Prophet of the Badlands (The Awakened Book 1) (68 page)

Karina fell asleep within a few minutes. Althea closed her eyes, making no effort to sleep or stay awake. The rhythmic, quiet breathing behind her made her feel tired, but still, she remained aware. After what felt like hours, the tromping sound of heavy boots echoed through the whole house. She sighed, expecting someone needing her help. She slipped out of bed, not disturbing Karina, and was on her feet and in her day dress when Father’s bellow came up the stairs.

“Althea?”

“Yes, Father, I am up.”

“We found a boy; he needs your help.”

Althea’s yawn stalled at the concept of a wounded child. She darted out into the hall, and flew down the stairs, halfway between falling and running. Father caught her at the bottom, hugging her for a moment before taking her hand and walking her outside. Blue saturated Querq at this hour, the city lit by a pale, full moon. Most of the townies were asleep, save for the defenders on the wall and a man from the city sent to teach them how to operate the strange electricity boxes. Guardsmen waved at her as they passed.

“There is no need to run, Thea. You have time.” He rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand. “If he spent another day out there, he might be beyond your help. You are truly a gift.”

Althea thought to correct him, thinking of Shepherd, but even she doubted she could do that again. A cool night breeze gathered her hair to the rear as they went outside. Althea wondered if it was because Shepherd’s death was her fault that her gift brought him back. Perhaps it was such strong emotions of guilt and love. For a split second, she wondered if she could do the same for her family if something happened, but that was an image she did
not
want in her mind.

“Oh, Althea… you don’t need to be frightened.” Father pulled her against him with a hand on her shoulder.

“I’m not.” She fought off the dark ideas in her head and smiled. “I am happy you were not hurt.”

He chuckled. “It’ll take something a little tougher than a couple of Bonedogs to take this piece of saddle hide down.”

“Bonedogs?” Her eyes went wide.

“Yeah, five or six of the little furry bastards. We got one, but the rest took off when we shot it.”

She scowled at the decaying shadows of Old Querq in the distance.
You have the whole Badlands. Leave my home alone.

When they arrived at Dr. Ruiz’s clinic, she ran ahead of Father and followed the pointing finger of the nurse to a room.

Inside, a boy of about fifteen lay on a bed, sienna skin stark against the white linen. A dense mass of black hair upon his head had clumped with dirt, sweat, and blood. He faced away, rasping for air. She ran to him, noting dozens of small wounds. Crude bandages made of plant leaves had been removed from animal bites on his legs; thorn marks, a healed arrow wound in his shoulder, and bruises covered the rest of him. The scent of alcohol wafted up from a steel bowl full of dirty gauze pads, no doubt the work of the nurse.

Althea grabbed his arm, closing her eyes and opening her mind to the essence of his life. “Nurse, please bring him water,” she said, in a trancelike tone. “Food too, he will be hungry.”

She found no major sicks, much to her surprise, and proceeded to force his body to mend an uncountable number of cuts and bumps. By far the worst was the arrow strike, as it possessed the taint of a nascent infection wrapped around a fragment of metal still stuck in bone. His skin split open at her command; tissue undulated and moved around the sliver, forcing it out. One by one, the smaller marred lines in his life-shapes sealed. He stirred, and his breathing lost the raspy wheeze.

A thin cord tugged at the back of her neck. She opened her eyes, gazing down at his hand, turning the pendant between his fingers. A glint flashed over it as it moved. Her hand flew to guard it, grasping his fingers. She was about to pull it away from him.

Then she saw his face.

“D… Den?” Tears formed in the corners of her eyes, sliding down over her cheeks in warm trails.

He sat up, gathering her hands and holding them together. “I said I would find you. I am no longer of the tribe.” He took on his crafty-fox grin. “You are still pretty, even if you are too pale.”

She gulped, wide-eyed with shock. Her breath fell into erratic flutters as she traced her hand over where the raider shot him through the leg. “Y… You almost died.”

“Almost.” He winked.

Before he could say anything else, she leaned up on tiptoe and kissed him.

phemeral rectangles of light drifted across the ceiling in a silent ballet. The sporadic whine of passing hovercars drowned the faint whisper of Nina’s breath. Along the north wall, floor-to-ceiling glass allowed the glow of the city in. The intruding light imparted a spectral radiance to her white bedclothes and left the far reaches of the room darker by contrast, detail lost in a mass of indistinct shadows. Tiny, flickering spots winked from various unseen devices.

