Callie

The Universe… is a bitch.

Just as I make my way to the beginning of The Gardens so I can climb to the roof again, Trey pounces into my path.

Still sorting out my feelings about the Collector and what happened to Ricky, I run right into his chest and bounce off.

"Woah there, honey!" His hands come up to steady me before I fall on my ass. "Didn't you hear me calling ya?"

His dark brown eyes stare into my golden ones. Whatever he sees there makes him frown and lean down until we're eye to eye.

"What's the matter with you?"

In the next instant, understanding flows over his expression and his eyes show sadness as he asks, "It's Ricky, ain't it? Yeah, I heard the Cleaners were picking 'im up."

The frown on his face grows deeper as he continues, "Started seein' him come 'round only a week ago. Stopped him cuz I'd never seen him before, and he tells me how he has a package. Now, you know I'm not one to flap gums, but that boy weren't delivering no package. Shifty, jumpy, those ain't signs of a runner on the job. Tried to grab him on his way out, but he sped on by like the hounds of hell was after his ass. Kept an eye on him after, always comin' 'ere at sundown, leaving just as night come in. 'Spected it had somethin' to do with that new drug, Nightshade. Hoped I was wrong, good looking kid an' all, but…"

Trey stops to shake his head at the futility of youth before looking at me with a stern glare.

"I know we raised you right and you ain't going to touch none o' that, yeah?"

His eyebrow goes up and I smile up at him good naturedly.

"You don't have to worry about me, Trey. I gotta go tell Brandon about Ricky. Take care of you," I say with a tight hug.

Growing up in the Badlands with no parents was tough, especially being different from every other person I know. I learned quickly that having tuft ears and retractable claws isn't normal, but as with everywhere you go, there are good and bad people.

I was lucky enough to find good people amongst the bad growing up.

Spider made me a wig to hide my ears, teaching me how to bind them down to my head, and Trey taught me who to stay away from and where it was safe to go. I asked them once what I was, why I was so different, but even they have no idea. Far as they can figure, I was born this way.

I pull back from Trey and give him another smile before heading over to the escape ladder and hopping up to grab the bottom rung. Scurrying over the roof, I take a deep breath before jumping over alley gaps on my way back to work. I make it back in record time only to stop short and flatten myself as much as I can against the roof overlooking the street in front of the post drop.

All of my coworkers are standing in the street while Collectors are going in and out of the building. Using my elbows to army crawl over to the edge of the roof, I survey the street below to see if I can get any information on what's going on.

Brandon's standing at the front of everyone, toe to toe with a Collector with his arms crossed. His face is flushed red and if his glare could kill, there'd be a pile of dead Collectors in the street. Petra, who should've been in prostitution instead of being a runner, is flirting with a Collector at the side of the little group.

Coming from the same place, Petra is an example of who I could've been if it wasn't for Spider and Trey taking me under their wings. I'd almost feel sorry for her if she wasn't such an insufferable bitch, believing that everyone and their mama owe her something.

Sharpening my eyes, I can see the Collector smile wickedly at her before someone gets his attention, and he turns to look at the doorway. Turning that way myself I can see a short, stocky Collector holding a bag of black powder that glitters in the bright sunlight up for everyone to see.

Chaos ensues.

The Collectors in front of Brandon and Petra grab them quickly while the others standing in a half-circle blocking off the front of the post drop grab runners as fast as they can. People are screaming and running in all directions as the Collectors quickly round them up, some fighting back and getting knocked to the ground while others fall to their knees as quickly as possible.

I duck down quickly when I see a semi-truck with a container like the one I'd been stuffed in as a kid, come down the ravaged road. When I hear it stop next to the roof I'm hiding on, I peek over and see the top of the container underneath me. I can hear the Collectors loading everyone into the back and something comes over me.

Without any thought behind it, I jump from the roof to the top of the trailer.

Immediately I start bitching at myself for doing such a stupid ass thing.

