The Overlord: A Post-Apocalyptic Novel

by Jared Paul

  Something began to move under the water. It slowly surfaced, revealing a bare and deformed hand. It reached out with it fingers spread, grasping into the open air. The attached forearm came next as the hand whipped here and there. Fairly off-putting, there was not just one, but two thumbs on either side of the hand. The skin was slimy, scaly, and covered in large bumps. Claws were jutting out of the finger tips.

  Sentria gasped, "It's a mutation! We've got an advanced staged Echo over here!"

  True enough, the hand's owner proved to be one of the gilled creatures. Half human and half something else, the gloopy being was a remnant of somebody who once held a reasonable consciousness. A byproduct of a world that had been wasted with nuclear battles, the horrific glob of slime jumped out of the water, attacking Sentria in a chilling scuffle.

  A swell of mutated hordes then arose from the shadowy water. Their eyes were all glowing green. Their blackened teeth were snarling. They looked the legion over like the Thralls were a feast laid out upon a table. Out in the wasteland, most who ever came upon these life forms of radiation would quickly put the poor creatures out of their misery. There, on Fever Island, the evolved Echoes were being kept as pets and feeding time had just begun.

  Hyper rounds began flying everywhere, but what the legion didn't know was that bullets were of minimal use against the mutated horde. In fact, it was more of a hindrance. Zero popped out a whole clip from his Brawler gun into a row of Echoes and they all went up in flames. The hyper rounds had only served to catch the monstrosities on fire and it wasn’t killing them any faster. The blazing beasts were still mobile and unrelenting in their nasty attacks. With every round shot into their flesh, the slime on their skin ignited and the creatures became flaming beacons of death. It was an inferno as they tackled the squads, gnawing through their armor. The fires only burned hotter with every bullet discharged in the panic.

  "Hold your fire," shouted Zero. "Don't shoot the toads! Kill them with whatever else you got!"

  Zero then swung out his machete and cut his way through the mutated horde. The legion did the same with their knives and stocks. All the while, Sentria was still wrestling on the ground with the initial attacker. It badly wanted to know what she tasted like. In the struggle, she managed to grab hold of her standard issued blade. Sentria then skewered the creature off of herself and sent it back into the dark waters from which it had come from. When she got back to her feet, an unlikely ally came to finish the horde off.

  An acid rainstorm started to trickle down from the sky. The toxic drops of water sizzled and burned all around. The concrete island seemed to have been built to withstand the poison storm, but any organic life caught out in the open would not fare so well. Every raindrop seared through the mutated flesh of the Echoes. Their flames were doused, only to melt away in the burning liquid. The remains of the mutant horde retreated to their dark waters as the concrete ground moved back into place to cover them up.

  Fiery slime had gotten everywhere and the squads were smoldering from the close encounters. Dead Echoes were scattered about all over the place and were slowly being eaten up by the toxic rain. Much to every Thrall's surprise, the full-bodied suits proved to be resistant to the poison pouring down upon them, keeping out the acid’s harm.

  Realizing they were invulnerable to the showers of death and having narrowly escaped the slimy terrors that had just attacked, the legion almost forgot what had started the whole fight. It was quickly remembered as the survivor with the strange hat returned to the proximity of battle.

  The islander brought with him a full reinforcement of fighters, each equipped with hats of their own. The hats were circular and brimmed all around, reaching well over their heads from every direction. It then became clear that these sunhats, though they appeared primordial, were actually advanced coverings designed to protect the wearer from an acid downpour. Indeed, these lids that had been fashioned in the manner of ancient Asia were successfully repelling every last drop. Cloaked in specialized raincoats as well, the islanders stepped out into the rain from every corner and crevice of an abandoned shantytown.

  They had the Thralls outnumbered. After a brief standstill, rounds were shot back and forth while grenades got tossed this way and that. The legion was quickly overrun.

  The Commander called out for strategy, "Ivory Squad, move in from the top! We'll hold them down here!"

