The Starborn Ascension: Books 1, 2, and 3 (The Starborn Saga)

by Jason D. Morrow

  Maybe this is the way he has chosen to survive. The way I choose to survive is to be the second in command of this tiny group. It is nameless, but I did hear my father contemplate calling us the Light-bearers if the group ever got to be big. I don’t care for names or labels, but I can see why my father made it up. He wanted to bring light to the world by depleting the shadows. Or rather, the Shadowface.

  First in the group is my father. Then there is myself and four others. There is Lester who knows more about explosives than anyone I’ve ever met. Josh and Ryan are near-perfect shots with whatever gun they can get their hands on.

  And then there’s Ashley. She’s a shining light in this dark world, and is so far the only reason I’ve stayed with the group as long as I have. I don’t know how many times I’ve mentioned to her that we could leave the group and start our own life together. But she is hesitant. With the group she feels like she has purpose. She feels like she is helping. And she is, but I just wish things were different. I don’t care to be near my father any longer, and I’m becoming less and less interested in taking down Shadowface, though I feel he needs to be destroyed.

  An explosion to the north of me is bright and loud. I can feel the ground shake beneath me and it is very different from the feeling of the motorcycle. I can’t help but grin as I watch the ball of fire erupt into the sky. The wall directly under the cloud of dust and flame is probably crumbled rocks and ashes now. Lester has done his part. If all has gone to plan, the blast will have been loud enough to attract greyskins from the entire town of Sealy, and the hole in the wall will be large enough for many to get through.

  I can’t tear my eyes away from the explosion. Men and women probably just died and all I can do is smile. I suppose that is because their death means that my survival is more secure than before. It is just one step closer to taking down Shadowface and ending another corrupt leadership.

  I turn back to the traffic light and briefly wonder what could still be powering it. It’s an odd thing to see it carrying about as though the world hasn’t changed. When it turns green, I rev the engine and lift my feet from the ground as I roll forward. The engine sounds like a machine gun as I burn through the city streets. It’s like a parade has come to town and all the rotting citizens have come out to see it. The greyskins stumble out from their hiding places, groping at the air in front of them as if the source of the explosion is within reach. I pull back on the gas and speed up. I turn a few heads as I pass by, but most are focused on the cloud in front of them. Where there is sound and movement, there is life. Thus, the virus is able to feed and spread.

  I don’t stop until I reach the other side of town and I slow to a stop in a grassy field, the smoke now behind me. My father stands in the field, leaning against a black, dusty SUV. He shakes his head at me, glancing from my face, to the bike, back to my face. When I kill the engine, he pulls a fat cigar from his mouth and sets his hands on his hips.

  “I don’t know how you expect to survive for very long driving that thing around,” he says with a grin.

  I ignore him as I hike my leg over the motorcycle and brush the dirt off my jeans. Out of habit I feel for the strapped knife on the back of my belt. It’s so light that I forget I’m wearing it sometimes.

  As I near him, I study his face. He’s in his mid-forties, but he’s starting to look like he’s almost sixty. His hair is turning white and wrinkles are setting in. I try to see if there is any part of him that can look like me. His blue eyes are nothing like mine which are brown. His weathered skin is light and mine is more tan. I’ve always thought it was strange that, though he is my father, this man shares very few physical traits with me. The only trait I’ve ever noticed to be somewhat similar are our hooked noses.

  I call him my father. It’s a lie. He was never actually a father at all. He slept with a woman. The woman gave birth to me. That was her part and she was done. I don’t even know her name. I’ve never asked. It was my father that took me in, doing what he always told me was his best. But he was too into his work, making more than enough money to hire a nanny full-time. There were entire months that passed where I didn’t see my father. Sometimes I wondered if he even knew the reason so many nannies were quitting. I acted out as a child. I wanted his attention until I finally realized that I wasn’t going to get it. I remember one time when I lit a match and set the drapes on fire in the living room. The house filled with smoke. Alarms went off, and the fire department was there in no time. When my father finally got to the house (three hours later), he immediately fired the nanny, despite me telling him that I had done it on purpose. That’s the moment I stopped caring about what he thought of me. I stopped acting out. Instead of vying for my father’s attention, I fell in love with books, allowing philosophers and great thinkers to father me instead.

  Little good that does me now.

  My father was at least decent at making sure I had enough money to get by. He made sure to pay my tuition, but once I finally graduated, the world ended and greyskins roamed the earth. I wasn’t surprised that it took him months to even think about looking for me after the outbreak happened. But like showing up late to the house fire, he eventually found me. Of course, he never asked me how I was holding up. He didn’t ask about any of the friends I had lost. It was all business. He told me that he was starting a small task force and that he saw something in me that would benefit the group. It was the first time my father had ever said anything like this to me. I was overwhelmed with joy. But that joy wore off as the past three years started to weigh on us.

