Cataclysm Epoch (The Valkyrie Chronicles Book 1)

by Paul Heingarten

  “Affirmative,” they replied.

  “So if things go, let's say... crappy. What's our move?” I asked.

  Everyone looked at me for a few seconds, and Baudricort half smiled. “Locate the nearest Encampment beacon and head straight for it. Don't engage any troops, you'd probably be outnumbered and outgunned. Alright, I'll have Otto meet you outside. Take a Landcrawler and head to Encampment 12 for tech and locale briefing.”

  #

  When the meeting broke up, I headed outside toward the rear of the main mobile building and waited for the others. The cool air kissed my face and I was glad for it, but even happier I was away from Remy for a little bit.

  Of all the people Baudricort could've stuck me with. I hoped that Verge jump happened quick. The sooner I was away from him the better.

  The late afternoon sky was smeared with a few clouds. Charred trees littered the area, victims of the fight. I watched the details as they buried the lost soldiers. They never had time for more than a mass grave, but it wasn't even a question. Everyone in the Action got at least that respect. I rubbed the sores on my head from where I'd worn the Link up until a few months ago.

  It was dangerous for someone living in Lebabolis if they hadn’t worn the Link. Anyone caught was labeled Deviant and sent for punishment like Realignment, kind of a mind erase. At that point you weren't anything other than a Drone Product. Totally obedient and mindless. More or less a Radomet without the mechanical enhancements. But somehow, Lebabolis placed a higher value on Drones. They loved it when someone was under their control. Having access through MODOSNet wasn’t enough for them.

  My thoughts returned to escape. Treg could’ve helped me. I doubted anyone else would’ve noticed, and Remy wished I would vanish. What a sniveler. He even ratted me out to our Sector Proctor about how Treg had taught me weapons and unarmed fighting in rec time.

  I slowed my thoughts down as I thought about everything in steps. If Remy came through, and Baudricort did his bit, I was home free. This had to work.

  But if it didn’t, I knew in my gut there was another way, even if it meant I had to make one myself. Heaven help the idiot who got in my way.

  Chapter 4 (Nelson)

  T he light next to my head flickered a bit.

  I looked at it from my seat on the couch. Probably the neighbor's microwave again. Damn prehistoric wiring. If everyone in this place fired up their microwaves at once the whole building would've exploded.

  I swiped at the back of my neck to wipe away some of the moisture. Aside from the kooky wiring, this place wasn't bad for an apartment in the Marigny, tucked away in the recesses of New Orleans far enough that vomit from the Bourbon Street touristy parts missed it. It was modest for an IT consultant's salary like mine. The exposed bricks and old time fixtures gave it just enough of an air of that funky vibe that I liked.

  The place was quiet for the most part at night, even as close to the Quarter as it was. Still, the occasional loud drunks who stumbled by or distant gunshots kept me alert.

  I wished my landlord was more educated on the wonders of modern pesticides and sprayed the place.

  A jolt shot through my entire body at the sound of my phone's ringtone. My stomach knotted up as usual, since these days, at this time of night, any phone call may have been the one I feared most.

  I stomped on a skittering cockroach and answered to Dad's shaky voice on the other end.

  “Hey, can you come over?”

  “Sure. How is she?”

  Dad paused. “Not responding much. Come over, huh? Quick.”

  Under normal circumstances, I dreaded calls from Dad since they could mean a number of bad things. But his voice this time was more erratic than usual. I stammered a bit and finally replied, “Need anything? Need me to call someone?”

  “No, just get here.”

  I swallowed hard. “Be right there.”

  Mom had struggled through multiple rounds of radiation and chemotherapy that all but destroyed her body. She fought so hard the whole way. But after months of this, she barely stayed awake at all anymore. Dad and I did our best, though neither of us had a clue about anything besides what the doctors told us. It was a lost cause no matter what. Her body was about done. We had set up hospice last week, and she had been bed ridden ever since.

