The Escape

My bright lavender eyes pulsed an iridescent purple as I sang a soft melody. The man before me, my parents’ biggest client, suddenly looked completely lost and oblivious. A wide smile spread across his dirty face, and he swayed on his feet to my rhythm. I just barely resisted the urge to roll my eyes as I backed away, stopping my song mid-note. It was always like this. My parents were always trying to improve their social standing in Mary’s Rest by showcasing my mutant talent to their peers.

“Don’t go, Pretty Pretty,” he slurred, grinning at me happily. “You’re very pretty. Why won’t you be mine?” This time my eyes rolled of their own volition as I reached the safety of the door. Father grabbed my arm in a punishing grip that would have left bruises if my smooth, light brown skin were any lighter. A cold iron collar settled against my neck, and I shuddered, feeling my power falter. I knew what would happen next. Back to my room - a tiny, dirty closet with no windows. I would await the tasteless slop my oh so loving family would provide to keep me alive. It came twice a day and was the only highlight of my day, mostly because they removed the collar to allow nourishment. The rest of my days were spent learning what I could about the world around me from the confines of my tiny closet. I could stand or crouch in it. There wasn't room to sit or lie in the cramped room. I was so tired of standing or crouching! I wanted to sprawl out on one of the straw beds where Mother and Father’s three other children slept nightly!

I learned more than they thought in my squalid living quarters. Mary’s Rest may be a small freehold, but it has a thriving little community. Clive Hardigan, the man I’d just entertained, was one of the elders and founding members of the freehold. He was alive long before the big burn that killed the world, and he just wanted to forget. Forget the pain, forget his old life. He traded scrap with nearby communities to survive. Almost every penny of his spare money went to paying my parents for my services. You’d think he’d invest in alcohol or some other, less expensive vice. But whatever.

Technically, I was alive before the Big Burn too, though I was only 4 and therefore don’t remember it. The prisoner they keep in the torture chamber down the hall speaks of the ‘Spears From Man-made Heaven’ that dropped out of the sky and burned the world. The survivors are what make up the world now. I want to see the outside world so badly, regardless of the danger. Mother and Father are always telling me what a disappointment my powers are. According to Mother, a Siren should be able to incapacitate a whole room full of targets for hours. If I could do that, people would come from miles around to line their pockets with coin. Flipping my knee-length black braids over my shoulder, I huffed and stomped my foot. Their disappointment in my limited abilities didn’t stop them from accepting what coin they could and refusing to share the spoils with me. It also didn’t stop them from bringing in customers to gawk at me like slack-jawed yokels.

“Feeling pissy, you worthless little Mutant?” Mother’s sharp voice interrupted my mental tirade. I sighed heavily but didn’t bother answering. Mother may have taken me in all those years ago, but apparently, there was nothing in that contract that said she had to love me or even care about me. She stepped forward, her once pretty features cracked and weathered by the harsh desert weather and the harsher reality of her life. I knew better than to look at her for too long; the woman had a mean backhand. No need to give her yet another excuse to strike me. “Look at you with your perfect skin, not a hair out of place! Strutting around my house, weaving spells of confusion for profit. You deserve to be locked up like an animal, Snuffles. That’s what you are. Nothing but a pretty little animal! Look at you! 24 years old and not looking a day over 18! You will never leave this place; George and I will see to that! And when we die, Julie, Greg, and Ethan will take over our sacred duty. You’re nothing without us, you hear me! Nothing but a useless, pretty little weakling with those sharp claws and sharper teeth. Accept your fate, your Majesty!” With a harsh slap, she turned and stomped out of my closet.

It struck me like a thunderbolt; the woman who’d taken me in and raised me was jealous of me. I knew I was young and attractive; it was part of being a mutant. The wind and dust storms that tormented the harsh environment of my homeland never affected my beauty. Even my claws and teeth, sharp from the Black Blood Mutation that was my birthright, only enhanced my beauty, adding an air of danger to my stunning looks. And I only aged 1 year for every 10 years of a normal human.

A pitiful moan sounded out from the room to my left, breaking my concentration. What they were doing to that poor Child of Eden was cruel and unnecessary. Of course, a random citizen like that man didn’t know of the defenses of his city. Torturing him wouldn’t reveal anything, not that my evil family cared.

