Reaction

by Seth M. Baker

  “Ross,” Amadeus said, the word a curse on his lips.

  “You’ll find him,” Lilly said. “After this storm passes.”

  “Captivity doesn’t suit you,” he said.

  “Damn right. I’ve got nothing to do but read books, watch satellite television, and workout on that stupid machine.” She nodded to the home gym in the corner, covered in a sheet. To Amadeus, the machine looked like a giant bat. “But I’ve started writing a book. When this is all over, when I, we, when we’re free, the world will see. It’s keeping me sane, but only a little bit. Ami, you showed up at just the right time.”

  “My mother used to call me Ami,” Amadeus said, taking a step back. “No one else.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, it just seemed—”

  “Natural. It’s okay. I…kind of like it.”

  “Then come here,” she said, taking her hands in his. Amadeus stepped forward and threw his arms around her. Her body was warm and comforting against his. They held each other close while, on the flexscreen, celebrants in San Francisco paraded the smashed fragments of the last known demon gate down a crowed street.

  THE END

  Epilogue

  In the days, they watched and waited. For a week, Grassal raved and muttered, suffering through a high fever. When it broke, the first thing out of his mouth was: “They’re still calling for me. Do you hear them, too?”

  In the nights, Amadeus and Lilly made love. The first time was rushed and awkward, but soon each learned how to satisfy the other, and in this they both found pleasure and comfort. “For the most part, I misjudged you,” she had said. “But I still think you’re weird.”

  For the first week, Amadeus didn’t dare open the outside door. When he finally did, the demon smell was still strong. Amadeus heard screeching nearby; for the next week, the same thing. After two weeks, Grassal suggested they stop; maybe the daily opening of the door gave the demons something to look forward to. Amadeus and Lilly agreed.

  On day twelve, the president of the United States made a speech; he said reports from both military commanders and internet users from around the world confirmed all demon gates destroyed. He said some demons still lurked in rural areas, but the military had established cleanup crews to deal with the problem. The damage, though tragic, was minimized by the courageous work of Amadeus Brunmeier, wherever he was. The president ended by saying that while they had a high-value, unnamed suspect, the man behind the demon gates remains at large. “I will not rest,” the president concluded, “until we capture or kill whoever is responsible for the demon gates.”

  A related story described how a small group of hackivists (led by a librarian from upstate New York) calling themselves The Rouges seized control of Tivooki Systems and moved the data onto a vast and decentralized network of servers. Their self-proclaimed objective: “to keep data messy, free, decentralized…and out Tivooki.”

  After two weeks, Amadeus accepted that he was going to have a pink scar from his neck and across his cheek to his ear. Yet, with so many dead and dismembered, Amadeus counted himself among the fortunate.

  On day thirty, Amadeus and Lilly armed themselves with shotguns and left panic room. Sunbeams filtered through the skylights in the hangar. Dust particles sparkled in the stale air. The smell of rotting meat and sulfur lingered, likely from the several rotting demon corpses littering the cathedral-quiet hangar. After a tense sweep of the place, they concluded the stronger demons had eaten the weaker ones before leaving. Happy to be out of the confines of the safe room, they packed up the few items they wanted to take with them. Lilly found one of Jones’ extra wheelchairs for Grassal. Amadeus changed a tire on the hearse while Lilly loaded it up with supplies. Later that evening, Lilly drove them all out of the hangar, past the cracked, sun-bleached bones of the giant demon. Amadeus sat in the back with one arm around Grassal. Lilly asked where they were going. Amadeus put his hand on her shoulder.

  “East, Lilly, east. It’s time to go home.”

  *

  Two weeks after he had left the compound, Amadeus fingered the blue fabric of the backstage curtains. He felt sick, felt he might vomit on his polished, black shoes. Or worse, the president’s polished, black shoes. The president slapped his shoulder and graced him with a reassuring smile.

