Prophet of the Badlands (The Awakened Book 1) (51 page)

Sickened, she stood and rubbed the cold of the metal bench out of her legs before wandering through several more city blocks, weary and confused with no hint at where she might find one of these police. Her chest-level view of the crowd offered an unending stream of people disinterested in her existence. Most avoided her while some shoved her out of their way when she tried to approach. This was so unlike Querq; so many people packed the sidewalk she could not even see the ground, and not one of them was friendly or smiled.

Sad and annoyed at the way everyone here behaved, she trudged on. After passing two more cross streets, opportunity presented itself in the form of a wide open door to a room full of people seemingly free of the perpetual rush. Perhaps someone in there knew where to find a police. Up a few steps, she looked around at the bodies mingling in the dim space. They sat at tables, most paired off in couples, and others perched upon the nail-things. A small magic tray with baskets on it floated on its own about the room, offering its contents to whoever was close. When it passed her, she took a small bowl of peanuts and devoured the ones that did not miss her mouth.

A man scurried back and forth on the other side of a counter that reminded her of Tumbleweed’s place. She approached, and satisfied her eyes could see over the top of it, climbed up onto one of the giant padded nails. Leaning her elbows on the bar, she swung her feet back and forth, waiting for the man to walk over.

“What’s yer poi―“He blinked at her.

“I’m looking for a po―”

“Get outta here, kid.” The bellow was unexpected. “You’re too young.”

“I can see over the bar,” she said, indignantly.

“What do you think this is, brat, Europe? Get lost. For at least ten years.”

She jumped down and ran outside before he could hit her, stopping on the street and staring back at the doorway.

“Christ Jimmy, what the fuck do I pay you for?” The bartender’s yelling continued at someone inside.

A thin guy with short dark hair and a tight green shirt stomped to the door, slipping in the scattered peanuts she dropped. Recovering his balance, he held his middle finger up in the air behind him. He leaned on the wall outside and crossed his arms.

“Sorry, kid, gotta be twenty-one.”

She smirked.

He pointed with his thumb down the street. “Beat it.”

Althea hung her head and kept walking. Two more strangers ran away from her when she tried to talk to them. No one wanted to get involved with a grungy orphan. Desperate, she grabbed a man’s hand and found herself upside down, headfirst in a trashcan. Her side hurt from the imprint of his hand.

“Hands to yourself, fuckin’ little pickpocket.” The can rocked from the impact of his foot.

Althea squirmed around, pulling her legs down and shifting upright in the mass of garbage. The stuff in here had been sitting too long to smell worth eating. The man took a few steps, checking through his clothes. She climbed out onto the street and sighed. A little box no larger than her head zoomed over and got in her face. Awe washed over at the floating thing. She jumped when it spoke.

“You there. There is a fine for littering.” The crackling digital voice sounded upset. “Error, ImDent not found.”

“He put me in this can,” she whined, pointing.

“You removed refuse from the receptacle and dumped it on the sidewalk. Please replace the trash where it belongs. Noncompliance will result in a citation.”

Althea did not know what a citation was, but it sounded like something she did not want. After gathering the junk she displaced during her exit, she smirked at it.

“One more piece.” It whirred.

“There is no more,” she whined, gesturing at the ground.

“You were placed in the refuse containment device and are now litter on the street. Please return yourself to the proper receptacle.”

“I’m not trash. I’m a person.” Stunned that even floating metal boxes thought so little of her, she sobbed into her hands.

The miniscule annoyance drifted closer, sweeping a red line of light up and down her body. “Scan confirmed. Suspected litter is not an artificial life form.” The pestering thing zoomed off after the man, nagging him about misuse of city trash receptacles, as they were not intended for disposal of unwanted children.

Althea wiped her face dry and sighed. The next person she tried to talk to shoved her hard to the ground. She landed on her ass before she could get one word out; he scurried off, wiping his hand on the leg of his pants because she touched him.

Sorrow and frustration mounted. She drew in a breath to scream for help when a moving picture of a policeman smiling and waving from the side of a building half a block away caught her eye.

Grinning, she got up and ran for it. Althea slipped around a tall man in a lip lock with a half-naked redhead in glittering heels, into a room dim enough to turn black and white. At the far end, a policeman on a raised platform danced around in the only spot of color in the place. She thought his uniform was a little tight, and a lot small. At a confused gait, she padded down the carpeted walkway between tables populated by mostly women as the cop gyrated and unbuttoned his shirt.

A group of five men seated at the closest table to the stage hollered and cheered at him. The cop let his shirt fall backward off his shoulders; huge rolling chest muscles reminded her of a raider juggernaut. She skirted up to the edge of the light and waved, bringing an end to his strange dance and changing his smile to a look of bewilderment. For a moment, he stared in silence, blinked, and pulled his shirt closed. He tugged at a small black wand hanging from his left ear that curled in front of his mouth, and pointed at her.

