The Rouges

THE WIND SLAPPED my face as I looked down on the city below me. The scarce figures moving in the streets looked like ants. Their small bodies skittered through the shadows, avoiding the few street lamps that still worked. The dark meant protection, safety. Those amber pools of light meant exposing yourself, being seen, and no one wanted to be seen out in the open. Not unless they had a death wish.

Death sounded nice sometimes. It would be so... easy.

I leaned out farther from the ledge, rising on my toes to support the shifting weight. One little movement, one second of letting go and it could all be over. I wouldn't even have to watch my impending collision. I could just close my eyes and wait for the pavement to claim me. I doubted I would even feel it. My consciousness would surely be gone before even the Scavengers found me.

I could jump.

I wouldn't be the first to give up, to want out.

A cold gust of wind pushed the hood back from my face. I leaned backwards, letting my heels fall to meet the solid cement again. It would be easy, too easy. My mother's last words echoed in my mind. "Be strong, survive."

It had been six years since I watched my parents' murders. Six years of hiding, of surviving this god-forsaken place. Six years could make people forget, lose themselves, but it only sharpened my hate, chiseling their deaths, their last words into every fiber of my being.

"Be strong, survive."

Those three words made me get up, made me eat, and made me keep moving. And those same three words haunted me everyday.

I closed my eyes, seeing my mother's face. She was beautiful. I always looked too much like her, but her face was soft. That softness was lost on me. I was hardened. I could still feel the iron bars of the grate pressed against my palms, see my father's scared face as he lowered me into the storm drain, hear my mother's voice as she slipped the backpack over my shoulders. I watched silently from the prison where my parents placed me as the Ravagers took their lives, my knuckles bleeding as I pressed them to my mouth to keep from screaming. I saw my father bleed out as he watched them rape his wife. I listened to my mother fight back before they took her life too. I fought to free myself, to save her, but the grate was too heavy and I was too weak. Later, I watched as the Scavengers came for them, stealing the clothing off my parents' backs while their bodies were still warm.

I thought I would die in that storm drain, trapped forever, but one of the Scavengers saw me- and for reasons I still do not understand- he pulled up the grate and dragged me out. I should have screamed or fought him, but I remembered my mother's words and instead just held his gaze. He seemed fascinated by my boldness before turning his back to me. I watched as he pulled my father's shoes over his own stained and tattered socks.

"Life's harsh out here kid, it's every man for himself. But don't say nobody never did nothing for you." Without a second glance at me, he tossed my father's pocketknife at my feet and left me standing alone in a dark alley.

I was eleven.

After that day I was on my own. I never trusted anyone, never sought friends. My father had left his journal in the backpack. It contained plans, ideas for surviving in the city we called Tartarus- or as the Ancient Greeks referred to it: "The dungeon of the damned."

I scoured his notes, following them devoutly. And I survived.

I stepped down from the ledge of the building. I was a survivor, not a coward. Death would not be so easy for me. As many times as I had thought about giving up, stepping off a building or walking out into the daylight unarmed, I could never commit. As much as I wanted death, I couldn't surrender to it. For my parents' sake, more than mine, I had to try. I had to keep going. I owed that much to them.

I checked my father's pocket watch. It was one of the other few things he had left in the backpack. It was a handsome, old hand-wound timepiece. It wasn't much, but I loved the old watch. No batteries meant no failure and power was a scarce thing in Tartarus. I watched the frail hands tick. The sun would be coming up soon which meant the Tribes would take control of the streets once again.

The Tribes ruled Tartarus. While they prowled mostly during they daytime, their power was unequivocal.

Join or die- that was the way of the city.

There were five Tribes to choose from. The five lesser evils as I liked to think of them. Each had their own defining virtues- if you could call them that- but they were all murderers, all tyrants seeking power.

The Adroits were probably the lesser of all the evils. They were the cleverest of the Tribes, keeping their hands clean by their own standards. They sought death and power, but rarely got close to the dirty work. Adroits set numerous traps throughout Tartarus- bombs that could take out a city block, IEDs that would take a man out at the knees leaving him to bleed out, pits that could swallow a person into the sea of waiting spikes at the bottom. Yes, they rarely killed a person with their own bare hands, but their death toll was still high.

Equally as cunning and incredibly more deceitful were the Taciturns, but unlike the Adroits they were not afraid to get their hands dirty. They moved like silent shadows. Rarely heard, but their presence was everywhere. Tribe wars rarely started or ended without the Taciturns' involvement. How they managed to get into the minds of other Tribes perplexed me, but somehow they always seemed to know everything.

The Wraiths were even more of a mystery; rarely seen, they were called the ghosts of the city. Few knew where they gathered or what their true numbers were, but their reputation preceded them. No one survived an attack to tell about it, but the aftermaths were enough to strike fear in even the darkest heart. Each murder was marked by the removal of the victim's left hand. As the victim's blood spilled out, the murderer marked his or her kill with a handprint pressed into their victim's freshly pooling blood. Wraiths always claimed their killings, marking each massacre with pride.