Yeah, some of these people are my friends and yeah, I work with them, but why in the hells am I putting myself in danger for these people? And what the hells do I think I'm going to be able to do? Rescue them?

Hysteria starts to bubble up in my chest at the image of me fighting with the ten or more Collectors that are finishing up shoving people into the trailer.

"You are a damn idiot," I whisper as I hear the door roll shut, and the truck starts to pull away from the post, traveling down the road to gods know where.

*****

The ride from work isn't very long, twisting and turning along Riverway. The view of the river is bright as the evening sun reflects off the water, making it look magical as it shines on the rows and rows of shipping containers that were stacked across the river bank years ago to keep the water from flooding the city during the quake.

The trees and ruined buildings slowly pass by until the truck comes to a stop inside a warehouse.

'Of course it would be the same warehouse as before,' I think sardonically as I look around at the metal walls and open ceiling.

Collectors are waiting at the back of the container for the door to open with an Elite standing to the side, his house emblem on full display at his throat.

'Fireside house,' I think with disgust and confusion.

Fireside is the cruelest and most self-important of the four houses that govern Rougesburrow.

Lakeside has south of the river, while Galeside has the Eastern for livestock.

Meadowside governs the western district, which includes The Garden where the Badlands sit.

All the 'sides are extremely territorial, with the only relatively neutral zone being the huge cement area in the middle of the city where the market and guild quarters are.

For Fireside to be out of their area is almost unheard of unless there's a conclave going on.

The sound of the truck door opening jerks me out of my thoughts and I listen as my coworkers are dragged from the container. Everyone's placed in a loose circle surrounded by Collectors, with Mr. Fireside overseeing them, his sharp features looking bored. With his thin, bloodless lips and short, red hair coupled with his pasty white skin, he looks like a walking corpse.

Watching him slowly walk back and forth in front of my coworkers, I notice a fine haze start to collect around his thin frame. As the film becomes thicker, I feel the hairs on my arms and back of my neck rise with goosebumps.

'Something nasty, this way comes.'

My body tenses as he starts to speak, "Who speaks for you?"

His black eyes settle on Brandon as he makes his way to stand in front of Mr. Tall, Dark, and Skeletal. I watch, wide-eyed, as the haze drifts along the concrete floor to pool at Brandon's feet just above his ankles, moving like smoke or fog.

"I am Brandon Carmichael, Head Officer of Post-Delivery Station Number Four, Guild registration number BCM2065. I will speak."

Brandon stands taller, throwing his shoulders back. A twinge of pride stirs in my stomach.

'Give him hell, boss!'

A smile flirts on my lips as I watch the Fireside elite lift his chin and sniff in disdain, looking down his beak-like nose at Brandon.

"I'm told that you were harboring a large amount of an illegal substance as well as a dealer of said substance at your station. Is this true?"

As Fireside spoke, the fog at Brandon's feet thickened and swirled faster. Looking at those around them, I notice that no one is looking at the rolling fog.

'What the hell?'

"It is not," Brandon says with a hint of indignation.

The fog at his feet thins, looking more like the haze it had started out as. Raising an eyebrow, I see Mr. Tightass with his own eyebrow raised.

Turning to the Collector who'd given the order to round everyone up, Mr. Fireside inquires, "From the report I was given on the way here, the facts I have stated are correct, are they not?"

The haze slithers from Brandon's feet to those of the Collector.

"They are, sir," he says with a small nod.

The haze thickens and wraps around the Collector's feet, yet he shows no sign that anything is happening. I can see an orange thread whisper along the top of the fog.

"I see," the bird faced Fireside says as he frowns at the Collector's feet.

'He can see it!' I realize in surprise.

"So I'm to understand that the boy who was found in the Gardens was a dealer?"

The Collector visibly swallows and nods his head.

Fireside lifts an eyebrow again and says sharply, "Speak up, man!"

The Collector starts in surprise at the bite in the man's voice and answers shakily, " Yes, Sir!"

