Prophet of the Badlands (The Awakened Book 1) (18 page)

“Picked clean” was how Rachel had described the place they found a few miles down the road from the roach-infested one; there was nothing here to eat. Tiny tables and bench seats packed wall to wall in the long, thin building. Small plastic cacti with cartoon eyes smiled at her from all over the walls; some held food, like tacos, that she recognized. The pictures were similar to what they ate at Den’s village. She smiled, thinking of the first time she shared one with him and had spilled it all over herself.

Althea wanted to giggle and cry at the same time as she remembered the feeling of the hot food rolling down her chest into her lap, but she did neither. The women muttered at the end of the room, closer to the door. They had put her at the table Rachel considered the safest, nowhere near a window or a door where she could be stolen in the night. She sat up, shifting so she could peek over the bench. The dried out faux leather, warm against her belly, scratched as she rested her chin atop her folded arms on the seatback.

It was dark. She knew from the lack of color. Twenty or so feet away, Zhar sat cross-legged on the ground in her new grey-on-white camouflage pants and combat boots. Zhar deferred one of the camo shirts to Ramani, who seemed as uncomfortable at exposure as Rachel, and took it without caring about the blood. The garment fit the slender woman like a dress, covering her down to her knees.

Rachel had taken the full set, shirt, pants, and boots. She gave that man’s “skivvies,” as she called them, to Aya; a black tank top and boxer briefs, which they had to practically force onto her. The girl had felt she would be treated better if she “behaved,” and by that she meant staying nude. She was out of her element now, no longer anyone’s property, and desperately trying to attach herself to Zhar. The redhead was having none of it, wanting no dead weight, and insisting Aya learn to pull her share.

Covered in camo, authority wafted from Rachel, and she had collected all of the men’s possessions and sorted through them for what was useful. It was amusing listening to her complain about the horrible shape the rifles were in. One look at them and she had demanded to know what year it was, but none of them knew.

Althea sank out of sight before her glowing eyes attracted notice. She buried her face between her knees and hugged her legs. A cool breeze filtered in through the shards of a distant broken window, threading about her limbs and chasing away the torpid air of the room. She was supposed to be asleep, but all she could think about was how much she missed Den. Rachel had shown a side that frightened her as well. For a fleeting moment, it seemed Rachel valued life, but she was just like everyone else out here. Tears worked their way over her cheek and down her shins as she thought about Zhar’s words. Would people always own her? Was it okay to be bad to bad people?

Vakkar’s face hovered in the murk of her thoughts. She pondered how she had manipulated him to spare Rachel the pain of being wifed. Could she have done the same thing back in the seed room? If she had, she would still be with Den now. Crying harder, she felt as stupid and weak as Zhar said she was.

So that was what “pathetic” meant.

Sniffling back tears, she accepted if she had done it, these women would still be Vakkar’s property. Good had come of her losing Den. Was it pathetic to tolerate his loss for their benefit?

“I know where we are now. We can get there if we follow path forty to the setting sun and turn north on path eighty-four to twenty-five,” said Zhar. “Once we get the kid there, we’ll be set. No raider can get in.”

“She has a home.” Rachel interrupted in a whisper undoubtedly intended to let Althea sleep. “And a crush on a boy.”

Aya and Ramani made the kind of noises some women do at seeing something cute.

Zhar sounded unimpressed. “She’s not even twelve yet, blonde, and pretty. She’ll have a different one next week.”

Althea let go of her legs and dug her fingers into the cushion, fighting the urge to yell. Squinting with anger, she lay down and crawled to the edge of the seat to listen.

They prattled for a while about their first boyfriends, save Aya who bathed in awkward silence. Rachel’s tales of her life sounded far beyond anything Althea could envision. High school, dating, dances, something called a prom, none of which made any sense at all, and boredom threatened to carry her back to sleep.

“You will treat her like a person?” Ramani’s timid whisper broke a pause in their levity. “I do not think it right to make a slave of the Prophet after she has helped us escape being slaves.”

“No. She will be treated well. She is a child still, we must keep her safe in the mine.”

“Mine?” Rachel asked.

“Yes,” said Zhar. “My home is built in the depths of an old mine, we have a big metal wall in front of the tunnel. No raiders can get us. We will take the Prophet back and Finlay will eat his words.”

There was Zhar’s motive. Althea scowled. Once more, she was someone’s prize to trade for glory. Even if this place would treat her well, she would be hidden away underground while so many other people needed help.

“We should ask her,” Rachel said, scraping at the guts of the rifle. “For fuck’s sake, when was the last time this thing got cleaned? Sergeant Michaels would have PT’d the shit out of this guy.”

“A mother does not ask child’s opinion on bedtime.” Zhar gestured at the ceiling. “She is too young to make those decisions. I will do what is best for her.”

