Panic wells within me as I search desperately from side to side, continually met with only a cruel, dark emptiness. I can sense nothing but the heavy tread of footsteps pacing across the stone floor behind me, slow and purposeful as my unseen tormenter sizes me up. His callused fingers run along the welts on my back and causes the skin there to prickle and spark.

The whip lands without warning. I arch my back and scream, feeling my throat tear with the action yet emitting no sound. The terror becomes all-encompassing as the now-familiar realization dawns that I am entirely alone with no hope of help.

I try to pull my hands free but they are trapped above my head. I thrash at the manacles, registering the angry red welts encircling my wrists, tearing anew and trickling blood.

Another lick of pain up my back. Every part of my body burns with the fire snaking its way through my body in a single instant before pulsing feverishly into the eternity that follows.

The darkness encroaches further. There is nothing beyond this. There is no dungeon, no torturer, no questions. Nothing exists beyond myself and the whip.

It falls again. And again.

I want to plead. I want to beg. I want to say anything that could end this. I want to die.

It falls again.

There is a sudden blinding flash of white as my eyes fly open and I jerk upwards, gasping. My raw throat constricts my breath while I crumple forward, coughing and choking.

The sand below my hand shifts, shocking me with its realness. Tears well in my eyes at the relief and gradually I am able to get my breathing back under control, my heart hammering desperately in my chest, pulsing the reality of life and safety back into my racing mind.

I am not in the dungeon. I am in the desert. Harmen is gone, dead. No one is keeping me trapped here.

A shadow moves at the edges of my vision and I jolt to the side, rolling into a defensive position and grappling for the dagger in my boot in the same instant.

My hand grasps at empty air and my brows draw together, fighting to focus on the sudden change in circumstance. Luca stands in front of me, a safe distance back and regarding me quizzically.

We remain poised and tensed, sizing one another up until he finally breaks the silence.

"You sleep poorly."

"Yes, I do. Thanks." I straighten cautiously, rubbing my forehead. "Did you take my dagger?"

"I could not know if you would attempt to attack me with it when you awoke, but look here," He tilts his head, seemingly amused. "You did."

"You caught me off-guard." I try to keep my voice light.

"Your reflexes are impressive considering that you are no warrior." His curious, matter-of-fact manner of speaking betrays a slight note of approval and I relax, slightly.

Will.

"I have to find my friends." I hear myself say, snapping to attention as I take in our surroundings, I search wildly, spinning in place. We are surrounded by tall, sloping sand dunes and clear sky, with not a single other person in sight. I stumble backwards as I register the gigantic, deflated corpse of Phoenix.

The airship is half-buried only a few yards from where I stand, its polished wooden undercarriage hidden by the swells of sand. The silver canvas that once housed our helium has collapsed and lies draped over Phoenix as if shrouding it for a funeral. A shudder runs up my spine at the realization of just how close I was to riding the ship directly into the ground.

I utter a curse as the situation begins to take hold and I realize that I have no idea how to find Will and the rest of the soldiers. The view betrays nothing, indecipherable in every direction with nothing but the shattered remains of Phoenix to orient myself.

I spin back to face Luca. "Do you know where we are?"

He takes his time answering me and I feel my blood begin to boil beneath its surface. "Yes."

"Can you tell me how to find my friends?" I force myself to speak calmly, grasping at my reserves of patience. I have to get to Will. I have to make sure he's all right.

Luca waits another beat before answering. "I don't know where they are, but I believe that I know the direction we fell from. We can head that way together."

"Together?" I suppress the urge to take a step back. "Don't you think it would be best if we parted ways here?"

"We need each other's help." Luca shifts in place, indicating his bandaged leg. I note the fresh blood staining the linen and that his face is drawn slightly in pain.

I bite hard on my lip, thinking. I am alone in unfamiliar territory, surrounded by countless unseen Wastelanders. Somewhere out there, Will is hurt and my friends are lost. With all of these unknowns to grapple with, it appears that my only ally is an injured Waster, his intentions dicey at best and concealing my dagger somewhere on his person.

I sigh with resignation, not bothering to hide my resentment.

