The Overlord: A Post-Apocalyptic Novel

by Jared Paul

  "You are proposing to put countless lives on the line for a suicidal endeavor that might not even work," I sensibly indicated.

  My daughter spiritedly orated, "I reckon that if I'm crazy enough to try, so is the rest of the world. The Corps at least will, anyway. We're descendants of Marines, Mother. This is what we signed up for. This is what we were born for. Don't take my word for it, though. Take a look around for yourself."

  Down in that hull, the crew had been slowly clustering in. They had listened to every word and discerned the stakes. These faithful members of the United Corps stared at me with an eagerness that forced me to actually believe in this foolhardy plan. Sentria stood up and called them to formation. At once, the crew came together, stood at attention, and saluted marvelously.

  Moved, I also stood up and gave out a command, "At ease."

  The ranks obeyed as Sentria went on, "You see, the Corps is ready for the punch, to start one last fight by throwing the first hit. We're ready to bring this to an end, once and for all."

  My husband, who had been quietly observing the inspiring event, finally got up from the floor to pace in front of the willing ranks. "There is no reason for any of you to trust me. I'm the enemy of long ago, the enemy of your fathers. Today, I'm the enemy of your enemy. Don't let old wounds get in the way of the battle before us. Blades and bullets are coming straight for our hearts and I'll do my best to stand before them to take the blow. To the best of my ability, I'll give humanity another day, but only as long as you are all with me."

  The Corps let out their battle cry in unison, "Ooh Rah!"

  Though they only comprised a small portion of our forces, in that moment, they represented the heart of the whole. Deadstock peered into the eyes of each one of them in a sincere way that only a father could do. I too, looked around and noticed something I had never fully realized. The crew was young, very young, as were they all in the Corps. Ultimately, I then understood my importance as a mother. My part was not only to my own daughter, but to all the young men and women that stood before me, around me, and afar.

  The rising patriarch inspected the crew and made his zealous presence known to the entire hull, "We are the sum to the equations of those who came before us. Life, like every good equation, comes with its own set of variables. We are those variables. We cannot control the factors that we are born into, but we can fill the variables to our choosing. Our task is to solve for 'x,' to fill those variables with the only thing that can solve the equation. The secret is love. You may be asking yourselves what love has to do with winning a battle. It has everything to with it. We were put on this earth to love. Love is the only way to solve the mystery of life. Whatever it is that you love, I ask you to fight for it now."

  A grave look then came over his face. "There will be times when an equation that cannot be solved will come before you. They refuse to amount to anything, only to end in obscurity. I don't know how to explain these unsolvable equations, but when I was young, I took hope in the idea that every new generation could always succeed where the old one failed. As I grew older and the world crumbled around me, I lost hope in that idea. Every one of you standing here with me now has proved that I was right all along."

  The Overlord then scowled in fury, not toward the youth about him, but to something internal. "Your generation will have its own tasks for your own world. It's time I finished off the ones from mine."

  Just like that, an idea was birthed that we could secure the earth for the future ages. All it would take was a fight to the death, them or us. If the end of the remnant Thralldom was the price, the Free World was willing to pay it. It was a preemptive strike, no doubt about it, but I was not going to feel guilty in the slightest. If by some crazy chance we succeeded, it would mean peace. Soon, the whole United Corps would be rallied to our hasty cause.

  As the hull cleared out, the Overlord remained. I decided it best to remain with him. I could feel a thousand questions just waiting for him to ask me about our daughter. I didn't want to answer any of them, but I had to face it and move on. We were almost alone when Sentria suddenly paused. Beside her father, she slipped him a loose piece of cloth pulled from the tucks of her armor.

  "I need you to hold onto something for me," she said.

  "What's this?" asked Deadstock, examining the folded and well faded material.

  "You know what it is," prevailed Sentria.

