When Ninja Cry

By Miles Mignone

When Ninja Cry is a fun, action-packed adventure created for pure entertainment. When four post war survivors find a renowned journalist stuck in their game trap, they have to decide what to do with her. Since they live in Voorhees, New Jersey, the only logical response to a visitor from out of town is to take her to the local mall.

With the country ravaged by war, the power remains off, and the people still in America have to live off the land. But they can shop in the dark. As this newly formed family fends off scavengers, would-be shoppers, and an assortment of tourists, Skylor Gordon chronicles the fun and all the misquoted one-liners. It is clear the key to their survival is their sense of humor, but the journalist has to ask, "Is the mall the best place to raise a family? Or could they join a larger group to be a part of something better?"

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Jun 28, 2022
• ISBN: 9781662450273

Book preview

Chapter 1

The first time I met Major, I was convinced that he was going to kill me. In many ways, I was relieved, thinking that it would be over soon. This horrible dream of a new world that I had become a part of.

Maybe you are with your family while you read this. Maybe a few of them are sitting next to you. Perhaps one friend is sitting across from you and you are reading to help pass the time. Perhaps you are reading it so others will feel together. Perhaps you will read it with some umph for your listener. Maybe you could read it with some pizzazz.

It’s possible you are alone, except for my words before you. I am your friend tonight. Listen to my voice. The best way to express how my voice would sound to you would be this: Pick a girl or woman in your memory, or even in your current life, named Angela. Imagine her voice. If you do not know any Anj, Heather, Catherine, or Stacy will do. That’s the sound of my voice. That’s who I sound like.

My name is Skylor Gordon. I was a journalist on assignment in Canada, covering the completion of the largest biosphere ever constructed. During my attempt to return home, I fell into a death trap created by one of the only occupants left in my old hometown, Voorhees, New Jersey.

While I was laying at the bottom of a hole with a spike through my leg, I could hear Major complaining about how someone had sprung his trap. He had been nearby when I fell in. He heard me squeal.

The trap was set in a bomb crater in the middle of the street. I had been riding the bike all morning. I was so close to my destination that I began to get excited. And distracted. I was about to stop at the next intersection and catch my breath, when suddenly the asphalt was not asphalt anymore. Over the hole in which I fell lay a cardboard painting replica of the street.

My life was flashing before my eyes. It caught up to me in a heartbeat. Suddenly, I was examining my current situation. How did I get here? The United States was destroyed. All the cities burned. Its citizens are scattered.

I came to Voorhees because I had to see the aftermath for myself. The city was a disaster. Going to my office or my apartment was not an option. So I returned to where I grew up. I knew my family was not going to be here. Yet there was hope of something. Something familiar. And I had no idea of where to go otherwise.

Chapter 2

Away for a While

The ambassador of the Canadian biosphere arranged a driver and a truck to take me to upstate New York. There is a refugee camp there near the country’s border. Before I left, the ambassador told me about the state of my nation. He told me that the population had been cut down to a third, as far as they could estimate. The attacks on the country were foreign and domestic. Many EMPs were set off during the year long war. Most citizens were evacuated to other countries.

Those who stayed, fought, scavenged, and hid to survive—almost everyone, basically—live in refugee camps and biospheres now.

The camps grow food and raise livestock. They use very little fuel, and they monitor all water usage. They have no way to replenish medicine. The air is still breathable.

From New York, I traveled to the capital of New Jersey. According to the people at the stronghold in Trenton, there were no camps in Voorhees. The closest camp to Trenton and to Voorhees was located in a town called Cherry Hill. So I went to Cherry Hill.

While at the camp in Cherry Hill, I traded an eight-pack of double A batteries for a ten-speed bicycle. I rode that bike right into the center of downtown Voorhees and right into the center of Major’s trap.

Chapter 3

Awkward Introduction

As I lay there, not even contemplating how to get out of the hole but instead daydreaming about how I got there, I heard a noise. It was Major cocking his gun.

Damn. That’s not eatable.

A second shadowed figure entered the circle of light. A second voice echoed into my hole.

Eatable?

Edible, not edible.

Then a third arrived. Finally, there were four. They began to discuss my fate as if I were not able to hear them. Only the children spoke. The one called Major just stared down at me, as if he had just discovered the first alien.

A girl’s voice said, It’s a woman. Another girl’s voice said, She’s alive. A boy’s voice said, Who rides a ten speed anymore? What was she doing? Taking a leisurely morning ride? Where the hell did she come from?

One of the girls spoke again. I remember her saying, I want to help her, then I blacked out.

The group of four pulled me out of the trap while I was unconscious. They argued over who would go in the hole to place me in the sling. It was not the slinging that made them reluctant. It was pulling my leg off the spike and dealing with some stranger’s blood that made them all want to avoid me.

When I woke, I heard a soft, fragile voice of a girl. She pushed my hair out of the way with the most delicate touch.

She spoke to me before my eyes were open. She said, What’s your name?

I did not answer the question. I was still in the hole. I was off the spike. That was as far as I deduced before I cried out in pain. First, my leg hurt. Then my head hurt. Then my back started to hurt. I was in a lot of pain. Other bruises would reveal themselves later.

