Echoes of Tyranny: Freedom Lost: The Factory Saga, #2

By Antonio Melonio

"REBUILDING IN A DYING POST-COLLAPSE WORLD"

 

What can I tell you of freedom that you do not feel yourself? What can I tell you of the people of the valley that you would not recognize in those around you?

 

There is community and kindness, and there is anger and conflict too, for we are only human. The first after the Factory and perhaps the last. I wish it were different yet I feel it, know it in my heart, that nothing can last forever. This planet was not made for our kind. It's all wilting away, dust in our hands, and we are strangers.

 

There is a storm on the horizon and a darker one in our midst. Did we escape the Factory? Are we the heirs to the revolution or are we doomed, destined to fight this war, over and over, until there is nothing?

 

FREEDOM CANNOT BE GIVEN. IT MUST BE TAKEN!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Baltic Books
• Release date: Apr 30, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223660200

Antonio Melonio

Writing about things that matter.

Book preview

Echoes of Tyranny

Freedom Lost

Antonio Melonio

Copyright © 2023 Antonio Melonio

All rights reserved

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

Independently published.

To those who cannot accept a cage.

Prologue

Three dark figures, almost invisible in the twilight of evening, marched across the grassy plain, approaching the ruins of twisted metal and broken concrete ahead of them. For weeks they’d walked, southward from the valley, where they’d begun their journey, then over the mountains, through the forests, and across the endless flatlands. Etched unto their weathered, sun-burnt faces was the sort of weariness only seasoned travelers and explorers would recognize. That exhaustion beyond exhaustion. Every step turned into pain, yet no way to stop. No way of resisting the desolation’s call.

They’ve finally arrived.

Their eyes scanned the area behind for signs of movement — an instinct they came to appreciate after encounters that still haunted their dreams. When they saw nothing except grass and rocks, shimmering in the stifling heat of day’s end, Wilder raised his hand, signaling for them to stop. Ahead was destruction. It was blackness and despair. They stared, unbelieving, astonished at the size of it all. A stark border separated the grass from the rubble, life from death. A duality as unnatural as the creatures that had turned them, the hunters, into the hunted.

From his pack, Wilder produced a lantern and, using flint and a small piece of iron lighted it with experienced motions. His long hair shimmered in the flame’s light as he rose and made a few steps. The two others followed suit. He took a deep breath and, with an excited grin on his face, motioned them ahead. His lantern, shaking and swaying, lighted the way, and together they left the world behind and crossed the line into the dark wasteland.

What a glorious place this must have been, thought Wilder, as they began climbing their way across the rubble. He could just imagine it: the noise and buzz as armies of workers operated the vast machines, the structure and order of industriousness, and the endless Tower his grandfather had told him so much about. That golden crown, now scattered into dust. A shiver went down his spine. We made a terrible mistake. So much destruction and chaos, where once there had been order and a world in which everyone had known their place.

Keep your eyes peeled for anything useful. The air was thick with the constant creak and groan of shifting debris. It smelled of rust and decay. Metal warmed by the heat of summer, glowing beneath, still hot to the touch. And be careful. Heather and Brook nodded, following a few paces behind.

They’d lost two scouts in the months since winter. They’d gone with clear orders and never returned. No one knew what happened or if they were still alive, and there had been no hints on the journey here. No torn corpses, no pieces of clothing, nothing. Back in the valley, families began asking uncomfortable questions to which they could provide only weak excuses — hunting accidents, wild animals, you know how it is. Wilder couldn’t allow anyone to find out what they were doing. There would be a great uproar and his dream would be dead before it even began. They did not understand. But they’ll see soon enough.

Eventually, one scout returned to tell the tale. Wolf, that beast of a man, offering stories of the horrors he’d encountered and how he’d barely made it back alive. Wilder hadn’t believed him back then, and he’d been angry at the man’s incessant refusal to go again. Now he knew better. And yet for all the horrors and nightmares that now kept him awake every single night, Wolf had seen. Had seen, had told them, and returned with conviction. And a map.

A noise in the distance. As if some huge chunk of concrete had broken off and fallen to the ground.

Did you hear that? asked Heather, stopping in her stride. She turned to them, her silver hair fluttering around her. Strands of it were sticking to her forehead.

No, said Brook, standing still. What do you m—

A high-pitched shriek echoed across the dark landscape, piercing through the still air. Wilder’s lantern swayed, and the three froze and looked at each other with wide eyes. It sounded like someone — something — suffering through the worst kinds of torture imaginable. It was a shriek of pain and suffering, and yet it carried notes of longing. A sorrow for times past. Wilder understood. He felt the same.

Quiet, he whispered, brushing away the hair that fell into his face. He’d pulled up the sleeves of his shirt and they could make out the tattooed eagle on his thick forearm. It seemed alive, almost. Just waiting for a signal to spread its wings and soar, carry its owner to the top of the world.

