Free Dusk Territories: Always Burning by Deston Munden Page B

surviving in this cruel world—sat packed within the container.
    “Which ones are yours?” Graham shouted. If someone hadn’t heard him by now, they weren’t going to be a challenge in a battle.
    “The silver broadsword is mine.” She wasn’t shouting, but her voice was clear enough.
    “The Remington Model 1858 is mine, with the red and green ribbon tied to the vintage hilt.”
    “That’s incredibly specific,” Heron remarked.
    “I don’t carry a sword there are probably thousands of revolvers in that barbarian’s chest, chica.”
    Indeed, Juvenico was right. There were probably thousands of revolvers and plenty of other hand pistols within the chest. Only through luck, Graham managed to find the man’s signature piece. Heron’s sword was incredibly easy to find in comparison. The long silver blade sat within the pack of much more modern weapons. The negligible amount of swords and axes that Ragnar had collected was nothing in comparison to the guns. Graham picked her weapon up, experimentally. He wasn’t some swordsmen, but he knew in the right hand, this could probably do some damage. The weight meant he had to carry it with both hands, so he placed Juv’s pistol underneath his belt.
    As much as he wanted to check out the contexts of the journal or the drawings, he decided against it. One, he didn’t have enough time. Two, it was more personal than he needed to know. Getting to know a potential enemy was great, but knowing how they worked personally could be counterproductive. No matter what wrong they’ve done, there was always a person behind it. It was better to keep the enemy as nameless, formless even, as possible. Guilt cripples a man from making the right decision for themselves or others.
    He returned to the two allies in the cage. “As promised,” he placed the sword down, and handed Juvenico his pistol through the thick bars. Juvenico, surprised at the gesture, weighed the gun in each hand and inspected it. “Not sure if I could get that blade within the bars like that.”
    “You don’t need to,” Heron said, pushing Juvenico out of her way. “I have enough…confidence that if you were to do something foolish that I’ll pummel you.”
    “You didn’t pummel Ragnar,” Juvenico mocked.
    “Because you were such a great help,” she retorted quickly, and the small man shrunk back to his normal meekness.
    “Getting out of there’s going to be difficult without—“
    Graham would have finished his sentence, if he hadn’t been interrupted by the screeching sound of metal. Heron had a grip on two of the bars, pulling them apart as though they were butter. When they met another bar, she pushed that one aside too. The hole she made got larger, and larger, and larger until it was large enough for the both of them to walk through without a problem. He arched an eyebrow as the two hopped out of the cage.
    “Why didn’t you do that earlier?” Juvenico asked.
    “We were over a chasm filled with pointy rocks, rushing water, and most likely mutated crocodiles or something. Where exactly would we go?” Heron s aid, picking up her broadsword. She clicked the sword back into its sheath already on her back. Ragnar had seen no need to take the harden leather when the blade itself was in his possession. “You need to think things through a bit more.”
    “It’ll help you not get killed,” Graham added.
    “Eh. Whatever…gotta name brother.”
    “David Graham. Marine Corporal before all this happen,” Graham motioned to his body. “Believe me, I’m just trying to figure this all out too.”
    Heron gave him a legitimate facial expression for once, one almost of empathy. “Aren’t we all?”
    “Yeah.” Juvenico wiped the sweat from his brow. “Juvenico Ramos.”
    “Heron.”
    “Your real name, amiga?” Juvenico grinned.
    “No.”
    “You don’t have to tell me anything, but you’re going to have to trust me. I’ll bring you back to Drifter safely. I’m used to having men’s