Prophet of the Badlands (The Awakened Book 1) (50 page)

He coughed. “Aye. A family willin’ ta take ya in and treat ya like their own, tho’ usually temporary kinda way.”

Althea slid to the side, curling into a ball upon padding that smelled of wet dog. “I don’t want temp rary parents. I want Father and Karina.”

Whisk shrugged. “Get some sleep.”

He wandered off after easing the lid of her container closed without a sound. She stared at the puddles of reflected eye-light on the smooth plastisteel panel. This crate was bigger than some of the cages she had been kept in, and it struck her how safe it felt. Especially with solid walls instead of bars; the bad people couldn’t see her.

The men who hurt people for body parts haunted her thoughts, making her shiver into the blankets. If police were as Whisk said, they seemed like the best option for doing something about them. She trusted his opinion far more than the word of the floating head. In the morning, she would try to find some.

Althea awoke on her back, arms above her head and feet pressed into the wall of the crate. The space was not long enough for her to extend her legs all the way, unless she lifted her toes near the roof. The tremble of a stretch shuddered through her and she rolled over, staring with half-closed eyes at the shadow of her bent knee on the wall, outlined in azure glow; a veil of unkempt blonde hung over her face.

All the running from the previous day left her legs sore, but a few more stretches worked the aches down to a point she could ignore them. A shove at the panel failed to move it, so she pushed harder with both hands. It did not even rattle. Her heart raced, but she held on to calm long enough to check the other wall in case she rolled in her sleep and pushed at the side against the wall of their waterless river. It too was immobile.

Trapped.

Had Archon’s men found her in the night and locked her in? Had her little house become a cage for real? She kicked at the panels, banging on all four sides and screaming.

“Help! Let me out.”

Althea braced her back against one side and shoved with both legs at the other, whining when she felt it going nowhere. Althea grunted and strained, channeling her power into her leg muscles to make herself stronger. The panel flew open without warning, and a man howled as the swinging plate smacked his shins. One of the vagrants jumped away from the box, dancing, cursing, and rubbing his legs. Althea scampered over to him, stalling the pain with a touch.

The look on her face would’ve been fitting had she killed a man. She whined at him while rubbing the small cuts on his legs away to healed skin “I’m sorry.”

“Fuckin’ latch caught ‘cause Whisk gave ya the new box. We not broked it yet.”

She stared ashamedly at the ground, until he ruffled her hair. After a quick visit to the grate, she foraged through the prior night’s pity sack. Someone had left a couple of fried nuggets behind, and she choked down the cold, flavorless things, wishing she could find a grub or two instead. It did not seem as though any wood existed in this place. An unclaimed clamshell case that should have contained one of those ‘cheeseburger’ things held a glop of beige slime like what Vakkar’s men had fed her.

Scooping it into her mouth, she glanced to her side at the sound of a homeless man retching.

“How can you eat that?”

She blinked. “What do you mean?”

Shuddering, he looked away. “Yer eatin’ plain OmniSoy. The cheeseburger melted.”

Althea blinked at it. “It’s new tree-ant paste. It’s not a cheeseburger.”

“They got machines what turn it into cheeseburgers… but they cheap ones, so it ain’t perm-nent, and they fall apart if ya don’t eat it in a couple hours.” He walked off, twitching and trying to keep down what little he had eaten.

She did not understand how this slimy substance could have ever been a cheeseburger, but still licked the plastic box clean of it. It didn’t taste bad; it didn’t taste like anything. After tossing the empty, she wandered the Bumwallow for a few minutes before approaching a random occupant.

“Um.” She waved. “Hey.”

He grinned at her, lifting her off the ground in a tight, smelly hug. She had rid the glaucoma from his eyes a day ago. “Heya, sweetie. Why you still here?”

“How can I find police?”

“Datz easy.” He grinned. “Go do somethin’ you don’t want ‘em seein ya do.”

“Really?” She blinked.

He pointed at the ladder. “Naw. Up there. Gotta walk north on 804 a bit, get out of the grey zone. Cops don’t come around here much. Heh, the way you look, they’ll find you.”

She glanced at the ladder, and back to him. Althea had been around them long enough for him to expect her to ask what that meant.

“Parts of the city got real bad. Real, real, bad. Kind o’ things what live there even the cops won’t touch, so they blacked them offa the map. Ya get a bit farther ‘way from dem places, you get what they call grey zones. Not quite as bad, but still bad. Civ’lized sorts don’ go there. Keep walkin’ till ya see lights and people don’t look like us.” He put a hand on her shoulder, with a look like it would be the last time he’d see her. “Thank ya fer what ya did fer me. I’ll never f’get ya. G’won, kid. You don’ deserve ta be stuck here.”

Althea was not going to let the cops put her with those foster things; she would lead them to the man in white and then make them let her leave. If she could find them, they could fix the problem.

The rickety ladder rattled as she climbed, even under her slight weight. She had no idea what 804 meant, and the smog-filled sky offered little clue as to which path led north. After wandering for a bit, she decided on a direction with more light in the horizon than the rest. As the blocks passed, the number of people out and about increased. Some shook their heads with bewilderment at the barefoot waif walking along in a tattered leather skirt and dirty tank top. She looked wholly out of place in this fortress of glittering metal and flying machines, filled with people in their fancy blinking clothes and gadgets.

She kept going in a straight line with her gaze just high enough not to collide with anything or anyone. Between the angle of her head and the sun filtering straight down through the buildings, the eerie glow in her eyes was close to unnoticeable.

Red and green orbs brought back the lesson from the other day, and she waited when her travels took her far enough away from the Bumwallow for them to stop being dark. A car passed, the color changed, and she continued until a shiny indigo coat stepped right in front of her.

The tall, thin head at the top was devoid of facial hair and hidden under a dense mop of erratic black hair that hung down to his belt. Althea glanced at a pistol under the coat, and at boots which looked as if they were once a grey snake.

“Well now.” His voice sounded deeper than his delicate frame would imply. “You’re not what I was expecting. ‘Cute blonde’ usually means something else.” He sank into a squat; far enough down to meet her eye to eye.

His neutral mood let her remain calm. “Who are you?”

“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.