Rayne woke with a start, as one who sleeps lightly does. Sitting up, she rubbed her face and glanced around, then yawned, squinting at the bloated, angry-looking sun on the horizon. Thick, sooty clouds almost obscured it, dimming its glory to a weak gleam beyond the polluted atmosphere. The distant muttering and shuffling of thousands of human beings and the pungent smell of unwashed bodies and excrement wafted to her on the chill morning breeze.
Throwing off her ragged blanket, she stood up and stretched, ridding herself of the kinks acquired from sleeping curled up. She studied the countryside, on the lookout for roving police patrols or the furtive movement of a fellow raider. Ruined buildings huddled in groups, surrounded by the remains of roads and walls the tanks that had rumbled through here in the days of the rebellion had reduced to rubble. Only the hardiest weeds struggled to grow in the rubble, their yellow leaves blotched with brown. Rusted or burnt-out cars lay in ditches and on kerbs. Most of the trees that remained were dead, but a few bore sickly, withered leaves.
Her gaze drifted to the feeding station housed in an ugly building at the bottom of the valley. Thousands of thin, filthy people stood around it in a never ending fight for survival. Their only ambition was to reach the food dispenser and push their battered tin plate under it to receive a meagre helping of sludge-like food. Then the crowd pushed them to the back, sometimes stealing their share along the way. More often they gulped it down, growling at would-be thieves. They would then find a warm hollow or deserted building to sleep in, curled up in the ragged blankets they carried with them. Those who failed to reach the front often enough grew too weak to ever make it, and died where they stood.
There were only a few women in the, so it was an old feeding station where the weaklings had already succumbed. Once a day, a meat wagon came to collect the dead and deliver the next food supply. The police, using shock sticks and batons, cleared a path and dragged out the dead and dying, loaded them onto refrigerated trucks and left. Some bodies remained to add to the stench, however.
Rayne and her brother scorned the sludge-eaters and their stink. They were raiders, and they took whatever they could from whoever was vulnerable. The people at the feeding stations ate the ones who died. There was nothing else they could eat. All the animals, wild and domestic, had long since been slaughtered to feed the starving billions. Other species had succumbed to pollution or deforestation, the rest had been judged expendable and wiped out. The autocrats, remnants of the political and social elite, had retained their power and prosperity by taking control of the massive food stores that the government and army had hoarded over the decades.
Raiders were too proud to work for the autocrats. Those who did were virtually slaves, paid only in food and shelter. They served as police and store guards, but for more unpleasant jobs the autocrats had real slaves. Rayne and her brother, Rawn, preferred to live by the gun and die by it, if necessary. Many years ago, Rawn had taken a. 44 automatic from a dead man, and it had given them the means to become raiders. Without it, their destiny might have been quite different.
Rawn had taken care of her since their parents had been killed in a riot when he was twelve years old and Rayne eight. She was twenty-two now, and the last fourteen years had been tough.
A fallen tree's roots formed the dry hollow in which they had slept. Rawn had dug it deeper and filled it with bracken and leaves. The canopy of roots had protected them from most of the stinging, acidic dew that fell each morning.
Rayne glanced around at the sound of footsteps, relaxing when she recognised her brother’s familiar figure approaching. Evidently he had answered a call of nature.
Rayne stood up and brushed leaves from her fawn shirt and brown leather jacket. Like her ragged suede mini skirt and stretch pants, they had been scavenged from abandoned shops. Leather afforded protection from injury and rain, making it the material of choice, although difficult to find. Rawn's black leather trousers bore the scars of many violent encounters, as did the suede jacket he wore over a grey shirt. Their pseudo plastic boots would last for years, unless the pollution ate through them.
At six foot four, Rawn was unusual in a world where most were stunted and malnourished. Exercise and hunger had honed his lean, muscular physique, but his size and strength allowed him to stave off malnutrition. His strong jaw, straight nose, piercing tawny eyes and dark gold hair streaked with silver made him handsome, she thought.
She said. "I'm hungry."
"You're always hungry."
"That's because you don't feed me enough."
"Bullshit! You eat as much as you want. You're just a gannet."
"You're always hungry too," she shot back.
Rawn pulled a face and shrugged. Hunger was the driving force of their never ending struggle for survival in a world gone mad. They had grown up in it, and knew its dangers well, which was perhaps the reason they had succeeded where so many had failed. They were a remnant of the last generation to survive, old enough to fend for themselves when they had been orphaned, but young enough to adapt.
