Ronan of Space
Chapter 24: Stranded
In a breath’s instant, Ronan’s feet struck stable ground, causing him to stagger several paces and then faceplant into hot dirt. Heaving and disoriented, he lay there for a long moment letting the coarse, blistering earth validate his existence. The sun was stifling, the wind even more so.
Pushing himself to his knees, Ronan looked up at the vast expanse of desert that stretched in all directions around him. Above, the sun burned mercilessly in an azure, cloudless sky. Dry, leafless shrubs and prickly cactus decorated the arid wasteland. Squinting against the harsh sun, he moved to his knees and turned to get his bearings. He immediately found the Alpha.
Against the backdrop of the desert, the Alpha appeared more alien than ever before. His skin glistened in the sunlight very much like that of Ronan’s mother. His eyes, which were usually round, wide, and unblinking, were thin slits and appeared quite feline.
Ronan had initially thought he had an amicable relationship with the Alpha who had rescued them, but he wasn’t sure now. After learning that the Alpha had just been using his family and his father, he didn’t know what to think anymore. Gathering his courage, he said, “Where are we? What happened?”
The Ronan is on the opposite side of Terra, explained the Alpha.
“The opposite side of Earth? Opposite from what?”
The Commander.
Ronan shaded his eyes and searched the sky briefly. “Why?” was all he managed to say.
This One cannot return to Aether until This One finds a solution. The outcome of The Commander and his ship was uncertain.
“Why not just leave by yourself?” When the Alpha didn’t answer, Ronan kicked a rock. “You could have at least put us in a city or somewhere else.”
This One cannot.
“Why?”
The Alpha pointed to a small heap of metal on the ground. This One destroyed the matter transporter.
Ronan gaped at him, his rage swelling within him. “You know people die in the desert, right? There is literally nothing out here!” He waved his hand dramatically. “Do you see anything? Food? Water? Shelter? There’s nothing! You just destroyed our only way out of here!”
The Hive can track This One using the matter transporter’s location. Its destruction was necessary.
Ronan gaped at him incredulously. He could form no sentence that could adequately convey his anger, frustration, and hopelessness. The Alpha had sentenced him to death in a desert on Earth.
“I don’t… have a second skin,” he murmured more to himself than to the Alpha. He tugged his rolled sleeves down to his wrists and buttoned his high collar. He could already feel the sun burning his face. Though he wasn’t as pale as his father, he had inherited fairer skin than those in Firekli. Of course, he had browned over the years from sunboarding, but his meager tan was not enough to defend against the sun’s fury – not out here. A thought occurred to Ronan and he dug into his pocket. “Ethos!” When his hands met nothing but cloth, he frowned.
He had left Ethos floating above Mika’s bunk.
Where is The Ronan going?
“Home,” growled Ronan.
This terrain extends several hundred liretems in all directions.
Ronan whirled around on the Alpha. “You brought me out here, you’re getting me home. This is gawan bullshit!”
Bull… shit. The meaning of this word is beyond the scope of This One’s understanding of the Aabesh language. The Alpha looked out across the desert. Bullshit, he mused.
Ronan turned on heel and strode off in the opposite direction, sidestepping cactus and brushing through leafless scrub. He hoped the Alpha had been lying; he hoped his father’s ship would materialize on the horizon. But nothing ever appeared.
In no time, he broke into a heavy sweat which, despite its inherent function, only added to his general heat exhaustion. Not only had he just gone through one of the most stressful events of his young life, but he had done it on top of his shift which meant he hadn’t slept in nearly 23 hours.
After nearly half an hour of walking, Ronan came across a large boulder, the first of many in a field of rubble which seemed to stretch into infinity. Struggling to keep his hands off the blistering rock, he scrambled atop it and looked in all directions. While he was disappointed to find the Alpha trailing behind him, he did spot what appeared to be a purple mountain range in the distance. Shading his eyes, he concocted a travel plan. If he kept going as he was, he wouldn’t make it. Distances were deceptive. If he was going to travel to the mountain range, he needed to do it under the cover of night. At least then he wouldn’t have to deal with the heat.
Studying the position of the sun and the length of the shadows, he guessed it to be mid-afternoon. He could rest for a few hours and then pick up the hike after dark. With a sigh, he slid off the boulder, found the side that was shaded, and sat against it. So long as his head was out of the sunlight, he didn’t care about the rest of himself.
