Age of Giants: awakening

By Rob Reaser

Four generations have passed since the giants of old, the Nephilim, returned to dominate the world with an iron fist. After eliminating three-quarters of the human population with an engineered plague, these sons of the fallen angels have enslaved mankind to satiate their lust for power, gluttony and sexual avarice. Yet hidden among the rubble and decay of a vanquished civilization are scattered bands of survivors, raiders, who press their fight for freedom and the ultimate annihilation of the race of giants who once again threaten to lay waste to the earth.

Nora is a tall and beautiful young woman whose skills in guerrilla combat have earned her a position as leader of a small team of raiders. While away on a mission to destroy an outlying Nephilim communications post in old New Mexico, Nora's clan is nearly wiped out in a Nephilim attack. The survivors, including Nora's father, are taken for slave labor deep inside the Kralen Dominion. Nora sets out to rescue her father, but along the way she's held captive by a secretive resistance group, and uncovers a dark secret that puts her in the center of the war against the brutal giant overlords.

What They're Saying...

"You are engrossed in the tale, turning pages. You are no longer sitting back in your chair. You are leaning forward, close to the seat's edge, reading more quickly. These are real characters and this is tight, suspenseful storytelling. This is "Awakening" in Rob Reaser's AGE OF GIANTS series, and awake you will be. Long into the night, well into tomorrow." -Tom Corcoran, author of the Alex Rutledge Mystery, "Hawk Channel Chase" and the forthcoming "The Quick Adios (Times Six)."

"Reaser delivers with a riveting, chilling tale of a future Earth in which the human race is no longer dominant. AGE OF GIANTS is a hugely entertaining novel with a tightly-wound plot, flesh-and-blood characters and masterful world-building. I came to the last page and wanted to start the next book in the series immediately." -Steve Statham, author of the comedic alternate history "Presidential Muscle Cars" and the forthcoming sci-fi thriller "Rules of Force."

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rob Reaser
• Release date: Aug 16, 2011

Rob Reaser

Rob Reaser has worked as an editor, writer, and columnist in the shooting and outdoor industries for nearly two decades. A former field editor for Guns & Ammo and Petersen’s Hunting magazines, he has also served as communications manager for a tactical training provider and Class III firearms manufacturer.

Book preview

Age of Giants

awakening

by Rob Reaser

Copyright © 2011 by Rob Reaser

Smashwords Edition

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

Published in the United States by Reaser Brand Communications

www.reaserbrandcommunications.com

Cover design by Rob Reaser

Cover model Alana Gillenwater

www.robreaser.com

For my wife,

Your patience, support and belief...

Table of Contents

Preface

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Epilogue

About the Author

Preface

Rare is the book which is delivered into the hands of readers without the help and support of many people. Age of Giants – awakening, is no different. Although I have made a living as a magazine writer and editor for over twenty years, Age of Giants – awakening is my first foray into the world of fiction writing. This debut novel owes much credit to several individuals—credit which deserves more than the few words given here—who have helped me make this transition possible.

For my wife, who provided the necessary encouragement, support and faith when I often found little in myself, and whose critical eye kept me on the right path.

For long-time friend, colleague and fellow sci-fi author Steve Statham, who has been a steady companion on our collective journey out of automotive journalism and into the world of indie publishing, and who provided critical analysis and editing on the early draft of this book.

For my English professor and advisor, who spent a good portion of her much-deserved Florida vacation critiquing and copy editing, and providing sound literary advice which, I hope, I have implemented satisfactorily.

For mystery writer and long-time friend Tom Corcoran, who pulled me out of the darkroom of a small publishing concern twenty-some years ago and set me forever on this path.

And finally for my parents, who let a certain child of theirs stay up into the wee hours of the morning reading the likes of Tolkien, Asimov, LeGuin, Anthony, Foster and Clark.

Thank you all...

Rob Reaser

August, 2011

When men began to increase in number on the earth and daughters were born to them, the sons of God saw that the daughters of men were beautiful, and they married any of them they chose. Then the LORD said, My Spirit will not contend with man forever, for he is mortal; his days will be a hundred and twenty years.

