Towerfall

By Heinreich T. Sioson

Thousands of years ago the world bathed in nuclear fire turning itself into a barren wasteland. The wastes, the endless sea of irradiated deserts. Vicious beasts roam the land while humanity hides behind the walls of the Towers, the last bastions of civilization.

A convoy from faraway Tower Five suddenly arrives carrying a surplus of goods to trade. And lots of gold. More gold than guns the tower can sell them on short notice. Questions arise among Tower Four’s citizens: why do they need so many guns? Who are they so desperate to kill?

Connor Blackwell and his team will find out soon enough. When all contact with Tower Five is lost his brave company of Outrider soldiers must cross the inhospitable wastes. There, the deaths of millions wait for them. And maybe, the death of hope itself.

It’s up to Company O89 to stop an ancient, ravenous terror before it consumes Tower Four, humanity’s last stronghold.

Fans of Metro 2033 and the Judge Dredd books will find this novel one they can sink their teeth into.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Heinreich T. Sioson
• Release date: Dec 26, 2020
• ISBN: 9781005692230

Heinreich T. Sioson

Heinreich T. Sioson is a fan of science fiction and horror. Outside of reading/writing he enjoys the sport of boxing, awesome steak and barbecue, and playing video games.Since publishing short stories "A Life in Snow", "Of Wars & Weddings", and "A Life In Darkness", he has released his first full-length science fiction novel, "Towerfall" set in a post-nuclear apocalypse.

Book preview

Copyright

This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, and events are products of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locations is purely coincidental.

Copyright 2020 by Heinreich T. Sioson

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in a book review.

First digital edition December 2020

Published by Heinreich T. Sioson

Cover art modified for use. Original image by Omar Flores via Unsplash. Permission to use under Unsplash license.

Dedications

For Caitlin, Kylie, and Jasmin.

My joys.

If it's said I did this for anyone, they can say I did this for you. Love You Always.

For Mom.

My greatest teacher, who taught me the value of patience, dedication, and perseverance. I love you.

Table of Contents

Copyright

Dedications

Part 1: Harbingers

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Part 2: The Journal

Entries 1-4

Entries5-8

Entries 9-10

Entries 11-16

Entries 17-23

Entries 24-27

Entries28-31

Entries32-34

Entries35-39

Entries40-47

Entry 48

Entry 48

Entries50-52

Entry 53

Final Entry

Chapter 17

Part 3: Dark Encounters

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Part 4: Annihilation

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Epilogue

Part 1

Harbingers

Chapter 1

Tower Four stood tall and mighty in the sands of a ruined world. A stone and steel sentinel, ever proud. Stubborn. It protects all within its cradled walls.

I was cold. Not freezing, but it was cold up here sitting on an abandoned vertrail overlooking the rest of the city below. A hundred feet up and to my right – tower left, if you're looking at it from afar – was the train line that replaced it a few years back. The engineers responsible for scrapping unused rails seemed to have forgotten this bit of track. Likely filling out the paperwork for deconstruction was too much of a bother.

It's my favorite spot in the entire tower. Correction: my second favorite spot.

Yo, Skinny!

I turned my head, unafraid of the possibility of slipping from the rail and plummeting to my certain and messy demise. A pair of militiamen in faded gray uniforms were standing in the safety of the platform a dozen feet behind me.

Want to grab a beer? Me and Jackson, he pointed to the taller man next to him, We're off patrol in ten.

I turned back to the view before me, at the sun in the distant horizon rising to wakefulness. And beneath the sun, the vast, endless deserts of the wastes.

I'm good, thanks, I said.

The taller man punched his buddy’s arm. Told you, man. Outriders are weird. Let's go. They disappeared around a corner.

I'm not skinny, by the way. Outrider life isn't kind to the feeble or the weak.

When I climbed Tower Four to the very top on a dare I might've weighed fifty pounds soaking wet and thinner than the rail I'm sitting on now. As for the nickname I got it after the peacekeepers arrested me. Once the beating stopped long enough to say, Skinny here's tough. Got some balls on him.

So the name stuck.

Blackwell. Come in. A squawk from the talkie on my belt. Convoy from Tower Five is en route, over.

I looked east and saw a coming dust trail with glints of gunmetal armor shining through dirty brown clouds. I see it, captain, over.

HQ wants us to do a spot check on our guests. When you're done daydreaming, Blackwell, get down there ASAP. Captain Schmitt hated nicknames, never used them. So he called everyone under his command by their last name.