The Scavengers were the least threatening, but they were the scum of the city. The vile rats that slithered amongst sewage. They scurried behind other Tribes, reaping the profits of their kills. When spoils ran slim they would pick off the weak, turning on each other just as often as they would a stranger. Their motto was "Sleep with one eye open." They were also the number one contributor to the city's lost orphans. The Scavengers reproduced like the rodents they were, but didn't possess a nurturing bone in their disease-ridden bodies. Any child born in their tribe was usually left for dead. If the child could walk on its own, it could fend for itself. I never forgave them for robbing my parents, even if I was spared. My hatred for those filthy rats was only overpowered by my hate for one other Tribe. The Ravagers.

Scavengers might have taken my parents' last belongings, but it was the Ravagers who took their lives. They were the largest and most deadly Tribe. Aside from their overwhelming numbers, they ran purely on their ids. Always seeking out instant gratification for their basic urges, needs, and desires. If they wanted something, they took it. The Ravagers feared no one, took what they wanted and lived like death could never find them. They raped women, killed children and generally took pleasure in others' pain. Humanity was becoming a dying breed under their reign.

Join or die.

Those were the rules of their city, not mine. I may live here now, but it was not where I was born.

I wouldn't play by their rules.

I wouldn't sell my soul to the devil, even if it meant living longer. And if you won't play with the devil you had better learn to hide from him.

The way I saw it, I had two choices. Go underground or take to the sky. In the end I figured it was better to see from above rather than to bury myself. In truth, there really wasn't much of a choice. The smell of the underground reminded me of the storm drain, of my parents' deaths, the hot air swirling around my feet as the faint hint of sewage and decay clung to my nostrils. I gagged just thinking about it.

As an outcast, I never stayed more than one consecutive day in any of my refuges. As morning threatened I would pack up my things and roll my twenty-sided dice. It was a strange dice, red with white faded letters on each side. But to me, each letter meant a different safe house, a different place to hide. The real security was in randomness. Without patterns a person is harder to track and the dice proved to be my greatest ally in remaining unpredictable.

I watched the red dice bounce to a halt falling on the letter B. I smiled. Tonight's safe house was my favorite and it had been nearly a month since I had been there. Snatching up the dice, I slung my bag over my shoulder and took off at a run.

As always, I kept to the rooftops. I ran lightly, careful not to fall, careful not to give my location away. Here, in the remnants of what was once a great city, the decrepit buildings lay close together. While their frames held true, most of their insides had been gutted. Torn apart over the years by Tribe wars, animals and time. Unless you could scale a drainpipe, brave an abandoned elevator shaft or climb the eroded brick on the side of a building, most rooftops were unreachable. It didn't help that I had been slowly deconstructing most avenues to get skyward over the years. There were now few buildings that allowed access upwards and I knew them all.

I leapt over the small gap between buildings just as the first drop fell. I glared at the sky before pulling up my hood and picking up speed.

"Rain..." I grumbled to myself.

This wasn't the drinking kind, the kind that replenished the earth. What was once the world's lifeline, now reeked of toxicity. If drank, it would surely kill a person and if caught in it for too long, your skin would pay the price. I only had to get the blistering rash once to know that rain was to be avoided.

I came to the padlocked door just as the sky opened up. Quickly, I pulled the pins in the door's hinge. Locks kept most people out but only because they never thought to remove the hinges. I dragged the heavy door closed behind me, feeling a weight slide off my shoulders as it shut.

Pushing the rain-soaked hood back from my face, I started forward in the dark. My feet knew the way even when my eyes couldn't see it. I let my fingers trace the wall, until they found open air. Dodging sideways, I ducked into the hole just big enough for my body. The air duct had gotten tighter over the years as I had grown but my progress was still uninhibited. After twenty feet or so, I felt the grated vent against my palms. I pressed my ear to the perforated surface and listened for a sixty count. Upon hearing nothing, I pushed. Carefully, I lowered myself through the opening until my feet found a solid surface. My chest felt tight in the darkness, but I knew precautions must be taken before I could light a torch. When sloppiness can cost you your life, you learn not to be sloppy.

I pressed the vent closed, my fingers tracing the cardboard outline covering it. Taking great care, I stepped down from my perch and took seven calculated steps forward. As before with the vent, I traced the door, ensuring all the gaps were still covered. Once I was confident no light would escape, I pulled the torch from my bag.

I had to crank the handle fifteen times, and then clicked the switch. The light was an odd shade of green, but it was still a light. Choices of light sources were slim here and although this bulb cast everything in a sickly hue, the benefit was that it would probably outlive me. Despite my distaste for the green glow, it was still a welcome friend in the darkness. The light was oddly fitting here, the wan illumination the perfect representation of the city of Tartarus. Vile and repulsive and yet, somehow, it had become home.

The room was exactly as I had left it. At one point it must have been a supply closet or something of the sort, but it was void of any cleaning supplies or unnecessary boxes. The old shelving I had used as a ladder was now covered in books with a few surplus food boxes mixed in. I tried to keep a small stash in every hostel for days like this when the rain trapped me inside. I threw my bag down, hung up my coat to dry in the corner and ran my hands over the books' bindings. Pulling a familiar leather-bound book from the shelf, I held it to my nose.

