The Searcher and the Sentinel chapter 7

 The Searcher and the Sentinel

a serial dystopian story with alternating chapters by

J. Roger Greer -The Sentinel

J. R. Wagner -The Searcher

 

7

The Searcher

I opened my eyes fully expecting to wake in my bunk having never left for downtown.  Having never fallen through that hole.  Having never stepped on the body of that dead girl -the trauma of that experience would be too much to cope with.

A green blur -bright green, green that doesn't exist in the districts or downtown or anywhere that I've ever heard, filled my field of vision.  I blinked and the green came into the focus.  Green fields.  Expansive, rolling, a rock jutting out here and there until the green met with the blue waters beyond.  

Not a dream.  Any of it.  The girl. My God, the girl.  I stepped on her. I stepped in her.  She was so young. I've seen my fair share of death in my time.  I've never dealt any, contrary to what others believe.  I've always been one step removed from the death -a spectator. Never intimate with it.  I have an aversion to it. Most people will say that but when someone close to them is dying, they don't walk away. They don't hide.  I do.  In this world my fear is irrational at best and inexcusable at worst.  Death is everywhere. Somehow, I manage to avoid it. She, whoever she is, will haunt me for the rest of my days.

I was in a comfortable wooden chair with a cushioned seat.  I turned my head. I could move.  I was close to the large viewing window -right up against it almost. I looked down at my legs, which were bare.  Also, surprisingly, they were clean and free of the fine blonde hair that typically covered them.  I wiggled my toes.  They were neatly trimmed and...pink.  Bright pink, of all colors.  I'd never seen painted toes before and found myself chuckling at the sight of them.

"Something funny, dear?" a woman's voice said.

I turned, it was the same woman from before. Beautiful dark hair -almost down to her hips.  Dark skin -not the darkest I've seen still much darker than mine -much more beautiful.  Dark skin is a desirable feature in the districts. This woman, despite her impossibly old age, would be very desirable.  She was holding something -a cup of steaming liquid.  She sipped on it gingerly as she moved closer.  Her movement was so smooth, so effortless, I wondered if she had feet beneath her floor-length dress.

"My toes," I replied.   "They're painted.  I've never seen painted toes before."

"I suppose then you haven't noticed your fingers," she replied in her unique yet whimsical accent.

I lifted my hand in front of my face.  Sure enough, the nails were neatly trimmed and painted a matching shade of pink.  I laughed again.  The woman smiled and closed her eyes as if the sound of my laughter was a most magical song.  I finally noticed my clothes.  I was wearing shorts and a matching top made from the softest fabric I'd ever felt.  Both were white with thin stripes of pink that exactly matched my nail color.  My arms were bruiseless, hairless and dirtless just like my legs.

"You were quite a mess when they brought you in here, Searcher, but I had plenty of time to get you fixed up," the woman said.

"How much time?" I asked. "How long have I been here?"

A concerned expression crossed the woman's face.  It left as quickly as it came.  She set her steaming drink on the wooden table and extended both hands toward me.  I looked at them, then looked at her.  She smiled.

"Take my hands, child and I will help you up and show you what you want to know."

I haven't excepted help from another person -not even a woman, in longer than I can remember.  I wasn't about to let things change simply because I was dead.  As I reached down for the armrests on my chair, I could feel her inside my head again.  It wasn't painful or invasive but it was clear she was trying to change my mind. I suddenly knew this would be the first time I'd stood since I'd gotten here.  I would most likely be unstable and there was a good chance, I would fall head-first through the glass viewing window, which, despite being dead, didn't sound like a good idea.

Reluctantly, I took her hands.  They were warm and smooth -so smooth. The wooden floor was warm as well.  As I shifted my weight over my feet, my knees began to object and sway in strange directions. I'd never had trouble holding up my own body weight.  This was crazy.  The woman slid her arm beneath mine and wrapped it around my back.  I could sense her strength even with the gentleness of her touch.  Her touch felt...well good. Amazing, actually.  It's been so long since I'd been in the embrace of another woman.  My apprehension drained from my body.

