RISING (A Dystopian Post-Apocalyptic USA Fantasy) (Mystical Slayers Heritage Book 1)

by Michael W. Huard

  Rising

  A Mystical Slayer Novella

  - By Michael W. Huard

  Legend says that in mankind’s fallen hour, a hero will rise.

  In our story it shall be a sisterhood of kick butt women.

  Dedication

  This book goes out to all the mothers in the world. Keep on fighting, never give up; hold those families together and kick a little ass along the way.

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Personal note from Mike:

  About the Author:

  Prologue

  The changing wars have all but destroyed America. First came nuclear bombs, then religious chaos, and then serious, life-altering biological warfare. Amidst all the madness, a young girl was born, and she was raised in the rubble of New York City. Her clan was not all that special, yet they managed to live through it all.

  Survivors of such destruction would group together to form extended families, as it was the only way to remain safe. The leader of the family was responsible for teaching all other family members the skills needed to do just that. This dark-haired child took her teachings very seriously.

  First off, she learned how to cook and purify water, and she learned how to stay away from disease ridden substances. The aspect of finding food was next, and it was never that easy. Also, her medical training and knowhow was a must. Lastly, combative fighting was necessary to be able to defend herself against the many street urchins that roamed about the city. People would do anything for food, shelter, and water, not to mention the many robot enforcers that worked for various greedy Corporation thugs.

  Luckily for this tribe, a small Asian fellow named Asake knew all about martial arts. He taught daily to all those that wanted to learn. Some came often, but she came every day. Her father, Abe Jajeenee, a mixed American-Muslim, was the clan leader. He had only one gun, and she learned all about that too.

  Never before had Asake seen a young girl taking such good care of her family members; she took absolutely everything so seriously. Her favorite times were those spent around the fire, listening to stories of a once golden country. She loved the idea of freedom for all, and for all to have wings to fly. Her adoptive dad spoke about the difficulties humans faced in the world. "This whole robot revolution is utter madness," he told her. Yet, it did not matter to her. She only saw the good in life, and one day, she hoped to change things.

  She was a sponge when it came to learning everything possible. Asake was impressed too. Over the years, this kid had turned out to be his most disciplined student. She trained with swords, staffs, knives, and quite often in unarmed combat. She was not the strongest, but she was always the most determined. Asake gave the youngster his prized katana one evening, and Taya had been at a loss for words.

  "There comes a time in a teacher’s life," the master explained, "when he or she recognizes a student as being special." He hugged her closely. "Oh and never forget, a hug is the greatest remedy for a dad's soul," he smiled and chuckled. "Anyhow, this is for you, my dear girl. I call the weapon Bright, which to me has always been another word for hope."

  Taya was so grateful for such a special gift. "You don’t have to do this," she tried to convince her teacher.

  But he would not take it back. "Use it, my dear, and may it always be a beacon of light in this sometimes very dark world."

  The years passed, and it became very apparent that the now teenage girl was unlike any other. She would not stop talking about making the world better, and her optimism was second to none. She often told everyone, "One day, I’m going to find a way to bring back the days of old, and I'm going to make America amazing again." The people in the family loved this raven-haired girl very dearly.

  This budding young woman’s name was Metaya Valteese. The Valteese part was her mother’s last name. The clan called her Taya, and this is her story; a tale of how the Mystical Slayer sisterhood began.

  Chapter One

  Taya’s first challenge came when a gathering of local clans came together one evening. The fifteen-year-old joined the meeting that was stationed in an old warehouse around a fire to keep the cold December air bearable. The meeting's leader was a big deal from one of the largest local families. He was maybe fifty or so, and was solidly built with long, gray hair. He now took to the stage for his speech. "People of the city, the greed of the rich business owners is slowly pushing us out of the region. The time has come to make a choice. The resources we once had are all but depleted, and the poor have no place in the city. We need to migrate to a better location."

  Many of the family leaders voiced their approval, and his words put a sharp sting into Taya’s soul. As others were talking at the center of the gathering, a disruption came about as a group of armored men appeared. They were city thugs for a wealthy business partnership. Their leader, wearing a black vest with matching shoulder pads, yelled out, "All of you stand still! You’re living and operating under the Joint Correlation. Therefore, you are all under arrest via Association Law." These men were well-kept. In fact, some were perhaps enhanced machines; cyborgs and tough as hell.

  The Joint Correlation soldiers moved to apprehend everyone at the meeting. Some fled while others tried to fight, and others just gave up due to old age. The poor had very few powerful weapons these days, so out came their swords, knives, clubs, and the few firearms they had. The lack of ammo was the real issue with their guns. The armored men overpowered the vast majority, and some drew laser pistols, killing anyone who put up a fight. There were no laws on the streets of broken America these days.

