by Sarah Snyder
Revolution Rising: Rebirth
By
Sarah Snyder
Copyright © 2017
www.authorsarahsnyder.wordpress.com
Introduction
Our society’s constant desire for more – more technology, more money, more power, more freedoms – shows our continuing desire to reach utopia. Unfortunately, utopia was never meant to be a reachable goal as it’s Greek roots suggest; it is no-place. It is the nature of humanity to believe in better than we have – in short, we have hope. It is this hope which allows us to face impossible odds.
Hope is what keeps us from pressing that alarm more than five times in the morning – it’s why we toss off the warm blankets, put bare feet on the cold floor, and face the day.
Hope keeps us on our feet while we work a full-time job, go to school, raise kids, pay bills, maintain social relationships, and still get the laundry done every night – maybe not put away, but there are worse things than living out of a laundry basket.
There will always be some among us who can’t see beyond their own perception – who don’t care how many other dreams are crushed in the pursuit of their own – but I believe in the fundamental goodness of humanity. I believe there are enough good people in this world to make a difference.
This series focuses on the impossibilities of utopia, the positive and negative sides of hope, and finding a way to overcome any obstacle. By working together, accepting our individual biases, opening ourselves to other perspectives, and looking forward instead of back, humanity will rise.
The sky is no longer our limit – we proved this fact decades ago when man landed on the moon. Our only limitations are what we place on ourselves.
Dedication
This novella is intended for release on November 12th, 2017
In tribute to four of the most significant events of my life:
November 12th, 1956 for my father’s birthday;
Barry Loreman
November 12th, 1957 for my mother’s birthday;
Mary Loreman
I would not be here if not for you; literally and figuratively.
November 12th, 2009 for the day I met my husband;
Timothy Snyder
You have loved and supported me in every choice I’ve made without hesitation; meeting you changed my life for the better and I am grateful every day to have you beside me.
November 12th, 2017 for the last day of classes toward my Master’s degree through
Southern New Hampshire University
I have improved so much – as a writer, an artist, a teacher, and a person – and have enjoyed every moment of my time with this program. I have met many amazing artists, educators, and mentors who will continue to influence and inspire me long beyond this moment.
Special Thanks To:
My cover model,
Dustin Beaver
For enduring cold weather, many location changes, and my camera’s slow shutter speed.
In honor of Dustin, a portion of the profits from this novella will be donated to the Four Diamonds Fund, which covers medical expenses related to childhood cancer.
To donate, visit https://www.fourdiamonds.org
Danielle Beaver Wissler
for bribing her brother to model for me and babysitting while we took photos.
Toni McConaghie Spahr
For bringing my alien landscape to life.
Table of Contents
Introduction
Dedication
Special Thanks To:
Table of Contents
Legal Notes
Chapter 1. Nightfall
Chapter 2. Passion
Chapter 3. Purpose
Chapter 4. Progress
Chapter 5. Promise
About The Author
Other Books By Sarah Snyder
Legal Notes
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Revolution Rising: Rebirth
Copyright © 2017 Sarah Snyder
Self-publishing
([email protected])
This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher.
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 9781973202868
Imprint: Independently published
Chapter 1. nightfall
Once known only by a series of coordinates through an Earth-bound telescope, the alien world now held another name: Flamouria. Only half the size of their birth planet, this new world did not allow the space required for peaceful human cohabitation. Violence flooded the desserts and valleys, infested the forests, and pooled in the rocky outcroppings of mountains. Increasingly acidic rains and rising marshes buried humanity’s hate in shallow, muddy graves, allowing a thin veneer of ignorant denial. The planet grew slick and unstable, streams of mud grating through the ditches and valleys of her surface. Land formed over generations of untouched evolution, decimated in an instant of sliding solid soil. An unnatural stillness settled, as if the night were holding its breath lest it disturb the veil. It would only take a moment, a movement; a minute spark to ignite the inferno resting beneath the serene.
Chapter 2. passion
Mist coiled over the curves and hollows of the alien landscape, caressing parched scrub trees and sparse green fronds of grass patches with her vaporous kiss. Two moons struggled to breach the fog, their jealousy igniting the dampened, black hair of the human who did as they could not. His hardened body – untouched by war, but strengthened through survival – moved confidently through the shadows. The gray storm in his eyes sparked with electric fury, sharpening the atmosphere and threatening to ignite the tension beneath the calm.
