The Overlord: A Post-Apocalyptic Novel (7 page)

6

THE HAUNTED ONES

In the pouring rain of the night, I had come to the Lair under political obligation. After all was said and done, a piece of me decided to stay just a while longer. Delaying my transport's departure, there was someone else that I needed to speak with. I could see him from afar. He was an old friend, a ghost walking away in the pouring rain of the night.

Thunder smacked and the clouds wrung out. The drenching shower did not seem to bother Dr. Deadstock as he ascended a secret flight of outer stairs up the pyramid. The steps were all automated. Each level would only appear when he moved up from the proceeding one. The steps behind him would then quickly disappear into the slanted surface.

The stairs led to only one place. At the peak of the pyramid was the Overlord's chamber. When he finally arrived at the summit, he was soaking wet all the way through. Two heavy panes then swung open before him and he disappeared into the darkness of a doorway.

I knew of another way in. Desiring to see him face to face, I took a direct elevator up to his room. I wondered as to why he would choose to walk in the rain, not using the lift himself.

When I arrived at his chamber, the lift opened up to a melancholy corridor. It was dark, but the lightning outside was consistent enough to reveal what was laden on the hallway walls. There were various pictures, posters, and old headlines that all spoke of the Overlord's rise to power. The images portrayed initial good intentions of safety and enlightenment, but as the corridor went on, the stories grew increasingly dire. Hostility and fear became the subjects. Then, a pattern of casualties, outcomes of the Thralldom's power.

Eventually, I had to look away. I had seen a lot of unrest in my time, but never all at once. I can only believe he kept such upsetting images out of remembrance or guilt.

When I advanced into the openness of a main apartment, there stood Deadstock before me. His frame silhouetted by the flashes of lightning outside, he zapped on the overhead lights. I had prepared to see him in the worst condition from his cosmic travels. Instead, his beard was freshly trimmed and his hair was neatly faded. A handsome man with ebony skin, he was just as I remembered. Always sensitive and intuitive like an antelope of the savannah, but forever, there was a sleeping lion within his muscular features.

"Hello, Ember." He tied the waist of a robe and slipped on a pair of tinted lenses from a nearby table.

"It has been a long time, Doctor," I greeted.

"It certainly has." He sifted closer into the light and jested, "Commander Zero told me he kept this room just the way I left it. Don't tell me you've been in here this whole time I've been gone."

I approached him halfway, responding, "That would be very amusing, but actually, I followed you here. Only difference is that you decided to take the stairs. You do remember that there's a lift, right?"

"I wanted to take the long way," he vigorously illuminated. "After being in space for twenty years, I like the feeling of walking again. I can't get enough of it."

"What exactly does one do in space for twenty years?" I had pressed without hesitation. I could not help in doing otherwise. I needed answers. It then became clear to him that I had not come on official business. I had come on my own accord. Though, I suppose Deadstock must have already gathered that much.

He avoided answering me, "Why are you here?"

"Everyone on Earth knows you are back," I remarked. "They all want to know why."

"What do you think?" he challenged. My old friend could see straight through me. I might as well have been one of those transparent vessels of the Thralldom.

"I care not." It was a lie in my refusal to give in. I was not about to let him make this all about me. "The real question is why did you leave in the first place?"

Deadstock paused with a sigh, then lamented, "I was faced with an abyss of possibilities. When every choice is available, there's only one thing to do. Nothing, and see which choice presents itself. Only then can I know what's truly meant to be."

I scorned, "I expected a little more from the likes of you, Doctor. That has to be the worst excuse for running away that I have ever heard!"

He veered away from my boiling blood, "Does it really matter? Excuses don't heal, that much is certain."

Through his verbal smoke and mirrors, I could tell he was avoiding something. I wanted him to be real with me. He was hiding himself. What was with him and that pair of shades?

Agitatedly, I wished, "Would you please take off those glasses and look me straight in the eye?"

The Overlord then bent his chin down as he carefully removed the shaded frames from his face. He lifted his head back up and I found two radiant irises looking back at me, purple and glowing with energy.

Transfixed, I softly exclaimed, "I had forgotten!"

It was the effect of the Wandering Star inside of him, intertwined within his bloodstream. The violet wavelengths had taken prominence to extreme levels, showing the most through his bright eyes.

