Prophet of the Badlands (The Awakened Book 1) (20 page)

The machine-man shifted, aiming past her at something in the weeds. Turning toward where it looked, Althea caught a glimmer reflected in the shadows from two large ruby eyes embedded in a mass of fur. An immense hairy beast stared at her. A canine snout stretched forward from a head with human-like features, as if a dog and a human had produced a son. Drool squeezed through its teeth as it sniffed the air.

Patches of metal stuck out of its fur here and there, rimmed by scab and decay, grafted into its body in ways that looked painful. Hoses descended from the back of its head into its forearms and metal blades enhanced its claws. Althea’s throat tightened; she gazed into the eyes of one of those things lacking the reason to recognize her as the Prophet. The kind of horror she imagined waited for her outside, one she had used as an excuse to accept captivity. It looked hungry.

“Until after?” Althea glanced sideways at the machine man. “That means you will still kill me.”

The head rotated to face her for an instant and blinked. “Correct. Statistical probability ninety-nine percent your life will be terminated by CN43. Assisting CRP-W9 will not change your inevitable demise. Be grateful that unlike the CN43, CRP-W9 will not eat you.”

Althea took a step back, risking eye contact with the furry monstrosity. Hunger and curiosity felt like its predominant emotions. The mutant could not understand her words, so she could not force it to obey commands. Tweaking its emotional state was her only chance; fortunately, she was much stronger with that trick. Like the roaches, she held her arms out and locked eyes with it. Fear came easy as her heart was loaded with it right then. Waves of terror flooded out of her and washed over the dog-man, causing the fur on its hackles to rise and an ominous growl to reverberate out of its throat.

Althea’s backpedal became a full on run as she sensed its reaction to being scared trigger a waterfall of pure rage. Most animals out here reacted to fear with flight; this thing wanted to destroy whatever scared it. She thought of the giant dead bug. She could hide in it if she could make it. Rounding a tree, Althea sprinted towards the dirt hill, grabbing at roots to pull herself up in a four-limbed climb. It came crashing after her, leaping and sinking its claws through a seconds-old footprint. Screaming at the top of her lungs for Rachel, she stumbled upright after cresting the bank and dashed with all she had. Commanding the muscles in her legs beyond their limits, her slender body lurched through the air in a fawn’s springing run over the top of the hill.

She had chosen the wrong way; the metal carapace thing was nowhere in sight. Without time to think, she kept going toward a low spot where the creek had eroded into the ground. Splintering crunches and heavy throaty growls from behind kept her moving. The beast was close enough to smell. Pleas for Rachel became incoherent screams as the ridge gave out from under her, and she tumbled to the ground. The accidental fall spared her the touch of its claws as the beast raked through the air where she just was. Her arms and legs flailed about as she rolled down a root-studded incline, coming to a halt at the bottom with her face in an inch of icy water. Gasping for air, she felt like she had been punched in her everything.

The dog had a less gentle landing, headfirst into the earthen wall on the other side of the creek. She lifted herself out of the muck and looked at the direction the stream came from. Thirty yards ahead, a corrugated metal pipe offered sanctuary beyond a trickle of water. Althea gathered her legs under her and ran. The slap of her feet in the wet brought the dog out of its daze. It snorted, shook its head, and it came barreling after her on all fours. She dove into the pipe with her hands over her head, screaming at the sound of it ripping at metal. Scrambling for traction, she rolled on her back and shimmied away from the opening, staring between her knees at the groping claws that missed her by inches.

Growling and gnashing, the beast lurched shoulder-deep in the tube waving its hand, giving off equal parts hunger and anger. She was grateful the conduit was too small for her to sit up. She slid backwards a little further and fell flat when she felt the distance safe. Exhaling, she enjoyed the cool water as it wrapped over the top of her head, around her shoulders, and down her back. With her hands on her chest, she lay still until the current carried her fatigue away.

When she no longer gasped for air, she lifted her head. The creature was gone. The circular aperture of light that hovered just above her toes beckoned with the wonderful outdoors, but she knew the monster would be waiting for her.

She rolled onto her stomach and crawled deeper into the tunnel. It soon opened into a flooded, square concrete chamber. Reaching into the brackish pool, she found solid, algae-covered floor when the water was up to her armpit. After taking a breath, she grasped the lip of the pipe and slid headfirst into the pool, swimming for a few seconds until she got her feet under her. Standing just shy of knee deep, she gazed upward.

Smears of green moss and rust covered the walls of a shaft extending at least thirty feet above to a grating through which trees wavered in the breeze. Water leaked from a dozen smaller openings dotting the walls. Drips echoed, and the dank presence of this place sent a chill through her.

A metal ladder led to a ledge much closer than the roof. She climbed up just enough to peek over the top, careful of what may be lurking there. Someone had collected things together in a modest sized chamber and done it up like a room. A steel framed cot stood against the left wall across from a table and a few metal folding chairs. Crates and boxes of all sizes were stacked against the opposite wall and a hanging partition of plastic sheeting attempted to close it off from a maze of large concrete tubes.

