Afterworld (The Orion Rezner Chronicles Book 1) (7 page)

I
had always loved the classics in fantasy, from
Lord of the Rings
to
Harry Potter
, but I’d never imagined that one day I would be a wizard, or that magic was real—OK, maybe when I was seven.

I doubt anyone who experienced the Culling ever really thought they would see the end times. Sure, it was talked about and obsessed over through every age and preached by every religion—the fabled end times—yet here we are, still fighting to survive, still hiding from evil men and evil ways, and we still just want to be left alone.

Seeing the world fall into chaos is something that I could never describe. And there are times I wish I hadn’t survived. To my knowledge, none of the people I knew in life lived to become a Witness, and everyone I see, I wonder if I might have met before. When all the people in your life cease to exist, do you not also cease to exist in a way? Yet I linger on like a spirit floating in a fallen Eden, a living memory forgotten by the dead, and a stranger to the living.

The Boston Witnesses cope with their survivor’s guilt in different ways: some with the bottle, some with pills, others find Jesus, and still others, Allah. Many find salvation in the newest members of Boston, the Afterworld babies.

Some people call our time the After Culling, but that too often reminds us of the event—Afterworld is the place our planet has become.

An hour after our briefing we were standing in a hangar, all changed into our respective garb. I felt like a ninja wizard in the dark blue Kevlar and mail body armor—Mushiro basically
is
a ninja wizard.

The three Boston Militia grunts, Anderson, Juggernaut, and Lopez, donned BM gear pimped out with Kevlar and plate armor. Dr. Doc wore a white coat, likely with a vest beneath to cover his major organs.

Father Killroy carried with him a cross I can only describe as a battle axe that would have a crusader drooling. A reflection of light danced across it as he walked around the vehicles. For a moment, at just the right angle, patterns of scripture and depictions of holy symbols flashed across its highly polished surface. It was a holy symbol of Father Killroy’s faith, but it was also one mean-looking weapon. The father was a member of the Empyrean Brotherhood, a group of holy men who had begun to exhibit—or possibly, reveal—strange powers since the Culling.

Bernard Macklebee, tech nerd at large, was sporting some BM issue light armor and showing Miss Stone around a Bradley tank. She wore a cloak similar to mine—sans pointy witch hat, thankfully. I had no way to know what was under her cloak, though I had imagined. I knew she was as armored as any of us, being that it was Boston Militia protocol during Out World missions.

Mushi approached with palpable excitement. “You nervous, Rezner?”

I shrugged. “How ’bout you?”

“Psht, you crazy, Roundeye? I was born in this shit.”

I laughed without correcting him. The truth was we were both nervous, and we knew it. This was our first expedition beyond the spell shield, and we remembered well the horrors that awaited us. Johnny nudged me and lifted his chin toward Kronos, who was heading our way.

The master wizard squared on us, with one unamused eyebrow arched over a speculative scowl. “If this first is journey outside walls, listen good. Keep eyes open and mouths shut—might not come back dead.” He leaned in and gave me that loveable deadpan glare. “Don’t fuck up, Rezner.”

A million one-liner comebacks played through my mind, but with great effort I suppressed the urge and said only, “Yes, Master Wizard,” all business like.

He gave me a skeptical look and waited for the punch line, but none came. With a nod he finally turned to the others and said, “Mount up!”

Mushiro eyeballed me with apprehension and put a hand to my forehead, as if checking for a fever, and asked if I was alright.

“What? I can’t be serious?”

“Not usually,” he said.

Father Killroy gathered us all in a small circle and bowed his head in prayer. Being a member of the Empyrean Brotherhood, his blessings had power—even more so, if your faith was akin to his.

And though I believed in the father’s conviction, I didn’t share his beliefs. Neither did Mushiro, and as far as I know, Dude was agnostic. But I felt the blessing wash over me, nonetheless.

A few—Anderson, Lopez, and Macklebee—apparently did believe, for they shuddered and took in rushed breaths when the blessing took effect. I believe this is behind his insistence that I come to Mass. He wants his blessings to give me strength. And, of course, he wants me to
feel
the glory of his god. He is a shepherd. His instincts are to save.

People like Father Killroy, those of holy faith, had been exhibiting strange powers since the Culling. Answers seemed to come to their prayers, blessings had an obvious effect on practitioners, and they could perform divine feats that left the biggest skeptics scratching their heads. No one knows why the Empyreans have gained so much power. There are witnesses who believe these holy men have always had at least some degree of divine force at their disposal—exorcisms, for example—but for some reason, maybe similar to the wizards’, kept it a secret until after the Culling.