  He released the cloth from its pressed creases and unveiled the familiar flag of his homeland before the Last War destroyed everything. The American flag, it was the stars and stripes that they had once called "Old Glory." Sentria wasn't alive in the days of its furling, but I had raised her with the knowledge of its significance. Historical significance, that is. It had no value anymore. Her own little flag from the wasteland wasn't even a genuine one, nothing more than a half-sized token of bygone patriots.

  Deadstock scoffed, "This is nothing more than an ancient relic of the old world. It's a useless artifact that should have been destroyed along with the others like it."

  Our daughter pressed on, "I've kept this flag safely by my side ever since I found it. That was years ago and I've never come across another." Sentria then took a seriousness that was stronger than I had ever seen her take on before. "It's the only one left of its kind," she added. "Just like you."

  "A banner of ghosts, then," nodded Deadstock, ominously.

  With great charisma, Sentria defended, "Look at it! Even though it's all worn, its colors still strike. The deep blue gets you lost in its fathom of stars. The lines of red and white are both comforting and challenging. This banner may have haunted the worst of humanity's nightmares, but it has also inspired the greatest of its dreams."

  The Overlord still wasn't convinced. "Sentria, it's just an antique, a symbol of a dead time."

  She urged, "And who killed those days? The flag didn't fail us. We failed it. It's your time to hold the promise for a while. Keep it, and return it to its place. Restore what was stolen from us."

  "Why? What would this matter now?" Deadstock argued back.

  "Everything." Sentria's soft answer was short, but full of meaning as if so many other words were crammed along with it.

  The Overlord said nothing more. Sentria simply left the flag in his hands for him to think about. Deadstock and I were then alone in the hull.

  He put forth an unexpected inquiry, "Do you have a research lab on board this heap?"

  "Only the best," I nodded.

  He pointed to the crumpled designs in my hand. "Assemble the best of your crew to help me build this weapon. We will need the Plague of Phantoms ready when I come back with the Wandering Star."

  "That is, if you actually manage to come back with it," I haughtily added.

  "Just get it done," he pleaded sternly. "Humanity is counting on it."

  "No, Doctor," I spoke softly. "Humanity is counting on you." I meant it as an encouragement. He may have taken it differently as I turned to leave. He then brought forth that which I wished he would have avoided.

  "You should have told me," he intensely whispered to me behind my back.

  He was implying the withheld knowledge of his offspring. All these years he was kept in the dark. I could have told him before he left the planet all those years ago. I should have told him when I paid a visit to his chamber, the night of his return. Neither of these had I done. The foundation of family seemed so pointless in the wake of war. Perhaps that is what Deadstock was trying to prove wrong as he stood there so desperately, almost to the point of tearing up.

  "You should have stayed," I remarked as I left him there standing alone.

  Twenty years ago, my husband left me behind while our daughter was still in my womb. So he had no knowledge of her, but what of it? If he wanted to know, he should have been here to find out. I refused to give him the benefit of becoming the victim in the matter. Although, neither of us really had the privilege of calling ourselves victims. The Last War was a terrible war. The only victim was our sens
e of family, our daughter's dream. Those wounds weren't about to be healed right then and there.

  Deadstock was a severed limb hoping to be rejoined. That hope was left in silence as I walked away from where he stood, staring at me in the loading bay of my own ship. I then stormed off toward my proper place aboard the "Beast of Burden," to carry out only the necessary duties at hand. I did so without ever turning for a second glance back, but now I wished I had.

  14

  THE TEST OF TEARS

  In the cool of the evening, I felt the drift of mist from somewhere behind. It passed over me, sticking to my skin and dripping down to the cold rocks below. Slowly pacing backward, I sensed the chilling touch of water upon my shoulders. With one more step, I froze still. The flow of the falls poured down over me until all I could see was the bright crystal veil of flowing water. I was not alone out there in the gardens of the Lair, but I, Solomon Boone, felt alone.

  I couldn't get Sentria out of my thoughts. She had left me. The exact moment when she walked away with the Overlord wouldn't stop replaying itself in my head, whether my eyes were open or not. The rush of water helped to blur out the haunting vision, almost numbing the pain inside.

