Enter the Rebirth
Edited by Thomas Gondolfi
TANSTAAFL Press
891 PH 10
Castle Rock, WA 98611
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All characters, businesses, and situations within this work are fictional and the product of the author’s creativity. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is entirely coincidental. TANSTAAFL Press assumes no responsibility for any content on author or fan websites or other publications.
Enter the Rebirth
First printing—TANSTAAFL Press
Copyright © 2018 by Thomas Gondolfi
Cover art: Andrei Bat
ISBN 978-1-938124-29-7
From the Editor
Thomas Gondolfi
Enter the Rebirth closes the cycle on our trilogy. It reconfirms that no matter how severe the tragedy, some new equilibrium is obtained, whether for good or ill. You will get both between the covers of this tome.
It saddens me that there will be no further books in this series but as with all things in our universe it went from apocalyptic beginning to glorious rebirth. Following in this theme, I arranged for the rebirth of a story I had initially rejected—White Gloves—because I felt the racial implications were too raw. The story kept going around and around in my head. I was wrong to reject it. We need stories such as these to crystalize our emotions to make certain we never allow such a travesty to happen again. I contacted Elizabeth King and asked to include it after all, and to my great pleasure she agreed.
Equally fittingly I chose to end Enter the Rebirth with the single story thread which has been within each of the trilogy, So That They May Rule, by Madison Keller. Her story of one continuing story, broken up into three, matched my original vision of the series. I’m proud to round it off with this work.
This shouldn’t take away from any of the other wonderful works herein. I couldn’t accept From Farm to Table fast enough. Forty-Seven Seconds challenged my mind, and An Inanimate Proposal challenged my heart. Again, I’d love to say something about each and every story within but I’ll let you find out for yourself.
The apocalyptic beginning of the series: I’ll be honest that I’ve never been particularly fond of anthologies and didn’t think they would sell. I resisted the impulse to have TANSTAAFL Press publish one. However, with a dearth of time, I decided that editing an anthology couldn’t be nearly as hard and lengthy as writing a novel from the beginning. Being pressed for time I chose to do the anthology series. Oops.
Glorious rebirth: Just behind loving someone and being loved in return, the most important thing that any of us can do is to learn. It drives everything else in our lives. The Enter the… series has taught me in more ways than I could have ever imagined. Not only did I take the lessons from above, but also my love for the short fiction form was reborn within me. I started out a short story writer and this has brought me back to that love. Learning this has been a debt I will never forget and one that TANSTAAFL Press will repay over many of the coming years.
Thomas Gondolfi
www.TANSTAAFLPress.com
Forty-Seven Seconds
Rich Jones
Editor: Lies can be used for good.
Forty-one . . .
Forty-two . . .
Forty-three . . .
“Come on. You've got it . . .” the boy whispered to himself.
Forty-five . . .
No . . . No . . . No . . .
Forty-seven.
Arn was running full out toward the large open doors of the Goal Building when he ran out of seconds. The mech cleared the obscurity of the tower building and immediately zero’d in on him. Without changing the path of its broad armored treads, the mech’s torso-trunk rotated and its weapon arms swung to the right. The gathered tribe and their captors had already seen what came next several times this morning. Bluish light boiled up along the needled length of the weapon pods and then blasted Arn into a dark, smoldering stain on the tarmac of discolored and cratered smoothstone.
The mech’s arms rotated back to their original position, apparently satisfied with their work. Above the arms the head of the thing spread out to a flattened sort of disk shape. Several spikes of various lengths arose from the head like a crown. Two red embers glowed from the dark orbs that were the head’s only other feature. Over the years the Scav tribes had speculated about what each part of the massive thing was and what it did. They had never gotten much further than speculation. No one had ever gotten close enough to study it and for good reason. It was a rolling, death-dealing monument of the time Before when people were able to create such wonderful and horrific machines.
The mech continued its patrol along the smoothstone expanse. It circled the same set of buildings in the middle of the Southern Wastes, rolling along the track it had worn into that stone over all the cycles since Before. In a few minutes it would turn back behind the low buildings and would be out of sight for another forty-seven seconds.
* * *
“Da?”
“Yes?”
“Why do we run?”
Da stopped what he was doing and put down his tools. He moved the thin metal plates that he had been holding to trade after Carnival. Every cycle the Scav tribes of the Southern Wastes gathered for a Carnival to barter items and information. The highlight of the Carnival would be when different Scavs would attempt to run the forty-seven seconds and get what they could from the tek that littered the field around the Goal Building. The Elders of the gathered tribes set strong rules for bartering during the Carnival to keep bloodshed to a minimum. It would be easier to get a better price for the plates once Carnival was over. Sifting through several of the bits of tek on his workbench, he picked up something small. He turned and looked at the boy with a warm smile and held it out.
