Homo Luminous

By Mike Frost

David Werden wants nothing more than to lead a quiet, ordinary life. But his world is turned upside down when an unknown event changes the face of the planet. Realizing he cannot live alone in the ruins of the old world, and compelled by a strange internal force to reach the sea, he sets out on foot, carrying what he can, struggling against the harsh post-apocalyptic environment to search out others who may still be alive.

Thrust into the leadership of a band of survivors, David struggles to scratch out the necessities of life while dealing with the staggering destruction and overwhelming sense of loss - and begins to understand the tragic and marvelous events that have occurred to the planet and to humanity itself. Finding love and betrayal, he must fight those who cling to the old world with all their strength and those who wish to stamp out the growing number of people coming to terms with their new levels of perception and insight into the Universal Mind.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mike Frost
• Release date: Dec 28, 2010
• ISBN: 9781458092687

Mike Frost

Mike Frost is a graduate of the University of Alabama with graduate studies in History and Library Sciences. He has eighteen years of experience working in the technology field. He spends his spare time writing, except in the fall, when you can find him in Tuscaloosa watching the Crimson Tide play. He currently resides in Birmingham, Alabama with his three, four-legged writing assistants, Maria, Smudge and Smokie.

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Homo Luminous

Mike Frost

Homo Luminous

By Mike Frost

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2010 Mike Frost

All rights reserved.

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 recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

EPUB Information

ISBN: 978-1-4580-9268-7

Print Information:

ISBN: 1456389432

ISBN-13: 978-1456389437

This is a work of fiction. Any similarity to persons living or dead (unless explicitly noted) is merely coincidental.

DEDICATION

I dedicate this work to my mother, Susan, who made sure it said what I meant to say, not what I actually wrote.

I would also like to dedicate this work to my friends, Chris and Rachel who suffered through the early drafts. May your marriage be blessed and may you find yourselves more in love each day.

CONTENTS

Acknowledgements

Part 1 Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Part 2 Prologue

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Part 3 Prologue

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Epilogue

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Post-apocalyptic fiction has roots going back as far as the beginning of Science Fiction. In preparing this work, I’ve read a great many excellent works, some not so good, and some quite horrific specimens of the genre. It is on these author’s shoulders I stand, both the good and the bad.

Part 1 Prologue

It flows across the universe, boundless energy with origins back to the time before time. It has no consciousness, only purpose. Flowing back and forth between the great expanses of nothingness, it looks only for those places that are ready for its gift.

It is a bringer of change, a great cosmic shake-up. Be damned the consequences of its actions.

It has a name, oh so many things that it has been called and will be called again, but none define it. No, it is without definition.

Across the great distances it travels, sometimes going back over its path. Often those who receive its gift are gone when it returns.

This time it is returning to a familiar place. Oh yes, it has been here before, several times in fact. This time will be no different from the last, from its point of view.

Its gift is without price, a collection of knowledge from across the stars, but the cost for receiving it is high. Nevertheless, for those few with minds ready to receive, the down payment has already been paid.

Chapter 1

In his dream, he stood on the beach, nude beneath the full moon. He was cold, the sand as icy as freshly fallen snow under his feet, but he was at peace, the calming sound of waves washing through him, like a gift of grace.

At 6:00 on Wednesday morning the alarm clock sounded, much too early for his liking.

David Werden hated the alarm clock, slapping the snooze button, his one rebellious act of the day before submitting himself to the necessities of adult life. He rolled to his back and struggled to remember a dream, but it fled from his mind before he could grasp it.

Bright sunlight stabbing through the skylight made his head hurt despite his clenched eyes. Why’d I let Chris drag me out last night? He hadn’t wanted to go, always more comfortable at home, surrounded by his books and computers, than in a bar. It was bearable until Mike Mathews showed up and started his usual games of bad lying, worse drinking and reprehensible cheating on his wife.

The harsh electronic tone of the alarm clock drove both the dream and Mike from his mind and sent him scurrying to the bathroom. The light blasting through the glass brick wall was doing nothing for his headache. He stumbled past the den to the kitchen, grabbed a Diet Coke and some aspirin and shuffled to the couch.

