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Chapter 12: Badland Drifters

The desert is a vast and unfriendly place, this is no new news to anybody with even a half of a functioning brain, but the Badlands are an entirely different story; a dry, dusty, dangerous nightmare. People on Earth are seldom stuck in the center of an enormous wasteland and confronted with such insane obstacles as follows: goblins, orcs, trolls, roving bandits, and sand raptors. Your normal, everyday wayfarer lives a normal, everyday life and dies a normal, everyday death; they don't trudge through the sands of a wholly different world's desert or attempt to sail a sea of pure poison. Hell, NOBODY should have to face such trials and tribulations, their levels of normalcy notwithstanding. Oh, and a sand raptor, by the way, is exactly what it sounds like it is; a carnivorous, bipedal dinosaur gifted with a perfectly camouflaged, desert-motif hide. They tend to travel in packs of ten or more and are by far the most dangerous predators around, save only for mountain drakes and wyverns (at which point if we encounter either creature I will promptly curl up on the ground in the fetal position, suck my thumb, and cry). Personally, I still don't see why there hasn't been some kind of an attempt to force any of the aforementioned monsters into premature extinction, but hey, I guess not everyone can be as forward thinking as yours truly. And please, I know how cruel that sounds; I'm the one that said it! Just trust me when I tell you that there are some creatures out there that are far too fiendish and evil to be allowed to live and coexist alongside all other forms of life. After all, as dangerous and threatening as lions, tigers, and panthers are, they're all animals that hunt for the sake of feeding themselves and their brethren; they DO NOT murder for sport or needlessly torture their prey. A lion, if already fed and satiated, might be inclined to ignore you entirely and grant you your freedom. A sand raptor, however, will ALWAYS be inclined to bite off your arms at the elbows, tear out your throat, and eat your skull like a dog biscuit, regardless of how full its stomach already is. For these reasons, I'd beat the living tar out of someone for killing a lion, one of nature's wild roses, and I'd give an award of some kind to someone for killing a troll, one of nature's rampaging, murderous, psychopaths.

Always burdened with a overly-calculating mind and an all too active imagination; that's me.

"...Where are we?" Gasped Beck as she squinted her eyes, trying to shield them from the sand.

"We're in the Badlands, Beck." I replied morosely, putting a firm hand on her quaking shoulder. Her face had a mixed look of confusion and fear plastered across it, one that threatened to kill her in this environment. "And I know you're pretty shaken up right now, but we really need to stay focused. These lands are known for killing even the best prepared, most seasoned of adventurers; no questions asked. That said, if a small group of amateurs like us has any hope of surviving, then those hopes will come in the forms of clear and focused minds."

Beck's face flushed with red as she rubbed her watery eyes. "I'm fine!" She shouted suddenly, pushing back her feelings of mourning and panic. "Don't worry about me, I've got it all under control!"

"...You're strong..." Whispered Nina's psychic voice. "...Very strong..."

Beck peered up at the diminutive child in my arms and said, "Only as strong as I have to be, right?"

Wrong. Beck was much stronger than that, even if she didn't have the prideful kind of ego that would spur her on to boast about it. Much, much stronger; far stronger than me at least and that's a fact among facts.

"Alright." I announced as I gently placed Nina into Beck's cradling arms and began rummaging through the stuffed backpack. "Let's see if that pushy bitch gave us anything of use."

Right off the bat, several pairs of goggles caught my attention. As I passed those around and slid a pair over my own weary eyes, a compass and a battered map were the next two items to spark my interest. Following those discoveries were a number of thickly woven ponchos, perfect for shielding us from the churning wasteland winds, and an assortment of weighty hiking boots. Strapping on a pair of boots and donning a poncho, I must have looked like an expendable extra from the Mad Max films. Well, if I'm to survive, then I suppose my pride should be the first to die, right? Lastly, at the very bottom of the sack was a small collection of packaged military rations, canteens, and miniature med-kits. I whistled once, impressed by the preparedness that had gone into these provisions, as I searched the backpack's few remaining pockets. If nothing else, at least Dominique knew how to ready herself for the worst. Yes, she certainly knew how to do that. I, however, knew little about apocalyptic preparation, and this was made all too obvious by the golf bag full of weapons that I'd left behind at my elf sister's mansion some month or so ago. Not a very useful selection of trinkets when one's plans include wandering aimlessly for miles and miles in search of civilization, especially considering their added burden of weight. Included amongst said weapons were an aluminum baseball bat, a hockey stick, a crowbar, and the only weapon actually designed for use in battle, a broadsword. And yes, in case the question had crossed your mind, I'd been confused for Kasey from The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles at least a hundred times while lugging this stuff around. The bat, dented and scarred in a few areas from overuse, had an assortment of enchantments placed upon it and could serve as something of a stun-gun when I needed it to, emitting an electric charge upon impact with whoever's skull currently stood in my way. The hockey stick was a gift from a friend and had served me well in many a prior scuffle, the earth runes covering its length allowing me to take advantage of the very ground I stood on during battle... well, the ground and gravity in general. Being a long and slender wooden implement, it has the added bonus of looking similar to the stereotypical wizard's staff as well. But the crowbar, sadly, was just a crowbar and was added to the arsenal in the event that I might need a heavy piece of steel with which to clobber things senseless.

