The Wall: Part One

By C. Rose

In the span of a few days, Vivian's entire way of life is transformed, beginning a journey she never imagined. So focused on the external battles around her, she is in danger of losing the one within herself.
Author's Note: Updated as of August 2023

• Language: English
• Publisher: C. Rose
• Release date: Jul 5, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463540503

C. Rose

I'm a Christian and I like to tell stories. I never planned on being a writer until I tried it, but it has been a blessing. I'm very thankful to be able to publish my work here for others to read. God bless you!

Book preview

The Wall: Part One

C. Rose

Published by C. Rose at Smashwords

Copyright 2018 C. Rose

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

Thank you for downloading this ebook. This book remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy from their favorite authorized retailer. Thank you for your support.

Contents

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-One

Twenty-Two

Twenty-Three

Twenty-Four

Twenty-Five

Twenty-Six

Acknowledgements

One

Glass shattered. Vivian sat up in bed, unsure if she had dreamt it. The sound of a powerful engine outside, too loud for the old truck, increased in volume. She got out of bed and moved toward the ajar bedroom door. A sudden flash and bang on the other side made her jump, covering her ears.

Something slammed into the wall in the hallway. Vivian threw open the door. Mom! she shouted.

Her mother struggled with a stranger for possession of her rifle, her lips curled back from her teeth. He was older and possibly bald. He had her pinned against the wall, opposite the archway between their bedrooms. The man and Vivian’s mother were in a reverse tug-of-war, pushing against each other.

The man’s bird-like face twisted in Vivian’s direction. Her mother jerked her head to her daughter, dark hair coming loose from her bun. Run! she screamed. Just as she spoke, the glass of Vivian’s window busted on the other side of her room and a pair of men in black gear climbed in from outside.

Vivian bolted toward her mother and the intruder. Her mother kicked his shin and swung herself toward Vivian in order to shield her daughter as she escaped. Her mother threw her weight into the man, knocking them both into the darkness of the other bedroom. Artificial light poured in from the living room windows. The curtains flapped as air rushed in through the broken window.

Outside, a craft settled to land just beyond the front lawn in the dirt. The sound was a squealing vacuum in Vivian’s ears. The dark ship was deltoid-shaped with a subtle arch. Its wingspan measured the length of their small house. Flaming blue rings lined the inside of the thrusters as they pointed toward the ground. Hot dust flew in Vivian’s face. She threw her arms up to block it, back-stepping quickly from both the house and the ship.

She kept backing up, nearing the trees that surrounded their house. A hatch opened up from the ship. Three more men in the same gear and weapons marched out of the ship toward the front door.

The door burst open and Vivian’s mother greeted the men, swinging the butt-end of her rifle like a club. It connected with one of the men’s helmets, shattering half of it. He dropped to the ground as the others subdued her. She kicked and struggled, screaming, Run!

The bald stranger appeared from the doorway, wiping his bloodied mouth. Again, his head cocked in Vivian’s direction. He pointed at her in a silent order. She bolted. Fear made her run faster than she ever had before, but it wasn’t enough. A sharp pain hit the back of her leg and everything stopped functioning. Her entire body seized up as she hit the dirt. She couldn’t scream; uncontrollable groans and grunts sputtered past her lips. No, she thought.

Boots swarmed her vision. The men rolled her onto her back, raised her up off the ground and carried her away. Her entire body throbbed. The roar of the engines revved with new life. No!, her mind protested.

They held onto her mother as she fought against them. Tears streamed down her face. Before the engines could drown her out, she cried out to her daughter, "VIVIAAAAN!"

Vivian’s scream died in her throat. She closed her eyes as tears spilled from the corners. At the sound of a gunshot, her eyes snapped open. She strained her neck back to see what happened, but the men had already filed in and the hatch began to close. She struggled futilely. Her muscles were tight and knotted. The men hoisted her onto a flat surface, quickly strapping her down.

Her stomach unsettled as the ship rose into the air. A bright light came on above Vivian. She flinched as someone yanked the electric dart from her leg. The leader appeared under the light, with his halo of fuzz and an indifferent face. There was dried blood around his nostrils. Vivian stared back at him, breathing deeply. She wanted to ask what he did to her mother - that he didn’t kill her. She wanted to know but she was afraid of his answer. Tears blurred her vision again.

His eyes fell to her throat. The chain dug into the back of her neck as he ripped her necklace free. He held up her cross, scowling at it. Put her under, he ordered. We can’t have her giving us problems. Especially if she’s anything like that mother of hers.

Rage flushed her skin. The needle pinched the inside of her elbow while an oxygen mask was strapped over her face. Her pain began to fade along with everything else.

Vivian barely moved before grunting at the terrible stiffness in her neck. She was lying on a cement floor. The entire cell was concrete, save for a wall of metal bars. The cell door camouflaged with the bars except for a large square of metal for the locking mechanism. In the corner behind her was a raised platform which might have been intended for sleeping. Outside her cell was also smooth cement, with a procession of small disc-shaped lights embedded in the ceiling.

