Quest for Black Beach

By Neil Child

It is the year 2113 and a series of brightblasts has resulted in four remnant groups vying for survival: the robotia, the roktillia, the pterosauria, and the humanoids.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wood Dragon books
• Release date: Sep 1, 2023
• ISBN: 9781990863271

Neil Child

Neil Child is a Psychology Blogger, Hypnotherapist, High School Guidance Counsellor for Young Offenders, and holds a Master of Arts Degree in Educational Psychology.

Book preview

To Eden and Elsha

and their uncles Buzz and Kllay

It is the year 2113 and a series of brightblasts has resulted in four remnant groups vying for survival: the robotia, the roktillia, the pterosauria, and the humanoids.

The robotia represent what is left of the mechanical world. These robots have an incredibly high artificial intelligence and adhere to the codes of conduct as designed in their individual and collective programming.

The roktillia are a mutated blend of mammal and reptile, with unique traits to help them survive both on land and in water. The pterosauria are large featherless creatures that have the ability to fly.

Most of the humanoids have established themselves in close communities along the waterways. Other humanoids have become alienated and are ruthless hunters and scavengers.

Two young sailors, Kllay and Buzz, row an old wooden boat, The Snail, along a creek to the sea sanctuary of Black Beach. Along with their companion, Westminster, a member of the robotia, they battle against hostile humanoids, roktillia, pterosauria, and other robotia on their quest to reach Black Beach and reunite with their family.

Purple storm clouds speckled the cerulean sky. Traces of char wafted in the morning breeze as plumes of silver smoke from the ancient fires swirled about the jagged black cliffs of the snowcapped mountains. In a valley far below, a blanched lizard-like creature, a metre in length with bulging crimson eyes, hopped in a zig-zag pattern along a meandering muddy-brown creek bank. The creature is a roktillian from the new order.

Buzz, afloat on the creek, gazed up at the clouds and smoke until the ghostly creature caught his eye. Buzz was the lookout, as well as the fisher. He was accustomed to watching creatures he had never before encountered but he had never seen a roktillian quite like the one hopping on the creek bank. He knew that whatever this reptile was, it was yet another mutation resulting from the last blast.

I’m hungry, said Buzz.

Well then get the line going, replied his brother, Kllay. It’s your job.

I don’t want that job anymore. Can’t I do something else?

No. Now get the line going if you’re hungry.

Will I get to paddle, then?

I’ll let you paddle. But only after you get the line going.

Buzz sat up reluctantly and picked up his fishing tackle. He checked the grey casting fly and white bobber, then slowly let out the line from an unusually large spool into the water behind them. When the line trailed roughly thirty metres behind, Buzz wedged the spool under the back of the boat seat. He frowned at Kllay, pivoted until his back faced the bow, and stretched out so his bare feet hung over the stern of the boat, his toes dragging the surface of the water. He watched the white bobber. Fishing. This was his job. His daily routine. And he was good at it.

Buzz had caught fish in every creek since they first set themselves free from the Zetter Military Academy. Though wanting and needing in other areas of their lives, the two young sailors were at least well fed. Their daily catch consisted mainly of suckers, though sometimes it included brown trout, yellow perch, northern pike, or catfish. Once Buzz caught a blue turtle the size of a dinner dish. Kllay wanted them to eat it, but Buzz threw it back before Kllay could club it to death. And so went the same behavior pattern every day. Rowing and fishing and heading the course west to Black Beach.

In his ever-methodical way, Buzz looked back at the water path behind the boat. His gaze went first to the left bank, then left shoreline, then the center waterline, the right shoreline and right bank, and then the sky. Back and forth, up and down, all day long. This was the ever-daily duty of a young sailor, while Kllay, his seventeen-year-old brother, kept a keen eye toward the front, watching for what was ahead.

By the measure of outward appearances, the two boys (the elder a muscular six-foot blond, the younger, a bruin and a bit shorter) seemed rather relaxed, enjoying a rather idyllic circumstance. One could easily imagine these two boys as being a couple of carefree spirits, attired in their blue zetter suits, rolling through the day, riding the current of the creek until they got bored. However, what appeared to be was as distant from reality as the school the boys had fled some time ago.

Buzz noticed bubbles behind the boat, a small disturbance in the rhythmic ripples left in wake of their boat and his trailing feet. He took a closer look. The bubbles appeared again; this time closer to his dangling feet. Buzz quickly lifted his feet from the water. Kllay, there’s something behind us! he yelled.

Ya, what?

I don’t know. It’s blowing bubbles though.

Maybe it’s a bubblefish, Kllay said jokingly as he, too, stared behind the boat.

Maybe, replied Buzz skeptically, looking out over the water searching for any signs of something beneath the surface.

With a noticeable splash, the white bobber disappeared. Both brothers froze, stilled by a newfound alertness and caution towards the disturbance.

Buzz slowly lifted his hand and pointed to where the bobber was. It’s gone! he whispered.

Suddenly the whole creek stilled. Ripples in the surface flattened. The air became charged by the sudden silence, putting the boys on edge with the building tension around them. All at once, the tense stillness broke as a winged eel burst out of the creek and took to the sky near their boat, the bobber still caught in its mouth.

Cripes! said Kllay, It’s coming this way!

Both boys ducked as the flying thing, line and all, soared past them, veering just a metre over their heads.

Cut the line, Buzz! Cut the line!

Buzz scrambled to the spool under the boat seat, grabbed the hunting knife from the sheath on his