Cry For Tomorrow

by Dianna Hunter

  “We’re leaving, Momma. If you had any sense left in your crazy head, you’d get outa here, too.” I watched my mother with sad, hopeless eyes. I’d forcibly taken her away from Eric once before and she’d just run back to him the minute we took our eyes off her.

  “You heard your momma, you two ain’t goin’ nowhere,” growled Eric as he dared to move toward us.

  I’d seen that mean, nasty look on Eric’s face before and had no intention of sticking around for the beating he planned to give us. Moving behind my sister, I nudged her into the hall doorway, but week-kneed with fear, Kelly staggered and grabbed hold of the door-frame to keep from collapsing.

  Eric made the mistaken assumption that I was as afraid of him as my little sister was and lunged for me. Grabbing my arm, he jerked me to him.

  I put the full force of my hatred into the words I forced out between my clenched teeth. “Let go of me!” I didn’t mean to do it, but the anger raging through my brain was just too much. I didn’t realize until it was too late that I’d released a sharp charge of electrical energy into his hand.

  * * * *

  “Aww! You little bitch! Come back here!” Eric swore as the two girls disappeared through the doorway.

  Staggering across the room with his injured hand clasped to his chest, Eric jerked Carolynn to her feet. “When did your little bitch learn to tele-shock, Carrie? Damn, do you know how much the Company is paying for a telekinetic kid like that?” Swearing angrily, Eric threw the hysterically laughing woman back on the couch and began rummaging through the heaps of clothing scattered across the room. “Where’s my god-dammed pants! Why don’t you get off your lazy ass and clean this pig-pen out sometime, you stupid whore!”

  * * * *

  I took my sister to my friends, Jack and Rosa Morris. I knew they’d love Kelly and protect her as if she were their own. The Morrises had wanted children of their own so very much, but after that one attempt and the birth of the poor, deformed creature they’d produced, they’d both been sterilized. There were very few of the survivors of the plagues that followed the disaster who were able to produce normal, healthy children.

  I could only shake my head at the sad irony of it. What a joke of fate that a woman like my mother had been able to bear two beautiful little girls and never cared, and a couple so full of love and nurturing were left childless.

  I’d met Jack and Rosa on one of my scavenging trips into the center of the old city. They’d scared me half to death, Jack with his bushy red beard and wild hair and Rosa looking like a gypsy with her mass of jet-black hair and her colorful skirts and beads. But the kindness in those dark brown eyes and the gentleness of Jack’s voice soon convinced me that these people would never hurt me.

  I’d stayed with them so many times when things were bad at home. It was Rosa and Jack who’d introduced me to the underworld of psis and dwellers living in the old city and the other young people like myself. I’d tried to convince Kelly to come with me when I left home, but my little sister had been determined to stick by Momma—until now.

  The Morris’s were so pleased to take Kelly in to stay with them and the assortment of orphans and displaced kids already living in the big house on the edge of the old city park. They did try to convince me to stay, at least until morning, but I wanted to get back to my friends and the apartment we shared. Besides, it would put all of them at risk if I stayed there, now that Eric knew my secret.

  Now that he knew about my telekinetic powers I had no doubt that Eric would do whatever he could to get his hands on me. The rumors circulating were that both the Company and the Agency were paying out a lot of credits for functional psis like I was. There would be no one to turn to for help if I was taken by the agents. What there was of the existing ‘Vanta City police department was small and under-staffed and on the Company’s payroll to boot. I was well aware that if I wanted to remain free and independent, I had to make sure to keep a low profile and stay out of sight.

  A piece of paper slapped into my side, making me jump and look around for a sound I thought I’d heard. Cursing myself for letting my mind wander, I leaned back against the wall, shivering while I listened. Maybe it’s just another small animal skittering around—or maybe it’s something more dangerous. If I was going to use the short-cut to reach my street, then I had to enter this alleyway. Taking the long way around this late in the day was out of the question.

