TRANSHUMANCE (7)
By:
February 27, 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 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10.
It continued to snow. Winter had no intention of loosening its grip on the land. The Transhumance could be anywhere, while Baba and Dalton continued their reclusive ventures. From their yurts Little Dog, River, Khyber, most of the Kindred prick ears to cackling and animated stories deep into the night.
Something shifts one night — their tones are lower, harsher; defensive and aggressive in curt ebb and flow. Little Dog strains to listen now, contemplating prowling out into the cold for a better ear but his furs are too warm.
… go of that anger, it’s cancerous…
… -d’s shattered; you bar him and feel like a big man?…
… -up playing God in this little garden? Like it or not the world will come to you…
… -ether you look it in the eye or not…
… not your affair, brother…
… -alk out of place, no idea what you talk about. This is sanctum, part and of the wo…
… where a child is clubbed down for meat? The one you eloped outta?…
… -ral backbone of a fuckin twinkie. ‘Of and part’ suck m…
… … …
… -ch is it, friend? Poor job of selling your world to my Kindred…
… to feel regret, guilt? Is that it? Quite a trade you ply…
… -nly one left who can, and oughtta. Don’t you dare shrug’n gu…
… way of the world. I’m telling you what it is, what y’all opted ou…
… re’s a whole lot more, bright’n ardent than ostriching, aban…
… some Eden. There’s a lot more than cesspools, settlements whe…
… can deliver birth safely, with old world doctoring, literacy…
… … …
… … …
… If you sat on yer samsara, and instead it just wound back…
… -ife as you lived it to the tee, could you sit with it all? …
… Did you veil a goodbye we missed, brother? …
… … …
… You have always been a part of me, D …
… never left you — like rivers meet the sea …
Little Dog rises to meet the day — as bright and bone-aching as the one of Dalton’s arrival. Before he makes his way to the dining hall for breakfast, his head snaps to answer a piercing whistle.
Dalton himself is beckoning Little Dog over to where he tends his horse, by the apiary. He’s fully bundled, and is hitching a sled to the palomino who is already wearing dromedaries and satchels. Two pairs of snow shoes jut out next to a hive box. When Dalton turned his attention again to the youth, Little Dog was surprised to see his eyes hidden behind sunglasses.
“Top of the morning, LD. Get yer shit — we’re going on patrol.”
Little Dog blinks. “What?”
“Hunting. We’re gonna at least try our luck. It’s about time I pulled some weight than just splitting wood and hairs — so seems that I am in need of a local guide. You game?”
He nods, nearly jumping to pivot back the way he came for a daybag. But he stops after a few steps. Something is off-balance. Little Dog turns and asks, “Wait, are we wolf-safe with just us two?”
“We’ll be wolf-safe,” Dalton pats the oiled stock of the sheathed gun in the saddle. “You just go pack enough to be cozy out there for the day — and stop by the dining hall and see if you can’t rustle up some grub.”
“Does Baba know?”
Little Dog doesn’t know if Dalton has heard him but watches him finish tethering the sled. “Yep — he knows. Might not like it, but tough titty. He’ll light signal fires if we’re not back before dark.”
A daybag is easily thrown together — mittens, knit cap, two pairs of dry socks, nylon-stitch shell, lighter with wick and matches, extra dromedary, tourniquet belts, two bandanas, spare knife. He ties his water bladder to his bare back under his layers and snakes the hose-and-nipple up to his coat collar.
He enters the kitchen first to avoid being seen at the dining hall main entrance. Little Dog knows right where the pemmican is kept and wraps up a weighty portion in a bandana. Something is off, gnawing at him. Something ill about being furtive in his own home, in a sacred place where they share the ritual of eating. Instinct leads him out the swinging doors of the kitchen to the dining hall, where Khyber hunches over a bowl, alone in the vast space. His spoon halts halfway to mouth, his gaze falling on the bundle of pemmican in the youth’s hands.
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.