Page 1 of Captured

Chapter One

Flea

The grin on her face made her cheeks feel like they were going to crack, but nothing could ruin her good mood as Flea slid from one deep shadow to another. She’d almost given up hope of escaping, but she’d finally seen her chance and taken it.

Darting across the opening between two rundown buildings, she worked her way deeper into the territory controlled by the gangs of Fifth-Level. Flea didn’t fearthem. She knew what they would do to her if she was caught, and she knew how to avoid them. No, she was back in her element, the soldiers from the Collection Center far behind her.

A soft snort escaped as she peeked through the scraps of a crashed Glider leaning against the building. It had taken half a day to slip past the soldiers and make her way down one level without access to a vehicle, and she still had four more to go before she’d feel safe. There weren’t many people left willing to go that deep, but that meant less chance of being caught in the raid she knew was coming soon.

With no sign or sound of others nearby, Flea left the shadows of the building and raced for the old support access. The newer levels built over the last few generations had smaller supports made from stronger materials than they’d had access to years ago and lacked the staircases built into the old ones. As Gliders became the primary way to get around on the upper levels, the people without access to vehicles were forgotten in the darkness below. It was still possible to climb the supports to move between levels, but it was a hell of a lot harder.

The door to the stairwell gave a squeal as Flea forced it open, using all her strength to wedge the door wide enough to allow her slim frame through. A moment of worry at the noise brushed through her thoughts, but it was unlikely anyone would pinpoint where the sound had come from on a level filled with rusty metal.

Taking the steps two at a time, she rushed closer to her destination, but it wasn’t long before she was forced to slow. No one bothered to keep up with the maintenance when they didn’t believe the stairwell was still used, and the working lights grew fewer and farther between. By the time she made it down to the next level Flea was left inching forward in darkness and debating her options.

Her goal had been to get as deep as she could before running out of breathable air, but she lacked the supplies that had been taken from her when she was caught. She hated the thought of having to make a detour, but she also knew she wouldn’t make it any further without a source of light.

Heaving a sigh once she hit the first landing, she shook off the budding irritation and groped along the wall until she found the door. She’d never been one to stay in an area for long, and she’d had enough close calls with roving packs on the lower levels to have stashes of goods on each of the inhabitable ones. She only had to hope they hadn’t been found while she was locked away.

Her lip curled as thoughts of the Collection Center flashed through her head. It would have been easy to be awed by the obvious wealth and plenty available there. Clean bedding, fresh water, food. Everything she’d struggled for her whole life had been handed to her without a thought for the people below who died each day in search of them. She could have had it all, and more.

If she’d agreed to be a good little omega and spread her legs for whichever alpha decided to take her freedom.

Flea snarled as she turned the handle on the heavy door and shoved her shoulder into it. She’d never been what people expected from her dynamic, and she would never just roll over and submit to a male because he was an alpha. She’d rather struggle for everything she had than be paired with someone who looked down at her as some useless thing only good for breeding.

For a moment the door refused to move before grudgingly giving way with a deep groan as she put all her weight into it. It took everything she had to get it open enough to squeeze though, squashing her chest and panting for breath by the time she made it out.

Everything was varying shades of grey and black. The bulbs overhead had dimmed over the years, suffering the same neglect as the stairwell and anything beyond the view of Top-Level. There was just enough dim light to make out the shapes of broken buildings and detritus littering the space around them, but all color had been leeched away.

Picking her way along the sidewalk, she pulled up a mental image of where she’d left her stash. She’d been more concerned with moving down than any other direction, and she’d never strayed too close to the area beneath the Collection Center, so she had a way to go before she’d be in an area she knew.

Pulling her coat tighter around her, she raised the collar and ducked her head. Just because she couldn’t see anyone didn’t mean she wasn’t being watched, and it was dangerous to be a lone female in an area she didn’t know. She’d have to stay alert.

***

It felt like Flea had been walking for hours, but with the constant twilight in the lower levels it was impossible to know how much time passed as she made her way along the empty sidewalks. The only living things she’d encountered were feral animals, though she’d caught the twitch of fabric across one of the few intact windows she’d seen. She knew she wasn’t alone, but many of the people scraping by on the lower levels only wanted the same thing she did – to be left alone.

It was easy to ignore the stitch in her side even as she cursed herself for growing soft in her time at the Center, but it was getting harder to ignore the parched state of her throat. Once a familiar feeling, after having unlimited access to the resource, its lack was distracting.

Chewing the insides of her cheeks to encourage them to produce what moisture they could, Flea slowed her steady pace and glanced around. She still wasn’t in an area she recognized, but she knew there had to be access to water somewhere if both people and animals were surviving in the gloom. The few working water recyclers and air scrubbers on each level were considered neutral territory, sacred to all, and a safe place.

Or as safe as someone could be in the lower levels where the surrounding darkness wasn’t as dangerous as the darkness festering inside many of people left below.

Most of the buildings around her sported graffiti from the gangs that had claimed the area, but it didn’t take her long to find one with a teardrop on the corner. The symbol was used to mark the direction of the nearest water source, but the once light blue shape was now smeared with brown. Brown was safe for washing and other uses, while red meant toxic, but white and blue were the only ones safe to drink. Marking the routes and sources was one of the few things everyone worked together on since it was so important.

Sighing, Flea picked up her pace again but kept an eye out for any flash of light colors in the dim space. The water recyclers supported large areas, so she wasn’t surprised she covered almost twenty more blocks before she found a symbol that wasn’t muddy. Stomach adding it’s grumbles to the cacophony coming from her tired body, she turned in the direction that promised relief from at least one of her current problems.

It took a bit of navigating to find the recycler. In the end, she was following her nose just as much as the symbols on the walls. The moisture in the air called to her, pulling her forward until she was jogging along the sidewalk. When she turned another corner and spotted the cistern in front of her, a hiccup of relief escaped her tight throat.

With no containers to gather the precious liquid, Flea was forced to kneel beside a spout, turning it the barest amount. She cupped her hands beneath the trickle, sucking the water from her palms before turning her head to drink directly from the stream. The relief was immediate, her parched tissues absorbing the moisture and quieting their calls of distress. Even the hunger she’d felt eased as her belly filled with fluid.

Flea drank until she felt as if she’d burst, turning off the spout and sitting up with a groan. It wasn’t until she spotted the child hiding in the shadows across from her that she realized she’d completely dropped her guard and left herself vulnerable. The recyclers might be considered safe zones, but that didn’t mean she should be allowing herself to relax.

Cursing herself again, her eyes swung around, checking the area surrounding her. Nothing moved, but the hum of the equipment could hide quiet sounds, allowing someone to sneak closer without her knowledge. Backing until her spine pressed to the closest wall, she held her breath and waited, keeping one eye on the child curled in the corner across from her. When her heart had slowed to a normal pace and still no one had emerged, she finally decided it was safe to move.

Her attention locked on the scrawny body huddled in rags, heart giving a painful thump. She didn’t know the kid’s story, but everyone this far down had one, and they weren’t pretty. Children were orphaned and abandoned more often than they were raised by even a single parent, and the gangs liked to snatch them up, offering lies of safety and food. Flea had seen enough of them used as bait to lure in unsuspecting people to know better than to show concern, even if her chest ached at ignoring them.

Sidling along the wall, she kept her eyes on the kid as she tried to listen for movement that would tell her others were coming. When still nothing reaching her ears past the sounds of the recycler, she made a quick turn and launched herself up onto the windowsill of the building she’d pressed against. The windows were boarded up, but it gave her better handholds to pull herself higher. The shoes she wore were sturdy and practical, but they made it harder to dig her toes into the wall to propel herself up.

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