I loved that smell. In all of my adventures, nothing ever smelled quite like an old book. This one was by a Charles Dickens, entitled A Tale of Two Cities. It was one of my favorites, not just because of its characters and story, but because I remembered my parents reading it to me as a child. One of the few memories I had. Touching the book, reading over its words made me feel like they were still with me, like I wasn't alone. That's why I loved this refuge more than any other, not for its location in the city or its safety, but for what was contained within its walls. Outside this storage closest was what remained of the Old World's library. During my visits here, I would brave the open aisles and steal books. The main floor of the library was desolate. Few people knew how to read anymore and most books had been stolen for kindling during the winters. Fortunately though, the Adroits had blown up the stairs leading to the upper levels at some point so most of the books there remained intact. I had collected many of my favorites, but my reading choices were becoming limited. Maybe after some sleep, I would venture out for new material.

I placed the book back with its brothers and took inventory of my supplies.

There were two bottles of fresh water, three empty bottles, five water purifying tablets, two packs of dried fruit, two military grade MREs and a rare can of pears. It had expired a year ago, but a girl could not afford to be picky. I wrote down everything in my notebook, logging what I would need to restock. My supplies were running low.

Grabbing a bottle of water, a MRE and the can of pears, I settled into the makeshift cot I had stuffed in the corner. The MREs were never bad, but they weren't great either. The hardest part was usually finding a way to heat them. If I placed the bag over my torch lantern, I could usually get a lukewarm meal in about thirty minutes, give or take. I poured in a measured amount of water and balanced the bag precariously on top of the glowing light.

While my meal warmed, I took my father's notebook out. Idly, I ran my fingertips over the four-inch scar behind my right ear as I looked over the pages. His handwriting was so small and precise to a fault. My scrawl looked childlike next to his. The notebook was filled with his words. A good portion of it was written in a code he had taught me. While I could remember how to read the script, I couldn't remember what he had called it. Latin or Larin or something like that. My mind could never latch onto its name, but as long as I knew how to read it, I didn't really care. Lists spanned the pages, ideas that had filtered through his mind. Places to seek shelter, places to avoid, people who might trade, things to remember, old ways that should never be forgotten. Things like the written word, where we came from, what had happened to the world before our time.

In the Old World, before The Devastation, planet earth was escalating. Science had changed the world- in some ways for the better, in other ways toward its detriment. Science saved lives that would have been otherwise damned, constantly cheating death. The world's population was soaring. But Mother Nature got her revenge. When The Devastation came she got her comeuppance. For every life science had saved, she reaped thousands.

There were many names for what happened to the world. Some called it the Armageddon or the apocalypse; others saw it as nature's way of purging itself. Either way, the destruction of the world was devastating. It started with the earthquakes. While cities fell into rubble, other parts of the earth opened up. Once dormant volcanoes awoke, searing the sky and smothering the land. Then the water came. The earth took back its land, drowning most of the world. Oceans swallowed continents whole, countries that once shared borders became islands and islands disappeared never to be seen again.

Governments fell apart and panic ruled. So many lives were lost, technologies destroyed. Life as the human race knew it ceased to exist. But, as with all great travesties, there came hope. Survivors banded together, The Wall was built and The Sanctuary was created. Those who sought security and equality were welcomed to The Sanctuary with open arms. Those who sought power and dominance were left to Tartarus. Cultures ceased to exist and races blended together but the human race still found a way to divide itself. The Sanctuary formed a civilization that ostracized the world outside its walls, and that abandoned world formed the Tribes to survive. This was the New World.I traced my father's script, wishing for the one answer he didn't leave me. Why did he make our family leave The Sanctuary?

No matter how many times I reread his pages or how many times I traced his words, the answer was never there. I wished I could remember something, anything from before the night of my parents' deaths. But it was as if all those memories had died with them. I think maybe it was my mind's way of protecting itself. I would get flashes of them reading me books or looking up at my mother as I held her hand. But that's all they were. Flashes. I set his journal aside and opened the can of pears, relishing the sweet smell. I pulled one out, toasting myself before taking a bite.

"Happy Birthday."

***

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I AWOKE WITH a start, my arms flailing outward, as the scream caught in my throat. It only took seconds to recognize my surroundings, to calm my racing heart. This was how I awoke every morning, every morning since my parents died. After years I managed to restrain the scream, awakening before it escaped my lips. Screaming in the night could get you found, screaming during the daytime would get you killed.

I checked my father's watch in the green light. It was nearly three in the afternoon. There were still hours until dark. I knew I would have to stock up more food before I left for my next refuge, but scavenging during the daytime wasn't an option.

Thumbing through my book collections, I felt uninspired and bored, having already read them so many times. I thought about trying to sleep longer but my mind was too awake. After eating a breakfast of dried apples, I made a plan to grow my personal library. Aside from needing something else to distract my mind, books always proved a good source of trade. Those few of us who defied the Tribes kept to ourselves and stayed quiet. We never gathered, nor really ever trusted one another. But when goods ran scarce, trades were not uncommon. It was finding the right recluses to trade with that was key. One wrong choice and you could easily find yourself with empty hands and a knife in your back. A select few of my merchants knew how to read and those that didn't, never turned down good kindling.

