The Condemned

by Claire Jolliff

  The Condemned

  Jolliff

  Page | 397

  Prologue

  The beginning of the 21st Century heralded as a milestone to the advancement of many things. Terrorism was not one to be left behind with the times; it had posed a constant threat for an increasing number of years and made itself known with greater and greater urgency, in more chaotic and destructive ways. It grew with humankind’s intolerance, their inability to accept the differences among themselves and their failure simply to live without the need to kill those who did not share one’s own beliefs and way of life. With this ignorance came wave after wave of unnecessary pain, anguish, and death.

  The wars that were fought, ironically, in the name of Peace became increasingly brutal as the men and women behind them became more and more insistent that their way was the right way, there was no middle ground to be met by any side, all players demanding absolute control over the board and the pieces captured upon it.

  Inevitably, in a world where it was clear that only the strongest and most powerful could ever flourish, in a desperate bid not to be consumed and overtaken and forgotten; the majority of governments poured time and money into the technological advancements they felt sure would provide them with the security they needed in order to remain independent.

  On the other hand, maybe some of them just liked to blow things up...

  The advances in Biological Warfare were of great interest to a large number of powers and much time and effort was invested in the creation of drugs and chemicals that would have devastating effects on the population in large-scale areas.

  Around the same time the inhabitants of earth were shaken by a series of natural disasters that some believed were God’s way of culling the numbers or of punishing the unjust.

  Earthquakes, tsunamis, volcanic eruptions and other deviances of Mother Nature plagued the continents, seemingly growing more and more powerful as the elements raged against humankind.

  The combined dangers of both man and nature’s potential for destruction could only end one way. It was just a question of which would get there first.

  When the Apocalypse, Rapture, End of the World or whatever other names it had been given in various prophecies, did come to fruition, it was never really documented exactly what had begun the chain of events that had led to an 80% loss of the world’s population. Partly because there weren’t enough people left to care about making a note of precisely what had happened, partly because it seemed as though everything all happened at once. A giant cataclysm of horror and pain, a tornado of annihilation and devastation that swept across the globe, demolishing everything and everyone in its path. It made it hard for the finger to be pointed at any one specific thing.

  All that was really known, all that anyone could say with any certainty, was that something had gone wrong and the human race, though not quite facing extinction, found themselves fighting for survival in an environment far more harsh and dangerous than they had become accustomed to.

  Those who clung to religious beliefs and who fanatically held faith in the notion of a divine hand meting out judgement told stories of fire raining from the sky, of water turning to blood and of livestock falling dead from disease, among other such biblical occurrences.

  The paranoid minds of the time swore that government concoctions had finally advanced too far ahead of their masters and either intentionally or not some deadly virus had been released; sweeping uncontrollably, airborne, throughout the planet, leaving a trail of disease in its wake.

  Environmentalists claimed that Mother Earth had simply had enough of the abuse of the planet and was striking back through a series of shattering disasters, cleansing herself of the human virus that had plagued her for too long.

  There were groups, widespread, who insisted that Watchers from another world had lost patience with us, had sat for too long, observing us, and had eventually grown weary of our petty games and pointless struggles, had come to put an end to the meaningless of it all.

  The how is not of so much importance here.

  Simply that it was.

  When the end came, the human race was not prepared. Conceit and pride had perhaps led us to believe that such a thing would never, could never really happen. Bad things would always occur but never so close to your own doorstep as to threaten what you held dear or to wipe out all that was important to you.

  By 2068 the earth’s population had reached roughly eight and a half billion. By 2077, we had been reduced to a meagre 1.7 billion. This perhaps still sounds a relatively hefty number, but disease was rife among those who had survived the purging of our earth. Famine was responsible for wiping out a good portion of those who made it through the initial hardships, many lived through earthquakes only to be killed by looters. Crime levels rose inconceivably in relation to population numbers. With the hierarchy of power disintegrated there was no law, with no law there was no order and civilisation rapidly declined.

  As is the nature of our kind, men and women who had been somebody, meant something in the lives that were no more, sought back the power they had once known. Slowly, over time, a new government order was established. These people named themselves simply ‘Officials’ and attempted to restore some sense of significance to their devastated lives. As is the case with all forms of government, this one was not without its corruptions and was viewed by most as nothing more than a powerful way to enforce obedience in the masses, even if it meant a complete dissipation of any notion of rights or fair treatment. Strong enough to incite fear and a thin layer of submission but not to achieve any kind of better world for the people who still had to live in it; it was all about the power really.

  The majority of people merely existed. Drifting aimlessly through a life that held no meaning. Scavenging and looting became the primary occupations of most. Underground black markets sprung up, run by those calling themselves ‘Renegades’- tight knit groups, rebellious and opposed to what they perceived as the stolen power of the Officials. Bleakly striving for survival in a post apocalyptic wasteland, adapting to this new way of life was necessary for survival. Those born into it knew nothing else and in time stories of old ways would fade, only to be passed around campfires or down through generations as children sat, jaws gaping in fascination at tales of things that sounded as if they came from science-fiction.

