Wyatt was reeling and the ground rushed up towards him before he realized that something had slammed into him. He had been quietly circling a large barn on an abandoned farmstead to avoid being spotted by an unsavoury lot, known as wanderers. Occasionally he had to dart in between obstacle that provided cover. 

Instinctively, he managed to break his fall just in time and avoid doing a full on face plant. Dazed from the impact and suddenly sore in a few spots, he grunted as he rolled over and remained in a low squat brushing off dirt from his hands and elbows. He quickly shuffled back into a crouching position when he saw the cause of the impact not three feet away from him.

If this was one of the wanderers, the rogue would most likely chase him down just for sport. Wyatt readied himself to dart away at the slightest aggression. 

“You have to be more careful.” The other forced the words out. 

He sounded winded. Wincing and coughing, the other person was a tangle of limbs amongst the tall grass. Rising to a low stance was a lanky form with dark hair and tanned skin, though most people were more tanned than Wyatt in comparison. 

A small squeak reminded him of the recent rescue in his pocket. 

Quickly he reached in and tenderly checked if the feline rescue was unharmed. The orange and white fuzzball was shaken but otherwise she was as cute as ever. 

“You have… a kitten?” The voice that continued had a deep tone before it cracked. 

Wyatt properly looked up and over at the stranger, who had finally turned to face him. He noticed two things immediately. First, this guy who was not much older than himself, was striking—a mixed heritage gave him a pleasant complexion and handsome features. Wyatt would have gladly taken time to observe more details but the other thing that caught is attention was much more serious. 

“Oh shit!” Wyatt exclaimed when he realized what he saw. “You’re hurt.”

Still crouching, though probably due to pain, the other boy reached up and touched his head behind his left ear and winced. His fingers came away with some blood, which was also now dripping down his neck. 

“I’m ok.” His dark eyes darted from the red on his fingertips to Wyatt who was still holding the kitten. “We have to go. There’s another group of wanderers closing in and you were headed right to them.”

Wyatt gulped and tucked the fuzzball deeper into his pocket. 

“Why—who are you?” The questions started to tumble out of Wyatt.

“Later—We have to go now!” The young man insisted, nodding sharply in the direction from which Wyatt came. 

The two of them kept low and made their way through the tall grass, weaving in between buildings, in and out of trees and bushes making their way away from the farm. After a fair distance, Wyatt shadowed the other as he stopped amongst a small island of trees. His self-proclaimed rescuer surveyed the farmstead in silence for quite some time. 

“I really need to ask you something.”

“We should be safe here for a little while.” This older boy was an inch shorter than Wyatt and had a smaller frame, but he moved quickly and confidently. He had perched up against a tree with a foothold on a low lying branch for a vantage point. Now, he dropped down beside Wyatt with a curious look. Wyatt stepped back. 

“Uh… have you been exposed to any variants?”

“Of course. Everyone has.”

“So, unless we both—“

“Yeah, we’ll probably both get sick sooner than later. Sorry, I didn’t mean to actually run into you but I’d rather suffer whatever variant you have than let some poor fool be tormented by bored wanderers.”

The words stung a little, but his voice resonated deeply this close. He was distracted momentarily by the patchy sunlight filtering through the leaves above them catching and glistening off of the blood that was beginning to matte his thick black hair. 

“I’m Pacer.” He held out his hand in greeting and then realized there was still blood on his fingers. Before he could pull away Wyatt grasp it with his hand.

“Wyatt.” He wasn’t sure why he did that in the moment but afterwards he figured it was to show Pacer that he was somehow brave or something. Then he felt stupid for thinking that way. 

“Looks like your hurt too.” Still gripping hands, Pacer gently twisted Wyatt’s hand and forced his elbow outward. There was some blood from a fresh scrape there. 

“It just stings a little.”

“Ok, well we can’t stay here long.” Pacer wiped his hand absently after the greeting. He looked around to get his bearings before continuing, “but we should make sure we haven’t been followed. When we go, I can take us to where I have a bike hidden. Even with two of us it could take us quickly to a better spot for the night.”

“Where would we stay?”

Pacer glanced over while rubbing his chin. Wyatt noticed that his facial hair, while sparse, wasn’t long. He must shave at least occasionally. His fingers left a light smudge. 

“Look, I don’t know why you’re out here, or where you’re from but now we’re kinda stuck with each other for a while.”

“You’re talking about the QP?”

“Wha—oh, yeah. The quarantine protocols.”

“We’ll figure it out. I just hope it’s not one of the bad ones.”

Wyatt knew what he meant. Some of the rare variants still lingering after the plagues were pretty nasty. Every once in a while there’s a flare up, but dealing with them and keeping the population separated throughout even smaller communities has become second nature now. 

“Hey! Step out onto the road, with your hands up.” The voice called suddenly from nearby and Wyatt spun around in surprise.  Just outside of the reach of the low hanging branches was a silhouette that was down low between brushes. A little further beyond was an old service road. 

“Slowly.” The word was punctuated with the audible mechanical cocking of a rifle. The boys stared at each other silently. Pacer nodded after a moment to indicate to Wyatt that they should comply. 

“Okay! We’re coming out.” Pacer answered. Then in a hushed whisper, “Stay behind me!”

Slowly they edged their way through the brush and emerged in a shallow ditch. About two meters away was a rather haggardly dressed woman, maybe thirty years old. She motioned with the rifle in her hands for the two of them to step onto the old gravel road. She followed and watched them like a hawk. 

“Stop right there!” She ordered. They stood there with Wyatt flanking Pacer slightly. She glared at the boys and waved the gun again.

“Step away from each other.”

They both took a step to either side.  

