FSE

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Alice Shani waited in line at the Rapid Shack Cafe, a subsidiary of Ubisphere and only coffee house on the Compound, checking her watch every few minutes and trying not to tap her foot too impatiently. She really should have arrived ten minutes earlier, but she’d had a restless night trying to get ready for the presentation and had fallen asleep late, resulting in her hitting the snooze button one too many times. It was almost eight and if she didn’t arrive with the coffee for the morning meeting she would be in trouble.

She ordered five of the trademarked Ubisphere’s special artisanal blend, three with cream and sugar, one with just cream, one black, and one caramel macchiato for herself. She sat back while she waited for her order to be called out. Her tired mind drifted back to work, to all the things she would have to get done for the day, while trying her hardest not to be distracted by the entitled, incompetent dimwit that was Anthony Copeland.

She collected and paid for the orders with her own scrip, this would be a small sacrifice to make if she did manage to convince the board of directors of her salvage projects. With some luck she could get a big bonus out of this, even a promotion if she were really lucky, maybe even a transference to the Walled Cities on the north. She run down the Central Street and into the newly built Central Administration building. Balancing the two trays of coffee in her hands, she somehow managed to get to the office on the 6th floor without spilling any on the white blouse she wore.

Her low-heeled shoes clicked against the black tile floor as she headed past the office floor, through the hall, and into the meeting room. Several of the staff were already waiting, talking on their company-issued phones and making notes on pads of paper.

She set the coffee down near the middle of the table, and froze momentarily when Anthony Copeland leered her way. He wasn’t ugly, just the bland kinds of good looks that seemed to come with an excess of money, but he was too convinced of his own importance.

She couldn’t understand why a person like him had been sent to the reclamation project, he seemed to be the kind of person that would be much more comfortable living on the Walled Cities, where he never would need to worry about anything. As it was now, he had absolute control of the facilities, but he seemed incapable of understanding their situation and what was needed of them. It had been his orders to build the coffee shop even as their rations were running thin.

The ceiling lights flickered for a moment, a remind that their generators had been constantly failing and unless they could find some solution it would doom their Compound.

“Good morning, Ms. Shani,” he greeted her with a too large smile.

“Morning, Mr. Copeland,” she murmured quietly in return, dropping her eyes to the coffee tray she’d set down so she wouldn’t have to look into his eyes, she had learned very early to never encourage him. She began pulling out the different coffee’s and reading the labels on them before passing them out. When she got to his she set it down in front of him, her eyes fixated on the glossy wooden table.

The spell of the moment was shattered as muted thunder rolled across the grassy field. Alice blinked several times as her eyes adjusted to the darkness, her ears were still ringing, and her mind struggled to put events in order.

She was on the margins of a river, coughing water violently as she tried to get up. That meeting was many years in the past now, the first in a long list of bad decisions that had led to that river with the Sphinx. Her memories of the attack were confused, disordered.

Before she could get her bearings, a pair of strong, calloused hands helped her get up, muttering words in a mix of Spanish and English too fast for her addled mind to understand, but the panic and urgency seemed to surpass the language barrier.

A group of people burst from the bushes, running for their lives. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, Alice saw that many carried bundles of possessions, but most had already thrown away their packs to run faster.

She didn’t know what was happening, but there was a primitive part of her brain that understood that death was coming fast, and every second counted. There was nothing else to do but run.

“The Stallions are here!” A scraggy man shouted, pulling a rusty gun from within his ragged sack and thumbing back the hammer. “Head for the trees!”

Some of the fleeing people did as ordered, others ran foolishly across the open ground. A few fell weeping to the ground already in surrender, begging for mercy. Alice pulled a crossbow from a discarded pack, the crude weapon seemed to be built out of car parts. She took four razor-tipped arrows from the pack, and easier than she thought possible she cocked the big crossbow and nocked an arrow in place.

At her side a man took a knee, pressing a homemade scattergun against his shoulder, he pulled back the two hammers and took a deep breath, muttering a rushed prayer under his breath.

“Aim for their leader,” the man advised, licking his dry lips. “With luck they will get disorganized.”

Alice nodded, wiping her sweaty hands on her trousers and trying to control her breathing.

The coming of the Stallions was foretold by the sounds of trumpets, two trumpeters dressed in the skin of wolves led the hellish procession. They were mounted on glossy black horses covered in armor that had been made out of scavenged aluminum sheets, the riders were dressed in ragged black uniforms, their trumpets festooned with ribbons and bones.

