Awakening the Mare (Fall of Man Book 1) Read online

  The Fall of Man

  Book One

  Awakening the Mare

  Jacqueline Druga

  A PERMUTED PRESS BOOK

  Published at Smashwords

  ISBN: 978-1-61868-565

  ISBN (eBook): 978-1-61868-558

  AWAKENING THE MARE

  The Fall of Man Book 1

  © 2015 by Jacqueline Druga

  All Rights Reserved

  Cover art by Quincy Alivio

  This book is a work of fiction. People, places, events, and situations are the product of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or historical events, is purely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author and publisher.

  Permuted Press

  109 International Drive, Suite 300

  Franklin, TN 37067

  http://permutedpress.com

  To my daughter, Roni, I dedicate this series to you. Thank you for all your support and for literally being my right hand, when my own wasn’t working.

  Table of Contents

  1. Beginnings

  2. Getting Ready

  3. Iry

  4. The Show Line

  5. Rite of Passage

  6. History

  7. The Day

  8. Being Chosen

  9. Being Mare

  10. The Bag

  11. The Ceremony

  12. The Run

  13. Floating

  14. Car Contraption

  15. Camp

  16. Cowboy Chili

  17. Starry Night

  18. Last Leg to Angeles

  19. Arrival

  20. Davis

  21. The Stroll

  22. Three Times

  23. Oceans Wide

  24. When the Moon is High

  25. Comprehending

  26. Knowing

  27. Hollow Man

  28. The First Step

  29. The Time Bunker

  30. Deconstructing

  31. Projecting

  32. Release

  33. Lyon Estates

  34. The Jail

  35. Plan B

  36. Receiving Iry

  37. Nightfall

  38. Humbled

  39. Advice from Marie

  40. Warning

  41. Deciphering the Truth

  42. Riding with Marie

  43. The Quarrel

  44. Almost

  45. Day Stalkers

  46. Aftermath

  47. Dawn Decision

  About the Author

  1. Beginnings

  My existence began in the back of an old pickup. Ironically, the truck was dead and it was there I took my first breath of life.

  That was always the way the story started out, the tale of my beginning that I had been told many times.

  The truck was tucked and hidden in an underpass west of Lordsburg, New Mexico. My young mother staggered as she walked, crying and holding her stomach. Her agony carried in the dead of the night, echoing loudly in the vacant and silent world, still reeling in the aftermath of the global catastrophic event.

  There were two reasons the men came to her aid. Neither of them was because the two men felt sorry for her. One, for their own wellbeing, they needed her silenced, and the other reason was an offering. Something that would satisfy ‘them', and buy safety for the men and their families that were hiding not far away at a camp. That alone earned my mother a place, even if temporarily, with the Lordsburg camp.

  I know not of my mother’s roots, because she only told of her journey. She and my father had traveled from the ravaged zones of war and plague to make it to an area free of destruction, only to be racing for safety.

  The only place to go at the time, was said to be the southwest.

  My biological father barely made it half the trip and my mother, not much older than I am now, still a teenager, yet with child, thought only of that baby. She thought only of me. She didn’t want to cry or scream, but the pain was too much.

  Shadows of the prowling cast around the Lordsburg camp, the refugees had been spotted and my mother’s cries led them like a guiding light.

  There wasn’t much time, and before my mother’s body wasn’t even ready to deliver, keeping her a distance from camp, they brought her to the back of the truck.

  One man covered her mouth to muffle her cries, while begging her to please be silent. The other impatiently prepared for my arrival. Perched ready between my mother’s legs, he got a grip on my head and yanked me from mother’s ill prepared body, handing me off a split second after he cut the cord.

  My mother told me he said, “Quiet, the baby is fine. We need this afterbirth.”

  With his brutal and forceful assistance, the afterbirth and remaining cord was expelled from my mother. He made her stand, allowing blood to pour into the bed of the truck, then he carried her quickly to the camp.

  It was there my mother witnessed it firsthand.

  They encompassed the truck, their beings distorted shadows of decrepit creatures. They didn’t speak, only groaned out animal sounds. So many of them, like starving ants flocking to one grain of sugar.

  I arrived eight days after the event and three days following the eve of their rise.

  My beginning was their beginning.

  They rose from the ashes and dark to reclaim a world they say was once theirs. A world that man had stolen from them. Man’s demise became their rise.

  They gathered their strength by preying on the weak, and at the time, the weak was the human race.

  How pathetic. Man had a chance to defeat these… things before they reached an unconquerable level. But he chose to bow and feed instead of taking a stance. Humans abandoned the fight.

  That fight stirs everyday inside of me. Somewhere out there, there were others like me, ready for the fight. Ready to take back our world.

  The creatures are strong, almost invincible.

  Almost.

  They are not unbeatable. History shows it. We defeated them once, we will defeat them again.

