The Retreat (The After Trilogy Book 1) (6 page)

She could spread the food from the battler across several days if she needed to. Despite her knowledge of Earth’s history, she knew precious little about survival here—and no one knew what was safe to eat here
now
. The research teams didn’t waste time with analysing food. Not when the Orbitos were yet to secure an inhabitable Earth. Who knew what was safe for consumption now, a century and a half after The Retreat.

The surrounding area was mostly flat. Sparse bush covered everything else, a mixture of the pleasant-smelling trees, dry leaves, and shrubs. The sun was overhead, and Romy knew this meant it was the middle of the day. In the distance sat a small rise, the highest ground she could see. The air rippled in the distance, making it impossible to tell how far away the hill was.

After an internal debate, Romy returned to the craft. She cut away a portion of parachute and fashioned a knife from a sharp bit of wreckage, using a strip of parachute for the handle. Take
that
, slithering creature!

She almost cried when she found more water, though no food—hopefully the others had plenty on their side.

And after further debate, Romy cut a large length of extra parachute for shelter and warmth—life in space had taught her it could go from blazing to freezing in an instant.

Fashioning straps from the chute rope, she hoisted the makeshift bundle filled with her knife, food and water, and parachute shelter onto her back and picked up her crutch. Romy paused under the shadow of the still hissing and sparking battler.

What if the others came here while she was gone?

A thinly veiled panic churned just beneath the surface, despite her soldier calm. What if she never saw her knot again? What if everyone was dead? She dashed away the sweat dripping from her forehead. Surrendering to despair would only waste time and energy, she scolded herself.

Another couple of trips to the tree line and back were all it took to make an arrow made of branches pointing in the direction of the hill. If the others entered the battler—which they would if they found the wreckage—there was no chance the knot would miss the arrow upon coming back out. Or Romy’s space boots, removed and strategically placed next to it.

Romy had to believe that if she didn’t find them, her knot would find her.

Her choices were few.

Sit and die.

Or move and live.

F
rom Romy’s vantage point in the wreckage, the dry bush had appeared sparse, but upon entering, the growth became so dense she couldn’t tell if she were moving in the straight line she’d set for herself. A nagging self-doubt plagued her––a fear that every step she took might move her
away
from her friends.

Romy knew she could be thousands of kilometres away from her knot.

She couldn’t stop thinking about how it was her piece of the wreckage that possessed the parachute. Did the battler have more than one parachute? And there was also the fire outside the craft, let alone the fact the ship tore to smithereens somewhere during the crash landing.

She took one unsatisfying mouthful of water to quell the scratchy thirst in her throat. The sun was lower in the sky, and the temperature steadily dropped. She welcomed the reprieve from the beating heat. Progress was slow. Her palms, though used to gripping guns and cleaning, were covered in blisters from the crutches. Her ankle had settled into a deep burning ache, which throbbed with every jarring hop.

The sun dipped just below the trees when the ground beneath Romy’s feet began to slope upwards. Startled from her mechanical motion, she peered through the trees and saw she’d reached the bottom of a hill; whether it was the one she’d aimed for was another question.

Indecision tugged at her. It was dark. Her day’s adventures included: a crash landing from space, a head injury and broken ankle, a long fall from the battler, and several hours of painful walking plagued with heartache. Her body and mind needed rest.

Though loathe to sleep on the ground with the slithering creatures, she just didn’t have the energy to climb a tree with her injured ankle. Propping her crutches in a triangle against a tree, she draped the length of parachute over the sticks and dragged herself in, making sure to tuck the material under her legs. Her ankle was soon elevated on her makeshift pack and the throbbing lessened immediately. Romy studied the inside of her shelter and retrieved her knife, cutting three small holes from the top so air could circulate.

For the past hours since the crash, Romy had pushed through her bone-deep exhaustion. It wouldn’t be denied any longer.

* * *

S
omething cold dripped on Romy’s forehead. She blinked through sleep-crusted eyes, ready to glare at Phobos. Instead, she stared at the condensation gathered on the inside of the parachute. And then she remembered.

A rhythmic creaking noise called from outside her tent, faint and not alarming—some post-global-warming insect, most likely. Blinking away the blurriness of an exhausted sleep, Romy pulled herself up and began inventory. Her ankle felt substantially better. The swelling had already lessened. The blisters on her palms and walking leg had healed in the night—
Thank you, nanobytes
, she thought.

