does.”
“Why does he?”
Noah scooted to the middle of the back seat and Raizor cuddled next to him. “He always thinks things are going to be okay.”
“Are they?”
Raizor shook her head and silently mouthed “no.”
Harley looked out the windshield. “Life’s intrestin that way.”
Victor moaned and stretched and finally opened his eyes. Harley shook his head. With senses that dull it was a wonder the big man was alive, even with a scye. When he looked back again, Quinlan was leaning through the back window. His eyes were wide and alert. He wasn’t smiling. Harley wondered how long he had been awake and imagined it had been since his children first opened their eyes. Perhaps he had misjudged the young man. They exchanged a nod.
“Who’s got breakfast?” Victor asked. His booming voice echoed in the truck and was obscene as morning kissed the mountains.
“Already ordered.” Quinlan raised his right hand and an eyeset dangled.
“Hope you ordered coffee, ‘cause I’ve got to have me some coffee.” Victor threw open the door of the truck and stepped out to relieve himself on the carcass of a deer. The scye dropped to hover over his shoulder and when he returned to the cab, it took its position above them.
A stork floated down to their campsite a few minutes later with breakfast. There was orange juice, coffee, milk, sausage, eggs, toast, pancakes, disposable plates, cups and utensils. Quinlan slipped on his eyeset long enough to accept delivery of the meal from the stork. He dished up a plate of food for the three of them and they sat on the back seat to eat their breakfast.
Victor helped himself to a huge helping of food, grumbling that there were no hash browns. As he sat in the driver’s seat of his truck, slurping his food and alternately farting and burping, Harley wondered how he had ever become a Deputy Marshal. Marshals were the elite of the Federation, the best, brightest and strongest. They were the vanguard of the Lord High Judge, the warrior champions of the new world and Victor Shelley didn’t seem to fit the bill.
Harley had to remind himself that he had seen Victor fight. With those medically altered arms, he was a force worthy of respect. But he was overconfident and far too loud to survive long in the Wilderness. If his truck on the other side of the slide had been stolen or destroyed he gave them a day or two at most before the Wrynd had them or the Rages. He was a Deputy Marshal so he could call for an airlift and it might arrive before it was too late, but he didn’t think Victor would ever do that. It was too bad really. The children didn’t deserve the fate rushing their way. But then, no children deserved the fate rushing their way.
Their father seemed forged of stronger mettle than Harley had originally given him credit for, but he could see in the softness of his eyes that there wasn’t a killer hiding in there. Outside of the Hubs and the Link you needed to be a killer if you wanted to survive.
As the light of morning finally found them there was no sign of wildlife outside the truck, at least not living wildlife. The carnage from the Rages the night before was everywhere. There were more than 20 deer carcasses scattered across the roadway and intermixed with their lifeless bodies were a half dozen raccoon, dozens of bats and three large owls. The wounded bear had fled. When Noah and Raizor went outside to relieve themselves, they had to pick their way through the wreckage of animal flesh to take care of their business at the tree line. While they did, Quinlan stood behind them, his body tense as he nervously gripped a baseball bat. Harley marveled.
“What’s he going to do, hit a line drive if something attacks?”
Victor looked at the young man and grinned between mouthfuls of food. “We all live in our own world Harley, you know that.”
“You could have given him a gun.”
“Tried to. Said he was a horrible shot. I told him he needed a weapon and
“Why does he?”
Noah scooted to the middle of the back seat and Raizor cuddled next to him. “He always thinks things are going to be okay.”
“Are they?”
Raizor shook her head and silently mouthed “no.”
Harley looked out the windshield. “Life’s intrestin that way.”
Victor moaned and stretched and finally opened his eyes. Harley shook his head. With senses that dull it was a wonder the big man was alive, even with a scye. When he looked back again, Quinlan was leaning through the back window. His eyes were wide and alert. He wasn’t smiling. Harley wondered how long he had been awake and imagined it had been since his children first opened their eyes. Perhaps he had misjudged the young man. They exchanged a nod.
“Who’s got breakfast?” Victor asked. His booming voice echoed in the truck and was obscene as morning kissed the mountains.
“Already ordered.” Quinlan raised his right hand and an eyeset dangled.
“Hope you ordered coffee, ‘cause I’ve got to have me some coffee.” Victor threw open the door of the truck and stepped out to relieve himself on the carcass of a deer. The scye dropped to hover over his shoulder and when he returned to the cab, it took its position above them.
A stork floated down to their campsite a few minutes later with breakfast. There was orange juice, coffee, milk, sausage, eggs, toast, pancakes, disposable plates, cups and utensils. Quinlan slipped on his eyeset long enough to accept delivery of the meal from the stork. He dished up a plate of food for the three of them and they sat on the back seat to eat their breakfast.
Victor helped himself to a huge helping of food, grumbling that there were no hash browns. As he sat in the driver’s seat of his truck, slurping his food and alternately farting and burping, Harley wondered how he had ever become a Deputy Marshal. Marshals were the elite of the Federation, the best, brightest and strongest. They were the vanguard of the Lord High Judge, the warrior champions of the new world and Victor Shelley didn’t seem to fit the bill.
Harley had to remind himself that he had seen Victor fight. With those medically altered arms, he was a force worthy of respect. But he was overconfident and far too loud to survive long in the Wilderness. If his truck on the other side of the slide had been stolen or destroyed he gave them a day or two at most before the Wrynd had them or the Rages. He was a Deputy Marshal so he could call for an airlift and it might arrive before it was too late, but he didn’t think Victor would ever do that. It was too bad really. The children didn’t deserve the fate rushing their way. But then, no children deserved the fate rushing their way.
Their father seemed forged of stronger mettle than Harley had originally given him credit for, but he could see in the softness of his eyes that there wasn’t a killer hiding in there. Outside of the Hubs and the Link you needed to be a killer if you wanted to survive.
As the light of morning finally found them there was no sign of wildlife outside the truck, at least not living wildlife. The carnage from the Rages the night before was everywhere. There were more than 20 deer carcasses scattered across the roadway and intermixed with their lifeless bodies were a half dozen raccoon, dozens of bats and three large owls. The wounded bear had fled. When Noah and Raizor went outside to relieve themselves, they had to pick their way through the wreckage of animal flesh to take care of their business at the tree line. While they did, Quinlan stood behind them, his body tense as he nervously gripped a baseball bat. Harley marveled.
“What’s he going to do, hit a line drive if something attacks?”
Victor looked at the young man and grinned between mouthfuls of food. “We all live in our own world Harley, you know that.”
“You could have given him a gun.”
“Tried to. Said he was a horrible shot. I told him he needed a weapon and
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