I have to find Will.

"Fine." I consent, straightening and striding smoothly towards Luca. He stands perfectly still, balancing impressively on his one good leg as he watches me, his expression betraying nothing.

I hold out my hand expectantly. "Give me back my dagger." As a sudden afterthought I grab for the sword that should be nested inside the scabbard at my back. Unsurprisingly, it's gone.

"I will give you back your sword, but I wish to hold onto the dagger." Luca says, almost reasonably.

"No deal. I'll take the dagger, you can have the sword." I begin shrugging off the harness that affixes the scabbard to my back.

"You would rather have this small knife?" He states the question with a measured curiosity.

"Yes." I don't bother explaining to him that the dagger was my father's and more valuable to me than a hundred swords. I hold out the empty scabbard to him, my brows raised, waiting.

His mouth twitches slightly and he accepts the scabbard, reaching behind him and drawing out my dagger, handing it to me by the blade.

I tuck the dagger back into my boot, taking the opportunity to check my other equipment. My flask is dented but unbroken and my goggles have a small chip in the lense. I glance back at the ship, remembering the soldiers' gear stowed away inside.

Luca fastens the sword to his back and straightens, swaying slightly on his bandaged leg.

"I'll be just a moment." I indicate Phoenix and Luca looks over my shoulder. I take that as acknowledgement and jog back to the ship, stumbling on the soft sand.

Soon, the ship's great wooden underbelly looms above me, tilted forward and giving me a glimpse of its shadowed interior. Up close, the damage to the ship seems less severe. The wood is cracked and splintered in places but the hull appears to be in one piece.

I make my way up the dune, sliding and cursing as I grapple for purchase. Eventually I am able to grab hold of the side of the ship and pull myself up and over the ledge, shoving aside a draped curtain of empty silver canvas and landing unsteadily inside the slanted ship. The late afternoon sunlight cuts severely across the cavernous interior and it takes a moment for my eyes to adjust. I make my way across the uneven surface, locating a discarded pack beneath a bench and pulling it out, checking its contents.

I allow myself an extra minute to scrounge for some other items, succeeding only in locating a couple intact packs of dried food and another flask of water. I sling the pack over my shoulder and briefly consider searching for one of the bows and some arrows but decide against it. Carrying another weapon won't help the shaky terms I stand on with Luca and I'm an uncertain shot, regardless.

Climbing out of the ship I make my way back over to Luca, slipping an arm under his shoulder and turning in the direction he indicates. I step cautiously, gradually becoming accustomed to the Waster's extra weight and the texture of the sand below my feet.

We descend gingerly and Luca remains silent, leaning heavily on me and drawing sharp, ragged breaths. I am beyond my brief bout of sympathy and ignore his discomfort, concentrating on getting us down to the bottom of the dunes in one piece.

Finally, my foot hits a flat, solid surface and I relax, releasing Luca momentarily to stretch my back. The crevasses between the dunes are packed firmly, leaving behind a considerably more stable ground to walk on. Piles of sand slope up on either side of the jagged path cutting through the dunes, hugging their bases and disappearing around the sides. The tight space reminds me acutely of the alleyways back in the City and I feel a twist of homesickness, realizing how far away I am. I push the feeling aside, letting Luca slide his heavy arm back around my shoulders and trudging with him down the trail.

The eerie soundlessness for the desert allows my mind to drift and it churns with every possible worst-case scenario when Luca's voice cuts abruptly through my thoughts.

"You realize that it is likely my people will have found your friends before we do."

I grit my teeth. "Yes, as a matter of fact that has occurred to me."

"Then why do you wish to return to them? You could try and escape. You have skills that the others do not have; it is possible you could survive out here." The statement carries the most conversational inflection I've ever heard him use and I start.

"I care about them." I am uncertain of how to answer the question, both annoyed and baffled by it. "They're my friends."

"Your friends would not rather you try and save yourself?"

"If I was lost out here, they would come for me." The memory of the dungeon flitters dangerously and I push it aside forcefully, focusing on Luca's remarks in an effort to distract myself.

