Miles Apart: Part 1

  Miles

  ?

  Thup. Thup. Thup.

  Dashing from a mound of waste to a timber pile, Miles kicked gravel loose beneath him as dust lifted into the morning air. What th—? Before he could catch up, Emi had already taken off from the timber stack. Why wouldn't she wait? His heart pounded faster than he could sprint, quiver, and bow rattling at his back with each careful stride.

  By the time he slowed and curved around the pile she'd left a moment ago, she was already near the tall reeds at their next checkpoint, long coat sweeping dirt as she ran. Great. Today, all he wanted was to be a team, and instead, he was always a step behind her.

  Resting behind the wood, he pried rain-softened slivers from a board while Emi stared at the airport they'd circled for the last hour.

  The two-story building stood a good distance away, providing a full-scale view from base to roof. Large, cracked windows lined the exterior walls. None broken. Nothing shifted beyond the glass or on the ground—no man-shaped silhouettes. There wasn't a Supra's boot print to mark it as a depot. So... why were they here? And why hadn't anyone told him?

  A warm early-morning breeze that smelled of sun brushed his face. Emi remained in the same position. Good. Stay put. Miles pushed himself off the boards, scurrying close to the earth with swift, quiet footsteps, holding the lower limb of his bow to keep it muted as he ran. Clang. It didn't work.

  Emi turned to glance at him as he slowed, phone pressed to her ear, mask hiding whatever she was saying. She was probably telling them what she saw. Dust. Grass. A giant vacant building. They hit the motherlode if they wanted to return with nothing.

  Miles crouched beside her, resting his bow on his knee, readying it.

  Emi lowered it to her side and turned back to the airport. The sweet scent of fermented berries filled the air. Just as they had last night.

  She hadn't spoken much then, either. When it was time to go, she could have left without him.

  He couldn’t stop thinking, and he hadn't even drunk like most of them had at the before-party. It wasn't his fault that he lost track of time. Pablo was so wasted he drank whatever Miles handed him. Dumb jerk. That meant Miles's thoughts were sober. Better if they weren't…

  Miles spent that night speaking to Pablo about what was on his mind—can't remember all of it now, but Miles must've brought up a hundred different things. Pablo's eyes stayed open. He barely blinked. Said something now and then, which was enough to prove he wasn’t dead.

  Snap. Twigs crunched beneath feet outside the tent. Miles looked toward the wall the sound came from, and Pablo's toes were wiggling in his peripheral vision–trying to get Miles's attention, no doubt. What did he want? Pablo had his finger to his lips. Quiet. Yeah, Miles was already quiet, idiot. Jeez.

  Then—Emi's voice...

  "I don't know... did I do something?"

  There was silence—long enough that she must have been talking to Zax—then more shuffling, and she said, "Alright. I'm set. Are you?"

  Footsteps crunched on dry leaves and sticks, fading as they went further away.

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  Wait—what about Miles?

  Pablo turned to Miles and started to cover his face with his blanket. "Better leave," Pablo groaned.

  Freaking favored.

  Miles slipped into his boots and headed out the door. Nearly tripped on the floor.

  "Careful. You break a leg, you’re not going anywhere." Pablo growled.

  "Actually, before you leave," he paused, "break mine?"

  "Dumbass. You're drunk." Miles smiled, closing the tent behind him as Pablo waved for a second and plopped his arm back down.

  Lights from glass containers sat on the ground, brightening the living area. Everywhere else was in darkness.

  At the bottom of the hill, the dining area was exactly as they'd left it—walls rolled up to the ceiling with a cord. Emi and Zax walked around the table, shoving things into their packs.

  Damnit. Were they really going to leave? Without him?

  Miles stepped down the darkened hill, careful to avoid the places with large rocks and crevices.

  Zax had stopped packing and was watching Emi. She was still moving. Talking.

  Miles picked up the pace into a slow jog. If he could catch them fast enough, maybe he could hear their conversation.

  Nope... Emi and Zax turned to him as he approached. So he slowed. Or tried to. With his momentum on the slope, his feet kept moving faster and faster on their own. Shit-shit. The ground leveled out around the dining tent, and he finally found his footing. But it was too late. Emi watched as he slammed into the table.

  Fuck—Miles held his gut as pain split through it.

  "Hey," he said, stretching the other arm out across the wooden surface, trying to look as normal as possible, "I'm here. Sorry for being late."

  They didn't say a word. Emi didn't move right away. Just stared, head tilted, before turning back around to continue packing.

  Zax started typing on the phone strapped to his arm. Tik. Tik. Then held his arm out in front of Miles's face, blocking Emi. The device lit up with the words, "OK." Whatever he meant by that was anyone's guess.

  "Uh... yeah?" He pushed Zax out of the way and leaned on the table, tapping his fingers on the wood. Tap. Tap.

  Miles continued, “Um- So we were only able to fill the last barrel up half-way. It’s a lot of wood, but we’ve never needed that much before. How big is this place?”

  Emi closed her bag, then lifted Zax's from the worktop and set it down. "I told you to bring only the things we need." she told Zax. Completely ignoring Miles like he didn’t deserve the answer.

