by David Bruns
The sky grew increasingly dark, and the thin lines of rain marked the sky. Except it wasn’t rain. It was falling ash; burning, incendiary ash. It started to fall all around them, graying the air, searing their skin; burning away Santiago’s fur and the man’s clothes.
They had not run far enough away.
Within seconds, the ash became thick and unyielding, and although Santiago through his pain and failing eye thought he could see the edge of the ash storm farther up in the mountains, there was no way two old men, exhausted and dying, could outrun the blanket of ash that covered all.
2548
“There’s one all the way up here,” Zoey called to Devon. She waved to him from behind a patch of dry brush that covered the desolate hillside. “This one is really well preserved.”
Devon jogged up the hill carrying all of their scanning equipment. As he studied the figure, he said, “Hmm. A man and his cat. Nice find, Zo. I’ll have the guys come and get it. This one must have been on the edge of that rainstorm that came up just after Vesuvius exploded. The details are nice and crisp.” He tapped the stone lightly with his small mallet. “Sounds hollow. We might be able to get some good information from this one and cast it.”
Devon moved on, as he always did, in a hurry to find the next specimen, in a hurry to collect their data and get home and away from this blackened no man’s land of beetles and scrub, back to their home in the green north.
Zoey paused and glanced back at the man. She’d become an archeologist because she’d wanted to know how their ancestors lived before the United Colonies of the North became one of the last remaining outposts of civilization. She was curious as to how human populations had operated when the earth still supported over seven billion people, with countries on all continents. She could hardly imagine—seven billion people. Surely that was an exaggeration.
She’d read all the accounts by the elders, all the stories of the 753 people who’d survived because they were in Arctic outposts or on research vessels in the north. But the historical record had so many gaps, so many varying stories, and there were so many deniers. Even now Rainy Armestan was gathering people around him to build his case that the elders had lied about the relative equality of the races and women, about the seven billion people. Because, after all, if the predominantly white colonies had been placed on earth by the divine God of the North only a few hundred years ago, if the seven billion people had never existed, if the races had never been equal, then that would justify the extermination of the wastrel clans to the south. Call into question one element of the elder accounts, and they all became suspect.
But now that the atmospheric ash layer had dissipated and the ice had receded, colony archeologists were beginning to find hard evidence to back up the claims of the elders. The ruins around Vesuvius were particularly special. In most parts of the world, the supervolcanoes had incinerated everyone and everything in the surrounding area; and the subsequent famine and ice age had eradicated much evidence of human civilization.
But Vesuvius’s ash fall had preserved many people and buildings in stone, allowing their dress and customs to be studied. And here in a pocket to the east of Vesuvius, a heavy rain right after the ash fall had cooled the stone sufficiently that the artifacts were encased and mummified, rather than petrified, which allowed for even greater opportunities to collect DNA, and actual objects from the epoch of the explosion. The researchers yesterday had even discovered a small cache of intact books—a gold mine of cultural information—in a house at the bottom of this hill.
Zoey looked back at the ash-formed statue of the man, his arms cradling the small feline with a stubby tail, and his head bent over the cat as if to protect him; as if he might be talking to the cat as they both sat, waiting for death to take them together.
She fluttered away a tear on her eyelash that discovering and recovering bones had never caused her before. At least they knew one thing for sure now: their ancestors had loved animals.
Specimen 4938; Mt. Vesuvius: Extremely well-preserved specimen of older man with cat. Exposure to brief rain subsequent to ash fall hardened shell without fully destroying clothing and other items on body. Man was carrying a small book entitled Le Poesie di Santiago by Alberto Rossi, and a picture of a woman with “Sofia 1979” written on the back. No other information was found. Man and cat have been removed to Vesuvius Warehouse 1 and are to be taken to the Colonies for further study. TBD if the ash-fall outer mold is strong enough to cast a life-sized statue.
A Word from Jennifer Ellis
Jennifer and Goose.
I love animals, especially companion animals. I sometimes get into trouble for greeting my friends’ pets more enthusiastically than I greet my friends. I’ve owned hamsters, guinea pigs, rats, goldfish (who hasn’t?), cats, dogs, assorted bugs, and a very large snail (a.k.a. Snailie—well, he was actually my son’s, but we all felt his loss keenly). Right now, I have two crazy and beloved cats—one almost 19 years old and the other almost 19 weeks old. I’m also a known dog borrower and cat sitter in my neighborhood, and I spend a lot of time outside dodging the bears, who seem to like to hang around in our yard and on the trails in our community. So when Chris Pourteau asked me to participate in this anthology, I could not have been more thrilled.
Santiago came to me as a fully formed character. Even though I have a geriatric cat who continues to defy our vet’s expectations and is a major hit in the old folks’ home when she visits, Santiago is his own man. My pets, and the pets I look after, continually surprise me with their intelligence, heart, and problem-solving abilities. It was fun to explore how a crafty street cat might navigate and contemplate his life, and writing about the deep bond that can exist between humans and animals was both a joy and a privilege. I know that when the apocalypse hits, I want a few four-legged friends watching my back.
