Shattered Roads. Alice Henderson
these men caught her, she would never be the same again. She’d be one of those wiped automatons she’d seen in the underbelly of the warehouse she lived in. Button pushers. Vacant stares. Complacent. Unaware.
Panic bloomed in her chest, and suddenly she didn’t know where to go. She’d had nightmares like this before, running and running from some terrible evil, never able to gain enough ground. Never able to get away. She could hear the men’s footfalls, closer now, and she turned down another alley. At the end, an old metal door stood open a crack. She raced to it, finding it rusted and loose on its hinges. She didn’t know what lay beyond. But she had to stop, had to catch her breath and figure out where to go. She stepped into the shadows and quietly swung the door closed behind her. Her grasping hands found a deadbolt on the inside of the door, and she engaged it.
As blackness took over her world, she ran her hands along rough brick. She had her headlamp, but she didn’t dare switch it on. She didn’t want the men to see the light under the door. Her groping hands found another door, but it was locked. She heard the men run by. They didn’t try the door.
Her chest heaved, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Her side burned with the effort of running. She slid her tool bag off her shoulder and felt around the contents. She tossed out as much as she could—her cleaning supplies went first, followed by the body bag. She kept the rope, the harness, her headlamp, her multitool. She could feel the cold, round discs she’d found, along with the small plastic and metal devices. She zipped them up safely in an inner pocket. Now her bag weighed much less, so she slung it over her head, then tightened the strap securely against her.
She listened, waiting for the men to come by again, terrified to hear the rattling of the doorknob as they tried it. But it didn’t come.
Her own body finally quieted, and her breathing eased. Her heart slowed. Then she heard something else. Someone was breathing, only feet away.
She grabbed her headlamp and flicked it on. Crouching against the same wall she leaned against was a male about her age. But she’d never seen anyone like him. He met her gaze, his blue eyes bright and sharp beneath a crop of short, spiky blond hair. He hadn’t shaved in a few days, as evidenced by the golden whiskers on his jawline. Colorful tattoos covered his tanned arms. She’d seen tattoos before, but they were always utilitarian, like marking the location of someone’s living pod. But these were elaborate, decorative . . . beautiful. His clothes were ragged and artistic, sewn together from different pieces of cloth. He wore knee-high black boots over a ripped pair of red pants, and a black tank top that clung to his muscular frame.
She stared, not saying a word.
He smiled.
She heard distant footsteps, and he brought one finger to his lips in the universal symbol for quiet. He reached out and touched the lamp she was holding. She switched it off. She could feel his warm fingers touching hers. The men ran by. This time they did try the door, rattling the doorknob. But the deadbolt held, and they moved on. She heard one shout, “Split up!” and the footsteps faded away, heading off in different directions. When they were gone, she switched the light back on. He removed his hand, stood up, and slung a tattered gray canvas backpack over one shoulder. Cautiously he went to the door. He opened it, glanced both ways, then turned to her.
She stared at him there in the doorway. His tanned face was not the lax, apathetic face of a citizen, and he had no head jack. He grinned at her once more and entered the alley, closing the door behind him.
She was too scared to move. She switched off her light and huddled in the darkness. Before long she realized he wasn’t coming back. She switched the deadbolt back to its locked position and waited.
Minutes dragged by. When a half hour had passed, she knew she’d eluded the men, at least for now.
But she couldn’t go home.
She had no idea where to go.
Where had that guy gone? What was he doing, hiding here?
She thought of the discs in her bag, of what she’d learned in that forgotten building. She had to warn someone.
When what felt like an hour had passed, she stood up, her legs aching from sitting tensely for so long. She unlatched the deadbolt and peered out.
Beyond lay the city, and gleaming in the distance rose the Tower, the spire that housed media operations. It was far. She didn’t know exactly how far, but miles for certain. But if she could make it there, maybe someone would listen. They could call off the Repurposers when they heard what she had to say. Surely this was more important than her taking a break from her duties. This was something that would change the face of the earth forever.
Peering down the alley both ways, H124 emerged from her hiding place. She let the door close behind her, and ran for the Tower.
Chapter 6
She darted down the alley, listening at each corner for sounds of the Repurposers. It seemed she’d lost them—for now, at least. She ran on, knowing it would take at least an hour to make it to the Tower.
The residential complexes stretched on and on. She’d never known there were so many. This was the longest she’d ever been outside, the farthest she’d ever traveled. She knew she was at least two miles away from her living quarters.
The air hung like a wet weight, so heavy she sweated from every pore. Her shirt clung to her, and her feet swam in her work boots. Above the skyshield, the gray clouds of the night sky hung low, their undersides lighted by the orange wash of the city lights. The streets lay empty. She wasn’t surprised. At this hour, only a corpse cleaner like herself would be out. The laundry, food, cleaning crews, all would have finished by now. An electric buzz hung in the air, filling the silence.
As she ran past the residential skyscrapers, she tried to count how many people must live in each, then how many buildings stretched to the horizon. Would anyone notice her? Help her? Every few blocks, she passed industrial complexes like the one she lived in, massive warehouses that contained the laundry, food-making, and baby facilities, as well as the living quarters of other workers. The dull throb of machinery thudded outward from these buildings, the ever-present deafening cacophony of laboring equipment, hidden away from the residential buildings, all that menial labor out of sight of the residents.
She sped on, navigating by the landmark of the Tower. She passed another industrial building. Light poured out from an open door, and she felt the blast of heat from clothes dryers working overtime just inside the entrance. Her body ached for a drink of water, but she forced herself onward.
As she passed the mouth of an alley, she heard something move behind her. She staggered forward as someone struck her in the back of the head. Blistering pain erupted inside her skull, and she went down hard on one knee, collapsing on the hot asphalt. Hands grabbed her arms and pulled her down the alley. More hands grabbed her legs, and she felt herself propelled forward, into the dark shadows of the stinking, trash-filled back street. Her head throbbed in pain as she fought a grogginess that stole over her body. Her limbs felt like great manacles held them, and though she tried to thrash, her dull headache slowed her reflexes.
“Place her down here!” one of her captors said. She turned her head to see the same dark-haired Repurposer she’d seen before. Sweat streamed down his face from under the brim of his hat, and his dark eyes glistened eagerly. He pulled out the gleaming tool, switching it on. The anticipation in his eyes chilled her. This was not just a job to him. He enjoyed this.
“Should we blast her first?” another asked, reaching for his energy discharge weapon.
“Then she wouldn’t be awake,” the dark-haired one said simply. He had the air of their commander. “Hold her down!”
Her head started to clear. She craned her neck around as they pinned her down on her stomach. Four men gathered around her, all dressed in the dark uniform of the Repurposers: the efficient, tight-fitting suits, the shiny shoes . . . She kicked the one holding her legs square in the face. His nose erupted in a crimson spray, and he fell backward.
“What the hell are you doing?” their commander barked