by Rod Little
Earthweeds
Sons of Neptune: Book 1
Rod Little
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
This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locations is entirely coincidental.
Earthweeds ISBN-13: 978-1547268566
42218-v2
Copyright © 2016 Rod Little.
All rights reserved. Including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof, in any form. No part of this text may be reproduced in any form without the express written permission of the author.
For other books by Rod Little:
www.rodlittleauthor.com
Part I
“Nothing is so painful to the human mind as a great and sudden change.”
― Mary Shelley, Frankenstein
Chapter 1
A curved ribbon of dirt split the forest and formed a thin, uneven path to the lake. At the end of this path lay a portly man from the city. His body rested slightly askew in a seated position at the base of a maple tree, his back pressed against the trunk. One lifeless eye stared blankly at the peaceful lake; the other eye was gone. The right hand grasped a rolled-up piece of paper that now trembled in the breeze. The other hand still held the gun.
Two brothers, a high school student and a college student on summer break, stood over the dead body for several minutes, studying it. After camping in the woods for over a month, this disturbing scene was the most interesting thing to happen all summer.
“I guess this ends our vacation,” said Shane, the older brother. “Soon the woods will be crawling with cops. All the game will be scared off.” He didn't really care; the trip had been lousy from the start.
“Geez, man, the guy is dead,” Sam spoke in a half-whisper, the way everyone instinctively lowers his voice in front of the dead. “Think of someone besides yourself and your vacation.”
“I didn't mean it that way.”
Shane's younger brother, Sam, crouched down and took the piece of paper from the man's hand, trying not to touch the skin of the dead fingers. He unrolled it and read aloud: “If anyone finds this, I saved another bullet in my pocket for you.”
“That's weird,” Shane said, resting his hands on his hips, but keeping his distance.
Sam squinted up at his brother against the morning sun. “Why would he save a bullet for us?”
“I guess he's saying whoever finds him will want to kill himself, too.”
“Why?”
“I don't know,” said Shane. “Why don't you ask him?”
“Weird,” Sam mumbled. He stood up and pushed his bangs out of his eyes.
The dead man wore a business suit and tie. His shirt was immaculately pressed and clean, as was his tie – except for a splatter of blood across its knot. This was no hunter. This man came from the city to end his life outside in the open air, here at the lakefront.
“Do you suppose this lake meant something to him? He came up here to look at it before he... you know, cashed out?” Sam asked, but it was more of a statement than a question. He took another step back away from the body. The paper clung to his hand.
“Maybe we should put his body in the jeep; take him back. Animals might drag the body away. They might eat it.” Shane finally stepped forward and rifled through the man's clothes for a wallet and ID, but all he found were two dimes and a quarter.
“I don't think so. We shouldn't touch it. This might be a crime scene. Maybe the cops should look at it as it is.”
“You watch too much TV.”
“Maybe. But don't move the body. Okay?”
Shane was happy to comply. He certainly wasn't looking forward to carrying a dead body anywhere.
They passed the man's Prius on the way back to their campsite and peered through the windows. The seats were empty and clean. A new box of bullets sat on the dashboard, minus two. Sam still held the man's crumpled note.
I saved another bullet in my pocket for you.
Sam neatly folded the note and slipped it into the pocket of his shirt. Then he reconsidered and slipped it under the windshield wiper of the man's car.
Let the police find it, he thought.
The boys pulled up the tent and packed their gear. Surrounded by the deep green of the forest, Sam stopped to look around one last time. The trees, rich and abundant with life, filled the air with clean oxygen while their leaves chatted back and forth in the wind. He took a deep breath of fresh air, maybe the last pure air for awhile.
Sam Summer was a tall boy, an inch over six feet, but slim. Being the tallest boy in class, or in any room, made him uncomfortable in a way that only abnormal kids can understand, whether they are fat, short, handicapped... or tall. He avoided attention at all cost, and craved solitude. Rarely caught wearing anything beyond his jeans and white sneakers, and usually a rock t-shirt with a blue flannel over it, he blended as best he could. His thick blond hair was always a bit too long for his mom's liking. She said he looked too much like one of the Hardy Boys, whoever that was. Often going out of his way to make himself smaller, either by sitting or hunching his shoulders, he received more than one scolding from their mom when she was alive. She wanted him to stand tall and stand out; he just wanted to fade into the wallpaper.
Shane Summer was two years older, sturdier, but not as tall. At five-eleven, he had a strong, athletic build, and Sam envied him for that. While Sam's hair was always long, Shane's was forever cropped short. Shane wore hunter's boots and jeans, and always a flannel shirt. His color palette was wider, but the material stayed the same – and his sleeves were eternally rolled up a few inches to the elbow. When he found something he liked, he stuck with it.
