T Southwell - Prophecy

Sobbing with hysterical panic, Rayne hurled brick after brick at the encroaching mutants, following each with a stream of useless abuse. Her aim was good, but the bricks bounced off the mutants' thick skulls without making them blink. Some leered and growled, others quickened their steps and raised their arms.

A low-pitched hum filled the air. A pillar of blue fire impaled the mutant in front of her, which exploded. Blood and guts splattered its companions, making them recoil. The blue fire burnt a molten spot in the ground before it cut off, then impaled another mutant. The powerful hum made her teeth ache, and intense heat scorched her skin as mutant after mutant died, impaled by the beam of light. She gasped and crouched down, covering her face as an orgy of blue heat destroyed the mutants. Some died before they could make a sound, and none had time to even turn away.

When the last mutant was vaporised, the blue fire vanished, leaving scorched, smoking spots that glowed. Shredded gore coated the rubble, and chunks of cooked meat clung to the crumbling wall behind her. Rayne lowered her hands and glanced around, poised to flee but afraid to move in case she attracted the attention of whoever had killed the mutants. She was fairly sure it had been a laser beam, invisible against the sky. Her mind raced as she struggled to make sense of it.

An alien ship had just tried to kill her, now some unknown and unseen benefactor had saved her, or were they just toying with her? Perhaps they enjoyed her fear, and now waited for her to flee before killing her, too. She glared at the sky, hating their power and elusiveness, determined not to give them the satisfaction of watching her run about in terror. Her bravado drained away, and she stumbled from the scorched circle to hobble down the street as fast as she could, intent only on getting away.

The imperative and rather rude telepathic intrusion of Marcon, his first officer, jerked Tallyn from a deep slumber. Such tactics were only ever used in an emergency, so he quelled his initial annoyed reaction and sent back a query. Marcon's response, that a group of mutants were attacking the human girl, brought Tallyn wide awake. He jack-knifed out of his bunk and pulled on the one-piece stretch overall that was slung over a nearby chair.

His quarters were only a few strides away from the bridge, and within seconds he watched the confrontation on main screen. He admired her pluck as she hurled bricks and abuse at the monsters, but when it was quite obvious she could not escape, he gave the order to destroy the mutants. The ship's neural net, under the guidance of a net-linked officer, locked onto the targets and calculated distance and trajectory before firing the lasers with deadly accuracy.

The girl glanced around and up, but the ship was in orbit, hidden by the grey clouds that cloaked her world. The spy-cam that brought her image to him also marked her position, enabling the ship's infrared scanners to track her movements. The spy-cam was programmed to keep her image in its lens. She hobbled down the street, the spy-cam following like a faithful dog. Her limp worried him, and the brown stains on her trousers indicated injuries that he had only noticed when she had set out on her journey this morning. The possibility of infection added to his concern, making him toy with the idea of picking her up.

Tallyn could not explain why he had not done so yet, but something warned him not to, in spite of her injury. The same instinct told him she was the golden girl child in the prophecy. Over the years, he had learnt to trust his instincts, and this was probably the most significant mission he would ever perform. As the ship's commander, he had no need to explain his actions, or lack of them, to the crew, although Marcon had looked at him oddly.

The ship held orbit now above the city where the girl dwelt, and she was obviously the target. The crew probably wondered why he did not order her transferred up, but Atlantean crews rarely questioned their commanders' orders. Nor did he find any need to explain it; he would wait until the time was right.

Rayne entered the Inner City late in the afternoon. She slipped into the shadows of the towering, shiny skyscrapers and dodged from building to building. Her chances of finding Rawn were slim to none, but she had to try. The pain in her legs sapped her, hunger gnawed at her, and she stopped at taps to drink. The water eased her stomach ache, but added nothing to her dwindling strength. Twice, she spotted police patrols and hid in dark doorways until they passed.

At dusk, she rested in a ruined office building, on a battered sofa that had somehow survived the destructive effects of the pollution that ravaged the planet. She stared out of a grimy window at the dismal street, raising her gaze once more to the grey clouds that no longer offered any protection against the sun's radiation. The cuts in greenhouse gas output had been too little and too late.

The vast amount of gas already released wrought irreparable damage on the ozone layer as it rose into the upper atmosphere. Huge cattle farms produced massive amounts of methane, and the destruction of the world's forests reduced oxygen production just as drastically.

The ozone layer was almost gone now, making exposure to the sun hazardous, for even a few hours could cause skin cancer. The acid rain ate into everything. It soaked into the ground and killed the trees and few struggling weeds that were left. Once filtered by the soil, it was safe to drink. Sometimes thick yellow smog would envelope everything, burn eyes and skin and leave behind a layer of black soot.

The once-beautiful blue oceans were mere legend now. Brown seas foamed on filthy beaches like a massive sewer. No one lived beside it anymore, for the stench of rot and noxious bacterial secretions were strong enough to make people sick. A thick blanket of green algae covered the sluggish waves. Adapted to the saline conditions, it thrived on the toxic soup of chemicals and pollutants that filled it. The sea had turned into the very thing humans had used it for, a cesspit.

Rayne sighed and rose, wincing. The prospect of stumbling through the darkening city did not appeal to her, but necessity drove her. If she did not find Rawn, she was not sure she would survive, since she would have great difficulty running with her injuries and she had to find food before she became too weak.

Rawn wandered along a deserted street, glancing into gloomy corners, his hand never far from his weapon. Since his encounter with the slavers, he had increased his vigilance. He no longer allowed his constant worry about Rayne's welfare to distract him, although it nibbled at his mind like a rat gnawing in the ceiling. Hunger gnawed at him too. He had not eaten since this morning, when his food had run out. He stopped for water at a tap in a building, then walked on until dark, when he found a safe place and built a fire.

As the night chill settled through the air, he went to a nearby drapery and searched amongst the rubbish and dust for blankets and curtains. Returning to his fire, he settled down for the night.

Rayne built a fire, but her leather jacket could not cope with the bitter cold. Although she huddled over it, her back remained cold while her front cooked. Her supply of combustible material dwindled rapidly, for cardboard burnt quickly and wood was in short supply. Curling into a ball, she strived to conserve her warmth as the fire died. Her stomach rumbled, and she longed for her brother's comforting warmth. She clenched her teeth to stop them chattering, but her shivers grew more violent as the night air cooled. Nevertheless, she closed her eyes and tried to sleep.

Every little noise woke her from her uneasy doze, mostly rats scuttling in the garbage, and she knew she would have a restless night.