Sojourn: The Deadlands

SOJOURN, THE DEADLANDS

by B. D. Messick

A wasteland of burning sun and shifting sands that stretches for more than a thousand miles from the foot of the Rocky Mountains to the Mississippi River. The once vibrant Great Plains of the central United States is a bleak and barren desert, a blasted landscape filled with sad reminders of what had been and what has been lost.

Rayn and Luk must brave the perils of this arid land of fierce beasts, savage sandstorms, and hidden dangers if they're going to reach the Beastlands beyond. They will encounter new enemies, and discover precious new allies.

Rayn's suspicions about the results of Luk's Sojourn Lottery continues to grow, but she must put those doubts aside if they have any chance of surviving what's coming. The Deadlands will push them to their breaking points while testing the strength of their bond.

Their only goal: Survival.

Table of Contents

Sojourn, The Deadlands

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

About the Author

Previews

Chapter One

We're making good progress across the seemingly endless and ever shifting sands. Luk is a few yards ahead following directly behind Grit as he performs his usual scouting technique of sniff, dig, and look. Luk reaches the top of a large dune and turns his head to look at me, and even though I know he’s exhausted he still has a quick smile.

I return the gesture, but it fades away as the head of a worm slithers out of the sand and clamps onto his leg. He screams out in pain as he pulls his knife and starts slashing at the creature. I start scrambling up the hill towards him, but the sand keeps shifting, and the more I struggle against it the further I slide back down.

Luk! I scream, my throat dry and painful.

Another worm emerges and wraps itself around his other leg, throwing him off balance and pulling him down.

I need to get up there. I need to save him! I yell at myself inside my own head.

Luk struggles with his attackers, slashing and stabbing at them with his knife until two more worms emerge and coil themselves around his arm. Just as they did with Raven, they work together as they slowly begin to pull him under the sand. I strip off my pack and start crawling up the dune on my hands and knees. I suddenly realize that I've been screaming Luk’s name over and over again as I struggle to reach him. By the time I get to the top of the hill only his left hand and the top of his head are still visible. I grab his fingers and start pulling, digging my heels into the sand. Slowly, his head emerges, sand in his hair and crusted to his face. I brush the particles away from his mouth and nose as I continue pulling with my other hand.

Luk! Luk, are you okay? I plead as tears stream down my face.

His eyes pop open and he takes a deep breath, but then his jaw slowly drops. He looks like he wants to say something, but no words come out. I lean down next to him.

What? What is it? My hands are shaking uncontrollably.

His mouth opens a little wider and suddenly a huge worm leaps out from between his teeth and lunges at me. I wake up screaming, thrashing my arms at something that’s not there and wailing in terror. The scream is from a place so dark and so deep down inside me that it feels like it's ripping my body in half. I don’t know how long I shriek, but I eventually realize that Luk’s arms are wrapped around me and he's slowly rocking us back and forth. My eyes focus on the cold grey walls of the tunnel, our little campfire and finally on Luk himself. I concentrate on his face, the way his hair falls over his forehead, the brightness of his piercing green eyes, and the strength I can feel in his arms. Bit by bit, I make myself calm down, using him as my anchor.

It’s okay, he says gently as he continues to hold me.

I gradually force my breathing to slow and my heartbeat to ease up a little and within a few minutes I'm composed enough to speak.

I’m all right, I reply quietly, although it’s only a half-truth.

Are you sure? as he reluctantly releases me.

Yeah.

I wipe away a few tears and offer him a weak little smile.

I watch him as he reaches over and picks up one of the loose water bottles sitting by his pack. He holds it out for me and I take it with a grateful and more honest expression.

Thanks.

I take a small sip of water.

You’re welcome. Bad dream?

I just nod, still trying to exile the last bits of it from my mind.

The worst, I say quietly before reaching out and taking his hand, feeling like I need the concrete physical contact to finally break the dark spell.

Do you want to talk about it?

I know that he means well, but the last thing I want to do is to relive it so soon.

Not right now, maybe later, I reply, although I have no intention of ever talking about it, if I can help it.

He just nods and offers me a soft little grin. Since we're up, we should probably get moving, but do you want some breakfast first?

No thanks. My stomach couldn’t handle it.

Okay.

