Gun Knight: The GunKnight Chronicles, #1

By Scott Green

A lost knight follows a path into a strange new world, recalling his past to save his love, that is the monster.

In a land filled with killer Necro-droids, crazed RifleWraiths, and deadly SandStriders the Gunknight called Colt begins to recall his past life. He was a young disciple at the temple of the Enlightened Fist. The monks of the Bohsai tree, train him and other orphaned children to be GunKnights, an elite squad of noble assassins.

But Forbidden love grows between Colt and Terra, a clone descendant of a legendary GunLord.

His repaired memories are the key that will prepare Colt to face the real monster that dwells at the end of the path

• Language: English
• Publisher: Scott Green
• Release date: Apr 16, 2014
• ISBN: 9781497351967

Scott Green

Cynthia is a nurse educator and Scott is a mechanical engineer. When they are not doing their 9-to-5-gig, they are a science fiction writing team. They have a young son, who provides them with a multitude of exercise and inspiration. They enjoy books, movies and travel. They never miss a San Diego Comic Con and are always on the look out for the perfect sunset.

Book preview

241

GUN

KNIGHT

By

Cynthia & Scott Green

For Connor

CHAPTER 1

420 Years After

A faint roaring noise catches my attention. I can barely make out five counter-gravity sentinels zooming overhead, against a smoky amber sky. I squeeze my eyes shut and clench my teeth. It’s happening again!

A blinding light explodes behind my eyelids with another intense wave of pain. My body feels warped, like it's twisting off into tiny little pieces. I just want to soothe the pain away. Make it all just go away, or somehow feel less painful. But it is inescapable. It demands to be felt. Writhing on the rocky ground is all I can manage. Every muscle fiber in my body is spasming all at once.

Is this the twentieth time or thirtieth? I can not keep count. I turn on my side, to focus on something else, anything! My eyes trace the contours of a jagged black rock next to me. I wait for this wave to subside. It is replaced by a deep dull ache all over my body. I can breathe again.

This recent wave of pain is much easier to handle. Almost tolerable compared to the first. The biosuit is healing me. It’s rebuilding my broken body. I need to believe this. If only it could do its job a little bit faster. I repeat my mantra.

War is in the blood.

Peace is in the heart.

I say this, repeatedly in my head. I do not know what it means, or where it comes from in my muddled memory. But it brings me peace and prevents me from going insane. I pant like a dog on a hot summer day. With my next deep breath, I steady my heartbeat to a slow and controlled pace. I won’t let the pain take over again. I am in control.

My legs are working and whole. I have got feeling in them again. It gives me hope that the waves of pain will end soon. Now I can try to get out of this crater and catch up with those sentinels. They might give me some idea of where I am and what has happened.

I gather all my strength and lunge forward. I spring to my feet, ungracefully. I am like a newborn calf learning to stand for the first time.The weight of all the weapons strapped to my back, chest and legs does not help me get up either. I shake off the loose dirt that cakes this tight-fitting bodysuit.

How many days have passed since I crashed into this desert?

Two, maybe, three?

I wasn’t sure. Sometimes the pain causes me to black out for hours at a time. There is a growing sense of urgency churning in my gut. I need to leave this place now! If I don’t hurry, I’m going to lose sight of the sentinel’s misty contrails streaked across the horizon. They will fade away if I stay in this crater much longer.

I slowly turn around to see a massive undulating barrier. It looks like a hot molten gold wall slowly flowing sideways. It pulses heat waves as it churns to its own will. I crane my neck to see the top of the barrier, but I can’t. I look far to the left and right. The wall is seamless and goes on for several kilometers in both directions.

Just looking at it makes me afraid to be near it. Anxiety and confusion grow in the dark recesses of my mind. It tugs at my chest, urging me to come closer.

My heart beats savagely in my chest.

I need to get out of here, fast!

I hobble to the edge of the crater then frantically claw my way out.

The strong infernal winds shift the loose charred terrain under my boots.

My black leather sarape slaps mercilessly against my body. In the far distance, two black sand tornadoes dance together ominously across the rocky landscape.

Random lightning strikes emanate from their languid swirling bodies.

I stand there dizzy and disoriented for a while, staring at the violent sky. I urge myself to run in the sentinels’ general direction. The aching in my gut feels like a gunshot wound. I double over and clutch at my stomach. The pain twists and stabs my organs. I stagger with my next step but continue to move on. It prevents me from picking up any speed.

I am nauseated and faint. My body is telling me that I got up too soon. Clouds of dust billow all around me as I cut through the thick toxic winds.

Then everything before my eyes goes entirely blue. Stopping in my tracks, I instinctively grab at my facemask. I groan in frustration.

Unbelievable!

Of course it's the perfect time for the augmented reality eyewear to come back online.

The blue screen flickers, then changes into a standard looking logo that reads OMNIVISION. The logo disappears after a few seconds, returning to the view of the desert once more.

A pop-up screen to the left of my view field displays a rotating three-dimensional image of a man.

He wears a black biosuit with eyewear that encircles his head. A respirator attaches to the lower part of his face. My hand grazes the image of the respirator.

