by Alan Janney
Carmine
Alan Janney
Carmine
Copyright © 2016 by Alan Janney
All rights reserved. No parts of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
@alanjanney
[email protected]
First Edition
Printed in USA
Cover by Damonza
Artwork by Anne Pierson
Formatting by Polgarus Studio
ISBN: 978-0-9983165-0-5 (ebook)
ISBN: 978-09962293-9-5 (print)
Sparkle Press
For Sarah
For Always
Table of Contents
The Cast of Characters
Part One - May, 2019 - One -
- Two -
- Three -
- Four -
- Five -
- Six -
- Seven -
- Eight -
- Nine -
- Ten -
- Eleven -
- Twelve -
Part Two - November, 2019 - One -
- Two -
- Three -
- Four -
- Five -
- Six -
- Seven -
- Eight -
- Nine -
- Ten -
Part Three - November, 2019 - One -
- Two -
- Three -
- Four -
- Five -
- Six -
- Seven -
- Eight -
- Nine -
- Ten -
- Eleven -
- Twelve -
- Thirteen -
- Fourteen -
Part Four - November, 2019 - One -
- Two -
- Three -
- Four -
- Five -
- Six -
- Seven -
Epilogue
From the Author
Carmine
Rise of the Warrior Queen
“Lovers don't finally meet somewhere.
They are in each other all along.”
- Rumi
“What’s past is prologue”
- Tempest. Shakespeare.
The Cast of Characters
Infected - Pure-born Variants
Blue-Eyes - Secretary of State / President’s mistress
Caleb - a runaway
Nuts - mechanical genius
The Outlaw - masked vigilante
PuckDaddy - internet hacker
Samantha - sniper working with the Resistance
Samantha - sniper working with the Resistance
Tank - dangerous drifter
Walter - terrorist living in the northwest
Carter
China
Pacific
Russia
The Zealot
Kingdom Variants
Becky - scavenger
Carmine - Queen of New Los Angeles
Kayla - Minister of Communication
Mason - leader of the Falcons
Others of Note
The Cheerleader - mysterious recluse
Dalton - bodyguard
General Brown - military commander
The Governess - supervisor of New Los Angeles
The Inheritors - ???
Isaac Anderson - leader of the Resistance
Miss Pauline - Orphan Overseer
The Priest - Law Keeper Overseer
Part One
May, 2019
In visions of the dark night
I have dreamed of joy departed
But a waking dream of life and light
Hath left me broken-hearted.
-A Dream. Edgar Allan Poe
- One -
I exist.
A consciousness surfacing from the dark.
My universe endures. I’m still here.
And I’m hungry.
Time is gradually coalescing into meaning. Hunger is substantial. Hunger marks the passage of time. So does the incremental increase of light.
I see.
I walk. I stumble around. And I have been for some time, possessing only a dim grasp of self. Operating on instinct and lower brain function. Cognition is finally warming up, fighting through layers of vegetative residue.
I’m in an abandoned Walmart and I’m safe. Other than hunger, those are the primary notions piercing my delirium. The store is empty, and I’m safe. Over and over. Hunger. Abandoned Walmart. Safety.
Then I discover my reflection.
The mirror is attached to a rack in the clothing department. A full-length mirror, which I approach curiously. My reflection is so unsettling I drop the juice box and bag of granola I’d been holding. Despite the vague awareness of wearing no clothes, I am shocked by my stark nakedness. I am thin. And my skin has lightened. Or at least, I think it has. I’ve matured since…since last I looked in a mirror, whenever that was. Am I only eighteen?
I struggle to remember what I should look like. Where did I get the number eighteen?
And why am I in a Walmart?
The store is pitch black but I see perfectly well. Darkness is no veil to my eyes. A single IV cord dangles from the inside of my right elbow. I tug it out and notice I’m wearing a UCLA Medical Center bracelet. It reads Katie Lopez, but in my frazzled state I forget the name immediately.
This place is a disaster. The store’s proprietors must’ve taken the valuables and fled. Followed by looters ransacking the rest. About a quarter of the original merchandise remains, the cheap stuff. Hobos are sleeping in the rear of the shopping complex. I smell their unwashed bodies, and hear their snores. Perhaps a dozen of them sleep on plundered sheets, and I snort their stench from my nose.
Where is everyone else?
My hands shake with hunger. I finish the granola and drain the juice box, but I need more. The food sits on my stomach like a bomb about to erupt, like I haven’t eaten in forever, so I choose the least moldy loaf of bread on the shelf. The stench of rotten meat in the deli is atrocious.
Strangers are cautiously creeping through the store’s front doors. I’m aware of them the same way I’m aware of wind or a car horn or thirst. I can’t see the strangers yet, but I know these newcomers aren’t hobos heading to bed. They smell powerful. On some subterranean biological level, I realize the strangers are looking for me. I Feel them, which is a startling realization. I quickly hunt for clothing. Pickings are slim. I settle on off-brand athletic leggings and Reeboks.
