malinryden
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Bones of the Land (chapter 1)
🕑 Added 2021-09-18 12:57:43 +0000 UTC-------------- chapter 1 ---------------
1992, Southern California, the outskirts of San Diego.
Pain. Doesn't stop. Clawing arms, ants in his veins, everything burning, rubbing, shards of glass in open wounds and the ash invading everything.
Eyes. Lungs. Facedown in the dust, no breather, cement mouth dryness obsidian cough iron blood stop stop stop...
The ground twisting in response, wrapping, heavy blanket comfort, cave, out, out, ejecting choking mass, out, cleanse, away, breathe breathe breathe...
Earth shaking. Distant heat. An explosion and a glow remembered more than felt and...
"John?"
The crater, the crater, the burning footsteps melted into bedrock, ash fused to...
"John!"
Hands. Warm. Shaking him. Shaking the ground. No. He? He was shaking the ground.
"Shit." John didn't open his eyes, but he did hold his breath. One second. Two. Three. Then he hit his chest hard, right over his heart, so it would stop racing. Breathe out. Cough. Breathe in. And the world was quiet once more.
"Sorry." John rubbed his face, then finally looked up to be greeted by Sentinel's scowling face.
"You need to stop doing that." She let go of his shoulders, sitting back on the floor with an exhausted look on her face. "Next time, I'll blast you into the stratosphere, roof be damned."
"Not sure if that would stop it." His neck ached, as did every muscle in his body. It might have been a nightmare, but his body had still reacted as if the threat had been real. "I've got range, remember?"
"I do. Doubt it's as great as mine." She rose to her feet with easy agility. "Might wake you up faster anyway."
"Would also leave us with a hole in the roof," he pointed out, joining her at the table.
"I thought you weren't planning on staying?" She made an attempt to turn the stove on, but the electricity was out again. "Fuck."
"Let's head outside. I need some air anyway." Chase away the dust in his throat and the stench of death in his nostrils.
Outside, the sun was just skirting the horizon, pale pastel skies over rugged cliffs and dry shrubland. John stretched his stiff back, checking the walls of the house for cracks. It had been a bad one, but the wooden walls had held up admirably, and there had been no major rockslides. Sentinel kept quiet as she lit the cooking fire, filling the coffee pot from the nearby well. It still annoyed him that he didn't know her real name, but she had shrugged and said she hated it when he had asked. So, Sentinel, it was, regardless of whether she was wearing her mask or not.
"So when are you leaving?" She didn't look at him. Instead, she kept playing with the smoke from the fire, practicing miniature whirlwinds and smoke rings while she waited for the water to boil.
"You sure you won't join me?" Maybe that had been the cause for the nightmare; he had been putting off the final leg of his journey for months now. He liked her. He liked the company.
"No. I'd rather take my chances here than in Mexico. You think they'd welcome more Americans there, let alone boosts?"
"You think we have any future here?" John reached out and pulled a rock over to sit on. Automatic. Easier than rolling it. He had ten years to get to grips with his considerable powers, and by now, it was second nature to him.
"Yeah." Her voice was as blunt as the look she shot him. "Just look at what we've done here. We've made people's lives better, and you know it."
"Shoring up cliffsides to avoid landslides and fixing roads is just first aid. It doesn't change the fact that we're still eating food donations dependent on WHO goodwill. Or that we have to live up here, so I don't accidentally knock over what we've built."
"So? It's the first step." She wrapped a rag around her hand and poured them each a cup of coffee. "Don't tell me you don't like how people look at you when you help them."
"As long as I keep my mask on." He ran his fingers over his face. It had felt like the natural choice at the time; the tattoos had meant he was one of them. Part of the family. Bikers. Raiders. Robbers. Bad men. Dead men.
"You're a hero, Hood. And I don't mind your face. Comes in handy at times."
"I know," he admitted. White. Brutal. Dangerous. Criminal. It made people assume things that might not be true but useful all the same. He could go places where she, a black woman, could not. And the other way around.
How many people he had helped here would be shocked if they saw him without his mask on? How many would shun him? No. That was the anxiety talking. He wasn't a victim. No need for self-pity. He was standing on a pile of dead, someone who had survived the boost drugs when most did not. He had a responsibility to the ones that had not been as lucky. To the dead. To his past bad decisions. And he was choosing to do what? Run away?
Going to Mexico had been Bernard's idea, was that why he had clung to it even as his pace slowed the closer he got to the border? Was he just loathe to give up the last tie to the man that had saved his life, even if he had been...
"Drink your coffee." Sentinel threw a pebble at him, and he caught and spun it effortlessly. He could feel her winds tear at it, but the surface was small and gave no purchase. He held it steady.