  When I’d stopped shaking, I took a deep breath and leaned forward, looking for something to focus on. Yes! That’ll do. Squeezing my eyes shut, I concentrated and pushed my mind against the rusty trash can standing at the corner of the alley.

  The resulting crash of broken glass and empty cans hitting the pavement was surely enough to attract anything that might be lurking in the shadows for at least a block.

  I waited, ready to duck back into cover for what seemed an eternity before daring to slide quietly along the side of the building. When I was able to see into the alleyway, I stopped and studied the array of shadows flickering against the walls and over the collage of abandoned vehicles, furniture and rusted trash bins, and froze when a flicker of movement caught my eye.

  My heart started beating again a moment later when a pair of the monkeys that seemed to be reproducing like wild rabbits appeared. Scampering along the pavement, they were keeping just enough distance between them and a large, transparent phantom that was humping along behind them to avoid the long, toothy alligator jaws snapping at their tails.

  Fascinated with this strange version of phantom, I watched as it scooted the forepart of its body along the ground on a pair of short, hob-nailed legs. When the long body was stretched thin, the rear legs would chunk along from behind until the body was humped and the rear toes were touching the heels of the front. In spite of this strange mode of travel, the ghoulie was rapidly gaining on the monkeys until they skittered up a cluster of vines dangling from a low window and disappeared.

  With its prey escaped beyond reach, the phantom turned around and disappeared in the direction it had come from.

  That’s something new, I thought with a shake of my head before ducking into the alley and resuming my trek. It seemed like lately there were more varieties than ever of our persistent interlopers appearing.

  The wind had finally died down to a soft whisper by the time I reached the end of the alley and the intersection of the street I’d been seeking, but it was still blowing loud enough that I did not hear the soft hiss of the engines until I stuck my head around the corner.

  Bikers! I was shaking when I hit the pavement behind a nearby metal trash bin and I had to wait for my breathing to slow before daring to peek around the side. I had to know how many there were and which way they were headed.

  There were only three of them, but as far as I was concerned, that was three too many. Paused in the middle of the street, they each cast their eyes about, searching the street and shadows nervously. They repeatedly revved the engines of the big hover-cycles, like someone whistling in the dark to scare aware the boogey-man. Of course, the repeated bursts of compressed air and the vibration of the big engines had exactly the opposite effect, for it was attracting the phantoms.

  Out of the gutters and through the holes and cracks surrounding the man-covers, the ghostly entities rose. Snaking around the bikes and across the wind-shafts, they caressed the hot engines, oblivious to the fidgeting human life-forms.

  The sharp hiss and rumble of an engine erupted from the junction of this street and another two buildings away, warning of the approach of a fourth bike only moments before the slick, black machine appeared.

  “It’s ‘bout time you got here,” complained one as the new arrival drove his big black hover-cycle between them and came to a stop. “What took ya’ so long, man?”

  “Hey, I got here as fast as I could,” the new arrival growled back. With a flick of his wrist, the biker caused legs to sprout at each end of the cycle and dropped his feet to the ground to keep the big machine balanced. “I r
un into a gang of them freaks two blocks back and had to come around the long way.”

  “Damn! I know they’re pretty much harmless, but if we don’t watch it, those crazy-heads will be taking over the whole neighborhood pretty soon,” a woman’s harsh voice grated over the sound of the engines.

  “Yeah, I know the poor bastards don’t usually look for trouble, but I still don’t wanna meet up with a bunch of them when we’re outnumbered like this,” agreed the first. “Let’s get goin.’ I wanna catch up to Hogan—he says’ he’s got a gig for us tonight.”

  The engines rumbled and jets of air hissed from the shafts as the balance-legs retracted. The hovering phantoms swooped away from the frightening bursts of air as the bikers soared past my hiding place and down the street in a cloud of dust.

  Keeping to the sides of the buildings, I did my best to stay in the shadows as I hurried to reach the end of the alley. I was about to make a dash across a small park when I became aware of a soft rustle and click of claws on the pavement behind me.