However, there are many theories. The one that I align with most is the idea that their faith has simply solidified in the face of Armageddon. For a holy man, as well as everyone else, surviving the end times can either destroy your faith or make it as solid as steel.

The Empyrean Brotherhood are wizards of a sort, I think, in their own right. The difference being, their power is fueled by extreme faith. They believe so fully that their blessings will work—they do. I could be wrong, of course. It seems completely reasonable that God might be behind their “divine power”. But that doesn’t explain why powerful Empyreans come from all religions. Strangely enough, the priests cannot answer that question either.

Kronos and Macklebee took the recon vehicle, a small tank with a light cannon, antennas, and mini satellite dishes galore. Aside from our main mission, we would also be gathering any important data for the Militia and Council of Light. Juggernaut and Meathead jumped into a beefed-up dune buggy with fat wheels and a beast of a machine gun set behind the driver. Mushi, Killroy, Melody, Dr. Doc, Dude, and I loaded into a transport truck which would be driven by Lopez.

As we pulled out of the hangar and made for the western gate, my excitement grew—as did my apprehension. There were no windows in the transport, and the lone red light inside lent a dreamlike quality to the confines of the vehicle. My nerves tensed as I began to imagine being trapped inside the hunk of metal while it burned. I didn’t like not being able to see what was going on outside, and facing the back just made matters worse.

I must have worn my emotions on my sleeve because Melody kept looking at me from under her hood. “Try to relax, Joker. Your nervous mojo is polluting the environment, and thus, my spell crafting.”

Witches. They always seemed to know how you were feeling. And they had a bad habit of taking it upon themselves to alter those emotions to their liking. Every wizard knew they couldn’t
really
be trusted. Back before the truce between the two, witches and wizards had battled for centuries. And witches proved to be a powerful foe. It wasn’t until we nearly wiped each other out that the truce was finally formed. Their magic may not be as physically devastating as wizards, but their strength lies rather in subtlety and preparation. While wizards control inanimate objects more easily, witches are masters of the living. Plants, animals…men, we all become putty in the hands of a powerful witch. They are the givers of life and therefore masters of the living world. A witch can kill you with a friendly encounter, and you would never know what happened. With but a hair or a drop of blood, they can send a curse down your entire bloodline indefinitely. This is why, back in the day, wizards who battled witches shaved their heads.

Melody regarded me still.

I could feel everyone’s attention on me. It seemed no one else shared my dread of confined spaces or had any clue that, once we were beyond the gate, the Elites could turn us into charbroiled rebels with the push of a button. I tried to remind myself what the fuck I had been thinking, asking for this mission, and then I remembered my sister Mary. I had to get my head in the game. Reaching up, I threw the handle back on the hatch and pushed up into fresh air.

Boston sped past as we made for the western gate. The streets were bustling with Witnesses who’d come to see us off. Women blew kisses, children waved and clapped, and men saluted or gave a thumbs-up. All of them had the same smile on their faces. We symbolized their fighting spirit. We reminded them they weren’t helpless. I waved to them as we passed—not a week ago I had been in a similar crowd, watching the Boston Militia Minutemen speed off into the unknown.

I could get used to this
.

Dude climbed up out the hatch and saw the admiring crowd. He screamed joyfully and pumped his fist.

Kronos’s voice came in my earpiece. “When we reach gate, monkey gets off.”

“Roger that, Hammertime.”

Dude screeched at me.

“Sir, he wants you to know he’s an ape. Monkeys have tails.”

Dude crossed his arms and nodded.

Kronos’s mic cleared the static, but he seemed at a loss for words. A mumbled obscenity in Russian gave way to a hiss as he signed off.

Opposite me, another hatch opened and Melody Stone joined us on top of the world.

“Feeling better?” she asked, waving to the crowd as a queen might. Her hair blew in the breeze like slowly dancing fire. Red highlights caught the sun and gave her long dark hair a mystic luster.

I wanted to make peace. “I feel fine. Sorry about the other day. I was talking to the chimp.”

As she looked at me from across the roof, her hair blew partially across her face, and I was temporarily distracted by her beauty. I could see in her eyes recognition of her sudden power over me. I had tipped my hand. I half expected some sort of subtle victory dance, or even disdain, but instead she smiled and turned back to look at the crowd.

