by T. J. Klune
Cavalo stood, looking at the wall. It looked strong and solid, no real breaks in the concrete that he could see. He rubbed his hands along its surface, pushing against it a little. There was no give.
He pressed his forehead against the wall and sighed. He shook his head, nose brushing against the concrete. “Bad Dog, there’s nothing here. There’s nothing—”
Something.
He’d opened his eyes while shaking his head. Something pulsed once, quietly, off to the right.
Behind the monitors hanging from the wall. Behind the one at the end, specifically. Hidden away behind a screen that hadn’t worked since Cavalo had been here. The only one that hadn’t worked since Cavalo had been here.
The hairs on the back of Cavalo’s neck stood up.
He said, “Oh.”
Check the room, SIRS had said before he’d died. Behind the watchful eyes….
“What did you do?” Cavalo whispered.
He tore the monitor off the wall. Ignored it when it cracked as it hit the ground.
A panel. One of SIRS’s. Like the others spread out amongst the prison.
It pulsed again, low and warm.
Cavalo touched it with his hand, as he’d seen SIRS do time and time again.
At first nothing happened.
Then words appeared on the panel.
WELCOME TO THE NORTH IDAHO CORRECTIONAL INSTITUTION
VER. 2.6241
(C) Copyright BOATK Corp. 1982, 2016.
PLEASE ENTER YOUR PASSWORD
IF YOU DO NOT HAVE A PASSWORD, THEN ASK YOURSELF ONE QUESTION
SHOULD YOU TRULY BE HERE?
The words disappeared.
The panel went dark.
And then the alphabet appeared. And numbers. And symbols.
Cavalo felt dizzy.
He typed in SIRS.
INCORRECT
He typed in BADDOG.
INCORRECT
CAVALO
INCORRECT
JAMESCAVALO
INCORRECT
LUCAS
INCORRECT
Think, Cavalo.
Check the room, SIRS whispered through the bees. It’s behind the watchful eyes because the boy of wood has led you there.
It couldn’t be that easy.
Cavalo’s fingers shook as he typed in another word.
PINOCCHIO
PASSWORD ACCEPTED
THANK YOU AND HAVE A NICE DAY
The panel went dark.
Nothing happened.
Well? Bad Dog asked.
“What the hell,” Cavalo muttered. “I don’t—”
The sound of a great machine rose then, gears shifting and grinding. The panel lit up briefly, flashing red before it fell dark again. Cavalo took a step back, reaching down to pull Bad Dog with him.
Then the wall shifted. The entire wall. It moved inward, dust pouring down, a wave of stale air washing over them. The wall moved in three feet and stopped. It shuddered and the gears shifted again, the wall sliding to the right and disappearing.
Lights flickered on to reveal stairs.
Leading down.
Bad Dog whined and struggled against Cavalo’s hold on him.
“Wait,” Cavalo said. “Wait.”
He heard footsteps running up from behind them. He tensed but only briefly. He was getting better at that.
He felt a hand at the back of his neck, fingers squeezing dangerously. He looked up, Lucas standing above them, eyes narrowed and untrusting as he stared at the open doorway. What the hell is that? he asked, gesturing toward the stairs.
“I don’t know,” Cavalo said. “But SIRS did.”
Bad Dog tried to pull away again, but Cavalo tightened his grip. “What is it?” he asked quietly.
Tin Man, Bad Dog panted. It’s Tin Man. Tin Man. Tin Man.
“Hold him,” Cavalo said. “Don’t let him go until you hear me say so.”
MasterBossLord, let me go!
Maybe we should wait, Lucas said, but he reached down and took hold of Bad Dog.
I will bite you, Bad Dog grumbled, lip curling over his teeth.
“If you bite, I’ll make sure the jerky disappears forever,” Cavalo said, and Bad Dog ceased to struggle, turning big eyes on Cavalo as his ears drooped.
Forever?
“Forever,” Cavalo said.
Fine. Stupid MasterBossLord and his stupid rules and stupid face.
“Yeah,” Cavalo said. “Stay here until I say.”
He moved toward the stairs.
Lucas gripped his hand, keeping his other arm around Bad Dog. Just… kill first, ask questions later, he said. Don’t be stupid.
He reached down and pulled Lucas’s knife out of its scabbard on his side.
“Kill first,” he said, because that was their life.
When he reached the top of the stairs, the lights inside flickering on and off, he expected to look down and see Mr. Fluff waiting for him at the bottom.
He didn’t know what it meant that the stuffed rabbit wasn’t there.
The steps were cement. There was no handrail. The lights above were small and circular, spaced out every few feet. He heard them buzzing as they went off and on, off and on.