  Freezing in my tracks, I slowly bent my knees until I could reach a short piece of wood lying at my feet. With one shoulder braced against the building wall for balance, I slowly turned my head to search the shadows behind me.

  There! A flash of color blinked into sight and disappeared into the pile of trash and broken cardboard boxes at the opposite side of the alley. Keeping my eyes locked on the spot and the piece of wood firmly gripped in my hands, I forced my stiff knees to carry me closer to the pile until a large piece of cardboard lying against the wall began quivering as if it were alive.

  My heart was firmly lodged in my throat and I’d forgotten to breathe while I waited for whatever was hiding there to make the first move. When nothing happened, I finally forced my numb feet to take me closer. With the piece of wood still clutched in one hand, I used my foot to push the piece of water-warped cardboard aside.

  A soft, frightened whine made me lower my stick as a large, peach-and-cream colored dog raised her head. Terrified, the dog crouched there, staring at me with one blue, one golden eye. Clearly, she was no danger.

  “Oh, you poor thing,” I whispered as I dropped to a crouch and slowly offered my hand. Since the time of the Chemical Wars, dogs and cats were a rarity and highly prized, and very seldom was one found wandering alone in the streets.

  After a moment the dog tentatively licked my hand, and her eyes brightened hopefully when I moved closer. In spite of the dog’s emaciated appearance, her coat still retained a healthy sheen, which told me that she had not been on her own for long.

  “That’s a good girl,” I whispered softly as I reached a hand to her silken head. The dog sidled up to me and leaned against my leg, the long hair skirting her legs and tailless backside swayed happily.

  I gently rubbed my hand across the dog’s head and around her neck, where I encountered a frayed collar. “Dusty,” I read from the collar. “Well, hello, Dusty,” I said when the dog responded to the familiar sound of her name by happily panting and wagging her backside. “Now how did a nice dog like you get lost in a terrible place like this?” Distracted by the dog, I was not aware of the new sounds approaching from the direction of the buildings adjoining the park until the dog stiffened, growling softly at something over her shoulder.

  Without so much as turning my head, I wrapped my arms around the dog, rolled into the cover of a stack of moldering furniture leaning against the nearest wall, and waited.

  “Sshh, Dusty,” I whispered as I put one hand over the dog’s muzzle to keep it quiet. “We don’t want them to know we’re here.” As if she understood the danger, the dog lay quiet at my side, her sharp eyes watching.

  We didn’t have long to wait before the intruders appeared, flowing out of the shadows like living ghosts until a dozen or more of the people the bikers had referred to as freaks were wandering about in the small patch of green. I was aware of them, of course. They roamed the ruins of the inner city just like the dwellers I associated with. Like most, I did my best to avoid making any direct contact with these poor, mind-warped people so lost in their own internal world of pain and misery.

  After the disaster, there had been changes in the children born to those of the survivors who had received the higher doses of radiation or chemical contact. Sometimes the mutations were obvious, like extra fingers and toes or a third eye, but more insidious were the changes within their minds. Many appeared normal until they reached puberty. That was when the affected child would begin to see things that weren’t there or hear voices and, unlike the schizophrenics known before the world had changed, these mind-damaged souls were often telekinetic as well, sometimes able to cause things to burst into flames or even fly through the air at the slightest provocation.

  Unsure what to expect from this collection of lost souls and nervous about the large number of them, I flicked open the face of the modified watch I was wearing on my left wrist and fingered the panic button for a moment as I considered whether I was in any real danger.

  In what was left of the dim sunset light, I continued to watch, fascinated as more of the freaks emerged from the shadows, their graceful movements almost a dance. As if to defy the darkness of their lives, each man, woman and child was dressed in brightly colored garments that flowed softly about their bodies. It wasn’t long before it became obvious that there must be some purpose to this gathering, for they each carried an offering of wood for the bonfire that had suddenly leaped to life in the center of the park.

