Anarchy: Children of The Spear: Book Two Read online

  Anarchy

  Children of the Spear

  Book Two

  By Rhett Gervais

  Table of Contents

  Prologue: An Afternoon in Nantucket

  Chapter 1: Negry

  Chapter 2: Aftermath

  Chapter 3: A Vulgar Display

  Chapter 4: Thoughts of Violence

  Chapter 5: The Cage

  Chapter 6: Departures

  Chapter 7: The City That Never Sleeps

  Chapter 8: Manhattan by Air

  Chapter 9: Sleepless in Manhattan

  Chapter 10: Second Skin

  Chapter 11: Times Square Souvenirs

  Chapter 12: Rytsar

  Chapter 13: Folks from the East Side

  Chapter 14: Blinded by the Light

  Chapter 15: Battle of Grand Central

  Chapter 16: The Spark of Hope

  Chapter 17: Someday We’ll Be Together

  Chapter 18: Young minds fresh ideas

  Chapter 19: Desperate Times

  Chapter 20: Memories

  Chapter 21: Lost

  Chapter 22: Too Smart for His Own Good

  Chapter 23: Sunrise on the Reservoir

  Epilogue

  Prologue: An Afternoon in Nantucket

  The old church stood on a bluff overlooking the Atlantic. Even at this height, he could taste the salty tang of the ocean, feel the spray on his skin as it shot up against the rocks. The seabirds circling overhead put his soul at ease, calming his angry heart. Nantucket Island was one of the most beautiful places in the world. It was one of the few places in the country unaffected by the war. Money could do that.

  He could see a stocky, dark-skinned man: a painter covering the fading walls of the church with a fresh coat. The sound of the wind and surf masked his approach through the tall grass so the painter didn’t notice him, allowing him the time to walk slowly, to enjoy the warmth of the sun and the beauty of this place, to engrave the moment in his mind. What was to come would change him, and he wanted one last moment of peace before he charged headlong into the future. The stocky man looked slimmer than the last time he had seen him, his red tartan shirt no longer stretched over his belly and his jeans hung loosely off his hips. Since the day he had left home, he had dreamed of a moment like this, or some version of it. He imagined being welcomed with open arms, burying his face in his chest, drinking in the smell of the man while he held him tight, never to let go again. But never in all those dreams had he fantasized it would be like this.

  The man gave a start when he saw him at last, his eyes wide like he had seen a ghost. They stared at each for a long moment before the painter nodded to himself, frowning as he haphazardly dropped the paint roller into the tray and began cleaning the paint from his hands with a rag. Without a word, he walked over to a wooden bench facing the sea. The splintered and faded wood had seen better days, its varnish long since dulled, a large hole in the middle forcing them to sit on opposite ends.

  “You haven’t grown much,” said the painter, looking out at the ocean, his hands shaking. He ran a calloused hand across his face and let out a weary sigh as he reached into a pack lying absently beside the bench.

  “I’m hoping to get taller, like you. Please don’t. Whatever you have in the bag can’t hurt me.”

  The man shook his head. “It’s nothing like that, just something to make this easier. Do you mind?” he said, producing a clear glass bottle filled with dark brown liquor.

  “No, not at all. I’ve waited this long. Is she here too? It will make this easier if you’re both here.”

  The man took a deep pull from the bottle, his face a grimace as the liquid ran down his throat. He couldn’t speak so he simply nodded, bowing his head. Both men seemed content with the silence, one drinking while the other watched, waiting.

  The sun was low over the horizon and the bottle almost empty when the cry of an infant shattered the silence. He stood, frowning as he looked down at the drunk man then back at the house. He cocked his head, taking a step toward the house.

  The painter sobered suddenly, falling to his knees, pleading, eyes wide with fear. He met his gaze for the first time since he had arrived. “No, please, Arthur, don’t…” he said, pawing at Arthur’s sleeve.

