Writing creatively
I’m back with another blurb. This is just a tease for the full story that’ll be posted tomorrow.
The world has ended. Billions died in the wake of an infection that spread across the globe. But the infected didn’t stay dead. Which is why they now walk the Earth.
Small pockets of humanity are all that remains of the once dominant species. This is the story of one such enclave as it tries to survive in a world trying to kill and reanimate them.
You went away so suddenly
Leaving just a hole in me
Stuck with just memories
They never faded away
As I searched the streets
Combed the hospitals and clinics
Even visited your old favourites
But each one let me down
You were nowhere to be found
Adorning posters on the walls
I swear I could hear your calls
Turning round for disappointment
It was never you that was present
Just a face I didn’t know the name
Another dose of failing again
Sickened by my own despair
Wishing you were right here
Still I couldn’t stop there
Retreating to my broken home
Searching records for nothing
Filing a report with the police
Didn’t hear from them week to week
And soon they just shelved the case
They could no longer investigate
Manpower was needed in another place
All avenues had been spent
Much like the money I’d managed to accumulate
So now I stand at a grave
With your name deeply engraved
The driving rain sinking in
I barely remember much of anything
All I have left is the past
This world took you so fast
Wish I knew where you went
Years have passed since that event
Never did get over it
Why do things have to be so difficult?
Artificial barriers of malcontent
A hamster wheel we call development
Aided by consumer culture detriment
Trapped within our self-imposed limit
Convinced that we should hold our space
While encouraging only a slow pace
But is a rung where we belong?
Or should we continue to strive on?
Climbing up the endless cliff
Ignoring whether we’re part of the pyramid
The top of which you will never reach
Those at the pinnacle will vote on it
Instead you are left to bitch and moan
Even though you could take control
Rip yourself from the path of follow
Then tread your own and ignore their wrath
As they dwell within the circumference
Its why they will never grow
Instead they dwell within the pit
Its just they make sure they are atop of it
So stop watching as the days go
Grab a hold and scream hell no
Break and reset instead of simply follow
Just don’t sit there and wallow
You can leave the box in the trash
Its time to move right past it
Things don’t have to be so problematic
Hi everyone! Here is a little bonus post now that What Remains is out. This is the original opening that I wrote for the story. But I didn’t like it, so went back and changed it quite considerably, I think. The changes were made to make it flow better and simply because I didn’t like Den’s position relative to Enrique’s and the interaction between them. I thought it lacked something, but see what you think.
Dennis Waites, or Den as everyone calls him, knocks on the door of the town elders’ home, Enrique Powers. He knows the hour is late but this is important. He can’t, he won’t, sit by and just wait for more people to be killed in their sleep by the cannibals that are sneaking their way into the small town of Haven every night. It just isn’t right. He understands Enrique has to keep things organised but how many more have to lose their lives before something is done.
All he wants is to ask the elder if he and his squad of five others members can be given permission to seek out where the cannibals are coming from and put an end to this violence. It’s what everybody wants; no it’s what everybody needs. There has been enough death in this world to last lifetimes.
Den gently wraps on Enrique’s wooden door. The elders’ house isn’t large. None of the houses are large here. This town didn’t even exist until fifty years ago. It was built after the floods that saw the oceans swallow most of the land.
Scientists had got it wrong, very wrong, and sea levels rose nearly a thousand metres. Den doesn’t know all the details. He isn’t old enough to remember the world before the floods. In fact, very few people are anymore. But those who are rarely speak of it.
“Come in.” Enrique calls. His voice muffled by the walls of his cabin.
Den hesitates for a few seconds as he thinks over what he’s going to say. The truth is all that rings through his head as he takes the door handle and pushes the door away from him and into the cabin within.
The interior is simply furnished. No one has more than they need. People no longer live in luxury with huge houses and expensive cars and enough gadgets to fill rooms. Satellites, mobile phones, computers, stereos and televisions are all gone. There are no power stations to produce electricity and no factories to produce goods. What people have is what they have found or made for themselves.
“What can I do for you Den?” Enrique asks as he finishes putting the plates and cutlery into the metal sink.