“Hellfire!” The voice came from behind her. “The Insane Stallions are coming.”

The hunters were just behind them, clad in crude armors made out of leather and scavenged metal, brandishing wicked looking clubs, nets, and bolas so that they could take their prey alive. Their horses were strong animals, powerfully built draft horses that crushed the ground under their hooves; their coats were black as the night, covered in heavy armor, and each of them carried a skull tied around their neck. It was a dazzling display.

“Kill 'em!” The man shouted, then fired his gun twice at the oncoming horses.

A spray of sparks leaped from the armor of the leading horse as a slug ricocheted off the steel plate. The riders paid no attention to the incoming fire and spread out after the sprinting people.

Alice breathed deeply, gold streaks spread in her eyes. The night suddenly wasn’t as dark as before, under the feeble moonlight she could see every detail of the riders and their horse. Tracking her target, Alice released the arrow and hit a bald rider between the eyes. The man fell to the ground, but his companions kept coming. In a moment the rest of the gang were among the running people, the heavy nets and bolas filling the air.

A spread net caught a running woman, dragging her to the ground, and as she tried to rise another rider slammed her with his club, knocking her unconscious. Rising from the thick grass, an older man shoved a wooden spear into the sides of a passing rider, but the spear only grazed against the horse’s armor. The rider lashed back with his club, smashing the old man’s head with a wrathful strike. Pulling his horse’s reins, he commanded the creature to slam down on the fallen attacker, crushing his chest with the horrible sound of splintering bones.

Bolas flew through the air and people fell tangled in the ropes, tiny hooks woven into the ropes catching skin and clothing alike. A gun barked into the night at a nearby rider, but there was only a spray of sparks from a misfire.

Bouncing over the irregular field, a fat rider covered with tattoos swung his heavy club toward Alice's skull, but she ducked just in time and released an arrow. Blood sprayed from the rider's arm, and he swung the club blindly. Alice dashed over him, holding an arrow in her hands, she thrust with all her strength, forcing the razor-blades against the man’s neck in a frothy eruption of blood.

More lightning flashed across the sky as the big horses whickered, the riders circling their prey, driving them closer together while they pulled more nets from their saddle bags.

Alice mounted the horse of the man she had just killed, letting loose her last arrow even as she commanded the animal forward. She threw the crossbow away, instead grabbing the heavy club of the dead rider in a single hand and burying it against the head of a near rider before he could understand what was happening.

Before she could bring her horse around for another swing, a rider slammed into her from behind, throwing her against the ground, slamming her head with all his strength against the ground. Alice still tried to reach for the club, but a heavy net was thrown over her.

The battle was over in a matter of minutes and then begun the excruciating process of triage and selection. The Insane Stallions freed the captives from the nets and bolas one by one, tying their hands behind their backs, the prisoners were kicked and shoved into a line before their smiling captors.

This close, Alice could see that the rider gang was dressed in old private security uniforms, their tags and logos defaced beyond recognition, under their clothes she could see heavy Kevlar vests. Each man was armed with as assortment of guns, she counted at least three automatic rifles and a collection of different hunting rifles covered in rags so that they wouldn’t attract so much attention. The animals they rode were scarred and strong, draped with saddlebags bulging with supplies and armor that was made from scavenged steel sheets. The animals were battered, but still powerful, able to go places that no wheeled vehicle could ever reach.

“What's the total?” Francis ‘Hog’ Melville, the leader of the gang, asked loudly, leaning over the side of his animal.

The man was a thick giant with closely cropped blond hair. His nose was flat and wide, seemed to have been broken countless times on the past. Around his waist he carried a large selection of knives and a big bore revolver rode on his right hip, an automatic rifle wrapped in dirty rags was strapped across his back.

“Twelve people, eight corpses, Sir,” Jeremy ‘Skin’ Malthus announced, taking notes in a battered notebook. “A pretty fair haul.”

He was a small man, with beady, mousy eyes, and a disconcerting smile. He carried a pair of pistols and a long knife in his belt, but by his looks he seemed to be more of an accountant than a warrior.

“Not bad,” Francis grinned, dismounting from his animal, he walked over to the line of prisoners. Ignoring the men, he checked the women, separating the very old from the rest.

