Fallocaust (The Fallocaust Series Book 1)

by Quil Carter

  I sat down at the dining room table and buried my head into my hands, my shoulders slumped. I had heard my dad in my head, telling me it was okay, that he was here, but he wasn’t. He was dead, his skin was falling off, his lips were cracked, his eyes were dry… so dry I could see wrinkles in them, like the skin that formed over cooling soup.

  I picked at a few bits of dried rat meat, grimacing at the taste. I wondered, like I had many times, if this was what my parents had tasted like to the residents of Aras. They might’ve tasted better since we were arian, but they were also extremely diseased.

  I wondered if Reaver had eaten them…

  I looked out the window but I didn’t see him. I hadn’t expected to but my mind had told me to look anyway. I forced myself to stand and started packing up my shoulder bag. It was my day to be trained at Doc’s clinic; at least that would take my mind off of things. I wanted to go visit the deacon dog puppies too before they were sold to the merchants. I had volunteered there a few times and I would miss them.

  After I had gathered everything, I started towards the clinic. I glanced around for Reaver but I still didn’t see him.

  I wondered if he was still with Reno… I wondered if they slept together.

  That thought still didn’t sit well with me.

  I sighed. Today was not starting off well. At least Doc would keep me busy. Then I could get my guitar and play with the puppies for a while. If that didn’t cheer me up, nothing would.

  Sure enough, Doc had me tending to the wounds the merchants and mercenaries had acquired on their long journey to Aras. It wasn’t anything big, mostly bites and small cuts. I had to put a few stitches in but mostly I just dressed them. The whole caravan group was treated nicely in Aras. Free lodgings, discount liquor and food, and even free healthcare. But despite Aras having a good reputation we still didn’t get many caravans, especially during the rainy season when the Typhus River was at its worst. It was just too difficult and dangerous to get here, so we made sure that those that did were enticed to come back.

  “You like those spices, boy?” the merchant I had seen the previous day asked. I had found out his name was Jepson. We were in the main room of the clinic. There were rows and rows of plastic-covered mattresses lined up against the walls, with old shower curtains hung up for privacy. In every free bit of wall space stood a metal set of shelves brimming with old medical supplies, some of them working but most of them just covered in dust, waiting to be fixed.

  I nodded politely and smiled. “They smelled wonderful. So many of the spices I’ve come across are so stale they’re like sawdust, but these were great quality.”

  Jepson smiled. He looked worn from the road but he seemed friendly enough. “I traded for those things. I think the bugger said he fished them out of Sognir. Balls of steel for that. I hear that’s another lab city the ol’ bastard king and Skytech uses.”

  “Wow,” I said, shaking my head in amazement. It was suicide going into those places; legionaries were everywhere and there were worse in those cities sometimes. I had been warned to stay far away from them, though I hadn’t had needed to be warned… there was no way in hell I would be caught dead in restricted ruins.

  Skytech’s labs were especially clustered in the south, where bigger abandoned cities could be found. They were built deep inside these large cities where they could be guarded and protected. If a city was chosen by Skytech’s president it was labelled as a restricted area, and the surrounding buildings and trees were covered in blue tape. Once it was cordoned off, all trespassers were shot on sight. Like all wasters, I had heard about top secret experiments that went on in those labs. Even stories of cities completely infested with creatures created in the labs, or ones that had been forcefully mutated. It sounded horrific, so my family had opted to face the canyons and steer way clear of any big abandoned city. It had taken us an extra two weeks to get here because of the detours.

  “Hey, boy,” Jepson said, motioning over to where I had dropped all of my stuff. “Is that a homemade guitar?”

  I glanced over to it. “Yeah, it doesn’t sound half bad but it always needs tuning. Better than nothing though,” I responded, putting away the last of the equipment I had just washed.

  “Well, I have something to show you then,” Jepson said. He put his dirty baseball cap back on and I followed him out into the lobby, calling out as I went. “I’ll be right back, Doc,”

  Doc poked his head out from behind Menkin, he was cleaning a wound on his back.

