The Phantom Limb

Sarah Landeen 2017

The Phantom Limb

Prologue

Twelve years ago

Hampton was seven years old when Followers of Tyrant Laiber cut off his arm.

They held him to the floor, not bothering to muffle his screams. He stared at the pale

green ceiling, tears streaming down his face, the smell of blood staining the air, knife

scraping against white bone.

When Hamptons arm was fully detached, the Follower spoke to a man in a chair.

You see what we will do for the information.

Yes.

You see what actions we will take.

Yes.

You will give us what we want.

No.

One of the Followers held up Hamptons severed arm. He shook it and

Hamptons blood dripped onto the sitting mans clothing.

Do you want him lose the other one? Do you want your son to have no arms?

Maybe well cut off his legs. What must we do before you give us what we ask for?

The other Follower moved the knife toward Hamptons remaining arm.

Hamptons father spoke. Dont hurt him anymore.

Will you give it to us?

Silence. Then the man stood up. He walked passed Hampton to a desk. From

one of the drawers he took a plain folder and held it out.

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This is what Tyrant Laiber wants.

The Follower took the folder and looked through the papers it contained. The

second Follower still held the knife to Hamptons right shoulder. He spoke, not taking his

eyes from Hampton and the knife.

Is it the information?

Without a word, the Follower tucked the folder under one arm. He took out a

knife and stabbed Hamptons father.

The second Follower moved his knife away from Hampton and stood up. Both

Followers of Tyrant Laiber left, taking the folder with them.

Hampton?

Hampton saw his fathers head turned toward him. Blood flowed from the hole in

his gut. He sounded like he breathed sand. His voice was quiet but determined.

I am sorry. You can still survive this. You must be strong. You must do what I

cannot. You must be strong. Be strong, Hampton.

Hamptons father closed his eyes. A minute later he stopped breathing.

Hampton stared at his fathers body until the room grew too dark to see it. All the

while his shoulder screamed in pain and the red stain around Hampton grew larger.

I am sorry.

Hampton didnt move from the floor. The Follower had held him down when he

cut off his arm. He still hurt. He still couldnt move.

You can still survive this.

Hampton raised his remaining arm. It felt heavy, like someone had filled it with

rocks. He touched the raw flesh of his shoulder where his arm used to be attached.

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You must be strong.

He placed his palm securely over the wound. The pain in his shoulder flared.

Blood pushed through his fingers. He needed something to soak up the blood.

You must do what I cannot.

Chrystal left her green scarf on the couch. Hampton could barely reach it. He

pressed it against the wound. It became a red scarf.

You must be strong.

Hampton closed his eyes. He wanted to sleep. He hurt so much but he felt so

tired.

Be strong, Hampton.

From somewhere far away a door opened. Light and a scream filled the room.

Four years ago

Shouting in the streets. The ringing and dust of angry crowds. Hampton coughed,

struggling to breathe through the rag wrapped around his nose and mouth. The layer of

fabric saved him from breathing in the toxic orange dust that polluted White City.

Hampton watched rioters swarm one of the drills dangling over the edge of the

river. He could see the ceramic pipes crack as the rioters rocked it back and forth. It

tipped too far forward and the crowd ran back. The drill fell into the river, creating a

wave of orange water that breached the shores and flooded the edges of the street.

One rioter hadnt been quick enough to get away. Hampton heard him scream as the

acidic orange water burned away his boot and started to eat away at his flesh.

The water hadnt always been toxic. Tyrant Laibers drills mined a rare orange

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mineral from the river. After retrieving the pure mineral, the toxic dust was deposited

into the streets. In less than seven years, Tyrant Laiber had turned White City from a

thriving metropolitan to a nearly uninhabitable dust pit.

Hampton looked away from the rioters and touched his shoulder where his arm

should have been. When he looked up again, one of the rioters had broken away from

the crowd and ran toward him. He recognized his sister, Chrystal.

Why are you hiding? Come on! She grabbed his hand and pulled him up. They

ran to the edge of the street. All along the river, groups of rioters pushed ceramic drills

into the water.

This is a historic day, Hampton, Chrystal said. Tyrant Laiber cant ignore us

now. We told him to stop polluting the city with orange dust. He didnt listen. Now look

what happened.

Look what happened. The citizens of White City had destroyed the drills. Tyrant

Laiber would be furious.

