Freerunners

By Joseph Chandler Cain

Mirra Mantle knows there is something better in the world than what she sees. She and her twin brother, Burrow, battle to survive in a harsh dystopian existence. Like many teens they deal with the everyday pressures of school and work, a widowed parent, and relationships.

In their lives, however, work is forced hard labor, education is painful indoctrination, their father is a sacrificial addict, and their mother may have been murdered. There is also a little problem with a zombie plague that has destroyed most of their world.

The Mantles are part of the Freerunners, a group of eclectic, like-minded young adults. On the streets brimming with horror, the Freerunners yearn for a normal life and fight to protect themselves from the vicious undead and a totalitarian government. Skilled at parkour and the use of archaic weapons the Freerunners prepare to make their stand. Mirra is madly in love with the leader of the Freerunners, Poe. Their relationship struggles to bloom in this barren world.

Where will they run?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Joseph Chandler Cain
• Release date: Dec 2, 2011
• ISBN: 9781467975483

Joseph Chandler Cain

Joseph Chandler Cain was born in the shadows of Miami, FL. Growing up in that urban environment planted the seed for the dystopian cityscape he has written about in his debut Steampunk Horror novel FREERUNNERS. His fascination with horror was piqued when he snuck Edgar Allan Poe books from his mother’s bookshelf at a very young age. As he meandered through Florida living from coast to coast to coast again, his fascination with urban legends and the macabre escalated to soaring levels. He honed his craft as a freelance reporter and developing children’s writing programs. He has worked fighting fires, chasing bad guys and demons, examining the dead, and peering into stranger’s lives. Now he writes about the images that dance in his head. Some are real memories, others nightmares, but that is for you to decipher.

Book preview

Chapter 1

I looked up at the black sky and exhaled slowly. The darkness squeezed in around me like a vice. My breath was barely above a whisper, but to me, it sounded like an echoing roar. I was aware of every noise I made. It felt as if the wind blowing through the hair on my arms was making a perceptible sound. I tried desperately to remain motionless.

Mirra, don’t make a sound. Just stand still. They’re out there.

The cold concrete against my back soothed me and I imagined the peace I would feel if somehow, melting into it was possible. I remained flat against it, willing myself, in vain, to become the wall. Around me the moaning was heart-wrenching. Howls from the undead carried through the night air as they hunted for their next meal.

Something cold and moist rubbed against my knee. My skirt torn, my bare flesh exposed, I was certain my body heat would trigger a reaction. Nothing.

It was so dark it became painful. The thick haze above my head blocked out the reflected light of the moon, there were no stars. I was blind.

An odd warmth slid down my cheek. I fought the impulse to wipe my face. Motionless, I had to remain motionless. It slowly approached my mouth. I began to raise my hand when I heard a terrible crash. My arm froze in mid-motion, piercing the black night. Wailing echoed in the darkness. I could smell the rancid stench. I heard the tearing of flesh and bone. One of the undead had found a meal.

The warm sensation touched my lip. My heart was pounding so hard I was sure it could be heard for miles around. I swayed on knees that felt weak and hollow. Tremors ripped through me from my hips to my toes. I tried to blow away whatever it was. The panic caused terrible cottonmouth. My lips were dried and cracked. At the instant I opened my mouth I tasted it. Blood. The scent would be picked up by the zombies. I was as good as dead.

I began to lower my arm back against the wall when a sharp agonizing pain penetrated deep into my forearm, to the bone. My scream seared the night air as I tore away from the claws clutching my arm. I began to run. The absolute darkness gave me a terrible feeling of vertigo, like I was running on a tilting, slippery floor. My body listed from side to side causing me to continually crash into the wall I once thought of as my safe haven, my camouflage. The arm that had been torn to shreds hung uselessly at my side. Behind me I heard footfalls, first two or three, then dozens. I couldn’t stop screaming as I ran.

In the distance I thought I saw a faint light, then two very small green lights. They were getting closer to me moving faster than I was running. A powerful force knocked me down. My head hit the wall and I crumpled to the filthy ground. I heard a snap and a pale green light illuminated the area around me. A large dark figure stood between me and a group of zombies. He spun his head around but all I could make out were goggles covering his eyes. Tiny green dots illuminated the smoky glass in the brass fixtures. Beyond him, nothing but the monsters’ reflective eyes could be seen clearly. Years of living while dead had turned their bodies into vile carrion. The dark form rose to its full height and towered over the creatures. His arms spread and it appeared that many smaller shapes emerged from his long coat. With power like I have never witnessed, the zombies were thrown about like rag dolls. Then the many smaller shapes sunk back into the large one’s shadow. Another smaller shape came tic-tacking off the wall above me, crashing down on one of the zombies, turning its head into a puddle of muck. The large form leapt into the air and hurdled an object, using his legs as battering rams against the monsters. Two were obliterated upon impact. Some of the undead ran toward the smaller of the two. They were left grasping at air as the figure eluded them with ease, jumping up to a post and underbarring over, and behind them. Upon landing, he swung his leg around and knocked the zombies down. The larger form attacked those that fell. The two moved as one, fluidly and effortlessly, like a choreographed dance.

