The Prophet's Daughter Read online

  “Just tell me what to do, Mummy, please. What can I do to fix you? Where are the first-aid kits?” I said, looking around for paper. I could get her to write it, that would be easier and I figured a lot less painful, what with the way her lips were, as well as the purple finger marks around her neck.

  “Arin, go. Leave.” Her voice was so weak; it was hard to make out what she was saying at first.

  “I can’t, I have to help you!” I protested. I couldn’t just leave her. I continued searching, tearing open her bedside table and rummaging through the drawer.

  “Go, please.” She lifted a hand, pointing to her stomach. I glanced down at her stomach and noticed it - a small hole, a bullet wound – with its location; it may very well have pierced right into her stomach.

  “Mummy…” I mouthed, unable to make a sound as I stared at the wound, crawling towards her. She reached out her right hand; movements slow as she began to run it along my cheek.

  “My baby, my precious baby,” she sighed, trailing her fingers down my arm. As she came to my hand, I latched onto her hand, holding it tight in my grasp. I didn’t want to let go – I couldn’t.

  “Love you, baby girl.” She closed her eyes and squeezed my hand. “Promise you’ll fight to keep going after we leave, okay baby?

  “Forever,” I said as I squeezed her hand back. She made no movement after that, the only sound in the room was her ragged breathing. I swallowed hard, trying to keep myself from bursting into tears once more. “I promise, Mummy.”

  We sat in silence and I watched her, unable to let go of her hand as her shoulders stopped rising and the sound of her shaky, harsh breathing came to a sudden halt. Her arms slumped; the only thing keeping her right hand up was me, holding it tight in my own hands.

  “Mum,” I murmured, tears burning in my eyes. “Mummy, please…” I knew it was hopeless, but the ache in my chest was almost unbearable. I couldn’t hold back the tears and I leaned forwards, curling up into the fetal position and holding her hand tight to my chest, pressed against her bloodied, beaten body. I didn’t care how dirty I got, how much of her blood I would be washing from my hair – I just wanted to be with her, I just wanted her alive.

  “It’s all my fault.”

  Chapter 2

  I jumped up, a shiver running down my spine. What had happened? How long had I been lying there? I glanced around, spotting my parents bodies, and I leaned back against the wall, sinking to the floor. I had fallen asleep – I could still feel the lines of tears on my face, dried.

  After I realized that, two main questions echoed in my mind. One, what was I supposed to do now and two, who had killed my parents? I had to find them.

  Question one had an answer – do as Mum had instructed. Pack my things and go – I had already packed my stuff. I peered at my mother, staring at her swollen, yellowing face. How much pain had she been in? Had she watched my father burn?

  I closed my eyes, shaking my head and trying not to think about it. I couldn’t stand to imagine how much pain she had been in, physical and emotional, because of me. It was just wrong. Tears lined my eyes and I blinked fast, turning away.

  “Into town, stick to the trees,” I murmured, heading to my room. The carnage of the hallway no longer fazed me, and I threw myself down on my bed, staring at the ceiling. Dead, they were dead and they weren’t going to spring back to life – not with the blood my mother had lost and the shape my father was in. I was alone – but I had somewhat of a plan of what I was supposed to do, thanks to my mother. Head into town, like Mum had said, and hope that there would be some kind of a sign as to what I had to do next.

  However, I didn’t want to do anything of the sort. I wanted to lie in my bed and stare at the ceiling until the world ended, or at least until mine did. Lying there, sleeping until everything seemed a bit more real, less like my entire world hadn’t just shattered seemed to be a lot more preferable… and I hadn’t been to town in years.

  “Get up,” I demanded of myself, my voice just passable as a whisper. “Your parents are dead because of you. You can’t just give up now, you promised.” I glanced at the red duffel bag beside me and the bow, running my fingers along the string. I sighed, sitting up and hesitating before pushing off the bed. My legs wobbled and I stood there, eyes screwed shut for a brief moment until my balance returned. In one quick movement, I swung the bag over my shoulder, the bow and quiver following after; I stared down at my clothes, however, and groaned.

