Humanity Gone (Book 2): Facade of Order

by Derek Deremer

  HUMANITY GONE

  Book II

  Facade of Order

  definitive edition

  by

  Derek Deremer

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  © 2013 By Derek Deremer

  Editing by Dean Culver, Sandra Finley, & Jay Wilburn

  Prologue

  “If you don't start talking, I'm going to remove all the fingers on your left hand.”

  I was afraid he was going to say that. I managed to not even scream when he took the pliers to my pinky. I'm not sure if that courage will last much longer. I glance down to the bloodied stump of a finger that was tethered to the wooden chair. A pool of blood gathers around my hand and a few drops land on the white ceramic tile beneath me. Pain is no stranger to me, but it is becoming overwhelming as I feel each heart beat where my finger once was. I avert my eyes from the blood and glance around me. The room is dark and felt like a dank washroom. It is probably an old bathroom... or an operating room. A single light illuminates only a portion of the room and the man's face. He is dressed in combat gear and his helmet sat on the nearby table.

  I glare up into his face. A shadow darkens everything beneath his brow and a hint of light reflects off the brown in his eyes. There didn't seem to be any white there. Held in front of him is a pair of pliers-stained red from when it sliced through the veins in my little finger. I wanted to kill him - to make him suffer, but I really was in no position to make threats. Charging in here was so sloppy.

  They told me she could be in here.

  They were wrong.

  It is a trap as far as I can tell, and now I am strapped to a chair, and they want information that I don't even know. Perhaps they are a little pissed about all of them I killed to get here, and maybe the ones I killed in the past.

  I guess counting three today, I was somewhere around fifteen at this point. I'm not really sure. The number of bodies I walked over did not matter one damn bit. Not until I found her.

  He slaps me across the face.

  “Start talking, or believe me, I can do much worse things to you.” He smirks and briefly glances down. This isn't the first time I've been threatened with that.

  “I don't know what you're talking about. I was just looking for someone,” I yell back at him. “So if you think pain is going to get me to remember something you may as well chop off my whole damn arm.”

  Perhaps it isn't the best plan to give this guy any ideas, but maybe if I seem just crazy enough...

  He leans in close. His breath smells awful, and I turn to the left to avoid his gaze. He grabs my hair and turns my head forward and back until my skull feels like it will hit the middle of my back. He leans over and glares down into my eyes. I can see them clearly now in the low light. They are dark and empty.

  “What do they want with us?” He pulls even tighter on my hair and it feels like it's about to rip out of my scalp.

  “I don't know what you’re talking about.” Well, I knew vaguely what he was talking about; I just didn't know anything about it. He pulls back on my hair for a few more moments and then he releases it. My chin instantly drops to my chest. He takes a step back and turns around for a second.

  “I know you know something. You're the one who has been killing our men up and down this territory with those arrows. Most of all, I know you're under order from the Sanctuary. Matthews is tired of their little game. What he personally does to them will make this look like child's play.”

  Sanctuary. Now that was a name I had not heard in a while.

  “Believe me; I take no orders from them. I know nothing. I've just been looking for someone this whole time. I know you have her.” I look up to him. I squint-trying my best to look threatening to the man that could easily kill me with the knife he had sheathed to his side. He did not scare me, and I wasn't going to give him any satisfaction that he did.

  He slaps me again on the other side of my head. Or was it the same side?

  His hand reaches into his pocket and retrieves the pliers. My heart seems to stop as he holds my left hand down and goes to my ring finger.

  “What do they want?” he screams into my face as I try with every ounce of my energy to free myself from the bonds. The metal pliers surround my ring finger.

  “I am just trying to find my sister.” The last part of my sentence ends in a yell as the pliers tear through skin, muscle, and then bone. He pulls the bloody tool away, and I see my ring finger for a second before it falls to the floor. The pain is unimaginable, and it takes every ounce of me to not continue screaming and start crying.

  My voice quavers as I plead, “Please. I'm just trying to find my twin sister.”

