Angel: Scene 2

1 May, 2054

        A lone figure walked slowly down the street. He wore a dark blue overcoat and a gray felt fedora pulled down over his ears, clothing much too heavy for the season. She watched through the bay window of the old suburban house where she’d been born and lived all her life.
        Her parents dead, it was the only home she knew or expected to know in the aftermath of the destruction of society as she knew it. Six months after the fall of the massive cylinders, government was only beginning to peek its head out of the sands. Personal security was in the hands of the few brave enough to fight, or willing to pay others to fight for them.
        Winter lingered late this year, only now with temperatures rising into the sixties. Fortunately for Alaina, she’d stocked the cellar and freezer before the invasion with more than enough food to last one through the long, cold, winter. Even so, her stocks were running low and she’d soon have to scrounge like everyone else for whatever could be grown in her back yard or lay hidden in the cellar of abandoned houses.
        She saw movement from the corner of her eye. As the figure passed by her house, figures slipped out from cover behind the houses of the once prosperous neighborhood. She watched as the mutant hunting gang closed on their next, apparently oblivious prey.
        One of them shouted and waved a baseball bat over his head. In an instant, the gang surrounded the figure. The solitary walker stopped short and waited stolidly for the hunters. Many times, Alaina had watched this particular gang surround a victim, including herself. She was glad that they’d never come across a mutant while she was watching.
        The leader spoke sharply to the walker, receiving an abrupt shake of the head in reply. He repeated his demand, gesturing with the bat. Again, the other shook his head; refusing to accede to the gang’s demands. The leader motioned with his free hand. One of his henchmen grasped the walker’s heavy coat and pulled. A blur of motion and the thug went flying, to hit the ground heavily fifteen feet away from his victim.
        Alaina gasped in shock as the mob fell upon him mercilessly, beating and stabbing. Furiously, their prey fought back, injuring several, but they outnumbered him twenty-five to one. In moments, the gang had beaten him to the ground and fled.
        She stared numbly at the still, bloody form lying in the middle of the street. She couldn’t explain it, but she felt an need to do something, ANYTHING, for him. She couldn’t bear to see him just lying there. She rose from her seat and went into the kitchen at the back of the house to hide herself from the sight, but it didn’t work. She couldn’t stay and ignore what she’d witnessed. She couldn’t stand the fact that a person lay on the street in front of her home, injured — possibly dying! Jerking open the front door, she ran outside.
        She slowed as she approached the still form, glancing about, praying the mob was gone. She fell to her knees and rolled the body over. Spasms of nausea wracked her body at the sight of the bloody pulp that had once been a man’s face. The broken bones of his face and body had torn through the skin in hideous destruction.
        Stilling her heaving stomach, she grabbed the lapels of his coat and dragged him inside, out of the street, safely behind the steel bars protecting every window and door. She hauled him into the bathroom and managed to lift him into the tub. She carefully cut his clothes off with her mother’s old sewing shears and threw them into the waste can. She could see why he had fought instead of submitting to their search. He was a mutant!
        His mutation was subtle. His skin was paler, a pure opaque cream with a hint of gray, rather than the translucent pink of human skin. It was also dense and smooth, more like a dolphin’s hide. She looked at him again and cried. He was dead. He had to be dead. There was no way he could survive the injuries he had received.
        She held his hand to her cheek, feeling sorrow and pain for the senseless killing of another person, even if he was a mutant. She didn’t understand it; she’d never felt like this before. The pain got worse, centered in her hand as she held his.
        Suddenly she screamed! She felt sharp, agonizing pain in her body and face. An eerie glow filled the small, tiled room and she felt flushed with heat. From nowhere, bruises appeared on her arms and hands. The heat and pain grew increasingly intense until finally, she passed out.
        Hours later, she woke, still lying on the bathroom floor, dripping with sweat. The heat was stifling. She grasped the edge of the tub, climbing to her feet, and reached up to open the small window high on the wall, letting in a blast of fresh, cool air. She turned back to the tub, steeling herself to wrap up the body and bury it in the back yard.
        She froze, staring in shock. The skin was smooth and unbroken, the color pure and unblemished. The blood was still there, but the cuts, the jaggedly broken bones, all the injuries that had spilled blood on that flawless body were gone!
        The only thing marring the perfection of his skin was its dryness. She turned on the faucet and let lukewarm water fill the tub. She laved it over the smooth hairless skin, washing off the blood.
        She began to feel flushed again, and a muted, bluish glow radiated from her hands as she worked. As she moved her hands over the tough skin, the dryness left it and it took on a healthy sheen. She slid her hands over every inch of his body. Soon she couldn’t tell he’d ever been hurt but when she looked at his face there was no sign of life. She caressed his face tenderly and stroked his strong jaw line. Besides the thick, smooth skin and unusual coloring, he looked as human as anyone else.
        She turned off the water and rose, glancing out the window. It was dark outside. Adding in her exhaustion, she decided to leave her patient as he lay and go to bed. She reached for the light switch, and realized with a start that it was already out. or rather, had never been turned on. With a last glance at the figure in the tub, she pulled the door closed behind her.