Into the Lion's Den

Upon a stroke of genius, or quite possibly insanity, Rachel Colburn decides to return to the city of her birth, figuring it would serve as a safe haven for a while before she has to move on again.

She was crazy. Insane. Borderline suicidal.

But what could she do? It's not like she had somewhere else to go.

      Rachel Colburn peeked out of the grimy bus window, examining the foggy outline of the distant Manhattan skyline, pushing aside nostalgic memories that began to surface in her weary mind. She hadn't been this close to the city since she ran away nearly, what was it now? Four? No, five. Five years ago. Huh, how time flies when you’re having fun. She wasn't exactly sure how she felt returning home - so much had happened here. Here, where her life began... and where, in some ways, it ended. Sighing, she sat back in her seat, not really minding its foul smell of sweat and grim that clung to the rough cotton surface. Her eyes fluttered closed, relishing in how good it felt to give her world-weary body a moment to relax.

            That moment didn't last long as she became very aware that she was being watched by multiple pairs of eyes. She stiffened in her seat, clutching the old backpack in her lap closer to her body. She kept her eyes clamped shut and took a deep breath, shifting through the various scents that wafted through her overly-sensitive nose. After a moment, she concluded that the area was indeed safe and visibly relaxed, not really minding the overly-curious looks the other passengers gave her. She was used to it, and couldn't blame them for staring at someone with such an appearance. Her dirty blond hair was pulled into a messy bun which only half-masked the fact that it was tangled and matted. Her face was sun burnt and covered in freckles due to excessive exposure to the sun. Her old clothes and bag, remaining true to their origins, smelled like the inside of the Good Will box they came out of and was caked in a thin layer of dirt and grass stains. Not to mention the rather large freshly dried blood stain on her shirt that she skillfully covered with her over-sized jean jacket. Her jeans were tattered and ripped, revealing large portions of the scared legs underneath. She knew her appearance just screamed ‘homeless’, which, while being the truth, didn’t warrant any staring.

            The young girl shifted awkwardly under the critical gazes of her neighbors, wishing they would look away. Things only got worse when her stomach growled, begging once again for a meal. She scowled at her midsection as the glares intensified. She shifted in her seat so that she was looking out the window once again, silently cursing her dwindling budget and restaurants with over-priced food, and began to search earnestly for the next bus stop as they neared the city of her birth.

Ten excruciatingly long minutes later, the bus jerked to a stop, the static-ridden intercom informing them that this was the last stop before they hit the Big Apple. Rachel looked away from the city's skyline, focusing instead on the suburb surrounding the bus.

 'Queens, huh?'  She thought. This was good enough. There was no way her poor excuse of a godfather would look for her this close to the damned city. Hopefully after hunting her down all these years, he wouldn't expect her to be so stupid. She quickly pushed herself out of her seat, reaching into her pocket as she approached the front of the bus.

            "Gettin' off, hun?" She glared at the balding, middle-aged man in the driver's seat. His beady eyes swept over her, taking in her appearance, as though he didn't see her enough during the 5 hour and 32 minute bus trip. "It's startin' to get dark, ya sure ya wanta get off here? Ya got somewhere to go?"

            "Positive," she said shortly, ignoring his last question. Her hand balled into a fist as his eyes swept over her tired form yet again. The man shrugged, whipping some sweat from his forehead.

"How old are ya anyway? Ya eightteen? Ya headin' into the city to visit ya folks? Or maybe ya boyfriend?"

"What's it to you?" She huffed, giving him a nasty glare as his words tugged on her heartstrings.

"Calm down! Just askin', hun. Now let me see, ya got on in Philly, didn' ya? So, I think that would be, um. Let me see, five dollars an hour, and ya were on here for..." he muttered, his eyebrows scrunched together as he struggled with the math.

"Twenty-seven dollars and fifty cents." Rachel grumbled, slamming the same amount onto the dash board. "And some advice," she added, turning and heading down the steps and into the street. "If you have to ask a girl's age, she's too young for you." She watched with some degree of satisfaction as the man's face turned bright red. He quickly shut the doors, and sped away, leaving a puff of foul smelling exhaust in his wake. The disheveled girl smirked slightly, thankful that she was no longer on the bus, and looked up and down the street as the blood-red sky began to darken even further. She inhaled deeply, once again testing the air for danger. Nothing unusual struck her, save for the faint scent of oncoming rain.

            'Better find shelter, it's gonna pour tonight.' She began walking, not really caring which direction she was heading in, so long as it lead her to a place to sleep, and maybe a warm meal if she was lucky. She slung her bag over her shoulder as she continued to walk, examining her surroundings closely, noting everything and wondering idly if she could use such things as weapons.

            She hadn't gotten far when she noted that she began to feel extremely warm, which was unusual considering it was a cool September evening. Suddenly a piecing pain erupt in her abdomen, starting from her stomach and reaching her chest, clawing dangerously close to her heart.

