Surviving The Perils

by Roman Shepp

  Surviving The Perils

  The Beginning Book 2

  Roman Shepp

  Copyright © 2018 by Robert Spake

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter One

  The acrid odor of smoke and ash filled the air. Searing pain bit at Quentin's face. The mask could hide the burned, mottled flesh from view, but it could not dampen his pain. The pain was needed. It reminded him that he still was alive, even though he felt dead. He'd lost everything. The last pieces of his mind had been ripped from him in that inferno. The flames continued to lick the buildings of the convention center. Only the walls remained now. The roof had caved in on itself, crushing whomever was left. Crushing the body of his beloved Carol. Even if the fire department came, he doubted they would be able to do anything to stop the fire. Better to let it burn out on its own accord. It was far enough away from the trees so that it wouldn't cause a wildfire.

  Closing his eyes, he tried holding back the tears. Tears were for the weak. He couldn't afford tears. He was a soldier now. Again. People ran from him in terror. Dead bodies had been dragged away, although some still remained. With others, those who had been left close to the building, the fire had taken them and melted their flesh. It was more than they deserved. Their talk of unity and working together. It was all a lie. They all were petty, greedy people who wanted everything for themselves. That had cost Carol her life. They all were her murderers. Quentin would see that they all met justice at his hands.

  The love he felt for her had burned away. What was left was a charred, black husk, filled with vengeance. Behind him, the air was filled with thick smoke. When he breathed his throat scratched and he coughed, but he ignored it. He had learned long ago to ignore pain. Pain was a weakness.

  'A weakness you men cannot afford!' Sergeant Mayweather bellowed. He marched along the line of new recruits, face red, hands clasped behind his back, spittle flying from his mouth at every word. 'You think the enemy is going to give a damn about your pain?! I'll let you in on a little secret. They don't care about any of you! They don't care about anything except destroying our way of life. You are all weapons, trained and forged to perform one task and one task only, to kill. These men beside you are going to hold your life in their hands, and you are going to hold theirs. You need to trust them with everything you have, because when the moment comes they are all you are going to have. We're not in America anymore. For all intents and purposes, you people are all that is left of the country, so look to each other and be inspired. Be brothers, be family, because if you don't, then you're all going to die.'

  Quentin blinked and looked around at the long field of grass stretching into the forest. In the distance the skyscrapers of the city stood tall and proud, testaments of human ingenuity and technology. The modern age was in some ways a marvel. People mostly took it for granted, not having witnessed how under-privileged people lived. When he closed his eyes again he could almost breathe in the scents of the desert.

  The air was humid. His uniform clung to his sweat-clad body. Hives had broken out upon his skin, as they had with most of the men. Except for Gus. Gus always was a cool customer and seemed to take everything in his stride. Even this madness. Quentin was out on patrol with his soldier brothers, rocks and sand crunching underneath his heavy boots. His weapon was in his hands, carrying death. If the rest of his troop were his brothers, then his gun was his child. The sun blazed down. There were never any clouds in the sky. All he wanted was water, all the time, but had to train himself to drink only when it was needed. This land was quiet. It was like being on an alien planet, not that Quentin ever had had time to think of such things. His mind was focused, arrow-straight.

  Silence was broken by a shout, garbled words from the natives, who he never would understand. Their language sounded like gibberish to him. The only thing he needed to know was that it was a sign of the enemy. His hands tightened on his gun. Footsteps thundered against the ground, sending up dust, as the troop moved to the rising crest of a hill. They had the high ground. All the advantage was with them. Peeking over, they saw a wrecked truck. It was pinning three men to the ground. Other men were trying to drag it off, with little success. Panicked women were screaming, begging for mercy. Quentin looked down. One of the people pinned was a child. His head lolled back against the sand. If he wasn't dead already, he would be soon.

  'Should we go?' Quentin asked.

  'Could be a trap,' Benji said.

  'Can we really afford not to go?' Kermit asked the question that was on all their minds. They were in a war, but Quentin quickly had learned that it wasn't as black and white as he thought it would have been. The battlefields upon which they fought were cities and villages, homes of innocent people who never asked for any of this. They were often in the line of fire...but sometimes they were bait. Everyone turned to look at Gus. He pursed his lips and looked down, shaking his head.

  'You know, we're supposed to be out here to protect them, but what good is it if we never actually take any action? If this is a trap, it's a damn good one. We've lost a lot already in this war, and I think if we turn back from this, we're going to lose our humanity. That's something we can't afford to lose. Quentin, Benji, you stay here and keep watch. The rest of us will go down. Keep your eyes peeled. If this is a trap, then we're going to be ready to react when they spring it,' he said.

