Cataclysm Epoch (The Valkyrie Chronicles Book 1)

by Paul Heingarten

  CATACLYSM EPOCH

  by Paul Heingarten

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, events and situations in this book are purely fictitious. Any similarity to actual persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright ©2017 Paul Heingarten

  All Rights Reserved

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Decatur Media

  New Orleans, Louisiana

  www.decaturmedia.com

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Acknowledgements

  First and foremost, thank you to my wife Andrea, for your constant support of and belief in me and all my crazy plans and schemes. I love you!

  To my parents, for always being there for me. Dad, for reminding me to keep charging ahead, and mom for teaching me what love is, and for showing me what grim determination is all about by your example.

  To my editor Kit, thanks for the encouraging words and for helping me take this story from a rambling text file to a book I’m very thankful to share with the world.

  To my friend Amy, who once told me that inside every woman is a warrior. It was high time I wrote about one. Thanks for your friendship and enduring support through the years.

  To the Bayou Writers Club. Thank you for hours of discussions about writing, the camaraderie, and for your support.

  The term “Hell Hawk” used in this series is derived from the nickname given to several military units during WWII, including the 365th Fighter Group of the Air Force and Marine Fighting Squadron 213. Several members of my immediate and extended family have served in the armed forces, and it is my sincere hope the usage of this term by me in this series is seen as an expression of the respect I have for the military.

  Special thanks to my street team, the “Krewe of Paul” for your time, interest, and talent in helping me become the best writer I can: B. Allen Thobois, Tanyawriter, Ray Antonelli, Jackie Tansky, Peggy Thibodaux, Patricia Gailbraith, Brent Spurrell

  To my beautiful wife Andrea, my better half in every sense of the word. I love you.

  “The most beautiful people we have known are those who have known defeat, known suffering, known struggle, known loss, and have found their way out of the depths. These persons have an appreciation, a sensitivity, and an understanding of life that fills them with compassion, gentleness, and a deep loving concern. Beautiful people do not just happen.”

  Dr. Elisabeth Kübler-Ross

  (Death: The Final Stage of Growth, 1975)

  Chapter 1 (Ana)

  T hat roof was gone if it had one more direct hit.

  Everyone else in the room focused on it each time a blast rumbled or when the building creaked from the attack outside. For a mobile facility, this place was pretty stable unless of course someone tried to have it bombed to hell.

  For the last month or so, I'd traveled with these people, The Action. My rescuers from my former life. Yeah, well, it wasn't really my life.

  The lights flickered as another explosion rumbled. Soldiers scurried about with pulse rifles, several headed outside. This was the third attack since I'd been here, but it was anybody's guess. At least for me everything kinda ran together, days and nights. I was one of many rescued in the Exodus, the great escape from Lebabolis. And now we were on the run from raids like this one.

  They called this place Encampment 2, one of the many separate Encampments of people in the Action. Baudricort explained since they were spread out over the Outlands it made it that much harder for Lebabolis to shut the Action down all at once. Lebabolis kept their search up though, and every now and then they found one of these places.

  I gazed at the faces that swarmed around me. Tired faces. Some looked beaten. But clear eyes, all of ‘em. Not that haze they had when they were Lebabolis Products. Some of them worked at the Encampment facilities when they were used for mining for Valentium, the ore that was all over the Outlands. Others, like me, were just ready to get the hell away from what we left behind.

  The air was stuffed with voices. I had no idea how these people managed when things got like this. If I screamed, no one would’ve noticed. My stomach churned with a nagging soreness, so I checked the crates strewn about the room and grabbed rations for Varrick and me. Baudricort met me on my way out of the room.

  “More love letters from Charista?” I nodded toward the sounds outside. Charista was head of Lebabolis military, and she made bringing us back her primary mission.

  The room tipped a bit with another blast. Baudricort steadied himself for a moment and checked the others in the room. “Mmmhm. Knew this wouldn't be easy.”

  He eyed my rations and smiled. “How's he doing, Ana?”

  “About the same.”

  “I'm glad you both made the Exodus. You know we can keep him safe.” He grabbed my chin and added, “You too.” His eyes widened a bit. He had looked after Varrick and me ever since they got us out. I figured he felt bad about how my parents disappeared before we fled.

  I managed a small smirk. “Thank you. And I owe you for that, I do.” I sighed and added, “But we both know, Varrick won't get better here.”

  “I know you're in a hard spot.”

  Varrick had what they called The Pox. He came down with it a month or so before we fled. I decided his best shot was for me to get us far north out of anyone’s way here so I could look for some people I’d heard about who could help treat him.