In his familiar seat, he popped open the can and took a long slug to wash down the aspirin and the bitter taste of sleep. His hands fumbled with the remote, not quite awake, but somehow managed to turn on the local news. David dreaded the morning when he would awake to a new war or some new terrorist attack, like so many years ago. Despite the fear, he believed it was best to know if something was going to ruin the day before it started.

The anchors prattled on about some new astronomical discovery in tones that told David they knew less about the topic than did the teleprompter. Disgusted, he grew tired of their colorful banter – much too sweet for his taste this morning, and began checking his Blackberry.

Bookshelves covered the walls of David’s home, tomes of history and literature from his time in graduate school. Just one of several attempts at shaking off the technological world he had so devoted himself to for the majority of his thirty-three years. Most went untouched now. Technology drew him back in, and he realized long ago that the books were not a career, but an escape.

The e-mails waiting on him this morning were not good. Besides the usual spam that littered his inbox every morning, at least three messages from his overnight crew let him know that the morning was not going to be an easy one. He set the device aside and went about preparing for his day.

* * *

Traffic was at a standstill at 6:50, and Chris wasn’t even on the road yet. His swimming head was only matched by his rolling stomach. Another long night of drinking with Mike had put him at less than full capacity as he started his truck and began the journey south.

Sooner or later he needed to stop going out all night with Mike. For one thing, he couldn’t afford to keep paying off Mike’s tabs. Since Mike had been out of work, he’d paid the tab more often than not. But then there were other times that he was flush with cash, and then the party never stopped.

Another thing was Becky. How did she cope with three kids at home, and her husband out spending what little money they had on cheap booze and poker. Yes, he won a few hands, but more often than not he went out of the joint with less than he brought in.

Last night was the exception. Mike won about a grand before David left, and he kept right on winning. By the time the game was over, he was up about $2,500. High on his luck, Mike hadn’t gone home, but spent a good chunk of the money buying rounds for the bar, especially for a couple of young things circling him like moths to a flame. He was never dull, and you had to give him that, Chris thought.

Hoping to get a little sleep before work, Chris had left him there around 4:00 a.m. Hopefully Mike found a ride home before the moth-girls found a way into his wallet.

Pulling into the gravel lot of the construction site a little before 8:30, he lumbered towards the small wooden trailer that served as the engineering office, hoping to avoid the chief engineer. Luck wasn’t on his side this morning, with his boss standing just inside the doorway. Mr. Collins, you know I do appreciate that you at least showed up this morning. The large engineer waddled back to his desk. At least you could have picked us up some donuts or something.

Sorry boss, overslept, Chris said, fighting through the cloud of tequila Mike poured down his throat. Won’t let it happen again.

Dammed well better not. We had to send Jackson down the first shaft this morning. And you know he’s an idiot. Get out there and pull him up before he manages to get himself stuck … again.

Filling his cup with the strongest brew in the office, Chris marched out from under the accusing stares of the chief engineer and onto the construction site. He had to admit, it wasn’t a bad job, but there wasn’t any real engineering in it. Never in all his planning had he thought that his engineering career would consist of being lowered into holes in the ground to inspect foundation shafts, but for the last two years he’d been traveling from job site to job site, spending most of his time lounging around in the office, or sometimes just hanging out with the crews. He wanted to build things, to leave a mark on the world. Nevertheless, here he was – hardhat on, coffee in hand – about to rescue the junior engineer who had the absolute worst case of claustrophobia he’d ever seen. Not good traits when your job was to hook yourself to a cable and have someone lower you into holes less than three feet across and ten feet in the ground.

Jackson hung in shaft number five. The bulk of the workers on the project stood around the mouth of the hole, hoping to see his antics up close. He was the running joke at the construction site, but his general good nature wouldn’t let him harbor any hard feelings towards the men, and although despising the tasks, he would go in without word or delay.

Chris hated that about him.

