Ain't Talkin'

Polkun county swept in like a rank smell. Dust and dry trees and half-buildings with skeletons made of rust slapped across the visual range in shades of red and yellow and a palette of earth tones. The sky was wide open and cloudless. On the skyline to the west a half-dozen oil rigs struck upwards.

Markus behaved as most of them did. Them being first-timers. Those who’ve been in, out and through the ether. They came back to reality hard and fast like they’d taken a punch to the kidneys. Markus retched, coughing and making that awful gurgling sound folks do when they upchuck. The horse was more perturbed than the walker. It was her that was getting bile on her back.

“If you’re gonna keep puking kindly get off of the horse.” Roche walked up a small rise in the dunes, barely anything at all, and took his bearings.

Alex Markus hopped down, leaning against the horse’s side and gagging. Roche tossed him a water skin from his belt and the kid drank heartily, almost so much that he started choking again on the water.

“Alright?” Roche lit a cigarette and turned back down the dune to Markus. “Looks like we still got a fair clip of moving to do. We’re south of the county now. Could be in Parmiskus within three days. Two if we don’t take too long in the evenings or if’n we go through the night. How’re you fixed for that?”

Alex Markus spat the last bit of yellow thickness from his lips and stood tall. He polished his glasses on his shirt and blinked up at the sun.

“What day is it?” Markus asked, spitting again.

“No idea. Best thing we can do is find someone and ask. Sun just tells me what time of the day it is, not the date. So let’s go.”

Roche turned and took Lucky by the bridle, leading her north with Alex Markus in tow.