The dog had chased her away from her collected pile of provisions, so once more she had nothing. With the hope of human contact, this space provided a welcome alternative to becoming the creature’s meal. It was dry here at least, so she climbed off the ladder and stood shivering and dripping while she examined the room.

Since it was daytime, she figured whoever lived here was probably out hunting. Assuming, of course, they were not already dead. She meandered about, poking through the various collected objects and trying to gauge from their condition the chances of either being true. The overall grunge gave her no indication, but she did find a discarded set of leather armor. Something had lit into it pretty bad, shredding a hole through the breastplate she could fit her face into. After dragging it with her to the cot, she sat and picked at it. Weaving what she could from it into her skirt, she bolstered some sparse points and retied some of the loosening knots.

The process ate more than an hour, and still there was no sign of anyone. From the color of the light in the water shaft, she knew the sun would be down soon. Too afraid to risk going outside, she pulled her feet up on the bed and reclined. Worn out from her first day of independence, she succumbed to the grasp of the comfortable bedding.

en’s laughter echoed in the foggy haze of the dream she knew she experienced. Her arms stretched out and crossed in front of her, holding his hands as they spun around in the field. Blurry trees streaked past his smiling face. They whirled until her grip broke, leaving them both on their backsides, laughing. The image was short, but she woke up happy. Morning grogginess left her with the need for a good stretch. An unusual metallic clatter accompanied her motion. Her heart almost stopped when she felt the presence of cold metal around her right wrist.

Sitting up with a gasp, she found the same kind of thing that had kept Rachel’s hands behind her for so long locked about her arm. Blotched with rust like the cot, it looked old. Other dark stains on it resembled dried blood, but smelled sweet. The other end rattled around the flaking grey paint of the bed frame. As soon as her panic faded enough to allow it, Althea scooted up on her knees and she twisted her arm around in an attempt to pull her hand out.

She knew someone had found her while she slept and wanted to keep her. She fought and pulled until she worked up a sweat, as well as a red mark. Giving up on escape, she stared at her lap wanting to cry. It was all starting again; just an endless cycle. A pathetic glance cast through wild hair at the rest of the room revealed whoever had abducted her had left her alone with the chain.

Rachel had referred to them as handcuffs, telling her about how, in her world, people called police put them on bad things called criminals. Althea had explained now they were for slaves, a concept that sent Rachel into a frightening spiral of anger. Even the word “slave” had set the woman off on a tirade that made Althea want to hide.

She grasped the metal band and leaned away, straining with her entire weight, making the bed shake as she kicked her heel into the head rail. This time, she would not just accept her fate. After several minutes of futile pulling, she sagged limp again and looked around.

A small table a distance away had trash and paper cups, but no sign of a key. Twisting and pulling, she could not squirm her hand through the ring. Not even with both feet pushing on the cuff and her sense of pain turned off could she get rid of it. After mending the cut and redness, she tried attacking the other end, which was locked around the frame. Shaking the bed, she rattled the cuff against the small vertical bars, but it only had a four-inch space in which it would slide.

Hopelessness reared up; she collapsed onto the cot, and cried. Overwhelmed with a sense of foolishness for running away, she longed to have Rachel here to protect her from whoever did this to her. Why was she so stupid? She heard the plan. She could have forced Zhar not to keep her; she could have stayed with her friend. Some lessons were harder to accept than others, and this one made her bawl.

Building panic and desperation came to a stall as scuffing sounds and whistling echoed in the cavernous distance. Althea froze, her crying stopped as if a switch had been thrown. She barely breathed as footsteps grew closer. By the time a blurry outline of a person approached the mass of plastic sheets hung over the exit, she trembled.

A battered blue plastic plate parted the barrier, behind which a man walked in. “Well, yer ‘wake now.”

Like most people in the Badlands, he was of such mixed heritage one could not ascribe a nationality to him. A dingy red ball cap perched atop thick, bushy black hair tinged silver. His dark shirt poked out from between the flaps of a long, army-green raincoat. The shape of his legs was lost in a billowy pair of green camouflage pants. Greedy eyes stared unblinking at her as he ambled closer and set the offering on the cot by her legs. Two small animals, rats or squirrels perhaps, cleaned, skinned, and grilled.

“Yer damn lucky yer a girl. Someone steals me bed, Ah jes’ as soon shoot ‘em.”

Althea did not like the way he looked at her, his gaze lingered upon slivers of bare thigh peeking through the tatters of her skirt. The fragrance of the cooked meat created a strong distraction from the man, and she reached under her trapped arm with her free left hand to grab one. It was hot, just off the fire, but she did not care. Not taking her gaze off him, she ate as fast as its temperature allowed.