THE EPOCH CHRONICLES | ✔

thirty-four

Thermal Lake
half a klick from Camp

━━━━

LALE WOKE up with moisture on his lips and a chill deep in his bones. The humidity that heated them up during the day had blanketed him and the recruits around him with dew droplets that were cold and tasted fresh.

He rubbed his forearms to try and beat back the cold and got up before stretching, eyes scanning the early morning darkness. The moon was huge and luminous, still clinging onto the remainder of the light. It looked bigger and closer than it had in 2039.

Lale sighed and rubbed his eyes. If he had wanted to, he could've sat and thought about what had led him to arriving in the Jurassic, and in the marsh. Would it have started with Fereldson, or even before that? With his childhood or the climate change or the people who denied the climate change and let it happen?

But he didn't want to, so he didn't. From experience battling in the heat of the toasted borders, he knew reminiscing would do nothing. Maybe get him killed if he got distracted, but nothing useful anyway.

Instead, Lale overlooked the waterfall and scanned in the direction of the camp. Of Ichabod. Even the thought of the Englishman made him tighten his fists. The next time I see him, Lale thought darkly, his lips twisted into a faint scowl, I'll kill him, I swear to God.

If there is a next time, another thought promptly reminded him. Lale relented, reelinghis anger back in for the moment. It sat heavy in his chest. It's highly likely you'll get yourself killed before that, Lale. Get the others killed.

Lale looked over his shoulder, at the sleeping forms of the other recruits, and felt slightly guilty for his own selfish thoughts. They all had a bone to pick with Ichabod, and he had to focus.

First, food. The night before they'd all been too jittery or solemn to eat, but the hunger pangs were insistent in Lale's gut.

Walking quietly, he approached the pool Bradley had told them about the day before, which stemmed the flow of water that cascaded down the waterfall. Indeed, fish flecked with silver and looking relatively un-mutantlike flapped their fins and thought their happy little fishy thoughts.

They've never even seen a human before, Lale realized. He felt a smile press against his lips, and he gave in, indulging himself in the thought that he was maybe the first person to fish from this pond besides from Bradley. Bradley.

He dipped his hand into the water before he could think on the grief that suddenly accompanied his friend's name, the shock of the cold fading as he knelt down. The fish darted away, but Lale could be patient when he wanted to.

There there, little fishies ... Just me and some water. He let his hand grow cold, eyeing the distance between his palm and the closest fish, who had conveniently not been as vigilant as its buddies. Stay there, little guy ...

Before Lale could overthink it, he swept his hand under the fish's belly and flung it onto the ground beside him, a trick he'd learnt from a beggar who lived near a coast induced by the Meltdown — he and his parents had been there for some holiday or something, and, left to his own devices, Lale had stupidly trailed to the swollen ocean's beach and watched the man who had fished with nothing more than his own hand.