  My trance was suddenly broken by Fossil's grumpy counsel, "Nobody'll root for you if you don't have any war paint on, and the war paint won't stick if you're all wet."

  Parting from out of the cloak of cold water, I found the old Australian standing there before me. Holding up a slab with puddles of paint on its surface, Fossil presented me with the colors of my choosing. It was already late in the evening and the war paint was specifically engineered to glow bright on the skin as the night got darker. It was all for a competition to see who would get an advancement in rank.

  The mission to Fever Island had left the Thralldom with a few gaps in the pecking order. Several of the Captains were dead and their positions were now up for the taking by lowly Bottom Bunks like myself. In order to obtain the advancement, though, I'd have to compete for it. The challenge was to climb the falls surrounding the Lair, retrieve a beacon at the top, and bring it back to the starting line. If one wanted to be the first back, it usually required a daring jump. Not many ever survived the plunge, however. Not many even survived the ascent. The high rank always referred to the course as the Test of Triumph, but we Bottom Bunks had dubbed our own name for it. We knew it as the Test of Tears.

  I could've really cared less. It wasn't really my choice to participate. Commander Zero had nominated me for the deadly race and there was no arguing against it. A few days before, I would've been thrilled at the opportunity to finally gain equal status with Sentria, but she was gone and I figured that I might as well just remain a Bottom Bunk. My plan was to take it slow and easy, let somebody else get to the top and risk their life down. As soon as they successfully made it back and won, it'd all be over with and I could go back to my cozy cot in the barracks.

  Fossil threw me a towel. I threw it back. He sighed and held up the slab of paint a bit higher. Dabbing a couple fingers in the paint, I began smearing it onto myself. I had chosen a neon yellow, a rich purple, and a basic black. The combination was a tribute to the Overlord and to myself.

  I painted my face like a skull and highlighted my arms and chest with what was left of the colors. Taking notice of my competition, the other Thralls had marked themselves with clean lines and minimal designs. I was still soaking wet when I had put my paint on. My murky appearance was best described as a ghost of colors.

  The glowing war paint wasn't just for show. It primarily served a scientific purpose. Self-heating liquids, these colored gels helped to prevent any incidences of hypothermia. Contact with the icy waterfalls practically guaranteed the risk. The Test required a body's full range of motion. Anything like a wetsuit would be to constricting. We were equipped with thermal shorts and that's all we needed. The war paint would take care of the rest.

  This rite of passage was an old concoction from the days following the Last War, when heavy losses left nobody to fill the open spots. Whether these races that wasted so much life was a creation of the Overlord or if it was just Zero's growing madness, nobody knew. All anybody knew was that it was a tradition, and a costly one at that.

  The Test was always done in sets of three and a few other Bottom Bunks were already on their way to the top of the falls. My two competitors and I would have to wait our turn. Studying their faces, I realized I didn't even know who they were. I was going up against a couple nameless Thralls, one of which was probably going to end up dead and I wouldn't even know how to remember them. One looked quite a few years older than me, the other one was a bit younger if not the same age as myself. Attempting to pass the time, I approached the fellow teenager. He wore no other colors than a blood red.

  "I'm Solomon Boone," I introduced. "What's your name?"

  "Cree," he shook my hand. "Like the Native American tribe."

  I detected something in common, "We're your parents from America, then?"

  "Yeah, they were," replied Cree as he looked off to one side, lost in what I presume was a distant memory of his family. We were all children of the wasteland, kids of the dirt. Whatever homes we'd once had before the Thralldom, they were never spoken of after joining.

  "Any idea who that is?" I asked, jolting my chin toward the more mature competitor beyond.

  "They call him the Quiet Frown. Doesn't talk much, never smiles, and he can get through a training course in half the time as anyone else. He's going to win this thing so we might as well relax." Cree then bent in closer in a tone that was altogether softer and slower, "The Overlord's gone, the Space Wizard was a lie, and this whole place is just a glorified cult. I never should've joined. I don't want to win and get promoted, I just want to get out."

