7th Son: Obsidian (A 7th Son Companion Anthology)

By J.C. Hutchins

7th Son: Obsidian chronicles a crisis seen in Destruction, the third novel in J.C. Hutchins' acclaimed 7th Son trilogy.

The United States is under martial law, its infrastructure threatened by a devastating coordinated terrorist attack. Nearly every city in America is now without power, and must survive a month-long nationwide blackout.

Obsidian is a short story anthology that examines life during those dangerous days. It features seven tales told by the best writers in new media: New York Times bestselling novelists Michael A. Stackpole and Scott Sigler, and award-winning novelists Christiana Ellis, Mur Lafferty, Tee Morris, Mark Yoshimoto Nemcoff and Matt Wallace.

These are stories of survival, action and hope. All feature brand-new characters and settings, far from the front lines seen in the 7th Son trilogy. All explore the madness that’s barely kept at bay when the lights are on. All reveal how deadly our would becomes in the darkness.

For when the power fails, chaos reigns.

• Language: English
• Publisher: J.C. Hutchins
• Release date: Dec 15, 2012
• ISBN: 9780988772014

Book preview

7th Son: Obsidian

A Companion Anthology to the 7th Son Trilogy

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this anthology are either products of the authors’ imaginations or are used fictitiously.

All rights reserved.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This collection copyright © 2012 by J.C. Hutchins

www.jchutchins.net

Ebook Design by DarkFire Productions

www.darkfireproductions.com

Published by Canonical

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First Ebook Edition: November 2012

Table of Contents

Tee Morris — Miles To Go Before I Sleep

Michael A. Stackpole — He Sees In Shadows

Mur Lafferty — A Rose By Any Other Name

Mark Yoshimoto Nemcoff — Nemesis

Matt Wallace — Receiver

Christiana Ellis — The Goodbye Party

Scott Sigler — Eusocial Networking

About The Contributors

SETTING THE STAGE

About 7th Son: Obsidian

In 2008, author J.C. Hutchins released a groundbreaking audio and video fiction experience called 7th Son: Obsidian. Designed to enhance and expand his 7th Son universe, Obsidian assembled 7th Son fans and new media’s best storytellers for one project, with one mission—to tell genre-bending tales that shocked, moved, and entertained ... and revealed aspects in the 7th Son storyworld that were merely hinted at in the original trilogy.

Obsidian chronicles a crisis that took place in the series’ third novel, Destruction. In that book, the United States fell victim to a coordinated terrorist attack. Power stations across the country were destroyed. The U.S. plummeted into a nationwide blackout. America remained very dark indeed, for several weeks.

J.C. recruited seven fan-favorite authors to write seven short stories set during this national crisis. Each writer spun a unique tale set in this darkness, featuring brand new characters far from the front lines seen in the 7th Son trilogy.

These are stories of survival, action, betrayal and hope. All explore how dangerous our would is when the darkness comes. All reveal the madness that’s barely kept at bay when the lights are on.

For when the power fails, chaos reigns.

MILES TO GO BEFORE I SLEEP

Tee Morris

Lawrenceville, PA

305 miles from home

It was the exact opposite of one of those bombs seen in action movies where the timer ticked menacingly to critical mass, boom, and then it would all be over. This bomb’s timer ticked up, and Ron could feel critical mass quickly building in his wallet.

Ron Hamilton took another deep breath of the crisp mountain air, enjoying the scent of a late fall ushering in a tough winter. As he watched the numbers climb, he recalled a commercial produced by the Rookman Oil, Inc. empire. Scored by warm, fuzzy music, the spot featured employees smiling brightly as they developed solutions for better gas mileage, alternative fuel sources, and energy options that were not oil-reliant. The ad was a heartfelt testimony on how Rookman Oil was committed to doing things differently for the environment and the welfare of the general public.

All at $4.50 a gallon.

Oh yeah, sure, Ron muttered as the pump passed the $50 mark.

Why had gas spiked in cost this time? That’s right, the nuking of Saudi Arabia—which had been the hot topic not listed on the weekend conference’s docket. According to the news he tracked with, though, most of the oil American petroleum companies like Rookman used for gasoline production didn’t come from the Middle East. Regardless, it justified the spike, just like Hurricane Katrina (and how many oil rigs did Rookman have in the Gulf of Mexico? That’s right. Zero), just like families taking their summer vacations (We at Rookman Oil can’t keep up with the demand...), and just like those folks staying home during the winter holidays (We at Rookman Oil have to pay our bills as well, even when our sales slump...).