I took a few steps (it was obvious she was supporting a considerable amount of my weight as I did so) then she turned me toward the back wall of the room.  Standing in front of us was a woman who must have been the twin of the woman helping me stand.  She was helping a girl stand as well.  The girl was strange looking.  We both wore the same outfit, both had painted toes and fingers and even had the same skin tone yet there was something different about this girl.  Her face. She was very unlike the girls of the district.  Her hair was longer than any district girl -it came down to just above her shoulders.  It was not quite blonde and not quite brown -like the color of the leather we dried out in the summer sun during the hot months.  Her eyes were big and bright.  Her lips were full-too full and her teeth were white -too white.

As I studied this girl, she studied me -almost mimicking my behavior.  At first I didn't mind her looking at me but eventually, I could tell she was mocking me -trying to do exactly as I did.  I leaned in, she leaned in.  I put my free hand on my hip, she put her free hand on her hip.  I put my hand on my head, she... Then it struck me.  I could feel the hair on my head.  It was long.  Longer than its ever been.  It felt so smooth and soft.  I ran my fingers through it, she ran her fingers through it. That girl was me.

6

The Sentinel

I was massaging my wrists where the ropes had been, waiting on the offered measure of Dragon Necter, when the dog trotted through the door.

Manny and I greeted the dog by name and I reached down to scratch him between his ears when he sauntered over to sniff my pant leg, almost losing my hand in the process. Wow, for a mild mannered looking Springer Spaniel, Buddy sure was testy.

“Watch it, Grant,” the dog snapped, “you’d do well to remember your place around here.”

“Umm, Buddy…” Manny started.

“Save it, Manny,” the dog said as he turned three times on the carpet in front of Manny’s desk, “I’ve heard all about the prophecy, and I aint buying it.”

“But,” was all many was able to get out  before Buddy snarled at him.

“Fine, Buddy,”, Manny said, “but Davis is gonna be pissed if you don’t at least act like you believe in this stuff.”

“After the couple of days I just had, I don’t really care,” The dog said, resting his snout on his paws, then lifting his head to say, “Some races out there you just can’t reach.”

The dog returned his head to his paws and shut his eyes, signaling the conversation was over, at least his part of it. I knew, though, he would be listening to everything Manny and I said, ready to correct us at any moment. I have always wondered why that scientist gave dogs the ability to speak to humans. Sure, it was only through their minds, but during the conversation it sure seemed like the dog was speaking out loud, heck, different dogs had different voices, or was that in my head too?

“My head hurts Manny, pour another measure of that Nectar, will ya?”

“Awww, Grant,” Manny whined, “I don’t have much left.”

“Hey, I’m the Sentinel and you are my Mage, we should be able to get all the Nectar we want, back in circle one.”

“Like she’s gonna let us go clear back to Circle one,” Manny said.

“If you told her you needed supplies or something, yanno, like eye of newt or toe of dog…”

The dog chuffed.

“Sorry Buddy, I meant toe of frog,” I continued to brow-beat Manny until he agreed to at least ask Davis if we could start my training in Circle one, back with the young ones, as far away from the one who breached as possible, and as close to the Nectar as possible.

“How do you think she got over the wall?” Manny asked, as he was collecting the stuff he was going to need for a trip to circle one.

“I don’t know,” I admitted, one minute she was kicking ass on her side, the next she was climbing, I didn’t wait around once it was obvious she was gonna make it.”

“I don’t blame you,” Manny said, while trying to choose between his dirty grey shirt and his dirty brown shirt, opting to take them both in the hopes he could find time to wash them.

“She’s the Searcher,” Buddy said from his place on the floor, “If you want to buy into that prophecy crap.”

