She's probably right. I do have a few things to explain.
And I'll do fine. Like always.
Part V
Captives
10 Daiyna
Ten Months after All-Clear
My eyelids flutter open to faint moonlight and a black sky with scattered pinpoints of light.
I jerk upward and inhale with a loud gasp. My heart rushes, pumping wildly. Where am I? How long have I been here? The ground beneath me is cold and uneven, scattered with rock and debris.
I'm too exposed sitting here in the open. It isn't safe, I need to hide. The mangled ruins of the city, smothered in dust and ash, tower over me in every direction. How did I get out here, lying in the middle of the street? Wasn't I underground before?
The muscles in my back ache to the bone as I stagger to my feet. I was armed. I remember carrying a rifle we took off a dead daemon. Swaying unsteadily, I close my eyes for a moment. I've got to get a grip on things, sort everything out. But my foggy memories are no help at all.
Stiffly, I shuffle toward what looks like the remains of an EV station. The chargers, once a meter high, are now frozen puddles of steel half that height. They've probably looked like this for the past twenty years. The exchange office sits farther back, a twisted heap of steel supports, but it should provide sufficient cover while I get my head straight.
The others—where are they? Shechara, Luther, Samson? Milton... He was losing his mind. He thought I was someone else. I tried to help him, but I couldn't. He wouldn't let me. The spirit inside him was taking over.
I crouch behind a pile of rubble and touch my neck. I swallow painfully. Did he try to strangle me? Why can't I remember? We were below the surface, two or three levels down in a parking structure.
How the hell did I get out here?
My stomach growls, and I glance at the moon. It must be well after midnight. If the sun had come up, and I was still lying there in the street, unprotected...
I find my head covering, loose around my chest, and quickly wrap it back into place. My muscles tighten at the thought of what could have happened—my face, charred by the morning sun. My head doesn't need the protection right now, but it makes me feel better having it ready. It'll keep me warm, at any rate. It's freezing tonight.
My stomach churns again, and I reach for a protein pack, tucked beneath my outer garment. I rip it open with my teeth, and the noise is too loud. I pause before taking a bite.
It's so quiet here. Am I being watched? Maybe it's just the spirits. Do they know what happened to me?
A protein pack never tasted so good, despite the total lack of any flavor. I devour it in three bites. Eventually my stomach relaxes, and I take a deep breath.
I have to find the others. Where's that parking garage? It could be in any direction. I'm nowhere near where we entered this city from the south. By all indications, I'm in the middle of the city ruins.
I feel naked without a weapon of any kind, rifle or spear. I'd settle for even a knife. I look around at my deformed surroundings. Sector 31, Luther said. A trade sector. There should be plenty of...just about everything. In storage, below ground—if the daemons haven't already gotten to it.
The daemons. Right. I definitely need a weapon.
Keeping low, I set a course along the edge of the street and look for any blown-out buildings with open sublevels. As I move, I can't shake the feeling that someone's watching me.
"Is it you?" I whisper, knowing better than to think the spirits will answer. They speak only when they want to. I'm not surprised or disappointed by the silence that answers me.
Milton had me by the throat. The memory returns, more vivid this time. I remember his eyes, wild yet defeated as he tightened his grip. As if he knew he was losing the battle raging inside him. But then something happened—the sound of an engine approached from the level below us. I can't remember what happened after that. The next thing I knew, I was waking up in the middle of the street.
My boots skid to a halt as I look over my shoulder. What was that sound? Is someone or something following me?
I step sideways into the rubble of what could have been a restaurant at one time. It's difficult to tell. Were those tables?
When I was a little girl, I'd lie back and look up at the clouds with my sister, and we'd find all sorts of shapes and creatures. It's the same with these ruins. This could have been an auto parts store specializing in solar panels and electric cells, as far as I know. But right now, it's a fine Italian restaurant, and I can almost hear the music...
