Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 46156 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 231(@200wpm)___ 185(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46156 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 231(@200wpm)___ 185(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
Another man reached for her and missed, seizing a handful of her blonde hair. She slashed at the tresses, using the sharp glass to free herself. A second thrust of the shards at his face sent him wheeling away. Skye didn’t celebrate. She rebalanced herself, expecting a third to target her.
To her surprise, no one attacked. She scanned the area. Three ran away and two rolled in agony on the ground. Skye relaxed. The threat was over.
“You just had to spill our last fifth of whiskey, didn’t you? I gave you that knife for your protection.”
Skye noticed the slurred speech had evaporated. He wasn’t drunk—just crafty. She shrugged and adjusted her backpack, not sure how to answer that. Reversing the bottle, she held the safe end out to him.
“I think that’s done its job. You did well. I’m Derek Lowe.”
“And I’m Brooks Battlefield.”
“Skye.” Her voice sounded raspy to her ears. She hadn’t spoken for days.
“Let’s get out of here, Skye, before they find friends. We’re headed to Wyvern,” Brooks said.
Skye pointed to the east and repeated, “Wyvern.” She started walking. The men fell in beside her after a second’s pause. The trio continued walking for several minutes, checking behind them to ensure they weren’t being followed.
“You don’t say a lot, do you?” Derek asked.
She shook her head. Words were usually unnecessary. Skye didn’t waste them when they weren’t critical.
“So, you’re Skye from Wyvern?” Brooks asked.
Skye nodded.
“What are the odds of that? It appears you were meant to join us, Skye. Welcome to the trek from hell. Those guys were angels compared to what’s roaming around out here,” Derek shared.
At her nod, he continued, “Where were you?”
She didn’t need any clarification. When all things tech ceased to function, a gigantic time marker had appeared in everyone’s life. Skye guessed it was like a war or when men walked on the moon. She turned to show him the backpack looped on her shoulders.
“Peabody Art School,” Brooks read.
“Ah. That’s why you don’t say much. You’re one of those unconventional artists,” Derek teased.
Not taking offense, she nodded. Some people used humor to make fun of others. She didn’t get anything negative from Derek’s statement. Besides, he was correct. Art was her passion. And she was definitely… quirky.
The trio continued to walk. Eventually, the guys started talking amongst themselves. They included her politely from time to time. Skye was okay with their conversations. Her companions were interesting and had adventured here and there.
She tried to absorb details from their stories so she could learn. That was how her brain processed things. Bits and pieces of unrelated information eventually settled into a pattern that only she seemed to understand. Skye guessed that qualified her as quirky.
As darkness gathered, Brooks suggested finding a place for shelter. The men spotted an abandoned house. After searching the building from top to bottom, the three traveling companions decided to stay there. The idea of sleeping in a bed sounded great to all three of them.
Skye tried not to think of the people who’d lived there. The pictures still hung on the walls—parents, twin male teenagers, and a baby girl. The guys had guessed the latter was an oops baby, but Skye could tell the entire family loved her.
“Hopefully, they’ve moved to be with family,” Brooks suggested.
The diapers stacked under the changing table made Skye suspect something else had happened. She walked through the other bedrooms, studying their artifacts to honor them. Everyone deserved to be remembered.
With that task finished, she chose a bedroom to check for supplies to sustain her on the journey. Under one of the twin beds in the bedroom decorated with posters of country music stars, Skye discovered a stash of junk food. She carried the box to the family room where the men relaxed.
“Food? Skye, you’re amazing. Brooks found a few water bottles in the laundry room. There are even a few jugs of distilled water. We can clean up.”
She smiled at that idea and raked her hand through her now uneven hair. The missing chunk was a harmless thing to lose, but it bothered her artistic need for balance and symmetry.
“Yes. There’s plenty of water for you to wash your hair,” Derek assured her. “You take first pick of the food.”
After selecting a package of powdered donuts and accepting a bottle of water from Brooks, she settled on the couch. The men joked about stealing each other’s favorites from the box, but Skye noticed they each ended up with something they enjoyed.
Skye spotted a pencil sticking out from under the couch. Pulling it free, she abandoned the food and walked to the wall, illuminated by the last light of the day. The men stopped talking, which meant they were keeping an eye on her. It didn’t matter if she had an audience or not. Once she’d sharpened the pencil with the knife Derek had slipped to her earlier, she sketched the arching sweep of a wing. This would definitely not be a vulture.