Author's note:
This is chapter eleven of my series Lost Colony. Most readers should start with chapter one, but if you want to scroll down to the steamy parts, be my guest!
This is a work of (science) fiction. All characters are over the age eighteen. Thanks for reading!
FYI, I wrote a spoiler-filled summary for chapters 1-8, so if you want to jump in but don't think you'll go back and read the first eight chapters, that is an option. As the author, I hope you'll want to read the entire series!
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Power levels: four percent
Sparr tightened his grip on the air car control stick nervously, his eyes darting between the display and the approaching shore. Frigid air swirled around him, but he felt nothing but dread.
Power levels: three percent
It had been his desire to avoid the cold that had spurred him to make one more open-water crossing that day. The frosty, wind-swept shore he had departed from not half an hour earlier had promised to be a miserable place to make camp. The far shore was just in sight, and Sparr had been lulled into confidence by the impressive range of the air car. He would make the crossing before dark, and almost certainly find a more sheltered spot. Not five minutes into the crossing, however, headwinds had picked up, and the power levels began to drop sharply. It was a coin toss whether he would reach the far shore, or drop into the icy waters.
Power levels: two percent.
Landing advisable
In the late afternoon light, the distance to the approaching shore was impossible to judge. The sky was a uniform grey, only slightly dimmer than the ice he hoped to reach. Was it five minutes away, or ten? Gradually Sparr bled off altitude, dropping to within two hundred meters of the water, then one hundred. The sea beneath was a cruel grey, with only a few whitecaps to mark its surface.
Power levels: one percent
He wasn't going to make it. Even Sparr's most optimistic estimate of how far one percent of power would take him wasn't going to be enough. He and Bogg would plunge into the water at least half a kilometer short. He shivered, already bracing himself for an impossible swim.
There! To his right, and much closer than the shore, a spit of land reached into the sea. Sparr yanked frantically at the stick, sending the air car into a sharp turn. The wind favored him, pushing at the car as he veered toward the desolate target. A spray of shorebirds burst around the car, confusing his approach. But when they cleared, he had it in view, a patch of stone no wider than one hundred meters, and barely above water level. It looked heavenly.
Power levels: critical
Banking left, Sparr guided the air car up the spit. He had no idea how strong the tides were, whether they were high or low. Avoiding drowning only to have the car swallowed by the sea would be a hollow victory. Another meter in elevation might make the difference.
He didn't get far. Its power failing, the car stalled and switched into an emergency descent. Gently, it settled onto the gravel with a sad, hollow crunch. After a moment, the displaced shorebirds returned, screeching at Sparr before resuming their hunt for dinner. Sparr pried his fingers from the stick.
"Honey, I'm home!"
***
After a nervous night periodically checking the tides, Sparr confirmed the car would be safe. The spit, however, would have to remain their home for at least two days. The next morning, the skies grew cloudy, limiting the ability of the car's solar panels to recharge it. He and Bogg explored up the spit to the far shore, Sparr looking for a place to make a more sheltered camp, while Bogg dug unsuccessfully at the stones for shellfish. Later, he flew the partially-recharged car to the base of an overhang which would allow modest protection from the not-infrequent snow flurries.
They weren't the only ones occupying the peninsula. Sparr found signs of a cookfire not too far from where he left the car, and a recently-trodden path led from the overhang inland. He was torn between following the path, or laying low until the air car had recharged then resuming his journey. The latter seemed the safer course, but after several days of camping on the ice, he and Bogg had already eaten through a good portion of their supplies. If he could find a village open to trade, he could continue his journey with greater confidence. Plus, Sparr was tired of dried meat and beans.
The going wasn't easy. Sparr's boots were warm enough, but gripped the ice poorly, making the steeper parts of the trail a test of balance. In some sections, it was easier simply to crawl, a movement which led Bogg to give him curious looks. It took several minutes to reach level ground.
The plateau was windswept, but not as barren as Sparr had expected. Stubby grasses flourished in pockets, while the sides of rocks were clumped with lichen and fungus. Bogg scratched and sniffed at clusters of small white berries, but didn't seem to find them palatable. Periodically, Sparr caught the distant yips of what must be small mammals. There were even a few stunted trees. The place was alive.
After no more than fifteen minutes, Sparr halted in his tracks. Against the side of a boulder, several snares had been set with wire and scraps of wood. Someone, knowing that small animals might shelter here, had set traps. Their work, however, had been destroyed. Clumps of fur and blood revealed that someone or something had ripped the prey out. A closer inspection turned up a few chunks of shattered bone and more fur. Whatever had destroyed the snares had enjoyed a feast on the spot. It hadn't been human.
