“And Mish?”
“Yeah, I’m here.”
“I think I remember about Mum and Dad, now. They… went on ahead of us, didn’t they?”
Mish’s mouth trembled. “Yeah, they did.”
“I’m going to see them again soon. I know I will. And one day you’ll be there too.”
“I can’t wait,” she sobbed.
“Until then… waiting… we’ll be waiting.”
She laid her head on his chest, sobbing, his hand clutched in hers. She whispered his name over and over, but after that he did not stir again.
31
I spent the night disposing of the Marauders, making every effort to disguise the fact that they had ever been here. The tags that were imbedded in their dirt bikes, in the off-roader, in their weapons and in their very bodies would act as a beacon for any other Marauder with a scanner who ventured within a kilometre radius, so getting rid of them and everything they’d brought with them was an imperative.
I loaded the three bodies into the back of the off-roader, going so far as to collect up fragments of bodies that had been blown off during the fight, tiny bits of metal and plastic and silicon. It was like a macabre version of collecting glinting seashells on a beach. I was about to drive off when I remembered the fourth Marauder lying down amongst the chicken coops, and, as luck would have it, he weighed a tonne. I spent many precious minutes dragging him out of the house and back up the street.
Arsha and Mish wrapped Ellinan in a blanket and carried him off into the darkness, to where they’d made a makeshift shelter a few streets over. I could hear Mish weeping long after I’d lost sight of them, and it was a sound to make my heart break.
I tried not to think of Ellinan. There would be time for that later. Time to grieve, to re-examine events and decide what had gone wrong and when. Not that finding something to blame would help. It wouldn’t change what happened, and it certainly wouldn’t bring Ellinan back. But I still knew that I’d go through the process regardless, and that, in the end, I would place the blame firmly on my own shoulders. What other conclusion could I reach?
Finally with the off-roader loaded, I got in behind the wheel and sat there, repulsed. Wraith had mounted a synthetic skull, stripped of flesh and glinting silver and grey in the centre of the dash on a spike. A black handgun had been holstered in one of the gaping eye sockets. The cabin reeked of decay and filth, and I couldn’t begin to imagine the origin of the odours. There were bullet holes in the hood where I’d peppered the vehicle back at the junkyard, but the windscreen had evidently been replaced as it was unblemished.
Keen to be rid of Wraith once and for all, I turned over the engine and started off down toward the city. There was a section of Cook Bridge that had been blown apart, and it offered a sheer drop down into the river below. This was where I dispatched the Marauders, pushing the off-roader over the crumbling edge of concrete and steel reinforcing and watching it crash into the inky water far below. Whether it would sink like a stone or be carried downriver I wasn’t sure. Either way, any Marauders who came looking for it would have a difficult time tracking it down.
I made the walk back to Somerset and repeated the procedure three more times, one for each dirt bike. It was an exhausting process, and on top of everything that had happened the day before, it left me feeling utterly crushed. It was morning by the time I finished the last run, and the murky sky still showed no sign of abating. It seemed to have set in for good, and I began to contemplate the unwelcome notion that it really might be here for the long haul.
Apart from the coating of soot, Somerset Drive almost looked normal again, as if the turmoil of the night before had never taken place. The grass swayed in the morning gloom and the chickens had ventured out to peck and scratch at the side of the road, taking a moment to watch me curiously before returning to their rummaging.
I went looking for Arsha, following the directions she’d given.
At the cemetery, I thrust the shovel into the earth. Arsha watched on nearby, her face numb. She still appeared to be in shock after what had transpired. The children stood solemnly around her, and Atlas slept contentedly in her arms.
The grave was located not far from the one that contained the remains of Arsha’s precious first child. We could have buried Ellinan anywhere, and we’d discussed a location closer to home, but this seemed like the right place for him to rest. As Arsha had pointed out, it looked out across the city, and it was amongst many generations of humans who had come before, and I found it more comforting to know that he was here, that he wasn’t simply discarded in the most convenient location.
It was Mish who had the final say, and she told us that her only wish was that he was buried where other people had been buried.
I’d carried his body here, through the streets and up the stone steps, and the burden weighed far more emotionally than physically. I’d lost another friend, someone who had been mine to protect, and the guilt of it made every step seem to shudder through my body until it felt like the world itself was shaking apart.
Now it was my arms that shuddered as the shovel plunged into the earth time and again. When the hole was deep enough, I placed the shovel aside and walked over to the bundle of sheets that contained Ellinan’s body. Arsha and Mish had lovingly tucked and straightened his shroud, embroidering flowery patterns across it and neatly stitching the seam to keep it from coming open. I took it reverently and lowered it into the earth, then turned back to the others.
“We’re here to say goodbye to Ellinan,” I began awkwardly. “He was a… a good son. A good brother.” Mish lifted her chin bravely, holding back the tears. “To me, he was just a great friend. I think it’s fair to say we didn’t start off on the right foot, but once we sorted out some misunderstandings, there was no holding us back. He was a smart kid, a quick learner. And he was brave, braver than many grown men I’ve seen. He listened to all of my stories, and I mean all of them, and never once complained, so I guess he was patient, too. And I’m pretty sure he was the greatest video game player left on the planet.” Mish smiled and nodded at that.
And he gave his life for mine.
“He gave his life for those he loved,” I said. “To put it simply, I wouldn’t be here without him. What he did, I can never repay. I’ll be forever in his debt.”
I looked down at the shroud, at the outline of his body within. “Thank you, Ellinan. Thank you, and goodbye.”