* * * *

All of our stuff is already packed and ready to go. Yesterday, after the incident with our horses and the sandworms, we led Ashen back to the western end of the tunnel and let him go, discarding the saddle on the side of the road. We kept the reins and some of the other belts and straps just in case we might need them. As I watched him walk away down the road, I felt pangs of guilt that his companion, Raven wasn't as lucky. I know that it could have been much worse, but somehow it doesn’t feel that way.

Are you ready? he asks, his voice bringing me back to the here and now.

I’m ready if you are, I reply with more confidence than I really have.

The last thing I want is to step onto that sand again. I don’t know what triggered the attack and not knowing only serves to make things even scarier. I tell myself that Sera made it across, so we should be able to as well, but somehow that knowledge does nothing to calm my nerves.

Grit has been lying by the end of the tunnel all night and into the morning. He doesn’t seem agitated or anxious like he was yesterday, so at least that’s a little bit of strength for me to draw upon. Luk also seems eager to get moving and I know he’s not reckless, so that helps as well. I stare out at the sand for a few minutes before turning my attention back to him.

Let’s go. I get to my feet and we both heft our packs up onto our backs. I tighten the straps and then help Luk get his bag higher up on his shoulders.

He reaches over and takes my hand and I suddenly feel stronger, as if he's passing some of his power to me, but as soon as my boots touch the sand I feel a twinge of panic set in. A quick squeeze of my fingers and the sense of foreboding fades away and we once again begin our trek into the Deadlands.

The sand constantly shifts beneath our feet and the going is both arduous and slow. The sun seems hotter than it was just a few days ago, but maybe it’s just my imagination.

We walk side-by-side, our hands touching periodically. I keep a constant eye on Grit for any sign that he senses the worms or any other predators in the immediate vicinity. The dunes move up and down in soft rolling hills, exposing the underlying landscape in some places while completely obscuring it in others.

We should probably collect some firewood when we have a chance, I suggest as we approach an old, dead tree with its top branches sticking out of the sand like a bleached skeletal hand.

Good idea.

We stop and break off a collection of sticks, tying them to the top of my pack with the leather straps that we salvaged from Ashen’s saddle. By mid-day we're both forced to don our old face wraps to ward off both the blowing sand and the burning sun. I can’t decide which is worse; the constant grit in my face or the stifling heat that I have to endure to keep it out. We march slowly, without talking for mile after mile, first climbing the western face of a dune and then clumsily making our way down the eastern slope only to be greeted with another featureless beige mound.

Thankfully, by late afternoon the wind has diminished and we both pull off our masks. I glance over at Luk and smile. He grins back at me, his face red and sweaty.

This isn’t much fun.

Nope, not a whole lot, comes the terse reply.

About an hour later we finally spot an area, half a mile ahead, where the road emerges from beneath the carpet of sand. The blacktop, speed limit signs and even a few cars break the monotony of the terrain. Gradually the sand begins to retreat as we draw closer to the exposed tarmac. When we reach the roadway, we both stop immediately and strip off our packs, setting them on the stark black asphalt. I stretch my back and twist my waist right and left before I turn and look at Luk. Grit sits down at my feet and looks off east into the distance.

Hot enough for you? Luk asks cheerfully.

I think so. I pull one of our water bottles out of my pack and take a quick mouthful. I swish it around for a few seconds before swallowing.

I hand the bottle to him, but he shakes his head.

Let Grit have some first.

I smile at him and then kneel down in front of our loyal companion, cupping my hand and filling it with water. He laps it up greedily. I fill my hand a second time and he empties it as well before sitting down and looking at me. I pet his head gently before I stand back up and hand the bottle over to Luk. He takes one mouthful as well before capping the bottle and slipping it back into my pack. We all stand there, side-by-side looking down the road as it climbs slowly into the mountains, turning gradually to the northeast. It looks like the sand has retreated for the most part in this section. I can trace the black line of the highway until it vanishes over the horizon.

Luk sighs and puts his arm over my shoulder. Well, I suppose we should get moving again.

Yep. At least it looks like we'll get a break from the sand for a little while.

The sun beats down on us mercilessly for the better part of the afternoon before it finally falls behind the mountaintops to the west. The air is still hot, but at least the broiling rays of the sun are gone. The road's been climbing gradually the entire afternoon and I can feel the change in the air as it thins out even more. My muscles are aching and my lungs are burning as we try and keep up a decent pace. I miss the horses more than I thought I would.

