Hope of the Future Read online

  HOPE OF

  THE FUTURE

  By

  Ariana

  Browning

  Tablet of Contents

  First Chapter

  Acknowledgments

  Ronin’s Map - free

  About

  Other Titles

  Hope of the Future

  Copyright © 2015 Ariana Browning

  Editor: Jeanie Creech

  Cover design: Ariana Browning

  (Image via Morguefile)

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or otherwise, without written permission from the author.

  Summary: In a world that has grown cold and distant, and hasn’t seen a child born in a long time, there comes a female unlike all the rest, possessing the ability to give them everything they need. There are those trying to convince her to save the world, while there are others trying to destroy her, and any hope she brings. Which side will win?

  For Zeva

  January 2003 – March 11, 2015

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I want to thank my editor, Jeanie for her tireless editing and the suggestion for some better termage to which I take gratefully and with appreciation, and a bit of fear at being zapped with the evil keyboard when I make mistakes. Not really. Don’t tell her I said that. Truly though, one couldn’t ask for a better editor to chisel them into a decent writer.

  I also want to hugely thank my wonderful beta readers Margaret Bunker, Renee Connell, Roger Gilstrap, and Chelsea Haller who got back to me with some wonderful suggestions for taking this story up a notch. Who were not afraid to be blunt and harsh with me so I could make the necessary adjustments.

  ONE

  “HEY GORGEOUS! HOW ABOUT you an’ I go to Scott’s an’ we have us-selves a lil’ fun?” a man called out.

  Hope cocked her head toward the foul-mouthed, greasy-haired man who gawked at her from across the remains of the street. Littered with filth, the cracked and broken cement that separated them was beyond repair from centuries of abuse. After he grabbed his junk, he threw his hands up in the air. He figured it a gesture one couldn’t resist. A signal of high importance.

  He placed his hands on his hips, waiting for her reply.

  How does he know I’m female?

  Unshaven, leathery, and grimy. Dirt covered every inch of him she could see. It was a good thing he stood across the street. No doubt he smelled grubby and rank, disgusting from spending so long on the street. He seemed older than thirty. That wasn’t odd for a Freebird, but it made him appear worse, and older than he was.

  Freebirds didn’t adapt and change like the rest of the human race. They were nothing like Amaranthines. Freebirds remained similar to humans from time lost, and they aged more like humans did, once upon a time. Individuals who sometimes looked well into their eighties, despite their youth, before age and death claimed them. If they made it that long without Hunters slaughtering them.

  The Freebirds didn’t bother to take care of themselves. They wouldn’t survive long, so they didn’t waste their time on such trivial things. Drugs, disease, famine. Those things killed with no exception.

  If they were caught by Hunters or Amaranthine Soldiers, the Freebirds were exterminated, or converted into a SlaPet. That was the one thing the Freebirds cared about: escaping the life of a SlaPet. Yet a SlaPet’s life was far better than one on The Streets.

  For some of the Freebirds, the ruthless envy claimed. The Freebirds’ mortality haunted their every waking hour. It was rare to find a Freebird who lived their life any other way than to pass the time. Who didn’t sit by to wait for death to claim them at last, to free them. Who was more than a street animal, covered in filth just like this horrid man. Many of these imbeciles had tried her, and many had failed.

  Hope narrowed her eyes. “Forget it,” she said. “I wouldn’t go with you if you chained me and dragged me there. Go find someone else.”

  Her hand drifted behind her back. Her long slender fingers slipped around the handle of the blade she kept tucked under her waistband. She tightened her grip. If he made a move for her, he’d be dead before he could cross the street.

  Centuries of little use left the building behind the man in shambles. Plants crawled over the entire exterior, claiming it further with each day that passed. Birds burst forth off the bare eaves and into the sky, spooked by their own shadows. They would rather that, than the alternative. In this day and age, shadows lived and breathed.

  Years of filth thrown into the atmosphere had settled and decorated every crevice. No electricity and no life left the old office building dark behind the man. Nobody was filing any paperwork. There weren’t any phones ringing. People weren’t gathering around the ice cooler to chat about their weekend.

  Where the windows once belonged, glass was now gone. The few edges that survived in spots, acted as blades, ready to pierce a hole in the skin of any who dared enter and tried to be brave. Everything inside was as dark as the exterior and held just as many perils for any would-be scavengers. Anyone who entered one of those buildings deserved the death they received.

  From up the street came soft whispers, putt putt putt putt. Nobody else would have heard the noise. Hope flicked a quick check toward the sound. Her sight honed in on the entity as though she looked through a telescope.

  A tired old cat crossed the dilapidated lane. Mangy and unkempt, the feline slunk from one side of the street to the other. Its attention shot back and forth, up and down, as it took in every last inch of space it inhabited, wary of possible predators. The innocent creature was missing hair in spots and seemed crazed, yet it remained alert enough to remain near the ground, trying to keep its body as invisible as possible.

