The Last Ranger

Chapter 3: Journey to Sanctuary

Claudia helped dig the graves. Three shallow ones, about a mile away from their house. Her father... Monroe stripped bodies before burning their clothes and taking their most precious belongings. "It will look like a robbery. No one will suspect us." He said as he emptied the elf woman's pockets. Inside the pockets, there was nothing of value. The attackers only came to Sanctuary F-19 with their weapons and the clothes on their backs. Claudia covered the graves, trying to forget the image of the dead. She could not. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw their faces lingering in the dark before they were covered by dirt.

She did not sleep that night either. When Claudia and Monroe returned from gravedigging, Monroe did not wait a second. "Start to pack. We must leave with the tax collectors." Pack she did, taking what little clothes and other belongings she had, placing them in a small brown knapsack that she threw over her shoulder without struggle. Around her waist, she wore the belt and gun her father... Monroe had given her earlier for her birthday. Most of his belongings, he wore: The brown cloak and hat of a Ranger. A small sack filled with clothes, food, and other supplies hung around his shoulder while he held his rifle. Claudia knew that underneath the brown coat, his revolver rested in its belt.

They left the house before dawn, sneaking through the forest. Monroe was alert, flinching at each sound. Although Claudia was less fidgety, she kept her head on a swivel, keeping an eye out for any oddities. Monroe coughed just before they left the forest wall. It was a violent cough that lasted a few seconds. Claudia moved closer, her hand reaching out. "I am fine," Monroe said, swiping her hand away.

Beyond the forest, a morning mist hung low above the ground, casting an eerie image over the farmlands. The yellow crops floated above the ground, their stems hidden underneath the fog, waving with the wind. Dawn was breaking in the west, and with the first light of day, the farmers would awaken to tend to their fields. After the festival, there would be a lot of work and no time to lose. Then, above came a boom, then another, as two small space shuttles entered the atmosphere, breaking the sound barrier.

"Our ride," Monroe whispered. They crossed the fields, making their way to the small town beyond. The town was already awake. Farmers and hunters were making their way to the general store to get first pickings at the restocked inventory, while others made their way to the shuttles to deliver their taxed produce.

"Mr. Monroe." A friendly voice came from behind. Doctor Eileen had her medical bag in hand and a surprised smile on her face. "I was just heading out to your house." The doctor said.

"O," Monroe spoke carefully, eyeing Claudia. I forgot to tell him. "I am sorry, Eileen, but we must go."

"Go? Claudia said you were sick."

"I am sure it is nothing, Eileen. Just a cold. Please forgive us, but we must leave with the shuttles." He tried his best to break the conversation, but the doctor insisted.

"Shuttles? Are you going off-world?"

"Yes." Claudia stepped in, forcing a friendly smile. "A Birthday present. Father has booked us a surprise trip. Isn't that right, father."

"Yes," Monroe said awkwardly. "We are going to... Gambit."

"Gambit... That is a distant world." The doctor said with a worried look. "Just don't lose all your money at the tables."

"We won't," Monroe said before coughing.

"Are you sure you're fine?" Eileen questioned. Monroe only nodded.

"If it gets worse, doc, I will take him to a hospital," Claudia said. "I promise you."

Leaving the doctor behind, they crossed the lonely street and walked past the general store. There, waiting on the two landing pads, the two shuttles waited. One was being emptied, while the other was being filled with produce and other goods gathered by hunters. The shuttles were not large vessels; they could carry 20 people each, but they were made for cargo hauling, as there was no place for passengers inside their spacious cargo holds. Instead, rows of ropes and boxes stood ready to secure trading goods. Shackled Sentinels did the heavy lifting, carrying taxed produce onboard or removing potential trading goods from the shuttles.