Flint peeked around the corner skeptically. Carly held onto him tightly, wide-eyed, and watched the exchange between their mom and Jason.

  Flint was initially excited to have Jason back, but as soon as their dad left the house, Jason gathered the bags he hadn’t even unpacked.

  "What do you think you're doing?" Janis demanded as Jason continued to cram clothes into a backpack.

  "I'm leaving," Jason grunted. Although he was only eighteen, his weather-worn skin and exhausted eyes made it look like he had aged a decade in the two years he had been gone.

  "Leaving?" Janis practically shrieked. "You just got back!"

  "And now I'm going."

  "Your father will never—"

  "Dad is insane!" Jason snapped back, cutting her off. That was something he wouldn't dare do before he left.

  Carly tugged on Flint's arm, her wide, round eyes watching her recently returned brother. "What are they saying?" she signed. She could see their lips but wasn't very good at reading them.

  Flint tried to keep his face neutral, but he felt numb. "Jason is leaving," he signed back.

  Carly frowned. "Going where?" she signed.

  "Away," Flint signed shortly, turning back towards the argument. Carly's lip quivered.

  "Jason! I won't let you go!" Janis shouted at her son as she pulled a plastic auto-shot pen from her pocket.

  Jason and Flint both froze when they saw it, but Jason drew the pistol he had strapped to his hamstring. He still wore the camo PMC fatigues Dad had issued him. He held the weapon in a quivering hand, pointed at the ground to his side. "Move," he commanded, his voice almost delirious.

  "Jason!" Janis jerked her hand across her eyes to wipe away angry tears. "Why?"

  "Why?" Jason demanded. "Because I'm not like you or Dad. Because your life is wrong, and because if I stay here, I'm going to die."

  Janis shook her head. "Jason, you're a Vance—"

  "Not anymore," Jason said. "Move."

  Janis hesitated and recognized the change in her son's posture. Glancing at the pistol in Jason's hand, she stepped to the side.

  Shouldering his backpack, Jason pushed past his mother and into the hall.

  "Wait!" Flint cried as he left Carly behind to chase after his older brother.

  Jason stopped as Flint caught up to him.

  "Don't leave us," Flint pleaded. "We're your family.”

  Jason hesitated for a moment before glaring at his younger brother. "Goodbye, Flint. I'm not part of your family anymore." Jason turned his back on Flint, leaving him behind.

  "Brother!" Flint cried, but Jason didn't look back. Jason ejected the magazine from his pistol, allowing it to fall to the floor, then locked the slide back. The pistol clattered sharply as he dropped it.

  Flint felt Carly's hand close around his fingers, but he jerked away.

  "Coward!" he cried, as he felt his throat swell and his eyes blur.

  A firm hand clapped over Flint’s mouth, waking him abruptly. He groaned slightly as he forced himself to open his eyes through his drug-induced hangover. Jason looked down at him and held a finger to his lips, signaling silence.

  Flint blinked, fighting through the fog before nodding in compliance.

  He was on Ash; Jason was here. He needed to be quiet. Flint relaxed and looked at his brother, silently waiting for an explanation.

  Staying low, Jason offered no words but pointed at something in the distance.

  Flint rolled onto his stomach and followed Jason's finger to see two men a short ways off. They wore more familiar clothing than the savages. One wore jeans and a dirty plaid shirt, the other slacks and a dirt-stained button-up white shirt.

  The most noticeable feature of the two, however, was their weapons.

  Plaid Shirt slung a bolt-action rifle over his shoulder and carried a sharpened stick. White Shirt wore a revolver strapped to his thigh and a hunting knife looped onto his belt.

  Jason nudged Flint to get his attention. He scrunched his face inquisitively as he held both his hands in front of him, palms facing himself, and wiggled his fingers as he pulled his hands closer to his face.

  Friendly?

  Flint tapped his hand to his head and pointed forward with his hand.

  Don't know.

  Flint pointed to his eyes with two fingers and gestured at the two men.

  Watch.

  Jason nodded, and they both turned their attention to the newcomers.

  The men glanced around their surroundings constantly in an ever-vigilant sweep of their environment, each with a hand on their weapons. The Vances held still, knowing any movement might betray their presence.

  The men spoke to each other in low tones, and Flint strained his ears to see if he could pick up any of their words.

  "Tolko bossu ne govori," one of them said, his eyes worried. He gripped his sharpened stick in his hands tightly.