  Chapter 1: Caitlyn

  A slight rustle of the bush is all I need to see.

  I tracked him all day long, and too often he heard me approaching and took off further into the woods. This time I am much more careful. I am downwind and every step is a meticulous effort. Now, I had him and he is not getting away. I slowly side-step around foliage and kneel as low as my bow allows. I close my left eye and aim down the shaft.

  His head faces the ground, away from me. His nostrils flare slowly as he searches the forest floor. He seems to be too concentrated on finding a meal and is not concentrated on the arrow that I continue to pull back further and further. The late summer day sun glistens lightly off the tip of the arrow aiming at its heart. I adjust a few more inches to the right and release the string without hesitation. Its ear twitches back as if it hears the arrow. It doesn't matter. The arrow buries deep behind his front left leg and the deer collapses silently. It is a perfect kill. Not my first.

  Definitely not my last.

  My stomach growls as I run up and inspect my kill. It feels like days since the last time I have eaten a thing. The deer was developing antlers and its size will last me several days if I cook it all. Placing my boot on its chest, I withdraw the arrow and wipe it clean in the dirt and place it in the quiver across my back.

  Deer has become a steady staple in my diet as I lived in the woods. Sometimes I make do with the occasional squirrel or chipmunk, but this would provide a real meal of protein- something I was unquestionably lacking. Living off the luck of my bow was far from easy, but has been my way of life since I was left alone. I learned to shoot with either hand, and even have fooled around with my feet. I vaguely remembered from years ago, a tribe on TV that fired from their backs. Perhaps they knew something that I didn't. Needless to say, I was unsuccessful.

  It seems like yesterday when those masked men in black helicopters took everyone who I had loved - everyone in the whole world who meant anything to me.

  That was five years ago. Five years since I have seen Sara. She should be almost eighteen by this point. I guess I'm almost eighteen at this point, too.

  Every moment since then I have searched the woods trying to find her, Carter, and Jo. These last years have been a constant mangle of dangerous military posts and ignorant survivors. I don't know if the three of them are all together anymore, so I concentrated on the rare rumors of Sara. I just hope the others will be with her. It was odd to ask the occasional traveler if they ever saw someone who looked exactly like me. A few provided some clues, but many were not helpful. I even thought I was close a few times, but she has managed to slip through my fingers. The trail ran completely cold last winter.

  It was now July.

  The deer meat sizzles above the small fire I prepared by the site of the kill. Normally I hate to waste the animal, but I didn't have the energy, or will power for that matter, to carry it back to my campsi
te a few miles away and properly tend to the carcass. Food could never be taken for granted out here; it's painful when I waste. Some meals are days apart and hunting on an empty stomach causes carelessness. I pull the hot meat off the stick and rip it with my teeth. It's chewy and my little bit of seasoning that I've managed to scavenge makes it delicious. I devour the entire stick in a few minutes.

  I cook a few extra parts of the deer, wrap it in some spare cloth, and tuck it in my bag. It will make a great breakfast in the morning, but it won't last too much longer. Occasionally, I miss refrigerators, but I even struggle to remember what they look like most of the time.

  I find that I have forgotten a lot about life before the plague.

  I adjust my bag, my quiver of arrows, and place the bow over my shoulder. My fingers pull a few long strands of hair behind my ear and I look up into the late day sky. The sun was quickly setting, and I needed somewhere to sleep for the night. Sleeping too close to the remains of the deer will be too dangerous. Wolves and bears were uncommon, but even I was afraid to take most animals head on. A few years back I came face to face with a wolf. The beast was interested in the beaver carcass I was skinning. I almost bled to death from the slashes it put in my arms, but I managed to drive a knife into its eye after our long standoff. After it was dead, I hobbled up a tree to tend to my shredded arm. The scars were a nice reminder of who truly owned the forest. I am just a visitor.

