T Southwell - Prophecy

Turning, she sprinted for the nearest house. As she dived through the doorway, crimson fire erupted where she had been instants before. The explosion blew her off her feet, and she threw out her hands to break her fall. Glass imploded from the few intact windows, whizzing past her in a shower of razor-sharp shards. Her leather jacket protected her from most of it, but splinters stabbed into the back of her legs. She hit the ground with a muffled cry, raising a cloud of fine white dust. Lights danced in her eyes as she gasped in dust, coughing.

The explosion's rumble died away, leaving her ears ringing, and she raised her head and shook splinters from her hair, glancing back. The saucer descended, and the vagrants had prudently vanished. Climbing to her feet, she staggered deeper into the house, her mind whirling with stunned confusion. Whoever, or whatever was in the saucer seemed to be after her. The house offered doubtful protection, its walls mottled with mould amid peeling paint, the ceiling sagging under the weight of the wet rot in the upper floor.

Her leg wounds burnt as she limped through another door, entering a smaller room. Broken furniture, smashed crockery and shredded papers littered the filthy, rotten carpet. Excrement and graffiti smeared the walls, and ripped curtains hung in tatters around empty windows. Gasping, Rayne flattened herself to the wall when a shadow passed the window, then flung herself down as explosions ripped through the house. Red fire blazed in a brilliant barrage outside. The bolts threw up great clods of earth, and the brick walls cracked.

Bricks and mortar would not hold up against the fiery fusillade for long. Scrambling to her hands and knees, she crawled towards another door. The house shook and rattled as what could only be lasers pounded the walls, chunks of brick and cement flying into the rooms to smash on the floor. An outer wall fell with a grating rumble, and dust and wood chips, mixed with cement fragments, rained down from the upper story. The deafening explosions were almost constant, and the house was collapsing around her.

Crawling through the door, she found herself in an entry hall. A flight of stairs led to an upper floor ablaze with laser fire, the roof cinders. Smoke billowed downwards, and ash and burning wood fell from above. The thickening haze almost obscured a door under the stairs. Quickening her crawl, she reached it and turned the handle, praying it was unlocked. It swung open, catching her off balance, and she fell into pitch blackness, flinging out her arms. Her hands hit steps and her momentum sent her rolling down them, scraping her palms and banging her head. She reached the bottom bruised and winded, and lay gasping for a minute before crawling deeper into the darkness.

Above, the house's destruction continued. The earth shook as laser bolts pounded the building to rubble. The explosions all but drowned out the roar of flames and the bangs and crashes as walls collapsed, bricks falling with dry, grating thuds. The distant tinkle of smashing glass mingled with the creak of tortured wood. The house groaned and roared as it was destroyed. Reaching a wall, she curled up next to it, pressing her back to it as she stared up at the oblong of light at the top of the stairs.

Flames licked around it, feeding on the wooden frame. Soon they would travel down the stairs and fill the room with choking smoke. She plugged her ears to block out the terrible sounds of destruction above. She coughed as the smoke grew thicker, and the inferno's heat made sweat bead her face and trickle inside her clothes.

A terrific crash made her jump, and she was plunged into blackness as the door at the top of the stairs slammed shut, hit by a falling beam or wall. The door's violent closure snuffed out the flames that licked at its frame, sealing her off from the burning house until the fire ate through the door.

The explosions stopped, leaving a silence that only the fire's crackle broke. Burning wood made little mewling sounds, and the occasional crash as a burning timber collapsed, or the tinkle of glass shattering in the heat, made her start.

Why would an alien space ship try to kill an insignificant human being? There was no doubt in her mind that she had been the target. The vagrants would have been far easier to kill. She wiped sweat from her face with grimy hands, realising, from the stinging of her palms, that they were raw. Would these hostile aliens leave, or would they wait for the house to cool and search the rubble for her corpse? Had it been sport, choosing a target and trying to kill it for fun? Plenty of UFOs had been seen since mankind's downfall, observing, and perhaps recording Earth's demise. They had kept their distance, however, never making contact in spite of humanity's attempts to contact them.

The stifling smoke stung her throat, and her eyes watered. The door at the top of the stairs creaked, its outer surface on fire. Rayne forced herself to wait in the suffocating darkness, fighting a strong urge to go in search of light and air. The aliens might think she was dead, or they could be waiting outside to make sure, and if she revealed herself now they would hunt her down again.

Rats ran about, their claws scratching on the concrete floor. One ran over her leg with tiny hard paws, and she shuddered, jerking it away. Their squeaking held a note of panic, so they must be trapped too, she surmised. The wall against which she leant was damp and coated with slimy mould, which soaked into her jacket, chilling her back. Flames appeared at the bottom of the door, throwing a little light down the steps. Rayne straightened and looked around. The rats' glowing eyes met her gaze from a corner, where they seemed to be engaged in a purposeful activity, perhaps trying to chew their way out through the stone.

The smoke thickened, and she realised she had to get out before the fire consumed all the oxygen and the smoke suffocated her. Now that her eyes had adjusted to the dark, she could make out the faint outlines of boxes stacked against the walls, and an old-fashioned boiler in one corner. She tried to stand up, but stabbing pains in her legs reminded her of her injuries and she sank down again to explore the painful areas. Blood soaked the back of her jeans, and she ran her hands over the wetness.

Finding a protruding glass spear, she jerked it out with a cry and flung it away. Biting her lip as fresh tears stung her watering eyes, she continued her search, locating another, smaller shard. It was slippery and deeply embedded, and her fingers could not grip it at first. The agony that lanced up her leg when she touched it made her stomach clench, but she pulled it out, groaning, and hunted for more. She extracted three more pieces, then sagged back, sick and dizzy.

The door burnt, flames licking at the roof. Thick, stifling smoke filled the room and the heat had become almost unbearable. Climbing to her feet, she hobbled along the wall, running her hands over its cool dampness. She had to find another exit, or she was doomed.

Dawn found Rawn wandering along a dirty alley, tramping through piles of rotting refuse. This provided the rats' breeding ground, and the people who lived in this evil, depressing place trapped and ate them. Rawn hardly took any notice his surroundings, unable to think of anything except how he was going to find his sister. He did not notice the group of men lurking in a dark doorway until a net descended over his head, and many dirty hands pulled it tight around him. Someone snatched his weapon from its holster, and the men flung him to the ground. The net pinned his arms, and the raiders pulled it tighter while he fought. He kicked a man on the shin and made him hop and curse. These were the worst sort of raiders, who hunted people to sell to the autocrats for food.