  2. Getting Ready

  “Vala.”

  I stayed in my corner of the bedroom, hoping she’d give up calling me. Maybe I if pretended I didn’t hear…

  “Vala,” my said, drawing the privacy curtain aside. “Didn’t you hear me?’

  “Um... yeah.” Lying on my bed face down, I stashed the magazine under my schoolbook. “Sorry, I was concentrating on my essay about Sybaris kings and queens.”

  She gasped. “Vala! I have told you to stop using that term. It’s bigoted.”

  The thought, ‘whatever’ came to my mind, but I didn’t speak it. “Sorry. The Ancients kings and queens.”

  “Better.” She reached down to my book and lifted it. With an exhale, she shook her head, discovered the small magazine of the previous world. “I have told you about forbidden material. Hide that or take it to the end limits and get rid of it. Especially today. It’s the first of the month. They come.”

  I rolled over, finally facing my mother. I hesitated because she looked tired, really tired. “Are you unwell?”

  “No, I’m tired and prefer to look that way when they come.”

  “It’s working,” I said.

  “Vala—”

  “No, Mother, you look pale.” I sat up, swinging my legs over the bed. “Too pale.”

  “Good. I have another year and then I won’t have to worry, I’ll be too old. But you are on the cusp.” She reached her hand out, cupping my face. “You’re a beautiful young woman and that scares me.”

  I shrug
ged away her touch. “I’ll run home from school and not have water, so I look worn.”

  “That may work. It’s only once a month.”

  “Once a month inspection by a warden.”

  “Vala, please stop reading forbidden material. This isn’t a prison.”

  “It isn’t? They teach us what they want us to know, forbid us from learning anything remotely from our past. We—”

  “Are not on the run,” my mother abruptly cut me off. “Not starving and not hunted. Be grateful. Finish up, tend to the horses, position them away, you know the routine. And walk with your sister to school, she’s scared today.”

  I nodded. Her fear was understandable. I was scared for her too. That was why I didn’t mind walking her to class, just in case.

  My sister Sophie seemed so young. Too young for school. However, the Elders thought her old enough at four, and rules of the Ancients said she had to be educated early.

  My mother paused in the doorway of the bedroom. “Vala, I know this is tough. But it is the best way. I did this for you. We lived the runners’ life. I know you remember. It’s not easy. This is the best way.”

  With that, she turned and walked out.

  Maybe for her it was the best way. Not for me.

  For some unknown reason, a small part of the country was saved from the events that destroyed most of the world. That area is where The Ancients, or as many call them, the Sybaris, rebuilt for the purpose of saving mankind. You see, they need us to survive. Our extinction would be theirs as well, and so they pocketed us together, making towns where there weren’t any.

  Very basic living, much like people lived in the old days before the act of enslavement was originally abolished. Every town was a mirror image of each other.

  Like Italy resembled a boot, looking at a new map, the pocket of life resembled more of a hand with a rebellious finger gesture.

  The bulk of the hand was formerly Arizona, the knuckle of the pinkie extended into New Mexico, and the middle finger reached into Colorado.

  A bit of New Mexico, all of Arizona, a section of Colorado and a tuck of California. The ‘ends’ stopped just before the Salton Sea.

  Two things the Sybaris hate: bodies of water and horses. They stay away from coastal cities and lakes. That’s what I never got. Why didn’t we, as a race, set up civilization in those areas?

  I suppose there are people who did. The runners. The nomads. The Prey.

  For as scared as they were hungry, they were at least free.

  We lived in a part of the country known as The Straits of Esperanza. Or Passage of Hope. It was far from a place of hope, it was a façade. At first glance, we were safe, fed, clean, and healthy. In reality, however, we were no more than livestock fenced in and fattened until our time to be slaughtered was at hand.

  3. Iry

  The educator made me laugh, and not in the way he believed.

  He tried to be the cool guy to those in the fourth and final tier of schooling. Trying diligently to be one of us, making jokes, being animated.

  But he wasn’t and never would be one of us.

  The girls in my tier found him beautiful and adored him. I guess most of them pined for his attention. Not me. Iry, our teacher, was at the age where he would be selecting. The girls were placing their bids ahead of time. It was degrading. Maybe I thought differently because at eighteen years of age, I was older and more mature than most in my class.

  It was the final stages of school. Graduation for me was not moving on to the next level where I became prime selection material. Graduation to me meant convincing my mother that my leaving Akana was for the best and I would return for her and Sophie to make a better life.

  Some believed giving your family a better life was by being selected. I hated the monthly visits by the Ancients. Those wanting badly to be selected donned their best attire, all for a mere chance to be a competitor, companion, or house servant, otherwise all slave positions.

  The loss of all my dignity, not to mention my slow death via loss of blood, was not worth it. They claimed your family received the best life had to offer. But how do we know?