  Arthur turned back, shaking off his desperate attempt for sympathy, balling his hands into fists. “You didn’t beg like that for me, did you, Dad? All you could do was cry,” he said, his body trembling, nostrils flaring.

  “No, it wasn’t like that. You don’t know—”

  “I do know. I know that I was the fourth child you gave to that monster. I know that you were friends once, part of the original test group for Project Divinity. I know that both you and the woman who birthed me carry the gene, but you were too old for ascension to work. What I want to know is how sick do you have to be to sell your children, knowing the horrible things that will happen to them?”

  His father began to sob, his hands gripping Arthur’s long dark coat. “I swear we were told that you would be well taken care of. It was supposed to be a better life for you.”

  “Besides me, have any of the others you gave up for a better life come back to thank you for your kindness? No!” said Arthur through gritted teeth. Grabbing his father by what was left of his hair and forcing his head back, he reached into his coat and pulled out the short crystal blade he had taken from Rodrigo’s corpse, pressing the weapon against his father's throat. “A man tried to take my head with this weapon. I’ve been beaten, humiliated, and raped more times than I can count. Is that the better life I was supposed to have?”

  His father licked his lips, his breath coming quickly now. “We cared for you, kept you safe. The other kids, they were babies when he took them. We thought he had forgotten about you. I swear. We were as shocked as you when he came to the door.”

  “But you were happy to take the money, weren't you? I saw records. I can see where you live now,” said Arthur, frowning as he let the blade fall to his side and let his hair go. “He told me, you know. He told me you sold me like livestock at the market. He was a lot of things, but he wasn’t a liar.”

  “Was?”

  Arthur nodded as much to himself as to his father. “I realized not long ago that I could. I was so much stronger than him, than all of them, and there was nothing stopping me but my own fears.” He breathed in the salt air deeply to calm himself. “We don’t need you. I don’t need you. The world that you and your generation have made is a bad place. It rewards people for the wrong reasons. It punishes the poor, turning them into criminals, and elevates the rich when they’re the real culprits. I don’t see any reason why I would let this go on. I won’t, not anymore, not when I have the power to change it. I’m going to tear down everything, throw all of you idiots aside, and make something new.”

  His father leaned back on his heels, draining the remainder of the bottle. He didn’t say anything. There was nothing left to say.

  Arthur looked back at the house, analyzing the place with his powers. It took only a moment, but when he was done, he knew every inch, every circuit. “You’re going to go into the house now. The doors and windows have magnetic locks, so that will be good, and you won’t be able to change your mind,” said Arthur, turning away and looking out at the sun sinking into the Atlantic. “Tell your wife you want an early night, and put the child to sleep. You don’t have to rush. Later, after you’ve gone to sleep, there will be a small malfunction in the church’s climate system, and smoke and toxic gases will flood the building. It’ll be painless; no one will feel a thing.”

  Arthur placed his hands behind his back and watched his father throw the empty bottle into the ocea
n. He stood stiffly, holding on to the bench to keep himself steady. He took a long look at the ocean, not saying a word before walking silently into the small church. It was a simple thing to seal the mag locks once he was inside; it was the first thing he had learned to do. He sat alone on the bench long after the sun went down and the moon rose clear and bright in the star-crowded sky, thinking, planning for the future—his future. Not long after the lights went off, true to his word, he reached out, taking control of the climate system and creating a feedback loop. If anyone checked, it would look like an accident and that the family had passed quietly in their sleep. This was his last attachment to his humanity, and he was not sure how he felt now that it was gone, but nothing could hurt him now. No one could control him. He would do what needed to be done to make a new world, a better one. He only hoped there would be enough time.

  Chapter 1: Negry

  August 2073

  The man to his left wouldn’t stop crying, his small frame convulsing with each ragged breath, snot dripping from his nose. He liked the man on his other side better; he was quieter, head down, his shaking hand fingering a silver cross around his neck, praying under his breath. Most of the men on the line were like that, not daring to look up, not wanting to see; no one really wanted to be next.

