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

by Jason D. Morrow

  She speaks of our plan—something the group has been working on since the day Ashley joined with us. She will be able to get close to Shadowface, but that doesn’t mean I want her to anymore.

  “Why is it important?” I ask.

  “You know why. You have your own reasons for wanting to bring him down.”

  “Or her,” I say.

  “What?”

  “That’s just it. We know nothing about Shadowface. What if he’s a she?”

  “What difference does it make?”

  “The difference is that we are chasing after someone without a face,” I say. “I want Shadowface to fall because of the kind of person he is, not because of what my father says about him.”

  “I agree,” she says.

  “But what kind of person is Shadowface?” I ask her.

  “A power-seeker,” she says. “A person with no checks or balances. A thug. A coward for refusing to show his face. He asks for allegiance and when he gets enough support, he will start taking places by force. We need to stop people like him so there is time for society to rebuild itself as it should be. Back to the days before the outbreak.”

  This is where the two of us disagree and she knows it. That fact doesn’t keep her from preaching it to me, however. She hopes for the glory days when two political parties stand against each other, slandering names and doing their best to destroy the opponent, no matter what the cost. Just as long as some fascist or communist gets a chance at the big boy’s chair. I’ve tried to explain to her that there was little difference in Shadowface and the people that held office before the outbreak, but she disagrees with me.

  That’s fine, I think to myself. It’s not like a two-party system is going to rise out of the ashes anytime soon. Hopefully I will be long gone and dead before I have to see that.

  “Shadowface doesn’t have an infinite reach,” I say to her. “We can drive and keep on driving. If he gains power…so what? He can only have so much power. If we just keep going…”

  “We’ll find another Shadowface,” she interrupts. “You know running won’t do anything. And we will both be thinking about it all the time.” She sighs. “I just want to do what’s right.”

  That’s the problem. Everyone is doing what is right in his or her own mind. That’s why there is such a thing as conflict. That’s why people have wars. How many people see themselves as the bad guy?

  I suppose that’s me.

  If I am the only one to see things the way I do, the one that has a different view of life than anyone else in the known world, a view that puts a positive spin on the greyskin outbreak and condemns the thought of a new government—doesn’t that make me the bad guy? What if my view is the correct one and others just can’t see it?

  That makes me the bad guy.

  A few hours later, we are close to Marion. Ashley and I have spent most of the ride in silence. I don’t expect her to keep driving once we pass the Welcome to Marion sign, but I sit in anticipation anyway. Oh, what a feeling it would be if she didn’t let up on the gas. To watch the town go by and become smaller in the mirror as we keep driving would feel like freedom. It would be like we were new people with a brand new set of dreams and ambitions. Gone would be the weight of my father’s deceit. I would embrace life. I would breathe the air differently. I would care nothing for anarchy, or the wretched two-party system. I would do my part in society in a peaceful and respectable manner. I would help people rebuild. I would change.

  Ashley squashes those dreams with the sole of her boot as she steps on the brake, slowing us to a stop at the edge of town.

  “Can you get us to the hatch?” she asks.

  It takes me a moment to realize that she has spoken to me. “Yes,” I finally say. “Drive up to the stoplight and make a left. I will tell you when to stop.” She does as I say and I’m tempted to never tell her to stop, though she would eventually and it would turn into a fight. There’s no point in that.

  I accept that we are going into Marion to get to the hatch. That is the decision that has been made, though I feel like it was made for me.

  We pass building after building. Banks…diners…gas stations. The hatch is down the street from the city park near the water treatment plant. I’ve never taken the time to figure out exactly what it was originally used for, but my father is the one that showed it to me.

  She drives us through the town slowly, trying to avoid any attention from the greyskins.

  “This is odd,” I say.

  “What is?”

  “The last time I was here, there were greyskins everywhere.”

  “Do you think they were cleared out?” she asks.

