"Gods alive, child! What has you in a tizzy?" Spider exclaims as I try to get enough breath in my lungs to speak.
"Ricky...dead...beaten," is all I can get out as my heart races and my lungs feel like they'd never have enough air. I hadn't run like that since I was a child, and the same terror that I felt coursing through my veins was comparable to back then.
Spider hurries over to me and puts an arm around my shoulder as she helps me sit on the mound of pillows she calls a couch.
"Deep breaths, Cal, in, out, there you go. And again. In, out. Now, tell me what's going on."
Her sharp brown eyes stare into mine without flinching as I tell her about finding Ricky in the alley. I don't mention smelling Nightshade on him since normal people don't have that great a sniffer, but I do tell her about the bruises and how it looked like he'd been beaten with a look of horror on his face.
Her frown deepens and her features look guarded. I can sense that she knows something, but I instinctively know she's not going to tell me what it is.
"Stay here and rest. I'll take care of Ricky."
She pats me on the hand and stands up. I watch her kneel to lift the edge of her tent up so she can walk outside. Her voice carries to me as I hear her talking to someone about contacting the Cleaners to get Ricky.
A shiver races up my spine as I think of the strange men and women that make up the Cleaners. All of them are hairless with pale white skin that emphasizes the blue and purple veins that line their skin, and they always wear heavy black robes.
Rumor says that they used to be regular people before the Collectors did something to them. Sometimes I wonder if they were a different species like me, though. Even though they give me the creeps, it's nice to think I'm not the only freak on the planet.
Spider comes back in and sits next to me, laying her hand on top of mine.
"I've asked that the Cleaners be notified. Are you feeling better?"
Her concern helps center me.
Taking a deep breath, I hold it in before letting it out on a sigh.
"Yeah, I'm better now. Thanks, Spider."
I give her a weak smile and give myself a mental shake. There's nothing I can do for Ricky, but I should give Spider her package and let Brandon know that he's dead.
Ricky isn't the first runner that's been killed, and he won't be the last. Our job is hazardous. Get on the wrong side of someone or deliver a package that the recipient isn't happy about, and the Cleaners will be the last ones to see your body.
I reach back and swing my bag around so I can get her package. Fishing around for the slip and a burnt stick so she can mark it as delivered.
Handing her the stick, I watch as she draws a little spider with a smile next to it before she takes the package and opens it.
Inside are two well-insulated strawberry plants with large ripe berries on them. My mouth waters as their smell hits my nose and my stomach rumbles, causing my cheeks to burn and Spider to chuckle.
"I'm sorry, Spider, I skipped lunch."
My pitiful excuse only makes her smile wider. She stands and places the box of red and gold on a crate she uses as a table and gently picks two berries before coming back over and handing me one. I look up at her and smile, thanking her as I accept the berry and take a small bite.
It's sweet and sour at the same time. I don't know whether to moan or pucker my lips at the taste.
Though fruit and vegetables are available for a price, a runner's salary is nowhere near enough to afford luxuries such as strawberries or cherries. Small snack foods like that are normally bought by the higher-ups.
Spider and I sit companionably as we savor this rare treat.
Finally finished with the last bite, she takes the green leaves and places them in a metal tin, explaining that she can use them to make tea later. I thank her again for the strawberry and step out of her tent after giving her a hug. Her scent of herbs and dirt is a comfort after the stressful events of the day.
I blink my golden-colored eyes quickly to help them adjust to the glaring sun bouncing off the different shades of tents scattered wherever there's room. Children run screaming and laughing as they chase each other from tent to tent playing games, while adults hang laundry on lines or chat with each other over wash bins.
It's a calm and peaceful scene that belies the reputation of the area.
Oh, it's a well-deserved reputation, no doubt, but it proves that happiness and peace can be found even in the worst places.
Shading my eyes with my hand, I look up to see the position of the sun. Quickly calculating the time, I'm surprised to find it close to two in the afternoon. Figuring that I should get back to Brandon as soon as possible, I hitch my bag more comfortably on my shoulders and start walking back down the main road.
