Prophet of the Badlands (The Awakened Book 1)

by Matthew S. Cox

  “I’m Terry.” He held out a hand. When she did not react, he clasped her fingers and rendered a handshake to a limp arm. “I’m glad I found you before you got hurt.”

  Althea made a face at the strange gesture. “Are you police?”

  “Naah. We don’t need police… they don’t trust us, so I don’t trust them.”

  “Us?” She tugged her hand out of his grip.

  Psionics, kiddo. His thoughts in her mind.

  “Archon’s your chief?” Color drained from her face.

  “You got the wrong idea, kid. He comes off all creepy and weird, but he is really trying to protect us. He wants to meet you. We all do. We’ve heard so much about how wonderful a person you are.”

  Deception. She felt it. Something was not right.

  “I can’t.”

  “Come on, just for a bit.” He held his hand out again.

  She stepped to the side to go around him. “No, I need to go now. I have something to do and then I am going home. Please leave me alone.”

  His fingers pulled somewhat cleaner smears through the dirt on her shoulder as he held her back; she glared at him.

  “I’m afraid you don’t quite understand. We’re concerned about a child running around the city alone with no one to look out for them.” He flashed a disingenuous smile. “This isn’t a request.”

  Althea struggled. His hand slid from her shoulder, down her arm and seized about her wrist.

  “Help!” She wailed at the sidewalk full of people. “Help me! I’m being kidnapped!”

  No one so much as glanced over.

  “Quiet, you.” He yanked her off her feet and spun her chest-first into a dark maroon car, dormant at the side of the road.

  He lifted until she was on her toes, forcing her arm up behind her back. Leaning his weight into her, he fumbled with something she could not see in his jacket pocket. Expecting him to grab something to tie her with, she squirmed and shrieked. No one even looked.

  “Time for a little nap, kiddo. Just relax, we don’t want to hurt you.”

  He was too strong, too heavy. Her left hand clawed at the cold glass pressed against her cheek. She could not move; fire spread down her right arm. Another screamed plea brought no appreciable reaction, even after she involuntarily added sobs. Something cold and small touched her on the neck, just behind her left ear and pressed in hard enough to hurt―but nothing happened. Her heel found his shin several times, but all it did was cause bad words and more weight crushing into her.

  “Blast. Damn safety caps.” The touch left. “Be just a second, hon.” His words squeezed past an object in his teeth.

  She shouted her lungs empty.

  “Someone please help!” A telempathic detonation of distress stalled every sentient mind within a hundred yards; pedestrians froze in their tracks as if time had ground to a standstill, and a handful of cars swerved. As one, the crowd turned to look at her, pinned helpless against the side of the car with her hand behind her neck.

  “Please help me,” she whined again, a whisper in a hundred minds.

  This time they heard.

  “That guy is trying to abduct some girl!”

  “Hey you, get offa that kid!”

  “You son of a bitch perv, what the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

  “Oh, shit,” Terry muttered. “That wasn’t very nice.”

  He vanished, sucked into an angry crowd by a sea of hands. Althea whirled around, back pressed into the unforgiving car, nursing her throbbing arm. She winced as he drifted among the mass of pummeling fists, shoes, and handbags. They called him all kinds of bad things. Crawling around the car, she slipped away from the wall of bodies into the street.

  Screeching tires.

  She slammed her back against the street-facing side of the car. A moving one brushed close enough for her to feel its presence; a spray of water wet her legs. Althea did not want to become a hood ornament. Motionless against cold metal for the span of a few breaths and a half dozen more cars passing, she finally opened her eyes and breathed again. When a chance presented itself, she slid to the right, and climbed over the hood away from the road. Somewhere under a mass of bodies, Terry groaned.

  “I got it. I’m callin’ it in.” A man poked at a small slab of black glass with his finger.

  Althea spun, glancing at the crowd and offered a weak smile. The entire mass of people leaned back in one coordinated motion when they saw the blue glow.

  Silence.