"Come. Let's go."
Rawn led her down the hill past the sludge-eaters, secure in his advantage of youth and comparative health. The people watched them pass with bright, envious eyes, some finding the energy to throw of few stones in their direction, all of which fell short. Rayne followed Rawn at a steady lope through the desolate, ruined suburbs towards the city.
Rayne hated the city, but they had to go into it for food. They always left as soon as they had supplies for a few days. They paused on the crest of a hill, but when Rawn started down it, Rayne stayed behind, forcing him to stop and turn to her.
"Couldn't we raid the country store again?" she asked.
"We raided that last week. It'll be crawling with guards."
"I have a bad feeling today."
"It'll be all right. Come on."
Rayne glared at the distant cluster of shining towers that sprouted from the tumbled ruins of lesser buildings, crushed in the rebellion or fallen foul of pollution later. The decaying buildings formed a complex concrete jungle whose dangers included collapsing walls and crumbling sewers. Broken glass and twisted, rusted reinforcing littered the streets, where bands of hostile vagrants roamed, preying on anything that could not defend itself or run. Packs of giant rats infested the sewers in an army of disease-riddled vermin. She caught a glimpse of herself in a piece of broken glass as she passed it, averting her eyes quickly.
The harsh life and lack of food had taken its toll, giving her a gaunt, elfin look. Her blue-green eyes burnt with hunger, and soot smudged her creamy skin. Her mane of silver-streaked blonde hair, which she had hacked off in a thick fringe, was a little grubby. Her unusual beauty made her a target for raiders and autocrats. Rawn was too, not so much for the autocrats, but the mistresses, their female counterparts.
Only the autocrats' towers, which their slaves maintained with cannibalised parts from unused towers, remained intact. They clustered at the city centre, known as the Inner City. A leaden grey sky hung above it like a dirty shroud, and black smoke belched from the power plants that provided electricity to the towers, fuelling its filth. To Rayne, who preferred the country, barren and dead though it was, the glittering buildings represented all that was evil in the world.
She glanced at her brother. "We've been lucky until now, but one day our luck's going to run out."
"Do you want to starve?" He turned away. "We have no choice. Come on, let's get on with it."
At the city's outskirts, they grew more cautious, dodging from building to building to avoid the police patrols that were meant to keep raiders out. Dawdling guards outside a red-brick building gave away the site of a food store. The ruined top floors sprouted twisted girders, and rotting planks covered the windows. Crouched behind a crumbling wall, they watched the bored guards pace up and down with measured strides.
"That's the place," Rawn whispered. "Only two guards, and they're bored stiff. That place hasn't been raided for a while. It's perfect. Time to do your stuff, Ray."
Years of fleeing irate store guards had given Rayne an unusual turn of speed. She could out sprint the fastest guard, creating an effective diversion while Rawn stole food. The guards, knowing their master would reward them for catching her, always vied for the prize. She had to keep them interested long enough for her brother to do his part, then escape. Afterwards, she would meet him outside the city. Rawn patted her shoulder, and she stepped out from behind the wall and walked towards the guards.
They spotted her and shouted, drew their guns and gave chase. Rayne sprinted down the street while Rawn ran to the doors and picked the padlock on the chain that secured them, slipping inside. There he would fill his rucksack from the masses of food bars stacked on the shelves, and, if his luck was really good, he might find ammunition too.
Rayne ran across a road and into the street beyond, glancing back at the panting guards, who flagged after just three blocks. Slowing, she faked a limp so they would not give up too soon, and their yells of triumph rewarded her. Their occasional shots were wild, and she loped on for another block, then swerved and ran across a vacant lot into another street. By the time they walked back to the store, Rawn would be long gone. She entered a more dilapidated area of crumbling ruins inhabited by a few thin, dirty people so scared they even hid from each other.
The guards followed, shouting in frustration. She glanced back with a smile as she rounded a corner. Something slammed into her midriff, and she rebounded and sprawled. Gasping with shock, she struggled to rise, staring at the sleek grey hover car that blocked her path. The airtight door seal broke with a faint wheeze, and a gush of conditioned coolness washed over her, scented with strange perfume. An autocrat stepped out, his shiny black robe covering all but his face. Rayne scrambled to her knees, shaking her head to clear the spots from her eyes, broken glass slicing into her shins. She staggered to her feet and backed away just before he came close enough to grab her.
He raised a hand. "Wait! Don't be afraid. I won't hurt you."
