by R. Malak
This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Nuff Said Publishing
www.nuffsaidpublish.com
Copyright 2017 by R. Malak
August 2017
Editor: Gina Lopez
Cover Art by Jenna Anderson
Produced in the US
Nuff Said Publishing
Tampa, Florida
Atlanta, Georgia
United States
I dedicate this story to my family, friends and to my youngest brother Thomas. I would also like to thank everyone at Nuff Said Publishing for providing me with this opportunity, and for their tireless efforts in making my dreams possible. Thank you.
ONE
“Hi Mom, I’m going over to George’s house to work on my assignment. We are going to write a speech about the new planet.”
“Okay, sweetie, be careful.”
…..Six hours later…..
“Tally, where are you? It’s 9pm and you’re not home.”
“Sorry, the person you are calling right now is unavailable, please call back later or leave a ten second message after the beep……beeeep”
…..Half an hour later…..
“Honey, please, please pickup, your father and I are getting worried, where are you?”
“Sorry, the person you are calling right now is unavailable, please call back later or leave a ten second message after the beep……beeeep”
~ * ~
Location: Unknown, Year 2061
Talmen waited, hiding in the shadows of the balcony above, as a band of Orcs in heavy black armor marched into the clearing below him, sniffing the ground. Their heavy footsteps thudded against the earth, obsidian black axes swinging at their sides, and beady red eyes glaring. He could barely make out twenty of them in the dull moonlight. They grunted back and forth in their guttural language, pointing towards the house.
Shit!
He needed to move and move fast. He quickly grabbed his 9mm pistol, stuffed it into the back of his pants, and pulled the bag over one shoulder. He waited ‘till the Orcs made their way into the house, then carefully climbed over the balcony and reached out for the nearby drain pipe and slid down.
He scanned his surroundings before rushing for the nearby underbrush, when an Orc hanging back caught sight of him and let out a loud growl to alert its brothers inside. Talmen cursed and started running. The wind whistled by him as he ran deeper into the forest, his long legs propelling him forward. The sound of Orcs grunting and growling followed close behind him. Panting, he stumbled over tree roots and brushed aside branches, scraping his arms and legs in the process. All the while the Orc grunts grew louder and louder. Out of breath and close to collapsing, he tripped over a stone and slammed hard into a nearby tree. Head spinning, shoulder aching, blood dripping down his forehead, he stumbled on and pulled out his pistol. He reckoned he had half a mag left, nowhere near enough to take out a whole Orc pack. He needed to find safety soon or he’d end up being just another dead roamer.
The Orcs drew closer and closer, spread out to either side to cut him off. They moved easily through the forest in their heavy black plated armor like it was nothing, wielding half-moon shaped axes in hand ready to swing. He swung his pistol around to the left, hoping to scare off the closest green-skinned beast, but the creature merely smiled, showing off large white tusks. He fired twice. The first round missed, smacking into a tree. The second round bounced off the creature’s thick breastplate, only slowing it for a moment. Palms sweating, he kept firing as he ran. Yet, the Orcs around him simply ignored the bullets flying their way, pressing in closer from all sides.
Hearing the dreaded click, click of an empty magazine, he tucked the gun into his belt and started praying.
“Shite, shite, shite.”
His legs were close to giving out, his body was soaked in sweat, and his arms ached with the effort of moving. His thoughts drifted off to his little brother, all alone in this dark world with no one to protect him or look after for him, when a small axe flew past his head to thunk into the tree in front of him. Another immediately followed, spinning towards his legs, barely giving him any time to skip out of the way and received a deep gash across the back of his left calf for his effort. The Orcs excited by the smell of blood lunged forward, speeding up. Heart racing, body drenched in sweat, and lungs on fire, Talmen collapsed to the ground, igniting a chorus of whoops from the trailing Orcs, savoring their next meal. Any moment now, he pictured the axes swinging up before crashing down to bite into him.
Wiping sweat from his eyes, he tried to stand up, so he could at least die on his feet, when gunfire erupted all around him. Three men and two women in ragged clothing carrying assault rifles appeared to his left, opening fire on the nearest green-skinned monsters, driving the creatures back under a withering hail storm of projectiles. Snarling angrily at the sudden assault, the small pack of Orcs recoiled backwards, three of them badly wounded by the rain of bullets that had managed to puncture their thick armor.
The leader of the group, a middle-aged woman with flecks of grey in her scraggly blonde hair, waved at him urgently. “Get your arse over here.”
Half-grinning at the commanding tone of her voice, which reminded him of his mother, he limped over to join her and her small band of fighters. As soon as he reached them, one of his new companions, a tall well-built man who smelled of oil fat, lifted him up onto his shoulders.
“Fall back to the river,” called the woman in a gruff voice, “Damon, you lead the way with the boy. Rex, Hart, guard our rear.”
The well-armed group quickly formed up around her to do as she commanded, beating a hasty retreat towards the west, out of the forest and up a small hilltop. The occasional rat-tat-tat of gunfire still rattled off behind them.