He isn’t surprised to see the patrol squad leader but he had hoped that it wouldn’t be until tomorrow morning. The only blessing he can take is that at least Den had the thought to leave it late enough that dinner with his grandchildren has concluded.
His wife, Mary, took them back to their daughters’ house, again a cabin like everyone else’s. She should have returned by now but is likely busily chatting away. It’s probably for the best Enrique thinks as he looks at the six feet tall man with a shaved head and grey eyes. He looks early thirties Enrique decides as he waits for Den to respond.
“I’m here to ask that you let me and my squad…” Den starts. He sees no point in wasting time or skirting round the issue.
“No.” Enrique replies with a brief shake of his head while he wipes his hands on a dish cloth.
“Enrique you haven’t even heard what I’m proposing.” Den replies. He isn’t surprised by the elders reply, but he thought he’d at least be allowed to get a little further before being refused by the man in his late fifties who has thinning white hair and hazel coloured eyes that stands several inches shorter than he.
“I don’t have to. It’s the same thing you always propose Den and I can’t allow it. You know that.” Enrique has lost count how many times Den has asked over the last few months that he be granted authorisation to go on a wild goose chase to try and find where their attackers are coming from and he’s tired of it. It’s why he had hoped it wouldn’t come until tomorrow, but it seems the patrol squad leader is becoming more persistent instead of less.
“We have to do something. The attacks are getting worse.” Den tries to reason. It isn’t a lie the attacks from the cannibals who appeared out of nowhere months ago have been getting worse. He’s seen the results first hand and it made him sick. He doesn’t understand how anyone can do such things to another person. In fact, he’d been convinced at first that the deaths had been the result of some animal and not another human being.
“We don’t have the man power Den, you know that.” Enrique replies as he stares back at the younger man. He understands Den’s desire, but it doesn’t change the fact that the patrols are a necessity. Without them the number of casualties they would have suffered from the cannibals would have been much much worse than they are.
“I know. But all I’m asking is for me and my squad. No one else. That’s it. And just for a couple days. If we find nothing we’ll come back and I’ll drop this for good.”
“The answers still no.” Enrique concludes with a stern look and finality to his words.
The elder isn’t willing to continue this conversation further. This is the end of the matter and his answer will not change, no matter how many times Den asks. This is the lesser of two evils. The patrols must continue as planned. There are simply not enough people and weapons for even a single squad to disappear off into the wilderness while simultaneously keeping the cannibals from attacking. There just isn’t. They are a small town on the coast. Most of their food is either grown of caught from the water. They live basic lives and it’s hard enough without them purposefully handicapping themselves.
“Final answer?” Den asks. He already knows the answer but he feels he needs to know for sure.
“Final answer Den. I’m sorry.” Enrique replies. He doesn’t know why the younger man has asked because he thought he’d made it pretty clear from his expression and tone, but maybe he was wrong. He doesn’t know if it’s him not making it clear enough or Den not wanting to listen. Either way it’s clear now.
Den simply nods. It’s exactly what he’d expected. He isn’t even sure why he came here, but he did. Maybe it was just to make sure? Give Enrique one final chance to change his mind he thinks as he turns on his heels crosses the open space of the cabin and calmly opens the front door.
“Thank you for your time Enrique. Have a good evening.” Den says with a forced smile before closing the door behind him.
Enrique stares at the door. He begins to doubt whether he has done the right thing but after a few seconds shakes the feeling off. That’s what he wants you to do, question yourself, a voice in his head says as he stands looking at the plain furniture that fills his cabin. He doesn’t own anything extravagant. No one does now. He can just about remember how the world was before the floods, but he never talks about it. The few that can remember never do. He doesn’t know why the others don’t, but for him is because he doesn’t want to lead them down the path that led humanity to destruction once before. Too many were lost when the waters rose and the race are still mourning them even if most of the reminders are buried beneath the waves.
“What did he say?” Callum Steele, a member of Den’s patrol squad asks. He’s an old friend of Den’s. They’ve known each other since they were kids. Always running round together doing stuff and none of that had changed as they’d got older either. Except Callum had kids, three, while Den didn’t.
“What he always says.” Den confirms with a shrug.
