Slave Empire - Prophecy (3 page)

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 frame. 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 been 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.

When Rayne
woke, the sun's rays slanted through the dead trees. After eating
more food, she examined her raw, sooty palms, picking out a few
splinters. Although the wounds were not serious, the risk of
infection in this polluted environment was high, so she went to the
stream that chuckled through the rocks nearby. Stripping, she
washed in the cold water, scrubbing her jeans. She emerged
shivering, to wrap herself in the blankets she dug from under the
rock where the food was stored, then lighted a fire.

The wounds in
the back of her calves were easy enough to tend, and she removed
several more splinters, but she could only examine the ones in the
back of her thighs by touch. When she finished, twilight filled the
grove with shadow, and she curled up next to the fire for another
lonely night. At least she was safer in the country.