  …Maybe he didn’t.

  Zax started typing on his phone again, lighting up his mask with the screen.

  They had nearly finished their prep. As always, the last part of the process was triple-checking that they had packed everything they needed. Wait. They were almost ready to go? Bags packed, grey coats, masks.

  "Shit," Miles muttered, scraping his fingers off the splintered board. Taking a few steps backward into the muddy grass, he pointed his thumb behind him toward their living tents, "I need to get my coat."

  Emi’s blank eyes darted up to meet his, as if he existed for the first time since he joined them.

  Quietly, Emi straightened and strolled around the table to one end, pulling a chair out from under it. She picked up a folded grey uniform that lay on the seat. Is that—? She held it up, letting it unfold until it brushed the ground.

  "Here," she said.

  No—couldn't be... was it Miles's? He grabbed it from her hands and draped it over his arm. The coat had shredded threads where his button had popped off, and the hole in the wrist where it came undone from pulling the string. The one he left in his tent—damnit. Emi was there.

  "Thanks. I'll be back—don't go anywhere."

  Miles sighed, stepping into his tent. His room. Did she notice how empty it was? Most of his clothes and woodworking tools were elsewhere—it was stupid of him to never be there when she could waltz in whenever she wanted. Even more stupid to move his stuff at all. Thump. Thump. She had the worst freaking timing.

  From a pile of clothes in the corner, Miles pulled out his nicest ones. No holes, just greyed with age. The other guys were jealous when they found the matching black cotton shirt and pants at a dumpsite outside Fentvol. Only Miles could fit them. That's what they get for eating too much. Or... growing.

  He threw his coat on, buttoning every button that actually buttoned, then slung his pack, bow, and quiver over his shoulder. Perfect.

  He used the shard of glass beside his mat to check his hair. Bedhead somehow, even though he hadn’t slept. Good thing he caught it. He ran grease through his hair and fixed it into place. Did he look okay? Not that she’d notice.

  Miles left his tent as Zax crept past in the direction of his own near the guard post, awkwardly holding his drooping pack of heavy tools.

  "Need help?"

  Zax shook his head and continued walking. Knew he wouldn't accept. As a camp leader, Miles had to ask anyway.

  Emi hadn't moved from the dining tent and was using the countertop to stretch her legs before their trip. Must be bored with waiting.

  As Miles walked along the perimeter toward a log stairway, the sound of metal clashing came from Zax's tent. Clank. Clank. Clink. Likely emptying his bag of useless tools.

  Miles carefully stepped on the log steps as if they were stones. They were uneven. Unflattened. A tripping hazard. Yet, they were still safer and less humiliating than being jabbed in the gut by a table.

  Emi was mid-lunge. Her coat pulled up over her thigh so she could stretch her leg, skin showing through ripped pants.

  "Hey," Miles started.

  Emi straightened, cloak tail falling into the dirt, "Ready?" she asked him.

  'Here', 'Ready'. The only two words she had said to Miles all night were in the most normal tone. Which made it worse.

  "Yeah, I'm ready," Miles sighed, and patted the quiver on his back to show her he had everything he needed.

  "Um, Emi,"

  But it wasn't going to happen. Tap. Tap. Zax's soft footfalls were closing in, ruining every chance Miles had to speak with Emi alone.

  "What?" she asked bluntly—like what he wanted to say was an inconvenience. Fuck it.

  Emi had already started walking east to the forest, and Zax quickly kept his pace at her side while Miles was left behind them.

  “Never mind,” Miles said, holding his head down. Crunch. He stepped on foliage, and tried to wipe the tiredness from his eyes.

  "Where are we headed?" He asked. A question he should know the answer to... but he missed the planning meetings, and it's not as though he had a lot of opportunities to talk to Emi lately.

  "You'll see," she said, her tone matching his.

  This is the first time he’d be going into the mission blind, and all because of this stupid stuff between them...

  The silence continued on their journey through the forest and around the city. The quietest scouting trip they'd had yet.

  Where did the tension come from? He wasn’t imagining it.

  “Did I do something?”

  Those words cut him deep. She was wrong.

  He did something.

  Maybe she knew. But if not, how was he supposed to tell her—his girlfriend—

  that he'd found someone else?

  Emi planted her feet in the dirt and cleared her throat.

  *** Character-specific extras included in post author's note*

  Miles Apart continues in the next one.

  Thank you for reading!

  [Extra] Miles in "The Outfits"

  Radical man vs. the Oppolongs. It was a comic that made Inerts look bad, but the art was pretty cool. Somehow, a trader got their hands on a beat-up copy, and Miles wanted it. He traded his most valuable items. It was a trade well made.

  Look no further--- Miles already had the inspiration. He kept drawings of coats he wanted to make, but didn't because he thought he would look stupid. But now he had an excuse.

  But none of that shit happens to heroes.

  Miles should have thought about that.

  It wasn't his.

  He blames the comics.

  Are you a curious reader who likes to dive into characters, worlds, unpublished chapters, and more?

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