Highway to Hell
Thousands died the day of the Event.
And in the days that followed, hundreds of thousands faded away. Most hadn't even heard of the arch-villain Shredder before, but history would never forget his name.
Months passed and he became the defacto leader of the city, then the country. His Foot soldiers overwhelming what little resistance remained as he darkened the skies over every major town with his diabolical scheme. An electromagnetic pulse knocked out all electronics. He destroyed most of the power plants, keeping a tight rein on the few remaining.
There was no publicly available electricity outside of small generators, no more communications, no more computers. Cars sat abandoned as the populace ran out of fuel. Only the rich sycophants of the usurper still accessed such resources.
New York City was slowly dying. Day by day, the vast metropolis collapsed on itself and the rest of the country rapidly followed suit. Food and clean water remained exorbitantly priced; many starved.
There were holdouts. Rebels who hadn't given up the fight though it seemed impossible to win. The defeated faces trickling by made Tori think there wasn't much of anything left to strive for. The vibrant city she fled three years ago was gone and it wasn't likely she would ever see it return.
She stared for a long time at the dark tunnel in front of her. Watching the comings and goings of its pedestrian traffic and sipping water surreptitiously from a stainless steel flask.
No one carried clear bottles anymore. Water was more precious than gold and flashing it about was a good way to get mugged.
A broken sign, hanging by a single bolt swayed in the breeze and smacked against the concrete. It used to read 'Lincoln Tunnel' but someone marked it out and spray painted a new name. 'Highway to Hell' covered the former presidential moniker in four-foot high orange letters.
Tori snorted.
I'm already in hell. The city can hardly be any worse.
She pulled her cloak a little tighter around her slight form, lowered her head, and slipped into the flow of traffic. No one paid any attention for she appeared a part of the bedraggled crowd, even as she pushed in the opposite direction.
Her cloak, while frayed and full of patches, was actually quite whole and waterproof. Made of felted wool, it was warmer than most of the clothing of the people about her. Her ragged shirt and breeches were the same, artfully dirty yet surprisingly intact. Her boots, though scuffed, remained solid.
In seconds, she passed the point the sunlight could reach and plunged without hesitation into the darkness. Her eyes adjusted quickly and she avoided those who still clutched candles and cradled flashlights as they made their way through the long gloom.
These people are fleeing. No use in questioning them.
Her eyes scanned the walls as she slipped further along. Halfway through the one and a half mile expanse, she spotted a familiar sigil etched on the tile wall. A rough rendition of the kanji for food.
Kanji replaced many English signs since the coup. Some businesses used them to show solidarity with the new regime while others sneakily rebelled in the usurpers own tongue.
This symbol has several meanings. Food, yes, but also knowledge. Food for the mind.
She might make a rebel contact here.
Tori cautiously crossed the flow of departing humanity, seeking some sort of access near the drawing. After a few false starts, she found the release mechanism and a hidden door opened under her hand.
Another sign of rebels. Most eating establishments aren't so difficult to enter.
She gave the tunnel a searching glance. No one was paying attention. She slipped through and shut the passage behind her.
Inside, people huddled around splintered wooden tables and regarded her silently with dull eyes. Judging her clothes, testing the air for the merest hint of the trouble. Gradually the atmosphere relaxed as she was accepted as merely another refugee.
Tori plodded to the nearest empty seat, intentionally concealing her usual smooth gait, and sat. A woman with a pinched face brought out a plate of stew and bread but did not set it in front of her until she produced a few coins and passed them over. Another few coins got her a glass of sour beer.
Clean water was at a premium. She couldn't afford it here.
She kept her eyes down and ate her food, sipping her drink to prolong the visit; listening as the conversations renewed around her. The gossip was bad. Worse than the last few places she visited.
As his capital, Shredder ruled the city with an iron fist. Those who did not support him were dealt with in a swift and deadly manner. His Foot soldiers constantly patrolled the streets, terrorizing anyone and everyone as they pleased. Taking whatever they wanted.
That attitude trickled down to the citizens. Decades of progressive reform was thrown out the window. Women and children were treated as possessions, with few exceptions. Most used as free labor, lucky if they received room and board for their work.
Even among men, there were classes, with the strong often oppressing the weak.
Several times, Tori dissuaded the speculative glances of nearby customers by pulling back her cloak to reveal her dagger. Her narrowed eyes convinced the men she knew how to use it.