  Mutations among the survivors were, thankfully, something of a rarity but were not unheard of. Some insisted that their presence at all argued forcibly that the collapse of civilisation had been a direct result of some government meddling. Nuclear experimentation of some sort.

  It was not until some time had passed, however, that handfuls of adolescents began exhibiting unexplained talents such as the ability to sense the thoughts of those around them, set fire to objects with only their minds, move heavy items through the air without touching them... A wide variety of genetic ‘anomalies’ that began appearing thirty and forty years following the cataclysm of events that had so drastically reduced the population of Earth. By this time a new generation had moved into play and the ‘how’ just didn’t seem so important anymore. Mutations allowed for speculation but caused no great debates as their appearance would have done immediately following the end.

  The phenomenon was not widespread and others shunned those who discovered themselves capable of such acts. Cast out from whatever society they had been a part of, feared by the people around them not only because their talents and abilities made them more powerful than, and in a way superior to the others around them, but also because it served as a constant reminder that somewhere along the lines our genetic makeup had undertaken changes brought about by our own foolishness. Nobody likes to be reminded of their mistakes. We’re a vain species and prefer not to see faul
t in ourselves. It’s easier to destroy or become alienate the things that serve as a beacon, lighting up our failings unavoidably. The presence of a group of people exhibiting ‘superhuman’ qualities served to dehumanise the remainder of civilisation. Mutants are very rarely accepted within societies, who seek out as a collective to find and destroy anything different and thereby threatening.

  Word of people with gifts and abilities did not need to travel fast or even well for them to be brought to the attention of a far more dangerous presence than they could’ve imagined. The ones who were murdered by people they knew, by their own family and friends due to fear of the unknown, before they ever fell into the hands of the Officials were perhaps the luckier ones.

  Chapter 1

  Alecia Walker - Birth to age 16

  Ever since she could remember, it had been the two of them; there wasn't a time that she could look back and he was ever not there for her. Xavian and Leci against the world. He had taught her everything she knew, had been more like a father to her than a brother. More like a father than their father had, but that was unfair since the old man was long dead and he'd never really had the chance. Xavian had been doing as he'd been told; take care of the family. Even if the only part of the family that was left was your bratty kid sister.

  It wasn't as if she'd even made it easy really. Far too inquisitive for her own good, she'd seemed to make a game of getting into as much trouble as possible, leaving him to have to fight the way to safety for them both. Her carelessness often severed months of hard work he'd put into making the right kind of connections to make their lives just that little bit easier.

  Since he'd been gone she had realised just how much he had done, just what he'd sacrificed for her, exactly how much he'd cared, and whether he had taken care of her out of love or through some sense of responsibility, he had cared enough to die protecting her. It was just a shame it had taken that to make her realise they'd been a team.

  Leci had never known her mother. She was told the woman had died giving birth to her but it made no difference. She wasn't one for wasting emotions or feelings on things that might have been. She had never known the woman, what was the point in wasting time feeling guilty for something she'd had no control of, or feeling sad about the loss of someone she had never known?

  Essentially dragged up for the first quarter of her life by her father, she had little recollection of her first five years.

  From what she had learned from her brother, much later on, their father had once been a good man, a proud man who had loved his family dearly. The loss of his wife set him on a path to self-annihilation via the vices of alcohol and gambling. None of this mattered to Leci; all she remembered was that the fighting had been an almost constant factor in her younger years. Faded memories of cowering behind Xavian whilst their father, intoxicated, drew himself into yet another bar brawl. Usually the worst thing his kids were forced to watch was their old man taking a fist to the jaw, he had a knack of getting away from situations before they got too violent to handle. He called it luck, even at such a tender age Leci identified is as cowardice.

  Of course, there was bound to come the day when his ‘luck’ turned and someone pulled a pistol on him.

  Leci could still remember how she had screamed.

  She hadn't thought she was going to be able to stop until Xavian had clamped one hand over her mouth, the other around her waist, swung her from her feet and fled.

  By the time he stopped running her distressed cries had tapered down to a series of gulping sobs as she tried to draw breath. Her brother at first mistook her condition to be horror and grief at watching their father die brutally before their eyes. It took a few minutes until she was able to convey that her emotion was wrought out of disgust at being splattered with grey matter. He had laughed and cleaned her and she had known from that moment that her big brother would take care of her. She had been five, Xavian twelve, and they were a team.

  The last of the Walkers.

  They were descended from some distant Renegade Sect that her father had never bothered to teach her of and that at the time she had no interest in learning anything about. She had Xavian to take care of her and he was her entire world, there was no need for anyone else as far as she was concerned.

  From age five to sixteen, Leci approached life with little regard to her own wellbeing and with none in respect to her brother‘s. It was simply an acknowledged fact that if she got into trouble, Xavian would get her out of it.

