THE EPOCH CHRONICLES | ✔

twenty-two

En route to Bradley's Marsh
3 klicks from Site One

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LALE FELT his voice crack more than he heard it; an almost ripping in his chest out of grief. "Bradley, what's going on? Why do you look so ..." he trailed off, certain his friend would get the gist of what he meant.

The scruffy clothes, the beard (he hadn't even thought that the previously cleanly-shaven ex-pilot was capable of growing one), and not to mention the bow and arrow, all pointed to time spent in the wild. A lot of time.

The thought of Brad, perhaps alone, in the world that had already tried to eat he and Amelia twice in the last half an hour, threatened to choke him; yet it was the only explanation. Had his TimePod malfunctioned? How long had he been out there? Those thoughts made his heart ache for his friend — or whatever remnant was left of him.

No. He told himself firmly, pulling his thoughts away from that direction with as much force as it took to get his feet out of the sludge of the marsh. The watery-brown mud and the cutting edges of reeds made maneuvering difficult, and took almost as much effort as running away from a pack of toothy predators.

Bradley twisted with a suddenness that made him stop in his tracks, his friend's blue eyes barbed with anger. He looked feral, and Lale instinctively put his arm out in front of Amelia, ready to leap in front of her if his friend pounced.

He didn't, and instead put a finger to his lips, silently telling them to be quiet. Brad then turned and continued walking, heading for a cluster of ferns far taller than Lale, who turned and shared a glance with Amelia. He knew her sorrow was reflected in his own eyes. Living alone for who-knew-how-long had taken a toll on Bradley, and Lale resigned himself to be more careful around the other man, even though it made his chest hurt to admit that Bradley had changed.

And maybe not for the better.

Their slow pace was a stark contrast to the race for their lives before, and finally gave Lale the opportunity to think, and study their surroundings.

The vegetation was lush in the marsh — tall reeds that blocked out the sunlight across his face and had cutting edges, along with shorter, squatted ferns with leaves that trailed over the water. Everything seemed super-sized, however, and even the smallest of the sprouting plants were double the size that they would've been in 2039. Including the animals. Lale didn't rest for long on the beauty that surrounded them — so many more shades of green than he would've thought existed — but instead scoped out for potential dangers.

He was relieved that his priorities hadn't shifted, and he was still as sharp in the mind as ever. As they treaded, Lale held the rock that he had thrown at that one dinosaur tightly in his hand. His skills as stretch pitcher back in the day had saved Amelia's life, and he wasn't going to let go of such a weapon just because there were no large nasties in sight.

Apprehension tightened his throat as they drew closer to the ferns; or maybe that was the thick, mouldy-smelling air. Lale couldn't describe the taste hitting his tongue; something along the lines of vegetation and resin in furniture and the heavy weight of humidity. His suit, for all its contraptions, couldn't keep out the creeping heat and accompanying thirst.

Bradley brushed the ferns' leaves away, and Lale's eyes widened as his brain tried to compute the sight before them. His confusion faded, however, when he spotted the wood and ivory-like glow of bone. Not plants. Instead of the stalks of ferns like he had expected, wood had been arranged into a crude raised home, much like the buildings of people whose land had been ravaged by floods. The memory flashed into his mind; sun-faded posters lining the streets of Melbourne, asking for donations for those who had lost their coastal homes once the ocean had destroyed them.