Windstorm

He’s dreaming. That’s the first thing Peter can recognize. His vision feels blurry, his ears feel clogged, his body feels stiff, as if he was caught in a sandstorm. The world around him is cold, dark, empty, save for one single source of crimson red light. He trudges towards the light, remembered fear and pain coursing through his mind as it grows brighter in his eyes, slowly starting to take shape. The light finally fades into the form of the Harbinger, her intense gaze piercing through his body like a knife, her sinister yet beautiful smile chilling him to his core.

Peter tries to run, but no matter how far he travels, the Harbinger is always just a step behind. His stiff limbs struggle to move at all, and he can hear the Harbinger getting closer with each passing moment. Knowing he’s doomed, he turns to fight, but none of his attacks seem to even faze the deadly woman. She blocks his punches with simplistic ease, flicks away any psychic attacks Peter tries to make with a single finger, her smile never dropping.

Then she strikes. Her scythe-like blade of blood-red psychic energy cleaves through his body with sickening precision and speed, tearing him into two halves. He sees the world shatter before him, his vision split down the middle as he falls in two directions. He tries to scream, but can’t. He tries to fight, but his arms no longer work, his legs won’t move. He lies there, helpless, dead, forced to listen to the Harbinger’s sweet cackle for what feels like an eternity.

Peter snaps awake, a soundless cry escaping from his raw lungs. He can still feel the horrible burning pain in his chest from where he had been sliced, he can still see images of the Harbinger dancing through his vision, melding together in a horrible, dizzying nightmare. He squeezes his eyes shut and reaches a hand out for his nightstand, desperate to find something to tether himself back to reality, but his hand only hits empty air.

His eyes open wide again, and this time he can see that he’s not in his room, or even in his house for that matter. He’s back in Doc Felix’s hospital, in one of the several small patient rooms. He whips his head around, looking for someone, anyone else to be there, and he is relieved to see his family and friends all crowding around the various corners of his patient room.

“It’s okay, baby,” Venna says soothingly, reaching out to hug her son. “You’re okay. You’re just in the hospital.”

Peter gladly accepts the hug, allowing his mother’s warm embrace to melt away the fog of terror that still clouds his mind. “What happened?” He asks, his voice a hoarse whisper.

“You were knocked out pretty good,” Jane says quietly. “Whatever you did to that crazy scythe lady really took it out of you. You’ve been out cold for a day.” She walks up from the bench she was sitting on to join her mother and brother in their embrace. “You really had us all worried.”

Peter takes a long while to let his family go, as if they would fade away, but he finally is able to calm himself down enough to pull back and let his family step away to let Doc Felix check on him. “You were causing quite a storm a bit ago,” the doctor explains as he does his routine check on Peter’s vitals and injuries. “Almost blew everyone out of the room. Shattered that window over there,” he finishes, motioning to the small, blown out window frame to Peter’s left.

Peter cringes in embarrassment. “Sorry, Doc. I was, uh…”

“No need to apologize, son. I’ve had patients react far worse to far less trauma than you,” Felix says, using his telekinesis to grab a fresh set of bandages from across the room to apply them to some slashes that Peter had reopened in his sleep. “You’re family’s right. That last attack really did a number on your arm. Wasn’t sure I’d be able to save it for a while, there.”

Peter frowns in confusion and looks down to his right arm to see what the doctor is talking about, and is shocked to find it wrapped in a thick layer of bandages and completely soaked through with dark-red blood. Massive gashes and cracks cover the entirety of his arm, from shoulder to wrist. Small pools of old blood leak out of his wounds as the doc replaces his soaked bandages, staining the fresh ones a disconcerting shade of crimson. “Oh, god…” He mutters to himself. In all the chaos of his battle with the Harbinger, he hadn’t noticed just how much damage he’d been doing to himself. Clearly, he’d way overdone it with that Psion Cannon.

As Peter watches Doc Felix patch his arm up with fresh bandages, he realizes that the strange sense of weightlessness he’d felt when he fired that Psion Cannon was gone, replaced with an almost crushing pressure within his whole body, as if something was bursting against his chest, crying to be let out. It’s a strange, almost sickening feeling, at once painful but also almost enjoyable. “Did… Did I break anything? Anything in my body, I mean.”