Silence. I wait a few moments longer to be sure no one's following. I thank the spirits for my gift of night-vision. The shadows provide no cover for anyone foolish enough to try and hide from me.
The ground crunches, closer this time. A footfall? Or something I disturbed as I passed by, something that hasn't been passed over in years?
I need a weapon. If only the spirits had given me claws like Luther.
I kneel and grab a jagged chunk of concrete twice the size of my hand. I hold my breath at the sound of another crunch—gravel and debris under a boot sole. Someone is tracing my steps, closing in on me. Human or daemon? Do others lie in wait down the street? I tighten my grip on the only weapon I have and weigh my chances. Should I force a confrontation or flee? I can't hide indefinitely. My tracks through the ash end here.
It's only a matter of seconds before I'm found.
"Who's there?" my voice hangs in the silence as I stand. I'm aware of my breathing, too loud, all I can hear. That and my heartbeat, throbbing in my ears. "Milton?"
The stillness of the night mocks my foolishness. Why would Milton be following me? Come to finish me off? The spirit inside him wanted to kill us all. What about the others? Did he already get to them? I can't make any sense of it. Why did the spirits want me to save him in the first place if this is how it ends?
"Are you alone?"
My heart lurches at the deep voice suddenly behind me.
"Who are you?" I whirl around, eyes darting. But no one's there.
"Don't run off. I won't hurt you."
"Prove it. Show yourself." I brandish the concrete and face the voice in the shadows.
"The dark suits me fine right now." A metallic clink echoes. "Put down your rock. Then we'll talk."
"Where are you?" Is something wrong with my eyes?
"I said drop it. I'm not fooling around here."
"Neither am I! Step out into the moonlight."
A gunshot blasts my eardrums. The rubble behind me explodes, pieces scattering in all directions. I drop the chunk of concrete.
"That's better." Another clink. He's armed and invisible. A dangerous combination. "Now answer me. Are you alone or not?"
"Yes." My voice sounds flat, not frightened. I grit my teeth to keep it that way.
"What's your name?"
"Daiyna."
"Where are you from, Daiyna?"
"Sector 50."
"A breeder? What're you doing here?"
"We were—"
"You said you were alone!" he shouts, stepping closer.
"I am." I raise my empty hands slowly. I'm no threat to him—not yet. "I am alone now. I don't know where the others are."
"How many? How many of them?"
"Three." And Milton. "Four."
"Which is it? Three or four?"
"Four." I try not to imagine an invisible gun barrel aimed between my eyes. "We were separated. I don't know where they are now."
"Why'd you come out here?" he demands.
The short version? "We needed a vehicle. Ours broke down. We were attacked, south—"
"Mutos?"
Mutants—the daemons? Who else? "Yes."
"Yeah, they can be troublesome." He curses. The ground crunches as though he's shifting his feet. "So you're all alone, and you don't know where your friends are."
If he plans to rape me, he'll get more than he bargained for, invisible or not. "That's right."
"What about t
hat guy who left you in the middle of the street? Who's he?"
"What do you mean?" My voice catches.
"You tell me. Why would one of your friends dump you in the street back there and take off—like the wind. Never seen anybody move that fast."
Milton. He brought me to the surface and left me? Why?
"I don't know." I frown, pressing my throbbing temple. "I can't remember what happened. I woke up and saw the stars, no idea how I got there." I feel him watching me. "Which way did he go?"
"Couldn't really tell. Too fast."
I nod, trying to grasp the situation. "Are you still pointing that gun at me?"
His feet shuffle again. "Not since you dropped your rock."
My shoulders relax. Good to know. "So who are you?"
"I'm a ghost."
That would explain my inability to see him.
"Your friends," he says, clearing his throat. "Where'd you see 'em last?"
"We came in from the south, looking for a vehicle. Ended up in the sublevels of a parking structure, figured it might have what we needed. That's the last I saw of them." I must have blacked out.