"Mike, what's up with the sword?" Inquired Beck after finally helping Nina into a pair of goggles and a cloak of her own. "Don't think I've seen it before. It looks a bit too... expensive for you."

Shrugging my shoulders, I reply, "A birthday present from Maya, actually." Removing it from the bag, I unsheathe it and take a good, long look at the sword's flawless blade. A year ago, I'd used it for my first and only time when confronted with a sizable group of ghouls, swinging it around like a madman and severing many a ghastly head. During that battle, the blade had been nicked, marred, scratched, and damaged; I'd thought it to be beyond repair. However, the next day I picked it up for another look, hoping that my first assessment had been wrong, only to find it to be in perfect condition once more; the polished surface reflecting my shocked expression. "Whether or not she knew what she was giving me, there's something that I just don't trust about that thing; something powerful. It's worth keeping around, but don't touch it, alright?"

A little startled by my sudden graveness, Beck steps back a pace and mutters aside, "Uh, sure; no problem."

With the compass in my left hand and the map jumbled in my right, I looked to the sky. It was night, the dark and quiet kind of night rarely seen in the mortal realm. The darkness meant that we'd be safe from the scorching desert heat, but it also meant that we'd be at the mercy of any predators lurking nearby. I watched the moon for several minutes, intently eying it for any and every movement. As I watched it drift steadily through the atmosphere, I held up the compass and carefully located magnetic north. With a satisfied sigh I turned back to the group.

"Is everyone ready?" I sighed, taking Nina back into my arms. "This is going be a long trek, so pay attention. There's a drifter town somewhere to the south of here called Edmundsboro. According to this map, we can catch a train from there and head further south to the Central Junction Station at another, much larger town, called Kentonsburg. Once there, we'll be able to switch trains and make our way to the rendezvous point at Burlington. If all goes well and we keep our wits about us, we should be able to make contact with Icewulf's captain, Miss Rosemary, in less than two days. Did everyone get that?"

Beck, processing the information that I'd just fed her, proceeded to stare at me inquisitively. She then asked, "...Drifters? And wait, they have trains here? What the Hell are you talking about?"

"I've been here on a couple of business trips in the past, so don't worry, I know what I'm talking about." I retorted confidently. "First of all, the term 'drifters' applies to any and all human immigrants currently living in the Badlands. They're usually people that have long since given up on their lives in the mortal realm; people escaping persecution of some sort. Poor families trying to escape their debt, wanted criminals trying to evade the law, failed politicians running away from their devastated careers, et cetera et cetera. As things stand now, we're drifters too."

"...I take it that drifters aren't well received?" Questioned my sister jadedly; clearly already aware of the answer.

"You catch on fast, don't ya?" I replied, scratching my chin with my free hand. "We drifters are pretty much universally hated around here, though the elves and faeries are the most notoriously unkind to us. For that reason, drifters usually construct their own little cities and towns; small communities where only social rejects, humans, and half-breeds reside."

"Half-breeds?" Beck mused.

"It's the generic term given to any person born between a human parent and a non-human parent; a half-human in other words." I spat back swiftly. "They're universally hated and tend to hide their identities as such. Elves and faeries dislike humans to an outstanding degree, so they would naturally view a half-human similarly, if not with an even greater level of disdain. Even some of their fellow drifters have shown resentment towards them, ostracizing them entirely."

"...It is a hard, trying world..." Nina cooed. "...Pain is so easily inflicted and the subsequent wounds almost never heal..."

"Hmmm, and didn't you mention something about trains?" Continued my sister. "They have railroads here too?"

