T Southwell - Prophecy

A bald, scruffy individual with an eye patch stepped forward, holding Rawn's gun as he crouched down beside his captive to study him with his remaining bloodshot eye.

"You're a pretty one. The mistress will pay well for you."

"Fucking bastards!" Rawn snarled, earning himself a kick in the ribs from another man.

The leader gestured. "Bring him. Put him with the rest. The mistress is going to love him."

Two raiders hauled Rawn to his feet, one producing a pair of handcuffs. He twisted and cursed, trying to loosen the net and free his arms. They were a runty bunch, none with his strength or stature, and there were only four of them. Lunging at the man with the handcuffs, he dragged the two that clung to the net with him and butted the raider in the stomach. The man staggered back, tripped and sprawled, the cuffs slid into a storm drain and vanished with a distant splash.

"Hold him!" the one-eyed raider shouted. They did not want to kill him, and that worked in Rawn's favour. He swung and butted another man in the face, breaking his nose with a dull crunch. The raider released him with a bleat of pain, clutching his nose. The one-eyed man aimed the gun at Rawn, but killing or even injuring him would make the whole exercise pointless. Rawn turned to the man who still held the net, hooked his fingers into it and jerked it from the raider's grip, then loosened it with a heave of his arms and flung it aside. The slaver hesitated, casting a desperate glance at his leader, but his courage failed as Rawn stepped towards him, and he fled. The man who had tried to cuff Rawn sprinted after his comrade.

The one-eyed man, becoming aware of his danger, cocked the gun and waved it. Rawn lunged at him, gripped his wrist and twisted it until the bones cracked. The man screamed and dropped the weapon as Rawn smashed a fist into his face, sending him sprawling. The raider Rawn had butted staggered to his feet and raised his hands as Rawn picked up the gun the one-eyed man had dropped. Rawn glared at him, and he fled. Rawn looked down at the whimpering one-eyed slaver, disgusted. This was what it had come to now, raiders hunting each other to sell as slaves. Even they had lost their pride and become as pathetic as the people who waited at the feeding stations.

Relieving the one-eyed slaver of his gun, he holstered his own and tucked the other one into his belt, then glanced up and down the street. He had wandered into the territory of this sort of raider, which was not a healthy place to be. As he walked back the way he had come, his thoughts returned to his lost sister.

Rayne groped along the wall, gasping in the heat and smoke, her head swimming. The blazing door consumed the oxygen, and flames crept down the stairs. Her fingers touched a frame, and she examined it, finding a hatch set at an angle to the wall, which must open upwards. Stepping into the recess under it, she set her shoulder against the trap door and heaved with all her might. It creaked, the dry wood digging into her.

Again she pushed, her legs weakening as she panted for air and inhaled smoke instead. She was tempted to give up, lie down and surrender to the injustice of this cruel world she had struggled so hard to survive in all her life. With a strangled cry of defiance, she put the last of her strength into a final push. The hatch flew open as the rusted lock gave way, and she climbed out, inhaling great breaths of fresh air.

For a while, she lay and gasped on the withered grass, then sat up and wiped her streaming eyes. The house smouldered, most of the fire having burnt out already, leaving embers that sent a column of black smoke spiralling upwards. In some places, flames still licked at the timbers. She glanced around for the scarlet saucer, but the sky was innocent of alien ships. Nevertheless, she staggered to her feet and moved into the shadow of the neighbouring house, just in case.

Flopping down next to the wall, she watched the house burn. Deep craters surrounded it, and the structure had been reduced to rubble and charred beams. Whoever had attacked her had tried to ensure that she would not survive.

Rayne recuperated in the shade, strength seeping back into her limbs. After about half an hour she rose, wincing. Dried blood caked the back of her jeans, but she hobbled along the street towards the meeting place, keeping a wary eye on the sky as well as the houses. She had given up wondering why an alien ship would want to kill her; it made no sense. No other houses were damaged, and vagrants emerged to gape and point at the smouldering ruin. She hoped the aliens thought she was dead, so they would not try again.

By the time she reached the grove of dead trees that was the meeting place, she tottered from exhaustion and hunger. She stumbled into the grove, fell to her knees and flopped down. Her brother's absence brought a fresh wave of despair and loneliness. She longed for his comforting presence and needed his help to bind her wounds. The trees hid her from prying eyes, but hunger gnawed at her, not allowing her the luxury of rest. Crawling across the soft leaves to the rock where Rawn always stashed extra food, she groped under it. Finding the sleek rustle of plastic, and she tore at the chewy, orange-flavoured concentrate, desperate to relieve her gut's emptiness.

While she ate, she pondered her situation. Staying in one place was dangerous, even in the grove's secrecy. Some raiders had noses as keen as dogs. Rawn must have gone in search of her, but she did not have the strength to travel back into the city to look for him. She could only hope he would return soon, and no one else found her before he did. Tiredness turned her limbs to lead, and she curled up in the leaves, drifting into a deep, exhausted sleep.

When Rayne woke, the sun's rays slanted through the dead trees. After eating more food, she examined her raw, sooty palms, picking out a few splinters. Although the wounds were not serious, the risk of infection in this polluted environment was high, so she went to the stream that chuckled through the rocks nearby. Stripping, she washed in the cold water, scrubbing her jeans. She emerged shivering, to wrap herself in the blankets she dug from under the rock where the food was stored, then lighted a fire.

The wounds in the back of her calves were easy enough to tend, and she removed several more splinters, but she could only examine the ones in the back of her thighs by touch. When she finished, twilight filled the grove with shadow, and she curled up next to the fire for another lonely night. At least she was safer in the country.

The swollen, sickly sun's first rays woke her, stealing into the grove with their slight warmth like fingers of light. She sat up with a start as the events of the previous day flooded back, making her glance up at the sky. It contained only dirty grey clouds, and, after studying it for several minutes, she relaxed. A hoar frost whitened the ground, liming the trees and bracken with a coating of ice.

The chilly air nipped at her nose and numbed her fingers and feet. Her legs had stiffened, and the pain made her gasp as she dragged more wood from the dwindling pile and lighted a new fire. As soon as a tiny blaze took hold, she huddled close to it and almost thrust her hands into the flames to warm them. Her breath steamed, and she clenched her jaws to prevent her teeth from chattering as she waited for the sun to warm the air.

By mid-morning, her jeans were dry, and she ate a little food, then dressed and sat beside the fire. She pondered the flying saucer's attack again, trying to fathom the reason for the senseless assault on an unimportant girl. The more she thought about it, the more convinced she became that she would never figure it out. She sighed and stared into the fire, remembering the dangers that had honed her reactions so keenly.