Another Force

by D. J. Rockland

  Another Force

  by

  DJ Rockland

  Copyright © 2017 Rockland Properties, LLC

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 0-692-83742-6

  ISBN-13: 978-0-692-83742-9

  Acknowledgements

  Writing a book is a great experience, but it is difficult. I am grateful for all the help and direction I received throughout the journey.

  Thanks to Rob Bignell at Inventing Reality (www.inventingreality.4t.com) for his editing and guidance. Rob waded through my sophomoric mistakes to find the story. He also hates commas,,,

  Thanks to Chereese at grammar.rulesatoz@gmail.com for proofing the final copy.

  Thanks to Fiona Jayde Media (fionajaydemedia.com) for the beautiful artwork and cover design.

  Many, many thanks to Ken Dolinger for the fantastic performance on the audio version of the book. Ken, you’re the best.You can connect with Ken on Twitter at@Dolinger_VO.

  And finally, thank you for reading. Stories are more enjoyable when they are shared,

  so I would love to hear from you. Email me (AnotherForceBook@gmail.com) and share your thoughts about the story.

  Dedication

  For Laura and Lindsay, who have created so much joy in the world and in me,

  You made this book possible. Thanks for being my sounding board.

  For Ellis and Courtney,

  Please don’t read this until you’re much, much older; there are just way too many bad words…

  For Pam,

  You are the best editor. Thanks for reading and rereading and for all you did to make the book a reality. The book is better than I ever envisioned because of you.

  You are the Emily who saw something in me no one else did.

  Prologue

  The car swung in wild, wide arcs, first left then right and left again to avoid the rocks cascading down the canyon wall. “Where did they come from all of a sudden?” he muttered.

  His heart raced with the adrenaline pumped into his system by the sudden crisis, and he fought to collect himself. Calm but alert, he told himself, as he scanned for another obstacle.

  He saw none. The car’s headlights blazed through the night air, revealing a road free of debris or other vehicles for half a kilometer.

  The last incident replayed over and over in his mind. Rocks fell loose down the canyon walls, to be sure, but not rocks that big…

  Focus on controlling the car, he told himself. The canyon highway was narrow, and his vehicle was designed for speed not tight control. The natural curve presented by the canyon highway was a big enough challenge. He wanted no others.

  The tunnel approached and the driver relaxed. There was a difficult stretch of road on the other side, but he should be fine, he told himself. After the near miss, he looked forward to the straighter road of the tunnel. Once through the tunnel, the canyon opened up, and despite the turns, the highway was easy to see.

  The thought calmed him, and his breathing returned to normal.

  He noticed a light reflecting in his rearview mirror.

  “Car?"

  A vehicle, like the rocks, came from nowhere.

  “What the…”

  He glanced in the mirror. Undeterred by the twists and curves of the canyon road, the car behind him moved faster and faster. They entered the tunnel, but if the trailing car continued…

  Wham! His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of bending metal and broken plastic. The jolt knocked his car sideways, and he careened off the guardrail. The magnetic lock in the tires compensated and brought the nose of the vehicle back in line.

  He caught his breath, and shot a glimpse in the mirror.

  Like the howling of a banshee, the crashing sound of the two vehicles screamed. His car lunged forward with the impact.

  The rear vehicle hit him again. They left the tunnel and his car was out of control.

  He stepped on the brakes in the first curve, but the pursuer hit him in the turn. This time, however, rather than a jolt, the trailing vehicle locked onto his car like a child’s magnetic pull toy. The tandem traveled too fast for the curves.

  He heard the grinding of metal on metal as the two cars ripped the guardrail. The screech of the twisted frames, combined with his vehicle’s warning systems, created an unbearable cacophony of high pitched noise. His vehicle controller screamed at him to take action, but other forces controlled his car, and he was helpless.