  Up on the rooftops, Sentria and her squad jumped from building to building as an immense firefight broke out from every direction. It was nothing difficult for a Thrall operative. All in a day’s work as Sentria would put it. The proximity was soon cleared with Ivory Squad sniping down from the roofs and Zero cutting into their ranks with his Brawler gun. Fossil had been blasting away any new arrivals with a grenade launcher until eventually none dared to emerge. At last, it had come down to one islander, the same survivor from before.

  "It’s not every day you shoot a man from the sky only to have him carry on like this," said Fossil to the rest. "He’s going down now, once and for all. He knows it too, so watch out. He’s going to try to take down as many of us with him as he possibly can."

  Taking cover behind a lump of concrete, nobody had a clear shot on the survivor. He was hidden, but in his concealment, he was also trapped. For the man in the strange hat, there would be no getting out of there alive. The squads closed in on him as an odd buzzing vibration resonated from the very spot that was protecting him. A cone shaped nozzle then tipped over the top of the concrete mass. A whitish light was radiating from inside it. It was a tip of a barrel.

  Zero exclaimed, "It's the radiation rifle!" The Commander had lost hold of it during the onslaught of the mutated horde. "Azure Squad stay down." He then yelled out over the radio while looking at Sentria, up top. "Ivory, take him out. Do not let him fire that weapon!"

  Sentria scoped around in a panic, but the sights were no good. "I don't have a clear shot!"

  "Then find one and do it fast!" From below, Zero signaled the rooftop squad to swing around the islander's exposed backside.

  With all haste, Sentria dashed across the building tops. She leapt and bounded as precious time was running out. The radiation rifle was powering up for another discharge. The cone-shaped muzzle was rotating wildly, spinning round and round. Its whirring became unnerving as it got louder and louder like an unending croak of a frog. The gun was ready to fire. The squads all cowered down as they prayed to whatever they thought might keep them safe from the blast.

  Zero implored, "Shoot him!"

  Just as the rifle's trigger was about to be pulled, the shooter was shot clean through the head from above. His circular hat split open and the islander fell limply to a clump of rubble beneath his body. Up on a rooftop from behind, exhaust smoke fumed from the barrel of Sentria's pistol. She had taken the man out with a real bullet, not a hyper shot, but a genuine slug. They say only the best of opponents are deserving of such a death. Despite the Thralls' hatred toward the inhabitants of the wasteland, the survivor had fought valiantly and Sentria had honored him for his tenacity.

  Favorably for squads Azure and Ivory, all six of the Thralls were still accounted for and alive. There hadn't been a single fatality since the brutal landing upon arrival to the island. Both squads regrouped around the body of their fallen enemy as the acid rain began to wash him away.

  Zero retrieved the radiation rifle from the foe's lifeless grip and inspected the weaponry. The hefty gun was a primitively assembled weapon from different things and parts, but it was deadly all the same. A trophy of battle, the Commander presented the weapon to Sentria and passed it off into her hands. The man in the strange hat had been her kill. Thus, his rifle was her plunder according to the ways of the Thralls.

  Everyone then shoved down to the ground on one knee. The legion bowed their heads with a fist over their hearts to pay tribute to a worthy adversary. Fossil told me that he took the man's strange hat and placed it caringly atop the rubble of concrete where he fell. Shot clean through, th
e bloodstained hat was left to mark the survivor's last stand.

  Fossil had told me, "I’ve killed many in my time, mate. I’ve seen a lot of life, a lot of death, and the cycle of both. In it, I’ve learned the value of a good life. One of its many rewards is a good death. By honoring that man's death on Fever Island, we were honoring a life too."

  Not long after, squads Azure and Ivory then came up to another one of the Blood Tech generators that was serving to bring power to the Spider's Shield. Securing the area went smoothly and demolitions were setoff, uninterrupted. The second generator was destroyed and another third of the web went down in the sky. Only one generator remained to be terminated before more troops could be grounded.

  The mission seemed to be going well as resistance from the enemy abruptly ceased from there on out. Every Echo on Fever Island had apparently been wiped out or had fled the complex. So everyone thought, anyway.

