The Wanderers

They stopped several feet away, one of the hunters holding up his hand to indicate he wasn't hostile, "Salutations."

Richie grunted, "Something we can help you gentlemen with?"

"We're just looking for some food, we've got credits to exchange. Perhaps if you'd allow it, we could ride with your caravan to New Washington," he offered in a gruff voice.

I silently cursed; the law obligated us to assist hunters with whatever they asked. The offer of paying in credits was a generous one, though here on the trail credits didn't count for a shit and most bartered the old fashioned way. The issue I had was them joining us—our charges wouldn't take well to a bounty amongst our ranks, especially a wanderer, "Well we can fix up a meal for supper then discuss the rest. I hope you'll oblige me though and take up a position outside of the caravan, away from the city slickers."

"Of course," the other hunter nodded, "we'll set up camp a scant klick away."

I nodded, watching them go with a frown. I should have been grateful that they didn't want to camp within the circle but what this youngin considered a scant klick was barely fifty yards at best. Richie and I exchanged a glance before heading back into the caravan, towards the lead wagon where our belongings were kept.

We had offered Mr. Davidson a reduction on his fees if he agreed to carry our supplies; if I had spent a little more time assessing his character, though, I would have chosen someone else—Mr. Davidson believed that our offer carried with it some weight of superiority over the other members of the caravan and he generally saw fit to give his opinion on matters that he had no control over. This, was one of them.

"Are those bounty hunters?" He said, incredulously. I ignored him while grabbing some cooking supplies, a slab of steak, some butter powder, carrots and beets. My obvious disinterest in his attempt at conversation was not swayed as he continued, "You can't seriously be considering allowing them to join us, can you?"

Richie was never as patient as I and his growly voice made it clear to Mr. Davidson just exactly why we were in charge, "National law dictates that we cannot refuse the requests of hunters when they have bounty in tow. It is our duty—yours too, Mr. Davidson—to see to it that they receive whatever assistance they require to bring their bounty to justice." After narrowing his eyes, indicating that there was no room for argument from the man, Richie turned and walked off with the cooking equipment. Carrying the food, I followed suit.

We built a fire in silence, working in tandem as we had thousands of times before, my son seeing to the vegetables while I cut up the meat and worked it into the large cast iron pot hanging over the open flames. I added plenty of dehydrated butter, stirring in some water to bring it back to the right consistency. Letting the food sauté, we sat and stared at each other.

"How do we get them to leave our caravan?" I asked Richie in a hushed voice so that no one else could hear the words.

He shook his head, responding in kind, "I don't know that we can. It has been a long time since we saw hunters with a bounty," he added, stirring our food, "I thought for sure that all of the original wanderers had been wiped out or captured."

"As did I," and it was true; the government never offered payment for a bounty unless it was a pure blood. All half breeds were killed on sight, that is, if one survived their raids long enough to respond in kind.

I rose, grabbing some plates and utensils, slinging a water canteen over my shoulder while Richie pulled on his thick leather gloves and hoisted up the pot by the handle. We walked out of the camp, not acknowledging or responding to any hails by our charges. The sun had set finally, the temperature dropping down to be comfortable; the hunters had tended to their horses and built themselves a small fire to sit around. Their bounty was slumped almost awkwardly, against a large rock, bound feet in front of it, hands still behind it, hood still darkening whatever face lie beneath.

They greeted us with a nod; I sat down, handing Richie plates to fill before he handed them off to the hunters. When they immediately began eating, my son and I exchanged a glance before looking at their bounty.

Richie filled another plate, "Are one of you going to feed him?" He asked, motioning to the bound creature against the rock.

One of the men snorted, chewing his meat carefully before responding, "Not one of those alien humping activists, are you?"

"No," Richie replied, sitting down cross legged while he stirred his food, "but we do have plenty of those in our caravan, several of them high up the ladder. International law dictates the ethical treatment of wanderers, it just seems stupid on your part to risk breaking it."

He was walking a fine line, my son; neither of us really gave a shit about wanderers, but being outright cruel to any creature was where we drew the line, "How long since he ate?" I asked.

