Panther in the Hive by Olivia A. Cole

Author:Olivia A. Cole [Cole, Olivia A.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Science Fiction & Fantasy, Post-Apocalyptic, Teen & Young Adult, Dystopian, Science Fiction, Fantasy
Amazon: B01BN5L1I0
Goodreads: 21843217
Publisher: Fletchero Publishing
Published: 2014-03-30T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 18

Tasha wipes blood off her shoes.

She’d made it to the Magnificent Miles without encountering a single Minker, but the zoo had been tricky to escape—she’d woven between the feasting grounds of various large cats, most of which had been too gorged to offer more than a growl and a flickering whisker, and she’d run into an ostrich that had made an unpleasant sound in its long hairy throat and chased her like an over-sized goose—but she’d crossed another bridge over the lagoon, hit Lakeshore Drive, and jogged until she saw Gucci. Now, creeping down the wide, still street—silent except for the hum of the Volamu—she breathes in the familiar and comforting smell of retail.

Downtown has more cars than the North Side, and she sees them now, dotting the side streets like beached whales. Some of their windows are broken; some of their glass is stained red; some of their doors hang open like the lopsided wings of condors. She trails her fingers along the body of a Mercedes, the sexy red paint camouflaging the blood smeared on its side. It’s very small, as most cars are, and parked to the side of the promenade that Michigan Avenue has become.

Michigan is much like a boardwalk. Each side, of course, is lined with towering stores and shops, but Michigan itself is no longer a place for cars: what used to be the street is now divided into four lanes of Volamu, two running south and two running north. In between, dotting what used to be the traffic median but is now much larger, are smaller shops (some mobile), fountains, art installments, and small, vertical, multi-level parks. Cars and electric scooters—and the rare Pumapod, modified for citizen use—are not allowed on the promenade: one southbound lane for motor traffic edges one side of the promenade; the northbound lane edges the other. Shopping on the Miles before the Change had always felt as if she were walking on an island: an oasis of retail framed by the buzzing of automobiles that seemed to pace the painted barriers like hungry predators.

Ahead, Tasha can see a pink Benz that had crashed through the barrier. Its nose is buried in a mobile scarf shop. She approaches, admiring the car. She’s never owned a car, and has only driven one a few times since she has lived in Chicago. In Kentucky there were lots of them, almost all electric, but she left for college when she was seventeen, only a month after getting her license. Once in the city, she’d devoted herself to the subway and had glanced at automobiles only with appreciation, never desire. With the Benz she feels the twinge of want. Its soft pink paint actually causes saliva to gather at the root of her tongue, as if she were looking hungrily at a car-sized wad of cotton candy. She approaches it curiously, hand outstretched to stroke it.

She almost falls backwards when the woman inside throws herself against the window. Around her neck is a handsome necklace of heavy shining stones.

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