“Why do you look so down?” Callum asks.
“I thought he might change his mind after the last attack.” Den replies honestly. Sixteen people had lost their lives the last time the cannibals had attacked, two nights ago. They only ever attack at night but no one is sure why. Den guesses it’s because everything is harder to see at night especially with all the shadows cast by the cabins and store houses, but he like everyone else don’t really know.
“No you didn’t. You just hoped he would. You knew he wouldn’t say yes.”
“True. Either way it’s a no.”
“So what now?” Callum asks as he leans against a cabin wall. The pair are a hundred feet from Enrique Powers home, but it’s late and there’s no one else out. Most of the people of Haven now stay inside at night because of a fear that the cannibals could strike at any time. Their attacks are random. There is no pattern to them at all. Den should know he’s been looking for one, but there just isn’t one. He wonders if it is purely when they get hungry, or something else. He hopes it’s not something else, even if he doesn’t know what that something else could be.
“We have a patrol at first light.” Den offers.
“We’re going to do nothing?” Callum says surprised.
“No, we’re going to complete our patrol and then head out.” Den clarifies.
“Why not just head out now?” Callum offers.
“They’re active at night. We need all the advantages we can get. We go out on patrol as normal then peel off once it’s complete and go searching. Tell the squad to prep for a few days in the wilderness. Make sure they bring enough supplies and know what they’re getting themselves into. Ok, Cal?”
“Sure Den. Not a problem.” Callum confirms before the pair part ways for their respective cabins. They don’t have long until they need to be up for their first light patrol.
Den doesn’t like the idea of going against Enrique’s orders but he doesn’t see any other choice. He can’t sit by and watch countless others become dinner for the cannibals. They have to be stopped sooner rather than later. If they’re not then it’s not going to matter how much the death toll is reduced by patrols like his if in the end they all end up dead anyway.
Story day! This is shorter than the last (about 18800 words in fact) and is a semi-sequel to Circumnavigate. I say semi because it occurs in the same post-apocalypse and around a similar time frame. Overall however, I think its a very different story. It did change quite a bit from the original outline I did. In fact, I rewrote the entire opening. I didn’t like it. It didn’t do what I wanted and I may yet post that original version of the opening just because why not. But for now enjoy What Remains.
The cannibals have attacked again. Seven people are dead as a result. Dennis Waites, head of the patrol squads for Haven, a community built in the west of the Chihuahua region of what remains of Mexico, has just arrived. He knows what he’s going to find but he feels the need to see it with his own eyes none the less.
He passes people but pays no mind to any of them, including members of his own patrol squads. He already has the report. It was handed to him by Callum Steele, his old friend and second in command. But even if he hadn’t already been briefed he’d know what to expect as he walks through the first wide open door of the cabin.
The door is made of simple straight lengths of wood nailed to horizontal braces. This cabin is much like all the others, expect this is one that lies on the edge of Haven. Many call it a town, but the reality is that it is more like a community. It has no defences to speak of and some of the cabins are beyond what you would call the edge of the town.
Dennis, referred to as Den by everyone, had urged the residents to relocate and move closer to the majority of the buildings that make up Haven, but his words had fallen on stubborn ears. He couldn’t say he blamed them. They’d built these cabins themselves and carved their lives out of the land they reside on, but that doesn’t make it any easier to face.
He knows who did this. It’s been happening for the last few months and no matter what he does he can’t stop it. The area that his patrol squads have to cover is simply to vast of their numbers. If this was before the sea levels had risen to swallow much of the worlds landmasses maybe it would be different. He doesn’t know though. And that is not the world he lives or was born into. He doesn’t remember the world before the flood waters killed billions of people. It happened before he was born, but he knows the older citizens of the town remember. They barely speak of the world as it had been up until fifty years ago. He understands that it must cause them pain. What humanity had achieved was truly spectacular and to see where they are now must be soul destroying, he thinks as he casts his eyes round the open space of the cabin.