  I walk maybe a mile back towards my camp, and find a fallen tree leaning against a large oak to lie beneath. It will provide nice cover in case it would rain. The sky looks clear, but again, I can never be too cautious. The area is mostly open and a quick scan suggests it is safe enough. With the last rays of the sun, I lay out my sleeping mat. It seems like it would be another warm night so I didn't worry about building another fire.

  My hands reach into my hair and pulls out the scrap of a ribbon holding it back. It is shoulder length and I usually keep it up and out of the way. Every now and then I think about just cutting it all off, but I know Sara's hair will still be long. When I tell people she looks exactly like me, I want it to be as uncanny as possible. I will do whatever it takes to find her.

  I lie down on the mat and prop my head up with the pack. A break in the tree line above gives me a clear view of the stars as they slowly come into focus from the haze of day. I pull my hair to the one side of my head and look at the stars. A few of the constellations are recognizable against the inky black. Superman comes to mind, although I am not really sure why. My eyes close ,and I try to remember...

  A large bush beside me stirs. The crackling of leaves comes from the same bush. I sit up and stare.

  The wind?

  It moves again. My fingers search for the knife in my pack. I grip the handle and prepare to dive it into whatever is in the bush. It rustles more and a dark figure lunges hands first at me. I release the handle of the blade and prepare to catch the man landing on top of me. I place both my hands against his chest and hold him above my body. Our eyes meet.

  “Hey Walter.”

  Chapter 2: Caitlyn

  Walt tries to sneak up on me a lot these days. He rarely gets even this close. I push him off to the side, and he rolls onto his back beside me in the soft dirt.

  “Did you know it was me?” he asks.

  “Yes,” I answer coldly while returning my gaze skyward.

  “I thought I smelled you nearby, and I wanted to give you a surprise,” Walt quips.

  “You're lucky I didn't stab you,” I answer.

  I punch him in the side and he holds his ribs as he laughs. I quickly lower my nose and quietly inhale. No, I didn't smell too great. I think it had been roughly a week since the last time I had any resemblance of a shower. Walter usually says whatever comes to his mind; besides, he cannot smell much better anyway. Yet, I preferred to simply not talk about it.

  “What were you doing out this way?” I ask.

  “Tracking a meal. I don't know where it went.” Walt responds with a hint of defeat in his voice. Recalling the deer meat in my bag, I sit up and offer him the portion.

  “Good work, Cait.” he exclaims while snatching the cold venison and biting it like a hungry cow. Politeness is not a quality he possesses. He leans back on his elbows, and I place my head back onto the knapsack. I hear him chew a few more minutes before gathering his words. Walter didn't have the best “table manners” either. Without asking he grabs the water bottle from beside me and nearly finishes the rest of it off in one gulp.

  “So, while I was tracking the deer, I saw one of the military posts several miles away along one of the roads. It amazes me that we hadn't stumbled upon it sooner,” Walter says. Good, someplace new to look for Sara. I turn onto my hip and support my head with my hand. He turns to look at me. His face had traces of dirt on it, which it always seemed to possess. His dark brown hair are cut shorter than I remembered, but his eyes are still just as dark.

  I have not seen him in almost five days, so it could be a bit more than “several miles away.” His estimations of distances are usually a bit short. Walt likes to spend most of his time alone as he roams the woods. Every few days in the summer, we meet up and spend some time together swapping hunting stories but most of all food. We both had our fair share of unlucky hunts and shared what little we have when we have it. We formed our unlikely pair over five years ago...

  Walt found me a few days after I lost Sara. I had found one of the first outposts only days after she was taken and was going to try and sneak inside to see if they had her. The black helicopters were even sitting in the yard and after I saw those, I was blind to reason and just wanted to get in there and save her. Just as I was preparing to run in, he pulled me back into the woods and convinced me how naive I was being. It took him a while to restrain me, but eventually I listened to him. Still, I am always wary of him though.