Rayne retreated, and he followed, a hand extended in a parody of friendship, his tone soothing. "It's okay. I only want to help you. You're hurt."
Rayne knew an autocrat would never help her. His beady brown eyes, set close together in a thin face with a bony nose and a rat-trap mouth, roved over her in a way that made her skin crawl.
Spinning on her heel, she sprinted down the street, hoping to put a good distance between herself and the autocrat before he started his car. He cursed, then the car's soft whine pursued her, catching up fast. She could not outrun a hover car, and there was nowhere to hide. She dodged burnt-out car wrecks and avoided twisted girders and rubble. The shock of her fall had sapped her strength, her lungs laboured and her legs grew weaker with every stride. The autocrat followed, waiting for her to tire while he called his men.
A doorway ahead yawned dark and forbidding, but she dived through it and stopped, panting. He would not dare to follow her into such a dangerous area, even though he was armed. The old building provided a perfect place for an ambush.
Rayne listened to the hover car's whine, gasping in the building's damp, smelly gloom. He could wait out there all day, and would have called for men to send in after her. Walking further in, she stumbled over garbage, startling a few rats. The building stank of urine, faeces and decay, and pollution ate away at its crumbling walls. Icy fingers of fear marched up and down her spine, but she forced herself to go on. A square of light beckoned ahead, and she quickened her pace.
The door led into an empty lot surrounded by high buildings, some of which had partially collapsed, filling the area with broken bricks, twisted girders and glass. Hurrying across it, she entered the building on the far side, where she rested in the musty darkness, contemplating the dangers that still faced her. She had to get to the meeting place, which meant running the gauntlet of hazards with which this ruined world was rife. At least she knew what they were, and how to avoid them. A lifetime of training had prepared her well.
Walking to the doorway, she looked up and down the dirty street. A group of vagrants huddled around a fire, cooking a rat, but they were far away. Further up the street, a manhole cover flew off with a clang and a ragged figure wriggled out onto the road, then sprinted for the shadow of a doorway. Seconds later, three more ragged men emerged, looking up and down the street for their prey before setting off down an alley. The group that had been cooking the rat had vanished into a building, leaving their little fire.
Rayne waited for the men to return. They had to be raiders or desperate vagrants banded together to hunt others. After several minutes, the distant vagrants re-emerged and fought over who would eat the rat. Still she waited, all her senses alert. A movement at the end of the street caught her eye, as four police hover cars entered it and moved towards her. The vagrants broke off their argument and retreated into the building behind them.
The autocrat must have ordered the police to patrol this block in search of her, so she could not venture out. Retreating, she found a room with a single dirty window and settled down to wait, piling damp cardboard boxes into a makeshift seat. Periodically, she rose to peer out of the door, where the police still patrolled. Her stomach rumbled, and she thought of Rawn, by now enjoying the meal he had stolen from the autocrat's food store.
Rayne piled up the rubbish on the floor as darkness oozed into the city in a tide of shadow, and set it alight it with her precious lighter, which Rawn insisted she always carry. He had one too, but made her carry her own, so if they were separated she could at least light a fire. As the night chill settled on the city and a corrosive mist filled the street outside, she longed for her brother's warm, comforting presence. They had not been apart for a night before, and she toyed with the idea of trying to sneak past the police in the dark. There were too many dangers at night, however. This was when the mutants usually hunted. Safety lay in numbers or concealment, and she huddled close to the little fire, hoping no one would find her.
Rawn ate some stolen food while he waited in a grove of dead trees. Dusk sent long fingers of shadow through them, bringing with it a growing fear for his sister. His imagination conjured up visions of her caught or injured, alone and frightened, somewhere in a ruined city filled with pitfalls and dangers that could kill even a street-smart girl.
The more he thought about it, the more horrible his imaginings became. Rayne had been reluctant to go to the city, and he had persuaded her. He paced about, racking his brains for a plausible plan of action. If he went after her, he could be caught too, and, even if he was not, he would not be here if she did make it back. He had to do something, though. The inactivity made him frustrated and angry. She could be fighting for her life while he procrastinated, but the task was enough to make anyone pause. Even if he knew where to look, there were many places in the ruins where she could hide. If she had been captured, his chances of rescuing her were slim to nil.