Julie and Greg swaggered into my space while I was reflecting on the cruelty of my family and trying to block out his screams and moans of pain as the torture continued. Julie tossed my bowl of cold gruel at my legs.

“Pick it up, you wretch,” Julie spat, pointing at the almost empty bowl. I raised my chin defiantly. My stomach protested missing even one of the meager meals my family allowed me, but this was about my pride. My family would have me eating off the floor, begging as I did, and grateful for the opportunity.

Screw that noise!

“You heard me, Snuffles. Pick. It. Up. Don't make me say it a third time. You may think you're hot stuff because you're Daddy's favorite, but you are nothing. Less than nothing!” I sighed. Another jealous bitch, just great. Wonderful in fact. Wishing the collar allowed me to talk, I settled on a healthy glare that clearly said I wasn't picking up shit. She moved quickly as if to strike me, but I dodged, raising my clawed hand. She gasped, the scent of her fear intoxicating. Without another word, the 18-year-old left my crowded closet. Greg was watching me, a thoughtful look on his face.

“You really are feisty today, Snuffles,” he grinned. Leaning in close, he breathed me in. I blushed at the move, backing away. Not only had he called me by that stupid nickname of theirs, but he was in my space unnecessarily. “I'll tell you what, Snuff. Agree to be mine, and I'll keep my sister and mother off your back. Treat me good, and I might even get you hot food. I can protect you if you want. Maybe even-”

“Have you fed Snuffles yet?” Ethan's harsh voice interrupted his brother. Greg glared at his younger brother, but Ethan didn't relent. “Pops wants the key to her collar back.” Without another word, Ethan stooped and picked up the bowl with the remains of my dinner in it and thrust it into my hand. “Eat, Snuffles. You need your strength.” Greg unlocked my collar, still shooting scathing looks at his brother. I ignored the byplay, tipping the bowl of cold mush to my plump lips. I hated their stupid nickname for me! Apparently, I snuffled in my sleep. I guess it was better than ‘Piggy’ or something equally embarrassing. Still, the nickname sucked. They all knew how much I hated it, which inspired them to use it more.

As the last chunks of my gruel passed my lips, an alarm we'd never heard except as a drill sounded through the little-used speakers of the freehold.

“Volker Brotherhood attacking! The Volker clans are after our-” The panicked announcement was shrill, and ended in a wet, choked gurgle. Mrs. Thompson, the town crier, was obviously dead. All three of us were frozen for a few seconds that felt like years. Then Greg took charge.

“Stay with her, Ethan. Secure her with the collar and then join Dad and me at the gate. We have to drive them back!” Pumped up by his own authority, the 23-year-old raced out of the closet. I saw him taking the steps two at a time, Father's 12-gauge double shotgun in his arms.

“He's going to get himself killed,” I said in wonder. Ethan shook himself out of his stupor, reaching out to put my collar back on me, and I backed away instinctively.

“Come on! We're in the middle of an attack. I can help.”

“You’ll more likely try to escape,” he said coldly. I immediately started singing, using my voice on a family member as both Mother and Father had strictly forbidden. It had never occurred to me to use this attack to cover my escape. But now that he'd put the idea in my head, it sounded like a plan. Ethan tried to resist me, but I was in my element and soon he was wobbling, a drunken smile on his face. I pushed past him, listening to the soundtrack of chaos outside.

“He-help me,” someone screamed from down the hall. I froze. I knew exactly who it was. I'd never seen the prisoner, but who else would be calling for help like that? I quickly made my way to the man and barely dodged the knife aimed at my throat when he yelled, “Look out!”

“I'll finally deal with you the way my family is too weak to,” Julie growled, looking almost feral with the knife in her hands. “Mom and Dad are too busy lining their pockets to notice your evil. My brothers are too enamored of you to realize that you are only worthy of death!” She slashed at me as she spewed her poison. I dodged her haphazard swings, but she showed no signs of slowing down. A thought suddenly popped into my head.

“You… You led the Volker here, didn't you?”

“They were already on their way thanks to your demon powers! I just helped them along!”

“Are you insane, Julie? People are dying. Your friends! Your neighbors!”

