Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER-THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER-THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
CHAPTER FORTY
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
CHAPTER FIFTY
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
Generation Witch
Year One
Generation Witch, Year One
Copyright © 2020 Schuyler Thorpe
All rights reserved.
Interior book design by The Dust Jacket Designs
https://thedustjacketdesigns.weebly.com/
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
CHAPTER ONE
13 April 2190
Tillie Gunderson dodged the incoming fire from the hover control bots that zipped about the city of Old New York—aiming to enforce the blood-soaked curfew of the Supreme Chancellor only mere hours before.
The teenage girl could still hear the screams of people dying as the homing rounds found their marks on those who dared to defy the Regency Council—or the echoes of her friends crying out in either anger and despair.
It was an ugly mess to be sure. Because the Witch’s Guild of Lower Tam decided that perishing into the night was better than live under the iron fist of both the Supreme Chancellor and the Regency Council.
And that was if you were a witch.
To which…Tillie and her surviving family were guilty of. But the girl wasn’t thinking about joining her coven this early on in life at sixteen years. She still hadn’t graduated from the Academy of Magic and Arts because a witch had no place being in a human school.
Tillie was too busy playing Keep Away from two more control bots that had zeroed in on her magical aura and started giving chase once more.
The scattered remains of people she didn’t know lay on the broken pavement as burnt embers and whiffs of charred bone and flesh permeated the air.
Humanity was dying for sure because of this fucked up mess. But the witches couldn’t be blamed for what happened the previous week when the Regency Council ceded all its sworn responsibilities to the new Supreme Chancellor and every magical kinsfolk that resided within the borders of the Old United States were earmarked for destruction.
It came as no surprise.
The Supreme Chancellor had no love for the Fae, for the various Witch’s Guilds across the country, or any other magical being that co-existed with humanity since ancient times.
It had been a power play since the last Chancellor-in-Waiting had been defeated in national elections and there was nobody left to challenge Merrick Reiter for the seat.
The man was a danger to magical kinsfolk everywhere the moment he put into play his ordained decree that would rid the nation of people like Tillie and everyone else that had been birthed with magical ability.
Her father was killed in the riots in the week following. Her mother barely escaped assassination by the Regency Council’s new enforcers.
And that left her…?
Still being chased into an adjoining alleyway by one of the two control bots.
Stinging laser fire and dart missiles nipped at the concrete behind her as the girl kept her concentration and focus on any possible way out of this mess—even as the rate of success and safety was becoming nothing more than a passing fantasy at this very moment.
Then she spotted an older boy whose face she didn’t recognize pop up behind a makeshift shelter and barricade and holler for her undivided attention.
“Over here!” He called out at the top of his voice—braving both stupidity, mindless chivalry, and danger.
“This isn’t the time to play hero, man!” The girl fired back as the second control bot got the drop on her from above and tried to body slam her into the ground.
A quick incantation was all that was needed to produce an energy shield which Tillie used to intercept the needle-shaped control bot. The impact of a moving body drove her to her knees and the girl grunted—cursing all the while.
This wasn’t her day at all. Not when she had a second enemy to contend with.
But just as the second control bot got within range of her—a flash of noise followed by a concussive boom and the first bot was blown to metal chunks and glowing energy shards which dispersed into the night.
Tillie couldn’t spare the energy to celebrate as her shield started to give away at the last possible second and the girl could feel the cold nip of metal into her leather/steel vambraces.
“Duck!” The same voice called out as a new whizzing sound echoed into the night and the girl dropped to her stomach—never mind her own personal safety at the moment—as something large and in charge ripped into the control bot like soft cheese.
The thing wailed uncontrollably into the night before coming back to earth as a concussive missile on its own—a second explosion illuminating the street beyond yonder.
“Damn chasers.” The same voice huffed. “Fucking mechanicals. They never learn.”
Tillie kept her eyes screwed shut for a moment longer before she sensed some movement next to her. Then a soft pair of welcoming hands as she was helped back up to her feet.
“Sorry about that.” The older boy said with a passing smile of his own. “I was trying to get you to safety before dealing with those bastards, but I never pegged anyone as young as you as a possible witch.”
“Surprise.” Tillie answered cryptically, while brushing the bits of dirt and mud from her personal cloak.
