Page 52 of Enslak

He nodded and held out his hand.

The clearing looked different in the afternoon light—the sun hung lower now, casting longer shadows that deepened the colors and softened everything's edges. Enslak stayed close, his body angled slightly in front of mine, his eyes constantly scanning the tree line. Every few steps, he'd pause and listen, his head tilting, his entire body going still as he assessed some sound or scent I couldn't detect.

That constant vigilance should have made me nervous. Instead, it made me feel safe.

The ship sat exactly where we'd left it, the hatch still open, the ramp extended. We climbed aboard and I started pulling out the supplies Binwee had packed.

Water containers—six of them, each holding maybe five gallons. Food stores in sealed containers—dried meat, preserved fruits, something that looked like protein bars but tasted better. Medical supplies in a compact kit—a small medi-unit, bandages, antiseptics, pain medication, the injector George had given me that I'd already sworn never to use. Blankets—thermal ones that would keep us warm even on cool nights. A small toolkit.

Everything we'd need to survive for a month.

Enslak helped me carry it all, his massive arms handling loads that would've taken me three or four trips. He moved with quiet efficiency, understanding without words what needed to be done. When we'd emptied the cargo area of everything useful, I stood in the ship's doorway and stared at the empty space.

We were really staying here. On this alien planet, in that cave, with nothing but these supplies and each other. Thirty days. Maybe longer if I couldn't reach him.

I'd heard stories—read articles, watched documentaries, met victims and cops who'd been through things that defied description. People who'd survived trauma, who'd been through hell and come out the other side. Some healed in months. Others took years. Some were still healing decades later, still working through it, still fighting battles no one else could see.

How long would it take Enslak?

He'd come out of sedation enraged—thrashing, snarling, eyes wild with something I couldn't reach. But then he'd seen me. Really seen me. And something shifted in his expression, the fury draining away like water through sand.

He'd been protective after that. He wasn't verbal—hadn't spoken since that single utterance of my name. But he understood me. He was communicating. Through gestures. Through the way he'd point at things and wait for my response. Through how he'd tilt his head when I spoke, understanding, processing, thinking.

Whatever violence or madness had gripped him on the Bardaga, I couldn't imagine it now. Not from the Enslak standing beside me.

I knew without a doubt that he was still in there. Buried under layers of trauma and survival instinct, maybe. Struggling to surface through the damage the pits had done. But there. Present. Healing.

And I'd stay as long as it took for him to find his way back.

We made our way toward the cave, both of us loaded down with supplies. The walk was slower this time, our pace dictated by the weight we carried. Enslak never complained, never suggested we make multiple trips. He just adjusted his grip and kept moving, supplies draped across his broad shoulders, his eyes still scanning for threats.

We'd gotten maybe fifty feet from the ship when something made me look back.

Maybe it was instinct. Maybe I just wanted one last look at the vessel that had brought us here—our only connection to the rest of the galaxy. Whatever the reason, I turned.

And froze.

Prints.

All around the ship. Pressed deep into the soft earth of the clearing. Paw prints. Large ones. Some bigger than my hand.

They hadn't been there before.

"Oh my God," I breathed, my heart suddenly hammering against my ribs. "Were those there when we landed?"

But I knew they weren't. I would've seen them. We would've noticed them when we first left the ship.

Which meant...

"They came while we were inside," I said, my voice shaking. "While we were gathering supplies. They were right outside."

I thought of all the predators I knew—velociraptors, deinonychus, the coordinated killers that moved in packs. Then the mammals: lions and tigers and bears. Wolves. Hyenas. All the Earth animals that hunted in numbers, that surrounded their prey, that used intelligence and cooperation to bring down things bigger than themselves.

A cold chill ran down my spine.

We weren't on Earth. This was an alien world, and I had no idea what kind of predators evolved here. What kind of teeth and claws and instincts they possessed.

And a pack of them—ten or more—had surrounded our ship while we were inside it, oblivious.