TRANSHUMANCE (5)
By:
February 13, 2026
We are thrilled to serialize Transhumance, a post-apocalyptic novella by HILOBROW friend and contributor Charlie Mitchell.
TRANSHUMANCE: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 8 | 9 | 10.
Little Dog springs out to grab the palomino’s bridle. He doesn’t notice the hesitancy among his family as they start moving, and neither does their patriarch. He’s leading the horse away before he thinks any of the other Kindred can bog Dalton down.
“So where were you going, Dalton? Also they call me Little Dog, I run most of the day work around here,” he states. “If you need anything or anyone gives you guff, come find me.”
Dalton is smiling and ambles alongside Little Dog, letting him guide the horse towards some distant stable. He suspects that this youth, a downright spitting profile of ‘Baba’, will take the laziest route despite the zip in his step.
“It’s real nice to meet you, Little Dog. You the Baba’s kid?”
Little Dog knit his eyebrows. “What do you mean?”
“Like are you his? Who’s your Ma?”
“We’re all Baba’s, like we’re each other’s.”
Dalton pauses, nodding in slow understanding.
“Shallow gene pool.”
“What? We soak at night here, no clothes,” he retorts. The tone sounds fanged, and he earnestly wishes that this stranger would make sense. He feels embarrassment color his face.
The stranger raises his hands in a calm plea. “Hey hey, just joking — I wasn’t sure just what sort of show he’s running here, and now I got a better idea.”
Dalton speaks like there’s marbles tucked in his cheeks, and the phantom of something rasping behind his ribs.
“I take it you don’t get visitors too often,” he mutters, craning back towards the slowly dispersing people, their wary eyes, and a beaming Baba.
“No, we do not. You’re the first I’ve met up-face. One sheltered with us during a bad storm a long time ago, past my memory. Did not end well for anyone — a girl caught him in the pantry. He tried to mute her, I reckon he did, by opening her neck. Then Khyber split him like a piece of timber.”
Little Dog hopes that this cautionary tale evokes some reaction in Dalton. He imagines a game of tug o’ war, that he must win back lost ground in misunderstanding this outsider.
“Bad way to cycle, eh?”
Dalton’s face is placid. “Count your stars if you… cycle peacefully in bed. It’s a good cautionary tale; your Khyber did good by everyone, no two ways about it. What was the girl’s name?”
“Nayana. I noticed your boomstick in the saddle, what do you kill?” he transitions casually.
He looks sideways at the youth and his face breaks into laughter. “You sure do dig a good palaver, don’t you pal?”
Little Dog nods, guessing that ‘palaver’ meant perceptive and wise. He notes that Baba is the only other person who uses the word ‘pal’. Dalton seems to brush off the observation.
“I’m heading further west on behalf of some people that hold water.”
“What for, why? Which people?”
“Well,” Dalton mulls. “For people and their exchanges, and I went because I’m light-footed.”
This mediated answer only wracks Little Dog further. The man’s mere presence hinted at a vast unknown outside the Heart Cave — life beyond menial Cave labors. In the first few days, any prods, devices, angles, or schemes in Little Dog’s arsenal of curiosity was parried away by Dalton’s smugly concealed hand. “Keep yappin, pal,” he’d say, which drove Little Dog into a frenzy.
Dalton was accepted without terms, integrated into their life like oil to water. Chopping vegetables, greenhouse weeding, dressing animals, reweaving nylons and mending tarps — unsettled suspicions, curiosity and anxiousness singed every single conversation orbiting Dalton’s first week. What are his intentions; if he doesn’t steal from us now, will he signal marauders? River claimed that Baba always sees the best in folk, making Little Dog scoff. It’s not ganja, what’s that he smokes and why doesn’t Baba let us partake? What’s that garb he wears — hasn’t Khyber seen marauders wear that same thing? How does he know Baba from Forewhen, what makes him trust this Dalton so deeply? What do the two of them talk about deep in the night? Will the Transhumance come back before anything terrible happens? This last point undulated beneath all other concerns — here now, late in winter and missing most capable hands, the Kindred felt most vulnerable.
Complete story to be published at HILOBROW later in 2026.
MORE ORIGINAL FICTION & POETRY AT HILOBROW: James Parker’s COCKY THE FOX | Karinne Keithley Syers’ LINDA, LINDA, LINDA | Matthew Battles’ THE SOVEREIGNTIES OF INVENTION stories | James Parker’s KALEVALA bastardizations | Annalee Newitz’s “THE GREAT OXYGEN RACE” | Charlie Mitchell’s “SENTINELS” | Josh Glenn’s “VALIDATION SESSION” | & more.