THE CHANGE: Life (Book 2 of 3)
Copyright © 2015 by J.C. Nichols
All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Book and Cover design by Corrine Asbell
ISBN: 9781310166389
First Edition: May 2016
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
I would like to dedicate this book to my editor, Corrine Asbell, who puts up with me on so many levels – not the least of which being editing the monstrosities I throw at her. If I look good at all, it's largely because of her: I basically just write some random crayon scribblings on toilet paper and get back neatly typed out (and grammatically correct) documents ready for publication.
It's truly a miraculous thing.
You, my friend, are awesome, and I wish there was something I could do to show you just how much your talent and patience mean to me.
Without you, this would be so much harder...
So take a bow.
You deserve it. <3
13 Years Earlier
(Directly after the events of The Change: Birth)
- ME -
I drove my father's truck a chaotic bundle of confused, scared, and emotional girl.
No, not girl. Mother.
I was a mother now.
I briefly looked down at Ivy as I drove, almost becoming lost in her sweet, quiet innocence. She was sleeping peacefully, her little green face completely lax and beautiful, her tiny eyes shut and twitching lightly every few seconds.
She had to be dreaming.
What would a creature born to a strange, mutated Changed dream about? The fact that she was born at all was an enigma to me. I fell in love with her even more as I drove, holding her carefully cradled in my left arm as I struggled to keep the truck steady with my right. I was all she had in this world. It was a powerful, intoxicating feeling.
I would do anything to protect this little girl.
Even though I was only barely 16 years old and had never thought of being a mother before – well, never seriously, at least – I knew deep inside my soul that this little infant I held would never in her life feel alone. I would make sure of it.
The truck jumped.
I looked up finding I was no longer on the road, but driving off onto the grass. Changed were scattered sporadically around me, and they watched me with unusual curiosity as I fought to take control of the truck.
And then they did something I had never seen them do before.
They hunched, in unison, almost as if they were bracing themselves, then took off in a dead sprint toward me. I was so startled by this unusual behavior that it took me a second before I could bring myself to react. I held Ivy a little tighter and accelerated. They slammed into the truck and promptly bounced off as the truck picked up momentum. My heart was pounding and I could feel my daughter stirring in my arms. I couldn't risk looking at her, though; all my attention and energy was focused on getting back on the road and picking up even more speed.
Soon they were behind me. I looked back in the rearview mirror as I tried to put even more distance between us. What I saw made my blood go cold; they were still running towards me, almost frantically, as if their life depended on it.
Something strange was happening to the Changed.
That turned out to be the understatement of my life.
*
The more I drove, the more I noticed just how much the Changed were acting abnormally. No matter how far away they were, they chased me - even tried to intercept me at times. There were several close calls, yet amazingly, my daughter slept through them all. If I hadn't been there from the moment she was born, I would have sworn that she had been drugged.
I envied her.
The more I thought about this recent turn of events with the Changed, the more uneasy I became. Why were they acting this way? What had changed with the Changed? There had to be a reason, a catalyst, something that had altered the already chaotic dynamic of the world I had become so accustomed to.
While I drove and pondered this, my thoughts gradually drifted to my father. I decided to make a quick detour to visit him in the barn. After all, there wouldn't be any harm in checking to make sure he was still OK. Besides, I could introduce him to Ivy. I was positive that he would love her; and she, him.
About a half hour later I pulled up to the barn, my eyes widening the closer I came to it; it's doors were wide open, with one even hanging halfway off its hinges.
I scrambled out of the truck, started to put Ivy in the seat while I checked to see what was happening, then thought better of it. I didn't want to leave her alone for even a second – not with everything being as crazy as it was. I grabbed my shotgun with my free hand, having no idea how I would fire it if I had to, but still wanting it by my side regardless.
Yeah, that was me; all logic.
As I stumbled on a rock trying to be stealthy on the way to the barn, Ivy chose that moment to wake up. Which was odd. Not necessarily that she woke up, but the way that she woke up. She didn't gradually awaken as most babies would, or begin automatically crying. Instead, her eyes simply snapped open and she stared up at me, her eyes wide, green, and curious. Almost as if she were saying, "Mother, what is amiss? Do you require my aid?"
Despite the seriousness of the situation, I smiled a little at my absurd musings. I could really be silly at the most inappropriate of times.
Ivy flicked her eyes in the direction I was walking, causing me to pause and do the same.
It was quiet. Very, very, very quiet.
Way too quiet for my current paranoia level.