Wyatt had seen weapons before, but never a gun pointed at him. It made his heart beat against his chest like a caged animal. His breathing was rushed and his arms were shaking, and not just from keeping them raised. 

“Are you sick?” Pacer asked conversationally.

The woman snapped her focus onto him and looked more annoyed than perplexed. She shook her head. 

“Neither are we. At least not yet.”

Now she was confused. Wyatt’s mind started to work out where he was going with this.  

“Shut up.” The woman’s voice was shadowed with doubt.

“We’re complete strangers, he and I. No telling what either one has been exposed to. Hell, I don’t even know where he’s from, but I was trying to help. Now, you’ve got us hostage… together…”

Pacer let out a light cough—obviously fake. She raised the gun and aimed at his head. Then he added, “Oh, and you’re down wind.”

Wyatt let out small gasp. She looked at both of them in turn and gauged her distance, shifting backwards. The light breeze wafting through the air surged momentarily as if to accentuate his point. 

“I’m not letting you go!”

“Fine. We will go with you. To the rest of the group. But if anyone gets too close, you all are at risk. Do you really want to be that person?”

It seemed like hours were passing them by while she had them locked in her sights. Occasionally she would point the gun at Wyatt, and then back at Pacer. Each time was a moment of tension that both boys felt. 

“I said I’m not letting you go, but I will give you a head start.” She focused momentarily at the slight rise behind the boys and judged the distance. 

“I’ll give you to the count of thirty before I start shooting.”

The boys looked at each other in a moment of disbelief, but a short lived moment. For in her next breath she began counting aloud.

Instantly they both turned heel and were up to speed by the time she had called out ‘three.’ At first, Wyatt’s longer legs carried him further but just as he relented, Pacer caught up and was furiously racing along the dirt road. 

“Just go! Don’t wait!” He barked between laboured breaths.

Wyatt doubled his effort, but Pacer did not lag either. As they neared the crest of the low rise the first shot cracked and pierced the air between them—they were nearly shoulder to shoulder.  A few heartbeats later, the second shot grazed the dirt behind them. 

“Shit!” Wyatt felt a couple of pebbles strike his backside. He hoped it was just pebbles.  

“Keep going!” Pacer huffed beside him.

They ran.

A few more shots rang out, but they continued running even well after the last shot echoed across the plains. Wyatt felt like his legs were on fire and his chest aching for more air than his lungs could handle. 

“I.. have.. to.. stop!” Wyatt gasped as he stumbled to standstill. 

Pacer slowed as well just ahead of him and slumped over bracing his hands on his knees to catch his breath. It was a long few minutes before the two of them could hear anything other their own breathing and heart beats. Wyatt’s hair and clothes were soaked in sweat. He looked over at Pacer and he was just as sodden, skin glistening in the early afternoon sun. 

“We should keep going, but we need a plan.” Pacer squatted down low and bounced lightly near the ground before rising back to an upright position. It was an odd position and it made Wyatt giggle. 

“Sorry! That looked funny.” 

Pacer gave him a sidelong glance, “How old are you anyways?”

Wyatt’s laughter faded and he felt suddenly embarrassed. It was early April, so he was turning seventeen soon. What the exact day of his birth was, he wasn’t sure. Growing up in the orphanage his birthday was always celebrated during mid May. Since leaving the orphanage he never really celebrated it, except that his best friend Chancey always came up with something to mark the occasion. 

“I’ll be seventeen next month.”

“Oh,” Pacer nodded. “I’m twenty-one in July.”

The breeze picked up and the rustle of the tall grasses sounded like whispers on the wind. There was a group of geese flying overhead noisily, in their signature V-shape. 

“Hey! What did you say about having a bike?”

“Yeah…” Pacer looked off into the distance and skewed his face. “To get to it we’ll have to backtrack a bit. Or at least circle around and keep our distance before we can even get close.”

“Is it worth going after? What if they found it already?”

“Doubt they found it. In fact, the spot I hid it would make a great spot to hide out for the night. I think it might be a good plan, at least for now,” Pacer eyed Wyatt pensively before adding, “unless you wanna head your own way.”

Wyatt was grateful for how Pacer got them out of the sticky situation but he was also unconvinced that the wanderers situation might not be over yet. Safety in numbers, was the expression. 

“It doesn’t look like they’re following us. But it might be better to team up, in case we run into them again.”

So it was decided then. The boys headed off again and made a circuitous route back to where Pacer had hidden his bike. It took quite a few hours to make, and at a few points Pacer attempted to leave some sort of decoy tracks in the event that they were being tracked. It was possible that the wanderers were still after them but at a slower pace, biding their time and following their trail. It was hard to tell what tactics they’d take at any given moment. 

As the sun peaked and the afternoon passed by, it got pleasantly warm for a spring day. Pacer eventually pulled off his tee shirt to keep cool in the breeze but left his worn out and slightly oversized vest on. Wyatt pulled out an old ball cap to shield his eyes and face from the sun, and eventually he followed suite shed a top layer to keep cool as well. 

“See that old grain silo that’s toppled over there?” Pacer pointed off to the left. Wyatt squinted and found the site on the horizon.

“Yeah I see it, I think.” 

“It’s in there. I’ve actually stayed there once before on a hunting trip. There’s not much of a roof anymore, but once you get inside there’s enough space to hide out for a night or two. 

“Okay,” Wyatt’s tone belied his skepticism and Pacer turned and faced him. 

“What? You have a better idea?”

“No! Of course not. I just can’t wait to stop walking or running or moving in general.” 

“Yeah me too.” Pacer’s was brightened with a flash of a smile. 

As they neared the crumbling silo it was apparent that the whole thing was a ruin. Wyatt couldn’t tell at all that there was any way inside, nevemind that there was any indication of shelter to be found here.