Tim, a garbage handler in a post-apocalyptic bunker, loses the little he has. But then he finds Amy, the redhead with an attitude. Together, they will try to change the world they live in.
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Tim is one of those who shovel the shit and clean away th...
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"He's from the caverns. Must be."
"Naw, them people don't come down here. Their laws forbid it."
"So what's he doing down here?"
"He was inna heap, at the bottom of the shaft. I dragged him here. Must've fallen and hit his head." A woman's voice.
"Sure looks like that. Battered'n smacked."
"Them cavern dwellers are soft. Even softer when battered. Makes it easier for us."
At least three voices. A woman and two men.
"Skinny, he is."
A prodding against my calf.
"Dark like the deepest pit, too."
"Yeah, he needs a wash."
Laughter. Another prod, and this one stung. But there was even more pain growing in my foot, the left one, and creeping up my leg. My heart drummed against the back of my head—its beat inescapable and nauseating.
I must have fallen from that ladder and hurt myself.
"Turn him. I wanna see his mug." A man's words, almost whispered, yet sharp as needles.
My arm was yanked—and me with it, jerking my head around. My heart's beating turned into a hammer battering my skull. I groaned.
"I think he's awake," the woman said, close by. "Lemme check."
Cold fingers probed my face and my eyes. Light seeped through my lids.
"Awake?" This was a man's rumbling voice. "Bad that. Now we'll have to snuff him."
"Hold yer snuffing, George," the whisperer replied. "We'll first wanna question him. We need to know what he was doing in the tunnels. And then we'll give him a trial. And then you can snuff him."
Snickering.
A weak draft brushed over me, leaving its chill in my wet clothes. Water dripped and trickled somewhere, and a machine's hum vibrated in the air.
I opened my eyes, and light struck me. A candle flickered in a glass-windowed box, mere inches from my nose. Not far above me, almost within reach if I stood, a roof of rock spanned whatever place I was in.
They had candles in the temple, but the temple's ceiling was smooth. This one was irregular, made of hewn stone. I had to be elsewhere.
"He's opened his eyes," the woman said.
She crouched at my side. About my age, her roundish face pale. Harsh, white light from somewhere behind her gave the strands of her hair a coppery sheen.