I live in the mountains of British Columbia where I ski, run, write, and keep cats. Add in two teenage boys and their friends, and mayhem often reigns in my household. I also work as an environmental researcher and strategic planning consultant when the cats agree to get off my desk.
I write science fiction, romance, and dystopian fiction for children and adults, including Apocalypse Weird: Reversal in Wonderment Media’s Apocalypse Weird world and A Pair of Docks, which was a bestseller in children’s time-travel fiction. I’ve also contributed to several anthologies, most notably Synchronic: 13 Tales of Time Travel, which hit #16 in the Kindle Store.
You can subscribe to my blog for the latest book news and industry insights at www.jenniferellis.ca. I tweet about writing, cats, and teenagers at @jenniferlellis.
Demon and Emily
(a Symphony of War short story)
by David Adams
A dog is the only thing on Earth that loves you more than he loves himself.
— Josh Billings
New Panama
World of Polema
May 19
2239 AD
Four years before the events of Symphony of War: The Polema Campaign
I’m Demon. I’m a good boy. I know I am because Emily told me so.
“Get in the car, Demon,” Emily says, frantically pulling my lead, trying to drag me into the open car door. Emily is my human and today is not a very good day. Evacuation sirens wail all around me. “The Prophets Wept, hurry!”
I don’t want to. I whine and pull back, pushing away from the door.
Even though I’m a good boy, I don’t want to get in the car today.
Sometimes the car is good; it takes me to the park, or to the vacant block near the water purification plant, where I can run and play and jump. Sometimes it takes me to the vet. Then the car is bad. I can normally guess which one it is. If we’re going to the park, Emily is relaxed and happy; if we’re going to the vet, she’s unhappy and stressed.
I don’t know what to think of the car today.
Emily is terrified.
I can smell it on her. The other humans, her parents, are scared too;
the stink of their fear is everywhere. Emily’s father is in the steering seat. Her mother is in the other. She has the boom-maker from their cupboard. I can smell something strange in the boom-maker. Sulphur and chemicals and metal.
All the humans in this block are scared. And that makes me scared. There’s so much noise; thunder in the distance and flashes of lightning.
I run to Emily every time there’s thunder, and she’s never scared; she soothes me and tells me I’m a good boy. This is different.
This time the thunder scares her too.
“Emily,” says Emily-mother, her voice stressed. “We have to go. The roads are going to be blocked if we don’t move.”
Emily starts to cry. This upsets me more. I pull away from the car. She pulls back.
“Come on, Demon! Get in, get in!”
No! I don’t want to get in. Normally I’m a lot stronger than Emily, but fear gives her power. She drags me roughly into the back seat. My neck hurts. Emily-mother slams the door behind me so I can’t escape.
The car starts to move. I jump up, looking out the window. Our house, red bricks and green grass, disappears behind us. We’re heading away from the park and toward the vet. I start to bark. No vet. Not while there’s thunder.
So many cars, all driving in the same direction. Some are going on the wrong side of the road. With a thump, our car drives up on the middle part, and over to the wrong side, too. Cars swerve, and their whining engines hurt my ears. They are driving so fast. Heedless. Away from the house; away from everything.
Running.
The sky lights up in flashes; huge clouds billow, black and bruised, on the horizon. They rise in strange ways, like no cloud I’ve ever seen before; a giant ball of cloud slowly rising, and there’s fire underneath it. Then another flash, and another. They hurt my eyes.
“Shit!” says Emily-father, his voice hollow. “They’re using nukes. The evacuation hasn’t even begun.”
I don’t think we’re going to the vet.
The car swerves to one side. A huge car is coming down the road—it is like a very big box, and it has a big boom-maker on top of it. Our car gets out of the way. Another car doesn’t; the big metal-box drives over it, crushing it like a can. The people inside die. Did they have a good boy too? I didn’t see.
Another metal-box is right behind that one. And then another. It is a long train of metal-boxes with strange wheels. They have boom-makers on top.
“We have to get going,” says Emily-mother. “Can we get around?”
“The tank just drove over those people,” says Emily-father. “I don’t want to get too close. Hang on; if I swing on the outside…”
“Be careful,” says Emily-mother.
The car starts to move again. We’re only part of the way on the road; the car shakes uncontrollably. We’re very close to the metal-box, passing it on one side.
I bark and paw at the window. Emily tries to hold me down but I’m frightened. I don’t want to be crushed. I don’t want to be lightninged to death. Go away, metal-boxes!
We pass the column of metal-boxes. Our car surges ahead of the others; there are fewer cars ahead. I stop barking. I did it. I scared them away.
“Good boy,” says Emily, rubbing my neck. “Good boy.”
I lick her face. She still seems very frightened; I want to help. I don’t understand what’s happening, but it’s okay. As long as I have Emily, I will be okay.
“It’s the Earthborn,” says Emily-father. He seems very worried; his fingers clutch hard at the steering wheel, and he doesn’t look at us. “It has to be.”
“If it was the Earthborn, they’d say so,” says Emily-mother. She holds the boom-maker close. “It’s not going to be another Reclamation.”
“What else could it be?” Emily-father shouts.