After the Quake destroyed practically every building and roadway in existence, everything that people relied on disappeared overnight. Electricity, technology, all became obsolete. Gasoline became as rare as gold, only used by the government, so people use carts, bicycles, or horses to get around quickly.
Trade became the norm instead of money since it couldn't be printed anymore. Meaning that if you didn't know how to make or grow something of value, you didn't survive long. Cities like mine are few and far between, but with it being small and surrounded by countryside, the people here thrive as best they can.
If it wasn't for the Collectors, this place would be close to paradise.
Shaking my head free of such thoughts, I notice a Cleaner standing by a wooden pull cart with a black cloth over the top outside the alleyway where I'd found Ricky. The street around me is deserted, but I can see people peeking out of their tents to watch what's going on.
Turning to walk on the sidewalk away from the creepy people in black, I hear a sharp whistle and whip my head around to find the source. A Collector stands in the mouth of the alley with a silver whistle clamped in his mouth, eyeing me. I turn away quickly and keep my head down, hoping that he's trying to get someone else's attention.
My luck isn't that good, however.
A large hand wraps around my bicep and jerks me to a halt before spinning me around, making me slam into a very hard chest wearing a dark blue shirt with the Collector's insignia embroidered on the left side. I stand as still as I can, too afraid to speak even an apology, though in all fairness it was his fault I slammed into him.
He speaks to the top of my head while his grip on my arm loosens, "You a runner, girl?"
His question startles me as his voice flows into my ears like honey.
Surprised at my reaction to his voice, I look up and become lost in the deepest blue eyes I've ever seen framed by a handsomely sharp face. His lips are full, though hard to see clearly under his black mustache.
The well-trimmed beard he sports makes me shiver and lick my lips as I think about what it would feel like between my legs. His jet-black hair is pulled back, every strand neat and tidy, causing my hands to itch with the need to run my fingers through it and mess it up.
He clears his throat uncomfortably as I stare at him, still waiting for my answer to his question.
Snapping my senses back to reality, I give myself a severe mental tongue lashing and say, "Ye...yes. I'm a runner."
"Sir!" I quickly add, a jumble of nerves making me tongue-tied.
I can't help myself as I lean in to sniff him, trying to be sneaky about it, but knowing I'm failing miserably.
Pine and male assault my nose, making me dizzy with desire. I clear my throat and shuffle back from him, forgetting that his hand is still holding onto me. His grip tightens again, and I snap my mind back to the present situation, reminding myself that he's a Collector and not to be messed with. Fear mixes with the desire, crashing through me, making me shake.
Not understanding the turmoil he's causing, the Collector starts pulling me towards the Cleaner's cart.
"I need you to see if you can identify a body for me. It won't take long."
His words register just as we get to the cart and he pulls the top back, showing me Ricky's terror-filled face.
I steel myself and reply, "His name is Ricky. He works with me at Package Post Number Four."
I look away and ask, "What happened to him?"
I don't expect a response but can't help the curiosity that fills me. It's one of my worst traits.
I'm surprised when he answers.
"Far as we can tell, he overdosed on Nightshade. His isn't the first death we've come across because of this damn drug."
His voice turns gruff and I can't help looking into his eyes again. Anger and sadness war on his face until he gets himself back under control. Nodding his head, he lets my arm go.
"Thank you for your cooperation. If you find out anything, let me know," he says as he hands me a handwritten card.
It shows his name as Thomas Daniels, Station Post Five.
I stick the card in my back pocket and nod, turning away before I make even more of a fool of myself.
His hand shoots out again to stop me and I glance over my shoulder.
"What's your name, Miss?" he asks gently.
"Callie," I answer as his hand slides down my arm slowly, leaving a trail of fire in its wake.
I turn quickly and power-walk away from him.
"Callie," I hear him whisper under his breath.
A shiver races across my spine before I duck into an alley and out of his sight. Feeling like I just ran a marathon, I quickly make my way back to work, hoping that my emotional rollercoaster was over for the day.