The fabric of a neoprene shirt rips as I pull it over my head. I find another, carefully tug it on, and inspect my fingernails; the keratin is rock hard and the edges are sharp as a razor. Dangerously keen.
I return to the mirror and, no longer distracted by my body, I notice my hair. Or lack of hair. I see my scalp. I step closer and begin to tremble. I look like a Q-tip with thick brown fuzz. That’s…that’s not right. Is it? I shouldn’t look like that. My hair is…was…long?
What did my hair look like?
What did I look like?
What does…who…
I’m thunderstruck with realization. I am… I was… I have no idea.
Where is everyone??
Why is my hair cut off??
Sudden ignorance pummels like physical fists. Facts slip through my mind like water when I grasp at them. I can’t stack information, no way to scaffold understanding. Why is this store aban
doned? Why was I wearing a hospital bracelet? My stomach heaves, like I’m off balance.
While I reel with unanswerable questions, a silent host of watchers surrounds me. They are men and women about my age. Some of them are tall and strong and powerful in appearance, and others crouch like animals. Half are well-dressed, and the rest appear to have no use for clothing. To my eyes they glow in the darkness, a faint illumination just under their skin, bioluminescent blood pumping. Their existence makes an impression on mine, like spirits smashing.
They glow?? I do not remember people glowing in the dark.
A man speaks. “Are you her?” he asks. He is one of the strong. He takes care of himself, but he is wary and scared. “He’s gone,” the man says, “and we need…someone. Are you it?”
I don’t answer. His words are meaningless. In the back of my mind, a storm is brewing. Distant thunder between my temples. I can’t deal with these people, not now when I can barely deal with myself. I need space to think. In the school supplies aisle, I find a little pink backpack and rip out the paper stuffing. I shove in a change of clothes. Much of the medicine was looted but I locate generic pain relievers, antiseptic, and ointment. Also, dried fruit, granola, beef jerky, and two bottles of Gatorade. Water is nowhere to be found.
I’m panicking. Can’t breathe. I run. No, that isn’t what I do. I Run. I accidentally crash through the glass doors and careen down deserted streets. The trunk of a palm tree cracks when I collide with it, bruising my shoulder. Far-off objects leap closer. Moving this quickly is impossible. So is breaking a tree trunk with my shoulder, but it happens again. And it doesn’t hurt.
Faint echoes of explanations carom in my mind, just out of reach. There was a disease. I’m instantly certain of this fact. A virus caused this eerie absence of people. A pandemic, but I didn’t have the disease.
Did I?
No, I didn’t. I’m almost positive. Certainly I would remember…
I arrive at an intersection. All the lamps are out, but I can read street names. Ohio Avenue. Where on earth is that? No way I’m in Ohio. There are too many palm trees here. A block farther I see signs for the University of California, Los Angeles. UCLA? That’s out past Beverly Hills.
Lightning strikes my mind. I sprawl across the blacktop, struck down by a vicious headache no longer distant. My elbows ache. My wrists throb. Knees hurt so badly I can’t stand. I crawl into an abandoned Toyota and close the door. No cracked windows; I want my scent contained.
I hunker down and suck on beef jerky through the long night, wondering what happened to the planet.
- Two -
I don’t sleep a wink, and when the sun comes up I’m famished. Behind a nearby stucco house I pick plums and apples, but no amount of food completely quells the hunger. My nails sink easily into the wood, and I climb like a squirrel. That’s new.
There are people on the outskirts of Brentwood. Real people in various stages of relocating. Hastily jettisoning extravagant mansions. So the world is not empty after all; I’d started to wonder. Government trucks rumble through the streets, bringing gasoline to stragglers. Children cry. Cars are overloaded.
Smoke rises to the south. The men and women glance that way often, like they’re afraid disaster is coming closer, and it might be for all I know. I should talk to the remnants of humanity but I have no desire to. They stink. They smell of anxiety and sweat and fear. The adults are preoccupied and the kids are unsettled. They don’t glow. They move too slowly and yell at each other. I don’t want people. I want quiet.
I break into an abandoned electronics store, take a cheap smartphone and extra battery, and connect to the public wifi. The internet still functions. I orient myself with Google Earth, capture several screenshots for future use, and hike out of town on San Vicente Boulevard. I need space. And peace. Besides, I have no home to visit. None that I can remember, at least, which is a lonely thought. Very few cars pass, and none pay me any attention. Frequent rests are necessary as I move into Will Rogers State Park, because I have zero stamina. My muscles already quake from fatigue.
The Hyper Virus! That’s the name. But I don’t have it. Other people did, not me. Not me. I gulp air but can’t get enough. Not me. I didn’t have it, I’m positive.
