Afterworld (The Orion Rezner Chronicles Book 1)

by Ploof, Michael James

  Opposite me, another hatch opened and Melody Stone joined us on top of the world.

  “Feeling better?” she asked, waving to the crowd as a queen might. Her hair blew in the breeze like slowly dancing fire. Red highlights caught the sun and gave her long dark hair a mystic luster.

  I wanted to make peace. “I feel fine. Sorry about the other day. I was talking to the chimp.”

  As she looked at me from across the roof, her hair blew partially across her face, and I was temporarily distracted by her beauty. I could see in her eyes recognition of her sudden power over me. I had tipped my hand. I half expected some sort of subtle victory dance, or even disdain, but instead she smiled and turned back to look at the crowd.

  “I kind of realized that later,” she said. “I was distracted at the time.”

  “Reporting to the coven?” A nod told me I was right, and I continued, “Were you nervous you’d failed?”

  “No.” She gave me a look, as though she’d never before heard the word, and then glanced at Dude. “Were you?”

  “No. I knew I’d passed. My Rite of Passage was to help with a demon exorcism,” I said, with a cool glance off into the horizon.

  “You helped with an exorcism?” She was unimpressed, as if the task was easier than frosting a cake.

  “Yeah, Father Killroy and I took it down. It was easy. A lot of prayer, a few binding spells, and poof—gone. Oh, and of course, Old Ben was a big help.”

  “Old Ben?” She squinted as sunlight pelted her in rapid succession through the trees. Her face lit with recognition, and a polite smile crept across—the one reserved for drunks and crazies.

  I hate the polite smile.

  She nodded to herself, as if everything about me suddenly made sense now. “So you’re the guy who sees the ghost of Benjamin Franklin.”

  I felt my face flush and considered playing it off like a joke. Instead, I just sighed and said, “Yeah, I’m that guy.”

  When we were finally approaching the western gate, Kronos’s voice came over the radio. “Ape goes below, now.”

  I looked at Dude, who was straddling the truck like he was a Worm Rider out of Dune. Somewhere, he had rustled up a huge pair of goggles. I tried to look serious and told him he’d better listen to Kronos, or we’d really be in for it.

  The spell shield that protects the city spreads out from the Temple of Light in a twenty-four-mile circumference; the western gate marks twelve miles to the west. The giant metal arch is heavily guarded, as are its identical counterparts to the north, east, and south. Twenty feet high and just as wide at the base, it allows for a breach in the spell shield. The opening of the gates is tightly monitored, and they’re fitted, on the Boston side, with a mobile decontamination station. When we came back through—assuming that we did—we’d be spending a few hours in there getting checked for contaminates.

  “Kronos to Temple of Light: we approach western gate. Request permission to leave.”

  “Permission granted. Good hunting,” a voice responded in our earpieces.

  A steady humming began in the earth below us as we slowed to a crawl, and then a flash of light told us the gate had opened. We left the safety of Boston behind and ventured out into the great wide open.

  “Welcome to Outworld,” said Kronos.

  Chapter 9

  Crystal Lake

  Observing the heavens through the spell shield is like being trapped inside a soap bubble. It can be cool at times, but the novelty wears off fast. As we left Boston behind, I took in the sight of the clear blue sky for the first time in years.

  Kronos’s voice crackled over the headsets, thoroughly destroying my clear-sky-viewing mojo. “Macklebee, report.”

  “Radar online. All clear. Atmospheric levels normal. ETA, one hour, sir.”

  We took I-90 out of Boston and followed it west. It would bring us to within four miles of Crystal Lake. The going was quick, as there hadn’t been a lot of traffic on the day of the Culling—there had been nowhere to go.

  An hour later we exited the freeway and took a rough, overgrown road that would lead us to the lake. I hadn’t gotten a good look at too many houses from the I-90, but traveling slowly down the worn road gave me plenty of opportunity. It amazes me how quickly nature can reclaim the landscape. Some of the abandoned houses were fairly new, but looked like they’d been empty for decades. Vines had slowly crept up to completely cover many. It’s amazing what a place can look like once human care is taken out of the equation. Mother Nature is always there, lurking in the shadows, biding her time. She is patient, and she is brutal. Seeing how easily our work is undone is unsettling. It leads you to wonder: What is the point of it all if it inevitably ends where it began? The struggles and efforts of humanity culminated in amazing technological achievements, including the super virus that ended it all.

