“You sure it won’t run out on you?” He handed her a drumstick. “They might have a charger in town here. It’s not completely primitive.”
The food sizzled and popped at her touch, but she devoured the chicken before it charred too much. “I made it to like sixteen or something without it. I’ll get used to it again. Sleeping on dirt is more comfortable than this tub.”
He handed her a second piece and got started on one. “Sounds like you’re not planning to come back.”
Desperate eyes locked on to him as she savaged a chicken breast, unwilling to stop or slow down until she held smoldering bones. “I want to come back. I just don’t know how long it’ll take me to find what I’m looking for. Wow, this is good.”
“It’s real food,” he said. “Stephanie raises live chickens. Winds up cheaper out here than anything imported from the real world.”
“This is the real world.” She tossed a smoking bone into the box. “Sometimes I think it’s better out here, away from all the corporate bullshit. Too many people stacked up on top of each other.”
“I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to try and walk to West City.” He held out a biscuit for her to bite. “I’ve heard all sorts of horrible stories about the Badlands.”
Kate brushed burning crumbs off her thigh. “I’m not helpless.”
“No, but… A woman alone, especially if your thing is turned off… You’ll draw bandits like moths to a flame.”
“You know what happens to the moth when it gets too close to the candle, right?” She smiled into her lap. “Is that concern I hear? You almost sound chivalrous.”
Esteban held up a finger in a ‘wait a moment’ gesture and rummaged around in the backpack.
“I don’t have to be as careful out here,” she said. “No need to hide bodies.”
Stooped to the side, he cocked his eyebrow at her. “Why do I get the feeling you’re not kidding.”
Kate eyed the box of chicken like a hungry dog. “I’m not.”
He handed over another piece. When she ducked to feast, he patted her atop the head. She looked up, startled, and he waved at her with an oven mitt. She laughed at the absurdity of it, but soon found herself fighting the urge to cry when he stroked her hair.
Chicken bones ignited in her hands, burning to ash.
She clung to the side of the tub, eyes closed. The lump in her throat grew too large for any words to squeeze past it.
“I’ve been with some pretty hot girls before, but I never needed this much protection.”
Crying won’t change a damn thing. She sniffled. “I’m… I hate this.”
“Sorry.” He leaned back.
“No, don’t stop.” Kate looked up. “I mean”―her head sagged forward―“I hate being like this. I’d give it all up to be normal. I’m so tired of being alone, of being cut off from the world. That’s why I have to do this. Some people found me… other psionics who think they can help.”
“They can dial you down from nuclear reactor to electric stove?” He winked.
She looked into his eyes. “That’s my hope. It’s what I want more than anything.”
His hand slid over her head to rest on her shoulder, thick padding smoldering. Kate’s eyelids drooped half-closed. She leaned toward him. Esteban was more than she ever imagined: handsome, confident, brave, and didn’t have a problem with her being psionic. She didn’t care about his being a convict. Being with him mattered more than anything else at that moment, and compared to the usual sort of people she associated with, installing stolen car parts made him a saint. He hovered so close she could smell his breath. Without thinking, she closed her eyes and leaned toward him.
Esteban howled and pulled back, one hand clamped over his lips.
“I’m sorry!” She grabbed the edge of the tub and started to get up, but he waved her down.
“Myf falf. Not yourf.” He fanned his lip where a large blister had already appeared. “Ow. Well, that was stupid.”
She collapsed into the tub with her back to the room, head bowed. Tears struck porcelain in a series of faint pats, which drowned in the noise of running water from the sink. It cut off with a squeak, which made her cringe and curl into a ball. The oven mitt patted her on the shoulder. Esteban had a wet cloth to his face, but seemed to be smiling.
Kate shied away from the sight.
“Hey… Don’t blame yourself. Maybe that psio cure thing will work. How long do you think it will take?”
She shrugged. “I dunno.” If it even works at all.
“Wilma kept going. Said something about being called into the Badlands. Crazy bastard didn’t even want to spend a night in a real bed first.”
