by E S Richards
“We’re gunna have some fun now you little shit,” he spat into her face, and all Zahyra could do was close her eyes and pray. Suddenly a flash of searing pain glanced across her face and she was thrown backwards onto the ground. Her hands instinctively went to her face where T had hit her, her cheek already tender and bruised. In half a second the Gen 3 was standing over her again and dealt a swift kick to her ribcage, causing her to double over in pain on the ground.
“You’re. Gunna. Be. Sorry. You. Ever. Met. Me.” T snarled, punctuating each word with another kick to her ribs. Zahyra was certain something was broken now, and could hardly move because of the pain. Then out of nowhere, she heard the sound of another vehicle and started to weep at the thought of her torture getting worse.
The sounds did at least still T for a second, as he looked around to see what was approaching. In this split second Zahyra breathed as deeply as she could, trying with all her might to regain her breath and opened one of her eyes. In the distance there was a motorcycle zooming towards her, with what looked like just a single mutant riding it. Immediately she thought of Xav, who must have come back to see how T was doing and to help him finish the job.
She looked up at T, who was panting above her trying to catch his breath from the foul kicks he’d been dealing her. He had at least paused now as he waited for the motorcycle to get closer, further confirming to Zahyra that it was Xav and T was waiting to see if there were any instructions for him before he would finish her off. Zahyra continued to cry silently, she had failed in her quest to save Asher and in their mission to get to the safe haven. She still had no idea where her little brother was and she was most likely moments away from death. She didn’t even know if Asher was alive or not and this thought burned through her with more pain than even the fake branding her mother had given to her. She had truly failed everyone.
Through her crying she heard the motorcycle draw to a stop beside them, and then a loud bang rang out deafening her. Two strong hands grabbed her from behind and while she attempted to twist round to see the face of whoever had hold of her, her ribs hurt too much to allow for such movement. She was pulled to her feet and then pushed forward towards the motorbike; still she couldn’t see the face of the assailant behind her. Zahyra was then forced onto the seat and the mutant who had driven the motorbike over to them let go of her and sat in front. She tried to speak but couldn’t form the words in her mouth so just clung onto her saviour in front of her for dear life as they revved the engine, put the bike into gear and sped away from the scene.
As they drove away, the bike curved slowly around a corner and Zahyra tilted her head back to look behind them. On the ground she saw T lying lifelessly in a puddle of blood. Zahyra gasped. Who was this mystery rider she was now strapped onto the bike with? Why had they murdered T? Where were they going? And what were they going to do to her?
Chapter 6
Zahyra drifted in and out of consciousness as she clung to the mysterious person she assumed was a man in front of her on the motorcycle. The pain in her head, shoulder and ribs was all getting too much for her, combined with the dehydration she was suffering from and the heatstroke she was almost certain she’d developed that morning she was not in a good way. Sweat clung to her brow as they sped through the vast deserts that surrounded them, all the while her eyes drooping after a few seconds and not allowing more than a minute of consciousness at a time.
In her fleeting moments of clarity as they rode, Zahyra tried to analyse the man as best she could from behind. He wore a thick black leather jacket that stuck to her hands as she held onto it, making them feel clammy and horrible. She wondered how he was managing in the heat with the jacket on, as the midday dusk was now slowly beginning to roll over into the hours of afternoon sun. Naturally the jacket had sleeves, which meant she couldn’t tell what ranked mutant he was and therefore if she needed to be afraid of him or not. Although she hoped since he had saved her and killed the Gen 3 mutant with what she assumed must have been a gunshot, rather than his mutant powers, that he was a low ranked mutant like herself. He could even be – she dared to dream – a Zero just like her.
As Zahyra fantasised about her rescuer (or capturer, she reminded herself) being a fellow Zero she took in the rest of his attire. There wasn’t much to see unfortunately: he accompanied the jacket with black cargo pants similar to hers and black boots to match. On his head be wore a motorcycle helmet, so Zahyra couldn’t even see what colour his hair was, she imagined it was dark however, to match the rest of his outfit. For some reason with her arms around him she felt safe. Through his jacket she could tell that he was strong and clearly he was brave too as he killed a Gen 3 mutant to save her life earlier. The big question Zahyra still couldn’t understand was why he had done that. What made her life more valuable than the mutant’s and why did this stranger deem it his responsibility to save her.
