Page 10 of Beast in the Badlands
“What?” My voice comes out rougher than intended as I adjust myself on the table beneath the blanket.
“Just checking your vitals again,” she says quietly without moving closer.
“Why?” I challenge lightly through gritted teeth.
“Because unlike you,” she replies with a smirk creeping onto her face, “I’m not planning on letting you die on my watch.”
I can't help but admire her resolve even amid chaos and uncertainty surrounding us both. Somehow—even while lying here wounded—I sense there’s more strength within this human than meets the eye. And perhaps that fragility I so readily mocked isn’t so fragile after all.
As silence falls between us once more—a comfortable kind where our pasts linger but don’t suffocate—I allow myself to breathe again—and for just a moment—dream of what could be amidst all that darkness we carry.
CHAPTER 8
EMRY
The solar cart hums softly beneath my hands as I steer it back toward the crash site, the old wheels creaking with every bump in the terrain. The wreckage looms in the distance, a jagged scar on the landscape. I scan the horizon for any sign of danger, my heart thudding against my ribs.
I shouldn’t be doing this. I should just leave him behind—let nature reclaim him as it has so many others. He’s an alien, one known for brutality, and every horror story I’ve heard whispers through my mind like a ghost.
But something tightens in my chest at the thought of abandoning him. He’s wounded, and while he might be a Reaper—whatever that means—he doesn’t seem so terrifying when he’s unconscious and bleeding out on my makeshift table.
“Damn it,” I huff out, pushing through my doubts as I approach the wreckage.
I park the cart close to where his ship crashed and begin to sift through the debris, eyes peeled for anything salvageable—medical supplies would be ideal, but I’ll take whatever I can find. Metal scraps, cables, anything that might help me patch him up or barter with. Not to mention, we're running low on just about everything back at the med zone.
As I dig deeper into the wreckage, searching for remnants of hope among twisted metal and shattered dreams, a sound pricks at my ears—a footstep too close for comfort. My heart thumps wildly as I turn slowly, scanning the area around me.
A figure emerges from behind a piece of jagged metal—tall and lean with a sneer etched across his face. He wears tattered combat gear marked with symbols of one of the factions that fought in orbit.
“Well, well,” he drawls, brandishing a weapon that glints menacingly in what little light filters through the clouds. “What do we have here? A little scavenger trying to play hero?”
“Back off,” I say firmly, though my pulse quickens.
He steps closer, eyes narrowed like a predator sizing up prey. “You’re not in charge here. Hand over your gear before things get messy.”
I take a breath and try to reason with him. “This isn’t yours. Neither is my gear. Back off.”
He scoffs at my words, confidence brimming as he paces toward me. “I'm the one who shot this shit down. Everything here is mine now.”
I clench my fists at my sides; fear gnaws at me but doesn’t overshadow the anger rising like bile in my throat. “You think you can just take what you want?”
His grin widens—a predatory flash that sends icy tendrils down my spine.
“Yeah,” he says simply.
Time slows as tension thickens between us—I refuse to back down even when every instinct screams at me to run. This bastard came here for supplies—and now he wants to take something a little extra.
“I know what you’re thinking but?—”
Before I can finish, he lunges. His weight crashes into me, knocking the breath from my lungs as he drags me to theground. My pulse races as I struggle against him, my hands pushing against his shoulders.
“Get off!” I shout, twisting beneath him. He grabs at my pants, fingers fumbling like a leech searching for a vein. Panic surges through me, and instinct kicks in—I scoop up a handful of ashen sand and hurl it into his face.
He howls, eyes widening in surprise as the gritty substance blinds him momentarily. But fury replaces shock. He slams his fist into my gut, and fire erupts in my abdomen. Stars dance across my vision.
I gasp for air, trying to wriggle free, but he grips my wrists with iron-like strength, pinning them above my head. “You’re not getting away that easy, you fucking whore,” he growls, leaning closer.
Before I can react, the scout suddenly goes flying off me.