"You're right." He took a sip, the answer to a question she had not put into words yet. He could do something here. He could be someone here. What would change in Mexico? He never even finished high school. He had spent the last decade surviving in one of the more hostile places on the planet. Not the kind of life skills needed in a civilized country.
"Of course." She smiled at him over the rim of the cup, smile white and severe. "Does that mean you're staying?"
"No." He took another sip. "But I'm not heading to Mexico."
"Will I regret asking where and why?"
"This place..." He chewed his lip, trying to find the right words. "I can't stay here."
"Thunderhead said you were welcome." There was a moment of hesitation when he expected Sentinel to continue, but she didn't.
"I know. It's not her... it's this whole situation. It doesn't sit right with me."
John looked towards the distant smoke of the city. He wasn't sure that he could explain what was wrong, even to himself. San Diego was the most comfortable place he had stayed in during his long journey. Close to the border. Easy access to foreign aid. Food. Electricity. Doctors without borders. Maybe that was what was bothering him. The constant reminder of what they had turned into. Needing help. Begging for scraps. Dependent on outside assistance.
Was it Bernard's voice that kept whispering in his ear? Don't depend on anybody. Freedom was more important than anything else. Take what you want; if they are weak, they de... no. He didn't need old ghosts haunting him. Maybe he just didn't see a place for himself here. It was already organized. Up and running. He had helped make it safer, yes, but was that enough? For him? What did he want? Sentinel had been right. Helping people had felt good. Making something instead of breaking it. Maybe that's why the bad dreams had returned. Was he feeling trapped? Or had it been the discussion yesterday?
"I heard a rumor." He finally looked at her, hands steady around the cup. "The military is preparing to pull out."
"What?" She frowned deeply. "Thunderhead would have told me."
"Would she? Or would she think you'd go straight to the source and blow the whole thing open?"
"Of course I would," she snapped. "They can't pull out! This is US soil."
"Not for much longer." It had sounded improbable, but it took on a new reality when he spoke it out loud. "Callie told me that they had got the order to be out of here within the week. Something to do with those new security forces you clashed with yesterday."
"Oh my God." She rose to her feet, winds tearing at her clothes. "I thought they were just trying to rile me up."
"What?" John pulled up his bandanna to keep the dust out. Where had he put his mask and goggles?
"The asshole bragged that they owned this place now. That they had won the rights to this concession or whatever..."
"Sentinel..." he said, the warning bells too loud to ignore. "I don't think you should..."
But she was already gone.
---
John's bike was fast, and he handled it well. It was the fifth one he had owned, and at this point, most of the engine had been replaced and rebuilt into something that could stand the ashy environment. He knew he drove too fast. Despite the work he had put into them, the roads of San Diego were bad enough that there was no way he could keep up with Sentinel.
The first time he had met her, he had thought he had been hallucinating. A masked woman descending from the skies, wrapped in wind and dust, wasn't exactly something you saw every day. Not even him. They had fought, but he had forgiven her quickly for the bruises. He had looked like a raider; it was a fair assumption to make. He hoped he wouldn't have to fight her again. Skidding around a corner, he went headlong into a gust of wind that nearly sent him flying. Shit. Looked like he might be out of luck sooner than he hoped.
"What do you mean?" Sentinel snapped, bereft of mask but not authority. There was no mistaking her powers. The security forces that surrounded her were wary, but in that particular way that made John's teeth ache. Trigger happy. Sentinel might not be the one he had to worry about here.
"Guess they don't have a radio in whatever hut you live in." The officer was tall and arrogant, with the authority of someone who had seen combat and was used to being on the winning side. "It was announced today. California is no longer US soil. Parthion controls the border now."
"Bullshit." The wind picked up, but John could see Sentinel hesitating. And so could the officer.
"Stop!" John had seen the twitching hand and reacted instinctively. The stone hit the officer in the stomach with enough force to knock him over, but as he had assumed, there was body armor beneath the uniform.
"Don't move!" A dozen rifles were aimed at his chest, but the second in command was hesitating, just like John had hoped.
"I'm Mount Hood," he shouted, in his deepest voice, stepping off the bike as if the guns weren't there. Authority. Contained threat. The ground trembled underneath his feet, but he kept it under control. He would not let all his work go to waste. Not like this. "And this town is under my protection."
John could hear the whispers in the crowd, people backing away. They could feel the tremble and knew what it meant. He hoped that the security forces would get the right impression from the floating rocks surrounding him like a halo, effortlessly floating in the air. He refrained from tugging at his hood; he couldn't afford to look nervous.
"Stand down," the officer croaked as he was helped to his feet, Sentinel forgotten. Good, that was what John had hoped. Make himself the bigger target and betting that they would be less likely to fire at him, even though Sentinel was far more powerful.
