Trash tumbled carelessly between buildings and battered cars. Empty. No sign of people anywhere. Every street they walked down was just as deserted as the last.
More shocking though than their apparent isolation, was the magnitude of destruction this place had endured. The obvious signs of extensive bouts of riots were visible everywhere: shattered windows, torched cars, the littering with excrement—likely just as much from people as wild animals.
Everywhere they’d been so far had been different. For some, society ceased functioning only a few months ago. In other places, war and anarchy had come a year or more prior.
This place had clearly been in the latter group, Graciela thought to herself as they solemnly walked past a massive heap of bricks, singe marks creeping outward on the ground from where the missile had hit.
She wondered how many more had died since the last numbers she’d seen broadcasted. Half the world? It sure felt like, maybe even more, consider how rarely they ran into other people on the road.
Graciela swallowed hard and tried not to think of the people who’d died, or the kind of deaths they’d endured.
When Santiago grunted next to her, she turned to see what he was looking at. A partially unhinged sign for one sole-standing structure on her left read, “Taberna de Oaxaca.” Oaxaca.
“I told you,” she said, ignoring Santiago’s rolling eyes. “Look over there,” she said and pointed, drawing his attention to the church.
“You actually want to stay in a church?” His response was fragmented by short bursts of air, but somehow, despite his lethargy and apparent misery, he still looked spirited.
Glancing at the surroundings, she took one last survey for a better option and found none. “We might have to. It looks like they were hit pretty hard.”
“Yeah, I heard they were one of the first cities in Mexico to be attacked.” His breathing was more ragged than usual, each word like it was too dense for his lungs to hold any longer. “We were supposed to have a tournament here, but it was cancelled.”
“Well,” she said, trying not to think too much about Santiago’s fatigue unsuccessfully. “That church is the best thing we’ve seen all day. I don’t think we’ll find anything better if it fell from the sky.”
Santiago forced a laugh. “Be careful what you wish for. I’ve seen stranger things.”
Before a luxurious home could materialize from thin air and prove her wrong, Graciela added, “We may even want to stay another day so that I can scout some of the buildings for supplies. There are many restaurants here, and we’re running low on food,” she said, smiling at Santiago. He revealed nothing more than a vacant expression, his jaw slack.
Then his eyes fluttered.
“Try to hang in there, Santi. It’s not much farther, and then you can rest.” It was a feeble attempt at reassurance for both their sakes, but she hoped at a minimum it helped mask her concern.
Unfortunately, it was already too late. In the same second, his face pinched, and he lost his posture.
“Santi!” Graciela bolted to his side for support, ducking under his arm just in time. She struggled with the weight of him. “Are you okay?”
A cautious look around told her that they were still alone and therefore safe. Considering his state, people weren’t far though.
He tilted his head to face her. It clearly took all of his remaining strength. Hands clutching his stomach, he clenched in agony she’d never be able to fathom.
With strained and shallow breaths, Santiago uttered, “People… too many…”
Without further warning, he collapsed in the middle of the street, taking Graciela down with him like a sack of potatoes.
“Oh no, not now,” she pleaded, scrambling back to her feet.
Very rarely did Santiago faint from the magnitude of his power. The worst emotions caused severe headaches and sometimes vomiting if strong enough. The only times he ever fainted were when they neared large groups of people and there were too many channels of emotion for him to endure.
They needed to disappear and fast.
She dropped the backpack from her brother’s shoulder. It wasn’t much, but at least the awkward shape of it was no longer a part of him. After rolling Santiago back over, she gripped him from under his armpits. Nearby, Graciela spotted an alley, a brown commercial dumpster tucked in its shadows. As she started to drag him, she heard voices nearing. There wasn’t much time. Faster she scurried, shuffling to safety as quickly as she could.
Santiago’s body felt frail in her grip. His muscles had begun to deteriorate. Although it was exhausting him, the long journey was probably the only reason why he had any remnants of strength remaining, his Awakened power catapulting his body into the beginning stages of dystrophy.
At least he was light enough for her to drag on her own. If this had happened a year ago, when he had the sturdy physique of an athlete, it would’ve been quite the struggle for her to save them both.
The voices were becoming louder every second.
Thud.
“Oops,” she winced after slamming Santiago’s spine against the sidewalk. Regardless of how light he’d become, her arms burned from the short bout of exerted energy. She too was battling famine.
When they reached the alley, Graciela considered propping her brother behind the garbage but decided she didn’t want to risk him falling over. Ashamedly, she let him lay on the ground, too late seeing that she’d laid him in a puddle of something sour that was seeping from the corner of the dumpster. Certainly, he’d thank her for it later. If there was a later.
Graciela turned to retrieve the bag she’d left in the middle of the road but immediately ducked back into the darkness.
Standing in the middle of the street, a group of twenty encircled the backpack in examination. Graciela closed her eyes, and a tear slid down her cheek. It had been a long time since she’d felt fear like this. There were so many unknowns. It was possible that these people were nice, but they could also be like all the others, the ones who’d chased and hunted them, threatened their lives. The ones who’d destroyed the sanctuaries they’d seen.
