The Caitlin Chronicles Boxed Set

by Michael Anderle

  “You know, it’s not going to be easy. Even with more people involved, there’s no telling how many Mad are in that forest. It’s going to be dangerous work,” Tom said, his voice like gravel as he pulled back his eyepatch and scratched the small bowl where his eye had once been.

  “The things that are most worthwhile usually are,” Caitlin replied. “But as our number grows, and as more towns unite, the safer we can feel.”

  “Unless every town we come across is filled with God-fearing pyromaniacs led by sociopathic nobodies with superiority complexes,” Kain added.

  They all turned to look at Pastor Andrews, now seated in the corner of the room. He shrugged. “What?”

  The Council of Revolutionaries fell about laughing. It was a beautiful sound, Caitlin thought. Despite all that they’d been through, she couldn’t help but feel optimistic. The governor was gone. Justice had been brought to Ashdale Pond. And, soon, the doors to Silver Creek would be open to the public.

  Fuck yeah. Caitlin smiled, relaxing into her chair.

  “Nice tattoo, by the way, Moxie,” Kain whispered to Caitlin. “Really rock ’n roll.”

  Caitlin laughed. “What’s rock ’n roll?”

  “Elvis? The Rolling Stones? Mick Jagger?” He rolled his eyes. “I sometimes forget how young you are. Old music from a time long ago. My parents made me listen when I was just a kid. Before I went all wolf and teeth.”

  Even Mary-Anne smiled then. “Those were the good old days.”

  “No,” Caitlin said, rolling her arm over and inspecting the burning church etched into her skin. “The good old days are yet to come.”

  Epilogue

  Silver Creek Forest, Old Ontario, Four Months Later

  The wolf sniffed at the forest floor, his nose deep into the tangles of bushes and vines. Even in the shadows under the canopy of trees, his eyes burned a vivid orange.

  As he lifted his head, he caught a scent—the scent he had been looking for.

  His tail wagged in excitement. He sped through the brush in near-silence, padding expertly over thorns and brush. The scent grew ever stronger, making his heart beat so fast he could feel it in his own ears.

  Voices sounded, now. Lots of them, which seemed a strange thing in the middle of the forest. For miles and miles, it seemed, all the wolf had encountered were odd clusters of Mad which he had avoided with ease. But to find a whole group of people in the forest who didn’t smell Mad was a most unusual thing.

  He slowed, keeping as low to the ground as possible until he saw them through the trees ahead. Some men had axes. Some women carried swords. Most were busy patting the ground into a firm path several meters wide.

  Were they making a road?

  And there, sitting with his back to a tree, a hood low over his face as he snoozed and let the others do the work, was the man he had hunted for months, now.

  The wolf turned on his paws and sped back through the forest, weaving between trees, scaring a nearby deer who pranced off into the undergrowth. He only stopped when he reached the others.

  The three creatures waited patiently, picking berries off a tree—a bear, a panther, and another wolf. Their amber eyes turned to greet him as he concentrated with all his might and transformed before them into the form of a naked man. He was the youngest of them all. Tufts of fur clung to his body, but he figured he still had a fair number of transformations left in him.

  He blinked, and the bear was gone, replaced by a tank of a man with ripped abs and bulging biceps covered in scars and a thick carpet of hair.

  “Anything?” the man who had been a bear asked.

  He grinned and nodded. “We’ve found him. We’ve found the traitor.”

  The dark smile distinctly resembled the bear he’d so recently been, his teeth jagged and worn. At long last, Kain Sudeikis. At long last.

  FINIS

  Author’s Notes - Dan Willcocks

  August 20, 2018

  What do you get if you cross a window cleaner and a giraffe…?

  …

  Thanks so much for making it all the way to the end of this book. It’s been an absolute whirlwind of a journey, not only with Caitlin and her crew (who, by the way, might just be my favourite kickass band of characters I’ve ever created), but with Michael and the guys behind the scenes as well.