"Oh yeah, they've had 'em for a while." I answered in return. "Dwarven technology is actually pretty advanced; they have a wide variety of steam engines in use and are just starting to master the complexities of the internal combustion engine. Sadly, it's looking like crude oil might end up being a rare find in the Badlands, cementing steam technology as the future of dwarven engineering. In fact, Burlington, our destination, is a great example of the far strides that the dwarves have taken towards modernizing this world. Resting at the bottom of a deep valley, mountains completely surrounding it, Burlington is Florencia's biggest industrial metropolis. Pipes, valves, cylinders, gaskets, and pressure sensitive switches fill the streets; the entire place looks like a huge piece of plumbing. All of these steam engines do more than just give the city its own unique image, they power the mining equipment that runs non-stop beneath the city; constantly excavating valuable iron, copper, bronze, aluminum, gold, and silver ores."

"Damn, aren't you the king of otherworldly Jeopardy?" Laughed Wonder Woman sarcastically. Hey, if she can crack jokes, then so can I. "Did you study up on this stuff as a hobby or something?"

"Not at all, it's simply important information to keep track of." I replied sharply. "Not knowing that dwarves exist ONLY to create and forge is parallel to not knowing that dragons exist ONLY to judge."

"What?" Beck shot back, confused.

Stopping for a moment, I thought about who I was talking to (talking at) and then replied, "Nothing. Forget I said anything."

"Whatever." Sneered my suddenly disinterested sister.

"...Will we be continuing this journey today...?" Asked Nina impatiently. It was the first time I'd heard anger or irritation from her echoing mental voice. Well I'll be damned, she is human!

I turned my head to frown at her, but she was just so damn cute that I couldn't help but smile. Her freckled face did frown at me however, to which I responded, "I'm sorry, princess, we'll stop dawdling and pick up the pace."

"...Thank you..." Replied the psychic girl, her tone still displeased.

Really, the things it takes to please one little girl. So, putting an immediate stop to our senseless arguing and idle banter, the three of us slowly set out and started trudging our way through the endless desert sands. Supplying that my map reading skills are on par with my superego's overall opinion of himself, our destination was just over 14 miles south of our starting location, the middle of nowhere. We slogged through the dust for what seemed to be hours, stopping only to trade off Nina as though she were a football or a hot potato when either of us started getting rubbery arms from carrying her. Cacti, rocks, boulders, and shrubs were all that made up our bleak scenery and it wasn't long before a dreary Western theme started playing like a broken record in the back of my brain, the ambient song assuredly heavy on the Spanish guitar. To top everything else off, actual tumbleweeds began crossing our paths like a parade black cats nearly every 40 yards or so, one having the audacious nerve to actually bounce and roll into my leg. I was smart enough not to bother looking back up at the sky again; though sandy blizzard-like winds made it somewhat hard to see, I'm certain that had I taken a peek I would have spotted a flock of mutated Badlands vultures circling around us with salivating beaks, outstretched talons, and most importantly, empty stomachs. Huge boulders, though seldom seen, sometimes acted as temporary shelters for us when the time came to check our location again and ensure that we were still headed in the right direction; gods forbid that we get turned around and lost in such a place. Nina clutched tightly onto whoever was currently transporting her, digging her tiny fingers deep into the nooks, crannies, and ruffles of their clothing. Even as she clung and hugged, she never once made a sound. Every so often, to stop her from shivering, Beck or I would pat her on the head and run our fingers through her hair; it seemed to calm her down at least. However, it did little to ease our fears and another eight hours later, eight hours of nonstop movement mind you, our spirits had sunken drastically low and given birth to a whole host of newer replacement fears. Tired and sore from monotonous hiking, I was in no shape to defend us from the dangers that could have very well been lurking just 20 feet beyond my scope of vision; my already weak human senses muddled further by the drastic desert conditions ravaging them. Looking back behind me at my sister, I see much of the same in her; heavy breathing, slow movement, and a strained, battered expression. We were in no shape to continue this grueling, grinding death-march, but what choice did we have? There was a slight chance at surviving if we trudged ever onward, despite our weariness, but death was an absolute certainty if we stopped, so against the best wishes and pleas of our tired bodies, we kept our pace.

"What was that?" I questioned aloud as a blurry figure zipped along in the distance, its vague form hunched over and close to the ground. "Beck, did you see that?"

Scratching her head, my sister squints her eyes and replies gruffly, "Huh, see what? Is there something out there?"

"You didn't see that?" I repeat.

Looking from me, to my pointing finger, and then back to me, Beck shrugs her shoulders and retorts, "Sand. I see sand. It's on the ground and in the air, Mike, and it's ALL I can see, alright?"

"...There are ten entities currently surrounding us..." States Nina gravely; both my sister and I snapping our heads around to face her. "...I sense sentience in five of them... In the others, all I can feel is a deep, dark hunger..."

