Waypoint Guardian

By Yaasha Moriah

The signal was weak but unmistakable: the rebel waypoint. They had made it!

Staggering through thick forest undergrowth, Sam and Tony picked up their pace as much as Sam’s mangled leg would allow. Even though Tony helped support Sam’s weight, every step sent a spear of pain shooting up his hastily bandaged leg, aggravating the wound from their encounter with the android from the Center for Undesirables’ Removal and Eugenics.

“Is it still following us?” Sam asked.

“I think we lost it,” Tony replied with a grunt. “But we know how fast CURE forces can move, and it’s probably already called for reinforcements.”

“I meant the skunk.”

In answer, Tony turned Sam slightly to look back along their trail. A rotund profusion of black and white fur waddled a few meters away, curious nose pointed toward the two young men. Tony chuckled. “It’s been following us for miles. If it weren’t downwind from us, we’d be smothered in stink. Maybe it feels brotherly affection for your”—Tony sniffed— “um, masculine musk.”

Sam laughed in spite of his pain. Hygiene had never been his strength, despite their mother’s best efforts.

“How do you do it?” Tony asked. “You’re always attracting some critter.”

Sam shrugged. “Natural charm.”

The locator in Tony’s wristwatch guided them until they reached the epicenter of the signal. Sam could barely stand.

“Hang in there, buddy,” Tony said. “It’s a hillside fort with an invisi-shield around it. The security system should recognize our signal soon.”

Seconds later, the ground rumbled as an unnatural cleft opened in the side of the slope. Sam’s knees buckled, and darkness swarmed his vision as his brother dragged him through the doorway into a cool, musty-smelling tunnel. All he wanted was to sleep for a long, long time.

When Sam woke, he discovered Tony sitting near him, scanning a wall of monitors while slurping a bowl of soup. Sam surveyed the Spartan waypoint. The concrete bunker was outfitted with a dozen cots, a pantry of dehydrated food, a small arsenal of firearms, and an array of electronic devices and scanners. Looking down at his battered body, he saw that Tony had cleaned and rebandaged his wounds.

Tony’s chair creaked as he turned. “This rehydrated food isn’t half bad. Want some?”

“Not really. It smells disgusting.”

Tony laughed. “That’s not the soup. Your little friend hasn’t given up on you just yet.”

Sam sat up on the cot, converting a scream of pain to a growl. “Ugh, that skunk’s still there?”

“Yes, and it’s been making the most plaintive peeps at the waypoint door.”

“Oh, the poor thing.” Sam rolled his eyes. “Fine, I’ll have some soup.”

After Sam had consumed both soup and pain meds, he turned his attention to the screens. “Anything out there… besides the skunk?”

“Yeah. Our dear friends from CURE are all around us.” Tony’s jaw clenched.

Sam sucked in a long breath. “How close?”

“Still a few miles out.”

“Did you get a message out to let our people know we’re here?”

“Comm systems have to stay down if we want to stay invisible.”

“So we’re on our own.”

“Well, we have the skunk. But I’m going to have to risk his perfume.” Tony gestured to the on-screen system report. “The invisi-shield is up to date, but one of the perimeter points was fried by a storm. I need to replace it before CURE gets any closer, or we’ll risk detection.”

The entry doors hissed as Tony slipped out. A few minutes later, Tony’s florid face appeared on the camera feed, framed by conifer branches.

“Sam! Call your skunk off. He won’t let me come down this tree.”

Swearing under his breath, Sam limped to the waypoint entrance. The skunk turned as he emerged.

“Beat it, furball!” Sam called, picking up pinecones and throwing them at the creature.

With the skunk distracted, Tony shimmied down the tree and sprinted toward the open doorway. Startled, the skunk turned and stamped its rear feet, lifting its tail.

Both young men dove for the entrance, and the doors sealed shut—just ahead of the spray.

“Well,” gasped Tony. “At least I fixed the shield.”

An hour later, Sam woke from a restless nap to the clank of metal joints and human shouts. His body flared with tense energy. He staggered across the room to lean over Tony’s shoulder, scanning the screens.

“They’re almost on top of us,” Tony said quietly.

The waypoint’s camouflaged security cameras revealed a scene that stabbed Sam’s stomach with a blade of terror. About forty CURE troops in their signature smoke-blue uniforms combed through the underbrush, accompanied by six hovering drones and four giant android soldiers.

“They wouldn’t send soldiers unless they believed we were in the area,” Tony said.

“And unless they knew we’re rebellion leaders.” Sam leaned over the computer desk, his hands tightening into fists. He swallowed hard, his eyes fixed upon the methodical movements of his enemies as they came closer, foot by relentless foot, calling to one another. Just another yard and even the invisi-shield would offer no more protection.

“Phew!” A CURE soldier’s voice crackled through a speaker. “What is that stink?”

“City boy,” another laughed. “Never smelled a skunk before?”

One soldier’s foot advanced inside the invisi-shield perimeter. Once inside the perimeter, he would see…

But the soldier’s gaze wasn’t on the landscape before him, because at that moment, the skunk stamped its feet and turned its rear toward its unwelcome visitor.

The intruding foot withdrew hastily, and the soldier swore. “I’m not getting any closer to that thing!”

Sam and Tony watched, frozen, as the tide of smoke-blue swept forward and dissipated into the forest shadows, just inches outside the invisi-shield’s range.

Tony’s impassiveness broke, and he laughed. “We should make your skunk the permanent waypoint guardian. Who knows who might need him next?”

“Not my skunk,” Sam grumbled, adding with a grin, “But maybe I can train him to tell the difference between enemies and friendlies.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Yaasha Moriah writes YA/adult speculative fiction that burns through the darkest realities with truth and redemption. She is the wife of a book-hoarding Dragon and mother to a precious little girl. When she is not writing, she is updating her bullet journal, exploring the outdoors, serving women, and bringing awareness to chronic illness (she currently lives with a neurological disorder). Born and raised in Vermont, Yaasha now lives in Virginia with her husband and daughter.

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