  When I started writing, I could never have foreseen this journey. I remember sitting down at a keyboard in early 2015 and just toying with sentences, playing with a few paragraphs, and wondering what life would be like as a full-time writer.

  I imagined the classic scene: me, sat at the vintage oak writing desk that was far too heavy to ever lift out of the room (God knows how it got in there!). I imagined myself smoking a cigar, a whisky in one hand, and a typewriter clacking away as the pages dinged and made their way through the roller…

  Who was I kidding!

  There is something romantic that comes when you think about the writer’s life. But—and here I may shatter some illusions completely—that’s not what it’s like at all.

  As I write these author notes I can safely tell you that I’m sat, cross-legged, on my sofa. There’s a coffee in front of me, and a bowl of porridge. It’s 6:45am and I’m getting ready to start the day-job. I’ve already made my way through book 3 of this series (oh my God, oh my God, you’re in for a treat!), and I’m already thinking of the writing I’ll be doing on my hour lunch break at work.

  Somewhere upstairs I can hear my 3-year-old snoring. In about 15 minutes I’ll be up, dressed, and cycling into the heart of my city.

  No cigar—I don’t even smoke!

  No whiskey—such a shame, but I discovered morning drinking doesn’t exactly help my morning bike-rides go any faster.

  No typewriter—okay… so this one I’d love to have. Did you know they do USB plug-in typewriter keyboards?

  I digress…

  I suppose all this is to say that, if I can do it, anyone can write. Anyone can do this. It took a long while for me to build the routine of writing, and it’s with the encouragement of other writers that I realised how easy it can be to just… do it. My end goal was never to write an international bestseller—thank you so much guys!—but it was simply to tell stories. And that’s all I continue to do.

  As per my last author notes, I wanted to add a few extra nods of thanks—though there may be some unfamiliar names in here.

  Last week myself and the writers from Hawk & Cleaver (my story studio responsible for the chart-busting podcast, The Other Stories) celebrated 2 million downloads on our podcast. Not only that, but the damn thing has also been optioned for possible TV adaptation, too.

  That’s not to say it’s definitely going to happen… but we’re certainly moving in the ‘write’ direction (see what I did there?).

  So a massive thanks to Ben Errington, Matt Butcher, and Karl Hughes who continue to contribute to an amazing podcast and deliver amazing content. And, particularly, to Luke Kondor, my original writing collaborator, for all the work you put in to producing the podcast, and for being an absolute rockstar to work with. If it wasn’t for you, I know I wouldn’t be here now.

  And, most of all, thank you to you, dear reader. Without your eyes on the page I would just be another crazy guy in his bathrobe, drinking himself silly with whiskey, and wondering why there’s pee-pee on the Twister mat.

  Oh! And in case you were wondering…

  A window cleaner who doesn’t need any ladders!

  (I know, it’s terrible. But I’m a dad now and terrible jokes are all I have…)

  Until next time.

  Dan

  Author Notes - Michael Anderle

  August 18, 2018

  First, THANK YOU for not only reading this story, but also reading through the back to our Author Notes, too!

  Right now, I’m in the AC Hotel (San Jose) about six blocks from the Convention Center where WorldCon 76 is being held.

  This is the first time I’ve ever attended this con.

  It st
arted Thursday and will finish on Monday, and I have seen a few interesting things I NEVER expected to see. One of them is the Han Solo carbonite block that was used for the Star Wars film Return of the Jedi.

  Another was someone cosplaying Leeloo from the movie The Fifth Element (a favorite of mine.) Now, I’m fifty, pushing fifty-one years in a few weeks, so there was no way I was going to tell the young woman playing Leeloo that I thought it was cool that she was playing the character.

  (No way I’ll be accused of being a creepy guy, thankyouverymuch.)

  However, I found that my not saying anything was kinda sucky on two levels. The first was my reaction of embarrassment (I thought it was cool she was playing a character I really like in a movie, and my embarrassment grabbed the excuse that it might be seen as creepy as a reason to not say something). Why?

