Dead Salvage: Mourning

By M. L. Cain

Humanity is dying. The world is a blackened casket slowly closing.

May the ever-consuming darkness swallow everything, at last putting an end to the human race as we know it. Let the ritual of extinction begin.

In the twenty-second century, the earth is but a decaying wastelandhopeless, lifeless. Neither hope nor life has a place here, and both have long been abandoned. A nihilistic cult has risen, and after decades of terror and conflict, which they are catalysts of, their prophecy of human degradation and extinction has begun to manifest into fruition. A sapphire dawn is on the horizon, yet it is a dawn that yields no light for the masses. However, within the shadows of this dystopia, there is a flickering spark. In the caliginosity, a group of survivors holds a precious light.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Mar 7, 2016
• ISBN: 9781514471678

M. L. Cain

A former poet turned writer. A world traveler and adventurer with a fascination for the macabre and appreciation for the generally unusual.

Book preview

DEAD

SALVAGE

(Mourning)

M.L. Cain

Copyright © 2016 by M.L. Cain.

Artwork by: Zukk Ozaki

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 09/13/2016

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CONTENTS

Chapter 1 Reflection through Broken Glass

Chapter 2 Hell Is For Heroes

Chapter 3 Descending to New Hope

Chapter 4 Somnolence and dreams

Chapter 5 The ‘Suicide Run’ (Escalation)

Chapter 6 Desperation

Chapter 7 Bandits, mystery and greener pastures

Chapter 8 Hallowed shells

Chapter 9 Friends and Responsibilities

Chapter 10 Trail of a monster

Chapter 11 Bonded

Chapter 12 The Oblivious Earth(?)

Chapter 13 The Monster

Chapter 14 Affirmation and Conviction

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Chapter 1 Reflection through Broken Glass

T his life is a nightmare … and one I’m unable to awaken from. I, like many others, was dead before I ever had a chance to live.

In the year 2174, January 27, the world forever changed, after a series of dirty bombs were set off in eighteen countries within a span of twenty-four hours, to include the United States, UK, Russia, China, Japan, India, Germany, and Iran. This immensely large-scale and elaborate act was orchestrated by the terrorist cult, known as Sapphire Dawn, at the peak of a two-decade-long War on Terror. Unlike regular dirty bombs, which have a low casualty count used for shock and fear tactics, these tweaked dirty bombs had more sinister, prolonged, and shattering effects, unleashing a contagious airborne sickness like nothing the world had seen in centuries.

The contagion later became known as Void virus, a bio-warfare engineering masterpiece, which utilizes nanotechnology. Painful fever, nausea, vomiting, internal hemorrhaging, and then death by literally drowning in one’s own fluids … this was the gruesome fate of the infected. Void virus spread rapidly over much of the known world, killing and dwindling the human population down significantly in a devastatingly short time. Not long after the bombings, Sapphire Dawn claimed responsibility in a televised release of their confession, in which they claimed to be doing the work of the true God, the great nameless one. They boasted in full confidence, that the virus was immedicable … and they were right, to the degree that we never had the chance to counter it. Sapphire Dawn or the Brotherhood of the Sapphire Dawn, as they were originally known as, are a mysterious death cult, which developed its start around 2157. It is their ambition to eliminate a large percentage of the human race, a depuration, through genocide, so they can restart and reshape humanity and its progress within the parameters of their vision of utopia, whatever that may be.

The cult had long been violently active throughout the Earth, previous to Void virus, death worshipers responsible for horrific acts such as numerous bombings, mass shootings, kidnapping, and snuff film productions, sold via the black market, glorifying their message of nihilistic hatred … claiming the lives of tens of thousands. Many people among the survivors believe the cult was also responsible for the fall of the Mars colony, known as Silphagia, and home to about four hundred thousand people. This promising colony was active between 2090 and 2173, before it went silent. Oddly enough, Mars is credited as the origin point of the cult. Whatever their origin or intent, they are an enemy to all living things.