Feeling herself getting drowsy again Zahyra’s eyes started to close once more. The sun was now beginning its decent and therefore midday dusk was drawing to an end and the full strength of the sun was upon her. Still just wearing a t-shirt, with her sweater and jacket tied around her as the two mutants had made her do earlier, the rays of the sun found direct contact with her skin and she could feel it like a hot fire. Willing for the feeling of the heat to go away she closed her eyes, allowing her body to lose consciousness once more to save her from all the pain she was feeling.
This time when she came to the motorbike was slowing to a halt, the engine feeling softer beneath where she sat. Opening her eyes she was forced to squint, the sun still beating down from above – by it’s height in the sky Zahyra reckoned there was only another hour of daylight however, so thought that whatever the reason was for them stopping, it was a good enough time to do so. Then she noticed a small hut in front of them, which the motorbike gently came to a stop next to. A million thoughts ran through her head about what could be in that hut, about whether it would be safe or not and her body tensed against the man in front of her.
As if feeling her muscles contract against him, the man slowly leant over to one side, dragging his left leg over the motorbike behind him so he was standing beside it. This was it, Zahyra thought, she was finally going to find out who this man was. A little wave of fear trickled through her, but she realised she was more excited to find out who he was. After all, he had saved her. She watched closely as he took off his helmet and placed it on the handlebars in front of her, then his gaze lingered on the helmet before looking up and meeting hers.
His hair was dark as Zahyra had imagined, but was shaven very close to his head so just a thin, fuzzy layer of it remained standing upright. He had a beard too, which matched the style, close shaven to his face but still creating a dark shadow over his face and down to his neck. What stood out most about him however were his piercing blue eyes, as blue as the pictures of the oceans Zahyra had seen painted in books. He stared at her with his blue eyes for a moment, as if mentally taking everything in about her then opened his mouth to speak. Zahyra paused, uncertain what he could say.
“I’m Cain,” he muttered in a monotone voice. And with that he turned and walked away into the hut behind him, leaving Zahyra sitting stunned on the back of his bike, still completely in the dark about the mysterious man who had rescued her.
“What the…” Zahyra mumbled to herself. She was entirely taken aback by the man who had rescued her, apparently named Cain. A million thoughts ran through her head as she tried to decide what to do next. She still didn’t know if he was dangerous, or what was waiting inside that hut. The biggest question of all to her was what kind of ranked mutant he was, as knowing that would ultimately allow her to figure out if he could be trusted or not. Caught off guard by a yawn Zahyra admitted to herself that right now she didn’t really have a choice but to trust him. She was still badly injured, dehydrated and other than him, completely lost and alone.
Very gingerly she swung her left leg over the body of the motorcycle and pushed hersel
f up to a standing position using her left arm. Another wave of pain shot through her ribs and chest, causing Zahyra to lean back against the motorcycle. She slowly lifted up her shirt to find a magnitude of bruises all over her chest and stomach, she could even make out the clear boot imprint the mutant, T, had left behind.
Wincing as she pressed her hand against some of them she was almost certain her ribs would be broken. Add that to banging her head several times and the cut in her right arm being reopened she was in no fit state to go anywhere or do anything. Except, she knew, she would have to go inside. Before she moved she pulled her sweater back over her head and put the jacket on as well. The mutants earlier may have seen her Gen 1 mark, but she had no idea if Cain had seen it yet and decided to keep it hidden in the hope that he hadn’t. She would only show him hers if he showed her his.
