A large blackened monster sits on a looming blank white canvas. Its maw, fiery and gaping, hungers for ever more sustenance. Two tiny figures, frail and hairlike, stumble toward it, carrying another between them. They toss the motionless figure they carry into the flames and the monster accepts, belching soot and demanding more. As they retreat, another pair approaches with yet another unmoving figure carried between them. Down they go, down… down to the source, through the ice and snow, the howling winds buffeting their frail frames as they stumble. Down to the pit, a dark hole filled to the brim with the dark frozen spindly forms haphazardly placed, limbs entwining like little stiff hairs. These were their friends and family long since departed from the land of the living. They reach down and cut apart the frozen limbs, hauling another offering up. For the living must keep living, and the dead must sustain them.
***
Kyle awoke with a pounding headache. His first thought was an instant regret that he was still alive.
He closed his eyes again.
“Hey, that’s too late now, my son," a voice near him spoke. “You’re part of the living now, and the living must struggle.”
He kept his eyes closed, “What happened? Where am I?” His chest hurt and he couldn’t move his left arm.
“Three days after the storm, son," Kyle felt someone pressing on his chest. He was vaguely aware of a monitor beeping somewhere close by. “You slept right through all the action.”
“The storm? Oh right, what happened with that?” he murmured.
“Well, I can tell ya a lot of people died. But you…” the man walked around his bed. Kyle could hear a plastic ripping noise and then a clink like a glass vial being placed down on a metal surface. “That little trick you pulled may have saved your life in more ways than one.”
“Trick?” Kyle’s headache suddenly abated, but the fog remained.
“How’s that, child?” the man said. “Feelin’ better?”
There had been an explosion. They were working on a barrier. What happened after? What…
“Why do you keep calling me ‘son’ and ‘child’?” he asked the man.
“Well, we’re all the Lord’s children," the man said, “Also, I happen to be a priest as well as a doctor. Newly converted in fact. Just… quickly promoted on account of my abilities.”
Kyle slowly opened his eyes again. There was what appeared to be a 30-something year old man in a lab coat seated at the foot of his infirmary bed. He was looking at him with a rather intrigued expression with his clear grey-blue eyes. He had a slighter frame (probably due to being a specialist rather than a laborer) with neatly trimmed hair that was streaked with various shades of brown. Kyle surmised to himself that the man was most likely a lot older as doctors tended to have had the privilege to have gotten nanomachine treatments.
“Ye ain’t seriously believe in that crap do ye doc?” he replied, looking around at the machinery and tubes stuck to him. They were using a surprisingly large amount of medical equipment to keep him alive.
“I believe what I need to to survive," the man threw his hands up and stood up. “Word of caution, they’ll be some visitors coming in a bit. They’re also probably the reason why you’re alive so… try to keep some of your pessimism to yourself–”
Just then the door to his room (wait he got a whole room for himself?) opened.
“Well speak of the devil!”, the doctor said.
The woman that entered first was squat and muscular, she was dressed in simple gray vestments. “We’d prefer if you didn’t, Father O’Donnell.”
Following her was a peculiar looking little boy who looked to be around nine years old. He was followed by two rough looking men, their rugged looks contrasted by their neat gray vestments. Finally, closing out this parade was the Governess Theresa Evans herself.
“The gov’ness herself! In the flesh too!” Kyle remarked. “What are you doing visiting a sick lowly laborer such as myself?”
“I think it’d be best if I let them have their say first," the Governess responded, gesturing to the others.
The muscular woman spoke, “Hello, Mr. Wilson. I’m Mother Joanne.” She gave him a hard squint. “I’ll make things quick, we’re from the newly found religious group known as ‘The Servants of the Chosen’.”
“I’ve heard of you folks," Kyle responded gruffly.
“Good," Joanne gave the little boy a quick glance, then continued. “Well, we’ve all heard what you did, and we want to recruit you to our cause.”
“What I did?” Kyle asked. “What–what did I do?” He could feel his headache coming on again.
“Well, some posit that it may have been a divine moment when the Lord acted through you, so it’s only natural you might not remember," Joanne said sympathetically, “But you are clearly Chosen.”
Seeing Kyle’s bewildered expression, the doctor asked, “What was the last thing you remember happening?”
Kyle dug back into the pain, rooting into the depths, grimacing as he went. “I was… high up. My friend George! He was next to me… behind me.”
He blinked and stared at the boy at the foot of his bed. His eyes kept being drawn to him for whatever reason. Those green eyes, so clear, so wise for his years. Those were eyes that saw experiences beyond his time.