Wiping at the sweat pouring down his face, Ronan watched as the Alpha crossed the baked terrain. The being wore nothing to protect his feet or his body. In his usual gait, the Alpha strolled over cactus and prickly plants, stepped around rocks, and pushed through thorns.
Ronan was drowsy by the time the Alpha caught up. He felt light-headed, no doubt from dehydration, and his face burned. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears and his vision swam. “How… are you functioning so well here?” Ronan murmured. The Alpha looked at him blankly. Ronan closed his eyes; his head lolled as sleep came.
He woke shortly before twilight with a pounding headache. Groaning, he pushed himself upright. While asleep, he had opted to curl in a ball in the shade of the boulder. In a desperate attempt to rid himself of the headache, he blinked and rubbed his forehead. The pain didn’t dissipate. With a sigh, he brushed the dirt from his blouse and rose to his feet. He found the Alpha on the other side of the boulder, silently surveying the purple landscape.
Ronan joined him. The sun had gone down. The temperatures were starting to fall. Already it was significantly cooler on the desert plain. Ronan glanced at the mountains in the distance. If he was going to make it there before dawn, he needed to start. Hopefully with a height advantage he would be able to discern their location or, at the very least, determine a suitable direction in which to travel.
Rolling his sleeves, Ronan searched the ground for sticks. Aimlessly he wandered the area, looking and forcing some warmth into his chilled body. Although he could sense the Alpha watching him, he did not acknowledge the being’s presence. After several long minutes, he found a thick, mangled stick half his height in length and set off southward toward the mountains.
He knew generally what to expect in the desert at night. Hodge had taken him and Wes out at least half a dozen times and taught them some survival tricks should they somehow crash while sunboarding in the desert outside of Firekli. Undoubtedly, he would find snakes as well as a myriad of poisonous insects. If he was lucky, those would be the least of his problems as the earth was speckled with cacti and thorny plants. Temperatures were sure to reach freezing. He had to be careful.
His priority, however, was finding water. He wasn’t hungry, but he was dehydrated. Weak, headache, light-headed, easily fatigued. Though these were the beginning stages, Ronan knew better than to ignore them. He had seen Wes pass out before on the docks.
As he continued, he picked up a smaller, lighter stick and carried it over his shoulder to ward off nocturnal reptiles. Only once did he glance back at the Alpha, who was trailing behind several paces, its gait the same as always – slow, long, and casual.
It didn’t take long for the land to fall into complete darkness. Widening his eyes as if trying to evolve into a higher species with nocturnal vision, Ronan glared out at the uniform layer of vegetation around him. Cactus, thorns, grass, scrub – it all looked the same in his poor, gray-scale night vision. What he wouldn’t give for a half-moon or even a sliver of a crescent! But, as it was, it was the night of the new moon and while the sky was littered with stars and the faint glow of the Milky Way, there was no moon.
Why has The Ronan stopped walking?
Ronan looked back at the Alpha who stood behind him. The being was like a beacon, ghostly pale and eerily easy to spot. His appearance in the dark was more unnerving than Ronan would have liked to admit. “Nothing,” Ronan muttered, moving his thick stick before him to push at vegetation.
Within three minutes of walking in complete darkness, Ronan brushed against a cactus plant, snagging his leg on a number of bristles. “Shit, shit, shit,” he cursed, halting. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to remember what Hodge had taught him. Gently he backed up. A small chunk of the cactus came off and clung to his pants leg. Making sure he was not near any more cactus, Ronan took his stick and gently pushed the plant from his pants. He nearly shrieked as he felt the barbs dig into his skin. “Nope, nope,” he told himself quickly. This wasn’t one of the cacti Hodge had taught him about.
Taking several quick breaths to calm himself, he tried to examine the ball of spines glued against the side of his calf. He needed a knife. Why couldn’t the Alpha have brought a knife to hold him hostage?
Ronan placed the thin stick in his mouth and bit down on the dry wood. Clenching his jaws, he prepared himself. Without tools, he would have to rip out the cactus. As he angled his walking stick close to his leg, resolve settled in his gut. Mentally, he counted down. It would have to be quick. When the tip of his walking stick touched the cactus, he whined. He could feel the barbs pulling against his skin. Taking a deep breath, he jammed the butt-end of his stick down the side of his leg, ripping the cactus from his skin. He felt hot blood seep out as the barbs shredded him.
Ronan stood panting heavily for a moment. He could still feel bristles there, but there was no way he was going to be able to remove them without light. Deciding that he would bear the pain and agitation, he spit out the stick and continued on.