  The glow of my laptop screen caught my attention. On the screen was the title page for my manuscript, Cataclysm Epoch. I stood back as if it dared me to have worked it more. I had toyed around with it earlier that night. I hammered on it here and at the library when I needed a change of pace. Yeah, I kinda saw myself as a novelist in disguise. I even figured out the perfect pen name: Xander Lee. Hey, if I made it in writing, that would’ve solved my clock punching problem forever.

  Then again, I could’ve also won the Powerball.

  In honesty, writing wasn’t easy, in particular these days. I had a hard enough time with nagging voices: “You’re not good enough to write”, “You should take better care of your parents”, “You think you’re a good worker? What a joke.”

  I yawned deep and powered my laptop down. After I ran my hands through my hair a few times, I grabbed my keys. The stays over by Mom and Dad's varied in length. I came over during off hours from work, and I'd burned a few sick hours from work so Dad got a break.

  On the drive over, my right hand was fidgety, so I treated myself to a concert via my MP3 player random mode. Aside from my writing aspirations, I had a decent job but with a royal dick of a boss. He jumped on every little thing I did, and waited or hoped to find that I messed something up, like it was a damn game. The fact he'd been so gracious about me taking time off for Mom was less about his generosity and more like HR cutting me a break.

  My phone buzzed with a text while I was at a light. A lump in my throat formed. One of my biggest fears was being away when it happened. Even if it meant I held her hand and comforted myself that I comforted her.

  I held up the phone in the dim lights from the street.

  _____

  From: Tina

  To: Nelson

  Hey babe

  ______

  I tossed the phone on the seat next to me. I'd met Tina one night in the Quarter a few weeks ago. I needed a night away from things and, Well, we hit it off - enough for a few booty calls. She was fun and the perfect distraction for me. Alright, she was a good lay. She was cute but a little on the needy side. After a few times I got the idea she hid from something or someone while she was with me. She knew about Mom. Guess she figured I needed more distractions at the moment.

  Not now.

  The only place that felt right was with Mom and Dad. Besides, another world competed for my thoughts too. My story. Mom’s fight the past several months had inspired this tale. The fire, and absolute determination in the face of horrible odds.

  Maybe I made you too real? I wish you were here right now. You'd hug me and tell me to keep going, wouldn't you? You'd never let me feel sorry for myself or anything.

  Damn. Obsessed over a fictional character. Maybe I was crazy after all.

  #

  I rubbed my eyes, but everything was still blurry. I massaged my temples in hopes it would ease the painful throbbing. Of course, the pungent smell of hospital sanitizers wasn’t a help at all. The clock’s luminous numbers stared back at me: 2:00AM. I'd been at my parents’ house for a few days and kept watch over Mom. I’d hoped for any response from her, but she gave nothing.

  I heard Dad’s footsteps toward the back of the house. He and I had this odd kind of shift thing for watching over Mom, like some weird one person hospital, or bed and breakfast for the terminal.

  My hand stretched to the hospital bed next to me, and I held her frail, withering hand. She felt cold. She lay still without much indication she was alive.

  Her cancer was pretty nasty, and even after the operation she never really recovered. The doctors zapped her with radiation and chemo, but they had no idea how much damage the actual therapy may have added on top of everyth
ing else.

  Hospice had been by earlier, just one part of the horrific waiting game the three of us played.

  I gazed about the room, then back to her. This house had been so full of good times. I hated it had to be the setting for this. There was nothing good and nothing to do except to take it. I looked for a hint of life behind those half closed eyes. Nothing. Only the hum of the oxygen pump, the faint rise and fall of her chest and her labored breathing were remnants of this woman, once so full of life. The woman who had raised me and made me what I was.

  “Anything new?” Dad stood behind me.

  “No, been pretty peaceful for at least two hours now.”

  “Oh, well they said it wouldn't last much longer.”

  “Had a good nap?”

  “So-so. Still used to being up at weird hours on account of her.”