Stop crying. You’re the idiot for getting attached. You’ve known him for a day.
“Bernie’s at the hospital. Bit rougher out here; no tanks, so he’ll be recovering for a few weeks. He’ll live though. Course, he’s gotta wait for another convoy to show up to go home. I sold the gun for the room and some food, and I talked my way into a job fixing stuff.”
“Are you going to stay here then?” She managed not to sound like she wanted to cry, though her voice came off cold.
“Not sure.” He rubbed her hair, making her shiver. “No telling what Bernie will claim happened. He’s not wound too tight. If he spouts off about us trying to mutiny, I’ll be screwed. If he doesn’t, and I go back on my own, it’ll only help. Might even knock a few months off.”
Kate’s voice trembled. “How much left?”
“Little over a year.” He stood and tossed the smoking oven mitt into a wastebasket by the sink. “Well, the glove’s had it. I figured you crazy for wanting to walk across the Badlands, but after what I saw out there”―he chuckled―“I’m not so sure.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, shifting onto her back.
Esteban didn’t bother being subtle about appraising her figure. “You’re like some kind of deadly beautiful.”
“The scientists did that on purpose. I was supposed to be an assassin, so they tried to make me pretty.” She waved a hand around her face. “High cheekbones… Anna said something about my DNA being from this Russian girl.”
“They did a damn good job of it.” He dabbed at his lip.
“Not so much.” She folded her arms behind her head as a pillow. “I was no good to them like this. Can’t wear the fancy gowns to get into the fancy parties and the wrong people’s bedrooms. I can’t sneak past thermal sensors.” Her voice fell to a mutter. “I can’t even hold someone I like.”
“So they cut you loose?”
“No, they tried to kill me so they could start over. I got away.” She stared at the ceiling, mesmerized by the projected shadows cast by a cloud of moths outside the window. “If there is something up there watching us, I hope it knows I’d give up anything to be normal.”
Esteban shrugged. “I’d call my grandmother to say a prayer for you, but they don’t have VidPhones out here. Try to get some rest.”
“Yeah, sure.”
He drifted into the bedroom, pulling the door to behind him. When the old-fashioned bed creaked, she covered her face with her hands and cried in earnest.
ate moaned in contentment as she woke, embraced by cloth. Her eyes fluttered open, and she found a dense blanket packed around her in the bathtub. For a few seconds, she couldn’t comprehend the meaning of the strange sensation on her skin. Once realization dawned, she flailed, shoving and kicking at it in an effort not to ruin it. The blanket fell to the floor, with only a few blackened spots.
She’d slept the whole night.
Sunlight glaring in from the dirt-smeared window forced her to squint. She sat up in the bathtub, moaning at sore muscles. It took a few minutes to stretch away the pain from a night of horrible posture. She frowned at the lump of cloth, a painful reminder of Esteban’s concern. After a second stretch, she slipped one leg over the edge of the tub onto the thick wooden slab. It smoked on contact, though she suppressed open flame. It extended her reach enough to grab t
he leftover chicken.
“Esteban?”
The outer room stood quiet and empty, the bed haphazardly ‘made’ by a casual toss of the bedspread. Echoes of activity outside came through the window, snippets of voices and the occasional rumble of a passing vehicle or barking dog. A small boy shouted at something, a hooved animal from the sound of it, scampering by the door.
She used the corner of the sink to push the power button on the bracelet’s embedded NetMini. While waiting for it to boot, she set her feet on the wood slabs and shuffled like a cross-country skier to the front door. Esteban had left a note tacked to it.
Kate, I needed to get out early. The boss wanted to meet me at dawn and get some things settled before his shift started. Hope you’re still there when I get back. I’ll understand if you’ve got your mind set on chasing that cure. Good luck, and take care of yourself. –Steve.
A yelp escaped as she noticed her feet covered in flames. Her lapse of concentration let her ‘shoes’ ignite. The fire dissipated with a soft whuff as she willed it out. As soon as the bracelet chimed its orchestral welcome tone, she held it up to her mouth. She paused at the sight of the battery meter full. He had taken it out and charged it while she slept.