Sawyer Hale crossed the narrow, dirt road connecting the East and West gates, curving to meet him as if warning him away from his destination. The human dwellings – depressing boxes of gray metal and bolts, squatted in uninspired, uniformed rows – offered a modicum of protection from the elements without the burdens of cost or comfort. No windows looked out on the rotting, barren wasteland they tried to tame; a futile attempt by their creators to inspire ignorance of their residents’ dismal existence. The hum of generators vibrated across the ground, but Sawyer knew the annoying buzz would end soon. Generators were cut off early for the dwellings as fuel for them was reserved for the larger constructs from where he’d come. At his back, these buildings – while constructed with the same metal as the dwellings – were nothing like the depressing display of civilian homes. Splitting the settlement in half by their height and girth, these were the buildings of government and control; where the chosen could live in comfort and added security behind barred windows, locked doors, and guarded gates. Behind the main buildings and far from the desperate hands of the civilians were the agricultural areas; the small, domesticated animals brought from their home world, plots of dirt the humans tried to cultivate and make fertile, the captured wildlife they hoped could be tamed or, if not, slaughtered. Sawyer gratefully walked away from these areas, immersing himself in erected domiciles until he reached his destination. His foot fell heavy on the wooden slat step at the b
ase of the raised door, the sound of it exploding through the silent night.
His eyes squinted in the burst of artificial yellow light. He stepped into the living area; clothing, blankets, papers, wrappers from meal bars, and sticky clumps of dropped and forgotten food stuffs littered the room. His dwelling reeked of sweat and the spoiled goat’s milk left in a tumbler on the arm of the single, three-cushioned sofa along the far wall. To his left, a small hall led to two bedrooms and a bathroom; a small, squared room with what equated to a port-a-toilet, sink, and shower stall not much bigger than the toilet. Sawyer sneered at the sights, smells, and significant lack of what he sought. He turned toward the kitchenette to his right, glaring at the man sitting in one of the four chairs surrounding the small table.
“Where is he?” Sawyer’s voice was steady despite an acrid frustration traveling from gut to throat.
“Not here,” the man’s attention remained on his task; cleaning and reassembling parts of the pistol spread across the table. “You’re late. I was waiting up to talk to you about something.”
“I got called to Lieutenant Pierce’s office.”
Wil Dehring’s eyes slowly rose, Sawyer’s response drawing an interested gleam from their deep, blue depths. He placed the remaining parts of his weapon on the table with exaggerated care before sitting back in his chair, propping his feet on the corner of the table precariously and crossing his arms. Wil’s blond hair, sapphire eyes, and smooth jaw made the man look much younger than his and Sawyer’s eighteen years. The spark of humor in his eyes claimed an expectation of entertainment, further evident in the amusement dripping from his drawled-out voice. “Oh? Do tell.”
Sawyer didn’t want to discuss his meeting with their superior officer, where words like “incarcerate” were used in conjunction with his little brother’s name. All he wanted was to find his brother and, while he suspected he knew the answer to his question, Sawyer sought confirmation. “Where did he go?”
Wil snorted and shrugged; “Where does he always go?” Sawyer bit out a soft curse, resulting in a chuckled from Wil. “So, what did the turd do this time?”
The time lit on the plain, black band on Sawyer’s wrist as he drew a finger across its surface. It was later than anyone – let alone a fifteen-year-old boy – should be wandering. He turned to open the door, ignoring Wil’s question and the explicative following.
“Wait up! What did he do?” Wil’s rush putting his pistol together and sliding his chair across the metal floor followed Sawyer out the door.
The night reeked of chilled mildew, rolling his stomach as its bitter stench settled on his tongue. Sawyer hated nights like this; quiet and still, as if waiting for an opportunity to make a scene. Sounds suspended in the fog, finding unbalanced footholds to spread and distort its tone. The unnatural cadence of his own steps resonated uneasily; anxiety rooted in his core, twisting through his abdomen and chest like a climbing vine. The resulting pressure made every breath of pungent air a struggle and slowed his steps, allowing Wil to catch up before Sawyer cleared the dwellings.
They walked silently, the chirps and squeals of nocturnal creatures trailing them until they crossed into the obscurity of muddy flatlands. Sawyer looked over his shoulder as they crossed the threshold of light to dark; where the light towers atop the control center couldn’t breach. There were no signs of life beyond this invisible barrier between civilization and wilderness; all noises distanced in proximity to the settlement. There were many who traveled the flats during daylight – beneath the blistering sun which dehydrated the barren land – but most avoided moving through them after nightfall, when rain liquefied the surface. Less would risk the journey on a humid night such as this, when the air took on the same liquefaction as the soil beneath their feet. Movement became a whisper in the passage between worlds, the sound of Wil’s breath piercing and unnatural beside his.
The mire suckled the souls of their boots, the sounds punctuated with the gurgle of forming puddles. An occasional splatter of spewed muck clung to the twill of Sawyer’s slacks, the weight settling his khakis fuller on his hips. Though Sawyer was experience in traversing the flats – evident by the speed he maintained despite poor visibility and deepening swamp – Wil matched and maintained his gait. Two inches shorter than Sawyer’s six-foot-two height and with a lean frame to Sawyer’s muscular bulk, Wil’s lighter weight allowed him buoyancy over the softening ground.