  We have killed hundreds, if not thousands, of greyskins. We have tracked down Shadowface on more than one occasion…and failed to get him. I have had to come up with my own reasons to want to go after him. My father’s reasoning isn’t satisfying enough. He always says that Shadowface is evil and that he is responsible for the birth of the greyskin virus. But my father doesn’t know my thoughts on the subject. He doesn’t think that I would hail Shadowface as a hero for bringing down civilization. He brought us to anarchy, and for that, he should be praised. But I know Shadowface isn’t a hero. He has taken it a step too far. He brought the world into anarchy, but only so he could eventually rule it. For that, he should die because he is no better than the ones before him.

  I still don’t know how my father knows what he knows. Or what he thinks he knows. The greyskin virus is a complete mystery to the surviving world, but for some reason my father thinks that this Shadowface created it for power.

  “Shadowface is very rich and greedy,” he once told me.

  “Who is it?” I asked.

  His answer was a blank stare.

  I can only assume that from my father’s occupation, a scientist/professor, and given the so-called epicenter of the outbreak, that Shadowface is a person that he once worked with at Elkhorn University. I can’t begin to fathom why my father would keep Shadowface’s identity a secret, but then again, does it matter who it is if the only goal is to kill him? I never pressed the issue again.

  As I lean against the side of the SUV, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with my father, I can’t help but take in the stale scent of his clothes from his heavy use of cigars. The one in his hand is bad enough. From what I remember, my father had never smoked before the outbreak. I know that this new world has taken its toll on a lot of people, but he seems to have taken it the worst. His eyes have begun to sag, exposing the wet redness beneath the eyeball. Apart from the overwhelming smell of cigar smoke, I smell death. It’s like the smell of a greyskin, but not quite. It is as if he has been surrounded by death so much that he is becoming death himself.

  “Do you think we will get him this time?” I ask, trying to focus on the task ahead and not my father.

  He takes a long draw on the cigar and the ashes on the end smolder. “If we don’t this time, we will succeed the next,” he says. He turns and reaches into the back seat of the SUV. “Take your pick.”

  He shows me an open box filled with rifles. I reach for an M
-4 and slip a few magazines under my belt. Usually I like to be discrete but the plan is to draw out Shadowface and his men, which will require some noise.

  The two of us stand in silence as we wait for Lester and the others to show up. I glance at my father once or twice, but he keeps his eyes fixed ahead toward the smoke. I wonder what a normal father-and-son duo would be doing right now. Would there be small talk? There really isn’t much to have small talk conversations about. It’s not like there are playoffs or tournaments anymore. Gone are the conversations that start with: Weatherman says there’s gonna be a downpour this weekend… Better bring an umbrella…

  I suppose small talk has become useless for most people. That’s fine with me. I like the quiet. To know that I don’t have to make conversation if I don’t want to is a relief. The more people congregate together, and the more outside influences there are, the more useless the conversations become. Anarchy destroys all that. It brings us to our basic human level. We eat when we are hungry. We make conversation when something needs to be communicated.

  I look back on my life and the few precious years that I have lived. Was it really living? How many classes did I sit through in college and high school that meant nothing to me once I got out? How many ‘how was your day’ and ‘where are you from’ conversations have I gone through? How many hours—days—were wasted sitting in front of a television, watching something that made me laugh; listening to the news about things that would never affect me, the newscaster staring into my eyes as she lied to me day in and day out?

  The virus stopped all that.

  But let me make myself clear. I am not happy that the virus struck. I’m simply happy because humanity has finally woken up. Sadness overtakes me at times. I am a human being, despite Ashley’s tongue-in-cheek suggestions that I’m too cold to be human. Hardened? Yes. But human. I have lost friends because of this. Close friends. There are people that come across my mind every single day, but I don’t dwell on them. That would be a waste of time. And wasting time is not living. It’s dying. And I’m a survivor.

  An engine growls in the distance and my father and I straighten and turn our heads toward the source of the noise. A white truck speeds down the road toward us. Ashley is driving with Ryan in the front seat. Lester and Josh stand in the back bed of the truck, rifles ready to take down anything that gets in the way. Ashley cuts off the engine after she parks in front of us. My father and I walk up to the window, my eyes still fixed on the burning wall in the distance.

  “Was the explosion successful?” my father asks, looking back at Lester.

  Popping noises from the smoky interior of Shadowface’s safe haven indicates that the soldiers are in a panic, trying to kill off a herd of greyskins that have probably breached the wall by now.

  “It’s not as big as I hoped for,” Lester says. His scraggly beard and soot-covered skin looks as if he was in the explosion himself.

  “What happened to you?” I ask.

  “The idiot got a little too close to the blast,” Ashley answers.

  “I’m all right,” Lester says.

  Ashley rolls her eyes, but then looks at my father. “We should be ready to move in soon. I don’t want to try and push through with so many greyskins.”

  My father shakes his head. “No. We have to get in there now. We can’t give Shadowface the time to escape. The explosion indicates an attack. Shadowface will already be on the way out.”

  I want my father to listen to Ashley, but I know he won’t. And she knows too, because she doesn’t argue.

  “Mitch,” my father says, “get in the SUV. Ashley, we’ll follow you.”

  I can see the frustration on her face, and I know what she is thinking. I bet she’s thinking: why did you bring me for tactical decisions if you’re just going to ignore what I say?

