Page 7 of Captured

The chase was on.

Chapter Five

Flea

Flea woke with a start, the bright light around her making her forget where she was for a moment before the familiar sight of her little closet-turned-home greeted her. Ears straining, she tried to figure out what had disturbed her, but found no trace of sound outside the room.

Gathering her coat and boots along with the empty bottle and knife, she clicked off the light, waiting until the after image faded from her vision. She still couldn’t see since there was no other source of light in the interior of the building, but at least she’d be able to pick up what there was once she left her hiding place.

She argued with herself for a moment about what she should do next. Her initial plan had been to go straight to Ninth-Level where she knew it was unlikely she’d be followed, but her stomach clenched, giving a pathetic growl at the thought of how far she still had to go. There was no way for her to tell how long it had been since she escaped, but it had been hours before that since she’d eaten, and she knew how long finding food in this forsaken place could take. Each level lower would have less and less to offer.

With a safe place to sleep, she decided she was deep enough for the moment, and finding food was more important than moving lower. She wanted to smack herself for not thinking to keep snacks or something on her at all times in case she had the chance to run, but she hadn’t been thinking that far ahead after being held for so long.

Creeping out of her den, Flea locked the door behind her and made her way to the window. She crouched far enough inside not to be seen by anyone looking up while giving herself a view of the area surrounding the building. Once she determined there was no signs of anyone in the blocks or the buildings around her that she could see, she moved closer to watch the ground nearer the base.

Her caution would have driven anyone not familiar with the lower levels crazy, but she knew the consequences of being too hasty. Being caught by soldiers and returned to the Collection Center would be the best thing that could happen to a solitary omega.

There was no set amount of time she spent watching, only until her instincts were settled enough to think it was safe. Tying her bottle to her boots on the back of her belt with a bit of the laces, she swung her legs over the windowsill and reached for her first toehold.

As soon as her weight rested on her fingers and toes the aches from the previous climb awoke. Getting up to the roof of the building by the water recycler had been nothing to scaling a wall four stories, and her muscles reminded her it had been a long time since she asked them to do this.

Gritting her teeth and grimacing through the twinges, Flea moved as quickly as she could while making sure her hold was secure. Getting back up was going to be a bitch, but she’d worry about that when the time came. Hopefully after she’d gotten a bit of food to please her grumbling stomach.

She shook her head at herself when her feet hit the ground, the cold soaking through her soles and smacking her with a reminder that life down here was difficult. She’d grown complacent in her time on Fourth-Level when everything was handed to her on a silver platter. Things were still controlled up there. People worked in the factories that made the trade goods that Decloui used as its backbone. They spent what hard earned money they had left after paying bills to buy food from stores that usually had plenty of the bland, cheap stuff they ate.

Even Fifth-Level still boasted a few stores near the edges. They were heavily guarded and monitored from above in case anything happened. Riots weren’t unheard of, and the people there could roll down metal doors to lock up a building in seconds.

But Sixth where she was currently hiding… it was a different story. Most believed no one lived below Fifth-Level. Or the few that lingered in the dark deserved to be there and had no place in society. Sixth and lower were abandoned to their own devices. The only shipments of any sort that came in were from the gangs above sending down supplies for their own people and for those desperate enough to trade with them.

Flea had nothing left to trade. Nothing except herself, but that was a last resort. It wasn’t safe, and the thought curled her lip even as her stomach heaved. It wasn’t the first time she’d been in a hard position with few options, but she wasn’t desperate enough to go that far yet. She was old enough now to draw too much attention from the alphas, her scent ripening the closer she came to her first estrous. She didn’t know when it would come, and she wasn’t going to take the risk of being claimed by some thug who thought himself king down here.

Lacing her boots and tucking the knife inside one, she shrugged into her coat. She moved her bottle to the pocket before sidling along the wall toward the front of the building. With years of practice behind her she could move as silent as the wind, but so could anyone who made it very long in this place. It took constant vigilance to stay in one piece and not under someone’s heel.

She paused at the end of the building, once again checking for motion or sounds that were out of place. She knew where the closest water recycler was, but she planned to take a longer route in search of food before she went there. She was hoping one of the few people she knew would still be where she usually found them and would be willing to help her.

When stillness was all she found she made her way down the sidewalk. It was slow going for a few blocks until she felt like she was far enough from her den to walk openly. There were few enough people on this level that she wasn’t worried about one seeing her, and running into a group without hearing them first was unlikely. She’d learned skulking along the buildings would draw more attention than openly making her way by, because the only people who moved about openly were capable of defending themselves, and therefor best avoided.

If she had to say how long it took her to get to the first place she was aiming for, it would have been a couple hours. She’d chosen her building because it wasn’t near anything others needed and was less likely to be found.

Using a pile of crates beside an old shed, Flea climbed up to the roofs as she approached the old warehouse that occasionally served as a trading place. She wasn’t the only one to use rooftops to get around, and there were makeshift bridges to get from where she was to the building that butted up to where she wanted to be.

But her heart dropped when nothing but empty space met her as she peered through a window into the dim space below. Everyone in the lower levels was cautious, but they all had needs, and the easiest way to meet them was through trading with others. Like safe water, trading areas were marked on the buildings, but it was hit or miss if you’d find anyone, or if they’d have what you needed.

It was also risky getting to and from them. Many who preyed on others would wait in ambush, ready to take goods as well as the person who was unlucky enough to get caught.

Swallowing her disappointment, Flea continued on, sticking to the roofs until she was clear of the area and not at risk of being caught by lingering predators. She slipped through a window into another empty building to make her way down to the sidewalk. There was another place she could check, but she didn’t hold out much hope.

Another hour passed as she moved through the silent city. Occasional noises from the level above echoed down to her, but otherwise the ever-precent hum of the air scrubbers was the only sound to reach her ears. It was easy to believe she was the only person left, but that was a dangerous trap to fall into.

The crunch of glass behind her was the only warning she had. Reflexes kicked in before her brain even processed the threat, her immediate duck and roll taking her out of arm’s reach before groping hands could take hold. Flea was on her feet again and running even as the person behind her cursed his miss.

There was no time to look back. No time to second guess her course. The slim lead she had was only due to her unexpected flight, but her attacker was already in pursuit.

Her heart thundered in her chest, legs pumping, arms held close. Her eyes locked on an old broken bench near a wall ahead of her, her goal set. She’d only have one chance. A miss would mean being caught by the footsteps gaining on her.

The closer she got to the bench, the more details she could see. The legs on one end were broken, leaving it leaning, the seat creating a ramp except where slats were missing, like gaps in a smile. The dark color of the wood suggested moisture and rot, but it was her best chance at escape.

Flea sucked in a deep breath before risking it all. The urge to wince as her weight landed on the bench and her boot crunched through the soft wood was strong, but she kept herself focused, launching herself up as her arms reached for the lip of the building. There was a moment of pure panic when it seemed like she wasn’t going to be high enough to make it before her palms landed on solid tiles.

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