  10

  THE GHOST

  Deep down in a corridor of the inner complex, the Overlord had led us to three openings. Two of them were even darker than the one we were currently in, but the third path showed promise. At its beginning was an exit door, large and metal. The door had been left cracked open and light was peering out through the jarred opening.

  "There's one of three things behind that door," the Overlord guessed. "It's daylight, it’s manmade light, or it's a trap that somebody has set up for us."

  "If there's a chance of daylight, I say we go for it," I proposed. "Daylight means outside. Outside means we might get a signal again." Our radios were still being jammed.

  "I like the way you think, boy." He led us up to the opening. "Let’s see what we have behind door number one?"

  We were at an advantage since the door was hinged in such a way that it would be swinging outwards, away from us. Keeping close to the frame, he signaled Nix and I to get ready. The Overlord then carefully placed a hand on the broadside of the door. We raised our assault rifles up to eye level and made ready to move as he pushed the door open with his palm. We all rushed through, one by one, aiming our sights around as we searched for any sign of our enemy, the islanders.

  Deadstock initiated us with a hand signal as he harshly whispered, "Go. Go. Go."

  I was the first one to bust in. Immediately, I was taken by surprise. It wasn't because anybody was on the other side. It was the room itself that had me stumped.

  "Clear," I shouted in automated procedure. I was bewildered by what I saw before me, but protocol still took precedence.

  "Clear," Nix called out as well, but she almost said it like a question than an actual statement.

  "All clear," the Overlord concurred as everyone lowered their weapons at the disorienting sight ahead.

  In front of us was an upward shaft of a building's center. There was a very strange stairwell that led all along the sides. Every step and surrounding wall was layered in graffiti. It was a nightmare of colors that were all too vibrant. The colors conveyed gruesome and disturbing images. The terror enveloped the stairwell’s ascension like an upward tunnel of some bizarre dream. It was unlike any art that any of us had ever seen.

  Interestingly enough, the most common subject of the drawings proved to be that of the Overlord. The eerie artwork depicted his rise to power, from his early youth to the day he had left Earth. It was all told in chronological order up the stairs.

  In unsettling contrasts, the graffiti portrayed calm and comforting scenery only to be bordered by bloodshed and warfare. Aside from the selective use of bright colors, there was a red shading that overwhelmed the art and seemed to be bleeding out from the very walls. I walked up to a wall and examined the red paint. It wasn’t smooth. It was textured and let off a familiar, off-putting smell. That's when I came to an awful realization.

  "Sir, the walls!" I exclaimed in horror.

  "Yes, I know," he looked around at the interior in disgust. "It's real blood."

  "Why would someone do this?" Nix cupped a hand over her mouth in dismay.

  The Overlord attempted to shed some light on the matter as he gaped at the walls, "Whoever were dealing with, they’ve clearly gotten used to killing. It's a sickness, a fever, and they like it. They seem to be glorifying death, yet mocking it at the same time. There's certainly more to this island than I could’ve ever anticipated."

  "Ready to go when you are, sir," I implored. "Let's get out of here. This place is starting to creep me out."

  He then tilted his gaze upward where a light was emanating at the top of the stairs. "Looks like the only way out is up."

  The Overlord attempted to ignite his jet pack, but it failed to start. The jets sputtered and coughed, an indication that the fuel had run dry. Aggravated, he unlatched the straps and flung the useless weight to the ground.

  "I’m empty," he said. "Anybody else's jet pack still operational?"

  I tried my jet pack as well, but mine was done for too. "Why aren’t these things working? I thought these things ran off the Blood Tech from our suits?"

  "The batteries do, yes, but batteries and engines are two different things," taught the Overlord. "The jets still need fuel to fly."

  I threw it off to the side as he had done. There was no sense in tugging around something that couldn’t be used. It was then that I realized that there was a hole in what appeared to be my jet pack’s fuel chamber. I'd been hit during the attack in the storage room after all. The clear plastic armor encased all about my pack and suit was proof. Cracks and impacts in the contoured plastic revealed its thickness had taken most of the hits, but a single shot had made its way through and drained my jet pack of all its fuel.