Slowly she edged towards the door of the hut and pushed it open with her one good arm. The sight inside was far from what she’d been expecting. Cain sat on an animal skin rug on the floor in front of a fire, boiling a pot of something that smelled delightfully like home to Zahyra, reminding her of her mother’s rabbit stew. Towards the back of the hut there was a pile of blankets: clearly the sleeping area and to her right Zahyra noticed a couple of boxes of pots, pans and various other junk. It felt so homely and almost instantaneously Zahyra was transported back to the hut she had shared with Asher and her mother – this shared very similar aspects, although much smaller and crammed all into one room.
Realising she was standing in the doorway gaping and probably appeared quite rude, Zahyra took a step towards Cain.
“I wanted to thank you,” she started, deciding for the time being she wasn’t in any danger and she owed this man for saving her life.
“Sit. Drink.” He interrupted, handing her a mug of water and gesturing to the floor next to the fire. Zahyra accepted the glass graciously and gulped it all down before sitting across from Cain in front of the fire. He instantly took her mug and refilled it from a basin next to him before handing it back to her.
“What you did back there,” Zahyra started again, “I can’t thank you enough. I was certain I was…” she trailed off, uncertain whether she could say out loud that she thought she was going to die just a few moments ago.
Cain looked at her and nodded in response. “You hurt?” He asked, pointing to her arm where the blood was still flowing so fast it was beginning to seep through both her sweater and stolen jacket.
“Oh, yeah,” Zahyra nodded, “I don’t suppose you have any bandages do you? I’ve been pretty badly bruised as well.”
Cain rose to his feet causing Zahyra to edge backwards a little, surprised by his sudden movement. As she did so she glanced up at him and could’ve sworn she saw a look of remorse in his eyes, but then he turned away and Zahyra was left unknowing. Cain wandered over to the assortment of boxes on the other side of the room and rummaged around in them for a minute before pulling out a pair of grey t-shirts. They looked to be too small for him, which was obviously why they remained unworn, but would be perfect for tearing into bandages for Zahyra’s injuries.
Holding the t-shirts he walked back over to the fireplace and seated himself back next to the basin. He handed one of the t-shirts to Zahyra and kept one for himself, which he then started tearing into strips and laying on the floor between them. Zahyra opened her mouth to thank him but then caught his eye and simply smiled instead, before looking down at the t-shirt in her lap and starting to tear it in a similar fashion.
Once there was enough fabric between them for Zahyra to wrap around her ribs and her shoulder she picked them up and then looked around the room cautiously. As it was just one big area, there was nowhere private she could take her shirt off to reapply the bandages.
“Um, I’m just gunna,” Zahyra trailed off, indicating towards the door so she could step outside and have a little privacy.
“No. Stay.” Cain responded in his same monotone voice, then swiftly rose to his feet and walked outside of the hut himself.
Zahyra was bewildered by this man’s actions. He spoke very few words but seemed to have a gentle heart. Perhaps he had been badly hurt in the past, which was why he lived in such seclusion. But then there was that nagging feeling at the back of her mind wondering how he had come to find her in the desert and why he lived so close by to such an aggressive bunch of mutants.
All this ran through Zahyra’s mind as she quickly stripped off her clothing and robotically changed the bandage on her shoulder. Strapping up her ribs took a little more effort as she struggled to hold one end of the bandage in place whilst wrapping the other around herself. However after several failed attempts she succeeded and carefully re-dressed herself as to not tug at any of the fabrics.
Now she was strapped up and dressed Zahyra knew she should go outside and invite Cain back into his hut, but she couldn’t resist having a look around. This man was so strange. From the men she’d known previously, all the lower ranked mutants in her camp had been so friendly, always open to conversation and willing to share their stories. Then from her experience with more evolved mutants over the last day, they all seemed so outwardly aggressive and violent. Zahyra was certain Cain was low ranked, a Gen 2 at most.
Stepping around his hut Zahyra noticed it was very minimal, with nothing but the bare essentials on show. She stepped over to the boxes where Cain had retrieved the t-shirts from and in amongst the pots, pans and other pieces of fabric Zahyra noticed old photographs and letters alongside peculiar little metal trinkets she had never seen before. She was about to reach in and grab one of them when she heard a cough from outside. Swivelling round as fast as she could Zahyra was relieved to notice Cain had not come back inside whilst she was sneaking around and was still waiting for her to give him the all clear.