“This is why we run.” Da put the small device in the boy’s hand.
“Go ahead, press that button.”
“But you said—”
“‘Never press a button if you don’t know what it does.’ I know, but it’s safe, press it.”
Carefully, the boy pressed the button.
The small piece of tek began to vibrate in the boy’s hand and suddenly several other items around the tent began to flash, beep, or, in one case, leap out of a crate to bounce and shake upon the sandy floor. The boy dropped the small device and jumped back as his Da laughed heartily.
“How did it do that?”
“I honestly don’t know, but we are learning a lot about Before from the tek the mech guards. Even from simple stuff like that.”
* * *
“Well, that's just a damn shame,” First Scribe sarcastically lamented. “I really thought he was gonna make it. Sorry.” He nodded to Second Scribe, who shot Aria in the head. There was a chorus of anguished cries from the boy's tribe. Her ancient body snapped back, and then crumpled down onto the bloody sand. There she lay among the bodies of the other olders that the Scribes had killed that morning each time a runner had failed.
“I don't know if there's enough of you to actually make it in that place, but dammit, we don't have anywhere else to go,” First said.
The boy winced and looked around. Arn had been next to him in line of those captives capable of running. He had been the last of the bearded men of the tribe. Sara had run before him and she had failed as well. As the largest of the youngers, the boy would be the next runner. The hard realization settled in that it was time to face his forty-seven seconds.
* * *
“Shhhhh.”
“But Da, who are they?” the boy urgently whispered.
Da gave him that look that meant that he wasn't happy but that he would
answer his questions just to quiet him down.
“They come from far to the north and west. From a tribe called ‘Scribes.’” It was a strange-sounding word.
“Are they like us? Do they want to scav here?"
“Yes and no. They do want to scav, but these Scribes say they only look for knowledge. That is what they are asking the Elders. They want to stay for Carnival and see the Running.”
“Are they dangerous?”
“I don’t know. We have never dealt with them before. I don’t see any weapons though.”
“Will the Elders let them? Let them stay?”
“No more questions. Let’s listen and hear what they say.”
* * *
When Carnival ended and the other tribes had left, the Scribes returned with guns and took the boy’s people captive. After killing the few men who initially resisted, they separated the tribe into two groups: those capable of running and then those they could use as hostages. So far that morning they had forced several runners to try for the Goal Building. When a runner failed to make it, they killed one of the hostages.
“Well now, it looks like we’re down to the little ones,” First said and grabbed the boy out of the line of runners. “I hope you're faster than you look, son.”
Second turned and grabbed the next hostage in line. It was the boy's grandmother and she cried out to him. That got her a hard backhand from Second. The boy lunged at him but First pulled him back hard. The boy yanked against First’s grip, and almost broke loose. Then First pressed the barrel of his gun to the boy's forehead. The metal was warm and hard.
“If you want her to live, do exactly what I tell you.”
Unsure of what to say, the boy nodded.
“Good,” First said, and led the boy by the scruff of his neck toward the fence line that encircled the buildings.
“Now, you've seen this enough. Get over that fence and don't get caught up in that claw wire.” He gestured to the tall metal mesh fence that was topped by a spiral of wire that had claws wound into it. Several meters inside the fence there was a double row of the claw wire. There were some melted sections where the mech zero’d a runner who got caught in it. None of those gaps created a straight line and the runners who tried for them had ended up like Arn. It used too many seconds to run for the gaps. “Get past those and then you just need to leg it to the open door. Easy,” First finished with a chuckle as they reached the start line.
It was anything but easy. The boy nodded anyway.
“You ready?"
“No,” the boy said.
* * *
“Da, do you have to run?”
“Are you worried, son?”
“I don’t want you to run out of seconds.”
“Oh, I won’t. Arn and I have a plan. He is going to run first and check the ’kopter. He’ll just run out and spy it, and then run back.”
“And then you’ll run after and get whatever he spied?”
“Yes. He’ll spend his seconds finding something good, and I will spend my seconds getting what he found.”
“Like a team.”
“Yes.”
“But why go for the ’kopter? Isn’t that too far in?”
“It is kinda far, but everything closer is picked over. We think the ’kopter still has a lot inside it. That’s why we are working together. One run isn’t enough seconds to find something and take it. Arn will find it; I will take it.”
“Will the Elders allow that? What about the Great Handshake?”
“They will. The Great Handshake just sets the rules for running the forty-seven seconds. So you can’t run two at a time. That stopped working anyway once the close stuff was all picked over. Now it just gets the attention of that damned thing much faster. But you can work together on different runs. Some have tried to remove the fence or the claw wire, but it’s too dug in to do any real work in a few seconds. Better to get in, get what you can and get out.”