"And you...didn't run into anybody else down there?"
The sound of an engine, bright lights... That's all I remember. "No. Why?" Do daemons live beneath the surface? Is that who came out of the darkness?
He sniffs. "No reason. Only if you did, I'd say your friends are in more danger than if they ran into the mutos."
What does he mean by that?
"I need to find them." If I can locate that parking structure, I should be able to track them from there. But I'm all turned around now, and the stars are no help to guide me. What North Star? The constellations look all wrong.
He mutters something to himself, but I can't make it out. His boots shift as though he's turning away.
"Can you point me in the right direction?" I hope I don't sound desperate.
If he wants to leave, fine. I can wait for the sun to come up and find my own way.
"You don't want to go down there."
I wait for him to elaborate. The silence runs on. At this rate, it'll be morning before I find the others.
"Why not?"
"If they were taken below, then only I can find them." His footsteps move out toward the street.
Should I follow? I have no idea who or what he is. Why the hell can't I see him? "Will you help me or not?"
The crunches stop. The impressions in the ashen dust are clear to see, but there's no one to go with them. Is he really a ghost? Of course not, that's ridiculous.
So what is he then?
"Follow me." The footprints proceed onward. "And stay close."
What choice do I have? Hide out until the sun comes up so I can get my bearings, or follow this invisible man. He didn't kill me when he had the chance. He seems to know his way around; at least that's the impression he gives. But can I trust him?
The fact that I can't see him confuses me as much as it intrigues me. Another incredible gift from the spirits? He's no daemon, that much is obvious.
"So, do you have a name?" I follow his tracks—footprints. His feet are bare. I hope he's not naked. "Or should I call you the invisible man?"
"I had a name. But nobody's used it for a while." He stops. His voice faces me. "Tucker."
I don't know where my eyes should focus in the empty space before me. "And where are you from, Tucker?"
The footprints start away, and I follow.
"Here," he says.
Sector 31. "You were a trade worker?"
He mutters to himself again. "No."
Maybe I wasn't clear. "What was your sector? Before D-Day?"
"Thirty."
So he's an engineer, one of the survivors we planned to meet up with on the way to the Preserve. But their sector was farther north. What's he doing here? Are they all hiding from the daemons? Or is he the only one left...like Milton was?
"If I tell you to take cover, you do it. No questions." He keeps moving. "Dawn's coming, and the mutos will be waking up soon."
Do daemons sleep in the sublevels beneath these blown-out buildings? I imagine them pouring out like ants as soon as the sun comes up. Not a welcome thought.
The spirits said there was nothing to fear. I'm not sure if I believe them anymore.
"How many?" From what Milton said about the attack on the caves, it sounded like all the daemons had amassed there. Have we totally underestimated their numbers?
He sniffs, mutters, "Hard to tell. They keep gettin' scared off. A whole bunch of 'em left yesterday, drove west in their jeeps. A lot of 'em are still around, though. But they can't see me."
Neither can I. All of our abilities are somehow related to the animal kingdom that thrived on this planet before D-Day: Shechara's sight, my agility, Luther's claws, Samson's strength, Milton's speed, even Plato's...spit. But where would this ability to disappear come from? What sort of creature could make itself invisible?
I try to focus on what he said. The daemons drove west, toward the caves. Milton already told us what happened, but I hoped he was wrong, untrustworthy with that evil spirit inside him. Now my hope dies within me. There won't be any survivors left.
"I walk right up to 'em and poke out their eyes sometimes. Easy targets, big as yellow ping pong balls. Took some doing to get over the smell, but they're harmless really. Long as they can't catch you."
Harmless? Obviously, Tucker has never seen anyone dear to him devoured by the hellish creatures. But I don't argue the point. He's talking, and I need to learn as much from him as I can.
"You're too fast," I offer, hoping to bait him into telling me more about his gift.
He chuckles. "I've got to be. I don't aim to be their next meal."
