Waybound by Cam Baity Page A

jungle.
    Phoebe’s body tingled, thrilling with wonder.
    She had come close to…something.
    â€œWhat’s up with you?” Micah asked.
    He was sprawled out beside her, hands behind his head. He had discarded his bulky body armor and copper helmet, perhaps finally realizing that it was more hindrance than help.
    â€œI…” Phoebe whispered, “I don’t know.”
    â€œI know the feeling,” Micah muttered.
    â€œAre you okay?” she said. “You seem a little less crazy.”
    â€œYeah,” he huffed. “Sorry ’bout all that.” He shifted uncomfortably. “I could use a pillow right about now, though.”
    â€œAnd a hot shower,” Phoebe agreed, feeling the dried sweat and ore caking her skin. “Then a bowl of fresh strawberries.”
    â€œEven a coupla real trees and clouds would be nice,” Micah added. “I’m about ready to head back home.”
    â€œWe can’t.”
    â€œNot now,” he explained. “After our mission, I mean.”
    Phoebe looked at him, unsure. “After everything we’ve seen, knowing what we know,” she said, “how could we?”
    There was a long silence.
    â€œSo what? We just stay here? Like, forever?” Micah grumbled.
    She didn’t have an answer.
    â€œWell, that’s lame. I thought we’d be heroes, y’know? But once we find this Occulyth thingie, no one’s gonna know we basically saved the world. If we don’t tell ’em, it won’t mean a thing to folks back home.”
    â€œIt will. It’ll change everything,” Phoebe replied. “Saving Mehk means no more Auto-mobiles, or Cable Bikes, or anything like that. It’s all going to stop—because of us. Do you think people in Meridian are going to thank us for that?”
    Micah prodded tenderly at a blister on his hand. “Then we’ll just have to make them understand.”
    She stroked the rumpled folds of her whist, pondering the sensation it had given her, of being connected…to something.
    â€œYou’re right,” she said at last.
    â€œI am?”
    Phoebe nodded.
    â€œPeople will change,” she said. “They’ll have to.”
    She glanced up at the rosy liquid sky glowing beyond the canopy. The ring of suns was expanding toward the horizon.
    â€œIt’s gettin’ late,” Micah noticed.
    Phoebe got to her feet.
    â€œAnd we’ve got work to do,” she said.

P hoebe and Micah heard the city long before they reached it. As the suns sank, a jaunty polyrhythmic clang filled the jungle, something like a cement mixer full of frozen glockenspiels.
    A wall of red tahnik foliage was moving up ahead.
    No, not foliage.
    â€œGet down,” Micah whispered.
    The two of them scrambled for cover. Just beyond the undergrowth, a throng of shaggy scarlet lumps milled about, bumping into one another. The musical jangle grew louder.
    â€œWhat is this place?” Phoebe wondered.
    They climbed a tahnik, trying to get a better view.
    It looked like a bustling marketplace. Mehkans unloaded shipments from lumbering pack animals that were like giant, scaly caterpillars. There were bushels of ruby wool, crimson foil, and rosy streamers—red material of every kind.
    â€œAre they…decorating?” Micah asked.
    â€œNo,” she said, watching a pair of mehkans purchase a heap of leafy red covering and proceed to wrap themselves in the stuff. Phoebe looked at him with a sly smile. “Costumes.”
    They shimmied along the tahnik tendrils toward the rear of the huge beasts of burden. Shooting a quick glance around the bustling market, Micah clung to the branch with his legs and dangled his body below it like a possum. He snatched a couple of bundles of red material and handed them up to Phoebe.
    They retreated back into the jungle. After a few minutes of wrapping and assembling, they were ready. Phoebe was swathed in fringed red