Derelict: Terror on the Tidelands (AFTER: A POST-APOCALYPTIC SURVIVOR SERIES), page 1
DERELICT
AFTER: A POST-APOCALYPTIC SURVIVOR SERIES
By T.M. Brown
EERIE RIVER PUBLISHING
DERELICT
Copyright © 2021 Eerie River Publishing
All Rights Reserved.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, organizations and incidents are either part of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Except the monsters, those are real.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any
manner, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without express written permission by the author(s) and or publisher.
Paperback ISBN: 978-1-990245-16-9
Digital ISBN: 978-1-990245-12-1
Edited by S.O. Green
Cover design by Michelle River
Book Formatting by Michelle River
What happens after a worldwide cataclysmic event leaves the human population almost extinct?
Within these pages we explore grim
possibilities in this post-apocalyptic series of novelettes and novellas. Each unique story will delve into a world changed forever in a future not far from our own.
Experience with us the terrifying possibility of a world rent asunder and the struggle to survive in a world AFTER.
An eight part mini-series:
Derelict
A Place Beyond the Storm
Quantum Rule
The Creeping Void
Heart of Thorns
Kalopsia
Fading Echoes
Carry On
www.eerieriverpublishing.com/after
Chapter I: Kindling
Mikaela sat on a precipice. Far below, humanity churned beneath a suffocating blanket of smoke and ash. Overhead, a sullen sky hung low and ominous. The city of Beacon sprawled before her, its overcrowded shanties clinging desperately to the face of a nameless mountain. In the heart of the city, a great chimney rose from a tangled assemblage of industrial structures and lesser smokestacks. The Hearth—as locals referred to the monolith—belched a black cloud into the slate-colored sky.
Beyond the gates of Beacon lay the lifeless, silty expanse of the Tidelands and, somewhere beyond that, the infinite horrors lurking beneath the waves of a dark and hostile sea. The grey sky met a grey wasteland on the horizon, muddling the distinction between the Earth and the heavens above. Even in a world forsaken by the gods, the Tidelands made for a singularly bleak vista.
“We should go back…” The words tumbled thoughtlessly from Mikaela’s lips. They were directed at nobody in particular, but Donovan heard them and responded all the same.
“You know we can’t.” His voice was soft and measured—a characteristic common amongst members of House Repentance. “Not unless we have something for the Forge Masters.”
“I know…” Mikaela sighed. Donovan wasn’t telling her anything she didn’t already understand. If Johanna and her Gatherers were not paid their due, there would be nothing to return home to. Tor—Johanna’s chief enforcer—would make sure of that.
Long ago, Mikaela had visited the ruins of Walden before the smoke had settled and the charred bodies of its inhabitants could be laid to rest. The Gatherers had not bothered to hide their grisly work—quite the opposite. It was intended for all to see. Fire was the gift of the Forge Masters and it was fire they brought to Walden. Her home of Solstice was not so dissimilar from that ill-fated settlement. It would burn just as easily.
The elders whispered of a time before the Forge Masters, but Mikaela could imagine no such existence. For as long as she could remember, the residents of Solstice had harvested on behalf of their distant overlords and offered monthly tribute in the form of timber. Now, as Mikaela approached her twenty-fourth summer, the forests surrounding her home were all but gone. Johanna and the Forge Masters didn’t care. The Hearth needed fuel and Solstice owed tribute.
The fates of Mikaela and her companions had been sealed the moment the Gatherers arrived to collect Beacon’s tribute. At that moment, the six men and women from Solstice ceased being humans and became kindling—mere property of Forge Master Johanna and fuel for the Hearth. Whether or not the term was purely metaphorical was a matter of macabre debate amongst the settlement’s residents.
“They’ll be coming soon.” Kira’s eyes darted between Mikaela and her fellow travelers. “What are we going to tell them?”
She had always been high-strung—always eager to take things on but unlikely to see them through. In this scenario, however, Kira’s nervousness could be forgiven. The most likely outcomes for Mikaela and her companions were not good.
In the best-case scenario, they would be permitted to live out the remainder of their lives toiling on behalf of the Forge Masters in the soot-choked streets of Beacon. If rumors were to be trusted, they were more likely to be pitted against one another, forced to spill the blood of lifelong friends in a desperate bid to ensure their own survival. Their only reward would be isolation, unrelenting pain, and—in the end—madness. The survivors would ultimately become what they had once feared and loathed: the soulless, mindless creatures known as Embers. The mere thought of such a fate left Mikaela sick to her stomach.
“We’ll tell them nothing,” Donovan replied in a reassuring tone. His features were weathered but his expression remained warm. “We’ll tell Johanna the truth.”
“And what exactly is that, Van?” Anders snapped. Overgrown, ruddy hair hid the young man’s unwashed but otherwise handsome features. “We don’t have a plan. We belong to Johanna now. She can do whatever the hell she wants with us and we can’t do shit about it.” He took a long drag from his cigarette and the group fell silent. “The sooner we all accept it, the better.”
The truth in Anders’s words did not sit well with Mikaela and she felt herself compelled to speak. “I know something they don’t.”