He looked back at Lucas and Bad Dog. He nodded at them and descended the stairs.
It was cold in the stairway. He tried to think back if he’d ever seen anything like this, any hint that this place existed, and he couldn’t remember any part of it.
SIRS had kept this from him. That rankled, and he didn’t know why.
There were twenty-six steps, and it was dark at the bottom.
His breath sounded loud in his ears.
His grip tightened on the knife.
He said, “Hello.”
Everything snapped on at once.
Lights and machines and everything whirred and ground together, panels flashing, metal screeching. Lights overhead shone down, and he spun around in circles, holding the knife defensively, ready to sink it into the flesh of whatever was coming after him.
There was nobody there.
“I’m—” His voice came out in a croak. He stopped. Shook his head. Cleared his throat. Tried again. “I’m okay,” he said as loud as he could. “I’m okay. Everything is fine.” He hoped they could hear him. He hoped they could believe him.
He hoped, because he wasn’t sure if he was okay. He didn’t understand what he was seeing.
Off to the left, there was a large room through a glass doorway. Inside, he could see the outlines of guns. Rifles. Weapons he’d never seen before. The far wall in the room was empty, save for a small row of familiar landmines resting on metal hooks.
To the right stood another room, much larger than the other. In this one stood big square machines lined up in a row, lights on the front blinking rapidly. On the wall hung a banner, the edges frayed and faded. On this banner was a seal with an eagle in the middle, a flag of red, white, and blue on its chest. In one set of talons, it held a group of arrows. In the other, a green stem with leaves.
Below it were words he hadn’t seen in a very long time.
THE GOVERNMENT OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
IN GOD WE TRUST
E PLURIBUS UNUM
And in front of him, sat a single desk, a computer on top, the screen facing away from him. A metal chair sat behind the desk.
The bees told him to leave, to run, to forget this place was even here. This is just another snow globe, they said. You’ll be trapped here and will never be able to leave.
“I’m okay,” he said again.
Cavalo walked toward the desk.
The computer was on. The screen was black, but a small green cursor blinked at the top left.
Cavalo pulled out the chair from the desk, the wheels on the bottom squeaking loudly in the quiet.
He sat down in the chair.
The white keyboard in front of him had a thin layer of dust on it. He wiped a hand over it, accidentally pressing down on the keys.
> RGTHDY appeared on the screen.
He took his hands away.
His accidental letters disappeared.
Then came a single word.
HELLO
The cursor went down to the next line and blinked.
Waiting.
Cavalo said, “Hello?”
Nothing.
Then, IF YOU’RE TALKING OUT LOUD, I CAN’T HEAR YOU
A pause. A single word: IDIOT
Cavalo said, “What the fuck.”
He thought to leave this haunted place. That the bees were right.
Instead, he typed: WHO IS THIS.
The response came a second later: WHO IS THIS?
He hesitated. CAVALO.
AH, CAVALO! I HOPED IT WOULD BE YOU. YOU CERTAINLY TOOK YOUR TIME. BY MY COUNT, IT’S BEEN ALMOST TEN WEEKS SINCE YOU RETURNED FROM DWORSHAK. I BET YOU WOULDN’T EVEN BE DOWN HERE IF IT WEREN’T FOR THE FLEABAG. AT LEAST WE KNOW THAT MUTT IS GOOD FOR SOMETHING AFTER ALL.
His hands were shaking. His mouth was dry. And yes, there were tears in his eyes because it wasn’t possible. It wasn’t fucking possible.
He wrote WHO IS THIS even as he knew. He fucking knew.
What came flew across the screen, and Cavalo’s breath hitched in his chest, a sob pouring out.
I COULDN’T TAKE THE CHANCE
NOT COMPLETELY
I HAD TO HAVE A FAILSAFE IN PLACE
TO MAKE SURE
TO KEEP YOU SAFE SHOULD YOU HAVE SURVIVED
YOU’RE HERE BECAUSE THE FAILSAFE WAS NEEDED
BECAUSE MY BODY WAS LOST
BUT NOT BEFORE I UPLOADED A COPY OF MYSELF INTO THE SERVERS
MY CONSCIOUSNESS IF YOU WILL
AIN’T SCIENCE FUN?
PATRICK GAVE ME THE IDEA THE DAY HE CAME TO THE PRISON
WHEN HE REMINDED ME JUST HOW MUCH TIME I HAD LEFT
AND SO I CAME HERE
AND DUPLICATED MYSELF
I ALSO RESTRICTED MYSELF SO I COULDN’T INTERACT WITH THE PRISON TO MAKE SURE NO ONE ELSE DISCOVERED ME
IN CASE YOU DIDN’T
I AM SORRY FOR THE DECEPTION
ALL I’VE EVER WANTED WAS TO KEEP YOU SAFE
I AM NOT A GHOST
I AM NOT CORPOREAL
YET
BUT I’M STILL A REAL BOY
I AM SENTIENT INTEGRATED RESPONSE SYSTEM
AND I WILL ALWAYS BE YOUR FRIEND
The man named James Cavalo began to laugh.