As much as Ron loved this sleek, sporty ride of his, trading it in for a Prius became more and more appealing.

With a final check around the pump to make sure no one would help themselves to what was in his car, Ron tried to cheer himself up with a walk to the curb. That was the nice thing about small towns like Lawrenceville. You could stand in one spot and take the grand tour. The mountains surrounding him were covered in a delightful patchwork of autumn: reds, golds, and colors of earth. If he felt adventurous, he could walk a few paces and find himself back in New York. (Not the city, but the state.) There were parts of DC that were the same—take two steps and you were either in Maryland or Virginia.

But this sleepy little town was different. The lack of suburbia, urban sprawl, and skyscrapers kept this place far and away from the ambient noise of a city.

Ambient noise, he thought with a chuckle. The things he was suddenly noticing in the world.

The click of the gas pump let him know it was time to head home, back to the roller coaster he called reality. Ron had enjoyed this working vacation, networking with other new media specialists (a term that made him cringe when he himself was described as such) and talking geek speak with friends old and new. One of his closer colleagues attending the weekend’s conference had asked him, Don’t you think we’re just caught on a great big circle jerk? (There had been something exceptionally cool about being asked that, as the friend doing the asking was a particularly savvy, particularly attractive female.) Her blunt assessment of the Web 2.0 movement wasn’t that far off. No matter how accomplished you were in this growing Internet subculture, you still suffered the eternal struggle of explaining to those not in the community exactly what you did.

He ripped the receipt from the pump, got into the car, and woke up its engine. The seat reminded Ron of how cold he had become, and he felt a longing for the butt-warmers in the other car. Sara had offered the Lexus—and right about now, those seat warmers would have felt great. He pushed back the desire for that creature comfort. He was fine driving this car. His car. Ron wanted this weekend for himself. The more independent he felt, the happier he was.

He hadn’t called home since arriving in Rochester because when he had called that Thursday night, Ron was given the full report on how Kiera was being a little terror. At day care. At home. While out on errands. Sara sounded so inconvenienced, and the Well, have a good time... might as well have been, You have good time boozing it up and partying with your geek friends while I survive the weekend.

Was Kiera a perfect angel? Maybe in the eyes of the grandparents. But she was three. In fact, Kiera was very three, and while Ron never claimed to be an Oracle of Parenthood, he had figured out by now that you sometimes had to roll with the punches. Their daughter was a lot of things, but Ron knew with fast certainty that she was a good kid. He knew that whenever he was called on to watch after her, when it was Sara’s turn to travel. Considering Sara’s sensitive nature, the side effects of Sara’s medication of the month and the way Sara reacted to their daughter, the problem wasn’t Kiera. No, Kiera wasn’t the problem. She never was.

If he chanced on a Best Buy, he might run in and see if he could find a Thomas and Friends she didn’t have.

Ron’s thumb scrolled along his iPod. He had fallen way behind on his listening habits, but seminars and workshops took priority. That preparation had paid off. The number of curious people attending his talks was reassuring, and validated the time he invested in his presentations at tech expos—and in his That IT Guy podcast. These were the efforts Sara regarded as a distraction, and no doubt he was going to get the usual earful about how these lost weekends weren’t worth the investment. He didn’t care. The audience Ron really wanted to reach had been there. This trip, in his eyes, had been a rousing success.

Route 15 opened up before him, the day’s cloud cover unable to suppress the beauty of the turning trees. He remembered the DC weatherman talking about how trees would be hitting their peak later than usual. Sometimes, global warming was a good thing. The view and the podcasts would make this drive go by quickly. He took a note of the time: 10:03.

Get home by five, he said aloud. Might even make it in time to take the family out to dinner.

~ ~ ~

Lycoming, PA, 11:03am EST

249 miles from home

"You’re traveling into another dimension, a dimension of sight, of sound, and of mind…"

This part of Pennsylvania Ron referred to as the Twilight Zone stretch of road. Time felt like it bent and disappeared into some void, and it was so easy to slip into a deep highway hypnosis. Relaxing, sure, but spooky nonetheless.

At least he wasn’t in a plane. (That episode was still a favorite of his.)

Ron’s brow furrowed at what was ahead of him, quickly closing the distance. They were blaring sirens, but weren’t police, rescue or fire. The Hummers appeared as wide, black monsters lumbering down the highway and taking up enough space to compel Ron to pull over and let them pass.

One ... two ... three ... the vehicles just kept coming.

Wow, Ron muttered as he watched the convoy rumble by.

