Vagabond: Apocalypse Issue: Vagabond, #2

By Charles Eugene Anderson, De Kenyon, Denise E Dora and 6 more

The second installment of "Vagabond," this pioneering series explores the theme of apocalypse through a rich tapestry of tales. Featuring a compilation of twelve riveting narratives from some of the most talented contemporary authors in speculative fiction, these stories promise to captivate and enthuse. Discover the gripping tale of "Deathball: Hunt For The Playoffs" by Charles Eugene Anderson, the intriguing "And Then What?" by Denise E Dora, and the precious narrative in "More Precious Than Gold" by Wayne Faust. Delve into "The Working Class" by Rebecca Hodgkins, experience the regal "King of Cats" by De Kenyon, and hear the "Last Song on the Titanic" by Mario Acevedo. Explore the flexible dimensions of "Flex Time" by Richard E Friesen, seek "Shelter From The Storm" with Shannon Lawrence, and join the "Scavengers" by Russ Crossley. Witness "A Fairy Rainbow" by Jim LeMay, contemplate the aftermath in "After" by Jamie Ferguson, and unravel the mystery of "Spindle Worms" by Lucy Taylor. This collection is a must-read for those who relish the exploration of post-apocalyptic worlds and the imagination of visionary writers.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mad Cow Press
• Release date: Jan 14, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224928972

Charles Eugene Anderson

Charles Eugene Anderson lives in Colorado. Chuck is a former teacher. He now spends his time writing, hanging out with his pup, Champ, and learning how to bake. More about Chuck at http://charleseugeneanderson.com

Book preview

Vagabond: Apocalypse Issue

Copyright © 2019 by Mad Cow Press. All rights reserved by the authors and publisher.

Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner.

Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Deathball: Hunt For The Playoffs by Charles Eugene Anderson, 2019. And Then What? by Denise E Dora, 2019.

More Precious Than Gold by Wayne Faust, 2019.

The Working Class by Rebecca Hodgkins, 2019.

King of Cats by De Kenyon, 2019.

Last Song on the Titanic by Mario Acevedo, 2019. Flex Time by Richard E Friesen, 2019.

Shelter From The Storm by Shannon Lawrence, 2019. Scavengers by Russ Crossley, 2019.

A Fairy Rainbow by Jim LeMay, 2019.

After by Jamie Ferguson, 2019.

Spindle Worms by Lucy Taylor, 2019.

VAGABOND: APOCALYPSE ISSUE

ISSUE 2

CHARLES EUGENE ANDERSON DENISE E DORA WAYNE FAUST REBECCA HODGKINS DE KENYON MARIO ACEVEDO RICHARD E FRIESEN SHANNON LAWRENCE RUSS CROSSLEY JIM LEMAY JAMIE FERGUSON LUCY TAYLOR

CONTENTS

Foreword

Deathball: Hunt For The Playoffs

And Then What?

More Precious Than Gold

The Working Class

King Of Cats

Last Song On The Titanic

Shelter From The Storm

Scavengers

Flex Time

A Fairy Rainbow

After

Spindle Worms

About the Authors

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FOREWORD

You made it to the second issue of Vagabond. We must be doing something right. The Babylonian gods must be smiling at us from the Fertile Crescent. In this issue, we include some of the very best speculative writers we know, and like the many gods from that ancient civilization, we know a few.

Here’s another play I imagined: how this issue came about. Is any of it true? Okay, it’s mostly false, but I have an imagination that could have cultivated wheat along the Tigris River.

Setting: Again, we are in a brewpub located in the suburbs of Denver, Colorado.

Time: It’s still the early 21st century. Two friends sit across from each other, waiting for their beers to arrive.

Chuck (in his early 50s...a leaf in the wind): Jim, I think I have lost my taste for beer.

Jim (still a very distinguished older gentleman...former civil engineer...now still a rogue and man about town): You’re wrong. The shame. What is the world coming to?

Chuck: I don’t know. Maybe because I don't know what our second issue will be about.

Jim: In Samaria, Ninkasi was the goddess of beer. Chuck: What does that have to do with the second issue?

Jim (continues): In Egypt, Tenenet is the goddess of childbirth and beer.

Chuck: What does childbirth have to do with my writer’s block? I’m not having a baby.

Jim: The Zulu goddess of beer, rainbows, and agriculture is Nokhubulwane.

Chuck: So, maybe you’re saying drinking beer is like childbirth, and it might help unleash a writer’s creativity.

Jim: No, I’m not saying that at all. All I am saying is the ancients must have known beer was important since they all had deities protecting their beer.

Chuck: So?

Jim: Drink your beer, or don't drink your beer. But I think the apocalypse would start if you upset the gods.

Chuck: That's it! The second issue of Vagabond will be about the apocalypse.

Jim (Holding up his pint): Cheers. The end of the world has been averted yet again.