Rifling through my few belongings, I decided to leave my larger backpack behind. It was too heavy and often cumbersome while crawling through the vents. I would only need a small tote big enough to carry books. My revolver lay on the mattress in its holster. I eyed it, speculating if it was needed. I always took it with me outside or to hunt for food, but no one ever came in the library anymore. I had seen a few rats and the occasional wild dogs on the floors below, but none of them ever bothered me. Instead I slid my knife into my hip sheath and climbed up the shelves to the vent.

As always, I moved with great caution, careful to never make a sound and always listening for others. But like usual, the building was empty. After nearly ten minutes of crawling, I saw light shining up through the galvanized steel. Cautiously I pressed my ear to the vent while holding my breath.

Nothing.

I smiled and pushed open the grate before sliding out onto the top of a bookshelf. Before descending I scanned the rows, my keen eyes looking for any trace of movement, foreign color or moved shelving. Nothing had changed since I was here last. Several of the books I had discarded still lay on the floor where I had dumped them, uninterested.

Relaxing a bit, I took a deep breath. The room was massive, filled with rows upon rows of abandoned books. It smelled like aged paper, and earth from the destroyed floors below. I loved that smell. Soundlessly, I climbed down the metal shelf I had perched on and headed for my favorite sections.

First I stopped by the romance section- business first, then pleasure. These were my least favorite kind of book. People fell into whirlwind romance, swept up with sexual desires and passion. I didn't believe in love, it was a wasted emotion that could get you killed. People did foolish things in the name of love. While I detested these books, they were generally thick and most of my allies didn't care about the content as long as they burned.

I never made friends, not even with my allies. There were those I could barter with safely, and those I couldn't, I stole from. I never stole from the dead. Rationally it made more sense to take from the dead; after all it wasn't like they would be using anything any more. But the thought made me nauseous, reminding me too much of watching my parents' murders. Instead I traded with a few recluses and targeted the Tribes' storage facilities for the rest. I never felt guilty stealing from them.

Blindly grabbing a few thick books, I tossed them into my bag and moved on to the educational section. I browsed the titles looking for books on survival and warfare. After skimming their backs I took two of the most promising titles before moving on to the fiction section. I loved this section the most. The books here provided an escape, a place to let my mind wander free and find friends. Not real friends, but friends I could care about without having to commit to. Once I had opened a book and read its pages, those characters could never be taken away from me. Even if the books were burned, they would still live on in my mind. They couldn't die or betray you, friends on paper proved much more lucrative than real ones.

This section was also the largest, and after years of perusing its shelves I had only just scratched the surface. Leisurely, I moved through the rows looking for authors I recognized or titles that called to me. Upon finding one of interest I would pull it from the shelf and read the back cover or the first few pages. Anything of interest was added to my collection. Everything else got added to the growing pile on the floor. I was so immersed in the pages of a potential gem that I almost didn't hear them.

Two voices were making their way toward me, speaking in hushed tones.

"Shut up. I swear I heard something up here."

"If I scaled that damn rope for nothing, I swear I will slit your throat myself."

Every muscle in my body tensed as the distinctly male voices drifted through the aisles. Careful not to make a sound, I slipped the book into my bag and peeked through a gap in the books. Their backs were turned to me, the black leather of their coats splattered in red. Both men were hulking in size, my head probably even with their chests. The taller one had a red mohawk with feathers dangling from it. The other was bald with deep scars that covered the entire left side of his head like angry red fissures. Both of them had an obscene amount of metal piercings protruding from their skin. My hair rose on end.

Ravagers.

What the hell were they doing here? Panic prickled in the pit of my stomach. The vent leading to safety was nearly five rows over across the aisle; there was no way to make it there without being seen. Why hadn't I brought my gun? I cursed myself as their eyes scanned the empty rows.

"I smell fear." One of them taunted, his gruff voice no longer whispering.

They cackled with delight.

I swallowed hard. Even if it was just a farce to scare me, it was working, my pulse accelerating. Punching the other in the shoulder, the one with the mohawk motioned for them to spilt off. My ears began to ring as they moved to either side of my row and progressed towards me. I was trapped. My eyes instantly searched for another route of escape or a place to hide. As their footsteps moved closer, I began to silently climb.

"Here kitty, kitty. Come on out, we won't hurt you." The higher voice crooned.

"Much." The deep voice replied before they broke into another round of laughter.

Perched on the center of the shelf I waited until they were about even with my aisle. As they turned the corner, I swung my body over the top pressing myself flat against the metal surface. All they had to do was look up and I would be dead. I cursed myself again for leaving my gun. How could I have been so foolish?

I pressed my face to the dusty metal surface, preparing to run at a moment's notice. My hand closed over the hilt of my knife. If I could injure one, I might have a chance of outrunning the other. I stared at the vent several aisles over. I could jump the gaps easily and stick to the shelf tops, but only if they didn't-I heard the familiar click and my heart sank as I finished the thought. They had a gun. A hulking brute I could outrun, but a bullet? The chances were thin.

"They're here somewhere. I feel it." The mohawk whispered again.

My heart pounded in my ears as I prepared to launch myself into motion. Aim for the eye, aim for the eye I reminded myself. As my wrist twitched to free my knife, a crash erupted from the other side of the library.