“Who cares! I'm getting out of this crappy freehold. The Volker agreed to take me with them when they finish looting this dump!” I growled and stepped into her lax guard, my dainty claws easily slitting her throat. The spoiled girl gasped, dropping her knife to grab her neck. Her eyes bulged as she stared at me in disbelief.

“Traitor,” I snapped, ruthlessly crushing the part of me that was shocked and repulsed by the reality of my first kill. I watched her collapse lifeless to the ground. Stepping over the corpse and avoiding the pool of blood on the floor, I approached the man strapped to the table. He was tall and skinny, with pale blond hair and piercing grey eyes. He had a kind look about him. This was the man her father and brothers had tortured for the better part of a month? Four slashes of my claws, and he was free. “We need to get out of here before Ethan recovers.” The man looked at my dead sister on the floor, then back at me before refocusing.

“I'm Kevin,” he grimaced, holding his leaking stomach. The man was one big bruise. He'd lost a lot of blood and was oozing from several wounds to his chest and belly. I gave him an assessing look. While I wasn't a life warlock or anything, I'd seen enough to know a terminal case when I saw one.

“You do understand that you're probably going to die as soon as we leave the freehold, right?” He gave me a wry smile and leaned on me to use as a crutch.

“I don't care if I die outside of this house, child. I’m not out of the woods yet. Besides, it's better than dying strapped to a table, bleeding out for answers you don't have.”

“What woods?” I deflected, but inside I was glowing. Something about the way he said ‘child’, like I was something precious, made me feel warm all over. Shaking my head, I grabbed a knapsack from the pantry and quickly loaded it up with as many supplies as I could think of. Money, soap, food, and as many bottles of water as I could stuff in the little sack. At his raised eyebrow, I blushed slightly.

“I'm always thirsty. Besides, I heard that water is as good as coin in some places. No use escaping this hellhole only to die of thirst in the desert.”

“You are an amazing strategist, child. Come. I believe the fighting is beyond your front door. We should move.” Again, he'd addressed me like someone who mattered. The contrast from my family left me warm and speechless. But best not to read too much into it, as we were in the middle of a war zone. Instead, I focused on getting out of the house and past the pandemonium. Bodies were scattered everywhere; it seemed that the Volker clan had decided to kill everyone and then loot the place. The sound of motorcycle engines and dying shrieks filled the air as Kevin and I did our best to remain unnoticed.

Then I saw him. Greg was lying dead a few streets over from our house, gun still in hand, unfired. I gasped, walking toward the corpse stiffly with Kevin in tow. When we reached him, my companion leaned down and closed his eyes gently.

“May he find in his next life what he lacked in this one,” he said solemnly. I had to balance the tall man as he swayed.

“Why?” I asked quietly, staring at him as if he were insane. “Why would you pray for a man who tortured you for weeks?” I found the hypocrisy of it a little offensive and unsettling.

“We're taught to pray for our enemies, dear heart. He can no longer harm me in death. And,” he whispered with a twinkle in his grey eyes, “I would hope someone would pray for me when this life's journey is over.” His words soothed me as I grabbed the shotgun and ammo before we made our way out of this place of death. No one was around to use the shotgun on. Laughter and screams told me that the Volker had found the cellar where the women and children were stored during attacks. I closed my eyes and prayed for them, suddenly uncomfortable with their fate.

“You would not save them,” he said gently as if reading my mind. “You would either join them or your brother if you went to them. Let's go.” Fleeing seemed like cowardice, but I knew he was right. We left Mary's Rest after that. We struck up a conversation once we were in the desert proper. Mostly about faith. The Children of Eden believed that Mutants were demon-blooded. Everyone knew that.

“I'm surprised you're accepting help from me,” I said at last as we set up camp for the night.

“Yes, well,” he said a little uncomfortably. “Several weeks of torment and a Volker raid will dull one's prejudices. Besides, when I'm this close to death, I find it hard to summon the energy to hate anyone anymore.” I smiled at him, my first smile in months.

Kevin passed away in the middle of the night. He went peacefully in his sleep. I buried him where he died, praying for him as he had for my brother.

“One step,” I murmured, another of the phrases Kevin had said as he forced himself to walk through the pain so I wouldn't have to be alone. “One step and the next gets you where you're going.”