“I kind of realized that later,” she said. “I was distracted at the time.”

“Reporting to the coven?” A nod told me I was right, and I continued, “Were you nervous you’d failed?”

“No.” She gave me a look, as though she’d never before heard the word, and then glanced at Dude. “Were you?”

“No. I knew I’d passed. My Rite of Passage was to help with a demon exorcism,” I said, with a cool glance off into the horizon.

“You helped with an exorcism?” She was unimpressed, as if the task was easier than frosting a cake.

“Yeah, Father Killroy and I took it down. It was easy. A lot of prayer, a few binding spells, and poof—gone. Oh, and of course, Old Ben was a big help.”

“Old Ben?” She squinted as sunlight pelted her in rapid succession through the trees. Her face lit with recognition, and a polite smile crept across—the one reserved for drunks and crazies.

I hate the polite smile.

She nodded to herself, as if everything about me suddenly made sense now. “So
you’re
the guy who sees the ghost of Benjamin Franklin.”

I felt my face flush and considered playing it off like a joke. Instead, I just sighed and said, “Yeah, I’m
that
guy.”

When we were finally approaching the western gate, Kronos’s voice came over the radio. “Ape goes below, now.”

I looked at Dude, who was straddling the truck like he was a Worm Rider out of
Dune
. Somewhere, he had rustled up a huge pair of goggles. I tried to look serious and told him he’d better listen to Kronos, or we’d really be in for it.

The spell shield that protects the city spreads out from the Temple of Light in a twenty-four-mile circumference; the western gate marks twelve miles to the west. The giant metal arch is heavily guarded, as are its identical counterparts to the north, east, and south. Twenty feet high and just as wide at the base, it allows for a breach in the spell shield. The opening of the gates is tightly monitored, and they’re fitted, on the Boston side, with a mobile decontamination station. When we came back through—assuming that we did—we’d be spending a few hours in there getting checked for contaminates.

“Kronos to Temple of Light: we approach western gate. Request permission to leave.”

“Permission granted. Good hunting,” a voice responded in our earpieces.

A steady humming began in the earth below us as we slowed to a crawl, and then a flash of light told us the gate had opened. We left the safety of Boston behind and ventured out into the great wide open.

“Welcome to Outworld,” said Kronos.

O
bserving the heavens through the spell shield is like being trapped inside a soap bubble. It can be cool at times, but the novelty wears off fast. As we left Boston behind, I took in the sight of the clear blue sky for the first time in years.

Kronos’s voice crackled over the headsets, thoroughly destroying my clear-sky-viewing mojo. “Macklebee, report.”

“Radar online. All clear. Atmospheric levels normal. ETA, one hour, sir.”

We took I-90 out of Boston and followed it west. It would bring us to within four miles of Crystal Lake. The going was quick, as there hadn’t been a lot of traffic on the day of the Culling—there had been nowhere to go.

An hour later we exited the freeway and took a rough, overgrown road that would lead us to the lake. I hadn’t gotten a good look at too many houses from the I-90, but traveling slowly down the worn road gave me plenty of opportunity. It amazes me how quickly nature can reclaim the landscape. Some of the abandoned houses were fairly new, but looked like they’d been empty for decades. Vines had slowly crept up to completely cover many. It’s amazing what a place can look like once human care is taken out of the equation. Mother Nature is always there, lurking in the shadows, biding her time. She is patient, and she is brutal. Seeing how easily our work is undone is unsettling. It leads you to wonder: What is the point of it all if it inevitably ends where it began? The struggles and efforts of humanity culminated in amazing technological achievements, including the super virus that ended it all.

Crystal Lake soon came into view, and we parked near the southern shore. The BM grunts immediately took defensive positions around the vehicles and began scanning the surroundings. The lake was not a large one, less than two miles across. Desolate cabins, houses, and cottages littered the shoreline, along with boat garages and docks. The water was eerily calm. The whole ghost town vibe was already getting to me.

“Detecting a power signature on north side of the lake,” said Macklebee.

“How strong,” asked Kronos.

“It’s faint. But if I had to bet, I’d say that’s where the signal came from.”

“Melody?” said Kronos.

The witch moved to a sapling growing in the brush and took hold of it, closing her eyes. Her lids fluttered and she took in a deep breath. “I…I’m not sure. I feel…something on the north shore. It is faint, possibly obscured by metals.”