Both boys had perpetually tan skin from spending most of their time outdoors. Their mother often complained they should use sunscreen, as she worried about sunburn, cancer or premature aging. She nagged out of love, and they had only fond memories of her. And the problems of sunburn would seem absurdly minor in a few days.
The world had actually begun to change three days before the boys stumbled onto the dead body. Before the next sunrise, Shane would shoot both bullets and arrows to save the life of himself and others. Sam would do much more. They didn't know it yet, but these would be the last restful moments of their lives. It's funny: since we never know such events are in motion, we never take the time to enjoy the calm before the storm. Sam was no different, and failed to appreciate their last few minutes of tranquility deep in the woods.
Soon they would drive back to Shane's college campus and find it empty. The mystery would take them down a dark road. For now, that road was miles away.
The boys' two-month camping
trip was supposed to be a last attempt at clinging to their youth. This marked the end of a school break for Shane, soon to start his third year at the University of Pittsburgh, and the start of Sam's freshman year at the same school. The recent high school graduate was eager to be rid of his elementary years, but was nervous about going to a new school. Things hadn't always gone so well at high school, partly because he wasn't the same as other kids.
Sam wasn't just tall. Sam was different.
For several days they had seen no deer – or any other animals, for that matter. The hunting had been slim this year, and the woods a bit too quiet. The boys always hunted by longbow, so as not to scare the game. If anything had spooked the animals, it was something or someone else. Nothing felt right today; they had sensed it was time to get back home, even before the dead body. Finding the suicide victim merely clinched their decision to head back a week early.
They hopped in the jeep and drove out of the woods on a bumpy path made up of dirt and rocks. The ride was rough and uncomfortable, but the path eventually became a real, paved road. It would take a few hours to get back to the city.
“Can I drive?” Sam asked.
“Yeah. That would be: No.” his brother said smugly. “I drive my sweetheart. She only responds to me.” Shane thought of his jeep as his best friend. In a creepy way, maybe even his girlfriend.
Sam gave in and leaned back in the seat. He watched the trees flick by, one after another, like a filmstrip, as the wind flipped his hair back and forth in his eyes. He played with a spark of electricity between his thumb and forefinger, then rolled it into a small sphere, like a marble, over the back of his hand and in between his fingers.
“Be careful with that,” Shane said. He always said that. Much more mature, he kept an eye on his brother, partly because he had promised their mom; mostly out of his own concern.
“Yup.”
“I mean it, someday you're gonna forget people are watching.”
“Yup.”
“That would be bad. You got that, right?”
“Yee-up.”
“I'm gonna kick your ass someday.”
“Yup. I look forward to it.”
Shane growled, took a deep breath, and cranked up the car's MP3 player. Rush sang “Closer to the Heart” as they broke out of the woods and cruised onto the main road. The lake and green forest disappeared behind them, too quickly gone from the rear-view mirror.
They passed a ranger station along the way, but it was empty.
Typical, thought Shane. Budget cuts had most of the park services and other needs on a shoestring.
Ahead lay an open road. The boys exceeded the speed limit, and their jeep ate up pavement like a hungry hippo. Sam closed his eyes and went to sleep, trying not to think about the gruesome scene back at the lake: the dead man and his neatly pressed blood-splattered tie.
A pain in his ear roused Sam back to life.
“Hey, wake up!” Shane said, flicking his brother's ear.
“What?” Sam shook the sleep from his head and brushed the dirty blond hair from his eyes. “How long was I out?”
“A couple hours. We're almost on the turnpike. We'll be there soon. But hey... look.”
Sam looked around at the empty road.
“Yeah? Not much traffic.”
“Exactly. No other cars. The only car we passed in the last two hours was a breakdown left on the side of the road.”
Up ahead the Pennsylvania turnpike was deserted, except for half a dozen stalled cars parked in various skewed positions on the shoulder.
“Is that the turnpike? Geez.”
“Yeah. Where the hell is everybody?”
“Steelers game? I guess we'll see people soon enough. Cheers if they win, riots and fire if they lose.”
“Funny. Hey, try to call the cops about the dead body. You should have a signal now.”
Sam dialed 9-1-1. The phone rang, but no one answered. “I'll try again in town.”
They spun onto the ramp and entered the turnpike. At less than 30 mph, their jeep eased past the first parked car. The boys didn't see anyone inside – the car was empty, and the driver's door was propped open.
Shane sped up faster to put more road behind them. The sooner they got into the city, the sooner they could shower, relax, and report the suicide victim.
“You think it's a curfew?” Sam offered. “I mean, like a virus, that SARS thing, or something like it?”
“Yeah, maybe, but why would everyone need to stay off the road? Earthquake warning? Tornado watch? What would keep people from coming out?”
“Terrorist attack? Remember how empty the streets were on September 11?”
