Terror of the Shadow

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The waning sunlight breathed its final breath of the day and vanished behind the hilltops. The scorching heat immediately began to subside, inviting the myriad creatures of the desert to poke their timid heads above the sand. Shadows fell with the dusk all across the Outland.

Somewhere in the distance, a klaxon wailed. Laban recognized the noise. That alarm only sounded when the airlock doors were opening to allow passage through the shield. He had heard that alarm for the first time when his clan had arrived at Ura-chan.

But all the hunters would have checked in hours ago. There wouldn't be anyone left outside to let in, and certainly, no one would be going out at this time of day. So why was the airlock being opened?

Laban judged by the look on their faces that Aristarchus and Kol must have been equally confused.

"Were any hunters left unaccounted for at the end of the day?" asked Aristarchus.

"No," Kol replied. "We all made it home."

"Then that could only mean—"

"Wanderers."

Laban followed close behind the two as they joined the flow of bodies towards the airlock entrance. Laban had to stand on his toes to see over the gradually thickening mass of people. The stir of excitement and anticipation that hung over the crowd was nearly palpable.

The massive deadbolts of the heavy interior door of the airlock slid aside one by one. Once it was unlocked, it took several guards to heave the door open. The crowd collectively held its breath as a thousand eyes peered into the dark emptiness within the chamber.

Cheers filled the silence when someone emerged from the darkness into the light. An emaciated old man gawked at the applauding crowd before him. More gaunt bodies emerged, draped in tattered rags. They each wore an equally dumbfounded smile on their face. The mud and dust caked on their skin only added to their skeletal appearance. They all looked much more dead than alive.

Nurses pushed their way through the crowd, carrying full canteens of water, medicines, and all the food they could spare. Some of the more frail-looking arrivals were carried away on stretchers toward the sick tent, while others were given support and directed the same way.

Laban's eye stopped on one woman in particular as she passed. She hobbled along behind the nurses, using a bent stick as a cane to replace the leg that was missing. He thought he had seen something in her face... something familiar. But couldn't see her face properly under the hood she wore.

Laban's heart nearly stopped when she suddenly turned in his direction. He thought he had seen a ghost. It must be his tired eyes playing tricks on him. He hadn't slept properly for weeks and hadn't had a decent meal for even longer. But the longer he stared, the more convinced he was that the face he saw was nothing less than real. There were new wrinkles and new grey hairs, but she was every bit as beautiful as he remembered.

His voice squeaked: "Mother?"