SECOND DRAFT: Hard Bank Left

23

The Badlands meant something to Graham, something tinged with dread, something painful. Had he been there before? If so what had happened? Or was it just the general feeling of dread?

The call from the front of the plane echoed, "Strap in." Everyone else had taken a seat on one of the two benches lining the hold's walls, strapping in with the provided harnesses. Graham followed suit.

Over the chatter of his fellow escapees, and the hum of the engines, Graham made out something coming over the coms in the cockpit: a woman's voice clear and lightly accented from a childhood of speaking Spanish. "I've found a road near a water source." It cut out. Coran slammed the door behind him, blocking out the voice. Was that Mizella? He didn't realize till that point that he had heard her name yet never seen her face. Where was she?

Graham scarcely had time to think the question before he was kicked up, the plane making a steep turn to starboard. The landing went smoothly enough, the wheels making contact with barely more than a hiccup, though Graham got the distinct impression that he had experienced smoother landings with... someone else. He had to assume he was thinking of Krys, after all, she was his pilot. Still, the direct comparison made him smirk with a self-satisfied "my thing is better than your thing". This left him wondering. It wasn't uncommon for him to claim people as property, however, this felt different. She was more like something to be proud of, and while taking a good deal of care for his property, Graham seldom bothered allowing them enough personhood to feel pride in them. He obviously felt pride in her. He had assigned her some modicum of personhood. Again, the question remained: why?

The water source proved to be a pond, only a short walk's distance from the road where they had landed. Coran and Mizella set to work immediately, pulling out the thick hose and pump, intent on filling the water tank as quickly as they could. Graham got his first good look at the pair of them while he was waiting for instructions. Coran was short, and lean, fair-skinned and dark-haired. If his last name, Kavanaugh, didn't say enough about his descent his appearance made it obvious: the man was Irish. Graham felt an instinctive connection with him because of this fact.

Mizella, in contrast, stood a full head over Coran. Her strong lean form couldn't be anything less than striking. A wild mane of honey brown hair hung over her shoulders. Green tattoos covered her sunkissed skin, curling around on forearm and stretching across her face in a tapered line. She smiled easily, touched Coran in a familial way. They were together-together and Graham found himself mired in jealousy, both for this woman and for the familiarity they shared. He and Coran seemed to have similar taste in women, but beyond the superficial there lay a clear line of something else digging at him: he wanted someone to touch him like that. Not so much someone in particular, nor did he want just anyone. No, this desire for intimacy lay in a depth he didn't wish to explore.

"Come on."

Graham glanced to his right to find Adrianna standing next to him, her gaze steady and expectant.

"We should patrol. The plane is large, loud, hard to miss. Someone will come looking for ua and the chances of that someone being friendly out here are very small."

Graham nodded, allowing her to lead him across the road and into a thicket from where they had a clear view of an open field opposite the pond. The field remained empty for so long that for a hopeful moment Graham through they'd refuel and get off scot free. No such luck.

It was the shadows that gave them away. Graham tapped Adrianna on the shoulder, pointed to the figures, she was already staring at them.

"Who are they?"

"Ferals."

"What are ferals?"

"The durere that live here. They feed on the travelers, if I don't claim you they'll...."