  Prisoners were taken, but Taya made her escape down an alleyway. She came across several other escapees who stood with her as they confronted a duo of JC bullies. The one with a thick bowie knife in his hand motioned to the fleeing group to back up and turn themselves in. The older women and the weaker men began to slowly back up. All knew what disobeying their orders would mean. JC preferred depopulation, and those who were incapable of serving a purpose to the rich tycoons at the top of the Association were put to death. Those with some value were used as slaves, or even worse, for company experimentation.

  The knife man was wearing a sliver badge. It represented him being the head of his squad and someone of importance when it came to Correlation protocol. He came forward with a scowl on his black-bearded face. Everyone moved quickly to whatever would become their destiny in this forsaken city . . . but not Taya.

  "Little girly, back off like the others," the black-bearded man yelled at her as he pushed the fat Bowie towards her face. At this very instant, the girl’s life would change. She parried the blade by stepping inside of its stab, and then she elbowed the soldier in the face, kicked him in the nuts, rolled his arm under her armpit and crashed all her weight downwards. The breaking of his bones could be heard clearly, even over his screams of pain.

  He hit the street turf face first, which knocked him out cold. His partner pulled a solid billy club from his belt and immediately
went after the teenager as the crowd of people watched on in utter shock. Taya swayed back and forth, awaiting his swings. At first he teased out at her and swirled the stick from side to side. Then he went for the telling blow.

  The attack came from his right side as he launched the club at her left cheekbone. Taya ducked the blow, but before she could do anything else, her new opponent, wearing some sort of an armor shield over his face, swung directly down on top of her head. She moved left and lowered herself to a crouch, driving her right fist under the face armor and up into his jaw. She then leveled a side kick to the back of her adversary’s leg and watched as the guy dropped forward to his knees.

  The onlookers could not believe what this young woman was doing. Before guardsman number two could stand back up, Taya leaped on his back and wrapped her arms around his throat. She choked with all she could until the man toppled sideways to the ground. He was still awake and tried to get back up, but Taya spun her entire body in a circle and thrashed her heel into the man’s temple, causing him to drop back to the ground in a heap. This time, he was knocked out.

  The crowd was now silent.

  A nearby door opened, and an older gray-haired woman in a weathered brown dress motioned for them all to follow her inside. The street emptied quickly as everyone made their way indoors and started to hide.

  This would be the last time Taya ever saw her clan or the family she grew up with. The Joint Syndicate infiltrated the area, and all the remaining people were either taken away or killed for their resistance.

  The older lady introduced herself as Jionna. She comforted the elderly and offered warm soup as the night went on. No one said all that much. They knew what had just occurred, and they too were now on their own. Jionna talked to Taya later in the evening as they sipped honey-sweetened tea by the fire.

  "It’s not really my business to ask how you learned such skills," said Jionna, "yet I find myself in awe of what you just did."

  Taya, with tears still streaking her innocent face, looked up and replied, "It just happened. I couldn’t stop myself."

  The older gypsy-like woman smiled and came over to refresh Taya’s tea cup. "Sometimes in life, we rise above the person that we thought we were. Does that make sense?"

  Taya brushed her long, flowing bangs from her face and just shook her head. "I don’t know. I am not sure who I am anymore."

  They chatted for a while and each learned more about the another. Jionna traveled all about; she was a wanderer, so to speak. To stay alive, she had to be constantly on the move. She was a healer, but some would call her a witch or a practitioner of the occult, sometimes even a mad woman. In time, Taya learned about making potions and using crystals for healing and repairing spiritual energy amongst many other things.

  In total, there were sixteen people in Jionna's secret hideout. They were mostly either young, elderly, unhealthy, or too weak to venture out alone. She and Taya would do all they could to help those in need of care. Eventually, a few people moved on and only eleven remained, then the number dropped to nine.

  Jionna taught Taya all she could, and the women became very close friends. It was the start of something good, yet it also marked the end of her childhood. Taya’s favorite moments with the elder gypsy were not learning about healing remedies or strange medicines. Her most beloved sittings were always those when Jionna spoke of the past, and how her grandmother had told her tales of the country being a once a great nation, a united land that lived under a proud banner; a flag of the colors red, white, and blue.

  Chapter Two

  Taya had no real knowledge about what happened to her family members. She knew the JC armed forces had apprehended most people in the region. They went door-to-door on the raid and also triggered explosions to draw people out of hiding. The young woman searched at night for those left behind but came up with very little. Time sped by, and after two months, Taya was on her own.

  Jionna had offered for Taya to join her as she headed further north, warning that their current location would be discovered any day. But Taya was not done searching, so she decided to stay in the New York region. The two of them talked for many hours leading up to Jionna's morning of departure. Taya and her gypsy friend had to bid each other a sorrowful farewell, and Taya thanked Jionna one last time.

  "I’ll miss you," sobbed Taya. "I am grateful for all you have taught me, and I know the risk you put yourself in by harboring those people."