My head ached. I tried to sit up along the wall but couldn’t move. The green glow was beginning to fade, but still the figures continued to destroy the zombies. A powerful blow sent a zombie sprawling toward me. Its head was a few feet from my face. I tried to move, to scream, but couldn’t. I was paralyzed with terror. The menacing face was staring back at me. The green light began to flicker. I saw the zombie’s face twitch. If it was still alive, or the perverted image of what is considered alive in this world, I would have only seconds left of my short life. The monster had only to move a few inches to bite me. Another flicker of light revealed focus in the zombie’s eyes. It was looking directly at me. It appeared to smile, jagged yellow teeth behind rotted lips. Still paralyzed, I pressed my eyes closed to try to shake the look of the monster out of my mind. When I reopened my eyes I was looking directly into my own face, zombified. It stared back at me and smiled. I inhaled deeply to attempt one final death knell, when a hammer came crashing down on the zombie’s head. Wet remnants splashed all over me.

I woke up screaming, my bedclothes soaked through and through with sweat. My sheets clutched in my white-knuckled fists, I slowly sat up and looked around my room.

More nightmares.

The room spun. Lightheaded I raced to the bathroom. I was going to vomit it always followed the nightmares. No matter what I did the nightmares would not cease to haunt me. Lately, they were happening more and more.

Chapter 2

I couldn’t take my eyes off of it, him, whatever. For the past few weeks his bright eyes had repeatedly followed me. Today, for the life of me, I couldn’t look away. My waycommute to school and work had definitely gotten more interesting. My nightmares had always brought my energy level to a terrible low. Seeing him gave me extra vim. The elevated walkway kept me at a safe distance from him. Zombies, even Less Thans could not jump the fifteen feet it would’ve taken to reach me. Trying to reel in my wayward attention Burrow gently pushed me from behind. As twins go we don’t have that innate ability to read each other’s minds, so we use force when needed.

C’mon Mirra, snap out of it. Watch where you’re going, he said.

My eyes stayed on the Less Than who I’d named Bright Eyes. I didn’t see the slight curve in the walkway ahead of me. My boot caught on the seam between the metal slats of the walkway and the safety railing and I fell hard. I slammed into the top railing. Burrow tried to catch me but couldn’t keep me from toppling over. I hit the grimy walkway, my arm dangling down between the lower safety rails. The steam that powered the walkway emitted its regular exhaust, hitting me squarely on the forearm with scalding water vapor. A scream tore out of me like something created by an industrial strength banshee. Burrow tried to pick me up while keeping the rest of the people from tripping over my splayed out body. I looked down and saw Bright Eyes reaching up towards me. Incredibly, he had a look of concern on his almost-dead face. Interesting. Burrow heaved me up by my underarms. My skirt billowed, my pantalettes put on display for all the populace to see. The steam didn’t burn my sleeve away, but I could already feel the skin blistering on my forearm. I tried to pull the material off my bubbling skin much to my painful dismay. Then I heard it, the telltale metallic sound that chills the blood of every Transatlantican.

Bang, ping, click, click, click, click

Halt walkway four-four-zero-two! a robotic voice said from somewhere above us.

The walkway came to a lurching stop. The Overlanders, the government police, made their omnipresence known. Two big Overlanders came barreling out of the sky, their thick metal vests attached to cables that dropped them from the cableways twenty feet above the walkway. As they landed, their heavy boots echoed off the buildings around us. With a wave of their oily chain mail covered arms, the crowd dispersed, leaving me standing alone. The other waycommuters murmured as they dutifully looked away.

Scan prep, demanded the Overlander holding a nasty looking truncheon.

Burrow stepped forward between me and the Overlanders and looked as if he could tear their smooth metal cowls from their faces with his bare hands. You could not see the Overlanders’ eyes which made them seem even more menacing. More than anything else, Burrow hated the Overlanders, especially what they stood for. I stepped in, temporarily forgetting the searing pain from the burn until my sleeve rubbed against it. Tears welled up in my eyes against my will. I tried to speak as calmly as possible.

"Always ready to be scanned for the High Offices, I said. I lowered the high neckline of my blouse to reveal the barcode tattoo across the hollow of my neck. I tripped over the—"

Silence! the Overlander said as he raised his arm.