  Not wanting to be here when Terry’s friends showed up, she waved at them with a pleasant smile and ran, ducking between two bystanders who tried to grab her.

  “Hey wait, kid…”

  Off down the street she sprinted in search of the police, clueless the people had already called them.

  When she could run no more, she stumbled at a drunken lope until she fell onto a metal bench facing the road. As long as she had been going, her surroundings remained more or less the same. Tall buildings, some with glowing words on them, were everywhere. The city continued without end in both directions. The crowd density increased here; people dressed in strange garments and walked as if every one of them was late for some important meeting. Most failed to notice her, and the few who made eye contact just kept going. As curious as they might have been about a solitary ragamuffin on a bench, she was not their problem.

  Tucking her legs up, she leaned over and snatched a half-finished bottle of juice from a trashcan bolted to the side of the seat. Sipping at it, she frowned at the street. Except for Betty, the people in this place had no hearts. Even most crazed raiders would stop to check on a kid. She wondered if it was because of the “corporations” that used money instead of guns. She threw the empty bottle back in the can, unable to comprehend how that could compel respect, fear, or power.

  This place was an alien world brought from nightmares painted on a canvas she could not have imagined possible. She wanted so much to be home, but before she could go, she had to do something about the man in white. It would gnaw at her soul if she ignored something so evil. Althea sat watching the cars pass while she rested. The people in them radiated anger. Some screamed at the car in front of them for being slow. Others yelled at no one at all, carrying on as if having a conversation with a person that did not exist.

  Sickened, she stood and rubbed the cold of the metal bench out of her legs before wandering through several more city blocks, weary and confused with no hint at where she might find one of these police. Her chest-level view of the crowd offered an unending stream of people disinterested in her existence. Most avoided her while some shoved her out of their way when she tried to approach. This was so unlike Querq; so many people packed the sidewalk she could not even see the ground, and not one of them was friendly or smiled.

  Sad and annoyed at the way everyone here behaved, she trudged on. After passing two more cross streets, opportunity presented itself in the form of a wide open door to a room full of people seemingly free of the perpetual rush. Perhaps someone in there knew where to find a police. Up a few steps, she looked around at the bodies mingling in the dim space. They sat at tables, most paired off in couples, and others perched upon the nail-things. A small magic tray with baskets on it floated on its own about the room, offering its contents to whoever was close. When it passed her, she took a small bowl of peanuts and devoured the ones that did not miss her mouth.

  A man scurried back and forth on the other side of a counter that reminded her of Tumbleweed’s place. She approached, and satisfied her eyes could see over the top of it, climbed up onto one of the giant padded nails. Leaning her elbows on the bar, she swung her feet back and forth, waiting for the man to walk over.

  “What’s yer poi―“He blinked at her.

  “I’m looking for a po―”

  “Get outta here, kid.” The bellow was unexpected. “You’re too young.”

  “I can see over the bar,” she said, indignantly.

  “What do you think this is, brat, Europe?
Get lost. For at least ten years.”

  She jumped down and ran outside before he could hit her, stopping on the street and staring back at the doorway.

  “Christ Jimmy, what the fuck do I pay you for?” The bartender’s yelling continued at someone inside.

  A thin guy with short dark hair and a tight green shirt stomped to the door, slipping in the scattered peanuts she dropped. Recovering his balance, he held his middle finger up in the air behind him. He leaned on the wall outside and crossed his arms.

  “Sorry, kid, gotta be twenty-one.”

  She smirked.

  He pointed with his thumb down the street. “Beat it.”

  Althea hung her head and kept walking. Two more strangers ran away from her when she tried to talk to them. No one wanted to get involved with a grungy orphan. Desperate, she grabbed a man’s hand and found herself upside down, headfirst in a trashcan. Her side hurt from the imprint of his hand.

  “Hands to yourself, fuckin’ little pickpocket.” The can rocked from the impact of his foot.