The surrounding terrain has changed considerably since we left the tunnel earlier in the morning. Trees and grasses grow in patches alongside various cacti, and we even spot the occasional animal before it darts away from the sound of our approach. Grit walks lazily alongside me, never complaining and always alert for any threat to our safety. The highway itself has seen better days. Potholes appear out of nowhere and large cracks in the asphalt threaten to trip us up at every opportunity. I suspect that within five more years it'll be impossible to even tell where the roadway used to be.

I spy an area, perhaps a hundred yards off the side of the road where a few small trees are clustered together.

What about there for tonight? I ask, pointing to the tiny grove.

Looks good, babe.

I feel the butterflies in my stomach spring to life when he says "babe". I can't believe that such a simple thing still thrills me to the core. A little while later we're sitting under a large, old oak tree surrounded by a collection of conifers watching the last of the sunlight slowly vanish from the darkening sky. Grit is curled up next to me, snoring softly. Luk has his arms around my waist, his thumb gently moving back and forth across my stomach under my shirt. I'm leaning back against him, nestled between his outstretched legs, my hands resting on his knees. I can feel his breath on the back of my neck and each gentle puff of air makes goose bumps form on my skin.

How far to Idaho Springs? he asks, breaking the silence.

I bring an image of the map to my mind to try and figure out where we are, but unfortunately the terrain in this area contains no obvious landmarks, which makes it nearly impossible to pinpoint our location.

I’m not sure, but I'm guessing about ten miles or so, but I could be way off.

He just nods and I feel him shift slightly against the trunk of the tree.

Are you okay, should I move?

Don’t you dare, he says before kissing the top of my head. How’s your side, by the way?

It’s fine, I reply, without lying too much.

Uh huh. I saw your face earlier. I think we may be pushing it too hard.

I turn my head and look up at him.

I told you, I’m fine.

Well, I'm going to shift some of the stuff out of your pack into mine.

The hell you are, I say, squeezing his leg. Things are fine just the way they are.

He shakes his head and rolls his eyes at me.

Why the hell do you have to be so stubborn? he asks with a grin.

I turn around completely until I'm facing him, leaning on my arms, face to face with him.

I have to keep up with you.

Leaning forward, I kiss him, pressing my lips hard against his before he can reply.

Chapter Two

It only takes us about half the day to reach the outskirts of Idaho Springs. The highway runs to the south of the city, paralleling the little town. There's a minor dusting of sand on everything, but nothing like we traveled over after leaving the tunnel. In the distance I can see a highway overpass where a roadway from the south crosses over the interstate. I point to the bridge, lifting my sunglasses to get a better view.

We should climb up there to get a look at the town, see if it’s worth exploring, I suggest.

Sounds like a plan. He takes my hand and squeezes my fingers gently.

We head across the median to the eastbound lanes, following the cracked and decaying blacktop to the base of the overpass. The slope to the top of the hill is rocky and we have to move slowly to avoid sliding back down to the bottom atop of a tiny avalanche. We're both forced to crawl on our hands and knees until we're about three quarters of the way up. When we reach the top, the city comes into view. It looks like a lot of the other towns we passed on our way through the Wildlands: low brick and wood buildings in various stages of decomposition. There aren't a lot of trees in the area, which probably means a lack of water, which is not what I was hoping for. Just in case anyone happens to be home, Luk and I lay down on the northbound roadway and I peer through the scope searching for any evidence of current residents. Grit lies down next to me, his front paws extended out in front.

After a few minutes of probing, I lower the rifle and set it carefully on the ground next to me. I prop myself up on my elbows and turn my head to look at Luk.

Well?

I don’t see anything, but there are a lot of small buildings down there, any one of which could be occupied.

He sighs. What do you want to do?

Honestly, I’d rather skip it, I answer before pausing, but this may be one of the few cities we're going to see until we're through the Deadlands.

I know, he says, his brow furrowing. I don’t really want to go down there either, but I think we have to.

Well, there’s no time like the present.

We start down the road, walking slowly towards town. Grit is about ten yards in front of us constantly searching for any threats; his head flicking right and left. The ramp that leads into what looks like the central business district is completely devoid of vehicles, which for some reason makes me feel uneasy. Downtown Idaho Springs looks almost exactly the same as Silverthorne, except for the complete absence of any automobiles. No cars are parked in the spaces that front the former small town businesses. The place looks like it was abandoned with a plan. There are no signs of chaos as there were in so many of the other towns we passed through.