  Dad's weary gaze extended to his entire body. His schedule had been turned upside down from Mom’s situation. I pitched in as much as I could, but a full time job and the novel took up most of my time.

  I glanced back at Mom and sighed before I turned back to Dad. “I should be going. Gotta check in with work tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Want some food? I heated up that meatloaf.”

  “Naah. Too late. I'll catch a snack.” I clenched my jaw so I wouldn’t bawl. Even so, my voice was shaky enough that anything would’ve caused it. But somehow, I held it in check. Whenever I saw Mom’s vacant face or Dad’s beaten look, it shook me inside.

  I stayed strong for them.

  I had to.

  Mom's quiet breaths became louder and more strained. Her body twisted and turned, her hands kneaded the bed sheets firmly. I stroked the sides of her face. I hid my true emotions from my voice as much as I could. “It's alright, Mom. Dad and I are here. You're safe.”

  Dad added, “Love you, baby. Try and relax.”

  Dad reached for the morphine bottle on the table next to the bed. He drew a small amount into the dropper as I ran my palm softly over Mom's hair and face. “Stay with us, Mom.” I whispered to Dad, “How long are we going to keep doing this?”

  “Long as we have to. I don't want her in any pain.”

  “Me either, but Dad-”

  “I'm not ready yet.”

  Mom let out a huge gasp and went completely silent for a few seconds. She took another slow breath and held it for several moments. This continued for a little while. Her hands went from the bed sheets to up in the air, as if she caressed a face seen only to her.

  Dad's voice lifted a little with nervous energy. “Honey, baby, we're here. You're alright.”

  She ignored Dad's reassurance. One more slow gasp of air and her hands limply fell to her side. She exhaled slowly.

  The room froze. Everything was still. My stomach sank as her presence left us at that moment. There were so many things I had left unsaid to her, so many things I should have told her. I took advantage of her and Dad in my younger years. I put them through shit they never needed nor deserved.

  Had I made amends?

  I hoped so.

  This was wrong. Unnatural. Not fair. Why her? Why now? It was too quiet. She passed away, and I hadn’t even heard the sound of breathing in the room. My throat tightened up and my vision blurred with tears that meandered down my cheeks unchecked. A deep soreness flared in my stomach, and I wanted it to. I wanted the hurt. It was a reminder of losing Mom, whether or not I needed it.

  I grasped her hand and kissed it gently as my tears fell freely. “I love you, Mom.”

  The shock hit Dad a few moments later. “No, dammit, no! Not like this. Please don't leave me!” He collapsed into sobs over her body. I put my hand on his shoulder. Speech failed me at that moment. The grief washed over me and my sobs picked up, echoed by Dad's whimpers.

  We sat like that for what seemed hours. At last I said, “Dad, we need to call somebody.”

  “Hospice, number's on the fridge.”

  Dad remained frozen, his head bowed. He still clung to the rail of Mom's bed. I sprang up. I felt like the more I moved, the less time I dwelled on how my world was ripped in half.

  “Hospice said they're sending someone right now. Ten, fifteen minutes.”

  I returned to the bed, stood over Dad and gazed on Mom. He stroked her hand; perhaps he hoped she wasn't gone yet. Maybe this was apnea?

  The hospice nurse arrived and confirmed Mom was gone. Dad leaned over her and kissed her one last time. I sunk down into a chair. The woman who had driven me to every little league game, who cheered for me from the crowd at the band concerts, who always had a hug and a kiss for me whenever I came to visit, no matter how badly I'd screwed up in the world, was gone.

  I went to Dad and placed my hands on his shoulders. “She's at peace, Dad. That's all we could ask.”

  “I know. Can't imagine how I'll go on now.” His shoulders slumped as the thought of what he said sunk in.

  “Me either. But we have each other.”

  “I have a card for a funeral home. Blazier Funeral Home, I think.”

  “I'll call,” the nurse said. I saw this ache in her eyes, a reflection of what we’d been through and were going through.

