G. Wells Taylor - The Forsaken

THE FORSAKEN

The Apocalypse Trilogy: Book Two

G. Wells Taylor

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2009 by G. Wells Taylor

All rights reserved.

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Edited by Julia C. Moulton

Cover Design by G. Wells Taylor

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For my sisters

Alphabetically: Kelley, Kerry and Wendy

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1 Assassin

An Angel was going to die. The idea causedthe man on the road to smilea rare smile cruelly cut into hard,pitiless features. The Angel would die quickly. It was a pity thatit had to be so fast. But surprise was necessary. It was essential.He knew he was lucky to have that much of an edge and speed was theonly way to maintain it. Their supernatural abilities allowed nomargin for error. But the idea of killing one slowly appealed tohimto kill an Angel and take his time doing it. He smiled againthinking about what it would be like to get a knife and take oneapart. See what all the fuss was about.

Miles to the west, his car was parkedpermanently on the soft shoulder. The Pontiacs twenty-year-oldengine had cracked in two. He had taken one look under the hood andgrabbed his packs to start the long walk to the City. There wasnothing he could do about it. He was not that kind of mechanic.

But an Angel was going to die. That wassomething. Two hours had passed, and the idea had kept him focusedon the march. Fuck the car. It was common for people todrive them into the ground only to purchase another rebuilt junkerwhen it was necessary. Hed done it more times than he couldremember. Automotive parts designed to last in the old countingcould not keep up to people who did not age in a time of endlessrain and decay.

Money wasnt a problem. He carried enough inpocket to buy a new vehicle right off the lot. But why bother? Theyall fell apart eventually. It didnt matter how much money youspent. Time got them in the end, like it got everything.

But he wouldnt buy another vehicle just yet.There were too many variables to justify the expense. He had onlytrusted his abandoned car because it drew little attention. Butthis was now and the future was then. He was close enough to theCity of Light to walk, so hed walk. And once there, who knew? Carswere more common than strangers buying them. Until he completed hiscontract anonymity was his greatest ally.

Dont let them see you coming. Thatwas the first rule of the business he was in. The second was tohave a backup plan and backup plans cost money. Beneath his Kevlarvest was a nylon money belt containing forty thousand in cash andabout the same in gems for special purchases. Printed moneywouldnt always buy you what you wanted in the circles he traveled.And it seemed that people with apparently ageless bodies identifiedwith the permanence of diamonds and gemshe did.

The belt held enough for bribes, transportand emergencies. He had plenty more, but with the chaos that yawnedaround what was left of humanity, the traveler knew that a placeyou left might not be there when you returned. The remains ofcivilization were on the verge of riot and dissolution.Occasionally fear would manifest and burn one of the dying citiesor towns that remained. The man on the road didnt care about thesocial costs; he just understood that his many money stashes couldbe consumed by the madness; so carrying a small fortune had becomea habit. And he was the safest bank he knew.

He snarled up at the rumbling overcast as hemarched along the roadthen stumbled. The broken pavement beneathhis boots had heaved in places torn by cycles of frost, andundercut by incessant rain. Scowling, he dropped back into hissteady, rhythmic pace. The black canvas bags were heavy hangingacross his muscular shoulders, but they did not impede him. Themild annoyance of the gun barrels and ammunition thudding againsthis kidneys did more to reassure than irritate.

The City was not far off. Hed get there bysundown. The last hill he crested had given him a bleak view of itsmonolithic skyline and the Eastern Sea beyond. The distance did notconcern him, since he welcomed any sort of physical challenge. Inhis Spartan philosophy he could never be hard or strong enough.Besides, if he grew bored with the walk, he could flag down apassing motorist and either hitch a ride or buy the vehicleoutright with a bulletthere were still travelers despite therigors of the road. In fact, the latter mode of transportationwould allow him to enter the slow tempest of the City withoutmaking a ripple. And he wouldnt have to make conversation.

But the walk would do for now. It allowed himto step outside his life for a time and do something simpleit wasthe closest he ever got to carefree, and he could never becarefree. There was no rush. Again the distant thunder made himlook up at the clouds. He shrugged knowing hed packed an overcoatin the smaller of the two bags.

Rattle! His boots scuffed against thepavement, almost muffled the sound. And then: Click!

The traveler threw his bags and dropped to aknee. A .9 mm automatic jumped lightly in his sinewy hand; itsmuzzle scanned the dark brush at the side of the road. Dim lightfrom the overcast showed ugly gray weedsthe brittle shaftsquivering, rattling sporadically as the gun ran over their variedsurfaces searching a target.

Then the traveler hissed with disgust, turnedthe pistol up and slipped it away. A womans hand twitched andconvulsed its way out of the dead brush. The skin was torn off itfrom the severed wrist all the way up the broken thumbworms orbeetles crawled in the swollen red meat on its palm. The knucklesclicked hollowly as it moved.

The man walked to his bags, hefted them, andresumed his trek without another glance at the hideous thing thatscuttled farther onto the road behind him. The traveler let hismind move onto more prosaic concerns. He could reach the Cityinside two hoursif he didnt buy a car first.

And an Angel would die soon after.

2 Dawn at Night

The forever child had a hard time followingorders though the reckless bravado that started her currentadventure had long ago departed. Swagger was fine to get thingsgoing but tended to dissolve the farther she got from safety. Thatleft behind was a small and trembling child of over a hundredyears, but a child at heart with a childs store of emotion andanxiety and imagination. She looked to be five years of age, nomorepixie-like, cute with curly brown hair and big round chestnuteyes that peeked over soft and downy cheeks. Dawn was terrified andshe was in deep shit.

Her grownup friend Mr. Jay wanted her to stayin the hideout while he was away on business. But she took hisconcern as a command, and rebelled against it. The first fewminutes of her escape were thrillingshe usually had to go aboutdisguised or hiddenbut it was dark, and the neighborhood wasshadowy and quiet enough for her to take the chance.

Almost all forever children like her had beenrounded up in the first fifty years following the Change. Authorityinsisted it was for their own protection but rumors spoke a grimmertale of science experiments and worse. Other kids that escaped thegovernment were caught by evil men who made them do evil andgrownup thingsstill others in the cities lived a life in hiding:always running in a world that was after them. So sprinting throughthe shadowed puddles in a mist of raindroplets spattering her barecalveswas exhilarating in its first few innocent moments, beforethe truth hit home.