THE RUIN SAGA – VOLUME 1: RUIN
Harry Manners
Ruin
by Harry Manners
First published 2014 by Radden Press.
All characters in this novel are entirely fictitious, as are the events portrayed. Any resemblance to persons living, dead or imaginary is coincidental.
All rights reserved. This ebook is for personal use only; whilst the author’s works are published DRM-free, it is hoped that readers will purchase their own copies, and will not resort to unlicensed usage. Sharing books without purchasing may deprive the author of owed royalties.
Copyright © Harry Manners 2014.
Cover design by Levente Szabo.
Edited by Claire Rushbrook.
Formatting by Polgarus Studio.
Lyrics from ‘The Star’ by Jane and Ann Taylor, first published in Rhymes for the Nursery (1806), are quoted in the text.
Norman Creek has a destiny: to save the world.
Earth has been almost lifeless for forty years, since a mysterious disaster caused most of the world’s population to vanish. With the greatest famine in decades at its peak, thousands lay dying in the ruins of once-great cities.
A high-ranking member of England’s last true society, Norman will soon have to take up the mantle of leadership, and keep the ways of the Old World from becoming lost forever. But being a leader was never a life he wanted.
As starvation grips the country, and Norman becomes ever more desperate to escape his fate, a hostile coalition emerges; one that heralds the coming of a second Apocalypse, hell-bent on ending the Old World forever.
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For Mum and Dad
Table of Contents
Dedication
Author’s Note
1 THE END
I
FIRST INTERLUDE
II
III
IV
SECOND INTERLUDE
V
VI
VII
VIII
THIRD INTERLUDE
IX
X
XI
XII
XIII
FOURTH INTERLUDE
XIV
XV
XVI
XVII
XVIII
FIFTH INTERLUDE
2 DESTINY CALLS
I
II
III
IV
V
FIRST INTERLUDE
VI
VII
VIII
IX
X
XI
XII
XIII
SECOND INTERLUDE
XIV
XV
XVI
XVII
XVIII
XIX
XX
XXI
XXII
THIRD INTERLUDE
XXIII
XXIV
FOURTH INTERLUDE
XXV
XXVI
XXVII
XXIX
XXVIII
Coming Soon
Thanks for reading
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A pendulum universe book
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Author’s Note
Dear Reader,
My thanks to you for picking up a copy of Ruin. You’ll find no DRM here (that annoying protection some books have that stops you reading on different devices). You bought a book, you should be able to read it however you like. Share it with friends, or gift it to your Grandmother. All I ask is that you encourage them to buy their own copy after they’ve read it; that way I get some royalties that let me keep writing, and you don’t have to go jumping through hoops.
Alright, enough bumpf. Let’s go for a ride together.
Harry Manners
Bedfordshire, England
2nd June, 2014
1
THE END
Listen, I tell you a mystery: We will not all sleep, but we will all be changed—in a flash, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet.
— 1 Corinthians 15:51-58
I
Norman Creek was hunting. Through the rifle’s scope the streets below him were magnified tenfold. Pale, late-afternoon light fell upon the tarmac and his prey.
His pulse quickened, and his throat grew tighter, but a deep breath saw to his nerves and calmed his trigger finger. Adjusting his position upon a high ridge with creeping increments, he settled into a recess in the scree. His muscles ached, but the discomfort was dull, without edge. The sharp pinches of pebbles against his skin seemed a thousand miles distant. He only felt hunger, a maddening beast growling in his gut, driving him forwards.
Allison and Lucian were perched on either side of him, ready. Their quarry was close.
Below, a thick mist prowled the streets. Ringing silence filled the air, stark and naked. Rivers of cars lined the roadside, rusted skeletons, often crushed together into mangled balls of twisted metal. Bearing down on them were the remains of houses, office blocks and shopping centres. All crumbling, all faded, mere shadows.
Most buildings stood without roofs, hatless. The slate tiles and supporting beams had collapsed and sent upper floors crashing to the dirt long ago. Possessions were scattered in the rubble: lamps, telephones, pots and pans, the occasional sofa.
Norman paid none of it any attention. Things had always been this way, ever since the End. And those old enough to remember the Old World were growing fewer. He only had eyes for the dark figure milling at the intersection below the ridge.
Amidst decayed bricks and mortar echoed the steady clip-clop of hooves on concrete, those of a foraging stag busying itself with a clump of grass thrusting through the tarmac.
The old Red had been gorging himself. His bulk was distended almost a foot, bulging and round. But he was no picture of health. His aged body was decrepit, and the herd had long moved on; his tired legs were no match for the spring in their step.
He gave a low grumble, chewing his pulpy meal, oblivious. As Norman squeezed the trigger, the stag snorted a plume of morning vapour with an attitude that could have been weariness and turned to face his death.