5

The Searcher

I'm dead. No other possible explanation exists to explain what I'm seeing. In fact, I'm not sure I can explain what I'm seeing.  I'm in a room. It's large as we consider rooms but inside the dwellings of old it would be considered medium-sized. I'm seated. In what I'm not sure because at the moment, I cannot move my body -otherwise my senses seem to be working rather well. The temperature is comfortable.  I can't remember being comfortable in years. I smell something -whatever it is, smells intoxicating.  My body feels clean despite not being able to feel it. The perpetual layer of grime that exists on all dwellers of Earth seems to have been washed away.

In front of me is the largest pane of glass I've ever seen. Two women standing side-by-side with their arms outstretched couldn't reach both left frame and right. Large wooden planks (Wood! can you imagine?) covered the floor from my position to the window.  Only one other thing stood between where I was sitting and the large window.  A small table (also wood) and two chairs.  The tabletop was empty.  

Through the window (this is the best part) is an expanse of green rolling fields that tapered down to a rocky shore.  Beyond, blue water. Blue!  I'd never seen such a brilliant shade of blue. Looking out into the green and blue expanse must have touched something in the recesses of my memories because I find my eyes filling with tears. I can't explain it. I haven't cried since I was a little girl.  They roll down my cheeks.  I try to wipe them away only to remember I am unable to move at all.  

Shore birds rise and fall on the air currents above the water.  Some type of grazing animals munch on the green in a large bunch.  They're all a dirty white color. Rather than coarse hair matted tight to their bodies, they seem to defy gravity with what could only be the softest of coats. 

A loud creaking noise followed quickly by a sound I cannot identify  takes my attention from the distance.  I see movement out of the corner of my eye.  I want to wipe away my tears -embarrassed that another person will see them.  Then again, I'm dead so what's it really matter?

"Beautiful, isn't it?" a woman's voice says.

"Yes," I reply, letting go of my desire to begin interrogating and allowing myself to relax just this once.

"Are you able to move yet?" she asks, walking into my field of vision.

She is old -much older than anyone I've ever seen.  Guessing from the wrinkles around her eyes I'd say she's probably twice my age.  She has long, dark hair -almost as dark as her skin, and soft features.  She doesn't live like the rest of us.  She smiles, looking deep into my eyes. I feel her right then, in my head.  She's trying to calm me down but the sensation of someone inside my mind is unnerving.  She must have sensed this because she immediately backs out.  When you're dead, I guess anything is possible.

"You need not fear," she said. I detect an accent -nothing I've ever heard before.  

"Where am I?" I ask.  The sound of my own voice is startling.  The gruff, grainy, bark-like timbre is gone, replaced by a smooth, almost musical quality.

She smiles but says nothing. I see her reach for something just out range of of my peripheral vision.  The world goes black.

The Searcher and the Sentinel chapter 5

 The Searcher and the Sentinel

a serial dystopian story with alternating chapters by

J. Roger Greer

J. R. Wagner

 

 

5

The Searcher

I'm dead. No other possible explanation exists to explain what I'm seeing. In fact, I'm not sure I can explain what I'm seeing.  I'm in a room. It's large as we consider rooms but inside the dwellings of old it would be considered medium-sized. I'm seated. In what I'm not sure because at the moment, I cannot move my body -otherwise my senses seem to be working rather well. The temperature is comfortable.  I can't remember being comfortable in years. I smell something -whatever it is, smells intoxicating.  My body feels clean despite not being able to feel it. The perpetual layer of grime that exists on all dwellers of Earth seems to have been washed away.

In front of me is the largest pane of glass I've ever seen. Two women standing side-by-side with their arms outstretched couldn't reach both left frame and right. Large wooden planks (Wood! can you imagine?) covered the floor from my position to the window.  Only one other thing stood between where I was sitting and the large window.  A small table (also wood) and two chairs.  The tabletop was empty.  