The furniture is splattered with blood and shreds of flesh. He can smell the blood and gore but he’s used to it now. He hadn’t been when this had first started happening. Back then he was sure the attacks were the result of some wild animal desperate for food, maybe a bear. Later they learned how wrong they were when a young girl survived an attack, barely. She didn’t survive long, sadly. Her wounds were just too severe for her life to be saved, but before she’d died the girl, Jessica, had managed to tell them that the attackers had been people. They looked crazed, she’d said. Their skin was pale, too pale, almost like that of a corpse, with lacerations across their faces. She didn’t know if they were self-inflicted or not, but they were jagged she said. Though, they didn’t speak. Not a single word. Instead, they just seemed to growl at one another as though they spoke some primitive language.
“Bastards.” Den says to himself as he wanders the single storey cabin taking note of the carnage.
This land had been the property of Samuel Wilbert his wife Cheryl, her parents and their three children. None of them had survived and were it not for them knowing who occupied this and the cabin next door, which belonged to Cheryl’s parents, they would have no way of knowing how many had died here tonight.
Den hears a number of patrol guards gagging. He understands why, the smell is horrific. It’s a smell that can only be found when acts of sheer brutality have been performed. It makes his blood boil. His fists are clenched tightly at his sides. He can’t show how soaked with rage he is with all these people around. But it doesn’t change the fact that he is. He wonders whether he should just order some of the patrol members to set fire to the cabins.
He doesn’t have to see the scene in the other cabin. He knows it will be exactly the same. No what he knows he has to do now is go see the town elder, Enrique Powers. He has to urge him to allow a squad to venture out in search of these cannibals and their camp and put an end to this madness. Preferably, before it happens again.
At first the attacks had been few and far between. Seemingly they had been at random, but now they’ve become nightly and the toll is rising as a result steeply as a result. Whole households are being slaughtered and Enrique won’t allow him to do a thing. But I’ll give the elder one more chance before I’ll do what I must, he thinks as he leaves the cabin, his head forward as he marches back toward the bulk of the buildings which are nestled closely together. If only they’d listened, Den thinks.
The cool night air is doing nothing to quell his determination that this cannot be allowed to continue no matter what reasons Enrique offers. Den can still see the blood and shreds of flesh littered about the cabin as he crosses street after street. The candle lights that are used as street lights do little to keep back the darkness in a world that no longer has electricity to keep it lit no matter the hour or light level.
OK, this week there is no blurb post, but there is a bonus scheduled for Thursday. So I thought I’ll put one on Tuesday too.
Do as I say not as I do
But who really are you?
Liar, cheat, arrogant fool
Too busy trying to play it cool
Smug smile across your face
You are an utter disgrace
Cop-out for a fatal flaw
You think you are above the law
Twisting truth and spouting lies
Wonder why you are despised?
Promising things with fingers crossed
Don’t give a damn about the cost
Blatant flouting against whats right
You really are none too bright
Just fall upon your rusted sword
Seeing as disdain has soared
Cause you are now a distraction
All because of your infraction
Sympathy has gone away
You are the issue that should not be
When will you admit…
That you hate everything more than a little bit
Will it be when it all comes tumbling down?
Or will you still plead that you know nothing?
I have no clue but I know it will be soon
You’re going to erupt like a solar wind
Scorching every single little thing
No care for the cost or the life lost
You just want your way
Even if that means we get an end to today
But can you really justify
Even as you wave goodbye
Still intent on your own selfish plans
Terms and conditions we don’t understand
As the axe hovers over our brains
You continue to bay for revenge
But for what no one even knows
Its like your a child stuck in a rage
Hellbent on achieving what you say
No thought for who you affect
Only the prize at the end is important
Have you ever stared at the leaves?
Given study to how vines weave?
Watched as the grass does grow?
Or does it all mean naught to you?
With vibrant colours of summers bloom
The taste of pollen continues to swarm
Swollen pods of future fertility
Taken great distances across the sky
Have you ever wondered how they grow?
Or how far down the roots go?
Will you watch as they follow the sun?
Or will you just take them for granted again?
With fading colours as autumn comes
The pollen has been spent and gone
All pods have been taken forward
They hide now until springs ordered
Do you ever fear they’ll go?
That one year the flowers will not grow?
Or are you sure it will always come?
That the colours will be born again?