“Is that what they tried last Carnival?”
“Yes, but they tried to get something too big, ran out of seconds.”
“You won’t do that?”
“No. We want something smaller, or something that we can take in pieces, even if it takes a few runs.”
“Will anyone go for the Goal Building this cycle?”
“I don’t know, but what is our rule?”
“Scavs that go for the Goal Building become Scav stains in front of the Goal Building.”
“Exactly.”
* * *
“Oh, you can speak, eh?”
“I need something from my Da’s tent.”
First raised his eyebrows at this. He glanced at Second who shrugged.
“Okay, but it better be good. Try anything and we'll kill the next three olders in line.”
First let go of the boy who wasted no time and sprinted up the dune for a stand of bright colored tents just at the top of the sandy rise. The gathered captives and the two Scribes watched him disappear into one of the tents. A few seconds later there was a loud crash from the tent.
“Boy! If you ain't back by the time I get to ten the first one is dead!” First shouted toward the tents.
“One . . . Two . . . Three . . .”
The boy appeared among the tents and raced from one to another, hauling something over his shoulder.
“What the . . .? Four!”
First looked over at Second, and the two exchanged a questioning look.
The boy came out of one tent and dove into another.
“Five!”
With that the boy came out of the last tent with something wound up in his hands. He turned downhill and sprinted toward the frustrated Scribe. First continued to call out numbers until he reached eight and the boy was standing right in front of him. The boy huffed and puffed, trying to catch his breath from the run down the sandy hillside.
“Son, you like to play things on the edge, don't you?”
“Ten,” the boy said between breaths.
“What?”
“You said I had until ten,” the boy replied.
“So I did, but I think you made those three over there wet themselves.” He gestured to the hostages that Second had his gun aimed at.
“Sorry,” the boy said sheepishly to his Elders.
“So now what the hells?” First was looking at the bundle the boy now held. It looked like three or maybe four thin metal plates that were wound up in a cord of some sort. The plates were each about a man's arm length long and half that wide. They had a slight curve to them. The cord wound around and between each plate so that there were gaps between them. The boy held them tightly, which kept them together in a neat stack.
“I'm ready.” The boy did not answer the question.
“Yeah, but what are you going to do with that?” First persisted.
The boy looked past the Scribe and saw the mech rounding the far building. It started to turn behind the Goal Building. His forty-seven seconds were about to start.
“It's time,” Second said.
First leaned down close to the boy and spoke in a low voice. One meant for only him to hear. “Inside that building is a machine, a terminal. It will let you shut down the mech and then we can all go in.” The boy’s eyes widened at that. “We are looking for something inside there and once we get it, you all,” First waved his gun toward the boy's tribe, “can go scav whatever you want and we'll leave you be.”
The boy did not believe First. They were bad men and had already killed to get what they wanted. And they really wanted something in that building. If he could get it, he would have barter. He would have power over them somehow. His Da had taught him to always barter when you had the power and never when you did not.
His Da had been the second man they had made run the forty-seven seconds. Da had no power then, and the boy knew he had no power now.
“Got it?” First asked.
The boy nodded.
* * *
“The sand makes me slow, Da.”
“How? It is so hard to run in.”
“Exactly.”
Da had that look like he was about to explain more, so the boy tried to wait, but couldn’t.
“How? How does the slow sand make me faster?”
“If you can run fast through the sand, how fast do you think you can run across the smoothstone?”
“I don’t know!” The boy knew that might get him a smack, but his legs burned and his chest heaved and he really hated running the sand.
“Running the sand is easier than running the seconds. Now go!”
He groaned but then turned and ran as hard as could across the shifting footing of the sand dune.
* * *
The boy moved quickly down the slope holding the bundled plates tight under his arm. The dune ended as the sand spilled over the hard smoothstone. There was a red line painted several meters onto the stone. It marked the closest a runner could get to the fence and not get zero’d by the mech. Several scorch marks told of failed attempts to mark that line.
The boy walked to the line and crouched down, ready to spring for the fence. He watched the mech as it turned and trundled in its endless path around the buildings. The instant the head dropped out of sight behind the far end of the Goal Building the boy launched like a spring and mentally started to count his seconds.
One . . .
Two . . .
He reached the fence and immediately started to climb it with his one free hand. The plates slowed him, but his hand was quick each time he let go and reached up to grab more fence to pull himself up. Luck be with him he did not miss a grab, and his toes kept up with his hand as he climbed.
Eleven . . .
At the top of the fence he would face his first true obstacle: A looped coil of claw wire.
Enter the Rebirth (Enter the... Book 3) Page 1