I looked at the talkie with something like confusion. That wasn't normal procedure. Now that I can look back at this moment, I should’ve known this is where it went horribly wrong.

Aren't convoy inspections a customs gig? Do they really need one of us to do it?

It's straight from the Lord Commander, Blackwell, so treat it like the word of the gods and ask no questions.

Yes, sir, I said before ending the call.

I stood on the single rail, one foot directly behind the other. Perfect balance, even with some of my gear on. I looked down and wondered what does happen to a body when it hits the cold, uncaring earth. It's happened before, I've seen the results more than a few time in my years, but what would it feel like?

I shook my head. No, not going to find out today, I thought. I turned on one heel and walked back to the abandoned platform. I began my descent.

Chapter 2

Tower Four.

At its widest Tower Four was five miles in diameter and rose to roughly half that into the sky. Bordered by thick walls of lead-lined steel every available square inch was packed by the millions who called this place home. My home.

I was born in the Unters - my pale skin and albino eyes would've told you that at just a glance. My birthplace is the subterranean column where the dregs and the unfortunately poor lived. Crime-riddled, crowded, and filthy, death is the way of life. It is a place where people will walk over a fresh corpse with only a cursory glance. An inconvenience, to step over a stranger on their way to their own decrepit lives still yet to live.

My mother died with my coming into the world and my father hadn't been around to witness it. Some say he walked off into the wastes while others say he threw himself into one of the countless caverns in the Unters, never to be seen again.

I was raised by the village eldress, grandmother to the lot of us. I give her credit, but the Unters itself had a hand in my upbringing as well. It was the foundation of the tower but to everyone aboveground, it was a vile place devoid of hope, light, and happiness. And they’re right.

Groundfloor's East Gate Square was even more packed than usual. Its nearby resident had known for a long time the convoy from Tower Five was on its way. Anyone with something to sell had fought over every bit of real estate to set up shop. Often, the fighting was literal. As a I neared the square I passed by some poor sap cleaning a small pool of blood that had spilled onto the dirt in front of his shack. I saw no trace of the fight that produced the mess nor an accompanying body.

Farmers sold livestock, reserving their healthies for the coming visitors. Chemists promised to anyone within earshot that their brew could protect them from radiation poisoning and keep them hard for hours. Licensed gunsmiths – and those who were not – displayed their latest creations. Every single one of these sellers were flanked by two or three or four large men to make sure no one tried anything funny.

If Tower Four was famous for anything, it was the craftsmanship that went into our firearms. Even a shit gun from a shit unlicensed gunsmith could touch someone straight a couple hundred yards out. No one in the Unters was allowed to own guns of any kind and if a peacemaker found you with one you were liable to be locked up in one of the hanging cells or get your hand chopped off. Or they'd forego the trouble and mess and simply you toss you out into the wastes. Still, a few there managed to get their hands on one. Groundfloorers and above had permission to own but even then guns were expensive, often costing a minimum of two hundred pieces-of-eight for a simple revolver.

A gunsmith who saw I was carrying a militia-issued sidearm stopped me with a wave of the hand and an ingratiating smile.

Aaah, that's a fine arm you got there, son, said the man through teeth so white I had to squint to look at him.

Thanks, I said.

I know they take care of you guys up there but how about taking a look at my wares? You may see something you'll like.

Militia gunsmiths are the best, hands down, and the weapons they crafted and maintained were evidence of their expertise. And of those the best of the best were reserved for Outriders. However, I was often surprised how good gunsmiths from below can be. I shrugged and followed him to his booth.

I was greeted by four display cases with rows of pistols behind thick glass under lock and key. A fifth display stood on a raised pedestal in the center presenting a handful of rifles and submachine guns. A sign above the long gun display read Wallace's Wondrous Weapons.

I immediately approached the center display and I felt the man behind me smile with greedy anticipation. When his two guards sitting idly by saw me approach they made to stand up but the gunsmith waved them off. I inspected its contents but found nothing special.

I stepped away to look at the pistol displays. When I found one that sparked my interest I asked to take a closer look it. Most people would've been thrown to the curb but he couldn’t say no to someone from the militia. He unlocked the case and handed me the pistol.

Despite the comically long barrel it wasn't as heavy as I expected. It had heft, but it felt sturdy more than cumbersome. It was a revolver with eight cylinders which opened to the left – good for right-handed shooters. I spun the cylinder producing a dozen smooth rotations in just a few seconds without any pauses.

The gunsmith, who I presume was Wallace, saw the admiration in my face and said, Told you you'd find something you'll like.