The Nephilim were on the earth in those days—and also afterward—when the sons of God went to the daughters of men and had children by them. They were the heroes of old, men of renown. — Genesis 6: 1-4

And all the others together with them took unto themselves wives, and each chose for himself one, and they began to go in unto them and to defile themselves with them, and they taught them charms and enchantments, and the cutting of roots, and made them acquainted with plants. And they became pregnant, and they bare great giants, whose height was three thousand ells: Who consumed all the acquisitions of men. And when men could no longer sustain them, the giants turned against them and devoured mankind. And they began to sin against birds, and beasts, and reptiles, and fish, and to devour one another's flesh, and drink the blood. Then the earth laid accusation against the lawless ones. — The Book of Enoch, 7

Prologue

She clings to my necklace as she falls asleep.

It’s a simple thing. Stamps of darkened steel dangling on a sweat-slicked thong. Scratched and dented, their inscriptions ripple faintly through a patina of dirt and blood.

She takes comfort in this trifle. And let her. Heaven knows there’s little to be found elsewhere. Better that the sun hide its face forever than reflect on innocent eyes the true hell in which she lives. The wasted ground, where we fight and slave and die. The dusty land, whose blush comes from the bright stream of our opened veins.

Better that she never see those who rose among us. The twisted, vile demons who now rout us like rats through crumbling sewers.

She clings to my necklace as she falls asleep, in a night that never ends. It is her comfort. Her strength. Her hope.

"This means you and Mommy are heroes, Daddy," she tells me, lying curled on my chest, her small and tender fingers entwining the leather strip on which the steel tags hang.

"No, I’m not a hero, I reply in silent thought, for I am not strong enough nor brave enough to tell you the truth. Nor to tell you that these wretched baubles, when at last they hang about your gentle neck, will mean you are truly alone."

Chapter 1

Nora crawled silently up the dusty elk trail—no easy task snaking through a tunnel of dead juniper with a grenade launcher cradled in her arms. The bow and quiver full of arrows slung across her back threatened to catch on the gray and gnarled pine branches. Just a few more yards and she would crest the western edge of the mesita. She had to be careful. She couldn’t yet see over the edge to the flat ground above her. If she popped up in front of a sentry, she and her team would lose their advantage—possibly even their lives. She had planned her approach using the setting sun as a shield. If the geometry was just right, the fiery orb at her back would make it nearly impossible for the sentries guarding the antenna array to spot her.

Almost an hour after she had started the climb, Nora reached the crest and peered over the mesita’s edge. Four antenna masts rose high above the flat expanse, glowing in the orange sun. Through the scattered weeds and spindly desert scrub she saw her target—a low, steel-walled building containing the radio equipment. Beside the building an old generator clanged and thumped, drowning out the growing wind blowing on this chill desert evening. The generator sounded as if it hadn’t been serviced in years.

It probably hadn’t.

The building’s outer walls were coated with a thick veneer of red mud to keep the interior cool during the day and prevent the sun from gleaming off the metal siding. Even this far into the southernmost reaches of the Kralen Dominion, the Nephilim took care to conceal their critical facilities. Outlying assets such as this were targets of opportunity for raiders like Nora. The Nephilim might be arrogant, but they certainly weren’t stupid. Humanity had learned that catastrophic lesson decades earlier.

Reaching into her ghillie jacket, Nora pulled out a necklace that dangled between her breasts. Parched, dry lips kissed the small bit of tarnished metal, which she had secured to a frayed length of paracord. It was a ritual she had practiced too many times in recent years.

For good hunting. For her mother.

Tucking the necklace back inside her jacket, Nora looked to her left across the small plateau. It took her a moment to find Matt. The stringy rags and bits of weeds making up his ghillie suit camouflaged him perfectly. He appeared to her as little more than a bump of low brush on the horizon.

To her right, Nora could just make out Karin. Actually, all she could see was the straight line of Karin’s M-32 barrel pointed towards the relay shack a hundred yards in front of her. Karin’s job was to pick off anyone who survived the impending explosion, and she could hit a moving target better than any raider in camp. Between Matt and Karin’s expert fire control, Nora was confident no one would live long enough to cause them trouble.

They had planned their attack only a few hours earlier, after reconnoitering the facility early that morning. Relay stations like this one were placed strategically throughout the Nephilim’s domain boundaries. They were usually set at high elevations to maximize radio transmissions, and to provide some measure of defense.

Nora could see the two guards patrolling the perimeter of the small plateau. They walked clockwise around the mesita, opposite each other for optimal coverage, their shoulders hunched against the wind, their faces partially concealed in shemaghs to ward off the cooling air blowing from the northwest.

