Stars Gods Wolves by Dan Kirshtein (best classic books .txt) 📕

and stumbled over to a corner of the large room. “I’ll have you know, I’m this world’s only bartender,” the doctor finally responded, dryly.

Boomer laughed through his nose and gave an uncharacteristically sane smile. “Any port in a storm, eh?” His smile evolved into his usual mad grin while he looked back. “Speaking of–” a zip was heard and Boomer placed one hand against the wall and the other on himself.

Martin had been away from people for some time, and it took him a while to realize what the demolitions expert was doing. Then he heard the hard, localized splashing, and realized he was staring at what should have been a very private moment. “Oh, good lord,” he muttered, embarrassedly looking down at his table. That’s when he realized he wasn’t the one who should have been embarrassed. “You know this place has a toilet, right?!”

Boomer shrugged. “Never could get the hang of these alien ones.” He looked down at himself. It just kept coming, so he remained patient. His steadying hand at his waist came up and gestured as he looked back. “Besides, what’s the point of an apocalypse if you can’t piss on the wall every so often?” His swift gesture made his spray swing, and Martin felt repulsed.

“Boomer,” he gripped a clump of his own hair and closed his eyes. “I am trying so hard to get used to people again, if you wouldn’t mind—” A flicker came across the desk, and the doctor opened his eyes again to make sure none of his chemicals had spontaneously combusted. But it wasn’t coming from the desk; the light was coming from behind him.

He turned.

Past the windows, against the outer walls of the tattered, black buildings, there hung ropes. These ropes were doused in a flammable liquid and lit aflame. The way the ropes were organized, it looked like it spelled something, though not in English. Boomer looked back at Martin as he shook out the last few drops. “How ’bout that, eh? Wonder what it says.”

“It’s Herulean.” Martin’s lips quivered as he tried to sound out the words. It was a very coarse language, full of nasal exclamations. But beyond that, it was very sensitive, able to convey feelings well beyond the Human languages. And yet, there it was, written so beautifully and clearly, burning against the building. Martin pronounced the word in what was almost a whisper: “Bon’Tho”

“What’s it mean?” Boomer inquired, turning to the doctor before fully putting himself away.

Martin was mystified, “One word, two meanings.” He walked closer to the glass. “Hello, I’m here.”

This was the second time that Martin had dragged Purple Company out of bed. Nitro was beginning to sense a pattern he didn’t like. He made that clear the entire time he was putting on his environmental suit, then again as he put on his armor. Nitro, Josie, Boomer, and Martin, walked through the gray snow with caution. It didn’t make sense for everyone to go, and they mostly agreed that if it was a trap, it would have been spelled in English, not Herulean.

Whoever wrote it was certainly not looking out for anyone’s safety. Before long, the building would be aflame, or the flame would be out. That said, the Carrion didn’t seem to notice, and they probably wouldn’t for some time, provided nothing exploded from the flames. As they approached, Boomer was trying to calculate the odds of something explosive being in the building; his face reflected that he didn’t like his results. The wind seemed calmer at night, but it did not ease their nerves as they approached the building.

Nitro held up a closed fist, and the group halted. “Well, here it is,” Nitro sneered as he assessed the building.

“Shit,” Boomer quipped over the coms. “Could have seen this from the building.” Josie shrugged, curious and disappointed at the same time.

Martin looked around, dropping his hands at his side, wondering what would want them to come all the way out here for nothing. A horrible thought gnawed at his mind: what if he’d imagined the burning letters? What if they were just a product of the damage done to him by solitary confinement? But before logic could prevail, he turned around and saw it: a small figure dressed in the bulkiest of clothing. Her exposed mouth was all that revealed her blue skin. Otherwise, she was wrapped in layer upon layer of ragged clothing. She looked up at them as a proud smile crossed her face.

“Oh my god!” Doctor Collier’s awe-filled voice crackled in the others’ helmets. He took two steps toward her, and they stared at each other for some time before Martin turned. “Boomer!” He ran over to the demolitions expert and quickly began unstrapping his helmet.

“Wait a minute,” Boomer protested, but the helmet was removed nonetheless. The mercenary grumbled and covered his cold ears with his hands, a sour expression on his face.

Martin hurriedly thumbed the translating device in the helmet’s audio dial and set it to Herulean before he turned back to the girl. He waited, and simply took her in. While the beauty of finding a survivor was heartening, the guilt gave him pause. A hesitant smile crossed his face as his hand raised to wave at her. She didn’t wave back, simply adjusted her scarf and looked up at him. Despite a warning from Nitro, the doctor gingerly approached her, his walking slowly dipping into a crouch. With a long, extended arm, one would have thought Martin was feeding a bear, the way he was handing her the helmet.

“Hi,” he said, knowing she wouldn’t understand him. His eyes full of tragic wonder, the doctor fell cross-legged in the gray snow as he stared at her.

Her thick gloves carefully took the helmet and examined it. After she was satisfied with it, she looked up at Martin, who mimed that she should put it on. Scarf after scarf, hat after hat, and, finally, her goggles were all removed. Her dark blue hair dropped like