Sunshine and Rain -- bekkia

Chapter One: Dust and Ruins
      
       Harsh rays of the brilliant noon-day sun beat down upon the decaying relics of a once great civilization. Shining waves of heat radiated up from the parched asphalt, making the whole scene seem like a mirage. The stench of melting tar seeped up from the black surface of the pavement that stretched through the wasteland.
       Traveling down this forgotten road, full of cracks and overgrown with weeds, was a girl whose long auburn hair was woven into two braids that draped down her chest. She held in her hand, wadded into a ball, a jacket that matched her pants: blue and green with white piping along the seams. On its shoulder, an insignia with the letters “T.E.S.A.” superimposed over a globe.
       It was too hot, but then again, she had never been anywhere on Earth but New York City. Even her plain white t-shirt and cotton pants were unbearably hot for this sort of weather.
       With her hand, she shaded her eyes from the powerful rays of the sun, as she trudged down the forgotten road toward the city. In the distance, broken windows of dilapidated buildings sparkled, each with a separate reflection of the sun. The closer she got to the city, the more easily she could see the extent of the destruction. Tops of buildings had spilled into the streets, leaving a mass of bricks, glass, and other shrapnel, over which eerily beautiful vines of kudzu crept, their heart-shaped leaves blowing in the wind thick with humidity. A few building had been completely blown to bits, leaving nothing but shallow craters in the concrete and steel skeletons twisting skyward.
       The girl with the braided auburn hair paused in front of a monolithic sign at the side of the road, heaved a heavy sigh, and wiped the beads of sweat from her brow. Looking up through the glare of the sun, she carefully read the chipping paint of the sign, “Welcome to Atlanta.” She sighed again, “This is it. What on earth would the Patrol want with this godforsaken place?”
       She shook her head and continued walking toward the ruins. A sharp wind blew through the gaps between the buildings, casting clouds of dust into the air, as the girl finally reached the threshold of the city. The shadow of one building, that refused to be knocked down, stretched toward the clear skies like a solid pane of glass that seemed to shrink the higher it went, until it vanished into the blue.
       She stepped into the shadow and looked up at the building. Part of her was happy to escape the reach of the burning sun. Then it struck her, this was the only building standing. Whatever the Patrol wanted, it had to be in here.
       She removed the handgun from the holster at her hip and slowly pushed through the revolving door at the base of the building. It creaked violently from age and disuse.
       The lobby of this monolith was caked with a thick layer of dust, giving it a ghostly air. As she stepped in, some of the dust lifted, making it hard to breathe. She coughed and put a corner of her jacket over her face until the dust cleared, so she could continue forward. The air inside was much colder than the heat of the day, so the put the jacket on to shield herself from the icy shadows.
       In front of her, at the very back of the lobby, behind the thick marble desk, was a layout of the building, painted black onto mirror-like glass. It was complete with names of old departments and sections on floors. There were probably seventy-five floors total.
       Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a clue of where to start looking: prints from bare feet which led from the lobby and faded down into a dark corridor. She started after them, pulling a small metal flashlight from her pocket to illuminate the hall. As far as the light was thrown the hall was grey and similar. Long rows of identical doors ad a thick layer of dust painted every surface, except the footprints leading down into the darkness.
       The space between the prints was not short and normal, but spread far apart as though their owner was running. She stooped down to examine them further, shining the bright circle of light down upon one. The print was bigger than hers would have been, but not so large that it was in human. They looked as though they belonged to a man, average size or a little bigger, with arches so high they did not touch the floor in the middle.
       She reached a finger down and swiped it through the place cleared by the footprint. Bringing her finger up so she could see it, she realized it was clean. These were fresh prints!
       This person must have been what they were after! She jumped up and sprinted down the corridor after the prints, the circle thrown by the flashlight bouncing with every step that echoed flatly through the almost abandoned building. Wait! Whoever they are would run away after hearing this racket. They would know someone is after them, or worse! Maybe instead of running away from the sound, they would come toward it! What if he is part of the Patrol, looking the same as I am?
       She stopped running immediately, paused, and listened for any other signs of life. For a moment, nothing could be heard but her rapid breath in the stifling air and cold, full of dust and thick with humidity. Then she heard it: a sharp screee noise originating at the end of the hall, accented by a loud thump as the elevators were called into action.
       Is he really that close? She continued forward, then came to a halt again. The eerie glow of dusty fluorescent lighting spread across the width of the hall as the stainless steel elevator door slowly slid open.
       It did not close, even after she stood there and stared at it for a while, hoping that it would vanish as quickly as it had come. Against her better judgment, she walked toward it and stepped inside. This is a bad idea. She turned around as soon as she got into the elevator, but before she could change her mind and step back out, the door slid shut with a click, trapping her inside.
       Oh, god! What if the cable snaps? The elevator lurched upward, making the girl lose her balance and support herself on the back wall’s railing. Looking forward, her eyes met with the only button of the many rows that was lit. The top floor, number seventy-five, glowed green and circular to burn itself into her memory.
       Was the person controlling the elevator? No. There were more of the same footprints on the floor of the elevator. It must be going to the same floor he went to. Its programming must have been fried after whatever he did to it to make it run, then the button he pressed must have gotten jammed in.
       The floors rushed by, one after another, as the green-lit numbers counted, ticking higher as they had so many times in its days of use. The elevator finally came to a stop and opened its doors. It had not quite reached floor seventy-five, but stopped just before it should have, so that the lower half of the door opened to solid concrete.
       She hastily climbed up onto the floor and out of the elevator, putting her gun and flashlight onto the floor first, then hoisting herself up. No sooner had she vacated the confines of the elevator, did it slam shut its door and plummet groundward. A gigantic puff of dust erupted from the shaft, telling the girl that the elevator cab would not be the way she would be leaving.