The shelf I lay on shook, nearly knocking me off as one of the Ravagers clipped the corner in their pursuit of the noise. Rowdily, they blundered down the aisles whooping and hollering their battle cry. Without hesitation I sprang to my feet and sprinted across the bookshelves as they disappeared. My feet slid on the dusty surfaces, but managed to keep their purchase. Another crash emitted from the floor below. I turned, launching across the main aisle toward the vent. My foot slipped on the edge, my shin colliding with the sharp edge as I caught myself. An involuntary cry escaped as pain exploded through my leg.

"Get off the rope you idiot! They're still up here!" A voice screamed, coming closer again.

Limping, I dragged myself the last few steps. Smashing my fist into the vent I knocked it open and pulled myself inside. As I yanked the grate closed I drew my face back from the light, watching as the two Ravagers came back into view. They were both sweating and obviously enraged.

"NO ONE IS HERE DAMN IT!"

I clenched my jaw as mohawk turned his gun on scar face and pulled the trigger. The bullet pierced his arm, blood spraying on the books behind him as he screamed. I couldn't watch the fight that ensued, the sounds of their fists like slapping meat echoing in the vent. While I didn't want to watch I also knew moving wasn't an option. One sound and they would surely fire a round in the ceiling just for fun. Closing my eyes I pressed my face to the cool metal and covered my ears. The sound of colliding flesh wasn't entirely drowned out, but it was at least dulled. The minutes pressed on like hours until they eventually worked off their anger and stumbled away. Even after their voices had faded I lay still. After nearly twenty minutes of silence I finally crawled my way back to the storage closet.

My leg throbbed when I hopped down from the shelving. There was something warm pooling in the top of my shoe. Carefully sitting, I turned my lantern on and pulled up my pant leg. A six-inch gash ran down my shin, specks of raw white flesh were visible under the flowing blood. I took a deep breath and let my head fall against the wall.I had been so stupid, so careless. I was getting too comfortable and it nearly cost me my life. Grabbing a bottle of water I splashed it on a rag and pressed it to the raw skin. Air hissed out my teeth as my body shook with pain, but I forced myself to keep breathing, suppressing a scream.

I would remember this.

I would remember what my carelessness had cost me. What it could have cost me if something hadn't fallen when it did. I was sure it was a part of the building caving in or rotted ceiling tiles crashing to the floor. I had gotten lucky, but one should never be so stupid to rely solely on luck.

My body stopped shaking as the pain lessened, the endorphins now flowing through my system. My pain, the scar I would surely bear would be a vivid reminder to stay vigilant. Carefully, I wrapped my leg to staunch the bleeding. The cut was not deep, but skin over shallow bone seemed to bleed a lot. I dug in my bag and came up empty. My medical salves were gone and infection was a great risk. I would have to see The Healer.

I never learned her real name, but most of us went by false ones anyway. She was an ancient woman with thinning grey hair and a withered face with creased lines deep as craters. Her gnarled hands were frightening when they touched you, but her medicines were good. I would have to find food and herbs to trade with her. And unfortunately, there was only one place I could procure both those things. The Ravagers' supply container. It was a heavily guarded warehouse on the edge of The Wall. I had planned to go there tonight anyway, but an injured leg was sure to slow me down.

I couldn't stay here another night, but if I rolled the dice there was no guarantee I would land on a nearby safe house. If I wanted to be hidden before dark I would have to pick one close to The Healer, even if it broke all of my rules. Mentally I went through my list searching for an easily accessible safe house. The school. It was some kind of an educational housing in the Old World. It was filled with abandoned rooms and decrepit hallways. My refuge there was in the basement, in a room with no windows and hard floors, but there were showers there. Plus it was on the edge of Tartarus, a mere jog from The Healer.

A pang of trepidation rolled though me as I holstered my gun and filled my bag. I was breaking the system, but what choice did I have? Break the system or risk being exposed during the daylight? Neither was a great option, but one was more likely to end up with me dead. The two Ravagers today were nothing, a fluke, but to be on the streets, in the open... that would be tempting fate.

I checked my watch. Darkness had fallen.

I released the magazine on my gun and checked the cartridge. It was still full. Setting the safety, I holstered it again and took a deep breath. Moving more carefully now, I crawled into the vent and headed out into the darkness. Tonight was a night I would steal my food or die trying.

****

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IT WAS FRUSTRATING moving across the rooftops tonight. My leg ached every time I landed heavily on it causing me to limp the next few strides. But no matter how badly it hurt, I pushed through it. There wasn't time to complain or feel sorry for myself, the only thing I could do was work to fix it. No matter how bad the pain gets, you have to keep moving forward.

I could see the Ravager's reserve warehouse from nearly a mile away, the glass skylights illuminated in the dark night. I was never able to figure out how they had power while the rest of the city was constantly swallowed in blackness. While their dull humming lights weren't bright, they were still glowing. In all honesty, it almost put them at a disadvantage. As I stood in the dark, my well-adjusted eyes could see their every movement in the glowing lamps. But from their perspectives, they could barely see past the pools of light into the shadows beyond. With my black attire and cloaked hood I was nearly invisible.

