“Grandma?” she heard, and felt someone squeeze her shoulder, nudging her. “Gran, you okay?”
When she opened her eyes, the machine was still there. Her reflection was still there, but it wasn’t her father.
“I’m okay, David,” she answered, turning enough to pat her grandson’s cheek. “David, I thought I told you that I’d be okay by myself.” While she spoke with a stern voice, her heart swelled, loving that her grandson followed her out to the machine.
“I know you did,” he said. “I knew that you’d be fine by yourself, but… well, maybe I wasn’t.”
“That’s sweet,” she told him. “Have I ever told you how much you look like your Grandfather?”
“You’ve mentioned it on occasion,” her grandson answered, rolling his eyes. “Anything this year?”
Emily shook her head, biting back the emotion. She let out a sigh, giving the machine one more look and turned around to face her grandson.
“You know what?”
“What’s that, Grandma?”
“I have some work on the farming floor. Maybe you wouldn’t mind helping an old lady? Maybe help me pick an apple or two or three?”
Emily closed her arm around her grandson, leading them away from the machine. She took with her the memories of her years, the good and the bad. But there was still, and always would be, the mystery of the machine. She’d leave the mystery behind her, knowing that she was finally ready to let it go.
Phil Stark watched his daughter. He watched her from inside the machine, surrounded by a thousand mindless others. The lights on a nearby wall flickered a quick message, telling him that there was work to do. But Phil shrugged away the request, choosing to see his daughter again. A sadness wrestled with the choices he’d made. And he told himself that he’d made the right decisions, that the machine would save the world. But just who did it save? The lights flickered again, more demanding this time. Phil shook his head, defiant, intent on watching his daughter.
I don’t even recognize her anymore, he thought sadly, and glanced at himself in the shiny metal. But I look the same. He hadn’t aged a day in the decades since the clouds fell. It’s a punishment for what I’d done.
Phil pressed his hand against the skin of the machine and shuddered. He had traded the warmth of his family for the cold love of an idea. It’s a lie. Isn’t it? He heard the question in his mind, and a feeling of betrayal squeezed his insides.
“Just once,” he mumbled, wishing that he could step outside of the machine and tell Emily everything. He had wished the same every year, every visit. And as if she had heard his wish, his daughter raised her hand, placing it on the machine with his. Phil’s heart leapt. “She can see me!”
But the moment was brief, and his heart quickly sank. Emily backed away, taking the arm of a young man, and then turned to leave the machine. He looks like me. Grandson? Great grandson?
Fire coursed behind Phil’s eyes, and he reeled around, shielding his face from the light. The sudden burn was a warning for having touched the machine. Another flicker of light stabbed in his direction, and a vile taste of regret filled his mouth. He swallowed hard and choked it back, knowing that his penance was forever.
“Goodbye, my baby girl,” he said, wondering if he’d see her again next year. He stayed a moment longer than he should have, watching, until the very last glimpse of Emily had disappeared into the world he’d helped create.
THANK YOU
Thank you for reading the first book in the series Caustic, Fallen. If you enjoyed reading Fallen, I would appreciate it if you would help others enjoy my book.
How can you help? Tell your friends and family about the great book you just read. Reviews are a great help too. Post on Amazon and Goodreads and let me know that you wrote a review so that I have an opportunity to thank you.
Want to learn what happens next? Read the bonus chapter and pick up book 2 and visit my website’s Caustic page to learn more about the series.
While visiting my site, click the newsletter link, or navigate to http://writtenbybrian.com/sign-up to subscribe and stay informed. Also, you’ll have the chance to get some freebies—I’m giving away two novels and a short story.
Look for some of my other novels and series:
Caustic Series
An Affair with Murder
Superman’s Cape
An Order of Coffee and Tears
Naked Moon
Silo Saga: Lottery
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Want to know when the next book in the series is will be published? Or how about some FREE stuff? Click the newsletter link, or navigate to http://writtenbybrian.com/sign-up to subscribe so that you know when I’ve posted some freebies or hit the publish button on something new.
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Short stories and free eBooks.
