The Vulgus Chronicles: Black Saber Novels, #1

By John Murphy

Manny Roca is severely injured and holed up in an abandoned boy’s academy with Cookie and Dweasel. His only incentive to survive his great hardship is to bring retribution to the Global Alliance, the occupying world military force in a world thrown into brutal suppression, government labor camps, desperation, and isolation in a complete news blackout. They meet Hannah, a tall, slender, teen who is strong, clever, strangely agile—and dangerous. They discover hidden computers with a treasure trove of forbidden truth about the Carthenogens, a superior race from another planet that has seized control of Earth and all information. How will these four survive the winter, let alone wage war from their isolated small town hide-out?

• Language: English
• Publisher: John Murphy
• Release date: Apr 30, 2015
• ISBN: 9781513007724

John Murphy

John Murphy was a Corporal in the US Marine Corps. He went to college, succeeded in the software industry, then wrote Success Without a College Degree. He’s traveled the world and been to all seven continents. His wife is a Blackjack ninja; he has three sons: a Marine Corps officer, a video game producer, and a travel blogger. While he enjoys writing about career success, he smokes cigars, shoots guns, rides Harleys, skis fast, drinks tequila straight, and thinks about alien invasion, combat, and sex, so he wrote Mission Veritas.

Book preview

Year: 2076

Manny Roca is severely injured and holed up in an abandoned boy’s academy with Cookie and Dweasel. His only incentive to survive his great hardship is to bring retribution to the Global Alliance, the occupying world military force in a world thrown into brutal suppression, government labor camps, desperation, and isolation in a complete news blackout. They meet Hannah, a tall, slender, teen who is strong, clever, strangely agile—and dangerous. They discover hidden computers with a treasure trove of forbidden truth about the Carthenogens, a superior race from another planet that has seized control of Earth and all information. How will these four survive the winter, let alone wage war from their isolated small town hide-out?

1

Manny Roca held his breath. The Global Alliance soldier was immediately behind him on the other side of the broken wall of rubble. He exhaled slowly hoping his breath wouldn’t show in the chilled air. The fog helped to camouflage his hiding place. His lungs ached for air, but he had to keep his breathing silent.

The soldier rode an electric, stand-up, two-wheeled Enduro Personal Transport, EPTs, but commonly called glides. Their silent operation did not make them immune to crunching through the gravel and debris. The soldier slowed with the tilt of his feet, probing with his rifle mounted flashlight, the beam sweeping over Manny’s position but kept moving.

A second soldier approached, the quick pace of his glide announced by running over leaves and sticks. It sounded as if he were at the top speed of thirty miles per hour.

Hey, Corporal, I’m here.

Where the hell have you been?

Uh—urgent matters, the second said in an anxious voice.

They both stopped moving. Everything was silent except for their voices.

What the hell is so urgent, dumb ass? the corporal said.

I got the runs, okay?

Damn it, Benson! You’ve always got some fucking excuse or another.

Sorry, but nature calls, ya’ know, Benson said. It’s all the spice they put in the stew. Hot going in, hot coming out.

Spare me the details, dipshit.

Manny relaxed a bit. The friction between the patrolling soldiers meant their focus was elsewhere and not on him. He held fast, controlling his breathing until he heard the fat, knobby tires of their ETPs munch away on the rubble and sticks. They moved at a moderate pace, their powerful light beams waving back and forth across the abandoned boy’s academy that Manny called home. The soldiers spent only a moment examining the broken windows. Everything was still. Soon, they were some distance away, and Manny wrestled from his prone position to peer over the rubble.

Shut your trap, Benson, the corporal yelled as they continued down the tree-lined lane, their voices louder than their stealthy vehicles.

The night patrols had been staggered at different times. Manny could never be quite sure when to venture out to his garden behind the fragmented wall surrounding the academy. He waited a while longer, watching them.

