Mutant 74

| Twenty-Three |

Come morning, Seventy-Four's skin returned to its natural, russet shade. There was warmth in her limbs and a steadiness to her heartbeat. The wind remained cold, but the fallen debris sheltered her from its bitter nip. She had laid there restlessly throughout the night. What little sleep she got consisted of nightmares of being trapped by ice; reminders of a reality she'd barely escaped that roused her without fail.

She watched the city from her small alcove as dawn crept in, thoughts swarming with theories of what had toppled the building around her. She pictured massive beasts stampeding through the city, toppling skyscrapers and crushing streetways. The depressions in the ground were the footprints they left behind. The chunks in the sides of glassy towers were bites for sustenance. As far as she was concerned, that was the truth. She just hoped the giants were long gone.

When the sun was above her, glaring at her, she decided to move.

Seventy-Four jogged across the misshapen, rough terrain. Her body began to awaken with each step, dismissing a weary haze to make her acutely aware of the emptiness in her stomach, the soreness of her throat, and every ache that dwelled in her muscles.

This isn't as bad as being frozen, she reminded herself.

She hoped that the direction she'd chosen, which was directly opposite of the black tower that loomed behind her, would offer something to remedy these ailments. The farther she traveled, the more uncertain she became. Eventually she slowed, taking a final step across a jagged crevice that riddled the pavement to lean against one of the hunks of metal that lay in disrepair. She kicked the rubber wheel, breathing heavily.

The sky was clearer this morning. Fog no longer obscured the air above. She could look and see the top of the tower. It remained an imposing, adamant structure. The fog hadn't hidden that. The fog had hidden just how tall it stood. Unyielding.

Should I be thankful that it didn't crumble like the rest of the city? She didn't know. She drew in a shuddering breath and continued onward—away.

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The sound of water running water convinced her to run again. She veered through sunken alleyways and hopped over the fallen bars of street signs and signals until she found a slope carved with stone steps that brought her to the edge of the river. She stumbled down them, her knees throbbing when she finally impacted with the shoreline.

But she didn't pay heed to pain, thrusting her hands into the murky waters before her. She brought handfuls of the liquid to her face. What should have been relieving was painful at first. Water slipped through her fingers and ran down her arms, stinging her throat, which was unaccustomed to anything but screaming. Still, she drank deeply. So deeply that she instead used her hands to grip the rocks that lined the shore to drink directly from the river.

The water helped. While it was colder than the air, it wasn't as cold as the ice. For all it did to quench her thirst, she hoped it could do more. A swim could be relaxing, she mused.

Seventy-Four moved her left hand into the water, letting it sink deep within the muck. With a sigh, she moved her other to touch the bottom, shutting her eyes—

Something sharp sliced through her palm, sending her scrambling up the stone steps behind her with a cry. She stared at her bleeding hand, her breaths coming out in pants once more. Her blood was so violently vivid in comparison to the muted tones around her. It hurt her eyes.

The wound stung as she clenched her fist tight, tucking it to her chest. She tried to even her breaths, gaze searching the world she'd forgotten about in those fleeting moments of relief that were now consumed by pain. Again, she thought. Is this place trying to make me miss the ice?