Despite his determination, within the next hour, he was barbed three more times. By the third time, he flopped down on the earth – away from the attacking cactus – and let loose a violent stream of curses. He could feel his hands shaking not from the cold, but from anger. He had learned that cactus lodged in the earth resisted a strong push from his stick, therefore warranting a wide berth; grasses and weeds parted easily; thorny plants scraped against the sides of his stick and could be pushed away. How this specific species of cactus was bypassing his firm prodding and leaping from the ground at him, was beyond his comprehension.
Glaring up at the swirling stars overhead, Ronan considered resting until sunrise, but the sunburn he boasted reminded him why he shouldn’t wait. With a moan, he sat up, studied the cactus currently buried in his left thigh and then began the painful process of removing the worst of it.
Determined not to give the mysterious jumping cactus any margin for attack, Ronan carefully poked his way over the baked terrain. After a half hour of tedious work, he congratulated himself for not being stuck or barbed by taking a short breather and looking up at the stars. Was his family still up there? Or had they made it to Earth?
He turned to survey the land and to make sure no predators were hunting him. Though he expected the Alpha would have warned him had a carnivore been stalking them, Ronan couldn’t be sure. The Alpha had said nothing in nearly three hours, not even to offer concern for Ronan’s well-being. When Ronan had been barbed, the Alpha had stopped nearby, waited for Ronan to rid himself of the worst of the cactus, and then kept going. Ronan hoped the being had said nothing out of sheer discomfort, not spite.
After another hour and a half of walking, Ronan came to the conclusion that he was never going to reach those damn mountains. They didn’t seem to be getting any closer, yet when he looked back, he could not spot the boulder beneath which he had slept.
By the time the horizon began to lighten, Ronan could hardly move. He was covered in cactus bristles and bleeding. Even in his weak night vision, he could clearly discern the bloody stains along his pants. As the sun slowly rose, coloring the sky in the blush of dawn, the coolness of the night faded. Hungrily, he gazed at the mountains. They were definitely closer now; he could distinguish the large boulders covering them and the territory extending along their bases. He was excited by the small, wiry trees which speckled the land there.
With the ability to see now, avoiding the tan balls of spines that belonged to the leaping cactus was easy. He would need to devise a better way to avoid such enemies before the next leg of his journey.
It was early morning by the time Ronan reached the base of the mountains and climbed stiffly over the rocky terrain. With desperate fingers, he traced the edges of the boulders in search of any evidence of water. When he found no collection points, he moved on. Every part of his body ached, his legs stung fiercely, and his hands shook from the energy it took to keep going. He felt exceptionally weak and wanted nothing more than to lie down. But instinct kept him moving, kept him searching.
After another half hour of staggering along the mountains’ base, Ronan came across a dried riverbed crowded with debris, sticks, and weeds. Realizing that the weeds were slightly greener than those he had passed while out on the plains, he hurriedly knelt beside them and examined their pathetic leaves. He tested the earth, shifting on his cut knees to the sand underneath a shaded rocky outcropping.
Remembering something Hodge had told him long ago, he quickly began digging. Hard and fast he scooped at the sand, throwing it in piles on either side of the hole. Heaving, he dug and dug, his heart racing. The sand which was at first warm, grew cool and then damp. With a slight whimper, he pulled at the earth desperately. When his fingers hit mud, he bent over his knees in sincere gratitude to his uncle.
Now that he was sure there was water, he needed to create a larger hole. Shaking from the effort, he pushed the sand piles away and continued. When he could resist no more, he tried to reach the muddy water pooling in the depths of the hole, but could not touch his lips to it. Whimpering in desperation, he ripped his shirt over his head and threw it into the hole. He pushed it into the water and then carefully drew it out.
He held one end up so that the liquid ran off the opposite seam. Greedily he drank the dribble that emerged from his shirt. He didn’t care that it tasted of sweat. He needed water, badly, horrifically, to the point that it pained him. Again and again he dunked his shirt into the hole, pulled it out, and wrung it into his mouth. Though the water was accompanied at times by grit, he didn’t care.
Eventually, he sat back in the shade of the outcropping and gazed at the Alpha, who had been standing in the sun watching Ronan. He thought to ask the being if he needed water as well, but something told Ronan otherwise. Wiping his face on his bare arm, he squinted out at the land before shifting his gaze to his bloodied and torn pants. Spines jutted from his calves like a pin cushion while his thighs sported small chunks of cactus he had been unable to see. In the Alpha’s eyes, Ronan was sure he appeared pathetic, weak, and animalistic. He was a lower life form, after all.