Ah! So this is what I look like.

Could be worse. At least no cyborg appendages.

As the image slowly rotates, the weapons display their individual status updates. New data readouts buzz around the edges of my view field.

They generate from the Heads Up Display. It’s all too much text and information to take in. I blink my eyes repeatedly, trying to focus. A red neon message pops up to the right of the HUD. INCOMING MISSION WAYPOINT RECEIVED!

As I read the message, it disappears and a faint narrow band lies out before me, like a transparent red carpet. The eyewear indicates that I am traveling northward. As my pain becomes more manageable, I am able to move along at a steady clip. The temperature gauge displays the current reading outside as 451 Kelvin.

Now that’s glockin hot!

This biosuit must be keeping my body temperature within normal limits. It often surprises me. In the crater, when I first regained consciousness, the suit rippled and flowed like liquid on my body. It moves constantly, as if it were alive. It shifts around again across my chest. A strange cool, tingling sensation spreads over my skin.

The sentinels’ contrails remain on my right, high above me, still visible against the amber sky.

The virtual red path heads in the same direction. It’s leading me toward a clearing with several large mounds scattered about. Stopping to catch my breath, I look back to see where I came from. I now have a better vantage point of the wall from here. It’s immense and soars into the stratosphere. It could probably be seen from space. It looks like solid gold from here. But I can tell that it has a glassy sheen as it slowly oozes like rolling oil.

What is it?

Where did it come from?

I have no idea. It terrifies me. Shaking my head in disbelief, I turn away and keep moving forward.

The winds whistle around me. Sand and random debris thrashes against my body.

The onslaught grows worse as I move closer to the black sand tornadoes. They are sucking up copious amounts of rock and sand as they slowly churn in my direction. At times, the air is so heavy that I can barely see less than a meter ahead.

My curiosity grows as I near the massive mounds before me. I see that there are at least twenty rusted war machines scattered in disarray along the virtual path. They look like they’re painted in blood. The machines vary in size, from the large tanks the size of buildings to the more armored vehicles that could only seat one person. Some of them are just piles of bizarrely twisted metal that I can’t tell what it used to be. The large tanks, with extensively long multi-barrels are riddled with rusted holes and missing their wide tank treads.

The mobile command centers have collapsed in on themselves like piles of sticks. There are shreds of unreadable logos on the machines, faded with time. The dust swirls aimlessly around them and the sand begins to bury large portions of the metal again. All these war machines were probably at the pinnacle of military technology, at the time of this battle.

Now they are just discarded scrap metal in the middle of nowhere.

What happened here?

Why did this battle occur?

Some of the machines are piled on top of each other. While others line up perfectly along the ridge of a hilltop.

There must have been a battle plan of one faction to push the other out into this barren desert. A telltale sign of how military campaigns progress back then. I guess, the military still chose to organize themselves into smaller groups. They lack the capability to work together as an integrated team toward a mutual goal. I traverse this area carefully, as I pass the last of the larger mangled messes.

As I walk by the rusted wreckage, the shifting sands reveal a gun gripped by the remains of a mummified hand near me.

The gun still looks as if it is newly minted, resisting the ravages of time. It is smooth with no hard edges or seams to reveal how it is assembled. It’s hard to even recognize how the magazine enters the gun to supply it with ammunition. This confuses me as much as it worries me. Much of the weapon technology is very different from what I am carrying.

Are all my guns now as effective as a musket rifle?

It amazes me how antiquated my equipment could be at this point. I wonder if there are any new weapons that I can scavenge.

I scan the immediate perimeter for any appreciable threats with none to be found. As I walk among the discarded giants, I count at least a hundred or more skeletons. Some still have remnants of desiccated flesh. There are random bones strewn everywhere. Many wear tattered military armor and ragged old uniforms. Several other skeletons still grasp their exotic looking weapons in their bony fingers. The frozen gazes of the skulls mock me as I pass by.

It surprises me that I’m afraid of them. They’re dead. Nothing about them should scare me. But still, a strange chill runs down my back. The set path gives me no choice than to step on their bones that litter the path. They’re easily crushed underfoot and immediately turned to dust. I climb over several hills formed by the discarded war machines. As I survey each machine closely, I hope I can salvage some essential parts. But these old relics are bare husks of rust as well. Any kind of working vehicle would be helpful right about now.

I sigh. I’m still tired and sore.

Any kind of working vehicle would be helpful right about now. I sigh out loud in pain. I'm still tired and sore. The treacherous terrain makes each step forward feel like a step backward.

My view field shows the tail end of a tornado whipping towards me. It sucks up a tank and throws it far across the desert. I run and hide behind a Humvee as a shower of glass bullets rains all around me. The black sand inside the tornado must be liquefying then solidifying into glass shards.

They spew out of the tornado as the tail travels across the ancient battlefield. I drag myself under the truck and turn my head. A mummified arm rises out of the sand next to me.

It’s clenched into a fist.

