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If rain could wash away mistakes and awful deeds, she could swim in the rain-filled ocean and still never be clean of them.
The girl's lips tremble. Cold, wet strands of hair slap her face with every step. The sky has been showering heavy rain ever since she left the toppled turbine, but it was the wrong day for it. And the wrong fucking time. Squish. Squelch. She hates that sound.
Every part of her feels constricted. Her shirt clings to her skin, pants hugging her legs so tight they chafe her thighs raw. Stepping into the wet earth, she leaves prints she can’t hide.
The junkyard on the edge of the city is not quite what she expected, trash piled high with items from Vocate houses. Broken furniture and bamboo pipes coil together, damaged plytech wedged between pieces of pottery. Most of it could be reused. Recycled.
Vocates don't seem to know what trash is.
It didn't take long for the scent of defecation to sting her nose. It came from a nasty runoff from swale drains that ended at the city's border and vanished underground. She circles a puddle of sewage. The rainwater stirred up from cavities in the ground where grates used to be. Vocates are disgusting.
Just ahead, through the mist and pouring rain, Zafran's monstrous presence hangs at the edge of the horizon, past a high hill and a tall fence. All that structure to keep out animals and vagrant Inerts like herself. Fences never worked for that, though. A determined Inert would always find a way inside.
She starts up the steep hill toward the fence. Slipping. Soon, her shoes slide on the grassy hill, loosening clumps of wet earth beneath her as the downpour comes harder, pressing her into the dirt. Fucking favored. She continues, but with every step she ends up back where she started.
A scream musters to her throat, and she would let it, but instead, she closes her fists so tight her nails cut into her palms.
Holding back tears of exhaustion, her sore fingers press into the mushy dirt. On her hands and knees, she begins to crawl up the hill, careful not to disturb the grass's thin roots.
When she finally reaches the top, the girl exhales a breath of relief. The trash crater seems much further away, even though it was close to the foot of the hill; the wind turbines are barely visible behind it. She did it. She tries to wipe the dirt off, but it has already seeped into her clothes.
Her hands shake. What happened?
Her heart stammers as she holds her chest, pressing down her throbbing nerves.
Hours ago, she had brushed her hair and put on clean clothes, but now her shirt is covered in muddy brown from her chest to her feet. Her pants are caked in a thick layer of dirt. Old scars reopened from her desert trek, painting stripes of watercolor scarlet that bleed down her arms and legs.
What the fuck is she doing?
How can she let him see her like this?
She sinks to the ground, back pressed against the grainy wooden fence, which her shirt catches and tears. She doesn't care.
Rain ricochets off refrigerator casings and other large objects in the landfill.
Like the rain, she was also unwanted. She shouldn't be here. Nothing should want her here.
Tell me what I did wrong.
Even he didn't understand what she wanted.
She bites her lip.
Why.
Why is everything so fucking complicated?
She holds out a fist and holds her thumb with her forefinger, so it juts out at a sharp, anchored angle. Her heart races. It beats uncontrollably until all she can hear is its erratic rhythm.
Her hand shakes... quivering.
It just needs to stop.
Before she can think,
she strikes herself in the head. Once.
Again.
Useless. Stupid. Ugly.
Wrong. Wrong.
She was all Wrong.
Her breath came shallow, and she couldn't tell anymore whether it was raindrops or tears falling down her face. Why did she even come here?
Her hand trembles, and she wipes away her snot before it drips into her mouth.
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Please, don't go.
What was she thinking? He's a Vocate. Everything she knew about him was past. History. He may never forgive her.
She lets out a guttural sob, muted by the storm, and squeezes her knees together.
She holds herself close and moans quietly as the storm washes over her, cleaning off layers of dirt and grime.
Not clean enough.
Her cold, shivering body almost missed it. A vibration from her pocket.
//Ping//
A message on her phone? Who? It would be a terrible idea to look; she might see his name and break even more. But...
She rubs her nose and slowly pulls out her phone. If she ignored everything else, she'd be able to message him since she had always kept him favorited. First on the list. Always.
It's so early in the morning. She'd wake him, but letting him know she was coming would be better than showing up unexpectedly or sneaking inside. She should explain. Maybe warn him she looks like shit.
She sifts her fingers through her wet hair as it clings to her hand, and she chokes on a sob.
But...
Can I help you?
He might not recognize her, or worse, he could have forgotten her completely.
//Ping//
Another message.
3 missed calls
13 messages
Call me
[Just now]
You there?
[One minute ago]
Her stomach sinks, gut twisting tight as a cold rush floods to her head. Not this. Not now. Why are they even contacting her when she fucked up? Damnit. They're better off.
Her chest is heavier, breath fogging the little air she's kept from the rain.
Ignore it. She's moving on. She tapped on the conversation that always made her feel alive.
"Happy New Year. Hope you're having a good one and that this next year brings you all the happiness in the world."
Read six months ago.
Alive... and full of regret.
She wipes her face, but it doesn't help. It's been so long; how should she break the ice when he had tried so hard to reach her?
Sorry for not replying. Hope you're expecting a swamp monster this morning?
No, nothing sounds right anyway. They left on the worst of terms possible. Leaving him like that was one of the biggest mistakes of her life, and it haunts her every day.
How could she think he'd forgive her for anything?
For everything...
She sighs and starts typing a reply to his message from more than six months ago.
Hey its been a while. Hope youve been ok. Im in town and was wondering if i could stop by. I'm a little messy tho so I might—
She might... dirty and stink up his whole fucking house. And him, just by being there.
Delete. Delete.
Hey its been a while. Hope youve been—
Delete.
He's left her more than forty messages since she ran from Zafran and him for good. She hasn't answered a single one. Now she's going to message him because she needs something from him. Piece of worthless shit. All his kind words, and she's the same as always. Using him for the help.