She called herself Girl-3 when she introduced herself for the first time. Her name, as well as the others, would change often—sometimes as a code, sometimes as a means to shed an old skin. At the time, I did not get a formal introduction.

Girl-3 was startled by my outburst. I was a stranger suddenly screaming in her face in a small space. Her instinctive reaction was to strike. Her right cross knocked me right out again. I would come to know that punching was a common reaction in postapocalyptic Voorhees.

Chapter 4

Out of the Hole

The second time I woke from my unconsciousness, I was alone. The bed they had laid me in was a full mattress fitted against a stone white wall in the corner of an otherwise empty room. The sun was pouring in through a stained glass window. As I lay there looking at the dust floating in the sun-lit emptiness, I concluded that I was in a church.

I was still in pain. Now my face hurt too.

After a while, I worked up the nerve to leave the bed and the room. A thin hallway led me to the sanctuary. All the pews were missing. All the crosses and statues were absent. Its hollow belly struck me as a sacrilege.

After more consideration, I realized that the podium, the rising, and the steps to the rising had also been removed. The place for the ranks of the choir to stand and sit had been dismantled and displaced. As I surveyed the room, I wondered about the organ. That was when I noticed there was no window trimming or doorjamb framing.

There were lines around the room on the walls outlining where the molding had protected the paint from dust and light. All the wood had been removed from the church.

I clung to the blank walls of the structure to make my way around without having to put much pressure on my leg. I found the clergies’ bathroom. The door had been removed. By some grace, there was a roll of toilet paper by the bowl.

Instinctively, I flushed. Without acknowledging at the time that nothing happened after pulling the toilet’s plunger, I subconsciously went to the sink. As I turned the faucet to the right, I looked up to the wall above the sink. Of course, I was expecting to see myself in a vanity mirror. There was not one. I could tell that there never was a mirror on that wall.

Taped to the mirrors would-be spot was a photograph with a yellow sticky note attached to it. The photo was of the church’s congregation. The sticky note had only four words on it. I don’t think it was a quote from the Bible per se, yet when I deciphered its script, it caused me to gasp.

That was the instant I attribute as my moment of clarity. That was the exact time when I came to full consciousness. I had lost consciousness so many times just recently that my morning had become surreal enough to be a dream. The pain throughout my body assured me that everything was real.

My leg was bandaged. I was on a bed in a church, not on a spike in a hole.

Chapter 5

Leaving the Church

I called out. I am not sure why. I don’t think I expected an answer, but I was already feeling sheepish, so the fear of embarrassing myself was minimal.

Hello? I did not recognize my own voice. It was as if I had not swallowed in hours. It was plain to see that no one was within the church. Maybe I was just practicing, Hell-low?

So much for not being able to embarrass myself further in front of…myself. I had put so much emphasis on the hell part that I felt guilty for saying it in the good Lord’s house.

It then became my intention to exit the church through the side door, which was considerably closer than the main doors. Once outside, I felt less self-scrutiny. I also realized that I did not have much mobility in the parking lot. My only option was to stay by the building.

The church was at the intersection of Route 561 and White Horse Road. It was a Methodist church. Across the street, on the same side of 561 was a bank. Within its vestibule sat three people. One of them pointed at me directly. Another disappeared into the lobby. They were all wearing blankets hung just so to look and act like hooded cloaks. When the third came out with the fourth, I became scared.

Yeah, I said it; I did not flower it up. I just wrote it outright.

I was scared.

Chapter 6

Trying to Keep Up

Major was the oldest of the four residents of Voorhees. That makes five, if I count myself. I was being very astute when I felt afraid of him. Even his aura is intimidating. Knowing what I know now, he deserves every ounce of the fear I felt when I saw him at the bank.

Everything in my soul told me to run. Everything in my body said to not move at all.

Girl-3, whom I have come to call Grace 1, burst out of the glass receiving area first. She crossed the four lanes of White Horse Road without looking either way. By the time she got to the church parking lot, I had come to terms with my inability to run away, but I did consider it again.

As she ran, Girl-3’s cloak flowed up to reveal a thin young lass. By my estimate, she was only in the very beginning of her teenage years. As she slowed in my presence, her cloak fell and covered every part of her body except for her face.

Girl-3’s hair spilled out of the hood. Its waves were majestic. At that time, I did not know that she was the same person that punched me in the face.

Girl-3 said, Are you okay? She gave me a minute, then she said, "Como este? Es tu blesse? Uh, bist du verletzt? Nothing? How about ni shoushangle ma? Or vy raneny? Or Choe, Bella! Do you understand the wurds dat er cumin outta my moutt! You had better say something soon, lady. I am running out of languages. Also, if you don’t speak traditional English, European-English, Scottish-English, Italian-English, or Spanish, then you are probably not supposed to be here."

I felt her implied threat. The three other figures making their way toward us also implied a threat. I finally spoke.

I am English. I mean I speak English. I was born here in Voorhees.