  Hope shook her head. Five more minutes and someone would have it for their dinner if it didn’t cling to the safety of the shadows. It may not look like many people or things roamed these parts, but for that rare piece of food wandering through, a starved being was afoot. Food and water wasn’t easily come by, and this poor animal was putting itself on a silver platter.

  The man took a step toward her, thought better of it and stopped. He waved his arms downward and stumbled with the motion. “Fuck you, slut!” He gave her the finger, which shook. “I was your last chance. See if I care you sleep out here in The Streets.” He lurched away.

  “More like I was yours,” Hope grumbled under her breath.

  Watching the man retreat, her hand drifted away from her blade. She kept an eye on him until he disappeared around the corner. He had a point. The Streets were nowhere you wanted to find yourself at night.

  You may as well sign your life over.

  Another sound came from up the street. Louder. Deeper. A chill crawled along Hope’s spine like a kitten who hasn’t had their claws cut.

  TWO

  IT HAPPENED AS THEY predicted and then some. For many years, the prophecies came and went. Humans failed to understand the true catastrophic possibilities of what would happen.

  Until the day it happened.

  The world as everyone knew it, ended.

  It didn’t happen fast and it didn’t happen the way they said it would, or when. Those predictions made in the past served as warnings. The final laugh in the face of the human race. In times past, they said the world would end December 2012.

  People believed the Mayans told the truth when the world started to crumble. The ones who believed that The Mayans hadn’t predicted a thing and chalked it up to coincidence were the first who went.
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br />   They were the non-believers. The ones who lived in a black and white reality. People who didn’t possess an open mind. Humans who didn’t see what happened right in front of their faces. The people who didn’t face reality. They couldn’t.

  How could they, when most of the world didn’t understand? Those sad individuals were the ones preyed upon because they couldn’t adapt, they didn’t want to. The government collapsed, the non-believers died, everyone faltered.

  The human race wasn’t the same once the planet changed. And change, the planet did. Reality itself changed.

  Storms increased their frequency, electricity faltered. Human race couldn’t stop what happened though the best scientists had tried.

  The internet slowed to a crawl and people gave up on it, so by the time it died, it had been abandoned. Humans disconnected when the internet disconnected.

  Plants grew wilder and adapted to the changes. They grew fiercer. With the altered weather, life became much more complex.

  Animals turned on owners. Many animals stopped being prey and became the hunters. Water and heat became a luxury people couldn’t afford. A cup of water became gold to barter with. Food grew scarce.

  It didn’t matter if you were rich or you were poor. Everyone suffered. The planet took back what it once owned and the wild thrived, humans became helpless—

  Hope ducked around the corner, then disappeared down another street. She needed to find shelter soon, needed to remain invisible.

  Before the Cleaners came.

  Sounds of them drew nearer by the second. Light of day gave way to the hazards that night brought on. A signal the Cleaners were on their way. Mechanical, cold, merciless. Once they came on patrol, they wiped out all life they encountered, in every zone. Whether small or large, whether threat or no threat.

  When the Cleaners came, nothing stopped them.

  The Streets were cleared at night.

  A movement caught her eye when she went to cross a street. She spun to face the newcomer, ready to kill. Only to find her own image in an old aluminum garbage can. She shook her head at her reaction and rubbed at the grime that covered the surface. With a glance back and forth along the street, then behind her, she found the lanes surrounding her empty of life. No sounds but the distant rustle of wind through The Streets, and the Cleaners.

  Hope wiped the aluminum until she revealed a neat little circle. She grimaced at the soot on her hand, then rubbed it off on her pants. The surface gave her a blurred and flawed presence. Yet what caught her eye wasn’t the weird appearance to her skin, it was what had slipped from her hooded jacket.

  A long vibrant dark purple wave crept down the front of her coat. With a sigh, she grabbed the hair and shoved it back inside the confines of the leather. She zipped up her coat, hitched it higher on her body, and tugged the hood further over her face. Once more shrouding her looks from view.

  She clenched her teeth against the chill and took a deep breath to steady herself. The bright violet orbs mirrored in the garbage can once more dimmed to a human color.

  No wonder that creatan thought she was female. She often considered cutting her long hair because so few female Freebirds wandered around with long hair, but she always chickened out. Long hair made it too obvious for the men to single someone out. The women wanted to pass as men in The Streets, they were safer that way. Not even the men let their hair get long.

  Hope tried her damndest to keep a low profile. Being female out here was dangerous. In this zone? It became far more perilous. It was too close to his zone.

  When men spotted Hope, Scott’s was the first place their little brains considered taking her. Hope did her best to avoid Scott’s Club, or Scott’s as everyone referred to it. Most females did, but then they didn’t have history with that Amaranthine.

  Scott’s was a club men brought women to in place of currency. The level of interest Scott showed to the female determined whether the men gained a few days of free room and board off The Streets, in one of his many accommodations, or whether they earned themselves a few months. If someone brought Hope in, they could earn a few months. From her spirit that fought every step of the way, but more because Scott liked Hope.

