Dust in the Wind

Chapter 1 - The Chase

2500 years later....

The respirator hissed as she breathed, the gasmask snug against the bottom half of her face. Eyes the colour of stormy clouds scanned the husk of the city square. Ancient asphalt lay out under her feet as she tightened her grip on the rifle in her hands. The city lay in ruins, buildings collapsed, ancient metal rusted and decaying until only a mirage of the once life-filled metropolis was left for the eye to traverse. She turned her attention briefly towards the scientists as they directed the dig team to try and uncover the relic that lay under the earth that had accumulated over the once pristine streets where metal contraptions called cars  once drove past carrying their human passengers. A quick glance to the side revealed the horses hitched to their carts, large, muscled creatures with short coarse fur that covered them head to hoof. Long serpentine necks and tails stretched out their already long bodies and a short mane ran from between bat-sized ears to the base of their necks and a fan-like patch of fur covered the last half of their tails. Three sets of eyes watched the area as keenly as any proud Guardian that stood at their post while coal black hooves that could cave in a man's skull pawed the pale earth with anxiety.

      She shook her head, chuckling to herself after another quick survey of the area, ignoring her fellow Guardians and the men that dug under the strict gaze of their betters. She had heard stories when she was a child, those fairytales that had survived the years being re-written and redrawn as the original books rotted away, and remembered the pictures of horses, sleek majestic creatures so different from the beasts that existed in her time. They seemed out of place, those pictures, an oddity that could only exist in that dream before the nuclear winter, creatures that belonged in fairytales just as much as the dragons and werewolves.

She froze as she breathed, dissecting the different scents that made their way through the respirator.

      Hunters.

She turned towards the others, seeing the same alarm in the other Guardians' eyes, one of them moving from their allocated spot to tell the excavators to be ready to ditch their equipment and run. A series of nods went through the others as cartridges were checked and guns cocked in preparation to defend those now rushing through their dig. Another deep breath and the alarm lessened, the traces were fainter, slowly moving away from their small congregation. She raised her hand making a swift hand gesture over her shoulder and could almost feel the tension being relieved as they relaxed.

The crunch of the boots compressing the soil was her only warning before a hand rested on her already tense shoulder, 'Alright Felicia, take a break, you look about ready to shoot one of those poor scientists if they as much as cough without warning.'

      She turned to face the man that spoke to her, voice gruff with too many years working as a Guardian. It was their job to make sure the scientists made it back in one piece. At least at this contract it was. They were hired arms used to protect trading conveys, travelling civilians, big-headed scientists who couldn't leave the past alone... basically anyone who strayed from the armed walls of the cities into Hunter territory.  She nodded to him, 'Alright Max, don't strain yourself too much old man.' She chuckled, a grin working its way onto her face from under the mask. Max frowned at her before waving her off, 'Who are you calling "old man", I'm barely out of my thirties, you hear?'

      Felicia could hear the humour in his voice as she walked over to the carts, absentmindedly patting the snout of one of the horses as she worked her way to over to the dig site. She slung her rifle easily over her shoulder as she walked, the action second-instinct. Max was right though, for your average person he was in the prime of his life, for a Guardian though, he was pushing retirement. She'd seen him a few times around the Academy while she was still being trained, even then he had hard eyes and an even harder face. Grey hairs graced his otherwise brown hair, a firm reminder that there was plenty of stress working out in the field where your own life was second priority. Now he had even more grey in his hair and crows-feet around his eyes, betraying his experience and age. When he did finally retire the Academy would have a feast in his honour, the city would probably even put on a firework show and spend an entire day celebrating the fact that they had a Guardian live long enough to retire.