She packed up her shelter, ate two slices of dried fruit, took three sips of water, and started up the hill.

Not long into her hike, she decided to dub the hill “Mount Death.” If Knot 27 were the only humans on Earth, she could name it anything she damn well liked, and Mount Death seemed fitting. The blisters of the day before came back twofold, and every bone and muscle in her body begged her to rest.

She’d rest when she found her friends. Honestly, she’d half expected to die in her sleep. The research team had reported Earth wasn’t safe. And Romy believed them, so if she wasn’t going to drop-dead, it was likely she would slowly succumb to cancer, sickness, or infection.

It didn’t matter. Thrym would know what to do. She just had to find him.

Romy paused for rest while the sun was highest, taking two more sips of water. A quarter of her water was now gone, but her thirst nearly overwhelmed her.

The sensation was hard to put into words, but the air seemed wet. It was like breathing with your face buried in a pillow.

In the last half hour the hill had started to plateau. The trees began to thin as the top of Mount Death flattened. Soon only shrubs and boulders remained, making it a great deal easier to hop.

This was it. Soon she might not be alone anymore.

Romy hopped to the bottom of a large boulder and dropped her parachute pack and crutches with a clatter. Using a succession of smaller rocks as footholds, Romy made it high enough that she was able to reach for the smooth top of the large boulder and drag herself up, wincing as her ankle shot pain to her hip.

She made it—eventually—breathing hard on all fours. Her knot could be at the bottom of the hill. With a deep breath she rose to her knees and looked over Earth.

There was so much to look at, her eyes couldn’t focus on just one sight. The beauty before her stole all thought from her mind. The vision was so breathtaking Romy decided that, if she died, this vision might just have made everything in the last two days worth it.

Earth. An oasis.
Her
home. She could feel it. This was where she belonged.

Romy twisted in a full circle on her knees.

She spotted the area she’d hopped from. A thin trail of smoke wound up above the tree line from the wreckage of the battler. Having located her starting point, she then began to turn in a circle, slowly scanning.

She did this three times.

And three times the result was the same.

Nothing.

No other smoke trails. No wreckage. No visible sign her friends were anywhere close by.

She sighed. Had she really expected it to be so easy?

At least there were a few signs of water. She noted the largest body, far in the distance; it must have been an ocean as she couldn’t see the end of it. The last book she’d read was a fascinating tale about a man lost at sea for over a month.

Another body, smaller, lay off to the far right—a lake.

And the final visible water source—a river—twisted through the wilderness to the ocean.

So there was plenty of undrinkable water around. But the real question was, did she return to her wreckage, knowing it was her best chance of recovery by the Orbitos. . . .

. . . or. . . . 

Romy studied the river once more.

If she went straight down and to her right, she would intercept it. It would lead her to the ocean. Maybe if Romy was drawn there, then her friends would be, too. Her training told her the decision made no logical sense. But with nothing else to go on. . . .

She left a second large arrow, made of dead tree limbs, on the top of the hill, pointing in the direction of the sea. It made her feel better to leave a trace of her passing.

Romy’s second night on Earth was spent somewhere on the side of Mount Death.

By the next morning, half of her water was gone and so was a quarter of her food. Without the exhaustion of the previous night to drag her under, every single scratch and snuffle in the night had woken her. There were animals out there—a lot of them. And if Romy wasn’t mistaken, some of them were large.

Today she was able to touch her foot to the ground for short periods. It was a good sign. She wanted to throw her crutches in the fiery abysses of hell. How humans used to do this for the months it took to heal a bone was beyond her. She loved her nanotech.

The sun was still low in the sky when a new sound interrupted the silence of the bush.

Romy crouched beside a tree, trying to dissect the low-pitched rushing noise. She edged closer, pausing behind trees as she drew close. What
was
it? It sounded like. . . .

Romy dragged her hands over her weary face when she realised. Streaming water. It was the sound of the taps in Knot 27’s quarters, multiplied by two or three thousand.

Five minutes later she was standing on the bank of her first river. The pool in front of her was calm, though rapids ran into it from above. It stretched several metres across, and disappeared farther down around a bend.

Romy had a problem.

Her water would only last another two days.