       She scrambled to her feet and stared back at the empty elevator shaft. That was too close for comfort. With difficulty, she shook this newest near death experience from her thoughts and continued following the bare footprints in the dust.
       After only a few steps, she heard something: a faint tapping noise, like someone walking, behind the closed door of the nearest room. As she got closer, whoever was in the room quieted their breathing and remained perfectly still so as no more sounds emanated from the room.
       The girl put her hand on the metal of the door and pushed it open with a loud creak. Drawing in a deep breath, she stepped into the room, pointed the flashlight and the gun straight ahead of her, and yelled, “This is Lieutenant Goodwin of the Trans-Earth Space Agency! Drop all weapons and put your hands in the air!”
       Her light landed on a man whose green eyes reflected, from behind locks of black hair, back to her like a frightened deer in the headlights of a car. He stood against the wall, refusing to put his hands up, and just stared at her with frightened and distant green eyes. This was definitely the man she had been following: he had no shoes. Those were no the only things missing form his person; he was shirtless as well, revealing thick black lines of a tattoo swirling from the fingers of his left hand, all the way up to his lean and muscular shoulder.
       For a moment, she was taken aback: he was the most handsome man she had ever seen. Creamy, tan skin flowed perfectly over his tall frame. He was not too thin, yet not too muscular. Abdominal muscles, as if chiseled out of granite, lead down to the only article of clothing he wore: a pair of dark jeans that hugged his legs just close enough to be comfortable. Her eyes were drawn to the tattoo on his arm once more; she could have sworn that a green pulse of electricity, matching the reflection of his eyes, had shot the length of the lines in a wave.
       As if someone had snapped their fingers in front of her face, she was called back to reality. “Did you hear me?” she yelled, “I said ‘put your hands in the air!’”
       “I heard you,” he answered, his voice deep and smooth, in a tone that reminded her of dark blue velvet, “Didn’t you’re mother ever teach you that it’s not nice to follow people?”
       “You’re the one who is lurking around in the dark, in an abandoned building, in the middle of world war ruins, in the sector controlled by the Patrol!”
       “Good point,” he said, “In that case, you ought to get out of here. It’s dangerous.”
       “I’m an officer in TESA!” she retorted, not taking the gun or the light off of him, “I have to do my job!”
       “You have to get out of here,” he warned her calmly, “You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into. It’s too dangerous.”
       She shook her head, “Not until you tell me what I need to know. What are you doing here? What would the Patrol be after in a place like this?”
       “My name is Rain, and I am what the Patrol is after.”
       “You’re what the Patrol is after?” she repeated, half to herself.
       “That is what I said,” he answered smoothly, “And that’s all I know.”
       “So, the people who are running the whole South by force are after you, and you don’t know why?”
       Rain shrugged, “Exactly.”
       “But—”
       He cut her off, “No, now it’s my turn. Who are you, and why are you following me?”
       “I’m Lieutenant Chiana Goodwin of the Trans-Earth Space Agency. I was listening to the Patrol’s radio waves, and it sounded like there was something that they wanted here, so I came to investigate.”
       Rain made a move to speak again, but something stopped him. All of the color left his face, and he braced himself against the wall as if to stop himself from passing out. She did see it: the pulse of green electricity traced the swirling lines of his tattoo, then vanished.
       Chiana hurried toward him, dropping her gun and flashlight, and blurting out, “Oh my god, are you alright?” She put her hand on his back; in case he fell, she would catch him. With her touch, the color rushed back into his cheeks. “Rain, are you okay?” she asked, talking to him as if she had known him all of her life.
       “I’m fine,” he answered, looking around as if he did not know what was going on. “You should leave.” Rain sat against the wall, away from the light of the fallen flashlight, propping his arms up on his knees. “You found what you came here for, so go.”
       “No, not without you!’ You can’t stay here all by yourself. Like you said, ‘It’s dangerous!’”
       “Don’t you get it?” he said in the same smooth, deep tone he had been using the entire time, “I’m what’s dangerous here. That’s why I’m all alone, so I don’t hurt anyone else.” She opened her mouth to speak, but he cut her off once more. “Leave before you are the next casualty.”
       “Is that a threat?” she asked.
       “If it has to be,” he answered.
       “Well, I don’t believe you,” she said.
       “What?”
       “That’s right, I don’t believe you,” she walked forward and sat against the wall next to him, “And I am going to sit here until you agree to come with me.”
       “Suit yourself,” he looked away from her and into the shadows in front of him, “You might be here a while.”
       “Fine by me.”
      “Hmmm… A girl… What shall we do with her?...” a smooth voice, eerily similar to Rain’s own, hissed through the shadows.
       “Nothing,” Rain said, “We’ll do nothing with her!”
       “Did you say something?” Chiana asked, looking at Rain strangely.
       “Yes!” Rain exclaimed, jumping to his feet, “You must leave! Now!”
      “Oh, don’t make her go,” the voice hissed again, “She is so beautiful, you cannot resist. That long, rich hair. That fair, supple skin—”
       Chiana was staring up into Rain’s fearful eyes, saying something he could not hear, “Rain, what’s wrong? What’s going on?”
      “Those graceful curves. Those delicious lips. Kiss her, Rain. Ravish her!”
       “No!” Rain yelled, the electricity surging through his tattoo again, and his fingers running through his hair as if he had a head ache, “I won’t! Leave me alone! I won’t!”
      “Oh, I think you will, Rain. You want to; you need to.”
       Rain reach out an unfeeling hand to touch her body, but the thunder of a bomb blast awoke him from this trance. The blast shook the building to its foundation.
       “They’re here,” Rain gasped inaudibly.
       “The Patrol?!” Chiana exclaimed.