  He raised a hand to his own throbbing temple, gasping. The pain was sharper every time he touched it, his fingers coming away sticky, red. He wiped them on his shirt, not surprised to see blood already there. He vaguely remembered wiping his hand on the same spot, or at least he thought he did. Everything felt detached, like he was looking at the world through a grimy window, waves of dizziness threatening to drive him to the floor. Squaring off his shoulders, he took a deep breath to steady himself, trying to shake off the stupor. He raised his chin high, while locking his forearms behind his back, trying to look impressive. The men were coming his way.

  He tried not to look at them, instead focusing his attention on the concrete towers of glass and steel that burned in the distance, it was like that where ever he looked, smoke, fire. The sky dotted by swarms of machines, circling, hunting. Something bad had happened, he couldn’t remember any of it, he only knew that he should be anywhere but here, this was not a good place. He and the other men were lined up on a field of green grass, a lake of some kind off to the side, rippling blue and green in the afternoon sun, he found it strange to have a lake in the middle of the city, but every time he would hear the popping noise coming from the men, he would look back to the water, calmed by the reflections of the clouds dancing along its surface. Behind him earth movers, large tractors pushed and pounded the grass flat, men speaking a language he didn’t know followed them, erecting large posts three times the height of man, shouting to be heard over the sputtering roar of the big machines.

  The men were very near to him now, two of them, both dressed the same in unmarked grey overalls, covered with a black plastic apron, their hands covered in thick gloves of the same material as the aprons. He was sure one of them was a soldier, he didn’t know how he knew, but there was just something in the way he carried himself. It was the other man was in charge however, he carried a tablet of some kind that he used constantly for notes. He was shorter than the soldier, with dark brown hair that was almost black, he had deep set brown eyes and an intense stare. They stopped in front of the man beside him, the taller man he was sure was a soldier roughly grabbing the crying man by the throat, forcing his mouth open. The one with the tablet hummed under his breath while taking notes, eyes focused on the screen. When he was done, he drew a pen light from a pocket on his apron, shining it into the small man’s open mouth, inspecting his teeth before shining it directly in his eyes and then prodding him in the chest. The man he was sure was a soldier grabbed the little man by the hair, forcing his head down for the one in charge inspect his scalp. The man with the intense brown hair frowned finally, shaking his head and waving his thick gloved hand dismissively.

  The crying man raised his hands in protest, falling to his knees, “No please, please don’t—”

  The soldier, face impassive, smoothly pulled a pistol from beneath his apron pointing the barrel against the crying man’s forehead, squeezing the trigger without pause, a loud pop echoing over the field. Watching the body fall over, he shuddered and then returned his gaze out to the water, lost in the ripples, grateful for the silence.

  The two men stopped in front of him next, knowing what was about to happen, he raised his chin and opened his mouth, eyeing the soldier out of the corner of his eye, he saw the man give him an approving nod, the dark eyed man rewarding him a half grin as he eyed him up and down, shining his pen light to his scalp, noting the blood in his hair. Without skipping a beat the dark eyed man grabbed him by the bicep, feeling along the muscle and then up to his shoulder, “Negry, sil'nyy, otlichno.” he said before rewarding him with an appraising nod.

  The appraiser moved on down the line, the soldier taking him by the arm, leading him to the only standing building on the green, a squat ocher brown double wide shipping container that sat on concrete pillars at either end, bristling with silver grey communications equipment decorating roof, a flag with a golden eagle spread on a field of red, white and blue hanging limply in the afternoon heat. It looked like it had been placed here just recently, with tufts of green grass and leafy bushes still sticking out from the underside of it. They pushed aside a plastic sheet that served as a door into what looked like a field hospital, brightly lit with beds lined up against the far wall, each one filled with men who were like him, chosen, holograms of their vitals floating above their heads, most of the men writhing in a state of discomfort were mostly blue, with hints of red, those not moving at all were red.