  When my father turns to get into the SUV, Ashley looks to me for support. Her brown eyes are big and her stare gives me a feeling inside that no one else can give me. I have a deeper connection with her than I do with anyone else. She has been by my side when I have needed her the most. She is the one person, the one exception that I give myself when it comes to surviving. I know it might be my undoing someday, but there are just some things in life that cannot be ignored, no matter how much a person tries. I love her more than anyone. I know loving is not surviving. But I love her more than the idea of surviving. I know that without her, I wouldn’t survive.

  And she loves me. It’s not one of those things we express through words very much, but we both know it’s true. Before I met her, I never thought about the notion of love. I never wanted it. I didn’t care. But now I do.

  She reaches out and grabs my hand and squeezes. Her skin is soft, and somehow it seems to warm my insides despite the bitter wind that hits me. I know what this touch means. It means that this is the time we are supposed to kill Shadowface. All the other times, I knew we were going to fail. But this time we will get him and my father won’t care if we stay in the group or not. He won’t care that we want to leave and pursue a life away from him. Ashley understands me. She understands my father, probably more than I do. She knows how overbearing he can be and how his obsession might turn his mind to think we are betraying him. By helping him get Shadowface, then leaving, we finish what we started and can go on with our lives.

  When I slide into the driver’s seat and begin following Ashley and the others, I can’t help but let out a short sigh. I look in the rearview mirror at the motorcycle that I am leaving behind. It’s a small reminder of the things one must give up in order to survive.

  “I don’t know why you don’t listen to Ashley,” I say to my father. “She knows what she is talking about.”

  “Are you suggesting that I don’t know what I’m talking about?” he asks me.

  “Not at all. But you let her on our team because she is experienced with this kind of thing.”

  “And she has made calls like that in the past,” he says. “Did we get to Shadowface?”

  I don’t answer him. He doesn’t expect one. “I just don’t want your past failures to make you reckless and get us killed.”

  “Maybe we haven’t been reckless enough,” he says. “Perhaps we’ve been too careful. With great risk there is great reward.”

  “Or death.”

  “This was the plan,” he says, “and we’re sticking with it.”

  Death is waiting for us at the crumbled wall. The gun is deafening inside the SUV as my father lets off rounds into the greyskins’ heads. The truck in front of us is bright with gunfire from all sides. So much ammo is being used to kill the greyskins that I’m afraid we won’t have enough to take on Shadowface’s soldiers.

  The smoke is so thick as we pass through the hole in the barricade that I have to hold my breath for at least twenty seconds. My eyes burn and it’s hard for me to keep control of the SUV as it jostles back and forth over the chunks of broken rock and wood. Reckless doesn’t begin to describe what we are doing. The hope was that the explosion and greyskins would be so surprising, so overwhelming, that the guards wouldn’t even see us slip through, but here we are announcing our arrival with every pull of the trigger. There is no way we will get in unnoticed.

  The SUV sinks to the left and the steering has become impossible. I’m forced to slow to a stop in the middle of a herd of greyskins with smoke billowing all around us.

  “We’ve got a flat!”

  My father curses loudly, but I’m more distracted by the greyskin that smashes its face up against my window. Its black eyes stare into mine as its jaw chomps up and down, begging for a bite into my flesh. I make a quick glance to my father and I can feel the snarl on my lips. With my father’s unprecedented rash decision-making, it’s as if we have fallen into a pit of venomous snakes without any clothes on. How should we expect to come out unbitten?

  I pull my knife from the strap on my belt and roll down the window just a little. With a sharp jab, the blade goes through the greyskin’s forehead and it instantly
drops to the ground. Since the SUV is unable to move effectively, I shove the door open and start firing with the M-4. Heads snap back and brains splatter. It’s always the same. Aim for the head, the greyskin stops moving.

  My father and I hop into the back of the slow moving truck in front of us until we come out of the smoke and into the middle of Shadowface’s compound. We all get out and duck behind a large chunk of wall that must have been blown sideways in the explosion. My father is about to yell out orders but we’re spotted by one of the soldiers before he can even say a word. On top of the fact that greyskins are crawling toward us at our backs, I would say that my father has led us into a trap.

  But there is no time to point fingers right now. All we can do is try to make it out alive. At least, this is the thought that runs through my mind just before my father points to one of the buildings in the distance and shouts, “Shadowface!”

  Each of us looks up to see a group of people rushing toward a line of vehicles. Our guns only briefly point toward them and we begin shooting, but the chaos around us forces us to ignore them as the engines fire up and the greyskins charge us from behind. Soldiers are closing in around us, and the escapees are already in their caravan. I shoot at a few of the greyskins that come up behind us. Everything is a blur until I feel what seems like a bucket of liquid splash over me. When I look down, I see blood and pieces of bone on the front of my shirt and pants. Then as my eyes move ahead, I see Ryan lying on the ground in a pool of blood. A soldier’s bullet has found its mark. I’m about to order everyone to get into the truck, but I’m interrupted by another dead body. This time it’s Josh. The bullet passes through his shoulder and the distraction makes him pull up sharply. I can see the shock on his face as the pain becomes real to him. But it is a short moment. Three more bullets pass through him until one finally finds his head.