I neared his proximity, "Will you show it to me? The Wandering Star, that is."

Slowly, he undressed the robe about his chest where veins wildly emanated from the technology inside. My hand was then tenderly taken into his own and he brushed my fingertips across his strange skin. His lungs breathed in and I jolted back as he exhaled. The motion had his heart pulsating in a gloriously burning glow. The light then traveled through his veins and down his arms.

Next, Deadstock cupped his hands. A wispy flame started shining out from his palms and he gently held it up to me. Running my fingers through the violet luminescence, it was like touching a cloud. The Wandering Star was tangible, yet somehow not really there at all.

"This is just a piece of a whole, Ember, a mere ending to the branches inside me," Deadstock explained. "It's a symbiosis, the Wandering Star and I. One with the light, it is an enigma that has joined me to its unsolvable mystery. I've tried everything to destroy it, but I can't find a way."

"You created this thing in a lab," I reminded. "Are you saying that you have no idea how to kill it without killing yourself?"

He smothered the flame with a single clap. "If only I could remove it, but it's probably safer where it is."

"For now," I despondently nodded, still mesmerizing at the streams of light across his skin. "Did you ever actually believe your power would save the world?"

"I was wrong, very wrong," Deadstock swayed.

"We all were," I added. "No single person is to blame for what happened. All of humanity had a voice. We all had a choice and we made it together. Now we have to live with it."

"Maybe we still have a choice," he comforted as he glided the back of his hand over my hair. "Long ago, I was your husband. You were my wife."

Deadstock's hand moved to caress my cheek. I then found the two of us getting closer. With a passion that I had almost forgotten, we embraced to taste each other's lips.

"No." Coming to my senses, I pulled back and apologized, "I am truly sorry. I have had to move on in your absence. I should probably continue to do so."

"I understand." Considerately, Deadstock folded the robe back over his chest, retying it at the waist.

He may have accepted my objection, but the look in his eyes told me everything I needed to know. We were still married in his mind. Perhaps, we were still husband and wife in my mind too, but I had not the time to entertain such thoughts anymore.

I then remembered the transport outside, patiently waiting for me. "I should be going. I have a new job now. You are looking at the President of the United Corps, the head of the Free World."

"Impressive," complimented Deadstock. "A far cry from the humble pacifist that I used to know. I thought you hated being in politics?"

"The fact that I hate politics is the very reason why I chose to be involved with them. I cannot change that which I am not a part of. Besides, somebody had to clean up the mess you left behind. Might as well have been me." That was not a fair thing to say, but it felt justified on a personal level. I then shoved past him as I headed for the elevator door.

He took hold of my arm from behind as I walked away, "It's not like I left without telling you, Ember."

It was true. He said goodbye before leaving Earth on the Last Day of the Last War. Even bid me farewell in that very room. Yet, it had never seemed enough.

I veered back around, "Yes, but you never told me why."

Charismatically, Deadstock attempted to alleviate, "I left so that humanity could make its own choice. It's the fighters that hold the power now, the survivors. They alone must decide how this ends."

"How what ends?" I queried.

"All of it," he answered, revolving his head in gesture to the world around us.

I ridiculed, "Is that the best you got?"

The Overlord released my arm and spoke out in sincerity, "It's all I've ever had to say these past twenty years."

Pretending to settle for his answer, I turned away. As I was leaving, I noticed that a dossier had been placed on an end table by the lift. The file was concerning Fever Island. I would have never given Commander Zero my approval if I had known he was planning on pulling Dr. Deadstock into his antics. An inclination then came upon me to try and help the man that I once knew as my partner in life.

I informed him, "You should know that my sources out in the wasteland have been unable to verify the existence of the Plague of Phantoms. No one really knows for sure what is actually on Fever Island. Only rumors shed any info, so be careful out there. The world may be at ceasefire, but with or without peace, I will never fully trust Commander Zero."

"I wouldn't trust any of us," warned my husband, the Overlord.

Entering the lift, I finished, "I would ask you to try to do some good while you are here, but I think it would be best if I asked you not to try anything at all."

Much to my surprise, he then threw out a hand to stop the compartment doors from closing and raised a question from seemingly out of nowhere, "What do you know about my old friend, Choke?"