Maria lets out a soft chuckle at that. “Nah, but you left a massive crater just outside the village. Ron, Mullen, and a couple of other guys are busy filling that back in right now, actually.”

“Oh… Sorry,” Peter mumbles. He remembers the crater he’d been lying in before he blacked out, but he doesn’t remember creating it. But more than that, knowing that he hadn’t broken any bones but still has this sharp, all-encompassing pain in his body scares him. What kind of damage had he done to himself by firing that Psion Cannon?

“Don’t be sorry, Peter,” Mamaw says soothingly from the back corner of the room. “If you hadn’t stepped in, who knows what would’ve happened?” She slowly gets to her feet and shuffles over to her grandson’s bedside, holding something in her hand. “Here. Felix didn’t want you wearing this in your sleep,” she says, extending her hand and dropping something soft yet worn into Peter’s hand.

Peter looks down to see his father’s old, white bandana in his hand, its intricate details worn and faded but still noticeable. Peter smiles at the piece of cloth then at his grandma. “Thanks, Mamaw.” Mamaw smiles and winks before shuffling back to her seat, letting Peter tie the bandana on his neck, careful on to get any blood on the old white cloth.

“So, what now?” Maria asks, her voice slightly distant and weary, as if she was the one who’d just woken up from a day long coma.

“What do you mean? We let Peter rest and get back to fixing the town,” Joel says, eyeing his friend in confusion.

“You heard that psychopath back there. She’s expecting Peter to come. And who knows how many other villages she’ll attack in the meantime?” Maria asks, her voice slowly taking on a sharp, anxious edge.

“We don’t know if she’ll attack any other villages. Besides, Peter is in no condition to fight right now,” Venna says, her voice a mixture of confusion and protectiveness.

“Exactly. I mean, come on, Maria, you really expect her to attack again? She said she wanted me, so why would she—?”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about!” Maria suddenly snaps, her narrow eyes widening in sudden terror, her voice cracking with pent-up emotion. “You didn’t see what I saw! I read her thoughts. I’ve seen what she’s done to so many other villages. There were so many bodies…” Her voice trails off as images of the Harbinger’s remembered atrocities flash through her mind, all the corpses, the demolished homes, the blood, the screams.

Jane puts a comforting hand on the older woman’s back. “It’s okay…”

“No, no it’s not okay! I can’t just sit here knowing she’s out there, still killing people, just waiting for us to show up.” Maria stands up off the bench she was sitting on and marches up to Peter’s side, staring imploringly into his eyes. “Peter. Please. We need to stop this.”

“I… I don’t know… Is there anything we can even do against that power?” Peter asks, trepidation and fear lacing his words. He rubs the back of his head nervously and glances back down at his injured arm, knowing that there might just be one way to handle the Harbinger.

“Well, to be fair, you did manage to beat her last time,” Joel says awkwardly from the bench, voicing Peter’s thoughts out loud. “But…”

“We are not discussing this!” Venna interjects sternly. “That woman nearly killed Peter before. Heck, she just about killed us all! I am not letting him or any of you go after that monster.”

Maria looks back at Venna in surprise, unable to come up with a counter argument. How could she not see how important this was? They had to go. She looks to Joel and Peter for support, but she only gets blank, awkward stares. Even Jane goes silent, unwilling to argue against her mother.

“Venna, you know she’s right,” Mamaw finally says, breaking the tense silence with her soothing voice. “That Harbinger whoever isn’t gonna just sit by doing nothing. She’s gonna find a new town sometime soon, and then those people will die. We both know Peter can stop her before it’s too late.”

“Grace…” Venna mumbles in surprise. “You can’t be serious…”

“I know what you’re thinking, dear, and you’re not wrong. This is gonna be dangerous, for everyone. But Peter’s a strong man, just like his father.” She grabs Venna’s arm and gives it an encouraging squeeze. “He can handle this.”

Venna shakes her head somberly, tears welling up in her eyes. “No. I can’t lose him, too. Not like this.”

Jane hugs her mother, leaning her head against her shoulder. Both are thinking the same thing: that all of this is way too familiar, that they’ve already lost Marcus to his heroics, and that they can’t handle losing Peter, too. “It’s… It’s gonna be okay, Ma. Peter can…” Her empty comfort dies on her tongue, replaced with gentle sobs as she fights back tears of her own.