Clenching my shotgun tighter, I came closer to the barn door and peered inside. It was a little dark, but I could see one thing for certain almost immediately; it was empty.
My father was gone.
- ? -
He awoke gradually. Slowly. Everything around him was a blur, as if there was a thin film of fog coating his eyes. No matter how many times he blinked, he could not rid himself of it, and when he tried to bring his hands to his face to rub it away, he found himself bound.
He remembered nothing; not who he was, not where he was, not how he got here.
Nothing.
He heard light shuffling sounds in seemingly every direction, and soon vague shapes surrounded him. People, but greenish. They hunched and looked down at him, and began speaking in an odd language that sounded almost like growling.
He felt cold hands touching him. Exploring him. Pressing against him. Pinching him. Scratching him lightly. Cutting him.
He screamed.
He lost consciousness.
*
He was aware that he was dreaming – or, at least, that he wasn’t awake. He had to be dreaming, because the things that he saw were impossible.
But
he wasn't dreaming, he soon realized.
He was reliving his memories.
"Daddy, when are we going to get a real home? Like I see in the magazines and stuff? I hate this place."
He looked down at his daughter and smiled. He had been fixing his truck - or at least attempting to - and Mia, his daughter, had insisted on helping. Which she actually did, since she knew all the names for the tools he possessed, and had an inherent and almost supernatural understanding of how things worked. She was always taking things apart and putting them back together, always curious as to how things worked the way they did.
That was nothing he taught or encouraged in her, either. She was simply born that way.
"I don't know, beautiful. Things have changed. We have to find somewhere where we're safe, and for now, the mall is about as safe as it's going to get,” he said ruefully. “Things have gone screwy, and people are changing. If we don't fortify ourselves with supplies and weapons, we'll be dead in no time. Believe me, squirt, your mother hates it here too."
"Gabriel," his wife said with a moan as she walked up to them with a plate bearing sandwiches. “I do not hate it here. I just think we can find somewhere more… homey. Besides, you shouldn't be telling our daughter things like that.”
He ignored her protest. He had decided long ago to always be honest with his daughter, about everything, no matter how harsh and gritty things might become. Honesty was everything to him, and he wasn't about to start lying to her now.
She was his world, his best friend.
Mia pretended like she didn't hear her Mother’s protest.
"What are we running from, daddy? I know people, but I mean what really? What turned them into monsters?"
He thought about this. His wife and him had talked about this very topic at length over the course of many a night.
He knew the answer.
But this once, and only this once, he decided that some truths were better left untold...
*
He drifted in and out of consciousness, reliving memories and scenarios that came to him in vivid, startling clarity. The things that he saw during those momentary lapses of consciousness both scared and confused him; metallic orbs with spider-like appendages probing him, cutting him, dissecting him – all while he was still awake. He felt the pressure of their invasion, but could not feel the pain. And the creatures that he assumed were controlling those machines stood all around him, looking down at his prone and motionless form. Observing. Analyzing.
Deconstructing.
They were trying to find out something, but he didn't have the slightest clue what. He was just a normal person, with nothing spectacular about him to speak of.
The atmosphere shifted, and he got the sense that they were having problems. He didn't know how he knew this, but he did. They were trying to pull information from him, from his mind, but could not. At first he had no clue what information they were trying to harvest, but soon, after vision upon vision of his daughter and wife, it began to become clear: they were trying to figure out where his family was. When this realization leapt into his mind, he screamed. He fought.
He died.
*
Can you comprehend understand us?
It opened its eyes calmly, slowly, looking directly into the eyes of the tall thin green-skinned creature in front of it. It nodded in response, taking a deep breath and feeling a surge of power manifest and coarse through its powerful armored body.
Armored body.
It raised its hand and looked down at the rest of its body. It was covered in a mechanical segmented form-fitting suit that crackled with small squiggly blue lines of power, power that it felt rush through it the longer it was awake.
It nodded at the green-skinned visitor. Yes. It understood.
This is a positive thing that is good. Do you comprehend understand what it is we desire want need you to accomplish do?
Of course it did. Find them. Capture them. Kill them if it had to – as long as they were brought back, they did not care if they were alive or dead. All that mattered to them was the completion of The Triggering. It nodded again in response, eager to begin its hunt.
The tall green-skinned creature stood motionless and stared at it for a long time, saying nothing.
It didn't care. It simply waited.
This is a good thing that is good. Go leave depart now. Fulfill your objective mission goal.
It did not respond. No response was necessary. It instead separated its molecules and willed itself away. It was finally time for the hunt.