Driving away the onlookers, leaving just himself, the site safety officer and the crane controller, Chris grabbed a radio headset and called down, How’s it going down there, Jack?

The shaft site itself was nothing more than a large hole drilled in the ground, three feet wide and twenty feet deep. The large drill bit attached to the drilling rig was lying across the field, removed so a crane could drop the engineer down to inspect the smooth walled shaft. Anchoring a building wasn’t pretty work, but it had to be done.

Oh, just peachy. Glad you could make it, Jackson said.

Well, didn’t want to leave you hanging, Chris said, getting a small chuckle from the safety engineer and an ugly look from the crane operator. Finish this one up and we will go over the reports from shafts one through four, then I’ll take over for the afternoon.

Sounds good, came the shaky response from Jackson, with just a touch of relief in is voice. Almost done here.

Five minutes later the crane deposited Jackson back above the earth, and the two went back to the trailer, leaving the construction workers to finish shaft number six.

* * *

By 9:30 David was in the basement computer room of Hearts of Song Publishers, making the last repairs to the damage inflicted by the night crew. At least they meant well, he hoped. Someday they would get it, or else he’d have to find someone who did.

Rack after rack of servers hummed in their quiet work, a giant forest of electronic trees reaching for the sky, and the air as cold as ice to keep them happy. David moved between the rows, pulling on the coat he kept down here for just such occasions.

Finding the troubled system, he pulled out a hidden drawer containing the system’s monitor and keyboard. He typed a few commands at the terminal, and the system promptly chirped in compliance to his commands. Having successfully corrected the last of the overnight emails, he closed up the hidden drawer and left the quiet beasts to their labor.

A sudden chill overtook David. He wasn’t sure if it was from the cold air or the remnants of his hangover, but he decided not to return to his third floor office. Instead, he turned right, waved his electronic badge at the door sensor and exited the building via the loading dock.

It was still warm in Alabama for September, fall not taking root until well into October. David removed his jacket, leaving him in his short-sleeved shirt and khaki slacks – the standard uniform of his chosen profession. Walking out to the small lake that stood on the campus grounds, he admired the great bright blue morning sky.

The lake had been a marketing ploy to gather authors and audiences together here for readings in the shadow of the publishing house. No such reading was scheduled for today, or in his recollection, ever. David didn’t mind, because the grounds were well kept, blooming flowers in manicured beds, with a collection of rough iron benches arrayed near the water.

David often ate lunch on these benches, a short ways down from the enclosed shelter for smokers, often envying those who still smoked, for at least they got to see the sun on a regular basis. He gave up the habit after the death of his mother.

He sat on the bench, eyes closed, face upturned to the sun, a gentle breeze flowing over the water, enjoying the day. Hearing the sound of footsteps, he opened his eyes to look for who might intrude upon his peace. He saw Ann, one of the electronic typesetters, making her way down the hill on short chubby legs. She always had an eye for great drama, and would talk endlessly about the next great work of literature that was being passed across her screen. Thirty years at it had left her not the least bit bitter that she had yet to see the next Hemingway or Elliot. David turned his head and smiled as she stopped. I thought you were busy putting out fires this morning?

Fires extinguished, I came out here to warm up, he said, closing his eyes again. What breaks you away from the latest Shakespeare?

The Doc told me I need to get more exercise. Why are you out here all by your lonesome?

Who did you expect me to bring along?

How about that nice girl from accounting? I hear she’s single.

Don’t start with me again, he said, leaning over and retrieving a pebble from the ground. Turning it over in his hands, feeling the weatherworn sides, and tossed it into the lake. I just haven’t found the right girl.

I worry about you, honey. Why are you always alone?

It’s just easier that way. How many husbands have you had?

My fair share, but this is you. You’re young, good looking, you should get out more.

Well, why don’t you and I go out some time?

I guess my old knees can take a lap around the dance floor with you.

Well, you have to take care of your… David broke off his thought in mid-word as a bizarre silence descended over the lake – an oppressive force solid as concrete pressed down on the world. The wind died, birds no longer chirped, and sounds themselves seemed not to travel through the air.