  The Sybaris lie.

  Those praying to be picked are going on faith. Not me. How can I believe they offer my family a better life, when I don’t even know where the Sybaris really live? No one does.

  I am different, because in my class, I am the only one who remembers living outside of Akana.

  It wasn’t that many years earlier that I remember living under the bridge in Angeles City. My mother gave up much for us to live here. Her sacrifice was something Sophie would never know. But I did.

  I didn’t hate my mother for it, I hated the Sybaris.

  No matter how ‘great’ Iry tried to pretend to be, he wasn’t. He was one of them.

  Iry stunk. I could smell him. His odor was masked by an offensive oil that was musky and earthlike. I hated it and it made my head hurt. There was nothing attractive about him, despite what the other girls thought. His ears were predominantly Sybaris, even though he was third generation. His skin was dark, his eyes sunken and large. While he looked to be in ‘man’ years about twenty-five, he was probably more like two thousand years old.

  The Sybaris weren’t immortal; they just lived long and aged slowly.

  One of the forbidden books is called The Bible. I asked my mother if the Sybaris knew of the prophet Jesus Christ who was in the second half of that book and she said if I mention that name, it meant my head.

  Once I got out of Akana, that was something to look into. Why was something like the mention of a man in a book so offensive and illegal?

  According to the educators, the only history that mattered was the history before they were pushed into hiding.

  I was grateful I had seen forbidden books and I knew there a was a wealth of them outside of Esperanza.

  In my own world and thoughts, the sound of the class laughing snapped me out of it and I looked up.

  “Let’s break to eat,” Iry said. “Close your books, we’ll continue then.”

  I shut my book, the other students stood in a rush.

  “Not you, Vala,” Iry said. He put on a smile and headed my way.

  “I’m hungry.”

  “You will have time to eat. We need to talk.”

  “About?”

  “I engage the students. Yet, for some reason…” He sat on a desk near me and I backed up. “What is it?” he asked.

  “Your fragrance hurts my head.”

  He kept his distance, even sitting on a desk a little farther from me. “Better?”

  “No. But not as bad as when you’re close.”

  “Vala—”

  “Am I in trouble?”

  “No. I am concerned. Is something bothering you? Are you worried? As I stated, I engage all students, but you are in your own world.”

  “I’m hungry. I didn’t get a chance to eat before school.”

  “Does your family not have enough food?” he asked. “I can make sure—”

  “No. I just didn’t have enough time. I had to move…” snidely I said, “the horses.”

  “I see. Is this every day?”

  “No.”

  “Then why is it every day you slip further away?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t want to be here anymore.”

  “You can come to me, Vala,” he said. “I’m not like other educators, not like other Elders. You can speak freely with me.”

  “You are part of the Ancients.”

  “I am. But I am not—”

  I stood abruptly. “May I please go eat?”

  “Yes.” He lowered his head. “Yes, go eat.”

  Grabbing my book, I began to walk.

  “Vala?”

  What now? Slowly, I turned. “Yes?”

  “One more moon cycle.” He held up his finger. “One. Then you will be eligible for selection. You are beautiful, smart, strong; I fully believe that you’ll be sought out.”

  “Contrary to what you b
elieve, Iry, not everyone dreams of being selected.”

  Iry seemed shocked. “Do you speak this way because your time in my class is coming to an end?”

  I cocked an eyebrow. “I speak this way because you say you are not like the others.”

  “You don’t dream of a better life for you and your family?”

  “Oh, I dream of a better life for us. But it is not, nor will it ever be, through selection.” On that I walked out. I’d have my meal alone, like I always did. I was different and I knew it. Iry knew it.

  I didn’t look back after my exit to see his reaction. If my words were going to get me in trouble, I would know soon enough.

  4. The Show Line

  My midday meal consisted of a piece of fruit and bread laced with jam. I sat off to the side, enjoying the outdoor breeze. It would only be a matter of time before the single bell rang and I had to return to the class. In the meantime, I was the observer, as I always was, watching the others interact, laughing and happy. Sometimes I was envious that they were so oblivious and knew nothing but good and believed only good.

  They only thing that made me like them was my appearance. Visually, we were all alike, from the way we dressed to the way we wore our hair. Boys and girls, long hair pulled back in a single braided tail.

  Yes, I looked like the others, but I wasn’t like them. Deep down inside of me I knew I was different and was destined to be somewhere else, something else.

  From as early as I can remember, and I didn’t arrive at Akana until I was five, we were taught to walk, talk, and behave a certain way.

  Before the age of five, little girls wore the plain and carefree white dresses. Between the ages of five and graduation, there was no distinction between male or female. We all wore the same brown pants made from hides of our slaughtered cows. Passed down from one girl or boy to the next, whatever you fit into.

  Our shirts were loose white blouse material, all the same, and never with a stain.