He was right, but the barrel was an issue. The chrome finish was polished with a fine oil, however it shone too brightly. Outriders sometimes relied on clandestine approaches to solving problems so the bright finish wasn’t a good fit. Also, it didn't have a trigger guard which bothered me. Gunsmiths who do this often advertised it as an advantage, saying it reduced the speed of pulling the trigger. Instead of having to round the guard one can simply squeeze and be done with it. In truth, it was the best way to shoot your damned foot off while still in the holster. I tested the trigger and hammer anyway and I had to admit, the action felt right.

As you can see it fires .45 caliber rounds but it does come with a quick swap cylinder that can fit .357s, added Wallace trying to add the sell.

That explains the ridiculous barrel.

I handed the gun back to him before walking away. Sorry, but this isn't for me.

Just as I was about to turn the corner and disappear from sight he called out. I stopped.

I tell you what. How about I design a piece, just for you?

You custom make?

The gunsmith placed his hands over his heart like I'd just shot him. Officer, but of course I do! Can you not see the quality of the pieces? Did you not feel it in your very hand?

Now that I think about it, I did. But I wasn’t going to admit that.

He took a step forward and reiterated, "Just for you. Then he added, No commission."

I raised my eyebrows at this. Custom-mades were expensive and time-consuming, which meant paying something upfront. Yet here he was, not asking. And he was taking on the risk of making something with no guarantee I'd buy it off of him in the end. He must've seen the thought written on my face because he shrugged.

It's worth my time either way, was all he said.

I stared at him for a long moment. He held my gaze. I had to give him credit. I nodded.

Wallace clapped his hands. I should have it ready for inspection in... He counted out imaginary numbers in the air. ...two months. Maybe three.

Fair enough. I'll find you when I need to.

I walked away but before I could leave earshot I heard him say, I look forward to it!

***

Marielle Dietrich was a firebrand of a lady and fighter with long red hair to match which she often kept in a tight knot. She was shorter than me by a head but that didn't stop her from staring up at me with stern, emerald green eyes and a face of sharp angles whenever I annoyed her. Her back was to me as I approached, her arms crossed as she's wont to do. She was right-handed but wore her pistol on her left hip. She was standing well back of the gates as they closed behind Tower Five’s convoy. They'd just arrived.

I sidled next to her and I tipped her a nod.

Hey, Elle. You got the call too?

Yup, she said as she spat some chew into the dirt.

What can you tell me?

The customs officer in charge said there are more guards than normal. A lot more.

Many miles separated Tower Four and Tower Five which necessitated an escort to protect the supplies from reapers and the countless creatures that called the wastes home. Merchants and traders hired from the local populace while the government sent militia, which these were. I counted twelve trucks, four of which carried militia. Their transport shared the same design as ours so I knew each seated twelve comfortably along with supply and gear. A fighting contingent of forty eight. I pointed this out to her.

Yeah, that's a lot I know.

And from the other eight truck came a bounty of riches. It seemed every custom agent was called in to assist with the intake as dozens of men unloaded everything under the sun. Out came boxes of canned goods; salted and cured meats dipped in the strongest preservatives imaginable; purified water; coiled metal wiring; mask filters; a dozen boxes of antirad injections - these alone warranted an escort this size but there was still more to come.

A pair of traders pulled out four crates labeled SILK in big, bold letters. When I asked one of them where they got it one of them said they came from trapdoor spiders.

Marielle and I looked at each other.

Soon it became difficult to keep track of everything without looking at the shipping manifest so I stopped until only the last three trucks remained. Half of the escorting militia surrounded them while the customs officers conferred with the traders. After a moment one of the officers walked toward us.

Sir, ma'am, I'm Customs Lieutenant Smythe.

We introduced ourselves as regular militia officers sent to oversee the transport but that didn’t fool him. By look of awe, respect, and terror on his face he knew we were Outriders. Part of the way of things.

For your inspection. He held out a thick jacket of papers which Elle took. The manifest. As she looked through it her eyes would go wide or she would squint, as if not sure if she had read it right.

Skinny, you gotta to take a look at what's on here.

I'll check it out later.

Um, the items in those trucks, said Smythe pointing at the ones surrounded by militia, Those aren't listed.

Did they say why? I asked.

The officer in charge said once you inspect it, you'll see why.

We looked at each other a second time.

Alright, wait here. I said.

As Elle and I approached one of the Tower Five militiamen introduced himself. He saluted and held out a hand.

I'm Captain Theodore Holtz, First Defender Brigade, Tower Five. I'm in command of this convoy. He was a tall man with a thick gray bear wearing the dark blue patterned militia uniform of his tower.