Through the window (this is the best part) is an expanse of green rolling fields that tapered down to a rocky shore.  Beyond, blue water. Blue!  I'd never seen such a brilliant shade of blue. Looking out into the green and blue expanse must have touched something in the recesses of my memories because I find my eyes filling with tears. I can't explain it. I haven't cried since I was a little girl.  They roll down my cheeks.  I try to wipe them away only to remember I am unable to move at all.  

Shore birds rise and fall on the air currents above the water.  Some type of grazing animals munch on the green in a large bunch.  They're all a dirty white color. Rather than coarse hair matted tight to their bodies, they seem to defy gravity with what could only be the softest of coats. 

A loud creaking noise followed quickly by a sound I cannot identify  takes my attention from the distance.  I see movement out of the corner of my eye.  I want to wipe away my tears -embarrassed that another person will see them.  Then again, I'm dead so what's it really matter?

"Beautiful, isn't it?" a woman's voice says.

"Yes," I reply, letting go of my desire to begin interrogating and allowing myself to relax just this once.

"Are you able to move yet?" she asks, walking into my field of vision.

She is old -much older than anyone I've ever seen.  Guessing from the wrinkles around her eyes I'd say she's probably twice my age.  She has long, dark hair -almost as dark as her skin, and soft features.  She doesn't live like the rest of us.  She smiles, looking deep into my eyes. I feel her right then, in my head.  She's trying to calm me down but the sensation of someone inside my mind is unnerving.  She must have sensed this because she immediately backs out.  When you're dead, I guess anything is possible.

"You need not fear," she said. I detect an accent -nothing I've ever heard before.  

"Where am I?" I ask.  The sound of my own voice is startling.  The gruff, grainy, bark-like timbre is gone, replaced by a smooth, almost musical quality.

She smiles but says nothing. I see her reach for something just out range of of my peripheral vision.  The world goes black.

 

4

I awoke from the blow to my head rather quickly, but opened my eyes very slowly as soon as I realized where I was. I wanted to listen in on any conversations, knowledge is power they say, and considering I found my hands and legs bound, I could use a little power, if it was to be had.

“Keep an eye on ‘im,” I heard Davis say. She was the boss of all interior teams, the leader of the rovers; black leather clad killers.

“He’s out,” Manny replied, “and besides, I tied him when that durn fool of yours dropped him here.”

Manny was the second level Commander, older than Davis, but lower in rank, and lower in power. Inside the women ruled, we men followed orders, and if we didn’t, well, there were the rovers to think about, weren’t there?

“Liza is not a fool,” Davis snapped, “she was following orders not to kill him. He’s the one, the Sentinel, with a capital ‘S’.”

I almost mimicked exactly what Manny did, which was inhale so quickly that it made a whistling sound as the air passed through his mostly toothless mouth, but I didn’t, I managed to stay still, calm, unconscious looking.

“Bullcrap,” Manny said, pushing his chair back, the wooden feet sliding easily along the relatively new vinyl floor. This fact stuck with me, I must ask Manny where he found the materials, my room needed a new floor and all the good stuff had been destroyed so long ago.

“All signs point to it,” Davis explained, pacing now, her perfectly shined black leather high heeled boots passing in front of my slitted eyes with each lap. They had trussed me in one of the corners of Manny’s office, so I was lucky in a way, I was able to see Davis spin around, the movement fanning her long coat, exposing just a hint of red leggings above the boot tops, just below her left knee. Another fact that would stick with me…for a long time.

“Records show this is his fourth return, he excels in all his duties, he has the mark…”

Manny interrupted her, “many men have the mark, it doesn’t prove a thing.”

“And none of them live past their 15^th year,” Davis replied, “also part of the prophecy.”

“Some do,” Manny said, hesitantly, almost whispering the words.

“Yes, Manny, we know,”

“You know?”

“We’ve watched you too,” she told him, “even if your care-for tried to hide the mark.”

Manny’s hand slipped unconsciously to the spot on his neck where his care-for (he preferred mother but the word really had no meaning anymore) had cut out the mark of the Sentinel, a reddish brown figure that resembled crossed swords, if you squinted and really wanted it to look that way.

