Koha’vek
The cold didn’t bother me anymore. I’d gotten used to it in the months since I left the Mesaarkan base. I’ve spent a lot of time outdoors in the cold.
I moved through the forest with the silence of a predator. With each step, my heavy boots barely whispered against the pine-needle-covered Earth. It was late winter, and snow dusted the ground in thin layers, not deep enough to slow me down but enough to cover my trail behind me. I was glad for that because I knew hunters could still come looking for me.
Since I left my old life behind, the wilderness has become a sanctuary. The solitude has been good for my battered soul. Up here, deep in the ridges of the Medicine Bow mountain range. My routine of survival was honest and straightforward. I hunted mule deer and elk with a bow, and I only killed what I needed, but no more. The mountain streams were fresh and clear and I drank from any that I came upon.
Early in my wanderings, I found an abandoned mountain hideaway half buried under snow and vines. I rebuilt it stone by stone, log by log. Sometimes, the roof leaked during heavy storms, but I patched it the best I could. If I forgot to check the flue, the fireplace sent smoke into the living area. It was nowhere near as nice as my home on Mesaark, but it was mine.
I was on constant alert for anyone looking for me, but so far, no one seemed to be. Occasionally, patrols would fly overhead, and I would hide so they wouldn’t see me. My hearing is exceptional. I could hear them miles away and hide before they came close enough to spot me.
I don’t know whether I was surprised and disappointed that my people never came to look for me. I believe the patrols flying overhead were cyborgs looking for our base to find the missing people. I kept my weapons charged and stayed alert. These were habits I’d learned early in my military career, an occupation that was chosen for me against my will.
I still had my stolen flyer, but I dared not take it out from the old barn where I hid it in my house. I’d dare not take it out because it carried the greatest risk of being discovered by the wrong people.
I came to the edge of a clearing and stood crouched between the snow-covered cedars. The deer was still ahead, small, healthy, and alert. It sniffed the wind, its ears twitching.
I raise my bow, notched a narrow and true back the bow string, feeling my muscles tighten as I poised, waiting for the precise moment to launch the arrow.
Then the wind shifted. A new scent entered my nostrils. I knew that scent well. Human blood. It was coppery and fresh and my nostrils flared in recognition.
A twig snapped as I rose to my full height. The deer bolted at the sound as I turned toward the scent. By the strength, I could tell it wasn’t far. I followed the trail, dirt and snow slipping under my feet as I descended down a slope lined with jagged rocks and broken branches.
At the bottom lay a woman by a rock and a tree that apparently stopped to descent into the ravine. Her long, dark hair was tangled with dirt and leaves. Her clothes were torn and damp. Blood dripped on the snow from a gash on her temple. Her ankle looked swollen
I looked around her. She had no pack, no supplies, and I wondered how she even got here.
Note: Kohavek is the Mesaarkan deserter first introduced in Raven Blackwood Cyborg Guardian. This is a work in progress with a projected release later this summer. Kohavek is a monster romance.
