Forever After (Post Apocalyptic Romance Boxed Set)

by Rose Francis

  “I just realized, this dumps off the side!” she heard him yell.

  “I'm not going if you're not!” the other called.

  “Then let's both not fucking go!” she heard, before they were out of earshot.

  She wasn't sure how much further it was, but tried to be prepared. She had enough momentum she was terrified she would overshoot the edge, and rather than hit the pipe below, go flying out into the space beyond.

  She wondered if they would have been safer with her ahead. But she also knew Ilsa never would have jumped second—she needed the push.

  She went bouncing off an uneven bank that she prayed was simply bad concrete, and saw clouds beyond. They were close, Ilsa dangerously. “Jump!” she cried, but the other woman didn't seem to hear. She disappeared beneath the edge of the chute.

  Christine thought about tumbling after her. So much of her world had become tied up in the other woman, she wasn't sure she cared if they left it together. But instinct took over, and she threw her entire body, like a fish, towards the ledge around the chute. She was slicked with waste of all stripes, and nearly slid, but now that her momentum was gone it was easy enough to balance on the chute.

  She hauled herself up, and found herself staring over the edge. She didn't want to see Ilsa's mangled body below, but the clouds below called to her. She imagined the both of them soaring through the sky on borrowed wings.

  “Help,” Ilsa said weakly. Christine leaned a little further. She could see the other woman dangling precariously from the waste piping.

  “Thank fuck,” Christine muttered to herself. She climbed down into the chute, and laid flat to get her hand to Ilsa. They managed to scramble back to the chute, and Ilsa landed heavily against Christine.

  “You know,” Ilsa said, “if it weren't for all the poop, this would be romantic as all hell.”

  “We're new mothers,” Christine teased. “We might have to learn to accept a little poop finding its way into our love life—at least until we get the little bugger trained to use the honeybucket himself.”

  They helped each other out of the chute, and tried brushing themselves off, before realizing how very pointless the effort was. They tried to collect themselves as best they could, in case they had to pass by any Engineers.

  The Seaward was indeed near to the eastern edge, and they found it without much searching. “Hello ladies,” they heard slurred from on the deck, before seeing the short, balding first mate peering over the side. “Coming aboard?”

  “Can't he smell the shit dripping off us?” Ilsa asked.

  “Maybe that's a turn on?” Christine offered.

  As they boarded they heard a second set of boots, heavier, and with each thunderous step their hopes died a little more. Until they saw Tyson standing behind the man, with a baby wrapped in blankets around his chest.

  Tyson smiled. “I'm his new crewman. Hired by captain,” Tyson snapped his fingers.

  “Blake,” the man said sleepily.

  “to get the ship ready to take these ladies wherever they want to go.”

  “Tourist job?” the first mate asked with a lisp. Tyson reeled up the ramp.

  “Welcome aboard, ladies and um, other ladies. You've hired a first rate cloud skiff, and I'll be your first mate, proud Cliff. For your safety, always keep one hand on the side of the ship at all times, and don't lean more of your forward over the side than you can balance, lest you lose your aft.”

  Tyson jogged back to the pilot's cabin. “Ready to shove off,” he called, and the ship lurched away from the dock. As they rose, Christine could see an army of ants in Engineer garb rushing towards the end of the waste chute.

  A man she thought might be Gauck stopped running, and watched their ship rise. She flipped him the finger, and laughed.

  Then they joined Tyson, but without closing the door into the pilot's cabin.

  “How'd you beat us here?” Christine asked.

  “I told you, they weren't looking for me. But when I saw the stirred up hornet's nest at the passenger ships, I was confident you'd make your way here. And I had the bright idea of prepping the ship for takeoff. She's not good for distances, but there's three or four scavenger's posts within her capacity.”

  “Can I?” Ilsa asked, reaching for her baby, no longer even aware of the mess coating her arms.

  “Sure,” Tyson said, untied the knot at his shoulder, and handed her the bundle, baby and all.

  “So, now that you've got a ship of your own, where to?”

  “Just get us above the clouds,” Christine said. “So we can breathe the free air, and see the world from the sky, like a bird.”

  END

  ***

  Thank you for reading Euphoria/Dysphoria. If you have a moment to leave a review, it can make all the difference for letting future readers know what they're in for.

  --- Dedications & About the Authors ---

  From Michelle:

  For Andrey, as always, and for the Flock.

  About Michelle:

  Michelle Browne is a sci fi/fantasy writer from Calgary, AB. She has a cat and a partner-in-crime. Her days revolve around freelance editing, jewelry, phuquerie, and nightmares. She is currently working on the next books in her series, other people's manuscripts, and drinking as much tea as humanly possible.

  She is all over the internet, far too often for anyone’s sanity, and can be found in various places.

  Blog

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  You can find all of Michelle’s books on: AMAZON

  From Nic:

  For all the vegetarians of the world, my wife included, who now hate our guts.