“You, too, are part of the prophecy,” Davis continued, “you will now begin to train the Sentinel in the ways of magic, as your care-for did for you.”

Again Manny was shocked at her knowledge, he thought no one knew the things his mother had taught him.

“And you, Grant, you would do well to learn quickly,” Davis had stopped directly in front of me, “because this one, the one who breached; she’s also spoken of in the prophecy, and while she may be scared now, she will gain confidence with each kill, with each rover she takes down. You must lean the magic, it is the only way to stop her, to keep her from learning our secrets.”

I closed my eyes tight, knowing my ruse had failed somehow, and listened as Davis left the office. Manny shuffled over to where I lay and began to untie the cords that bound my hands and feet.

The J&R Serial story chapter 3

See more great stories, videos, writing contests and learn more about Exiled, book one of The Never Chronicles, which releases June 5th on my website.

www.TheNeverChronicles.com

3

My mind knows something happened between walking away from the outer limit barrier and squatting in the corner of a shadowed room taking a leak yet, regardless of how hard I try, the memories will not return.  I finish, look around for something to wipe with, find nothing and decide it isn't worth worrying about at the moment -especially since I've no idea where I am.

As I buckle my belt, I'm relieved to find my knife still hanging from its leather sheath. The sun is rising, I can tell by the blue light that filters through the paneless window.  I cautiously approach the window and gaze down onto the street below.  Judging from the size of the person walking along the sidewalk I must be near the top of one of the tallest downtown buildings. 

Person?  Downtown? My body tenses as I press myself against the wall and out of view.  When I slowly peek around the paintless wooden trim that shows no signs of ever holding glass between it and the fire-scorched exterior, She (no chance a man would wander downtown) hasn't changed her direction or pace.  She didn't see me.  I watch, curious as she continues along the sidewalk until reaching an intersection.  She looks both ways then hurriedly crosses the street and hops back onto the sidewalk where she resumes her more casual pace. 

I'm tempted to shout down to her but her behavior causes me to remain silent.  I've never seen anyone move in this fashion -worry free.  I've only heard stories of a time when we didn't have to constantly be looking over our shoulders and gripping our knives.  She continues another block then turns east. The clouds are thick this morning yet even at this height, I can tell she is wearing black leather.  Whoever she is, she is well connected.  Her jacket hovers just above the ground as she walks, blowing slightly in the breeze until she is obstructed by the single wall standing where once an entire building rose from the ground. 

I turn and cautiously make my way into the hall searching for a sign of a stairwell or ladder sticking up from the hole  infested floor.  While I don't remember how I came to be up here, there must be a way down.  As I move closer toward the center of the building, the natural light from the perimeter dims and I almost step through a crack wide enough to send me down to the next floor if I'm lucky, to the bottom if I'm not. 

I move slower as my anxiety increases.  I can feel my heart beating against my chest.  I can't remember the last time I was this worked up.  I need to relax. I pause and take a few deep breaths.  That's when I hear it -faint at first but growing louder with each second that passes.  A ding.  A bell. Ding, ding, ding. 

My knife is in my hand and I'm crouched on the floor as I slowly move toward the sound. Ding, ding.  Forget my chest, I can hear my heart beating in my head.  I can feel the sweat rolling down my neck and drenching my shirt between my breasts. I continue toward the sound, crouched, knife ready, taking long, low steps as I hug the wall. 

I see something along the wall.  At least, I think I do.  In the darkness it's hard to distinguish shapes.  I take another long, low step forward.  I see something for sure. There is a light source ahead.  Ding, ding, ding.  I run my free hand over my head pushing the sweat away from my eyes -grateful I had my head shaved just before I left. 

I notice my hand shaking as I draw nearer to the shape -to the light source. My hand never shakes. I can see there is a hole in the wall ahead.  The shape appears to be a part of the wall that has fallen into the hallway.  I relax a little.  Still, something doesn't feel right.  Ding, ding, ding.

