Stoker - All for Owen

Copyright 2013 Clint Stoker

All rights reserved.

ISBN-10: 1492333913

ISBN-13: 978-1492333913

www.clintstoker.blogspot.com

DEDICATION

To my wonderful parents, Bryan and Nancy Stoker. To my always-supportive wife, Stephanie. And to my sweet children, Jonas and Alexis.

I love you.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

This project would not be possible without the skill and support of many close friends and family. Thanks to Leisha Maw, for her mentorship and invaluable critiques. Thanks to Brandon Crowther, and Troy Munro for hours of reading, editing, and insight. Thank you to my big brother, Russell Stoker, for the amazing artistry of character on the cover. Thank you to my supportive family for tolerating my obsession with the characters and worlds that occupy so much of my time. And thank you to the many readers who have been so kind.

1: Sunset Street

Jason eased the door closed and ran across the street to the opposite sidewalk, where he hoped no one would notice him heading to the watchtower. Theron never waited to be relieved from his post.

The thought drove Jason into a jog.

Youre late, Mr. Gardner said from the squash patch in his front yard. He dabbed his sleeve against his brow.

On my way now, Jason said.

Mr. Gardners bald head glistened in the sun. Thirty seconds could mean the difference between survival and death. You of all people should understand that.

Jason stuffed his hands in his pockets. I dont really need another survival lecture.

Mr. Gardner shook his head. Youre not invincible, Jason. Remember, robbers or murderers could waltz right in, claim the well for themselves, steal the solar panels, and we wouldnt know until its too late. The Angsts are out there looking for places like Sunset all the time. If they found us today, we wouldnt have any time to hide.

Like I said, Im heading there now, Mr. Gardner. Besides, Jason gestured down the street, there are no robbers or murderers waltzing on Sunset Street. And there are no Angsts.

Mr. Gardner leaned on his shovel. How would you know? Youre not in the watchtower.

Jason raised an eyebrow. Trust me, nothing that exciting ever happens in Sunset. Jason flicked off a half-hearted salute and jogged off. Headed to my post, sir.

And dont forget to check the schedule, Mr. Gardner said.

Jason waved over his shoulder and stepped off the sidewalk as two children glided past on their homemade wooden scooters.

Mitchs Grandma Rivera knelt on her driveway, wearing a wide-brimmed hat, singing to herself as she pulled weeds from the cracked cement. She did her part to maintain their suburban paradise, so did Mr. Gardner and all the other refugees who, like Jason, pretended life was normal. Jason did his part too. He figured if society hadnt tanked nine years earlier, he might be relaxing with friends or playing sports instead of running to the watchtower.

Jason glanced up. The mountains loomed over Sunset like a warm, green blanket of earth. A gigantic abandoned smokestack, a monument to a dead civilization, stood on the foothill and stretched high above the mountains.

Daydreaming about what might be wouldnt do any good.

Out of habit, Jason stopped where the sidewalk dipped a little in front of Andreas driveway. Her house had a wooden porch that rose above the tomato plants in her front lawn. They used to sit on the swing and talk about everything until she ended it.

The door opened and Andrea stepped out onto the porch. She smiled enough to acknowledge his existence, but not enough to seem grateful to see him. She walked down the steps, holding Jasons MP3 player. You werent in class today. I wanted to talk to you.

Jason pulled up the collar on his jacket enough to cover the purplish blotch, the death-mark staining his neck and left cheek. Hey, he said.

I thought Id return your music player. She held out the little box, letting the chords dangle. The power is really low. Maybe Mr. Gardner will let you charge it next week. Her lips went crooked and she threaded her hair over one ear. I know we decided to take a break, but I hope none of this will change the way you treat my brother, he still looks up to you.

Jason took the device from her. Im not going to start picking on Owen, if thats what youre worried about.

Someone has to worry about him. Andrea glanced down the street. I guess Ill see you around. She turned and walked back to the house.

Jason swallowed and pressed his lips together, trying to ignore the broken glass tornado whirling in his chest. He continued his jog toward the end of Sunset Street, eyes forward, no looking back. He unwound the chords and stuffed the little speakers into his ear and turned the music on.

A simple barricade of six posts that protruded from the road halted his jog. They were buried deep and rose about four feet above ground in theory enough to stop a car. Jason patted a post and strode past them, out over the choppy gravel road, turning every few yards to watch Sunset disappear behind the massive mound of dirt and rubble the residents had built. As the road curved, the mound and the mountain seemed to melt together, camouflaging the community.

Jason checked every biohazard sign placed along the fading road to scare away intruders, in case they needed repairs. When he reached the watchtower, half a mile out, the real Sunset lay hidden. Everything else looked like a wasteland.

The music flickered in his ear then died. He pulled out the ear-buds and let them dangle from his finger as he looked over the glorified tree-house that they called the watchtower. Theron had left.

Something felt out of place. Jason studied the watchtower, the slats of wood, the thick branches. Everything looked fine. Even the black warning horn hung from its nail as expected. But the overgrown weeds at the base lay to one side, trampled down.

He paused, listening to the breeze.

A dark feeling grabbed him by the shirt, like someone watching him. He tried to ignore it, but the feeling didnt leave. He pivoted, scanning the ruins for any sign of life.

Nothing moved. Rolling his shoulders, Jason decided Mr. Gardner had gotten to him again and stepped toward the tower. A stranger slid out from behind the tree house a man with a dark suit, white shirt and a neck tie. He carried a pack over his shoulders and a black suitcase in one hand. His hair dyed an unnatural blonde, probably bleached with peroxide or some other hard-to-find chemical.

Jason darted toward the watchtower and the warning horn, but the man blocked his path. My goodness, what happened to your face, son? The strangers eyes settled on the death-mark.

Jason jumped back and pulled his sling from his pocket, but as he stuffed a stone in the pouch and whirled the cords over his head, penetrating pain shot through his skull, like lightning. The stone flew wide, and Jason fell to one knee as the pain moved to his stomach. He dropped the sling and the torture stopped in an instant.

Making a fist, Jason glared at the man.

The stranger leaned in, staring at Jasons cheek. Is that a death-mark? Eight years on the job and Ive never seen any man gripped by the plague and live to carry its mark.

Jason turned away. Who are you?

Im your new Crier. You can call me Zack.

That cant be right. Jasons throat constricted and he looked toward the tower and the warning horn. Hed heard the stories. Criers always came before Angsts. Why hadnt he been on time?

Zack nodded once. I am a friend, a mediator, between mankind and the guardians the Angsts.

Theyre here? Jason whirled around, scanning the mountains, the hills, the brush and the sky. They found us?