  “I don’t know. That wouldn’t necessarily be a good thing,” I say. “Clearing them out might mean there are bandits or a settlement nearby.”

  “When was the last time you were out here?”

  “About six months ago. Remember when we were holed up in a town called Salem?”

  Ashley nods. “Oh yeah.”

  “Yeah, well, this place was awful then; I didn’t even make it to the hatch. But it seems deserted now.”

  “Well, you and I both know that doesn’t mean it really is,” she says.

  It’s true. We’ve come up on ghost towns before only to find out that they weren’t empty at all. It seems that multitudes of greyskins are able to hide away in the crevices of rundown buildings only to come out when there is an unfamiliar noise. They will do anything to spread the disease within them.

  The hatch isn’t far. I have her make a right and then pull left into a field across from the treatment plant. What used to be a place that would give ample amounts of white noise to hide our own movements is now dead and motionless. In the middle of the field is what looks like a manhole cover, but has two rusted locks at the edge. Ashley backs the truck up to it and kills the engine.

  “You ready?” she asks.

  “Do you mean am I glad that you brought us to Marion instead of just driving away with the sun on our backs where we could live together in love for the rest of our days?”

  “No,” she says flatly. “I simply wanted to know if you had your keys ready. We need to make this quick.”

  I roll my eyes at her and reach into my pocket for the keys. They jingle softly as I pull them out and dangle them in front of her.

  “You unlock the hatch,” she says, “I’ll watch your back.”

  “I love you, you know that?” I say. I lean in to kiss her soft lips. She starts to pull away at first, but as my lips touch hers, she gives in and begins to kiss me back.

  Her tenderness warms me, and it’s difficult to stop. She reaches up to my neck and pushes me gently away. “Are you ready?” she asks.

  I sigh and open the truck door with as little sound as possible. I don’t close it behind me and I walk to the back of the truck and unzip the bag. The first thing I pull out is a machete. I swing it over my head and make sure the strap is secure at my shoulders. I then reach in and pull out an M-4 and hand it to Ashley.

  “Got another knife?” she asks me. I pull out a long dagger and hand it to her. I feel for my own and find it sheathed neatly on my belt.

  Fully equipped, I walk ten feet away from the truck and kneel next to the hatch. I look at Ashley and then all around us. It’s eerily quiet. I insert the key to the first lock and try to turn it.

  Wrong key. I try the other one that looks like it will fit and again, nothing turns. I look up at Ashley and a drip of sweat trickles down my nose, despite the cold wind blowing all around us. I wish I knew which key it was. My father has about twenty on the key ring, all of them important to him for some reason or another. I try the next three keys and still, nothing turns.

  “What’s going on?” Ashley asks me.

  “I’m not sure I have the right set,” I tell her.

  Movement to our right grabs our attention. A single, rotting greyskin has spotted us. Ashley slings the rifle over her shoulder and pulls up her dagger. I keep trying the keys.


  I go through all of them and nothing turns. I can’t help but wonder if the lock is just so rusted that it won’t respond or if I have the wrong set. As Ashley takes a few steps forward to kill the lone greyskin, I move on to the next lock.

  Key after key, and nothing turns. I can hear the groaning of the greyskin ahead of us. It’s jaws chomp up and down, over and over. I can smell its rotting decay—the same smell that I detect around my father sometimes. Ashley makes a single stab straight through the greyskin’s forehead and it drops.

  It’s a small victory, and the feeling of relief vanishes quickly as she spots three more coming in to our left. I can see four more coming in from the right. Blades won’t be enough.

  “Toss me a rifle,” I tell her. She reaches into the back of the truck and pulls out another M-4 and tosses it to me. I check it for ammo and then take aim at the first greyskin to my right. A shot through the head and it falls. The sound of the shot echoes across the open space, probably calling an entire herd of greyskins toward us. Once the newest group is motionless on the ground, I turn and point the rifle at the locks on the hatch and shoot them off.