  Crystal Lake soon came into view, and we parked near the southern shore. The BM grunts immediately took defensive positions around the vehicles and began scanning the surroundings. The lake was not a large one, less than two miles across. Desolate cabins, houses, and cottages littered the shoreline, along with boat garages and docks. The water was eerily calm. The whole ghost town vibe was already getting to me.

  “Detecting a power signature on north side of the lake,” said Macklebee.

  “How strong,” asked Kronos.

  “It’s faint. But if I had to bet, I’d say that’s where the signal came from.”

  “Melody?” said Kronos.

  The witch moved to a sapling growing in the brush and took hold of it, closing her eyes. Her lids fluttered and she took in a deep breath. “I…I’m not sure. I feel…something on the north shore. It is faint, possibly obscured by metals.”

  “A bunker?”

  “Perhaps.”

  “Listen up.” Kronos shouldered his shotgun like an old pro. “We split, two teams. Stone, Mushiro, Juggernaut, you go left around lake. Lopez and Father Killroy with me. Rezner, Anderson, you stay here, keep watch. We secure perimeter, converge on church.”

  “Son of a bitch,” I muttered under my breath, and the two groups prepared to leave. “Benched on our first away game, Dude. How do you like them rotten…apples?”

  The chimp had loped off midsentence and hopped into Macklebee’s ride. He came out moments later with something similar to a miner’s helmet strapped to his head. Instead of a simple light, it was mounted with a bunch of cameras and sensors.

  Ignoring me completely, he scampered over to Kronos, who was checking gear. I shit you not, the chimp clicked heels, gave an exaggerated salute, and stood at attention.

  Kronos scowled down on the unwavering little Benedict Arnold, and walked around him slowly. “Maybe you will be useful after all,” he noted.

  “He’s equipped with three cameras, including infrared and other spectrums,” said Macklebee.

  Kronos looked disgusted—unfortunately, that meant he liked the idea. “Ape, you come with me.”

  Dude screeched and danced in little circles, but was quickly silenced by Hammertime’s scowl.

  Due to his heightened intellect, Boston Militia had decided to use him for recon. Harvard confiscated him as soon as we arrived. It became apparent during their multitude of tests that he was no ordinary chimp. His growth seems to have been stunted, but he’s far more intelligent than your average shit pitcher. Even before Harvard started running tests to see just how much he was capable of learning, he’d already known how to sign more words than was thought possible for a simple primate. They tried to keep him, but after he escaped for the tenth time to find me, they gave him back. Since I needed to choose a companion animal as a wizardry requirement, it worked out well. He’s made it pretty clear that he won’t work without me, so we’re a package deal.

  Kronos cocked his shotgun. “Move out!”

  I hurried over, took Dude by the shoulder, and turned him to me. He gave me a chimpy smile of pearly not-so-whites, and my heart ached with concern. “Listen, Dude, be careful. You stay w
ith Killroy and be quiet. Don’t do anything stupid.”

  He smiled again and signed, “Dude super chimp. Dude got this shit. You take care of you.”

  I watched him run to catch up to his team, feeling like I was dropping my daughter off at the country’s number one party college. Mushi flashed me devil horns and set out with his own team. I watched them go, reluctantly, and turned to Meathead Anderson. He stood there like a god of war, holding an M-60. I sensed that beyond his thousand-yard stare there was a cold, calculating, killing machine—but not much else, which was just fine with me.

  I walked over to Macklebee’s rig and popped my head inside. Computer screens littered the cramped space, and more gadgetry than I had imagined would fit covered every last square inch of the interior. Bernard sat at the center in one of two seats, conducting his recon like a mad scientist. The two teams’ camera images spread across multiple monitors mounted to the walls, three of which were Dude cams.

