The History Runner

7 - James

Damon only stopped late that night, still more than twenty miles from the refuge. He didn't bother to eat -- he didn't feel hungry. He did feed Rebekah, though, and emptied an entire canteen of water, trembling all the while.

His dreams were crimson and violent. The faces of his friends swam in his mind, howling incomprehensibly. He knelt, shrieking with them, unable to move until the rising of the sun finally woke him.

As they ran the next day, Rebekah seemed to notice something was wrong. She stayed closer to him than usual, and when he began to grow tired, she would stop and refuse to go any further until he rested. Her perception surprised him, and it comforted him to know at least one soul cared for him.

Once, Rebekah abruptly paused and dived behind a sheaf of thick bushes. Damon frowned, puzzled, as they had just stopped minutes ago. Then faint voices reached his ear, and Damon joined Rebekah.

"...don't know what that idiot will do to us if we don't finish our quota," one was saying as they drew closer.

"Probably punish us again, you know that. He's still furious over losing that other group of... what were they called. Archivers? He'll probably have us whipped something awful. Right, James?"

"Oh, I don't think he even could punish me," the one called James said. "After all, I'm only stopping by this place shortly. I'll have to be leaving soon."

"No one leaves Pine Mine City without the boss's permission," a fourth one said. "No one would even dare."

"I will," James said. "By the time he notices I'm gone, I'll be so far away he'll have no hope of catching me."

"Yeah, right," scoffed the first. The voices grew quieter as the group moved farther away, still debating about James's chances of escaping.

Damon crept from his hiding place and then froze, staring into the eyes of a tall, orange haired man. The newcomer cocked his head toward the now distant group. "You'd think they'd check to see if the subject of their conversation was still with them."

Damon remained silent, hand on his revolver. "If you want to bypass town," James continued, "my suggestion is don't try to. You'd never get past the Preserver patrols, or the sensors. Not without help." James turned to leave.

"What about you?" Damon found himself asking. "How will you escape?"

"I have my ways." With that, he sped off, humming a merry tune the whole while.

Damon stood, trying to dispel the odd feeling the conversation had left him with and focus on the new information. What had they said about another group of Archivists? He knew of no nearby bases, but Archivists posts didn't know about all the others. Could one have been hit, and some had escaped?

There was also the other information. About the town's defenses. He didn't entirely trust James's words, but he knew when he was being lied to. James wasn't lying. Or believed he wasn't.

Frowning, Damon whipped out his map and scanned it. To his dismay, it showed no towns anywhere near his approximate location. He cursed. The map was outdated. Damon had no way of knowing the town's borders, or how far its defenses extended.

If you want to bypass town, my suggestion is don't try to.

The seeds of an idea began to grow. A risky idea, yes. But it was the only one he could think of.

Stooping, he picked up a handful of dirt and began smearing it on his face, trying to figure out the appearance of a miner.