Unearthed

by Marc Mulero

  Unearthed

  Volume 1

  By Marc Mulero

  © 2016 Marc Mulero. All rights reserved.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Social Class Hierarchy

  Rogue Movements

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter 1

  “Blague, how do you plan on clearing out the wreckage? The Hiezers have eyes on us,” Eugene warned while surveying the area.

  Blague had a habit of thinking a few steps ahead of his opponents, at the cost of time that no one had to spare. Blague looked at Eugene with a half smirk and hopped onto the first layer of what seemed to be endless debris blocking their path.

  “We're going to dig a hole under the midpoint of the wreckage and plant six pounds of C-4. The heaviest portion of this pile of junk seems to be the foundation, so once we weaken it, I expect the dam to cave inward,” Blague explained calmly, dangling on the second layer of filth with one fist firmly grasped around a stray pole.

  Eugene noticed Blague's blue, distorted tattoo on his arm shining in the moonlight. Blague released his grasp on the pole and fell about eleven feet without bending his knees upon landing. He walked a few paces, analyzing the structure of the heaping pile of junk blocking their path. After a moment of thought, he turned from the wall and placed his muscular arms on Eugene's shoulders.

  “I want the Hiezers to see this. Senation hasn't had a gleam of hope in nearly a decade. Things are about to change. Are you with me, Eu?” Blague questioned.

  Eugene nodded and sighed.

  “Good,” Blague said in a calm voice, “now inform our people to set up camp a quarter mile behind the wreckage and call in two diggers. We make our first move at sunrise.” Eugene jogged off, while Blague remained there to reflect.

  A calculated gamble, but not with terrible odds. A quarter mile should be more than enough space to avoid casualties, but should leave our people close enough to obtain favorable positioning upon breaching the blown wreckage as the Hiezer reinforcements interfere. If the Hiezers notice the smoke, that means the people of Senation will as well. We need to stir up some optimism. Hope is important. It is the cornerstone of ambition and is a virtue that is lacking on this continent. If we can spark hope in the people of Senation, we can disrupt the social class system that keeps these people in chains. This suffering has dragged on for far too long now. What's the point of carrying out a lifetime if there is no joy in it?

  Moments later, Jerris and Gense jogged up to Blague, lugging shovels. Each pounded their chest once, giving their leader a salute, one which communicates strength and loyalty. A cloud of dust puffed into the air from pounding their dirt encrusted clothes. Blague stared at them with wide eyes for about thirty seconds, although not at all acknowledging the sight of them. Instead, his mind raced, contemplating how to proceed once they reach their destination. Finally, he snapped back.

  “Gentlemen, dig three feet deep at the midpoint coordinate I marked off over there,” he said, pointing to the mark and locking eyes with both men.

  Blague's deep, brooding voice did not match his intense stare and muscular physique. With his deep set green eyes, pushed-back wavy black hair, and an above average size nose that he would jokingly say commands respect, Blague had the look and demeanor of a confident commander in the Special Forces. Over the phone, however, he could be mistaken for a middle-aged college professor. His tan skin made his blue, glowing tattoo stand out immensely.

  Blague stared up into the moonlight, as the diggers flipped their shovels off from their shoulders and got to work.

  Back at the camp, Eugene and the other top commanders led both the civilians and fighters a quarter mile away from the mountain of wreckage. Patrol fighters assisted the commanders by positioning themselves on the outer rim of the group, armed with assault rifles and keeping watch for suspicious activity. The ground they trekked across was dusty, a mix of sand and pebble that stretched for miles, with piles of garbage and flimsy huts decorating the view.

  “Eugene,” a mysterious woman beckoned with a slightly raspy voice, “I have a feeling our target destination is guarded, and if it is, we don't have the means to push forward head on. I’ve decided to scout ahead and scale the wreckage before sunrise.”