  About Nic:

  Nicolas Wilson is a published journalist, graphic novelist, and novelist. He lives in the rainy wastes of Portland, Oregon with his wife, four cats and a dog.

  Nic's work spans a variety of genres, from political thriller to science fiction and urban fantasy. He has several novels currently available, and many more due for release in the next year. The second installations in the Sontem Trilogy and the Gambit are due for publication Winter 2014. Nic's stories are characterized by his eye for the absurd, the off-color, and the bombastic.

  For information on Nic's books, and behind-the-scenes looks at his writing, visit nicolaswilson.com.

  Stay in touch with Nic:

  NicolasWilson.com

  Facebook

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  Mailing List

  You can find all of Nic’s books on: AMAZON

  ***

  When Dreamers Wake (Book One)

  By J.E. AND M. KEEP

  TABLE OF 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 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  CHAPTER 31

  NOTE FROM THE AUTHORS

  MORE BY J.E. & M. KEEP

  BIOGRAPHY

  Chapter 1

  The forest on the horizon was completely untouched, undestroyed by the mad gods and their baffling ways. They had left years ago, yet had left so much confusion and pain—and death—in their wake. The death of humans, the death of buildings, of natural wonders, of pristine forests and barren deserts. Everything had changed with their arrival, and changed once more on their departure.
<
br />   It was as though they were simply passing through.

  The lands surrounding Leon were a testament to the randomness of their destruction, with the beautiful trees in the horizon, and the strange dust of ruined buildings under his feet. There wasn’t much in the way of civilization around these parts. Most of the population had died off, and winters were hard. Many told him they were heading to warmer climates and he never heard from them again.

  Still, there were a few pockets of civilization that remained. Small bands of traders and farmers, trying to rebuild in the mad gods’ wake. Infrastructure of society had collapsed, leaving them mostly without power and running water. People had tried to drive for a while until gas became rarer and rarer. Bicycles rose in popularity, and most people used them or animals to get around.

  There was no one on his path, however. Nothing stood in between him and that forest, and through that forest was a small farmhouse that he had traded with in the past.

  Cautious as always, Leon scanned the area through a pair of binoculars before daring to rise up and gather his things. He was a large, dark man, and the heavy military trench coat and helmet he wore atop his thick layers of leather and clothing only added to his seeming bulk.

  Beneath it all he was a broad, muscular man, with hardly any excess fat left on his body, even though he was able to eat better than most in the wastelands. With his military rifle in hand, he began to make his way forward, heavy boots thudding upon the ground.

  Stones and debris crunched under him, leaving his footprints behind as he got to the tree line, the route much more unsteady. A dog howled in the far distance, and then the sound faded further into the woods. There was a path that he had followed, though it was a bit muddy in areas, and bandits were always on the lookout for someone.

  Not such as he, he assured himself. With his training, his determined survival over the past three years, he’d make any attempt to jack him the most costly thing in that poor fool’s life. Or so he reassured himself.

  Pushing on ahead he kept his head low and gun at the ready, comforted by knowing that with the gear he’d looted from a police station and his old army base, he was a bit better equipped than most.

  A crow cawed in the trees, staring down at him through beady eyes before taking off, the forested light dimming and growing bright as the bow swayed. As he walked deeper into the forest, he saw more and more small, skittering animals that somehow survived and prevailed after the descent of humanity.

  In the distance he remembered there was a small pond at the end of a river. He often refilled supplies there, resting near the halfway point through the forest. There was always a threat that others might be using the pond as well, however, as there were fish and small mammals that called it home.

  He felt no need to deviate from the norm, and took his time approaching the pond. If someone else were there, he’d make damn sure to see them before they saw him, or so he told himself.

  There was, in fact, someone this day, though she certainly didn’t look to be a threat. A young woman, clad in a simple dress that ended high along her thigh and low along her shoulders. She was fishing absently, seeming unaware of the man so near to her, despite the rifle at her side. Her pole was of good make, obviously not homemade, though the fishing line seemed a bit makeshift.

  Her brown hair was swept back in a bun, leaving her shoulders and back exposed, her feet bare and digging into the dirt, a book propped up in her lap. As her fishing pole jostled, however, she tossed the book on top of her canvas bag, holding on tight and coaxing a rather large fish adeptly out of the water.

  The happiness radiated on her kind face, her plush lips turning up, her blue eyes dancing with pleasure. She was fairly young, probably just into adulthood, and she put the fish in a bucket at her side before returning to the process.

  A beautiful woman was always a welcome sight to Leon, and he caught himself smiling widely. Taking care not to appear too threatening, he pulled off his helmet and shook free his head of dreadlocked hair. When you got rid of the accoutrements of survival, Leon was a remarkably attractive man himself. With a wide but well-chiselled jaw, sparkling dark eyes, cocoa skin, and well shaven, thanks to his adeptness at scavenging.

  With his helmet in one hand his rifle slung over his back, he approached from the clearing, his deep voice soft and nonthreatening. “That’s one hell of a fish you caught there,” he announced, hands held up as if he were under arrest.