  Tearing his eyes away from the men, his eyes were pulled to the crystal that dominated the center of the room, thin as a blade, it stretched from floor to ceiling, looking like it was growing from out a hole in the base of the container. It drew the eye, pulsing in a different color every few seconds, glowing bright silver, to deep red and then to a sickly green in a matter of moments.

  Watching the colors shift he lost all sense of time, his mind drifting like a rudderless raft on the open sea, lost and without direction. A hand gently on his shoulder made him blink, he looked to find the soldier who had brought him in gone, replaced by a man as tall as himself, though not as wide. His eyes looked tired, his skin almost grey, wearing circular glasses and a white lab coat, beneath it a checkered shirt. Without a word the man lead him to one of the beds, inviting him to sit with a wave of his hand and a tight lipped smile.

  He spoke all the while in a jovial tone, as though discussing the weather. Sitting on the edge bed he merely nodded along, not understanding a word as the man chattered on, another wave of dizziness shaking him the moment he was off his feet.

  Seeing his confusion, the man with the round glasses darted off, vanishing behind another section of the field hospital concealed by another plastic sheet, returning moments later with a tablet and a small box held gingerly in his hand.

  He watched curious while he placed the box on the tablet, his fingers tapping on the so fast they were a blur, every now and again looking up and giving the same tight lipped smile. When he was finished he lifted the box off the tablet, moving as if in slow motion he opened the top and showed him a smaller version of the crystal at the center of the room that sitting in the box. With a gentle prod he urged him to take it, miming that he should take it. When he didn’t move, he narrowed his eyes, shoving the box in his hands and pulling down his collar, pointing to a similar crystal on his own neck.

  Not sure what else to do he grabbed the small shard, a jolt of electricity running through him the moment he touched it. He turned it over in his hands, he felt calm, fascinated by the swirling colors and despite its size he could almost make out his reflection in the facets. The longer he held it a warm feeling spreading out from his hands, as though warm water was running over them. He gave a start when a pair of hands cover
ed his own; he broke his gaze from the crystal to see the man with the round glasses smiling down on him, pushing the hand that held the crystal to his neck.

  With a shrug he followed the man’s directive, cocking his neck and placing the shard behind his ear. The sharp shock was sudden, unlike anything he’d ever felt in his entire life. Every muscle in his body twitching as though he’d grasped an exposed power cable, the sensation of warm water replaced by a sharp burning spike in his skull where he had placed the crystal. He gripped the side of the bed, straining, his entire body twisting and bending, his heart like a jackhammer, sweat bursting from every pore. It only lasted a short while, but enough that his mouth tasted like copper, his jaw sore, his entire body shaking like a leaf. He bowed his head in exhaustion, sucking in lungful’s of air, fighting to calm his breathing.

  A sudden commotion drew his attention, the man with the round glasses was no longer alone, the other, from outside with the intense stare was with him, and another man he’d not seen before. As a group they huddled around a tablet, speaking quickly in sharp whispers, their eyes wide as though they didn’t believe what they were seeing on the screen.

  He raised a hand to his neck; lightly touching the crystal there, a wave of euphoria washing over him the longer he touched it. When he pulled his fingers away he felt a sharp tingle, he could swear he saw tiny little glowing slivers embedded in the tips of his fingers, all pulsing in tune to the larger crystal at the center of the room. He stood, stretching like a cat, the dizziness gone, the soreness from his jaw vanished, the three men looked up from the tablet in unison, their mouths hanging open.

  Behind them he could see most of the men in the beds had stopped moving, the holo-projections of their vitals having gone a deep shade of red.

  They circled him, each in turn touching him on his chest and shoulders, all of them grinning like children at Christmas, finally the man with the round glasses slapped him on the shoulder, giving him a wide smile, repeating the same word, over and over, he found it odd that not so long ago it all sounded like gibberish, but now, he understood.