DEATHBALL: HUNT FOR THE PLAYOFFS

CHARLES EUGENE ANDERSON

Chapter One

Third Period: Seattle 2, Denver 1

We skate for victory. We skate for glory. We skate for death. The cannon fires the steel ball at the top of the track. I skate behind Seattle’s catcher. My catcher is a skate's width in front of us. He’s skating for position.

Attack the ball too soon, they lose an arm. Wait too long, the ball falls down the embanked track and out of play. Both catchers are veterans, and they decide on another lap until the steel ball slows down from the velocity of a bullet to the slower speed of Satchel Paige's fastball. The catchers' jockey. Elbows are thrown. Skates kick. Wheels turn. Both try to get in front of the other.

Seattle's number two motorcycle races behind. She tries to interfere. The clock favors Seattle. Three minutes remain. We still need to score two goals. She clips our catcher with her front wheel. Both catchers fall in hard and roll along with the bike. The deathball is out of play. Seattle's number two bike draws a penalty for the rest of the match. The stretcher bearers take to the track. They carry off their number two bike's rider and the catchers from both teams.

Two minutes and thirty-five seconds left in the game.

The cannon fires again. The deathball is in play. Both teams have rookie catchers on the track.

I grab our number one bike's tow bar. Intercept, I say to Poppy Gosling, looking at the number one on the back of her jersey.

She opens its throttle and we race towards the flying steel. You're not wearing a mitt, she yells to be heard above the arena's noise.

I let go of the tow bar. Drift to the top of the track. I reach for the ball wearing only my thin leather glove. Two fingers break. I clutch the ball in pain. Seattle's goal is on the opposite side of the circular track. Three Denver blockers skate in front of me. One last chance to score.

Seattle's defense is in place.

I skate at full speed, holding the deathball as best as I can. My three blockers engage Seattle's defense. Bodies and skates fly against each other and break. I leap over the pile. I throw as I fall. The ball strikes the magnetic clamps inside our goal. A score. The crowd roars.

The announcer says, Denver goal. Scored by team captain, number three, Walker B.

Our fans cheer. The horn sounds. Time has run out. Overtime.I see our team's doctor, Doc Kutter, in the safety zone in the middle of the track. He tapes the two broken fingers together and gives me a painkiller. It doesn't help.

Shouldn't you've have done that first? I ask, trying to put back on my glove. It won't fit, and I throw it aside. My role as the team's striker is questionable.

Coach Morris says to me, Walker, I'm putting in Ian.

That's not going to happen. I’ll kill you first, I say as I grab his collar with my good hand.

He looks at me and knows it's true. I will do it. He's only a coach, a company man, and I’m our team’s leading scorer.

The arena fills with my name as the crowd chants, Walk- er, Walk-er, Walk-er!

I say, The people have spoken.

Morris says, This isn't over. I’ll report this to the Board of Directors at the next Company Exchange.

I say, The Company already knows. I leave and skate back onto the Company's track. In the Company's arena. In their town. Wearing the orange and blue uniform the Company owns. They own everything and everyone.

Seattle 2, Denver 2

The video announcer says, "There's a delay in the game. An eager Denver fan has climbed over the fence and onto the track. Unfortunately for him, he fell in front of the deathball cannon. It's going to take time for the arena crew to clean up the mess. That's what happens when a deathball strikes a human head so close to the cannon's muzzle. I’ll also ask my video

booth to show footage at full speed and, if we can, in slow motion. I think we’re all excited to see the footage again while we wait for the overtime period to begin. Hopefully, it's not the last death we'll see in this exciting match tonight."

Overtime

Polly takes the extra time to go over the workings of her bike while she’s in the safety zone. She's eyeballing her motorcycle’s engine, its armor, and its tires. I see new dents in the bike's armor and some blood also. Tomorrow, she'll take it apart with the team's mechanics, but she hopes it will last for the rest of the match.

I say to Polly, Take me to the hole. I'm going to score.

Polly looks doubtful but says, Yes, Cap, I'll get you there.

Coach Morris shouts to the team, We can take the track again in two minutes.

I look at Morris, and he returns my stare. I know he hopes I'll die out there.

After The Game

The VID announcer says, Let's recap an exciting evening, shall we? Walker B scores the winning goal for a three to two victory over Seattle. What a time to make the winning goal for them! We can see Denver's number one motorcycle, ridden by Polly Gosling, driving straight through Seattle's defense. The Seattle defenders weren't expecting Gosling and Walker's attack on their defensive line. Unfortunately, Fortress Team Seattle lost their star defenseman, Hedrek Runnalls, when Walker B struck him with the death before scoring the winning goal. Company Team Denver still has a chance to make the playoffs if they can win, but Denver must get the win in Munich next week...