He continued. “There was a construction automaton… It staggered, tumbling sideways… Yes! It exploded! I remember now... and then something flew at me and…”
“A construction automaton that was working with you exploded due to a faulty battery," Joanne explained. “A piece of shrapnel, the size of your head launched toward you at high speeds.”
Her eyes lit up. “And yet you moved it.”
Kyle looked at her realization dawning on him.
“Something so big, with such force. You deflected it with nothing but a glance," the woman’s face lit up in exuberance as did those of the men next to her. “You, just like this child, were chosen by the Lord for a higher purpose!”
But Kyle’s mind was on something else. The shrapnel flew right at his face and he, with his … powers, deflected it just slightly. Enough to not hit him, causing it to glance off his right shoulder.
“Wait… wait a minute," Kyle said. The piece jagged, burning, missed him but… who was behind him?
Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.
Mother Joanne was still talking. He couldn’t tell what she was saying, but her face was… fanatic, burning with an unnatural expression. It was becoming too much.
“Please… please…” He clutched his head. Dr. O’Donnell moved next to him asking if he was alright.
“SHUTUP!” They all looked at him, surprised. “Just… hold on one second! Please…”
He looked at them. He looked at each one of their wide-eyed gazes. All except the boy… who continued staring at him with that incomprehensible expression.
“Where’s George?”
***
The next few days were hectic as he tried to catch up on the events since his accident. It seemed the “miracle” he performed was being used by many sides. The religious group, Followers of the Chosen, had been pushing this as a sign from the Lord. They were trying to recruit him in an effort to gain more followers to their cause. Adding to this mess, a labor union was starting to amass. Tired of harsh and dangerous working conditions they had formed to fight for their rights. Their primary target was the “upper class” specialists including engineers, specialized mechanics and building designers that had been afforded special privileges due to their critically necessary skill sets. Pointing to George’s death (and those of others), the Laborer’s Union denounced the engineers’ shoddy automaton work.
“I’m tired of living in these shoddy houses without any proper heating. We were promised central heating a week ago. All we get are delays and more delays!”
Kyle could hear their angry gatherings from the window of his room. He suspected this was planned as well, because now that he was in the limelight he could help their cause. He was a laborer-class just like them after all.
“We’s dying in droves while those so-called ‘specialists’ get fancy high class housing and don’t even do their jobs properly. That’s five automaton accidents in the last three days already! But a coupla knocks with the hammer and a prayer later, ‘Ready for redeployment’ they say!”
The Governess of course wanted him to help her calm down the workforce. She could ban their gatherings, but she was a strong believer in freedom of speech. He sympathized with her to a certain extent. She was caught between a rock and a hard place. If she pissed off the specialists, they could refuse to work– no generators, no automatons, no new building designs. However, with the laborers getting fired up, with each accident fanning the fires further, it was only a matter of time before there was a rebellion.
And there was still so much that needed to be done.
The storm had been brutal for sure. While he had been knocked out in a hospital, the storm had raged for four days straight. There were no serious damages, thankfully, at least to infrastructure. One of the storerooms had collapsed, but they had been able to extract most of the supplies, mainly building supplies with only a few food packages. However, the freezing temperatures along with multiple power lines going down resulted in the deaths of around 120 people, with around another 260 crippled in some way. By now, the removal of dead people was its own job. Due to fear of fuel shortages, coal was being conserved for braziers in houses. Instead, the omni-generators had begun burning corpses.
The hospital areas were overflowing with the crippled. Contrary to what one might think, the least seriously injured took up most of the beds. Because those were the ones most likely to be saved. As for Kyle, his injuries were largely from the blast of the battery explosion. Primarily a few cracked ribs and a bruised humerus. Plus, he reserved a special status as a patient of interest, which was the main reason he wasn’t just left to his own devices in an overcrowded housing unit somewhere.
It was now the third day since his awakening. He felt strong enough to stand and walk about on his 9 remaining toes for around 15 minutes at a time. His other motor functions seemed relatively intact. His right arm was still weak from the shrapnel injury. But no physical injury could compare to the devastation of his mental state.
He had killed his best friend.
Just then, the door to his room opened and the small boy from earlier entered. Kyle now knew his name was David Baker. Like him, this child had gotten special privileges. While the other children labored in the kitchens, hospitals, and even in the furnaces, little David here could roam about and do whatever he liked.
“Feeling sorry for yourself again, are you?” the ten-year old asked him as he hopped on to the stool next to his bed.