Manny had the combat training to fight, if necessary, but he no longer had any legs. He envisioned what he’d do to them, jump one of them, wrest the rifle out of the soldier’s hands, a quick strike with the butt of the rifle, then maybe shoot the other. If he had legs, that is. He didn’t know what it was like to shoot someone, but he’d been pretty good at attacking in mock raids during his training days. Adrenaline surged through his veins as he envisioned performing the act.

Finally, they were out of sight.

Back to business.

He found his hand blocks that he used to hobble around. They were chunks of four-by-fours that he had carved, shaped, and then layered and tacked on fabric to make more comfortable on his knuckles, with straps nailed to each end as hand-holds. He got his hands under his weight, and he began hobbling toward the garden. The stumps of his thighs in his cropped and reinforced pants, more of a sack with a waistband and fly, made a scrapping sound on the ground wherever he hobbled. He checked to see that the noise wasn’t attracting attention from the soldiers.

All clear.

He had set some snares in the hope of trapping a few rabbits that routinely ate the vegetables he was growing. Not only did he want to stop them, but he thought some protein would be extremely good right about now.  Cookie, the old lady that had been the boy’s academy cook, could make just about anything taste reasonably good. They had run out of stored food some time ago, hence the garden. Rabbit would be fantastic.

Manny made quick time, clomping and scraping his way down the weed covered sidewalk around to the side of the building. He checked for the patrol again. Still nothing.

Onto the grass lawn, which was just as noisy from the overgrowth, he finally got to the path he’d worn over so many other nights. His progress was quiet, except for the occasional twigs and leaves that he couldn’t see in the dark.

He reached the garden, a darker patch in the darkness.

The snares were set in the midst of the rows he’d planted. He had to catch those suckers wherever they might be eating his vegetables. He let go of his left hand block to push back the leaves of the bean plants. 

A frantic rustling noise erupted as a rabbit tried to flee from his intrusion.  It squealed and thrashed. He’d caught one.

Outstanding!

He grabbed his block again and pushed through the foliage to retrieve his quarry.

Damn, it made a lot of noise!

He wasn’t quite sure what to do. He forgot to plan for dealing with such a situation. He reached to find the snare wire.  He found it and pulled it closer with both hands. The rabbit jerked and thrashed.

He didn’t want to just grab it as it would likely bite him. He didn’t want to risk infection. One hand held the wire inches from the rabbit’s snared leg. He reached and fumbled for his hand block. He grabbed the strap, swung his arm high, and then pummeled the rabbit until it stopped thrashing.

He breathed heavily. Killing the trapped rabbit wasn’t as bad as he thought it might be. Although he’d never actually killed another creature, he’d seen endless death on the killing floor of the slaughterhouse. This wasn’t bad at all. He saw a bounty of rabbits in his future. He smiled.

He stood still on his stumps for a while to let his breathing calm and to see if the disturbance had brought attention.

Nothing.

He struggled to undo the snare from the dead rabbit’s foot. He got it free, and then reset the snare.  All was quiet. No other rabbits struggling to escape. No soldiers coming to investigate.

He pulled his backpack off and began stuffing the rabbit inside.

Rustling sounds. Not loud enough to be another rabbit.

A growl.

More rustling.

More growling. This time from another direction. He couldn’t see anything. He’d seen packs of dogs wandering around on other nights. His blood ran cold. He fumbled for his hand blocks.

Thrashing sounds rushed up to him. A sharp tug at his arm. A shadow rushed past him. More thrashing sounds, yelps, the attack was on.

Manny had to swing his blocks all around him wherever the sounds came most immediately.

Hot breath and sharp teeth glanced his cheek. He struck out, but only hit fur, not much meat or bone.

Another dog was tugging his jacket with great force, and it pulled him off his stumps. Other dogs were snapping, grabbing, tugging.

He swung wildly making more solid contact. He beat them off of him for his life. The yelping and growling grew louder as more dogs dug their teeth into his coat.

This is it, Manny thought. He was about to be torn to shreds by two dozen of people’s erstwhile pets.

He could feel their fangs tearing