I’ve always been good at killing. I don’t want to kill today, but I don’t see any other option. Things are different now that I know the truth.
My grandmother, Esa, told me there was a time when you could drive up to a building and order food. It was called a drive-thru. I’m lucky if I can trap and kill my food these days. Living in the wastelands is harsh. The Outer Rim isn’t any better, but it’s too close to those who dwell inside the Mainland borders. Some of the Clans took to the Rager way of life and became cannibalistic. Eating the old or infirmed. But to drive up and ask for food and just have it given to you... A luxury some would dream of. If I told anyone what Esa said, no one would believe me. Not now. I don’t remember drive-thrus. According to my grandmother, it’s because I was too young to remember. But I think it has more to do with the fact that I’m four thousand, one hundred, and forty synodic months old. That’s in Lunar months; we don’t keep track of days, but rather the moon’s cycle. Though that would be about three hundred forty-five years. But I don’t look a day over four hundred and eighteen synods. Okay, I could pass for three hundred and forty-eight. And a half. Hell, I think that’s when I stopped aging anyway.
Esa is my Pravia. She’s also my Magister, my teacher. Today is the day of the great migration, only, I’m not going. I’ll be leaving our camp, but I’m heading in the opposite direction. My people have been on Earth for some time. My Pravia’s Clan came by way of Biel, a comet passing close to Earth’s atmosphere. Traveling by comet until we come upon a place that’s habitable is the way of my mother’s people. Cultivating the land and living among the planet’s inhabitants in peace. A very short-lived peace. There are Clans who saw Earth’s downfall as a way to rise up and take control.
I was born after the fall of modern civilization and I’ve watched as the people of Earth adapted. Overcoming the darkness, famine. Side by side, we’ve restored, reclaimed, and reproduced. Technology is hoarded. Water, in its purest form, has become a luxury and is now called Wave. Everyone and everything is for sale. There are flesh markets, but there’s only one place to go if you want good quality, and that’s the Quarry.
My mother’s people are called Travelers. And as my father is of Earth, I’m in between. We are extremely long-lived as long as we take care of our bodies. Females born to a Traveler inherit their mother’s lifespan. The day I was born, my mother, Senna, departed. Males who are born to a Traveler and a male of Earth inherit their father’s likeness and are short-lived. The female Traveler who gives birth does not leave and is able to care for her son. Those family units are the happiest. Mine never was.
I was given to Esa because my father couldn’t bear to look at me. Like my mother, I am a Traveler. I look human, have human emotions, exhibit all the traits one would deem human nature, but that’s the extent of my humanity. I’m more agile, faster, my senses are heightened. I can breathe under water, and my body naturally filters out anything considered harmful to my anatomy. I can go weeks without eating. I’m resilient. Have to be, it’s the only reason I’ve survived for so long. But Esa, my Magister, likes to remind me of the one thing I do not possess. The Locking. Travelers are able to Lock away their emotions. Disable them if they choose not to feel. It’s a defense mechanism. I’ve heard some of the men at camp speaking about women who Lock down until they find their mate. Because my senses are heightened, I feel everything in exaggeration. I’ve learned to control it, but barely. There are times when I get so overwhelmed I pass out from exhaustion.
“When are you leaving? The Clan is packed and ready to go.”
Esa puts a hand to my face, a show of comfort. A false comfort. She’s been Locked and turned off for as long as I can remember. Any show of affection is merely out of forced habit.
“I’ll be gone shortly, Pravia.” As my Clan prepares for their journey, I’m getting ready to seek entrance beyond the Red Door. It’s a place we’ve all avoided thus far. There is talk of those who know of our existence and look to exploit us. The Five Towers beyond the Red Door are notorious for their over-indulgence of drugs, flesh, and any other item they deem profitable or pleasurable.
Esa looks up at me, her pale grey eyes clear and focused. People would think we’re sisters. But she’s far older than I am. Almost twelve thousand, five hundred, and four. Her long, black hair is braided and falls just past her hips. She’s dressed in a brown leather duster with black stitching. The collar is stiff and protects her head. There is a hole in the back to allow her braid to hang loosely outside her jacket. She’s wearing a skintight, double-plated, mesh metal top and pants made from the hide of one of the giant bats we find nesting in the nearby caves that fit like a second skin. Her blades are strapped to the sides of her thighs, and her cannon gun is tethered to her back. She wears the markings of a Magister. Red and silver paint covers the bridge of her nose and eyelids. There is a red line painted in the middle of her lips. Everyone in the Clan is painted in similar fashion.
“Best be on your way, girl. Bolanger won’t like you lingering.”
I nod. Bolanger is her mate, and Bloodborne. He is of the purest line of Travelers there is. All males born of purebreds are known as Bloodborne. To him, I’m the lowest of the low, and for more years than I can count, he’s wanted me dead. There are other Clans out there, some even dwell within the city walls. But I’m better off on my own. However, before I leave, I have one more thing to do.
Introduce Bolanger to my shiv. Repeatedly.
V
The door is not a door, but rather a hundred-foot wall of massive steel. And it’s rusted. The Red Door. A smile graces my lips. Funny. The irony of it isn’t lost on me. I’ve been here before. This city that never sleeps. The Big Apple, Esa called it. I’m perched on an abandoned vehicle. I think it’s a bus, but I can’t be bothered to remember if it was even called that. So many things have changed in the last three hundred years. Things that were once called one thing are now called another. The guard on duty is pointing a cannon of a gun at me. It’s enhanced with C-Tech. I smile widely, careful not to reveal myself. I keep my head bent and my hood hiding my face. It disguises everything about me, gender included. Travelers aren’t violent by nature, but somehow, I think that’s a lie. I can be violent at the most inappropriate times. It’s one of the reasons Bolanger wanted me gone.
I try to avoid violence as much as possible, though. Spilling blood makes me nervous, and guns laced with C-Tech are dangerous. C-Tech is what the locals call Comet Technology. When Biel entered Earth’s atmosphere, it didn’t just leave Travelers behind, it also left pieces of itself. A giant ice rock with energy particles strong enough to jumpstart an entire civilization on the brink of ruin. To humans, it gave them new technology. For Travelers, it’s not only an energy source that heals, it’s also one that can kill if taken in large doses. For a half-breed like me, it’s equivalent to an adrenaline shot. If the guard on the top of the gate decides to shoot me, he’ll be doing himself more harm than good. He doesn’t know that, though. Nobody does.
The existence of Travelers is not known to all humans. We’ve blended in, adapted. It’s been the only way to ensure our survival.
“Why are you here?” the male yells down at me.
“I’m here to trade for Wave!” I yell up.
“We’re bone-dry, only Dark Water here.”
Dark Water is unfiltered and causes illness. But not for me. My body would just clarify it until it became pure. But it doesn’t matter. Either way, I’m getting in. So much for doing this the easy way.
“I have Wave.” I hold up a jar of clear liquid. I can see the guard turn and yell something in broken English to someone on the other side of the gate.
“Stand back, we’re coming out.”
Yeah, they’re coming out, but not to let me in. They think to take what’s mine. Not happening today.