One of the hunters turned his narrowed gaze away from Richie and to me, "Five days. They can go seven, though. If our bounty hadn't have put up such a fight in the first place, we would have been more considerate. But you are more than welcome to tend to it, at your own risk of course."

His words made it clear just how inexperienced at life he was, neither of them couldn't be older than thirty real years. If they had been around since the beginning, they'd know there was nothing to fear from an original wanderer. I filled up a plate, pouring some water into a tin cup before walking over to the bounty. I knelt at its side, setting the items down before reaching up and pushing back the hood. A sideways glance at Richie and I knew he was just as shocked as me, even if neither of us showed it.

Vibrant green eyes looked over my face; there was no fear, no hatred in them, simply a tired curiosity. Her golden brown hair had been hastily braided behind her head, her matte golden skin was caked in dirt and dust, evidence of the hunters' lack of empathy to the creature. Wanderers never liked to be filthy, they were inherently clean by nature. The gag was tied tight, digging into her cheeks, spreading her full lips apart.

My jaw clenched, I was pissed. My hands shook, barely able to contain the rage as I reached up and untied the gag. She wiggled her mouth a little, trying to ease the stiffness. My eyes flickered over to Richie and he realized in that minute glance what I wanted.

"So, how much is the government offering you for the bounty?" He asked, drawing the hunters' attention away from me.

As they chattered on, I drew a kerchief out of my pocket, wetting it down with some water from the cup before wiping her face clean. She was an immaculate creature, a pinnacle of perfection and the first female wanderer I ever saw. I knew their males greatly outnumbered their females, maybe fifty to one if not more. Since Day One, a female wanderer being captured always made the headlines because they were even more mysterious than the alien race themselves.

She didn't shy away from me as I cleaned her off, her eyes instead intently fixated on my blank face. She was smart enough not to attempt a conversation, at least not with her hunters so close. I held the cup up to her lips and she drank down the entire thing before graciously eating what I offered. In between bites I whispered, "They didn't...rape you, did they?"

Those almost glowing, large pupils stared at me before she slightly shook her head in response. It was a gamble on my part, I knew that most half bred wanderers didn't bother learning English but I figured she knew it. We knew so little about them, I wasn't sure if she was one of the original creatures we blasted out of the sky or if she was progeny of them; since the full blooded wanderers didn't age it was hard to tell.

Once she finished eating, I carefully drew her hood back up to cover her face, intentionally leaving her gag free—there was no reason for it. I seriously doubted she put up much of a fight if any at all to earn the mistreatment of her hunters. I refilled the plate, sitting beside Richie and joining in on the conversation, casually exchanging whatever news we had with the men.

After we all ate our fill, one of them finally said, "I hope it isn't much of a burden, us joining your caravan."

Richie opened his mouth to speak but I cut him off, "As long as you promise to camp away from the circle at night and follow behind the tail horse during the day, I don't see it being a problem."

My son tensed a little, obviously surprised by my acceptance; he recovered smoothly by adding, "Credits do little good out here, you'll have to pull your own and hunt for game when the opportunity presents itself. Plenty of the settlers have other dry goods to trade for fresh meat. And it would ease their worry if you treated your bounty more humanely."

I had to admit, it was a nice touch—I taught my son well. The hunters begrudgingly agreed before we rose and bid them goodnight. Our walk through the dark back to the circle was silent, as it was when we cleaned up the dinner mess and stowed our supplies back in the lead wagon. Once we were around our camp fire in the middle of the circle, I unrolled my sleeping blanket, laid down and rested my head on my pack. I thought for sure Richie had already gone to sleep but his quiet voice cut into my thoughts.

"There's nothing we can do for her," he pointed out.

I knew he was right, just like he knew how I felt—like father, like son. "I know," I replied, though it didn't mean I was giving up.

...

I woke two hours before sunrise, as I always did; Richie was still deep in his slumber as were all of our charges and no doubt the hunters and wanderer as well. I quietly groaned while stretching out my long limbs; no matter how old or young I got, sleeping on the ground still sucked. I sat up stiffly, rising to my feet with some reluctance before buckling on my gun belt and rolling up my blanket.