Vivian eased herself to sit up. Her clothes had been changed. Instead of the sweats and t-shirt she had worn to bed, she now wore a sort of wetsuit. It was thick and light gray with a number printed across the chest: 034.

Vivian’s memory came rushing back and stole her breath. Her mother... Sorrow and anger shredded her. What had she done to deserve this? She never did anything.

The world beyond her small life was a different place - more wild and dangerous. Her life was more like the way the world was two hundred years ago - before humans discovered life beyond their own. It was only microbial, but highly adaptive. The details were now lost, but the alien organisms were released into the environment. The foreign material taking root in the Earth created a cataclysmic effect. That was what they called it: the Cataclysm.

During those fifty years, the Earth changed - fast and not all for the better. Many plants and animals went extinct with new ones taking their place. Others evolved and adapted. The surge of foreign material benefitted the atmosphere. As a result, some creatures got bigger. Every positive had a negative to maintain the balance.

Vivian had never gone past the valley where she was born. It wasn’t because she was afraid - she was now - but because she had peace. Like everyone, she dreamt of adventures and other things she would like to experience, but she learned contentment.

All of that had been stolen: her life, her family and her freedom. Her eyes glassed over. She felt her neck where the man had taken her necklace. It was as if someone cut the last connection to everything she loved. She flattened her hand over her heart. God, please, she prayed, let her still be alive.

She forced herself to take a deep breath. She had no idea where she was, how long she had been there and what was happening. She needed to focus.

There was a heavy, sliding sound beyond her view - a door - followed by a small troop of footsteps. The men in black fatigues. She recognized the bald one. All passed without looking at her. Two of the five men carried a stretcher with a body lying on its side. His skin was dead pale, eyes wide and void. He was wearing a suit like her own. His number was 050.

She looked down at her suit once more. The bottoms of the suit went over her feet to make shoes, complete with rubbery soles.

Dispose of him before he starts to smell. The bald one said.

Yes, sir.

Vivian swallowed against a dry throat. A sliding door opened and closed from the other end of the walk. Fewer feet came back her way. She backed up until she was flush against the side of the platfrom. She kept her head down, heart pounding. Three pairs of feet stopped in front of her cell. You awake in there? the bald leader asked.

She held her tongue, stomach churning. She clenched her fists to avoid shaking.

Bring her out, he ordered.

A key turned in the lock and the metal-barred door whined as it swung open. Two pairs of boots stepped quickly toward her, grabbing her arms and pulling her to her feet. Her muscles were still too weak to struggle from being on that hard floor. And being Tased, she thought. They led her out of the cell to stand before their leader. He folded his arms. Vivian’s skin flushed with rage and fear. She hated herself for the latter.

Little sore? he asked, cocking a sparse eyebrow. She wanted to spit on his smug face. He snorted. Take her away.

His men zip-tied her hands in front of her and led her the way they had first entered. One of them was tan with short, platinum hair, and the other was pale with eerie, coiling tattoos all over his skin-bald head. They reminded her of military, but there was no such thing anymore.

They stepped through the wide doorway; it slid shut behind them. Heavy fog filled the air, hiding trees within it. Directly across from the prison-hold, on the other side of empty ground, was a cluster of dark green tents - maybe ten. To the left was another building. It was identical on the outside to the prison-hold but rotated ninety degrees to form the third wall of the dirt courtyard. To the right was a tower, about four stories high. All of the buildings had the same exterior: smooth concrete with no windows, except the top-most story of the tower. The glass was mirrored.

The soldiers escorted Vivian diagonally across the courtyard toward the open corner between the second bunker and the tents. The end that faced the tents was wide-open rather than having a large door. Vivian glimpsed weapons as she passed - an armory.

Three men were waiting just beyond the armory, standing idle amongst the bare trees. Transport? one of them verified, twisting his thumb at Vivian. A large scar ran from the corner of his mouth and up his cheek.

Yup, the towheaded escort said.

Let’s get this over with, her tattooed escort said in a Russian accent.

Blackness swallowed her vision as they bagged her head. She panicked for a moment. All of them began to walk, guiding her along. She tripped over herself a few times.

So, how’s Buck? The voice of the blond.

He’ll live, the scarred one said. He chuckled. That was something to see - that woman whacking him in the face with a rifle like that. Another laugh. Swing batta-batta!

All of them laughed. Did she really? the Russian asked. And the commander let that slide?

Oh no, Scar said. Someone imitated the sound of a gunshot.

Vivian quietly sobbed. Either they didn’t notice or didn’t care. If her mother was gone, she wanted revenge. But she felt so weak - physically and emotionally. She convinced herself that her mother would be alive if she hadn’t run away, whether or not she had been ordered.

Vivian was making herself sick. She tried to think about her surroundings. Anything that was important. Her feet dragged through dry leaves. She heard something like static. Rushing water...there was a river.

The caravan halted. Alright, lift her up.

Hands raised her up until she was horizontal above their heads. It was a terrifying sensation: blindfolded and bound with the chance of being dropped into frigid water. It was far colder here for autumn - wherever here might be - than she was accustomed to.