Of course, many of the windows are broken and the doors thrown down, but it looks more like looting that came after the town had been evacuated. Unfortunately, it doesn’t look like there's much left here to scavenge. Water is our biggest concern, but there seems little chance of finding any here. The whole area seems dry, from the trees full of dead or brown leaves to the burned and brittle grasses. Luk walks alongside me, allowing his fingers to brush against my leg or side periodically. I smile to myself each time he touches me.

Seems pretty well cleaned out, he says as we walk past an old hardware store with no windows.

Yeah, I was hoping we might be able to at least find some water, but I don’t think that’s going to happen.

Suddenly, I notice that Grit has stopped a few yards from us and is standing dead still, his tail down, but not tucked. I extend my arm out and touch Luk’s side as I stop in the middle of the street. He looks at my arm and then at my face.

What? he asks.

Look at Grit.

He's still frozen in place, staring off to the right, as if he's studying something that we can’t see. I can feel my heart pounding hard against my chest as we stand there watching him. I reach back and retrieve my pistol, pulling the slide before I start dragging Luk up onto the sidewalk outside an abandoned insurance agency office. He retrieves his bow and a single arrow, holding the weapon in his right hand, the notch on the string.

All of the sudden, Grit spins in place and starts running back towards us, barking loudly, as if he's trying to tell us to run like hell. Luk and I start backing up, moving as quickly as we can. I'm not willing to turn around without knowing what's chasing us. Grit reaches us and then turns around, facing whatever frightened him. He might be scared, but he won’t leave me. I look at Luk and he shakes his head. Just then, four huge dunehounds come around the corner where Grit had been standing, but there's something different about these beasts. Their hair is grey, instead of the normal brown or beige and rather than the huge tusks running down their backs they seem to be covered in what look like porcupine quills.

I stand, frozen in place by morbid curiosity as the hound in the front of the pack seems to shiver then I hear an odd sound, like when you flick your finger against the inside of your cheek. Long, thick black quills come shooting out of his back directly at me. I dodge to the right just in time as a dozen or more twelve-inch long spikes imbed themselves in the doorframe just to my right. I feel Luk’s hand on my shoulder as he starts dragging me backwards.

Let’s go! he yells.

I snap out of my stupor, turn clumsily and start running after Luk and Grit. When I glance back, three hounds are racing after us. I catch up to them, my pack banging uncomfortably against my back.

What the hell are those things?

Luk shakes his head. No idea. They look like dunes but I’ve never heard of one shooting things like that!

We turn the corner at the end of the street and I stumble, nearly losing my balance, but Luk grabs my arm and helps me to regain my footing. I nod and smile at him and he returns the gesture. When I look back, they're close behind us and then I hear that sound again, followed by a sharp burning sensation in my right calf, thigh, and buttocks. I feel myself slowing down as Luk and Grit pull further away. The pain in my leg increases exponentially.

Luk! I yell as I begin stumbling along.

He looks back at me, his eyes widening in horror. He drops his pack and starts running back to me. He has his bow in one hand and four arrows in the other. I know I can’t run anymore. The pain is becoming almost too much to even stand. I turn and face my attackers, raising my pistol and aiming for the one in the front of the pack. My hand is shaking and sweat is dripping into my eyes. I fire twice in quick succession and the lead hound goes down hard, end over end on the hard asphalt street, but that doesn't slow the other two. With a hand that's trembling so much now that I can barely keep the weapon sighted I fire again, but miss. At that moment, Luk comes charging up to me shooting one arrow after the other. One hound goes down, an arrow buried in its skull and the second one skids to a halt a few yards from Luk.

I'm starting to feel lightheaded as I stand next to him, trying to hold my pistol up, but something is bothering me.

That’s just three. Where’s the other one?

The survivor of the trio is staring us down, his back bristling with quills, as he slowly sidesteps in front of us. Luk has an arrow on the string, ready to fire, and only one more in the quiver. I can see the strain on his face from holding it taut for such an extended period of time. Suddenly, Grit comes racing by us and hurtles himself at the dunehound, grasping it by the neck and somehow wrestling it to the ground.

Grit! I yell and then I start wobbling as everything begins spinning.

As I'm falling to the ground, I see Grit fighting with the much larger hound and Luk turning on his heel as the missing member of the pack darts out from between two buildings behind us, its jaws snapping. I roll over on the ground onto my stomach, raise my pistol and fire two shots at the one behind us, shattering his skull. I drop my pistol as I try and pull myself up onto the sidewalk, my right leg almost useless. Turning my head, I see Grit thrown into the air by the hound as he shakes him off his neck. He lands with a thud onto the sidewalk, limp as a rag doll.