Rawn gathered up the stolen food, his mind made up. Stuffing what he could easily carry into his pockets, he stashed the rest under a rock and stamped out the fire, then headed for the city. If she had been caught, she might be at the market. The only way to get into the market unobserved was in a guard's disguise, and for that he needed a uniform. He knew where the market was usually held, and made his way to it. Without a gun, travelling through the city at night would have been suicide, but the sight of it on his hip would deter most would-be attackers. He traversed the ruins with confidence only an armed raider would display, and, although he sensed the scuttling of vagrant gangs nearby, none had the courage to take him on.
When he reached the market, he crouched behind a ruined wall and watched the guards, waiting for the right opportunity. Soon a man wandered off to relieve himself, and Rawn crept along the wall until he was close enough to pounce on the guard, clamping a hand over his mouth. Dragging him into the shadow of the wall, he knocked him out and stripped off his clothes. Stashing his leather jacket, he donned the uniform before walking out into the street.
The uniform was too tight across his shoulders, but he hoped no one would notice in the dark. None of the guards gave him a second glance as he walked past them into the market and took up position just inside the door, where he could see the merchandise.
The building had once been a grand theatre, but now the heavy velvet curtains around the stage hung in rotten, filthy tatters. The wooden stage and panelling crumbled, eaten away by pollution, adding its stench to the general air of dilapidation.
A few autocrats and mistresses sat in a bored-looking cluster on several rows of refurbished chairs, laughing and pointing at the dozen or so slaves on the stage where once great actors had given their oratory. The autocrats sipped exotic beverages and discussed the miserable group assembled on the stage. The naked slaves tried to cling to what little dignity they had left by covering themselves with their hands. Most were thin, woebegone creatures who hid their faces and hunched their shoulders in cringing servility. A few lifted their chins, their feral eyes bright with hate. These, Rawn decided, were captured raiders; tough, stringy men and women of about his age, who possessed an air of savagery and strength.
Rawn seethed with silent rage at the humiliation visited upon his fellow man. Now that man had wiped out all the animals, save for insects and rats, he had no one to inflict his cruelty on but his fellows. Rawn studied the pathetic group, making certain his sister was not amongst them before he quit the market. He had no idea what he would have done had she been, since his planning went no further than the disguise.
Even as he pondered his next move, the autocrats rose to leave, many exiting via sky ways to other buildings, some going by hover car. The market emptied, and Rawn wandered out too, depressed and angry. Had she been there, he could have planned her rescue, but now he would have to find her first, which meant searching the city.
He walked into the darkness, pulling off the uniform.
Morning found Rayne stiff and tired after a cold, restless night that the scuttling and squeaking of rats had disturbed. She rose and stretched, eased her aching back and rubbed some feeling back into her legs. She shivered in the morning chill, chafing her arms as she went to the door to peer out. The street was almost deserted, only the vagrants from yesterday were back at their fire, haggling over another rat. After waiting several minutes to see if anyone else appeared, she left the doorway and trotted down the refuse-strewn street, her eyes darting into dark alleys, on the lookout for danger.
The vagrants paused to regard her with glinting eyes, and she tried to act as confident as an armed raider. Her ploy seemed to work, for they returned to fighting over the rat as she loped away. She stayed away from buildings, which often harboured vagrants and raiders who waited to ambush unsuspecting passers-by. Heading towards the suburbs, she kept her pace to a steady jog that ate up the miles. As she approached the outskirts, the ruins of office blocks gave way to demolished houses. Far fewer human vermin hid here. Most congregated around the city centre, where rats were more numerous, since the rats lived on the food in the autocrats' stores. She stayed in the middle of a road, trusting her ability to run more than the possibility of hiding from a threat, which could get her cornered. She looked up in alarm as a shadow fell on her, then stopped in amazement.
A giant, blood-red saucer hovered about twenty metres above her, light shining from portals along its edge. More lights flickered across its belly in random patterns, and it hung there as if on invisible strings. The hairs on the back of her neck rose, sending chills down her spine. For a moment surprise kept her frozen, then she edged towards the side of the road, where the houses' safety beckoned. The alien ship filled her with foreboding, and something told her it was not friendly. Vagrants emerged to point and stare, but Rayne backed closer to the derelict buildings, her eyes fixed on the ship.
Turning, she sprinted for the nearest house. As she dived through the doorway, crimson fire erupted where she had been instants before. The explosion blew her off her feet, and she threw out her hands to break her fall. Glass imploded from the few intact windows, whizzing past her in a shower of razor-sharp shards. Her leather jacket protected her from most of it, but splinters stabbed into the back of her legs. She hit the ground with a muffled cry, raising a cloud of fine white dust. Lights danced in her eyes as she gasped in dust, coughing.
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.