  Eugene looked down and shook his head. “Lesh,” he said with a disapproving tone, “that's unnecessarily risky. If we lose one commander before we breach the wreckage, we will undoubtedly fail to reach the mansion.”

  “Nonsense,” Lesh said dismissively, “I'm heading out. Inform Blague once I'm fifteen layers high. And don't be a fucking moron and try to stop me.”

  They smirked at each other. Eugene remained silent, watching her stealthily sprint ahead, knowing it was senseless to argue any further. Her shoulder length brown hair was surprisingly clean and flowy for the conditions the group was subjected to. The eight sizable, bloodstained knives strapped to her back in a circular fashion were certainly the mark of Lesh. She fought countless times alongside Eugene and Blague and had yet to lose a throwing knife.

  As the group decided upon the most favorable spot to set up camp and enjoy a meal before the mission, the matriarch of the group, Cherris, was surrounded by the younger followers. As always, she served as a human questionnaire to the generations that weren't alive before the global catastrophe.

  “Cherris!” shrieked an excited boy with black hair straggled over his face, “How did you survive the Global Quake? And how was Senation created? My mama says it was the will of God!”

  Cherris warmly smiled at the boy. The crowd of faces was dimly lit from the light of a small roasting fire, small enough that the smoke fizzled out just above their heads. The dancing flame shifted the light to different parts of their faces.

  “To answer your first question,” she said as she held up her index finger, “I was located in Kansas, smack dab in the middle of the United States on November 1st, 2022, and although the Global Quake was felt around the world, only certain areas toward the edges of continents were completely upheaved. So, although my house was torn in two, I managed to escape with my family relatively unscathed.” Cherris looked around the fire to see many sets of engaged eyes. “Senation was created by that quake; it represents most of Old California, little one. No one on this earth knows why for sure, but we all have our beliefs, such as your mama.” Cherris mussed the boy's hair, “Your family must be new to the group. What's your name?” she asked, looking down at the boy.

  “I'm Milos, the Conqueror!” the boy shouted proudly.

  “That's one hell of a name,” Cherris said as she sat back in her make-shift chair.

  All of the other kids crowding around listened intently. Their collective attention was strong when listening to Cherris speak about the Global Quake, no matter how many times they’ve heard it before.

  If the Hiezers heard a boy boasting that he had an addendum to his first and only name, even he would be made an example of. He would be beaten bloody during such a crucial developmental stage of his life. Even so, I don’t think I could bring myself to crush his pride and imagination at this moment. The fate of tomorrow is uncertain. I have to maintain some sense of serenity and let these kids live in this moment while it lasts.

&nbs
p; Cherris sat forward with her mind made up, “Milos the Conqueror, how do you plan on taking over the other exiled continents? With your bare hands?” Cherris smiled while looking the boy in the eyes.

  He looked down, breaking eye contact for a moment. “No,” Milos said as he looked back up at her and pointed to his head, “with my mind!” All of the other younger followers laughed. Milos blushed for a moment, then stood confidently and faced the crowd, “And maybe a few guns,” he finished with a smile. The other kids morphed their laughter into cheers. Cherris was impressed.

  To so easily overcome such potential embarrassment, this kid has courage. He may survive this journey that all of these kids were forced to take part in because of the views of their parents. One thing is for sure, their innocence will be lost.

  “Ok, kids,” Cherris raised her voice, “that's enough for tonight. Go eat your dinner and get some rest. Tomorrow is expected to be an important day.”

  “Goodnight Cherris!” the kids exclaimed unharmoniously.

  As Milos ran to his pleasantly smiling mother, the mother looked over at Cherris and nodded to her graciously. Cherris smiled and nodded back. She looked around to note the guards patrolling around the chosen camp.

  We would be overrun if we were caught. Seven guards to protect about one hundred and fifty civilians against any number of threats. I hope Blague calculated correctly.

