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