“Casual one.”
A matrix of blue lines formed around her body for several seconds before they changed into low top boots, a black long-sleeved pullover, and loose-fitting navy pants. She adjusted the baggy pullover with a few tugs, still marveling at how the hologram could react to her attempt to touch it. Relief came with knowing if she only used the bracelet for clothing, it had about a week and a half of power. She took a breath and went outside, stepping off the blocks onto a concrete porch.
Hotel doors went in both directions, forty rooms around the walls of an enclosed parking lot with only two vehicles in it. A little boy chased a baby goat around one of the cars. The diminutive animal wanted nothing to do with being caught and carried. Sunlight glinted from windows, distant metal walls, and a bulbous water tower. She followed the sidewalk around the square, hanging a left down a ramp past a buzzing neon sign to the street.
Buildings looked as though they had a contagious disease that caused a slow metamorphosis from wood and brick to metal. Time and technology had converted old St. Louis―or what remained of it―into a hamlet balanced on the precipice between ancient and not quite modern. She wandered in the general direction of West. Citizens regarded her with curiosity. A man and three boys led a group of goats on chain leashes. The animals shifted, eager to distance themselves from the sense of a predator.
Her attire stood out. Too clean, too modern. Everyone she passed―including the local ‘police’ force―kept their eyes on her. She found the usual reactions in surface thoughts: men trying to undress her with their eyes, women being jealous or indifferent, she’s not local, what’s she up to, she’s unarmed… what’s wrong with her? A complete lack of street gangs or obvious corner chem dealers struck her as odd. Much like the big city, the catcalls continued, though none did more than make rude comments.
What strange place is this where people obey the law?
Two armed men in green military camouflage went by, both eyeing her with suspicion. The St. Louis ‘police’ force seemed more like a militia than a law enforcement group.
Guess they shoot people here rather than arrest them.
A familiar mechanical whine rose above the din, leading her down an alley to a huge open square by the city’s primary gate, which motored open at an agonizing pace. It halted with a heavy clunk that shook the ground, and several farmer families dragged wagons made from pickup truck beds in, laden with produce.
She passed two gun stores, an armor repair shop, and two bars before stopping to fire a mournful glare at a clothing merchant. According to rumor, the private sectors―privatized regions embedded within East City―had expensive boutiques where the rich still shopped in person. Ages ago, people considered the convenience of delivery bots trendy. Now, the effort of shopping in person had taken on an air of wealth and superiority.
A moment of staring at flannel shirts renewed her determination to rid herself of her curse.
Ignoring the stores, she crossed to the far side of the courtyard and headed down another street toward the western gate. The militia, men and women, lingered among stacked sandbags arranged around a pair of enormous doors, holding modern rifles out of place with their uniforms. Being this close to the Badlands, the leaders of the town likely wanted every advantage.
She stared out past the gate at a blue badge-shaped sign that bore the number 55 as well as a few bullet holes. Beyond that, a massive bridge packed with dead cars, barricades, and machine gun nests stretched out over the water. Skeletons of tall buildings dominated the skyline beyond; the better part of what had once been a city. Esteban’s voice replayed in her memory from their walk in the previous day. Historically, St. Louis spread over both sides of the river, but all semblance of civilization had shifted east after the war. None of the crazy shit that lived in the Badlands crossed the water. No one seemed to know why, though he had made it sound like a campfire ghost story.
All the carnage on the bridge made it seem more real.
A woman yelled from her left. “Hey, where you going?”
Kate snapped out of a daydream of Esteban’s sparkling eyes and glanced at a dark-skinned woman in green camo. “West.”
“It ain’t safe out there,” said an older man with greying hair. “‘Specially for a lady.”
“He’s right.” The woman waved her rifle at the bridge. “We’re close to Fourth Reich territory. Unless you fancy winding up as some genetic throwback’s sex toy, you should stick around here where it’s safe. Only an idiot walks into the Badlands without weapons, armor, and provisions.”