 'No! Not now. It’s too soon!'

She quickly shrugged off her backpack, and began to fiddle with the zippers. She couldn't get a grip on the plastic, her hands were shaking too much. She had just opened the bag when her knees gave out on her, causing her to crash into metal trashcans outside of a small brick house. Rachel landed on her hands and knees, her eyes clamped shut as she began to retch horribly. A thick foul-tasting liquid entered her mouth. She spit the offending substance onto the ground, not daring to look at the horror she knew awaited her. When she finally opened her eyes, a gasp escaped her lips when she caught sight of the thick red liquid on the sidewalk.

 "Shoot," she groaned, digging through her bag. Her fingers eventually brushed against a cool smooth surface. She wrapped her hand around the small flask, and pulled it out of her bag. She spit more blood onto the ground before opening the tube. She examined the familiar purple liquid in the flask before downing it in a single swig. It burned going down her throat, but soon enough the pain in her abdomen cease. She sighed slightly, pressing her forehead to the cool cement. As much as she hated that damn concoction, she owed it her life. Though it did make her tired and weak afterwards as the chemicals reactivated. She figured she would have to wait an hour before her strength returned. Until then, she wouldn't be able to even get to her feet. Until then, she would have to lay low.

 Of course, her life wasn't that easy.

"Did you hear that, daddy?" Someone from within the brick house said. From the sound of her voice, it was a little girl.

"Stay here with your brother, Leah." A second, older voice instructed. "Amanda, come with me."

Rachel growled at her own misfortune, which soon turned into a few choice words as she slowly began losing consciousness, both from blood loss and the chemicals attacking her immune system.

'Wait. The blood.' She whipped her pocket knife out of her jean jacket and lifted her shirt up enough so that she would see the scar that started by her ribcage and eventually disappeared beneath the waistband of her jeans. It was healing pretty nicely, she had to admit. 'Oh well.' She gently grazed the edge of the knife along the scabbed wound, calling forth blood. She bit her lip as she concentrated for her vision began to blur. When she was satisfied, she tossed the knife under a nearby bush. She would get it later. Rachel laid her head on the street, feeling weaker then she had in years, watching the blood from her self-inflicted wound mix with the red liquid she had vomited and slowly stain the sidewalk in front of her. She heard the door of the house open and two pairs of feet carefully creep forward. One set of footsteps was louder than the other, leaving her to guess it was a man and a women.

            Her eyes had become too heavy for her to keep open by the time the couple approached her, but she forced herself to remain conscious, just in case. The footfalls stopped.

"Alan," she heard the woman, probably Amanda, gasp. "Is that blood?"

            "Yes. But where is it-?" The man said, Alan, said cautiously.

"Oh! Look! The poor girl!" The lighter footsteps started again, at a faster pace this time. Soon enough the girl sensed the women next to her, gently pushing hair out of her face. "She can't be more then sixteen, Al." The woman breathed. "Can we help her?"

The man came closer, gently pushing her shirt up a bit to examine the wound on her side. "It's not too serious. Just superficial. She's lost a lot of blood though. I think I can help her with what I have inside. No need to rush to the E.R."

Rachel silently swore at her rotten luck. Was this guy some kind of doctor? This wasn't good. At least the cut would distract him from anything else ailing her. If he started doing tests, who know how long it would take him to realize that her blood wasn't completely human. But it was too late, for the darkness she had been fighting began to overtake her as gentle arms lifted her carefully, her head flopping heavily onto a warm chest. She fought off the tendrils of sleep that pulled at her consciousness, strengthened by the slight rocking motion as she and the stranger began to move towards the house. She looked up blearily at the outline of the man holding her, his face set with a look of concentration, his grey eyes calculating, probably trying to figure out the best course of action to fix her up. Behind them, she could hear the woman, most likely his wife, pick up her bag and follow behind him anxiously, probably worrying about the poor girl who was bleeding out on their property. As they drew closer to the house, she could hear the faint sounds of arguing, between a boy and a girl, about whether or not aliens had finally come to Earth to harvest everyone’s brains.

Slowly giving up the useless battle against exhaustion, she allowed herself rest, but not before swearing that she would leave this place as soon as she could. She was too close to the city, too close to him to allow herself to be surrounded by other people. It was too dangerous. He was surely getting desperate and he wouldn't care about any collateral damage. He never has in the past. Rachel Colburn was not going to destroy innocent people's lives simply by her presence. Not again.

Author's Note

I was going through some old school work on my old computer when I found this concept from a speech class back in high school, where we had to create our own super hero. I got really into it back then, and looking back on it now, I think I want to expand on the concept.
Any constructive criticism is readily welcome. It has been a long time since I've written anything remotely like this, so expect I am more than just a little bit rusty.

Reviews

[Crazycatgirl_10]

I like this a lot. Kinda wondering if there is more to it.