Blackbow

by Greg Ramsay

  Title

  Blackbow

  Written and published by Greg Ramsay

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication/Acknowledgements

  Prologue

  Chapter 1 – Childhood

  Chapter 2 – Tragic Man

  Chapter 3 – Lone Wanderer

  Chapter 4 – Island Bound

  Chapter 5 – Torture or Strengthening?

  Chapter 6 – Broken Arrowhead

  Chapter 7 - Escape

  Chapter 8 – Clear and Unwanted Authority

  Chapter 9 – Terrorist Coup

  Chapter 10 – Broken King

  Chapter 11 – Reminisce

  Chapter 12 - Savage

  Chapter 13 – Honourable Death

  Chapter 14 – Arduous Challenges

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Copyright

  Blackbow by Greg Ramsay/Gregory Edward Ramsay Published by Gregory Edward Ramsay. 235 Bland Line, Cavan Ontario, L0A 1C0

  Connect with the author on his official site, where you’ll find links to purchase this book: https://www.facebook.com/authorGR/

  © 2017 Gregory Edward Ramsay

  All rights reserved. This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of the publisher, except as provided by Canadian copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, at “Attention: Book Permission,” at the following address: grphoto@outlook.com

  Book formatting by draft2digital.com, Cover design by Greg Ramsay, Front cover by Gergo Pocsai, commissioned by Greg Ramsay. Edited by Virginialee (Ginnilee) Berger of Berger Proofreading & Copy Editing. All rights reserved by Gregory Edward Ramsay.

  Paperback format printed in the U.S.A by Createspace.

  First Edition

  Ebook ISBN: 978-1-7750833-3-7

  Paperback ISBN: 978-1-7750833-4-4

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Dedication/Acknowledgements

  This book is for my family. I’m very grateful to everyone who has supported me in this endeavour.

  Thanks to Ginnilee Berger for her editing work when four other editors couldn’t handle the graphic nature of this book’s content.

  Prologue

  Year – 2090.

  Jonathan Knight has been Prime Minister of a beleaguered Canada for only a few months following a rushed election. His predecessor was a lukewarm leader, neither ineffective or noteworthy; which is why when he was assassinated, people felt unaffected. Many were too scared of building nuclear tension in this, the height of a new cold war.

  Life-sustaining resources and fuels had long since begun to dry up. Any sense of comradely or allegiance on a political level predicated entirely on if you feared your former ally enough not to invade them. Unfortunately, after hundreds of years bolstering a reputation of being too nice, no one feared Canada. Thus, when other political super powers were either vying for power or building animosity towards each other, Canada’s leadership fell under scrutiny for always backing America. Seen as America’s loyal cleanup team for frequently contributing troops to America’s subjugate resource-stealing wars, it was only a matter of time before they, too, were attacked.

  Jonathan cared little for the past, despite the fact him being an ex-military sniper and a touted war hero got him elected. He simply wanted to distract his PTSD riddled mind with martial arts or anything that didn’t involve nukes. Instead, he found himself begrudgingly established as a political figurehead to a country with no real allies, bordering the country everyone else has wanted to bomb for years. It didn’t help matters that America’s track record for electing intelligent, competent, level-headed, politically correct, and reasonable presidents was only getting more terrible as time went on. Regardless, anyone who felt inclined or at least more suited for the job was assassinated or too afraid to step up.

  Therefore, it was Jonathan Knight and his fearful wife Gale who were escorted by security teams down to a new shelter codenamed Freedom Holdfast. Conference calls screaming obscenities echoed in his over-taxed mind, ringing like an accusation of guilt; the noise stopped only by the overwhelming force of nearby explosions. Flanked by essential personnel he helped select from hunters to warriors to tacticians and survivalists and everything in between, Jonathan crowded his way through a hulking vault-like door. Metallic clanging and hissing announced their formal indefinite occupation of Freedom Holdfast.