They abide by secret scriptures from a holy book only presented to those deemed worthy of the light or darkness of its supposed knowledge. There are lesser and greater teachings; the newly initiated are taught from the lesser teachings. As they become enlightened adepts, they are individually chosen to begin along the path of the greater teachings, which from my understanding, is a rare honor within the cult.

Their leader and figurehead is a man, equally mysterious, known as Albatus. He is said to be their prophet, also hailed as the originator of the cult, the first follower of the nameless one. To those of sound mind, however, he is a harbinger of insanity and death. The story goes … the shadowed god appeared to him with the secret prophecy, tasking him with fulfilling its ghastly revelations in order to achieve some greater intention. Albatus had apparently gone quiet shortly after the televised confession to the bombings, in which he appeared unmasked in an undisclosed location, his eerie last words being, The darkness which will claim the Earth will not last forever, it is not our end goal … far from, it is merely part of a process … those who are faithful, patient, and pure shall witness the true Sapphire Dawn.

The years that followed the bombings were indeed dark and chaotic, to say the least. Death, sickness, fear, and an all-consuming panic at the heart of it all—this loss of control resulted in the blood-bathed streets as humanity rotted from the inside out, unable to escape their fate, unable to return to stability. When it seemed things could not be any bleaker, it was discovered the virus was set up to perform multiple stages of evolution, ensuring the virus at heart continued to spread despite breakthroughs and attempts to combat it. The Void virus evolved to its second phase known as the Hyper Void. The unfeigned horror of possibilities, within this new stage of the virus, began to show its face. It was no longer an airborne contagion; in fact, it had mutated completely. Much of the damage had already been done by this point; a much crueler fate was to be had. Death was now only the beginning.

The new evolved virus seized control of the host body postmortem. It reanimated blood cells and forced, through unexplainable means, new blood to be produced and recirculate through the body, reactivating the most primal functions of the brain; the instinct was to feed and reproduce, but in the most perverse distortion. It also mutated the physical structure of its host body into a repulsive and monstrous form of the host’s former self, to the benefit of the now-parasitic virus.

These nightmarish fiends gorge themselves on the living, stalking the streets, in shadowed and hidden areas, for whom they may devour and infect. The nanotechnology is, no doubt, still a very active component. We call these soulless shells voiders. Many believe they are simply a weapon that will expire over a set time. These opinions seem to hold some ground; their numbers do show sign of decline, as do their activities. They can be seen roaming the mostly empty streets today, still terrorizing what little survivors remain unsheltered. They hide away in the shadows, seeking new feeding grounds, where unsuspecting victims may be nested. With the ferocity of their attacks, sometimes they devour a victim to an unrestorable point, sometimes they simply infect by way of projectile vomit or by biting or exchanging bodily fluid through saliva or blood. They seem to do this at random now. Regardless of what its true purpose is or was, the Hyper Void Phase merely set stage for what was to come, just one part in a long and painful extinction ritual.

Before long, the Sapphire Dawn cult resurfaced after a small hiatus and picked up the offensive just as voider numbers slowly began to dissipate. Surely there is no coincidence; they had waited patiently, like a snake having just poisoned its prey, paralyzing it before moving in to devour it whole. Tanks, MBMAs (mobile bipedal mechanized armor), AATCs (Ariel armored troop carriers), dismounted personnel, and other machines of war were soon rolling through the streets of weakened towns and cities. They operated as a professional military, decimating all in their path, without mercy, their only objective being to kill. This period of Sapphire Dawn resurgence is now known by survivors as the collapse, dismantling further all that once was, the final stone to send it all crumbling down.

The Sapphire Dawn conquest changed humanity and has brought it to its knees. Nobody ever thought the cult could or would take things as far as they’ve gone. Across the world, from major cities to small towns and rural areas, buildings and other structures soon became ruins of a once-great civilization. Ghost cities, decaying testaments to technology and innovations lay asunder. Civilization was truly on the brink of extinction. Hope for successful reprisal and reconstruction became a fleeting dream, no longer obtainable, fading in the disarray of the ever unfolding reality that we no longer had control of our fate. The governments of Earth struggled to maintain control and grasp. Countries and groups that were once enemies now joined forces to combat a greater threat, a threat that was actively wiping them off the map, but it was a losing battle against this unconventional force that took the world by storm, until control was completely lost. This … cult … was now so deeply rooted, it was impossible to weed out.