Chrystal continued, Im happy you were here to witness this. Now you see the

difference the Flood can make. Maybe now you will join the Flood with me. I told them

about you. They said fourteen is old enough to fight with the Flood. You can help us

stop Tyrant Laiber. I mean, you of all people should want to fight Tyrant Laiber and his

Followers.

Me of all people?

Because of what they did to your arm.

You mean when they cut off my arm.

Yeah.

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They cut off my arm when I was seven years old. I screamed and begged them

to stop. They didnt. What makes you think theyll listen to the Flood?

Hampton

You think screaming is going make Tyrant Laiber or his Followers listen to you?

You think if you fight back they will listen to you? Because that doesnt work. Of all

people, I would know.

Chrystal took hold of Hampton and turned him so they faced each other. She

bent down slightly to look him straight in the eye.

Hampton, things arent going to change in this city unless we stand up and

change them. Tyrant Laiber isnt going to stop polluting the city with the orange dust.

Destroying the drills is the first step. We have plans, Hampton. Big plans. I want you to

be a part of it. I want you to join the Flood with me.

No.

But Hampton

Im not joining the Flood.

Chrystal looked like she wanted to say more, but her eyes shifted to a point just

over Hamptons shoulder. Oh no, she whispered.

Hampton turned and looked up the street.

Tyrant Laibers Followers had arrived. They marched toward the place where

Hampton and Chrystal stood, a mass of black ceramic armor and masks that released a

puff of orange dust with every breath. They looked like an army or dragons breathing

fire.

Run, Hampton!

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Chrystal grabbed his hand and pulled him into the city, away from the river.

Behind them, the cheers of victory turned to cries of terror.

Hampton ran, his empty sleeve blowing behind him like a windsock. Chrystal

pulled on his hand to make him run faster. They crossed an intersection and Hampton

saw more armored Followers coming their way.

One of the Followers stepped into the road ahead of them. He raised a knife as

Hampton and Chrystal ran forward. Hampton pulled on Chrystals hand to make her

stop. She didnt slow down.

Someone knocked into the Follower from the side and he fell to the ground. As

Hampton and Chrystal ran passed, the Follower grabbed Hamptons ankle and he

tripped. Hamptons hand slipped from Chrystals grasp.

Hampton tried to get back up, but the Follower was on him. Hampton looked into

the masked face of the Follower. The scene changed. Suddenly he was back in his

Fathers house being held down while Tyrant Laibers Follower stabbed his shoulder

with a knife. He screamed and came back to the dusty, chaotic street.

Chrystal was back. She kicked the Follower in the head, knocking his mask off.

She pulled Hampton up by his arm.

Come on, Hampton!

Hampton couldnt move. He couldnt stop shivering. His shoulder ached as if the

wound was fresh.

Hampton! Chrystal pulled on his arm and he trotted along with her. They didnt

run this time. Hampton couldnt run. He could only think about that night, the knife, the

pain.

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Chrystal shoved him to the ground behind a dumpster.

Stay here. Dont move until I come back for you. She turned and ran away up

the street. Hampton watched her until she disappeared around a corner.

Hampton couldnt breathe. Despite the danger of orange dust, he pulled the scarf

from his mouth. The dust wasnt so bad in his hiding place. He took a deep breath.

It took a few minutes to stop the memories of that horrible night. He still had

nightmares, but never during the day and never as vivid as when that Follower attacked

him. Even after seven years, he could still see the color of his torturers eyes, smell his

rancid breath, count every time his knife sliced his shoulder.

Hampton flinched and tucked himself further behind the dumpster. He wanted

Chrystal to come back, but dreaded that she would ask him to join the Flood again.

The Flood wanted to stop Tyrant Laiber, but their plans were reckless and hurt

many innocent people in the city. Hampton remembered the man screaming as toxic

water burned away his foot. Not a single Flood member helped that man. Hampton

didnt want to join the Flood no matter how much Chrystal coaxed.

Hampton knew what he needed to do. He felt scared, but his decision had been

made. Retying the scarf around his face, he stood up and looked around the dumpster

into the empty street. Tyrant Laibers Followers must have run off to catch Flood

members somewhere else. Chrystal had said to stay put until she returned. She might

be disappointed to find him gone, but then she would be happy because she could join

the Flood.

Hampton stepped out from behind the dumpster and ran without looking back.