  The vehicle’s onboard controller warned of possible lock failure if this speed was maintained. He pulled and yanked at the steering wheel for almost 200 meters before a 90 degree south turn loomed ahead.

  This was the turn he feared and his body shook with dread.

  Within fifty meters of the curve, he abandoned all hope and let go of the wheel. He leaned back in a vain attempt to calm himself.

  Adrenaline raced his heartbeat once again, and perspiration ran in chaotic ripples across his forehead and neck. The rivers of sweat soaked his freshly starched white dress shirt. He watched as events unfolded in front of him and saw his car moving in slow motion, like an old movie in a theatre.

  He thought back on the earlier events of this evening, and realized none of this was coincidental.

  “I was foolish to think I could trick him,” he said. He comforted himself with the thought that his family would be safe - at least for now. Elizabeth would know what to do. She’ll take care of them. “I love you, my darling!”

  The trailing car set its brakes, but it was too late. He grabbed for the wheel one last time and jerked in an attempt to stay on the highway, but the magnetic lock between his car and the tires failed. The car flipped and rolled for almost 150 meters down the canyon wall, eventually coming to rest on the desert floor. The rubber spheres, which only moments before were the tires carrying their owner on the highway above, rolled to the canyon floor like the playthings of a giant child. The safety systems in the car deployed and prevented the driver from an immediate death. They could not, however prevent the internal injuries and the series of blunt force trauma the driver sustained.

  As he lay twisted in the rubble, searing pain shot through his body. He wished for death.

  He focused on Elizabeth and the children, and all they had planned. He thought of what his life had been; the good he had done, and with regret, the mistakes he had made.

  He felt his life ebbing away, like a wave from the sea pulling back from the shore. He regretted their fight tonight.

  “I love you,” he whispered his last breath, “if you only knew how much.”

  The Malibu District Coroner’s office pronounced Jacob Jonathan Bruder dead at the scene. He recorded the cause of death as an unforced accident, combined with the driver’s failure to recognize conditions.

  Book 1

  “A great deal of intelligence can be invested in ignorance when the need for illusion is deep.”

  Saul Bellow, To Jerusalem and Back

  “Hold fast to dreams, for if dreams die, life is a broken-winged bird that cannot fly.”

  Langston Hughes, Dreams

  “Beware of false knowledge, it is more dangerous than ignorance.”

  George Bernard Shaw

  Chapter 1

  The rusty blade swung in a wide arc over his head, and the cut landed only centimeters from the thief’s hand. The ax man’s eyes were wide with rage, his face flushed, and his few wisps of hair stood on end. Sweat stood like raindrops on his cheeks and high forehead.

  The ax cut the table in a familiar place. Jagged slices of missing wood from the rough cut lumber of the table provided evidence that the ax had been here before.

  Joniver jumped back from the table and out of range of the weapon, pulling his hands close to his body.

  “My name is
Joniver; it is not Jon!” he said, as he stood up straight, his face smeared with anger. Joniver towered over Michaels, the ax wielding vendor. Joniver moved quickly and deftly, so Michaels’ ax did little to deter him.

  The ax flew through the air again, just missing Joniver and throwing Michaels off balance.

  “I don’t care what your name is,” Michaels said. “You were trying to steal my apples! I want you called Gone!”

  The ax took flight once more, striking again on the table’s edge. The sharp edge went deep and stuck fast. While Michaels lumbered to get around the table and pull the weapon free, Joniver grabbed two apples and ran.

  “They’re rotten anyway!” he said over his shoulder. He heard only the string of curses and obscenities spewed from Michaels’ mouth.

  Joniver and his best friend Olinar ran opposite Michaels and deeper into the sea of tables and vendors who made up Market Day. Today was Tuesday, and every Tuesday was Market Day for the citizens in the Peachtree sector.

  Every Tuesday, Joniver and Olinar made the rounds, but thanks to a rusty ax, today was a more exciting Tuesday than most. Once out of sight of Michaels, Joniver tossed the two apples to Olinar.

