A Meeting of Souls – Installment #13
This is the thirteenth installment of A Meeting of Souls – A Tale from the Wasteland. The read the story from the beginning, start here.
If you enjoy this story and would like to own a copy of your very own, you can purchase it from Amazon/Kindle here and Barnes & Noble/Nook here. The e-book includes a full-color cover and a special, steamy, NSFW bonus chapter at the end of the story that won’t be included on the blog. Every romance needs a “happy ending,” right?
Lash and Zinara flew through the desert toward the City looming on the horizon. Lash stole a quick glance to the rear and saw the buggy in hot pursuit, gaining. This is gonna be close, he thought.
As they neared the City gates, Lash began shouting: “Guard, LeSabre! Guard, LeSabre!” The last thing he needed was for the Guards in the towers to mistake him for a marauder and put a ballista bolt through them and then barbecue their corpses with the flamethrower for good measure. Lash braked hard and slid the bike to a stop, dismounting and turning to Zinara. “Get inside.”
He dropped the kickstand and moved away from the bike, unsnapping his whips from his belt.
“Morning, Lash,” Lt. Rain, the Captain’s second in command, drawled in her unmistakably British accent from the ballista tower. Lash didn’t know how she’d ended up out here in the Wastes; maybe one day he’d ask.
“Gonna do a little thing here in a sec,” Lash called back. “Pretty sure I can handle it, but … you know.”
“Keep it outside,” she warned, then called down behind the wall. “Get the Captain.”
Lash performed a series of tricks with his whips, partly to loosen up but mostly as a threat display. If he could get the slavers to think twice about continuing the pursuit, he could end the fight before it began.
He was executing a showy two-handed technique when the dune buggy skidded up, throwing sand and dust. He finished with a double crack in the buggy’s direction and flicked his wrists to arrange the whips in a ready position at his sides. Your move, he thought dramatically.
Zinara had been crouched down behind the bike to avoid the swirling whips, but now she stood and slid the shotgun from its scabbard. She’d just pulled it free when she felt a tug on her arm. She turned to see a woman at her elbow, her hair streaked with silver. She was urging Zinara to follow her, pulling her toward the gates, and with a last glance at her rescuer, Zinara did so. Once inside, she hesitated. “Are you …?”
“A friend. Get in here out of the way.”
“But we can’t leave him out there.” Zinara turned to go back through the gates, but the woman grabbed her arm again.
“He’s gonna have the whole Guard backing him up, honey. Don’t distract him by making him worry whether you’re safe or not.” Her words were confident, but Zinara could see the concern in her eyes. She let the woman pull her around the edge of the gate, but she kept her eyes on her rescuer, determined to help him if he needed it.
“I don’t even know his name,” she confessed as the woman angled herself behind Zinara so she too could see the scene unfolding.
“That’s Sergeant Lash LeSabre of the Elite Guard. You’d be hard pressed to find a better man to rescue you.” The pride in her voice was obvious, and Zinara found herself smiling.