CHAPTER 2

10 Years Before

That fist triggers a memory from when I was a young boy. I guess I am about eleven. But I’m not really sure. My mother’s arm leans against the corner seam of the trash dumpster. She lays in the opposite corner from me. Her hand is clenched into a fist. Rigor mortis set in. She had died, fighting just a few days before.

I wasn’t going to leave her in the alley alone.

She’s all I have in this world. So, I had to drag her into this dumpster with me. The strong odor of body fluids and rotting flesh fills the air of the enclosed space. I compact my small, hungry body tightly into a fetal position against the dumpster wall. I remember her last words to me.

Death is a gun that shoots us all down. It finally has me in its crosshairs.

She told me not to mourn for her.

But my eyes grew tired from the many tears I shed. I served my purpose. I gave you life and protected you as best I could. Taught you to fight and trap the rats. You can survive Gunmorrah alone now. She told me to leave her when the time came. But I couldn’t. I wasn’t ready, not yet.

Here in Gunmorrah children are born rich or born to struggle. They’re considered financial burdens, and often abandoned by their parents. At least my mother cared for me. Many others are not that fortunate. The island is too small to meet the demands of an ever-expanding population.

Violence, homelessness and hunger are commonplace here. Our people live by their own set of rules. The government does nothing to help those in need. It only exists to serve and protect the wealthy.

They figure the homeless will die off on their own.

No need for population control, when odds are you’ll be shot on the streets.

Just about, everyone owns a gun or has access to one. Gun lore and technical advances define us, it’s our religion and culture. It’s who we are! Guns are the answer to all solutions. Life is short and fleeting on Gun morrah. Therefore, we live, like each day is our last.

The city of Gunmorrah blankets a secluded island of the same name. The descendants of pirates and monks settled it centuries ago. Towering skyscrapers cover the small land mass. They block out most of the natural sunlight to the dreary streets below. A precarious and complicated road system loosely ties it all together.

My grungy little alleyway is in the middle of the city. It’s always shrouded in darkness by rundown buildings. Rusty fire escapes and power lines surround me. An old dumpster here is regularly ignored due to its improper placement for trash pickup.

The garbage men don’t have the time or motivation to move it a mere sixty degrees counter-clockwise. Then the automated trash vehicle can work its programmed magic. So it sits untouched for months at a time. The pungent aroma scares off potential predators. I’m used to it and barely notice it anymore.

I can hear the muffled sounds of children's voices shouting in the distance. I didn't want anything to do with them. I cover myself with ripped trash bags and some discarded plastic sheeting. A skinny girl with greasy hair quickly leaps into the dumpster, like she’s part alley cat. She immediately notices the dead body. Her eyes widen in fear and disgust. She takes a deep breath and holds it. Then without hesitation, she slowly grabs hold of my mother’s shirt and covers herself. I watch as she rolls the body over and tucks herself underneath it as quietly as she can. I’m angry and upset that she touched my mother. But I remain quiet and still. I just want to be left alone.

Someone shouts from the street nearby, SHE WENT THIS WAY! COME ON! HURRY!

I grumble and cover myself even more with a few dead rats that surround me. The voices grow louder. Then I hear the sound of heavy footsteps shuffling around the outside of the dumpster. Suddenly, the hinges creak loudly as the cover swings open overhead.

A teenage boy yells as he peers down into the container, OH GATTS! He gags with the putrid aroma released into the open air.

The heads of several teenage boys also peers over the wall of the dumpster. They block the filtered glow of the yellow streetlight above. I can hear their heavy breathing over the constant buzzing of an electrical box behind the dumpster.

That chick’s all mulched up! Another grungy looking boy with rotten teeth said. GOD’S GUNS! It must have been here for weeks now! A third boy said with a voice crackling with signs of puberty. That’s the most messed up dead body I’ve ever seen.

Some distance away from the dumpster, another teenage boy shouts at the others. The tone of his voice sounds more authoritative and gruff. He is the leader of this gang.

Get your asses in gear, Ratbarfs! He said growling.

SHE’S GETTING AWAY! His voice echoes off the walls of the surrounding buildings.

I can see his wild, crazy eyes popping out their sockets. The others stare at him blankly from over the top of the dumpster. I swear youse all got Deficient Attention Misorder. He hissed at them, clearly fed up with them at this point.

They all turn away from the dumpster and run to the street corner to gather for further instructions.

I can’t hear what the leader said to them. But I could hear them bolting down the street. The sounds of their footsteps split up and disperse in different directions.

After a few minutes it becomes quiet again. Then the sound of crumpling trash shifting near me catches my attention. I watch the girl through a small tear in one of the trash bags. She slowly pulls herself out from underneath my mother’s corpse. She slides her legs out from the hole she dug for herself.

I remain motionless and silent. Hoping it will all soon be over. The girl must have somehow caught a glimpse of the top of my head peeking out among the trash. She reaches over and grabs me by the arm. Then she tries to pull me out from my hiding place. I wasn’t going to make this easy for her. I resist and try to pry her fingers off of me. You are quite the little mauser kid! But you’re not much to look at. She said huskily.

I finally stop resisting and let her pull me into the open.

She