A silent stroll around the circle affirmed that everything was well enough. I fished out the pack of simulated coffee and mixed myself up a cup with the hot water from the pot resting on the embers of our fire. Taking the time to get my old bones working again I headed outside of the circle to take a look around. I was lucky enough to find another small ridge nearby. It took me a little bit to climb it but once I did I stood on top, scanning out over the terrain below. The hunters were still asleep by their burnt out fire but I was surprised to discover the wanderer sitting up rolling her head around to stretch out her neck. After days of being bound she was no doubt in worse condition than I had ever been; I felt sorry for her, truly. It wasn't their fault they were stranded here, it was ours, everything nothing more than a result of egotistical men flaunting their power. If it was even remotely possible I'd see her be set free again, returned to her own people. Maybe that sentiment would get me killed finally but if so, so be it. I wasn't about to stop being myself simply because the entire world changed around me.

I sipped the hot, disgusting black liquid; if it weren't packed full of vitamins and minerals, all of the good stuff that the law required but no doubt made it taste like shit, I might have given up on the empty tradition a long time ago. The open prairie below unfolded to me in the lightening of the new day; the tall grass swayed in the light breeze, only interrupted on occasion by dead trees, an abandoned house, the carcass of car or some other relic of a time long ago. Things were much more peaceful out here, only one goal to focus on: survive. It was never that simple in the cities, humans always managing to overcomplicate things, argue over policy or credits, fight for power. That was part of the reason why I never stayed around too long, retreating to the serenity of the wild world—well that, and being perpetually stuck within time. There weren't many of us elders around anymore, maybe a couple hundred among the hardly half a million humans left on this planet. Most of those who survived Day One gave up after a few hundred years of cycling but those that stuck it out, the stubborn sons of bitches like Richie and I, were practically worshiped as gods. It was disgusting, the idolization of the younger generations; despite putting us on a pedestal for something we never asked for, they were too dumb to learn from our mistakes.

I glanced down at the still form of the wanderer, wondering if the eyes that were hidden by her hood were focused on my face, if she was watching me just as intently as I her. It was a stupid notion that crossed my mind, pondering if the female aliens could be as kind and sating to human men as their men were to our women. I just about looked away when I noticed her form stiffen and her head jerk to the side, out to the tall grass a hundred yards away. My gaze followed hers, wondering what she saw though deep within my gut I knew exactly what it was. I tossed out the remnants of my simulated coffee and bolted down the ridge, running as fast as I dared into the middle of the camp. I swiftly kicked Richie's boots while grabbing my rifle.

He jerked awake and upon seeing that I armed myself he jumped to his feet and did the same. We followed our agreed upon plan; he went for Mr. Davidson to tell him what to do while I climbed on top of the wagon closest to the hunters, lying on my belly, ready to snipe whatever enemy dare draw near. I probably should have warned the hunters, but, eh, honestly I didn't give a fuck about them. Whatever raiding party this was would kill them without remorse for capturing a wanderer woman; if we were lucky, they'd call it a win and leave the caravan alone.

I saw the grass shift closer this time, finally able to make out the pitch black hair on top of the half breed head; flicking the safety off of my rifle, I honed in on it. The wanderers were tough creatures, anything short of a head shot wouldn't kill them and rarely did they slow down otherwise. When it got close to the hunters' camp and I saw it raise a knife, I squeezed down on the trigger. The high pitched, soft whine of the energy weapon jolted out across the otherwise silent prairie, cleanly blasting through the wanderer's head. The hunters both startled awake at the sound, barely missing a beat as they rolled over onto their bellies, grabbing their pistols.

These encounters weren't like my old westerns; the wanderers never came in screaming their war cries, instead each one of them silently stalked through the tall grass in a crouch, considering themselves a lone hunter though when it was strategically advantageous, they would combine their forces. I hated it when that happened.