Bogg sniffed at the soil, then turned to Sparr, whimpering. Neither of them was comfortable with the discovery. He turned back, leading Bogg away from the gruesome scene. He could always come back the next day if the car was still charging. The pair made it maybe five minutes before Bogg once again showed signs of agitation. To their left, no more than one hundred meters away, a massive, shaggy creature was stalking them. With brown and white-streaked fur, a tapered muzzle, and powerful forequarters, it had much in common with an Earth polar bear. Except, Sparr remembered, polar bears were long extinct. This creature was quite alive.
Trying not to show fear, Sparr lengthened his stride. There were two of them, and the bear had recently eaten. With luck, it would look elsewhere for its next meal. Bogg cooperated, loping nervously away with uncharacteristic energy. At this speed, they could reach the edge of the plateau in less than ten minutes.
But whatever luck the pair had must have been used up in the previous day's emergency landing. The bear roared and charged, his head held just above the ground, sweeping left and right. Sparr sprinted all out but the bear was too fast, quickly closing the distance. He would have to fight. He clutched at his waist, finding and drawing the light pistol. Before the bear caught them he turned, dropped to one knee, and fired.
The shot struck the bear's hindquarters, dropping the creature as a spray of blood and fur splattered against the tundra. Sparr thought that he had stopped it, but after falling, the creature righted itself, let out an enraged roar, and staggered forward.
"Son of a bitch," Sparr muttered. He went to chamber another round but the clip was empty. "Go!" he shrieked at Bogg. Once again the pair took to flight.
Injured, the bear wasn't quite as fast as it had been previously. Sparr and Bogg opened up a gap and held it until they reached the trail that led down to the overhang and the waiting air car. Bogg shambled ahead, easily navigating the icy trail, but once again Sparr struggled. He kept his footing only until the first turn, after which he fell. He slid and rolled the last ten meters, falling to the bottom with a painful thud. His pack went flying.
"Unh," Sparr groaned, trying to catch his breath. He crawled toward the pack, a dozen bruises already making themselves known. Once he reached it, Sparr pawed at the opening to the pack, desperate for the spare clip. A spray of rocks and gravel skittered down the hillside. The injured bear peered over the edge of the slope, its gaze shifting between Sparr and Bogg. It must have decided that Sparr was more promising prey, scrambling down the hill toward him.
"Fuck," Sparr muttered, digging to locate the spare clip. At last, he found it, yanked out the empty clip, replaced it, and chambered a round. He had just enough time to level the pistol and take another shot, this time striking the bear in its shoulder. The creature collapsed with a morose groan, not ten meters away.
Adrenaline still shooting through him, Sparr closed the pack and assessed his injuries. His knees and hands were scraped, one ankle twisted, and his shoulder was bruised. Before it could swell he tied his ankle, then went to the air car to retrieve his saber.
The bear lay on its side, breathing heavily, eyes just slits. A glistening sheen of blood wet the rocks near the animal's shoulder, while another spread from its hindquarters. It barely moved when Sparr raised his sword for the mercy kill.
'I'm sorry," Sparr said, choking back the frustration of another pointless, violent encounter. For a full minute he stood above the inert form of the massive creature. Around him, startled shorebirds resumed their hunt while the small, white moon nicknamed Feta hung in the late afternoon sky.
"You have claimed your kill."
Startled, Sparr turned to see a small band of hunters spread out on the gravel. A woman of middle years attired in a magnificent fur cloak stood at the front, carelessly holding a wickedly barbed spear. She was compact, standing well under six feet, but her bearing gave every indication of confidence. It was she who had addressed him, while six female hunters stood silent and wary.
"Yes," Sparr said carefully, trying to read the situation. "The creature pursued me."
"You gave it those wounds with only your sword?"
"No," Sparr admitted, but offered no further explanation.
"Mmm." Her eyes turned to Bogg, then back to Sparr. "You're injured."
"No, I just-" Sparr began, then noticed dampness at his temple. In addition to his other scrapes, he must have taken a cut to his head during the tumble. "It's fine."
The woman nodded, her eyes now taking in the sight of the slain bear. "It is an impressive kill," she said, "and will feed you well." Behind her the hunters shifted restlessly, their eyes alternating between Sparr, Bogg, and their leader.
Sparr had hardly thought about eating the bear. Only a few minutes prior he had been fighting to stay alive. The moment seemed to hold both peril and opportunity.