Nauseous from bouncing up and down on the man’s shoulder, Talmen managed to gasp out, “Please put me down now. I can run.”
The man grunted in mild annoyance, and dropped him onto the ground like a heavy sack of wheat, before running off, leaving him far behind. Cursing the fool for dropping him on his injured leg, Talmen limped off after him, his leg throbbing abominably. That’s when he noticed the middle-aged woman who had saved his life looking at him up and down, her icy blue eyes calculating.
“You with anyone?” she asked.
Talmen shook his head.
Her eyes grew colder and he could sense disappointment. Without another word, she sped up, leaving him behind. The pair guarding their rear glanced over at him as they passed him by and silently pointed towards the long snake-like river, where most of party were already waiting patiently for them on the other side with guns leveled.
Gritting his teeth, he limped faster towards the sound of the burbling river, determined to not be left behind. Nearing the embankment, he swiftly dived head first, wincing in pain as the freezing water washed over his cuts and scrapes. He slowly swam towards the opposite bank with steady strokes. His limbs burned from his run in the forest, screaming at him to stop. But lady luck was on his side today at least, giving him the strength to swim the short distance to the opposing shoreline, before tumbling onto the muddy shore. The cool wind chilled his bones instantly. Breathing a sigh of relief, he tried to stand up on his wobbly legs, when he felt rough hands lift him and grab at his backpack. He instinctively trie
d to struggle and slip free.
The woman calmly pointed her pistol at his head. “Don’t move.”
Her hard-cold eyes bored into his. He glared at her, his blood boiling with anger and confusion. Why bother saving him? When they could just as easily have robbed him?
As if hearing his thoughts, she spoke quietly, “We don’t have any room for dead weight. Your wounds will only slow us down. You’ll be safe here, at least for a while until they find a way to cross the river.”
The big man that smelled of grease tugged the gun out of Talmen’s waist belt and the woman slung his backpack over her shoulder. The group then sprinted away, leaving him on his own again.
Still wincing from the throbbing in his leg, he decided to keep moving. He didn’t want to be here when the Orcs arrived. Head pulsing with anger at being called dead weight, he trailed off after the group, determined to reclaim his possessions and show them that he could make it on his own.
The moonlight weakened as darkness settled on the land, iron grey clouds rolling in above him and the sweet smell of desiccation filling his nostrils. He would need to find shelter soon. Staying out here in the open when it was dark was an easy way to get killed. Too many creatures preferred the darkness to hunt. His flame-colored eyes searched for anything he could use to rest up for the night, before lighting up on a huge squat oak tree with thick branches. He hobbled over to the tree, gritted his teeth, and climbed up. Using his calloused fingers, he gripped the bark-covered branches and scaled up to the highest branch he could find that would support his weight, and released a heavy sigh of relief. Resting his back up against the wide tree trunk, he tore off a piece of his black t-shirt and cringed as he bound it around his calf to stop the bleeding. All the while, he hoped the swim in the river had cleansed his wound.
Body taxed to its breaking point, he tried to get some sleep. The night air grew colder as the wind blew through the treetops. He wrapped his arms around himself and dreamt of his little brother, a young boy with golden eyes and short wavy black hair. Dark shadows danced around him, as he stood upon the edge of a cliff. Talmen gazed down after his brother and had to swallow back the bile rising up at the back of his throat at the god-awful scene displayed before him. Strewn about the valley floor were the remains of men, women and children, limbs missing and scarlet red blood splattered all over the earth. Amongst the bodies loomed creatures of darkness and flame…
His eyes snapped open, and he stared blindly out into the darkness, skin sweaty and palms itchy. It took a few moments for his eyes to adjust and for his heart to stop pounding. He thought about going to back to sleep, when he heard twigs snapping and the faint rustle of leaves. His breath caught in his throat. A tall wiry goblin wearing leather armor covered in human rib bones that rattled with each slick movement stalked the grounds below him. The goblin carrying a torch made from fallen twigs bundled together in one hand, and in the other a throwing spear was studying the vegetation with great interest. Its pointed ears twitching as its yellow-slitted eyes examined the foliage directly below him for signs.
Talmen’s heart beat faster and faster, instincts screaming at him to move. The tall lanky goblin bent over and dipped two fingers into the earth and touched something to its tongue. Its eyes lit up, mouth widening into a smile to show off sharp crooked teeth. Without thinking, he leapt down from the tree and crashed down into the goblin, tackling it to the ground, knocking the wind out of himself in the process. He hit the ground hard and rolled. Groaning from the fall, he looked up and saw the creature already up on its feet, reaching for its fallen spear. Instincts kicking in, he threw himself on the creature again and wrestled it to the ground, his hands wrapping tightly around its thin scrawny neck. The goblin growled and clawed at him with powerful fingers, while its head swiveled side to side trying to snap a chunk out of him. He tried to twist and break the creature’s neck, but it was far stronger than he expected. Desperate, he let go of the neck and dug his fingers into its eyes. The goblin howled in agony and tried to shake him off. Ignoring his urge to vomit, he dug his fingers deeper into the goblin’s soft, squishy eyeballs until the creature passed out from the pain.