It didn’t take long for many of Earth’s governments to fall after this resurgence as they have already been weakened, but that didn’t stop them from attempting to regain an already-lost hold, even turning on their own citizens at times. In the early years of the Collapse, safe havens—or rather, fortresses—were established in the ruins of the cities. Government strongholds were built up to be the final bastions against the enemy.

Within these strongholds, madness was contagious. Extreme actions were taken as a result of paranoia and mistrust, sometimes resulting in the capture and murder of civilians suspected of being infected with the virus or conspirators of the Sapphire Dawn cult. It was hard to determine who was friend and foe. The onslaught seemed to come from both the fractured government elements and Sapphire Dawn forces; it was hard to trust anyone, even fellow civilians who would turn in their own neighbors on suspicions or take justice into their own hands. Vigilantes took to the streets in an attempt to remedy the wrongs, untrained amateurs causing more harm than anything. These were the death throes of a dying system of order consumed by an unstoppable chaos. The world population numbers continued to decrease until those numbers reduced from billions to estimated millions—numbers that have since continued to decline. What’s more, Sapphire Dawn was still able to recruit new sick-minded members during this time.

In today’s world, there is no government, no organized military or police force, no TV or radio—those things have long since been lost. Now only wasteland and ruin remain, and the unwritten law of might is right. Still, humanity as a whole is not ready to die, painfully resisting this slow death, weakened and near the end. Small pockets of resistance against Sapphire Dawn formed, consisting of former government forces and civilians, people desperately resisting the crushing grasp of forced extinction … but failed. Many of the resistances were short-lived and quickly silenced due to it being highly unorganized or corrupted. Some of these groups simply morally collapsed, degrading into bandits and murderous deviants.

Our governments are no longer able to protect us, or hurt us—depending on how you saw it. These days, most survivors are just trying to … well … survive, and by any means; there’s no collective plan of action or loyalties, at least not in large part, thus we’ve been divided and weakened. Sapphire Dawn death squads are active and organized, storming like the plague through cities and towns with frightening efficiency, making sure nothing is left alive in their wake. They comb over areas multiple times, ensuring they catch any stragglers they may have missed. They’ve combed over our city just once before and haven’t been back since … but it’s only a matter of time. They are the hunters, the predators; they embody the symbolism of the black wolf that stalks in the urban ruins, their return anticipated with a sense of helpless dread … as they are coming to finish what they started. They’ve taken on an almost inhuman mythos.

Lurian City, where we reside, is a shell of a once-great metropolis, which I’ve never known in her glory, where monsters are real and hope is fleeting. They’ve tried hunting us down, but we still cling to life. The nomads, as we identify today, are a cut from the norm … in that we have outlasted our predecessors. I wouldn’t say we thrive, but we have certainly developed some skill in adaptation in the wastelands.

The nomads are a recently named group and community of united survivors. Alexander Haselfor started the nomads many years ago; back then, they were nameless wanderers. Alexander gathered survivors who were people displaced by the Collapse, and the events that followed, in a mutually beneficial community. It started small, just a few dozen people trying to get by; but as time passed, their numbers grew into the hundreds. People of different crafts and social classes put their skills to use for the betterment of the group.

As resources were gathered, security became increasingly important. Every step was met with resistance. Places that contained or had the potential for valuable supplies and items became places of conflict and violence with other survivors, who now would kill to gather supplies for their own survival, making most salvaging trips a violent and bloody affair. Between fending off other humans, bandits, or packs of Voiders, not to mention the other potential dangers and the ever-looming threat of Sapphire Dawn, the wastelands were and are an inhospitable place.