“Just a minute!” She called out walking back over to the fireplace and picking up the remaining scraps of fabric. She placed them on top of a raised wooden bench nearby and then walked out of the hut to see Cain again outside.
“Thanks,” she said as she went back outside, the last minutes of daylight creating a warm glow over the desert, allowing Zahyra to see it in a different light to how she had done so far. In this hew it looked almost beautiful, with the sun setting against the sand and the mountain. “I feel much better now.”
Cain nodded and started to walk back inside his hut, ushering for Zahyra to turn around and walk back in front of him. He really was a man of very few words. Once inside Cain made his way back over to the fireplace and resumed his seat from before; Zahyra followed.
She tried on several occasions over the next few hours to start up a conversation with Cain but every time she was rebutted with just a few words. As the evening drew on her opinion of Cain began to drop. Yes he had saved her but since then he had not spoken more than five words in a row to her. He could clearly speak, and had the manners to be polite to her, so what was his problem.
They ate a silent meal of rabbit soup together, which had been what Zahyra suspected was cooking away in the pot above the fire. Then when she started to get tired again as night progressed Zahyra lay down on the floor in front of the fire and closed her eyes, muttering a word of goodnight to Cain who remained sat across from her. For someone who didn’t say much he sure did a lot of staring – every time Zahyra looked up at him she found his eyes trained on her, analysing every inch of her body and face.
As she lay in front of the fire on the ground Zahyra couldn’t help but feel as though she was still being watched so snapped her eyes open. Sure enough Cain was sat across from her, but as she went to open her mouth to speak to him he jumped in first.
“Bed.” He said firmly and then pointed to the pile of blankets that were curled up into a makeshift bed in the corner of the hut. Zahyra’s eyes widened as she thought he was suggesting she get into bed with him. Cain must have quickly realised what she was thinking and waved his hands in front of his face in response.
“No. No. You bed. Me stay here.”
Zahyra then realised she was being offered the bed, to which she tried to politely decline. But as Cain insisted and she had little strength left to compete with him she merely thanked him once more and made her way over to the blankets in the corner. Once she reached them she was thrilled to feel a soft animal skin rug against her back, a luxury after sleeping in the sand and on a mountain ledge the nights before. Wrapping herself up in the folds she quickly found a comfortable position and drifted off into her first relaxing and voluntary nights sleep since she’d left her camp days ago.
Chapter 7
The next morning Zahyra woke with the sun on her face. In the distance she could hear the sound of wood being chopped and she could smell something cooking. She sighed peacefully and felt safe. As she took in the sounds and smells around her she was vividly reminded of home and thought fondly of her mother.
Through the night she had managed to wriggle out of her sweater somehow and was surprised to find it neatly folded on the floor beside her along with her jacket, which she’d taken off the night before. It took her a moment to remember what had happened to her and where she was, then when the memories returned to her she flinched, pulling the blankets around her closer to her chest.
Realising that it must have been Cain who had folded her sweater for her, she also realised he had probably seen her branding and now knew she was a Gen 1. Still unsure of what rank Cain was Zahyra felt uneasy at this information. Their relationship was now very one-sided; as she knew close to nothing about him whilst he had saved her from mutants, fed her and now discovered her ranking. Suddenly Zahyra didn’t feel as safe in the hut as she had done mere seconds ago.
Pulling on her sweater but leaving the jacket on the floor Zahyra started to make her way outside into the morning sun. Before she’d even pushed aside the rug that hung in the doorway she could feel the heat of the desert radiating up from the sand. Looking to her left she found her boots and slipped them on as quickly as she could, still fairly immobilised by her varying injuries. Although her head and shoulder did feel a lot better, the bruising on her ribs had got much worse overnight and her chest was now awash with dark purple, blue and green colours. None of the bruising was black at least, that was a good sign.