Knowing that he would need to make some tools if he was going to survive, Ronan grudgingly pushed himself to his feet, slung his shirt over his shoulder, and began searching for rocks and an assortment of sticks. Gauging by the angle of the sun, the outcropping he had found respite under would provide shelter for the majority of the day, save perhaps a few hours in the late afternoon.
After locating a rock to use as a base and several others to either use as cutting stones or as tools to score others, he returned to the water pit. He dumped his findings there and thought. He wanted a way to make fire – the nights were more than chilly – but that would have to wait. Now that his thirst had been somewhat satiated, un-barbing himself had moved to priority number one.
Once he had collected an array of sticks, he hobbled back to the water pit, shakily sat down, and examined his selection. He was pleased when the rock he had initially chosen broke open upon his second strike to reveal a smooth, black interior that reflected the light. Its shards tinkled like glass to the earth. Realizing that this rock, not the dozen or so others he had collected, was going to be the source of his tool, Ronan began working on a long shard which had broken off.
Using another stone, he chipped the edges of the shard into a neat line and then smoothed it off by rubbing it against another. He worked until he made a small dagger-like tool that fit into his palm. Eager to rid himself of the barbs, he turned his attention to his bloodied left leg and the quills sticking out there. He tested one by tugging on it. He felt his skin pull with the spine. Gritting his teeth, he tried jerking it out. Blood immediately swelled around the quill which remained intact.
“Oh, come on!” he growled. Gently, he pushed the sharp end of his dagger against a single spine and pressed his thumb on it to keep the bristle trapped. Steeling himself, he wrenched the barb out. Despite the flood of pain that blossomed, he was pleased to find the method was effective. He moved to the next one and repeated the process. By the time he finished, nearly two hours had passed and the heat of the day was climbing to its usual sweltering temperatures.
Once Ronan was certain he had retrieved all the quills, he lay back in the shade of the rocks and let out a groan. His legs and ankles were swollen; his pants were covered in drying blood. He wanted water again, but couldn’t force himself to move. After glancing at the Alpha, who had been standing motionlessly in the same spot since that morning, Ronan closed his eyes and slept.
Pushing himself to his knees, Ronan looked up at the vast expanse of desert that stretched in all directions around him. Above, the sun burned mercilessly in an azure, cloudless sky. Dry, leafless shrubs and prickly cactus decorated the arid wasteland. Squinting against the harsh sun, he moved to his knees and turned to get his bearings. He immediately found the Alpha.
Against the backdrop of the desert, the Alpha appeared more alien than ever before. His skin glistened in the sunlight very much like that of Ronan’s mother. His eyes, which were usually round, wide, and unblinking, were thin slits and appeared quite feline.
Ronan had initially thought he had an amicable relationship with the Alpha who had rescued them, but he wasn’t sure now. After learning that the Alpha had just been using his family and his father, he didn’t know what to think anymore. Gathering his courage, he said, “Where are we? What happened?”
The Ronan is on the opposite side of Terra, explained the Alpha.
“The opposite side of Earth? Opposite from what?”
The Commander.
Ronan shaded his eyes and searched the sky briefly. “Why?” was all he managed to say.
This One cannot return to Aether until This One finds a solution. The outcome of The Commander and his ship was uncertain.
“Why not just leave by yourself?” When the Alpha didn’t answer, Ronan kicked a rock. “You could have at least put us in a city or somewhere else.”
This One cannot.
“Why?”
The Alpha pointed to a small heap of metal on the ground. This One destroyed the matter transporter.
Ronan gaped at him, his rage swelling within him. “You know people die in the desert, right? There is literally nothing out here!” He waved his hand dramatically. “Do you see anything? Food? Water? Shelter? There’s nothing! You just destroyed our only way out of here!”
The Hive can track This One using the matter transporter’s location. Its destruction was necessary.
Ronan gaped at him incredulously. He could form no sentence that could adequately convey his anger, frustration, and hopelessness. The Alpha had sentenced him to death in a desert on Earth.
