Survival_Book 1_And Tomorrow

by Ralph F. Halse

  Kitch blushed deeply. He was not socially equipped to respond to Caitlin’s observations. Sitting, he placed salt and pepper shakers on the table. “We gotta be gone around dawn tomorrow. Dad couldn’t afford new power cells, so they’re very old. Every seventy-two hours they give off a fairly substantive shudder that will vibrate through the ground as they reset to charge mode. If there’s any infected about, that noise will attract them. If we leave before then, the main unit will power down in increments. It’ll slowly recharge without creating undue noise. I think we should store half the food here. We use my home as a retreat when we’ve run out of all other options.”

  Caitlin nodded her agreement. “I see where you’re coming from now.”

  “Before we leave, I’ll set the security system to recognize you and Marie. Just in case,” he added. Kitch didn’t need to say why. They both knew the answer.

  At that moment, Marie entered the kitchen wearing one of Kitch’s old shirts with the sleeves rolled up. She had a towel wrapped around her head and looked content. Her face glowed. Kitch smiled at the confidence Marie displayed. For the first time, Marie smiled warmly back at him. She said, in a voice cracking with emotion, “Thank you, Kitch.”

  Embarrassed, Kitch nodded meaningfully at the food. Kitch could smell the clean, fresh odor of perfumed soap and shampoo over the food aromas. He looked at Caitlin and said, “Would you like to shower next?”

  “No, I’ll organize Marie’s sleeping arrangements. You go.”

  Kitch nodded as he ate in silence, enjoying the rich flavors of the food while Caitlin explained to Marie their proposal. He glanced at his VOID, which he placed under a light shortly before he commenced cooking. It was almost charged. Forking a mouthful of peas with his right hand, he motioned the VOID into life with his left. The device functioned perfectly. “Search mode,” he instructed.

  Immediately a miniature tornado of blank news-feeds swirled before him. Caitlin and Marie stared intently at the vacant images. “I’ve only got 2D,” he added with a sigh. “It’s voice only, the old-fashioned way.”

  “What will you search for?” Caitlin asked wiping the corner of her mouth with a little finger.

  “Alternative accommodation, but I can’t find a live feed. I’ll have to carry out a wider search,” he responded frowning. “Broad search, information sources, worldwide,” Kitch said. The miniature tornado of images swirled until two pulsated at the center mass. “Live feeds open, close all dead,” he said. Instantly, two feeds presented.

  “Where are they?” Caitlin asked.

  “Germany and here in the States. I’ll try the US first,” he said squinting thoughtfully. “Public information, United States, entry to knowledge base,” Kitch said opening the US portal. A holographic image of a tiny, well-dressed female around thirty years of age appeared. “Welcome to the Virtual Institute of Technology. Public entry is permitted through levels one through to five. A passcode must be entered for all other access. Your credit account will be charged at five credits per minute. If you do not have an account, I would be pleased to assign...”

  Kitch cut the holographic image off before it could launch into a sales pitch. “Public information search only. Subject South Carolina. Location, Johns Island. Subject of search, self-contained, sustainable buildings.”

  “Search initiated. Johns Island is....”

  “Required data only,” Kitch snapped.

  The tiny woman responded with typical chip-generated alacrity, “Since the conclusion of the international war, South Carolina abandoned its solar and wind power supplies options for cheaper nuclear alternatives. Connection to grid power is virtually never-ending. Several structures in the stipulated locale contain features you require.” The voice commenced to list them. Kitch and Caitlin listened to their limited options until one had their eyes popping.

  “Stop,” Kitch instructed. “Provide all information, Johns Island tourist castle.”

  The voice described a structure they both knew well. However, what was not known was the fact that the previous owner was a former Special Forces SEAL who was cut off from his unit during the war. He spent over a year behind enemy lines surviving on his wits. Forced to forage for supplies and live off the land, the SEAL was forever affected by his war-time experiences. When he returned home, he purchased the castle and improved it as a form of therapy, which would supply him a tourism income and a place to live. The former SEAL spent the remainder of his life ensuring the castle was entirely self-sustainable. He retrofit it with heat pumps, solar spheres, wind turbines, underground water tanks and alternative technologies.

  Kitch addressed Caitlin. “I think we’ve found the answer to our problems.”