  "Ne Sobirayus," White Shirt seemed to assure him.

  They pressed on moving away from the brothers, and their conversation became inaudible.

  Flint and Jason waited silently for several minutes, ensuring the two men didn't double back.

  "Hmm. From Earth, definitely," Flint thought out loud. "But obviously not American."

  "Russians?" Jason offered. "Or some other Eastern European country, anyway."

  "That makes sense." Flint agreed. "Should we have called out to them? Maybe they could've helped us."

  Jason eyed Flint skeptically. "Good idea. Call out to the two men with guns on a planet with no law. They definitely feel neighborly and wouldn't kill us instantly for our stuff. Real good plan, Flint."

  "Knock it off, Jason," Flint muttered. "All I'm saying is that they could help us."

  "And until we know that for sure, we will avoid attracting undue attention to ourselves," Jason said.

  Flint nodded in agreement. With the immediate threat gone, he suddenly became aware of his migraine. "I feel like a tank ran over my head," he complained.

  "You were talking in your sleep," Jason said. "That's why I had to wake you up."

  "I was?" Flint said, suddenly growing embarrassed. "What did I say?"

  "You were saying my name." Jason beamed triumphantly. "I should have known you secretly like me—at least subconsciously."

  "Ah!" Flint winced. "Don't flatter yourself."

  Jason shrugged innocently. He grinned and snatched Flint’s black baseball cap from his head. The kid had worn it in his sleep.

  “Hey!” Flint exclaimed.

  “I know this cap,” Jason realized, turning it in his hands. “That was mine.”

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  “You left it, so it was fair game,” Flint shot back.

  Jason shook his head with a smile. “I wore it because I thought it was so cool. You fell right into my edgy phase, Flint.”

  Flint blushed.

  “I thought a plain black cap was so cool,” Jason reminisced. “Though no team logos, obviously, because—”

  “— Baseball is lame,” the brothers said in unison.

  “Yeah,” Flint grumbled. “I remember.”

  Jason smiled and handed it back.

  "Jason, where is my airsoft gun?" Flint asked, tugging the brim over his eyes so only his scowl was visible to Jason.

  "I, er, dropped it back with those crazy dudes," Jason confessed. "It just all happened so fast. Besides, it's not like it would have offered us any actual protection."

  "But it would have been an excellent deterrent," Flint lamented.

  "In any case, I'll start carrying one of these knives in your bag. Seeing as they did come from my kitchen."

  Flint chuckled apologetically.

  "Seriously, Flint, does your 'borrowing' know no limits?"

  Flint blushed. "How did you even know I had—?" He turned to see the contents of his bag scattered and laid out on the dirt.

  "You went through my stuff?"

  "Hey," Jason defended, "You were out cold, so I inventoried our gear. Like half the stuff in here is mine anyway."

  "You idiot, what if we had to run? Then we would be forced to leave most of it behind." Flint snapped.

  "You were nearly comatose; it's not like we would be going anywhere anyway."

  Flint's face contorted in irritation. Jason was right, but the unnatural jab of anger for his brother may have been the ghostlike memory of a dream he had just woken up from. Flint didn't like the thought of Jason making a good call for some reason.

  "One thing, though," Jason said. “Care to explain these?" He held a stack of fifteen or so Crypto cards, each with a digital number indicating its current balance.

  "Oh, those … I, erm, borrowed them."

  "Right. So they all belong to friends who lent them to you with the intent of getting them back?" Jason asked. "Because that's what borrowing actually means."

  "I needed it more than they did." Flint justified.

  Jason brought out the next card, and his eyes widened. “Holy shit, this is a ton of money, Flint. And it’s in your name too. Where did you get this?”

  “I borrowed it from Dad,” Flint said. “I couldn’t spend it, though, because Jericho was tracking my card.”

  Wide-eyed, Jason cycled to the next card. "Flint, you can't just take stuff," he groaned. "You hurt people when you do. Real living, breathing people. Did you think of that?"

  "I needed it."

  "And they didn't?"

  "Emergencies call for special measures."

  "Chantelle." Jason read from the card on top of the stack. "Peter, Stephan." He flipped through the deck. "Do you even remember any of these involuntary sponsors?"

  Flint shrugged. "If it were really important to any of them, they would have kept a tighter hand around them."

  "Flint, you can't do that!" Jason chastened. "You're just like mom!"

  Flint bit his tongue. "Don't you dare compare me to her," he growled. "Not unless you want me to leave you out here alone."

  "Wow, is it weird that I just heard that in her voice?" Jason asked wryly but with an edge to his tone.

  "I am nothing like her!" Flint snarled at the stinging accusation.

  "You take without a second thought of who you hurt, you use her tools, and have a total disregard for others. Tell me how exactly you aren't sculpting yourself in her image?"

  "You—" Flint choked. For once, he didn't have a response. A nauseating stone dropped in his stomach. He didn't have a quick-witted rejoinder, but Jason was wrong. He had to be.

  "Hey, Flint," Jason's tone softened. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it."

  "Yeah," Flint agreed, "Especially coming from someone who abandoned us. Why don't you try to call Brig or even show your face to Carly before you start accusing me, you freak."

  Jason's shoulders slumped slightly.

  Flint shook his head, not happy about how the day started. "You know what? I don't care. Let's find Dad, get some light ice, and go home. I'll go back to trying to get the kids back, and you can return to pretending we don't exist."

  Jason stayed silent and continued repacking the bag.

  Flint pulled on his shoes. Jason had found Flint's clean socks and put them on his feet over the new bandages while he slept.

  "You have more of Mom's autopens," Jason said, picking up the five other thick auto-injectors in varying colors.

  Flint nodded, "Be careful of which ones you use. The two blue ones are stim adrenaline. The two red ones cause paralysis. The black one is fatal."

  Jason shuddered and put them down. When his mother used prototypes on him, they had been in a clear labelless syringe with a plunger. "Why on earth does mom have a lethal auto-injector?"

  Flint shrugged, "It's Mom. Does that really surprise you? Besides, I found them in one of Dad's pods."

  "I guess it's to be expected," Jason agreed. "Did you bring any more of Mom's junk?"

  Flint shook his head. "You know I hate that stuff. We all do."

  Jason nodded in agreement. "Well, you have come surprisingly well-equipped. You have a water purifier, a tube tent, fire starters, cord, and wire. It's almost like you were ready for this."

  "I was on my own for four months," Flint explained. "That pack is my survival gear."

  "Is this a window screen?" Jason asked, holding up a rolled-up piece of mesh.

  Flint chuckled nervously, knowing if someone carefully examined Jason's front window, they would notice an identical hole. He decided not to explain its origin.

  "Well, we're going to need this stuff," Jason continued. "After your little stunt yesterday, we are almost out of food. And this is all the water we have left." He held up the water bottle, which held only an inch of water.

  Flint nodded. "Leave that to me. I'll find some water."

  Jason nodded gratefully, fatigue forcing his eyes to droop. Flint couldn't help but feel just a little bad for him.

  "How long was I asleep?" Flint asked.

  "All night," Jason responded. "I tried to wake you to see the lights, but you were out."

  "What lights?" Flint asked.

  Jason looked up thoughtfully. "They were beautiful, Flint. In the sky, after the sun went down, there were these ribbons of gold light—like the Northern Lights back home, only they were yellow rather than green or purple."

  "Seriously?"

  "Yeah, man. I hope they come back tonight." Jason's face fell. “Flint, how long do you think we will be here?"

  "I don't know," Flint confessed. Being perfectly honest with himself, he wasn't sure where to start without the map, but he owed it to Jason to get off Ash as soon as possible. "Once we find Dad, he can help us get home."

  "How sure are you?" Jason's expression begged for any form of assurance.

  "I'm sure." That was all Flint could give.

  Crack! A gunshot sounded, causing both boys to duck and spin in alarm.

  "It's far," Flint said, mostly to reassure himself.

  "Our Russian friends?" Jason asked.

  "I don't think so," Flint said. "Wrong direction."

  "I'm going to go out on a limb and say that if we want to live, we shouldn't confront anyone here."

  "Yeah, right." Flint countered. "I totally intend to hug the next person I see."

  Jason rolled his eyes. "You had better carry one of these knives, too," Jason suggested, grabbing one of the three kitchen knives in the backpack.

  Flint scrunched his face in disgust. "Why? I don't know how to use one."

  "It's better than nothing."

  "No, it's not," Flint said. "If I carried it, I might be tempted to use it when the occasion arrives. No, I'll stick to my original plan should we find trouble."

  "Which is?"

  Flint shrugged as he put some weight on his throbbing foot. "Run."

  "Oh."

  "Our chances of survival are much higher if we just run. We aren't at the top of the food chain here, so why pretend to be?"

  "You don't know that. I mean, surely there are sane and normal people here."

  "Sure I do. The first people we ran into tried to kill us. They ran into a pitfall set by another neighborly resident. I hate to break it to you, but that wasn't an animal trap, Jason. That was a people trap." Flint scrunched his face doubtfully. "A person trap?" he tried.

  “A trap for people,” Jason corrected, though his heart wasn’t in it. His worry betrayed his false confidence.

  "Did you see the look on those two Russian guys' faces? They were anxious, ready for trouble and the random gunshot we just heard—Look at the evidence; this is a dangerous place." Flint concluded.

  Jason nodded as he looked at the knife. "We'll keep our heads down, move silently, and run if it comes to it. Let's hope we don't have to fight." He looked at Flint. "But if we do … I will. You may not know how to use this, but I do." Jason stared at the six-inch blade and seemed to see phantoms in its reflection.

  "Okay." Flint agreed. "Run first, though."

  Jason nodded, "Let's find water, then look for a good vantage point."

  Flint nodded in assent.

  The two of them packed up and started off.

  Flint's sore foot pounded. He tried his best to hide his limp from Jason. If it came down to it, he would run on it like he did yesterday. But predators target the weak, so he had to conceal the fact.

  Flint's throat itched and grew dry as they walked, which only solidified a reverberating concern in his mind. What if there was no water on Ash? He assured himself that there couldn't be trees without water, but he didn't know that for sure; what if trees used something else here?

  "Flint," Jason said, bringing him back to the moment.

  "Hmm?"

  "Isn’t that another deadfall?"

  Flint looked at where Jason was pointing in surprise. Sure enough, to their left was another patchy attempt to cover a hole.

  "Wow, Jason," Flint praised teasingly. “I wouldn't have expected that from you. Maybe there is a chance for you yet."

  Jason rolled his eyes. "After the first one, I think I know what to look for."

  "Whoever is digging these didn't do a very good job covering them up," Flint said.

  If the boys continued downhill, it was only a matter of time before they found water. That was, if water existed here, and obeyed the same laws of gravity as it did on Earth. There were so many unknowns.

  Flint tried to identify the trees, but they didn’t look like any species he knew. They had a flat-topped canopy spread overhead with feathery leaves, and their roots fanned out, breaking the surface for several yards. The stones and rocks that jutted from the ground here were rusted orange. The earth under the trees was dusty and tan, but the ground without the tree cover was cracked and dry. As they walked, they passed hundreds of small mounds with every passing mile.

  They made agonizingly slow time, and Flint's parched throat pinched and tickled at his tongue. He was tempted to hurry, but prioritizing caution, they did their best to move silently and without a trace.

  "Flint," Jason suddenly stopped, tilting his head. "Listen."

  Flint, once again broken from deep thought, looked around.

  "Do you hear it?"

  Flint strained his ears, and sure enough, he heard running water in the distance.

  "Jason, your paranoia and eye for detail might be useful for once."

  Jason snorted. "We need to be careful. Water has a funny habit of drawing living things to it."

  "I'll check it out," Flint said. "You know I’ll be quicker and quieter on my own."

  Jason nodded. "I'll follow behind. Be careful."

  Flint inched forward, trying to become one with his surroundings; having survived in the wild for months, Flint had a greater understanding of its ways. Though harsh, there was also an order to things. A heartbeat of sorts. The woods were alive, and if you could tap into its rhythm, you could become one with it and, by so doing, move in harmony with it. You would be silent, swift, and alert to the disturbances of the natural order.

  Flint was far from flawless, but he tried his best to listen to the forest’s heartbeat, to move with it. But these groves on Ash had a different tempo than the woods on Earth. This alien wilderness felt disoriented, inconsistent, and confused. It made travel rougher than it should have been, but Flint eventually exited the treeline.

  Ahead a wide, shallow stream. It ran over caramel clay banks. Flint's dry throat leaped at the promise of quenching his thirst, and the trickle of cool water invited him.

  He approached the banks cautiously, aware that a wise predator often waits for his prey at the water.

  Sensing no immediate threat, he bent over to drink. A rancid stench hit his nose. He reeled back, retching at the fetor. "No!" he gasped as he regarded the stream, appalled. Whether rotten or poisonous, the entire stream was undrinkable.

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