Page 37 of Deserted

“Can it track us?” I asked, my voice sounding thin against the desert’s growing chorus of mechanical awakening.

“Yes,” Rhaekar answered simply. “But not quickly. Not yet. The systems are old, degraded. It will take time for them to fully reactivate.”

Time we could use to put distance between us and whatever was waking.

We moved like shadows across the dunes, our steps quick but controlled. Rhaekar led the way, his superior night vision and desert knowledge guiding our path. Our bond hummed between us, a golden thread that kept us connected even when we weren’t speaking. I could feel his heightened senses—the way he processed scents on the wind, the subtle vibrations through the sand, the distant sounds my human ears couldn’t detect.

“Stay in my footsteps,” he instructed, voice low. “The sand here is loose. Easy to leave trails.”

I followed precisely, placing my boots where his had been. Behind us, the network of glowing fissures continued to spread, geometric patterns splintering across the desert floor like cracks in glass. The blue-white light they emitted felt wrong—too sterile, too cold against the natural darkness of the night.

“What exactly are we running from?” I asked, breath coming in controlled bursts as we navigated a steep incline.

Rhaekar paused at the crest, scanning the terrain ahead. “Legion containment systems. Automated drones and sentinels programmed to capture and examine anything anomalous.”

“Like me.”

“Like you,” he confirmed, helping me up the final stretch. His hand lingered on mine, the contact sending reassurance through our bond. “But they’re old. Sluggish. We have the advantage of speed.”

No sooner had the words left his mouth than a mechanical whine cut through the night air. We both turned to look backacross the basin we’d just crossed. Something was rising from one of the larger fissures—a slender metal pillar that unfurled like a deadly flower, extending upward until it towered fifteen feet above the desert floor. At its top, a sensor array rotated slowly, scanning methodically in widening circles.

“Shit,” I breathed.

“Perimeter marker,” Rhaekar explained, pulling me down into a crouching position. “It’s establishing a containment zone.”

Through our bond, I caught glimpses of knowledge—technical schematics, training briefings, field reports about these systems. The markers formed the boundaries; what came next would be the hunters.

As if responding to my thought, the ground thirty yards from the first marker bulged upward. Sand cascaded down as something pushed its way to the surface—something metallic and articulated, with multiple limbs and a housing unit where a head should be. It rose fully from the desert floor, shaking off sand like a dog coming in from rain, its movements unnervingly organic despite its clearly mechanical nature.

“Sentinel unit,” Rhaekar growled, the sound vibrating through his chest against my back. “Mark II. Crowd control and capture.”

The sentinel swiveled what passed for its head, a ring of sensors glowing the same eerie blue as the fissures. It began to move across the sand with surprising grace, each leg finding perfect purchase despite the shifting terrain.

“We need to move. Now.” Rhaekar pulled me up, guiding me toward a jagged rock formation half a mile east. “If we can reach those outcroppings, we can mask our heat signatures.”

We half-ran, half-slid down the back side of the dune, using its bulk to shield us from the sentinel’s sensors. I could feel Rhaekar’s strategic mind working through our bond—calculating angles, evaluating risks, formulating and discarding options with military precision.

“What happens if those things catch up to us?” I asked, though part of me didn’t want to know.

His grip on my hand tightened fractionally. “They’re designed to subdue and contain. Not kill. But their methods aren’t…gentle.”

More sentinels were emerging now, at least five that I could count, spreading out in a search pattern from the central marker. Behind them, smaller units skittered across the sand—disc-shaped machines that moved like crabs, leaving faint blue trails of light in their wake.

“Trackers,” Rhaekar explained, following my gaze. “They detect biochemical signatures, residual energy patterns. They’ll be looking for yours.”

We reached the base of the rock formation just as one of the trackers changed direction, heading toward the path we’d taken across the dunes. Its blue sensor light brightened as it picked up our trail.

“It’s found us,” I whispered, fingers tightening on the rifle strap.

Rhaekar’s eyes narrowed, his calculating gaze taking in our surroundings. “Not yet. It’s found where we were. Come.”

He led me into a narrow crevice between two massive sandstone boulders. The passage twisted sharply, opening into a small natural chamber barely large enough for the two of us. The stone walls would block our heat signatures, and the winding entrance would prevent direct line of sight from the trackers’ sensors.

“How long can we stay here?” I asked, setting down my pack.

“Not long,” Rhaekar answered, positioning himself so he could see the entrance while keeping me behind him. “But long enough to let the first wave pass.”

Through our bond, I felt his tactical assessment—the positioning of the sentinels, their likely search patterns, the optimal timing for our next move. His mind worked with impressive efficiency, mapping escape routes and contingencies.

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