  A soft snore drew Kitch’s attention to a slumped Marie. She’d fallen asleep with her head on the table and a pea-loaded fork in her hand. “I’ll put her in Dad’s room,” Kitch said, quietly rising to pick up her limp form.

  “Junior and the others were cruel to Marie, calling her slow and saying she was retarded. She’s not. Marie’s quiet. She thinks a lot before speaking. They mistook her silence for stupidity. I thank God they did. Otherwise, Connor would have had her working alongside me and others. No, Kitch.” Caitlin halted his rise. With an enigmatic smile, she said, “I’ll do that. Go shower and clean yourself up. She’s my sister and my responsibility.”

  Shrugging, Kitch made for the shower. He knew how Junior operated. Kitch had suffered similar treatment for years. Collecting a set of clean clothes along the way, Kitch decided the ones he wore weren’t worth the effort of cleaning, so disposed of them in the trash chute for recycling or destruction, as the chip decided.

  Kitch was working up a serious lather when a pair of hands gently turned him around. Squinting through the foaming suds, Kitch sighted Caitlin fixing her blonde hair into a bun. His heart began to beat faster. The muscles in his face twitched. Too surprised to say anything at first, Kitch opened his mouth to speak. Caitlin’s index finger placed gently against his lips silenced him.

  Over cascading streams of hot water and through the steaming mist, Caitlin said, “Kitch, I’ve loved you from the day I first set eyes on you. Don’t speak, listen? I don’t know why this is so, only that whenever I’m around you my heart jumps into overdrive, my skin feels hot and I tend to lose sight of other matters. Over the years, many boys have entered my life, though not one has had the effect you have on me. I don’t know what you’re thinking right now, but here’s what I am. When we leave this wonderful home of yours, we enter a world of high risk, death, infection or both. There’s no sanity outside this house other than the one we will create. I’ve had dreams, wonderful, romantic, loving dreams, Kitch, about us since I was ten. Every night, before I went to sleep. I thought of you, being with you and having your babies. I’d lay in my bed wondering what you were doing and if you were happier at home than you were at school. I fantasized about our future together and how I was going to get you to notice me over your Tourette’s. I am not going risk losing one more day without fulfilling those dreams, starting now.”

  That said, Caitlin kissed him deeply. As her tongue gently probed and teased inside his mouth, he felt himself responding. He knew her words were true. For the first time in his life, Kitch sank willingly into the moment. Caitlin and Kitch spent the next half-hour fully exploring each other in the shower. Caitlin encouraged Kitch to do things, which for the first time in his short life had him concentrating on something far more distracting than Tourette’s. As they emerged from the shower, Kitch knew that from this moment on, he would be partnered with Caitlin for the rest of their lives. As they toweled dry, Kitch said quietly, “I’ll wake you and Marie at dawn. We’ll work out a plan to get inside that castle over breakfast.”

  Caitlin arched an eyebrow as she paused drying to look Kitch in the eyes with a bemused expression. “That naivety of yours is dead sexy,” she said flipping her towel around his neck, pulling him toward her. When his nose was mere inches away, she said with an insolent smil
e that dripped with mischievous humor, “You and I are going straight into your bedroom. If you’ve got the energy to get out of bed at dawn, I’ll be very surprised.” With her towel secured around his neck, Caitlin motioned the lights out. Naked, she led Kitch to his bedroom in the dark.

  Several hours after dawn, they newly bonded pair emerged grinning. They took in the delicious odors of re-heated food prepared by Marie. Who, upon seeing them enter the kitchen together, disheveled and holding hands turned her head away, stuck out her tongue, screwed up her face, closed her eyes and exploded loudly with, “Bllleeerkk!”

  Caitlin, who was wearing one of Kitch’s old shirts, laughed. Kitch blushed a deep crimson, though he couldn’t prevent himself smiling at Caitlin as they ate. Throughout breakfast, they kept touching each other’s hands while discussing possible ways to get into the castle. All entries involved making noise, and that meant attracting the infected.

  “We have to go over the wall,” Caitlin said with a determined finality. “There’s no other way.”