No. No no no no no, I don’t want it. What happened?? I fight for balance, for sanity, for oxygen. Could I have it? Just keep walking. I’ll remember. I’ll simply keep walking and figure this whole thing out. What happened to all my friends? Did I have friends? Of course I did, but who? Where?
I’m exhausted five miles in and I halt on a small rise beneath a copse of evergreens. There are no jet contrails in the blue above. No hikers below. I’m alone. And asleep in seconds.
- Three -
A man is here. I heard him approach but I didn’t budge. He kept his distance until now that I sit up in the late evening. He draws closer.
I hate him instantly. He glows to my eyes, but he’s not like my powerful pursuers at Walmart. He’s not curious, not peaceful. He’s arrogant and hostile. He is dressed in cargo shorts and an unbuttoned dress shirt, white sneakers, gold necklace, gold bracelet. His blonde hair is slicked back. He watches me and smirks. “You’re new,” he remarks.
“Go away.” My voice sounds harsh and dry, almost alien. I haven’t used it since…who knows.
“I can smell it. You’re fresh. And your head was shaved not long ago. You just wake up? Leaving the cradle?”
I stand and hitch the backpack high on on my shoulders, and bite into a harvested apple. “You’re boring. Don’t follow me.”
“He’s dead, you know.”
“Don’t care.”
“The Father. Our Creator? He’s gone.”
I set off down the hill, away from the sun. I want to plunge deeper into the park. But the man is fast. Faster than a human should be. He Moves and plants himself in my way. “He’s dead. Which means,” he sneers, “it’s every man for himself.”
“Or herself.”
“Haven’t you noticed? The people are terrified of us and they’re all leaving. We’re in charge now. We can do whatever we want.”
He is attractive, in an overly muscular type of way, and he knows it. He says, “You pluck that apple off a tree? You just take it? Take what you want? The apple has no say. You want the apple, you take the apple.”
I’m growing angry. Blood gathers in my face and my skin is changing. My muscles are annealing to rock, which would be astonishing if I could think straight. Emotions swell inside like a wave, and the urge to hurt him is intense. “Move.”
He crosses his arms and mocks me. “Move? I’ve been Variant for over a year. I know you’re strong, pretty girl. Stronger than most, but I’m more powerful than you can imagine. I was one of the Father’s warriors. Now take off your backpack.”
I strike him before he’s ready. Hard. I create a direct line of force between my back foot and my right hand, stepping into the attack, driving with my shoulder and putting my fist into his chest. He responds as though he’s been crushed by a wrecking ball, swept away with its pendulum swing. His body cartwheels into the brush below and disappears.
Hitting him is exquisite gratification. A release of tension, so good it hurts. How did I do that? “So long, warrior.”
I glance at the map photos to aim myself, the man quickly forgotten, and I march northeast. Night falls. No matter. Despite the tumult of small animal sounds, I’m unafraid. In fact, night brings a heightened sense of existence, of pleasure. I belong in darkness, as though I’m nocturnal. Slow and steady. I use rhythmic footfalls to help process information. I have the disease. Forcefully I tell myself over and over, I have it. There’s no other explanation. Despite having little recollection of the previous months and of my prior self, I know this isn’t it. My body’s changed. I couldn’t previously throw grown men around the forest.
Memories vanish like mist in my fingers, leaving me with only emotion. I remember safety, possibly a bedroom. Warmth. A familiar school building. H
appiness. Love.
I had a boyfriend. I can’t remember his face, but he existed. I flush in embarrassment at the strong emotions swirling around him. A powerful reaction, and my body longs for his. To be held. And then, in an instant, he passes. So do the emotions, lost in fog. So frustrating.
Just keep walking. Keep going.
The Father. That idiot mentioned a Father, and some primal compulsion tugs at me. The Father. Who was the Father?
My march lasts all night and I trek into the forested hills of Topanga. My food supply dwindles but I don’t care. Getting nutrition won’t be an issue.
As a new day nears dawn, I head towards a clearing I spotted half a mile distant. Anywhere to lay down. Inside the clearing is a small cabin, and I make a complete circle around it, reconnaissance from within tree cover. No paved roads, just a beaten path and small ATV tire tracks. Probably an illegal shelter within the state park. Someone was here recently but now it’s vacant. Cold stove. Bottled water. An iron skillet. So tired. There’s a bed. That will do.
- Four -
The cabin’s rightful owner returns before noon. I pretend to be asleep. He is startled to find me but keeps quiet. He appears to be about sixty, full beard, dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt. He noisily loads supplies into an underground storage unit reached from the cabin’s west wall.
I rise, grab my backpack and walk out to meet him. His brown eyes are flat and calm, and he nods. “Thanks for the bed,” I say. “I’ll be on my way.”