  If I had any inkling Varrick could've been treated back there in Lebabolis, I'd have stayed behind even as bad as I had it. But I knew better. And Baudricort knew damn well what else we wanted to get away from.

  A soldier ran up to Baudricort and updated him on the situation outside as I looked around for water. Baudricort led The Action so he was always pulled in a million directions, sometimes between different Encampments.

  The hallways in this place were just big enough for two people to pass each other. Of course with all the scrambling going on, stumbling about was a regular thing.

  As I made my way down the hallway, I felt the pang of guilt searing my midsection.

  Even with Varrick sick, I thought about what these people had done for us. Baudricort called it the Exodus: they crept through Lebabolis after dark and took p
eople, sometimes one or two at a time, anyone who wanted out. It was always a risk, and there was never a guarantee you’d even survive the escape part. But it was a chance at a better life, or a life at all.

  So far, the Action had given me more than I ever had where I was. Back in Lebabolis I was just a piece of equipment that made things and future generations of slaves. We all were.

  Even with whatever gear I grabbed, I’d never been on my own before or even defended myself in a tough spot. Treg showed me a little, but training and a real situation weren’t the same.

  Someone knocked me into the wall. The stinging coolness of the steel on my cheek made me jump a bit, but it felt kinda good too. I felt a dull ache on my side and heard a voice I wished I hadn't.

  “You hoarding?”

  Remy stood there and flashed his lopsided grin. His hands gripped a rifle like an infant might have held a chair for the first time. Not a surprise; as an Intellectual Product he little to no time with weapons. And with his attitude, I doubted anyone helped him much with training or anything.

  “You know damn well who it’s for.” I straightened myself out.

  “Well, better not take over your ration or Varrick's.”

  “Mmmhm, got it. Shouldn't you be, I dunno, pointing and shooting that thing?”

  We exchanged glares for a moment before he turned and sped off. I was sick of him not long after I got here. He was one of the earlier escapees and acted like the whole damn Action was his idea. Baudricort had that honor though. He and the other leaders they called the Cadre were scattered around at other Encampments, where they did whatever they could so they and the people around them survived another day.

  I glanced down to my side. The soreness went away quickly, but I knew what caused it.

  The dagger.

  I straightened myself and the sheath at my side. It was made of faded canvas and stood out from anything I’d seen for gear. It was very old, which I’m sure was why no one else bothered with it.

  Baudricort made me carry it. He never said why, but weapons weren’t in huge supply here, so I never asked.

  Baudricort barked more orders as I headed for Varrick.

  #

  I got to the stairs that led to the medical facility when I heard another familiar voice.

  “Ms. Crucinal, I presume.”

  Treg was in full gear, helmet too. A pulse rifle was slung over one shoulder. I took him in. That halfway smile. Those eyes that had already seen way too much.

  We embraced. “Hey, you.”

  “Keeping yourself entertained?”

  I shrugged. “I'm a guest. No rec time with those assholes around, right?”

  He nodded. “Or the moves. Sure would love to see whatever map Baudricort's using for this Exodus.”

  “Right? Would love to figure out why we keep running into these patrols.”

  We both laughed a bit. The word from anyone I asked was we headed west, aside from the twists and turns which avoided the Lebabolis raids for the most part. Baudricort told me he wanted to get to some mountain group called the Range because it had enough shelter for the Action, or whatever they considered themselves, which meant a chance for a new start.

  As crazy as it was, the frequent moves, the rationed food, the occasional raids, it started to feel more like I was part of something. People looked out for each other here, instead of everyone’s heads held down in fear of being noticed otherwise. I’d even seen a smile from people on occasion here.

  “You came in for something?” I asked Treg.

  He shrugged. “Just got back from the Valentium run. Your brother’s asking for ya.”

  “I’m headed that way.”

  “All secure that way. I better join the, uh, fun outside.” He glanced down the hallway with a grim smile. Valentium was our fuel. There were deposits of it scattered around outside of Lebabolis borders in the Outlands.

  I studied his expression. “How'd it go?”

  He bit his lip and pondered a second. “OK, I suppose. No one got zapped this time.”

  I sighed. “Am I crazy, trying to leave?”

  He swung his rifle behind his neck. He always seemed more natural with a weapon than not. “You're protecting your brother, trying to get him well. Nothing crazy about that.”

  “And getting us both away from Cataclysm.” I sighed. Cataclysm had already happened, but a lot of people were sure another one was coming. All I’d heard about the first one was stories; it had happened before I was born. But it tore up Lebabolis pretty bad, enough that people were terrified of the idea that another one was coming.

  Treg rubbed a boot against the other leg. “Could just be a myth.”