  "Me too," I whispered back. "Tell you what, let that Quiet Frown go smash another record while we take care of each other. I will if you will."

  "Promise?" Cree presented an open palm.

  "Promise," I took his hand. "Just one thing."

  "What?" He shook his head, wondering what it could be.

  I smiled, "You got any of your paint left?"

  A few moments later, I returned to Fossil with a red slash of paint across my left ribs that spiked his curiosity. "What's that supposed to signify?"

  "The Overlord's got a wound like this on his side," I motioned. "It's from the Last Day of the Last War. Somebody knifed him on the altar. Probably just a scar now, but if you haven't noticed, he's always tending to it like it just happened. Brings him pain."

  "I've noticed." Fossil's eyes were wide and still. "How do you know so much about the Last Day?"

  A connection then came upon me, "It was you, wasn't it? You were the one who pushed the blade into his side."

  "It may have been me," he quietly confessed. "When the Overlord suddenly came back the day before yesterday, I half expected him to take revenge for what happened all those years ago. I wanted to ask for forgiveness, but neither of us could find any words when we finally met face to face. He acknowledged me. I acknowledged him. And I wonder if he's forgiven me."

  "I think the fact that he didn't kill you as soon as he saw you is proof enough of that," I said, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder.

  Fossil chuckled under his breath before a swift and harsh change in subject, "You didn't answer my question. What do you really know about the Last Day of the Last War?"

  "Back on Fever Island," I brought up. "I overheard Chokeberry talking with the Overlord. He was trying to tell him something, something about Zero and the Last Day. Before he could say what it was, the Commander stormed in and shot him. The timing was almost uncanny. I think Chokeberry was trying to warn the Overlord about Zero. I'm betting that you know why. What was it that Zero didn't want the Overlord to find out about?"

  "We both know who the real traitors were on Fever Island," croaked the old Australian. "All you have to do is look around to see that nobody's buying Zero's lies anymore. Nobody wants to be here. The t
op ranks never did, but they do Zero's bidding all the same. They're pawns, bought and paid for in whatever game he's playing. Watch out for them. You can trust most of the other Bottom Bunks, but keep your head down. This is not the first time Zero has betrayed the Thralldom. The first was on the Last Day of the Last War."

  I could tell he was a having a hard time with the subject, but I kept pressing. "What do you mean?"

  "When I stuck the Overlord in his belly at the challenge altar, he vanished using the power of the Wandering Star. No one had ever seen a weaving before. The world would never see one again until yesterday. As it were, however, the Overlord was gone. There were only a few of us left, his usurpers who had come to the altar to kill him. There was only one other, waiting in secret as a spectator."

  "You're little brother," I squinted. "Commander Zero."

  Fossil took a deep breath, "The split in allegiance was all his doing and our little civil war had abruptly come to an end. Without anyone to defy for the right to rule, we were nothing more than overhyped rioters. Knowing that those still loyal to the Overlord would inevitably overwhelm us, Zero attempted to cover his tracks. Chokeberry knew this. Caught in the middle, Choke took no sides, but nothing ever got past him. These are the secrets that he was murdered for back on Fever Island."

  "In order to erase his evidence with the uprising, Zero would have to kill everyone who knew about it," I collected.

  "And he did, all at once," mourned Fossil. "Zero gave an order to fire upon every surviving opponent around the altar. In that moment, I truly thought I was going to die at the hands of my own brother, standing there out of loyalty to him. He would live on while I paid for it. I remember seeing my mates get blown to bits around me. When the bullets stopped, I found I was still alive. I'd been spared. To this day, I'm not sure how Zero convinced them not to kill me without also giving himself away. The love of a brother must've been deemed a worthy exception. I was immediately pardoned, but I demoted myself as punishment. As a lowly Bottom Bunk, like you, I wouldn't have to make choices, just follow orders, but that's all about to change."