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THIS ISN’T MY WORLD. Aubrey Carter shivered, cold and miserable. She pulled her jacket tighter in an effort to ward off the bad weather. Everything about this place is foreign.
The rain continued its incessant pounding. The drops ricocheted off the pavement, spraying water mid-calf in height. Not that it made much difference—everything and everyone in the City was already soaked and dripping.
The streetlights on either side of the four-lane boulevard were useless. Only a few of the towering lampposts still possessed unbroken glass, and even those were as unseeing as a corpse.
At least there are no actual corpses littering the gutters. Aubrey grimaced, trying to curb her over-active imagination. Things are scary enough already. I don’t need to add more to it.
Here and there, the occasional barrel fire—down alleys she wouldn’t dare explore alone—cast a sullen and surreal glow. The firelight shimmered through the raindrops, ignored by the people hunched around the barrels, warming their hands.
Several had erected makeshift canopies to protect the fires. Despite their efforts, Aubrey heard the sizzling sound as the spiteful rain navigated imperfections in the canopy to find the flames below.
The downpour mixed with the guttural noise of traffic, creating a sullen and mind-numbing drone. A surprising number of vehicles were on the streets, giving Aubrey a moment’s pause as she wondered why so many Hoarders were in the City on such an inhospitable evening.
Hoarders preferred to remain aloof. Most never ventured out of their walled and prosperous Enclaves. Anyone living beyond their fortified walls—Aubrey and everyone she knew—received only their antiseptic contempt.
So why were so many Hoarder vehicles racing through the storm-wracked streets?
Everything around her appeared gray. The boarded-up store-fronts, the empty apartment buildings, the lamp-posts, the pavement, even the anonymous vehicles roaring past, splashing gouts of water over the sidewalks. Gray, the color of depression, defeat, and despair.
How fitting. Aubrey shivered again.
She paused a moment, slicking the rain away from her eyes, shielding her gaze with her hands. Staying too long in one spot would be a mistake.
The rain convinced everyone to withdraw into their own private worlds, diligently searching for the promise of a dry haven. Which didn’t mean watchful eyes weren’t still alert to any aberrant detail. They found me once already. I can’t let my guard down.
Aubrey kept her pace under control, holding herself in check despite her instincts. Her heart pounded in her ears and the adrenaline in her veins screamed run, but she resisted.
Don’t draw attention. Don’t stand out from the crowd. Hidden in plain sight. She fought the temptation to hunch her shoulders in anticipation of . . .
What, exactly? What could they do on a crowded street, filled with human traffic sloshing through puddles on the sidewalk? Not to mention the aggressive convoys of Hoarder vehicles racing by with surprising frequency.
She shivered again, and not just from the cool breeze pressing her drenched clothing against her skin. That’s just it—I don’t know what they might do. Or what they could get away with, even on a public street.
The simple yet sobering realization prompted her to tug her hood further forward over her face. Her mind remained clear. Keep your pace steady and your shoulders down.
It was easy to lose track of how far she’d already come, between the driving rain, the bustle of human traffic, and the faceless quality of this crumbling section of the Old City. Her own familiar town seemed a thousand kilometers and several lifetimes away. She resolutely shoved any stray flashbacks into a hidden vault in her mind.
The macabre event which catapulted her into this journey was also filed away. She was well aware that dwelling on her memories could be a lethal distraction. As paranoid as it might sound, it wasn’t an exaggeration. Concentrate, Aubs, concentrate.
Thunder rolled behind her, ominous and threatening. No lightning—at least, none she’d seen so far—but the growling rumble added another level of anxiety to her rain-soaked quest.
There were so many people around her, passing her in the opposite direction, catching up to her from behind and shoving ahead. Everyone was intent on getting someplace where the rain was not.
Any of them could be one of the Soul-less. She swallowed hard to keep her heart in her chest where it belonged. Anyone could be my executioner. By the time a Soul-less reveals itself, it’s already too late.
She took a deep breath to clear her gloomy thoughts. She couldn’t allow herself to fall into a void of abject hopelessness. She must keep her wits about her, stay focused on reaching her destination. Pessimism was her internal enemy, threatening to overwhelm her, paralyze her, and make her easy prey.
The next intersection appeared out of the deluge. Aubrey wondered—with a sense of morbid detachment—what life had been like when the traffic lights still functioned. Before the Hoarders seized control over the resources they craved, and the entire City degenerated into a festering pool of poverty.
She’d heard stories of pre-Enclave civilization when she was a child, but it was hard to reconcile the tales with the dreary scene around her.
A crowd gathered at the intersection, jostling against one another. Each person scanned the wide boulevard, alert to the potential approach of another Hoarder convoy.
Like penguins testing the ocean for sharks. She swallowed hard, appalled by the grim aptness of the comparison.
She perched precariously among the wary pedestrians, the toes of her boots peeking over the sidewalk’s edge. She glanced down at the oversized sewer drain tucked beneath the curb, mesmerized by the filthy waterfall cascading into the darkness below.
She wondered how many bodies had been scraped into the sewer after a failed attempt to cross the street.
There’s your overactive imagination again. Aubrey chided herself, unable to shake her sense of foreboding. I’ve heard too many stories about how rough life in the City is. I can’t afford to jump at every shadow.
The muted rumble of powerful engines sounded nearby. The restless mob, anxious to avoid the Hoarders, crowded behind her, almost propelling Aubrey into the street.
She gasped, leaning back, and managed to stay on the curb for an additional moment. The oncoming vehicles were visible but still a block away, and the crowd surged ahead as one. Aubrey was carried along on the crest of the human wave.
Despite her best efforts, she stumbled on the slick, uneven pavement. Her heart was in her throat as she pictured herself falling headlong, the sound of squealing tires and breaking bones the last thing she’d ever hear.
Her worst fears were averted. A firm hand grabbed her arm, just above the elbow, at once steadying her and also dragging her precipitously toward the opposite curb. Aubrey had a brief impression of a young woman, not much beyond her teen years, hard-faced and determined as they splashed their way onto the sidewalk.
She heard a terrified shriek from behind, as some of the stragglers—how many? how old? how young?—were caught in the next wave of vehicles. Her mind flinched away from finishing the thought as the oversized trucks roared past.
Part of her wanted to turn back and see if any had survived, but she knew better.
Don’t draw attention. Don’t stand out. Hidden in plain sight, remember? And no one else in the stone-faced crowd was looking back.
It was then she realized the woman hadn’t released her arm once they were on the relative safety of the sidewalk. Her new companion kept an iron grip on Aubrey, half-leading, half-dragging her down the street.
But not in the direction she’d been heading—no, they’d taken a sharp left at the corner, moving at a swift pace on a new route.
Aubrey tried to wrest her arm free, but the hand fastened on her elbow was surprisingly strong. Her heart stopped beating for a precious second or two. One of the Soul-less?
No, that doesn’t make any sense. Aubrey answered her own question. I’m still alive, aren’t I?
The woman wove her way through the faceless crowd with surprising ease, striding toward the rain-slicked stairs of an abandoned tenement. Her grip on Aubrey’s elbow shifted with lightning quickness, latching onto her hand with a firm grip. Together, they raced up the steps and out of the press of the crowd.
The woman fumbled with one hand in her coat pocket, her other hand crushing Aubrey’s in its fierce grasp. For one panicky moment, Aubrey considered shoving her down the steps while she was preoccupied with unlocking the door.
Everything was wet and slippery. Her companion would be unable to keep her balance on the slick stairway. Aubrey could make a break for it—all she needed was a few seconds to get a head start.