Kyle grunted.
“You didn’t kill your friend," Little David said. “If anything, it was the automaton that did.”
“What’s the deal with you anyways?” Kyle asked, trying to switch the topic in the face of the child’s uncanny ability to touch on private matters. “How’s it you always say the spookiest shit?”
“Well as you probably know, I’m gifted. Just like you," the child gave him a knowing look; his green eyes flashing an expression that was almost adult-like. “Also I’ve been picking up a few tricks from the lady in the ground.”
“Ok, what the fuck," Kyle said, giving him a wide-eyed look.
“Sorry… that came out wrong," David responded. “You know her too. That Inspector Lady living underground.”
“I’m not…” the man thought that sounded familiar, but his memory did not appear to be cooperating on the matter.
“From the dreams," the child prompted him. “The ones the Little Dreamer shows us all. Though I guess I’m not allowed to call her ‘little’ since I’m smaller than she is.”
“I s’pose so…” Kyle knew what he was talking about but still couldn’t quite pull the memories to the forefront of his mind. “So what are you anyways? Some kinda prophet or something?”
“Oh no. The Lord has different plans for me," David said, kicking his feet. “The only true prophet is the Dreamer. I am merely a follower.”
Kyle looked at him, unsure how to respond. Was this kid faking it too, like the Doc or was he fully sucked into this weird cult?
“I am a true believer," David said. “If that’s what you’re wondering.”
“...Right.”
“Now how I was discovered, did you ever wonder how we knew a storm was coming?” the child asked. “We don’t have connection to any weather satellites or anything of the sort right now.”
“Wait, so you’re saying you can see the future or something?” Kyle asked incredulously.
“No… or I would be an actual prophet then wouldn’t I?” David responded wryly, “No I have a knack for being able to sense the weather. Not the most useful to be honest.” He sighed. “I can also hide my presence from the Little Dreamer. That’s about the extent of my abilities so far.”
“I mean… you’re still young, kid," The man looked down at the child's small form. “I’m sure you’ll learn a thing or two by the time you’re my age.”
“Perhaps," Then the child got up and straightened his shirt. “Well, I’ll leave you to your rest then," David said. “Get well quick, because we’re going to need your help, and right quick too. From the looks of it, this colony isn’t going to last much longer.”
“...Sure," Kyle looked after him as the small boy excused himself and closed the door behind himself.
What a creepy little kid. He thought to himself.
***
“What do you see up there, Lizzie?” Becca called out.
Her roomate had managed to crawl up on their roof and was hunched over looking out to the west with a telescope. Becca noticed quite a few people from their nearby unit looking over curiously when she realized Lizzie’s butt was sticking out over the edge.
“Also that’s quite the pose you’ve got there, you might want to straighten up a bit before someone gets hurt," Becca said.
“Hmm?” Lizzie responded in an absentmindedly, then she looked down and laughed. “Oho? Perhaps I’ve finally captivated you with my feminine charms?”
“Pfft, you wish," Becca said.
“But wait I almost forgot, you’ve got a boyfriend now don’t you?” Lizzie said as she swung her legs down over the edge. “Whatever shall he think of this?” She landed on Becca’s balcony and readjusted her glasses, giving her a teasing smile.
“Who? Oh…!” Becca said, flushing when she realized who she meant. “He’s not my boyfriend." She sighed. “So what’d you see up there anyways?”
Lizzie’s playful emerald eyes quickly sobered up, “Yeah the Red Wave is definitely moving closer.” She grasped her telescope near the lens and swept it across in a wide gesture. “It’s all mainly coming from that direction I’d say around 30 kilometers off at best. It’s like a giant semi-circle slowly closing in around us.”
“So we may not have much time before we’re cut off," Becca took the scope from her and tried to take a look. The view from down here wasn’t as good but she could faintly see the red bloody streaks trailing out from opaque membrane-like globs, like tendrils reaching out to them across the ocean.
“What about the ship?” Becca asked, handing the scope back to Lizzie.
“I got a good look at that too. It's getting pretty close now, should be here in about 2 hours," Lizzie tapped her chin with the telescope. “No response from them still? It’s moving pretty fast.”
“Not that I’ve heard. Mum’s trying though," Becca responded, strapping on a tool belt. They were all going to help repair the Whiskernash today as that was the biggest vessel they had. “We should definitely be careful though. It’s not a regular, that’s for sure.”
“The Blue Beast huh…?” Lizzie said, snapping her telescope shut. “What a weird name.”