  Althea squirmed around, pulling her legs down and shifting upright in the mass of garbage. The stuff in here had been sitting too long to smell worth eating. The man took a few steps, checking through his clothes. She climbed out onto the street and sighed. A little box no larger than her head zoomed over and got in her face. Awe washed over at the floating thing. She jumped when it spoke.

  “You there. There is a fine for littering.” The crackling digital voice sounded upset. “Error, ImDent not found.”

  “He put me in this can,” she whined, pointing.

  “You removed refuse from the receptacle and dumped it on the sidewalk. Please replace the trash where it belongs. Noncompliance will result in a citation.”

  Althea did not know what a citation was, but it sounded like something she did not want. After gathering the junk she displaced during her exit, she smirked at it.

  “One more piece.” It whirred.

  “There is no more,” she whined, gesturing at the ground.

  “You were placed in the refuse containment device and are now litter on the street. Please return yourself to the proper receptacle.”

  “I’m not trash. I’m a person.” Stunned that even floating metal boxes thought so little of her, she sobbed into her hands.

  The miniscule annoyance drifted closer, sweeping a red line of light up and down her body. “Scan confirmed. Suspected litter is not an artificial life form.” The pestering thing zoomed off after the man, nagging him about misuse of city trash receptacles, as they were not intended for disposal of unwanted children.

  Althea wiped her face dry and sighed. The next person she tried to talk to shoved her hard to the ground. She landed on her ass before she could get one word out; he scurried off, wiping his hand on the leg of his pants because she touched him.

  Sorrow and frustration mounted. She drew in a breath to scream for help when a moving picture of a policeman smiling and waving from the side of a building half a block away caught her eye.

  Grinning, she got up and ran for it. Althea slipped around a tall man in a lip lock with a half-naked redhead in glittering heels, into a room dim enough to turn black and white. At the far end, a policeman on a raised platform danced around in the only spot of color in the place. She thought his uniform was a little tight, and a lot small. At a confused gait, she padded down the carpeted walkway between tables populated by mostly women as the cop gyrated and unbuttoned his shirt.

  A group of five men seated at the closest table to the stage hollered and cheered at him. The cop let his shirt fall backward off his shoulders; huge rolling chest muscles reminded her of a raider juggernaut. She skirted up to the edge of the light and waved, bringing an end to his strange dance and changing his smile to a look of bewilderment. For a moment, he stared in silence, blinked, and pulled his shirt closed. He tugged at a small black wand hanging from his left ear that curled in front of his mouth, and pointed at her.

  “Um. George, what’s up with this?” His voice thundered through the entire room, bringing the din to silence. “You guys still checking ID? I think you missed one by about ten years.”

  “Are you a police?” Althea’s voice echoed at a full yell through silence, trying to overpower music that had come to an abrupt stop.

  The crowd laughed, and she heard a few “Awws.”

  Sensing a man approach from behind, she looked up and back. Before she could say a word, his fingers crushed into her bicep and lifted her into the air.

  “Sorry folks.” The dancer cringed. “Hey George… go easy, it’s just a kid.”

  “Ow. You’re hurting me.” She wriggled. “Put me down.”

  He did, once he had carried her back outside. “Get outta here. You’re gonna get us shut down. If I see you again, I’m gonna call the cops to pick you up.”

  “Are cops police?”

  “Yeah…” He gave her an incredulous stare. “Geez… freakin’ blondes.”

  He slammed the door in her face, and the music resumed.

  That was exactly what she wanted, so she followed him right away.

  He whirled on her. “You are some special kind o’ stupid.”

  “I want the police.” She smiled. “Please get them.”

  The bouncer eyed the room warily and she felt a twinge of dread. In his thoughts, he worried about a thing he called “drugs” and a place he knew as “the fun room” which he did not want the cops to know about. He grabbed her, squeezing her wrist numb as he pulled her once more onto the sidewalk. The swat on the ass she got as a parting gift sent her up on her toes gasping for air. No one had ever hit her like that; no one had ever dared strike the Prophet.