  Quentin watched as the three men held up their hands and declared they had come in peace, and that they only wanted to help. Quentin's breath caught in his throat. He gulped and wished that he could drink some water. Gus led Kermit and Frankie down the hill, leaving deep footprints in the sand. The people rushed toward them, gesticulating toward the truck. Quentin couldn't take his eyes off the child, lying there so still.

  He prayed that the child would be alright. That this wasn't a trap.

  Then the explosion deafened him. He fell back, coughing out sand. Benji yelled in his ear, although Quentin couldn't make out what he said. Dazed, Quentin rolled back over and looked down. The truck had exploded. Limbs and debris were strewn everywhere. None of them had made it out alive. Gunfire chewed up the ground beside him, sending fragments of sand shooting up in the air.

  'It was a fucki-' Benji began, but never got to finish his last words. Quentin let out a hollow scream as he watched a bullet smash into Benji's face, sending his body slumping to the ground. Quentin looked in on himself and found the void, the calm place where his violent anger was forged into cool steel. The last one of his troop, Quentin stood up. His gun spat death. He was prepared to die with them all, but through the smoking blaze he managed to subdue the insurgents, and it wasn't long before another patrol came along to offer aid. Quentin had to bear the shame of survival.

  He had lost his solider brothers a long time ago, and now he had lost Carol. All of them had been his family, yet he had been the one cursed with the guilt and the shame. The world would have been better off if it had taken him. He gladly would have given his life for any of the o
thers. Some of them had children who would have to grow up without a father. Carol had wanted children, but it hadn't happened for her. That only brought Quentin more shame as he knew he never could have a child. Not after seeing the body of that small boy under a truck moments before it was blown to smithereens.

  Roaring, he moved into the forest, stalking in random directions. The trees rustled with the sounds of people trying to run from him. It was grimly ironic. He had been trained to be their savior, to be their protector and their defender. He had put everything he had on the line to serve his country, but it ultimately had meant nothing. Nobody was grateful for his sacrifice. Nobody could understand what he had been through. Only Carol had made the attempt.

  Poor, sweet Carol. He stopped and looked back at the building where his Carol was buried. It was a pyre to her. At least she was in a better place now, but it meant they never would see each other again. He never would get into that place. All the things he had done in life, all the things he had felt...there was nothing left for him. Hell was the only place he deserved to be. As he looked around, he wondered if he was in hell already.

  He walked back onto the field and looked at the burning building, then down at himself. His life was a joke. He had tried to lose himself in a fantasy world. Dressed as a barbaric warrior, Quentin looked like a relic from a forgotten age. It was a world in which sword and sorcery went hand in hand, where the common people respected those who went to war. To Quentin, it was something akin to paradise, but of course that was a lie too.

  Everything in his life had been a lie up to this point, and he wasn't going to stand for it any longer. The world, society, nobody cared about him. That was evident when no aid had come to them. People always were eager to turn their backs on their problems, to let someone else handle it. That was their sin, and Quentin was going to make them pay for it. Humanity didn't deserve to live in this world anymore. He should send them to the afterlife. Then let God make his judgment. Quentin was going to hell anyway, he might as well carve a hole in humanity while he was at it.

  There just was one thing holding him back. One whisper of a memory echoing in his head, a memory of a troubled night where he had kicked off the covers and thrashed out against invisible demons. A night where Carol had wrapped her arms around him and soothed him. It always was strange to him how such a petite, slender woman could be so strong. In her arms Quentin had felt safe.

  'It's going to be okay, Quentin. It's all going to be okay. You're alive and that's the most important thing. I know sometimes it's not the easiest thing, and that life can weigh on you. However, it also means there's always the potential for things to change. You're a knight, Quentin, a hero. You've done things few other men would do, all because you thought it was right. I love you for that, and I'll do anything for you. I'm going to make sure we have a good future together, that we can be happy. I might not be able to see the deepest scars you have, but I'm sure they will heal.'

  It was as though the world did not want him to be happy, did not want him to have a future. The orange flames curled and licked the building. Sweat poured down his face, stinging his broken skin. He relished the pain, though. Everything else was a lie. Pain was the only truth in the world, and it was his mission to make others see it as well. The scars within him never would heal, and the only thing that felt right to him was to make humanity pay for its crimes.

  He had seen the worst of it at war and here. In times of struggle people turned to panic and fear and ran away from trying to save others. They let them die. If they all had ganged up against Quentin they could have stopped him, but they had sprinted into the woods, each of them eager to save their own skin. Quentin could not abide such behavior. It made him wonder why he had bothered to serve his country in the first place. These people didn't deserve defending.