  Intrigued, I indicated the empty chair. “Mind if I have a seat?” I had already started to sit when Macklebee dramatically put up a stopping hand and looked at me with a plethora of gadgetry adorning his cranium.

  “Stop!” he said, with a hearty dose of dork drama. “Don’t touch anything.”

  “Relax, Spracklebee. You won’t even know I’m here.”

  He looked at me apprehensively.

  “Trust me,” I added, and sat.

  I zoned in on the Dude cams. They had already reached the first camp on their side of the lake. None of the monitors showed anything interesting, and Bernard said as much over the com.

  They moved on to the next in line, slowly.

  Mushi’s cam showed his group approaching a small cabin surrounded by hip-high weeds. Their hushed communications played out over the speakers.

  “You got anything, Stone?” he asked.

  “Clarify.”

  “You know—are your witchy senses tingling?”

  “No.” It sounded like she wanted to add you dumbass.

  “My bitchy senses are tingling,” I said to Macklebee.

  Mushi’s machine gun chuckle came over the speaker, and Macklebee urgently motioned to my foot.

  Shit.

  I lifted my boot off the mic button. Score one for Team Smoothio.

  On Mushi-cam, Juggernaut kicked in the front door and led gun first.

  I switched to his monitor as a light came on at the end of his barrel and did a sweep of the room.

  Back to Mushi-cam—he was following Melody into the cabin. They looked around for a few minutes and soon lost my interest.

  Dude’s feeds showed him sneaking through a broken window and dropping into a half-burnt-out lake house. From Killroy’s angle I saw it to be one of those big A-frame jobs. I looked at Kronos’s screen and found myself face to face with the Russian’s white snake. I turned in disgust, but not before the image of his party favor was burned in my memory.

  Dude found nothing and soon joined Kronos and Father Killroy. I scanned over Mushi’s and Stone’s cams and found them to be checking what looked like a basement. The surround sound of the many live mics lent a surreal feel to the inside of the recon rig, and I found myself scanning over the cam feeds so rapidly that the entire unfolding scene became clear in my mind.

  “Whoa, it’s like I’m there.”

  “Congratulations. You’ve achieved the first level, young Jedi,” said Macklebee, knowingly.

  The two teams slowly searched the perimeter of the lake, making their way toward the north shore. An hour and a half later they began to converge on the only structure not yet searched—an old church.

  “There!” Macklebee sat up suddenly, pointing at Dude’s infrared feed. “Dude, stop! Look back at the church.”

  Dude-cam turned back to the house of worship, which loomed over a jungle of weeds. The image reminded me of a campy horror movie.

  Bernard pointed out a human heat signature up high within the bell tower.

  I looked closely and recognized the posture. “Dude—the watchtower! Gun!”

  His cam went berserk, and a gunshot rang out over the mics.

  “Dude!” I screamed.

  “Get out!” Macklebee hollered. He began typing furiously on the keypad. “Go!”

  Chimp shrieks and gunshots rang out, and everybody’s cams flickered and bounced around as they went for cover—or in Kronos’s case, charged the church. The next and last image I saw was Dude’s cam looking up the side of the church from the ground, motionless. I cursed and slammed the screen with my palm.

  “Get him outta here, Anderson,” screamed Macklebee.

  Meathead pulled me out of the rig and offered a warning glance. I paced nervously as I waited, barely able to hear what was going on. I took out my spell book and started skimming through the pages, looking for a hearing enhancement. I could have tried formulating a spell mentally, but I wasn’t very good at that yet, and the results were usually disastrous. I was more likely to light myself on fire than increase my hearing.

  I finally found what I was looking for and read the words carefully. The incantation was short, and soon I felt it wash over me. My hearing increased threefold, and I listened in on what was happening.

  “…we are…our way!” said Mushi. The com was breaking up with static.

  “…a lot of bloo…but he looks…he might…it,” said Lopez.

  “Negative Mu…iru…tinue search of lake,” Kronos ordered.

  “He needs…dical atten…” said Lopez.

