Page 1 of The Orc Outcast's Conquest

Chapter

One

MIRANDA

Miranda chewed her parched tongue, willing saliva to form, and only made her mouth taste like gritty sand. Her fingers trembled and her feet slid against the dry ground, toes skidding in shoes a size too big for her.

The sound echoed off the hillside, which was barren except for the haunting remains of crisp black trees. Their needles and branches were burned away, leaving nothing but jutting, pointed trunks that pierced threateningly at the cloudless sky. They surrounded her completely, looming ahead, flanking the road she was walking on until they swallowed it up in the distance.

Just days ago, this was a beautiful forest, with green pine trees and soft patches of moss and birds flying overhead. She loved driving this road to the coast, rolling down her windows to breathe in the scent of warm wood and ocean salt.

It was all gone. Everything was gone.

She squeezed her eyes shut, agony rippling through her chest. She took deep, burning breaths and turned the rising pain into determination. She wiped her dry hands on the workout shorts she’d stolen, a nervous tick, and dug the string straps of her bag into her almost bare shoulder. The sun beat down on her, relentless. Her mind was about as melted as the mile marker sign she was staring down, all warped and confused.

This was the third sign she’d passed this morning. They were becoming more frequent. The first day, when she’d started walking out of the rubble that had once been her hometown, she’d only passed five. She’d been so numb then. So lost and unfocused. She’d seen the milepost marker all lit up in the growing dim of sunset, “Pacific Ocean, 42 miles ahead,” and she’d followed it blindly because someone must have gotten them working right? A survivor must have left them for others to find.

But she’d seen not a soul since. At least not a human soul.

Now, three days later she’d counted a total of twenty-seven during her trek across the blistering, barren landscape. A path she followed on pure instinct alone. Driven by nothing more than her own gut screaming that the ocean was the answer.

It is. Keep going.

Miranda squeezed her eyes shut and took a long deep breath into her burning lungs. She had to get out of here. She had to keep following the signs even if they didn’t make any sense. Everything had been burnt to a crisp and yet these electronic milepost markers still worked. How was that possible? There was something strange about it. Something inconceivable that pricked the corners of her ragged senses.

Just keep going.

So, she did. She pushed forward past her own sanity. Even as her mind was shattering, and the sorrow was sucking her down and bone deep dread swelled so high she couldn’t breathe. She pressed on. Following these strange, miraculous signs that blazed her trail.

Her feet kept a steady gait even as the crumbling highway under them grew steep. But steep was good. Steep meant she would get to the lookout soon.

One mile to the ocean.

One mile was nothing. She’d walked through utter destruction. New Seattle was completely leveled.

The highway was rubble and all the cars she passed were burned out except for a select few. A few that only showed up when she was at her lowest. When her muscles were cramping from fatigue and her mouth was so dry it felt like ash and her stomach was burning itself up in a pit of acid.

Those miraculous cars that shouldn’t have been there always had food, and water. They gave her the will to keep going even as she considered they might be a mirage. A delusion conjured up by her own desperation.

She hadn’t passed one since midday the day prior and her eyes scanned desperately. Dusty ground, cracked pavement, burnt trees. Not a single miracle car in sight.

She was starting to reach the edge of her endurance again.

But it was just one mile.

She squeezed her eyes shut so tight that light burst behind her eyelids, drowning out the horrible image of the city she’d lived in in utter ruin.

Forty-one miles she’d trudged with determination raging in her. Three blistering days and freezing nights. She’d worked her way across chaotic rubble, raided vehicles that were inexplicably untouched, and scraped together just enough supplies to stay alive.

She didn’t want to die.

She was so dang close.

She wasn’t going to die.

One mile.

She should be hurt. Bruised. Broken. Laying in the wastes.

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