Despite this, Alexander and his group were able to establish a permanent hideout, which contributed to their successful arming. As if by fate of some kind, an abandoned ten-story building—formerly the Kendrick Arms building, a company which used to manufacture and research weapons and weapons technology—became their place of refuge. It was no easy task to acquire this building, but by the sheer will and ingenuity of this group of survivors, they made it happen.

Alexander Haselfor was a great and charismatic leader. In the pre-Collapse, he was a popular and decorated lieutenant colonel during the two-decade war. The other survivors looked up to him like a noble king, and I guess for a while it was a functioning wasteland monarchy of sorts, with many loyal advisers beneath him, to include his daughter, Sara Haselfor. They became a shining symbol of hope, succeeding where other groups like them had previously failed. Those who fled from Sapphire Dawn death squads in other cities, those who got lucky, flocked here and stumbled upon this group.

One unfortunate night, while patrolling through the wastelands for supplies, Alexander passed away. He and his team of fifteen were overwhelmed by Voiders while exploring an underground shopping complex. Only Sara and one other survived to tell the tale. The nomads, as we know ourselves today, are controlled by a five-person council, one of the five being Sara, who is an amazing leader, just as her father once was. The other council members, I’m told, were former military officials of differing capacities who acted as Alexander’s advisers.

More recently, the nomads have lost contact with two smaller outsider compounds of survivors, whom we had friendly relations with … one of which was laid to waste by unknown forces, perhaps bandits. The other group fled the city to an undisclosed destination. Rumors have begun to creep in that Sapphire Dawn may have, at long last, made their return to the city. These claims are unfounded, and regarded by most as fearful bullshit.

It’s 2188; my name is Johnathan Alanis, but I go simply by John. At age sixteen, I’m one of the youngest workers of this group of survivors. This place is relatively kid free, with the exception of a few. I fail to understand how anyone could birth a child into this world … it seems cruel to me. I was two years old when the bombings that unleashed Void virus happened, setting into motion the progressive end of humanity as I had mentioned. My memories of the world before are nearly nonexistent, beside the stories I was told or have read about. Many are old enough to remember how it used to be. I was, by the grace of whatever God watches over these wastelands, rescued by a scouting party of the nomads when I was young. I was told this story, once and only once, of how I ended up here. They found me in an abandoned building that had just been raided by bandits, my mother shielding me with her dead and rigor mortis–stricken body. No one really talks about that night much, at least not to me … and quite honestly, I think I prefer it that way.

I trained from age nine to fight, not only with weapons but hand-to-hand as well, though I wouldn’t say I excel at either skill. Everyone trains in combat here to some degree. Aside from basic combat, I specially trained in mechanics, in which I excel. I learned the ins and outs of the machines we use, and how to fix them to working order, and perform system upgrades. These things were part of my regular curriculum growing up here.

The Kenderick Arms building, our refuge, is in surprisingly good shape, considering our surroundings; and since our occupancy, it’s been fortified. Within, it has labs, shooting ranges, and other operational facilities left over from the pre-Collapse that we take full advantage of. Armed guards patrol our premises 24/7, making sure gangs of thugs (which have banded together in the wastelands) or worse, Voiders, don’t raid us.

This is the only home I have known since I can remember. Though we are called the Nomads, we stay hidden away here and don’t move around much, lest it be for raw salvage and supplies. For those of us who aren’t part of these expeditions, it’s easy to forget sometimes the land outside is an urban wasteland full of chaotic uncertainty, but life within the building is mundane; often it feels like we are just waiting to die out here.

We constantly work to sustain our life, building and improving our own living conditions. My mentor says the longer we stay and build here, the larger target we become. And I have to say … I agree. Less than a year ago, a group of thugs attempted to storm this place, but they were quickly subdued before they had a chance to even set one foot inside. This furthered the theory that some held: that bandits possibly caused the destruction of our outlying allies, though others still hold on to the possibility of other conspiracies.