"I only want an explanation." The stones kept hovering as he crossed his arms. "And no bloodshed."
"Everyone, calm down!" The voice descended with authoritative heaviness, and John could see the security forces lower their weapons.
"Thunderhead." He nodded in her direction and let the stones sink to the ground. At the corner of his eye, he saw Sentinel back away as well, shaking her head as if trying to clear it.
"What's going on here?" Thunderhead looked around, blue-gray cape flapping in the breeze. She wore no mask, but her hair was a tightly coiled cloud of gray curls, and the skinsuit more high-tech than anything else in this town. She had been a hero since before the Big One and was one reason why San Diego was in as good shape as it was.
"That's what I'm wondering." Sentinel's face had softened, but the worried wrinkle remained. "Did you know about this?"
"Yes, I did," Thunderhead admitted. "But people arrived ahead of schedule. I had hoped to inform everyone before they started setting up shop."
"Apologies, ma'am." The officer no longer looked angry, and John knew he should be more confused about that. "We thought it best to act fast before the competition."
"No harm done," she said, looking over in John's direction. Her dark eyes seemed to sink into his soul, and he suddenly felt sheepish.
"I'm sorry," he offered. "I shouldn't have hurt you." It was strange to say it out loud. He knew his reactions weren't always what he wanted them to be. You got results by threatening people; he wasn't the kind of man who could just talk rationally to them and expect results, let alone forgiveness.
"It's fine," the officer replied, straightening his back. "It's not like I wasn't wearing armor." There was no hostility in his stance. "Can we continue setting up our base?"
"Please do." Thunderhead smiled and inclined her head, and as one man, the entire squad turned to go back to the trucks.
"Thunderhead..." Sentinel shook her head again, her jaws tense. "We need to talk."
"Of course." She turned and started walking back to her office, not waiting to see if they followed.
John felt his feet moving and realized that perhaps it was best to deal with whatever it was behind closed doors. It was only logical.
Once out of the sun, John's head seemed to clear somewhat. He took a seat on one of the chairs in the generous office. Since this was Thunderhead's favorite meeting spot, he had been here before, and everything felt pleasantly familiar. Sentinel remained standing, then suddenly sat down as if she couldn't help herself. Thunderhead poured them each a glass of water, then sat down herself.
"You can't keep acting like that, girl." Thunderhead's voice was soft, but Sentinel looked like she had been slapped all the same. "We still have to live here, and now that the military is pulling out, we'll have to find some way to work with who comes instead."
"You knew and didn't tell us." John was surprised at how calm he felt about this whole business. Perhaps because it had ended well, though something felt slightly off about the way Sentinel was fidgeting.
"Only about a week." Thunderhead's voice was filled with regret. "I should have told you, but I wanted to wait until the contract was finalized. I was contacted to prepare for the transition of power. This can be a good thing for us. Parthion is willing to invest in the city. They want what we want. A working city. Food. Healthcare."
"Productive workers." Sentinel took a drink of water, but her shoulders didn't relax.
"Yes. And we need jobs, you know that. People need hope for the future. Do you think they want to stay refugees forever? They want jobs. Homes. School."
"I get it, I get it. I just didn't think it would happen like this." There was a bitter taste to the last word that didn't fit the situation. John wondered what Sentinel knew that he did not.
"You're young, girl. People in power always push others around. Doesn't matter who they are if they're what this place needs. Right now, we can't be picky."
"You're right People in power always end up being assholes." Sentinel shot Thunderhead an ugly glance. "You promised you wouldn't."
"You promised you would behave. I told you I won't risk what I've built here."
"We." Sentinel's knuckles were white around the glass.
"We," Thunderhead agreed, graciously.
"I can't stay," she said. "Not after this."
"That is fair." Thunderhead agreed once more.
"What is going on?" John finally gave voice to his unease. No, not unease. He felt calmer and more relaxed than he had felt in years, but Sentinel was acting odd.
"I'll fill in on the way back." Sentinel rose cautiously as if she expected something to happen. When it didn't, she almost breathed a sigh of relief.
"For what it's worth, I am sorry." Thunderhead rose as well. "I hope you understand."
"I do," Sentinel snapped, and John got to his feet as well. "But that doesn't mean I approve."
"Meet you back at the camp then? Do you want a ride?" John had questions, but he also knew with bone-deep surety that he should not stay here. He should leave. Now.
"No." Sentinel pushed past him, but not unkindly. "I need to clear my head. A flight will do me good."
"Sure." John watched her step out in the street, then be swept up by a whirlwind that sent dust in his face and the open door slamming against the wall.
"Try not to hold it against me." Thunderhead looked around her office, now with papers scattered everywhere. "You're not a bad man. You just have a bad temper."
"Thank... you?" John didn't know what to say to that, so he just turned and left. It felt like the best decision.