“You want a captive princess,” Ramani muttered. “Treat her like royal, but she cannot leave.”

Zhar’s whisper picked up a command tone. “So? It’s the same anywhere for her. Better captive and princess than captive and caged.”

“I… Yes.” Ramani gave up.

Rachel sounded hesitant. “What if she doesn’t want to go? It seems she has a home already.”

“What good does it do her to return to such a weak place? Raiders took her once. They will take her again. She follows us there. If she asks, we say we can help her find her little boyfriend, but she will soon feel she is home. When the Prophet is at Shy Ann, we will be powerful.”

“Shy Ann? Who the hell is that?” Rachel paused, a look of horror in her eyes. “Wait, do you mean Cheyenne? What does your mine look like?”

“It is a big hole in the mountain with a city inside.”

Althea could imagine Zhar holding her arms way out.

Rachel seemed despondent. “Fuck… Dammit.”

“What is wrong?” Aya broke her silence.

“Cheyenne Mountain used to be a military installation, but if it has become a survivor town…” Her voice trailed off, before finding renewed determination. “No, I don’t believe it. There’s gotta be something left of civilization. The whole world can’t be lost to this madness.”

Althea scooted back on the seat at the sound of a chair scraping the floor. She folded her hands under her cheek and pretended to be asleep as the scuffing of boots draw closer. She felt Zhar’s emotions nearby as well as a hand on her shoulder, groping about in the pitch dark to make sure she was still there. The hand departed after a gentle pat on the head.

“Sleep well, kiddo.” Zhar’s warm whisper fell across her face. “In a few days you’ll be safe.”

Quiet she remained. Dread of being taken again, even by these women, held sleep off with ease. Zhar had said people would own her until she stood up for herself; tonight she would take a stand and seek her own destiny. As the boots scuffed away, she opened her eyes and listened to everything.

When at last the sound of their conversations drifted off through the blur of approaching sleep and gave way to silence, she peered over the seat. Aya and Ramani lay against each other in a booth while Zhar draped herself over a pile of seat cushions gathered on the floor near the entrance. Rachel slept under a table against the wall, surrounded by an arc of empty glass bottles.

Althea slid off the seat and crept to the door, careful not to brush against anything that would make noise. She paused by Rachel, squatting to stare at the face of the woman she had almost come to trust. Crying happened, but it was silent. Had Rachel not gone along with killing those men, this would have been much harder to do. She swiveled to stare at the smug curl on Zhar’s lips. Her mind filled with the sight of the daytime sky swallowed by the impenetrable dark of a mountain tunnel, never to be seen again. The image of Zhar presenting her to a faceless chief in the mine-village consumed her thoughts before a cage door slammed in her face.

Night left the once-scalding stone path icy beneath her feet. Tattered bits of leather strand whipped about her legs as she ran along the strange surface. This road, as Rachel had called it, was unyielding to her step, but left no footprints anyone could follow. She was sure either Zhar or Rachel would come looking for her, one for greed and one for concern. Her pace slowed to a backwards walk and she glanced at the building. Streaks of violet moonlight gleamed in color where the silver trim remained intact, stark against the muted greys of her nighttime world. Arms folded across her chest, she stopped with her feet together, shivering in the breeze and having second thoughts about her destiny.

Rachel was the main reason she hesitated; she thought back to the splashing and the laughter, and felt guilty for leaving without saying goodbye. Now free, Althea had gone from caretaker to child, a feeling she had longed for. If she stayed, Zhar would take her just like the raiders had. With a sad nod, she looked down at her toes, lifting and dropping them in cascades as she weighed whether to run away or go back.

Her presence among the women had already caused a rift between Zhar and Rachel, and now she felt it widening over the issue of where to take her. Rachel was not happy about forcing her away from her home, but had come short of challenging Zhar. This world must have been like a nightmare for her, going to sleep in the before-time and waking up after everything had come to an end. Captivity was a tolerable thing as long as she could help people. She did not like the idea of hiding away under a mountain for the rest of her life while everyone out here suffered. Perhaps if she left, the two women could get along. She hoped Rachel would be happy.

Althea forced herself to look away from the building, mouthed a silent apology to her almost-friend, and walked once more up to a run.

istant canines howled over the wind. Head-sized scrub brush slid through the shifting gradient of dark. She dared not look back again in case someone spotted the glow. Eventually, her gait slowed as fatigue and lack of food combined to an overall discomfort. With the sound of the wind and her heartbeat in her head, the fear came. For the first time, she was alone in the world with no one controlling her. That also meant no one protected her. Her stride picked up confidence as she mused about a life of her own. Traveling the Badlands, she could help whoever needed it and keep the bad people in check with her other abilities.