The Liberati

By Yamile Vaena

He always tried to save the planet, until something happens.

In a strange post-apocalyptic world, Mateo only has an old wore down backpack and  some treasures to survive: a book, a stone, a compass/watch and the certainty that he will find her alive.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Circulo Proximo Editores
• Release date: Nov 30, 2019
• ISBN: 9781071516461

Book preview

THE LIBERATI

The beginning 

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The day we understand we know nothing, we’ll be closer to being free.

Prologue

I’ve known Yamile Vaena for a while, the trace of her pen, the architecture of her words and the soul with which she insufflates every line. However, the surprise was great when in The Liberati she submerged in the fantastic post-apocalyptic genre. The talent this author has is so vast that she manages to keep the sensitive essense despite the topic, and to extrapolate the feelings and the heart to the description of an environment is, to say little, worth spying.

The struggle against the world and everything that seems possible  becomes tangible through loneliness, as the ideals fall when you need to find a way to survive, and all you use to believe is now useless.. Values and principals are necessary, but the main logic has to be rejected in self-defense in order to persist breathing in the new reality.

The Liberati is more than a fantasy novel. It is the symbol of existential selfishness in which a pulse between right and wrong lacks sense, ethics overpowers personal welfare and the soul fades out in a body that the only thing it wants it’s to take one more step.

But love, that unstoppable motor strength of a heart that loves and that is incapable to think about itself, lives as the only embers of humanity, as an altruistic sample in a hostile world. Vaena makes us live and become this beautiful feeling in the only way of life there is beyond survival, as a goal, a search and, at the same time, in the only madness human beings can afford to allow themselves.

Reading Vaena makes me wonder about our  main fragile existence  and I can´t help to ask myself alot of deep philosophical questions, and as the story develops I only have one certainty: her magnificent  prose is the fruit of the  constant labor and the deep love she feels for every word she writes.

The Liberati is a beautiful  example of it.

WhiteJoker Manson

Author of the books: 

Betty Book: Isósceles y 

Anestesia con Cianuro

15 Months, 23 Days, 8 Hours

The noise, the smell, the familiar deaf buzz shakes me. The crowd was screaming. What happened? My arm hurts. The scaffold getting loose is the last thing I remember. Desperately swinging myself to try to hold the pulley before it was too late. Then the intense noise.

Next to my bed, the machine is beeping. My arm is paralyzed. I can feel my own extreme fear, I panic. How long have I been here? I have to find her!

-Mateo Albatros. A very healthy young man, mid twenties, he tried to save a workman in a construction accident. Anonymous hero or a criminal? It depends on how one looks at it, he's one of the troublemakers, one of the protesters. Multiple fractures, surgical intervention in his right arm was needed. The marrow is not compromised, but the impact made some pressure in his rib cage. His vital signs are irregular, intubation was needed. - Says the nurse to the man in a robe who just walked into the room.

The doctor listens to her while he examines my chart at the foot of the bed; he looks at it with a serious face, turns to the nurse and gives her some indications. The woman, diligently, takes a syringe, fits it into a small bottle and draws a nearly transparent substance. Injects it into the tube connected to the IV in my arm. I try to ask for some water, my mouth is dry, my throat is burning and I'm having a hard time to breathe. I can't talk, I can't move.

When the nurse puts the brownish solution in the hose, everything starts to be blurry, until I lose consciousness.

I'm in a damp cave and I seem to weigh a ton. I can hardly breathe. It's not too deep. The smells are intense but there are no sounds, of any kind. I open my eyes in anguish. I'm starving, thirsty. My arm hurts. I look at the scar that my dog's attack left me. I shudder. It was my best friend and it attacked me with killer instinct. It hurts a lot, as if fire was being injected in me. I recognize the surroundings, this is a recurrent nightmare.

The nights, I remember, are the most difficult hours in this place. Gravity force intensifies crushing you against the ground. The only way to survive is burying myself. I've had this kind of dreams before, but it's terrifyingly familiar, so vivid, so powerful. The silence reigns and a pain so deep makes me shudder every time I try to take a deep breath. It takes me a while to understand what's going on, to remember. I move with a great effort, trying to reach the exit hole. I can't force my arm, almost dragging myself as a worm.

The dirt nailed in my body hurts, the edges, the sharp rocks, but the worst thing is the sensation of being crushed like a crawling bug by the air itself. Outside the enclosure, light begins to appear. The smell of dew, and wet sand brings back beautiful memories. I've always liked nature. The best thing about camping was the smell of mornings, fresh air waking you up and pumping intention into every cell of your body. I'd never dreamt odors before. The air burns my lungs, every attempt to move feels like I'm carrying 400 pounds in weights, I manage to move hardly and very painfully. An old, gnawed at back pack hangs from me. I use my left arm to take out what's in there with difficulty. An old compass watch; it must be broken, because it won't stop to point north, a sharp rock, a book. A book? The Big Red Ball says the title. The name of the author sounds familiar.