“Tell the boys, no fucking the merchandise,” he barked. “We want them fresh for the market. Get some of the slaves to collect wood and get a fire going, we need to cut the corpses and smoke the meat quickly.”

“Cannibals!” Alice gasped. “You're not only slavers, but fucking cannibals!”

In a blur of speed, Francis slapped the woman across the face, driving her to the ground. She looked up with open hatred in her face, blood trickling from a split lip.

“Don't talk to me, bitch!” The big rider snarled. “We don't eat people, but there are those that pay plenty of scrip for the white-pig meat.”

“If you are alive,” Jeremy announced aloud. “And behaves well, you will be sent to the scavenging posts or the brothels! Those that try to run away or misbehave will be sent to Hell-Mouth. The choice is yours!”

Slowly, Alice stood in a silent display of strength. Her blood was burning in her veins, consuming her mind.

It was exciting rather than painful. Exhilarating when it should have been terrifying.

“Bitch!” Another of the riders stepped closer. “That’s the bitch that killed Freakshow Rei! She put an arrow on him!”

“This is ridiculous, Kasey,” Jeremy scoffed. “Those are fat pigs, they are prey!”

Francis turned around when he heard the accusation, his brown eyes narrowed with spoiled defensiveness. This didn’t happen, people rarely fought back when they appeared, most villages even paid them tribute to avoid being raided. Now, some scrawny slut had put down one of his men?

“It wasn’t only him,” Alice said, using her most polite voice. “I’m pretty sure I killed two others after him.”

“Get a head count!” Francis ordered. “If she is talking the truth then she is going straight to the cannibals!”

“We are missing three riders,” Jeremy reported after a quick head count. “Freakshow Rei, Big Michael, and Killing Joe.”

Francis clenched his teeth, she glared at the woman with all his rage. “You will die a very slowly death when we take you to the cannibals!”

“Can I offer another option?” Jeremy said, looking at the woman in disgust. “We could give the man some entertainment and teach the slaves what happens to those that fight back.”

“Entertainment?” Francis asked with a wicked smile, he grabbed his crotch in a suggestive gesture.

At that, the riders roared with laughter.

“Good, for a moment I thought it would take too long,”

“Damn, this bitch's got balls!” Francis smiled, then his eyes went as hard as broken glass, hooking both thumbs into his leather gun belt. “Why don’t we teach you some manners? That will be some good entertainment. After you lose, my men will mount you and then we will deliver you to the cannibals alive!”

“They have a most interesting ceremony called the Blood Mother,” Jeremy offered. “Starts with cutting off your arms and legs and feeding those back to you.”

“Then they get to breed you,” another rider added, rubbing his crotch. “They breed you till you die!”

“And if I win?” Alice asked, standing straighter.

The rest of the prisoners stayed motionless and silent. Their doom was sealed; this madness had nothing to do with them.

“Okay, slave, if you win,” Francis sneered. “You can go free.”

“Still game, bitch?” Jeremy demanded, resting a hand on his gun.

A stiff breeze from the stormy clouds overhead ruffled Alice's black hair as she nervously flexed both hands.

“The name's Alice,” she said softly. “Alice Shani.”

“Be smart, slut!” Another rider laughed. “Beg forgiveness and we send you to the Posts after we mount you. Anything's better than being a toy for the cannibals.”

One of the women prisoners burst into tears at that, and the others merely trembled. A man on the end of the line looked as if he were about to thrown up.

“Go you work on the Posts,” Alice shot back. “I'll go down fighting.”

Vastly amused by the unexpected display of rebellion, the riders laughed even louder this time. With a snarl, the one of the riders started forward, drawing a hatchet from his belt, but Francis stopped the man with a stiff arm across the chest.

“What do you think, Collin?” Francis said, glancing at Alice and then at a muscular rider on the back. “You want to give us some entertainment tonight? Try not to kill her, the men will want to ride her later.”

Collin growled as he walked forward, striping off his leather jacket and spare weapons. The man’s chest was a crisscrossed with scars, his arms bulging with stringy muscles. He wasn’t the strongest amongst the riders, but there was something in the way he moved that spoke of fast reflexes and a killing hunger.

“Gonna kill her now!” Collin snarled, his face contorted with hatred, and he charged at Alice.

With inhuman agility, Alice dodged out of the way of the reckless rider, then held her bound wrists toward Jeremy. Face-to-face, the two stood for what felt like an excruciating long moment, then the rider pulled a blade and slashed the thick leather ropes around Alice's hands.