Peter also starts welling up, unable to bear seeing his family so torn up. He gets out of his bed, ignores Doc Felix’s protests, and joins the family hug. “Ma, nothing’s happened yet. I’m fine, you’re fine, we’re all fine. Let’s just be happy with that for now, okay?” Venna simply sniffs and sobs in reply, fighting against her tears.

Peter looks up from his huh and makes eye contact with Maria, signaling her that they will talk more later. Maria frowns back but nods before walking out of the hospital room. Joel looks from Maria to Peter and shrugs uncomfortably before also leaving the family to themselves.

After a few more silent moments, Peter finally speaks up. “Let’s just get home, alright? We can worry about this another time.”

Venna nods and breaks away from the family hug. “Right. Come on, then. We still have a shop to restock,” she says, smiling weakly. Peter returns the smile and follows her, Jane, and Mamaw out of the room, thanking Felix for all of his help on the way.

“Just make sure to keep changing out those bandages until the bleeding stops,” Felix calls out as the family exits. As soon as they have all left, he lets out an exhausted sigh and turns to start cleaning up the patient room for the next one in line, knowing that he’ll likely be dealing with this sort of drama for a while to come.

***

Far in the north, miles away from West Village, the Harbinger, and civilization itself, a single wounded man limps through the desert, trailing tiny drops of blood with each step. His silvery-white hair and jacket are stained with blood, sand, and sweat. His fair skin burns under the intense blue sunlight, multiplying the pain from his various cuts and gashes and making every movement sheer agony. He ignores the pain, however, knowing that he’s already gone too far to turn around, especially since his home Valleria is in ruins. He keeps marching forward, knowing that he has to find his target soon.

He gets his first sign of hope when he notices a small, brown tree a few yards away. Invigorated by the first sight of real plant life he’s had in days, he sprints towards the tree at full speed, trying and failing to use his drained psychic abilities to enhance his speed in any way. Finally, he makes it to the tree and collapses under its meager shade, grateful for any rest. He doesn’t stay there for long, though, just long enough for his psyche to recover from his constant overuse. Barely half an hour passes before he decides that he feels rejuvenated enough to get back up. He reaches out with his telekinetic grip, enveloping himself with weak flames of black light and lifting himself barely off the ground. Once he’s hovering above the sand, he pushes his limits even further and propels himself through the air, flying unsteadily towards his goal as fast as he can manage.

As he flies through the desert, the sparse tree cover becomes thicker and thicker, until he is finally surrounded by a small but lush forest of strange, orange-and-pink-leaved trees. He’s made it; the Gau Forest. With what little energy he has left in his body and mind, he pushes himself to go faster, knowing that his final destination can’t be far off. He keeps flying through the ever growing oasis, scanning the surface for a single cabin until he finally spots it, nearly soaring past it in his blind rush. He whips around and attempts to turn, but he collides with a nearby tree and goes careening off, shattering limbs off of the strange, beautiful trees of the Gau Forest as he plummets before finally crashing into the ground just ahead of the cabin.

Alarmed by the sudden commotion, an aged man bursts out of the cabin door, his gaze whipping back and forth, trying to see what had caused this much noise before he notices the wounded man lying in a heap before his porch. “Elyas! What the heck are you doing here? Are you okay?” The old man exclaims, rushing down his front stairs as quickly as his ancient bones can carry him, clutching his old and faded hat with his off hand.

Elyas, too determined to collapse now, slowly manages to pick himself up until he is standing mostly upright. The old hermit catches Elyas just before he collapses again, staring with horror at his ruined jacket and destroyed body. “Hello, Jack,” Elyas wheezes, barely able to lift his head high enough to make contact with the hermit. “I think you have a few more lessons to teach me. I need your power…old man…”

Before Jack can reply, Elyas passes out in his grip, the accumulated damage and exhaustion finally catching up to him. Jack struggles to keep Elyas upright as he starts to lift him with his own psychic energy, enveloping the injured young man with energy the same shade of orange as the trees surrounding him.

“Oh, Elyas. What have you done, now?” Jack muses as he gently carries Elyas into his cabin to tend to his many wounds.