Once they reached the other side and they returned her to the ground, her worry shifted to their destination. She dragged her feet, sensing the change from stone to leaf litter. She can look now, Scar finally said.

The bag tore free from her head, temporarily blinding her with the gray fog. Seasonal trees were nearly bare of their shed leaves. The ground was coated in leaf litter. There were pine needles everywhere, but only stumps remained of their trees.

As they moved through the foggy woods, Vivian heard the distant chatter of people. Scar whistled loudly. The chattering faded into the new sound of shuffling bodies. Weapons being cocked.

The camp was definitely a separate group of people. The tents were mismatched, tattered and patched, set up in two parallel lines. A group of people waited at the nearest end of their camp. Bandits. Vivian never had to deal with bandits personally, but she had heard plenty of stories back home. Thieves and murderers, the lot of them. Makes sense why they’re here.

All of them had rifles or handguns. Nothing like the firepower Scar and his group wielded. Even if they had double the men.

Ray, Scar said in a barely-civil greeting. It was aimed at a chunky man with a grisly black beard and a lime green bandana on his forehead.

Where’s Johnson? Ray asked, resting his arms on the rifle as it hung from its strap across his chest.

Busy. He’ll be by for the next exchange. We’re gonna need Eight.

Ray raised his hand; two bandits broke away from the back of his group, trotting to the opposite end of their camp. There was an awkward silence as everyone waited. Vivian was surrounded by itchy trigger-fingers. Some of the bandits looked at her like something to eat. She swallowed against the nausea rising from her stomach.

A strained squall pierced the air from the other end of camp. The pair of bandits dragged a prisoner forward. Vivian managed to make out the number 008 across his chest. His suit was dirty; he had been there a while.

A pair of Scar’s men took hold of Eight. One of them hit him in the gut to stop his wiggling. He doubled over and gagged. The same two bandits approached Vivian, taking her arms.

Make sure Johnson shows next time. We need another batch of supplies.

You’re not in a position to make demands. You know the deal. Don’t forget the mercy he’s extended you, Scar warned.

Johnson must have been the bald man’s name. Having a name for the man who caused her torment made Vivian’s anger burn more deeply.

Eight glared at Vivian as they passed each other. She looked away quickly. Ray’s lip thinned beneath his beard as he watched the men leave. His gaze flicked down to Vivian. Put her with the others, he ordered.

Two

The two bandits led her down the line. The left one, a thin weasel of a man, was missing a front tooth and smelled horribly sour. He chuckled. Nice to have a girl to look at, eh, Beeb? Suddenly, he cried out when a rock hit him in the back. A woman with black hair had thrown it, giving him a foul look. "I meant another girl!" he whined.

Beeb was not the name Vivian expected to belong to the older bandit. He had blonde hair, gray eyes and a dead stare. He said nothing.

The camp smelled of booze and bad hygiene. Ahead, a large tarp covered something on the ground. When they reached its edge, Beeb pulled the tarp halfway back, revealing two pieces of chain-link fence that were tied together. Below was a hole in the ground, around twelve feet across. Beeb lifted the half of fencing uncovered by the tarp. The dirt-smudged face staring up at Vivian was a middle-aged man with cracked glasses and the number 023 on his suit.

Welcome to the pit, sweet cheeks, the weasly bandit said with a filthy giggle. He reeked as he stepped in close to Vivian’s face. She avoided eye contact.

Beeb pushed the small bandit back, whipping out a blade and cutting the zip-ties around her wrists. She rubbed the indentations they left behind. Beeb turned her shoulders to face the edge of the hole.

Watch out below! the weasel sang, pushing her.

The drop to the ground was a good ten feet. Vivian’s legs buckled when she hit bottom, aching all the way up into her hips. She grunted, resting against the earthy wall of the hole. The chain-link clanged down above her.

Beeb stared down at her with an intimidating scowl before retreating, leaving the half of fence uncovered. Vivian glanced at Twenty-three. His eyes were on the ground. Scratchy, silver stubble textured his cheeks.

Something shifted in the dark corner of the pit, sliding toward the light with a heavy sound. Vivian’s eyes widened as a Subterran drew near.

His chest and back were protected beneath dark, exoskeletal armor. He wasn’t wearing a suit, which helped him blend into the darkness. His hairless head was slightly oblong. The ability to smell and breathe came from a series of small holes along the pointed crest at the top of his head. His noseless face bore an inkblot-like pattern. The pattern was a Subterran’s distinguishing mark, like human faces or fingerprints. The pattern was so stark against the pale flesh; it consisted of three horizontal stripes, each having a shallow V-shape. Between the top and center V’s were two black, far-spread beady eyes.

His top lip was perfectly lined up with the center of the lowest V. He didn’t bare them, but beneath the humanoid lips were a pair of black beak-like teeth. They were hard and matched his armor-plating. Subterrans communicated via clicks an chirping sounds in the back of the throat.

Everything Vivian previously learned about Subterrans was through books, videos and school. They were a race of species that lived and worked primarily underground. They were the only fully sentient race to come from the alien matter