  “Relax, kid. You’ve already done the hard work. Don’t let a little speech vex you,” the president said. Amadeus nodded and considered this. He held his head up as he strode past a row of Secret Service guys. They gave him silent, respectful nods from behind opaque sunglasses. Around the curtain, standing in the wings, were Grassal, Lilly, Aunt Annie and Uncle Mark. Grassal still used a cane, not yet accustomed to his prosthetic C-Leg. Amadeus hugged them all. Mark whispered an apology for the statue; that made Amadeus smile. Amadeus wanted to say something to them, about how he wouldn’t be here without them, but he couldn’t speak. His only thoughts were those outlined on the index cards he held in his hand. He imagined tearing a piece of index card off and stuffing it in his mouth, thought how satisfying it would feel as he rolled it around atop his tongue…but he let that thought pass.

  A hand caught his shoulder. Amadeus spun around. Before him stood a middle-aged man in a white suit and purple tie. His cracker-blond hair was slicked back. He was smiling, but his eyes weren’t, they seemed to be penetrating Amadeus in search of a weak point. The man stuck out his hand. Amadeus took it. Something about the man made his stomach queasy.

  “Amadeus Brunmeier. Name’s Roland Jessup. Great work, just super out there. I’d like to talk with you sometime.”

  “Now’s not a good time, I—”

  “You’re quite an extraordinary young man, and I think we could really make something out of you.” Amadeus drew himself up to his full height and attempted to push past him but Jessup blocked his way. “Good luck with your speech. I’ll be in touch,” Jessup said as he walked away. Amadeus closed his eyes and tried to shake the encounter from his mind. Jessup unsettled him. A few moments passed before the backstage minders nodded to Amadeus, telling him to get ready.

  As the Interstellar Sisters sang a triumphant song, the president walked onto the stage, past a confident row of grey senators and stoic generals. Amadeus followed him out like a timid child, focusing on the marble below his feet, on putting one foot in front of the other without stumbling. In spite of the cool air, a bead of sweat trickled down his forehead. He crossed his eyes and watched the bead slide down his nose and drop onto the floor. The song ended. The president began to speak. Amadeus finally looked out at the crowd. He thought he might faint. The crowd before him held flags, banners, and pieces of demon gates. The reflecting pool was orange and auburn from the trees of autumn. Amadeus felt a gentle hand on his shoulder push him forward.

  Amadeus swallowed hard and started towards the podium. On the way, the president shook his hand like someone pumping a well. Amadeus swallowed hard, kept the vomit at bay, and smiled to the crowd. They roared in applause and adulation. Amadeus placed the index cards on the podium. His face, he realized, bore a huge grin. He tried, unsuccessfully, to suppress it. He waved to the crowd. They cheered louder, vibrating the water in the reflecting pool. Even the trees bent backwards from the sound. With the statue of Lincoln at his back, Amadeus began.

  “Thank you,” he said. His voice boomed across the crowd and across the city, out to the suburbs, the mountains, and the sea. Silence fell like a curtain.

  “Good afternoon. I cannot tell you how proud I am to stand before you, how proud I am to stand at the feet of this great man. Almost two centuries ago, he made great sacrifices to hold this country together. I only wish I could say my motives were as noble.

  “Most of you know my story; it began when my mother died, when my father could not accept that her story had ended. He wanted it to continue. Thus began the chain of events that brought us all here today. He did what he did not because he was some mad scientist, but because he loved his wife, because he couldn’t let go. I can only hope to love someone as muc
h one day.” He looked over at Lilly. Her face flushed crimson.

  “But this is no longer only my story or his story. This is the story of my friends.” He gestured to Grassal, Lilly, and Annie. They bowed to great applause. “This is the story of the people who helped me. Some survived, but too many did not. Let us not forget them. And this isn’t just the story of people I know, but all of you who remain anonymous to me. You who listened to what I had to say. You who built Gate Crashers. You who took action. If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t be standing here today.

  “My friends, this is not my story. This is not my friends’ story. This is not your story…

  “This is our story!” He raised a fist in the air. “Together, we stood down a powerful madman. Together, we protected our world from those who would recreate it. And together, we will move forward. To a better world, to a better tomorrow. So, to each and every one of you, I just want to say…thank you and good luck!”

  The Interstellar Sisters started another song. Amadeus waved again then put his arms around Lilly and Grassal. The applause shook the air like an earthquake. Together they all left the stage. Behind the blue curtain, Amadeus shook hands with a long line of well-wishers. At the moment their faces began to look the same, he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned around. Gravity stood with his hands behind his back. He looked ten years younger.