  Kitch nodded. “Dad’s got a ladder in the basement. It’ll do the job but getting it there could be an issue. It’s long, aluminum, and one hundred percent guaranteed to make a rattling noise with every step we take. So, we’ll have to be quick. Best we start now. I’ll organize the ladder. Will you prepare a backpack with food, water, and medical supplies?”

  While Caitlin and Marie packed, Kitch headed to the basement to locate the extension ladder. He secured it with ropes before carrying it outside, where he propped it against the front fence. Back inside, once showered and dressed, Kitch entered his training room. He selected a variety of stabbing weapons before returning to the kitchen. Handing one each to the girls, he said nothing. Their use was obvious. “I’ve placed the ladder outside. Marie, would you scout forward by ten or so paces and signal at any blind spots if there’s any infected about?”

  Marie’s face lit up with the responsibility of her task. Hefting her weapon, she beamed at her new-found level of trust. Marie nodded enthusiastically, with determination etched in her clear blue eyes.

  Kitch had the girls approach the security system and be recognized as they exited. It was hot, clothes-clingy humid and almost midday when they entered the harsh daylight. The smells of hundreds of orchids fill the air. This time, the trio were equipped with polarized sunglasses, stabbing weapons and supplies. Best of all, they had each other, a purpose for living and a rudimentary plan for survival. Kitch and Caitlin took up the lightweight but sturdy ladder as Marie moved forward, relishing in her scouting role.

  Pausing at the ten-pace mark, Marie signaled all clear. The trio made for the castle at a light jog. No sooner had they set foot on the main thoroughfare than they were forced to tug surgical masks into place. Gone was the stench of decaying meat and exposed intestines. In its place lurked acrid odors of polluted smoke, burned meat, charcoaled timber, the sharp tang of fuel cells smoldering in burned-out shells of public vehicles and an all-pervading stink of melted permaglaz that stung their eyes.

  The firestorm ceased short of crossing the main road into Kitch’s neighborhood. It had swept southwest, scouring everything in its blistering path to black. Nothing remained alive or standing all the way to the intersection. Charred lumps of house shells to the north continued to smolder. They passed hundreds of corpses burned beyond recognition. The nauseating stink of burned meat had their heads turning and bile tickling the back of their throats. Every building toward the mall was reduced to piles of carbon. Wind-blown ash swept over slags of permaglaz. A thin veil of odorous black smoke wafted across the path of destruction.

  Not one riverfront home survived—all were smoking ash on heaps of permaglaz. Only the mall, bridge, and water hire business survived. Unburned infected lay alongside the charred dead. Piled three deep on the road just south of the tourist castle, they provided food for the winged wildlife, dogs, cats and endless varieties of insects.

  Using his father’s old military binoculars, Kitch scanned the area. Not a soul moved for at least two miles. The dead were burned, partly burned, singed, and just plain dead. As he studied the corpses, he noticed all were relaxed in death, fleetingly returning some of the dignity the infection had robbed them of as life fled their forms. He figured the radiated heat was so great that it ripped the oxygen from the air and the infected were drawn to their deaths as moths were to an insect killing device.

  In a sickening silence interrupted only the ominous buzz of millions of feasting winged insects, the trio paused to survey the road. The nearest shambling figures were many miles away. Even so, Kitch silently led the girls to the lowest part of the castle wall. They set the ladder up, taking great care not to let it scrape or rattle. The castle forecourt was patently empty.

  Kitch climbed the ladder. Sitting atop the narrow wall, he waved the girls up. Once they too were sitting on the wall, Kitch used his weight to pivot the ladder. Sliding it to the ground inside, Kitch set it to take them into the forecourt. Gathering the ladder under their arms, Kitch and Caitlin surveyed the impenetrable, high walls. A crouching Marie kept watch.

  It truly was a medieval castle. There was no way the ladder was long enough to get over the next wall. Kitch would have to scale the battlements, climb down and find a way to open permasteel doors without destroying them. After all, the thick timber and permasteel doors would keep the outside world from invading their fortified sanctuary. Together, they set the ladder snugly against the stone wall. As Kitch was about to climb, Caitlin kissed him and wished him good luck. Immediately thereafter, a hissed blerk was heard from Marie’s general direction.