Once I knew Richie had set up his position below me, I belly crawled away from the action and pulled out my scope to scan the surrounding grass beyond the far side of the circle; my fears were confirmed, there were more wanderers slinking in at our rear. I didn't have time to count but I knew they greatly outnumbered us. Whenever I got a clean shot I squeezed the trigger, each high pitch whine followed by a startled scream or cry from one of our charges below, cowering in their wagons.

When I heard Richie cussing, I glanced over my shoulder in time to see the two hunters quickly bolt into the safety of the wagon circle, the wanderer tossed over one of their shoulders. I growled, using the last of my rifle shots to take out two more before I was empty. It would take at least an hour to charge the clip and I knew if something wasn't done quickly, we wouldn't have an hour to wait. I left my rifle on top of the wagon and rolled over to the side, sliding down and dropping to my feet within the circle. I drew my pistol, adjusting the pulse setting on the clip before reholstering it; it was a risky move, something that Richie and I had figured out how to accomplish a while ago. Shooting with a half charge would give you twelve shots, but it also wouldn't kill your target, simply knock them down or out, depending on their grit. I made sure to keep my hand free of my weapon, so that they wouldn't know my intent. "You have to let her go—once the wanderers have her they might leave us alone!"

"No fucking way," one of the hunters said while the other dropped her down to the ground so he could draw his weapon.

"She's worth well over a million credits—you have no idea how long it took us to catch her," growled the other one.

I saw his finger twitching over the trigger and I knew he was ready to shoot me; I drew fast, catching him off guard. Without hesitation I fired, landing the half charge in his chest near his heart. He cried out and stumbled back before falling to the ground unconscious. When his partner turned on me, I repeated the same, though he was more determined than the other one; he stumbled towards me, attempting to draw his weapon.

"Mother fucker," I mumbled under my breath. Two swift steps and I closed the distance between us, raised my hand and cracked him over the head with the butt of my gun. His eyes fluttered shut and he finally fell down to the ground.

I dropped to my knees and drew my knife. The wanderer's eyes went wide and she tried to scramble away from me, obviously afraid that I meant her harm. I didn't have the luxury of time to explain to her that I wanted the exact opposite for their kind; instead, I roughly grabbed her ankles and cut her ties. The second I did she tried to kick her body away and I was forced to climb over her, pinning her to the down so I could get to her hands. She was fighting me so adamantly I almost sliced her skin while cutting through the thick plastic binds; when she realized that I had freed her, the surprise didn't leave her face.

"Go!" I yelled, climbing off of her, pointing towards the direction the remaining wanderers were attacking from, "Go to your people and leave! Call them off!"

Richie dropped down from the wagon, his rifle now empty as well. His eyes darted between us and he crossed the distance to the wanderer, clamping his hands down on her shoulders to lift her up to her feet. He tried the same tactic, "We don't wish you harm—please, stop this!"

She only hesitated a moment longer before she turned and began walking—but the opposite direction of her people. Richie and I were both confused; he started after her, calling out, "Hey, wait! You have to stop them!" He closed the gap between them, grabbing her arm and tugging her to a halt, forcing her to face him.

He was shorter than her, but not by much, only a few inches; even still, there was a commanding presence about her that even made me seem no bigger than a child. I stared upon her with such admiration, that I didn't see the first hunter stir and draw his weapon. He squeezed the trigger, the low whine of the energy beam pulsing out before my delayed reaction. I cried out and kicked at his head as hard as I could, his body crumpling down to the crushed prairie grass before I turned to watch the shot that would kill my son.

It seemed all in slow motion, yet so fast that I could barely process it; the wanderer moved with such speed, such grace, such refined command over her body. Her arms flew around Richie and she spun them, taking the hit of the beam directly to her back before they both crashed down to the ground. There was a singed hole through her and she let out a whine of agony. I rushed over, thinking she was dying but discovered that her cry wasn't for her own self, but for Richie; her efforts at saving him spared him the blunt of the blast but there was a singed chuck missing out of his torso, almost right over his heart. I could see the white of his bones where the flesh had been burned away. He groaned in pain, his eyes flickering shut before he passed out.