  “This should have been done more quietly,” Ashley says, taking aim at another group.

  “Can you hold them off?” I ask as I pull the hatch door open.

  “Be quick!”

  I sling the rifle over my shoulder and grab onto the ladder and descend as quickly as I can. Ashley fires above my head, no doubt perfectly accurate with each shot, though if I don’t get all the supplies out of here quickly, we’ll both be overrun.

  When my feet hit the concrete floor, I reach to the wall and smack a few battery operated lights. I can see boxes lining the walls, each of them filled with rifles, grenades, various types of rocket launchers, among other items. I was hoping to be quiet enough so the two of us could have moved the supplies together. If my father hadn’t thought to install a pulley system at the bottom of the ladder, we might not be able to do this at all.

  The key is to prioritize. I scan the boxes. First, we’ll need rifles and magazines. I drag a box to the lift and set it straight. I’ll be able to move the boxes upward, but how will we get the boxes to the truck? Ashley’s shooting is almost constant.

  I run over to another box that’s filled with magazines to match the box of rifles. I drag it to the lift and strain to stack it on top of the other box. I can hear the groaning greyskins moving closer on us.

  “How’s it going up there?” I ask, but she doesn’t hear me as she takes more shots.

  I reach for the rope on the side and pull with all my might. The lift moves upward just a few inches and I already have to let go. I’m thankful for the brake system, so I don’t have to retry when I let go, but the top box is just too heavy. I reach for the handle and drag it off the lift. It cracks open when it hits the floor, but no real damage is done. I reach for the rope again and this time the lift moves much more quickly. I tug away until the box of rifles is near the top of the hatch.

  “Ashley!” I yell out.

  “What?” Boom. Boom.

  “You’ve got to slide the box off the lift!”

  Nothing but the firing of her rifle seems to happen for at least thirty seconds. I curse myself for being down here while she is stuck with a herd of greyskins coming after her. I hate not being able to do anything. After another minute, I fear the next sound I will hear is her screams and I will be stuck down here to face the onslaught of undead creatures by myself. I look behind me and find a box of grenades. I grab it by the rope handle and slide the lid off the top. They may make a lot of noise, but they can take out a group of them faster than a rifle. I reach for the rope and begin pulling the box of rifles down. Once it hits the ground, I move back over to the box of grenades and start filling my pockets. I’m carrying seven of them by the time I get back on the ladder. I climb my way to the top and I’m not quite ready for what I see.

  It’s definitely a herd.

  Ashley doesn’t even see me behind her when I step out and pull the pin from the first grenade. I throw it as far as I can into a group of greyskins that Ashley is aiming at. Neither one of us is ready for the effect of the blast when the deafening explosion engulfs the greyskins in a fireball and rotten body parts fly in every direction.

  Ashley turns to me with her mouth hanging open. “Do that again!” she yells.

  I oblige. To my right, there’s a group coming even closer. I toss a grenade in the middle of them and we both take cover behind the truck. We cover our ears and duck our heads low as the blast rocks us to the bone and more limbs and torsos spin through the air. Ashley immediately brings her gun over the back of the truck and begins firing. I set the five remaining grenades in the back and tell her to use as many as she needs.

  “You’ve got to pull the boxes off the lift!” I tell her, moving back to the ladder.

  She nods at me in response as she reaches for one of the grenades. I’m about halfway down the ladder when the explosion nearly makes me lose my grip. Once on the floor, I start pulling the box of rifles to the top with the rope. There’s another explosion that drops clouds of dust from the top of the hatch all over me. Once the box is to the top, Ashley pulls it away almost immediately. Not long after, another explosion goes off.

  The rest is like clockwork. Magazines, grenades, rocket launchers, pistols, and knives all make it into the back of the truck. When I finally get to the top of the hatch again, it looks like there are nearly a thousand greyskins on top of us. Ashley runs to the front of the truck and turns on the engine.

