Prophet of the Badlands (The Awakened Book 1)

by Matthew S. Cox

  Revitalized, she mended the last of the hurt from the woman and turned her attention to Mike. His limp body weathered the crash a little better, and was in no danger of dying. A second after he awoke, gunshots erupted around her.

  Althea tried to look, but saw only Anita’s hand as it covered her face and shoved her into the back seat. “Get down!”

  The silver pistol spat bolts of blue light through the window, and the clink of bullets striking the car came from all sides. Phantom voices filled the car asking what happened. A desperate, young sounding girl really seemed to want something called ‘status.’ Both Anita and Mike yelled they needed backup immediately. Althea knew a car was an awful place to be in the middle of a gunfight, unaware the police hovercar was all but impervious to the small arms fire coming in.

  She smacked at the door buttons and slithered out into the street, crawling on her belly to get away. A dozen people in a mix of long coats and wild clothing that reminded her of raiders, only less dusty, continued firing at the car. One man appeared to be tossing a sphere of flames around in his hand. The sight of the hovering fireball made her heart skip a beat; was that a demon?

  Althea ran from the fight, feet squeaking over the metal ground as she sprinted down a cluttered path between two buildings. Someone saw her and yelled at his friends to circle around. Taking a right at the first opportunity, she leapt over several people sleeping on the ground.

  She dashed into a narrow alley strewn with garbage and large, wheeled metal boxes packed with yet more trash. A huge man leaned out from behind one and she ran right into him. Staggering back, she looked up into a toothless grin and frayed beard.

  “Sorry.”

  Bypassing the wobbling giant, she darted around the corner before he could turn to see where she went. She did not look over her shoulder, as the raiders trying to take her from the people in black could be right behind her. Taking corner after corner, she continued until rhythmic throbbing noise pounded at her from an open doorway. A line of people stacked up along the edge of a building with a lime green door, dressed in clothing made of bizarre shiny materials, some with their hair aglow or twisted into weird shapes. Above the opening, words danced in the air, shifting and moving, made out of pure light like the head in the car.

  A tall, bald man in a black leather vest and dark pants peered through opaque glasses at the couple closest to the door. Althea stared to the rear, terrified the man with flames in his hand would round the corner any second. In all directions, the same thing repeated itself: trash, small clouds of fog rolling along, buildings, and metal ground. Having no other ideas, she ducked and ran for the door, sliding under the bald man’s reaching arm. Inside, multicolored lights flashed in the dark, pulsing in time with beating music that vibrated the air and swallowed the bald man’s shout. She ran forward through a short area full of tables, and down three stairs into a dense crowd. The noise in the air grew loud and heavy, it pushed and pulled the air in her lungs.

  Stumbling through a sea of undulating figures, she tried to disappear. The mass of people reacted like a body to a foreign object, pushing her along in a current of gyrating hips and roaming hands until it spat her out, chest-first into a rounded platform of shiny black glass upon which a naked woman gyrated in time with the music. Straps circled her thighs and waist, with small bits of bright red plastic tucked in them.

  The woman stuck her rear end out at a man nearby and waved it around. This must be the raider’s camp. Althea gulped. The harem slaves would occasionally do this; though she found it strange the woman was not on a leash and even radiated pleasure. She figured her to be as broken as Aya.

  “I love the blue light,” a female voice yelled into her left ear. “Where did you get them done?”

  A girl who looked to be about Karina’s age had tucked up next to her. Red light striped over her face, a raccoon band over her eyes, and her little vest did not do much to conceal anything. Althea was not sure if she was a female raider or another slave.

  “Oh damn, girl.” She reached for Althea’s chest. “You need to have someone look at them boobs. They’re so small they’re not even there. Mine used to be little like that, too.” She showed Althea what they looked like now.

  This red-eyed girl had strange emotions; the way she grinned at Althea felt like she checked out a boy. Althea offered a nervous smile and moved away into the throng, avoiding her touch as the flowing bodies absorbed her. The crowd was too thick to allow her to fall as it swept her down a second short set of stairs onto a sticky floor where people stood in place and had seizures.