A storm was coming all right, thought Nora, and she, Matt and Karin intended for it to pack a deadly punch.

Although she had never encountered one before, Nora and her team had been told prior to setting off on this mission that relay stations tended to be lightly staffed, usually manned by one or two technicians and a couple of guards.

She hoped the reports were accurate. Her plan was to blow the generator, kill any survivors who put up a fight, then grab whatever weapons, radios or food they could carry and get out of there. With the element of surprise, and a bit of luck, she aimed to have the horses loaded with stolen supplies and be fifteen miles south by daybreak.

The first sentry to Nora’s left had already walked in front of Matt. He hadn’t even noticed the new clump of brush ten feet from him. At the pace he walked, he would be in front of Nora in less than a minute.

Nora’s heart rate increased slightly, and she felt the familiar tension begin to clutch her stomach. Rather than let the feeling be an obstacle, she had learned to use it to her advantage. Nora welcomed the sharp stress of imminent combat. While she trusted her lifelong training and previous battle experience to see her through the fight, the nervous tension helped to expand her awareness, sharpen her senses and speed her reflexes. Nora encouraged the feeling to grow and spread from deep within, out through her limbs and into her fingers and toes.

Just as important, this battle high, as she called it, helped to shield that part of her that rebelled against killing other humans. Intellectually, she understood the need to destroy those whose actions—whether willfully or forced—advanced the Nephilim’s brutal agenda. But Nora was no mindless killer, and her hatred she reserved for the Nephilim alone. Any humans caught in the crossfire were simply unfortunate casualties of the never-ending fight between humanity and the bastard species that had risen up from whatever hell they’d been exiled to for the last several thousand years. She had learned to live with that, and longed for the day when humankind could finally remove the yoke of the Nephilim from about its neck.

But that day was not today, and so quietly, with as little movement as possible, Nora set the compact grenade launcher on the ground beside her. She reached over her shoulder and smoothly slipped the short flat bow out of its sheath, then pulled a cedar shaft from her quiver. Mottled turkey feathers, cut precisely and tied to the shaft with sinew from a cow elk, would spin the arrow to its target. The razor-sharp delta point, which she had shaped from a sturdy piece of scrap steel, would, she knew from experience, do its job with lethal efficiency.

Nora preferred her bow on most missions. Always outmanned and outgunned, raiders had learned from their years of guerrilla warfare with the Nephilim to use stealth as their essential force multiplier. Blowing the relay station with sentries patrolling the open mesita would mean a firefight before they could breach the building. Shooting the soldiers first would alert anyone inside of the building to trouble, and that would ruin her surprise advantage. Besides, ammunition was the currency of the realm, and her team had little of it to spare. Arrows took time to make, but at least they could make them. Not so with precision ammunition. That they could get only by raiding Nephilim assets.

The soldier was almost upon her. Nora slowly raised herself up on her left knee and nocked the arrow on her bowstring. Her heart rate surged, and she made a conscious effort to take deep, controlled breaths. She looked over to Karin and saw her rifle barrel tracking the other sentry across the mesita. The suppressor on Karin’s rifle would keep muzzle blast to a soft fumph. Someone inside the building might hear it, but it wouldn’t create a panic. Besides, if anyone did manage to hear the shot over the clanging generator and decided to investigate, Karin would drop them before they could take three steps out the door.

The sentry had now walked to within thirty yards of Nora. She could tell from his build and stride that he was young—perhaps close to her own age of twenty-six. He walked with his head down, oblivious to his surroundings, his mind numbed from the monotonous patrol.

Twenty yards. Fifteen. Ten.

In a fluid, non-stop motion Nora raised her bow, drew the string to her cheek and released the arrow. The feathered shaft flashed briefly across the short distance between them before disappearing into the young man’s chest. The broadhead, which she had so carefully honed to razor-sharpness, easily penetrated the man’s wool jacket, slicing through both lungs.

His rhythmic pace halted abruptly and he hunched forward. The brisk wind blew the pungent scent of sage across the mesita. A red-tailed hawk shrieked overhead. The sentry’s eyes never left the ground in front of his worn, ill-fitting boots. His rifle fell from his hands with a thump. Nora heard the familiar gurgled wheeze and burbling cough just before the man dropped to his knees and pitched face-first into the dusty earth. To her right Nora noted a fumph as Karin sent a 5.56mm round across the mesita, destined for the other sentry’s head. She didn’t have to look up to know the results.

