Gantry, Just a Gantry Moment

By Ron Howson

A post-apocalyptic adventure.
Gantry was raised from the age of five by war. It is all he has known, and he has become expert in it. But who is really running the war? The remnants of mankind are embroiled in it. In a post-apocalyptic world, one half are pitted against the other, while the reason for it has long been forgotten. From the author of Sci-Fi's thrilling Ruby Lake, Ruby Ridge, and Fear On The Mountain, comes the start of another series, The Gantry Saga.
If you were one of the chosen, one of the deserving, you were given a spectacular death. It was your Gantry Moment.
It was part of Gantry's legend. Some said he was magic. Some said he was a ghost. Some said he died long ago. Some said he was a demon. But it was none of those things. Gantry knew things.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ron Howson
• Release date: May 20, 2019
• ISBN: 9781370670680

Book preview

Gantry, Just A Gantry Moment

Ron Howson

Copyright © 2019 Ron Howson. All rights reserved.

ISBN 9781370670680

Chapter One

Aren’t you afraid to die? the man asked.

Gantry looked out at the mountains and gave that question just consideration, and thought, Death? It’s been my life. I’ve known death nearly long as I’ve known life.

He was properly pondering the question. He felt, given the situation, it was only fitting to answer as honestly and respectfully as possible.

I’ve known it all my life. No, death is an inescapable part of life. I deal it. I am it. I have become it. I don’t welcome it, but I don’t fear it, he growled out in a low, raspy voice.

But you have to be afraid of it. Nobody wants to die, the man said. I don’t want to die, Gantry. I think I’d rather live.

Gantry stood up and looked down toward the gully, watching for those who would deliver his demise, if he gave them the chance. He paced to the side to get a better view and strolled back. How would you know? You ever done it?

You’re a bastard, Gantry, he said. A cold, cold bastard.

They were coming to get him. Gantry had known it for three days now. He didn’t know why, but they were coming to get him. They made a few attempts and failed. They tried direct attacks at first. Now they were hoping to run him to death. It didn’t take long to to know it was his own people. They kept half of their force back, resting, while the other half pursued.

They would leapfrog the fresh ones and continue the chase while the others fell back, never ending the pursuit, while Gantry was forced to keep moving. Eventually, he would have to turn and fight, or he would drop from exhaustion. That was their strategy. It was a good one too, but they don’t really know Gantry. They only know the stories.

At first, he thought they just made a mistake. That’s why he didn’t kill them. But now, he knows different, after he captured their commander as well as his second.

What did you say your name was? Gantry asked.

Morgan, he answered. Don’t think I had a first name. How about you? You have a first name?

Gantry got up again to watch for the approaching surprise attack, sat back down, and picked up a small twig, breaking it into little bits and flicking them off into the wind to pass the time. He twisted his face, looked toward the sun, and said, You know, I think I do. Long time since I heard it. Don’t think I’d remember it, even if I heard it again.

Hell, Gantry thought, I don’t even know if Gantry is my name. All he knew is that was where he first worked; on the gantry. Could have been a coincidence, he supposed. Too small to be of use on the battlefield, he was up there watching for the next wave and shooting into the mass of bodies when it came.

Gantry thought back to when he was a child, hearing his mother calling him, straining to recall the name she used. That was before the war. He was maybe four or five-years old when it started. That was when the waves started. Back then. Now, he has no idea of his age. The years just came and went.

He recalled the discussions of the coming war. It was difficult to understand when you are that young. He recalled being re-assured that it would only be a few days. That few days turned to weeks. Then the leaders announced that it would take another six months to quell the enemy, causing his parents to bury their heads in their hands and let out an agonized moan.

To this day, he wasn’t sure what that word meant, Quell, but it must be something terrible, because it was sure hard to do. He did know that those six months turned into years, all the time, the leaders on both sides promising it was almost at an end.

But it never did end. It kept going and going. After some time, what the war was about was no longer exactly clear. One side was trying to kill the other, of that, they could all be certain, so the other had to kill them back. It was now the way of the world.

The waves were what he remembered most. The waves of humanity, one charging toward the other. They were huge, stretching over the fields and rumbling over the hills and cascading down the next. Those waves would eventually recede, and all that was left were the bodies. He could clearly recall that, the screaming, the clashing, the butchering, and the death. From up high on the gantry, he could see it all at four or five-years old, but for the life of him, he could not remember his name.

In the beginning, they would clear away the dead, but as time went on, that practice ceased, and the waves became smaller and smaller as they slaughtered and butchered each other. As they dwindled in size, they began to travel further out to continue the fight; travel to the next patch of humanity. They would eventually abandon their base and move forward, abandoning his perch, abandoning the gantries.

WE WILL SURVIVE! he recalled the leaders yelling over the media.

Well maybe, Gantry would think. There were some things that survived. The vultures, the packs of dogs, the bugs, and the worms that ate into the decaying human carrion, they all survived.

It was the media that whipped it all up, Gantry decided. Countless years later, he remembered the visions that were shown on that square thing that didn’t talk any longer. It was a tella-something. He figured it was to tella them about the war and tella them about other things, too.