  As soon as she felt it, she stopped to look down at the black surface and peeled a foot away, wondering what she walked on. No one else seemed to notice the awful miasma. At that point, Althea sensed a connection between the swaying bodies and the noise. Zombie thrashing moved in rhythm with the horrible sound, as if everyone in here fell under the charm of an evil mystic. She was terrified it would overwhelm her too; this cursed floor had to be why no one ran away.

  A hand touched her backside. She yelped and jumped forward. Another ran over her head and down her back. Althea backed away, right into a hand that squeezed her ass.

  “Hey, cutie.” A man’s voice came from behind.

  She whipped around but he was gone. Spinning to the left, she found another man shaking himself at her like the rest of the afflicted while waving glowing orbs over his head. The music crashed its way into her mind, making the place feel as if it wanted to devour her. The emotional radiance around him reminded her of the way Vakkar looked at Rachel. He wanted to wife her. Her initial wave of panic faded at the sense he did not want to force it. Althea blinked at him in confusion, wondering what kind of raider only wifed a girl that wanted him to.

  He shrugged as she backed away, and focused his efforts on another woman with luminous green hair. Hands grabbed her from behind, sliding around and up her front, pulling her back against an undulating body. Twisting away, she darted three steps over the sticky floor, flailing her arms to recover from a slippery spot where someone had spilled a drink.

  Finding an island of open ground in the sea of swaying bodies, she caught her breath and clung to her wits before claustrophobic panic could set in. Behind her, more women danced on small stages amid a sea of light, which made their skin glow in the darkness. One had catlike ears and a long waving tail, the other a colored stripe over her eyes that melted through various shades of aqua and blue. Althea stared at the tail, wondering what sort of creature she looked at.

  To the left, a man covered in glowing clothing worked buttons at a counter and shook his head in time with the awful sound. Ahead, two women stood behind another tall bench, like the judges from Querq, pouring liquid into cups and handing them out. Dawning realization came over her; the undulant bodies around her were dancing to the strange cacophony of buzzing, thumping, and high-pitched warbles no creature in this world could be responsible for.

  They were having fun; no one here felt like a slave or under the charm of some mystic. Collision killed her thoughts as a man in an iridescent purple shirt grabbed her by the hands and tossed her about in the strange ballet.

  “Great outfit. Neo-tribal, I love it,” he shouted a laugh. “You’re fuckin’ brave to go barefoot in here, but it’s sexy as hell. Wanna find some place quieter? They got sofas in the back.”

  “Dude!” another voice yelled from behind her. “That’s a little kid.”

  He stopped dancing and stared at her chest, finally noticing the height disparity. “Oh, shit. How’d you get in here? Sorry, squirt.” He dove into the crowd, overwhelmed with disgust at himself and afraid of being seen with her.

  The crowd parted, giving birth to the bald man who shoved his way through. She looked up at him, cowering away from his anger. He seized her by the forearm, dragging her with a wrist-crushing grip through the dancing throng. The man elbowed men and pushed women out of the way, the stream of begging and pleading from her lost amidst the throbbing noise. Past
the ocean of bodies they went, down a dim hallway where a small group laughed in a distant room. A black door swung open at the urging of his boot and he shoved her out into a light rain. She fell onto all fours as her foot found a deep water-filled hole. Althea crawled forward, glancing back just in time have him point at her.

  “No kids.” He slammed the knob-less door in her face.

  She stared at the vibrating panel, the hard music louder in her memory than the air. With an incredulous glance, Althea peered at the shin-deep puddle, the falling rain, and the lonely, trash-filled alley. How odd. They had not tried to lock her up or take her.

  They simply threw her away.

  lthea trudged away from the place with the awful sounds and strange people and stood. The rain clad her in cold, and she moved as best she could around the micro-lakes collected in the alley. Her skirt grew heavy from the falling water, and she kept a hand on it to prevent it from slipping over her shapeless hips. The wet strands did little good against the gusty winds that tore down between the great metal towers. A doorway with a tiny awning gave a semblance of shelter against the rain, and she curled up in the hollow against the wall.