  Nix found precarious success upon her own ignition. It wasn't a full start, but it was working. Her jet pack got stronger the longer she let it idle.

  "I can probably make it up about three quarters of the way, but that's it," she estimated.

  "Copy." Deadstock commanded her, "I want you to scout ahead. Try to make radio contact when you reach the top. Keep trying for a signal until we can regroup. We'll rendezvous with you as we can get up there. Move out."

  With compliance, Nix hovered off her feet and flew on up. She bypassed all the stairs, swerving through the centers of the squared railings. The Overlord and I watched her fly out of sight as we pondered the vast reaches of the manual steps we would have to take to get to the top.

  "What do you reckon, my Overlord?" I inquired as I kept on looking up. "Two hundred steps, maybe less?"

  "More like three hundred or more," Deadstock answered. "We've got a lot of ground to cover. Let's get moving."

  The Overlord then took the lead. He ascended the stairs in a hurried stride, but it wasn't long until he slowed down to a labored pace. It would be some time until we reached the top. I took it as an opportunity to talk as we strained our way up the maddening walls.

  "Sir, permission to speak freely," I requested.

  He heaved between the steps, "Granted. Go ahead."

  I began, "I’ve noticed you seemed to know a lot about the Spider's Shield. The Blood Tech generators, for example. Zero didn’t even know about them. How do you know so much about all this stuff?"

  "I know because I designed it," said Deadstock.

  "Hold on," I said surprised. "The Spider's Shield is yours?"

  "The Spider's Shield was a creation of mine, a long time ago," he told. "The original idea was discarded and the webs were never used. That is, until now. Somebody either happened upon my research or they stole it. That’s the only explanation that I can come up with. Clearly, somebody here on this island knows a little too much about my past. Whoever it is, it's clearly somebody that I used to know."

  "I'm just glad we haven't run into any of those radiation rifles yet." I shook my head just thinking about it.

  "None so far," he nodded as he gazed up ahead. "Not much of anything, actually." The Overlord then took another look at the chillingly painted walls. "Nothing except this nightmare."

  "The radiation rifles, did y
ou invent those too?" I probed, trying to get our focus away from the awful images around us.

  "No, I didn't," he confirmed. "Which means that whoever has stolen my work on the Spider's Shield has enough genius to make a few instruments of death on their own, without my assistance." After briefly reflecting on that, he quickly chose another topic, "What's your name, anyway?"

  I responded, "The name's Solomon Boone."

  "I see." He veered back at me, "Wish I could share your simplicity."

  "What do you mean by that, sir?" I asked, interested.

  "I have too many names." He went on, "I’ve been Doctor to most, I’ve been the Overlord to many, and I’ve even been a Space Wizard to a few. Out of all of them, though, I still prefer the name my mother gave me."

  "What does it matter what other people call you? I know my name. You know yours. That’s what counts, knowing who we really are." I tried him, "Deadstock? Is that your real name?"

  He laughed at my expense, "How many Deadstocks have you met, boy? It's just a codename, my call sign from the Last War."

  I added, "So what name were you born with?"

  "That's classified," he grumbled.

  I took the hint, "Yes, my Overlord."

  He then pleaded with me, "I'm not anyone's anything, so please stop calling me that. It'd be easier if you just called me Doctor, like your Commander does. Seems to be the most appropriate designation for me these days and I've started to come to terms with it."

  "Yes, Doctor," I said short and simple, not having any argument with the idea.

  Deadstock smiled back, "So how old are you, Solomon? I can't really see your whole face beneath your helmet, but from the way you walk and the way you talk, I’d say that you’re not more than a day past twenty years old."

  His guess wasn't too far off. "Nineteen, actually."

  Another breath of laugher slipped out of him. "I didn't realize the Thralldom was recruiting from cribs and cradles these days," balked the Overlord.