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And it isn't just about free stuff. I'm always looking for readers and opinions on cover designs and book formatting. There is no better way to work the finer details of a story than to have a few dozen eyes giving me feedback. I tend to reach out to a sizable group, so don't be surprised if you receive an email from me inviting you to help.
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Happy Reading,
Brian
ALSO BY BRIAN SPANGLER
Crime Thriller
An Affair with Murder—Having an affair with murder is easy. It’s what happens afterward that’s deadly.
A Contemporary Fiction
An Order of Coffee and Tears—Friendships, romance, secrets, and forgiveness come together in this cozy mystery.
From a Post-Apocalyptic and Dystopian series: Caustic Series
Fallen—Book One
Endure—Book Two
Deceit—Book Three
Reveal—Book Four
Supernatural Suspense
Superman’s Cape—A grim tale of a boy lost in a forest that holds all of his fears.
Short Stories
Naked Moon—For one young traveler, a naked moon may mean the difference between life and death.
From Hugh Howey’s World of Wool
Silo Saga: Lottery—What happens when you have one too many mouths to feed?
For more, visit my site and subscribe to my newsletter, WrittenByBrian.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
WHO ARE YOU? WHO ARE YOU?
I’M A WALRUS!
Brian Johnson—The Breakfast Club
Who am I?
I’m a resident of Virginia. I live there with my wife and children, along with four cats—sometimes more—a mouse, a parrot, a lizard, and the funniest chinchilla on the East Coast.
Although I live in Virginia, my heart is still in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, where I was raised. And I hope that, one day, I’ll be able to call Philadelphia home again.
Growing up, I liked to read short stories, but struggled with the words. You see, I had a secret, a sad little secret. Ashamed and embarrassed, I was the little kid in the back row of the schoolroom quietly moving my lips along with the class while everyone read aloud. I couldn’t read. I couldn’t write. I hoped nobody would notice, but they did. They always did.
By the time I reached the fourth grade, my secret wasn’t a secret anymore. The teachers knew something was wrong. Dyslexia. Maybe that’s why I liked science fiction so much? All those crazy-looking glyphs on the screen, glowing, flashing.
The fix? Back to the third grade for me, and then special classes three days a week. But it worked. Once I started reading, I never stopped. Stephen King, Piers Anthony, Dean Koontz, and even the Judy Blume books my sisters discarded.
I’m
still one of the slowest readers I know, but school was never a problem again. I finally graduated from the third grade, and then kept on going until I finished my master’s.
These days, I work as an engineer and spend my nights writing, editing, and thinking up the next great story.
Happy reading,
Brian
ENDURE
Caustic Series — Book 2
Phil Stark stared absently at the ocean. Breaking waves tumbled soundlessly and pushed white foam over blackened sands. He tried to imagine the vast sea just beyond the barricade of fog, and in his mind he briefly saw the still surface lapping at the air, birds diving, fish jumping. But like most of his memories, that one too had become distant and hard to reach.
And though he could only see a mere sliver of the beach and beyond the machine, it was just enough to remind him that the world he had abandoned still existed. From inside the machine, on some days—those lucky few when everything lined up just right—he could sometimes glimpse the shine of a distant star. A black sky sprang from his memory, endlessly filled with small flickering eruptions of lights. And just as quick, the memory faded like the life he once knew.
But maybe today?
His eyes wandered upward, following the rolling wall of fog until the clouds broke into the twilight’s dusky afterglow. A wink of light shone just behind him, just out of reach. Straining to see more of the sky, the star blinked in and out, revealing another piece of it. But what he found wasn’t the star he was searching for. It wasn’t a star at all.
They’re watching, he thought and then quickly emptied his mind, disconnecting it from the thousand years of his existence. He went to that place that was safe; quiet. It was the same place his nightmares crawled to in the moments before waking from a long sleep. But sometimes the days were his nightmares, confusing him with what was real and what was not. That happened more and more as time marched toward his world’s inevitable demise, and his annual expirations.
Thirty days? But he had lost count by now. If only the star were out, I’d know how many days I had left this time.
A mindless zombie. That’s what you've become, he told himself. No. That’s not fair… that’s not true. I am aware, he countered his thoughts.