Ravagers were violent, but not very bright.

Hunched, I wrapped my fingers over the edge of the building. Three guards moved lazily below me. I could see the sheen of black metal as they adjusted their guns. Even with all of the advances in technology, guns had still proven to be one of the most efficient and inexpensive ways to kill someone at a long distance. Things like chemical warfare risked too many lives, proving hard to contain and weapons of mass destruction weren't such a great idea now that we were quarantined to such a small land mass. Most other modern day weapons would debilitate your target, slow them down, or render them unconscious. But here in Tartarus we aimed to kill. Knives and guns have been killing successfully for thousands of years, so why change a good thing. If anything, modern technology has only improved upon an already successful weapon. There were bullets that could track body heat, scopes that could see up to ten miles and knives that produced an electrical shock strong enough to singe your internal organs. Fortunately for me, these kinds of weapons were rare outside of The Wall.

I waited until the guards passed to make their rounds and lifted the makeshift ladder I had stashed on the rooftop. The span between the two roofs was too big to jump, but a well-placed ladder made a decent bridge. The wood landed lightly on the other side and I began to move steadily across before they returned. The wood creaked and shifted slightly under my weight but I moved onward unfazed. I always figured if it broke I would fall and die. Better it was at the hands of gravity while I tried to survive than in the grip of a Tribe while I surrendered.

The tarred rooftop was still warm from the day's sun, my shoes sticking slightly to the surface. I moved with ease to the second glowing skylight on the left. The third pane lifted with ease, letting a blast of warm air out.

My mouth watered as the sweet smell of food swirled around my face. They must have gotten fresh supplies today; I could smell bread mixed in the grainy scented air. What I would give to taste that freshly baked bread... but unfortunately food like that was not worth the risk of getting caught. MREs and canned supplies were the safest choice. They were always pushed on the back shelves, temporarily forgotten. Even procuring The Healer's herbs was a risk I rarely took, but the fire burning in my shin made it a necessity tonight.

Removing my backpack, I concealed it in a nearby air duct and pulled out my tote. With calculated movements, I slid through the open pane and transitioned expertly to the exposed beams. Careful to keep my feet centered, I focused on the next support beam and moved forward.

The key was not to look down.

The dropoff was nearly forty feet, but if I kept my eyes focused on the goal my feet remained steady. I continued this choreographed dance of sorts for another three beams until I reached the old water supply pipe running from the roof. Keeping to the shadows, I used the connecter pipes as steps and descended into the belly of the warehouse.

Most of the guards remained outside, confident no one could infiltrate their watch. The few guards inside took little notice of anything around them. From the looks of it two of them were nearly fornicating in the corner, while a third proceeded to stuff his face with some kind of meat. The bullring in his nose pressed against the meat with each bite as red juices dripped down his lips, collecting in his exposed chest hair. I had to look away to keep from gagging.

All three bore the marks of their Tribe. Black clothing marked with red, piercings covering their extremities. The woman's long black hair was shaved on the sides before cascading into a waist length ponytail. Beauty was not something the Ravagers held in high esteem. The harder you looked, the more respect you got.

With the three of them effectively distracted, I continued on my hunt. Keeping pressed to the back wall, I scanned the shelves for what I needed. I knew the herbs were closer to the guards and decided it would be easier to get those without a full bag.

Careful not to bump up against the tightly packed shelving, I wove my way forward in a crouch. People's eyes naturally searched at the average human height level, the key was to either stay low or move up high.

The herbs were only three rows ahead of me, but the sex driven couple was on the move. I dropped to my belly behind a sack of potatoes just as her steel toed boots passed.

"Don't you walk away from me!" The man growled as he pursued her.

She turned flipping him a rude hand gesture. "You don't own me."

"Like hell I don't, " his hand flashed out, winding in her ponytail as he yanked violently backwards. Her heels clattered on the floor as she toppled backwards grabbing at his hand. Catching her by the throat, he smashed his face to hers claiming her lips as she struggled. Then, with a startled cry, he dropped her. His blood smeared her lips as she grinned up at him. Cackling like a hyena she spit his lip ring back at him.

I thought he was going to kill her, but to my disgust he grinned and climbed on top of her instead.

As they pawed hungrily at each other, I crawled forward, desperate to get away.

With the two of them now engaged in the middle of my path, I had to take a longer route. Fortunately the herbs were right where I expected them to be. There were some I recognized like ginger root, garlic and rosemary. Those I didn't, I knew The Healer would. Careful to take enough for a trade, but not so much that their loss would be noticed, I filled a third of my bag.

In case the lovers where still disgustingly engaged, I moved further away and headed for the back wall. Something rotten filled my nose. Turning, my blood began to boil. Standing before me was racking filled with rotting food.

People were starving, scraping for scraps and these animals had enough food to let it rot.

My hands shook with anger.

Another cackle from the woman reminded me I should keep moving. With less restraint I began grabbing something off every shelf I passed, filling my bag. As my fingers nimbly worked their way up the pipe and my leg screamed in pain, I smiled. The heavy bag resting against my back felt vindicating. After carefully replacing the glass pane and hiding my ladder, I took off at a steady pace to find The Healer.