You can breathe the air . . . maybe you can drink the water, too.

Romy exhaled slowly, pushing her smoky, unwashed hair behind her ears. Sweat trickled down her spine, and she looked at the cool surface of the river in yearning. She wanted to dub the water “River Glory.” But she decided to wait and see if the water would kill her. No one liked a misleading name.

She crouched by the water’s edge.

Acid water. Normal water had a pH of 7—neutral. The water on board Orbito One was between 8 and 9—slightly alkaline to help reduce the effect of stomach acid. The last recorded pH of fresh water gave a reading of 6.05—acidic. Not healthy. Its effects on the human body: vomiting, diarrhoea, eye and skin reactions, and seizures.

Romy picked her way over to the nearby plant life. The long leaves drooped over into the river. There was no colour bleaching, but the leaves were already a sickly yellow so that didn’t mean much.

There was only one way to find out.

She dipped one finger in the water and when it didn’t instantly burn her, she counted for three minutes. Romy pulled her finger out and waited a further five minutes. No discomfort. The water wasn’t acidic enough to cause pain—a good sign.

But did it make the water safe? Romy tapped a finger against the side of her knee.

She wouldn’t last long without topping up her water supplies. If she died, she wouldn’t find her friends. And her friends might be in dire need of her help.

She had to take the risk.

It probably would have made sense for Romy to mix the questionable river water with the water she carried with her to dilute any harmful effects. But she didn’t want to waste a drop of the water she knew was safe.

Romy decided to try a small sample. She scooped water into her hands, peering down at it before taking the plunge.

The water hurt her teeth. It was cool and . . . sweet. She’d never tasted anything so amazing!

If this was what acidic was like, it wasn’t so bad. Romy made herself stop after a few mouthfuls—more than she’d initially intended to drink.

She paced up and down beside the calm pool as she waited to see if she’d become sick. As the minutes went by, she began to wonder if the water
was
safe. Romy knew that some areas of the world—the low-lying countries like Brazil and Mexico—were more severely affected than others. Maybe this part of the Earth wasn’t as bad to begin with? It could’ve been missed by the research teams. There were only three teams, after all. And they had a whole planet to cover.

If the water was safe—and if she could find her knot and somehow contact the Orbitos. . . . What news! And maybe,
maybe
, the other soldiers could all come down. Imagine the fun their knot would have around here once they reunited. Knot 27—on planet Earth. It was her greatest dream come true.

By dusk, she still hadn’t experienced any ill effects.

Romy took two sips from her own water anyway before setting up her little tent some way back from the riverbank.

Of more concern were the layers of smoky grime covering her body. The hand exposed to the river remained unblemished and free of irritation. Romy peeled off her orange ventilation suit and dipped it in the river. She scrubbed the material against itself in an effort to dislodge some of the dirt. The result wasn’t too shabby. The river bubbled enticingly as she draped the spandex garment over a wiry shrub.

Romy had a strong desire to jump into the river herself. Removing her underwear, she scrubbed both pieces and used them as a sponge to wash the rest of her body.

Rinsing her underwear once more, she put the wet undergarments back on, leaving the orange garment to dry over the shrub.

Her hair. The strands, usually silken, were limp with sweat and dust. Romy couldn’t swim and it looked too deep to touch the bottom. But she could still dip her head in. Wait until Deimos heard what she’d done! Romy chuckled thinking of his reaction.

The spot she’d selected was deep and still. The river itself seemed to have quietened alongside the dying light. She leaned forwards on her hands and knees, staring down into the water. If she was braver, she’d jump in—then Deimos would really lose it.

Romy hummed to herself as she brought her head closer to the water.

Her nose breeched the frigid surface.

Water exploded in every direction, the river erupting into a furious white torrent.

Romy toppled back in a mass of flying limbs, too shocked to cry out.

Before she had time to process what had happened, a
monster
scaled the riverbank.

A long-muzzled and scaly monster. Romy screamed, scrambling back until she hit the trunk of a tree, pain shooting through her ankle.

Calm down and think, Rosemary.

The water animal had a long, thick body atop short, thin arms and legs. It was designed for water . . . surely she could outrun it.

Romy slowly stood in careful increments, trying to hush her gasping breath. Climbing the tree was her best option.

But her assumption about the animal’s speed was wrong.