“I don’t… have a second skin,” he murmured more to himself than to the Alpha. He tugged his rolled sleeves down to his wrists and buttoned his high collar. He could already feel the sun burning his face. Though he wasn’t as pale as his father, he had inherited fairer skin than those in Firekli. Of course, he had browned over the years from sunboarding, but his meager tan was not enough to defend against the sun’s fury – not out here. A thought occurred to Ronan and he dug into his pocket. “Ethos!” When his hands met nothing but cloth, he frowned.
He had left Ethos floating above Mika’s bunk.
Where is The Ronan going?
“Home,” growled Ronan.
This terrain extends several hundred liretems in all directions.
Ronan whirled around on the Alpha. “You brought me out here, you’re getting me home. This is gawan bullshit!”
Bull… shit. The meaning of this word is beyond the scope of This One’s understanding of the Aabesh language. The Alpha looked out across the desert. Bullshit, he mused.
Ronan turned on heel and strode off in the opposite direction, sidestepping cactus and brushing through leafless scrub. He hoped the Alpha had been lying; he hoped his father’s ship would materialize on the horizon. But nothing ever appeared.
In no time, he broke into a heavy sweat which, despite its inherent function, only added to his general heat exhaustion. Not only had he just gone through one of the most stressful events of his young life, but he had done it on top of his shift which meant he hadn’t slept in nearly 23 hours.
After nearly half an hour of walking, Ronan came across a large boulder, the first of many in a field of rubble which seemed to stretch into infinity. Struggling to keep his hands off the blistering rock, he scrambled atop it and looked in all directions. While he was disappointed to find the Alpha trailing behind him, he did spot what appeared to be a purple mountain range in the distance. Shading his eyes, he concocted a travel plan. If he kept going as he was, he wouldn’t make it. Distances were deceptive. If he was going to travel to the mountain range, he needed to do it under the cover of night. At least then he wouldn’t have to deal with the heat.
Studying the position of the sun and the length of the shadows, he guessed it to be mid-afternoon. He could rest for a few hours and then pick up the hike after dark. With a sigh, he slid off the boulder, found the side that was shaded, and sat against it. So long as his head was out of the sunlight, he didn’t care about the rest of himself.
Wiping at the sweat pouring down his face, Ronan watched as the Alpha crossed the baked terrain. The being wore nothing to protect his feet or his body. In his usual gait, the Alpha strolled over cactus and prickly plants, stepped around rocks, and pushed through thorns.
Ronan was drowsy by the time the Alpha caught up. He felt light-headed, no doubt from dehydration, and his face burned. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears and his vision swam. “How… are you functioning so well here?” Ronan murmured. The Alpha looked at him blankly. Ronan closed his eyes; his head lolled as sleep came.
He woke shortly before twilight with a pounding headache. Groaning, he pushed himself upright. While asleep, he had opted to curl in a ball in the shade of the boulder. In a desperate attempt to rid himself of the headache, he blinked and rubbed his forehead. The pain didn’t dissipate. With a sigh, he brushed the dirt from his blouse and rose to his feet. He found the Alpha on the other side of the boulder, silently surveying the purple landscape.
Ronan joined him. The sun had gone down. The temperatures were starting to fall. Already it was significantly cooler on the desert plain. Ronan glanced at the mountains in the distance. If he was going to make it there before dawn, he needed to start. Hopefully with a height advantage he would be able to discern their location or, at the very least, determine a suitable direction in which to travel.
Rolling his sleeves, Ronan searched the ground for sticks. Aimlessly he wandered the area, looking and forcing some warmth into his chilled body. Although he could sense the Alpha watching him, he did not acknowledge the being’s presence. After several long minutes, he found a thick, mangled stick half his height in length and set off southward toward the mountains.
He knew generally what to expect in the desert at night. Hodge had taken him and Wes out at least half a dozen times and taught them some survival tricks should they somehow crash while sunboarding in the desert outside of Firekli. Undoubtedly, he would find snakes as well as a myriad of poisonous insects. If he was lucky, those would be the least of his problems as the earth was speckled with cacti and thorny plants. Temperatures were sure to reach freezing. He had to be careful.
His priority, however, was finding water. He wasn’t hungry, but he was dehydrated. Weak, headache, light-headed, easily fatigued. Though these were the beginning stages, Ronan knew better than to ignore them. He had seen Wes pass out before on the docks.
As he continued, he picked up a smaller, lighter stick and carried it over his shoulder to ward off nocturnal reptiles. Only once did he glance back at the Alpha, who was trailing behind several paces, its gait the same as always – slow, long, and casual.