I wake up in anguish in the hospital bed. Looks like it's after dark. I'm dizzy. Nothing hurts. My arm is in a sling, hanging with pulleys. Both of my legs are in casts and I have some sort of corset immobilizing my torso. Only my left arm is free. I begin to remember; I was at a political rally in the street, we approached a building under construction, and a string that was holding a scaffold broke. I let go of her hand for a second, where was she now? Was she ok?

Whe... - I try to talk. It's impossible with this tube in my mouth, the fire in my throat gets worse, they check my vital signs. A nurse comes into the room quickly, examines the machines.

-  Don't worry, everything is ok. Don't try to move. You've been in an accident. Don't try to talk.

She... - the words choke in my throat. The nurse modifies how quickly the dripping solution enters my veins, and again I sink nailed in the dream. I raise my hand to start climbing the wall of the hole. I advance with great difficulty, I still weigh tons. My hands bleed, the palms burn. I have to make a great effort.

My hands cling to an edge of the cave and I try to push myself with it. A rock slips off and I painfully slide back down. The rock falls to the cave floor. I sigh in grief. My stomach crunches in hunger. I look up and in the hole the rock left, yellowish roots appear. I smile. I've found breakfast. My arm hurts but I regain strength to crawl.

As I try to climb, images come back to me. I try to reach the roots. My right arm is next to useless, but I push toward my goal as if my life depended on it. And judging by the burning in my eyes, and the stomach cramps; it does. I must eat something. I use the obsidian stone, which looks like, is one of my few treasures in this place, to cut roots and save them in my backpack. The pain in my arm is intense. I struggle to maintain balance. It's very complicated to accomplish with only one arm and weighing a ton. I slowly look for a support point with my foot in order to push myself up as I hold on with all of my strength so I won't fall down. What will this mean? I hope it does not reflect my subconscious. I don't think my self esteem is so messed up as to compare myself with an insect. I try to control my breathing. A big tightness in my chest stops me from taking a deep breath, it's a distressing feeling. The certainty of having to get out of here, the thirst, the hunger. It's too real to be just a dream.

The hunger! The dry mouth.

Beep-beep. I open my eyes. The news are on the TV. It's the entertainment section. They've uploaded a video that went viral in social media making a mockery of some lame politician in charge. Comedians don't have to invent much in order to be ridiculously funny, the cartoon characters that rule us deliver the daily comedy themselves. In general, I hate memes. I think it's the amusement and the empty mockery of the worst part of humanity. Although in honor of the truth, sometimes there are some useful ones in the struggle for our planet. I´m better now, don't feel too much pain, but the throbbing in my arm continues. A nurse comes into the room. She announces the tube in my throat will be removed. If I could I would kiss her for that. Honestly I would kill for a drink of water. I'm dying of thirst. She says it won't hurt to take out the tube, and I wonder if she's conscious of the size of her lie. Maybe I can't do anything else with my concentration, but of course I sense how the tube grasps my throat on its way out. A coughing attack takes over me. The sudden movement strains the muscles and it gives me a pain spasm that makes me want to scream, but my body is not ready to utter coherent sounds. I cough louder. I feel like a smoker.

-  Don't worry. Drink. - The nurse lays me back again and with a sponge wets my lips. Really? I could drink a gallon of water right now, and this woman only offers me a few drops. - Easy now. You can't drink yet, you have to wait a couple of hours.

I hardly have the strength to protest. When I manage to control the coughing, I close my eyes, trying to relax after the effort.

The pain in the scar always brings me back to the beginning. My dog Dogo, the one I raised since he was a puppy, almost ripping my arm off. The shudder. In cool mornings like this, the bone still hurts and dragging myself with this weight trying to climb, doesn't help. Pain jabs sharpen my senses. He was my best friend and he attacked to kill me. You can't fall lower than that. Humanity is lost; we've reached the limit of the inevitability.

It wasn't Dogo's fault, we knew something wrong would happen to nature, it was only a matter of time. But we never imagined this. The smell of blood, the absolute consciousness of rules changed forever. We knew something bad was coming and still there was no way for us to be prepared. There will be no pets ever again. The domestic animals and the ones we used to raise for food will never be under our domain again. Their submissive role in our history is over. Nothing is the same. The landscape, the fauna, humanity in general. It's like we are no longer at the planet earth.

Animals now live in a deathly collective consciousness, they've developed an intelligence similar to beehives or ant farms: the hordes.

I finally reach again the place where the roots were, and I keep climbing, I try to move with difficulty to get out of the hole, unsuccessfully. I slip again. Poof! I fall back to the bottom, the roots, next to me. My muscles start complaining about the effort. I must not forget the book. I reach for it in the semi darkness of the cave. I'd be lost without it. I look at my watch again, and carefully pick up my treasures. Save everything in my backpack: the roots, the book, the canteen, the sharp rock, my watch.