“A bunker?”

“Perhaps.”

“Listen up.” Kronos shouldered his shotgun like an old pro. “We split, two teams. Stone, Mushiro, Juggernaut, you go left around lake. Lopez and Father Killroy with me. Rezner, Anderson, you stay here, keep watch. We secure perimeter, converge on church.”

“Son of a bitch,” I muttered under my breath, and the two groups prepared to leave. “Benched on our first away game, Dude. How do you like them rotten…apples?”

The chimp had loped off midsentence and hopped into Macklebee’s ride. He came out moments later with something similar to a miner’s helmet strapped to his head. Instead of a simple light, it was mounted with a bunch of cameras and sensors.

Ignoring me completely, he scampered over to Kronos, who was checking gear. I shit you not, the chimp clicked heels, gave an exaggerated salute, and stood at attention.

Kronos scowled down on the unwavering little Benedict Arnold, and walked around him slowly. “Maybe you will be useful after all,” he noted.

“He’s equipped with three cameras, including infrared and other spectrums,” said Macklebee.

Kronos looked disgusted—unfortunately, that meant he liked the idea. “Ape, you come with me.”

Dude screeched and danced in little circles, but was quickly silenced by Hammertime’s scowl.

Due to his heightened intellect, Boston Militia had decided to use him for recon. Harvard confiscated him as soon as we arrived. It became apparent during their multitude of tests that he was no ordinary chimp. His growth seems to have been stunted, but he’s far more intelligent than your average shit pitcher. Even before Harvard started running tests to see just how much he was capable of learning, he’d already known how to sign more words than was thought possible for a simple primate. They tried to keep him, but after he escaped for the tenth time to find me, they gave him back. Since I needed to choose a companion animal as a wizardry requirement, it worked out well. He’s made it pretty clear that he won’t work without me, so we’re a package deal.

Kronos cocked his shotgun. “Move out!”

I hurried over, took Dude by the shoulder, and turned him to me. He gave me a chimpy smile of pearly not-so-whites, and my heart ached with concern. “Listen, Dude, be careful. You stay with Killroy and be quiet. Don’t do anything stupid.”

He smiled again and signed, “Dude super chimp. Dude got this shit. You take care of you.”

I watched him run to catch up to his team, feeling like I was dropping my daughter off at the country’s number one party college. Mushi flashed me devil horns and set out with his own team. I watched them go, reluctantly, and turned to Meathead Anderson. He stood there like a god of war, holding an M-60. I sensed that beyond his thousand-yard stare there was a cold, calculating, killing machine—but not much else, which was just fine with me.

I walked over to Macklebee’s rig and popped my head inside. Computer screens littered the cramped space, and more gadgetry than I had imagined would fit covered every last square inch of the interior. Bernard sat at the center in one of two seats, conducting his recon like a mad scientist. The two teams’ camera images spread across multiple monitors mounted to the walls, three of which were Dude cams.

Intrigued, I indicated the empty chair. “Mind if I have a seat?” I had already started to sit when Macklebee dramatically put up a stopping hand and looked at me with a plethora of gadgetry adorning his cranium.

“Stop!” he said, with a hearty dose of dork drama. “Don’t touch anything.”

“Relax, Spracklebee. You won’t even know I’m here.”

He looked at me apprehensively.

“Trust me,” I added, and sat.

I zoned in on the Dude cams. They had already reached the first camp on their side of the lake. None of the monitors showed anything interesting, and Bernard said as much over the com.

They moved on to the next in line, slowly.

Mushi’s cam showed his group approaching a small cabin surrounded by hip-high weeds. Their hushed communications played out over the speakers.

“You got anything, Stone?” he asked.

“Clarify.”

“You know—are your witchy senses tingling?”

“No.” It sounded like she wanted to add
you dumbass
.

“My bitchy senses are tingling,” I said to Macklebee.

Mushi’s machine gun chuckle came over the speaker, and Macklebee urgently motioned to my foot.

Shit
.

I lifted my boot off the mic button. Score one for Team Smoothio.

On Mushi-cam, Juggernaut kicked in the front door and led gun first.

I switched to his monitor as a light came on at the end of his barrel and did a sweep of the room.

Back to Mushi-cam—he was following Melody into the cabin. They looked around for a few minutes and soon lost my interest.