  She gasped and dropped her book into the mud, cursing lightly at her clumsiness and surprise, yet still grasping for her weapon. It was as though the old ways and the new were clamouring inside of her: the desire to salvage her book and her need to defend herself.

  Her voice quaked. “D–don’t hurt me!” she ordered, holding her gun like a hunter would, despite her hands shaking. It was obvious to his skilled eyes that even though she had used the rifle—and often—it was never against a human. She still had a look of fresh innocence to her—a look that too few still had.

  With careful motions, his hands still held up uselessly, he lowered himself down to one knee, and then placed his helmet and gun on the grounds.

  “No worries, miss,” he said in his soothingly deep voice. “I don’t hurt a soul who doesn’t try to hurt me first,” he explains. “Name’s Leon. Leon Degaise.” He gave a light smile, the look brightening up his already strikingly handsome face.

  She was still quaking, but she did lower her rifle, suddenly becoming aware that, in her position, he could likely see right up her short skirt. Clenching her thighs together, she tried to fix her skirt and hide her white panties from his eyes.

  “Why are you here?” she asked skeptically, her heart beating so fast that her skin prickled and flushed with the heat.

  Seating himself on the grass he watched her with some quiet fascination, taking a moment to be thankful his eyes didn’t lead him to put down his guard and get killed. “I always stop by on my way through here,” he explained with a shrug of his heavy set shoulders. “Good place to fill up my canteen on the way to one of the cabins I trade at.” Gesturing to her, making no sign he saw her panties, though he most certainly did, he asked, “What about you? Just fishin’?”

  She nodded, her shoulders slowly unknitting and some of the panic leaving her wide, expressive eyes. She was one of those people who you could read so easily, their facial expressions telling all to any who cared enough to look.

  “Yeah,” she said tentatively, reaching for her book and trying to smudge the dirt off the paperback cover, “I don’t like eating just vegetables.”

  Resting his elbows on his knees, he gave a toothy smile. “Farmer, huh? My type of gal,” he said, chuckling lightly. It was amazing how, despite three years of hell, he still slipped back into flirting when a pretty face was before him. “Unless I trade all I have to eat is tinned this and that that I scavenge.” Farming was an odd career choice in this new world. Scavenging was dangerous, but lucrative.

  She nodded to him curiously, her nose crinkling a bit. She obviously didn’t care for food in tins. “You should learn to hunt. Unless you trade for proper food?” she asked curiously, and a small hint of pretension slipped under her tongue.

  Undeterred by her tone of voice, he nodded with a big smile. “Mmhmm. Fresh vegetables and meat. And sure, I can hunt if I want. But ain’t many as good at scavenging as I am, and I like to stick to those things I have to offer the world that I’m best at. Know what I mean?” he asked, rubbing his hands together a moment, trying not to focus on what a pretty lass she was.

  She nodded, pressing back some of her loose hair from her smooth skin, her flesh slowly returning to its natural peachy hue as she became more comfortable with him. “I guess.” She looked instinctively toward the path to the cabin, then at her smudged romance novel, fretting over its ruined cover.

  “Well, they got lots of meat to trade ’cause of me and my brother,” she breathed out. “So I guess you’re in luck.”

  With a light chuckle
he nodded. “Good! Though now I wish I had met you before. Could’ve traded directly, instead of giving them a cut,” he said with a good-natured grin. “Because if you need something out there that ain’t grown or hunted, then I’m the one to get it for you.” He winked, playfully at the young woman.

  “I couldn’t have given it directly to you. We gotta contribute to the others. We won’t be allowed to stay otherwise.”

  He points off in the direction of the cabin. “Ahh, you stay with them?” Rubbing his broad chin, he drew attention to his smooth, dark skin, and the appealing way his thick dreads framed his face. “And I’ve never run across you before. Damn shame. I live out on my own, got a big stead to myself.” The large, former store depot he’d claimed as his own was home. “Gets lonely.”

  “Just got here,” she confessed, her eyes dropping with a hint of sorrow to her tone. Something had happened to her to force her to move.

  “What’cha readin’ anyhow? I’m a big book guy."

  Her nose crinkled again, and she clasped the book a bit tighter to her lap. “You wouldn’t like this one,” she explained, her eyes flicking away guiltily. Immediately her cheeks reddened and she willed her body not to give away her embarrassment—or interrupted arousal—to the man.

  She pushed back some hair that was already stuck behind her ear. “How often you get out here, huh?”

  With a shrug of his heavy shoulders he stated a bit sadly, “Only every couple of weeks or so.” The disappointment that he wouldn’t see her more often was a bit obvious.

  Pointing back to her book, he brightened a bit. “But if you want some more books... or if ya just care to tell me what sort of thing you’re into. I’m the man that can supply that stuff. And for you, nameless pretty”—he smiles cheerfully—“I’ll consider it a gift, not a trade.”