  “Don’t be long, we’re busy.” He was an easy-going guy but I didn’t want to make him mad. So far I think he liked me.

  We walked out the double doors onto the pavement. Doc's clinic was near the square, so it wasn’t long until we had walked back to his caravan.

  Jepson started rummaging through one of the trunks tucked away behind the folded up metal platform. He pulled a few articles of clothing out before lifting up a beautiful pre-Fallocaust acoustic guitar.

  I couldn’t help but gasp. I had never seen anything like it. It was roughed up but considering its age it was in excellent condition. It was exactly like the guitars I had seen in magazines.

  My hands trembled as he handed it to me; it even had a faded leather strap.

  “Try it out.” Jepson grinned, pleased with my reaction. In Skyfall everyone was encouraged to learn instruments and cultural stuff but in the greywastes… well, you were lucky if you knew how to read.

  I strummed the strings a few times and shook my head in amazement. It sounded like heaven. It made my guitar sound like I stepped on a cat’s tail. I played a couple notes, I was grinning like an idiot. I wanted it, badly.

  “Now I don’t mean to tease you with it, boy, but I thought it was worth the show. Unfortunately, as you understand, she’s pricey.”

  My heart sank. I plucking away at a few guitar strings, the sound was perfect. “How much?” I asked slowly, hoping he wasn’t planning on doubling the price just because he knew I liked it. He seemed nice enough but I had learned not to trust waster merchants, that was just common sense.

  “Well, Menkin bought that back in Greendale. He bought it for twenty bucks and I’m sure he wouldn’t let it go for less than twenty-five or some good trade.”

  I bit the inside of my lip. I knew I shouldn’t… Dad’s money was meant for me to live off but I had never wanted anything so badly. But what about my mental health? That mattered, didn’t it? I’d been reading too many psychology books. In this age, food came before mental health and I wasn’t getting paid to work with Doc yet. I was still paying taxes too so money was tight.

  “Tell him to reserve it for me; I’ll pay when I get off work.” The words fell from my mouth like water before I could stop them. I guess my mind had already decided I would buy it.

  Jepson smiled and nodded as I handed the guitar back to him. He put it away carefully. I had a feeling he might play as well; he handled the instrument like someone who knew what a special piece of history it was.

  “Thank you for showing me that, I’ll give it a good home,” I said, shaking his hand as we sealed the deal.

  “Glad it will be getting a good home, boy, say… would you take eight for your guitar?” the merchant asked. “A deal between us. Menkin owns the classic, and I wouldn’t mind still having something to play on the road.”

  I thought for a second. That would make the blow of this purchase a little less hard on my savings. “Sure,” I said. He handed me the money and we made our way back to Doc’s.

  For the rest of my shift I kept feeling a rush of anticipation as the hours ticked by. I couldn’t wait to get my hands on the pre-Fallocaust guitar; I couldn’t wait to play it in the square. I bet Greyson would be happy for me, maybe he would sing along again.

  After one of the residents, Miller, got bit by a deacon I ended up having to stay late but I wasn’t worried. The merchants were going to be here until tomorrow morning. Miller’s dad even brought us some rat burgers as an apology, and his wife was a
good cook. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was until I started eating, but it had been more than a day since I’d had a proper meal.

  After Doc was done stitching Miller, I wrapped up his hand. Miller was a nice guy, a few years older than me, but very accident prone and kind of simple. His father was the mechanic for the entire block so he was well-respected.

  As soon as Doc let me go, I headed into the town. I looked up at the sky and tried to tell what time it was by the sun’s position. I had two hours or so worth of daylight, more than enough time to get the money from the house and come back.

  I walked as fast as I could, my canvas bag bumping up against my hip as I tried not to break into a full run. I was tempted, I was that excited.