Maybe that should have cued him into the fact that something was wrong.
---
Back at the camp, Sentinel was already packing. The air had gone still, and John didn't know if that was a good or a bad sign, but it matched the unease that had been building during the drive back. The more he thought about what had happened, the less it made sense. His own reactions. What he had read from the officer. Everything had ended well, but it had left him feeling... foolish? Confused? Dirty?
He pushed the goggles up on his forehead, pulling down his hood and mask. The hood was heavy and armored, but right now, he needed fresh air. His head felt too tight for his skin all of a sudden, the headache an approaching distant thunderstorm. His mask was as familiar as his bike, covering his face, filtering out sand and ash, so why did he suddenly feel so weird? Like everything had changed?
"She played with your head." Sentinel was folding clothes, placing each item carefully in her backpack. "You'll feel weird for a while. I don't know how much she had to lean on you."
"She did what?" John dampened a rag in precious water and wiped his face.
"She's a telepath. Empath. Whatever." The winds picked up, but Sentinel took a deep breath, and they died down again. Quiet fury. "That's how she keeps order here. Why this place is so nice."
"I thought people were unusually cooperative." It hadn't been his usual experience with larger settlements, but it had felt like a nice change of pace. How things should be.
"She weeds out the bad ones. Adjusts the ones she can." Clipped words. Dry mouth. John offered her his canteen, and she took a drink before she continued. "She promised she wouldn't do it to me after I called her on it."
"You noticed?" John wondered if he would have, or if he would just have chalked up his unease to something else.
"Yeah." She flexed her hands. "Needs to keep a check on myself in order to control my powers. My feelings didn't match my thoughts enough times that I straight up asked her."
"I never thought about asking her what she could do..." That was unlike him enough that he could pinpoint it, even this long ago.
"She discourages questions. Make people uneasy enough, and they won't ask."
"Oh." John looked up at the pale skies, unsure how to react. Had he been manipulated into helping? No, he would have done that anyway, right?
Right?
Suddenly nauseous, he headed over to the shed turned improvised garage. What did he need to take with him? The smell of oil and metal was comfortingly familiar. Had he been... adjusted? How would he know? Was that why he had lingered? Why he hadn't crossed the border? Since when did he care about people?
No. He had cared long before he got here. He had helped people before he ever met Thunderhead. He'd picked a face and a name that people could trust. That wasn't new. That wasn't forced. But maybe it explained the unease he had felt, why he had chosen to stay out here, with Sentinel instead of the room above the bar he had been offered.
"It's a lot, I know." Sentinel gave him a clap on the shoulder. "And I might be pissed as hell at her, but she's not wrong. She's the reason this place exists like this. Why there's a school. And medical care."
"I've heard warlords saying the same thing." John finished putting away his tools, the necessary ones. He needed to prune again. "Order is preferable to chaos, no matter how it is enforced. At least there are no heads on stakes here."
"Are you going to take her out?" The question was as surprising as it was sharp.
"No." He paused, taking a moment before turning around. "I'm just going to leave."
"Good." Sentinel relaxed, and he could feel the gentle wind on his face once more as she let her control relax. "I wasn't sure how you would react. I don't like what she's doing, but if she wasn't there, more people would get hurt."
"Are you coming with me?"
"What?" She laughed with nervous relief. "I figured you'd want nothing more to do with me after this. Hell, I half thought I'd have to fight you again."
"Why?"
"I didn't warn you about her."
"Oh." John frowned, trying to parse his feelings about that. "That would have been better, but I can see why you didn't. You didn't know me back then."
"Hardly feel like I know you now. You're full of surprises."
"Life here makes for complicated people. Can you ride a bike?"
"What?" Sentinel crossed her arms over her chest. "Why?"
"Because flying is not practical long distance. And I think my pack will be large enough that I can't fit any passengers."
"I can fly longer than you think," she retorted. "But you have a point. And I can drive. You're giving me your fixer-upper?"
"Not going to do anybody any good if I leave it here. And it should last us to Los Diablos."
"That's where you're headed now?"
"You weren't wrong about Mexico. And the city was a mess last time I passed through. It could use someone to take care of it. Two someones."
"You don't figure it'll be overrun with company men as well if what those assholes said were true?"
"Maybe eventually." John grabbed the handles of the spare bike, easing it out into the sunshine. "But I doubt it's at the top of anybody's list. The quakes did a number on it."
"What the hell," she shrugged. "I'm in."
"Good," John said, pushing back the little sting of guilt that he didn't tell her the whole truth either.
There was more than one reason he wanted to return to Los Diablos.
Comments
tris
It's SO interesting to get to read the POV of someone under the influence of a telepath.
six
Few days Late but congratulations on the one year patreon anniversary!