  “I’m not taking any chances.” I smiled.

  Treg and I had grown up in the same sector. Neighbors, but different "Products", as they called it. I was a Worker Product. We handled things like assembly of mechanical items, food distribution, and a whole lot more. Treg was a Warrior Product. They handled security inside and outside the borders. The Product system just mattered in Lebabolis, but people still referred to it out of habit.

  I tapped the handle of the dagger in thought and gazed off for a moment. Treg said, “See you got Baudricort's present still.” He nodded toward the knife.

  “Yeah, made me keep it. Dunno why, with all those rifles around.”

  We both chuckled. A knife was the last thing anyone wanted with pulse weapon fire, bombs and who the hell knew what else on top of us. I figured every weapon was spoken for, with how broad the Action reached into the Outlands. Baudricort gave it to me right after I arrived. It had a basic handle but with a strange emblem on it. I guessed it was from an old unit or a relic. Whatever it was, it wasn’t important enough to pass to their soldiers.

  Treg’s smile faded as he asked, “Still thinking of heading north?”

  I scanned the floor around my boots. “Mmmhm. Try and ditch these raids, get more help.”

  “If there are people up that way.”

  “It's rumors for now, but the way it is here-” I waved my hands around and shook my head. “Almost anywhere else would be better.”

  Treg gazed at me. No matter where we were or what went on, whenever I saw his glance it gave me this feeling that, I dunno, things were OK. They were ever since they sent him for me when I broke free from Lebabolis, aside from the scraps we ended up in like this one.

  Soldiers passed between us, headed toward the exit. Treg started after ‘em, his rifle clutched firm. He caught himself and met my eyes. “Take care of yourself, OK?”

  “Don't I always?”

  He smiled big. “Oh yeah.”

  I watched him head outside. At least there were enough Warrior Products here for protection. Not every Encampment was as lucky. The Action was a grab bag, and everyone pulled their weight, no matter what the job was.

  I turned toward the stairs and grabbed for the railing but missed as a very loud bang rocked the building and sent me to the floor.

  Chapter 2 (Ana)

  A t first, I thought the wind had knocked down a commo tower. Or a thunderstorm had kicked up.

  But then the shouting started.

  The lights blinked once, then shut off. A wave of heat rushed over me, and my pulse throttled in my throat.

  I got back on my feet when I heard footsteps and the rattle of gear behind me. I groaned as I was knocked against a wall. The breath from my nose brushed against the metal in the darkness. The chirp of activated pulse rifles filled my ears, and the light their displays put off cast a faint glow in the hall.

  Somewhere in all of this Baudricort yelled, “Ambush! They hit the infirmary!”

  No, Varrick!

  I grabbed for the railing. The rations slipped away when I surged up the stairs, weaved and scooted around people or whatever was in my way in the dark. The entrance to the infirmary was a shattered mess. There was just enough light to see dim outlines and the gaping hole in the roof.

  Several Action soldiers were about the room, firin
g up into the night air. The wind howled and right above the hole was a Hell Hawk hovercraft. It floated above us, like a hungry predator that pondered its next meal. Beams of light from the front of the ship sliced the room like brilliant tentacles. Dust blew everywhere, along with the rotten smell of engine exhaust.

  "Take cover!" yelled one soldier. A pulse shot skewered a soldier near me. His body fell backward with the impact, and his screams joined the chorus of the whining turbines above and general shouting. Something warm splashed my arm; I saw it was blood.

  I crouched behind supply crates as the entire medical facility was showered with pulse fire. More Action soldiers poured in and joined the fight. I saw very little in the dim light and smoke from the pulse shots that tore into everything, steel, fabric, people.

  Chaos erupted among soldiers in the room like an agitated volcano. The soldiers I watched scurried about with not much direction. They fired at the ship above us, though it did little good. With the sea of shouting mixed with screams and weaponry at play, I heard nothing that resembled any kind of command.

  Baudricort crouched behind a counter area and fired back on the Hell Hawk. I strained my eyes in the fray, but things were too crazy.

  I crawled over to Baudricort. “What happened?” I yelled.

  “What's it look like?”

  The roof looked like it was cut pretty clean off, like someone had taken a big knife and sliced it off.

  Baudricort grunted. “That roof wasn’t blasted from the outside.”

  He flinched as a shower of dust rained on us. He growled and slapped his weapon as it malfunctioned.

  I scanned the edges of the hole in the structure. “Was it charges? Booby trap?”

  He glanced at me. His eyes went wild as he pondered who may have done it. In the Action, sabotage was not so much of an if but a when and a who. “Stay down and keep close.”