"Chokeberry is gone," I confirmed with regret.

"What happened to him?" Deadstock pressed.

"The same thing that happened to most people." I made clear, "He either lost hope or went to find it in a place it could never be found."

Saddened, Deadstock's hand retracted from the frame and the elevator doors began sliding shut. Before the flaps came to a close, I unveiled a hint of an encouraging smile.

"Goodnight, Doctor," I bid from inside the compartment. "Thank you for seeing me."

"Thank you for finding me," he repaid.

A flash of lightning crossed over his purple eyes. The doors then sharply sealed, locking me from his neon gaze. Thunder cracked from beyond and the lift carried me away.

▲

At the bottom of the President's article, I noticed an odd signature. It was Nightwood's own handwriting. Her signature meant she had authorized the report's release and certified its authenticity.

Before, she had made it seem like the report was being publicized beyond her control. Yet, it clearly stated that the report had been released by her own choice. Why would she purposefully put it out in the open for public examination?

President Nightwood was trying to tell me something about that night. I can only guess as to what that might be. I believe she wanted to show that despite what came of his actions, Dr. Deadstock was just a man, and a good man too.

7

THE YOUNG ONES

The night before the mission to Fever Island, the rain began to subside as the evening grew older. The clouds dispersed, baring a clear air that twinkled with planets and stars. Beneath that nightfall sky, I was sneaking away in the barracks. I had somewhere more important to be, a rendezvous with a significant someone.

As was always the case, the secret appointment was not without its obstacles. The entrance door to the female garrison had been barred. I was blocked out by a leg, and a bare one at that. An abundance of freckles dotted over every inch of its exposed skin. The alluring limb belonged to Nix. Sparsely clothed, she greeted me with a tempting smile.

Nix hadn't been born in the wasteland, like I had. She was already walking and talking when the bombs went off. In the aftermath, the Thralls came across her in the ruined city of Phoenix. Just a little girl, she went by the name of Nix from then on, in honor of the city that sheltered her survival. A little girl no longer, she was a tough fighter with a ponytail. Standing before me in the night, though, Nix wasn't the one I'd come to see. She was merely in my way.

She playfully threw my way, "Aren't you going to ask me?"

"Ask what? Knowing Nix and her spontaneity, I really couldn't guess as to what she wanted.

She teased, "To sign your hat, silly."

Right before a mission, it was customary to create mementos and pass them along through the squads. A shirt or a book, the keepsakes could be anything. For my own, I had chosen a basic snapback hat. Bright neon and yellow, the cap was already littered with signatures and notes from all my friends. It was a way to remember each other. If need be, it was a way to mourn those that didn't come back.

I slid off the snapback, rubbed my hair, and tossed the hat off to Nix. She took it, but remained to keep an open palm out. I then realized what else she was after. It was the marker snugged over my ear. I had almost forgotten. Nix grinned at my forgetfulness.

Using her balanced leg as a table, she scribbled away. Satisfied, she flung the hat back into my custody and I inspected its fresh ink. Enclosed within the shape of a flaming heart, Nix had drawn the most unusual bird.

I looked up with a wrinkled nose and her thin eyebrows raised with delight, "It's a Phoenix." The tantalizing leg in the doorway suddenly dropped out of my way. "Go on in. Sentria's waiting for you."

Hat in hand, I proceeded to Sentria's quarters. Along the way, I read some of the messages upon my yellow cap. Individual and unique, each note represented somebody that I knew. I beamed as I put a face to each name, with one exception. On the underside of the hat's bill, a message read, "The beginning is just the end."

The author of the cryptic phrase hadn't signed their name. Having been present for each signing, I didn't recall anyone ever writing those particular words. For the life of me, I couldn't figure out who wrote it or what it could mean.

"The beginning is just the end," I recited my hat's message in befuddlement. "The beginning is just the end? Isn't it supposed to be the other way around?"

Putting it out of my mind, I arrived at Sentria's door. The rattling of some tools echoed from inside. As a squad leader, she had her own private quarters. Safe from all interruptions, it's where she spent much of her free time. Always working on a project, she often built small weapons or other defenses for use out in the field. Sentria was a brilliant mind with a brilliant smile. That smile greeted me when I found her tinkering away at a desk beside her bunk.

