September 3rd, 2199.
The Maricopa Desert, New America, 55 miles east of the San Angeles Peninsula.
The hopelessness of the situation was clear to most, to cross any part of the Maricopa during the day, was certain suicide for those who came unprepared for the scathing one hundred plus degree temperatures that scorched the landscape there. And out of the few people that traveled through the region near the east bank of Lake Bethany, most of the locals knew better than to try and get water out in the open. Raiders and highwaymen watched it like hawks for fresh prey. And as soon as anyone who suffered the misfortune of letting their guard down long enough to try to fetch themselves a cool drink from the Bethany, they would swoop down on them like a swarm of angry locusts, sweeping them away and all they carried with them. In most cases the men were slaughtered on site with a brutal and ruthless efficiency, while women who were young enough would be taken hostage and were used for bartering amongst the outlaw gangs like a piece of livestock, and if they were older they would more than likely meet a swift death.
The Bethany was no place to be caught, especially during the day. But still, there were always those who were tempted to try their luck along its banks, a strong thirst after all-could make a person throw caution to the wind, and while most people were smart enough to realize that such a large body of water in the desert would attract a lot of thirsty visitors, they were also aware of the fact that it was more than
likely watched by groups of scavengers who would prey on unsuspecting strangers. Some of the drifters that passed through the region would break away from the Pacific Trail and scout the Bethany for hours on end, waiting for just the right time to slip in and fill their containers with water. Waiting until they thought the raiders weren't paying attention. But what most of the drifters that occasionally wandered into the Maricopa had to find out the hard way was something that the locals knew all along-Unless you knew how to slip in unnoticed, it was potential suicidal.
The one spot that was the safest part of the lake to get water from was at the north end, where there stood a wall of jagged rocks that towered some seventy or so feet almost straight up into the air along the banks. There was sparse vegetation, and precious little to be found in the way of shelter from the burning sun. So to even attempt it you would have to be borderline insane, which never stopped eighteen-year-old Moxley Kile and his seventeen-year-old accomplice Trip Anders. The pair of young adventurers would often make the forty-five-mile trek to The Bethany from the township of Firebend, and often had to outrun raiders and bandits who would occasionally mistake young Mox for a female. Now, Mox wasn’t female by any stretch- but he did possess this odd feminine quality in concerns of his boyish good looks, he had long blond hair and a long lean body with golden skin from many hours spent in the sun hunting for food, but he was all male.
His young friend Trip wasn’t quite as attractive, he was a bit shorter, while most who were familiar with him would argue that he was a cross between a tree stump and a boulder, while Mox was taller and leaner, Trip was short, with long black hair, and his middle was as wide- if not wider, than his already broad shoulders. Whenever Mox and Tripley went to the Bethany from Firebend, before continuing on to the Pacific Ocean, they knew enough from experience to take the northern route, to stay out of the raider's reach, the terrain was rougher, more rocks, more briars and cactus, more jagged cliffs to climb up, over and around but in the long run it was safer as the terrain proved too much work for the scavengers from the lake who were always on the lookout for easier prey than two nimble young men who could climb rock faces faster than most squirrels. From the top of the north cliff you could see every shoreline and Mox and Trip had their own special place out of the heat that they would patiently watch from until the sun was in the perfect spot before they would make their first move.
Once they had made it around the northern cliff face, they would carefully climb down to the edge of the Bethany and unload their packs. Then they would fill their near empty water jugs and retreat back into the shade, all the while keeping a watchful eye along the water's edge for any sign of movement. They would eat dried cacti for lunch and drink the cool, delicious water from their canteens, and after a brief rest they began the long, laborious climb back up the cliff face to continue on their way. They had just cleared the top of the cliff when something caught Trip's eye from across the water, which immediately brought to mind the stranger and the three horsemen that they had had a near encounter with on the Temblor. Beads of sweat that were forming in his eyebrows began to roll down into his eyes, but he could still clearly see that there were dust billows puffing up into the air as though there were a great scuffle, and then as suddenly as they appeared they had once again died down. Now curious, Mox and Trip cautiously made their way around the north end of the lake to get a closer look, and what they saw wasn’t at all what they had expected.
Instead of bandits standing over the bodies of more victims-there were two people, one tall thin wiry looking male who looked half starved, he had long stringy brown hair, and he was quite dirty looking, his skin was dried and weathered which made him look years older than he actually was. The female on the other hand was much younger looking than the male, Mox guessed that she was probably closer to he and Trip's ages. She looked to be well groomed and slightly out of place, her skin was clean her clothes clean, and her long blond hair well kempt and tied back into a long ponytail, together they were going through the pockets of four dead bandits who lye on the ground with their skulls split open like ripe melons all four whom Mox recognized as being from a local gang of cutthroats. From behind a boulder, they watched as the pair took everything of value and knelt down at the water's edge one at a time to drink while the other kept an eye out for other bandits. Mox climbed to the top of the rock in plain view where they could see him.
“You know those men were some of Morg Creel’s gang, don’t you?” He told them.
The male stood abruptly and turned to face him. The female also standing - pulled a long knife into full view.
“And just how long have you been sitting up there?” She asked, pointing the blade at him.
“Long enough.” He answered.
Now both Mox and Trip were moving towards them, cautiously inspecting the dead bandits as they walked. Three of the four were cut in various places, stabbed in others, all fours heads were split open by large rocks which now lay by the water’s edge covered in blood. The female slowly stepped forward.
“We were only after a drink of water.” She said.
Mox looked back down at the dead bandits, their pockets now emptied, had been pulled outside their trousers.
“From the looks of things, I’d say you were out for more than a drink of water.” He told them.
Trip nodded in silent agreement.
“So- They were just bandits. They would have killed us if given half a chance. So what’s the big deal if we killed them first and took what we could get?” The female asked.
Mox stared down solemnly at the bodies.
“The big deal is, these were some of Morg Creels guys, and when they don’t go back to where ever they came from- Morg Creel is either going to send someone ten times worse to come looking for them. Or even worse than that, he’s going to come looking for them himself” Mox told them.
“So we’ll be long gone by then.” She said.
“Morg is going to be really angry, and he will come looking for whoever he even suspects is responsible.” Mox told them.
The tall, thin, wiry male stepped forward.
“You keep saying the name Morg Creel-so who in the hell is Morg Creel anyway?”
Mox turned to look back at the mountains in the distance and then looked back at the two strangers with a look of growing concern.
“He’s the leader of a gang of cutthroats called the Thirsters. You see that highest peak up there in the mountains?” He pointed off in the distance.
They both nodded.
“That’s where Morg’s base camp is, from up there his spotters can watch this whole valley, and more in particular they watch the Bethany like hawks, anyone who stops to get water from it usually falls victim, because they’re careless and easy prey. They’re all bloodthirsty, those raiders, and Morg Creel himself is the biggest and meanest and most bloodthirsty of all of them. and when those four that you killed don’t come back, you can bet your life he’s going to come looking for them”
“So, what do you suggest we do?” The male asked in a sarcastic tone.
“Trip shook his head slowly.
“Well-seeing as how you don’t have much time, you’d best do like we’re gonna do.” He told them.
“Which is?”
“Get as far away from here as possible.”
~Scratch.. A.B.T. Copyright © 2014~
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