***

Much later that evening, Peter and his friends are out near the town gates, watching the stunning blue sunset, basking in the last warm, radiant indigos and violets from the sun before it finally sets after another long, hectic day. The trio stares silently at the majestic sky before them, none wanting to break the reverie after the chaos of just the past few days. As the sun finally begins to dip below the horizon and the first of Thera’s triplet moons begin to rise, Peter removes his bandana and stares down at it, admiring its own beauty and intricacies the same way they had all just been admiring the sunset.

The faded floral patterns and elegant lines flow across the fabric like water, creating a stunning tapestry of blacks and grays on the old white cloth. As he examines his bandana, he can’t help but remember the day he got it from his father.

It had been late in the afternoon, probably just a few hours away from sunset. His father Marcus and Joel’s father Gideon had been acting antsy for the past day, as if they knew something no one else did, something terrible. Both men had just finished a long, heated conversation with each other in the barn and were slowly making their way back to the house. Peter hadn’t heard what was said, but from the looks on their faces, it was clear that Marcus had won whatever debate the two were having.

“Gideon and I will be back soon,” Marcus had said, to his family in general but to his wife Venna specifically. “There’s something out there we need to take care of.”

“How long will you be gone?” Venna had asked, her voice making it abundantly clear that she half expected this to be the last time she would ever see her husband. Marcus had gone on plenty of hunts like this before, chasing down giant monsters that were threatening West Village, or any other nearby town, but this felt different, somehow. Marcus’ signature smile seemed a bit forced, his casually confident gaze seemed more anxious than usual.

Marcus pulled her into a quick but firm embrace before he kissed her lips gently. “It shouldn’t take too long. I’ll be back by dinner.”

Venna hadn’t seemed to believe that, but she didn’t say anything one way or the other. She simply nodded in understanding before she let her husband go, motioning for him to follow Gideon as he was waiting outside.

Marcus turned to leave, before he suddenly paused at the doorstep. He slowly turned around and gave Peter and Jane a warm smile as he walked up to his ten-year-old son. “Hey, Pete. Can I ask ya to do something for me?” Marcus asked as he untied his bandana, as crisp and white as it had ever been, its beautiful floral patterns even more stunning and bold back then. “I want ya to hold onto this for me, okay? I’ll be back for it in a little bit, so don’t ya lose it, hear?” Peter nodded severely, taking the old cloth in his hands as if it were some sacred, holy item. Marcus simply chuckled at that and ruffled his son’s perfectly combed hair, much to his annoyance.

Then he was gone. Peter looked up after fixing his hair, and his father had already left, driving off with Gideon on a custom-built dune buggy, off to face some strange, unknown threat far in the desert.

Peter looks back down at his bandana now, small wells of tears dripping down his cheeks as he remembers the gut-wrenching pain he had felt when Gideon had returned alone, only to explain that Marcus had been killed by whatever it was they’d been hunting. Ten years, and the memory still burns his soul like fire and pierces his mind like a knife.

After taking a deep breath to calm himself down, Peter ties the bandana back on his neck and turns to face Joel, determination filling his eyes. “Joel, does Gideon still have that old buggy lying around?”

Joel is taken aback by this at first, unsure how to respond to the sudden question. “Uh, yeah. At least I think he does. Why do you ask?”

“Because we’re gonna need it if we’re gonna catch the Harbinger,” Peter explains with conviction, looking meaningfully at Maria.

Maria smiles back. “I knew you’d come around.”

“Wait, when did we decide we were gonna do this?” Joel protests, feeling more confused than he had in a long time. He shakes his head in disbelief. “Are we really just gonna up and leave everything behind to chase that psychopath around Thera? We don’t even know where she is.”

“I can find her,” Maria says, her voice a strange mixture of confidence and unease. “I read her mind, remember? I know what her psyche feels like, and I’m pretty sure I can track her down if she isn’t too far off.”

“I always forget you can do that,” Joel mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose and letting out a tired sigh. “So I guess you want me to fix up the old buggy so you two can go hunt her down, then?”

“All of us,” Peter corrects, placing a friendly hand on Joel’s shoulder. “We need you, too, man. You know machines better than anyone else. If we run into trouble out there, I’d feel much better with you by my side.”

“Me, too,” Maria chimes in, giving Joel a playful nudge with her shoulder. “So, what’s it gonna be? You in?”