The only thing she could do was focus on slowing her breathing and hope that no one had seen them flee the street.
“Well, well, what do we have here, folks?”
Alarm yelled in her chest, convinced they’d been spotted. A sudden sense of panic overwhelmed her. She was torn between pretending she hadn’t heard the man or facing him. Not being able to see anything from behind their blockade though, only seemed to be putting her in more of a frenzy.
Feeling defeated, Graciela peered from their cover. Every bit of her trembled. At the center of the group, she spotted the person responsible for the words. He was a man of significant stature, both in height and width, his lack of hair only served to amplify his menace. But by some stroke of luck, he wasn’t looking in her direction.
“Looks like someone’s left us some treats. Let’s see what’s inside, shall we?” The bald mountain-of-a-man snapped his fingers, pointing at someone in the crowd. “Open it,” he said, tossing Santiago’s backpack at one of the other people.
A younger man obeyed, stepping forward from the group. He looked about Graciela’s age, give or take a year. With skin as pale as the moon and hair as dark as night, at first glance he was frightening. Rugged and tinted by dark shadows. The mere sight of him sent chills down Graciela’s spine.
But upon closer examination, despite his harsh exterior, he seemed nervous and disjointed, nothing more than a mere anchovy amid a sea of sharks.
Bangs swayed as he shambled forward. He unzipped the front pouch of the backpack, and his apprehensive fingers rummaged inside. Confusion, or perhaps disappointment, bled into his expression. “It’s…just hair gel,” he reported hesitantly. “Lots of hair gel.”
The broad-chested man in the center—the presumed leader—rolled his eyes while running his fingers across his scalp. Instead of hair, they caressed intricate and frightful tattoos. Graciela c
ouldn’t see the exact images given that his front faced hers, but anyone bold enough to permanently engrave their skull likely had just as bold body art.
The ominous leader had small, piercing blue eyes, moderately spaced from his nose, which looked as if it had seen one too many brawls. Two plump jowls filled the space on either side of his elongated face. They jiggled as he barked in equal parts irritation and amusement. “Who is out here saving hair gel in the apocalypse?”
The rest of the group joined him in laughter, everyone caught up in the thunderous roar until the bald man’s face went rigid. As if on command, so did theirs. It was clear they feared him.
“Well, what else? Check the other pockets. Hair gel can’t be the only thing this guy is stashing.”
Giving a subtle eye roll, the young man hurried to unfasten the bungee cords that kept the rest of the bag intact. It was an ancient thing. Graciela had encouraged her brother to bring a different pack, one that wasn’t so worn and actually zipped properly, but at the time he’d ignored her.
Heat rose to her cheeks watching the young man throw her spare clothes—underwear and all—out for the group to see. “Looks like clothes, a comb,” he paused to rummage deeper, then stated with a hopeful glance to the bald man. “There’s a couple of cans of food in here.”
The bald leader showed no signs of the pride the young man hoped to receive. Instead, he feigned excitement and held his hand out, waiting for the backpack.
Graciela snuck a peak at Santiago. Still unconscious on the grimy ground behind her. He wouldn’t wake up for a while, definitely not until after these people were gone.
A soft thump startled her, returning her attention back to the road. The backpack once again lay in the street. At the same time she saw the bag, she noticed a sly stretch of sun illuminating her knee. Even though the day was ending, rays of light brightened even the darkest crevices surrounding her. One wrong move and someone might spot her. Carefully, she wiggled back to remain hidden, one eye peeking out.
The leader held one can of food in each hand and rotated so everyone could see.
Mid-turn, Graciela was better able to distinguish the sharp lines and shadows of a face tattooed across the back of the man’s scalp. Two black eyes like bottomless pits snarled back at her from behind scales and horns. Smoke plumed from behind the face, spreading to the base of the man’s skull. The image rippled vibrantly with rich purples, and there was no doubt it was some kind of demon, unlike any Graciela had ever seen depicted before.
She reached for her necklace, hand only grazing her bare collarbone. Closing her eyes, she exerted an inaudible exhale, remembering she no longer wore her rosary. It held no meaning for her anymore, much as none of the deities of old held meaning for most anyone anymore. Since World War III and, more recently the Awakening, people had changed their perspectives on what they believed.
Her eyes averted from the giant, tatted man. Everyone appeared confused, unsure of how to respond to his gesture.
When the rotation completed, his hands dropped to his side. “Nice job, Bram. Now all of our problems are solved. We don’t ever have to worry about starvation ever again!” His tone dripped with sarcasm, and Graciela wasn’t the only one who noticed. Others among them shifted uncomfortably, anxious about what he might do next.
Forcefully, the leader hurled both cans at the man he’d called Bram. The first flew past him and erupted on the ground. At least the crows would be able to gorge themselves later that night. The other hit him in the back of the head and he stumbled to the ground. Face in dirt, Bram patted his hand gingerly on his wound.
Graciela could’ve sworn she saw blood, but when she blinked, the red shine was gone from his fingertips. She didn’t know what to make of it, other than the long days had started to play tricks on her.