“Never heard of them,” said Kate, not slowing down. “And I’m not unarmed.”
“Bunch of jackasses,” added a dark-skinned man. Nicohaler vapor slid between his teeth, as if a visible manifestation of the contempt in his words. “They’re an inbred pack of idiots. Anyone who ain’t white, they kill. Girl like you they’d do nasty things with.” He gestured at the female soldier. “Her, they’d just shoot.”
The woman snarled. “They wouldn’t live long enough.”
“Over skin color?” Kate stopped. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”
“They’re still living in a prewar mindset,” said the female soldier. “I hear people were like that four centuries ago.”
The grey-haired man walked up; her gaze lingered on the name Alvarez stitched in black block letters on his left breast. “They’re a small, isolated group that keeps to themselves. Corporal Anders is right about the inbreeding. Most are dumber than a bonedog. They don’t come too close to the bridge since Rawlins and Morris use them for sniper practice.”
“I’ll keep an eye out for them.” Kate went to move around him.
“It’s not safe,” said Alvarez, reaching for her.
He grabbed her bicep, jerking his arm back with a yowl an instant later. The woman aimed her weapon at Kate; Anders raised an eyebrow. Alvarez gawked at his palm, smoking and blistered. Kate ignored him, narrowing her eyes at the woman.
“On a list of the ten most stupid things you can do, Vickers, shooting me is around fourth.”
“W-what the hell?” wheezed the sergeant.
Private Vickers adjusted her grip. “Don’t move.”
“Sweet monkey Christ.” Alvarez waved his hand. “Stand down, Vickers. I grabbed her.”
Vickers lowered the rifle, edging backward. Her eyes seemed ready to pop from her skull. Anders took a long pull from his Nicohaler.
Kate looked down as she brushed ash from her arm. “I can’t turn that off.”
Alvarez took a small, red cylinder from a belt pouch and stuck himself in the arm. For a moment, his hand resembled boiling creamed coffee as millions of nanobots repaired his flesh. “Care to explain how you did that?” He flexed his fingers and reache
d near her again, hand hovering a few inches away. “‘Cause I ain’t got an explanation.”
Vickers got close enough to feel the radiant heat, and mumbled something about God.
“I should start charging admission to the psionic freak show.” Kate glanced from her feet to the bridge. “Like I said, I’m not unarmed. I’m going west and I don’t much care if I make it either.” She looked over her shoulder at the town. Esteban… I can’t go on like this. “Tell Esteban I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“Even if you are a psionic…” Alvarez moved out of her way. “I don’t want a preventable death on my conscience. You should reconsider.”
Kate climbed over a row of sandbags, leaving burned handprints. “Don’t lose sleep over me. If I die, it wasn’t preventable.”
The St. Louis Guard remained quiet as she walked out onto the bridge, following the centerline as much as the barricades and crashed cars would allow, unable to see over either side. Kate kept her gaze down, stepping around broken glass, holes full of jagged rebar, and sharp fragments. Every unnoticed painful object she stepped on added fuel to the fire in her heart.
Slumped over a burned truck, a huge skeleton with a canine head, long fangs, and rusting primitive cyberware all throughout made her pause. Three metal blades on each forearm extended from tubes grafted to the arm bones. Based on their size, they would have given the creature twelve inches of usable weapon. The skull shifted, startling her. A jet-black centipede, as thick as a banana and twice as long, crawled out of the fatal bullet wound in its forehead and vanished into the wreck.
“Okay… that’s a big ass bug.” She stared at the spot while edging past, ready to incinerate the creature should it come after her.
Once she felt far enough away from it, she faced forward and walked as fast as the treacherous ground permitted. By the time she reached the shattered concertina wire barricade at the far end, she found herself pondering if she should’ve spared Darius.
So what if he was only a kid himself when they made me, he still represents LRI. I’m just one of the monsters they’ve made.
Daugher of Ash Page 16