  I was covered in blood, all of it dried and stained. There was no way I could wash it out; and I liked that. It gave me a reason to rid myself of the clothes bled on by my parents. But a part of me felt like I couldn’t be rid of them – my shirt, a green tank top, had once been my mother’s and it was her favorite on me, as she liked to say often.

  Carrying my bag, I grabbed an outfit that I hadn’t packed and headed out to the backyard. With no running water, we collected rainwater – it was clean enough, and we managed to keep it that way. I stripped down to my underwear and dunked my head in, the blood that had hardened in my hair washing out, tinting the water a pale red as it spread out.

  I rinsed off my hands and arms, scrubbing hard to get the dirt and blood caked into my skin off of me, before changing into a pair of black tights and a blue tank top, pulling a black cardigan on. It was warm enough not to wear a jacket, so I draped it over my arm and started off.

  Instructed to stick to the trees, it was easy to keep away from the road way. It was cool in the shadows of the forest canopy, but the terrain was rough and bugs nipped at me quite often. A part of me wanted to head to the smooth tarmac of the road, however it wasn’t safe, or my mother would not have requested I stick to the forest.

  Snap, thud.

  A small snapping sound echoed throughout the area and I jumped at the unexpected sound, backing up hard against a tree. I tried to steady my sporadic breaths, which had been fine just moments before. My mind whirled and I was trying hard, with little success, to calm myself and bring my thoughts to focus on the trek ahead of me rather than the idea of running to duck for cover from the source of the sound, only to notice the snapped twig not far where I had just stepped, sitting atop a footprint I had left in the grass. I hadn’t even felt my foot connect with the wood – how had I not noticed?

  “You need to calm down,” I spat aloud, resisting the urge to smack myself in the face, “and focus on what you are doing. You’re fine. Whoever hurt Mum is gone, you are fine.” But, no matter how much I tried to convince myself, I knew I wasn’t. Panic and fear tingled through me at the idea of being stalked, of turning out like my mother and father, charred, bloodied and alone. I didn’t want to wind up like them, and they had wound up like that protecting me – I had to stay alive for them. Their sacrifice couldn’t go to waste.

  “Okay, okay, let’s go.” I puffed out my cheeks and held my breath as I pushed off the tree and continued through the forest at a brisk pace, chewing on my lip.

  I didn’t make it to town until the sun was beginning to set and my feet were screaming in my sneakers for me to stop walking and sit down. It took a lot of convincing to keep going, because if I stopped, there would be nothing after that – I wouldn’t be able to get myself up for the rest of the day.

  Legs throbbing, I entered the first building I saw – its windows were boarded up with a strange and somewhat familiar purple pattern spray-painted on the front, the glass door shattered, leaving nothing but a frame. I stepped through it, the shattered glass crunching beneath my feet.

  “Hello? Is anyone here?” I called, hoping no one would respond. I just wanted to sit down out of the sun, not argue with some crazy city dweller. The inside of the building was lined with shelves coated in dust, a few empty, falling apart cardboard boxes and a lot of rotted objects. The entire building reeked of mold from years of water damage. It wrinkled my nose and moved to turn away and find another building, one that didn’t smell so horrid.

  “Who’s askin’?” A hacking cough follo
wed the question. I glanced around; pivoting on one foot, but the person who had spoken was out of sight.

  “Where are you?” I responded, and as I spoke as a salt and pepper haired old man appeared from behind one of the shelves.

  “I think it best if you answer me first, kid. This is my trading post, after all.” He leaned against the shelf, crossing his arms and looking me up and down. “So who the hell – you know what, it don’t matter. I don’t trade with people I don’t know, and you ain’t Davey boy, so,”

  “Dave was my father,” I said, interrupting him. He stared at me for a moment and squinted, tapping his fingers against his arm.

  “Well I’ll be! That means you must be not-so-little Arin!” His voice was scratchy, but as he beamed at me, exposing a yellowed, near toothless smile, he hobbled over and grabbed my hand, giving it a hard, but somewhat welcoming shake.

  “Who are you?” I pulled my hand away, taking a hesitant step backwards. I rubbed my hand against my shirt in an inattentive manner.

  “Been a while since I saw ya, you grew up real pretty. Hair’s real long, too! Nice and black, so much like yer Dad’s… Oh, I’m Milton, not surprised ya don’t remember.” He flashed another toothless grin.