“All right, everybody,” the tatted man projected. “It looks as though we may have some prey nearby.” With eyes of a predator, he looked out at his people, half of whom shared his maniacal enjoyment. Bram, who squatted within the circle, looked to his boss with seething hatred, but though his jaw was clenched, said nothing.
A few others nervously checked their surroundings and huddled even closer together, the leader pointing at them.
“You all will stay here with me. You two, help me keep these folks calm and cooperative. The rest of you, split up. See what you can find.” It was only directed to five people when he said, “Don’t disappoint me.”
They dispersed like a pack of wolves, prowling in opposite directions.
The bald man planted a hand on Bram’s shoulder before as he finally pushed himself off the ground. “Especially you, boy. No more disappointment from you. Got it?”
The young man once again seemed much smaller. It was the same way Santiago would behave around their father. Too frightened to say anything but enraged to the point of visibly boiling. She could see the hatred simmering behind Bram’s eyes. No doubt the tatted man could too.
Instantly, the young man’s jaw relaxed, and he nodded his head.
“Good. Then get going.”
All signs of fury contained behind the shadows in the young man’s eyes, he darted out of sight.
The leader turned to examine the buildings nearby. He held his nose in the air and inhaled hungrily. Smugness spread across his face as he licked his lips. “Smells like they’re close. Tonight, we feast!”
Graciela’s eyes widened. Had he just said he could smell them nearby? She glanced back at her brother, still unconscious. They needed to leave, to hide, to do something other than sit there and wait to be found. It was only a matter of time before that happened. But there was nowhere to go. There they were, trapped in a dead-end alley like an easy target. Even if there was somewhere to go, stealthily transporting her brother, who still outweighed her, even malnourished, would prove an impossible task.
“Well, look at that.” When Graciela turned back to the road, the bald man had put some distance between them and was hollering from the entryway of a nearby bar. He spat on the ground before pulling the front door open. “I’ll be sampling tequila in the meantime. If you find anything, you know where to find me.”
Graciela allowed her heart to settle when he and the others went inside.
Now that the group had dispersed, she was hopeful that everyone was far enough away for the effects of their emotions to have a lessened impact on Santiago.
Now was their chance. Their only chance.
Graciela scooped the soured fluid and splashed it onto Santiago’s face. Nothing. She tried plugging Santiago’s nose, but the only response she received was that he opened his mouth with a belch of air that made her cringe for fear of someone else hearing it. The only option left was to drag him into a nearby building, but that would likely be the first place anyone would look.
Maybe they were safest where they were, hiding in plain sight.
Movement out of the corner of her eye demanded her attention. Graciela straightened her back against the brick wall, desperate to become invisible. She strained to see past the dumpster, but without leaning forward and forfeiting her cover, she could see only hateful graffiti on the parallel building.
Atop it, crept a stalking shadow. A man.
Instantly, Graciela was consumed with panic. Her initial plan to flee and hide had not yet developed into anything more. A confrontation with someone, potentially someone Awakened, was something she wasn’t prepared for.
Hopefully once he realized the alley was a dead end, he’d turn around and investigate no further.
The shuffling of footsteps only grew louder, the stranger heading directly toward her and her brother. Graciela knew what she needed to do. The only question was, did she have it within her to do it?
Vigilant to keep her movements silent, Graciela hovered over her brother. Carefully, she reached down and grabbed the knife from Santiago’s pocket, the same one he had tried teaching her to use in case of emergencies. This classified as an emergency.
The weight
of it felt wrong in her hand.
A foot came into view. It was all over now. She had only one option.
Before she could be seen, Graciela lunged out from the darkness at the approaching figure, using the element of surprise to throw him off guard. The blade starkly missed his bicep, and instead their bodies slammed into one another, her shoulder to his chest, until they were flying into the adjacent wall.
Her heart raced with purely primal and entirely foreign instincts. A combative drive like none she’d ever experienced orchestrated her every move. Nothing mattered but her brother. Graciela swung her knife, the blade thirsty for a solid impact. But there was no finesse behind it, no expertise. It carved the air chasing his movements, always a second behind.
The element of surprise now passed, she relied on nothing but her strength and agility. She doubted either were enough.
The assailant grabbed her wrist, twisting the knife out of her hand. In an instant, she had been rendered unarmed. With another sharp spin, he torqued her body, pinning her face-first against the cool brick wall. An uncontainable grunt escaped her throat from the impact. He discarded the blade farther down the alley, its metal clank reverberating between the closely built walls. With his other hand, he cupped her mouth.
Everything happened so fast, she hardly had a chance to register it. Within seconds, she had been caught.
Panicked, Graciela squirmed and kicked, trying not to make more noise so she didn’t draw the attention of the others, but desperate to get away. The rough brick scraping against her cheek was the least of her worries. This couldn’t be the end.
A new fear crossed her mind. Regardless of how valiantly she fought, all it would take was one shout, one quick whistle, and the two of them would find themselves suddenly swarmed and outnumbered.
The man slammed her against the wall again, this time shushing her. “Aren’t you a spry thing?” he whispered harshly. “Stop squirming. I’m not going to hurt you.”
Blood Awakens Page 7