She has nothing to offer him anymore. In fact, she never did. So why?
Light.
A sudden circular beam flashes bright in front of her eyes, illuminating the ground between her and the landfill.
What the hell?
She jolts upright, slipping in the mud. She holds the fence behind her to regain her footing and presses her back flat against it.
The beam moves with purpose, slowly capturing every inch of the area in light. Leaning forward, she follows the shine from the ground, through the mist, back to its source. There. Several meters away is a dark figure. The man dressed in blue stands tall on a platform on the other side of the fence.
Her heart stops for a moment. Of course, her day just had to get worse.
Supra.
Minutes feel like hours when the world is waiting for you to mess up.
The girl plucks wet, damaged boards from the fence. Below her, the sky’s remaining drizzle splashes into puddles of shit water at the bottom of the hill.
It’s been twenty minutes or longer since the Supra posted at the city’s wall ended their search of the ground. The beam had come so close. Just inches from her. Then it cut south.
While the Supra had been busy, she carved a foothold into the fence. Then she tied the long lengths of her hair, tucking them out of sight and leaving a short outer layer. Her Vocate disguise.
As soon as the rain stopped, so did the light.
Finally, it's time to move. And Zafran is the only way forward.
Dirty, bleeding, and bruised isn't how she wanted him to see her, but there was nothing else she could do. She needs rest and purpose. She needs him.
Sizing up the fence, she steps back into the mud. It's more than twice her height. With her knife, she strikes the water-damaged wood between two boards, carving a larger hole in the gap. Then she tucks it into her waist belt, hand grazing against the phone in her pocket.
She hadn’t messaged him. Couldn’t. Not yet… She’s too close to face rejection now.
Stepping onto a slippery mound, she holds a jagged, carved edge of the wooden wall, and inserts her foot into a foothold to start her climb. Her body is shaking, her hands are burning, and her leg is tight and sore. It doesn't want to bend. Worse, her backpack is weighing her down, pulling her to the earth like it doesn't want her to leave.
This isn’t going to work. She let go and nearly slips as she touches the ground. The bag will hold her back. It's heavy in the crook of her arm and hangs awkwardly at her elbow when she slides it off her shoulder. She swings it back and forth. After letting go, it launches high into the air above the fence. Clatter. It catches the top edge. Then it teeters and makes a dramatic drop to the other side.
CRASH. Oh, no. No, no. Did it break?
She grabs the fence and hauls herself up quickly, using the indents she made and prying out new ones as she goes.
FLASH.
The light is blinding, nothing but white and spots. Then it disappears. Shit.
Now they’d be on their way here. If they find her pack, it's all over. For everyone.
Once she grabs the top of the fence, she folds her stomach over. She rolls and then drops. When she hits the ground, her shoulder and back smack hard against the dirt as a surge of pain shoots up her arm and into her chest.
The pack sits right next to her in a yard of yellow grass. Perfect.
Thwump. Rattle. Thwump.
Loud footsteps approach, sounding like boots and heavy equipment.
She rubs her throbbing arm and slides her backpack on again. In front of her is a house with solid walls and a roof caved in on one side. To her right, the Supra draws closer, with a stairway leading to a narrow path to the street. On her left, another building runs alongside the fence. Between the two structures is an alleyway to the street, matted with nothing but grass, still wet from the rain.
You know somethin'? We're always gonna be better than Supra.
That’s it.
She removes her pack and starts swinging it low and slow, then faster, faster, building momentum.
For one, they're real shit at climbin'.
Alex had never been wrong before, and if they think she’s on the roof, they won’t look in the grass.
Letting go, her backpack flies into the air. The pull yanks her shoulder hard enough to make her gasp.
It lands on the roof with a loud clang. She winces, biting her lip.
The footsteps stop for a moment, then fade, stomping away from her. Yes. Fucking earned. Quietly as possible, she rushes to the tall grass, then lies down, head flat against the earth. The blades brush her cheek, shaking off droplets of water. She keeps as low as possible, slides the knife from her belt, and buries it in the earth beside her.
It was too quiet. Shouldn't they be investigating a way up or looking for a ladder?
Were they waiting for her?
Suddenly, the grass lights up. It surrounds her, light casting her shadow into the ground. Damnit. She bends her knees and presses her toes into the soil, preparing to make a break for it. Where are they? Which direction should she run?
CRASH.
What the fuck?
In an instant, she's in darkness again, the backpack at her side.
The roof only has a hint of a shadow. A man.
He stands still for a moment. Then he speaks.
"You should get back home,"
The hell? How did he reach the top of the house without a sound?
Does he recognize her? The better question is, if he did recognize her, why wouldn't he turn her in?
With the wanted posters of her face plastered around the city, there's no way a Supra would let her escape.
Should she say something?
“Who are you?” But her words come too quietly and too late.
Thunk. Boots hit gravel on the other side of the house after he leaps off, his weighted footsteps clomping away, getting softer.
The girl grabs her backpack and opens it, shoving her hand inside. The object within is hard and rounded, still there after being in the Supra’s hands. Good. Seems he didn’t look inside.
She lifts herself and peers onto the street.
The Supra steps into the shadow. On his back, a large case holding a woffle bat and a sling gun bobs in the dark before he vanishes.
He is headed to the inner city. Same way she’s going.
She tiptoes slowly behind him, wondering what he’ll do next.
*** Character-specific extras included in post author's note*
'The Other Side' continues in the next update.
Thank you for reading!
[Extra]: ?? Hey Alex:
His story focuses on the history of Fated, the rising of the most infamous rebellion, and The Supremacy's secret operations.
It is not necessary to read it to enjoy this novel.
https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/146407/the-spirit-inherited