  “Yous was eleven or so the last time I saw ya, hm?”

  “Hi, Milton,” I coughed, taking a good look at him. His clothes were ragged, his hair gray and shaggy, teeth yellow and black and his broad jaw held a long scar. I wonder how that happened; I thought and looked up at him, meeting his gaze.

  “Ya pickin’ up Dave’s order for 'im? He ordered quite a bit, good thing I knows where to get the stuff he asked for.” He pointed behind him and moved to head toward the back.

  “No, uh, Dad’s…” I reached to grab his arm.

  “Oh? He comin’ by later?” He narrowed his eyes at me, shifting his stance and taking half a step backwards at my sudden movement. I could tell he knew what I was getting at, but he was trying hard not to accept it. What I wouldn’t have given to be able to tell him what he wanted to hear.

  “Dad’s,” I began, clearing my throat and looking down at my feet. I blew air out of my nose, chewed on my lip and was wringing my fingers. “Dad’s gone.”

  “Gone?” Milton echoed, his head tilting. “Kid, he ain’t dead, is he?”

  “Yeah, he is,” I sighed and closed my eyes, clenching my hands into fists. My words rang in my ears, a soft echo that taunted me. Loss was never a thing I had gone through in my life, I’d never lost anyone I cared for as I’d never had friends or family outside of my parents; and now I was faced with the gruesome slaughter of the two people I had had in my life since day one and no one else to turn to. My heart ached and yearned for them, and each thought that passed my mind containing them almost pushed me to tears.

  “Damn, I’m sorry, kid. He was a good guy,” Milton said, drawing me from my thoughts. “You might as well take his order, than.

  Annabelle will be needin’ it.”

  “She’s gone too,” I murmured, my throat feeling as if it had closed up. I swallowed as a mass of bile slithered up my throat at the words; and I shut my eyes, inhaling through my nose as I tried hard to keep myself from crying. I couldn’t cry, not in front of this man who may as well have been a stranger to me. I clenched my hands back into fists, biting my lip until I could taste the metallic tang of blood.

  “I’m sorry, kid… Really, I am. Yer parents were real nice people, they just – ah, come on, and I’ll get yer stuff.” He turned around, motioning for me to follow just as I opened my eyes to look at him, a weak, grateful smile on my face.

  “What is this place, Milton?” I asked as I stepped in behind him, glancing around at the old dusted shelves, the items once plenty and labeled long disappeared, and the ceiling – which was covered in crawling green vines and looked quite ready to cave in.

  “This building, well, suppose it can be considered a trading post, in a few ways, the people that live around here – ones I know and trust, don’t take many newcomers - come to trade with me to get hold of specific food or really anything they can’t get hold of with ease,” He said, ducking behind a counter. Soft sounds of boxes being shifted echoed throughout the store. “City used to be nice, too, before the whole world went to hell. Small town, as you may have noticed – couple of shops, a graveyard. Close knit community, my wife grew up here and I moved here not long after my brother died; decided I wanted to live in a small town. Twenty years later, the apocalypse hits and I’m still here...” There was a sudden thump, followed by a groan and muffled curse. I stood silent, shifting where I stood as I listened to him talk. I wasn’t sure what to do, if he wanted me to go over to him or stay where I was, or if he would prefer I just listen to his story. I voted that the latter was the better option. He must have felt alone with no one else around, and getting to tell stories was something he must have enjoyed doing, when he got the chance if he was doing it seconds after meeting me.

  “There we go,” Milton grunted, heaving a large crate up onto the counter. He wiped his hands on his top and bent back down. He started pulling things out – water bottles, candles and two silver lighters, one with a blue crescent moon sticker and the other plain, and placed each of them on the table.

  “Thanks,” I said, a small grin creeping on my face. Each of the things he’d given to me would be useful, and I had forgotten to check for any back at home. I put the crescent moon decorated lighter in my pocket and packing the water, candle and spare lighter into my bag. It took some rearranging to make everything fit.

  “Don’t thank me; thank yer Dad for paying for it and, uh, plannin’ for it,” Milton responded and cleared his throat, returning the crate to wherever it had been. I nodded, swinging the duffel bag over my shoulder.

