Chapter 7

  12/06/81 ATE

  It was the sixth day of travel across the rough country toward their destination. The new mercenaries weren’t much for conversation—they just wanted their pay and had no interest in making friends. Still, their presence proved valuable beyond simple protection. They handled most of the manual labour: lighting campfires, pitching tents, and standing watch through the night.

  The warnings about the dangers of traveling without a large, well-equipped caravan soon proved accurate. Figures cloaked in dust-stained cloth emerged from the top of a steep dune to the right. They sprinted down the slope with scimitars raised, shouting war cries that echoed across the barren expanse. Illuminus, startled but focused, couldn’t help but think how foolish they were to reveal themselves before striking. The caravan’s defenders reacted quickly, opening fire. Several attackers dropped immediately—cut down by rifle shots, with the mercenaries leading the retaliation.

  But the ambush was a feint.

  From farther up the ridge, hidden riflemen opened fire, spraying bullets into the caravan’s ranks. One found its mark, slamming into Illuminus’ shoulder. The bone shattered as the bullet punched through. A scream tore from his throat—the loudest he had ever made. Heads turned at the sound, and with that, the riflemen’s position was exposed.

  Tyler rushed to his side. Illuminus was bleeding heavily, too disoriented to aim his weapon. Tyler dragged him into the cover of a camel-drawn wagon, praying the mercenaries would hold the line while he tried to stop the bleeding. The pain blurred everything. Illuminus could barely stay conscious. His vision flickered, breath shallow. Then he slipped into darkness.

  Outside, the fight raged on. The scimitar-wielding brigands had all fallen, and the tempo of rifle fire slowed as the two remaining forces exchanged shots across the shifting dunes. Some of the mercenaries took cover behind wagons, returning fire with grim precision.

  Inside the wagon, Tyler worked furiously. The bleeding finally slowed—barely—but it was enough. Illuminus might live, though he was in no shape to fight or even stand.

  As the gunfire dwindled, a few of the mercenaries broke cover and regrouped near the wagons. One of them called out to Tyler.

  “They’re gone. Pulled back once the distraction fell apart. But it’s not good—two of our guys took hits, and so did your friend here. One of the donkeys caught a bullet and went down. The other panicked and bolted.”

  “Bring them here, let’s try and save them before anything else,’ Tyler replied.

  When the wounded mercenaries were brought over, it was clear they’d taken far worse injuries than Illuminus. Tyler let out a shaky breath as he assessed the damage—gaping wounds, too much blood. Too late.

  “They are already gone, I’m so sorry guys’ Tyler said.

  “Don’t be sorry man, it’s one of the risks of the job. I’ve seen a few people die to wasteland brigands now” The mercenary from earlier said.

  “Uh I guess so, what’s usually done in situations like this? Do we bury them?” Tyler asked.

  “Who has got time for that? We’ll just need to strip off their clothes, it’ll be bloody, but it can be cleaned up later. I guess their wages also fall back to you now. Unless you want to give everyone a raise.” The mercenary said.

  “You know what? You guys do deserve a raise after that. That was rough.’ Tyler said.

  Cleaning up the aftermath and tracking down the runaway donkey took a few hours. By the time it was done, the sun had begun to dip below the horizon. No one liked the idea of camping where they’d been attacked, so they pressed onward for a short while, putting distance between themselves and the ambush site. They butchered the donkey that died in the ambush and roasted up her meat, it was the very same donkey Illuminus purchased from the White Moon tribe. Illuminus still lay in the covered wagon, recovering.

  15/06/81 ATE

  The days since the ambush blurred into one another. Illuminus struggled to make sense of anything beyond flashes of pain and fever dreams. But eventually, they arrived in Thrat’ka—a city even larger and busier than Phixgow. The surroundings of the settlement where irrigated in the style of Phixgow but less for animal’s pastureland and more for cash crops - tobacco, sugar, date palms, potatoes amongst others. Tyler had been in search of a physician to tend to Illuminus’ wounds after the caravan animals were stabled and rooms to rest were rented at the establishment serving passing caravans.

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  After some inquiries, Tyler learnt of a physician known to serve people for an appropriate fee. He then quickly gathered Illuminus and rushed over to the clinic.

  “Slow down, what’s this?” The physician inquired. This physician was a middle-aged man with a serious look.

  “Gunshot wound a few days ago. We came as soon as we could.” mumbled Illuminus.

  “I’ll need to remove the bandages to have a look at what I’m dealing with here. Did you manage to clean the wound at all?” The physician asked.

  “How was I meant to do that? I was trying to stop the bleeding, and he’d wail if I’d try and remove the bandages later on.” Tyler replied.

  “Fine, just help me lay him on this bench over here. It’s going to cost you for me to fix him up.” The physician said. Tyler moved over to lend aid in placing Illuminus on the bench.

  “I’m pretty sure we can cover the cost.” Illuminus said. Motioning toward a door on the far side of the room the physician said to Tyler,

  “You should wait in that room, things can get pretty gruesome.”