Ann noticed too, for her loquacious nature did not often leave her without words, she stood silent as a statue.

Although still, the air took on an electric charge, and the distinct smell of ozone filled his nose. Their hair stood on end. A crack of static in the trees broke the silence. David turned to look back at the building, seeing lightning race across the windows and marble of the office. Spinning on his heels, he turned back to the lake. The water glowed like plasma light, with blue and purple streams of electricity passing just beneath the surface.

He was transfixed by the once still lake now alive with electrical energy. Scanning further from shore, he recognized fish rising to the top, at first one here, there, and soon by the scores.

We need to get out from under the trees before we’re electrocuted, David said, grabbing Ann by the arm before he finished the sentence. Rushing away from the building to the open lawn, he hoped that they would not become the grounding point for any stray arc of static electricity.

Over their rushing breath, David heard a sharp pop and smelt the distinct odor of burning electronics. He reached for his Blackberry and felt a warm chemical reaction melting the batteries. Transfixed by the novelty of the moment, he tossed it away just as a distant transformer blew out with a resounding crash.

Ann, whose silence to this point had been short of miraculous, cried out clutching her chest. It took him a moment to recognize the horror. The cause of her pain struck him almost as hard as a bolt of the lightning striking all around. Her electronic pacemaker was failing, just as the Blackberry and transformer surrendered to the strange physics.

David, still holding her arm, eased her to the ground as she collapsed. Kneeling next to her, he checked her pulse. Her eyes were wide with terror, but vacant of life. He compressed her chest with both hands trying to force her heart to beat, but knew that life, kept animated by the wonders of modern technology, was gone from her as surely as the hum from the computers he had left not fifteen minutes ago.

Sitting on the ground next to her, he tried to understand what was happening. He heard not a sound, no one evacuating the building, no one coming up the long drive, not the sound of a bird, no wind. He felt the oppressive force that brought on the electrical storm pass. Straining to hear, he searched for the sounds of the police, fire trucks, and ambulances. They were sure to be on route to any number of emergencies that were taking place, but he heard nothing – not even the sound of an engine on the busy road just beyond the trees.

His mind began to race, thinking through all the disasters and attacks, real and proposed, that the morning news had so indoctrinated to his mind. Had some foreign terrorist set off a nuclear weapon somewhere nearby? Had some government experiment gone off the rails? A distant memory came to him, from some undergraduate physics class or some low budget Sci-Fi move, he couldn’t recall, but the term ‘electromagnetic pulse’ raced to the tip of his tongue. An electromagnetic pulse would cause anything with a chip or a battery to stop working. It fit with what he was seeing.

Although loath to leave Ann alone, he struggled to his feet and headed toward the building. He needed to tell others, see if anyone was injured, and do something to ease the minds of his coworkers. Only three steps away, a massive earthquake rocked him off his feet and flung him back to the ground. Struggling to stand, he only managed to raise himself enough from the ground to roll him over again.

* * *

An hour on the job, and the fog in Chris’s head began to clear. Jackson roused him from a daydream to go and test a new shaft. Still feeling the effects of last night’s party, he was slow to get up, but levered himself out of his chair and grabbed his coffee mug, swigging the cold brew down his throat to chase a hand full of aspirin.

Back in the sun, workers completed preparations for shaft number six. The crane lift lowered Chris down the hole, allowing him to check the shaft and take soil samples. The goal was to ensure that the shaft walls would withstand the pressures of the new building anchored to the ground at these points.

Deep in the earth, his only communication was a radio headset, and today it didn’t seem to be working. He heard clipped pieces of Jackson’s voice say, Static discharge, but he didn’t understand. Sometimes a static charge could build up on the drilling rigs, but the workman took special care to ground them. The power company had not even run electrical service to the site, except for the few trailers used by the various engineering firms on the project.