It didn’t take long for the land to fall into complete darkness. Widening his eyes as if trying to evolve into a higher species with nocturnal vision, Ronan glared out at the uniform layer of vegetation around him. Cactus, thorns, grass, scrub – it all looked the same in his poor, gray-scale night vision. What he wouldn’t give for a half-moon or even a sliver of a crescent! But, as it was, it was the night of the new moon and while the sky was littered with stars and the faint glow of the Milky Way, there was no moon.
Why has The Ronan stopped walking?
Ronan looked back at the Alpha who stood behind him. The being was like a beacon, ghostly pale and eerily easy to spot. His appearance in the dark was more unnerving than Ronan would have liked to admit. “Nothing,” Ronan muttered, moving his thick stick before him to push at vegetation.
Within three minutes of walking in complete darkness, Ronan brushed against a cactus plant, snagging his leg on a number of bristles. “Shit, shit, shit,” he cursed, halting. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to remember what Hodge had taught him. Gently he backed up. A small chunk of the cactus came off and clung to his pants leg. Making sure he was not near any more cactus, Ronan took his stick and gently pushed the plant from his pants. He nearly shrieked as he felt the barbs dig into his skin. “Nope, nope,” he told himself quickly. This wasn’t one of the cacti Hodge had taught him about.
Taking several quick breaths to calm himself, he tried to examine the ball of spines glued against the side of his calf. He needed a knife. Why couldn’t the Alpha have brought a knife to hold him hostage?
Ronan placed the thin stick in his mouth and bit down on the dry wood. Clenching his jaws, he prepared himself. Without tools, he would have to rip out the cactus. As he angled his walking stick close to his leg, resolve settled in his gut. Mentally, he counted down. It would have to be quick. When the tip of his walking stick touched the cactus, he whined. He could feel the barbs pulling against his skin. Taking a deep breath, he jammed the butt-end of his stick down the side of his leg, ripping the cactus from his skin. He felt hot blood seep out as the barbs shredded him.
Ronan stood panting heavily for a moment. He could still feel bristles there, but there was no way he was going to be able to remove them without light. Deciding that he would bear the pain and agitation, he spit out the stick and continued on.
Despite his determination, within the next hour, he was barbed three more times. By the third time, he flopped down on the earth – away from the attacking cactus – and let loose a violent stream of curses. He could feel his hands shaking not from the cold, but from anger. He had learned that cactus lodged in the earth resisted a strong push from his stick, therefore warranting a wide berth; grasses and weeds parted easily; thorny plants scraped against the sides of his stick and could be pushed away. How this specific species of cactus was bypassing his firm prodding and leaping from the ground at him, was beyond his comprehension.
Glaring up at the swirling stars overhead, Ronan considered resting until sunrise, but the sunburn he boasted reminded him why he shouldn’t wait. With a moan, he sat up, studied the cactus currently buried in his left thigh and then began the painful process of removing the worst of it.
Determined not to give the mysterious jumping cactus any margin for attack, Ronan carefully poked his way over the baked terrain. After a half hour of tedious work, he congratulated himself for not being stuck or barbed by taking a short breather and looking up at the stars. Was his family still up there? Or had they made it to Earth?
He turned to survey the land and to make sure no predators were hunting him. Though he expected the Alpha would have warned him had a carnivore been stalking them, Ronan couldn’t be sure. The Alpha had said nothing in nearly three hours, not even to offer concern for Ronan’s well-being. When Ronan had been barbed, the Alpha had stopped nearby, waited for Ronan to rid himself of the worst of the cactus, and then kept going. Ronan hoped the being had said nothing out of sheer discomfort, not spite.
After another hour and a half of walking, Ronan came to the conclusion that he was never going to reach those damn mountains. They didn’t seem to be getting any closer, yet when he looked back, he could not spot the boulder beneath which he had slept.
By the time the horizon began to lighten, Ronan could hardly move. He was covered in cactus bristles and bleeding. Even in his weak night vision, he could clearly discern the bloody stains along his pants. As the sun slowly rose, coloring the sky in the blush of dawn, the coolness of the night faded. Hungrily, he gazed at the mountains. They were definitely closer now; he could distinguish the large boulders covering them and the territory extending along their bases. He was excited by the small, wiry trees which speckled the land there.
With the ability to see now, avoiding the tan balls of spines that belonged to the leaping cactus was easy. He would need to devise a better way to avoid such enemies before the next leg of his journey.