  Fear of rejection, of course.

  When you look up “Fear of Rejection” on Wikipedia, they should have my picture there as an example. I’m not nearly as bad about the fear as others who suffer (and don’t leave their homes.) Rather, I fear walking into rooms with people I don’t know. My first reaction is to find a corner and hide.

  The second level of sucky is that the person put in effort to look like Leeloo, and I missed an opportunity to show that someone appreciated it. I’m sure I could have said something nice in passing, waved, and walked on (I assume that is normal reaction and etiquette. It’s my first time at a larger con.)

  So, for those of my readers who love cosplay, I salute you. You bring much fun to the cons! And while I work on my rejection issues, know that many of us appreciate the work you put into your costumes and some of us wish we had the ability to pause the embarrassment button in our lives and live it up like you do.

  Keep cosplaying,

  Michael Anderle

  Hunting The Broken

  Caitlin Chronicles Book Three

  For Bob, Mary, Winnifred, and Violet. You taught me to dream, and this is the product of you.

  —Dan

  To Family, Friends and

  Those Who Love

  To Read.

  May We All Enjoy Grace

  To Live The Life We Are

  Called.

  —Michael

  Prologue

  The Broken City, Old Ontario

  Lewis savored the feel of the wind on his face and the freshness of the open air as the sun warmed his cheeks, his nose, and his brow.

  He paused for a moment halfway up the hill and took it all in. The desecrated city stretched for miles upon miles. Skyscrapers buckled at the knees amidst rubble and dust. Only a few hospitable spaces remained behind the crude chain link fence which bordered it all. Perhaps they had run a little farther than they were allowed, but what did that matter on a day like today?

  “Can’t catch me!” Serena called, sprinting past him in a fit of delighted giggles.

  Want to bet? A grin crept onto his face. When he opened his eyes, he could see the backs of her legs as they disappeared into a mound of overgrown bushes.

  Serena was fast, but Lewis was definitely faster. Three years her senior, he was taller, stronger, and—if he did say so himself—much better-looking. He didn’t have the scars and the malformations that came from the fights, or from brothers and sisters breeding for survival. Too many aberrations resulted from cousins and relatives panicking to find ways to increase their numbers in the closed-off city.

  He shuddered at the thought.

  Lewis caught up without much effort, although he let Serena have her fun. It amused him to pretend he couldn’t overtake her as they sped through tangles and thorns, climbing ever higher up the hill until they crested its peak.

  Up at the top, they sat and rested. Serena panted heavily, lying flat on her back to stare up at the sky. She pointed at the clouds as they floated by.

  “That one looks like an alpaca,” she said, giggling into the cup of her hand.

  Lewis furrowed his brow. “What the hell is an alpaca? Sounds like a foreigner bruising for a fight. ‘I’ll-a-packa-your-face-in!”

  He laughed, then cut it short. Serena had given him “the look,” the one he hated. It told him that she was superior to him because of her knowledge. She loved to read the remnants of books that had been salvaged and saved, whereas Lewis did what typical ten-year-old boys did in the latter days of the Madness—spat, shat, laughed, and learned to survive.

  “Oh, Lewy. My dear Lewy.” The all-too-familiar condescending tone rasped at his good mood. “It’s like a deer, but it’s…like, super fluffy and has…erm…like, a long neck, too.”

  “Fascinating.” Lewis did not bother to hide the sarcasm.

  “People used to make clothes from their wool and breed them in big, like, erm…pens. Loads of them. There used to be big farms of them.”

  Lewis licked his lips. “They sound delicious.”

  “Ew! Disgusting. Why do you always make it weird?” Serena asked, sitting up and slapping Lewis’ arm.

  “Because if they have a heartbeat and lots of fat, we should be able to hunt and eat them. That’s the way of it now, child.” Lewis looked satisfied as a wave of annoyance washed over Serena’s face and she folded her arms. “That’s right. Enough scavenging for tins in the city. These days, it’s all about the harvest. There’s only so much chicken I can eat before it makes me vomit.”