Breathing heavily, he wiped his fingers on his tattered shirt and hurriedly stripped the goblin of its bone armor, which would hopefully confuse any other goblins in the area. He then searched the dirty brown robes for anything valuable and found a pouch and some dried meat. He tucked both into his pocket, picked up the bone armor and put it on, before grabbing the spear. He turned to leave, when he heard the creature groan. He paused, hands still trembling and turned back. He strode towards the goblin lying on its back with its mangled eye sockets. Gritted his teeth, and he drove the spear point through the creature’s skull, releasing the creature from its pain. He twisted the spear free from the skull and hobbled away as fast as he could. Legs aching, mind swirling with images of the dead goblin, he dropped to his knees and heaved ‘till his throat was tender. After a while, he raked in deep calming breaths, before lurching back up onto his feet and stumbling onward, using the spear as a staff.
The first tendrils of light were beginning creep back in through the forest treetops and birds began to reappear. Having created a large enough gap between him and the dead goblin, he paused to rest his back against a tree. In the distance, he thought he heard the distant cries of outrage and anger coming from behind him in the direction of the dead goblin. And knew then that he had made a mistake leaving the goblin’s carcass out there where it could be found, but at the time he couldn’t push himself to go back and drag the body away. Seeing what he was willing to do to breathe frightened him. His hands still trembled at the memory of digging his fingers into the goblin’s skull. He shook his head to rid himself of the vivid memory, but it wouldn’t leave. He tried to think of his home, his family, how they would sit by the fireplace and play games like monopoly and felt his heart ache with homesickness. Shaking his head at his own weakness, he searched for another safe spot to rest up for the night and found another sturdy tree and clambered up it. He kept the spear close to him and watched for any movement.
Nerves on edge from his close call with death, he watched and waited, breath misting in the cold night air. After a while, he dug out the pouch he had taken from the goblin and spilled its contents onto his palm. To his surprise, the pouch only held fine black dust. Not sure what to make of his find, he poured it back into the pouch and pulled out the dried piece of meat. He moved to take out a bite from the dried piece of meat, when he noticed skin covering one side of the meat, human skin. He dropped the piece of flesh and gagged into his arm. Choking back bile, he rubbed his hands against his jeans repeatedly.
Dawn finally arrived, the sun showering the clouds around it in a soft orange light. He stretched his aching muscles and rubbed his numb feet, before shimmying down the tree. He rubbed his tired eyes and went searching for the trail the group had left behind. A part of him didn’t care that they had abandoned him, but the theft of his backpack with everything he had left in the world was too much.
He followed his own trail back to where he had last seen them, making sure to skirt the area where he had killed the goblin. His eyes wandered the forest floor covered in bronze leaves and tree roots, seeking the slightest imperfection. His father’s words ringing in his mind, telling him to notice the little things around him and to be patient. It must have been at least an hour before he caught sight of their trail, heavy indentations in the earth and broken twigs marking the path they had taken; looks like they were moving north-east. He wondered if they were heading to a camp where there were more survivors, or were they like him, roamers wandering from place to place. Either way there was no time to lose; he tightened the makeshift bandage on his leg and started walking.
It wasn’t long before his stomach growled and his throat became parched with thirst. The wound on his leg was also throbbing again. He would need to clean it and soon, but first he needed food. He remembered his father telling him about insects being
the best source of protein, and thus, he looked around for an ant hill. Finding one near a tree, he quickly collected a stick and placed it in the middle of the nest. Within seconds, the stick was covered with tiny black ants. Taking a deep breath, he pulled out the stick and commenced popping the ants one by one into his mouth and crushing them with his teeth. To his surprise, they had a pleasantly sour flavor.
After eating more than half a dozen ants, he shook the stick to get rid of the rest, and brushed off the ones crawling up his arms. Now for some water.
He moved around the tree to where the ants had made their nest and found a line climbing into a hole in the crotch of the tree trunk. He dipped the stick into the hole to see if there was any water inside, and to his great satisfaction, the stick came out wet. He tore off another piece of his shirt and wrapped it around his stick. Then dipped it back into the hole, and waited for a few minutes for his shirt to soak up the water, before pulling it out again. He then carefully squeezed every last drop of water into his mouth, which tasted of sweat and bark. It wasn’t enough to slake his thirst, but for now he could continue his hunt.
Talmen pressed on ignoring the tingling pain in his leg and reached a grassy knoll, where he discovered more footprints from the thieves. He was about to move on, when he noticed movement out from the corner of his eye. He froze before ducking behind a nearby thicket. Heart beating faster, he peeked his head through the underbrush, and scanned his surroundings, tightening his grip on the spear. Minutes passed by without any signs of movement. His injured leg throbbing again from the additional weight placed upon it. Wincing, he shifted his feet to try and relieve the pain. And felt his patience growing thin with each passing second. Tired of waiting, he moved to stand up, when he heard his father’s voice again:
