The Face of Your Father [BWNN]

[Eighteen]

It was night again and the air was cool. That's how this wasteland worked. Hot as balls in the day, and cold as a witch's you-know-what at night. Caret didn't mind, in fact, sometimes she barely noticed how the world felt. Her eyes were always stuck to one project or another, and when that happened, her whole universe was forgotten. There was a secret drive to explore and create. Sometimes, when she stared at the stars, her mind would struggle past basic binary and question why she was even in the desert. Surely, out there, was a place that made more sense for her. These talents were all but wasted...

The truck shook and she sat up. The techie had been laying along the back seat looking up at the sky, her big eyes stared at the bandit, almost offended. “I was having a thought,” she said and sat up fully. “What's the big idea?”

“You wanted to go, right?” said the woman, voice as stern as steel.

Shepherd had no idea, well, maybe he had some. The bandit needed time to heal those wounds of hers, but not much longer. It had always been her plan to leave once she was able. If she'd had it her way, she would have been gone many days ago. It wasn't until he felt she was ready, that she could get back to her plans.

“Well, yeah, are we leaving?” said the youth with a look of confusion and she lithely jumped out of the truck. Supplies had been dumped into the back by the dark-skinned woman, provided by her kind host. “I was starting to get bored.”

All of the gadgets she had built here had served a purpose. They were complete. The surrounding area had been picked clean of supplies. If she wanted to find more, she would have to go futher. When she had found the bandit, that had been the furthest she had gone. Any further and she would have found the Town With No Name.

“You won't get bored where we're going,” said the bandit with no name, as she jumped up into the drivers seat. There was something of a knowing look in her eyes. It wouldn't be a cakewalk. There would be danger, and a high possibility of death.

Caret slinked around the vehicle and rounded up a pack full of bits and ends. She shoved her goggles over her eyes, and on her side, she holstered an oddly shaped gun. It was the sort that went pew-pew rather than bang-bang.

Geared up in her scavenger attire, the young red-head made herself comfortable in the passenger seat, and as an added measure, she buckled herself in. At this her new travel companion lifted a brow. “Better safe than sorry,” said the girl with a toothy grin. “Let's go do stuff.”

With a rumble, and a cloud of sand, the truck exited the garage and left behind the only home Caret had ever known. On her computer desk resided a letter to Shepherd. She would be back, because she always came back.