  “I’ve seen my share of blood and gore,” Tyler replied, but after a moment’s pause, he added, “Sure. I’ll wait.”

  He stepped into the adjoining room, glancing back once at the bench where Illuminus lay—before the door clicked shut behind him.

  The physician began unwrapping the bandages with slow, practiced hands. Illuminus flinched at every tug, sharp jolts of pain radiating from his shoulder.

  “You’re extremely lucky,” the physician said, his tone clinical but not unkind. “You might not feel like it, but if the bullet had entered closer to your neck—or clipped an artery—you’d have been dead in minutes. As it is, this is still a nasty wound. I’ll have to cut it open to get a proper look.”

  “Cut it open?” Illuminus winced. “You don’t even know how bad it is yet—and you’re talking about cutting?”

  “Relax,” the physician replied. “You won’t be awake during the procedure. I need to know whether it’s a clean break or a shattered mess. Can’t treat what I can’t see.”

  He paused, inspecting the darkened skin and crusted blood.

  “Back in the old world,” he added, “they had machines that could shoot tiny bursts of radiation and create a picture of the bones hiding under the flesh. Instant diagnosis. Clean and painless.”

  Illuminus blinked at that. He knew such machines still existed—in the Bunker. He was almost certain one of the labs held the very tool the physician described. If he had been closer to home, perhaps he could have been treated in safety, surrounded by sterile walls and humming tech. But he knew better than to say any of that out loud.

  “It makes sense, I guess it’s sleepy time for me while you do your thing.” Illuminus said. The physician handed him the face mask attached to the gas. Illuminus took a few breaths and soon was out.

  The next minute, Illuminus was awake. Or at least, it felt like the next minute. He had no sense of how much time had passed—no memory of the in-between. One moment he was breathing through the mask, and the next, the world was back, blurry and aching. His right arm was in a brace and his right shoulder wrapped in fresh bandages.

  “Glad to have you back,” said Tyler from nearby, his voice low but steady. “The physician said he was right to cut it open. You were lucky you didn’t catch an infection. There were bone shards everywhere. He cleaned it out, set what he could, and put in a metal rod to guide the healing. He did say your arm would be out of actions for around six weeks. Better if it was three or four months. How are you feeling?”

  “Great,” Illuminus said, blinking slowly. “Or… a lot better than I was. I can barely feel the pain.” Tyler gave a dry smile and replied,

  “Yeah, he said you might say that. Give it a few hours—it’ll come rushing back.” There was a beat of silence, then Illuminus asked,

  “Where is he now? We should talk to him.”

  “He’s in the other room, he’ll be glad you are awake.” Tyler said. Both of them walked over to the door and opened it.

  “I’m feeling so much better now, you really have done me a service,” Illuminus said.

  “You are the first serious patient I’ve had in weeks. I don’t think I can keep this up much longer.” The physician said. Both Illuminus’ and Tyler’s eyes widened at that gloomy outlook.

  “What do you mean you can’t keep it up? You are doing amazing work.” Illuminus said.

  “It’s not the work itself,” the physician said, shaking his head. “It’s everything around it. Most people in this settlement are too poor to come see me—even when they desperately need to. And out in the wasteland, the ones who really need help don’t make it back in time to here or any settlement to receive it.” He paused, rubbing the back of his neck. “Then, every quarter, the tax officials show up to collect their cut. Rent, fees, penalties... It’s draining what little I have left. My savings are bleeding out faster than some of my patients.”

  “Why don’t you travel with us?” Tyler said suddenly. “We’re a new caravan.”

  The physician froze, caught off guard.

  “Are you serious?”

  “Yeah, man,” Tyler said. “You could keep an eye on Illuminus as he recovers. And to be honest, I used to be a shepherd before all this. I walked away from it to join up. Sure, there are risks—as you’ve seen firsthand—but there’s reward too. We share the profits.”

  He hesitated for a moment, then added, “And full disclosure—we’re not just trading goods. We’re trying to find someone. Illuminus’ friend, Olaf. He was taken by the Workforce Merchants.”

  “You know what? Let’s do it. I can be the caravan medic. I won’t have all my tools on the road, but it’ll beat going broke over here. My name is Phillip by the way, I should have introduced myself earlier, but you were in a rush.” Phillip said. With the surgery complete and Phillip recruited they could all move on to other business.

  They next went to the marketplace with their stacks of leather. Multiple traders were clamouring to trade for it. They sold it all and purchased leather made goods such as shoes and jackets which had been promised to sell well in basically any other settlement that doesn’t produce them. The final thing they did was purchase the needed weapons and travel supplies to fill out their ranks and recruited more mercenaries after deciding upon twelve as their total number. They hoped twelve would prove to be much more of a deterrent than the eight they had previously. Next, they rested in their rooms at the caravan stop to prepare for their departure the next day. They planned to go east to Fort Strong and then return northwards to Phixgow hoping to gain Garrick’s respect.