  The moonlit rocks reflected a bluish glow, creating a compelling silhouette of the speaker, who stood confidently on the second layer of wreckage at the midpoint. Blague had his head slightly tilted, inspecting his frosted, deep blue Desert Eagle; it was his only gun of choice. Directly behind him to his right stood Eugene, head tilted back and cigarette lit, dimly illuminating his dirty blonde hair as he mentally prepared for the unexpected morning. His sniper rifle was firmly strapped to his back. Directly behind Blague to his left stood Briggs, a six foot eight top commander whose talents extended from weapons to communications. He stood with a bold, yet humble expression; his confidence was backed by two sub-machine guns pointed down at either of his sides. Briggs was responsible for the secure line that the group had successfully communicated through for the past six months. Standing below on the first layer stood the remaining four commanders. Facing them was a sea of eyes, about one hundred fighters eager for a chance at a decent life. Their identical tattoos glowed blue, a half circle at the base of their shoulders, morphing to a sharp point ending on their biceps.

  “Fellow Sins,” Blague's voice echoed as he took his eyes off his gun, “I implore you all to reflect with the remaining hours we have left before sunrise. We have battled the Hiezers from the shadows up until now. Starting tomorrow, we will no longer hide as a group. Starting tomorrow, we will rally with the Sins of the other exiled continents. Starting tomorrow, we will bleed for a chance to pave our own path. Tomorrow, we will claim our first victory!” The fighters cheered. Blague put his hand up for silence, “But don't let your eagerness drown out the reality, brothers and sisters. I need your all if we're going to survive this. Reflect deeply. I won't hold it against you if any of you decide to walk away, but make your choice tonight.” The fighters looked solemn, but no less dedicated. “My instinct tells me that not even one of you will turn away and that's how I know this can work. Sins, beyond this wreckage stands a mansion,” he said while pointing to the backdrop in the distance. “This mansion is a base for the Hiezers, like many others on the exiled continents. Not only do I expect it to contain research revealing advanced human engineering secrets, but I expect it will also hold truths that you may not want to accept. Lesh has been gone for over four hours. I expected her back here thirty minutes ago. I fought alongside her long enough to know that she has a reason for not showing up to this meeting. The mansion must be heavily guarded. So get ready fighters, I expect you to give them hell!” The fighters pounded their chests once each. Blague gave an old fashioned salute with his Desert Eagle.

  We have about an hour before the break-bomb is detonated.

  Eugene stood slightly hunched, cleaning his rifle. It was jet black with one thin red stripe wrapping around the gun’s exterior. His exhaustion began to subside as the adrenaline started to kick in. He was about to lay his life on the line, again. Something he's not expecting he could ever get used to.

  Briggs walked up to Eugene and slapped him on the back, “What's up, little bitch?” Briggs said with a wide smile.

  Eugene looked back and sighed, “Why don't you go say that to Lesh and see how that goes?” Eugene said with a slight grin.

  Briggs hesitated, “Uhhh, n...no,” he said with a comically fearful look on his face.

  They both laughed. After a short pause, Eugene’s concerns started to pour out. “Have the hidden Sin scouts reported any Hiezer activity? They're our lifeline after all. If even one screws u-”

  “I know, I know,” Briggs interrupted, “Blague has been asking for hourly reports. We're under control. If a Hiezer assassin happens to slip through to the civilians, we will act immediately. They are guarded after all.”

  Eugene looked up at Briggs, unconvinced. He sighed and proceeded to continue cleaning his rifle.

  “So,” Briggs said as he placed his weapon down next to Eugene’s and poked around the table for spare tools, “did you notice Blague's Cryos tattoo glowing like that? It was far brighter than ours or any of the other fighters.”

  Eugene looked at Briggs curiously, “Yes, I've noticed that on multiple occasions. I doubt it means anything though. The Cryos chemical has always had strange effects on our bodies.”

  Briggs leaned on the table and folded his arms. “It’s just so odd,” Briggs said, “It's not a stamp like ours.”

