Prophecy se-1

by T C Southwell

  Rawn gathered up the stolen food, his mind made up. Stuffing what he could easily carry into his pockets, he stashed the rest under a rock and stamped out the fire, then headed for the city. If she had been caught, she might be at the market. The only way to get into the market unobserved was in a guard's disguise, and for that he needed a uniform. He knew where the market was usually held, and made his way to it. Without a gun, travelling through the city at night would have been suicide, but the sight of it on his hip would deter most would-be attackers. He traversed the ruins with confidence only an armed raider would display, and, although he sensed the scuttling of vagrant gangs nearby, none had the courage to take him on.

  When he reached the market, he crouched behind a ruined wall and watched the guards, waiting for the right opportunity. Soon a man wandered off to relieve himself, and Rawn crept along the wall until he was close enough to pounce on the guard, clamping a hand over his mouth. Dragging him into the shadow of the wall, he knocked him out and stripped off his clothes. Stashing his leather jacket, he donned the uniform before walking out into the street.

  The uniform was too tight across his shoulders, but he hoped no one would notice in the dark. None of the guards gave him a second glance as he walked past them into the market and took up position just inside the door, where he could see the merchandise.

  The building had once been a grand theatre, but now the heavy velvet curtains around the stage hung in rotten, filthy tatters. The wooden stage and panelling crumbled, eaten away by pollution, adding its stench to the general air of dilapidation.

  A few autocrats and mistresses sat in a bored-looking cluster on several rows of refurbished chairs, laughing and pointing at the dozen or so slaves on the stage where once great actors had given their oratory. The autocrats sipped exotic beverages and discussed the miserable group assembled on the stage. The naked slaves tried to cling to what little dignity they had left by covering themselves with their hands. Most were thin, woebegone creatures who hid their faces and hunched their shoulders in cringing servility. A few lifted their chins, their feral eyes bright with hate. These, Rawn decided, were captured raiders; tough, stringy men and women of about his age, who possessed an air of savagery and strength.

  Rawn seethed with silent rage at the humiliation visited upon his fellow man. Now that man had wiped out all the animals, save for insects and rats, he had no one to inflict his cruelty on but his fellows. Rawn studied the pathetic group, making certain his sister was not amongst them before he quit the market. He had no idea what he would have done had she been, since his planning went no further than the disguise.

  Even as he pondered his next move, the autocrats rose to leave, many exiting via sky ways to other buildings, some going by hover car. The market emptied, and Rawn wandered out too, depressed and angry. Had she been there, he could have planned her rescue, but now he would have to find her first, which meant searching the city.

  He walked into the darkness, pulling off the uniform.

  Morning found Rayne stiff and tired after a cold, restless night that the scuttling and squeaking of rats had disturbed. She rose and stretched, eased her aching back and rubbed some feeling back into her legs. She shivered in the morning chill, chafing her arms as she went to the door to peer out. The street was almost deserted, only the vagrants from yesterday were back at their fire, haggling over another rat. After waiting several minutes to see if anyone else appeared, she left the doorway and trotted down the refuse-strewn street, her eyes darting into dark alleys, on the lookout for danger.

  The vagrants paused to regard her with glinting eyes, and she tried to act as confident as an armed raider. Her ploy seemed to work, for they returned to fighting over the rat as she loped away. She stayed away from buildings, which often harboured vagrants and raiders who waited to ambush unsuspecting passers-by. Heading towards the suburbs, she kept her pace to a steady jog that ate up the miles. As she approached the outskirts, the ruins of office blocks gave way to demolished houses. Far fewer human vermin hid here. Most congregated around the city centre, where rats were more numerous, since the rats lived on the food in the autocrats' stores. She stayed in the middle of a road, trusting her ability to run more than the possibility of hiding from a threat, which could get her cornered. She looked up in alarm as a shadow fell on her, then stopped in amazement.

  A giant, blood-red saucer hovered about twenty metres above her, light shining from portals along its edge. More lights flickered across its belly in random patterns, and it hung there as if on invisible strings. The hairs on the back of her neck rose, sending chills down her spine. For a moment surprise kept her frozen, then she edged towards the side of the road, where the houses' safety beckoned. The alien ship filled her with foreboding, and something told her it was not friendly. Vagrants emerged to point and stare, but Rayne backed closer to the derelict buildings, her eyes fixed on the ship.

  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 fr
ame. 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.

  Chapter Two

  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.

  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 bee
n 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.