What’s going on up there? Chris called out, but the only response was static. Yanking him around for a moment, the crane holding him above the shaft bottom stopped with a ringing vibration he had never experienced in all his trips below ground. He pulled the mike close to his face. Get me the hell out of here.

Chris looked up from halfway down a twenty foot drilled shaft – only a narrow shaft of light above defined his world. He saw Jackson reach for the steel cable that attached to his harness. A blue bolt of lightning jumped from the wire and hit the junior engineer with the force of a sledgehammer; his screams reverberating down the tunnel.

Thrusting his boots into the hard packed soil, he released his tool belt – an extra weight he no longer wanted to carry. Palms pressing against the curved walls of what now might be his grave, he closed his eyes and braced himself for what he assumed would be an imminent fall. When his arms and legs didn’t give way, he cracked his eyes and began to inch up, letting slack gather in the cable below. As he neared the top, he saw electrical arcs cracking off nearby equipment and knew the men were running from this unnatural display.

His world grew larger as he clawed his way up the shear tunnel wall. Not far from the top, he could see quick flashes of current play across the crane, dancing dangerously close to the spool of wire attached to his harness. Bracing his feet, he struggled to work the quick release button with one hand. It dropped the cable free on the second try, and Chris tried to blend himself with the dirt and rock, arching his back, forcing himself into the soil, desperate to ensure that he was not touching the almost certainly live wire that hung just inches from his love handles.

No sooner had he moved than a bolt hit the coil, and sent jolts of electricity coursing down the shaft. He could smell the burning wire, a mixture of ozone and plastic, and the unsettling smell of burnt hair drifting down from above ground.

With great purpose, desperate not to be touched by the dancing cable, Chris crawled his way to the top of the shaft. He reached up, grabbed the plywood landing, and hauled himself aloft.

Staying low to the ground, he scurried out and over the body of young Jackson, his eyes still frozen wide in shock from the voltage passed through his frame. He stripped a glove and laid two fingers alongside Jackson’s neck, finding no pulse.

He felt what Jackson must have been going on about: an overwhelming pressure, passing through in waves, causing the very air to become thick and hard to breath. Edging away from the equipment, away from anything that could produce or attract electricity, he kept close to the grass, his body low. He could feel his skin tingle from the static charge, and although he heard nothing move, he felt like the planet was spinning away from beneath his hands and feet.

Reaching what he hoped was a safe distance from danger; he rolled onto his back. Lights streaked across the sky, purple and orange and blue, but no clouds. Back towards the engineering offices, flames rose from the plywood construction, electrical fires thriving on the raw wood and chemicals, papers and office furniture. The smell of smoke mixing with the dust and fear in the air.

Chris turned to his side to look out towards the construction site, and the earth shook. Heavy construction equipment swung from side to side. Piles of materials tumbled, concrete slabs fell from the half-finished rooms. Bracing himself on all fours, unable to get to his feet, he turned towards the parking lot. Cars upended themselves as a wave of gravel and dirt broke like a swell upon the sea. The shafts Chris and Jackson had inspected just this week collapsed in split seconds, and previously poured concrete foundations leaped out of the ground like dolphins riding the waves. The grass in front of him rolled; carrying him up and over like a small boat on the turbulent ocean.

* * *

His fingers burrowed deep into the manicured lawn as David tried to root himself to the ground. His eyes couldn’t focus, teeth chattering despite his clenched jaws; the taste of blood filling his mouth. Through shaking vision, he watched as his office fell in upon itself in a crash of marble and humanity. And then the Earth relented, and all was still.

He looked at his watch, marking this moment forever in his mind. Its hands no longer moved, the electronics succumbing to the same forces that tore apart transformers, pacemakers and the rest of society. Now a talisman of a lost world, he took care to remove it from his wrist and place it into his pocket.

One thought kept flashing in his mind – an electromagnetic pulse alone could not have caused the massive earthquake. His mind spun unlike the hands on his watch, unable to cling to any reason for such desolation.

The wind returned with a vengeance, and the sun beat down in anger, as if nature itself had burst forth with a fury at mankind. As far as he could see, buildings had collapsed and fallen, along with their occupants, who had been driven inside by the massive electrical storm.