Chapter Two

Company Team Denver's Headquarters

My muscles embrace the cold. I don't feel alive when I enter the tank, and every season it takes longer for the cold gas to revive me again to become a deathball striker.

In the tank, only my neck and head protrude while I wait for my body to heal. I watch the film from last night’s match. Our bikes were late three times helping the strikers take the deathball from the catcher. The timing had better be in synch against Production Team Munich. Their wing-backs will make easy work of our catchers if the bikers and the strikers don't get to them sooner. I make a mental note of the time stamp on the video and will show it to my team during our afternoon meeting.

The deathball weighs a little over nine kilos. It has a diameter of nine point eight centimeters, and when it's fired from the cannon, it travels at a speed of three hundred twenty-one kilometers per hour. I laced my first pair of skates when I was five. I held my first deathball and scored my first goal when I was thirteen in the junior league. I know only this game, and the pain it brings to my body after every match.

Mister B, the Executive says you're to go the penthouse, says Kennedy, the cryo tank attendant.

I'm done being flash-frozen in this thing, I say, ignoring the man at first but turning back to him before he leaves the room.

The elevator stops. The Denver Executive has become paranoid as he’s gotten older. He used to travel with the team, attend our practices, and knew each of us by name. Now, he only leaves our headquarters when the Commissioner comes to watch us play.

Welcome, to my home, says the Executive. He's sitting on a purple leather sofa watching the highlights from our last game. Morris told me you threatened to kill him.

I did. This isn't the first time I’ve been to our headquarters’ penthouse, but it has been a few years since I last visited him. The room is dark; the large monitor is its only light source.

You don't deny it. I didn't think you would, but you have upset Coach Morris.

I don't know what to say so I remain silent.

The Executive says, Sit, Walker.

At first, I don't see the small chair in front of the monitor,

but I sit down after a few awkward seconds.

How’s the hand?

I say, It's fine. I hold it up. It still has on a bandage from

this morning's checkup. Doc has cleared me for Munich. Morris is a fool. If he had replaced you and we had lost, I would’ve been forced to fire him. Luckily for me, we didn’t lose. He’s looking at me. I wait for him to speak again. "Coach Morris has many friends. Many friends on the Executive Committee. I think I can still weather those storms, but

can you? That's a whole different game than you're used to playing. We might not lace up skates, but it’s still a battle to the death."

I say, I don't pay attention to the going’s on at that level. It's above my pay grade and beyond my expertise.

That's the first untruth you’ve told me today. Isn't that what you, Deathballer's, dream of becoming...an executive like me?

I look at the Executive sitting in front of me in the lonely dark room. I say, No, not me. I only want to play the game and score goals for our team.

That's the man I know and the one everyone loves. The great Walker B. The greatest Deathballer who ever played the game. He stands up and walks to a dark corner of the room.

I try to take control of the conversation. Do you know what Executives dream about?

He has come back into the light with a drink in his hand and hands it to me. Here, I'm afraid it's only water. I find this room to be always dry, and I'm always thirsty. Mainte‐ nance says the humidity levels are at acceptable levels. Do you think they would lie to me? I'm not certain of many things any longer.

I take a drink from the glass. It's cold. It's perfect. Like so many things in this man's life. I take a few moments to enjoy the drink of water. I, too, became thirsty in this room.

I thought he had forgotten my question, but he finally asks, What do you know about my dreams?

I say, shifting in the chair, "Don't all Executives dream about becoming Deathballers? Don't you dream about scoring the winning goal? Or riding the motorcycle in the high part of the track just missing the cannon fire? Maybe

Executives are killers, and they want to end the life of a catcher or a striker during a match. Am I right?" I get up from the chair. I’m ready to leave.

No, Walker, you’re wrong. We don't dream of being Deathballers. We Executives, we dream of being you. We all want to be Walker B. With your glory, your fame. Those are the things I will never receive. If you leave the game, you’ll find those things rarer than the finest wines.

I get up, walk to the elevator, and push the button, I’ll be careful of Coach Morris. But maybe he should watch out for me.

He laughs and asks, Would you have killed Morris last night if he tried to take you out of the game?

Entering the elevator, I say, I'm just an old, over-the-hill striker looking to lace my skates and score my next goal. That’s all I dream about it.

Chapter Three

The rink lights flicker on as I trace circles on the polished concrete floor, dancing effortlessly on my skates before the others arrive. Two broken fingers throb under layers of tape as I cradle the deathball, assessing my grip. I'm not as strong right-handed as I used to be. But I can endure the piercing pain long enough to drive our ragged team into the playoffs. The Company doctors urge rest between matches, but I'll be damned if I let this busted hand bench me from the game I've given my body and soul to master. When the team trickles in, backs hunched and legs stiff from yesterday's defeat, I rocket past them - fingers blazing but resolve unbroken.

Before Practice

I skate lap after lap. The turns are tight,