He wondered how long Chrystal would look for him.

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Chapter 1

Present

Hampton stood on the roof, well away from the edge of the building. The

skyscraper was one of the tallest buildings in White City and one of Hamptons favorite

places to be alone. From this height, he could see all the way to the river that

surrounded the city. The drills, rebuilt after the riot four years ago rested along the

rivers banks. Though he couldnt see them from this distance, he could picture the

guards. Tyrant Laibers Followers kept watch over the river day and night. Thats what

hed heard, anyway. He hadnt been back to the river since that historic day.

Hed been alone for four years, avoiding Tyrant Laiber, avoiding the Flood. He

wanted nothing to do with the fighting. The Floods actions had aggravated Tyrant

Laiber and his Followers. They had done very little to improve the situation of White

City.

A low rumble sounded across the sky. Hampton saw dark clouds in the distance.

The biggest threat to White City, bigger than Tyrant Laiber or the Flood or even the dry

orange dust, was weather. One rainstorm was more could do more damage than any

disease, famine, or war. When water mixed with the dust, the water became toxic. Toxic

water ate away plastic, wood, glass, flesh anything but stone and certain metals. That

was why residents of White City lived in concrete buildings and Tyrant Laibers

Followers wore ceramic armor.

More thunder sounded and Hampton saw a flash of lighting. He guessed it would

swing around the mountains and away from the city, like most other storms. His worry

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now was that other citizens would see the storm and panic. They would move indoors to

safety even if the rain never arrived. The market would close early.

Abandoning his rooftop, Hampton headed toward the stairs. Before he

descended, he paused and looked up. He was not at the tallest point on the building. A

ladder ascended even higher but Hampton had never set foot there. Climbing a ladder

required two arms and was beyond Hamptons capabilities.

Seeing that ladder reminded Hampton that some goals could never be achieved.

It reaffirmed his belief in his plans. Fighting Tyrant Laiber was like climbing that ladder.

He could never be stopped. Instead Hampton focused on what he could dostay alive.

Survival for himself and the citizens of White City was something he could accomplish.

It took a quarter of an hour to walk down the stairs. At last Hampton arrived on

the dusty streets of White City. The lower he went, the more the air grew thick with the

orange dust. Hampton pulled his scarf over his mouth and nose, breathing through the

fabric. At the same time, he pulled a pair of goggles over his eyesa recent addition to

White City fashion.

People in White City learned to live with the orange dust. The only way to combat

orange dust was through prevention. Residents wore scarves and goggles to keep the

dust from infiltrating their bodies. They avoided areas with contaminated water. They

put up with these inconveniences to avoid a worse fate. Once poisoned with the toxic

dust, there was no cure.

Hampton stepped out of the skyscraper and into White City. Fine orange powder

covered everything from the roads to the walls of buildings. Any plant life had died long

go. Landmarks were unrecognizable under the layer of dust. White city had become

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unlivable, and yet the population persisted.

They lounged against walls or wandered with no destination. Though the day

was warm, the people stayed covered. Exposed skin had a greater potential for dust

poisoning. One scratch and youd be poisoned for life.

With dust and water being the greatest threats to White city, other needs became

less persistent. Starving seemed hardly a concern. Food was available in White City. It

wasnt pleasant and options were limited. As long as food kept the people alive, they

didnt consider hunger a priority.

As he walked, Hampton reached over and buttoned the cuff on the empty sleeve

of his coat. This was the one time he felt grateful for the loss of his arm. With the cuff

securely fastened, Hampton stepped onto a main road filled with people.

When Tyrant Laiber took power, White City lost many luxuries. Now instead of

grocery stores filled with stocked items, the town reverted to street markets. Hampton

walked pass booths filled with used items. Everything in White City was second hand.

The clothing, shoes, tools, even food. If it still had use, it still had value.

Hampton navigated his way through crowds and passed booths. He saw two

women selling a selection of bottled fruits. Further down a man displayed a collection of

dehydrated meats wrapped in plastic to keep the dust off. Less successful was the man

selling a variety of cans with labels long torn off. Nobody stopped by this booth. Even in

their desperate circumstances, the people of White City didnt trust a mystery can.

Like Hampton suspected, the vendors in this market had heard the thunder and

seen the distant storm. They nervously packed away their wares despite the early hour.

Hampton would have to hurry to get what he needed.

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