It was fortunate that her hideout was so close to the Ravagers' warehouse. After all of the physical activity I could feel the blood beginning to seep through my makeshift bandage. The Healer's hut was an old abandoned water tower on the city limits. She had broken off the ladder at some point, creating an unreachable tower. Even a skilled climber as myself could not make it up the entire way without falling.

Upon reaching the base of her tower I leaned against the huge support leg. My fingers searched, quickly finding the rusted hole I sought. Leaning close I whistled a three-pitch tone. A minute later, a hatch opened. I stood perfectly still. I knew at that moment a gun was pointed at my head. If I moved too fast or appeared to be a threat, she would shoot me. I must have passed her test because eventually a rope ladder dropped from the tower. Checking my gun and knife one more time, I then climbed upward towards The Healer.

The air was stifling as I emerged into the round metal room. A heavy smoke clung to the air, a faint scent of rot lingering on it. The room was nearly as dark as the night outside, except for the small fire burning in the center of it.

"Don' ya dally girl." A rough voice spoke in broken English from the shadows. "Pull up da rope."

My skin crawled as it did every time I came in contact with The Healer. I hated pulling the rope ladder up and trapping myself in this metal dome with her. As much as I detested it, trading with her meant playing by her rules and I needed those antibiotics.

Her faded eyes scanned my bag as I closed the hatch. "Whatcha go' for me today?"

Without saying a word I pulled the tote from my bag and dumped its contents out on her table. My portion of the food was already carefully stowed at the bottom of my bag.

Her eyes widened as they took in my offerings. "Ya mus' be in need of sometin big. An from ya limpin I say 'is ya leg."

"I need some of your antibiotic salve, preferably a double batch this time." My hand rested on the holster as I waited for her response.

"We may 'ave a deal." She began moving about the room gathering things in her withered hands. "Set ya self on the table an let da Healer look."

Keeping my eyes on her, I carefully sat upon her cluttered table avoiding what looked like entrails. Dropping a pile of jars and rags next to me she yanked up my pant leg with surprising speed for an old woman. My fingers reflexively twitched toward the hilt of my knife.

Clucking her tongue, she peeled back my bandage, pulling some of the scabbing skin with it. I sucked in a sharp breath.

"Dangerous world deez days." She muttered before smearing some rotten smelling cream over the raw skin. While the stench burned my nose, the pain in my shin was almost instantly relieved. I sighed with pleasure.

She grinned a gapped smile at me. "See da ol' Healer knows."

Her hands wound a new bandage over my leg, and then began collecting the jars intended for me. "Leave dat on for thirty time, den apply dis."

I pulled my pants over my leg and took the jars from her, placing them in my now nearly empty sack. With impressive strength she pulled open the hatch and kicked the ladder down.

Before descending I tossed her one of the romance novels. "For your troubles."

She grinned, "I see ya soon, I sure."

Hastily, I retreated down the ladder. The second my hands were free of the rough rope it rose back into the hatch. I took a deep breath of fresh air as I watched the hatch close. We both got something of benefit and no one died. It was a good trade. With my feet back on solid ground, the medicines clinking in my bag and the hatch door closed, I finally took my hand off my gun.

Without looking back I headed for the nearest building, knowing the back corner's drainpipe was still intact.

My leg felt amazing as I sat on the edge of the rooftop. The searing pain was nothing more than a dull ache now. While The Healer was not my favorite merchant, she definitely knew her stuff. Casually, I leaned back against the behemoth gargoyle perched on the side of the building, letting my feet dangle precariously over the edge. The sky tonight was clear; even a few stars could be seen through the atmospheric haze. I checked my pocket watch. There were still two hours until sunrise and I could easily be at the school within twenty minutes.

I picked up a piece of rubble and chucked it into the open space before me. As always my curiosity sparked as I watched the sky crackle and pop when the rock collided with the invisible force field. While the city of The Sanctuary was protected within the great iron walls that stood as high as most buildings, there was also some kind of force field above that. I used to think about jumping off a building to try and clear the metal walls below, but after witnessing a bird fly into the force field, that thought quickly died. The invisible electrified fence shocked the poor creature, sending its charred remains plummeting back towards the earth. The Wall wasn't merely a man-made barricade, but an impenetrable force field whose heights knew no bounds. On the rare occasion I was close enough to it, the temptation to fling things at The Wall was irrepressible.

There was little else beyond what was our city. Outside the masses of buildings was just dead, open land. There were broken stretches of streets filled with the skeletons of motor vehicles, but even those didn't lead anywhere anymore. There was nothing left to lead to. What wasn't wasteland was toxic water and what wasn't toxic water was wasteland. Even Tartarus was a mere fleck of its former self. What was once a prosperous city was now just blackened streets and broken buildings. The choices weren't great. You could escape the Tribes and die of exposure or deal with the Tribes in the urban jungle that was once a city and stand a chance- however small- at surviving.

I pinched another piece of rubble in my fingers, ready to fling it when a commotion erupted in the streets beneath me.

Shouting echoed off the abandoned buildings, bouncing back at me from all angles. There was a sound of distant gunfire as I rose to my feet, followed by the Ravager hunting cry. They were tracking someone. That eerie cry meant one thing and one thing only- someone was going to die tonight.