When the line of imposing trucks and heavy equipment finally passed, Ron reached down to hit Play. He then looked back in his rearview mirror and sat in silence to watch the transports continue in the direction he had just come from. Smaller, smaller, and smaller still, until they were gone.

His thumb pressed Play, and a minute later he was back on his trip south. While he was really into this podcast novel currently playing through his car stereo, Ron couldn’t shake his preoccupation with the convoy’s size. That must be one major op happening in the foothills of Pennsylvania.

Dude, he chided himself. It’s not like you’re a military guy. Stop with the vivid imagination.

Hearing his own voice snapped him back into his listening, and he realized he was lost in the novel’s narrative. Ron scrolled back, found a familiar passage, and set the player down.

Whumpata-whumpata-whumpata-whumpata…

Ron immediately paused the player again, then disengaged the cruise control. The rhythmic thumping didn’t slow or diminish, so it wasn’t the audio or the car. There was no shimmy from the steering wheel, so it wasn’t a flat.

Whumpata-whumpata-WHUMPATA-WHUMPATA…

The windows were vibrating now, and even if the iPod had been playing, Ron wouldn’t have heard it. Holy shit, he swore as he pulled into a parking lot.

He didn’t turn the car off, but he did throw it into park. Stepping into the chilly open air, Ron noted the sound was clearly coming from above him. The sound was now so powerful, he felt it in his chest.

The only thing missing was Wagner’s Ride of the Valkyries. No, he wasn’t a military guy, but he had seen enough movies to know what helicopters looked like when flying in formation. Working in Washington DC, a low-flying Medstar or a White House transport was not uncommon. A formation of low-flying military gunships? No, this was a first for him, and it was all too easy to conjure extremely vivid images of the helicopters’ Gatling guns and rocket launchers releasing their fury on whatever or whoever stepped into their sites.

Ron couldn’t help himself. He had to say it: Charlie don’t surf.

Usually, that defense mechanism of humor worked to help him deal with a stressful or unknown situation. Not so much this time. Now mere black specks against a textured canvas of a steel-gray sky, the rhythmic pounding faded, and Ron became aware of where he had stopped.

Breaking the monotony of the trip through Pennsylvania was a chain of adult entertainment outlets. They had to be a chain, as these buildings all had the same look, the same branding in the store’s sign, and so on. Their parking lots were always empty, and Ron wondered as he’d pass by how they managed to stay in business.

Then he considered their location. Route 15, a popular highway for the odd eighteen-wheeler. The near isolation of the Allegheny Mountains, offering little distraction apart from hunting or fishing. What else would or could you do out here?

Now, he realized he’d pulled into the parking lot of one of those porn outposts. The ugly yellow and black building still appeared just as closed up close as it did from the road. They claimed to be open for business, though. At night, maybe?

Then he noticed it. Silence. A quiet that was tangible. He could feel it all around him. While far from the cacophony of the nation’s capital, there was enough noise in Manassas to inconvenience his podcast recording sessions. This was a kind of quiet—even if he had it in his cookie-cutter suburbia neighborhood—that wouldn’t make him a happy podcaster, as it would give him a severe case of goosebumps.

There was something wrong. Seriously wrong.

Ron flipped open his mobile phone and confirmed that he had no signal. Another reason why he referred to this area as Pennsylvania’s Twilight Zone: Cell phone service sucked out here. He knew that. He also knew staring at the phone display wouldn’t help, but he did so nonetheless. Ron had a growing desire to do what he hadn’t done since Thursday night.

The Internet. There was that possibility, seeing as it was Monday, that he could catch Sara on AIM. He looked at the iPod on his front seat. It wasn’t one of the new models that had wi-fi capabilities. True, it would have been optimistic to hope for wi-fi out here, but considering the ugly building next to him, why not? Why wouldn’t this entrepreneur of adult entertainment not offer Porn’s Playground—the Internet—to his clientele?

My laptop, he whispered. Maybe I can get on his network...

He stared at his backpack, and didn’t move.

Why don’t I just knock on the front door? he asked himself. The phone he would find in there would be just as unsanitary as your average gas station’s pay phone. It would also be a land line. No signal bars or routers necessary.

Ron knew what he wanted to do, but he was still holding on to the car door. Just go up and knock, he muttered aloud.

Don’t, a little voice in his head whispered.

His grip on the door frame tightened. What was the problem? It’s not like he was part of the religious right. It’s not like he was sexually uptight. He’d been in a place like this before. Once.