Now free, Alice brutally kicked Jeremy in the balls and grabbed the knife from his limp hands just in time to block another slash from Collin. The two circled each other, looking for an opening to end the fight fast. The knives gleaming wickedly in the setting sunlight, the fighters darted in slashing, then moved apart again, while the watching riders cheered and laughed. The helpless slaves said nothing under the watchful guns of the remaining Insane Stallions.

Diving forward, Alice stabbed at the rider's face, driving him backward. But Collin shifted to the side and speared his knife into Alice's thigh. Blood welled from the wound, and Alice cursed loudly as she grabbed the wound, to her surprise the blood flow staunched in front of her eyes.

The riders cheered as Collin danced in closer and stabbed Alice again in the leg, and then the side, Alice’s blade only cutting air as she tried again and again for a death blow.

But the blood loss was starting to slow her hand, her breathing becoming more labored. Backing away from the stronger fighter, Alice tried to get herself some space, but the riders were closing around her, forcing the two of them together.

Alice sucked in a breath of air. Her hands gripped the knife tighter. She could smell the metallic smell of her own blood in the air, and the murderous intent of her adversary. The smell was bright and familiar, sparkling memories in her mind that weren’t hers. An urge grew inside her, a wild and indomitable urge. She licked her lips. Her tongue bumped over her front teeth. With her tongue, she explored the edges of her canines. They were bigger than they should have, sharp like those of a predator.

Collin flinched for a moment as he looked at Alice, the fear coming from him was too delicious, too tempting for Alice to resist. He dashed forward and Alice pounced and shoved her knife deep along his exposed neck. Now the cheers and laughter of the rider gang stopped completely.

Blood spurted from the severed artery, and the hapless rider dropped his knife to grab the ghastly wound in both hands. But tiny squirts of red continued to pump from between his dirty fingers. Alice shifted about, the knife held firmly in her hand as if challenging anyone else to step forward.

Breathing hard, Alice tossed the crimson-splattered blade on the ground before the stunned riders. They couldn’t take their eyes off Collin’s body, almost as if they were waiting for him to get up and wave as if it all had been a simple joke. They couldn’t believe that a little bitch could kill a brave Insane Stallion.

Dead silence reigned for an impossibly long time before a murmur started, soft at first, then rising. Soon enough the riders were worked up, some even brandishing weapons.

Alice was shaking up so much she barely noticed them, her legs felt wobbly. She stumbled back, falling to her knees, she jerked, a gasp escaping her mouth as she raked her fingernails along the outsides of her thighs.

Golden pale fur sprouted along the backs of her hands and up her forearms. Flames flickered over her skin as the fur grew, and she fought for control over her own body as muscles and sinews changed under skin.

Her toes ripped holes right through the leather of her boots. Her growing feet and rising heels broke the leather, burst the laces. She kicked them off and forced herself to get up her small claws clicked against the ground with every step she took.

“She cut Collin open like a dog!” A brawny rider snarled in anger. “She is an abomination!”

Rubbing an old scar, Jeremy screamed, “Look at her! She is not human!”

“Well?” Alice growled impatiently. “I did what you wanted.”

“Tie her down,” Francis ordered brusquely, gripping his large-bore revolver. “They pay in gold for abominations at Hell-Mouth!”

From the corner of her eyes, she still caught sight of the bolas coming for her, but her still too human reflexes weren’t enough for her to get out of the way fast enough. The riders were above her in a moment, she lashed out with her newfound aggressivity, let the wild fury overwhelm her rationality. She barely felt the needle piercing her skin, but what it injected in her veins was like liquid fire, a never-ending excruciating pain that made her retch on the ground. Her hands were tied with thick leather and a crude gag was improvised.

“So, what we do about that?” A burly rider asked, indicating Collin’s corpse with a motion of his chin. Angel was fat with a roll of belly resting on his wide belt. His leather vest laced together showing a wealth of scars.

“Put her with the rest,” Francis said, climbing onto his horse and gripping the reins. “Then we leave this place right now! Move!”

For the riders it was just business as usual, they got busy tying the corpses across the rear of each horse, and lashing the prisoners together. The slaves could either run to keep up with the Stallions, or fall and get dragged to their deaths. They would be valuable as slaves or as meat. It really made no difference.