Chapter 2: Surprise, Surprise

Tuesday Oct 25^th, 5:00am

I rouse from sleep before the Sun. I unfasten the straps that keep the door flap tied, roll back the leather buckskin material, and sit halfway out of my temp shelter to look at the sky. I can tell by the positioning of the Moons that the Sun will not wake for about two more hours.

I lay back down and try to rest for a little while longer. I can’t. I’m too anxious, too eager for the trip ahead.

Mud Hoppers are bound to be roaming about the stretch I must traverse. They often attack lone travelers and stragglers…easy pickings. The government knows there is a chance I won’t reach my assignment. They don’t care. They’ll just send someone else. Some 16-year-old straight out of training.

We really don’t know a whole lot about Hoppers yet. We don’t know how they got here. We don’t know how they think. None have been caught alive, and we’ve never been able to locate any of their technology. We’ve never even found their homes or base area. None of the City Governments want to risk their own citizens in such a dangerous search.

We do know that Hoppers don’t fight with weapons. They attack only with their claws and teeth. They typically aim for the throat. In just a few bites, they can have a person’s head completely severed from their body. They can jump forward about six feet and will sometimes throw themselves directly at their opponent to knock them on the ground. From there it’s an easy shot at the neck.

But honestly, it’s not that I dread what lies ahead. I mean, it would be a shame to leave my parents without a child…but now that I have been assigned to the troupes, this is my destiny. I will likely die with my throat in the jaws of a Hopper anyway, be it now or later. It isn’t so much the dreadful possibilities that keeps me awake. It’s the not knowing. The anticipation.

I could die. Which wouldn’t make much of a difference to me, I suppose, since I’d be dead. Or I could kill my first Mud Hopper. Or maybe a couple of Hoppers. I could distinguish myself from other troupsemen? Start making a name for myself. And as a small-framed light skin who didn’t join the troupes until after spending my first few years of Adulthood in a different assignment…well, that’d really be somethin’. I have a lot to prove. And I’m ready to prove it.

I will fight for the People. I will fight for my loved ones. And I will fight for myself.

6:00am

The Second Moon has long passed the First and is finally leaving its friend in the sky once again. The First sits far to the North East, but won’t sink into the eastern horizon until the Sun is above the western. I’ve heard it said that in the Days Before, Earth had only one moon. That the First Moon, the Silver Moon, was the only light of night; and that the Second Moon, the Golden Moon, is basically just a large piece of debris that got pulled into orbit by the planet’s gravity during the Destruction. I don’t know if that’s fact or legend, but I can’t imagine a night without both.

I’m running out of these idle musings to keep me still. More sleep would be beneficial, but I can’t sleep, so I might as well head out. As quietly as I can, so as to not rob my hosts of that precious last hour of sleep, I pack my things and fetch Angeles. I’m still strapping my bags to him when one of the women emerges from her shelter. I give her the things they’ve let me borrow and thank her for their hospitality.

And then, I’m off.

12:30pm

The Sun is directly overhead and I’m about a quarter of the way to where my new troupe is stationed. I pull Angeles to a stop to compare my compass and map. I think I’m still going in the right direction…..I think. Hell, how can ya tell? There are NO landmarks out here. I’m on a stretch devoid even of the unimpressive shrubbery of the Outlands. It’s all sand.

It should be pretty straight forward. Straight northeast for a while, then straight north. But if I incorrectly calculate when I need to turn, I could be too far east by time I’m supposed to reach Awmutto Outpost. And if I go too far, I won’t even be able to see it.

I sigh as I survey the landscape from under the brim of my hat. I can’t see anything but the ground and the sky and…

And wait. Is that a cloud of sand in the distance? There is no wind today. Nothing to stir up dust. Nothing but…

I grab my binoculars from a coat pocket and tip my hat back a bit. It takes me a second to focus, and when I do, at first I only see the dust as it settles back to the ground. And then I see something on the ground.

As it rises, my heart dives into my stomach and adrenaline shoots through my viens.

It has a humanoid torso and limbs, but definitely isn’t human. It rises from a crouching position but can’t fully straighten its long, thin, yellow legs, which I know are connected to webbed, frog-like feet. Its gnarled yellow hands are close in front of it, its long black claws resting together. Even through my binoculars I can see drool dripping out beneath the long fangs on each side of two jagged teeth. And above them, I see huge, black eyes….staring in my direction.

Angeles must see it too. He starts nervously prancing about and I try to calm him. And myself. “It’s okay. We got this. This is what we were trained for. We know what to do. It’s okay.”

Slightly shaking, I shove my binoculars back into my pocket and pull out my gun.

It hops forward a couple of times, and now I can clearly see its outline on the horizon without the binoculars. Then another one hops forward to its left. And still another to the right.

I wait to see if there are any more. They’ve learned from past encounters that if a human has a gun, the human has the advantage over them. Thus, if there are three or less in the scouting party and one falls dead, the others will scatter. If there are four or more and one falls dead, the rest will rush forward and attack. If there is a large group, my only hope is to run, as I know Angeles is more than ready to do.

I let them come a few hops closer before I try to aim. Angeles is too anxious to stay still.

Bang. Sand flies up just beside the middle Hopper, but doesn’t phase it. Bang. The second one hits it right in the chest! It drops dead! Without even thinking, I let out a YEAH! I’m so elated, it’s all I can do to refocus myself so I can take out another one as they flee…

But, wait. They aren’t turning back. They just stand as high as their legs allow and stare at me, as if waiting. As if anticipating something.