  “Arin? Did ya get the people who got yer parents?” Milton said, a sudden urgency sounding in his voice. He glanced towards me and leaned against the counter, his eyebrow raised as he eyed my bow.

  “No, but I wish. Why?” I responded and couldn’t help but step away from him. His expression shifted the moment the words left my mouth, and he hobbled around the counter, snatching hold of my arm and digging his nails deep into my skin.

  “You gotta get out of here. I don’t care where ya go, just leave now.” Deep in his voice, though he tried to hide it, I could detect a sense of fear. He tugged on my arm and I followed, not bothering to resist. If he wanted me out of his shop, I wasn’t going to stay behind – why piss him off? After all, he could very well have thrown me out and kept the merchandise for other buyers.

  “Milton, what’s w-”

  “You just need to get the hell out of here, and fast. They’ll come looking for ya, and if they find ya here, they will kill me, and I didn’t work this hard to be killed yet. They want you, not me,” He interrupted, his tone was dark and he sounded disgruntled.

  “Who are they?” I inquired, struggling to keep my balance as he pulled me along. I shifted my bag, feeling it slide down my arm

  “The damn Raiders, okay? My God, yer parents didn’t teach ya anything, did they? They even knew this day would come! Foolish, nice and damn foolish people, I thought they knew better than to, just… Christ!” Milton snorted, giving a sharp tug on my arm as we neared the store entrance. Glass crunched beneath our feet as we made it closer to the door.

  I jerked away from him and made my way towards the exit at a faster pace, stepping through where the glass door once stood. Outside, the sky was growing dark fast. At this rate, I wouldn’t make it back to the bungalow until dawn, at least.

  “Arin, do me a favour and don’t come back until that bastard is damn dead. Oh, and hold this advice near and dear to yer heart – trust no one.” With those last words, Milton scurried away, disappearing from view behind one of the shelves before I had a chance to respond. I could hear him shuffling, and I caught sight of him ducking behind the counter before I turned away. He wanted me to leave and to never come back?

  “I won’t come back,” I called to him
. “Thank you.. for everything.” I stepped through the frame and glanced around. Heading back to the bungalow didn’t seem like a great idea, I would have to walk all night and I’d be too tired to keep alert and aware of my surrounding. If I wanted to make it there by dawn, at the latest, I needed to walk all night – and it was cold, too.

  Find somewhere to sleep for tonight; head out in the morning. No use heading back to the house. I had thought, nodding at my decision. I glanced around; heading away from Milton’s building. There were a few other buildings, but they were boarded up and appeared to have no easy places access. One of them, a tall two story with a boarded up store front, looked like I could crawl into the windows – but it was a steep fall and I had to climb up. It wasn’t worth it, there were other places.

  I walked and walked until the moon was shining and the stars were dancing in the navy sky. It was hard to see, my vision impaired by the lack of light; but out a few houses down, one of the last on the road, was a flickering in the distance. It was the kind of light that could only be cast off by a flickering flame. I knew it was foolish of me, and Milton’s warning words rang in my head, but I doubted they would be too vicious or cruel. I just needed a place to sleep for the night and then I was gone; they would be fine with that, right? I didn’t see any reason why they wouldn’t be. It wasn’t like I would be much danger to them – I was short, a little chunky and couldn’t keep my mind off of my parents for five minutes. I was as dangerous as a chipmunk.

  Coming upon a small, two story blue house, I ascended the creaking porch steps, peering into the front window. It was hard to look in, the glass coated in dust and other residue, but I could just make out the candle on the floor, flickering, but I did not see who was residing in the house; just shadows.

  Creak.

  I spun around at the sound, about to grab for my bow when I froze, hands hovering in midair. The front door was open and an older looking man stood, leaning against the frame and staring at me. I couldn’t make out his face, but the way he stood didn’t appear to be hostile; if I had wanted to, I could kill him in an instant by plunging a knife through his gut. He obviously didn’t anticipate an attack from me, and I didn’t plan one, despite my automatic reach for my weapon. However, I didn’t lower my hands, and instead kept clutching my bow, just in case.