Then you are probably Jewish. Ha! Shalom. Girl-3 was very energetic. She had an undeniably genius level intellect. Her personality was bright and unscientific. She still pretended to be a pixie.

Okay, so do yourself a favor. Be thankful we pulled you out of the hole and do not blame us for building the trap. Got it? Nod if you understand. I’ll accept a blink. Am I going too fast? Should I talk with my hands?

Chapter 7

My Assessment

I might have blinked. I might have been frozen with anxiety and unable to make decisions or gestures of communication of any kind. Girl-3 stepped aside so that the others may get a good look at me and I at them.

The one called Major was a heap of a man with the posture of an ape. His brow was permanently creased in the middle to create an eleven that seemed to be carved into his skin. Though he usually covered his head and most of his face as they all did, under all that, there was very little hair on his head. The hair on his face was only gray on the chin. His sideburns and cheek whiskers were still brown.

The older girl in the group was then called Liz or Lizzy or Lizard King. Her face was long with straight hair framing her cheeks and neck. She had an athletic build. Liz was almost as tall as Major. I had no idea of Major’s age, but I guessed Liz to be in the middle of her teens. She was considered to be the source of logic and reason for the group.

The youngest in the bunch went by many names. He constantly corrected me to update my knowledge of his new name. Popular, somewhat recurring names for him were Max, Jake, Jack, the Hammer, Banner, Bruce, Peter, and General. They referred to him as the muscle. Like Major, General could be impulsive. In General’s defense, he was barely in his double digits when I met him.

General was the perfect specimen for the male physique. His muscle tone was built naturally not from exercise but from hard work. His leanness was a product of glucose-free foods that were consumed in moderation as opposed to pounds fought off with a treadmill. At his age, he was an Adonis.

That is not my personal opinion. It’s an observation shared by anyone who has ever had the opportunity to say so. He’s just that good-looking.

Chapter 8

The Name Game

She speaks English. Da… Da… Daddy-o.

Girl-3 made the only introduction that she could without exaggerating. Major stepped into my arm’s reach. He was wearing goggles. His cloak jerked open slightly. He lifted his head while straightening his spine. As he did, his hood slid off to reveal his bald cranium and intimidating 11 scowl.

He said, Call me Major.

Girl-3 said that her name was Girl-3. She curtseyed while lifting her cloak as if it were a dress.

Girl-3 was trying to contain herself, What’s your name going to be, Lizzy?

Uh, Lizzy, I guess!

The pixie giggled and gave a soft sorry to show submission.

I am Max, but you can call me the General.

Girl-3 laughed outright then repeated, "The General?"

Oh yeah. No, just Max. I mean, just General. He fancied himself the comic relief. In fact, he purposely took on the role of class clown. He did it for the others. He did it for survival. He did it because he had to.

Within the parking lot of the emptied church, as more of my senses came in line, I noticed that General and Lizzy were carrying automatic rifles under their cloaks. Within Major’s cloak, I could only make out the numerous straps that led to holsters, which held what I would eventually know to be a combination of knives and guns. There I was, wounded and surrounded by armed strangers. I decided that I might like to be unconscious again.

Chapter 9

My Motivation

Girl-3 interrupted my stupor by saying, Okay. Now it’s time to use your English-speaking skills. Hell-low. My name is…

My name is Skylor.

Liz expressed disappointment with a sigh-like grunt. Girl-3 offered the explanation that Liz sometimes used that name for herself.

That’s your name, Lizzy.

Not anymore, replied Liz.

General asked me where I was from. I told him, Voorhees, New Jersey.

General clarified, Where did you come from, like before here, just now?

At this, Major seemed very interested in hearing my response. They all did. All four of them seemed to be on the edge of their seats, waiting for my answer.

Given the seriousness of the situation, I pondered for a moment so that I might speak clearly. I was fully convinced that if I had said the wrong thing or been unclear or untrue, any one of them would have reached into my chest and ripped the life right out of me.

After a moment and a thorough throat clearing, I told them that I had been out of the country for two years. I explained that my boss sent me on a journalistic mission and then he forgot about me. I told them that after I heard about the decline of the government here and the war, I felt that I had to come back to see. I would never believe it without seeing it for myself.

It took me over three days to get here. A drive that would have only taken ten hours or so any other time. I did not know what to expect. I told them, I don’t even know why I felt so compelled to return to Voorhees specifically. All of which is still true.

Chapter 10

Not Kansas

At some point, I sat down up against the church. Telling the tale out loud, hearing it, and using my words to put it all together was exhausting.

I never really processed what had happened. What had happened to the country or my comrades? What had happened to my friends and relatives? I had not mourned for what had happened, not for the country, not for me.

Most psychiatric analysts would agree that I had just endured an onslaught of traumatic experiences. During my story, somewhere after the part when I left Canada, I began weeping. Not like balls-out crying. Not like whiny and slobbery. Instead, my voice was steady and matter of fact in tone. The only way one could tell I was crying was the tears that ran down the sides of my face.

My mom would say that they were tears of exhaustion, not to be confused with tears of weakness. I know that they were tears of realization.

You might think of me as a big baby crying