  The group went through obligatory check in stages as they were led in a rush like sheep deeper into the complex maze of their new home. Guides forced a cheerful tone as the structure reverberated with the force of countless warheads from unknown sources. Jonathan knew that at this point it didn’t matter. Everybody was bombing everybody with everything they had. Pure spite mutually assured that humanity would have nothing left to reclaim but dust.

  Jonathan was redirected past the training sessions on oxygen reclaimers, waste-to-power generation, food growth systems, air ventilation, and water recyclers straight to the Situation Room. Screens showed projections of the effect on the Earth, from vegetation to re-arrangement of tectonic plates. Generals fussed and bickered through reiterations of those same simulations he’d been hearing for months.

  “Enough!” He commanded, frustrated. “We all can clearly see the Earth we knew will be gone when we resurface! What I want to focus on is efficiently navigating the transition into cryosleep. To do that I need an uplink to the other shelters.” Jonathan said in an authoritative voice.

  “All twenty shelters are connected via subterranean fibre cables.” General Thomas, a portly man and one of Jonathan's military advisors, promptly relayed.

  “Good. We likely don’t have long until those connections are broken. I’ll record a message for our people, for now and when they awake. in the meantime I want teams focusing on calibrating the pods for each occupant. That way we can save on necessities and sleep away the chaos rather than tear ourselves apart with fear.”

  “A wise choice sir.” General James, a tall, thin, redheaded woman, replied.

  “Clear the room and get to work, we need our people prepped and under ASAP.” Jonathan commanded.

  “Yes Prime Minister.” Everyone in the chamber acknowledged.

  A screen, flamboyantly adorned with Canadian flags on its sides, descended silently at the touch of a keyboard. Jonathan sat at his seat backed by a descending serene backdrop.

  After a countdown on screen he began. “Citizens, I am your Prime Minister, Jonathan Knight. Regretfully there’s nothing anyone can do for our world as we knew it, but know that I will do all I can to lead you in the coming world. If you’re seeing this message, rejoice for you are safe! You are now key to the survival of our species. Many people were lost: relatives, guardians, and loved ones all... Take heart in the knowledge they live on in us, inspiring us to fight on. For that purpose, I implore you to proceed to the cryo bays for processing immediately, so that we can all rest up for the fight to come... the fight to reclaim our world. Thank you.”

  Shutting the broadcast system down, Jonathan left a note for his secretary to record a wake-up message. A reflection in nearby glass shows a tall, broad shouldered stern man with a neat mustache, well pressed black suit, blazing grey eyes, and commanding expression. Inwardly, Jonathan’s heart raced, sweat threatened to dampen his brow, and his stomach churned. Worst of all with every quaking reverbe
ration he was stuck re-watching fellow warriors die in pointless wars. Nothing had changed from his time in war save for the scale of loss.

  Now everyone from the enlisted to children died in waves of unrestrained power, doubtless clutching to false hope and loved ones. Body beginning to shake involuntarily, Jonathan pulls a vial from his inner breast pocket. Depositing some white power from the vial onto his hand he snorts it up aggressively. Composure artificially restored, Jonathan practically marched to Gale, seizing her in a firm grip before heading to the Administrative cryo bay. Wordlessly, Gale noted his state, her right arm quivered slightly. She clenched and unclenched her fist in a nervous reflex.

  Looking where she is Jonathan smiled like a cocky gentleman, “Worry not love, you’ll come to no harm tonight. Tonight, we rest!” He exclaimed, like they were heading to an evening matinee instead of a cryo pod.

  Gale shot him a doubtful sad look with a hint of resentment before she eyed his grip on her. Resigned as always, she followed along, eager to be out of his grip before his mood swings started. A while later, they got in shining silver pods with foam-like blue interiors molded specifically to their bodies. Air spaces all around the body section padded out the remainder of the cylindrical pods to accommodate cryo gas. Attendants half-shoved the Knights in place along with their makeshift cabinet.