A few more steps and the yellow light is bright enough to make out the ragged outline of the hole in the wall.  Two more steps and I'm there. I step up on to the fallen chunk of wall to look into the hole, which is slightly higher than my eye level. The wall chunk gives beneath my weight.  Not in the way a brittle wall would give -it was soft, mushy, gross.  Something crunches then I feel moisture in my boots.  The light from the hole casts just enough to see what it is that I'm standing on -in.  If I hadn't been so transfixed on the damn hole, I would have seen it sooner and not stepped onto it.  A body.  Rotting, stinking -but everything stinks these days.  I'm sure I don't smell much better than the corpse on the floor beneath my boots.

Ding, ding, ding.  My heart is racing now, my breathing more rapid than if I were running full tilt.  I try to step back but find my boot is lodged in the...the body somehow.  Grasping the lower edge of the hole, I lift myself slightly and manage to pull my boots free.  As I lower myself to the ground something happens -I slip in the wetness.  I slip and fall onto this person I've just trodden on. 

Splat.  We are face to face.  My face is actually touching hers.  It is clearly a woman -that much I can tell as I lift my head away in horror. A girl actually.  I shriek and roll off her simultaneously releasing what was left in my bladder (good thing I didn't bother taking the time to wipe) expecting to hit the hard floor of the hall.  Instead, I feel the air whooshing past my body as I fall into darkness.  Ding, ding, ding grows faint as does the yellow light above.  I scream for the first time in my adult life as I anticipate the impact.

2

Why on my watch? I thought as I hurried along the passageways through the rubble, trails I had traversed since I could walk, trails and paths designed to look as if monsters travelled them nightly; this was how we kept both sides out: fear.

Why me? No one was going to believe me, no outsider had ever scaled the barricades, no outsider would want to, we leaked too many stories of the horrors within the city, some real, many imagined, all designed with our safety in mind.

I quickened my pace, any female with wits as this one, might see through the disguises we used. Then again, it was almost dark, and perhaps, wits or not, those horrors that were real, would take care of the problem for me. Maybe I didn’t have to report the breach.

But I had to, it was law. All breaches of the perimeter must be reported at once; a breach was the only reason a sentinel could leave his post. These words had been repeated so many times during his life, from his fifth year when he was assigned third level sentinel duty, then again at 11 when he earned (two years early) second level sentinel duty, and again, every other morning, for the past 7 years, as he suited up and headed out to the real perimeter, with the razor wire, the concrete, and the smell of death.

Why me? Early now, I am going to be challenged by the second level, and if none of the cameras or sensors picked up the intruder, I was going to have to fight my way in. Sun at my back, sun at my back, sun at my back; let the other guy get blinded.

“Hey, Grant, why so early,” came the call from somewhere to my right.

“A breach,” I hastily called back, veering slightly left to try to skirt his position.

“Nothing showed,” was the answer, closer now, and I wasn’t yet in position.

“She came right over after kicking some big guy in the jewels,” I called, slowing, turning toward where I thought the other sentinel was lurking.

There was a snicker to my left, and the same voice to my right, much closer than expected, possibly inside the burned out shell of one of the thousands of cars that still lined the streets of the city, repeated, “nothing showed.”

I caught movement out of the corner of my left eye, turned my head in that direction, and understood an instant too late my mistake. The snicker was a recording, and the movement was only a shadow of the man who landed the debilitating blow to my head. Thankfully he didn’t kill me, a breach of protocol to be sure, but one I will be repaying for years, if not decades (if we live that long).

I came to in the office of the second sentinel commander, a seasoned soul of 32 years, not the oldest man inside, but one of the top ten we all guessed. 25 was considered a long life inside, we all knew that the outsiders lived much longer, but they didn’t come back when they died.