The fog swirls and ripples with agitation, a stuttering line of orange and red twirling throughout.

"Hmm, an opinion then," Firebeak mumbles as he watches the twisting fog, speculation clear on his face. "And the illegal substance, was it indeed found in the station?"

The Collector's face goes pale and his lips thin as I hold my breath, waiting for his answer.

"Yes, sir, it was."

The flare of dark red pulsing at the Collector's feet makes me squint my eyes at the sudden flash.

Fireside's eyebrow shoots up and his frown deepens into a snarl as he glares at the now trembling Collector.

"You are lying, Sergeant. Officers, take him into custody."

Waving his hand in the Collector's face as he sputters and starts yelling, the Fireside turns to Brandon and says, "I apologize. You will all be returned to your post station. Good day."

He nods to a startled Brandon who turns in confusion to the rest of my coworkers.

As two Collectors escort the Sergeant out of the warehouse with Mr. Fireside following behind, the remaining Collectors herd everyone back into the cargo container.

Letting out a sigh of relief, I lay flat along the top. The engine starts and the doors of the warehouse open to allow the vehicle to leave.

'What in Gods was that?'

(*****)

I've never been so happy to see my treehouse as I am today.

Set up on the far side of The Garden using a thick circle of pine trees as support, it has a full living area with an open kitchen set up on the first floor, and a bedroom of the same size sitting above it. There are a few windows cut into the log walls, but with the absence of glass, I had full shutters made that fit snug into the holes to keep rain and debris out.

It cost me a full bushel of the biggest green apples and juiciest black cherries I could collect, but the can of element resistant paste had been worth it to reinforce the protection of my home. I was even able to get a little extra in the form of spider string to protect the trees that my house sits in thanks to Spider's help.

She said it was a gift from her Goddess, but I think she just said that so I wouldn't keep asking.

If there ever were Gods and Goddesses, they left this world eons ago.

Throwing my backpack to the side of the trapdoor, I heave myself up into my living room and make my way to the pile of pillows under a set of windows that I use for lounging. It's also a great place for falling asleep when I'm too tired to climb the ladder up to my room.

I throw myself onto the stack of pillows and put my arm over my eyes in exhaustion.

The ride back to work had been just as uneventful as the ride there had been. I had a small heart attack when I thought a Collector had seen me jump from the truck back to the roof I'd used previously, but since no alarm had been raised, I figure I must have mistaken him looking my way.

Once the truck left and Brandon had gone inside after telling everyone to go home, I'd made my way inside. He'd looked so exhausted that I decided I'd tell him about Ricky tomorrow.

I grunt as a weight lands on my chest, temporarily making the air leave my lungs. My cat, Emerald, makes herself comfortable on my stomach, laying down and watching me with her sparkling green eyes.

She'd wandered into my area when I'd been making the finishing touches to the treehouse and refused to leave. Even climbing in the windows in the middle of the night after I'd taken her to Spider to look after.

Rats are abundant in the Garden, so having a cat around is helpful to keep them out of your food when you live in tents.

It's one of the reasons I was determined to have a treehouse after seeing a picture of one on an old magazine page. I also wanted to be away from people to keep my oddities hidden.

Taking my short black wig and binding off, I sigh as my tufted ears spring up and swivel around, working out the stiffness. Using both hands, I rub my head vigorously before taking a deep breath and smiling at the feeling having my ears free gives me.

Emerald starts purring and slits her eyes before closing them, fully relaxing on my stomach.

Closing my eyes, I let my mind drift back to what I'd witnessed at the warehouse. Something strange had been going on with that fog stuff. No one else seemed to be able to see it but me and the Fireside guy.

Frowning, I wonder if maybe he's like me, an oddity in a world of norms. Since tomorrow's my day off, I could always make a trip to Fireside.

Scared and excited, I fall asleep thinking of the pros and cons of my plan for finding someone else like me.

Someone who may know who and what I am.