“Heya there,” the man says, tipping his straw hat. His skin is red and rough from a lifetime spent tilling earth. “Looking for a lift?”
“Thanks for stopping,” says Sydney, putting on her best sorrowful face. “My moped broke down a ways back. I thought I’d be stuck out here forever.”
“No problem. Usually don’t pick up hitchhikers around here, but I figure we could all try to be a little more humane after what happened today and all. It’s a damn shame.”
“I’m headed that way actually. My father, he lives there.” Sydney even manages an actual tear.
“Ag, no, didn’t you hear? They’re saying there aren’t any survivors.”
“My father, he’s tough.” Immortal might be a better word, but she’s still angling for a ride. Don’t want to scare him off just yet.
“Hey, it’s a little out of my way, but I don’t mind. Why don’t you hop on in? You don’t look much like a monster, or anything.” He flashes her a warm smile, deep creases at his eyes. He’s got the sort of face that’s built for kindness. “I’m Kobus Goosen,” he says, extending a hand.
“Courtney. Courtney Ngoto,” Sydney says. Sydney Mazwai is wanted for questioning in the deaths of six men found clogging up the garbage chute in her old apartment building, so she has to keep that persona under wraps for now. Soon, though, there won’t be a police force on this whole entire planet able to stop her. She hops into the seat, buckles in, and turns to the horizon, twelve plumes of smoke rising like architectural columns up into the sky. Like the Parthenon, Sydney thinks with more than a little disdain. The Greeks, they knew how to treat their goddesses.
The old Isuzu’s got lousy suspension, still runs on gas, and is heavily reliant upon a vast collection of rugby union bumper stickers to keep the truck all in one piece, but it’s a whole hell of a lot better than walking. Sydney makes idle chitchat until they’re nearly to the township. Kobus seems like a nice guy. A wife, three kids. Pays his farmhands a decent wage and tells a good yarn. If things were different, she would thank him for the ride, offer him a few rand for his trouble, which of course he’d refuse. She’d shake his hard, calloused hand once more and they’d make empty promises that they should keep in touch, maybe stop by to have dinner with his family should she ever be in the area again. She’d feign that she’d be delighted, and he’d wish her luck finding her father, his eyes full of actual sorrow. Then they’d part ways, and after a day or so, they’d forget all about each other, swept back up into the grind of their respective daily lives.
But things aren’t different. They’re just the same as they’ve always been. She’s weak and needs all the strength she can get to face this new student of Mr. Tau’s. Sydney doesn’t plan on being replaced so easily. She’s not giving up without a fight.
So Sydney draws up from that empty spot within her. A reflux of ire bulges through her veins. The pads of her fingertips break, giving way to glossy black talons as long and sharp as daggers. She becomes a monster more gruesome than Kobus could have ever dreamt up. His fear is pure, wholesome, sticks to her ribs like a big bowl of mielie pap on a cold day. Then she grants his last prayer before she takes his life and sends feelings of love deep into the hearts of his wife and daughters back home.
Sydney cringes as she sees the carnage firsthand. She’d been ready for the sheer devastation, but nothing could have prepared her for the smell, like Death had hosted a barbecue and had invited thirty-seven thousand of his closest friends. She uses half her reserves to push the images and credentials of a first responder into the heads of the police and paramedics on the scene as they search for survivors among the rubble. Sydney joins them, lifting up sheets of metal, sometimes finding a piece of charred hand or leg, but even those are few and far between. Cadaver dogs run in circles, whimpering. Ire lingers in this place, echoes of fear taunting Sydney like she’d arrived at a free buffet two minutes past closing.
When her ears start to tingle, she knows she’s getting close. It’s been decades since she’d been this close to another demigod. They’re a territorial bunch. But Sydney has to admit, she’s excited to be among one of her own, even if it’s only long enough to kill her. These humans, they’re so insignificant, bugs on a windshield in the grand scheme of things, yet they think the world will come crashing down if they aren’t there to support it.
There . . . she sees a leg jutting from underneath a strip of tin siding. Sydney lifts it gently, revealing a charred body, skin like burnt islands adrift on a sea of coagulated blood. She’s alive, barely. Her eyes flicker open, deep red with only the slightest hint of golden irises. Sydney gasps. Muddied tears streak across the girl’s face and down onto the scorched earth.
Sydney’s got this one chance. She draws all that’s left of her power and concentrates on a killing blow. Her palm bubbles like napalm, enough energy to demolish a city block. At point-blank range and with the girl defenseless, Sydney’s limited ire might be enough. Sydney presses her palm to the girl’s temple before doubt sets in. The child is dangerous, no matter how frail she looks on the outside. She has to try. But before Sydney can deal the killing blow, footsteps clatter behind her.
“Survivor!” someone shouts out. In an instant, Sydney’s surrounded by a dozen people, paramedics checking the girl’s vitals, clergy praying to greater gods, media bots broadcasting a ray of hope to the entire nation. Sydney can’t allow that, just as she can’t allow this girl out of her sight. She wedges her way back into the crowd and sticks close as they delicately load the girl onto a stretcher. Dirt and human ashes stir as a Medevac helicopter swoops in. Sydney makes a move, dredging up a dust storm around her and the girl. Paramedics scream for the helicopter to back off. Sydney grabs the girl into her arms, flexes her wings, then shoots into the air, fast and smiling as the wind licks at her face. She’s spent after a kilometer, but they’re alone, far enough away where no one will disturb her again.
Her insides are rubbed raw as she tries to draw ire again. Sydney pitches forward, barely able to catch her breath. She eyes a large, flat rock and for a brief delusional moment, considers bashing the girl’s head in the good old-fashioned way. But who is she kidding? Even in this state, the girl’s got more power in her little finger than Sydney’s got in her whole body. What’s a rock going to do to a girl who survived a dozen meteors falling from the sky?
Patience is a virtue. Soon enough, Sydney will have the power to make her move, to strike when the time is right. Until then, she’ll need to keep the girl close, away from people, away from believers.
“Sweetheart, you’re going to be okay,” Sydney says, stroking the girl’s cheek, already starting to scab over. “You’re with family now.”
Chapter 19
Muzi