Chapter 6: The Last Game

The Dread Wastes were different at night. Wind whispered secrets across the dunes, and strange lights flickered on the horizon – salvager camps or fever dreams, it was impossible to tell. Asher and Seven had been walking for hours, guided only by starlight and the android’s unwavering sense of direction.

“The stars are like the lights in the children’s ward,” Seven mused, head tilted back. “We used to make up stories about them. Constellations of teddy bears and favorite toys, instead of hunters and monsters.”

“Shh.” Asher paused, listening. The night wind carried sounds strangely in the wastes. Every shadow could be pursuit, every echo a hunter’s footstep. The leather bag Garrett had given them thumped against his hip, tools inside clicking faintly.

They crested another dune.

“Look!” Seven pointed to a dark shape in the distance. “Is that another caravan? Like where you found me?”

Asher squinted. “Maybe. Not sure. Might make decent shelter if it is.”

They picked their way down the dune. Up close, the larger than normal wagon was a hulking mass of rust and shadows. It lay tilted in the sand, creating a sheltered space underneath.

“Stay behind me,” Asher said, drawing his father’s blunderbuss. The beam of his salvage lamp cut through the darkness as they approached.

“There might be someone hurt in there,” Seven said. “Should I—”

“No. No helping. Not anymore.” The words came out harsher than he intended. “That’s what got us into this mess.”

Seven was quiet for a moment. “Is helping always a mess?”

Before Asher could answer, his lamp beam swept across something solid near the wagon – a massive wooden box, half-obscured by drifting sand. It must have fallen during transport, long forgotten in the wastes.

“The box,” he said, moving closer. “It might make good cover.”

An ancient padlock held the lid shut, crusted with rust and time. Asher’s hands shook as he pulled tools from his bag.

“I can tell a story while we wait,” Seven offered as Asher worked on the lock. “About the time Sarah and I—”

Another sound echoed across the dunes. The thunder of hooves in the sand. Multiple riders now.

The lock finally cracked. The huge lid groaned as they pulled it open, revealing darkness within.

“Inside,” Asher ordered. “Quick.”

Seven gave him a long look before climbing in.

“What?” Asher asked.

“You’re good at helping too,” the android said. “Even when you pretend not to be.”

Before Asher could respond, they heard reins pulling tight, horses snorting in the cold night air. The sounds grew closer.

They squeezed inside the box and pulled the lid shut, plunging them into darkness broken only by Seven’s faintly glowing eyes.

Voices.

Boots crunching on sand. Men calling to each other. Horses stamping restlessly, their tack jingling in the night air.

“Keep quiet,” Asher breathed. “No matter what happens.”

The wooden walls creaked as they settled, sand shifting against the sides. Through gaps in the planks, Asher could see shadows moving in lamplight.

“Tracks lead this way,” a gruff voice said. “Recent. Two sets.”

“Check everything,” another voice ordered. “The brass boy’s worth more than all of us’ll make in a lifetime. And the repair kid knows too much now.”

Something banged against the box’s side. Tools shifted in Asher’s bag, threatening to clatter.

“Are you scared?” Seven whispered, voice barely audible. “When the children were scared, I would let them hold my hand. Feel how warm it is? Like a gentle fever breaking.”

More banging. Closer to the lid now. Any moment they would be found.

“Boss!” A shout from the distance. “More tracks heading east!”

Silence. Then the first voice again: “Mount up! Don’t lose them!”

The sound of horses wheeling around, hooves thundering away across the sand. But they couldn’t be sure. Had to wait.

“In… and out…” Seven began a slow breathing pattern. “Dr. Wells taught me this helps. Even when you’re not sick.”

Minutes stretched by. No more voices. No more lights. Just the wind, and their breathing, and the warm metal of Seven’s plating beneath Asher’s hand – when had he started holding it?

Finally, Asher dared to speak. “I think they’re gone.”

“You were very brave,” Seven said softly. “Like Sarah during her treatments.”

Asher cracked the box’s lid. Moonlight spilled in, catching on Seven’s brass features.

“We need to move,” Asher said. “They’ll figure out those tracks were old soon enough.”

“Where will we go?”

Asher hesitated. They hadn’t really had a plan beyond ‘east.’ Away from Graven Pointe. Away from the hunters.

“East,” he said finally. “As far as we can. Until we find somewhere safe.”

“Somewhere we can help people?” Seven’s eyes glowed hopefully in the darkness.

“Seven…” Asher shook his head.

“Everyone needs someone,” the android said simply. “Dr. Wells taught me that.”

The wind picked up, carrying grit and whispers across the wastes. Somewhere out there, hoofbeats faded into the night. Somewhere out there, safety might wait.

“Tell me about Sarah,” Asher said as they started walking. “About the time you turned the hospital room into…what was it you said? A pirate ship?”

Seven’s voice carried softly through the darkness, spinning tales of adventure and courage. Stories of those who had faced scary things and emerged stronger. Stories of hope.

Asher listened, and walked, and wondered if perhaps helping wasn’t such a mess after all.