Read Online The Retreat (The After Trilogy Book 1) by Kelly St. Clare - Free Book Online
Authors: Kelly St. Clare
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just beneath the surface, despite her soldier calm. What if she never saw her knot again? What if everyone was dead? She dashed away the sweat dripping from her forehead. Surrendering to despair would only waste time and energy, she scolded herself.
Another couple of trips to the tree line and back were all it took to make an arrow made of branches pointing in the direction of the hill. If the others entered the battler—which they would if they found the wreckage—there was no chance the knot would miss the arrow upon coming back out. Or Romy’s space boots, removed and strategically placed next to it.
Romy had to believe that if she didn’t find them, her knot would find her.
Her choices were few.
Sit and die.
Or move and live.
CHAPTER FIVE
F rom Romy’s vantage point in the wreckage, the dry bush had appeared sparse, but upon entering, the growth became so dense she couldn’t tell if she were moving in the straight line she’d set for herself. A nagging self-doubt plagued her––a fear that every step she took might move her away from her friends.
Romy knew she could be thousands of kilometres away from her knot.
She couldn’t stop thinking about how it was her piece of the wreckage that possessed the parachute. Did the battler have more than one parachute? And there was also the fire outside the craft, let alone the fact the ship tore to smithereens somewhere during the crash landing.
She took one unsatisfying mouthful of water to quell the scratchy thirst in her throat. The sun was lower in the sky, and the temperature steadily dropped. She welcomed the reprieve from the beating heat. Progress was slow. Her palms, though used to gripping guns and cleaning, were covered in blisters from the crutches. Her ankle had settled into a deep burning ache, which throbbed with every jarring hop.
The sun dipped just below the trees when the ground beneath Romy’s feet began to slope upwards. Startled from her mechanical motion, she peered through the trees and saw she’d reached the bottom of a hill; whether it was the one she’d aimed for was another question.
Indecision tugged at her. It was dark. Her day’s adventures included: a crash landing from space, a head injury and broken ankle, a long fall from the battler, and several hours of painful walking plagued with heartache. Her body and mind needed rest.
Though loathe to sleep on the ground with the slithering creatures, she just didn’t have the energy to climb a tree with her injured ankle. Propping her crutches in a triangle against a tree, she draped the length of parachute over the sticks and dragged herself in, making sure to tuck the material under her legs. Her ankle was soon elevated on her makeshift pack and the throbbing lessened immediately. Romy studied the inside of her shelter and retrieved her knife, cutting three small holes from the top so air could circulate.
For the past hours since the crash, Romy had pushed through her bone-deep exhaustion. It wouldn’t be denied any longer.
* * *
S omething cold dripped on Romy’s forehead. She blinked through sleep-crusted eyes, ready to glare at Phobos. Instead, she stared at the condensation gathered on the inside of the parachute. And then she remembered.
A rhythmic creaking noise called from outside her tent, faint and not alarming—some post-global-warming insect, most likely. Blinking away the blurriness of an exhausted sleep, Romy pulled herself up and began inventory. Her ankle felt substantially better. The swelling had already lessened. The blisters on her palms and walking leg had healed in the night— Thank you, nanobytes , she thought.
She packed up her shelter, ate two slices of dried fruit, took three sips of water, and started up the hill.
Not long into her hike, she decided to dub the hill “Mount Death.” If Knot 27 were the only humans on Earth, she could name it anything she damn well liked, and Mount Death seemed fitting. The blisters of the day before came back
Another couple of trips to the tree line and back were all it took to make an arrow made of branches pointing in the direction of the hill. If the others entered the battler—which they would if they found the wreckage—there was no chance the knot would miss the arrow upon coming back out. Or Romy’s space boots, removed and strategically placed next to it.
Romy had to believe that if she didn’t find them, her knot would find her.
Her choices were few.
Sit and die.
Or move and live.
CHAPTER FIVE
F rom Romy’s vantage point in the wreckage, the dry bush had appeared sparse, but upon entering, the growth became so dense she couldn’t tell if she were moving in the straight line she’d set for herself. A nagging self-doubt plagued her––a fear that every step she took might move her away from her friends.
Romy knew she could be thousands of kilometres away from her knot.
She couldn’t stop thinking about how it was her piece of the wreckage that possessed the parachute. Did the battler have more than one parachute? And there was also the fire outside the craft, let alone the fact the ship tore to smithereens somewhere during the crash landing.
She took one unsatisfying mouthful of water to quell the scratchy thirst in her throat. The sun was lower in the sky, and the temperature steadily dropped. She welcomed the reprieve from the beating heat. Progress was slow. Her palms, though used to gripping guns and cleaning, were covered in blisters from the crutches. Her ankle had settled into a deep burning ache, which throbbed with every jarring hop.
The sun dipped just below the trees when the ground beneath Romy’s feet began to slope upwards. Startled from her mechanical motion, she peered through the trees and saw she’d reached the bottom of a hill; whether it was the one she’d aimed for was another question.
Indecision tugged at her. It was dark. Her day’s adventures included: a crash landing from space, a head injury and broken ankle, a long fall from the battler, and several hours of painful walking plagued with heartache. Her body and mind needed rest.
Though loathe to sleep on the ground with the slithering creatures, she just didn’t have the energy to climb a tree with her injured ankle. Propping her crutches in a triangle against a tree, she draped the length of parachute over the sticks and dragged herself in, making sure to tuck the material under her legs. Her ankle was soon elevated on her makeshift pack and the throbbing lessened immediately. Romy studied the inside of her shelter and retrieved her knife, cutting three small holes from the top so air could circulate.
For the past hours since the crash, Romy had pushed through her bone-deep exhaustion. It wouldn’t be denied any longer.
* * *
S omething cold dripped on Romy’s forehead. She blinked through sleep-crusted eyes, ready to glare at Phobos. Instead, she stared at the condensation gathered on the inside of the parachute. And then she remembered.
A rhythmic creaking noise called from outside her tent, faint and not alarming—some post-global-warming insect, most likely. Blinking away the blurriness of an exhausted sleep, Romy pulled herself up and began inventory. Her ankle felt substantially better. The swelling had already lessened. The blisters on her palms and walking leg had healed in the night— Thank you, nanobytes , she thought.
She packed up her shelter, ate two slices of dried fruit, took three sips of water, and started up the hill.
Not long into her hike, she decided to dub the hill “Mount Death.” If Knot 27 were the only humans on Earth, she could name it anything she damn well liked, and Mount Death seemed fitting. The blisters of the day before came back
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