Read SILVER: Acheron (A River of Pain) (The SILVER Series) for Free Online Page A

debris, and an attempt has been made to fashion bed sheets out of the remains of the red velvet theatre curtains.
    Beside all of it stands the naked woman, minus the Hunter Division jacket and pillowcase, both replaced by a length of sheer muslin cloth looted from the wardrobe department. Draped over her shoulders, criss-crossed around her breasts, then wrapped around her waist once and several times around her slender hips, she’s managed to fashion a dress, of sorts.
    “You like?” she beams, and spins round in two brisk circles to give Silver the benefit of a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree tour. “It was either this, or a much less flattering animal suit.”
    “Warmth wasn’t your first priority?”
    “The best way to keep warm is by sharing body heat.”
    “Yeah, well, come winter time you might get lucky.” Silver dumps the backpack down on one of the counter tops. “In the meantime, let’s eat.”
    “Meat?”
    “You betchya.”
    Silver lets the muslin-clad woman inspect the contents of the backpack while she drags the trash can out onto the balcony and sets it in place. Once in position, she stuffs it half full with non-toxic garbage and levels it out before piling a thin layer of charcoal and wood on top.
    Sourcing a grilling rack from the broken gas burning oven—broken, because gas hasn’t been used as a source of energy since the end of the Old World—she checks it for robustness and determines that the rusted piece of junk is acceptable.
    It’ll do the job, at least.
    She lays the rack over top of the trash can and tries to retrieve her catalysts, only to find that the old paper books have been sequestered by the nameless woman, now thumbing through them on the bed.
    “You can read?” Silver enquires, not sure if she should be surprised to learn that or not.
    “I guess.”
    Silver positions herself on the edge of the bed, careful to keep her eyes from straying down toward the thin muslin. “Read to me.”
    The woman glances down at the two books in her hands. One is a car maintenance manual, the other is Alice in Wonderland.
    No contest.
    She opens it to the first page and begins to read, sounding out words like a child, partially covering multi-syllable words with her thumb to make the deciphering of them easier. Her reading level, Silver assesses, is not indicative of a formal education. Self taught, perhaps. The kind of learning one might expect from a child raised in the slums; a child raised in the Fringe.
    Silver cuts in on her reading. “You were born in the Fringe, weren’t you?”
    The woman opens up her mouth to speak but no words come out. Instead, she ends up looking like a choking fish.
    “You’re from here, and somehow escaped,” Silver persists. “That’s how I found you out in the middle of nowhere. You must’ve broken into the tunnel system before it was destroyed and gotten yourself lost in the Out District.”
    Silver’s mind runs away with imaginings. If she were a prostitute—a Jade—broken free from her Handler, that would explain the lack of clothing. One last appointment with a client gone bad, mayhaps? She saw an opportunity to escape and took her chance with both hands, despite the danger.
    Not to mention, if she were a Jade, being untagged wouldn’t be that unusual. Handlers keep their toys under close guard and will often forcibly rip their girls, for that very purpose. They’re easier to control that way. Poor, defenseless women, utterly and completely reliant upon their Handlers—their providers—for all that is life sustaining.
    Moreover, although tagging is compulsory, even in the Fringe, many births in this District still go unrecorded. Untagged children are commonly sold into prostitution by their parents who are unable to care for them financially. This provides the Handlers with a continuous supply of fresh stock, and provides the struggling family with a small cash bonanza.
    The more Silver thinks about it, the more she is convinced. It seems