 1

The city had been abandoned for years.  Neither side sent men within the outer limits for fear of the horror that dwelt beneath the concrete and steel shells that once housed millions. I cannot say what drew me into the emptiness even now. I suppose reflection is jaded with emotion and therefore a fruitless effort.

My body ached from the beating it took the day before.  I can generally hold my own in a fight but this man was out of the ordinary.  My only solace is that toward the end, I managed to cut him with my knife.  It wasn't deep. A mere scrape across his ribs -but it bled like a sonofabitch.  Just enough to distract him as I punted his crotch up into his stomach.  You'd think a man would learn to protect his jacobs by now.  Clearly his over-confidence saw to his undoing.

He shouldn't have messed with me anyway.  Who picks a fight with a woman on the edge of the outer limits?  He was just asking for an ass kicking and I was happy to oblige.  Did I kill him?  Did I kill him as he lay there like a baby in the street cupping his manhood while tears and snot and blood ran together on the side of his face.  I didn't.  I couldn't.

I had more important business to attend to.  Plus, he had earned my respect.  If I hadn't pulled out my knife it would have ended differently. He was nothing to look at. Average height, average build -even a bit on the small side.  My god was he fast though.  He had my respect as I walked away.  I walked on, beckoned by something more powerful than survival.

One thing was for sure, I was headed where no man would follow.  No woman either.  Even now, as I said, I'm not sure why I listened to that voice that called to me but I did. I climbed over the concrete barriers stacked ten-high marking the beginning of the outer limits.  I climbed over the fifteen foot fence topped with razor wire mounted at the peak of the barrier pyramid that encircled the city.

The sun was setting to my right then left as I thew my legs over the razor-wire topping and began the climb down.  Blazing orange light threw long shadows when interrupted by what remained of the buildings, long abandoned.  No rubble from the destruction littered the streets making the scene even stranger. We all knew why that was -the thought of it sent a chill through my body.

As my feet touched the pavement, the sounds from outside the wall immediately silenced.  The hum of the generators, the buzz of the trucks patrolling the districts.  Even the wind silenced when I dropped off the second tier of the old traffic barriers.  The sound of my boots hitting the ground echoed between the buildings towering above me.  I froze.  Waited.  Looking. Scanning the streets from left to right then the buildings now windowless and open for any sign of movement.  Nothing.

Every molecule in my body wanted to turn around and retreat over that wall yet something more powerful pulled me onward toward the center of the city.  Toward the heart of the madness.

I had never traveled inside the wall.  I don't know anyone who has.  Why then, was I being called?  Why now?  My body began to move.  It was all I could do to slow my pace, quiet my footfalls and stay in the shadows as I continued on.  It was my body...but I was not in control -and that frightened me even more than what lies ahead.

The J&R Serial Story chapter 1

A dark tale from two authors:

Myself (J. R. Wagner)  and J. Roger Greer of Stones and words and words and stones fame. 

Rules:

Each contributor can only write from one perspective in the first person -it cannot be the same person as the other. They do not have to be in the same scene together but must eventually come together.
Each entry must be at least 500 words long.
Try and keep it PG13
Copy and paste the preceding chapter below your entry when writing a new chapter.

okay, so it begins...

 1

The city had been abandoned for years.  Neither side sent men within the outer limits for fear of the horror that dwelt beneath the concrete and steel shells that once housed millions. I cannot say what drew me into the emptiness even now. I suppose reflection is jaded with emotion and therefore a fruitless effort.

My body ached from the beating it took the day before.  I can generally hold my own in a fight but this man was out of the ordinary.  My only solace is that toward the end, I managed to cut him with my knife.  It wasn't deep. A mere scrape across his ribs -but it bled like a sonofabitch.  Just enough to distract him as I punted his crotch up into his stomach.  You'd think a man would learn to protect his jacobs by now.  Clearly his over-confidence saw to his undoing.