The children came forward one by one to drop flowers down onto the shroud, followed by Arsha and finally Mish, who came to pay their respects. Mish stood staring into the grave for a long time, her face desolate. The tears seemed to have dried up, for she just settled there, pale and drawn, bereft of words and gestures, as if she had nothing left to say. Finally she returned to Arsha’s side, and I carefully eased the grim earth back into the cavity.
When I was done, Mish came forward one last time and placed more flowers on the grave, as well as a jolly-looking gnome with a green hat and a watering can held aloft in its hand.
“Goodbye,” I heard her whisper.
Atlas was still asleep by the time I returned to Arsha’s side. He’d had a rough time of it over the last couple of days with the pain of his wounds still raw. We’d made a splint for his arm and bandaged his head, and I hoped that in time he would make a full recovery. Since the fight he’d spent much of his time asleep as his body healed, and all we could do was comfort him and keep him nourished until he was better.
“You did well,” Arsha said.
I said nothing, watching the three smaller children chase each other around an open grassy section of the cemetery further down the slope. Mish sat nearby, alone, looking out across the skyscrapers. Lifting a hand to the right side of my face, I traced the rough edge of the scar that began just below my eye and travelled all the way to the underside of my chin. Arsha had stitched it up as best she could, but it was a rough job. She wasn’t a surgeon, and we didn’t have the time for an intricate operation. My
fingers bounced along the ridges, familiarising themselves with this new countenance that I would wear for the rest of my days.
Some of the muscles in my face had been severed beneath the scar, and I could barely move my mouth or my cheek on that side. In all likelihood, I never would. And in addition to that, it hurt like hell. The burning throb of it was constant. I could only hope that in the coming days it would grow numb as my neural core shut down the nerve endings, as it had with other injuries I’d sustained on my body.
Wraith was gone, but he had left his mark on me for all to see.
My chest and side where Wraith had slashed me had also been stitched up, and they too caused me agony whenever I moved.
They were nothing compared to mental anguish I experienced when placing Ellinan in the ground.
“Is that the end of our tussle with the Marauders, do you think?” Arsha said, breaking the silence.
“Might be.” I thought of Wraith lying at the bottom of the river. “Yeah, I think for now, it is. Wraith was the one who really wanted me. He was the one searching high and low. The other Marauders don’t like to mess with Ascension, so they might stay away. For a while, at least.”
“Do you think we can return to Somerset and Cider?”
“Yeah, I think we probably can. I don’t know if we have any other choice. We need the food.”
We both lifted our faces to the blackened sky, and Arsha sighed.
“The food is going to run out if this garbage in the sky doesn’t clear. We might have a few weeks’ worth to get us by, but after that we’re in trouble.”
“I know.”
“So what do we do, Brant?”
“We’ll find a way to overcome it. Like we’ve always done, we’ll find a way.”
The children squealed as they frolicked, their sorrow forgotten, and I allowed my eyes to venture to the north, to the place from which the billowing death in the sky had emanated, and I knew that one day soon I’d need to return to the wasteland to confront whatever it was that was suffocating our world in darkness.
THE END
Author’s Note
Hello and thank you for reading, and for continuing this journey through the Silent Earth with me. As always, I’d love to hear what you thought, so feel free to get in touch at: [email protected]
As an independent author, it’s not easy for me to get my name out there and build an audience. I rely heavily on the community, on people like yourself, to help spread the word. So if you enjoyed this story, please let someone know by posting a review on Amazon, on your blog, on Goodreads.com, on Facebook, or wherever you can. Good reviews and word of mouth help to inspire people to take a chance on a new author like me, so even a few minutes of your time would be an enormous help to me.
The Silent Earth Series continues with the last volume, The Fires of Yesterday. Find out more at: markrhealy.com
Thanks again, and all the best.
About the Author
Mark R. Healy is an author and musician from Brisbane, Australia. He lives with his wife Nic and children Elise and Hayden.
Mark’s Website: markrhealy.com
Facebook: http://facebook.com/hibernalband
Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/author/markhealy
You can find more of Mark’s stories through his project ‘Hibernal’. This project features professional voice actors, original music and Mark’s own sci-fi stories to create a cross between audiobooks and movies. The result is an atmospheric, immersive and unique theatrical experience for the listener. This project is available to hear online at http://hibernal.bandcamp.com and can also be purchased through iTunes and Amazon. Just search for ‘Hibernal’.
Contact Mark by email: [email protected]
Acknowledgements
Once again there are many people I need to thank for helping me bring this book to fruition.
Nic for reading the book first (as always), for laughing and crying at all the right spots and for keeping my spirits afloat when needed.
Pete Turner for more terrific feedback and for the line about zombies!
A long list of friends and readers who have given me encouragement and assistance: Hayden Wright, Saul Caldwell, Shaun Watters, Mike Kershaw, Rohan Healy, John Scullen, Gayle Martin, Jo Keiler, Sharon ‘Pinky’ Pollock, Geoffrey Langley, Martin Hutchinson and Matthew Razat.
My editor, Eliza Dee at Clio for once again helping put the finishing touches on the story.
Donna Rich for proofreading at short notice.
And thank you to the readers who have contacted me to tell me they liked the book, and everyone who has taken the time to read it. I hope it’s been time well spent for you.
Mark R. Healy, Dec 15, 2014
Table of Contents
Part One
Sow
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
Part Two
Reap
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
Author’s Note
About the Author
Acknowledgements
The Seeds of New Earth Page 26