  Eugene put his gun down and looked over at Briggs, “I asked him about it a few months back, after the TERRA mission. Blague paused for a long while before answering me, but there was no lying in him. He told me that it was ‘Undeniably a Cryos mark and it was meant to label me as a Sin the same as you, Eugene. The only difference is, I resisted every step of the way.’”

  Briggs looked impressed, “That's why he's our leader, right bud?” Briggs playfully punched Eugene’s arm, causing him to stumble and drop one of his tools.

  Eugene sighed and whispered, “What the fuck is wrong with this guy?”

  Briggs put his hand to his ear and leaned in, “Say what?” Eugene smiled.

  Lito, one of the ten commanders, called out to them, “It's time, guys. Let's get into position.”

  Eugene and Briggs looked at each other seriously. Eugene flipped his rifle on to his back and gave Briggs a pound.

  “Be safe,” Eugene said before they went their separate ways, “Guard your son, Briggs.”

  They both hastily split, heading toward their positions.

  Tomorrow is going to be the start of Blague's grand scheme. That bastard better know what he's doing. There are a lot of lives on the line here. Eugene whipped his gun around as he stationed to kill from afar. I don't want to be labeled as a Sin forever. I'll continue sniping for the day my Cryos tattoo symbolizes an act of heroism, instead of this disgraceful low grade criminal exile bullshit.

  Chapter 2

  Blague stood at the tip of the triangular-formed group. His commanders stood directly behind him, followed by nearly one hundred Sin fighters, and one hundred and fifty civilians. Blague held up his fist. His blue tattoo was stifling; the heat emanating from it was similar to heat rising from the sand in a desert. The dust twirled around them. “Alright everyone, this will be a simple mission with profound results. Take over the mansion. I expect there will be more than enough room for everyone once we do. Once the mansion is clear, strip all cameras after Briggs pops our EMP. Then, escort the civilians and their supply crates to the ground level. We will reconvene from there. Understood?” Blague turned to face the mountain of wreckage in the distance. He heard the echo of about two hundred and sixty salutes. “Lito!” he shouted, “Detonate the break-bomb!” Blague drew his Desert Eagle. An echo of
weapons being drawn followed.

  Lito pressed his finger down heavily on the detonator. Moments later, the sound of an explosion resonated. The wreckage began to ripple and then quickly caved inward to the center. The ground trembled beneath the Sins' feet. The fighters tensed up.

  “Brace yourselves, everyone,” Lito shouted as his black and green mohawk quivered in unison with the ground. “We will have company soon, once the Hiezers realize there’s been a breach.”

  The midpoint of the wreckage resembled a tidal wave crashing down. The screams of children could barely be heard amongst the overwhelming clattering of metal scraps bouncing off of the dusty ground, thrown in random directions. Eugene began to notice the pattern of falling debris and where the breach point would be, so he quickly found high ground for sniping visibility. Briggs looked at his heat sensing radar for signs of human activity ahead. At this point, there was none. The trembling ceased. A piece of scrap metal rolled and stopped about thirty feet away from them. A dangerous path of debris paved the way to the mansion ahead, which was now visible from where they stood.

  Blague turned his head and shouted to the group behind him, “Advance slowly! Use the debris as cover! Move!”

  Briggs looked down for a moment to check his radar again. He immediately felt goosebumps and the heat of blood rushing to his head. His eyes grew wide before he could speak. “Blague!” Briggs yelled. The advancing commanders turned to him. “Heavy activity incoming!”

  The commanders quickly shifted their focus forward and took refuge behind the fallen debris. Through the huge haze of dust and smoke that was rising above like a mushroom cloud, Blague spotted the silhouette of a Hiezer patrolman with an assault rifle. He motioned for his people to advance as he led the way. The patrolman pointed at the crowd of people he thought he saw, but as his finger went up, his head jerked back; a bullet from Eugene's rifle ripped through his skull.