“Um. George, what’s up with this?” His voice thundered through the entire room, bringing the din to silence. “You guys still checking ID? I think you missed one by about ten years.”

“Are you a police?” Althea’s voice echoed at a full yell through silence, trying to overpower music that had come to an abrupt stop.

The crowd laughed, and she heard a few “Awws.”

Sensing a man approach from behind, she looked up and back. Before she could say a word, his fingers crushed into her bicep and lifted her into the air.

“Sorry folks.” The dancer cringed. “Hey George… go easy, it’s just a kid.”

“Ow. You’re hurting me.” She wriggled. “Put me down.”

He did, once he had carried her back outside. “Get outta here. You’re gonna get us shut down. If I see you again, I’m gonna call the cops to pick you up.”

“Are cops police?”

“Yeah…” He gave her an incredulous stare. “Geez… freakin’ blondes.”

He slammed the door in her face, and the music resumed.

That was exactly what she wanted, so she followed him right away.

He whirled on her. “You are some special kind o’ stupid.”

“I want the police.” She smiled. “Please get them.”

The bouncer eyed the room warily and she felt a twinge of dread. In his thoughts, he worried about a thing he called “drugs” and a place he knew as “the fun room” which he did not want the cops to know about. He grabbed her, squeezing her wrist numb as he pulled her once more onto the sidewalk. The swat on the ass she got as a parting gift sent her up on her toes gasping for air. No one had ever hit her like that; no one had ever dared strike the Prophet.

She had no idea how to react. Althea knew some people did that to misbehaving little children. The stinging pain and the shame of being treated like a
little
child made her wail like someone young enough to be disciplined that way. People walked around her on either side as she stood bawling. She did not notice the bouncer staring at her with “asshole” written across his forehead.

His chest appeared in the corner of her vision and she sniffled up at him. Unable to speak, she peered into his mind. Guilt, mostly, and confusion at why a girl her age burst into tears from one ‘light’ spank.

“Look, umm… Sorry I hit you. I ain’t good wit kids.” His face came as close to a smile as it could get. “Here, take this. It’ll get you a free combo at Cyberburger. Go eat something.”

Plastic clattered to the ground, and he vanished behind the slam of the door.

Sniveling, she stared down at a glowing hamburger the size of a thumb printed on a clear card with words around it. Althea figured someone at a place called Cyberburger would barter this card for something to eat; it was worth keeping.

Rubbing the last bits of pain out of her rear end, she plodded down the street. People still ignored her, save for the occasional rough collision that knocked her sideways when someone walked into her as if she was not there.

The ball at the next cross street was red, so she stopped. To her right, an open door beckoned into a room full of shelves. The Lost Place had buildings like this; Den had called them Sev-Levs. Sometimes they found food there, oblong yellow soft things with sweet white stuff inside them. Despite being from the before-time, they were still edible. He told her about how they used to sell conveniences. Den had no clue what a convenience was, but the smiling man behind the counter might be able to help her find a police.

Clutching the card, she went through the door into a blast of air even colder than the outside. Overpowering the small meat-sticks slow roasting under heat lamps, a strange fragrance filled the room. Smoky yet laden with spice, it clung to everything. As soon as the man saw her, he started shouting and waving an arm at her. Whatever language he spoke was one Althea had never heard.

He emanated worry as well as anger, yet she had done nothing but walk in.

“You go. No steal here.” He rushed around the counter, waving his hands in her face and reaching for something against the wall. “I no charity.”

“Please, I need a po―”

She ducked the swing of a broom, and backpedaled out onto the street. “Please, will you―”

The door slammed with the clattering of out-of-tune electronic bells, and he locked it.

Continuing backwards, she looked around at the people, the buildings, the furious face in the store window, and the starless sky. Someone shoved her to the side, on purpose. She fell, barely getting her hands in the way before her face hit the ground.

“Stupid kid, watch where you’re going.”

The man in the fancy black suit with raspberry cuffs and collar did not look back; he enjoyed doing that to her.

It was too much, and the tears flowed before she finished crawling to the curb. The frigid surface would have been soothing to sit on if she noticed it, but her stoicism had been exhausted by the endless litany of uncaring, mean, and selfish people who lived in this awful place.

Huddled on the edge of the sidewalk, she wrapped her arms around her legs and sobbed. This was Archon’s fault.

For the first time she could remember, she decided she hated someone.

lthea stared at the ripples of water expanding from her teardrops. They blurred her feet into shimmering waves of color that lapped at her ankles. The water pooled against the curb was every bit as frigid as the people. When she had no tears left to shed, she looked up at the crowd flowing around her as though she was just one more piece of trash they needed to step around.