  Off to my right, there was a stirring in the darkness of the abandoned storefront and a larger group slid from the shadows, this time carrying an assortment of musical instruments and ushering a gaggle of bobbing children before them. Leaving the children to fend for themselves, the musicians gathered together in the shadow of the tall buildings, and as the sun set behind the dark silhouettes of the buildings around them, the notes of music began to rise.

  The panic button completely forgotten, I listened, mesmerized, as what was just a confused medley of noise began to blend, becoming a melody that was at once so alien and yet so very familiar. No longer frightened, I pulled the dog to me and leaned back, listening and watching—always watching.

  As the melody took form and became music worthy of dancers, those who did not hold an instrument began to move together, pairing off, man and woman, or beautifully slender man or woman to another of his or her kind. Each moving as if lovers in the dusky light, they began to dance ‘round the bonfire, spinning and twirling, touching and twining. Even the children held hands or danced alone, each as graceful as their elders.

  Drawn by the strains of music, the inevitable phantoms arrived, flowing from the cracks between the boarded windows of the surrounding buildings or rising from the ground itself they slithered and glided between the dancers. As the music grew, weaving its spell and entrancing all, the dancers began to spin away from the fire, until only one trio remained, a man and woman wearing garments of some soft, flowing fabric that glowed in shades of deepest electric blue and a phantom of extreme grace and beauty with long sweeping fins and antennae, flashing in iridescent shades of pink and blue.

  Swaying and spinning, they undulated against each other, spiraling away, each move so graceful it was as if they floated upon the wind. And, as if called from its slumber, the wind now rose, ruffling through the embers of the bonfire, carrying brightly colored sparks high upon its currents. Gently it caressed the dancers, drawing their soft garments against their bodies, exposing each line and curve. Their every move was matched by the tumbling currents of the wind ‘til their feet no longer touched the ground and they danced upon the air alone. Spinning gracefully, the dancers flowed, one against the other, until humans and solitary phantom became one entity, swaying in the embrace of the wind.

  I thought surely that my heart would break when the music finally reached its crescendo and the gentle fingers of sound faded, slowly releasing the dancers until they lay upon the ground, clasped in each other’s arms as if th
ey were lovers asleep.

  There were soft murmurs of appreciation as the dancers rose and were surrounded by the others.

  Chapter Two

  “Pretty good stuff, don’t ya’ think?”

  The dog lunged, teeth snapping, even as I scrambled backwards to evade the intruder leaning toward us.

  “Hey! Watch that beast, it nearly bit my nose off!” grumbled the scruffy young man as he ducked out of reach of the dog and the swing of the piece of wood clasped in my hands.

  “Jake! Damn you, you scared me half to death,” I complained as I wrapped my hand in the dog’s collar and pulled her back. “It’s okay Dusty, he’s a friend—sort of.”

  “Neat dog. Where’d you find it?” Jake whispered as he settled on the ground beside me. “First time you’ve seen the wind dancers? Pretty cool, huh?” he continued in his usual exuberant way. “By the way, whatever are you doing out in the streets so late?”

  I just shook my head in amazement at my roommate’s chatter. Jake was a great guy, but he tended to be a little hard to take sometimes. “Family business,” I told him with a frown. “I had to rescue my little sister from Dear ole Mom.”

  “Anything you want to talk about?” Jake queried in concern. He’d had to run from his own family years ago when his alcoholic father had tried to trade a telekinetic son for enough booze to keep him happily drunk until he died of sclerosis of the liver.

  “Not right now. Kelly’s safe, and that’s all that matters.”

  Jake nodded in understanding and we both returned our attention to the people still milling about in the park. The freaks were not especially dangerous; in fact you rarely even saw them during the day, for they lived in fear of the agents just as I and any of the other free-living psis did, maybe more. If the agents managed to lay hands on one of these poor, tortured souls, they were never seen or heard from again.