Storm Born (8 page)

I grimaced. Last I checked– not that I had meant to– Mystery Man was the only person still in the restaurant. He’d passed the two hour mark.
 

But Carrie was having a meltdown, and Mikey and Maci were rattled. I gathered my pride, pasted on a smile, and walked out of the kitchen. I sucked in a breath to call at Mystery Man so I wouldn’t have to go near his table and see that dark, condemning look on his face.
 

But he was gone.
 

Though he had left a tip.
 

I walked to his table, where his food sat barely eaten. It didn’t look like he’d touched the water glass at all.
 

In the middle of the table was a long object bundled in grey cloth. Resting on top of it was the napkin Carrie had given him, flipped over to leave a message written in a manly scrawl:
 

Keep it. Protect yourself.
 

Okay… That wasn’t foreboding or anything.
 

Putting the note aside, I peeled back the cloth. Silver glinted into my eyes, and I stepped back.
 

A slender silver dagger with a navy blue hilt wrapped in black leather stared up at me. At the top of the hilt was a circular iron pommel. Printed inside it was a design– tear-shaped rain that circled a strong arm holding up a sword.
 

Breath tangled in my chest. I remembered the man in the hurricane, the one the Stormkind had been afraid of.
 

The man who stabbed me with a crystal blade.
 

I put my hands on the table and struggled to even my breathing. This wasn’t the same knife. I knew it wasn’t. This blade was iron. The one that scarred me was crystal, almost as alive as the Stormkind had been. I knew that. I
knew
it.
 

But I didn’t know how Mystery Man had gotten it, or why he left it with an ominous message. Maybe it wasn’t meant for me. Maybe he wanted to give it to Carrie.
 

Carrie, who he’d completely ignored.
 

No. This was for me, for reasons I could only guess at.
 

And I didn’t want it. Put a blade in your hand, and you’re asking for violence. Particularly if it was a dagger like this, something that was clearly pristine and valuable.
 

I could leave it in the trade box. I could give it to Mikey, who could trade it for a new barbecue if he couldn’t get the other one fixed. I could threaten to use it on Carrie’s hair the next time she tried to steal my tips.
 

Okay, that was a little aggressive. No reason to lower myself to her level.
 

Which left me with one option– buck up and take it. Technically, it was a gift, and the streets were a little more dangerous at night.
 

I closed the cloth bundle and tucked the dagger into the back of my belt, lifting my shirt over it so it was concealed. I would hand it over to one of the donation facilities. There were dozens of them on the way home. Someone else could use it for protection, because as far as I was concerned, I didn’t need to be protected.
 

Did I?
 

***
 

Whenever there was a crisis, no matter how minor, it had to be reported. Records of what was lost needed to be given to the Rations and Distributions Departments, which had been set up five years ago. They took note of what was lost, what was needed, and what could be spared. 
 

The fire department confirmed that Mikey lost the barbecue. Since the Papaya Cantina was a highly popular source of food for the construction sites nearby, he’d get a new one tomorrow. He had to fill out forms for that. Maci had to fill out one as a witness, and I had to fill out another one as the person who took action to douse the fire.
 

It was all as pointless as it sounded, but having some semblance of order made us believe the state was getting back on track again. For now, all we had was a crumbled brick pile that used to be a bank.
 

By the time the interviews and forms were done, it was dark out. Mikey and Maci offered to walk me home, but Mikey had gotten some minor burns on his hands. I knew he was hurting, so I told him to go home and relax. Besides, Carrie had walked home, so I could too.
 

Granted, Carrie left before the firemen arrived, claiming emotional trauma, but it was all technicalities, really.
 

Though I still intended to donate the dagger Mystery Man left me, I was hesitant about making my journey home longer than I needed to. I only lived about ten blocks away, but when I’d walked home on previous nights, the streets had been alive and awake.
 

Now they looked desolate and creepy.
 

Sidewalks, once bathed in yellow light, were littered with uprooted lampposts and obstacles that would have tripped me end over end if I hadn’t had my flashlight. Late night shops and cafes were now crumpled shadows that surrounded me like slumbering monsters. Cold ocean water from last night’s minor flood splashed around my ankle boots– the sneakers had been done for– and salted the air. In the distance, I could hear echoing hoots and hollers, as if some kind of celebration was going on down the street.
 

Only there wasn’t. Those shouts were from gang members.
 

The idea that everyone would work together, no matter who they were or where they came from, was a nice thought. And that’s all it was– a thought. A wishful fantasy that we could put aside petty differences and help each other until the city was healed.
 

Gangs didn’t think that way. They saw brokenhearted, scared, desperate people, and knew exactly how to exploit them. 
 

You were hungry? They would get you food, by stealing it from the Ration Depots or the restaurants. You were scared? They would protect you, as long as you were willing to give up something in return– food, water, clothes, and weapons were the least appalling favors. You were lost and alone? The gangs would take you in, give you a new family, provided you show them the fiercest loyalty and could survive a brutal beating.
 

Not everyone did.
 

The gangs started operating only a week after the Centennial, long enough for them to re-gather, stake out territory, and plot their schemes. We knew they were back in action because of the graffiti and marks left on certain buildings in downtown Lantana. The police tried to shut them down when they could, but they were too short-staffed. The Missing Boards were growing larger, the rescue workers
needing every hand they could take to help dig out the thousands of people still trapped in their basements. With so many citizens working to get the town back on its legs, there was only so much volunteering the rest of us could do. Like it or not– and out here, alone in the dark, I definitely did 
not
– the gangs were allowed to be out in full force.
 