It was early morning by the time Ronan reached the base of the mountains and climbed stiffly over the rocky terrain. With desperate fingers, he traced the edges of the boulders in search of any evidence of water. When he found no collection points, he moved on. Every part of his body ached, his legs stung fiercely, and his hands shook from the energy it took to keep going. He felt exceptionally weak and wanted nothing more than to lie down. But instinct kept him moving, kept him searching.
After another half hour of staggering along the mountains’ base, Ronan came across a dried riverbed crowded with debris, sticks, and weeds. Realizing that the weeds were slightly greener than those he had passed while out on the plains, he hurriedly knelt beside them and examined their pathetic leaves. He tested the earth, shifting on his cut knees to the sand underneath a shaded rocky outcropping.
Remembering something Hodge had told him long ago, he quickly began digging. Hard and fast he scooped at the sand, throwing it in piles on either side of the hole. Heaving, he dug and dug, his heart racing. The sand which was at first warm, grew cool and then damp. With a slight whimper, he pulled at the earth desperately. When his fingers hit mud, he bent over his knees in sincere gratitude to his uncle.
Now that he was sure there was water, he needed to create a larger hole. Shaking from the effort, he pushed the sand piles away and continued. When he could resist no more, he tried to reach the muddy water pooling in the depths of the hole, but could not touch his lips to it. Whimpering in desperation, he ripped his shirt over his head and threw it into the hole. He pushed it into the water and then carefully drew it out.
He held one end up so that the liquid ran off the opposite seam. Greedily he drank the dribble that emerged from his shirt. He didn’t care that it tasted of sweat. He needed water, badly, horrifically, to the point that it pained him. Again and again he dunked his shirt into the hole, pulled it out, and wrung it into his mouth. Though the water was accompanied at times by grit, he didn’t care.
Eventually, he sat back in the shade of the outcropping and gazed at the Alpha, who had been standing in the sun watching Ronan. He thought to ask the being if he needed water as well, but something told Ronan otherwise. Wiping his face on his bare arm, he squinted out at the land before shifting his gaze to his bloodied and torn pants. Spines jutted from his calves like a pin cushion while his thighs sported small chunks of cactus he had been unable to see. In the Alpha’s eyes, Ronan was sure he appeared pathetic, weak, and animalistic. He was a lower life form, after all.
Knowing that he would need to make some tools if he was going to survive, Ronan grudgingly pushed himself to his feet, slung his shirt over his shoulder, and began searching for rocks and an assortment of sticks. Gauging by the angle of the sun, the outcropping he had found respite under would provide shelter for the majority of the day, save perhaps a few hours in the late afternoon.
After locating a rock to use as a base and several others to either use as cutting stones or as tools to score others, he returned to the water pit. He dumped his findings there and thought. He wanted a way to make fire – the nights were more than chilly – but that would have to wait. Now that his thirst had been somewhat satiated, un-barbing himself had moved to priority number one.
Once he had collected an array of sticks, he hobbled back to the water pit, shakily sat down, and examined his selection. He was pleased when the rock he had initially chosen broke open upon his second strike to reveal a smooth, black interior that reflected the light. Its shards tinkled like glass to the earth. Realizing that this rock, not the dozen or so others he had collected, was going to be the source of his tool, Ronan began working on a long shard which had broken off.
Using another stone, he chipped the edges of the shard into a neat line and then smoothed it off by rubbing it against another. He worked until he made a small dagger-like tool that fit into his palm. Eager to rid himself of the barbs, he turned his attention to his bloodied left leg and the quills sticking out there. He tested one by tugging on it. He felt his skin pull with the spine. Gritting his teeth, he tried jerking it out. Blood immediately swelled around the quill which remained intact.
“Oh, come on!” he growled. Gently, he pushed the sharp end of his dagger against a single spine and pressed his thumb on it to keep the bristle trapped. Steeling himself, he wrenched the barb out. Despite the flood of pain that blossomed, he was pleased to find the method was effective. He moved to the next one and repeated the process. By the time he finished, nearly two hours had passed and the heat of the day was climbing to its usual sweltering temperatures.
Once Ronan was certain he had retrieved all the quills, he lay back in the shade of the rocks and let out a groan. His legs and ankles were swollen; his pants were covered in drying blood. He wanted water again, but couldn’t force himself to move. After glancing at the Alpha, who had been standing motionlessly in the same spot since that morning, Ronan closed his eyes and slept.