  When I finally got to my house, I threw the bag onto the floor and ran up the stairs. I climbed up the closet and got out a twenty dollar bill. I still had the five from Jepson, so the remaining three dollars I put back into the envelope.

  I put my jacket on and as soon as I had come I was back out again. I had been on my feet all day but I didn’t feel tired yet, though I knew it was only a matter of time before I crashed. I would be home by the time that happened, then I could make some good food and try out my newest friend. I had already planned what I wanted to try to play first. Maybe Reaver would be around to listen. I hadn’t seen him once all day. I guess I didn’t matter much when Reno was around.

  I was starting not to care for Reno.

  After what seemed like forever, I turned the corner into the square.

  I looked around confused.

  The caravans were gone.

  My good mood got sucked out of me like heat on a cold day. I walked towards the area where they had been and spotted Miller. He was drawing on his bandaged hand with a blue marker.

  “Where are the caravans? Where is Menkin?” I asked, trying not to sound as devastated as I felt.

  “Had to leave early, Reno and Reaver were out and they saw the legionaries opening up a new toll to catch the caravan on its way to Anvil. Decided to sneak out and go around.”

  I felt a lump form in my throat, travelling to the backs of my eyes and making them burn. Not only did I lose the classic guitar, I had sold the one I made. I didn’t have anything to play now and it would take me a year to find the right parts to make a new one. Not to mention the guitar strings, I would never find those.

  “How long ago?” I croaked through a broken voice. My eyes started to well.

  “An hour,” Miller replied, not even looking up from his sketching.

  My heart gave a cautious jolt. I looked towards the north gate. Without another word I started to run. Perhaps I would be able to catch up to them.

  I clenched the twenty-five dollars and shoved it into my jeans pocket. I ran as fast as I could towards the north gate. I couldn’t let this happen; I had to get one of my guitars back. That damn thing was all I had that made me happy, that let me escape for a while. Dammit why was I so stupid? I shouldn’t have sold my homemade guitar while I didn’t have the other one.

  Stopping at the gate, I looked up to see Matt munching on a piece of meat.

  “Let me out,” I said hurriedly.

  “Do you have a gun?” Matt asked cautiously. He looked around, probably to see if Reaver was following me. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was. I hoped he was; he was a much faster runner than me.

  “Yes, I do,” I lied. I didn’t have anything on me but a hunting knife.

  Matt narrowed his eyes at me, his mouth moving up and down with his chewing. I could see the debate going on in his head, but eventually he got up and started turning the wheel. The gate let out a loud creak and started grinding open.

  “Be back before dark. I’ll leave her open for you,” Matt said. “I’ll be right here anyway.”

  I breathed a sigh of relief. “Thanks, Matt,” I said before running off. Looking down, I was relieved to see fresh tracks in the rocky dirt and ash. The caravans were heading northwest into the greys of the wasteland. You could always tell a traveller’s direction depending on what colour dust they were covered in. Either red, grey, or none at all.

  I ran into the greywastes. Large dingy rocks covered the right side of the road to make steep shelves, and to the left of me, black trees spotted the land like flecks of black mould; all rising above the rocky crags as the greywastes rolled on out of view.

  I ran as fast as I could, pausing every once in a while to catch my breath. I knew from my travels with Mom and Dad that the road was flat for the first several miles, before it started to break up nearer to the Typhus River. Past that the area got more difficult to navigate and more dangerous. There were lots of broken interchanges and abandoned buildings.

  I took a small break and leaned up against the broken up rocks beside the road. My legs were burning by now, along with my chest.

  As I thumped on my chest, trying to clear my lungs I noticed my upper arm starting to vibrate a bit. I knew immediately what it was.

  All of the Geigerchips came with their very own radiation counter inside and vibrated when radiation was found in unsafe amounts. I got up and started to jog again and after a few minutes the pulsing vibration died down. That was probably the reason my chest was burning more than it would from normal exhaustion – there were probably radiated barrels around. Radiation wouldn’t bother my lungs but the barrels full of chemicals would. King Silas and his chimera goons were to blame for them.