A small machine with a laser scanner appeared from a slot on his metal wristband. He aimed it at my throat. A snap-hiss from the laser was followed by a tinny voice that stated,

Mantle, Mirra, female, seventeen order years. Currently four minutes late for work. Four credits deducted. Injury noted. Second degree scald to right forearm noted. Treatment required.

The Overlander with the truncheon grabbed my brother by the shoulder. Burrow tried to break away but I gave him a pleading look, insisting he do as they say. He reluctantly undid his cravat and lowered his tall stiff collar. The Overlander aimed his scanner at my brother’s neck.

Mantle, Burrow, male, seventeen order years. Currently five minutes late for work. Five credits deducted.

If you let us go we can make it to work just fine, Burrow said.

Silence!

The Overlander holding my brother slid his armored hand from Burrow’s shoulder to his neck. Burrow tensed like a coiled spring. The Overlander kept moving his hand until it stopped under Burrow’s chin.

You’ve a ripe tongue, boy. Maybe it should be congealed. You know congealing right? We melt your tongue onto the roof of your mouth, he said. He shoved Burrow in the chest sending him back a few feet. Get to work before I decide to take care of that nuisance right here.

Burrow, go! Don’t make this worse, I said.

Burrow’s stare burned holes in the Overlander’s helmet as he retied his cravat. His cat-like dark green eyes stared at the two officers from under the brim of his bowler hat. The intense aggression and anger would be worked out after sundown. The street-level below, especially its freak inhabitants, were in trouble if they crossed paths with Burrow tonight.

I felt the Overlander standing by me wrap a thin metal harness around my waist and slip it over my shoulders. I knew what was coming.

Ziiiiiip

I flew up with tremendous force. By the sound of the loud clanking gears I knew that both Overlanders had joined me quickly. Looking down, I could only see my brother’s eyes looking up at me. The rest of the populace minded their business. Then, from below the walkway, I saw Bright Eyes looking up at me too. How odd. I was dizzy from the combination of the quick lift and the intense pain to my forearm. My leather button boots dangling in the air made it appear as if I were walking on the heads of the people below me.

Walkway four-four-zero-two, proceed! a metallic voice commanded.

With a loud hiss, the walkway began to move again. The Transatlanticans on this walkway were once again being delivered to wherever the government wanted them to go. All was well for the ever-controlling government, the High Offices. I felt a quick thrust forward as my cable began to run. The Overlanders were taking me away to the med-temple. My day could not have cragged out any more.

The feeling of being suspended above the grime of the mid-level had its moments. It felt like the air was a sconce cleaner this far up, but how utterly embarrassing to be whisked around like a limp marionette doll by these overgrown tin cans. The height and the sad looking buildings that zoomed by below caused me to get woozy again. I closed my eyes. I knew the med-temple would be coming up soon. Sadly, I could already smell it.

As the wind whipped at my body, I imagined what it was like to be Burrow, running free in the night. The thought of him running the streets, leaping off of ledges, swinging from lampposts, gave me a vicarious sense of freedom.

Then the harsh reality set in. Burrow was actually running from marauding zombies, using his skills to not only evade, but to destroy them. I peeked down at the street-level below and envisioned my twin brother crashing down on a vicious creature, using his strength and his weapons to annihilate the undead, all of this, under the illicit cover of the night. Transaltantica is forced into a government mandated lock-in right before sundown. We are secured in our homesites by thick metal barriers that block our doors and windows. This is allegedly to prevent any zombies from breaking into our homesites. In reality we are prisoners in our own homes. Burrow somehow breaks out of the seemingly impenetrable prisons regularly. I shuddered at the thought of what he faced on the outside and closed my eyes again.

The med-temple was the only government building we could see from street-level to its roof. The rest of the High Offices’ buildings reached beyond the constant layer of fog and pollution that hung hundreds of feet above us. The Highs, as we called the government, lived in beautiful buildings above the fog and pollution. My father told me stories of the intricate architecture and bright hues of the buildings’ upper levels. Down below, at mid-level, the dilapidated buildings were ugly shades of gray. The highest parts of the buildings were constantly maintained by pods of sad-looking Less Thans shackled at the waist and hanging off the side of the building from thin ropes or rickety scaffolds. If a Less Than fell it didn’t matter to the Highs. According to the government, they barely existed. The Highs were perfectly content with providing the Possessors with a snack of half-squashed Less Thans when they came out after sundown.

Possessors, the true zombies, were no different than Less Thans with the exception that they were fully exposed to the Antidead Virus. Possessors hated sunlight. They were brutal savages, animalistic in their ways. They ate anything that was living, except each other. Wait, they weren’t living, scratch that. Urban legends claim that for the most part Possessors were hairless with pale pallor, almost translucent and sunken blue-black eyes. Their skin, at least the skin that wasn’t torn or damaged beyond recognition, was pulled back so tightly you could see the cracks in their bones. Their mouths, lips constantly stained with dried blood, were gaping black holes with sharp teeth. My recurring nightmares gave them a slightly different look. To be honest, if I never found out what one looked like up close, I’d be fine with that. Possessors had no recollection of their humanity. They could not be trained like Less Thans, and they surely didn’t look humanlike anymore. You know what, I take it back. There were huge differences between Less Thans and Possessors.