Time drew to an agonizing stall. No distraction she tried to force into her mind kept her from worrying about her meeting with Lieutenant Oliver in a few short hours. Nothing good ever came of Division 0, and she could not understand why they wanted to meet. Nix, the old stuffed pink rabbit on her pillow, had more psionic ability than she did. They could not intend to recruit her, which left only one possibility―someone wanted them to go rooting around in her mind. Her growing anxiety kept sleep at bay.

She teased at the smooth fabric of her pajamas while the Comforgel pad beneath her cycled through subdued blues and violets. To her right, two silver bars atop the nightstand detected her gaze upon them and came to life. The smaller one made a faint noise as a panel of holographic light opened like a window shade above it. The sound lurked just beyond the reach of the human ear, a presence one could not claim to hear as much as feel. Flecks of dust glinted through the image of Nina’s parents. Her weary smile came as a reflex, but fell flat as the other bar shimmered with green light.

Floating numbers taunted her with 03:03.

Desperate to find sleep, Nina tried to convince herself that the interview was an opportunity. It might be the first step of her transfer to Division 2. It had been more than two years since she graduated University and joined the force. Everyone knew she disliked Division 1. She hated street patrol.

With a growl of frustration, she threw the covers off and sat on the edge of the bed. The Comforgel shifted to a soft red as it tried to compensate for lost warmth. For several minutes, she teased a clump of carpet lint with her toe before trudging over to the windows. Her reflection focused a restless gaze back from under jet-black hair that hung to her shoulders. It had been down to her waist in school; just another in a long list of things she had given up for the job she wanted. Her pajamas draped loose on her frame, as though she had raided an older sister’s wardrobe.

Nina stared through her ghost at the city beyond, watching hovercars dart around each other three floors below like a swarm of mice in a maze. Watching the city often helped her relax. Millions of people, all with their own problems, made hers seem trivial by comparison. The never-quite-dark of West City offered no solace tonight; the world was rendered a meaningless blur by her sleepless haze.

She gave up on the window and flopped across the bed. Within seconds, the pad adjusted to her shape and she snuggled into the bedding with a half-contented moan. Her father’s voice whispered in the back of her mind, chiding her for throwing away her status for a ‘job.’ His plan would have been less stressful; the Duchenne family wealth could keep her comfortable, but oh so bored. A call to Vincent would cheer her up, though she did not want to wake him. With each agonizing minute, her regret at passing on his offer to spend the night increased.

Solitude felt like a bad idea in retrospect. It left her with nothing but her thoughts and the squares of light that slid across the grey above her.

A pale waif wrapped in rose-pink cloth, she sprawled on the bed like a rag doll. Her hair fanned out across the silk as her gaze chased random lights across the ceiling. Not since finals week had so much anxiety shared her bed. She pictured Vincent’s tan skin, and the wry smile he always made, as if privy to humor no one else knew about.

Unlike the rest of her unit, he did not make a habit of teasing her about her size or desire to be a tech. She had been the victim of several pranks during her first weeks, some silly and some cruel. He volunteered as her partner after Officer Alvin locked her in a trash processing unit and went on patrol alone.

She got his message―he would rather have no partner at all than ride with her.

Vincent treated her well, if not overprotectively, and he always seemed to showboat to impress her. Whatever it was that he did, it worked. Nina had been paired with him for a month shy of two years, and their relationship had gone far beyond a working one. She had not yet been able to break the news to her father that she wanted to marry someone ‘below her station,’ as he would say. That could wait until after Vincent popped the question. Nina almost looked forward to the argument. Her eyes closed as she rolled into the sheets, thinking about Vincent.

A digitized cacophony jogged her awake as her NetMini announced an incoming call. Nina’s mind floated, absent any sense of the passage of time. One eye popped open, staring at the palm-sized slab of technology on her nightstand. Vibration accompanied the ringer, causing the NetMini to creep toward the edge. Heaviness permeated her limbs, making movement arduous. She rolled away from the pestering electronic device and curled into a ball. A fleeting moment of comfort passed before the beeping turned to banging and pulled her brain back from the precipice of sleep yet again. After a futile attempt to ignore it, she realized the banging was not in her head, but at her door. Anger shoved her into a seated position; she glared through a curtain of hair, already composing what she would scream at whoever dared bother her.