Dude’s feeds showed him sneaking through a broken window and dropping into a half-burnt-out lake house. From Killroy’s angle I saw it to be one of those big A-frame jobs. I looked at Kronos’s screen and found myself face to face with the Russian’s white snake. I turned in disgust, but not before the image of his party favor was burned in my memory.

Dude found nothing and soon joined Kronos and Father Killroy. I scanned over Mushi’s and Stone’s cams and found them to be checking what looked like a basement. The surround sound of the many live mics lent a surreal feel to the inside of the recon rig, and I found myself scanning over the cam feeds so rapidly that the entire unfolding scene became clear in my mind.

“Whoa, it’s like I’m there.”

“Congratulations. You’ve achieved the first level, young Jedi,” said Macklebee, knowingly.

The two teams slowly searched the perimeter of the lake, making their way toward the north shore. An hour and a half later they began to converge on the only structure not yet searched—an old church.

“There!” Macklebee sat up suddenly, pointing at Dude’s infrared feed. “Dude, stop! Look back at the church.”

Dude-cam turned back to the house of worship, which loomed over a jungle of weeds. The image reminded me of a campy horror movie.

Bernard pointed out a human heat signature up high within the bell tower.

I looked closely and recognized the posture. “Dude—the watchtower! Gun!”

His cam went berserk, and a gunshot rang out over the mics.

“Dude!” I screamed.

“Get out!” Macklebee hollered. He began typing furiously on the keypad. “Go!”

Chimp shrieks and gunshots rang out, and everybody’s cams flickered and bounced around as they went for cover—or in Kronos’s case, charged the church. The next and last image I saw was Dude’s cam looking up the side of the church from the ground, motionless. I cursed and slammed the screen with my palm.

“Get him outta here, Anderson,” screamed Macklebee.

Meathead pulled me out of the rig and offered a warning glance. I paced nervously as I waited, barely able to hear what was going on. I took out my spell book and started skimming through the pages, looking for a hearing enhancement. I could have tried formulating a spell mentally, but I wasn’t very good at that yet, and the results were usually disastrous. I was more likely to light myself on fire than increase my hearing.

I finally found what I was looking for and read the words carefully. The incantation was short, and soon I felt it wash over me. My hearing increased threefold, and I listened in on what was happening.

“…we are…our way!” said Mushi. The com was breaking up with static.

“…a lot of bloo…but he looks…he might…it,” said Lopez.

“Negative Mu…iru…tinue search of lake,” Kronos ordered.

“He needs…dical atten…” said Lopez.

I waited outside the rig, wondering what the hell was going on. Had they been talking about Dude? Was he hit?

“Screw this!” I said, and started out on my own. A hand to the back of my cloak stopped me—Anderson.

“We have orders to wait,” he said.

I spun around and slapped his hand away.

He got in my face and gave me his best crazy eyes.

“You have no idea who you’re fucking with,” I told him.

He grinned. “Neither do you.”

Kronos came over Meathead’s earpiece just then. Due to the spell, I heard him perfectly. “Heading back. One injured,” he said.

Meathead eyeballed me as he answered, “Yes, sir!” but then turned and walked back toward the rides.

After an eternity of waiting, I finally saw them making their way back up the meandering path.

Kronos came into view carrying a man over his shoulder, followed by Lopez and Killroy—but no Dude. My heart skipped a beat. It wasn’t until they were a few hundred yards away that I saw him bringing up the rear. I breathed a sigh of relief—it seemed Superchimp could take care of himself.

Kronos laid out the unconscious man on Dr. Doc’s stretcher. It appeared the guy had taken a blow to the head. His hair was matted and caked with blood.

Father Killroy came up and patted me on the back. “You should’ve seen Dude. When that shot went off, he dropped his helmet and climbed a tree up to the church roof in a flash. Was him that did this to the shooter.” He laughed.

“No shit?” I made an awkward smile as I thought about freaking out over nothing, and gave Dude a high five. He squealed and showed his pearly not-so-whites again.

Dr. Doc broke a capsule under the gunman’s nose, and he roused with a start, thrashing uselessly against Anderson.

“Please, I’m alone. I’ve nothing for you,” he said

Father Killroy put a soft hand on the man’s arm and tried to comfort him with a smile. “We’re from Boston, my son. You have nothing to fear from us. We’re here to help.”

“Thank the Lord,” he said with relief, and laid his head back down. “The children are saved.”