Rushlight

By L.R. Ryan

The future ... the remnant of mankind carries on; some are safe in an electronic citadel that keeps the elements at bay, while others have been driven underground into the old subway tunnels where the living is basic and hard-won.

A young woman ventures from the safety of her underground tribe to search for food in the ruins of the old world, but finds a nightmare awaits her above ground as she’s captured and sold into slavery. She must find a way to escape, or hope for desperate rescue as a rebellion builds in the labyrinth of tunnels beneath the ruins.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Jul 17, 2013
• ISBN: 9781483504117

Book preview

—Sulla

1.

A lone figure moved through the wasteland, picking his way among the gutted buildings in the remains of the great city that once was. He appeared to be a young man, in his twenties maybe, and lanky, with long reaches of wiry muscle. He wore an old and tattered sweatshirt that was heavily stained with grime. Soot had been rubbed over his ghostly pale skin, a sort of camouflage, and he wore a patchwork backpack with a climbing rope slung over his shoulders. A dust mask served as his only protection against the air and smoke, and he wore gloves with the fingers cut out so that he could secure climbing holds with his oddly long fingers.

The wind was thick with an oily smoke from a distant blaze, and carried through the ruins. He looked small as he stood among the giant buildings that lined the long deserted streets, where the empty shells stood as grim monuments to an all-but-forgotten past. There were some who said that ghosts inhabited the ruins, haunted the remains of the old world and took the living who’d strayed into their lairs to disappear forever, but he had never encountered such wraiths. Either he was very good at not being seen, or they did not exist, for he’d made this journey many times.

A number of buildings had crumbled or fallen in this broken realm, and the sky above them shone a perpetually damaged gray. Everywhere, everything was in an endless state of decay. That there was movement here at all would have seemed shocking, had there been an observer to take such note of it. But even in such a place, the living persisted, fought to survive with every ounce of strength, despite the certainty of hardship and risk they encountered every day.

He entered what had once been a neighborhood store. The shelves were empty, of course. This place had been cleaned out long ago by scavengers, like himself, who searched the remains of the old world, looking for scraps, anything that might feed them for another day. He checked behind the counter, just to make sure. Nothing.

On the floor was a faded picture, a photograph from untold years past of a family on a beach. The faces were obscured by dirt and dust and time. He bent to pick it up, and brushed the grime from its surface, and looked intently at the scene of parents with their two children. They were smiling, and he stared at that for a time before finding a place on a shelf where he could prop up the photo, but it only seemed to underscore the overall emptiness.

He left the store and looked around warily. The street was empty. It looked to be safe passage, but he knew that appearances could be deceiving, and death lurked in the subterfuge of the enemy, who had traps that sprung from nowhere. The Black Watchers waited in the shadows for all like him who were brave or foolish enough to venture into the open places of the old city—waited to hunt them, and take them for slaves.

He slipped into the cover of an alley, tried a side door to a building, but it would not give way. Above him, but out of reach, dangled a fire escape ladder. The building was only five stories high. He sized it up; there were a few barred windows, but none was broken. It seemed worth a shot. There certainly didn’t seem to be better prospects in this zone, and his backpack was empty. He had to find something.

He backed halfway down the alley and got a running start. In Parkour fashion, he leapt and took two strides up the wall before launching himself toward the ladder. His movements were lithe, an acrobat’s ability. Still, he barely reached the ladder and grabbed tightly with first one hand, then the other. He swung twice for momentum and hauled himself up to the next rung. He was quickly to the landing.

Everything was locked or frozen shut from the years. He grabbed the ledge and kicked in the window with both feet. He was through to the inside of an apartment, and walked slowly, carefully from room to room. But it was barren, a dry hole. The light from the windows was dim, and his search so far had simply wasted precious time.

From his pocket he brought forth a rare and treasured piece of flint, and two of his rushlights. It took several strikes, but he managed a spark that finally caught the wax-covered strands alight. He held the small flames aloft and moved to the hallway, its darkness giving way only grudgingly.

He resumed his search, methodical but fast-paced now—one apartment after another was empty—and he’d begun to lose the faint hope there had been. But the next door … several kicks had it open, and the faint light of the candles revealed a living area filled with antiquated electronics—useful wire inside these, but not what he was looking for. Then he found it: the kitchen… the drawer had silverware. The cupboards had real cups and bowls. But best of all, he found canned goods—food! It was old, certainly, but even old food was better than empty stomachs. And there were bottles of wine with the corks still intact. This was a major score. Truly the best he had ever found. He moved quickly.

He stuffed as much as he could into his backpack, and had to punch a new hole to get the buckle closed. His pockets were soon full as well, and he found an old waste can and dumped it out, so that the rest of his cache could be carried.

He loosened his rope as he carried his bounty to the fire escape. With practiced efficiency, he tied a cradle securely around the can and smoothly lowered it to the ground; then he dropped his rope. He climbed down the ladder and hung from the lowest rung, and though it was still a long fall, he did not hesitate. He dropped to the ground, landing on the balls of his feet with his knees bent—a perfect landing. Quickly, he coiled his rope and shouldered it. He picked up the can and started to move when he heard it…

A black, armored vehicle rolled down the cross street. Atop the vehicle a gun turret and searchlight swept over the terrain, and a helmeted controller trained his binoculars on the passing streets. This was the evil of his nightmares come to life, a patrol of Black Watchers on the hunt.

Before the scavenger could move, the vehicle drew even with the alley, and the controller panned over him with the binoculars. He suddenly jerked them back to target. Direct contact!

For a moment they were both frozen in place; each stared at the other.

The scavenger broke first. What was precious only moments ago had become a life-threatening burden. He dropped the can and sprinted away. He lost his backpack on a dead run.

The vehicle backed up and turned into the alley, then roared forward in pursuit. The scavenger hit the turn for the next street and headed for a wall—and leapt. Just as before, he wall-walked for two strides, and then jumped to the corner of the adjacent building. He used the force of his momentum and all his strength to ricochet to the top of the wall. It was as though he could defy gravity. He scrambled over and dropped from sight.

The dark vehicle made the turn and came to a halt on the empty street. Two controllers in black uniforms carrying pain sticks exited and began to search for the scavenger on foot. The controller in the vehicle spoke into his vest microphone, as they moved down the street.

The scavenger ran warily across