As winter rages with driving rain
All the colour is completely missing
Trapped beneath a thin veneer
Dreary and sepia as it sits here
Been thinking about posting on Thursday’s when there is a blurb post on the Tuesday of the same week. Not sure yet. Still, here’s a poem!
Blood on the streets
Hate in the veins
You stoked the fire
Now you feel the flames
Talk all your shit
Tell all the lies
You are the tyrant that is despised
Don’t try to act surprised
Won’t actually say a word
The victims deserve to be heard
Just hide away and talk all tough
But you are the disease that needs to be cut
History won’t call you great
Cause you are the biggest mistake
Most vile man to hold your seat
A real psycho that must be beat
Though still you swear its not you
Who do you think you’re talking to?
No one left will hear your words
Some day soon you’ll be on the curb
Now do one thing and make it quick
Get right out of that houses office
As promised yesterday here is the story Circumnavigate. Its a long one (a little under 26300 words). I got carried away. I had an outline and I ran with it. Never thought it would end up as long as it did. But here it is, enjoy!
It’s been fifty years since the world ended. No one expected it to happen the way it did. Everyone knew sea levels would rise, but they always believed it would be impossible for them to rise a thousand metres. Until the sea levels did exactly that and consumed what was left of the already shrinking landmasses. Billions were killed as a result and scientists never even saw it coming. Everything in regards to their figures and projections said that they knew without a doubt the density of the ice sheets and that there could be no variance. But it turned out they were wrong and that the ice was much denser than they anticipated.
So as the planet warmed and the ice melted the sea levels quickly reached the levels predicted, but they didn’t stop as expected. Instead, the temperature continued to increase and as it did the ice continued to thaw. It was the beginning of an exponential cycle.
But one man, deemed mad by most, had planned for this eventuality. His name was Donald Cain. He was the first and only trillionaire and used all of his personal wealth as well as the funds from his corporations and their subsidiaries to build a floating city.
Scientists and politicians alike claimed the man was overreacting and that it was a waste of money, but still Donald Cain pressed ahead with it ignoring their words. He hired the best and most brilliant minds to build his grand concept, which he dubbed Shamballah after the mythical Tibetan kingdom. Those that agreed to aid Cain in his dream were given the chance to seek refuge on Shamballah when the floods finally came. Most of his workers never thought it would come to pass but were grateful for his offer. A few believed him a prophet issuing warnings of a cataclysmic event that was destined to occur. This blind faith in the man only grew when the floods actually came and now the people of Shamballah are all that remain of humanity.
Since that day Shamballah has drifted the near endless oceans of the Earth powered by its nuclear reactors. The engines that can propel and steer the floating city are only used to avoid what remains of the land that juts out of the oceans. An impact with said remnants of land would destroy humanities last bastion. But it is not a bastion of hope. Instead, Cain has become a reclusive tyrant. He hasn’t been seen in public for over four decades. He simply dwells up at the top of the tallest tower on Shamballah named after him. His ever present security system watches every move and every person that lives and works upon the floating city. Any dissidents are expelled from its safe confines with only their bunk to serve as a boat. It’s a death sentence and the people know it. But the tyrant Cain no longer cares about the people. Those who bow down to his madness, the zealots, live in the other towers of Shamballah and want for nothing. They live charmed lives in the servitude of their monarch. It’s the position Donald Cain gave himself in the years after the floods. No one had thought anything of it at the time. Everyone had believed that he really did have the best interests of every citizen in mind until it became clear he didn’t. And it was at that time that a societal rift developed between the zealots on the upper levels and the working classes who occupy the low levels of Shamballah. Those in the lower levels live in poverty, always having to fight not only to survive and feed themselves while living in filth, but also to keep the city afloat and running. If they don’t then they will die and they refuse to.
That is not to say that rebellions and revolutions have not been attempted in the past as they have. But each and every one has been put down brutally with the help of the Cain Guard. A group comprised of the most zealous and devout members of Cain’s Law, which is almost a religion to the upper levels of Shamballah who worship Cain, like a saviour. They even believe that if they completely eliminate dissidents from the city then Cain will once more grace the people with his presence and present them with his divine blessing.