  At the battlement lip, Kitch surveyed the destruction zone and immediate area. The fire had cleansed the land of the infected. He could see a pack of sniffing dogs wandering through smoking piles of the dead, seeking a feed. Flocks of turkey vultures had grown in number. When the earth’s surface cooled, four-footed scavengers would return, and the feast would resume, though it seemed to Kitch that the masses of flies were reduced.

  Some five feet beneath the crenelated battlement, Kitch moved carefully from precarious hand-hold to hand-hold, until he was able to pull himself over the battlement. Crouching, he peered below inside—, nothing moved. To his right and left stood replica watch towers designed to protect defenders firing arrows and other weaponry on attackers. In these two cases, the left tower led to room-like cells, in which were kept period clothed, lifelike wax models depicting medieval life from hundreds of European countries. The right tower would take him to the permasteel gate. But first, he had to pass through a large dining hall and entertainment center. He chose the right tower. Both towers also served as tourist’s observation posts. Huge telescopes operated by a credit recording device provided two-minute views across Johns and James Island’s. The castle’s roof was one giant power cell.

  Drawing his short, stabbing spear, Kitch moved cautiously in an expectant, nervous half-crouch through the castle. Heightened senses were tuned to survival. International flags flapped in the breeze. A circling hawk screeched in the distance. Humming cooling motors indicated the power was on. As soon as Kitch entered the sealed space between the towers, cool, dry air washed over him. Sensors immediately adjusted odor and temperature. Tourists had been very well catered for in this structure.

  Somewhere, an ancient clock chimed the hour. The dying noise halted a keyed-up Kitch, quivering in his tracks. His heart pounded until he realized he was hearing an antique chronometer ticking, situated in the food court to enhance the castle’s ancient atmosphere. Waiting for his heartrate to return to normal, Kitch remained audibly alert for any infected trapped inside.

  Detecting nothing through thick stone walls, he moved lightly on tiptoes. Soundlessly, Kitch sidled down winding stairs until he faced a closed door. Placing his ear against it, he listened. Hearing nothing, he pressed an ancient opening device down, easing the door ajar. Stepping into a courtyard lit by bright sunlight, Kitch shaded his eyes with the back of his hand. He paused
to take in a gurgling artificial stream in which fat red and white fish swam lazily. Kitch was so engrossed in the fine detail that he failed to notice the white-eyed owners shambling in his direction until it was almost too late.

  It wasn’t until the husband moaned that Kitch had any idea he had company. The lurching, pale-faced male was dressed in his best suit. His florid-faced wife was a much shorter, stocky woman. Both hissing creatures were well into the infection, but surprisingly in good body shape. The infection must have been spread by visitors, rather than violent attacks. Behind the advancing pair, Kitch observed traveling bags stacked beside permasteel doors. The couple must have been waiting for the military to clear a path to the airport, but the infection took them before they could escape.

  He literally had seconds to react. As the moaning, drooling couple advanced, Kitch stabbed his weapon at the female’s right eye, aiming for the brain, all the time moving his body in an arc outside her ability to grab him. To Kitch’s heart-hammering dismay, the stout woman moved faster than Kitch thought the infected capable of. Oblivious to the pain he inflicted, she snapped her jaws as the shining blade grazed her right cheek. Kitch’s strike, though it opened flesh to the bone, failed to produce blood as it would to a living human being.

  Landing lightly, he spun to face her. She too was spinning on her fat heels to renew her attack. Kitch’s brain worked at lightning speed, sending killer instincts he didn’t know he possessed to twitching muscles. He took one incredibly swift, short step forward. Thrusting upward in an underhand jab, Kitch directed his weapon through her temple. Blood dribbled in black globs, mixed with sloppy black brain matter onto her neck. Before withdrawing, he sawed sideways. Maintaining his pose, he watched her chubby legs go limp in slow motion. Kitch reacted on instinct, kicking her falling body in front of the advancing male, tripping him. Arms outstretched, his head continued to point at Kitch as his jaw struck the pavement with dull, hollow thud that would have spelled out death or serious brain injury to a living person. As he came to rest with no expression of pain or discomfort displayed on his face, Kitch leaped on his back. Using both hands, he jammed the stabbing weapon through the back of the male’s skull before he could place his hands on the ground and rise. Kitch waggled the blade violently from side to side until the big male’s struggles ceased.