He shouldn't have messed with me anyway.  Who picks a fight with a woman on the edge of the outer limits?  He was just asking for an ass kicking and I was happy to oblige.  Did I kill him?  Did I kill him as he lay there like a baby in the street cupping his manhood while tears and snot and blood ran together on the side of his face.  I didn't.  I couldn't.

I had more important business to attend to.  Plus, he had earned my respect.  If I hadn't pulled out my knife it would have ended differently. He was nothing to look at. Average height, average build -even a bit on the small side.  My god was he fast though.  He had my respect as I walked away.  I walked on, beckoned by something more powerful than survival.

One thing was for sure, I was headed where no man would follow.  No woman either.  Even now, as I said, I'm not sure why I listened to that voice that called to me but I did. I climbed over the concrete barriers stacked ten-high marking the beginning of the outer limits.  I climbed over the fifteen foot fence topped with razor wire mounted at the peak of the barrier pyramid that encircled the city.

The sun was setting to my right then left as I thew my legs over the razor-wire topping and began the climb down.  Blazing orange light threw long shadows when interrupted by what remained of the buildings, long abandoned.  No rubble from the destruction littered the streets making the scene even stranger. We all knew why that was -the thought of it sent a chill through my body.

As my feet touched the pavement, the sounds from outside the wall immediately silenced.  The hum of the generators, the buzz of the trucks patrolling the districts.  Even the wind silenced when I dropped off the second tier of the old traffic barriers.  The sound of my boots hitting the ground echoed between the buildings towering above me.  I froze.  Waited.  Looking. Scanning the streets from left to right then the buildings now windowless and open for any sign of movement.  Nothing.

Every molecule in my body wanted to turn around and retreat over that wall yet something more powerful pulled me onward toward the center of the city.  Toward the heart of the madness.

I had never traveled inside the wall.  I don't know anyone who has.  Why then, was I being called?  Why now?  My body began to move.  It was all I could do to slow my pace, quiet my footfalls and stay in the shadows as I continued on.  It was my body...but I was not in control -and that frightened me even more than what lies ahead.


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See more great stories, videos, writing contests and learn more about Exiled, book one of The Never Chronicles, which releases June 5th on my website.

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The evolution of YA: Guest post by J. Roger Greer

The Evolution of YA

by guest poster extraordinaire, J. Roger Greer

I am going to go out on a limb and guess that many of the new followers to this blog are here for the YA connection. If that is so, great, wonderful, absolutely awesome! There is nothing better than a young adult who spends time with a book, no matter how that book is delivered. Books force a person to think, to create, to interact with characters, characters that may not be like the reader. And today’s YA stuff might just lead a reader to yesterday’s YA stuff.

That would be Robinson Caruso, Little Women, The Catcher in the Rye. Yes, all of those are well written classics perfect for a young adult reader. For those who are jumping on the Vampire craze, remember that Bram Stoker became famous borrowing the vampire idea from earlier poets and novelists. As much as I hate Wikipedia, one can use it as a jumping off point for research such as this. The Vampyre is one of those earlier stories, give it a read, it is the basis for so many of the popular stuff today, and written better, in my opinion.

Vampires fuel a need within us, the need to live forever, to cheat death, keeping our youthful appearance, as well as developing superhuman powers. The perfect protagonist or antagonist for any story. One can hate the vampire for its need for blood, or be jealous of its strength and longevity. One can love the vampire for that same longevity or for its looks, as many vampires are depicted as gorgeous. But-you knew there was a but coming, didn’t you?-The vampire stories still fall back on to the tried and true literary devices that have served story tellers forever.

This is not an indictment of the new vampire stories (such as those written by Willow Cross), rather it is an act of applause, a ‘shout-out’ to those who make the old stories new again, drawing in new readers who may dig deeper and keep some of the older version alive; isn’t that what we authors want? For our words to live forever, even if we can’t?

J. Roger Greer writes for his blog Stones and words and words and stones

          

As always, 

Visit my website www.TheNeverChronicles.com for updates on my forthpublishing novel, Exiled, writing contests and other cool stuff.