“My foster dad said that most witches were older than you. By about twice in age. Maybe older.” The same boy went on in a conversational manner. “To see a youngling lik
e you makes me feel better about the future for all magical kinsfolk.”
“That’s nice of you to say that, but right now people like me are being hunted by the Regency Council’s mercenary armies and being killed on sight or…out of sight as the case may be.”
“We know. That’s why we erected this safe house for people like you and the others.” The boy pointed to the back of him, while still shouldering the compact missile launcher that he had used moments earlier to deal with the first control bot.
Tillie eyed the weapon for a moment and shrugged indifferently.
“I thought those Old Army issues were useless against the Gen Ones?”
The boy smiled. “You have to get lucky. This old tech isn’t based on the new designs which are a common sight today. Surplus material—off the black market. Or the Underground.”
“So this stuff isn’t bot proof.” Tillie stated unswervingly.
“Oh heavens no. This stuff was squirreled away after the old government fell away fifty to seventy years ago. There were some segments of the old populace that felt the new sweeping changes wrought by the Regency Council in those days would become a problem for future generations to deal with. Turns out…they were right.” The boy informed her in that moment, before taking her hand and leading her across the alley and down a flight of stairs that became something else in its entirety.
The boy tapped a hidden device on his utility belt and something chirped in the air and a metal shield partition slid into place above their heads.
The only thing that was providing light in this dark space was a sickly yellow light bulb fixture hanging ten just a few yards in front of them.
“Fallout bunker,” the boy said in ways of a conversation. “An old relic from an earlier age when nuclear war with the world’s powers was a possibility back in those days.”
“So this is where you’re planning on hiding me?” Tillie wanted to know in quiet astonishment.
“Oh, not here. The bunker is well beneath us. Two stories at least. It used to be part of a connective network of service tunnels and crawl spaces that had been filled in and later taken over by the city’s refuse and homeless.
“What you see above is just merely an illusion. But you just so happened to stumble across a hidden network that has been in the works for quite some time now.”
“Lucky me,” the girl said with naked gratitude. “But I still have to get home. Back to my mom. That’s where I was heading when all this shit started happening in the streets of Old New York.”
“Given what we both just experienced, I doubt you’ll make it. The Regency Council has ordered all magical kinsfolk to death. Supreme Chancellor’s orders.”
“I’m already hating the fucking bastard,” Tillie joked sarcastically as the unnamed boy stopped for a moment to fish out an old rusty key that looked positively ancient.
The other girl was fairly positive that she hadn’t seen anything quite like it. Not even in museum pictures.
“Where did you get that?” She thought to intrude curiously.
“Oh, this? It’s an old fisherman’s key.” The teen said, pushing the thing in an disguised lock with a cover plate attached to it. He turned it to the right and the thing clicked.
Something heavy crashed in the background, followed by some grinding noises and before the girl could act or react, the stone floor beneath her feet dropped like a rock.
Yelping in surprise, Tillie grabbed the nearest body for support as the hidden platform descended into the cavernous depths of Old New York.
This was something out of a dream or a nightmare come to life because the girl could see everything for miles in both directions: Half-buried streets which ran in either direction, a functional subway platform which had actual cars still running on it, a few buildings which had been resurrected through both time, patience, and loving care, and a marketplace that appeared busier than normal.
And there were people. Lots of people.
More than she could have guessed actually lived here.
“Welcome to Level One.” The boy said with a bit of tight flourish. “Next stop? Parker Street and Seventh. Oh, and watch your step before getting off. You don’t want to accidentally trip and kill yourself.”
Tillie glanced around, a little bit more nervously than she intended. Home for her was fourteen city blocks from wherever this place was and this wasn’t even a place she wanted to be caught dead in.
For a split second, she half-remembered rumors, stories, some myths, and even a legend or two of some underground cities which ran up and down the East Coast, stretching back eastward towards the Ohio River Valley and a few scattered across the Continental United States itself—but she only took them for stories. Something her family told her to pass the time. Or give her a sense of amusement and wonder.
Then she recalled her time prowling the backwater alleyways of the Lower Tam—closer to the edge of Long Island itself—and finding more evidence of a not so secret underground domicile that had been blocked off, barricaded off, and sometimes, built over whole sections to obscure its presence from the above world where everything made a more perfect sense.