My impromptu daydreaming on the joy of having to differentiate between levels of zombihood was rudely interrupted by a jolting stop. A wicked slap to my lungs by the stench of biting ammonia and blood snapped my attention back to reality, the med-temple.

Chapter 3

I was whisked into the med-temple at full speed and promptly deposited at the entry chamber. Three burly looking Medders, their starched white coats clinging to their fat bodies, did their worst to undress me. They had no concern for my clothing. I heard one of my boot buttons clink against the floor. Great, another wardrobe repair. My bolero jacket was torn off me, then my blouse. It felt like a chunk of my burned skin went with it. I heard my corset tear at their tugging. In a few seconds they did their job completely. These Medders must have been trained with the Overlanders in the hidden art of care and compassion. They quickly threw a transparent gown over me. Yes, transparent, you left your modesty at the door in this place. At least the Overlanders had left. I was quickly moved from the entry chamber into the treatment chamber.

The room was round and sterile. Mirrors lined the walls, and although for a moment I was alone, it felt like there were hundreds of me. I looked into the mirror that made me look the most normal and not like some oddly drawn stick figure. I had an incredible sense of calm, seeing in the reflection, clear as life, my mother, smiling back at me. I raised my arm to allow the full view of her face. The tattoo of my mother along my torso was clearly visible. A constant reminder of the woman that gave me life, at the greatest price she could pay. My mother died giving birth to Burrow and me. I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, swaying lightly, and she was swaying with me. In her hands she held her violin; the detail of the brass and gears on its body were amazing. It looked like the strings called out to be plucked. My mother’s green eyes, the same as Burrow’s, the same as mine, watched me. I was at peace or as close as I could be when considering my situation. I was naked, in a High Office building infamous for its two-way mirrors.

Hiss

A thin woman, eyes darting back and forth, entered the chamber through a sliding mirror. In an instant I lost which one she entered from. She was dressed in a full white body control suit and helmet. I could see her breath making condensation along the inside of the plastic face shield. Her worn face made it obvious she was overworked. I hoped she didn’t amputate a leg or remove a kidney accidentally. She applied an aerosol that disintegrated the sleeve of my gown. Her gloved hands worked quickly. She held out my forearm and whispered something into the microphone in her helmet. Immediately out of the ceiling a metal arm unfolded on creaky springs and lowered a bottle. She took it and poured the thick purple gel onto the reddened skin of my arm. A slight sting was rapidly followed by an ice-cold sensation. The burn started to disappear. The pain was gone.

Thank…

Treatment success, she said distantly… mechanically.

She paused and seemed to be listening to something in her helmet. She moved her hands into a pouch on her hip and stuck me in the forearm with a pin that let off a small poof of steam. She injected me with something.

Next! She said loud enough for the mirror to hiss back open.

Thank…

She was gone. In an instant I was transported via moving walkway into the reconciliation chamber. At the exit a mist sprayed out of small pipes lining the doorway; my gown was gone. My clothes were scattered about on a large metal desk. Dressing quickly, unsure of when someone would be coming in, I realized my corset was worse off than I thought. It would take me a while to fix it. They did a number on my hat too. I had everything on except my boots when I heard the hiss of another door.

Mantle, Mirra, the man said. Short and round of stature, his blue-gray hair was thin, and he tried to make it look thicker by wearing it in a funny style. He still looks short and round though. Pudgy arms jutted out of his black vest like two containers of squeezed meat. His head bobbed as he spoke. Scan prep. He said in a monotone disinterested voice.

My neck tattoo was scanned. A metallic voice from the walls stated,

Mantle, Mirra, twenty-four minutes late for work. Twenty-four credits deducted. Medical treatment, self causation, one hundred credits deducted. Balance coverage, two hundred additional credits of work.

Mantle, you will be working an extra shift tonight. In addition, your father will be deducted one-hundred credits for faulty child-rearing, squeeze meat arms said.

Are you kidding? I tripped! It was an accident! I shot back.

Contrarian credits will be deducted if you do not respond with an affirmative to the understanding of what the cost is for your medical care.

But… fine. Yes, yes, affirmative. I was so angry I spat the words out. Yes.

Walkway five-seven-three will be taking you to your factory post haste. He stood at attention and continued, Hope springs eternal, from the High Offices—

I looked down at my unbuttoned boots and straightened my skirt.

Hope springs eternal, from the High Offices— he said through clenched teeth. I did not want my