  “Where have you been?” Amadeus asked.

  “Backstage. Amadeus, that was a fine speech, but there’s no time for foppish pleasantries. I need you to come with me.”

  “But I’ve got to give some interviews, and there’s a press conference…”

  “Do you really want to do all that?” Gravity said. Amadeus thought for a second then shook his head. “I didn’t think so. Lilly, Grassal, I’ll get him back as quick as I can.”

  “You better hurry,” Lilly said, winking at Amadeus. “I want to take him back to my bunker.”

  “Not again,” Grassal said, shaking his head.

  *

  Gravity loaded Amadeus into the back seat of an SUV. The person in the passenger seat turned around; she was a middle-aged Asian woman wearing a military dress uniform. Amadeus noted the three silver stars sitting on her shoulder.

  “Amadeus, I’m General Nguyen. A pleasure to meet you. Gravity has told me all about you,” she said. Amadeus nodded and shook her hand. Gravity opened his door and sat in the driver’s seat. Amadeus asked where they were going, but Gravity and the General just smiled at him. They followed the expressway to Langley, Virginia and parked in a garage outside a clean, reflective office building. Inside they walked down a long hallway illuminated by fluorescent lights. Evenly-spaced steel doors lined the walls. At the end of the hallway, Gravity had two of the suit men unlock a door. A buzzer went off. The door opened.

  “Go on in,” Gravity said. “The melodramatic bastard says he won’t talk to anyone but you.” Amadeus stepped into the cell. The door clicked closed behind him. In the corner, a man was strapped to a chair. A black shroud covered his head. Amadeus pulled the shroud off. Jones stared back at him. The pupil of his right eye was the size of a marble.

  “Amadeus, my boy, so good to see you. I must apologize for crashing the Pachyderm. It was a terrible misunderstanding. But everything worked out in the end.” He paused and studied Amadeus as if Amadeus was just a broken machine. “I do hope you’ll take good care of Lilly. She thinks you’re a smashing fellow.”

  “What do you want, Jones?” Amadeus stared into Jones’ big eye.

  “Oh, I just wanted to share a fascinating tidbit I recently learned.”

  “Go on.” The cell smelled of disinfectant and urine. After a month spent living in an underground bunker, he wanted nothing more than to be outside. During that month, he always imagined if he encountered Jones, he would feel anger and rage, but now he felt only pity. He had come to accept everything that had happened to him, to his life, and he was looking forward to the things to come.

  “During your little adventure, you set off with certain basic principles that were false. It’s understandable, given the way things played out.”

  “What do you mean?” Amadeus said.

  “Oh, it’s just a little thing.”

  “You’ve played me long enough, Jones. Get to the point.”

  “Your father is alive…and living and working under the protection of Maximilian Ross.”

  Afterword

  Thank you for reading Reaction: The End of the Iron Age, Book 1. I hope you have enjoyed this tale and that, having reached the end to find Amadeus was not privy to certain vital information, you don't want to murder me. I agonized over this decision to conclude the book in this manner but, in the end, I realized it was the correct one. The primary arc in Reaction is exactly what the title suggests: Amadeus' reaction to the events that have befallen him. Since this book was told strictly from Amadeus' point of view, both you and he had exactly the same amount of information. Had I attempted to include more information in order to bring things into a clearer focus, the scope and length of this book would've ballooned into a large and unmanageable leviathan. This is where Redemption: Book 2 comes in.

  An early manuscript of Redemption: The End of the Iron Age, Book 2 lives on my hard drive; I expect to release the final version by late summer or early fall of this year. In Redemption, we will see the story unfold from new perspectives, gain an understanding of the larger forces at work, and watch the seeds that I've planted in this book come to fruition. To receive updates about the status of this and other upcoming works, please visit my website at www.sethmbaker.com.

  Before I say goodbye, I'd like to extend my gratitude Chris Enix, John McCallister, Anthony Case, and Lindsay Murdock for their keen editorial insight, and to my wife Tiffany for her never-ending patience and support. Without them, and without you to take time out of your life to read it, this work would not exist. Thanks to all of you.

  Seth M. Baker

  March 15, 2012.