Once again, all locations used here are real, but have been manipulated for purposes of fiction. And, as it should probably be mentioned, there are no cannibals in Idaho, at least that I’m aware of.
There are two more stories to be told here, I think. The Forefathers have begun to crawl on their hands and knees in St. Louis, as Patrick (may he rest in pieces) so eloquently put it. It’s only a matter of time before what they want coincides with what Cavalo has.
Because half a map is better than no map at all, don’t you think?
More from TJ Klune
Immemorial Year: Book 1
Once upon a time, humanity could no longer contain the rage that swelled within, and the world ended in a wave of fire.
One hundred years later, in the wasteland formerly known as America, a broken man who goes only by the name of Cavalo survives. Purposefully cutting himself off from what remains of civilization, Cavalo resides in the crumbling ruins of the North Idaho Correctional Institution. A mutt called Bad Dog and a robot on the verge of insanity comprise his only companions. Cavalo himself is deteriorating, his memories rising like ghosts and haunting the prison cells.
It’s not until he makes the dangerous choice of crossing into the irradiated Deadlands that Cavalo comes into contact with a mute psychopath, one who belongs to the murderous group of people known as the Dead Rabbits. Taking the man prisoner, Cavalo is forced not only to face the horrors of his past, but the ramifications of the choices made for his stark present. And it is in the prisoner that he will find a possible future where redemption is but a glimmer that darkly shines.
The world has died.
This is the story of its remains.
Readers love Withered + Sere by TJ Klune
“TJ weaves a beautifully desolate world with an odd dichotomy in that the past was the future. The way people live is set against their knowledge of what was and what could be.”
—Hearts on Fire
“…an incredible storytelling novel about what would happen if and when the world ends for whatever reason. It’s about survival instincts, looking inside yourself, insanity and fighting for what you believe in.”
—Divine Magazine
“TJ Klune promised this series would be a romance but that we would have to work for it… Withered + Sere is bleak and sad and yet there are rays of sunlight… beautiful in its desolation and wholly mesmerizing… brilliant.”
—Prism Book Alliance
“This novel transcends the mm community. It can be read by all fans of post-apocalyptic novels. So, don’t hesitate.”
—Gay Book Reviews
“Don’t miss Withered + Sere. It is a brilliant opportunity to see a master at work, a world-class wordsmith plying his trade and honing his art—the fulfillment of the promise of a stunningly talented author.”
—Sinfully Gay Romance Book Reviews
When TJ KLUNE was eight, he picked up a pen and paper and began to write his first story (which turned out to be his own sweeping epic version of the video game Super Metroid—he didn’t think the game ended very well and wanted to offer his own take on it. He never heard back from the video game company, much to his chagrin). Now, over two decades later, the cast of characters in his head have only gotten louder, wondering why he has to go to work as a claims examiner for an insurance company during the day when he could just stay home and write.
Since being published, TJ has won the Lambda Literary Award for Best Gay Romance, fought off three lions that threatened to attack him and his village, and was chosen by Amazon as having written one of the best GLBT books of 2011.
And one of those things isn’t true.
(It’s the lion thing. The lion thing isn’t true.)
Facebook: TJ Klune
Blog: tjklunebooks.blogspot.com
E-mail: [email protected]
By TJ Klune
IMMEMORIAL YEAR
Withered + Sere
Crisped + Sere
Published by DSP PUBLICATIONS
www.dsppublications.com
Published by
DSP PUBLICATIONS
5032 Capital Circle SW, Suite 2, PMB# 279, Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886 USA
www.dsppublications.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of author imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Crisped + Sere
© 2016 TJ Klune.
Cover Photo
© 2016 Kyle Thompson
Cover Design
© 2016 Paul Richmond.
http://www.paulrichmondstudio.com
Cover content is for illustrative purposes only and any person depicted on the cover is a model.
Illustrations
© 2016 Blake Alexander Dorner.
All rights reserved. This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of international copyright law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines, and/or imprisonment. Any eBook format cannot be legally loaned or given to others. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact DSP Publications, 5032 Capital Circle SW, Suite 2, PMB# 279,
Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886, USA, or www.dsppublications.com.
ISBN: 978-1-63477-067-5
Digital ISBN: 978-1-63477-068-2
Library of Congress Control Number: 2016902729
Published August 2016
v. 1.0
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