"Then perhaps you are right, Miner." He grimaces again and I suspect I am not the only one looking to focus my thoughts elsewhere. "You and I may understand one another."

"I thought you believed loyalty was weakness." I adjust my grip on his shoulder slightly, allowing him to alleviate some of his discomfort.

"What I told you was that when our ideas differ, we part company without bitterness. Each Waster is free to go his or her own way at any time. That does not mean we are not united."

"From what I have seen, all that unites you is attacking us without reason." Bitterness seeps into my voice as I fight to trace the outlines of the dunes in front of me, searching for fruitlessly for tracks or anything else that could betray someone having passed through here.

"If you truly do not know why we fight you, Miner, then you are as naive as the rest of the sheep in your village." He speaks with derision and I stiffen, stopping abruptly in my tracks.

"Enough, Waster. Be straight with me or else I swear to the gods that I will leave you here to criticize the way the buzzards circling you choose to fly." I push him away, watching with satisfaction as he stumbles on one leg and struggles to face me.

"Your ships have taken our people." He is red-faced and spits over his shoulder, turning back to leer at me. "Did you suppose that we ungoverned nomads were incapable of banding together to bring them back?"

"What are you talking about?" I furrow my brow, genuinely confused. "We haven't taken anyone."

"Liar." He narrows his eyes at me. "For years your sky machines have attacked us, herding our people into cages and flying away with them, never to be seen again."

"That's insane." I rub my forehead, staring at him incredulously. "Why would we kidnap your people?"

"That is for you to tell me." He seems a bit taken aback by my reaction but his shoulders remain drawn up in anger.

"I don't know anything about these airships," I insist. "And like you, I am less than happy about the present circumstances and company, so what say we just accept that we're stuck together for now and agree not to discuss the war any further we're back with our respective people. Deal?"

He blinks once at me, swaying on his bad leg. Rage colours his face and his hands ball into fists at his sides. I stand back, arms crossed as I watch him purposely unfurl and stretch his fingers, recognizing the behaviour as I wait for him to bring his temper back under control.

"Listen, you don't have to like me and I don't have to like you." I explain with all the patience I can muster. "But right now we need each other."

A low growl sounds from his throat. I keep my eyes on his, conscious that each passing moment is one that I should spend searching for Will.

"Agreed." Luca eventually mumbles reluctantly and allows me to slip my arm back under his, leaning on me as we continue our trek through the desert.

Sand kicks around our ankles, obscuring the dusty path and gathering in the wrinkles of our clothes. I keep my lips pressed tightly together, partly in an effort to keep the earth from flying into my mouth and partly to keep from voicing my fears aloud.

As we round bend after bend with no one in sight the panic I am barely keeping at bay begins to grow, seeping from my gut and taking root my mind, clouding my thoughts and threatening to pull me back into my nightmares.

"If your people get to them first, what will they do?" I blurt suddenly, breaking the silence.

Luca doesn't answer immediately, preferring his slow, thoughtful approach to speaking. "I don't believe that you really wish to know the answer to that."

My vision spots and I concentrate on taking slow, deliberate breaths, not trusting myself to speak.

"You care for one of them more than the others." He continues.

"Yes." I say, my voice a gravelly whisper.

I sense him nodding next to me. "The tall one. The leader."

"Yes." The image of Will slumping forward onto the floor of the ship replays itself over and over.

Another beat of silence passes between us.

"There is no pain greater than unknowing." Luca's low voice is almost lost amongst the sound of shifting sand. I glance up at him, noting the strange, far-away look his sharp features have taken on.

I think back to his claim about an airship capturing his people. I don't know what has taken place out in this barren wasteland, but I am certain that somewhere along the way Luca lost someone very close to him.

He tenses and forces me to slow. We stand still, waiting. The breeze pelts small kernels against my face as I strain to listen for whatever sounds Luca has picked up on.

The footsteps reach my ears and I manage to spin in place only moments before the strangers materialize from between the dunes behind us.

They stand clustered together, watchful and impassive. Their weapons are drawn and a look of pure hate is etched across each of their faces.

The Wasters.