  She had no idea how to react. Althea knew some people did that to misbehaving little children. The stinging pain and the shame of being treated like a little child made her wail like someone young enough to be disciplined that way. People walked around her on either side as she stood bawling. She did not notice the bouncer staring at her with “asshole” written across his forehead.

  His chest appeared in the corner of her vision and she sniffled up at him. Unable to speak, she peered into his mind. Guilt, mostly, and confusion at why a girl her age burst into tears from one ‘light’ spank.

  “Look, umm… Sorry I hit you. I ain’t good wit kids.” His face came as close to a smile as it could get. “Here, take this. It’ll get you a free combo at Cyberburger. Go eat something.”

  Plastic clattered to the ground, and he vanished behind the slam of the door.

  Sniveling, she stared down at a glowing hamburger the size of a thumb printed on a clear card with words around it. Althea figured someone at a place called Cyberburger would barter this card for something to eat; it was worth keeping.

  Rubbing the last bits of pain out of her rear end, she plodded down the street. People still ignored her, save for the occasional rough collision that knocked her sideways when someone walked into her as if she was not there.

  The ball at the next cross street was red, so she stopped. To her right, an open door beckoned into a room full of shelves. The Lost Place had buildings like this; Den had called them Sev-Levs. Sometimes they found food there, oblong yellow soft things with sweet white stuff inside them. Despite being from the before-time, they were still edible. He told her about how they used to sell conveniences. Den had no clue what a convenience was, but the smiling man behind the counter might be able to help her find a police.

  Clutching the card, she went through the door into a blast of air even colder than the outside. Overpowering the small meat-sticks slow roasting under heat lamps, a strange fragrance filled the room. Smoky yet laden with spice, it clung to everything. As soon as the man saw her, he started shouting and waving an arm at her. Whatever language he spoke was one Althea had never heard.

  He emanated worry as well as anger, yet she had done nothing but walk in.

  “You go. No steal here.” He rushed around the counter, waving his hands in her face and
reaching for something against the wall. “I no charity.”

  “Please, I need a po―”

  She ducked the swing of a broom, and backpedaled out onto the street. “Please, will you―”

  The door slammed with the clattering of out-of-tune electronic bells, and he locked it.

  Continuing backwards, she looked around at the people, the buildings, the furious face in the store window, and the starless sky. Someone shoved her to the side, on purpose. She fell, barely getting her hands in the way before her face hit the ground.

  “Stupid kid, watch where you’re going.”

  The man in the fancy black suit with raspberry cuffs and collar did not look back; he enjoyed doing that to her.

  It was too much, and the tears flowed before she finished crawling to the curb. The frigid surface would have been soothing to sit on if she noticed it, but her stoicism had been exhausted by the endless litany of uncaring, mean, and selfish people who lived in this awful place.

  Huddled on the edge of the sidewalk, she wrapped her arms around her legs and sobbed. This was Archon’s fault.

  For the first time she could remember, she decided she hated someone.

  lthea stared at the ripples of water expanding from her teardrops. They blurred her feet into shimmering waves of color that lapped at her ankles. The water pooled against the curb was every bit as frigid as the people. When she had no tears left to shed, she looked up at the crowd flowing around her as though she was just one more piece of trash they needed to step around.

  The pattern in the smog had shifted; the light felt as if it was weakening. She was not sure how long she had been sitting there, but her legs had gone numb and her breaths came in the short, spasmodic bursts that followed a hard cry. Almost a week had passed since she last saw her family, and defeat took a seat beside her. The thought her home was lost forever stole away the energy it would take to stand. She felt her sorrow leaking out and reined it in. Despite their heartlessness, these people did not deserve that.

  Faces slid through her memories, some smiling and some bloody. All the people she could remember helping appeared and faded. She shivered. It did not matter how the world treated her; she was the Prophet, and she still had a job to do. Somewhere, someone could be hurt, and she could not turn a blind eye to them. She smiled as one more tear came forth. What did it matter if the world was cruel? The fleeting moments of intense love and gratitude whenever she helped someone made it worth all the misery.