  She shook her head at the blurred image of herself. If that image reflected reality, maybe she’d have it easier. Then again, maybe not.

  A sound easing along the street caused her to spin around, knife snatched from her back, aimed at whoever came. Her ears perked and the sounds that drifted her way magnified. Clothes shifted against skin. Leather boots groaned against the concrete, crunching over broken glass. Throats cleared. Deep breath inhaled, followed by an exhale that gave off the distinct musty, acrid, intense odor of cigarettes.

  She ducked into the nearest building, taking a chance with what hid inside. What headed her way was worse.

  An abandoned bar sat across from her on the adjacent wall. After shift one night, the club waiters and waitresses had overturned stools where patrons used to sit and have their nightly drink. A few of the stools had toppled off, and now lay abandoned and covered in dirt and dust along the floor.

  The tables that were once used to gather around and chat while having dinner or lunch—nobody came in this establishment in the morning—were left the same as the bar. Some chairs were overturned and left upside down on the table, while others had long since fallen. Nobody swept up here anymore. Nobody came here to chat with one another, and discuss plans for the weekend, or gathered during the weekend for time off.

  Hope stopped inside the doorway with her back to the wall. She listened to the noises that surrounded her. Within the bare walls came silence, but not outside the old club. Hope became as one as possible with the wall, stood stock still, and waited.

  “I told you, I heard a sound over here,” a gruff voice complained.

  Disbelief met this, “We don’t have time for this. We need to get inside. Think the Cleaners will take the time to scan us in this crap ass zone?”

  Hope checked around the corner. Two men who sported familiar symbols on their hands. Amaranthine Soldiers wore the symbol of a red and black pentagram on top of black flames. Symbols branded into their skin, as these two men had on their hands.

  Amaranthine Guards were the closest to Darrok. They sported the symbol of a hooded grim reaper with the scythe near his head. A symbol scorched into their neck with the red and black pentagram behind him. If one spotted that mark, it reflected Darrok being close. Guards were the ones who traveled with Darrok.

  The Associates wore the same pentagram on top of a black wolf paw on their upper arms to symbolize their power. A benefit for those in high power was the ability to have the mark go unseen unless needed.

  The man behind it all sported a red and black pentagram behind black skull and crossbones. Few had ever seen him, or the tattoo. Most feared it so much they prayed never to spot that symbol.

  Darrok.

  The Amaranthine who came in when the world needed a savior. People didn’t see past the money, looks, and promise of hope he offered. When they realized the hope was for him, and not them, it was too late. Darrok had taken over, his Amaranthine Soldiers, Guards, and the Associates ruled.

  The Associates found a place for their power and wealth to multiply. They didn’t stand in Darrok’s way. For centuries, they stood by, making decisions behind-the-scenes. Once Darrok came in and opened that door for them, they stepped out into the daylight and crushed the government that remained, with Darrok’s help. Afterward, the world had no longer been the same.

  THREE

  IT WOULD BE BETTER for us all if you both idiots just kept going. Don’t come into this building. Do not investigate the sound boys or it won’t end well for you.

  The two men outside the bar, behind the wall Hope stood hiding against, seemed to debate with themselves. Should they pass, or should they go? It could mean a big payday if they investigated, but then it could mean their death, or a lot of hassle at the end of their shift.

  Which choice we
re they going to go with? The winner is—

  Humans stopped wanting to connect with each other for fear of being captured and used. For fear of those they trusted most, turning on them. The strong preyed on the weak. Humans distrusted what they saw, what they heard. They no longer knew what was reality, versus what was pure fantasy.

  The human mind altered. Unless the person was strong enough to handle the change, they went mad. Only those who harnessed the Earth’s energy and understood it, improved and survived. The ones believed weak, became strong.

  Everything progressed from there. Humans reformed and became superior to what once was. Evolution took over and altered the DNA of those who came to survive in this new world. Evolution made sure humans possessed the abilities needed to fight the new order of the land.

  Not all humans handled those changes. The ones who believed humans would head to another plane of existence, and their psychic abilities would awaken, did not understand how right they were. They didn’t plan for what came—

  Hope pulled back and placed her head against the wall again. She clenched her teeth. She didn’t need this. Not now. Her plans for the night didn’t include capture. She examined the blackness around her, searching every inch for a way to escape. She had to do something. If she stayed where she was, they would find her. The man who thought he heard her didn’t sound as eager to get out of there as his buddy. He had to satisfy his curiosity before they left.

  The winner goes to . . . checking the building out. Dammit, Hope shook her head.

  Children became rarer as fear grew of how they would develop. Life was funny that way. Children became a problem. For a long time, mothers had to hide their children until the children were old enough to survive on their own. Few of those children born were Amaranthine. The new human. Something in the human’s blood didn’t allow mother’s to pass on this change. Whether the mothers were Amaranthine or not didn’t seem to matter at all.