  I remembered Walt from the video we watched right before the helicopters showed up. Walt had roamed the woods by himself for a few months before he met me. Luckily, he did not seem as disturbed as in the video. He assured me the drugs his parents put him on had caused him to act goofy while his head “leveled-out,” and according to him, being in the woods helped. Since he was a toddler the doctors had diagnosed him with every behavior disorder in the book. His parents responded by giving him every drug in the book to even out his moods and actions. He continued to take them even after his parent's had died from the plague. Walt searched for replacements, but after that first winter he was beginning to come up short. The pills ran out one at a time. When he filmed the video, all the pills had run dry. Naturally, I assume, it took him quite a while to return to his “normal” state. Still, to this day, there is a look in his eye that worries me. It is a look I briefly saw in Jon's eye when I told him the Sanctuary had kidnapped Jo. I'll never forget that look. However, unlike Jon, this look is always there. He always seems on edge and lacks empathy - empathy for anyone other than me that is.

  Sometimes, I worry that maybe he sees the same look in my eyes, too.

  A few weeks later, the two of us returned to that outpost, but we were much more careful. We had a new plan. The two of us crept close to the perimeter and took one of the guards by surprise. He was busy fiddling with a smoky glass tube of some kind and seemed zoned out as we pulled him into the woods. After we dragged him away, he eventually told us that there were no children at that outpost anymore, and that most children and prisoners were moved to dozens of locations all along the region. This outpost was simply for training soldiers. At first I wasn't sure if we should believe him, but even after Walt removed a few pieces of the guard's flesh, the guard stuck to his story. Walt then let him go. I don't know if I would have. The torture was brutal and all, but finding Sara was my only priority, and that man may have been one of the ones who took her. I've become frigid when it comes to the feelings of others.

  After that, Walt joined me in the constant search for my sister. The past five years we kept each other alive when thin
gs were at their worst.

  In the winter, we spent weeks together at the cabin on the campground to get out of the bitter cold. It was always a long trek back, but it was warm and safe. The campground always felt secure, and oddly like a home. There were a few nights we lied together to keep warm, but nothing ever happened. As years rolled on, I imagined he would try something. Yet, he was always restrained. We are more like siblings than anything else. It seems we stick together when we need each other to survive, and that can be quite often sometimes. In summer we become more distant, but we still always manage to find each other out here in the wild. Especially when the other is in need.

  Maybe it really is love. I don't even know if I am capable of it.

  Walt turns onto his chest, pulls out a creased and stained paper map, and opens it on my stomach. I sit up to look down on it. He points to a fresh “X” that would be maybe fifteen miles away. I had given the map to him almost a year ago; I memorized the majority of the terrain, and he did not have the best sense of direction. He has made it more detailed and marked the positions of the various outposts and bases we discovered throughout the entire territory. The ones I knew Sara was not inside.

  He smoothes the map out across my stomach and begins to go into detail about how he found the outpost. I pretty much ignore him and gaze at the details on the map. How he found the outpost really didn't matter to me. We drew the map ourselves nearly five years ago as well. After he convinced me that trying to get in the outpost was suicide, we started looking for alternate plans than rushing in. We used the phone I had taken from the masked man on the helicopter to get into a GPS visual of the area. I really had no idea where we were so we drew a map covering a few hundred square miles in the territory. We knew the phone wouldn't last forever, so we used the map to put landmarks, outposts, and various survivor locations we stumbled upon over the years.

  There are small groups of survivors here and there who managed to survive the plague and the winters. Many are struggling to live off the land or the occasional scrap they can scavenge. On a few occasions, we met up with these different groups and traded for food. Yet, the two of us never became too comfortable with others, so Walt and I decided to stay on the move in the woods. On more than one instance, other survivors tried to rob us or worse. We learned to trust no one. The woods are safer. Plus, I want to keep looking for Sara. Walt, well I think, stayed out here for me. He says he can't do well with other people again. He could talk to me like normal, but with others it was very different. When he spoke to others his language became foul and aggressive. I hear him say swear words I never knew existed. However, with me he was always gentle.