And now has come time for another revolution. The people of the lower levels are no longer willing to live in squalor. They no longer wish to live to be in service to their ‘monarch.’
This new revolution is led by a man named Angus Henrikson. He is an engineer and has seen too many of his friends and colleagues worked to death or perish in circumstances that if resources were properly distributed wouldn’t occur. In fact, he along with those that follow him, are sure that Shamballah would prosper if simple changes were made. But Cain and his ilk refuse to treat them as anything other than cattle to be herded, used and exploited.
“Brothers and sisters.” Angus calls to those that are following him. Their numbers are small, maybe eighty in all, but they are strong and adamant to stop this cycle of pain and violence. They are stood blocking one of the major arteries of the lower levels to prevent fellow workers from getting to their shifts. They need to hear what I have to say, Angus says to himself.
“We cannot stand by and watch as Cain sunders us while he dwells in luxury in that tower of his.” Angus continues. His gathered followers are cheering at his words. They are desperate to force a change even if it means they have to fight. They are armed with wrenches, hammers and screwdrivers to name just a few tools that have become weapons. They aren’t much but they’ll have to do.
“We have been exploited too long. Been kept low and made to wade through the muck and corruption for scraps that we have created with our own two hands. The days of oppression are over. We will rise and we will enforce change.” Angus roars gathering energy from his supporters who are growing in number as many of those blocked from reaching their shifts are caught up in his speech. But the cameras are watching. They can’t be disabled and even if they were Cain Guards would still be sent in immediately. Cain Guards are even on their way now and Angus and the rebels know it. They want it, thirst for it. They will beat them back; take the lower levels and then the rest of Shamballah. They can’t be stopped. He is sure of it as the cheers continue all around him. A smile creeps across his face. He is sure of his path, of his destiny as more join his cause.
“Today we take the lower levels. Are you with me?” Angus calls now that he is sure the people are fired up enough to actually revolt.
“YEAAAHHH!!!” The cheers roar from all around Angus. He is sure there are more than a two hundred willing to follow him now. Not everyone present, but enough, for the moment at least.
“March!” Angus bellows as he breaks into a stride. The mass follows him leaving a seldom few behind. The few that remain refuse to take part in this. Most are older and remember the last time such a thing was attempted some twenty years ago. They are sure this revolution will end like all the others, in blood, death and exile. They want no part in it. Some of them lost brothers, parents, sons, daughters and lovers the last time. They still hold the pain and they aren’t willing to add to it. Revolution is for the young some of them think. While most agree that though the lower levels are filthy and brutal they are better than the other option of certain death or exile. They are sure of that.
But Angus and his followers are fired up, hell-bent on change as they march the streets, splitting into packs. Some urge and enlist new followers to the cause, while others help to create barricades and choke points. Everyone knows the Cain Guard will come but Angus and his rebels are determined to be ready when they do. They are only men and women after all. They can be beat whether they are zealots or not.
“Secure the farms. Take the reactors. Block the gateways. We must prepare for the stand, for our victory.” Angus continues as his follower’s race about the maze-like lower levels. They are a flurry of activity until the area is secure and then they post a few of their number, just enough, and move on.
They take the maintenance tunnels and hatchways first. Locking them down and securing them. They doubt the Cain Guard will try infiltration through such avenues but they refuse to take the chance. Then they move onto the reactors and check they are still in the rebels’ hands. They are and Angus with his ever growing following posts three times the people here compared to any other location. Most of them are fellow engineers who work in this area daily. Angus knows that if they control the reactors then they control the city. It dawns on him to wonder why no one has ever done this before. He knows there have been rebellions and such, three he believes in total before his own. But why has no one ever taken hold of the reactors. It is the weak link for Cain and his zealots. They need, no rely, on the power that is created here. He thinks Cain and his followers’ fools for their arrogance as he marches for the markets, which are deserted. It’s too early for them to be setup yet, but many of the stall holders have already joined his revolution. He leaves them to secure this place, the place they know best, before moving to the second most important section for his success, the farms. It’s where all the food for Shamballah is grown. Another mistake by Donald Cain and his ilk and for it the tyrant will pay, Angus thinks as he helps to sure up the defences against the attack everyone knows is coming. His rebels must number more than a few thousand by now, he guesses.