My free hand went to my back where Mystery Man’s dagger was looped through my belt. I could feel the hard steel through the cloth wrap against my skin. I took a self-defense course once, but I was no Rhonda Rousey. I would be useless in a fight. I didn’t even know if I had the stomach to hurt someone with a knife if they attacked me. Maybe I could threaten them, but I seriously doubted I would intimidate anyone with my hundred and ten pound, five-foot-two frame, let alone a hardened gangster.
 

I quickened my pace, not wanting to gain any attention. I’d already done a great job of avoiding it, and had every intention of keeping the streak going. I was over halfway home, so I just had to–
 

Glass and wood shattered ahead of me. I skidded to a stop. More excited shouts filtered out of the darkness. They sounded like they were around the corner. So much for a straight shot home. Time to take a detour.
 

I glanced over my shoulder, and watched my luck plummet even deeper into a black hole of awfulness.
 

Two men were behind me in the darkness. My flashlight produced a small beam, but it was enough to be seen in the dark. 
 

I didn’t know where they materialized from or if they were following me at all, but with the way my day had been going, I was happy to assume the worst. 
 

I made a quick left turn and hurried down the street. I looked over my shoulder to see if the shadowy guys were still walking ahead.
 

They weren’t. They’d turned down the street and were coming after me.
 

My pulse sped up. The men moved with purpose, gaining distance on me. I had no what they wanted, if they wanted to rob me or worse. I wasn’t going to stop and ask either.
 

I threw my hair over my shoulder to see how much closer they had gotten.
 

The answer was: very.
 

I had maybe twenty feet before they snatched me up. My chest was so constricted from panic that my breath was coming in jumpy bursts, like I was going to choke on it at any second.
 

My hand was clenched around the flashlight so hard I was sure I would crush it. I glanced left and right, wondering if there was somewhere I could hide, because there was no way I could defend myself.
 

The words from Mystery Man’s scrawled note crept into my mind.
 

Keep it. Protect yourself.
 

Yeah. Sure. Easy enough, right? Just pull a daring defense against two full grown men. Nothing would go wrong there.
 

Nothing like say, getting beaten to death and left in the middle of the street to be pickpocketed before being dumped in one of the swelling graveyards for those who weren’t so lucky to survive the Centennial.
 

My mind raced, scrambling for even the semblance of a plan. It didn’t have to be a good plan. At this point, I just wanted something to keep me alive.
 

The worst part was that they weren’t saying anything to me. No catcalls or hollers. They acted as if I hadn’t seen them, when they must have known otherwise. They moved with a cold, sharp precision, similar to the way Mystery Man moved when he’d come into the restaurant.
 

Where are you now, Mystery Man? Why can’t you be here to protect me?
 

The fantastical thought had barely left my mind when I heard wood beams splash and clatter onto the wet street. The men behind me cursed. I didn’t stop to see if they were going to follow me, didn’t even turn around to see what had caused the noise. I followed the single instinct that seemed to be spoken by Mystery Man himself.
 

Run.
 

I bolted like the Devil himself was on my heels, pumping my legs so fast and so hard I thought I would shatter something. I turned around the nearest slump of ruined houses, snapping off my flashlight and hiding from view. The sudden dark sent a spike of fear into my heart. I stood in place, shaking and waiting for my eyes to adjust to the anemic moonlight spilling over the streets. Down the street from where I’d run, I could hear the sounds of a fistfight.
 

Wanting to know how much time I’d bought myself, and partly curious about how a fight had broken out, I crouched and peered around the pile of ruined housing.
 

All I could see were shadows, but the two guys who’d followed me were fighting against a third. They were good.
Really
good.
 

But they weren’t better than the third guy.
 

He ducked under a sweeping kick and snapped back to his feet, punching his fist into the kicking-man’s chest. He whipped his other fist across my second follower’s jaw, sending him spinning. The third man barely let his attackers touch him, moving like water. Violent, uncontrollable, powerful water.
 

I wondered who he was, and where he had come from.
 

Instinct took me over again.
 

Run.
 

Part of me wished I were brave enough to march out into the street and help my savior, but odds were that I would just distract him. Besides, if the sudden sweeping kick he gave to the man on his left was any indication, he could take care of himself.
 

Thanks, Mystery Guy
, I thought, making the distinction between him and Mystery Man.
 

I turned around and fumbled through the dark, jogging blindly for a couple minutes until the sounds of the fight had faded from my ears. Only then did I turn on the flashlight, slow my pace, and think about three questions that would nag me for the rest of the night:
 

Who were the people following me?
 

Who was the man that saved me?
 

And how the hell did I get onto Pine Street?
 

Chapter 4
 

Since I made it “home” safely about thirty minutes later– I
totally
took a wrong turn near the end, thanks to my skittish nerves on seeing that fight– I thought the night wouldn’t get any worse.
 

“Home” for my family and me was now Park Vista Community High school, the place I had tried to escape to. It was a volunteer and SPU facility that held three thousand survivors alone, not including the fifty nurses, supply distributors, and SPU guards to keep pandemonium and panic to a minimum. We all slept in sleeping bags in classrooms and hallways, since the gym had been converted into a guarded supply and medical station where hungry and moaning wounded could be secluded from the rest of us who were newly homeless.
 

I made it to the school as stormy clouds began to form overhead, folding over the moonlight. Nobody was looking forward to a rainstorm so soon after the Centennial, but it wasn’t like we had a choice in the matter. Mom was a mess with worry, bundling me in a spare blanket and all but spoon-feeding me the stew from the cafeteria. I wasn’t cold and not hungry thanks to my little adventure on the walk home, but she was being a mom, so I let her fuss over me.