Anders scoffed. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Mikaela extended her hand and gestured for Anders to hand over the cigarette. The young man rolled his eyes but complied. Mikaela inhaled and paused for a moment as she imagined the nicotine flowing through her arteries. “Yeah, I do.”
“And did you plan on telling us?” Kira needled.
“Honestly…” Mikaela smiled and took another drag of the cigarette. The smoke she exhaled mingled with acrid, polluted air. “I didn’t really plan on it.”
“You…” Kira’s mouth hung open in disgust. She struggled to find her words. “You’re such a bitch, Mikaela. What’s wrong with you?”
Anders smiled and removed another cigarette from the pocket of his faded leather duster. “I hope whatever you’re holdin’ on to is real good.” He flicked his lighter open and conjured a tiny, wavering flame. “For all our sakes.”
“Really, Mikaela?” Donovan flashed a look of disapproval in her direction. He took Kira by the shoulder and guided her back toward Stefan and Freja.
Of course, Mikaela was lying. She didn’t know anything. The only thing she had up her sleeve was a single word whispered into her ear by Matthias Ekman, one of the settlement’s elders, immediately prior to her departure from Solstice. While he was well-respected within the community and Mikaela had no reason to suspect he was lying, she had no idea what “Colossus” meant. For that matter, she had no idea if the word meant anything at all.
After decades as a prominent figure in Solstice, Matthias had grown frail and increasingly incoherent. His days apart from the Earth dwindled.
The thought of sharing the word with her companions had passed through Mikaela’s mind on the journey to Beacon. Perhaps it would mean something to one of them? The desire to share such potentially valuable information, however, was fleeting. As devoted members of House Repentance, Freja and Donovan were trustworthy enough, but Kira was spineless and Anders had a rakish, untrustworthy reputation. Stefan was little more than a stranger. Better to retain every possible advantage than risk betrayal.
The odds, after all, are already stacked against me.
For the moment, Mikaela had no better plan than to simply blurt out “Colossus” if things got bad enough and try her best to bullshit from there. It wasn’t a good plan—or a plan at all, really—but it was likely better than anything her fellow kindling had to offer.
Mikaela’s cigarette dwindled and a bitter wind swept in from the abyssal wastes beyond. The summers in this forsaken land were fleeting and the nightly frost now lingered well into midday. The Tidelands’ only bearable season dangled by a thread. Further up the mountainside, the eternal flames of Beacon’s namesake tower twisted in the harbinger gale. Mikaela’s reticence to share her single scrap of hope with her companions bought her a moment’s solitude prior to the arrival of Johanna’s enforcers. She inhaled a final dose of nicotine and raised her collar against the gathering cold.
“Mikaela!” Stefan called, from somewhere behind her.
The wrought iron gates surrounding Johanna’s compound groaned and four figures wielding long rifles filed out from within. The kindling of Solstice rose nervously to their feet. Stefan’s
“It’s time.”
***
After being escorted through the compound’s yawning entrance and a maze of ascending corridors, Mikaela and her companions entered a grand solarium. The air within was damp and warm. It smelled of freshly tilled soil and flowers. Every Forge Master possessed at least one such greenhouse, but few common folk ever had the opportunity to experience them first-hand. It was breath-taking and otherworldly, but not the sort of place anyone wished to find themselves.
The lives of vassals meant little to a Forge Master and, rumor had it, Johanna was particularly prone to violence. Even the most innocuous interaction could be deadly.
The solarium’s glass-paned exterior soared three stories overhead and hanging plants draped from two tiers of balconies on either side of a central plaza. The vegetation was nothing like the scraggly, gnarled shrubs and conifers that eked out an existence in the rugged terrain of the Backveld. Their leaves were supple and delicate—likely to wither at the mildest frost or blow apart in the slightest breeze. Flashes of vibrance sprouted from amongst the verdant surroundings and tiny, colorful birds flitted from the branches of alien trees. Was this a reflection of the Earth that once was?
The contrast of the fantastic world contained within the Forge Master’s glass bubble and the grim landscape outside was nearly impossible to reconcile. For a moment, the beauty of the solarium was sufficient to distract Mikaela from the dire reality of her situation. The reprieve was short-lived.
Shadowy figures lurked amongst the shade of the balconies and leafy canopy. At the plaza’s terminus, several lounge chairs circled a babbling fountain. Only the most prominent of these chairs was occupied. Forge Master Johanna looked on as the small procession of enforcers and kindling approached. Several armed guards and various lounging courtiers occupying the surrounding balconies took casual note of the party’s arrival.
A hulking mass of scarred flesh stood a few feet away from Johanna. Mikaela had only seen Tor once, but the freak was unmistakable. The image of it standing amidst the smoldering ruins of Walden had been burned into her mind since childhood. The monster pulled apart bodies and used them to festoon the burned-out husks of the settlement’s few remaining structures. It had appeared so serene in the performance of its grisly task—so at peace. Tor had haunted her childhood dreams from that moment forward.
