woods, nor the pastures, more the homes of my brethren. I am in the desert, in the sands of the Lord, and you will perish before you reach me."

The True Word

Chapter 2, Verse 1

JAMES dipped his pen in ink, shaking off the excess back into the well. He scratched along the side of the paper to loosen any globs of liquid before he began to write. The words came easy but the letters came hard; he often mixed up where one should go after another. Queen said he had a brain disease that made his eyes see funny, but he'd rather not explore that particular line of thought. His life was plenty complicated without worrying about the squishy bits inside his bucket.

He sat at his desk without a shirt, waiting for Queen to get back from her hunt. It wasn't that hot—he was more than used to living in the Badlands—but he'd been working out with the Breakers lately and wanted to show off the results. His bronzed skin stretched over wiry, toned muscle. 

His room sat on the top of the camp, with all four walls open to the desert. Temperatures soared during the day and plummeted at night, so they had to get creative when designing the suite. As soon as the sun set, James would drop heavy curtains to the floor to contain the heat from the day. It took a little getting used to, but he had it all down to routine now. He practically tied the walls in his sleep.

A shuffling caught his attention. James spun on his stool toward the ladder at the center of the room. Beady eyes peered out from under a purple hood. A young, round face was half-covered by a brown bandanna, pulled up to just under two green eyes. Realizing he was caught, Squirrel scrambled up the last few rungs and ran over to where James sat.

"Boss, we've got another convoy spotted moving to Barrenton." Squirrel looked to be twelve, but swore he was in his thirtieth summer. He was shorter than some of the children at the camp, and hairless as a spoon. "Are we sending out a buggy to check it out?"

James set down his pen and rubbed sleep from his eyes. He had to blink a few times before his vision smoothed out. Gotta take better care of yourself. You're doing Doll no favors by getting sick and overworked. James waved Squirrel off. "No raids today. Not until Queen gets back." He picked up his quill. "Any word from the waterboys?"

Squirrel spat. "Not a thing. They were close to Angel territory. Could be they got licked."

"No," James said with certainty. "We ain't done nothing to earn ire from Jericho or his cherubs. It had to be someone from the Vale." He got back to his letter, furrowing his brow as he wrote.

"You want some help?"

James slipped off one shoe and kicked it at the young man-boy. "Get on out, Queen'll be back soon and I don't want you here."

"Why don't you want him here?"

James spun around on his stool, grinning ear to ear. Queen stood at the bottom of the stairs, her long rifle over her shoulder. Her face remained stoic, but her eyes lit up when she saw him. Dropping her gear on the floor, she crossed the room and wrapped him in a tight hug.

She was a vision in leather, her skin darker than the laced armor she wore. Her black hair was tied together in a braid, making it easier to fit under a hood. She unwrapped a colorful scarf and wiped off a layer of sweat and grime. Despite the filth and fatigue, her hazel eyes shined bright.