  I could always take an iodine pill when I got home but a few seconds of exposure was nothing. I had gotten constantly bombarded with it while we were roaming the wastes. It would take more than that to make me take one of those gross and expensive pills. The Geigerchip would work it out of my system.

  After a few minutes, the pavement started to break down further; the cracks, usually only a few inches across, started to split the road like a scar.

  I leaned against an abandoned car for a few moments before starting my descent down the road as it started to slope. I was surprised to see how congested the road was, I couldn’t see how the caravan could make it through all this tangle of vehicles, tipped over medians, and snares of twisted metal and wire.

  The road followed down to the river bank, before winding off underneath a large exit ramp. The river below me was running gently, still the same dull shade of brown I had seen when we had crossed it.

  I pressed on, concentrating on keeping my balance as I navigated the difficult slope. The merchants couldn’t be far now. There was no way they could have made it easily over this part, not with those giant bosen and the wagons.

  I decided it would be easier for me to climb over the vehicles and concrete than weave around them. I jumped on top of the cab of a truck and climbed onto a large slab of concrete lying against it. I jumped off onto the pavement, but as my sneakers slammed down I stepped on something soft and lost my balance.

  I swore a bit, landing right on my ass and looked down to face what I had jumped on.

  My body became a block of ice, my mouth dropped open as my brain tried to process the shock.

  It was a fucking severed hand.

  I gaped at it, my heart frozen in my chest. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.

  A cold rush of fear washed over my senses. I shouldn’t be here, I shouldn’t fucking be here.

  Then I made the mistake of looking around. All around me on the old cars, and crumbled up concrete were smears of blood, bloody clothing, and more severed body parts. Each body part was stacked together on top of the old vehicles, bound together by bloody rags. They had been put there deliberately and not long ago either. They had all been severed neatly by a weapon.

  This wasn’t the work of ravers, ravers ate people alive… these, these guys had been harvested.

  I turned to the left, towards a large stack of severed arms. Something was resting beside them.

  My old guitar.

  Jesus fuck… these were the merchants… Jepson, Menkin…

  I looked closer at my guitar; there was som
ething hairy beside it. I didn’t have to look closer, I knew what it was. The hair had bits of red dust still in it, dirty blond hair. It was Jepson.

  Unable to push off the bubbling fear my body snapped to attention. I got up and scrambled back up the truck to get over the large slab of concrete.

  Even if it killed me I knew I had to get back to Aras and fast. Fuck I shouldn’t be here.

  “Hello, little boy,” a male voice suddenly sneered. My body went cold. I climbed to the top of the truck and looked around wildly. It didn’t take me long to see them.

  On top of the broken exit ramp that was stretched over the river were six legionaries, all of them holding bloodstained machetes. Behind them I could see the merchants’ carts and the bosen; it looked like the legionaries were building a shoddy bridge on the broken exit ramp to cover a gap that prevented any cart from going across.

  I didn’t even freeze this time. I turned around and jumped off of the truck. I fell hard onto the ground and bolted.

  I felt another rush of fear go through me as I heard laughter and taunts. I tuned them out and ran as fast as I could towards the level ground. I tried not to cry out as I desperately tried to gather my strength. I had been running for over an hour now, I was exhausted.

  My ears pounded. I felt such heat in my head I thought I was going to pass out. My terrified brain just kept telling me to run, run and run fast. Reaver will come; Reaver never lets you leave the block alone.

  He will come, he will kill them, he’ll protect you.

  I screamed as I felt someone grab my arm, I yanked it away and brought out my small hunting knife. I whirled around and brandished it at them.

  They were all there, all surrounding me.

  The legionaries laughed, they formed a half circle like predators encircling prey. Jeering and laughing as they fed off of each other’s energy. Pack mentality was taking hold, I was fucked.

  I held my knife firmly, and tried to look as intimidating as I could but I knew I looked like a fool.