“Not really. Anyway, it wasn't this empty.”
“Beats me. Let's get back home.” By home, he meant their grandparents' house, before going back to the dorm.
Their parents had died two years earlier in a car accident. While on vacation in Colorado, touring the mountains by car, their brakes went out. They slid off the side of a steep road and into the canyon below. The car exploded on impact – no survivors.
After that, the boys moved in with their grandparents in Schaler Township before heading off to college. Grandpa's house was only 25 miles from school, but this year they had opted for dorm life instead of living at home. As college students, they needed more freedom. And Sam needed a private room – sometimes he generated an electric cloud when he slept. Not even their grandparents new about that.
Sam wasn't normal. He had an unusual ability that, to his knowledge, no one else shared – the ability to generate electricity at will. He could contain it in a ball in his hand, or throw it like lightning in any direction. His power could start a car, heat any object, or even light a room, if he was so inclined. And if he was careful to control it. It was a useful tool at times, but not always easy to manage in his young hands. He was far from a master of the spark, and much more inclined to suppress it than use it.
With a little tweaking, it could also be a weapon. That's what usually got him into trouble. He rarely hurt anyone, but an electric ball hurled at someone's chest wasn't about to go unnoticed. And secrecy about his ability was key to his happiness. He didn't want to be known as the freak again, not at the new school.
His older brother knew, but no one else did. Even his parents hadn't know about his ability, and certainly not Grandma or Grandpa. Shane alone knew about Sam's gift, and he carried the weight of that secret like a backpack of snow in summer.
That was part of the reason for the annual camping trips. They both felt relaxed and comfortable in the woods and in the mountains. The pressures of life, school and classmates were far away. The birds didn't care if Sam started a campfire with his electric fingertips. There was no one out there to judge him.
Shane had always made great efforts to help Sam keep his spark a secret. The two brothers would be roommates this year on campus. Normally freshmen stayed in a separate dorm, but when your parents have died recently, universities are willing to bend the rules. It was bad publicity to create any extra hardship on grieving students. The faculty consented to almost everything the boys wanted, and they wanted to stay together.
Shane turned up the road toward Grandpa's house, and still saw no one alive, or at least awake, in the suburbs. Several driveways had cars parked in them, but no sign of people. Another abandoned car was parked in the street, blocking their way home. Shane steered the jeep around it and rode up onto a neighbor's lawn. They crushed a small shrub getting back on the road and then turned up their grandparents' driveway.
“Try not to kill any cats or dogs,” Sam scolded.
“Hey, I'm trying to get us home. And by the way, you see any freaking cats or dogs? Or hear any?”
“I guess not.”
The emptiness was more than the absence of people; they had not seen any pets or wild animals either. Except birds. They heard scores of birds chirping and squawking, and saw a few flutter around the trees in the yard next door. Nothing else st
irred.
One page of a newspaper swirled across the lawn, and Sam bent down to catch it. He lifted and straightened the front page – half expecting to see a headline: Evacuation of Pittsburgh. But there was no such headline, just a report of a senator being bribed by a Russian diplomat. Same old news, and no hints about any catastrophe. Sam folded the page and stuffed it in the newspaper holder under the mailbox.
They peered through the garage window; Grandpa's car was parked there – same as always. They reach the front door to the house and found it unlocked. That wasn't so odd, because sometimes Grandma just forgot. The boys crept single-file into the living room and listened for any signs of life. Several creaks lived in the floorboards. With each step, they sounded especially loud today.
Shane called out. “Hey. Grandpa. Anyone home? It's Sam and Shane. Grandma?”
Sam grabbed his brother's elbow. “If Grandma's a zombie, you gotta stake her. I'm not doing it!”
“Stop joking around.”
“I'm just saying...”
“Cut it out! Look, you check upstairs. I'll look down here.”
“I'm not doing the basement either!”
“Sam, go!” Shane ordered. “Look for any clues about where they are. Anything at all.”
Like the floors, the stairs creaked under the boy's feet. Until now, he'd never realized how old those stairs were. His sneakers felt heavy. Every creak betrayed his rise to the top, so there was no chance of surprising anyone. Or anything.
The two upstairs bedrooms were perfectly kept, but vacant. The bathroom still had a few toiletries strewn around as if in the middle of being used. An open bottle of after-shave lay by the sink, and he instinctively screwed the lid back on. He thought of Psycho as he pulled back the shower curtain. It revealed an assortment of soaps, and a water bug that now dropped from the shower head and scurried along the edge of the wall.
Back downstairs, Shane hadn't found anything of interest. A box of cereal had spilled on the table, and Shane started to clean it up. A cockroach crawled out from the box. Sam reached down and zapped it with a tiny shock from his finger. It fried and curled up dead.