  Dad weakly gestured to the kitchen table. I sifted through the mound of papers and envelopes stacked on it for a few minutes. I got a chill when I saw the vast number of unopened window envelopes. At least a few of those were bills. It all looked like a window into their lives, now on pause and forever changed. I found the card and handed it to the nurse.

  About an hour later, the funeral home undertakers arrived. Two men in suits. The hospice nurse had left Dad and me with the two men. With great care they handled Mom's body, transferred her to a gurney and wrapped her snugly in several heavy blankets. I stood by Dad, my arm draped around him, and clutched his hand. None of it seemed real, her lifeless body escorted out like this.

  The men stood next to Mom once they finished with her. One of them asked, “Would you like one last look before we go?”

  Dad shook his head. I said, “Give me a moment with her.” The man nodded and stood back as I approached her.

  I leaned over and kissed her forehead again. I spoke softly, “Goodbye, Mom. I'm going to make you proud of me. I'm gonna finish what I said I’d do, somehow. I love you.”

  My tears streamed when I moved back from her. I nodded to the two men, and they somberly wheeled her out of the house, then returned and shook our hands with offers of condolences before they departed.

  The house looked different. Like a room had been removed. Dad stared into blank space. “We should try and sleep.”

  I looked at the clock and it was a quarter to four. Sleep? What sleep? I felt my phone vibrate with a text. I read it once, rubbed my eyes, and checked it a second time and saw I hadn’t dreamed it. I read it again and swallowed the lump in my throat that still refused to leave.

  ----

  From: UNKNOWN

  Xander, we need you. Will be in touch.

  ----

  Chapter 5 (Ana)

  O tto and I sat in the rear for the trip to our briefing for the Verge jump. The Landcrawler rumbled through the brush on a twisting and winding path. Branches tapped out a random cadence against the doors and windows. Sometimes, the path took us on straighter, clearer roads.

  I’d seen every kind of ground in the Outlands, from overgrown forests to jagged patches of old paths from years gone by, now overgrown and almost impassable. Then there were the occasional smooth clearings and of course the Valentium sites, which were their own things altogether.

  The vehicle dipped, and I braced myself. The Landcrawler we rode in was about average. They were never made for comfort, just to get you from one spot to another. They handled the road, but of course you felt every damn bump along the way.

  Yag drove with Wick on shotgun. They chatted it up with Remy and ignored us in the back, which was fine for what I cared.

  There wasn’t much that I missed in Lebabolis, but the roads there sure were easier to handle tha
n this.

  Otto was fixated on the P-LAD on his lap. He never said a word until I held my hand over his screen.

  “Quit that.”

  “So you can still talk. Come on, I'm bored. Tell me anything.” Otto was interested in just about everything, for as long as I had known him. I remembered him when we were kids, he even studied the trees around our housing area. Some people weren’t sure about him and that crazy look he sometimes got in his eyes. But I always figured his mind was just too busy. He never minded my questions even when they became endless.

  After a few moments, he said, “I may have descrambled the checkpoint algorithm for checkpoints inside the border.”

  Beyond the move to the west and all the Relos, Baudricort’s next greatest love were the hacks they tried into MODOSNet, the network system for Lebabolis. I wished they were as concerned about Cataclysm as they were about their hacks.

  I smiled at Otto. “Not quite what I was hoping for but it sounds important?”

  “Yes, would help a lot for when we rescue the others.”

  The sharp pang in my gut flared again. Very important. If only Baudricort was interested in our people the way Otto was. “ I know you talk a lot about tech. Heard anything else?”

  He set the P-LAD down and cracked his knuckles. While Baudricort hid information pretty well, Otto wasn’t as opaque. He looked out the window, then back to me. “Nothing really.”

  I smiled a bit as my brow furrowed. “Otto, one thing I love about you is you’re the worst liar I know. Come on, what is it? You can tell me.” I patted his arm.

  Otto flashed me a quick grin, and eyed the others at the front in case they caught any of our conversation. “You remember the odd symbols that showed up around Lebabolis when we were young?”