Joel looks back and forth between his two best friends, unsure how to take their compliments. “I mean… I don’t think I’ll be much help, but…” He looks at Peter, then down to his still injured arm, remembering how powerful his friend had been not too long ago, and yet how injured and weak he seems now. What could Joel expect to do to help someone that strong? If even Peter was no match for the Harbinger, what hope does Joel have? Still, he had promised to stick with him the next time he went into battle, and besides, both of them wanted him to come. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll do it.”

“That’s the spirit!” Maria exclaims joyfully. “Come on, then. You have a buggy to fix.”

“Can I at least get a nap in, first?” Joel complains as he follows Maria down the main straight of the town, both of them diligently avoiding the charred slash in the road the Harbinger had left behind.

Peter smirks to himself, pleased to know that his friends will be by his side on this. He knows how dangerous of a mission he’s asking them to go on, but like his father before him, Peter is determined to defeat this monster, no matter what.

***

“No!” Venna shouts in horror, unable to believe her ears. “I thought we agreed on this. You aren’t going anywhere, Peter! It’s way too dangerous. You could get killed, or hurt and left to die!”

“I’m not gonna be alone, Ma,” Peter says as soothingly as he can, trying to place a calming hand on his mother’s shoulder before she brushes him aside. “I’ll have Maria and Joel with me.”

“Because they were such a big help last time,” Venna scoffs, pacing around the house with anxious energy. “You barely managed to put a scratch on that woman. Not even Joel’s fancy little turret could hurt her. What chance do you guys have? Why are you doing this?”

“Because Dad would, too!” Peter exclaims, the exhaustion of the previous day and his anger at hearing his mother insult his friends pouring out all at once. “If Dad knew that there was someone as dangerous as the Harbinger out there, he’d drop everything and take her down!”

“Look where that attitude got him!” Venna shouts back, tears of anguish filling her eyes. “I’m not losing you, too, Peter! I can’t let you do this!”

“Venna…” Mamaw says softly from the couch. “You know he’s right. That woman will keep destroying town after town if she isn’t stopped.”

“But why does it have to be Peter?” Venna demands, the anger in her voice melting away, only for sorrow to take its place. “He’s just a kid…”

“He’s twenty years old,” Mamaw counters, a kind and understanding look on her face. She knows how much she is asking of her, but deep down, Mamaw knows this is right. Her son had given everything he had to protect others while he was alive, and the thought of her Marcus' legacy living on through Peter gives her a strange sort of inner comfort. “He’s as much a man as Marcus was back then. And you know as well as I do that Peter takes after Marcus’ power.”

“Exactly,” Peter chimes in, walking up from behind Venna and giving her a firm side hug. “If there’s anyone out there who can stop that monster, it’s me, Ma. I have to go. I’m not gonna sit around knowing that people out there are dying. That’s not what Dad would want, and I know that’s not what you want, either.”

Venna trembles in her son’s grip, too weary and tired to keep herself upright any longer. She refuses to let her son throw his life away, but at the same time, she knows he’s right. This is exactly what Marcus would do in this situation. He would risk everything, including his own life, to save everyone.

“Ma?” Jane asks, unsure what to do or what to say to comfort her mother.

“It’s… It’s okay, Jane. I’m okay,” Venna says, slowly drawing away from her son’s embrace. She takes a moment to recompose herself, to allow all of the pent up emotions quiet down in her mind before she speaks. When she opens her eyes, she smiles tiredly at Peter. “You can go. I know there’s nothing I can do to stop you, either way.”

“Ma…” Peter says softly, about to thank his mother before she cuts him off.

“But you have to promise to come back home, understand? You have to promise me that you’ll be back here, alive and in one piece,” Venna says severely, eyeing Peter’s damaged arm intently.

Peter looks down at his injured right arm and chuckles. “I promise, Ma. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Venna replies dryly, still not too pleased with the decision. “So, when do you leave?”

“Early tomorrow, hopefully,” Peter answers. “Joel’s gotta get a few things ready for us, then we’ll all be heading out.”

“Then you better get some rest. We can pack in the morning,” Venna says with finality. She quickly hugs her son before wishing him a good night. “I love you, Peter.”

“I love you, too, Ma. I love you all,” Peter says, looking at his family, hoping beyond hope that it won’t be for the last time.