  “Don’t you want one?” Olinar asked.

  Joniver pulled up his sleeve and two more apples rolled down his arm into his palm. “No, I’m good.”

  Their laughter filled the sky like a bubbling brook cutting through a forest.

  “That idiot Michaels will never learn, will he?” Joniver said. “He’s as dense as a block.”

  “So much concern for apples. They are not worth the 12 cents he charges for them.”

  “They wouldn’t be worth it if he gave them away for free!”

  “The lying cheat; he’s only getting what he deserves!”

  A warm wind blew through their hair and momentarily inflated their hoodie sweatshirts.

  “You gotta be more careful,” Olinar said between bites, “the blow-head almost caught you this time.”

  “Whatever!”

  The two walked on, mindless of the beautiful day around them. And it was an absolutely gorgeous day, especially for this time of year. The sun shone bright and high in a clear blue, cloudless sky. The coolness of the air and the bright sunshine combined to give the day an energizing feel. The day, along with his rebel nature, had combined to stiffen Joniver’s resolve to get the apples.

  He was no thief; well, he was a thief, but not a common thief, at least not by his definition. He stole only from those who deserved it.

  Joniver is a shortened form of Jonathan Oliver, and he refused to be called Jon by anyone. He had no explanation as to why he was called Joniver and not Jonathan or Jonathan Oliver. Before she died, his mother always called him Joniver and so it stuck.

  He is tall, but his 210 pounds did little to fill his sleeves, especially above the elbows. He has darker skin than most, and unlike anyone else, he has penetrating, crystal blue eyes. He also likes to eat - a lot. His insatiable physical hunger was not represented well by his slender frame, but it was there nonetheless.

  His hunger was partially why he stole the apples from Michaels. He believed Michaels was a thief, and to Joniver, Michaels represented all that was wrong with the world. He felt not an ounce of guilt taking the man’s goods. Michaels cheated others of both their money and their lives, or at least their quality of life. Joniver considered anything he stole from the man to be justice.

  Joniver and Olinar walked on, going nowhere and getting there slowly. The noise roiled around them and the crowd thickened and thinned in an almost rhythmic pattern before them. They did not notice. The vendors called and the patrons bargained, but it was simply background to Joniver and Olinar. They walked, but not with real purpose, dragging their hands along the edge of - and picking up splinters from - the lumber used to construct the vendor tables at market.

  Suddenly Joniver tensed and stopped short.

  “What?” Olinar said, but then he smelled it too. Something was burning. The Market had good food, but this was not the smell of something cooking. “Is that what I think it is?”

  Joniver nodded, and the two took off following their noses. They followed up one aisle and then down another. They turned a corner around a table full of shoes, then yet another by a vendor selling pies, following the trail that cut the air. They were like two blood hounds in the hunt. They cornered around a clothing vendor’s stand, when they spotted a small crowd gathered at the end of the market area. After working their way through, they saw, and felt, what before they only smelled.

  The spectacle was horrifying.

  The bonfire flames lapped at least as tall as the boys, like the giant tongues of a gorged mouth. But it was the fuel that disturbed Joniver. Guardsmen stood around the fire pit and threw boxes of books into the blaze. As Joniver and Olinar watched, occasionally a tome would fall from its crate or a Guardsman would overthrow the flames and the book would fall to the pavement with a loud slap. Joniver jerked each time a book hit.

  Olinar saw his friend’s mind plotting. “Don’t do it, Dude. It’s not worth it. Those Guardsmen are not Michaels and those books are not apples.”

  Joniver’s shoulders slumped. He loved to read. He read vociferously anything he could get his hands on, and he read with great understanding. He possessed a photographic memory, but no one Joniver knew, or knew of, would have cared. But he cared. Joniver’s reading and comprehension allowed him to steal books, read them in minutes, and return them without there being any knowledge of a theft.

