Free Temper by Beck Nicholas

home.
    The setting sun bathes the room in dusky pink light, its rays shining on the dust we’ve stirred up in making camp. I know home is toward the setting sun, but hopefully the huge mountains will help my sense of direction from the city. It’s once I get up into the rocks that I might have a problem.
    I retrace today’s journey in my mind. If I could find the trail, I think I’d find my way … Home. Funny a tent in the middle of nowhere with a whole lot of people I don’t even like that much has earned that label so quickly.
    After a while, when darkness has cloaked the farmhouse and the only light is the orange glow from the stove, I pack it all away. Sharing the old farmhouse with Davyd is like sharing a tent with a snake, but if I don’t sleep, I won’t have a hope of functioning when we get to the Company headquarters. I close my eyes, intending to go over the maps again, but what I’m thinking about as my breathing slows, is Toby, The older Green Robe sought me out this morning before we left while Davyd spoke quietly with Keane.
    “Be careful,” he had said, his voice heavy.
    I’d studied the lines of his face and the shadows in his eyes before everything—the way Keane deferred to him at the meeting and the intensity in him now—clicked. “You’ve been there before.”
    A short nod confirmed my guess.
    “Was it so terrible, this New City?”
    His lips thinned and then moisture gathered in his eyes. “No, and that’s what makes them so damn dangerous.”
     
     
    ***
     
     
    A prickle of pain on my neck wakes me from a deep, dreamless sleep. I lift my strangely heavy hand to slap at the bug and meet a cold blade. My chest constricts and eyes fly open.
    Beady brown eyes are only inches from my face. They crinkle into a manic grin. “What ya doing on my mattress?”
    I try to sit up, back away, but the owner of the eyes—female I’m guessing from the voice—has the knife pressed against my throat so that moving makes the cut deeper. Not moving doesn’t take much convincing.
    “I didn’t know it was yours,” I say conversationally despite the churning anger in my belly. I need to buy some time. Where’s Davyd? And what does this person want?
    “Likely story.” Her rancid breath is sour on my skin.
    “Why don’t you put away the knife so we can talk?”
    The grin becomes a giggle. “You’d like that wouldn’t you? You think you’ll talk to me long enough and your friend will come back and you’ll outnumber me. I’m not stupid. Anyway, the look of the way your friend packed up and wheeled that bike out of here before speeding down the track tells me he won’t be back for a while.”
    “He’s gone?”
    A cold sweat breaks down my spine, fuelling my anger. I should have known trusting Davyd was a mistake. But I was so, so tired. Too tired. I mentally replay him preparing the stew we had for dinner and pouring the tea at lunch. He could have slipped me something then. He must have. My teeth grind together. When I catch up to him, he’ll pay.
    “Gone,” she says. The pressure on my neck eases a little. “We’re all alone, and I’m the one holding a knife.”
    Despite how out of it I was last night, I’m not completely inept. Making sure my eyes stay locked with the girl’s I edge my hand to the boot I didn’t take off to sleep. The Q is somewhere in my jacket, but I have my knife. If I can keep her attention for another few seconds, she won’t be the only one armed.
    “I don’t want to hurt you,” I warn.
    The eyes narrow. “You don’t seem to understand that I have all the power here, and you … You’re just some girl trying to take my bed. I could slit your throat without a second thought.” Her chin lifts. “I’ve done it before.”
    Blade in hand at last, I tense. Then she lifts her chin a fraction more, and I realize what my drug hazed brain has been missing. I’m dealing with a child. She might be insane, but taking into account the slight stature, the