The shriek died down and everything went still.

Wilder looked like he was possessed by some evil force, thought Brook, the blood pulsing in his veins. He came to know this expression very well. Had seen it first when the two had been kids and they’d forced another boy to kill a stray dog. He still remembered the animal’s whimpering as the stone came down again and again, the boy’s tears, and Wilder’s laughter. Yet the two of them had done far worse. Brook wasn’t proud of it, but this would change it all. When they were done, there would be peace and order. And it would save the valley.

He thought all this while realizing that the weakness was taking him. Overriding his brain, turning him into a goddamn animal! The creature shrieked again. It came from a different direction than before.Was that…? His voice betrayed his fear. He could barely hear beyond his heart’s heavy pounding.

It’s still far away, said Wilder, apprehension and terrible excitement in his voice. It can’t find us if we move carefully. Brook seemed on the verge of panic. The man was shaking all over and ready to break into a run. Doesn’t he realize that he wouldn’t get far?

You can do this, said Heather, squeezing her husband’s hand. Breathe.

Brook breathed.

Remember what we came for. Wilder gripped Brook’s shoulders. He’d known the man for decades now. They’d grown up together, suffered together. When Wilder’s wife died, Brook had been there. He had been the first he told of his dream. Of the eagle soaring. There was nothing they didn’t know about each other and nothing he wouldn’t do for him. Brook, brother, come on! His voice was a whisper. Let’s find that chamber and then get the hell out of here.

The terrified man gave a hesitant nod, slapped his face, rubbed his balding head, and finally pulled himself together with visible effort. Heather gave him a kiss and a slap on the ass, and then the three pressed on with hearts racing, revitalized with the primal energy of prey, realizing that the predator was lying hidden amidst the trees and there was nothing it could do about it.

For hours, they moved with caution, leaping over piles of rubble and ancient machines, ducking under twisted metal beams, climbing over hills of debris. All the while, the creature’s shrieks were growing louder, closer, and more frequent. They knew it was circling them, watching and waiting. Had likely watched since they came upon the plains. Those shrieks in the night when they’d been gathered around the fire, not even daring to go into the bushes to relieve themselves.

I don’t like this, said Brook, breaking the heavy silence. His voice was barely audible. I don’t like this at all.

Just keep moving. Wilder tried to ignore the unmistakable feeling of being hunted. He knew what it felt like, too. So often had he seen the fear in a beast’s eyes as it ran into one of his traps or as his spear found its way into its flesh, not killing outright, but slowly and in a way that the animal realized what was happening. He realized right now; could feel the sweat pouring down his face, his heart pounding. But he fought his body and mind and he would win. Carefully and without haste, he led the way, the comforting lantern gripped in his hand. From time to time, he would feel for the knife that was strapped to his belt. Yet they had to find the chamber soon, he thought, or they’d be lost.

Another shriek pierced the air like a knife cutting through water. It came from very close now.

We’re getting close, whispered Wilder, his voice betraying him. It should be somewhere around here.

Brook breathed hard. His right hand gripped a long knife, and the sweat dripped from his face. He took step after step without looking up. How the fuck did Wolf make it this far all on his own?

The man is a beast himself.

Their nerves finally frayed and came apart when the shrieks moved closer and closer, hurrying to catch up, intervals shrinking, until they merged into one continuous ear-splitting pitch. Then they broke into a run, their heads beating with a stabbing pain. It felt like the worst kind of migraine imaginable. And then, just when it had almost caught up to them, enveloped their entire world, Heather spotted it: a black door, slightly ajar, hidden in the depths of debris down below.

There! She pointed and pushed her husband ahead. Come on!

They heard long, furious strides from behind. It was coming for them, and it was fast. Without thinking, they rushed down, scraping their arms and legs, a slide of pain they didn’t even register. And then onward to the opening, almost falling over each other. When they were inside, they turned and slammed the door shut.

Hold on! They put all their weight and strength against the door, just as the terrible shadow leaped for the entrance, almost shattering the metal door in its frames. The impact threw them to the ground, but they quickly recovered. The door was open now, and they could see the creature as it scrambled up. Its long limbs and fingers, the dried blood around its mouth, crusting and flaking, the pale thin torso, stretched and bent over so it appeared almost to walk on four legs. Its face, barely recognizable as such, looked pained and twisted into fury.

They pushed the door closed and braced themselves. With the pure and primal strength of life fighting and clinging to survival, the three held out against the monstrosity as it threw itself against the door, again and again. Its enraged shrieks filled the world, splitting their heads with almost unbearable pain. They pushed back with all their might, their muscles straining as the creature raged. For a time it felt as though the onslaught would never end, but eventually, the beast’s shrieks subsided and an eerie quiet settled in. They could hear its steps receding, yet they didn’t dare to move for a long while.

You think it’s gone? Heather