  Now he watched hundreds - maybe thousands - of books burned. Burned because the stupid company marked them as terrorist material, and therefore a threat to the safety and security of the sector. Joniver was so angry he wanted to cry, but he dared not. He wished he could rinse his memory of this hideous sight.

  Olinar grabbed his arm and pulled him away. Joniver turned and the two walked slowly back toward the market.

  After a few steps, he looked up and there she was, standing along the back edge of the gathered onlookers.

  Joniver stopped, if only briefly. His eyes softened, and even though he would never admit it, his heart jumped. A lump formed in his throat.

  Olinar noticed the reaction, and he slapped his friend on the arm with the back of his hand. “Man, the girl has you tied up!”

  He laughed, smacking his hands together. He could not stop laughing at his friend’s reaction to the beautiful member of the opposite sex. “Whoooo-heeee!” Olinar horned out.

  “No, she doesn’t,” Joniver said. He dropped his head, shot a sideways glance at Olinar and grinned, “But she is something to look at.”

  “That she is, my friend, that she is.” He laughed, and the two walked on.

  Each gave the girl a half-hearted wave, as they headed back toward the market.

  Emily noticed them and she returned their attempt at appearing casual with a big smile and wave.

  Joniver smelled lilacs.

  Among the unpleasant odors floating around, there was a very pleasant one he knew, one he always knew. It was Emily. She always smelled like lilacs. He did not know why or how, but despite the foul smell of the burning books, the smell of meat at the vendor table, the smell of all kinds of cooking in the market, she smelled like lilacs.

  Joniver let the feeling sink in. He felt the relaxation and energy sweep over him, like stepping into a waterfall.

  He had not even known what lilacs were until he met her. After meeting her the first time, he found out all he could about them. He now loved to smell lilacs, but it was not the fragrance. He loved being around her, although he had never even screwed up the courage to so much as ask her to go for a walk.

  Emily had a beautiful big smile and an infectious laugh, which sounded like the color of autumn leaves. But it was her eyes, Joniver thought. I could melt into her dark brown eyes.

  She had beautifully smooth olive skin as rich as fresh butter, but for Joniver, her eyes held him captive.

  One day, I’ll ask Em
ily out.

  From somewhere he heard a voice, “Joniver, when will one day get here, my friend?”

  But Olinar broke the moment, punching his arm, “Hey, doesn’t Emily live in your building?”

  “Yep. She lives there with her aunt.”

  “Her dad died or something, right?”

  “Yes,” Joniver said. “Nana told me Emily was little when it happened. Her dad got drunk or something and fell down some steps and broke his neck.”

  “Really?” Olinar said. “She found him?”

  Joniver nodded. “Trying to find answers in a liquor bottle, Nana says. Emily’s aunt found her at the bottom of the stairs crying and trying to lift him by his shirt. He had puked and it was all over her and gross.”

  “Hmm, where was her mom?” Olinar asked.

  “She died having Emily. At least that’s what Nana said.”

  Olinar paused for a moment with his head lowered. He thought for a moment. “Why don’t you see if you can get your Nana to cook for you two? You know, a little dinner and a cuddle?”

  Joniver shot him a disgusted look. “Right, with Nana there!”

  “Send your Nana on an errand or something. Be creative! Besides, she’s cool. She’ll go for it!”

  “You are a dingle-doofus,” Joniver said.

  Olinar babbled on about something he had seen, and the two quickly picked up their friendly banter. They moved on jostling and cajoling one another as they walked. With nothing to accomplish and nowhere to go, they walked and enjoyed the laziness of it.

  The world is as it should be, Joniver could not help but think, and he smiled.

  ***

  Emily picked up her basket and watched the two of them walk away. They were hopeless, she thought.

  She knew both of them, and even knew they had been eyeing her of late, but she had also taken note of them. Joniver was cute, in fact he was more than cute. Her aunt had once said he was hot, which only made Emily blush.