Prophet of the Badlands (The Awakened Book 1)

by Matthew S. Cox

  “What are you doing?” She gasped.

  “Attempting to kill you,” it said, with an emotionless, synthesized voice.

  Althea guessed the spinning arms were guns, and it had run out of bullets. She gulped at the realization she was almost shot. “Why!”

  “You are human… contaminant.”

  “Are you hurt?” She edged away from the slick rocks, putting a tree between her body and the strange little man. “I can heal you.”

  “Hurt implies pain. CRP-W9 series cannot experience pain.”

  A single large wheel where it should have had legs squeaked over the wet rocks, throwing a sluice of mud into the air behind it. It had gotten itself wedged quite thoroughly.

  “Healing implies bio fault. CRP-W9 series is not biological and cannot be healed.”

  She huddled behind the tree. “Are you going to shoot me?”

  Its voice modulated tone from word to word with inhuman random inflections. “Autocannon one, ammunition depleted. Autocannon two, ammunition ten percent. System failure, environment has caused an electrical short. Autocannon two firing circuit is offline. Please transfer autocannon two ammunition to autocannon one so that I may kill you.”

  She noticed the gun closer to the water did not spin as fast as the other did, though both still pointed at her. “You want me to help you so you can shoot me?”

  “That is correct.”

  With a confused face, she ventured a peek. “Why? I am the Prophet.”

  “Prophet not found. You are biological contaminant. CRP directive implies removal of biological contaminants from central North America. Please move to within twenty-four inches of main unit.”

  She stepped out from behind the tree, still clinging to it. “You want me to get closer? Why?”

  “Please move within twenty-four inches of main unit. Auxiliary contaminant removal system has a maximum effective range of twenty-nine inches.”

  She took a cautious step closer. “What is a auximarry taminant system?”

  Althea jumped back as a twenty-nine inch blade sprang out of its chest and waved back and forth in the air. “Detachment of biological unit component ‘head’ will result in effective contaminant removal.”

  “You’re awful!” She retreated to the tree. “Why do you want to kill me?”

  “CRP Directive one stipulates all biological contamination be removed. You are biological, therefore you are a contaminant.”

  “I’m not a taminant.” She frowned. “What is CRP?”

  The machine twitched and whirred as the head spun around. “Cybernetic Reclamation Project. Original mission to purge the region known as”―the voice cut out, replaced for two words by a recording of a real man―“The Badlands.” It rocked back and forth. “…of combat mutants and experimental genetic weapons implemented during the war. Project directive changed, override authorized by CRP command unit Sigma-Six.

  Status: Region contaminated by mutants.

  Directive: Contamination removal.

  Antecedent: Humans created mutant contamination.

  Consequent: Humans will create more mutant contamination.

  Conclusion: Humans are contaminants.”

  Althea blinked, having no clue what it meant.

  She pointed at the wreck. “Did you kill those men?”

  “Successful contaminant removal occurred thirty-two hours, eighteen minutes, and forty-one seconds ago. Purged contaminants are responsible for current levels of system damage.” The strange thing’s head swiveled at her. “Query.”

  “Query?” She peered around the tree, torn between curiosity and fear.

  “Define nature of contaminant bioluminescence.”

  She stared at it. “Um… What?”

  “Current target exhibits undocumented manner of bioluminescence. Species: Human should not exhibit scleral bioluminescence. Please define reason.”

  “I don’t know what you are saying.”

  “Target scan indicates no installed cybernetics but target emits light.” Its iridescent amber eyes blinked at her.

  “Oh. My eyes.” She touched a finger to her cheek. “They always did, I don’t know why.”

  “Please move within twenty-four inches. Target contaminant scans as female, potential source of new contaminants. Extra points… must be removed.”

  “Umm. No. I don’t want to be removed.” She backed away as it twitched and struggled to get free.

  This small creature had no emotions and no thoughts. It wanted to kill her and was made of metal. If it got loose from the rocks, she would be in big trouble. Useless guns aside, it had a big knife, and a wheel, which meant it had to be as fast as a raider’s buggy. The more it talked, the more frightened she became of it.

  “Secondary target acquired. Subject CN43, canid series augmented biological combat organism. Danger level: elevated. Priority threat updated, secondary target is now primary target. Attention: female contaminant, please assist CRP-W9 to regain mobility. I will not kill you until the CN43 has been destroyed.”

  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-s
tudded 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.

  “Damn Scrags. Ah probley should kill ya. I know how yas are. Sendin’ the little’un
s in places ‘dults can’t go. Lookin fer stuff ta steal. Yer gonna go back and tell ‘em all about my fortoon.” He waved at the stack of crates.

  Althea gnawed for a moment, swallowed, and drew a quick breath. “I don’t want to steal from you. I’m hiding from a dog man.” She explained the chase, and the pipe. “Please let me go, I promise I won’t steal anything.”

  “Yer people not ‘elp ya?”

  He dropped into a dirty folding chair, strips of orange material suspended in a metal frame. His weight spread the legs apart and he raised a cup made from an old coffee can to his lips.

  “Guess’n they lef’ yas behind, ah couldn’ find any o’ ‘em.”

  “I am not a Scrag. I’m alone.” She pulled a large chunk of meat away from the dead animal with her teeth.

  “Lotta ‘dem critters here. Good eats… Hmm… alone.” He rubbed his chin.

  She finished off the rest of what he brought, neither of them speaking until two squirrel skeletons lay scattered on the plate.

  “Please take this off. I promise I won’t steal from you.” She shook her hand to make the chain rattle.

  “Cain’t.” He pulled a sip of some foul-smelling alcohol and twitched it down.

  With an innocent face, she whined. “Please, I’m not a threat.”

  “Ah cut them things few months back offa some dead slave. Never found no key.” His breath skittered away in a dry chuckle. “Was some good meat, that. Might still be some grillin’ sauce on ‘em.”

  Althea stared at the not-bloodstain touching her wrist.

  When the wave of disgust passed, she glanced back and forth from him to the rusty handcuffs in disbelief. “You put these on me and have no key? How will you let me out? Are you a stupid?”

  “Well, if’n you wasn’t jes a kid, you’d be on me grill now.” He convulsed after another swig. “Ain’t much care fer veal.”

  “Nibbler?” She slid as far away from him as her arm would allow. Cannibals did not care about Prophets.