"Is that what happened to the other engineers?"
His tracks stop. We've reached a hill of rubble that was once part of the surrounding buildings, now a massive, dusty heap. He sniffs.
Did he hear something? I look around. Nothing moves.
"There's food in there," he says. "Down below."
Is he pointing? "Protein packs?"
"Food." His voice faces me. "The real thing. I've been eating it for months now." His invisible feet shuffle forward. "I have to remember this spot, remember, remember," he mutters.
What sort of real food would be in these sublevels? Canned goods, maybe. Has he been scavenging in the ruins of this city since All-Clear? Surviving alone. If the daemons got to everyone else from his bunker, then his gift was the only thing that saved him.
Survivor's guilt is a heavy burden to bear.
"So where are the others...from your sector?"
We venture through what was probably a busy intersection in the distant past. Now the asphalt lies rippled as if a giant chef was mixing in some ingredients and gave up on the recipe halfway through. We have to climb over large chunks of the street in order to cross. Easy for me with my gift of agility, and I don't hear any labored breathing from him. Staying one step ahead of the daemons has kept him in shape.
"They're around," he says. "You know what I think? It's all a big government experiment. We're not the last survivors on earth, nothing like that. This is a controlled environment, and they're watching us. I'm telling you, if we took a vehicle far enough east, we'd find everything just the way it used to be, the way it's been all those years we were underground." His feet shuffle, and he starts muttering to himself again.
His conspiracy theory is a bit extreme, but I wonder if there's a grain of truth to it. Why haven't I questioned the way things are? Why have I so blindly believed everything we were told on the bunker database?
"The mutos, and this weird invisibility thing I've got, and whatever night-vision thing you've got... Don't deny it. I was watching you back there, and you move around through the dark like it's daylight. All part of their experiment. They've done stuff to us, unnatural stuff, and now they're monitoring how we react. We're just glorified lab rats, that's what we are."
We
reach the other side of the mangled intersection, and his footprints through the dust take us along a broken side street between what may have been two tenement buildings. I keep an eye out for any early-rising daemons and wish I still had my rifle.
I can't help mulling over what Tucker's said. For the first time, I find myself wondering if the voice in my head never came from supernatural entities. Instead, could it be from the same government scientists who sent us below long ago? They could be watching us through cameras hidden throughout the rubble, studying our every move.
My cheek rubs against the inside of my head covering as I smile. If I'm not careful, Tucker might draw me headfirst into his delusions. From what I can tell, he lost his grip on reality a while back and instead chose to create one he could understand. I don't blame him. It probably makes things easier to believe we're test subjects and at any moment, the ones running the show will appear and give us our results.
"I mean, think about it. They took us below after the first nukes were launched, right? But we never saw them fall. Did you?" He doesn't wait for me to answer. He plows through his theories while his tracks forge through the rubble. "Just video on the web, right? Fake, all of it. I'm telling you, there were no bombs, no insurgents with toxic bioweapons. It was all made up!"
"Why?" He sounds like he's trying to convince himself of the truth, like he's gone through this monologue many times before.
"Haven't you ever wondered why they had all those bunkers ready to go, waiting for us at the drop of a hat? A quick elevator ride underground, and we're safe from harm."
"They'd been preparing for years." I shrug. "That's how things were done during the cold wars."
"Nope. No cold war. That was all made up too." His tracks stop. "UW—United World, yeah? The nations of the earth were at peace, for crying out loud! There wasn't any war."
It's not easy to remember the way things were. Everything I know about the Old Earth comes from the bunker database. Most of us were sent below at a young age, during our second stage of education. We learned some things about current events at the time: the rebels and their frequent attempts to make their voice heard. They wanted to unite the sectors, drive out the UW. I remember talking to Luther about it... Only yesterday? Seems like a lifetime ago.
Spirits of the Earth: The Complete Series: (A Post-Apocalyptic Series Box Set: Books 1-3) Page 24