What if you fail though? The voice in his head suddenly asks. He sneers at it for even mentioning such a thing. He won’t fail. He can’t. But what if you do? The voice asks again. Then we all die, he thinks as he helps to lift solid metal beams into place so the narrower routes are made impassable. He wishes he could do this to every route of the lower levels, but the avenues are too great in number and their resources and time too slim. He has to make the best of what he has. He’s a resourceful man, all engineers are. They have managed to keep this floating dream of Cain’s afloat with welds, scrap metal and determination. After all, this city was never built to last forever. Everything has a life; Angus thinks as he gets word that the Cain Guard are on their way.
Angus isn’t surprised as it is just as he expected. It took them longer than he had thought though. He was sure they wouldn’t have this much time to prepare. But then again he and his fellow conspirators had been planning this for months. No one, not even Cain spying on them through his security system, had been able to predict or argue against as to why certain items were being stored in specific places. The truth was that it was strategic and all in preparation of this day. Angus’ supporters may have started as only a few dozen, but it had been enough. Plus he knew many just needed a catalyst to start a revolution and he was prepared to be that catalyst.
When the Cain Guard come they will find much of the lower levels under his control. He will beat them back. It will be a display to the entire populace of Shamballah that the people of the lower levels will be oppressed no longer. Then he will take what remains of this cesspool, the water purification and recycling plants, the housing district of his workers and the trade schools. He wishes he could have taken them already, but they are on the far side of the lower levels and the rebels were only ever going to have so much time. He opted for the two most important sections, as well as a few other lesser areas that the linked to them.
“Angus we have more recruits.” One of the rebels calls.
Angus turns and finds a whole swathe of farmhands willing to join them. All of them armed with tools like shovels, forks and scythes. They aren’t built to be weapons, but they’ll have to do. Everything in the lower levels is about using what you can to achieve a task and this revolution is no different, Angus knows.
“Welcome, brothers and sisters, to the cause. It’s the dawning of a new age. We will make Shamballah truly great…together.” Angus says giving one of his short speeches.
As usual the response to his words is a round of cheers. The response makes him smile. He can’t put into words how good it feels for him to see the determination and conviction in his fellow low levellers. He had worried that his following would not gain ground and that he would be left with but a seldom few. It was a fear he’d never managed to shake. However, these people, like him, are sick of the conditions and the exploitation. They, again like he, want a better future, a fairer future. A future for the many, not one built solely for the few.
Many of his initial followers had made sure to help spread word of the impending revolution and all of them had informed him how widespread the support was, but still he’d been concerned. Support in theory is not the same as actual support, but he knows now he’d been wrong for his fears. The support is all around him and that is why he and they will succeed in their fight against Cain.
You’re getting ahead of yourself again, the voice in his head remarks. He is getting sick of this voice. He knows its simple doubt and that everyone has it, but he doesn’t want or need it here, especially not at this time. Right now he has to lead these men and women, possibly some of them to their deaths. It’ll all be worth it, Angus tells himself as a young man comes running up to him.
“Angus, the Cain Guards are heading for the reactors.” The young man, Angus guesses he’s about seventeen. Not really a man, not yet at least. He hopes the boy will live to become a man, but he can’t guarantee it. People will die today, on both sides. He isn’t naïve enough to believe any different.
“Is everything ready?” Angus asks as he looks at the blonde haired boy with brown eyes. He looks very young he thinks in comparison to himself. Angus is in his late thirties, has short brown hair, green eyes and stands at a little over six feet tall. His arms are wide and bulging with muscle from his twenty years of working as an engineer shifting heavy metal pipes, supports, braces and such.
“It is.” The boy confirms.
“Kara, finish up here. I’m needed at the reactors. Join when you’re done.” Angus calls as he breaks into a steady run. The young man still out of breath turns on his heels and races after Angus to catch up. He wishes the larger man, the leader of the revolution, would slow down, but he understands why he does not. He can’t and the boy knows it. The Cain Guard are coming. Everyone knew they would, but no one quite knows what they’ll be faced with.
Simon A Jackson - Writer