Was it a song lyric, or the rattling of a hysterical mind? Saladin outlined the target in orange-yellow, displaying critical target areas and trajectory data, all of which looked like alien hieroglyphs to Letho. He drew his Black Bear, and the nano-machines motivated his muscles to bring the handgun up, lining up the sights for a shot that would split the creature’s head.

Letho forced his arm downward, and the words MANUAL TARGETING ENGAGED appeared across his vision. He fired, and the creature’s left arm detached and spun away from its body. The creature stumbled, but did not fall. A shriek that was all too human rose from its mouth, causing Thresha to cry out from somewhere behind him.

“Letho, stop!”

He aimed lower, firing again. The creature’s left foot disappeared in a cloud of red. It tumbled to the earth, kicking up red dust as it rolled. Letho forced himself to a standing position and strode toward creature, which was now lurching onto the broken street, oiling the asphalt with its blood as it slithered towards the shadowy confines of a remarkably intact brick home. Window frames with shattered panes leered at him like the eye sockets of a skull. The sound of the creature’s claws scrabbling against the road was the only noise save for the whine of an acrid breeze.

In two strides Letho was standing above the creature, which had now given up its attempt to flee. The creature’s first response was to snarl and arch its back to appear as large and menacing as possible. When Letho did not respond, the creature began to mewl, its head falling to its chest on an impossibly thin neck. It raised its remaining arm over its head as if to shield itself from the inevitable blow, and Letho felt a jolt run through his body when he saw some sort of weather-beaten leather band on the creature’s forearm. He gasped and took a step back.

“What the…” he said, but was cut off by another pleading cry from the creature that sounded a lot like the word please.

Was it a cry of mercy? Or was it just asking him to get it over with? He holstered the Black Bear and and brought Saladin crashing down on the creature’s thin neck. The creature’s legs twitched for a few minutes, and then it was still.

Then Letho was spinning. Thresha had grabbed him and turned his body to face her. Even in his rage he marveled at her sheer strength. Her eyes danced with a heat that matched his own, and he was intoxicated by it.

“You didn’t have to do that. Make it suffer. What the hell is wrong with you?”

A thousand responses flooded Letho’s mind. He chose instead to shove her. She fell to the ground, looking up at him with furious eyes.

“You’re one to talk,” he said, his voice husky and wild with anger.

Then with a sudden rush, the anger spilled out of him, leaving his limbs feeling spent and rubbery. The redness that had ringed his vision and tainted his thought processes faded; his shoulders slumped, his fingers loosened, and Saladin dropped from his grip. Letho extended his hand to Thresha, but she recoiled, for it was covered in the black ichor of the ruined creatures he had slain.

“I’m sorry, Thresha. I lost my temper.”

“Yeah, no kidding!” Thresha shouted. She gathered herself and stood up, dusting herself off, then took a step back from Letho. She looked as though she were about to run, but upon surveying her surroundings, the wrecked ship, and the creatures they had encountered, she seemed to think better of it.

****

They followed the cracked hardtop out of the ruined suburb and onto a larger road. This road was a shattered mess too, choked with a large number of rusted vehicle husks. Probably stalled and abandoned in the traffic created by some mass exodus that had happened ages ago. Perhaps if they followed the road far enough it would lead them to Hastrom City itself.

They eventually happened upon the ruins of a large building not far from the wreck site. Much of it had fallen to the withering assault of wind and time, but the bulk of the structure was intact. As they drew closer to it, Letho could see that the red brick facade had been worn to an almost smooth surface by the sand that piled up along the outer wall. Two large columns supported a triangular roof with ornate finishings, below which was a large clock that had stopped functioning at exactly 2:43 p.m., presumably centuries before. There were letters across the bottom, but most of them were missing. The last word, however was intact:

SCHOOL.

The front entrance sported a wall of glass doors and windows that were remarkably intact. The windows had long ago been papered over though, and one broken panel had been blocked by boards and ramshackle furniture. Letho staggered to the doorway and paused, listening. He heard only the dusty howl of the wind and the occasional groan of rusted metal grinding against itself.

“Bayorn, Maka, do you hear anything?” Letho asked.

“No. Just the wind.”

“Okay. Let’s check it out,” Letho said.

It wasn’t as if they had many choices. Not far away, across a ruined street, Letho could see a stretch of squat, boxy homes, but the roofs were gone, and many of them had collapsed entirely. This was likely the only habitable structure in the vicinity.

Bayorn gestured toward the doors and said open in Tarsi. The few surviving Tarsi lumbered forward and went about the business of unbarring the doors and clearing the makeshift barricade just inside. Letho cringed at the sound of metal grinding against the grit and concrete as the Tarsi forcibly entered the school. His mind flashed to the creature and its pathetic plea.

No. That wasn’t an ID bracelet. Why would one of those things have an ID bracelet?

Within moments the Tarsi emerged and gestured an all-clear. Letho went in first, followed by Maka and Bayorn, who carried an unconscious Deacon.

The interior of the school was dark and dry. A thick layer of dust covered everything in sight, forming miniature sand dunes around long-abandoned desks and gaping doorways. Letho scratched at the floor with a booted foot and unearthed a glimpse of white tile beneath the inches of dust that had blown in from outside.

“Having fun, Letho?” Thresha asked.

Letho offered her a blank stare and chose not to respond.

“A curious fellow, huh? Why don’t you use that curiosity to help secure this area?” she said.

“Shut up,” Letho replied, his eyes flashing with slow anger. “Look around. Do you see any footprints? Do you see any evidence in this godforsaken place indicating that anyone has set foot in it in the last one hundred years?”

“That’s what they want you to think!” Deacon gasped, his fist jabbing the air like that of a dictator in the middle of an oratory. He began to babble and clutch his shoulders, his entire body trembling noticeably even from across the room.

“He’s not doing so well, you know. And you aren’t either,” Thresha said, reaching out to place a hand on Letho’s shoulder.

She’s telling you to man up, son. Not in so many words, of course…

Ah, my old sarcastic friend. Glad you could make it.

As much as Letho hated to admit it, Thresha was right, and he was impressed by her change in tactics. She had switched from scolding him like a child to approaching him with what appeared to be genuine concern for his well-being. And he did not fail to notice that Maka and Bayorn were watching the exchange with barely concealed sneers. It wasn’t an altogether pleasant expression for a Tarsi face to wear.

“All right, folks, this is the plan. Maka and I are going to scope out the building and make sure it’s safe. The rest of you are going to stay with Deacon and keep an eye on him. Just…” Letho paused. “Just try to make him comfortable if you can.”

“Letho, we must recover our dead. The creatures out there, they might desecrate the bodies of the fallen Tarsi,” Bayorn said.