With the blue sun setting and the yellow and orange ones rising, the survivors set off towards the abandoned settlement. Everyone was taking something or the other, Jack being the only one who only had his breather unit to contend with.

Well, other than River, whom the others hadn’t asked to carry anything considering that she was injured.

Shazza and Kaylee lugged one power cell behind them while Fry and Iman lugged the other. His boys situated themselves around them, singing songs in Arabic and holding whatever couldn’t fit into the sled.

Paris also held onto the bottles of alcohol that hadn’t fit in the over-filled drag-sled that Riddick was pulling.

Kaylee frowned as she watched the murderer pull the undoubtedly heavy thing behind him without O2 or even a breather unit. Her frown turned into a glare as she looked at Johns, who was the reason for this inhumane treatment. Murderer or no murderer Riddick was human, and he was helping them. He should be treated better.

Paris had been arguing with Johns about Riddick’s place in the group, and Iman had stood up for the murderer, saying that they should at least give him a breather unit. Kaylee—and surprisingly enough Shazza—had echoed their agreement, yet Johns wouldn’t listen to them.

Kaylee was getting rapidly annoyed with him, which was something, because Kaylee had the patience of saints.

The young mechanic watched as one of Paris’ beloved bottles fell from his arms. Trailing, Riddick picked it up, causing the little man to stop his quick dash to grab it and straighten up, his frail little hand shooting out.

“Paris P. Ogilvie.” He introduced himself shakily. “Antiquities dealer, entrepreneur.”

Surprisingly enough, Riddick shook the much smaller man’s hand. “Richard B. Riddick. Escaped convict, murderer.”

Paris’ eyes widened.

Instead of giving the man back his precious bottle, Riddick opened it and took a long drink while Paris hurried up to the front of the line once more.

Kaylee shook her head.

At least River liked ‘em wit