  Being older than his sister, Xavian had known their father before the drink turned him into the ruined shell of a man his daughter had never known him to be anything more than. He had spoken to his son of their past, their ties and their ancestors. Among the sects there existed a family like bond, and though the Walkers had long since become an independent unit, the old man had tried his best to make sure that his son knew their roots and that if it ever came down to it, they could hunt down old acquaintances and be comfortable in the knowledge that they would be welcomed and safe. He foresaw his own self-destruction, wasn’t strong enough to prevent it and though he could never quite bring himself to return with his children to the underground civilisation he and his wife had once called home, he knew the importance of making sure they would always know they were not alone. Xavian strove to give his sister the best life he felt he was able but he never once mentioned to her that alternatives were available.

  It was his duty to take care of his sister and he intended to do that the best he could to his own abilities. He rarely complained about her behaviour and he tolerated her tantrums and childish selfishness with understanding and patience.

  He was a talented Poker player who rarely lost a game but who was sharp enough to know when to concede a hand in favour of his own life. When he couldn't scrape together enough to live by from his games they would make up what they could from scavenged or stolen goods, which they both had a talent for obtaining, Leci in particular- she was a small child and it benefited her in that she could wriggle herself into a lot of places most adults could not.

  A quiet boy who avoided conflict where possible, having witnessed the decline and eventual death of his father and vowing never to be like him, Xavian had been a mellow soul who had managed to get by on his natural looks and charm. Friendly and sociable, he'd been able to talk his way out of most situations and would always resort to violence only as a last resort. Still, when he had needed to he had been a fierce fighter. Years of having to defend his drunken father had hardened him and he never shied away from what he knew needed to be done. Alecia seemed to embrace trouble. She was irritable and moody, given to fits of rage over the smallest things and always more than ready to use her fists, nails, teeth, feet…

  When she was sixteen Alecia had reality thrust upon her inescapably.

  #

  The man glared balefully down the barrel of the gun while the teenaged brat laughed gleefully, holding out a hand and impatiently motioning for him to empty his pockets for her. Let Xavian go play his silly games. She had her own ways of earning a little extra to spend.

  She knew that he knew.

  Nevertheless, he never questioned and he rarely complained. He couldn't really, not when she'd been paying to feed them. She had a feeling he suspected she was doing more than just mugging when she disappeared on an evening.

  He'd be right too if he did.

  She wasn't overly scrupulous about how things found their way into her possession and more than once she'd sold her body for food, cash, anything at all really that could be of use to her in some way. Still, to her there was nothing that beat the feeling of power you got when you were holding cold steel against a man's forehead and watching his mortality register in his eyes.

  Pocketing her earnings, she backed off, keeping him in her view until she reached the end of the alleyway, where she turned and fled. Perfectly content that she could continue this way forever.

  Of course, in her naiveté it never occurred to her that she was walk
ing a one-way path towards her own destruction. Her recklessness was an eerie and unintentional tribute to her father, mirroring his own footsteps, walking a different path perhaps, but it still led to the same place and she was bound to be offered a fast ticket eventually.

  The benefits of their lifestyle were many, but for Alecia the most important one was that they never stayed in one place for very long. If Xavian played too many hands in the same place it made it harder for him to find an honest, or, as honest as they came, game.

  Not only that; it was the way it had always been.

  It wasn't in their blood to settle and movement was as much a part of life for them as was breathing. Besides, her brother seemed to have an uncanny knack of knowing just when was the right time to leave, just when Leci was on the brink of overstepping and causing mayhem.

  She would habitually use this to her advantage. Xavian often found himself wondering if her latest escapades were some kind of test, if she were pushing him, trying to find the limits to exactly what he was willing to do for her. She seemed to delight in causing trouble wherever they went.

  She didn't expect to be here much longer but she'd reap whatever she could while she was, it was how things worked. It was how she worked. Everyone was out to line their own pockets, interested only in what they could do for themselves; she reasoned that she was no worse than the rest of them.

  Making the mistake two nights later of returning to the scene of her earlier crime, Leci entered the tavern. Scanning the crowded inn she failed to notice the man who'd happened to glance up as she entered, seen her and as a result had quickly slunk up a staircase at the back of the room.

  Leci spent a short time slipping between patrons, picking a pocket or two whenever she was able, but never too many in one place and she knew never to stay for very long after beginning her work. Once somebody realised they'd been robbed fights would break out and if she were gone before that happened there was no risk of her being caught in the middle. She moved outside. A slip of a girl, smaller for her age than she perhaps ought to have been, nothing particularly striking about her appearance and even if there had been it would've been indistinguishable from beneath the thick coat of dirt and grime. She might be pretty later on but for now she was little more than average. To her this was an advantage; blending in with the crowd was something to be thankful for. It was hardly noticed when she arrived and it went unseen when she left.