"Wait, what?" I question in confusion, turning all of my attention to the little girl. Orcs and goblins, though barbaric and savage, are in fact capable of reasonably intelligent thought and seem to be able to speak discernible languages of their own, so was the child sensing a subhuman ambush? But what about the other presences she'd mentioned? Goblins were known to domesticate sabertooth warthogs and flightless land-dragons as fairly threatening mounted war-beasts, but were warthogs and huge salamanders enough of a threat to merit being mentioned? And even should we be faced with only goblins and orcs, neither creature being particularly difficult to deal with, it was what Nina had said about the other five unknown entities that really worried me. After all, a hungry animal would sooner pounce you and feast before starving itself for your sake, but most animals don't quite fit the description of suffering a 'deep, dark hunger'. That description befits something evil.

A second sandy silhouette darts through my sight, soon followed by a third, a fourth, and then a fifth; the five ominous figures dashing hastily back and forth in planned diagonal patterns designed to confuse and disorientate anything foolish enough to stand idly by and watch as they approached. After a few milliseconds of pointless pondering, my brain promptly rears back its metaphorical foot and kicks me in the ass; screaming at me to prepare some kind of spell to protect us with. Slapping myself in the face, I hurriedly reach back into the golf bag I'd slung over my shoulder like an archer's trusty quiver and withdraw my hockey stick, twirling it once and then slamming it down into the sand at my feet; motioning for Beck to stand back and get behind me with my free arm. Focusing my will and the remainders of my resolve into a functioning fuel, a spellcaster's current emotional state being a major influence upon the magic that they wield, I unleash a wave of kinetic energy with a single swipe of the stick and forcibly part the sandy winds like a curtain. Then, for a brief moment or two, the encroaching figures in the distance are made all too clear and terrifying. Immediately, my fear takes control and I instinctively summon up all of my reserves; every last drop of my power prepared to be thrown into one massive attack. Through the fine, dusty, airborne particulate, I spot the first of five sand raptors as it prepares to lunge at me, it's razor sharp claws spread wide open and ready to pierce me. Chanting out my French as best I can under such extreme stress, the threat of being disemboweled by a pack of ravenous dinosaurs weighing heavily in my mind, I unleash the largest spell in my repertoire and pump enough energy into it to power a Boeing jumbo jet for a thousand goddamn years. The solid ground deep beneath us quakes as the earth magic rumbles angrily into motion, sending exploding columns of sand rocketing into the air like the steamy geysers of Yellowstone. The nearest reptile (or bird if you're going to get very technical with me, Mr. Biologist) simply disintegrates into a disgusting cloud of blood and bone shrapnel as a pillar of sand shoots up through its body at blinding speeds; lumps of flesh and cartilage peppering the ground as its carcass falls back down. A slower, less powerful eruption sends the two trailing mere yards behind the first flailing chaotically through the air and crashing back down into the dunes with a highly audible and gut wrenchingly sick 'crunch'. Another raptor is dealt a devastating blow as a burst of sand beneath it throws it hard into a pile of jagged rocks and cacti, the needles and gravel cutting into its leathery hide like shards of broken glass. The last remaining lizard, however, deftly avoids more than four dusty explosions and effectively maintains its suicidal course; its beady eyes shining with murderous intent as the distance between us is reduced to a dozen yards or less.

"Fuck, I missed one!" I sneer as I frantically prepare to gather my focus for a second strike.

"Don't complain, just do that again or something!" Shouts my sister in prompt reply.

Angrily, I begin to bark, "What the Hell do you think I~

And that's when everything became a bit foggy and difficult to remember. A searing pain shoots up from my feet and through my entire body; a sharp, stinging sensation that's soon followed by a sudden numbness. It's a feeling that I'd become all too familiar with over the years, the feeling that you get when you abuse your powers a bit more than nature intended, and clearly I'd done just that. After getting my ass kicked by Norton, breaking out of Section 2's downtown headquarters, enjoying the thrill of a high speed escape, jumping through a portal and splashing down in another realm, and marching for hours through a barren wasteland, I'm simply amazed that I even had enough juice left in me to manage that last spell; it was arrogant and foolish of me to think that I could somehow muster another. So rather than laying the smack-down on the creature that was soon to maul me beyond recognition, I instead fell to my knees and toppled over into the sand. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of something feathery; a pair of wings perhaps? A loud scream echoed from somewhere and though it sounded far from human, I couldn't help but feel that I'd failed miserably as a brother, a friend, and a son all in the same day, and that the repulsive wailing belonged to my sister as she was being ripped limb from limb. As my vision blurred and blackness set in, I felt my body heave from its limp, lifeless position; I was being drug through the dust and back to the beast's nest no doubt.

What a way to go; death by devouring. Maybe I should have let one of Norton's men shoot me back in Midnight. It certainly would have sped things up a bit...