  Longing for the presence of Karina behind her and the warm dry bed, she sobbed. She had so been looking forward to her bath and the touch of her sister washing her hair. Her tears vanished into the rain that dripped from her hair and ran down her legs. The water fell from toes curled over the edge of the step into yet another puddle. She wanted to know why the world was so mean to her.

  Why would it not allow her to be happy?

  A dog barked somewhere in the night and a boot splashed in a puddle nearby. She lifted her head at three men barely past being called boys, squinting to see her. They appeared in black and white due to the darkness; dressed in what looked like leather coats and heavy boots. One had an entirely metal arm; another had a wire sticking out of the side of his neck. All of them had guns and devious smiles.

  “Hey, kid. You got any left?” The one with the arm nodded at her and made a strange gesture.

  “You look cold. We can warm you up.” The wire-boy grinned at her.

  “Any left?” She lowered her feet back into the water, ready to stand.

  “Whatever you’re on.” He tapped his finger just below his right eye.

  “I don’t have any medicines.” Bracing her hands against the wall, she stood in a slow, nonthreatening way.

  “We got some stuff left if you’re lookin’ ta forget whatever ya ran from.” The third one held out a handful of small colored squares, pills, and things that resembled the stimpak.

  “You ever get it on with a tween before?” The metal arm patted his friend on the bicep.

  Wire-boy gave him an uneasy look. “Dude… wrong.”

  Althea’s eyes locked on the oldest and widened. She knew his emotion and turned, bolting off through the puddles without a sound.

  Screaming only drew more predators.

  Alleys, trash, and buildings blurred past. She didn’t look back to see if they bothered to chase. While trying to take a hard right over the wet plastisteel ground, her feet slid out from under her and dumped her on her tailbone, sending her into a spinning slide that ended face-first in the side of a huge trash compactor. She lay stunned as the boom reverberated among buildings. A mountain of trash fell on her, and she froze like a fawn in the light. Her cheek and backside throbbed in time, and she forced the pain out of her mind.

  No movement, no breath, no crying―only listening.

  Distant cars hissed over the rain soaked ground, the flying ones hummed overhead, other musical noises floated in the air, but no pursuing boys with metal arms and nasty thoughts found her. Tucking her knees to her chin, she let herself cry, wondering how she would escape this place and get home. People, she could bend to her will, but she had no power over the metal beast of a city.

  Sleep came without warning; its brief respite from the world was interrupted an unknown time later by a hand around her ankle. Calloused fingers tightened about her leg, pulling her into the street. She stayed limp, playing dead.

  “Aww hell.” A man’s voice sighed into a wet cough. “This damn city gets worse every day. You can’t be oler’n ‘leven or so. What kinda sad ‘scuse for a person could do this?”

  A stench burned into her throat: vomit, urine, general filth. Coarse hands rolled her onto her back and laid her arms across her chest. Dry fingers brushed a gentle caress over her forehead.

  “Dumped in the trash like…” He sounded like he was crying.

  Eyelids parting, she looked up at a man covered by several torn coats and the smell of months-old alcohol. He had pulled a woolen cap from his head and held it over his heart, muttering with closed eyes about some guy named Art in a place called Heaven. His face darkened with grime upon skin the color of burnished leather.

  She sat up and tugged at his pant leg. His eyes flew open. The man yelped, throwing his hat in the air and stumbling backwards as he scooted away with the fright of ages on his face.

  “Gaaah!” He clutched his fingers to his chest. “Y’aint dead.” The gurgling cough returned. “Praise Jeebus!”

  “Are you sick?” She stood and approached him, returning his hat. “I have heard that cough before.”

  “Yeah well, livin’ out here.” A fit of phlegm interrupted him. “Least you’s not dead. Thought someone dumped ya.”

  She stood next to him, holding his hand to her chest. Sure enough, a shifting blackness dwelled within his life essence. Wanting it gone, her power energized his body and sent him to his knees, convulsing. Once, then twice, then a third great shudder ran through him. He heaved over sideways and retched a glistening glob of whitish-purple slime into the alley. When his muscles again obeyed his desires, he wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve and stared at the sinister mass, carried off into a gutter by the tide of rain.