  For what must have taken hours he dragged corpses across the field and threw them into the fire, smelling the burning flesh. Blood stained the field. It was grueling work, but eventually he managed to throw every single body into the fire. That was the answer to his question. Burning the world was what needed to be done. Maybe something better would grow in its place. Through the twisting, swirling smoke, he could see the outline of the city again. Something had happened, of that he was sure. He still retained enough of his mind to know when something was wrong. The fire department and police should have been out here by now anyway. And what was it some people had said? Something about their cellphones not working? Maybe someone finally had done it, attacked the fortress of America, and maybe they even had succeeded.

  Well, that wasn't his mission anymore. Defending the country was something he had done once and never would again.

  As he walked along the field something gleamed, catching his eye. Bending down, he saw that it was a mirror. It must have fallen out of somebody's bag. Staring into it, he barely recognized the man he saw. A mask covered half of his face. Bringing his hand to his face, he caressed the mask, and then brought it down. The pink, damaged skin barely was visible underneath the mask. He winced as he rubbed it with his finger, then pulled it away. It was a mark from the devil, making sure that he never would forget his scars, and that he never would forget this moment.

  The field had been cleared of bodies. The fire still burned brightly, but it would die out of its own accord. The building was surrounded by a moat of concrete, meaning the fire wouldn't make it to the grass. Reborn in flames, he moved forward and embraced his new role in life. Carol once had called him a hero. He had not always seen himself in that way, and he doubted others would either. But he was doing this all for Carol, for the greater good of humanity. His love had doomed Carol. Now he would doom the world.

  Chapter Two

  Tony, Saeed, and Jane had been walking for a while now. They were on the vast outreaches of the city, getting farther and farther away from the heart of the city all the time, which was a good thing, in Tony's opinion. He still was on edge, looking furtively at every dark corner. Ever since they had been walking after their night of rest they hadn't encountered anyone else, even though Tony knew they were there. Sometimes, when they passed buildings, he caught a glimpse of movement in the windows, and was sure there were people hiding behind them. On other occasions Groot's head twitched in a certain direction, indicating there was something that had attracted his attention. Part of Tony wanted to meet them and pool their resources, but although he wanted to be as courageous as a superhero, fear throbbed in the back of his mind.

  “I think he's probably okay you know,” Jane said, nodding to Groot. Tony had been carrying him for a while now. They'd lost the cart a while ago. Groot was getting heavy, and Tony never had been the strongest. It was a strain to keep hold of the dog in his arms. Groot still limped a little when he walked, though, and Tony felt bad. After all, Groot had lost his owner.

  “You reckon?”

  “He's probably the toughest one out of all of us,” Jane said. Tony pondered this for a moment and then set Groot on the ground again. The dog whimpered, but Tony gave him a stern look.

  “I'm not going to carry you around with me this whole time. You're far too heavy for that. We're all hurting, so you'll just have to deal with this. It'll probably do you good anyway,” he said, hardening his heart as he resisted the urge to pick Groot up. As it happened, soon after he put Groot down the dog stopped limping. “Looks like you were right,” he said.

  “My dad used to have a load of dogs. I know a thing or two about how their minds work,” she said, smiling.

  Tony still wasn't entirely sure what to make of her. While they had been held captive the two of them had bonded. Yet, ever since then they really hadn't spoken about anything of note. Tony wanted to share things with her, that's what he thought he was supposed to do, but he didn't know how to go about it. Maybe she was being quiet because Saeed was around. He wasn't the most calming presence. Sometimes he still muttered to himself, but most of the time he kept quiet. They were a strange trio, having been flung together in thes
e adverse circumstances. There was no real reason why any of them should stay together either, but they did, even though few words had passed between them since they had left the city. Somehow, anything they said seemed shallow and unimportant. What was there to talk about after the end of the world?

  There was much on Tony's mind, though. Occasionally he would glance over his shoulder, looking back to the city they were leaving.

  “You know, I've never actually been this far out of the city before,” he said.

  “What, never?” Jane asked incredulously. Tony shook his head.

  “I never really had the opportunity. There might have been one weekend when I went camping with some of the guys...but that was a long time ago, and if it did happen, I can't remember it that well.”

  “Was it not a good time?”

  Tony shrugged. “That's just it, I don't remember. I don't know if it's the same for everybody, but I find it difficult to put myself in the shoes of my younger self. Any memories I do have about my childhood are like I'm watching a movie of another life.”

  “That's so sad,” Jane said, looking at Tony with pity. That wasn't exactly the reaction he had been looking for.

  “It's just the way it is, I guess. To be honest I'd rather forget about my childhood altogether.”

  “I'm the opposite. I wish I could go back there. I'd love to return to a time where I had no obligations, no responsibilities, and no chance to fuck up my own life. I could just sit on my daddy's lap, play with the dogs, and watch cartoons. Life was perfect.”

  “Not all of us had it that easy,” Tony said. Saeed let out a choking noise. Tony suddenly realized how difficult it must have been for Saeed to listen to them mention their childhoods when his own child had had hers torn away from her.