I hopped back over the ledge to the rooftop, it certainly would not be my blood spilled tonight. Another cry pierced the night and I reflexively turned in its direction. I could see the Ravagers' torch lights glowing in the distance. From the sound of it, they were closing in on their prey. I squinted as something moved thirty feet in front of them in the shadows. How strange that they should be hunting at night.

As the thought crossed my mind, the tiny shadow moved into the light from the street lamps. My heart dropped.

She was only a child.

Even from this distance I could see her body shaking with fear. Her long mousy hair clung to the small cherubic face as she searched for an escape. Panic filled me as I watched her frozen frame.

"Run!" I muttered to her under my breath.

Another gunshot fired, the bullet sparking as it struck the lamppost next to her. Falling backwards she scrambled away darting down the nearest alley. My gut clenched. I knew that alley, I knew every alley, and she had just trapped herself in a dead-end.

The Ravagers knew it too. Slowing their pace, they sauntered to the mouth of the alley, cat-calling at the little girl.

"Run away." My mind told me. "Leave her, this doesn't affect you."

While I agreed with this callous voice of reason, my body was already in motion. My feet carrying me to the edge of the roof, I blindly dove for the next building, bounding forward when my feet connected. Just one more rooftop and I would be upon her. I sprinted for the back corner of the building where I knew there was a half-constructed drainpipe. It was missing the last fifteen feet to prevent someone from climbing up it. But the drop could be managed with a calculated fall.

Moving like a shadow, I flipped my body over the side of the building and flung myself downward. My feet slid on the metal, finding purchase just before the pipe abruptly cut off. Scanning the dark alley I caught a glimpse of movement behind an overturned dumpster. She was only about ten feet in front of me. I began calculating my jump as the first leather clad hunter appeared at the mouth of the alley. He was idly twirling a bat as his side. Various spikes protruded from the head like lethal thorns.

"Maaaarrrrrco..." He called mockingly from the end of the alley. Rolling laughter erupted behind him as pierced bodies filled the narrow opening. There were about fifteen of them, the glinting metal and shaved heads making it nearly impossible to delineate the men from the women. But from my vantage point, it looked like the hunting pack was mostly male. My stomach churned.

Escape or die. Getting caught was not an option.

The leader took a few calculated steps down the alley, dragging the spikes against the ground as he moved.

"You're supposed to say 'Polo' little one or don't you want to play with us?" The girl huddled further against the wall. "Don't worry, we'll be gentle..."

The knife left my hand as the bloodthirsty crowd exploded with mirth. The blade flickered for an instant in the darkness before burying itself into the leader's left eye. The ensuing chaos was instantaneous.

The horde continued to laugh for several heartbeats before their leader's screams reached their ears. When his massive body hit the ground, writhing as he clung to the handle protruding from his eye socket I leapt toward the ground. Calculating the fall, I landed lithely on my feet letting the momentum roll my body forward. But I had underestimated the force of my fall. I rolled out into the center of the alley, stopping in a low crouch as fourteen and a half sets of eyes fell upon me. My gun was drawn and firing before they could react. Darting to the side I ducked behind the dumpster as bullets began to rain down on us. Based on the screams I had hit a few more of the heathens. At least if I was going down I would take a few of the scum with me. A tiny hand grabbed my arm and I turned to meet two terrified brown eyes. I gritted my teeth. She was no older than I was when I was left alone in this city.

Grabbing her petite body I pressed it into mine, shielding her from the onslaught of debris. The bullets were beginning to eat through the rusted metal. It wouldn't be much longer before they could reach us. It took my ringing ears a second to realize the gunfire had ceased.

Someone was still screaming in pain.

"If you give us the girl, we might just let you live." A female's voice called this time.

The child began to shake in my arms again.

"Leave and you may not need an eye patch like your friend." I called in a calm voice back to her. It was a farce, my only knife was gone and by my count there were only three bullets left in my gun.

"You had better hope this bullet finds you first princess, I won't be so gentle." The woman's voice echoed back.

There was an odd, high-pitched humming coming from the mouth of the alley. Without hesitating I yanked the girl off the ground and ran for the corner where the drainpipe was. If I lifted her high enough there was a ledge barely big enough for a child to stand on, from there she could reach the pipe. At least she could escape.

"You have to climb!" I screamed at her as I thrust her into the air. I felt her tiny feet scramble as her hands found their grip. The humming was getting louder, the tone nearly unbearable. The sound stopped just as she left my hands and my back exploded into shreds of fire where the heat-seeking bullet found me.

I slammed against the wall before staggering backwards, but as I fell there was a second explosion from somewhere behind me. This was not the work of a gun. A brilliant white light swallowed the alley, searing my retinas. I blinked- at least I thought I blinked. It felt like my eyes were open, but I saw nothing. I heard nothing.

I fell at an old angle, my limbs feeling disjointed from my body. Nothing moved, even my chest stilled as the pain seeped through my body.

This was it.

Hands found me, tugging and pulling at my limp body. The Scavengers were already upon me, stealing what little I had left in this world.

A small part of me found peace. So this is how it happens, this is how I die. All of those years of wondering and now I knew...

***