  He blinked. With each unlabored breath, his gaze grew wider. He hugged her and she cringed from the stink. Not wanting him to feel bad, she wished for it to end in silence.

  “How’d ya do that one, then?”

  She faked slipping into a puddle, sneaking a microbath. “I help people.”

  “Kin ya do that again?”

  “Yes.” She stood.

  “There’s someone ya need ta see then.” He took her hand and scrambled to his feet.

  He strode with urgency in his step, almost dragging her along.

  “Where are we going?” She gasped, struggling to keep up on the slippery ground.

  He giggled with glee. “Ta my home. Someone needs yer help.”

  At the thought of a hurt person, she forgave his rush. “What’s your name?”

  “Alvin Jones, but people just call me Whisk.”

  She blinked at him. “’Cause of your whiskers?”

  “Whiskey.” He cackled.

  “What’s that?”

  “Y’aint from ‘round here, eh? Mars?”

  “No. Querq.”

  “Never heard o’ that planet.”

  Several streets later, she knew what whiskey was and he knew Querq was not a planet. Althea stopped speaking when she noticed he headed toward a round metal cage at the edge of the street. The sight of it made her legs lock, and she slid on her heels the last several inches until he let go of her arm.

  “Down here.” Whisk ducked into the cage and vanished over a short wall at the end of the path.

  She leaned forward, relaxing as she realized it was only a safety shroud on a ladder, which led to a sunken area. He bid her to follow, taking her hand once more when she climbed down. The space reminded her of a river without water, made of metal instead of sand. A trench led off in both directions, packed with tiny homes made from old shipping boxes and snoring bodies. Tattered bits of cloth drifted in the breeze, hung about like doors and partitions.

  Fire licked at the air from a tall cylinder in the middle of the impromptu town, around which a few grimy people huddled for warmth. Traces of rotten food, smoke, liquo
r, and piss washed past her, punctuated by the ever so rare patch of air devoid of smell. One man stood a distance away, urinating onto a round grating.

  “Ol’ Flatline’s been in a bad way for a while. Used ta be some important upsec type till he showed up here.”

  She looked up at Whisk. “I will help him if I can.”

  “Oi, Whisk!” a gargling voice called out. “Wheredya git the drowned rat?”

  “Trash pile, tween 818 and Providence.”

  “Prov Street? Damn.” A pile of dark shredded cloth and hair shambled over, reaching for her. “Looks brand new. Who’d throw out a doll like that?”

  “She’s a real kid, numbnuts.” Whisk slapped his hand away from her.

  “No shit.” He squinted.

  Althea tugged at Whisk’s arm. “You got a toilet?”

  “Umm.” Whisk made an embarrassed chuckle. “Not really.” He glanced at the grating. “W’aint used ta havin ladies ‘round. There’s uhh, one down that way in the tube wit no grating fer the twos.”

  While Whisk and the shaggy man spoke in hushed tones, she crept a few steps away and looked down through a corroded lattice of metal into a pipe she could almost fit in. The air here smelled like the buckets from the raider pens. As she planted a foot on either side of it and hiked her skirt up, Whisk and the other man yelped and whirled away.

  Grey Tatters rocked from heel to toe, staring off at the smog. “Guess’n you’re right then. Bout her bein’ real and whatnot.”

  Whisk sounded uncomfortable. “Little warnin’ next time, kid.”

  When she reappeared at his side, he shook his head at her. She did not understand why they both radiated embarrassment. Whisk had not reacted that way when Tatter used the grate.

  She tugged at his arm. “Where is the sick man?”

  a gotsta see this.” Whisk patted Grey Tatters on the shoulder, pulling him along.

  At the far end of the row of crates, Whisk stopped at a battered red shipping container with a dirty cloth blocking the opening. He pulled it aside, revealing a sunken man wrapped in dark cloth laying upon an old cot, covered in blankets. His lips moved in an endless series of inaudible whispers, as if he recited a chant. Every few seconds, his head ticked to the right. Someone had taken the time to decorate the space like a cheap motel room, adding a simple desk and chair as well as a tangle of torn curtains.