As Angeles trots in a nervous circle I glance around to see if there are more coming from behind me.

Nothing.

I start to panic. I was the top of my class in training. What did I miss? Or what am I forgetting?

Angeles senses it before I do. He turns suddenly and bucks. His front legs aren’t quite back on the ground when it hits me. All of its weight, from the front left, knocking me off onto the sand. Its hands pin my shoulders to the ground, the claws on its thumbs piercing the skin at the bottom of my neck on each side.  Its legs straddle mine as it sits on my thighs, making it impossible for me to move them. Although the fall knocked the wind out of me I somehow managed to grab both hands around its neck, and it’s all I can do to tighten my grip and hold its head away from my throat as I gasp for air. Saliva falls onto my cheek and runs down the side of my face as I stare back at my own reflection in each of its large, black eyes.

Chapter 1: Bell View Outpost

Four women stand and watch as I set up my temporary shelter. It’s dark, but I’ve got a headlamp, and we had to set these things up about a hundred times during training, so I get it ready in no time at all. It looks like I’m the only drifter here tonight. My shelter seems so small, tucked away between the silhouettes of the mud-brick outpost shelters. Not that they look big.

The women seem rather impressed, and I shamelessly revel in their comments of praise as I assemble my little shelter. After all, it takes strong people to survive in the outposts. Their admiration is no small thing. “They sure train you young folks well these days. Before they sent me and my husband out here thirty years ago, they only gave us training on how to grow crops. How to shoot Mud Hoppers and how to grow crops. Then they sent us and 50 other couples right along with only a few measly supplies and a wagon full o’ guns.”

I reply by muttering a simple “huh” as I unstrap my bags from Angeles. I don’t mention the knot forming in my stomach. The Second Moon is only beginning to peak over the western horizon, but I can still tell by the light of the First that there are definitely not fifty shelters here. A couple dozen at most, I think, as I place my things in my temp shelter.

“Yeah, we had it real hard those first few years,” the woman continues.

“Mud Hoppers?” I ask, stroking Angeles’ mane.

“Well, yeah, but they wasn’t our first problem. First was tryin’ to grow crops. There was already grass and weeds out here, even some shrubs. But it took us several springs to get a decent harvest out of our crops.”

“Ah. I’ve heard that’s a common problem for the outposts.”

“Yeah. We lost a lot of folks,” another woman chimes in. “If there wasn’t a few good hunters among us, I reckon there wouldn’t be a Bell View Outpost at all.”

“Got that right.” A third in the group nods as she stares off at nothing. “Humanity can’t catch a break, huh? First meteors hit the planet and kill the billions of people who couldn’t manage a spot in a craft. Then a million more who could are still kilt floatin’ about in space all that time. And then not but fifty years after our forefolks come back to the only planet humans have ever called home, and a bunch o’ blood thirsty aliens try to take it for themselves.”

My mind fills with memories that were never mine as I rest the side of my face against Angeles’ neck. Being in a spacecraft. Looking down on Earth day after day after day, willing the atmosphere to clear. Waiting in line for rations that get smaller and smaller every meal until there is nothing left to wait for. Alarms going off as the captain tries in vain to avoid crashing into space debris. Rolling clouds of fire devouring the walls of our craft…

“That’s enough talk o' the past.” The fourth woman seems to know what day dreams the topic has sparked, so she changes it. “Right now we have a guest, and we oughtta see to it that she has everythin’ she needs. It’s a cold night, settlin’ in on us. Surely we got some supplies ‘round here she can borrow.” They’re all mothers, and rough as they are, they can’t help but be motherly. Pretty soon I’ve got an extra cushion to sleep on, an elk-skin blanket, and a lantern. There’s even an extra spot in the stable for Angeles.

Before going to bed, I join a couple of them around a fire and exchange stories. I tell them about how I’m from the American Central City, how I had just finished an assignment with a Mud Hopper scouting troupe in the Southern Outskirts, and how the assignment ended early and I’m now headed to another in the Eastern Outskirts. I even tell them about how I had originally been chosen as a teacher, and had taught at St. George’s outpost for years before requesting to join the troupes. They, in turn, tell me stories of when they were first assigned to the Outlands. What had then been the Outskirts, before Bell View had been deemed successful.

I love these moments. These moments that you could never have predicted.

Just last Wednesday I was in St. Claire’s outpost, assisting our arms trainer as she haggled for supplies in the local market. That outpost is the largest and most successful in the world…about 900 residents. We were able to load up on food and ammunition as if our 20-person troupe had another three weeks to survive.  

That night, we found out that it didn’t. We were informed that the American Government was concerned about increased Mud Hopper encounters in other areas, so the project would end two weeks early. In four days, we would all be sent to different troupes.

Friday night we had one last dinner with the whole troupe. Our government reps had gifts for all of us, and we laughed as we recalled the inside jokes and memories referenced by each one.

And now here I am, chatting by the fire with tried and true outpost women.  

When I finally retire to my shelter I’m so tired I fall asleep almost immediately. 

It’s only Sunday, and I won’t reach my next assignment until Wednesday. Tomorrow I can rest at Bell View, but on Tuesday I’ll be riding along a large stretch of uninhabited land. I’ve been reassured by the government reps that there are no reports of Mud Hopper hunting parties in that area. But I know full well that may only be a partial truth. After all, who can report seeing the thing that kills them?