  I grab three grenades from the crate before getting into the front seat. I roll down the window and lean outside the truck. With as much strength as I can gather, I throw the first grenade into the middle of the greyskins. With a bright flash and a loud blast, a path is cut through the middle of them. I don’t have to tell Ashley to take it. She already knows. Every time the path starts to close in, I throw another grenade, and the greyskins splatter.

  We’re out of Marion in less than a minute. When I look at the town behind us, I can’t help but wonder how there could have been so many greyskins. I wonder why this place is always so deadly.

  Any time I run into them like this, I start to question my beliefs about the outbreak being a good thing. Perhaps humanity didn’t deserve this. This just might be too extreme. There has to be some end to it soon. But what will that end be?

  With the greyskin disease, there spreads a more deadly virus than anything else: the disease of fear. I can feel my limbs shaking and I wish they would stop.

  I look back again, this time my eyes glancing at the weapons in the truck. Shadowface is the one that should be infected with fear, now. I welcome an attack. We might not be able to win the fight, but he won’t be expecting this kind of firepower.

  Chapter 8 - Waverly

  It has been over a week since we came to Elkhorn and there is no indication of an attack. However, I still locked the vial of blood in a small, tin box that Ethan and I found because I wasn’t very comfortable carrying it with me. It rests secretly under my cot in my room.

  I think that either Shadowface doesn’t know about me and the vial of blood, or he no longer cares. If I were in his shoes, I would have attacked by now. I’m okay with either scenario, but Jeremiah seems convinced that Shadowface is just biding his time. The wait hasn’t stopped Stephen from arming his men and letting Mitch, Ashley, and Jeremiah train them how to use the new supplies.

  Ethan and I have skipped out on the training sessions. Neither one of us is interested. Not only that, but we aren’t exactly comfortable being around a lot of people with guns. We don’t want to invite a scenario where Ethan finds himself walking alone down a street in a town full of armed men. A stray bullet could pass through him. I try to remember what his surroundings looked like in the vision, but the street escapes my memory. All I can envision is the look on his face as he is dying. He suggested that I take another look, but I told him it wouldn’t do any good. He didn’t see
m to understand, but I didn’t expect him to.

  I know that if I touch him to see another vision of the future, I will see something else. The first time, I saw him dying. The second time, I saw us kissing each other. I don’t really care to see any more. Since we’ve been spending every moment together, Ethan and I have talked a lot about it—in secret, of course. And we decided on something. We decided that I am going to use my new Starborn power for good. I will use it purposefully; not by accident.

  I expressed to him that I don’t like knowing the future. It confuses me, and makes me wonder if sometimes the future is caused because I saw it. Would I kiss Ethan if I hadn’t seen myself kissing him? I assume so since it’s just a vision. (I didn’t mention this particular vision to him.) But I think about the time I came face-to-face with Scarecrow. In the vision of Scarecrow, I saw myself attacking him and falling over into the crowd of greyskins below, but because I had seen the vision, I was brought to the situation and was able to make a different decision. If I had not seen the future, would I have known to make a different decision?

  “And that’s what makes me a Starborn,” I said to Ethan while we were playing a game of checkers. “Jeremiah had mentioned that Starborns gained their powers because they were meant to protect themselves. And for the past week, I haven’t been able to see the use of mine for myself. But the more I’ve thought about it, the more it starts to make sense.”

  “How so?” he asked, staring down at the board.

  “Maybe I first saw the future when I was sitting next to Lucas, because my power—my ability—was showing me that I should do what I foresaw.”

  He looked up at me with downturned eyebrows. “I don’t follow.”

  “Like the time I grabbed your hand on that first day,” I said. “I saw you kill the greyskin and you were safe afterwards. Well, I think it was to confirm that I shouldn’t do anything. Seeing Lucas die in my vision, confirmed that I shouldn’t have moved, I think. If I would have tried to reach up and pull him down, Scarecrow might have killed both of us.”