I saluted and gave him my hand. Pleasured and honored to meet you, captain. I'm Blackwell, sergeant.

Dietrich, sergeant. She also saluted and shook his hand.

Ah, Outriders, said the captain, not fooled by the obvious subterfuge. "Only Outriders offer just their last names. And always followed by ‘sergeant’. He wasn't offended. It didn't seem to matter to him. He added, Also, you have the same look as ours do in Five. It's in the eyes."

Neither of us said anything.

Anyway, come. He lead us to the trucks and the lake of well-armed and well-armored men parted at our coming. Captain Holtz ordered a pair to lower the gangways. He hopped on one and pulled the flap aside. He signaled for both of us to take a look.

Solid steel footlockers. The entire truck was filled with them. Not a single foot of empty space. Each one kept shut by-

Are those gold locks?

I must've said it out loud because Captain Holtz replied in the affirmative. Elle actually leaned in so far into the hold she looked like she might topple over with the slightest gust of wind.

Gods, you're right, she said taking a close look at one.

Can we see what's inside?

The captain nodded and pulled a heavy boltcutter racked to the side of the truck. He cut the lock of the closest chest and handed the tool down to an awaiting soldier. I meant to lift the lid but he held out a hand and ordered his men to surround the cabin in a guard position facing out. He signaled for me to go ahead. I lifted the lid.

Holy fucking shit, said Elle.

Even within the darkened confines of the truck what was inside shined with a light all its own. As if blessed by the gods themselves. I was hard pressed to disagree with her.

Gold bars. I looked up at the vastness of footlockers.

Every single one was filled with gold bars. And there were two other trucks like this parked behind me.

Chapter 3

After the inspection Elle and I escorted some of the soldiers along with the goods. The rest stayed behind to guard the trucks.

We paid extra attention to the footlockers containing huge sums of gold, never taking our eyes away from them until they reached the express vertrail to Topside. From there the Lord Trader and the Lady Financier will figure what to do and decide what will be exported to Tower Five as payment. I wasn't good with numbers but if you told me that kingly sum was going to a tower extension I'd believe it.

Before the train door shut behind him Captain Holtz gave us an open invitation to dine and drink with them once everything was settled. I don't drink but I said I'll gladly join them. Elle, who did drink, and a lot, accepted with a drunkard's enthusiasm.

If there was such a thing as a middle and upper-middle class Heartland was where they lived. Citizens lucky enough to live or manage to visit Heartland can find parks, man-made ponds, restaurants, and even a small zoo. It also headquartered both the peacekeepers and the militia, making it the safest part of the tower. It was strategic; our groups had easy access to every other part of the tower up or down. In a wise and prudent move many wealthy merchants hanged their hats here.

Outrider HQ sat on the outskirts of Heartland, mostly away from the politics that busied peacekeepers and regular militia alike more than actual assignments. The luxury of sitting on their asses most of the time afforded them ample opportunity to run their mouths so it was hardly surprising. Because the Outriders were a branch of the militia we weren't entirely immune to the politicking. Immunity was a mirage, and mirages plagued us in Tower Four just the same as they did out there in the endless expanse of the wastes.

We found the captain leaning against a wall with a book in his hands. A normal position to find the man since he rarely used the desk tucked away in the corner of his windowed office. Captain Cassius Schmitt was the tall and stern commander of our small cadre. A veteran of countless expeditions outside the tower his white skin had long since reddened and wrinkled with the rigors of his life as an Outrider.

Elle and I snapped an informal but customary salute. The captain nodded and placed the book on a shelf.

Good morning, Captain, we said in unison.

Morning, Outriders. How were our guests?

Well behaved, sir, I said knowing full well relations between the two towers have been amicable for centuries. No incident before, during, or after escorting them to the vertrail to Topside.

The captain looked at Elle. Dietrich, anything from you?

I was able to take a look at their manifest, sir.

What'd they bring with them? He listened as she sounded off every single item on the list. Gods bless her photographic memory. Five minutes later she was done, punctuating it with the scores of gold-filled footlockers that were conveniently missing from the shipping manifest. The captain looked at me. Can you confirm they were all filled with gold bars?

No, sir. I doubt they would've appreciated me opening all of them to check. Or the Lord Trader either. But I'd gamble everything I own that they were.

Captain Schmitt grunted accepting my answer as satisfactory.

Gold is a big deal. Amongst the citizens of the towers only the wealthy and the powerful were allowed to own gold or trade in it. And we just saw more gold than most people