A low whine filled the air, followed by a wet splattering sound. A plume of red matter soared from the side of the stag's head, spewing against the cracked window of a burned-out Prius. Stiffening in a sudden spasm, it sank to the pavement, twitching and jerking in a spreading pool of crimson.
The gunshot’s roar reverberated against walls, trees and stones, rolling out across the landscape, but its might went unappreciated. There was scarcely anything left alive to recoil from the racket. The sound died away after only a few diminishing echoes to be replaced by the same deep quiet as before.
In the distance, a bird chirped in the English spring morning. The door of a nearby fast-food restaurant blew in the wind, jostling against the wall behind it. Otherwise, the world was silent and the town lifeless once more, just as it had all been for almost forty years.
Norman lowered the rifle and checked his companions. Lucian, wrinkled and squat, was already climbing over the ridge, sending a cascade of stones rolling end over end towards the junction, taking soil and grass with them. Norman clambered over the ridge’s lip and followed, descending towards
his prize, stopping only to help Allison to her feet. She rose in a cloud of dust, her usual squeamishness hidden behind a disciplined mask.
They fell into step with Lucian without a word and made for the stag, peppering the street with rubble. Once the ridge levelled out, Norman took a deep breath, working the knots of tension from his shoulders. His senses slowly came to life again. He’d been so focused on the stag that he’d forgotten the distant roar of the North Sea and the salty air clinging to the back of his throat.
They crept low and fast, skittering over uneven ground. A sharp gale blew through the streets, lifting some of the mist for a moment, giving them a view of the coast and the remains of Margate. The quaint little town had once catered to seafront tourists, but it was a far cry from its heyday now. Seagulls still took flight from towering white cliffs nearby, diving to catch fish from the surging waves, but that alone remained unchanged.
The wilderness had retaken much of the land since the End. The relics of the Old World had been overgrown and smothered by grasses, vines, and moss, painting the grey and white stonework a speckled green. The wiry trunks of sapling trees thrust their way through foundations, crumbling concrete and tearing plaster. By now, no surface remained untouched by the encroaching foliage.
Though the fallen stag lay only twenty yards from the base of the rise, it took them almost a minute to reach it. Every movement was calculated, necessary. They maintained their rigid stances until they stood over the corpse, and then stood for a further minute in silence, turning in a wide arc to survey the town’s many shadows.
Once satisfied that they were alone, their wariness evaporated.
Allison Rutherford’s cherub-round face contorted. “I miss beef,” she said.
Lucian grunted. “You ain’t going to see another cow for a long time—if you ever see one.”
“They can’t all be gone.”
“They bloody well can. Same thing happened with the sheep, Allie, before your time.”
Norman watched without saying a word, but couldn’t prevent his stomach from rumbling at the thought of steak.
They had all grown thin of late. Most had fared far worse, and by comparison they had enjoyed a luxurious diet. Yet it was becoming ever more difficult to ignore their pronounced cheekbones, their pallid skin, or the manner in which their clothes hung in loose folds around their waists.
Norman glanced down at his hands, filthy and stiff with dried detritus, protruding from grimed sleeves. His fingertips were numb to the coastal breeze, oblivious to its caress. There was no denying it. He was falling apart.
Allie was still looking at the stag resentfully. “It’s not the same,” she muttered.
“It’s food,” Lucian said. “Be thankful you have some.”
She looked down at him with distaste. Although of average height, she stood almost a head taller than him. Yet her gaze was laced with respect. “All the same, I’d rather not butcher an animal in the street.”
Lucian shared no such qualms, and with a flick of his wrist drew a knife across the stag’s hide, exposing the crimson tissue beneath. Blood oozed from the open wound.
“I don’t know about you,” he said, “but I can’t wait to get back. What do you think?”
Norman nodded and bent to help. “Let’s get it done. We’re sitting ducks,” he said, trying to ignore how weak and clumsy his own voice sounded. The mud on his face cracked as his cheeks tightened with lines of concentration. Cutting with broad strokes into tendon and gristle, he set about removing the stag’s hindquarters.
If they didn’t eat they would grow careless, and their efforts to remain hidden over the last few days would have been in vain.
The road was soon deep rouge and their hands became slick with gore, but they were quick and cut with expert care, never wasteful. The carcass deflated as they removed the liver, kidneys and the flesh of the upper limbs, but apart from their incisions, the stag didn’t look brutalised.
The three of them pulled out ragged sacks from their trousers, letting the sea breeze blow them open. They stowed the meat, binding the sacks in knots that were given loving attention lest anything escape. Then they stood and looked about, wary once more.
To have their prize stolen now would be too great a loss, especially today.
Watchful of the looming hills, they took up the sacks and fled the bloodied junction, darting over the wreckage of the Old World, into roadside mist.
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