No! I shout.

As the beast moves towards Grit, Luk lets his arrow fly, piercing the hound in the side, but it doesn’t drop; instead it turns and charges at him. In a flash, Luk has a second arrow ready and the twang of the string is followed by a yelp and the final hound falls silent. I start dragging myself across the sidewalk towards Grit, tears streaming down my cheeks. Luk drops his bow and rushes to my side.

Check on Grit! I yell at him, meaner than I really want to.

He runs over to Grit and places his hands on his chest and then his neck. I watch as his head drops, and without him even saying anything I already know. I start screaming as he walks back over. He scoops me up in his arms, lifting me off the sidewalk and moves towards one of the empty storefronts. I bury my face in his chest, crying and wailing uncontrollably. He kicks the old wooden door open and carries me inside, laying me gently on my left side on a small wooden counter. I look up at him and he can't make eye contact with me.

Check on him again! I demand between the sobs and gasps for air.

He just shakes his head slowly. Rayn...he’s gone, he says, his words strangled by his own tears.

I raise myself up and start pounding his chest with my fists.

Check him again! I plead with him.

He lowers his head and sighs as he walks outside while I lay on the counter staring at the doorway. I know in my mind that Grit's dead; I could tell by the way he hit the sidewalk, but I can't make my heart believe it. A few moments later, Luk walks back inside, alone.

We have to get you taken care of, he says, his voice flat, but firm.

I don’t even ask. He turns me so I'm lying on my stomach. I'm sniffling and trying to wipe the tears off my face as I feel Luk’s hands on my calf and thigh. The pain is nearly unbearable, and I feel myself wavering between awareness and blacking out.

You have four of those quills stuck in you, Luk says, or at least that’s what I think he says.

Luckily for me I pass out.

* * * *

When I come around I'm still lying on the old counter, the right leg of my jeans is missing all the way up to my waist. Luk is slumped in the corner, his head resting on his knees. I look down at my leg; there are four bandages, two on my calf and one each on my thigh and buttocks. I try and move my leg and I'm rewarded with a shot of pain that nearly takes my breath away. My shifting around rouses Luk and he lifts his head slowly, looking at me with tired, red eyes.

Try not to move too much. They were pretty deep. I had to cut three of them out and stitch you up, he says from his position on the floor, his voice tired and sad.

I nod and lay back down on my stomach, turning my head so I can look at him, resting my chin on my arm.

Oh yeah, I got these for you, he says, lifting a pair of blue jeans off the floor. Found them in a house around the corner."

Thanks. I pause before asking, Did you take care of Grit?

He nods and then looks down at the floor. I buried him around the corner. There’s a little field with an old oak tree. You can visit him later.

I feel a few more tears welling in my eyes as I lay there looking at Luk.

I’m sorry I yelled at you, I say as I suddenly start crying again.

He slowly gets to his feet and walks over to the counter. Leaning over me, he drapes his arm across my back and places a soft, gentle kiss on my cheek.

It’s okay. He strokes my hair gently.

I swallow a sob as I reach up and touch his face, running my fingers across his cheek. What time of day is it?

It’s late afternoon, Luk replies as he stands up and moves back to the end of the counter. A moment later I feel his hands on my bare leg and that familiar warm feeling moves through me. Are you hungry?

I don’t think so. How long is this going to take to heal?

He shakes his head. I don’t know. I got everything out, but the way you were acting, there must have been some sort of toxin too, and those effects may take longer to go away. How's your leg feel?

It hurts like hell, I reply, answering truthfully.

He nods. Not surprising. You should take it easy the rest of the day and then tomorrow we can see how things stand.

I reach out and take his hand as he walks back around the counter again. He doesn’t squeeze my fingers like he always does, so I grip his hand harder and pull him to me.

What’s the matter? I ask, although I think I know the answer already.

I’m sorry I couldn’t save him, he says as tears suddenly begin rolling down his face.

I shake my head. It wasn’t your fault, Luk. You were doing everything you could and he was doing what he did best, protecting us, I say firmly, although my voice cracks on the last few words as I choke back tears.

He sighs and drops to his knees in front of me, his head down as he continues to cry. I release his hand and run my fingers through his hair as he slumps against the counter just below me.

Chapter Three

The next morning we're standing in front of a small, freshly dug grave under