Bastards need to learn to keep their thoughts to themselves.
She wasn't exactly pretty. Once, maybe, but now her fine dark hair was cropped into a jagged bob by nothing more than a knife. Her face bore scars along either cheek—marks of the last man who tried to possess her. Her once bright eyes had darkened from all she'd seen.
Still, she remained attractive enough to garner attention she did not want. Her delicate bone structure and pale skin, as well as her petite size, made her a tempting target.
Tori drew up the hood of her cloak and concentrated on clearing her plate. She would move on. No one here had even hinted at those she wished to find.
Just as she rose to leave, another woman claimed the seat beside her. Deliberately, the new arrival let her hand drop atop Tori's, pinning it to the table. Tori knew better than to react in any way that might show guilt or trepidation. Instead, she simply tilted her head ever so slightly toward the woman to indicate she was listening.
"You're good," the woman commented in a low voice as she waited for the silent waitress and her food. "Real good. I wouldn't have made you except Lars"—she nodded to the large bouncer seated next to the door—"said you came from the Jersey side. Not too many people headed into the city. At least, not anyone who isn't a tool of the Shredder. You lookin' to join up?"
This woman is a recruiter.
And she was offering the opportunity Tori needed. A chance for contact with the rebels. But... it paid to be cautious, so she looked away and kept her voice to a whisper. "Depends," she said.
"Depends on what?"
Tori turned and caught her gaze, giving her a significant look. "On who's leading."
The emphasis did not go unnoticed and her answer was not the one the recruiter expected. Tori was sure the usual demand was something along the lines of food, water, or other supplies. Something this woman could promise. Instead, she drew back a little, startled.
"You don't want to meet them," she said with certainty.
Tori slumped, disappointed. From her tone, this woman only knew stories. She had no direct contact. Still, she pressed her, hoping for more information.
"And if I did?"
"You don't. Believe me, you don't. Those four are... the most dedicated, but also the most selective," the woman hesitated. "And the most violent. You're better off with the main group."
Tori raised a brow. "You must have a way to reach them. If you can't send messages you'd never be coordinated enough for attacks. I want a meeting. If you can't arrange it, point me to someone who can."
The woman rose to edge away. Uncomfortable with this twist in the conversation. Tori turned their hands, trapping the unwilling informant's on the tabletop.
At the door, Lars tensed and started in their direction with a glare, but the woman waved him away with a subtle hand gesture.
"We can't just ask them to meet random strangers," she protested in a low hiss.
Tori sighed and unbuttoned her left sleeve, rolling it up to expose her forearm. Carefully, she unwrapped just the lower portion of the bright blue strip of cloth covering her wrist.
Its purpose was twofold. One, she twisted the joint badly in a fight a few days ago, so it reinforced the sprain. Second, it covered a distinctive emblem tattooed just above her palm.
Actually, it had a third purpose. Its true purpose. But it wasn't one she would share with this woman. Instead, she flashed the tattoo under the woman's nose.
The symbol was small, barely an inch across, and resembled nothing more than a bladed circle combined with a flower. Five smaller circles pierced the petals and one its center.
The recruiter abruptly sat down again.
"Continue to the interior," she directed. "Take the 'A' train downtown from Port Authority at 9:40 PM. Ride it all the way to Brooklyn if you have to. Someone will contact you."
Tori nodded, re-wrapping the cloth over the damning mark.
"We haven't had a Hamato scout return from the countryside in a long while," the woman murmured. She frowned. "They'll be anxious for your information, but so are we. What's it like out there?"
Tori shrugged.
"Most people are avoiding the cities. Smaller settlements are being raised, nothing more than villages really. The Amish are already pretty well set. Other's are patterning after them.
"A few people have independent solar panels so there is a small series of underground electronic communications being built, but most of the populace has reverted to subsistence farming. Aside from that, not much I can tell you."
"Thank you," the woman said with a smile and patted her hand as Tori stood to leave. "Remember, the 'A' train," she repeated. Tori left, nodding to Lars on the way out.
Once outside, she disappeared, for she was trained in the art of invisibility by a master. The bouncer had only noted her direction on the way in because she wanted him too. In fact, she had to scrape her feet and retrace her steps twice to get his attention.
Now, she moved absolutely unseen. Ghosting along the passage, weaving among the disheartened crowds as they tried to find a better life.
I wish I knew if mine is waiting ahead.