Instead, Nora kept her eyes locked on the dying man lying amid the sparse grass, heaving against collapsed and blood-filled lungs for the precious air that would never come. She couldn’t help but feel a pang of remorse. This young man was a puppet of the giant overlords, whether he understood that or not. He probably had never known another life. Probably never questioned his own. He would have been told what to do, where to go and what to think from childhood. Obey or die. That was the simple rule the barbarous Nephilim imposed on their human slaves.

Not all of the slaves were born under the boot. There were still some free people, like herself, hiding in the earth’s cracks, suckling off the refuse of a long-dead civilization. They lived like rodents, scurrying from one hideout to the next, rooting like pigs for any useful scraps of a bygone era. For their more critical needs, like weapons, ammunition and clothing, they raided vulnerable Nephilim transports, outposts and remote facilities like this one. And if they hurt the Nephilim in the process, all the better.

Nora’s clan had learned of this facility from another group of raiders a couple of months earlier. It was farther north and east from Nora’s camp than they would normally travel to raid, but their supplies were low, and with winter coming on, her father and the other leaders had decided that a hunting trip was in order. Since their target was a small relay station on the southern edge of the Kralen Dominion, it was felt that Nora, Matt and Karin would be able to handle the job on their own. They knew the haul wouldn’t be great, but they hoped it would provide some much-needed radio equipment and ammunition.

It had taken four days of hard travel for Nora and her companions to reach this mesita overlooking a no-name creek cutting through a no-name mountain range deep into what was once called New Mexico. They traveled mostly at night to avoid detection. By following rocky creek beds and staying in the brush as much as possible, they had been able to minimize their trail. This would keep the Nephilim’s soldiers from backtracking to their camp, which lay to the south, in case they ran into trouble. Nora didn’t anticipate any trouble, but such avoidance tactics were drilled into clan members from childhood. Moving undetected through the open desert and scrubby pine forests was second nature to raiders. Those who didn’t learn the skills were often killed or captured before reaching young adulthood.

As Nora returned her bow to its sheath, she watched the young soldier in front of her give his death shudder. That was always the worst for her, the uncontrolled spasm when the body failed utterly. She wondered what it was like, that moment of transition between here and wherever. But there was no time to consider it now. She pressed the small grenade launcher to her shoulder and looked at Karin and then Matt. Both had their rifles pointed towards the building. They were ready.

Nora aligned the launcher’s sights, took a couple of slow and steady breaths, then pulled the trigger. The fireball that had, only a second earlier, been a functioning generator and fuel tank, confirmed her successful shot.

Nora slung the grenade launcher over her shoulder, where it rested awkwardly alongside her bow, then pulled her pistol from its drop-leg holster and ran for the shack. As she leaped over the dead soldier, she noticed her arrow lying shiny and red a couple of yards away. Perfect pass-through. She decided to come back for it if she could.

Never let anything go to waste.

Out of the corners of her eyes Nora saw that Karin and Matt were also up and sprinting for the building. When they were about fifty yards away, all three dropped to the ground, weapons trained on the building’s only door. Anyone still alive would be out of there in a matter of seconds. If they came, Nora and her companions were ready. In their panic, the building’s occupants would not notice the raiders lying amid the grass, nor would they hear the shots that would kill them.

A minute passed. The fire from the exploded generator and fuel tank had spread out along the dried grass and was now licking the south side of the building. The door remain closed, and no shouts were heard coming from inside. Nora looked left and right. Matt and Karin both caught her eye while simultaneously keeping their attention on the building. Nora flicked her hand twice towards the structure and all three got up and ran for the shack, keeping their weapons aimed at the doorway.

Nora’s boots slammed into the soft earth as she ran. Although she always hoped for a quick kill, she was concerned that no one had run out of the building after she had fired the grenade. The blast would likely not have been fatal to anyone inside. Why hadn’t anyone come out? she wondered. Now she was worried about what, or who, they would find inside.

Once they reached the building, Nora covered the door with her pistol. Matt circled around the east side while Karin moved to the west corner.

There were two windows on each side of the building, opposing windows for each of the building’s two rooms. The first room—the one farthest from the generator—contained the communications equipment. Matt and Karin peered through grimy windows and saw nothing but the equipment bank, a couple of folding chairs and papers scattered about the room. With a nod to each other, they moved to the next room, the one closest to the generator.