But when she went to tell her mother and father of what she had found, they didn’t believe her. Not at first. It was only when she got too curious for her own good that her mother pulled her aside and chewed her out for putting herself in needless danger—all for the sake of childlike curiosity.
But as big—or small—as Old New York had gotten over the decades after the onset of climate change, Tillie still had hope and belief that she would find what she had been searching for her whole life.
A reason to live.
Well, if tonight was of any indication, she definitely wanted to live—if she planned on fighting for another day. But by then, the city would be in complete lockdown and nobody would be able to get on or off the island.
The platform finally stopped its descent at what seemed like a good mile down—along with the welded door that was apparently a security check in point for those who knew about certain things and could move about freely—above or below ground.
For an instant, Tillie was insanely jealous of her new savior and she wanted to know his every secret.
“Now what?” She asked out of turn. And out of patience. It was either her fears or nerves which was ruling the roost, but she definitely wanted answers.
“Come with me,” the boy offered with an outstretched hand. “I’ll take you to go see Old Man Felix.”
“Who’s he?”
“A friend of humanity. A friend of all magical kinsfolk. An old soldier from an earlier time—before the changes. That’s all you need to know for now.” The boy rehearsed for her benefit.
“And you?” Tillie wanted to know.
“Messenger boys don’t give out their names. Part of the old cloak and dagger routine around here.”
“So you don’t have a name?”
The boy grinned at her. “Oh, I have a name. But I can’t give it to you.”
Tillie snorted in annoyance. “You’re no help.”
The boy’s face softened a bit at her remark. “I’m sorry. But we have to live under absolute secrecy. Even for people like me. We can’t take the risk of being found out. Not this early on in the game.”
“And what game would that be?”
“Why…survival. Or freedom. Or liberty. Or happiness. Any of the three tenets upon which this country was originally founded on so many centuries ago by the Founding Fathers. Hard to believe things would get so bad in the here and now. But it is what it is.”
“Is that why you risked your life back there? Was to help me?”
The boy paused for a moment and thought about his answer.
“I wasn’t about to say no to someone as cute as you.”
Tillie blushed. “I highly doubt that. I’m sixteen years old.”
“And I’m seventeen. Or at least…that’s how old I think I am. Nobody knows for sure in my case.”
“A
nd why not?”
“I was found abandoned by some members of the Underground.” The boy said, before showing him his naked wrist. There was a jagged scar that ran underneath it, but also a series of tattooed numbers: 34-29-07 61-04-08 06-23-71.
Tillie scrutinized the numbers for a second, thinking that she had seen some of them somewhere during one of her usual forays out into the deserted parts of Long Island, but she couldn’t recall where.
“Hmph.” She muttered finally. “That is…weird.”
“What? Me being abandoned, or—?”
The girl shook her head.
“No, no, no. The numbers. I could have sworn I saw them from somewhere. Just not sure where.”
“The whole set or just a few?” The other boy pressed with a sense of urgency.
“Just a few. I think. Not sure. My memory’s pretty hazy at this point.”
Her nameless savior nodded.
“It’s okay. At this point, I would take any possible leads into finding out where I came from originally.”
Tillie giggled. “Well, outside from your strange accent, I would definitely know that you’re not a real New Yorker. Not like me at any rate. I was born in Lower Brooklyn. Long Island’s been my home for as long as I can remember.”
The other boy chuckled. “Boy, aren’t we a strange pair of bedfellows—an orphan with no memory of his origins and a teen witch on the run.”
“Not by choice,” the girl said in a slightly defensive tone of voice. “Now where are we going again? Just so I don’t forget?”
“Parker Street and Seventh. It’s down this way. I’ll show you.” The boy offered, taking her hand once again and leading her off the platform and into a different world full of hidden wonders, mysteries, and maybe some danger along the way.
It all depended on how things turned out for her. And for him.
The boy with no name. No home. And no memories to call his own.
CHAPTER TWO
Nightfall
The streets of the Upper West Side of Old New York had become a kill zone for any unfortunate soul that happened across the myriad of control bots that still patrolled the battered and broken streets—while other Sweeper and Chaser units rumbled down Ninth Street on tank treads; looking for any signs of the opposition that had decided to make a last minute stand here.
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