I presumed she had been waiting for me, but right then, I knew it was me who'd end up having to wait. Uninterrupted, her genius could consume the whole night. Luckily, disruption was the very reason of my coming. I came up behind her and wrapped my arms around her shoulders, trying to force a break in her mind's process. My chin then pressed onto the top of her head and she sighed contently, leaning back into my chest.

"You know, I'm trying to work here," she stated without a hint of actually being upset over my intrusion.

"What are you working on?" I investigated.

She held up a bracelet, blinking with little lights and wires of all sorts. "I call it an Angel Gate."

"A what?" I chuckled.

She elaborated, "It's a protective shield that springs out from this wristband, absorbing all incoming energy and recycling it into a self-destruct blast. It can take whatever the enemy can throw at it, all while safely preserving me inside."

"Let's go test it out," I enthusiastically suggested, ready to watch something possibly explode.

Sentria refuted, "It's not ready, yet, but if it does work, it might just save my life if I ever got caught in pinch. Might even save somebody else's too."

She then reached back for me, but found my yellow snapback instead. Knocking off the neon hat, it fell atop the clutter of her desk. She wondered as she picked it up.

"Just write whatever first comes to mind," I nudged.

"I'll have to think about it," she said, getting up and gathering her things to leave. "Morning's still a long ways away and I don't want to think about the mission right now. Take me somewhere else, somewhere away from here."

"Then let's go," I indulged. "The stars can be our blanket, just for tonight."

Sentria slapped my hat backwards on my head, just the way she liked it. Arm in arm, hand in hand, we then left her quarters and snuck away outside.

Sneaking away was something we always did the night before one us got sent out. Those kinds of nights weren't to be wasted as they could easily turn out to be the last. The evening before the Fever Island mission, though, we took comfort in the fact that we'd be together the next day. We were both being sent out.

In the forest outside the Lair, we sat down upon some dry rocks beneath the trees and watched the water flow from the nearby falls. The moss and leaves around us were still damp from the rain and every drop of dew that glimmered in the moonlight was a perfection to behold.

I whispered over the soft wind, "Radiation, deserts, it all seems so far away out here. If the whole world used to look like this, can you imagine what it must've been like when the nukes hit down, destroying it all? Consider it a blessing we were both born in the wasteland. The planet was dead by the time we came around. We never had to know what it was like to have it taken away because it was already gone, but these woods almost numb that reality. Almost."

She snuggled into my shoulder, "There's something in the air here that I can't seem to figure out. Have you ever noticed how things look the prettiest right before a storm? This place never seems to shake that look. It's an eerie, quiet beauty, like the woods are holding their breath for whatever's coming for them."

"It's just the negative ions in the air," I made clear as I began to ramble. "They make everything clearer to the eyes, especially right before a storm. It's kind of an odd science, negative is good and positive is bad. The positive ions, the kations, are the ones that dull everything, make it all feel less alive. Just ignore them. The world will always find a way to be brilliant again. Sometimes, it just takes a beautiful storm for us to realize that we need to forget the bad vibes, forget about all those kations."

In revelation, Sentria then nabbed my yellow neon hat along with the marker wedged behind my ear. There wasn't much surface area left to write on, but she had finally decided what she was going to add to the various doodles and jottings. Carefully and methodically, she scrawled something out before handing it back.

Her note read, "Forget the kations."

Intimately, she furthered closer in, "When you first came to the Thralldom, it was a boy I met, but it's the man I've fallen for."

In response, I pressed my lips to the top of her head as her own pressed into the side of my neck. We embraced further. We got lost in each other. For a moment, there was no such thing as politics, war, or doom. Only the negative ions existed. Only the night.

Naïve and unashamed, we were alone and just being ourselves. It was those moments that we could truly laugh and play without the weight of worry. The fleeting bliss would all change the next day.

Zero had personally requested our help for his special assignment to Fever Island. A hazardous endeavor, Sentria and I would've signed up anyway. The Overlord was coming along and the opportunity to work side by side with him was not to be missed. We didn't need orders to persuade us.

It was the dream of every Thrall to one day serve under the Overlord's presence. That day was finally on the horizon. There was great anticipation, for sure, but the next day would test our allegiance to the Thralldom and to each other. Neither of us were ready for the secrets that awaited on that dreadful isle.