Derelict

I Have Betrayed Innocent Blood

Chapter Twenty-One

The spy glided through the night with no more noise than that of a shadow cast in the light of the moon and creeping across the landscape. In her left hand she bore a coded message destined for the eyes of her contact and ally in the Griff clan. In her right hand a lance, its steel head blackened to avoid reflecting the moonlight and attracting unwanted attention.

She'd always thought women made the best spies. They were subtle and stealthy, moving with grace and ease across uneven terrain or negotiating adverse situations. With proper training and experience, the face of a woman would never betray while that of a man could be read like an open book. Whether driven by greed or lust or sometimes even a simple quest for power, in her estimation all men were pathetic in their attempts to hide the truth.

She amended her thoughts; for the face of every man could be read other than one. And that one remained inscrutable, a constant mystery. He revealed only what he chose and kept all else carefully concealed for none to see. At will, his visage and bearing became stone, his emotions hidden like the blackness of a deep well or the darkest of nights.

It was Caddo, of course. A man many hated and feared but had earned the love and respect of many others. For what had to be the thousandth time, she wondered what existed behind his mask. She wondered if she would ever discover his secrets but feared what lurked there if she ever did.

The moonlight streamed across the landscape, illuminating the drop point. It was there she would leave her message. She had been watching for signs of movement for half the night, fearing betrayal by those on two legs or attack by those on four. Strange predators roamed the Wastelands, unearthly things brought or corrupted by the Visitors.

When she was satisfied no one lie in wait, she slipped toward the slab of granite, one differentiating itself from others by the unusual vein of white quartz running through it. Further ahead, she could make out the line of trees and crops that surrounded the enclave of the Griff clan. Blanchard Springs sprung from the midst of the desolation as a lush and verdant wall, irrigated by waters from the depths of the cavern and cultivated by the entire clan, a paradise in the center of hell.

Approaching the granite, her eyes scanned the landscape, always watching for movement. It was a dangerous game she played, for her life would be forfeit should she be caught. Spies were never afforded mercy when captured and she steeled herself when she knelt before the rock. The quartz slash disappeared into the soil at the base of the slab. Buried there was a tiny metal box covered in cryptic symbols and words. She slipped the message into the box and closed the lid, staring at it as she had dozens of times over the years, once again pondering the mystery of the red cross on its surface and the meaning of the words "First Aid."

It was a remnant of a bygone era, an enigma with its answer clouded by the passage of time like that of so many other relics scattered across the Wastelands.

She buried the box and positioned the signal rock on the slab. The black chunk of granite placed on the white band of quartz sent a message to her confederate: a message had been dropped.

She paused again, reflecting on the message itself. Never before had a missive been of such great import. And never before had the cost been so great should all fall to pieces.

The mine is dying, two seasons remain.

He has placed two crates in her care.

She has them deep under the earth and well guarded.