T Southwell - Prophecy

"What will happen to the people?" Tallyn interrupted.

The professor shot him an injured look. "Well, those who don't die from the solar radiation will die of suffocation or starvation. They are going to die, that's certain. Earth is turning into another Venus. Soon it'll be just as hostile, with a corrosive methane-ammonia atmosphere, and nothing will survive. The temperature will continue to rise until the core expands and volcanoes erupt, spewing molten lava over the surface. Which will be dry, of course, as all the seas will have evaporated -"

"How long, Professor?"

The mild-featured man looked vexed at the constant interruptions. “Hard to say, exactly. Maybe three or four years before the people are gone, then the clouds will continue to thicken -"

"Thank you, Professor."

Tallyn broke the connection with a sigh. Like most elderly, over-educated men, Rasham loved to extol his subject, and if not kept under control could produce a monologue that would consume hours of precious time in educational, but unproductive discourse. It had taken Rasham close to five hundred years to gather all his vast knowledge, and it seemed to long for egress, taking control of his tongue in order to gain access to a fresh mind. Once Rasham had possessed high-cast black and white hair, but age had mixed it into a dull grey monotone that most Atlanteans found unattractive. Then again, one as old as the professor did not care about such things anymore.

Turning back to the spy screen, he watched the girl feed the fire, her eyes scanning countryside and sky. He wondered if she possessed more than the five senses humans were limited to, for she seemed unusually astute. Some studies conducted on humans indicated that a few had developed one of two extra senses over the course of their evolution, and most possessed a latent but never-awakened ability.

Leaning back, he pressed his hand to the sensor pad before him and closed his eyes, selected his topic from the central data bank and allowed the rush of data to enter his mind. It streamed in, a mixture of written information, images and sensory perceptions too intense for an untrained mind to absorb. The history of humankind, their biology, language, culture and peculiarities flashed into his mind in a few moments, preparing him for the ordeal of dealing with a member of this alien and heretofore-un-contacted race.

The reasons for their isolation soon became clear. Their propensity for violence and cruelty, their strange disregard for the destruction they had wrought upon their planet, dooming their civilisation, was enough to befuddle the most open of minds. It struck him as odd that the Golden Child should come from such an inept society, but then, perhaps she was the first to see the mistakes of the past.

Rayne spent the day resting beside the fire, nibbling food bars and mulling over the increasingly strange events. First the scarlet saucer, then the white-clad man, both with no logical explanation. It seemed unlikely that the white-clad man was connected to the scarlet saucer, yet she found it hard to believe that two alien ships studied Earth's demise. Also, why were they so interested in her? Were they doing this to other people too? At least the white-clad man had not appeared threatening, and she hoped the scarlet saucer had left the area.

The odd feeling that she was being watched stayed with her, even though there appeared to be no reason for it. She spent another night curled up in the blankets beside the fire, but the next day the food ran out and there was little firewood left. When the fire died and her stomach rumbled, Rayne decided she would have to go back into the city. Without food, she would only grow weaker, and she could not rely on her brother returning. Rawn could be dead for all she knew, and to sit here hoping he would come back was sheer folly. Only the fittest survived on this cruel world, so she had to find food or starve.

Quitting her warm nest took a great deal of willpower, and her injured legs protested. She buried the blankets under the rock and forced herself to her feet, grimaced and bit her lip to stifle her whimpers of pain. Her first few steps were so excruciating that she nearly returned to her camp, unable to face the long walk. She refused to lie there and starve, however, so she pressed on, ignoring the agony that shot up her legs at every stride. As she walked, her stiff muscles loosened, allowing her to walk a little more freely, but fresh blood dampened her jeans. She stumbled often, unable to hide the dangerous weakness that, if a gang of vagrants or another raider saw it, might lead to disaster.

Rayne reached the outer city at midday, and limped through the dingy, tumbled-down buildings. Rats scampered, squeaking, from piles of refuse, and she hurried past an occasional corpse, mutilated, diseased or skeletal. Many vile stenches abused her nose, varying only in their strength or foulness. Skinny, hollow-eyed people dodged into ruins at her approach, their eyes gleaming from the shadows as she passed. Rayne paused in an empty building to regain her strength and rest her throbbing legs, the pain making her queasy.

Keeping a sharp look out, she only rested for a few minutes. As she rose to leave, however, she froze at the faint sound of shuffling feet, and frowned. There were several of them, but the tread was too heavy for a group of vagrants. Raising her head, she sniffed the wind, all her senses straining. A vile stench wafted to her, which had not been there moments before. Terror turned her blood to ice, and she bolted from the building like a hare from its burrow, only to stop just outside the door.

Twenty mutants formed a semi-circle around the door she had just exited, shuffling closer. Rayne glanced back as another mutant filled the doorway. They stood seven foot and over, their long arms reaching to their knees. Brown, matted hair covered some, and slack lips revealed long yellow teeth. Others looked more human, but grossly deformed, and wore only a few dirty rags. One had elephant-like ears and hands that looked more like clubs.

Another had a single eye and nostril, while the mutant beside him had a dog-like muzzle full of sharp teeth. Some had almost normal faces, but half-animal bodies with claws, spines or scales. Most of them had cancerous growths of various sizes, suppurating ulcers that oozed stinking pus. Their stench made her bile rise, souring the lump of terror lodged in her throat. Dirt matted their hair and caked their mottled skins with a layer of greasy filth spotted with patches of dried gore and pus. A few even had mould growing on them.

They were genetic mutants, those unfortunates who had been children or just conceived when the ozone layer broke down and the sun's radiation had wreaked havoc on their development. Most had died. These were the angry, suffering survivors, who killed for food and fun, their minds as twisted as their bodies. Their size and well-fed appearance stemmed from their cannibalistic lifestyle, and she was to be the latest delicacy on their menu.

Rayne looked around for a weapon. Rawn had always protected her, and weapons of any sort were hard to come by, due to the demand for them. Desperate, she tugged at a steel reinforcing rod protruding from some rubble, but it was firmly lodged and all she did was scrape her raw palms on its rusty surface. The approaching mutants stared at her with dull eyes and licked their lips in anticipation.

Picking up a brick, she hurled it at one, but it bounced off the creature's forehead with no noticeable effect. Panic squeezed her heart in an icy grip as she glanced around for a way out, but they were shoulder to shoulder, closing the circle. Her stomach threatened to hurl its meagre, acidic contents up her throat. Rancid breath, mixed with unwashed hairy bodies, urine and faeces, plus the decaying blood of past victims that clung to their fur, created a stench unrivalled in singular vileness.