  Serena had grown pale. “You sound like you’re coming down with Madness. I’ve got a heartbeat and fat. Are you going to eat me next?”

  Lewis licked his lips hungrily, standing up to tower over her. He raised his arms like a bear and stomped forward. “Mmm, you look dee-lish-us. I’m gonna chomp you up.”

  Serena burst into laughter as she scrambled to her feet and ran away. They chased each other around the crown of the hill, pausing only when her foot caught on a rock and she fell. The hem of her dress rose to reveal a knee scratched and red. Small beads of blood gathered on the skin.

  Lewis dropped the Mad act and knelt beside her. “Oh, no. Are you okay?”

  She nodded but bit her lip. Her eyes grew glossy with unshed tears.

  “Here,” Lewis said. He leaned forward and dabbed the wound with the cuff of his sleeve. The cotton was stained and mucky already, and the blood added a fresh patch of color to it. “Is that better?” he asked, sitting down beside her.

  Serena nodded but did not answer. Lewis placed an arm around her shoulder and pulled her closer. “You’re going to be all right,” he soothed. “It’s all going to be all right.”

  They sat for some time in silence overlooking the place that had come to be known over the years as The Broken City. The crumbling ruins of the metropolitan city, from afar, looked dead and arid.

  Over on the far side of the city, they could see the twinkling ripples of the lake, a massive expanse of water that bordered the northern ridge. A place which—Lewis had been told—held a whole new sub-species of Mad, creatures who had turned and learned to swim and thrive in the water. Their skin black and slimy, they clutched lost boys from the shore and dragged them to the depths below.

  He had shuddered when the other boys told him this. The idea of the Mad was bad enough, but water-resistant Mad? Well… That was enough to keep all the boys from exploring the northern border.

  He was sure they were lying. Really, they were simply crude bed-time stories.

  But was it worth the risk?

  “Lewis?”

  He broke out of his thoughts. “Yes?”

  “Tell me a joke.”

  “What kind of joke?”

  “A funny one,” Serena said.

  Helpful. “Okay. What do you get if you cross a gee-raff with a window cleaner?”

  Serena pulled away from his arm, a grin already on her face. “I don’t know.”

  “A window cleaner that doesn’t need a ladder,” Lewis said, waiting for Serena’s fit of giggling to commence.

  Instead, she looked confused. “What’s a gee-raff?”

  His smile faded and he tappe
d his chin. “Hmm…I don’t actually know. Max told me that he saw one in a book. Maybe it’s a bit like an alapacala?”

  “Alpaca.”

  “Right.”

  Lewis looked down at Serena’s knee. The bleeding had stopped. There might be a small bruise later, but otherwise, it looked fine. She now seemed distracted enough to have forgotten all about it.

  “Come on, let’s get you home,” he said. “Maybe they’ve got pictures of gee-raffs and alpalacias—”

  “Alpacas!”

  “Right.” Lewis slowed down and committed it to memory. “Al-pack-a. Got it. Alpacas and gee-raffs in one of those dusty books in the old library.”

  Serena fell into thought. She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “Hmm, maybe. But which shelf?”

  Lewis shrugged. “I don’t know,” he admitted, having only ever read one or two books from the shelves which lined The Broken City’s community hub—the place where the folk of the city slept as one. “Maybe start by looking under ‘G?’”

  “It doesn’t work like that…” Serena’s voice trailed away.

  “Serena? What’s wrong?”

  She didn’t respond. His gaze was drawn to where she pointed, her eyes wide.

  It emerged from the bushes nearby, limping crudely on its one good leg. A Mad, its eyes glowing red as it locked onto Serena and Lewis and cocked its head in their direction.

  Lewis took a deep breath, remembering what his father had taught him.

  Panic is your enemy. Just because they’re mindless doesn’t mean you need to be.

  “Hey, Serena,” Lewis said, picking up a large dead branch. “What restaurant does this Mad go to?”