As years passed, Mikaela grew to suspect that her traumatized childhood imagination had somehow warped a mere human into a monster. To her horror, she now found Tor to be even less human than she recalled—too large and mutated to be real. Yet here it was, standing before her; a nightmare brought to life amidst a background befitting her most fantastic dreams. Its chest was branded with Johanna’s all-too-familiar saw and axe insignia, as if the creature was some form of livestock. Pale, dead eyes stared unblinkingly at Mikaela and her companions as they approached.
The vaguely human monstrosity drew a stark contrast to the Forge Master herself. Johanna, while not exactly young, could not have been over forty and was strikingly beautiful. Her skin was deep ebony and her curly hair spilled out from a perfectly fitted, steel crown. Several jagged tines extended upwards on either side of the crown’s pronounced central spike, topped with a brilliant orange gem. Mikaela had long been told that the Forge Masters’ crowns represented the skyline of Beacon but had never actually seen one. Like the solarium itself, its composition was simultaneously beautiful and menacing.
“They say it’s like stepping a hundred years into the past.” Forge Master Johanna rose from an intricately-carved wooden chair. She scanned the kindling gathered before her. Tor mechanically shadowed each of her steps at a slight distance. When nobody responded to her comment, she continued. “Fragile though… Much too fragile for this world. Such a tenuous existence… It’s no surprise that it didn’t last.”
Johanna summoned them forward with a wave of her hand and lifted a delicate crystal champagne flute from a nearby table. An odd assemblage of bracelets on either arm jangled with her every move. Mikaela and her six companions complied, forming a rough semicircle around the central fountain. Their escorts peeled away into the shade of the greenhouse perimeter.
“Speaking of tenuous existences…” The Forge Keeper took a sip of her drink. “Where is it you were from? Walden?”
“Solstice, Forge Master,” Donovan responded, in reverent tone. “We’re from Solstice.”
“Ahhh… That’s right. I suppose I’m getting ahead of myself. A woman in my position must be looking forward and the trajectory of your little wallows… Well… There are a lot of similarities.” Johanna flashed a cruel smile. “I’m afraid your tragic tales tend to bleed together over time.”
Mikaela felt anger welling up inside her. She tried to push the image of Tor effortlessly stripping limbs from charred bodies. She tried to forget the smell of burnt flesh and the helplessness of witnessing such atrocities as a small child. The past and the present were much the same. There was nothing she could do—neither then, nor now. She just needed to stay alive. Mikaela unclenched her fists and held her tongue.
“So, when can I expect my kindling?” Johanna arched an eyebrow and awaited a response. Mikaela and several of her companions exchanged nervous glances. There was an extended period of silence before Donovan spoke for the group.
“We are this month’s kindling, Forge Master.”
Johanna nodded and took another drink. “The arrangement with your settlement is for fuel, not bodies. Does it look like Beacon needs more mouths to feed?” She gestured toward what Mikaela could only guess was the bulk of the city. The labyrinth of passages leading to the solarium had left her thoroughly disoriented and the overgrown garden blocked any view aside from the brooding clouds overhead. When Johanna failed to receive a response, her expression grew dark and she stomped a heeled boot against the ground. “Well? Does it?”
“No, Forge Master…” Mikaela and her companions mumbled in unison.
“No…” Johanna’s face brightened as quickly as it had soured. “Fortunately for you, there was a recent accident in the ironworks and I’ve shouldered the burden of replacing a large share of the loss. You lot are a good start.”
Mikaela felt an immediate sense of relief wash over her. While the prospect of a life in the ironworks would typically be something to despair, it was the best possible outcome given her predicament. Besides, the city of Beacon was tumultuous and teeming with humanity. It was an easy place to disappear—particularly if nobody cared to look. She could keep her head low and feed a furnace for a time. Whether in Beacon or in the Backveld, she could still forge her own destiny. Her relief was just as evident on the faces of her fellow kindling.
“Thank you, Forge Master.” Kira spoke as if she had been holding her breath. “We’ll work hard.”
“I have no doubt.” Johanna finished the contents of her glass and placed it back on the table. She raised a polished, antique revolver with a mother of pearl grip in its place. The Forge Master deftly snapped open the cylinder. Her cruel smile returned. “You do know why I always request six, don’t you?”
None of the kindling responded but Johanna carried on with her task all the same. She selected a single upright cartridge from the table, loaded it into one of the revolver’s six chambers and snapped the cylinder shut with a practiced flick of her wrist.
“As I said, your timing is fortunate… But I can’t have the entire Backveld thinking they can skip out on their tribute and expect a job, now can I?”
Johanna spun the cylinder until it stilled, then let it rotate forward on her finger. She held the pistol away from her with a single finger in the trigger guard.
There was a certain, cold logic in the Forge Master’s rationale that Mikaela understood and, at some level, could appreciate. One in six. Not the worst odds. The residents of Walden hadn’t been offered such a courtesy.
Tor collected the pistol and approached the gathered kindling. It opened its palm and offered the revolver to Freja. Its massive hand made the weapon appear tiny.
“Take it,” Johanna instructed in a playful tone. “The sooner we get this done, the sooner we can all move on with our lives. I’m sure there’s a foreman somewhere eager to put you all to work.”