***

As the triplet moons of Thera rise high in the sky, surrounded by thousands of twinkling stars, a sudden metallic rustling sound stirs Gideon from his sleep. He bolts upright in his bed, straining his ears to determine where the sound had come from. After a few silent moments, another crash sounds out from the large shed to the side of his old, decrepit home, followed by a low, rhythmic thrumming noise. Confused by the strange noises, Gideon hauls himself out of bed, slips on some faded and frayed shoes, and quietly stalks out of his home, towards the shed.

As he nears the old shed, he can barely make out the vague silhouette of someone rooting around the engine bay of his old dune buggy. He reaches for a shotgun just by the door and aims it at the buggy.

“Don’t bother. It’s empty,” Joel’s voice calls out nonchalantly from under the vehicle.

Gideon pauses for a second, confusion playing all over his face. “Joel? What…? What are you doing here?”

“Testing the buggy,” Joel replies dryly, as if it wasn’t already obvious. “Peter, Maria, and I need it to hunt after that crazy Harbinger lady.” Joel lets out a frustrated grunt as he pries something loose from underneath the vehicle, sending the wrench he had been working with flying across the shed with a dull clank. Joel clambers out from underneath the buggy and stomps after the wayward tool.

“You…? You’re going after her?” Gideon asks, completely baffled. “But, but you can’t…”

After grabbing the wrench, Joel picks himself back up with a dark chuckle. “I know, Gideon. I can’t do anything to help them. I’m completely out of my depth, here,” he says, his voice taking on a strange, bitter tone. He makes his way back over to the buggy and crawls back underneath it with a soft groan. “But unlike you, I don’t run from tricky situations. My friends need me, and I plan to be there for them. Now if there’s nothing else…”

Joel lets the tension hang in the air, knowing that Gideon will run in time. Sure enough, after just a few moments of awkward silence, Gideon drops the shotgun off by the door and walks back into his home. He walks listlessly through the old hallway to his kitchen to grab a slice of stinger berry pie from under a towel, grimacing at the sour kick of the old, stale pie. He gnaws on the old desert, musing idly to himself, staring at a dusty box in the corner of his kitchen.

Spurred on with a sudden burst of inspiration, Gideon bolts up and grabs the old box, ripping its contents out and beginning furious work on them, determined to get the strange device within functional once again.

***

Hours later, as the moons slowly begin to descend from the indigo skies and the sun begins to rise, a crowren sounds the alarm, alerting all who can hear that another day has arrived. The piercing shriek of the old bird startles Joel awake. He jolts upwards, smacking his head against the exhaust pipe of the buggy with a loud thud.

“Oh, scuffin’...” Joel exclaims in pain, rubbing the sore spot on his forehead as he crawls out from under the old vehicle. He had worked on the machine all night long. It had been frustrating, tiring work, but he had done it. He keeps muttering to himself in pain as he climbs into the driver’s seat and starts the buggy with a soft, coughing splutter.

“There she goes,” Joel says happily, glad that his hard work wasn’t for nothing. He quickly hops out of the vehicle, opens the large exit doors on the side of the shed, then drives off towards the town center, eager to show his friends all of his hard work.

As Joel drives off, he doesn’t see Gideon watching him depart from the house. Gideon sighs to himself, exhausted after a similar all-nighter. He picks up the device he had been working on: some strange rounded rectangular machine with two prongs at one end, and a large dish on the other. The device looks like it was cobbled together from whatever scrap Gideon could get his hands on, probably because it had been.

Gideon presses a series of buttons on the device and suddenly a quick, blueish jolt of electricity jumps from the prong end with a sizzling crackle. Satisfied that his efforts had succeeded, Gideon makes his way out of his home, following his son’s tire tracks into the town square, where seemingly everyone has already gathered.

“Whaddaya think?” Joel asks his friends cheerily, patting the driver’s side door with his off hand. “Not too shabby, huh?”

“It looks good,” Maria comments approvingly. “Now let’s see. We got everything?”

Peter nods his head and holds up two large bags of supplies. “Yep. Food and water supplies here. Medical stuff from Doc Felix here.” Peter grimaces as he holds up the medical bag in his right arm. The bag was light enough, but the added weight still dug into the sore gashes in his hand, causing some scabs to peel open again, much to his annoyance.

“I got plenty of extra goodies stashed in here, too,” Joel says, motioning to the large duffel bag full of various spare parts, as well as munitions for himself. “Couple charges, in case we get caught in a rock slide or something. Plenty of spare ammo for myself….”

