Chapter Thirteen
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MONICA brEATHED A QUIET sigh of relief when she felt Nazab heading away from the electronics store.
She’d thought she was screwed when she’d suddenly started sneezing.
Her heart had been in her throat as she’d talked her way into making a trade.
She’d only been joking when she’d suggested this scenario to her knight. Now she was about to act it out.
Realizing she’d just claimed the alien as hers, she mentally kicked herself.
It would be a mistake to think he could become her boyfriend.
She had to protect herself and keep her walls in place so her heart didn’t get broken.
The Mad Prophet would set them straight, or so she hoped.
Maybe she’d been intended for one of his brothers, but something had gone wrong.
Or maybe she was just kidding herself. She would have been their enemy if her soul wasn’t gray.
Mind whirling with confusion, Monica followed the excited ladies to the only barber shop in town. “Who’s been cutting your hair?” she asked as they filed into the room.
“I have,” an older woman said ruefully, raising her hand. “I know I’ve done a terrible job, but we all needed a trim,” she said with a grimace.
“You butchered our hair,” another woman said with a glare. “It isn’t a trim when you hack ten inches off!”
Monica forced back a snicker at their scowls. “Short hair is hot right now,” she lied. “Everyone was asking for bobs and chin-length styles just before the Rapture.”
“Really?” a young woman about her age asked. “I’ve always preferred to keep my hair long, but it’s too hard to look after now that we don’t have a hairdresser in a nearby town anymore.”
The cambion nodded in understanding. “I’m Monica,” she said and her clients all introduced themselves in return.
“I’ll need a container of water, some coffee if you have any and some snacks a bit later.
There are five chairs, so take a seat and I’ll start working my way through all of you as soon as I have what I need. ”
Her cheerful, yet professional tone was enough to get the women moving. Two hurried off to retrieve the items she’d asked for. One returned with a thermos of hot coffee. “I’ve got a gas stove and I still have some propane left,” she said. “I’ve been saving coffee for emergencies.”
“Bless your kind heart,” Monica said, taking the lid off to inhale the scent. “This will definitely help.”
The other woman returned carrying a large round container of water, struggling with the weight. Someone helped her carry it inside and put it on a trolley with wheels.
“Nice work, ladies,” Monica said with a grin. She’d sorted through the equipment and had gathered everything she needed. “Let’s get started,” she added, then got to work.
Monica was used to listening to her clients talk about their problems while she worked on their hair.
She’d finished her apprenticeship when she’d been nineteen and had five years of experience behind her before the apocalypse had struck.
She’d kept her skills honed on Wallace and his crew after she’d joined them.
Her twenty-fifth birthday had been a few months ago.
She’d celebrated the day alone, getting half-drunk on a bottle of champagne she’d been saving for the occasion.
“Have you heard of the Mad Prophet?” one of the women asked a couple of hours later.
“Sure,” Monica said, spraying water onto her client’s greasy hair. She didn’t have time to wash everyone’s hair, but she could at least wet it down. “Some people in my apartment building had a ham radio,” she said.
“We’ve got a couple of them,” the woman gossiped. “He sounds completely nuts when he talks about red-eyed aliens running around in Manhattan.”
“I thought he was crazy, too, until I saw some of them for myself,” Monica said.
All chatter stopped and the dozen women who were waiting for haircuts turned to stare at her. “You saw people with red eyes?” someone asked skeptically.
“I’ll never forget it,” Monica said with a shiver. “They were chasing after this huge guy who moved way faster than any human could run. I saw him conjure up this shiny gold and silver sword out of thin air.”
“So, he wasn’t one of the bad aliens?” an older woman asked.
“I don’t think so,” Monica said, then resumed trimming her poor client’s ruined hair.
“I think he was one of the good extraterrestrials the Mad Prophet talks about. The red-eyed weirdos were sprinting after him. Humans can’t run that fast, so I believe the things the Prophet said.
” She kept her tone casual while fudging her story a bit.
“What if everything he’s said is true?” someone mused. “What if the bad aliens really do intend to take over our world? Thousands of people are flocking to Manhattan right now. They’ll be turned into militants and they’ll kill the good aliens before they can save us.”
Monica hid her smile of satisfaction as the females began chatting about how dire things would become in the future.
“They won’t stop at controlling Manhattan,” the older woman predicted. “They’ll spread out and start hunting normal folks like us down.”
“What will they do with us?” another client asked in fear.
“The Mad Prophet said most of us will be turned into slaves,” Monica said. “Only some will be added to their militia once the good aliens are defeated. I wouldn’t be surprised if they eradicate most of us.”
A man entered the salon to stand at the end of the line. “What’s wrong?” he asked, seeing how worried everyone looked.
“We’re doomed,” the oldest woman said flatly. “Monica just verified that the Mad Prophet isn’t just making up lies. She saw a bunch of men with red eyes in Manhattan. They were running after a good alien and they were all moving way too fast to be human.”
The male stared at Monica and she met his eyes squarely.
“It’s all true,” she said. “Governor Giamano and his mercenaries are working with the evil aliens. I’ve seen people being rounded up and taken away.
The ones who are too old or too sick were shot on the spot.
” Her shudder was enough to convince him she wasn’t lying.
“Everyone needs to know about this,” he said, then left the salon again.
He returned with a man who was probably their leader. He hadn’t been at the barricade. “Tell me everything, young lady,” the man in his fifties said. He took the chair Monica’s latest client had just vacated and waited expectantly.
Detecting Nazab still searching the town, Monica hoped she wasn’t going to mess this up.
She had a feeling convincing people like these townsfolk of the danger that lay ahead was going to be crucial, even if she didn’t yet know why.
She’d always had the gift of the gab, but she still felt nervous as she began her story again.
More men arrived and the salon became packed.
They listened to her tale of what she’d seen and heard in Manhattan before fleeing.
Her voice and the clicking of scissors were the only noises that issued from inside the salon.
Monica kept her tone matter of fact and was careful not to become overly emotional.
Men weren’t comfortable when women sounded and acted irrationally.
They tended to switch off when females didn’t sound calm and logical.
Glances were exchanged when she finished relaying what she knew. “You’ve given us a lot to think about, Monica,” the leader said. She’d finished cutting his salt and pepper hair and a younger man had taken his place. “It sounds to me like the good aliens will need allies,” he mused.
“I’m sure they will,” Monica agreed, wetting her latest client’s hair.
She could stand up all day without her back or legs hurting, unlike her former colleagues.
Pausing to take a sip of coffee from the thermos, she followed her instincts when she spoke again.
“The Mad Prophit has been talking about a war that’s coming ever since the Rapture struck,” she said.
“Humanity is already on the brink of collapse after half of the population was raptured and so many more deaths occurred afterwards. If we let the bad aliens take over Manhattan, they’ll spread out and take control of our country.
Once they have us beneath their heel, they’ll try to subjugate the rest of the planet.
We’ll all become slaves for the beings who are really in charge of the growing army of mercenaries. ”
Her voice had become impassioned, but not hysterical. The townsfolk seemed to be almost mesmerized. Monica had felt like someone else was talking through her throughout that speech. She’d never used the word subjugate in her entire life before.
“We need to spread the word,” the man in charge said in a disturbed tone. “We’ll continue to listen to the Mad Prophet and wait for him to give us hints of what we need to do.”
“You’re a good man and a good leader,” Monica said.
She’d felt his gray soul lighten slightly when he’d made that decision.
It was proof that humans could seek redemption, except for the people who already had black souls.
She knew there was no hope for the four men who’d been scowling at her throughout her speech.