As a result, it was decided by the council to send scouting parties out into the wastelands, farther than we normally allow, in hope of branching out, leaving our safety zone, so to speak—something that hasn’t been done since Alexander was the leader here, I’m told. Some scouting parties even used go out with the sole purpose of hunting down bandits, who may be housed in buildings and structures, tips we use to get from our former allies. But most importantly, today, they are used to observe and report on activity in our surrounding areas.

I believe in a more proactive approach, and many are beginning to voice this same rising opinion; it’s unacceptable that we sit stagnant while thugs and brutes prosper on the suffering and vulnerability of less capable survivors. I suppose some have settled for this lifestyle, but in my mind, I consider that train of thought to be detrimental.

At present, it’s evening; I sit lazily on an old maroon-colored leather armchair in the lower portion of the building, in the basement. This area serves as a motor pool that sections off, separates, and connects to an underground parking structure. This motor pool houses the vehicles and machines we’ve acquired over the years, refurbished, and now use. It is also our armory, so it stays rather busy down here. The smell of gasoline, burning materials, and sweat linger constantly in the air—it’s something I’ve grown to love.

I recline as I watch Eligh, my mentor, work attentively on the inner arm section of an MBMA. The dark circular goggles are tight over his eyes, and his brows curl downward in concentration. The other mechanics busy themselves with similar tasks or run system and performance checks on the other armored suits. My own personal duties for now are completed, and I take advantage of any break I can. I usually help Eligh with his task, but today, I cut myself some slack.

Eligh has been my mentor since I was eleven, though he has given me a bit more freedom lately. He’s a Latino man in his midthirties, a bit intimidating in appearance due to his size and the tattoos that cover his body from the neck down. But he’s a huge softy; a man with a calming aura, yet able to be stern when needed. He’s no pushover.

He’s a former US Army mechanic who worked in a heavy mechanized unit during the two-decade war, which means he is used to working with armored suits as well as the other heavy vehicles like our troop carriers. He’s taught me the ropes of being a mechanic, and he’s a great teacher. He’s, in part, the reason I know the internal layout of an MBMA like the back of my hand, besides my general interest in war machines—okay … maybe it goes a bit beyond general interest, perhaps mild obsession is a more accurate term.

The mechanics here are truly innovational, restoring old machines to working order for the benefit of our survival, and sometimes altogether reinventing them to some other practical use. We even have a light HATV plasma tank that stays in the motor pool. It’s a defensive vehicle, at least for now. A light-tracked vehicle with two plasma cannons … it’s quite the battlefield adversary when deployed properly. It remains immobile it was here before we occupied this building, hence why we just use it like a stationary turret of sorts should anything wild pop off.

We scavenge the wastelands for raw supplies, like scrap metal and things of that nature; we are also self-sustaining as well. We grow our own food, manage our own power, and engineer to solve problems; everyone plays their part in the collective scheme of our survival.

The MBMAs, a.k.a. armored suits, are our prized possessions. Mechanized suits, built for battle, the arms contractor Black Starling first created them in the late twenty-first century. Powered by a small regenerative solar pack unit located on the back portion of the suit, it is one of the first environmentally friendly war machines, but of course, the benefits of a solar rechargeable killing machine were more than environmental. Countless companies made many production models and variations over the decades. The commercial industry had their own versions as well, for construction and other civilian projects; but they saw their largest use on the battlefields by military, paramilitary, and private military contracting companies. This is where their true potential was realized. The average suit stands roughly thirteen feet tall and is specially equipped with weaponry, which are usually larger versions of weapons carried by foot soldiers. The suits synchronize with the body of the pilot in how it moves—mimicking their movement. So a suit is only as effective as its pilot is without the aid of the suit, making pilot selection very important.