Maria hefts her steel orb into the buggy, dropping it into the hold in the back with a resounding thud. “Orb for me. Are these jugs for fuel?”

Joel nods. “Yep. Lucky for us, this stuff runs off of vegetable oil, so as long as we can find some bushes or something out there, fuel shouldn’t be too much of a problem.”

Peter drops his own cargo off on one of the three back seats with a cheery nod of his head. “Looks like we got everything ready, then.”

As the trio start to make their departure, hugging their families goodbye, waving to the rest of the crowd, making last minute promises to stay safe, Gideon pushes his way up to them, the odd device gripped tightly in his hand. “Joel? Can I give you something?”

Joel, surprised to see him anywhere near this crowd, takes a second to think of a proper response. “What do you want?” He asks, deciding that annoyed disdain would be the best reaction.

Gideon trembles slightly as he hands the device to his son. “I want you to have this. It’s an old prototype I’ve been working on over the years. I call it the Psycho Scrambler.”

Joel lifts an eyebrow at that and takes the oblong device. “‘Psycho Scrambler’, huh? What’s it do?” He examines the scrambler with a scrutinizing eye, checking out the strange mechanisms and buttons that make it up.

“The… The top end with the prongs is activated by pressing the red button. The bottom dish end is activated by pressing the green. The dials on the side control the amount of power each end receives from the interior stasis generator,” Gideon explains unhelpfully.

“Right. But what does it do?” Joel repeats, his patience strained.

“It… It releases strong waves of electrostatic energy, negating any psychic energy fields within range,” Gideon finally says, the words coming out in a rushed splutter. “Basically…”

“It negates psychic powers…” Joel finishes, his eyes widening in surprise and grudging respect. He examines the device again, this time making special note of all the intricate circuitry and mechanisms that now clearly make up the stasis generator, the emitter dish, the static prongs, everything. As much as it pains him to admit, the Scrambler seems like it would work perfectly.

“Thanks, Gideon,” Joel says quietly, pocketing the device for later testing. “That all?”

“Uh… Yes, yes it is,” Gideon replies awkwardly, shuffling his way back out of the crowd, shoulders hunched and face hidden under his mess of graying blond hair.

“Hey, you okay?” Peter asks Joel after a few awkward, silent moments as his friend watches his estranged father walk away once again.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine,” Joel says, snapping himself out of his dark reverie. “Are we all ready to go?”

“Yeah! Let’s do this!” Maria shouts with way too much enthusiasm for how early it is. “I call shotgun!”

Before Peter can even reply, Maria has already hopped into the passenger seat and strapped herself down. Peter lets out a soft chuckle, turns to wave goodbye to his family one last time, and hops into one of the back seats, holding onto some material with his left arm to steady it. “Ready when you are, Joel.”

Joel smiles slightly and begins to drive away from the village. “Crazy psycho lady, here we come,” he mutters sarcastically.

“Don’t say it like that. We can do this, guys! Now step on it!” She half lowers her eyelids and stretches out with her telepathy, trying to sense where the Harbinger might be located. After a split second, her left hand whips out, nearly clocking Joel in the face as she points south-east. “There!”

“Alright, then. Hang on, y’all!” Joel says before whipping the buggy around to the left until he is facing around where Maria is pointing. As soon as he has his heading, Joel slams on the accelerator, causing the wheels to spin out just slightly before they manage to get a good grip in the sand and the buggy jets off towards the rising dunes.

As Joel barrels down the dunes, kicking up a veritable storm of dust behind him, Peter clenches his seat restraints tightly. “Could we maybe slow down a bit?”

“Ah, where’s your sense of adventure?” Maria chides sarcastically, holding her head out the side of the buggy, allowing the cool early morning air to whip through her face and raven-black hair. “Can this thing go faster?”

“Let’s find out,” Joel replies with a smirk. “Hang on back there, P.K.” Just as soon as he finishes saying this, Joel reaches down for a small lever next to his arm rest and snaps it into a different position, causing the engine to roar ever fiercer and the buggy to race off at blistering speeds through the dunes.

Peter lets out a yelp of dismay as he and his friends leap over one particularly high dune, seemingly scraping the clouds themselves, suddenly wishing he had stayed home.