Although the earthquake lasted only a moment, he felt like the earth would never be steady again. Reviewing the seemingly malevolent destruction, he wondered what malicious spirit had seen fit to spare him from being in the server room when the building collapsed.

He was alone. Why had no one else been able to escape? he wondered. With a sudden horror, he recalled the electronic doors installed not two months ago. They were designed to open automatically in the event of a power failure or fire alarm. But with the electromagnetic storm, had they worked as advertised? How many of his friends were crushed against the front door when the top floors fell? Struggling to shake that image from his mind, he tried to be in the moment, needing to see if anyone is alive and try to help.

Like a fawn standing for the first time, he struggled to his feet. The earth stood still now, planters overturned, trees uprooted, but still. He made his way to the building, waiting on an angry God to pour forth His next tribulation.

The six-story building stood in a pile one third of its original height. Thick shards of glass lay sprinkled on the marble walkway, sparkling like a thousand silver daggers. He wondered how much tighter a professional demolitions team could have brought down the building given six months of preparation and high explosives.

Calling out, Hello, can anybody hear me? he received silent replies, his words snatched by the wind. Looking over the ruins, he steeled himself to climb up and make a more comprehensive search.

The next wave hit, throwing him backwards with more force than the first. The rubble jumped like a body hit by the life giving force of a defibrillator, thrown into wild spasms. Shards of glass danced on the ground.

David scuttled back across the marble walk. The inch thick slabs of walkway buckled and rolled like the deck boards of a ship ripped apart by a great storm.

The second shock passed as the first did, this time bringing ruin to the parking garage next to the office. A thick smell of smoke and dust begin to fill the air, and the wind carried with it the budding stench of death.

* * *

Construction workers dashed for safety as a cloud of debris rained around them. Six men crawled into the clearing where Chris took refuge. He spread out flat on his back, hoping that the greater surface area would hold him down. Confusion and fear ruled these hard men, who together lay silently until the Earth trembled no more.

Taking stock - among them, only cuts and abrasions, some electrical burns, but no major injuries, they were the lucky ones. Helping each other to their feet, they began to make their way back to friends dead and dying in the rubble.

Chris’s engineering eye surveyed the devastation. Looking for weaknesses in the structures, he was keen on finding survivors but wary of becoming a casualty himself. He mentally calculated the areas where pockets might exist, where people might have survived.

Let’s get in there and see if we can help, said a young worker, already carrying a shovel.

Not so fast, Chris said. We don’t want to rush in there and bring the whole thing down on us. Let’s go slow, make sure things are stable, then we go in with guns a blazing.

All right, Chief. Where do we start?

Spread out, see if you can find anybody. Gather up some more hand tools - anything you can use to dig or chip, but don’t start in until I get a look.

Walking the site, he recognized the extent of the destruction. Wishing that someone else would come and relieve him of this duty, he knew no one survived in the rubble with no internal fixtures to provide pockets of air and hope. The nature of the disaster might elude him, but the extent of the damage was obvious.

Unwilling to share his conclusions with the men, he feared that if he spoke the words aloud, the sadness within him would burst forth and leave him withered and hollow. Instead, he intended to set them to dig in the most structurally stable part of the remaining construction, hoping the impending aftershocks wouldn’t bring the walls down around them.

Before he could even give that much direction, the earth began another assault, throwing more dust into the already thick air. An explosion erupted some distance away, a small fireball rising in the sky. Natural gas tanks, Chris thought, ruptured in the earthquake, finding a sparks.

The workers fell to the ground, rocked by the violence. Chris stumbled away from the building as the remaining walls fell, leaving no quarter to those unlucky enough to be trapped.

The aftershock passed with no less fury than the first. The men threw down their tools and gathered at the entrance – as far away as they could be from the debris and the accusing eyes of the fallen.

Chris was the last to arrive, his head held low.

So what do you think, Chief? asked one of the workers.

No use now, nothing we can do,