They felt the heat radiating from the growing fire behind the building. Both windows on this end had blown out from the blast, and smoke had started to waft through the vacant casements. Easing his head into the opening, Matt looked inside. He drew back quickly. There was someone lying on the floor across the room, just underneath Karin’s window. Karin quickly scanned the smoky room. She looked at Matt and held up two fingers. There were two men down, their forms partially obscured by the steadily thickening smoke. They weren’t moving, but neither Matt nor Karin could see if they were breathing. Matt jerked his head towards the door and they both ran back to the front of the building.

There are two of them in the back room, Matt said to Nora. Can’t tell if they’re alive or not.

Nora turned to Karin. Stay out here and cover us...just in case we missed someone.

You walk behind and cover me, Nora said to Matt.

Nora reached for the handle and flung open the door. She moved in low and side-stepped to her right, her pistol sweeping the empty room. Matt barreled in and quickly stepped left, out of the door’s silhouette. Heat and smoke from the back of the building had begun to move into this outer room. Nora felt the pressure to hurry if they were to have any chance of scavenging something useful, but she had to make sure the men in the back were neutralized first. A handful of equipment was not worth risking their lives.

They walked quickly but cautiously, passing between the equipment rack on one side of the small room and a work bench on the other. The acrid smell of diesel smoke hung heavy, but not enough to completely cover the stench of the unwashed bodies that lived year-round in this small steel building. Nora gripped her pistol tightly with both hands, pointing it in front of her, ready to shoot the first thing that moved.

No hallway separated the equipment room from the living quarters. A four by seven-foot opening had been cut into the partition wall. From her vantage point Nora could see the first man lying beside an upturned cot. He wasn’t moving, so she headed to the right side of the doorway to get a clear angle on the other guy.

There was no one else in the room.

Nora froze, peering hard through the smoky cubicle. The bunks on the opposite side of the room were empty. An overturned table hid nothing. Nora eased through the doorway, her pistol tracking with her eyes. Except for the man on the floor, the place was empty.

She turned and looked quizzically at Matt, who was right on her heels, his rifle held tight to his shoulder.

Nora was tall. At well over six feet in height, she was the tallest member of her clan, and a good foot taller than Matt. She immediately saw the demon standing behind him, backlit by the fading evening sky and filling the frame of the outside doorway.

Matt! she cried and dropped to one knee, swinging her semi-automatic towards the ominous form. Nora saw the muzzle blast through the doorway as the report exploded in her ears. Matt pitched forward and hit the floor in a thud. Only twenty feet separated Nora from her target—too close for her to miss even on a moonless night. She sent three rapid shots into the giant’s center of mass, then jumped up and launched herself to her right, slamming against the equipment bank. The man fired again, but the shot went wide, pinging through the wall behind her. Nora loosed three more rounds, sending the man stumbling backwards and onto the ground outside.

She looked down at Matt and saw the large pool of blood spreading out from what used to be his head. Training kicked in. Neutralize the threat. Nora holstered her pistol and picked up Matt’s rifle. Shouldering the M-32, she walked to the door. She could see the man’s legs through the doorway. They weren’t moving, but she wasn’t about to assume he was dead. Not this time.

Stepping through the door, Nora saw Karin lying on the ground at the corner of the building. Her eyes were open, her neck twisted at a stomach-churning angle.

What she saw lying next to Karin sent a sharp chill throughout her body.

When Nora was a child, her father had taken her on hunting trips. All the children in her clan learned to hunt at an early age. In their teenage years, it was their primary duty. Hunting for food was the best practice for what would come a few years later.

Nora had enjoyed watching elk roam the open meadows and creek drainages around camp, but always at a distance. Elk didn’t suffer humans to get too close, so it was on her first real hunting trip with her father that Nora got to see an elk up close. Really close.

Hunting was always done with bows and arrows. The bow was quick, lethal and, most importantly, quiet. No loud reports to alert Nephilim soldiers or roaming bands of wilders.

On this particular hunt Nora’s father had launched only a few cow calls when a bull screamed at them with its haunting whistling bugle...eeeEEEEugh ugh ugh ugh! Soon they heard limbs breaking in the pine thicket above them. The bull, high on passion, thrashed its massive antlers against every small tree and limb within reach. Like some invisible monster in the forest, it kept coming, louder and louder, until it stopped at the edge of the clearing opposite where Nora and her father were hiding. Her father gave