A couple years ago, a small team of our guys out on patrol picked through an abandoned army post discovered by scouts, south of our position. They discovered, within it, a secret vehicle storage. I’m told within the ruins they were able to find an MBMA-88—this is part of an ace class of armored suit, known as special type, from the most recent era. Standing a solid seventeen to eighteen feet, it’s taller than the other armored suits and made purely as a juggernaut. This suit now belongs to Sara, who pilots it. It’s always interesting to work on it with Eligh; we’ve been adding modifications and tweaks at Sara’s request for the past few weeks. And speaking of …

Suddenly, Sara enters into the motor pool from the exit door leading to the staircase. She’s a valiant-looking woman in her early forties … or maybe late thirties, athletically built with shoulder-length auburn hair, which she usually wears in a ponytails with loose hairs near her face, and strong green eyes, though she maintains a gentle calm in her features. It’s unusual for her to be around here at this time. This is her off-duty time. I stare at my watch … perhaps she’s checking up on things. I watch from afar, trying to blend into the armchair. Sara makes a beeline straight to Eligh. After exchanging some words with him, which I can’t make out from my distance away, she folds her arms and glances at the MBMA-88 for a few moments in an approving manner before walking off into the motor pool.

Sara and the four other council members dictate the operations of this place, almost like a government, bringing a sense of order and organization, a needed structure. She’s a bit more interactive than the other council members, who we rarely see around—not to say they aren’t important. She has a leadership style similar to her father, I’m told, being that she is very hands-on. Ever since I can remember, she’s been hard-charging and gung ho, but not in the eccentric sense, and also very stern and professional in her mannerisms. I have to say, Sara most definitely has always had my respect and admiration. She, like her father, also served in the US Military before the Collapse. Stories are told how she was once the company commander of an all-female mechanized infantry unit, one of the few, known as the Enyo Company. Sara was an active participant in the two-decade-long war on terror, before leaving the service just months before the dirty bombs went off.

She seems a bit indifferent toward me and a lot of people; it can be a bit off-putting, but what she lacks in social skill she makes up for in leading by example, and from the front. Still I’m not exactly trying to attract her attention right now. I get up from my comfortable seat before she has the opportunity to make her way to me. I approach Eligh and ask, ever so obviously that I’m trying to appear busy, if he needs help. He glances back at me for a brief moment before answering, the goggles still on his face. Damn, slacker … Nah, man, I got this, you been helping out a lot this week guey, go find something to do. I’ll finish up here. I’ll radio you when or if you’re needed. He immediately returns to working on the inner arm unit without missing a beat. With his blessing, I decide to take the stairs from the basement to the third floor, escaping the sight of Sara successfully. The elevators may have attracted too much attention. I must admit I feel a sense of pride in my ability to evade with ease.

I make my way up the dimly lit and white-walled stairwell. We run the power from a collection of solar panels along the roof; it didn’t take much rigging as most buildings before the collapse ran off clean solar energy. Good evening, John, a man I often see greets me; he is seated reading a book tablet on the second-floor steps. I return his friendly greeting in passing. Finally, I reach my destination, the third floor. I casually walk about; upon exiting the stairs from the door, I travel through a sizeable hallway leading to a large office space. There are hues of orange light coming in; the sun is beginning to set and amplifies the cloudy evening, shining through the large-windowed walls facing outward. Where there were once cubicles and electronics is now a large lounge area, with tables and sectional chairs in the center; much of this furniture was homemade from recycled materials, and it’s of a high quality too, I might add. The many office rooms have been converted to private quarters and made more private with slight alterations. I slow my pace to take in all of it. There are a few residents about in quiet conversation, and some are just staring out of the large window in the lounge, watching the sunset upon a dead city.

I drag my hand along the wall as I make my way through the lounge area slowly before stopping at a large painting; it’s one I’ve always liked. The painting is of the city of Lurian at night, as it used to look. The bright building lights play on the canvas; the streets are busy with traffic and people. Then there is the crowning sight of the large rocky hill, which is located centrally in the downtown district, adorned with lights. It’s a beautiful image, it looks alive. I wonder what goes through the mind of those who knew the world before … seeing it lifeless as it is now. The thought is a bit depressing as I try to imagine.

I feel a pair of warm hands cover my eyes. Guess who? a familiar voice speaks. I instantly recognize