Table Of ContentISLET ABANDONED
Louisa Trent
www.loose-id.com
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Islet Abandoned
Louisa Trent
This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or
existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the
author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or
dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Published by
Loose Id LLC
1802 N Carson Street, Suite 212-2924
Carson City NV 89701-1215
www.loose-id.com
Copyright © July 2008 by Louisa Trent
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this e-book may be reproduced or shared in any form, including, but not limited to printing,
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ISBN 978-1-59632-739-9
Available in Adobe PDF, HTML, MobiPocket, and MS Reader
Printed in the United States of America
Editor: Crystal Esau
Cover Artist: Anne Cain
www.loose-id.com
Chapter One
Caaarraackkkk!
At the splintering sound, Islet looked up at the skeletal remains of a building overhead
and saw a cement block breaking loose from its rusted moorings.
“Fucking A,” she grumbled as the debris started toppling toward her.
A quick leap to the side, and she dodged the hunk of falling masonry, though only
narrowly.
Near misses didn’t count. As the block shattered in a gritty explosion upon hitting the
ground, she kept moving.
Scrap metal and pulverized concrete turned the narrow alley into a goddamn obstacle
course. Everywhere she looked, something stood in her way, littering her path.
Screw it. No sense being a damn pussy about a little thing like post-apocalyptic rubble.
Any barrier she couldn’t go around or vault over, she’d just plow through, Scrounger’s sack
and all.
What other choice did she have? Her ass was on the line here. Hesitate, and a guard
might catch her.
2 Louisa Trent
Taking a deep breath, Islet started up the side of an aluminum mountain, scaling the
pile of metallic refuse hand over hand.
With a quick temper and the reflexes to match, she usually acted first, regretted later.
But even she conceded a clumsy move on this scrap heap would trigger a tin foil avalanche.
Knowing a junk slide would alert Maniots of a trespasser inside the Citadel, she temporarily
slowed her pace.
And the extra caution paid off. The climb went off without incident, and she was back
down on the other side, all in one piece.
No time to rest on her laurels, she scrambled across some mounded iron wreckage on
her belly, then jumped to her feet again. She took off at a sprint, trying to make up the lost
minutes.
Shards of glass, imbedded in the irradiated dirt, hacked at her boots, a zillion tiny
machetes whacking the flimsy hide soles. Though every painful stab and prick pissed her off
royally, Islet sucked up the misery and skittered across the sharp ridges. Extra thick socks
cushioned her feet from the worst of the butchering. Gloves reduced the likelihood of lethal
puncture wounds to her palms. Random slices and bloody nicks she’d patch up later back at
the bunker…
Lethal puncture wounds. Bloody nicks. Butchering?
Whoa. Hold up. What the hell was she doing here?
She had to be bat-shit insane. Why else would she, a femme with a deep affection for
her own vanilla caramel skin, keep pushing her luck like this? Infiltrating the Maniot’s high
security area night after night was not exactly a sign of stable mental health.
Breaking out in a cold sweat, Islet screeched to a halt.
Fuck the haul. Who cared about the barter, anyway? This was one balls-out dangerous
gig, and she was so out of here…
Islet Abandoned 3
Islet shook her head. No! Don’t go there. Not now. Stay in the moment. Stop being
such a damn sissy-girl and keep on target. You know the drill…
And she was prepared, Islet reminded herself once again. All she had to do was
maintain her cool. The Citadel was right up ahead. She’d broken into the Maniot inner
sanctum umpteen times before, and she’d do it again tonight, dammit! A few hundred yards
or so, and she’d breach the fortified stronghold.
That is, if a guard didn’t catch her.
Shit. There she went again with the negative thinking. What was up with her tonight?
She kept losing her focus, her nerve. All this self-doubting was shooting her concentration to
hell.
Get it together, girl. As in right now!
With her shallow panting echoing in her ears, Islet ducked into the crumbled doorway
of a derelict skyscraper. The guts and girders of the once grand structure had caved long ago.
The aftermath of war, neglect, and the plain ol’ ravages of age had eaten away at the internal
structure until only the rusty façade of the Before time relic remained. So, big deal, the
building was pleated like the musical bellows on an old-fashioned accordion. The framework
was still standing and would do in a pinch.
She needed to stop.
Just for a minute.
Stop.
Only until she got a grip.
Stop!
While she managed her panic.
She was getting a little hyper here. Fright wrapped around her like tight leathery ropes.
Strangling her. Smothering her. Until, paralyzed, all her biosystems shut down in protest.
4 Louisa Trent
Spots bouncing before her eyes, she curled up into the corrugated gridwork and lifted
her wrist.
Even that small move took effort. When her dizziness receded, she squinted at her
ancient watch.
See that? No reason to roll up into a fetal position. Yet. Despite this slight detour into
hysterics, she hadn’t overshot her schedule. Plenty of time. She could still make it.
Her gut unclenching, she gulped down an unrestricted mouthful of air.
Judging guard rotation was a crapshoot at best. She’d memorized shift schedules, but
who knew how these jokers really worked? Roaming Maniot patrols could turn up
anywhere, at any time, and kick her ass.
Just in case…before going back out, she checked the alley once more, her gaze darting
left to right.
All clear.
Except…for the scrawny rat scurrying from one ruin to the next, ferreting out
anything edible amongst the decaying garbage. Uptown, during daylight hours, starving
people did the same, often eating their nocturnal competition for lack of anything else. But
for her Scrounging job, she’d be dining on rodent du jour too.
“Fuck it,” she muttered to herself.
Best plan evah, she yanked the protective gloves off with her teeth, dropping them for
safekeeping into the loosened drawstring top of her Scrounger’s bag. After closing the neck
up tight, she tunneled a bare hand into her pocket for a crust of moldy bread -- all that
remained of her one meal in the last twenty-four hours. She’d been saving the treat for later,
but so what?
A toss sent the stale bread to the ground. While her new pal nibbled away, Islet hoisted
her Scrounger’s bag back onto her shoulder and crept out into the alley again.
Islet Abandoned 5
And just like that, a shiver shot through her, like someone had just danced on her
grave.
Jitters again.
Why was she feeling so goddamn twitchy? All her previous trips had gone off without
a hitch. Tonight wasn’t any different.
Except -- trouble hung so heavy in the air tonight she could see it. She smelled it in the
sweat that pooled under her arms. Trouble coiled like a snake in her belly, ready to strike.
The salty taste of trouble dried the moisture from her tongue. Or maybe that was her own
fear.
What if she got caught? What if she got caught? What if a Maniot bagged her?
She knew the score. The Citadel was off-limits to Squatters. Male violators were
conscripted into the Maniot pirate fleet. Female trespassers wound up pressed into sexual
servitude at the port.
Squatters didn’t dare complain. No one ever said a word about people -- friends, family,
neighbors -- gone missing.
Terrified silence had replaced free speech in the City. Fair treatment didn’t exist under
the rule of the Maniots. Expecting justice from the blood-feuding buccaneers was as useless
as expecting breadlines to dole out food. And too beaten down to fight back, Squatters had all
but given up the struggle to improve their lives.
Not her.
Not while she drew breath would she give up.
Time to roll. She had a job to do.
Hugging the alley’s sharp metallic edges and crouching low to the ground, Islet
zigzagged down the alley. As she rounded the last corner, she sensed a presence. Her gut told
her she was no longer alone.