  I waited outside the rig, wondering what the hell was going on. Had they been talking about Dude? Was he hit?

  “Screw this!” I said, and started out on my own. A hand to the back of my cloak stopped me—Anderson.

  “We have orders to wait,” he said.

  I spun around and slapped his hand away.

  He got in my face and gave me his best crazy eyes.

  “You have no idea who you’re fucking with,” I told him.

  He grinned. “Neither do you.”

  Kronos came over Meathead’s earpiece just then. Due to the spell, I heard him perfectly. “Heading back. One injured,” he said.

  Meathead eyeballed me as he answered, “Yes, sir!” but then turned and walked back toward the rides.

  After an eternity of waiting, I finally saw them making their way back up the meandering path.

  Kronos came into view carrying a man over his shoulder, followed by Lopez and Killroy—but no Dude. My heart skipped a beat. It wasn’t until they were a few hundred yards away that I saw him bringing up the rear. I breathed a sigh of relief—it seemed Superchimp could take care of himself.

  Kronos laid out the unconscious man on Dr. Doc’s stretcher. It appeared the guy had taken a blow to the head. His hair was matted and caked with blood.

  Father Killroy came up and patted me on the back. “You should’ve seen Dude. When that shot went off, he dropped his helmet and climbed a tree up to the church roof in a flash. Was him that did this to the shooter.” He laughed.

  “No shit?” I made an awkward smile as I thought about freaking out over nothing, and gave Dude a high five. He squealed and showed his pearly not-so-whites again.

  Dr. Doc broke a capsule under the gunman’s nose, and he roused with a start, thrashing uselessly against Anderson.

  “Please, I’m alone. I’ve nothing for you,” he said

  Father Killroy put a soft hand on the man’s arm and tried to comfort him with a smile. “We’re from Boston, my son. You have nothing to fear from us. We’re here to help.”

  “Thank the Lord,” he said with relief, and laid his head back down. “The children are saved.”

  Chapter 10

  The Children

  The bell tower gunman informed us that his name was Pastor Lester Bailey. He and a group of survivors had been holed up in a bomb shelter built thirty years before. It was tradition in his parish to keep the shelter stocked with fresh supplies. When the Culling went down, he was the only member of his church wh
o was immune. He had read the rest of them their final rights. Distraught and suicidal at the time, he had asked God for guidance and heard two words in his head that became his saving grace: The Children. Pastor Bailey found all of the children he could and brought them back to the church. There they had waited for seven years.

  As it turned out, he had accidentally fired his rifle while scoping out Dude from the church bell tower—or so he said. Having gotten knocked out by a chimp was no indication that the Pastor was who he said he was either; Dude is pretty much a ninja, after all.

  Father Killroy had determined that he was indeed a pastor, or at least a holy man. He had named passages from the Bible, and Pastor Bailey nailed each one. His voice even leant to his story. He was an orator with a soft, deep timbre meant for lullabies and radio—and of course, preaching.

  “There are twelve in all—great kids,” said Pastor Bailey, grimacing as Dr. Doc cleaned a cut on his head.

  “Where is door to shelter?” Kronos asked. He had the bedside manner of an IRS agent—which, thank God, no longer existed.

  “I’m going with you. The children will be terrified to see…” he gave the fur-cloak-wearing, gruff Russian wizard a once-over and continued, “anyone else but me come down that hatch.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh at that image. “What, you don’t think the little ones will warm to Father Winter, here?”

  “Shut pie hole, Rezner!”

  Once Pastor Bailey had finally gotten his bearings and could stand without help, we drove the entourage to the church. Mushi’s team had already arrived and taken cover. When we unloaded, they joined us. Kronos pointed at Stone, Juggernaut, and Father Killroy. “You, you, and you, come with me and Pastor. Rest of you—”

  “I want some game time, Kronos,” I said. “Let me help with the kids. They always like me.”

  “You will do as told.”

  “Radar is picking up activity. We’ve got company,” said Macklebee, suddenly engrossed in a blip on his computer monitor.

  “When?” asked Kronos.

  “Ten, fifteen minutes.”