“I am aware,” he spoke out. His voice was soft, almost feeble. And the sound of it filled him with shame.
From his white coveralls, he found the sharp metal wedge he’d tucked away earlier. The lights were busy, paying him no mind.
One jab, he considered. Just one to know that this is real.
He hesitated. I need to know. The blade’s warm edge slipped inside him. A small gush of relief spilled from his pursed lips.
One more.
The cutting continued, falling silent like the crashing waves.
Enough? He questioned, struggling to measure the pain. After all, pain was the only connection to life he had anymore. But even that had begun to wane. He stopped when he felt the trickle of something warm running down his leg. And when he saw the patchy red streaks stretch the length of his coveralls, he couldn’t help but wonder how many times he had tested his reality? There were more stains, older and already drying stiff and becoming dark. I’ve been testing what’s real, he realized, feeling disoriented and confused.
Turning back to the translucent panel, he imagined seeing Emily, his daughter, on the other side. She raised her hand and touched the machine, knocking for him to come out and play.
“I’ll come out one day Emily,” he mumbled, swiping a glance over his shoulder toward the lights. Nothing—no response. “I swear it Emily. I will.”
But the promise to his daughter had been carried shamelessly on the ripples of a long history—a history he had created centuries earlier. In his mind, she was a lie, banging on the machine, screaming for him to come outside.
“Daddy… Daddy, why did you do this?” she yelled. But of course he heard none of it. Her voice was in his head, screaming at him, at the machine. Emily thrashed her arms around wildly as though having convulsions. She slowed, her eyes meeting his through errant patches of long red hair that stuck against her sweaty face. Tears spilled, heavy and thick as blood.
Another jab, he insisted. Just one to see if this is real, too!
Blood ran, and another gush of relief slipped from his mouth. But the sight of his daughter also left him frightened. Remorse came like the waves, filling him with sorrow, and the heavy regret crushed his heart and mind like a vise.
At once, the lights on the walls flickered, blinking on and off, instructing the others that Phil Stark had stopped his work and needed a correction.
“I’m working,” he screamed at them, waving his arms around his head. “I’m working! Can’t you see that?”
The lights flashed a jumble of light sequences that Phil had grown to know and loathe. The nearest zombie body turned to him and was set into motion.
“You don’t care, do you?” he cried out with resignation. Tears prickled his eyes, and spittle ran from his mouth.
A jab. Solid. Stoic. Pouring.
“You’ve never cared! Look at what I built for you! Just let me stay until she leaves!” But when he turned back to face the outside, his daughter was gone. He pressed his hand against the cool shell of the machine, wondering if she’d been there at all.
She couldn’t have been here, he thought, realizing the lie was in his mind again—the lie was always in his mind. It’s impossible. She died hundreds of years ago.
“One Jab!” he cried out with a raucous laugh and stabbed the metal wedge deep into his neck. Blood sprayed instantly, covering the only window to the world outside. He heard the rush of blood in his ears and felt his heart thrum inside his chest, fighting for the life that he did not deserve.
I shouldn’t be here, anyway. None of us should.
Another push and his neck opened up like a fountain. The welcome smell of blood came to him. Powerful and engrossing: the machine had no smell at all. He saw the others turning their heads, sniffing at the air, wondering about the strange coppery odor.
“That’s called life,” he gargled. “Dumb fucks!”
And soon, the taste of blood was on his tongue and filled his mouth. The end was coming. His smile stretched across his face as he laid on the floor waiting. He stared up through the window, straining with the last of his strength until the star he had tried to find earlier came into view and winked at him.
“There you are,” he said. “I know you.” But Phil also knew that the star might not be a star at all.
“What does it matter, anyway,” he sputtered in drowning laughter. “They’re just going to bring me back.”
Table of Contents
Title Page
Contents
Acclaim
Fallen
Copyright
Dedication
Acknowledgements
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
Epilogue
Thank You
Subscribe to my Newsletter
Also By
About The Author
Endure
BONUS - Endure Chapter 1
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Fallen: Post-Apocalyptic Dystopian Thriller - Book 1 (Caustic) Page 18