It would not fail.
The Present
- ME -
They were everywhere. The Changed. It was like a mosh pit of insane, death-crazed people coming at me from every fucking direction. I was definitely getting too old for this shit. They were everywhere. My daughter, however, was nowhere to be found.
"Ivy! Where the fuck are you?!" I snapped, blowing the head off an oncoming Changed, splattering brain and skull fragments everywhere, even on me. I ignored the mess. There were plenty other pieces and bits of other Changed stuck to my body to keep it company.
A green bobbing image to my far left. It was Ivy, jumping up and down to get my attention. "Mom! Here! I'm here! I'm good! This is actually kind of fun!"
I rolled my eyes. Only Ivy would think this shit is fun. I savagely kicked a smaller Changed that seemed to come out of nowhere, sending it flying over the heads of its brethren.
"Make your way back to me! Come on! We need to get back!" I yelled at her.
Ivy grinned. "Coming, Mom!" I watched enviously as she acrobatically avoided and weaved through the mindless monsters trying to tear her limb from limb. I was never that athletic, even when I was her age. My idea of athleticism was posting to social networks while walking next to my mother. Those days were so long ago it felt as if they were only foggy memories, more delusion than recollection.
As Ivy neared, I fought to meet her. It wasn't supposed to be like this. We had left for some mother-daughter time away from my mother, who strongly disliked her – had ever since I brought her home almost 13 years ago. Maybe disliked was a nice way of saying it. Hated was better. She hated Ivy with a passion, and I didn't have a clue as to why.
And lately my mother’s constant flippant comments and negativity were starting to create a strained environment, were starting to cause even the sweet-tempered Ivy to snap and retort. Which I couldn't blame her for, even though my mother acted affronted every time it happened. I suppose I could blame it on her age, or her rapidly oncoming arthritis, but honestly I figured she was just getting bitchier in her old age – not that I told Ivy this. So, in my infinite wisdom, I figured Ivy and I could release some steam by seeing what was around us. We had only been in our current dwelling for roughly a month, and hadn't had time to truly explore our surroundings.
This wasn't overly odd; we never stayed in any one place too long, though we always managed to find a house to squat in for a week or two. It was almost like an adventure, scavenging the house for whatever belongings the previous owners had left behind.
Rarely were there Changed in the houses. It was almost like they had to be out in the open, like whatever it was that made you one of them also gave you cabin fever.
Not that I was complaining or anything. It made things a lot easier on us.
Sometimes, though, I wish we would come across someone normal – someone that wasn't a mindless slobbering monstrosity. But we never did.
It was something I wrote about constantly in my journal.
I doubted that we ever would.
Another explosion of Changed innards brought about by my shotgun.
It wasn't supposed to be like this. Ivy and I went driving in my father's (whom I have not seen in a little over a decade) old pickup truck and found a small collection of closely put together stores and decided to see what we could find. She was so excited, and I'm not going to lie – so was I. It had b
een a while since we had a chance to get some recreational things for ourselves. Everything was fine until the Changed started swarming out of the buildings, almost as if they had been lying in wait. And then the usual fight for our lives. It always seemed to reduce down to that; one constant battle after another, one move after another, one -
A snarling jagged-teethed Changed was suddenly in my face, and I had no time to react.
Two things simultaneously happened; I heard a loud savage bark close to me, and the Changed's head came off its body and went flying.
As it fell, I saw Ivy holding a dripping machete, with our dog Maxx by her side.
"Mom! Pay more attention! What's wrong with you?!"
I quickly looked around – we were alone for now – and shot a look at my daughter as I moved my long oily black hair away from my face. Her beautiful, youthful looking green face, full of genuine worry and concern. As I watched, her anguished expression melted away and was replaced by a goofy, ear to ear smile. She wrapped her thin arms around me in a huge, all-encompassing hug.
I had no choice, I hugged her back.
"Sorry, Sprout, I was a bit distracted. Your mother's getting old and senile."
Ivy giggled. I loved the sound of that giggle. It was literally music to my ears.
I holstered my gun, feeling Ivy stiffen in my arms.
"Mom..."
"No. I know you hate guns, baby, but I'm not about to learn how to use a sword."
She pulled away from me. "It's not a sword, it’s a knife! And besides, you wouldn't have to worry about ammunition or keeping it clean or anything! You told me you would think about it."
I sighed. "Honey, I did, and I decided not to. Look, why don't we head on home."
The Change: Life Page 1