A tarnished, silver barrier cut through the mist; a garish chain and link structure signaling the border between their Alpha Sect compound and the wilds beyond. Rust climbed the boundary, weakening its strength and blending an aroma of oxidation with the mildew-heavy air; the taste of decay touched Sawyer’s tongue with the pungent combination. Anchored tenuously to the unstable ground, only ignorance and determination allowed anyone to believe in safety behind links and chains. The monsters lurking in the wilds were undeterred by any barrier so feeble whether they slithered through the mud or walked on four legs; the worst stood upright on two. The Administration called it Alien Disorder, claiming it a natural reaction of a human brain to reject civility in deep space. The results were terrifying; violence, regression, and cannibalism. The Administration’s attempts to imprison the disturbed were less than valiant, allowing hordes of savages to roam freely.
Sawyer’s eyes scanned the visible length of fencing for breaches as they followed it deeper into the marsh. The fog dissipated, hesitant to tread on spoiled lands; plots of forgotten farmlands flooded and steamed as groundwater rose to cool the parched surface. Learning the futility of planting in low-lying lands, humans moved their efforts to the higher grounds at the opposite end of the settlement. The marsh was deeper than Sawyer remembered; its hunger for the poisons brought from another world drawing it closer to where humans spread their fertilizers. The first attempt of civilization still polluted the land; the remnants of forgotten buildings and disabled vehicles drained rust into the soil, staining the lands crimson.
The largest aluminum edifice was one of the first on Flamouria. It rose from the dirt over five stories high, the tallest built then or now. The structure was rarely visited by other humans, left abandoned and discarded after it failed to serve its initial purpose. A leaky roof, fragile walls, and cracked concrete floors were unsuited to holding supplies. The admins could have repurposed it or removed it, but that would be a wasted effort. It was much easier to leave it to pollute the landscape with its garish gray gait and build new. Nature reclaimed the area: dirt drifted up along three sides of the structure over ten feet high; vines climbed the rough, split edges of aluminum sheets bolted together to form the building; and scrub brush sprouted through cracks in the concrete foundation. It looked the epitome of desolation, except for the slivers of yellow light spilling out through the same imperfections the flora claimed.
Sawyer shoved through the warped door, forcing it open with a horrendous squeal of tarnished metal hinges. Their arrival was ignored by the two male figures inside, bowed over a table littered with papers and parts. Sawyer slammed the door with emphasis, sneering at the resulting raised eyebrow and questioning glance of his little brother. “Care to explain to me why Lieutenant Pierce is asking me about missing shuttle parts and fuel cells?”
Will covered his shocked curse and hoot of laughter beneath the guise of rubbing his jaw. His obvious amusement at Maverick’s latest escapade didn’t go unnoticed.
“We salvaged everything from the dump yard,” Maverick’s innocent statement was tainted by a brittle undertone.
“It doesn’t matter where.” Sawyer sighed at Maverick’s immediately defensive stance. The boy straightened his posture and crossed his arms in defiance, his jaw jutting forward in dare for Sawyer to continue. Their similar determination would be beneficial if they held the same values, but conflict was the common outcome of their pride. Sawyer wanted to protect his family, but Maverick wanted to fight the system protecting him. Since Sawyer’s choice to join the Alpha Sect militia the year before, their
already strained relationship grew especially difficult. If not for Wil’s involvement in their lives as a buffer, Sawyer knew the tension would be unbearable.
He didn’t fault Maverick his hatred for or rebellion against the Administration – Sawyer held no love for the government he served under – but Sawyer knew the need for a system like the Administration; to ensure he didn’t lose what remained of his family. They’d tried living away from the Administration; the scars running down the left side of his brother’s face attesting to the fact. While their family thrived in the higher, fertile regions south of the wastes, it was a fleeting victory for their Administration-resistant parents. While they were saved from the civil wars raging between larger Sects, the small town was no match for the savages.
Alpha Sect’s militia was one of the largest on the planet, capable of protecting against any force known on Flamouria. It wasn’t ideal, but it would be a lot easier to swallow his pride if Maverick stopped rebelling. “Okay, let’s just assume you didn’t skip lectures today to go scavenging in the dump yard. And, let’s also assume that you did, as you say, take everything from the scraps and didn’t break into the storage building and steal top secret supplies.” Sawyer noted Maverick’s guilty pursed lips and unsteady gaze. He took a moment to shoot a glare at Wil, who snorted and chuckled more noticeably with each word Sawyer spoke. “What could you possibly need six fuel cells for? A standard shuttle only takes one.”
“This isn’t a standard shuttle,” Maverick’s eyes gleamed with pride.
“Tell me you are not still talking about that old wreck,” Sawyer groaned and closed his eyes against the expectant gaze of his brother.
“Just because it did wreck, doesn’t mean it is a wreck,” Maverick argued with crossed arms, his head tilting with arrogant confidence. “It’s a deep space exploration ship and we’re going to fix her.”