  Depressurizing hydraulics and gas ventilation sent a thick steam through the space as the pod hatches gradually collapsed down from the top.

  “Have a good rest sir, ma’am.” General James said calmly from her pod.

  “Likewise” Gale replied in a monotone the General chalked up to nervousness.

  Jonathan laughed “There’s a whole new world on the horizon, I can’t wait to see it. See you then.” He exclaimed in reply, his voice a little excited, his eyes becoming erratic. Before anyone could reply the pod doors shut with a resounding thump creating an airtight seal. Gale’s skin crawled, the top temperature was dropping fast while a sedative gas poured throughout. Minutes later everything went black and all occupants were chemically iced with strategic injections and a final deep-freeze temperature decrease. Pod technicians watched each fogged-over viewing window freeze over with solidifying condensation from the occupants’ final breaths.

  Hours later, once all Holdfast residents had been frozen the technicians froze themselves with an automated process. Once that concluded, its next stage was to seal thick bulkheads slowly extending to close around each section of pods. The Administrative section was placed lowest behind the most layers of bulkheads as a precaution. Each holdfast showed posters that depicted layered graphics showing the earth above, then the main door, radiation diffusing materials within the walls, and the initial bulkhead sealing the entire pod section sufficed to ensure everyone’s safety equally. It was designed graphically, showing everything with simple 2d imagery. Depicting the layers between people and devastation from the surface world to them in descending order with a little happy face at the end and the word safe.

  Year - 3000. Jonathan’s eyes gradually opened with some difficulty. His body felt like freeze dried meat that was tossed in a fire, like he might fall apart if he moved at all. A speaker beside his head crackled to life. “Good morning. The date is July 23, 3000. You have been in cryosleep exactly 910 years. If you’re feeling any discomfort that’s entirely normal, just relax and I’ll warm you up.” A soothing relaxed female voice said in his ear.

  “Jill?” Jonathan muttered groggily, his secretary’s soothing voice didn’t respond, but his pod did start to warm him like she promised. It was as if he’d been tossed in a hot tub, the way warming lights penetrated heat right to his bone harmlessly. His head pounded violently like he’d come off a high all at once. Senses screaming, he stumbled from the pod coughing up cryofluid onto the grated floor below. Mind ablaze with an unauthorized mixture of his drug use and cryo drugs Jonathan barely noticed elder members of his cabinet seizing on the ground.

  Gradually he turned to watch in confused horror as General Thomas convulsed out his last breath surrounded by other mentally lost cabinet members. Suddenly, reality hit him, leaving Jonathan raked in pained sobs on the ground, his body still struggled to re-awaken. By the time Gale recovered and they’re escorted back to the Situation Room to recuperate, twenty of the 1000 occupants have died due to cryo complications. An aide revealed that they where supposed to sleep 1000 years but a defect had been detected in one pod by the automated system so everyone was revived as a safety precaution. The deaths were an unintended yet normal risk.

  Despite that, Jonathan’s first order of business was to relay that somber news to a broken populace devoid of any more feeling towards death, save for those once more left reeling over the loss of loved ones.

  “Safety.” Jonathan scoffed to himself alone. “I promised a new world... safe for humans to flourish... now there’s more death...” He seethed to himself, his addled mind desperately trying to compensate for his emotional turmoil. Ignoring any further obligations, he rushed to his private quarters in a sudden rage Slamming the door, he turned to his wife, who was still trying to get her bearings on their bed. One look in his eyes told her some things remained the same in this new world. Gale silenced her mind as he forced her down, stripping and taking her brutally with no mind to her saying no. Her words were drowned out by his desperate ranting about needing to replace those lost over guilty, mad tears.