  "It was my pleasure. You are a fast learner, my dear," replied Jionna as the two embraced.

  "Maybe we will meet again," Taya said as the woman finally released her hold. Jionna put her hand out as a gesture of hope, and Taya grasped it with a smile.

  The gray-haired gypsy nodded her head. "I would like that. Be safe, always use awareness on the road, and one day, yes, perhaps we will see each other again."

  Taya wanted to cry again, but she held back enough to mutter, "You take care, Jionna, please take care." Taya then turned to go, yet found herself spinning back around to her unique friend. She ran back to her. "One more hug, okay? Hugs are the best."

  The time had come for Taya to hit the streets. She was dressed in dark leggings with high brown boots and a burnt orange sweater. To keep warm she added a long, dark gray jacket that ran down to her knees. She had not given up just yet on her search for possible survivors within her family; her father, her martial arts teacher, and all her adoptive brothers and sisters. The people outside spoke of escaping, most in the direction of old New Jersey, so she eventually made her way in that direction on foot. It was on this trip that she came across the first remnant of old America, but the icon was not what it once was. She rested for a bit while overlooking the harbor. It was out on an island in this very water that she saw the head of a very large statue of some sort.

  As she looked out across the water, a homeless man, wearing mostly rags for clothes, approached her from her left side. She watched him from the corner of her eye as he got closer. Then he rushed her.

  He was grabbing at her backpack and reaching for it as she spun about. "Give me your bag, little girl, or I will take it from you," he spewed out at her, thus revealing his many missing and rotten, chipped teeth.

  She instantly parried his right hand with her right hand while placing her left arm around the old guy's head. Then she drove a solid knee right into his liver area, and the beggar keeled over in pain. After a moment, he looked up at her, "You didn't have to do that! Oowwww, I'm just a hungry old guy looking for some food." He held his side in pain. "That's the problem with the world these days, no one cares for those who have nothing, for those that have to live with nothing . . . and that makes us feel like we are nothing."

  Taya felt a little bit of remorse, perhaps even sadness for the old fellow. She helped him up. "I'm sorry, old man. I was lost in thought and staring out at that big head over there. Plus, you leaped at me! Wouldn’t it be easier just to ask?"

  The gray-bearded homeless man looked at her and said, "Well, missy, you got some pretty darn good reflexes there." Taya knew his statement was true. Pointing out at the harbor, the old fellow talked on. "Do you even know what that is that you're looking out at?"

  Taya, on a safety note, looked about to make sure that this guy wasn't just a decoy, perhaps working to distract her while others were approaching her from behind. No one else seemed to be in the area, so her attention returned to the man in rags. "I have to say that I don't know what it is, but it's very interesting."

  The old man leaned against an iron fence by the water's edge and looked out alongside Taya. He then began a story that the young girl would never forget. "There was a time that she, Lady Liberty over there, a gigantic statue of a woman . . . represented freedom in America." He laughed at his own words. "Yeah, I know, that's hard to believe these days." He ran his hand through his unkempt beard and went on. "Old legend says you could actually go inside her, the statue itself that is, and walk right up to the top. Some say she was three h
undred feet tall."

  Taya looked at the old fellow and asked, "Why did people build such monuments?"

  The old homeless fellow laughed again and then coughed loudly to clear his throat. "Well, young lady, they say the world was different back then." The old-timer then started to walk away. "I got to show you something! Come with me, don't be afraid. I have something you should see . . . come along, lass."

  He then turned and walked down the street, and he appeared to be heading towards some sort of an abandoned building to the far left. Taya noticed that he had plastic bottles for shoes, tied on with pieces of string and rope. She still suspected this could be some sort of a trap, but being honest with herself, she had nowhere else to go. Nearby the warehouse they were heading to, she spotted two guys talking by a makeshift fire pit. They were to the right of the building's entrance. Perhaps they were just trying to keep warm. After all, the sun had fallen, twilight was settling in, and the weather at this time of year did get very cold when the sun was gone.

  The old guy led her inside, and they walked through a building with various random items strewn about. Everything looked broken and useless, including chairs, crates, and sign posts.

  At the far end of the warehouse, they walked through a few empty chambers and came up to an old, rusty filing cabinet. The elderly man opened a draw and withdrew a rolled-up canvas painting. It was very faded, weathered, and stained, but as he unrolled it, Taya could see it showed that same statue. "This here is Lady Liberty in her full glory, right out on the very harbor we were just looking at." He smiled and handed the painting to Taya. "Well, what do you think?"

  She took the painting in her hand. It was amazing and majestic, and she was so beautiful. "I can’t believe this was actually up for all to see! It’s so inspiring. Do you mind if I keep this?" she asked the old fellow.

  He coughed again. Old age and this weather were obviously getting the better of him. "Sure," he said, "you can have it. Perhaps the painting will bring you some luck. I have had very little as of late."