I don’t like shouting. I bark.
“Keep Demon quiet,” says Emily-mother. “Dad’s trying to drive.”
“Shh,” says Emily. She rubs my neck some more. “Shh, Demon. Be a good boy.”
Everyone smells frightened and angry. I don’t understand what’s happened.
We drive on for some time. The sun begins to sink ahead of us. We leave the sirens and the thunder behind us. Emily-father drives very fast. The car complains; I can understand. I wouldn’t want to run for this long. But I’m a good boy, and I don’t complain. I have Emily and everything’s okay.
Emily-father and Emily-mother are mostly quiet. When they do talk it’s always in hushed voices about things I don’t understand. Emily gets more scared as we go; I think her parents are trying not to frighten her, but if they are, they’re doing a bad job.
I know the car can speak to them all. Humans have metal in their bodies that allows them to hear what the car, or the house, says. They listen to things like games and hear things happening a long way away from here.
I can tell by how quiet they are that they’re listening a lot.
“New Panama News says the military is containing the outbreak,” says Emily-father. “An outbreak of what, exactly? I heard someone say they were bugs.”
“Some kind of bioweapon?” asks Emily-mother. “Could we be infected?”
“I don’t think it’s a disease,” says Emily-father. “Listen to the way they talk. They keep stressing to people to take their weapons with them. You can’t fight bioweapons with shotguns.”
“You can’t fight bugs with shotguns either,” says Emily-mother.
I put my head in Emily’s lap. She pats my ears. I feel a bit better. Wherever we are, we’re a long way away from the vet, and that’s good.
“We need to stop and charge,” Emily-father says. “It’s down to one bar.”
“There’s a station up ahead.” Emily-mother twists around to look at us. “How are you two travellers?”
I’m okay. I feel a lot better. Although even a trip to the vet is less scary than this.
“I’m gas,” says Emily. “But I need to pee.”
“We’re going to be stopping soon,” says Emily-mother. “I’ll come with you.”
Emily stops patting me. “I don’t like people watching me when I go.”
“This is different,” Emily-mother says, stress in her voice. “I need to come with you. It’s not safe by yourself.”
“What’s going on? Is it the Earthborn?”
Emily-mother shakes her head. “It’s not the Earthborn. We don’t know what it is. My ’net is clogged.”
“I know,” says Emily. “My ’net is clogged too. I sent heaps of messages to Tatyana and Mei Xiang, but I think my implants are broken.”
“Keep trying,” says Emily-mother. “If mine comes gas, I’ll let you know.”
The car slows down. It’s hot and doesn’t seem to be working right. Maybe they ran it too far too fast. It pulls off to one side of the road toward a building.
Nobody’s around. Not even any other cars. We were ahead of most of them. Everyone gets out. Emily keeps a tight grip on my leash, then ties it to the back of the car. I’m okay with this. I take the time to pee. Emily-mother takes Emily to do the same, behind the building.
Behind us, those big clouds continue to hang in the air. I take a moment to look at them; there’s a soft whine as Emily-father hooks up the car-feeder to the car. It hums as it begins to do things. They are feeding the car.
Thinking of food reminds me: I’m a little hungry. I smell something in the air; it’s like meat, but also living things, too. It has a strange smell. I don’t like it. It’s blowing in from those clouds, but I think it’s ahead of them. It’s something alive. A lot of somethings.
They’re coming.
I get afraid again, but then the wind changes and the smell goes away. Now I can smell something else.
There are other people here.
I bark.
“Fucking dog,” says Emily-father. “Shut up.”
I bark and I bark. The smell of someone else is coming from where Emily is.
Emily-mother and Emily return.
> “How long?” asks Emily-mother.
“Two minutes,” says Emily-father. He smiles widely. “Aren’t you glad I paid extra for the fast-charge option?”
“Okay, okay,” says Emily-mother. “It turned out to be gas.” She laughs. Everyone laughs—it’s good to see something other than fear. It makes me feel better again. I wag my tail for the first time in a while.
Then the smell of someone else comes back. I bark again.
The door to the building opens with a bang. A man runs out, dressed in green, the same colour as the building. He’s covered in sweat and I smell pee from him, too.
“Get in the car,” says Emily-mother to Emily and me. She turns to the man, holding the boom-maker against her shoulder. “Stop! Who are you?”
Emily begins frantically undoing my leash. I strain against it, barking at the man. I will get him! I’m a good dog.
“My name is James,” the man says. He’s frightened; he’s angry. I’m angry too. “Did you come from New Panama?”
“Yes,” says Emily-mother. She keeps her boom-maker held tight. “Listen, we’re leaving now, okay?”
“Let me in,” the man pleads. “Please, you have room. I’ll ride in the back.”
“This is our car,” says Emily-mother. “We don’t know you.”
Emily unties my leash, but she holds it tight, leading me around to the side door. I growl at the strange man. I want to hurt him. I don’t think he’s a good man. Emily ties my lead to the inside of the door.
“You can’t leave me here for them. They’re killing everyone.” The man steps forward. “Come on. What a beating. You can’t pick a fucking dog over a person.”