  His eyes beseeched her for understanding in the few brief moments that he wasn’t lost in his actions. When he finally heard her objections over his lust his drug addled PTSD rage drove him to twist her arm hard, leaving a bruise. Silenced by the inevitable inescapability of it all, Gale fell silent, her beautiful tall slender frame tensed Her hand clenched reflexively in reaction to the pain in her arm. Loose ringlets of her long auburn hair where matted to her pillow by tears.

  When Jonathan finally finished, he collapsed on the bed beside her crying quietly. “The war, the drugs they had us on all the death... I’m sorry...we need more people... you understand, right?!” He whispered regretfully in another one of his rare moments of lucidity. Gale said nothing. Always the same bullshit... Now with more justification. Gale reflected in a pained silent rage, as she ignored his pathetic sobs.

  Nine months later, their first child was born. Gale named him Bruce to spite his father, who wanted another Jonathan. Shortly following his birth Gale took an experimental drug she got from an aide to ensure she was infertile. Jonathan’s attacks would continue but he’d never put her through the pain of birth again. Grateful that many women were cynical enough to not want to become breeding units for the new world, Gale focused solely on her son.

  All the while suppressing her cynicism when she gazed into eyes identical to his father. She was determined to make him as good a boy as his father was before the wars. The greatest irony for her was their divorce papers were still in her purse. The apocalypse had ruined her efforts to break free and now she was trapped with him without a place to run. Fate is cruel as ever. Gale thought to herself laughing coldly as tears fell on the papers.

  Luckily, Jonathan was too busy with work to bother her once his psychotic mind finally realized she was useless. Being an infant, it seemed Bruce might get a pass too. When he was home, Jonathan treated the pair well enough, though it was clear he was still using. Eventually his supply ran out and he was forced to remain in medical to recover from ‘cryo-related illness’. Gale toed the party line, content in the peace, even slightly hopeful he might truly recover. Cynicism proved regrettably accurate for her once more, though not immediately.

  Chapter 1 – Childhood

  By the age of five the honeymoon phase of having an heir began to fade for Jonathan. Treatment had freed him of addiction but not of the residual damage he’d done to his brain over the years, nor the past he blamed so often for his actions. Resentment grew in him when he looked at Gale, he hated that she’d denied him more heirs. Ironically, he didn’t resent her near as much as she resented him. R
egardless, Jonathan became a key element in his son’s education, becoming an idol for him as any child’s parent is. Gale maintained the appearance of a fun loving, happy mother, smothering her remorse at night for Bruce’s sake.

  While Bruce was young enough to brush off his father’s sporadic anger towards him, if not the ‘punishments.’ Unfortunately, one night an eight year old Bruce overheared his mother being attacked, intuitively sensing his mother’s distress in the noise. He opened the barely barred door and confronted his raging father in the act. For his efforts, he’s rewarded with a barely restrained beating from his drunken father while his poor mother fought to return his wrath her way.

  Jonathan sees what he’s done but rather than take any responsibility he eyed Gale, “No worries Brucey, your mama’s just being dramatic, aren’t ya bitch?” He seethed pointedly at Gale with a forced calm tone that fooled no one. “It’s okay baby, go to bed...” Gale cooed to him with a smile, still crying. Confused and angry, Bruce stomped away. That night he cried himself to sleep because he couldn’t help his mom. Between a growing sense of inferiority, he doesn’t yet understand and unrivaled sadness, Bruce becomes bitter.

  Violent outbursts became a monthly hobby for Jonathan, who replaced drugs with stored alcohol. After another one that same year Bruce can’t sleep and knowing his father’s gone on a time-out as his mom called it, he decided to sleep with her. Hearing his mother weeping to herself he knocked on her door gently, following her three knock pattern so she’d know it was him.

  “Bitch can I come in please?” He called to her innocently.

  Shocked silence follows. “Bruce come here, honey.” Gale called back. Bruce walked in uncertainly, then ploped down beside her on the bed.

  “What’s my name baby?” She asked with a forced happy tone. “Ungrateful whore...?” Bruce asked, confused.